Lasrever

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

_{@Duoya @Sickle-cell @Migyudon @Old Amsterdam}

Post #1

Taking her leave from the conversation, as more would-be punters approached the desk, Automaton finally started making her way towards the main event. There was something slightly unnerving about the sensation of the field, but it didn't bother her too much - after all, it wasn't as though any of her abilities would stop working. Besides, she had no reason to use them anyway, and seeking out any more fights seemed like she'd be asking for trouble.

More trouble than she was already in, anyway.

Sixteen to one. She wasn't sure if it was better or worse than she'd been expecting, but she was starting to wonder if letting Askaryan sign her up for things was the best idea. Or anyone she'd just finished slicing open, really. Not that he decided the matchups, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be at least a little bit his fault when she ended up on the scrapheap. The guy at the betting stand's advice was something to keep in mind, maybe - she didn't have to stay in until she got the Juggernaut treatment. Good of him to let her know it was an option.

Probably should've gotten his name, really. Eh, she'd thank him if she didn't die. Only seemed polite.

After all, she was here for development, not outright victory. Compared to some capes, it was only a matter of time before the power difference got out of hand. So once she had what she needed, it made plenty of sense to stop. Fighting smarter, not harder. Even holding her own in the fight would be enough to make a decent impression, considering how outmatched she was, and she didn't have much to gain from fighting to her last breath. There was way more that she had to do before she went six feet under.

Walking down to prepare for her fight, she did her best to relax... or at least would have, if it weren't for the roaring applause that rose from the crowd, and the arrival of someone that made her eyes narrow with irritation. Maybe it was the fact that Whetstone seemed so relaxed after the mess she'd dragged Robin into, or maybe it was hearing the crowd roar for the self-righteous bitch, knowing she was one of the ones at the top.

And yet, for reasons unknown to anyone but herself, seeing it brought a small smirk to Robin's face. Nodding to herself, she turned away from the Gladius leader. There wasn't much she could do here and now, after all, and besides; Automaton had a fight to prepare for.

---

_{@Duoya @Sickle-cell @Migyudon @Old Amsterdam}

Post #2

Mag was tired. But then, that wasn't anything new. What with all the fighting going on nearby, it had been impossible for her to get any sleep. She'd have struggled enough if she'd been in a bed, but stuck on the streets? Even if she'd been able to get to sleep, she'd have had to stay awake in case some super-powered psycho came barrelling down the alley. After all, if she didn't listen well enough to avoid all of this, then she'd have to...

Glancing uncomfortably at the mural behind her, a chalk sketch of a tiger done in a rainbow of colours, she frowned. It was beautifully done, there was no question about that, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of lingering discomfort. As beautiful as the art may have been, it still felt like a security measure. Or rather, a last resort.

Using your powers where the wrong people could see only opened you up to being a pawn. Or people expecting you to do things, and fight. It was frightening, especially after hearing everything that had happened even today. Still, the noise had died down, and she probably could have managed to get some sleep if she decided to now - so why wasn't she? A short rumble of protest from her stomach answered that question pretty effectively; she hadn't eaten a thing since yesterday.

Normally, she'd go find a store and borrow a few things, but that had gotten a whole lot more difficult after tensions rose, everyone in the city being on edge. Of course, there were shelters around too, places to find food, but her own paranoia meant she couldn't work up the courage to go to one. There was no doubt in her mind that her parents would have filed some kind of missing persons report; it wouldn't do for them to lose their little status symbol.

She'd been walking for a while before she came across a large gathering. There was a building, some sort of booth... and most importantly, lots and lots of people. People meant food, they meant money - and hopefully everyone would be paying more attention to whatever event was happening than to her. Deciding she didn't have any better options, she nodded to herself, pulling her hood up to cover her face and heading inside. There was an odd feeling as she approached, an uncomfortable empty chill, like she'd lost something important, but she dismissed it and walked inside.

Only to see what looked like a cage, along with row upon row of seating. Some kind of arena?

As Whetstone entered the room, Mag finally realised exactly where she was. She'd heard rumours about this, but finding herself in the middle of the Circus, surrounded by capes, was pretty much a nightmare made reality. Paling, she froze in one of the aisles, stammering an apology and darting to the side as someone nearly walked right into her. Glancing around the room nervously, she hoped against hope that she wouldn't catch anyone's attention.

