Basically I'm concerned about us making things worse because people do things for reasons but I'm also concerned about what will happen if we do nothing and it turns sour.
If we spend a valuable Plot Point on this action it won't screw us over, beyond possibly being one PP short later on, of course. While it might have some negative consequences, it would also provide benefits that outweigh that.
If we spend a valuable Plot Point on this action it won't screw us over, beyond possibly being one PP short later on, of course. While it might have some negative consequences, it would also provide benefits that outweigh that.
I don't think that the logic of "Spending PP = good, gaining PP = bad" is necessarily accurate, I would in fact argue that the previous action where we gained a point was not in fact a bad option.
They're just points that represent if we can act outside certain parts of our personality, and allow us to do some definitely good stuff in a combat situation specifically.
That said, I don't believe that forceful intervention is a "trap" option. Just that it might be unwise, but it could also be the right play here. I just don't know.
[X] Wait for Sung to come back and ask him to resolve it. He clearly knows this place a lot better than you, he'll know how to defuse the drunk asshole. Besides, you'd probably just make it worse. [+1PP]
Gain PP during relatively low cost situations where we wouldn't be expected to do anything (thinking of this as a novel and progression into character development), burn it in moments where we really need to be as heroic as possible. Then collapse into anxiety afterwards.
You don't know what you expected of Caio, but you didn't expect this. He's a tall guy, easily a six-footer and change. His face is soft and boyish, tanned by heritage but pale by circumstance, his curly hair plastered down to his skull by the water. His dark eyes have a sort of shy friendliness to them, matching the little wave he sketches at you. And he's wearing a sci-fi bondage suit.
"Katerina Zakharin," Sung goes on, indicating the woman that has apparently been used as a target at a firing range at some stage standing a couple feet away from the couch, arms folded. "Official hero name Meteora, but she prefers Kate. She's been here the longest outside of Conway, so if there's anything you need and I can't help then maybe she can!"
Look, I know Meteora can refer to a lot of things, like the rock formation in Greece, but now I'm just gonna jokingly associate her with the Linkin Park album.
"Well, good luck with all that. I know you must be star-struck but don't worry, you won't have to deal with it for long." Florence smooths out her dress, sitting up straight and proud. "I already had one foot out the door by the time you showed up. In fact, the way things are looking up you could practically move into my room."
Star-struck? Why would you be... no. No way. This has got to be the latest weird turn in the weirdest of weird-ass dreams because the alternative is that you joined a random C-class agency and ran smack-dab into Princess Phoebe in the flesh. Jesus it's got to be 15-odd years since you first watched her show.
"So what's your story? Where'd it all start? Gotta be some bad shit if you're joining his dumpsterfire," the bartender says, inclining his head in Sung's direction.
[X] Go out there and try to defuse the situation as politely as you can. You don't really want him screaming at you or any fights breaking out, but you can't just sit here and listen to it.
[X] Go out there and try to defuse the situation as politely as you can. You don't really want him screaming at you or any fights breaking out, but you can't just sit here and listen to it.
[X] Wait for Sung to come back and ask him to resolve it. He clearly knows this place a lot better than you, he'll know how to defuse the drunk asshole. Besides, you'd probably just make it worse. [+1PP]
[X] Go out there and try to defuse the situation as politely as you can. You don't really want him screaming at you or any fights breaking out, but you can't just sit here and listen to it.
I could be convinced to get rid of him more assertively, but I'm very aware of how little context we have.
[X] Go out there and try to defuse the situation as politely as you can. You don't really want him screaming at you or any fights breaking out, but you can't just sit here and listen to it.
Getting up in his face will likely result in us getting hit in the face, which could probably cause the symbiote to actively go into a defensive state since unlike Sung, this guy would be actively trying to harm us.
I mean yeah Sung could handle this no problem but sometimes we should at least try to solve things ourselves
It reminds you of your dogs, back when you were a kid. Didn't matter who yelled at them or for what, they'd always slink over and put their heads in the person's lap. Shoot them that 'I don't know what I did wrong please tell me I'm a good girl' look until they finally caved.
"So I just wanted to give you all the opportunity to welcome John to the team," Sung finishes rapidly, trying desperately to ignore Kate.
"Nice to meet you," says Caio. Kate adds a few soft 'mmm yeah' moans to her succulent imaginary blowjob. Florence exhales hard enough her nostrils visibly dilate.
and viola i'm 90% sure that's the Lamplighters in a fucking nutshell.
