Drunkard's Walk Forums

"In...ter...net?" Genau'Goeg stumbled and scratched her head as she peered quizzically at the laptop Mag Flashlight had scavenged out of a Crey
dumpster. She was seated at a table in the Legendary's secret underground base, with Mag sitting across from her, pulling the rest of the components out
of a duffle bag.

"That's right!" he said and affectionatelly noogied her. "See, it's a network of computers and servers set up to trade
information..." He trailed off as he noticed Gen's utterly confused expression. She cocked her head slightly, as if to punctuate the fact that she
was completely lost. Mag sighed and rubbed his temples. Poor dumb lizard...he thought. Barely had time to learn her own language, and here she is forced to learn a whole new one. He silently cursed the secretive
bastards at Vanguard at their unwillingness to part with one of their new Mark IV translators. They considered the technology "proprietary" and
didn't want an alien race they'd never heard of to get their grubby paws on them. Even though she was technically a "victim", she was
considered a threat to be studied. Just explain it like you would to a child, mused Mag.

"It's a series of tubes. And in these tubes, there's a world of stuff to watch, read, play with, listen to, and learn."

"Gen like tubes!" she squealed. She immediatelly picked up the laptop and started studying it, turning it all around. "But Mag, where tubes?
Gen want to play in tubes..."

Mag sighed and sat down next to her. "It's gonna be a long night, huh girl?"

The sun was just rising above the tall, metallic walls of Grandville when Westin Phipps stepped out of the front door of Haven House. He took a deep breath of
late morning air and savoured the faint smell of fear that drifted up from the streets of the Gutter.

"Westin, old chum! So good to see you," a loud voice boomed behind him.

Phipps spun about, glaring at the woman he found leaning nonchalantly against the wall of Haven House. His back stiffened in apparently righteous rage.
"Hexane! What are you doing here you Villain? Haven't you hurt these people enough?" he demanded.

Straightening his tie he leaned in and hissed nearly under his breath. "What are you doing? You know I can't be seen with you," he said.

Hexane's wide smile didn't waver as she pushed herself up off the wall and walked past Phipps towards the street. Her voice was loud and would
probably carry quite well, Phipps ground his teeth.

"Now, now Westin. Don't hold back. You've expressed your true feelings about me and the others often enough, and to our faces even," she
said. "That certainly takes some big brass ones. After all, we might just take it out on Haven House."

Phipps turned as she moved, not willing to let her get behind him. As she started down the steps to street level he realised they were not alone. A strange
robot in a slightly bloody maid's uniform stood in the street, sipping a cup of tea.

"But, you know, some of us were talking in the D last night. And you've got to admire a powerless little crunchy like yourself being that determined
and dedicated. Even if it is to... helping people. So we figured we'd do something... nice for you."

Strong hands clamped around Phipps' upper arms with bruising force. He opened his mouth to cry out but a mass of rough cloth was shoved in before he could
do more than squeak. Glancing behind him he saw a pair of masked men clad head to toe in loose, dark grey outfits.

Hexane had come to a stop beside the robot, but she hadn't stopped talking. "We know that you're a busy man, so we figured it would have to be
something quick. Then Hanagawa-san suggested a nice short cruise. A chance to get away from all the stress you must be under here."

Someone grabbed Phipps' hands and wrenched them back. A length of cord was wrapped tightly around his wrists, cutting deeply into his flesh. The men
released his arms and propelled him, stumbling down the stairs.

"And when we learned that dear Obsolete had never gone shark fishing before, well what else could we do," Hexane said as she linked arms with the
robot.

Hexane's hands flashed through a complex series of hand seals. She paused at the last as the robot began to tick. Mechanical eyes stared at Phipps over
the delicate china of the teacup. "Yo ho! Driiiin*click* up me hearties," she said.

Hexane's grin turned nasty for second as she laughed. "Yes, I think you've got it Obs." She concentrated for a moment, and barked out,
"kage kijutsu: usugure no kyuudou*".

The street and sunlight vanished in an instant, and Phipps felt as though he'd been plunged into a lake of ice water. The cold ripped the air from his
lungs and he couldn't get it back.

Then the street in front of Haven House was empty, save for the quickly fading smoke.

End.

* As always, I apologise to those who can actually write grammatical ninhongo. Hopefully this translates as something like "shadow magic: twilight
road"

--

#11. Always kill the Ruin Mage first.

- 50 things Hexane has learned since joining the Infamous

The bulky mercenary stepped into the tiki lounge, looking rather dourly at the Banished Pantheon mask hovering behind the bar and the zombies on stage.
Shrugging them off, however, he stepped into a private booth he'd been directed to and sat down. Getting a glimpse at his contact, he frowned. "You
know I can't be seen with you. You're one of Kalinda's 'Destined Ones'. We have an understanding. I don't poach, she doesn't hunt
down the ones that come to me."

