Hearing about the strip-joint, Jack actually smirks. He might have to help Kevin with that one. But mostly just because he finds the mental image hilarious. Lowering them down to just a few hundred feet off the Mississippi, he turns in a slow lazy circle as he checks how much longer he'll need to wait.

"Anything else? What did Shut Mouth look like?" Jack asks, just picking one of the options and going with it while he waits for the police to come.

While he waits, he goes over his plans for the rest of the week.

• All caught up in school, extended papers are done. Just daily homework.
• Lunch with Lydia on Friday.
• Go see an instructor with the program. Already have an address.
• Get suit from Ooter.

It wasn't much. He also had all of the outstanding cases he wanted to investigate, but which were either going to require a lot more hands-on or resources he doesn't have.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 598):

Horace is good at sighing.  He does that a lot.  "Nothing special honestly.  Brown hair an' eyes.  Usual build.  He was wearing one of those fuzzy pull over knit caps.  Had a big red pom pom at the top of it.  Really.  Like a big red nose."

He looks back at you as best he can.  "So?  This the part where you drop me?"

A message comes through from Ooter.  Your suit is ready.

I will let you pick which thread you want to follow at the moment.  You have a bunch of them.  Let me know if you want me to pick at one.  Thanks

ETA on the cops?

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 600):

You can hear what sounds like boats coming up the river.  Glancing that way, you can see two patrol boats speeding upstream.  They should arrive in two minutes.

There are patrol cars turning off the highway now.  They should be here about the same time.

Jack shakes his head, though Horace can't see it. "Not yet, you have powers, fifteen seconds head start should be enough. I don't think you gave me enough to let you walk, but you gave enough to warrant a head start, and with your powers you should be able to run away. That said, if you turn and attack the cops I'm going to drop on you like a ton of bricks," he explains idly while he waits for the last minute. Getting down nearer the water, he gets somewhat nearish to the shore and waits for the boat and cars to be about thirty seconds away.

Then starts to count it down. Picturing the fall time to the water, he times it as best he can so that they are about ten seconds away. Finally in line of sight, perhaps so that the boats can put a spot light on the water when he drops Horace into it.

"Good luck," he calls down as he lets go, and darts upwards.

Headed off toward the Auto-Zone to pick up his suit.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 602):

"Aaaaasssshaaaaattttt..." Horace manages before he hits the water.  You watch.  The police boats zero in on the splash.  Horace tries to swim for it, but it seems the cops came with a couple of powered battle suits.  Horace realizes he's in too tight a hole being stuck in the middle of the Mississippi.  He gives up.

---

Ooter nods as you watch your reflection in the mirror.  The suit fits like a second skin.  Maybe a little too much so in certain areas.

"You want me to make the crotch less...pronounced?" Ooter asks.  He gestures at the flying orb that had delivered the costume to you.  "If so, strip and put it back in the assitbot.  It will just take a few minutes to alter.

"You given any more thought to my offer?"

Jack is indifferent to the result of the drop. He'd known that Kevin would have made the best of the guy running away, and at the same time, the guy would have just been caught later. On the other hand, the guy was tangentially helping with turning people into living bombs. So, well, screw that guy.

Flying off across town, he keeps his elevation relatively low so that he isn't picked up by radar and fast enough that he will be difficult to track by eye in the faint twilight of the ambient light pollution of the town.

Circling the area around the Auto-Zone once, he lands out of the way. Roughly the same spot as before, and heads in.

A few minutes later..

Checking out the suit, he turns side to side. He does note that the crotch is tight, but he isn't sure it's so noteworthy he needs to adjust it. But when he realizes that Ooter has noticed it, he nods his head and puts the suit back in the 'assitbot.'

"How you been, Ooter?" he asks while he waits for the suit to be worked on. Truly impressed with the alien's technology.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 604):

Humpin' it to make a living.  It's kinda funny.  I have the tech to overthrow the government.  Not that I would," he adds hastily.  Then goes back to fiddling with some controls.

"...But I have that kinda tech.  And I'm having to sell spare parts for machines that humans should have outdeveloped fifty years ago.  Go fig."

He glances at you.  "What about you?  You a crash land like me?  Or are you just slumming it on Earth?"