So just running through it: Sung is conscientious, practical, and methodically minded. Good at figuring out how to get from A to B and doesn't mind helping other people do the same. Sorta reserved but he's got a hot blooded power and steers people as needed so, basically, he's A++ mentor material. Kate is apparently solidly in the realm of "ceased to give a fuck". She doesn't bother with a costume, is openly contemptuous of everything going on (and most everyone here) but she's also been here the longest and so...honestly has probably given up on moving anywhere else. I bet she's the type of person who like, who probably knows how everything here actually works and the informal ins and outs and minimums you have to meets but I doubt she can really be assed to help us along.
Caio is a qt 3.14 and seems nice and shy and friendly but has a codename and a giant flashing neon sign that says "I have some super fucked up broke-ass power". Which also begs the question of what he's doing here because given the gist of the setting people with impressive or marketable stuff can usually land a slot on a B-Team. So either his power's really legitimately messed up to watch (v. possible) or nobody wanted to pick him up for some other reason.
"Ohhh, I'm gettin' ya now! Perfect slummin' conditions now they've swept all the half-eaten bodies up, so you thought you'd just pop down from Rich Cunt Island for a quick taste of the local colour! Well ladies, sad to say I'm as colourful as it gets, so unless you're after a taste of me you'd best be runnin' on home back to your husbands now, eh? They'll be due fer a turnin' soon, bedsores can be a real fucker!"
[X] Go out there and give that drunk asshole a piece of your mind. Everyone else might be putting up with it but you won't. Be assertive. [-1PP]
Hrm, actually thinking about it a bit and wrt what I said earlier we should probably get an idea of what spending a PP really means before it's a do or die situation. Thus far it seems like most updates have an option to catch at least one and it'd be nice to get a solid handle on what one being used looks like. John's pretty introverted and needs a lot of willpower (that he usually doesn't have) to challenge the status quo/make someone else do something. Regardless of how it plays out it'll be Informative seeing what the thought process is behind him getting involved.
'Cause ultimately it's a pretty low-stakes thing, the guy's almost definitely a D-lister or some shit who's just holed up in his favorite dive and we've got enough potential to make an -admittedly pretty shitty- C-team just off the bat.
The story between the lines is pretty great 'cause I'm like 90% sure that Florence is a washed up, superpowered child star and I fucking love it.
I mean think about it! Super famous as a kid (with super powers no less!), popular tv-show, low-key clinging hard to the childhood persona that made her name, we remember her from 15~ years ago and from absolutely Nothing more recently than that and we're a deeply passionate hero-watcher.
She's like if Zack Efron got caught in the daytime tv circuit instead of being a mega-star.
Hrm, actually thinking about it a bit and wrt what I said earlier we should probably get an idea of what spending a PP really means before it's a do or die situation.
[X] Wait for Sung to come back and ask him to resolve it. He clearly knows this place a lot better than you, he'll know how to defuse the drunk asshole. Besides, you'd probably just make it worse. [+1PP]
[X] Wait for Sung to come back and ask him to resolve it. He clearly knows this place a lot better than you, he'll know how to defuse the drunk asshole. Besides, you'd probably just make it worse. [+1PP]
Throwing a shit tier communicator to go talk to a drunk haranguing some other people has the potential to go poorly.
We have little skill at small talk or diplomacy, zero training in our own powers, and no non-lethal ways of subduing said drunk should he turn out to be belligerent at the fresh-faced newbie who thinks a fresh superpower gives him the right to tell them what to do.
I'd rather not shish-kebab some dude by mistake because we misjudge the appropriate amount of force and our mercury blob decides to terminal sanction any physical threat. Or worse, get wrecked ourself. If nothing else, it will probably increase our accident insurance rates.
[X] Wait for Sung to come back and ask him to resolve it. He clearly knows this place a lot better than you, he'll know how to defuse the drunk asshole. Besides, you'd probably just make it worse. [+1PP]
I'd rather not shish-kebab some dude by mistake because we misjudge the appropriate amount of force and our mercury blob decides to terminal sanction any physical threat. Or worse, get wrecked ourself. If nothing else, it will probably increase our accident insurance rates.
I mean the symbiote explicitly has to be trained to want to shish-kebab people basically. In the previous update Sung outright lovetapping John just made it try to keep John from falling over like an idiot (with mixed results) and Sung drew attention to the whole "huh, so it didn't really want to hurt me then". We're also pretty durable in general all things considered so, like, wwwooorst case scenario we just end up sitting on the guy until we can call him a cab Wherever.
Besides, the alternative is sorta along the lines of "John sits there and feels anxious and shitty for not doing anything -> feels like shit for feeling like shit -> works himself into a nervous wreck by the time Sung gets back".
Ultimately it's pretty low stakes I think, a good place to test out the PP mechanics and see how John overcomes his own inhibitions (which he's going to have to do at some point anyway). And just in general I ddddoooon't think Zerban's going to go "you try to subdue the belligerent drunk but instead you STABBED HIM IN THE FACE OH THE HUMANITY, QUICK VOTE ON HOW TO HIDE THE BODY".
