Beacon Harbor Museum of Art The doors of the monumental Beacon Harbor Museum of Art open into a cavern of air and light. The main room of the museum is arched over by a giant dome of glass and white steel that pours the colors of sky over the white walls and warm wooden floors. The central information desk rests curled in the middle of the clear spotlight. The smooth wooden curves of the desk almost seem to have grown directly out of the floor. A starburst of halls branch out from this crystline centre, each leading to a different exhibit. Various signs, small black plastic cubes attached to the walls and etched with white lettering, point the way to specific parts of the museum. Security guards sprout up here and there, ensuring that the peaceful, almost holy awe that envelops the museum will remain unbroken. Edward Nigma is standing in front of a sculpture, apparently deep in thought. Noticable, though, is the way he watches the security guards closely. He might be memorizing their movements, almost... Spleen is oddly enough watching the security guards too, and simultaneously scribbling something in a notebook. A young man wanders into the museum, his expression troubled. He appears to have a lot on his mind, almost running into several people before giving a hasty apology.. He wanders slowly along one wall, glancing at the exibits with only half-interest. Spleen is btw on a bench, in a conspicuous spot. The Art Museum... home of priceless treasures, and prime targets for the criminal element... and they must be stopped. Mr. Furious, resplendent in his garish attire, slinks in through the entrance, sliding against the wall, making sure he's not being approached by bad guys and looking as though he believes he's hidden from view. He looks around, his goggles over his face, and he scours the area... Evil is afoot... and probably even an ankle and a calf here, he just knows it. Edward Nigma moves on to the next piece of sculpture, glancing around. He spots Spleen scribbling in his notebook and frowns at him. Weirdos, always around... Spleen feels someone scrutinizing him and glances up. He favors Nigma with a superior smirk and, turning the page of the notebook, starts scribbling anew. Jethel sighs, stopping before a photo of a painting on some rock walls in which he really has no interest, but no one else is standing here, so its as good a place as any. He glances about the museum, searching for the familiar face of a friend, but not finding it. He mutters to himself, "This isn't going to be easy..dammit.." and glances at the photo, briefly acknowlaging the nice use of color by the cave-men. Who'd think that primitive humans would have an artistic streak. Mr. Furious ducks down, his eyes wary, his thoughts deranged. He slips by, sneaking past the front desk as one of the clerks watches him with befuddled curiosity. As he reaches a wide space between his position and the cover of one of the hallways, he looks around quickly, and then leaps into a barrel roll, nearly sideswiping a few patrons while he's at it.... coming up in a defensive crouch behind the wall. And one of the clerks says "Jesus... I get all the morons..." as he stands up. Edward Nigma catches Spleen's smirk and glowers at him, before he's distracted by the acrobatic weirdo at the end of the hallway. He blinks. "Okaay..." Spleen peers over his notebook. Looking offended, he gets up and approaches Mr. Furious, stepping up behind him, and clears his throat. "What are you *doing?*" he hisses. Jethel is yanked out of his reverie by the crazy men.. He glances over at the pair, a slight frown pulling at his lips. After a moment, he shrugs and goes back to staring at the photo, the troubled look returning. From the blaring rays of the midday sun reaching vaguely from the window- paned entrance into the shady, marble interior of the museum, another curious figure emerges into the dim light. This one perhaps the oddest yet, the young man seems to carry a bit of that light with him as every proceeding step is dramatized by an opal cloak furling about his feet, just barely concealing the robe he wears beneath which shimmers in a kaleidoscope of colors in an almost unnatural intensity. A thin hand emerges from the outer garment, and with a practiced gesture he nudges his wide hat of the same ivory color so as to look upon his surroundings with casual amusement. Here it is. The great city of Beacon Harbors solitary museum of arts, expressions, and cultures. And what better place to find that long lost artifact of supreme magical power no one would believe in anymore? A calm smirk graces his lips at the mere thought of it, and he continues forward. Mr. Furious scowls a bit as he takes in what's going on... the security guard is getting up... trouble must be brewing. Then, the ugly guy with the zit problem starts talking to him. "Listen, pal... I'm on a very important mission right now, and I don't have time to go chewing