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MisterShoebox

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Freedom City Guidebook

Freedom City PBP: A How-To Guide

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  1. MisterShoebox
    The car filled with red smoke, and suddenly there was a well-dressed undead gentleman sitting in the back seat between two no doubt very surprised baddies. Phantasmo the UNLIVING let out a wild laugh. "THE CURTAIN RISES AS THE SHOWMAN TAKES THE STAGE! WHAT LUCK TO FIND WILLING VOLUNTEERS! I AM PHANTASMO....THE UNLIVING! EEEEEEEEEEYYYAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!" he crowed, just for that added bit of scaring the bejeezus out of them. "NOW WHAT TO DO?! FIRE AT ME AND YOU RISK HITTING EACH OTHER! SHOOT AT HER AND YOU RISK DEATH! QUITE A CONUNDRUM, HMMM?! HHEEEEEHEHEHAHAHAAHAAAAHAHAHA!" Phantasmo put an arm around the shoulders of the two men in the back and said in a much more conversational, friendly tone (but still doing the whole VOice Of The Legion Thing). "D'you know, I think you should stop the car, lads. She looks like she means business." This was hella fun, he had to admit. He gave a cheerful wink through the windshield at Skaere and mouthed "Always give 'em a good show, duckie!"
  2. MisterShoebox
    Toughness save: 1d20+8=...9. F*CK! This is gonna hurt.
  3. MisterShoebox
    Yay! Hmmm...now what would that be? Reflex roll?
  4. MisterShoebox
    Doooh, curse my bad luckings in init rolls. This would have been the perfect opportunity for Phantasmo to 'port into the car, (Maybe sit in an empty seat) and say - "D'you know, I think we should listen to her, duckies! She means buisness!"
  5. MisterShoebox
    RIght, well - time to be theatrical. The bastard was currently dazed - no reason not to add insult to injury. "AAAAAAAHHHHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AND THE CURTAIN IS ABOUT TO FALL!" Phantasmo crowed as he 'ported up to the man with the undead dinosaur. If nothing else, this should provide a good distraction, the zombie thought as he landed on the back of the dino. "EEEEEYYYAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" - Plus, he really, really liked to do that.
  6. MisterShoebox
    Got a genuine werewolf, bro. You're borderline compared to her.
  7. MisterShoebox
    Hokay, sooooo....hmmm, we have a werewolf, a zombie, a lightning whip...guy...and a borderline feral dude! ...We should start a band.
  8. MisterShoebox
    Right, okay....hmmm....Ooh! I know! 1d20+10=18 - BLUFF AND DISTRACT!
  9. MisterShoebox
    Phantasmo, THE UNLIVING: >American Vikings >And Two More Shall Take It's Place >Organized Crimes
  10. MisterShoebox
    Okay, here goes! Initiative: 1d20+3=10 (DOH!) Note to self - next time I get more points, add to Inits.
  11. MisterShoebox
    Phantasmo, for his part, had also been surveying the crime scene. He turned when he heard Terrifica call out for company. "Sure thing, duckie - I'd be happy to tag along." He 'ported to her side and conjured up a small coin which he began to rotate. "Anyone else? You, Thoughtspeed? Rampart? Other lads who's names I haven't quite discerned yet? C'mon, Don't be shy." He coughed and looked a bit awkwardly at Cho. "Ummm...I mean this with the utmost respect and tact, dearie, but mayhap you should stay here? You did nearly...well...explode, you know. Or cause all of US to explode." He frowned. "Exploding's not fun, duckie. I've done it before...took me three whole days to put myself back together." Normally, he'd be more tactful...but he was still a bit troubled.
  12. MisterShoebox
    Now, this was a thing that Phantasmo did NOT like. At all. Bashing buddies is NOT okay. He took a deep breath and let out his customary bone-chilling laugh. "AAAAAAAHAAAAA-HEHEHEHEHEHEEEE! NOW THE ACT BEGINS!" The zombie 'ported a good distance away from the bruiser, and spread his hands. There was a beat, and suddenly a flock of skeletal, rotting doves burst forth from his sleeves to descend biting and clawing onto the burley man who was whupping on BK. He grinned savagely as this happened, and said in his normal voice - "And take that to the bank, you - *VERY NAUGHTY WORD*". No ugly sod's gonna whup on HIS buddy, NO SIR.
