Quinn

Umm...it's a big warehouse, so...heh, I dunno. Call it around 80-100 feet. And yeah, with the door open there's a charnel-house stench.

A few moments passed as Push knelt by the lock, adjusting and tweaking it, eyes narrowing, then widening, and so on. "Right, I think we can adapt to that, 'fly. Templar, Ironclad, head up to the roof or just below those windows, and stand by. We'll need air support if things go south. Dragonfly, you and I'll slip in on either side of the cultists while Dead Head does...whatever he's planning on doing. Once we're in position, I'll signal, then we hit 'em from all directions at once, aye?" Finally, Quinn stood, pulling the knife and wire out and jiggling the doorknob. A low click came from the lock, and the door swung inwards. Sliding on his night-vision goggles again, he peered in, looking left, right, and up, then motioned to Dead Head. "Your show, mate. Go in and do what you do best, but save the brain-scoffing for later. I just ate." He smirked, stepping back to let the zombie (and his little dog, too) through.

Push gave his best shot at a cryptic smile, though it really only reached his eyes since the majority of his face was covered by the scarf. The suspenders caused a bit of a quirk in his eyebrow, but other than that, the look remained the same. "You could say that. Been around the block a few times here and there, but aye, first time in Freedom City. And that's not the first time I've heard of a woman boasting taking on twice her number...but the context was a little different. And the tune playing was a bit less religious. And it wasn't across the Pacific." He laughed, leaning back on the bike with a mock-curious look. "Tell me, are all the women here as feisty and reckless and all the men here thuggish and cowardly? If this is going to happen with regularity, I might begin to feel a tad inadequate." The mirth in his tone fairly bubbled up, and he was hard-pressed not to laugh again at the looks on those idiots' faces when they saw her change into a panther.

Push just facepalmed, then quietly waved his hand in Ironclad's general direction. When I spoke to the sky, I didn't really expect an answer... "I don't know why you're here, I don't want to know why you're here, I don't want to know why any of you are here, I don't even want to know why I'm here. Well, actually, I do, otherwise I wouldn't be here. But why all of you are here at this particular time, in this particular place, I really don't want to know, as it'll just make my headache worse. Just...just go stand over there by Dragonfly. Please." Sighing, he returned his attention to the lock and began to switch items on the multi-tool, eventually taking out what looked like a long wire and a knife. Bending over the keyhole, the kinetic king began to fiddle with the tools, keeping an ear open and waiting for that tell-tale click...

Push nearly doubled-over, slapping his leg and laughing as the two nearly soiled their drawers running for the hills. Standing and wiping a tear from one eye, he slung his warhammer back over his shoulders. He liked this firebrand, never met anyone like her back in GC. And the fact that she was a) easy on the eyes, and a literal catgirl didn't hurt either. Quinn shook his head to clear out the rather interesting mental images and extended his hand. "You call this fun and games? The name's Push, and you're welcome."

Hail hail, the gang's all here! Alright, wait a coupla posts, Fox, then consider the Master Plan ready. I'd like to see KnightDisciple and Ironclad post once more each, if possible. Either way, whoever goes into the warehouse first, let me know. Things iz about to get hairy!

The ersatz hero noted the zombie talking to nobody, then bending down and petting the air. What really gobsmacked Quinn was the fact that a bark came out of nowhere in response. "I've heard of imaginary friends, but that is just ridiculous. How do you clean up after him on walks in the park? And how do you know when he's napping on the couch before you sit on it? Meh, nice doggy." Push shook his head at the minor bit of snark, feeling a buzz in his fingertips. Too much kinetic charge just waiting to be let off the chain...he smiled like so many wolves for an instant under that scarf, eyes gleaming. After all this time, all this work...walking the razor's edge with eldrich magic and the powers of Old Night on one side, and a world that thought him a murderer and a renegade on the other...here, he'd find the clues he needed to clear his name. And then he'd find Scratch, and put paid to those darker nightmares. He knew he shouldn't derive satisfaction from causing pain, but he had a lot of fury to vent over the wasted lives and years of his life lost up to this point, and those frakheads in there were in precisely the wrong place at the right time. The air warped and crackled between his fingers as he thought these things... "What're you going to do? Make like Michael Jackson? On second thought, don't answer that, the reply might damage my fragile psyche even further. Still, might give 'em a good shock to see a zombie fresh from the grave staggering outta the black. Poetic justice, if y'ask me...never mind, private joke." Push grumbled the last sentence, taking out his multi-tool and examining the lock. "Might as well wait for Dragonfly to finish whatever she's schemin' though. And any other heroes that might want to, oh, I don't know, randomly drop in out of the black. Be a bit rude if we didn't wait for them." He said the last bit to the air, half-joking. Then again, if Centurion himself dropped out of the sky and asked what was going on, he probably wouldn't have batted an eye.

Ok, I'm kinda sad I had to resort to this so soon, but the dog was completely out of the calculations. He can't smell anything over the smoke and the waterfront smells. As a matter of fact, he's kinda sad he has to smell all that crapola in the air. Take a Hero Point, Doc, that's a GM Fiat.

