Gizmo

That does hit! Centipede Rat King Thing is bad at dodging but lots of toughness on account of redundant body parts. Science? Centipede Melod-Oni Fortitude Save vs DC 23: 1d20+8 20 Toughness Save vs DC 29: 1d20+12 18 Tossing an HP to Nocturne to clear the Daze on the Centipede but it is Staggered! 22 - Forever Boy - Uninjured, Pending Fatigue, 5HP 21 - Angelic - Uninjured, Deafened, 1HP 17 - Nocturne - Bruised x1, -5 Defense, Pending Fatigue, 1HP 16 - Chitin - Uninjured, Bound, 2HP 10 - Apocalypsette - Bruised x1, Bound, Disarmed - Crab - Uninjured - Centipede - -3 Toughness, Staggered - Bat - Uninjured

Apocalypsette She can't beat that Disarm check so Eira is able to rip it out of her hands! That takes her Flight with it so Eira is now the only thing holding her in the air! I will need a DC 21 Toughness Save from Eira however, since she touched the guitar. After that Nocturne is up, @Fox! 22 - Forever Boy - Uninjured, Pending Fatigue, 5HP 21 - Angelic - Uninjured, Deafened, 1HP 17 - Nocturne - Bruised x1, 1HP 16 - Chitin - Uninjured, Bound, 2HP 10 - Apocalypsette - Bruised x1, Bound, Disarmed - Crab - Uninjured - Centipede - Uninjured - Bat - Uninjured

Apocalypsette Opposed Grapple Check: 1d20+12 13 That's definitely a failure! Hey, quick question, is Eira touching the guitar? Asking for a friend.

Bat Meold-Oni Can't beat that Feint and 16 is exactly its flat-footed Defense! Toughness Save vs DC 27: 1d20+12 30 It's a tough one, @RocketLord! After the IC post is up for Pan, it's Eira's turn, @Avenger Assembled. 22 - Forever Boy - Uninjured, 5HP 21 - Angelic - Uninjured, Deafened, 2HP 17 - Nocturne - Bruised x1, 1HP 16 - Chitin - Uninjured, Bound, 2HP 10 - Apocalypsette - Bruised x1 - Crab - Uninjured - Centipede - Uninjured - Bat - Uninjured

Refocusing on Angelic, who still had a clump of her hair clenched in her fist, Apocalypsette pulled back her arm and hit a power cord on her guitar with the force of a haymaker punch. The sonic blast shook the bones of everyone within earshot but at its centre a spiral of jagged energy, colours shifting in and out of the visible spectrum surged toward the gynoid. Quick airborne reflexes kept Angelic out of the worst of it, her highly engineered frame holding strong as the blast tried to tear her apart at the seams. Even so she could feel pops and crackles as delicate audio receptors burst, her input replaced by a low hiss of static! The monster on the stage brought a huge crab claw down toward Chitin like a hammer, it's broad bulk giving the armoured inventor nowhere to dodge. Instead he brought both arms over his helmet, crossed at the forearms to weather the blow as best he could. The stage beneath his boots cracked outward as the force reverberated through him painfully. Pinned in place he couldn't avoid the second claw swinging around to grab him in its serrated vice! Back of the park grass the horrible rat king creature swung its towering centipede-like torso toward Nocturne. The coolly collected gravity controlled brought her defensive shield to bear but found the thing's semi-corporeal, vibrating form sliced through with disturbing ease. Thinking quickly she focused on redirecting the arc of its razor sharp mandibles rather than blocking them outright, turning a potentially deadly attack into a slash that cut through the leather of her black jacket and into her left arm. In a bizarre translucent streak the third monster dove from the skies for Forever Boy, wings swept backward and its second set of human-like limbs outstretched in some sick imitation of a jousting knight. Its aim seemed unerring but just as it was about to strike he simply... wasn't there any more. Skipping out of the way faster than the eye could follow, Pan had a moment to size up his airborne opponent as it circled back around for another pass...

