"Thanks."
Taking his hand, Wingblade guides Hashtag into the dep chamber. Motioning Bronwyn to come closer, she grabs her shoulder to steady her.
"All right. We're right here in front of you. Ready when you are."
She gives Bronwyn a reassuring wink, then steels herself for the disorienting travel that's about to hit her.
"Badabing-" He says.
-Crack!-
For what it's worth, teleporting gets easier with practice. Mostly, though, it's disorienting as all get out.
The teleportation is fast, faster than it takes to blink. Still, Bronwyn and Wingblade's guts twist as he slings them from the Defenders HQ to the municipal basketball court in the northside.
"Badaboom." he finishes, grinning. His eyes closed, he turns away from them and takes a few steps away.
A wave of depression washed over him. He sighed.
I guess I'm just a glorified taxi service these days. Great. he thinks.
"Later." he says sounding somewhat irritated.
-Crack!-
He disappears.
---
Back home, he sighs as he shuts his phone off. "Well, hope that turns out well for them." he says to himself. Still, he had a good idea who it was. He could hear their breathing was shallow, footsteps light, they had some kind of scent... shampoo? Shayera never used scented soaps. He learned to pay attention to that stuff after seeing how effective Wingblade made use of the skills. He was no Knight Owl, but he liked to think he was somewhat decent at sleuthing.
"So Bran's a girl, huh?" he mutters. He could have peeked. His illusions would have made that easy. But where's the fun in that?
Wingblade staggers a bit, but stays on her feet after the trip.
"Can you get home from here?" she asks. "Vi-- I mean, well, Hashtag, he'll probably pop in a few minutes to chew me out for using him as a courier service. So, you know. I'll see you at school tomorrow?"
She waits under the lights of the basketball courts, wringing her hands, unable to sort through all her conflicting emotions. Time passes. The lights power down.
He's... he's not coming.
The lamp powers off, the electric hum fading. A pop is heard in the distance. Followed by a dog barking.
A homeless man totters by, though when he realizes its just Shayera, his image changes.
"I realized that it would be rude to leave you here." he says, scratching his head. "So I waited a bit before heading back. Your friend make it home okay?"
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While teleportation isn't the most comfortable thing in the world, Bronwyn's mentally braced for it, and physically leans against Shayera a bit to keep herself steady as she tries really really hard not to make a noise, or worse, lose her lunch. Again.
Hurray... I did it...
Also, I think I know Hashtag from school. Go Hornets?
After Hashtag vanishes, she lets out the breath she'd been holding, Thanks Shayera, you really had my back there. She goes in for a hug, but stiffens part way through, as she realizes that Shayera really might not be a hugger, and breaks it off a little awkwardly.
So... what's going on between you and Hashtag? I feel like I was sensing a little awkward there? She gives a mischievous smile.
Don't worry, I'll clear out so you guys can talk. I'll catch up with you tomorrow.
With that she does a couple quick stretches out of habit and then takes off in a dead sprint, trusting to the dark of the night to make people doubt the details of what they see. While she's not a true speedster, she does run fast enough to get a ticket in a school zone.
If I'm gonna stay me for a while, I should make sure to do this more. It's fun to really test myself.
She feels a twinge from her bruise and scowls.
But probably no low-cut tops for a bit.
What is going on between Vick and me? Shayera pondered after Bronwyn sprinted away. He had sounded irritated, but she had expected that. But what she hadn't expected was his attitude. To her, he had sounded distant, but also smug. She suddenly felt guilty for not talking with him after that disaster of a date. Wait. I called and left messages with him. He never responded to me. Her little pang of guilt quickly was immolated in the fire of kindled anger.
She began to pace a bit. Her nerves were still raw from being a refrigerator magnet and almost decaying under Balor's entropy beam. Despite her feeling better, both Atoms and Bran -- who's really Bronwyn. I shoulda seen that somehow I practically smelled it -- were hurt pretty bad.
She wrung her hands agitatedly as the night got darker beyond the orange-tinted glow of the basketball courts. Atoms had lost an arm, and then still took off to be a hero. She had been planning to come back after dealing with Bran, and talk some more. What good would it have done? You said it. It's out. No taking it back now. Still, she didn't like where things were left between the two of them.
She looks around, sniffing the night air. No sign of Vick. She knew him well enough that she figured he'd come back, at the very least to make some pithy remark about his teleporting. But it's been a while. He'd have come by now. I guess he's still mad at me.
She shakes her head when she thinks that. No, he came when I called. Came, showed off, and then left. What's up with that? Didn't even say 'hi,' or sorry I've been busy.' Her anger, now stoked, feeds into her frustration. She paces a few more times, getting ready to take flight and head home but she lingers. She fights with herself about whether to stay or go.
The street light shuts off. He... he's not coming.
Then he does.
"I realized that it would be rude to leave you here." he says, scratching his head. "So I waited a bit before heading back. Your friend make it home okay?"
Shayera had worked her anger into a nice simmer, so when Vick actually appears, she folds her arms and scowls in the dark. "Rude. That's a good one." She tosses her hair with a shake. But yeah, he's safe.
She stares at him evenly out of the darkness.
"Ooookay. And now you're mad at me." he says, scratching his head. I totally waited too long
"Look, I was killing a few minutes at home and my foster dad wanted to lecture me because I broke curfew. Again. Whats up?"
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Wingblade's mouth twists sourly as she makes a conscious decision to not feel guilty about making him break curfew. Or for being mad.
"Well. Sorry I got you into trouble. Again."
She shifts her stance, but still keeps her arms folded in front of her. "So, anyway, thanks for helping Bran out. But I said that already. And I'm sorry, but I said that too. So, bye, I guess."
She turns her back to him and spreads her wings, ready to take off.
"Jeez. Cool your jets, Wingblade. Wasn't your fault." he says. "It's not like he wouldn't have found some other reason to chew me out."
He rolls his eyes. "So, talk. What's bothering you?"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Wingblade turns back around, scowling. "I don't need you pretending to care. Atoms lost his arm today in the fight. Bran got hurt real bad too. I got stuck to a wall, blasted worse than both of them, and I'm the one who's walking around like nothing happened."
A sudden thought strikes her. Crap. Bran's armor. I gotta get that for her-- him. She pinches her brow as she thinks about flying all the way back to the Tower District, then home to Old Town. It will make a long night even longer.
"Look, it's late and I need to get home, but I gotta make a stop first. So I'll see you around."
"Woah. Pretend to care?" Hashtag blurts. "I put a ton of effort into pretending I DON'T care, so I'd like at least a little recognition."
"Look, if you're not going to talk, let me." he says. "You may not like me anymore, but I owe you an explanation."
He waves a hand dismissively. "You've seen Atoms put himself back together before. Usually just ends up naked. So he'll be fine. Don't beat yourself up over being able to regenerate. That's one of your powers. If I'd been there, gotten any of you three's injuries, I'd be DEAD. You do all the extra tough shit because you don't crumple with a tap to your glass jaw like me." he continues.
"I'm sorry I've been distant. I've been visiting my mom lately. When she's not, you know, doing 'community service'. She's trying to teach me to be better at the teleporting." he says, scratching the back of his head. "I used to only be able to 'port one person at a time. You can stay out there and keep fighting the fight because you already have the stuff to be out there representing the Defenders. I can't. Not yet."
