Cubist

Fun (and perhaps not obvious) things to do with controlling the vector of gravity: [*:1mhgr62k]Make people fall up. For an indefinitely long time. Eventual results dependent on how long the effect is maintained, of course. [*:1mhgr62k]Have remarkably good aim with thrown objects, because 'down' is where the target is. [*:1mhgr62k]Small, localized vector-shift centered on the target's inner ear = Instant Nausea. [*:1mhgr62k]Make 'down' be to the left for the target's head, and to the right for the target's feet: holy Trip, Batman! [*:1mhgr62k]Throw off enemies' aim, because they're not adjusting for the current gravitational vector. [*:1mhgr62k]Let 'down' be directly overhead for the left side of the target's body, and only for the left side of the target's body, so they spin in midair... this one works best for flyers whilst they're in the air, methinks. Then again, once you've made them fall up, anybody is "a flyer in the air", right? Hmm. Looking over that list, it seems like nausea (disruption of equilibrium) would be a necessary, unavoidable side-effect of the power, when it's used on a living thing. People puking their guts out all over the place... summat questionable for a hero, methinks. May build a villain around this powerset... Okay, I'll go with the not-a-ninja. Thanks for the feedback, folx!

Now that Jubatus is reasonably well-established, I've been pondering what to do for my second, PL7, character. I don't want to get stuck in a rut, so this second character will be neither a speedster nor a totem. Maybe a Claremont student, maybe not; unsure on that. Right now, I just have some rough concepts... in no particular order: One -- An honest-to-God Toon. Not sure how well the 'standard' Toon-ish powerset can be shoehorned into a 105-pt budget, however, so I suspect it would be better for this guy to be a Toon from a genre that's at least somewhat realistic, as opposed to 'anything goes' comedic. Could be a Toon superhero; Lord knows there's plenty to choose from... Two -- A "ninja" who is, in fact, not all that ept, physically speaking, but who uses technology to make up for their own lack of actual skill. A user of light-based tech, I'm thinking; he's got holographic imagery to make himself look like he's doing all sort of spiffy tricks, like being immune to damage (in reality, the attack just 'hit' an image that's off to one side of the character proper), etc etc. I see him as having designed and built his own equipment. Three -- A limited gravity-controller. They can't change the strength of local gravity, but they can screw around with the vector, meaning they get to decide which direction is 'down'. Declare 'down' to be parallel to the ground, and walk up a wall. That sort of thing. Comments?

If you're of a mind for Eddie/Breakdown to meet Jubatus, your next post would be a fine time to do it, Quote. And if you'd rather not, that's fine, too.

"Hey, bring the noise!" K-Jones said, his smile practically audible through the telephone connection. "How about you come by around 6 o'clock? I got my usual troubleshooter checking over the sound system at five; he should be done in 45 minutes, unless there's a glitch that hasn't shown up yet." And at five o'clock precisely, there was a knock on the front door of KayJay's. The owner answered it promptly, opening the door with a hearty, "Hola, Jay! Good to... see you..?" K-Jones' hesitation was understandable, because the being on his doorstep bore essentially no resemblance to the person he'd been expecting. Jay's eyes weren't green, and he wasn't covered in black-spotted yellow fur, and he didn't have a long, sinuous tail, and -- "Hello, Kemen," the... apparition... said, holding out two driver's licences, both for JAY NELSON XAVIER. "Yes, it's me. Jay Xavier. Your troubleshooter." The two portraits on the cards couldn't be more different; one matched K-Jones' memories of the man, and the other was a head shot of the creature he was seeing now. And that voice -- yes, it was definitely the one he'd heard over the phone. Dios mio, what happened to the poor guy? K-Jones thought, but did not say. What he did say, as he opened the door wider and gestured for his unusual guest to enter, was, "Ah... right, right. Come on in. I, ah, stocked up on diet root beer for you, but, ah, if you've got different dietary restrictions now..." "Thanks for thinking of it, but diet ahr-bee will do," the cheetah said with a quirked smile as he stepped inside. Now that the initial shock was over, K-Jones noted the big cat's clothing; a khaki-colored Vest Of Many Pockets, much like he recalled Jay wearing before, and white pants that hung loosely off of Jay's thin legs. No shoes -- of course, even here in Freedom City, crossroads of all the world and points beyond, it wasn't likely that there would be any stores that sold footwear suitable for hindpaws. "And before you ask: No, I don't know how this happened to me. One day last year, I just woke up like this. Feces Occurs, as the saying goes." The cat did something with his shoulders that was probably a shrug. "Doesn't matter for the job at hand. I think I'll start with your amps; still got that flaky Yamaha A12?" Now, that was Jay Xavier through and through -- all business, laser-sharp focus on practical details. "Ah, yeah, I do, and I guess it has been a little while since its last checkup. I'll just get your beer" -- an amused growl/snort from Jay proved that the joke was appreciated -- "and stay out of your way 'til you need me."

