R. Bluefish

GM Post "Y-yeah," wheezed Larry, stumbling slightly on his feet as he shook her hand. "We sure do. I guess that was...kinda like parasailing." His face was slightly pale, but he looked excited nonetheless. "Only without the parasail." Casey could see that while she had been rescuing Larry from the tugboat, more authorities had arrived. The area was now cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, and black-and-white squad cars were piling up from all directions. As Larry's friends took him aside, chuckling at his expression, a burly bearded man in a suit got out of one of the cars. His eyes immediately settled on Casey, and with one hand he beckoned her over. A golden FCPD shield was hung around his neck.

Starlight's eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly at Gretchen's words, but she said nothing. Huh, never noticed that before. Feeling as though she should make some token gesture in a similar vein, she ran a restless hand through her ponytail and vaguely straightened her leather jacket. Good enough. "Ready here," she said. "Read to meet the wizard, or whatever the hell he is." Shooting a sideline glance at Lynn, she added, "You should probably do the talking."

Yeah, sorry - dropped the ball there, trying to get caught back up.

GM Post The pilot, a stout grey-haired man with a potbelly, looked slightly white in the face from being in such close proximity to someone who could snap him over one knee, but her easy demeanor seemed to put him at his ease. "I'm, uh, Larry," said Larry, returning her handshake. "I already got all m'stuff - didn't want it going boom with the rest of this boat. Which won't happen at all, I hope," he added hastily. Grabbing his glasses from atop the console, he fitted them onto his face and took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm ready. Appreciate you doing this for us all, by the way. If that can had gone off, it could have taken out the whole dock, and our jobs with it. I'm good with heights, too - used to go parasailing when I was younger. I guess this won't be...that much different. Right?"

Oh, and by the way, you can feel free to just have Casey automatically pick the guy up and carry him over if you want. No need for rolls or complications - essentially just a ceremonial wrapping-up moment for the scene.

Gotcha, noted.

GM Post At her words, the lead dockworker cautiously poked his head up above the protective barrier that he and the other onlookers had dived behind. Wasting no time, he raised his radio to his mouth and said, "Okay, you're good! Go!" With a blast on the deafening horn in answer, the barge rumbled, then began to move, pulling away from the dock with its deadly cargo on board. This was the part of the plan that had the potential to be the most dangerous for the pilot of the tugboat that pulled it - but their position within the tugboat placed them as far away from the container as possible. Besides, single-handedly towing an entire barge out into the middle of the water would be a tall order even for someone with Casey's supernatural strength. Minutes passed in tense silence as they watched the barge slowly make its way out to the middle of the river, far away from the either shore. They had all seen the size of the hole the strange explosion had rent in the container - if they all went off at once, there was no telling what could happen. But at this point, they had done more or less all they could. Traffic on the river had been temporarily halted to make way for their delicate operation, and a news helicopter could be seen circling overhead. Then at last, the barge slowed, then stopped. It had reached the center of the river. Relieved sighs were released all at once from the gathered workers and technicians, and somebody slapped Casey on the back enthusiastically. "Ha! We did it!" The lead worker's radio crackled again, and the sheepish voice of the tugboat pilot could be heard. "Uh...could you ask her to come pick me up?" With a laugh, the man pushed the button on his radio. "Sure thing, Mack." Turning to Casey, he shrugged with a grin. "Detaching the tugboat ain't a one-man job. He's kinda stuck out there, so would you mind..." he made a vague up-up-and-away gesture with his hand.

Samantha raised her eyebrows, interested despite herself. "A stage magician, huh?" she said, leaning her shoulders against the wall. One might think that spending half her time hanging around actual magicians would make her less interested in stage magic - but after monsters, pocket dimensions, and cursed artifacts, part of her just wanted to get back to the realm of good old-fashioned trickery. "Me and my sister used to try to teach ourselves magic when we were kids, but half the time we weren't even able to pull the right card out of a deck."

Starlight eyed the woman suspiciously. "Wait, you're not the boss?" She shouldn't be surprised, probably - if there was one thing she was learning about magic, it was that things were seldom what they seemed. And they were never simple. The "boss" was probably hidden under a trapdoor guarded by a giant three-headed hound or something like that. Whatever it was they needed to do, she was suddenly acutely aware that she was the only one there with no knowledge of the arcane. Even Gretchen seemed to have picked up a thing or two from Lynn - but she couldn't say the same. She could only hope that getting out didn't require them all to cast a spell or something.

GM Post The onlookers were watching the display of impossible speed, openmouthed. Freedom City was Freedom City, but it still wasn't every day you saw a skinny girl do what would take a half-dozen grown men several days to complete, in under two minutes. They blinked as they registered their words, then the lead worker glanced at the man to his right and waved his hands furiously in a get-to-it motion. The man scampered off, returning a minute later with an unopened bottle of cold blue Gatorade, which he handed to her, pale-faced. As he did so, the woman who had mentioned the garden soil whispered something in the head dockworker's ear, which sounded to Casey a lot like "Hey, ask her if she wants a job."

