EviscerusNox

Maxie smiled as he started to study the pictures. Most people, and almost all with their first tattoo, want something that they feel defines them. A reminder of things they treasure, things that mean something to them, a great deal in most cases. Taken individually there was no interconnectedness to the drawings, but taken as a whole they represented the story of a person, it always did. So while he was scanning the pictures and thinking of ways to improve or tweak the design his smile wavered a little and his hand trembled when he saw the flame. To make sure his expression wasn't showing he turned around and cleared his throat. He told himself over and over again that it was just all wishful thinking, that it didn't mean what he thought it meant. There could be some greek fire god or something this represented. He scolded himself, silently reprimanding himself for being so full of himself. He shook his head, then cleared his throat again and said while his back was turned. "These are really good Moira. You have talent for drawing that many would envy fer sure. I kind of get some of these, what they mean, and I know tattoos are very personal so you don't have to tell me what they mean, I'm happy to do any one of 'em or all of 'em, spread out over time of course. You just tell me which and how big darlin' and they're yours free of charge." Maxie turned back around smiling and set the paper down reverently before putting on his shirt and walking over to the kitchen table and started pulling out what was needed. "Suppose yer gonna have to tell me where you want em as well. Also how much do you want me to tweak these designs, I can pretty much leave em as is if ya want, or I can embellish a bit on them. It's gonna be on your body forever so yer the boss here." Maxie smacked his head again and turned to the fridge sighing. "I am a rude host, I'm sorry. You want something to drink? Water, beer, orange juice or a soda? That's about all i got i'm afraid. Though I do have some nice scotch as well if ya want."

Maxie felt much like he was on a bender, his head fogged with heady aromas and headier passions. He fought neither the temptations, nor the promptings of Moira and succumbed to the fire that was engulfing the both of them. When he finally came to, it was as if waking from the longest sleep of his life and it took him a minute to remember where he was and what had happened. It all came back though when he finally opened his eyes and saw Moira lying next to him. His heart started racing as the pieces of the last few hours fell together in his mind, and a sinking feeling entered his stomach. Dear lord Maxie what have you done? As gently and gingerly as possible he extricated himself from Moira and slipped on his discarded clothes, then just sat with his face in his hands. He dimly was aware that his hands were trembling and that he was terribly thirsty but all he could do was replay everything that had happened in his mind. Sure, under other circumstances he would have liked to work up to this moment with her, but this had been pushed on them, their feelings twisted and goaded by an unseen hand, just like in the other rooms. He was afraid she wouldn't be able to look at him again, that he'd never see that smile again. He was terrified, in fact, that he'd just lost a friend to this hellscape, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He was angry at whatever nameless thing had done this, and at himself for not having the ability to stop it. Frustration ate at him, leaving his gut feeling hollow. If he could just get his hands on whatever it was making this happen, there wouldn't even be ashes left to identify. He pushed those dark thoughts away though and sighed heavily. Putting his feelings aside he knew he had to do whatever he could to get out of here, to get Moira out, before any more damage could be done to them and their psyche.

Maxie sat up with a start, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What in the world?" He wasn't expecting anybody so it was a surprise. Figuring it was a Witness or a salesman he stumbled to the door and opened it, shirtless. When he saw the vision that was Moira standing in front of him he suddenly became very aware of his half nakedness and stammered out a greeting. "Oh, h-hey Moira! This is a surprise," he then remembered them having a conversation about giving her a tattoo and slapped his forehead. "Oh right, of course, the tat. Come on in! Let me just clear off a space for ya real quick." Maxie moved his box of tattoo supplies onto the counter of his small kitchen and then threw the clothes that were piled on his couch and threw them in the bedroom then shut the door. Maxie was nervous, and he wasn't sure exactly why. Wasn't like he was new to doing tattoos or anything. "Please sit, you figure out what it is you want done? I can do just about anything ya want."

