[Wild Talents] 1-2: In Medias Res - Miracles

For Salem-based play. Contact EvilSqueegee for information.

[Wild Talents] 1-2: In Medias Res - Miracles

Postby EvilSqueegee » Tue May 20, 2014 5:08 am

Susan Pebble
Send in your skeletons, Sing as their bones go marching in again
They need you buried deep, The secrets that you keep are ever ready

Sleepwalker | Wild Talent Psychic | Inspiring | Striking Looks 1


Three Days Later...

I come to. I’m somewhere dark — oh. No, never mind. My eyes are just closed.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

God, you’re a sick fuck, Sean. Such a pretty face, though. It’d probably fit pretty snug right between my thighs… yeah. Oh man alive, if those legs weren’t broken?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Shit. Don’t look too much. What are you, some kind of creep, Sean? You can lose your job for just lookin’ at ‘em the wrong way. Feminists, I tell you. Guy’s got a sex drive and whammo, out of a job. Fuck, though, god damn. Bet she’s smart. They found some kinda computer glasses with her, right? Talkin’ and shit. Wonder if she wears them while she fucks. Man she’s pretty… bet she feels tighter than Stacy.

Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeee —

SHIT! “DOC! HEY DOC! FLATLINER!”

I don’t have the force of will or focus to plug my mind’s ears, and I don’t have the physical strength to plug my actual ears. But I can, at least, yank the cable that goes up to the EEG. My brain is a haze because of all the drugs in my system, which tells me that I’m not only alive but probably in excruciating pain but don’t know it yet.

That’s okay, though. At least Sean the 17-year-old Medical Intern is now thinking about something else. I’d be grossed out about it, but after more than a few years of overhearing everyone’s thoughts, I’ve honestly heard it all. It’s none of my business — besides, I’m not supposed to know anyways. It’s not what you think that makes you a creep, it’s what you do.

It just so happens that right now I’m stuck in a bed and can’t escape listening to him. So. Manufactured emergency it is.

The doctors and nurses all come scrambling in and I just lay there for a moment, breathing. The room is immediately crowded with medical personnel, and it doesn’t dawn on me that I should probably open my eyes until somewhere in the crowded, shouting, panicked storm of people screaming and asking if I’m going to be okay, I hear a single word in a voice that cuts through the rest:

Defibrillator.”

Oh god please don’t. I crack open an eyelid and try to make some kind of noise. Please. I really don’t think that’s going to make my day any better.

I shake my head and the cacophony of adrenaline-drenched voices freezes for a moment. Thank god, they noticed. Suddenly I don’t feel so overwhelmed by the avalanche of people — How do emergency patients deal with all this noise and shouting? Aren’t they supposed to… oh, wait. Right.

Heh heh heh. Morphine. They aren’t actually shouting all that stuff.

I don’t have a very good view of the hospital room I’m in. Lots of computer monitors and lights, I’m lying in a bed. Room itself looks pretty cramped, moreso with all the nurses and doctors crammed into it like sardines. Both of my legs are in splints and the fluorescent lights directly above me hate my eyes with a murderous, piercing blood-lust that’s only mildly less uncomfortable than getting hit by the car in the first place.

“Miss Pebble,” the doctor’s voice breaks the sudden silence. “Susan, can you hear me?”

“Uhng,” I grunt, nodding. Oof. That hurts. Not a good sign.

“You were hit by a drunk driver, Susan. You’re probably going to be alright. There were some minor injuries—”

“Gimme… report.” I wiggle my wrist a little. Ow — ow, okay, cars hurt. The doctor looks at me skeptically.

“I can cabalibritate an ass-tron-oot’s diet and workout, bone disnity. Doc. Space is cool, so Gim—gimme report.”

Oh god I am so glad my face is probably black and blue from the accident, because if it’s not I am probably blushing so hard right now. What is wrong with my face? Talk! Speak! I’m never going to get that voice recognition software finished in time for NASA if I can’t even test—

My panic is interrupted as he hands me the clipboard, and my eyes glance over it. I see it for about as long as you might see a car on the side of the road in your window if you were driving by at 20 miles an hour, but that’s all I need. Photographic memory has it’s perks, like not needing to keep your eyes open when you feel like you’ve been hit by a Toyota.

