Avenger Assembled

Avenger thought about Archeville's response for a moment, then confessed, "Leather is not geninue. Have other outlets for funds." As she spoke, she stripped off one of her blood-stained heavy leather gloves, revealing long, delicate fingers underneath that came to perfectly manicured nails dyed a lovely, reflective shade of black. "Silver a wise idea. Results will be unexpected. Recommend you concentrate on mechanics of gender-switch."

Oh, what the heck. I'm in! If we're careful about who says what to who. :)

Oh my, you certainly did! I sorry.

Hey, Lord Fell, are we doing this thing?

I say, why play it safe? I will take the penalty. :D

"More complicated than you imagine," Avenger replied, her voice back to the flat, cold purr. "Will offer a tissue sample. Am aware of your good intentions. Recommend you use vessel lined with silver compound to take sample." She turned and shot a look back at the other two; maybe she couldn't hear them, but from what she'd seen of those two, it wasn't hard to guess what they were thinking.

They can't see Avenger's mouth move or her facial expressions, which is problematic. But I would say Avenger's body language is such as to convey her unhappiness. Also, Sand, yeah, I'd avoid the yellow font. I thought Wesley was speaking in spoilers! :D

Well, they can spend one of their HPs to shake off their stunned, can't they? Or am I mis-remembering?

Fourth-ed!

This is the OOC thread for Avenger and Pompadour's confrontation with...something.

Jack was not at all sure that Da Bomb was a legal establishment, for all that they'd been fairly open in their advertisements posted in the Theater District. The club was underground near the edge of the city alongside Lonely Point, built out of an old Navy bomb shelter sold off to developers during budget cutbacks in the early Nineties. A massive sound machine and flashing laser lights kept the underground open space from feeling claustrophobic, and the thick walls and underground locale allowed for some truly wicked music. He was feeling a little buzzed himself, having gotten something more than blood from the hottie in the really short skirt he'd picked up in one of the darker corridors off the main body of the dance floor. The E in her system meant that he'd made sure she went home (with a little suggestion about her drug habits) as soon as they'd finished, but by then he'd already fed. The colors were interesting, certainly, but feeding off drug-users always made him feel bad, both for the wasted potential (that he knew only too well) and what it meant for himself. Was he really such a louse that he was reduced to picking up women who were too high to know any better? Next time, he promised himself, I'll be more careful. Some people didn't show the signs of chemicals in their system until you actually tasted their system. Drinkless at the bar as techno music pumped down to his very bones, he looked around, checking out a clientele that looked to be surprisingly upscale for an establishment like this. Of course; the base. The sailors, kids really, at the naval base, could come here to drink and party, maybe scoring a little weed or more on the side, and the college kids could get outside the jurisdiction for more of the same. They've got money coming in from somewhere, he thought. You know, I wonder if this is one of Melinda's joints... The high-class atmosphere mixed with the carefully concealed sleaze certainly fit the queen vampire's M.O., and it would explain all the dark corners around here. He'd need to investigate. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so bad about the kid he'd fed from that night. This is why it's easier to beat up criminals. A lot less morally complicated that way.

Jack stayed busy that night, first stealthily reconnoitering each and every domicile in the Imperator Hotel to get a better idea of who lived where and in what conditions. In the form of nearly invisible mist, he was essentially impossible to spot for the vast majority of the dwellers in the motel and for those who seemed more sensitive he stayed especially careful. When he had a better idea of who lived where in the hotel and what their needs were, he took his fancy new Krugerrand to a rare items dealer he knew through the vampiric community. He had the coin's value appraised there, the better to suss out exactly how reliable was his new ally.

Jack smiled a little, his mind working as quickly as it could. "I'll have results for you soon," he said, rising to his feet. With a neat little flourish, he slid the coin into the cuff of his sleeve. "I'll leave the rest of that bottle for you, I think, as a gesture of good-will. The girl's head will be yours within a fortnight, as will peace and security in your domicile." He popped his neck. "I'll come by and visit again. Feel free to stop by my place any time, Pitt. It's a good time for both of us to have friends."

"BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE ANY BLOOD!" Avenger detonated. There it was, one whopper of a secret right there in mixed company. Avenger squeezed her long, lovely fingers into fists, her leather gloves creaking inside the cone of silence. "I don't have any blood.," she repeated a moment later, more quietly. "I don't have any bodily fluids. I can't give you what I don't have."

Yes. Yes. It was all going according to plan, if you could count rapid improvisation as a plan. If Pitt thought of Jack as just a young punk looking to make friends and influence his fellow vampires, the sort who could be bought with gold, it would make things far less complicated for all of them. "That is a lot of gold. I don't think I've ever seen so much in one place." He smiled, reached into the box, and took a single gold coin. "I think this is a suitable down payment for my victory," he said cordially, a young man's smile on his face. "I will see to it that the girl is removed from your cares, never again to be a menace to your interests. In return, I will gladly accept the remainder of your gold once the job is done. And in the future, when you are carrying out your business in the city, I trust that you will remember the value of my services goes far beyond gold." With a smile, he bit down on the coin with a long eyetooth. It was real, of course, but it was always good to make an impression.