Ultimately it's pretty low stakes I think, a good place to test out the PP mechanics and see how John overcomes his own inhibitions (which he's going to have to do at some point anyway). And just in general I ddddoooon't think Zerban's going to go "you try to subdue the belligerent drunk but instead you STABBED HIM IN THE FACE OH THE HUMANITY, QUICK VOTE ON HOW TO HIDE THE BODY".
[X] Wait for Sung to come back and ask him to resolve it. He clearly knows this place a lot better than you, he'll know how to defuse the drunk asshole. Besides, you'd probably just make it worse. [+1PP]
And just in general I ddddoooon't think Zerban's going to go "you try to subdue the belligerent drunk but instead you STABBED HIM IN THE FACE OH THE HUMANITY, QUICK VOTE ON HOW TO HIDE THE BODY".
Just be calm. Just try and ignore it. If he's a regular it must be just business as usual, he'll tire himself out or Sung'll come back and sort him out or whatsisname the bartender'll step in before it gets serious. Best you don't interfere anyway, y'know? You don't know anything about what's going on, you'd just be some ignorant white knight charging in.
The tremor in your chest intensifies. The tightness in your stomach curls into a complete fist. The fuck kind of thing is that to think for someone that said out loud 'I want to be a superhero'? What kind of weak bitch logic is that? Yeah you jumped into it and yeah you're still you mostly but... fuck you won't even change this much?
A long, thin crack runs from your thumb to the rim of the glass. You take a deep, slow breath and pry your too-tight fingers off it before it shatters completely. The symbiote's not coming to the surface completely, not yet. But the veins are so black and distinct it's like someone traced them with a marker.
You rise in a sudden, impulsive burst of movement and stomp outside.
"Hey, fuck you!" you shout at the silver-haired drunk, jabbing your finger accusingly. Okay, not very diplomatic or verbose but you got the point across. Your hand falls back to your side and you intensely resist glancing at the two women the drunk was shouting at because that'd just make this even harder. He swings his whole body around to face you, arms swaying like limp noodles, arched back as if poised to tip over. He peers down his nose at you, pupils narrowing to vertical slits to drown out the brighter sun and get a proper look at you.
"Hhhhhhiiiiii," he says almost pleasantly, grinning mirthlessly. "How can I help you today?"
"You can go inside and be quiet!" you snap. You have to talk quickly while this burst of nitro to the brain lasts. "I don't care what your problem is that you've gotta get hammered and shout at whoever but it's not gonna happen. They have just as much right to be here as you."
He walks up to you. Unsteady as the steps may be, they take him right up in your personal space. He's at least three inches taller than you and he lords the difference over you like a mile, peering down at you with a mocking smile.
"We're passing judgement now eh? Alright, alright, let's do some judging," he says. "What're you some, some new little pissant that just jumped out of the morgue to do good and make a difference? Haven't seen you around here before, 'friend'. New in town, eh? New to this 'hero' business? Thought you'd come cut your teeth in the bad part of town, get a real hardon acting like a hard man in front of some ladies?" He scoffs, leaning down to murmur almost conspiratorially in your ear. His breath stinks of alcohol. "You even seen any real action, you weekend-warrior piece of shit?"
wind rain cold freezing lungs burning pain numb
The breath comes hard and ragged through your nose. You curl your hands into tight fists to keep them from trembling. His eyes flick down to them, back up to stare into yours.
"Looks like you're trying to answer me," he almost singsongs. "Go on. I'll give ya the first shot." He taps his chin. "Right here, give us a little kiss."
A moment passes. Two. Three. His smile widens.
"S' what I thought." He pats your cheek. "Run along back to the graveyard, zombie boy. Don't think these ladies'll be wanting a taste of that ice-cold needle-dick after that display."
He saunters his way back inside, a spring in his stumbling step. Your heart thumps against the inside of your chest, faster and faster and faster. Your palms feel wet, oil-dark blood oozing from the cuts your sharpening nails leave.
"An angry, drunk coward," you say. "Can see why you're so popular."
Someone that drunk shouldn't be so fast. You don't know how he even heard you. But there's a rush of movement, you turn, and all you see is a bright green gleam of reflected light in his eyes before his fist drives into your cheek. It's shocking more than it hurts but it snaps your head right all the same. You stumble back a step, arms rising to defend yourself, when he just drives all his weight against you and tackles you into the railing. The metal rings like a dull gong. You gasp. Another fist sinks into your side.
"Get-" you snarl, sinking your claws into his shoulders, "-off!"
You swing him off you like you're throwing open a door. He goes limp as a ragdoll, all semblance of balance and stability lost. He goes stumbling ten feet to the right, hits the edge of the second railing. Bounces, manages one stride like he's coming back for more. His foot slips on the first step, and he crumples like a house of cards. Rolls down the stairs in a tangle of limbs, all the way across the footpath, and lands flat on his back in the street.
