[2E] Freedom City Iron Age (IC)

[Gilliam]

It has been over a year since the Moore Act was introduced into law outlawing costumed heroes and according to reports issued by City Hall and Police Commissioner Alquist Freedom City has never been safer. Recorded crime stats are at their lowest for over a decade and although there are still a number of vigilantes or crazed murderous vigilantes like Archer roaming loose, authorities are confident that they will soon be off the streets and receiving the help they so obviously need.

Yet away from the bright lights and in the shadows it is a different story as areas of Freedom City like the Fens, Greenbank or Southside have become no go areas and in combination with the unseasonably chilly weather there is a general malaise over the city. Street violence and drug use is rising and the new drug Meta has become the drug of choice on the party scene, rumours abound of some users been literally “bullet proof” after trying it.

For one reason or another you have decided to try and make a difference in Freedom City.

Okay intro time can you give me an introductory post of your character’s activity on a typical Friday night

[FuzzyBoots]

Pretty Deadly
HP: 2
Status: Normal

It's been a fairly quiet night, Aika thought to herself as she ducked around the corner to avoid poisonous fiend spit, Pretty much the usual, really. She spun away from the wall and dove out into the open, twin Desert Eagle handguns materializing in her hands and firing dozens of times in a deafening cacophany. Several of the shots spwanged off of the pink gorilla demon's force field, but others punched fist-sized hole in its carcass that spurted neon-pink blood from the exit wounds. Aika landed in a smooth roll and leapt up to the roof on the other side as the demon roared its defiance in a high-pitched voice and clawed at the entrance holes as if to try to wipe them out of existence. Its eyes rolled upwards into the dazzle of the streetlights. Its roar ceased, leaving a sudden silence as it peered up into the city sky. An inky blot formed within the light.

Before the creature could react, Aika had landed on top of it, staggering it back as she tightened her legs around its neck and repeatedly stabbed its face with a glowing bowie knife. The creature yowled high and long, crazing the windows to either side of it, then crumpled. Aika looked down at the red mess that used to be its face and spat on it.
"That's for making me spend my night doing pro bono work," she snarled in faintly accented tones as she rose to a standing position, camouflage fuku shedding the blood as she rose. She opened her hand, letting the knife fade from existance and cast her hand out over the monster, sprinkling copious amounts of a greyish powder over it.
"Ashes to ashes," she said before taking two steps backwards and snapping her fingers, causing the thermite to ignite, rapidly reducing the creature to ashes and leaving a bubbling cavity in the asphalt below it. She sighed as she watched it burn. Not much contract work lately... no one wants to hire anyone with a costume right now, even though none of the things that go bump in the night care about the Moore Act. Just my luck that youma seek me out unprovoked like this. Heh, none of those magical pests to oppose them, so I guess I'm all they got. She shook her head and leapt smoothly onto a nearby rooftop and started jogging back home.
Let's go home and get some sleep. Long day of retail tomorrow. Being able to summon magical guns kicks ass, but it does shit to pay for bills. As she rapidly roof-hopped through the city, Aika kept her eyes and ears open, but didn't expect much. It was, after all, a fairly quiet night.

[Ysariel]

Skylark
Condition: Normal / HP: 1

There was an alarm on the window. From her utility belt she removed a suction cup, stuck it to the windowpane, then took out a glass-cutter and cut a hole in the glass. Using the suction cup, she carefully removed the circle of glass, reached in, disabled the alarm's sensor and lifted the pane of glass. The security camera some distance away continued casting a watchful eye over the back alley, its servo motor jammed such that it conveniently missed all the action.

Balanced on the window ledge, she listened carefully for signs of people. The hallway beyond was dark, the sensors in her mask switching to infrared automatically. From downstairs came the heavy beat of techno and the roar of a crowd partying away. Nobody was in sight; she hopped in, latched the window shut and drew the curtains so that the hole could not be seen. Then she darted behind a corner, out of sight of anyone coming down the hallway.

As she did so she tripped the infrared motion sensor watching the window. The wail of the siren filled the hallway, quickly followed by heavy footsteps approaching. The alarm cut out as one of the club's bruisers slapped it off. "For ----'s sake," he swore under his breath, footsteps receding. "Dozenth time tonight."

Safely hidden in the darkness, Skylark grinned.

She found the office quickly. The high-security lock on the office door stalled her for much longer, but she eventually defeated that, as well. Once inside, Skylark locked the door behind her and started ransacking the office - quietly - for clues. There's got to be something that will tell me where they're getting their Meta from and point me at the bosses behind this operation. If anyone's got their hands on Dad, it's got to be them.

