...has been created on Virtue by Tokiha Mai. All former Fuuka Gakuen students (regardless of gender despite the "-ae" ending on "Alumnae") who aren't high-ranking officers of other super groups are invited to join. I'm going to try to be online tonight, mainly as Evangelia, so if you want to join the group, page me and I'll swap toons if I can.
-- Bob
---------
...The President is on the line
As ninety-nine crab rangoons go by...

Submitted for the approval of the players Fenspace. This is not something that will immediately happen, but something I would like to have out of the way by February 14 because that's my last day I'll have access to the Internet before I ship out for 3 months of Recruit Training.
Anyhow, any input whatsoever is welcome, especially in the departmnets of inside-Limit speed, quirks, and trivia. One thing worthy of note would be the fact that she's a straight-up Acceleration drive. This is because she was built with the intention of hitting the Limit ASAP and going to super-luminous speeds.
EDIT: Max Delta-V Acceleration has been inputted and added Stealth trivia item.
Ship Name: SS Magnificent Midnight
Created by Benjamin Rhodes.
Registry Number: 133T-5P33D
Base Hull: SR-71 Blackbird
Drive Type: Acceleration - 2 obscenely powerful ion engines each powered by a cola/uncola reactor (I blame whoever was responsible for the Miranda).
Max Delta-V Acceleration: 70 G's
Armaments: Retractable ventrical and dorsal turreted M61 Vulcan and two coil-guns mounted inside the forward chinaries. Coil-gun ammunition is Hi-Ex rounds with ceramic AP tips and ferric alloy discarding sabbots.
Owner of Record: Benjamin Rhodes
Flag of Record: The Republic of Texas (Defunct)
Purpose: High-speed, armed, interstellar courier (No weekend deliveries, please. )
Crew:
Benjamin M. Rhodes (Capt.)
Regina "Gina" Langely (1st Mate)
Known Quirks:
I can't drive fifty-five: This ship loves to go fast. Period. And whatever you do, do not get in her way or else you'll wind up like the Curacoa when it met the Queen Mary.
I'm Pointy: Her uber-sleek and pointy looking hull is a weapon unto itself. With it, she can slice and dice ships smaller than herself.
Lemmeout!Lemmeout!Lemmeout!: She will only stay in one place long enough for cargo to be loaded or unloaded. Afterwards, she will take off and zoom around. Fortunately, she's also a loyal ship and will come back once called for if you give her a little bit of time to roam around.
Daredevil:The only thing she likes more than going fast is going fast through a densly packed asteroid field.
Respect Is Earned: While she's generally sweet natured (if a bit mischievous) to Benjamin and Gina, all others must earn her respect.
Ptichka's Little Sister: Oddly enough, she communicates pretty much the same way the infamous Ptichka does and possesses many of the same mannerisms, only with the kind of spunk and sassy attitude you'd expect from a "Little Sister".
Home Port: N/A
Current Location: N/A
Status: Submission Pending
Trivia:
Fastest FTL: She is speed incarnate and she shows it in being the fastest interstellar craft in Fenspace once she is outside The Limit.
It's cramped in here: Even though a substantial amount of interior space has been converted from fuel tankage to cargo and living space, it is VERY cramped inside. So much that getting out of the pilot's seat and into the cabin requires reclining the seat, grabbing ahold of handles overhead, and dragging yourself out. It is for this reason that Ben really likes his weekends off, no matter how much fun it is to zoom around in Midnight.
Can't find me: She does have some passive stealth capabilities just as she did before she was handwaviumized. Ergo when she turns off her transponder, looking for her in the big-black will be as much fun as looking for a needle in a haystack because her radar signature is about the size of a standard bedroom door.

