Quinn

". . ." Okay, so. His neck was turning slightly red. As was his face. And suddenly the pack in his hand and her letter opener looked...well, a mite dumb. "...well. Uh." Beat. "...this I do swear, by the...uh...Cup, and the Sword, and the Staff, to do no harm in this place until I am released, or violence is done upon me." Long pause. "That's, uh, the traditional. Sorta. Paraphrased. Mostly." He carefully put the knife down, and the packet disappeared up his sleeve. "...and I may have...slightly...overreacted there. And tried to fry you. Like, twice." A gloved hand slapped his face. "...frak me, I need to see a psychiatrist." Morgan flopped into the chair opposite her. "So, uh, I may have just spent about two years in the Fae equivalent to the Hanoi Hilton, and that left me jumping at shadows way too much with a side order of irrational distaste for pointy ears. So...yeah. Forgiven and I'm sorry for threatening you in a place you welcomed me of your own accord and holy crap it's getting warm in here." Okay, so the flush had crept from his neck to his cheeks and now his whole face was turning crimson. Mumble. "...and for the record, being super-hot does kind of let you get away with it." Another facepalm. "I humbly ask your forgiveness, and offer in return a fifty percent discount on my wards and up to three free additions. Except the really tough ones. I'm out of phoenix toenail clippings."

"..." The amiable look had disappeared, replaced with an ominous stare - flat, cold, frightening - if she'd ever recieved a glare from Midnight (or God forbid, the Raven), it wasn't hard to see the influence of that in his own. It was as if one moment she'd been a happy little squirrel on the ground... And then the next, an owl, a predator, had landed in front of her. And was looking hungry. A scent wafted by her nose - that of cold iron. One moment the hand on the table had been empty, the next it was filled with a small bag that reeked of the stuff; the other having fingers on her letter opener. She could catch a glimpse of a pair of metal plates on the back of his gloves, then - they'd been hidden by the cuffs of his jacket, and had some fairly ominous sigils carved into them. They sparked - only slightly - but nothing happened. <"...raise your hands to beside your ears."> He spoke in a rasp, a very cold rasp. <"And please keep them where I can see them."> He slowly - very slowly, got to his feet. Taking up the letter opener with him; the bag still in his hand, now being held by it's ties. His gloves sparked again, nothing happening, and he eyed them for a split second, before speaking curtly. <"...I would appreciate if the next words out of your mouth are an oath of non-violence. In the Traditional manner. You don't look like one of Branagh or his Lady's people - but I'd rather be paranoid than pleasant right now. Speak.">

...it was...odd. While she commanded the space, it was like Morgan simply existed in the space. Like he blended in. Just became a part of it, like the furniture or the fixtures - at least, until he spoke. He sat down in one of the comfy leather chairs, having taken off his hat as he walked through the store. He'd acknowledged Gretchen and Lance as he passed, even giving a thumbs up and signalling for a bottle of water. A neat flick had landed exact change on the counter, while he'd caught the bottle on the pass-by. Guy's moves were smooth. A bit too smooth, for his age. Hm. "Okay, first off, lemme say - love the decor." Morgan gave a grin. "Old-school sleight of hand meets arcane mysteries. My kind of style." A reach down to the bag, and he brought out a small folder - along with a few rocks and chalk. "So, uh...my company and I? Well, we're a fairly small operation - founded it a few years ago, after I graduated from Claremont Academy." Had to close up a year later, mind, after...bloody Branagh. "I did some work for a Baron Katastrof in the Downtown area before the temporary closure, along with a few local bodegas in the Fens, and a couple of pro bono jobs with a few of the FCPD precincts in Bayview. Nothing major, just consultation and stress testing." Grin. "Kind of fun, actually." A lean back in his chair, and he lifted up the water bottle. "As for me, well...not that interesting, honestly. I'm not a big-time wizard or spellweaver like...I dunno, Equinox, or Kid Cthulhu. I got a few tricks I learned growing up, and I managed to parlay them into a job." Chuckle. "Lousy hours, and the pay kind of stinks, but there's not much else I'd rather be doing, y'know?" Subtle, Crow. "So! Anything specific you want to know about?"

