https://xmenrevolution.com/w/api.php?action=feedcontributions&user=Blinkdog&feedformat=atomX-Men: rEvolution - User contributions [en]2024-03-28T11:17:05ZUser contributionsMediaWiki 1.35.13https://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Safe_Words&diff=20989Logs:Safe Words2019-09-21T14:46:32Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Hive | summary = "Can we just start there." (The morning after Steve & Flicker's hookup/Hi..."</p>
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<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Hive]]<br />
| summary = "Can we just start there." (The morning after Steve & Flicker's [[Logs:Command Me To Be Well (Annotated Edition)|hookup]]/Hive [[Logs:Vicarious|living through it.]])<br />
| gamedate = 2019-09-17<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village<br />
| categories = Flicker, Hive, Mutants, Private Residence, Village Lofts<br />
| log =<br />
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, chronically untidy and without much thought given to Decor. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the chaos of the living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. A widescreen television stands against the wall opposite the couch, shelving beside it holding a host of video games from different consoles. More shelving beside the windows on the far wall carries stacks of board games, as well as sourcebooks from various RPGs.<br />
<br />
The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here and one bathroom situated between them, split between the three people who live here.<br />
<br />
It's still early Tuesday morning when the vivid chaotic swirl of Flicker's mind returns -- for once appearing not in staccato flash through Hive's awareness. Just there, first at the fringes of awareness and drawing nearer at a slow trudge of pace. There is at once a frenetic and deeply exhausted cast to his mind, thoughts heavy and dragging at their edges even as they spin in rapid orbit around each other. An anxious uncertainty about ''where to go from here'' crashes up a freefalling panic about if and how to return to his religious community after this choice. The collision takes place somewhere within the pervasive shroud of pain, deep and aching within him. Somehow not ''un''pleasant despite the hurt, the throbbing soreness a recurring reminder of warm hands, soft words, the safety of Steve's presence in and around him. Flitting in sharper ping around these introspections, a familiar hyper-awareness of the building around him; the packages in the lobby, the new potted plant in the corner, the corners he can't quite see around.<br />
<br />
Strobing bright and painful in between all these, just a vast and yawning worry, heavily colored with guilt; it comes with no concrete words -- just the familiar ''shape'' of Hive in his mind, of ''their'' mind, jarred out of its usual harmony.<br />
<br />
He pauses outside the door; it takes a fumbling moment for him to get his keys, unlock the apartment door, drag himself inside. Still in the khakis and polo he'd worn yesterday -- considerably more rumpled, now. Now he's more deliberate in his thoughts, a quiet and tentative questioning pushed forefront as he looks to his bedroom door.<br />
<br />
It's quiet for Flicker as he approaches, his thoughts left to spin and resolve themselves as they will. That final questioning meets with reply, though; the ponderous heavy press of Hive's mind butting up against Flicker's. Wrapping itself around, hard and hungry and, for a moment, painful in its sharp intrusive dig. He pulls back just as quick though, leaving behind only a residual sense of apology.<br />
<br />
The door opens -- just a crack. Hive returns to his bed after opening it. He's sitting propped against the wall -- Cat has taken his pillow for a current bed -- in pajama pants, no shirt, knees up against his chest and his shoulders hunched as he curls an arm around his shins, a string of polished dark lotus seeds wrapped around his knuckles and nestled in his palm.<br />
<br />
Flicker tries to hold back the flood of relief that crashes over him at the psionic touch -- as well as the stab of need that comes with it. Only with marginal success. The worry is growing thicker -- more continuous, less distracting in its bright pinging flashes. He hastens into the bedroom, closing the door behind him but then just -- standing. His eyes sweep over Hive's hunched posture, over the mala. He's only slightly successful here, too, at keeping down the flash of feeling that bubbles up -- not ''just'' the somatic memory of a rough cruel body on his but the hollow ''wrongness'' left behind after.<br />
<br />
He swallows, gaze fixing on Hive's face. The weight of apology is forming in his mind before it makes it to his lips. "I'm --"<br />
<br />
"Don't." It comes out quiet and hoarse. Hive's mind presses up into Flicker's again -- once more pulls back sharp. His chin drops to rest on his knees. "Please don't. Last night was ''nothing'' like what he did to you, okay? Can we just." ''He'' swallows, now, blinking hard and turning his eyes up to the ceiling. "Can we just start there."<br />
<br />
This is met with an immediate flutter of doubt from Flicker, but he takes a breath, pushes the uncertainty aside. "Okay." He is slow to move from the door, crossing the room and sitting down kind of gingerly on the edge of his own bed. His hands rest on his knees, his teeth worrying at the inside of his cheek. "But I still hurt you." The inadequacy of the words bite at him; it takes a deliberate effort for him ''not'' to tumble into further elaboration, explanation, apology, to instead take Hive at his word that this situation -- is not that one. His eyes drop to his hands. "Didn't I?"<br />
<br />
Hive closes his eyes, his head dropping down to rest his forehead on his knees, now. Face hidden behind his thighs. "It hurts," he offers at length, slowly, once he looks up again. "But ''you'' -- you didn't hurt me. {We were there together.}" His fingers tighten hard against his shin, the transition into Thai coming with a tensing of his posture but an easier cadence to his words. "I could have left." This sounds almost -- almost defensive. "{We wanted to be there.}"<br />
<br />
"{We did.}" A spike of desire flares upward, an involuntary shiver passing through Flicker at the thought of Steve's hand slipping under his shirt, at that first warm brush of skin. Quieter in its wake, a slow examination of other moments in the evening -- of the edges of panic being soothed away by comforting warmth, of the nauseating nightmare-flashes of memory stabilizing within a calmer cocoon of love. "We did -- but you didn't. You stayed for me."<br />
<br />
"{You needed him.}" The words come simple and immediate. Hive is slower, less certain, when he continues. "{You needed me to help get you there. But you needed him.}" His thumb rolls at one of the seeds he's holding, pressing it harder against the side of his forefinger. Despite himself there's an unsteady crackling slipping into his voice. "{I just wasn't ready for that. I wish we could have talked about -- about --}" He squeezes his eyes shut again. "{Fuck.}"<br />
<br />
Flicker wraps his left hand around his right, squeezing down at the harder fingers. Focusing here on the smooth hard plastic against his skin. Feet pressing firmly to the floor. The drowsy whistling of Cat's slumbering breaths. Preoccupying himself with these tangibilities rather than the flood of guilt knocking insistently at his mind. He's acutely aware Hive will hear it, regardless; this awareness only increases his resolve not to let it flood out his other thoughts. "{Yeah. It was -- sudden. I'm just so used to --}" His mind fumbles, reaching for feelings rather than words. Hive's mind pressing in at his; the unspoken standing invitation that his friend ''has'' to claim him. The ease with which he relaxes into the mutual embrace -- the trust he gives that bond. The surrender -- comforting, dizzying, terrifying all at once -- when he lets go of his own volition, allows Hive the kind of control that's been ''necessary'' to steer him in and out of so many deadly missions. The complete ''lack'' of limits that has saved both their lives on many occasions.<br />
<br />
He unfolds his hands. Scrubs a palm against his eyes. "{I'm so used to what we've been. Just -- taking it for granted that we'll be on the same page, I.}" He shakes his head, looks up uncertainly at Hive.<br />
<br />
Hive's eyes are bright, wet, when he looks back up, a glaring contrast with his sudden laugh. "Shit." He stretches out a hand toward Flicker. Beckoning the other man over to join him on the bed. "After all these fucking years, I guess we finally need to talk about boundaries."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Command_Me_To_Be_Well&diff=20967Logs:Command Me To Be Well2019-09-19T02:37:19Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Steve | summary = "I'm here." | gamedate = 2019-09-16 | gamedatename = | subtitle = cn: explicit sex, depictions of rape | location = <PRV>..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Steve]]<br />
| summary = "I'm here."<br />
| gamedate = 2019-09-16<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = cn: explicit sex, depictions of rape <br />
| location = <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village<br />
| categories = Flicker, Steve, Mutants, Mutates, Private Residence<br />
| log = Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre.<br />
<br />
A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden.<br />
<br />
In the dining room, a quiet rattle has joined the soft burble of the twinned aquariums' filters. There are numerous tiny pastel eggs sitting nestled in the cagelike grip of Flicker's mechanical hand; they clatter and click against the hard plastic fingers as he shakes them lightly. A number of small colorful wooden tokens -- shaped like cherries, little grubs, fish, mice, small stalks of grain -- already sit in a plastic holder; the eggs are ''supposed'' to be joining a host of similar pieces in a little round birds nest. The rattling is, apparently, too satisfying to set them down just yet. "Those cards need shuffling." He is nodding to the slick new deck. "Have you -- played a lot of..." He trails off with a slight flush. "I promise it's not as complicated as it ''looks''."<br />
<br />
Steve is staring down at the nest full of pastel eggs, the myriad wooden tokens, the colorful graphic dice, the (large!) player mats, the ''three'' rulebooks. "I believe you but ah...I have to admit I was expecting something more like Monopoly. With birds." But he picks up the stack of cards as instructed and begins shuffling them, the motion practiced. "I've played a ''lot'' of card games -- though generally there were only fifty-two cards. Not so many board games, other than chess and checkers." He cuts the deck and performs a textbook riffle. "I'm guessing I've probably got entirely the wrong idea about game night, then?"<br />
<br />
Flicker's eyes shift to Steve's hands as he shuffles. "Oh -- I don't think we've ever had Monopoly anywhere near Game Night." He ducks his head, tips his hand over to drop the eggs back into their nest. "We play a lot of different types -- they're not ''all'' as complicated as this. We try to mix it up enough to have something for a range of tastes. It's been a while since I've -- I used to do it every week, but." His head shakes as he starts shuffling a different set of tiles together. "At first I was just busy but I guess with all the chaos it just felt hard to -- ''want'' to jump back into life, you know? I feel like it might be about time to try, though."<br />
<br />
"Good. I've only played it twice and it was equally terrible both times." Steve's smile is quick and sharp. "Would have turned me off to the whole Capitalism business if being poor hadn't done the job already." He squares the deck and casts around for a place to set it down. "Matt's always crowing about this event of yours, so early on I figured there must be a ''lot'' of chess. I've since come to realize he's a man of somewhat more complicated tastes." He blushes suddenly. "I didn't mean like --" He laughs, shaking his head. Just settles the cards next to the dice tray. "Well. I can't promise I'll be any good at this game, or the other kinds you play, but I sure wouldn't mind dropping by Game Night. If you'd have me."<br />
<br />
"There's sometimes chess." Flicker plucks some of the tiles out of the pile and sets the rest aside. His eyes widen slightly, eyes fixing steadily on the new goal tiles he is just laying out. "Yeah. If you'd want -- I mean, I'd like that. I guess you'll have to see if you want --" His wood-grained fingers uncurl stiffly, gesturing toward the game laid out on the table. "If it's your speed. But even for people not that into games there's always good food and company and --" He shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe you'd have fun anyway. Just hanging out with people outside of work or Chimaera or. I don't actually know if you have a lot of other." His cheeks darken a shade further. "Community. Yet."<br />
<br />
"I ''do'' like good food and company." Steve braces both hands on the table and leans forward, studying the goal tiles. "I suppose I could find that a lot of places, but I just -- haven't." His broad shoulders hitch up, and do not relax quite all the way back down. "Well, no, I've ''found'' plenty, here and there. Just been hard..." He frowns. Shakes his head. "Hard to get close to folks, I suppose."<br />
<br />
Flicker has started to reach for the deck, but he stops here, letting his hand fall back to the table. His eyes lift to Steve's face. "I -- could imagine a ''lot'' of reasons for that, with your -- um, ''everything'', but --" His other hand turns up. "Is it something in particular that's been making it harder?"<br />
<br />
Steve keeps his gaze on the game, uncomprehending though it may be. "Probably the shell -- uh, PTSD?" He swallows. "And...maybe this is a part of it, but. Well." Sucks in a deep breath. His voice comes out quavery. "Lot of folks I ''was'' close to are dead now. Most not in the war, thank God, but for me it was -- awful sudden."<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry. That's --" Flicker starts to reach out when Steve's voice wavers, but drops his hand back to the table. "Losing people you love isn't ever easy. I can't imagine dealing with that when it's -- kind of your whole world, too. Not ''just'' losing them but -- having nobody who knew them to talk about it with." He hesitates, fingers tracing against the grains of wood in the table. "''Does'' it help? To talk about it?"<br />
<br />
"It wasn't the best of worlds," Steve admits with a short, harsh laugh. "Neither is this." He looks up at Flicker, eyes brimming. Looks down again. "Don't know. Haven't done a lot of talking about it. If I do..." Shakes his head. "Not sure I'm strong enough," comes out quiet. For a moment it seems like he might leave it at that, but then his shoulders tighten. "Howard Stark. Was my lover."<br />
<br />
Flicker's breath catches for a quick second when Steve looks up. In the next instant he's across the table, pulling a chair up closer to Steve so that he can drop into it. Rest his hand on the other man's back, rub slowly. He doesn't reply at first, and when he does it's quiet. "That has to be a lot you've been carrying, too. I don't think there's a timetable for this kind of thing. But also you don't -- have to. ''Be'' strong -- all on your own. Sometimes when it's too much you're allowed to fall apart some. Let your friends give you some of our strong."<br />
<br />
Steve does not flinch this time when Flicker blinks across the room. "God, he was an ass, but I loved him so. At the time, I believed he loved me, too, however flippant he was about it." His hands grip the edge of the table hard, but relax visibly at Flicker's touch. "After, I tried to tell myself it was just a fling that happened to hold his attention for a while. That it wouldn't have outlasted the war by long anyway. That he didn't suffer decades of ''this'', never speaking of it for fear of tarnishing my legacy. That he could remember me with fondness instead of agony." One tear slides down his cheek. Then another. And another. He produces a plain white handkerchief from his back pocket to dry them. "Wish I could believe it." The sudden tension beneath Flicker's hand feels like a choked-back sob, and he leans toward the other man, shaking visibly.<br />
<br />
"I've known some people to hide a ''lot'' of love under some very --" Flicker can't help a fleeting glance toward the closed kitchen door, the sounds of clinking dishes and running water coming from behind it, "-- cavalier exteriors." He curls his arm more securely around Steve, drawing the other man nearer when he starts to lean toward him. Just holding Steve close, squeezing at his shoulder. "Things are kind of different now. Really -- really far from perfect but. I don't know what he might have gone through after losing you. Worrying about what people might think. But it... doesn't have to be the same for you, probably."<br />
<br />
Steve's laughter seems to startle him, though the tears keep coming. "I take your point, but as far as I could tell, he was nothing like Luci. Sometimes I wonder..." He mops his face again, leaning into Flicker's embrace. "...if I might have grown to loathe him, had he not offered comfort I so desperately needed, in the face of such unspeakable horrors, or if we had ever gotten more than just...frantic stolen moments between missions." The shaking eases, but his breathing does not even out with it. "But that's all we had, and now he's gone and I miss him so much. I miss them all so much."<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry. I can't even imagine." Flicker doesn't let go. His breathing has -- not quite to the same degree -- sped up, grown slightly less steady; it has none of the ragged quality of Steve's but falls nearly in time with it. Nearly in time with it for a short while, at least, before Flicker's own breathing -- gradually -- eases back into a steadier rhythm. "I don't know what might or might not have happened if -- not for war. But I do know living through that must have been it's own kind of horrific and I'm -- I'm glad. That you ''had'' that comfort."<br />
<br />
Steve turns his face against Flicker's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to --" He struggles for a word that doesn't present itself, though the sobbing finally stops and with it his breathing comes easier. "After the horrors ''you've'' been through, the last thing I wanted to do was make you worry about ''me.''" He straightens a little, just enough to raise his bloodshot eyes and meet Flicker's gaze. "You deserve comfort too."<br />
<br />
Flicker's hand continues to rub at Steve's back. Kneading gently between his shoulders. "It's okay. I can't just live in my head all the time." He sounds a little wry. "I worry about the people I love no matter what's happening. I honestly worry a little less if I can actually -- offer some ''help''. I don't mind if --" His breath catches as Steve looks up, his eyes widening as his hand very slowly drops. Then lifts again, halfway toward Steve's face. He pulls it back sharply with a sudden flush of red in his cheeks. "Steve --" There's a faint tremor in his voice. In the next moment he's leaning in, completing the motion he'd only just aborted, his hand gentle where he reaches to cup Steve's face but the press of his mouth fierce.<br />
