SpicyWaffle

Even before Tona's query piqued young Baxter's interest, his eyes had already drifted their way towards the physically taut girl and her menagerie of metallic and wooden studs. It wasn't her phenomenal physique that drew his gaze, nor her odd mannerisms; rather, it was Tona's various assortment of piercings, their sheer multitude causing the dark skinned boy to ponder the painful process in which she'd gone to procure them. But it was more than that, as he inexplicably found himself staring on-and-off again towards the odd girl between Erik's glib explanations. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, the odd sensation like déjà vu, but without a concrete replica. After a few moments of mentally debating the bizarre familiarity, Baxter simply brushed the thought aside for the time being, returning his lighthearted yet serious focus towards the instructor present. "Hey, fair enough, boss," he chimed, chipper as could be and visually wracked with enthusiasm even as he took in the titular lesson on tactics. "I'm totally ready to start punching boards in-half, or however this works."

EDIT: Belay this; new edit post to incorporate new PP totals for August.

Awestruck by the audacious display of power against the dollar-based denizens previously accosting him, Bee-Keeper was struck speechless in the wake of the poor creatures' indemnification via agriculture, the featureless mask of the obfuscating armor hiding the dark-skinned kid's intense surprise. One moment the thing was right there, growling and otherwise being a menace to society, and then... poof! Coins and bills scattering everywhere like some kind of out-of-control blizzard. The lone remnant of the self-looting lucre seemed to share Baxter's disbelief, for as soon as the shock had worn off, the miserly monstrosity followed his bank robbing comrades by way of beating a hasty retreat. "I... uh..." the Bee-Keeper began in the defense of the Freedom League member's accusation, though his stammering in the wake of Fleur de Joie's fury was cut short by the sight of the filthy lucre fleeing the scene. His attention, once again drawn away by the rampaging entities, quickly forced the boy to shift gears from giving a heart-felt explanation to saving the rest of the rapidly departing mobile money monsters. "Oh, man!" the Bee-Keeper again bemoaned, a finger flying towards the escaping golem as he bounded its way out through the same hole its compatriots had only moments prior. "They're zztill totezz ezzcaping!" This wasn't going well at all! Sure, all the beastly bills had been thwarted inside the bank, but the other three were still running for the hills, their animated selves likely looking for a place to stash their ill-gotten loot. Whatever they were - and, more importantly, wherever they were going - was where the Bee-Keeper needed to be. All things considered though, it was looking more like he'd be taking a trip to the loony bin before he'd get a chance to give chase; at least, given the way Fleur de Joie was glaring at him. "Look, don't have a lot of time, and I know how bad thizz lookzz. Here'zz the zzhort verzzion: I'm good, they're bad, and if we hurry maybee we can zztill catch em' beefore they get away!" the boy explained in his very Barry Bowles-ish voice, gesturing wildly as he described the situation. Now was definitely not the time for division; expediency had to be the dish du jour between he and Fleur! "Juzzt... juzzt put azzide all that other zztuff for right now and truzzt me. You've gotta beelieve me, Fleur de Joie!"

Okay, so, here we go... All-Out Attack to take a -3 Defense/+3 Attack trade off (+13 Attack/+7 Defense) Power Attack to take a -5 Attack/+5 Damage trade off (+8 Attack/+5 Damage) Extra Effort to increase Bee-Keeper III's Strike Power from "Strike 10" to "Strike 12" for one round. Take 10 on the Attack since it's a Minion. Total Attack is +18, requiring a DC 32 TOU Save (15 + Strike 12 + Power Attack 5). Next round, Baxter'll burn a Hero Point to avoid Fatigue. Total Modifier Shifts: Defense +7, Attack +8, Damage +15, +2 Strike Power with Extra Effort.

