chase

Atlas Park, Atop the Atlas Statue 1545, Tabby, The afternoon sun was always the best. The way it envelops the fur with a golden glow, yet low enough in the sky that it lacked noon’s harshness. Up here, atop the Atlas statue, with the bustle of the world below her… she could just melt. Just fade away, lost in the luxury. She could even forget about her belly grumbling and the fact that even ramen noodles broke the next week’s food budget unless she found a buyer for a barely-used remote control car that was now packed in her backpack. She heard the phone vibrate- an email. She didn’t want to move. Couldn’t. “Ok, CreyTek, play last message” “be aware cancel meeting, possible snipers. You'll hear from me.” SNIPERS! Where? At the meeting place? At Talos? DID THEY FOLLOW ME HERE? Who? No, she was overreacting. Nobody would even know she was here unless… she pulled open the Tabby Tracker. Yep. Video footage circling her basking under the sun. The post claimed to be drone footage, but she caught a hint of cape at the edge of a few frames. Some super had submitted this for the daily free pizza prize. Great. But no. the meeting was cancelled. They wouldn’t have any reason to track her here. Her contact’s worried about snipers at the contact site. Outside the midnighter entrance. For a meeting at 9:30 tonight. That’s not exactly a quiet time on a college campus. If she wasn’t there for the meet-up, someone else might be there and get mistaken for the contact. Somebody uninvolved could die. She dialed her work-study supervisor, but nobody answered. She left a Voicemail, “hey, it’s Tabitha. I can’t explain, but please don’t let anyone near the steel canyon campus entrance tonight, 9-10. It… could be dangerous. umm... bye” Now, she could lie low and feel safe, unless curiosity got the best of her. Curiosity got the best of her. She bounded down from the atlas Statue, half cat-landing, half slowing her descent via spell, and darted under the balcony at city hall. She stashed her backpack there, keeping only her phone (in a shoulder wallet) and one earbud on her. “Or… I could sneak around Steel Canyon and see if I can figure out where the snipers may be. I bet there are only a few buildings able to see that entrance from a distance, and stealth IS my specialty.” Well, stealth and slamming concentrated blasts of arcane energy point blank into a bad guy’s backside, but she was trying to cut back on that- but maybe tonight will be an exception.

Talos Island, Big Hill Next To The Tram 11:46 Tabby The email notification came in even before she caught her breath. She’d have laughed at the irony of where she was being sent if she wasn’t so damn tired. She opened the backpack and pulled out he car’s original packaging. “All this trouble… for that. Let’s get you back in the box, returned, and then grab some grub and maybe a nap. Won’t get any sleep back at Brickstown, though, but it might be a good day to catch some rays atop Atlas…” She was so focused on reassembling the box that she didn’t see the toy car roll until it picked up momentum, racing down the hill toward the busy street below, far too advanced for her to have any chance of reaching it. The string of profanity won’t be repeated here. Just use your imagination and then multiply it by ten. Then, as the tiny truck bounced off the curb and moments before certainly being crushed, she triggered a translocation spell- her FIRST translocation spell- she’d been researching it ever since she found herself stranded on a dead ferry- and she caught the car, pulling it back to safety. “Yes. YES! I… I DID IT- it worked. Holy crow mother of dog it worked. Something FINALLY went RIGHT. OH I LOVE YOU you stupid toy.” She started singing, “I’m gonna get to return you… I’m gonna have money for groceries. I’m gonna be able to eattt!” She broke out a little dance, disturbing quite a few passers-by and totally missing it when a gust of wind carried the box and receipt away and out of sight.

Talos Island, Big Hill Next To The Tram 11:44:33 Tabby Tabby did her best not to trip over her disguise. The baggy jeans, hoodie, and mask was originally chosen to minimize pressure against her fur while hiding as much of her catgirl-ness as possible. It didn’t really succeed at either, instead just transforming her into an uncomfortable clumsy mess with a cat tail working free from the pants, lumps that were clearly cat ear’s, and lots of muffled profanity under the mask. Still, it was all she had available on such short notice. She practically took the janitor’s closet door off the hinges to make it out of the Midnighters’ in time to go shopping AND make the rendezvous. The little remote-control car had sapped away what was left of an already-miniscule food budget, so she really hoped she could get the darn thing in the original packaging and return it after all this was through. Still huffing and puffing through the mask, she stopped, dropped her backpack on the grould, placed the car beside it, and held the remote in her hands. *Batteries! I forgot the goddamn batteries.*