He creates a basketball, bounces it in his hands, and tosses it into the nearest hoop. "My abilities are fun, they're slippery, but they don't really help me deal with stuff like taking a hit or even hurting the bad guys. I mean, I can just outright kill people, no problem." He conjures up an image of a cartoonish guy with a pencil teleported mostly into his head, big X's for eyes. "Nobody I've ever met can resist an interdimensional snipe like that. But, it's not really useful to me unless I want to be a villain or something."
The image disappears as he pounds one fist into an open palm. "My punches hardly hurt. I've never been able to really 'win' a fight without one of you heavy hitters taking on the bad guys. I mean, that day when the sentinels came after us. I tried to stand up on the frontline and got smacked down like a freaking civilian. That made you... That's why you nearly killed that man. It's my fault."
He sighs. "I don't want to be a weakness. A liability."
He looks at her, the light from the city barely glittering in his eyes. "I don't want to be just a problem anymore."
Wingblade lets out a frustrated sigh. She could feel the length of the day catching up to her. Her hands drop to her hips and her wings twitch, ready to take flight.
"That wasn't hard, was it? Why didn't you tell me this weeks ago? I could've-- I don't know, talked to Whippoorwill or something. But no, you don't call me back, you don't text, nothing. Everyone else is gone except Atoms, and he's, well, he's Atoms. So, you just leave me alone?"
Her anger reduced to a tired frustration, she shakes her head and turns away from him. "I really gotta go. Later."
Hashtag watches Wingblade takes off, an unfamiliar twisting feeling in his chest. In the dark, he plops down, sitting crosslegged in the middle of the dark basketball court.
"Well, that went well." he says to no one in particular. "There goes my 'training montage' return." He sighs. Pulling out his phone, he turns it back on. After a moment's hesitation, he punches a number on speed-dial.
"Matrix?" he asks. "Can you give me a rundown on what happened to Atoms? No... I just wanted to see if I can help. Of course I don't have a degree in particle physics... Right... Okay. Bye." he hangs up the call, letting out a breath.
"I really am useless." he says, hanging his head.
Wingblade's night wasn't over.
After collecting Bran's armor and returning to her clock tower, she finds Whippoorwill there, requiring a full report on Bran, the Busted Flush Mob, Atoms, and most importantly, the entity known as Balor. Not caring that it was a school night, her mentor grilled her exhaustively about the kind of threat this entity might be, and gave her marching orders to obtain whatever intel she could from Bran.
Wingblade kept Bronwyn's secret, though Whippoorwill's experience as a super hero led her to conclude that Bran had an alter ego and that Wingblade knew who it was. That apparently satisfied her for the time being.
Wingblade transferred Bran's armor to a new bag made of the same durable material that went into many superhero costumes, since the old one barely survived the trip back to her tower. Before school the next day, Shayera handed it off to Bronwyn. "Here you go. This bag will hopefully survive longer than the old one. The, uh, body spray didn't make it."
It wasn't until she was in her classes and supposed to be paying attention to her lessons that her conversation with Vick caught up with her. Was I too harsh with him? she pondered, batting around a ball of guilt and uncertainty as she went through the day scarcely listening to her instructors. Mixed in with that was a current of regret for her words with Atoms and concern for his condition, though she did hope Vick was right about him pulling himself together.
At lunch, she was her usual quiet self as she watched Bronwyn's friends interact. She decided to leave the intel gathering for later, letting Bronwyn bring it up in her own time -- assuming she knew anything more than what she already shared as Bran.
At the end of the day she bumped into Jeremy, who reminded her of the weekend party and again apologized for the volleyball incident. Shayera waved off the apology and was noncommittal about the party. She had almost forgotten about it; its importance diminished with all that had happened the day before.
However, on the way home aboard the skyrail, she decided that going to a party might be something that she needed to do.
Bronwyn spends some time delightedly examining the bag while Shayera explains,
Oh yeah, I'm sure you tried real hard to save that. What can I say, someone gave me the idea that it might help keep super-sleuth-noses off my trail. She sticks her tongue out at Shayera defiantly before her expression gets serious.
I really am glad I told you. Not just 'cause I had to. I feel like of all people you really get it. Get the craziness this can all bring.
Then with an awkward smile she's off to class.
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Friday finally arrived, though the aches of her current estrangement between Vick and Atoms were fresh. Her few interactions with Bronwyn since she learned of her secret identity had been somewhat abbreviated, but it seemed that their friendship was headed in the right direction.
She didn't bother heading home after school, not feeling it necessary to take the long trip back to Old Town when she would be going right back to the same section of the city. She wandered the campus for a bit, then walked around the Northside area until the sun sank low in the sky. She wasn't sure what the dress code was for the party, so she hoped that the knee-length skirt and simple blouse she had selected that morning for school would be acceptable.
She found the place easily enough, though it involved a fair amount of walking. It was on a hill and set back away from the street in one of the nicer areas of an already nice district. The sound of thumping bass and voices drew her behind the main house to a smaller building adjacent to a pool. The party-goers seemed to readily accept her presence, though she had to ask several people before she found someone who knew who Jeremy was. Finally she found him.
"Hey! Sheara! Thanks for coming! Can I get you a drink?"
"It's Shayera. Uh, sure. Got any root beer?"
Jeremy laughed. "No, but we've got beer. How about I get you one of those?"
She blinked in surprise, though she realized he smelled of alcohol. In fact, just about everyone at the party had some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hand. "But that's -- I'm not old enough."
He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Look, it's no big deal. If you don't like beer, I can make you a rum and coke or something."
Shayera frowned in uncertainty. She knew that her healing factor gave her a strong resistance to poisons, so there had been the assumption that alcohol wouldn't have much effect on her. But it was never something that she'd tested. She looked around at the partiers chatting, dancing, laughing and drinking. Most of them seemed to be several years older than she and Jeremy.
A strong urge to leave struck her. She knew Whippoorwill wouldn't approve of her being here, even if she didn't have a drop. Jeremy seemed to sense her hesitation and continued. "Come on, let me fix you something. If you don't like it, I promise you won't have to drink it. Wait here."
He disappeared for a few minutes, letting her quietly debate about her reasons for being at this party. She watched the people silently, picking up snippets of conversation. Much of the topics were focused on school, either upcoming classes or past scholastic events, but she did also catch a couple people talking about the superhero fights on the subway earlier that week. She had been drifting over in that direction to pay closer attention when Jeremy returned.
"Here. It's got a lot of different things in it, but it should be sweet. Try it." He offered her a red plastic cup with a syrupy liquid, keeping another cup with a weak beer for himself.
She accepted and sniffed at it, and almost instantly recoiled at the waves of alcohol and sugary flavorings in it. She detected candylike melon, peach, and sour apple flavorings trying to cover up the strong percentage of alcohol. Shayera did have a sweet tooth, so she gave in to temptation and tasted it.
It wasn't great, but it sated her craving for sweets. "Cheers," Jeremy said, tapping her cup with his, then taking a large swig of his own drink. Shayera followed his lead, taking a larger drink herself. She watched him tilt his cup all the way back, finishing his drink with a proud smile.
She looked at the drink in her hand, then back up to him. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked bluntly.
Jeremy shook his head vigorously. "Of course not! I just thought you'd like to loosen up a bit. You seem really stressed. But I get it; new school and all. I'm really glad you came."
Shayera allowed a smile to grow on her face and finished her drink in a single gulp. Jeremy beamed. "Here, let me get you another."
She watched as he went back inside with her cup, trying to sense the effects of the alcohol. She felt a slight slowness of her thoughts and a bit of tingling in her fingers, but the sensation dissipated by the time Jeremy was back with full cups.