GM Post Almost immediately, the man rounded on the small crowd of gathered spectators and workers. "You head the lady!" he shouted, waving his arms. "Bring tools! And materials! Hammers and nails! And dirt! Who has dirt?" One of the assembled dockworkers raised her hand. "I think we brought in a whole container of garden soil today-" The man clapped his hands approvingly - or did a motion that was as close to that as his bulky protective suit would allow. "Good! Get it! Get it all over here! Move it, people, these things might go off again at any second!" That last part in particular seemed to provide all the motivation the onlookers needed - they immediately broke apart, rushing to gather the materials Casey had listed. Within minutes, they had reassembled in front of a steadily-growing pile of materials. Hammers, drills, nails, screws, spare boards, and any other odd bits and ends the workers had thought might prove useful were all heaped high in a ramshackle pile. The barge was already being moved into position, and the worker from before used a forklift to dump a dozen industrial-sized bags of gardening soil onto the ground beside the pile. Anxiously, the man in the armored suit looked at Casey. "Is this all you need?"

I'd call that a DC 15 Craft (structural) check - which she can of course take 10 on if she wants.

GM Post The man looked at the stack of pallets, then at the deadly container, then at Casey. "That...could actually work. We get it into something that maybe dampens the blast if it goes off, and we send it off into the middle of the water. Then once it's safely away from everybody, we can deal with it in our own time without having to worry about it going off and taking out half the dock." He frowned. "I don't know if I'd be able to help you very much with that, though. This getup," he gestured helplessly to his protective gear, "isn't really designed for heavy manual labor. But then again, if you were able to life that thing," he eyed the container, "maybe you won't actually need my help at all."

Echo Late Night Out Justicar All That Glitters Starlight The Box of Delights Nothing Fancy, Just Hanging Out GM Dark Dealings All GM posts to Echo, please.

Happy birthday, Rav!

Lena snorted. "Messing with their rides? If I know bikers, that oughta piss them off. Draw them outside, we can take them down out in the open. They won't be able to use the environment against us - I like it." Besides, who can walk away from a chance to destroy some skinhead asshole's bike. "Makes it more likely that they'll all come running out at once, too - I don't want to be dealing with a hostage situation today. Just let me get into position, some of us like to get up close and personal." She set off jogging towards the building's main entrance, her long legs quickly devouring the distance. Reaching the factory, she pressed her back against the wall directly next to the main doors. With one hand, she made sure her mask was in place, then gave Luthor the thumbs up. Let's do it. Clenching her hands into fists, the centers of her pupils were suddenly lit from within by pinpricks of red light. Threads of crimson energy began dancing around her arms and torso as she focused her power in preparation.

Taken Down By Angrydurf Justicar Increase Takedown Attack from Rank 1 to Rank 2 [1PP]

"Little talking never hurt anybody," said Lena as she got out of the truck cab. She now wore her white sweatshirt, a set of black justice scales emblazoned prominently on the back, the hood down to let her hair fall free around her shoulders. "Sometimes it gets their guard down so you can kick their teeth in. Besides," she cast a wary glance over the row of gleaming motorcycles, "I don't love these odds. Best case scenario, they've got us seven to one. And @#$% knows what kind of artillery they're packing in there, but I ain't bulletproof enough to be taking any chances today." Cracking her neck from side to side, she rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and tied her black mask around her face. "Gotta remember they might have the old guy in there somewhere. Wouldn't be very good superheroes if we let something happen to him, so there's another reason to not just kick in the damn door." As much as she was looking forward to cracking a few skinhead skulls, there was a smart way to go about this. Looking up at the looming factory before them, she eyed the upper-story windows. "Could probably get up there. If any of us do want to go in quiet, taking the high road's not a bad way to do it. Especially if those open onto the factory floor."

There's a post for ya - sorry for the delay. And rest assured that Casey isn't stupid!

GM Post "No, no, you did the right thing," the man assured her. "Bomb or not, they're still explosives, and that's our specialty. Would've been pretty ridiculous to have an exploding cargo container and not call the bomb squad, right? It's just," he frowned. "We're good at defusing individual devices. Preferably ones with a big ticking timer and a convenient red wire we can snip. But these..." he stared into the hole in the container. Now that she was closer, Casey could see the container was loaded, floor to ceiling, with rack upon rack of fist-sized metallic black globes. Smoke still rose from the edges of the blasted metal, and quite a few of the globe-like grenades - if indeed that was what they were - seemed to have been vaporized in the explosion. But the rest were still there, ominous and gleaming. "We can't defuse these," said the man, worry audible in his voice. "Way too many, and I wouldn't even know where to start with one. All we can do is try to move them someplace safe. We..." he swallowed. "We just better hope they don't go off again."

