Search the Community

GM March 21st, 2017 8:31 AM A girl slipped in about a half hour after opening, short, a little shorter than Gretchen, though certainly not as slender as she was. She wasn't just hispanic, she was certainly an indio. A punk, with a burnt sienna colored dreadlock hanging on the side of her face, under striped hood of her striped sweatshirt. She idly picked through things, grabbing three books, and a magazine, before she moved back towards the front of the shop. Her age hard to tell, she pursed her lips, and played with the piercing on the lower one. "'Scuse me... only one here?" Her voice was heavily accented, matching where her face was from and English might not even be her second language. She continued on as she set the books down on the counter and she looked at Gretchen. The girl's smell permeated the air, some sort of fruity essential oil, and freshly rained on dirt. A little odd, but then, book stores like this place attracted worse. "Do you do a Mexican mocha?" Pushing up her brows as she shifted her purse up and onto the table, before she was shuffling through the studded leather thing.

Silberman's Books, at the corner of Pratt and Frederick. Friday, March 17th, 2017. 11:00 am. Lynn Epstein didn't really get St. Patrick's Day; her mom was Jewish, and her father, who despite his last name was primarily raised Catholic, was essentially Jewish-Italian. She'd gone to Jewish schools throughout her childhood, so it was never part of her family life. Atlantic City had a parade down the Boardwalk, but her family always avoided it due to the presence of 'drunken hooligans' as her mom put it. But sadly when you work in retail, there are certain expectations from the public around major or even minor holidays, so while Silberman's Books didn't go all out, a few changes were made to the store for the week. A table of books on Irish history and Celtic mythology was set up near the entrance; it wasn't too crass, and the books selection was actually pretty varied. The changeling had conjured some tasteful decorations around the store, typically modeled on early 20th century designs as Lynn felt they were less intrusive. And lastly she'd made some special green Silberman's aprons, dark green with the store's name in a white Celtic font; even Gretchen who was usually annoyed by such things admitted they looked pretty good. Otherwise the store looked much the same as usual: bookshelves full of used books, posters of famous stage magicians on the walls, the magazine rack and newspapers up front, tables and chairs for reading and the consumption of food and drink, and the combined front counter/coffee bar. The store was fairly empty, as much of Freedom was engaged in various St. Pat's activities, so it was only the die hard coffee drinkers out and about. Gretchen was working the bar and counter this morning, although right now she was sitting perched on her high stool near the register, reading Dostoevsky's The Idiot in the original Russian thanks to her magic glasses. She was also playing The Pogues over the store's sound system, her one contribution to the day's celebrations. However, the store's owner did have someone coming in for an interview this morning; hopefully they'd be a good fit. Currently she was in her office checking email.

