Marvel, Rebirth:

[Constructelf]

IC Damian

"Is somebody down there?"

 

It wasn't exactly likely, but Damian hoped whoever was buried in that large pile of rubble with the robotic hand sticking out of it could hear him. "Anybody there?" he asked again. The Staff of One jammed head-first into the pile of rubble, he had used an "whirlwind with a diameter of ten feet" command to slowly blow dirt away from the pile (inadvertently causing a small dust storm in the process). Damian looked over the large pile of dirt and rock, checking to see if anybody would be coming out of it anytime soon.

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

"I didn't, but Ashley is a different story." I tilted my head down, letting my hair fall in front. "Listen. If something like the library incident happens again, just shoot me. It might free me depending on the area it hits, and if not... I don't really care anymore."

 

IC:

 

"Ah don't want it to come to that." Christine said. "And oh gosh... Ashley." Christine shook her head softly. "Ah hope she takes what Dallas tells her okay..."

[Eevee]

IC: Lynae

 

Lynae smiled and nodded before she plopped herself on the couch and turned on the TV. She felt that it was best to distance herself from the young man, the expression on his face obviously one of misunderstanding. The vampire hadn't been hitting on him in any sense. No it was more of a gesture of comfort, not for him at any rate, but for her. Being cold wasn't pleasant and the soft touch of a warm, living creature had always been soothing to her... Feeling a little heat on her hand made it feel living for just a split second.

 

She lazily flipped through the channels until she stopped on a documentary about World War II, which was currently on a bit about the hospitals.

 

"You know, I always enjoy watching these documentaries with actual footage... I always try to find myself in them." She confessed with a smile.

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

Ashley had slowed down at the word 'accident', her eyes looking straight into Aleks'.

 

Accidents...accidents are bad, but it isn't like someone is...is...

 

"Matty's a hero...." Her heart skipped a beat, everything became very silent around her, the noise of the cafe, people talking, laughing...it all disappeared. She could only hear her own heartbeat, Aleks saddened voice, and the incessant ringing building up in her ears.

 

"...he deserves better than this, and...and..." No...please no...this can't be happening...not...not again...this isn't suppose to happen anymore!

 

Ashley watched Aleks' face as he said the final words, but she didn't hear them, they wouldn't register in her mind. She didn't want to believe this! It couldn't be real! She was just dreaming! This was just another nightmare like all the others! This wasn't real.

 

She looked down at her arms, she shakily reached for her left arm and pinched it hard. Then she did again, and again, and again...each time she did it a little harder, till Aleks gently stopped her.

 

"A-Aleks..." she said softly, her voice barely carrying, she looked back up to him, a shocked look on her face. "I...I can't wake up! I can't...ican'tican'tican't...." Her words slowly became more jumbled and incoherent as she looked away from Aleks, covering her face with her palm as she started to heave.

Edited February 25, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"What? Did someone die?" I suppose the fact that this is the first thing which comes to mind says something about me.

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

"Yeah... Matt Summers did. Ah don't know if you knew him but me and Aleks were both very close. He's also Ashley's ex before she dated Dallas..."

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"Oh." I shook my head. "I hope she doesn't take it too hard. Seeing her unhappy would feel really wrong."

Edited February 25, 2014 by Cupcake Killer

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

Aleks slipped out of his chair and in a semicircle around the table to wrap his arms around Ashley's quivering, increasingly violent frame. With a soft, firm grip he pried her fingers away from her face and held them in one hand, putting the other on her stomach to try and help her control her breathing and keep from passing out. She was losing it in his arms, and he let her head rest up against his jaw while she tucked in like a child. Her hair smells like roses.

 

"There are bad people in the world, Ashley," he whispered softly. "They're not like you or Matt. They don't care who they hurt and they don't care who wants to do something about it. Matt died to stop one of them, but that's only a start. I can't promise you it worked. I don't know. But I do know this - one day, we'll stop them. We'll stop them. And maybe then we can be as brave as he was." There. Not so bad. Just replace stop with kill, brave with stupid. And we with I.

 

"I promise you. We'll stop them all."

 

-Tyler

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

Ashley did her best to listen to Aleks' words, it was hard though, the shock and the pain was intense. She felt utterly helpless, and a little bit useless. Matt had been out there in New York, trying to stop the bad guys, being brave and reckless as she knew he was. Yet she hadn't even known. She'd been flying over New York in the Blackbird, and she hadn't a clue. Maybe if she'd been paying attention, she could have helped...

 

Aleks' promise was that they'd stop them, stop the bad guys. Ashley knew he meant it, and that they would stop them. But it didn't make the pain go away. Matt was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

 

Ashley simply lay in Aleks arms, letting the tears flow as she quivered.

Edited February 25, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

Nick Fury was having a very, very bad day.