The sobs that racked Maxie's body soothed him as the warmth of her touch invaded him. The pain of the past slowly fading to be replaced by a quiet contentedness. She was right, he wasn't that little boy anymore. He didn't feel that same jealousy anymore when he saw mothers with their sons. He protected those kinds of people now. He may not have had a family growing up, but now, he did his damnedest to make sure that no boy had live without his mother if the dark things of the world tried to take them away. He had run from that responsibility for a while, but not anymore. He had grown, matured, and also forgave. He didn't hate his parents anymore for abandoning him, he left hate by the wayside, in that carnival years ago. When she kissed him on the forehead his brow unfurled, he took in one long shaky breath, then blew it out. He let her lead him to his feet, then wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. Shaking his head he let out a soft chuckle, "Sorry ya saw that. Parts of my childhood ain't exactly pleasant, but yer right, we got other places to be. Like kickin' the ass o' whoever threw together this shindig. Pain is one thing, but messin' with minds is a good way to get burned." When he looked back into her eyes finally his were a bright almost glowing red, although still puffy. There was anger there, but then it softened as Maxie continued to look into Scion's eyes. "Thanks by the way, not sure how long I woulda been stuck here if not fer you." Maxie grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Let's go."

Spitfire shot up straight in surprise at the newcomer's accusing tone. "Cultist?! Lady, the only cult I've ever been a party to is the Blue Oyster kind. Don't Fear the Reaper is my jam. If it's cuz of these getups you'll notice yer wearing one too. We all just popped in here in 'em." Spitfire looked at the crutches that Grim just conjured out of thin air and shook his head frowning. "Don't think that'll be good enough Grim, think you can conjure us up a cart or somethin'? If she needs carryin' I can do it, but I don't think she likes me much. Standing out here in the woods though isn't gettin' us anywhere, did the floaty lady see anything useful? Need to find people so we can find out where we are. Anybody here good in a forest? I may be from the south but I'm kinda a city boy haven't spent a whole lot of time in the woods." Spitfire did his best to keep his stance open and non-threatening for the newcomer's sake even though the situation probably warranted him staying more on guard.

sounds good, i'll wait one more day to see if anyone else wants to join in, if not it'll just be Brig and Bugbear. Was thinking might be fun to make a ruckus on the riverboat owned by the Scarpias for this, that ensures enough mooks and maybe some powered hired mercs hanging around for their next assignment

Greetings! So, Bugbear is going to do his initial foray into the seedy under belly of Bedlam. Basically he's tracking down the folks that "killed" him and tried to kill his wife. Thinking we'll go with something simple here, tracks baddies to sleezy back of bar poker game. Confronts the goons, shots are fired, heroes save the day. If there are patrolling heroes who hear the shots, or there for their own reasons, patrons of the bar, etc etc they join in the fun! I'm thinking max of 3 other heroes. It's not a whole casino of baddies so too many more and the fight isn't really much of a fight. Not that it's going to be anyway against the rank and file of the mob but there you have it. Let me know who's interested!

Spitfire watched the spindly tall woman ascend then turned to Grimalkin. "So what language is that y'all were speakin'? And how do you two," Spitfire moved his finger from Grim to Scion having absently thrown his arm around her during the hug and not let go, "know each other? Y'all know the tall lady?" Just as Maxie was about to ask another set of inane questions to keep his nervousness at bay another lady in robes popped into existence and fell to the ground at their feet. "Christ on a cracker! You alright ma'am?" Spitfire knelt down and offered a hand to the new addition. "Don't freak out, but you've been abducted and sent to another place and you're surrounded by people in matching yellow robes you may or may not know. Huh.. when you put it that way I figure you got reason to worry! Anyways, my names Spitfire, this here's Scion and Grimalkin, don't know any of the other folks here myself, but we'll soon remedy that. What's yer name?" Maxie smiled his most disarming smile, which worked only occasionally given the fangs and red eyes. He was trying to exude an air of nonchalance and confidence. Inside of course he was more than a little freaked out, and though hazy, still remembered the mostly distinctly unpleasant memories of the last time he was whisked away. Still someone had to seem like an old hand at this, try to keep everyone calm. Best way Maxie knew to do that was distract everyone with questions, get them to build a rapport maybe, survival wasn't just about getting bearings and knowing what plants to eat, it was also about being able to trust those you were stranded with. At least, that's what had gotten him through the last time. With that thought he turned his gaze back to Scion and smiled to himself, again feeling better to have her here with him. Sure she was good in a fight and all, but her bright demeanor, the ease with which she smiled, the laughter in her eyes that seemed to never go away, and her light, all helped to put him at ease. They'd been through a lot together and he trusted her, he knew with her help, they'd all get through this and he hoped to exude the same air with the newcomers giving them another shoulder to lean on.