Apocalypsette Standard Action: Power Chord vs Angelic That's a Damage 12 + Dazzle 12 (Auditory) cone AoE, @Avenger Assembled so give me a DC 22 Reflex Save for half damage/deafened, followed by a DC 27 or 21 Toughness Save. Move Action: Flying 30 feet straight up to get a better view of the battlefield. Crab Ragin Melod-Oni Standard Action: Claw Attack vs Chitin: 1d20+10 24 Improved Grab: Initiate Grapple: 1d20+20 39 Chitin Toughness Save vs DC 25: 1d20+5 6 Toughness Save vs DC 25; HP Reroll: 1d20+5 25 The roller coaster of emotion! Opposed Grapple Check: 1d20+11 16 Chitin is Bound! Centipede Melod-Oni Standard Action: Pincer Attack vs Nocturne: 1d20+12 20 That's a DC 18 Fortitude Save vs Drain Toughness then a DC 23 Toughness Save vs Damage, @Fox. Bat Meold-Oni Standard Action: Charge Forever Boy: 1d20+14 32 Improved Grab: Initiate Grapple: 1d20+22 38 That's a DC 23 Toughness Save vs Damage, @RocketLord, then an opposed Grapple Check. Move Action: Assuming the Grapple is successful it's going to carry Forever Boy back into the air. After which Forever Boy is up any maybe pinned! 22 - Forever Boy - Uninjured, 6HP 21 - Angelic - Uninjured, 2HP 17 - Nocturne - Uninjured, 2HP 16 - Chitin - Uninjured, Bound, 2HP 10 - Apocalypsette - Bruised x1 - Crab - Uninjured - Centipede - Uninjured - Bat - Uninjured

Chitin Move Action: Diplomacy check: 1d20+15-5 19 Standard Action: Total Defense, Interposing for Soup.

While nearly everyone in the audience and on stage had collapsed in the summoning of the bizarre electric sound monsters and the handful left standing had fled or found what shelter they could, the roadie known as Soup had tossed an unconscious musician over each shoulder and was cautiously trying to figure out how to skirt around the crab clawed beast looming over him, scuttling slowly forward. He swallowed nervously, trying to keep his breathing under control before an armoured figure stepped smoothly between him and the creature, arms outstretched to bar the way. Chitin indicated the way backstage with a sharp nod, then called out to Apocalypsette while continuing to act as a human shield. "So it seems like we're just sort of getting right in to it but like, I don't think we're super clear what you're trying to get revenge for? Specifically?" Talking he down was seeming pretty unlikely but he figured he might at least be able to buy some time and get some context; she seemed like someone who appreciated a chance to monologue. Apocalypsette glanced away from Angelic just long enough to see who was addressing her, then did a double-take and rounded on the stage. "You?!" The teenage inventor reflexively looked down at himself like someone had just demanded he explain his t-shirt. "...me?" "How are you everywhere?! Why do you keep messing with me?!" "Oh. Uh." Chitin tried to split the difference between giving her his polite attention and not turning his back on the squat shark-headed thing as it clacked its huge claws open and shut. "To be fair you keep having your Ragin attack people in public spaces--" "My what?" "Right, yeah! I started calling them Ragin, right, 'cause it seems like they show up after somebody gets super mad and they're got sort of an electricity, electric guitar thing going on plus the Japanese demon teeth, so it sounds like Raijin...?" For a moment Apocalypsette seemed too angry to form coherent words, sputtering indignantly. "That's not what they're called! Behold my MELOD-ONI!" Chitin clapped his hands together in spite of himself. "Oh, that's so cute!" The villain's eyes narrowed to tense slits roiling with tongues of hellish flame. "Rip. Him. Limb. From. Limb." With a roar like distorted reverb the beasts signalled their understanding and began to advance.

"You @$#%!" Apocalypsette shrieked as she whirled on Angelic, eyes illuminated with hellish red light. She didn't seem to notice as her slashed hair writhed like snakes, tips glowing with vibrating kaleidoscopic light like her monsters as it grew back to its original length in the span of a few seconds. The blood seeping from the cut on her scalp, beginning to drip down her forehead and across one eye, was too dark and too thick. As Forever Boy's shadow lunged forward while the guitarist was distracted the hair moved on its own to swat it away as though it had been struck by a bullwhip. At the same time the telltale black and gold motes of Nocturne's power pushed inward against her before vibrating in time with the music and bouncing backward as demonic power threw off the gravity field's yoke. "I am going to literally melt your face off, you bottle blue groupie!"

