Warrior of Dusk: Taylor's Attempt to Dance/Firaga/Suplex All the Things REDUX (Worm/Final Fantasy)
- Thread starter UnwelcomeStorm
- Start date
-
- Tags
- final fantasy worm
Rising Sun 9
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
April 21 - April 23
I fumbled for my phone, while Vista double-checked Trickster and added a few zip-ties for good measure. First thing's first: I needed to check in. I had an endangered civilian and a semi-unconscious villain I needed to get secured, and the whole city was being bombarded or something, and I had terrible suspicions about why the Console line would be down, and there were wounded everywhere and I needed to help, and I never finished my crepe someone is going to pay.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Taylor.
The Console line was still down, or maybe just unattended (I think Dennis had console right now, but he was probably needed for timefreezing people and/or explosions) so I scrolled through my contacts and tried to think of whom to call. Ah, Miss Militia was on patrol today, right? She'd be in the thick of things, but at least I knew she'd be around. I dialed.
I heard the click of connection. "Militia here!"
"Miss Militia, it's Fantasia. I've got Vista, a downed villain, and an endangered civilian. Uh, please advise?" Console training didn't really cover field emergencies as much as I'd have liked.
"Not gonna ask. Escort them to the PRT HQ, then--you teleport, right?--then get to the PRT clinic, or the hospital, if there's no wounded."
"Shouldn't I put the villain in the Rig's cells?"
"Negative, do not go to the Rig, the Rig is under attack. I repeat, do not go to the Rig."
"Saddling up, got it." I replied, as I pulled on Summoner again. I couldn't Teleport all of us, but Vista could make some sick ramps for Coco and get us downtown in no time. "What's happening at the Rig? Bombs?"
"Breakout attempt for Lung, I'm headed there to engage." Lung. The bombs were a distraction, had to be. I'd have thought the ABB might attack a transport carrier with their boss in it, but the Rig directly? That was... insane. And insanely dangerous. There had to be a catch-- had to be some ace in the hole to make anyone that confident.
Well. I guess technically that ace could just be Lung.
"Permission to assist!"
"Negative, Fantasia." What?!
"I can help! I can put out his fires, or shut down his regen, or--"
"Negative, Fantasia, that's an order! Wards are not fighting Lung, now get to your post!" She hung up. I grit my teeth, breath hissing between them even as I called Coco from the ether. I wanted to help, I could make a difference, I knew it! But noooo, I'm a Ward. I'm not supposed to be fighting S-class threats or dragons. So unfair. I gave a moment of serious consideration to disobeying Miss Militia and teleporting to the fight anyway.
"Sounds like Lung. Isn't he still in the Rig?" Vista asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. I nodded, and she grimaced. The pair of us levered Trickster up onto Coco's back. No-- it sucked, but there were things I had to do. People to take care of.
Accepting duty often means embracing restraint.
Your Devotion has increased.
"Okay. Getting you three to HQ, then I'm on healer duty. Vista, they'll probably want you for S and R after the explosions stop-- dig people out of houses, all that." I gave her a boost up, then gestured for Dinah. She followed, but her face was scrunched up all weird.
"45.539% I go missing if I go to the PRT building." Well, shit. Vista turned her head to look at Dinah, her eyes wide as the connections came together.
"Okay, uh... what if you stay with me?" And there was that scrunchy face again, what was with that?
"Cotton candy."
"...what?" Vista and I asked, in unison.
"That's-- that's what I get. Not actually, that's... that's the answer I get. Cotton Candy. Stop turning the numbers into snacks, please, this is serious."
"Okay that's a whole set of questions for another time. Um." I prodded Coco into gear, and she started trotting, then almost flying as she reached full speed. "What if... you stay with Panacea?" Technically I'd be at the same hospital probably, but maybe if I wasn't mentioned in the question...?
"Oh. Um... 7.846% chance I go missing today. That's much better."
"Okay, plan got! Doo do-do dooo!" I raised my phone in triumph. "Vista, text Militia for me? Tell her I can 'port back to the Rig for the wounded if she calls me."
"Sure, just lemme..." The terrain in front of us collapsed back to normality. I wonder if Coco even noticed. "Okay, gimmie."
