Chicago Vigilantes [IC]

[JNAProductions]

Chicago. The city of villains, as many know it. A few scandals with heroic Capes caused a big crackdown, and now, combined with corruption in the halls of power, villains have virtually free reign in the city.

That's relevant to you-but right now, you're attending a Mensa meeting, here in the big city. You're all incredibly intelligent individuals in your own way, and this is a chance to have a meeting of the minds, with people as smart as you are.

What are you doing, as the gathering comes together?

[moonfly7]

John is milling about in the general meeting room, he hasn't been to one of these in awhile. 6 months almost, ever since the incident and he had dropped out of college, he had stopped coming. He'd gotten drunk for the first month, before he had his revelation. And now, about 4 months into his....Night Job, he had realised it was time to start working to regain some semblance of a social life. Not necassarily because he wanted too, but because others would see isolation as grieving and living in his own despair long past the point of social acceptance. And, he had to admit, it was nice to finally be in a room with other people of his intellegence level again.

Who knows, maybe he'd get some advice or inspiration for his next addition to his gear tonight? He thought as he wandered over to the free coffee table.

[Breitheamh]

Why am I here again? the thought spiked through the rest of his mind as Fred tried to ignore just another person staring at him in...what would you call that? Disgust? Fear? Anyway, it didn't matter. He couldn't let that get to him. He was here now, "socializing" just like Dr. Liz had suggested. And she was trying her best, right? He owed her at least an attempt at pretending he was getting better.

But still...

I mean, what was the point of making friends? He'd always been fine with just Sara to talk to, and he was liable to drop dead any day. It would be cruel to subject a friend to that.

Just f***ing talk to someone, you f***ing moron! he screamed in his own head, trying to snap himself out of that downward spiral of thought. He physically shook his head to clear it, and then immediately regretted THAT decision. As he steadied the swimming stars all around his 360 degree field of view, he spotted them...

Wait... Is that...? No... it couldn't be...

"Mm-m-mr. Wallbrink?" he manages to say, his voice coming out halting and reedy. F***ing sinuses, he thinks as he coughs and clears his throat into his handkerchief, ignoring the half-surprised half-disgusted look from a man walking by him.

He tries again, "Mm-mr. Wallbrink, is that you?"

[moonfly7]

"Dr.Meuller?" John asks as he turns, styrafoam cup of coffee in his hand

"I havent seen you since I finished my class on Quantum Mechanics, besides that one phone call about applying some of your theories to metalurgy and fabrication I mean. What was that, at least 5 months ago? How have you been?

Funny that John would run into one of the brilliant men who had actually lain the ground work for the form fitting Reverb Steel plate lying underneath his three layers of suit coat, button up, and shirt. He had been an inspiration during his guest lectures, and he theorized that it was likely whatever the hell Brinkstel was made of had, in his drunken stupor, been inspired by Dr.Meuller's work as well. Although he had no notes to back that up.

[MrAbdiel]

“And I said, ‘No, I said isotope’.”

A heartbeat of pause. Then a ripple of laughter filled the room, loud and cathartic and only somewhat performative. Some of the people here were bonafide geniuses who were also socially rounded, confident people. But the bulk of the intellectual crowd had gone most of their youth sacrificing some portion of their social efforts for the betterment of their study and inner lives; and when they convinced themselves to come to large group gatherings, they were most happy when they were in a stable orbit. Not the focus of a conversation, lest they suffer the awful possibility of being exposed as in some way insufficient; but also not alone leaning against a wall, radiating their own social ineptitude for the world to see. Right now they were in orbit of Dr. Arnold Wright, and Sister Dahlia Daniels; both mainstays of the local Mensa gatherings and safe options to orbit. Dr Wright told a joke that was at best worthy of a murmured chuckle; but Dahlia had opened up with her infectious, musical laugh and suddenly all the bodies in orbit, ostensibly part of the conversation, were licensed to participate in the same way and feel part of the whole arrangement.

“That’s so funny, Arnold. I keep expecting to catch you telling the same ones, but not yet.” She gave him a smile, and he gave a little flourish of the wrist, and a mock quarter bow; and they exchanged a few more moments of pleasant chatter about how the mayor’s office was rumored to be sitting in huge grant for one of the departments at the U of C, and the injustice of such things always going to the ‘sexier’ sciences rather than in any of the workhorse engineering departments.

