Some might assume that at some juncture, Jack would get involved. But frankly Kevin is a total badass, and for a split second there, the young Cape-to-Be feels a bit bad for ever doubting that Kevin could handle things here.

Seeing the result with Cheeto, and the way the guy is acting like he intends to scramble away, and the way things are going with Odelia--who seems to have lost her marbles--he continues to wait.

If Kevin wants his help, all he has to do is ask for it. He'd said he would be watching and if there's one thing that this fight makes abundantly, overwhelmingly in fact, clear is that Kevin can handle tactical thinking in a tight situation. The way he deploys a dozen tricks, moves so smoothly and never seems to be out of step.

In fact the whole exploding gas station is probably the only mistake he has seen, and he isn't even sure that betrayal like that counts as a mistake.

Seeing the closing in cops, he drops down beside Kevin's truck, starts it up and moves it over half a block and out of line of sight of the factory.

Taking perhaps a minute of that period to get the vehicle moved so that it isn't noted--keeping careful watch of Kevin so that he can scoop him out of trouble if necessary.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 573):

Kevin turns his head, seeming to hear the sirens.  He glances in Cheeto's direction and then back at Odelia.  He seems to have made his choice.

Leaping nimbly to one side, he lands beside Odelia's head, pivots, and kicks the side of her skull.   The kick sends her reeling.  She turns back to human as she bounces across the floor.

Cheeto is running down a side alley.  You see Kevin pull out his cell, glance at it, nod, and then scoop up Odelia.  He leaps upwards with her over one shoulder as the first cop car pulls up.

A minute later he's landed beside the truck.  He tosses Odelia uncerimoniously into the back and leaps in.  "Get us outta here, will ya?"

He pulls his cell phone back out.  "I don't know how much of the floor show you caught.  She showed up and started muckin' about.  Then some other meta guy showed up.  Don't know who.  He was orange like Chester the Cheetah from the Cheeto bags.  Anyway.  I planted a tag on him.  I wanna see where he goes.  But first..."

He glances back to the cab.  Odelia seems to be coming too.  "Can you find an alley and pull in?  IF you wanna bail, cool.  I appreciate your help.  But I need to have a little chat with Ms. Rookie-kins here.  She not only went at 'em for blood, she lost control.  I can't let her get away with that kinda shit."

Hearing the request to get the truck moving, he idly starts up the truck, glances behind him making note of the locations of the cruisers and stops at the end of the block for a few seconds before proceeding.

Avoiding the cops for a few moments until they are out of the area.

“I saw everything. Nice moves.”

Hearing that Kevin has an almost identical name for the guy, Jack actually laughs. Out loud. This is normally not notable with everyone else on Earth, but because even though he fakes most reactions rather uncannily, Jack can’t really make himself laugh most of the time. It just sounds too forced. There’s too much time to think about things and by the time his body would produce said laugh, he has stopped finding it funny.

“That’s exactly what I called him too,” he says as the laughing fades and glances over his shoulder at the mention of the plan to have a chat with Odelia.

He thinks about it for a second, and then after a glance around picks a random back-lot behind some commercial buildings.

“Given her abilities, she might know my scent. Don’t suppose you have any pepper spray on your utility belt, give it a little waft in the air?” he proposes and shrugs. He actually doesn’t really need to stick around for this part. But he sort of wants to see what happens with Cheeto. “I’ll be nearby.”

Handing over the keys to the truck, he gets out and zips up into the sky to watch from a distance again.

Sorry for the late post.  I thought I had replied earlier, but it looks like it didn't take for some reason.

He pulls out a container of pepper spray and waits for you to exit before spritzing some in the air and over Odelia's head.  She coughs violently.

Kevin hops up on top of the cab, squatting down and looking into the back of the cab.

Odelia groans and rolls over, rubbing her head.

"Wakey wakey.  Eggs an' bac-y."  He looks her over.  "Some show you put on back there."

She squints up at him.  "Holy shit.  There really is a monkey."  She gets up on her knees.  "You got in my way."

"You got your ass kicked by a guy with a cattle prod and a guy with a fire extinguisher.  And they had meta back up.  Some orange guy I've never seen before."

Odelia is glaring at him now.  But she doesn't deny getting her ass kicked. "I coulda handled them."

Kevin sighs.  "Lots of questions I could ask.  Like do your teachers know about your extracurriculars."  Odelia starts at that.  But before she can ask how he knows about the school program, he keeps going.  "What I wanna know is how you got involved.  Why were you at that warehouse?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"Exactly what I was gonna ask you.  Look.  I'm not interested in doing the usual back an' forth. I'll just contact Gut Shot and ask her why you're involved in this."