Coco got us to the PRT building, and I had to use Monk to get Trickster into the garage, because by then he'd finished turning into a statue and Vista was slightly alarmed but it's fine, really, he'll be fine. I dug some sticky notes out of my inventory and left one on his forehead, just in case someone mistook him for furniture. Then it was back into Summoner and back on Coco while I figured out a way to keep Dinah nearby without anyone getting suspicious. Tiny nurse costume? The idea had merit.
Or maybe everyone would be too distracted by all the burns, and lacerations, and people coughing up blood to care.
Lung has escaped.
* * *
The aftermath was... pretty bad.
The Protectorate got off easy, sort of, in the sense that not many people on the Rig died. When I asked later, I found out that a few ABB members had actually swum out to the Rig, then used some Tinkerfab launchers to hurl bombs at the lower levels, where the containment cells were. I guess the forcefield dome isn't as much of a help when the attack comes from inside its radius. Lung beefed himself up mauling the few other occupants and the guards that showed up first, so when Triumph and Armsmaster had gotten there he had a good head start on them.
He could have escaped out the hole in the side at any time, and swum away, but he chose to stick around for a bit. HI supposed that he wanted to slap around the Protectorate, just because he could.
Aside from a brief stop to heal up as many injuries as my powers could handle, I didn't get back to the PRT building for about 16 hours, once all the critical wounded had been taken care of. Sure, I didn't need to sleep, but mentally I was exhausted. And furious-- 'can't heal patients without consent' my technicolor ass, this was a state of emergency. Unicorn would have been a great help, but apparently that would help people who didn't want parahuman healing, because I guess some people just hate joy. And I bet some of them are doctors.
Ugh.
Coffee. Coffee will make it better.
I shambled my way to the PRT cafeteria, doing my best impression of a zombie as I collected caffeine, and a danish, and... I guess trail mix? That works. I gave greeting-type grunts to the cashier, then slumped over to my favorite table and commenced consumption.
"Hey sport! How's it going!" Mouse Protector appeared with a sudden pop!, her hands on my shoulders and a dangerously Morning Person grin on her face. I commenced choking for a minute, then finally managed to swallow and answer.
"Mrgh."
"That good, eh?"
"Hrnm-ght."
"Glad to hear it!"
She stepped up onto the bench, then walked over the top of the table and sat down opposite me, her own breakfast tray clattering merrily. Even her food was Morning Person, why. As she sliced up an orange, she gave me a sideways glance and said, "Heard you had a busy day yesterday."
"Mhm. Shopping."
"Shopping? Of course, of course. Perilous activity, there. Checked your email yet today, by any chance?"
"No," I said, taking a break from my food to rub at my eyes. "Been swapping between the different hospitals and the PRT clinic all yesterday evening and night." Ah, that reminded me-- I'd left my dad a voicemail already, but I needed to remember to call up Amy sometime soon. I'd left Dinah in the care of her and Victoria, after pulling the older heroine aside for some very stern instructions on maintaining the girl's safety. She'd taken it seriously-- very seriously, when I suggested that the kidnapping attempt on Amy had instead been on Dinah, with the rest as collateral damages-- and had sworn to keep at least one member of New Wave with her at all times. I guess if anybody's going to take protecting non-masked parahumans seriously, it'd be them.
I sipped at my coffee (bitter, muddy, and not worth the paper cup it came in, as expected) and absently watched Mouse Protector start thumbing her phone. I thought she was going through more cat pictures, but she must have queued up a video of an action movie or something, because her phone started making lots of tinny roars and explosion sounds. I tuned it out in favor of hunting down every last scrap of coconut in my trail mix, until Mouse Protector turned up the volume in time for me to hear my own voice, saying:
"Doomtrain pulls no punches, only a cargo of souls."
"Over two hundred thousand hits already on Youtube. You're popular, Miss Fantasia!" My mouth just fell open and refused to close. Mouse Protector grinned at me, and waggled her phone. "I already checked, and there's people selling bootleg copies of your Horrortrain Hat on Ebay already, it's awesome. Oh, that reminds me, you didn't answer your phone so I'm supposed to let you know that while Arcadia may be closed for the day, the PR department is not, and you've got a meeting to get to."