One second, Maxie is outside, smoking a cigarette watching the girl he had been tattooing cover her eyes and look at the eclipse, and about to tell her she was going to ruin her eyes, and the next he was on his keister in the grass looking up at a bunch of women talking in a language he didn't recognize and wearing horrendous yellow robes. He looked down to see he too was wearing same robes and cursed before jumping up. "This is not my color, and not my style!" Maxie spat before ripping the arms off the robes, displaying his full sleeve tattoos on both arms, and making the robes look almost more like a sun dress. "Yeah, that didn't help the situation at all." Maxie turned to Grim when she adressed him and squinted his eyes trying to place her, then it dawned on him and his mouth spread into a toothy grin. "Yeah hey, I do know you! You had that kissin' booth at the carnival we held in town, god years back now. I can't remember yer name darlin' but I remember you bein' a damn fine kisser. Name's Spitfire, if we're bein' formal about it, you can call me Maxie though. All the girls I kiss get to know my real name." Maxie turned to Scion and laughed a belly laugh at the similarity between this and their last adventure. "Scion, my love, we gotta stop meetin' like this! Tell me you haven't gotten me dragged off to hell again!" There was genuine mirth in his voice, but also a little bit of apprehension. Their shared experience had been a less than jovial one, and a more than a little personal. They had seen things about the other that spoke to the core of their being. Things most people don't tell other people, unless they've known each other for years. It left him feeling, uncomfortable, to say the least. Still, he knew Scion to be a good person, or god, or whatever, and was glad to have her here, despite being once again shunted off to some place he had no clue about.

Removed Teamwork feat in favor of Immunity suffocation with power loss drawback when not insubstantial

Maxie sat hunched over the naked back of a 20 something girl giving what he thought was probably the 3 hundred and fiftieth butterfly tattoo right above her tailbone. The space was cramped, considering his tattoo parlor at the moment was his trailer. Maxie still hadn't gotten around to getting into a proper store front, as he had been busy lately what with the being sucked off into Hell for a bit, and then the little dust up with white supremacists at the concert. Things had been busy on the hero front, and that always seemed to interfere with real life, as it were. The girl beneath his needle was one of the girls that he had met the night of the concert. She was fun to hang out with and he felt he needed to keep his skills sharp so he decided to offer her a free tattoo. He wasn't planning on hooking up with her or anything, he really just needed the practice, despite her advances beforehand. Apparently what she thought free tattoo meant was something different then what Maxie had meant. Maxie stifled a giggle, remembering her response to finding out it was really about getting a tattoo. "I thought this was like a netflix and chill thing, only with a tattoo and not netflix," She had said, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout. "Think of it more like a netflix and chill thing, only with a tatoo and not chill. We can totally watch Netflix if ya wanna afterwards, I need to catch up on mah stories," Maxie had replied. Now he was completely in his head when he realized she had been trying to have a conversation with him. "Sorry, wassat darlin'?" He asked. "I said, did you wanna take a break to go outside and look at the eclipse? Supposed to be happening around now. Besides, might put you in the mood for that chill part we were talking about," she gave a flirtatious wink as Maxie straightened his back nodding. "Sure, could use a break, fingers are startin' to ache. Might be good to see some of those things that only happen once in a lifetime." "Actually the next one's only 6 years away I hear." she said as he opened the trailer door for her. "Huh, well, might still be a once in a lifetime thing depending on how interestin' the next six years are."

followed

Spitfire would be great for this i think! He looks demonic enough to be attacked by the townsfolk without the fact that he can literally breathe fire! If you're full up though, i get it!