 

Which, considering how his days usually were, was saying something truly profound. The man had been alive a long time, seen a lot of things, and personally fought against a good three quarters of those things at one point or another. Nevertheless, the day following Hydra's worldwide assault was a bad one indeed. The man responsible for the smooth operation of one of the most influential organizations in history sat at his desk, flipping through a pile of reports, examining them quickly and efficiently with his one good eye. Not a one said anything good; But that was to be expected. Casualties were still being calculated, but were estimated to be in the high hundred thousands once all was said and done. Billions in property damage. Several cities wounded, several more crippled, and a few completely wiped off of the map. All over the course of an hour in total.

 

Sighing, he tossed the folders back down on his desk. Hydra had one very critical edge; Their targets were everywhere, anywhere, and could be anything. The attack could come from within or without, by air, by land, or by sea, and seeing it coming would be... Difficult, even with SHIELD's resources. When SHIELD attacked, they had to be careful, be precise. Hydra could simply attack where they pleased. Fury couldn't order a darn thing until he knew for sure, and that was a difficult prospect to say the least.

 

The day was not all bad, however.

 

The day before the attack, Agents Mikhail and Harken had intercepted two escaped Hydra captives, and brought them into custody. Good in and of itself; They might know something, and even if they didn't, it was still two experiments that Hydra didn't have; Ones SHIELD could question to gain a glimpse into their activities. However, there was yet another benefit. Due to the method of their escape, they had left a trail leading back to the facility they had escaped from. He'd had surveillance set up on the facility within the hour, and had maintained it since. Traffic had been minimal, and an idea of the size of the facility had been gained. Which left one thing to do.

 

Reaching for a button on his desk, he turned on his personal communications array, tuning it to broadcast on SHIELD's secure frequency. Normally, he'd be much more picky about who he sent for such a task; He had a shortlist of files for such occasions, after all. But this time, he didn't really have the time to recall those agents.

 

"All SHIELD agents, this is Director Fury. All available units are to report to the Helicarrier in exactly two hours from now for assignment and briefing. Units unavailable at this time are to continue with their tasks."

"I hope these orders are understood. Today is not a good day to test me."

 

IC:

 

A loud, weary sigh filled the Oval Office, its owner and occupant leaning way back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He'd sent his last round of visitors away a good twenty minutes ago, but the topics they had brought with them lingered, hanging in their air like a thick, heavy fog. Their implications clung to everything, weighing down bones old enough to feel their weight. Another sigh.

 

Idly, he tapped his fingers against the wood beneath them. Times like this, he really wished he had a cigar. Horrible for him they might be, but everyone had to die of something, and he'd much rather the cigar do him in than the stress. Scowling slightly, he swiveled his chair around one full rotation, slowing as he rounded the two hundred and seventieth degree, and for a moment, he could pretend that he was thirty years younger, and back at the Bugle. He'd turn around and be met instantly by overeager reporters, over-caffeinated officer workers, and maybe even Peter Parker, looking to sell some more photos.

 

But they weren't. Those days were long gone; Specters of the past. The figures that did meet his eyes, however, were the ghosts of the present, and truth be told, not unexpected ones at that. Theirs was a long tradition of giving presidents trouble at the worst time.

 

He didn't even look surprised.

 

IC:

 

"I understand that, Trin." Tera replied patiently, smiling slightly. As she was talking, she began searching her pockets, clearly looking for something. "It's not a matter of not wanting to get you clothes; It's a matter of whether we have any on hand. As it stands, I don't think my clothes will fit. Certainly my pants won't, though a shirt might work reasonably well."

 

Finally, she pulled a wallet out of her pocket, opening it and examining its contents carefully. "If we can find a store that's open, however, I should have enough to get you at least one set of clothes. Aella too."

 

"Though I'm going to need to forget about those plans of saving money."

 

OOC:

 

Alright, SHIELD people; Here's your chance to have something to do. Anyone with a free SHIELD character can join in, just get them over to the Helicarrier.

Edited February 25, 2014 by Simon the Digger

[25K Now!]

IC: Mikhail

 

"I did say my neighbour possesses spare clothing," said Mikhail, who WAS FOREVER BEING IGNNNNNORRRRRREEEEED.

[Snelly]

IC: Aella

 

"More than one set of clothes? Where do you put the extras?" The awful jumpsuit was all I'd ever worn, I was really glad to be rid of it. The idea of having more than one set of clothing was an interesting concept.

 

"And ummmm....what's a neighbour? Or money?"

Edited February 26, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

"That'd work quite well, Mikhail, and much better than having to find a store." Tera commented to Mikhail, glancing back at Aella when she asked her questions. "A neighbor is someone who lives near you. Money... Is a bit harder to explain."

 

"Basically, it's a specific item issues by the government that can be exchanged for things."

[Snelly]

IC: Aella

 

"Oh, okay." I said, pretending to understand what money was all about. It was something you used to get other things with. I didn't really get it, and I decided I didn't really care anyway, sounded boring.