Dahlia had never been a stranger to social focus. Indeed, through her school days she had come to resent drawing so much attention on account of her being, as her dad had almost tearfully warned her, ‘real pretty - the kind of pretty that’s gonna cause trouble with boys.’ It had caused trouble with boys; and sharp turn to donning the habit of a sacred Sister was deeply informed by this chip on her shoulder. But the first three years she had spent in isolation and service to God had shown her what it meant to be hidden and unremarkable, and thrown a kinder perspective back to the graces taken for granted. Now, as part of the Ordo, her dress requirements were considerably less restrictive; and she didn’t mine being a cynosure in meetings like this. Not that she’d dressed specifically to draw eyes; she just wasn’t required to spurn them. A long black pencil skirt and short-sleeved pleat-necked blouse suggested an approachable, sleek minimalism; brass rimmed circular spectacles threw in a suggestion of unearned maturity; a no-nonsense blonde bun suggested no nonsense, while the 6H pencils pierced through it like chopsticks assured the observer that a certain amount of nonsense would, indeed, be tolerated. Much more librarian chic than bride of Christ, these days; though her rosary was rarely anywhere but displayed around her neck, or visibly in her hands. She knew what she was.

She excused herself from the group with a light touch to Dr Wright’s shoulder and a smile cast around the group, and peeled away to make sure the snack tables were not being ignored as hungry attendees trickled in. It had been her suggestion at the previous meeting of the events committee that they should spring for catered sandwiches and sacrifice the charming nostalgia of the pot-luck. There are people who, given any reason not to attend such a thing, will take it. Covering the food is just one less reason; and a feeling of imperfect safety, however irrational, was another. Her heels clicked on the hired hall’s hardwood as she swanned from the food - gratifyingly beginning to vanish now, as bolder guests broke the invisible seal of social proof on the platters and others followed their examples. Her next destination was the front entry, to check in with the security she’d nagged the committee into hiring smooth over that second possible reason.

“Any potential troublemakers?” She asked, as she drew up alongside the guards.

Of course, at this point, she hadn’t at all considered there might genuinely be trouble made tonight at all.

Spoiler: A fuller account, including internal dialogue.

Show

“And I said, ‘No, I said isotope’.”

A heartbeat of pause.

Don't leave him hanging. Give him your good laugh; that always melts him.

Then a ripple of laughter filled the room, loud and cathartic and only somewhat performative. Some of the people here were bonafide geniuses who were also socially rounded, confident people. But the bulk of the intellectual crowd had gone most of their youth sacrificing some portion of their social efforts for the betterment of their study and inner lives; and when they convinced themselves to come to large group gatherings, they were most happy when they were in a stable orbit. Not the focus of a conversation, lest they suffer the awful possibility of being exposed as in some way insufficient; but also not alone leaning against a wall, radiating their own social ineptitude for the world to see. Right now they were in orbit of Dr. Arnold Wright, and Sister Dahlia Daniels; both mainstays of the local Mensa gatherings and safe options to orbit. Dr Wright told a joke that was at best worthy of a murmured chuckle; but Dahlia had opened up with her infectious, musical laugh and suddenly all the bodies in orbit, ostensibly part of the conversation, were licensed to participate in the same way and feel part of the whole arrangement.

Now tell him he's funny. Touch his forearm, just with your fingertips.
This man is your friend, Dahlia. He does not require flattery; only kindness.
It's not flattery. He is funny. And not bad looking, in a fatherly sort of way.

“That’s so funny, Arnold. I keep expecting to catch you telling the same ones, but not yet.” She gave him a smile, and he gave a little flourish of the wrist, and a mock quarter bow; and they exchanged a few more moments of pleasant chatter about how the mayor’s office was rumored to be sitting in huge grant for one of the departments at the U of C, and the injustice of such things always going to the ‘sexier’ sciences rather than in any of the workhorse engineering departments.

A disappointing display. Doctor Wright revels in the fulfilment of his low expectation; but it is within his grasp to affect the process toward his goal. Perhaps this year, he will muster the courage to ask for such grants.
I would submit that a woman who looks down on a man for exercising his right to fruitlessly bitch about his life has had precious little to bitch about herself.

