Realistic or Modern 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕝: in character

[fin]

MARVEL

RP.

code by low fidelity.

New York City, New York
Date: Friday December 10, 2049.
Time: 9:37 PM, Evening.
Weather: -3°C // 27°F, Flurrying Snow.​

General
From Harlem to Soho, Tribeca and the Bronx, the mission of Mason Sandoval is one heard all across New York. Along with the New America party, Sandoval has made it clear that in his term as governor he wishes to fortify New York. A state that’s fallen victim to all sorts of terrorism whether alien, superhuman, or mundane, New York does not cease to take the brunt of the destruction. No longer. Sandoval has gained popularity both amongst the citizens and government as he pushed the Safeguard America Act; a statute meant to protect New York with its most notable law being the registration of superhuman persons and advanced technology. Under his guidance Sandoval promises that New York’s infrastructure will be stable for years to come, not to be rebuilt each and every decade.

The aspiring governor’s campaign tour had stretched past New York as his idea has grown to captivate the civilians across the United States of America, and the world as a whole. To cap off what appears to be a successful run for governance, Mason Sandoval has returned to New York City at the Stanley Hall on the Upper East Side; December 10, 2049.

In the theatre, Sandoval and the New America Party have opened the doors to host civilians and politicians alike in a mingling session. After a night of responding to open questions, and having potential members of his cabinet discuss with him too, the night continues to be one to remember as New York City’s finest continue to enjoy the buffet, classical music, and bottle service in what is sure to be a night to remember.

As with the rest of New York City, some have a colder disposition towards Sandoval’s goals. Where exactly is the silver lining when it comes to registration and monitoring? Most prominently, mutants and freelance scientists continue to put Sandoval under fire. Even while some civilians remain quiet, it is as obvious as the still winter air that not everybody is in agreement with the New America Party’s plans for their state.

Xavier's
The most prominent establishment impacted by growing support for Mason Sandoval is undoubtedly Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, an institution for reform and haven for mutants. Support for the New America Party has given a podium for people who’d usually look in disgust at the mutant people, to carry placards and protest outside of the school.

Police security around the school has experienced marginal increase, and because of the incremental focus on their safety, students and teachers have been ordered to stay close to the school as well as refrain from interacting with the protesters. The spotlight is shining very bright on mutants during this trying time.
Of course, the youngsters grow nervous at the unstable situation. While faculty continues to try and instill some level of assuredness into the students from their own experiences with the Mutant Registration Act, night dawns on an anxious bunch of students once again.

Meanwhile, Headmistress Grey’s continued absence does little to grow any sense of normalcy into the students at Xavier’s. With the threat to mutantkind becoming very real, Grey has spent hours and hours hooked up to Cerebro, worried and paranoid of the age that is nearing her people.

S.H.I.E.L.D.
As per covert espionage organizations, S.H.I.E.L.D. continues to remain incognito amidst the public unrest. The organization has continued to busy itself with halting any possible resurgences of the HYDRA organization, doing so under the radar. Following years of infiltrating HYDRA and vice versa, S.H.I.E.L.D. still continues to grow, opting to train operatives on the helicarrier in hopes of remaining secluded from any on-planet investigation.

It is no longer as independent as in its youth. Following public scrutiny amassed during the numerous invasions on Earth, and destruction of public property, the government’s hold and influence continues to grow over the organization. Once the radiant boy scout, Director Captain Steve Rogers is forced to comply with the wishes of the United Nations or risk his own arrest/dismemberment of the S.H.I.E.L.D. organization.

There is a constant tension in the air for the operatives of S.H.I.E.L.D. to remain as obedient to orders as possible; the U.N. is constantly breathing over them.

 

[fin]

location

South Beach, Miami, FL.

mood

"Remy?" Confused.

outfit

The Fit.

Tags

Morgan, Tommy, Violet, Rafael.
_gallifrog_ FireMaiden ave goin insane

19:17.​

S.H.I.E.L.D. Commonly interpreted as an acronym for one of the world's most covert organizations, Steve had always seen it in a more literal light. A shield that enclosed the globe with one simple task. To protect it. Along with the Avengers, they had tried their best to protect the world from interstellar threats. Defend humanity from menaces wishing to corrupt their planet. Although Tony would have never called them that, Steve had lost his best friend because they refused to accept the unacceptable.

If Earth as a whole refused to purge the plague that was bubbling in their own midst, how could they truly have a chance to fight the greater threats?

Around him, he could sense other agents in the break room cringe silently as Mason Sandoval took to the podium at Stanley Hall. Some even threatened to switch off the television that hung above, only to be met with a grizzly glare from the Director. His predecessor, Nick Fury, had spent years trying to separate themselves from the United States Government. He was wrong. The only way to truly get things done was without all the secrets and lies. They needed to erase all of the blurred lines between enemies and allies. Everybody needed to be transparent if the world was truly going to become a safer place; emphasis on the superhumans that resided within it.

"Can't believe people really eat shit up." Steve's eyes swung back at the familiar voice, his pilot, Floyd Rhodes.

"We don't have much of a choice, do we? We're on their side whether we like it or not." He simply gave in. While the politics of it all might have caused some division within S.H.I.E.L.D., there was a common threat that every agent was more than enthusiastic to face. On the tablet in the hands of Floyd, Steve was shown the images of two recently escaped HYDRA agents. Rogues or not, they would be brought in for questioning. With city-level superhuman threats kept at a minimum, S.H.I.E.L.D. has continued to actively pursue any signs of HYDRA resurgence, and keep the terrorist organization's hope to reassemble futile.

"They're superhuman," Steve mumbled to himself as he took in contents displayed on the screen. "What powered agents do we have on-call?" Steve asked, swinging the dark leather jacket over his standard grey S.H.I.E.L.D. tee.

"Patriot and Hawkeye are still undercover in Tuscany. Helios has been kept at the raft after his reaction to the Anarchist crowd a couple of weeks ago. Wiccan is-"

"Not ready."

"I would say Iron Lad but you get all protective-"

"I promised her father that I would protect her." Steve sighed, stopping short in the hallway as he and Floyd finally reached the exit. His eyes caught the floating flurries of snow outside momentarily, providing a moment of thought before responding once more. "Speed and Iron Lad, notify them that we'll be at the tower in 5. They go after the girl. You and I pick up the boy."


***

21:46.​

He'd briefed the pair of Young Avengers on their flight to the last known location of Violet Viermont, West Virginia. Their targets were agents of HYDRA and were to be treated as such, capable of producing mass destruction and/or death. His best efforts not to come off as overly caring to Morgan may have only made him seem colder towards her. It ate him up even now, standing amidst the crowd in South Beach on the beachfront.

"You sure you're not going to need backup, Steve?"

"Watch Tommy and Morgan. I can handle the rogue." Steve responded, releasing his earpiece as the target finally switched activities. After a long day of surfing, St. Claire was on the move. While Rafael walked slowly across the sand in the direction of the general parking lot in the opposite direction of the boardwalk, Steve weaved through civilians on the streets parallel to his movements.

Fortunately for the Director, Rafael and himself were the only two present at the lot in spite of the mass of tourists he'd had to force his way through only moments before. He whipped off the N.A.P. cap he'd bought for camouflage as he sprinted quickly into the parking lot, stopping short only when the target glanced back.

Perhaps the disarray of his afternoon had impaired his judgement but suddenly just being closer to the target revealed to Steve an estranged acquaintance from years ago. A charming bachelor who always had a trick card up his sleeve. While his eyes and hair were different, as demonstrated on Floyd's tablet, the facial features were vividly identical as he pulled up to the old campervan.

"Remy?"

code by g o l d i e l o x x

 

[FireMaiden]

Violet Viermont
Location: West Virginia, USA
Feeling: Paranoid
Interaction: Open
Mentioned: N/A​

The coffee was awful. Not that Violet had had much experience with good coffee either, but this was worse than anything she had consumed previously. It was burnt, coffee grounds were floating in it, and it tasted like coal. But Violet needed the caffeine. Things hadn't been going her way lately. At her most recent fight, two men in black suits had been spotted in the crowd. Now, it was just a rumor, but based on what some of the fight goers had said, they were SHIELD. Which wasn't ideal for Violet. Not only that, but they had been spotted at the homeless camp she frequently slept at, and had been asking around the few places she did odd jobs. They were obviously looking for her. Whether to recruit or arrest, it didn't matter, Violet had to make herself scarce.

It took about of doing and some favors she would rather not think about, but Violet managed to scrounge up enough money for a bus ticket. She packed up her very few belongings, and hoped on the next Greyhound out of New York. Unbeknownst to her, the same day she left was the same time SHIELD had come looking for her armed with handcuffs and a warrant. It took some doing to get to West Virginia. A 6 hours bus ride, some walking, and getting a ride or two from some kind strangers had landed the mutant in this little podunk town.

A Total of 153 residents, mostly abandoned buildings and businesses, the only real job around was the coal mine 20 miles out of town. It seemed like a good place to lay low for bit. At least until SHEILD gave up on trying to find her. It might take a while for them to lose her scent, but she could wait. It wasn't like there was a shortage of things that needed to be done around here. Just walking into town there was at least three different construction ads, and Violet knew she could do that. Lifting heavy things was a speciality of hers after all. Not to mention, there didn't seem to be many spots with public internet, or many people who owned their own cellphones. It was more ghost town than anything else.

So, here Violet sat at a greasy diner, using the last of her precious money to buy terrible coffee and some cheap breakfast. The waitress seemed to dislike the many questions Violet was asking her when she had ordered, but it all worked out. Yet, Violet was still on edge. She had picked a table closest to the door, her hood up and pulled over her face the best she could get it, posture slouched to try and hide who she was on the off chance SHIELD had managed to follow her. Violet didn't see how though. She paid in cash, kept her face hidden from cameras, hadn't told anyone her name or where she was going other than to get a ride. The young woman still found it impossible to shake the paranoia clinging to her spine. She was doing her best to appear calm and unbothered, but as she slowly sipped her coffee, her foot tapped uncontrollably.

"Freshen up your coffee hun?" A voice asked, causing Violet to jump a little . The waitress cocked an eyebrow as she observed Violet nod and push the white diner mug closer to the edge of the table. The waitress topped off her coffee, watching as the timid young thing pulled it back toward her. "You visiting family?"

"Uh, no, just passing through," Violet mumbled without looking up, rubbing her index finger on the mug.

"Mhmm." The waitress didn't move immediately, watching Violet. She was messy, smelled awful, and her clothes looked like she had just pulled them out of a dumpster. "There's a truck stop down the road out near the old mechanics shop you can use to...freshen up. Showers are five bucks for ten minutes." She stated rather bluntly.

"oh, thank you." The waitress had to stand there for a few moments, trying to figure out what Violet had said. Her voice had been so quiet. But after a few moments, she nodded and walked off to handle the three other customers. Violet decided to sit there a while longer, watching some of the people come in and out while she finished her second cup of coffee and what remained of her eggs. Once her dishes had been cleaned, Violet stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out the few bills she had. Her meal was about seven dollars, so she laid what she knew to be a ten dollar bill on the table and scooted out of the bar. Once she had, she leaned over and grabbed her tattered backpack and made her way to the door. Heading out down the road, she had a new quest.

FInd the truck stop to take a shower.

 

[Xen6n]

Damien Strange

Location: Sanctum Sanctorum, New York
Feeling: Mischievous, Excited
Interaction: Open
Mentioned: N/A​

Damien stood with his face down and his legs apart, his arms up just without the comfort of The Cloak Of Levitation. . He wore a white tank top, grey sweat pants and leather fingerless gloves. . His surroundings reflected him and Wong standing across from each other holding Mystical Artifacts. Damien was holding the conjured Sacred Sword of Vishanti in one hand and the Staff of Anubis in the other. They were training in an open space room inside the Mirror Dimension. . Damien wanted to quit but he himself didn’t want to give up after the 15th or 16th round. He didn’t really remember as his sweat hit the floor as he sought an opening on Wong rushing at him with his Staff in hand with lines of his Aura inside of it keeping him from using too much Magic.
“𝘿𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙤𝙡𝙙. .”
Damien exclaimed sarcastically

Damien wasn't a cocky person, to say the least, but he wanted to harass Wong, he taunted Wong about his beard and the grayness hidden at the bottom and his baldness using it as a sign of oldness more than his recovery of Cancer. But either way, he kept his focus on Wong trying to keep the focus on their physical appearance rather than their Mental. . He kept his momentum leaping into the air using the Vaulting Boots of Valtorr which he wore and instantaneously put mystic platforms for him to run on while it augmented his leaping capabilities to supernatural levels. He leaped, while platformed, up into the air before placing both hands on his staff jumping towards the top of Wong.

Wong chuckled a bit at the remarks by Damien. He came fond of his humor, no, he didn't like it at first, or should it be known he wasn't going to give him satisfaction. Wong replied, "You may have your magical staff, you may have the power, and you may be the future Sorcerer Supreme of Earth," Wong paused as he prepared himself in a traditional Kamar-Taj martial art stance. Wong may have battled cancer but even through that he was still practicing and progressing in martial art to the point where he was a master at it. Wong chuckled, finishing his sentence. "Yet, you underestimate my ability."

