MisterShoebox
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Phantasmo raised an eyebrow - or at least, he would if he HAD any eyebrows. There was a general air of eye-brow raisyness. Raisiness. You know what I mean. "Right, mate...aren't YOU interesting..." He smiled. "Either you're really dedicated to the act, duckie, or we have a lot in common, eh? Join me for a drink?" He indicated a booth selling Pumpkin Beer! So Good, It's Scary! "Not a lot of opportunity for chaps like us to just sit and shoot the shit, son. Hope you don't think me too forward." The zombie bounded over to the stand, purchased two beers, and comes back. He hands a glass of the orange alcoholic beverage to the other undead gentleman, and raises his glass in toast. "To...To something! Sod it, to having a good drink."
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If Rahman had taken another look at one of the spooky indulgers of rabid and rapid revelry, he may have noticed that one of them seemed a bit too..realistic. Sure, Phantasmo had removed his usual black, well-cut tuxedo, cape, top hat, and domino mask ensemble to go with...A slightly DIFFERENT, GOLD tuxedo and top hat. No cape or mask. This, coupled with a set of sunglasses to hide the fact that the zombie's eyes were..actually not really there, and were in fact a set of yellow lights in his empty sockets, completed the ensemble. Normally, he wouldn't have bothered - he liked Halloween, but somehow going out when you were already dead felt like...cheating, somehow...but today, he decided to try something new and go on the town, as it were. Anyway, when Phantasmo saw Rahman walking down the way, observing the partiers in his smart cloak and staff - VERY classy, VERY classy indeed - He couldn't help but walk up to him and clap him on the shoulder. "Spot-on costume, Duckie! Way to get into the 'spirit" of things, eh?" he said, laughing a bit at his own joke.
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Ditto, Kiddo.
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Phantasmo...THE UNLIVING...took a bite of his sandwich. He had been able to purchase said food item when he was sure the rescue workers had things well in hand, though he was still a bit worried about Black Knight's lady friend. But, he reasoned, no need to worry over an empty stomach. He 'ported over to his friend and handed the young Super another brown paper bag. "Here you are, son. No need to fret with an empty stomach." The zombie said kindly. It was meatball on rye. Something caught his eye, though. "Hello...to quote the stereotypical British Pig, "What's all this then?" Phantasmo asked to himself. Those gentlemen who were arguing and pointing at the building...they didn't look like your regular shoppers. The hardware he spotted under their coats proved that, as well. "Hmmmm...curioser and curioser..." He was about to accost them, when yet ANOTHER thing caught his eye. "...Question, duckies!" He asked his fellow supers. "What kind of door does an employee need a pass for, that's not an emergency exit..." He pointed a white-gloved finger at the door in question and 'ported over to it. "And, to boot....ohhoh..." He removed the employee ID that had been left there. "Well...this just became interesting..." Phantasmo mused as he held the little piece of plastic in front of his face.
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DAMN! I'm sorry, I've been having an off...week. Okay, here goes....1d20+9=28! Woo-hoo!
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I'm up for der Complication! Complications are complicated! And cool! And Phantasmo is a zombie, so I WOULDN'T like to meet the person who is okay with that.
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Phantasmo got up and popped his jaw back into place with a loud CRACK! He frowned, and - as a very rare expression for him - looked troubled. "Sorry, duckie - " the zombie declared to the hopping frog-woman. "My hocus-pocus doesn't really work like that, yet." His words were calm, but it was obvious from his body language that he was worried. "I can't 'port more than one person at a time, and even then not when they're injured. Unless you want me to possibly do MORE damage..." He hmmed and rubbed his beard, then set his jaw in concentration."But I don't just have hocus-pocus, dearie." The zombie walked over to one of the wounded who had been trapped under what looked like a very heavy chunk of building. He knelt, and - showing no sign of strain or effort - lifted the chunk of masonry off of the poor man's leg. "OI! NEED A BIT OF HELP HERE, LADS!" The zombie shouted to one of the uninjured survivors, doing his "Scary Voice" for louder volume.
