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GM

 

"How dare you! How dare you touch me!" said a shocked 'Wayward' indignant and red with fury. It seemed her body was not used to modulating the rush of hormones and endocrines that flooded through a newly alive brain. 

 

"Guards! Guards! Execute this woman!" she shouted at the various aides and security officers around 'her'

 

She caught herself, logic and reason rushing in. 

 

"Security! Get this woman off of me! No press! No fans!" she corrected herself, voice commanding all the same. 

 

The various people around her jostled to make sense of the invading madness. On the one hand, Wayward was a star. On the other hand, and stars could be diva's - rude, aggressive, drug addled diva's. On the other hand, Wayward was looking pretty mad even by those rather stiff standards...

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Rachel hurried off the stage, holding both the instrument and the microphone. She slipped through the backstage crowds, sometimes using a touch of subtle psychokinesis to keep roadies from crushing her. She needed an out-of-the-way place to slip into her costume; Valerie Cain, or someone that sounded like her, was trapped in a microphone, and her body had just gone storming off, leaving a riot behind her. This was way beyond a story for the Word. This was a situation that needed Maelstrom.

Rachel finally found a door whose handle opened at a psychoactive touch and she darted inside, already psychically untying her shoes and pulling her purple outfit free from its confines. Only to spot a blonde with tattoos and piercings and a short at least two inches too short for decency sitting back there. She gaped for a minute, too stunned to simply retreat. The hell is going on here, she wondered. Is Valerie Cain stashing a fan for the after-party?

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As the 'guest' in her head starts throwing some seriously dark brain power, she feels a sudden wave of... dizziness? Can you feel dizzy without a body? Well, it's something like that, at least.

"Hey," Val says to the reporter carrying, "Thanks for the lift, babe. I'll be sure to return the favor later." The tone has just that slightest edge of suggestion to let Rachel know that she is, in fact, being hit on by a microphone. After all, no situation is so horrible that you can't enjoy good company. Gotta keep living life, even at the bottom. Can't let that get in the way of work, either, though.

That it already has the plucky reporter taking her clothes off is a plus. That she seems to be a cape underneath is a bonus.

At seeing her biggest fan in the chair, she vocalizes a sigh of relief unassociated with any actual lungs. "Good, she's alright. She got a little overwhelmed earlier and fainted; probably best to let her sleep it off. My body's out the back; Dancia's stalling her... me... whatever, Dancia's doing some stalling, but I don't know if it'll last, and it feels like that thing in my head has some serious power to throw around if it gets mad."

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Rachel rolled her eyes, both at Valerie's come-on and the fainting superfan. "You don't want to be dating me," she said blandly as she placed the microphone on the dressing room counter, leaning the guitar up next to it. "There won't be any pillow talk, just 'How did it feel to meet Axel Rose? Why become a rock star and not a chartered accountant? What's with the scarf?'" In just a few moments she was in her skivvied and her outfit started swirling around, gloves and spandex and mask fitting into place. She paused, half-dressed, clothes suspended in the air. "Although, if you want to give the intrepid reporter who already stopped your big opera gig from becoming a big opera riot, I'd love a copy of your latest CD. You really rocked your first couple of numbers out there."

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"Hey, if I could get you out of your pants in five minutes flat, I think I could show you a better time than that," she teases.

But no need to push it overmuch if Miss Reporter would rather not. Especially not until she has her own body to persuade with. "And thanks. I always thought a strong open was the key to a good show. Get the audience's blood pumping, y'know. I'll be sure to send the CD your way."

She tries to politely avert her gaze while Rachel changes, but it's kind of hard to do that when you don't have eyes to avert. So, instead, she keeps talking. "And the first time I met Axel Rose, I was the one who fainted."

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GM

 

Amanda Adams eyes fluttered. She may have passed out with the awesome excitement of the actual Valerie Cain being actual sexy in her actual dressing room. But sure as she was her number one fan, the voice of Valerie Cain would wake her up. She had dreamed as much, and now it was so...

 

"Mmmnn...Valerie your lips taste like..." she mumbled as she awoke. 