As the sinister creature tried to brutishly bust Baxter in the brain-pan, a fortuitous thing occurred - it had haphazardly liberated the Bee-Keeper from his impromptu imprisonment! Oh, frabjuous day! Or it would have been, if the other dastardly dime-a-dozen dollarmen weren't absconding with all of the banks precious money; all over some ancient history between his insane uncle and the pretty green-haired Freedom Leaguer beleaguering him. "Now they're getting away!" the detangled teenager whined, sounding more like a grumpy old man who'd just had his lawn trod over as the no longer penniless paupers blasted through the safety glass and wall beyond. With two of the golems beating a hasty retreat, that still left quite a few of them present in the bank, volatile threats capable of who-knows-what with the remaining bank staff still trapped inside with them. There came an awkward pause, the Bee-Keeper panning from the door to the greenbacked creatures surrounding him; if he didn't go after them, they might get away completely, which meant he'd need to leave the tellers and clerks behind and hope Fleur de Joie would be able to handle herself. Even with a member of the Freedom League present, the newest incarnation of the Hero of the Hive wasn't willing to risk that gamble. "I don't have time for thizz nonsenzze!" the Bee-Keeper cried again towards his comparative colleague controlling the small army of trees as he clenched those metallic mitts of his. If he was going to clear his good - well, semi-good - name and catch the bad guys responsible for this really, really weird heist, this fiasco had to come to an end pronto. Servos whirring and nano-bees a'buzzin', the apiary avenger let fly a tactless flurry of blows, slugging away at the creature in front of him with all the gusto the suit could muster. Silently, Baxter could only imagine the look on Mister Espadas' face at his poorly-executed attack. But, hey, it wasn't like he was being trained to punch money into submission! Desperate times called for wanton beatings.

"Yes, sir," Baxter responded in an odd mixture of energetic enthusiasm and quiet awe. Even as the young instructor laid down his disinterest in learning secret identities, recent superheroics, or other such traits, Baxter couldn't help but feel that all too familiar tension building in his stomach. Doubly so given the ironic, almost serendipitous analogy of what may or may not have been in the African-American teenager's backpack, causing Baxter to throw a sidelong glance towards his precious belongings. The levels of awkwardness had been aptly rising - at least for him - though the girls at least managed to alleviate a portion of the prolific stress through their idyllic sense of humor. That dour demure that had befallen the young student found itself uplifted in the wake of Kristin in particular, whose either feigned or earnest interest in laser beam gloves at least made him feel a bit more comfortable about his high-profile, low-key lifestyle as the binary student-hero Bee-Keeper. Letting loose a low chuckle, Baxter panned from the more mature woman to the more bubbly redhead, their jovial natures a nice contrast to the sudden heaviness of the conversation. "You wanna be the next Raven, huh?" Baxter crooned, eyebrow arched as his gaze shifted to Kristin in mild amusement, another coy laugh escaping his lips. Whatever he was thinking regarding the girl bashing crooks with gizmos, gadgets, and kung-fu were aptly kept to himself as his attention drifted back towards Erik, his quaint little speech having sparked some curiosity in Baxter. "So, I've got a question, Mister Espadas," he began, raising his hand a little late even as he made it clear he had an inquiry. "You know why we're here, but how come you're running a school to teach people how to fight? I mean, yeah, Freedom City's dangerous and all, but what I mean is, why are you doing the instructing, 'specially if you can supposedly show those capes a thing or two?"

Before Baxter even had a chance to make his case, his situation quickly took a turn for the worst - or a turn for the best, given how one might view the appearance of the famous Freedom League heroine accosting him. All his squirming and wriggling was made for naught as the elongating vine covered his armored physique, binding his arms and legs as taught as... well, as taught as the Bee-Keeper had ever been bound, really! "Hey! Lemme go! It izzn't like that! You don't underzztand!" the boy cried in the Bee-Keeper's familiar modulated voice, still feverishly trying to worm his way out of his multitude of bonds to no avail, watching momentarily as the small cadre of tree-troops marched along on their warpath to engage the other golems. "Thizz izz juzzt a... a cazze of mizztaken identibee!" She seemed angry. And how could Baxter blame her? His uncle did have a bit of a reputation as being a nefarious ne'er-do-well amidst the community; and clearly for Fleur in particular. But now here he was, thrust into an incredibly odd scenario where on the one hand, hey, he got to meet a member of the Freedom League! On the other, she was probably going to tote him off to prison; and Baxter was far too pretty for prison! Thus, his thrashing continued, ineffective though hit might be when one is auditioning for the role of a plant-mummy for some sort of B-movie. "Pleazz! You gotta beelieve me!" he pleaded as he tried to liberate himself, the threat of the looming monolith of money a dangerous enough reminder of his escalating predicament.