Minor injuries my butt! This is why I don’t like doctors.

Extensive damage to the skeletal structure is to be expected in vehicular accidents, and statistically speaking, most victims with actual injuries never walk again. Unlike most people who are hit by cars, though, my injuries aren’t limited to my legs. Right Tibia and Fibula snapped clean in half; Fractures in everything from my femur to my Clavical, shattered joints pretty much everywhere you can have them on the right side of my body. My ribs are messed up something fierce on both sides. It’s a miracle my spinal disks weren’t shunted out of place. Deryl is going to be so upset… twister is so not an option anymore.

Internal bleeding was so bad when they picked me up I’m lucky to have survived. Bones don’t just break on their own in cases like this. They tear your muscles and flesh and organs to shreds on their way by. Considering you’ve suddenly got a sharp, spikey home-grown knife moving around in your guts that wasn’t there before, it’s unsurprising when you think about it. That blush vanishes from my face; I go pale with just thinking about the kinds of things that must have gone on while I was out, surgeons rooting around in my insides with all that blood. Needles and knives and… I shudder, which sends a whole new kind of pain through me. Oof.

My arms, thankfully, are okay. In the stranger-than-fiction category, my fingers and wrists are all pretty much perfectly fine; I’ll still be able to type so I’m not entirely out of work. Brain swelling had threatened my life at one point, so there was an emergency procedure that involved drills, my skull, and what my imagination insists was a chainsaw.

All of this hits my head in less than a second, and I drop the clipboard.

“Phone? Glasses?” I force out. My personal affects, noted on the paperwork — I know I didn’t have a phone becauase I use Chip instead, and when they produce my things, I look down at the cell with a curious look on my face.

“Safe to sleep?” I look up at the doctor.

“Yes, susan. Get some rest.” He looks around at the others, and soon the room is empty. Sean is no longer wrestling with himself about whether it’s acceptable to fantasize about a patient behind his girlfriend’s back, the nurses are no longer panicking about my well-being… I can think.

“God, Chip,” I groan. I’ll forgive myself for talking to my computer like it’s a person later, for now, it’s all morphine and head trauma and god I must look like an idiot talking to my freaking glasses.

::God - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
En.wikipedia.org/wiki/God
God is often concieved as the Supreme Being and principal object of faith. The concept of God as described by theologians commonly includes the attributes of …
Supreme Being - Existence - God in Christianity - God in Hinduism
::

…So glad the expensive equipment was not damaged. Pretty certain getting hit by a car while wearing experimentally modified devices I had to sign a nondisclosure agreement to even look at constitutes destruction of government property.

“Chip, incognito browsing.” Not that it helps any if you really don’t want to get caught. Phone manufacturer, phone number and I’m off.

A few minutes of searching, googling, database-scouring, and getting into all kinds of places I probably should not be getting into, and I’ve got enough reverse-engineered information between the public record and the non-public records to pin down who’s phone this is.

He was a pain to track. Not on any government plans. Probably not using his real name, but it’s hard to tell. Bills gotta get paid for phones to work, though; if there’s one thing you can count on it’s that people will want their money documented. I drop an email to the address on his phone billing information, simply saying:

::Nice phone. St. Clarice’s, room 304. Bring coffee.::

I use my usual email address: t3hsuz0rz@gmail.com. Yes, I chose the name deliberately, it’s funny to see it on official government forms when doing contract work.

With the email sent, I lay my head back. Somewhere in the back of my mind is the thought that I should probably call Daryll, but I just don’t have the energy. I catch a glimpse of the policeman outside my room; it doesn’t surprise me given some of the groups I correspond with — but as I’m falling asleep I notice that I can’t hear anything coming out of his head, which is why I probably hadn’t noticed him there before.

I black out before I have the chance to get really freaked out by that.
EvilSqueegee
 
Posts: 31
Joined: Sat Feb 22, 2014 6:06 pm

Re: [Wild Talents] In Medias Res - Scene 2

Postby EtB » Tue May 20, 2014 11:36 am

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


When she wakes up again, he is there. And he has, in fact, brought coffee, as well as flowers. The flowers are on a vase next to her, on the little night table provided by the hospital; a simple arrangement of sunflowers. He sits in a chair within her immediate field of vision, feet planted, leaned forward with elbows on his knees, sea-blue eyes behind glasses watching her with an intent expression, as if waiting for something. The coffee he brought her sits by his feet, and blessedly it is not from the hospital cafe. He has a cup himself, both cups the largest size available, and he sips from his meditatively as he watches her wake up.

