The Ballad of the Grey Marshall

February 20, 2016:

The Titans and Grey find themselves in the midst of a reality-warping bubble. Metropolis is now a Spaghetti Western town, and there's a gunfight waiting to happen!

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: The Ballad of Marshall McLuhan


Fade In…

There is a reason why most people tend to do their shopping in Metropolis over, say, New York or Gotham: villainy tends to be slightly lower in Metropolis due to the presence of the Man of Steel. While it is true that during the hero's unexplained absence, crime had a noticeable spike, images of his recent return had served as a great deterrent. Metropolis, of the three cities, tended to be the more relatively safe choice.

"—This is going to be just an intimate affair, right?" Vorpal says to Changeling as they head out of a department store, Bunker in tow. "The huge festivity with gaggles of guests have a tendency to drive people psychotic. And I'm already halfway there with three voices in my head."

Relatively safe, yes. This Sunday is a Sunday like any other, with large groups of people moving to and fro, enjoying what is left of their free time before returning to work on Monday… those who don't have to work on Sunday, that is.

There is an occasional glimmer here and there- the kind of wavering that occurs when the temperature is too hot and radiating from the pavement in waves of heat, but the weather is all wrong for that optical illusion: it's still spring and still far too cool for such a thing to be. Nevertheless, it's there- flickering occasionally out of the corner of one's eye.

Dusty is out and about in the shopping areas, but not particularly browsing. He's more of a 'find the goal and buy it,' and has been emptyhanded for a while. Shopping, blah. He's dressed warmly, particularly covered in his usual 'I am clearly not nor have I ever been a celebrity' hat and glasses and collared coat. He's walking at a rapid clip past several shops before turning to look up at signs, not entirely sure where the store he's looking for is located. The slight shimmers in the air aren't noticed yet, he's too closed into his own world of feeling like crap about more than just shopping.

Bunker has a small brick platform floating along with them, holding various boxes and bags - no tugging upteen bags for him! - and staying about a foot off the ground. "Relax; you'll barely be the only people there," he smiles as he walks along, the cowled boy checking to make sure nothing has fallen off or out behind them.

"Far as I know nobody knows where we're having it done, except obviously not in Kentucky," Gar replies. "I mean, how many people will fit into the office of a Justice of the Peace anyway? It's not like we're having a priest, young or old, and we're only inviting the witnesses."

This is because the happy event in question is one that would attract not just the crazies of the world, the Westboros and their ilk, but also the other crazies; the Mallahs and Brains, the Mad Hatters, the many many ill-wiishers who might choose to take the opportunity to wish a short, brief future filled with unhappiness to the celebrants. So, no, not open to the public, not even to family (mostly) except those who are there as witnesses.

Gar looks at the entrance to a sporting goods store. Not for costumes, he doesn't actually wear spandex, he wears something much more complicated. No, he's thinking of replacing some hardware.

So he just nods to Bunker, and doesn't notice the man stopping abruptly in front of them, at least not consciously; he avoids colliding, but that makes him look directly AT the shimmering weirdness.

"Huh. You don't see that every day."

"What's that?" Vorpal asks, noticing Gar's glance. The three of them are attracting their good share of glances- it's not uncommon to see superheroes in Metropolis, but usually they don't go around doing ordinary things like shopping… unless, of course, they can't help it. In Changeling's case, he's the epitome of the phrase It Ain't Easy Being Green- so he could wear whatever he wanted to but his identity would still be visible to the public, with the notable exception of… say, a burqa.

To his side, Vorpal suffers from a similar condition- that of being an anthropomorphic feline, and purple, half of the time. Bunker? Well, he doesn't have an excuse. He probably just likes showing off because his outfit is that cool… or maybe he's showing solidarity with his fellow no-secret-identity Titans.

He probably's just a showoff.

Soon, Vorpal is able to see what has caught Gar's attention. Soon, everybody can because the shimmers and wavering become more and more prevalent until there is no chance of actually ignoring it. The civilians notice it and start wondering aloud, some of them stopping dead on their feet-

*POP*

*POP POP POP*

That's the sound of the sports store changing before Gar's eyes. It changes into a wooden building, very reminiscent of something Pecos Bill might have stumbled into. The words "SALOON" painted in curly writing on its sign, obligatory swinging doors slightly askew from years of abuse.

