Amorkca

I would suggest Mental Blast with the Advantage, Does BODY.

9
Logan sat at his desk. Things seemed to be quiet in the city now, but he still had to
visit the animal gangs on his way home. They hadn’t left town, and they hadn’t given
him anything. So he had to make their staying in town as painful as possible.
 
He wondered how far he could push them before they broke and pulled out the
hardware. He decided it wouldn’t be long. Then they could see how many of the
weapons matched up with the Garret Shooting.
 
The police hadn’t caught them with weapons yet. Maybe pushing them would get that
much. And just randomly showing up was letting him take their money and destroy
any drugs he might find. That wasn’t making him any fans, except to the charities he
was giving the money too.
 
The only thing that looked outstanding on his billet was the embezzler Phillips
was chasing. If they could nail that down, it would have been a sweet few days
of street justice handed out.
 
He wanted to talk to Phillips about that, but decided there was no use pushing the
man. Either his reporter was chasing it, or he wasn’t. Standing behind him wouldn’t
make the story write itself faster.
 
And financial crimes was one of the most complicated things to unravel and report
on. Even if Phillips had the guy, they might not have all the evidence to do anything
about it.
 
Logan didn’t like the silence. It was his paper’s reputation on the line if Phillips
messed up.
 
At least Teflon Billy was in court. They hadn’t been able to unmask him, but he had
been kept under guard since being in jail.
 
Logan expected his power was allowing him to keep his mask on. It was the only
explanation that jumped to mind. Maybe he could reverse how slick he made things.
If that was the case, the mask could be glued to his face until he wanted to take
it off.
 
And there was no proof of a connection to Lane Gentry.
 
That would have been something to hang everything on. Billy hadn’t talked about
how he had known about the security arrangements, his fence, or if he had been
commissioned to rob the displays for the money.
 
Gentry could still be involved in all of that.
 
And as long as Billy didn’t talk, he could still walk away without worrying about
the law coming down on him.
 
Logan put that out of his mind. He had nothing but suspicion. He couldn’t chase after
a man just because he felt the man was an accessory to a string of thefts across the
country.
 
Maybe he should ask Phillips to check where Gentry was when the other thefts
had taken place. It might link him to the moving of the gems.
 
That was another thing to put on his to do list.
 
Logan thought maybe he could swing enough to buy the group of papers downstate
as long as Buffy didn’t get involved. If that happened, the price for the papers might
be out of reach.
 
Whenever he got involved, sellers thought he would give them a better deal than the
one they were getting from other buyers on the field. It didn’t always go down that
way.
 
There was nothing he could do about that other than beating Buffy with a log. He
smiled at the thought, but put it aside. He couldn’t abuse the power of the wood on
an innocent man’s noggin, no matter how much he wanted to avenge the losses he had
already taken in fair play.
 
On the other hand, if Buffy was cheating somehow, then a whacking was in order.
He looked up as a shadow filled his vision. His editor stood there, looking around
the bullpen.
 
“You seen Phillips?,” asked Ken.
 
“No,” said Logan. “Why?”
 
“He said he was going to call in after he spoke with some people down at City Hall
about a story he was chasing,” said Ken. “I haven’t heard from him. I know he has
been digging for you on some things, and I was wondering if you had talked to him.”
 
“Not today,” said Logan. “He was still trying to nail this embezzler thing the last
I talked to him.”
 
“Embezzler in City Hall?,” asked Ken.
 
“That, or the county office somewhere,” said Logan.
 
“You don’t think he went down to brace the guy himself, do you?,” asked Ken.
 
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “What’s he driving? I’ll go down and check if his car is
in the city lot.”
 
“Thanks,” said Ken. “I’m probably worrying over nothing.”
 
“It’s no problem,” said Logan. “I was going to have to go by there on the way to the
lawyers anyway. What’s he driving?”
 
“It’s an old Crown Victoria,” said Ken. “He bought it off the police department at
an auction.”
 
“Does it still have the police colors on it?,” asked Logan.
 
“They had all that taken off,” said Ken. “It just looks like an old car now.”
 
“All right,” said Logan. “I’ll go down and tell him to call you before I head over to
the lawyers. It should be a snap.”
 
“Thanks, Logan,” said Ken. “In the old days, we wouldn’t have worried if one of our
guys had gone off the grid. Now they might wind up in a trunk somewhere.”
 
“They could have wound up in a trunk in the old days too,” said Logan. He stood and
packed up the papers he had been reading. “We just didn’t care that much if they did.”
 
“You’re right about that,” said Ken.
 
“Don’t worry, Mother Hen,” said Logan. He smiled. “I’ll look out for your lost
chick.”
 
“Thanks a lot,” said Ken. He glanced at one of his other reporters. “Looks like I have
another fire to put out.”
 
