Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3

A shimmer, like a moment of bad reception on an old TV, and they’re closer. Their expression is practically the opposite of hers, their dull, blank stare contrasting her snarl. They’re still in the way of her gun, but with a flash of green light they shift to the side, another figure next to them. This one is much more familiar, the same little menace who’d carved her up last time. Oh she was going to enjoy this. Fate’s aim drifted over to Lark, a pout forming on her face as they spoke.

“So rude, Lark. You should consider yourself lucky. Most people meet me once and forget. You’re lucky enough to meet me twice. Well, maybe. Let’s see how this fucks with things.”
The pout shifted to a smirk as Fate’s finger squeezed on the trigger. An effervescent sour and sweet smell filled the air, black smoke and crimson light rolling out of the revolver as a glowing red projectile launched itself at Lark. Just before it hit, however, the projectile split into four, and wrapped around them, looking to strike at the younger figure behind them. The shots splashed against the floor as the emerald light flashed and the younger Lark had disappeared.

“Well shit. Guess that’s child murder out of the picture. Can’t we just do that? It’d be so much easier.”
Fate laughed as the chamber spun, another bullet ready.
“I’ve got some special ones. I can make it quick.”
She knew they wouldn’t take it. Good. She wanted things to be interesting. Lark lashed out, shuriken filling their fingers. Their expression finally shifts into a grin, as hollow as hers is malicious. Fate squeezed the trigger three more times, not bothering to aim as she dropped to the floor, the wide array of shurikens still managing to graze her in several places. Crimson darts swirl through the air, eleven in total, streaking towards Lark regardless of Fate’s aim.

Her deck was nearby, as always, she could quickly use it, get the Emperor up for some protection against the shurikens. Then she’d only need to deal with a time traveler. But that was the boring way out. This was much more exciting.
 
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Himiko didn’t fail to notice that the receptionist needed to look twice at Masami’s ID, while hers simply needed a single glance. No doubt because she actually looked the part of someone who belonged in DDC, whereas Masami should be dozing in the back of a classroom somewhere. She beamed at the receptionist as she stood and led them down the hallway to their training room.

"Thank you!" Himiko bubbled, eagerly stepping inside the training room, only slightly annoyed that she had to go after Masami. “I will, if you don’t mind.”

Himiko untucked the prism necklace from her shirt and brought it to her lips before letting it fall back down. Small splashes of rainbow clung to her lips and fingertips, spreading out from where the necklace fell against her chest. She ran her hands up over her face, bright blue skin trailing in their wake. They ran through her hair, shortening it and filling it with color before flicking the rest out.

“Iris.” she introduced herself with a little bow, basking in the glow of her transformation. She didn’t have the wings out yet, those would come later.

“Go ahead,” Iris gestured towards Masami. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
 

Janis was mortified. She felt a flush creep into her cheeks as her wife’s familiar made a giant robotic heart and blew her a kiss. Fortunately she didn’t have a ton of time to be embarrassed as the Circle was cast, the swirling fog of the Nightmare solidifying into a thick sludge that coalesced further into gross shapes. She registered the Salamanders and winced as the piercing crow of the Cockatrice reached her ears.

The others were already springing into action, and Janis wasn’t going to let herself be caught gawking. She pressed a few buttons on her console and grinned to herself as music started filtering in through some speakers she’d put up. They weren’t exactly regulation, but if they thought she’d be able to kick Nightmare ass without something playing, they were sorely mistaken.

As she felt the drums and guitar fill the space, a grin crept on Janis’s face as she pushed Medusa forward. Aphrodite and Brig appeared to be handling the Salamanders, with her wife providing backup. That was good, as long as Meena was safe things would be a lot easier.

“I’ve got the other leg!” Medusa surged forward, skirting the edge of the fight before abruptly shifting focus, darting in to mirror Echo, slashing at the Cockatrice’s other ankle. Any of her hair snakes that got in range lashed out too, intent on making this thing sluggish and slow. They’d show this fucking overgrown chicken not to mess with them.
 


Mari knew they wouldn’t take it well. Spork usually tried to coast by on ‘what my parents know won’t hurt them’. But that didn’t always work, and the slight edge of panic creeping into their voice was a sign that they knew it. She set down her book properly, remembering her place, and turned to look at them.

“I found an envelope in her desk drawer, addressed to your parents. I read it.” It was really her fault for letting Mari stay in the classroom by herself during recess, while Ms. Murphy was busy trying to keep the rest of the kids from eating dirt and causing trouble. “It said you’re not doing as well as the other kids, and that you might get held back.” Amongst other things, Ms. Murphy had suggested that Spork’s parents not only get them private tutoring, but potentially send them to a special school for blind kids if the situation didn’t improve.

The nearest one of those was ten miles away. Mari had looked on one of the school computers. That wouldn’t do.

She scooted over to her backpack, unzipping the front pouch and pulling out a sealed and stamped envelope, addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Fuchs. Why would you trust a student to take a letter to the mail room, even if they were your favorite? Mari had no idea, sometimes adults just didn't make sense. She set it by them, one of the edges just touching their hand so they knew where it was.

"I have the letter." Mari said, with all the seriousness a fourth-grader could muster. "Your parents aren't going to get it. Not for a little bit, anyways."