The two chatted as the party wore on. She tried to avoid matching him drink-for-drink, afraid he would notice that she wasn't getting inebriated. However, Jeremy seemed oblivious as his own intoxication increased.
As he began slurring his words, Shayera began to get concerned for the boy's health. She grabbed a full cup of beer out of his hand and downed it herself, just to keep him from poisoning himself further. He drunkenly complimented her on her ability to drink, then challenged her to shots.
"No, that's it. I've had enough, and so have you. Come on, let's get you inside." She took his arm and led him into the main house. "Which one's your room?"
Jeremy's drunken directions finally got them upstairs and into his room which smelled marginally worse than Vick's, Shayera noted, though his current alcoholic reek was overpowering. "All right, bed time," she tells him.
Jeremy suddenly got grabby. His hands clumsily groped at her while he moved in for a drunken kiss. Sheer disbelief at his actions froze her for a second, but she had recovered from her drinking, and he could barely stand. She slipped from his grasp effortlessly and he tumbled to the floor. "No. You're drunk."
"B----," he slurred as he woozily pushed himself to his feet and made another grab.
It happened too fast. Maybe she hadn't metabolized all the alcohol in her system, or maybe she let the insult get to her. She snatched one of his outstretched hands, spun underneath it and suddenly she was behind him with his arm painfully twisted around his back. There was a loud crack signifying the snapping of bone and telling her she pushed too hard.
Jeremy cried out as Shayera let go of him. His arm flopped, the humerus cleanly broken. "Dammit," she muttered.
His cries of pain drew people from elsewhere in the house. "He fell. I think his arm's broken," she said calmly to the first person who arrived.
"You broke my arm, b---!" Jeremy cried out.
Shayera ignored the accusatory stares, instead glaring directly at him. "No means no."
He tried to lunge, but the pain stopped him. Shayera slipped out of the grasp of the other partiers who were crowding the hallway to Jeremy's room, and headed downstairs. She ignored their shouts as she left the house. Once she was clear and out of sight, she yanked off her blouse, shut off her harness, and took flight.
When she made it back to her tower, as much as she hated to do it, she called her mentor. "Um, Whippoorwill? I need to tell you something."
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Weeks had passed. Whippoorwill had a measured response to Shayera's indiscretion at the party. She made it clear that her rebuke was for her underage drinking, not for her actions involving Jeremy.
But Shayera was grounded. She withdrew even more, remaining quiet and sullen during school though her grades and scholastic performance excelled. Whippoorwill spent more time with her, keeping her occupied when not in school by running her through any number of drills and combat scenarios.
One afternoon, several months after the incident with Bran and Balor, Whippoorwill and Wingblade were sparring. After the umpteenth time the mentor had reversed the protege's attacks and sent her sprawling, Wingblade's frustration got the better of her. "You know, I've heard there's hand-to-hand lessons in the 'gifted program,'" she said as she pushed herself back up to her feet and putting herself in a ready stance.
"What about it?" Whippoorwill asked as she made the "come get me" motion with her hand.
Wingblade launched herself the Defender, trying an upper feint before ducking down and coming at her legs. It didn't work, and she was on the ground again. "Well, I tried to sign up, but they said it was restricted! And I'll bet it was you who did that!"
Whippoorwill landed lightly and folded her arms while she regained her feet. "I did. I didn't feel you needed it."
Wingblade nearly saw red. "Don't need it?!? I can't touch you! Why would you keep me from that? Are you afraid I'll finally match you? Admit it!"
A moment of silence stretched between them. Whippoorwill arched her eyebrow as Wingblade set her jaw in defiance. Finally, her mentor shrugged. "All right. If it means so much to you. I'll get you in."
"It does."
"Fine."
"Fine."
============================
The next day after school hours, Shayera was standing with an assortment of other youth in the high-tech gymnasium of Halcyon High. She glanced at the others, ranging from some blocky, muscle-bound giants to lean and wiry sorts. She was definitely among the smaller specimens.
The fighting coach arrived, looking like someone straight from an 1980s action movie. Thickly muscled, wide-necked and sporting a broom for a mustache, Mr. Rutger tossed his mirrored shades aside and stared everyone down. "All right, you daisies, before we get started, we have a new 'fighter' in class. I was going to show you reversal holds, but first we have to bring Ms. Kinney here up to speed."
He stomped over to where she stood and loomed over her. She still wore her harness under her usual action outfit of a tank and rugged cargo pants. She looked up at him. "I don't want to disrupt your lesson plan."
"Well you've already done that, missy. We're halfway through the semester and I don't appreciate having to slow things down just so you're not sent home in a stretcher. This is the hard knocks class."
Shayera narrowed her eyes. "I heal fast. Don't slow anything down for me."
Mr. Rutger sneered beneath his mustache. "Right. You heal, but can you deal with pain?" He pointed at another student, a mid-sized boy but with glass-like skin. "Mr. Templeton! Kindly show Ms. Kinney what I'm talking about."
He directed the two into a ringed circle with padded floors. The youth smiled apologetically to Shayera. She nods at him and put her hands behind her back.
The blow wasn't very severe, but the kid had strength. She flew a good ten feet before hitting the ground, rolling, and coming back up. "Okay," she said. "He pulled his punch."
Mr. Rutger glared at the Templeton kid, who fell back in line. "Okay, you can take a hit. Let's see if you know how to give one. Mr. Simon! Front and center."
A lanky kid with bad acne stepped up at the coach's call. "Try to hit Stretch, here."
Shayera waited for a whistle, then stepped forward, throwing a tentative punch. Her opponent's torso moved independent of the rest of him. As he snapped back with a smirk, she went into a blur of motion, throwing a series of kicks, jabs and strikes that had Mr. Simon on the ground in a quivering mass.
Mr. Rutger was silent for a while as everyone looked to him. "All right. How about Templeton, you and Asphalt, take her on together. See how she can handle two of you."
The two students rushed her. Shayera ducked under Asphalt's wild swing and struck his Achilles tendon as he passed over her, sending him sprawling into Templeton. Before they could recover, she darted in with another series of strikes to pressure points, and using their own tangle of limbs to keep her safe from counter strike. By the time they pulled apart from each other, they could barely stand.
Mr. Rutger blew the whistle hard. "Okay. Play time's over. Let's see if you can hit me -- OOOF!!!" Shayera moved before he finished his challenge and knocked the wind out of him. She danced back and set herself up into a defensive posture. The big man recovered quickly and stormed up to her, his hands balled into meaty fists. He threw a wild punch that Shayera didn't bother to dodge. It slammed into the side of her face, causing her head to snap to the side, but she stood her ground.
Mr. Rutger paused, then threw another punch. Again, Shayera didn't avoid it. Then she took a third blow. She dabbed at the spot of blood on her nose, then shrugged.
"Why are you letting me hit you?" the coach asked in confusion.
Shayera smiled. "Because they're not worth dodging."
====================
The next night, Wingblade and Whippoorwill sparred together. "You were right," she said as the Defender threw her to the ground.
You know, I really do have a lot more time on my hands when I'm not being some immortal blessed warrior Celt.
The little knot of awareness in the back of Bronwyn's head kept feeling better, the purple bruise on her chest was fading, but a week later, she still hadn't felt safe transforming back to Bran.
I hope he's almost done healing. The last time I went this long without transforming my powers started to fade. That'll come in handy when it's time for me to take another stab at some records, but... honestly I don't like it. I'm used to this!
She casually picked up the living room couch and made a face. Yikes, that is just dusty as hell!
She lowered the sofa outside the dust-zone and wandered over to grab a broom. Eh, I've got some time before she comes over.