Logan took his briefcase full of papers and went down to his parked Datsun. He
stowed them in the back. He headed for a street exit. The government center wasn’t
that far away. He would walk over, look for Phillips, grab something to eat, and then
come back for the papers to go to his lawyers for review.
 
Had Phillips actually tracked the embezzler down? If he had, he would have to prove
things in court. The paper would have to decide on how much they could print before
they were making statements that could be slurs and defamation. Things might get
messy.
 
Logan wasn’t worried about that. The paper had dealt with a lot of people who had
tried to sue for the damage to their careers. Unfortunately for them, the truth won over
any hurt feelings.
 
Logan paused when he saw a build up of police around City Hall. What was
going on? He hadn’t seen any television crews yet. This must have just started.
He walked over to a cop putting up a ribbon barricade. The cop refused to
acknowledge his presence.
 
“Hey, bud,” Logan said. “What’s going on? I’m supposed to talk with some people
about my rotifer.”
 
“You’re going to have to move on,” said the cop. “Nobody is going to be able to talk
to you about your rotifer right now.”
 
“Thanks, Officer,” said Logan. He walked away, looking for concealment on the
street.
 
He wondered at the chances of Phillips being at City Hall and this going on could be
unconnected. He thought it unlikely.
 
A SWAT team should be on the way. After that would be waiting around and hoping
nothing bad happened.
 
He would rather go in and look around for himself. If it was something he couldn’t
handle, he would be glad to give SWAT their chance.
 
The first step was getting in the building while the police seemed to be clearing
everyone out so they could deal with the problem.
 
Logan found a narrow alley between a book store and a coffee place. He gathered
his wooden form over his body, then the cape of leaves. Once the mask was in place,
he had to get across the street and inside the City Hall.
 
Log Man extended a staff out of his hand, using it to get to the roof of the book store.
He leaned it against the building as he looked over at the government center. He
needed to get over and punch through one of the windows to get inside.
 
That part should be easy enough to do.
 
He backed up from the edge of the book store. Then he ran for the edge, summoning
his power. He ran on a platform growing under his feet above the crowd below. He
used a thrown log to bust the window before he got to it. Then he was inside and
listening for anyone who might have heard him.
 
Log Man sighed at the broken glass he had spread over the office. He couldn’t do
anything about it now.
 
He went to the office and looked outside.
 
The police had either cleared this floor already, or the staff had cleared out on their
own when the problems started. It didn’t matter which since the hall seemed empty
so he didn’t have to worry about bystanders getting in his way when he started
punching people in the face.
 
He went to the stairs. SWAT would be setting up soon enough. They would want to
call and open a line to negotiate through. Would their criminal take that chance for
a peaceful resolution?
 
Log Man didn’t know. He expected a shootout in the works if he let things get to
where the police were tired of trying to talk down someone in the middle of having
some kind personal crisis.
 
He went to the stairs. Elevators would just give him away, and he could listen at
the stairwell doors for the police and the bad guy. He decided that the problem was
above him somewhere. He could hear people heading down to the lobby.
 
He worked his way up, checking at each landing. Finally he heard someone ranting.
This had to be the place.
 
He checked the hall. No one else seemed to be around. He crept down the hall,
pausing at the office door that blocked most of the rant that was going on. The
pebbled inset window didn’t block sound, but it concealed the hall from view.
 
Log Man frowned when he heard Phillips trying to reason with his captor. He didn’t
think that was a good move at all.

8
Log Man met the police outside the scene of the crime. The police tape had long been
pulled down, but the damage done was still present. A piece of plywood covered the
window where the bullets had went through the Garret house and killed the little boy.
Divots from other missed shots dotted the rest of the neighborhood from where he
stood.
 
“What are you thinking?,” asked O’Toole. He had brought a few city cops and some
sheriff deputies with him to help with the search.
 
“The animation said the Razorback was standing about right here,” said Log Man. He
walked over to where he remembered the wounded shooter had been marked down.
He made a staff to act as a rifle for him.
 
“He was shooting this way,” said Log Man. He tried to visualize the scene. He
thought he saw where bullets had gone through things in the way to hit houses on the
other side of the street.
 
“Then I think he got shot by an Aardvark,” said Log Man. He turned and pointed his
fake rifle at the window of the Garret house. The trail of holes supported that much.
He seemed to be a few feet off from his estimate. “Then he fell down.”
 
The policemen spread out in a half-circle around the front of the house. Log Man
stood there, looking at the scene.
 
“We know he fell down here while the rest fled,” said Log Man. “We know that he
didn’t have the rifle when they took him in. We know he won’t admit to anything
while we don’t have the rifle. And we don’t think the rest of the gang will turn him
in. So where did he hide it while waiting for the police to get here?”
 
The police shone their lights under the house. Nothing was apparent in the
crawlspace. He hadn’t left it on the ground. Where could he have put it?
 