Apocalypsette Opposed Grapple Check: 1d20+12 29 Her metal is heavier than gravity itself! That's science!

"My armour's pretty much the same as your big lion guy just, y'know, more streamlined and power efficient and utilizing very few of the same underlying principles! Still, though! Powered armour with a naturalist aesthetic, always in style!" Chitin added cheerfully, instinctively drawn to Joseph's similar enthusiasm. "My sister hates when I mess with her stuff, too. Do you think maybe if I promised not to touch anything she'd be will to let me take a loo-- oh, jeez, I forgot about my guys!" Indeed, still inside the operations chamber of the great mechanical man the Robugs tiptoed cautiously about, their stealth somewhat hampered now that some of the internal systems had quieted by Yellow's nervous buzzing and Magenta's gung-ho curiosity.

Pride of the Pride - Sekhmet and Tiamat There was already a woman in the elevator as Sekhmet stepped inside from the lobby, headed upward from the underground parking. With a curly purple flop of hair and eyes wide behind ornate pink glasses she watched silently as the goddess entered the confined space, nearly a full two feet taller than her with broad expanses of perfectly toned dark bronze broken up only by the most perfunctory of embroidered linen garments and - more significantly - by the heaping pile of glittering golden treasure in her arms. Ornate goblets inlaid with red gems, small boxes carved with scarabs, finely wrought links of jewelry, statuettes of cats in regal poses. Even with her arms holding the massive platter atop which the mound was balanced at waist height it rose nearly high enough to block her line of sight. If any of that was unusual for the Mistress of Dread her languid, feline body language did nothing to betray it. Reflexive courtesy won out over surprise as the other woman realized Sekhmet did not have a free hand. “Uh… which floor?” she stammered as the doors slid shut. The goddess tilted her chin to meet her stare with the one golden eye not hidden behind her asymmetrical hair. “The loftiest of levels be my destination.” There was a moment’s pause before she thought to add, “My thanks.” “Top floor, got it. Cool cool cool.” The woman in glasses pushed the requested button and remained silent as the elevator ascended, giving a hurried, “Have a nice day!” as she quickly exited at her own floor. Once the elevator had reached the top floor, Sekhmet strode purposefully to a familiar door, a corner apartment with rooftop access. She considered the handle and her own laden arms before kicking the door three times in rapid succession with the bottom of her sandaled foot. There was nothing, for a moment, and then the sound of motion and grumbling. Words, presumably, but not any loud or clear enough to be sensible from the doorway. Then nothing, the sound of heavy footsteps, and the door at last swung open. Teagan was simply-dressed: barefoot, in cloth shorts and a tank top that she was still pulling on. Red hair - real red, actual red, not the copper labelled red by weak human language - fell down over her shoulder as she looked at the gold, and her visitor, in that order. “....Sekhmet,” she said, running a hand back along the side of her head to get that hair back under control. “Been raiding your own temples?” “Teagan,” Sekhmet returned the greeting matter-of-factly as she shouldered her way inside without waiting for an invitation. “And aye! Some few secret places remained uncovered by the passing of ages and some few ‘private collectors’ learned an important lesson as to the true nature of ownership.” She glanced about the inside of the apartment before deciding to simply drop the pile of treasures on the first convenient patch of unoccupied floor with the resounding clang of orchestral cymbals. That done she took a step back away from settling heap, turned back to face Teagan and gestured to the gold with both hands as though in presentation. Teagan had shrugged, kicking the door closed behind her as she followed Sekhmet into the room - but now she stood very still, eyes tracking every last piece of gold as it settled on her floor. There was a sound, a rumbling breathing sound, that even her chest shouldn’t have been big enough to make. “You’ll never get it back,” she said, with a tone that implied it was already forfeit. Her mouth had too many sharp teeth. She had not looked up. “Nobody will, ever.” Sekhmet preened at the reaction, examining the lacquered nails on her left hand while maintaining the good grace to stop just short of smug. “Twas tribute once and as tribute tis given now,” she confirmed with a perfunctory bow. “An antelope or wildebeest would have been more traditional but thee be amply supplied in herd beasts. Given thy predilections gold seemed truer to my intent.” Teagan made a noise of satisfaction, still too low and too rumbling to come out of a human pair of lungs, but it was followed by a deep breath and enough calm and will to move her eyes off her new hoard. Normal eyes, human eyes. Human teeth when she spoke. “Your tribute is accepted,” she said, magnanimously, “and your recognition of my glory