Running a hand through reddish-brown hair, the color somewhere between old bricks and older rust, he straightens in the chair. He is not tall, but there is a sense of a presence much larger than his physical form suggests. He is young, early twenties at the most, and though his build is small, he appears to be in very good shape. His clothes are sturdy, rugged, and simple, a shirt and jeans and sneakers, though he wears a blue button-down work shirt opened and with the sleeves rolled up.

As he notes she is awake, he stands, scooping up the cup by his feet, and walks over to the nightstand, placing it in her reach. He watches her as he does this, his expression difficult to read, and he takes two steps back, measured steps; making space for her to reach for it, to show he will not take it away. And his eyes remain fixed on her.

"Are you all right?" he asks, in a quiet voice. A low tenor, higher than might be expected; low enough to be a man's voice, but only just. Then he flushes, eyes skittering away, and he waves a hand over her. "I mean....I guess... will you be all right, should be the question I ask. I did what I could, made sure you were found and taken care of. Circumstances were such that I couldn't stay to help you." He shrugs, then, and paces to the foot of the bed. "I don't think I could have done much to help, anyway. Not my field."

Standing at the foot of her bed, he watches her, thoughtfully, and sips from the cup again, his head cocked. Finally, he asks, "May I have my phone back?"
EtB
 
Posts: 17
Joined: Sun May 18, 2014 11:34 am

Re: [Wild Talents] In Medias Res - Scene 2

Postby EvilSqueegee » Thu May 22, 2014 6:46 am

Susan Pebble
Send in your skeletons, Sing as their bones go marching in again
They need you buried deep, The secrets that you keep are ever ready

Sleepwalker | Wild Talent Psychic | Inspiring | Striking Looks 1


I’m tugged out of my sleep by a nagging sense that I’ve done something wrong. Like I should apologize for something, or somehow I caused a terrible thing to happen. It pulls a whimper out of me before I’m fully conscious, in that place-between-dreams.

My eyes open, and I look around the room. What did I do? I should have called Daryll, or mom —

When I see someone sitting in the chair, though, I put it all together. I’m not guilty of anything other than being made of car-magnets; it’s the visitor who’s feeling responsible. For what, I have no idea, but—

— My fault. He was running from me. The sound of tires screeching punctuates the sentence.

Well, I had no idea. I take a second to rub my eyes. I probably look like crap, but that’s another thought that gets knocked down before it gets anywhere. The more conscious I get, the more I pick this kid up; he’s a boy and I’m a girl. It’s like I’m sitting right next to the subwoofer. Can’t pick out the individual sounds but it’s definitely louder than most people. It’s probably for the best that there’s so many tangents going on in his head that I can’t make anything out over the rest. It’s like the roar of a crowd in a stadium… all by himself.

I really need to get the chance to meditate.

He sets the coffee down and I look over to it, a look crossing my face that you’d expect to see if a fireman brought me a wet, mewling, panicked kitten: Who cares if he thinks it’s his fault or that I might never walk again? He brought sweet, sweet caffeine. I reach out for it and grab it, taking a few thick gulps and letting my head fall back. I have to catch my breath. That’s how badly I needed that.

He asks me a question and I answer. “All left, actually. Car came in from the right,” I say loudly, like I’m talking over the sound of music playing. I get a flash through him that I am actually shouting, and adjust accordingly; this is more common an experience in my life than I care to admit. As I reach for Chip, it dawns on me that I’m probably unintentionally guilting him even more than he’s already doing to himself, and I immediately speak again. This time, I don’t sound like we should both be plugging our ears and exchanging ‘what?’s.

“I mean, I’ll be alright, I think. Doc tried to pitch it as ‘minor injuries’. Can’t be that bad.” I’m an awful, awful liar. I give a sheepish half-smile, kicking myself internally, and slip my glasses on. They hum to life, the display on the inside of the lenses opening to another pornado — what? That’s not mine.

I can’t hide the confused look on my face.