Odelia flinches again. "You're fulla shit.  Your just some two-bit, sad-ass theme cowl."

Kevin pulls his cell out of a back pocket and waves it at her.  "And you're some stuck up princess in both a Party City outfit and a situation that's way over her head.  You got  somethin' to lose here.   Wanna bet I don't have Gut Shot on my contact list?"

Odelia growls and shuts her eyes.  "I read the papers an' saw the reports.  I started pokin' around the ERs and read the patient files."

Kevin whistles. "Violating confidential patient files."

"How'd you know I was in that program? Checkin' my Snapchats?"

Kevin laughs.  "Fair point.  Keep goin'.  After you checked the patient files..."

Odelia stands up, looking anywhere but at him.  "I checked around.  Couple of the patients worked at the same place.  I noticed a scent at their workplace I found at their homes."

Kevin nods slowly.  "So you found the connection to Anodyne Enterprises, huh?  Impressive."

Odelia looks at him when he says the company name.  "You know something."

"More than you will ever know. Now.  Here's the deal.  You will go home.  Straight home. I'm going to try to pick up some information from the mess that went down tonight.  And if you're a good little Party City princess, I'll cut you in.  But!"  He holds up a finger.  "You have to tell me everything you know.  Capice?"

"What's 'cap cheese'?"

"Italian for 'don't be a dumbass'.  Meet me here tomorrow.  Same time.  Otherwise..."  He shakes his cell phone again.  "Get outta here.  Go straight home."

Odelia waits long enough to give him another glare.  Then she's an eagle heading off into the air.

Jack schools his responses to the conversation so that he doesn’t even snort lightly or scoff at any of Odelia’s antics, or Kevin’s approach. He figures that Odelia might have all sorts of sensory advantages, so he basically just spends time staying out of her line of sight and then moving a bit further up when she takes off and seems inclined to start back toward Marcy Holmes.

He watches her for at least ten seconds before he descends. Figuring that she might double back so that she can get some dirt on Kevin.

It’s what he would do in her shoes. Some fairplay equal blackmail to keep him from having one over on her would be a smart move. Assuming he sees her off, he lands beside the truck and opens the door to the truck, sliding back in casually, he cleans the seat a few times with his palm before he sits.

“Doesn’t look like she got any wise ideas about tailing you. I’d have tailed you in that eagle form until you went to roost, or someone really vindictive might follow you until you’re doing some monkey business, wait for you to be fully invested, and then drop a dime on you,” he notes idly and rolls down the window so that some of the fresh fall air can help pull away whatever lingering capsaicin is in the vehicle. Then it occurs to him that he did do that: "Actually, that's sort of what we did that first night, isn't it? The blonde and I followed you to your truck. I read the insurance and registration in your glovebox."

Staring off into space for a moment, he looks off in the direction she’d went in, watching her for a bit longer.

“So, out of curiosity, the plastic bag thing, what’s that made out of? I’m curious how hard it’d be for me to rip one,” he asks, making idle conversation as they presumably take off again, headed toward wherever Cheeto has gone.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:47, Tue 10 Nov 2020.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 577):

Kevin just glances at you and shrugs about your recollection of that first meeting.  "If she wants to follow along, she can follow along.  She didn't ping me as the type I need to worry about attacking me.  She's hotheaded, but I think she's gonna feel so embarrassed over tonight...especially over being saved by THe Monkey..."  He waggles his eyebrows as he brings the trucks out of the alley.

"...that she's gonna go straight home, eat a bag of Doritos, and cuss me out until dawn.  Besides.  Just like you, she's already seen the truck.  And she'll have memorized my scent.  If she wants me, she can find me.  Things'll be more interesting if she actually tells Gut Shot or one of the others about tonight.  As long as she's scared of them finding out, she'll be cautious.  I think she's that smart at least."

He glances at you when you ask him about the bag.  "The choke sack?  I actually stole that off a' hood I beat up...what?  Last year?  A gimmicky guy who had all kinds a' super tough polymer stuff.  Here."  He manages to get it out of his pocket and hand it over.  "Have at.  He had a box of 'em which are currently on a shelf in my apartment.

You can tear it.  That's not a doubt.  But it does take some effort on your part.  Definitely tougher than bending steel.

Chester's signal heads towards the river.  There's a marina.  Kevin parks outside it and checks his phone.  <Brown>"He's on one a' the boats.  I'm gonna take a looksie, but I probably won't try to take him on here.  Coming?"

