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Lord Fell

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  1. This is a thread for OOC comments pertaining to The Delicate Art of Thunder. Initially, this thread will be between Thunderstanding and Pompadour's agent, as they discuss the possibility of Thunderstanding training her client, and then discuss other business opportunities.
  2. "wha-ah-at?" Pompadour seems startled. "It feels like we're just getting started!" He glances at the display on his cell-phone, "and it's not even 10:30... what time does crime call it a night? Or maybe you're saying it's too early for criminals to be active?" "Tell you what... if it's too early, we can go score a drink, if it's getting late we could still find a bar or something, we'll just take a scenic route. Sound ok?"
  3. Lord Fell

    Wealth

    I believe that players have the option to buy "Wealth" (up to 3 ranks) which includes money and status, and straight up Benefit: Wealth, which has money but no status. The second option suitable for someone who has a lot of resources, but isn't known for being moneyed.
  4. If you don't contact Pompadour, his agent will contact you.
  5. Pompadour runs his hands (needlessly) through his hair. His eyes are big and he's breathing a little fast. "Ha. Yeah, baby! wheeeeww! I'm gonna need a lot more practice before that's a smooth ride, but that was pretty good." He doesn't look tired from exertion, just excited. Pompadour takes a few deep breathes and shakes out limbs that are quivering with excitement. "ok... uh. Costume you say?" Pompadour looks down at what he's wearing and shrugs. "To be honest with you, I don't use an identity other than Pompadour anymore. I mean, I have one... which any six year-old with internet access could access. But, the only name that really means anything to me anymore is Pompadour. I don't see much point in separating the person and the hero. And... uhm... my family changed their names and moved away... you know... when I was a supervillain, so I don't need to worry about protecting them." He coughs and looks away for a moment. "So, uhm... what's next for the heroing thing?"
  6. The Mullet takes Manhattan After sharing lunch and talking with Tank, Pompadour found himself back in his condo, worrying about packing. Finally, he shrugged and forgot about it. I don't have any personal stuff I need, I don't really have any clothes, and I'm going to New York. All I really need is an empty suitcase, and I can get that when I get there. His agent had suggested that he bring his bass along, so he grabbed the case out of the bedroom where he had left if a few days before. He had agreed to pick Mandy up at 6:30pm for an 8 o'clock flight. Since he had a few hours to kill, Pompadour made up a list of things he needed, predominantly basic toiletries and headed out shopping. It was perhaps fortunate that he was just killing time. Pompadour found shopping to be surprisingly time consuming. He found that the sales clerks, especially the lady ones... just did not want to let him go. They always had just one more thing they wanted to show him. He managed to procure the few things he really needed, while eating up a surprising amount of time. When he finally drove out to Mandy's Riverside townhome, he was racing against the clock. They got to Jameson Airport and checked in before 7:00 pm. In one of the airport's finer eateries they discussed their itinerary. Tomorrow, he would interview with a writer for Us magazine's "Superheroes: they're just like Us" column. Thursday, he would return for follow-up questions and a photo shoot. On Friday, Mandy had arranged for him to meet with a representative from Geffen. Saturday afternoon he was scheduled to attend an art show at the Guggenheim and Saturday evening he was 'on the list' for a hot new club. Sunday, there would hopefully be time for shopping... and finally, Monday... the Tyra Show... Live. "Sounds like a busy week," Pompadour told his agent. She nodded. They finished their after dinner drinks in amiable solitude, and then headed for the VIP boarding lounge.
  7. Pompadour walked towards the edge of the building, taking deep breathes and shrugging his shoulders to loosen tension. "You sure you'll be able to catch me, hey?" Tendrils of hair were already snaking out to brush against and tap the edge of the roof. I don't recall having a lot to worry about in terms of latching onto buildings... is my hair sticky, when I want it to be, or..? He found that his hair didn't seem to have too much difficulty latching into the most infinitesimal hole or crevice in the brick and concrete of the wall. Extending his hair, he used it to lift himself up... and then over the edge of the building. A quick scan decided his next swing-point, and additional tendrils of hair uncoiled in preparation. Then, he let himself free-fall, extending his hair-line out, and riding the pendulum. Finally he released his first swing, with his heart in his throat... and lashing tendrils of hair already seeking out new purchase on the next building. The process repeats, and Pompadour careens down the street rapidly. However, a problem occurs! The Eagle Agency is eight stories taller than the nearby Mastodon Theater, Pompadour drops through the air, his flailing hair unable to reach any building. However... the flailing hair flattens out into great wide wings, churning the air and slowing his fall to a sedate pace. Pompadour allows himself to stop on the roof of the theater. He looks up at Mercy, and gives two thumbs up. "Didn't suck!"
