Open RP Microdosing on Doing Good

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Katpride

Katpride

Story Collector


Winter break seems like the right time to start doing the hero thing, right? Maybe Venus is just looking for excuses, but she’s been putting her debut off for long enough that, at this point, she’s going to take what she can get. And this way, if anyone looks at her funny, she can just say she’s… cold? Yeah, she was cold and so she put on a domino mask and a gas mask and a scarf. That's what normal people do.

She sneaks out the window before she can rethink her life choices. She’s just going to Do The Thing. The fire escape makes so much noise, though, and she keeps twitching and looking around every time it creaks. The comics really don’t have accurate portrayals of fire escapes. Like, where are all the plants? The rugs? The creaks oh god is there someone in the alley?

No, it’s just a plastic bag. Venus takes a deep breath and finishes sneaking off into the night.



Fate must be on her side, because the corner store is being robbed! Or, um, that’s not really something she’s supposed to be happy about. Oh noooo, the corner store is being robbed :(

But this is her chance!

From what she can see through the slightly foggy windows, there seem to be two, maybe three people in ski masks, one of them posted by the cashier while the others roam the isles sweeping snacks into duffel bags. She doesn’t see any shoppers, but there could be some hiding where she can’t see from the windows.

Venus - no, Griffonage, gotta stay in character - adjusts her own mask several times before daring to creep towards the door, keeping low so she isn’t spotted through the windows. She tugs a couple balloons out of her pockets, puts a hand on the door, and…

The bell over the door rings cheerily. Griffonage darts in as quickly as she can, but the two - two! - roaming robbers are already turning to look at her. Aaaaaa.

“Um, freeze?” she squeaks, holding up her slingshot in a… well, a probably-not-very-threatening manner. But they should be threatened! She’s confident of her chemistry skills, but they should be very afraid of contact with unknown chemicals! That’s just lab safety.

“What?” One of the robbers says, caught off guard if nothing else.

“No?” Says the other one, and she turns her slingshot on him and fires. He doesn’t even try to dodge, and the purple balloon hits him in the chest. When it explodes into a big mess of foam, he curses inventively, and she has to duck into an aisle as his buddy aims their gun at her.

An alarm starts going off, so the cashier must have done something while everyone was paying attention to Griffonage. She can’t see them from where she is, but she can see the un-foamed robber trying unsuccessfully to free the foamed one, in the mirrors on the ceiling.

“Give up!” She calls, slightly more hopeful. “There’s more where that came from!”



Ask before joining! I'll be available on discord in chat or in DMs! This will be relatively low-stakes but it's still combat, so come prepared.
 
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"Speed limits what are they anyway? Does the road care if you go on it fast or slow? Then maybe it's because of traffic you think of people and other cars? Well that's dumb cars should know how to dodge. And running over people is it really any different than running over fruit? They pop the same." No she realized in her rambling that wasn't right. Lexi was driving down the road and it seemed a guarantee that if she kept at it cops would come for her. She wasn't as worried about that though as she was concerned of her own monologue. She lost a friend that way, she knew the fun of drifting didn't replace her friend. When she looked at the road thinking about it she didn't remind herself of a time she ran over her groceries. It was wrong to run people over right?

Her neon blue hair bounced and whipped around thanks to the open window. She was nearing a gas station notorious for snacks she missed snacks. Maybe it being winter hot food made sense but she didn't want hot food she wanted snacks. Similar to why she wore what she did, that wasn't winter wear but she wanted to wear them and not be cold. A meandering mind is arrested though by a sight of a store experiencing a certified heist.

Looting was fun she saw the handful of thugs and remembered having that, wanting that. Partners in crime brought back memories so did the alarm pulled. Her muscle car pulls over she remembered alarms, it was important to Lexi she remember things, a small scar on her forhead made some question how much she should be capable of recollecting. What the chaos harbinger perhaps remembered most though was what alarms lead to. Resisting arrest got some hurt, got those like her locked away. It was a death sentence sugar coated to be lighter or at least thatss how Lexi saw it. Now a hero was with them it guaranteed things going worse for criminals. Or was that a hero?

Colorful look check, questionable weapon check, saying "give up". A twitch happens to a hand that closes a car door. Lexi didn't want to give up, she remembered the pain and fire but not wanting to surrender. When she thought about it long enough though she recalled how much it hurt not to. If Lexi had just laid down arms maybe things would have gone better. If she just pressed her luck maybe that bullet that found her would have gone deeper. She screwed up, and while Lexi wanted to do a heist she knew that experience of pain clouded her judgment. If she busted heads and or shot these criminals in the face then maybe they wouldn't have to endure a misery she did. They wouldn't have to know the feeling of broken bones and being shot if she snapped their bones and shot them. "That doesn't make sense." The remark was made toward herself as she neared the entrance and saw her reflection.

A boot hits the door swinging it open. A hand reaches into a backpack to remove a pistol for the hell raiser to bring to bear. Stepping into the way was a woman in ripped up jeans and a black tank top. She didn't seem at all heroic, her look was in most places best disheveled pandemonium. Hair looked perfect though, because Lexi wanted it so. "Jail sucks! GO peacefully or not at all take it from me! Let me shoot you then you'll have brains blown out instead of wanting to blow them out do to imprisoned boredom."