Player Name: EviscerusNox Character Name: Bugbear Power Level: 7 (105/107PP) Trade-Offs: -2 Damage/ +2 Attack Unspent Power Points: 2 In Brief: Ghost of a dead Boxer returned to solve his murder and protect Bedlam. Alternate Identity: Declan Kelly Identity: Public Birthplace: Bedlam Occupation: Boxer/ Dead man Affiliations: none Family: Victoria Weiss-Kelly (wife). Description Age: 27 Gender: Male Ethnicity: Irish Height: 5'11 Weight: 240/0 lbs Eyes: Blue/ Red Hair: Black Declan was an imposing figure in life. Not the tallest guy in the world, but he packed on a lot of muscle into his middling frame. Many likened him to boxers like Rocky Marciano in stature. He had stark black hair and stark blue eyes that did make him somewhat successful with opposite sex despite his several times broken nose and cauliflower ear on his left ear. In “death” Declan looks even more intimidating. Almost all color looks to be drained from his form, with the exception of the constantly flowing blood from the wounds of the explosion and the deep red eyes. He still wears the same clothes as the day he died. A tan trenchcoat, now charred and tattered, a black fedora and black tattered 3 piece pinstripe suit. All his clothes have seen better days as much of them are charred and ripped in places and stained with blood and dirt. All this detail is discernible despite the fact you can see right through him. Power Descriptions: Declan’s power is that to phase out of the physical world. Or “ghosting” as he would call it. He glows a slight pale blue aura and is translucent when his power is functioning. When he uses his “Ghost Strike” his hand glows an even brighter blue and seems to be less translucent and more “real.” History: Declan Kelley was never anything special. He grew up in Bedlam, poor like everyone else, he worked for the seedier elements as muscle, to get by and pay for his next meal, just like everyone else. He had a temper and was prone to trying to solve his problems, both real and existential, with his fists, with violence, just like everyone else. At least, everyone else in Bedlam that wasn’t one of the do-gooders with powers. He always sneered at their kind. Of course it was easy for them to live a life of morality, they had the power to make that kind of thing happen. Declan was just a man, and he had to do what he had to do to survive, and that sometimes meant hurting people who didn’t deserve it. When he was in his just a boy he started boxing, he was always strong for his age, and the local gym was the only place he could go where everyone seemed to be equal, and the streets of Bedlam seemed a distant concern. He’d train for hours and hours, forgetting the world around him, the darkness and the dirt that worked its way into everyone’s lives in this city. By the time he was 18, he was actually a pretty good boxer. Sure he would never be a contender, you needed money and connections for that, but he did alright on the local circuit which helped supplement his meager income in a way that didn’t make his stomach twist, like working for the Scarpias. Declan’s life was simple, uncomplicated, boring, just like everyone else’s until Victoria. Declan met Victoria when he was playing bodyguard for one of the Scarpias barely ranking lieutenants, at The Circle Perk. She was serving coffee, and when she met Declan’s eyes it’s like color finally came into the world for him. He’d never seen someone so beautiful, so alive, so happy, so… not like everyone else. After a couple weeks of going back to the coffee shop on his own - and he hated that place because what was so hard about getting a black coffee there, why did it have to have funny Italian naming for its sizes and what in the wold is a Macchiato? – anyway after a couple weeks he finally felt the courage to ask the waitress for her phone number but before he could take she put a finger to his lips, handed him a napkin with her name and number, then told him to call her tomorrow. She pushed a small cup of coffee into his hands then laughingly pushed him out the door. They started dating that week, and were married the month that followed. Declan had never met anyone like Victoria, she loved life, and she loved the city. Bedlam, she loved Bedlam! Declan had never heard such a preposterous thing. She wasn’t blind to the darkness, or the evil that had its fingers around everything, but she saw what Bedlam could be, and if other people could see it too, then Bedlam would be beautiful again. She always believed that if you showed people compassion, that said compassion would become infectious, and the world could change with a smile. She had Declan believing it too, because her smile changed his world from something ugly, into something glorious. That all changed 6 months into their marriage, when he was blown up. Declan had quit working for the Scarpias, because Victoria wouldn’t have it, and had just been boxing full time instead of on the side. He was working his way up the local circuit, making a name for himself, when he was approached about fixing his fight with the Scarpias’ golden boy, Ty “Ten Punch” Derringer. The payday was big, but he knew what Victoria would say, the disappointment she’d feel if he did anything like that was enough for him to immediately say no. The button men who came to him with the offer tried to rough him up, but he easily put them down. Deep down, he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it, that there’d be a price to pay, but he thought he’d be willing to pay it, for Victoria. About a week after turning down the money, the night before the fight, Declan came home from practice, dressing in his best to take Victoria out for dinner, to find his apartment ransacked and Victoria beaten, and tied in the corner. She was frantically gesturing towards the stove, the gas line had been ripped from the wall and the stink of methane was in the air. Without thinking Declan raced to Victoria, picked her up, and jumped out the 4th floor window just as the apartment exploded. Shrapnel and flames engulfed Declan, and though as he lost consciousness he wrapped himself around Victoria, shielding her as much as he could from the blast, then turned so that he would fall on his back, and she would not hit the ground. When he came to he was standing over Victoria’s unconscious body, her leg was broken and she wasn’t breathing. He reached out to touch her, and he noticed he could see through his hands. He couldn’t grab her, couldn’t interact with her. He could only stand there and watch her bleed. He heard tires crunch on glass and ducked behind a dumpster. He didn’t know what was going on, but if this was the Scarpias he’d do something, anything to protect Victoria. He