Come on, robot-ninja skills! Do your stuff! Reflex Save +9 vs. DC 28: 1d20+9 → [9,9] = (18)

Initiative: 1d20+6 → [4,6] = (10) Unless he's liberated beforehand, Baxter'll also go ahead and continue to try and get free from the Money Golem for his next action. Grapple Escape Check: 1d20+22 → [11,22] = (33)

Bombastic entrance aside, things weren't going quite as well as Baxter had envisioned. Now readily in the grasp of the jolly green giant of capitalism, pennies pinching at his armored hide, he'd inadvertently walked himself right into the maw of a much more dangerous situation! Despite his feeble attempts at resisting the animated cash's clenching mitts, he was unable to weasel his way out and away from the bizarre self-robbing villain. To make things worse, the one jostling his helpless apian physique about wasn't the only one the Bee-Keeper would likely have to worry about; five more of the denizens of dough still present and likely more than willing to sock him in the face with their meaty quarter-laden fists. "Let go, you zztupid money-grubberzz!" the Bee-Keeper bit back, still squirming to liberate himself from the vice-like grip of malevolent moolah. If only he could get out of the creatures' grasp, then he might be able to turn the tides before things got worse! Baxter's thinking was, unfortunately, cut short as a feminine voice rife with anger pierced the bank's lobby. Pivoting his head, the Bee-Keeper got a good look at the green-haired source of the voice at the door he'd just brazenly crashed through, caught quite by surprise that it seemed like she knew him! That's when it dawned on him, his brain putting the pieces of this peculiar puzzle together: it was none other than his uncle's ancient fixation accusing him of criminal shenanigans! "Fleur de Joie!" exclaimed Baxter in his modulated voice, an amalgam of excitement, relief, and shock at the plant-controller's arrival on the scene as he continued to worm his way out of the monetary monolith's power-hug. "Thizz... uh... thizz izzn't what it lookzz like!"

Oppose, oppose, oppose the Money Golem's filthy mitts!~ 1d20+22 → [10,22] = (32) - Was just short. Guess I'll use that Hero Point to improve it! 1d20+22 → [11,22] = (33) - Blargh! Dice! Edit: Hero Points = 4

Above the Fens, the Bee-Keeper soared through the balmy air, looking down wistfully towards the mundane city streets below him as he made his patrol. He was feeling pretty good about himself: Baxter was doing his best to make Freedom City just a little bit safer each day, even if it meant a few civilians shrieked in terror in his wake. Such was the burden of the Hero of the Hive, but for Baxter, it was a nominal token; a reminder now and then of all the hullabaloo his previous incarnation had caused. Frankly, he'd almost grown accustomed to this sort of celebratory status, a mixed bag of boons and banes that kept things fresh. Though speaking of things being fresh, something caught his eye from above the lofty clouds. Craning his head awkwardly to one side as the buzzing wings of the suit pushed him back towards solid ground, it soon became obvious what all the excitement was about: police cars, lights ablaze in the familiar red-and-blue scheme, were racing off towards something! Clearly, the game was afoot! Taking advantage of his uncle's sophisticated communications array, the insect-like antennae mounted atop the envious armor's helm twitched and craned as they zeroed in on the police broadband, static swiftly shifting from a warm crackle into lucid instructions from dispatch. "A robbery? Here, in the Fens? With some kinda super-criminal? Nice!" the young aspirant mentally cheered with glee. Behind the unflinching armored mask of the Bee-Keeper, Baxter couldn't help but smile in excitement as the news hit him. Sure, it wasn't a good thing that it was happening, and it was pretty cliche', but this could be his shot at really winning over the people of Freedom City! To set himself up on a high-note as someone more dependable and less deplorable! Besides, how hard could it be to stop a bank robbery? Pouring on the speed, the Bee-Keeper roared through the air towards the First National Bank, wings aflutterin' as fast as their little mechanical servos would allow. It wasn't long before the building came into view, a familiar site that Baxter had passed by on more than one occasion whilst touring the more crime-ridden portions of this side of Freedom. From the outside, it seemed perfectly fine; you know, as far as banks spitting out screaming citizens was concerned. Even as he careened down towards the front door, Baxter's mind was already afire with images of rejoicing bank-goers, praising his heroic endeavors of liberation and justice! It wasn't long before the armored vigilante came crashing through the glass door, striking a triumphant (if not overly exaggerated) pose amidst the bank as he made his entrance; and if nothing else, a memorable entrance. "Halt, evildoerzz! Your reign of beeligerent crime hazz come to an--" the yellow-and-black clad apiary began, though the fire in his modulated voice quickly died out as he surveyed the scene more thoroughly. He was expecting some guy in a tacky costume, or a gorilla with a giant brain and a ray gun. What did the Bee-Keeper get? He wasn't even sure what he was looking at as the animated bills took the spotlight of the heist, gobbling cash and silently rifling through peoples' wallets. He was stunned, his comical pose quickly dissolving as his heavy shoulders slumped. "Really? I heard money wazz the root of all evilzz, but thizz izz ridiculouzz!"