Dahlia had never been a stranger to social focus. Indeed, through her school days she had come to resent drawing so much attention on account of her being, as her dad had almost tearfully warned her, ‘real pretty - the kind of pretty that’s gonna cause trouble with boys.’ It had caused trouble with boys; and sharp turn to donning the habit of a sacred Sister was deeply informed by this chip on her shoulder. But the first three years she had spent in isolation and service to God had shown her what it meant to be hidden and unremarkable, and thrown a kinder perspective back to the graces taken for granted. Now, as part of the Ordo, her dress requirements were considerably less restrictive; and she didn’t mine being a cynosure in meetings like this. Not that she’d dressed specifically to draw eyes; she just wasn’t required to spurn them. A long black pencil skirt and short-sleeved pleat-necked blouse suggested an approachable, sleek minimalism; brass rimmed circular spectacles threw in a suggestion of unearned maturity; a no-nonsense blonde bun suggested no nonsense, while the 6H pencils pierced through it like chopsticks assured the observer that a certain amount of nonsense would, indeed, be tolerated. Much more librarian chic than bride of Christ, these days; though her rosary was rarely anywhere but displayed around her neck, or visibly in her hands. She knew what she was.

But then, you're not really a bride of Christ at all now, are you? You're a divorcee of Christ; which is just another way to say unencumbered by vows. Now touch his forearm. He'll like it, and think about you all night.

She excused herself from the group with a light touch to Dr Wright’s shoulder {Coward.}and a smile cast around the group, then peeled away to make sure the snack tables were not being ignored as hungry attendees trickled in. It had been her suggestion at the previous meeting of the events committee that they should spring for catered sandwiches and sacrifice the charming nostalgia of the pot-luck. There are people who, given any reason not to attend such a thing, will take it. Covering the food is just one less reason; and a feeling of imperfect safety, however irrational, was another. Her heels clicked on the hired hall’s hardwood as she swanned from the food - gratifyingly beginning to vanish now, as bolder guests broke the invisible seal of social proof on the platters and others followed their examples. Her next destination was the front entry, to check in with the security she’d nagged the committee into hiring smooth over that second possible reason.

Honestly. The way you mother everyone, woman. You turn every opportunity to enjoy yourself into a chance to fuss and organise. All you're doing compounded the inevitable breakdown with untaken opportunities. Even the angels find time to dance on the head of a pin.
This is a misuse of the idiom.
This is a misuse of a life!

“Any potential troublemakers?” She asked, as she drew up alongside the guards.

Of course, at this point, she hadn’t at all considered there might genuinely be trouble made tonight at all.

[Ameraaaaaa]

Ray was in a bad mood. Afterall he had to watch as a bunch of stupid philosophers academics and professors get the privilege of getting to talk about their passions. Where Ray himself was forced by a dragon into servitude as a hero. Not like ray had a concrete plan in life. But it still bugged him.

"Christ. Those philosophers won't stop yapping about absurdism vs existentialism. Honestly it's not like there's a point to all of this. Just lucky people debating unnecessarily. Shame i can't drink on the job. At least i got those wrestling ppv tickets for me and the gang to watch after this boring event." Ray thought to himself with a bored look on his face.

"Oh nothing sister. Just the breeze of the wind. That's all. How's the lord treating ya. Haven't talked to him much lately myself. Can't remember last time i went to church actually."

[MrAbdiel]

She puffed a polite little laugh at his friendly cynicism, and settled beside him for a little while; smiling and occasionally shaking the hands of late arrivals. The non-sequitur response - seen any troublemakers, just the breeze of the wind - spoke volumes about his disinterest. She couldn't blame him, exactly. If she had her way, she wouldn't be here either. A friend in Melbourne had sent her a fragment of a falsified crucifix that the church had believed belonged to Saint Mary MacKillop until earlier this year when photographic analysis insisted the woodgrain was wrong. She was anxious to take a crack at figuring our how the counterfeiters had prematurely aged the false relic. But even if this, here, wasn’t her job like it was Ray’s, it was at least a responsibility she had devoted herself to. That was enough to compel her to endure its more tiresome elements.

"That's a shame, mister Stevenson. But fortunately, I seem to recall that the whole thing is very much about being bad at following the Lord; and then getting progressively better at it. They're open any Sunday you feel ready."