<br />
Steve watches Flicker's hand, mesmerized. ''Blinks'' as he pulls back. Starts to reply almost the same time the other man speaks his name, but if he meant to do more than groan into the abrupt kiss he does not succeed. One of his arms wind around Flicker, the other hand rising to trace rough fingertips along his jaw. "Flicker --" he gasps, pulling away for breath but not pulling away entirely, "-- oh!" His recently won calm deserts him all at once and he pulls the smaller man to him, hands roaming jerkily over his clothes.<br />
<br />
Flicker draws in a unsteady breath against Steve's mouth. His eyes flutter closed, his hand skimming down to the back of Steve's neck. "Oh -- ''please'' --" It's just a soft breath between hungry kisses. Flicker is easily tractable in Steve's hands; he shifts from his chair half into the other man's lap, body pressing up into the touch.<br />
<br />
Steve lifts Flicker up easily, settling him more snugly, straddling his lap. His kisses roam lower, down over his neck, his fingers going to the collar of Flicker's polo shirt, unbuttoning it more deftly than really seems probable given their chaotic fumbling so far. "Yes, I -- what..." He kisses Flicker's chest through the open collar of the shirt. "We don't ''have'' to, but -- ?" His cheeks burn hot as he looks up, the game on the table beside them forgotten. "Do you ''want'' me to -- oh..." His question dissolves into a quiet moan as his one of his hands slips beneath Flicker's shirt.<br />
<br />
At the 'we don't have to' Flicker's breathing hitches, his hand shifting to Steve's shoulder and the slightest ripple of tension in his posture as he starts to pull back. He doesn't get far -- at the very next half-formed question, at the hand that slips against his skin, he melts back into Steve with a shiver. A series of kisses dotted with increasing fervor to the other man's neck. "''Please''yes." Not whispered or breathy this time but immediate, vehement, an unfettered need lending the words a raw edge. His mechanical hand braces itself against the backrest of the chair; his other pushes up at Steve's shirt, palm skimming over the other man's broad chest. "I want you."<br />
<br />
Steve arches into the touch, the kiss he returns for it urgent and deep. His arms wind around Flicker's waist, lifting the smaller man effortlessly as he stands and settling him on the edge of the dining table. If he registers at all that they're making a mess of the many piles of Wingspan pieces, he gives no hint. "You have me," is surprisingly gentle, as are the hands tugging at Flicker's shirt, inexpertly attempting to remove it without upsetting the harness for the prosthetic arm beneath it. "I'm here."<br />
<br />
"Oh!" Flicker's breath quickens when Steve lifts him to the table. In the brief span here between kisses he tugs further at Steve's t-shirt, at first clumsy with the motion until he gives up and the shirt just vanishes, reappearing a few feet away to fall in a crumpled heap on the floor. He's somewhat more hesitant with his ''own'' clothing, slow and a little uncertain as he helps Steve peel off the polo shirt together with the undershirt beneath. His eyes have locked, wide and a bit more apprehensive, on Steve's face as the shirts come off to leave the soft cuff and harness criss-crossing his chest and upper back. He releases his clothes to join the other shirt in a growing pile. His mechanical fingers curl against the table, his other hand reaching more tentatively to wrap around Steve's waist. "You're here." Probably this wasn't intended as a question, but something anxious and hopeful in his tone leaves it not wholly definitive.<br />
<br />
Steve blinks and looks down, momentarily uncomprehending, when his shirt just. Vanishes. His hands follow Flicker's lead, aiding with the removal of the other man's clothing before they stroke down -- still gentle but not at all hesitant -- over his chest, scars and harness and all. His eyes trace the lines on Flicker's skin with something like curiosity but no hint of revulsion, the feverish intensity in them unabated as his hands slide back around Flicker to pull their bodies together again. "I am. So are you." He holds Flicker's gaze for a moment more, then falls to kissing him again, hands rubbing slow, firm circles down his back.<br />
<br />
Flicker exhales shakily, relaxing back into the caresses when Steve pulls him closer again. "Thank you. I mean -- this is -- ''you'' are --"He slides his hand over the other man's chest, a quiet moan hitched in his throat as his fingertips run hungrily over firm muscle. He lowers his head, trailing kisses against the side of Steve's neck, against his collarbone. Mostly kisses, anyway -- a little less defined as he continues, one spilling into the next spilling into hungry scrapes of teeth, lips closing on skin to suck harder. His hand drops too, his fingers curling into the waistband of the other man's jeans. Kind of tugging, more exploratory than insistent.<br />
<br />
Steve's smile at Flicker's words is ''almost'' shy. "I'm not very experienced, but -- oh!" His head rolls back with a soft sigh of pleasure when the kisses turn aggressive. His grip starts to tighten against Flicker's back, but he catches himself and drops both hands to the other man's belt. Follows it around, fingers playing over the buckle without undoing it. "Please, let me --" His cheeks flush and his breathing quickens. "-- make you feel good."<br />
<br />
Flicker's body presses more firmly against Steve's at that tighter grip. He buries his face against Steve's neck with a small whimper and a fiercer nip. His fingers curl hard around the denim, his hips rolling forward against Steve with a sudden urgency. He is already starting to nod before the other man has finished speaking, quick and eager -- though when he does pull back he looks a bit flushed, a bit dazed. "You ''are''. Making me... this feels amazing." He nods again -- sinks back into a fierce kiss, fumbling at the fastenings of Steve's jeans -- catches himself ''just'' enough to pull back with a blush, with a supplicating look tipped up toward the larger man. "I just want you to, too. Please. Can you -- can we --" Here though his words just melt into another kiss.<br />
<br />
Flicker's urgency is infectious, and Steve returns his kiss even more fervently than before. "Oh, you needn't worry about that, I feel --" The rest of his words falter and dissolve into a breathy gasp when the other man starts on his jeans. "Yes. I'll do my best to outdo amazing." This time he leans into Flicker's kiss ''hard'', slowly pushing him back, one hand braced between his shoulders to ease him down to the tabletop while his other hand undoes his lover's fly. He kisses down Flicker's neck, down his chest, lips playing lightly over the scars, down his abdomen, his rapid breaths caressing soft skin, then carefully takes his cock into his mouth.<br />
<br />
The gaming boards get pushed askew as Steve pushes Flicker to the table. Flicker's breathing speeds; his eyes are wide and wondering as he tracks Steve's slow path down his body. He isn't watching all that long before his head thumps back against the table, eyes fluttering closed at the light trail of kisses. "Amazing," he echoes softly, "you're..." This ends in a shudder, a moan, a sudden rattling skitter as a jerky twitch of his hand against the table upends the nest full of tiny egg tokens. He claps his hand to his mouth after this, somewhat ineffectually stifling the noises that accompany the reflexive upward press of his hips.<br />
<br />
Once past the first flush of caution, Steve moves confidently and enthusiastically. Flicker's reactions only spur him on, his tongue swiping even while his head bobs. Gaze trained up along the line of his lover's body, he moans as Flicker arches, pushing in deeper. His breathing ragged and shallow now, Steve's hands skim lightly along Flicker's sides, sliding under and cradling his hips.<br />
<br />
Flicker's mechanical fingers scrabble roughly against the table. His other moves to rest against the back of Steve's neck, fingertips playing lightly in the short blonde hair. He tilts his head up enough to look down, meet Steve's gaze, his own face flushed and pupils slightly wider. His attempt to prop himself up on his right arm doesn't last long before it slips straight and he drops back against the table again. It's about all the warning that comes before his hand clamps tighter on Steve's neck. His breath comes sharp and ragged, a sudden erratic spasm coming right as he does. "Oh," is the first thing out of his mouth and right after that, his grip easing abruptly, "-- I'm sorry, I didn't --" spills right into, "Steve, that was ''more'' than amazing."<br />
<br />
Steve clasps Flicker's hips tight, swallowing hard as his lover spasms in his arms. Settling Flicker back down, he lets go and kisses his way back up, stopping just short of lips, blushing fiercely, still breathing heavily. "No, it's -- you did great." He's still hard where his hips press against Flicker's, but keeps still. Reaches up to caresses Flicker's cheek with the backs of his knuckles, his own smile coming slow but sincere. "You were breathtaking -- ''are'' breathtaking."<br />
<br />
Steve might stop short but Flicker kisses him readily, curling his arm around the other man's back. He rubs his cheek lightly back against Steve's knuckles. Rolls his hips up in one slow and more deliberate motion. "I want to -- I mean, do you want to f..." He breaks off, eyes lowering, and close together as they are the brief tremble that runs through him his easy to feel. He rests his head against Steve's shoulder, briefly hiding his expression against the other man's neck. The bright desire in his eyes is still just as clear when he looks back up. Swallows hard, tries again softly. "...I want you inside me."<br />
<br />
Steve's eyes slide shut as Flicker presses against him. His jaw tightens, but cannot keep in his quiet whimper of need. He loses the battle to keep still, his hips grinding into Flicker's. He clasps the other man closer when that tremor runs through him, tucking his head into the hollow of Steve's neck and, for a moment, just holding him again. "I -- do want that," he admits, meeting Flicker's gaze, blush deepening. "But if you're not ''used'' to that, it can hurt. Especially without -- supplies." His fingertips brush gently over Flicker's lips. "You could suck me." He fails to sound casual making this suggestion, his frame quivering faintly with the intensity of his desire. He sits back onto his heels, straddling Flicker and gathering him into a sitting position. "Or just. Touch me." The last two words come out with the unsteady quality of a plea as he undoes the button and zipper of his (presently too tight) jeans, loosing a relieved breath as his erection comes free.<br />
<br />
Flicker's hips rise to press back against Steve's, another shiver running through him. His touch roams down Steve's body nearly as soon as that first answer is out, working clumsily at his jeans. He doesn't manage more than the top button before he drops his hand to the table, displacing a few pastel eggs that roll away to click against some others, send them rolling to the floor. His brows are slowly creasing as Steve talks, his breaths starting to return to a more regular rhythm. <br />
<br />
"But -- if you want --" He doesn't resist being moved. The confusion hasn't left his expression, though, not even as his hand drops -- hesitant -- to skim uncertain fingers down the length of Steve's cock. "I don't care about the," is followed by a furious blush. "I mean I ''am'' used to that now, it always hurt when --" He shakes his head. Briefly presses his face back to Steve's shoulder. "''This'' is different though." It's only a little bit muffled. He breathes in deeply against Steve's skin. "This time I ''want'' you."<br />
<br />
Steve lifts his eyebrows, nonplussed initially at Flicker's explanation and very, very distracted by his touch. But then his eyes go wide with realization. "Oh, Flicker...I..." He wraps an arm around the smaller man's shoulders and holds him close again. "This ''is'' different," he agrees, kneading Flicker's back. "It doesn't ''have'' to hurt." He brushes his fingers along Flicker's jawline. "If you want me this instant, pain or no pain -- so be it. But as much as I want to take you right now --" Another wave of tension passes through him on a shaky exhalation. He touches his forehead to Flicker's. "-- I'd still rather do it ''properly''."<br />
<br />
The breath that hitches in Flicker's chest when Steve's arm curls around him is a little raw, a little sharp. He relaxes into the embrace, not trying to hide his face this time but just nuzzling gently against his lover's neck. He tips his head up slightly at the touch to his jaw. He shivers at something in Steve's words, but doesn't immediately speak once the other man finishes. Just breathes, soaking in the gentle touch; it's maybe something of an afterthought that his fingers are still tracing slow and light against Steve's skin. After a pause he leans in, his mouth soft against Steve's. "I do. Want you. Right now. ''Everything'' has kind of hurt lately but you -- this -- this feels. Good." This time he only has a slight hesitation before he asks, shyly: "Can you say that again? About... wanting. To -- take. Me."<br />
<br />
The residual tightness in Steve's shoulders bleeds away with the gentle kiss. "I'm sorry there's been so much hurt," he murmurs. "But I'm glad there's some good, too." His cheeks flush at the request, but still he shifts his weight forward, cupping Flicker's cheek in one hand and gazing into his eyes intently. His next kiss is rougher, bearing Flicker down to the table again. "I want to take you," he repeats, low, into Flicker's ear, "right now." His hands slide down to fumble urgently at what remains of their clothing, but the press of his lips to his lover's neck is tender and unhurried.<br />
<br />
Flicker meets the kiss with a renewed urgency, deep and hard as Steve pushes him back to the table. The quiet words by his ear draw a longer moan from him, an involuntary arch of his body up against Steve's. "Oh -- oh, please, yes. I want that. I want ''you''." He uses his legs to help shuck the rest of their clothing to the floor, then curls them up around Steve's hips. His head rolls back, neck bared to the kisses. His hand curls more firmly, strokes more surely. "I want to make you feel amazing, too. Take me, please."<br />
<br />
Steve's breaths come ragged and deep, responding to Flicker's touch. His own hand smooths up Flicker's side as the other man arches beneath him. "Gladly," the word is quiet, a little shaky. He spits in his palm and takes over from Flicker, lining himself up -- this takes a little experimentation on his part. "Keep breathing," he whispers breathlessly just before he presses forward, "and bear down." He buries his face harder against his lover's neck, stifling a cry of delight. His movement is slow and even, stilling at any sign of Flicker's distress.<br />
<br />
Flicker looks down the length of their bodies, his eyes bright as he wraps his arm around Steve. Despite Steve's instruction, despite his quick nod of assent, he ''does'' stop breathing, for a moment, at that first push. His teeth sink against his lip, his fingers clenching hard against Steve's shoulderblade as his entire body tenses beneath the larger man's. His eyes squeeze shut, a small whimper escaping him. But he's relaxing again in short order, breathing slow and deep as he opens his eyes again. "Don't stop." He presses down slowly, and though his grip on Steve doesn't actually let up, this time it comes with a soft moan instead.<br />
<br />
Steve goes still when Flicker tenses beneath him, though his kisses do not cease. "Take your time," he only barely manages to get the words out. He does not need to be told twice to continue, though he starts slowly. "Oh, gosh --" His moan comes in tandem with Flicker's this time. "You feel -- ''so'' wonderful." He grips the edge of the table, his eyes fluttering shut as he finds a rhythm, thrusting deeper.<br />
<br />
Flicker's face presses to Steve's shoulder, his breaths coming more quickly again. His grip slowly eases, hand running up over the other man's back. His legs curl up a little tighter around Steve; he drops kisses wherever he can reach; to his lover's neck, shoulder, the side of his jaw, heated and indiscriminate as he starts to find a pace with Steve, his body rocking down into the thrusts.<br />
<br />
Steve's head rolls back, his lips parting silently as their movements begin syncing up. "Oh, Flicker --" He shifts again to rest more of his weight on his lover, his pace growing faster, his breathing already rapid and shallow. Cradling Flicker's head in the palm of his free hand, he presses a fierce kiss to the other man's lips.<br />
<br />
Flicker kneads at Steve's back, pushing down harder even as Steve bears down against him more. His eyes are bright, his fingers digging into skin, but despite whatever ripples of tension flutter through his body his kisses only get hungrier, tiny breathless moans spilling out between them.<br />
<br />
If Steve is bothered at all by the tight grip of Flicker's hand, he does not let on. There's little coherence to the soft noises that escape him now -- save for an occasional "''yes''" -- his breathing desperate and his cheeks flushed. He thrusts faster and harder into Flicker, meeting his kisses with fevered intensity, his free hand caressing and clutching at his lover's body by turns. But even consumed with pleasure, there is a certain deliberate care in how he moves, always with an eye toward his unnatural strength. His eyes grow damp with unshed tears, and Flicker can almost certainly feel the sudden tension singing through his powerful frame.<br />
<br />
As Steve's thrusts grow harder, faster, Flicker's own motions grow more erratic, losing the rhythm he had fallen into with the other man's body. There is a definite edge of pain in his ragged gasping breaths, but the half-formed words he manages between them -- ''please, yes, more'' -- are only encouragement. The tension bleeds ''out'' of him, the press of his body softer, now, more pliable in Steve's hands. His head drops back against Steve's palm, a trickle of tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes as they press briefly shut again. His legs wrap tighter as though they might pull their bodies closer together yet, hold them there through that surge of tension. When he does open his eyes again -- to watch his lover's face, drink in his expression -- he can't manage more than a very soft and softly awed, "-- Oh."<br />
<br />