  13. MisterShoebox
    WEll, I obviously don't want to kill the poor guy, but I think a good old flock of evil skeletal doves from my sleeves start a peckin' and a heckin' at the masked Jerk, it should distract him a bit. Here goes. 1d20+10=27 (Yay!)
  14. MisterShoebox
    Giant Dinosaurs are running wild! We have a zombie, a big blue guy, and a rookie knight running around! Help us, Big Blue Guy and Rookie Knight!
  15. MisterShoebox
    Hmmmm....Well, might as well do some Noticing. 1d20+9=17...hmm...what do I see? Obviously someone is monkeying with us - why? It's a homicidal someone, sure, but they're going above and beyond here. Why US? Why THIS place? Who gains an advantage here?
  16. MisterShoebox
    Phantasmo, from where he was out of "Explosive Teen" range, noticed the monitors. He stopped rotating the coin across his fingers and looked confused. The zombie called out to everyone in the room. "Um...quick question and query, duckies; if all of us just got here with the notable exception of the explosive - hah, no pun intended - young woman over there, and if she's been in our sights all along..." He rubbed his chin and did his version of a blink; the yellow lights in his sockets dimmed slightly before brightening again. The garrulous ghoul continued. "...Then who turned the monitors on to reveal the grim scene of gore and guttings being carried out by Mr. Grant's great green ghoulie, who is then shown gallivanting off?" He used alliteration when he was troubled. And this....this was very troubling indeed. Not for the first time, the zombie desperately wished he could still inhale - he wanted nothing more than a cigarette right now.
  17. MisterShoebox
    Phantasmo realized that his actions may have been unwise. Emotionally distraught woman, vast power, clearly holding back explosive rage...yeeeeah, time to try not being theatrical or anything like that. Just straightforward. The zombie held up his hands in a disarming gesture. "Right, miss - let's calm down, all right? M'name's Harry G. Trent. I was born in London in '49, I like a drink, I like a good steak, and I'm friends with Fast Forward. You know Fast Forward, right? Fast chap, mum was a crook 'fore she went straight? Wife's got psychic abilities, etcetera?" He moved very slowly away from her - not leaving, but giving her her space. "See? No need for this to get violent. I'm moving away, right? There we go...nice and calm..." he said. "Look, I was following this chap - " He jerked his head to Thoughtspeed. "And was wondering how I could help. Let's all be nice and calm...it's all right..." Is he coming off as condescending? HOpefully not. But he really, REALLY didn't want to explode. He'd been dismembered before - catching his body when his head isn't attached is a right BITCH, and he really didn't relish the hassle exploding would put him through. Good grief.
  18. MisterShoebox
    Not one to waste time, Phantasmo simply told the policemen "I'm with them, duckies!" and 'ported into the building (but not before leaving business cards with the no doubt very confused police officers.) Phantasmo swore loudly when he saw the massacred body, blood everywhere, etcetera. "[VERY BAD WORDS],". He walked over to the remains of poor Lola and bent down, hmmming. "...That's....my God..." For once, the normally erudite zombie was at a loss for words. Only briefly, however. "...I haven't seen anything like this since that bastard with the gasoline can was setting the local vagabond group ablaze...but that bugger was at least drunk off his arse most of the time - this...I don't even have a word for this, duckies." He 'ported up to the other heroes and gave them the once-over before bowing smartly. "Sorry, bit rude of me, coming in, not even introducing myself." He took off his hat and rolled it down his arm to catch it in his hand. "Phantasmo, the UNLIVING, at your service." He paused, then looked apologetic. "Sorry, I know this isn't the time for theatrics...So, my dearie!" he looked over to Rampart. "Are you the one who found these poor people? Didn't happen to see any clues or anything of that nature, did you?" He conjured up a small coin and rotated it around his fingers in thought.