 

In fact, this conversation was starting to get boring, so with a flick of my powers a gust of air came through the room, using just enough force to sent an unused pillow flying toward Tera's face.

Edited February 26, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

They came for him the next morning. The NYPD had long since relented and allowed the Brotherhood of Mutants to help with the relief efforts. Magnitude would check on the status of the police presence hourly; three minutes before the dawn of every hour he would leave, and when the clock struck every hour he would return, and report that more police were slowly shuffling away. New York City still had a real problem with looting and injured - not to mention crime itself - in the wake of the Sleeper assault. The Brotherhood of Mutants were here to cuddle trauma victims and smile for the youth crowd. Fair enough. The NYPD could handle that.

 

Apparently, the Secret Service could not.

 

When they came, Dom Lord was in a relief tent pointing out floors in an unstable apartment building two blocks away that the mutant volunteers could reach much more effectively and safely than the Red Cross, as well as which particular floors would most likely contain survivors. He was surrounded by a dozen humans, Kane Johnson, and (of course) Shiloh LeBeau at his side yet again. Even the regular humans had warmed up to the Brotherhood's assistance, and had developed an easy camaraderie with the mutants. A few of them had thrown Shiloh lingering glances; they withered away when Dom looked at them and smiled knowingly. Occasionally he'd wink. That really melted some hearts. One such volunteer - Kathy, with three kids, one of whom had been admitted to the hospital with a broken leg and several dinged up ribs when his school's roof had caved in, Dom had learned - looked up behind Dominik in shock while he pointed to a space where Kane Johnson would be ineffective, due to a potential gas leak. The rest of the volunteers turned as well. Shiloh's fist tightened on the table. He didn't need to be a genius to figure out what they were here for.

 

"Mr. Lord," he began (polite, at least) with a tremor of nervousness (young, probably been on the job a year, eighteen months tops) "by order of President J. Jonah Jameson of the United States, the Secret Service is here to escort you to the nation's capital. Washington, D.C. You've been summoned." (Summoned. They worked very hard not to say detained. They're afraid. Afraid of upsetting me? Maybe. Afraid of a spectacle? More likely. Afraid I'll decline? Moreso. They need me.)

 

"Well, if he's going to Washington...so am I."

 

"We're sorry, Miss LeBeau." (They know who Shiloh is; probably monitoring her as a prospective lieutenant and heir. Physical sign of distaste narrowly avoided) "But the President prefers utmost discretion in this matter." The man speaking now was older and more grizzled, with more of a gruff rasp to his tone (hard drinker, dislikes mutants, probably at least one kid - speaks like he's reprimanding a daughter) "Mr. Lord only. Those are our orders." (Definitely needs me. Jameson gave up the waiting game. HYDRA related? Distinct possibility. Fear of mutant action in the streets? Also distinct. Need more info. Go in to White House alone? Unavoidable. Go onto a helicopter alone? Avoidable. Course of action: belligerence? Charm? Civil disobedience? Something lowkey. They don't want a scene made. Start out on the right foot.)

 

"Gentlemen." Dominik greeted them politely enough, turning on his heel and putting his ungloved hand - gloves were in his pockets - on Shiloh's fist. One flick of his guarded hazel eyes over the contingent of Secret Service (a dozen, in case of a struggle or scene. Kane makes up for at least six of them. Shiloh and I, maybe three between us. Fight would result in 33% casualty rate. Minimum.) "I've known Shiloh LeBeau for four years. I trust her to be at my back more than I trust my own shadow. I understand the need for discretion at the Capitol, certainly. But it would put me at ease if she at least accompanied me to Washington proper." (No reaction to Capitol reference. They know I know. Heavily briefed. This wasn't done lightly, or by the President. Someone military minded. Advisors are nervous. Situation grim at Capitol.) Certainly explained the Archangels. Dom had rarely felt nervous over his tenure with the Brotherhood, but something about gazing at the cerulean supersoldiers, roaring over New York City on metal wings...it had offset him.

 

"I would appreciate it," he added, smiling softly. "If you keep a watch on her hands and keep her away from any particular fancy accessories, she won't be a hassle. I can assure you."

 

"What, she gonna swipe them behind our backs or something?" the young agent who had spoken first chuckled, flicking his gaze over to the blonde mutant and trying to meet her eyes under the rhinestone hat. (Attracted to Shiloh. No power to speak of, average living conditions. Maxwell House man; he's overhyper, drank a 5 Hour Energy about eighty [ninety?] minutes ago to compensate for coffee leaving his system. At least a five year age difference between him and Shiloh. Out of your league, brother.)

 

"No, no," Dom assured him, chuckling back and putting a protective arm around her. "Worse. She'll make them rebel against you. Regardless. I'll keep an eye on her. A token of a fair and prosperous summit."