Hum hum hum... you know what? Yeah, I think I can weasel Baxter into this. It might be a little forced, and the timing more suspect than auspicious, but I could see it working out if I played it close to the hilt character-wise. Consider this a big ol' "Yes!" on my part :)

As his would-be instructor quipped his philosophy on kicking people, Baxter couldn't help but give a small chuckle. But it wasn't long before that smile of his faded, and the dark-skinned boy's enthusiasm was stifled, if only a little. After all, he truly was here for the same reason Mister Espadas had denoted: to protect himself and those he loved whenever the need arose. But for Baxter, that last part was a... well, a bit stretched. Not to mention the other reasons he'd taken an interest in the class. Sure, crooks and criminals were one thing, but bullies in class? Or those times he'd been caught without his beloved Bee-Keeper Armor? Without them, he was all but a sitting duck; a living punching bag for the amusement of those bigger, stronger, and faster than him. It was those weaknesses that made him feel helpless in the face of an overwhelming situation, a feeling he didn't like in the least. But here it was nevertheless. The meat and potatoes of Erik's question, and the truth of the matter regarding Baxter's attendance. It was plain on his face that the query came with some significant weight, and Baxter - from his prone position along the cushy mat - shuffled uncomfortably as he mustered out a suitable response even as the ladies answered in kind. Between keeping secrets and being honest, it was putting him in quite the awkward state of affairs. "I... uh... I just get into a lot of fights," the boy hummed out after a moment of thought, choosing the middle road as a forced laugh escaped his lips as he turned his gaze towards the mat, arms resting themselves along his folded lap. It sounded almost hilarious in his head by comparison to the more pragmatic response of the older woman, or the friendly camaraderie of the heavily pierced girl. "So, y'know, thought I'd see about learning to defend myself."

Hmm... I'd like to express tentative interest. On the one hand, this seems like something Baxter might visit in his pursuit of bee- and insect-oriented knowledge, particularly so now that he's chugging along full-speed into the heroic scene. On the other, he's... yeah, Baxter doesn't care much for history; natural or otherwise. As such, the actual robotic dinosaur exhibit might not really capture his interest. I suppose, in this regard, it's a very niche sort of deal. I'll give it some more thought and come back with something a little more concrete once I've mulled it over a tad.

Using a Hero Point (3 Remaining) for Baxter to take advantage of Beginner's Luck, gaining a +5 bonus on Escape Artist Thug #2's Grapple Check to Restrain Baxter +4: 1d20+4 → [17,4] = (21) Baxter's Escape Artist Check +2 (+5 Beginner's Luck): 1d20+2 → [14,2] = (16) + 5 = (21) Hrm... in light of them being mooks, I guess Baxter ought to be successful in this tie.