Jack crosses his arms over his chest while he waits, standing there in his boxer-briefs and tee. He nods at the man’s explanation about overthrowing anything, and just nods. He imagines there are any number of beings, alien or otherwise, which could become a serious headache for any government. “I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of people with stacks of cash coming around to buy suits then?” he questions amiably as he once again turns his attention toward the other alien tech in the room.

He has an instinct to want to suggest the alien-man starts some sort of tech company and slowly start releasing upgrades to technology, since apparently people like his father haven’t bothered to capitalize on their knowhow and are hoarding their technology. But he suspects that Ooter knows things that he doesn’t.

“I have to ask, why not just start a company with a trusty front-man to act as your public persona, and start upgrading all the technology? Start a car company that’s 10 years ahead of everyone else, and just keep upgrading? I assume that for an alien that’s tough, but I have to wonder why other super-geniuses aren’t doing it. It seems simple enough, sell a few design upgrades for 1.1 level technology to get a starter fund, and then use that money to start selling your own 1.2 and then 1.3 in short order until you dominate the market with superior products made using .. I don’t know, super tech? Robots and fusion reactors so that your construction costs are basically nothing?” he reasons.

The question about him, and the assumption, makes him smirk.

“I was born and raised here. I don’t know if I have any non-human DNA, since my parents are both mad-scientist sorts, so I won’t claim I’m entirely human, but as far as I’m aware I am, and I don’t intend to let anyone test me to verify otherwise,” he mentions.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 606):

"Oh no.  There's very few that make their way here.  I have to be careful in my clientele too. That's one reason I'll never work for hoods.  They'd draw too much attention once they get busted.  And they always get busted, don't they?"

He sighs when you ask about the company.  "It's kind of the same reason I just told you.  Making too much of a show gets you on the Government's radar.  I've heard...stories.  About what happened to 'friendly ETs' who volunteered tech or information.  They don't tend to be pretty stories.  And I've no interest in being cut up in Area 51, you know?"

He frowns when you talk about not being tested.  Sitting back, Ooter sighs.  "Uh...well.  In interest of honesty...you have been.  My equipment scans your genetics as part of the suit building process.  Sorry.  I didn't really think about it."  He taps the screen in front of him.  "Once I'm done modifying the suit, I can delete the files related to it if you like."

Jack thinks about it. "I suppose the trick is to find a person you can trust to represent you as a figurehead? Or joining a group, maybe? Like, if you joined GuardStar as a tech guru, would the government ever be crazy enough to grab you?" he questions, just throwing it out there, since it's an interesting topic of discussion.

Hearing that his DNA was scanned, he thinks about the symbols he'd seen on the alien's testing device the other day and realizes that it sort of clicks as an explanation for all that data.

"Yes, please, but something about that scan made you think I wasn't terrestrial?" he questions.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 608):

Ooter both nods and shakes his head.  "You have human DNA, but it's more like a base."

He touches a screen a couple of times and then flips it around so you can see it.  There's a mock up of some DNA strands.  At a glance, you can tell it appears to be two sets of strands:  one that seems typical human.  The other has chains you haven't seen before.

"I'm not a geneticist myself.  Well.  I'm not a skilled geneticist.  But if I had to guess...your gene map had another map spliced into it.  Whether its the human or the ET that's the base, I can't say.  But you are a mish mash.  How that came about...well.  There are a few dozen ways to go about it."

He shrugs.  "Sorry.  Best I can tell you."  He points at the screen.  "You want a download of the results before I wipe them?"

Tracing the display with his eyes, Jack considers everything in turn and makes a gesture with his hands like he intends to put his hands into his pockets and then remembers that he's standing there in his boxers and so instead just puts them on the nearest surface. For something to do with them, when he realizes he has been standing still like a statue.

He knows consciously that Ooter knows what he is better than most, but he has been subconsciously trained. To always be trying to emulate the natural behaviors of normal people who have the idle motions and small tics. Without the small tics, people appear strange in a way that is difficult to pin down.

"Interesting," Jack says, sort of curious about it. He suspects that his parents had done more than mingle a few genetic codes to create him, but he'd never heard it explained in detail. He suspects, at present, that it's a combination of a dozen tricks and just the right materials, and probably a good deal of circumstance making everything line up in the melting pot. Otherwise there would be more beings like him out there, and if there were, they'd be known. The odds that all of them were raised with a natural inclination to be secretive and to appear as normal as possible as much as possible seems remote. "Sure, a copy might be illuminating someday."

