http://www.tmz.com/2013/04/08/annette-f ... ead-at-70/
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"I've always wanted to be somebody, but I should have been more specific." - George Carlin

Back home, I knew of and had frequented easily a dozen suppliers
of martial arts equipment in and about London, from little shops
catering to individual artists through general sports stores to 
wholesalers who dealt in bulk purchases for dojos and schools --
places like Blitz and Shogun International and UK Fitness 
Supplies.  In my role as a combat trainer I liked to do my own
browsing and selection when it came to the tools I used, and had
developed a collection of favorite establishments.  

And wonder of wonders, most of them existed in some form or 
another in this timeline -- something I had gone out of my way to
confirm during my week at 12 Grimmauld Place even though my class 
planning hadn't gotten anywhere near needing them by that point.  
They didn't have the *really* high-end stuff -- apparently the 
"no metahumans" thing in this world included the more extreme 
martial arts styles and masteries -- but what they did have was 
more than adequate for my needs.

Unfortunately, the particular one I wanted to hit was a 
wholesaler with annoyingly tight hours:  9 to 5 on weekdays and
9 to noon on Saturdays.  While I could probably have tried to get
to London immediately after the end of classes one afternoon, it
really wouldn't have given me any time at all to really do the
shopping and bargaining I needed.  So when Saturday breakfast
came, I reminded Albus that I'd be out of the castle much of the 
day before speeding through my meal as quickly as I could and 
still be polite.

Once back in my rooms after breakfast I tugged off my robes to 
reveal the jeans and T-shirt I'd worn underneath ("Ask me about 
my vow of silence!" it read today), and then pulled on both my 
leather jacket and my helmet.  Activated by the pressure switches 
in its lining, my helmet was powered on and fully booted up by 
the time I had the foam pads centered over my ears and my goggles 
seated properly.

Now, as I've said elsewhere, I could cover the distance between 
Hogwarts and London on my bike in less than a half-hour, if I 
really wanted to and didn't mind leaving a sonic boom in my wake.
But in addition to being rather noticeable, it also took half an
hour that I didn't want to spare.  (Yeah, I'm an impatient 
sunovabitch.  Wanna make something of it?)

So I planned on using a different mode of travel.

"System, load song 'Lucky 4 You'.  Play song," I said to the 
computer in my helmet.

   "You always said that I have multiple personalities
    I bounce around somewhere between my dreams and reality..."

I don't know why people are always surprised to find that I use
(and *like*) country-western music.  Yeah, sure, a lot of my
repertoire is based on classic and contemporary rock of all 
types, but I'm hardly *limited* to it -- even if that "Rolling
Stone" reporter *did* dub me "Heavy Meta" in the "Jukebox Hero" 
article.  Pick the right songs, and bands like SHeDAISY and 
Little Big Town can be both very useful and a lot of fun.  But 
some people turn their noses up at country music.

   "So where'd you dig up the audacity 
    To ask of me
    How we've all been doing
    Since you broke our hearts?
    Well, so far..."

Case in point:  according to "Playcount" field in the metadata, 
I've used this song almost two hundred times, but...

"Ooof.  Again country song about woman?  In first person yet?  To 
summon *me*?" Skitz's current personality grunted from behind me.  
The deep, guttural edges of the Russian accent coloring his 
speech identified him immediately to me.  "*Really*, Douglas.  
Can you not find more appropriate way to call us up?"

I turned in place and controlled my instinctive urge to punch him
in the nose.  Just my luck that his simulacrum would manifest as 
the persona I liked least.  "Hello, L'Reaux." 

Yes, a French name for a Russian persona.  I don't understand it,
either. 

He was dressed in the usual outfit his personalities had agreed 
to wear while on duty:  a vaguely military-cut black shirt and 
pants with an inordinate number of pockets.  If he hadn't spoken, 
I would have recognized him as L'Reaux from the antique Russian 
cap and the fascia he wore (the fabric of both crumpled and 
creased from decades of jamming them into pockets when *not*
L'Reaux) along with the ornate silver cross hanging from a chain 
around his neck.

   "Number 5 just cries a river a minute
    7 wants to tie you up and drown you in it..."

Skitz didn't really shapechange to reflect each of his many
personalities, but the sometimes radical differences in posture,
body language and, well, attitude, often made it seem like he 
did.  This particular personality somehow made Skitz's athletic,
dark-haired form seem small and somewhat weak.  Which he wasn't 
by any means -- back when he had been Skitz's current incarnation, 
L'Reaux had actually had a well-deserved reputation for inhuman 
endurance and strength.