the breeze with every Tom, Hank and Lefty that decides ta get conversational on me, okay? I'd appreciate it if you'd just step back, get out of my way, and go back to just whistlin' dixie, okay?" Jeez... you'd think people would recognize a superhero when they saw one... Edward Nigma watches Spleen and Mr Furious with interest. With luck, there'll be a fight. Or at least an argument. Spleen scowls. "A misschion?" he asks dubiously. "In here? You losche your daycamp group or schomething?" Jethel glances back at the two loonies, frowning... Well, at least its something to watch while waiting for Bryan to show up. He sighs to himself at the thought.. . o O (He really isn't going to like the news...) The latest entry into the museum eventually advances into the main halls, examining the collection of so-called new age artwork decking every wall. He approaches the first, a traditional oil painting of a pheasant on the rise from a field of amber waves of grain, and steps next to another man to observe. Said patron is easily distracted for a moment, but merely takes the outrageous appearance of the youth as another Renaissance Festival geek passing out flyers. He prepares to reject the mage's offer, but stands there appalled as the stranger instead pays him no attention and steps directly up to the painting, raising another hand to scratch deductively at the painting's surface. "H-hey...you. You're not allowed to touch the displays, I'm sure. That's...expensive artwork!" The Renaissance geek turns, narrows his eyes, and then spins slowly to walk away. The desk clerk that got up to deal with that somersaulting moron overhears the comment about touching displays, and he immediately turns to deal with this, heading over to Ren Faire twerp and preparing to give him a stern talking-to. Meanwhile, the volatile Man of Fury continues his attempts to remove the ugly kid from his side. "No, pal, and I suggest you drop that flippy little attitude of yours before you get a few thousand tons of art dropped on your piddly little head, capice?" Out of the corner of his goggles, he catches the cloaked man near the front... attempting to steal a priceless art treasure... and he immediately turns his attention away from Spleen and towards Cedrick... and then bolts quickly across the floor, his footsteps echoing swiftly, and then diving towards Cedrick, hoping to tackle him and save the day. "No Cracker Jack prize for you, Obi-Wan!" he shouts... not making a whole lot of sense. Spleen gets even more offended by Furious' remark, and is about to argue further when the man in black goes dashing off. Not having seen Cedrick touching the art he assumes Furious is some kind of loony (well, 'assumes' is a weak word). "All right buddy, I've got your number!" he yells, taking off after Furious. Jethel blinks in surprise as things suddenly turn a bit weirder..and suddenly jumps at least two feet straight up, eyes widening as a startled "GAH!" escapes his lips. Well, you'd have a similar reaction if you felt something crawling up your pantleg. Somehow managing to keep the impulse to smack whatever it is down, he stands, blushing bright red as the woman who was standing next to him growls something about 'crazy teens' before turning to watch the action herself. He whispers "Rep..?" A chameleon skitters onto Jethel's shoulder. It looks at him with a eerie ammount of intelligence in it's eyes. The charging Mr. Furious has just enough time to catch sight of Cedrick's widening eyes and shocked expression before he collides and effortlessly sends the both of them sprawling over the smooth marble beneath them. The strange wizard-costumed vandal offers no resistance whatsoever, uttering an irritated grunt upon making contact with the floor, though the pale and stonelike expression remains little changed as it is revealed by his hat's similar flight into the feet of another patron. He meets his assailant's eyes through the ridiculous goggles, a cold stare narrowing in similar fashion as before, and mutters, "*What*, exactly, is your problem?" Mr. Furious perks up... somewhat surprised that he actually made the tackle, but he recovers quickly. "All right, pal... I don't know what you think you're doing, trying to steal and vandalize precious artwork in broad daylight, but you just picked the wrong shelf to go hunting in..." he says, sounding sure of himself and almost covering up the fact that it makes no sense at all. "You're goin' to JAIL, baby... the pokey! No one messes with art in my town..." The clerk's stunned expression turns into a face buried in his hands, exasperated... not quite noticing the charging Spleen right behind him.... Spleen screeches to a halt right behind Furious and makes a grab at his leather jacket. "Who do you think you are, Schtone Cold?" he demands. "You can't go charging around here, thisch isch fine art!" He tries to haul Furious up and off of Cedrick. "You--" He pauses. "Schteal?" He