"Oh, I assure you," the man in the sharp suit jacket said languidly, "I have no intention of...switching sides. Kalinda believes I have a
potential destiny of greatness. I agree with her. However, your contacts are different and useful to me. Thus, I intend to direct a....accomplice of mine to
you, to take advantage of them, Mr. Burke."

Burke blinked, then nodded. "I see....someone they can't trace to you, but you can get my info from....who?"

"He's coming presently," Largo said, nodding at the door that opened. Burke looked, then blinked several times at the seven foot...death machine
was the word that came to mind as he looked at it. The machine took up a stance near the stage, but otherwise ignored their booth. Largo smirked.
"Impressive, isn't he? Run him through your tests. He will obey any objective you give him as long as it does not endanger my plans. Then send him on
his way. My gratitude could be useful to you after what is coming has occurred," he said. Burke thought about it, then nodded. "Hey, just another bit
of fresh meat, isn't he?" he said, standing up. Largo nodded. "Yes, just like all the others...." he smiled as the mercenary walked away.

***


---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

A snippet that's been in the works since Sylia's respec at Terra Volta, this is mainly to explain how her MORE
durable armor is the thinner one.

****

Priss walked in on Sylia, only to find the woman elbow deep not in bills or paperwork as she'd imagined, but the interior of a holographic interface, with
armatures surrounding the extended form of her hardsuit. The singer blinked, before walking up behind the other woman. "Making some upgrades?"

"In a manner of speaking," Sylia said. "I was involved in preventing a raid on Terra Volta the other day. Unfortunately, while it's a great
power source, the reactor itself is not a very contained radiation source. And during the fight, there were times when the shields failed and my armor was
directly exposed."

Priss looked at her with a slight hint of worry. "Exposed? You're not going to get cancer or anything, are you?"

"Not really, no. My life support shielding remained intact...barely. After I built the Mk. II armor, I adjusted the durability. Rather than relying on
armor strength like our old hardsuits, it's lighter and uses variable field generators."

"Say what?" Priss asked. Sylia laughed at her expression.

"Basically, it protects me by generating a variety of forcefields that absorb damage instead of the suit," she said, adjusting her hand positioning
in the holodisplay to rotate a piece in the hologram of her hardsuit. Priss noticed several of the small arms move to replicate the procedure. "However,
they can only be pushed so far," she noted, opening a panel in the chest and pulling out a blob of green goop. "This was one of the old field
projectors," she said. "It's pretty much gone, given it originally looked like a circuit board with a crystal in it."

Priss looked at her in alarm and Sylia shrugged. "It's a dangerous job. If Terra Volta'd gone down, the entire War Wall system would've
collapsed. Rikti would've hit every place in the city. Not to mention the deaths caused by the teleportation grid shutting down, life support in hospitals,
containment on a half dozen projects, people stuck in mid teleport when it went off..." Priss's expression darkened at the list, and Sylia smiled,
patting her arm comfortingly. "Don't be concerned for me. I consulted a doctor shortly after and they assure me there's no lingering
effects."

"....you should've at least brought me along," Priss grumbled. Sylia chuckled. "A little too high level for you, I'm afraid, my dear.
Your security level wouldn't let you in the building, even vouched for. Someone's been slacking...." she smiled, sing-songing slightly.

Priss scowled. "That's not my fault! I mean....I'm looking for a place that'll let me perform....and helping Linna find herself an apartment
in Galaxy....she's trying to talk me out of staying in my trailer in the Hollows and room with her so we can split rent, though I say if she wants to save
on money, she can come out and live in my trailer. It's not like there's not enough room..."

Sylia smiled as she listened to Priss go on, continuing with her work. It was wonderful having everyone back home again...
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

(Chatlog from before the Vampyr TF tonight

------

Terrence Knight: Its not my fault ..*mock glares at Rhea and Lisa* that these two can kinda cheat to keep things goin *grin*

Purrfect Archer: *Ear twitches* Ohhh?

Emerald Blast: It's not cheating, it's efficient use of resources.

Gamma Emission: I have heard you complain about it

Gamma Emission: *haven't

Emerald Blast: Oh, you didn't hear about that, Alice?

Terrence Knight: WEll....No.. *looks red and embarassed*

Terrence Knight: Its just..thanks to you two..I have to eat soo much more than I already do

Purrfect Archer: No? Tell me a story!

Terrence Knight: *grin*

Emerald Blast: ... okay, that's too easy. Ahem!

Terrence Knight: (Silicon your leader, invite Lora)

Emerald Blast: Once upon a time, actually several times a night, but let's not get too picky here...

Emerald Blast: ... when Sir Terrence Knight becomes too tired and worn to perform his... tasks...

Gamma Emission: *muffles giggles*

Terrence Knight: *groans*

Lora Doubet: Hey there.

Emerald Blast: *grins impishly at Terrence*

Terrence Knight: Hey..I swear I have the hard part of the work

Terrence Knight:

Purrfect Archer: Hey Lora. Terrs girls are telling us a story

Lora Doubet: Oh?