"Do you know what the other base might be from?" he inquires.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 610):

Ooter flips the screen back around so he can see it and taps it a few more times.  He studies the results that pop up.

"No.  Sorry.  I lost a lot of my science library when my ship crashed.  I can tell you that you aren't a member of my race, you are not Plutonian, and you are not of the 1422.  Which covers a lot of the known races.

"I'll tell you this.  And it is only partly in an effort to interest you in the deal from before.  The US government keeps a large database of all alien interactions.  I know it includes genetic libraries.  And those libraries should be accessible from the FBI's in house computer. It's a closed network. You won't be able to hack into it.  Believe me.  I've tried.  You have to go in and set at the interface module to access it."

He shrugs.  "Does it really matter?  At the end of the day, aren't you you?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:58, Tue 08 Dec 2020.

“A second reason to try to get access, I suppose,” Jack speculates aloud when Ooter mentions who might have access to a database on that sort of thing. Though he has to imagine it isn’t entirely closed circuit, otherwise it’d have to be trucked around the country with every small update, right? He shrugs a little internally and in the end, ends up simply agreeing, “Yeah, I’m not curious because I think it’ll change anything, more because it’s a strange curiosity. I’ve long accepted that I’m not normal.”

Out of curiosity though, he is curious to talk about the other aliens while they wait for his suit to cook the changes.

“So, what are the 1422?” he asks.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 612):

Ooter blinks and then nods. "Oh.  Right.  You're local.

"The 1422 are the name for a...I guess the best analogy for you would be Star Trek's Federation.  They're an alliance of sorts between a number of different races.  They've tried to invade Earth...what?  Twenty seven times now?

"Anyway.  They always get beaten back.  Usually by some meta team.  But most of the ETs on Earth hitched a ride here on some 1422 cruiser.  I'm one of the exceptions.  My race and they don't get along."

Anything else for your boy Oot?

For the next while, Jack asks questions about things like Plutonians, the most dangerous species that Ooter can think of, and a dozen other random things a curious person might ask of an alien with an open mind for sharing things. It's not like Ooter needs to get back to his job running the auto parts shop.

When he inevitably starts to get the impression, whenever it happens, that Ooter might not be enjoying the questions that continue to spill from the curious teenager, he shifts the topic to something more pertinent.

"So, what would it take to get your ship flight worthy again?" Jack asks. "Exotic materials? Expertise?"

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 614):

Ooter blinks and then laughs.  "Ah yes.  The dream of flight.

"I guess you could say 'exotic'.  My ship's propulsion tech is biological.  My engines died on impact, literally.  I can't grow any new ones without changing the entire planet's atmo.  Which I'm not willing to do for obvious reasons.  Besides..."

He sits back in his chair.

"Let's just say I have reasons not to be in too big a rush to get back home.  For now, Earth is sort of a vacation spot."

He shrugs.  "You gotta admit. Earthlings are never boring."

We can move on to the next day! Thanks!

Chester in jail.  Sure he'll escape.  They all do.

Nothing on boat.  He was probably a contractor.  I am going to meet up w/Party City and check out one of Anodyne's labs.  If you wanna bounce, meet up in that alley we took her too at 9.

Thanks again. Ciao

You flip off the cell and glance up.  Lydia waves as she heads down the hallway.

The two of you give each other googly eyes and chat about nothing at all as you head into the caf and through the lunch line.  She gets a grilled ham and cheese with a salad.  Also a pcak of Nutter Butter cookies.  And of course a nice, refreshing Fresca to wash it all down with.

She sits at the table and smiles, brushing the hair away from her face.  "I'm really glad to see ya.  This week...it's been nuts.  My mom's real sad of course.  But the shock has worn off some.  I'm gonna hang at home this weekend.  But if you wanted to do lunch Sunday, I'd be cool with that.

"How're you doin'?  Anything...going on?"

She says that last vague enough you are guessing she's asking about the meta stuff without actually asking about it.

Of note: based on the response from Kevin, one might assume this was already assumed to have happened, but if not, Jack had sent a message to the Monkey after he'd dropped Horace into the Miss. The message containing all of the pertinent details.

In response to the text, he sends back a simple: Don't expect me, but possible.

Waving at Lydia, he holds out a hand for her to take while they walk.