He had also had a reputation for thoroughly messing with people's
heads, as well.  Which he kept up even after death.  For example,
"L'Reaux" (obviously) wasn't his real name.  Well, the name he'd 
used when he was the *live* Skitz.  He called himself that partly 
to hide his former identity from the unaware, but also partly for 
the joy of confusing and deceiving people.

Did I mention that he was also a first-class pain in the ass?  (I
know, I know -- pot, kettle, apparent reflectivity indices -- but
I mean, *really*.  Worse than me.)

L'Reaux tilted his head and studied me with his usual intense
stare.  "I suppose you *want* something.  You would not call 
otherwise," he growled.  He tilted his head and twitched a lip in 
a subtle little self-satisfied smirk.  "Of course, there was time 
you summoned up Margaret for little romantic..."

"L'Reaux!" I snarled.

He scowled in annoyance at me.  "Oh, *be* that way."

   "Yeah, 14 just wants to say 'so long, bygones'.
    32 wants to do things to you that'll make you blush..."

"I need a gate to London, L'Reaux," I ground out between gritted
teeth.  "Woolwich.  As close as you can get me to Duke of 
Wellington Avenue, in the Royal Arsenal area."

"What's in it for me?" he scowled.  

"What's in it for you is freedom from pain."  I looked down on 
him -- even though we really were about the same height he 
*seemed* shorter -- clenched my fists, and did my best to be 
intimidating.  "If you *don't* open a gate for me, I will beat 
you to a pulp, and keep doing so until the song ends and you 
vanish.  The entire remainder of your virtual life will consist 
of the most exquisite agony."  

Not that it would really work -- the threat of actual violence 
would prompt L'Reaux to abandon control of the body, allowing 
another of Skitz's personalities to swap in.  (L'Reaux had an 
almost completely overwhelming aversion to physical harm -- "Try 
gettink shlowly killt by incompetent asshassins," he had 
confessed to us one drunken evening at the Red Lion when I had 
teased him about his fear of injury.  "Buildsh character, da?  
Next time idiot ashks you 'what worsht can happen?', you 
*know!*")  Then again, I got along well with most of Skitz's 
other selves; whoever took control would almost certainly be 
willing to open a gate for me.

I wonder what it says about me that my subconscious mind's 
simulation of Skitz defaulted to the persona I liked least.

He seemed to shrink down even further at the threat.  "Okay, 
tovarishch, if you're going to be like *that* about it."  He 
waved his hand palm up.  A square hole in space-time three meters 
tall by three wide opened, revealing an alley with a sun-bathed 
city street beyond.  "Behold."

   "10 would key the El Camino that you love so much
    And there ain't nobody wants to mess with 23."

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.  "Thank you, 
L'Reaux," I growled before I stepped through to London.  I don't 
care that he's part of some kind of eternal champion.  He's an 
asshole, and he gets on my nerves.  

*I let Hexe bully me about, soplyak.  She has nobility you lack.  
Next time ask like comrade.  Be grateful I don't send dozen tons 
of mud from bottom of Thames to follow you.*  The telepathic 
message came in quickly.  Of course, L'Reaux *had* to get in the 
last word.

As the gate snapped shut behind me and vanished with a little 
"pop", I looked around me.

"That son of a bitch... this is Battersea!" I yelled.

   "Oh, lucky 4 you, tonight I'm just me..."

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

"They're not full psychers. That's the main thing."

The God Emperor of Mankind looked at the report. "I can see that. How are they performing these feats?"

"Whatever this gene is, it causes them to exhibit one, and usually only one, psychic talent. But, and this is important, these talents are usually not subject to the Warp."

The Emperor looked up at that. "That's impossible."

"That's true, which is why I said 'usually'. Whatever it is that causes these talents, it seems to lock into one form; any other talents are usually either slight variations on a central theme, or are secondary powers of the same nature. The talent is so focused, that any attempt to use it for any other purpose fails. Warp Entities, even as focused on one thing as they are, rely on a certain degree of variability to sustain themselves, which these 'Xavier's Children' don't have. In other words, normally, they're only slightly more vulnerable to the Warp than ordinary humans."

The Emperor paused. "And how was this gene sneaked into the human population so widely?"