Purrfect Archer: *Coughs*

Emerald Blast: As I said, when he becomes too tired from his labors -- which MUST be SOOO EXHAUSTING, because he's always complaining about them....

Terrence Knight: Hey!

Lora Doubet: Snrrk

Emerald Blast: ... it falls to his lovely, talented, exceptionally beautiful... did I miss any, Lisa? *ticks off adjectives*

Silicon Sabre: Intelligent.

Quicksilver Nano: *raises hand* enthusicatic?

Gamma Emission: there is much pleading of deities

Purrfect Archer: Imaginative?

Terrence Knight: I give you more than enough room to work with dammit....*mumbles* You make it sound like I don't hold up well...*mutters weakly*

Gamma Emission: Flexable?

Emerald Blast: ... intelligent, enthusiastic, powerful -- ooh, imaginative, I like that one -- imaginative young ladies ...

Purrfect Archer: How Flewible?

Purrfect Archer: flexible

Lora Doubet: Flewible?

Lora Doubet: Grignr?

Emerald Blast: ... who love him immensely despite his ways *grins at Terr*...

Terrence Knight: What! what did i do this time.. *whines*

Emerald Blast: ... to, er, revitalize and rejuvenate his flagging *cough* abilities.

Purrfect Archer: ... wow.

Emerald Blast: And so, by the powers vested in us, those wonderful green glowy things...

Gamma Emission: he does try ever so hard, it's cute really

Lora Doubet: Oh dear...

Terrence Knight: ..

Terrence Knight: *scowls*

Purrfect Archer: Rhea tells the best stories

Emerald Blast: ... do we boost his adrenaline, alter his metabolism, and increase his fortitude, that he may please us all night long. And all day. And the
next night, if we're really into it.

Purrfect Archer: .... wow.

Reyshal: Now that sounds too good to be true.

Lora Doubet: *FALLS OVER LAUGHING*

Terrence Knight faints again

Purrfect Archer: ... Wait, so that's why I haven't seen you all week?!

Silicon Sabre: *dies*))

Emet poke

Terrence Knight: ((you make the poor shlub sound like he doesn't have any lasting power )

Purrfect Archer: I was out fighting evil and you... THAT'S NOT FAIR

Lora Doubet: ((LOL... Terry. REally, seriously, check out the latest Legendary forum post. We left one last surprise there for you. ^_^))

Terrence Knight: ((*cry*)

Reyshal:

Emerald Blast: It's not ALL us, y'know. Terrence really is... exceptionally gifted, shall we say? *grin*

Purrfect Archer: Ohhhhh.....

Gamma Emission: that is a perfectly fitting discriptor

Terrence Knight:

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

(Based on something that happened to Albumin a few nights ago. *grumble* level 9 mission, yeah right. )

------

I slip quietly from behind a pile of rubble, and jump lightly onto the side of ruined, toppled skyscraper. My balance is still slightly off, has been ever
since I dropped into the Portal Corp facility with my memory Swiss cheesed. It isn't enough to really hamper me, but it can be annoying. I take a moment
to look around the ruined borough from my new vantage point, but spot nothing.

The Boomtown security chief had made it sound fairly easy. Go into Boomtown, hunt down a few of the clockwork that were beginning to appear there, bring back
some info on what they were doing. I'd fought clockwork before and they hadn't been terribly dangerous. Annoying, sparky and hard to hurt, but not
dangerous. It sounds like a simple enough task, right?

And it probably is, assuming you can find any clockwork in these blasted, smoldering ruins. I've been combing the sector known as the Cannonade for the
better part of an hour now with not one clanking little gear-head to be seen. I've been jumped by who knows how many Vazhilok, tripped over dozens of
Council, and beaten the ever living shit out of at least fifteen Outcasts, but not one damned clinking, clanking clockwork.

Sighing in frustration, I return my attention to the crumbling building that I'm walking along. I pause for a moment at the edge, debating whether or not
to jump down to the ground, and that's when I hear it. The whirring of gears and the scrape of metal on concrete. There's a clockwork down there.
Grinning underneath my mask, I lower myself off the edge of building and drop quietly to the rubble below. It's dark down here, and it takes a moment for
my eyes to adjust.

I spot the automaton's leg first, and it's big. Really big. I have to lean back to see the top of this massive clockwork, and I can barely see the
sides. It must be nearly as wide as it is tall. A pair of glowing, angry eyes stare down at me and I say the only thing that comes to mind.

"Oh boy."

When I regain consciousness I find myself in full traction in one of the city's many hospitals. The small collection of cards from my teammates among the
Legendary tells me that I've been here for a while. The doctor confirms this, and informs me that I will be a guest of the hospital for at least another
week, if not longer. Of course, it's not all bad. There are some really attractive nurses on this floor, and it's almost time for my sponge bath.