I'm afraid you can't smell anything through the thick warehouse walls, and it's too dim to see the contours of the sacks. You can just tell that a) they are sacks, and two people are carrying them, and c) there are two sacks left.

Right, scratch that, she was batty as the Prof. Even had the same method of speaking when working. "Yeah, it does. Always." Quinn muttered, nodding absently while leaning on the wall and watching her. At least she didn't seem to act as...theatrical as Wyrd. Which, in and of itself, was a bit reassuring. And she was considerably more easy on the eyes. "Why is it everywhere I go, something always reminds me of that idiot..." He murmured, giving another more appraising look at her gadgetry. He'd pinched a few toys from the Professor, but she looked like she had a whole armory strapped on her limbs. "Well, if you think it'll help. Two things, before you get distracted though. One, can you see anything Dead Head and I missed? And two, what've you got to play with in that arsenal?"

Push shook his head, not even bothering to acknowledge that yet another hero had appeared out of nowhere, and quickly moved over to near Dead Head, looking in himself and seeing much the same. "Hmm...whatever it is, it looks bloody fishy. If we had some flyers by the upper windows..." He clapped a hand to his face with a muffled curse. "Ok, I'm an idiot." Quinn yanked his night-vision goggles from his eyes, squinting in the darkness, and motioned to the Cobalt Templar, speaking rapidly in a low hiss. "CT, take these and give us a bird's-eye-view from the upper windows. Keep it low, savvy? Don't want to tip our friends inside off. Oh, and if you or anyone's got a comm-link, turn it to channel A1337, we might as well stay synced. Dead, cover the door with me, and get that...shovel...ready?" Push stared briefly, remembering how DH had walloped those thugs earlier, and shrugged, motioning to the one side of the door. He then turned to face the new arrival, a...Dragonfly? Girl looked a bit off-kilter, and she reminded him, oddly enough, of Professor Wyrd. Had to be the gadgets. Surely she couldn't be as batty as the Prof, right? "And since you probably aren't going away, Dragonfly...Dragonfly, what are you doing?" He asked in a somewhat bemused voice as she walked around, peering through windows and muttering to herself. This night just keeps getting better and better...

I haven't posted here yet, so I might as well I'm a X-year-old university student in Ontario, Canada, going for a joint-major in English and History, emphasis on English Literature, and I'm hoping a master's degree in that'll give me max on my Knowledge checks. Other than that, I live pretty quietly. Work-wise I run a semi-regular bike courier service, but other than that I'm living off student loans and sending out piles and piles of resumes. Fell in love with tabletop via my dad, who used to play in a big way back in university/high school, and passed all his old sourcebooks and miniatures (mostly 1st edition D&D and the like) down to me. Yeah, I'm a boring person. >.<

Push was cursing a mile a minute in his head, was there some kind of convention in the area that he didn't know about or something? Really? Where were all these heroes coming from?! He shook his head, casting another glance through the window and contenting himself with the distinct lack of movement. Noting the armored man's (Cobalt Templar, he said. Good name, if a bit melodramatic...) glance sideways, he cast his own look that way, seeing nothing but fence and shadow. Logging that away, he started racking his brains, throwing together an explanation that would content the big tin can, then spoke in a hushed tone to both of them. "I'll stick to CT. Easier to remember, no offense. I'm not going to ask why the deadman's here either, I think that'd just hurt my brain. Look, there's this bad guy I've been chasing for the past year or two, calls himself Mr. Scratch. One of his favorite aliases is that of a Dr. Daniel Webster, and this warehouse is signed in that name. Can't track it back any further than that thanks to a metric crapton of intermediaries, but I've been watching this joint for the past two days waiting for something to happen. I've been in twice before during the day and found nothing but busy dockworkers, so what's happening tonight has...well, it's got to be what I was waiting for. The fact that old bones over there is around just makes it even more likely." He nodded at the friendly neighbourhood zombie, then looked askance at both of them. "And yeah, name's Push. Any more than that, you buy dinner first. Deadman, you get a good look with that window? I can't see squat at this doorway."

Right then, things are getting interesting! ^_^

Push spun on his heel as he heard the hum, hands raised to blast his ambusher...then noticed the armor. Bugger. "Uh...yeah, this probably isn't looking too good." He muttered, motioning for them both to stay quiet. Big guy looked like a hero, cape and armor was a bit of a giveaway. And if it looked like a hero, it usually was a hero. Especially here. So...maybe this wasn't that awkward. "Look, I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but I'll make it fast. Something's going down in there, there's evidence in there I need, and you're about an ace from blowing a chase I've been on for nearly a year. So either clear off or get over here and give me a hand. And keep it quiet!" Gabriel hissed. Quinn was disgruntled, but some backup would be nice. So long as this joker didn't find out his identity, he should be alright. He hoped. More like prayed. This oversized tin can didn't look like he'd be too kind if he found out the reason he was on this chase. And after a year of this, Push always assumed people matched the name to the frame. He cocked an eyebrow at the armored dude, waiting for him to make a move, and subtly charging kinetic energy in one fist. If this went south, he'd have to book fast...