  19. MisterShoebox
    Phantsmo paused from his greeetings (sic), also seeing the ambulance and police car whizzing by. "...Doooh, hell, and I so wanted to actually RELAX today," he grumbled. "Ah, sod it - If I wanted rest and relaxation I would have STAYED dead." He turned to Thoughtspeed. "RIght, seems like a bit of goings-on, eh, duckie? Shall we go investigate, then?" He placed his hat back on his head and vanished in a puff of red smoke without waiting for an answer. It was rude, he was aware, but someone could be hurt; best to help now, apologize for rudeness later.
  20. MisterShoebox
    Phantasmo, THE UNLIVING, was far away from his usual haunt, so was moseying. He was a natural mosier, he mused to himself as he strolled down the boulevard, idly whistling a tuneless little ditty. This was the life, true enough...good, clean, fresh air, exotic new beers for him to sample, and the fact that he'd stopped a mugger a few minutes earlier put a spring in his step. "...Ooh, what's this then?" He asked himself as he spotted the colorfully garbed speedster known as Thoughtspeed booking it along the lane. He hadn't actually MET many of the other superfolks living in the grand old Freedom City, so why not start introducing himself? He raised a hand to Thoughtspeed as the young man zipped by. "Greetings and salutations, fellow basher of the skulls of vicious sods who prey on the unfortunate and innocent civilians of Freedom City! Mind if old Phantasmo the Unliving - that's me, by the way - asks where you're going in such a hurry?" The chatty zombie gave a cheerful grin and tipped his elegant top hat to the younger man.
  21. MisterShoebox
    Taggeth.
  22. MisterShoebox
    Phantasmo's always ready, willing, and able to lend a rotting, gloved hand. Busting heads, cracking jokes, drinking cold, cheap beer - it's all good.
  23. MisterShoebox
    Phantasmo, THE UNLIVING >Incursion: Uploaded to the Cloud >American Vikings
  24. MisterShoebox
    Not being the type to let a 65-million-year-old beastie chomp-chomp-chomp on innocent people, Phantasmo decided to attempt to stop it, like you do. Choosing for once to forgo the usual laugh and shrieking (time and a place, and when Evil Zombie Barney is chasing people that's definitely not the place), the zombie 'ported right behind the massive skeleton and threw a hastily conjured lasso of magical scarves he conjured from his sleeves, hoping to trip it up.... ...aaaaand he missed by a mile. "Sod!" he cursed, but paused when he spotted Black Knight and Jason. He 'ported over to them, all smiles. "Oh, hello, BK. Good to see you again!" he greeted the young hero and pumped his hand in a vigorous shake. "First skeletal vikings, then skeletal dinosaurs - Life's never dull when you're around, duckie!" Not missing a beat, Phantasmo turned and 'ported over to the giant blue man. "And hello to you too, chummy! Phantasmo the Unliving, master of macabre magic, at your service." Again with the vigorous handshaking.
  25. MisterShoebox
    Phantasmo wasn't as experienced as his other compatriots, and he'd felt like an eighth wheel ever since he had arrived; his attacks hadn't done much and his trademark hamminess had failed him (shock and horror.) However - never let it be said that he was unable to try something...unorthodox. The gallivanting ghoul leaped off the rooftop where he had been standing and let out another booming laugh. He booked it as close as he could to the nanite swarm. "AND FOR MY MOST AMAZING TRICK - FEAST YOUR EYES, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ON...." He gave a flourish with his hands and a swarm of razor-sharp playing cards flew from his sleeves, which he aimed at the cloud as he 'ported around it. "...A GAME OF 52 PICKUP! EEEEEYAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!" he crowed as the cards pelted and sliced the nanites, disrupting the pattern and making it hard for them to reconstitute...he hoped. If this didn't work - he'd feel very foolish indeed. Still, he persisted 'porting around the swarm and giving it his all. Never let it be said that Mrs. Trent's little boy gave up easily, NO SIR!
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