  8. "I'm pretty good at reading people. You hadn't heard about what happened to me, you were surprised when I said I used to be a Supervillain. Listen: you don't need to worry. The treatments that gave me my powers made me crazy, The Raven and Deadalus whipped up a serum that cured me. I have no reason to think I might suddenly turn crazy again -I'm just not willing to take any chances. None at all." "Well, based on how things happened last time, if my evil personality surfaces it will probably be a sudden thing... but I've got people watching me for signs that I might be having problems. Having an actual hero's number to pass onto my friend and my agent just struck me as a good idea... but I think I can trust them to come up with something." "So...." Pompadour glanced over towards the edge of the building. "I probably could have picked a shorter building. This is just what came to my mind for landmarks. To be honest, I sort of thought I'd be able to just go ahead and start swinging, but every time I start to do it, it seems like a bad idea. We can start at a lower altitude for sure. So... this hero thing, you just pick a neighbourhood and wander around looking for trouble? Is that all there is to it?"
  9. Pompadour eyes the burger a moment, before declining. "I actually ate a few hours ago. I'm not sure how I feel about swinging through town by my hair with a full stomach, either." Pompadour begins pacing again... Mercy realizes that he's nervous. "As far as super powers go, I know that I can do a lot of stuff with my hair. My physical body is a lot tougher and stronger than a normal persons, and my hair is even stronger than my arms. I'm not too worried about getting a punch in the face, I discovered a few months ago that I can't shave with a razor-blade any more, but I also learned that I can control how much hair I have on my face, too. I also understand that I have some sort of super-attraction powers, but that's even harder to quantify. What I don't know is how powerful or useful my super abilities would be in a practical situation." His pacing brings him back in front of Mercy. "So, we're agreed then? You'll help me to figure out what I can do, and if I have it in me to be a Hero... and I promise to use my powers only for good, or not at all?" He offers his hand, to shake on the deal. "There's something else that occurs to me. You probably know I was a supervillain... and hopefully you heard that I wasn't in control of myself... the surgeries, chemicals and stuff that made me superhuman also made me totally crazy; a remorseless psychopath. I worry about that. I have a good friend, a guy I talk to every week... someone who knows me. He knows me well enough to know if there's a problem. He's promised me that if he thinks I'm reverting to my Sinister Self, or if he can't get a hold of me, he will call someone. What I don't know, is who he should be calling. Do you have a contact number? Either for yourself or super friends of yours?"
  10. What sort of role-call have we got going on here? I wouldn't mind bringing Pompadour in on this... one of the things I'm currently RPing through for him is that he doesn't have a really good handle on his own powers yet. I would probably be operating on "deja vu, all over again!" with another new set of powers that Pompadour wouldn't understand.
  11. In Soup there is Truth Pompadour parked his souped up PT Cruiser across the street from The Ink Tank, grabbed the big bag of take-out from the passenger seat, and headed inside. He had stopped by without an appointment, or calling first and Tank was still with a client. His front-end girl, improbably named Buick invited him to hang around until Tank was free. He considered the woman's blocky, anvil-like physique and the gems and metal embedded in her teeth, lips and tongue and decided that perhaps Buick wasn't such an improbable a name after all. Buick worked reception, ordered supplies and apprenticed as an artist when possible. An established tattoo artist named Mickey-Z rented a chair from Tank... Pomp wasn't sure if the wraith-like, emo Mickey-Z was a boy or a girl... in any case, he had picked up lunch for four people; a tasty Vietnamese soup called Pho and green onion cakes. He passed styrofoam containers and paper bags out to Buick and Mickey-Z, and waited for Tank to be finished. He browsed the portfolio books and considered getting more ink done once his sleeve was finished. Once Tank was finished with his client, he and Pompadour took their lunch out on a bench behind the building to eat and talk. "Got an interview with the magazine people tomorrow night... and my agent's got me going out to New York to be on Tyra next week." "That's kind of what you wanted, isn't it? Get yourself famous, live the high life?" "I thought it was. Things seem to be moving awfully fast. She wants me to be a super hero, did I tell you?" Trevor shook his head, his mouth full of green onion cake. "I hadn't heard. Does this have anything to do with what happened at the club the other night?" "Actually... no. That was just a coincidence. I mean... I wouldn't put it past Mandy to stage something, but that Donar guy had some serious power, and I doubt that she could or would have arranged for something of that magnitude." Pompadour scooped up some noodles and mystery meat and chewed for a few minutes. "I guess I don't mind the idea of being a hero. But I still don't have a really good idea of what I can do. When I was doing the evil thing I acted on instinct. I don't