Eight years ago, Las Vegas wasn't a bad place.  It had its problems, to be sure.  But those problems were all part of its history, part of its charm.  Those problems were part of the appeal.

But today, it is 2005.  Almost eight years since N-Day.  And today, Las Vegas has new problems.  Problems more appropriate to a Capital, a major metropolis, a global city.

The victories in Colombia and Mexico shattered the Cartels, leaving behind gangs.  Their membership is less vicious these days, more opportunistic.  Driving through the suburbs or the north side of the Valley, it's not hard to find them at street corners, looking for an easy buck.  Over a year on, they're coyotes now, moving South and Central Americans into the land of plenty and collecting their payments in sweat and blood.  Doing anything too big or obvious draws down the vengeance of angry Quantum Gods, especially in Las Vegas.  But there's still a bit of drug-dealing and vengeance now and again.

Which is exactly why the police have every man with darker than average skin in for questioning.  Some prejudices are more lasting than others.

---

The problem today is a young man.  White, child of a middle class suburban family, UNLV student and a real nova fan.  Today, he's dead, strung up from a tree in a park, his earrings and body modifications -- the very symbols of his desire to be a nova himself -- cut out or otherwise defaced.  The note around his neck is short and to the point: "A GOOD START"

Ever the politician, Raoul Orzaiz got wind of the crime, and such was his curiosity that he deigned to leave his club to look into the matter.  Since the young man was a regular outside the Archon, Raoul does what he can to answer questions.  As a small courtesy, he persuades the lead investigator that there may be some inherent racism to holding people found near the park on the basis of their skin color.

But this isn't the first of such killings.  And the number of potential suspects is rising.  The gangs, the Michaelists, American nationalists afraid of cultural shift, even other novas.  There's stories of bogeymen in helmets peering out of the shadows, always watching, and there's the ever present eyes of the paparazzi and Project Utopia.  And some messages are more personal than others.  Certainly, the bad things aren't the rule.  In 2005, life is pretty good, especially for those with money and power.  But the cracks in the foundation are starting to show.

---

-- Dr. Zero's band is in high demand, and a few resort-casinos on the strip are trying to secure him for a regular show before he decides there's more money in touring again.  Easy income, they say.  With more time for side projects.  The Cult of Zero grows, however, and it's hard to get around the city without seeing some young punk wearing a gas mask or other imitation of the Doctor's eccentric wardrobe.

-- Out of the blue, N! offers Flare a new OpNet show.  Being younger -- and though they don't say it, 'safer' than Phantasm while appealing to the same demographic -- they think there's money in it for everyone.  The US Army also wants to talk to her about a job offer and some PR.  Dillon's been trying to scrounge up some money for a hospital, too, and thought Flare might be interested.

-- Gale, at her new condo, has a package waiting for her.  Inside are twenty birds, all with their wings broken.  And even just walking around town, she seems to pick up followers.  Some are adoring.  Some carry insults on their lips.  It makes building something resembling a normal life a little more stressful than it ought to be.

-- Gravitas has an enormous lab at the Nevada facility.  And applicants from across the world trying to beg him to take them on as lab assistants.  The language barrier gets easier to manage every day.  Other novas, like Malaysian Industrialist Parameswara, endlessly badger him to turn his attentions away from space exploration and Terat philosophy and back to the task of using science to transform the planet and make a profit.  Genius is a commodity, and a highly demanded one it seems.  But all these demands on his time threaten to insulate him completely.

-- Impetus, now scarred, generates even more sympathy and adoration.  And even more love letters.  He can't put in an appearance without changing the way people think and feel.  He also can't seem to put in an appearance without Michaelists reading bible verses and tracts, trying to drown out his words.  As the most obvious face of Utopia, he's the most obvious target of all.  Every day is a PR war, an opportunity to reshape image and identity.

-- The Amargosa Charitable Foundation gets brick thrown through its windows.  And Comstock's doing his best to avoid being a public figure for awhile, focusing on public works and charity.  He's even grown his black stubble out into a short haircut.  It's just that his schedule gets awfully busy on short notice, sometimes, and he doesn't really talk about why.

-- Phantasm's devoted following of trendy teens floods her with letters, professing love, admiration, and respect.  At the same time, recordings of her in action have become part of the Michaelist propaganda, proof that novas are demons who wear false forms, bind stolen souls to their wicked ends and glorify the supernatural.