--

43. Internal monologues are internal for a reason.

-- 50 things Hexane has learned since joining the Infamous

Mag clomped off of the portal pedestal into the Legendary base proper. Powering down the various fields, a thin slick of water rolled onto the floor behind
him, quickly evaporating. Stretching out his shoulders, he stomped down the hall into the Dojo, and slid the traditional door aside.

A sphere of light bobbed quiescently in the middle of the room, equidistant from walls, floor, ceiling. Mag walked over to confront it, and it drifted
downwards to head height. An armored finger extended, Mag gently poked the sphere, which rippled, and then erupted into a fountain of light, which slid back
into the slender, busty, shape of Valles.

"Impressive... And you want me to help you test it?"

"Yup! You've got very good _control_ of your damage output, so we can get an accurate picture!" Valles chirped, grinning. "I don't even
have a baseline for this ability yet, so I want to play with it before I setup a regimen."

Mag nodded, agreeing. "I'd be happy to help, Valles" Mag took two steps back, powered on his armors with a crackling rush, and bowed. Coming back
up, he fell over backwards as the freshly-transmogrified Valles streaked over his head, screaming in terror and flying through the door, leaving a nearly
perfect round hole, which Braende's red-clad form sprung through, giggling madly.

Mag closed his eyes and reviewed the last second or two. It checked out. Braende had been chasing the egshell-perfect sphere of Valles' Light Form, check.
She had a bright flame wrapped around one hand.. also check. And the other hand.. yes, a frying pan.

Mag kicked back to his feet and dialed the ouroboros initiator online, stepping sideways through space and time. No profit in getting involved with this one -
none at all.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

---

The Master said: "It is all in vain! I have never yet seen a man who can perceive his own faults and bring the charge home against himself."

>Analects: Book V, Chaper XXVI

I straightened up and ruffled Mr. Whiskers fur. "That does it, I think," I said, dropping the tack hammer on the bed and scratching at the back of
my neck. I looked around and giggled. "You know, Lisa... this might qualify as an improvement."

She cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that you didn't have any decorations in here -- no pictures, no posters, no g-strings tacked to your wall to remind you of your
past conquests...." I grinned and stuck my tongue out at her startled expression. "I mean, the paint job was nice and all, but there was nothing to
break up the lines. Now, at least, you can say you have a wall hanging."

"Not much of a wall hanging," she remarked. I had to agree. The large tarps we'd spent the better part of the past twenty minutes tacking to
the walls, ceiling, and floor were not especially decorative. Of course, now that I thought about it, I was going to have to do something about the lack of
decoration in the bedroom. Nothing fancy, maybe a portrait or two behind leaded glass, a fake ficus in the corner -- a real one wouldn't last a single
night, or possibly, might be mutated into a man-killing vegetable of mass destruction. We couldn't risk it, not with the rads we tended to pump out. With
great power, and all that...

I realized that Lisa was saying something to me, and dragged my focus back to her. Not that focusing on her is ever difficult, but --

(Pay attention, Rhea,) Mr. Whiskers said firmly. Oops.

"Sorry, I got distracted. What'd you say?"

She blew an exasperated sigh, but was smiling. "I asked if you were ready to get started."

"Always!" I replied, and couldn't help but grin as Lisa shook her head and chuckled. She favored me with a small smile, then without further
words reached down and caught hold of the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion. Next she unbuttoned and removed her
shorts, wriggling out of the tight material in a fashion that was more than a little distracting. Her boots were down the hall by the front door, so no need
to worry about those. She gathered up her discarded clothing, tossed a glance at me over her shoulder, and said,

"Enjoying the view?"

I nodded.

She dropped her clothes into the shielded hamper and sat down on it, wincing momentarily as the cold metal touched her skin, then regarded me steadily.
"Your turn."

"R-right." I tossed Mr. Whiskers to Lisa, who caught him easily and settled him on the hamper beside her, then set about removing my own clothes. I
was wearing the outfit Lisa had loaned me a long time ago -- jeans tighter than my tights and a t-shirt that looked like it was painted on -- so I had to do my
own fair share of wiggling and stretching to 'divest myself of garments', as they say. I kept one eye on Lisa the whole time, and aside from the hint
of a smile twitching her lips, she didn't show any expression. It was like I was an academic curiosity -- come, fellow scientists and men of learning, let
us observe the female of the species as she prepares to mate!

As usual, Mr. Whiskers chimed in with a comment that got me giggling. (Those would be some lucky scientists,) he observed. Lisa raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Whiskers again?" she inquired. I nodded. She reached out and scritched him behind the ears, and I shivered.

"Stop that," I said.

"Oh? Why?" She was grinning now, and didn't let up on the scratches.

"Because it makes him purr, and -- ack! -- that's like having a, a -- eep! -- a pager buzzing inside my head!" Well, more like being IN a pager
as it went off, except you ARE the pager, but ANYway.