It was already late afternoon heading into early evening. Practice had been particularly grueling, and Marco had just gone home to crash right after.
Mary-Beth was already planning to come over to study, or at least what she called studying, which was mainly hanging out while Bronwyn worked unless there was an assignment that actually held her interest.
Though since Marco's all worn out, I should check and make sure she's not just coming over to cover for us as a favor. That rule is suuch a pain in the ass, it can make it so hard to hand out with - Wait, Eli! God, we haven't hung out in forever! He hasn't come over since... Christ. Did I even have the spear? I see him at school all the time, but... Well, we'll fix that tonight.
She quickly put back the couch she was dusting under, and fished out her phone.
hey!
what r u doing 2nite?
MB & me are gonna do some studying. You in?
i promise Arroz con Pollo :-D
Sitting in his mom's lab, Eli browses the web, searching for more information on the recent incident at the park. The Halcyon Herald was pretty good about picking up hot news about super activity, but they didn't usually have any of the really juicy details until days after, once they could confirm reliable sources, and by then it was old news. And after that, there was never any follow up, since there always always something new for the front page. If you wanted to really dig in to what was happening around Halycon, you had to know where to look.
*Buzz buzz* She's a BRICK! HOOOOUSE! She's the one, the only one, who's built like an AMAZON! *Buzz buzz*
That was a ringtone he hadn't heard in awhile. His eyes snap away from the extraterrestrial sightings forum he'd been scanning to check the new message. Food? Studying? No Marco? I am so in! He and Hashtag were supposed to go check out the crash site, but it would still be there tomorrow, right? Besides, Eli had a history paper due next week that he'd been planning on putting off, but with Mary-Beth there he'd get it knocked out no problem.
After about four drafts of varying quality ('Arroz con Pollo? More like arroz to my heart!' unfortunately didn't make the cut), he finally replies.
Sounds good. Was just about to crack the books myself.
Your place?
Racing upstairs to his room, he calls out to his dad, "Hey, I'm having dinner at a friend's! Is that cool?" After putting on some deodorant and changing into a fresh shirt, he heads for the door, stopping in his tracks as he realizes he should probably text Vick.
hey man, i gotta bail. something came up. sorry.
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The day after his last visit with Wingblade where he helped out a new unknown hero return home after a bad injury, he couldn't help but think that he's screwing things up. It started when he woke up and found that he had been so tired from the night before that he only imagined that he had set the alarm (or a more frightening event: he had set the alarm for an illusionary clock he had accidentally created in his sleep-deprived state). So he got woken up to his adoptive father splashing him with water, his usual method of waking him up.
Groaning, Vick got cleaned up and dressed. Which was when he discovered that he had fallen asleep with his phone on the bed and now it was soaked in water. He sighed, wondering if he could convince Matrix to give him a replacement for free. As it was, it wasn't like he could afford a new one; hero business didn't really pay, and his 'rents had confiscated his allowance for like, the rest of his life after the state fair fiasco.
Leaving his phone at home (in a baggie of rice), Vick 'ported to school. Which was then when he realized he left his school bag at home, so he popped back, but he couldn't find it.
Returning to school, he was late for his first class, which meant another infraction, which meant that it would be on his record, and his 'rents would be inevitably scolding him about it soon. The concept of a teleporter ever being late seemed inconceivable to his foster father.
In a bad mood by this point, he was a little too snarky with his homeroom teacher, and by some accident, he got called to help out with the special classes after school.
Which meant he was doing cleanup duty!
He did get the enjoyment of watching some of the heavy hitters' practice. And then he was reminded that he would never be able to catch a thrown car. Or motorcycle. Heck, he'd probably break something catching a unicycle.
He then had to mop up the practice mats, which reminded him of how easily he got his ass kicked. The Sentinel, the mirror knight... there was no denying it. When it came to a straight fight, the other dude would wipe the floor with him. He tried not to fight fair, like, ever, but he was severely lacking. He considered asking Ghost Dragon to give him lessons... but he felt guilty every time he thought of it. He wanted to ask Wingblade, but the weird relationship they seemed to have made warning bells go off in his head that doing that might lead to further, relationship damaging complications. Also, if he couldn't even win a spar against one of these chuckleheads in the special class, he was way, WAY underqualified to even be a punching bag for Wingblade.
Finished with his cleaning duties, he popped out of the gym before any of the powerhouses could try to rope him into being said punching bag. He appeared on the roof of Halcyon north general hospital, in the space beneath the helipad where it was legally required to be clear of objects.
It wasn't legally required for it to be necessarily clear of spills. He arrived, took one step, and took a colossal slip and fall, knocking the wind out of him.
He laid there, trying to breathe, and he could feel water soaking into his pants and shirt.
"Jeez. Worst. Day. Ever." he muttered.
And, like all times when someone like him tempts fate, fate decides to call his bluff. At that moment, he heard the whomp-whomp-whomp of a helicopter incoming, alongside the shrill shrieking of alarms going off. Standing, Vick saw the emergency evac helicopter that was approaching the hospital belching smoke and starting to spin. Inside, he could see a blackish something flailing around inside.
Great. he thinks, squinting at the helicopter before he takes the risky 'port into the vehicles interior.
Inside the helicopter, he was subjected to horrid squealing, spinning, and a woman tied down onto a stretcher with some kind of black inky, oily, writhing mass of tendrils erupting from her mouth. Even as a few of them snagged his arms and legs, Hashtag could tell that the pilot and EMT were strugling to slip the otherworldly substance from around their necks.
"What the everloving f@#~!?!?" he shouts.
---
Three hours and one helicopter crash later, Hashtag plods into his house through the front door. He was somehow more soaking wet, he had rope burns on 50% of his body, and he was pretty sure he'd never forget the taste of whatever the hell it was that he tangled with all afternoon. In the end, he managed to drop the chopper into the bay, evacuated the pilot and EMT, and pulled the thing from the woman's body. He then spent most of the time trying to figure out how to kill it, until Atoms just happened to get back from saving a few city blocks or something and vaporized it in about .02 seconds.
Needless to say, his head hurt from using his teleportation so much. So, he walked home. From the bay. Well, he took one of the trains. He never did figure out where his backpack was.
The sound of someone clearing his throat caught his attention. Looking up, he saw his 'rents standing side by side, with that 'Here's patented lecture #13' look on their faces.
With an exagerrated motion, he looked down at himself, spread his arms, and let them flop against his sides with a wet splat. "What?" he complained, too tired to play nice. "I just fought a thing in a helicopter and saved three people's lives, okay?"
"We saw the news." His adoptive father growled. "That's not it. Why were you late for school?" he demanded. "If you can be saving people out of moving vehicles you should be able to make it to class on time."
"I couldn't find my backpack." he explained lamely.
In response, his adoptive father pointed to the front door. Where his backpack hung on the hook just beneath the peephole.
He turned back to his 'rents and scratched the back of his head. "Uhh... oops?" he says sheepishly.
No, I think this really is the worst day ever." he thinks.
"Oh, and take your phone out of the rice. That's disgusting."
"Fine." Vick retrieved his cell and to his amazement, it powered on. Vick took the stairs and contemplated taking a shower before he tried to see if it wasn't too late to hang with Eli.
hey man, i gotta bail. something came up. sorry.
Figures.
see you soon!
Bronwyn puttered around the house for a bit more; her brother Gabe was supposed to swing by later in the evening to check in, make sure any house fires had been put out, that kinda thing, but otherwise she was on her own since her parents were both out of town.