Wong developed a smudged grin, as he began to prepare his attack. He heard Damien say don't hold back, Wong decided to not hold back. He's thought, maybe he should set up a decoy attack hopefully giving Damien the idea he will be able to dodge this attack, he'd then set his left leg up to do a high kick to his gut, and so the plan was put in forth. As Damien began to jump toward the top of Wong, Wong pulled his right hand's index finger and middle finger toward him. He located Damien's right rib, taking the strike. If this was to succeed the strike should have felt as if the rib was pierced by a claw of a tiger, he then kicked up his leg which was aimed toward Damien's gut.

Damien would sweat on impact. . He was lost for words as he fell onto the floor with the staff rolling out his hand. “𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙄 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘. . .” Damien said, he couched into a fist. Damien knew when he was beaten and he wasn’t going to complain at all. It seems that his Partner was more on the physical side of things Damien thought it off he laid on the ground staring at Wong's feet before mentioning.

“𝗬𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝗴, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗕𝗶𝗴 𝗚𝘂𝘆.” He said with a slight chuckle as the Cloak Of Levitation made a laughing motion as he pointed one of his corners at Damien was on the floor. . He thought nothing over it before making a symbol with his hand towards the cloak forming a sling ring beneath it with a sigh, “𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙮 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜.” He said with a firm tone as he stood up facing the Sling Ring, to be honest, he and the cloak had a love/hate relationship but it didn’t really matter when it came to the importance of protecting the earth and the multiverse.

“𝙄 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙚.” He said as the Sling Ring began closing and the cloak swiftly flew from without as Strange put his arm behind Wong’s neck as he part himself with a rolled tower as the wall of the Mirror Dimension fell.

Wong looked down as Damien landed on. He looked toward the laughing cape, he also burst out with laughter. "Damien," Wong's laughter began to fade, he continued. "You are so much like your father, I know it took a heavy toll on you, but you're still quite fit and achromatic for a person who hasn't trained nor studied for 2 years" Damien's face fell as the emotions and memories of his father's death still haunts him, Wong walked up to Damien and patted his back a bit. "It's not your fault Damien, I could never imagine what you were going through and I'm certainly sure your father won't want you to go back and grieve for him. He'll want you to take up the mantle and become his legacy, and be better than him." Wong then turned his attention to the Cloak of Levitation to forget the convo he had with Damien seeing him with a sad look on his face and deep in thought. "I find it funny, that Cape has always seemed to like you, at the same time it didn't." Wong used his left hand to reach on top of his head, he used a rag which he got out of his pocket to wipe his shiny cranium.

As Damien traced his right hand in an anticlockwise circular pattern, Wong closed his eyes at the brightness of the summoned portal. As the light died he responded to Damien's food pick. "How about Vietnamese?" Wong walked out the portal with Damien, looking around. The smell never will get old.

“𝙑𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙚? 𝙊𝙝, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙥𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧. . 𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙄’𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.” Damien said, removing his fingerless gloves as he continued forward down the stairs slowly as The Cloak Of Levitation followed him behind. “𝙄’𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣’𝙩 𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙚. 𝙋𝙡𝙪𝙨 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩—. 𝙒𝙤𝙬, 𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚.”
He turned directly into a hallway as he looked back slightly if Wong was still following. . Before returning his focus and sitting down on a sofa in his office turning on the TV it is the news. “𝙉𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜. . '' Damien sat up on the seat with his hands together watching Mason Sandoval on the podium in Stanley Hall.

“I don't like him one bit,” Wong said agitatedly, as Damien sat back on the sofa with his hand on the remote watching the TV as if it was just a TV show. "Me neither but something's telling me that things are not going to be well for a few." He said cryptically knowing well that S.H.I.E.L.D. and the race of mutants will not like Mason Sandoval's agenda.

Damien took off the TV after hearing enough and told Wong he'll be in the library studying. Still in his white tank top and grey sweat pants, as he felt too lazy to take them off, he climbed up the fleet of stairs as he neared the library of arcane lore. He shut the door behind him with a grin on his face as he thought about practicing some very dark magic today, feeling mischievous he ventured to a metallic and enchanted door that held his father's most sacred and forbidden collection of arcane tomes and forgotten artifacts. With a mere gesture, he cast a spell to temporarily nullify the enchantment that would kill him if he tried anything stupid, opening the door he walked inside and a wave of magic waft him across his face which made him more elated. Gazing about the spherical room he saw the Book of Vishanti and The Darkhold, each having their own book stand signifying their importance and potency, which he knows that he isn't ready for, ignoring them and further peering about the bookshelf in front of him he finally found the thing he was looking for. Pulling out the Book of Cagliostro he walked out of the room and sat in his father's study chair and opened the tome eagerly, flapping through the eerie pages he found a topic on Dormammu and invokable spells, finding it weird that one of the pages were missing, he brushed it off as one of his father's doing and began practicing and studying the forbidden arcane knowledge.

He read through the book, soaking in the knowledge and later pulling more books on malevolent and forbidden magicks on beings such as Satannish, Mephisto, Kkallakku and significant others. The reason why he can study and invoke these dangerous entities without much greater exchange such as his soul or his own life is that those beings were in debt to Doctor Strange and to pay off those debts they made a deal that Damien will freely invoke them for power in exchange for mere service and never his life or anything that will risk his life. That's what Wong told him but he has a feeling that must have a connection as to how his father died and is continuing on finding out as he still believes that his dad died of supernatural means, even though it might not. He would be in the library until then, studying and practicing.

code by g o l d i e l o x x

 

[Scatterbrain]

Spoiler: Mobile Friendly

Location:

The Daily Bugle, New York

Interactions

Open

Mentions:

N/A

"We're talking about Harry Osborn, gentlemen. A man whose final and noblest act was to fly into a building which he knew was about to explode." Foggy Nelson stated.

"He knew it, counsellor... because he planted the bomb!" J. Jonah Jameson retorted.

"That's only speculative!" Foggy quickly countered. "The point is he saved the life of the Amazing Spider-Man!"

Jameson cleared his throat nosily. "Hardly a public service as far as I'm concerned--!"

Nelson quickly continued before Jameson could really get started. His views on Spider-Man were well known and Foggy didn't want to get caught up in one of his tirades. "Nonetheless, Harry Osborn was a hero... and he was also the last, true Green Goblin! Unable to take the strain of a recent exposure to an experimental strength enhancing formula, his heart gave out and Harry Osborn was soon dead!"

JJJ crossed his arms, obviously growing increasingly irritated. "We're familiar with the facts, counsellor. We printed them when they were news. Mind explaining why you called this meeting?"

Foggy remained composed. "Mr. Jameson, the Daily Bugle has reported numerous sightings of a man who claims to be the new Green Goblin! However, as heir to Harry's estate, my client has a legal claim to the name, likeness, equipment and ancillary rights of her late husbands costumed identity!"

"You want to serve the new Goblin with a cease and desist? Be my guest, Nelson! In case you didn't know it, Harry's father was a friend of mine. I'd love to see Liz put the screws to this new masked jerk, but there could be a first amendment issue here. I cannot order any reporter to surrender his notes or sources!"

- - -​

Phil attempted to look busy sorting files as he watched events unfold through the window of Jameson's office. He could see Jameson temper get the better of him as he reached out towards Foggy before Robbie Robertson pulled him back.

Phil wished he could hear what was going down in there. It looked like Liz Osborn and her legal eagle were really giving his Uncle Ben the third degree. Though he didn't realise it, every scrap of info he ever uncovered about the new Goblin he got because he had the poor judgement to hire Phil as his office intern.

- - -​

"Mr. Urich... Ben... I want you to understand, this isn't personal!" Liz reached out and gently touched Ben's hand. "After all we've been through, I have a great deal of respect for you... but I must learn who is impersonating my dead husband... and why!"

"I... I understand, Mrs. Osborn." Ben could see she was growing increasingly upset by the situation before she finally broke down. She turned away from him as she quietly sobbed. Foggy placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her before stepping in.

"It may not be personal, Urich but make no mistake... it is deadly serious! My client will pursue every legal recourse at her disposal! Good day, sir!" Foggy with his arm around Liz, escorted her out of the office.

"Yeah... same to you, Nelson!" Ben turned to Robbie. "That poor woman has suffered enough, Joe... but I don't see how turning over my confidential files will help her!"

Robbie did his best to reassure Ben. "The Bugle will stand behind you, Ben... whatever you decide."

"Thanks... I appreciate the support." Ben walked out of JJJ's office, deep in thought, with his head down and his hands in his pockets. Phil watched as his uncle sat down at his desk before slumping on to it, arms crossed and head down.

Phil could see that his Uncle Ben was troubled but it's not like he became the Goblin by design. It was all one big accident. And it was becoming an even bigger pain. Phil began considering just dropping the gig and coming clean. Maybe he could get Mrs. Osborn to back down if he just returned all his Goblin gizmos, and-

Phil was cut off mid thought by the arrival of Lynn Walsh behind him. Lynn was the girl of his dreams it was just too bad he ran into her in reality. "Hey, Phil! Got a minute?"

Phil turned around and tried to play it smooth. "Uh... sure! What's up?"

Lynn pulled out an envelope and waved it in front of her. "The Idelson Museum of Modern Art! Jacob Conover slipped me a few passes to the new exhibit! You interested?" A grin crossed Phil's face. A chance to spend time with Lynn Walsh! He was elated.

"Uh... sounds neat!"

Neat!

Phil couldn't believe he actually just said that. He screamed internally. Could he be any bigger of a dork right now?

code by g o l d i e l o x x

Location: The Daily Bugle, New York
Interaction: Open
Mentioned: N/A​

"We're talking about Harry Osborn, gentlemen. A man whose final and noblest act was to fly into a building which he knew was about to explode." Foggy Nelson stated.

"He knew it, counsellor... because he planted the bomb!" J. Jonah Jameson retorted.

"That's only speculative!" Foggy quickly countered. "The point is he saved the life of the Amazing Spider-Man!"

Jameson cleared his throat nosily. "Hardly a public service as far as I'm concerned--!"

Nelson quickly continued before Jameson could really get started. His views on Spider-Man were well known and Foggy didn't want to get caught up in one of his tirades. "Nonetheless, Harry Osborn was a hero... and he was also the last, true Green Goblin! Unable to take the strain of a recent exposure to an experimental strength enhancing formula, his heart gave out and Harry Osborn was soon dead!"

JJJ crossed his arms, obviously growing increasingly irritated. "We're familiar with the facts, counsellor. We printed them when they were news. Mind explaining why you called this meeting?"

Foggy remained composed. "Mr. Jameson, the Daily Bugle has reported numerous sightings of a man who claims to be the new Green Goblin! However, as heir to Harry's estate, my client has a legal claim to the name, likeness, equipment and ancillary rights of her late husbands costumed identity!"

"You want to serve the new Goblin with a cease and desist? Be my guest, Nelson! In case you didn't know it, Harry's father was a friend of mine. I'd love to see Liz put the screws to this new masked jerk, but there could be a first amendment issue here. I cannot order any reporter to surrender his notes or sources!"

- - -​

Phil attempted to look busy sorting files as he watched events unfold through the window of Jameson's office. He could see Jameson temper get the better of him as he reached out towards Foggy before Robbie Robertson pulled him back.

Phil wished he could hear what was going down in there. It looked like Liz Osborn and her legal eagle were really giving his Uncle Ben the third degree. Though he didn't realise it, every scrap of info he ever uncovered about the new Goblin he got because he had the poor judgement to hire Phil as his office intern.

- - -
​

"Mr. Urich... Ben... I want you to understand, this isn't personal!" Liz reached out and gently touched Ben's hand. "After all we've been through, I have a great deal of respect for you... but I must learn who is impersonating my dead husband... and why!"

"I... I understand, Mrs. Osborn." Ben could see she was growing increasingly upset by the situation before she finally broke down. She turned away from him as she quietly sobbed. Foggy placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her before stepping in.

"It may not be personal, Urich but make no mistake... it is deadly serious! My client will pursue every legal recourse at her disposal! Good day, sir!" Foggy with his arm around Liz, escorted her out of the office.

"Yeah... same to you, Nelson!" Ben turned to Robbie. "That poor woman has suffered enough, Joe... but I don't see how turning over my confidential files will help her!"

Robbie did his best to reassure Ben. "The Bugle will stand behind you, Ben... whatever you decide."

"Thanks... I appreciate the support." Ben walked out of JJJ's office, deep in thought, with his head down and his hands in his pockets. Phil watched as his uncle sat down at his desk before slumping on to it, arms crossed and head down.