This was not a deal to say yes to, fundamentally she knew this. Something inside her own twisted brain though made her think she would prefer such an outcome. Foam didnt look easy to wash out and jail wasnt fun those conclussions were bad. Lexi figured her solution of spilled brain juice was a way better resolution.
 
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"What the hell?" Tony wasn't even really sure what to say, but that one had slipped out somehow. It seemed pretty appropriate, didn't it? Usually when they held up convenience stores, they didn't have someone throwing water balloons full of purple foam at them. Max was pretty much completely stuck in there, and Tony's attempts to loosen the stuff didn't seem to be helping any.

He slipped his hand back out of the sleeve of his hoodie - he'd kept it covered when he was prodding at the stuff, just in case it ate fingers or he ended up stuck. Better to get his jacket stuck than the rest of him. The girl who'd attacked them was dressed up like... he didn't even know what that look was, but it definitely seemed like she'd been reading too many superhero comic books.

He could probably talk her out of this, right?

Except then someone else came in, and that one - that one was crazy. Also, she had the same hair color as his sister, which he was definitely going to mention later, if they ever got out of this alive - because that lady would definitely kill a guy. He started glancing back over his shoulder for a moment, then made himself stop, because if they didn't know she was there, he wasn't going to be the one to tip them off.

"Hey... hey, no one needs to get shot, okay?" He was talking like she was some sort of spooked animal, maybe it would work. Maybe it'd work better on Miss Colorful Superhero than it did on the crazy shooty lady. If so, that would be ideal, because maybe they could distract each other long enough for Tony and his buddies to get out.

Well, except for Max. Shit.


Aw, dang it, the clerk had gotten the alarm off. Islet had tried to stop him, kind of, by asking him not to press the alarm, but he hadn't listened, which was not very surprising. She didn't know why Max had told her to deal with that, she'd said she didn't do the fighty stuff. Tony had listened - well, he usually listened. This time, he'd just told her to be quick and hope they got out fast.

Which would have been fine, except now there were other people here, and not, like, the usual trucker who just wanted a sandwich and a pack of cigarettes. God, they were right behind her. The cigarettes. She could take a pack. It'd be really easy.

Ugh, no, she was quitting. And she had a job to do. And it would only take-

She was quitting.

And she had a job to do. Islet made herself focus on what was in front of her instead of whatever else was going on out there. What was in front of her was the register, which the clerk had thought that they weren't going to get into because it was locked. That was fine, though. Islet could do locks.

She opened up the little flask in her hands - it was supposed to be for booze, but she just had water in there, which was kinda silly if you thought about it. The water poured out into the lock - just about an ounce ought to do it. Islet focused, trying not to do the thing where she stuck her tongue out a little, moving the water into place around all the tumblers and feeling where the key was supposed to be and what it was supposed to be like, then giving it a little twist.

The register popped open, with a ding! which was so not freaking helpful when she was trying not to attract attention.

"Crap." She hadn't said it very loud - definitely a lot softer than the little ding.

Get the cash and don't worry about it, that's what everyone else is here for.
 
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The scene more fully came into view. Trigger happy nature made reasoning sometimes go out the window. Lexi was close to the painted hero and looking at two people. One was stuck to a shelf with purple foam. Purple was a very fashionable choice of color but something about foam pinning to a surface made it seem less than a choice. That thug was trapped, and that to her sounded like an invitation to die. He wasn't going to escape the foam his partner wasn't getting him free. That would then mean he was almost guaranteed arrest. There's a twitch in the eye, memories that told her what Lexi would want. A finger moved to the trigger contemplating the squeeze. It'd be a favor then the other one spoke up.

The person who spoke was skinny kind of tall. He seemed thin this heist might do him some good. The hoodie helped hide ones physique but the gunslinger could just sort of see friends in him. Or herself in him. Just someone who could benefit from a heist gone right...she really wanted to shoot someone though.

Maybe if she got a better look at her suroundings. Boots step on shelves a few ruffling sounds as snacks fall over. It was potentially rude to have not responded right away. To climb a shelf instead of answer this would help identify other people to maybe shoot though which Lexi would classify as a priority. "I disagree friendo. Your foamed buddy for example?"

"He's not leaving that. So jail it is. Always dreading the soap drop. Always eating bland food. Questioning if anyone will visit you...then you remember all your anyones are gone. So alone... It's Foamones choice I think. Foamy MAY I SHOOT YOU?" Standing on a shelf and yelling Lexi might be more trouble then anything. An invitation for a shoot out perhaps. Or maybe talking would still be attempted those almost radiant blue eyes though weren't as chaotic and uncertain though. What Lexi wanted was to shoot Foamy in the head, wanted Foamy to say yes. Perhaps skinny and the other thugs had options, but not Foamy....unless maybe she helped.