You freeze. Take a single, hesitant step forward the man whose bones you hope are all in perfect working order. To your relief he moves, flopping back and forth in the street like a beached fish in slow motion, groaning all the while. You look back at the two women at their table just long enough to see them staring.
You try to say something reassuring or heroic. "mneeh-hum?" Shit. Abort. Abort. Abort. You leap away from the railing as if shocked and power-walk back into the bar as quick as you can. Dart over to your old stool and hunch over like nothing ever happened. The symbiote sinks back below the surface sheepishly. The bartender's right there waiting for you, looking past you and out the door.
"... is he okay?" you ask eventually, dreading the worst.
"Yeah he's fine." He pours himself a glass of something amber and sets the bottle down. "He's powered. Worst you woulda done is upset his tummy." The sound of dry-heaving faintly reaches your ears. "Like so," he finishes, gesturing in the direction of the sound with his tumbler before draining it in one go.
"Should we call someone or-?"
"Nah." The bartender smacks his lips, setting the empty glass down. "He loses a fight he's done for the night, like clockwork. He'll just drag his sorry ass home from here and sleep it off." He leans on the bar, inspecting you with his one good eye. "See resurrection gave you some stones. Didn't peg you for the type."
"Trying to make some changes in my life," you say with a certain grim resignation, then take a swig from your glass before you lose the nerve. Tastes like a licorice, mint and paint-thinner cocktail. You barely keep yourself from retching. "Ugh. Look, honestly. I don't drink. M'not a teetotaller it's just everything I try tastes like ass."
"Yeah but triple-distilled malt ass goes down smooth." He flicks his head. "C'mon, what's your vice? You're not gonna get anywhere tryin'a relax and chat up J with a glass of milk."
You take too long to respond. You hope he doesn't notice. "... d'you do food?" you ask eventually.
"Got wings," he says with a shrug. "Chili fries."
"Those sound awful. I want two."
He claps you on the shoulder. "Attaboy."
The bathroom door swings open and shut. Sung strolls back over to his stool beside you, a little drying water still glistening on his face. Right on cue the microwave dings, calling the bartender to its side. Sung settles on his faux-leather perch as his microwaved sake is served to him, steaming, in an old coffee mug. He takes a long, deep draught and sets it down again with a satisfied sigh.
"Sorry to keep you waiting so long," he says, a little steam wafting past his lips. "All good?"
"All good yeah," you reply a little too quickly. "Talked to the bartender about some stuff, I guess."
"Hah, getting a head-start then!" he says with a smile.
"On what?" you ask, brow furrowed.
"Remember what I said? Coming here is part of your 'beat'." Sung gestures in an all-encompassing manner. "Part of serving the public when it's not full-blown urban fighting with kaiju-spawn is knowing the area, knowing the right people, keeping your finger on the pulse. When you're B-class you have people to do that for you, people that come to you. When you're us, you've gotta get proactive. With me?"
"Yeah."
"So when I come here I'm still on the job. Because Miles is a poor lonely soul and I'm the only one that'll put up with him long enough to have a proper conversation."
"I can still hear you ya squinty-eyed fuck," comes the bulldog-like growl from the kitchen. "Got an ear and a half left."
"You'll be a hit at the old folks home, I just know it." Only an incensed grumble answers him. Sung grins, returning his attention to you. "In this line of work it's all about who you know, even before you make it big. When people trust you, they'll help you help them. That's how you make sure you're where you need to be when a guy with a death ray and nothing to lose shows up. Or some guy tries to start up a protection racket, or a guy who knows a guy tells you he saw a truck parked somewhere suspicious loading stuff up, et cetera et cetera."
"I think I get it," you say. "Sorry heh. All my amateur expert shit and I kinda did focus too much on the A-B tier."
"It's alright. Can't keep track of everything everywhere." Sung falls silent for a moment, taking another gulp of steaming sake as the fryer bubbles and hisses in the background. "We've got a minute. Anything about yourself you're up for telling me? You'll be with us for at least a month after all, seems prudent to start breaking the ice."
"Oh. Um." You drum your fingers nervously on your cracked glass. "Not much to say really. Haven't done much with my life, hah. You?"
"Well, I'll save my life story for another day," he replies. "To put it briefly, I'm from Japan. Zainchi Korean - do you know what that is?" You shake your head of course. "It means even though my family and I were all born and raised in Japan, because we didn't want to renounce our heritage and become naturalised Japanese citizens we stayed 'Special Temporary Residents'. No voting rights and the like."
"Oh," you say. "That sounds really terrible, I'm sorry to hear that."
