Whistler and The Mason
Whistler, who was as uncautious as they came, was hardly any shade of frightened when the Mason revealed himself to her. If anything, she looked delighted.
The mid-height young woman was, herself, not all too remarkable looking. Pretty but not doing much with it -- she wore no makeup, hadn't done much with her short hair, and generally looked more rough-and-tumble rugged than the average Jane -- and dressed in black biker leathers with copper nozzles at the shoulders, elbows, and knees, a dark hoodie, and a domino mask spirit gummed over her eyes that probably didn't hide much of her identity to anyone who got a good look.
"Well, look at you!" She chuckled, and took a hand from her jacket pocket to wave at him from across the warehouse floor. "Clearly I should have suggested Sandman. Mr. Sandman, maybe. Sandperson? I shouldn't assume your gender. No fretting about alarm, though! Not like you're the only person here who's a little weird."
To make her point, the air filled with a soft whistling -- her namesake -- as heat began to escape the nozzles, distorting the chilly winter air. She made a little hop and nozzles hidden in the soles of her boots released not steam, but gouts of blue-white fire which propelled Whistler a few feet higher and then held her there, supplemented by more bursts of flame at her joints that helped her stay steady. With her right hand, she summoned a charge of more of the intensely bright and hot flame, while the skin of her left corruscated with a cooler and more usual orange fire that she visibly struggled to keep from exploding into the open air.
And then it cut out all at once, the whistling with it, and Whistler herself hit the concrete with an honest-to-goodness three-point superhero landing. There could be absolutely no doubt that she practiced that. A lot.
"Figured I'd show you mine, only fair!" Whistler explained. "But, truly, no need to feel self-conscious. You're impressive, don't get me wrong, but I just met a kid with metal skin who might be sort of like a robot and a girl who, I shit you not, summons things out of her imagination. I don't even think she does it on purpose! I had really delicious kale chips made by a sort of muppet creature with an oven in his stomach while standing in an office building that, itself, exists in the tummy of a gigantic imagination creature named Plidinous Vogue."
Beat.
"That is a real sentence that I just said."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 23:06, Mon 17 Oct 2022.