Jump to content

Cubist

Members
  • Content Count

    916
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About Cubist

  • Rank
    Advanced Member

Recent Profile Visitors

The recent visitors block is disabled and is not being shown to other users.

  1. You probably weren't aware, but the name "stormfront" has… unfortunate connotations. Try googling it, and you'll see what I mean. Perhaps a different name might be in order?
  2. [nods] A reasonable inference from the available data, no question—and if/when I ever do get around to filling in some of the blank spots around Jube's transformation, I might well go with "yep, aliens did it, for sure". But at this point, it's still a question mark.
  3. Some factual corrections re: Jubatus… Not sure if that's the right word to use. In brute anatomical terms, Jay's body differs from that of a normal cheetah is exactly two particulars: One, the digits on his forepaws are somewhat longer, narrower, and more dexterous than the digits on a normal cheetah's forepaws. Two, his braincase is significantly larger than that of a normal cheetah. Possible, but not known to be true. The entity which zapped Jay is known to have been using Grue techniques for genetic manipulation, but the actual identity of said entity has never been investigated, let alone revealed; it could just as easily have been a Terran with access to Grue-tech as a realio, trulio Grue. This was speculated to be true by Dr. Archeville, but the Doktor's speculation has not been confirmed. Not quite. Jay has met and spoken with gods, after all. As has been said of Dr. Doom, even the staunchest materialist can be forgiven for believing in gods after the third time they've fired force blasts into a god's face… Jay is what tvtropes refers to as a "naytheist"—someone who recognizes that the gods are real, but refuses to worship any of them. In Jay's case, this lack of worship is because he doesn't trust any god, and doesn't think any god is worth worshipping. Jay doesn't believe he has any friends, poor broken bastard that he is. Which doesn't stop other people from thinking that they're friends of his, of course… Are you sure Supercape and Velocity are friends with Jubatus? Supercape has met the cheetah, yes, but it wasn't really a social call, and I don't believe Jube and Velocity have ever encountered each other. Actually, Jube is on a team that's bankrolled by Asad. Said team hasn't exactly been making front page news, however, so it's understandable if people don't know this. I tried writing up a proper blurb for Jube. Am not satisfied with the results, and therefore am amenable to your re-writing it, or transplanting bits of it into the existing blurb, or whatever, Arichamus: Jubatus: Jay Xavier. Freelance troubleshooter, and technical writer. Transformed by Grue genetic manipulation, overnight, into a Time-twisting, marginally anthropomorphic cheetah. Since he's permanently stuck in this inhuman form, he does not bother to maintain a secret identity. Xavier's unwanted body-change was the worst trauma of his life; his ingrained perfectionist nature, and abhorrence of Being An Animal, greatly assisted him in re-learning how to perform such ordinary tasks as speech and walking upright. Since then, his greatest fear is the possibility that he may become, in mind, the brute animal that he is in body. In a godless universe, Xavier would be a hardshell atheist; in the Prime universe, Xavier acknowledges the existence of gods and refuses to worship, because "it only encourages them". He doesn't believe he has any friends, a proposition which would be disputed by the King of Suits and especially (NPC) ASTRO Lab technician Martin Brandtford. He is part of a hero team bankrolled by Asad.
