One of our planes was missing

Two hours overdue

One of our planes was missing

With all its gallant crew

The radio sets were humming

We waited for a word

Then a noise broke

Through the humming and this is what we heard

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

Though there's one motor gone

We can still carry on

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

-- Coming in on a Wing
and a Prayer (1943), by Harold Adamson and Jimmie McHugh

Tales of the Legendary:


On a Wing and a Prayer


"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

She didn't hear him, at first. She heard the spoken syllables...but it took a moment for them to form a coherent sentence in her brain, and another
moment for her to make sense of it.

Belatedly, Elizabeth looked up, her face somewhere between bewildered and apologetic. Fumbling, she lifted her duffle bag from the chair next to her.
"Sorry," she murmured, instinctively, the early stages of a blush coming to her cheeks. She was tired, very tired, but that didn't excuse the
social faux-pas.

The man standing beside the bank of seats smiled faintly. "Quite alright," he replied. He didn't raise his voice, but he did enunciate the
words carefully, speaking over the background murmur of the crowded lounge. "Hope I'm not bothering you."

Elizabeth blinked. "Uh, no, sorry," she mumbled, "just didn't hear you at first...sorry, I'm tired."

Settling down in the now vacated chair, the man placed his suitcase by his feet. Then he made a show of checking his watch. "Hm, yes," he said,
sympathetically, "it's an ungodly hour, isn't it? I swear, they schedule these flights just to torment people. Sadists, the lot of 'em."

Lifting a hand to rub her eyes, Elizabeth managed a weak laugh. Except it came out as more of a gurgle. "It's not that early," she said.

"It's too early to be getting on a damn airplane. Honestly," he insisted, with an illustrative wave of the hand, "I'm sure this
entire airport is built on some...I don't know, ancient pagan burial ground. Or something. Part of a nefarious mystic plot to channel the suffering of
passengers."

Elizabeth shook her head. Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her blurred vision, she turned to give the guy a proper look. He lay slouched in the
chair beside her, his lanky frame stretched over the awkwardly-shaped institutional seating...amazingly without any trace of discomfort. He wore black slacks
and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a partially undone red necktie looped round his collar. He peered at her through the tinted lenses of a pair of
similarly red sunglasses. Even the slim briefcase resting on the floor by his seat was all red leather and black trim.

Along with his dark hair and pale skin, he was such a dramatically coloured figure...she wasn't sure whether to be impressed or bemused. Especially
when he continued to speak, sounding absolutely and utterly serious.

"They tire us out by forcing us to be here two bloody hours before the flight," he intoned, a dire edge creeping into his voice, "then make
us sit here due to 'delays' until our muscles have atrophied and the flesh has rotted from our bones. At this rate, we'll be ready for boarding
when the Archangel Gabriel toots his f'ing horn."

Elizabeth couldn't help it. She snickered, her shoulders shaking. "You really hate flying," she asked, "don't you?"

"Loathe it," he answered, instantly, almost before she finished the question, "I'm the sort who likes his feet on God's solid
ground."

"And you're not shy about sharing, I see," Elizabeth retorted.

He smirked in response. "Looked like you needed cheering up, hm? Don't think you're the jet-setting type either, if you don't mind me
saying."

"Good guess," Elizabeth said, dryly. She brought a hand to her hair, running her fingers through the tangled locks. "No offence, this is a
great country and all...but I'm glad to be heading home."

Eyebrows rose, as the guy next to her drew back in his seat, giving her an odd look. "Great? Come, now, yes, I know, it's in the name, but it
rains too much here to be more than mildly satisfactory."

"Clearly," Elizabeth shot back, "you've never been to Seattle. Britain isn't nearly as soggy."

"It's been an unseasonably dry spring season," he said, piously, placing a hand flat over his heart, "trust me, there is nothing more
fickle and vagarious than British weather."

"Riiiiiight," Elizabeth drew the word out, rolling her eyes.

"Fine, fine," he said, conceding defeat. "I take it you're American, then?"

"Elizabeth," she said, by way of introduction, pointing to herself, poking the tip of her index finger into her sweater-clad collarbone,
"dumb tourist."

"Well, not a tourist for much longer, unless the plane decides to give up entirely and strand you." He glanced over at the closed gate, round the
other end of the boarding lounge. Elizabeth followed his gaze, and sighed. Aside from a pair of lethargic-looking airline attendants, there was no sign of
life.

"Call me Walker," he said, finally, "from...somewhere around here."