 

All eyes turned to Shiloh. She looked up at the secret service agents and smiled. "You should have been more worried about the handgun..." She pulled the colt .45 from her side and placed it on the table casually.

 

The agents stared.

 

*****

 

It was raining heavily in Washington, D.C. too. Up and down the coast, it had rained for the better part of a week. On and off. On and off. On and off. He'd made conversation with a few of the agents and gotten to know a few of them surprisingly well (the one who had developed a budding attraction to Shiloh was named Bradley, so he definitely didn't have a shot) as the helicopter took them down the East Coast to the nation's capital. When they'd arrived, it was evening time and it was raining even harder; there was a mild rainbow lost somewhere in the violent throes of color that blanketed the sunset. On the massive lawn of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, you could almost see the prisms, dancing on top of the fresh-cut grass. The White House loomed before them, austere and handsome. Reporters and cameras - a couple dozen, but more were no doubt on the way - lined the fence and street.

 

"All apologies, Mr. Lord," said Hard Drinker, "but I'm afraid we're going to have to use the helipad. No time for a stroll on the Lawn." He shrugged ambivalently. Fair enough.

 

When they touched down on the helipad, Shiloh followed Dominik out - the two mutants were the first out of the helicopter, Shiloh using her hat to cloak her face and Dominik wearing a beanie to disguise his characteristic spun-gold mop of hair, a hoodie overtop of that, and Prada tinted sunglasses to cover his eyes. He was wearing his gloves and his scarf. He wanted as little of himself on the cameras as he could manage, for once. The Secret Service agents overtook them in pace quickly and led them down a small stairwell off the helipad, into an upper floor. Instantly, protective clothing was being removed and set aside. Scans. Scans. More security scans. A quick interrogation from a doorguard (going through a bad divorce, had his hand clawed up by family dog, the wife's gonna get it and leave the husband alone) and then more security scans. A pretty secretary reached around his head and pulled his sunglasses away. Someone went for Shiloh's hat. Failed. More security scans. Making sure she wasn't hiding a bomb under the rhinestones. More scans.

 

"You'd think they didn't trust us," his shadow quipped. Dom laughed. More scans. Shiloh was led away to a briefing room with the promise of sweets and coffee - but not before grabbing Dominik's hand and commanding him not to let himself get waterboarded. (She's nervous. Trying to hide it.) Bradley followed with her, leaving just Hard Drinker and an inconspicuous Oriental agent to usher him down the hallway of the West Wing and towards the Oval Office.

 

"Mr. President," he heard the Chief of Staff say from inside as the doors swung open before him. "We have--"

 

"Mr. President, you magnificent ######," Dominik Lord quipped softly. "I read your paper."

 

The Chief of Staff quieted. Jameson didn't turn around in his chair, but he saw his left hand slump. A sigh. He's tired. Expecting this, anxious in his own way, but tired of everyone in this House before they even come to him.

 

"Mr. Lord," the President greeted laconically.

 

"It's a pleasure." Understatement. History was unfolding before the eyes of these five men - a President, a "terrorist," a bookkeeper and two door guards. The first ever summit between a sitting U.S. President and the Brotherhood of Mutants that didn't result in a death threat. When he was offered a seat, he took it, but said nothing. The President's men (not him himself, he has not the time nor the motivation for it) had sent for him. He would let the President's men speak first.

 

-Tyler

Edited February 26, 2014 by young sinatra

[Makuta of Time]

IC: Marauder

"####, looks like Fury is infuriated. Let's head back to Helicarrier. You came on your own?"

[AuRon the champion]

IC:

 

Tuning out the others, Trinity found space to sit down, and began to leaf through the small opening thing that Tera had given her. It frustrated Trinity to no end that nobody had bothered to explain what the not-numbers were, and she felt a quite real urge to turn the thing into water... If it wasn't something from Tera, that is.

[25K Now!]

IC: Mikhail

 

"They are letters."

[AuRon the champion]

IC:

 

"Wazzdat?"

[25K Now!]

IC: Mikhail

 

"Phonetic symbols that convert words into written form."

[AuRon the champion]

IC:

 

"So... It's what we say... Like numbers?"

[Snelly]

IC: Shiloh

 

As Shiloh was escorted through the halls she took the time to analyze each and every interesting work of art and painting they passed by. Her rhinestone hat prevented everyone's view of her eyes, which almost seemed to flicker with energy. She smiled inwardly, the hallway would become a lot more entertaining later on.

 

She was led into a briefing room, which she analyzed carefully as she entered, taking in absolutely every detail she could.

 

"Okay...there better be sweets and coffee, you promised."

[25K Now!]

IC: Mikhail

 

"Yes. I will teach you after we get clothes."

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

Jennifer heard Fury's announcement loud and clear. "Wonderful... counter action. Now this is what I signed up for boys." she said as she winked at Marauder. She wasn't worried about Fury's speech. He had a right to be on edge after what had happened in the last 24 hours.