But avoiding notice was easier said than done - despite being as superpowered as anyone there, the small teenager couldn't have looked more out of place if she tried.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Zoe Fletcher

---

𝕎𝕖𝕕: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕 / / 𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 / / ~𝟘𝟝𝟛𝟘

---

As sand whipped against her skin, Zoe squeezed her eyes shut, raising an arm to shield her face against the constant barrage of debris. It was vicious, constant, and she could practically feel it taking the skin off of her arm. Why the hell she didn't have the sense to wear a goddamn jacket now and then was a question for later, but it was a choice she was seriously regretting as her skin started to sting.

Still, enduring that wasn't even close to enough. Despite her best efforts, she could still feel the trees advancing, more targets springing up even as she tore them down as fast as she possibly could. Like heads on a hydra - you killed one, two came up to replace it.

I can't hold them off forever.

That was pretty much certain. There was strain involved in using her power to this extent, even before accounting for the increasing difficulty of keeping herself from hurting Kusari even if just a little wouldn't be so bad. Gritting her teeth, she kept going, an unsteady laugh shaking her shoulders despite her best efforts to the contrary.

She wasn't quite losing it yet, at least. It was frustration, pride, and yeah, some level of denial that kept her from retreating even as Ernie's transmission came through. This was a losing battle. They were out-powered, outmanoeuvred, and didn't stand much of a chance. But this was where she belonged, this was where she was supposed to be useful-- if she couldn't even win here, then what the fuck was the point?

If she wasn't strong, then she wasn't worth anything at all.

There has to be something I can do.

So many possibilities, so many opportunities, so much potential and she just couldn't think. It wasn't like Wisford, or D.C., or even their first fight - this wasn't a challenge she could meet head on and win. But she didn't know how to deal with that, how to face things without beating them down and breaking them. The other ways didn't work. Caution, diplomacy, subtlety, she'd never known how to make them work.

But she could hold these things off, at least until the others made it indoors.

Just as she was about to resign herself to that fate, the next transmission caught her attention. Allison? So much for 'no more suicide missions'. That, and the mention of planning, brought a scowl to her face. She wasn't much for plans, and even less for plans that sounded like they were about to be incredibly fucking dumb. In the kind of situation they found themselves in, dumb plans were pretty much suicidal. Still, that being said...

Zoe had to do this, not because she was forced into it, but because she wouldn't let herself turn away. There was always a choice, and running now - it'd mean quitting on the only thing she was good for. To tell the truth, she didn't believe that Angel was alive. This was, in all likelihood, just her classmates being in denial; people died. You couldn't wish that fact away or ignore it, even if you wanted to.

So it wasn't any promise of retrieval that motivated Zoe's response.

"Transmit. If it means I get to kill the fuckers, count me in." Okay, so she sounded a little too enthusiastic about that prospect, but they'd have to be used to it at this point. "Over."

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

@Sickle-cell Yeah, I'm happy to work with that!

Changed that part, added a Striker element to her rating, and a basic summary of some of the differences between surfaces/materials which I'm happy to add more detail to if necessary & will update for any others that come up.

As a general rule, the strength & durability of the creations is based on the physical abilities of whatever thing is being summoned, with moderate increases/decreases + added weaknesses or resistances based on what it's made from.

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

Magnum Opus

FC

Appearance: Seventeen-year-old Maggie is hardly the most intimidating person out there, short for her age and skinny to boot; her hoodie practically swallows her whole, sleeves long enough to cover up her hands and hat pulled down to cover as much of her head and face as possible. Pale and unhealthy, with no real way to clean herself up, she's the very image of a girl that just wants to avoid being seen.

Name: Maggie Sinclair

Cape Name: Magnum Opus

Theme Song:

EDEN - Wake Up

Aspects

High Concept: The strongest weakling

Trouble: Scared to take the reins

Origin: It's lonely at the top

Growth: No-one looks behind closed doors

Adventure: I'd rather wish myself away

Bio

Personality: As is the case with a lot of capes, Mag can be a little... odd. Skittish as they come, with enough trust issues to give even the most paranoid gang leader a run for their money, it's a little difficult to get her to come out of her shell. Even the friendliest of capes will be met with silence and wariness on first greeting, and anyone more hostile isn't likely to get a word from her, though she's easily intimidated into listening to basically everyone.