Phil could see that his Uncle Ben was troubled but it's not like he became the Goblin by design. It was all one big accident. And it was becoming an even bigger pain. Phil began considering just dropping the gig and coming clean. Maybe he could get Mrs. Osborn to back down if he just returned all his Goblin gizmos, and-

Phil was cut off mid thought by the arrival of Lynn Walsh behind him. Lynn was the girl of his dreams it was just too bad he ran into her in reality. "Hey, Phil! Got a minute?"

Phil turned around and tried to play it smooth. "Uh... sure! What's up?"

Lynn pulled out an envelope and waved it in front of her. "The Idelson Museum of Modern Art! Jacob Conover slipped me a few passes to the new exhibit! You interested?" A grin crossed Phil's face. A chance to spend time with Lynn Walsh! He was elated.

"Uh... sounds neat!"

Neat!

Phil couldn't believe he actually just said that. He screamed internally. Could he be any bigger of a dork right now?

 

[_gallifrog_]

Rafael LeBeau

Rafael didn't think that winter ever really truly to Florida. It certainly hadn't any other year he'd come to South Beach. Compared with other states the waters were positively tropical this time of year and while there was enough of a chill in the air that a light jacket of some kind was a requirement, it was warm enough that Raf could walk around with it fully unbuttoned and not receive weird looks from other surfers (or worse, tourists). His jacket of choice wasn't quite a trenchcoat, it didn't come down far enough to be classified as such, but it was in that vein, a pale tan colour that contrasted nicely with his tanned skin. In summer this particular beach would be black with people and the less said about the availability of parking spots the better. But in the winter months the numbers were far more manageable and, in Raf's expert opinion, (he'd been surfing since he was eighteen/nineteen so now he was twenty seven he felt fully justified in calling himself an expert) the waves were far better- higher, faster and significantly more powerful. The cold current that made New York so bitingly cold in the winter months interacted with the Florida sea currents to create some truly wonderful waves.

He'd spent the majority of the day in the water, sometimes solo, the rest of the time doing some group stuff with the others surfing veterans making Christmastime pilgrimage to South Beach, only breaking to eat. He'd been invited to two separate beach barbecues and as a man who had no reliable source of income Raf sure as hell wasn't going to say no to free food. Now with the sun slowly oozing towards the horizon Raf headed away from the boardwalk and towards the battered VW campervan he called his home. He hiked his surfboard up onto one shoulder and slung his backpack over the other, running the surfboard leas across his shoulders so he wouldn't trip over it. There was a very slight smile on his face, with his belly full of good food and his finances in a good place (stealing that set of rings had proved an excellent idea), along with the dull ache in his muscles and the quiet satisfaction simmering in his veins Raf felt at peace. He was free, he was alive, and even better, none of those freaks from HYDRA had even the slightest clue where he was.

But that feeling didn't last long. It was just as he was laying one sand and salt encrusted foot on the cracked tarmac that Raf got the distinct feeling that somebody was watching him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling under the gaze of some nefarious watcher. Was it HYDRA? Had they finally managed to track him down? Some muscled brute wanting to beat to the brink of death and then drag him back to the living hell of Project Rebirth? Was it one of the other 'children' sent to track him down and take him back? Or was it a tall man in a slick suit with eyes like ice and a voice like the oncoming storm, a voice that haunted Raf from his nightmares? His shoulders tensed unconsciously, his old call sign"RA-37" echoing through his head. Blood pounding in his ears, teeth clenched he slowly turned around.
Nothing.
Just a noisy gaggle of tourists flocking towards the town centre, all kitted out in tacky tourist baseball caps and hoodies. No muscled brute, no genetically modified child soldier, no HYDRA leader, no weapons pointed at his head, no mutant cuffs thrown on the ground in front of him accompanied by "put them on RA-37, you know what will happen if you don't." and a sadistic smirk that promised pain whether he complied or not. Raf shook his head and continued walking.

It was just as he reached the campervan that the man popped out from the other side of it. With the baggy trousers, lose fit shirt and light jacket all in neutral colours he could be anybody, a lost tourist, a guy looking to bum a cigarette, a pimp down on his luck. But he wasn't. Maybe it was the way he didn't look quite comfortable in the clothes, maybe it was the lack of obvious branding on his clothes , amybe it was the way he held himself, not quite as relaxed as he wanted the world to think or maybe it was something else entirely. But Raf's alarm bells were ringing. This guy was trouble, danger or most likely both. Raf's suspicions were confirmed when the man went slack-jawed, eyes lighting up with recognition and confusion, the name 'Remy' popping out unbidden from the man's mouth.

Shit.

If this man knew Remy LeBeau, things couldn't possibly end well for Raf. The young mutant knew full well who Remy was- his father, or his brother depending on your opinion on cloning. He'd first learned of the existence of the X-man known as Gambit during his time in Xavier. It had been Jean who'd told him, as one of the few remaining from the old guard she'd felt it her duty to tell him. Raf had declined on numerous occasions to meet the man, what good would it do either of them? For Raf it would show him what he could never be. And Remy? It would just show the man that people were right to thing of mutants as monsters. So that meeting had never happened, and now that he was on the run, never would.

There had been a few instances since leaving Xavier where somebody had seen the Remy in Raf and jumped to all kinds of conclusions (that altercation with the casino dealer had been..... interesting to say the least). Usually he could lie his way out of it by pretending to oblivious. Maybe his luck would be with him for once. "You've got the wrong bloke I'm afraid" he shrugged, moving the surfboard down from his shoulder, leaning it against the campervan, creating a barrier between him and the stranger. "If somebody's told you there's a Remy 'round these parts, they've been leading you astray dude." Raf spoke with a very slight French accent (despite never having been outside of the States) and despite the easy tone, he was internally panicking. The fingers of one hand tapped against his surfboard, a random pattern of beats. A tic he could never quite shift.

Location: South Beach, Miami, FL.
Mood: on edge, wary, suspicious
Outfit: here
Mentions: Steve Rogers fin

 

[TYPE]

LOCATION: NYC, Corner Store || INTERACTION: Open || SCENARIO: In the middle of an attempted kidnapping

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The soft hum of radial compute units and a multitude of sensors of exquisite and meticulous calibration throughout the room hid the sounds of Nate’s soft even breathing. He was seated alone at his desk, his eyes closed, and his hands were resting at his sides, upon the armrests, his fingers turned upwards. His feet, instead of resting upon the ground, were folded upwards and crossed into his chair. His desk was empty of everything save a small notebook scribbled over in what appeared to be random lettering, some tea which was slowly cooling, and a computer tablet which had a progress bar slowly counting up to a hundred.

Inside his mind, Nate was within a room of infinite sides and doors, all following patterns that would confound most - yet were obvious in their making as daylight to him. Secreted within and behind were the errant and considered thoughts, ideas formed past – present and future, made memories and recorded facts which together managed to simulate him – his sentience and casual access to all of it making up… Nate. There in his mind he was as close to what he was before. Boundless creativity now bound to a form unmade in its pseudo-deific agency.

He opened his eyes.

The progress bar filled a fraction of a moment later.

“Run the simulation again, please.” His words were soft, pleasant, polite, followed a few seconds later by the sound of a china cup meeting a saucer - as he took a sip of the unsweetened, lemon infused green tea his mother had brought him only a few minutes prior. He had hoped she would stay and watch, tempting her curiosity with elaborate explanations he knew she understood but cared little for, but she had told him she had a benefit within the next few hours, and still needed to seduce Reed into joining her. She had then leant over, kissed her son on his cheek, and told him to stop worrying – that he had ‘done the work’, and that he need not try and keep her there as a fallback.

He took another sip.

Her considerate powers would have been a perfect failsafe. It had been a comfort to him when he had first run the reactor a few months back. Nothing had gone wrong… The fact that nothing had - worried him far more than had the inverse been true. He had spent days going over all aspects of the device, testing and retesting – even asking the council of his father who assured him that – to his mind, the test had run as well as could be expected.

A sigh escaped his lips, a faint shaking of his head.

Baxter security protocol P-Scenario 42 commencing. 50% Complete… 75% Complete… Segregation of Security systems and Energy Grid Complete. Reserve depletion in seven months, six days, seventeen hours, and fifty-nine minutes. Initializing NFR-Scenario 1. 50% Complete... 75% Complete... True Fusion Reaction in ten seconds... TFR1 online.

There was a sudden flux within the stability of Baxter Tower’s electrical systems, the lights, networks, and computing flickering almost indistinctly as they shifted though ancillary sources for a moment, as the entire building switched over from the ALTARC-Prototype Two, settling firmly into the expansive project that was TFR1 in front of him, secured inside its containment field. Nate got up, before walking towards the viewing platform – before he reached forward, placing his hand against the clear, smooth surface separating him from his project, watching the perfectly smooth orb half-way hidden in the slightly opaque, blueish liquid - radiating heat, dispersed evenly along its blackened surface which slowly turned a muted reddish, only to be cooled rapidly – the power conversion stable, stepping down the immense output into something more manageable… Baxter was a hungry beast, but nothing quite like a country. At least not yet.

Nate, feeling the faintest tremors through the surface his hand was resting on, watched with unblinking eyes, every detail dancing along his senses. The smells he knew existed only in his memories - from previous experiments with other experts when they tried and failed so many times to develop a stable conduit, the incremental heating of the clear tantalum carbide viewing panel, the faint vibrations of the nearly incomprehensible magnetic forces at play within the relatively small installation right in front of him.

It was a nostalgic feeling.

Stable. 56 seconds till overload. Grid redistribution contingency protocol commencing in 52 seconds.

The voice was soft, sounding like a pleasant, aging man – the audio evenly distributed through the facility. Nate peered up at nothing, as he always did when interacting with Baxter. “Sequence record and drown, please.”

He watched the contingency protocols activate, the nullifying agent flooding the system, wasting another few hundred million in reactor materials. It felt wasteful. It was wasteful. It was working. It was safe. But he could not deny the caution in his bones – the fear that he might let loose something too dangerous for humanity to deal with. He again calculated how many households he could have fed in lieu of when he killed his darling another time – a continued guilt based cost-analysis just to make sure what he was doing was still worth it. But when making a machine that was never supposed to be turned off – one needed to make sure that when needs must, it be turned off, and that it did so rapidly and reliably.

Commencing… 50% complete. Resetting to ALTARC. System reboot commencing. Complete. Baxter protocols online.

“Thank you. Archive findings. Send me a copy. Highlight discrepancies. Private server. Thank you, Baxter. ” Nate, standing in front of the glass, watching as the blue liquid stopped bubbling slowly, the deep reddish core slowly turning black once more – reached upwards, scratching at his stubbly cheek, feeling a faint smile resting at the edges of his lips.

He was happy. This was a good day.

His phone vibrated and he peered down, retrieving it form his breast pocket. It was a message from his father. REED: Good work.

He felt his smile drop.

As he walked from the laboratory, he sipped at the last of his tea, finishing it on the way towards the kitchens. The tower was quieter than usual, the music in the elevator doing little to fill the void, but then again it was not a busy place in general. The white halls in absolute pristine, clinical perfection at all times, was a far-flung thing compared to his youth. The past had a simple-chaos about it that made him smile when he thought about it, the contrasting complex-serenity of the present feeling eternally foreign and alien when not distracted. As he walked past light-screens showing a selection of curated news-articles, fact checked and re-contextualized by the building AI - showing numerous events along the world, his eyes took in the various conflicts, the schemes, the obvious corruption, the exploitation… the desperation. Each of them pressing against him, each malady and misfortune meandering amongst his mind.

He closed his eyes.

The symbolic nature of it, made him feel ever more guilty.

In the kitchen he gently filled the sink with water, adding the soft-wearing cleansing agents appropriate for fragile cups painted with delicate flower motifs. He hummed softly in his mindless work to himself, music he could not recall ever hearing, fingers dancing gracefully across his memories hidden among patterns inlayed in kilned clay, kaolin, feldspar, and quartz. With both hands, he set the cup down to air-dry, not wanting to harm the images with needless scrubbing.

He left then. The elevator down was quiet as before.

As always.

Less than twenty minutes later he stood in front of the building in the street far below where he works, and lives, and sleeps and… He pulled a hood over his head and set his palms rubbing at themselves, gloved fingers interlacing. Pulling his collar up further and around his face, he started walking down the road, seeing in the distance the corner shop he frequented mostly. He was flanked in his walking by unnamed satellites, people whose faces seemed to both draw and disperse his attention. They worked and ate and fucked and spent money and did so many things that to him meant so little… yet to them it was life. Beautiful, vibrant life.

To them waking was a desperate call to action. A coerced thing by a system that saw them as tools for its own avaricious gain. Waking to him was routine. A predetermined thing outside of any motivation other than curiosity and guilt. He had seen things, spoke with things, handled, and considered things which would have them scoff at him and call him a fool. A doomspeaker. For his faithlessness in the shadows upon the wall. To them life was complicated because of how simple it was… for him, life was simple for how complicated.

He looked down at the road.

He sounded like his father. Like a dismissive asshole. Perhaps he was. He again watched their faces, and mentally apologised as his mother would have wanted. The corner of his mouth turned down, and he suddenly missed his uncle a great deal more than a moment prior.