The Home of Sid and Clara Epstein in Brigantine, NJ. Saturday, December 24th, 2016. 8:45 pm With her girlfriend gone to investigate the mysterious, spontaneous Christmas celebration downtown, young Gretchen McDaniels found herself alone with Lynn's extended family for the first time ever. True, she was fortified with a great deal of wine (both kosher and treyf) and a bellyful of Lainey Epstein's famous latkes, but it was still a bit sobering once the full impact had sunk in. Thankfully they were about to have a jam session, so Gretch could throw herself into the music and blot out the fear, or so she hoped. Lynn's Uncle Sid was an amateur drummer who had a full kit down in the basement, and his son Frank left his bass at home, so it was just a matter of gathering everyone else's instruments, a task made much easier thanks to magic. The Line Up Butch Epstein - guitar and vocals Gretchen McDaniels - lead guitar and vocals Sid Epstein - drums and backing vocals Frank Epstein - bass and backing vocals Everyone present had at least a little experience playing New Jersey weddings (gag!), and soon it became clear that there was a common corpus of material they could all draw upon. Bon Jovi - "You Give Love A Bad Name" It took all of Gretchen's willpower to steer the band away from 'Livin' on a Prayer', a song that held a special place of loathing in her heart; she knew there was no way to avoid the Garden State's second favorite son, but she knew to pick her battles. The assembled adults and kids ate it up, even though the young barista played it fairly mechanically. Still, it was a good warm-up number, and it was a chance to see Butch go to town on his little Traveler guitar, which apparently was a lot easier to play in a wheelchair; Gretch wanted one badly. Billy Idol - "White Wedding" So apparently, Uncle Sid was quite the sex symbol back in his day (ick!), and he requested, nay demanded, a chance to do his favorite karaoke song, which as the oldest son, he was able to push through. But he couldn't drum doing it, because he had to cradle the mic stand and 'work the room' (double ick!), which meant a bit of juggling instrument-wise. Frank shifted to the drums, which left Gretch on bass, which was a bit challenging because it as strung for a rightie, but she managed. Luckily the bass line was pretty straightforward, so she could take in a bit of Sid's performance, which she had to admit wasn't too bad; must have been quite the ladykiller, once upon a time. Radiohead - "Creep" This one was a bit of a surprise; Lynn's big sister Eddi requested a chance to take the mic, and sing one of her old favorites. Lynn had told her that Eddi did a little lounge singing on the side (she was a CNA at a nursing home during the day), but Gretchen had no idea what a set of pipes this girl had! Drawing upon who knew what personal pain from her own life, she turned it into something between a tortured torch song and a mournful wail, and it sent shivers down everyone's spines. Gretch also enjoyed the chance to take on Jonny Greenwood's visceral guitarwork. k.d. lang - "Constant Craving" Emboldened by Eddi's impressive performance, Gretch asked the rest of the band if they were familiar the work of the Canadian singer-songwriter, and was happy to see that even young Frank was a fan. Even though part of her felt like it was a bit of a cliche for a bi girl to sing this song, she was compelled by a strong desire to sing this song in this moment, with these people. Eddi and Lynn's mom Lainey (of all people!) flanked her on either side of the low stage to sing backup, and to everyone's delight, 'baby brother' Uncle Karl joined in on the bongos! Seeing so many Epstein rocking out at the same time was surprisingly touching and cool. Grand Funk Railroad - "The Loco-Motion" It was starting to get late, so it was time to start winding down; not wanting to go out on a sad note, Butch suggested they finish the night with a real barnburner, and offered up the hard rock cover of the Little Eva classic, and it proved to be a fortuitous choice. Inspired by the loss of one of the the all-time greats earlier in the year, Gretch went full-on Prince for the solo, and blew the room away with her impressive fingerwork. By the end of the song, everyone was singing along, and Butch and his wheelchair were leading a conga line around the basement. Exhausted, delighted and pretty damn drunk, the young newcomer dropped to her knees on the last chord and whooped with delight. Butch rolled over to her side, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said into her ear, just loud enough to be heard over the applause of the extended Epstein brood, "Welcome to the family, kid!" She had to wipe away happy tears; so this is what having a family felt like.

GM Saturday, March 11th, 2017 Port Regal, Freedom City 11:21 AM There were those times when one wondered just how they got into the situation they were in. Truth be told, those situations probably were a large part of being a superhero around Freedom City. It usually was best not to think about it too much, yet, somehow, that was exactly what Gretchen McDaniels wanted to do right now. She had gotten roped into this thanks to her girlfriend, and the two of them were now standing in front of a large metal gate blocking the driveway. They had rung already, and somebody would come and get them in just a bit. Tied around some of the metal was bright green paper, cut into fine lines, together with a few balloons hanging off. The estate looked quite large, which in itself wasn’t a bad thing. But then, then it became more and more apparent. A sound most abhorrent. Something that really, really wasn’t necessary today, right? Children.

Silberman's Books, at the corner of Frederick and Pratt. Saturday, February 4th, 2017. 12:05 pm. It was a rather cold and gray afternoon in February, the kind of day when really all you wanted to do was stay in bed, read a book, maybe watch something on Netflix; Gretchen in particular had argued in favor of this last point earlier that morning. But her girlfriend Lynn made the point that if they wanted a long and happy life, they wouldn't be working in retail; this led to a narrowing of the eyes and an icy telepathic rebuke. -Curse your alien faerie logic.- But now it was far too late; they'd been open for two hours, and it would be far too difficult to kill all the customers and hide the bodies. The surly barista was well and truly screwed, so she would just have to glare balefully at the Happy Morning People as they drank their coffee and ate their baked treats. You will all pay for this. For her part, Lynn was in the office, cheerfully going over her emails, seemingly oblivious to her love's virulent misanthropy this fine morning.