  4. Jubatus >Patriotism vignette
  5. The Second Freedom 28 June 2013. West End. Jubatus here. There's a construction project in the West End, a couple blocks East of the intersection of Herge and Allen. It'll be a mosque, when it's completed… but it's hard to say when that will occur, because there's a bevy of protestors around the site every day. No prizes for guessing which religion all the protesters happen to share. Ain't it great how sincerely devout personal beliefs can encourage people to work in harmony to achieve a common goal? Me, I could care less about the mosque. I'm an equal-opportunity anti-theist; as far as I'm concerned, all religions suck rocks, and the sooner every religious faith bites the dust, the better. Alas, that happy day is not come, and will not for the foreseeable future… Patience is a virtue, right? Anyway, the mosque-to-be. I've been keeping an eye on it, on the off chance that one of those Jesus-flavored godbots decides their invisible friend wants them to take a more active role in opposing those Mohammed-flavored godbots than just, you know, walking around with signs and bullhorns. Idiots. Since no-religion-whatsoever isn't on the menu (much to my displeasure), the next best option is what the Founding Fathers built into the First Amendment: No-religious-favoritism-whatsoever. But it seems like any time a body's humble enough to believe they've got a close personal friend in The Creator And Sustainer Of All Existence, it's real easy for their brain to get fixated on the Law must force everybody to worship our god! and lose the capacity to ask themselves what if some other godbots' religion takes control of the governmental machinery we set up to benefit The One True Church? Enlightened self-interest. It's not just for breakfast any more. It's also a big chunk of why I'm playing guardian angel here, because when a church lays its hands on the power of the State, unbelievers like me are among the first to suffer, followed closely by wrong-believers of whatever stripe. Not fun—not unless you get your jollies from genocidal slapstick, and I sure as hell don't. And I like living where the laws don't enshrine anybody's invisible friend in a place of supreme honor-slash-authority. I wouldn't go so far as to say that the Founders had the right idea, but politics is "the art of the possible", okay? And the idea they had, it's as close to right as anybody could decently ask for, given that so many of the Founders were, themselves, Jesus-flavored godbots. That separation-of-church-and-state deal isn't perfect, no, but it's something we can live with. There's a lot of that sort of thing in the Constitution. Like I always say—the U.S. of A. is the worst nation of all time, except for every other country that's ever existed. So savor the irony: We got this mosque, a church for a religion that regularly polls as being less popular than ebola in these parts. And it's being watched over by an inhuman creature who (all else being equal) honestly wouldn't even care if the friggin' thing was reduced to inchoate rubble, and whose lack-of-belief is even less popular than Islam. You gotta laugh, hrrrm?
  6. Skills for the Urban Angel: I suspect the simplest, least expensive possibility would be to give your Angel the feat Jack Of All Trades, which would allow her to use any skill, including those which normally require a character to be trained in before they can use 'em. Alternately, you could give the Angel a Variable structure (ULTIMATE POWER book, pp 113-115) that can only be used for skills. I'm not sure I recommend this, because a skills-only Variable structure is quite expensive for what it does, but it will allow you to have any skill you want at any time. So it's at least worth considering a Variable structure.
  7. Jubatus IC threads GM threads News threads
  8. While administering rudimentary medical care to the gang-bangers who most needed it, Jubatus spared a small piece of his attention for the guy in white. If Jube got blindsided by a hostile-in-hero's-clothing, that would do the wounded no good whatsoever… but in this case, as in so many others, the cheetah's habitual overcaution proved to be unnecessary. For one thing, Mr. White was taking this opportunity to summon paramedics. Good, good. Some mis-steps in the call, which confirm that he's a noob, but he's learning from them. Could be a lot worse. The feline's sensitive nose detected fatigue poisons, and some distinctive metabolic by-products, in Neospell's scent. He sure is tired. Good that he can recognize and admit it, not so good that he's unprepared for something that blatantly foreseeable. And five'll get you 500 he's coming down off an adrenaline rush. Jubatus pulled a small can from his Vest of Many Things; looked at its label; put it back; and finally extracted a can of Red Bull. "Here. You look like you could use this," he said as he offered it to Neospell. "For future reference, you'll probably want to tweak your costume. Pockets are good." A swift gesture with Jube's other forepaw drew attention to his fully-loaded vest. "Or pouches and military webbing, if you can secure 'em properly." Now that the smoke's cleared, we better stick around. At least until the EMTs arrive, anyway. What to do in the meantime… warn him about the very real dangers of magic? Yeah, right. Either he already knows, and he's using the stuff anyway, or he's too damn stupid to heed sensible advice. Either way, no point to it. Okay, fine: Get him talking about himself. "So… how'd you decide to get into the business, Neospell?"