The Falcon had gone dark for a little more than a week. The Aerie was in shutdown, its arsenal of high-tech weaponry unused. Had he simply decided to give up everything related to his crimefighting days - including her? The notion that he might even consider it broke her heart. It just didn't seem like the father she knew and loved.

Was he in the clutches of one old enemy or another, holding out under torture or being kept hostage for some evil purpose? Had he, in despair, drunk himself into the grave or got himself killed?

Skylark hoped it was not the former. And she fervently, desperately hoped it was not the latter.

So capture was the assumption she was going with, and if anyone could catch the Falcon it would have to be one of his old foes in Freedom City. Who knew, he might've even got himself captured investigating the wave of Meta taking the city by storm. Hang in there, Dad, she thought, flipping through files and documents, records of bribes given and dope received. I'm coming for you.

[baixiwei]

Gun Girl
HP: 1, Conditions: None

Night in Freedom City. Not a good time to be on the streets in the wrong part of town. From the rooftops, Alice looked down into an alley where a young blonde woman was finding that out firsthand. A muscular, scarred guy that Alice assumed was either the woman's pimp, her boyfriend, or her dealer was alternating between cursing at her and slapping her around. Alice tried to detach herself from events like these - to hide her natural sympathy behind a facade of contempt for weakness - but she could never forget that once she had been the weak one. The plaything and, later, tool in the hands of the unscrupulous and powerful. This scene in the alley - it was her life, writ small.

As Alice dropped soundlessly to the ground behind the man, he was in the process of pulling a switchblade on the young woman. <Blam!> The man screamed in pain, staring in shock at the hand - now just a bloody mess of shattered bone and torn tendon - that had been holding the knife. He spun around to face Alice.

"I could have just hit the knife if I wanted to. Just like in the old movies."

The man reached under his vest with his good hand, fumbling for a gun. <Blam!> The man stumbled back and fell to his knees, a bullet hole smoking in his vest, the metal of his own gun visible through it. The gun itself had been ruined by Alice's shot.

"See?" She smiled a bit maliciously. "Run along now, before I use you for target practice." She pointed at the man's crotch with the barrel, a thin trail of smoke drifting upwards from it. Still whining from the pain of his ruined hand, the man half stumbled, half ran out of the alley.

The woman Alice had saved was scrabbling around on the ground for something. With disgust Alice saw, before she did, the little packet of capsules that was her goal. It had been her dealer then. Or maybe pimp. Or boyfriend. Anything went these days. <Blam!> Her shot smashed the woman's prize and sent her skittering away on hands and knees, like a rat, eyes wide with fear.

Alice started to say something, but then realized she had nothing to say. Most problems could be solved with a gun. But not this one. She turned away silently, reaching the roof with a few concise leaps from ground to fire escape to window sill to roof gutter to rooftop, and continued her patrol.

[kenseido]

Enforcer
HP: 2

Andrés rode his motorcycle down the street, his black leather coat flapping in the wind. He couldn't help but think how this area in the Southside would have been his beat. What a difference a year make.

He rolled up on the side street where the buy was taking place. Cops selling guns. Few things could disgust him more - except maybe a dirty judge sweeping it all under the carpet. It's like they were in Bizzaro world.

He looked around the corner. The gang bangers were there, but not the cops. Crooked cops were always layte to these things. They figured they were untouchable. Andrés had "touched" more than a few of them in the past few months.

He looked on and somethign was wrong. The gang bangers didn't look upset, or anxious, or anything. They looked like...

The red dot caused him to move before the shot rang out from the rooftops. Diving away from his bike, he didn't watch as the bullet took a large chunk of brick out of the wall. Instead, he was rolling to his feet, his gauntlets already materializing "pistols" as he looked along the rooftops for the sniper. His eyes locked on his target form behind his goggles, and he dove out of the line of fire, this time returning fire as he did. The energy bolts flew, hitting both sniper and the ledge he was crouched behind.

Andrés looked down towards the gang members. Like good bait, they were already on their way out of here. Well at least he didn't have to worry about them. A single sniper wasn't all they were going to have. Sure enough a van cut off one street and several motorcyles came charging from the other side. Andrés opened fire on the van, keeping the passengers inside, as he moved towards his own bike. Hopping on, he quickly started it and took off down the side street towards where the gang had been waiting. Probably what they wanted, but he needed some room to maneuver.

