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About Fox

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  1. ooc

    Clever Kimber. They don't fly! Another shot at Notice or Wisdom, if she cares to. She's literally fingertips away from her foes - if she sinks down much further without moving forward into open air, they'll probably get her. (The open space between the second and first floors is probably safe, but only until one of them decides that diving at her from the ledge is a good plan.)
  2. ic

    GM Glowing people. Glowing people were everywhere. The floor below Kimber turned out to, in fact, be two floors: more offices and meeting rooms ran a ring around the outside of the otherwise-open space, large wood and metal barriers separating visitors from falling through the air and straight down into the lobby below. It probably would have been a pretty great design, a decade or two ago - high-powered investors could have stood up here, leaning on the railing and watching employees mill about on the tiles below, watching the ebbing and flowing tide of business and science as the day went by. Now it was dust and neglect, some of the guard rails leaning out in a way that would make an OSHA inspector break out in hives. Oh, and it was positively swarming with glowing figures, with glowing eyes, that all simultaneously snapped up to look at their spectral guest. They moved with singular purpose, slogging out of the offices, leaving their posts by the glass doors to the dark outside, crowding in to try to grab her - though from where she floated near the ceiling they couldn't quite reach....
  3. ooc

    If she likes, Ghost Girl can make a Notice check or a Wisdom check! But not both. She has pressing concerns. If she plans on fighting, she'll need an initiative roll, too.
  4. ic

    GM "Yes, that would have been clever of you." The voice was...everywhere, echoing and without source, but they knew it none the less: they'd heard it berating the science-empowered thugs over the security system earlier. Their little leader had lost none of his ego or condescension in the intervening minutes, his words laced with the quiet excitement of a man with a plan. "How unfortunate for you that you've done all this for nothing. Nothing," he hissed, "nothing to stop me or even slow down our plans here. But you have cost me a number of my minions - replaceable, yes, but recruitment is time I can ill-afford! I'll be quite busy later, you see, but for you've earned my undivided attention." They'd almost made it to the stairwell when the voice had started, intent on their descent toward victory - and their opposition appeared to want to give them a helping hand. A glowing, helping hand, which burst through the wall near the stairs to reveal the glowing body of an empowered thug against the darkness outside. He grabbed Wraith around her midsection, three alien eyes wide in surprise, and pushed her - thug and all - over the stairwell railing to plummet into the darkness several floors below. Behind Ghost Girl, shifting debris were her cue that the thugs were getting back up again, jerking upright like marionettes and flaring back into their larger, energy-cloaked forms. Two more could be seen coming down the stairs on the other side of the room, light cast upon the back wall of that stairwell, while a cracking sound from the ceiling just above implied that the one she'd trapped in the room had awoken and, perhaps, decided that he'd take a more direct route down.
  5. ic

    Matt made some kind of vague motion with his arms but it ended almost as soon as it began, weighed down with his burden of bags, loose clothing, and second-guessing; he managed to transition it into an awkward shrug, instead, fooling no one. "Yeah, well," he said, clearing his throat, "everyone's a stranger in something, right? Life's all about feeling out of place, and then you die and you're just a visitor somewhere else. I've been told a bunch that people only really regret not doing and learning stuff, when it's too late." He paused, and made a face. "Which is kinda grim, sorry. But seriously, any time - everyone could use a hand once in a while, and I bet you I'd have been just as lost if I were in your shoes. Uh." He peered down into one of the bags. "All of 'em."
  6. ic

    Matt's expression was dubious at best - not afraid, to his credit, though one could imagine that may as well just be his lack of first-hand experience with Winifred's other half. "Yeaaaah, I've heard some stuff," he said - without judgement, oddly, like he was reflecting on a bad habit or embarrassing rumor. "All the same, maybe don't do testing on people 'til other testing stuff gets done. Never hurts - everyone always thinks the new stuff is safe until explosions, and then it's my--and then it's someone else's problem, yeah?" He shrugged, mentally shelving that idea. "You've probably got most of what you'd need, though I'm sure Raina knows better'n I do. Worst case, it's a good start and we can come back out another time. Besides, I still owe you a trip to a proper music store, anyway."
  7. ic

    Matt had a very visible and traditionally teenage boy reaction to being threatened with eyeliner, uncertainty written all across his hook-nosed face, but he recovered well enough. "Now that's a serious threat. Maybe if I decided to go up on stage, or something. Didn't mean to, uh, demean your skills, really," he insisted, shaking his head. "Some stuff just isn't fought with big brains and crazy chemistry. Lotsa stuff needs practice, and some fights y'just can't win. Doesn't mean it isn't fun to try anyway." He briefly wondered what the dogs would think of makeup, and immediately resolved to not tell them about the conversation unless absolutely necessary. He didn't need their heckling, and if they had their way he'd probably be fully painted - in a dress. "Not gonna be much help there, myself, but let me know if there's ever anything I can do. Maybe I can volunteer the dogs for testing. They'd probably find it funny."
  8. ic