“Chip: Close browser,” I say, and he dutifully shuts it down. I shake my head and then look back to the boy who’s now made his way over to the bed. Said something about not being able to help much.

“Nono, you were great,” I offer. His nervousness — that special kind of nervousness boys feel around a girl, almost like stage fright but with much higher stakes and way more awkward — feeds into my own usual bumbling and I run a hand through my hair.

‘You were great?’ Way to go, girl. Aren’t you just a smooth talker.

“I mean, it worked. You probably saved my life. Reports have them chainsawing my head open and stuff. I mean, like — uh. You know. Thanks.”

Then he asks for his phone, and I’m jarred out of my groggy-blushing-acting-like-an-idiotness. “Phone! Yeah.” I reach under my pillow and toss it to the foot of the bed. I miss entirely. As it turns out, I toss phones like a drug-addled klutz. I give a small yelp, and he snaps it out of the air. Thank god. Last thing I need is to break his phone after all this, I think I would have just curled up and died on the spot.

I don’t mention that I’ve paid his phone bill for the next few months; mostly because I wouldn’t be able to navigate my way through the You-shouldn’t-have,-no-really-I-wanted-to dance if it was a wet paper bag. Besides. He deserves a nice surprise. A guy who did what he could and still beats himself up over it should get a smile in return at the very least. I’d have paid it off for a year — or eternally — if government work meant I wasn’t living on a diet of Ramen and cardboard as it was.

The yelp catches the attention of the policeman outside my door. He just turns his head and looks into the room, then goes back to minding his own business. He’s quiet, and not feeling anything? I don’t even hear an internal grunt of interest. He’s… empty, like he’s not even there. Like it’s just a body, a shell. I swallow, and then suddenly realize I’m staring at the door like I’ve seen a ghost. I tuck my hair behind my ear and shoot my eyes to the foot of the bed.

Just don’t rock the boat, Susan. He’s the police. He’s probably just… you know. A very, uh. Quiet thinker.

Oh god.

“I, uh,” I immediately try and draw attention away from the sudden bout of nervous fidgiting. I find myself shoving my coffeecup into my mouth instead.
Spoiler: show
Lerrick's Dex + Athletics, TN 1: Catching the phone?
EvilSqueegee rolled 3d10:
8, 2, 9
EvilSqueegee
 
Posts: 31
Joined: Sat Feb 22, 2014 6:06 pm

Re: [Wild Talents] In Medias Res - Scene 2

Postby EtB » Thu May 22, 2014 7:31 am

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


His eyes are fixed on hers, and a slightly puzzled look crosses his face as she raises her tone, then lowers it again. Thoughts rise and fall in the seething mass of white noise that is Lerrick's thought process; his is a mind that instinctively reaches for connections, and he makes them now: curious, hearing disability? no, something else, but she can hear fine now, or can she? Test.

Her joke actually makes him wince, a bit. Defensive humor or naturally wry personality? Test. Terrible pun either way. He is, however, forced to give a small snort of amusement. Her delivery made the joke; bad as it was, it was still funny. A skeptical eyebrow meets her assessment of her condition. Her use of the glasses device has his complete and wholly unfeigned fascination, and her touch in his mind lets her see how all of his focus briefly homes in on trying to determine exactly what it does -- like all of that noise suddenly becoming the same pitch, like a thousand voices singing the same note, in a heartbeat. Voice commands. Browsing? Some sort of computer? Google Glass. Personal modifications. How....interesting.

He is very nearly as surprised by his smooth catch of the phone as she is, but he masks it on his face, simply giving a small smile and tucking it back in his pocket. Already, his mind has shifted gears, and he is sorting, compiling, though switching tracks so often it's difficult to keep track of what's going on in there. It all gets sunk in the maelstrom pretty quickly anyway.

Her expression on viewing the policeman definitely gets his attention. He takes a deep breath, pulling a pair of worn leather half-gloves out of a pocket and slipping them on. With the index finger of his left hand, he touches the Third Eye and whispers, "Vlepo".

The word itself is Greek, and mostly unimportant, meaning, very simply, I see...and Lerrick's mind is filled with the awareness of consciousnesses about him, a topographical display in which he is centered. Susan burns like a bonfire, a bright star of intellect dwarfing even the doctors and educated folk about them in the halls....and the cop is ....not displayed.