Windy Day, Anamchara and Misonon origin fiction. Windy and Anamchara are in IST Paragon City (Infinity) and Misonon is Marcus Mac Hine's (Virtue) WarShade partner for those not yet in the know. Here's the first bit. More to follow as it gets written. -Cindy
***
The studio audience for the television show was packed. The hostess appeared and did her usually monologue before introducing her guest. What would you do if you were a struggling student and someone offered you the chance to change the world? Wed like you to meet a young lady who stepped up to the challenge. She is one of IST Chicagos rising young heroes, currently assigned to Paragon City, Rhode Island. Please join me in welcoming Windy Day.
The audience applauded as a steamy mist began to seep out from the side of the stage. A blurred figure was barely visible through the fog as it ascended the stage. When it reached the hostess, the fog disappeared and a young woman stood there. She had short blonde hair, and was wearing a grey leather jacket over a green and grey t-shirt, grey cargo pants and black 20 hole Doc Martens. Her eyes seemed to glow a slight green. She shook hands with the talk show hostess and sat down.
Welcome back to Chicago Windy.
Its good to be back. Windy smiled and the audience applauded.
Now, you are one of IST Chicagos and IST Paragon Citys up and coming young heroes. Can you tell us how it all started?
Of course. Windy sat back in the comfy chair and began her story. It all started with a cup of coffee and a croissant. I was still a student so both of those were still on the mandatory food list. The audience laughed. I was just sitting there on the patio, minding my own business, when this device about the size of a lunch box fell in my lap. As you can imagine I was startled and jumped up, overturning the table. The device fell off my lap and landed on the floor but when I looked up from it to see who had noticed me knocking over my own table I saw that it wasnt the only table knocked over. Tables, chairs and patrons had been pushed basically into the wall; everything was all over the place. It looked like a hurricane had gone through the place. It turns out that it was all from this little device.
So how did you end up with it?
Well, it appears it had been stolen from a local lab. It was thrown from a moving vehicle, probably to get rid of the evidence. It just happened to fall into my lap. When I returned the object, I was asked if I wanted to participate in the experiments. Seeing as its basically a miniature weather producing device I was enthralled, since I was studying weather patterns in my geography class.
So are you the only one who has such a device then?
To my knowledge I am the only one currently using this device, yes. And before you ask, I will assure you that it is not military in nature and I do not use it as a weapon. This is still in the prototype stage so we are working on refining it, seeing what works and what doesnt, and honestly, how best it can be used.
So youre an experiment?
Windy laughed. That I am.
Well be back with Windy Day after this commercial break.
Standing in his kitchen in Montreal, the being known as Anamchara stopped making himself dinner and began an inner monologue. I want to meet her. The part that was the human named Patrick Johnson said to the part that was the Kheld named Adma.
Oh really? Is there a reason for this?
No, just a feeling that I have to meet her.
Your forefathers have said the same thing to me.
And?
Where do you think you come from? Patrick could feel the laughter. We will go to Chicago then.
Paragon City. Shes affiliated with IST Paragon City.
Welcome back. Were talking today with Windy Day of IST Paragon City. Windy, tell us how you got involved with IST.
Well, after training with the weather device for about 6 months, we decided it was time to see it in action in a support role, things like mob control. I contacted the International Super Teams Headquarters in New York and they put me in contact with IST Chicago. I received extra training with them before being assigned. When Headquarters decided to start a branch in Paragon City, they found their best teachers and their newest recruits and matched them together.
So youve worked with some of the IST Greats?
Windy nodded. Ive certainly worked with great people, yes. Im currently training under Lieutenant Colonel Camille Hoyle and Major Thibor Sawchyk and I have to say that they are both wonderful teachers.
Anamchara turned off his television and went over to his computer. Booking a plane ticket to Rhode Island was no problem. Hed leave in a week. That would give him time to clear out this apartment and put all his things in order before moving. There was already a Kheldian presence in Paragon City and they were always looking for more volunteers for hero work. Hed contact them as well and see about hastening the work permit.
Back in the lab with Dr. Keith Maynard in Chicago, Windy set the device down on the counter. Its working great. I still cant believe you got it down to the size of a belt buckle.