Those murderous blue eyes grew shifty. Darting from Foamy to Painted, Back to Foamy, back to Painted. They looked to Skinnythrn back to Foamy. Perhaps they'd ask for help instead. Shooting Foamy still sounded the ideal option but she could possibly help if they wanted? Her hand twitched uncertainty worming it's way into her brain. Or was that the hole in it getting to her again? She heard whispers she could make friends here, she was more a thug than a hero. She didn't want to be arrested though and heroes won more she thought, but she heard whispers how easy it would be. Water balloons of paint how bullet proof could a hero be?

Despite not being answered yet. Despite no talking. Her eyes continued to shift and dart, to Lexi the world was loud.
 


“Ummm,” Griffonage hums, because this has gone off script again. She looks up at the lady with the guns, who has scaled the shelf of jerky like a mountain goat, then up more to the mirror where she can see the robbers.

The robbers are supposed to be the bad guys, right? That’s how it happens in the comics. The hero comes into the store and stops the bad guys and goes off to presumably do good somewhere else. It’s tidy. But the lady is making this complicated, with her speech about prison and shooting people and her insistence on waving her gun around. Griffonage thinks the lady is a much worse bad guy than the robbers, and that means she should try to stop her first.

“Please don’t shoot him,” she says, because she feels like that needs to be said. She’s thinking fast, but not as fast as she needs to be. Or maybe… Her hand drifts to her belt, to her pocketful of paint balloons, as she lets her mouth run, “Anyone getting shot would be really bad, miss, because there’s all sorts of germs that collect in a store like this, and you wouldn’t want someone to get an infection, would you? That would be awful, and painful, and slow, and you don’t want that.”

Slowly, carefully, she holds up a balloon, glancing at it to make sure she got a yellow one. “Hey, you know what would be fun?” She gives the balloon a little shake before tossing it as high and far as she can, like a skeet or a bird or something that makes a trickier, more interesting target than one masked teenager, “Shoot that!”

And she darts in close to the shelf, hunkering down just in case. Even if gun-lady misses the balloon, it should still splatter and hit someone, but if she doesn't miss, then it should hit everyone. And that'll give Griffonage more time to work with. She’s pretty sure her yellow paint shouldn’t be flammable, but she’s never stress-tested it quite like this. Oh geez. Her mother will be so cross with her if she finds out Venus was running this test outside of laboratory conditions.

 
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Isaiah was getting back into the vigilante thing.

He'd taken a long break, mostly using his talents to help Hazel out with her projects. But he'd grown restless, something itched at him, he wanted to be out and doing something. The city was getting worse, crazy metas with freaky powers everywhere. Yeah he was just some white kid with a baseball bat and a sexy voice - and ghost powers - but he could make a difference. Sure he couldn't take on Norse demigods interrupting evening traffic with their small army of zombies, or mustachio'd cowboys who stabbed you with their own blood. But he could beat the shit out of the occasional thug and petty criminal who figured he could use the growing chaos to get away with shit.

That's why he sat on his - license plate-less - motorcycle in an alleyway in his patrol gear. He didn't carry much like some other vigilantes, just some Kevlar padding covering his chest and arms, hidden under a thick hoodie and leather jacket. His face obscured by a re-breather mask and tinted goggles. On his belt was just some homemade smoke bombs and other small little explosives, just in case he wanted to start a party. And hooked onto his bike was his trusty reinforced aluminum bat.

Isaiah sat cross legged and diagonal, lounging precariously on his bike as he alternated between jamming to his music and listening to the police scanner. Tonight had been a slow night, which he should have been happy about, and he was, but he'd nearly cramped his leg bouncing it against the front tire of his 2017 Harley-Davison Low Rider S Motorcycle. He was bored, only his music was keeping him from being too under-stimulated.

Fortunately the scanner came alive and he heard that sweet music.

"Alarm activation at 1500 S. Maple Street. No units available."

"They're playing my song," Isaiah - No, Poltergeist said. He twisted into the eat of his Harley and revved it to life, taking off at a speed that was not legal in most of the lower 48 states. He switched on his music as he missile'd his way towards the address, grinning to himself underneath his mask as Rob Zombie started loudly playing from his bike's custom speakers.

"Dig through the ditches

and burn through the witches

I slam in the back of my

Dragula"​


His bike revved loudly as he pulled up the corner store, the high beam spotlight swung across the scene probably blinding anyone who looked. In the brief pass Poltergeist took in the scene. Three thugs that he could see, two... vigilantes? Neither of them looked like any metas or vigilantes that Poltergeist had ever seen. Both were rather colourfully, the blue haired one was on the counter waving a gun around and the other one had just put a... balloon in the air?

One of the thugs was coated in some kind of substance and another one was trying to help him, the whole scene was chaotic and messy, and stank of a real risk of someone getting shot. In the few seconds it took for him to swing his bike past the corner store windows he had a plan, by the time everyone's eyes had adjusted from the sudden light Poltergeist had turned the corner out of sight and cut his music. Then he faded into darkness totally invisible.

Everyone inside would have noticed the temperature in the room suddenly drop by a few degrees, to the point where their breath began to steam. The lights flickered, casting the whole store into brief moments of darkness. And a strange otherworldly presence could be felt.