have those instincts anymore." "Albright Institute, man." Pompadour arced an eyebrow at his friend. "They study metahuman, or super powers. They're always looking for people with special abilities to test what they can do and how they can do it. They have a special gym that can measure and test your powers." "That sounds promising... but there's got to be a long waiting list for something like that. It's probably pretty exclusive?" Tank shook his head, chewing again. "They get a lot of applicants, but their screening test is extremely fast and simple. You go in, they ask you if you have super powers, and if you can't demonstrate that you do, your name doesn't go on the list." "Hmm." They ate their food in silence for a while. Finally Trevor "Tank" Hancock tipped his foam bowl back, drinking the last of the soup broth. He nibbled his green onion cake, while giving Pompadour a very long, very appraising look. "Frankly Pomp, I'm not sure if you're asking the right question here." "What's the right question, Trev?" "Should you be a superhero." "That is a good question. What do you think?" "Nice dodge. Well, lemme start you off. You got to think about the ethical and moral angles. Yeah, you can stop someone from robbing a store, but what if you hurt them doing it? What's worse... their theft or your assault?" "Ye-ah..." Pompadour considered this. "I think I'm ok with that. I mean... if you don't want to get hurt while robbing a store, you shouldn't rob the store. That same robber is probably not going to hold back on trying to hurt me if he can... but that leads me to some questions I'm a lot less comfortable with. Like, one of the girls in group therapy can't hold a job because of her depression. She hooks to make rent. So... is she committing a crime or just surviving?" "Don't stop there, man. Maybe you go after pimps instead... But it would be hard to put them in jail without their girls' testimony and what happens to those girls when the pimp gets out of jail? Street Crime is depressing... and it's an ethical quagmire that will suck you in and not spit you back out." Tank popped the last bit of his green onion cake into his mouth, stood up and brushed off his pants. "I'm not saying you can't be a hero, or that you can't do some good with your powers. What I am saying is that you need to think about action and consequence... but don't let that bog you down too much. You are a good person. Listen to your heart, and you will be just fine. I got another client in ten... but it was good talking to you man. Thanks for lunch." Pompadour also stood up, and gave his friend a big, rough hug. "No, it's good talking to you. Even if you did warp my brain. Bastard."
  12. Pompadour stared at Mercy for a long time. Finally, his mouth opens and he utters... "huh." "Well, I guess I wanted to learn. That wasn't what I was expecting... but yeah. That's what I needed to hear. It's like music I guess. Anyone can learn to play, but if you only pick up your instrument once or twice a month, you're not going to get good. I guess we're talking about passion... commitment." He frowns, and paces a bit... "Truth? I don't really know. Being a superhero was something my agent suggested I should do. My gut reaction was that she's crazy. But, that battle with Donar wasn't staged or anything, I was just there. At first, I froze, because I'm just not used to being the hero... but I pulled it out and got those people to safety. So... that's good right? " Pompadour stops his pacing and gives Mercy a long look. "I'm going to need some time to think through my motives. I can tell you, with certainty that if I'm going to be involved in heroics, I want to do good. Even if I'm not going to be a full time hero, if I find myself in a position like I was Friday night, and I can use my powers to help out... I want to be sure that I'm actually helping. So... are you comfortable helping me on those terms?"
  13. ok. Pompadour will sign up for that... His people will be calling Emissary's people this week. I understand there will be a bit of a wait...
  14. "Well, If you're sure... it's just the pen is mightier than the sword, y'know? You gotta learn to keep your cool, and learn how to make those bastards do what you want." Pompadour shifts on his heel, and glances off towards the setting sun. He's wearing faded denim jeans, and a battered leather jacket over a white T-shirt. He's got his favourite black and white shoes on. "Anyways... one way or another, I'll figure out something I can do for you to keep us even." Standing up to his full height, Pompadour sighs "Ok... I guess the first thing is, I don't know the first thing. I don't have patrols, or anything. I've got some super powers, but I don't really know how they work. There are some things I did as a villain that I'm not sure how to do now. That's why I wanted to talk to you... your partner was experienced, you can probably help me figure out the difference between my ass and my elbow. Honestly, my agent suggested I take up superheroics as a PR exercise. My fight against Donar on Friday night was a fluke, and I was operating on instincts." His hair seems to expand, and inky tendrils wind their way out from... "So, here's how you can help with flying. When I was Sinister, I zipped all over the place swinging on lines of hair... I should be able to still do that, but I'm sort of afraid of screwing up at 800 feet. It would be really, really comforting to start out slow, with someone who can fly and is strong enough to catch me."