Lung. Lung, come back. Save me.
"Think I could get an autograph before you go, O Little Eidolon, Reaper of Souls?"
"...well, why not. Trade you? I'm sure mine will be worth more by this afternoon, after I'm dead."
Spending time with Mouse Protector fortifies your Spirit.
Passion has increased.
You received Key Item: [Photo with Mouse Protector]!
* * *
I got directions to the Marketing Office, and when I showed up Vista was already there. There was a big fold-out display board on her side of the room, covered in pictures and renders of her costume, and some sketches for what I guessed were proposed updates to it. From the sounds of things, she was in the middle of presenting a nuanced argument on why she should snot have her costume's chest expanded and shaped, which... I'm in total aggreement. Practicality aside, Missy, my love for you will not allow me to accept a 12-year-old with bigger boobs than me. Please forgive me.
The other side of the room was a riot of color, which I sadly recognized as a display of all my different costumes, and the recent photos of my hair, and... are those image memes taped to the whiteboard?! I quickly picked out Chibierian among them. Yes. Yes they were. I hadn't realized there were so many. I drifted over for a closer look. Lessee... Parkour Dinosaur Bird, check. Photoshopped Gif of Dancer moving across different scenes, check. Suplexing Leet, check. And over here was--
Oh. Oh dear.
A smiling man in inoffensive khakis and suspenders walked over to me. "Ah, welcome, Fantasia. I see you've found the Shipping Chart."
My life is over.
* * *
"So, you're quite the interesting case. A mixed blessing, of sorts-- oh, certainly, your brand is a goldmine for accessories. We've already had to hire six people just to handle the designing and sales of your costume themes, and now we're adding a hair-color line and eventual branch into more cosmetics as well. So that's wonderful, and we're all very proud of you." Mr. George Stevens beamed at me. He was a short man, with his name badge clipped to one of his suspenders, which was embossed with his title of Brockton Bay Wards Marketing Director. Also in the room were the Costume Design, Sales Manager, their various assistants, and a man who had landed the job of Capefic Analyst. I'm not sure how that last one was still alive. Most of them were clustered around a row of computers on the far wall, which were showing screen captures from my appearances on Uber and Leet's show.
"But your exploits paint a rather... jarring picture in contrast to your colorful, cheerful persona," he understated. "So, today we're mostly here to go over what direction to take your brand in. Do you have any thoughts on that at the moment?"
"Um... I'm not sure? I haven't actually had a lot of time with Marketing or PR... oh!" I sat up a little straighter. "Except I did get an email from the director in New York, I think? A Glenn Chambers?"
"Oh, did you? He's responsible for some of the highest-profile capes in the Protectorate. What did he tell you?"
"Oh, it was a tutorial on what to do if I ever got caught using my Berserker set in public. I practiced it really hard, watch!" I pulled on my power, even as Mr. Stevens backed up several steps. Berserker's pelt and white stripes coalesced over me, and I concentrated on getting this just right. I stood up with a bounce, pulling one leg up and behind me, bent at the knee, while my left paw curled near my chest and my right swept back my hood's ear and then set in a curve as well. Then I just had to stick out my tongue, and--
"Nyahh~!"
Everyone stared. I hoped that meant I was doing good. I heard one in the back mutter something that sounded like, "What the Christ, Glenn."
"That's... very good, Fantasia. Thank you. You can go back to a different costume, now."
I did so, sitting back on the stool, and he continued. "But, uh... the Chibierian is kind of part of the big question, isn't it, on how to portray you as heroic and innocent when you can also do-- well." He gestured at the laptop displaying Doomtrain's face. One of the dead train's eyes had swiveled to follow Leet's camera drone. Mr. Stevens tapped his chin for a moment, then looked up and called to his associates, "Hey-- we've got Serious Cute for Vista, but have we done a Scary or Creepy Cute yet?"
"Not since Bonesaw."
"True, but... Fantasia's older, and not blonde. We might be able to curb the comparisons with sheer audacity."
"She's not serious enough for Scary, though."
"A bit airheaded," one of the soon-to-be dead men piped up. "An 'Absentminded' and 'Scary' crossover might be doable." Mr Stevens looked at me again, his expression contemplative. "Hmm... as long as you never wear a dress and bloody apron, it might work. What do you think?"