Inaugural post of A Star is (re-) Born is up. Enjoy, Quote! Quinn, I've specified that the club in question exists in a rather dubious neighborhood, so it would make perfect sense for any superhero to be cruising along in that area...

KayJay's: A club in... well, you could call it the bad part of town. Technically within the boundaries of the Theatre District, KayJay's just happened to be located along that District's southern border, right up against its west end. In other words, KayJay's was within arm's reach of the Fens, and within walking distance of Greenbank. The owner of KayJay's was Kemen Johnson, a short, stocky Hispanic gentleman who went by the street name of K-Jones. He'd lived in Freedom City all his life, the last three decades in an Army Surplus Quonset hut he'd bought for pennies on the dollar, and he'd seen how urban decay had crept up on his neighborhood over the years. K-Jones had seen too many promising local youths lost to booze or drugs, or just plain murdered in gang violence, and he didn't like it at all. KayJay's was his way of fighting back: An alcohol-free nightclub where kids could hang out and not have to worry about getting shanked for their athletic shoes. An environment where they'd be treated with the respect they craved, without being required to perform antisocial acts in order to 'earn' that respect. And since most of the internal volume of his Quonset hut had never been put to any good use, K-Jones knew exactly where this nightclub would operate out of. Of course, any club lived or died by the music it provided... K-Jones called one of the numbers in his Rolodex. "Hola; I'd like to talk to Jay Xavier." "Speaking," said... something... on the other end of the line. Nothing like the smooth bass K-Jones recalled from past conversations, this sounded more like some cheap robot's low-end synthesized voice. "What do you want, Kemen?" Whatever was making these words, it didn't sound hostile, exactly. It also didn't sound friendly. "Ah..." Well, it has been the better part of a year since the last time I needed Jay, K-Jones thought to himself. And people do change... "Just your standard Exorcism of Gremlins, Jay. Got a serious gig coming up -- I want to be sure there won't be any unscheduled brownouts or anything." "Ah. Preventive maintenance," said the bizarre voice on the other end of the line. "I'm, hrrrrm, I... don't know if I can do that any more, Kemen." The tone was different now -- uncomfortable, perhaps? "Well, I, ah, don't know what's happening in your life, Jay, but you know what's happening in mine. And you know why I call you first, si? So if you're getting out of the troubleshooting business, hokay, is your decision. But are you sure you can't find it in your heart to do this one last job for me? Or, if not for me, then maybe for the children?" There was a long pause. K-Jones was beginning to wonder if Jay (assuming it was Jay) was still still on the line... The voice broke its silence: "Fine. You want me, you got me." The remainder of the call was nailing down details, the specific time at which Jay would show up to work on the club's sound system, and so on and so forth. And after that call ended, K-Jones dialed another number -- the private cellphone number of Eddie Ozan. "Hola, Eddie!" K-Jones said. "Hey, I heard you were back in town with the band..."

OOC thread for participants in the accompanying IC thread to discuss strategy, post InvisibleCastle die-rolls, make bad puns, and yada yada yada.

Hmmm... a fantasy-realm analog of Jubatus could be interesting. I'm seeing a scholar who felt that he never had all the time he needed to study everything he was interested in, so when he discovered a ritual that would grant him to power to stretch Time out to any arbitrary extent, he jumped at the chance to perform said ritual. He wasn't thrilled about the ritual's necessary side-effect (which would transform him into an inhuman creature), but in his mind, that side-effect was an acceptible price to pay for what he'd be getting. And now this scholar literally has all the time in the world; time enough to study any topic that catches his attention, time enough to get his forepaws dirty with hands-on investigations, time enough to accept and fulfill contracts (scholarly and otherwise)...

