Quinn
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As Null is the one what talked and it looks as if some dirty business is at the crossroads... Standard Action: Accurate Attack! (+5 Attack/-5 Damage) Base Power: Blast 12 (Feats: Variable Descriptor, Extras: Autofire) [37PP] (Fire/Entropy) (Fire Bolts/Punches) Results 1d20+13: 23 [1d20=10] - DC 22 base damage, +1 for every 2 that's over his Defense. Olo says Defense is 20, so a single +1 - roll DC 23 Toughness for Null. Move Action: Spending a Hero Point to stunt the Feat Move-By Action. I then kick in Flight and move up to Jann to catch him! And that's my round.
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Crow: Night Owls And Other Fowl (3) The Alternative Revenue Job (3) Outlaw: Crème Melee (4) One Of Those Days (4) Tinder, Meet Open Flame (3)
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When she turned him around - he didn't see her disapproving stare, sadly. No, Jake saw a fist get swung. He didn't like seeing a fist get swung. When Jann then redirected that fist that got swung, a smile creased his face; though his hand shot up to conceal it. When Jann then came over to stand beside him - he stood up just a tiny bit straighter. His shoulders just a tiny bit more loose. He let his arms hang, then; resting at his sides - reminiscent of when the Bird Of Arms had first met the Outlaw, when they were counting stars. Wasn't quite a gunfighter's stance; but when he closed his fists, leaving two fingers hanging, well... He stared at Harper, shouting in silence, and at his clique. A slight jerk of the chin; a silent message. Either put up or shut up.
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Taking another crack at Huckleberry! Results 1d20+8: 23 [1d20=15] DC 24 Toughness check if that hits - Fire/Entropy Descriptors.
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"Son! Of! A!-" He cut himself off before finishing the swear, jumping back, ducking, tumbling sideways - there were children running away, and his mom would have boxed his ears if he'd cussed in front of them. The fact that she wasn't here and there was a bunch of gloopy walking pastries trying to cream him with their fists notwithstanding. With a backwards somersault, he came up with his legs coiled under him; kicking in the jets and going high, feet coming down in a flaming goomba-stomp!
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I don't believe so. Aura only kicks in on a successful hit. Still, positive side! I got their attention away from the civvies! I'll work up an attack once you've got an IC post up.
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I'd like to see the intimidate result, myself.
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...someone had come in on his side. Someone had come in on his side. Someone. Had come in. On his side. For several heartbeats, it simply did not compute. Jake stared at Naomi's paper, then at the back of her head, in just sheer incomprehension. He even shot Jann a look, showing that incomprehension. Still, that sneer - that bastard was giving her that after she'd been the first person here at Claremont to stand up for him? Jake's hand, resting down by his belt, twitched - and a small tendril of smoke curled up from the side of Harper's shoe. Followed by a lot more smoke. Followed by an intense burning sensation. A slow smile of satisfaction curled across Cross's face - before good sense beat out good fun, and a look of realization crept across in turn. He picked up his bag and stalked out, silently cursing his anger.
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This time, the sizzle and scent of burning plastic filled everyone's nose. And the sound of a bag filled with stuff hit the ground - it's carrying loops melted. Despite his history of problems, Jake Cross had worked hard to make it difficult to get under his skin. Really and truly. But sometimes, sometimes someone just said the right words, at the wrong time. Centurion was his hero. His idol, growing up - nearly as much as his parents were. The invasion, and everything that happened - that he shared blood and power with the things that killed...he hated being reminded of that. Every time he heard it, it pushed and bit and clawed and Jacob Cross. Saw. Red. Heat shimmered up his arms, and sparks popped around his fingers - black sparks - as he took a step forward. His hat lifting just enough for Harper and his cronies to see black burning behind his irises. His fingers opened and closed, those sparks now flying around, landing on the carpet, crackling and popping. "...say that again." A slow, hard tone - coming from between grinding teeth. There came a light hum from the limiter vest over his shirt. "Say. That. Again. See what happens."
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...thank you, Ari. Stand still a moment? (Release the anvil.)
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He'd heard worse, but the name 'Omega-Boy' tapped one old, sore nerve. For a split second, a spark lit in his eyes, along with the slight scent of burning plastic (his grocery bag!) - right up until the dart whisked by Harper's nose. With a nonplussed expression, Jake followed the trail of flying pointy things back to Jann's hand - where Harper looked furious, he just looked surprised. Accident? He couldn't figure it was purposeful - he hadn't shared more than a few words with the flying teen outside of a "Good morning." and "Good night." once or twice a day. Still, either way - the slight scent of scorched plastic bag handles wafted past his nose, and he looked down at his hand; willing it to cool off before it actually started smoking. Stay cool, Cross. Just stay cool. No reason to get heated up. He shook his head, and tugged his hat down a bit. "Wouldn't keep jawing, Harper. With - ah - fumble-fingers there, next one might go right into your mouth." The lowered hat-brim let him hide the slight wink he shot Jann from the hoi polloi.
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One of those days, yeah. One of those days where, after life kicked you square between the legs, you stopped by the cafeteria and got yourself a jumbo Tupperware container of chili, a bottle of rooster sauce from the tuck shop, and a bag of corn scoop chips. One of those days where an appointment with that, a laptop, and binging Netflix would have made your life so very, very much more tolerable. Probably the new Marvel series - he hadn't really sat down and watched that yet on the whole, with homework and studying and oh what the hell. His attention was drawn fully from dreams of chili, chips, and binge TV, by the smug tone of a guy who had long earned a particularly special place in Jake's most inventive daydreams of vengeance, suffering, and...sigh. Be cool, man. Stay cool. No reason to get hot under the collar. Bad things happen when you get hot under the collar. Jake quietly turned his head to give the clique leader the lazy eye, shifting his groceries to the other arm. "...depends on your definition of 'do it', Harper. If you're talking about your mother last night, then she says hello." Okay, maybe not too cool.
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...sometimes, Jake really did hate his luck. Any other hero with his abilities - hey, they could probably have toasted these marshmallows in a few shots and not had to worry about a single thing; even with the rolling crowd pushing past him. Any other hero. Not him. Not Mister Collateral Damage, not Sir Entropic Screaming Hellfire, not Lord Doom Fire Oh God Why. He let out a rush of air and tugged down his hat brim, letting the crowd push by him. Could just run with 'em. But nah. That wasn't his style. Coulda been. Woulda made his life a whole lot easier. But it wasn't. And since he couldn't - wouldn't - try to toast 'em from range... "...man, this is gonna suck." Outlaw grimaced, looking up at the Cream Meanies. Sparks of fire engulfed his eyes, and he cracked his knuckles - pointing at one of the larger ones up front. "You. You're my huckleberry." One step, fire shot from his feet. Two steps, over the crowd's heads. Three steps - a corona of black fire just engulfed the young man as he shot forward; one foot flying forward to try and boot the huckleberry in the face!
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Okay, now that I'm back let's make this happen. Too many civilians (in his mind) to break out the heavy lumber, so he's going to try drawing the beasties' attention from them onto him; activating Flight, then charging right into 'em (Move Action), popping his Aura on the flyby (Free Action), and then kicking one in the face (Unarmed Attack, Standard Action). With luck they'll treat him like a piñata, and not the poor civvies. Alternate Power: Strike 9 (Feats: Variable Descriptor, Extras: Aura, Duration 2 - Sustained) [37PP] (Fire/Entropy) (Fire Aura) Damage is DC 24 Toughness if they take a swing at 'im. Now, as for the BOOT TO THE HEAD... Results1d20+4: 12 [1d20=8] DC 15 Toughness if by some miracle that hits. ^^; EDIT: Okay, got informed Aura enhances unarmed attacks too, so that means a) that attack would be 16, not 12 (I have a +8 with energy attacks, and +4 with normal attacks), and b) if that impacts that's a DC 24 Toughness.
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Activating Skill Mastery (Intimidate), Taking 10 for a 20. Doing mah Eliot impression.
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Task done there, but Morgan took a moment as they passed by. The second said skeezy guy took his eyes off Casey - he found himself staring into Morgan's. Gold-flecked, fairly ordinary, if it wasn't for that calm stare. That very, very special calm stare. The sort of stare that promised knives. And blood. And screaming. Oh so very much screaming. Basically the thing he does with his eyes that scares people. Sometimes he didn't even need to talk! He flicked his eyes towards the locker room door, then back to the man - and shook his head very, very slowly. A slight head incline - as if asking 'understood?'
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Outlaw: Results 1d20+4: 21 [1d20
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And replied - keeping his mouth shut and letting Miracle Girl work her magic.
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"...ah, crap." Okay, take stock. Be calm. Don't light up immediately - that would be bad. Take advantage of your other assets. Case in point, your extremely intimidating vo- ...he was carrying a bag of bread, wasn't he. And a bottle of hot sauce. One wonders what it said about his priorities, when he slowly looked down at the bag, that he was more concerned about the hot sauce than himself?
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"..." A grimace, and a sigh. "...no. No, y'all mean well. M'just...prickly. And s'not like you coulda known, anyway." He let his head hit the desk again, bending the front of his hat. A few moments of silence, before she saw his shoulders shake; and some kind of uncontrollable muffled chuckles wafted out from under said hat! "...'sides...heh...heh...ain't even told me where your room is!" The situation was just so silly he couldn't help but snigger. When he sat up, she could see a crooked smile across his whole face, and his hand coming up to cover his eyes. "...ah, man, I really did bollix making my first Claremont acquaintance, hoy?"
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...he kind of wanted to fetch a boot up Casey's arse for that joke. He really, really did. As it stood, he just gave the Longshoreman's Surly Glare Number Two and stuffed his hands in his pockets, following up with the Longshoreman's Surly Grunt Number Eleven. Acknowledgement crossed with early morning disgruntlement crossed with work disgust with a piquant note of 'I have not had coffee, pester me and die.' Working the Boston docks as a teenager for pocket money, lent you a very odd education in the variations of the blue collar working man's communication methods.
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A basket of cream bread and a bottle of the hot sauce under his arm, Jake - for once - had been feeling as if things were very much alright with the world. Enough that sipping a squeezed-in-front-of-you lemonade was actually making him come close to smiling! Truly, a sign of the apocalypse. Still, when he passed by the judgement tent, the sight of someone choking did not lend a piquant note of joy to the atmosphere he was moving through. The pyrokinetic stopped briefly, chewing on one of those cream loafs - cocking his head as he saw...wait, was that Maybelle? Huh. Well, stood to reason a chef would know how to deal with choking hazards, right?
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...really said something for what he must have gone through, that she got an actual grateful nod instead of a poker face to her offer. Even a fervently murmured; "...that would be...deeply appreciated." He mutely sipped his refilled cocoa, shifting about; a gesture reminiscent of settling ruffled feathers. Morgan understood, alright. Another draught, and he tried to perk himself up. "So - what's the latest? I only got into town a few weeks ago - just got caught up on the newspaper funnies."
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Morgan was a bit uncomfortable going civvies in this one, but at least he could keep his gloves on for the first part of the job. And if all else failed, he had the ring. Benefits of planning ahead, you have the gadgets you need when you need them! As it stood, he toddled forward in a black button-up shirt and slacks. It was a...sizeable dichotomy...from the fearsome figure Miracle Girl had seen perched in the rafters - honestly, he was shorter than his stature would have suggested. Somewhat mussed black hair, stubble, very fine and sharp facial features; honestly, if he had a bit of those bird people in his blood, it wouldn't have surprised her! Moreso when he spoke without that eerie rasp - just a quiet, ordinary young man's baritone; albeit with a touch of a Boston brogue. "Sounds like a fine way to spend a holiday. When was the last time you went up there?" He'd pondered asking about how Claremont was going, but now seemed hardly the time or place.
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Crow: Night Owls And Other Fowl (4) The Alternative Revenue Job (4) Outlaw: Crème Melee (3) Kick Off! Counting Stars (2) Tinder, Meet Open Flame (8)