Lerrick's eyes flash toward the door as he cancels the spell, and he squints, frowning, his face a mask of deep concentration. He has not precisely forgotten about Susan, but she is not a factor in his current focus, and thus she is shut out completely as he studies the officer by the door with an intensity that would be offensive to the average man on the street. His frown deepens. Sleeper. No. Shielded. Not one of us. Not Abyssal, thank heaven. Really don't feel like torching an entire hospital wing, and she can't be moved in any case. Let's avoid lethal solutions; we can always come back if we need to. Dispellation is out. Probably not a Mask, at least.

He looks back at Susan, as if just remembering she is there, and conscious. "By the way. You can call me Lerrick." And he offers his hand, as if his moments of scrutiny and all that came before had never happened.

He's still trying to decide what to do about the cop; many of his solutions involve violence of one form or another, and he keeps discarding them because he has no reason beyond paranoia to suspect the man of wrongdoing or ill intent.

It just seems to be the way he approaches problems: smash it flat or set it on fire.
Spoiler: show
Mind 1, Sense Consciousness
Mind 1 + Gnosis 3
EtB rolled 4d10:
5, 9, 8, 6


Prime Resonance Reading
Intelligence+Occult+Resonance Spec
EtB rolled 6d10:
6, 10, 2, 8, 7, 5
EtB rolled 6d10:
5, 8, 4, 2, 2, 6
EtB rolled 6d10:
6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 8
Last edited by EtB on Wed May 28, 2014 12:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
EtB
 
Posts: 17
Joined: Sun May 18, 2014 11:34 am

Re: [Wild Talents] In Medias Res - Scene 2

Postby EvilSqueegee » Mon May 26, 2014 7:18 pm

Susan Pebble
Send in your skeletons, Sing as their bones go marching in again
They need you buried deep, The secrets that you keep are ever ready

Sleepwalker | Wild Talent Psychic | Inspiring | Striking Looks 1


I’m used to being exposed to the minds of people who think too much, analyze everything, and process reality like it’s data to be filed away and acted upon later. But I’m not used to people doing that when they’re, well… this.

It all hits me at once: the man’s head suddenly focuses almost entirely on this… image. He believes with all his heart and soul for a moment that there’s a radar feedback, like his mind is capable of sensing things it isn’t. And then, suddenly, he knows the cop isn’t real, but more importantly he immediately recognizes I’m the most intelligent person in the building — and then he’s plotted six different murders in fewer than half as many seconds in my name.