No sooner had that thought passed through his head than another van pulled in front of the sidestreet, attempting to pen him in. He brought forth another blaster from hsi gauntlet and opened fire on the van, taking out not only the front tire, but the whole wheel. The gap between the van and building was tight, but he gunned the accelerator and went through with only a scrape.

The two riders following him weren't as skilled; one slammed hard into the van while the other didn't even attempt it. Andrés rode off down the street, as the passengers in the van fired wildly and cursed him. A half smile formed as he headed for his next stop: the house of a judge for whom he has a very unflattering cassette tape to listen to.

[badpenny]

Nighthawk

"Setekh-ra! Setekh namekh kore RA!" The chant was at fever pitch. Nighthawk stood in the shadows watching the cult, with their daggers raised, call forth something for which they were not ready for. He cast a hand over the scene and wove a revealing spell. He mumbled the ancient words and made the signs and the magicks at work were uncloaked to his eyes.

The font of blood they prayed over began to bubble and hiss. The disciples in their circle blocked his view of the table over which they prayed. Another spell made their forms transparent and a sacrifice came into view. She writhed on the stone table. She had cuts down her arms and her blood was draining out into channels carved into the rock.

Nighthawk leaped out into open space, tucked into a ball and then with outstretched legs landed on to the cult leader's shoulders with tremendous force. The man was driven down hard into the stone table and his jaw was all but ripped off with the impact. The cult members were taken in surprise and they, as a group, backpedaled and as they quickly regained their wits, shouted in outrage at Nighthawk's disruption of their precious ritual.

A cult member with dagger held high came at Nighthawk. Nighthawk blocked it with his boot, and then like a powerful piston extended once again into the man's face.

There was little he could do for the victim while the cult members surrounded him. Another one stabbed at his legs and Nighthawk easily leaped clear, then came down on the man's arm driving the blade against the stone and breaking bone. Blood splashed on his boots. He finished the man off with an elbow. Nighthawk leaped clear of the stone table and the dagger-wielding cultists persued him. Now he had room to work. He could have easily fought them balancing on the table, but with the woman's wounds already so egregious, if he wanted a chance to save her life, she could suffer no more injuries.

He was in his element here. They came at him one at a time, in pairs, in force, and he batted them away like insects, sending them to the hard floor with broken limbs, collapsed tracheas, and traumatic brain injuries. But like insects, they continued to come. And as he began to feel the pressure that the victim had very little time left, at that very moment--like a wish--a cultist left his blood on Nighthawk's vambraces.

Blood. Fueled. Rage. It swept over him and he embraced it. He struck at the cultists and they dropped, cleaved in two, limbs littering the floor. He slashed down in motions resembling sword strikes, but there was no blade--only lines of invisible, razor-sharp mystical force. Blood was everywhere. It covered him. And then as the vambraces drank their fill, the blood pooled on his body and rivulets ran toward his forearms.

As the last cultist fell and the vambraces were sated, calm returned to him. Nighthawk sighed and then leaped toward the woman. She was near death. He made the sign and said the words. Glowing energy coalesced at his fingertips and flowed into the woman. He grunted as he took on her injuries, cuts opening in his own arms. He winced, but maintained his composure. If his focus lapsed, the spell matrix would fold and she would not survive.

Blood flowed from his open wounds into the waiting mouth of the vambraces. He grunted through the pain and waited for the woman's injuries to heal and life to return to her. Nighthawk had to strain to stop the vambraces from continuing to feed on his own blood, to maintain lucidity in the face of the agony. The woman was waking and remembering the cuts into her flesh. She ran her fingers over her arms in disbelief and recoiled in horror at the charnel house that she had awoken to.

As Nighthawk leaned against a wall to steady himself, he waved the woman off. "Go, leave this place." His voice was weak.

"You took on my wounds," she said. "Somehow you saved my life." She looked at all the dead cultists. "You made them pay." Where he expected revulsion, he heard none. "Good. I'm glad." She stared up at her faith. "He sent you, didn't he?"

Nighthawk shook his head. "No. There is nothing holy about me. Go. What they were summoning has fed on you and if you remain may yet control you. Leave while you can."

After she regained her equilibrium and left, Nighthawk remained. He rested and when he felt strong enough, he cast a spell to close his wounds and to unbind the blood in the font. He tested that the portal they had begun to open was properly sealed then set fire to the warehouse and from a safe distance watched it burn to the ground as dawn approached.