Youve got to admit Windy its a lot easier to carry it around like that. Keith pulled out his magnifying glasses and settled himself down to connect his computer to the belt buckle to take diagnostics and add any addition programs to it. The device acted like a focus for Windys very miniscule extra sensory ability. It was so miniscule that no one had ever bothered to find out what it was. But with that little device that had been built into her belt buckle, she could harness the winds and the storms. Apropos, considering her birth name was actually Windy Day.
Windy watch Keith work. He was a youngish man, later 30s early 40s; pretty good looking in a scientist kind of way. Yet, he didnt seem interested in her. She found that both annoying and reassuring. Shed heard of a few classmates who been, well, placed in uncomfortable situations and she was glad she wasnt one of them. The fact that she was the only one who could currently work the weather maker was probably another factor in the mix. She sat down with a sigh to watch.
Oh, by the way, I saw the interview. Nice job not saying anything about the device. I appreciated that.
Anamchara had just registered himself as a hero in Atlas Park when he encountered the last being he had ever thought hed encounter. At one time Adma had been another being and had been very close to another of his kind. That other had been corrupted by a third. Adma had never thought to see that other again. It was Fates doing that the other was the first person Adma met upon exiting City Hall after a new hero briefing.
Hello Adma. I didnt think Id ever see you again.
Anamchara stopped at the feminine voice and turned. He didnt recognize the body that the other wore, but the essence, though corrupted, was there. Alrav.
Its Misonon now. The woman smiled. Anamchara looked her over carefully. She was an older woman with grey hair and gold rimmed glasses.
I go by Anamchara. He took the hand she offered and shook it. Being close to Alrav again was. Decidedly odd. Shall we sit? The two sat down just outside City Hall. Conversation was stilted at first; two centuries of estrangement will do that. So when did you turn back?
When did I stop being a brainless Nictus you mean? About 50 years ago. I guess you could say I came to my senses. A smile crossed the womans face. I casually mentioned to my host that I didnt like a fight when I took over a body. She calmly suggested then that she was not the body for me as she was going to fight me tooth and nail. Thats when I started thinking again.
The two sat silently trying to find something to speak about when a petite redhead came bursting out of City Hall practically in tears. She grit her teeth and bunched her fists as Sunstorm, the Peacebringer Liaison Officer followed her outside. Ms. Mac Hine, Im sorry that we cant help you with this problem of yours. Perhaps an individual on their own. He did not continue.
The redhead, Ms. Mac Hine, turned back to him. Thank you for your time sir. Maybe well be able to help each other another time. She calmly shook his hand and stumbled down the stairs before the tears overwhelmed her. Anamchara watched her carefully to see where she was going. She found a place underneath a tree and sat herself down, her head on her knees, probably trying to compose herself. Anamchara went up to Sunstorm and reintroduced himself; they had met earlier in the day at the briefing
I didnt mean to overhear, is the lady in some sort of trouble? Anamchara asked.
Shes looking for someone. She was hoping I would know how best to help her find this person since she thinks there was dimensional hopping involved.
Hmmm. Anamchara nodded his head for a moment before turning back to Sunstorm. Would you mind if I offered to help her?
Of course not. Sunstorm took a look at him and seemed to remember that Anamchara had just arrived to Paragon City today. Just remember to work under the new hero limits and there should be no problems.
Thank you very much. With a handshake, Anamchara was off to find the young Ms. Mac Hine.
Misonon was still sitting on the bench, watching Ms. Mac Hine, who seemed to be talking to herself. Is there something I can help with Ad-Anamchara?
I think there may be. Come with me. Anamchara walked over to Ms. Mac Hine. Excuse me, Ms. Mac Hine?
She looked up suddenly and stood quickly. She wasnt that tall, but she carried herself proudly. Yes?
My name is Anamchara, this is Misonon. I overheard the tail end of your conversation with Sunstorm earlier. Is there someway we can help you?
She smiled shyly. Im looking for someone. My fiancs sister has been suspected dead for quite a while but I found some evidence that she may be alive. Im not in a position to go and look for her myself and I thought maybe the Kheldians could help me as there seemed to be a Kheldian energy signature intermingled with hers.
I think perhaps we can help you Ms. Mac Hine.
Minuet. Or Min. I wont be able to thank you enough if you can find her.