He sighs and shrugs. "Shou ga nai." He snorts at the irony. "See? Anyway my powers started to show at about fifteen or sixteen, I forget exactly but it was when puberty really started kicking in. I'd like to think I did my best to make things work but... eventually I just realised that there was nothing for me in Japan. So I left when I was eighteen and came here."
"How would you rate it all?" you ask. "On how it turned out versus how you hoped it would?"
Sung rocks his head left and right while he thinks about it. "Not perfect," he says at last. Lips quirking up into a smile. "But it did end up giving me an opportunity I never thought I'd have. So here I am, still trying to make it work." He looks at you. "I hope you find what you're hoping for in this business too, John."
"Heh. Um. Thank you, Sung."
Miles comes back with two paper-lined baskets of the most debauched servings of chili fries you could imagine. Each one seems to glisten and gleam with fryer oil, soaking through the paper almost immediately, drowned by layers of chili sauce and sour cream. You're so distracted you actually say 'thank you' with an intensity that leaves him bemused. He follows up by setting a Rum-and-Coke-hold-the-Coke down for you, fresh and fizzing from the soda fountain. A moment later he's back with the rum half to ruin it all.
"Oh no I-"
"What? S'for me."
He pours himself a fresh glass and hangs around. You start digging into your fries and the entire world makes sense again. It's only when you notice the polite pace Sung is setting that you rein yourself in a little. Old habits die hard, you suppose.
"So Miles, as I was just saying to our new mutual friend," Sung says, "He has to learn the lay of the land if he's going to make it as a Lamplighter. Care to give him the official word?"
Miles grunts noncommittally. "Sure, why the hell not. He seems okay. Definitely better'n the rest of the rabble you run with." He turns his attention to you, Sung no doubt already fully aware of what he's explaining. "Things are pretty shitty here, but it's all kept under a layer of stucco so the people that don't know what's what think 32's this perfect shining future-city or whatever the fuck they're sayin' in the ads now. Only type that live here're rich enough to live in Beachview or resigned 'mselves to rebuilding every month. Like tornado country but at least ya got the beach." He straightens up somewhat, arms out straight at an angle to steady himself against the bar. "Spawn hit us first every time, means there's a roarin' gun trade, 'specially for folks that can't get what they need officially in time. Means plenty of xeno corpses lyin' around after a storm you can bring home'n slaughter to sell to the drug pushers. Then there's the regular burnt-out washed-up guys, powered or not, that fell down here one way or the other'n now who knows what they'll stoop to. Y'know, like you guys."
"No offence taken," Sung says.
"Heart bleeds for ya." Miles doesn't even glance at him. "You got the look of a suburbs kid, but you got balls where it counts. Might tell you some stuff I heard someday, depending."
"See? What'd I tell you?" Sung drains the last of his mug. "Hard bitter shell, smooth creamy centre~"
"Only one with a creamy centre's you after you're done turnin' tricks for sake money," Miles shoots back. Sung just pushes the cup over to him for a refill and works on his fries.
The two of you work your way through your orders easily enough. Sung drinks the rest of your first round, you end up having half his basket of fries, it all works out. You end up feeling full, greasy, disgusting and satisfied. He, on the other hand, doesn't seem affected by the drinks at all. He pays for everything, Miles grumpily hands back more change than there should be, and the two of you depart. At the last minute you remember to ask if anywhere close sells furniture and clothes.
***
Thankfully, the symbiote makes the prospect of hauling a computer desk block after block back to the Lamplighters HQ by hand a breezy one. You carry the whole thing on your shoulders like a draft horse with no complaint, Sung with your new jacket, and the two of you cross the district in the indigo-grey shadows of the buildings before the setting sun. You only have to set the desk down once you're back at base, you and Sung trying to figure out how the fuck it'll actually fit through the door. But after much finessing and finagling and plenty of praying to the gods geometry that this angle will finally get it to slide home, you make it through.
"Oh, just a minute," says Sung once the cheap synthetic desk is safely sitting on the bare concrete. "I'll come help you set up soon, just need to grab a blanket."
"A blanket? Why?" you ask his retreating back, but no answer is forthcoming. You shrug. Maybe the nights get cold and he thinks you need a second one. You heft your new desk again and set off across the wide open 'living room'.
Florence isn't on the couch any more. In her place is a smattering of half a dozen empty beer cans or so, and a prone figure. A figure that rolls over in its sleep, snoring like a stuck pig in its drunken stupor. The silver-haired drunk from Flotsam.
You realise who 'Conway' is.
"(fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck)" you hiss to yourself as you power-walk to the double-doors, push through them with your back, dart down the hallway and practically dive into your room for cover. You drop the desk down wherever and flop down on your bed flat on your back, hoping to suddenly wake up and find out it was all a horrible dream. No such luck.