I stared at the Marketting team. Absentminded?! I wasn't absentminded! OR scary!
. . .
Really!
I fumbled for my phone, while Vista double-checked Trickster and added a few zip-ties for good measure. First thing's first: I needed to check in. I had an endangered civilian and a semi-unconscious villain I needed to get secured, and the whole city was being bombarded or something, and I had terrible suspicions about why the Console line would be down, and there were wounded everywhere and I needed to help, and I never finished my crepe someone is going to pay.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Taylor.
The Console line was still down, or maybe just unattended (I think Dennis had console right now, but he was probably needed for timefreezing people and/or explosions) so I scrolled through my contacts and tried to think of whom to call. Ah, Miss Militia was on patrol today, right? She'd be in the thick of things, but at least I knew she'd be around. I dialed.
I heard the click of connection. "Militia here!"
"Miss Militia, it's Fantasia. I've got Vista, a downed villain, and an endangered civilian. Uh, please advise?" Console training didn't really cover field emergencies as much as I'd have liked.
"Not gonna ask. Escort them to the PRT HQ, then--you teleport, right?--then get to the PRT clinic, or the hospital, if there's no wounded."
"Shouldn't I put the villain in the Rig's cells?"
"Negative, do not go to the Rig, the Rig is under attack. I repeat, do not go to the Rig."
"Saddling up, got it." I replied, as I pulled on Summoner again. I couldn't Teleport all of us, but Vista could make some sick ramps for Coco and get us downtown in no time. "What's happening at the Rig? Bombs?"
"Breakout attempt for Lung, I'm headed there to engage." Lung. The bombs were a distraction, had to be. I'd have thought the ABB might attack a transport carrier with their boss in it, but the Rig directly? That was... insane. And insanely dangerous. There had to be a catch-- had to be some ace in the hole to make anyone that confident.
Well. I guess technically that ace could just be Lung.
"Permission to assist!"
"Negative, Fantasia." What?!
"I can help! I can put out his fires, or shut down his regen, or--"
"Negative, Fantasia, that's an order! Wards are not fighting Lung, now get to your post!" She hung up. I grit my teeth, breath hissing between them even as I called Coco from the ether. I wanted to help, I could make a difference, I knew it! But noooo, I'm a Ward. I'm not supposed to be fighting S-class threats or dragons. So unfair. I gave a moment of serious consideration to disobeying Miss Militia and teleporting to the fight anyway.
"Sounds like Lung. Isn't he still in the Rig?" Vista asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. I nodded, and she grimaced. The pair of us levered Trickster up onto Coco's back. No-- it sucked, but there were things I had to do. People to take care of.
Accepting duty often means embracing restraint.
Your Devotion has increased.
"Okay. Getting you three to HQ, then I'm on healer duty. Vista, they'll probably want you for S and R after the explosions stop-- dig people out of houses, all that." I gave her a boost up, then gestured for Dinah. She followed, but her face was scrunched up all weird.
"45.539% I go missing if I go to the PRT building." Well, shit. Vista turned her head to look at Dinah, her eyes wide as the connections came together.
"Okay, uh... what if you stay with me?" And there was that scrunchy face again, what was with that?
"Cotton candy."
"...what?" Vista and I asked, in unison.
"That's-- that's what I get. Not actually, that's... that's the answer I get. Cotton Candy. Stop turning the numbers into snacks, please, this is serious."
"Okay that's a whole set of questions for another time. Um." I prodded Coco into gear, and she started trotting, then almost flying as she reached full speed. "What if... you stay with Panacea?" Technically I'd be at the same hospital probably, but maybe if I wasn't mentioned in the question...?
"Oh. Um... 7.846% chance I go missing today. That's much better."
"Okay, plan got! Doo do-do dooo!" I raised my phone in triumph. "Vista, text Militia for me? Tell her I can 'port back to the Rig for the wounded if she calls me."
"Sure, just lemme..." The terrain in front of us collapsed back to normality. I wonder if Coco even noticed. "Okay, gimmie."