The situation is spreading across the street, too- buildings changing, the road becoming dirt instead of asphalt, and people suddenly finding themselves sitting on the dirt instead of driving their fancy cars.

"… I'm not doing this!" Vorpal says as a quick disclaimer, because he's usually the first suspect when something chaotic is going down. "… but this isn't an illusion." He knows because he can feel things changing on a fundamental level. "It's just this area, though…"

By the time he has said this, most of the street resembles something straight out of a movie set- a bona fide western.

Bunker whirls around as things /change/ and immediately rises a few feet into the air on a seperate brick platform forming under his booted feet - "Did… we time-travel, or shift into another dimension?" he says, looking around, concerned.

Dusty stops. Because. What.

He isn't alone; other shoppers react the same way, turning to stare about, up at the signs. And then start to … hurry to leave, rushing down the streets to try to get out of this place. Because nothing ever good comes of something as unique as this. Dusty isn't really interested in hanging out to see if there's a shoot-out either, but slows upon seeing the obviously costumed trio - interested to see if they'll do something to handle this, or what.

Gar frowns, sniffing the air. This is … not normal. There are too many scents that don't belong. Yeah, the smell of fear from people who are suddenly in a dirt road which (given the horses) should have horse droppings in them but somehow it doesn't; the fact that the horses don't have flies around them, and aren't spooked by suddenly appearing people. The western theme that looks more like a television set than a real place — the temperature being too balmy.

"Yeah. It's real but it's not. Like the time on Space Trek with the planet of the Westerns. Watch out for Calamity Jane," Gar says.

He looks to see how far the reality warp extends — is Metropolis visible if you look further down the street? But he doesn't expect it to be. And it'll be a good thing to start helping people … they might begin freaking out any minute. Although, this IS Metropolis, and like New York, the denizens have well-honed survival skills.

Gar Logan rolls 2 on 1d20.

Dusty rolls 11 on 1d20.

Bunker rolls 12 on 1d20.

The little town stands out like a sore thumb in the middle of colorful desert. Too colorful, really, the rocks and cacti apparently designed for visual appeal rather than realism. Vorpal quickly mobilizes to help people out of their predicament and get them out of the way of the horses.

That's when the two gangs appear. It's almost beautifully choreographed- a gaggle of men wearing black pile out of one of the buildings at the far end of the street, and a gaggle of men in brown and white do the same at the other end. Even at a considerable distance, the look of animosity they share could very well singe the air. Gloved hands hover near silvery guns (silvery?) and their holsters, and there's a hint of a breeze picking up.

"Guys," Vorpal says, hastily grabbing an elderly woman to guide her into one of the buildings, "Unless I'm genre-blind…"

And that's when people start turning. The woman Vorpal is holding suddenly finds her clothing changed to that of a Madam. A rather old Madam, at that, but nevertheless- "Unhand me! Why I oughta!" she starts hitting Vorpal with her fan, "Wait 'til I tell the Sheriff about this!"

The cheshire cat manages to duck away behind Bunker, when a *POP* nearby distracts him.

"Gar, what was…"

And Garfield Logan is no longer wearing his purple-and-white quasi-spandex. No siree. He has a gun. He has a holster.

He's also wearing all black.

"… Oh $*(@#@#$@!"

The first shots come from the other end of the street, aimed at the opposite gang. People scream and duck into buildings.

"Vorpal! What's going on?!" Bunker yells, even as he tries to form up brick walls on either end of the street, hoping to wall off what looks like a massive shootout about to happen. He holds out arms both ways, concentrating on forming and manipulating his psionic constructs. "I have no idea if this will work - things.. don't look right," he calls down. Then he doubletakes. "Madre! Look after Changeling!" he yells.