You know, if I actually count the days they're not actually gone more than they're around.
Feels like it sometimes though.
She'd showered and changed after Track, but after cleaning "where no one had dusted before" she went ahead and tossed on a clean "Little Miss Sunshine" T-shirt and a pair of running shorts. Not like I really need to dress to the nines for Mary-Beth and Eli.
Mary-Beth lived within walking distance even for non-track stars, but for some reason, Eli still made it over first.
Bronwyn all but flew down the stairs to the front door, and welcomed him in with a quick hug, Eli! God we haven't done this in forever! Come on in!
New Asgard.
Subspace.
Open on an exterior shot of the city itself: gleaming towers, soaring arches, and architecture that is clearly Norse in style.
We fly down through, the camera flying around the eaves of longhouses and buildings, past poles made of gold marked with totems and flags, to an overhead view of a street in a market, where we watch the crowd move about, until a white-blonde haired young girl passes beneath it. The camera begins to follow her. We see here talk to various merchants in a casual way as she makes her way through the market.
Eventually, after several minutes of that, the camera zooms out and the changes direction and focuses on the massive longhall at the highest point in the center of the city. As it moves in, we see the young woman walking up the steps to the front door. The guards salute her, and she nods approvingly then walks inside.
Finally getting sound, we come in on a heated shouting match: "...DAUGHTER OF MINE WILL BE SENT ON A SUICIDE MISSION!"
We see an argument between two men, one with blonde hair like the young woman and the other with silver hair sitting on a throne of light. The man standing has a hammer hanging from a thong on his left-hand side, while on his right a massive pair of Iron gloves hang from the right. The man sitting on the throne has an eyepatch over one eye and a massive spear is hung from the wall behind the throne. Even to the uninitiated, the spear seems to radiant dangerous power.
the younger of the two men throws the winged helm that he had tucked under his right arm behind him to emphasize his point, where it skips and slides to a stop at the young woman's feet.
Picking it up without comment, the young woman walks to the blonde haired man and shoves his helmet into his midsection, saying "No father, I am capable of making my own choices. Grandfather did not order me to stand the wall; He did, in fact, try to talk me out of it. It is my decision and I will see it through." with that, she wheels from the room leaving her father sputtering after her.
"DAMN THAT GIRL!" he shouts when he finally gets his bearings a moment later.
(Un)fortunately for Eli, the unexpected hug was over before he had to worry about what he should be doing with his arms, but it still accelerates his heart rate.
"Yeah, no kidding," he says, following Bronwyn inside. "Whoa," he says, noticing Bronwyn's shirt. "You didn't say anything about a dress code. I feel so under-dressed without my Power Patrollers shirt." Sniffing the air, he can smell the chicken cooking. "It smells great!" he says, making a beeline for the dining room.
Unshouldering his bag, he sets it on the table with a thunk. "I brought desert," he says, pulling out bottles of soda water and chocolate syrup.
"So...whatcha been up to?"
Bronwyn pokes her tongue out at Eli's dress-code comment. Rude. She laughs, Good thing you brought dessert, or you wouldn't get any pegao at all.
She unconsciously knuckles her sternum as she decides how to respond about what she's been up to.
Ha. What am I not up to.
Track, classes are picking up, I'm still tutoring Oscar in algebra - though I think he's really starting to get it - heptathlon-specific training, I've been spending a lot of time with this transfer-student - Have you met Shayera yet? Like in the special classes? Are they in those together?
She's really... she's really special. But in a good way!
Marco too. I mean - Things are going really well with Marco. And Mary-Beth and me are still working on our uh... Power Project. You know, Xander and Willowing for that new Bran hero from the museum. Her face turns serious, He got pretty hurt by Balor, some new villain. Or maybe a very old villain. Mary-Beth is supposed to help pull together whatever we can dig up on this guy.
Ugh, and I'm supposed to study for the Spanish Language AP, but I think I'm just gonna cram that once it gets closer. Classes I'm actually taking have to take precedence, you know?
At first, Eli nods along, but as Bronwyn's list of activities keeps getting longer, his eyebrows slowly start to raise up in an expression that combines awe, confusion, and disbelief. "Oh, is that all?" he deadpans.
"So you wanna back up there to the part before the Spanish but after the new student? Something about a Bran and a Balor? When'd you get mixed up in Lord of the Rings?"
Bronwyn stares at Eli in disbelief for a moment. Wait, really? God, I guess we haven't.... Okay, uhhh... recap.
Remember at the museum when those crazy cultists held a bunch of people hostage, and they were saved by a knight with a magic spear? I mean I know this is Halcyon, but hopefully that still rings a bell. Well, his name is Bran the Blessed, and me and Mary-Beth have been kinda helping him out.
He's supposed to be this Celtic Giant-King Lord-of-Ravens according to what we've read, but he doesn't seem to remember all that much. Haven't seen him pull any tricks with ravens either.
A thoughtful look comes over her face. I wonder if he can...
Her focus snaps back to Eli, But yeah, Mary-Beth and me have been helping him out, trying to work the mythology end of things. I even put together a new suit of armor for him. Hooray for that chainmail knitting phase, right?
Oh, and Balrogs are from Lord of the Rings, Balors are from D&D/Celtic mythology.... or well, from horribly real life.
She looks at Eli's slightly dumbfounded face. Okay, I'm gonna check on the chicken so your brain doesn't overheat, can you call Mary-Beth and see what's keeping her?
You all get the call one way or another. A blip on the radar, an alert on your comm unit, perhaps you just the large explosion rip through downtown. But you know there's no one who can get on the scene as fast as you can, possibly no one to respond unless you do.
When arrive on scene, you may see an old face or two, but the immediate attention getter is a punk you didn't think you'd see again, at least for a while.
"Haxor is back Baby!" you hear him yell as blasts of data stream from his finger tips and hit cars, light posts, and firehydrants and transform them into red barrels, which after a brief pause, explode.
He has a manic look in his eyes, and turns to face you all.
"You're just in time for my New Game +! he yells.
You notice he doesn't even reach for a keyboard of any sorts, his old method for interacting with the code of reality. Instead, he merely holds his hands in postion as a rocket launcher materializes into them. He fires off volleys of rockets at you all!
Bronwyn and Mary-Beth had been hitting the books pretty hard after Balor showed up, including a few that it was frankly a little surprising Mary-Beth had been able to get her hands on. They hadn't figured out anything about his plans or where he might be hiding, but Mary-Beth had scrounged together a ritual she claimed was supposed to help mitigate the effects of the Evil Eye. Sounds like Balor to me.
Bronwyn hadn't had all that much faith in the idea, but Bran was already healed enough to get about on his own, so she figured that white sage and some chanting couldn't hurt.
But weirdly enough, there seemed to be something to it, a sense of power lightly stirring. The whole thing had taken hours, and all it had really done was make his scar less noticeable. But it was a start; maybe they'd find other ways to help in the future.
=======================================================================
Bran was ready.
He had defeated muggers and stick up artists, but had battled no true threats since the day on the train.
This... "Haxor" could be a true test.
Even if his name is ridiculous.
Before he could bring the battle directly to the villain, the innocents must be protected. Bronwyn had been fortuitously close to the explosion, and had transformed out of sight down an alley, close to where a crowd of people were being increasingly surrounded by exploding barrels.
The tremendous knight quickly interposed himself, Gae-Dearg twirling in a tight circle, deflecting shrapnel and absorbing as much of the blasts as possible til the tip of his spear glowed a dull red from the stored energy.