was relieved when he saw it was paramedics. The rest of the sounds of the world started rushing back to him, shaking him from his shock and he heard sirens, fire, and crying. He stayed hidden as he watched the paramedics work on Victoria. He heard the words “I got a pulse!” and he nearly screamed in relief. He started to run to her and the paramedics turned to look at him, their eyes going wide and skin going pale. They screamed “What is that?!” And started to back away from Victoria. Declan stopped. They had to keep helping her, they had to get her to the hospital, and that meant that Declan had to go. With anger and pain in his eyes he turned and just flew through the building and up into the night. He watched from above and followed the ambulance back to the hospital as best he could. Eventually he found which room Victoria had been put in after surgery, and there he “haunted,” watching her sleep with tears in his eyes. He was pretty sure he was dead so he thought it was funny that ghosts could cry. He stayed with her for weeks as she recovered, hiding from nurses and doctors, waiting for her to wake up. All the while he, thinking about who it was that did this to him. That killed him and hurt his Victoria. As soon as he knew she was safe, he would find out. One night, a nurse came in to the room that Declan didn’t recognize. A male nurse, holding a syringe of some kind. Everything about this felt wrong to Declan. She hadn’t gotten any injections in a week, why now? Declan flew from the bathroom where he was hiding and reached for the nurse, his hand clasping around the man’s wrist. His hand glowed, and he could actually feel the flesh under his fingers. The man yelped in surprise and dropped the syringe, turning to look at Declan. Declan recognized him then, another one of Scarpias’ cronies, just like he had been. Declan felt fire in his belly and snarled balling his other hand into a fist, getting ready to beat this man to death. He was obviously here to take Victoria away from him. He wouldn’t let that happen. No one would EVER take Victoria away again. As he reared back with one meaty paw, he heard a scream and saw Victoria looking at him, horror in her face and her eyes. Declan’s heart broke and he let the nurse go, who scrambled out of the room and down the hallway. He tried to plead with her, “Honey it’s ok, it’s me, Declan! Everythings ok!” but she either couldn’t hear him because he wasn’t making sound, or for her screams. There was shouts in the hallway as nurses and doctors ran to Victoria’s room, all stopping short and gasping or screaming at the sight of Declan, a translucent man bleading and burnt standing over Victoria. Feeling defeated, frustrated, and completely destroyed, Declan flew out the window leaving Victoria to the care of her doctors. To the care of the living. It’s been 2 months since then and Declan has learned a little bit more about his “condition.” He is dead, but he can affect the real world, at least, living things, with effort. He has spent most of that time guarding Victoria from afar, making sure no one tries to harm her again. So far no one has. But he also plans to hunt down whoever set that bomb, and the rest of the Scarpias, and everyone like them, that would seek to take something as beautiful and loving as Victoria out of the world. He knows he can never be with her again, as he is dead, but at least he can make sure she’s safe. Personality & Motivation: Declan in death is a downright dour man. He sees no light in the world, except that which comes from his wife, and he’ll do anything to protect that light. He takes no time for relaxation or comfort, except for the hours he spends watching his wife while at work or at home. All other time is spent looking for his killers and the would be assassins. He’s got unfinished business, and as soon as Victoria is safe then he’ll think about the rest of his eternity. Powers & Tactics: Declan uses his powers the only way that makes sense to him. He is a ghost after all, he passes through walls, stays in the shadows, learning what he can from the living. In a fight he relies on the skills he had in life as a boxer, but his punches now don’t connect with flesh, they hit at the very essence of a person. Even though he technically doesn’t need to, it’s ingrained in him to try and cover up, dodge attacks and counter. It’s hard to actually slip punches with his philly shell style since the punches just pass right through him, but he still considers it good practice to try. Complications: Not Actually Dead: Declan doesn’t know this, but he’s not actually dead, or a ghost. When the explosion went off it triggered a latent mutation that partially phased him out of reality making him insubstantial. His power works on it’s own for the most part but if it’s ever nullified or if he somehow falls unconscious he’ll revert back to being full flesh and blood again and has a high chance to succumb to the wounds that he received from the blast that don’t affect him in his ghosted form. If he ever does get his insubstantial turned off he immediately goes into the dying state and must receive immediate medical attention. Enemy: Scarpias Mafia. Obsession: Find his killers and the ones who tried to kill his wife and bring them down. Responsibility: Protect Victoria, his wife. Abilities: 8 + 2 + 6 + 0 + 4 + 0 = 20PP Strength:18 (+4) Dexterity: 14 (+2) Constitution: 16 (+3) Intelligence: 10 (+0) Wisdom: 12 (+1) Charisma: 10 (+0) Combat: 10 + 10 = 20pp Attack: +5/9 (Melee) Grapple: +13 Defense: +7, +2 flat-footed (Dodge Focus 2) Knockback: -4 Initiative: +2 Saving Throws: 4+2+3 = 9pp Toughness: +7 (+3 Con, +4 Protection) Fortitude: +7 (+3 Con, +4) Reflex: +4 (+2 Dex, +2) Will: +4 (+1 Wis, +3) Skills: 20r = 5pp Craft: Mechanical 1 (+1) Intimidate 4 (+4) Knowledge: Streetwise 2 (+2) Notice 4 (+5) Medicine 2 (+2) Sense Motive 3 (+4) Stealth 4 (+6) Feats: 7pp Attack Focus Melee 4 Dodge Focus 2 Power Attack Powers: 40 + 4 = 44pp Container 8 "Ghost Form" 40pp (Power Loss: all powers when insubstantial is off) Insubstantial 4 (mutation) “Ghosted” [20PP] Immunity 4 [Fatigue, Aging, Suffocation] “Specter Physiology” [4pp] Flight 2 (25 mph / 250 feet per Move Action; "Ghost Walk") [4PP] Strike 1 (PF: Mighty, Extra: Affects Substantial 5, Alternate Save: Will 5; “Ghost Strike”) 12pp Protection 4 (mutation) “Specter Physiology” [4pp] Drawbacks: (-0) + (-0) = -0PP DC Block: ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Ghost Strike Melee DC 20 Will (staged) Damage (Physical) Unarmed Melee DC 19 Toughness (staged) Damage (Physical) Totals: Abilities (20) + Combat (20) + Saving Throws (9) + Skills (5) + Feats (7) + Powers (44) - Drawbacks (0) = 105/106 Power Points