Listening to Kevin hash out his thoughts on the matter, he nods, that all seems to click with what he'd thought. No disagreements here. Taking the 'polymer sack' when it's offered up, he plays around with pulling at it. Trying to get a sense for what he might compare it to. "It's definitely stronger than steel," he remarks as he pulls it like taffy, not exactly grunting with effort but it isn't effortless either, like he imagines it must be for normal people and something like cotton candy.

The fact that it takes even the smallest of exertions makes it something remarkable. He rarely has to exert himself for anything.

"I wonder if the car guy has anything like this," he muses to himself.

Looking out of the windows of the car, he checks the river as well and then the houseboat. Giving it a nice thorough examination.

"Same reason I didn't go in at the warehouse. No suit. I need to stop sticking my nose into stuff until I have a proper mask. Anything goes wrong though, jump out a window or call for me and I'll help you, regardless," he mentions. "Just assume I'm listening to you."

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 579):

I am going to need a little bit of time for this next bit.  Lots of moving parts involved.  Will post a response tomorrow.  Thanks.

Kevin nods and jumps the fence around the marina.

You can see a few boats have people on it.  Looks like a couple of bachelors are living on their boats.  What looks like a dinner party is going on in another.

Chester is below deck on a boat named Is A Big One.  Cute.  Dick jokes for boat names.  He's on a laptop, entering codes into a cypher.

Kevin ninjas across the marina, leaping from dock to mast to anchor, until he finally comes up on the railing of Big One.  He glances around, then takes out a device.  It looks like a smaller version of his cell.  He fiddles with it a moment, frowns, and then switches it off, tucking it into his back pocket.

You may be wondering how deep his freaking pockets are.  The only thing he hasn't pulled out yet is a sofa.

He lightly sets foot on the deck, and then scampers over towards the wheelhouse.

Below, Chester stops what he's doing, frowns, and shuts off the laptop.  He starts to creep out of the room and up the gangway towards the deck.

Kevin is doing something by the wheel.  Looks like he's looking for the ship's registration or something.  He stops, nostrils flaring, and then he scuttles up onto the ceiling.

Chester comes up on deck.  He stands there in a pair of jeans and nothing else, looking like he's posing for a metaphile's muscle mag cover.  He turns his head slowly, scanning everything.  He starts towards the wheelhouse.

Kevin almost pulls it off.  His timing is just one second too early.  He flips out from under the roof, trying to catch Chester under the chin with a kick.  Chester hops back out of the way, and watches Kevin land on the roof of the wheelhouse.

The two study each other a moment.  Then Chester rushes forward.

He must be well insured, because he launches a haymaker that tears apart the wheelhouse structure like so much tissue paper.

Kevin leaps up and over, landing behind Chester.  His tail snakes out and wraps around Chester's ankle.

He tries to tug, but Chester seems ready.  He's braced himself, so the tug doesn't upend him.  Instead he grabs the tail and whips Kevin around by it.  He launches Kevin towards teh river.

Kevin mutters, "I...fuckin'...hate..."

The tail that betrayed him again shoots out, this time grabbing the railing.  Kevin springs back towards the boat, managing  to manuever himself so he lands feet first into Chester's gut.

Chester goes "Ghuwfff!" and steps back, the wind at least knocked out of him.

Kevin tumbles into a standing position.  He's back to his pockets again.  This time he pulls out what looks like a set of high techy looking brass knuckles.  He's also palmed some kind of small canister, no bigger than a forefinger.

"...when someone yanks on my tail..."

Kevin leaps forward, the hand with the brass knuckles raised to come down into Chester's face.

Chester braces, raising his hands to catch the hit.

Which doesn't come.  Kevin instead crouces midair, changing the trajectory of his jump so he'll probably land at Chester's feet.  With his free hand, he tosses that small canister into Chester's face.

The canister goes off, shooting out what you guess is pepper spray.  Chester steps back, gagging.

Meanwhile Kevin lands at Chester's feet.  He stands up quickly, delivering a beautiful upper cut with the brass knuckles, which seem to give off an electrical charge.

"DON'T FUCKING TUG ANOTHER GUY'S TAIL ASSHOLE!"

Chester seizes up from the shock and then lands on the deck with a solid WHUMP.

One of the bachelors has come out onto his deck.  The dinner party people are also looking out the windows and portholes to see what all the noise is about.

Kevin clicks his tongue, pocketing the knuckles.  He picks up the cannister and tosses it into the river.  Then he grabs Chester.  He frowns.

"Hey Dude.  You mind comin' to assist with a pickup?  This guy is heavy as anvils."

Getting out of the truck when they arrive at the marina, Jack settles on the hood and leans back onto his hands so that he can watch comfortably. Both feet moving up to rest on the front fender.