This is the OOC thread for Viva Val Verde.

@Heritage It hadn't taken much convincing. All Samuel Steiner had to say to get their attention was "Val Verde," and all he had to say to get their agreement was "Vacation." Three words were all it took to get Lynn Epstein and Gretchen McDaniels to board a plane to the secretive little island a few hour's flight off their nation's southwestern coast. That, and a few days of planning. A employer can't just disappear along with two of her employees in tow and expect everything to keep running like Swiss clockwork in her absence. Schedules needed rewriting, tasks needed assigning, and subtle, only half-joking threats of terrible retaliation for failure needed making before they could leave. All things considered, it was a painless procedure. It could have been even more-so, with the power available to the three. A few spells and they could have stepped from their homes to the island in an instant, without the need for planes, trains, or automobiles. But part of the joy of vacation is the trip, and so they took a passenger jet to the American southwest, arranged a taxi to a small, private airfield, and boarded another plane -- small, but richly furnished -- to the island. The process had been described in great detail by Steiner's letter, now slightly crumpled but none the worse for wear. Written by their would-be host, a man named Gallo, the letter had given the two women only the smallest taste of his personality, the tiniest glimpse of what he'd be like. Sam had tried to fill them in on the rest but some men, like Gallo, defied simple explanation. "He just is," the magician explained. "He's larger than life. Big eater, big drinker, big talker. He and I go way back; I think you'll like him. He was a good friend to me... kind of like how you guys are, now. He took me in when I needed taking in and helped get me back on my feet when I was laying low." Eventually, the flight neared its end, and it wasn't long after that when the three could look out the windows and see it: Val Verde, set like a gleaming emerald on a sea of blue velvet. "My God," said Sam. "It's just as beautiful now as it ever was. I'd almost forgotten." @Blarghy James Warne dusted his hands and reached one of them into his jacket, intent on removing the battered carton of cigarettes nestled into a pocket therein. He was surrounded by the prone bodies of groaning men, their firearms thrown haphazardly around the room by a telekinetic storm of disarmament, with their persons having followed shortly thereafter. He flicked the lighter with a practiced thumb, lit the smoke, and inhaled. Other men might have allowed themselves a smile, if only a bitter one, at the idea of a job well done. Not Adept, not here. Duty called, he answered, and that was all. The cigarette, the smoke in his mouth, the fire in his lungs; that was his smile, his concession to the world. His phone buzzed, once, an indication of incoming text. He reached for it, touched the screen, and brought up the client. TSA pegged your old friend [STEINER, SAMUEL] leaving the country w/ 2 women, it said. [EPSTEIN, LYNN] & [McDANIELS, GRETCHEN]. They're headed for Val Verde. Pack for sunny weather and report for briefing. Sorry. It was signed, at the bottom, by 'B,' which meant it couldn't be ignored. Warne grunted, replaced his phone, and strode towards the exit. He passed police and paramedics on the way, who hustled towards the battered men behind him. When he was out of sight, he took to the skies like a bird of prey and flew back to the city. It was going to be a long day.