If he'd been told he looked like a lookout from a 1950's gangster film, Morgan'd have probably replied (dryly) that he hoped it was set in Boston. He didn't mind being accused of looking like a crook, but that pea coat was made in his hometown, damnit. As it stood, he only took one look at the woman - and did a quick double-take. He'd met elfin girls, he'd met girls who could be described as 'pixie-like', and...well, she put 'em all to shame. That and he had to grin slightly at the Simpsons sweater. A quick cough to mask a laugh, and he took off his hat, holding it at his belly. "Hello! I'm Morgan - from Crowe Consulting? I've got the paperwork and the materials for the package you wanted to see." He poked his head sideways, briefly, and took in the store - before grinning at her. "Holiday rush?"

BEHOLD! MAGIC AND MISCHIEF!

1:43 PM 18/11/2016 Silberman's Books, West End Freedom City An old 1974 Dodge Monaco sedan pulled up in the alley beside the bookstore - the door requiring a few kicks before it popped open. A young man in a pageboy cap and worn out old pea coat clambered out, stretching; Morgan eyeballing the door and sighing. Stupid prudence. If he'd blown half the jack from the Baron job on getting his car's body tuned up along with the engine... Meh. Svartalves never liked extras. He reached into the back and took out a duffel bag, along with a notepad; checking the listed work order. Package number three, basic alarm array. He referred to it as the Blinky Light Package - mostly since unless the buyer picked up additions, it was basically a bright blinky light if anyone used magic in their vicinity. On the positive side, it was nice and cheap, and usually helped get people past the whole 'magic in business' hump. That being said, honestly? He'd have done this one for free. Scuttlebutt said Silberman's was a good place, and run by a lady who was firmly on the side of the angels, if you could trust the local kids. Still, guy's gotta eat, right? ...though that didn't necessarily stop him from adding a few, er, 'weekly special discounts' onto the bill. Even if the weekly special had only been declared about, oh, say, five minutes into their phone call. Of course he'd planned those specials all along, it was just a coincidence they came up then. And nobody had any proof otherwise. The young man jogged up the front stoop and knocked on the door. Giving a bit of that old-school no-entry-unless-invited thing.

A tiny bristle, at the implication he needed help, but he settled down quickly. Truth be told, he did need help getting back in the swing of things. Not that the little voice in the back of his head would admit it. "Ah. Gotta love family business." Lord only knew how often he'd been shuttled around Tir na Nog on that. "You having any problems of your own you need help with, then? You scratch my back, I scratch yours an' all - Claremont represent, right?"

Results 1d20+12: 24 [1d20=12] - No thanks, he's been beaten down by life enough. Going for an Aura boot to the Dazed Meanie, stomp it down. Accurate Attack for +2 Attack, -2 Damage. Defensive Aura is still active. 1d20+10: 23 [1d20=13] Hope that hits! Impact is DC 22 Toughness. Any attacks on me are still made against a DC 24 Toughness.

Outlaw swore a blue streak as he felt the fists come in - each shot causing his 'shield' to flare, and eyes to smoke. He'd taken harder hits before from thugs with bats - but damned if it wasn't irritating! Still, he wasn't in this for revenge; and fighting smart hurt a helluva lot less than fighting stupid. The second he saw the one recoil, he kicked in the jet below one foot - bringing it up fast; snapping his leg up to connect with a sickening crack to the thing's jaw. Or squish, as the case may be. He grinned, watching it reel, right before impact speaking in a Southern drawl; "And Outlaw goes for the uprights..."