Perhaps as a result of her own weakness, she seems to treat everything and everyone with a sense of vague suspicion. When alone, however, she appears to interact with her summoned minions in a way that appears almost familial, treating them as friends rather than living pictures. The behaviour is probably at least a little unhealthy, but good luck getting her to pay attention when you say that.

Despite her power having enormous potential, Mag herself seems afraid of testing her limits, only using it to its full extent - or at all - when pushed. While she might be a useful ally at some point, right now she's more frustrating to deal with than anything else. Unless she's backed into a corner, the girl is a liability. In the hands of almost anyone else, used properly, the timid girl's power could be one of the most formidable around.

But with her wielding it, it just leaves people wondering what might have been.

History: It's a fairly common thing, really - this idea that all the best artists draw from some sort of pain. Inner, outer, the mind or the body... there's always something there, some deep darkness from which true art might spring. For her first few years, Mag never understood that theory. She just wanted to draw, to paint, to create, and devoted every second to that task. Almost obsessively, really, though the hours of practice certainly showed.

Not that she was producing masterpieces quite yet, but her art was certainly impressive for her age - the girl was, by all accounts, a prodigy. It wasn't too long before she started winning competitions, bringing in prizes, and showing the potential to be a genuinely fantastic artist.

But then, people are always eager to seize hold of potential. And as we all know, the best way to get someone to reach their potential is to force them into reaching it by whatever means necessary. No friends outside of school, no time to herself - not when that time could be dedicated to improvement. And for a while, she followed along, easy to terrorise and force into doing what she was told, even as the isolation grew and her classmates became more and more distant, jealous and spiteful words pricking at her ears everywhere she went.

Such things change with maturity however, and like many the child of an overbearing parent before her, Mag developed a rebellious streak as she grew older. Sick of the never being good enough, of being treated as some kind of art factory rather than a person, of never having anyone at all to talk to or trust. And of course, like any reasonable parents, her mother and father had a long civil discussion with her and worked out all their differences.

...Yeah, right.

Not really, of course. Instead, they clamped down harder than ever before, every aspect of her life being meticulously controlled - culminating in the day that she came home and found nothing. Every possession, every method of communication, every distraction, was gone. Isolation, with nothing to do except draw, picture after picture.

As the door locked behind her, the girl finally reached a breaking point. And as she sat, tears running down her face, she watched as a black cat emerged from the canvas, purring as it settled in her lap. It wasn't fair, it wasn't funny, and she didn't want anything to do with it. In her mind it seemed that the creature was taunting her from where it sat, so peaceful, so tranquil, so comforting. And so very fake.

A few weeks later, with no sign of a light at the end of the tunnel, she finally got sick of it. After running away from home with a book full of drawings and as much cash as she could steal without being noticed, she made her way to Boston, where she's been scraping by - mostly through petty crimes and shoplifting without any powers involved. Passing her time with street art, the girl has been making an attempt to completely forget about her abilities.

But with rising tensions in the city, gang wars inflamed, and threats around every corner, it's not clear how long that'll last.

Abilities

Rating: Master/Striker (7)

Mag has the ability to breathe new life into works of art - all too literally. Any drawing, sketch, or painting that she touches can be brought to life and kept at her beck and call. The minions will take commands from her, though when she isn't directly controlling them they appear sentient and act of their own free will. Initial summoning does require contact with the art, but after that the creatures can be directed by her thoughts as she sees fit. Small drawings can be magnified in size somewhat if she chooses, though she can't make the summoned creature any larger than the real thing would be.

There doesn't seem to be any hard limit on how many she can summon at a time, but if she doesn't already have a minion present she's completely vulnerable without her sketchbook or some other drawing at hand. Beyond that, if a creature is destroyed, it remains injured if summoned again quickly and will slowly regenerate over time - generally taking a day or two to be useful again.

The creations themselves have a slightly unreal quality, retaining the appearance of whatever was used to draw them. As a general rule, the strength & durability of the creations is based on the physical abilities of whatever creature is being summoned, but different materials have different strengths and weaknesses that affect the properties of her creations.

Surface Differences

Paper: Paper minions tend to be faster and lighter, making them more agile and offensively versatile, focusing on flurries of fast slicing and cutting attacks rather than outright force. However, they retain some of the weaknesses from the material itself, being particularly vulnerable to most attack types, especially fire, and generally less durable than other minions.

