Dillon smiled at Dragón's banter and gave him a respectful nod when he excused himself.  "Still don't know how I feel about that guy.  When I was a grunt, guys like him were jerkasses trying too hard to be Captain America.  Now ... now he reminds me a lot of myself in a few ways, and I feel like he's a kid even though I think he's got a few years on me and probably has all shit together.  Probably could take me in a fight, too, thanks to all that martial arts shit he and Phantasm are so damn good at."  He shrugged.  "Heart's in the right place though."

"Ah well.  You were saying something about good looks and a steely gaze ... you been visited by some other guy here?  I didn't see anyone but that might explain where these flowers came from."  He mimed looking around the room, checking under the bed, even opening up a drawer.  "Just about everyone's been asking about you and Gale, so expect more traffic today.  Don't worry too much about it right now.  Just try to take it easy.  I'd get you out so you could brood in private, but I don't technically work here anymore.  So you're stuck.  Good news is my little driving tour for Imp is over, so I'll be hanging around."

Imp trotted up, balloons streaming behind him and flowers flapping as he caught up to Gale. He expertly slid an arm around her waist and his shoulder under her arm to support her.  "What's a pretty girl like you doing wandering around in a hospital gown in a place like this?" He quipped. "Telling you that you should still be in bed probably wouldn't be very effective would it?" He grinned.  "She's just down the hall, room 5.  Let's go see her."

"Imp?"  Gale was just as surprised to see him, too.  Did everyone know they were here and know what happened?  There had been camera crews filming at the wedding, but she didn't think it had gotten out so quickly.  She gave a nod, and headed with Imp and Dragon to Flare's room.

Upon entering, she immediately noticed that Flare was still in her bed, and with an IV!  "Flare, are you ok?"  The winged woman rushed to her friend's bedside.

Dillon smiled.  "Hey, everyone's here now.  We should have a cake or something."

Angelo hooked a thumb over his shoulder.  "They've got 'Get Well' cupcakes in the gift shop," he said blandly.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:08, Sat 24 Nov 2012.

"Nice.  Hell of an upgrade from the usual hospital food."

Imp disengaged from Gale and went to Flare, bent over and kissed her on the cheek, "I don't know what it is that makes the food taste worse in hospitals than outside of them, I was eating an apple on my way in and between one step and the next it tasted like ashes.They should do a story on it."
His face grew serious, "What happened in that church, ladies?  I know your family was involved, so I want to know how you'd like this dealt with.  The project has to respond, i want you to tell me how."

Flare smiled at her friends antics.  "Hospital food tastes bad because it's made of soylent. It's a proven fact. Though I would kill for a cupcake, soylent or not."

Her smile fades a bit as she contemplates Imp's questions.

"Michaelist bastards being Michaelist bastards, same as always."  She holds out a hand to Gale, her expression softening a bit. "Only new twist is that two of the crappy bigots are my mom, and Gale's dad."

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Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
I'm sure everyone gets the reference, but just in case: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soylent_Green

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Gale took Flare's hand and squeezed it hard.  "They had too much firepower for that sort of event.  Armor piercing bullets.  It was all a big trap."  Her wings bristled visibly, feathers puffing out in all directions.  The winged woman, normally more composed than this, was struggling to keep control.  "I wouldn't have even gone except..."  She couldn't finish the sentence.  How stupid she had been!

"Hey, you guys did nothing wrong, alright?"  Dillon frowned.  "Come on, Imp, can't this wait?  They're probably going to see themselves on the news and everything."

Flare held tight to Gale's hand, and pointedly avoided making eye contact with anyone.

"A boy...a boy started yelling, saying I was burning him. But I wasn't!  As if I could even manage a major flame as I am right now.  We didn't do anything. We didn't have to.  Our existence made the Michaelists feel justified in their little lynch mob."

She finally looked up at Gale.  "I'm sorry, Gale.  I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't come to the wedding, but I do know that it was my flames that they used as an excuse for this."

"Imp.  I don't know what to do, or what I want. My baseline family is horrible, aside from my uncle, and I don't care what happens to them.  I just don't want all of us to have our names dragged through the mud because of this.  Honestly, it'd be nice if we could launch an anti-michaelist campaign for this terrorism, but I'm worried it will just cause more conflict."

What had happened to her early Nova days when she could just burn shit down and call it a day?

"Hmmm, an anti-michaelite campaign?  That does have a nice ring to it.  How about a Crusade? They've killed us, kidnapped and tortured us, turned our families against us, and are still not given the attention they deserve by the police, government or public." His eyes were ablaze with anger and righteous indignation, and perhaps somethign else, something too feverish to be healthy.   "After we get this disease fixed, we'll start dealing with some other diseases."

"Woah...Boss...Do we need to become them to beat them?" Angelo was taken aback by the fervor in Impetus' speech.  "There are millions of people out there who love novas, how about we start a PR campaign to rally their support against these bigots...maybe tie it to the lynching of African-Americans.  Public opinion will put those Michaelists where they belong: prison for those who deserve it, and the dustbin of history for the rest."

"No offence, Dragon," Flare's voice was shaky, and frustrated, "and I think a PR campaign is good, but failing to fully address the problem."

