Avenger Assembled

"Don't trust me." The words were cold and merciless, as close as Jack's voice had ever gotten to Avenger's. "You need to understand that, Scarab." He set the helmet down onto the throne beneath him, slowly, his bare hands flat on either side. "You think I'm Rick Danski? You think I'm crying over my lost humanity?" His voice tightened. "I maintain no illusions about what I am." He stood up, still balancing on the narrow ledge. "I suggest you do the same. I'll call you." With those words, he erupted into a cloud of smoke and mist, disappearing into the chamber's shadows as easily as breathing. Avenger was gone.

Jack snapped back to a human face by the time Scarab had reached him, his hands cold at her touch. "This isn't something you should be tolerant of, Elena," he replied evenly, all dark charisma and charm again. "This isn't something anyone should tolerate." He slipped out of her grasp and was crouching on top of her throne between one sentence and the next, feral motion and predatory charm. Avenger didn't do that, but then Avenger was trying to pass for a man. "Superheroes kill vampires, Elena. Seven. Lady Liberty. Centurion. Somehow I don't think our sort are any better."

"You know nothing about me," Jack suddenly fired back, the witty banter falling away to reveal the serious dilemma he was actually in. He actually looked contrite a moment later, emotions seesawing across his face before he came to a decision. If it doesn't work, I can go underground. She can't find all of us. "I'm not some punk kid keeping a secret identity because his parents will ground him if he's a superhero, Elena." As Jack spoke, his eyes began to change color, first to orange, then to a malignant red. "Do you know what they'll do to me if they find out what I've been doing?" His teeth sharpened and lengthened, extending out in wicked fangs. "If they find out there's a vampire superhero in this city!?"

Jack did not sit down as Elena spoke, but he did listen assiduously as she told him the story of her past. The look on his handsome face was hard to read as she spoke, but when she turned her question to him, a light seemed to go on behind his eyes. "You don't want to know. You'll be disappointed." He stood stock still in the lushly pointed room, still holding that motorcycle helmet between his hands. "I have been called a machine by a lady before," he said with the sort of wry banter he'd never use behind his mask, "but only in more intimate contexts."

"I...guess we can, at that." Jack pulled off the motorcycle helmet he'd been holding, gazing down at his reflection in the visor as he considered Scarab's words. Gestures of trust weren't something he had a lot of familiarity with, at least not gestures of trust that didn't come with heavy strings attached. "So what do I have to do in return?"

"You......what?" Jack blinked a few times, looking from Scarab to the door, the surprise visible even on his shadowed face. "You're just giving me all of that?" Jack's refined, cultured voice was, as always, quite a contrast to Avenger's grim, gritty growl. "Jesus, why?"

Jack lost a step, but only one, on the way in as he followed the Scarab. He mustered a polite mental response to Scarab's mental greeting, but it wasn't hard to wish that he had on more than just a motorcycle helmet. This conversation, right in the Scarab's lair? On the other hand, if things did go bad, he had plenty of experience getting in and out of this place. He opened the visor of his helmet as soon as they were inside the elevator, his handsome face still protected by the shadows inside. A gesture of trust...and not. "Competent staff. Asked to see my paperwork." He sounded appreciative, and he was, too.

An hour later, a bike messenger arrived at 1 Pyramid Plaza, a package from one of Melinda's businesses under his arm. Keeping his borrowed motorcycle helmet on, the leather jacket-clad Avenger engaged in easy banter with the lovely young woman behind the information desk while he kept his eyes peeled for his contact. A little paranoia about his played into the persona of the half-crazed costumed adventurer well enough, and anyway it was an interesting challenge to try and set the young woman completely at ease with his head covered. She did have a lovely neck.

"Can find my own way," replied Avenger, something like amused exasperation in his voice. "Appreciate the hospitable offer. One hour in the Plaza lobby?"

It was late afternoon the day after the initial fight when one of the phone numbers the Scarab gave to Avenger rang. The salutation was a simple one. "Scarab. Need to discuss leads. Can you meet?" Avenger's voice was firm and steady, with no trace over the phone of the pain and anger he'd displayed when Scarab had last seen. There was a good reason for that: Jack had gone out in costume, beaten an Oliverti gangster so hard the man couldn't walk anymore, and then drained him deeply. That had made his subsequent investigations so much easier, and put a spring in his step as he used the man's cellphone.

