Welcome to Gaia! ::

((Now that I actually read the post instead of skimming it...Impact, you DID autohit and autodestroy the guitar in your post. Shame on you. *flicks his nose* You should know better, don't do it again whatever you might think of the RPer you're doing it against. And he was in the bar when the brawl broke out, that's a damn good reason to enter in.

Kuro. There's a post order. When there's a post order you stick to the post order. You can certainly react to a direct attack...on your turn. I don't know how to say it more clearly. If people react based on an action that gets nullified, then their reactions are nullified. You're allowed to object OOC outside your turn, but you wait until your turn to post actions.

That your guitar is bulletproof boggles my mind, but considering all your powers center around it I don't see it being overpowered. Anyway, carry on. The Trucker got shot in the gut, I would think he's dead, so...

Gamma, Jack, then Owle. Then resume the post order as Impact posted it.))

Even while flailing, Gamma reinforced his command by wrenching his elbow high. With a broken jaw the last thing you want is something jamming into it.

Gunfire, of course. That same guy trying to peek out from some bar furniture to fire. A 9mm trained for the hostage's gut wouldn't do a whole lot. Teflon coating works for kevlar threads, but doesn't stop a bullet from tumbling on impact. Plus the apparent fatness involved on the 300-ish pounds drunk guy.

So whatever force was left on the projectile, it'd likely tumble and strike Gamma's lower abdomen with a wider side, greatly reducing whatever threat the bullet posed. If it hit, it'd probably bury itself into a shallow hole in Gamma's muscles below his stomach.

Regardless, it would piss Gamma off. Naturally he'd return fire.

Heaving the hostage forward, Gamma'd try and aim the guy for a table near Jack. Followed by a shower of automatic fire. More suppression than anything else. If Jack wanted to stick his head and arm out to shoot there was a good chance of losing both. Of course there wasn't a whole lot to stop the hypervelocity iron slugs in the first place.

So Gamma would charge in guns blazing hoping Jack would jump out of the way. Oh, he hoped.

He prayed, even.

Gamma was just charging out in the open at Jack, and he'd be behind a lot of furniture so he'd be out of visual. All he could do was scream for help.

"Someone stop this crazy lunatic or I'm pulling a ******** grenade!"

Jack also had a cluster bomb on his back, and if it were to get blown up by the grenade, a lot of ball bearings would fire off from secondaries. Thankfully there was a lot of armor between his chest and that satchel. However, the explosiveness of a grenade at close range to take down Gamma with him...

It was up to the other patrons to stop the charging lune, or Jack would be even more crazy.

He dropped one Barretta, a hand falling to his grenade and getting ready to launch it at the last moment. The other barretta was aimed over the shredded chairs and table in front of him.

It seemed things hadn't settled since he last dove for cover. The large fellow who had attempted to make mincemeat out of his feet was still on a rampage, but at least he was aiming for only one person...who was threatening to drop a grenade?!

Paul: Good Lord!

He pays almost no attention to Gammu...until it's too late for him to react. Three iron slugs propelled by flashes of violent flame shatter their way through the table he is using for cover to crack loudly into the surface of his guitar, causing a haunting echo in the soundbox. Paul looks swiflty down at his guitar, the pit of his stomach suddenly becoming heavy with dread...but the guitar is fine. Not even a dent shows where the three rounds slammed into it. He sighs with relief as he remains behind his cover...well, semi-cover, as Gammu had so deftly proven.

Paul: If I stay here and do nothing, he's liable to shoot again...and at me instead of my guitar.

With that in mind, Paul stands, holding his guitar by the neck in his left hand and his pick in the right. He addresses Gammu with a wry look on his face.

Paul: "I imagine destroying my guitar was supposed to incapacitate me?"

He shrugs and drops his pick. It makes a ringing sound when it contacts the wooden floor of the tavern.

Paul: "All I want is this pointless fighting to stop. Nothing more."

Having said his piece, Paul waits for the response from the gunman opposite him, the guitar hanging loosely in his grip.

No matter what it was Paul was saying Gammu ignored him. There was much more important things to consider, such as the lunatic with a grenade. What was it with explosives and making people feel like god? Power.

Flare may have been watching Gammu from time to time, glancing at all the major combatants but at the sight of the grenade he did what was only natural.

"Get down!"

Grabbing hold of her he would pull her down to the ground with him. Instinct had kicked in and instinct dictated that when explosives were involved it was best to keep a low profile.

"Who is this guy?"

Gammu muttered as he lost his plane of sight and was left with just his hearing. The sputtering of fire arms and people moving about. Things just weren't going well.

For some reason, Gamma had been running in slow motion like some crappy B Movie special effect. Long legs and the athletic ability not normally shown in average humans would have made crossing a simple bar room really no problem.



Gamma, previous to his leap, had been firing at where Jack had been. To no avail, due to unseen circumstances. Apparently there was so much furniture in that location that hypervelocity iron slugs made to devastate bullet resistant material coming out of a sidearm that was typically used by soldiers in powered armor was no match for the legendary Exploding Wood Furniture of the Firebrand.

Cue to Jack. In some quantum superposition where he is simultaneously in and out of cover. Gun held out ready to where he can fire at a moment's notice, while at the same time having his arm barricaded behind so much wood it cannot be seen or found by bullets.

Hiding in some little otherly-dimensional X-zone where he can see out of his literal bunker of wood and survey all of his surroundings while being totally out of sight from God himself. How else could he have seen Gamma coming for him and then threaten to pull a grenade?

Jack was fidgeting with his grenade. The Shakespearian question of 'To pull, or not to pull?' while deciding to whip it out or keep shooting at Gamma.

Gamma, freeing himself of the gravitational force of a distant black hole, found his speed, cleared the bar room and used gravity to his advantage.

Jack screamed, Gamma jumped, and due to the rapid acceleration involved with falling objects, would land square on him before he could pull a hand away from the grenade. Put into perspective Jack's bunker of chairs didn't seem all that big.

A leaping Tackle to apply Gamma's superior mass and bring Jack to the ground.