She relented, giving Mr. Whiskers one final pat. I gathered my clothes. We'd discovered, shortly after we met, that somehow Mr. Whiskers protected me and
the stuff I was wearing or carrying from the effects of radiation -- so long as they were in contact with me. But the moment I took them off, it was like
flipping a switch, and they were suddenly vulnerable to all the unintended side-effects of Lisa exposure. And, as it happens, Mr. Whiskers exposure as well --
I could channel his energies just as well naked as clothed, and they didn't hurt me, but... one time Terrence and I had left my tights on the floor of the
bedroom instead of in the laundry room where they belonged. I'd had to make an emergency call to the Icon store later that day. I liked those tights....

I liked that shirt, too, so into the hamper it went, along with the jeans and the lacy underwear Lisa'd gotten for me on a whim. Or because she wanted to
see me in them. I know which interpretation I preferred....

(I'll start calling you Tabby, again,) Mr. Whiskers mock-warned. I stuck my tongue out at him.

Lisa and I twitched the tarp covering the bed back into position, surveyed our surroundings one last time -- plastic gleamed from every exposed surface, like a
painter's prep job run amok -- and nodded at each other.

"So... are you ready?" she inquired, a serious note creeping into her voice even as a playful twinkle glimmered in her eyes.

I took a deep breath, trying to control my anticipation. I was tingly and excited and nervous and afraid all at once. I love that feeling.

"Go easy on me," I said. "It's only the second time I've ever tried this..."

-----\

Terrence whistled cheerfully to himself as he tromped down the stairs leading to Lisa's apartment, a duffel bag full of rare and mystical salvage bumping
gently against his back. He fiddled with the locks for a moment and let himself in, then removed his boots and dropped the duffel on top of them, re-securing
the door out of habit.

"I'm home!" he called out, and got no response. "Hello?" he said into the dark apartment.

A muffled whump, felt through the soles of his feet more than heard, came from the hall. He frowned and padded lightly over the carpet, moving with surprising
stealth and silence for a man who was nearly as broad as he was tall. As he approached the bedroom door, he began to hear noises from within. Familiar and
welcome noises -- heavy breathing, the occasional hiss of air through clenched teeth, a moan or two... he grinned to himself and went back down the hall to the
laundry room, dropping his clothes in record time.

"So they got started without me," he said to himself with a grin. "That's okay. I can finish the job."

He slipped naked back to the bedroom door and listened carefully for a moment, pressing his ear to the not-wood -- some synthetic that resisted radiation
better than wood did, he knew, but he couldn't pronounce it last time Lisa tried to tell him what it was and didn't really care.

"I - I can't -- OH!" Rhea was saying, followed by another muffled explosion. Terrence grinned and twisted the knob, pushing the door open and
stepping through in one quick motion. There was some resistance, and a tearing noise, but he didn't consciously register it.

"I see you've started withouT THE HELL?"

Terrence stared at the startled women staring back at him. He then transferred his stare to the floor, the walls, and finally the ceiling. Brown goo dripped
from random splatters on the ceiling, oozed down the walls, and puddled on every flat surface. Here and there were scattered white and tan bits, almost like
confetti. Both girls were liberally speckled with the stuff, as well.

And for some odd reason, the room smelled strongly of refried beans and spices.

"Hi Terr!" Rhea chirped.

"What's going on in here?" he asked plaintively.

"Lisa's teaching me control," Rhea explained cheerfully. "So far, it... hasn't really been going all that well."

"We've only gone through a couple dozen burritos, Rhea," Lisa remarked. "It might take a while to figure it out. And this is better than
the coffeesplosion."

"You've got a point. But I think I'm done for now," Rhea replied, wiping a bit of burrito filling off her forehead with a finger and sucking
it clean. "And we need a shower, bad."

Lisa nodded. "Good idea."

They crossed to the bathroom quickly, ducking through the tarp where two edges overlapped, and in a moment Terrence heard the water start.

"Oh, Terrence?" Lisa leaned out of the bathroom. "Would you mind taking down the tarps?"

Terrence looked around again. "I, uh, suppose not...?"

"You'll need a shower too, after that..." Lisa hinted slyly, then ducked back in the bathroom. Rhea yelped a moment later.

"Hey! Your hands are COLD!"

Terrence poked thoughtfully at the splatter nearest to him, licked his finger, and shrugged. "Beef and bean." He eyed the mess critically for a
moment and got to work.

Less than a minute later, he shoved the mass of tarps and burrito remnants into the garbage can in the kitchen. "Super strength has it's
benefits," he remarked to himself as he compacted the wad down to a tight block the size of a basketball.

He rinsed his hands quickly in the sink, then paused as a truly evil thought occurred to him. He opened the fridge, retrieved a pitcher, and headed for the
bathroom.

Moments later:

"AaAAAH! TERRENCE! Your hands are FREEZING!"

-----

There was a conversation last night in chat... I couldn't resist. I am weak!

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

Yeay! Humorous and racy.