Poltergeist slipped invisibly through the wall and into the store, this was his usually tactic, scare and intimidate, get control of the situation. With luck everyone would cower and stop what they were doing. When he spoke his impressively deep voice cut through the air, distorted with a slightly digital quality by his mask and thrown using some old vocalist techniques to seem like it was coming from everywhere in the store.


"Stop moving... drop your weapons... now."
 

Didn’t he move to Pittsburgh to get away from this kind of thing? David couldn’t help but sigh as he looked out from the aisle he had gotten stuck in when the robbery started. All he had wanted was to grab a pack of gum and a shitty gas station coffee to warm up. It was like being in NYC all over, though. Back then, he’d been part of Slate, and that just hadn’t worked out. Not for lack of trying on his part. He’d been good at what he did for them, and he’d always been good in a scrap. After all, he was hard to get a hold of, and his bite was incredibly deadly. No one really expected someone of his size to slither out of their grasp like a snake.

But that was in the past. The past, before he’d had his collarbone and shoulder shattered. Now, he was just an IRS agent, and an IRS agent who was already fucking done with this noise. He’d been more than happy to leave well enough alone, his hands raised, as the robbers took what they wanted and left. He was more than happy to stay out of their way.

If it hadn’t been for the kid.

The kid, who had paint balloons full of expanding foam, apparently. She was clearly a vigilante. It left a bad taste in his mouth, such a young kid being in such a… unappealing occupation. She couldn’t have even been eighteen years old. But here she was, throwing around balloons full of rapidly expanding foam. And that really rankled him. If she had been older– if she had been in a less public space–

Before he could fully compose either of those thoughts, a second woman burst into the store, blue hair whipping through the air and guns blazing. He took in a sharp breath and looked back at the kid. He was about to charge through, swoop them up in his arms– god he needed to talk to this kid about her life choices and the path she was taking– and run out the door, when the kid threw another balloon up into the air.

If it weren’t for the fact they had already seen one of the balloons in action, David might have just stayed where he was. But who knew how far that foam could go if it exploded mid-air? He quickly turned and threw himself down the aisle, at the same time that a voice radiated through the air. As he pulled himself around the far corner of the shelves and around the wall to the side the vigilante kid had ducked, he sighed heavily. His senses were getting overwhelmed already from whatever chemical was in those balloons– smelled like grape a bit?– but he could just take in a sharp breath and smell the rest of the people in the room.

Closest was the child vigilante. The scent of chemicals and cleansers and her fake rose-scented shampoo were burning in his throat, but he would deal. He could sense the heat coming off the others, and combined with their scents, it was enough to place their locations. The next closest, lavender and bubble gum with the harsh hit of gunpowder. The scent of spicy nacho Doritos clung to her, and filled the air with every breath.

Past her, stuck in the foam, axe body spray and weed overpowered anything else that might have clung to his skin. The man trying to help him out was earthy and metallic, maybe a bit like rust. He wasn’t familiar with the scent of rust, but he was familiar with the cigarette smoke that clung to him. There was a third man near the cashier who smelled so strongly of nerves that he couldn’t smell anything else from him. And the man with the gun, well all that he could smell from him was some kind of nasty cologne. Cinnamon of some kind, and maybe artificial vanilla.

Artificial strawberries, cigarettes, and the distinct smells of the ocean. It almost would have been a calming scent if it weren’t for the fact that it seemed to be radiating from behind the cash register. The team had a fourth member, it would seem, and it was likely a woman.

What was curious to him, however, was the final scent. A scent that he hadn’t seen. Musk, denim, guitar oil… and something he couldn’t quite place. The scent of cold, but not. The scent of a body, but absent. He’d never smelled anything like it before.

He took a few breaths, trying to clear his rapidly spinning head. It was bad enough being out in public usually, but he had gotten used to the scents of life and people. What he would never get used to was chemicals. Chemicals burned, no matter how light. Enclosed in buildings and tight spaces, it was nearly unbearable. Still, he pushed through, and stood, keeping lower than the shelves with effort.

“Kid, we should get you out of here before that psycho starts firing.” His accent still held all the trademarks of New York, but had faded significantly in the last three years. He came to a stop, crouched next to the vigilante. He reached out blindly for her warmth, looking out the door beyond the shelves. He could scoop her up and bolt. They wouldn’t be able to catch him if he did. He could throw her in the Volks and get her home while he lectured her about dangerous pastimes and ruining lives.
 

"No! Don't shoot me!" That was Max, still stuck in that foam stuff, responding quickly to the latest question lobbed his way. Tony was still trying to catch up with the conversation due to the sheer what the hell-ness of it. The lady had just... run in, threatened murder like she was giving out candy, scaled up to the top of one of the shelves like a psychotic gecko, and then started looking around like she was trying out for Murderhobo #3 in the latest late night true crime show.

And if that weren't enough, then it got crowded. Or, maybe it just seemed crowded? Less crowded and more like the walls had just gotten closer and everything had dropped a few degrees - which it hadn't needed to do, because it was cold out there already.

"I think I can- I can get her."