Log Man knelt down. He looked under the house. He dropped on his back and looked
up. He saw there was a ledge that ran around the edge of the porch floor. He thought
he saw something braced on the ledge.
 
“I think I found it,” said Log Man. He scooted out from under the house. “It’s on the
ledge that runs along the edge there.”
 
“All right,” said O’Toole. “Let’s get the crime scene people down here to take
pictures of this.”
 
Log Man pushed to his feet. He couldn’t get the dust off without taking apart his
costume. He could wait until he was clear of the police before he did that.
 
“It might not be the right weapon,” said Log Man. “It might be some other weapon
from that night.”
 
“Then we run it and see what we can get out of it,” said O’Toole. “Until we match the
weapon to the bullets, we don’t know. But if the bullets match, then we can ask our
wounded victim some questions. Maybe we can get him to flip on some of the
others.”
 
“Good luck on that,” said Log Man. “I’ll call my friend to get the animation for you.
That will be something extra to use in court if you need it.”
 
“All right,” said O’Toole. “Maybe we can use it against the rest of these lunkheads.
The defense is going to say you framed the guy. You might want to take off so you
can avoid any questions.”
 
“I know,” said Log Man. “Maybe you can turn up something else you can use.”
 
Log Man walked over to the Log Mobile and drove away. He thought it would have
been better to confront both gangs at the same time with what they now knew. Maybe
they could have forced something else to the surface.
 
He decided it was better to let the police work on it. They had the manpower and the
resources to make connections that he didn’t have. He would need to have Hailey
deliver the animation and any documents that went with it.
 
He wondered what his reporters would make of this. He didn’t ask them to favor his
exploits. Some actively blamed him for everything wrong that happened in town. He
couldn’t fire for them for that even if it irritated him.
 
He needed to dump his car and costume and take his real self home to pick up his
wife for their date. He wanted to hassle the gangs again, but why bother until after
O’Toole was done.
 
He wondered how long that would be. The wheels of justice ground slow.
 
He pulled the Log Mobile into a parking garage a few buildings over from the paper.
He discarded the car and his costume. He headed down to the public access door and
walked to the paper.
 
Logan had left his Datsun at the paper before going out on his errand. He would do
one more check in, then he would head home.
 
He headed up to the bullpen. He looked over shoulders as he passed. No one had
heard about the finding of the rifle yet. He thought that was good. He didn’t want to
scoop the other papers if it revealed his double life.
 
One day he would write all this down and let it be published. There was no need for
a mask when you were dead.
 
“Have you heard?,” asked Phillips, rushing into the bullpen from the street entrance.
 
“Heard what?,” asked Logan.
 
“The police found the weapon in the Garret shooting,” said Phillips. “They’re
pressing charges.”
 
“Can you verify any of this?,” asked Logan.
 
“Yes, I can,” said Phillips. “I have time to write the story before the deadline.”
 
“Go ahead,” said Logan, checking his watch. “Any progress on your embezzler?”
 
“Not really,” said Phillips. “Maybe I’m on the wrong trail. I was sure, but the money
seems to all be there.”
 
“Write your story,” said Logan. “I have to talk to Ken, and then I have to head home.”
 
“You get your financial thing worked out?,” asked Phillips.
 
“Not really,” said Logan. “I don’t want to lose too much money taking on another
paper. I’m trying to talk them down.”
 
“Good luck with that,” said Phillips. “If something wrong comes up, let me know.”
 
“Sure,” said Logan.
 
Logan found his editor and exchanged words. The city had some rough spots, but
there was nothing Logan could do about it at the moment. Settling the Garret shooting
would do something, but there were more that needed to be answered. He couldn’t
solve all the problems on his own.
 
Ken assured him that everything was running smoothly. The paper would be out on
time.
 
Logan went down to pick up his car. He thought about what his schedule had to be
in the next few days. He thought Gloria had a few things she had to do over the next
few days. Brady had a field trip to Minnesota.
 
He didn’t know if he was supposed to be a chaperone for that trip. He should check
to make sure.
 
He didn’t know if he wanted to ride with a bunch of teenagers while they were on a
trip for the school.
 
He thought about it, and realized he didn’t know what class was going.
 
He chided himself for not remembering the source of the trip. He should know that.
Logan drove home. He decided that he should ask Brady if he was supposed to ride
along as a chaperone.
 
Logan pulled into his driveway and parked his car. They would be taking it back out
when Gloria was ready to go on their date.
 
He hoped something would come from finding the weapon under the house. He had
seen cases where the defense had tried to use him as a reason to dismiss a
prosecution.
 
He expected the same would happen in this case.
 
Logan walked into the house and listened. He heard Gloria singing somewhere. He
nodded as he decided that she was getting ready. Where was Brady?
 
“I’m home,” said Logan.
 
“In the kitchen, Dad,” responded Brady.
 