Midnighter’s Club Two Days After “The Incident” Tabby “Keep it cool. Tabby, Keep it cool. Play normal. “ She paced furiously- or as furiously as she could there wasn’t much room for pacing in the Library’s custodian’s closet, but her artifact/nap room was under guard now and she needed somewhere to hide. The fur from nape of her neck to her tail was a full ridge now, her tail was bristled to triple its normal width. It whipped about, slamming into the walls of her small confinement with a thunking that was sure to wake the dead. “Breathe in, Breathe out. Wax on… wax off. Focus. Find your happy place. Find your happy place!” She turned back to the book she’d left propped on the mop sink, “Crafting the Dagger of Jocas.” It was here all along- exactly what she needed- and she’d been too stupid to notice. More than one of the mages she’d consulted told her that she was an amalgam of essences- that her path to a cure was to excise the parts of her that weren’t the original Tabitha Lachann. Well, there’d been more than that, sure, but that was a big part of it. *This is it. It was right here with me, and it was STOLEN.* Worse, it was stolen from the archives. On the first day of Tabby’s student work-study, she’d been told DO NOT GO IN THERE probably a dozen times… which was rude on a number of levels, like they didn’t trust her. Since she quickly learned that most of the stuff that fascinated her about that job was in those archives. she’d spent practically every unsupervised moment back there. And now they’re probably going to be going through security footage, recording every transgression. They’ll realize she’d been trespassing. They’ll fire her and she’ll never be allowed in there again and then she’ll lose her best lead on a cure and then she’ll get expelled and that’ll be a violation of the terms of her release and… and… “Oh, God, I’m gonna puke.” No, there was only one way out of this mess: she needed to recover the Dagger of Jocas. That way, they’d stop looking at the archive access, she’d have access to the scalpel she needed to cut of the non-Tabitha parts of her once she learned how to detect them, and she might even get credited to her community service for such a heroic recovery! It was the only way! Mission defined, resolved set. Now she just needed a plan. Gathering information made sense, but unfortunately, she didn’t have many contacts. The downside of her plan to “lay low until I get cured” was that she really didn’t interact enough with anyone to consider them a trustworthy contact. Of course, the other downside of her plan was it failed miserably when meme-worthy pics, video, and even audio clips went viral, turning her into an unwilling internet star… at least in some dark corners of the web. The great contradiction: she didn’t know anybody, but everybody knew who she was. (Well, everybody WEIRD, it seems. The notoriety didn’t help her at all with the important stuff, like selecting next semesters’ classes…) BUT Maybe that was enough…. Tabby opened her phone and navigated to NaughtyNeko.org’s Tabby Tracker. She saw that the pic of her fighting the carnies with the caption, “It’s not a party till naked catgirls are on the dancefloor” won the monthly prize, but that didn’t matter right now. Flipping through previous submissions, she found what she wanted- uploads of her short visit to the Vanguard command center. A bit farther back, and some from her time in Fort Trident. She had contacts that knew her in both Vanguard and Longbow! She just didn’t know them! Bonus- their uploads proved they were already lax on security. Just a few PM’s away. She logged in under an old pseudonym “notACatgirlButIStalkOneOnline” and thought to click through and do a bit more investigation into her potential leads, making notes as she went. A flamewar in one had @tightsFromLA claiming to have a Longbow rank as captain. Promising. Fanfic attributed to @FurFreak27, though, put him on the block list. “5 more to research…” Then she noticed the frenzy of new posts down in the non-catgirl “sightings” thread. It was usually pretty dead, given the forum’s specialized focus, but something had caught the community attention. Some post purportedly from the dark web of a new female Power, some “Burnt Feather”. Probably photoshopped. The video had almost as many trigger warnings as @FurFreak27’s fanfic—almost, so she figured it was safe to proceed. She’d seen worse. She was wrong. Fortunately, the Janitor’s closet did have a sink to puke into. Shit. That… that’s a horrible way to go. Thank God that’s Praetoria. I don’t want anything to do with…” her voice trailed off as an idea formed. “That’s the Praetorian Dagger of Jocas. Right there. In her bloody hands. How different could it BE from the one in this world? If Ireturned it instead who would be the wiser? PLUS it means I don’t have to deal with a bunch of pervy furry-loving freaks. She played back the video again and took down the email address. After creating a new dedicated mail account and doing her best impersonation of a battle-focused muscle-head, she hit send. Now, time to kill until I get a response. She’d overheard some voices outside talking about turning the zig to rubble or a sinkhole or something like that. It was muffled and hard to make out, but her apartment was within spitting distance of the zig perimeter. *Not like I’ve got much there. Most valuable thing there is the security deposit. Hope I don’t get cheated out of that.* Still, worth learning more, and if she as going to be taken seriously as someone that could be of value to someone like Burnt Feather, she needed to practice coming across as a real professional, not some nervous student worker. If she just slipped out and approached with the calm confidence of a Midnighter, maybe they’d tell her more. With the perfect plan in place, she gathered up the book and left the clos… DAMN, is the door stuck? LOCKED?

eyes Patti's reaction. yeah, that's about right. Caffeine high today. tried to cover as many tangental "missed connections" as could without making a novella.