 
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On a quiet street in downtown Pittsburgh, deep in the heart of the shopping district, there lies an unassuming store. Above the doors to the store, as with all of the other shops around it, there is a sign. “Dual Flame Outfitters,” the sign proclaims, clarifying in smaller text, “Handcrafted Weapons & Apparel.” As if to emphasize this point, a smaller sign hangs down beneath it, depicting a sewing needle and a hammer crossed in front of a flame.

The inside is comfortable, with wooden beams, high ceilings, and a couple of small stained glass windows casting rainbow light along the floor. Half of the store is lined with colorful clothing and accessories, the other half with glinting weaponry. The two seem to mix in some areas, with chainmail accessories arrayed beside colorful weapon wraps in bins by the counter.

There is one central counter, behind which sits an old, matronly woman, humming to herself as she sews, knits, or crochets. From somewhere behind her, beyond the half door and curtain demarcating the employees only area, the faint ringing of a hammer against metal emerges, keeping time like an unorthodox clock.

The store itself seems normal enough, if a bit eccentric in its offerings. The woman tending the counter certainly seems to treat customers with the cheerful hospitality of any shopkeep. But there are whispers of a different side to the store. Rumors about how the light stays on long past dark, after the other shops on the lane have locked their doors and turned their cameras inwards. Rumors about cloaked figures, masked figures, people with strange silhouettes coming and going at odd hours.

The Seamstress does her best to fuel these rumors, saving pages in her sketchbook and room in her schedule for any metahumans who may require a more specialized outfit. She does love to see her designs out on the streets, be that fighting crime, causing it, or simply existing. And she’s well aware that the Blacksmith enjoys swaying the younger generation towards blades and blunt objects rather than bullets, when she can be pried from her forge.

Alas, attitudes towards metahumans change with the tides of popular opinion, and so the rumors remain relatively quiet. But with any luck, they’ll reach the right ears. The proprietors of Dual Flame are always willing to strike a deal with a young meta who needs equipment. They may even offer a heavy discount in exchange for help with the materials and labor.

 
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div snatched 1

golly gee i sure do love crime

 
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The Blacksmith

Name: Myrna Turei
Alias: Vulkan None.
Power Level: Low
Alignment: Retired Hero, now Neutral
Age: 62
Alliances: Dual Flame Outfitters, the weapons/clothing shop that she runs with her wife, Florian.
Appearance: A heavy-set older woman with volcanic gray skin, dark eyes, and gray hair. Volcanic cracks peek through her skin, glowing faintly in red, orange, and yellow. She dyes her hair red sometimes, but it’s grown out and faded. She wears a wedding ring; a simple gold band that she takes off when blacksmithing.
​
Powers:
Heat-Resistance & Durability: Myrna is heat-resistant up to 5000 degrees Fahrenheit. This means that she can handle objects of this temperature or be exposed to this temperature without any negative effects. She can still feel the temperature and be aware that it is quite hot, but objects below this threshold will never burn her. As a result, her skin is tougher than average. While it won’t stop bullets or knives, splinters are a non-issue, and doctors have a tough time getting her blood.
Enhanced Endurance: Perhaps another side effect of the heat resistance, Myrna can keep going long after others have stopped. It comes in particularly handy around the holidays when the Christmas orders flood the shop, and her anvil rings well past midnight.

Skills: Myrna is a highly skilled blacksmith and woodworker. All of the inventory in her store is her own handiwork, and she does take commissions as well. She takes pride in her work, and ensures that every weapon she makes is balanced, sharpened, and ready to be put to work.

Equipment: In her shop, Myrna has access to a wide variety of both melee and ranged medieval-style weapons, all of which were made by her own hand. She knows how to wield them all with deadly efficacy, if not finesse. She has a soft spot for spears and an unexplained bitterness towards swords. She keeps her favorite spear under the counter along with a crossbow loaded with a bolas for any attempted robbers.

 
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Myrna missed her forge. She didn’t mind manning the counter and keeping an eye on the store, but her true place was by the bellows, a hammer in one hand and a piece of red-hot steel in the other. But Florien was having her personal time with the duplicates, the “shift change” as she cheerfully called it. Myrna knew she was really up in their apartment, sharing tea with Flo and Rei, the latter filling the former in on the events of the day. She could’ve just absorbed Rei and then manifested Flo, but her wife had told her that she preferred it this way.

So while she did that, Myrna was on desk duty. Even though she didn’t say it out loud, she knew that Florien tried to be the one to interact with customers and clients as much as possible. It wasn’t that Myrna didn’t have good customer service skills, it’s just that most customers weren’t good enough for her service. She preferred being in the back anyways with the heat, the noise, and the sparks.

But she had to keep herself busy or she’d go insane. So she was doing inventory. Enough hoodlums came into the store and swung her weapons around, despite the many posted signs that they were very sharp, and ended up banging them together, nicking the blades and just being general nuisances. So she wasn’t exactly behind the desk, but she had an eye on it. The other was focused on her blades, ensuring they were straight and the edge was smooth. She let out a sigh as she made her way back to the counter, setting the chipped kukri onto its smooth surface. Gods she wanted a cigarette right now.

The door chimed as someone entered. Myrna looked up, her red-orange eyes taking stock of the new customer. There wasn’t much to look at, in her opinion. He wasn’t a twig, but didn’t have some of the bulk on him that meant he was looking for an ego weapon. Little miracles and all that. Myrna hated when people just wanted the biggest hammer, axe, or sword she had with no regards to the design, weight, or balance.

“Mhm.” Myrna brushed his chipper comment off the desk and onto the floor. “Welcome to Dual Flame. What can I do for you?”

 
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