Logan walked through the house and found his son eating cereal at the kitchen table.
He had a number of books spread out around his bowl so he could read while he ate.
 
“Homework?,” asked Logan. He went to the refrigerator and opened the door. He
searched fruitlessly for something to snack on among the food on the shelves. He
settled for a piece of cheese and getting some milk to put in a glass.
 
“Yeah,” said Brady. “I have to read a bunch of stuff. We’re having tests on this at the
end of the week.”
 
“Don’t you think it will be easier to read all of one thing at a time, than some of it for
a little bit of time, then another bit from something else?,” said Logan.
 
“It’s all boring,” said Brady. “I’m trying to get through it fast, then go back to read
what I think will be relevant more slowly.”
 
“All right,” said Logan. “Don’t let me interfere with your process.”
 
“Where are you taking Mom?,” asked Brady. “She seems to be in a good mood for
your date.”
 
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “The ball is on hold because we busted Teflon Billy
trying to steal the display. Maybe somewhere quiet and intimate.”
 
“Mom might want to go to a movie,” said Brady.
 
“What’s playing?,” said Logan. He had seen ads in his paper, but had just glossed
over them.
 
“I don’t know,” said Brady. “Maybe Mom would like some romantic thing.”
 
“All right,” said Logan. It sounded boring to him. He had enough problems dealing
with people in real life. He didn’t find watching people doing courtship all that
interesting.
 
“Don’t take your phone inside the theater,” said Brady.
 
“Maybe I’ll need to make a call,” said Logan.
 
“Mom will be mad if you do,” said Brady. “Just leave it in the car. The city can do
without you for a bit.”
 
“All right,” said Logan. “Maybe you’re right.”
 
“I know I am,” said Brady. “You’ve trained me to observe people and I think this is
the best course since you blew your original date night.”
 
“I didn’t blow it,” said Logan. “It might not have counted as a date, I’ll give you that.
We still went out and had fun.”
 
“We have different ideas about fun,” said Gloria. She wore a shiny red dress, a
necklace and heels. Her hair was secured behind her head with a silver clip. She
smiled at his reaction. “We’re not going to a movie. Go get your tuxedo and get ready
to go.”
 
“You look great, Mom,” said Brady. “Where is Dad taking you?”
 
“We’re going to a show,” said Gloria. “Go get ready. The curtain time is in an hour.
You’re going to have to hurry.”
 
Logan finished his milk and put the glass down on the sideboard. He kissed his wife
as he passed. He headed for their bedroom to get ready for the night ahead.
He laid out his clothes. He showered and shaved before dressing. He checked himself
in the closet mirror. He looked all right.
 
He went downstairs. Brady had finished reading one section and his cereal. He had
placed the bowl in the sink while he went over the rest of his homework.
 
“You look okay,” said Gloria. She straightened his bow tie. She tugged on his jacket.
 
“Okay?,” said Logan. “I think I look better than okay.”
 
“Self delusion is the first marker of old age,” said Gloria. She smiled at him. “Still
you look almost like James Bond if he was a little less handsome.”
 
“Which one?,” asked Logan.
 
“Woody Allen,” said Gloria.
 
“I bow before your sharp wit, Hon,” said Logan. “I happen to think I resemble
Brosnan.”
 
“No,” said Gloria. “You’re definitely a Woody Allen. All you need is the glasses.”
 
Brady sat at the table. He seemed to be coughing. Logan gave him a look.
 
“Enjoy your date,” said Brady. He waved at them.
 
“The show is over at midnight,” said Gloria. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up
too late.”
 
“Okay,” said Brady.
 
“Come on, Dear,” said Gloria. “You have to drive us downtown.”
 
“What is the show about?,” asked Logan. 
 
“A giant turtle attacking a city,” said Gloria. “They say it’s based on facts covered up
by the government.”
 
“It would almost have to be,” said Logan.

Ting is, I've learned that the first idea is often not the best idea, and sometimes the best worldbuilding strategy is just to throw things out and see what connections develop on their own. Let me give an example:
 
As part of my Mystic World playtest campaign, I ran a story arc set on my Jack Vance "Dying Earth" homage, the world of Loezen. I'd already decided that saving Loezen would involve time travel: The PCs would need to go back in time to obtain the lost artifact they needed. (Lost, in Vancian irony, because they stole it.) So I dashed off a list of fruity-sounding past ages for Loezen: Before the modern age (not yet named because it's still happening) was the Age of the Road Builder. Before that, the Age of the Cloud Lords. Before that, the horrible Age of Red Shadows. And before that, a mishmash of Ages that were often nothing but names: the Arcuate Age, when people wrote in characters made of short, curving lines; the Age of Towers, inferred from certain massive ruins; the Anaglyphic Age, for the picture-writing carved on buildings; the Trilunar Age, when Loezen apparently had three moons (it presently has two); and the one that mattered for the plot, the Age of Six Sovereigns, when six immortal and ultra-powerful wizard-tyrants contended for rule of the world.
 