Tabby’s Probably-Not-Canon “Self-Conceit” Tie-In Tabby missed out of the whole first round of tasks for the Self-Conceit Story arc. Why? What was she doing? This phone call might hold the answers. ----------------------------------------- Tabby lurched awake to a terrifyingly loud Klaxon coming from everywhere, surrounding her, so powerful it resonated in her skull… deafening … no, it was just the ringer in her earbuds. Stupid phone. “H- hello?” “Yeah, um… hold on.” “No…” “Yes, I should be able to hear the zig alarms from my apartment, but I’m not AT my apartment. apartment. I’m… whereami? I’m at my work-study.” She looked around. More specifically, she was on a makeshift bed hidden behind a crate in the midnighter archives. Magically climate-controlled for optimal artifact preservation also happened to make it a cozy spot for a quick nap- so much so that if she hadn’t had her earbuds in place, she may have been able to follow the faint sound of snoring to another more elaborately-done secret spot occupied by an anthropomorphic rat. “Four Hours! I mean, I know my shift ended hours ago, but I’d been caught up in some research and…” “No, I really am at the work study at the Midnighters Library.” “No, I’m not ‘with someone.’” “Why does everyone ask that?” “Well yeah, statistically speaking it probably is a good assumption with most catgirls. Not me though.” “Hostages? Really? I mean REALLY! Of course, all that. Y’know had to keep a low profile. Let others in a better position work through it, but it’s over.” “It IS over, right?” She peeked out of the archives doors into the Steel Canyon library. The coast appeared clear. Some dangerous looking dude in a brown trenchcoat and a girl- probably her age- in a kickass white mage robe seemed to be engaged with the rest of the midnighters, wrapping things up, so she slipped past them to the exit. “I’m so gonna copy that look once I get human again.” “What? No, sorry, just talking to myself.” “Ok, I’m heading out. They can take care of that. How about I detour over to city hall and you can brief me on the zig thing over donuts?” “No donut day?” “CITY HALL TOO?” “So… did the hostage-taking start before or after the donut delivery? Like, is there a lunchroom full of just-delivered uneaten donuts?” “Ok, fine, I’ll drop it. So, brief me on the Zig.- but if they are there, can you pop a few in the freezer for me to pick up later? ” Darting through Steel Canyon, she came across several mobs of hellions terrorizing the city and heroes rushing to engage them. An Asian girl spouting what appeared to be Spanish profanity taking down one group of arsonists. She seemed to have things under control and was kinda terrifying to watch. Just a building over, a kinda thin mage type seemed to want to talk down the hellions. “Someone’s gonna get flattened. Hold on” … then she saw the hellions listen and follow his command. “Nope, he’s good. Moving on.” “No, he’s mental- I mean a mind controller or something. Not risking anyone doing anything with my head. Never.” “It’s the only part of me that’s not changed, and I aim to keep it that way.” “Last thing I need is some hypnotist making me speak nyancat or start n end every sentence with a meow or something humiliating like that. Not. Gonna. Happen.” “Ok, so back to the zig. Fill me in” “Who the hell breaks INTO a prison?” “Ok, so break into AND break out of. They’re covering all bases there.” “Well, power suppressors aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. I was in this bar with them and it totally didn’t suppress my transformation spell at all. Wasn’t just me too.. there was this overly-handsy invisible tentacle guy that tried to impress me with a huge..” “… wad of money. Where was your mind?” “Sorry I asked” “No, I wasn’t drinking.” “I know the rules of my release.” “I’m not on house arrest, you know. I’m allowed to go out on occasion?” “I’m sure you could, but I’m really not interested.” “No, that’s not why I was in a bar, but… ok, thanks. Just… If I do decide to date, I’ll consider going to one of your mixers, OK? Happy?” “Ok, back to the Zig, right? You were telling me about the tunnels…” “What? You need me at Peregrine now? Seriously?” “Portal? No offense, but should I really be your first call for potentially EXTRA-Dimensional incidents? I feel like you should have someone a bit higher on your rolodex.” “Well who were you trying to call?” “Flamb… REALLY, you’d call HER before ME?” “Now, I’m hurt.” “Don’t try to explain it. You’re making it worse. I’m on my way to Talos. “Wait, What was that about the warriors?” “You gotta be effin kidding me!” “Is there any part of the city that ISN’T melting down?” “Nope. Just got texts about a troll raver and a Lusca sighting, so those two are out, too.” “Ok, I’m in the rail, on my way to Talos. If I catch the ferry, I should be eta maybe 20 minutes.”” “Yeah, I hate that thing.” “No, I hate boats, not water. It’s not a cat-thing.” “Grew up along a lake. Swam all the time, but once when I was about six I was playing on an old boat on the docks and it got unmoored. No oars, not that I’d know how to use them. Just stuck out on the lake for hours. Too far out to swim or be heard. It totally scarred me.” “Because I’m not part of any supergroup that would have teleporters to zap you to problem spots..” “Maybe they’ve met their quota on catgirls.” “Look, it’s a trope but it’s true. Every supergroup’s already got at least one temperamental crittergirl with daddy issues and an overactive libido. They don’t need another” “Not that I… I mean, that’s what they SEE when they see me, not that I have… Damn, why couldn’t this monorail car have been empty. We’re hitting the tunnel. I’ll call you back when we get to the other side.” It seemed like forever before reaching the Talos station, particularly with some creepy older dude asking her if she’d like to talk more about her father. She certainly proved the “temperamental” part in the interim, though. “Ok, back at Talos now. Heading to the ferry.” “Look, do you want me fighting Warriors or defending Portal Corp, I can’t be in both places.” “Wait, they’re doing WHAT at the zig? I heard that in the background? My apartment’s near there. Everything I own…” “Yeah, all 75 cents worth of it. Thanks for rubbing it in. Geeze, these streets are practically abandoned.” “HolyFuckWhatWasThat?” “Some crazyfreaky crittergirl just dismantled a bunch of Warriors in the alley. Yeah, I meant dismantled. Warriors.” “I’m wasn’t sticking around to find out.” “Ok, I’m at the friggin Ferry.” “Battery’s low. Gonna sign out. Should be at Peregrine soon, then I’ll check in.” “Don’t Jinx it.” Just as Talos Island became a distant blip on the horizon, the hum of the engne turned into choking gasps. Black smoke belched from deep within the ship and all the lights went out. “Goddamn, she Jinxed it.” Tabby spent the rest of her night and most of the next day trapped on a darkened Ferry with the ship’s captain, two crewmen, and two tour busses of attendees to a hentai otaku convention. They hooked up the bus batteries to a projector and played a marathon of “Neko Neko Ninja Princess” anime against the inside wall of the ferry. Subbed first, then again dubbed. With all the events going on, nobody could be spared to come out and get the adrift vessel. Fortunately help arrived before the “dubbers” vs “subbers” went all lord of the flies on one another. Tabby, for her part, spent most of her time on the roof avoiding all of them, pleading with God for forgiveness for whatever she did to deserve this.

Date: Post “The Warriors Wax Off”, Nightfall Location: Skyway South Monorail Station Characters: Misosazai The monorail station was deserted- it always was this time of night- so there was nobody to distract Misosazai from her reflection in the station’s glass. Covered in mud, blood, and soot, one would have trouble making out her original skin tone. The swelling over her left had started going down, but her right eye was just starting its path. Split lip, dried blood under the nose, and a smile on her face that should have had no reason being there. It had been one hell of a wild day. The smile turned to a grimace as she raised her arm to check out her side. The arm itself sported an improvised bandage, courtesy of the Warriors. Nothing to get worried about- but her ribs took a bashing from a war mace, and she wasn’t sure if there was internal damage yet. *That one might need a doctor.* She wasn’t sure what had happened there- the move should have been routine- she’d moved with the flow of the swing to lessen the impact and intercepted the handle to deflect the blow. It should have just been a cushioned contact, hold the mace against her body, twist, and disarm. Instead, it somehow hit her with enough force to send her reeling and gasping for breath. Playing it back in her head over and over, she still couldn’t make out where she went wrong. It wasn’t just fatigue from fighting the Hellions- she’d had time to recover before she’d run into the others and agreed to go with them. Lord knows why they asked her- a Mage, a Winged Girl, and street trash. Which one doesn’t belong? Why had she even gone? How did she ever imagine to be in that class? Part of her wanted to blame the mage- she’d briefly seen him in action during the fight- some sort of mental domination or telepathic control- but she knew that was just a cop-out. She went on her own. She frowned. Then there was a Dr. Brane before engaging the fight- she was still not quite sure what to make of him either. Bold, brash, overconfident, and pretty clearly operating under rules very different than her own. They were… well, how were they different from her rules. He fought on their side, but clearly with his own agenda… but how was that any different than her? … maybe that was what bothered her. What were her rules, now? It wasn’t the risk of mind control that bothered her, or even defeat at the hands of the warriors- maybe that winged girl was there to whisk away fallen champions to Valhalla once they fell- no skin off her nose, she wouldn’t qualify. No, it was what Barracuda said to her. Misosazai had just taken down one of Barracuda’s party- an arachnos soldier. She wasn’t sure if he was down for the count or not and she needed to be able to focus completely on Barracuda if she was going to have any chance of getting through this, so she’d broken his arms for good measure. Barracuda grinned- a toothy, terrifying grin- and had said, “Looks like we have someone with some POTENTIAL” here. She didn’t say that to the person that was making people give up with a thought. She didn’t say that to the winged girl making precision shots that made the mind boggle. She didn’t say it to crazed mercenary-merchant-of-destruction. She said it to *her* as she stood there breaking the arms of a downed foe. In her reflection, she saw her mother. They were back in the dojo- she’d been marveling at the fire-throwing power of some young “at risk” heroine for some private sessions- the emphasis was on discipline of action more than fighting style. She’d marveled at the ability to bring fire forth at will. Her mother was far less impressed, and was far more concerned that the young heroine's path would be one of conceit and destruction. “Raw Power don’t define you, Misosazai. Your actions and motivations do.” It was so frustrating- her mom would use Misosazai much like the old TV shows would use “grasshopper.” She never gave Ryk a nickname like that. Another spike of pain brought her out of meditation. Right now, it didn't matter. What mattered was finding a place to crash before she collapsed from exhaustion. Several of the construction sites in Faultline had makeshift showers so the crew could clean off before heading home. They'd all be abandoned now, and she had a stashed backpack along the way with some bedding. The adrenaline was wearing off. she needed rest nothing else. Still, as she limped toward the Faultline gates, she couldn't help thinking What did motivate me? What did Barracuda see in me? What would mom have seen in me?