-- Solitaire's House of Cards remains hidden, but it sees and hears more unrest every day.  Lists and names are being traded back and forth so Cards can look out for themselves in an increasingly antagonistic world.  On its own, it's evolving and changing, though it hasn't yet lost sight of its guiding philosophy.

-- Suzukaze has a new job, and new duties.  Logan has made contact in the last year.  It's time to get busy.

-- Wilhelm Förster cannot deny that Kraken Heavy Industries could use a presence in Las Vegas.  With Utopia holding a veritable monopoly over nova boom technologies, it's either New York or Las Vegas, and New York hasn't had the luxury of building from scratch or access to charitable nova labor.  Furthermore, it's the hotbed of Teragen activity in the US.  Might as well conquer the energy market along the way.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
This is a thread for plot and for a theme.  Post vignettes related to growing tensions, related to interacting with the City and the people therein, vigilantism and conspiracy, and exploring the central problem of coexistence between novas and baselines.  I'm going to make a concerted effort to give people scenes and ongoing action, and there is a plot underway in Las Vegas to be uncovered or ignored.

If any of the little blurbs I supplied up there doesn't spark the imagination, Raoul will probably want to get his friends together for a quick talk about what can be done to keep Las Vegas 'safe' for novas.  Since he lives in Spain more than half the time, he'd like input.

---

Best of all, Las Vegas' airport is being expanded.  In less than a year, they hope to accommodate the new sub-orbital Concorde II, the result of nova-superscience in the US Military Industry trickling down to consumers.  It will offer transit directly to Shanghai, Mumbai, Moscow, Addis Ababa, Paris and New York, connecting one side of the planet to the other in twelve hours or less.  Almost as fast as taking a portal.  Just don't ask about the cost.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:11, Fri 30 Aug 2013.

The massive Mil V-12 helicopter settled onto the narrow strip of tarmac in the desert northwest of Vegas, kicking up a tremendous cloud of dust.  Wilhelm had bought it along with its only sister for a song from a Russian museum during the crash of '99.  Sometimes you needed to send the sort of message that only a flying apartment block could convey.  Still, he would have preferred to arrive in the Silbervogel, his antipodal transport.  The runway at Desert Rock was just too short, though.  A problem that would have to be rectified if things went favorably.

Stepping through the helicopter's clamshell doors, Wilhelm saw that the press had already arrived.  Excellent.  The higher-ups at the Department of Energy were showing reluctance.  A little public pressure might force them to look on his proposal with more favor.  He pressed a button on a remote control and the helicopter deployed a podium and speakers.  The press knew why they were here, no sense wasting everyone's time.

"Good afternoon everybody.  You may wonder why I have summoned you here to this airstrip in the desolate wastes.  I have done so precisely because these wastes are so desolate.  For the past thirteen years the Department of Energy has let this reservation lie fallow.  They have no use for this land yet they will not sell it.  I will tell you why they will not sell it.  Ecological damage.  Three-hundred million curies of radiation contaminate this land..."

The members of the press exchanged some worried glances.

"...some of which has contaminated the water table.  Costly cleanup is required to make this land fit for habitation.  This state of affairs will not persist.  Kraken Heavy Industries has need of a large amount of uninhabited waste upon which to situate a facility.  I have offered the Department of Energy fair market value for Jackass Flats.  Furthermore, I have offered to remedy the ecological damage this site has suffered at my own expense.  This project will bring three thousand jobs and many millions of dollars in tax revenue to Nevada.  If the Department of Energy accepts my proposal, this section of the desert will bloom with progress.  If the Department of Energy rejects my proposal you will all have to ask yourselves one question.  Does the government hate jobs or just the environment?  I will now respond to a few questions."

"Mr. Kraken.  Isn't it true that you're in the business of marketing killbots to dictators?"

"That accusation is patently unfair.  Killbots are merely a small part of my business.  I also make confections suitable for small Midwestern girls.  Killbots and confections participate equally in my business planning, as do consumer electronics, pharmaceuticals, and many other products.  Perhaps you object to children and health as well?"

Before the newsman can respond, someone at the rear of the crowd raises quite the ruckus.  Protesters, around a dozen, bearing signs stating "God Hates You" and things more explicit and less well spelled.  One openly waves about an assault rifle.  Unsurprised, Wilhelm pushes another button on his remote.  A pair of killbots security drones trundle toward the mass on caterpillar tracks, each brandishing a four-barreled triethylaluminium dispenser.