Canvas: Canvas minions occupy a middle ground - they can take more hits than paper, but don't have the same manoeuvrability or share its potential for quick attacks. They're somewhat absorbent, able to soak up some amount of liquid, though it also makes them more sluggish as a result of the added weight. In addition, they're fairly resistant to blunt force attacks, with slicing and tearing being more effective. Much like paper minions, they are also vulnerable to fire.

Concrete / Street art: Concrete minions are by far the physically strongest of her summons. Resistant to a wide variety of attacks, their versatility is mostly limited by their own weight - using them indoors or on rooftops is pretty much impossible. In addition, they're fairly slow, making their attacks perfectly avoidable provided you're paying attention. That being said, they're a real pain to put down, and can often result in a whole lot of collateral damage.

Material Differences

Pencil: Pencil drawings tend to be more flexible than others, with a greater range of movement and changeable shape meaning they are often the easiest to use in tight spaces. They tend to have sharper edges than painted creatures, meaning they fare better when it comes to cutting or similar attacks.

Ink: Similar to pencil, but providing slightly increased durability. They are also slightly darker, more easily able to hide and blend in should it be necessary. However, ink-based minions are highly vulnerable to water.

Paint: The paint on these minions provides a thin layer of protection over their surface, making them more resistant to corrosion, water, and heat until it is broken through.

Chalk: When moving, chalk minions are surrounded by powder, which reduces visibility and makes breathing slightly more difficult for anyone (including her) standing too close, but is otherwise harmless.

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

@Sickle-cell Welp, I'm more than a little tired, but I told myself I'd finish this thing tonight and I did. Summoning things is a fun time for all. So, uh, yeah. Have a CS. I'll try to add any fixes tomorrow at some point when I find the time.

Now to return back to silence as usual.

Magnum Opus

FC

Appearance: Seventeen-year-old Maggie is hardly the most intimidating person out there, short for her age and skinny to boot; her hoodie practically swallows her whole, sleeves long enough to cover up her hands and hat pulled down to cover as much of her head and face as possible. Pale and unhealthy, with no real way to clean herself up, she's the very image of a girl that just wants to avoid being seen.

Name: Maggie Sinclair

Cape Name: Magnum Opus

Theme Song:

EDEN - Wake Up

Aspects

High Concept: The strongest weakling

Trouble: Scared to take the reins

Origin: It's lonely at the top

Growth: No-one looks behind closed doors

Adventure: I'd rather wish myself away

Bio

Personality: As is the case with a lot of capes, Mag can be a little... odd. Skittish as they come, with enough trust issues to give even the most paranoid gang leader a run for their money, it's a little difficult to get her to come out of her shell. Even the friendliest of capes will be met with silence and wariness on first greeting, and anyone more hostile isn't likely to get a word from her, though she's easily intimidated into listening to basically everyone.

Perhaps as a result of her own weakness, she seems to treat everything and everyone with a sense of vague suspicion. When alone, however, she appears to interact with her summoned minions in a way that appears almost familial, treating them as friends rather than living pictures. The behaviour is probably at least a little unhealthy, but good luck getting her to pay attention when you say that.

Despite her power having enormous potential, Mag herself seems afraid of testing her limits, only using it to its full extent - or at all - when pushed. While she might be a useful ally at some point, right now she's more frustrating to deal with than anything else. Unless she's backed into a corner, the girl is a liability. In the hands of almost anyone else, used properly, the timid girl's power could be one of the most formidable around.

But with her wielding it, it just leaves people wondering what might have been.

History: It's a fairly common thing, really - this idea that all the best artists draw from some sort of pain. Inner, outer, the mind or the body... there's always something there, some deep darkness from which true art might spring. For her first few years, Mag never understood that theory. She just wanted to draw, to paint, to create, and devoted every second to that task. Almost obsessively, really, though the hours of practice certainly showed.

Not that she was producing masterpieces quite yet, but her art was certainly impressive for her age - the girl was, by all accounts, a prodigy. It wasn't too long before she started winning competitions, bringing in prizes, and showing the potential to be a genuinely fantastic artist.

But then, people are always eager to seize hold of potential. And as we all know, the best way to get someone to reach their potential is to force them into reaching it by whatever means necessary. No friends outside of school, no time to herself - not when that time could be dedicated to improvement. And for a while, she followed along, easy to terrorise and force into doing what she was told, even as the isolation grew and her classmates became more and more distant, jealous and spiteful words pricking at her ears everywhere she went.

