SpicyWaffle

The Bee-Keeper III Corniness aside, things were going well! Facsimile was really pulling out all the stops on his choco-monster facade, and almost all but the bravest (or most foolhardy) of civilian workers had pulled out of the facility and the actual immediate danger that was Tabitha hiding in their chocolate vat. As Not!Caramelgeddon assumed its monstrously bitter final form and wrapped its inky-dark tendrils around Baxter's armor, he put up only the barest resistance, if only to keep the illusion that he was in significant trouble now -- trouble, he hoped, would deter those busy taking selfies and snapping photos on their phones to bolt. "Get out of here, fellow zzitizzenzz! Thizz vizzcouzz villain izz too dangerouzz!" he implored, the metal boots of his armor scraping against the walkway with an obnoxiously loud screech. "Ezzcape beefore thingzz get dicey!" For extra effect and to really drive the point home, the Bee-Keeper flexed his mighty muscles, tearing free of the tendrils... but also flinging their remnants just hard enough towards the passers-by still brave enough to keep watching to give them a little scare. "Hurry! I don't know how much longer I can fend off itzz attackzz!"

Initiative Check = 1d20+7: 18 [1d20=11]

GM Tapping the icon, the screen on the phone goes black for Cassie. But only for a moment. Suddenly, that same darkness is replaced by a borderline neon shade of green text. "CONNECTING . . . CONNECTING . . ." it read, "AWAITING TRANSCEIVER RESPONSE . . ." "Okay. If you ping em', they're going to want the coded response," explained the still anonymous thug, his mind obviously clear enough to warrant a swifter cognitive response. "If they ask 'Are the the sparrowhawk's singing?', you're supposed to respond with 'In their cages in the morning.' That's how they'll know it's me or Ryan." Sure enough, after a moment of tense silence as Cassie looked to the phone, the man's words proved true as more vibrant green text scrawled across the screen: "ARE THE SPARROWHAWK'S SINGING? . . ." "Now hold on a minute, Miss Crowe!" interjected Doctor Ritterton, who'd been content to let Snakebite take the reigns thus far. "We can't trust this clandestine communique, can we? What if this bloke is just hatching some elaborate ruse?"

Super! Looks like we're all filled out. I'll give @Ecalsneerg some time to respond with a yay or nay since he mentioned he would be on vacation, then I'll launch us into the mystical mystery proper.

Bedlam City. It's a place where shadowy tendrils weave in and out of its machinations. Crime saturates the streets, and with a shortage of good Samaritans to keep the darkly-lit alleys safe, villainy remains unchecked. Only a select few have the courage and wherewithal to fight the war that festers in the heart of this urban Wisconsin jungle, but even then it's an uphill battle. Things have taken a turn, and not for the better. Rumors ride on the winds and through the slum-ridden bars of fresh competition, their corruption and mysterious agenda as much a hot topic for gossip as it is a malignant tumor. The magical community is in a quiet uproar, rife with dread and no small measure of desperation. Even the local crimelords only ever dare whisper their name for fear of drawing their wrath down upon them: The Accord. It's Bedlam's best worst-kept secret: there's a big play coming, and the Accord is at its head as magical armaments and subtle but seemingly impossible crimes tear through the disquieted metropolis with silent, unknown purpose. The whole city can feel it as old contacts go dark and lesser organizations go to ground in preparation for what might be coming. It's going to fall to the few vigilantes -- magical or otherwise -- courageous enough to stand up to the Accord before their nefarious plot unfurls and wreaks havoc across the city. Hello! If you're reading this, I'm looking to start some shenanigans over in Bedlam City. Magic and crime are both on the rise, and anyone savvy enough to beat it out of some unfortunate mook to spill the truth or grab hold of some of the bizarre arcane gear they're wielding and track down its origin can discern its source: the Accord, a clandestine magical mafioso-type outfit who's recently taken root in Bedlam City for their own nefarious purposes. I can swing two more folks at most, as @Ecalsneerg and @Tarrakhash are guaranteed a spot if they so choose. Expect plenty of investigating and fighting in equal measure as the heroes race to uncover the Accord's scheme and put a stop to it before it's too late!

The Bee-Keeper III With a solid FWUMP!, Bee-Keeper reeled from the blast, crashing into the nearby wall. Though the impact was real, the 'damage' was superficial at best, the armor taking the brunt of it with relative ease. And so the scene was set. Breaking free from the chocolate encasement with a raw display of strength, the Bee-Keeper assumed another suitably heroic pose -- he had to remember to be convincing, that this fracas was all a sham. "Pleazze. Their zzalty attemptzz to zztop the Zzting of Juzztizze met with a zzweet defeat!" retorted the armored actor, his modulated voice practically reeking of bacon as he hammed up the performance. Raising a gauntlet-clad hand, he steadied his aim -- and was careful to dial down the settings on his blaster -- against the faux Caramelgeddon. "Your diabetic rage endzz here, you inzzidiouzzly zzugary zzcalawag!" And with that, the Bee-Keeper fired a concussive blast towards Facsimile's incognito chocolate nightmare -- and right towards the vat where Tabitha was hiding!