Jay gave the hyper-genius an 'if looks could maim' glare -- but he upshifted quickly enough that said glare endured for only a moment, and he spent long enough in fast-time that he was basically calm when he returned to the common tempo of 1, the speed at which everyone else operated. "Not that simple, Dr. Archeville," the cheetah said. "Sure, I'm communicating. But my current set of equipment" -- he gestured at his throat -- "just isn't up to the standard of a real vocal tract. Lousy control of pitch and volume. And fine control in general, it's either crippled or just plain not there. Yeah, it performs the function, I can communicate, but it's a fifth-rate ersatz knockoff of real speech. What I do, it's not really talking, and saying it is, hrrr, you might as well say that week-old hamburger is the same as fresh sirlion. Hey, they're both meat, so what's the difference, you know?" Jay growled under his breath; then, with downcast eyes, said, "Look, there's no point in us talking about, hrrr, talking. Not unless you've got something in mind that can fix my throat -- surgery, hormone treatments, I don't care what --" and he broke off, pondering a new idea, an idea he wasn't sure if he wanted to be true or not. Then, uncertainly: "Can you fix my throat? "Can you fix... me?"

Alright... after reading up on Breakdown, and pondering a bit, here's my attempt at a scenario (and PLEASE correct me if I've messed up on any details): After an unscheduled hiatus that was at least partially due to an unfortunate episode in Eddie's heroing career, OCTOPUS DROPKICK makes its triumphant return to Freedom City! As it happens, Eddie owes a favor to a bloke name of K-Jones, who saved Eddie's butt from getting caught by the police a few years ago. Today, K-Jones runs a somewhat low-end club in the Theatre District... and he's calling in this favor now. What K-Jones asked Eddie for: One night of OD playing at his club. Meanwhile, the clientele at K-Jones' place is primarily made up of college froshes, high school seniors, and a lot of people who have their fake-ID suppliers to thank for the fact that they can actually have some hard stuff every now and then without needing to bust into Dad's liquor cabinet. One of these people is a 13-year-old boy who is very tall for his age, and is thus easily mistaken for 18. Okay, a very thin 18, but 18 nonetheless. He comes from a middle-class family, and his nickname at school is "Trollbait". (his own fault, as he tried to get people to call him "Troll", but the other students didn't feel like playing along...) Trollbait is as insecure, emotionally immature, and 'face'-obsessed as any other 13-year-old, and he's seriously obsessed with Octopus Dropkick. He will be absolutely ECSTATIC about OD's showing up at his club, and he believes that he and Eddie are the bestest of friends -- okay, maybe they haven't *met* yet, but jeez, Eddie *knows* him, okay? OD's songs really really *speak* to him and how could Eddie *do* that if they weren't sympatico like anything and there's just no *way* absolutely no way at all Eddie wouldn't be his best friend forever once they *do* meet and he's gonna bring all his OD discs for Eddie to autograph and -- Anyway. There's the setup, Quote; as I said before, this is your thread, so you've got my blessing to do whatever you like with it, including "change it around beyond all recognition". Feel free to fill in missing details -- like, what's the name of K-Jones' club? What style(s) of music are normally played there? Etc etc etc. PC involvement... Breakdown is there just because. "Like, duh." Jubatus is there in his civilian capacity as Jay Nelson Xavier because Jay has been in K-Jones' rolodex under "troubleshooters" for at least 10 years. (every once in a while, some sort of tech snarl occurs in K-Jones' club; K-Jones calls Jay; Jay makes the problem go away; N weeks/months later, do it all over again) Grimalkin is there because of a personal connection with Breakdown -- I'm not sure of the details, but I presume Grim and BD both know the score, so it's all good. Push or Crow are there because... well, I got nothing. Either way, he's Quinn's character, so Quinn can decide why the bloke showed up. If other players want to join in, no problem; they'll have their own reasons for being here, no doubt. Yes? No? [late edit: specified that this is occuring in the Theatre District. a needed change, as i hadn't initially mentioned anything about the location...]

This is your thread, Quote. Far as I'm concerned, it could just as easily be an open thread, so as long as you're okay with the number of participants, I'm good with it, too!

I s'pose I can handle the NPC "fan" as well as Jubatus...

Summons a Troll; transforms one or more members of the audience; whatever the traffic will bear... The basic concept is "dark side of fame". Eddie wants to be a world-famous celebrity? Great! Everybody knows you, or at least they think they know you... and some people will respond bizarrely to what (they think) they know. The dude could be someone whose band lost a recording contract to Eddie's band, or a (super-) stalker, or a wannabe with more ambition than talent/ability, or any of a number of other options, really. Powers... how about electricity-based? Or, combining two notions, how about if this guy is the one who gets transformed into a Troll by Eddie's unwitting spell? Hmmm... if the guy is a punk, who's used to slam-dancing and mosh pits and such, turning him into a Troll could make him dangerous even if he retains his human mind...

