Current Energy: 18
Current Training: Dragon Warrior (5/10) Cost 5 to Complete.
Wednesday, January 12th, 2011
Archers Bridge, Brockton Bay
"Wait ok, I've got it. Look just - tell me your power. Or Part of it. I swear we won't tell anyone else." You say hurriedly, raising your hands in a warding gesture towards Muscles.
"That's not really as reassuring as you probably think it is." Muscles states flatly, then continues; "I don't really have a reason to trust you guys. Taylor you seem nice but-"
"You do! I don't have a secret identity. I can't afford to piss people off everywhere I go, the gangs are already coming for me. My Dad..." Taylor responds sharply, trailing off in pensive thought before clearing her throat and continuing.
"My Dad's all I have left. I'm an open Cape in Brockton Bay. I stand by everything I say. I don't break trust. I won't break a promise." Taylor declares confidently. Ah, there she goes again, saying a bunch of heroic cool guy stuff with all that intensity like she's about to march into the sunset and I fight an army with her bare hands. You've noticed it before, but your Master has a special kind of charisma when she manages to shake off her blank outer shell and showcase that determination she keeps just below the surface. She says things that would otherwise sound very canned, or fake, but that coming from her you can't help but believe. It's not a power, not really, but it is something special about the person named Taylor Hebert that you wish the girl herself would notice someday.
Muscles stares at her pensively for a few seconds before scratching his head and sighing as if unable to deal with your Master's firm look.
"...I'm a personal biokinetic. I can rearrange my body at will. It's why I can move when I'm, you know, like this." He says, gesturing to his body, which looks like the result of years of steroids made manifest.
"Ohohohoh that is so cooooool!" You crow, then stop when your Master coughs slightly into one hand while looking askance at you.
"Oh. Right. Okay let me give you a taste of the Dragon Warrior~" You say forcefully, marching towards the other man.
"Uhuh..." He says doubtfully.
"Alright first, punch me. Right here." You say, pointing at your stomach. "Hard as you can."
"You know I have Super Strength right? I can lift cars." He points out, eyeing you like you might be a lunatic.
"Don't sweat that kinda stuff. We're learning Kung Fu man! Just punch me! Come on, do it!" You shoot back.
Still looking at you dubiously, Muscles eventually takes a boxing stance and shoots a straight towards your belly with all his might. You give it a B. His forms okay but nothing to write home about.
You yourself, take only a single step back from the blow.
It is probably worth noting at this point, that you, in fact, a bipedal bear. A panda bear yes, but still a bear. The moment Muscles fist impacts against you, your entire body shifts, your fatty tissue absorbing the first of the kinetic energy and giving you time to twist your hips and flex your calves in just such a way as to disperse the force of the blow into the ground behind you.
Not that an amateur would be able to see that. Overall it should just look like you are very, very, durable. Which is fine, since you are presently making a point.
"Okay, so, I give it a 4 outta 10. No offence." You say as Muscles furrows his brow and looks at his fist as if unsure of why you are still standing.
"You've got a Brute power too I guess?" He asks.
"Nah. I'm just fat." You explain, before leaning forward to poke him in a bunch of muscle groups.
"Can you change these? Punch me again, but when you do, step forward with this foot, while pressing down on the other-" You start, pointing at a bunch of places and miming steps for him. All things told, what you are showing him is a relatively simple series of movements that you have thrown together from a half dozen styles you know. Using Monkey Style as the basis, you weave in a few tricks that other styles use, but that only someone with a supposedly variable biology could possibly use, explaining each trick as you go.
It takes twenty minutes, and Muscles seems highly dubious as to the effectiveness of all the changes, as his body swells and shifts in equal measure. Still, you eventually find yourself once more in a position to be struck.
"Ready?" You say, bracing yourself for a hit you probably should just avoid.
"Sure..." Muscles drawls.
Then he springs forward, and you can see the Machine that is his body engaging all that you have taught it. The difference between the strength of the blows is like night and day, and despite the fact that you might be able to diffuse most of the force if you used some Chi to enhance your efforts, you take it head-on.
Well. Belly on.
Still, the moment his palm impacts you, you find yourself flying backwards through the air, rebounding off of the wall of a building adjacent to the one you are standing on, and rolling to a stop at your Master's feet like some kind of demented rag doll. A loud whipcrack noise rings out as it happens.
"Emmy?!" Taylor cries out, leaning over to check on you.
"I'm good. I'm good." You say weakly, pulling yourself to a standing position.
"What the hell was that?" Muscles asks incredulously.
"I wanna call it Conquering Buddha's Palm! It's soooo cool! I never thought I would find anyone who could do it! Oh man this is gonna be so awesome! We can call it... Human Style? No that's weird, your all Human..." You shout, then trail off in a muttering fit that leaves your Master shouldering you up in exasperation.