"Walker," Elizabeth mused, "like the..."

"Yes, yes," he said, with a theatrical air of faux irritation, "like the crisps."

Elizabeth snorted. "I was going to say 'Texas Ranger', actually."

"If I was Chuck Norris," Walker stated, flatly, "I wouldn't be in bloody Heathrow waiting for a plane. I'd roundhouse kick a few
times and helicopter across the Atlantic."

She winced. "Touché."

Walker, nodded solemnly. "Quite. I'm sure he can actually do that, you know. With all the stories on the Internet, it's obvious he's more
powerful than Statesman."



"Pfft," Elizabeth made a dismissive gesture, "please, everyone in Paragon knows the ultimate hero is Blue Steel."

He looked confused. "Don't think I've heard of him," Walker admitted, sounding vaguely apologetic, "is he..."

"No, no. Well, I mean, he's a real costumed hero, but...sorry," Elizabeth tried to explain, before shrugging her shoulders and giving up,
"it's a joke. Paragon City local thing."

"Right," Walker said, nodding, "one of those things. Say no more. Now, I'm thinking..."

But he didn't finish the thought. Instead, he trailed off in mid-sentence, turning his head. Leaning forward, he peered towards the boarding gate
across the room. Elizabeth couldn't see his eyes, but she was sure he was squinting hard through his sunglasses. She looked over herself, staring past the
milling crowd of impatient passengers packed into the airport lounge, but couldn't see what had caught his attention.

"Uh," Elizabeth began, "what are you doing?"

Walker held up a hand, one finger raised. "Hush," he said, "any moment now."

A second ticked by, then two, then three. Elizabeth was just about to break the strange silence, before a crackle of static sounded over the lounge's
public address system - and a harried-sounding voice announced:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay. Flight BA-238 to Boston will be boarding shortly. We'd like to invite all passengers from First
and Business Class, and all Economy class passengers seated from rows sixty-five to sixty-eight to approach the gate for boarding. Please have your boarding
passes ready for inspection. All passengers from First and Business Class, and all..."

"That's it," Walker snapped his fingers, an expression of glee on his face. He stood in one fluid motion, sweeping to his feet. He lifted his
briefcase with one hand. With the other, he indicated the line already forming at the gate. "After you, madam."

"Wait, wait," Elizabeth protested, hurriedly fishing around in her pocket for her boarding pass. She pulled out the slightly crumpled strip of
paper, searching for her seat number. Which was, she realised, just within the range of the Economy Class seats the flight attendants had called. She stood up
quickly, pausing only to retrieve her own carry-on luggage, looping the straps round her shoulder.

Then she blinked.

"Hey," Elizabeth said, "how did you---"

"Trade secret," Walker answered, with a conspiratorial grin.

"That's...vaguely creepy," Elizabeth muttered, as they walked to join the passengers shuffling into the plane.

"I know," Walker said, sagely, "I try."

I've put it up at MediaMiner:

http://www.mediaminer.org/fanfic/view_st.php/153627 - if you've read the partial post I
put up in the old thread, the third part won't be repeating very much for you.

I've not finished the Mizuki episode yet so that's the end of it there, but I'm going to add the Team Seven (Sakura, Sasuke, Tenten) bells test
here for comment.

Aklso - Valles, I went closer to canon on Naruto's parentage, making him Yondaime's son instead of nephew and Kushina his mother, but kept Mitarashi as
Yondy's clan. If you're planning on rsurrecting TGNH however, I'll switch back, since presumably you wouldn't have made the change without some
kind of reason.
--
"Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles
woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows

So who would Mag go to for help on a magical engineering project - specifically, a magic-based untraceable cellphone/voice link?
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't like the supposed "next great disc format".

The Inquirer: http://www.theinquirer.net/gb/inquirer/ ... ank-reason]Blu-Ray sales tank for good reasons

Even though it's obvious the author has an axe to grind, I can't disagree with anything he says...
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

In the process of being deleted.

Remember the Two Cows Guide
to CoH/CoV?

It's back, and I've posted an expanded version on the official CoH forums. In the Virtue server section - I didn't want to risk the sharks of the
main CoH discussion. But folks seem to be liking it. I've added a whole bunch of my own gags, and pulled a fair number from our own forum thread on this. Where I've used your jokes, I've given
name credit accordingly. Thanks everyone. =D
-- Acyl

Is there any possibility of there being a Step in this world, or should I start thinking of doing a Stagger?