Sorry for the delay! Here we gooooo! Bluff Check +10 to Ham It Up! = 25

GM "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I don't need you to shoot me full of whatever this is again or kick my ass like Greg," insisted the still slightly drugged-up goon. He was trying to put on a tough facade, but Cassie's relentless questioning (and the fact she was still armed) was making it especially difficult. "Look, I don't know where they took him. But I know how you can find them," he bargained. "Check my phone. There's an app on there called 'Jelly Jouster.' It's just a gimmick; it's actually a re-skinned icon that opens a line for how we get in contact with them -- and no, before you ask, I don't actually know their name. Just that they're loaded and paid me and my buddy enough to coast for six months. We'd organize a drop-off, we'd collect our cash, and that was the end of our arrangement. But hey, you wanna play hero and go after the doctor? That's fine. Text them, tell them we captured you, and meet them at the rendezvous. Bam. There you go." Still beyond the realm of putting up a fight, checking the man's phone revealed he was telling the truth -- it really was a communication line hidden behind the phony application! "Look. I held up my end of the deal. No tricks, no lies. I just want my money and to get outta this hellhole job in paradise."

The Bee-Keeper III Arching a brow, Baxter just gave a shrug in response, causing an uncomfortable shuffling of of the boxes between his arms. "Alright. Cool. If you're sure, then I guess we're good to go," hummed her uncle, setting the boxes back down. Fishing out both his keys and a set shades from the pocket of his leather jacket, he slipped the sunglasses on with practiced ease before tossing a gentle nod towards the way to the front door. "I'm driving. You can pick the music, Mel."

Black Rabbit "No kidding," he replied to Monica before she went back to playing on her phone, chuckling sardonically at the school's clever dictum for punctuality before turning his attention back to Danica. "But it's good to know they're not that often," hummed Tom, assuaged that at least these little get-togethers were at least somewhat predictable. A let a moment slip by. Then another. It was all about pacing in every day conversation, a trait he'd learned during his stint in training back home; less strict and observed, and more open and genuine - but also more prone to letting important tidbits slip. Timing, as they say, is everything, and the last thing the newfound superhero-in-training wanted to do was seem like he was jabbering on. "So, you've been here a while. Can't speak for Monica, but I'm pretty new to Freedom," Tom began, the double entendre completely unintentional as he tried his best not to sound too excited or pushy, "but maybe this weekend you can give me a tour. Show me all the cool spots around the city." No sooner than the words escaped his lips did the headmistress walk in and assume her rightful position on the stage. No words were needed; the sheer intensity of her look quelled the growing noise in the auditorium almost instantly. It looked like the time for chit-chat was over. "Just think about it," he added in a whisper, then slumped back into his seat -- or as close to slumping as he could get while still looking like he was at full-on attention.

Black Rabbit "I'm from a small little town in Iowa. You've probably never heard of it," Tom said, every bit the pretender as he recited the lies AEGIS had instructed him on with a sort of practiced nuance, though he had to admit he hadn't seen Danica's question coming given the rest of her ramblings. He needed to change gears, but that was hardly going to deter him from his chance at finally being social! "Guess we're in the same year. That's cool," he added, giving a casual nod to the still-anonymous-Monica beside him. "And so's she, I think. We were just talking about the assembly. They have these things often?"

Black Rabbit "It's the new student smell, right? Totally gave me away," replied Tom with a wry smile and halfhearted sarcasm, still hiding behind the cheap facade of an angst-ridden American teen from television. He'd watched off-and-on as Danica made her way to the back row of the seats he and Monica had taken up residence, but hadn't actually realized she was heading their way given her own pokey momentum. But that was neither here nor there; now Tom had two new people to talk to! Growing dread aside for the pending assembly, today was shaping up to be a pretty awesome first day of school, and was going much, much better than he'd anticipated. Now he just had to not screw it up. "I'm Tom," said the newfound Claremont attendee as he greeted Danica with a practiced but nonetheless charmingly lazy wave, trying his best to keep his raw excitement bottled up at the prospect of a potential new friend. "Nice to meetcha, Danica. How about you? First day at Claremont, too?"