 

"Hey...what are you doing here, B%tch!" she screamed as another woman greeted her eyes. And worse, was undressing. 

 

"I was here the first, you $%^£$! I am her number one fan! Get out! Get out! She's mine, you shameless %$£!, I'm going to $%^£^%$£! your $^%$!^%£ with a ^%$!^%$ and blunt wooden spoon!" she yelled, consumed by rage. There was nothing for it! She had only one course of action!

 

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out!" yelled the green monster in her eyes, before leaping at Rachel with clawed hands!

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"No. You won't."

It's funny. A trained set of lungs and a lot of practice can do a lot for a voice. But using that same effect without the lungs is just... weird. Still, she has to stop this before it starts.

Valerie uses a tone she hates calling on. A tone of command. Loud. Clear. Authoritative. Not something she calls on lightly.

"You are trying to hurt someone who as done nothing wrong. I'm ashamed of you." She knows just how deep those words will cut, but this isn't a time to be delicate. "I am not yours. Nor am I hers. Nor am I anyone else's. I am mine, and I will not be chained. She is here because I asked her here, and she chose to come. As I am free to do, and she is free to do. You know how I feel about getting in the way of someone's freedom. Especially with love. Or with violence. Or with lust. Or with all three. Now, you will stop."

She knows how deep that dagger went, but it had to be done, even if it hurts to dish it out. But the point's been made. Now, there's room for a little tenderness. "I'm sorry. I know you're coming from a place of hurt, but this isn't how you act on it. I need her help right now, and we don't have much time, but I want to continue our conversation later. Maybe next time, you'll stay conscious." If she had a body, one would swear that last bit came with a wink.

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Rachel turned just in time to see a petite, tattooed blur of death leap at her. She went down with an undignified squack, doing her best to fend off Amanda's hands while not hurting the girl too much. The fact that she was half-naked and the other girl apparently planned for a romantic tryst when chose her outfit, did not make the fight any easier.

Valerie Cain's voice cut through the air and froze Amanda in middle of her assault, giving Rachel enough time to get her composure back. She reached out with her mind and lifted the blonde, suspending her in midair. Rachel stood slowly and sniffed, her clothes resettling and rearranging themselves. "Please listen to your disembodied idol, and don't start a fistfight with the lady trying to fix things." A quick once-over confirmed that she hadn't picked up anything worse than scratches.

Her clothes reanimated and drifted over to her, and she raised her gaze to look over Amanda and the inhabited microphone. With a quick "Excuse me" her braid untwisted and her long, thick hair floated out and covered her.

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GM

 

It could have been a comedy picture. It could have been a sexy comedy picture. Two women fighting over a microphone. Slaps were exchanged and nails were clawed before Valeries voice cut through to stop them. 

 

"What? That's Valerie?" said Amanda, who had momentarily got the upper hand and was on top of Rachel. On the other hand, Rachel had one finger up her nostril and another finger fish hooking her mouth. 

 

The two disentangled whilst Amanda wracked her brains. 

 

"What? how did this happen! Wait! I know the answer!" she said, pointing two fingers at her two temples. 

 

"I know everything about Valerie Cain!" she explained, scooping up all the pictures and pamphlets she had brought in to get signed and scattered on the floor in her initial excitement. 

 

"Like, did you know you are descended from a Sorcerer?" she asked the Microphone. 

 

"That's right. Count Necromme! Count Nicolas Necromme! He was some seriously spooky necromancer in France, back in the 18th Century! That's waaaaay old!" she explained, helpfully. 

 

"Turned out he and his Chateaux got burned down by Broken Crow and some young Frenchman. A Private DeSaens, whoever he was. Amazing, yeah? But wait! It gets more amazing still!" she said excitedly, as she brought out a genogram. It was an impressive one, no question. The young Count had spawned a number of children. And they had been busy themselves. The tree from the Count spread like wild fire over a dozen generations and more, every descendent blessed (or cursed) with a number of children. And at the bottom, as Amandas stabbing finger showed, was Valerie Cain!