"Please put down your weapon.  You have twenty seconds to comply."

"I think you'd better do what it says."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:44, Mon 07 Feb 2011.

The "gift" was a horrifying reminder for Gale that she would never be "human" again, at least, not the way most people seemed to want to define it.  Being nova was definitely to be other than human, apparently.  People could hate her.  She wasn't happy about it, but to needlessly cripple and kill animals was going too far.  It was her university all over again.  Except this time she wouldn't run away.

Around town, she fought hard to not respond to the insults.  Impetus had taught her that most of the time, arguing with those who will always be out to hate you won't work.  Imp, of course, had tricks to try to convert those to his cause, but Gale had no such luck.  There were a few days where even her growing happiness didn't keep her from snapping at one or two of them to leave her alone; she immediately regretted it.

The Michaelists, most of all out of any of the anti-nova groups, seemed to take a shine to bothering Gale.  More than once, an event that she held in the city, often on something completely unrelated, would have a crowd of protesters trying to drown her out.  She'd frown in frustration, but there wasn't much else she could do, other than do her best to keep going and ignore them.  Thankfully, none of them had erupted into violence.  Yet.  She wasn't quite sure what she would do if it did.

Phantasm stopped when she was about a 1000 yards from the event.  This is ridiculous, she thought to herself as she looked at the crowd of protesters that had grown around Gale's little global warming speach.  Phantasm had just stopped by to say hello and perhpas convince her former teammate to get a coffee so they could catch up, but Gale wouldn't be in any mood for a fun chat after listening to this. "I guess I'll just have to fix it so she doesn't have to listen..." she mumbled to herself as she started walking again.

"'Scuse me, coming through." she repeated again and again as she pushed to the front of the crowd.  At one point some of the protesters, realizing who she was, moved forward menacingly holding signs that could easily double as clubs but all it took was a cocked eyebrow and a look that said "do you really want to do that" to make them slink off into the crowd.  Once she'd gotten to the point between the protestors and the legitimate crowd gathered to hear Gale speak, Phantasm went to work.

The usual stomach churning green field of apparitions surrounded her before giving life to hundreds of tiny spiders equiped with pointy 3-fingered hands on each of their legs and faces eerily similar to those of the protestors.  The spiders moved quickly to the edges of the venue, spraying quantum silk on anything they could find, and stringing it in a rapidly growing web over the entire area between the two crowds.  By the time Gale's audience noticed and turned to look at her work, PHantasm was almost done.  The spiders were filling in the gaps in the makeshift wall with silk and random debris, creating a thick barrier that dulled the sound and appearance of the protestors along with blocking access to the open air venue.

When Phantasm turned to look toward Gale and found her staring back, Phantasm mouthed "See you after your speach?"

In just a few weeks Flare went from being bored and troubled to overwhelmed. The idea of doing anything Opnet sounded like a pipe dream that actually came true.  All the common desires, fame, fortune, fans (all the important f-words) were availible, along with possibly being able to help lessen the current hostility toward novas.  The military interest, while far more intimidating, was also flattering and gratifying.

The problem with both was not the offers or the people doing the offering, it was her.  She wanted to shine, be in the spotlight, and with so many of T2M either healing or simply taking time for themselves, she could have her chance. Though her powers provided an intelligence she'd never thought possible, they didn't give her the depth of understanding that her teammates seemed to possess.  She knew she was easily wound up, highly excitable, and mercurial in her emotions.  She didn't know if it was her eruption that caused it or if she was always that flighty, but she did know that she was easily manipulated and would be a threat to others if she trusted the wrong people.

At least Dillon's offer required no consideration.  She had been doing work in hospitals and trying to raise money for them since her healing powers had come to the front.  Some days she wished that had been the only power she'd developed, with healing there were no screams, and no smell of blackened flesh.  Helping with the hospital would let her give something back, she found Dillon right away to let him know. (worry over tapped lines and hypermovement had made it so she generally flew to wherever someone was rather than just picking up a phone)

"Hey, 'stock, if you've got a minute, I could use a little advice..." While she tried not to fit her teammated into catagories (she figured being labeled 'brother', or 'big sis' would bother the older members as much as being one of the 'new kids' bothered her) she had always thought that Dillon gave good advice, and generally thought things through.  She could use someone like that before making any monumental changes to her life.

Gale had noticed the green field of spiders rather quickly, but it took her a while to find her teammate's face in the crowd.  A smile emerged and she gave a grateful nod to Phantasm.  Managing these talks were hard enough without the religious propaganda machine working against her.

The speech was halfway through anyway.  "Um, yes, let's see, where was I..." the winged girl mused as she searched her notes.  It didn't take long to get back on track.  She wasn't a great speaker; Impetus could have given the same speech and it would have been remembered forever.  But Gale did at least have passion about the topic, and that carried through her words, and the crowd seemed to respond well to it.  It contained all the same little suggestions that other people who cared about the climate repeated: recycle, minimize water and energy usage, drive less, and so on.  Some of the ideas are very unrealistic for the desert city of Las Vegas, and others were more than appropriate.  For some reason, when they came from a Nova, people seemed to believe these suggestions more.  Her message was all about little things individuals could do to help the whole.

Afterward, as the crowd began to disperse, Gale stepped down from the dais, weaving through the crowd to Phantasm.  She smiled more broadly as she got closer.  "Phantasm!  How are you?"  Before she could argue, Phantasm was pulled into a hug, arms and wings wrapping around her.

The offices of Dillon's little charity had nice conference rooms.  He was funny about them, too, still fretting that his agent, Ms. Richards, spent too much money making things look nice.  Money that could go toward projects.  "Just Dillon, please.  Or buddy, bro, anything but the professional name.  I try to keep things subdued around here."  He popped open a fridge and offered her a coke.

"What's on your mind?  Decided you want in on this hospital thing?"  He put on a salesman's smile and found a chair.  "I can put your name on the front of the proposal or keep it off altogether, but either way I've got a guy talking to the mayor so I think it's a sure thing no matter how much money we scrape together."  By the first proposal he'd sent along to Flare, it was to be a non-profit hospital, a place for indigent and low-income patients to receive basics.  Just the thing a rapidly expanding metropolitan area with a real problem generating city revenue needed.

Phantasm cringed appropriately from the hug, perfect image of a young woman too cool for such displays, but she gave in to the older woman's affection after only token resitance.  After parting, Phantasm smiled and replied, "Well, I think I'm partied out finally.  A year's a long time to keep up the superstar life.  I thought I'd come here and see you and Dillan, take a break for a while.  If either of you have time that is.  Now that you're a world famous environmentalist making speaches and changing ecosystems, and he's a big shot in a suit closing business deals, I don't know if anyone has time for me anymore." 

The tone and fake pout were almost convincing, but the smile in her eyes said Phantasm was playing.  They all shared too much history to not have at least a bit of time for one another.

Gale grinned.  She didn't know how old Phantasm was, but the winged woman couldn't be that much older than her teammate.  Somehow, she always felt old.  But whenever Phantasm was around, she felt younger.  More like her teenage self that never got to blossom.  "Of course I always have time for you, Phantasm," she responded.  "World famous environmentalist or not, my condo gets lonely without someone to talk to.  And I'm dying to hear what everybody else is up to after a year.  Come on, I'll cook you dinner or something."  She pointed up to the high-rise building that her home in Vegas resided.  "We can walk or fly, your choice."

Phantasm pondered a moment (really more of a social nicety, she was done thinking about her answer before Gale even asked the question) before responding "I think the walk would be nice.  Even though I can sorta fly, or at least make something that can, people in cities just don't take well to the rotting pteradactyls or the centipede-dragons.  And it's a good day for a walk anyway."  After they started walking, Phantasm asked "So how're things treating you?  Heard you still consulted for Utopia..."

Gale nodded at the description that people wouldn't take well to Phantasm's powers.  It was true; the winged woman had only gotten used to it by repeated exposure. "Things are much better these days, actually," she answered.  "Really, anything's better than being in a plastic bubble.  But yeah.  Utopia asks me to help out with weather and climate related stuff from time to time.  Counteract a drought here and there, that kind of thing.  Humanitarian stuff.  Pretty sweet gig, actually.  They don't bother me very often, I get to spend the rest of my time doing what I want to do, and I still get a Utopia paycheck."

She paused a moment to look at Phantasm, and give her a friendly punch in the arm.  "I do miss you guys though.  And what about you?  I heard you were in movies and stuff these days.  That's got to be pretty rad."  A bit of Gale's surfer slang slipped in, a sign that she was relaxed and comfortable.

Gale and Phantasm's walk was pleasant.  But not uneventful.