Her voice carried the assuring lilt of a woman who knew he wasn't really inviting her to pressure him into reforming his church attendance habits; and than she knew that he knew that she wasn't really trying that hard, as much as filling out the expected response that a sister ought to. The cold breeze off Lake Michigan wisped past them, stripping the heat from her bare forearms and causing her to shiver briefly, and fold those arms under the shelf of her chest, tight against herself.

"Thank you for taking the work at short notice, by the way. I had to wrestle the funding from the committee all the way up to the eleventh hour. We were -this- close to someone losing an eye over it."

[Ameraaaaaa]

Ray smirked at the remark about religion. And left it at that.

When she mentioned funding ray replied jokingly
"Well luckily now with us here nobody is losing any eyes any time soon. Or any other body part for that matter.

When he saw her shivering he again smirked. Cold ain't it. Wouldn't be surprised if a weather manipulator was behind it. Especially in a city like this. he lost the smirk in that last bit.

[MrAbdiel]

That made her laugh a little; a pleasing, genuine sound that has the power to go some ways toward warming the hearer.

“Now that’d be one hell of a headline. ‘Windy City Discovered To Be Warm And Comfortable, If Not For Citizen Windy’.”

[Ameraaaaaa]

Ray joked once more after the uplifting laugh from Dahlia "continued on page 12. Where you'll find out his evil plan to mildly inconvenience the entire planet."

Despite standing at 6 foot and being moderately buff he carried a friendly but cynical aura. With a hint of self assuredness. Which makes sense the man had a very good defensive power. Not that anyone here knew that.

[Breitheamh]

"Dr.Meuller?" John asks as he turns, styrafoam cup of coffee in his hand

"I havent seen you since I finished my class on Quantum Mechanics, besides that one phone call about applying some of your theories to metalurgy and fabrication I mean. What was that, at least 5 months ago? How have you been?

Funny that John would run into one of the brilliant men who had actually lain the ground work for the form fitting Reverb Steel plate lying underneath his three layers of suit coat, button up, and shirt. He had been an inspiration during his guest lectures, and he theorized that it was likely whatever the hell Brinkstel was made of had, in his drunken stupor, been inspired by Dr.Meuller's work as well. Although he had no notes to back that up.

Was that...excitement?? Was someone actually excited to see... him?? Fred tried to ignore that shocked feeling for a moment so he could offer the proper response to his old student.

"B-bbee's knees," he said, with a wry chuckle. Huh! That wasn't so bad! Let's keep it going, he thought as he continued with a slightly louder, sort of barking laugh, "Hh-h-I was s-sorry to hear you'd dropped out. Y-you w-w-wwere the only student who seemed to u-h-understand what the hell I was always rambling on about, huh-HA."

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth his smile abandoned him. S***! He's probably sensitive about that subject. Idiot! Just have to wait and see if anything can be repaired.

[moonfly7]

John wipes a hand across his brow and nods
"Yeah, I've heard that from some of my professors, the sorry for me leaving bit I mean. But, thank you, I really appreciate the sentiment." He takes a swig of his coffee

"Truth be told, I was sad to see me go too. I just-I had some s*** happen at home and I had to take a couple weeks off for it. And after, well-it ended up being much longer. I'm still recovering from what happened." He chuckles awkwardly"If I'm honest tonight is the first time in months I've left the apartment for anything but work."

Liar

He thinks to himself. He's been going out every night, beating up the neighborhood toughs, stalking gang members till they're alone and their guard is down. The last 4 months have been nothing but productive for him, but he can't exactly say that now can he?

and the sentiment, at least, is true. This is the first time since all of this craziness started that he's had a conversation with anyone who isn't someone he's currently beating the crap out of.

[Breitheamh]

Okay, I can save this. No harm done.

Fred removes his foot from his mouth long enough to say, "Oh? And w-h-w-hat are you doing for w-work these days?"


S***! He said something happened! You should have asked about that!

[moonfly7]

"Nothing in any field of interest I'm afraid. I've actually joined the workforce wearing a bluecollar. Pretty sure my teachers would be absolutely shocked to learn that my engineering and chemistry classes have all gone into Plumbing work. But" He shrugs "It pays the bills and keeps the lights on."
he shakes his head.
"I don't know how you manage it. You're situation is ten times worse than mine, and you managed to not only continue your work but further your field of study far beyond anything anyone could ever dream of. In twenty years, students are going to be reading about you in their textbooks."