Spitfire rushed into the glass building, hunching his shoulders against the "rain." While sprinting beside Scion, in an effort to keep up the dwindling morale, Maxie started singing through gritted teeth. "Paindrops keep fallin' on mah head," Spitfire turned a tensed grin to Scion as he sang. It probably looked as forced as it felt to him so he let the song and the smile fade back into a scowl of discomfort. Maxie was not prepared for the site that awaited them once he pushed open the door. The sun was shining bright, the sky was cloudless and it was safely on the hot and humid side inside the building. Not only that, he recognized the place. Ramshackle tents arrayed in a wide open dirt field portraying signs for oddities such as palm readers, bearded ladies, dragon men, and of course, the largest structure, a large red, white, orange and black striped tent with the sign out front reading "Deerdra's Travelling Menagerie." Maxie stopped dead in his tracks and looked around, his face a mask of astonishment. He slowly turned his head from side to side, then mumbled to himself "I know where this is... I know when this is," Suddenly he bolted to the left, towards the entrance to the carnival. There he came up short, looking at a thin, colorfully dressed boy, wearing a hodgepodge of ribbons, tassles, and a coat seemingly made of buttons. He looked to be about seven, his face was dirty from the constantly blowing dust, and despite the noise his little voice carried across the park. "Step right up, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to Deerdra's Travelling Menagerie! Here you shall find the greatest oddities the world has to offer, the darkest secrets held for uncounted ages, and the most dangerous souls ever to be caged! All, to be witnessed, to be experienced, to be sampled, for just the price of an admission ticket! Let your imagination lead your feet to your heart's desires!" Maxie watched the boy, and a tear ran down the corner of his eye to rest in the crook of his nostril. He left it, unaware of it's presence as a family walked by the small boy. The father was not tall, and he was overweight, but still somehow looked frail and weak with thin arms. The mother, of course, was a vision of loveliness as all mothers were to Maxie. She was overweight, but not by much, and held the hand of a small boy around the age of the young carnival barker. The boy was laughing delightedly, skipping ahead, pulling his mother off balance every few steps, but neither seemed to notice. He held in his hand a sword made of blow up balloons and was doing his best Errol Flynn impression, slashing and thrusting at the air in front of him, fending off imaginary foes. It was then that Maxie noticed, more like remembered, the boy going silent, watching the happy family continue through the park. Out from behind the tiny carnival barker stepped a large man, tattoos lining his arms and wearing no shirt. He gave the boy a wicked, broken toothed smile and shoved him. "See that there, boy? That's too good for the likes o' you. Family is fer good boys, not lazy punks. Yer parents prolly didn't love you at all, can't have, to leave ya in such a sh*thole as this" The big man gestured to the carvinal and spat on the ground. Then for good measure pushed the boy again, this time knocking him down. When he saw the tears in the young one's eyes he cackled and walked off, lighting a cigarette. Maxie dried the tears from his eyes, vaguely being aware that he was no longer watching the little boy, but was the little boy again, just like that day so many years ago. And just like before, he turned to see the mother with the family look back at him, sadness etched on her face. He could tell she wanted to come to him, to comfort him. He wanted that too, so badly. He hoped that it was plain on his face, he hoped that she would come pick him up and just take him away with her. The dad seemed nice, maybe he would be ok with feeding another mouth. He could make them proud, he was smart, Deerdra always said so. Parents liked smart children right? Parents kept smart kids right? Why hadn't his parents kept him then? Why didn't his parents love him? Maxie felt tears start streaming down his face again as the boy pulled his mother away, still laughing and slashing the air, the father looked over at Maxie, scowling, then put his arm around his wife to turn her away and they continued into the park. Maxie scewed his eyes shut with all his might, trying to clamp the tears down, wishing all the while that he could be that boy. Hating that boy for all he had, for the love that he knew, for the warmth he got every night, safely tucked in his bed as his mother kissed him good night. Maxie deserved that bed! Maxie deserved those kisses! Maxie deserved that love! That other boy didn't even know what he had, there's no way he could. Maxie leapt to his feet and ran in the direction of the family tears blurring his vision. When he got up to them, he pulled out his small pocket knife and slashed the little boys balloon sword, popping it. The father tried to chase Maxie, but he was too fat and slow. Maxie exalted in the boys cries as he heard them fade. He hid behind a trailer smiling wickedly until he peeked around the corner, seeing the boy in the dirt crying. The boy was wrapped up in his mother's arms, and he cried into her breast. His smile dropped and he turned away, slumping to the dirt behind the trailer and put his head in between his knees and wept.