"Whoever this Xavier was, he was obviously quite cunning, and very desperate. Over a thirty-year period, he sends children with the gene to as many planets as we can find..."

"Except one." Said the Emperor.

"Yes, except Earth. Anyway, he seems to have focused on places that would accept an unexplained orphan, which actually doesn't narrow things down a lot. Given the children were all below the age of four, and usually much younger then that--"

"It was a matter of mass, not of age." The Emperor volunteered.

"Well, that explains that. Unless you'd care to offer more of what you know about this Xavier?"

"I have the 'why' of what he did, not the full 'what' of what he did." The Emperor said. "That's why you're here."

"Ah. Well, given the children were all so young, and they generally resembled the local population, they tended to be absorbed into whatever society they were found in. Whatever Xavier did to his 'children', it caused them, and their immediate children, to possess but not exhibit the gene. That, mixed with the vagaries of genetics, the facts that not every person possessing the gene exhibits it, most of the powers are low-key, and that the gene only expresses itself in adolescence, and the result was that it took at least two and a half generations, and usually more, before most planets noticed anything was amiss, and even then, they were frequently classified as merely low-level psychers."

The Emperor concluded, "Thus leading to our current problem: What to do about them."

----

Thanks
Luc "Obvious Crossover Method" French

Ride Like the Wind - Christopher Cross
It is the night My body's weak I'm on the run No time to sleep I've got to ride Ride like the wind To be free again
And I've got such a long way to go To make it to the border of Mexico So I'll ride like the wind Ride like the wind
I was born the son of a lawless man Always spoke my mind with a gun in my hand Lived nine lives Gunned down ten Gonna ride like the wind
And I've got such a long way to go To make it to the border of Mexico So I'll ride like the wind Ride like the wind
Accused and tried and told to hang I was nowhere in sight when the church bells rang Never was the kind to do as I was told Gonna ride like the wind before I get old
It is the night My body's weak I'm on the run No time to sleep I've got to ride Ride like the wind To be free again
And I've got such a long way to go To make it to the border of Mexico So I'll ride like the wind Ride like the wind
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Effect: Doug conjures a copy of his motorcycle and his clothing transforms into biker leathers.
----------------------------------------------------

"Anyone can be a winner if their definition of victory is flexible enough." - The DM of the Rings XXXV

President Justin Beiber calls on heavy metal band Beyond Dishonor to rescue pop idol Katy Perry when she is abducted by aliens.

Filmed in SubparMarionation!

--
"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

House on the Hill by Kamelot featuring Simone Simons
(Lyrics are on the video)

And the hill, is a hill of swords...
--
"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

http://www.revolutionsf.com/article.php?id=3041

It opens with some kids asking their uncle what he's brought them from the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
--
"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

Something I've been using for a while, and thought since it doesn't seem to have been mentioned here, I'd bring it up in case it was handy.

Probably the best research tool for Evangelion there is. Better than the Evageeks wiki. There's a fair bit to wade through to find the individual episode writeups, but they're worth it because they're pretty detailed and touch on a lot of interesting background details. Also including extended universe material, AU material and fanfics in the final two threads

From RPG.net
First. Up to TV Episode 10

A full index of all six threads can be found Here

There's also an estimated timeline Here

It's come in handy more than once. Like giving me the name of the town the Tenth Angel obliterated.
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

So, apparently, Roger Ebert passed away yesterday. Bit of a bummer, that.
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

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

And has been for about a week or so. This time it's a little more serious. He's resting comfortably right now and he's alert and awake etc when he's not sleeping. He feels pretty good, compared to how he's been the last month. 
But tomorrow they're going to use a catheterization procedure and try to put a stint in one of his heart vessels. This is riskier than normal because it has calcified deposits.  

On the positive side, the doctor doing the procedure is supposed to be the best in the region with this. Also - if some of those deposits loosen and break off without the vessel rupturing, this particular vessel is not going to his brain, but the opposite way, so if some clot forms, it's not going to give him a stroke or anything. 

But what it boils down to is - either things are all going to go fine tomorrow and he'll be home by next week, or the blood vessel will rupture and he'll be dead on the operating table. 

I've already had "the talk" with him tonight that I didn't want to have in case of the worst happening. I'll be there tomorrow to see him with my brother before he goes under. 

Those of you who believe is such things, send a prayer our way? It sure couldn't hurt any.