Dusty isn't a Titan, and isn't in special cool outfit (well, not yet), to be a hero OR one of the apparitions. Are they illusion? Dusty stares in concern at a few young men near him, who not long before reverted into what is probably some townsfolk. No, definitely: one has on a blacksmith apron, the other is polishing a glass… tavern guy, obviously. "Looks like y'all should get inside," Dusty suggests to them in a wonderful southern tone, opting to look after the few people near him… because it's the right thing to do. He's not a 'Hero' but it's still a good idea to get people to safer locations.

Wait what??? Gar is still green. And is wearing black. And he's not in control. Because down the street, those bastard Cano Brothers and their friends the Burton Boys, especially that unwashed skinny twerp Jacob Spareo. Gar knew that he needed to shoot that one first before he pulled off some new stupid trick. But the rest of his boys, the Black Shirts, they weren't in position yet, the Canos and the Burtons almost outnumbered them. Bastards. He did a rolling dive, spurs spinning as he came up into position behind the water trough, so he had cover and a clear line to aim down. If he was lucky they didn't see him yet. The rest of his Black Shirts were scattering to cover themselves.

Too bad about the townfolk, but maybe those two purple folk an' that stranger would get 'em to safety before the Burtons spotted 'em — them Burtons kept a bet goin' about how many innocent bystanders they could shoot up.

This was bad. Gar couldn't be trusted, that only left two Titans… and that bystander trying to convince the folk into buildings. However, the power of curiosity is the greatest power in the world and many of them aren't moving fast enough. "Bunk, keep those walls up! "

But the bullets were taking huge chips off the walls. This should not be happening, as Bunker's bricks are more than resilient. It's almost as if something is resisting intervention. Soon, there will be no walls and the two gangs will be able to shoot at each other without restraint.

"Change of plans: let's get people off the street before we do ANYTHING! "

Vorpal joins Dusty in trying to persuade people. They succeed, only to find that the doors… won't open. they don't even budge, as if they're not meant to open!
"The hell is going on here?" the Cheshire yells.

Dusty rolls 17 on 1d20.

Dusty pushes on the door some, trying the knob, pulling it off in his hand by accident. Uh. It's… false? What on earth? Dusty glances around briefly and then casually leans on the door with a shoulder… and gives it a 'nudge' when nobody's looking. Meaning, one with some super strength behind it that makes a hole. "Oh look, it opened," Dusty says vaguely, dunking through into the strange place beyond to check what's inside. He pats his hands over his clothes and his hat, to brush off the dust and particles from the hole. It's hollow, dirt floor, like an unfinished false building. Better than nothing, though. He'll usher and encourage the poor people to shelter there in the 'abandoned building'.

Gar narrows his eyes, counting the separate whistling noises his men make as each one finds cover. All in place? Good.

"GIVE IT UP NOW, DIRK CANO. AIN'T NO WAY YOU'RE GONNA GET OUT OF THIS ONE!" he yells, and when one of the Cano boys whips his gun out, Gar squeezes the trigger and the man is thrown back by the bullet in his shoulder. He falls in slow motion like it was a dream, and Gar pulls his head below the rim of the water trough as two of the Canos - Dirk and Chase - start moving toward cover of their own. The Burton boys are slinking like weasels along the street, too.

Bunker nods quickly to Vorpal as he sees his walls begin to crumble. Blocks of bricks form under townspeople, shifting them to the side, pushing them into doorways, liftnig them to rooftops. Shaking with the concentration of maintaining so many forms, Bunker's own platform fades, and he drops a few feet to the ground. "Ugh.. I.. think.. have them all?"

The Cano boys have more than sharpshooters to worry about. "Runaway coach!" comes the cry- and indeed, there's a stagecoach barreling down the street. The gangs part like water before Moses as it barrels down, and as it passes it is easy to see what's going on: the bandits have taken over the stagecoach. Inside the coach there's a man fighting futilely against one of the thieves, until he gets pistol-whipped into submission.

"Bunker- the coach!" Vorpal shouts, before throwing himself on the ground as the two gangs resume their shooting. This isn't going well at all. And someone's whistling in the background. Who the hell whistles in the middle of a fight?