  9. In the midst of the hurry and bustle, Jubatus had time to kill. But then, Jubatus always had time to kill—his default tempo of 6, not to mention his Timeshift power, ensured that. Once the base camp was properly set up, the speedster did some reconnaissance, familiarizing himself with all the terrain within a mile of the camp; he was alert for disturbances and discontinuities, anything which might hint at the presence of a hostile force, but found nothing which fit that profile, unless he counted the area to the west which a pride of lions regarded as its territory. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, so he filed the information away in his mind and continued working. In between moving boxes and helping assemble the camp's various structures, Jube made a point of talking with Lt. Lidimo, inquiring about what sort of super-powered opponents might try to interfere with this mission of mercy; the feline could have asked Edge, but the reality-warper scared the crap out of him he felt that Lidimo, being an officer in the Mozambique army, would be a much better source of information in this context. And Lidimo was very likely to be a better person with whom to discuss the possible tactics they might use in response to one or another type of assault. Jubatus tried to wrap his head around the magnitude of the problem they were solving. Just the bare dimensions of the problem were disquieting; sixty-five kilometers of river, twenty thousand people affected to varying degrees… and then there was the lurking, unspoken question of when would the Messalo River give an encore performance? After several unsuccessful attempts to find flaws in the plan as he understood it, the feline decided he'd just accept that the people who'd assembled this plan actually had a clue. Because if they didn't know what they were doing, it was a sure thing that he, Jubatus, was even less competent in this context. More than once,the feline regretted that he'd not been able to properly research the area before he signed up to do this job. He'd had to put a number of his freelance contracts on hold, and cancel others, and too damn many of his clients insisted on interacting with him in ways that required him to stay downshifted to a tempo of 1 for extended periods of time… Whatever. He'd made his choice, now he had to live with its consequences. The cheetah nodded, and said, "I'm on it." He still wanted to know why he'd been sought out for this mission; he certainly wasn't the only hero-type with technological expertise, nor yet even the only tech-savvy hero who'd ever been involved with post-disaster recovery. But no matter why he'd been specifically invited to join this effort, that invitation had been extended. He had accepted it. And by Vulcan, he was going to do the job he'd signed on for! Jubatus wasn't happy with who'd ended up going where—Oh, frigging joy. Edge.—but he said nothing, tried to conceal his antipathy for the transmuter. My problem entirely. Not his fault he freaks me out. He blurred ahead of the Land Rover, checking the road surface for anomalies which might indicate someone had meddled with it, say by burying a landmine? He also examined all the land within a half-mile of the road, just in case there might be any unpleasant surprises hidden in the surrounding greenery. Maybe it was a waste of effort, but Jubatus would rather check and find nothing, than not check and be surprised, later on, by some insane zealot with far too many high-calibre firearms. The overly-wet river, just waiting for the next heavy rain, was not a happy-making sight. What would happen the next time the damn thing ran Much Too High? The locals clearly weren't prepared for the flooding that had just occured… Jubatus sighed. Yes, most of Africa is horribly mismanaged, but a big chunk of that can be blamed on a centuries-long history of colonial exploitation. It is what it is, so deal with it, Jube. 'Dealing with it' meant, above all else, recognizing the reality of the situation. He'd have to find out what the local standards were for residential construction, and what resources were actually available to help with the restoration job, and… Jubatus didn't care for being stared at, but he was used to it. Stares came with the territory when you weren't quite human. However, there was something about these particular stares… he found them disquieting in a way that simple gawk-at-the-freak just plain wasn't. As soon as he and Lidimo had a mutually-free moment, the cheetah asked: "What's up with the locals? I mean, I expect to attract attention, but never anything like that. So, hrm, what's the deal?"