At the clamp of Flicker's legs around him, the tightness in Steve abruptly eases -- only to tense up again almost at once, though somehow very differently. The shift in his motion when Flicker relaxes is subtle, his strokes coming shorter and faster. He gasps, eyes going wide, his pace turning frenzied just before he goes momentarily still. Then he shudders hard, lips parting though he holds back the cry, tears finally spilling over when he squeezes his eyes shut, his climax a pulse of warmth inside Flicker, then another, and another. He looks as if he wants to say something but can't quite manage it. Instead resettles himself -- awkwardly -- to keep the bulk of his considerable weight on the table rather than Flicker. The passionate kiss that follows this, his hands slipping beneath to gather his lover close, is anything but awkward.<br />
<br />
Subtle it may be, but the shuddering gasping response it draws out of Flicker is anything but. Expression transfixed, body yielding where the other man's weight drives him down against the table. Around them there's a quiet but persistent rattling, the plastic dish of wooden tokens jostled and spilling its contents out to scatter behind Flicker's head. The grip of his legs, his arm curled around Steve's back, might be futilely trying to draw the other man deeper or might simply be holding ''on'', cleaving fast to the his lover's stronger frame to ride out the waves that break him with each thrust.<br />
<br />
Somewhere around the time Steve goes still, Flicker has once more forgotten to breathe, watching with rapt absorption until that release comes. It's only when Steve gathers him in, kisses him once again, that he lets out a shaky breath, turning his face up to meet that passion ardently.<br />
<br />
Steve's breathing evens out quickly, and his tears cease as well, but he continues kissing Flicker, if in a more leisurely way. When he finally pulls back his cheeks are flushed again. "I -- that was --" Shakes his head. "I don't have words that would do it justice, but...it was beautiful." Hesitates. Blushes harder. "''You'' are beautiful."<br />
<br />
Flicker's breathing doesn't immediately, shaky and uneven through the deep kisses. Steadying as he presses his face to Steve's chest, presses kisses to his neck, slowly and reluctantly letting his legs relax their hold. His blush rises in tandem with Steve's, and he can't help -- doesn't try to help -- the fresh tears that have stung his eyes. "I think you outdid amazing." He chases the kisses with another, soft and gentle. "I knew that it would be -- I mean, people always say -- sex feels ''good''. I had -- had no idea it would feel..." He blinks, pulls in a breath. His eyes lower diffidently, blush deepening and the end to this sentence laid down careful and delicate into the space between them, "...holy."<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
It's dark enough now that the lanterns have been turned on in the garden. Soft light spills across the grass from the open curtains of the dining room windows. Lucien is studiously avoiding looking in that direction, his attention turned instead to the Scrabble board in front of him -- judging by the numbers printed neatly on the LED writing board beside the game, this is not the first round they have played. He's been studying the board quite some time -- then his tiles -- then the board. Eventually, slow and deliberate, he sets his letters carefully down, turning ''sacre'' into ''sacred'' with the first D he places. Building down from there -- D-E-L-I-R-I-U connects neatly with an M already sitting on the board, buried innocuously in the middle of the word ''clamant''. He does not bother tallying his points. Just sits back, fingers wrapping around his teacup to lift it for a long sip, his vivid eyes fixed steadily across the table.<br />
<br />
Sitting across from his brother, reclining with his bare feet propped up on another chair, Matt has been toying idly with his letters, his own teacup cradled against his chest. He studies the changed board, a faint smile curving his lips. His fingers play lightly down the line of his own tiles, rearranging them once, then again. Unhurried, he takes a sip of his tea. At last, plucking up three of them, he transforms ''rapt'' into ''rapture'', adding the terminal 'e' to the front of 'mote'. Bright green eyes tick fractionally toward the dining room window, though he does not turn far enough to actually look inside, and one side of his smile twists up further, just ever so slightly smug.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Take_Me_To_Church&diff=20893Logs:Take Me To Church2019-08-15T22:24:39Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Aubrey, Flicker, Jamie | summary = "They think they have us, but we have ''each other.'' And we have a plan." (Set in the Blackburn TP..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Aubrey]], [[Flicker]], [[NPC-Jamie|Jamie]]<br />
| summary = "They think they have us, but we have ''each other.'' And we have a plan." (Set in the Blackburn [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus]] facility.)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-08-14<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <PRO> Wreck Room - Blackburn Research Facility<br />
| categories = Aubrey, Flicker, NPC-Jamie, Mutants, Blackburn, Prometheus<br />
| log = <br />
The sign by the door says "Rec Room", but someone with a permanent marker bookended the first word with "W" and "k" at some point, and the subsequent effort to undo the vandalism was lackluster. Inside it is not usually that much of a wreck, though it might be more interesting if it were. One corner is dedicated to the reasonably sized flatscreen television mounted on the wall, with several rows of folding chairs arrayed before it. Another is centered around a set of tacky vinyl sofas bracketed by two bookshelves largely stocked with supermarket checkout paperbacks (about half James Patterson by volume, with Danielle Steel heavily represented, and there are at least six copies of ''Fifty Shades of Gray'' at any given time). The rest of the space is more modular, but usually plays host to several card tables ringed with folding chairs, supplied by a shelf of games, from playing cards to chess (with a couple of improvised pieces) to three different flavors of Monopoly.<br />
<br />
Flicker isn't entirely looking his best lately. His usually neatly combed hair has been shaved off down to some patchy stubble, there is fresh bruising on his wrist, and he's markedly lost weight since his arrival here. Sitting curled up in a corner of one of the vinyl couches in fresh and neat scrubs with his new copy of ''The Book of Mormon'' in his lap, right now he looks more tired than anything else, his cheek resting heavily on his curled knuckles in the long intervals between turning each page.<br />
<br />
Sitting beside Flicker, Jamie looks small and tired, though he wears no marks of physical injury. Also clean and in fresh clothes, he's reading a thick and tattered copy of ''Atlas Shrugged'', a deep frown etched into his brows, his head shaking occasionally, though it's hard to say whether in disagreement or simple incredulity.<br />
<br />
Aubrey looks much the same as he comes slinking in. A little bit rumpled, some flyaway hairs wispy around his face but the bulk of his long brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. He's hugging the beat-up old Bible from off the bookshelves close to his chest, and hesitates noticeably before approaching the couch. His tongue flicks against his lips, his eyes darting to linger a long uncertain stretch on Jamie. It's Flicker he ultimately approaches, though. "Hi, um, are you. Are you busy?"<br />
<br />
Flicker uncurls his legs, setting his feet back on the floor. He looks up -- to the Bible then Aubrey, his hand lowering to rest across the pages of his book. He manages a smile, small but genuine, as he straightens. "Nothing that won't keep. What's up?"<br />
<br />
Jamie looks up from his book, too, at the approach, and gives a small, awkward wave when Aubrey's eyes linger on him. When the gaze continues, though, he looks down, suddenly very interested in Aubrey's shoes.<br />
<br />
"I just --" Aubrey fidgets, his fingers tapping against the Bible's cover. "The others say you're -- I wanted to --" He shakes his head, rocking back on his heels. "I don't really know how to. Start this, I'm sorry if. If this is weird, I just." He hesitates, sitting down on the floor in front of the couch. "My gramma used to take us to church sometimes," he settles on uncertainly. "But that was a long time ago. But you seem so." Another hesitation. "How do you keep that up. In here."<br />
<br />
"I -- it's not easy. I don't know if I'm doing -- great at keeping it up, honestly." There's a very faint pinkening that creeps into Flicker's cheeks; his eyes flit sideways to Jamie for a bare instant. "But I'm trying. I don't think there's any -- trick to it? I know who I am. And who God wants me to be. I just try to make sure those things are as close as I can get them. If anything, it's ''more'' important in here. They take so much else from us already."<br />
<br />
Jamie's shoulders hunch inward, his eyes dropping back to the book still open in his lap. "In some labs, people hold prayer circles, bible study groups, things like that. It probably helps for some, and the staff generally doesn't care." His skinny shoulders hitch up. "A lot of guards are willing to sneak in religious paraphernalia, especially if it happens to be ''their'' religion." He glances at ''The Book of Mormon'' thoughtfully.<br />
<br />
"Is one of the guards Mormon? Is that like. Can you be Mormon and --" Aubrey glances towards the door, scrutinizing the guard standing by the door. "This just doesn't seem like. Like something God would. I don't know." He tucks his hair behind his ear, pulling his legs up near his chest, his ankles crossed and his arms wrapping around his shins. His head tips back up toward the others. "Have you ever -- maybe -- thought about running something like that? Here?"<br />
<br />
"It was one of the custodians who gave this to me. I don't ''think'' he's Mormon. He just -- just wanted to help. Still wants to help." Flicker slides down off the seat, sitting on the floor against the base of the couch. He curls up one leg beneath him, resting his book on the floor between himself and Aubrey. "The first time I was in here I was so mad at God. I didn't do much praying. And this time I -- I didn't think anyone would be interested, I didn't want to." His cheeks flush deeper. "I'd be happy to pray with you, if that's something you want." He drags his teeth slowly against his lower lip, adding, quieter, "-- or maybe when we get out you could come to church with me."<br />
<br />
Jamie runs his fingers along the worn fore-edge of the book, no longer paying it any attention. "I don't think God would approve, but people have always done awful things with His name on their lips." He closes ''Atlas Shrugged''. "I'm not religious. Anymore." He gives a small, joyless smile. "But if praying might help get us out of here, I'll give it another try."<br />
<br />
"That's true." Aubrey rocks slightly forward, slightly back. "Were you? Before? What did..." He looks up at Jamie again, but only briefly. Looks back down at his feet after. "Sorry, that's personal, I shouldn't --" His brows crease suddenly, his head shaking. "''When'' we get out? We're not getting out."<br />
<br />
"I pray every day," Flicker replies softly, "but if we're going to get out of here -- and I think that we are -- we're going to need to give God some help." He leans back against the couch, hand bracing against the floor beside him. "We have a plan in mind. But it's going to need your help."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but -- me and the Church just didn't see eye to eye on some things." Jamie shrugs, leaning forward and propping his chin up in the palm of one hand. "We're getting out," he says, soft but certain. "You've seen how lax they are with us both."<br />
<br />
"''My'' help?" Aubrey shakes his head fiercely, then immediately cringes, shoulders hunching up around his ears. "I can't -- I mean, you know what they do to -- you don't think we could ''actually'' --" He licks at his lips again and plucks at the hem of his pants. "They'd kill us. They'd definitely kill ''you''."<br />
<br />
"Probably, yes. If we fail. But they're going to kill us all in the end anyway. They don't just let people back ''out'' of here." Flicker's voice is soft, but very steady. "I understand if you'd rather not. I'm not going to pretend it won't be dangerous. I'd just rather give everyone the ''chance'' at a free life again. And I think you two are our best shot."<br />
<br />
Jamie tenses at Aubrey's prediction, but though he's gone a bit paler he slides off of the couch to kneel on the floor with the others. "We can do it, Aubrey." His voice is quiet but fervent. "They think they have us, but we have ''each other.'' And we have a plan."<br />
<br />
Aubrey's eyes have grown wider; it's slow and uncertain when he lifts them to meet Jamie's. "What do you want me to do?" There's an unsteadiness in his rich voice. His eyes lower again. "When we get out of here, though. You really do have to take me to church."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:No_Arizona&diff=20892Logs:No Arizona2019-08-14T22:57:24Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Jamie, Flicker | summary = "You came back for ''me.''" (Set in the Blackburn Prometheus facility.) | gamedate = 2019-08-12..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[NPC-Jamie|Jamie]], [[Flicker]]<br />
| summary = "You came back for ''me.''" (Set in the Blackburn [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus]] facility.)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-08-12<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <PRO> Cell - Blackburn Research Facility<br />
| categories = Mutants, Prometheus, Blackburn, Flicker, NPC-Jamie<br />
| log =<br />
The staff calls them "rooms", but this is like any of the other cells here. It is small, though not claustrophobic, and the door with its single reinforced glass window locks from the outside. The walls are off-white and the floor is the same pea-green linoleum that plagues the rest of the facility. The two cheap cots are permanently attached to the floor, as is the stainless steel sink/toilet combo in the center of the far wall. The inset overhead lights are institutional fluorescent tubes, their light sickly, sometimes flickery, and liable to emit a certain high-pitched hum. The air conditioning is always set too high and the heat set too low.<br />
<br />
It's dinnertime, but Flicker's door has been locked tight for some while now. He hasn't been out with the others, though there is an untouched tray of mediocre cafeteria food sitting on the floor to the right of the door. Flicker himself is sitting cross-legged on his cot, the thin pillow propped between his back and the wall. Under the harsh fluorescent lighting he looks paler, the shadows beneath his eyes more stark; his rumpled scrubs and freshly shaven head is not ''helping'' him look any healthier, just contributing to his haggard hospital-ward aesthetic. In his lap there's a hardcover copy of ''The Book of Mormon''; he has it open to the book of Mosiah, one finger slowly tracing down the page as he reads.<br />
<br />
There's a heavy tromp of boots outside; the door opens just far enough to shove Jamie through before closing again. Paler and more worried-looking than usual, he seems not at first to even notice Flicker. He almost trips on the tray, stares at it blankly for a moment, then slowly looks up. His eyes go wide. "Oh! Flicker!" He starts toward his cellmate, hesitates, then re-routes to sit down on his own cot, legs pulled up against his chest. "You -- are you -- did they -- hurt you?"<br />
<br />
Flicker looks up slowly from his book, his hand resting on the page. He sits a little bit straighter when Jamie starts toward him -- but sags back with a slump of shoulder, a heavy think of his head against the wall, once the other man moves away. "You were there. You don't remember?" He gives his head a very small shake. "I'm fine. You don't look so good."<br />
<br />
Jamie bites his lower lip hard. "I remember the beginning of the experiment and not being able to throw the ball, then..." He looks away, breath coming faster. "I -- I had flashbacks...to awful things. She said that your refusal to comply triggered my PTSD, but it was her, wasn't it?" There's a kind of weary resignation in this question. "I'm sorry I fucked up. Did she make me do anything..." His eyes search Flicker frantically.<br />
<br />
"Part of me just wanted to put that thing straight in one of them. But that wouldn't have been --" Flicker chews on the inside of his cheek, his head shaking slowly. His eyes drop to the page he's been reading, though his expression looks a little too blank to suggest he's still paying the words on the page much attention. "You didn't mess up. I'm really sorry that you went through that. I didn't want to make it worse for you. I just --" His finger traces restlessly against the page. "They don't stop, you know? If she thought hurting you would make me do what they want, she'd just bring you in to hurt you ''more'' every time they wanted something."<br />
<br />
Jamie starts to scoot toward the edge of his cot, but then only curls in on himself more tightly. "No, I -- I was supposed to do as they asked and I didn't --" He frowns at the floor, shaking his head. "-- didn't know ''how.'' But they might not believe that." His breathing is only growing faster and more shallow. "She wants me to blame you. But I know it was her. Using me to..." He looks up at Flicker abruptly, his voice hoarse and quiet. "Coyote told me the same thing. And they killed him."<br />
<br />
"You did the best you could. What they were asking was ludicrous." Flicker's arm tenses as Jamie's breathing speeds. He lifts his hand -- partially outstretched toward the other cot -- then drops it back. His book falls closed as his legs pull up toward his chest. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could tell you that won't happen again, but I don't -- know what they'll do." His voice is softer, his eyes lifting back to Jamie. Studying his paler face and ragged breaths. "Do you want to talk about him, or -- think about something else right now?"<br />
<br />
"But -- but, what if they get suspicious?" Jamie's fingers dig into his arms as he grips tighter. "She talked to me -- took me to her office and --" He rocks back and forth gently. "I used to live for the days she'd do that." His tears, when they come, are not particularly dramatic. Perhaps he has some practice weeping unobtrusively. "I don't know how to talk about him." He clutches his head, blunt nails scraping scalp. "After we were taken. There's so much that's just -- ''gone''."<br />
<br />
"I guess we just have to make sure we're not here long enough for it to matter." Flicker lowers his chin to his knees, his eyes fixed on Jamie. "Talked to you about what?" His shoulder curls inward as Jamie's tears begin to fall. His fingers clench against his shin, and the small twitch that passes through him is just brief, a quick shudder of motion that leads to nothing. "I'm sorry," comes again, softer and uncertain. "She's taken so much from you. When we get out of here --" But this falters. He swallows hard, squeezing tighter at his leg.<br />
<br />