Jubatus could be involved in his capacity as a technical troubleshooter; if Something Goes Wrong with the band's equipment, Jube has the skills to fix it. I'm sure some weirdness that requires heroic response could occur while Jube is tweaking the amps and such. Scenarios... hmm... Some jerkwad musician with recently-acquired superpowers has decided to pound on Breakdown. Maybe he's doing it for the publicity, maybe he thinks thrashing Breakdown will set him on the road to stardom, whatever. One of the songs Breakdown will perform has foreign-language lyrics... which just happen to be a mystical incantation of some sort. During the concert, 'the stars are right' -- that is, whatever external conditions are needed for the incantation to do its thing, those conditions are true -- and Something Weird And Horrible happens to at least one member of the audience. Heroes are needed to deal with the SWAH-ified audience member. Some villain or other attends the concert in their civilian ID -- they're a fan. Maybe they get a little boisterous (drunk?) and when the ushers try to calm them down, they let loose with the powers...

Jubatus would not enjoy dealing with mindless furry monsters. Feel free to drag the poor kitty into this mess anyway, heh heh heh...

Jay did his personal version of a shrug. "Yeah, well, all we got is a coincidence of dates. Not, kkhhrr, not exactly a solid link, you know? Maybe ArcheTech can confirm or deny, hrrmm?" At one point, Dr. Rao asked: "Mr. Xavier, the structures in your neck and throat are fully cheetah-like, as best I can tell. How do you manage to speak?" "I don't," Jay replied. "Yeah, my throat can't make any of the phonemes of human speech... but we cheetahs are great on sound effects. Clicks and hisses and chirps and everything, okay? So, rr, what I do is, I string a bunch of sound effects together so that they're easily mistaken for phonemes and words. It's not speech, not really it's not, but, hrrrmm, an incredible simulation."

The cheetah nodded. "Yeah. Got it in one. I, rr, I know it's not, going bipedal isn't, good for me, but..." He shook his head. "It's... the looks are bad enough. And there's stuff I have no choice about -- I mean, obligate carnivore, okay? But I will be dead, buried, and damned before I voluntarily act like a..." No suitable adjectives came to mind. "Animal," he finally snarled. The preliminaries went smoothly enough, and confirmed that Archeville had been accurate in his judgement about Jay's condition. As well, the readings Rao took were firmly within the range of what was normal for a healthy, adult cheetah. Through it all, Jay cooperated in silence, speaking only to respond to questions. "I have to admit," Dr. Rao asked, "I'm curious about how you got this way -- I don't see anything in your files that could explain your current condition." Jay's shoulders moved forward-and-up, then back again. Likely his version of a shrug, given the context, thought the observant Dr. Archeville; the cheetah said, "You know as much as I do, Doc -- as much as anybody does. The 24/7 fur coat, here... I took delivery on it last year, right around the Grue Invasion. So, hrrrm, maybe a Grue sleeper agent sprinkled cheetah dust on my cornflakes? Or maybe it's just a stupid coincidence, I dunno." "As good a preliminary hypothesis as any," Rao stated. "With your permission, we'll want a full range of tissue samples... also brainwaves, ultrasonic and positronic tomography --" "Go for it," the cheetah said. "If it's anything that even might be useful, you got carte blanche from me."

Archeville himself -- in the flesh!? "Hhrr..." Jay spent a few upshifted seconds recovering from the shock of the surprise, before he spoke. "Right. Hello, Doktor Archeville," he said, raising one hand in greeting. "I don't have any objections, so... if it's okay by Dr. Rao, it's okay by me. Hope I don't waste your time." Then, turning his attention to the person he'd been expecting to meet: "I... don't know if I've had any unusual aches or pains. I mean, what is 'unusual' for a sentient cheetah? I, hhrr..." Come on, Jay, she's a doctor. She's got to know if she's gonna do her job. "I do, hrrm... This body. Really ought to be quadrupedal. So, you know, I get backaches. And, rr, maybe some strained muscles. It's okay if I stay in fast-time, but, you know, downshifting just acts as a stress multiplier, what with the gravity thing," and I'm babbling. Time to shut up. "and, hhhrm, I guess that's it."