"(fuck)" you murmur one more time. Not long after the door opens again, and Sung steps through.
"Tired at last?" he observes.
"Kinda," you admit.
"It's alright. Need a moment?"
"Yeah. I can set everything up myself, but thanks for offering."
He pauses still in the doorway, fiddling with the handle as he thinks. "If you aren't too full up on fries, I was going to make bibimbap if you'd like some. I ask because we don't have much in the way of uh, kitchen facilities, so if you want something that isn't takeout mooching off me is probably the best you can get."
You don't really know what that is but even the symbiote seems to be having trouble breaking down those greasy-ass fries anyway. Mistakes have been made and you're paying for them, just like every single other time. "No um, thank you again for offering but I'm pretty full."
He smiles. "Okay." He gestures over his shoulder with a thumb. "I'm the first door on the right when you're coming through from the living room, so don't be afraid to come to me if you need anything, alright?"
You nod. "I might just have an early night if that's okay. Get started early and stuff tomorrow?"
He nods in kind. "Good plan. Goodnight John." He flashes one more smile as he backs out into the corridor, shutting the door with a soft 'click' behind him. You lie there and stare up at the ceiling as the sound of his footsteps slowly fades away.
Silence. Just as silent as your old apartment but there's still this weird feeling to the air. Like the fact alone that you're in much more intimate shared accommodation with five other people (one of whom you got in a barfight with) is compressing it down like a heavy blanket, making it harder to move and breathe. It's like... how you felt when you went back home for a little while, after everything. Like an inmate in a minimum security prison maybe, the appearance of freedom but the weight of so many phantom, judging eyes weighing down on you. That weight that only lifted when you were certain you were alone, not just in a room but in the entire house. The weight that didn't stop you staying up closer to dawn than midnight and creep downstairs to go out for fast food or stay online all day, just made you hate yourself more for doing it.
Speaking of creeping, you really have to take a shower before you sully this brand new bed. With a certain mechanical lifelessness to your movements you rummage through your suitcase for a towel. Hold still and seriously deliberate the merits of bringing a change of clothes just for the trip back to your room or chancing a half-naked sprint. You settle on the former.
The bathroom arrangements remind you far too much of school and the water isn't quite as warm as it was at the SERAPH hospital, but it's warm enough to even you out a little. Warm enough that you can just set your forehead against the off-white tiles and let the water roll down your back. No one comes in to challenge you as a filthy water-hog, but soon enough you get too guilty about using all their hot water and finally turn it off. Pause a moment, no sign of someone barging in. You retrieve your towel, dry off as best you can, and reach for your clothes.
The symbiote wraps around you from shoulder to knee, clinging to you in a sort of tank-top and shorts arrangement.
"... hah. Yeah, guess I'm kinda dumb," you say. You think it cinches a little tighter in silent acknowledgement. You sling your damp towel over your shoulder, bunch up your clean clothes in your hand, and swiftly return to your room. Flawless stealth, seen by no one. You can relax again. The symbiote helpfully sucks your 'tank-top' back into the black blooms on your chest and back.
You dump the clean clothes on your desk and glance at the discarded, old ones on the floor. Fuck it, laundry later. Stoop to retrieve your phone first (shit it's a miracle you haven't sent a phone through the washing machine yet), then time for bed. It's pitch-black once you turn the lights off, not even windows for the last of the dying light. No air-conditioning, but even for summer it's not that hot. Nothing to do now but wait to fall asleep in this unfamiliar bed with unfamiliar days ahead of you, trying not to overfocus on the sounds of the other Lamplighters moving around like an insane person.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Your phone rings. It's almost startling, jolts you out of your reverie. You sit up, scoop the phone up from the other side of the bed. It's a number you don't recognise. You tap the 'accept' button and hold it to your ear.
"... can I help you?" you say, standoffish and slightly testy.
"John? It's Michael."
"O-oh?" You double-take, snatch the phone away from your ear and fully stare at it, brow furrowed. What? Why would he be calling you? How does he even have your number? The hell's going on? You slowly bring it back to your ear. "Uh... wasn't expecting a call from you."
"Yeah. Sorry to call out of the blue, I just wanted to try and catch you before it got too late. I'm not interrupting anything am I?"
You look around at the bare, solitary room. "Not really, no. What's this about?"
"Well I was doing the usual post-attack cleanup work - Jesus, what an attack it was. I think the official word is it was Tentacle-Dreads' mate that realised it wasn't coming back and got pissed? Anyway. There's a few natural spike points in hero registration and just after an attack is one of the common ones. I was checking the updated lists and whose name should I come across than yours?"
You did not even think of that. But of course he'd have access to registration records, that's the most basic privilege an agency has. Obviously how he got your number too. "O-oh, yeah. Yeah I've um... had a big few days."