Fainting is kind of like getting hit by a car. By the time you feel it coming on and notice it headed your way, it’s —

~~~

Susan almost made a reach for Lerrick’s hand before she fell unconscious. She even managed to get out a sound that probably was meant to be a word. Her equipment, the monitors attached to her, seem to not be spazzing out… not that Lerrick would know one way or the other. All the beeps seem the same as they were a moment ago, though, and nobody comes bursting in. So she’s probably okay. More importantly, this happens in the absence of any supernatural powers going off; barring someone skilled enough in the practice of Veiling to hide from the Left Handed Hunter's senses.

The cop out front doesn’t seem to react. He might not even know what’s going on. He is very much focused on keeping an eye this way and that down the hall. A nurse stops by to bring him coffee (it, too, is mundane and normal) and he quietly thanks the lady in a polite tone.

Then the slurping starts.

Spoiler: show
Breaking Point. Getting hit by a car, supernatural shit, etc. Too much.

Resolve 3 + Composure 3
-2 Pain/drugs (well, drugs penalty, the delta is none)
-1 confrontation with supernatural (tollerance: she IS supernatural, thus not -2 or 3)
-1 holy shit murder?
EvilSqueegee rolled 2d10:
3, 1

Integrity 6
Failed roll here results in derangement of some kind.
EvilSqueegee rolled 6d10:
5, 9, 9, 9, 3, 6

Stamina 2
Fainting check.
EvilSqueegee rolled 2d10:
4, 1
EvilSqueegee
 
Posts: 31
Joined: Sat Feb 22, 2014 6:06 pm

Re: [Wild Talents] In Medias Res - Scene 2

Postby EtB » Mon May 26, 2014 7:57 pm

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


As Susan passes out, Lerrick turns at a faint beep from one of the machines hooked to her, and frowns down at her. He lifts his eyes to scan the monitors; okay, that one is the heart....one line, pulsing along jagged ups and downs, marking heartbeat, listing pulse. Okay. Still green. Green is good. Line's not flat, we're okay. One of the others probably monitors brain activity; but Lerrick shakes his head, then reaches forward and deliberately snaps his fingers near her ear.

No waking.

Excellent.

Having retrieved his cellphone, Lerrick dials a number, quickly, and waits while it connects. He's calling an old friend; hunters are usually well advised to make friends with healers, and while Lerrick's intense and focused personality does not lend him to making friends easy, those friends he has are loyal and steadfast. They'd almost have to be.

"Doc," he says shortly, when the other end is picked up. "Kinda need a favor." His eyes drift toward the grievously injured woman in the bed, and he scratches one cheek almost absently. "Actually.....kinda need a miracle. Fastest route you could take, steal the case if you can." The use of the word miracle is a code, of sorts; he needs a Sleeper healed beyond what medical science should allow. This is not exactly the first time this situation had come up, though it was the first time the situation was so dire. He glances down, notices the chart, and thumbs through it. Most of it is gibberish to him -- but you don't need a medical degree to find the patient's name, and it's usually printed fairly clearly.

"Susan....Pebble." The last name is said with a disbelieving tilt to it. "Banged up bad. Hit by a car. Kinda not quite almost not really my fault. ETA?"

He listens thoughtfully, then nods slowly. "Cop on the door. Something hinky. Mind's blocked, but not our work. I'll stay and keep an eye out, unless they try to make me leave."

At a question from the other end, he smiles broadly. "Well. Then things get....interesting."

Lerrick then does the only thing he can do -- he sits down in the chair he had before, and proceeds to wait.
EtB
 
Posts: 17
Joined: Sun May 18, 2014 11:34 am

Re: [Wild Talents] 1-2: In Medias Res - Miracles

Postby admin » Thu May 29, 2014 12:15 pm

Meadow
If anyone can make me a better person you could
All I gotta say is I must've done something good
Came along one day and you rearranged my life
All I gotta say is I must've done something right

Obrimos | Free Council | Blank Badge | Occultation 3


No less than five minutes later, a doctor arrived. She stopped to have a quick chat with the police officer before her face became visible to the room; the conversation was in low tones that would take magic to overhear. It was punctuated with a soft laugh, and a pat on the cop’s shoulder, and a sense of relief before the woman enters the room proper.

She was young; though most mages studied in the Arts she excelled in appeared to be so. A bright smile dominated her features like a tourist attraction defines the cityscape: Framed by the beauty that surrounded it, but by far the selling point of the experience. The sunlight spilling in through the window only made her golden hair all the more striking, highlighting those sparkling baby blues that were as happy as they were scheming.