    "I dunno, she has a point?" Matt gave Raina a nod, biting his lip in thought. "Even if you're the best - and I'm not gonna say you aren't, 'cos I don't think that's a fight I'd win - it's gotta be more time than buying it, and maybe more money, especially with some...I dunno. Experimentation, I guess, to get started? Never really did a lot of the science thing, but everything anyone's gotta do takes some trial and error. Maybe the big companies get ingredients cheaper than you can, maybe their big factories and stores mean they can make stuff faster. But it'd be worth the try, I guess - worst case, maybe you can make something you like better than what's on the shelves. Or, I guess, worst case it doesn't go well but at least you had a fun afternoon blowing up lab equipment." Matt snorted despite himself, though he at least got his sense of humor back under strict control. "Though, nobody," he said, quite seriously, "nobody should have to suffer through a period of Faretti's pickup lines. They're never directed at me, but with my hearing even I don't want to suffer through a period of Faretti's pickup lines. Y'know they seem to work once in a while? That kinda worries me sometimes."
  9. ic

    "I don't think all of it comes off with water," Matt mused, trying to remember half-eavesdropped conversations and the useful bits of color commentary from his dogs. "Keeps it from getting messed up by rain or sweat or whatever, I guess. I think they make wipes? Or oil? Something about oil, sometimes, or alcohol. I think I've heard people complaining about it." He shrugged again as Winifred's attention turned to the boxes, but her response was interesting enough to cock his head in attention. "That'd probably save you a bunch, long-term, if you could get the stuff to make it out of. Maybe even make some money, or earn some favors with people who can't shell out a bunch of allowance for good eye shadow or whatever. If you can find somewhere that'll sell you, uh...." He used the edge of one hand to tip a box backwards, eyeing the side of it with the gaze of a boy who had not spent enough time paying attention in chemistry last year. "....'dimethicone'. Probably somewhere online you can buy raw stuff, or some wholesaler down by the docks."
  10. ic

    Matt wasn't quite sure whether to look embarrassed or pleased, standing just a hair taller while not appearing overly distracted - a dog given a compliment, but not one offered a treat. "Yeah, well. I live to serve," he dryly noted, shrugging Fred's clothes back into place. "Sending messages, guarding junkyards, helping g---people," he corrected, whatever word he was going to use completely lost. "Hauling wardrobes. Glad I could help." He snorted, but there was good humor in it. "I don't think the clerk's gonna care. Nobody who works in a mall is paid enough to care. Like, good people, sure," he hastily added, "but really, really not paid to care. And I famously don't care about anything, so, y'know, y'only really need the one foot for Raina. If it matters."
  11. ic

    "What? I don't - what?" Matt's eyes were wide with surprise; however he'd seen this conversation going, this wasn't it. He'd barely had enough time to try to figure out if Winifred was flirting with Raina before she asked for his help, and the topic was apparently well outside his areas of expertise. "I'm a guy, what do I know? ...I mean, I guess that's the point, though, right?" He shrugged, and absently caught the clothes that subsequently threatened to shift out of his grip. "Like, you always look really good, but you aren't covered in forty layers of oily crap," he suggested, uncertain. "Everyone thinks you look good but half the female class tries way too hard and doesn't make it half way? And I don't know how much super-fancy stuff you have, but I'm betting you make do - better'n they do - with stuff that isn't this expensive a lot of the time, without anyone being able to tell, and that's pretty impressive. Or, I guess, would be if I knew more about makeup. Yeah?"
  12. ic

    Wraith was humming to herself, dragging the thug by his heel over to rest by the other two, form melting back into something more reasonably-proportioned...but not before she grabbed each of their projectors is one long-fingered hand and crushed them, one by one, into sparking uselessness. "I have been too busy lately," she noted to Ghost Girl, wistful. "I have missed the hunt for people like...these. It is a good practice of one's skills. Perhaps I was too...what would the word be. Indulgent?" She turned to look at the room, eyes sliding across her face a bit to take it all in. "Your way was equally effective but much faster. This should be everyone on this floor, however, and I think most of them are still downstairs. Perhaps we can clear many of them at once, or defeat their leader."
  13. ic

    The would-be escapee decided that perhaps he didn't want to go upstairs today, after all. He didn't seem eager to venture back into the maze of cubicles, but a glance over his shoulder - his feet already backing him away from Kimber's cold welcome - confirmed that whatever had taken out his friends, it wasn't there NOW. Not knowing where it was wasn't great, but knowing where it wasn't...was...something? He never got far. Every time he neared an exit from the sound-dampening beige walls of mediocrity, a glimpse of the creature was there to turn him back - a leg, a tail, a head turning around a corner to look him in the eye before the thing vanished. The violent thug who originally lost his projection and ran had been afraid - the hand-wringing bundle of nerves that now stood in the midst of his new prison was the barest shadow of his criminal past, twitchy and uncertain of going anywhere and nowhere. But there was nothing there - no more signs of the monster, no more glimpses. The floor was achingly, hauntingly quiet, outside of his own breathing and his quiet mutterings. "It ain't HERE. It ain't back THERE. Can't do...can't go back to the stairs. Where'd...." He glanced to his left, where a thin tail-tip was sliding across the floor. He followed it along to a leg, a back, slowly turning in place as his gaze spiraled up into the face of the thing standing directly behind him. "....oh," he said. "Okay."
  14. ic

    "Eh, who cares what they do with their feathers," Matt said, almost with conviction. "Everyone's always upset about something, may as well be something useful. Attention's not great, but they'll always find something new eventually - and heck, we can always give 'em something else. You wanna wear the flashy makeup some day, just let me know and I'll have the dogs steal homework or something. Make 'em howl a barbershop quartet in the hallways. They like spotlights, at least some of the time." He eyed the colors on display dubiously, clearly unsure how some of them even worked in practice. "My opinion here's worth squat, and that's fair, but maybe it's like fancy clothes? Have some super-loud stuff, but save the super-loud stuff for super-loud occasions."