What. The. Hell. Tony looked over his shoulder, where Drew was next to him with his own gun, which had been supposed to be just to convince the clerk to shove off and let them get to it. Part one accomplished, sure, but -

"You've never shot anyone in your life," Tony hissed. "You bought that at a pawn shop two weeks ago."

-Stop moving... drop your weapons... now-

Right on, ominous weird voice.

What the hell. Why was their an ominous weird voice? And why did he agree with it?

"We gotta get out of here." Yeah, Tony agreed with that, too, especially because someone else had come in. At least he didn't look like a psycho killer, he just looked like some poor guy who'd wanted a coffee to warm up. That was the sort of attention they could have handled, not psycho-murder-lady and balloon-girl.

"Yeah, but-" Tony gestured, helpless, to where Max was still stuck in the foam. Max was supposed to be in charge of all this, wasn't he? Except he was mostly focused on the purple goo, which didn't seem to be budging.

At least Balloon Girl seemed to be - well, not on their side, but at least willing to accept that maybe they weren't quite as much of a whole what the hell as psycho murder lady. She'd tossed another balloon up into the air, and invited murder lady to shoot it.

"Down!" Yeah, it was probably filled with more purple goo. Tony threw himself down, behind Max (sorry, Max), hoping it didn't get on him when she shot the balloon, because she was totally going to shoot the balloon. At least maybe hopefully she wouldn't shoot Max.

What the hell.


There really was not all that much money in the cash register. It was like... not even two hundred. Maybe one-fifty. Islet guessed that was sorta expected, wasn't it? Convenience stores didn't keep much money in the registers any more, in case - well, in case someone robbed the place. Whoopsies. Islet took it out anyway and put it in the pocket of her jacket, because the whole cartoon thing with the sacks of money was totally not necessary when it was like... probably about fifty bills, and most of them were ones and fives. She left the coins, they just got in the way, and that meant she still had space in her other pocket for a pack of cigarettes, because holy crap, it was cold in here.

There were a lot more people than she remembered, too. Wow. Didn't they have anything better to do? Oh, they were all here to stop, uh... them. Seriously? Over some snacks and what was hardly going to be gas money once they divided it up? Wasn't someone robbing a bank or something that they could all go deal with?

Nope, apparently not.

"Are you done?" Drew. God, she hated Drew. Islet gave him a look that expressed as much exasperation as she could totally put into it, because, like, wasn't the point of everyone else to keep the attention off her? You don't do that by talking to people! It was like he'd never robbed a convenience store or anything, ugh.

Well, Tony would cuss him out later, except Tony didn't really cuss much, because he said he had to do something right with his life, and apparently that was it. She gave him crap about it, of course, but that was just because that was what sisters did. She got it, though. It was something he could control, and it wasn't like they could really control anything else, so he was taking a win where he could, even if that just meant he never said the f-word.

Maybe he'd break it out just this once, for Drew. Maybe-

-Down!-

Oh, heck. What was going on out there? Islet was already down, but she nudged herself a little closer into the nook by the register, wondering if they were all going to get blown up. If they were all going to die, she'd at least like to get something to eat first.

And a cigarette.

No. Quitting.

Right. They just had to get out of here.
 
Snacks Wanted


So much soon came to pass in such little time. Of course it started arguably with something simple a request to not be shot. She understood this one didn't want to be shot that wasn't fun. Granted Lexi also questioned if he really knew what he wanted? She knew how much being shot sucked, was a nice little scar on her forhead as a reminder of that. Or at least it was meant to, sometimes Lexi forgot to remember. Anyways Foamy didn't want to be shot and Lexi could respect that desire if Foamy really did want jail instead that was his call to make. Skinny was talking to someone he was armed. His expression she knew, that hesitancy to shoot and knowing he should. The painter also spoke to her specifically.

She missed that, people wanting to talk to her. "Actually a nonfatal shot and infection doesn’t sound to bad. They'd have to take you to a hospital and you can probably escape those you know? Not to mention hospitals have drugs which im SUCH A FAN OF."

Conversation was cut short by something being thrown and a direction given. It came soon with blinding lights. And instructions to drop weapons. The voice sounded really smooth on the ears, she liked to think she might listen any other time. Those directions though reminded her of jail. She was NOT going back! There was so much chaos here and she knew this wasn't a flirt out of the cuffs or enjoy them scenario. This meant one thing and one thing only. Chaos needed to pop off. She wished she was high for the pandemonium about to follow. SHOOT THE BALLOON!

Her aim was on point. Better than it should be for someone balancing on a shelf. Better than it should be for someone we hos vision was hazy from headlights. Lexi wanted to shoot the balloon however so a bubble would burst. An echoing bang as her pistol went off followed by the pop as a bullet ripped a balloon to spreads and with it came the shower of yellow. Paint splashing in all directions some of it on the anarchy bringer. The fluid splashing on her face mainly, like blood splatter if it was yellow. A particularly thick glob under the nose.

She inhales and giggles. Lexi wanted to be high and the world provided. Chemicals impacted people in many ways, the balloons were intended to function a certain way. Then there was Lexi she was a antithesis to how things should be. Lexi would not move in slow motion, but her thoughts and reactions did. She wanted to be high and so by way of paint and chemicals the world provided.