Due to not wanting a sudden finish, giving durf a free Hero Point. The pursuit is now on! Gizmo, KD, let's see what you got! That said, one quick statement. The four cars are using modified Speedy Racing Car stats from Agents Of Freedom, moving at Speed 6 - and a ruling by ref is as follows;

The benefit to being a flying brick, for the most part, was you could be fairly confident you could tank any impact that hit you. Bullets, bombs, missiles, whatever. You also had a fairly reliable, straightforward suite of powers, that tended to be fairly easy to understand, and even easier to put into practice. Reliability, ladies and gentlemen, would outdo awesomeness any day of the week. That being said, however - the downside to being a flying brick was quite simple. Everyone knew what tricks you had up your sleeve. Moreso if you went around advertising that fact by flying the blue and gold. Phalanx had a brief moment of eye contact with the man in the lead vehicle - a swarthy gentleman, with a neatly trimmed moustache, a blue blazer, and a pair of fingerless driving gloves gripping the steering wheel. To his credit, his first instinct seemed to not be to go for a gun - but to immediately swerve; the vehicles behind him instantly following. Each of them expertly rolled over the ice - only the last vehicle fishtailing slightly and clipping a taxi on the side of the curb; roaring right past him. A rather pretty young woman in the tail car even shot Phalanx a wink, and blew a kiss as they blew by; the tell-tale hiss and roar of N0S causing their exhausts to flare as they tore off. Oh, this lot was going to be fun.

Yep! That's the time in the afternoon the thread is set at.

Gentlebeings, start your engines!

And it's SHOWTIME, ladies and gentlemen! Start your engines! http://www.freedomplaybypost.com/topic/9331-ben-hur-invitational-five-stars-ic/#comment-247203 - Queenie, Thoughtspeed, Miracle Girl, and Ace Danger, you four are pursuing a trio of car thieves booking across the Boardwalk in stolen super-expensive sports cars! Can you recover the vehicles without trashing them? http://www.freedomplaybypost.com/topic/9333-the-ben-hur-invitational-self-preservation-society-ic/ - Phalanx, Midnight, and Nevermore, you three are pursuing a quartet of bank robbers who just pulled off the heist of the century! It's a hot pursuit in the City Centre to who knows where - can you figure out which car has the cash and where they're taking it?

09/11/2016 12:35 PM Downtown Freedom City When a professional group of vault hunters shows up in your city, the local law enforcement take notice. Granted, it's usually fairly hard to actually track them down, once they go to ground - but you can generally assume a spectacular heist is in the offing. AEGIS was well familiar with this procedure; having long set up protocols in the event of notable criminals popping up on the radar at the Freedom City airport - and they'd released the names and faces to the FCPD and (surreptitiously) to more than a few of their known heroic contacts. That or 'conviniently' left the information on unsecured servers where any (hero-type) person might find them. It was an old game, and one the Midnights and Ravens of old had played very well. The group in particular this month was called the Self-Preservation Society; a band of British movie buffs who'd taken up the mask and black bag years ago. They'd started their careers with blag jobs working armored convoys in the UK, graduating to larger-scale heists across France and Germany once their rep had grown. Four men, each world-class drivers, who'd made their bones on some of the scariest (and fastest) roads on Earth. They'd never pulled a job in the good old U.S. of A., but records were made to be broken - and given piles of these world-class drivers had kept popping up arriving one way or another in Freedom over the last few weeks, then dropping off the radar - something was in the works. That something finally came up when every alarm system Midnight had started screaming red. Three heroes in question were on patrol in the City Centre when the alarms hit - and a quartet of Mini Coopers souped up to frightening levels tore out of the front lobby of the First National. They moved as one in eerie synchronicity through the streets, moving towards an unknown destination - leaving wreckage of hot dog stands, newspaper stalls, and leaping bystanders in their wake!

Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines!

