2009-05-30 - The Mystery of the Blue Angel
From JLU MUX
| The information contained within this log is to be considered information gained Out of Character (OOC) . This information may not be used as In Character (IC) knowledge or in roleplay unless it has been learned in-game or permission has been granted by the parties involved. Questions should be directed to staff. |
| The Mystery of the Blue Angel | |||
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| Summary: Rogues, methane and fire. There is no other genteel way to sum things up. Warning: If one finds flatus humor offensive, one ought to give this a miss. | |||
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The business district of Central City has many shining towers of steel and glass. A part of it is known as the jewelry district. Precious metals, gems and finished jewelry are bought and sold here all day, and then everything is locked up tight to protect the valuables in the evening. These are not mere jewelry stores, these are buildings full of loot, providers for those little boutiques and department stores.
The Pied Piper is looking unhappy. He prefers it when plans go his way, and are under his control to some extent. This is because he is kind of bossy and prim. But, he does not always get to call the shots; sometimes he just has to cope with what the other Rogues want to do.
Trickster claps his hands and bounces from foot to foot, giggling frantically. He has finally been able to persuade Piper to see things his way, simply by persuading everyone else that he should actually be listened to; it is a pretty good plan, and the Piper himself had to admit that the targets were worthwhile. "I got the oxygen masks ready!" Reaching into his vest, he draws one of the miniaturized oxy-mask-things he had invented, and offers it to the green-clad redhead beside him.
Heat Wave is already wearing his own little air filter mask, but he figures he might as well go with Trickster's more high-tech version and takes one. After fixing it to his face he goes over his gear, checking his fuel lines and sending a few blasts off with the hot rod. He doesn't look incredibly enthused about the plan himself, just going through the motions.
"They don't do this by the 27th Century," T.O. Morrow states flatly as he fixes his gas mask into place. "You know that, don't you? You are propping up a horribly outmoded and thoroughly unnecessary bodily function." His hands slip into the pockets of his Bermuda shorts, and he loudly sighs, though it is not entirely due to frustration; a comely (inasmuch as a shiny, metallic, and low detail) fembot is massaging his shoulders to rid him of tension, now.
"Really. We needn't be such Neanderthals," he mutters. "I am glad that someone understands."
"Really?" Piper, at least, looks interested at this morsel of knowledge that Morrow imparts. "I don't suppose you know how, exactly, they achieved that... do you?" He takes the breather mask from Trickster, while also giving the man a severe and disapproving look, but then he puts it on. Moving to stand behind Heat Wave if only to use the man as a shield, he says, "I suppose I'm ready. Try not to hurt anyone too badly, Heat Wave!" Piper puts his fingers into his ears and shuts his eyes.
Although business is winding down at this point, there are still many people in all of the nearby buildings, as well as on the street. So far, no one has really noticed the lurking Rogues. This speaks volumes about the danger sense that is innate to citizens of Central City; that is to say, they don't have any.
Trickster claps his hands and prepares another item once he has his mini-mask in place. Eyes twinkling behind his domino mask, he takes out another item and looks over to Heat Wave with a broad grin. "Okay Heatie! Everything's ready! Pipey, are you going to...Pipey?"
Heat Wave twirls the hot rod around his finger a few times and looks around, waiting. His voice is muffled underneath the rebreather. "I'm good to go. Just tell me when to start blastin'." He starts to pace, meandering over to peer into a storefront. "Course, I could start the party off early..."
"No, no, there's certainly no reason to jump the gun in this ridiculous plan," Morrow lowly notes as his robomasseuse's fingers massage his neck. "We will be right behind you, of course. Tandy won't be needing a mask."
"Go ahead, Tricky. I was just bracing for the blast, so to speak," says Piper, who is still over there, cringing. "Let's just do this and get it over with. I suppose, Heat Wave, you should fire when you hear the ... the..." He can't say it. "The reports." The young man drops his head a little bit, and he gestures vaguely at the street as he tells Trickster, "Do it."
Trickster nods resolutely and smiles brightly, puffing out his chest. He is so proud. And so he sets down the little buttock-shaped device and presses the button. A little dish comes out on the top, on an antenna, and rotates around, sending The Signal.
As the device comes to life, the air shimmers slightly around the Rogues, protected from the effects of the machine by devices provided by T.O. Morrow and the Pied Piper.
For everyone else on the block, however, there is a horrible and uncontrolled moment as they erupt with devilishly loud and synchronized flatulence. It sounds as if a thousand sheets of linen were being torn at the same time. In one building that still had several executives in a meeting, the window glass blows out from the sound and pressure. Birds take to the sky in clouds of chattering panic. Vermin flees.
Heat Wave can't help but grin at the immense sound of thousands of farting civilians. When the window blows out, he cackles like a madman and readies the flame throwing gun. He waits for a signal, however. The other Rogues, admittedly better at the whole science thing than he is, will probably know when the concentration of methane will be at its peak. He takes a moment to test the smell-proofing strength of his gas mask.