is gratifying. Want a beer? Actual beer - some dwarves got a hold of a bottling plant. There isn’t enough to get drunk on, but it’s good.” “Niðavelliran?” Sekhmet perked up and followed in the direction of the refrigerator. Dwarven brews tended to the sweeter side for her taste but she’d absorbed some appreciation for them from Ptah, who’d had an architect’s excitement for over-engineered microbrews. Accepting the proffered bottle she rolled it around in her hands for a moment before making a little huffing sound. “Thy truly have no intent to ask why I dropped a small pharaoh’s ransom on thy floor?” The goddess tried to look irritated but landed on fondly amused instead. Popping the top off of her beer with a flick of her thumb she stuck a curved, textured tongue out at Teagan. “Bat-winged brat.” “Tribute,” countered Teagan; she’d fetched a new beer of her own, and had one finger on that hand pointed at Sekhmet in playful accusation. “Tribute to my majesty, as I deserve, for being the most glorious creature in this city. I didn’t have to ask because you told me when you came in.” “Ah, my error become clear!” Sekhmet proclaimed with exaggerated realization, raising both hands into the air before leaning across the kitchen island toward Teagan. “As thee be not a goddess thee lack familiarity with the understood niceties of offerings.” She rested her forearm on the countertop and looked upward at the redhead, an implied dare in her eye contact to bend down to meet her. “Tribute tis brought to a temple to broach a request, typically beyond ‘mayhap stop eating all the goats and imprisoning young maids atop obelisks’.” Teagan made a noise of understanding - genuine or feigned - from behind a mouthful of beer, waiting to swallow before replying. “Ahh,” she said, “supplication! ‘Tis a fine offering, I guess I have no choice but to release the princess I’m keeping in my highest tower. It’s not enough for the goats, though,” she amended, gesturing with the bottle. “Goats are amazing, until you get those horns stuck in your teeth. You’ll need a lot more than that pile to save your goats.” She took another drink before leaning on the island herself, turning her head to try to read Sekhmet’s expression. “With due seriousness, though. It must be a fearsome request indeed to be worth all that gold, even without knowing I- ...without knowing what it might be worth to a dragon.” Sekhmet rolled her eyes with enough force that her back arched. “Difficult,” she accused in a grumble before clearing her throat lightly to continue. “My intent was merely to propose - suggest - that in observance of the current mortal festival and as thee be the second most formidable hunter I know we might informally - or formally, unimportant - form a pride. For the purposes of… seasonal... merrymaking.” She took a long pull from her beer and looked away briefly before adding, “Tis a ‘lioness thing’.” Teagan let silence hang in the air for a moment, drinking from her beer and looking out over her little home-away-from-cave while she mulled that one over. “....I’m very bad at romance,” she said, finally, though she still made no effort at eye contact. “I’ve never had much interest in it, all flowers and soft courtship and hand-holding and...whatever they do now. Candle dinners? Even as a whelp there was something there I never got.” She paused for a ponderous breath, exhaling it as a tiny flame out one side of her mouth. “But,” she said, “you’re one of the few people I’ve met who can keep up, and the only worthwhile deity I’ve even heard of. The human festival is for the humans. But for us? ….sure.” She turned, finally, red hair spilling over her far shoulder as she held up her beer for a toast. “Sure. For merrymaking.” Sekhmet clinked her bottle against Teagan’s, her shoulders immediately relaxing as a pleased smile spread across her face, sharp canines peeking out from behind dark painted lips. “Phaw! Tis no deed conceived by mortals we cannot improve upon. Dwarven beer and dragonfire? Unquestionably superior to bread rolls and candlelight. Golden treasure hoards raze the very conceit of flowers.” A low, rolling rumble from deep in her chest could be heard even over her boasting. “Golden treasure does improve many facets of life,” agreed the dragon, turning back to look at it glittering on the floor. Her face cycled through a few thoughts in turn, rumbling a thought deep in her chest. “Many facets. I may require some time to get my new wealth to my hoard proper,” she pondered, “but it may be better in the bedroom than lying on my living room floor. Perhaps you could assist me in taking it there, that I might better claim all treasures brought to my house today.” “Truly the Niðavelliran brew makes a poet of even the mighty wyrm,” Sekhmet teased even as she flushed and purred more loudly at the flowery invitation. She finished her own beer in a single prodigious swallow and set the empty bottle down at the far end of the kitchen island, out of the way. “I think, though, that thy gold be here, thy bedchambers be far and I be no goddess of patience.” That was all the warning Teagan received before her pridemate pounced.