 

"All sorts of rumours and gossip about the Count" she explained. "Like, some say he is foretold to possess the body of his descendents. Like some kind of ancestral curse! Spooky stuff! Even some " she said, excitedly.

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Val's 'eyes' trail down to the bottom of the family tree, where she's glad to see 'Valerie Cain' instead of 'Margaret Carter Jr,' though considering her mother's name is right above her own, it's obvious this girl knows. Which is... impressive. Thankfully, Miss Reporter is distracted, and hopefully she'll stay that late long enough for the lovely blonde to put away that chart. Might have to discuss a thing or two with her before morning.

"Wow... I knew I had some French in me, but I didn't know any of that," she admits.

"Say," Valerie the Microphone asks almost conversationally. "Did you learn anything about how to, y'know, reverse that whole possession thing? Like, maybe before he runs off out the back door with my body."

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GM

 

Amanda was clearly chuffed as pie that she was helping Valerie Cane. The Valerie Cane. Her smile threatened to split her face. 

 

"Well, I'm not into all that wiccan witchcraft thing, you know. But, from the rumours, it just needs you...I mean...the microphone you...to touch the body you lost" she explained. 

 

"That's the rumour, anyway. But I don't know if its true. I am guessing it might be more complicated than that. I mean, if Necromme took your body, I don't think he is going to let go of it. At least, unless there is no better option. I mean, if you found another Descendent who is in a disgusting male body, maybe. Or if your body was, you know, about to die or something. From what I can glean about Necromme, he was a vain, self obsessed man, who was devoted to one thing only, his life. A bully and a coward, at the end of the day..."

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Now there's a lot to think about. But first thing's first.

"Hey, just because guys ain't your speed doesn't make 'em disgusting." You gotta have a level of courtesy. That kind of talk doesn't help anybody. "Nick said the same thing about my body when he took it, and that hurt. I'd like to think we're better than him. Live and let live, love and let love, y'know?"

As she sets that straight, she measures the situation.

"Hm... this is gonna be dicey. I think I know the hard part, here. Just touching me to my body probably just means I get a chance at the psychic tango to get my body back, and I'm gonna lose that one a hundred times out of a hundred in a fair fight. So, let's fight dirty!" For someone facing a lifetime as an inanimate object, she seems pretty upbeat.

"Let's think this one through a sec. Let's say he thinks he's won. What's he gonna do? Guy hasn't had a body in a long, long time. And, as me, he has money. People. Luxury. If I were him, as soon as I thought I was in the clear, it would be time to celebrate. And old school as this guy is, I'm thinking he's into the classics. A beautiful woman or two if he's into that, and as a self-respecting Frenchman, plenty of wine. So, go heavy on the wine, introduce him to a few of the sweeter new world pleasures that love to sneak up on you, and then when he's out cold and in no shape for the psychic tango? Tap. I'm back home."

There is obviously nothing insane about this plan.

"But I wonder what pretty young thing I could ever convince to heroically spend a romantic evening drinking and flirting with me?" she proposes teasingly.

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Rachel's mask and cape settled just as Valerie came to the climax of her plan. She spun back around, eyes glowing behind her orange contacts. "Wait just a second," she interjected. "Are you saying that you need someone to follow Valerie Cain around as she goes on a debauched tour around town?" She stepped forward, fluttering her eyes coquettishly. "Do I have time to fly home and grab my camera, or do I have to use the one on my phone?"

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At that, Valerie laughs. A loud, clear, ringing laugh born of a powerful voice and genuine good spirits.

"By all means. Bonus points if you can encourage it; he seems to be the megalomaniacal sort, so just flatter him a bit and I'm sure he won't turn you away. But remember, I'm public as a superhero. I go up against weird stuff on prime time TV. I'm gonna come clean about the whole, 'My body got highjacked by an evil wizard,' thing, and it'll fly 'cuz that's what I do. So it may do you good to keep that in mind writing the story. I gotta look after my good name, after all."

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Thinking on her feet Dancia gave the staff around her a sad little glance and lowered her voice as if about to bestow a terrible secret.