As he watches the fight he thinks about how impressive it is to see someone like Kevin in his element. There is a certain aspect of the Monkey’s powers that lend themselves to the uncanny agility, obviously, but there is some real skill there too. Like a Wuxia movie, but in real life. Even when Kevin is lobbed overboard by his tail, the youth only seems to be impressed.

Though he thinks that the Monkey might have lucked out there. Holding onto a guy by anything, with Cheeto’s clearly superior strength, would have been the play of the day. Once he had a handle to keep Kevin’s superior agility in check, it could have been lights out. Or at least, he’d think so, but perhaps Kevin is even tougher than he seems or Cheeto isn’t quite as strong.  Just a bystander’s assessment.

Hearing the request, he spares a glance around to make sure that nobody is watching, paying careful mind to the bachelors and party-goers. Rather than risk being spotted, he walks for a few steps to get into a good shadow and then zips the remaining distance on foot. Hopping up onto the Big One, he casually throws the orange man over his shoulder.

“Where you want him?” he asks.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 582):

Monkey glances around the marina.  "I need some time to check out this boat.  See if he's left anything that screams 'I can tell you what the hell is going on'. And I would guess the cops'll show up soon..."

He considers a moment and then grins evilly.  "Don't suppose you'd be willin' to take him on a little night cruise, wouldja?"  He looks up into the air over the river.

"If you hold him by the ankles and dangle him high up over the river, he shouldn't mess with you if he comes to.  I don't know how strong he is, but..."  He glances at the wheelhouse.  "I think he could survive a fall if you had to dump him.  I'll call my contact at the meta squad and tell 'em to send a boat.  When you hear the sirens, drop him in the river.  They can take it from there. And if he gets away..."

Kevin pulls out a small chip from his pocket o' wonders and leans down, nudging it into Chester's pants pocket.  "I can see where he goes again.  Snipe hunts.  At least half of my time is spent on snipe hunts."

He looks up at you.  "Your call.  If you can't, I can keep tabs on him until the coops show up.  But I'd really like to look around this boat."

Thinking about the “catch and release” aspect of the assignment, Jack gives it a little thought and then nods. He can do that before he heads home.

Aunt Marlene had pretty much accepted his night life at this point, which gave him a certain measure of latitude to do this sort of thing without worrying about how she might react. He still wouldn’t want to make her feel anxiety about it, but he also didn’t need to stress too much about it either.

“Hopefully next time you see me, I’ll have my cowl suit all squared and the business with joining the program also figured out,” he mentions the two contradictory points. Since they wouldn’t be seeing each other again this evening. “Anyway, see ya around.”

Looking up, he checks the area as he usually does and then shoots upward. Shifting the man so that he is holding him by the ankle, now a few miles above the river.  Floating near the clouds, he’s mindful of aircraft at this altitude, adjusting occasionally so that their approaches to the airport on the southwest side of town don’t intersect with his idle hovering.

With his spare hand, he reaches into his pocket and checks his cellphone. Idly browsing the internet while he waits for the police boat to show up to fish the man out of the water.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 584):

Lydia has texted.  Funeral today.  Feeling blue but Mom held up.  Should be back in school two days from now.  Can we meet for lunch?

Colby texted as well.  Have you done the assignment for Meta Studies yet?  I'm almost done but can't find squat on the Hollingsworth Decision.  Did you?

Hollingsworth was one of the Supreme Court decisions you guys had to summarize.  It set out the test for whether a State could require a non-powered individual to submit for meta testing.

"Are you really checking your messages while holding me upside down over the river?"

Chester has craned his neck so he's looking up at your nostrils.

You don't hear the sirens yet.

What day is it? My gut tells me it’s Thursday or Friday, but it gets hard to remember when you don’t need to keep track for a dozen posts across a few weeks.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 586):

Yeah.  It does get confusing.  I was ticking this off as a Wednesday.  Let's call it that.

On Friday? Sure.

Jack thinks about Colby's question and after a moment of searching his memory, he sends him a swiftly typed URL for a website that will have a more in depth answer and then refers him to the tiny blurb in the textbook on page 284. He's also surprised that wikipedia doesn't have a blurb, but he'd never checked.

Without looking down, Jack answers: "Yep, just finished." And puts his phone away, perhaps feeling a bit self-conscious for doing it, but also because it probably lights up his face ever so faintly in the sky. Not enough for anyone to spot with a naked eye, but enough that it might be noticed.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 588):

"Well I'm very sorry to have interrupted your fuckin' snap chats.  Or are you instagraming?"