"Hah. Yeah. Really sounds like it, man. Look, you'll be glad to know I don't have a lot of time to pester you right now either, but... I dunno. Call it fate or just my being self-centred but it feels like I'm already tied up in this somehow, meeting you that day out of any other day." He pauses briefly, the faint sound of him smacking his lips filtering through the line. "Look, how about we make a date? Lunch tomorrow or something. Want a look at your case so to speak, get up to speed. But no pressure."
"No, yeah, that sounds..." you waffle. "Can I pencil you in? I'm kind of making a lot of adjustments right now, dunno about anything timing-wise at the moment."
" 'course, 'course, not a problem. Call me when you can!"
You exchange goodbyes, and the line goes dead. A long, resigned sigh escapes you. Michael's throwing you a bone when you should be paying through the nose for minutes with a guy like him, and you know rationally that you should be thrilled. But the mere prospect of showing yourself to him again like this, having to walk back your lies, explain it all... it's about as appealing as root canal. You flop right back down, flat on your back, and stare at the dark ceiling.
Full day tomorrow. You need your rest. The one blissful relief is that you find yourself drifting off to sleep a lot easier than you expected, all things considered. You wonder if you have the symbiote to thank or if you're just that tired before you finally, fully, drift away.
***
You wake up. For one disorienting moment you wonder why your apartment looks different. Think for a handful of almost comforting seconds that it was all a weird dream and you're right back where you started. But it all comes back into focus. You sit up and check the time. 8:02am, 6/01. Jesus, earliest you've been up in about a year. Maybe more. You grind the heel of your palm into your eye sockets, trying to rub in some wakefulness. Your body's crying out not to be human right now, but much as you'd like to pass out again that's really not an option. The prospect of disappointing Sung is an excellent deterrent. So you laboriously get to work on freshening up for the day, and think about how you'll occupy yourself.
First there's the question of the 'beat' you'll be walking, presumably with Sung. Grassroots exposure, getting your name and face out there, picking up word on the street, all that stuff.
[ ] The docks. You've already made inroads there with Miles, so maybe it'd be best to press the advantage. The attack's still recent so there probably won't be much of a crowd - less exposure, less potential embarrassment. A major point of ingress and egress in City 32, plenty of cargo moving through shipyards dotted with loading cranes like watchtowers. Plenty of opportunity for overworked dockhands to let something slip by for a green handshake. Not very glamorous, but it's your 'home turf' now.
[ ] The commercial district. All densely-packed shops and ads, glitz and glamour, things being bought and sold for the right price. Plenty of crowds, plenty of exposure, plenty of chances to humiliate yourself. Plenty of competition too, considering how many other supers will probably be vying for face-time there. But maybe you can dig something up, some thread to pull.
[ ] The leisure district. The clubs, the theatres, the hotels, the red lights. City 32's playground for all ages depending whether the sun's up or not, where vices of every kind lurk behind closed doors. Plenty of people and less competition in terms of sheer numbers, but it tends to be the well-worn haunt of more experienced heroes, and for good reason.
And then there's your training-time to consider. Sung did promise you'd be working out every day. But what should you be working out specifically?
[ ] Strength training. Everyone loves a strongman - you kinda couldn't help but be impressed by Kate showing off yesterday. Work out the limits of your symbiote-enhanced muscles and if you can push them, see if you'll be chucking cars anytime soon.
[ ] Endurance training. If you can't be overly flashy then you can at least be consistent. If your stamina and staying power is your biggest asset, why not focus on it? Try figuring out what'll get you tired.
[ ] Agility training. As Sung (and Conway) proved to you yesterday, all your powers can't really do you much good if you can't react in time just because someone rushed you. Work on your speed and reflexes.
[ ] Shapeshifting. You've got a morphing alien for blood, and while it's doing its best it clearly has its limitations. Maybe it's like a muscle in its own right, just something you gotta work at until it beefs up? Try and find the limits of the symbiote's shifting abilities.
And finally, in what little free time you have left, you should probably try socialising. Try and come off more like a new member of the team than some weirdo that's squatting in one of the spare rooms and skittering away like a cockroach when someone turns the light on.
[ ] Sung. Safe bet. He's spent a protracted amount of time with you already and he put up with you just fine.
[ ] Caio. He seemed nice too, even if the suit makes you equally worried and curious. It'd at least be polite.
[ ] Kate. Okay, not the most approachable, but with some food and sleep the idea of introducing yourself doesn't seem quite as insurmountable now.
[ ] Florence. Not very approachable either, but you're low-key burning to know what happened to her that she'd land in a dump like this.