Apocalypsette Sense Motive vs DC 30: 1d20+10 11o She is absolutely flat-footed against that! Unfortunately her Toughness is not tied to dodging. Toughness Save vs DC 27: 1d20+14 26 She takes a bruise! 22 - Forever Boy - Uninjured, 6HP 21 - Angelic - Uninjured, 2HP > 17 - Nocturne - Uninjured, 2HP 16 - Chitin - Uninjured, 3HP 10 - Apocalypsette - Bruised x1 - Crab Ragin - Uninjured - Centipede Ragin - Uninjured - Bat Ragin - Uninjured Nocturne is up once we get an IC post for Angelic, @Fox!

Apocalypsette 20 is exactly enough to hit even without being flat-footed! Reflex Save vs DC 20: 1d20+10 24 22 - Forever Boy - Uninjured, 6HP > 21 - Angelic - Uninjured, 3HP 17 - Nocturne - Uninjured, 2HP 16 - Chitin - Uninjured, 3HP 10 - Apocalypsette - Uninjured - Crab Ragin - Uninjured - Centipede Ragin - Uninjured - Bat Ragin - Uninjured Angelic is up @Avenger Assembled!

LaMarr regarded her thoughtfully as she stood by her decisions, one hand on his beard. It was hard to ignore the feeling of being graded. "Hm. I've known a lot of tough guys. I'm getting the feeling you're the real sort of tough." He lowered his hand and gave a small nod. "That's good. Can't usually teach that." He seemed to consider for a moment whether or not he wanted to admit something then sighed and shrugged. "Don't know if this'll help but I slept with a... significant number of women when I was young." He spread his hands wide is a resigned sort of chagrin. "They did most of the work. Just seemed like the thing to do at the time." He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Point being they don't hand out or revoke membership cards. If they start that's probably a red flag. You call yourself what you're comfortable with and you let other people call themselves what they want. There's a certain type of gay that gets off on policing that nonsense and I've got no patience for it."