 

“I’m afraid Ms. Cain has been slipped a powerful hallucinogenic. Her manager sent me to try and recover her before she did herself or others any harm.†  

 

She hadn’t been sure if the half lie would work but they seemed less keen on stopping her guiding Wayward where she wanted. So gently, so no to harm the poor woman, she began to guide the woman back to her dressing room.

 

“Let’s get you back to you dressing room for a nice lie down.â€

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GM

 

"“I’m afraid Ms. Cain has been slipped a powerful hallucinogenic. Her manager sent me to try and recover her before she did herself or others any harm. Let’s get you back to you dressing room for a nice lie down.â€â€

 

"Hallucinogenic!" shouted back "Ms. Cain" as the staff started to surround her. Joe Awesome backed away, muttering. 

 

"Oh boy...now you done it..." was his mutter. 

 

'Wayward' then exploded in fury. "Imbeciles! Turncoats! Morons! All my life, surrounded by the feeble and stupid! Well, I'll show you hallucinogens! I'll show you the madness of the blackest magics!"

 

She muttered, in a strange voice, some old languages best forgot, and then the backstage area exploded in wails, screams, shouts and gibbering. Visions of hell, heaven, and everything inbetween assailed the staff, who dropped, jumped, fell, ran or just stood standing still in bliss or agony. Some started attacking others. Some started attacking themselves. Even Dancia could sense all sorts of strange things from other dimensions, from her memory, and from her imagination, plaguing her. The effect on those without her will and control was beserk madness...

 

And in the chaos, 'Wayward' pulled the gibbering Joe Awesome with her, and made a dash for the VIP limo outside...

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  • 1 month later...

It seemed like right now  that Dancia wasn’t what was needed right now so she allowed herself to fade into the crowd. With her superhuman speed she changed and ran around the stadium in a big loop returning only meters from where she had just left, all before the fleeing pair had managed to get into the car.

 

With only minimum effort she lifted up the limo above her head a classic pose that would have been familiar to many a Freedom City residence, but ironically not Triakosia herself.

 

“I suggest you go back inside the building Ms. Cain, you apparently have some explaining to do.â€

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  • 2 weeks later...

GM

 

"Fast! Faster than a galloping horse!" gasped "Wayward" as the Limo was lifted above Triasoka. 

 

"Whereforth though Strength? What Sorcery!" she snarled, composing herself. "No matter! No matter for me! You may be able to lift the horseless chariot! You might even bound towers in a single leap, or fly like a bird! You are no match for me! Non!" she said defiantly, spitting French at the end. 

 

The chaos around her was only magnifying. Even "Wayward" was getting jostled, elbowed. Screams and babbling rumbled through the air. People ran out, crying, shouting, laughing, all hysterical. 

 

Up above her, Dancia saw a man giggling with fear, flapping his arms, and leaping into the air...and start to plummet to the earth. 

 

And in the crowd, 'Wayward' was lost in the heaving throng, as Triasoka watched the man on the building start to fall...

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Francis didn't even hesitate for a second. Dropping the limo down relatively gently she shot off into the air to catch the jumper. With her superseded she could have quite easily caught the man and return to catch the fleeing rock star. However the jumper himself couldn't have survived such sudden change of forces that hardly bothered Triakosia. So she gently caught the falling man without him feeling any discomfort.

"You know there are easier, a safer, way to fly these days?" she couldn't quite hide the annoyance in her voice.

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  • 4 weeks later...

As the situation goes south outside, Valerie shuts her eyes to try and focus on the psychic link.

 

Except she doesn't have eyes right now.  Weird.  That'll take some getting used to.  Hopefully, there won't be time for that.

 

"I really wish he'd stop it with the black magic.  Feels creepy," she comments to those in the room.

 

But, it's probably more useful to say things the people with physical bodies can understand, so she decides to actually explain.  "Okay.  We may have to go with... well, I suppose, 'Beat up the bad guy,' is plan A, though I get the feeling I'll regret it in the morning.  Cape on the scene; didn't catch who, but she can lift cars.  She's currently busy saving civilians from some weird magic insanity beams.  Necro-thief's trying to slip away in the confusion; take me with, and I can track him for you."