09/11/2016 12:35 PM The Boardwalk Freedom City It really does say something about Freedom City that the men and women on the Boardwalk weren't overly concerned by the sudden sound of speeding cars. The echo of revving engines up and down the long wooden walks. The squealing of rubber tires. Oh, I grant you, the majority of the citizens present still dove for safety when a trio of multicolored sports cars came screaming past, but they didn't let it end their perfectly nice shopping day on Freedom City's famous Boardwalk. The call had come in a few hours before - an 'anonymous tip' from a 'concerned citizen'. Five cars, complete with descriptions of license plates, would be stolen from the parking lot of one of the most expensive hotels in Freedom City. Cars worth millions - tens, if not hundreds of millions - in value. One, even belonging to a noted diplomat visiting from the Middle East. Thanks to the vigilant efforts of the FCPD, two had been stopped at the lot - one by catching the thief in the hotel bar's washroom (attempting to flush a shoe down the toilet?), and the other just before he'd jacked the door. It was the remaining three that were giving the FCPD headaches trying to catch. The first was a Lamborghini (because of course one was a Lamborghini) - it tore down one of the Boardwalk's straightaways, managing to take the lead for a few minutes - skidding around a corner on two wheels. Black, with red neon underlights; she belonged to a notable reality star who was currently screaming at one of the police officers in the hotel parking lot about how she'd sue the pants off anyone who so much as scratched it. The second, riding right on it's tail, was a lovely Ferrari. Cherry-red, of course, and belonging to a pleasantly tubby multi-millionaire internet tycoon; producer of the notable Irate Fowl knockoff of a popular video game series. He wasn't threatening to sue the pants off whoever scratched it, he was more threatening to ruin their credit scores. Yeah, he was one of those people. Bit late for it, either way - the thief behind the wheel wasn't that subtle about ploughing through a souvenir stand, and a Centurion shirt was currently flying like a flag off the back spoiler. And the last...oh, the last. Neon yellow Bugatti Veyron. This was the diplomat's vehicle. Import, with diplomatic plates, and who knew what in the glove compartment. This one was steadily remaining in the middle of the pack, the driver the most conservative of the three. Not to say he wasn't a point of concern - he'd escaped the parking lot by ramping off an asphalt pile and flying over the retaining wall. Credit where it was due, however, the gentleman in the turban who owned the car hadn't stated any threats or made any violent statements of intent if his car was damaged. He didn't really have to - savvy? Either way, under the circumstances - made sense when multiple networks monitored by heroes of the city started screaming blue murder begging for help before someone got killed, eh? Let's see who answered the call and why!

Orrrr threads can go up on Tuesday because I got severely distracted by Civ 6. Sorry, guys. On the positive side, won a Culture Victory as Russia.

Sounds good to me! Midnight, Phalanx, and Nevermore in Thread 2. Assuming nobody else pops in to sign up today, threads will be going up tomorrow evening.

And that's a four-person group (Queenie, Thoughtspeed, Miracle Girl, Ace Danger), with two potential others (Midnight/Redbird, Phalanx)! Barring mishap, we'll have a thread up for that first group starting next week, and once we either see more people or I cook up a two-man idea, we'll have a second thread up not long after.

It's come to the attention of some heroes that there has been a distinct increase in the amount of illegal street racing taking place in Freedom City over the past month! The police force has been run ragged trying to keep up, and traffic division has gotten particularly overwhelmed by the number of ridiculous stunts and crazy getaways being pulled off - moreso as AEGIS has noted and disseminated the arrival of known world-class drivers arriving in town. Scuttlebutt says something big's in the wind - something called... The Ben Hur Invitational. That's right, boys and girls, the Circus Maximus is bringing thrills and chills and spills of supercharged fast cars and illegal street racing to our fair city! Watch as souped-up muscle cars bull through the interior of malls risking consumer life and limb as they weave through different stores (new Oldsmobiles are in early this year) - scream as a Volkswagen Beetle augmented with mad SUPER SCIENCE! burns lines through the sky, narrowly missing major office buildings in the city center - swoon as a trio of multicolored Mini Coopers bust through a bank carrying piles and piles of gold bullion as part of one race challenge! It's a mad, mad, mad, MAD pursuit, with the heroes of Freedom City caught right in the middle! I'm taking up to four speed-fancier volunteers game to try their luck in hot pursuit; PLs of all kinds - in up to three threads. That's up to 12 volunteers, folks. Gentlemen - start your engines!

