so far

<Spell|GM> "I ain't a homophobe. Couldn't give a shit what people do in the bedroom. Better things to worry about." She scoffs.
<Spell|GM> ((Gimme a Know roll))
<Ink|Targe> $roll 1d6+1
<[ATM]> Ink|Targe [1] +1 = 2
<Spell|GM> She looks at you then points at the padding in your hands. "Way too thin."
<Spell|GM> ((Gimme a dex))
<Ink|Targe> $roll 1d6
<[ATM]> Ink|Targe [6]  = 6
<Spell|GM> Switching out the padding to something a bit thicker, the application goes fairly well with only a few hisses of discomfort from Var as the bandages are tightened around her.
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<Spell|GM> "Ugh, fuck, how long does a broken rib take to heal?" She moans, fixing her shirt back loosely around her. She tosses the leather jacket to the side of the bed, laying back gingerly with a grimace on her face.
<Spell|GM> ||
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<Ink|Targe> ...
<Ink|Targe> "Depends how broken..." Targe says as he hooks the bandages down. He stands up and looks at her, "How's that feel?"||
<Spell|GM> "Fucking miserable, but I'll be fine." She says, eyes closed and breathing softly.
<Spell|GM> There's the occasional whirring, crackling noise as Gungnir fires off his lances from the roof above you. A few silent seconds pass where nothing is said, only the sounds of the chalet's biker inhabitants.
<Spell|GM> "Shame about the not gay thing, though. Could use a gal-pal. or as close to one as I could get." She opens one eye, grinning at you.
<Spell|GM> ||
<Ink|Targe> ...
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<Ink|Targe> Targe was feeling uncomfortable again, very aware that they were alone together, something that had him checking how many exits there were rather than relaxing or opening up.
<Ink|Targe> "Don't think I'd be good at that either way," Targe says, putting the first aid kit back together. He was not good at talking with people, but Var was just barreling through his reluctance and making him talk /anyways./
<Ink|Targe> "I'm professional, you don't have to worry about me making moves or anything..."
<Ink|Targe> ||
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<Spell|GM> "I've got a skin-tight barrier around me and a dad who's killed more people than I've ever had friends. I know when people are putting up walls. Seriously, what's with you? You looked like you were going to have a breakdown or vomit when you were wrapping the bandages."
<Spell|GM> ||
<Ink|Targe> ...
<Ink|Targe> Targe was silent a long moment. He couldn’t exactly come out and spill his damage, that sort of thing got around Villain communities and could be a hit to one’s rep, and honestly he didn’t know Var well enough to know whether she was just fishing for info on her latest underling or genuine concern.
<Ink|Targe> “…hangups,” he said, “from my trigger…” That was probably understandable enough. Most people wouldn’t press on trigger trauma, even as villains.
<Ink|Targe> “Also been a villain ten years. Hard to let guard down. Keeps you alive,” he adds on flatly.||
<Spell|GM> "That bad? Huh. I triggered in high school. Stupid bitch tried to start something, But I finished it." She laughed.
<Spell|GM> "Targe! Targe, g'edup here!" You hear Gungnir shouting from the rooftop, just above Var's room./
<Spell|GM> "Bring your stuff."
<Spell|GM> ||
<Ink|Targe> ...
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<Ink|Targe> Ohthankgod. Targe didn't respond to Var, just grabbed his helmet that had been set down and put it on, moving out of the room and then bounding up the stairs. He felt that surge of adrenaline, the world coming into sharper focus as he anticipated trouble. If he needed his stuff, that meant a fight. Bad at talking, good at this.
<Ink|Targe> He strode onto the rooftop briskly, meeting eyes with Gungnir before sliding his visor down. "What is it?" he asks.||
<Spell|GM> "One of our men is dead." Gungnir spoke low, but his tone was harsh, shaky.
<Spell|GM> "A cape in town, some coon teenager with lava powers... Three of our lads were in sussing out the scene in the hotel district. They didn't know the kid was a cape."