Okay, so one of the PCs already had a time travel spel... with a control roll. Which the player blew. Badly. Instead of 8,000 years into the past, they went 8 million! No problem, I'm good at improvising. The players enjoyed an hour seeing the very strange world Loezen had been before its sun began dying. They obtained help from the;;; mages?... of that time. Not wanting to trust another time-jump, they sought other ways of reaching the Age of Six Sovereigns. I had one of their new allies suggest placing them in suspended animation, packing them into a ball and launching them into orbit, to descend and wake up at the proper time. (IIRC I'd recently read one of Cordwainer Smith's stories that had a person who'd awakened in the future this way.) The PCs agreed. Then one player's eyes widened. ""It's us," he exclaimed. "We're causing the Trilunar Age." And they all wondered how I'd set it up.
 
Well, either my unconscious mind is a genius, and possibly precognitive... or I just got lucky, because the PCs did something that could tie into the blither I tossed out before. And the more of these fragments of information you provide, the greater the odds that something will later become useful in ways you never expected.
 
Dean Shomshak
 
 

I refer you to grown men discussing the sexual tastes of the characters in My Little Pony.  Not simply porn, but discussions about who might like what...and how.
   Using this as a benchmark, everybody here is boring.   Thank God.

Uh . . . I guess I should have said “one of the weirdest threads I’ve ever seen on the HERO forums.”
 
And y’all have made sure of that now!

You could create a club and limit who can enter it (possibly) on this site...

Barrier
 
Backdraft brought Barrier in as a human shield. He can bounce bullets and can throw heavy objects around which s useful in an operation where transport needs to be vandalised one way or another. Barrier had a lot of bad luck in the Battle of Philadelphia. He was hit by Philadelphia Freedom and Burning Eagle, shot by Flechette, Hawkesmythe, Kill Coil, The Giggler, Richtor-1 and the police, bitten by The Great Dan, blasted by Meggido and Cosmik, bombed by Death Bat, stabbed by The Giggler and Madjack and while leaping was knocked to the ground by The Red Bolt. He holds the distinction of being hit by all the armour wearers that were working for the police. This did have the effect of letting at least Backdraft and possibly Meggido, escape. He actually surrendered to the police and this was caught on camera by Philadelphia News as he put up his hands and said 'I Quit !'

Spells like this can easily countered with a verbal password and a door bar. It’s just expensive in payroll. 

Kris found Warren sitting on the glider. His beer bottle was unopened. His gaze went down the drive to the horizon.
 
“You okay?” Warren shook his head. “We've been going over possible suspects.”
 
“It's Mind Warp.”
 
Kris leaned against the rail. “How can you be sure? His powers, that we know of, never included dreamwalking.”
 
Warren looked at her. “It's got his stink all over it. Maybe it isn't within the scope of what he can do, but maybe he isn't working alone.”
 
“Who would he work with? He's pretty much a solo act.”
 
“That alone means someone powerful enough to yank his chain. In my mind that would put Darque at the top of the list,” Warren said.
 
“How do you figure that?” Ash said through the screen door.
 
“Because he's always sniping at us. His...sense of honor. Why are we all having visions and nightmares, everyone of us, except Kate?”
 
“Well, Trese...”
 
“Trese has, or had, nightmares about her stepfather regularly. And the way she explained it, it's like watching the same horror movie over and over again. Sooner or later you stop jumping because it stops being scary.” Warren twisted the top off the bottle and flipped it into a bin.
 
Kris looked at Ash. “It does make some sense. None of us know enough about magic, how it works, or how Darque can use it.”
 
“I agree,” Ash said. “Do you honestly think these dreamcatchers will help?”
 
Warren smiled. “They definitely can't hurt. And some of them looked pretty cool. That's why I picked them up.”

Chances are most probably extremely low unless it is undertaken by a third party. In the meantime, you jay have seen in the HERO store two PDF converting the Dark Champions templates and super skills in 6E format.

There's always a chance, but don't hold your breath

Now, when I look at those templates, and I look at the 3e D&D books that provided quick  builds for characters (i.e. "just pick 2 skills, +1 per INT bonus, and max out skill points there; here's a starting feat, and a second if you are human; here's some gear...; elves have these abilities), I thought "how I hate being shoehorned into specific character builds".
 
So let's play Hero, where I can build any character I can imagine.
 
Then I looked at the rules and - can you believe it - they don't give me a template for an elf, and a template for a fighter.  Now how am I supposed to build my character?

Ok..a 6ed of Ripper would be cool, but only he can do one or two things new.

“All right, who's next on our list of suspects?”
 
“Next up we have the Persuader,” Trese said.
 