 

"Yes, I came my own way." Jennifer said as she headed back towards the submersible vehicle. She jumped into the bod and grabbed the controls. A few minutes later and it sank beneath the waves. Then it burst from them again as an airborn vehicle before rocketing off towards the Hellicarrirer.

 

Sometimes having your own vehicle after made by SWORD is nice. She thought. It didn't take long until she landed her craft onto the broad deck of the Hellicarrier. SHIELD attendants ran down the secure the vehicle as she climbed down and onto the metal deck of the Hellicarrier. It was a grand sight, with the sunlight glinting off the massive vehicle. It was a sign of power. And it was impressive. She much prefered it then to the configns of space.

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC: Ashley

 

Ashley did her best to listen to Aleks' words, it was hard though, the shock and the pain was intense. She felt utterly helpless, and a little bit useless. Matt had been out there in New York, trying to stop the bad guys, being brave and reckless as she knew he was. Yet she hadn't even known. She'd been flying over New York in the Blackbird, and she hadn't a clue. Maybe if she'd been paying attention, she could have helped...

 

Aleks' promise was that they'd stop them, stop the bad guys. Ashley knew he meant it, and that they would stop them. But it didn't make the pain go away. Matt was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

 

Ashley simply lay in Aleks arms, letting the tears flow as she quivered.

 

IC:

 

Think, Aleks, think. He'd gone down this road once before, when Jake Marko had died and Christine was left inconsolable for days, but he'd hardly known the girl then, had only worked with Jake three or four times, and Ashley Landes was a totally different animal altogether. The Southern belle vs. the indomitably happy plant girl. Like night and day. Christine hadn't taken it this hard...had she? He hadn't even talked to her about how she was handling things. How would she feel if it had been him?

 

It wasn't. It's done. Matt's done. You can't help him. But he could help Ashley just as easily. Carefully, he reached across the table, to where he'd been sitting before, and dragged an eclair out of a paper bag, pulling it in half gently. His other hand went running through Ashley's hair softly; he bumped the eclair against her nose, getting a little bit of cream filling on the very tip. Despite herself, she started to try and look at it. She was at serious risk of growing crosseyed.

 

"We don't have these...things...where I come from," he explained softly. "Think you could show me how to handle one?"

 

-Tyler

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

Ashley stared at the pastry for a moment, feeling the cold touch of the cream against her nose, without warning her mouth opened wide and engulfed the eclair, it was gone just like that.

 

"You can't let them see it coming....they don't taste as good if they see it coming. " she stated, her voice was a bit unsteady and she was still getting tremors, but it looked like she was calming down.

Edited February 26, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

Aleksandr Belikov had been a mercenary since he was twelve years old, in one fashion or another. He had been a thief since he was half that age. Never once had he heard of it being necessary to hunt down and blitzkrieg a pastry. But Ashley was hurt and lonely and seemed to know her stuff. And she's Matty's ex. For her sake, maybe just once...

 

Like a cobra, his hand darted out and plucked the pastry off the paper bag and into his mouth. He had chewed it up and swallowed it in two heartbeats. "Like so?"

 

-Tyler

Edited February 26, 2014 by young sinatra

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

Ashley nodded. "Yep." Ashley reached into the back, and then quickly brought another eclair to her mouth, she devoured it without mercy. She wasn't particularly hungry, but it was currently keeping her mind off things.

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

"Oh." I shook my head. "I hope she doesn't take it too hard. Seeing her unhappy would feel really wrong."

 

IC:

 

"Hopefully," Christine said. Her mood seemed to change. She sat down against the wall of her bed; laying her head against the window and allowing her strands of jagged dark brown hair one of which was pure white to fall over her eye. She stared across her room looking at nothing until her eyes locked onto something on her dresser. A picture. A framed picture of Christine, Aleks and Matt. They were all standing next to each other with their arms interlocked and a look of happiness and in Matt's case silliness on their faces. Why can't Ah go five minutes without thinking about you?

 

She grabbed her cellphone and then hurled it across the room. It hit the picture dead center; causing it to fall forwards and lay flat on the dresser. Better.

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

I'd made the mistake of letting my eyes wander a few minutes before Christine threw her cellphone. "Holy c***!" I shouted, somehow being clumsy enough to stumble backwards and hit my head on the wall.

 

"Sorry about that. I'm kind of jumpy." I winced, slowly reaching up to touch what would surely bruise.

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

"Sorry didn't mean to scare you." Christine said as she looked at Sierra.

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"Anyone else would have been fine. It's my fault." I bit my lip, thinking. "Coming to the institue was the first time I'd left my apartment in almost a year. I'm not used to sudden movements."

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

People generally died when it rained in Westchester.