Somebody was rushing toward the painter. His movements to her seemed choppy she couldn't follow it well. Her perception had slowed down and so it struggled to keep pace with his movement. The robbers were talking about getting down and needing to go. It was hard for her to follow and she was struggling to keep tabs on who's who. Her understanding of the present was moving at a turtle speed moments like this needed to be instinctive she felt. She forgot who's side she was on here but she had always had a role in other heists.

Lexi was not a good person. The smooth voice cop wasn't her friend. "I cover, the getaway? Run, provide AANNAARRCCHHYY!" Lexi's sentence structure was broken and laced with more delirium. Her mind struggling to keep up with what she meant to say. The triumphant word of chaos she probably meant as a battle cry. It escaped her lips though like someone to drunk or high to carry a note on karaoke night.

Lexi whipped toward the sound of the smooth voice. What she mistook as a officers voice do to the orders given. Then squeezed off two rounds at the mystery man. She wanted to shoot him so her aim seemed more in his direction than it likely should be. That said bullets couldn't hit ghosts. Lexi was way to high for any of this, or maintaining balance.

Shelves were not for standing on. Spinning around to shoot at the law, not something to do when the world seemed in slow motion. A second after gunfire a blue haired psycho was falling towards a painter and whoevver was rushing the painter. Failing to maintain balance Lexi was heading for a crash landing on the two others. An an attack? Debatable. It had the same grace though as her gunshots however. More delirious reaction or cause and effect than intention. Lexi was now trying to give criminals cover and a overdosing idiot about it. She had changed sides in a heartbeat.

 


Griffonage is kind of watching the mirrors and kind of watching the street just in case the cops do show up and arrest everyone like gun-lady keeps saying, so the sudden flash of LED headlights burns right into her eyes.

“Owww.” Too late, she claps a hand over her mask. This accomplishes nothing; it only makes it so that she can’t see on two fronts. She can still hear, though, and she definitely hears as someone’s shoes tip-tap up next to her, their breathing oddly heavy.

She removes the hand from her eyes, glancing in their direction. Sunspots still float over her vision, but she thinks it’s a man with blonde hair. Everybody’s kind of talking at once, but she hears most of what he says and guesses the rest. “That’s what I’m trying to do! Just stay here, sir.”

There are gunshots from above, so much louder than all the voices talking beyond the shelf. She can’t see the mirror with the spots in her vision, but she hopes no one got shot. At least one of those shots was probably for the balloon, right? Maybe all of them, if she’s lucky, but she isn’t feeling particularly lucky.

She blinks hard and when she looks at blonde guy again, she registers that he’s reaching for her. She lets him grab her arm, because she figures he’s probably scared. Heroes are supposed to be there for people who are scared, even if they do call her a kid. But he doesn’t stop there, he starts tugging on her arm, moving past her. What?

That’s about when gun-lady falls right on top of them. She hits Griffonage’s back, and she can’t see if she also hits the blonde guy because she’s busy getting her arms and hands under her so she doesn’t get a faceful of floor. Her elbow hits the ground kind of hard, and it stings sharply until she can shift around to put less weight on it.

But hey, bright side: gun-lady is no longer on top of the shelf waving her gun at everyone. And she seems to have some paint on her, which gives Griffonage the courage to pull her purple spray paint from her belt, the cap popping off in a smooth motion as she points it at gun-lady’s gun-hand and depresses the trigger.

 

Everything was quickly spiraling out of control.

Isaiah was still invisible when Lexi fired wildly in his direction, one of the shots missed. Fortunately Isaiah had been practicing turning incorporeal on reflex, so the second bullet phased right through him. He remained that was as she shot the balloon and yellow paint went everywhere. Isaiah figured that these rookie vigilantes didn't know what they were doing, but he didn't figure one of them was completely insane. At least the one with the balloons was taking cover, and it looked like the cute blond was trying to get her out of there. At least someone had a head on their shoulders.

Isaiah had to resist laughing as Lexi tripped over herself and ell onto Griffonage, he watched as balloon girl hit her with that purple spray. Isiah figured it must always make that foam, like the stuff one of the perps was still struggling in. Isaiah figured this whole thing was quickly getting out of hand; for a moment he wondered if the amount of metas in Pittsburgh helped or hindered the crime rate or if it balanced out. Either way he needed to clear the board.

He took out one of his smokebombs, it wasn't much but would hopefully keep the robbers preoccupied for just a while longer. He pulled the pin and tossed it at their feet. Whatever effect it had Isiah moved to stand over Lexi, the foam was already forming. The lights in the corner store flickered again as Isaiah relaxed and became visible again, he looked at the balloon girl and the cute blond.