  10. Fun fact: The ability to make your personal Time run faster isn't as helpful as it could be when you're conversing with a person who can't do that. And when you're dealing with 23 people simultaneously, all of whom are stuck at the normal tempo of 1… "You're absolutely right, Mr. Hamilton," Jubatus said to the banker that currently occupied the body of a trumpeter swan. "You are in a xxixty situation, and you do need help, and I am as close as you're gonna get to a person with the kind of expertise you need. The thing is, you're one of twenty-three people who all can say the same, and every clock-second I spend helping you is a clock-second during which I'm not helping any of the twenty-two other people who need me just as bad as you do. So take a xxxxing number and get in line, pal!" The swan/banker having been shocked blessedly speechless by this outburst, Jube moved on to the single mother who was going to have a hell of a time working her cash register if she wasn't restored from the aardvark-body she currently occupied. "Hi, Jubatus!" the aardvark's prosthetic speech-substitute said for her. "I'm sorry, but I just don't think I'm going to be able to stand upright." The feline shrugged. "No need to apologize. Frankly, most of you shouldn't try for bipedal posture, but it'd be hypocritical as hell for me to talk you out of it, hrmm? Now, have you had a chance to experiment with your forepaws?" "Not yet. All I've done is try, and fail, to stand up…" Jubatus didn't notice the passage of time; he just kept moving from person to person, offering such advice as he could, demonstrating what he could, searching the Internet for relevant bits of data as needed. The speedster was so tightly focused on what he was doing, that he actually failed to notice the King of Suits' arrival! Jubatus shut his eyes and winced. Of course. Of bleeding course Donnermutter's current base of operations is within a one-block radius of her former residence. Jubatus looked off into the middle distance as he considered the King of Suits' report and notes. "Hrrrmmm… looks like the gadget they're trying for is a pocket EMP generator—should be able to mess up any electromagnetic transmission, microwaves and radio and even power lines, within a radius of about six miles. Not good; six-mile radius covers a non-trivial chunk of Freedom City. Don't want to even think of how many hospitals and fire stations could get zapped…" Jubatus nodded. "Right, right. Definite physical challenges here, requiring specialized environments. I just… have no idea what's needed… hrrrrm. ArcheTech provided the voice-boxes, let's see if they're set up to handle more-extensive physical deficits—" Upshift, an email sent ArcheTech-ward, downshift. "—and since this mess is in the ballpark of some of Dr. Simian's past rampages, get the Freedom League in the loop on this." A second upshift-email-downshift, this one directed towards the greatest hero group on Earth. Five-to-one odds that ArcheTech responds first, considering how damn many emails the League must get on any given day. Even odds of no League reply within the next, hm, 7 clock-hours? Surprise number one: The League responded first, within 7 clock-seconds. Surprise number two: The content of the League's reply. It seemed that they had a contingency plan in place for exactly this kind of scenario, an arrangement with the Hanover Zoo— An involuntary growl tore itself from the cheetah's throat. No. Abso-xxxxing-lutely not. No goddamn way in any or all the hells that never existed am I going to sit by and allow these people to be xxxxing locked up in… Jubatus blinked. His ears, tail, and hackles sank towards the pavement. …an environment which is explicitly designed for the specific purpose of accommodating the unique needs of sentient beings who've been caught up in exactly this kind of situation… "Khhhm." Jube paused a moment, then tried again: "King of Suits. It, says here. That. The Hanover Zoo. Has. Special facilities. For people who. Have. Been transformed. And, the. Zoo. Should be able. To ackkhawmmidate. All 23 of. Our guests here. Plus the. Ex-animals. And the. Ones. Who, stampeded off. After Rrrabbit, c-c-corrals them." He swallowed, not that this act would provide any physical benefit. "Could you. Please. Make, the, rrrequizzzite. Arrangements." Because the mere thought of being caged, even with the best of intentions, scares the ever-loving crap out of me…
  11. Does that 783 Allen address remind Jubatus of anything? Take 20 'rolls' on Knowledge skills for Business ('roll' of 28), Current Events (28), Technology (29), and Theology/Philosophy (29), if that helps. Jube will interrogate KoS on whatever specific technological details he may have gleaned from Barven & Chandler and all, followed by a Take 20 'roll' of 29 on Knowledge (Technology) to see if he can make any useful deductions about the gadget Acinonyx & Transmogrifier want to build. Like, say, does it require enough power that it needs to be plugged into a 220-volt power line? That sort of thing, operational restrictions. Anything Jube can use to help zero in on the exact spot where A&T are going to set up shop for whatever their nefarious plan happens to be. What to do with the transformed ex-humans: Oy. Jube has no idea. Calling the Freedom League is as good an option as any, and better than most. Also try ArcheTech, on the grounds that even if ArcheTech can't/won't help out, there's a good chance that they know people who can and will help. What to do with the cage full of transformed ex-animals: Again, no idea. Call Freedom City's Animal Control officers? Call the Freedom League? Hmm… try the League first. They'll prolly delegate to Animal Control, but since it'll be The Freedom League doing the delegation, that's likely to get a better response than if it's just a couple of B-list superheroes like Jube and KoS.