Miss post, nothing here. Move along.

We've all had them, or seen them. Post your ideas for stories that are just plain wrong. Not just Crossover, but ideas for stories in general.
I can not take credit for this idea. It sprung up on rpg.net when people were talking about new ways of doing the shounen fighting genre (think Naruto, Bleach, Dragonball).
One person mentioned they wanted to do Romance of the three Kingdoms set in the modern day. Another mentioned he wanted to do some strange version of early twentieth century physicists engaging each other with martial arts. Of course, somebody mentioned Ikktousen so Braincraft posted...

Quote:

---

Bouncy fanservice schoolgirl physicists engage each other in super-powered kung fu battle for the fate of the world!
Originally Posted by Infinity Theorem: the animation
Schoolgirl-Einstein: What- what's happening? Why can't I land a hit? (spills out of top)
Schoolgirl-Heisenberg: Your eyes deceive you, Einstein! The clearer you see me, the less certain you are of my position! (high kick, flashing panties)
Catgirl-Schroedinger: Believe in yourself, Einstein-chan! It could still go either way!

---

Campy old educational songs.
Just heard them and they're GOOFY fun.
''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

Mekadave:
Should you read this, I *may* have to recruit Ridan Zero's help for a run against Lord Recluse himself. I've tried my usual 'carry lots of purples and blues' strategy, but even in Elite Boss form he's rocking my socks.
If not, I'm going to do the rest of my missions, hopefully achieve a level or two, come back and ROCK HIS ASS. But that's a second, less preferred option, albeit more gratifying.

Foxboy:
You were right about the Story Arcs, albeit inaccurate. Each Patron has 4 story arcs - 3 specific to the contact, and the shared fourth. The last of which, as you can see above, I'm stuck on.

JPub/Paradoxe
--
Christopher Angel, aka JPublic
The Works of Christopher Angel
"Camaraderie, adventure, and steel on steel. The stuff of legend! Right, Boo?"

(I love writing Lethal. While there is a lot of Thibor in her make-up, she is excitable and puppyish in a way her father is not, and far more random. Thibor always has a plan, Lethal always makes it up as she goes along.)