She hits the button to turn on the TV in the corner of the ceiling.  She'd been avoiding it.  Pictures of gunfire, reporters shouting over the yells of the party goers, and finally on a more graphic news station is Flare humbled, on all fours in her own blood.  The reporter will probably get an award for capturing the 'poignant' moment.  Flare didn't wipe away her tears, nor did she try to quell the trembling in her body, though it hurt, and pulled her healing skin.

"This" she gestured with the remote, "hopefully requires more response than just PR."

She tries to shake off her sudden fervor, and tries for a calmer response, looking at the sudden zeal in Imp's eyes.

"I'm not against hitting them hard, and I'm not even opposed to going toe-to-toe with the Michaelists, but let's start with press maneuvering and character assassination before we move into full scale war, okay?  Though for the people who brought that ambush down on us" she couldn't see the attack at the wedding as anything else, "if they aren't brought to justice before I get out of here...well, lets just say they might not be around long enough to go to jail."

She just can't bear the news anymore, and wearily turns her face into the starched pillow while hitting the off switch.

"It wouldn't have mattered if only one of us was there, or both of us.  It was staged, pure and simple.  I wouldn't be surprised if an investigation was launched now that the boy would have burns on him."  Gale's implication that the Michaelists would do anything to keep the charade going hung in the air.

"My main concern is what could have happened if I hadn't been able to get us out.  Who wants to think about that question?"  Gale stood somewhat protectively next to Flare.  "I agree that a peaceful PR campaign will be too little, too late.  Public opinion is often slow to move, as history has shown us."

"You misunderstand," Angelo said, "by PR campaign, I don't mean waving signs and singing 'We Shall Overcome.'  I mean painting them as ugly as they are on the biggest canvases we can get.  Yank the rug of public opinion out from under their friggin' feet and turn the 'lynch mobs' of the general public onto them for a change.  Going on the attack directly only strengthens their cause...makes us into the monsters they say we are.

"The other thing to do is set up 'steel trap' defenses, so that when they come after the 'bait' they learn in no uncertain terms who they've really been messing with.  Give them the first move, but take the initiative away from them."

"Can't we just turn this over to Debow or one of the other Utopia legal hounds?"  Even as he said it, Dillon guessed from the mood in the room that the ship of law and order had long since sailed.

"Alright.  You're all probably right.  I can do it.  They can't kill me.  You all come up with some trap, and I'll make them look like assholes for trying me.  I've still got a positive rep."

Dragón looked intently at Comstock for a moment.  He really was uncomfortable with this, but he was volunteering anyway.  "Comstock,"he said, "if the cops or the feds could or would do something about these maggots, it would already have been done.  I mean...fer cryin' out loud...these people traffic in military grade weapons, commit murder and other actions that, in another group, would be considered acts of domestic terrorism, hate crimes...you name it, and these things barely make the news.  Not even Utopia has come out against these things except in the form of bland press releases 'deploring' the 'actions.'

"It won't be long before some other group like us is going to lose it, launch an attack and start a war."  Dragón reeled as a vivid image flashed in his mind of looking out a window at a devastated city.  He shook his head to clear it and went on in a strangely subdued tone.  "If we can pull this off, we can probably prevent that from happening...at least for a while."

Gale sighed, rubbing one of her temples.  Was she feeling dizzy?  It was hard to tell right now.  "Look, Comstock, you can't make yourself a willing target for these maniacs.  We have no idea how armed they are.  They might hear it's you and bring out a rocket launcher for all we know."

"Imp wanted to know what the Project would do.  Realistically, all they can do is call for an investigation.  Maybe some damage control to explain why we were so injured.  Not a problem for me; I've never been bullet proof."  She gave a small shrug.

"I'm in no way advocating violence. That will just add fuel to the flames. We can put legal on this for now, then, once the lab boys and girls have discovered how to reverse this I'll go have a surprise chat with them one Sunday. I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be, in case you hadn't noticed." In his head Imp was already running through what notes to hit, what emotions to play off and what clusters of synapses in the brain to target. The church of the archangel Michael would fall, and the church of impetus would rise!

"Alright, sounds good, Imp."  He looked significantly at Flare.

"But, if we're doing anything as a team or a project, I'm going to be the bait." His voice hardened significantly.  "You can all be hurt.  You all can bleed.  I can't."

"Well I'm all for no one getting killed, or shot again. I'm even for group work, as long as these jerks are brought to justice."

True justice, however, would be turning these holy rollers into piles of ash. Flare would wait though, she didn't think her teammates would let her down.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but i need to head of a potential bloodbath." Imp tousled Flare's hair and gave gale a hug before heading out of the room at  a trot.  As he did so he dialed Geryon, "Hey, big man.  Yeah, i saw the news.  Yeah, i agree.  No, I've got something better in mind.  Sure.  Monday? Alright, see you there." He then headed over to the media center to prepare for his next round of interviews, conference calls and god knows what.  He massaged his temples, trying to relieve the pounding in his head.

Dillon nodded farewell to Impetus.  "Let's put a hold on the justice talk for a bit, alright?"

He tried to talk about XWF or sports or anything but the ugly business that had landed his friends in the hospital.

Flare mended tolerably well, all things considered.  She was discharged after a few days, and spent a very bitchy week using a cane before being given a clean bill of health.