[ ] Conway. Eeuugghh... maybe you can... let bygones be bygones and be professional about it? [-1 PP]
[ ] No one. Honestly your free time and energy is kind of at a premium right now - the symbiote's helping with physical stamina, but it can't do shit for the mental kind. Just stay quiet and solitary for now. [+1 PP]
-1 PP [Why Me?]
+1 XP [Hybrid Hero]
Greetings and salutations, loyal readers! Much apologies for the unexpected delay. Some inter-dimensional observers from outside time and space abducted yours truly and I had to explain how a series of seemingly unconnected cameos were actually all- ah nevermind, tell you guys later. The important thing is that our good friend John has finally cobbled together enough XP to start making some purchases!
PERFORMANCE-BASED PAY
Now when you think about 'XP' you gotta think of it as more of an abstracted combination of John's actual experience being a hero and what SERAPH pays him by way of the Lamplighters. The more he makes a difference around City 32 and moves on up in the world, the more he can realistically requisition from SERAPH and similar contacts! Your options are relatively limited at the moment, but sooner or later that's gonna change. You can vote to buy something with XP basically at any time, and XP items both purchased and available'll be recorded in the Index too. Things you buy with XP will show up ASAP within reason - you can learn a new application for your power mid-fight like a real hero and stuff, but you can't exactly run off and sell pics of yourself in action like that. You ain't Spider-Guy. Also, if you don't think it's right to spend XP just yet, go ahead and whack a big X in a '[ ] Don't buy anything' vote or what-have-you. And remember never to buy Image!
Available XP: 5
Career
[ ] Positive Buzz (5XP) - Michael can get you a basic photo op if he pulls some strings, no problem. Beat up something from the Spheres that's scarier than you and look good while doing it, build up some hype for this mysterious alien hybrid that just showed up on the scene.
[ ] Fan Club (5XP) - Michael can do some cursory market research, focus group your image and try to find you a target audience.
Base
[ ] Get Some Grub (5XP) - Put in a requisition order with SERAPH for a simple food-prep drone. It won't be some gourmet food-fiend but it beats eating out every single night. And maybe it'll make things seem a little more homey.
[ ] All Play No Play (5XP) - The Lamplighters may not do much city-saving but there doesn't seem to be jack-all to do in the downtime either. Requisition some good old-fashioned videogames, maybe that'll be something to bond over.
Self
[ ] Acrobatics Training (15XP) - Sign up for the urban traversal/gymnastics course SERAPH offers. Learn how to get around the city quicker with your powers, and generally not get hit in the face so much.
[ ] Stealth Training (15XP) - Sign up for the concealment/silent movement course SERAPH offers. Learn how to stay out of sight and get around under people's noses, at least until the time is right.
Florence isn't on the couch any more. In her place is a smattering of half a dozen empty beer cans or so, and a prone figure. A figure that rolls over in its sleep, snoring like a stuck pig in its drunken stupor. The silver-haired drunk from Flotsam.
i'll admit, i did kinda laugh out loud at the payoff. 'cause it's a pretty good payoff.
[X] The docks. You've already made inroads there with Miles, so maybe it'd be best to press the advantage. The attack's still recent so there probably won't be much of a crowd - less exposure, less potential embarrassment. A major point of ingress and egress in City 32, plenty of cargo moving through shipyards dotted with loading cranes like watchtowers. Plenty of opportunity for overworked dockhands to let something slip by for a green handshake. Not very glamorous, but it's your 'home turf' now.
Sung's got a really good point in that it's important to cultivate contacts and a kind of trust and quid pro quo with the locals. We live down here, we're gonna be spending a bunch of time down here, it's a pretty solid tutorial area all things considered. We've already got one central location/character down (Flotsam + Miles the Bartender), lets figure out some of the other important sites around here. Might not be as glamorous but at least if we fall on our face and eat shit there'll be fewer cameras around to see. And it's just good practice in general.
[X] Shapeshifting. You've got a morphing alien for blood, and while it's doing its best it clearly has its limitations. Maybe it's like a muscle in its own right, just something you gotta work at until it beefs up? Try and find the limits of the symbiote's shifting abilities.
'Cause it's our main power and the symbiote's adorable. Also we're like, wildly outclassed in most of the fundamentals I think 'cause we haven't had much time or opportunity to develop them. I'm not saying neglect that stuff necessarily, just that this is our main edge and we need to polish it and get it down pat before anything else.
[X] Caio. He seemed nice too, even if the suit makes you equally worried and curious. It'd at least be polite.
Weird seamonster man go go go
[X] Fan Club (5XP) - Michael can do some cursory market research, focus group your image and try to find you a target audience.
Get a dedicated base that'll dig our stuff and then a. we'll have a core audience to fall back on and b. we'll know who they are and what in particular they like and can use that going forward. Also I kinda just want to see John suffer.