Cease this madness!
I'll just have to finish this up before Coach notices I ditched practice part-way through a run!
Skuld had been looking at glass sculptures in a window in the shopping district. Whipporwill had explained how human clothing worked, but it seemed a waste of energy to her.
Why would I not just wear my armor always? Is their city so safe?
As it if could read her thoughts, an explosion blossomed near her. Without a thought as to her "secret identity", Skuld rose into the air and began flying in the direction of the commotion, held aloft on a strong breeze. The magic of her father's domain coursed through her veins, and she shot through the sky like an arrow, quickly alighting in the center of the chaos.
Skuld quickly began speaking in her native tongue, then stopped herself and began again in broken English "You. Stop." she said menacingly to Haxor.
Noticing Bran for the first time, she began speaking in a language that he instinctually understood.
[b]"Greetings, son of another house. Let us together bring battle to this fool who stands before us!
It had been a quiet weekend so far. Whippoorwill had lifted the grounding, partly because Wingblade had dutifully complied, but mostly because her whole purpose of sending her to school was for her to build social relationships. Yet because of her lapse in judgment at the party, Shayera had retreated into a shell while at school. Whippoorwill was forced to admit she was defeating the entire purpose of the experiment. Hence, the punishment was cut short.
The lifting of the curfew was just in time for Shayera to be able to attend a midterm school dance. She figured she would be going with Bronwyn's group, since she doubted Vick would ask her and she knew there were some unfavorable rumors about her in Jeremy's circle of friends, meaning no one else was likely to extend her an invitation.
The dance had an '80s theme, so she was going from shop to shop in a midtown mercantile district assembling a punk outfit. She actually was having a good time by herself exploring the shops and digging through racks of clothes for vintage gems. She even found a few store clerks who enthusiastically assisted her search for an authentic punk look. Before long, she had an array of dark clothing and a pink spiky wig that she couldn't help but wear out of the store for fun. Combined with the heavy eye makeup and dark lipstick that the cosmetics lady demonstrated on her earlier that day, Shayera felt she had the look down. She decided to take the subway back to Old Town, feeling that she would blend in with the regular passengers given her new look.
Just then, a series of explosions nearby snap her focus away from costumes and dances. She pulls off her spiked jacket and shuts off her harness, causing her wings to rip through the back of the Ramones t-shirt she just bought.
She launches into the sky and surreptitiously drops off her jacket and clothes bags on a roof before arriving at the scene of the chaos.
Haxor?!? she thinks as she recognizes the guy in the middle of the scene. And it was such a nice day.
She glides in, completely forgetting her punk appearance in the moment as she recognizes Bran and the Asgardian that Whippoorwill had mentioned meeting.
"Bran! Skuld! This d-bag somehow hacked reality and can make changes to it like a computer code! Usually he needs a keyboard or something to input the changes, so immobilize his hands!"
Suddenly, he had a missile launcher without a keyboard. Well, that's new," she observes.
You’ve learned about the superhuman world through your mentor’s resources. When you first encounter an important superpowered phenomenon (your call), roll + Superior. On a hit, tell the team one important detail you’ve learned from your studies. The GM will tell you what, if anything, seems different from what you remember. On a 10+, ask the GM a follow-up question; they will answer it honestly.
On a miss, the situation is well outside your base of knowledge; the GM will tell you why.
Eli, unaware of the explosion, is notified only moments later as the sound of nuclear reactor klaxons issue from his phone. His attention breaks away from the paper he'd been reading on metahuman biology to check the notification. Attached was a short video clip of what looked like a greasy basement-dweller blowing up some barrels downtown. Frantically, he calls Vick.
"Yo Hashtag, trouble downtown!" He only called Vick 'Hashtag' when there was real business to take care of. [B]"Pick me up? The usual spot."
While he waited for Vick, Eli grabbed the forest green hoodie he used as a costume from the closet. Emblazoned on it was an iron-on symbol he'd made himself - a caduceus made of two strands of DNA twisting around a lighting bolt.
= = = = = = =
Shattering into existence, Eli opens his eyes, which he'd taken to closing during the teleportation, to get his bearings. "Who's this geek?" he asks Hashtag, only to be answered with a rocket headed straight for him! "Oh sh--!" His reflexes kicking into high gear, and he dives off to the side, adrenaline and cortisone flooding his bloodstream Whipping his head around, he watches in horror as the rocket explodes against a building. His heart pounding, Eli goes into Overclock, frantically trying to get his bearings on the scene. The world slows down around him as he tries to take it all in. The enemy, still holding his materialized rocket launcher. Red barrels in the street, some even now in the middle of exploding. Civilians, cowering behind some armored guy twirling a spear. Another armored girl approaching the enemy. More rockets flying around. A pink-haired girl with metal wings aloft in the air.
Condition(s): None
Rockets soar through the air and towards each of the assembled heroes. Mysteriously, however, all of them explode well before reaching their intended targets.
In the blink of an eye, Atoms' metallic form appears in the middle of the street, just ahead of Haxor. One-armed, wrapped in a black, hooded cape, and with a black duty belt around his waist, Atoms attempts to speak, but instead of words, he can only manage a mix of growls and grunts. His 'face', consisting of only one feature, a mouth, is contorted in agony.
Just moments before, he had been at Tectonic's place, talking to his friend Alexis (now going by the name Evelyn) about how the pain from his missing appendage was getting worse as of late. Having been torn away from that discussion, and with this sudden use of his powers, his rage and pain seemed to only increase.
The Transformed has influence over...
Tectonic, Paragon [from The Bull's Heart feature, former Love (Page 7)]
The Delinquent - Hashtag [from Character Creation (Disc., Page 3)]
The Outsider - Thor Girl [from Character Creation (CS, Cheerful)]
The Protégé - Wingblade [from Defend move (Page 1)]
The Transformed labels themselves as...
Danger : +2
Freak : +3
Savior : +2
Superior : -2
Mundane : -2 [LOCKED (Moment of Truth)]
Potential: 4/5
Wingblade dove and twisted through the air as the missiles streaked towards her. She had planned to dodge them and maybe even get them to follow her back to their source if they had locked on to her. However, they detonated before they even reached her.
"What the--? Oh, it's Atoms," she mutters, uneasy when she takes in his appearance. She sees Vick and another person arrive through one of Hashtag's signature teleports. The hoodie and iron-on symbol on the stranger was clearly a homemade costume, but she couldn't spare a moment to get a real good look at him. Atoms had given them a moment, but Haxor could recover fast, especially if he had given himself unlimited ammo.
"Remember me?" she asks as she swoops in near him but staying airborne. "Can you just, not do this? There's gotta be something better for you to do than blow up a bunch of random objects!"
Hashtag arrives with amateur hero in tow, sees Haxxor, then Atoms, and sighs. Instead of taking a defensive stance or moving for cover he just sidles over to the nearest building and leans against the wall, lighting up a smoke.
"Oh, hey... Haxxor. Whats up." he says halfheartedly.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Atoms! You're needed elsewhere!
The alarm in Matrix's voice was more concerning and surprising. For a being who could process terabytes of data in milliseconds, it was enough for Deputy Atoms to know that something was seriously wrong. He looked to his friends, his comrades who he had bonded with and struggled with. They would be okay without him. They were strong enough. He was strong enough to make that decision.
"What's the problem." Atoms asked, as he arrived at the Defender's headquarters. The resulting sonic boom was dampened by the internal shielding, a factor that Matrix had to remind about. However, Matrix was busy with over thirty computer screens, processing streams of data from each.
