Foraminis [RP]

[Death's Spook]

Name: Magenta LaRue
Location: A Best Western in Midtown Manhattan
Faction: Really Complicated
Current Power: Minor Luck Manipulation - can choose to induce minor mishaps on contact
Affected RPers: @Kentucky Fried Torchic

Magenta screwed up.

She had heard that one her dear father’s coworkers from once upon a time might have been here. Furthermore, she was actually correct, which she had intended to exploit by walking into his room, grabbing a nearby pillow, and putting it over his face until he stopped twitching. Unfortunately, she was pretty certain that she underestimated how familiar her face would be to someone who saw her burn her father to death, given that he acted downright scared when they made eye contact even though the makeup she had on should have kept him from recognizing her. She quickly took an opportunity to disappear into a stairwell, hopefully before he could catch up to her or even fully understand whom he just saw, running up multiple flights before almost randomly choosing a middlish floor to go into. She paused at the doorway to the floor, composing herself for a second so that she didn’t look too rushed, and walked in.

She figured that it would be a best to hide out in an empty room for the night, which was possible thanks to the master key card she had pickpocketed from a cleaning lady (admittedly for the purpose of smothering her father’s friend). But before she could start a routine of figuring out which rooms were empty, she saw someone near the elevators who immediately piqued her interest.

Conrad Campopolus, a.k.a. “The Righteous Armadilloman.”

And Magenta realized that she struck gold.

Conrad was a bit of a laughingstock on the parts of the internet that Foraminis frequented: an idiot with an idealistic streak who claimed to be a Foram, only without any powers to actually back that up. Like most people, she laughed at the news story, but filed it away under “unlikely to matter.” But the moron was here, in New York, where the Demon’s Run douches just declared their intent to rule the city by the start of the next year, which was unlikely to be a coincidence.

And when Magenta saw that guileless look on his face, she might as well have been reading the words “BORN SUCKER” tattooed on his forehead.

It took Magenta all of a second to figure out how to play this con. As she walked from the stairs towards the elevators, her face took on a distracted quality, intended to look almost distressed. She walked briskly, and when she passed by the elevators, she “accidentally” tripped into Connor, using the brief contact to impart an additional amount of bad luck onto him: unlikely to seriously hurt him, but definitely likely to make the resulting tumble cause something of a Rube Goldberg bit of obnoxiousness.

As she started to pick herself up off the ground, Magenta allowed her eyes to fill with tears, since a clearly distressed damsel was likely to poke at Connor’s known white knight sensibilities. Her voice acquired a bit of a stammer as she clamped down slightly on her usual valley girl mode of speech, “I’m so so sorry! I-I didn’t notice where I was going and I d-didn’t mean to trip and and and-” she cut herself off with an Oscar worthy sob.

It was laying it on a bit thick, perhaps, but she figured he’d eat it up hook, line, and sinker.