Ghost Boxer Stats: 8+2+6+0+4+0 = 20pp Str: 18 (+4) Dex: 14 (+2) Con: 16 (+3) Int: 10 (+0) Wis: 12 (+1) Cha: 10 (+0) Combat: 10 + 10 = 20pp Attack: +5/9 (Melee) Grapple: +13 Defense: +7, +2 flat-footed (Dodge Focus 2) Knockback: -7 Initiative: +2 Saving Throws: 2+7+5 = 9pp Toughness: +7 (+3 Con, +4 Protection) Fortitude: +7 (+3 Con, +4) Reflex: +4 (+1 Dex, +3) Will: +4 (+1 Wis, +3) Skills: 24r = 6pp Craft: Mechanical 2 (+2) Intimidate 4 (+4) Knowledge: Streetwise 3 (+3) Notice 4 (+5) Medicine 3 (+3) Sense Motive 4 (+5) Stealth 4 (+6) Feats: 8pp Attack Focus Melee 4 Dodge Focus 2 Power Attack Takedown Attack Powers:20+4+2+4+12 = 42pp Insubstantial 4 (mutation) “Ghosted” [20PP] Immunity 2 (Fatigue, Aging,) “Specter Physiology” [2pp] Protection 4 (mutation) “Specter Physiology” [4pp] Flight 2 (25 mph / 250 feet per Move Action; "Ghost Walk") [4PP] Strike 1 (PF: Mighty, Extra: Affects Substantial 5, Alternate Save: Fortitude 5; “Ghost Strike”) 12pp Drawbacks: (-0) + (-0) = -0PP