Echo managed to regain her composure enough to walk over to one of the windows and peer inside, cupping her eyes with her hands against the glass. "Eh, depends," she said absentmindedly to Shrike. "My 'porting is short-range enough that it's not much good for getting places fast - I've got my feets for that. Even then I try not to pop blind into places I don't know well, or I might...well yeah, end up in a wall," she said, with a sidelong glance at Phantasmo. "And I'm not, you know, a zombie, so I figure best case scenario they'd be cleaning me up with a wet-vac if that happened." With a whumph, she was suddenly standing beside the Shrike. "And that, ladies and germs, is why I try to only 'port to places I can see. And since some foolish person seems to have installed windows in this building - really, when will they learn - we'll be inside before you can say..." she reached out and rested one hand on Shrike's shoulder. Whumph. "...boo," finished Echo. They now stood on one of the high rafters that crisscrossed the inner roof of the factory. As Phantasmo appeared beside them in a puff of smoke, Echo raised a finger to her lips and pointed silently down. Most of the abandoned factory lay in deep shadow - but far below, amid the shadowy shapes of disused machinery and equipment, there were lights. Lights, and voices. As they strained their ears to hear, they could just make out one of them - a woman's voice, raised in anger. "...been here by now! What was the point of hiring you useless clowns if you can't even make good on your end?" Another voice could be heard stammering protests, but was swiftly cut off by a third voice, this one a man's. "Don't try excuses. We give 'em ten more minutes. They aren't here by then? We're going to get upset."

Lena leaned in close to the screen as she scrutinized the footage, unconsciously twisting one of her dreads around her finger. "Wait, I recognize that ink," she said. Raising one finger, she traced the distinctive shape of the tattoo. "Bikers. Skinheads, I think." Ought to be fun. "It's a gang tat for sure. This isn't something you just get from some corner ink parlor. Not if you've got any sense in your damn head." She sat back in the flimsy swivel chair, considering. "Adds up. Robbing some old Jewish guy's store certainly seems like something a bunch of skinhead assholes would do." There was something else that looked like it could make things interesting. "Tell you one other thing," she said, jabbing a finger at the monitor. "They aren't Brotherhood. Wrong ink. Out-of-towners would be my guess - probably doing business without the Mafia's okay." She hesitated, then looked at their strange new acquaintance, who didn't seem to have much of a working understanding of the city. "Brotherhood are the only ones the Mafia say get to ride in this city. Anybody else gets shut down or put down." She turned back to the monitor, her eyes drawn to the "SNAC" visible on the side of the van. "If they are laying their heads in the old candy factory, that might explain it. New in town, no other place to hole up." They had their lead. She rose, grabbing her book bag with one hand and slinging it around her shoulders. "Think we've got a candy factory to scope out. If they're in there, we'll just go have a conversation with them, yeah?" Glancing again at the hooded woman, she jerked her head. "Coming?"

May be moving things along rather abruptly there - let me know if you want me to roll anything back, or allow Casey a chance to take additional actions!

GM Post Luck was apparently with her - if indeed it was possible to be lucky in this situation - because Casey's scan revealed no other containers that were loaded with the same deadly cargo. Only row after row of cold, uniform steel boxes. Whatever the objects were, apparently one shipment was enough for whoever was behind this. Tires screeched, drawing her attention back down to the scene bellow. Emergency services were quick to respond in Freedom - by necessity, given the number of...unusual occurrences that were all-too-common in the city. Already, police cruisers were arriving from all directions, and a large white an with "BOMB SQUAD" spraypainted on the side was unloading personnel. Personnel so heavily armored and protected, they looked more like deep-sea divers than anything else. Slowly and cautiously, they advanced on the ominous-looking container. As they did so, the unprotected personnel - including the dockworkers - all quickly retreated back to a safe distance, behind swifly-erected barriers. With visible apprehension, one of the men moved ahead of the group to approach the container. Gingerly, he pulled himself up to look inside. He paused for a moment, then lowered himself back down. "I don't think it's a bomb!" he called out, loud enough for Casey to hear him from where she was. "They look more like..." he glanced back. "Grenades?"

"What career was that?" asked Samantha, in response to Samuel. "Business?" He looked like the business type somehow - or at least, he did to her eyes. But then, when you grew up with her background, pretty much everybody looked like some fancy businessman in comparison. For all she knew, his prior career was flipping burgers at a fast food joint. Not the most illustrious history for a superhero, but she'd learned that heroes could come from inauspicious places. As she overheard Lynn's words through the open patio door, she paused in her tracks and leaned on arm against the wall. She spent so much time feeling sorry for her damn self, sometimes she forgot that other people had way more messed-up lives than she did. At least she'd never been stuck in an alternate dimension for...more time than she cared to think about. If that had happened to her, when she came back she probably would have been completely broken. It happened to Lynn, and when Lynn came back she was running a bookstore and giving second chances to recovering street junkies. It took all kinds of people to make a world.