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GM

 

The Man in Dancia's arms giggled hysterically and gave the Superheroine a look with slightly divergent eyes. 

 

He flapped his arms and shouted "Mooooo!" in the style of a cow before addressing her directly. 

 

"Fear not young lady! Supercow will save you! Look, I can fly!" he said enthusiastically, waving his arms up and down with exceptional vigour. 

 

Despite the power of Count Necromme's spell, it would not last forever. The madness was beginning to ablate, although some fires had been set, some injuries had accrued, file alarms and sprinklers blared through the air. 

 

It had served its purpose - as Dancia landed by Maelstrom and her microphone, the panic and lunacy had abided to the occasional yelp and gibber. 

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“I would have thought Supercow would be more likely to leap tall buildings in a single bound rather than fly.†she was still cross at having to make the choice but it wasn’t the man fault.

 

She gently set them both down and looked around for someone to take care of the recovering man, and in the vain hope that she could see the fleeing Wayward.

 

“I don’t suppose anyone saw where the multimillion rock star went scurrying off into the night? I really would like to find out what going on here.â€

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  • 2 weeks later...

"The beautiful and talented rock star," Wayward the Microphone calls out in answer, "Is right here.  And not in any shape to scurry off anywhere."  Suddenly, her mind gets stuck in a loop as she tries to do any number of little gestures to emphasize her point, from flicking her hair to a distant gaze while standing in profile, only to have a frustrating lack of any sort of response, even though she feels her body running off on its own.

 

Fortunately, it's easy to mask one's frustrations when one has no facial features.

 

"The crazy wizard who stole my body and left me trapped in an inanimate object, however?  He's on the run.  But I've jacked back into my body's senses; I can track him no problem.  I think if we knock him out in my body then I touch him as this mike, we can swap back.  Plan was to let his victory wine do the hard part for us, but punching works, too, if you're willing to lend a hand.  I'm gonna need plenty of aspirin tomorrow either way."

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GM

 

Meanwhile, in the body of Wayward...

 

Necromme felt his new body in a rather disturbing and rude manner. "<Not bad, not bad. For a woman, anyway. The mystery of their feeble mindedness is now made clear! why, all this strange lumps, and bumps...bah! I never could understand the appeal of such fleshly nonsense!>"

 

The chauffeur was a seasoned man, used to all sorts of stars on all sorts of drugs. As it happened, he knew a bit of French. As it happened, he did not care to comment on Waywards frankly  bizzare behaviour. 

 

"Where to, Ma'am?" has asked as they cruised into Freedom City. 

 

Necromme paused, drumming his finger. 

 

"Why, to celebrate of course, my new bod---my new, errr...song, yes...song, that's right, isn't it?"

 

"Very good ma'am"

 

And a few blocks away...

 

The limousine pulled up outside Honeylegs All Night Disco...It was a basement club of rather edgy fare, rather seedy, and rather cheap - the drinks and the customers. 

 

"Are you sure Ma'am?"

 

"Yes yes, this will do perfectly! A disreputable place full of scum and villainy who I might have recourse to use! And...ah...err...yes, to dance and drink too, of course!"

 

It had been quite a while since he had drunk, or danced, and, truth be told, he was rather looking forward to it...

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"Oh!  Oh!"  Wayward calls out as her abductor enters the car.  "He's getting in a limo."

 

She listens in, groaning as he starts feeling her body up.  Somehow, she's thankful she doesn't actually speak French.  She sang it once for an album she debuted in Paris, but the lyrics had to be explained to her.  A pain in the butt, but it was good art and sold well over there, so it was worth it.

 

"Ugh.  I don't think he's touched a woman since the French Revolution.  Really hoping to get rid of him before he gets some alone time.  But the party's back on.  He's going to... Honeylegs?"  Why does he have to show my face around there?  "I think he's gonna try and recruit minions there or something, too.  Not sure if that's gonna be off of more black magic or off my good name."

 

What she'd like to do is run right over there and go fix things, but right now, she's reduced to a glorified weather girl.

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