Such things change with maturity however, and like many the child of an overbearing parent before her, Mag developed a rebellious streak as she grew older. Sick of the never being good enough, of being treated as some kind of art factory rather than a person, of never having anyone at all to talk to or trust. And of course, like any reasonable parents, her mother and father had a long civil discussion with her and worked out all their differences.

...Yeah, right.

Not really, of course. Instead, they clamped down harder than ever before, every aspect of her life being meticulously controlled - culminating in the day that she came home and found nothing. Every possession, every method of communication, every distraction, was gone. Isolation, with nothing to do except draw, picture after picture.

As the door locked behind her, the girl finally reached a breaking point. And as she sat, tears running down her face, she watched as a black cat emerged from the canvas, purring as it settled in her lap. It wasn't fair, it wasn't funny, and she didn't want anything to do with it. In her mind it seemed that the creature was taunting her from where it sat, so peaceful, so tranquil, so comforting. And so very fake.

A few weeks later, with no sign of a light at the end of the tunnel, she finally got sick of it. After running away from home with a book full of drawings and as much cash as she could steal without being noticed, she made her way to Boston, where she's been scraping by - mostly through petty crimes and shoplifting without any powers involved. Passing her time with street art, the girl has been making an attempt to completely forget about her abilities.

But with rising tensions in the city, gang wars inflamed, and threats around every corner, it's not clear how long that'll last.

Abilities

Rating: Master (7)

Mag has the ability to breathe new life into works of art - all too literally. Any drawing, sketch, or painting that she touches can be brought to life and kept at her beck and call. The minions will take commands from her, though when she isn't directly controlling them they appear sentient and act of their own free will. Initial summoning does require contact with the art, but after that the creatures can be directed by her thoughts as she sees fit. Small drawings can be magnified in size somewhat if she chooses, though she can't make the summoned creature any larger than the real thing would be.

The creations themselves have a slightly unreal quality, retaining the appearance of whatever was used to draw them. She's never encountered a hard limit on how many she can summon at a time, but if she doesn't already have a minion present she's completely vulnerable without her sketchbook or some other drawing at hand. Beyond that, if a creature is destroyed she has to wait for at least a day or two before it can be summoned again.

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

_{Immediately concerned: @Duoya @Sickle-cell
Not immediately concerned but still in the area (I think?): @Migyudon}

Arriving at the Circus, Automaton's first priority had been grabbing a program - if only to figure out who she'd be fighting. Not that it was particularly good news once she opened it, either. There were two things that jumped out at her about the billing. First, her opponent. Sickle-cell. Leader of the Covenant, blood-bender, and the guy who'd almost killed Juggernaut last time. The same one Askaryan had been telling her about this morning - what had been an interesting anecdote transformed into a warning of what she was about to deal with.

And with that realisation, was the second one. First fight in this type of thing tended to be a warm-up. A prologue to the main event, so to speak... basically, they were expecting her to get her ass handed to her. A nice little beat-down to get the crowd hyped up for the real fights later on. Which kind of annoyed her on a personal level. Written off, again. Inconsequential.

Then again, everyone loves an underdog story, right?

Would she be able to win against Sickle? Maybe. Probably not, but she at least had the advantage of knowing what he could do - for example, she knew the blades would have to stay well out of this fight. Not that the idea of losing bothered her; winning wasn't something she was too concerned about, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to make one hell of an impression. Glancing down at her right arm, she experimentally opened and closed a gloved fist. When she thought about it, Sickle was an ideal challenge to test out that new trick.

As for her, her tech wouldn't be visible at all until she got rid of the jacket and gloves - for now, there was no sign of her even being a tinker at all. So, she had the element of surprise. And... yeah, that was about it. Maybe there was still time to go pick out some nice flowers for her funeral? Dwelling on it won't do any good anyway, right?

Glancing up from her program, she looked over to the guy running the betting stand. Wonderland, presumably, but she didn't exactly know all of her new allies at this point. "Up against Sickle, huh... guess that's one way to do a first encounter." She chuckled, seeming quite relaxed about her imminent near-death experience. You got used to that kind of thing after spending a while in Boston. "So, how bad are my odds?"