More than enough. I even said you could skip those checks ;)

1d20+12=20 on a Notice check looking through the windows, anyone who does the same (looking through windows) must roll Notice as well, with the upper windows providing a bonus of +2 (as they cover more area, no moonlight though, so a smaller bonus)

Push nearly dropped his binoculars, his glee was so much. Squinting through them and the night-vision goggles, he watched the truck roll away and the loading doors shut. This was the opportunity he was waiting for. That bloody warehouse had been quiet all day, nothing going in or out. But now someone was in there, and that meant there was something to do with the mysterious Mr. Webster. He stepped off of the tenement roof, his coat and scarf billowing around him as he dropped, pushing kinetic force out of his feet to slow his descent an ace before he landed. The second his boots hit the ground, he was off like a shot, across the road, a kinetic charge to the boots, up and over the fence, and taking cover beside one of the smaller side doors. The ersatz hero peered through the windows, seeing nothing but the pitch-black of the interior...the silhouettes of storage containers...and...wait! Flickering light a further ways in. Very dim, however, and he couldn't make out anything more than vague blobs and flickering lights. Quinn chuckled very quietly under his scarf, shifting to the other side of the door and rummaging in his messenger bag...

In which a motley collection of heroes and a wanted man stumbles on something eldrich and evil, and more questions are raised than answers. Players: Kyriotsu, Fox, KnightDisciple, Raveled, Dr. Archeville

Nov. 16, 2010. Tuesday. 11:45 P.M Overcast, light rain. A lone warehouse stood on Dock 87, a bleak concrete and steel edifice reaching up. The mammoth doors that would haul cargoes in remained shut, and the windows were black with the darkness that lay inside. Cars occasionally rolled by, on the way to wherever they meant to go. None ever stopped...except one. A large truck rolled through the gates, pulling up to one of the back loading doors, and backed in. The doors rolled up, and up, and the truck closed in. Shuffles of movement around the truck, something being brought out and into the warehouse...then the doors seal shut, and the truck rolls away. This is but the work of a minute or two, and then all is silent again. Something wicked happens this night...

Date: November 16th, 2010 (Tuesday). Evening. Temp in the lower 20s. Rainy, no winds. Infinity was pulsing tonight. The bass thrum of the music echoed, barely heard above the driving rain outside, where a lineup of die-hard party-goers were waiting in front of the bouncer to get in. No live deejay tonight, unfortunately, and the crowds were a bit thin, but in the most popular dance and nightclub on the Waterfront, that wasn't really saying much. The chrome and strobe lighting lit up the floors and contorted the shadows, changing men and women's skin to blue, then purple, then red, then yellow, while bodies gyrated on the dance floor and others sat in hushed booths discussing...things. The bouncer checked off names as people went in, thumbing some by automatically while stopping others, inspecting, then using some arcane method to decide whether or not they would pass. Some walked gleefully through the doors, already tapping feet or swiveling hips, while others went trudging away, soaked to the bone for their trouble. The music was techno tonight, remixes and new mixes blaring from hidden speakers all over the place, churning out "phat beatz". The drinks were flowing too, lounge lizards sitting on stools offering a drink to any pretty thing that would stop and chat for a while. Some got the drinks thrown back in their faces. Others were a bit more successful. Everything looked exactly like it should. A perfectly average night in the Infinity Nightclub...right.

For some heroes, a day off, for others, work time. What's going to happen tonight at the notorious Infinity nightclub?

Push When Push Comes To Shovel. Wait, Who's Saving Who Here? Too Many Questions, Too Few Answers... (also GM) Coffee Shop Blues Reputation Chart

"Heh, I wouldn't kiss that face on a bet! And you completely forgot style!" Push laughed, and with a flourish pegged one thug right between the legs with a kinetic bolt. Except this time the force was akin to him having struck with a sledgehammer. The robber's eyes crossed, his mouth moving silently as his hands reached down, and he crumpled to the ground, whimpering. Quinn made an extravagant motion, bowing towards her as two more thugs tried to whack him with their ersatz weapons. The clubs seemed to slow the second they reached a few inches away from his back, just tapping the coat as they reached the apex of the strike. The two thugs stared at it, mystified, as Push looked at them and simply shrugged. "Finesse is all well and good, but overconfidence can be a killer, kitten. Always be prepared." His voice was lazy, way out of place with the situation, acting as if he was lecturing her. Taking a moment, he turned his head to look with a bored face at the two crooks, who by now had dropped their weapons. "You still here?" The speed with which they ran was quite prodigious.

Heh, forgot to post my own roll last night for the last guy. 1d20+8=23 on a Kinetic Blast. The fight is us vs. 10 Thug Minions, PL2. No toughness saving throw, and they have a +2 Defense. Well...7 minions now.