Despite what you think, danger isnt my middle name. Papa says Im not allowed to change it until I turn 18.
Liesel Lethal Sawchyk
The rising sun peeked over the war walls, its soft yellow rays dancing off the gigantic globe that Atlas bore aloft on his broad shoulders. It lit the neat and orderly streets of Atlas Park, creeping along the darkened boulevards. Then it hit the windows of the third story of a five story walkup; lifting the darkness with the golden light. The light streamed through the window and onto the face of the teenager who slept, curled up nose to feet, in the center of a queen sized futon. This is when the bad things started happening. Mostly to other people. Had these people known, a dozen interior designers would have been dispatched, to shroud the window in question in blinds, drapes, and perhaps heavy ironwork with enough space to allow the egress of a mouse, but not much else.
But they didnt know. Their morning horoscopes spoke only of potential business windfalls, romantic complications and the shadow of Jupiter rising in the house of Mars. Not one mentioned Liesel rising in the rented apartment of Sawchyk. Well perhaps they did, but rather than being published in the morning papers, the prognostications were bantered around the morning cup of tea leaves in Magi headquarters and caused no small amount of giggling on the part of the seers.
Liesel awoke as the errant sunbeam crossed her face. She uncurled from her decidedly canine position, going through a series of languid stretches that would have had the average person screaming for a swift and slightly less painful death at the hands of an unmerciful god of an unrelated, and likely hostile faith. Thus refreshed, she ran her hands through the long, silky blonde hair that fell well past her waist. She grabbed a handful and brought it in front of her face, sniffing at it tentatively; her eyes did not quite cross or water at the smell, but it definitely triggered a strong, negative reaction. A similar investigation of her armpits merited the same response.
Breakfast! Shower! Danger! Liesel announced her intentions to the room. She ran for the door to her small apartment, stopping short of turning the knob before amending her list. Clothes! Breakfast! Shower! Danger!
The various piles of clothes scattered haphazardly around the apartment yielded a faded halter, comfortable, well worn sweats and a pair of battered flip flops. Thus attired, Liesel made another leap for the door and charged down the three flights of stairs, making only slightly less noise that an empty, metal trash can traversing the same route. She burst through the front door of the apartment building and sprinted across the street, oblivious to the possible presence of traffic and pushed through the door of the small Greek caf. Behind the counter Andrea Pappadimos was industriously scraping the grill, his huge, hairy arms moving back and forth with metronome precision.
You wan breakfast? Andrea rasped, the toothpick tucked into his mouth making the long journey from one side to the other.
No breakfast. Cheeseburger! Liesel hopped over the counter to the fridge and retrieved a double-handful of drinks; three bottles of orange juice, a two liter bottle of water and a six pack of Red-Bull. Andrea made an inarticulate grunting sound and began flipping burger patties onto the grill; only stopping when a half dozen were spitting and sizzling. He hefted his considerable bulk over to the fryer and dumped a huge portion of frozen French fries into the hot oil. Liesel smiled intently, not quite drooling, her left leg tapped the floor excitedly. Papa was not a fan of most American food, but Liesel had embraced it wholeheartedly and in huge quantities. It was necessary; the sheer level of her energy, combined with her ability to regenerate damaged tissue and her willingness to put herself in the path of that damage; required a phenomenal intake of calories. Papa and Mama were the same way, though their habits had matured slightly and were not subject to the added burden of teenagers hopped up metabolism. Andrea dealt a line of buns across an oversize platter, topping each with a rare, grease-beaded burger patty, a slice of cheese, and a generous dollop of tsatiki. The bun tops were slapped on and the platter slid to within arms reach of Liesel who had reclaimed her seat on the other side of the counter. She immediately fell upon it with furious energy, interspersing dangerously large bites of cheeseburger with huge swallows from the variety of drinks spread out in front of her. Andrea sighed as he dumped the fries into a basket and upended most of a bottle of ketchup over them. He approached slowly, carefully.
Grrrr. The growl started in the back of Liesels throat and her arms moved reflexively to cover all possible avenues of approach to her plate of food. She shook her head slightly and offered up a slightly guilty smile. Sorry, old habit.
Andrea placed the basket of fries on the counter and gave it a push to send it the rest of the way. His regular morning patron always paid her account promptly, tipped generously and had not yet bitten him hard enough to draw blood. There were other benefits to. It was rapidly becoming known that she favored the caf and that alone was enough to keep most of the riff-raff a healthy distance away. The initial encounter had been within the first week of her arrival. The small, blonde girl with the British accent had been enjoying supper when a group of Hellions had dropped by for their protection money. Being ear deep in a triple-sized gyros platter with extra everything, she hadnt even noticed; or at least had pretended not to notice. Then one of them made a mistake. The sort of mistake that starts wars, end lives and nominates you for a Nobel Prize in incredibly poor judgment. He had cadged a French fry. It had not been the most efficient beating that Andrea had ever witnessed, Paragon being rather cosmopolitan in that regard, but what it lacked in subtly of technique, it made up for in pure feral intensity as the small blonde had latched onto the back of the Hellions neck and proceeded to knock all his teeth out on the edge of the counter. A process that took three individual impacts. Andrea never learned if she had actually recovered the French fry, and had no intention of ever seeking out the answer. The remaining Hellions had taken it upon themselves to seek redress for the dental distress of their comrade.
Faced with an assortment of knives and baseball bats, the blonde had extended her hand and plucked a sword out of thin air. The blade was straight, double-edged and almost five feet long, but she wielded it with a single hand as if it were a baton. She had turned, slashed, nodded, and resumed her seat and her dinner, leaving the bloodied sword propped up against the counter next to her. The sight of her adding an extra dollop of ketchup to her meal had almost turned Andreas stomach. How anyone could taint a gyro with it was mind-boggling. After that he reached for the mop to clean up as best he could until the police arrived.