Navigating the icy road he shuffled across the street – dodging a few yellow cars that nearly ran him over – before he opened the light enshrined door, the soft bell inoffensive – drawing the attention of the owner. He liked the smile she had. It made her feel less a shill for some mega corporation and more like a friend… She was good at her job. Enough for him to ignore the insanity of it all. This little tradition. Where he would give her money, he did not earn, and she would give him a product she did not own, and he would enjoy it – and she would see nothing for her labour but feel good at doing the work for another.

“Here you are. Knew you would come today. That project of yours run as smoothly as I knew it would? You said you had some electrical work you were doing?” She leant over the work bench, smirking at him, and he – like he always did – looked at her dark lips, and eyed the ring that set within the lower. He nodded, saying nothing as she smiled even brighter, her teeth straight and bright. She turned and reached upwards, grabbing a box from the top of the shelf behind her, opening it – the smells of half-desiccated flower filled his nose, and he sniffed. “The usual?” He nodded.

She set to work, preparing it for him, and Nate stood there, thinking over his findings for the day. It was not that productive, little new was learned – but he was pleased overall – however that meant that he had little to think about which meant he was done before her – which often led to discussion. He looked up at her, and she smiled. “Slow day?” Nate just shrugged. “Yeah. You have a new tattoo.” She frowned, before turning, lifting him her shirt, showing the scrawl along her lower back. “Yeah, you like it?” He shrugged. She rolled her eyes, before handing him the cigarettes. “Same price as always.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the card – his eyes looking at the logo, the face, the numbers… the plastic. The promise. She took it and rang up his order. Special since he only ever got a few at a time. She reached over and held out a lighter for him, and while he pocketed the rest, he leant forward with one between his lips.

The ritual was simple, and she had taught him well a long time ago. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Hold, and then let the flower burn and set its slow destructive pattern. She smiled at him through the smoke as he slowly relaxed into the regretful habit. His mother never forgave him. His father found it interesting and tried it with him – before deciding it was not for him. To be honest, Nate was not sure it was for him either. But he needed a reason to leave. And he could not find this in the building. So… here he was. “You are getting quite good at that.” He smiled softly, shrugging. “Thank you.” She was about to reply when the door opened, and he turned to look.

A man stood there; a gun raised. It was a big gun. It looked like it shot many rounds a second. Another walked in, and raised a similar weapon up towards him, shouting loudly for the girl to get down. She did and peered from the ground behind the counter at Nate, who stood perfectly still, still smoking his cigarette. “On the ground, now!” He let the smoke out slowly, before raising a hand to the man in a somewhat placating manner. “I don’t want to.” He took another drag of the cigarette, sighing loudly. “Please go away.” The man raised his gun up, starting to shoot at the roof, the sound startling the people outside in the streets. The girl screamed, and Nate flinched despite himself. He muttered “Please don’t do that”, as the man rushed towards him, losing his temper. Outside in a black van two more men shouted at the onlookers to run off.​

 

[ave goin insane]

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  following violet

  
  
  

WOLMESDORF, WEST VIRGINIA.
COMMONLY CALLED COALTON.
POP: 153
WEATHER: FLURRYING SNOW, -3°C...

The information printed itself across Morgan's vision almost as fast as she could read it, filling her in on everything she'd need to know about the town they were now entering. It was small, unassuming, all but off the map- and the perfect place for a rogue H.Y.D.R.A. agent to be lying low.

Director Rodgers had briefed them while they were still on the flight from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to the nowhere town. An escaped H.Y.D.R.A. agent, he'd told her and Tommy, her assigned partner for the mission. It was a good pairing, in her opinion- powered and non-powered, an even balance.

She still would've preferred another agent.

The H.Y.D.R.A. escapee had been tracked down to the small town of Wolmesdorf, presumably to escape her former captors. We can't be completely sure she defected, Morgan thought. That was why the pair had been sent to and bring her in for questioning. It should be simple. But Morgan knew better than anyone else that nothing was ever that simple.

The pair were walking towards the town through the light snow, which bit at Morgan's exposed face. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were cherry red from the cold, and her two metal bracelets felt like twin pieces of ice against her skin. I hope the circuits don't freeze, she thought. After a second of deliberation, she slipped them under her hoodie sleeves. Can't risk to lose them.

After a few minutes of walking, they reached the diner that the girl had been tracked down to. Half of the neon lights on the sign flickered on and off, and the smell of oil and bacon cut through the thin air like a knife. "Think she's still in there?" Morgan asked, trying to look casual as she peered through the windows. The diner was fairly empty, save for the few waitresses clearing off tables. Right when she was about to turn away, Morgan's eyes caught on a T.V. screen inside the diner. She squinted and zoomed in onto the screen, confirming what she thought would be there- that candidate for governor that she'd heard so much about. There was a lot of disdain surrounding him back at headquarters, considering he was the only politician with the balls to go after superhumans. Morgan didn't know what to think about him- his intentions seemed pure enough. Can't every be sure with shady politicians, though.

After a few seconds, Morgan blinked twice to clear her vision and shook her head. "C'mon. Let's get going."

morgan stark.

iron lad

tommy shepard
violet viermont

fin
FireMaiden

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[TYPE]

LOCATION: Vatican Archives || INTERACTION: Open || SCENARIO: Tried to learn the secrets of a warded tome without setting off the alarm - but failed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The young evening hours had come alive and gone, with much of the Holy See now become quiet. The absence of the mountain cicada serenading the pale moon left many in restless sleep, unsure of the unassuming, eery quiet which had befallen the city. Outside, where clocks had dawdled languidly towards the witching hour, steadily meeting fate, at once met devil’s time without a single chime to announce it – and the lights within the Vatican Apostolic Archive were switched on with a sudden loud clacking noise - quickly become muted by the vast swathe of books and tomes encircling the lone figure standing there in his vestments, as instructed. A frail, worn hand on the light mechanism, shook faintly with unstable breath and guilt, before suddenly another, smooth, clawed grip reached over from over his shoulder, and turned the lights off once more.

In the returning dark the old man could still recall the red tinge of the grip enveloping his own, the two hands resting intertwined still on the switch – long black nails tickling across his sweating palm. His haggard breathing quieted, standing upright from his formerly age-hunched form, the man went to speak, but a voice appeared from behind him to cut off any words of his own. Out of sight – the whisper of lips against his ear – "No, mi piace farlo al buio." The words were soft, and memories from ages past flooded the fragile human’s soul. Times past along river sides, spent with friends - he was young… he was beautiful… he was… happy… He had faith.

The hand disappeared then as if never there, taking with it the seductively warm – and disturbingly comfortable grip along his wrist… as the smell of brimstone filled his nose and burned at his lungs. It reminded him of the touch of a marble fireplace, long since burning – warm, inviting… The old man turned around and saw nothing, placing his back against the wall. The vast collection lay ahead of him, cast in darkness which had never cast fear in his heart before – yet now hid something terrible. Terrible… wonderous? Beautiful? Sinful. He reached up and grabbed fast the cross hanging around his neck, bringing it to his lips, whispering a prayer while kissing the silvered symbol. “Padre benedetto ti prego perdonami.”

A charming laugh came from somewhere ahead of him, and his prayer stopped, the faintest smile gracing his old lips. It was an entirely expected response to his desperation. He liked so much when the elder was confused and panicked. It always made the devil laugh. He stepped forward then, his hand lingering on the wall behind him for as long as he could, before his lifeline was cut in separation – and he was once more wandering in between the towering bookcases – desperate for any sign to guide his path. His frail, naked feet met the floor one silent step after the other, and he reached forward, his fingers running along the walls of mazed-text.

He had found the word in question some months ago. The one which had been requested now by his... The… thing… had wanted so desperately to see it. His first instinct was to destroy it, but he had refrained from doing such a hasty thing. He had told none either. He wanted to know – his curiosity which had first sent him away from the church so long ago and then had brought him back to it – now teased at his mind the reality of what was occurring. His faith had been not what it should have been – for a long time now, and he wondered whether this was a test from god… or something entirely different.

The world was no longer what it was before. It could not be in a world where all the chaos of the ancient world seemed to be cast paltry compared to events occurring recently. Planets infinite. Life dispersed on scales even the tomes he studied to fervently could not comprehend. Or foretell. Men who could do as only holy men once could – and so much more in cases well cited. What was god these days then? What was sacrifice anymore? What was faith? The church? Hope?

The old man stopped, his eyes closed, and he felt a silent tear escape him. He looked down, resting a hand over his mouth, long worn fingers trying to supress his agonising – a faint whimper as he bent over. He was just… so utterly confused. Unendingly afraid. He just wanted some answer… some understanding- “You think too much. All revelations desired be delivered on reveal…” The whisper was again from behind him, and he would have jumped in fright had strong arms not suddenly held him still in the quiet dark. Instinctively, desperately he leaned back, feeling the warmth emanating chest against him for a second before brimstone took his devil away from him once more.

On unsteady feet, he stepped forward once more after catching his breath again – as he again started making his way through the archives. He did not hear or see his companion for a while. The tome he was in search of was a strange thing he had stumbled upon by accident. It was queer in its make, as if the writing refused to be read readily and escaped like fleeing swine from his mind the moment it passed through his head. It fascinated him – and then it had terrified him. An older writing which took weeks to decipher and longer still to comprehend.

And then he was there. His visitor. Who asked so many questions and was so keen on offering so many things. His feet came to a standstill, as he grabbed the book – having found it laying not quite exactly where he had left it. Holding it to his chest, he quickly turned and scuttled away – to the side, finding a reading table. Placing it gently against the wooden reader, he reached for a reading lamp, only to wait… A few moments passed before a red hand appeared again from the darkness, and turned on the lamp, revealing his companion.



The boy stood there ahead of him. He was old, his face spent of any handsomeness, his pale hair thinned of youth. Azazel smirked, and the man smiled in that small way he had so many times in the last few months – before he looked at the book laying closed still. “Will you take it?” He returned his red eyes at the other and shook his head. “Some things are made about that which cannot ever have it.” His words again were soft, as the old man nodded slowly. “You need me to read it for you then?” Azazel nodded, as she stepped forward, putting an arm around the old man’s waist, turning him so they both faced a wall, his chin resting on the vestment covered shoulder. “I must replay you.” - he whispered into his ear.

The man stilled, before shaking his head slowly and evenly. “I can’t… my… my… soul.” His small words, tainted with unholy amounts of reluctance had Azazel chuckle into his hear, enjoying the faint shivers rushing through the age-worn body. “This cost you nothing but to bring me to my prize. Your soul is yours… as is… your youth.” He leaned forward more, keeping the man faced towards the wall, kissing the back of his neck. The wall ahead of them shimmered before even in the darkness it resembled silvered glass. The two of them reflected there, he grabbed the wrists of the other, spreading them wide – presenting him as if hung off a cross, his nails digging into the thin wrists.

The old man whimpered, before suddenly becoming transfixed with himself as seen upon the glass.

Slowly the lines across his face filled, and colour – even in the weakened light behind them – returned to his form. His arms, frail – slowly filled as his back straightened and rose. His breathing become easier and easier, as his milky blue eyes cleared, and sight again seemed clean and pure. His tongue ran along reinvigorated lips, flushed pink as his cheeks – and gold ran through his hair which filled again as once before. Hanging limp from Azazel’s grip, his knees weak now from shock not age, was a beautiful, handsome young man where an ancient cardinal did before. Azazel pulled him back up, and against his chest, his arms again encircling the boy. “How cruel god is, hiding knowledge, beauty and passion behind moments gone by – for him to enjoy only…” Again his red lips touched upon the flushed neck of the other, who shivered more violently than before, a whimper escaping his own lips.

The man turned in his arms, his eyes wide, watching Azazel – confused, afraid, excited – his pupils dilating further. He leant forward but was kept back and away from him. “Read for me, and I will give you what you ask. Sarò il papà che non è mai stato.” The man, clearly reluctant in what he was doing, reached suddenly for the book, rushing away and out of Azazel’s arms, bending over the tome – quickly flipping through the pages. Azazel smirked at the eagerness, the young man biting his lip as he tried to concentrate through his arousal. “This seems to be a record of names. An account… of… hell…” He watched the boy reading, his mind faster than before – before raising a brow as the growing reluctance he sensed in the other. “That it is.” The boy stopped reading, and turned back to the only other there.

“Then… Then… You truly are… him?” Azazel smirked, slowly stepping forward, watching the other’s confused body reacting in a hundred different ways. “And what, if I am?” He reached up and grabbed at his cross, bringing it up to his lips – and for the first time Azazel wondered whether this was habit – or actual fear. “It is a fun game is it not – to pretend that this all is a fever dream.” He smirked wider, his fangs deadly in the limited light. “But that book is special. When read, and understood – suddenly the reality of it all seems so… real…” He reached forward, the boy stepping back for the first time – before stopping himself. “If you are real… then HE must be…” Azazel shrugged, as if not minding that assumption. “Then I can’t… I can’t… I must not… If this is…” The devil stepped into the other’s space, watching him struggle, shaking his head, looking down between them, and then in the other’s eye, raising a brow. “You really need to convince yourself first, before you try and convince me…” He raised a finger up, running it along the other’s cheek. “You must have had so much faith… for it to return along with this face.” He leaned forward, kissing the boy. “It is rather adorable.” The boy, clearly wishing to return it, instead flushed further, before flinging himself away from Azazel, holding the book between them. “Such a thirsty little academic.” – he whispered before laughing loudly, filling the room.

