Quinn
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"Nothing I haven't heard from the therapist, hon'." He drawled, before leaning his head back and sighing. "Still, tell that to the masses, the survivors of the Invasions, and oh, yeah, Centurion." That last name was bit off hard, real hard. T-babies could carry a lot of baggage with 'em, from that alone. Not that he could have done anything about it, mind, but it was remarkably good for feeding the angst. "Just...this ain't an inspirational movie, darlin'. Don't try and start a grand speech about powers an' meaning yet." Sigh. "'sides, should be glad you didn't know. Means that whole promise 'bout a fresh start here might not be bull." Grimace. Jake leaned on the table. "...sorry. For bein' so pissy. It's sorta my natural state of bein' these days."
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He didn't sweat a jot, but judging by the wry smile when he took the cream bun and started snacking, he wasn't entirely unaffected. "I grew up on my mom's chili." Jake explained with a dry tone, before chuckling. "She didn't think it was just right until the pot was glowing red and the fumes could knock a buzzard dead at twenty paces." Om nom nom. "Still, that's a good sauce. You use molasses in that, or nah?"
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It took Morgan a fair few moments to cogitate on his answer to that - emptying the cocoa mug and signalling the waitress for another. He wasn't sure he'd suffered any time dilation, but then, four years wasn't really that much in the grand scheme of physical growth. Though he'd made sure to shave a few days ago. "...not so far as I know. The nature of the...job...would have been ruined if it only felt like a few days, rather than years." That was a bit too close a comment for his liking, but what could you do? "...though I did grow a fairly epic beard by the end of it. Shaving implements weren't exactly available; for obvious reasons." Wry smile. He sipped from the refilled cup. "I owe Mr. Branagh quite a bit for giving me that job. Should I see him again, I think I might take great pains to detail just how grateful I am."
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Crowe sipped from his hot chocolate, and pointedly didn't sag in relief. A slight quirk to one side of his mouth, though, was enough to convey thanks that she'd understood. He marshaled his words again, ferrying a forkful of apple-cinnamon goodness (Gods, how he'd missed this kind of food!) to his maw and chewing thoughtfully on it, before swallowing and shaking his head. "We were...unable to reach an accommodation. He saw me one way - I saw myself another. It got...messy. Birds never do enjoy enclosed spaces for long periods of time, anyway." A somewhat brittle - but wry - smile, and he put his fork down; leaning his arms on the table. "Helluva way to end a four-year job, hn?"
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If she had been a ganger, reporter, thug, or other sort of individual who'd been doing badness, and said that? He freely admitted he was still having trouble controlling his temper. Honestly, Jake didn't even know why he bothered hiding it - he might as well shout from the rooftops he was a Terminus Baby. Every time someone mentioned Omegadrones, the Terminus, Entropy, all that fun stuff; either he just twitched or his face gave it away. Either way, he looked away from her and leaned against the back of the chair. The situation called for profanity, and he used some - under his breath, at least. Finally, he managed to suck in a breath, and let his shoulders un-clench. Even...heh. Even managed a bit of a wry smile. "...so what gave it away? My sparkling personality?"
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All of my hate. >_> http://orokos.com/roll/432407 - 15! Gonna Hero Point that - he has a reputation to maintain! *prays* http://orokos.com/roll/432408 - 26! THAT's better!
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Taking suggestions here!
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Morgan gave a look that basically said he knew exactly what she was doing - and sighed as plates with a slice of apple pie each (heated) was put in front of the two of them - and a cup of steaming cocoa at his hand. He sipped, seeming to marshal his thoughts. Took a fair amount of time, actually, "You might say I've been...kept busy. Emphasis on kept. Almost wouldn't let me leave, this...last client. Couldn't contact folks until I got back into town; ever...work...in a place with no cell reception? Absolute nightmare." The scarred hand seemed to twitch slightly, but he controlled it by picking up the hot mug and taking another draught. "Honestly, it's like some people are just so rude, y'know? No idea of humanity or decency. Practically an Autumn child."