So the problems the diner had died out almost entirely. Occasionally a group of Hellions would show up. The new ones. Young, brave, stupid and usually hungry. In these situations Andrea did the sane and logical thing. He fed them. It was always at the same table. The one with the picture of Manticore presenting the Defender of Truth medallion to Lethal Sawchyk. They were standing in front of that very table. Manticore had his arm around Lethals shoulder. Andrea has his arm around Lethals other shoulder. Lethal had her arms around the thirty pound gyros that Andrea had made in honour of her accomplishment. The photo was signed. Woo! Danger! Danger! Gyros! Danger! The Hellions usually took several long minutes to notice the photo. After that they got very keen to leave, at which point Andrea delivered the bill to the table, which always included the 30% tried to shake down the wrong Greek tax. They paid. They always paid.
Urr-Urrr-Urrrp! Lethals burp was resonant, and she pounded a fist against her chest twice in order to ensure that every resonant gastro-intestinal syllable was given full release. Andrea nodded approvingly at the compliment to his cooking. It had taken him some effort to convince his patron that a heartfelt burp was a compliment to the cook, but trying to get through the entire Greek alphabet was not only futile, but robbed the compliment of its full effect.
See you Later Mr. A. Lethal hopped off her stool and tossed down a handful of bills on the counter. Danger awaits.
Shower awaits. Andrea reminded her. Even the perpetual cocoon of frying smells that permeated his establishment could not mask the unmistakable taint of sewer that permeated Lethal. She must have been hunting zombies in the sewers. Again.
Shower! Then danger! Lethal nodded in agreement and then sprinted through the door, the hinges strained as it banged open, but it stayed in one piece. Barely. Andrea cleared the dishes and then turned his attention back to scraping the grill. Cute girl, he would have to introduce her to his nephew Miros.
* * *
Lethal turned off the hot water and shook herself violently, splattering the inside of the shower stall. She glanced at the cold water tap and silently wondered if it worked. She had never actually tried it. The trials and tribulations of a good old fashioned sewer slog required much higher temperatures to achieve anything even vaguely resembling spring freshness. Lethal attacked the problem with the same gusto that she attacked every other problem. Pumice soap and a shampoo that bordered on industrial strength were enough to get rid of the even the most persistent stink. For the moment she was clean. Yay. Victory. Tallyho. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body.
Liesel glanced at her reflection in the mirror, turning her head slightly from side to side. Her finely boned features mirrored mamas but her nearly black eyes were definitely Papas. She used to joke that she had her fathers eyes, but it was okay, because he grew them back. The rough, jagged, scar that traced across her cheek and crossed her nose gave her a feral, dangerous look. Liesel shook her head. Everyone assumed that she had gotten it through some bizarre, torturous set of circumstances, involving supernatural evil, supreme peril, vampires and possibly clowns. She was deliberate in not telling the actual circumstances around it. They were kind of lame. At age five she had decided that she wanted a scar on her cheek, just like mama had. Her plan; Papa always told her to have a plan, involved a very sharp knife that was a little too large for her hands, and a bottle of India ink. Unfortunately a mirror had not been part of the plan, and the result was far more ragged, and elongated than Mamas. Still she had been very proud of it when she presented her still bloody face to her parents for their approval. Mama was aghast; doubly so when Papa suggested that it could be easily removed with a few minutes on the belt sander. While Papa seemed upset; Liesel always felt he had somehow been proud of her. Probably because she hadnt cried at all. Like that was an option. Mama almost never cried; royal weddings or the death of a friend were it; and it was always silent and very reserved. Papa never did. Ever. Period. Full stop. She could still remember watching Mama pull silver bullets out of Papa after a mission, digging the forceps into his chest, and then cutting away the poisoned flesh with a knife. No tears. No whining. Nothing. Crying wasnt an option.
William and Doru hadnt figured that out until much later, especially as their little sister was quite capable of getting them to roll onto their backs and offer up their throats. They might have been full blooded Sawchyk werewolves; but she was alpha bitch and unwilling to relinquish the position. Okay, mama was alpha to her; so was Papa, only his had a capital A. She had tried to challenge dominance with Papa. Once. He had sat her down and explained calmly and patiently that it was one thing to play at such things, but she was never, ever, to make a serious dominance challenge to another wolf unless she was absolutely, one hundred percent, willing to back it up. Did she think she could do it? Overconfidence and a combination of teenage rebellion and the perceived immortality of youth answered before the rest of her brain had a chance to catch up. Papa had smiled gently at her and then rolled back his sleeves and visited a thorough and savage beating upon her. When Mama had found out she had been appalled; and had delivered a second beating; although she had described it as training. The sad thing was that they were both right. The world was filled with hideously dangerous things, and while little Lethal Sawchyk thought she was unstoppable, there were any number of equally confident individuals who would be all too happy to prove her wrong.
A sad smile blossomed as she was combing out her long blonde hair. She missed her parents already. Especially when it came to dealing with her hair. She could manage it on her own, but it was nice to have one of them brush it out. She missed it the same way that she missed wrestling with her brothers. Wolves were pack animals and the need to congregate socially was buried deeply in her bone and sinew. So was the need to mark territory, but she left that one to her brothers. She would try and remember to call them tonight, but for now, there was danger to be fully embraced. She had another pack to hang with and the Little Legends had been tasked with dealing with a disturbing upswing in Skull activity. It was time to break heads, take names, stop for lunch and then continue.