Silberman's Books, at the corner of Pratt and Frederick. Saturday, January 7th, 2017 10:30 am. With the panic and mayhem of another holiday season behind them, the crew at the West End's most popular used bookstore could finally breathe a collective sigh of relief. January was typically a month of austerity in the US, especially in the retail sector, which made it a good month to take stock and look back on the year that was, and begin serious planning for the year ahead. The decision to open earlier on weekdays and Saturdays, as well as offering breakfast sandwiches, meant major staffing adjustments and a lot more work for the openers. Despite the passing of the holiday rush, the store still need to hire a few more people. So far, the first Saturday morning was a success as the neighborhood discovered the new adjusted hours and menu items, but the store was just a little strained under the increased customer load. A number of Merges were on-site, though of course only one was currently behind the register; the others were either doing dishes or checking stock in back. Gretch was doing her best to 'play well with others' on bar while Lynn worked the floor, using her amazing social skills to good effect. As usual, the two lovers were going back and forth via mental communication, and as often was the case, it was playful and fairly snarky. I want you to list five things you like about Merge. Really? We're having this conversation? Five things. Fine. ...I'm waiting... She...always smells nice. Wow. Really, that's your opener? She does...cool stuff with her powers sometimes. Cute outfits and stuff...

Silberman's Books. Sunday, December 11th, 2016. Sundays were sleepy at Silberman's, since the store didn't open until noon on the weekends; this largely eliminated the early coffee rush, but meant the folks who came in now were looking to take their time and stay awhile. The sales floor looked very Christmas-y, and the fragrance of the decorated Scotch pine filled the store. Lynn was in her office checking emails while Gretchen sat perched on her stool behind the counter, reading a magazine; her half trendy/half 'screw you' ensemble pegged her as a former art student, but nonetheless a playful pair of reindeer antlers were perched on her head.

Silberman's Books. Wednesday, Novermber 30th, 2016. 11:00 am Even though it was probably her riskiest hire ever, Lynn was optimistic about hiring Merge; coverage would not be much of a problem anymore, and she felt that once she adjusted her groove a bit to match the tone of the store, the colorful duplicator would bring a lot to the team. But as tempting as a full staff of Merges was (Oh, the looks on the faces of the old Jews of the neighborhood; it would almost be worth it!), the changeling knew she still needed a few more warm bodies. The store was starting to slow down a bit from the morning coffee-and-danish rush, but a handful of regulars were still sipping their coffee. Maddy had the morning off, so it was Lance and Gretchen behind the bar/counter while Lynn walked the floor; today, she wore green curly toed shoes, a bright green sweater and comfy jeans under her brown Silberman's apron, all topped with a red Santa hat and a pair of cute 'elf ears' (nudge nudge, wink wink). The store was decorated in old-fashioned Christmas decorations, including a big Scotch pine covered in lights, and a train set chased itself around the table in the children's section.

Silberman's Books. Monday, November 28th, 2016. 10:00 am. If you worked in retail, the holiday season was always stressful; it had a way of simultaneously bringing out the best and worst in people, and it seemed to go on forever. Since she'd reopened the store in 2014, owner Lynn Epstein had seen business steadily increase each year; their numbers were never going to be amazing, especially given her insistence on paying her employees a decent wage, but the fact that they weren't always operating at a loss made her happy. Of course, considering the large nest egg she'd brought back from Otherworld, she could afford to operate at a modest loss for years if necessary, and she wouldn't even mind; reopening Silberman's was never about making money. But if she didn't want her employees to rebel and hoist her from the yardarm, she desperately needed to hire some holiday help, and hopefully keep a few of them on permanently. Which wasn't always easy when you ran a store that had a whispered reputation for weird goings on... Since she'd put the ad up over the weekend, Lynn had already gotten several resumes via email, which she was currently reading over in her office; she had her 'power team' this morning, Lance on bar and Gretchen at the register. It was early yet, so it was mostly the coffee and newspaper crowd of old Jewish men from the neighnorhood, as well as one or two 'hipster beards' sipping their espresso as they checked their email on their Powerbooks. Need any help out there? No. We're good for now.

With the holiday season upon us, business is startling to pick up at Silbernan's Books, and owner Lynn Epstein (aka Grimalkin) could use a hand or two. New arrivals in Freedom looking for a way in or old familiar faces looking for a change are all welcome. Retail experience in your backstory is nice, but not a prerequisite. This could be either a temporary thing or part of your ongoing secret identity, your choice. The store's Reputation is now listed on Grim's rep sheet.