Coco got us to the PRT building, and I had to use Monk to get Trickster into the garage, because by then he'd finished turning into a statue and Vista was slightly alarmed but it's fine, really, he'll be fine. I dug some sticky notes out of my inventory and left one on his forehead, just in case someone mistook him for furniture. Then it was back into Summoner and back on Coco while I figured out a way to keep Dinah nearby without anyone getting suspicious. Tiny nurse costume? The idea had merit.
Or maybe everyone would be too distracted by all the burns, and lacerations, and people coughing up blood to care.
Lung has escaped.
* * *
The aftermath was... pretty bad.
The Protectorate got off easy, sort of, in the sense that not many people on the Rig died. When I asked later, I found out that a few ABB members had actually swum out to the Rig, then used some Tinkerfab launchers to hurl bombs at the lower levels, where the containment cells were. I guess the forcefield dome isn't as much of a help when the attack comes from inside its radius. Lung beefed himself up mauling the few other occupants and the guards that showed up first, so when Triumph and Armsmaster had gotten there he had a good head start on them.
He could have escaped out the hole in the side at any time, and swum away, but he chose to stick around for a bit. HI supposed that he wanted to slap around the Protectorate, just because he could.
Aside from a brief stop to heal up as many injuries as my powers could handle, I didn't get back to the PRT building for about 16 hours, once all the critical wounded had been taken care of. Sure, I didn't need to sleep, but mentally I was exhausted. And furious-- 'can't heal patients without consent' my technicolor ass, this was a state of emergency. Unicorn would have been a great help, but apparently that would help people who didn't want parahuman healing, because I guess some people just hate joy. And I bet some of them are doctors.
Ugh.
Coffee. Coffee will make it better.
I shambled my way to the PRT cafeteria, doing my best impression of a zombie as I collected caffeine, and a danish, and... I guess trail mix? That works. I gave greeting-type grunts to the cashier, then slumped over to my favorite table and commenced consumption.
"Hey sport! How's it going!" Mouse Protector appeared with a sudden pop!, her hands on my shoulders and a dangerously Morning Person grin on her face. I commenced choking for a minute, then finally managed to swallow and answer.
"Mrgh."
"That good, eh?"
"Hrnm-ght."
"Glad to hear it!"
She stepped up onto the bench, then walked over the top of the table and sat down opposite me, her own breakfast tray clattering merrily. Even her food was Morning Person, why. As she sliced up an orange, she gave me a sideways glance and said, "Heard you had a busy day yesterday."
"Mhm. Shopping."
"Shopping? Of course, of course. Perilous activity, there. Checked your email yet today, by any chance?"
"No," I said, taking a break from my food to rub at my eyes. "Been swapping between the different hospitals and the PRT clinic all yesterday evening and night." Ah, that reminded me-- I'd left my dad a voicemail already, but I needed to remember to call up Amy sometime soon. I'd left Dinah in the care of her and Victoria, after pulling the older heroine aside for some very stern instructions on maintaining the girl's safety. She'd taken it seriously-- very seriously, when I suggested that the kidnapping attempt on Amy had instead been on Dinah, with the rest as collateral damages-- and had sworn to keep at least one member of New Wave with her at all times. I guess if anybody's going to take protecting non-masked parahumans seriously, it'd be them.
I sipped at my coffee (bitter, muddy, and not worth the paper cup it came in, as expected) and absently watched Mouse Protector start thumbing her phone. I thought she was going through more cat pictures, but she must have queued up a video of an action movie or something, because her phone started making lots of tinny roars and explosion sounds. I tuned it out in favor of hunting down every last scrap of coconut in my trail mix, until Mouse Protector turned up the volume in time for me to hear my own voice, saying:
"Doomtrain pulls no punches, only a cargo of souls."
"Over two hundred thousand hits already on Youtube. You're popular, Miss Fantasia!" My mouth just fell open and refused to close. Mouse Protector grinned at me, and waggled her phone. "I already checked, and there's people selling bootleg copies of your Horrortrain Hat on Ebay already, it's awesome. Oh, that reminds me, you didn't answer your phone so I'm supposed to let you know that while Arcadia may be closed for the day, the PR department is not, and you've got a meeting to get to."
Lung. Lung, come back. Save me.
"Think I could get an autograph before you go, O Little Eidolon, Reaper of Souls?"