I respectfully disagree about the "nannyfilter" thing being a fourth-wall breaker. The in-character explanation, which is firmly within the fourth wall (as best I can tell): It was a court order that got the character into therapy in the first place. Therefore, every aspect of that therapy must adhere to one or another Official Government Standard. It was as part of this therapy that the character began keeping a journal in the first place, so any tools the character uses to keep this journal must comply with the appropriate Official Government Standard. The character uses a word processor... and the relevant OGS for word processors, mandates that the software must have the functional equivalent of "parental controls" to prevent its user from employing Certain Words. Silly? Perhaps. But considering that various Government agencies here in the RealWorld can and do get cranky over the usage of Certain Words (see also: "seven words you can't say on television"), I really don't see why Government agencies in the Freedomverse can't be equally silly at times. The real explanation: I (Jube's creator & author) firmly believe that Jubatus simply isn't Jubatus unless he's swearing. For me, his 'voice' just doesn't 'sound' right without at least some expletives in it. Of course, this kinda runs headlong into FCPBP's "no swearing" rule; the 'nanny-filter' thing, with its attendant in-character rationale, is my attempt to bridge the gap between two thoroughly incompatible notions. So what I'm doing is, I satisfy my belief re: Jube and swearing by starting the thread off with a couple paragraphs that include some veiled profanity, after which there ain't no more profanity at all, not even veiled, in the entire rest of the thread. Okay?

The inaugural post in the IC thread may well need some editing. I have no idea what sort of security protocols ArcheTech has in place for this sort of thing, so I made up some stuff that seemed reasonable to me... stuff which may or may not have anything to do with ArcheTech's real security protocols. Again, editing may well be required.

Journal of Jay Nelson Xavier, excerpt from 9 February 2011 entry: ...an appointment at ArcheTech, because he didn't think he had enough medical mojo to handle the crazy [bg=black]xxix[/bg] that comes with metahuman biology. Personally, I like Dr. Harris; good bedside manner, keeps up with new developments in his specialties, all that and a [bg=black]xxxxixx[/bg] bag of chips. Still and all, Harris is probably right. Biology is a messy enough subject when you're dealing with mundane critters that obey all known physical laws; throw in the weirdness that's required in order to accommodate things like my Timeshift, and you pretty much need to be an ArcheTech-level supergenius just to pass muster in that field. And that good, Harris just isn't. By no means is he stupid, but... let's just say there's no shame in being shorter than Mount Everest, okay? So like I said: ArcheTech. 9:30 appointment on 10 February. Of course there's no [bg=black]xxxxixx[/bg] way Dr. Archeville himself will be there; with the number of pies that man's got his fingers in, he's got to be booked up solid until the 12th of Never! That's alright; just seeing the inside of ArcheTech's global HQ is a [bg=black]xxxxxx[/bg] rare treat... "Jay Xavier. I'm here for my 9:30 appointment." The receptionist hadn't batted an eye when the bipedal cheetah stepped up to her counter, ID in hand. Raised one eyebrow at the inhuman sound of his voice, yes; batted an eye, no. Either ArcheTech made 'unflappable' a job requirement, or else she'd seen weirder things than Jay on her tray in the company cafeteria. "Of course, Mr. Xavier," she replied, accepting his driver's license ("HAIR: YLW w/ BLK SPOTS") and Social Security card with professionally smooth motions. After feeding the cards through some sort of scanning device Jay couldn't see clearly from his side of the counter. "Please sign in," she went on, handing Jay's cards back to him with her left hand and holding a clipboard out in her right hand. Jay signed in, and exchanged the clipboard for a visitor's pass on a lanyard, which he hung around his neck. "Your appointment is on the fourth floor, in room 412. Please keep your pass with you at all times while you're in the building; among other things, it contains a transponder for the internal navigation system." "Gotcha," the cheetah said with a nod. Then, squinting at her nametag, "Thanks, Ms..." "Call me Gretchen." "Thanks, Ms. Gretchen. Be seeing you." And he walked over to the nearest elevator...

This is the OOC thread for the storyline in which Jubatus, the fastest cat alive, temporarily regresses to a feral (but playful!) mentality.