* * *
George Heisman moved the wad of gum to the other side of his mouth and chewed reflectively. The skull continued to charge forward, a nail-studded baseball back cocked behind his shoulder, ready to deliver a huge swing. Dad always said that timing was key in sports, and crimefighting. The fist sized rock that George held in his right hand felt good, the air was slightly humid and there was a slight wind from the east. The time was right. George kicked up his leg and snapped his arm forward. Throwing the heater was out, a curve was in order. The rock left his hand with a slight back-spin, arcing slightly to the left and slamming into the white painted forehead of the charging thug. Forward momentum of the forehead was halted as the rock effectively transferred energy. The Skull flipped over backwards. The ground reached up and smacked the skull in the back. Normally this was a figure of speech, but not where George was concerned. The ground actually did reach up and smack the skull, wrapping tendrils of earth around him and pinning him helplessly to the ground.
The skull blinked several times and re-evaluated his situation. He had been stealing a purse when some high-and-mighty hero douche had intervened. As said aforementioned douche had been wearing a baseball uniform, it had seemed deliciously ironic to smash him with a baseball bat. Shortly thereafter he had been struck in the head by a fist sized rock and then grabbed by the earth itself. The situation sucked; and was likely to get worse before it improved.
Danger! Danger! Go! Tallyho! The voice was filled with enthusiasm. The manifestation of the situation getting worse from the skulls perspective, were the enthusiastic voice, flavored with an overseas accent, and a pair of legs in loose camouflage pants. Worse was also wearing well-worn combat boots. The final injury added to insult was the fact that one of the boots was currently on his face.
Please move. The skull managed as best he could under the pressure. The owner of the boots was unlikely to tip the scales at 130 lbs, but that was still not a weight that one would relish when applied bootfully to the face. The boot wiggled slightly and then lifted as the owner assessed the situation. Nice dark eyes, white teeth, a cute, delicate nose, high cheekbones, and a long, ragged scar crossing cheek and nose.
Danger! Danger! Danger! Liesel jumped up and down, adding a second boot to the enthusiastic stomping. She paused for the barest of seconds; perhaps stomping someone while they were held helpless by geological forces was not fair. It wasnt fair, fair was where the pony rides were. It wasnt supposed to be fair. Kicking someone when they were down was the right thing to do; far better than waiting for them to get back up and then knocking them down again. Far better than giving them a chance to return the favor. Her karma re-aligned with the universe, Liesel continued to jump.
Get the heroes! More skulls. Liesel considered the numbers. Was doing a headcount of skulls redundant? What did you call a group of them? A gang of skulls? A flock of skulls. Visually appealing. A flock of Seeskulls. There certainly were a lot of them. There was a rusty, shaking rattle as a nearby warehouse door rolled up on neglected tracks, the dark and dingy maw vomiting forth a spew-tastic stream of death themed miscreants.
This is going to be bloody great! Lethal enthused happily; jumping up and down in anticipation. Roight then! I call bagsies on the ten on the left, you get the ten on the right.
George considered the situation. Careful evaluation was the key to victory. They were about to get stomped. The cons were apparent. A solid beating, teeth knocked out, ribs kicked in and a long talk from dad and mom about not biting off more than you can chew. Pros. It was 4:00pm and it was possible that the pretty blonde nurse who always forgot to button her blouse all the way to the top was on duty at the medical center. That pretty much covered it. Running like a bunny was also an option, just not a very good one. Lethal might survive. No, Lethal would survive; civilization could end and all that would remain scuttling across the face of the blighted earth would be cockroaches and Lethal. Fortunately even the worst of the gypsy curses she could inflict on him were on par with the danger of hanging with her normally. No fear there. Or at least a consistent level of fear. That was reassuring.
Whos winning! Englands winning! Lethals costume abruptly changed, the fatigues vanishing completely, giving way to a short, white blouse, long red and white scarf and black slacks, decorated with elaborate red beadwork. George winced. Unlike most superheroic transformations, Lethals lacked gratuitous flashes of flesh, it was entirely modest. So much for the home team advantage.
Okay you lot. As you might ave noticed, these are me clubbin clothes. Lethal smiled savagely and plucked her wicked blade out of the air. So the lot of you can get changed into yer baby seal suits and we can get started.
Shes crazy. One of the skulls said with a touch of reverence colouring his voice.
You have no idea. George shook his head, letting his senses dive under the pavement to the tectonic forces of the earth itself. It was a simple thing to twist the strata, turning solid asphalt into a sticky morass that slowed the charging miscreants as the suddenly hungry earth sucked at their sneakers. He figured that he had delayed the inevitable savage beating by at least 15 seconds. Fifteen whole seconds. Enough time to say goodbye to each of his teeth individually. Enough time to contemplate the taut muscles of Lethals abdomen as she jumped up and down excitedly at the prospect of the upcoming fight. His teeth would have to do without their tender goodbye. Priorities.
At fourteen seconds Lethal disappeared under a wave of bats and knives. At thirteen seconds a high-pitched, girlish scream echoed across the street as skulls flew back in various directions. Some landed with the boneless sprawl of the mercifully unconscious, while others cried out to their deathly patrons; impassioned pleas for a few moments more of life. Only one skull was begging for death, and given where the sword had struck him, the high-pitched prayers, and in fact the cause of the high pitch itself, were wholly understandable. There was no doubt that modern medicine could fully repair the damage, but such thoughts were absent from the mind of the skull, who was suddenly thinking with one fewer brains than he had been employing minutes before. George sent a cautionary thought down to his own second brain and returned both to the task at hand. The street buckled again as fountains of rock erupted, grasping and pulling at the skulls. This arrested the motion of the skulls charging towards him, as well as stymieing the efforts of the ones who were trying to flee the five foot circle of whirling steel that encircled Lethal.
Woo! Bring it on you bloody tossbags! Lethal enthused, hefting her sword menacingly. The group attacking her had been shattered and the few stragglers were exercising what little sense remained to them and fleeing. Lethal made to pursue, but stopped herself and turned back to the group that was slogging towards George. It went against all her instincts. Prey that ran was to be chased to the ground. It was a rule treasured highly on the list of wolfly commandments; topping the ones about greeting friends with a polite sniffing and never giving up an opportunity to stretch gloriously. Still George was a mate, and you didnt leave a mate to get the claret tapped out of him. Besides, she knew she could run faster and far longer than any of the skulls. They just thought they were going to get away. They were wrong.
Ten seconds away from the predicted dental apocalypse, George turned his senses back to the pavement. The trick was keeping it squishy where the skulls were, while solidifying it wherever Lethal stepped. It meant keeping one eye on her feet and legs. To be safe he used both. The five slowest skulls were down before they even knew what hit them, and the next four managed to turn around just in time to see the flashing silver blade that dropped them to the earth. The last one turned and held his ground. He was larger and presumably stronger and more experienced. He held the double-barreled shotgun with the casual ease of long use. He didnt seem scared, or if he was, he hid it better than the others had. George gathered up another fistful of rock and threw it, but the skull caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and jerked his head back, bringing it out of line with the hurtling stone. The skull inhaled, held the breath for a moment and then gently squeezed the trigger of his weapon.
Danger! Danger! Dang-whoof! Lethal doubled over as the discharge from both barrels caught her squarely in the midriff. George winced as the pale white skin erupted into a geyser of blood and shattered pink muscle. The skull laughed, a thin, evil chuckle that carried the dark hint of the grave. Then Lethal laughed. George did too, though his held a relieved tone. The terrible wound closed up almost instantly. One second a grotesque, gaping hole, spraying blood and bile, the next, smooth white skin under which powerful muscles played. The blood and various bits of viscera had been drawn back into the wound, so only a slight splatter of blood on her blouse and slacks gave evidence to her having been hurt at all. Lethal paused in her charge and rolled her tongue around briefly in her mouth in a strange, questing motion. Her eyes lit up and she thrust her tongue out. The two solid steel slugs rested on it for a moment, then fell to the pavement. The skull watched them fall. They hit the ground at the same time he did.