"You." Jamie sniffles, trying to blink his eyes clear, though the tears keep coming. "She kept talking about you, and how you've disrupted my recovery and you don't really care about me and only want to use my --" He breaks off, lips pressing together tight. "-- use ''me''. To escape." He shakes his head vehemently. "She lies. I know she lies. And -- even if it were ''true''..." He shrugs. "We still have to get out of here. So you can go back to Hive. So everyone can go back to their families and their lives." His gaze drops to the floor again.<br />
<br />
"I do want to get out of here. I guess it would be a terrible lie if she just made up something ''completely'' untrue. I feel a little more like dying every day I stay here." Flicker's fingers scrunch at his scrubs. Grip them hard. "But I wouldn't -- leave without ''you'', I couldn't -- I want you to have a chance to --" He blinks, tears his eyes from Jamie to lower his head, forehead pressing to the back of his knees. He takes a slow breath, and another -- when he looks back up the tension in his grip is easing, some. "What would you want to do? If you were out there again, and not here?"<br />
<br />
Jamie looses a soft noise of distress and starts to get up again -- catches himself, and turns the movement into rocking. "I know that," he says firmly. "You came back for me. ''Twice.'' She said...it was because of Hive. But I'm ''not'' Hive. You came back for ''me.''" His shoulders hunch together tighter at the question. "Can you...come over here, please? I want --" He rocks harder. Swallows. "If she's watching -- I shouldn't go to you. After the conversation we just had -- it's better if she thinks ''some'' of it stuck."<br />
<br />
Flicker lets out a quick and ragged breath at this request. He unfolds himself from his cot almost immediately, the book tumbling from his lap to the floor as he crosses to settle at Jamie's side. "My experience with Hive made it easier for me, maybe, than for some of my teammates, to see the ways Prometheus messes with you. But I came back for you. Because ''you'' deserve better than this." His hand rests tentatively at Jamie's back, rubbing slowly. "I love you, I'm not going to leave you to -- to --" His next breath is shakier. "Was there much penstemon down in Sedona? My mom used to have so much of it around the garden. It'd probably be just. An explosion of color this time of year."<br />
<br />
Jamie watches Flicker with wide eyes, tears still trickling down his cheeks. He presses into the hand at his back, some of the tension easing from him from the mere contact. He opens his mouth, but no words come out at first. It takes a few more seconds of breathing before he manages, "I love you, too." The words are deliberate and careful, as if he's worried about saying them wrong somehow.<br />
<br />
He does not uncurl himself, but does lean against Flicker, pillowing his cheek on other other man's shoulder. "Yeah, we had those. My favorite was the red kind -- 'firecrackers', we called them. Not sure if that was the proper name. I'd always just ask --" His breath hitches in his throat. "Down by the creek especially, it was just a world of wildflowers in spring and summer -- lupines and primroses and indian paintbrush. But I can't see myself going back." He pauses, and adds, even softer, "Can't see myself out there at all."<br />
<br />
Flicker's eyes widen, a faint flush creeping up his neck. His hand slows, stills between Jamie's shoulders. He takes a slow breath before rubbing again, a little more firmly this time. Very quietly: "Where do you see yourself?"<br />
<br />
Slowly relaxing still, Jamie finally does let go of his own shins, turning slightly to fit himself against the Flicker's side. "I don't know." Then, at a delay, muffled from burying his face in Flicker's shoulder, "I ''want'' to see myself at your side. But even just thinking about being free -- it's so unreal and terrifying." He chuckles, suddenly. "I had a roommate, first time at Lassiter, who would sing 'There is no Arizona' every time I mentioned home." He lays his hand on Flicker's chest and looks up at him.<br />
<br />
"My side -- doesn't seem like the safest place for anyone to be." Beneath Jamie's hand, Flicker's heart is racing. His eyes meet Jamie's, his breathing hitching a little less steadily. His hand comes mostly to a stop again, this time resting against the other man's shoulder -- the brush of his thumb against the side of Jamie's neck, the line of his collarbone, is very light and just a little shaky. "Oh --" It's barely much of a sound, just a quiet breath that slips involuntarily from Flicker's lips. The flush in his cheeks deepens. "... I don't think I know that song."<br />
<br />
"I feel safer with you than I ever remember being." Jamie blushes faintly, but does not look away. "Though maybe that doesn't say much, since I've spent so much of my life in Prometheus." He lets out a long, shivery breath at the brush of Flicker's thumb, his eyes fluttering almost shut for a moment. "I barely know it, myself. He only ever sang the chorus, and I never bothered asking for the rest." Despite this, he draws breath and sings, his tenor soft and melodic, "There is no Arizona -- no Painted Desert, no Sedona; if there was a Grand Canyon, she could fill it up with the lies he told her; but they don't exist, those dreams he sold her, she'll wake up and find there is no Arizona."<br />
<br />
Flicker ''does'' look away, his eyes lowering -- only a half second before his hand does, falling to curl against the mattress. His arm tenses, muscles tightening as his weight leans against it. His eyes close while Jamie sings, fingers gripping hard at the bedsheets. Only after does he look up, ''stand'' up, pausing to scoop his book back off the floor on his way back to his own cot. The smile he gives Jamie is small. Quick, a little diffident, as he settles back down, resting his book in his lap again. "You have a really nice voice."<br />
<br />
Jamie touches Flicker's hand lightly where it clutches the sheets, but does not try to prevent him from pulling away. "Thank you," he says, his smile warm if slightly wistful, a rare expression on him. "I took choir really seriously, when I did choir." He tugs his sheet and blanket loose and shimmies under them, still facing Flicker. "You didn't hurt me," he murmurs, pulling the sheet up to hide his blush. He closes his eyes and for a moment it's possible to suspect he's just going to sleep, but then he adds, very quietly, "I wouldn't leave without you, either."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Making_A_Difference&diff=20863Logs:Making A Difference2019-08-12T12:35:34Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Clont, Flicker | summary = 'This...wasn't what I expected.' (Set in the Blackburn Prometheus facility.) | gamedate = 2019-08-1..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Clint|Clont]], [[Flicker]]<br />
| summary = 'This...wasn't what I expected.' (Set in the Blackburn [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus]] facility.)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-08-12<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <PRO> Wreck Room - Blackburn Research Facility<br />
| categories = Humans, Mutants, Clint, Flicker, Prometheus, Blackburn<br />
| log = <br />
The sign by the door says "Rec Room", but someone with a permanent marker bookended the first word with "W" and "k" at some point, and the subsequent effort to undo the vandalism was lackluster. Inside it is not usually that much of a wreck, though it might be more interesting if it were. One corner is dedicated to the reasonably sized flatscreen television mounted on the wall, with several rows of folding chairs arrayed before it. Another is centered around a set of tacky vinyl sofas bracketed by two bookshelves largely stocked with supermarket checkout paperbacks (about half James Patterson by volume, with Danielle Steel heavily represented, and there are at least six copies of ''Fifty Shades of Gray'' at any given time). The rest of the space is more modular, but usually plays host to several card tables ringed with folding chairs, supplied by a shelf of games, from playing cards to chess (with a couple of improvised pieces) to three different flavors of Monopoly.<br />
<br />
It's quite early yet on a Sunday morning, and while the rec room is technically open it is fairly quiet while most labrats are still either at morning ablutions or breakfast. Clint is sweeping diligently and occasionally stopping the straighten items on shelves or to glance over at the television, which is, for some reason, playing the History Channel's "Ancient Aliens" (with the captions on, as they have often been in the morning these last two weeks). He looks as unmemorable as ever, moving with a certain graceful efficiency as he cleans and taking up little space with his movements.<br />
<br />
At some point on Saturday, the ''Book of Mormon'' had vanished from the bookshelf where it so recently appeared. It's hardly much mystery where it went, and very little surprise, most likely, when Flicker walks into the room with it beneath his arm. As ever he's carefully groomed, hair neatly brushed, freshly shaved; this does little for his general pallor, or the dark bags beneath his eyes.<br />
<br />
Still, he seems alert enough as he looks over toward Clint. He'd been aiming toward the couch, but reroutes, nudging a chair out at a table by where the custodian sweeps. He sets the book down on the adjacent card table, his fingers resting on it briefly before he waves toward Clint. Signs. 'Do you pay attention to everyone?'<br />
<br />
Clint diverts his attention from sweeping when Flicker moves into his path, and stops to wave back when the man greets him. 'Try to,' he replies in sign, matter of fact, 'but some more than others.' He indicates the book, 'Not enough, but--I thought it might help, to hear from your father.'<br />
<br />
"More than I can say." Flicker's signed reply comes more uncertainly, with a nod: 'Big help. Thank you. It's not easy in here.' He hesitates again, looking back down to the book before looking at Clint again. 'Some more? Why me?' he asks first, but second, 'who else?'<br />
<br />
'It was nothing,' Clint's reply looks dismissive, but it comes with a thin smile. 'Sometimes because I think they're interesting, or might be dangerous...' He leans lightly on his broom, his smile going slightly crooked. 'Sometimes because they're nice to me and know how to sign.' His gaze flicks to the guard by the door, who's absorbed in a magazine. 'I watch the guards.'<br />
<br />
'It was a lot. It can be easy to stop feeling like people. Not many of you remember that we are.' Flicker's teeth press down against his lip, his shoulder tensing slightly. Briefly. He doesn't follow Clint's look toward the guard. 'How did you end up here?'<br />
<br />
'I'm sorry.' Clint bows his head slightly. 'But I am glad that it helped. I want to do more, if I can.' At the question he gives a small shrug. 'An old boss referred me. This...wasn't what I expected.' He licks his lips. 'What I expected, ''that'' was bad enough.'<br />
<br />
Flicker looks at the book a long moment, his fingers tracing against the gold lettering on its cover. His expression is thoughtful when he looks back up. 'Are you planning to stay here? Jobs -- not easy to find.'<br />
<br />
Clint frowns, and does not immediately answer. He moves one of the other chairs away from the table so he can sweep under it. When he puts the chair back, he frees both hands to reply. 'I can find other work. ''No one'' should work here, but...' He looks at the book on the table between them. 'If I can make a difference. I want to do that. Before I quit.'<br />
<br />
'You could make a difference.' Flicker reaches for the book, pulling it into his lap. 'How far do you live from here? I don't even really know where we are. Maine, people say. But what part, how far from a town, no idea.'<br />
<br />
Clint nods thoughtfully. 'I would do--a ''lot.''' He spells the last word for emphasis. 'I live outside Northeast Carry--about twelve miles south of here. Half the people there work here, and we carpool in.' He frowns. 'The nearest real town is almost three hours away.'<br />
<br />
'Three hours.' Flicker's eyes open momentarily wider, his shoulder sagging. 'How many people drive in on weekends?' He chews at the inside of his cheek, taking a slow breath. 'Are you here every weekend?'<br />
<br />
'Mostly forests and lakes out here,' Clint confirms. He chews on the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing. 'Weekends, two custodians, four kitchen staff, six guards--each shift.' Then, with a sheepish chuckle. 'Usually, yes. They pay us extra.'<br />
<br />
'Probably not so many vehicles. With carpooling.' Flicker runs his fingers through his hair, looking up at the ceiling. 'Too much to hope you drive a bus.' It's not really a question; it's just wry and vaguely amused. Vaguely. He's paler than he was at the start of this conversation, his hand a little less steady in its signing. 'I'm sorry. I'm keeping you from your work.' He opens his book, but only to its first inscribed page. 'Thank you.'<br />
<br />
'Three cars, usually.' Clint bows his head slightly. 'More on weekdays, obviously, but...more ''people'' on weekdays. Sorry.' He picks up his broom and hesitates, considering Flicker. Frees one hand again to say, 'I ''don't'' drive a bus. But if you're willing to take that chance on me?' He'd used a purely English construction, but his eyebrows raise up in proper ASL fashion. 'Tell me when. I ''will'' get you transport.'<br />
<br />
Flicker freezes, gripping hard at the edge of the book. There's a short twitch of second where he doesn't breathe -- then remembers to exhale, slow, deliberate. 'That's a big offer.' The brightness in his eyes is brief, quickly blinked away. 'I don't know when yet. A lot to think through.' He studies Clint intently -- nods, small, to himself. Finishes only with, 'Thank you.'<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Terrible_Science&diff=20854Logs:Terrible Science2019-08-06T17:21:20Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Doctor Messer | summary = "I don't tolerate any extracurricular cruelty." (Set in the Blackburn TP-Prometheus facility.) | gamedate = 2019-08..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], Doctor Messer<br />
| summary = "I don't tolerate any extracurricular cruelty." (Set in the Blackburn [[TP-Prometheus]] facility.)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-08-05<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <PRO> Blackburn Research Facility - Examination Room<br />
| categories = Blackburn, Prometheus, NPC-Katie, Mutants, Flicker<br />
| log = <br />
<br />
It's been a long time, or maybe no time at all. In the bland white walls of the examination room, Flicker has been restless. Growing steadily moreso as the minutes tick by in solitude since he's been brought here. He looks a mess, ugly bruising in various shades of blue and greenish speckling his arms and swollen across his face. Earlier he had been pacing, but that's ceased now; he looks paler and a little bit shaky. Alternating between leaning against the wall and sitting, gingerly, on the edge of the examination table. It takes a bit but eventually he settles, somewhat, folding his arm across his chest and bowing his head.<br />
<br />
It's another minute or so before the door finally opens, covered by two guards with their sidearms drawn and ready. The woman who squeezes in between them -- white, in her late thirties or early forties, slightly on the short and plump side, though rather fit overall -- looks vaguely out of place in the midst of all the non-nonsense tactical gear. She looks half asleep still, her glasses sitting slightly askew, a few brown curls escaping from a slap-dash updo, her lilac blouse wrinkled beneath a labcoat whose pockets are over-crowded with pens. She's carrying a notebook and a tablet in the crook of one arm, and a travel coffee mug that reads "Thou shalt not dictate my reproductive rights" in gothic script, the very first letter enlarged and illuminated with a uterus "flexing" its fallopian tubes, ovaries styled as fists.<br />
<br />
"Good morning, Mr. Allred," she says brightly, shoving her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose as she fetches up against the other side of the table. Her Prometheus employee badge identifies her as Dr. Katarina Messer, Senior Staff Researcher. "I'm Katie Messer. So sorry to have kept you waiting, but I'm no good before my coffee. Would you like something to drink?" Two guards -- not the ones pointing their pistols, who stay put -- follow her in and stand on either side of the door, staring balefully at Flicker.<br />
<br />
Flicker looks up slowly, his arm still wrapped around his chest. His eyes shift first to the guards' guns. Then over to Messer's coffee mug, fixing on it a long time. Eventually he just blinks, and bows his head again in silence.<br />
<br />
Messer gives Flicker a patient and attentive moment before pulling out the chair and seating herself. "You look like you've had a difficult time of it here," she observes, pointedly not looking at the guards. "I'm sorry that you're hurt, and can see to it you receive proper medical attention." She takes a long gulp of her coffee and taps at the screen of her tablet. "I doubt you will take me up on this, but if you experience abuse from any of the staff here, you can tell me, and I will do my best to take care of it."<br />
<br />
At first Flicker doesn't reply, head still bowed in silence. When he does look up, it's back at the mug and not at Messer. "Abuse ''besides'' locking me in a cage to be a guinea pig, you mean?"<br />
<br />
Messer does not seem the least surprised by this turn of conversation. "That is what I mean," she replies, no hint of irony or derision in her tone. "I have no illusions about what it is I or my colleagues do, but I don't tolerate any extracurricular cruelty. I ''prefer'' to make the rest as minimally awful as I can, but my power over that here is limited."<br />
<br />
"Scheduled cruelty only. Got it. That bodily autonomy thing only goes so deep with you, huh?" Flicker leans back against the table, fingers clenching into a fist where they're curled against his side. "Thanks, but I'll take the honest rapists."<br />
<br />
"As deep as I can." Messer opens her notebook and roots around in her pockets for a pen -- apparently not just any pen will do, though the one she finally does start scribbling with looks like a perfectly common gel pen. "I'm not going to defend my complicity in this. I just wanted you to know your options, such as they are." Her pen pauses on the page, and her bright blue eyes lift up to regard him steadily. "How is Jamie doing, in your view?"<br />
<br />
Flicker's brows lift. He starts to straighten. Forces himself to settle back, into a lean against the edge of the exam table again. He takes in a slow breath, looks down at the floor. Says nothing.<br />
<br />
Again Messer waits, evincing no frustration at Flicker's reticence. "I care about this young man a lot, and he's rather..." She taps her chin with the pen thoughtfully. "...''taken'' with you. I hope that you'll not take advantage of his trust."<br />