Bunker and Dusty's combined efforts have managed to get people off the street, at least- but there's something that Dusty will notice, having the benefit of currently not being belly-down on the ground like Vorpal:

The second floor of one of the nearby buildings? It doesn't look Old West at all. It looks rather modern, even- what little can be seen of its interior. Nobody else seems to have noticed it yet, though- Vorpal is crawling along the ground towards where Gar is, with the intent of trying to wrestle him down… he had tried to cast some barrier constructs to shield them, but the bullets went through the constructs as they did with Bunker's walls. That shouldn't be happening!

GAME: Vorpal has set the pose order to Vorpal Dusty Bunk Gar

Finally getting those people inside … err, the hole, Dusty climbs back out, and tries to… make sense of all of this madness. The cowboys all over the place… what should even be done? He ends up squatting in that doorway. He's no hero, not a Titan… maybe the Titans will take care of it. Isn't that what they do? He looks around for them, catching sight of where the purple cat one is crawling, and Gar seems … mesmerized by the event. Should he help? Dusty's torn. It isn't clear what's best to do, though spotting that strange, out of place second floor, he squints at it, removing his sunglasses, trying to see if there's any movement there.

"On it!" Bunker says, leaping onto a platform he forms and dropping off onto the stagecoach. A massive blocky fist forms over his own and he punches through the stagecoach to grab the gunfighter and toss him off the coach. Then: there is the problem of stopping said runaway coach. He throws out his arms, and dozens of small bricks begin to form, pop pop pop poppop POPOPOPOPOPOP, and they are the soft squichy kind. They pile up as the coach plows into the mass, slowing it and slowing it until it careens to a bumpy stop off to the side of the street, Bunker still on top of it. Whew.

"Who the heck is whistling?" the cowled boy says.

"Get down!" Gar yells at the purple striped Easterner. He yanks the dude down next to him behind the trough, "You wanna get shot or somethin'? Them Burtons is dead shots."

The runaway stage has distracted the Canos, and Gar gets a quick glance over the top of the trough. He looks at where the sneaky Spareo has moved up the side and is getting WAY too close, and he fires off a shot with his left hand that hits one of the Cano cousins in the leg, taking him out of the fight, and then a ricochet shot off the lamp hanging in front of a store and from there off the frying pan hanging in front of the Laramie Cafe pings down and hits the Spareo brother in the arm, taking him out of things for a moment. Gar drops back down below the rim.

"You gotta be more careful!"

"Gar, you're not thinking st-" Vorpal sighs. There's no reasoning with his fiance for as long as he's under this spell, or whatever it is. The best way around this is to dig into the plot and twist it, somehow. "I mean, your boys can take care of themselves- those guys are planning to set fire to the church down that way!" Vorpal says, pointing down the street, "You gotta keep 'em safe! Give me your gun, I'll cover ya!"

The whistling? Dusty and Bunker may notice it seems to emanate from that room on the second storey. In fact, if our heroes look close enough, it seems like reality occasionally shimmers around it.

The Burtons have noticed Bunker's intervention, and Dusty's heroics, though. A few of them break off and start unloading their weapons in their direction, assuming they're on the side of the other team, because that's how things work, right?

Well. All right. Dusty has a general idea of things. Vorpal and Gar appear pinned down. Dusty can help with that, at least. Maybe. Okay. He looks over at the Burtons that seem to have decided to cover his area in gunfire. Well, let's see.

Dusty does something that will appear entirely batshit insane. He takes a deep breath, and then bolts directly out into the street, sprinting towards the Burtons that are firing on him. The direct approach.

Bunker stares at Gar, then at Vorpal as the man tries to reason with the changed Gar. He looks up from their cover, and forms up a hammer from bricks - very large one - and tries to bash out the wall where the shimmer is, and use the claw part of the hammer to rip it open and off to see what's there. "Whatever is up there is what's causing this, I bet!" he says, pointing to the second floor room.

A closer look at Garfield Logan might be in order. He's still green, still recognizably himself, but he seems older and he moves differently, his proportions have changed. He moves more like a Matt Dillon or a Clint Eastwood than a green Tarzan, and he's wearing cowboy boots. Gar … normally hates shoes in every possible situation. But he's as thoroughly changed as if he had transformed himself into the quintessential Hired Gun, especially since he's shooting like he knows how. Gar … doesn't like guns.