Okay, somehow I've been inobservant, and anywhere from three to five new members have joined the forums in the last week or two without my noticing. I'm sorry to have ignored you -- I normally spot first messages right off the bat and send a welcome, but as I have not yet figured out who you are, I can't do that yet. For the moment, please accept this collective welcome to the forums, and I hope you all enjoy your time here.
-- Bob
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...The President is on the line
As ninety-nine crab rangoons go by...

...Sure wasn't expecting anything like this from the Beatles...
The Beatles: Maxwell's silver hammer
Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical
Science in the home
Late nights all alone with a test-tube ohh oh oh oh
Maxwell Edison majoring in medicinem
Calls her on the phone
Can I take you out to the pictures, Joan?
But as she's getting ready to go
A knock comes on the door
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead
Back in school again Maxwell plays the fool again
Teacher gets annoyed
Wishing to avoid an unpleasant scene
She tells Max to stay when the class has gone away
So he waits behind
Writing 50 times "I must not be so" oh oh oh
But when she turns her back on the boy
He creeps up from behind
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Do do do do do
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead
P.C. Thirty-One said "We caught a dirty one"
Maxwell stands alone
Painting testimonial pictures ohh oh oh oh
Rose and Valerie screaming from the gallery
Say he must go free (Maxwell must go free)
The judge does not agree and he tells them so oh oh oh
But as the words are leaving his lips
A noise comes from behind
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Came down upon his head
Do do do do do
Bang, Bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Made sure that he was dead
Wow wow wow oh!
Do do do do do
Silver hammer Max

I think it's quite clear what kind of weapon this song would bring about, though there might be some unexpected mental complications with the song...
Maxwell's silver hammer -Flash animation
edit: Suuure, I ran this page through google searching for this particular song but didn't even think of looking at the first page of the song list. thanks for the note rob.... (I'm too google reliant...)