Eden:

The Eden Trial was a breeze, again. I believe we've got this one mastered. Personally, I'm gonna try and push it once more, with Mag, for the badge,
but I think we're about done with it as a group. It _appears_ that a busy Fire/Kin can provide enough buff/debuff to get the job done. Nothing special to
report for it, just a nice solid run.

Cavern of Transcendence:

This was the most embarrassed I've ever been on a TF. When we were all in and focussed, we did great, but I felt like we just weren't 'on' for
this one. I personally feel like I was not performing anywhere near the top of my game - and I apologise for that.

However, we muddled through and succeeded, despite some wonderful stupidities on my part (whaddya mean we don't clear the room? they're lookin' at
me funny! *clobber dead tank*). The CoT trial isn't actually that difficult, provided you have a pathfinding stealthing teleporter.

Being back down to level 15 was almost painful, I have to admit.

The CoT trial is a single-mission timed trial, levels 12-15, that occurs in the Hollows. The Trial requires 8 people. Given the presence of a teleporting
stealther, the trial can be _very_ simple, and require only three minor fights and one moderate fight. Start the TF, and all zone into the Troll Tunnels (there
is an entrance within easy walking distance of the TF start point). The Teleporter then moves to the door to the Trial Zone (which is marked on the map), and
teleports folk in. All zone into the Trial Zone. At this point, the Teleporter moves to the Locked Door and tank-drops in firepower until the run up to the
Locked Door is cleared. The Teleporter then places a group member at each of the monoliths. Timing the next part is best/easiest off of the Mission Timer.

All eight click simultaneously, once the Monoliths are down, the Teleporter returns to the Locked Door area and assembles the team. The tank opens the door,
and aggros the group consisting of some LTs and Minions and a Monster behind it.

Care should be taken during this fight to prevent aggro of the additional 'hostage taker' spawn at the back of the room. Once the Monster and crew is
dealt with, the hostage spawn is easy. The Trial is complete.

It's my understanding that noone hardly ever does this TF - and it's quick and easy. If we re-did it with focus and knowledgeable, alert leadership, we
could probably knock it out in 20 minutes. The reward drop is a 'class b' recipe, explaining why this isn't more popular.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Which, of course, means the DSL line to Rei is fubard... No EPU till someone can get ahold of Zoner's friend and get that router reset.

Someone tell Gryph?
Hear that thunder rolling till it seems to split the sky?
That's every ship in Grayson's Navy taking up the cry-
NO QUARTER!!!
-- "No Quarter", by Echo's Children

There are times I wonder about this job. I mean, it's exciting, offers all sorts of interesting new challenges, and you get to feel really good about
yourself, but there are times you have to stop, stare, and be either amused or horrified at what you've encountered. The first time that happened to me was
in Faultline, when I discovered the truth of what happened there. Today was another such time.

It started out like such a normal day. Stop some muggings, stomp on the Council press gangs, nothing too serious. Picked up some info on Council safehouses
that I should look into later. Then, I had to go back to Atlas for a business meeting (Action figures, as part of the Legendary toy line... holy crap,
that's weird to think about). While I was there, I got a call from my contacts about the Hellions planning some kind of dark ritual they thought would give
them an edge in the constant gang wars in Perez. Some heroes would say kicking Hellions was a little beneath them, but I like to think being a cape involves a
bit more decency then that. I know, I'm a little bit of an idealist, so what?

So, I pay a visit to a warehouse in Argosy Industrial Park where this ritual was supposed to take place. Looks like it's actually still in use, and the
fire-lovers chased everyone out so they'd have some privacy. There's a few guards on the roof, but I blasted them before they even knew I was flying
down on them. The last one saw me and panicked a little - Hellions aren't really used to dealing with heroes that have earned their capes, I suppose.
That's when I spotted someone else hitting on the rooftop. Armored figure, clad in green light power armor from head to toe, and carrying one nasty looking
multi-function rifle.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me in an annoyed voice, even as my visor identified him from the FSBA Database. Sell-Sword, a Tech Blaster hero,
and one I'd heard of, despite his being new to the job. A former mercenary that got his hands on some fancy gear, then went hero only because going villian
offered too many downsides. There was even stories that he'd been 'unable' to recover some stolen artifacts, only to sell them himself later. They
were all rumors, but still...

"Hitting a Hellion gang," I said with a slight shrug. "You?"

"Likewise," he replied, lowering his rifle. "Isn't this a little low level for you?" he wondered.