Damn Fresca!

He gets an identical meal, if only so that he doesn't need to debate about which of the cafeteria meals is going to be the least offensive. The grilled cheese is hard to mess up, and the cookies are prepackaged. The salad is a bit predictable, since its made for 100+ students in giant batches, but not bad too.

Sitting opposite her he listens attentively. "Glad to see you too. I'm going to be talking to someone about the after school program today, my aunt has given her general approval," he answers. "Other than that, nothing too daring or outlandish. As indestructible as always." He says most of this in the open because unless one understands he is speaking literally, or talking about 'the program' it's all just general jokes and common turns of phrase.

Eating his sandwich, he stares off into space as he thinks about it.

"Sunday should be fine, I'll let you know as soon as I can if it'll be an issue, but my instinct tells me that shouldn't be a problem. Same goes for you, as always."

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 618):

Sorry.  Was trying to write Kevin's text using info he could know even if you hadn't reported anything to him (he'd know Horace went to jail, etc.).  May not have thought that through as well as I thought I had though.  Will watch it in the future.  Thanks

Lydia nods.  "Just...be careful.  I don't really know what to think about this kinda stuff.  But I'm sure you'll do great at it.  You're you after all."  She chuckles, then goes back to picking at her salad.

You can tell her heartbeat is increasing and her body temperature is rising a bit.

"So...uh...I know it's kinda a dumb thing.  But...well...Homecoming is coming up...and I was wondering if...well...what you might have planned...you know...for it..."

No worries boss! I realized I should point it out after you had him text.

“I assumed because we are dating that we were going together,” Jack answers the question with a grin and finishes off his sandwich, wiping at the corners of his mouth and hands with his napkin. Getting the grease from the grilled ham and cheese off of his fingers.  He then realizes that he should have been a bit less cavalier about it, even though it just makes him seem confident.

Focusing on his mental faculties, he gives himself a bit of a mental timeout to keep his emotions in check so that he can continue to be “cool” as he usually is.

Once he’s back in control, he smiles at her, “Lydia Holcomb, would you do me the honor and make me the luckiest boy at Edison, and be my girlfriend slash date for future dances until we stop being together?” he asks with a smile on his face.

There, he seemed cool.

Hopefully it's not too soon to ask about being his girlfriend. It hasn't been too long, but it's not like we're obligating anything to each other at this stage. No keys being exchanged, she isn't leaving a toothbrush at his house. It's a titular agreement so that they can claim a sort of social ownership. She can tell people they're together, and he can do the same.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 620):

Lydia blushes right down to the roots of her hair.

"You...you're so corny..."  She can't meet your eye for a moment.  Obviously she's quite happy with the formal invitation.

She coughs to clear her throat, takes a sip of delicious Fresca, and nods.  "I would be honored to accept your invitation Mr. Sharpe."

She giggles and looks at her plate.  "Thanks. I appreciate that."  She mumbles that.

Lydia looks up.  "I can't wait."

She picks up her fork to start up again on her salad.  "And just so you know, this Sunday is my treat.  No arguments."

As she says this, you see something.  Dan Cabrazzi is talking to Ronald Harbor.  Well.  Not 'talking' so much as grabbing Ronald by the shirt and leaning close.

Dan is pissed.  His heart rate is up and his free hand is clenching in a fist.  He gets in Ronald's face and says, low but very pointedly,  "Don't fuck with me.  You know what I can do.  Get.  It.  Done."

“I’ve been known to be fairly corny,” Jack agrees with a smirk and smiles more fully when she agrees, it was a small possibility that she’d decline. Extending his hand across the table to put his hand on hers for a few seconds of nearness. He nods at her proclamation about Sunday being her treat, and doesn’t disagree. In hindsight, perhaps he should start making an effort to get a car and a proper license. He doesn’t imagine it’ll be too difficult.

"You'll have to let me know where we're going."

He’d just need it for social outings, like the one on Sunday. Something he can take others around in, when he isn’t traveling personally. Or then again, if he’s maintaining a secret identity, he can’t just fly to work everyday. People would notice. He could say he walks, but it’d only really work with a job in near proximity or people would struggle to believe it during the winter.

Looking past her, he frowns slightly at the encounter between Dan and Ronald.

I know I could get there with speed. But without it, how far away are those two?