Date: During or Post “Hellions Raise Hell” Location: A makeshift ambulance triage center in/around Steel Canyon. Characters: Misosazai Misosazai sat at the curb next to makeshift triage center, exhausted. Her hair was partially spilling out from under her bandana, but since she wasn’t overwhelmed by the smell of burning hair, it seems that the bandana did its part when it counted. Part of her wished she’d held onto Ryk’s old Hellion vest. It wouldn’t have been much protection and may have caused confusion with some of the heroes, but it was more protection than the jeans and bandeau she went into battle with. Every inch of exposed skin was marked by smudges of ash, blood or apparent 1st degree burns. Minor scratches and streams of sweat laced them together. She’ll likely have a shiner to go with the swollen lip once she cleaned up, too. A pretty large blister was forming on her left arm, so I guess that’s at least one 2nd degree burn to add to the list. As exhausted as she felt, this was the most alive she’d felt since… well, she couldn’t think of a time. The battle had gone on for hours. She’d crossed paths with a few heroes during the fray- not enough to exchange names, but she’d gotten some nods of approval and glares of disapproval at her tactics. Without any of their fancy arrest teleporters, she had to make sure that her foes didn’t get back up to fight again in some other way- finishing the fight with a dislocation, a break, or shattered fingers, whatever the situation permitted. She’d personally been responsible for freeing several people bound for human sacrifice and keeping hellions from several explosive bundles until someone else could defuse them. Most of the time, though, she was just hitting, and hitting HARD. No holding back. No pulling hits for sparring. The workboots threw off her timing a bit but made up for it with a more solid connection. The smoke and distant alarms suggested that the hellion fight was still going on, but who knows? The ambulance radio referenced incidents with the Family, Warriors, something going down at the zig… whatever this was, this thing was huge. It didn’t make any sense. Bombings. Sacrifice. Assault. Chaos. These were all Hellions 101, sure, but where did the world’s most random scavenger hunt fall into this? She pulled out Bernie’s list and compared it to another that was pulled off of one of Pyroclast’s “generals” after she’d hyperextended both his knees. The lists didn’t even match! There was some overlap, but nothing that really stood out in any notable way. What was this all about? What was she missing? She folded them back up and tucked them away. *It doesn’t matter. Just get up. Keep fighting. Keep helping. When there are no more hellions, go after the warriors. Keep fighting… until…* Closing her eyes, she focused on her training, letting her muscles relax, then tense, then relax. Her breathing slowed, but deepened as she willed away the pain and fatigue. *… until it ends.* She stood, stretched, and looked for the next hot spot. *… until everything ends.*

"So... nobody heard the frickin creepy-ass say, "Rabinowitz"? " She regretted it almost immediately, realizing that Mr. Invisible Handsy with the creepy voice was probably very close to her listening. Not the kind of person you'd want to offend, I'd wager. She called out to nobody in particular, "So sorry, for calling it creepy-ass. It... it was a... fine.. ish.. voice. It just kinda caught me off guard!" Still flustered, she calls out to Paul, "Could you make that a double?"

About Misosazai Misosazai is the a martial arts/ninjitsu scrapper. She’d have been a stalker, but the Stalker martial arts trades out some of the flashier moves that seemed so appropriate for her, so the presence pool serves as a substitute. Most of her costumes are intended to resemble various foe factions with the hope that she’d slip by cursory notice. In-game bio: Veteran heroes of Paragon may recall Kirasu Ward- she ran a dojo providing self-defense training for civilians and heroes alike. If so, they remeber her daughter- a permanent fixture in the dojo since she was in diapers- a tiny frenzy of kicking, spinning, and grandstanding acrobatics rebelling against all her mother's lectures to tone it down. "Be Misosazai. present, but unnoticed. Don't draw attention to yourself." Misosazai. japanese for wren. Few ever heard her called by her real name, just some variation of that ("dizzy mizzy," was popular after a few frenzied moves left her too stunned to stand. ) Kirasu and family were lost in a Rikti bombing but there have been unconfirmed reports of someone resembling her battling gangs through the city. -hates the nickname "dizzy mizzy." -looks like her mom. -unregistered hero/vigilante. -brother Ryk also MIA. Visual Reference: Will upload a few soon, but Misosazai is a reimagining of Shandora Ward, an old character from my comics: http://patternsinthestatic.blogspot.com/search/label/Shandora Ward