<br />
Flicker just raises his eyebrows again. "Do you listen to yourself even a little bit?"<br />
<br />
"I do try -- I am a psychologist first and foremost." Messer still seems unfazed as she starts writing again. "But self-assessments can be tricky. If you have some complaint about the way I'm addressing this, please feel free to enlighten me." She tucks the pen into her hair and takes up her coffee again. "I don't care what ''you'' think of my intentions with him, which I'm sure is not a lot, but I ''am'' worried about his mental health. You, your team, your surreptitious meddling, and your -- let's be frank, ''extremely'' unwise -- rescue attempt have destabilized him, and he is in a very delicate state."<br />
<br />
Flicker closes his eyes. His fingers press tightly against his side. Very softly, the melody only barely audible, he hums to himself.<br />
<br />
Messer is quiet for a moment. She puts the mug down and casts around for her pen. It takes her a few seconds to find it sticking out of her hair. "I suspect you're not going to cooperate with a full mental health evaluation, though you could probably benefit from one." She scribbles a bit more. "You exhibit consistently self-destructive behaviors, and even if you don't care about the impact on yourself, I hope you'll consider the impact on those around you." She cocks her head slightly. "No man is an island unto himself."<br />
<br />
"What I could benefit from," Flicker replies, extremely mildly, only now actually looking at Messer, "is going home."<br />
<br />
Messer underlines something on the page -- her handwriting is all but illegible. "Probably so, but that's not a particularly healthy fixation here. For ''any'' of you, but you especially." Her expression is a study in benign concern. "Besides, being home didn't stop you attempting to break into Lassiter, which, under the circumstances, was practically suicide." She taps her cheek with the pen now. "It was rather irresponsible of your partner, letting you do that with only his support."<br />
<br />
The hitch that catches at Flicker's breath is tiny, barely there. The firm hard swallow that rolls down his throat is more noticeable. His weight sags harder against the table, and what little color remained in his face bleeds out of it as his hand clenches harder at his side. "He's not my --" he starts to say, but the words come out thin and cracked and falter before he makes it to the end of the sentence.<br />
<br />
Messer studies Flicker closely, and lifts her fine brown eyebrows at his partial denial. "He isn't? I do apologize, I was misinformed." She writes something down rapidly and, as an afterthought, adds something in the margin beside it. "Still, it seems negligent on his part. And afterwards, they didn't even attempt to rescue you. Certainly, it would have be quite dangerous, but..." She rests her elbows on the tabletop and leans forward slightly. "...probably not more dangerous than every single raid is, for ''you'' personally."<br />
<br />
"You all whisked me away in the middle of the night to who knows where, it wasn't --" Flicker lifts his eyes upward, training them steadily on the ceiling. His breathing has grown a little shakier, his jaw clenching hard. "I know what I'm getting into with these," he manages, softer and carefully controlled. "And I'd gladly keep doing it if it meant getting even one more person free of your abuse."<br />
<br />
"They surely knew where to find you before that, though." Messer rolls the pen idly between her hands. "Or, at least, ''Hive'' knew, and he either failed to inform the others in time, or they decided to leave you. Like they left Jamie." She tilts her head slightly to one side. "Like they'd wanted to leave Hive. It is good that you are comfortable with your choice, at least, and I admire your convictions." She writes a short note and underlines something, then looks up levely at Flicker. "Still, I would recommend against reminding the other staff members of that, when you are working with them."<br />
<br />
Flicker's gaze remains trained up. His hand drops from where it's pressed against his side, palm bracing on the edge of the examination table and his fingers curling hard against it. "You all are worse scientists than I thought if you couldn't already make some educated guesses as to where my convictions fall when it comes to the evil you do here."<br />
<br />
"Oh, Prometheus does terrible science," Messer agrees easily. "No peer review, no controls to speak of, and, as you keep pointing out, an abusive environment that skews both subject performance and researcher observation." She puts the pen away and steeples her fingers. "But, here we are, and whatever you may think of me, I am the closest thing to an ally you will find among the staff." She spreads her hands before her. "I don't expect you to take me up on that, but I will do my level best to keep you safe."<br />
<br />
Slowly, Flicker's breaths are steadying. His grip on the table eases, fractionally. "Are you going to put me back in my cell after this pep talk or are you just trying to put a good face on my upcoming vivisection?"<br />
<br />
"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to tell you what they're going to do, but you are scheduled for procedures today," Messer says, bowing her head slightly as though genuinely apologetic. "It was the only way the administrators here would agree to keep you alive, but this interview was for my records. You are still my patient first." She closes her notebook and gathers it into a stack with her tablet. "I will check in with you later in the week. Until then, Mr. Allred." She departs, but the guards remain.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Quisling&diff=20838Logs:Quisling2019-07-29T04:24:40Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Ansel]], [[Flicker]]<br />
| summary = "I pray for that every day." (Set in the Blackburn [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus]] facility.)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-07-27<br />
| gamedatename = 20 july - 27 july 2019<br />
| subtitle = cw: prison guard abuse/implied assault<br />
| location = Blackburn Research Facility<br />
| categories = Blackburn, Prometheus, Flicker, Ansel, Mutants<br />
| log = <br />
''20 july. rec room.'' <br />
<br />
The bruising on Flicker's face has darkened, puffy and swollen and sealing one of his eyes shut. He's otherwise looking neat and -- as presentable as it's possible to look in drab scrubs, cleanshaven, hair neatly combed. Tucked into a corner of the couch, a KJV Bible in his lap that he is focused intently on.<br />
<br />
"The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles. The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit." Ansel has come up, leaning against the back of the couch just by Flicker's head. Halfway through his over-the-shoulder reading he reaches down and plucks the book from the other man's hand. "You feeling contrite, Allred? Hoping for some last minute salvation?"<br />
<br />
Flicker doesn't reach for the book when it is taken from him. He doesn't look up, either. He rests his hand on his knee, his eyes briefly closing. "I pray for that every day," he answers quietly. "But not just for me."<br />
<br />
''21 july. cafeteria.''<br />
<br />
Lunchtime is nearly over, and the cafeteria is less crowded than it was even fifteen minutes ago. Flicker hasn't been here long though, and hasn't gotten far through his plate of mashed potatoes and gravy and peas and carrots. He's plowing slowly through the food, though. A bit unsteadily, his hand kind of shaky, frequently spilling peas back down from his spoon to the plate before they've reached his mouth.<br />
<br />
There's a heavy crack of a baton against the table. Ansel sweeps his nightstick against the side of the tray, pushing it off and into Flicker's lap. "Get up. Clean that up, lunch is over. Back to your room."<br />
<br />
Flicker tenses, reaching to try and catch the tray. Too slowly; it just bangs against his hand, topples its contents into his lap. He looks up -- not at the guard but at the other inmates lingering in the room over the last of their meals. He's very slow as he picks the spilled contents of his tray up off his lap, off the bench, starting, carefully, to rise.<br />
<br />
''23 july. showers.''<br />
<br />
Several of the showers are occupied, steam fogging up the mirrors over the sink. Flicker is clearly not long out of the shower, himself, hair still wet, water glistening in beads against his shoulder. His scrubs shirt is folded neatly on the sink counter nearby; he's already wearing the matching pants. He's slow as he lathers up shaving cream, rubs it carefully onto his wet face. He rinses his hand off, leans forward to swipe a clear window out of the fog on the mirror in front of him.<br />
<br />
Ansel looks back at Flicker in the newly cleared mirror. His arms folded across his chest, he leans up against a partition of the shower stall Flicker has recently vacated. His eyes just lock on the other man, steady there for a long hard moment.<br />
<br />
Flicker has been reaching for his razor, but his hand freezes partway there. His eyes lift to the mirror and freeze, too. When he lowers his gaze he doesn't pick up the razor. He just rinses his face off hastily, swipes his shirt from the sink counter and hastens out of the room.<br />
<br />
''25 july. flicker and jamie's cell.''<br />
<br />
Flicker has been alone in the cell for a good portion of the afternoon. With as long as it's been since he last moved, he could almost be sleeping -- though closer inspection would show that he's been staring at one spot on the wall for a good while. The thin blankets pulled over him aren't doing much to combat the goosebumps that prickle his skin.<br />
<br />
The CHUNK of the lock on the door is heavy. When it opens, it spills brash laughter from two passing guards into the cell. Ansel isn't one of the laughing ones; he just holds the door open against his boot. "You know this isn't going to last, right? Maybe your criminal friends will come and maybe they won't. But you? Everyone here knows. They're just waiting for the word to off you."<br />
<br />
Flicker continues staring at the wall as the door opens. His jaw works slowly while Ansel speaks, and gradually he sits up, pulling the blankets around himself. "Will that make you feel better? Once they do? Will it make your job here easier?"<br />
<br />
Ansel takes a half-step forward, his hand dropping to the baton at his hip. He doesn't move any closer, though, still keeping the door propped against his back foot. "Yeah, actually. Maybe it will. Maybe you don't know shit about what this job is like. Or how much harder you all make it for us."<br />
<br />
"I'm -- oddly not losing a lot of sleep over that." Flicker tugs the blanket a little bit more snugly around his shoulder. "You could make things really simple for yourself. If you quit working at a torture camp and got any other job than selling out your own people."<br />
<br />
Behind Ansel the lunch call is sounding; other prisoners being wrangled from their cells or the rec room. Ansel just narrows his eyes, and lets the cell door slam heavily shut as he leaves.<br />
<br />
''27 july. showers.''<br />
<br />
It's dinnertime, and with most of the floor off eating it's quiet in here. Just one of the shower stalls occupied, the water turned far hotter than is probably ''necessary''. On the bench, Flicker's clothes and towel are folded neatly. Inside, he's kind of slow -- as he often is, working his way through the clumsy process of shampoo and conditioner and soap.<br />
<br />
The curtain rings scrape as they're pushed aside -- once again by the end of a baton. Standing just shy of the splash radius, Ansel taps the faucet far more heavily toward the hot side. "You think maybe they've forgotten you in here?" A sliver of his teeth show through in a thin smile.<br />
<br />
Flicker has tensed the moment there is motion outside the curtain. The crack of the baton presses him back into the corner, a sharp hiss pulled in through his teeth as the water grows hotter. He starts to open his mouth -- but then shuts it again tight, lips pressed firmly together and his eyes trained warily on Ansel.<br />
<br />
"I been watching. Notice they haven't even done shit with you in here." Ansel lets the overheated water run while he talks, his thin smile unchanged. "Practically just a free vacation ''you're'' getting. But you want to run your mouth about ''torture camps'' --" He only shuts the water off now, as he steps in closer to Flicker, "I'll show you torture."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Leeroy_Jenkins&diff=20796Logs:Leeroy Jenkins2019-07-20T14:43:35Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[NPC-Jamie|Number One]]<br />
| summary = "Subject number one, emergency lockdown protocol." (Part of [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus TP]].)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-07-10<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = (CN: mind control, violence.)<br />
| location = Lassiter Research Facility - Midland, Ohio<br />
| categories = Mutants, Prometheus, NPC-Jamie, Flicker<br />
| log =<br />
Jamie Kelvin sits on the edge of his cot, unmoving as he has been for the last 20 or so minutes, dressed in the buff colored scrubs issued to all research subjects at the facility. He's in his mid- or late-20s, not very tall nor very muscular, his black hair buzzed short, his tan face cleanly shaven, his deep brown eyes fixed blankly on the cinder block wall in front of him. His attention is elsewhere, his power straining to the utmost extent of its range, feeling for a particular pattern he /somehow/ knew would be coming. There! He latches onto the process that blinks rapidly in and out of existence just a short distance away. He doesn't dare seize hold of it, a power too unfamiliar to him and too dangerous if he should end up a hinder rather than a help. Neither does he dare reach out through the psionic network he assumes still binds them together, lest he wake its true master. A distraction right now might prove lethal, he was sure of it. His hands clench into fists around the sheets, mussing the neat, tight surface. He dares, at least, to think /loudly,/ << Flicker. >> There's a desperate quaver even in his mental voice, a horror he keeps trying to press down. << /Why/ did you come here? >><br />
<br />
Flicker's mind touches back to Jamie's in a quiet acknowledgment, but no answer immediately comes. Just the erratic rapid blinking, tracing a very jittery path that weaves jerkily closer -- and closer. The tension in his mind is clear, coiled taught and alert. There's fear, too, but it's held mostly at bay -- not a panic so much as just a vague background dread that simmers quietly, buried deep beneath his current hypervigilance.<br />
<br />
"-- For you." When he does answer, it's hushed -- but aloud. Appearing quick and silent to trace the short path from Jamie's door to his cot, he crouches by it. A little pale, a little wide-eyed, but altogether more composed and far less full of holes than he was the day of the raid, in dark grey tactical pants, boots, a plain grey sweatshirt (somewhat bulky over what might presumably be body armor underneath.) His matte black claw rests on the edge of the cot, his other reaching -- tentatively -- towards one of Jamie's fisted hands, but just as tentatively dropping to his knee instead. << This place is no good for you. It's no good for anyone, but -- you've been here so long. >><br />
<br />
Jamie's eyes turn to Flicker before he even speaks -- before he had fully /materialized/ in the room -- and looks him up and down. "I'm not worth it," he whispers. "They'll never let me go, and they'll /kill/ you!" His fear gives way briefly to amazement, then joy, then guilt, then fear all over again. He pries one of his hands from the blanket and clasps Flicker's, his fingers cold, his skin soft, his grip hard enough to hurt. An electric thrill runs through him, and a sliver of genuine surprise. << You're really here! No! You can't be here. If you go now -- maybe they don't know yet, maybe you'll be alright. >> His eyes flick to the camera nested in the corner of his ceiling. "No no no no no..." His panic rises, swift and towering, his eyes casting about wildly. "/Not/ a good time for this."<br />
<br />
Flicker's hand curls back around Jamie's. His jaw tightens at the hard grip, but he squeezes back, his breath momentarily catching. The flutter of relief, of warmth, that stirs in him, briefly pushes down the fear. "You're worth it." His head bows -- he very deliberately does ''not'' look at the camera, very deliberately pushing down the swell of panic that wants to rise in him. Is ''not'' rising in him. His forehead tips down, rests against Jamie's knuckles as he pulls in a slow breath, pushes it back out. << Just breathe with me, okay? I'm really here, and you can come with me. But we have to go. Please. >><br />
<br />
Jamie slides off of the cot to kneel on the floor across from Flicker. His grip has not loosened; it feels as though he is hanging on for his life. He nods, jerkily and far too many times, breathing with Flicker. His panic has just begun to subside when the PA clicks on.<br />
<br />
Jamie only manages to rasp the words "Get out!" just as a high, clear voice over the PA says, calmly and reasonably, "Subject number one, emergency lockdown protocol."<br />
<br />
Flicker straightens slowly as Jamie calms. His own panic has eased under a steady resolve. << Okay. That's good. Are you -- >> This cuts off with the first soft static crackle of the PA, pinging something sharp and wary in his mind even before he's consciously registered what it ''is''. He tightens his fingers through Jamie's, his awareness spreading out. Through the web of minds that he's snared within the facility -- registering ''new'' minds that approach with an oddly calm detachment. Even in the moment before Jamie actually gives his warning, he's flashing the both of them into action. A dizzying whirl of rapid jerky stop-motion that carries them out of the cage and into the cellblock hallway. Skimming rapid along the ceiling as Flicker retraces the path that brought him here.<br />
<br />
Jamie has a fractional instant of horror -- dragged out into stutter-stop motion by Flicker's teleportation -- at the words from the PA before his conscious volition drops out from beneath him. The flare of his power unfurls, invisible and intangible but instantaneously dampening all other powers in the area: those of the subjects in adjacent cells, of the dozen guards in the hallway beneath him, of Flicker beside him.<br />
<br />
<< -- no, please -- >> Flicker doesn't get far before that fractional moment of horror is reflected -- magnified -- in his mind. The sinking feeling isn't only a metaphorical one; an instant letter they're dropping towards the hallway and the guards, thudding heavily to the floor below. There's a clear spike of pain that lances through his mind, but outwardly he only squeezes Jamie's hand harder. His mind struggles against the other man's for a moment, fumbling now not just for connection but ''control'' -- here, though, he is clumsy, less adroit than at finessing his way through the interweaved net of their mind in general.<br />