 

It had been raining on the day he first arrived at the Institute, over twenty years ago. That was what Warren was focusing on tonight - that first night, with rain beating down on his straight blonde hair and soaking his clothes into form-fitting messes of fabric; the harness he'd used for his wings back in the day jutted out, all subtlety gone, as he shook himself free of spare droplets outside and then ushered himself in. Behind him, the sound of the limo peeling off screeched; mud sprayed along the courtyard. That sound echoed in his head, like a bell tolling; it was where he'd stopped being Warren Worthington III, trust fund baby, and really became Angel.

 

Scott's face, as always, was the first face he saw. Since he'd started with this whole lucid dreaming shtick, trying to reach all the jumbled memories and parts of his mind, he'd tried to focus on Scott. At first, Psylocke had joked around about it (some of her greatest hits included an attempt at a tough "fearless leader" voice, yelling for random kids to go on menial tasks in the name of "character building" the way Scott had, and finally playfully asking Warren if he would prefer her if she wore sunglasses and a scowl for a night) but eventually the telepath realized that there was something locked in Warren's head, and that there were precious few ways of trying to pick the lock without damaging him. So Angel gave lucid dreaming a shot. Three weeks running, and results were scarce. It was just...watching memories. That's all.

 

Scott had looked at him with disapproval as he looked around with an impetulant beam. Bobby Drake and Hank McCoy had taken to him well enough when they emerged, Bobby with his bad 80s haircut and Hank before his PetSmart days. But it had been Scott who he had off from the start - he and Scott had taken shots and thrown fists, until one day they'd ended up practically life partners. When there were pickup games of football, it would be Hank and Bobby versus Scott and Warren - the star quarterback and the top receiver. (Note to self: never let Betsy hear that analogy. The Freudian jokes would never end.) And the cheerleader...

 

Try as he might, Warren couldn't remember Jean Grey. After Ashlynn Summers' death, she'd...well, faded was the wrong word. More like she'd been erased. She was a blur of features, pixellated and far away, with hair that could have been blonde or brunette or raven black as easily as it could have been red. Her eyes had no color - they glowed a different color every second, every color of the rainbow and a few other hues he didn't know existed. When she smiled, it could have easily been an angry snarl - her lipstick looked more like blood, and her steps sounded like embers crackling. Jean was gone. Whatever had taken her place was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen.

 

"Eyes off," warned Scott Summers, misconstruing his gaze. Warren considered protesting, but what he heard instead was: "I'll bet that's not the first time that line's worked for you, is it?"

 

Bobby had laughed. Bobby had laughed at everything. He heard Jean's laugh, too; it made his hair stand on end, his wings rustle anxiously, and his heart break. It didn't sound like her. Or maybe it did. The Phoenix had wiped Jean away from Warren's psyche in one swoop. Maybe this had been her all along, and they'd all just been blind.

 

"So, let me guess," he heard himself continue, pointing at Bobby. "Shaggy." Hank. "Scooby." Jean. "Daphne." Scott. "Then you must be Velma."

 

More laughs. The crackling sound that was Jean's laugh was loudest of all, and when Warren grinned and turned his head, he saw her. Saw her, as she was. Her long red hair was cast up around her head like a dark halo as she held out a hand; her eyes were glowing a deep topaz color, and she was grinning. Her face was sharp and pale around the grin, and now her lips were blood-red and glowing like fire, and her grin was a perfect, shining, mischievous white. She was beautiful. Everyone thought she was beautiful. She's the ugliest thing I've ever seen.

 

He could save them all, though, he knew he could. He'd done it at Vegas, hadn't he? He'd tried to save them all, stop it from happening again, save his kid and Jean's kids and all the others. When he'd seen it happening again, he'd done what he had to do. He had been a Defender, an X-Force member, an X-Factor member, he'd worked for the government and for mutant rights and for the good of the entire world. He'd suffered more than anyone would ever know. He was an X-Man. It was his job, wasn't it? To do what he had to do? He'd done his job at Vegas...that's all he'd done, he'd done his job...he could do it again, he could reach out and take her by the cheeks and crack her neck. He could, he knew he could, that didn't make him evil, did it...he was trying...he was trying...

 

Until Jean said, "No," and he woke up crying.

 

They were only a few tears, but they were enough. He'd gotten farther this time than he had any time previously. Before, the courtyard would be on fire, or the limo would explode behind him, and Jean's voice would echo and he'd wake up with his chest constricted and his eyes burning. This was progress. As awful as it was, it was progress. He had to keep strong. Speaking of which...

 

He turned to his left. Betsy Braddock lay askew under the covers, blankets and a sheet tangled up around her slim waist. The curtains were open; the moonlight was dim against the clouds and the rain, but what slivers there were had formed patterns on her back and shoulders. Her chin was nudged against his shoulder, and her hand still lay on his chest, standing guard over his heart. Her breathing was soft and relaxed. She's having better dreams than I am. He ran a knuckle down her spine and wondered if she'd wake up if he leaned down and kissed her. Probably.