That's a definite success. Nothing short of a twenty would even match it, so we'll just say Cassie succeeds

GM The man, groggy and sullen, looked like he'd just walked about ten miles of bad road with no shoes. The drugs had done their work and put him on his butt, and now that he was no longer in a position to act like the tough guy he thought he was, the now less-than-incognito agent wasn't in much of a position to argue. The money probably had something to do with it, too. And also the fact he was outright terrified. "If you just wanted to bribe me, you could have just said so instead of... whatever you shot me with," he groaned in an extremely poor attempt at acting like a badass, still shaking his head to clear the cobwebs even as his lip quivered discreetly. Not only was he ex-military, but he was unscrupulous ex-military, it seemed, though that was probably just a happy coincidence. "We were ordered to take him. Someone overheard he shipped some kind of relic across the pond because he'd uncovered some kind of mystery. They knew someone was coming to investigate it, but they thought Tate already knew. So we kidnapped him and gave him over to some spooky militant guys who paid top dollar. Guess they didn't like what he had to say, 'cause they paid us to kidnap Tate's friends, too. Guessing that's you."

The Bee-Keeper III Right on cue, in burst the Bee-Keeper, stage right. Wings abuzz as he flew in after blasting down one of the doors with the aid of his powerful hand blaster, Baxter took his position mid-air, replete with striking a heroic (and mildly Silver Age-y) pose. "Hold it right there, Caramelgeddon!" barked the armor actor in his most convincingly corny hero voice, jutting a finger accusingly towards Facsimile's faux foe facsimile. "Your decadent rampage of bitter sweetnezz hazz come to end! You've got one channze! Zzurrender, and zzet thezze people free or prepare to tazzte the zzticky fizzt of juzztice!"

The Bee-Keeper III Shock is an emotion that comes in many levels. At the lowest tier is the kind that happens when your friends throw you a surprise party and you honestly didn't see it coming. Then there's the next level, when a girl you thought you didn't have a chance with genuinely says yes to a date, even though you're a complete spaz. After that comes the one about finding out you have superpowers or something like that. Then there was the level where Bhramari, the Hindu Goddess of Bees, spoke to you directly. You know, the sort of thing that registered an easy seven on a scale of one to five. "Uh... hi," the obviously-not-the-right-Bee-Keeper stammered as he gave Diamondlight an equally confused look through his body language, genuinely at a loss for words for a moment. "That'zz, uh... that'zz me. The Bee-Keeper. Yup. Back and trying to figure out what'zz actually wrong with thizz plazze other than it'zz jam-packed full of loot. And you're either Bhramari, or a really, really convincing robot." Baxter was honestly hoping it was a robot, but given his luck, it was probably fifty-fifty on that front.

Black Rabbit "First day meet and greets, man. It's cool," shrugged Tom with an oddly even-tempered measure of acceptance as Adam bombarded him with a Truth Bomb, taking the whole thing as if it weren't any stranger than someone putting ketchup on beans as he began unpacking his bag, each garment and article of loaned clothing meticulously folded with borderline obsessive precision. No soon than he'd said this than he realized how odd that must have sounded; for him, this was really nothing odd or unusual - after you see someone with an octopus head juggling plasma, these sort of things just sort of feel mundane by comparison. He had to remember that this wasn't New Freedom though, and Adam obviously wasn't from a place where everyone had weird, unusual powers. "I've got a magical rabbit spirit that blasts me with its emotions all the time. So there's that about me, I guess," he added with a slight chuckle, shifting gears while also being careful not to spill too much about himself. It was true, Adam was a weird cookie -- but so was Tom. And their weirdness, if he'd learned anything from television, was the anchor that bound them together. Now was his chance to really make a friend; but Tom had to admit, even if he didn't show it, he was nervous, and wasn't really sure how teenagers from America acted outside of the shows he'd picked up along the way. But he came here for a fresh start, and he wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers. And Adam seemed like a nice enough guy -- plus, he was brave enough to open up, a sharp contrast to Tom which in comparison honestly made him feel a bit cowardly. The least he could do was find some common ground and forge some camaraderie. Since this was typically the part in the show where one of the characters made a heartfelt plea or speech, what better time to put knowledge to practice than right here and now? After a moment, he turned to Adam, still bizarrely unphased by his scarred-up appearance as he thumped the still folded sheets form his bag onto the mattress. "We've all got our hang ups that make us different. Comes with the territory. So you know what? Let's just be different, because that's who we are. Whatever," he continued, giving Adam a solid pat on the... well, more on the forearm, really, as his shoulder was awfully high. "If people here have any kind of problem with you, then they've got a problem with me. We're the new kids on the block here, but we're also in this together. I've got your back, so no pressure."