<br />
Even here there's not exactly ''panic''. A dim recognition, somewhere, that this is exactly the time he should be panicking. Instead he fights past an exhausted sense of resignation -- of relief. To instead channel his current awareness in an desperate outward ''push''. Keen and clear in a mental cry: << /Hive/. >><br />
<br />
Jamie's mind does not register Flicker's plea, their (fortunately brief) freefall, or the pain of slamming into the linoleum floor. Blood trickles from his lip as he stares directly forward into and through Flicker, but his hand in the other man's never went slack, still holds on tightly. His mind offers no resistance to even such an inexpert attempt at control, but the landscape of his consciousness is entirely changed -- barren, stripped down to reflexes and powers. The guards have descend on them, three pinning Flicker down while a forth uncaps a syringe of ketamine solution to jab into the muscle at the base of his neck. As the drug does its work, Flicker's fading consciousness can just sense the edge of Jamie's returning, his hand squeezing back, finally, before the darkness falls.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:He_rode_on_a_cherub,_and_flew;_he_came_swiftly_upon_the_wings_of_the_wind.&diff=20791Logs:He rode on a cherub, and flew; he came swiftly upon the wings of the wind.2019-07-19T15:31:35Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Leo]], [[Polaris]], [[Wendy]]<br />
| summary = "/The/ Flicker?" (In the Blackburn [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus]] lab.)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-07-18<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Blackburn Research Facility - Cafeteria<br />
| categories = Flicker, Leo, Polaris, Wendy, Mutants, Prometheus, Blackburn<br />
| log = <br />
The sign by the door says "Refectory", though the "R" has at some point in the past been re-written with a permanent marker to a "D", and then been subject to a half-hearted attempt at cleaning. It's one of the larger rooms on this level, tiled with the same variegated pea-green linoleum throughout, its walls clean but bare of any decoration or relief for the eyes. The floor space is mostly taken up with long, rectangular tables with attached bench seating, a stainless steel counter at one end serving up bland, often overcooked, but reasonably nutritious food day in and day out. The acoustics are awful in here, rendering mealtimes loud and the occasional fights that break out here even louder.<br />
<br />
The cafeteria is loud. It's always loud around mealtimes; even when its /occupants/ are fairly subdued it has a way of amplifying the smallest noises. A clatter of tray against table, a shuffle of feet on floors. Today there's actually a decent amount of conversation, clustered in little knots around the long tables. Not so much conversation where Leo is sitting, by himself in his plain tan scrubs, cross-legged on the end of a bench with a wide empty berth of space around him. He's picking his way slowly through an uninspiring plate of boiled potatoes, chicken, mixed veggies. Something goopy on the side that might be intended to resemble a peach crumble? It does not look promising.<br />
<br />
Flicker has just gotten his tray, held carefully against his stomach with an attempt not to spill any onto his own pale green scrubs. He's eying the room with a bit of a wide-eyed first-day-of-school uncertainty. His gaze skips from one bundle of conversation to the next, deciding against attempting to insert himself into any of them. Eventually he spies Leo alone -- relaxes slightly -- makes his way towards the emptier table. "Hey." His voice is quiet, his smile small. "Do you mind if I sit?"<br />
<br />
Leo looks up with a tilt of his head, a small widening of his eyes. There's a moment where he just stares at Flicker. Looks around the room -- then back at Flicker. "Oh," he replies, quiet as well, "right, yes. Of course." He nods to the empty space opposite him. His eyes fix on Flicker's empty sleeve for a bit, then return to the other man's scarred face. "Where did they transfer you from?" He pushes some carrots and peas around on his plate. Slowly takes a mouthful.<br />
<br />
"Nowhere. I mean, I don't know. I was in Ohio, but only for like -- a day." Flicker takes the seat gratefully, giving Leo a relieved smile. "Thanks. Sometimes I swear this is like --" He shakes his head, biting down on his lip and looking down at the tray. His eye closes, head bowing over it and his mouth moving silently, briefly, before he opens his eyes again. "Have you been here -- um. Long?"<br />
<br />
Leo watches Flicker's head bow with a small hitch of eyebrows. A small pursed 'o' of lips. "You still pray." The surprise in his voice is mild -- and a little bit wistful. "You're /new/-new." He takes a breath, digs into his chicken finally. He only pulls a /small/ face at the first unseasoned bite. "No. Just a couple years. Not long." He dabs gently at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "I'm Leo. By the way. How'd they get you?"<br />
<br />
"Isn't it more important to in here than ever?" There's a quiet earnestness in Flicker's voice, as he looks back up. His eyes go a little wider -- his face a little paler. "A couple years -- isn't long?" His teeth dig just a little harder at his cheek. His eyes drop back to his plate, his head shaking. "Right. No. I'm Flicker."<br />
<br />
Leo's fork clatters down against his plastic plate. He sits up straighter, his hand pressing down to the tabletop and his voice abruptly louder. He stares at Flicker's scarring with a renewed incredulousness, a sudden urgency in his tone. "/You're/ Flicker?!"<br />
<br />
Flicker leans /just/ slightly back at this reaction. The pink in his cheek darkens to a deeper red, his eyes wider. "I -- yes?" He sounds suddenly a little unsure! Maybe slightly apologetic. His brows pull inward. "I didn't. Mean to -- um. Be." His eyes skip briefly around the cafeteria and then back to Leo. He shifts in his seat, smoothes his hand down the front of his scrubs. Presses, dissatisfied, at a wrinkle.<br />
<br />
A tall, pale-skinned young woman with deep shadows under her hazel eyes and an unruly mop of green hair was drifting by with her own tray and freezes in her tracks at Leo's words. "Whoa /what/ now?" She veers toward where Flicker and Leo sit, settling her tray down and leaning forward slightly. "Flicker of The Raiders? Flicker the Swift? Flicker the /One-Man motherfucking Cavalry/?" Her eyes have gone huge and hardly blink at all, though they skip aside to the other man at the table briefly. "'Sup, Leo." Then back to Flicker again, their intensity unabated by the interruption. "/The/ Flicker?"<br />
<br />
A shorter woman with a tray of her own has been trailing along a bit behind, staring intently at Flicker as they approach. She circles in one direction, then the other, eventually setting the tray down on Flicker's other side and stepping lightly up onto the bench to perch herself on the table beside his own food. Her brows are scrunched deeply as she examines him. Then looks over at Polaris. "I thought he'd be bigger."<br />
<br />
Leo is still wide-eyed. His fingers press harder against the table as the women approach, his breathing speeding up just a little bit. "/The/ Flicker," he echoes, a little bit breathlessly. "How did you -- how did they --" His eyes dart rapidly aside to the corners of the room -- the cameras up along the ceiling, the guards looking bored near the doorways. He leans in, whispering low. "How did they get /you/? Did you bring your sword? Are you here to get us out?"<br />
<br />
Flicker's mouth opens. His head bows, face still flushed a deep crimson. '... sword...' is kind of mouthed, silent, to himself. He does pick up his fork before he looks up again, fingers curling hard around it. His lips press together, breaths forced hard through a small pursed o as he looks between the others. "I -- don't know about all of /that/," he answers slowly, "but I guess -- I am -- from that team. Or I -- was?" He bites at the inside of his cheek. Squeezes harder at the fork. "I'm really sorry. I got caught, that's all. I'm not here with -- not here to -- I was trying to get someone out and I just. Got caught."<br />
<br />
Polaris doesn't seem to have any interest in sitting, or in her food, now. It looks as though she has to hold onto the edge of the table just to stop herself pacing. "Fuckers," she growls, looking from Flicker's empty sleeve to his scarred face. "There's some real pieces of work here. But if it's just /you/..." She frowns and, taking Leo's cue, drops her voice low and soft. "...the rest of your team can't be far behind, right?"<br />
<br />
Wendy's lips compress. She folds her hands against her thighs, her eyes dropping to regard her interlaced fingers. "But you've gotten out of dozens of labs." She sounds very matter of fact about all this, as she does about: "Polaris, you should eat." She's sliding down from the table to sit on the bench, herself, picking up her spoon and fork to start in on her food. Steadily, but unenthusiastically. "We can tell you about this one."<br />
<br />
Leo's shoulders droop, but only for a moment. He perks back up again at the comments from the others. "They'll come, won't they?" He's tucking back into his food with a hungry will that suggests he's forgotten entirely about its complete lack of flavor. He unfolds one of his legs, resting it back on the floor. "In the stories," he says this a little bit uncertainly, looking at Flicker's hand where it clenches around the fork, "your arm could shoot lasers."<br />
<br />
This actually startles a laugh out of Flicker. He bows his head, rubbing his knuckles against his eye. "My arm can shoot lasers," he admits with a fleeting lopsided smile, the redness in his cheeks not fading. "But they took it when I came in." He bites harder at his lip, looks up from Leo -- to Polaris -- to Wendy. Back down at his food. "If they knew where I was, I'm sure they'd come, but -- I don't think --" He breathes deep. Takes a very small bite of his vegetables. "Why don't you tell me about this one?"<br />
<br />
Polaris still does not sit, but neither does she argue with Wendy. She just picks up her plate and starts aggressively shoveling food into her mouth, heedless of its taste or texture, watching the others intently as they speak. She has barely choked down her last bite when she emits a muffled cry of amazement, setting the remainder of her food down hastily. "Wait seriously, of all the wild shit we've been hearing, /that's/ true? I definitely thought the sword was more likely." She winces and tosses back a huge gulp of water to flush down inadequately chewed food. "/This/ is where they send all the reject scientists. The incompetent ones, the obnoxious ones, the the ones so fucking sadistic they make the /other/ sadistic fucks uncomfortable?" She stretches her arms wide, indicating--the whole vaguely depressing cafeteria. "Blackburn's got it all."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Stockholm&diff=20728Logs:Stockholm2019-07-16T00:33:41Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Number One | summary = "/She/ did this to me." (Set within Prometheus custody.) | gamedate = 2019-07-15 | gamedat..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[NPC-Jamie|Number One]]<br />
| summary = "/She/ did this to me." (Set within [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus]] custody.)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-07-15<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Blackburn Research Facility - Maine <br />
| categories = Prometheus, Mutants, NPC-Jamie, Flicker<br />
| log =<br />
It's quiet in here, too. The cell is small and sparse, not enough blankets in it for proper comfort. With no windows and only a sickly ceiling light for illumination, it's hard to tell much about the time, right now. Flicker has been pacing, restless and a little clumsy in his erratically weaving loop. The sea green scrubs he's in and the wan lighting don't really help his current pallor. At intervals he stops -- listens intently to the sounds of footsteps or voices in the hall outside -- starts again when they've faded away.(edited)<br />
<br />
Jamie has been curled up on a cot beneath a heap of blankets, but at length he stirs and wakes, eyes bleary but wide, breathing fast. He swallows, pulling the blanket around his skinny shoulders, and tries to track Flicker, though his gaze is sluggish still. "Sorry, I shouldn't have...did I sleep for very long?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know." Flicker hesitates, his fingers tracing against the wall. He pulls the blanket off of his bed, circles back around to Jamie's cot, perching on the edge of the mattress. Leaning over to drape his blanket around Jamie's shoulders. "I don't know how long I've been awake. It's colder than the last place."<br />
<br />
Jamie tugs the extra blanket tighter around himself. "Thank you. I don't know why they always turn the AC up so high..." He frowns, looking at the door. "Has anyone -- been /by/?" He's clearly struggling to contain the fear in his voice. "I thought she would have come to see me by now." His breathing grows quicker. "Maybe they took us from her?"<br />
<br />
"No. It's just been us." Flicker starts to get up, but checks himself partway and just settles back again. His knee curls to his chest, his arm folding around it. "I don't know where they took us." His fingers pick at a stray thread in the seam of the scrub pants. "She's not your friend, you know."<br />
<br />
"I know. None of them are, but..." Jamie looks down, biting his lower lip. "She didn't allow punishment for noncompliance at her lab, you know? She listened to complaints about abusive guards or researchers and got rid of them most of the time. I know that's a real low bar, and clearing it doesn't make what she does /right/, but -- she took care of us. And I --" He shakes his head. "-- she was interested in me when no one else was." He turns and studies Flicker. "I guess this is...what do you call it. Stockholm Syndrome, right?"<br />
<br />
"Being locked in a cage seems kind of like a punishment to me. I don't think you get a /lot/ of points for not letting anyone rape your slaves." Flicker's eyes have trained on the very solid door of their cell, his shoulders tight and curled inward. "Yeah. I'd guess it is. You're going to have to forgive me if I don't share your view of a woman who's keeping us locked up." He's shivering if only faintly, as he scoots back on the mattress to prop himself against the wall. He glances sideways to Jamie. "Besides," he says, softer, "being interested in /you/ and in what you can /do/ for her are different. Things."<br />
<br />
Jamie frowns and pulls his knees up his chest. "You know, it's like I never really thought of it as /her/ keeping me locked up, which...maybe I should have. At some point." He shifts uncomfortably. "It's just really hard for me to think anything /bad/ about her, even when I /know/ she's interested in me for my powers." He scoots back, too, and unwinds half the double blankets from over his shoulder tentatively, offering to share it with Flicker.<br />
<br />
"When I came to get you -- when we were leaving the cell --" Flicker's brows knit deeply. He picks more fiercely at the loose thread, unraveling it a few stitches. It's delayed, slower, but he inches over, tucking himself against Jamie's side underneath the blanket. "Where were you before you got here? I mean -- when you were outside."<br />
<br />
Jamie fusses at the blankets, uncurling their edges to pull around Flicker more snugly. "Was she there, at the time?" His question is hardly more than a murmur. "I don't remember at /all./" He frown again, more deeply now. "That should probably bother me more. It just seems like such a normal part of life, now." He relaxes against Flicker, heaving a contented sigh. "Phoenix. Arizona, mean. My folks...well, I left home, but it wasn't so bad, for a while. Got picked in Sedona, of all places." He's quiet for a moment. "How about you?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know. You wanted to leave with me. The intercom came on. A voice said something about emergency lockdown protocol and you --" Flicker's eyes lock on the opposite wall. "Just. Turned me off. That's -- when they got us." His body is tense beside Jamie's, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "Utah. I miss the desert. Sedona's lovely, too."<br />
<br />
Jamie's eyes go very, very wide and his entire body goes still and tense, too. "Oh God. /I/ did that? I --" His jaw works silently for moment. "They were...controlling me? Like, with telepathy." The lift of his intonation was minute, fatalistic. "I don't know why they'd /bother/, as cooperative as I've been." He hugs his knees harder to his chest. "Was the best season of my life, that time in Sedona. I guess..." His voice drops low, almost a whisper, and his shoulders shake . "I miss it, too."<br />
<br />
"Yeah. You did. But --" Flicker's words are slow, and a little doubtful. "I don't know. I don't know a lot of telepaths who need to call you on a loudspeaker. Wouldn't a telepath just have -- /done/ it? No warning?" The faint tremor within him hasn't subsided, but his tension does ease slightly when Jamie starts to shake. He stops plucking at the thread in his scrubs. Lifts his arm to curl it gently around Jamie's shoulders, instead. "I've only been there once. Long time ago. Can you tell me about it?"<br />
<br />
"There's /some/ telepaths who can do it with their voices, usually not from far away, but--" Jamie stops abruptly and hunches in tighter, trying to curl into a fetal ball. "I think...maybe it's --" His voice is very small and very doubtful, and whatever he was going to say next seems to stick in his throat. He gives a soft, frustrated whimper. "When you brought up us trying to get out. Even though I don't remember, it's like. I was so sure /she/ must have been there. Maybe it was her. On the intercom."<br />
<br />
He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into Flicker's shoulder, his stubble scraping softly against the fabric of the scrubs. "Sedona was so beautiful and so /weird./ I ran with a group of kids there." He shifts, fitting himself more comfortably against the other man's side. "Well, not all /kids/ but -- whatever. We took care of each other. That's where I found out about my powers."<br />
<br />
Flicker squeezes briefly tighter around Jamie's. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. Your whole mind just went -- went blank. Like flipping a switch. Like you'd been --" He hesitates. His fingers knead gently against the other man's shoulder. "I'm sorry. If we get out of here, maybe -- maybe --" This time it's not a hesitation, exactly, just an unsteady crack in his voice. He drops his head, cheek resting against the top of Jamie's head. He swallows, draws a slow breath. "I'm glad you had them, anyway. That kind of family. Good memories to hold on to in here." After a small pause, a little lighter: "Did you learn how to read auras?"<br />
<br />