"You two get clear, too many cooks in the kitchen, I'll take care of this," Isaiah said, and with that he flipped his bat around in his hand and swung it down hard into Lexi's back. If it hit true enough he'd get a satisfying crunch and a comical plink
 

The paint missed David, probably because he was crouched behind the shelf with the kid. The yellow stuff was everywhere when he stood up and disengaged from the mess in front of him. The kid he’d been trying to get out was now under the wild blue-haired gal who had been on the shelf. And that one was covered in the paint. Paint that David had the strongest feeling he shouldn’t touch. So getting her off the kid was a no-go. He wasn’t going to trust whatever that paint was, especially not when he had seen what the purple paint did.

When the smoke started to billow beyond the shelf, he tries to peer over it, to see what was causing it, and in that moment of distraction, another fucking kid appeared. This one looked a little more official, but his voice still carried traces of youth. He was older than this kid, at least. He wasn’t sure by how much, but this one had the attitude of someone who had been doing this at least long enough to be confident.

David didn’t like that.

The bat was coming down, and it was going for the girl with the gun. Unfortunately, the girl with the gun was still on top of the girl with the paints. In a snap decision, David extended his claws and struck out, going for the guy with the baseball bat’s forearm. Hopefully, the shock of claws scrapping his skin would make him drop the bat before it hit either girl. And if it didn’t, the fast-acting poison that was now being secreted under his nails would at least make him dizzy and tired. Just enough to take him out of the fight.

Hopefully.

They didn’t need a bat-swinging vigilante in this right now. Especially not one who was willing to go for a “combatant” who was already disabled. The spray had covered her hand and her gun, cementing them together and covering the front of the gun. And whatever that yellow paint was was sure to do something. The smell of grape and medicinal honey had joined the chemical burn in his nose, ever so faintly. He imagined it must be coming from the paints, though he’d never smelled paint like this before.

Right. The guy with the bat.

He struck quickly, using his fast reflexes to try and reach the “kid’s” arm before he could potentially crush either of the girl’s skulls with that bat.
 
aNaRChY Wanted


The world moved in slow motion, she tried to get into animation once and the whole situation reminded her of key framing. It was an exciting sensation she thought. Sure Lexi was falling and swimming in chaos maybe she shouldn't be so giggly about the ordeal. That was who she was though, a ball of kinetic energy. She would make small heists an event, turn brief tussle into new bonds. Or something, maybe the paint was getting to her head. High on fumes wild blue hair snaked through the air to her before the inevitable collision.

A sting to the back as she landed on the painter. She had no time to see how her gunshots did on the officer as the painter had officially turned on her now. Lexi was not to blame in her eyes. She offered a violent means out because prison sucked. She shot balloons because the pope was satisfying and was told to. Well that and a curiosity what would happen. She fell on someone because paint got on her. The only "bad" thing she believed herself as having done was shooting at what she saw was an officer. She got a better look at him though now. A glance over the shoulder told her the smooth voice wasn't a cop but a vigilante style individual. They were shootable to her, still not in the wrong. For all of this though her smile was wide, no guilt over the insanity she helped spark.

It was in the name, Wanted. Lexi wanted to be desired. They wanted her unarmed, they wanted her wounded, they wanted to prevent harm done to her. She might not be great at following everything happening right now, but she knew she was on cloud nine. All the pandemonium around her, perhaps aiding other criminals escape it made her ecstatic.

Foam covers the gun then covers her hand. It globs about the hand and weapon to go with this Lexi pushes forward. She wants to lock foamed gun with spray cans. The manic thug seeks to hold hands with her enemy! The most nefarious of plots connecting paint can tip and gun tip, of combining hands! Mayhap this wasn't so malicious but the act didn't end there. While she could still move her finger two more shots would go off. An effort to send rounds through a can and into a vigilante painter. Her vision was trailing behind her, Lexi didn't know where the bullets may go on the painter. She did figure though if they tore through the can the foam would spread! Together she wanted to paint the world or at least aisle purple!

this act did raise the question on if she should get high on purple. Her mind wasn't very functional in the moment, she concluded however it3d fill her lungs which would be suffocating and bad. Not all sufocation was bad but she figured that instance might be. The bat coming for her back was halted by another. She wasnt sure if he caught the bat or the masked figure pulled away. Either way though it meant Lexi went unhit. All the disorder and the criminal was simply chuckling.

"LIiked it more when thought you laaaaw not a food critic." Lexi said her speech a slur. She never thought there was to many cooks. When she had been in a gang she associated numbers with just a volume of care. It filled a void, it might spoil the food but the feeling mattered more for Lexi. While much of her thoughts were slowed her reaction though wasn't. With her banter came a reach into her backpack with her non foamed hand. It'd relinquish from that cotton candy hued bag a steel pole! It was just a rod of iron, a generic pipe. This was no custom bat or color coated instrument just a chunk of metal. The only thing to stand out about said pipe was that realistically it shouldn't have fit inside her bag at all. Weapon in hand she would begin the most frightening of attacks!

She swung wildly. It was best described as just trying to smack the other three people two or three times each. Lexi wasn't going for brutality here she just wanted to be a distraction. She was the kamikaze covering for the others!

 


Okay.

Yep.

That was all happening.