[Breitheamh]

"Mm-maybe," Fred offers in response to the compliment, unable to hide his reddening face. "W-w-houldn't count on it though. I'm not s-so good at explaining myself."

He sighs. "H-I can only a-haffect my light cone though. Can't w-worry too much about when I'm gone, or I'll mm-miss what I h-have left." A soft smile comes to his face, as the words almost unbidden come to his speech, something he didn't really know he believed until this moment. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he made himself out to be.

"Wh-h-what's the s*** that h-happened at home? Is your f-family okay? Are you?"

And, there it is. You were on such a roll with that wise professorish comment. Could you be any more blunt and awkward?

[moonfly7]

John sighs, this, this was not the night he had expected, or even wanted if he was honest. But... well he had to admit it felt good to talk to someone about all of this. Especially someone who wouldn't pity him for it, no doubt Meuler had his fair share of that and had found its taste to be bitter as well.

"Physically I'm fine. I wasn't even there when it happened, I was at school. Studying, like they had wanted me too." his eyes go far away for a second "It was a coincidence, a horrible one. They had just been about to move out of that old house, into somewhere smaller now that I was gone and Lila was off to college that summer. It would be just Mom, and Dad, and Carl. No need for a big house right?" his voice cracks just the smallest bit and he shakes his head, anger in his voice now instead of sadness

"One more D*** week and they wouldn't have been there. Just one more week. But they were, they were in that thrice D***ed house when everything happened. Cops said it was a gangwar. With some supers thrown in on both sides."

He looks Dr. Meuler in the eyes, and he sees them burning with rage, before his former student manages to wrangle it.

"My family was collateral damage. Collateral damage, thats what they called me losing my entire family. And you know what the worst part was? There were Heros on the scene, they could've bee moving rubble, getting my family out, fighting those dirt bags off. But they didn't, they were "Securing the Perimeter". Bull****. I-"

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, wipng the sweat off his brow.

"Sorry Professor, I kinda went off there for a moment. It's just-I haven't talked about this. At all. So it's still a bit fresh, and I doubt you wanted the full dissertation. But thank you for asking, and listening. I-I think I needed that."

[Breitheamh]

Fred's eyebrows raise at John's vehement rage. It was just a moment, and most people might not have noticed it, or written it off as simply the emotional state of a man grieving. But Fred knew those eyes. More importantly, Quantum knew those eyes. They were the same ones that stared back at him from the mirror as he donned his balaclava at night. The same eyes that raged against the dying of the light, and would no longer go gentle into that good night.

He didn't know why he hadn't seen it before, probably just hadn't been expecting it, but now he realized that John was wearing something he had never seen before underneath his clothes. A suit of some kind of impossibly structured steel, and some piece of material that was made of...what?

"Mmr. Wallbrink," he says, more confidently than he had seemed a moment ago, and returns the look into John's eyes, that same barely contained rage flashing behind his own face, "You n-need not explain yourself to mme, Mr. Wallbrink. H-I understand completely.

Will you w-walk with me?"

He quickly picks out the area of the building with the most privacy without turning his head and gestures in that direction in the most welcoming way he can.

[moonfly7]

"Um-sure?"
He's not exactly sure what's going on but he does have some amount of trust for Dr.Meuler.

[Breitheamh]

Fred leads his former student away from the crowd, toward a currently unused portion of the function hall. He extends his field of view 360 degrees around himself, ensuring that no one is within distance to eavesdrop, listening as well for any radio signals that might bely sound recording equipment.

Feeling secure in the seclusion, he coughs into his handkerchief, ignoring the red flecks on the off-white fabric. "Y-you plan on doing something ab-about it, don't you?" he asks pointedly."Justice? Or revenge?"

[moonfly7]

"What, No! why would you think that?."

Spoiler: Deception check

Show

(1d20)[3]

His lie is obviously horrible, he knows it, and John knows it, his hand creeps toward his glaive.

[Breitheamh]

Fred puts up his hands in what he hopes is a disarming gesture.

"I-h-hit's okay. Y-you don't have to l-l-lie to me. I see that same l-look in your eye every time I look in a mm-mirror.