<Spell|GM> Heimdall and two make their way up to the roof, the two unpowered men look shaken. One is burns slightly, his skin an angry red on his bare arms the younger of them looks as though his face has horribly bad sunburn.
<Spell|GM> "W-we're sorry boss!" The younger man sobs, his eyes puffy from crying and his injuries.
<Spell|GM> ||
<Ink|Targe> ...
<Ink|Targe> Targe watched dispassionately at the two kids, evaluating their injuries. They weren't too bad, but the other had ended up dead so he probably wasn't getting a full picture of his abilities. So Targe wouldn't underestimate him.
<Ink|Targe> "Another gang?" Targe asks, looking to Gungnir who was more familiar with the local scene, "We need to hit back?"||
* Thaydean is now known as ThAyFK
<Spell|GM> "No." The voice comes from behind you - Hanging over the side of the banister is Indepth, costumed. It's utilitarian, more than a costume. Rugged combat trousers, a sleeved, form fitting shirt of some sort under a sleeveless hoodie. His mask is in hand, featureless save for the stylized eyeholes and delicate etchings along the edges.
<Spell|GM> "I was in town when it happened, but missed everything - Let;'s maybe keep the facts straight, okay fellas?" He leers at the two bikers.
<Spell|GM> "The kid didn't kill anyone, he ran in front of a car. But I suspect his abilities could still be lethal if he wanted them to be. The boys here bit off more than they could chew, nothing more to it." Indepth hops over the handrails athletically, strolling over to stand either side of Gungnir and Heimdall.
<Spell|GM> "Regardless, people /saw/. Our boys got run out of town, 3 vee 1, by some coloured fool." Gungnir practically spat the words.
<Spell|GM> "By a /cape/, Gungnir. Probably a native one, too, if he's out around town with his mask off."
<Spell|GM> Indepth turns to you, then eyes the doorway leading back downstairs.
<Spell|GM> "Where's Var?"
<Spell|GM> ||
<Ink|Targe> ...
<Ink|Targe> Targe crossed his arms and relaxed when it became clear there wasn’t anyone immediately breaking down the doors to the stronghold. He listened, putting a bit more weight behind the thinker’s words when it came to the truth of things. Ah, it was a dark-skinned cape, that was going to sting their pride. Pride was fairly important in the tug-o-war of gang capes.
<Ink|Targe> “Some of the men tried to pick a fight with me when I arrived despite my warning I was a cape. Maybe an issue to address,” Targe offered with a shrug.
<Ink|Targe> With Indepth’s prompting, Targe realized that if Var was the leader she should be here for this. He wasn’t entirely clear how much he was supposed to be supporting Var as a leader versus keeping her safe from her own potential bad decisions. For now, he would support.
<Ink|Targe> “Didn’t know this was gonna be a big thing. I’ll go grab her,” Targe states, heading back down the stairs to help the wounded and winded Var up should she need it.||
<Spell|GM> "No. Leave her." Gugnir says firmly, holding his palm to you.
<Spell|GM> "There's not a whole lot more we can do... Kid's probably long gone and I don't expect we'll get many answers from people with this much heat on us."
<Spell|GM> Indepth pulls out his phone, typing as he speaks just as he'd done with you.
<Spell|GM> "Arrangements need to be made. The body will have to be brought back, remunerations to his girlfriend and their kid... Targe. We're going into town. Business needs doing. Heimdall, Gungnir, I'll talk with Eremitt. For now, hold the fort." Indepth takes off, jerking his head as he looks at you towards the door. Leaving right away, then. You notice Heimdall and Gungnir's annoyed looks, but neither of them protest. In fact, both set off
<Spell|GM> seconds later, determination in their strides. The other two bikers remain, the older man comforting the scarlet-faced teen.
