"I'm not here...to murder someone!" Shrike growls, starting to look pale. "I'm here...trying to....save..."
Printable View
"I'm not here...to murder someone!" Shrike growls, starting to look pale. "I'm here...trying to....save..."
Fitzhenry is trying to crawl behind one of the sofas with Molly.
"And why would I trust you?" The choking lets off, but Shrike might sense it could come back at any second. She might also find that she is floating, as DC tries to telekinetically lift her into the air.
And once Molly is behind the sofa, Fitzhenry pops up over the top aiming his walking stick at DC and pushing the button.
DC may find himself encased in ice.
Shrike doesn't have anything to stop that, so...whee! Flying!
"Because nobody's paying me to do anything, and for once I'm doing this to help a friend?" Shrike glowers at DC, iced or not. "Yes, I do have a friend. Try not to faint."
DC is iced. However... He seems to be talking still. 'cept Molly, being what she is, won't hear it. And his mouth isn't moving. Fitzhenry will probably get the feeling he's the one being addressed by: "This woman attempted to assassinate one of this organization's members in the past. Now get me out of this ice." The telekinesis isn't stopping either. "Prove it, then." That seems directed at Shrike.
"Y-you walked in and attacked her! What am I supposed to think?" Fitzhenry stammers.
"I was doing my job," Shrike points out blandly, still hovering. "And how do you want me to prove it? By saying that I'm here hoping somebody can figure out how to build a physical body for a land-spirit who's currently bound to a manse?"
Because nobody could come up with this stuff if it weren't true.
"You're supposed to believe the words of this organization's former vice-president. Now release me before I suffocate or send shrapnel everywhere." He seems to be only addressing Fitzhenry for now. He doesn't want to suffocate, you know.
"Put her down first," Fitzhenry assists.
If DC does so, he pushes another button that rapidly sublimates the ice.
Shrike yawns theatrically and waits. "Anybody got any popcorn?"
Shrike is released, though she's likely to land rather uncomfortably as the psychic applies a bit of forward force before dropping her.
DC inhales deeply as he is freed, slowly lowering the gun as he reminds himself to make sure it still works later. He seems a bit preoccupied catching his breath to do much of anything else, though.
Thud!
Shrike grumbles and rubs her backside as she rolls to her feet. So, as I was going to ask before Brains-for-brains there decided he found my faith disturbing, is there anyone here with brainpower who's willing to help me with something?
Dr Fitzhenry, who is a gentleman, tries to catch Shrike.
"Now, can we have a sensible discussion without attacking one another?"
"I did give a warning..." mutters the psychic. "I know little in the field of spirits and the like, I'm afraid." He's still not very trusting of Shrike, so he neglects to mention he knows someone who probably does.
BR apologises to Happy for posting too fast.
Perhaps Shrike accepts a hand up?
Anyway...
"Well, there's a land spirit who wants to be free to experience the outside world instead of being trapped in the manse. A body is what I can think of, but I need help figuring out what to do - I'm a troubleshooter, not a brainiac."
"A... spirit? Trapped in a manse? Why not just destroy the trap?" Fitzhenry asks.
"I'm guessing we want to avoid collateral damage." He says it as if it were obvious.
"That, and I don't want to risk destroying her," Shrike points out. "Or hurting her."
"A demolition doesn't have to have casualties."
"I think the point here is that it would already have been done if it were that simple." DC is then attacked by a deadtime ooze.
"Then dismantle it carefully. If it hurts her, stop."
Mean Drone 11 swoops in.
Condescending duh: Just download her into a robot body or something.
Addendum: I'll pay you to kill some of these suckers for me.
"I don't have the ability to do that," Shrike protests. "And I don't even know if that would help. She still might be bound to the place."
Mean Drone 11 gets a glare. She'd fry it, but she doesn't want to go back to jail.
"If she's bound to the place, then a body won't help either."
"Then we need to figure out a way to unbind her or something. I'm not the brains of the outfit here," Shrike says, rolling her eyes.
Extrapolation: GLoG has large quantities of cash. You would be paid very well for your services.
"I'm afraid I don't know anything about how to do that," Fitzhenry says. "I'm an inventor. I work with machines, not with spirits."
"Well, I need somebody to help me, since she can't even tell me what's wrong!" Shrike looks angry, frustrated, and helpless, and angry and frustrated at being helpless.
And she glares at Mean Drone 11. "I'm under preexisting contracts. Sorry."
Grumbling: The only person who needs help is you lady. You're a lousy assassin. Mean Drone 11 flies off.