“I will... I will... I destroy it! You won’t have it.” He turned, raising the book up, but Azazel disappeared, his tail wrapping around the man’s wrists like cuffs upon appearing behind him once more, holing them there above his head, the book, once in his grip tumbling to the ground. “Why?” Again the whisper threatened from behind him. “Because it is the right thing to do. Because God asks it of me.” A moment passed and Azazel shrugged. “He might. But look at reality. Nothing has called god from heaven, yes? Despite it all.” He ran a finger along the other’s shoulder and neck, continuing. “What then, could call him?” A moment before with a resigned whisper the other spoke – “The works of the devil.” Azazel hummed in the affirmative against the other’s neck. “Then why intervene? Why try and stop me?” His words rang deeper, quieter, reverberating through the wrists of the other and down his arms. “Imagine it… do for me… help me. Unleash hell… through me. Call god. Assert the rightful place of the church.” His arms encircled the other, as the boy leaned back, his eyes rolling back into his head, the words dancing around his mind. “I will make it sweeter still – I will make you pope. Be the one to guide the world through this… be the final pope – the one to welcome god when those trumpets call…”

The tail let go, and the boy fell to the ground, clutching the book against himself. He looked up in the darkness as Azazel stood over him. “I… I read it. You can’t. You won’t even touch it. But if I help you… God…” The boy looked down, before suddenly looking up and throwing the book at Azazel. The tome flew through the air, and before he could react in his shock, the book touched his skin. There was a flash of light as a magical seal broke – alerting the caster. The boy quickly got up, before starting to run away. Azazel tried to teleport, but it failed. Anti-teleportation magic? Strong anti-teleportation magic. It could not hold him. Nothing could. He just needed to focus. Already the bonds started to fray as he pressed against them. Smoke starting to rise around him. He bent over and picked up the book.

So much for being surreptitious.​

 

[fin]

location

Wolmesdorf, WV.

mood

Embarassed.

outfit

The Fit.

Tags

Morgan, Violet.
FireMaiden ave goin insane

The past several weeks at the tower had felt like an eternity for the speedster. Tommy didn't do well when things got slow. The tower was uncomfortably empty in recent times with the only other occupants being the emotionless husk of his "reincarnated father" (he couldn't even begin explaining that) and the Stark kid who was mostly cooped up by herself and her mechanics. While being busy had never stopped Tommy from interrupting people whenever things fell into a lull, he couldn't help but stray away from Morgan following the actions of his (also difficult to explain) reincarnated sister.

When the notice to rendez-vous with Cap at the helipad for some sort of assignment, Tommy was overjoyed. It'd taken him less than a fraction of a second to suit up, and another fraction to sport some civilian-esque clothing following the Director's debriefing. Surprisingly enough, amidst his excitement, Steve's berating of his above-average enthusiasm was less than usual. Hmph.

While his pairing may have been unfortunate, it wouldn't stop Tommy from getting the job done in record time and hopefully securing himself a couple more of these trips. The mission was simple, apprehend a HYDRA defect laying low, and turn her into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. The girl was small for her size but packed a punch in some underground boxing circuit a while back. Big whoop, Tommy thought to himself as he scanned the documents during their flight.

To say Wolmesdorf was cold would've been an understatement. The only thing he hated more than the fact that it was already confusing enough having a state named Virginia, with another named West Virginian, and none named East, South, or North Virginia, was the icy cold that crept up onto him. It made him feel like he was already slowing down, itching for an outlet to simply burst forwards past the freezing and snow. Fortunately, Morgan's question had snapped him awake, making him alert as his sights set down onto the dark head of hair in the distance.

"You're walking with a guy faster than your favorite F-100 supercar." Tommy grinned as he too fixed his sights on the diner. "You just stay here and look pretty, 'kay?" The exterior of it was certainly distasteful, the norm for HYDRA ops trying to stay under the radar. He simply scoffed, dropping the silver goggles propped up over his forehead over his eyes. Even in civilian clothing, he'd never leave his shades tucked away. Too many times had Tommy being traveling at high speeds, too fast to slow down before a fly entered his eyes. Having to experience that whilst the world around you was moving so much slower than normal did things to a person- including not forgetting to bring your goggles along.

The dust cleared from where Tommy once was, his person disappearing as he sped down the street. He left only faint wisps of the color of his outfit in the distance. In only a moment he'd scanned the entirety of the small diner. Washrooms, back exits, each and every booth, the kitchen, and lastly the pretty blonde that'd likely taken their target's order. He smiled at her, frozen still as his perception of time slowed down. Rosy pink cheeks, emerald green eyes, he even chuckled at the grease-stained fingers that came with the job. Seeing as she was handling cash, their target wouldn't be traced down to using a card to pay. Smart.

He pushed himself off of the counter he'd sat on to admire the pretty waitress, quickly jotting down his phone number over the back of a discarded lotto ticket, "Call me, Dina," Tommy left on the counter before scrambling away.

Tommy held back a chuckle as Morgan continued to move in very small fractions. He gave her another three or four seconds for her to realize he was no longer at her side. While he and Morgan had approached the diner from the left of the entrance, small footsteps in the snow revealed somebody headed to the right of the establishment. Small enough to fit the description. Off of his waist, Tommy unclipped the dark set of handcuffs, metahuman dampeners that were courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D. All he needed to do was clip them on both arms faster than she would even be able to react.

I could complete this entire mission before she even gets her eyes off that Sandoval creep, Tommy chuckled at Morgan's eyes only slowly leaving the television display of the potential governor of New York. Tommy burst forwards out of the diner, this time headed towards their-- well, his target at this point. Morgan hadn't done shit. Unfortunately for him, the force sustained by the regular soles coating his 'Speed' suit gave way as he neared the dark-haired woman. His shoes had simply burst on impact, forcing him down onto the floor, and Tommy to experience it all at the slowest frame possible. The powerlessness of it all was humiliating.

"Fuck!" He called out as he barreled down in front of Violet and into the dirty slush-covered road. The cuffs were out of his grasp... lost somewhere in the fucking snow.

code by g o l d i e l o x x

 

[Xen6n]

Damien Strange



Location: Vatican Archives
Feeling: Cautious
Interaction: Open
Mentioned: TYPE
​

As the hours passed, Damien sat peacefully in his father's leather tan, high back antique chair, brushing through the Treatise of Dormammu, which included a wealth of knowledge about his Greatuncle, Dormammu, including his works, spells, biography, and so on.
Damien never had a tight relationship with his mother's family, and the last time he saw them, things weren't going too well.
He is aware of their malevolence and morbidity, so he avoids them as much as possible, especially his Grandmother, Umar, who is a complete bitch if you ask me but shockingly less bad than his brother. As he got up from his chair and worked out his numb muscles from all the sitting, he closed the book in front of him, figuring that was enough for the day.

As he walked back to the shelf with the book under his left arm to place it back, he had a sudden feeling of unease and an unexpected dread stirred in his head, nearly falling on himself and holding onto a shelf for help. "Wh-What was that...!", he asked himself with a dazed and startled face. Then came a sudden impulse beckoning him to the Chamber of Shadows, where the Orb of Agamotto was held. He rushed out of the room, but not before shutting it and reinstating the enchantment on the secluded chamber. He nearly collided with Wong, who had a wary expression on his face."You good there Damien, you seem a bit paranoid?" With a worried expression on his face, he inquired, "No, it's..........I think something came up, I'm just gonna go to the Chamber of Shadows" Damien said, and Wong nodded as though he understood what the issue was. "Ok, well just be careful, some of the things your father hid and protected are for good reasons".

He nodded and empathically motioned for the Cloak of Levitation to appear, which did so in a matter of seconds and clamped on his shoulders. He changed into his blue robes (Robes of Ryzzanel) and the Amulet of Agamotto that hung around his neck with a wave of his hands, stepping into the spectral space of the Chamber of Shadows that held the Nigh-Omnipresent Orb of Agamotto in its casket. The glass covering emerges from its magical Cask of Concealment and the glass ball levitates with a gesture and an incantation. With the Orb of Agamotto emitting blue light, ready to be ordered, the once dark and barren chamber, which the orb and Damien is in, began to sway in a whirlwind of colors and magical fire., "Let rise the Orb of Agamotto, show me the disturbance that alerts me", Damien said, and the wild blend of magical energies and colors began to shape into a place as if on cue, and he realized exactly where he was. "The Vatican Archives.."Damien grumbled, seeing enough, and brushed his hand over the sphere, returning the now-color-filled and darkened space to its original location, with the glass containment descending back over the orb.

Damien wound his fingers around his sling ring, which hung on his robe's waist, and opened a dimensional gateway inside the Vatican Archives, where the disturbance originated. Stepping through the portal, he was greeted by a familiar red figure with their back facing him, but it was the book the person held in their hands that captured his eye. Knowing that was the warning, he slammed his fist into his right hand, summoning two Tao Mandalas in front of his two fists. He said, "Drop the book!" with a serious look and ready calm.

(Tao Mandalas)
​

 

[BELIAL.]

location

Xavier's School

mood

Depressed, apprehensive

outfit

Look

tags

open Braddington

Though it was dark out, and Billie knew better, but she had her shoes off and toes dipped into the fresh fallen snow, wriggling into the stinging cold for a sense of reality. Depression was a swirling, clouding mask that threatened to wipe out the brightest flame. Billie considered herself neither worthy of the flame nor the consideration of having her candle snuffed. Recent events had punched several holes into the girl, crumbling her into herself. These days she spent more time thinking about Wanda, her apparent mother, and if she'd felt the same way forever ago. Even though finding Tommy, and realizing her potential, had only happened in the last five years, she realized in short time that her existence was more than unnatural. All that was gone now, however, and was part of the reason that Billie'd fallen so deeply into a depression. Locking herself in her room at Xavier's had been the number one remedy for feeling the unfathomable self-loathing, but trying to completely shut off the world was another thing entirely.

If she could turn off her powers, she would.

Billie looked down at her phone, squinting at the bright screen. Checking the time, and the lack of notifications from anybody, she looked back up at the sky. The cool, winter air traced her lungs, clearing her head. It tried to, at least.

She sat back down, tucking her feet under her knees and looking back down at her phone. It was late, not super late, and she wondered if she would send a message to Tommy. He didn't reply, and that was a fact, but at least the messages delivered.

[Stay Safe.]

There was no way of knowing what he was doing, or what missions the team were up to-- and part of her wanted to know, but the other part was content being left in the dark. Even if the sense of FOMO was stronger, and her fear that something bad would happened to Tommy next.

At least she wasn't there to cause it herself.

Putting her phone back into her pocket, holding her hand out and playing with a bit of psionic energy. A few sparks of blue, swirling and breathing into each other as she twitched her fingers to the pulsation.

code by g o l d i e l o x x

 

[fin]

location

South Beach, Miami, FL.

mood

"Remy?" Upset.

outfit

The Fit.

Tags

Rafael.
_gallifrog_

The whole situation was growing eerily peculiar for Steve. He'd been looking around for a red-eyed thief-- killer, seemingly in the heat of the moments. While the man he'd chased after had eyes blue and hair blond, his physical description was undoubtedly identical to the intel posted to him; images drawn up by witness. The darkness of the night had forced Steve's eyes to take a moment to truly adjust to the man by the campervan, examining him silently as he spoke.

He'd covered it up. The man he was looking for wasn't only an agent of HYDRA, but in reality, a clone. A clone of Remy LeBeau.

"Gambit."

Steve whispered under a breath. His eyes thinned down over the man, and paired with a little bit of imagination, he could see it all again. His memory flashed back to the moment he'd visited the Xavier school several weeks back. He'd hope to reinforce the school's security (though no decision could be made without the Headmistress present). When he'd asked about his old friend, Colossus had let the Director know that Remy was away on a wild goose chase. Not so wild anymore.

If all this speculation was true, it meant only one thing. Whilst unremarkable by appearance, the man standing before him was capable of mass destruction. Gambit harbored explosive tendencies that Steve had never entirely been a fan of. This man was a danger and he had to be put down.

"I don't enjoy being lied to."

