<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/u4B6UwM.jpg?1)   </div><strong>Name</strong>Fetter<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Ship attack, Gulf of Mexico<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Copycat, team, survivors on water<br/>Character sheets (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=190246)<br/><hr/><br/>Fetter gathers the last of the survivors she can see into the lifeboat, not taking time to notice their looks of disbelief and horror at all that's happening.  "Hang on tight.  Don't let go.  Pull the tarp over you-- do it, do it--"  The boat, still hovering, lists just a bit and she corrects for their balance, her black-clad legs angled up as if she were perpetually falling, rain and torrential wind whipping her hair in wet locks and causing her cape to flag like a desperate banshee.  She stretches the tarp over their heads-- hoping that it's taut enough to hold them in-- and fixes her mercurial eyes upon the red and white Coast Guard vessels, barely visible through the writhing winds and gray sheets of rain.<br/><br/>She levels the full craft like a punter leveling a football-- then, to help secure then, she glides up over the hull of the boat so she's horizonal over the occupants.  She spreads her arms to securely hold to the opposite gunwhales, then: 'ignition.'  She spreads her feet to secure the passengers below her, more than capable of holding them in even if they<i>do</i>jar loose, and rockets them far from the beast's reach to the waiting flight-deck of a rescue-helicopter ship, where the stunned servicemen and women stare out at the roiling sea, only to see a black and red beacon rocket out from the brutal storm to come to a skidding halt on their tarmac.<br/><br/><i>"What the FU--"</i>exclaims a sailor in disbelief, but Fetter is already lifting off again, her arms hanging from her sides as she lifts above them like some black angel ascending-- despite the complete malapropism of the image.  She waits only long enough to see the rescued crewmen moving in the bottom of the boat-- looking around themselves in, yes, continued disbelief-- but also in<i>relief</i>... they were out of the storm's wake, they were on a ship with professional-looking men in orange vests, with emblems emblazoned on their uniforms.  The comforts of order, the surrender to authority.<br/><br/>One man blinks up at her, his face still stained with soot and his singed beard glistening with rain.  She looks into his eyes, she remembers it, and she turns back to the fray, flying low under the dark clouds and leaving a fanning tail of white water on the ocean's surface before a resonating sonic boom echoes over the open waves.