Now I have vague ideas of a series of oneshots:

Hero Sandwich

Learning to cook with superpowers
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy

:O

I had to pick my jaw up off the floor, there....WOW....way to play to the really sick minds out there. I am impressed

Okay, that's just what I needed to make me laugh tonight. Great job!
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Okay. I am going to have to try my hand at a Legendary cooking story.

Anyone else seen the extras on the DVD of "Once Upon A Time In Mexico"?

The director guy, can't remember his name now -- the dude who owns/runs Troublemaker Studios -- does a "Ten Minute Cooking School", which I
sometimes find more entertaining than the movie was. And the recipe's not bad, either -- churns out some pretty tasty stuff, even if I did have to forego
grinding my own spices for it like he did.

Anyway!

Point is, after Rev's comment, that's stuck in my head for some reason. The format, I mean.

Gamma Emission's Ten Minute Do-It-Yourself Microwaving School

Emerald Blast's Ten Minute Facts of Life School (co-hosted by Purrfect Archer and Silicon Sabre)

Numero Catorce's Twenty Minute Enchilada School (hey, can't rush these things)

Bella Fuego's Ten Minute BBQ School

Yukiyo's Ten Minute Photocopier Repair School (no refunds!)

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

Numero Catorce's enchiladas are not rushed. Numero Catorce's grandmother gave him that recipe and he takes time to make sure everything is correct. The
20-minute version of it starts with, "Take the jar of sauce you made Sunday afternoon and warm the tortillas that you made yesterday...."
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."

Cooking with Bella is not the sear-fest you would imagine but much more subtle; her particular favorite items to prepare are various tapas.

The one I was considering writing was Jackie cooking Ratatouille; with a very different emphasis than the movie of the same name.

Cooking With Evangelia

Step One: Find where the parents have stuffed the take-out menus this week...
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Here is a start to it that I cooked up during lunch

Hero Sandwich Cooking With the Legendary - Episode One - Ratatouille



It had started out as an aside. A momentary divergence. It was the butterfly flapping a single wing and by this gentle
waft of Monarch breeze, precipitated a great storm, three earthquakes, a tidal wave, two chipped nails, and a world wide shortage of Vidalia onions.



Morgan blamed Gordon Ramsay; and hoped that their shared
Scotts heritage would not somehow rub off on him; at least in this matter.



Bella had been taking a moment between missions to partake
of a quick meal in the Legendary base. A quick meal for Bella often involved two plates and sufficient food for
several, lesser mortals. While eating, the Spanish heroine had been watching Kitchen Nightmares. Softly smiling at the torrents of abuse gushed outward. She did not practice, or perhaps
did not even approve of, Ramsay's leadership methods, but did find that they were complimentary to her flame fuelled digestion.



Others had passed through the recreation room, some staying
longer than others, some bringing their own meals in. The array was rather exceptional.
Bella's plate buried under crudités and various tapas, Catorce's reheated enchiladas, smelling better than any re-heated Mexican food had any
right to. There was even Superball's white bread and mustard sandwich, that while questionable, must have had some
graces given the enthusiastic sounds that the blue-haired hero made while consuming it.



Someone, Morgan could not remember who, had mentioned in
passing that it would be interesting to share some recipes and cooking techniques as a team. It had seemed such a
harmless comment. It had been agreed on in the general, but hardly in the specific, the meal had concluded, and
everyone had gone their separate ways. The incident almost immediately forgotten.



Perhaps a week later, a memo had appeared on all
communicators. The first of what was to be a series of Legendary recipe swaps was to take place the following
day. As omens went it seemed rather uninspired. A rain of frogs, dogs and cats
living together, or the first male child in the household growing three feet - and eighteen toes; all would have been far better harbingers to what had been
unleashed. The memo only appeared harmless.



* * *



"Wow.
Lora'lai has been busy." Wide Receiver commented. The small kitchen
that served the Legendary's base had been given a significant overhaul and now gleamed with the reflections of clear, white, light off a polished marble
counter and chromed accessories. The refrigerator, microwave and stove had been replaced with top of the line,
gleaming, industrial, devices and a variety of blenders, mixers and pasta makers were arranged like soldiers on a shelf against the far wall. Pots and skillets hung down from a rack suspended over the counter. It was
magnificent.



"Great job Lora."
Evangelia echoed. The leader of the Legendary scanned the faces around her.
It had been an excellent turn out; Wide, Min, Superball, Bella, Morgan, Terrance, Brightsky, Mag Light, Pooky, Emerald Blast, Australis, Gamma, Terrance, Yukiyo. All the carefully laid out
seats had been filled and even more members were crushed in the back; including several members of affiliated supergroups.
She couldn't even take a head count from the press of bodies. It was a full house. The clock chimed seven.



"Thank you all for coming." Evangelia stood and turned to face the, it could only really be called a mob, of heroes.
"We don't often get a chance to get together for purely social reasons, and this seemed like as good a reason as any.
Before we get started, I wanted to thank Lora'Lai for arranging this and…"



"I didn't arrange this." Lora'Lai raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was your idea Eva."