"Hypnotized? Mind controlled? Programmed?" Jamie suggests, his voice oddly flat. "Probably. Not like they haven't had time to try. Is it fucked up that I'm kind of freaking out she didn't trust me to just...listen to her?" He chokes down a noise of distress and quickly adds, "I /wouldn't/ have, I swear. It's just...stupid. That I care so much what she thinks of me." He swallows, then presses his face harder against Flicker to stifle the abrupt laughter. "I /did/. From a medicine man named Coyote." Flicker can probably hear and feel his smile even if he can't see it, but it fades quickly. "You got family out there? In Utah?"<br />
<br />
At first Flicker freezes, fingers tightening against Jamie's shoulder -- he eases back again when Jamie insists he wouldn't have complied. "I don't know about /stupid/, just. This place messes with you. Being a cage for long messes with you. But I don't -- don't think people who care about you. /Program/ you like an attack dog." The breath he lets out is sharp, a little too ragged to properly work its way up to a laugh. "What does mine say?" A small shiver passes through him, and though he shakes his head it's slow, uncertain. "I -- have family in New York."<br />
<br />
"Sorry," Jamie whispers. "I think...I would have, if you'd shown up that first night, instead of just talking to me. Might have stopped you even /without/ her telling me to. But. You knew that, didn't you?" His shoulders tighten under Flicker's arm, his breath quickening, though he's obviously fighting to keep it under control. "You -- I can't. Feel you. Right now. But when I /could/ you felt..." He seems to calm, just a little, as he concentrates on verbalizing this, "...steady, determined, bright. Like a beacon in a storm." He pulls back just far enough to look up at Flicker. "Hive. And your...team? They'll come for you, right?" He sounds equal parts hopeful and fearful.<br />
<br />
"I knew you were hurting." Flicker's hand shifts to rub steadily at Jamie's back. "And that this was all you'd known for a while. I didn't -- /know/ what you'd do if I showed up but. I could guess it might not be a good idea." He shivers when Jamie pulls back; there's a noticeable brightness in his eyes, though his voice stays steady this time. "Hive," he agrees, his voice dropping to a bare whisper. "And my team. They'll --" He blinks, hard. "I'm sure they'll want to. I'm sure I've got them so -- worried."<br />
<br />
Jamie shakes his head. "I would have helped them hurt you. I /did/ help them hurt you, during the raid, and I might have done again even after after talking to you for weeks." His breath comes in great heaves, now. "Your team -- they were right to leave me. I can't even trust my own mind." His eyes lock onto Flicker's, wild and panicked. One of his hands closes around a fistful of the other man's shirt. "/She/ did this to me," he hisses, "and to you."<br />
<br />
Flicker's eyes open wider, a sudden tension in him as Jamie grabs at his shirt. His hand drops, resting fingertips lightly against the back of Jamie's hand. "Hey -- hey, no, they -- they made a difficult call and it wasn't the right one." His jaw clenches; he presses slightly back against the wall. "I'm sorry she did this to you. I wish I'd taken you with me the first time. Had a chance to talk about this somewhere -- far away from -- all of this."<br />
<br />
Jamie blinks, looks down at his hand, at Flicker's, and very slowly lets go of the shirt. "Sorry," he murmurs, still breathing fast, though whatever just passed seemed to have drained him and he just curls up into himself. "I should have gone with you. You /tried/ to take me. And I stopped you. And got you /shot./" Quiet sobs rack his body. "She did this to me," his voice is muffled, "but still I love her."<br />
<br />
Flicker just curls his arm around Jamie again. Rubs slowly at the other man's back. Leans down to press a small kiss to the top of his head. And says nothing.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Leeroy_Jenkins&diff=20684Logs:Leeroy Jenkins2019-07-11T11:42:12Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Number One | summary = "Subject number one, emergency lockdown protocol." (Part of Prometheus TP.) | gamedate = 2..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[NPC-Jamie|Number One]]<br />
| summary = "Subject number one, emergency lockdown protocol." (Part of [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus TP]].)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-07-10<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Lassiter Research Facility - Midland, Ohio<br />
| categories = Mutants, Prometheus, NPC-Jamie, Flicker<br />
| log =<br />
Jamie Kelvin sits on the edge of his cot, unmoving as he has been for the last 20 or so minutes, dressed in the buff colored scrubs issued to all research subjects at the facility. He's in his mid- or late-20s, not very tall nor very muscular, his black hair buzzed short, his tan face cleanly shaven, his deep brown eyes fixed blankly on the cinder block wall in front of him. His attention is elsewhere, his power straining to the utmost extent of its range, feeling for a particular pattern he /somehow/ knew would be coming. There! He latches onto the process that blinks rapidly in and out of existence just a short distance away. He doesn't dare seize hold of it, a power too unfamiliar to him and too dangerous if he should end up a hinder rather than a help. Neither does he dare reach out through the psionic network he assumes still binds them together, lest he wake its true master. A distraction right now might prove lethal, he was sure of it. His hands clench into fists around the sheets, mussing the neat, tight surface. He dares, at least, to think /loudly,/ << Flicker. >> There's a desperate quaver even in his mental voice, a horror he keeps trying to press down. << /Why/ did you come here? >><br />
<br />
Flicker's mind touches back to Jamie's in a quiet acknowledgment, but no answer immediately comes. Just the erratic rapid blinking, tracing a very jittery path that weaves jerkily closer -- and closer. The tension in his mind is clear, coiled taught and alert. There's fear, too, but it's held mostly at bay -- not a panic so much as just a vague background dread that simmers quietly, buried deep beneath his current hypervigilance.<br />
<br />
"-- For you." When he does answer, it's hushed -- but aloud. Appearing quick and silent to trace the short path from Jamie's door to his cot, he crouches by it. A little pale, a little wide-eyed, but altogether more composed and far less full of holes than he was the day of the raid, in dark grey tactical pants, boots, a plain grey sweatshirt (somewhat bulky over what might presumably be body armor underneath.) His matte black hand rests on the edge of the cot, his other reaching -- tentatively -- towards one of Jamie's fisted hands, but just as tentatively dropping to his knee instead. << This place is no good for you. It's no good for anyone, but -- you've been here so long. >><br />
<br />
Jamie's eyes turn to Flicker before he even speaks -- before he had fully /materialized/ in the room -- and looks him up and down. "I'm not worth it," he whispers. "They'll never let me go, and they'll /kill/ you!" His fear gives way briefly to amazement, then joy, then guilt, then fear all over again. He pries one of his hands from the blanket and clasps Flicker's, his fingers cold, his skin soft, his grip hard enough to hurt. An electric thrill runs through him, and a sliver of genuine surprise. << You're really here! No! You can't be here. If you go now -- maybe they don't know yet, maybe you'll be alright. >> His eyes flick to the camera nested in the corner of his ceiling. "No no no no no..." His panic rises, swift and towering, his eyes casting about wildly. "/Not/ a good time for this."<br />
<br />
Flicker's hand curls back around Jamie's. His jaw tightens at the hard grip, but he squeezes back, his breath momentarily catching. The flutter of relief, of warmth, that stirs in him, briefly pushes down the fear. "You're worth it." His head bows -- he very deliberately does ''not'' look at the camera, very deliberately pushing down the swell of panic that wants to rise in him. Is ''not'' rising in him. His forehead tips down, rests against Jamie's knuckles as he pulls in a slow breath, pushes it back out. << Just breathe with me, okay? I'm really here, and you can come with me. But we have to go. Please. >><br />
<br />
Jamie slides off of the cot to kneel on the floor across from Flicker. His grip has not loosened; it feels as though he is hanging on for his life. He nods, jerkily and far too many times, breathing with Flicker. His panic has just begun to subside when the PA clicks on.<br />
<br />
Jamie only manages to rasp out the word, "Get out!" just as a high, clear voice over the PA says, calmly and reasonably, "Subject number one, emergency lockdown protocol."<br />
<br />
Flicker straightens slowly as Jamie calms. His own panic has eased under a steady resolve. << Okay. That's good. Are you -- >> This cuts off with the first soft static crackle of the PA, pinging something sharp and wary in his mind even before he's consciously registered what it ''is''. He tightens his fingers through Jamie's, his awareness spreading out. Through the web of minds that he's snared within the facility -- registering ''new'' minds that approach with an oddly calm detachment. Even in the moment before Jamie actually gives his warning, he's flashing the both of them into action. A dizzying whirl of rapid jerky stop-motion that carries them out of the cage and into the cellblock hallway. Skimming rapid along the ceiling as Flicker retraces the path that brought him here.<br />
<br />
Jamie has a fractional instant of horror -- dragged out into stutter-stop motion by Flicker's teleportation -- at the words from the PA before his conscious volition drops out from beneath him. The flare of his power unfurls, invisible and intangible but instantaneously dampening all other powers in the area: those of the subjects in adjacent cells, of the dozen guards in the hallway beneath him, of Flicker beside him.<br />
<br />
<< -- no, please -- >> Flicker doesn't get far before that fractional moment of horror is reflected -- magnified -- in his mind. The sinking feeling isn't only a metaphorical one; an instant letter they're dropping towards the hallway and the guards, thudding heavily to the floor below. There's a clear spike of pain that lances through his mind, but outwardly he only squeezes Jamie's hand harder. His mind struggles against the other man's for a moment, fumbling now not just for connection but ''control'' -- here, though, he is clumsy, less adroit than at finessing his way through the interweaved net of their mind in general.<br />
<br />
Even here there's not exactly ''panic''. A dim recognition, somewhere, that this is exactly the time he should be panicking. Instead he fights past an exhausted sense of resignation -- of relief. To instead channel his current awareness in an desperate outward ''push''. Keen and clear in a mental cry: << /Hive/. >><br />
<br />
Jamie's mind does not register Flicker's plea, their (fortunately brief) freefall, or the pain of slamming into the linoleum floor. Blood trickles from his lip as he stares directly forward into and through Flicker, but his hand in the other man's never went slack, still holds on tightly. His mind offers no resistance to even such an inexpert attempt at control, but the landscape of his consciousness is entirely changed -- barren, stripped down to reflexes and powers. The guards have descend on them, three pinning Flicker down while a forth uncaps a syringe of ketamine solution to jab into the muscle at the base of his neck. As the drug does its work, Flicker's fading consciousness can just sense the edge of Jamie's returning, his hand squeezing back, finally, before the darkness falls.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Contact&diff=20679Logs:Contact2019-07-10T19:41:43Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Number One, Hive | summary = << Why are you doing this? >> (Continued conversations with Jamie.) | gamedate = 2019-07-..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], Number One, [[Hive]]<br />
| summary = << Why are you doing this? >> (Continued [[Logs:Taken as Read|conversations with Jamie]].)<br />
| gamedate = 2019-07-07<br />
| gamedatename = 28 june - 7 july<br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Hive<br />
| categories = Mutants, Prometheus, NPC-Jamie, Flicker, Hive, Telecommunications<br />
| log = (28 june. ~midnight.)<br />
<br />
It's late, again. Once again, the Clinic is quiet. Flicker is having a harder time concentrating, tonight, a throb of headache and persistent scratchiness at his eyes a constant reminder of his sleep deprivation. He's just downed some painkillers with a large gulp of water from the bottle sitting on the guard station desk. Taking his seat again, he swivels his chair back and forth. Back and forth. Pulling a trade paperback of ''Serenity: Those Left Behind'' into his lap as his mind stretches outward.<br />
<br />
Jamie is sitting up in his cot this time, the pillow propped against the wall meager padding for his back. A tattered copy of James Patterson's ''When the Wind Blows'' is open in his lap, the little reading light clipped to the bedframe with its long neck curving around to illuminate the page. At the brush of Flicker's mind he comes alert, not ''exactly'' surprised, though there's something kind of like amazement mingling with his relief.<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
(30 june. 11:05pm)<br />
<br />
Though it's early yet, Jamie is already alert for his visitor, paying little mind to the book in his hands (Tom Clancy's ''Without Remorse''). He's restless and still dressed in the buff-colored scrubs issued to the subjects at that facility. He's gotten better at sensing the weight of Flicker's attention, and shifts his own clumsily to meet it. << Why are you doing this? >> There's a profound disquiet threading through this thought, but not directed ''at'' Flicker, exactly. << I don't just mean reading...to me? ''For'' me? I mean, maintaining contact at all. >><br />
<br />
Flicker isn't in his work uniform tonight; in a soft white undershirt and khakis, his arm already removed for the night, he sits out on a fire escape in the cooling nighttime air. There's music not too distant, thumping and vibrant; its beat thrums through the railing where he rests his head. His eyes have just been fixed down on the comic book in his lap, but pull upwards at the question. His gaze fixes on the wall, watching the play of lights reflecting off of the apartment windows. << Getting out was complicated for us. Most of our lab wanted to leave my friend behind. Prometheus was awful, but things get pretty awful out here, too. I used to spend a lot of time wondering if we made the right choices. >> His fingers flick restlessly at the hard side of his phone case. << I thought if you were wondering too you -- might not have a lot of people in there. Who'd get it. >><br />
<br />
Jamie doesn't answer at once. His fingers curl into the loose weave of his blanket, and his eyes drift listlessly down the page, taking nothing in. << Your friend -- the telepath? He's still infamous, you know. >> There's no accusation there, no resentment. << Probably some of the others from my lab would have made some noise if you'd brought me along. Thought I made it simple for you by refusing to go. >> He rolls onto his side, closing the book. << Didn't think there was much for me, out there. >><br />
<br />
<< It's never simple. People who wanted to kill him back then work with us on our team now. Getting out has a way of helping your perspective change. >> Flicker turns his head to the side, looking through the bars of the stair railing towards the park and its crowd. << There might ''not'' have been much for you out here. At first. But you can build something. Can you, in there? >><br />
<br />
<< No. >> Jamie tries and fails to suppress the rest of the thought, << ...But she ''loves'' me. >> It comes with a dull ache, a distant echo of the nameless agonizing ''absence'' that seizes him sometimes. He closes his eyes and focuses on Flicker's senses. << I'm sorry. Can we just read? For a little while? >><br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
(2 july. 12:15pm.)<br />
<br />
It's warm, sunny, enormous hibiscus blossoms and gigantic towering sunflowers overhead, marigolds knocking up against soft fuzzy Queen of the Prairie and stringy purple floss flower. Flicker is perched on a rock, a half-eaten pesto-tomato-mozzarella sandwich held in his matte black hand, watching a bumblebee buzz its way into an oleander. His labcoat is folded up beside him, neatly. << You know, there are people who do research at the Clinic I work at? They study mutation, too. Just... >><br />
<br />
Jamie is sitting by himself in the corner of a cafeteria that would have looked at home on a college campus or in an office building. His food -- eggplant parmesan and linguine with a side of stewed zucchini -- is overcooked and by turns limp and rubbery. << ...without the imprisonment and torture? >> His mind makes an abortive attempt to remember something, but the hitch passes quickly this time and Jamie barely seems to notice. << I'm sure Dr. Messer would prefer that, in a vacuum. But if she left, it'd be one less researcher here who treats us like ''people''. >> He lifts his fork to poke at a slice of eggplant without enthusiasm. << I'd probably be dead if not for her. >><br />
<br />
<< No imprisonment or torture. You volunteer for research, go home when it's done, and they pay you for it. >> Flicker eats slowly, focusing on the fresh herby taste of the pesto. << Maybe you would be. But that wouldn't have been a worry at all if you weren't in a cage to begin with. >> He follows the sandwich with a swallow of lemonade, cold and sweet and basily. << ...I've seen the people we got out, though. I don't know that they ''all'' got treated -- like -- >> He hesitates. << Like you. >><br />
<br />
<< Yeah, I know but -- ''she's'' not like the rest of them. >> Jamie's grip tightens enough to warp the plastic fork's handle, though weirdly there's not much in the way of concrete thoughts or even emotions behind it -- the stress reaction is almost entirely physical. It fades slowly, though, as he leans into Flicker's senses and starts in on his own meal again. << There's something very wrong with me. >> The thought seems calm, matter-of-fact, but there's a swell of dread beneath it.<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
(4 july. 10:57pm)<br />
<br />
It's dark in Jamie's cell tonight, and he is curled on his side in the cot, both blankets wrapped tight around himself against the runaway air conditioning. If there are fireworks anywhere nearby, he can neither see nor hear them. His reaching is surer, this time. << Are you there? >> Quiet, plaintive. << Flicker? >><br />
<br />
There is a different stirring that answers Jamie, first. Slow and immense, more remote and vast than Flicker's quick sharp mental presence. Jamie's reaching doesn't immediately find any one person at the other end, but the ''feeling'' that he awakens is gradually pulling together a thread from here, from there, starting to stitch together a more coherent --<br />