Sector Beta - Written by Mark Nguyen (2002) Rebuild the Ulian infrastructure, patronize local anti-technology colonists, and keep abreast of Klingon internal politics. The neighboring Driian Empire is rumored to possess weapons of mass destruction — should you send in weapons inspectors, or launch a massive invasion? For Sector Beta, assume that: It is located relatively close to the Klingon border, but off the major Federation supply lines. Somewhere in the Beta Quadrant, coreward side, with the Federation to the “west” and the Klingon Empire to the “east.” In any case, reinforcements from anyone are at least two weeks away. The Black Dwarf system is a proverbial gold mine of ores used for many things, like starship construction, agricultural use, and a variety of precious metals. The supernova that destroyed the system also rendered the ores into a natural semi-refined state, ideal for mining. The Driian Empire is a xenophobic race with no diplomatic ties with anyone. They strictly maintain their borders and for centuries have been concentrating on their three-planet territory alone. This has resulted in the depletion of their own resources, and a population explosion. Ulia is a low-profile Federation member. It has a small, planet-based Starbase, though it’s mostly for administrative purposes — Ulia operates its own facilities to maintain its commercial fleet. For raw materials, they mine the Black Dwarf System, exporting finished materials to the Federation. Dawson’s Planet is home to scattered communities of humans who have pretty much renounced any technology following the vacuum tube. They were placed there centuries ago by an unregistered colony ship which never reported the colony, and disappeared thereafter. In fact, most people had forgotten they were even there until the events that caused the current situation. Still, their priorities are mostly to be left alone. The planet itself is high in natural resources, but in a state which would require much processing to become viable. The Black Dwarf System is neutral territory, and is large enough such that no one race would need to stake out territory in order to ensure the flow of the raw materials from the system. In addition to the forces already mentioned, small mining operations have been known to happen, taking the raw ore to other sectors. This scenario occurs shortly after the end of the Dominion War. The setup of this situation is that the Klingons used to help keep the peace in the sector from the aggressive Driians, with only minor skirmishes happening as the Driians were mining the Black Dwarf system. The Klingons also operated a major communications array (think the Epsilon 9 station, but green) in the sector, and also mined the Black Dwarf system, taking the stuff directly back to the Empire. Following the Klingon War of 2372-3 and the subsequent Dominion War, the Klingons almost abandoned their military presence in the sector in favor of higher-priorities. This left the sector open to aggression from the Driians, who attempted a Blitzkrieg of the sector during the final year of the Dominion War, occupying Dawson’s Planet, the Black Dwarf system and Ulia. They were eventually beaten back to their borders by a combination Klingon/Federation task force (emphasis former) with heavy losses to both sides. The current fleet composition of the Driian Empire is what remains following the hostilities; it used to be three times that much. Also, the Klingon comm station was destroyed, and both Ulia and Dawson’s Planet suffered major casualties and will need to rebuild. Ulia Population: 2 billion Alignment: Federation (member) Government: Democracy Technology: current Defense: medium-sized commercial fleet - moderate orbital defenses Notes: Low natural resources, large industrial base Black Dwarf System (BDS) Numerous Class-D planetoids Heavy raw materials Dawson’s Planet Population: 500,000 Alignment: Neutral Government: No planetary government Technology: pre-industrial Defense: None Notes: Earth-originated non-technological colony, high natural resources Driian Empire Population: 27 billion (total) Alignment: Anti-Federation Government: Dictatorship (expansionist) Technology: 24th century equivalent Defense: Approx. 15 warships (Defiant-class equivalent) - light orbital defenses - medium-sized commercial fleet Notes: Heavy industrial base, low resources Section One Define what Starfleet’s priorities in this sector should be. Note the political nature of the planets in this sector have not changed, nor of the Klingons. Also, note any gaps in the information provided and where you’d want to focus your intelligence-gathering. Following the Dominion War, resources are stretched pretty thin, with both the Feds and the Klingons wanting to focus on the rebuilding of more important sectors. However, the Klingons do want to have a more permanent presence in here, and want to build a space-based Starbase equivalent to the one you had back in Sector Alpha (think the ones over Ty’Gokor) containing a new comm station, and to assign one Vor’cha and two B’rels to it. Likewise, Starfleet is assigning you enough resources to either upgrade the Ulian starbase to a larger facility with heavier orbital defences and Starfleet repair facilities, or to build a small outpost-like station somewhere in the sector, smaller than Starbase 375 and with moderate defences and support facilities. Choose which option you’d like to pursue, and recommend where the Klingons should put their station. Justify your answers. The ship that transported you to Sector Beta from your previous assignment is now part of the fleet you’ll have to use in this sector (a generic Excelsior-class ship). In addition to that ship, recommend to Starfleet what a reasonable number and breakdown of ships should be deployed to this sector to accomplish your goals, and what their primary duties will be. A fleet based on your recommendations will be assigned there after the events of question two. Assume no more than a dozen starships of any kind will be assigned to the sector, and that in addition to this force a number of Federation and Klingon transports will be making regular runs into and out of the sector. At present, in addition to your ship there are a small number of runabouts and auxiliary craft assigned to the Starbase.