"Jiminy Cricket, our tax dollars at work. This is why I always say that secret identity jazz isn't worth it, it gets away from you. I realize this goes counter to what I've been saying but I think it's better that whole mess stays top secret or whatever you call it. I'd have probably thrown you into the bay if I'd heard half of that nonsense without knowing what was happening with little Judy Cahill. Mhh." LaMarr rubbed his temples, calling upon the patience of a man who had guided years of teenagers through roughly the same stupid mistakes over and over. Not quite the same as the mistakes Ashley was describing obviously but even so. Leaning forward he rested his forearms on his knees. "It was... complicated. I wasn't out for most of the 1-800-JUSTICE days, not the way people are now. Nobody was going around making a statement on their newsletter blog and updating wiki pages. If you knew, you knew and even then most folks figured the polite thing to do was pretend they didn't." He paused to try to put complicated feeling into words that would be helpful for the younger woman. "For a lot of years it just felt like just being black, that was enough, yeah? I was loud - literally - and angry so to a lot of turkeys I was the wrong kind of young black man, even. And I was always going to be an ex-con even after my name was cleared and having powers, being a metahuman, that scared a lot of people, worse that it does now. Every room I walked into people saw a three kinds of threat all at once and that was the closest I was ever going to get to respect from a lot of them. And I didn't think I could be a tough guy and gay." It was a frank admission. He'd worked through the shame over his shame a long time ago but there was still a sort of embarrassment to saying it out loud. "And it wasn't their business, right? But keeping that secret, trying to split off part of myself because it didn't fit the idea I had of who I was? That was poison, for me and for the people I cared about. And eventually I realized that what I was doing to myself was worse than anything they could do to me. Worse than that, by saying nothing I was participating in that stigma, that hate. And I got complicated feelings about God myself but I look at my gifts and how could I ever think I was meant to be silent?"

"Lord, if I have to tell one more kid not to settle for an unpaid internship or submission contest or some other fool thing. She tell you about the time Typhoon tried to run out on a cheque? That story's still worth a free drink or two in the right bar." That brought a smile to his face, bittersweet at not having anyone these to give him a hard time for trotting that anecdote out once again. He took another sip of his beer. "I'm saying other folks don't get to be happy or not about you being who and what you are. They got an issue with you actual behaviour? Fine, that's maybe a conversation to have. Just existing in public shouldn't be 'going all out'." LaMarr heaved a rumbling sigh. "The bad news is I can tell you you'll get it coming and going. There's lesbians who'll hate you 'cause you don't meet some bull gold star purity test and a gay white man can be as racist and misogynistic as anybody else. That's equality, hah. I assume there'll be Vietnamese and other Asian folks who have one issue or another. You just can't let it be about all that. I promise you there's more, decent people who'll be in your corner, they're just not always as easy to hear over the loudmouths. I say stay off social media but I've been told that's a completely untenable strategy by 'the youths' so what do I know." Thinking about age had him furrow his brow briefly and do some quick math. "Now wait. You're telling me you were posing specifically as a gay high schooler before you were out to your bosses or yourself? Girl, what in the Sam Hill?"

"Dav, you gotta stop giving time travellers anxiety like this," Chitin pleaded under his breath as his classmate buzzed closer in his newest form. If nothing else, though, the ruse bought a bit of time for him to split his attention monitoring the video feeds coming from Magenta, Yellow and Black as they surreptitiously breached the towering lion robot's exterior. Yellow lifted Black up to a gap near the thing's left knee joint, where the beetle used his horn to pry back the plating enough for Magenta to scuttle inside, slashing away with her forelimbs as needed. Confirming that there were pilots inside rather than an autonomous intelligence was a good start; in a way he felt like he was looking at the conceptual ancestor of his own armour. It didn't look like it would be very hard to upset the balance of steam engine and dynamos but he wasn't so sure he could do so without endangering the people within. He was happier to talk than wreck somebody's hard work anyway. "Do the three of you want to come on out to talk?" the teen engineer called, clear in his emphasis. "Even with those very fancy chairs it seems like it'd be pretty hot and uncomfortable in there, yeah? This really doesn't have to be like a whole thing!" He gave the archaic mech a pair of reassuring thumbs up.

Chitin I think he'd try to talk them down before having the Robugs do a sabotage. He'll try to lean on knowing more than they think he should be able to know; that there are three of them, they have nice chairs, etc. Diplomacy check: 1d20+15 23 Anyone need to make an IC post before I go again?