The following was a background story for Misosazai I’d had sitting around, lacking a good event to drive her to full hero action. Terminal’s “conceit” story arc gave me the inspiration on how to wrap it up and simultaneously tie her to those events. ---------------------- Misosazai had sworn she’d never be back back in Kreig Tower, but here she was. The once-prime real estate overlooking Perez Park, now a half-smoldering home to Hellion squatters. At least she could tell herself that it wasn’t the same place as before- the area she and Ryk had called home had been torched, leaving nothing recognizable of her time there. Next floor up, much of the same. It was two more stories before there was any activity. The guard outside leered at her but let her pass. She pulled the hellions vest tighter, regretting the choice of a bandeau and baggy jeans. It was normally a versatile piece, letting her assume a number of gang colors without looking too layered- a helpful tactic when navigating the city without drawing attention but here, in this context, the vest practically hid it away, suggesting she was a bit more ready to party under that vest than the average reveler. Hellion “law” had little place for mercy or sentiment. They encouraged infighting to weed out the weak. Someone like her- small, even for a teen, would be convenient prey if not for the gang colors. They were clearly too large for her, so that suggested she was under someone else’s protection. They may still see her as vulnerable and want whatever she may be trading for that protection, but unless they were rash or high (imagine finding THAT in a hellions gang), they’d hesitate until they learned whose claim they may be infringing on. That should be enough time. Child and Family services had been heavily burdened when she and her brother entered the system, orphans of yet another Rikti raid. They’d put the kids in separate placements, so she and Rik ran off, determined to stay together as the only family they had. They were an odd pair- only two years apart, but while she’d inherited so many of her mother’s Asian features- small and lithe, Ryk’s teen years brought out their father’s side- a hulking build, swarthier skin, and facial hair that had other parents constantly challenge his age at martial arts tournaments he’d attend. He was only two years her senior but could easily be passed off as her dad. It was Ryk- obviously- that attracted the Hellions’ recruiters. They’d been on the streets long enough that the promise of warm beds and food was enough to lure them in, and he’d already done worse than the initiation tasks they sought. That was the price of keeping the family together. She followed the noise and smoke to the core party. The aroma was heavy with incense and burnt wood, but hints of toxic fumes from burning wiring, furniture, and Lord knows what else mixed with it. She passed several revelers in the hall, doped up on who knows what or making out, most showing some recent injury or burn. Hellion parties aren’t for the squeamish. Farther down the hall, wrathful roars and chants carried over the music, suggesting events that she’d rather not see or become a part of. The smell evoked memories. This floor had been vacant and dead silent the last time she visited it, but even then, the fires on the floor below had marked the air here. She and Ryk stood at the now-shattered window to plan their next move. One big score was all he needed to pay their way out of the city and leave this mess. A run through the depths of the sewers to a forgotten Rikti War cache promised just that. “If nothing else, we should be able to live large till we can find someone from the B13’s or the Phoenix Pride to let us crash there for a bit, or maybe one of the other hero groups. A lot of heroes owed a lot to mom” he’d told her. “So where were they when she died?” She hadn’t meant to, but she touched a raw nerve. Ryk had been at an out-of-state tournament when the attack happened, and it took a week for them to be reunited. The city had grown efficient with mass-burials in the wake of the war, and with all the destruction during the raid there was no special attention given to the flattened grocery or the dojo above it. “Where were you?” He fired back. “She TOLD ME to run.” “Funny time for you to start listening to her.” That was their last exchange. She stayed up most of the night formulating the retort. She may have inherited her mom’s looks, but her temperament clearly came from dad’s side, and she planned to go full latina crazy on her brother. When he wasn’t back the next night, it had boiled up to needing its own new category- Latina psycho crazy just didn’t cut it. When the third night ended without his return, the fury broke and she just wanted him back. On the fourth and no word on the sewer-raiders return, the more predatory Hellions moved on the now-unprotected girl. They learned that her brother wasn’t the only tournament-capable fighter in the family. All that pent-up Latina fury fueled a ruthless battle with nothing held back. They may have learned a lesson, had they survived. She hadn’t been back since. Now she’d made her way to the dense crowd, hiding in her own obscurity. She wasn’t able to penetrate the crowd and see, but she was getting a better understanding from the crowd’s response alone. “Dizzy Mizzy!” So much for being unrecognized. “Burner.” Yes, a thoroughly unoriginal nickname for a hellion, but with a real name of Bernie, it was also an easy one to get- or Burner Bernie if you wanted to pick a fight. She almost did- he DID use, “Dizzy mizzy” after all. Instead, she kept it businesslike and said little. Bernie hated awkward silence and would say anything to fill the void. She may have just found her informant. “I’d heard you’d run! I mean, after Ryk, I didn’t blame you.” She nodded in affirmation, but said nothing. “If… if you need anything, you know I’m here. Things are getting wild here pretty fast.” Silence. “I’ve got my own floor now- not an easy climb, but that makes intruders rare- and Shel.. Shel’s open to a lot of things.” Of course this wasn’t an offer of true charity, it was a hookup attempt. Such a sweet gesture in the memory of his friend. She just stared past him. He grabbed her arm, “Look, once these guys learn you’ve got nobody backing those colors, they’ll take them from you- and they won’t stop with just the colors.” His eyes suggested that he was still struggling on whether he’d leak that revelation to the others. She just continued to stare past him, but opened her senses to detect anyone else that may act on what they’re hearing. “Shit, kid, they just sacrificed someone… like thirty feet away… among other things. They’re already hungry for blood, and this is the start. There’s shit you’ve got no clue about. You’ll need friends to survive.” He knew something, but she wasn’t interested in pursuing his definition of friendship to get it. “You were Ryk’s friend. That didn’t help him survive.” He dragged her toward the window, “Ryk? Ryk was great, kid- had a lot of promise, but his heart wasn’t in it. I told him not to go running around the sewers with that crew, but they wanted the big score. Shitheads wouldn’t listen that the REALLY big score was coming to those who waited. Now it’s here.” “Look out there! It’s an ARMY- our numbers have surged by the hundreds. Pyroclast’s got the track on real sources of power- shit that makes those guns in the sewers look like chump change, and he’s shared that with the GENERALS of his army.” He pulled out a crumpled note and waved it in her face like it was some sort of trophy, “That’s right, Burner Bernie’s no joke now, kid. I’ve moved up. We’re going to war. We’re burning this whole place down, and we’re bringing hell to earth, baby. “So, let’s give everybody here a good understanding of who’s protecting you and then get you somewhere safe before the real fun begins.” As power-drunk as he was, It was pretty clear that a peck on the cheek wasn’t what he had in mind. Not that it mattered- she’d have turned even that down. Instead, a quick twist broke his grip, a painful finger hold brought his chin down to optimal range, and a perfectly timed knee met his throat once it did. As he flailed back into the crowd, she tore the note from his hand- an impulse- she wasn’t sure why. Bernie was having trouble rasping out orders, but his team got the message. Suddenly leaping through broken glass more than five stories up became the most appealing exit. She remained mindful to stay close enough to the building so the occasional brush could slow her descent. Even with her training, a fall from this height could be deadly. When she hit the ground she sprinted toward the Perez gates, turned a corner, then dropped into a pre-arranged hideout behind some rubbish. It took a while for the pounding in her ears to diminish and calm herself enough to assess the situation. The Hellion armies were already on the move- from every direction she heard explosions gunfire, and cries of terror from people not as prepared as she was for personal defense. There were some signs of resistance, but not nearly the presence that she’d come to expect from the city. How big was this, if they’re this scattered about? Where were the heroes? Her brother’s words echoed in her mind “Where were you?” Her cheeks burned with rage- at her brother, at the hellions... at herself. She wasn't going to run this time. The hellions vest was the last thing Misosazai had of Ryk’s… or to any of her family. She slipped it off and tossed it onto the rubbish. She didn’t need it. She had a feeling she’d be seeing all of them soon enough. With that, Misosazai headed off toward the nearest signs of resistance.