<Spell|GM> "Targe, come on. Time's of the essence. Literally. And I'll deal with the attitude the other members have when it comes to picking fights they can't win with capes." Indepth leans against the door frame, Gungnir and Heimdall slipping past him wordlessly.
<Spell|GM> ||
<Ink|Targe> ...
<Ink|Targe> Targe does stop when Gugnir holds out his palm, hesitating. Goddamnit he didn’t want to navigate this false-leader real-leader stuff. He was lowest rung on the totem pole though, so technically he should listen to the others. He paused a moment and then moved back to his position. Technically, Var would be safer not coming on this mission, which she might insist upon if she knew. He huffed a sigh but said nothing.
<Ink|Targe> He had to wonder Indepth’s opinion on this, they were probably theoretically on the same level, the group liked Targe more but Indepth being a thinker made his words matter a bit more when it came to tactics.
<Ink|Targe> “Alright,” Targe says, nodding to the group and following after.||
<Spell|GM> "We're taking your bikes." Indepth says to two lounging members with beers in their hands. Both grumble, a few muffled curses, but they comply, tossing the keys to Indepth who hands one to you.
<Spell|GM> "Settling in ok?"He shoots you a glance as he walks towards the mass of parked bikes by the side of the chalet, parked directly inf ront of the floor-to-ceiling windows looking in at the gym and leisure centre.
<Spell|GM> "And please be honest. How do you find the others? What was that comment about people looking to pick a fight with you earlier?"
<Spell|GM> ||
<Ink|Targe> ...
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<Ink|Targe> Targe catches his set of keys and moves to the motorcycle, doing his checkover quickly as he had done back when he first met Indepth.
<Ink|Targe> “They’re all very… bold and friendly. They like me I guess,” Targe said, “The capes that is. Doormen wouldn’t let me in when I arrived. Asked to see ID which I couldn’t provide. Almost cut them to get in.”
<Ink|Targe> He kept wondering if that had been the right decision. Not to cut them right away. Maybe he was getting soft. Targe turned on the motorcycle, feeling it rumble to life with a louder than necessary roar to accompany it.
<Ink|Targe> “What’s the goal for in town?” He asks, looking to get off personal matters.
<Ink|Targe> ||
<Spell|GM> "Not town. A bit outside. We're meeting a friend of mine that the others don't need to know about. Trust me, it's really for the best." He winks, slipping his mask on and revving his own bike to life.
<Spell|GM> He tilts his head, smirking.
<Spell|GM> "You'll see why I want it kept on the DL." And with that, he's taken off, bike roaring down the driveway.
<Spell|GM> The drive is a relatively short one, and it's a good deal on the outskirts of town, Leenesville a mush of bright lights and high-rises in the distance. Indepth pulls up outside what was at one point a gas station, the signage covered in rust and moss, the windows shuttered but the door wide open and a man in costume standing with his arms folded... And you see now why Indepth was quiet about the meeting.
<Spell|GM> The man's arms are bare, save for the odd-looking, sleek looking mechanical gauntlets with shifting and alternating gears akin to the interior workings of a clock visible under a clear panel of glass or plastic. His vest has a harness with similar mechanisms built in, leaving much of his upper body clad in skeletal looking fingers of metal attached to a flexible looking mesh of machinery that flows down into a split that reaches to his mid
<Spell|GM> thighs. His mask obscures the upper half of his face and even his hair, leaving only a bearded, grinning mouth, his eyes obscured by a plain black panel with more of the mechanical clock-workings surrounding his very dark-skinned, almost midnight black, face.
<Spell|GM> "Wax!" Indepth raises his arm in a salute, hopping off the book and sauntering towards the man lazily. Wax strolls over, holding an arm out and pulling Indepth into a hug.
<Spell|GM> "What is happening, man?" Wax laughs, his accent is unusual, distinct. English, maybe London, like in the movies?
<Spell|GM> Indepth turns to look at you, but Wax's expression goes from a smile to a dead set even line when he notices you.
