Gizmo

Aren't we still waiting on people?

Jack listened impassively as Colt and Grim expounded on the varied relationships between luck and winning and death. To the swordsman's mind, keeping everyone who deserved it safe was the one and only win condition; anything less was at the very least a slightly mitigated failure. Intellectually he knew that he couldn't save everyone, especially against such overwhelming odds, but he refused to accept it. The moment he started compromising with himself, started putting reasonable expectations on his limits, was the moment he'd no longer be able to face those overwhelming odds face on. Regardless, he wasn't in the mood to launch into a lengthy philosophical debate over the matter, especially with his teammates so ardently attempting to cheer him up. At least Nadia knew how to resolve an issue quickly and cleanly. That's my kind of 'conflict resolution'. When they turned their attention to his assertion that he'd 'come back wrong', he would have been relieved, if the new topic of discussion weren't just as uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck self consciously. "Right, well, probably easiest to just show you." Reaching into the pocket of pants, he withdrew the lighter he carried with him at all times. Before the invasion, creating swords out of flame had been one of his preferred tactics, as much out of fond familiarity as ease of implementation. Since then, however, the other Interceptors had noticed him going out of his way to avoid that particular energy source. Presently Jack rolled the lighter around in his left hand contemplatively before letting out a long, apprehensive breath and flicking it open. Gesturing with his right hand, he drew a line of fire from the resulting flicker, pulling it into him palm and fanning it into a rapier-length blade. For a moment nothing seemed amiss. Suddenly the sword flared violently, dark blue flames erupting from Jack's hand to consume the more mundane fires. The blade expanded into a broad, jagged shape; no longer a tool of precision but of wanton destruction. It was hard to tell in the deep blue light, which almost seemed to make the hallway darker rather than brighter, but it almost looked like Jack's eyes dilated slightly as an involuntary shudder ran up his arm. When he spoke, his voice held an uncharacteristic gravelly quality. "Happens any time I try to use fire. Hurts a little bit. Feels good, too." His expression flickered as he made a conscious effort to control himself. "It's wrong. Seen strange energy, destructive, deadly, but this... Fire wants to burn. This stuff... wants to hurt." Colt and Grim couldn't help but notice that, having successfully demonstrated the problem, Jack showed no sign of wanting to extinguish the sword.

Jack's Initiative: 1d20+9=15 Yuck. Well, could be worse. Oh, and Jack calls Force. Yes, solely because she's a lady. Doesn't even matter what her powers are, that's just how he rolls.

Hurr hurr, point taken. Edit: Admit it, "Billynn" was kinda inspired.

Jack has 6pp to spend. The first 1 is going to go toward a second rank of Equipment, with all 5ep being added to his "Shared Equipment" contribution, bringing it up to 9ep total. The other 5 I'm going to put into his Strike, giving it the Autofire extra to represent a flurry of blows, making it: [b]Strike 5[/b] [energy sword; [i]Extras:[/i] Autofire 1, Penetrating, [i]Power Feats:[/i] Improved Critical (19-20), Mighty, Variable Descriptor 2 (any energy type), [i]Drawback:[/i] Limited to available, concentrated energy types)] [18pp] Done By Angrydurf

I guess it depends of what sort of thread you want it to be to introduce Jester, Geez. If you don't want there to be heavy combat, you could just have a lot of thugs, or there could be a legitimate threat for him to prove himself against.

As soon as Colt placed Jack down on the couch, the acrobat was back on his feet, hands held out to ward off any advance. "Whoa, ha, yeah, no." The swordsman moved to lean against the wall across form the others. "Look guys, you're happy and that's fantastic, truly and honestly, but you're in that stage where you finish each others' sentences and smile knowingly a lot and think you can solve everyone's problems and want to go on double couple dates and are freaking creepy as hell, okay?" He ran a hand through his hair and winced uncomfortably. "Living with you, even in this big place, is like the textbook definition of 'third wheel'. You two do what you gotta do, more power to you, but I need some time away from the merged Grolt entity sometimes. Colrim? Billynn. There we go. Anyway." The swordsman sighed and looked upward. "Okay, granted, I may be a little extra sensitive about this because, y'know, the secret identity renders my social life nonexistent, but such is the world, moving on." He smirked in spite of himself. "And, yes, I'm pretty generally terrific; you don't have to patronize me." The smile left his lips as his expression clouded over. "It's not even about, uh, dying, really. I mean, how do you even begin to conceptualize your own death in the past tense? It pretty much just feels like I got hurt real bad, then I got better. Ta dah." He made halfhearted jazz hands indicating himself from head to toe."It's all pretty fuzzy, but... we- I wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough. We didn't win, and the city burned. We got so, so lucky when everything went back to the way it was, and that's unacceptable. We can't rely on that." Jack rubbed his face with his hands. "That's not even really it, though," he admitted. "I've gotten my butt handed to me before. Never with those kinds of consequences but... You lose, you learn from it and you get better so you never lose the same way again. Hence the Bruce Banner school of anger management," he explained tipping his head toward the Wreck Room. "I've always had an edge against chumps and thugs; I need to get that edge against the all the other stuff out there." He paused again as though framing his thoughts, staring at the palm of his right hand. "Bottom line, I was gone, then I came back. But..." Jack suddenly jerked his hand violently like he was flinging something from its surface. As he jammed it into his pocket, he grimaced, suggesting that the movement had been involuntary. "I think I came back wrong.