With a terrible wrenching in his stomach, Baxter wheezed as the blow met his abdomen, his attempts at balling up defensively made all for naught as the member of the Southside C's continued to hold his arms in place. It was an uncomfortable feeling, like he was on the verge of vomiting; his backpack digging into his shoulders even as he coughed and sputtered to regain his composure. The attack had come from nowhere, and it was only after that momentary lapse outside of the duplex that it had dawned on Baxter that something wasn't quite right. Now he was certain. These men meant to do him harm; and all he'd done was try and get Amanda out of a situation he knew would end badly. They all had, these little parties on the Southside; each report on the news providing a slowly rising injury count. It was only a matter of time before someone died from whatever-it-was that was really going on inside, and Baxter? Baxter wasn't about to see his friend hurt over some stupid, drug-fueled party, shmoozing with criminals and would-be street thugs. She was in genuine danger, as was every other party goer at the scene! "L-Let me go!" Baxter wheezed out, wriggling viciously against his oppressors' iron grip. He had to get free, then he could... well, he didn't know. Run? Fight? He had to do something to get away and into the Bee-Keeper armor; preferably before things took a turn for the worst. It was his duty as a superhero to put an end to this chicanery before anyone else got hurt!

GM Post The room grew quiet for all but a second, Baxter and Amanda locked in a peculiar battle of wills. For that fraction of a moment, it might have seemed the young, stubborn woman had subsided to Baxter's request, her face softening only just. But just as soon as that moment came, it was gone, Amanda jerking her shoulder to liberate her friend's hand from her personage before once more taking on a more stern, somewhat drunken demeanor. "You're not my dad!" Amanda shouted back, voice tinged with palpable anger as she pulled away. "You're acting like... like a hypocrite! What, you're supposed to be the knight who just, I don't know, comes in and saves me or something? Who do you think you are, telling me who to be around when you're the one too busy sneaking out of class or ditching us to do... whatever! It's my life and I'll live it the way I want! If you're not gonna respect that, then maybe... maybe you should just go." Amanda's tone wasn't harsh; at least not at the tail end of her rebellious spiel. It was... well, it was her. It was Baxter. It was any confused teenager who'd ever felt scorned made manifest, and it was this confusion that Max and his goons took advantage of. "You heard her, man," Max chided, his face subsiding from the fluster he'd received at the sly sleight on Baxter's part as he waved a dismissive hand towards the smaller boy. "Get em' outta here. And get that music goin' again!" It wasn't a request on Max's behalf; it was an order, his voice a raw and commanding presence amidst the gangbangers, his own muscle-bound physique no doubt as much a deciding factor on who to follow as much as his charisma. Like clockwork, the bombastic bass once more filled the gang-affiliated duplex, shaking it to its very foundation even as Amanda returned to her conversation with the leader of the crew, much to Baxter's chagrin. Before he could get another word in or try and dissuade his compatriot of her ill course of action, two African-American gentlemen with biceps as thick as Baxter's wrists silently took him by the arms, and lead him down what was once a hallway and back out onto front lawn. This should have been where things came to an end... until it became apparent the men weren't letting go of Baxter, continuing to lead him along the side of the obnoxiously loud building, their vice-like grips unrelenting as they crept further and further into the darkly-lit backyard. "You shouldn'ta made a scene, bro," one of them said, his voice as gravel-ridden and serious as the look on his gat-toothed face. He was a mean looking fella, a nasty scar above his lip denoting his time on the streets, a few teeth replaced by ones of either solid gold or an amicable enough imitation. "You don't come 'tween Max and his girl. So now you gotta learn to respect us." Just as the duo and their captive Baxter rounded the corner of the duplex, the one doing all the talking let loose of his arm, but his compatriot was quick to pick up the slack. Before Baxter even had a chance to defend himself, the more vocal of the two mooks let loose a staunch blow against the boy, socking him square in the gut with all the force he could muster.

Thug #1 tries to wail on Baxter while his friend holds him in place (Attack +2 vs. DC 12): 1d20+2 → [13,2] = (15) Baxter's Toughness Save +2 vs. DC 17: 1d20+2 → [19,2] = (21)