"...well, why not. Trade you? I'm sure mine will be worth more by this afternoon, after I'm dead."
Spending time with Mouse Protector fortifies your Spirit.
Passion has increased.
You received Key Item: [Photo with Mouse Protector]!
* * *
I got directions to the Marketing Office, and when I showed up Vista was already there. There was a big fold-out display board on her side of the room, covered in pictures and renders of her costume, and some sketches for what I guessed were proposed updates to it. From the sounds of things, she was in the middle of presenting a nuanced argument on why she should snot have her costume's chest expanded and shaped, which... I'm in total aggreement. Practicality aside, Missy, my love for you will not allow me to accept a 12-year-old with bigger boobs than me. Please forgive me.
The other side of the room was a riot of color, which I sadly recognized as a display of all my different costumes, and the recent photos of my hair, and... are those image memes taped to the whiteboard?! I quickly picked out Chibierian among them. Yes. Yes they were. I hadn't realized there were so many. I drifted over for a closer look. Lessee... Parkour Dinosaur Bird, check. Photoshopped Gif of Dancer moving across different scenes, check. Suplexing Leet, check. And over here was--
Oh. Oh dear.
A smiling man in inoffensive khakis and suspenders walked over to me. "Ah, welcome, Fantasia. I see you've found the Shipping Chart."
My life is over.
* * *
"So, you're quite the interesting case. A mixed blessing, of sorts-- oh, certainly, your brand is a goldmine for accessories. We've already had to hire six people just to handle the designing and sales of your costume themes, and now we're adding a hair-color line and eventual branch into more cosmetics as well. So that's wonderful, and we're all very proud of you." Mr. George Stevens beamed at me. He was a short man, with his name badge clipped to one of his suspenders, which was embossed with his title of Brockton Bay Wards Marketing Director. Also in the room were the Costume Design, Sales Manager, their various assistants, and a man who had landed the job of Capefic Analyst. I'm not sure how that last one was still alive. Most of them were clustered around a row of computers on the far wall, which were showing screen captures from my appearances on Uber and Leet's show.
"But your exploits paint a rather... jarring picture in contrast to your colorful, cheerful persona," he understated. "So, today we're mostly here to go over what direction to take your brand in. Do you have any thoughts on that at the moment?"
"Um... I'm not sure? I haven't actually had a lot of time with Marketing or PR... oh!" I sat up a little straighter. "Except I did get an email from the director in New York, I think? A Glenn Chambers?"
"Oh, did you? He's responsible for some of the highest-profile capes in the Protectorate. What did he tell you?"
"Oh, it was a tutorial on what to do if I ever got caught using my Berserker set in public. I practiced it really hard, watch!" I pulled on my power, even as Mr. Stevens backed up several steps. Berserker's pelt and white stripes coalesced over me, and I concentrated on getting this just right. I stood up with a bounce, pulling one leg up and behind me, bent at the knee, while my left paw curled near my chest and my right swept back my hood's ear and then set in a curve as well. Then I just had to stick out my tongue, and--
"Nyahh~!"
Everyone stared. I hoped that meant I was doing good. I heard one in the back mutter something that sounded like, "What the Christ, Glenn."
"That's... very good, Fantasia. Thank you. You can go back to a different costume, now."
I did so, sitting back on the stool, and he continued. "But, uh... the Chibierian is kind of part of the big question, isn't it, on how to portray you as heroic and innocent when you can also do-- well." He gestured at the laptop displaying Doomtrain's face. One of the dead train's eyes had swiveled to follow Leet's camera drone. Mr. Stevens tapped his chin for a moment, then looked up and called to his associates, "Hey-- we've got Serious Cute for Vista, but have we done a Scary or Creepy Cute yet?"
"Not since Bonesaw."
"True, but... Fantasia's older, and not blonde. We might be able to curb the comparisons with sheer audacity."
"She's not serious enough for Scary, though."
"A bit airheaded," one of the soon-to-be dead men piped up. "An 'Absentminded' and 'Scary' crossover might be doable." Mr Stevens looked at me again, his expression contemplative. "Hmm... as long as you never wear a dress and bloody apron, it might work. What do you think?"