 

The headmaster gently edged off the bed and pushed some of his hair across his brow. On the TV, there was talk of some new supersoldier project, but he had the flatscreen was on mute and they were playing stock footage of some general in front of the Press Corps. Warren had no patience for that sort of thing at one in the morning; he walked past the television and into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He had circles under his eyes from a poor first-half-of-the-night's sleep, and his chest was still rising and falling in near-hyperventilation, but that wasn't what he was paying attention to. He had his eyes on the deep blue blemish marring his skin, like a great cerulean bruise. His right hand made its way down to the skin, to the one weapon he owned. The knife. Logan's claw. Skillfully, he gave the butterfly knife a flick of the handle and it spun out in full into his hand, catching the light of the bathroom across its sleek, silvery surface. He brought the knife up to his cheek. Gave it a little flick. Blood trickled, deep and crimson, down his cheek and jaw. His sanguinal healing factor sealed the cut up instantly, but the three trails of blood slithered down the right side of his face, mingling with the trail his tears had left and then dancing away down his jaw.

 

It was the same as it had been before. From the perspective of something else entirely - maybe his mirror image, or maybe a ghost - he watched himself knick away at the edge of his jawline with the knife, revealing a little chip of blue. Like a canvas, with the paint cracking away. Warren brought the blade up and sheared along his jaw, like he was trying to shave; no blood fell in the sink, but the skin fell away from him as easily as his clothes had hours before. His jaw and chin were blue, a deep blue, and he reached up under a flap of white and began to peel, and...

 

"Warren?"

 

Betsy was in the doorway to the bathroom, head cocked. The blankets that had been covering the two X-Men trailed from the bathroom all the way back to the bed like bread crumbs, blazing her trail. Her left foot was stamped down on the sheet, wrapped up around her ankle. Her face was wan as ever, but guarded; her eyes beheld him curiously, as though she was about to talk him down from a ledge. He looked in the mirror and saw that he had placed the knife to the edge of his jawline, ready to peel away. A dream. A lucid dream.

 

Outside, the rain was falling against the window in little patters.

 

"Hey, Betts," he said quietly, voice sounding a bit distorted through his grogginess. He tried to smile weakly, but it faltered when he felt the knife in his grip. He was about to shave his face off. Jesus. Jesus Christ. This can't be happening. "I..."

 

How to explain this one?

 

"This isn't working," he confessed softly, like a contrite child. The Adamantium switchblade dropped back against the sink, and Psylocke moved forward to give Warren a hug. She was warm, and her skin was soft against his; she put her chin on his shoulder and told him it was alright, and when they left the bathroom she didn't even try to guilt him into putting the blankets onto the bed. When she finally settled down to sleep again, Betsy made a point to lean over and kiss him first. Warren wasn't sure if she was trying to be affectionate, or if she was just scared. He thought to turn around and ask her, but Elizabeth Braddock had already fallen asleep again, and all her feelings and concerns and innermost thoughts were locked somewhere inside her head for the night. Was she being affectionate towards her boyfriend, or terrified of what was broiling in his head? Did she love him or fear him?

 

That night, for the first time in six months, it was Betsy Braddock who haunted his thoughts, instead of Jean Grey. He thought until dawn, contemplated until he heard the rain stop; when he felt Betsy stir under his arm and kiss his cheek, he thought to ask, but by that point he was too tired to even try, and merely kissed her back.

 

-Tyler

[Snelly]

IC: Krystal - Helicarrier -

 

​Krystal and Sam had teleported a couple more times before ending up back on the Helicarrier where they had started. By a matter of luck it seemed Sam had finally disabled the magic that had been teleporting them at random.

 

"Let's....never do that again..." Krystal said as she refrained from puking.

Edited February 26, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[Makuta of Time]

IC: Marauder

"Ain't that something."

 

He got on his Harley, cig still lit, and rode off to his jet. Once he arrived at the strip, he threw his cig away. He got geared up and closed the cockpit window. Checking that all systems were in check, he started the engine and prepared for lift off.

 

Once all systems were good, he flew away to the Helicarrier to meet with everyone.

[Wyrd Bid Ful Araed]

IC: As the orders from Fury buzzed into her head like the words of an eyepatched deity, Persephone took flight. It was incredible, she'd been doing this nearly a year and she still loved flying. It was the sense of freedom, of unrestrained weightlessness. She might get a similar zing from swimming if she weren't so heavy. All the metal inside her meant she just sank as soon as she entered water deeper than she was tall. Admittedly she'd fall when flying as well, but it was much less oppressive in the air than it was in the water.

There was also the beauty of the thing. When she was in the air she could see the city shrinking below her, wher eit become like a living thing. Cars driving along roads like blood along veins. Lights flicking on and off and around like synapses. It was a cliche but that didn't make it any less true.