The telltale 'oooh!'s and melodramatic whispers of the crowd filling the room only made the situation that much harder for Baxter. Amidst his peers, he was turning a warm shade of red as the spectacle devolved further and further into the spectrum of audaciousness. All eyes were on him and the steadily growing crew of Southside C's surrounding him; Baxter himself feeling more than a little hot under the color. But it was do or die: he either had to walk the walk and talk the talk, or leave his friend to her fate. Convincing her would be no small feat given Amanda's stubbornness, but Baxter had to at least try, praying that whatever happened wouldn't shift from contemporary persuasion to violence in the blink of an eye. "This isn't you, Amanda. C'mon," the boy began, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder even as he surveyed the surroundings of the duplex. Most of the goons present looked like more than a match for him physically, and if push came to shove, it didn't look like he'd get far if he chose to run away. "Just look at where you are. Who you're with. Are these, y'know, the people you really wanna be hanging out with?" This might have been a mistake coming here. Perhaps, in retrospect, Baxter should have just showed up as the Bee-Keeper and dealt with the entire situation beforehand, risk of Amanda coming to harm not withstanding. It certainly would have been the pragmatic solution; but the risk alone and the guilt that he'd inadvertently brought this on himself through his alienation of his friends hounded him.

Relieved to hear he wasn't tardy to the party, that excitable grin of his once more made its way across Baxter's face. This was going to be so great! The slew of equally energetic students making their arrival - surprisingly, all of them young girls - only furthered Baxter's own eagerness to get this class underway. Flights of fancy played through the boy's mind; rife with cliche' movie anecdotes of punching bricks and kicking boards, perhaps to the colorful tunes that would make up a fantastic training montage. Of course, he knew this wasn't really what it was going to be like, but hey, a guy can dream. "I think it's supposed to be, like, a thing of respect. You know, like in the movies," Baxter interjected as he followed the girls' lead, occasionally mustering a brief glance towards the one with the multitude of piercings. He wanted to ask her why she'd gotten so many; but that seemed rude for the same reasons about asking the older woman present about the ominous-looking burns. The last thing he needed was a bunch of girls pummeling him into the ground for being a jerk-face. Plopping his bag of athletic attire beside the wall and giving it a slight push with his foot to reassure that the folded up Bee-Keeper armor was still present at the bottom and set the satchel flush with its new home, Baxter quickly kicked his shoes off right on top of the bag without so much as undoing the laces. His goods secured and footwear removed, Baxter bounded his way towards the mat as per instruction and crossing his legs as he took up a position beside Kristin, a smile still plastered on his face.

Since Baxter's transformation into the Bee-Keeper Armor is a full-round action, he'll be sitting this round out. But next time! Oh, yes. The stinging is a'comin'.

Seizing his opportunity as the guards rallied against the clearly insane man back near the exhibit, Baxter made as quick a bee-line as he could muster towards the bathroom away from the scene. This was his one and only shot to do so amidst the confusion without giving up his biggest secret, and time was of the essence; doubly so with the injured guards and young women he'd left behind. Even as Baxter peeled against the nightly-polished floor of the museum, he couldn't help but feel wracked with guilt that he'd just left them there to fend for themselves. The fact alone that the strange gymnastic fellow had so handily dispatched the pair of guards trying to escort him away left a bitter pit in his stomach; a staunch remnant of fear plaguing his every step as he absconded towards the men's room, mind ablaze with the possibilities that might be unfolding in the meager seconds he'd taken to dart away. It doesn't take him long to find the push-door leading into the well-maintained lavatory, its porcelain craftsmanship and bold stalls a beacon of privacy amidst a turbulent and delicate situation. Silently but with palpable haste, Baxter scoured the last bastion of solitude, peeking under every stall as he made his way inwards, stopping as soon as he reached the first unoccupied throne wherein he could do his business. "Okay, gotta hurry, gotta hurry," the teenager mumbled to himself in flustered rapidity, plopping the backpack to the ground with a discernibly metallic thud. With a suspiciously familiar amount of aplomb, Baxter dove into the bowels of his tacky red-and-green pack, pulling out a smaller, heavier backpack from within; its paint a visible combination of black-and-yellow horizontal stripes with an odd looking honeycomb engraved on the back. The weight was still uncomfortable, and yet it felt right; like an iron gauntlet tailor-made for some brave knight. Unlike such an archaic relic, however, this particular model had a little more spunk to it. Pressing both the release switches alongside the stern straps crossing his shoulders, the insectile suit hummed to life with the buzzing of a billion beating wings; like the sound of a small engine revving itself to life. Slowly but surely, the sturdy exoskeleton unfolded itself piece by piece, clasping and sealing itself around the dark-skinned aspirant with pinpoint precision; each joint and plate of armor clinking and clanking into place like a Swiss timepiece. It's only a moment before the eerily unflinching helm encompassed what was once Baxter's face, his visage now replaced by an antennae-sporting apian design. The whir of the tiny bee-bots buzzing about within the confines of the battlesuit was a comforting cacophony for the boy, the glow of the helmet's digital display lighting up green across the board as a particularly fat-and-sassy looking digital bee gave a thumbs-up; signifying the distribution of power throughout the bulk of the otherwise cumbersome armory of technological doo-dads. All he'd wanted to do was brush up for his report; gather some much needed information to ensure his success in his scholastic endeavors and save himself from repeating the tenth grade. That was the plan: study and get it over with. But this? This was something else. Now here he was in the Hunter Museum of Natural History, armored up because some yokel wanted to start trouble. Strangely, Baxter seemed okay with this. There was something about putting on the suit - his costume, if he could even call it that - that filled him with a sense of purpose; that made him feel as though he were more than just some average teenager. It was, perhaps, an addiction; but whatever it was, he liked it. For now, his homework would have to wait. As of now, Baxter Bowles had duly checked-out. Now there was only the Bee-Keeper, the Sting of Justice! Lives were at stake, and it was time to step up and put in some hours as a hero. The Bee-Keeper could only hope he wasn't too late for round two and more innocents wound up face-first on the floor.