Not sure if we'll really need this, but a better place for stuff than just doing PMs. For the record, I am a very bad chess player, so I don't think we should get very detailed about Gretchen and Lawrence's game

Silberman's Books. August 31st, 2016 10:05am. It was just after 10, and the forecast was brutal; the store had only been open for a few minutes, and it was already a furnace, because the AC was down and it would be a few hours before the HVAC repairman could make it over. This and the large standing sign in front of the door warning about the lack of AC kept a lot of the regulars from coming in for their morning cup, which was sad, but seeing that many of them were elderly, Lynn that it as best that they knew from the get-go. Of course, due to their respective powers, neither Lynn nor her partner Gretchen was uncomfortable, so they pretty much had the store to themselves so far this morning; Lynn was using it as a chance to catch up on paperwork in her office, while Gretch sat on a stool behind the counter reading Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung, a collection of reviews by legendary rock critic Lester Bangs. Normally she'd be on her laptop, but without working AC she was concerned about the poor thing overheating. Several industrial standing fans were set up around the store to offer some relief for any would-be shoppers, and an oscillating desk fan perched on the counter next to Gretchen, occasionally stirring her hair with its breeze.

Above Silberman's Books. Monday, August 1st, 2016. 11:36 am Lynn unlocked the door and pushed it wide open as she stepped into the living room/dining nook of the one bedroom apartment Tona recently vacated; the room was bright and airy, with hardwood floors, white painted walls and a working gas fireplace flanked by built-in bookshelves. Salvaged stained glass windows on the east wall added color and a charming rustic quality. "Okay, so this is the front room; that pillar sort of designates the dining area, but obviously you can use it however you want. There's no central heating or air, but the radiator heat is free and works great, and you've got ceiling fans and an AC unit in the bedroom." Gretchen followed in, pointing out the small flat-screen monitor on the wall near the door. "I've upgraded the security system. Multiple cameras, motion and heat sensors, extra sturdy locks."

So I'm working on my char edit for Shrike, and I want to make sure this power is street legal and how much it costs. The idea is to make the Helm of Truth's Magic Awareness (Visual) Analytic in nature, so Gretchen can better understand magical items and effects. And would that be considered one sense or a whole sense type for the purposes of PP cost?

Lynn Epstein's Apartment. Saturday, June 18th, 2016. 2pm. It was a very mild and pleasant late spring day; there was no need to run the AC, so instead Lynn and Gretchen had just opened all the windows and turned on all the ceiling fans, so that cool breezes and succulent cooking smells wafted through every room. The weekend before, Gretch had offically moved in, and at her insistence the apartment now possessed real live, actual furniture; some of them were ancient hand-me-down pieces that once bellonged to her late grandmother back in Maine, all dark, massive and brooding. Others were recent additions from the Ikea out in Ashton, which they had bought together, because that's what couples do. It took a while to get used to, but Lynn was starting to enjoy the smell of history on the old stuff pleasantly mixing with the new stuff that smelled of dorm rooms and promise. What was a bit harder to get used to were Gretchen's ferrets, Otto and Bosco; they tore around the apatment like they were rats on crack, their long, loping bodies wriggling into every corner imaginable, terrifying Lynn's three cats DB, Mafia and Plaque Attack, who currently spent most of their time hiding out in the bedroom. The ferret cage stood in one corner of the living room, a symbol of the end of the Era of Feline Domination. Out on the rear deck was the Weber grill that Gretchen had also insisted on, which was having its trial run this weekend; it hadn't been fired up just yet, because Lynn wanted everyone to have a little time to have a drink and kibbitz. As for the couple themselves, each was representing their unique stylistic tastes. Lynn wore sandals, a short denim skirt and a creamy, sleeveless cotton blouse; her hair was up and out of the way, indicating that she was both hard at work and comfortable enough with the guests to reveal her pointed ears. Meanwhile, Gretchen wore boots, loose cut jeans and a black vintage Lou Reed t-shirt; surprisingly, her hair was also up, showing a rare glimpse of her graceful neck. The two women worked together smoothly like a well-oiled machine, a machine that frequently stopped to smile or affectionatly touch a shoulder. Their guests would be here soon.