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...now, see, normally Jake would have ignored a blatant challenge like that. But, sometimes? A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Slowly, with malice aforethought, he walked towards that there plate of mega-hot ribs. He looked at that plate, with a quirked eyebrow. Examined it. Took a scent - feeling the scorch on the inside of his nose. Closed his eyes, and smiled. Picked up a single rib - and then dipped it into the bubbling pot of HOT AS HELL barbeque sauce beside the table. Brought it out - absolutely soaked, and dripping. You could see the heat waves rolling off of it; the almost incandescent glow of pepper mix. And with a nice, smooth gesture - bit down, tore the succulent meat right off that bone (well, it more fell off than tore off - damn that stuff was nice and tender!), and chewed thoughtfully. A sage nod, followed by another chew of another mouthful. Chomp chew chomp. Consideration. "...not bad!" Grin. "What is that, ghost pepper?"
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Our boy Jake's gonna stay reeeeeal calm, folks. He's gonna first try and talk 'em down with a little hard tone in that there voice. http://orokos.com/roll/432279 - 25 on a Mass Intimidate (Demoralize). Second, Initiative! http://orokos.com/roll/432281 - that's a 15 on Init. Good to go, Olo!
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"...yup. I getcha." A pause - then a slow drawl - to the one who'd offered to spell it out. Anyone other than Outlaw, they might have fooled him. Anyone other than a T-baby who'd stared down kidnappers, a few angry mobs, and more than a few muggers - they might have fooled him. But when you got treated like a pariah - or worse, a monster - you got real used to people being shifty around you. Maybe surreptitiously checking weapons under their clothes. Maybe shifting 'round to get to the right places where you could sucker punch a monster before they took you down. Maybe get to a good spot to leg it. Maybe get ready to draw. Jake? He slowly got to his feet - eyes sliding over each of the bunch in turn. Took 'em in, as they moved. Shifted his weight, just right. He even more slowly reached up - tugging along his hat brim; a gesture oddly reminiscent of a gunfighter, spinning the chamber. You could almost hear the whirr - the click of the hammer. His hands drifting to hang by his hips. Fingers slowly twitching, cracking. The air started to thicken; just a bit - before he took in a powerful deep breath, and seemed to settle his shoulders. He let his eyes drift over 'em again. "...this don't gotta turn ugly." The teenager said, quiet-like. With an odd...smoulder...in his tone. Another long, low breath - there wasn't fear in his eyes, that was for sure. "...ugly means folks might do things they'd rather not. Might want to-" Slow breath. "-go somewhere. Get a quiet drink, instead." His fingers stopped twitching. "...reckon we could do that. Just us'ns. No trouble."
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The term half-life ran through his head, followed by the image of a nuclear bomb going off. Yeah. He wasn't all that optimistic these days. Jake didn't let out a sigh, but he did lift his hat high enough to run his hand through short black hair - grimacing. Girl was talking no end of sense, but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, and generally logged away as unapplicable given his circumstance. Still, she did have...an approachable demeanor. Didn't make him want to spill his guts, but it made talking about some things a bit less like pulling teeth. Hell, could be because she was another teen, and one who wasn't immediately trying to pants him or pull a Carrie on him. "Yeah, but you didn't burn down a motel." He pointed out. "And 'friends' don't tend to stick around me long. I'm...prickly." And burny. And screamy. And entropy. Shut up brain.
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"..." He gave her a bit of an unreadable look, then sighed and let his head hit the table. "...I'm not thrilled to be anywhere, lady." replied a bit of a muffled voice, before Jake managed to lift his head up again; the front of his licorice stick bent upwards. He eyed it for a moment like it had betrayed him - then reached up and straightened it. Another few moments, before he added another qualifier - leaning his arms on the table. "Still. Doubt I'd like anywhere other than here better anyway. I am least anti-thrilled here. Go Claremont - rah, rah, rah." Dry enough to cause nearby plants to imitate the Mojave. He mimed waving a tiny flag, before settling back with a slight grouse. "Anyway - don't get your nose out of joint."
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At the 'it's been so long', his smile turned more than a little brittle - but he masked it very well. Even managed to snort - "You even have to ask? Oy, Fred, two slices of pie over here, and a cocoa refill." He settled back in his seat, watching her take the one across, and pushed his paperwork to the side with the air of a man who really didn't want to deal with that right now; a slight smirk creasing his face. "New client wants the works. I'm not sure if I'm glad business jumped the second I opened the doors, or regretting the slow death of my free time."