  12. Let's put Jube in Group 2, on the south bank, on the grounds that he wants to inquire about what sort of violent opponents this operation is most likely to encounter, and Lt. Paulino "liaison to the Mozambique Army" Lidimo strikes Jube as the best person to talk to on such a topic. Also, Jube would like to make use of his Master Plan feat discuss tactics and strategy with someone who knows what he's doing, just in case any violent encounters happen to take place while we're here. Fortunately, Lidimo speaks English; if there are problems with English anyway, Jube's Spanish should sorta-kinda overlap with Lidimo's Portuguese. Also: Jube would like to ask about dangerous animals in the area, the better to recognize them & deal with them before anybody gets hurt, and what Endangered Species List critters… and plants, for that matter… can be found in the region(s) we'll be working in.
  13. The semi-feline thug slashed— Upshift Idiot cat-boy, Jubatus thought as he moseyed around the thug's dangerous-at-normal-speed claws. Either he didn't do his homework on me, or he thinks he's got a prayer of tagging someone who can go hypersonic under his own power. Either way: "What a maroon." Not quite as careful to avoid causing harm as was his custom, the feline speedster levered the thug's arms into position and duct-taped his wrists together behind him, followed by a second strip of duct-tape to bind the thug's elbows together, and finally taped the thugs' ankles to his wrists. There. Let's see you— Downshift —get out of that, xxxxnose. Fortunately for Jubatus' mood, the maybe-Jamaican thug didn't manage to escape his bindings. Good. "I'll make you a deal, cat-boy: You don't do anything stupid, like try to escape custody, and I won't riddle you with a volley of 19-millimeter steel nuts with a 2-digit Mach number." Cat-boy didn't make any overt response, not with words or hostile moves, so Jubatus counted that as acquiescence. Upshift Jube carried cat-boy back to the site of the battle and placed him on the pavement, then looked over the neutralized gang-bangers. Hmm. Don't like how those two are looking. Let's assume Mr. White here just doesn't know first aid, as opposed to him choosing to let ’em bleed out. And ​those look like their duct-tape could use a little reinforcement… Ehh. I might as well give all the intact thugs a fresh 'coat' of 'paint'. And that's what the cheetah did— Downshift —just before turning his attention to the criminals who were in dire need of medical attention. Since every clock-second counted, Jubatus fished a cell-phone out of one vest-pocket and laid it down on the asphalt, saying, "If you haven't already summoned the paramedics, use this." Then the feline got to work. By no coincidence whatsoever, Jube's Vest Of Many Things contained exactly the right tools and supplies to prevent humans from bleeding out, and he put those tools and supplies to excellent use now. And when he was satisfied that the gang-bangers were, in fact, not in imminent danger of dying, only then did Jubatus give 'Mr. White' his full attention. "My name's Jubatus. I'm faster than you are," he said to the man in white. "Who are you, what's your schtick, and what's the ee-tee-ay on the ambulances?"
  14. Finally! And since the combat will officially be over, Jube will transport the gift-wrapped cat-boy back to the scene of the battle, plus whatever other appropriate actions. Now that Jubatus is actually chatting with Neospell, it may be worth noting that Jube's voice is a literally inhuman noise that sounds like it was assembled from a library of sound-effects—because that's pretty much what it is. It is, of course, up to Neospell how he elects to react to this information.
  15. Okay, Jube's going to try duct-taping on cat-boy. His Attack roll (1d20+12=15) misses, so I'll burn my shiny new Hero Point for a re-roll, which effectively uses 1d10+10 rather than 1d20, for a 2nd Attack roll (1d10+10+12=32)—max roll! yay! Let's see if cat-boy makes his damn Reflex save…
×