I stared at the Marketting team. Absentminded?! I wasn't absentminded! OR scary!
. . .
Really!
Last edited:
Do you seriously expect Taylor to know what she does to the poor thinkers that try to focus on her Dinah?
tbh.
Ham.
Cackling, over-the-top one liners as she runs down villains paired with a heaping image of her doing charity and healing work. Pair the former with Mouse Protector joining in with her on more than a few occasions to really sell it.
And then... Anima.
Just Anima.
That's what she is when things are going really bad. That and maybe Monk, cause Monk is OP as hell with its scaling.
Edit: Granted Storm probably already has this planed out, but its a little hard not to think of this as a quest still sometimes.
Ham.
Cackling, over-the-top one liners as she runs down villains paired with a heaping image of her doing charity and healing work. Pair the former with Mouse Protector joining in with her on more than a few occasions to really sell it.
And then... Anima.
Just Anima.
That's what she is when things are going really bad. That and maybe Monk, cause Monk is OP as hell with its scaling.
Edit: Granted Storm probably already has this planed out, but its a little hard not to think of this as a quest still sometimes.
Last edited:
- Location
- London
How in a world did he not Trigger at this point?
-Drive faster, Jack.
-Look, she is not really your daughter, so why both...
-DRIVE.FASTER.
-I'm trying!
This chapter was just full of comedic gold. I'm excited for more!
It feels kinda ridiculous how you can just swim up to the rig and throw bombs at it, though, even if that's probably canon.
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
There's still one more post in the quest to go, the one where the director learns about Trickster being a ziz-bomb.
Tisaku
Head Chief Thinkomancer
Nottheunmaker
Altman be praised
- Location
- USG Ishimura
Yes. Yes. Yes. So glad this made it in!
If they were torpedoes launched from gang members with scuba gear that might make sense. However throwing the bombs does not.This chapter was just full of comedic gold. I'm excited for more!
It feels kinda ridiculous how you can just swim up to the rig and throw bombs at it, though, even if that's probably canon.
Unless they just swam out, then dived when they reached the forcefield and swam under it. Assuming the forcefield just keeps airborne and surface threats out.
- Location
- Somewhere.
While we're doing typo corrections:
I feel like Taylor here will be like Spider-Man. When she's serious, you know you are in ridiculously deep shit and likely not to get out of it. Which could also lead to hilarious misunderstandings like the time he lost his voice and all his Gillian's surrendered instantly because he wasn't cracking jokes.
- Location
- California
Lung rematch equals suplex friendship buster limit break?
SanguisAnima
Σ Series Z10/0 Group A 4A-GELU Mk1
- Location
- nowhere important
I know this is going sorta offtopic (and off-franchise!), but when it comes to Lung, my brain is insisting that the Genesic Emerald Tager Buster would somehow fit better than any suplex would do. . .
MaskedCritic
Verified Obsessed with Yuri
- Location
- Fluttershy's Secret Dungeon Shrine to Metal
Nah, Kinniku Buster all the way!
I now suddenly imagine a rematch going like this:
Taylor: You call that a dragon?
*Summons Bahamut ZERO*
Taylor: This is a dragon!
Finbar
Generic Minion #314
- Location
- Sydney
The fun police called.... she isn't Australian enough to pull that joke off
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
Numbers aren't snacks Taylor, stop trying to eat the numbers.
The accent is all wrong, she's not wearing a crocodile tooth hat and, most importantly, she doesn't have a knife.
Last edited:
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
Aparently not. Thanks for doing so.
@UnwelcomeStorm with the quest-to-story conversion backlog completed, are you puzzling out where you want the fresh story plot to go?
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
Pretty much, and also just being burnt out by the world in general. I mean, seriously
For the record... I still completely lose my shit every time I read "What the Christ, Glenn." Just... *chef kiss*
- Location
- The town gate.
Just finished reading through this. I am still cracking up a bit. The pacing sometimes feels like it's jumping around a bit, due to the conversion meaning we don't get some of the information from votes that didn't come up immediately in story, but it doesn't interfere much with the good balance of humor and awesome that comes out of this. Definitely watched for when you manage to feel up to updating it again.
Thanks for this, really. We need the laughs these days.
Thanks for this, really. We need the laughs these days.