This sounds magnificent! Bee-Keeper III's already expressed an interest on the news about joining a super-team, so this would work marvelously in his (dis)favor! Color Baxter interested. Though, I guess a number of cruxes come into play here. Baxter is, by definition, a minor, though he keeps that bit a secret obviously. He's also lacking particular reasons for strife or conflict amongst other PCs unless they're tied-in to his legacy, which I guess might be another deterrent. So I guess, yeah, unless there's a way to finagle that, that would put Bee-Keeper out of the running. EDIT: A few other questions come to mind. If this is in the vein of a reality show, I'm guessing some 'team building' exercises will come up, no? Likely of the sort that secretly work to undermine their very nature and pit the heroes against each other. Perhaps I'm looking at this the wrong way; are we looking at a more straight-forward sort of deal? Bunch of superheroic types get suckered into the better-than-it-really-is scheme, and just given free reign of the facility as it works its mojo? What about our host? Will it be our mysterious backer, actually present on-site to oversee the affairs personally, or some yokel sent in to do the dirty work? If/When the heroes fall prey to the ploy, what's stopping them from lashing out on the aforementioned host if one is present at all? Another thing that I'm mildly curious about is what happens if one or more PCs fail to be enthralled. Is there a back-up plan other than "the other heroes beat em' up," or is that what sets off the 'extra features' of the manor? EDIT 2 (Electric Boogaloo): What about the mind control deal? Is it a more subtle effect that gradually degrades the heroes' supposed camaraderie without them realizing, or is it going to be a more overt, bombastic sort of deal; plunging them immediately into a mindless, bloodthirsty battle-frenzy?

GM Post In a moment of sobriety, Amanda almost seems to agree to this notion. After all, Baxter was still her friend, even if he'd been distant as of late. A look of reflection dawned upon her, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, Max - the burly leader of this set of the Southside C's - maneuvered between her and Baxter, his imposing frame drawing the eyes of the entire party to the spat unfolding. Suddenly, the room goes quiet as the music stops, the metaphorical spotlight cast on the amalgam of youth centered beside the dingy looking couch as the monstrously proportioned twenty-something gangster leveled his gaze downwards as he towered over Baxter. "Whatever you gotta say, scrub, you can say 'fronta me," Max snipped, his low rolling voice melodically malicious in its execution as his boys continued to sneer menacingly . Resting a hand on Amanda's shoulder, the girl redoubled her previous expression, simultaneously furling her brow while simultaneously arching an eyebrow, clearly eager to hear Baxter's formerly private investment, her drunken irritation bolstered by the presence of her new 'friends' on the block. The tension could be cut with a knife. The smoky conditions of the domicile were stifling, and in the sudden quiet of the den of cutthroats, teenage and college students, the situation only became magnified between the hushed whispers and inebriated laughter of the attendees.