"That a problem?" I asked, turning away and walking towards edge of the roof, hearing him follow.

"Nah, just wondering what salvage you're gonna claim," he said casually, moving up beside him. "Any items recovered from crime scenes by
heroes can be claimed as salvage once all evidence has been filed," he said smoothly as I looked at him with... well, more then a little surprise. That
was the first thing he was thinking about? Maybe there was some truth to those rumors. He certainly seemed greedy enough.

"I know the laws. Usual equal share all right with you?" I asked. I was a little dissapointed when he nodded, given that I was more then willing to
tell him to sod off. Okay, maybe it was a little rude of me, but the guy just seemed to irritate me.

"Still, I'm wondering what the Knight of the Peace is doing, dealing with mere street thugs," he commented as we jumped off the rooftop. The
guard at the doorway had been too busy lighting up to hear anything from the roof, and went down with a quick application of my gauntlets taser.
"You're running with the Legendary, you just hit Security Level twenty-six... a little high for this, wouldn't you say?"

He sounded amused, damn it. As if someone that's only just hit Level four has much experience with operating as a Hero. That's what I thought at the
time, although I realize now it was a little arrogant of me. Just as arrogant as his assumptions that one merely deals with crimes in the range of their
official security rating, I suppose, but that's a discussion for another time.

"I was in the area, I figured I might as well deal with it," I replied, stepping inside and finding the usual warehouse. Sword followed me and we
started the usual routine, hitting the Hellion groups one by one, blasting them before they could run off and alert anyone else. As is always the way with
Hellions and similar groups, the sounds of their own gunfire and partying covered the heroes arriving to kick their asses.

Sell-Sword was... interesting. He was a good shot with the rifle, but he didn't hesitate to take shots that, if it wasn't for the cities medical
teleporters and the arrest beacons we carried, would likely have been fatal. I can't help but wonder if he was pulling his punches with some of his shots
as well, due to my own presence, considering that his record already did contain a number of fatalities. None that were really too questionable - We've all
ended up with a few on file, no matter how it annoys Statesman, but still...

Anyway, we made it to the main storeroom relatively quickly, and sure enough, the Hellions were doing some sort of ritual. A big one too. There were a half
dozen Damned gathered around a spell circle, feeding the largest ruby I have ever seen with their magical flames. Occasionally, bursts of flame would reach
out, lighting whatever was nearby on fire. The Hellions watching were laughing and cheering, like it was a big show.

I didn't have any idea what the hell it was really - magic has never been my thing, but it was definitely bigger then anything I'd ever seen the
fire-starters try before. "Probably best if we stop this before it's done," I said quietly to Sell-Sword, who nodded and moved towards the other
end of the warehouse. Once he was there, we both jumped down and started working on the crowd. They panicked, scrambling for their guns, although it didn't
do them much good really. I was really making mayhem on my side, and the mercenary was a lot more dangerous then his Security Rating suggested.

Then a few of the Damned broke away from the spell circle and joined the fight, and things got random. The ruby began glowing with a light of its own, rising
off the ground and floating over the circle, the red beginning to be replaced, oddly enough, by black as it forced the flames out. Yes, I know I said it was
glowing brighter as it turned black. It doesn't make sense, but that's magic for you, damn it.

Anyway, I wasn't in a position to pay much attention at the time, with the Hellions doing their best to crush me under weight of numbers. My armors cloak
didn't hide me completely, but it kept them guessing long enough for me to throw an energy wave that picked up a number of them and threw them across the
warehouse. Things got interesting as several crates caught on fire and two of the Damned opened up with the flames on me. I fired the boot jets, kicked up into
the air, then tried one of my sisters newest upgrades, launching a plasma sphere that exploded as it hit the ground, tossing even more Hellions all over the
place.

As if enough crap hadn't caught fire, the flames surrounding the crystal intensifyied, reaching up to the ceiling. The fire seemed to hurt the Damned still
around the Circle, which was odd, by the rules of magic at least. Magical fire never seems to hurt the one wielding it, even though it really should.

Sell-Sword was yelling at me, something about needing options. Not having any magical experts around, I decided to go with the standard option for situations
where things look like they'll blow up. Grab the crystal, get it to a decent height, then blow it up. Sure, Azuria would grump at me, but that would hardly
be new.

So, I fired up the boot jets, punched through the flames, grabbed the ruby, which by now had a network of black lines running over it, flew for a window...
then pain ripped through me, all my electronics died for a moment, and I crashed into a pile of crates as it went dark.