"Your old friend Imagine has alerted us to a a threat approaching the Earth. We've run the tests, and this isn't something that we can fight. A massive energy wave is coming, and we need a conduit to siphon it off before it completely decimates the pla-"
And Atoms was gone. breaking through the atmosphere, he headed straight for the energy pulse as best he could, hurtling through space. It was wave of irridecsent violet and red. They met, with a crash, and Deputy Atoms felt what may have been real fear for the first time in the last few years.
He could feel his molecules coming apart, and light bursting form the cracks forming against his body. HIs alien suit incinerated, his body coming apart. But he was chuckling.
"Too much energy? You can't overload Deputy Atoms!"
And all at once, the violet waves began to recede, pulled into Atoms body. The red energy pulses struggled to flare out, but Atoms sealed the cracks in his body so they couldn't escape. Light burst from his eyes.
Focus.....focus.....
And it was done. Deputy Atoms, motionless in the vast universe, focusing on containing the power he had siphoned. A communication comes in from Matrix.
"Atoms! Is everything all right? The energy has disperesed, what is the situaiton."
Atoms could only muster a form of morse code using energy pulses, minute, just enough to not risk a breach.
Converting power. Concentrating. Will return when done. Atoms out.
==========================================================================
Haxor looks at you all, shaking his head and grinning from ear to ear.
"Random shit blowing up? Sorry bird brain, this is just sweet f%%~ing revenge."
He snaps his fingers, and two displays seem to materialize out of nowhere. He was definitely not able to conjure actually items into being before. His eyes are bloodshot, his breathing fast, and you can see the veins throbbing in he temple.
Wingblade and Hashtag, the displays that appeared in front of you show two people. Whipporwill and Blink.
Whippoorwill, who went on patrol this morning, is seen chained up and unconscious. She looks like she's in a shipping container, and there's water slowing filling the area. Blink, who should be in lockup and underguard, is similarly unconscious, tied to a railroad track, a train coming along a few miles down.
"I've always been a fan of the classics." Haxor said, watching your reactions. "Your friends are out of my reach, and even with my new power up and can't get to them easily. But you two, I'm going to enjoy making you squirm."
He looks to Bran the Blessed, Bioshock, and Thor girl.
"I got no beef with you. Get out of here, and you'll be fine."
As the beautiful goddess speaks, it is all Bran can do to keep his jaw from dropping.
Son of another house? How did I understand the Godstongue? Wait, how do I even know that that's what she was speaking?! Jesus, this whole god-thing's... real.
Okay, existential crises later. We've got more immediate concerns.
Bran's heavy brow knits with fury at Haxor's display of cruelty. Illusions? Threats? Or can he actually make his will reality? He seems to be paying quite a cost regardless.
Hashtag, if you can see where Whippoorwill and that woman are, can you reach them?
I will try to keep this miscreant occupied.
With that, Bran bounds into the fray, jabbing with Gae-Dearg to threaten Haxor and steal his focus, For all your power, your frame is but mortal! but mainly using the spear to shield himself against the worst of Haxor's attacks.
Bioshock's head is spinning at the crazy direction things have taken. In the few moments since he's arrived here, he's been nearly blown up and subsequently saved by some dude that materialized out of nowhere, only for that guy to disappear just as suddenly as he appeared. Hashtag apparently knows the bad guy, who apparently goes by Haxor and apparently has something against Hashtag and the girl with swords for wings. Okay, so that's Wingblade. Vick never mentioned the pink hair, though. The armor squad seems to be acquainted too, judging by the weirdo language they're speaking. On second glance, he recognizes Bran the Blessed. He'd been keeping tabs on Bran since Bronwyn had gushed about him, and the armored warrior had been attracting notice in certain parts of the Web that Bioshock liked to frequent. But who's the other girl?
Details are less important than action at times like this. Whatever was going on here, one thing was exceedingly obvious - Whipporwill and Blink were in trouble. Bran seems to get that too, and his question for Hashtag gives Bioshock an idea. Following Bran's cue, he blatantly ignores the geek's offer, he juices his adrenaline and makes a break for it. All I need is some skin-to-skin... Sprinting at Haxor from the side, he tackles him and holds on tight while he floods the other boy's nervous system with micro-currents, trying to access memories of the victims' locations.
"Revenge? You attacked us," Wingblade begins, but her voice falters as she sees the display of Whippoorwill captured and in a clichéd deathtrap. Her face becomes a mask as she focuses on the image, absorbing details like she was taught.
When you assess the situation before entering into a fight, you may ask one additional question, even on a miss.
Her eyes narrow as she glares at Haxor. "Make us squirm? What are you--" her question is cut off by Bran charging in and waving his spear around, only to be followed up by the Green Hood with a diving tackle.
She stays ready to move, mind still processing what she learned.
Vick was feeling pretty bad already. Now... Now Haxxor was trying to threaten him with his mother's death. And Whipporwill, who is like a mother to Shayera. He... cared about her? Either way. Letting her die would be a loss to the whole city.
"Look, Haxxor... I've been game to throw down with you. Really, I have. You got neat abilities and a fun attitude and I really think we could have got along any other life." Hashtag says, pushing off the wall and walking calmly towards him. He notes Bioshock and Bran moving in and his eyes narrow.
"So I'm going to make this clear. I am sorry." he says with a tremble in his voice. "I'm not very good at this so I might mess it up."
Vick pulls out a handful of large industrial nails from his jacket pocket and sends them with a sharp CRACK.
[dice=Danger "Directly Engage a Threat"]2d6[/dice]
"Child, you have harmed a great many people for no cause. My father has sent me here to seek reunion with your people, but such joyous tidings seem to be overshadowed by those who have abilities greater than their normal man, yet lack the responsibility of what those abilities mean."
"I guess what I mean to say is: What is your true motive here?"
For all her attempts to "see what lies beneath" (as her grandfather would put it), Skuld truly still had much to learn about Humans.
Haxor deftly leaps backward as Bran the Blessed enters the fray, and though he is dodging direct contact with the mythic spear, his attention is taken.
Bioshock quickly capitalizes on the opening Bran provides and manages to juice his body to close the gap that would break records for normal humans. One touch, and Bioshock forces two commands into Haxor's body, remember the locations and copy signals to Bioshock. It is a strange feeling, having someone's memories flood your brain, but Bioshock catches glimpses of some kinda pill in Haxor's shaky hands, swallowing it, slowly losing balance and falling to the floor, then an unimaginable amount of euphoria... an intoxicating amount, even if this is a memory. The memories jump forward, and you see the train manifest, two trains running today, through Halycon city on the other end of the megalopolis. One is making stops at the local suburbs while the other is on a straight track to the coast. As for Whipporwill, strangely, you get a sense of immediacy, one that indicates she's somewhere in Halcyon City. What does it mean....
Wingblade, before the screen phases out of existence you notice two key details. You see the amount of frothing of water in the container is completely wrong for the bay, saltwater is flooding into the container, not freshwater. There are no natural saltwater bodies of water in Halcyon City. As for Blink, you notice she's a much more remote area, probably further out of the city. You catch the image of a water tower in the area, most likely belonging to a suburb, of which Halcyon city has three. There is something clearly unhinged about Haxor right now, he isn't his usual pompous self and seems more eager for actual harm than proving superiority. That fastest way to end this would be to get rid of yourself and Hashtag, at least move away from here, but he would most likely follow with a fury.
Hashtag's attack goes off and with a scream of pain Haxor's hands were dripping blood. Hashtag, seeing the actual harm you caused and with your own description, take the condition guilty for trying this attack, since you didn't choose to avoid blows.