[Gilliam]

SKYLARK

As you quickly digest the various files and documents in the office you find your shorthand skills invaluable in jotting down notes for later. The beat from the club is a constant in the background and you almost find yourself humming along to the words from one of the current hits.

Hearing giggles from the corridor you pause as a feminine voice not much older than yourself tries to whisper “..really, on your bosses desk but what if he walked in” shaking your head in disgust as she sounds very drunk or high or probably both, you miss the response from her companion which sets of a fresh bout of giggles. Moving silently to the wall you wait as they try the door handle and discovering it locked move on with more giggles and whispering.

Heading back to your investigation you start to recognise several reoccurring themes addresses, names and dates then you hear heavy footsteps that stop outside the door to the office, without realising you freeze motionless not even drawing a breathe as the seconds drag out 10, 20 even as you get the sensation of fingers running up and down your spine you don’t move a muscle. After what felt like forever the footsteps move away and you take a deep breathe.

One address for a warehouse in the Greenbank area keeps popping up after Meta started to make an appearance in the city and shipments from this warehouse have been happening regularly on a Saturday night. Taking the address and the other bits of information albeit nothing mentioning Falcon, you easily make your way back to where you entered the building unseen.

As your cape unfolds you enjoy the sensation as you glide away, glancing back over your shoulder you swear that you see a silhouette in the window watching you but that is not possible as an updraft takes you out of sight of the club.


PRETTY DEADLY

As Aika moves from rooftop to rooftop nothing catches her eye until you spy a figure standing motionless on a rooftop you are heading towards. As the figure catches sight of you he waves a hand in invitation.

Unsure how to react you are tempted to just avoid the figure until you catch a closer sight of him and recognise that it is the reclusive underground rock star Rick Van Danski in his trade mark black gab and yes still wearing sunglasses even though it is the middle of the night.

With the minimal amount of effort you land on the same rooftop though about 20’ away just in case. Not saying a word Rick just looks at you and as the silence stretches out a small smile dances across his lips “Your efforts with the youma were very impressive young lady, very impressive. I never expected to see pink gorillas here in Freedom City but times have changed” he mused almost to himself and then slowly he takes an envelope out of his pockets and tosses it onto the ground between the two of you. “In there is an address for a warehouse where I am sure your talents will be very useful. The party will start about 10pm tomorrow night and there will be probably other guests invited as well” Rick says with a broader smile as he moves towards the edge of the building “Oh there is also a, well consider it a signing on bonus in the envelope as well” Rick continues as he steps off the building and falls from view.

Rushing over you don’t see any sign of Rick or a body just traces of the night mist that disperses in the breeze.


GUN GIRL

Making your way to the rooftops you continue your patrol the dealer and his girl had left as sour taste in your mouth. It didn’t take long before you realised that someone was following you, they were good but were they ad quick as you.

Picking up the pace you sense that you are outdistancing them when somehow you slip on a banana peel on top of a building, as you spend precious seconds regaining your balance and your feet the follower has found you.

A woman in her late 20s wearing a black jumpsuit approaches you with her hands out and away from the large guns sitting in their holsters. “Gun Girl” she asks as a question that she already knew the answer to and without a pause continues “you are too soft I would have shot that jerks jewels off one by one and made sure that there was one less dealer on the streets”

“In fact there is a party going down tomorrow night about 10pm at a warehouse not to far from the river” and she rattles off the address in Greenbank “a reliable source told me that it could be where they distribute Meta. Some of my associates are trying to invite some other players as well so make sure you shoot the right people” As she judges your reaction the woman starts to walk away “stopping the source of Meta will be much more useful than picking dealers off one by one even though that is much more fun” as she disappears into the night.


ENFORCER


Gunning your bike you weave your way through the sparse traffic as you recall your encounter with the judge. He had started off so arrogant and confidant “the police were on the way, he knew very important people in City Hall and so on” and then the cassette tape started playing. While you had expected a reaction you were still surprised as he started begging on his knees and then tears. Somehow you doubted that he would be a feature in the courts going forward.

Coming to a long empty straight you resist the urge to go full out and then out of the corner of your eye you notice a flash of something but then your attention is focused on trying to control your bike as the front wheel looses traction with an audible popping sound. After a hairy few seconds you bring the bike to a stop and start swearing as you notice that your front tyre is as flat as a pancake and then you notice the remains of what appears to be an arrow in the side of the tyre.