Tony stood up cautiously from behind Max, who was still covered in foam and possibly also a bit of paint right now, which was too bad for him, but Tony was... fine? He was actually fine. He hadn't expected that and it took him a minute to think about what he was supposed to do now. None of this was going how he'd expected. There were a whole bunch of super-hero types, but... none of them seemed to care about them any more? They were all sort of fighting each other?

Tony was actually somewhat offended, and he really didn't know why. That didn't make any sense. At all.

Huh.

Yeah. Huh, indeed. He took a cautious step back, peering over the counter at his sister, who'd taken cover for a minute and was now looking at him with what seemed to be the same feeling he had. Tony shrugged, and she shrugged back.

"Now what?" His voice was a whisper, and he wasn't even sure why he was asking her. She probably didn't know, either.


Now what? Why was he asking her? Islet wasn't exactly the ideas person. She just kinda did her own thing. Tony was the smart one. He did school stuff on purpose and everything, even though neither of them even went to school.

Well, whatever. She looked around. Max? Still goop. No help. Drew? Drew was never any help, with or without goo. Maybe they could politely ask balloon girl to goop him up just on principle? Seemed rude though. She shrugged, then glanced out the window.

"Hit the bricks, I guess?" Sure? Okay. She slid over the counter, crouching down by the window and pouring out a little bit more water along the bottom and corner. If she could just get it in there and wiggle a bit, she should be able to pop the pane out.

She'd just have to hope that the other guys stayed distracted with, well, each other. For a while.

Man, superheroes were weird.

 


The foam works! Well, Griffonage had already seen it work with her balloon, but it’s different when it’s coming from the spray paint can. The forms of activation alone-!

Oh. Oh, no. Gun-lady makes a movement towards her, and Griffonage pulls her hand back as quickly as she can, fumbling the spray paint in the process. It drops to the floor with a metallic clank that’s completely swallowed up by the roar of a gunshot, and then her hand is on fire.

“Ow!” Venus yanks away, tears already blurring her vision. Her voice sounds small, oddly tinny, and she’s staring at her hand. There’s a small, ragged hole that cuts straight through her palm. Her shoulder hurts to move, too, but she can’t see it- she can’t-

“You shot me.” She shouldn’t be surprised, some small, analytical, rapidly shrinking portion of her mind thinks. She knew her foam wasn’t bullet proof. She knew she wasn’t bullet proof, but she was here anyways because that’s what heroes are supposed to do.

Venus’ vision swims, her stomach lurching uncomfortably like she’s left it somewhere behind her. She’s not normally squeamish, but the sight of her hand and the blood and everything is too much.

She tries to take a step back, maybe several steps back, but her heel catches on something that rolls instead of being steady like a floor should be, and then she’s falling. She’s falling, and her hands fly out to grab at the shelf, or someone, or something, anything.

It’s too fast, and she’s panicking too much. Her head connects sharply with the floor, and she’s out.

 
Feels UnWanted


It was seconds later when Lexi found her trigger finger itched with no capacity to pull it. Foam stuck her finger in place. It filled the space between. And in this cocoon of purple goo no longer could she fire off her gun. It was a traumatic idea in concept alone? What was life without one's trigger finger? She had experienced many darkest hours in her chaotic life, but this was for sure at least the darkest of moments in the week. A week barely started and only recently released from prison but still. Not being able to shoot someone in a time like this with that hand was a disaster. This wasn't without results though, Lexi saw it all in slow motion.

How the bullet ripped into the hand the way blood splashed from the wound. How the crimson human paint looked to spatter her face to join the yellow. The startle of being shot got a recoil of the painter. One that lead to tripping and head bashing. It was overwhelming being shot, Lexi understood. She woke up a lot of nights in a panic feeling like she lost her mind. The response though to being shot was what caught Lexi more off guard. A level of surprise.

"My...my bad."

Lexi was a felon only recently out. It was she knew only time before she was Wanted as a felon again. Paint had been thrown in a way to hit her, an attack. Most around here were good types who wanted to attack her. It felt natural to pull the trigger anyway to Lexi. This though only emphasized the shoot people vibes to her. That surprise though it made her feel bad. Well not that bad, badish maybe? The painter also had gotten Lexi high, a favor that maybe meant someone shouldn't be shot in the hand. Feeling badish sucked feelings like guilt unwanted, so her frantic mind formulated a very short plan. Her wildly swinging pole stopped and was instead thrown toward Foamy.

Step one was a distraction looking to injure the foamed criminal who was defenseless. To try and have iron slap into head violently and head slap into shelf violently. He needed help and if the attack work needed more. With hands free, the bottom candy haired psycho would look to scoop up the painter. Aiming to make a dash to get unconcious woman to the Leximobile. Step two was kidnapping! She wanted to get her drug provider to a hospital.

This however was also she hoped also ideal coverage for the thieves. Kidnapping attempts, attempts to beat someones head in. Ideally this would provide enough chaos for the heist to finish up and look to escape. Lexi was she thought very good at distractions so she sought to do just that. Though Lexi while wanting many things had never wanted to be a body builder. She could lift up the painter if the combatants didn't stop her, she wasn't though going to exactly be swiftly doing so. More a hobble for the door if allowed then a sprint. "Always help the dealer of getting high."


 
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