Tabby's getting a bit powerful to keep treating her like a newbie. I probably won't play this one in-game much, but sharing it here since I had fun writing it. /em cellphone Hi, this is Tabitha Lachann, one of Miriam's transfers while she's out. Last week's community service credits weren't applied to my account. Look under 'Tabby'. /em waiting /em cellphone That's me. What exactly do you mean by 'move to somewhere with a different security level'? I've been patrolling that neighborhood for months. I know the place. I know the people! It's an easy commute! Emma's bakery leaves me all the extra samples every night! Oh, you mean those bullshit tests that were 'purely routine' and 'wouldn't change a thing'. 'Just try your hardest.' THOSE tests? I'm pretty sure the guy I spoke to left out the 'probably.' So how bad did I blow it? I just want to be on the record that I wanted to be a records clerk, that this whole patrol thing said this was a hilariously bad id... Really? REALLY? /em wounded /em cellphone Did you get your equipment checked? because that's... that's just wrong. Well, for starters, I had a teacher in middle school that lost three fingers, and that was only a quarter stick. I still have all my fingers, and those blasts go off pretty darn close. Ok, I'll give you that. Could work like a well-tamped shaped charge, I guess. No. No formal studies, just tons of Mythbuster reruns. But even if they have that kind of force they've got no range! They're supposed to but I haven't figured that part out yet. I gotta run up and practically slap someone for it to hit them. That's not a winning strategy. I'm barely 4' tall and weigh in the 70's lbs. Not exactly linebacker material. Yeah, that's what I do now, I find a bad guy, I sneak up real close, build up a big charge and... /em afraid /em cellphone OhmyGod. I've... um... It was kinda funny the first time and was really effective... so I've been kinda using a Kancho as my opener. kancho. It's a japanese thing. kinda like a wedgie, but think 'shove' instead of yank. Yeah, except I shove a tightly compressed ball of arcane energy right between the butt cheeks too... right before it expands... Explosively, as we're discussing. WELL AT THE TIME I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS DOING THE EQUIVALENT OF A DYNAMITE ENEMA, DID I? I just wanted to make sure they weren't going to hit back. OH YEAH it worked. Am I in trouble? I feel like I should be in trouble. Really? A justifiable use of force? Well, thank you mister caseworker, your job is done. You've successfully reformed me. I will never stray from the straight and narrow now that I know that the pyrotechnic proctologist would be justified in using his signature move on me! Too many characters in that name? REALLY? That's your takeaway from this conversation. Maybe it SHOULDN'T BE justifiable. Well nobody told me. I didn't know that I was hammering in nitroglycerine suppositories. God, I feel terrible. Should I... I dunno. Send flowers to the zig infirmary? What's the protocol here? I'm gonna throw up. Oh, they did. It was hilarious. One moment spewing explicatives at some lady to get her to let go of the purse, the next spewing their lunch, lemme tell ya. Hah! God, I'm a terrible person. I... I gotta stop doing that. I just don't... what do I do if I don't take them down in one hit anymore? Do I just wave my hand and say 'I'm not the one you're looking for?' Some do that? Really? Well, he's a psychic, that doesn't count. I'd have better luck pretending they just caught a catgirl getting a little handsy. No, I'm not doing that. Well, I regret saying it. No, I think you're reading that wrong. You shouldn't be saying 'well, your medical records do say you're remarkably resilient.' the fact that I HAVE medical records in the two months I've been in town should be proof that I'm not very resilient.' Besides, how do you really quantify resilience. Oh, they do have that. So what does AAA mean? No. NO. nononono. First, No, you are not calling it Arcane Anal Assault and second, it is NOT my signature attack. Well if you just put it in the system, you can remove it. Finally, I don't care if it's common to rate durability in relation to one's own powers, we will NOT discuss my resilience in terms of the number of ... AAA's... I can take. I don't care if that's how the system works. CHANGE IT. Then get IT on it. That move is officially retired. Never use that name again. Ever. I swear, if those records ever get leaked, I'm going full supervillain on city hall- remember that. Well, like you said, too many characters in that name anyway, so I'll take my chances. Just make sure it gets corrected, OK? Ok, so back to the community service credits. I just need to move on to tougher neighborhoods. Fine. Any recommendations? Mmm...hmm... and Peregrine island? what's the ferry ride cost? My budget's kinda strained. Free... ok, I can make that work. Gonna miss Emma's bakery. Does City Hall still do donut days? She can bite me. I only went for seconds after everyone had a chance to get one. Well that's just unreasonable. Do you want me out fighting crime or waiting around for everyone to claim seconds before I take thirds? Good. So, what are the big threats in Peregrine Island... /em text /em cellphone ...Nemesis, Rikti, Malta, and Carnival of Shadows... /em text /em cellphone What? Why would you even say that? I guarantee that everyone in the office just heard you tell me BY NAME that it's ok to do that butt stuff with Nemesis' Army. Are you trying to INSPIRE fanfic writers? You're making it worse. Just... stop. No more butt stuff. I know what you were trying to say. Nemesis. Robots. Really sophisticated ones, no need to hold back. That's great. Ok, so, is there any way to credit me for last week, since it's not really my fault that I wasn't told all this? Well get IT on that too, then. I'll see you on Donut Day. Reserve a strawberry-filled one for me if you can. No, the cream gets everywhere. I don't want a repeat of that meme. Bye. /em frustrated

The enthall of the cash-in-hand dissipated, leaving her with a hole inside- a hole that just moments ago had the potential of being filled with something other than stale ramien noodles. *Welp, back to mooching meals from supergroup recruitment events, I guess...* "You heard it too, right? Freaky voice saying his name? Robinowitz or something like that?" She looks around the bar. "Anyone else hear that?"