As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Jack dragged the unconscious teenager in the Vulture suit down into the sewers. Once there, after smacking him a few times to make sure he was still unconscious, Jack used his claws to cut the suit the rest of the way open and sink his teeth into the boy's side. When he was done, he beat the kid soundly about the midsection, leaving bruises enough to cover the lingering signs of what he'd done. Afterwards, he threw him over his shoulder, carrying battered Vulture over one shoulder and suit over the other, and made his way back towards the murder house underground. Egyptian food tastes nasty. The joke was terribly unfunny, but Avenger laughed anyway all the way back.

I'm...not really comfortable with Scarab getting that much from Melinda out of a single failed die roll. I would also prefer to roll for my own NPCs, thanks.

Oh, I think Samedi will be a pretty good challenge for us, along with the zombies. That's a DC 22 Reflex Save.

Baron Samedi laughed evilly as Nightrival tore through his thugs, seemingly unimpressed by the vigilante's combat prowess. "You tink you can beat voodoo? Well..." Suddenly, the god's voice dropped its exaggerated Caribbean accent and spoke with a perfect, menacing purr. "Your bones will be mine." At a gesture from him, the shadows themselves rose up to entangle Nightrival, the animate shadows trying to ensnare the dark hero. Nearby, Avenger had joined Nightrival in ripping through the thugs, hurling men left and right, sending clouds of zombie powder into the air as he hurled men into tables and into bags. He vaulted onto the zombie-filled stage as he finished his movement; a bad move as one of the thugs he'd left standing targeted him for a bullet! The bullet missed Avenger, though, cracking into the head of one of the standing zombies.

Jack swore in Old Slavonic at the touch of Scarab's mind on his, and again when Melinda reached up and grabbed his hand hard enough to break a normal man's bones. "Someone's here," she whispered in that same language, too quietly for anyone but nearby ears to hear. Jack and Dave exchanged a look, then looked at their mistress as she rose to her feet as gracefully and delicately as a spider retreating to its web. "I'm going onto the balcony. Find them. Punish them." Melinda licked her ruby-red lips, a predatory look on her eyes, before she took her leave of the room. For his part, Jack let Dave go off on his own before seeking out Elena. In that outfit, he thought peevishly, she wasn't hard to miss. Elena was a telepath, but he himself certainly wasn't. "What are you doing here?" he whispered to her sharply, his tone like that of a man who'd stumbled across his ex at a party.

For the record, Melinda did pretty badly on her Will save. But she did very well indeed on her Notice check.

I need a check for everyone who's up for joining Knights of Freedom, the superhero team that Avenger and Scarab are about to organize. Respond quickly, if you please, we're right up against our first big battle.

OK, not a great Grapple check, but waddyagonnado? Remember that Ned loses 4 from his grapple check to resist, thanks to Avenger's Improved Pin.

"Tired of talk." Avenger grabbed Ludd by the throat, pinning him against the wall. "Can fight you as long as necessary."

"Scarab!" Jack was startled enough to forget the voice for a moment. He dived to the fallen hero's side, the blood there right in front of his face an incredible distraction. How does your immortal blood taste, Scarab? Will it give me power? Can't think like that. No time. He pulled off his heavy glove, his hand white as he checked the fallen heroine's pulse. She was alive, good. He knew the difference. It was hard to think. One thing helped; running his fingers across her bloody face and then licking up the sweet juices across his fingers. He got the last bit out of the corner of her eye by dint of licking it off directly, his tongue sliding against her face. Scarab's life's blood was actually...actually pretty foul! Good thing she's out of it. So this is what psychic blood tastes like! Better not try this again. "Slamdance. Take...take Scarab back to the murder house. Give her time to recover. I will do what I can to deal with this."

Does Bouncing break PL caps according to our house rules? Steve Kenson admits that it does, but suggests that it be house-ruled around, because of the power's limited utility.

I sowwy. :oops: But I'll just have to make up for it with a wacky farce!

Thoughts on Bouncing, refs?

Our Initiative order is Nightrival Samedi Avenger Thugs Your call, chief. :)

The redhead was quite interested in what Belphegor had to offer, but the blonde needed a quick private conversation with her leader to go along with what the demon wanted. Afterwards she was all smiles, though, as if determined to make up for her earlier reluctance. The redhead turned out to be named Anita, while the blonde went by Bella. The cultists even took the precaution of clearing out of the basement while Belphegor enjoyed the wine and women, He was mostly uninterrupted that entire evening, though the occasional loud noise did earn him an occasional check downstairs. Between the women, the wine, and the many luxury items down in the fully-appointed basement, Belphegor had many of the things a demon could want.