"No." Eva
looked confused for just a moment. "When I saw the requisition of the new kitchen and the memo about the event, I
just assumed that you had arranged it."



"I thought you silenced the guard." Morgan said calmly, his stoic expression hiding a growing concern.
"Shizuru."



"No."
Shizuru admitted slowly.



"Bonjour mes braves." The kitchen door opened and Jackie stalked into the kitchen, her high heels tapping against the freshly laid times. "I am… intensely gratified to see so many of you here for our first session. Good
food is my second favorite sensual vice; especially when shared with an enthusiastic group."



Min reached over and shut Wide's mouth with an audible
clop. The reaction was understandable. Jackie was wearing a neatly pressed,
white cotton apron, but very low at the front, and very short at the hips. Presumably it was tied behind her back in a
large bow, the loops visible on either side of her hips. Jackie's figure was barely contained by the outfit, her
magnificent cleavage enhanced even more, and her long, shapely legs displayed to advantage by elegant high heels.



"Is she wearing anything underneath
that?" Terrance whispered.



"I can't tell." Shizuru leaned left and then right slightly.



"You arranged this?" Eva asked. Trying to meet Jackie's eyes behind the mirrored visor the tall French
heroine wore. It was made all the more difficult as at six foot, two inches, Jackie towered over Eva. It was hard to meet here eyes. Other things had a tendency to get in the way.



"Oui."
Jackie said. "I submitted the request through the required channels. I
will admit to being gratified, of course I usually end of highly gratified, that it was acted upon with such alacrity.
This kitchen? Magnifique."



Eva took it in stride.
They had been played. It was an inside job. Knowing who made it all
fall into place. Jackie was telling the truth, or at least her version of it. A
version that would stand up in a court of law. If not other places. The
inadvertent entendre in her mind did not help. The memos and requisitions had looked like had been submitted by
Lora'Lai, the precise use of language. Not a forgery, but a phasmid. They
looked so much like Lora'Lai's submissions that she had signed off on them without confirming the source. A
hole in their operational security that would be addressed after this meeting.



Jackie turned slightly offering a half glimpse of her
profile, and the notable absence of any thing resembling a bra strap. She leant down slightly, moving her shoulders in
a casual, sinuous fashion to highlight her cleavage. She straightened, holding up a basket that bulged with
produce.



"Ratatouille is perhaps the classic French
dish." Jackie said, her voice husky. "While it might seem simple, it
displays amazing depth, versatility and imagination. Each person who experiments with it will add their own personal
touch to the experience; perhaps even sharing with others in a mutually beneficial fashion."

Pooky, at this point, is suffering from dry mouth, due to his jaw being somewhere around table level..

Mag's blinking a lot, but already considering his own swing on a classic dish (that he's never made anymore - that's got him a little nervous)

Good stuff!
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

... magnifique!

"Rhea, why are you studying French all the sudden?"

"... er... I'm taking cooking classes!"

"... rrriiight."

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

The Tsoo Red Ink Man awoke to the scent of rice vinegar and the sensation of being bound spreadeagle to a flat wooden surface.
"Ara! Awake, are we, Tsoo-san?" asked a voice like honeyed silk.
He began to struggle against the bindings. "When Tub Ci finds out about this...." In his struggles, he finally caught sight of his captor and froze.
The Japanese schoolgirl wasn't all that odd here in the Rogue Isle, or even in Paragon. Her dextrous fingers shaping glutinous rice into various shapes wasn't all that unfamiliar, either. The fox ears atop her head and the six kunoichi and nine foxtails behind her, however told him all he needed to know. He was in the power of Lady Nogitsune.
She set down the rice on the butcher-block and clapped her hands. "Very well, minna, now that our guest has awakened, this one can begin the demonstration." She gestured to one of the kunoichi. "Shima-chan? Meguro o kudasai?" The kunoichi left the Ink Man's field of vision and returned carrying a huge tuna which she slammed down next to him. "Arigato gozaimasu!"
Nogitsune stood and, a shimmer of magic later, was clad in a formal kimono covered with an old-fashioned apron. "At this point, this one shall begin interrogation of a Tsoo lackey while Akai-chan and Kuroi-chan demonstrate their skill at tappanyaki and sashimi. Shima, Hebi, Uzumaki. Please pay attention. A demonstration of these skills will be necessary for your promotion to jounin rank in the future." The mastermind made a gesture and two of the kunoichi drew ninja-to. "Kuroi, Akai? Allez cuisine!"
Twin flashes of steel that barely missed the bound Tsoo later, the head of the enormous fish was flying through the air, spreading droplets of thick fish blood across his chest. He felt a gentle caress on his cheek drawing him into eye contact with the fox demoness.
"Now, Tsoo-san, let us discuss the location of certain... objets d'art?"
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

Ahgahd.