A few blocks back, the Michaelists were rallying.  Phantasm could hear their arguments and the white noise of a crowd.  They must be following, their anger and courage restored by a short time away from police officers and Phantasm's 'mockery'.

As they walked it was hard for Phantasm not to return to the noise.  It was one of a dozen things she could keep in mind.  Was that the crunch of an aluminum can, or the chambering of a round into a pistol?  Someone's shoe on the sidewalk or the tearing sound of duct tape?  Downtown still had some ugly buildings and narrow streets, but in another three blocks they'd be back on the Strip where there were cameras everywhere and a twenty-four hour police presence.  Enough to prevent a scene.

Then, someone up ahead wearing a tacky religious t-shirt stepped out from around a corner.  He pointed a laser pointer at the two of them, shakily trying to paint a dot on their chests.  A smug, self-indulgent and violent smile played out across his face.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:18, Sat 12 Feb 2011.

For Phantasm the transition to combat was instinctive and instantaneous, at least to all but a handful of beings on the planet who could react faster than her.  She stepped in front of Gale even as the haunting glow of power surrounded her and the slight sound of popping bones and cartillege emanated from under her flesh.  Years of hard combat against more enemies than a baseline could easily count (she remembered every detail of each and every one) had made her wary and dangerous when surprised.

"Gale, shield now.  We're flying after all" Phantasm said without turning around.  If they could avoid this, they needed to.  She'd just managed to make people forget what she was capable of, and Gale didn't need anymore deaths on her conscience. And I don't either really, come to think about it.

Gale, unable to hear all the other warning signs that her friend had heard, and having dealt with these morons bothering her for months, put a hand on Phantasm's shoulder.  " 'Tasm, he's just a kid with a laser pointer.  Don't you think you're overreacting?"  Gale's voice exuded concern.  Had Phantasm gone through more in the past year than Gale knew?  Probably, but just how much?

"Come on, we'll just go around him.  Ignore him,"  she tried to lead the way across the street so they could avoid the guy.  Her combat instincts weren't as good anymore (a year without combat missions would do that) but the guy did look like he wanted to pick a fight.  Stupid of him, but she didn't want to get into that.

The idiot tried to work up a brave laugh, but he backed up in a hurry at Phantasm's display.  "Aberrant freaks!" he shouted as his disappeared around a corner.

He'd dropped his laser pointer in his haste.  A few people on the street stared.  No cameramen or reporters to make life miserable though.

"Sorry about that Gale, I just like to play it safe.  Too much time in combat I guess, still haven't totally adjusted to the civilian thing after all this time.  Any chance we could just fly to your place?" Gale would see the crowd gathering from the air probably, but no need to worry her if she didn't have to.

"No prob."  She held out her hand for Phantasm to take, and once they had a firm grip, she took off into the sky.  Gale wasn't super-strong like Solitaire, but she could still carry a young woman like Phantasm.  They flew in between the skyscrapers, to Veer Towers.  22 floors up, Gale hovered in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass, and pressed lightly against it with one hand.  The glass slid back and to the left.

"Custom mods," she explained with a grin.  "You first."  A swing tossed Phantasm into the living room, and Gale landed right after her.  "Sorry for the mess." She said as she closed the glass.

The condo was modern, decorated with clean lines and geometric shapes.  The colors at least were a bit brighter, blues and greens.  The living room and the kitchen were attached, presumably the bathroom and bedroom were down the halls.  It was located on a corner, so two of the walls of the living room were floor to ceiling glass.  The "mess" to which Gale referred was the pile of papers spread out on the coffee table, and a few dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:15, Sun 13 Feb 2011.

Passers-by watched in awe as the two lifted off and returned to the towers on the Strip.  Nova-sightings were common, and at least a few people snapped photos.  From the air, Phantasm could make out more of the Michaelists two blocks behind.  They seemed disappointed.

Still, it wasn't more than a minute or two after the pair arrived back at Gale's condo that another figure came zooming up to the tower.  A man with a jet-pack, a leather jacket, a helmet and a eufiber suit on underneath.  He knocked gently on the glass.

"Howdy neighbor!  Got room for one more?" he shouted over the roar of his engines.  He seemed familiar.  One of the new T2M:A guys?
This message was last edited by the player at 03:58, Sun 13 Feb 2011.

Gale turned to face the newcomer.  Did everyone in the world know her apartment and want to bother her at it?  She cast an eyeroll at Phantasm, as she walked over to open the secret glass entrance.