  15. How well known is it that Emissary has a penchant for "play dates" with other superheros?
  16. 3rd Page News Mandy checked her newspaper, then double checked the front page. Frowning she opened up the paper and began to dig through it. Towards the back of the paper, she found a brief two-paragraph article about the liquor-store robbery. She drummed her fingers on her desk, and frowned. Oh, well... I guess it was 'just' a liquor store robbery -even if the perps were demons. At least they had mentioned that Pompadour and Mercy had stopped the robbery. Something else on the page caught Mandy's eye... an add for Madame Li's Karmic Adjuster. It featured a picture of her client, Pompadour with an enormous smile on his face. Super Therapy for Super Heroes the ad was tagged. She checked her watch 9:17am -she resolved to call Pomp in a few hours... when he'd be out of bed. Later... "Pomp, we have someone using your likeness without a contract." "What?! They're using my what?" Pompadour's voice was a bit fuzzy, he was only barely up. "Like an endorsement. They've got a picture of you, and it's not a very good one, implying you endorse their product." "Oh. Oh! Ok. Who is it?" "Madame Li's Karmic Adjusters." "Ooooooh... actually I do endorse their product. We should get something on paper, though... and get them a better picture." "Alright, I'll get Gerald to give them a call." "No, not Gerald. Kid gloves, please. I don't want Madame Li mad at me."
  17. re: Pheremones vs. Emotion Control... Well, mechanically, Pheremones is way more expensive than EC, so that's why EC is the higher level. As to the fluff of why that might be, which also explains why Pheremones is the base power, and EC is an AP... Pheremones is a continuous and unconscious effect. Creating a EC effect requires Pompadour to concentrate on the power, but actually thinking about the power intensifies the effect.
  18. Startled, Pompadour whirled to face Avenger. "Jeez, you move fa-" he started to say, before the roof of Da Bomb decided to give in once and for all. The shockwave of a few dozen tons of reinforced concrete caving in blasted him out of the doorway, and onto his knees in the street. Despite the blast, Avenger seemed to be beside him still... completely non-plussed. Meanwhile, Pompadour grit his teeth, and pressed his hands into the small of his back. "Do this for a living, eh? Funny... my agent told me the same thing this morning..." The gaggle of club girls Pompadour had helped rescue were beginning to rally, clearly intending to show their appreciation, and the wail of sirens approaching was growing louder.
  19. Pompadour parked his car on the street, and stared up at the building. Theoretically, he should be able to climb up the side of the building with his hair... no problems. He had memories of effortlessly moving through the city using his hair to grab, climb, and swing from buildings. But... that was The Sinister Pompadour, not him. He remembered doing it the same way someone else would remember watching it on a movie. His Sinister Self certainly had no hesitation about doing it... Pompadour's eyes slowly climbed the 12 story building. Apparently, my Sinister Self never considered the consequences of a long fall with a short stop. Pompadour took the elevator to the top floor, and took the service stairs to get access to the roof. Looking around, he saw that Mercy had beat him to the roof. Of course... she can fly. I should get her to give me a hand with my city-travel skills. Catch me if I fall. He called out a greeting, before walking over and hunkering down next to her, with a big smile. "Great... I'm glad you made it." His hair, casually busy, picked up a napkin. "I've already figured out something I could use your help with... your being able to fly makes you uniquely qualified to give me a hand." He delicately wiped up the ketchup spill with the napkin, before favouring Mercy with another smile. "I'm not sure, exactly how I'm going to help you. I sort of figure I can give you some tips on dealing with the press, self promotion and stuff like that... but I can help you however you want, if I can."
  20. Pompadour snatched up his Blackberry and checked the display. Not his agent, not his tattoo artist... so it almost had to be Mercy. He took a deep breath. Just keep cool... you're not a total poseur, you fought a supervillain... "Hello? ...Hi! ...yeah, they let me out. That Lady Doc insisted on 'palpating' me again. Handsy broad... No, I'm feeling pretty good. Got some kinks worked out, ready for tonight." The conversation seemed kind of odd. He was a little nervous, because he was talking to an actual superhero about going out and doing... super stuff. But Mercy sounded nervous too. I hope she's not worried about that whole Sinister Pompadour thing... "Why don't we meet on top of the Mid Town Hilton? Say, 8:30? ...Great! I'll see you then."