"Give you mah gun? You plumb loco? Gitcher own guns," Gar says. "Sides which that ain't no church down that way, it's a house a' ill repute."

Peeking up, Gar takes a second angled-shot and the second Burton brother goes down, winged. That leaves a couple Cano brothers and cousins.

"HA! That'll learn ya both, Edward an' Jack Spearo," Gar yells. "Find someone ta follow around an' suck up to, what ain't got a bad-luck curse on 'im." Because yes, the Cano brothers have been cursed, many times. But this time, it seems like it might've stuck.

"Greenhorn, er, purple-horn, you hang back here," and he raises his voice, "Blackshirts! Flank 'em!"

Vorpal groans. "Bunker… you find out what's going -NO!" Vorpal calls out as Dusty runs headlong into the hail of bullets. He tries opening a Rabbit Hole, but something is not letting him… and that shouldn't be happening!

The bullets ricochet off Dusty, however. Whatever force decreed that the bullets were too strong for Bunker and Vorpal's constructs has decreed that Dusty can bounce them off with his durability-

In fact, although some gunslingers are down on the ground, none of them appear to be dead, they are all injured. And the injuries do not look bad, they're very 'early Hollywood' injuries. The gunslingers keep firing at Dusty even though they see their bullets shrugged aside- apparently having no sense of self-preservation.

The room that is peeled away will reveal a rather smallish bedroom to Bunker. There is someone on the bed, deeply asleep… it looks to be a boy of about fourteen. He is clutching a little cowboy figurine in his hands, and there is a slight glow around his head…

Dusty wasn't entirely sure if these illusion … whatever… bullets would harm him or not. It was a risk. He does appear to get hit by a bunch of the bullets, but keep on going, unharmed. WHEW, okay. The goal? Is actually to just disarm the threats. The intent is to take their guns away. And, well, to draw fire off of Vorpal and Gar, so that neither is shot and killed. Dusty can help in that way, and will continue to disarm the cowboys if he can. He's caught on that this is a story, though, and upon approach, goes with, "I'm the new Sheriff here. Y'all are under arrest. …/Give me that/."

Bunker rises up on a platform to the room and steps inside, hoping not to get shot on the way up, and he makes to gently wake the boy. Careful. He doesn't need to get scared, Lord knows… "Hey, dude, it's time to get up.." he says.

The Sherriff finally appears, and it's about time.

"Took ya long enough, Marshall!" Gar yells, as the Lawman ignores the hail of bullets through sheer force of being the LAW hereabouts. Of course, if the man was here more often instead of traveling between here and the nearby cities of Dodge and Parry and … Thrust? Whatever. They wouldn't have to hire Gar Logan and his Titan… wait what?

Gar shakes his head as the scene freezes, tumbleweed suddenly hanging in place. Things start to fade quickly. He looks over at Vorpal, standing between a parked car and a parking meter.

"What's goin' on, Pard?" he asks, adjusting his Stetson hat.

Vorpal stares at Gar, hard. "… you are so in the dog house, mister."

Bunker finds himself in a… well, an undamaged room. The kid opens his eyes with a confused look, glancing around as the dream fades away and leaves only reality in place. The apartment building is whole- even though Bunker tore a hole in it. The streets are back to normal, and the people whom Dusty and Bunker saved are now coming out of Macy's, looking completely bewildered.

"HEY!" the kid says as he sits up on the bed, cowboy toy falling by the side, "You're Bunker from the Titans! You're my favorite!"

And Bunker is suddenly fanboy-hugged, "Can I get your autograph? How did you get into my room?"

Vorpal approaches Dusty, who is now standing in the middle of the street facing a group of businessmen who are wondering why on earth they are pointing at the young man with their cell phones.

"That was a good show there, um… what's your name?" Vorpal asks.