Chitin Working on getting one of the Robugs inside the big lion robot/suit of armour. Disable Device check: 1d20+18 20 Disable Device check, HP Reroll: 1d20+18 38

"Oh wow, now that is a design aesthetic!" Chitin enthused, hands on his hips as he looked up at the towering robot from beside Wainwright's time machine. Heeding Bee's words he guilelessly waved Horrowshow and Paper over to help extricating the contraction from the hive. The window for carefully examination seemed to have passed them by and the priority was moving things away from anyone's home, giant bees included. Looking back to their unexpected visitor he called, "Hey pal! Appreciate you being willing to kinda deescalate and talk things out! I'm just a little bug themed armour guy, you're a big cat themed robot person, this is good! This is definitely cool!" He took a few steps to one side, not getting any closer to the mechanoid but watching to see if its weapon moved to follow him or stayed trained on the time machine. "Listen, though, before you go running off after anybody, do you know where you are? Or, like, when you are? It seems like there's a lot of room for confusion here and I'd feel better if I knew we were all on the same page, yeah?"

"It'd for sure be 'Patriette', though. Like the Rockettes." He took a sip of his beer and watched her face to see if the joke had eased some tension or just wound her up more. "Jav, my husband, he was a linguist, yeah? Saying 'Asian American' used to drive him up a wall, lumping all of those countries, all the distance and variety together. Me, I'm black 'cause I got no good way of telling what part of Africa my ancestors came from and the way he figured it 'Asian American' was that same sort of thing." He let his gaze fall to a large framed photo on the wall behind Ashley, eyes unfocusing a bit. When he looked back to meet her eyes LaMarr set his jaw to one side. "He also knew that model minority bull was a damn trap. You're a queer Asian lady. Doesn't mean you speak for me and my experiences. If Jav and Yelena were still here you wouldn't speak for them, either. But." He held up an index finger to emphasize his words. "Somewhere out there there's a little girl with a crush on her best friend who's convinced she's a freak. There's some brother with a PhD driving a cab sick of being told he's what's wrong with this country. And there's some mayonnaise loving fool browning his pants he's so mad you stole a job from a straight white dude. I'd say those are all pretty compelling reasons to tell anybody who's got a issue with what you are that they're welcome to come and try to do something about it."

"Spent a whole class talking to my kids about that press conference. Lot of feelings." LaMarr shook his head as he returned to his seat. "Bad situation." She didn't need him to tell her that posing as a teenager around a bunch of actual kids was deeply twisted. She'd helped the Cahill girl get out from under her piece-of-work father in the end so all her could really do was trust she'd done her best with the options available. He listened to her talk about her father in attentive silence. "It's a good dream, s'why we fight to make it true. They want you to represent that dream and you'll do it because the alternative is letting some loudmouth turkey twist it without any opposition." He ran a hand through his white streaked beard. "But you also want to start living your own truth. You think you can do both?"

LaMarr simultaneously raised his eyebrows as high as they could go and closed his eyes, a combination of surprise and careful processing. "Alright. This went from a sweet tea conversation to a beer conversation. Hot holy damn." He rose back to his feet and made his way over to the refrigerator. The handle didn't match the rest of the design and looked like it had been replaced at some point. Opening the door and shifting the contents about he muttered audibly, "Never could say O'Conner didn't have a pair on him." That seemed to jog his memory and the civics teacher paused, straightened and turned to give Ashley a careful look. "...they had you protecting the Cahill girl at that school. That's where I've seen you before. Knew I shouldn't have let Summers talk me into letting that one go, for--- nngh." He grimaced and rotated his head until something popped loudly in the superdense muscle tissue of his neck. "Damnation, girl. I've taken some lousy, thankless jobs in my time but you're really working on a resumé, huh?"

LaMarr rubbed the bridge of his nose and gave a rueful grunt. "Jiminy Cricket, look at the after school special on you. Guess I walked into that." The big man sauntered over to a love seat across from the armchair Ashley was sitting in and lowered himself onto it, frame creaking softly. "Smart ass. You don't need me to tell you that a good chunk of the 'American public' hate you because of your skin or 'cause you're a woman and overlapping chunk will hate you 'cause you're queer. Seeing as how you're a lady cop with muscle definition you got called a lesbian plenty of times before you decided maybe that wasn't all the way wrong." None of that was a question or a revelation. "And none of that scared you off which suggests you're thinking about making some big noise in particular and you want to make sure it's the right kind of noise. I on the right track?"