Silberman's Books. Monday, April 25th, 2016. 9:56 am. Back in January, Lynn Epstein offered Samuel Steiner, a stage magician, ex-convict and would-be crimefighter, what amounted to his 'dream job': the opportunity to catalogue and itemize the collection of his hero Ira Silberman, formerly known as the Amazing Al-Kazar. To say that he couldn't wait to start his first day would be the understatement of the century. Yet wait he did; in February, the departure of her long-suffering assistant manager Kiki Knox came as a shock, and Lynn sent him an apologetic letter explaining that she wanted to bring her new AM up to speed and get everyone settled into a new routine before adding any additional staff. That the letter contained a check for eight hundred dollars did something to soften the blow. Then March came, and another apologetic letter arrived, with the same-sized check and a promise of work in April. Now April was almost over, and Sam feared his amazing opportunity had gone up in smoke, but then a third letter arrived on Friday, as apologetic as before, but now letting him know that he would finally be able to start that Monday, bright and early at 10 am. And yay, another check! - - - "Does he get an apron?" Lynn briefly looked up from her desk, where she was typing up a last minute email; her assistant manager and now partner in all things Gretchen McDaniels was limply holding up a brown standard-issue Silberman's apron, a bored expression on her face. "No, he does not get an apron; he will be an apron-less freak." "If I have wear one, he should, too. We should all be equal partners in discomfort and embarrassment." "Technically, he's not an employee of the store; he's an independent contractor. Plus he'd look really stupid with that thing over his coat and tails, doncha think?" Gretch looked over her shoulder back towards the sales floor and shook her head. "You really think he wears that all the time?" "Yep! Sleeps in it, showers in it, makes sweet, sweet love in it..." "Eww. Thanks for that disturbing visual." Lynn beamed cheerfully. "You're welcome! Now go ahead and open up while I finish typing this." "Yes, O master." Hunching forward and dragging her foot, Gretch lurched towards the front door like a hunchbacked assistant; behind the bar, Lance Bettendorfer, barista extraordinaire, cocked an eyebrow at her performance. "Everything alright there, Gretch?" "Breaking in some new boots," she deadpaned. Once she got to the door, she flung it open dramatically, still in Igor mode. "Enter, at your own risk!" She almost managed an expression there.

OOC for this thread.

Friday February 19, 2016 Riverside, Freedom City The Black Box "Can't believe I let you drag me along to this thing," Sam grumbled. "I should be getting overtime for this." It wasn't as though Sam had never gone out to a nightclub for a night of alcohol and bad music before. She'd been a teenager. She'd snuck out to party with her quote-unquote friends at least...hell, more times than she could clearly remember. The alcohol probably had sometime to do with that. But she was an adult now, with real responsibilities, and alcohol now affected her no more than orange juice did. She'd generally found that bad music was even worse when you had to listen to it sober. Now when she looked around at her surroundings, at the pulsing lights, the gyrating dancers, the deafening noise, all she saw was a bunch of drunken college students sexing each other up and acting like hormonal idiots. Christ, when did I get so old. She leaned over to shout in Gretchen's ear, the only way to make herself heard above the din. "Are we sure this isn't a prank? Some Internet jackass just thought it would be a kick to post on your site about a bunch people disappearing from this 'Black Box' club, and watch us waste our time?" She took a sip of her fruit juice, hardly tasting it due to her irritation. "You'd think that if people really were getting snatched from here, the cops would have noticed by now." Assuming the cops aren't a gaggle of incompetent glorified security guards, which, since I'm being all positive-outlook these days, they aren't. "I wouldn't mind getting out of here before the band comes on and blows my eardrums out." A tall, muscular man in a tight T-shirt sauntered cockily up and leaned against the bar next to Sam, glancing her up and down in a none-too-subtle fashion. Without so much as looking, Sam dissuaded him with a raised middle finger before he could even open his mouth. Taking the hint, he pushed away from the bar and sauntered cockily away back the way he'd come. Sam continued as though nothing had happened. "You'd think they could at least include a little more info. For chrissakes, at least the names of whoever's missing. 'People disappearing from Black Box, watch out for the band' isn't a whole lot to go on."