Thor girl is blind to Haxor's motives if they are hidden away and not what he truly portrays.
"It's all your fault" he yells in anger. "I'll kill you! I'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkilly ouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkil lyou"
His eyes don't even seem to see you anymore, and his yelling doesn't stop as he lifts his twitching hands and keeps muttering, his hands slowly begin to digitize into bits of material data, warps into energy, you can his nose begin to bleed ( a common side effect of him troubleshooting reality code until he gets the result he wants). But finally the blue ball of energy above him turns purple, and it pulses wildly as two blasts of energy shoot off from it and slam into Wingblad and Hashtag.
Wingblade when the light hits, you don't' feel any sort of force, but almost immediately you begin to change. It's frightening, it's tearing you up inside, as you watch this metamorphosis take place.
Hashtag, the light hit's you and the world becomes a blur. It's an unthinkable nightmare, one you never hope to happen, but now its a reality and it's not stopping.
Both of you gain Afraid or Hopeless ,whichever is more applicable.
The pulsing purple orb of energy is still feeding off Haxor's body, and as it pulls more of him inside it, begins to glow brighter again.
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Grudge matches are all about ego, Whippoorwill had told her once. Let go of yours, and other solutions open up.
Haxor appeared much more unstable, and his focus clearly was on Hashtag and herself. If they could satisfy his need to avenge his perceived slight, they could potentially end this fight before he caused more damage. That meant swallowing her own pride and falling back, which would also serve to give them more time to rescue Blink and Whippoorwill.
She was about to tell Vick to retreat -- she had an idea they could find Blink first, then possibly use her to help them find Whippoorwill -- when Haxor blasts them both with a strange energy.
Her wings go dead on her back. They splay out, hanging heavily behind her and she slams hard into the earth. She flails her arms wildly, trying to push herself to her feet but her wings are a dead weight. After a desperate surge of panic, she twists around to get upright while her blades dig deep furrows in the ground.
No, no, I need to fly, to save Whip! How can I help her when my wings won't move!"
Vick grits his teeth as he sees the bloody result of his action.
Vick goes to give a snappy comeback, but finds himself underwater. In the Halcyon city aquarium. He startled, grabs at his throat, but vanishes again before he could start drowning. His mind wasn't selecting targets, but something was doing that for him. Mother fudger! Stop hacking my powers!
Bran looks on with a grim fury at Haxor's cruelties.
No more.
Earlier, despite his warning to the contrary, Bran had taken what care he could not to grievously injure Haxor, but as his blood ran hot, he took less and less care with the villain.
Not distracted enough. I hope that purple orb is just powering him, and not like his soul or something, but I can't let him continue this.
Bran feints to the left before violently hurling himself the other direction, vaulting over a delivery truck to come up from Haxor's blindside. And plunges Gae-Dearg into the orb.
Something's. Wrong.
Bioshock's hands start to shake as the remembered euphoria washes over him. He's never felt anything like it! Whoa-ho-ho! That's some good shit! It makes it hard to focus on anything, and he has to force himself to focus on the task at hand, but he makes a quick mental note of the changes in his blood chemistry the memories create before letting go. We're gonna save that little recipe for later.
The memories themselves weren't clear images. They leave impressions of facts and ideas, just a jumble of electrical information being processed by his medial temporal lobe. By the time he finally has a firm grip on the new memories, Haxor is babbling like a madman, Hashtag is gone, and Wingblade is scrambling wildly on the ground.
While Bran fights with Haxor's energy orb, Bioshock sprints back over to Wingblade to try to help her up. "Give me your hand," he says, trying to hoist her to her feet, but even with the metal wings she's heavier than he expected, and he needs another dose of adrenaline to get her up. "Where'd Hashtag go?" he asks. But before Wingblade has a chance to answer, he's spitting out everything he learned about Whipporwill and Blink. "I got some of Haxor's memories, but they were scattered. I don't know where Blink is, but there are two trains running. One's going to the coast, the other's making stops in the 'burbs. Whipporwill is somewhere here in the city!"
"It's not too late here. There is no reason for violence. Who has harmed you so?" says Skuld as the orbs slam into both Wingblade and Hashtag.
"Very well then, let us resolve this as warriors."
As she says that, the winds begin rising up around her, causing her to rise into the sky next to Haxor. As she reaches his height, she will reach out and hug him.
With a surge of strength, Wingblade pushes herself to her feet but her wings are still slack behind her. The Green Hoodie's touch sends her pulse racing and has her wired. What is the matter with me?! She wonders as her eyes dart around wildly and she gasps for breath.
She turns to face Haxor, but something the hoodie-wearing hero (who smells familiar -- someone else at school with powers, most likely?) says to her makes her pause. Her head whips back to him, eyes wide. "What do you mean, Whip's in the city? She's being drowned in salt water!"
Her mind works fast, guessing that if hood-guy was right, then Whip's most likely location would be at the Halcyon City Aquarium. Blink's location was a bit trickier, but it should be a matter of flying high enough to spot the water tower she saw on the screen.
Desperately, she tries to get her leaden wings to move. "I think I know where they are, but it's hopeless! I can't fly!" She tugs again at the limp blades hanging off her back.
Eli frowns as Wingblade proves powerless to move her own wings. "That's not good," he says, with rather less concern than the situation might warrant. "Here, let me check something." Before Wingblade can refuse, Eli's hand is on her shoulder and he sends a quick burst of electricity through her system. It tingles just a little as he maps Wingblade's CNS. "Alright, good news - you're not broken. Bad news - for some reason your brain can't stimulate the muscles that control your wings. Good news - we can get around that."
There's no time to explain himself or his plan to Wingblade. If they were going to save Whipporwill and Blink, they needed to move now! "Wingblade, I know you don't know me, but I'm a friend of Hashtag's. Do you trust me?"
The next thing she knows, the strange blockage is gone, and Wingblade can move her wings freely.
Bran the Blessed plunges his mystic weapon into the pulsating orb of reality-altering energy. It pierces through the glass like shell, and the resulting explosion blows him back with a wave of that powerful violet energy. He Takes a Powerful Blow.
Thor Girl, perhaps trying to stay true to her mission, attempts a token of acceptance to quell the raging storm. But her attempt is refused, as Haxor flees from her grasp.
"Get away from me!" he demands, his voice shifting to a sort of digital filter, a stereo that is subtly out of sync.
Bioshock makes a rash decision, but thankfully it pays off. It isn't a complete success, but he is able to temporarily reactivate Wingblade's powers.
Haxor turns to Thor Girl.
"You aren't even human are you?" he asks her. "Go back to where you belong!"
With the purple orb destroyed, Haxor channels even more into his being, his arms up to his shoulders, and suddenly a large gate that appears to be made of old runic stone and wood rises from the ground. The empty circle begins to swirl, and a chorus of valkyries can be heard as Thor Girl finds herself being slowly dragged towards the opening by its unearthly pull.
A friend of Hashtag's? Seriously? she thinks wildly, forcing away rampant speculation about what he's been doing while he was avoiding her for later. He clamps his hand on her back and somehow her wings twitch to life again.
Their movement returns just in time, because she sees Bran get caught in a huge backlash of energy from the purple ball. Sick of seeing friends around her hurt, she immediately reacts. In a metallic blur, Wingblade flings herself across the battlefield and slashes across the violet wave of energy. Her wings fanned out in a shieldlike configuration, she tries to deflect the energy away from the Welsh legend.