Dusty didn't expect things to phase back in so rapidly, and suddenly, without warning. Nor to have a car suddenly coming upon them with a very loud honk. The cab yells at them to get out of the road. Well, they're definitely back. Dusty looks at Vorpal, as he distributes a few cell phones back to their businessmen …. incorrectly, and the men try to sort out who has whose as Dusty turns away. "… Oh—-? What? It wasn't anythin'," Dusty says, humble and embarrassed, unsure how to react to the purple cat-person, but that's no doubt something Vorpal is used to. "Just called their bluff, really. Me? I'm Dusty. You're some of the Titans, is that true?" he asks, while getting out of the street.

Bunker grins in releif as his waking up the boy didn't result in, oh, the universe fading out of existance rather than what happened. He takes a deep breath, then… ruffles the boy's hair and untangles himself. "Sure thing," he grins, and dutilfully signs whatever the boy puts in front of him. "Shh, now; was just checking on you. I need to go and continue my patrol!" he says, and makes to slip out the window.

"Titans?" Gar says, shaking his head, then looks at himself. "This is different. Vorpal, why did you dress me like a cowboy?"

No wait. That's wrong. He's changed and illusion doesn't do that. With a mental heave, he shifts back into himself — NOT six foot four, NOT a gunslinger. Then he's suddenly really dizzy, like he's turned into something really unfamiliar for too long. Memories start fighting in his head.

"Ow. OK, what was the number of that bus that hit me?"

Vorpal reaches out to wrap an arm around Gar's waist to keep him stabilized. "It's ok now. You were apparently going through a mid-life crisis and thought you were John Wayne…"

To Dusty, Vorpal nods as they move onto the sidewalk, "We are the Titans, my friend, and we'll keep on… Titan… ing… to the… okay, that didn't work. But yes. The green guy with the morphogenic field hangover is Changeling, I'm Vorpal, and the guy coming out of that building now is Bunker. So… Dusty…" Vorpal raises an eyebrow, "Are you usually bullet-proof?"

He gives Bunker a thumbs-up. Whatever he did in there definitely took care of the change of location issues.

Vorpal reaches out to wrap an arm around Gar's waist to keep him stabilized. "It's ok now. You were apparently going through a mid-life crisis and thought you were John Wayne…"

To Dusty, Vorpal nods as they move onto the sidewalk, "We are the Titans, my friend, and we'll keep on… Titan… ing… to the… okay, that didn't work. But yes. The green guy with the morphogenic field hangover is Changeling, I'm Vorpal, and the guy coming out of that building now is Bunker. So… Dusty…" Vorpal raises an eyebrow, "Are you usually bullet-proof?"

He gives Bunker a thumbs-up. Whatever he did in there definitely took care of the change of location issues.

Dusty pauses, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, and flushing. He plucks his sunglasses out of his shirt and puts them back on, as if aware he's flushed, and that might help a little bit. "Ah, it would be great if you could forget you saw that," Dusty asks, with the pained tone of someone that has been taught that being a freak is always bad and should be hidden like an ugly stain. "What…. happened?" Dusty asks, gesturing around to the … well, the whole situation. He's pretty sure he didn't imagine it.

Bunker floats down to street level on his brick platform, and steps off it. "Whew. That… could have gone badly.." he says, smiling from ear to ear. "But, we were awesome."

Gar lightly thwaps Vorpal on the back of the head, "Not John Wayne. Clint Eastwood," and then he shrugs to Dusty. "Not sure, I just needed to fit into the western story. No idea where it came from."

He raises an eyebrow at "forget you saw that."

"BUNKER! What did you do? You fixed it, HOW?"

Bunker points to the window he exited. "I saw a ripple in the air around a window - Kid was up there, asleep - weird glow around his head, and his room was covered in cowboy pics, and action figures, etc. So.. I played a hunch and woke him up. He… might need a visit from that mutant dude," he says.

Dusty stares at Bunker as if he's lost his mind. "A visit from a mutant dude? To stop him? ….A mutant… assassin?" Dusty asks in mild horror, as if all of his previous thoughts about the titans being heroes might be in jeopardy.