That would be Interceptors: Exorcism, quote.

Jack of all Blades Fisticuffs Fundraiser! Geiger Gal [JoaB/Fulcrum] Interceptors: Intervention Interceptors: Liquid Therapy The Good, The Bad, and The Extra Dimensional Surely You Jest One of These is Not Like the Other S.H.A.D.O.W. over Freedom Life's Bazaar Three of a Kind

Jack spun on his heel and grabbed the racquetball out of the air just in time for the magical construct to evaporate between his fingers. "Whoa-ho, check you out with the mad detective skills! A guy gets his insides pulped and you figure he's maybe upset about it? Somebody get this girl a deerstalker and pipe!" When Colt followed him out of the Wreck Room to stand behind his girlfriend, Jack crossed his arms and snorted. "Fantastic, another performance of 'The Thing With Two Heads'. Honestly, I surprised the pair of you noticed anything the past few weeks, what with getting welded together at the hip and all." The swordsman pointed emphatically upward in the direction of the brownstone. "Those walls are not that thick!" He was about to launch into another stream of biting retorts when Colt said four words. Jack's venomous rejoinder died in his throat. He started to speak, then stopped. He raised a finger to point angrily at the cowboy, then let it fall. He stood there for a moment longer, quivering with suddenly stunted anger, then all at once the rage and energy seemed to drain out of him, leaving a much diminished man standing in the hallway, shoulders slumped and expression agonized. Drawing a hand across his face, Jack swore softy. "Dammit, Colt," he said without looking up, mouth quirking into a sad smirk. "Right in the sense of responsibility, huh?"

Jack stalked forward, getting right up in Colt's face, his mouth etched in a tight line and the bar of lightning still arcing in his hand. "Gee, Sheriff Billy," he said with mock sweetness, "You gonna teach me about gun safety next?" He brushed past the cowboy without waiting for a reply, letting the electrical blade fade as he did. "It's training. If you help is pretty much defeats the purpose, doesn't it?" The swordsman whirled around just before reaching Grim in the doorway, his flaring coat coming within a fraction of an inch of the shapeshifter's face as he spread his arms wide. "Speaking of which, what 'team'? Why do you think everyone left, Colt? Wake up and smell the inadequacy! We couldn't cut it! We need to get better, and at least one of us should be trying, don't you think?" Spinning back around, Jack paused for a moment to tower over Grim, standing the better part of a foot over her in her natural form. "You know what, you're right, Lynn. I should be more careful. I really could have been killed." Snapping the fingers of one hand as though in sudden realization, he pulled his wig and mask off with the other and tossed them to the ground, revealing the shorn dusty brown hair beneath it. "Oh, wait! I already did die! Been there, done that, and do y'know, I didn't even get the novelty t-shirt?" His exaggerated sincerity gave way to a barely restrained snarl as he pushed around her and started down the hallway. "I do not need this right now."

Electricity flashed in Jack of all Blades' eyes to match the pillar of bottled lightning clenched in his palm. The swordsman hadn't even bothered to shape the captured energy into his customary refined rapier; instead it was an ill-defined thing of raw power that performed a brutal dance, ripping apart machinery and shorting out electronics as Jack leaped around the Wreck Room's many obstacles. Diving under a gout of flame the poured suddenly from the wall, he turned his momentum into a slide that brought him smoothly to a robotic claw extending from the floor just in time to mange to machinery beyond recognition with an angry thrust. A dozen spinning disks, honed to a razor's edge, spat forth from opposite sides of the room. Jack cut one volley to pieces with a crackling swipe and swept his greatcoat around to bat the rest to one side. More dangers appeared, and the fencer dealt with them with similar grim determination. He had already been in the combat simulator for well over half an hour, and showed no signs of stopping. Mind seething, he was oblivious to anything but the next parry... until the machinery around him suddenly shut down and the room was plunged into darkness. Jack whirled around with a snarl as the doors leading to the rest of the Underground were pried open and his teammates appeared in the opening. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Sure, let's just make it someone sufficiently dangerous to justify so many heroes showing up.

All squished into those little cars...

Hey, I didn't say I wanted to meet him!

Jack's the type to take a cynical eye toward supposedly reformed villains, but he could relate to the whole 'manic energy and constant jokes' thing. I've been meaning for him to meet Breakdown at some point anyway.

Man, even with trade-off feats, that'd be one looooong fight. Feinting is kinda Jack's bread and butter, but it'd be pointless against Atlas. I guess Taunting and Distracting would be worth something, but I think the best solution would be a good Trick check in a construction site!