“Ugh.” Dani threaded the leather through a grommet, wrapped it around the frame, and fed it into another grommet.
 
“What does he... she? Do?” Kate asked while working on her own dreamcatcher.
 
“He. As his moniker implies, he's good at persuading people to do what he wants.”
 
“I bet there's an interesting story there,” Kate said.
 
“Not really,” Trese said. “By all accounts, rumors or otherwise, his powers manifested with puberty.”
 
“Mutation,” Ash said.
 
Trese nodded. “Hereditary. Skipped his mom, but his grandfather had a hypnotism act forty or fifty years ago.”
 
“So, you've got a teenage boy, fresh from puberty, loaded with raging hormones, finding out that he can get people to do whatever he wants,” Kris said. “What do you think he did with it?”
 
“I...” Kate looked at Kris. Kris raised an eyebrow and kept staring at Kate. “Oh... Oh... Eww...”
 
“Exactly.”

Ash opened her eyes. A breeze blew through, but not enough to cool the room. Her shirt was soaked with sweat. Pushing herself up, she glanced out the window. The sky was still dark with no hint of the coming day.
 
She heard soft sounds coming from downstairs. Her eyes darted to the clock on the dresser. 4:35. Most likely it was Warren preparing for another day of hard work. Getting up from the bed, Ash saw Kris laying in her own bed. She was face-down, one arm slipped under her pillow. Her wings twitched as she dreamt.
 
Ash quietly made her way to the stairs. Moving down, she rounded the corner. She cast the newel cap a withering glare. At the bottom of the stairs Ash turned to the kitchen. Warren was making something that made her mouth water.
 
“Morning,” Warren said. “Eggs, pancakes, ham, and bacon. I know I'm not Jason in the kitchen...”
 
“It's fine,” Ash said stopping halfway into a chair. “What's that?”
 
“Bassinet. I finished it last night. I want to get Kate's take on it before I varnish it.”
 
“Make it go away,” Ash said quietly.
 
Warren turned to look at her. “What's wrong?”
 
“Warren, I want coffee. I want some of whatever you're making. And I want that to go away. Please.”
 
In a moment the bassinet was out of sight. Ash slipped into the chair. A cup of coffee appeared in front of her. Warren was still working on breakfast as if he hadn't moved.
 
“Are you okay?”
 
“I'm fine,” Ash said, staring at the table top.
 
“Nightmares?”
 
“Yeah. Just some really twisted dreams last night. Things that really happened, but it was like they went into the Twilight Zone and stayed there.” Ash shook her head. “I've said that before.”
 
“Freaky nightmares where bad things happen, you wake up and you're still having nightmares?”
 
Warren slipped a plate in front of her. “Yeah. Origin stuff. Flashback to Wildfire. Only this time, Jason hurt me and raped me. Then I woke up, came downstairs, broke the newel cap off the railing.” Warren's eyes darted to the cap resting on its post. “You were in the kitchen and asked me to put your girl in her highchair.” Tears were rolling down Ash's face. “I killed your baby,” she said quietly.
 
“Ash...”
 
“I know! It was just a dream. A nightmare. But it felt so real.”

Day 11: Sitting here in the motel room. This is the second straight day of rain. Jason has run for food, which gives me time to write. I've been trying to get my thoughts in order.
 
We found the cemetery where Dad said we would. We spent half the day going through the county records to find the right plot. Then we headed back to the cemetery to try to make sense out of where the old plots were. We finally found the marker Dad wanted a rubbing of.
 
While we were searching we came across a marker. I've been trying to understand how it made me feel and why. This marker had no name on it. It had a date of birth and a date of death. Underneath that it was engraved with “All He Wanted Was To Matter”.
 
I had Jason take me back to the county records the next day. Yeah, that would have been yesterday and the first day of rain. The rain up here is something else. It's never like this in southern California. Anyway, I spent a lot of yesterday going through those records. Only I couldn't find any reference to that plot.
 
I'm not sure why this is bugging me. I wish we could have dragged Lene along. At least then I'd be able to talk to her about it. Maybe I'll call her when I'm done getting my thoughts down.

Warren wasn't sure what surprised him more. Boyd's apparent intelligence or Jason's willingness to listen considering past interactions between these two men.
 
“Is this on the company network?” Jason asked.
 
“No. I've been working on it on my own. I'm not someone that the suits...” Boyd coughed. “Sorry. I'm not someone that management listens to.”
 
“I'm listening,” Jason said. “I want a copy of your work.” He pulled the writing pad closer. “How are you with presentations?”
 
“I've never had to give one outside of a classroom,” Boyd said quietly.
 
Jason wrote something out on the pad. “This is the email address I want you to send your proposal to. The working copy you have now is fine. This second email address is someone who can help you with your presentation work.”
 
“I don't understand,” Boyd said.
 
“There is a meeting at the end of next month. You will be there to present on this after you get it cleaned up.”
 
“This isn't what I was expecting,” Boyd mused.
 
“Jump the line to the top and you find yourself with more work,” Jason said.
 
Boyd nodded. “I appreciate it, Mr. Scott.”
 
“Something else on your mind?”
 
Looking guilty, Boyd said, “Yes, sir. I've been wondering about Beth.”
 
“She still works for me,” Jason said.
 
“When she left with you I was so angry.”
 
“That was you in the pickup with the shotgun.”
 
Nodding, Boyd said, “I was angry. I was drunk. Afterward I kept expecting the sheriff to show up on my doorstep. As the days went by and nothing happened I had to wonder why. I went by Beth's and talked to her dad. He told me she'd left town with you.
 
“I had entirely too much time to sit and think. About the mess I'd made with Beth. About the mess my life was heading towards. I got counseling. I stopped drinking. I wasn't going to college to play ball. Never saw myself leaving town, really.”
 
“What did you do with the shotgun?” Jason asked.
 
Taking a heavy breath, Boyd looked at the ceiling. “I cleaned it. Put it back on the rack. It was my granddad's. Haven't been hunting since. Like I said, it kind of opened my eyes about where I could end up. That wasn't who I wanted to be.”
 
“You missed.”
 
“I'm sorry.”
 
“Apology accepted.”
 
“Can I ask you, Beth... Is she happy?”
 
“I think so,” Jason told him.
 
“Is she... Married? Seeing anyone?”
 
“Boyd, as her employer, out of respect for her as a person, and more importantly as her friend, it isn't my place to answer any personal questions about her.”
 
“I understand,” Boyd said. “I'll will get this emailed and start getting it cleaned up, then.” Boyd stood up, narrowly missing the server. “Mr. Scott. Warren.”
 
“Merry Christmas, Boyd,” Warren said as the other man walked away.
 
“Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she asked.
 
“No,” Warren said. “I think we're pretty much...”
 
“Refills, please,” Jason said, cutting Warren off. “Also two hot chocolates. One with no whipped cream. The other with extra whipped cream and cinnamon.”
 
“Coming up.”
 
Warren gave Jason a questioning look before turning around to scan Rosie's. Turning back, he said, “Kate and Leah coming?” Jason nodded. “Boyd didn't miss.” Jason shook his head. “Then why?”
 
“I had a pretty good idea of who it was at the time. Understood where he was coming from. At the time I had more important concerns, if you recall. I didn't need to be sidetracked dealing with the sheriff about an inconsequential shooting.”
 
“If it had been anyone other than you it wouldn't have been inconsequential,” Warren said.
 
Jason shrugged. “It would have been even less of a concern to me and more of one to the sheriff. I'm sure they would have caught the perp, tried and imprisoned him. As it was, it didn't even rate the paper, since if anyone else heard the shot they would have written it off as a hunter.”

Frank stood up. “If you will excuse me, this old person has had entirely too much excitement for one night. Thank you, Jason, for the invitation. And the book.”
 
“My pleasure, sir. Sleep well.”
 
“Good night, Daddy,” Beth said.
 
Jason pulled his coffee cup out from under the coffee maker. “Would you like something?”
 
“A glass of wine if you have it,” Beth answered. She slipped her shoes off and drew her legs up on the couch. Jason brought her a glass.
 
“I didn't realize everything matched,” he said, noticing the blue reinforcement of her hosiery.
 
“Attention to detail. Isn't that why you hired me?” She lifted the hem of her dress until the wide blue band of her stocking top was visible, revealing the blue strap of her garter belt. “Everything matches.”
 
Jason dropped himself into a chair tiredly. “This evening got to you, didn't it? Even with everyone there being a friend or at least them having had some impact on your life.”
 
“Batteries are nearly drained,” he admitted. “Entirely too many people all at once.”
 
“So what was the sketch in Daddy's book?”
 
“One of you.” Jason appeared a sketchbook and a pencil.
 
“You aren't.”
 
Jason looked at her. “I are.” The pencil started moving on a page.
 
“Fine. Just make me look good.”
 
He chuckled. “I capture the beauty. I don't improve upon it.”
 
Beth toyed with her wine glass. “So what was the delay tonight?”
 
“Croystetter.”
 
“Artimus or Miriam?”
 
“Yes. Apparently one of them got wind of tonight and Miriam wanted to know why I didn't invite her. It seems both of them are in town tonight. I'm just glad neither showed up at the gallery.”
 
“I can't imagine them crashing,” Beth said.
 
“Crash, no. Totally tasteless and below their station. But show up, get my attention and get a last minute invitation I wouldn't put past her.”
 
“I see your point.” She took a drink of wine. “What are you going to do?”
 
“Nothing. I already did it. I made it clear to her in no uncertain terms that I wasn't interested in seeing her, socially or otherwise.”
 
