The Silver Streak chuckles in spite of himself "I can imagine! As for me, I'm fast. Very fast. When I really get going, most folks can barely see me at all, they just see a... well, a silver streak."



"Of course, Lieutenant." he bends down to give the dalmatian a quick scratch behind the ears "Lead the way."

“Rowf”, Scraps cheered at the sudden attention, and he leaned into the scratch ... his whole body seeming to go into an epileptic fit with excitement, until he nearly fell over.

As the team walked off, he skittered along behind them, and beside them, and ahead of them ... sniffing the world for any signs of threat, food or doggy-messages.


He ended up behind the red scaley one at one point.   Scraps wasn’t sure exactly what that thing was.
That was easily fixed, though; every dog knows how to understand someone better.
       ... so Scraps gave that scaley red butt a real good sniffing.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:09, Sun 07 Oct 2018.

The Lieutenant leads the heroes to the back of the building. There, in a cell, is the denim-wearing young man calling himself the Blue Dragon. "He's still got his powers, but he can't break out of there," says the Lieutenant. "He can electrify the bars, but he knows if he shocks any of us, his next meal will be delayed..."

The Blue Dragon glares sullenly at everyone present.

They say that animals can sense evil.
Well, this guy didn’t seem at all ... friendly.

Scraps did want to get a sniff of this guy, though ... but he kept his distance.
He kinda wondered if the guy smelt like the girly smell on the paper; if her scent was on him.
           - rolled 4 using 2d6
But the acrid scent of ozone around this guy stung Scraps’ nose; and he backed away with a little home.

(Scraps marks 1 xp.)

"What's the matter, pup-pup?" Gil asked Scraps. Dalmatians were an intelligent, intuitive breed... maybe more so than Gil. "Mister BoDraggles isn't going anywhere."

The Silver Streak studies the room, glancing around for any obvious weaknesses. He ignores the inmate, instead checking for hidden devices or gadgets. His mind wanders as he paces, trying to deduce just what the mysterious letter-writer had in store for them.

OOC : 22:39, Today: Silver Streak rolled 10 using 2d6 with rolls of 6,4.  Figure things out.

--What pieces of the plan am I missing?
--What haven’t they taken account of?

Silver Streak stands there and thinks. ...What we're possibly missing... he thinks, ...is that this "villainess" warned us ahead of time. She wants us to be ready... ...More than that... she wants there to be powered heroes here. Why? Why would she want that? Obviously she's hoping for... publicity...? But... Is she... Does she expect us to stop her...? Or will her plan somehow work better with powered heroes here to stop her...? How could that be...?

The dogs bothering had been dismissed with a slight swish of a scaled tail. Thankfully the mutt hadn't persisted this time, because if the disrespecting had continued, things would have been bad indeed for the pup.

Though when they got to the criminal, Scorch Scale felt the sensation of seeing someone you disliked for the first time in an age. He had the sullen look of a crook in bars, defeated, imprisoned. It seemed to Scorch Scale that the villain was too boisterous a sort to contain himself, boasting his change of life and revenge if he knew he was getting freed today.
So it wasn't his plan, just something he would benefit from.

"Well, you're not looking like yourself today huh, Blue Dragon." He said through the bars, trying to  look neutral in all this. The statement occupied the space without question to the obvious fact at hand.

"...Yeah, I'm incarcerated. And I don't like the food here much, either. What're you people doing here? Here to gloat?"

Scraps didn't like this man, so lost interest in him pretty quick.
Instead, he wondered what else was around here that might, indeed, be interesting.

Trotting off, he began sniffing around the place some ... and listening for any disturbances that might fracas about the place.

"I haven't got reason t'gloat," Gil said. He had nothing to do with Blue Dragon's incarceration. "That'd be pretty rude, anyway. We're just looking into a piece of... fan mail you've received."

If they let B.D. know what the letter said, he'd probably clam up. But if he wanted to know, maybe they could get him talking.

"I'm Goodwill, by the way."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:57, Tue 09 Oct 2018.

"Wasn't really talkin' t' you."




Blue Dragon looks like he wants to say something rude himself in reply, but can't actually think of anything.






"...That I've received? What are you talking about...?"





"Didn't ask."

The part of Scorch Scale that was more considerate didn't want to interject, but it was clear that Blue Dragon didn't care much for Goodwill at all.

He gets a bit closer to the bars to change focus towards himself, bringing him very close to the bars. "Look, someone out there is gunning for you, but we don't know their intentions. Did you make any enemies on the streets before we got you?"

"...Gunning for me? Like, out to get me? Someone who isn't you guys...?" Blue Dragon pauses. "...I mean, there's a rival gang... the Eagles... But none of them is really a threat... unless they've gotten somebody new... What have you heard? What sort of... message...? have you guys gotten...?"

"Indeed, someone besides us is coming for you."
It very draconian to do so, but using careful wording and giving enough rope was how some enemies were defeated. For that to work, a little information has to be returned.
""The police got a letter of sorts stating their assault, with you as the goal. It said to bring heroes and media. They described themselves as awesome, as well as heroes. That sound like someone you know?"

"No... Sounds like you guys wrote it yourself..."

The lieutenant looks just a little nervous at that comment, but says nothing.

Scorch Scale didn't let that one slide, the fact the commissioner and mayor allowed only a half hour lead on the attack was worrying...
Then again, using the word "awesome" seemed out of place for anyone who wasn't a teen like Saul, so the letter might be authentic, but their reaction left others wanting... These thoughts resulted in an over shoulder glance at the lieutenant. A dark warning that said he better not be right about you, or else.

Lieutenant or not, the focus was not on Norman Caswell. It was on Blue Dragon, so he turned his head back to the prisoner and asked another question. "Vintage Villas, does that place mean anything to you?"

"Never heard of it. Sounds like it's in Spain? Uh, Italy?"

"I'm gonna put myself out on a limb here, and suggest Sparky doesn't know anything." Gil said. He didn't seem smart enough to be able to pretend ignorance. He was just genuinely ignorant. "There's no point to this line of questioning."

"Same to you, Hollywood," says Blue Dragon. "Feel free t' come in here and say that..."

The Lieutenant gathers you all together out of earshot from Blue Dragon. "Time's passing..." he observes. "Any plans for when the time comes...?"

"Maybe we ought to - what's the phrase - set up a perimeter?" Goodwill wasn't the greatest tactician, but he wasn't exactly dumb, either. And being packed in around the intended target seemed like a bad idea. There was no fallback position. "Silver Streak can patrol the ground, and I can keep watch from above. Anyone got some walkie-talkies we can use t'keep in touch?"

The Silver Streak nods. "We oight to keep tabs on Blue here at all times - does anyone have a way to track him in case he were... misplaced?

... and, in fact, that was what Scraps was already doing.

Scraps was outside, sniffing around ... listening and looking for anything that might resemble wee-mails, food or threats.
- rolled 7 using 2d6 with rolls of 2,5.  Figure it out?
= How can I protect other people?

A meter maid enters the room, and walks up to the heroes with her little notepad for issuing parking tickets. "Um, hello? Sirs? Um, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could get Silver Streak's autograph...?" She holds out the little ticket-book and a pen.