"…looooks like we really should tell Bobby about the kid, before any other 'incidents' happen," Vorpal says to Gar. That's his cue to grab the phone and dial. At Dusty's mounting horror, the cheshire cat quickly interjects- "NO, nonono, nothing like that. We know people who… help young mutants. When they 'manifest'. Train them to keep their gifts from accidentally going off and… say, turn Metropolis into a set from The Outlaw Jesse Wales. But don't worry, if you're incognito then mum's the word. However…"

He produces a card. Which is interesting because it looks like his suit doesn't have visible pockets- but that's the wonder of Rabbit Hole technology, "That was some pretty fearless show of heroics there. Maybe you might want to give us a call sometime?" He offers him the card. It's the Titans' official contact card. The 'T' is embossed, and shiny gold.

Gar stares at Dusty as he speed-dials X-Red. "Mana? Hi. We found a mutant, untrained, potentially dangerous… you guys want to let the school know so they can send a contact person, get him some help controlling things? Yeah, these coordinates. The sooner the better. Right. Will do. Bye."

Gar looks over at Dusty. "What are you talking about? No way we'd do that. Why would we do that?"

Dusty accepts the card, blinking at it, looking at the back of the Shiny Gold card, and then at Vorpal and Gar in surprise. "…If I see something that needs heroic attention, to call you guys?" Dusty asks, careful not to assume incorrect things about something like contact info. "Thanks," he says, thoughtfully. He glances at Gar. And gives an appologetic shrug. "I just… well, it's already ruined my life once," Dusty says as Vorpal says he'll keep it mum, hedging about how much to actually say. These are obviously other powered people but old habits are very strong. "I'm not sure it's 'fearless heroics' if you're pretty sure it's safe," Dusty says with a rueful smile that evolves out into a better grin. (If the Titans know country music, there's a possibility Dusty might get recognized, when he does that; he used to be famous, with a recognizable charismatic smile to match his vocals, until the taboids ripped him apart for being a freak.)

Unfortunately, Vorpal's never really paid attention to the country music world. His musical tastes, and Gar teases him for this, are in the Billy Joel/Regina Spektor area. "Actually, it means that if you ever think of maybe joining a group… we're always open. Call ahead and set up an appointment and we'll meet you at the Chronus building office to talk. We don't bite, trust me. Well, except that one incident, but Gar knows not to do it again or he'll be legally obligated to wear a muzzle."

It is hard to know when Vorpal is joking and when he isn't. He's totally joking in this instance, but…

"Stop that," Gar says to Vorpal. "OK, despite what the Cheshire Creep here says about me biting, we're actually on the side of good, affiliated with the Justice League and X-Red and a few other formally registered groups. Also, if you want to be anonymous that's also fine. We'll have to explain this to the police when they get here, but we'll leave out identifying information."

The green guy looks at the scattered shopping bags that Bunker dropped when the world fell into some sort of dream.

"And, we should clean that up before someone helps themselves," he mutters.

Dusty doesn't take it badly, his grin turns to a smirk as he mentions, "If you bite me, you might break your jaw, but that's on you," in a very…. careful playful way. He does have a sense of humor, but it's hard to know if it will be taken correctly, or as a threat, or what. He doesn't MEAN it like a threat. It's a new thing to even TRY to joke about his ability.

"I've talked to the police at other instances before," Dusty says, with a sigh and shrug. He's saved people before, but just doesn't recognize it as anything special. "It's fine." A brief smile, and patience. "Somebody suggested I join the Justice League the other day," Dusty adds, with a bemused grin, as if he can't imagine that, and wanted to share that it was… strange. "I don't know." He puts the card away safely though.

"That's a good thing, we have a very good dental plan!" Vorpal retorts with a grin. "The Justice League are a fine group of people. But trust me… the Titans is where the fun is. You think it over, alright? I've got to go get Mr. Green genes back to the base so he can recover from being a movie star- thankfully this time it won't take rehab- and I hope we'll hear back from you. C'mon, Gar, we can Rabbit hole there. I'll grab the smrt cr once you've laid down. Bunk, go ahead and grab the bags while I open the hole, ok?"

And soon, there is a Rabbit Hole leading to the Chronus Building (and from there, he will open another one leading to the actual Castle, because it's not a good idea to show the strolling public what your supposedly secret base looks like, right?)

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License