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Phantasmo picked himself up, shaken but not stirred...well, okay, he was a bit stirred. He actually felt quite beside himself. "Oi!" The zombie shouted. The hand that had been removed during the explosion scuttled over to the zombie like a macabre crab, then sat patiently while the master of the macabre magic retrieved it. "Right...there you go, duckie!" Phantasmo nodded as he held the hand to the stump on his arm. A few seconds later and the gap between hand and arm sealed itself, leaving the zombie once again ambidextrously advantaged. "RIght, I...ooooh...all right, maybe time for me to get my bearings..." The room was indeed spinning. The explosion had taken more out of him than he thought. HIs eyes widened as he desperately felt himself, making sure that that statement wasn't a literal one. Everything seemed to be in order. "All right, duckies?" he called over to his companions. "All your bits in one place?" He leaned breathlessly against the wall where the blast had launched him, waiting for the room to stop spinning. "Just going to sit here 'till my bearings are gathered, as it were."
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Whoop! Forgot about the Notice check...okay, here goes...1d20+9 vs DC 15... 1d20+9=12. Dammit.
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Okay, Reflex - 1d20+7=14 (DAMMIT) TOughness...Well, he's a zombie, so any real damage done can't really kill him AGAIN...but if he's decapitated, you're gonna wanna catch his body before it runs into traffic or something. Phantasmo's soul is spread through out his entire body, so if he loses a limb, he can still manipulate it...so long as the "Driver" is still on the torso - his head. No head, no mind, we got a driverless car. Just FYI - okay, here goes. 1d20+8=18. WOO-HOO! Only two points damaged...okay, that's good.
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Phantasmo...the UNLIVING! observed the froggy young lass do her tongue thing - and then observed her hoppyness. An idea formed in his undead head and he conjured up another scarf snare. "All right, duckie! Here's a thought! I snare the bastard and then you kick him right in the ugly face!" It was at that point, he remembered, that shouting out your plan is a bad idea, as the evil glowing man was given ample time to avoid the snare. Phantasmo sighed. This was just not his day. First the salesman ran away when he tried to purchase his slacks, now this. Ah, well, he thought to himself. C'est la vie!
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Good idea! Spending an HP to reroll - here goes... 1d20+12=29! WOO-HOO!
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Hmmmm....Okay, well...I'm gonna need to use finesse here, so I'm going to try to trip him up with scarves like I did with the first guy, then hopefully Sea Devil can put the fear of God into him with a well-put kick. Here goes... 10+2 with the bonus, soooo... 1d20+12=....17. DAMMIT.
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Phantasmo noticed that the self-proclaimed seemed distracted, and - being a true son of London and having been involved in a punch-up or two back when he was just plain old Harry Trent - did what anyone in that situation with that upbringing would do; he 'ported behind Boomer and wound up for a left hook that would have probably sent the man to the bliss of unconciousness...had the undead man actually connected. He did not, however - he was somewhat distracted by Aquaria attempting to KICK the ugly lout in the head, and he too missed by inches. "Oh bugger." Phantasmo uttered, not unduly concerned. This was probably going to hurt.
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Hmmm...well, obviously this guy is strong...but Phantasmo is no slouch either in the "Super Strength" Dept. So...for Movement, I'm gonna 'port behind him, and for action...Gonna see if I can punch him inna head. 1d20+8=19 - D'OH! (PS - sorry for lateness, Interwebs have been bad.)
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Spotting the running man, Phantasmo grins gleefully and 'ports in front of him. "AND HERE HE IS! LET'S HEAR IT FOR HIM, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! EEEEYAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" he crows. Working quickly, the undead magician conjures a length of strong, flexible scarves from his sleeves and lassos the fleeing thug. "COME ON, AND WE TAKE A BOW!" He chortles as he tosses the man over his shoulder and turns around, ready to lug him back to the group...when... "...Oh, shit...that doesn't look too good, does it?" He muses to himself. Not for the first time, Phantasmo desperately wishes he could still enjoy the taste of a good cigar...he could really use one right about now, especially because he could probably guess as to what is about to happen. He turns his head to address Aquaria and Black Knight. "HIT THE DECK, DUCKIES! THINGS ARE ABOUT TO START POPPING!" he shouts as he 'ports to a safe distance (making sure the no-doubt screaming man is safe. Just 'cause he's a thug doesn't mean he should die of...whatever was about to happen.)