Electronic dampening field or not, Avenger grabbed Archeville by the shoulder and pulled her close. The vigilante smelled like a rough men's aftershave and dirt, blood and the mixed scents of the city on her skin as she leaned her masked face close to Archeville's ear. "I can't. Do you understand?"

Hopefully Avenger's soon-to-be-arriving buddies will save him from the gallows if he gets in a big fight. :)

I look forward to it with interest!

Now, let's see if Dr. Archeville dares step into a private room with the woman of her dreams... :)

When we're through with this, Avenger owes Scarab an apology. He'll have to make up for his mistake in the next few minutes. :twisted:

Eh, I thought I'd avoid getting into a grapple as my first action in a new city. It seems declasse!

Jack winced in automatic sympathy, imagining the agony the other vampire must be in. He'd tasted magical injuries in his own time, but that wound looked excruciating. It was hard not to imagine his fear, as well. An open magical uprising in a building owned by a vampire? If the press got wind of the first, how easy would it be for them to get wind of the second. And public exposure would likely be his death warrant. Indeed, exposure was one of two sure death warrants in Freedom City's vampires. Melinda would have gladly let him rip the throats out of every one of his tenants and a brace of nuns aside, if it stayed out of the papers. "I generally restrict my mortal blows to those who've transgressed against Melinda. If it became known that I was freelancing, well..." He waved his hand, then folded the fingers forward to study whisper-faint scars on his pale wrists. "You've seen Melinda's punishments. And her pleasures; the two are one in the same with her. I have some status, but you know how the others of our kind enjoy seeing daywalkers brought low." He sipped his glass meditatively, then added, "But there are other considerations. It's worse, I'm afraid, than you think. Your tenant, you know the one I mean, has begun turning to the costumed freaks that permeate the skies of this city for help." His wicked smile faded slowly as he went on. "My friends have ears in this city even among the petty godlings of the day. But I'm sure you know the danger the girl's turn to the capes puts us all in. Even if we kill her now, the danger is still great." It put Pitt in far greater danger than Jack himself, something the two men were most intimately aware of. The risk of a pogrom caused by a clash with superhumans was a problem; the risk of Melinda's vindictive rage was a disaster. "But I have not come here to be a grim prophet of doom for you, not in your lovely accommodations on this, a lovely evening." He sat his own glass down. "I confess a certain bluntness has served me best in the world of business. If I were to remove the girl from your consideration, what would it be worth to you? To have tenants loyal to you, as peasants should be to their rightful overlord?"

Alphabetical order, oh my! I hope what I posted is what you had in mind, Mark. :)

Jack was in an alley in an instant, the sheltering darkness of two particularly towering townhouses small comfort indeed in the sudden onslaught of madness. It was only through a heroic force of will and the pressure of the daylight outside that he kept a mortal gaze on his face, Oh, he could grow fangs and claws in broad daylight if he wanted to, but it hurt, the sun rebelling against the undead beneath it. And the sun was... The sun. Have I gone mad? But would madness give him the sharp scent of dung everywhere, the rumble of wagons nearby, the shouts and cries of a city transformed? He heard a clatter behind him, and exchanged a look with a startled servant who'd just walked outside with a small, fancily-groomed dog on a leash. As the solid wooden door closed behind the man, Jack closed on him. Or was it transformed? Was it...something else? "What year is it?" There must have been something in his eyes, because the servant backed up against the closed door behind him, the look of fear on his face growing. When he spoke again, it was with Avenger's voice. "THE YEAR?"

The historical implications of the room were unfortunately lost on Jack, whose knowledge of history came from what he'd picked up from older vampires and a few half-remembered college classes. But he knew that these were things of respect, items of importance to a vampire Pitt's age, and that he'd do his best to respect them as well. "I hope you won't mind if I take our refreshments first." He poured the blood with class and distinction, the carefully preserved vintage from someone named "S. Cline" sparkling ever-so-slightly as the mysterious green light from the fire washed through the liquid. He raised his glass to Pitt and said in the Old Slavonic that was the language of courtly vampires of a certain generation. "To the blood." When they'd made their toast and drunk their liquid, the fluid warm and sparkling as it filled him, Jack finally spoke. "You're a powerful man. I sit here in your domicile and marvel at the edifice you've built. Here, and below." He waved his free hand dismissively in the direction of the peons beneath. "But even the greatest house has termites. I would help you deal with your pests, sir, to the betterment of both your servants and yourself."