It is, as it turns out, his proximity to Tandy that protects him, rather than ear plugs; the dutiful masseuse-bot raises her/its hands to cup them tightly over his ears to shield him from all of the oppressive noises, and if she could sigh ruefully for being made to hear it all, she probably would, but those algorithms have yet to be written.
MEANWHILE:
Across town at the Central City Skating Rink, world champion figure skater LISA SNART is finishing up a long day's practice when she hears a rather alarming and peculiar sound. "Huh," she says. "I wonder what that was." Dare she peek outside?
Roscoe Dillon, Lisa's skating coach, glances up as well. He brushes down his green and yellow striped rugby shirt as he stands up and he remarks, "I don't know, it sounded like an explosion to me."
BACK AT THE BUSINESS DISTRICT:
"Oh, god," whimpers Piper, because even with his hands over his ears his cybernetically enhanced hearing detects every ruffle, chirp and nuance within that cacophony of broken wind. He pulls his green stocking cap down so that it covers his ears and nearly his eyes, and just says, "Go for it, Heat Wave. Count down from three... two..."
Trickster cannot help but giggle, because even with special earplugs in he has heard it. How could you not hear that? It was his masterpiece. He will do more with this later, when he's gathered all the data. But for now, chaos and destruction reign, and what's more it is all chaos and destruction that was produced by the people themselves! The Rogues only had to coax it out. Trickster does a happy dance in place.
"ONE, yeeeAAAAAHHH!" Mick aims high and pulls the trigger with a *klok*, a fireball blasting forth. It doesn't live for long though, as it dissipates it catches hold of the surrounding methane and erupts into a magical cloud of destruction that spreads in all directions. Heat Wave stands under it looking like Moses parting the Red Sea.
"Tandy. Shiatsu," Morrow says after hearing a weary sigh at Trickster's unrestrained glee. Tandy's hands draw back to reach into her opening mouth port where... a... long strip of black is resting, not unlike a tongue. A fabric tongue. A fabric tongue that she pulls free and begins to tie around her metal forehead and blocky metal 50's flip 'do.
And then a gong sounds from speakers secreted in her head as she adopts a well-practiced crane stance before leaping right into the fires. Her chassis is fairly heat resistant, and so she is there to try rescuing goods that might be endangered by this plan before they can all be destroyed. Or, you know, help subdue people who happen to not be too busy burning or passed out or horrifically embarrassed to fight back in some way.
The flames that billow upwards are a vivid blue and they rise like a mushroom high overhead. For just a split second there is a smell as if the contents of a dozen Arby's had burst into flames--at least for those without some kind of breathing protection--and then things smell a lot better. Until building material starts to burn, at least. The explosion rattles windows and in most cases, outright breaks them. The methane-burning flames lick everywhere and set off fire sprinklers within the various buildings on the block, but many have regular orangish flames attacking them now. People are evacuating the buildings, no longer worrying about evacuating their bowels, and now a few millions of dollars of precious jewelry is unguarded everywhere.
"Come on, let's grab and run!" exclaims Piper, not only because he is eager to get his hands on some jewelry but because he really wants to flee from his own embarrassment. "You owe me," he adds, pointing at Trickster and giving him another one of his stern glares. Then, he is darting into a smoldering building to gather up bags of diamonds.
Trickster giggles and blows smoochykisses through the air to Piper, moving quickly behind him to help store and transport the purloined goods out. He has all kinds of handy gadgets for that, which have so far helped himself and the Piper enjoy a very affluent lifestyle. "This was a triumph," Trickster proclaims.
Heat Wave runs headlong into the flames after the robot, after quickly replacing his old rebreather. Through the fire, he eyes a display case filled with all kinds of pretty shiny things. He breaks the glass that isn't cracked or broken already and grabs a few handfuls of diamonds, stuffing them into the pouches that line his utility belt.
Back on the edge of the inferno, Mick strolls out, a particular piece of jewelry hanging from his hand. "The 'blaze diamond necklace', made from red diamonds. Ah. I like this one. I think I'll keep it."
When Tandy emerges with Morrow's share of the loot, most of it is bagged. 'Most' because the masseuse has decided to wear some of the prettier pieces, so beyond her already chromed finish, she is well and truly blinged out with an assortment of rings, necklaces, and bracelets all over her body.
"There is a purpose behind this," Morrow mutters as a form of self-affirmation as he watches his loot walk towards him. "At least she has learned to accessorize. I was wondering..."
The attack is over quickly, and by the time the firetrucks are rolling up to deal with the various fires burning here and there, the Rogues have grabbed up as much loot as they can carry and run off with it. The police and paramedics show up, and while no one is badly hurt, most of the victims seem strangely reluctant to go into details as to what caused the explosion. One of the cops just jots it down, for now, as the Mystery of the Blue Angel.