Without thinking you find yourself off the street and in a patch of shadow and your gauntlets have already formed into handguns as you scan the surroundings for anything unusual. Yet you see nothing until you hear a scrapping noise as another arrow almost skips along the ground near you, you are able to see that the arrow is blunt and that there is a note wrapped round it. Still keeping your eyes alert and gun at the ready you unwrap the note and quickly read what is written there. It is an address in Greenbanks and states that you may find it of interest as the fun starts at 10pm if you don’t like drug dealers.

As you digest the note another arrow comes to rest near you with a number of $50 notes wrapped round it. On one of the bills there is a note in angular writing “Sorry about the tyre”.


NIGHTHAWK

As you watch the flames take hold of the warehouse you notice another person watching the scene as well, as he becomes aware that you have notices him he moves forward to stand near you, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses even though it is the night he stands in silence just watching the scene and obviously not feeling the need to fill the night with unnecessary words.

You notice that he seems to have an unnatural pallor but you are confident that your skills and vambrances can deal with any threat he may pose to you.

As the flames die down and the false dawn starts to break the stranger finally starts to talk though almost more to himself “I would have thought that the fire department would be here by now but somehow I am not surprised. Cultists are a strange bunch though, did they really know what they were doing or even realised that if they succeeded they probably would have been next on the menu after the woman. Just crazy, you gave them a mercy that they did not deserve”

Turning to face you directly he continues “there is a warehouse here in Greenbanks [he rattles off an address] that is a source of drugs. While not cultists they are just as evil if not more so and your skills [glancing at your vambrances a cold smile crosses his lips] would be very useful in dealing with them. If you are interested be there round 10pm tomorrow night and well there could be other parties there as well”

Glancing at his watch he continues “It has been a long night and it is past time for my nap” flashing a pearly white smile he heads back into the shadows and seemingly vanishes into the early morning mist.

[badpenny]

Nighthawk

Hoyt watched the man approach and could tell by his body language that he was not a threat. He did find it strange that the man was here, now. After the man's...offer? Hoyt figured he'd been watched and was now being recruited. Very highly skilled to have remain unseen all this time. Hoyt recognized and appreciated skill when he met it. Also, he was intrigued. The warehouse at 10 it would be.

[kenseido]

Enforcer
HP: 2

Andrés cursed silently at the flat tire. 10pm? He might have just enough time to get the tire replaced. There was a 24 hour garage a few blocks away. They would overcharge him for the tire at this hour, but at least the archer, whoever he is, would be paying.

At the garage, the mechanic on duty started to make a big show of the damage, and how expensive "those" tires are, and so on. A flash of three fifties puts him right to work.

"What are you, headed for a costume party?"

"Something like that."

"Didn't figure I'd see anyone dressed up as a costume hero no more."

"Call me a traditionalist."

"Yeah, but least you could have picked someone like Centurion. At least people know who he is."

"Do I look Roman to you?"

The mechanic eyed the hispanic hero. "Yeah, you're probably right. Who you supposed to be anyway?"

"Enforcer."

"Really? Isn't there some vigilante called..."

The conversation is stopped by a junkie with a Saturday night special. "Wallets! Now!"

Andrés doesn't hesitate, a baton forms in his hand and rises up, striking the junkie's hand and sending the gun flying. As both the attacker and mechanic follow the gun along its flight behind Andrés, he forms a second baton. By the time the would-be mugger looks back at him, Andrés is ready to take his head off. A flinch sends the junkie running down the street.

The mechanic just stares at Andrés. He hands the mechanic the money.

"Keep it," he says, pushing the money back. As he turns to leave, Andrés drops the cash in the Jerry's Kids jar.

[FuzzyBoots]

Pretty Deadly
HP: 2
Status: Normal

Well, that's just damn peculiar. Aika scanned for further traces of the rock star and then walked back to the envelope. Rick Van Danski... something about rock and roll, right? He looked like he did in the pictures, but no idea if that's now he normally acts. Eh, what difference does it make anyhow? Wary of potential traps, he budged it with one boot. When nothing happened, she decided to throw caution to the winds. She scooped it up, summoned a knife, and slit it open, shaking out the contents onto her hand.

OOC: Knowledge (Popular Culture): (1d20+5=9) ^_^ Nope.

[baixiwei]

Gun Girl
HP: 1, Conditions: None

Huh. Mysterious benefactor, doing the detective work for me? Or am I still just an assassin, taking orders from random strangers now? Still ... couldn't hurt to show up. I'm the one who decides whether or not to pull the trigger.