<Spell|GM> "Wax, this is Targe. He's a contractor, not a direct member." Indepth explains, laying a hand on Wax's shoulder. The gear-clad man lets out a huff and shakes his head.
<Spell|GM> "Much of a fuckin' muchness. Still not over you joining those pricks. You know my cousin over in Brockton Bay got fuckin' jumped by one of those Empire dick'eds a few months back, yeah? Took that Birdcaged healer gyal to get her out of hospital okay." Wax makes the 'I'm watching you' gesture at you, then gestures you both follow him inside.
<Spell|GM> Indepth shoots a look back at you, waving a hand at Wax's back with frantic gestures in a 'say something!' urging.
<Spell|GM> ||
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<Ink|Targe> ...
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<Ink|Targe> This fucking screamed trap. Going out just the two of them screamed trap. Going outside town where there'd be no witnesses screamed trap. This abandoned gas station screamed trap. Targe was working himself up about the mysterious way Indepth - the former PRT watchdog operative - was handling this outing. Every second that passed his paranoia fed itself, and by the time he spotted the other cape, his hand was reaching for his sword and
<Ink|Targe> calculating if he could ram it through Indepth's back and knock him out in one hit and be ready to throw down. He didn’t know the other guy’s powers. That was an issue.
<Ink|Targe> It was actually the way Wax’s mouth fell flat that snapped Targe out of his assumptions, finally putting two and two together. He was black. /That’s/ why all the secrecy. Indepth already knew Targe wasn’t a true believer but obviously the others wouldn’t agree with talking to Wax.
<Ink|Targe> Targe stood there, several meters off of the gas station entrance, obviously not welcome, as Indepth explained the situation. He figured that was enough but the Indepth asked him to talk.
<Ink|Targe> “… Just uh, a job,” Targe confirmed. Though honestly was it better or worse that he was willing to bed with nazis without actually /being/ one. Just following orders sir. That was obviously the ticket.
<Ink|Targe> Targe cautiously evaluated Wax’s disposition before deciding to follow or not, keeping a respectful distance.||
<Spell|GM> "Lots of jobs for capes out there, but what'eva." Wax brushes the topic aside, the lights inside the abandoned station flickering to life as he flicks a switch.
<Spell|GM> The interior is largely devoid of any of it's former belongings, instead there's a bed in one corner with a duo of suitcases shoved underneath, a powerful and new looking back decorated in the gear motifs of Wax's costume and a collection of work benches with a variety of alien looking tools and more of the gear-gadgetry in various stages of development and open attache and flight cases.
<Spell|GM> "You still have those looking-glasses?" Indepth looks over the myriad of tech on the tables, head moving between devices rapidly.
<Spell|GM> "The one I gave you before was a piece I'd swiped off of Wane. I can make one, but it'd take way a ridic amount of time, man. Not worth it." He reaches under the desk, pulling out a small metallic case.
<Spell|GM> "We just need one that works for two to three seconds tops, Wax. Come on." Indepth's shoulders sag.
<Spell|GM> "Alright, alright, settle down darling. Such a melodramatic tone in my house of wonders." Wax waves a finger vheekily.
* ThAyFK is now known as Thaydean
<Spell|GM> He pops open the case, a monocle looking device, smaller than an actual camera lens, set into a bulky metal ring with the gear-workings on the inside.
<Spell|GM> "This, my racially-biased and non-diverse friends, is the most time-consuming and worthless piece of shit I ever wasted a weekend on. But it'll do what you're after." He sets the lens down and the gears flare to life, a weak, phantom image coming into view.
<Spell|GM> "Set it down where you're looking and dial it back until you see what you're after. A window into the past, for whatever good it does." The image displays a frozen still of the three of you surrounding the table, Wax reaching under the desk. A still of only moments before.
<Spell|GM> It's... hazy. Like a bad recording that's been washed out and slightly unfocused.
<Spell|GM> Indepth looks at Wax and back at the device and Wax's smile turns into an annoyed frown.
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