She let him come into the apartment, in the interest of not appearing rude.  "This is a bit private," she answered.  "Catching up with old friends, I'm sure you understand.  I'm afraid I don't know your name though."  She hated when people were familiar, and she couldn't place them.

He killed the engines, hopped inside and quickly removed his helmet to display sparkling white teeth.  "I'm Nick Powell ... but if anyone asks we're going with Johnny Afterburner."  Without hesitation, he extended a hand.

"I was just, uh, trying out the new jets and I heard some trouble.  Followed you here.  Everything alright?  Those protesters causing trouble again?  Because if they are, I can absolutely take care of it for you."  Now it was coming back.  He was moving into the Utopia base just last week.  Some plane enthusiast from Texas who erupted late last year.  The limit of enthusiasm as it approached infinity just might equal the man's face, since he clearly was enjoying this chance to talk face to face with veteran team members outside of official functions.  Perhaps realizing he was becoming obsequious, Afterburner tucked his helmet beneath his arm and backed up a step.  "I'm, uh, actually trying to go for a sort of civic defender image."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:32, Sun 13 Feb 2011.

Phantasm gave Gale a "It's ok with me" look when Nick asked to come in.  She didn't care, but didn't want to invite someone into a place that wasn't hers either.

"Nice ta meetcha Nick.  Thanks for looking out for us, I heard the crowd getting a bit out of hand behind us."  She said it with sincerity, though she personally doubted jet pack boy would have brought much to the table if it came down to a fight... But she could be wrong.  Now that she thought about it, she didn't know much about the newbies.  Wouldn't hurt to feel him and the rest of the new T2Mers out, get an idea of what they could do.

Gale relaxed visibly once he introduced himself and she remembered where he was from.  She hadn't even realized that her feathers had puffed up a bit.  Perhaps she was just a bit more paranoid when someone bothered her at her home.  She took the young man's hand and shook it firmly.  "Thanks for the offer, but I think we're ok now," she said with a smile.  "I'd rather nobody act against them unless they act first.  It'll just fuel their 'cause' more.  At the moment, they just make a bunch of noise."

She detached from the group for a moment to get glasses of water for everyone.  "Civic defender, huh?" she commented as she handed a glass to him.  It was an offer to let him continue talking about himself.  She momentarily wondered how long it would take him to burn out like the rest of her team had.

"I look the part, don't I?"  He spun in place for effect.  "I got good ears and eyes.  Regular sky patrols are the way of the future.  Especially with these hate crimes.  Either of you want to fly around the city with me sometime?  I've got a license from the FAA to take this anywhere in the fifty states."

Regardless of the responses, he downed his glass of water with gusto and graciously thanked Gale.  "I guess this is probably a bad place and time to be making new introductions, so I'll scoot.  Oh, there is just one thing that I ought to ask: either of you know a Nova by the name of Sparkle?  Friend of mine was supposed to get together with her for some dancing, but she never showed.  Wouldn't be worth mentioning except I started making phone calls and no one else has seen her either."  His eyebrows expressed the rest of his concerns: hope she hasn't done anything stupid or gotten herself killed.

The helmet went back on, and he base jumped out of the side of the tower, falling ten stories before activating his jet pack again and screaming away.

Phantasm held her comments until the sound of the jets died away.  Turning to Gale with a thoughtful look, she told the other nova what she knew of Sparkle. "You know, to be honest Sparkle seemed like a shallow bitch the few times I met her.  Almost got into a fight with her the first time.  It doesn't surprise me that she ditched him, but it's really weird that she wouldn't be easy to find, considering her high profile partying.  Huh.  Probably nothing...

So, you were telling me what you'd been up to."

"I'm not much into the party scene, so I have no clue who she is."  Gale said as she closed the glass behind their strange rocketeering visitor.  She moved to the couch, and sat down with a sigh.  "Was I?  Well, this is part of it.  My home in Vegas." She made a sweeping motion with her arm. She hadn't even noticed that they were originally talking about Phantasm when they were interrupted and her friend had now avoided the topic altogether.

"Oh yeah, I was gonna make you dinner."  The winged woman got back to her feet, moving to the kitchen.  She pulled ingredients from the pantry, glancing over her shoulder.  "It's a nice central location for my speeches and stuff.  And the base is nearby, in case they decide to pull me in for a mission.  My life's actually rather dull these days.  Speech here, conference there, go and make it rain in Africa sometimes."  She shrugged.