He shook off tension at his neck as he trudged further into the empty parking lot and towards the clone. His frown was grizzly and twisted down with anger. Steve charged towards the clone, fists clenched in a fury. There were many answers he needed to get, and his attempt and deceiving him made it vividly clear that he'd have to get them by force.

code by g o l d i e l o x x

 

[low fidelity]

MAUDE

&

MADS

moods: "fuckin' yikes."
location: nyc corner store.
outfits: &
mentions: nathaniel. open.
tags: TYPE

It was supposed to be a quiet day for the Marlowe siblings. There was a stillness in the air, unusual for an overcrowded city like New York. Her morning was quiet and uneventful, warm breath leaving a cloud of haze in her wake as she bought groceries for Amelia. Most of her day was spent running errands for her guardian, her typical small display of gratitude. Amelia was already further in age when she decided to adopt her and Mads, and as they got older, Maude noticed the small things. The way she would wince when rising from her seat, weathered hands trying to sooth the pinch of nerves in her back or legs, or her bouts of fatigue. Even as an adult, there were times where Amelia would sit her in front of the vanity and help braid her hair. It made Maude feel small again, fifteen years old sitting before an adult she could finally trust and feel at ease with. Soft worn hands parted her hair with ease and braided her thick brown locks neatly. She could easily recall their conversation from seven years ago.

"What're you thinking about that's got you looking so serious, hun?" Amelia spoke as she gently brushed a tangle out of Maude's hair. The girl's eyes were downcast, staring at her hands, knuckles covered in old scrapes and scars. She couldn't bear to look at her face.

A beat of silence passed and Maude pressed her lips into a thin line before answering quietly. "What I told you about the other day. My...powers. I don't know what's wrong with me. Out of everything I've seen, y'know, from those heroes on T.V. and all of that stuff, I've never really seen anything like mine." She shrugged and looked up to see Amelia's face in the mirror, brows knitted with worry. "I mean, Mads' aren't so crazy. What he can do isn't unheard of. But it's been a few months and I have no clue what to do with mine. I can't control it at all."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Maude. Absolutely nothing." Amelia said with a finality that surprised her. "You were born with a gift, just like me, just like your brother. Even if it doesn't make sense right now, things like this take time. I was the same when I was your age; my power was painful and hard to understand or control. My family had me diagnosed with schizophrenia when I told them I was havin' visions, hearing voices. Of course it sounds downright crazy. But my momma was a mutant, and my children were too. We're just as normal as anything else on this planet."

"Wait- you have children?!" Maude whipped around in her seat to face Amelia, burning with questions. "And they were mutants? And your mom? Is that like a genetic thing?"

"Had. They passed away a good long time ago in an accident. And yes, my momma had telekinesis, but they took her away when I was very young, and left me with some distant family."

"...I'm sorry, Amelia."

"Don't you worry about that now, the past is the past. What I'm saying is that you, right now, are capable of amazing things. With what you can do, you can save lives, change the world if you really want to. I see so much potential in you and Maddox. All you gotta do is reach out and grab it."

The words sat like a warm stone in Maude's chest, heavy and burning. The weight of expectations was not easily carried. But she felt she had found her cause in the Daughter's of Anarchy, and even if Mads didn't agree, she had a newfound sense of purpose in the fight. It would be a cold day in hell before either of the siblings willingly registered their powers to the damn government. Even if Mads wasn't keen on the idea of resistance movements, he hated authority as much as his sister. They lived life just fine so far.

"Did you hear anythin' I just said to you, Mo?" Maddox's voice broke through her cloud of thoughts, and Maude looked up. Night had fallen and they stood on a street corner, the pavement wet with slushes of snow. The bitter cold leeched the heat from her body even with her countless layers of cold. Brockton winters were nothing to bat an eye at, but there was something about the big city that was damned aphotic at night, leaving her shivering in her boots. Mads, on the other hand, was nearly unaffected. The cold was never a big deal for him, and if it was, he didn't complain a bit.

"Sorry, I zoned out. What'd you say?"
"You not gettin' enough air to the brain or somethin'? I nearly had to stop you from walkin' into traffic. I said if you wanna stop for a pack of smokes."
"Hey, I'll getcha a ladder so you can climb off my back, alright? Got a lot on the mind. And sure, but you're buyin'."
"Ooh, you thinkin' about all that big important stuff, huh? Like seeing Blake at that protest or whatever."
"Why do you gotta be so irritating?"
"That's what big brothers are for!"
"You're not even older than me, big guy."
"Actually, don't forget, I was born six months earlier."
"Oh my god, shut up and get inside before I freeze off my extremities."

The long, loud course of sibling bickering with a heavy dose of Bostonian accents continued down the street and into the smoke shop, only pausing so Maude could throw the cashier an attempt at a charming smile. What could she say? The lip piercing was cute. Mads rolled his eyes oh so dramatically before pushing her along, grabbing two 40 oz. beers from the back fridge as Maude perused the snack section.

A small chime from the shop's door rang out, and the two barely looked up as a mop of blond hair hovered around the cashier. Whatever they conversed about was lost on the twins as they chattered about nonsense, their typical bullshit arguments that meant nothing. Maude was poking fun at Mads for not being able to handle any spicy food, but the girl stopped midsentence at the flash of a big gun, shouts, and then gunshots. "Oh shit! Drop!" Mads dragged his sister down to the floor, crouched behind the snack aisle as the scene unfolded.

"Oh fuck, he's gonna kidnap him or something. Or kill blondie." He whisper yelled to Maude, peeking around the corner at the front of the store. It was some small miracle they hadn't been spotted.
"We've gotta do- god, I don't know, do something. He's big, you could rush him, copy him, then you get his big muscles. Then we can tag team it." Maude whispered back. They had a plan, a shoddy one at that, but something was better than nothing. She couldn't just run and let them get hurt. "We can do it."
"Yeah. Yeah, let's do it." The twins clasped hands for a short second, both a reassurance for each other, and for a chance for Maude to copy his powers. He handed the large beer bottle to Maude, and Mads grinned like a mad man. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug. "Fuck it. Let's rock."

A huff of breath, and Mads stood up to his full height with an arm cocked back. "Hey bitch!" He yelled at the gunner before throwing the beer, right on target as the glass smashed over the man's face and beer poured over the ground. The automatic gun dropped to the floor as Mads jumped him while he was dazed, landing a solid punch before he shapeshifted before their very eyes. Maude was quick to react, running forward to kick the gun out of the way. A hand planted itself square in the middle of Nathaniel's chest and she pushed him back a bit, trying to get him out of the way. "Tryin' to save your life here, so scram blondie!"

 

[TYPE]

LOCATION: NYC, Corner Store || INTERACTION: Open low fidelity || SCENARIO: In the middle of a very badly planned attempted kidnapping

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time for him had long since slowed as every moment lingered in languid apprehension of the next. His eyes, cool and unmoved by the display of rage and greed and destruction of the oaf who stood across from him, had Nate turn his head on his side, wondering visibly at what was occurring. Yes, the man was there with some forethought. He was there for Nate; his eyes had narrowed in recognition not concern upon finding him loitering across from the cashier. Anything sold within the small store had been free of any legal or social repercussion for nearly a generation now. This was not some attempt at catching him in scandal… No. He wanted to take Nate. Which made him either very dangerous or very, very foolish… Less than a moment passed and Nate nodded. Yes… The man was a fool. His entire demeanor suggested, as if by megaphone, his limited capacity for extended logical thought which had allowed him to develop a disproportionate level of self-worth, further perpetuated by surrounding himself with equivocal ingrates incapable of regulating his avarice. He was about to respond his distaste as the man started walking towards him, when a projectile flung from outside his vision cast against the attacker’s temple.

His body stuttered visibly, his grip going numb – the shattering of glass across the floor muted in harmony with the ensuing howl of rage. From seemingly nowhere two woolen clad teens jumped into his path, standing ahead of Nate in a rather valiant if unneeded display of heroics. He turned his eyes upon the young man as, with near palpable excitement, he turned into a near exact copy of man he had only a second prior assaulted. Nate watched with rapt attention and analytical fascination the transformation, his eyes shining and his mouth opening in faint awe.

The sheer complexity of a complete, impromptu, physical transformation never failed to enthrall him. Each individual atom interacting with some indirect agency – directed with incalculable precision to imitate even aspects outside of even enhanced perception. There was no way the boy had seen every aspect of his muse, every scar and mark that must hide along such a worn soul – yet the imitation was clear. He wondered whether there was some hidden natural mechanism which isolated and kept record of ‘self’ which was drawn upon by such abilities… Some Platonic ideal hidden in a realm of forms yet to be discovered.

So enamored with the change, watching it in distracted glee, Nate did not notice the girl pressing her hand against his chest. The touch shocked him, and upon feeling the touch he stepped backwards – his eyes widening in confusion for only a moment, before his body hovered slightly – escaping backwards, before being settled on the ground as if he had but jumped backwards in actual slowed time. Her words lingered in his ears, before nodding at her in a polite thanks. “Might you ensure her safety? I have grown quite fond of her.” He nodded towards the girl on the floor with his chin, his eyes remaining on and narrowed at the girl standing in front of him. He reached for his wrist, and pressed a button which set off an alarm in Baxter – the local authorities spurred into action, his parents alerted as well.

And then a breath.

He rose up into the air, hovering only a few feet above the ground, before he moved forwards. The man remaining upright who had been looking between his fallen comrade and the man who now stood in his place, turned to Nate and – eyes widened – started firing at the floating boy. The bullets seemed to go only far enough to enter his presence before falling as if denied further passage. The man started retreating towards the window, until Nate had floated against him. An invisible aura pressed the man harder and harder against the glass behind him, until it shattered, sending him over and through the window, Nate hovering outside.

Perhaps he can draw them out and away from the people. It might give that boy a chance to disable a few more of them. Seeing two more in the car, he lowered himself to the street and waved his hands at them. “Hey! You! I am… here. I guess.” The sounds of sirens in the distance had him looking up. He smiled faintly.​

 

[_gallifrog_]

Rafael LeBeau

"Gambit"

It may just have been the barest of whispers, but in the stillness of the carpark the sound travelled right to Raf's ears. It was only one word, but it was enough for Raf's entire frame to go rigid, his shoulder's tensing and his breath hitching. Oh he was more than in trouble, he was completely and utterly FUCKED. This was the moment he'd been dreading for years, the moment his past finally caught up with him and somebody tracked him down with orders to take him down, or worse take him back.

Raf may have escaped just over a decade ago, but the horrors of The School Yard were as fresh as ever in his mind. His body may have escaped, but his mind was very much still there. And every night, in his dreams, he relived the years he'd spent in that covert facility in the Grand Canyon. Through HYDRA's patented combination of brainwashing, psychological torture and systematic beatings Raf had been moulded into HYDRA's puppet, a pet thief whose only use was either to serve HYDRA's greater vision by stealing plans, prototype technology and planting bugs in systems of enemies or by acting as a living lab rat in horrific experiments that would also serve the greater vision of HYDRA. Neither of which were situations Raf wanted to go back to. He'd rather die than return.

While the folks at Xavier had succeeded in freeing Raf from some of this programming, much of it still remained, lurking in the background just waiting for the correct trigger. It was the reason why during his time at Xavier he'd always been treated like he was some kind of lose cannon and why, in both police and SHIELD files, there were three bodies to Raf's name. So when this stranger declared his dislike of liars and charged towards Raf like some kind of enraged bull, his fists clenched in anticipation of beating the twenty seven year old to a pulp Raf reacted without thinking. He recognised the expression on his attacker's face and knew this was a man who would not be reasoned with through words- one who saw violence as the only way forwards and felt perfectly justified in what he was about to do next.

He slid to one side, lifted up the surfboard and at the critical moment slammed it into his assailant's face with as much heft as he could muster. The laminated fibreglass fins connected with flesh with a sickening crunch. Not leaving time for his assailant to react or hit back, Raf pulled back the board, pivoted slightly on the ball of one foot and rammed the surfboard hard at the man's stomach and abdomen area. The intention was to wind him, but Raf didn't stay around to see the extent of the damage done by his prized board. Instead he let it clatter to the ground and took off in a sprint, his bare sand-crusted feet pounding across the asphalt, heading for the town where there would be people, crowds and back alleys he could lose his pursuer in.

Location: South Beach, Miami, FL.
Mood: fearing for his life having just committed surfboard aided violence
Outfit: here
Mentions: Steve Rogers ( fin )

 

[FireMaiden]

Violet Viermont
Location: West Virginia, USA
Feeling: Paranoid, Mildly concerned for the blonde guy
Interaction: fin (Tommy) ave goin insane (Morgan
Mentioned: N/A​

"Of course it started snowing," The young woman mumbled, raising her hands up to rub her cheeks. Violet liked the cold, but it always ended up hurting her if she stayed out in it for too long. Already her fingers were starting to cramp, but the snow was nice. She was too heavy to worry about slipping, her converse breaking through the build up as she kept walking, doing her best to find the truck stop. But as she walked, Violet began to notice a few extra set of foot falls behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed two figures. Of course her first thought is they were following her. That somehow SHIELD had found her. But it could have, more likely, just been two truckers heading toward the same stop she was, or people who lived in that direction. Violet crossed her arms, tucking her hands under her armpits to keep them warm as she hurried up a little.