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

_@Sickle-cell

Robin's garage wasn't exactly the fanciest place in Boston, but it at least had character.

If 'character' was another word for 'a complete mess', anyway. But hey, things to do, people to see, murderers to befriend! Being a cape had never left her much time for interior decoration, or even basic maintenance. It wasn't like the whole place was covered in dust, anyway - just 90% of it. She glanced over towards the car resting inside. Thing was a complete rust-bucket, really, but she'd mostly fixed it up. Somehow. It'd probably hold together if nothing else.

One of these days, she'd have to learn how cars actually worked. But today was not that day.

Hey, it ran, didn't it? As for herself... she grinned as she caught sight of her own vehicle. It was, without a doubt, one of the crappiest motorcycles she'd ever laid eyes on. Thing had barely worked when she got a hold of it - hadn't even had to pay the dude to take it off his hands, seeing as it was on the way to the scrapheap anyway. After replacing all the important parts, it ran like a dream, and while it wasn't huge, it was manoeuvrable. Besides, the chipped exterior worked for her; there were upsides to having a bike that looked too crappy for people to want to steal.

Gotta hurry.

Oh yeah, the Circus. Man, this was gonna be a long day. Particularly considering how she was gonna spend the next few hours.

After making sure the doors were all locked, and scribbling 'CLOSED' on a note in the window for good measure, she nodded to herself. A hidden compartment at the bottom of her desk revealed a small key, and she turned to the door at the back of the shop. Her workshop, so to speak.

She wrinkled her nose as she entered, the smell of disinfectant hitting her. It beat the smell of blood, at least, which lingered no matter how much effort she put into scrubbing the floor. Not the kind of thing you could bring a cleaner in for, either. The bed in the centre of the room was clean - she wasn't dumb enough not to sterilise everything whenever she got the chance. As much as anything else, Automaton dreaded a hospital visit, considering how obvious her cape status would be to anyone looking deeper. Infections were a no-go.

It took a few minutes of getting materials together before she locked the door behind her. Twirling a small scalpel in her hand, she took a deep breath and sat down on the bed, resting her right arm on the table. A strip of fabric in her mouth to bite down on, if only to keep her from biting into her own tongue, and preparations were done. No time to put it off any longer.

The first part was always the worst, as the blade dug into her flesh, blood welling up. Deep, and then cutting, slowly and carefully, in a small rectangle - the tug of her flesh as it resisted the blade only forcing her to keep focus. It wouldn't to do have her hand slip, and straight lines were important. She bit down on the fabric, hard. This was so much worse than the morning had been, blinking stinging tears out of her eyes. Cold. It was cold, but the pain flashed hot.

And then removal. A chunk of flesh from the palm of her hand hitting the floor with a dull squelch. Hollowing out one's own flesh was never a pleasant experience, certainly not when there was bone to think about. Eurgh. Yeah, that wasn't a fun thing to look at. It was lucky she hadn't eaten anything recently. But she couldn't exactly stop, either, even if the sight of her own tendons was completely stomach-churning - god, why did they keep moving?

Involuntary twitching aside, the procedure itself was going fairly well. All she had to do was keep going, ignore the metallic stench of blood and hot-cold strikes of pain that assaulted her senses, then it'd all work out. She knew what she was doing. It was fine.

This is gonna be a long afternoon.

---

Robin woke with a burning in her throat, the bitter taste of bile in her mouth as she spat out the makeshift gag. Ew. She hated that part. A glance at her hand, experimentally opening and closing it, at least confirmed the procedure had taken. Standing up, she walked out of the workshop, making her way through to the bathroom. Scrubbing off the blood was a pain, but the wounds themselves had healed perfectly. A glass of water helped with getting the foul taste out of her mouth, though she grabbed a breath mint for good measure. No point in feeling disgusting; she'd need confidence tonight.

It was getting dark by the time she cleaned herself up properly, so Robin donned her mask once more, a jacket and gloves pulled on to cover her arms, and trousers for her legs. Normally she didn't bother hiding anything for cape work, but there was no point in giving the game away too early this time. Looking relatively normal, except for the mask, would at least grant her the element of surprise.

That, and she wanted to make her first impressions in the ring, grinning as she looked at the open palm of her right hand. Speaking of the ring, it was time for her to get going - for once, she really didn't wanna be late. After all, it'd really suck if she got there too late to even participate. She could already feel anticipation building as she began to run, smiling to herself.

