The Silver Streak notes nothing suspicious...

...Oh, but he does note Scorch Scale approaching...

The Silver Streak skids to a halt in front of the large man-dragon. "Wasn't sure you'd show up," he approaches with a light salute, two fingers agsinst his gleaming helmet "Good to see you out and about - I know you haven't always enjoyed being in the public eye. I haven't seen anyone else just yet, do you know anything about this Goodwill fellow?"

Scorch Scale couldn't help but chuckle a little at the enthusiasm of Silver Streak with that greeting. He used that to make light of the conversation, ignoring the fact it was the assumptions this form came with. "It's nice to see you too. It reminded me that we need a better system then that trash can idea of mine."

There was another chuckle before the fire-breather cleared his throat, then carried on in a more serious tone.
"Funny thing that , I was just going to check with you. I heard a little, but you know how it is, no two stories remain consistent enough to conclude on."

There was a slight shrug from his frame before he continued. "You never know, Goodwill or "company", whomever they keep, might just be our "Magus" so to speak." That company could just be one, or it could be a whole gaggle of other people Scorch Scale hadn't got a hold of just yet.

"Whoop! There you go." Gil helped Scraps arrange himself in Gil's lap. Scraps was quickly outgrowing his 'puppy' days, and would probably be a bit too big to be a lap dog soon. His weight was negligible — Gil hardly felt that, of course — but his size would make it a little awkward. But until that day came, who could deny that happy pup anything?

Gil had been reading the paper at the breakfast table, just like he'd watch his daddy do every morning until the day he'd died. He'd read that newspapers were becoming less popular with his generation, but Gil just couldn't fathom that. He'd learned that it was right and proper for a civilized man to sit and read the morning paper, and if he hadn't, well... then he wouldn't have seen this ad, now would he? But it was nearly impossible to read a newspaper while holding a dog in your lap, so he set it aside.

Behind the paper was the end of Gil's breakfast. Grandma-Mom (as opposed to Mom-Mom; three generations in one house made names a little interesting at times) had made sure that Gil knew how to cook himself a few basic meals before he left for New York. She was worried that he'd starve in the big city. Gil still tended to burn the bacon a little if his attention wandered, but he hadn't set anything on fire yet. Today's breakfast only had a faint whiff of char to it, but had tasted fine. He was getting better at it.

He offered the last slice of bacon to Scraps. "Scraps for Scraps" Grandma-Mom would frequently say, like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. She had a heart as big as all outdoors, but her sense of humor was, well... old people told old people jokes.

"I think we'll wear the capes Mom-Mom sewed us," he said. His mother had sewed matching capes for Gil and Scraps. Gil's was a matador-styled half-cape, designed to be worn on one shoulder, and easily taken off and tossed aside when the real fighting began. It was a blue shell with a white satin lining, and definitely not to Gil's tastes. But his mother insisted that he needed to wear something more than just his 'fighting suit' if he ever wound up somewhere fancy in costume. Meeting the Mayor sounded like the sort of occasion when she'd insist he needed to wear it, so wear it he would. "If there's pictures taken, Mom-Mom would be crushed if we weren't wearing the capes."

Scraps had a cape in a matching blue and white. It was probably doomed, but what the hey?

"Let's go get dressed. Can't keep important people waiting now, can we?"

Scraps wolfed down the bacon, then tried to lick the grease from Gil’s fingers ... then turned his eyes upon the plate itself.

But then Gil was standing up, so Scraps had to jump on down.
He wagged his tail enthusiastically, and trotted alongside Gil.

When Gil pulled out the costume and capes, Scraps could barely stop himself from going mental with excitement, ‘cos that meant they were going OUT!    Into the wonderful world where other dogs had left wee-mails for Scraps to read sniff.  And there’s be dead rats to sniff, too.  And if he was really lucky, someone might have vomited in an alley after a night of drunken excess.
OH THE JOY.

"It is all well and good to catch up, but I think we both have a meeting to get to. It's the mayor and commissioner we are talking about." Scorch Scale  gestured towards their destination and taking the first step, sure that Silver Streak will catch up to him as he always does.

To Saul, it felt weird to have people depending on him more then just household chores or completing homework on time. But as Scorch Scale, he feels like he is finally getting the recognition he deserves.

All the policemen look up when Scorch Scale and Silver Streak enter. "Ah, good, they're here," said one. "...But... just the two of you? No sign of this new Goodwill fellow yet...? I suppose there's still a little time before it's 2 o'clock on the dot, but... we were hoping all of you would come..."

Goodwill dropped out of the sky, as if on cue, cape flapping behind him. He set the Dalmatian puppy (similarly caped) down next to him. The others were already heading inside, Goodwill noted. Was he late? Darn!

He grabbed the door before it could swing closed again.

"Hello."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:52, Thu 04 Oct 2018.

Bark!


*pant* *pant*

"Well officer, I think that makes everyone." He takes a look to the fact that the dog also has a cape of its own. Wait, no, that can't be the case can it?

He addressed the man who grabbed the door. "So I presume you would be Goodwill? You're just in time."

"Goodwill, yeah," Gil confirmed nodding. The guy was tall and scaly, and even had horns. It was impressive, to say the least. Gil had never seen anything quite like it. "Or Gil Woods. 'Goodwill' is mostly just for the papers. They like the flashy names. Sells copies, I think.

