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Mar 18, 2019 7:59 PM
of daemons and superheroes and dead gods
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Tobias is starting to suspect (Mach Seven is starting to suspect, gotta habituate using his superhero name in costume) - Mach Seven is starting to suspect that patrolling for random muggings just doesn't work very well if you don't have powers suited for it.  Easier to find a mugging victim than stumble across a mugging right as it happens.  Zepharthalin can fly around and catch people from the air, sometimes, a peregrine falcon can cover more ground than a human even with super speed and roller blades, but even so it's not terribly often that a search turns up anything.  And Mach Seven isn't yet a big enough name for his mere presence on the street to be much of a deterrent.  There's only so much you can do in the superhero-costume department by scouring thrift stores, too.  He's pretty sure he just looks like a goofy college student too old for roller blades and overly paranoid about wiping out and skinning his knee.

But still - he's an actual bona fide legit superhero.  He doesn't see a lot of action, but he has managed to stop a couple of muggers.  Soon enough, he thinks, people will start to recognize him.  That feels pretty good.

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There is a teenaged boy (or, well, a currently boy-shaped person) coming from the opposite direction, a wolf mask on his face, a thick brown jacket with fake fur lining that floofs up around his neck, and what might look like fake ears up until they twitch. He's half crouched, silhouette almost animalistic, as he tilts his head and apparently sniffs.

A wolf daemon pads at his side, tongue lolling out as she helps the search.

The boy glances up when Mach Seven turns his corner, half-straightens, posture a bit wary but not hostile.

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- Well shit, okay.

Mach Seven looks up and whistles, audible through his mask, and Zepharthalin circles down and alights on an outstretched arm.  He turns his attention back to the - other superhero? if he's lucky - and waves with his other hand.

Uh, shit, what's his line here.  "Hey."

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"Oh, hey," he says, relaxing a bit. "You - patrolling?"

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"Yeah," he says.  How do superheroes talk to each other?  How did he not plan this far ahead?  Eh, whatever.  "You new?  I don't think I've seen you around."

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"I. Ah. Just started."

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"Yeah, same here."  He skates a bit closer, kicking off softly once or twice and gliding longer than it seems like he should be able to before stopping.  "Name's Mach Seven.  You?"

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"Silver Wolf. Ah. I was tracking someone, I should probably get back to that - they smelled injured?"

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"Oh, shit, yeah - my daemon can help look, if you want - "

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Zeph snaps to attention.  "Can you tell what direction they're in?" he asks.

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Frustrated: "No, I don't have a good sensory shape, but I think I'm moving faster than their scent - It doesn't smell fresh, I don't think there's an emergency, but I wanted to - gather clues, I suppose. The path's been going this way," and he gestures. The wolf's waiting a bit farther ahead, having been continuing along the scent-trail.

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"I can follow from the air, swoop down if I see anything.  If you want some backup," he adds as an afterthought.

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"Yeah. Backup would be really appreciated, thanks."

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Zeph nods, takes to the air.

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"Lead the way," Seven says.

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He will, loping after his daemon with ground-eating strides. He's fast, not quite speedster but definitely above human, and as he picks up the trailing properly he shifts, legs malforming, hunching over, and moving entirely into an almost-lupine shape as he takes off.

Dried blood becomes visible, here and there.

And then the trail vanishes.

Silver Wolf stops, half-shifts back, and makes a frustrated sound, before circling around, trying to pick the trail up again.

"We smelled someone else. Whoever it was smelled like formaldehyde. Only right where that scent vanished," the wolf informs Mach Seven, as she focuses more on the area right where the scent led them. "Not coming or going or lingering in the air, and it's a still night."

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"Hmm," Mach Seven says, a few paces back from the wolf.  "So, what do you think, teleporter?  Saw someone bleeding, zapped in and out to - either get them help or kidnap them?  Maybe they were a creepy serial killer and they wanted to embalm the body or something?"

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"Or they were preserved with formaldehyde," Zeph says.  "And they have a power such that that makes sense."

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"Neither of us can sense powers. Teleporter makes the most sense, though, and - the smell of formaldehyde was strong, but I can't tell if it's 'works with' strong or 'is made of' strong." She half-growls. "Damn it. And I bet no one saw anything. We'll memorize this scent, though, keep our noses sharp."

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Mach Seven nods.  "I'll keep an ear out for teleporters, or rumors of teleporters."  He frowns under his helmet.  " - Where do you get formaldehyde?  Would whoever it was just have ordered it online, or...?"

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Silver Wolf lopes back in time to hear that. He and his daemon both frown and exchange a glance. "I don't know. Codex might? She's my friend, has been doing the non-this-stuff type. Stuff. She also might know who's operating where?"

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"Worth a shot.  Want us to come meet her, or is she a silent partner?"

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"She prefers meeting people? I think." And Silver is somewhat uncomfortable not warning people about her daemon's truth-telling power, but Codex had insisted it's a secret, so.

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"I'm up for meeting her.  Got no plans other than this patrol, and honestly I don't think patrolling accomplishes very much if you don't have super-senses."

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"I don't think we'll find anything else, here, yeah, the trail's completely dropped. You alright following me?"

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"Sure thing," Mach Seven says, and Zeph nods.

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