The thread is I KAN HAZ HUMANITY?, over in the Hanover board. Here's the scenario: Jubatus, the fastest cat alive, is going to end up with his mind regressed to a feral level after a lab accident. Fortunately, feral!Jube is playful and mischievous, not a vicious killer. Unfortunately, feral!Jube is playful and mischievous -- and able to crack Mach 4 under his own power. Anybody out there have any characters who they think could benefit from an encounter with a playful, superfast, hundred-pound kitten? Those characters who are of a technical/scientific bent might be present when the accident occurs; any character, technically-inclined or otherwise, might encounter feral!Jube after he escapes from the lab, at pretty much any location in Freedom City and points beyond. Hopefully, this will be a light-hearted romp. Yes? No?

Is posted. Thanks, Supercape! I enjoyed this thread, and I hope you did, too.

"You'll pay for that!" the gun-wielding idiot shouted. Oh, joy and rapture. Two upshifted hits, and this yutz is still mobile? Jubatus thought. Okay, he's on some kind of drugs. Better make sure my third hit counts. At his highest level of upshift, the cheetah grabbed hold of the idiot's shotgun and shoved its barrel up, as hard as he could. The idiot's grip on his weapon did not slacken; that was alright, because it just meant that the shotgun pivoted upward so that its hot barrel slammed, hard, into the idiot's face. And... Yep; the idiot was out of it, as Jube confirmed during a momentary downshift to the normal tempo of 1. The fastest cat alive didn't waste any time; he pulled the idiot's leather jacket off and duct-taped said idiot's elbows together behind his back, then duct-taped his ankles together, and finally fastened his ankles to his wrists. After immobilizing the idiot, Jube checked the room over. If the perps had planted any unpleasant surprises -- bombs, maybe -- before they decided to party around a bonfire, he didn't want to miss that! As well, the cheetah wanted to be sure the frickin' shotgun blasts hadn't damaged anything important. Fortunately, the room looked clean. Next item on the agenda: Transport this bozo to -- wait -- the other clowns, the ones who'd run away! They hadn't been gone for that many seconds, as measured by a clock, but that didn't excuse his overlooking them. After all, how many seconds did it take to pull a trigger? Jubatus rushed out the door... and stopped, because the perps who'd run off weren't running now. All of them were right here, lying on the floor or awkwardly crammed up against a wall. Considering where the idiots were, and the relative positions of the hostages he'd moved into this corridor earlier, it seemed fairly clear: In their blind panic, the perps hadn't been watching where they put their feet, and so they must have tripped over the inadvertent 'obstructions' Jube had left in their way. Heads met floor and wall, with predictable results. The cheetah duct-taped these perps into immobility, as he had their leader, and went on to complete his interrupted search of the building. If there were more of these clowns than just the ones he'd encountered thus far, Jubatus was not going to miss any of them; not if he could help it, he wasn't! More good news: The ones he'd dealt with were the only perps in the building. Excellent! My work here is done, Jubatus told himself -- except his work wasn't done, was it? The cheetah spent a few (upshifted) seconds gathering his thoughts... then he transported the remaining hostages outside, where the police were helping the first group of hostages out of their bonds. He downshifted to talk to the police. Waiting only long enough for them to recover from the surprise of his abrupt appearance, the cheetah said, "I got the rest of the perps, too. I'm gonna drag them out next." Which he did, making sure (as he had with the first batch of perps) that none of them would be in any position to assist any of their comrades. Jubatus stayed slow -- a tempo of 1 -- while he swore out a complaint against the perps, answering the cops' questions as accurately and completely as he could. Reviewing his actions, the mistakes he'd made here were glaringly obvious: He should have had his cameras out to record his interactions with the perps, he should have given the idiot with the shotgun a faceful of extinguisher foam... should have, should have, should have. For whatever reason, the officers didn't seem to notice the cheetah's errors. Or if they had noticed, they weren't inclined to make a fuss over any of them. Thank Themis for small favors, I guess, Jubatus mused. But how could I have been so stupid -- Oh. Right. I've burned Clausius-only-knows how many calories rushing around the City, and haven't eaten a thing since sundown! Of course my brain's running on empty now. Should have noticed the signs... feh, adrenaline rush probably papered over 'em. Finally, the debrief-cum-interrogation was over. Jubatus vanished in an upshifted blur, heading to the converted SUV he called 'home', drooling at the thought of the meat he'd defrost -- Wait. I got protein in the vest. For exactly and precisely this kind of situation! Then, gnawing on beef jerky: Hoooo-boy. I feel like I could sleep for a week. Which means I'll be okay if I lapse into a coma for a while... two clock-hours should cover it, then back on patrol...