considers. "Vandalize?" He blinks at Cedrick. "Is thisch *true*??" The woman who made the remark glances sideways at Jethel again, and lets out an ear-piercing scream upon seeing the lizard on his shoulder. Yessir, no one can say her lungs aren't functioning properly. Jethel winces, as does the chameleon, and one of the guards who was heading towards the (now) trio alters his path to intercept the silver-and-black haired teen, with a growl of "Hey! No pets allowed!" Jethel sighs. . o O (Great. As if things weren't insane enough.) Cedrick gives a slow sigh of wavering patience, the muscles of his arms flexing timidly underneath his cloak to prepare. He speaks again, his expression and tone still somewhere in the untraceable ballpark between unamused and unoffended, "I really don't know what you're talking about. I've stolen nothing. Vandalized the nonexistant." He shrugs gently, his eyes widening again spookily as he professes, "And what you have here isn't art. It's the scrawling of some small-minded layabout who's no definition of the term 'masterpiece' further than a dead quail mounted over a fireplace." Lolling his head to the side, Cedrick eyes the painting. "The man who painted this does no better good for the world...than you do. So, OFF!" And with that, the previously tensed arms spring into motion, helping the Spleen along in removing this begoggled upstart from him. And with the telekinetic 'Force' Obi- Wan adds to it, the young mage packs enough of a push to perpetually send the Man of Fury into the ceiling. Mr. Furious is easily tossed aside... as Spleen yanks and Cedrick pushes, he goes soaring over Spleen's head and flipping over backwards, his eyes wide beneath his goggles for a moment, until he curls up and hits the ground rolling... defensive position... "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow..." he mumbles as he rolls... Spleen watches Furious' trajectory in complete surprise. He then looks back at Cedrick. "I never liked that one either," he says quickly, backing off. "That whole decade wasch bad for oilpainting..." He continues to back off, in the direction Furious had been thrown. Jethel mutters to the chameleon "Hang on.. This could get ugly." He faces the guard, crossing his arms, and nodding towards the trio "Don't you have something *better* to do than harrass me? He's just a lizard, he isn't hurting anyone.." Cedrick frowns, immediately passing a hand through his thick mop of hair before pushing himself up with the same force, rising upward like a trapdoor in reverse. The edge to his words has quickly indicated his disgust with the situation, and it shows in his minorly tightened features as he flashes a fiery glance to the patron behind him...the one who retrieved his hat upon its departure from his head. Just one look is enough to send he and most of the rest of the onlookers in a slow retreat towards the exit. This is obviously a meta's party now. The mage's hand lifts from his side in a single, graceful arc...in which halfway between his hat is summoned from the floor straight to his fingertips, and he fits the odd, witch-like headgear over his head upon completion of the gesture with liquid motion. His eyes, meanwhile, never stray from his fallen adversaries, and as he looks on to them huddled upon the floor, he can't help but smirk. "My...I hadn't intended to send you so far. Yet, I don't feel quite...myself...lately. I only suppose I don't know my own strength..." The clerk that had gotten up to deal with this Ren Faire twerp has stopped short... not wanting to involve himself in this sort of fracas... so he turns to try to make sure no bystanders will be harmed... if only that big Russian guard Rasputin was working today... he might be able to help... but all they have is Reggie, that donut eating slobbering loser whose dad owns the security company they use.... bad day for kung-fu fighting in the museum. Meanwhile... Furious has come to a stop, lying on his stomach and looking around at floor level... trying to come to his senses. "That.... hurt..." he mumbles in his best badass voice.. and he starts to pick himself up. "All right, buddy boy... now you're playing with hot stuff." Ow... his joints hurt a lot. "But I'm not about to open up a jar of crotch-kick inside a lovely establishment like this... you wanna be an art critic... go write for Highlights magazine... some people might like it, bucko.." He starts to close the distance again, glancing around and idly noting the weird guy with the lizard, then turning his attention back to Obi-Wan... plotting his course of action. Spleen watches Furious recover and start back towards Cedrick. He nearly takes a step after him, but stops himself--this wasn't the kind of day he'd planned. So instead he retrieves his fallen notebook and heads for the exit, muttering morosely about the decline of culture in America. "And they schaid we'd be better off with a Democrat in charge..."