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Hmmmm.... Well, I don't want the bad guy escaping, so I'm going to 'port in front of him for my Movement... and try to use the old Scarves Lasso trick to capture his butt. Snare him up, as it were. Here goes.... 1d20+10=23
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For Inits: 1d20+3=23! Observation: 1d20+9=20! - Well, he is an observant undead type of guy...
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There's a cloud of red smoke, then an eerie laugh. "EEEEEYYYAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AN ENTRANCE WORTHY OF A TRUE PERFORMER, YOUNG MAN! NOW TAKE YOUR PLACES, THE SHOW IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!" Sotto voice, Phantasmo...The UNLIVING! Gives a much more subtle nod to his friend as he 'ports next to him and conjures a razor-sharp playing card, twirling it between his fingers. "NIce entrance, ducky, but next time add a bit of "oomph." Always leave 'em wanting more, BK, and that's a free fact." The macabre master of mysticism gives a flourish and bow to the thugs robbing the joint. "FOR MY FIRST TRICK, I REQUIRE A VOLUNTEER FROM THE AUDIENCE!" This was much more enjoyable than purchasing a new pair of slacks (which is what he had come to the plaza for originally) Phantasmo mused to himself.
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Confirmed Interest, yo!
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Yes, actually. Sometimes...if it's out of range of his teleportation.
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Phantasmo could always use more stuff to do, dude! He's a awesome guy with awesome zombie stuff! The first one would probably be more realistic, but a zombie on an airplane could be hilarious. He doesn't know that much about planes, admittedly...
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Phantasmo clapped the young feral on the back and conjured up one of his razor-sharp playing cards. "You leave the guns to old Phantasmo, duckie - I'll make 'em disappear faster than you can say "Abracadabra." He paused awkwardly and quickly removed his hand. "Oop - er, sorry, mate." He 'ported over to Skaere and gave her a once-over, clicking his tongue and running a hand down his beard. "...Well, you have the most "Muscle" of all of us, duckie - I'm no slouch in that department, but I do believe you have me beat..." He looked over to the other heroes. "What do you think, lads? Send her in after the guns have been taken care of and the brunt of the bastards have been taken out? Or have her interrogate some of them?" He turned back to the wolf woman. "What do you think?
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Phantasmo Hmmmed. Normally, he would just 'port in, do the whole "Terrify" thing, get shot up a whole bunch, then apprehend them while they were staring dumbfounded as the bullets did nothing...buuuuut that wouldn't work here. "Well, bullets aren't really a problem for me, ducky," he told Wildcat. "Being already dead and all. You do make a good point, though...I wonder..." The magician stroked his goatee as he thought, then eyed each of his companions in time. "What we need, more than anything, is a convenient - but subtle - distraction. I can't do it, of course - being a showman, I'm about as subtle as a brick to the nadgers, as my dad used to say." He looked to Coil. "Coil, old man - tell me, how accurate are those electrical whips of yours? D'you think a convenient electrical failure might help? We slip in while the darkness is in and take them out real quietly...or rather, YOU do, addressed - " he turned to Wildcat. "...I hate to put you on the spot, ducky, but you're probably the most stealthy amongst us. The Illustrious wolf-woman being...well, a great bloody wolf woman, no offense." He shot an apologetic look in Skaere's direction. "And me being a grand showman, of course. Subtle isn't really my 'forte'". He made air quotes around that last word. "It's an idea, anyway." he stated simply, waiting for the others to give their input.
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Phantasmo: Organized Crimes