“Morning, Lerrick,” she beamed as she strode into the room, looking up from her smartphone and tucking it into her pocket. She looked like she belonged: A perky attitude despite the dreariness of her surroundings (though in her case this might not have simply been for the patient’s benefit,) a long white coat draped over her little pink dress and shoes that said she cared how the boys thought she looked. She carried a clipboard in one hand, and an astute eye might catch that the sharpie pinched to it’s top had a logo written in the High Tongue rather than in English.

She immediately walked to the window, slipping her sharpie between her teeth, setting the clip-board down and tugging the curtains the rest of the way open. There was a small shimmer of magic around her hands, and the sunlight that spilled into the room was subtly more bright, warm, and comforting that one might expect.

“There,” she nodded firmly, studying the room with a pleased expression. “We’re safe to talk, now. On to business!”

Rather than walking over to the hospital bed, however, Meadow strode powerfully right over to Lerrick, her hand reaching up to his eyebrows and tugging his eyes open one at a time. His wrist was pinched, pulse was taken. It was all done in a flurry; like a mother fussing over her child. No ifs ands or buts, no hesitations, and certainly no protest being accepted should it be offered.

“The policeman outside is legitimately in the employ of the Salem Police Department,” she said as she inspected him. “His badge number checks out, according to Google. Your girl here -- provided the name I got was correct — is involved in some government research grants. Mostly NASA.”

She looked over at Susan, sleeping in the bed, and thoughtfully clicked her tongue in her mouth.

“I trust you got the badguys, at least? Poor thing must be a wreck.”
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 41
Joined: Fri Feb 14, 2014 1:13 pm

Re: [Wild Talents] 1-2: In Medias Res - Miracles

Postby EtB » Thu May 29, 2014 3:56 pm

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


Lerrick looks up as Meadow walks in, and comes to his feet, in the automatic way of someone who is used to standing for a lady who enters the room. His sea-blue eyes fix on her, watching as she strides into the room, saying nothing as she crosses to the window and floods the place with light, though his eyes flick to Susan, to see if this wakes her. As she performs her magic, Lerrick nods, then sighs resignedly as she begins to check him over. As per usual, Lerrick does show some minor signs of exhaustion and dehydration, but nothing serious or debilitating. Yet. His heartrate is also slightly accelerated....but that's mostly normal for a male occupying the same room as Meadow.

"He's not normal," Lerrick tells her flatly. "It made me suspicious. Why would they stick a cop outside her door anyway? She was hit by a car, not trying to steal one. Her name's Susan Pebble, according to the chart, which was about all the information I could understand off of it. The Warlock I was hunting was too busy watching me in his rearview mirror. I didn't stick around to confirm the kill, but I left him unconscious and ignited his gas tank, I'm pretty sure that was the end of the matter. For all I know, the crack against the pavement I gave his skull might have done it." Lerrick shrugs, pacing as he talks.

"Point is, I didn't stop him fast enough to prevent this," he says, waving a hand at Susan, then running it through his hair. "I don't like the idea of someone being left a cripple because I got sloppy. Can you do anything for her, Meadow?" he asks, turning to her, almost plaintive. "I know we shouldn't piss off the Consilium, but...."

He turns his hands up and shrugs. "I can't just leave her like this. There's also something unusual about her mind, but I don't have the arts to pin down what. She glows like a beacon, and that cop out there is a no-show. If she's some sort of psychic, maybe she could be useful."
EtB
 
Posts: 17
Joined: Sun May 18, 2014 11:34 am

Re: [Wild Talents] 1-2: In Medias Res - Miracles

Postby admin » Mon Jun 02, 2014 1:14 pm

Meadow
If anyone can make me a better person you could
All I gotta say is I must've done something good
Came along one day and you rearranged my life
All I gotta say is I must've done something right

Obrimos | Free Council | Blank Badge | Occultation 3


“Susan’s on several generic run-of-the-mill research programs. Those glasses? High-end tech well beyond civillian reach. I’d say she’s working on prototype tech for CIA, NSA, ABC, CSI, NBC, LMNOP… you get the idea. Cop is probably here because they dont’ want the badguys getting the wrong idea and thinking what she knows might suddenly be available for the kidnapping.” Once Lerrick’s health has been confirmed, his checkup completed and he seems at the very least satisfactory, Meadow places one hand on either of his cheeks.

“And of course he’s not normal. He’s Police,” She smiles, knowing full well that’s not what he meant. She looks around for a moment, as if searching for something, eventually opening and closing drawers until she pulls out a small blue scrubcap. This pleases her to no end, judging by the little sound she makes — quiet and subtle, but faintly reminiscent of a teenager seeing their idol rock star across the street.

“He’s probably really good at his job, what with being psychic and all,” she explained after a moment. “My guess is the Department doesn't know. He might not even know. Still, though, better safe than sorry.”