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The camera angle shifted from her smiling face, to a photograph of her on a placard with the other celebrity judges. Jake chewed on a hickory-smoked jerky stick as he curiously examined the names. A superheroine and famous chef as one of the culinary judges? AND who ran her own restaurant in town? Jake chewed thoughtfully, then shrugged. The odds of him not being chucked out for being a scruffy T-baby, was likely slim to none. Chew chew chew. Still, that was a powerful pretty picture right there. He wondered to himself if she was seeing anyone, as he moved towards another barbeque tent. Well, if he couldn't visit her restaurant, he'd hit up the food tent and take a plateful. Respect the hero work, and fill his belly. Win-win!
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Avian-like hearing caused a head to perk up, and Morgan peered his head 'round the seat - blinking at a familiar rear end. One he'd admired before dating Vicky, admittedly. Now, it was a surprise to see - to say nothing of the familiar hair and frame. Now, if that face was the one he thought it - yes, yes it was! "Cerys? Cerys Pefr?" She did recognize that voice, a clean baritone with a slight bit of a Boston brogue. If she turned, she'd see a slight bit of astonishment on a far more careworn Morgan Crowe's face. A light stubble dusting his chin and upper lip, and a fairly faded scar crossing the top left of his forehead, 'round to his ear. Taken a nasty clip there, it seemed. Around his neck was that old shark-tooth necklace he'd made after a mess back in the Claremont days, and there was a mess of scars as well on the back of his left hand - the hand which still had a Celtic knot ring around his middle finger. He cocked his head sideways, to get a better look at her face. A long pause. Then a fairly wry smile. "Of all the coffee shops in all the towns in the world?"
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Fred's Diner. Corner of 49th and 6th. Freedom City, USA. 11:29 PM Freedom City's cowls were a rarefied bunch. They knew each other and how they worked; and when one disappeared, it was noticeable. Not enough to cause a massive stir - some heroes just came and went - but Cerys Pefr knew Morgan Crowe a bit better than most. He might be appalled why, mind, or approving - either-or. As it stands; he'd dropped off the grid about four years ago, shortly after a quiet wedding to a young lady. Scuttlebutt said he'd disappeared from the very limousine carrying them to an airport for a honeymoon, no less. Neither'd arrived at their destination. He'd picked a fine time to disappear, though - Parkhurst had been up to it's eyeballs in their own problems, and by the time it became obvious he was missing, they couldn't find hide nor hair of him or her. Just another unsolved mystery for Freedom City. Until now. Rumor had it that a familiar cowl and coat had been working the Waterfront and the Fens again, with occasional appearances in other trouble spots across the city. That Crowe Security Consulting had reopened - citing a brief closure for renovations. That a face had appeared in Parkhurst at least once, studying tomes of scrying and tracking. That a lot of questions had been asked - usually at fist or knifepoint - to various henchmen concerning one Victoria Knight-Crowe. Or Crowe-Knight. And, in other news - one Morgan Crowe was apparently now a semi-regular patron downtown at Fred's Diner. Best milkshakes and burgers in town. He sat at a corner booth, looking over a folder of security information - using a knife to ferry fries one by one to his waiting maw.
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Live the cliché, Cross. Live the cliché. A day off from classes. A day off from the opening week of classes, and a young man in a pair of blue jeans, worn out old sleeveless t-shirt, a wide-brimmed hat, and a denim jacket hiding a metal vest, was spending it chaining up a bike at the entrance to Liberty Park. A place where he intended to, for the next few foreseeable hours, stuff himself absolutely silly with barbequed goodness and fried foods. He hadn't quite gone so far as to wear a bib, admittedly, but he'd already resolved that if there weren't spare ribs somewhere around here? Ruing would occur. Jake wasn't entirely sure how he would cause ruing, but there would be some!
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"Oh, I just love licorice." He replied, sarcastically - chewing with particular venom on the black stick of evil. "Can't get enough of it. Always have to have a stick handy. Can't imagine anything else I'd rather smo-chew on." Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Yeah, no subtext there, right? Still, the second question brought him up a bit short - he even spent a few minutes pondering that. Eventually, the firestarter shrugged - jaw shifting the now half-length stick over to the other side of his mouth. "And I 'unno. Maybe he thinks it's a pen."
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"At this point I'll take what I can get." He replied, dryly. He seemed to...uncurl a little bit. Like a porcupine sticking out it's nose from the spiky ball, inspecting the approaching human finger. Sniff-sniff. Or in Jake's case, talk-talk. He unfolded himself from the chairs, sitting upright - putting pen to paper and starting to note down a few of her mentions; the body language and heat points. Still, for a moment, he seemed to shift awkwardly - in his mind, that dry comment had left a bit too open a space... Slight cough, and he managed to mutter a; "...wouldn't be surprised if it was a wave of Centurion imitations, though."