Every hair on Tabby's body went on end, briefly making it look like the sundress was several sizes to small, and her tail was on the verge of perma-bristle after this whole experience. Tabby wasn't unfamiliar with strange sounds- her aura sight came with a side of synesthesia - someone's aura would often "sound like" iron or "taste blue" or any number of confusing combinations - so a voice that sounded not unlike a semi-moistened pile of tentacles wasn't alarming. The fact that she so instantly recognized it as such, though... that caused something of a psychic break. The sensible part of Tabby (admittedly, a very small part) said "nope" and left. Didn't wait for the rest of her. Didn't try to gather consensus with the other parts or even say goodbye, she just "noped" her way back to the apartment, packed her things, went to the bus station, and chose the most normal-sounding destination on the list. She'd seen enough catgirl dojinshi to know that when tentacles talk, it's time to leave. She'd stop "nope'ing" somewhere west of Ohio. The rest of Tabby suffered through the psychic break rather quickly, in part focusing on the mental math she'd done on the wad of cash she was holding. Besides, the disembodied voice made her totally vindicated in her "invisible man" suspicions, and she hardly ever got to bask in her victories- however disturbing their implication may be. Plius, she now had a voice to go with mister-handsy, or tentacle-y, or whatever. She relaxed. Her fur smoothed- even her tail relaxed, and her response was even, if not clinical as her eyes remained fixated on the wad of bills, doing another quick tally. "... So, is that Al Rabinowitz, or Spanky Rainowitz.... and do you have any ID? This is an AWFUL lot of cash. and I should probably hold on to it until someone shows me some ID."

Tabitha's eyes widen when she sees the ID in Paul's possession, but since he doesn't seem to care she figures it's one of those "if you're old enough to protect and serve, you're old enough to be served" kinds of establishment. *Best hero perk yet!* She initially gave Paul a wary eye over the money fold. She'd read a great deal online about catgirls in clubs and bars, and although nothing really covered strangers practically tossing cash in their direction, it certainly wouldn't be out of place- kinda like someone placing quarters on the pool table to claim the next game or something***. She wanted nothing to do with that. Once she slid her ID back into her phone holster and discovered her missing money, the pieces fell in place and she took the cash back with a smile. "Oh, moonshine shot whiskey? that sounds great! I can handle it*. Don't worry**." Her eyes fell back on the money clip beside her, extremely curious to take a look, but still wary of what it may mean. She looked around the room once more, reached out, hesitated, then grabbed the billfold to study it. "Ok, so anyone know an Al or.... maybe a Spanky****?" OOC: * she can't * * do worry. *** Tabby's not happy about the feliform life, but she's done a lot of "opposition research" on the Internet to understand how people perceive her kind. Ever since she realized that the school internet filter blocked 95% of the search results for "catgirl" she was determined to learn why... then permanently scarred when she did. **** In case anyone else's mind was in the guttter , I seriously didn't intend it, but "maybe a spanky" does sound sadly like something a barhopping catgirl would suggest.

why do I imagine a whole channel full of names that are variations of pirate phrases Random general chat poster: Ahoy! It's pirate week. Ahoy: Arr, I know already. Why does everyone keep telling me? Arr: Aye, right? Aye: Avast, ye speak the truth. Avast: Huh? Wha? I didn't say nothing I was just drinking my rum! Arrrrr: [[Pinnacle Veteran??]] Avast: Aye! Aye: Ahoy! Ahoy: Arr [r]: if (CHT.GEN.LFT(3)='ARR') CHT.GEN='Avast'

It a little bit of a mix. Pocket D and Atlas Park are probably two of the easiest "introduction" roleplaying scenarios, followed by watching broadcast for events, like Jokers Wild hosting something in their SG base. Roleplaying during missions is great fun, but it's important to broadcast that interest in help/lfg when looking for a team. It does make missions take longer, so if other players were more interested in steamrolling for XP or inf, it can lead to both of you being frustrated. I've heard of players that go so far as making AE missions for a player-as-GM moderated roleplaying story module, even, so it's out there. Use the OOC channel (I also saw a "looking for RP" channel, but haven't seen activity in it) to help find people sharing your interest. You'll find it.

Tabitha studied the other members of the bar, trying to get a feel of the room, and -more importantly- how she should behave. The sundress discomfort had settled- even after all the years of getting used to school uniforms, the pressure where it rested against her fur was magnified, and she had to concentrate to not keep plucking it away, potentially giving a view of cleavage or down her lower back. Modesty was a strange thing- she was fine with things being visible when she was wearing nothing, but now that she was covered up, she feared showing even a hint of it. She was so lost in the introspection that the loud clank caught her off guard. The hair along her spine had just recently settled, but now rebounded into a full ridge. Where the sundress met the lower back, the hairs strained against the fabric, giving the feeling that someone had placed a hand there. Her tail bristled out to triple its normal width. As she registered the money clip in her peripheral vision, she figured out what was going on. *Some arrogant rich prick was making a play.* She’d planned for the situation, imagining brushing off unwanted suitors with some reference to swiping left/right, coming across as a seasoned no-nonsense person that wouldn't take their shit. Unfortunately, when the moment arrived, she couldn’t remember which direction meant what in the app (she’d never even downloaded it, let alone used it) and realized how terribly bad it would be to get the directions wrong in this context. She hesitated- maybe too long, but eventually mustered the state of mind to improvise, “Look, if you think I’m the kind of girl that’ll be impressed by a wad o cas… “ … and noticed the denomination on the top dollar in the fold… “Holy forking shirtballs!” Yet, when she spun around to face the source of unwanted attention, there was nobody there. Her tail thrashed furiously with enough force to move furniture, and now all her hairs stood on end. “um… are we sure that the power suppressors are working? because I’m getting a serious ‘invisible man’ vibe here?” She looked back at the money clip. *rich creepy invisible man with an apparent thing for catgirls. I should’ve stayed home today.*