B-but I still want to know; justice or-r r-revenge? It m-means the difference between someone I will st-s-stop, and someone I'll help."

[MrAbdiel]

They'd laughed a little, though in truth there was a worn, hollowness to the humor. Chicago -was- often enough afflicted by what seemed like more than its share of evil. The local heroes did their best, but they were restrained in ways that made sense most of the time, and caused bitterness and grief in a non-trivial number of cases. Crime surged, and the forces of order felt powerless to effectively oppose them.

The spirit of Capone slipped ineffably through the streets, rewarding the wicked, afflicting the good. Metaphorically, of course.

She let a sense of tiredness drag the corners of her smile down into a faint shadow of itself. The sound of distant sirens drifted through the air; and she knew somewhere in the city people were hurting and getting hurt. She sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger; commenting out of the settled quiet between her and Ray.

"Sounds like a competing headline. I can't remember the last night I spend in this city where I didn't hear at least one set of sirens. God help us."

[moonfly7]

Fred puts up his hands in what he hopes is a disarming gesture.

"I-h-hit's okay. Y-you don't have to l-l-lie to me. I see that same l-look in your eye every time I look in a mm-mirror.

B-but I still want to know; justice or-r r-revenge? It m-means the difference between someone I will st-s-stop, and someone I'll help."

He stops and looks his old professor dead in the eyes

"Justice." he spits "I'm going to bring the justice those buffons that call themselves heros never would."

[AvatarVecna]

Penny arrives a bit late, but tries to not let it get to her. Job's more important than some smartie-pants circle jerk where everybody else is showing off their accomplishments while she's still working towards making something of herself. Her eyes scanned the room for threats by instinct at this point, just part of the jobs lately. Security work paid the bills but it was generally boring...and doing it right meant being constantly on high alert for if something was about to go down. It wasn't very mentally healthy, but she refused to do the job halfway.

Spoiler: Assessment

Show

If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to know if Penny gets an idea of how dangerous the others in the room are.

[Ameraaaaaa]

They'd laughed a little, though in truth there was a worn, hollowness to the humor. Chicago -was- often enough afflicted by what seemed like more than its share of evil. The local heroes did their best, but they were restrained in ways that made sense most of the time, and caused bitterness and grief in a non-trivial number of cases. Crime surged, and the forces of order felt powerless to effectively oppose them.

The spirit of Capone slipped ineffably through the streets, rewarding the wicked, afflicting the good. Metaphorically, of course.

She let a sense of tiredness drag the corners of her smile down into a faint shadow of itself. The sound of distant sirens drifted through the air; and she knew somewhere in the city people were hurting and getting hurt. She sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger; commenting out of the settled quiet between her and Ray.

"Sounds like a competing headline. I can't remember the last night I spend in this city where I didn't hear at least one set of sirens. God help us."

Ray simply spoke in a manner of a man who is also tired of the cities bull****. But with the slight tone of someone who was forced to deal with it rather then actually wishing to do so.


"That's life here. Bad stuff just happens here."


He'd crack a joke but felt that it was not an appropriate time and place right now.

[JNAProductions]

Penny is the last to arrive. The first speaker steps up to the stage and clears his throat. Most of the crowd starts to file into seats in the auditorium, though a few linger.

"Good day to all!" he says over the microphone as the stragglers find their seats. "I would like to welcome you to-" he says, but is cut off as the microphone shorts out. You see some confusion cross his face as he tries to figure out the issue. The lights then cut out.

You hear an announcement boom from around you. "Good day to all indeed! Professor Birch-I know you're here. Surrender yourself if you want to see your Mensa friends make it out alive!"

The emergency lights flicker on, and you see armed goons now standing at the doorways. They've got guns and black-painted riot gear.

[moonfly7]

John immediatly becomes alert, and moves towards an unoccupied alcove, pulling open his shirt and discarding it as he pulls his mask-crafted from a repurposed shovel-over his face. He rips off his tear away pants to reveal his metal greaves and full body armor.
He scans the area for the threat, eyes pouring over every one in the area.