She kept walking, her pace quickening a little bit. She could see the truck stop maybe a few more minutes down the road. She had 20 dollars in her pocket, and that would leave her fifteen...maybe she could give it to one of the truckers if they'd let her sleep in their truck. Or maybe she could find some more money and rent a room? She wasn't sure how she'd be able to, and sleeping outside when it snowed wasn't a good idea. Her sleeping bag wasn't insulated enough for it. Maybe if she could stay up all night, she could find an odd job tomorrow and then get a room at the cheapest motel in town.

Her brows furrowed as she thought about it, almost lost in though before, for some reason, a guy took a nose dive right infront of her. Violent hadn't even noticed him before he fell, which caused her to stop right in her tracks. She watched him for a few moments, Violet stepped off the sidewalk and into the road. Reaching down, she helped him back up on his feet. "Are you alright?" She asked quietly, looking around to see if he has dropped anything, before focusing on the blonde again. Violet hadn't spotted anything that he may have dropped. "Be careful, the snow is slippery," She mumbled, leaving him there to step back up on the sideway and continue making her way to the truck stop.

 

[erzulie]

mood

happy

location

the duck off

outfit

X X

tags

interactions: n/a
mentions: n/a

zahair

”here comes the sun.”

The place had been abandoned ever since it had been reduced to rubble all those years ago. There had been very little to salvage from the wreckage after the bodies had been recovered, so everything else had been removed. For the longest, the spot remained empty. Until now that is.

Zahair looked at the spot with mixed emotions. The apartment complex that he had called home was nowhere to be seen but he still had his memories. He could see his mama calling for him to come up for dinner, the neighborhood kids playing games of tag and hopscotch together. And that one summer afternoon where it was so hot that they couldn’t help but open up the fire hydrant for some cool water. A small smile appeared on his face as he thought back to when everything was simple and he had no idea about the harshness of the real world.

“Ay man , you gonna stand and stare all day or you gonna help?”

He was pulled from his thoughts by a friendly hand on his shoulder. He glanced at his friend, a fellow mutant that he’d grown up with and connected with once he returned to the states. “Yeah, my fault.” When he looked back, there stood a place that reminded him of home. And the very reason why he was currently standing shirtless in the sun. When Zahair had pitched the idea of rebuilding the apartment, those in the community had been all for it. Many had volunteered to come in order to help with the process.

They all joked and caught up as they worked together. Zahair’s smile was all pearly white throughout the process. Now the memory of the damage done could be replaced with something new.

Later
​

“Yo, real talk! You shoulda seen this dude today, showing off and shit.” The group laughed from their table at the bar. The work was finally done and the apartment complex was looking nice. It wouldn’t be long before it was opened back up once again. It was a worthy excuse for a celebration. So after, they’d all headed to one of their local bars for a drink.

Zahair rolled his eyes when his friend nudged him. He hadn’t been showing off in the slightest but he was used to Aaron trying to clown him at this point. “You just mad because I can lift more than you. Noodle arms having ass.” He smirked, shaking his head as the group then laughed. Zahair took a final sip of his drink, draining the glass in the process. “Imma go and get another drink real quick.”

With that he made his way to the bar and away from the slightly rowdy group of people that he called friends.

​

​

​

nine lives

 

[Xed]

Daryl Callan

Well Shit

Some stupid helicarrier

dirty white tee and jeans

nil

nil

nil

Fucking organisations. Were they trying to cut off the blood flow to his arms? Ah damn. Weren't the stupid mutant handcuffs enough? Ok so maybe he rammed his elbow into one of their men and tried to take out several others but seriously could you blame him? They were trying to arrest him for...what? Collapsing a shophouse? No one had even gotten hurt this time. Ok fine...maybe the owner...but he was a dick who'd tried to overcharge him for a drink and then thrown him out when he refused to pay. He was simply...retaliating, yes that was the word. Retaliating. Any way all this for one collapsed shophouse that was already on the verge of crumbling and a prick for an owner who deserved what he got? Oh how he hated organisations. Trampling on his right to be angry and retaliate like any normal person would. Daryl rocked back and forth on the heel of the chair they had stuck him in, hands held securely behind his back by the cuffs and a thick binding of rope that compressed his arms against his body.

He peered over his legs that were pushed up against the table's edge, keeping the chair and him from falling onto the floor. Where were these organisation goons anyway? Weren't they supposed to interrogate him or something? Tsk, tsk, to think they would be half assing their jobs like this, nabbing a young boy like him and then refusing to finish the job. He wanted to just get this over and done with so he could leave, escape, hit the road and travel to the next destination he had in mind which...well he'd figure that out on the way.

"Finally!" Daryl exclaimed as he pulled back his feet and set them on the ground, allowing the chair to drop back on all four legs. "I thought we were never going to get this over with, look I made an honest mistake that any human can make and got angry and did something stupid, but does it really warrant all this - Owwww! What the fuck was that for?" Daryl cursed as an agent stuck a needle in his arm to draw blood.
"Get it to the labs for testing." Another said when the needle was withdrawn, leaving a hole in his skin. Testing. The word echoed in his ear as he sat there, mind pulled back to years ago, the months he'd spent strapped to a table with machine after machine, test after test. Fuck. He gave his head a hard shake, chasing away the memories before they could fully form and drag him back to that hell hole.

"Would it hurt to give a guy a warning? Jeez."
"You certainly didn't care about such things when you blew up that shop house."
"Collapsed," Daryl corrected, "I didn't blow up anything and the building was going to come crumbling down anyway. In fact I did a public service by collapsing that building when it was empty so that it wouldn't collapse when it was full and injure a lot more people. Shouldn't I be getting a reward or something?" He clenched and unclenched his fist to keep them from going numb. They really were trying to cut off his blood flow with how tight the ropes were.

"You injured a civilian and caused damage to public property, endangering the lives of countless others in the process."
"Oh come on, don't the superheroes and military, police or whatever do the same thing when they are performing their duty to protect people from danger? I'm just doing the same thing." Hey it wasn't like he was wrong. Collateral damage was commonplace in fights and all those heroes and police, the do gooders and protectors of the world? Often right at the center of the action. Whose to say he was different just cause he wasn't from some organisation? Weren't there plenty of those solo ones? Vigilantes or whatever? He could be one of them too, at least for however long it took him to get out of here and whenever he got caught again. The agent in front of him kept the stony expression on his face as Daryl rambled away. No matter he could keep at this all day and all night. If there was one thing being tied up and trapped for 3 years taught him, it was to be persistent as hell.

Back in the hot seat again

º º code by ditto º º

 

[TYPE]

LOCATION: Vatican Archives || INTERACTION: Xen6n || SCENARIO: Tried to learn the secrets of a warded tome without setting off the alarm - but failed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The young man ran away into the darkness and watching him go Azazel held the previously fallen book within his hands, shutting it lightly, running his fingers along the spine. His lips pulled into a light smirk, his red eyes glinting in the dark, the only light still coming from the reading lamp on the table ahead of him. His nostrils flared, his own subversive magic undermining the bonds by ever passing moment, his natural teleportation doing far more work than even the one who had initially set up the trap might have imagined possible. Smoke rose around him, the edges of his form flickering into and out of existence as the barriers keeping him there continued weakening even more. He could not help his tail swishing backwards and forwards in light irritation at it taking so very long – keeping the tome at his side, his free hand fixing his tie. There was a sound behind him, and he turned, raising a brow.

He knew thi… No. That one was dead. This was another. Wearing a mantle far too big for him yet. Azazel felt his smirk grow into a much larger smile, his eyes – cunning and analytical – filling with mirth. “Drop? The book? Come now boy… I thought your kind were academics. As I am. I would never.” His deep, strange accept formed over thousands of years was playful and coy, deep, and suggested that as playful as he was being – so too the inverse might become true at the drop of a dime. Red eyes flicked to the shields and he rolled his eyes. “Those won’t help you here. Put them away. There won’t be a fight here.” His voice dipped slightly on the ‘here’ – making it clear that this was not a threat. Just a fact. “You and I know that – mundane much of this might be, neither of us would risk harm to a collection such as this.”

His eyes flickered towards the ring and shook his head. “And don’t bother trying to slip away. That ring won’t work here until your… father’s? Yeah… I think so.” His eyes narrowed as he looked the other over. “Your father’s barrier ends. If it keeps me here, it keeps you here. One way trip – for now.” He started walking backwards, before falling into a seat – a comfortable chair set to the side, keeping the book in his lap, folding his leg over the other, his black tipped shoe bobbing up and down as he rose a brow at the other. “What happened to your father? Did he die? I have been busy as of late. Big plans you see.” He winked at the other, baiting information – hoping to incite curiosity and caution. “I liked him. Kept me on my toes. Never got to keep him off his though… such a pity.” The smirk remained there, a curious sense of actual disappointment hovering over his form, fondness for an old acquaintance now beyond his reach – as so few things truly were. “I could tell you all kinds of trouble we got into. The deals we made…”

Azazel looked over towards a seat across from him, raising a brow. “You can do that – or you can go and erase the memories of the boy that just ran away… Within the next few minutes he will be telling his superiors that the devil tried to steal his soul and is currently in the library. This place will be flooded – and by tomorrow the world will know that ‘the devil’ exists and is walking the earth. With all the business going on in America, I would think you – being a protector of the mystic arts and whatnot – would want to not add hellfire… to that particular shitstorm.” He kept the smirk there but held out his hand to shake. “You deal with him, and I promise I won’t leave. I will even throw in some answers. You have my word... boy. The book is off the table though. At least for now.”

Another rise of his brow, his offer open, as the lights went on and the distance, the security door opening. “I don’t care either way. Not a hero-type… you see.” He shrugged amusedly.​

 

[fin]

location

The Duck Off.

mood

Tense but Curious.

outfit

The Fit.

Tags

Zahair, Ezekiel
erzulie Braddington

Juniper's amber-brown locks hung loosely between Trinity's fingers. Even while hooked up to several monitors, with saltwater and morphine being pumped into her body, Trinity's younger sister was beautiful as ever. Only a couple of weeks ago was Juniper bouncing at Trinity's feet, begging for the latest Angie Thomas novel. Juniper had always been a peaceful girl. In spite of the drastic move from poverty to riches when Trinity began working from Leland Owsley, she remained level-headed. A scholar who had wishes of one day curing the ailment that she herself suffered from now.

If Trinity could cry, she would have now. She felt her eyes reddening as Juniper adjusted herself in the bed amidst her slumber. The strokes had been hard on her, and the drugs had only made her tired and unable to move. She hated seeing her sister like this.

Trinity hadn't come empty-handed. In the pocket of her leather coat sat a paperback copy of Angie Thomas' 'Concrete Rose.' She placed it on the small desk beside her sister's hospital bed, before turning to seat herself down into one of the black chairs provided for visitors.

Her mother was supposed to be here. At her little sister's side. The nurse had let her know that shortly after informing her of what the cost of Juniper's treatment would be, she skipped out of the hospital. Of course she did, Trinity thought to herself. Trinity's mother had never been the staple of commitment, especially during difficult times. Her father on the other hand was incarcerated, a sloppy thug who had never actually got his act together either.

The number of zero's at the end of the estimated cost for treatment only continued to run through Juniper's head as she sat there. Five, ten, fifteen times did Juniper read the entire packet describing Juniper's illness, and the effect that the strokes could possibly have on her if not treated. As she read the packet once more, the weight of the card she'd only recently been given seemed to grow tenfold. Trinity was trying to get out from under Owsley, but once again it seemed his funds would be the only way to take care of his family. She was no longer tasked to steal or badly wound. Owsley instead passed on plain white cards to Trinity, with only a name inscribed in Times New Roman font in the middle of it all.

"Ezekiel Stane." Trinity whispered, eyeing the card. He was doing good things for good people... And yet taking his life would be doing a good thing for a good person too. The card disappeared into Trinity's palm, sucked in by sand where it continued to linger in her thoughts. "I'll be back, Junie." Trinity left the hospital room with a peck on her sister's cheek.

***

The New York cold didn't quite stun Trinity like it would others. The bottom of her turtleneck masking her face, and gloves over her hands were both present only to stop her from moistening as the snow melted against her skin, rather than actually preventing any cold. She descended into thought during the walk and the quietness that was offered. Her thoughts warred at just how far she would continue to tread before becoming someone Juniper would not be proud of if she ever did get the treatment and was made aware of the lengths she went to attain it.

The sight of a couple of Leland Owsley's corner boys caused Trinity to tense. Wrapped up in dark black jackets and baseball caps, these kids were armed to the teeth and unnecessarily reckless. She could take either of them easily, though fighting her wasn't what concerned her. It was just how close they were to the New York General Hospital, and Juniper within it. Her asking out of the organization had caused the Owl to have people watching her. She despised it.

At the next corner, Trinity's walk sped up into a jog. The sight of a dimly lit bar several blocks down put Trinity at ease. She pushed the metal doors and stepped into the bar; an escape she'd grown a habit of visiting since high school anyways. The soft tune of background music filled her ears as Trinity sat heavily onto a stool by the counter. She was a simple person, nodding slightly in gratitude as the old bartender slid her sour whiskey across the wooden counter.