There have been real economic studies on this, and generally speaking in relation to the game's economy "high end" inf sinks server little to no purpose. 1) "Hoarding, but not using" inf is, for purposes of the game economy, very similar to that inf not existing. it's not circulating, so it's not having any real impact. There IS a risk that it could enter back into circulation, of course, but only if there are things that arise worth buying- and even then, there's a limit to that. 2) If you make a "1 billion inf" sink, the people who are going to buy it are not going to make themselves broke by buying it early. They're going to wait until they have enough BEYOND that amount to cover all their foreseeable needs OR they'll work to rapidly regain their losses, both of which negate the impact on the economy. These do have value as prestige items, don't get me wrong, but there's a reason why devs are so willing to just make a new currency to deal with the new expansion's rewards (vanguard merits, Astral merits, Emperyan merits). It prevents the out-of-control hoarding of the old currency from wiping the value in the new achievements. all that said, I sure wouldn't object to something that converts inf to incarnate-related stuff.

OOC: working on a response, but gotta say I love sparkle... yes, Tabby's money wad would have been far, far less. That means its still somewhere out on the floor, too.

I really like seeing the hard analysis. thanks. I've never broken it down but generally this has been my process for quite a while, maxing out the inf on several characters. When I started, the ATO's almost all went for 10m alone, converters were over 100k, and catalysts were over 4m, so much crazier profit margins then. Used to do it with insane frequency, but as more people have been stocking the market this way I've pared back to posting 200 once or twice a week. I don't think I've ever sold an ATO for under 8 million, but it's good to know I could. If there are too many for sale (>15 for most sets, >10 for dom, sentinel, or epic AT's) I burn a converter and try again. Never have had to do that more than three times to get something that was in low enough supply that 8m would be a reasonable sell within a few days. When there's a gross oversupply of an ATO (>25) I sometimes put up bids to see what I can get for 5-6m, convert it to something in low supply, and put it back out. By far the most profitable tactic is still a half-year away for anyone to try, though: During the winter event, I bought >600 winter packs when they dropped to 10m. Now that the event's over and prices have again normalized to the 25m cost, I've been breaking them up on occasion and reselling. Same process as before: If over 20 of an item, I use a convertertill I get one in lower supply.

Tabby nodded at the two as they left, thankful that the attention had passed but still struggling with the ribbon (*no... don't get started on that song!*) Normally, she wore gel caps over her claws, keeping them extended and serving as the final joint on her fingers, but she'd left them behind during her afternoon parkour, leaving her either struggling with making knots out of claw-tips or clumsily working without her topmost fingers. It didn't hurt that her fur was practically standing on end- every brush where the fabric touched felt like a little needle jab... and that's not even mentioning the goddamn giant of a mosquito that she kept feeling buzzing near her- she couldn't see it, but dammit, it caused just enough of a disturbance in the air for her hairs to pick up. If she wasn't fuddling with the ribbon, she had to stop to swat away at it when it got too close. *damn, this drink better be worth it- which reminds me...* "So, Paul, do you, uh... have anything you'd recommend? I'd like to try something new." Left unsaid, of course, was that ANYTHING would be new to her. She hadn't touched liquor since she stole one of her dad's bottles of black label the night of everything in her life went wrong.

Most of the risk is whether the submitters of user generated content were the actual creators of it- in this case, plagiarism or heavy lifting from other sources. Some of the community-vetting can detect things that go beyond homages. In many ways, Kallisti Wharf with community-driven content wouldn't present much more risk than AE already does. It's still content in the game directly delivered by the game to other people in the platform. Making it "official" makes very little difference- particularly when you consider that community-driven aspect of this could be as well-hilighted as AE content is.

I think this needs to be level 40-50 content as originally intended, not incarnate. I agree with the people that things like the Rikti, Nemesis, etc are a bit overdone. Currently in the 40-50 range, we have The generic hero-battling-larger-threats zone of Peregrine Extradimensional zones in portal Climbing the machinery of the massive villain organization of Arachnos Massive alien (alternate-reality, really) warfare with Rikti. We lack a good morally-grey more "street level" narrative. Not just vigilante/rogue types of content, though this is also an area where for the whole cycle of changing roles could flourish. What I'd do: Primal hero/villain forces should also take a back seat. Arachnos has a toehold here, sure, but we have Grandville for the "rising up through Arachnos" narrative. Let less established crime syndicates shine. Forces like longbow and or wyvern have a similarly muted presence- their focus is elsewhere and they want the new locals to prove they can police themselves. It's not uncommon for immigrant groups to look to "police" and "protect" themselves, so it's easy to see how factions that may have existed in Praetoria may take similar-but-different roles here, or even fragment differently. It's also not uncommon for "host nation" criminal groups to want to get a piece of the action, and all that jockying of power can lead to strange bedfellows and shifting alliances. Chaos, with no dominant faction would be my way: It's easy to see tales of corporate warfare as organizations like Syndicate fragments teaming with/jockeying against Crey, Family, and Tsoo. Resistance (crusader) and destroyers could mix with up-leveled Warriors, Family, and Tsoo. Resistance (Warden) and Loyalist (Responsibility) factions may find common goals working together if they can overcome some of the bad blood and conflicting priorities. Other organizations may be interested in assuring they don't. Freed seers will be invaluable assets to organizations that can snatch them up, or they may band together in a paranoid alliance that "takes care of their own" and finds threats in the minds of everyone everywhere. That's just a short list, but it should already be apparent where each of these conflicts could lead to arcs where heroes, villains, rogues, or vigilantes may reasonably have an interest. This broad, chaotic set of stories helps us also navigate the development of it: we crowdsource: Define the various top-factions of interest and the general tone you're seeking. Then hold "contests," with people coming up with their own stories using AE (and maybe supplemental docs for things that can't be done in AE yet) following your framework. Make sure contestants know that their work may be modified to add consistency or to work with the zone.

Excellent, thanks. Since the original archival paragonwiki still existed, I wasn't sure if we were keeping record here or just referencing the original source.