Jake's eyes followed Harper 'til he left - better safe than sorry. He trailed them over the seniors - taking in their unfriendly looks, his face turning into a snarl. Just fair to radiating the concept of don't touch me. They didn't know him, they didn't have to deal with his problems, and they sure as hell didn't back him up when Harparse pounded every button he had in the hopes of getting his face cooked off. Screw 'em. Just...screw 'em. He looked at Jann and grunted - could have been a "Thanks.", could have not. Even Naomi got a...less harsh look - even softened one. He looked...abashed, now. Hid it well, but maybe a bit of shame there too. Mighta been that's what made him stop. He looked at her notebook. Looked at his hands. And for a moment... A slight twist of the fingers - and like a sparkler at night, she saw the word Thanks writ in the air with the point. She saw him grunt, then shuffle out the door, shoulders hunched.

Morgan changed equally fast - uniform replacing kit, duffel bag thrown over shoulder, and out he went. He wasn't quite as fancy as Casey, but when he pulled his hat brim down low, the term 'ominous' may have applied. Quiet and spooky, that was Mr. Russell. Best kind of employee, right? He mimed the same pen gesture, without saying a word. Poker faced.

Too slow on the draw. He hated when he was too slow on the draw. The situation was a mess, he could tell that right off the bat. When the fireworks hit, all hell just broke loose, and he was smack-dab in the centre of it. First rule of combat - stand still, you go down fast; so you start moving. His legs were already pumping as he threw himself forward, eyes fixing on one target. One of the 'invaders'. He'd talked, drawing the eye - good enough. A hand shot forward from the hip... First time he'd fired a shot in...well, not necessarily anger, but first time he'd fired a shot period in a long time. Just like ridin' a bike, so an it was. Drew a bead, nice and slow - his thumb twitched like he was cocking a hammer, and with a jerk a triplet of black bolts screamed across the distance; heat shimmering in the air. Black and red bolts. Black and red fire bolts. His limiter vest whined as he started to stress it - the same flames bursting from his feet as he launched up. Eyes picked up - was that his roommate? - one of the incoming fliers tumbling down. Claremont colors. Instincts kicked in. Jann heard the rush of air and fire more than saw it, before a figure crashed into him and got arms 'round, halting his downward tumble. A bark in his ear. "Oy! Head in the game, man!"