Peculiarly enough, after developing her abilities, Trinity could never drink liquids or consume food again. She simply brought the glass closer to herself, letting the aroma of her drink slowly fill her nostrils. Returning to these bars was simply a habit- something about her familiarity with places like this helped alleviate the stress of her either abnormally sad home life, or violent work.

Trinity found herself dipping a single finger into the drink, blue-green eyes watching the tone of her skin slowly darken as the alcohol crept its way between each and every particle of sand. A pulsating sting ran through her finger and up her body, her eyelids fell limp at the sensation. The burn soothed her in her place, and the thought of the Owl slowly faded away from her thoughts.

Unfortunately, the sound of a stool being pulled at her side shocked her awake once more, and she quickly retracted her finger from the drink.

The temperature around her immediately rose. Trinity snuck a glance over at the man at her side. In spite of how quick the look she mustered was, Trinity was highly observant. He was a dark-skinned man with braided ginger locs reminiscent of fire in how hot things suddenly were. By the crowd of other community folks calling out his name and cheering, he was obviously very popular.

Though she wasn't too sure why, perhaps it was the unusual heat that he radiated or her interest in just how he'd grown popular, Trinity had decided to speak up.

"So what's the celebration for, 'Hood Favorite?" Her eyes still stared dead at the glass of whiskey before her, though her tone was certainly less cold than her physical disposition.

code by g o l d i e l o x x

 

[TheFool]

Blaine






His evening involved lying on his bed, eyes fixed on tracing the ceiling’s ornate line patterning. He was bored, that much was obvious. Music softly blared from his black covered phone. He would blink between certain notes, as if it was some children’s game. As if doing it at the right times would offer prizes. “When were you born?” A voice came from across the room. From another student on another bed. His so-called “roomie”, Neck. Blaine didn’t respond. He was too busy being victorious in blinking. He moved his leg slightly, so to stop it from getting any number. He had been bed ridden for at least the last hour and half. And by bed ridden, he just didn’t want to get up and get out. He was enjoying his songs and his comfort, and, of course, the detail of the patterned ceiling he’d stared at every night for the four ( or so ) years.
“Blaine.”
He was not enjoying his roommate, who had been pestering him with a slurry of BuzzFeed quiz questions every ten minutes. He looked up,
“What?”
Neck blinked back, “When were you born? And gimme like … an official time.”
“Why?”
Blaine sat up, slightly disoriented. No longer watching the room’s roof. His music drowned out by Neck’s dumb questions and his own growing annoyance. “What is this for?”
“It’s your star chart. I did one for Jessie earlier and it described her so well that it was … like … sort of creepy.” The younger mutant replied.
“Neck, you know I don’t give two fucks about this shit. It’s fuckin’ cultish, dude. Like, you know none of this astrology shit exists, right?”
Neck slammed his phone down onto his duvet,
“Nuh uh. Are you saying that the way I act has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a Taurus?”
Blaine laughed slightly,
“Yeah. That’s abso-fucking-lutely what I’m saying, Neck.”
“Bullcrap. You’re a Gemini, right? You can’t make that up. Astrology is real, Blai.”
Blaine rolled his eyes and then swung his legs off of the bed. He had had enough of his roomie for one night. This was usually the case. Neck would get on his nerves and he’d leave - not returning until the kid was well and truly conked out.
“It’s all just bullshit who-do-you voodoo, Neck. C’mon dude.” He said, standing up. His white fluffy knee-high socks bristling against the bedroom’s beige carpet.
“We literally have an anatomy class with a girl who can walk through walls … and horoscopes is where you cross the line?”
Neck’s point was a decent one, but that didn’t mean Blaine was going to pay the kid any more attention. He grabbed a grey sweatshirt off of the dresser that sat adjacent from his bed, and slipped it on over himself. “Do you want anything from the kitchen?”
He asked as he looked in the mirror hanging over said dresser. He rubbed some sleep out of his eyes and then applied some cheap deodorant to the armpits of the sweatshirt.
“Yeah,”
Neck started.
“A new roommate would be super duper swell.”

Blaine smiled at that. He put the can of spray down and then backwards shuffled his way out of the room, both of his middle fingers raised and pointed at Neck as he did so.



The kitchen was dark when he entered it, thus meaning he had to spend an excruciatingly long second fumbling for the light switch. When he found it, he clicked. The room illuminating instantly. He strut across the checkered black and white tiles, making his way towards the large refrigerator. He opened it,
Hoping to find what it was he needed.
But,
It wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t. He should’ve known. “Fuck me.” He whispered, slamming the fridge door shut. Colossus had definitely confiscated his six pack of Budweiser again. Blaine knew the policy. No alcoholic beverages to be stored in the public kitchen.
Yet he kept doing it.
“I’m such an idiot.” He to himself as he moved over to a top cabinet. Opening it, he scanned the cans, bags and small cookie boxes. He couldn’t get piss drunk but he’d settle with a packet of cheesy puffs. The chips wouldn’t lead to a hangover,
So that was a plus sure.

As he opened the packet and popped a single orange puff into his mouth, something caught his eye. The window by one of the breakfast tables looked out onto the porch and front driveway. He could see the blue swirlings, like neon electric. Someone was out there. Someone he hadn’t seen much of in all their time here at Xavier’s. So he thought he’d be gentlemanly ...

He opened the door, leading out onto the porch. The girl looked back slightly. He didn’t close the door behind him, leaving it on the latch so that they could bask in the glow of the main corridor’s lighting. Plus Piotr always gave out to him when he left doors semi-opened, and Blaine found it funny how much the cool draught bothered the metal bastard.
He leaned against the wall next to the door, plucking another chip from the bag and popping it into his mouth. The zesty flavour dissolving on his tongue. “Cheesy puff?” He offered her. The girl. She was about his age, if he remembered correctly. And they had talked a few times ...
But not nearly enough.
He bended over slightly, extending his arm and in doing so extending her the open bag of chips. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you do that. The blue stuff.”
He said,
Voice calm and casual.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

BELIAL.

​

 

[erzulie]

mood

curious

location

the duck off

outfit

X X

tags

interactions: trinity fin
mentions: n/a

zahair

”here comes the sun.”

The Duck Off was definitely one of Zahair’s favorite places in Jamaica. The bar had been up since he was young and was often occupied by a decent amount of loyal customers. He could remember trying to sneak inside when he was younger, only to be caught by one of the security guards. He’d been carried out quite literally and his parents were called. Zahair could still remember the fire his pops had set to his ass when he’d got home. The owner at the time, Charles, had felt a little bad. So he’d let Zahair sit inside once and gave him a shot of apple juice out of one of his shot glasses. He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t feel grown that day. His friends had to hear the story for a while two weeks, with some parts edited of course.

Now the bar had been passed down to his daughter, Asia. While Zahair didn’t know her personally he remembered seeing her around throughout his childhood. He flashed that blinding smile of his when he reached the bar, pulling up a stool along the way. “Yo, lemme get another of Patrón. Please.” For a moment he contemplated buying a round for the table. But then again, they were already loud as hell without the help of alcohol.

"So what's the celebration for, 'Hood Favorite?"

Zahair turned his attention to the person who’d spoken up. She was a pretty woman, but her eyes were what caught his attention the most. She was dressed well, maybe a little too well for The Duck Off but he was feeling her outfit. “Naah, nothing like that.” Zahair waved his hand dismissively. He knew that he was something of a celebrity to the members of the community but he wasn’t one to brag.

“There was this apartment complex that had been blown up some years back...by this supremacist type group. They cleared away some of the rubble but left the spot empty for a long time. A lot of people lost their homes and loved ones.” Zahair went quiet for a moment, nodding in thanks to Asia once she set his glass in front of him. “A bunch of us decided to get together in order to rebuild it. We just got done with the finishing touches today and decided to celebrate.”

Zahair looked at her once again. It wasn’t common for the bar to get new customers. In their community everyone pretty much knew each other. Something about the woman sitting beside him was vaguely familiar too. “Ay, are you from here? Jamaica I mean.”

​

​

​

nine lives

 

[BELIAL.]

location

Xavier's School

mood

Depressed, apprehensive

outfit

Look

tags

Blaine TheFool

"Christ!" Billie yipped, startled, not having really processed Blaine's arrival. She snatched her hands away, energy fading back into her palms and twinkling back out into the air around them. Tucking them under her armpits she turned fully this time, giving her new company a sorrowful once over. She recognized him, albeit from very brief and surface level conversations. Being aware of her surroundings again, she quickly stood up, tucking her toes and shaking a bit in the cold. She was only wearing a small skirt and a feather-thin long-sleeve, but she hadn't planned on being out for too long.

Breathing deeply, mostly to still the cold to her body, she shrugged and nodded to Blaine's offer, striding over and plucking a couple puffs from the bag. Billie pressed her lips tightly together, an awkward smile. Popping one in her mouth, she made a lazy waving motion with her hand.

"Not something I try to... use too much," she explained after swallowing the first cheese puff. Throwing the next one in her mouth, she sighed deeply as she chewed. "Just a silly little psionic energy thing. Blue, I guess, too. Kinda weird." 'I'd expected red,' she wanted to say, but opted to bite her tongue instead. At least at Xavier's, under Jean's guidance (which was slowly fading away over the weeks), she had some semblance of control over herself and her abilities. It was better than getting cocky, shooting at 'bad guys'. Maybe tossing her brother across the room when he made a rude joke.

She moved to sit down at the table, pulling her sleeves over her knuckles. Billie looked back over, a small smile on her face.

"Blaine, right?" She asked, pressing her eyebrows together in thought. Billie wasn't keen on forgetting too many people-- in fact, to an excruciating degree the other side of the spectrum. Plus, a guy who could multiply himself more than five times over was hard to forget as well. "Were you itching for a midnight snack, or some alone time in the cold? I mean, I can-- I can go,." She gestured with a thumb, half ready to leap from her spot and dive back inside.

code by g o l d i e l o x x

 

[TheFool]

Blaine






He was kind of relieved when the girl put her hand into the bag of billowy orange chips. Her possibly rejecting his offer may’ve led to an unwanted awkwardness. But, she didn’t. The girl took several. Bonding over cheesy puffs was the best kind of bonding, definitely. “It’s cool.” Blaine said, commenting on her abilities. “Cool looking, I mean. I don’t know if I’d wanna be gettin’ zapped by it but -”
He stopped himself with a dry chuckle. He watched as she moved towards a small table, shivering slightly. It was a cold enough night. He hadn’t even noticed it until Billie found comfort in her sleeves. He followed her and plonked himself down onto a seat parallel to hers, so that they were sort of facing each other. He didn’t want to get right up in her face though,
That’d be rude. And a bit of a creep move. Give the girl her space, he thought. He already felt a bit iffy barging in on her late evening alone time.
“You’re exactly right.”
He said when she guessed his name. “Although don’t tell anyone this but …” He leaned in a bit, for the joke. “I’m actually a mutant named Multiply.”
The ends of his lips raised up.
“That’s confidential as fuck so don’t go spreading it around. I don’t think the kids ‘round here know many muties.” He laughed. It wasn’t that funny of a joke, but he was bored and he was tired - so why not goof it up a bit.

He shook his head frantically when she asked if he wanted her to go. “Oh nah, not at all. I’m the one who interrupted your peace an’ quiet.” He put his hand into the packet and plucked out another tangy puff. He slid it into his mouth and waited,
Letting it dissolve on his tongue. It was good fucking shit.
“There’s actually this thing that lives in my room, goes by the name of Neck. Really fuckin’ annoying, if I can be real with you. So I just decided to bop down and have a cold one. A cold beer, not so much the air.” He said, grinning slightly.
His eyebrow raised,
“But I keep on being a dumbass and putting my cans in the public fridge, which leads to the big tin can confiscating them. So I guess I kind of played myself.”
He took another chip.
“Settled on these babies instead.” He playfully rustled the bag.

There was a moment of still quiet. Of serenity. His eyes darted up towards the sky, ever growing darker and darker. The moon becoming brighter and brighter. You could still hear some of the birds in their nests, and the whistle of the wind as it blew through their trees. It was nice. Blaine wasn’t one to take in the scenery too much, unless it was the ceiling of his bedroom or a crowded dance floor.
“So, um, how are you finding it?”
He asked her,
Taking his eyes away from the rest of the world.
“The school, I mean.” He added.

“It’s a decent place once you get used to it. I’m sure you know some of the kids can be annoying. Some don’t shut the fuck up and others rudely disturb you to offer cheesy puffs. But once you get past that … we’re not too bad.” He said, poking fun at himself a little bit.

“But the profs care. The classes are fun, when it isn’t McCoy’s history module. And the tennis court is such a trip.” He felt as if he was talking too fast and talking too much, so he decided to pipe it down and take another chip.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

BELIAL.

​