"You must be Scorchy Scales," he said, inadvertently making the name sound like a cousin to Soupy Sales. "And that must be Silver Streak. This little fella here is Scraps... making me odd man out, I guess."

Scraps raced in through the opened door, and between legs, to begin investigating this exciting new place.
This place was rich with the aroma of human bodies, and food!
Some of the latter was even lying on the ground, and Scraps followed his nose.

When he found a particularly tasty morsel, a half eaten doughnut, he scoffed it down, then went racing back looking for Gil to tell him all about it.    “Bark bark bark” , he exclaimed to his best friend, because he knew Gil would want to know.   “Bark!  Bark”.

Today was a great day.
With Gil, every day was a great day.
But this day was awesome.

"Gentlemen... and Scraps... I'm Lieutenant Norman Caswell, the daytime shift lieutenant of this, the 28th precinct... We got this letter 6 days ago." He hands over a piece of paper with words cut out of magazines.


"As you can see, she couldn't find "supervillainess" or even just "villainess..." We think "villa" came from an ad for a real-estate property called Vintage Villas..."

"It's not Echo, either," says another officer. "She's still incarcerated in a-- well, a secret location... It's a normal cell, but the space outside the walls is filled with sleeping gas... so if this is real, this is someone new..."

"And if it's not real," says Lieutenant Norman Caswell, "well... I thought it might be nice for us all to meet anyway... just for good law-enforcement-to-hero relations... We did not invite the media, though."

The fact that this person didn't take the time to just remove the a from "Villa" showed either a careless individual, or a hasty approach to making the note.

"So assuming this is genuine, we have someone who is really confident, possibly careless or impatient in making the letter. They might have found help from others..."

He gave some pause as he recalled the letter of summons made in the paper for this meeting, the numerous names made for these supers surrounding him.

"What gets me is, if they presume to be so effective at fighting against a group of us, why did they only have Blue Dragon on that gun smuggling a while ago?..."

They only had half an hour, and the strategist in him told himself that there was a trap being made all around them. He would have to rely on his senses to reveal any surprises.

"Blue Dragon...?" Gil wondered aloud, not to anyone in particular. He wondered if he was in any way related to the red dragon standing next to him, but asking that sort of thing was probably considered rude. "Why would someone break him out of jail... and only him?

"Message kinda reads like this 'villainess' is a thirteen year-old girl. Uses the word 'awesome' twice. This Blue Dragon have a little sister?"

Scorch Scale realized that some present might not be that aware of the incident with Blue Dragon. He was unsure if the dog was good on comprehension, so he focused on Goodwill. "Blue Dragon is, a denim enthusiast with a knack for throwing lightning. Less literally a dragon then his name might imply. Try not to be covered in water around him, he comes with an aura that packs extra punch."

"As for siblings, I am at a disadvantage on knowing his personal life. It is a possibility."
Scorch Scale finds himself tapping a corner of the letter with a scaly finger. "This writer could just be, overly enthusiastic. History shows people who were made the fool by uncontrolled passions."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:50, Fri 05 Oct 2018.

Scraps realised that Gil wasn’t really interested in hearing about the food he’d found.
He was too focused on that piece of paper.

But Scraps knew what to do, he’d leave a message over here on the edge of this table for anyone who was interested to sniff later.

Once that was done, once he’d sprayed they tale, Scraps could turn his attention to matters: that piece of paper.
Running over to Gil, he leapt up, putting his front paws on agile chest for additional height, and began investigating that paper they were all looking at.
           - rolled 8 using 2d6 with rolls of 4,4.  Figure things out.
Maybe something he smelled on the paper would prove useful later on.

The paper smells like a female... Youngish... A little weird, too, in a way that's hard to describe... it almost makes Scraps want to sneeze. Well, he'll sure know it if he smells it again...

May I please spend my ‘Hold’ on that?
I know it doesn’t fall within the preview of the ‘Figure things out’ questions: instead of spending that Hold on a question later, I’ll simply leave it with the Grandmaster to tell me if Scraps does pick up that scent at any time.

(Yes. Tch, I should have refreshed my memory of "Figure things out" first. Oh well, this works.)

The Silver Streak reads the note over and mulls it over for a moment. Suddenly, his head snaps up and he addresses the others "It's a publicity stunt!" He looks at each hero for "Why else would they want us around? The media?" He looks down at the floor and starts to pace "The real question is, who is the audition for...?"

"...I certainly don't know..." says the Lieutenant. "...Would you perhaps like to see the prisoner...?"

"I might have a chat, but I think the Drake grudge between us might not shift easily. We had quite the fight." Plus it could always be that Blue Dragon knows nothing useful anyway. But they had to give it a shot.

"In any case, I think it might help if we were aware of everyone's capabilities. If nothing else, a little group cohesion might make or break this break-out." More knowledge of each other would improve their improvisation under fire. Plus, he had no idea what Goodwill and his pet bring to the table.

"It's up to you if you want to talk to him," says the Lieutenant. "I just thought you might want to inspect where we're holding him... you know, since someone claims they're going to try to break him out..."




"Sure," says the Lieutenant. "If this person doesn't show up early-- and them hoping for reporters makes it seem like they won't-- then it seems to me like you three... or four... have time to talk, compare notes, or whatever..."

"Mostly meaning me," Gil concluded aloud. He read the newspapers, so he knew that Scorch and Silver had met and worked together before. "Basically, I'm really strong and can fly. Learned I'm bulletproof the hard way.

"That's 'bout it."