"I'm... not calling it that." Muscles says after a moment, only now slowly stepping back and out of the position he was in when he hit you.
"So?" Taylor asks hopefully.
"So what? I have to go to the PRT Headquarters tomorrow for Power Testing and then they want me to meet the Wards." He says with a shrug.
"But you said-!" Your Master says angrily.
"I'll let you know my decision after I see the Wards. Even if I wanted to join you, they PRT knows my identity so..." He trails off with a shrug.
"...Fine." Your Master huffs, returning to her sullen, much less charismatic self.
Thursday, January 13th, 2011
Winslow High School, Brockton Bay
School that day is mostly fine. In fact, it's almost disturbingly peaceful. Your Master doesn't outright order you to patrol for anything untoward - probably because she'd get in trouble if she was too open or forceful about it - but you spend a majority of your time wandering about the school attempting to locate trouble anyway if only to ease your own peace of mind.
Defending the school gate was technically the first order your Master ever gave you after all. Almost everything else has been of your own will.
Things continue largely apace with like that, until the afternoon, when you usually join your Master for her brief talks with Greg, which you are about to do, until your Master contacts you herself.
'Emmy? Have you seen Greg? He hasn't come to class.' She asks you worriedly.
'No? Hang on, I'll do a lap around the place.' You answer diligently and proceed to do so. It is an unfortunate fact that you can't be in two places at once, and so, it is entirely possible that some nefarious deed has slipped past your awareness.
Unfortunately, your thoughts on the matter appear to be right, as you eventually come upon a bank of lockers that have a huge windmill shape spray painted upon them. One of the lockers - which you recognize as Greg's, is jerking slightly, shaking periodically while someone attempts to make their way out.
"Hello? Look I get it- I'm a retard and I should mind my betters! Guys!?" You can hear Greg faintly calling from within the box.
You barely even think about the repercussions. You appear in the blink of an eye and, as you had for Taylor weeks ago, apply a blinding flurry of blows to the handle of the locker, bending it enough that you can wedge a paw into the crack a d wrench the door off.
Greg comes tumbling out, though you note that he isn't covered of in offal or otherwise injured. If anything he looks fairly resigned.
'Master. I found Greg.' You state sourly.
'Is he okay?' She asks you worriedly.
You are about to answer when Greg stands up, and shoots you a shaky smile.
"Thanks. You're Taylors power right?" He asks you curiously.
"Yeah. You all right there?" You ask, not questioning why he recognizes you when you're fairly certain nearly no one knows you've changed from your previous psychopathic form. You assume Taylor told him. Or that he's very smart.
You're pretty sure it's the former rather than the latter though.
"Could you um... not tell Taylor about this?" He asks quietly, in a small voice. You raise an eyebrow at him.
"It's just, you know, I think I might be Lois Lane." Greg explains forlornly.
"...What." You say flatly.
"It's an old comic book from Earth Aleph. There's this guy - Superman? He has a whole bunch of powers and always saves the day and - uh... anyway he's got this girl... this friend! That people tend to kidnap because they know it'll bait him." Greg explains plainly, frowning in thought.
"...And you don't want Master's help with this... why?" You ask entirely perplexed.
"Because..! If Taylor gets mad and uses her powers here they might expel her! And then I'll be alone here!" He jumps up, yelling at you.
You consider the statement. He's... not wrong. Your Master didn't exactly learn a whole bunch of restraint when she was with previous 'You'. Most of what she has now comes from her own impressive well of patience. But that well was running dry even before you were born so...
'He's fine. Just had to use the bathroom.' You answer placatingly.
You resolve to keep an eye on Greg when you're at school, regardless.
Thursday, January 13th, 2011
The Boardwalk, Brockton Bay
After school that day, you are still contemplating the question of what to do with Greg when your Master decides that her relative 'success' with Muscles is enough of a push to do the rounds and meet the other Capes on her list.
She starts with Parian, who is surprisingly easy to just walk up to in the afternoons. You would guess it makes sense - the girl does puppet shows on the boardwalk for children, children that no doubt have school, which means that your Master is almost guaranteed to be able to find her provided she goes to the right location.
The afternoon is bright, and the mood of the people in the Boardwalk area is surprisingly upbeat considering the overall sense of a looming gang war the rest of the city seems to be feeling. Children run back and forth while their parents watch on, and mean in dark suits patrol the area for trouble.
In deference to the kind of panic your Master says a sentient Panda would cause in the area, you have chosen to stay in your Spirit Form unless something happens. Your Master, having come straight here from school, fits right in with the crowd, even if her clothes aren't quite as expensive looking as everyone elses.
As you meander upon the Boardwalk, occasionally shooting looks of admiration out over the Bay towards the huge superhero base that is apparently situated over it, your Master picks her way towards a slowly dispersing crowd of onlookers.