Black Rabbit If there was even a shred of dismay on Tom's face, it was well-hidden. On the outside, he was as indifferent and sporting an authentic apathy about this whole get-together of an assembly to start the school year off proper. This was a feat of epic proportions on his part, because it was a complete lie. He'd seen his fair share of 'assemblies' in his time back in New Freedom; of men and women lining up in single file, where orders would be barked at them, they'd be torn down socially by their superiors, or the more popular option since President Harper's rise to power, offering public displays of discipline. And so here he sat at the back of the pack in an attempt to lay low, his guts dancing violently behind his peerless facade of indifference. He might have resigned himself to loneliness at the top, had a young lady not taken up residence beside him. Maybe it was a weird twist of fate, but what she said matched how Tom felt exactly. "Agreed," he honestly conceded with cool aloofness, relying on his stock repertoire of teen slang he'd picked up from the various teen romantic-dramadies he'd been binge watching back in AEGIS to cultivate his image. "I'm Tom. Cool to meet someone new," he said, giving Monica an honest, casual smile, or at least the best he could muster in his faux-but-quickly-mastering facade as a typical American teenager.

The Bee-Keeper III Baxter blinked for a minute. The idea was cheesy. Hammy. Absolutely slaptastic, not to mention reckless and dangerous. It was also surprisingly genius. "I can't beelieve I'm zzaying thizz," sighed the Bee-Keeper. "Let'zz do it."

Knowledge (Theology) it is then! Knowledge (Theology) +2 Check = 1d20+2: 14 [1d20=12]

The Bee-Keeper III "Sweet. Let's get this stuff in the car and hit the road!" clapped Baxter, probably more excited about this mini-road trip to the FCU campus than he should have been. Ever since the Terminus reared its ugly head again, he'd had to drop from his remaining courses for the semester. That doctorate was so close - so very, very close - but it was fine. There was something oddly poetic about finishing up his last few years back in Freedom City. It might have been nice overseas, but there was no place like home. Scooping up a pair of boxes in each arm, the incognito Bee-Keeper motioned with his head. "C'mon. Shouldn't take long to get all this stuff in there, then we can hit the road."

The Bee-Keeper III One last tap and the mini-swarm came floating back lazily inside the armor. Bee-Keeper, though his face was hidden behind his helmet, practically glowed with a sense of smug satisfaction. "Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Lookzz like the ultra- dark vat izz mizzing about twenty perzzent of itzz chocolate. Lookzz like our key'zz more bitter than zzweet." He mused for a moment, rubbing the hairless chin of the suit's helmet in thought. "We're going to have to get in there. Flush her out, maybee. The bee'zz zztill couldn't actually zzee Tabitha, zzo we're going to need to find a way to get her to reveal herself zzo we can nab her."

GM "Right. Yes. Of course," Ritterton said hastily, assisting Cassie in rummaging through the possessions of the two men lying in the road. Like a bloodhound, Doctor Ritterton came away with much the same as Cassie. The men were armed; though it was somewhat peculiar they hadn't resorted to their firearms. There was little else of note on Ritterton's side as he came away with the second agent's smartphone. Giving it a few taps, he gave an aggravated sigh. "Locked. Of course." Snakebite, in addition to much the same on her snoozing victim, also came up with a set of keys. Though the keychain was extremely crude and inappropriate for children by every stretch of the imagination, the keys themselves were a mystery. Their shape was unremarkable, plain, and otherwise perfectly normal in appearance -- they were either wholly humdrum, or the literal key to unraveling Tate's whereabouts. The phone, while potential goldmine of information, was also locked. They might have been hired for their muscle rather than their brains, but the goons weren't completely brain dead, it seemed. "If there're clues as to our missing doctor's whereabouts, it's nothing I can access. But perhaps there's a local who might be able to get us access the phones our two gentlemen here are carrying," suggested Ritterton, before shifting his gaze to the ex-soldiers unconscious beside them. "Not unless you believe they'd be more receptive to gentle persuasion." His tone, honestly, didn't seem to suggest anything gentle of the sort. "But we're running out of time. We need to find Tate before something worse befouls the poor chap. Doubly so since he's still our only solid lead."

No roll necessary! They don't have much on them, save for their batons (if you want to retrieve them), one of them carries a set of keys (to what is anyone's guess), and each carries a loaded pistol, a conceal carry holster, a smartphone, and a bunch of bruises and/or needles stuck in em' ?

Whelp, I don't think that Intimidate's gonna succeed. Not unless Cassie can intimidate unconscious people ? Agent #1's Fortitude +3 Save vs. Snakebite's Fatigue DC17 = 1d20+3: 5 [1d20=2] That's very unconscious! Combat is now resolved and Cassie is free to do with the defeated as she fits, as is the ancient customs!