Silberman's Books. Friday, February 5th, 2016. 1:30 PM. There was a gentle tapping on the door to Lynn's office; the changeling looked up from her computer and called out, "Come in!" Her assistant manager Kiki stepped timidly inside; today she wore a straw boater for some reason. "Do you have a minute? it's...it's kind of important." "Sure, sure, have a seat! What's up?" Kiki took the offered seat, then just stared down at her boots for several seconds until Lynn grew concerned. "Is...everything alright, Keek?" The dancer slowly shook her head. "No. No it is not." She looked up and Lynn, the woman she used to think of as one of her best friends, and sighed. "And it hasn't been for some time." By now, Lynn was very worried and she began to get up from her seat. "Omigod, what's wrong? Is your mom-" Kiki motioned for her boss to keep her seat. "It's nothing like that. it's just...this isn't working for me anymore." She indicated the books on the wall with a wave of her hand. "The store, working for you..." And suddenly things became much more clear. "This is about the Mrs. Nussbaum thing, isn't it?" "No. Well, yes, kind of; it's when things first started going off the rails." "You're quitting, aren't you?" "Yes, I am. After the Nussbaum thing, I said I would give it a year; if things went back to normal within a year, i would stick around, but they haven't, so..." Then took a deep breath and forged ahead. "if anything, they've gotten worse; you made Gretchen your 'personal crime-fighting assistant', and now we're always butting heads about everything. And then you hire this bizarre wizard character-" "Magician, actually." "Without even consulting me, which just proves my opinion means nothing to you anymore." Tears were now welling up in her eyes. "And I've been shot, and everyone but me has super-powers, and I don't feel safe. And I don't even know you anymore." Lynn didn't say anything for a long time, stung with guilt over how badly she'd treated her friend over the past year. Finally, she spoke, her voice choked with emotion. "I am...so sorry, Keek. Do you...do you have anything set up? Another offer?" Kiki slowly nodded. "Yes. James Dupont of the Riverside Dance Company asked me to be assistant director; I already said yes" All other thoughts flew away as the bookseller could only be happy for her friend. "Keek, that's, that's huge! Congratulations!" Despite herself, Kiki smiled warmly at Lynn. "I know. And thanks." But then the feelings of loss and helplessness returned. "But what am I gonna do? Without you-" "Without me, Gretchen will make an amazing assistant manager; you know it, i know it, and sadly she really knows it. You'll do fine." "I guess...so is this goodbye goodbye, or...?" "I'll still come around; because you know-" And they said it at the same time, through big, goofy tear-stained grins. "Former employees always save fifteen percent!"

Outside Silberman's Books. January 15th, 2016. 10:05 pm Two young women waited on the stoop In front of the West End's most unusual bookstore, one effortlessly balanced on one foot and juggling five tennis balls, the other pacing up and down to keep warm. The juggler was Lynn Epstein, also known as Grimalkin, currently wearing jeans, a suede jacket and a black Stenson. The colder of the two was Gretchen McDaniels, who sometimes went by Shrike, and clearly her jeans, FreeSA hoodie and black leather jacket were not cutting it. Finally Gretchen stopped in front of her boss and scowled. "I demand coffee." The changeling smiled and shook her head, her eyes never leaving the task at hand. "Sorry, I'm all out; besides, it's not even that cold out." "You always have coffee." Gretch began poking around in Lynn's jacket pockets like a puppy looking for a treat. "It's just a matter of finding...where you hid it on your person." "Hey, knock it off, I can't-" She didn't actually fall over; Lynn was too freakishly graceful for that. But she did lose control of her tennis balls, which went bouncing down the steps and rolling down the sidewalk. "Great; thanks a lot, Gretch." "Cof-feee." The fae threw up her hands in exasperation. "Fine!" After making sure no other pedestrians were nearby, she reached into her jacket, traced a small circle with her finger, and drew forth a large Thermos that was clearly too big to have fit inside. Gretchen eagerly took the Thermos, poured herself a cup of rich black coffee, and smiled like the little brat she was currently being. "Thanks, boss. Lynn merely shook her head and grunted, keeping her eyes peeled for the newest member of the Silberman's family.