Spoiler

Show

Perception Check
(1d20+3)[15]

[AvatarVecna]

Penny ducks around a corner unnoticed and does a few...touch ups. Her glasses become a mask, and she's even good enough to keep the eyepieces prescription. Her jacket changes color. Her tennis shoes become combat boots, which give her almost an extra inch of height. She emerges as Scramble.

[Breitheamh]

He stops and looks his old professor dead in the eyes

"Justice." he spits "I'm going to bring the justice those buffons that call themselves heros never would."

As he sees back the way they had come the crowd filling into the auditorium, Fred quickly writes down a number on the back of his program and tears off the piece. "Call this n-number if you w-want to talk more. I-h-I think we can help each other," he says as he hands John the number and then heads back to the crowd.


** A short time later **

Fred quickly scans the entire building for enemies, allies, and exits as the goons surround the auditorium.

Spoiler: Actions

Show

Perception (my vision Penetrates Concealment so I should be able to see through solid objects, Counters Concealment of all kinds, so I should be able to see normally in darkness and other issues, Counters Illusion just in case these are illusions, which I doubt. My vision is also radial, so I should be able to see in every direction at once without turning my head, I can see 1000 feet away as if it were 10 feet, I can see heat signatures using infrared. I think those should be all the relevant effects here.)
(1d20+8)[23]
(Oh! And also rapid, so I can see perceive things 10x faster than normal, in case there might be any speedsters running around.)

Also, I'll go ahead and throw an Investigation check on these goons (1d20+10)[14] and Professor Birch due to the Well-Informed advantage.

Let me know what I find.

[MrAbdiel]

Standing at the main entrance, Sister Dahlia clocks Penny making her way into the event a little late, but not dramatically so. No harm done, and she was here before the introductions officially began. "There's the other half of the security detail," she notes to Ray as she begins to pivot back in toward the auditorium, "so I dare say we're safe to proceed. I'd better head back in. Have a good-"

Then the lights cut out. Then the emergencies on. And in the nine seconds it took for the faceless ransomer to call out Professer Birch, both of the security guards have disappeared. Wherever the young woman went, she has no clue; but the man with whom she was having a cordial chat just moments ago had melted away into the dark leaving her awkwardly half-pivoted away from the entrance, frozen in scene assessment, in time for a cluster of armed and armored goons to be clogging that doorway.

She raises her hands to indicate an unwillingness to fight, and tries to appeal to their reason.

"What are you doing? Who are you people? This is a peaceful gathering of luminaries, you don't need to swing those -weapons- around. For heaven's sake, what is this about?"

Spoiler: The same scene, with added supernatural commentary.

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Standing at the main entrance, Sister Dahlia clocks Penny making her way into the event a little late, but not dramatically so. No harm done, and she was here before the introductions officially began. "There's the other half of the security detail," she notes to Ray as she begins to pivot back in toward the auditorium, "so I dare say we're safe to proceed. I'd better head back in. Have a good-"

Then the lights cut out. Then the emergencies on. And in the nine seconds it took for the faceless ransomer to call out Professor Birch, both of the security guards have disappeared. Wherever the young woman went, she has no clue; but the man with whom she was having a cordial chat just moments ago had melted away into the dark leaving her awkwardly half-pivoted away from the entrance, frozen in scene assessment, in time for a cluster of armed and armored goons to be clogging that doorway.

Ahahahaha! Amazing! Oh, Dahlia, don't act so shocked. You were just saying how wretched the city has become, after all.
The enforcers have slunk away, though to escape or regroup we cannot know. But I am ready, if you need me.
I wouldn't say no to a little airtime; but the room is being watched by a cohort of jackboots with riot guns. Anything you do to provoke is going to get people shot. And Professor Birch is probably a **** anyway. Discretion, valor, etcetera.

She raises her hands to indicate an unwillingness to fight, and tries to appeal to their reason.

Well, gun toting goons are famously reasonable.

"What are you doing? Who are you people? This is a peaceful gathering of luminaries, you don't need to swing those -weapons- around. For heaven's sake, what is this about?"

Spoiler: OOC:

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Dahlia is trying mostly to bring the encounter with the goons nearest to her down from the tenor of "kick in the door and run roughshod over everyone" to a more reasonable "negotiation from a position of power." Secondarily, she's trying to convince them to waste time talking to her rather than immediately executing whatever plan they're involved in.

Persuasion roll: (1d20+6)[24]