The more you write about her, Fox, the more terrified I become. I swear, I will not be surprised -- terrified, sure, but not surprised -- if she features in
one of my nightmares someday. O_o

Very ... no, no, 'nice' is SO not the right word. Very well done!

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

The grassy park was dotted with family picnics and BBQ grills -- the holiday weekend combined with beautiful weather and only a 20-percent chance of Rikti
invasion had drawn residents from their homes like bees to pollen. There were gas grills, charcoal grills, solar grills, and even a few superpowered grills,
if one counted flame-based heroes showing off as a viable heat source.

Even with the profusion of appliances dotting the park, one grill in particular stood out. The Legendary had staked out a nice grassy knoll upon which to
congregate, and brought their grills along. Several smaller examples were scattered about, being tended by whoever cared to cook. On one, Terrence Knight and
Mag Flashlight debated the merits of straight grilling versus beer-soaking for sausages, while examples of their subject sizzled merrily away. On another,
Numero Catorce was carefully watching his asada. Nearby, Bella Fuego primed the coals for a grill that looked to be dedicated to hot dogs and hamburgers.
But the biggest grill of all was unused, gently smoking to itself as the coals caused the air above it to shimmer and dance. By itself, it was eye-catching,
painted in blue and gold and comprised of a 55-gallon drum split lengthwise and welded together. But that was hardly unusual. No, this grill was even
stranger.

Clamped to the back of the grill was a set of thick planks, set at a 90-degree angle to the bed of softly glowing coals. They were unadorned except for a
series of concentric circles charred into them, the largest being about six inches in diameter and the smallest perhaps an inch. The gathered crew blinked
curiously at it and talked amongst themselves quietly.

"I'm sorry I'm late," a voice said, and a moment later William Bishop III puffed up the slope, his ever-present bow slung over one shoulder
and a bulging sack of groceries in his arms. "There was a line at the store." He dropped the supplies on the folding table near the grill,
straightened his back, and stretched briefly, before organizing the contents of the sack into several neat piles. It appeared to have all been prepped
beforehand; there were neat cubes of meat, peeled baby onions, cleaned mushrooms, and other less identifiable bits and pieces. Bill turned to regard the
hungry crowd and blinked.

"I didn't realize there would be so many here today," he commented. "I'm going to need some help if we're all going to get to try
my recipe. Hmm." He perused the gathered heroes for a moment, then smiled. "Purrfect Archer, Pooky, would you two be so kind as to assist me?
I'll show you how it's done and you just follow my lead."

Puzzled but willing, the two edged their way forward. Some of the gathered teammates who had been to one of Bill's cookouts before grinned
conspiriatorally at each other, knowing what was coming next.

"Alright then!" Bill declared. "The coals are hot, it's time to get crackin'. Watch closely, you two, it's an easy enough trick
but you need careful timing." So saying, he whipped out his bow and a fistful of arrows, slammed a fist down on the table (causing the piles to jump a
few feet in the air), drew, and let loose.

FwipfwipfwipfwipTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD.

"And that, sir and madam, is how it's done," Bill drawled, as the arrows plunged through the ingredients and slammed home, dead-center, on each
of the planks, vibrating gently. The impromptu shish-kebabs began to sizzle invitingly. "You up for it, kids?"

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

wow, good job to both Rev and Fox. I was definetly not expecting this when I made my original suggestion.

Seeing the reaction of Terrence and Rhea to the apron, Gamma would be inquiring where she can get one like it, perhaps sized for her smaller stature. It would
make cooking in the buff a much safer task.

And the Nogi bit was just creepy, which is what you were shooting for I think ^_^
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy

The toughest part of the Legendary picnic, in my lights, was the lizard. I'm not sure how I got elected caretaker, but it's a job I take fairly
seriously..

Still, how do you keep a combat trained, unnaturally voracious lizard from ruining a picnic, especially when she's been blessed with the intellect of a
fairly advanced dog..

The solution, when I finally figured it out, was simplicity itself. 3 gross of one-size-fits-all disposable cotton gloves, a VERY confused delivery driver, and
an XXXXL cooler with seals tight enough to hold odor in..

"No, it's not about the existing flavor, Terrence - the beer marinade adds to the overall effect, and the choice of available beers allows a variety
of flavors with a single meat.. hold on."

I popped the cooler open and snagged a 20 pound deer roast. I handed it to Terrence, who had put on a fresh pair of the gloves, and pointed. He stretched back
and Hurled the deer haunch, and the meat missile blew Gen clean off the top of Bella's grill, where she'd been trying to figure out how to open the
lid.. whilst sitting on it. Delighted squeals came from Gen and some of the kids in the park as she tumbled across the sky, wrapped around the deer meat and
happily destroying it, before she splashed down in the lake.

Nodding my thanks, I returned to castigating Terrence on his unreasonable rejection of beer marinade as a sausage preparation..
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies