Amorkca

Angelique lay face down. Her arms were tucked under a pillow. Her spread legs were clad in pale green nylon. Part of her was covered with a sheet. One foot rested on something and there was a gentle weight on that ankle. She moved her foot and realized it was on Jason's leg. When her foot moved, Jason massaged each side of the tendon.
 
Memories of the night before tumbled through her mind. She smiled and enjoyed the sensations that still lingered on her body. Jason's fingers massaged her calf. “How's the head?”
 
Rolling over, the sheet slipping to the side, Angel said, “Clear. No hangover.”
 
“You didn't act drunk like you did the other couple of times.” Angel shook her head. Jason smiled. “Good.”
 
“I think it's safe to say that the situation was resolved.” She rose up on her knees. “What are you doing? Taking nudes of me?” she teased. Angelique straddled Jason's leg. “Let me see.” She reached for the sketchbook in his hand. He released it. Turning some pages, she said, “Planning on painting me?”
 
“Well, I'm no Heinrich Wagner, but...”
 
Her eyes turned to Jason. “Why do you say that name?”
 
“The museum has a painting of you that he did around 1930. The Lady in Blue or The Blue Lady. The museum can't make up its mind. I've got a print of it. Decent artist.”
 
“Wagner was the name Boris took after he fled Russia when the Communists took over.”
 
“Oh.” Angelique closed the book and set it aside. She took the pencil out of Jason's hand and tossed it on the floor. “What now?”
 
Leaning close, Angelique said, “Now I finish paying you for your services on my behalf. When I am satisfied I have done so, I will make use of your shower or bathtub while you prepare,” her eyes darted to the alarm clock, “a meal.” She smiled. “Too late to call it lunch. Too early to call it supper. And you foiled my planning of a bank robbery.” She kissed Jason fully on the mouth.
 
They floated over the bed and Jason turned on his back and sank into the mattress. “A Guardian's job is never done.”

Charley checked the address on the piece of paper Jason had given her. She was in the right block of the right street. She checked the numbers of the buildings again. “Five numbers there. Five numbers there. Four numbers there. All four match.” She approached the door. Charley found the missing number on the stoop.
 
Picking it up, she saw that the screws were still in the metal number. Smiling, she put the number in its place and pressed on each screw in turn, embedding them into the siding. It wasn't lined up perfectly, but it was back in place. “One good deed.”
 
Opening the door she found a steep narrow staircase. “And no good deed goes unpunished.” Charley ducked inside and started her ascent.
 
At the top of the stairs there was a small office. Behind the counter was a black man. The hair on each side of his head was trimmed close in a fade, while the curls atop were full and thick. “Are you George?” Charley asked.
 
The man stared and his mouth worked, but no sounds came out. “Goddess,” he finally said. “No. No, I'm Robert. George! George is working in the back. George!”
 
“I've got a two o'clock with George for a fitting,” Charley said.
 
“George!” Robert yelled again. “He'll be right out. George!” he yelled again, turning towards the door to back that George had just exited. George stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it.
 
“He said you were big. He just didn't tell me how big. Charlemagne?”
 
“Charley,” she corrected. “Nobody uses my full name anymore. Can you help me?”
 
Smiling, George said, “I make clothing. All I need is your measurements and I can pretty much make anything you might want.”
 
“What about nylons?”
 
“Except those. And shoes. I'm not a cobbler. Lingerie, pants, slacks, shirts, blouses, skirts, dresses I can do. All are custom made by me.” He lifted a section of the counter and stepped out from behind it. “Wow. Seven four.”
 
“You can tell how tall I am just by looking?”
 
“It's a gift,” George replied. “Bust...”
 
“Ample,” Charley said.
 
“Very ample,” Robert said. Charley sighed.
 
“Why don't you come in back? I can play with the tape measure and do it official. Mr. Scott says you can have free reign on what and colors.” George indicated the door to the back. “Bob...”
 
“You need my help?”
 
Charley went into the back. “If I do need your help I'll call. Okay?”
 
“Ask her to model! She'll look great modeling whatever you make for her. We can work on getting a catalog together finally!” Robert peeked through the door and watched Charley walk. “Damn!”
 
“Bob, let me remind you of a few things. First off, you're gay.”
 
“I know that. I'm just thinking about a catalog and your brand.”
 
“Second thing, if you don't stop she's liable to break you if you annoy her,” George said.
 
“Break me?” Robert's eyes went wide.
 
“You've got free time. Play on your computer and do a search for women over seven feet. Focus on costumed types. Super strong costumed types.” George went in and closed the door behind him.

Charley drank. “Part of me wonders...”
 
“Wonders what?”
 
Archie shrugged. “I don't want to get ahead of your tale.”
 
“The building was luxurious. We pulled into the roundabout and...”
 
* * * * *
“This is where you get out.” The first time anyone had spoken to her since they had left Vegas. One of the other passengers opened the door and held it for her. He even went so far as to offer her his hand. She was escorted into the building.
 
“Miss Bascomb, come with me, please.” The woman was of middling height. Her hair was severely pulled back. She wore black except for the white dress blouse. Suit, heels, skirt, and sheer hose. All were black. Even the frames of her narrow glasses were black. A silver lapel pin of the Nova Research logo was the only piece of jewelry Charley saw.
 
The woman led her to an elevator. She pushed the button for the twelfth floor. They rode up in silence. When the doors opened, the woman stepped out. She didn't look back to see if Charley followed.
 
A door was opened. The woman stepped back and indicated that Charley should precede her. It was a richly appointed apartment. “This is your sitting room. A television is in this cabinet,” she opened it, revealing the screen. She closed it. “There is a large selection of movies you can call up.”
 
She headed to a door and pushed it open. “This is your bedroom. Your clothes will be brought up shortly. They will be put away for you. Through there is the bathroom. There are no phones in your room. I am the only one aside from the maid allowed entry. Any questions?”
 
Charley looked at her. “What do I call you?”
 
“My name is Amanda.”
 
“Am I a prisoner, Amanda?”
 
Amanda stared pointedly at her for a moment. “Will there be anything else?”
 
“I guess not.”
 
“I will return for you in ninety-three minutes. Clean yourself up. Be dressed.” Amanda turned towards the door.
 
“And what if I don't?”
 
“Then you will be washed and dressed as if you were a child, Miss Bascomb.”
 
After Amanda departed, Charley checked the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. But where would she go? Rachel was still being held a hostage. She was several hours from wherever the plane landed. And she had no idea what continent she was on.
 
She explored her rooms, seeing what was in the closet (empty) and the drawers (equally empty). There was no clock she could see. Charley started stripping. Tossing her clothes on the floor on her way into the bathroom.
 
Faced with the choice of a deep tub or a multi-head shower, Charley opted for the shower. The falling water hid her tears.

“The next morning I was loaded into a van. I was lucky enough to get to see Rachel before I left. No one spoke to me. From the van we moved to an airplane. We spent several hours on the plane. When the plane landed I was hustled into a hangar. I was taken into an office suite and ordered to strip. There were three women with me. They measured me and took clothes off different racks. Blouses, suits, skirts, shoes, lingerie. They had me outfitted and several suitcases packed.
 
“The cases were taken and loaded on another plane. I was ushered along.” Charlie raised her nearly empty mug and got a server's attention. “That flight was a lot longer. Wherever we landed, it was hot and dry with sand blowing.” The server brought her another mug. “Thanks.”
 
Archie watched Charley, trying to find any clues in her expression. “Everything was transferred to a black Hummer with the Nova Research logo on it. Spent a couple hours in that watching the landscape when you could see through the blowing sand. Altogether the trip from Vegas to wherever was about 3 days.”

“My girlfriend and I were between semesters. We took a road trip. Got to Vegas. Rachel saw an ad looking for dancers. Thought we'd give it a shot. Turned out that dancing was only part of the job. Dance, strip, escort, the works. All the girls that applied that had family connections failed the first interview. None of us knew that at the time.
 
“So, there were eight of us that no one would miss that were all hired. Then we found out what the job actually was. One of the girls, I never knew her name, refused. There was a guy there next to our manager. He preferred that to pimp. The guy next to the manager pulled out a gun and shot her in the head right in front of all of us.
 
“The manager told us we work or we die.”
 
Archie stared at Charley. “They couldn't have watched you all the time. When you were out working. Why not run then? Call the cops?”
 
“When it got to work or die, each of us was injected with a locator. We would have to be far outside of Vegas not to be found. Or so we were told. As for calling the cops, the shooter was a cop. He made sure we all saw his badge when he holstered his gun. It makes you question if the cop you did call would be his buddy or just as bent.
 
“We were in Vegas almost two years. Easy to lose track of time. Rachel and I held on to each other and the hope that we'd get free. One day all of the girls got called into the manager's office. We lined up and a man walked up and down. He considered each of us. Whatever his conditions of selection were, we never knew.
 
“His first pass he pushed all the black women back. The really dark skinned ones, anyway. The second pass he was a bit more discriminant. Brunette there. Redhead next. One girl had mismatched eyes. He pushed her back. Rachel didn't make the cut.
 
“By the time he was done there was three of us standing there. He told us to strip. One look at the manager and we did. Turn around. Pose like this. Walk over here. Do this. Do that.
 
“When he was done he talked to he manager. What they said, I have no idea. He walked back over to us, looked us all over very carefully. He pointed at me and said, 'This one.' He looked at one of the other girls still standing there and said, 'Send this one to my room.'”
 
Charley took a drink and moved her plate out of her way. “I was told that I was being hired out for a long term contract. I was to dress professionally. Office professional. Not street-walker. The manager made it clear that Rachel was a hostage against my good behavior.”
 
“The guy that picked you out, that was Bauer. Wasn't it?” Charley nodded.

“Jesus, Archie. Any idea whose lab it was?”
 
“It was SciTech. The helmet Jer found belonged to one of Destroyer's robot minions.” He pushed a fry through ketchup.
 
Charley wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Arch, you are one of the bravest men I know or a damned fool.”
 
“Why you say that?”
 
“SciTech was David Wainwright's playground until Charles Scott yanked it out from under him.”
 
“Yeah. I know that,” Archie said. “Now.”
 
“Wainwright was also Destroyer.” Archie raised his head to look at her. “When he was ready for the big leagues he designed a new armor and took a new name. Warmonger. That tropic vacation we took last year was on his island.”
 
Below the implanted bug eyes, Archie's face registered shock. “I think I just wet myself.” He stared at his plate. “When I woke up I had these,” he pointed at his face. “There's a series of connectors on my back. Hookups for the wing shell.”
 
“What happened with your playmates?”
 
“Never saw them again. It was months before the machines were done with me. I woke up. All my gear was laid out on a table with instructions on how to hook it up. My costume was the only clothing in the room. I got dressed. Learned how the shell went on and how I got the wings to work. The zappers hook up to the shell. The wings help charge the energy cells.” Archie took a swig from his bottle. “Hardest thing was getting used to these,” he pointed at his face.
 
“After I learned how to fly and became proficient with the zappers one day the door was open and I could just leave.”
 
Charley regarded Archie. “Zappers connect to the shell. You aren't wearing the shell, but you do have your zappers.”
 
Smirking, Archie said, “Would you come into a place like this unarmed?” Charley laughed. “Not fair. You're never really unarmed. The energy cells are in me. Not the wing shell. There's a direct connect for the zappers. Not sure I was supposed to be one of his soldiers or just an experiment or what,” Archie shrugged. “He's never come looking. Did some work for myself. Hired myself out to others. When... When I was offered a slot with the Guard I thought it might be somewhere I could belong. Wasn't a lot different than before. Just instead of belonging I turned into a belonging.”
 
“What is it about Kris?” Charley asked.
 
Looking at his plate, lost in thought for a moment, Archie smiled. “She makes me want to be better.” Archie took a bite of his burger.
 
“She does seem to have that effect.” Archie nodded in agreement.
 
“So,” he said around his burger, “that's my origin story. What I know of it, anyway. What about you?”

“...The hell they do with all this stuff?”
 
“It's like a warehouse,” one boy answered.
 
“That's because it is a warehouse, moron. We need to find out how they got stuff organized. That way we can find what'll be good for the taking.”
 
“We shouldn't be in here,” Archie said.
 
“Relax, Arch. They don't have security guards. We been scoping this place for weeks. Hey, Bobby! This one reads 'prototype'.”
 
“Sure, Chad, but a prototype of what?” Bobby responded.
 
“Andy, give me a hand and we'll pop it open,” Chad said. They popped the clasps and flipped the lid over. “What is it?”
 
“Looks like some kind of armor,” Andy said.
 
“Cool!” Chad rummaged in the crate. “Is this a blaster?”
 
Andy shoved it out of his face. “Don't go waving shit around that you got no idea what it is or how it works! Especially not in my face!”
 
Looking around, Archie asked, “Did you hear that?”
 
“Ain't nothing to hear, Baldy,” Bobby responded with a much despised nickname. “We're the only ones in here. There's no security and no one home.”
 
A boy named Jer popped open another case. “Check this helmet out! It looks like a skull!”
 
“Lemme see that,” Bobby ordered.
 
“Up yours,” Jer said. “I found it.” He pulled it on his own head. “Cool.”
 
There was a clang in the distance followed by the sound of a pot lid spinning down before coming to a stop. “What was that?” Archie asked louder than he should have.
 
“Quiet down!” Bobby ordered. Jer screamed and blood poured out from under the helmet. He fell to his knees. “Jesus.”
 
Archie ran. Something moved ahead of him. He yanked a door open and ducked inside. He was out of breath and shaking. He tried to calm himself. There was a whining sound coupled with a flash of light and screams. The whine and flash came again and again. Each time the screams lessened. Until finally there was silence.
 
In time, Archie stood and looked through the window on the door. The skull helmet looked back. “You will do.”
 
The door lock clicked. Machinery hummed. Archie turned and tentacles grabbed him, wrists and ankles. His clothing was cut away. The tentacles pulled him to an uprighted table with a body form that adapted to him. The table tilted downward until it was horizontal. Moving up from the base of his spine, needles made a series of injections. Archie screamed until he passed out from the pain.

“That's a big step,” Charley said. “What made you decide to take it?” Archie's gaze dropped to the table. Charley thought she saw him blush. “Kris got to you?”
 
Archie nodded. “Maybe someday I'll be worthy of saying her name,” he said quietly. “So, on my last night of freedom, I thought I'd sit down with one of the few women I thought would sit down with me.”
 
“Archie...”
 
He waved it off. “Self-confidence has never been a strong point for me. If it was I wouldn't be the way I am.” A girl brought Charley's burger to her. “I'll have one of those,” Archie told her. “And bring me another,” he said, putting his bottle where she could easily get it.
 
“Jason has kept his word?”
 
Nodding, Archie said, “Everything I've asked for he's delivered on. He seems an honorable sort, so I didn't push too hard. I've got a place to hole up. I try not to be seen coming and going. Kind of hard to hide myself with these eyes.”
 
“How did you get them, anyway?”
 
“Long story.” Charley dropped her chin, cocked her head, and raised an eyebrow. “Well, we did say we'd tell our stories at some point.” Charley nodded. “I'd been sixteen and running with a bad crowd. The guys got it in their heads to break into a place where they had done some kind of research. No one was really sure what...”

100-300 characters? That's a lot of thugs to give screen time to.

If you have or can get a copy of Bad Medicine for Dr Drugs the team in it are supposed to be high schoolers.

I've got an intro scenario that I've run a couple of times - the opposition are all VIPER agents. I used the ones from the VIPER sourcebook. They're dug in behind some defences in a captured UNTIL base. Their mission is to get the macguffin out of the vault and get away through the basement and into sewer and subway tunnels.
 
I've run it twice and both times the heroes ripped through the agents with no problem. It could have gone a bit worse for the heroes but in both cases the heroes took the time to scout the opposition and so avoided the obvious traps. Fun was had by all!
 
So I guess that puts me in the "agents as window dressing" category. But window dressing that can be problematic in the right scenario.

That is one of the Agent Tricks that has been recommended by Choosy Hero GMs since the old email list.  If an agent does really well, or is really interesting and memorable, have them come back.  Possibly powered up (wearing special gear, etc).
 
Example: In my Golden Age Champions campaign there were generic tough guy mooks that could be hired.  They all had basically the same stats and powers with very few variations: Big, strong, tough.  One mook in particular was memorable and became part of the campaign.  The first fight they ran into him he rolled an 18 on an attack and tripped, crashing through a wall.  The second time he squared off with the wrestler tough guy in the group with lots of boasts and trash talking and got beat to a paste.  The third time he got stomped on by King Kong.  Then he showed up knocking on the door of the superhero base, asking if maybe he could work for them as a guard or something because clearly crime was not paying.

Thank you for all the work you put into making an excellent product. As with all creative endeavors, you eventually have to reach a point where you say that it is "done enough", otherwise it will never be finished. Don't sweat the small things. I have bought multiple copies for players *because* it is such a solid product. Keep up the good work.

I'm sorry to say it, but... almost certainly not. Sales were piddling, both here and on DriveThruRPG. Not worth the work -- especially the illustration. I am not an artist. I can sort of fake it sometimes, but it's like pulling my own teeth. Taking care of my mother in her declining years has also been an impediment.
 
It's a shame, because I do have more Shared Origins I'd like to complete. The Parallax Event for the Shared Accident: A bit of stolen alien technology goes kaboom, and the wave of hyperspacial energy gives random people super-powers -- especially the people nearest, who form a supervillain team called the Constellation. Or there's Wreck of Empire: Professor Proton was one of the world's most powerful villains, but his ruthlessness led to his death. Some of his lieutenants try to keep his criminal empire going, but many of his agents, bases and weapons are up for grabs, creating Spinoff Characters. And for a Power-Granting Artifact I have the Doomsday Cross created by the Warlock, which pulls various lesser demon lords out of Hell to possess unwitting mortals. A few more. But they are all stalled at various points. At least you've got the concepts now, to develop for yourself.
 
Gladiator6c.pdf
 
 
And I see the attached file vanished at some point. Here it is again, I think.
 
EDIT: Old files detached.
 
Dean Shomshak
Gladiator6c.pdf

Hey, Dean, I'm looking to bring some of your work (Sky-Q and the Dynatron, and maybe later the Green Butterfly) into my new Champions campaign, and it got me wondering  Are you in the process of creating any other Shared Origins works?  Just curious.
 
(If you're not familiar with any of Dean's past Shared Origins work, particularly if you're running a Champions game, I suggest you check them out.  I've had some success with the Dynatron in a past Champions campaign, and anticipate getting similar good use out of Sky-Q in this game.)

1.  250m.  The costs for the Clairsentience working with Senses beyond the first, and for whether or not it works Pre- or Retrocognitively, are included in its Base Points. Those are not considered Adders.
 
2. No, because the speed of the mobile perception point is not connected in any way to the range of the power.  There's no reason to think that MegaRange on Clairsentience would speed up the mobile perception point. So you could place the perception point at the (now very distant) range, but moving it around at that location would still be at 12m per Phase.
 
If desired, you could buy MegaScale on the Clairsentience again, this time as MegaMovement for the mobile perception point. However, that would make moving the perception point a Full Phase Action (as with any other MegaMovement), instead of a Half-Phase Action.

Just to remind everyone, Simon is a genius.  That worked. Thanks!

None of those actions will have any impact on the issue.  Neither HD nor Java are filtering the drives that are shown - it’s purely a permissions issue

After. The Breakout Roll doesn't happen until the target's next Phase, per this bit from 6E1 p149:  "Starting on the target’s next Phase after being successfully attacked with a continuing-effect Mental Power, he may attempt to break free from the Power."  The mentalist's Attack Roll and Effect Roll happened on the Phase in which the mentalist attacked with the Mind Scan (per 6E1 p263-264). 
 
Or another way to think of it is, the target doesn't need a Breakout Roll until after there's been an Effect Roll, but by the time there's an Effect Roll, it's too late: the mentalist got the location from the Effect Roll.

I don't know if it's what you're looking for, but I find that the layouts in The HERO System Book of Templates are the best-laid-out "Character Sheets" in a couple of decades.  That whole book is great: possibly the best NPC book ever published under the HERO umbrella.

I hope you replied:
 
"I just went for a little... boat ride.  By the way, how's your mom?"  (smile back cheerfully)

“She should have let me shoot him in the head,” Karin said.
 
Pouring drinks, Pierre said, “Ever ze louve. Your way is messy, no? My way is cleaner and keeps our Lady's word. I let him go.”
 
“Where?” Karin asked. She took her drink and downed it.
 
“A walk of a mile or so to return to town.”
 
“Cleaner?”
 
Pierre smirked and pointed down. “All he need do is learn to breathe underwater. The Lady will be in no further danger from that wolf.” Karin's brow furled. “His name. He was calling himself the wolf sorcerer.” He in turn downed his drink. “Ah, Captain. Our Lady is well pleased and leaves you this in thanks.” He set a think envelope on the bar. “My companions and I will be departing momentarily.”
 
A portal opened revealing a luxury hotel suite. “Adieu,” Pierre bid the captain. Then he and his companions stepped through and the portal closed.

Looking past the woman, Boris noticed the boat's wake. He realized that it had been in motion for some time and the movement had gone unnoticed.
 
“Ahem.” Boris turned to face a dark haired man with a thin mustache. “Monsieur, the lady will see you now. If you would follow me, please.” The man's French accent was thin. Much like Boris' own reflection of his native accent.
 
The man lead him up two decks to another, more richly appointed lounge. “Thank you, Pierre,” a woman's voice said. It niggled at Boris' memory. Pierre stepped aside to reveal the lady.
 
“Angelique!”
 
Something struck Boris in the back of his legs driving him to his knees. “Title!” Eyes watering, Boris looked up to see the woman in the bikini. She held a collapsible baton.
 
“Lady Darque,” Boris corrected himself. “How may I be of service?” There was a container sitting on a low table in front of Angelique covered with a crimson cloth.
 
“Hello, Boris. It's been a long time,” she said sweetly. “Karin, please, I need Boris's assistance. Don't harm him further unless he refuses.
 
“Boris, it has come to my attention that at some point in time in the last century someone has cursed me.”
 
Boris started to sweat. “I... I don't understand.”
 
“Well, it seems that anyone, I suppose I should specify, anyone male that I have been intimate with tends to end up dead after I leave them. If it hadn't been for a recent assignation I never really would have known how it was occurring. I mean, over the years I knew that something was happening to the gentlemen that I had come to know, but the details eluded me. In part because of massive migraines that I would suffer when I tried to think about them in the hours after.”
 
Pulling a kerchief from a pocket, Boris mopped his brow and neck. “I... I claim guest-right.”
 
“Really Boris. Several points I would like to make if I may. Point the first, the last time I was your guest you cursed me. We will get to the why of it later. Second point, and you're going to love this one Boris, this isn't my boat. I never stepped foot on it before today. In the event that the water isn't deterrent enough it has been warded against summonings.” Angelique smiled unkindly.
 
“How... How did you find out?” Leaning forward Angelique took hold of the crimson cloth and pulled it back to reveal Scruffy's head. “That's not possible!”
 
“Boris!” His eyes shifted from the container to look at Angelique. “You are not accepting the evidence before you? I recall you having a hrumguroth on your list of demonic minions. The last individual that I was intimate with was, quite obviously, capable of dispatching your friend.
 
“Now, what I want, first and foremost, is the curse removed. Then we will move on and discuss your reasonings for it in the first place. My associates are more than capable of finding out whether or not you have done as I have asked.”
 
“Why should I? You will just kill me after.”
 
“Boris, I will kill you if you don't and see if your death doesn't end it on its own. If you do,” she smiled sweetly, “then I will let you go. I give you my word.”
 
Reaching into his shirt, Boris was stopped by Karin's baton. “Slowly.” He nodded. He took hold of a thong about his neck and drew forth a crystal. The crystal held a violet glow that shifted on its own. Boris took hold of the crystal and snapped it in two. Violet swirled about the crystal before dissipating.
 
“It's done.”
 
“He speaks truly, my lady,” came a voice from behind a curtain.
 
“Very good, Boris,” Angelique said. “Now, why?”
 
“You... You rejected my advances. I was insulted.”
 
“You were insulted? Boris, you are a fat, sweaty pig! I was insulted that you would even think I might be interested.”
 
Head dropping, Boris asked, “Are we through?”
 
Angelique regarded him for a long moment. “Yes. We are through. Pierre, be a dear and see him off the boat, please.”
 
“Oui, my lady. Monsieur Devin, come with me.” Pierre lead Boris back the way they had come.

Boris Devin sat in the launch. A Panama hat sat on gray hair. Sunglasses covered his eyes. A white collared, short-sleeve button-down shirt covered his portly frame. Khaki shorts and sandals completed his ensemble. The launch traveled smoothly through the waters off Monaco. The pilot of the launch was a woman Boris found attractive. Her shoulder-length brown hair was held back by a sun visor. She wore a white bikini, which added to her attractiveness to Boris, and sunglasses. They were the only two on the boat.
 
The pilot brought the launch in expertly. Two crewmen climbed on and tied it off. “If you will come with me,” the pilot said. Her accent was American. Possibly Midwest. Boris wasn't sure. Behind his glasses he watched the way she swayed with each step. In the lounge she was speaking in whispers to another individual. She turned to him and said, “Please, make yourself comfortable. Your host will be with you shortly. Would you like something to drink?”
 
“Da. Whiskey, please.” His Russian accent wasn't as think as it had been in the years past. He had been born in St Petersburg in 1859. He had been a student with, and later of, Rasputin. Boris had sensed the changing winds and had left Russia before Rasputin had been assassinated.
 
He had gone to Germany and taken up the name Heinrich Wagner. He remained Wagner until just before the start of World War II. Boris had fled Germany before World War I. The haven he found for himself had been Nova Scotia.
 
Boris painted. He never quite considered his own works to be exceptional. Simply passable. He had sold them when he needed money or given them to friends.
 
As a sorcerer, Boris was weak. Except for a few missteps, he was the equivalent of a magical wallflower. Generally beneath the notice of those with greater ability. His greatest ability was that of being a summoner. The drawback to that was when dealing with demons one had to either have serious bribes or be really good at demonic diplomacy. Sometimes both.
 
The woman brought him his drink and then she settled into a chaise on the deck. Boris considered her as a possible model for a painting. He sat in the lounge, sipped at his drink, and admired the woman.

Pool
 
Sitting in the darkened study, reading a report by the light of a desk lamp, Jason heard the click-click of high heels in the hall. By the pattern, he knew it was Marlene. The footsteps stopped just as Jason was signing off on the report. Looking up, he saw Marlene standing in the doorway. One hand was up at shoulder level on the door frame. She wore a long green evening gown, one leg exposed through a slit. A long strand of pearls adorned her neck. Open-toed shoes matched the gown.
 
Wracking his brain, Jason couldn't think of any events requiring their appearance. “What's the occasion?” Marlene simply shook her head slowly. “Are we going somewhere?”
 
Marlene smiled teasingly. “Mmm hmm.”
 
“Are we going out?”
 
“Mmm mmm.”
 
“Then where are we going?”
 
“What are you wearing?” she asked, stepping closer.
 
Jason cocked his head a bit. “Shoes, socks, slacks, briefs, shirt, tie, t-shirt. Why?”
 
“That's two things too many.” She took hold of his tie. “Come with me.”
 
Marlene led Jason to the game room. The balls on the pool table were already racked and the rack put away. Marlene turned to him and began loosening his tie. “I'm the challenger, so I will break. For every legal ball sunk the player can choose one item of clothing the other person is wearing and remove it. Or not. When the eight ball is sunk the winner gets to claim the rest of their prize. Interested?”
 
“What are you wearing?”
 
“Seven things, not counting jewelry. The pearls are mine. Your mom said so,” Marlene said smiling.
 
“I accept your terms,” Jason said. “On one condition.”
 
“And that is?” Marlene asked pulling his tie free.
 
Jason's arms went around his wife and he kissed her gently. Marlene moaned as he caressed her.
 
Stepping back, Marlene asked, “What was that?”
 
“Reconnaissance,” Jason said with a wink.
 
Marlene retrieved a cue stick and set herself up for the break while Jason unbuttoned his shirt. With a crack, the balls broke. Marlene watched as the last ball rolled to a stop and pouted. No balls went in.
 
Taking down his own cue stick, Jason studied the table. He chalked the tip and walked around the table. “You sure you want to do this?”
 
“We already started and it was my idea.”
 
Jason lined up his shot. The cue ball hit the three ball and sent it into the corner, then spun backward and kissed the five ball, dropping that into the side pocket.
 
“Getting fancy on me?” she teased.
 
“You're the one that's all dressed up. Shoes, I think.” Marlene hitched herself up on a stool, crossed her legs, and lifted her foot to Jason. The skirt of her dress shifted to the side, revealing her legs.
 
“Come get them.”
 
“Not yet.” Jason lined up his next shot. The four ball joined the other two in a pocket. Looking at Marlene, he said, “Left stocking. We'll leave that on, too.” She smiled.
 
Marlene smirked. “That's fine. No clear shot though. You buried the cue behind my balls.”
 
Jason considered the table. He took a shot off two rails and missed his balls completely. The cue ball rolled to a stop. Marlene slipped from the stool and picked up the cue ball. She set up and made an easy shot of the nine ball putting her in position to sink the eleven ball.
 
“You've been practicing,” said Jason.
 
“Just a bit,” Marlene said. “Right shoe.” Jason sat on the stool Marlene had vacated. She came over and untied the lace before pulling his shoe free. She set that up on the bar. “My winnings pile.” She looked Jason in the eye and her gaze lingered. “Sock, too,” she finally said and pulled it off, tossing it on the shoe. “Maybe having you off balance will improve my chances.”
 
Turning back, Marlene scanned the table and chose her shot. The butt of Jason's cue stick caressed her left leg.
 
“What are you doing?” she asked.
 
Jason smirked at her. “Enjoying my stocking.”
 
“Tease.”
 
His arm went around her and she stood up. “Absolutely,” he breathed into her ear before planting a kiss behind it.
 
“My shot,” she said. Jason released her and stepped back. Marlene took up her position to shoot only to find the cue stick back on her leg. Marlene pulled back her stick to take her shot when Jason's cue brushed the bare skin of her thigh. “That's not yours yet.”
 
Jason chuckled. “I beg to differ. The ring on your finger says otherwise.”
 
Smiling, Marlene said, “Point taken. But it isn't yours to play with yet.” Jason removed his stick to allow Marlene to shoot. Her shot sank the fifteen ball, but the cue ball followed it. Marlene growled. Walking around the table, she fished the cue and the fifteen ball out of the pocket. She rolled the cue to Jason and spotted the fifteen. She looked up to Jason smiling. “What?”
 
“What's the ball worth to you?” he asked her.
 
She matched Jason's smile. “What are you offering, sir?” she asked in a teasing manner.
 
“Come here.” Marlene walked to him slowly. He set his stick aside, put his hand on hers until she released it, then set it aside as well. “Thirty-second time-out.”
 
“For what?” she asked quietly.
 
Jason cupped her face with both hands and kissed her deeply. When Marlene pressed herself into him one arm went around her. Eventually, Marlene broke the kiss and rested her forehead against his chin. “Was that thirty seconds?”
 
“Does it matter?” he asked quietly. “I love you.” She looked up at him, her face bright with a smile and her eyes sparkling.
 
Marlene took her cue and walked slowly back around the table, feeling Jason's eyes on her as she went. She reached out for the fifteen ball, turned back to Jason with an amused smile, and dropped the ball back into the pocket. “I believe that also entitles me to your...shirt.”
 
She left her stick behind and walked slowly back to him. Each hand caught her skirt holding the slit open to show him her legs. Standing before him, she dropped the cloth. “Turn around.” He did so. Marlene's hands slipped under the hem of his t-shirt, slowly pushing it upward, allowing her fingers to play along his muscles.
 
“That isn't yours yet,” he teased.
 
“The ring on your finger says otherwise, Mr. Scott. Or was that a complaint?”
 
Raising his arms so Marlene could lift it off, he said, “Never.” Marlene pressed a kiss to the middle of his back.
 
“Now, then. It appears that I am a ball ahead.”
 
“But it's my shot,” Jason said turning to face her.
 
“Just remember that you're off-balance on the account you're missing a shoe,” she said grinning.
 
Glancing at the table, Jason said, “Actually, we're even.” With little effort, he sank the one ball. “Now, I'm a ball ahead. And your right stocking.”
 
“Claiming them yet?”
 
“No.” His next shot took the six ball off the table. “Hmm. Garter belt, I think.”
 
“You're deliberately dragging this out,” she said with a pout.
 
“No. I just plan on enjoying you dressed in a manner I find pleasing. All night.”
 
“All night? We do have to be in the office tomorrow.”
 
“You can get dressed for the office after you shower. In the morning. Has the doctor cleared you for playing?” he asked concerned.
 
Smiling gently at him, Marlene said, “As long as it isn't uncomfortable I should be fine.” Jason nodded.
 
“I just want to be sure,” he said, lining up his next shot. The seven ball rolled into a pocket. Standing up and leaning on his cue, he said quietly as if thinking, “Dress or panties. Dress or panties.” He walked around the table letting his gaze travel Marlene's body. “Dress,” he said. He turned Marlene gently around and slowly lowered the zipper of the dress.
 
Slipping his hands inside the back of the dress, he rubbed upwards, thumbs on either side of her spine. “Oh!” she gasped. When his hands reached her shoulders and he began pushing the dress down her arms, Marlene said, “You are taking liberties with me, sir.”
 
“Absolutely,” he said placing a gentle kiss at the nape of her neck. When the sleeves came free, he knelt, slowly lowering the dress and running his fingers down her legs. It lay in a puddle on the floor. Jason caressed one leg, lifting it free of the dress. Marlene let out a low moan. He did the same with the other leg before lifting the dress and tossing it over his shoulder.
 
Jason caressed the outside of each leg as he stood. Marlene bent over resting her forearms on the side of the pool table. “Win or lose, I want a massage,” she said.
 
“As you wish,” he said with a kiss to the base of her spine.
 
“Knock that off. You haven't won yet,” she teased.
 
Taking up his cue again, Jason looked over the table. He deposited Marlene's dress on the bar. “Look! Now I've got a winnings pile!”
 
“That's because I'm wearing the rest of it.”
 
“Sexily, too.” Jason shot, potting the cue ball directly.
 
“You did that on purpose.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Because if you want to take my pants off the other shoe has to come off first.” Marlene stuck her tongue out at him. “Promises, promises.”
 
Marlene pulled the cue ball out and walked around the table. She chose her shot and laid the cue on the felt.
 
“Where is your dress?” Jason lifted the dress off the bar.
 
“Busted,” Marlene said with a laugh. With a loud clack, she potted the twelve ball. “Your other shoe. I'll collect it momentarily. Hi, Beth.”
 
“And your bra?” Beth asked.
 
“Not wearing one, mom.”
 
“Playing dirty pool?” Beth asked.
 
“Absolutely. Want to take on the winner?” Marlene asked.
 
“What are the stakes?”
 
Marlene grinned. “Oh, the usual. Get stripped then anything goes.” She sank the ten ball. “And sock.”
 
“Tempting,” Beth said in a tone that indicated she wasn't tempted at all. “Which one of you wants to sign off on this?” she asked, holding up an envelope between two fingers.
 
“What is it?” Jason asked. “You want something to drink, Beth?”
 
Marlene bent over and lined up her shot. “Croystetter's letter of resignation.” Marlene hit the cue ball off-center, sending it spinning to the side, wide of where she had been aiming. “I'll have whatever the pregnant woman is drinking.”
 
“One apple-cranberry coming up,” Jason said.
 
Marlene spun on Beth. “Give me that and you don't have to do that.”
 
Beth handed over the letter with a grin. “Just supporting my best friend. I fully expect it in return if and when I ever find myself in your condition.”
 
Marlene opened the envelope. “What condition. Almost nude in the billiard room?” She read through the letter.
 
“Yeah, let's go with that and ignore the 'pregnant' part of your condition,” Beth said rolling her eyes.
 
Mind on the letter, the clack of balls barely registered to Marlene. “It reads that he is resigning due to his poor health under the advice of his doctor. Finally, the old bastard will be out of the board room. I hope you brought a pen.” Beth handed her one and she turned to the table to sign the acceptance form Beth had put with the letter.
 
Jason sank the eight ball in the pocket in front of her. “I win.”
 
“Maybe,” Marlene said. “But not as much as I did, I think.”
 
Reaching over, Jason slipped his fingers into his wife's waistband. A crimson flash made her panties disappear.
 
“You didn't just...”
 
“He did,” Marlene said.
 
Jason shrugged to Beth. “She made the rules. I'm just collecting on it.”
 
“So, besides being the bearer of glad tidings, what brings you here tonight?”
 
Beth stared at Marlene for a moment. “You forgot.”
 
“Forgot?” Marlene smacked herself in the head. “The movie! I'm sorry. I had other things on my mind after we talked.”
 
“Obviously. I dropped the movie off so Mentor could load it into the system,” Beth explained.
 
Marlene turned to Jason. “I hope you don't mind.”
 
Jason shrugged again. “Where do you want to watch it?”
 
“Somewhere I can be comfortable,” Marlene said.
 
“Bedroom. I'll make some popcorn.”
 
“Do me a favor,” Beth said.
 
“What?”
 
“Don't be naked.”
 
“Nude.”
 
“Uncovered!”