Man, I wish I could say the same about Jack. Let's see, he needs some Luck and probably Leadership, Autofire on his Strike to get enough points into it to start getting some decent Alternate Powers, I'd like to set him up with Well Informed eventually to take better advantage of his his Charisma and he really needs a grappling hook at some point. Oh, and I'll have to meet PL caps next month if all goes well. Hurr... gotta figure out what to prioritize.

Ha ha, I just twigged on who Grim reminds me of, with all of the costume changes. Anybody watch any classic Super Sentai? (Warning: be prepared for a montage of truly ridiculous fanservice questionably justified as badassery.) Also, I don't care how high his Defense is, I'm glad Jack didn't have to go up against Atlas. DC 31... sheesh. Jack could roll a 19 on his Toughness save and still be stunned. If he rolled a 10, he'd be flat out unconscious in one hit!

Jack instinctively threw a hand up to block Grim's frozen projectile, and came away with a cold and sticky hand for his trouble. "Well, yuck," he grimaced, waving a concessionist over to grab a napkin. He nodded to Colt as he wiped his hand clean. "Word up, cow-brother. You think I stay this pretty by letting folks punch me? Discretion is the better part of not getting your ribs cracked. Again." He was distracted from Lynn's costume changing antics by Fulcrum's shifting aura. It definitely seemed to respond to the paragon's use of her powers, but their was a distinct malevolence to it that seemed to act almost independently. Jack cracked his neck uncomfortably; even from this far away and through Dark Star's force field, the tendrils of black light felt like a minor chord with long finger nails clamping down on his shoulder. Inclined though he was to mind his own business, the swordsman resolved to speak with Fulcrum privately about it. If she was spilling that kind of bad juju in the West End, it was definitely his concern. Altas' latest massive blow triggered a sudden flashback to the demon invasion, and Jack winced involuntarily, leaning backward in his seat and gripping the armrests. A hit like that would have broken him, just like massive demon's had. Never happened, he reminded himself unconvincingly.

Suits me. (Gotta figure out a better shorthand for Jack... "JoaB" is just not flattering.) You realize, of course, that this makes the Interceptors' "Big Three" a boy scout from another world, a street-level vigilante who hates gun and a woman who's powers have mystical origins. The last one's more of a stretch, but c'mon, Jersey, Themyscira; same thing, really. For the sake of argument, should we be looking at trimming some points or moving them around, now that the Interceptors general set-up has changed a bit? I'm thinking mainly about the MAVRIC; since Grim can fly and Jack could conceivably hitch a ride with Colt most of the time, how often are we going to need a big armored vehicle? If we do keep it, Jack should probably drop a couple ranks into Drive at some point.

Have we nailed down how we're paying for the Underground yet? We should decide soon, with January's PP rewards coming up.

"Pfft, I didn't get knocked out," Jack snorted absently without looking over at the cowboy. The swashbuckler clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Fake accents? Really?" Cupping his hands around his mouth he shouted at the ring. "Make a joke about his pants never ripping inappropriately! Big Red! You've got more'n a foot on her! Make a short joke!" Jack paused before adding, "Oh, and punch each other, too, I guess!"

Ha, I'd been thinking Sinestro Corps for Avenger, but you're right, he's pretty dead, isn't he? I wonder if vampirism counts as being 'alive' enough to get the same treatment as previously resurrected heroes, or if he'd have to deal with undead wackiness. Alright, so there's seven Corps, not counting the Black Lanterns, and the Interceptor's initial line-up, though it didn't last very long, had seven members. As soon as I realized that I was seized by the same compulsion that forces people to debate which of their friends would be Chandler and Ross. Some of these are a bit forced to accommodate the full spectrum, but it's worth it to imagine the team with colour coded, Lantern-ified costumes. Rage - All-Star - Marcus isn't angry by default, but he does let his temper get away from him. Avarice - Blink - The ex-thief gets stuck with the Orange Ring, naturally. Fear - Razorwing - You don't want to meet this kid in a dark alley, but you probably will anyway. Will - Colt - From hopping dimensions to fighting demons, I don't think I've ever seen him bat an eye. Hope - Jack of all Blades - Let's face it, Erik's the team Inspire monkey. Compassion - Velocity - No tragic past here; Megan just wants to help people. Love - Grimalkin - She's the team den mother and the most open about her emotions. I guess VINCE would be a Guardian, then?

"You got a bucket?" Jack asked wryly when Colt suggested preparing a beverage for the massive Russian. Snarking aside, the swordsman's eyes never left the fight below. While an out and out slugging match was hardly his combat method of choice, the sheer power being tossed around in the ring below fascinated him. For all his recklessness, Jack was pointedly aware that a moment's lapse in concentration, a stray bullet, a lucky shot were all it would take to kill him. Well, kill me again, anyway. That knowledge helped him to focus and grounded him in reality. The idea of being able to bounce bullets from one's skin and shrug off blows that could shatter buildings boggled his mind. There's metas, and then there's metas, he mused, shaking his head.