I always did wanna visit the circus.

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

_@Sickle-cell

"Tonight, huh? You really could give a girl some more warning, you know." Robin frowned. "Sounds like one hell of a first impression, though. Where is it?" As she waited for an answer, she thought it over.

The circus. Something she'd heard of, vaguely, in harsh whispers and darkened alleys. One of those rumours that everyone knew - at least, if you were a less than law-abiding citizen. Certainly not a risk of death, but there were still things to think about. Mostly because it was tonight, and the alterations she had in mind were major. Recovery for those wouldn't be finished in time, but it was a perfect situation to test new equipment...

A teleportation matrix, nervous enhancements, improving her cloaking - those things took time, time that she didn't quite have. Especially since most of them would have to run off of some kind of full-body system; a base on which such dramatic upgrades could be built. A process of several days before she could even think about adding features. Though she supposed it would be possible to merge that with the nervous system - otherwise it would be completely redundant, seeing as she'd end up altering the entire thing anyway.

Yes, that worked. But for tonight, she wanted something to test. New tricks. A simple addition.

She glanced at her arm. Projectiles. Ranged. That had been the issue - she'd had to close distance. But a gun was out of the question. She had no interest in mass murder, and even if she did, bullets would be a waste of storage space. Energy, then. Her eyes lit up. Deflection. A weapon that could be defensive and offensive. More importantly, her arm was already set up to accommodate such a thing, and she'd be recovered for the Circus' beginning.

As soon as Askaryan gave her a location, Automaton would stand with a small grin. "I'd better get going. Do me a favour and sign me up - I've got a little surprise to go work on." Turning to run out of the door, she called over her shoulder. "Just tell 'em I'm the one with all the good looks and talent." Or, more realistically, the one with robotic limbs, but that one wasn't nearly as smug. She had a quota to fill, after all.

Without waiting for a response, on the off chance that he'd tell her to go sign herself up - a task that she really didn't have time for - Robin waved and practically shot out of the door. No time to waste. Of course, she really couldn't hang around once she was outside even if she wanted to. All things considered, her current state of 'visible cybernetics' wasn't exactly inconspicuous.

Hopefully the ongoing gang war would be enough distraction that she wouldn't catch anyone's attention. Not that she could do anything about it if it did; her only option was to run as fast as she possibly could and hope she didn't come across anything too time-consuming.

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

I feel like we're all forgetting the true star of this show, and so my vote goes to Random Gladius Mook #4.

...Or Sickle's okay too, I guess.

Worm - The Malfesant Throne

_@Sickle-cell

"Don't sweat it, it's not a major secret." She raised her good hand, waving away his concern. "Besides, I don't think either of us are up for an encore right now. You've kinda got two left feet, so to speak." Slightly cruel jokes aside, she paused, looking over her cybernetics briefly before glancing back to Askaryan.

"It's kind of a fifty-fifty thing. Technically, I'm pretty sure I could add whatever the hell I come up with - haven't found a way to upgrade my vitals without killing myself, so it won't let me do that." She shrugged. "But if I add every single thing I think of, then I'll run out of space. Plus, the more I add, the harder it gets to hide it when I'm doing the whole 'good little civilian' routine."

It was true that she could potentially be a much bigger threat than she was right now, but there was a point where there'd be no turning back. She didn't really fancy being a complete bucket of bolts quite yet. "So I try not to add anything too big until I have a reason to need it. Like, take today. I had trouble keeping track of everything, and closing distance. Especially when you started floating me."

She glanced down at her slightly ruined clothing, wincing. Yeah, that scenario would be one to avoid in the future. "So that gives me things to work on. Movement system, for one. Short-ranged teleport or something would've been helpful. Spatial awareness and reaction time, as well. Plus I've still gotta fix my cloaking system. Not sure perfect invisibility's possible, but I've been thinking, if I just alter it slightly--"

Okay, she'd been rambling a little, but hey - don't ask if you don't want an answer, especially with this particular subject. There was a whole encyclopedia of ideas she could have brought up, but Askaryan probably wouldn't want to deal with two hours of Tinker rambling. Sensing that she'd probably go off on even more of a tangent if she continued, she stopped with a light laugh. "Uh, what I'm saying is I try to wait for inspiration."