“Ouch.”
 
“I doubt it hurt much. I don't think she was chasing after me for her own sake.” Jason yawned.
 
“You should go to bed. I'll take the couch.”
 
Jason slipped his pencil under his left thumb, pinning it against the sketchbook. He gave Beth an annoyed glance. “My apartment. My rules. The lady gets the bed.” He stood up. “I'll take the couch.”
 
“That's hardly fair. We could share it.”
 
Heading down the hall, Jason said, “That's a tempting offer.”
 
Trailing after him, Beth said, “Well, it doesn't seem right that I'm putting you out.”
 
“You aren't.” He set his sketchbook on a bureau. Beth glanced at it. It was remarkable to her how finished it looked in the short amount of time Jason had worked on it. He had done it all in graphite, but at some point he'd switched to a blue pencil, shading in bits of her hosiery, dress, and makeup. “Needs a bit more color,” Jason said. “At the very least your lipstick.”
 
Beth nodded. “Before you go running out of here, would you help me with my dress?” She turned her back to him, allowing him access to the zipper.
 
Jason reached for the pull tab. His hand began itching.
 
Yes! Take her! Claim her!
 
“Something wrong?”
 
“No,” he answered. His watch began beeping. He glanced at it and pushed a button, silencing it. “No more argument. Looks like I'll be sleeping in the tower. Assuming I sleep at all.” He caught the fabric of Beth's sleeve, and disappeared it. Beth shivered in the cool air. Turning to face him, Jason gave her a gentle smile. “You're right. It all matches.” He reappeared her dress and lay it across the bed. “There are hangers in the closet.” He turned towards the balcony door.
 
Beth caught his arm. He turned back to her. Standing up on her toes, she kissed him on the cheek. “You looked like you needed it,” she said with a smile. “Be safe.”
 
Jason changed. Pulsar pulled open the balcony door and stepped out, sliding the door closed. He launched himself into the sky.
 
Leaning against the glass door, Beth watched him go. “Guess I have an idea of how Marlene feels at moments like this,” she said to herself. When Pulsar was a distant red light, Beth pulled the drapes closed and readied herself for bed.

From what I could remember the game had 4 Spd 7 characters fighting 3 Spd 7 Characters and a bunch of agents at the bottom of the tripsheet.  The bricks were speed 4 and were fighting bricks.  Back then, most brick actions were limited and most agents had low damage attacks (I've changed my retinue of attacks since 4th ed).  So all the lower damage fighters fought each other while high damage high defense fighters fought each other.  The people playing the bricks would leave their DCV and Def on the table for people to see.  They would get hit a lot, find out how many times they took stun and resume later.  Their defs, stun, and con were high enough that it didn't matter in the short term.
 
So say you are at segment 9 as part of the brick pack and just finished your segment, this meant all the agents would go. Then top of 11 with the 7 characters(PCs and NPCs) going, then top of 12 with them all going again, before the bricks went.  Assuming each action took 3 minutes, that's 42 minutes of non-brick actions.  This doesn't include speedsters who did multiple move bys.  If a brick aborted, it was even worse for them.

Just did a piratical scene last night for a group.  There was the classic ship-wrecked damsel is a horrifying seaweed monster happening about 100 yards from the ship.
 
Let the players run through that and then surprised the guys who sat behind with, "Meanwhile, your attention is drawn by the sharp scream and sudden death of the sailor next to you as piscine monstrosities board your ship!".
 
I agree with the posters above.  You have to keep everyone engaged,

As I mentioned in the OP, it’s a pulp campaign so no fancy technology to help them keep in touch. Looking back on it, I probably should have had her standing guard outside and then give her some mysterious dude lurking in the shadows to keep her occupied and engaged. 

What genre is your game? Time frame (Current year? war time 1940's? 1980's? before internet?) involved, could they have high tech ear gadgets for communicating back & forth when not all together. 
 
Anything that keeps the players attention on the game is good stuff!
 
I used to have a player who would goof off while we were going through phases, and when his turn came up, he'd inevitably say, "What's happening?"  I took it a couple times then started saying your holding your phase till you know what you want to do. And move on...

Like Zslane, I am a Sandbox GM. 
 
But like any scientific experiment, initial starting conditions are critical for success.  So, first explain to the players what you may be running (it pays to have a couple of options). This is where you set expectations.  Next, the GM Will vet the characters and see if they all fit (no asshole loaners, no extreme eccentrics, no one NOT danger  worthy).  Finally go over their backgrounds and find hooks you can lead them along with, but allow them to discuss in character what they want to do.  and from there start filling in the background and lore in the direction they are moving towards.  The players will find their own tasks, and you just build the scenery a day ahead of them. XD. But always set your starting conditions firmly, and don't be put off , if you lose one or two players because they arent fans of the campaign.