Alice retired early, for her at any rate, to the tiny apartment she called home. She slept fitfully, dreaming of her days in the yakuza. She would wait, sequestered in a walled complex away from the modern world, her days filled only with practice, until the old man with the missing pinkie came with a folder containing a name, a photo, an address, a date, a time ... the old man's face merged with that of the woman from last night, her hand reaching out to give Alice a mission she could not refuse.

Sleep slipped into waking so gradually and tentatively that Alice barely noticed. It was late afternoon. She began her usual routine early. Checking the ammunition. Cleaning her guns. Assembling them with smooth, precise, practised motions. The metallic clicks and snaps echoed dryly through the hot summer air. Everything was ready. A bite to eat, a shower, and dusk had begun to swallow the world. When it was dark enough, she slipped out her fifth story window, made the impossible leap to the rooftop across the street, and began to move through the city, catlike, towards the address in Greenbank.

She arrived two hours early. A hunter shouldn't be later than the prey. From a rooftop, she watched the people trickling in for the evening's party, scoping out both front and back entrances for anyone who looked likely to be a target.

[Ysariel]

Skylark
Condition: Normal / HP: 1

"Paydirt," Skylark whispered as she looked down at the spread of documents before her. Despite a few close calls, between the horny couple and whoever had stopped outside the office door, she'd found something solid. There were a few good leads, but the best by far was a paper trail indicating some sort of gathering the next night at a warehouse in... she looked at the address she'd scribbled down in code, and behind her half-mask her eyes narrowed in a glare.

Well, this was just insulting. The Greenbank was where she'd first started patrol.

How has the city got so bad in just a year? she asked herself, folding the note and tucking it into a pouch on her yellow utility belt before leaving quietly. As she spread her cape and glided away, Skylark chanced a look behind her. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or some flaw in her mask's sensors, but she thought she saw a human silhouette standing at the window she'd entered from. Had she been discovered after all? It wasn't likely - but as she soared off into the warm night air, she cheekily threw them a jaunty wave. Better luck next time, she thought with a grin.

* * *

Without her father's access codes, the Aerie's tools were off-limits to her. This meant no satellite pictures, no stealth drone keeping an eye on the place, no wireless monitoring. So Skylark was going to have stake out the warehouse herself, the part she hated the most. At least, while on patrol, she was moving; here, all she had to do was wait.

Skylark arrived at sundown, noted all the major entrances to the warehouse, found herself a safe spot from which she could keep an eye on most of the ins and outs and settled down to watch. The hours crept by without much happening, and nighttime found the teenaged avenger leaning against a smokestack, engrossed in a blocky device the size of a Hershey bar in her hand. It didn't look half as sleek as the iPhone that would come over twenty years later... but she could play Pac-Man on it.

[Gilliam]

PRETTY DEADLY

OOC: Knowledge (Popular Culture): (1d20+5=9) ^_^ Nope.

You recognise the face and name and that is about it.

To your pleasant surprise Rick was telling the truth as nearly a dozen $100 notes fall into the palm of your hand along with a scrap of paper with an address written on it.

[Gilliam]

I will post a detailed map of the warehouse once everyone has arrived, setup and hopefully met without killing each other.

The warehouse is roughly 100' by 60' and 30' high and stands alone with other similar buildings nearby. The other buildings are either warehouses or office buildings. The river is one street over to the south.

Let me know if you want to make any notice checks and once I have an idea of the timeframe of arrivals we can get things moving

[FuzzyBoots]

Pretty Deadly
HP: 2
Status: Normal

Throughout the following day, Aika considered the invitation as she peddled overpriced designer kitchen equipment to middle-aged housewives. Really, I guess it kind of comes down to two possibilities. Either this is legit or it isn't. Theoretically, it's free money, although I guess I could also look at it as a retainer. I haven't promised anything, but... I could quit this job if I had a more steady income from my nocturnal activities. Her mind made up, Aika smiled broadly with all teeth showing, startling off the metrosexual fellow who'd been approaching her with garlic press in hand.

That night, she approached the warehouse around 9:45 PM from an oblique direction and stopped on an opposing rooftop to scan the area with her binoculars. Upon a quick survey of the people around it, she dropped into an alleyway to switch clothing magically to match what she saw.

OOC: Notice: (1d20+6=17) for the scan, then Disguise check: (1d20+1-5=10) for trying using Quick Change 2 to disguise herself as something generic to the situation as per the Skill Challenge. So if it looks like it's ravers, she'll be outfitting herself in Day-Glo spandex and makeup with glowsticks. If it's businessmen, she's changing into a sensible pantsuit. Any way about it, she's going for anonymity.