Figure I'll take the next room. I'll give you a chance to respond before I post again

Spitfire Hell isn't good.. It's Hell! (4) [Lost Expeditions] Castle Ravenloft (4) Ink! (1)

Spitfire was relieved for a few seconds to see Scion shake herself from the psychic onslaught, only to have dread fill his innards as Vita disappeared. "Christ on a cracker can't anything go right 'round here?" Spitfire cursed and spat on the floor before making a slow circle around the now empty room. Maxie was filled with apprehension, misgivings, and downright fear as to the unknown nature of what exactly was happening to him. He felt his hands start to tremble, so he closed them in fists. Then, that ball of tension in his gut started to burn and actual smoke started trailing from his nostrils as they flared. Anger was rising up in him, an anger born of frustration and a feeling of uselessness. Maxie decided it was time to stop feeling sorry for himself and start acting. He was supposed to be a hero after all, and not some damn sniveling child. Spitfire started for the door, purpose in his stride. "Come on, let's see about finding Vita and getting outta here. And when this is through, to hell with coffee we're goin' to get liqoured up good and proper."

Breakneck is a Claremonter who can run on water!

it's all good, everyone gets busy!

Spitfire looked at Scion uncomfortably for about a second before shaking himself, silently reprimanding his momentary hesitation. He then smiled and put an arm around Scion, leading her out of the door they had come through. "Oh come on now, who ain't been tricked by visages of their family tryin' ta get them to kill their friends? Happens all the time!" Spitfire's smile turned into a genuine look of concern, "Seriously though, you alright? Don't know what any of this is about, but I tell ya, I'ma stomp a mudhole in the ass o' whatever just decided it was a good idea to mess with yer head. I mean, it's fine to attack physically, but mind tricks? That's dirty, and I don't cotton to those that play dirty." Spitfire turned to Vita, "You got any idea on what it is that was all about or what's goin' on here? Better yet, can you get a bead on whatever's really doin that so I can go do that mudhole thing I mentioned earlier? I'm in the mood to go all Patrick Swayze Roadhouse on someone."

Breakneck carefully set Vagabond down then zipped over to Hyperactive scowling at the woman at the table. "I'm gonna go ahead and assume that things aren't what they seem here and this won't be as simple as tying her to that chair," Breakneck whispered. "I betcha she probably trapped the place like Lurlene and the others. Also, I'd like to point out that I was a complete gentleman with Vagabond and her clothes stayed on so you have nothing to worry about. Not that you were, worried, or you know, had cause for worry. You know what? Forget I said anything. After this is through I'm probably gonna go back in time and erase that whole interaction." Breakneck flushed beneath his costumed and cleared his throat softly.

Well I wouldn't mind either Spitfire or Breakneck being part of this crew, though definitely not both

Colt smiled mischeviously and bowed deeply to the hooded lady. "Au chante madamoiselle" he drawled in his best french accent (it wasn't great) then he cocked his head and held out an arm for her to take as if he were leading her on a date. "Let me show you the splenders of the world of speed." Colt stood up abruptly and frowned, "Wait a minute, I've never taken anyone with me before when going at super speed. Is that even safe? I mean, physics say that at a high enough speed her skin would rip off and the friction would set her on fire. Guys, help me out here, is that what would happen?" Colt visibly paled at the implication and figeted nervously.