He hasn't tried to bend at his hips to bring himself into a better position to see you.  It may be he figures you'll drop him if he does.

"You aren't one of those kids.  And you damn sure ain't no monkey.  Who the hell are you?"

Jack snorts a little at the joke. Instagram. As if his mother ever would have let him get away with providing a thousand pictures of his face to commercial intelligence services. "Oh you know, selfies at seventeen thousand feet. Just one of those Millennial things," he replies. Not really feeling the need to impress Chester Cheetah.

Even as he thinks about the other man, it occurs to him that he doesn't have a name for him.

"What are you called anyway?" he asks. Not that he expects he should ever run into the guy again.

Shifting them up a few hundred feet down when he realizes that the man could just do a crunch and get a shadowy gander at his face, he promptly lets go of the guy's ankle. Spins around it in a circle and then grasps it again. Now the man would only be able to bend up and look at the back of his head.

Jack is indifferent if the guy wants to try something. The worst he can probably do is mess with his clothing.

As to the question about him, he shrugs, though the gesture is clearly lost. "Honestly, you not knowing who I am is the goal. I prefer to do my work quietly and efficiently," he answers.

Maybe that'd be how he'd work as his Cowl personality. Never announce a name. Never use his heat vision, keep his speed at a more reasonable rate. That way he wouldn't as easily be connected to his Titan-Cape personality.

Maybe?

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 590):

"Whoa!  Easy there fella...durn kid..."

Chester sighs.  "Horace.  I don't use one of those crap fake names.

"Lissen.  We could do the whole routine.  But you obviously have...whatever is on that phone goin' on.  And me, I'm just hanging around.  So.  Just to get it off the table, you wouldn't consider taking some money or something for letting me go wouldja?"

"Total freedom for money? No."

Jack thinks about the offer. Not the actual offer, because he isn't that sort of guy. But he might think about giving the guy a chance, if he has some sort of information about the exploding people. They don't need to move for any reason at the moment, so he's just sort of casually holding Horace by the ankle while staring off into space. Thoughtfully watching the late night traffic and people around the bars in the downtown area.

"But if you're willing to talk and I mean really talk, I think maybe I'd be willing to get the Monkey on the phone and he can make a decision about how to handle you," he decides.

Even as he says that, he sends a tentative text to the Monkey. Seeing if the cowl has any interest in asking questions of the hood.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 592):

"Information?  About what exactly?  I gotta lotta irons in the fire as of late..."

Kevin is pretty quick to respond.  He must be a fast heal.  Wasn't expecting that.  Cops should ETA in two minutes.

If you want, give him a minute to talk and if he says something interesting, let him go.  If he can outswim the cops, he can make a break for it.  I will still track him.

Hell.  He'll prob get away from them anyway.

I will need to know what you ask Chester specifically

Jack, hearing the response answers even as he reads the text: "Well, for starters verify for me who you were working for, and what were you doing at the facility just now?" he keeps the question sort of vague on purpose. By being vague, he'd deprive Horace of the knowledge of what Jack knows or doesn't know. For all Horace knows, he knows everything and just wants corroboration and to connect a few dots.

Jack sends back a text.

Okay.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 594):

Horace sighs.  "I was hired to keep an eye on those guys.  The ones who were unloading the trucks.  No, I don't know what they were unloading.  Assumed it was some biohazard stuff.  But that's not my business.  I was just supposed to make sure they got the stuff delivered and take care of any capes or cowls that showed up.  We both know how that worked out for me.

"I was hired by a guy callin' himself MOTT HU SHU.  But since that's an anagram, I'm guessin' that wasn't his real name.  Call me silly for thinkin' so."

He sighs.  "I was gonna get more work outta this guy if tonight went well.  But guess that's down the drain.  Shit. I'm late on my boat note too."

Listening to Horace, Jack thinks about whether that's enough, doesn't really feel like it's quite enough. "Anagram for," he pauses, scrambling the letters around into a few dozen combinations of nonsense, trying to make the name 'Tom' fit, but unless the guy's name is Japanese it'd be weird. Only after a few more tries, taking less time than one might think, he says, "Ah, 'mouth shut.' Or shut mouth and he was trying to send a message, either way."

A pause.

"Unless Mouth Shut is some sort of name for a guy who operates on the DL, which fits too," he muses aloud.

Looking down toward the ground, he starts to lower them both. Descending at a decent clip.

"Where did you meet with this person?" he asks as they fly.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 596):

Horace sighs, tilting his head to look at the approaching river.

"There's a bar.  Well.  A titty bar.  Clanky's.  Lots of hoods and goons pick up work there."