  21. Later that afternoon, Pompadour was in fact released from hospital. He still moved slowly, his back paining him. It's something of a pickle that my hair is stronger than the rest of me... that could start to take a toll on my body if I don't watch it. He was a ways from where he had parked his car on Friday night... assuming it hadn't been towed. Oh, that would be just wonderful... He flagged down a cab, and gave the driver the approximate address where he left his street-rod, and settled into the back seat with a sigh. I'm also going to have to do something about this back if I'm going to have a crash course in crime-fighting tonight... He dug out his cell phone, and called his good friend "Tank" Hancock. "Hey Man. Do you know of any good holistic therapy places? Like massage and stuff? Something that would be open today? ...uh huh... uh huh... that sounds exactly awesome. What's the number? ...you're the best, Trev! I'll see you next week, k?" Another call booked him an appointment to see Madame Li, Karmic Adjuster. His day was definitely looking up; his car was where he left it. Madame Li turned out to be a plump, middle-aged Chinese lady in an aqua kimono with gold trim. As her expert, iron-hard fingers explored his naked back, her mutterings became increasingly dire. Finally, she had his back draped in thick white towels that had been liberally soaked in boiling green tea. Her assistants seemed slightly alarmed at the request. Pompadour sighed in contentment as the wet heat soaked into his aching muscles. More steaming hot tea was poured into the towels at regular intervals. Madame Li returned with a younger girl. After removing the towels, the girl carefully stepped up on the table, and began to walk on Pompadour's back. After a few minutes, Madame Li frowned and motioned the girl down... Pompadour hadn't really felt the girls weight on him. A few moments later, the girl returned, with another assistant, each was lugging a heavy cinder block. Madame Li proceeded to strap the cement clogs to her own feet, and with a surprising grace, climbed onto the table, and began to tread on his sore muscles. Pompadour could feel his muscles relax under the relentless assault. After a while, Madame Li stepped down, and slipped off her improvised shoes. Once again, she probed his back with expert fingers. She seemed happier, but not quite satisfied. Finally, she barked another command in Chinese to her assistant, who blanched and actually raised his hands and voice in protest. Madame Li would have none of it. She cut him off with one imperious gesture, and tapped the palm of her hand with another. When the man returned, and presented Madame Li with an eight pound sledge hammer, Pompadour understood why the man had been so reluctant. But now we're really cookin' with gas, he thought, happily. An hour and several hundred dollars later, Pompadour sat in a restaurant Madame Li had recommended, enjoying a tasty Vietnamese soup called Pho. He mishandled his chopsticks badly, slurped his soup noisily, and eyed his cell phone, waiting for Mercy to call. Maybe he should have made a point of getting her number...
  22. Pompadour glances back at the hospital and makes a face. "They haven't released me yet. X-rays don't really work on me, because of something to do with my skin. When my back stiffened up yesterday, the Doctor who was supposed to discharge me said it was an 'ominous sign' and could mean I have an internal injury. Then she spent an hour doing something she called palpating to me, but that's doctor talk for groping. I told them it's just sore from supporting a collapsing bomb shelter for half the night. Whatever..." He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, causing his robe to open and show off more of his sculpted chest. "Mostly I'm here because of my lawyer, not the doctor though. I should be released this afternoon. Give me a call sometime after supper, and we'll set something up." He smiles again, before giving Mercy's arm a quick squeeze and heading back inside the hospital. As he walks away, Mercy can see that he is moving a bit like he's in pain.
  23. Pompadour's hair that had just crushed out a crater next to where Donar stood, reflexively shifted into a shield from the god's thunderous departure. He straightened from his half crouch, and shot a glance to the general location of Avenger's warning voice and then up at the roof. In the eerie half-light of the sparking emergency lights, Pompadour seemed to be moving in slow motion, but in reality he was moving faster than he had ever moved before. A lash of his hair wrapped around the railing of the stairs, with the sound-barrier breaking crack of a whip. He pulled himself across the intervening distance with a beautiful aerial roll and landed next to the fire door. Pompadour didn't open the door so much as tear the (already damaged) door off it's hinges, tossing it to the floor of the club below. He stood in the doorway a moment, silhouetted against the street lights outside, looking back, to see if Avenger was going to make it out ok...
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