Rolls and suchlike for this thread.

Friday January 22, 2016 Greenbank, Freedom City Nighttime It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an off-duty superhero in search of pizza will inevitably encounter something that renders the acquisition of pizza highly unlikely. Buffy Stein had just run out to grab a quick slice from the pizza joint around the corner, wanting a little fuel to get her through her late-night cramming session. She had even had her hand on the door when she overheard the police scanner in a nearby parked patrol car. Apparently something had triggered the silent alarm at a warehouse over in Greenbank. That wasn't exactly enough to make the cops peel out, sirens blaring, so why should she, innocent civilian, bestir herself? Surely no one would expect her to abandon her pizza, abort her studying, don her costume, and sprint clear across the city just because some raccoon accidentally tripped an alarm or something, right? This was what Echo was bitterly reflecting on as the crouched there on the edge of the rooftop in the freezing cold, staring gloomily at the shadowy bulk of the warehouse across the street. Sometimes, it just wasn't fun being a superhero. She was going to have to make some modifications to her costume, that was for sure. Heroes of the super variety weren't exactly renowned for their subtlety, but she couldn't help feeling conspicuous there in her blue-and-silver bodysuit. Those colors didn't exactly fade into the darkness as well as one might hope. Not to mention, she needed to install some thermal padding, or get some new long underwear or something. If didn't wrap this up quickly, all they would ever find of her would be a big Echo-shaped popsicle. And all because of a false alarm at some random warehouse. You didn't get a statue for that. Huh. She noticed something that made her perk up slightly. The warehouse was enclosed by a high chain link fence topped with barbed wire, presumably to keep the contents from escaping. Thing was, she was pretty sure the gate was supposed to be closed. With a whumph of displaced air, she was gone from the rooftop, now standing beside the open gate. The chain that ordinarily held the gates shut was lying on the ground. Kneeling down to examine it, she saw that it had been cut. Maybe the night watchman forgot his keys. And remembered his bolt cutters. Looking up, she saw an white van parked inside the fence. She had ignored it before, but now she saw that the plates had been removed and the engine was running. And one of the nearby doors that led into the warehouse looked to have been forced open. Well, hey. This might not be a waste of time after all.

January 31, 2016 Goodman Building Floor 16 It's Sunday in the Goodman Building. The Atoms are out of town, some at school, some visiting family on the Moon, some in other dimensions. Most of the building's staff have the day off, but given the sheer size of the scientific operations in the facility, as well as the necessary work that went on here, several hundred people were still in the building. "So yeah, here's where I stayed for two weeks," Riley Smith-Quinn was telling Robin, the two of them walking together through the now-empty isolation quarters under the eye of Dr. Matt Drummond, Riley's original physician upon his arrival on Earth-Prime. The silver-haired old physician watched as one teen showed his girlfriend the cot, the small bookshelf "Hey, they've still got all those weird Andi comics!", and the tablet computer that had been all he owned upon his arrival. "Well, all I owned that ya let me have, anyway," he said with a smile the doctor's way. He hadn't talked much about his time here, but oddly enough he was more relaxed than Robin had seen him in a while. Maybe because this place wasn't home - but then it had never tried to be, either. "I think you remember why we kept your hatchet and quiver, Mr. Smith," said the doctor with a paternal twinkle in his eye. "Still, you were an easier patient than the young person who tried to punch her way through the security door," he said, making a gesture towards the transparent steel that made up the outside door of the small suite, now open since no extradimensional visitors were staying here. "Yeah, well.,,." Riley shrugged and scratched the back of his head. "Thanks for lettin' me show Robin 'round. You the only one on the floor today?" "No," said Drummond, shaking his head. "There's the skeleton staff in the dimensional sciences office, two colleagues of mine in the reconstructive surgery bay, and one dealing with a magical crisis. You know how it is here - we never really shut down."