In their center is a girl wearing an old victorian dress, with a porcelain mask and a blonde wig situated atop her head. She is politely chatting with a small handful of people who have apparently chosen to stay past her shows end while she packs away her various dolls and props.
Your Master waits patiently for the crowd to disperse before approaching.
"Hi. Um... Parian right?" She asks the other girl cautiously.
"Yes. Can I help you? I'm afraid I'm quite unable to take new commissions right now." Parian answers immediately, in a business-like but not unkind tone. If you had to guess, you imagine a lot of teenage girls probably approach her for help with superpowered haute couture.
"What about costumes?" Your Master asks curiously, causing Parian to freeze in place as if processing.
"A-are you perhaps an intermediary for a Cape friend?" Parian asks hurriedly, her eyes darting across the surrounding crowd as though in warning.
"No. I'm a Cape." Your Master says conversationally, either missing or completely disinterested in the unspoken warning.
"I... see... are you with New Wave?" She asks after a little while, returning to the packaging of her things.
"No, I was... I was actually hoping to start a new team. For rogues and independents. So we can stand together against-" Taylor begins animatedly only to be cut off.
"I'm not interested, sorry," Parian states, some slight frigidness edging into her voice.
"That's okay! I was just... I just wanted to tell you that I'm here. Um. If you ever need help or anything." Taylor says lamely. She cringes slightly when Parian turns slightly to look at the Protectorate Headquarters out over the bay and then back to her as if asking what help she could possibly give.
"Thank you for your concern but I am not presently interested in a career in law enforcement. If you leave me your contact information I would be happy to find the time to talk to you about your costume - but I have to be going now." the doll-like girl states, finishing what she was doing and beckoning the two animated stuffed animals behind her to help pull the two massive suitcases her stage is packed away in.
"I... uh... yeah..." Taylor says weakly, telling the girl the number for her burner phone before watching her walk away.
'That could have gone better.' You point out.
'Let's just go to the next one.' Taylor says dejectedly.
Thursday, January 13th, 2011
Abandoned Trainyard, Brockton Bay
The trainyard is an area that you have heard much about, but have yet to actually see. A curious side effect of their adjacency to the Docks, and therefore, the Dockworkers Association. When Taylor and her Father were originally researching the area, it was noted that what passed as the trainyard nowadays actually gave access to a large portion of the northern part of the city, where the rails from the station originally were meant to travel in order to bring goods to the dockyards.
It was also noted, that the sheer number of scrapped or abandoned trains in the area meant that getting any aspect of the yard up and running again would be... difficult.
You can see what Danny meant by that now. This area you walk into looks more like a junkyard than a trainyard. Huge chunks of scrap metal lay spread throughout the area, empty train containers lay rusted to the tracks, with some of them tipped over to lay on their sides in the middle of the yard. The singular building, which you assume would have been used to switch tracks for incoming trains, is a dilapidated heap, with the roof of one of its sections almost entirely caved in.
'What a dump.' You say with the mental equivalent of a whistle.
'Just another victim of the riots. No one wanted to maintain it for free, and by the time anyone realized how bad things would get without it, it was too late.' Taylor answers sadly, apparently intimately familiar with the history of the area.
The two of you continue to travel through the trainyard in relative silence, picking your way through a path that seems to have been manually made in the otherwise disorganized piles of debris and scrap here. As you make your final approach towards the old Engine house, you begin to hear the faint sound of talking in the distance, and without thinking overmuch about it, decide to scout ahead.
Quickly ghosting through several empty containers, you come upon what looks like your target, conversing with two other people. One was a pink skinned midget with a too large nose and a sickly complexion who appeared to be barely paying attention to the conversation. The other was... well, if you had to describe him in a single sentence you'd probably just say 'Drug Addict' and leave it at that. He was a tall gangly black man wearing cut up pieces of a blue tarp over his head as a mask, and over his shoulders as a cape. The rest of his attire was more or less just plain clothes, though with a neon blue shirt that hurt the eyes to look at. Across from the pair, was what you could only really describe as a sentient train engine. Titanic metal limbs covered in rivets and welded steel plates made up the majority of his body. A round, acne covered face with its hair drawn back in a ponytail sat atop the hulking machine, nearly dwarfed by its own body, with its eyes covered with makeshift welding goggles.
"-fucking cum sucking chinks are done, man. Stalker and that new Cape she's with got Oni Lee last night. You think inde-fucking-pendents are gonna exist after this man? Those Empire fucks are gonna roll over the city like a fuckin' plague now that there ain't no chance of Lung getting out. You're either with us, or you're with them. Now, which is it." The man in the blue tarp mask spits acerbically.
Your target, the metal man, as it were, hums pensively at the ultimatum.
'Master?' You ask, knowing she's been watching the entire exchange through your eyes.