She draws out her sharpie and begins to scribble glyphs on the paper hat, mingled with various mathematical symbols — comparisons, functions, etc. Some kind of Arcane Formula. There’s a moment’s concentration and she whispers something to herself, then promptly places the cap on Lerrick’s head. A shimmer of magic flows through the room again; Lerrick might feel as though the room had somehow grown ever-so-slightly quieter, safer, less chaotic, even though it factually hadn’t — as though he simply had more clarity in some undefinable way.

She then turns her attention to Susan, capping her sharpie and leaving the hat on Lerrick’s head. She doesn’t say whether or not he should remove it. Her eyes glance over the girl very carefully. She picks up the clip-board at the end of the bed and looks it over, starting to mutter under her breath. She taps susan’s hand thoughtfully with the sharpie, going over the report ‘out loud’ and tilting her head in thought.

“That’s it. The Council doesn’t know whether to check it’s butt or scratch it’s watch -- I’m blessing the roads again, they can deal with it. One reckless driver and she’s lost the use of her legs entirely, her right arm is gone. It’s a miracle she’s alive as-is. ”

Meadow pursed her lips, a long pause following. She took a deep breath. Odd thing, seeing someone who hasn’t lost hope still be so furious.

“But I can save her.” Not that she’d ever said anything else before when confronted with the wounded, really; but somehow each time she delivered the line, it was just as genuine, uncertain and hopeful as it was every other time. It’s also worth noting, she’d never been wrong when she’d said it in the past. Even if she doubted herself.

“Besides. Miss every shot you don’t take, right?” She smiled, not at all acknowledging the irony of her of all people, with her Vow of Nonviolence, using gun-related metaphors.

Dice
Spoiler: show
Mind Shields (Mind 3): Targeting Lerrick.
Assuming he doesn't block her magic because she's The Doctor.
Covert. Instant. Costs 1 mana.
Gnosis 3 + Mind 3 + Chanting 2 + WP 5 (Bolster Virtue persistant buff). Time 2 Advanced Prolonged, taking the -8 for Month-Long duration, resulting in 3 dice total.
admin rolled 3d10:
3, 8, 10
admin rolled 1d10:
2


Healer's Trance (Life 1): Targeting Susan.
Extended. Covert. Free.
Intelligence 3 + Medicine 3 + Life 3 + Chanting 2 = 11 dice.
admin rolled 11d10:
1, 6, 3, 6, 1, 2, 7, 6, 5, 4, 9

admin rolled 11d10:
6, 7, 3, 10, 6, 8, 3, 5, 2, 7, 4
admin rolled 1d10:
9

admin rolled 11d10:
2, 10, 7, 7, 8, 2, 7, 2, 1, 7, 9
admin rolled 1d10:
5
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 41
Joined: Fri Feb 14, 2014 1:13 pm

Re: [Wild Talents] 1-2: In Medias Res - Miracles

Postby EtB » Wed Jun 04, 2014 5:29 pm

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


His lips shape a silent "oh" as Meadow explains the presence of the officer to him, his eyes widening a bit in understanding behind his wire-rimmed glasses. His face feels warm to her touch -- probably something to do with the flush that rises to his cheeks under her hands.

He breathes out when she releases him, and as she turns away, his eyes track off to the figure hovering over the bed. A spirit, a long, serpentine figure with a grinning mouth, gold scales fading into a misty haze, and suddenly reappearing out of it, as if the dragon were half fog. Its eyes were the color of a sunset, shifting through a spectrum of red and golds, and those eyes are currently focused on Susan Pebble.

It looks back at him. You should have struck sooner.

Lerrick flashes the dragon an irritated expression, but his attention is seized by Meadow's return. He eyes the scrubcap dubiously, and rolls his eyes upward as if to look at it when she places it on his head. The dragon-spirit chortles merrily, spinning a corkscrew over the bed, trails of mist flying from its half-real body, and then it darts to twine around Meadow's figure.

You think she is comely, the dragon mocks him. Your mind should be on your work.

Lerrick snatches the scrub cap off his head, and then pointedly ignores the apparition, turning his attention back to Meadow as she speaks. He is aware of the magic she has placed on him, but he resists the urge to examine it. It could be insulting, though Meadow is well aware of his tendencies. It just isn't polite.

When Meadow says she can save her, Lerrick does not doubt. He merely nods his head, shoves his hands in his pockets, and watches, thinking. He doesn't react to her inappropriate metaphor; for some reason, it makes him think of basketball, or hockey, rather than firearms.

"Think I'll take a walk," he says, suddenly. "Find a few friends. See if they can't help us out." By friends, of course, he means spirits I can con, coerce, or cajole, and the dragon-spirit rolls its eyes eloquently, involving its whole head and ultimately the rest of it serpentine figure into the gesture, a corckscrewing, mocking loop-the-loop.

"What do you think," he asks, "obstetrics?" He reaches for the door. "How long should I give you?"
EtB
 
Posts: 17
Joined: Sun May 18, 2014 11:34 am

Next

Return to Salem

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest

cron