And then she got high enough to pierce the cloud banks and reached the second level of beauty. To regular people clouds were only beautiful from afar, where you could pretend they were fluffy and shaped like flowers or puppies. Up close you realised they were just vapour and mist, little more than airborne fog. But Persephone could rise above that all, could get high enough so the clouds became a sun-basked beach of cottony white beneath clear blue skies and a welcoming sun. A paradise of illusion. It was even better if you had the range of vision Persephone had. She could see tiny ice particles dancing inside the clouds, an endless frozen tango. There'd probably be a storm later, she could feel the static electricity building already, but for now they could rave on in happiness. Oh the wonders of nature.

Her magneic field shimmering around, Persephone powered through this coral reef of the sky to the Helicarrier, a veritable island of industry in the blue oasis. It was not a journey that took her long, and she was soon touching down on one of the runways, daintily lowering herself onto her feet before strolling towards an entry door

[Constructelf]

IC Tokiomi

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep...

 

Tokiomi slowly woke up, cringing as he stretched out a back cramp. Looking for the source of the beeping, he noticed a new notification on his desktop. "Wait, from Nick Fury himself? This must be important." Getting up and gathering his things, he left the office.

 

An hour and a half later, a plane landed on the floating deck of the Helicarrier. The cockpit opening, Tokiomi stepped out and with a quick but controlled pace, headed for the interior of the flying ship. Wasting no time, he headed straight for the assigned meeting point.

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

"Anyone else would have been fine. It's my fault." I bit my lip, thinking. "Coming to the institue was the first time I'd left my apartment in almost a year. I'm not used to sudden movements."

 

IC:

 

Christine nodded. "I understand," she said. "Well Ah think you made a good choice in coming here."

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"I wanted to be around people who could defend themselves." I laughed. "Like you."

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

The pillow impacted against Tera's head with a quiet whumph, and when it fell to the floor, her face was momentarily blank as she processed the occurrence. An instant later, her eyes narrowed, and she looked directly at Aella.

 

"Oh, you are so lucky that you have a concussion right now."

 

IC:

 

"Get out."

 

The first words out of Jameson's mouth were met with nonplussed silence, as all of the people in the room worked to comprehend exacty what he meant. The quiet reigned for several minutes as he made no attempt to explain, or turn to face them for that matter, and the Chief of Staff looked increasingly nervous as he stared at the back of the President's chair.

 

"Er, sir, to whom are you speaking?"

 

"Preferably, all of you." He all but growled, the chair finally swiveling around to face them. The expression he wore was not at all dissimilar to the scowl that he had been known for at the Bugle, and the crossing of his arms across his chest did nothing to quiet his staffs' concerns. "But that isn't likely to happen, now that you've gone and dragged the current leader of the Brotherhood and his associate into my office, not twenty minutes after the vampires, the businesswoman, the CEO of Hammer Industries, a few hours after a press conference, and no more than twelve after Hydra blew up Manhattan."

 

"I'm sorry, sir, I thought it best to arrange a meeting, in the interests of-"

 

"I already know what you thought. How many times is this, now? Three? Four? Do I have to get a bill introduced in the Senate that will mandate presidential approval any time my staff want to arrange meetings for me?" He sighed again, massaging his temples. "Just... Shoo. Go read a book, go home, go get dinner. It is around dinner, isn't it? Or is it past then?"

 

He gestured at the Secret Service agents that had escorted Dominik an Shiloh into the room. "You, scram."

 

"Mr. President, I really don't think that's wi-"

 

"Son, let me put it to you this way. You have brought an empowered beings into my office; A member, in fact leader. of a group that has, at various points, threatened my predecessors. He could, potentially, neutralize you where you stand. I see you preparing to say otherwise, don't you even try. You're carrying, what, a .45 at best, and he's within a few meters of me. He could kill me just as easily with you standing right there as with you outside the office." A pause, while he allowed that to sink in. "I appreciate what you guys do; Really. But right now, just sit outside. I lived to this age in New York City; I can handle myself for a while. If you really want to be helpful, get someone to fetch me a fresh pot of coffee."

 

Silence, once more, reigned for a few minutes, before both bodyguards and the Chief of Staff nodded respectfully, exiting the room after letting him know that they would be waiting just outside the door. Jameson nodded to indicate his assent, watching them depart, eyes still following them as the door clicked shut behind them.

 

"Leader of the free world, and i still have to lecture my own staff..." He muttered, drumming his fingers against the table for a few moments before turning his attention towards his guest. "Forgive them, Mr. Lord. They're good men, I wouldn't have allowed their appointment if they weren't, but when things start going badly, they focus too much on what they can do, and not always whether or not anyone would want them to."

 

"Well. You're here, which means I'm not getting to go home tonight. Since my staff more or less dragged you here, the least I can do is let you ask about whatever strikes your fancy. So what do you want to discuss?"