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On the one hand, his knee-jerk response was to tell her to pike off and take a flying leap, either one, in either order. On the other hand, be a fine thing to open up the year with a halfassed piece of homework. Jake may be a delinquent, but he wasn't a dropout, damnit. He grimaced, and propped himself up on his elbows. "Miss Hana's Public Relations 101, fashion curriculum paper. Ten pages on the introduction of capes early on." A slight grumble by the end. "Never liked capes. Too prone to lighting on fire if you don't watch them."
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The licorice stick twitched, as Jack bent his head backwards off the chair. Looking at a pair of floating feet. Then further upwards, at her face. Huh. Familiar face. She was...Rail? Mass Driver? Something sci-fi...oh, yeah! The one he'd seen in that mess at the Kick Off Dance. He gave a monosyllabic grunt, lifting his head back onto the chair - lifting a hand up to wave towards the seat opposite. A few seconds later, he even added a qualifier. "...sure. Don't mess with my papers." Charming, ain't he.
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Library Claremont Academy Freedom City United States of America What was this unfamiliar sensation? Oh. Yes. Regret. That was it. Jake lay across two chairs in a back corner of the academy library - a stick of black licorice sticking up out of his mouth like a flagpole; lightly shaking as it was chewed. He was dressed in his usual fashion - tooled leather boots, blue jeans, sleeveless shirt, wide-brimmed hat, metal limiter harness. Around him lay the detritus of study, more specifically, a ten-page essay on the significance of early adoption of capes in heroic fashion. Well, more like one page, at the moment. If you were being generous. And counted two words at the top as a 'page'. And counted your name as two words. The fact that it was due tomorrow, in turn, may have been contributing to the unfamiliar sensation. Jake chewed on the licorice (still tasted like drek, damnit), staring at the ceiling tiles.
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He was minding his own business. Later, of course, he'd swear up and down that's what he was doing. Just minding his own business. He'd been minding his own business since he'd arrived on the bus a few days ago. Just minded his own business getting a dorm room, minded his own business moving in, minded his own business going to the first few classes. The dance hadn't appealed much; mostly since Jake hadn't been around long enough to really find any interest - and honestly it was just a disaster for him waiting to happen anyway. One bump and he'd probably light up, and then he'd get in trouble, and then he'd get accused of something, and then expelled, and then the world would probably explode. It had been one of those days. Jacob Cross, alias Outlaw, leaned against an exterior wall - looking somewhat mournfully at the hidden pack of cigarettes he'd had concealed in an inner shirt pocket. It was empty, of course. Never mind he'd bought it not an hour ago, and the wrapping was still on it. Inside was black licorice sticks - and a Raven marker. Black licorice. He hated black licorice. Granted, he was chewing on one stick now (why waste licorice?), but he was doing so out of...rebellion. Yeah, that was it. Feel the sting of teenage revolution. He grunted and pushed off the wall, pondering either making for the dorms or the gym roof. Listening to the music might be nice, at l-WHUMP. Ow. ...just minding his own business - and then a guy with a skateboard walked right into him, sending them both sprawling. Jake a bit less winded (thank you Nullifier Vest, you are like a warm metal snuggy that protects people), but his wide-brim hat hitting the ground, his jeans getting dew on the butt (he hated that), and his nice shirt getting grass stains on it. He managed to sit up, giving the offender a Class 2 Glare. "Y'all often go around not lookin' where you're goin'?" was asked in a withering tone.
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Something occurred to Crow, though, and he brought up an image in the mid-upper building; a small side office. "That said - we do have an exfiltration route in case of emergency. This office is equipped with a portal rune to the outside back courtyard, in the event of catastrophe on the lower floors. It's outside the faraday cage, so in the event things go horribly wrong, you can exit through here. Look for J. Smith's nameplate, remove the painting of dogs playing poker behind the desk, and press the second wall tile left of the window. The portal will open in a few seconds - but it'll also light up all the emergency alarms in-building. Fire and police." And how long had it taken him to talk Daystrom into including THAT? Evacuation plans were standard as part of his security system, even if they were an additional bell-and-whistle, and the skinflint was too tight-fisted to pay for even that. Hindsight, should have been a bit of a giveaway, come to think of it. He leaned back against the wall, nodding. "...no questions." Most had been answered already, whether Terrifica knew it or not!