<br />
-- nothing. It unravels in moment, displaced far more clearly and presently by a sudden flutter of anxiety, of queasily twisting guilt. Flicker is shoving those down as best he can, though the anxiety isn't ''helped'' along by the fireworks in the city, constant and window rattling. The spike of panic each sends through him is mostly outwardly kept in check, where he's currently curled up on a couch tucked snug against the side of a bony young man who seems to be entirely ignoring the computer in his lap. <br />
<br />
Flicker is looking very intently at his own computer, pulling his mind away from those unraveling threads or the constant crack of explosions or the tremble of his hand where it rests over Hive's. When he does answer it's just with his usual quiet warmth: << I'm here. >><br />
<br />
Jamie shrinks instinctively from the slow awakening of consciousness that his fumbling had wrought. His relief when he senses Flicker is palpable, immediate. << Sorry, I didn't mean to... >> He curls up tighter into himself, swallowing down a surge of envy for the man beside Flicker, a process assisted now by a much stronger wash of concern. << Are you okay? >><br />
<br />
He doesn't wait for a response, but focuses intently on his own senses: the smell of clean laundry from his bedding and aftershave lingering from an earlier shower, the touch of fabric warm against his skin, the foam mattress yielding and conforming to his weight, the darkness broken only by a thin rectangular frame of light around his door, the faint whoosh of the air through the vent and distant, indistinct speech. "The world is quiet here," he whispers.<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
(7 july. ~3:30am.)<br />
<br />
The Clinic lobby is deserted. Dimly lit, quiet, a few soft lights on to illuminate the Mendel Clinic logo, the guard station welcome desk, the elevator bank, the entryway. They're low, though, everything overall muted. Flicker is far from muted, a frenetic nervous energy to him that is not being ''calmed'' by the cold bottle of Coca-cola he's drinking from. He flits in restless orbit around the lobby, returning at intervals to the desk to work that he hasn't touched in some time. The touch of his mind is choppier than usual, crackling staticky where it's mildly distorted by his jumpy movement. He does, at least, settle long enough to actually ''talk'' in unbroken words: << Sorry -- I know it's late -- I just -- please be up. >><br />
<br />
Jamie sits up from where he has been slumped into a corner on his cot, an extra blanket added to his pile since last time against the chill of the air conditioning. He throws himself into Flicker's presence as best his extremely limited psionic awareness allows. << Are you alright? Where have you been? >> The intensity of his relief is breathtaking and brief, as he takes in Flicker's agitation. << I'm here, >> he tries again, more calmly. << What's going on? >><br />
<br />
Flicker relaxes, initially, leaning back into the psionic contact. Meeting that intensity with a fierce rush of his own strong warm mental presence, far more assured at navigating this shared space when his mind curls back up against Jamie's. << I'm sorry. Hive's been -- more himself, it's been harder to find time when he won't -- >> For a moment he fumbles, fighting back a conflicting surge of relief, thankfulness, mingling with anxiety and guilt. << He still doesn't know you're here, but I think he will, soon, and then we might not be able to -- >> He stops, taking a gulp of soda and perching on the edge of the desk. << I could come get you. You could come with me. Out here. >><br />
<br />
Jamie's mind eases against Flicker's, and his body presses harder into the corner. << I'm kind of surprised you haven't told him. >> There's some intensity behind that, too, but even he can't fully identify it, as it vanishes beneath the crush of abject terror at Flicker's suggestion. His body starts hyperventilating, but his mind is dissociating at the same time and he pays it little attention. His thoughts lose coherence, coming across in short, panicked snatches. << That's impossible -- but I ''want'' -- don't deserve -- what about Dr. Messer -- it's ''suicide'' -- >> That last fragment of a thought makes his mind clench up and cease functioning properly, though it has the unintended benefit this time of interrupting the panic attack in progress. << I want to go with you, >> he manages, at last, fear wrenching his insides, tears streaking his face, << but this place -- it's like a fortress. It's too dangerous. >><br />
<br />
Flicker's answering << (me too) >> doesn't come across entirely as a fully-formed thought so much as a (confused) (guilt-wracked) flash of feeling, entangled with an intense and briefly overwhelming flare of protective love as he thinks of Hive. Tries not to think of Hive. << He has a lot on his plate, and I -- >> He cuts this thought off sharply, fights down the choking feeling that is trying to steal ''his'' breath. Focuses, instead, on actually breathing, slow and steady and deep through Jamie's panic. << Hey. I know it's dangerous. But you know I've done this a dozen -- >> He breaks off, his mind curling tighter, for a moment, around Jamie's, and then tentatively easing. There's a sudden cautious care with which he is disentangling himself, his words already more muted. << Please. You don't need to stay there. >><br />
<br />
The source of this sudden caution is easier to feel, this time. The web of Hive's mind is already surrounding them, but today ''his'' presence is a more coherent thing, a firm and solid undercurrent that bolsters all of the interactions they have. The sudden sting of Flicker's pain pulls him -- not ''together'', he already is that. But -- inching towards wakefulness with a reflexive pang of concern. In this shared space he moves effortlessly, can be felt effortlessly; the blanketing presence around them still hovers somewhere on the brink between sleep and consciousness even as he reaches out, coils soft and gentle around Flicker to fold him back close.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Tangled&diff=20613Logs:Tangled2019-06-25T20:32:39Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Hive | summary = "You're home." | gamedate = 2019-06-24 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <NYC> Apt 403 - Village Lofts - East..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Hive]]<br />
| summary = "You're home."<br />
| gamedate = 2019-06-24<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> Apt 403 - [[Village Lofts]] - East Village<br />
| categories = Flicker, Hive, Mutants, Village Lofts, Private Residence, Prometheus<br />
| log =<br />
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. A widescreen television stands against the wall opposite the couch, shelving beside it holding a host of video games from different consoles. More shelving beside the windows on the far wall carries stacks of board games, as well as sourcebooks from various RPGs.<br />
<br />
The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here and one bathroom situated between them, split between the three people who live here.<br />
<br />
Up on the roof there's a buzz of activity, large communal dinner prepared and ready for those Prometheans (and adjacent community) who are in the mood for company with their dinner. Geekhaus's resident refugees -- tend to keep to themselves, somewhat. Which is maybe why Flicker is heading down with his arms laden, several plates seemingly precariously balanced in his arms as he blinks his way in from the fire escape to the kitchen. He sets the food down, first. His backpack second. Takes a moment to pour out glasses of water. Drink one, himself. Rub, hard, at his eyes.<br />
<br />
Then go to knock on the door to Dusk's repurposed bedroom. He waits a moment, listens, knocks again. When there's no answer, just exhales heavily, and heads to his own room.<br />
<br />
Hive is sitting at the desk. But, judging from the look of things, Hive's been sitting at the desk a long time. The half-filled mug of coffee sitting beside his keyboard has gone long cold. He may have been working at some point, but his computer's screen has gone dark, now. ''He's'' not asleep, really. Upright in his desk chair, his eyes open -- but unfocused, staring glassily ahead at the blank screen.<br />
<br />
Flicker squeezes Hive's shoulder as he passes by. Goes to his bed, drops down onto it heavily to take off his shoes. Each gets lined neatly beside the other under his bed with a small blink of motion. He's slower to unbutton his dress shirt, tugging it off and flicking it into his laundry basket. Flopping back to lie down in khakis and a plain white undershirt, arm draped across his eyes.<br />
<br />
Only for a few long slow breaths, though. Then he gets up. Blinks over to Hive's bed instead. Scoots to the end of it, sitting cross-legged on the foot of the mattress. He reaches for one of Hive's listless hands, takes it into his own in a tight clasp. Eyes closing, his mind reaches out, insofar as he's able. Questing, questioning. What he brings to the forefront of his chaotic-jumble of thoughts is simpler, though. Just a quiet retelling of his day, so far, in snapshot images of a hospital, a droning attending physician, of long lines in the cafe and a skipped lunch, of the bright warm walk back home, of the gathering up on the rooftop above.<br />
<br />
Hive's stirring comes inwardly long before it shows any external sign. His hand doesn't tighten in Flicker's; his vacant gaze does not shift. His mind does, though, slowly rousing itself at the familiar comfort of Flicker's presence beside him. Curling out, settling in against Flicker. The soft push that melds the other man's mind to his comes without any of its usual attending pain; just a dizzying rush of the other minds currently connected to Hive as well, spread out in a tangled messy web of overlapping identities. At the moment, the near-catatonic pair in the adjacent bedroom might be just a little more noticeable than the rest.<br />
<br />
Flicker's head tips forward; he rests it against Hive's temple with a quick quiet pull of breath. His own steady litany of thoughts hitches -- briefly -- but doesn't stop, continuing firm and constant against the incoming tide. He starts to reach for Hive's keyboard, but pulls his hand back. Far more adroitly, now, through the shared mental connection, his mind reaches out again. Quietly tracing the knotted threads of personhood, the messy chaos of feelings and thoughts and experiences.<br />
<br />
It takes him some searching. Longer than it might have taken Hive himself, no doubt. But eventually he finds what he's looking for, among the tangle. One mind, stuck in a small and extremely drab and institutional room, reading a well-worn copy of ''Me Before You''.<br />
<br />
Flicker's thumb traces against Hive's knuckles, his breathing slowing. ''His'' steadily calm mental rendering of his day hitching briefly again. Then continuing. The work of picking back along this one thread is harder, a more precarious balancing act, settling ''just'' far enough into someone else's mind --<br />
<br />
(days of uncertainty) (fear) (a sudden transfer in the wake of the raid -- not that this is the first time, for him) (so much questioning, before that) (who was there what could they do)<br />
<br />
-- when Flicker sits up again his breathing has quickened. It takes him a good long while to calm himself. Breath deep. Pray. Squeeze Hive's hand again.<br />
<br />
''Then'' lean forward, tap at the keyboard, wake the screen back up. The calmer ''deliberate'' layer of his forefront-thoughts shift. Looking over the designs in progress on Hive's screen, starting to mentally think through ''them'' instead, clearer and louder. Here, now. This is what we were doing. This is what we ''are'' doing.<br />
<br />
There's a while before there is any response. The reorganization of the muddle within them comes as a slow shifting, some core facet of Hive's self stirring. Shifting among the rest. After some time, Hive slowly blinks, moves -- reaching for his mouse to pick up where he -- they? -- left off however long ago. This is what they were doing. Right. He gives no acknowledgment to Flicker's presence in the room, just returning to his work and, at length, reaching for the cup of coffee.<br />
<br />
Flicker reaches out the moment just before Hive does. Drags the coffee just out of Hive's reach. "I brought dinner." He smiles. Quick, warm. "How about I refill this, and you make sure our guests actually get the food ''inside'' them? You, too." Once again, his hand claps onto Hive's shoulder in passing. Lingers, this time, squeezing gently before he vanishes back out of the room.<br />
<br />
Hive blinks, only looking up from his screen now when the coffee doesn't make it into his hand. "You're home." His voice is kind of scratchy, rough after too long unused. He tips his head to the side, bonking his cheek lightly against Flicker's hand while it's on his shoulder. His brows furrow, his knuckles rubbing hard at his eyes for a moment before slouching back in his seat to try and pick through the jumble in their mind.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Doing_Quiet&diff=20612Logs:Doing Quiet2019-06-25T20:25:56Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Jake, Max | summary = "I'll be so shhh." | gamedate = 2019-06-21 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <NYC> Kinney Apartment - Williamsburg |..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Jake]], [[Max]]<br />
| summary = "I'll be so shhh."<br />
| gamedate = 2019-06-21<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> Kinney Apartment - Williamsburg<br />
| categories = Jake, Max, Humans, Private Residence <br />
| log = <br />
Jinglejingle. Shunkthunk. Creak, chhhnk. Thump. Shuffle crrrk. Bzzz. The darkened living room is filled with the sounds of someone Trying Very Hard not to make noise, and failing at it spectacularly. Max's steps are a little bit wobblesome as he picks his way into the apartment, fetching up at an unsteady angle against the back of the couch for a moment to get his balance and check a message from his buzzing phone. A wan glow from the screen illuminates him; rumpled plaid shirt but still-neat triple bun on the back of his head. He lifts his hand, pressing his closed fist to his mouth to stifle a snort at whatever he reads on his phone.<br />
<br />
Click. The pale wash of glow also casts a faint light over the silhouette of another man leaned up in the doorway of the adjacent bedroom. Jake has been holding his Glock pointed at the bumbling shadow through the apartment, but lowers it as the phone lights Max up. ''He'' is barely dressed, sleepy-eyed in his boxer shorts. He lifts his hand, pressing the back of it to his mouth to stifle a yawn. And ask, plaintive, "Dude, could you ''be'' any louder?"<br />
<br />
Max looks up, wide-eyed. Scrunches his eyes shut, tips his ''whole'' self over the back of the couch to flop out on it, shoes and all. "'zat a challenge?" He drops the phone onto his chest, and tips his head back over the arm of the sofa, looking upside-down at the other man. One finger goes to his lips. "I'll shhh. I'll be so shhh. Like a fucking mouse, I'll have shhh'd so much you won't even --" Bzzz, says his phone again. He snatches it up quick, snorts at it again. "Shit, bro, you'll never believe what Lennon -- oh." He presses his finger to his lips again. "Oh no we're doing quiet."<br />
<br />
"''You're'' doing quiet," Jake groans. "''I'm'' doing sleep. Or I was." He vanishes into the dark of his bedroom. When he returns it is, at least, gun-free. He shuffles across the room to the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water. "Some of us have work in the morning."<br />
<br />
"''I'' have work in the morning." Max ''huffs'' this. Highly indignant! His lips smack as he settles himself more comfortably on the couch, dragging a pillow beneath his head. "Yo, s'long as you're up. You mind grabbing me another -- uh --" He's streeetching a hand out in the direction of the kitchen, blearily making grabbyhands motions in the air.<br />
<br />
Jake sucks his cheek against his teeth, head shaking, but that doesn't stop him from tugging open the fridge. Getting a can of KCBC ("Superhero Sidekicks", says the beer), cracking it open as he wanders over to set it down on the table by the couch. "I am so serious about the quiet. I'll sic the hellbeast on you if I hear a peep." His hand drops to Max's head, ruffling carelessly at the PERFECTLY coiffed buns on his way back to his bedroom.<br />
<br />
"What a terrible thr-- ''tss''." Max has been reaching for the beer, but the hair rumpling pulls him up short. He sits up ''just'' enough so that he can undo the top of the three buns. Run his fingers through his long hair, carefully tug it back into place and tie it neatly back off. Only then does he settle back down on the couch. ''So quietly''. Maybe slurping a littttle bit loudly at his beer.<br />
<br />
The bedroom door swings open. A huge German Shepherd pads out, snuffling briefly at the door when it closes behind her. When it's clear she isn't going to be let back into the room, she turns her attention to Max instead. Her tail swishes in the air as she pads over to the couch, leaping up onto it to plop herself down right atop Max's chest, heedless of her large bulk. Her tail thumps once, twice, as she settles in comfortably, and drops her head down with a yawn. A choplick. Zzz.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Jake&diff=20597Jake2019-06-19T03:55:03Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''Two types of people laugh at the law: those that break it and those that make it.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Friendly Neighborhood Cop Next Door.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Description<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}5'11" and athletic, Jake doesn't stand out in a crowd. Light skinned, hazel-grey a smattering of freckles, dark brown hair that he keeps cut short, a neatly cropped beard and mustache. A sprinkling of tattoos. <br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Reputation<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Jake is a born New Yorker. He grew up the oldest of three in a comfortable middle-class home, extremely close to his brother and sister, the child of a civil rights lawyer and a university librarian. His early life was comfortable, as these things go. Not luxury, not poor; he did OK in school, did OK in sports, occasionally dabbled in side hobbies here and there that his parents indulged. Attended church and Sunday school with a minimum of complaining. Summers at camp. Ice skating and fencing and tennis lessons that never went anywhere, saxophone and krav maga lessons that did. Graduated solidly around the middle of his class and continued on, as expected, to college. It seemed like he should have been on track to a quiet respectable white-collar job when he finished; it startled everyone in his family when he elected instead to join the NYPD. His liberal parents were flustered and a little bit thrown by the decision (after all, they'd only just put up a Black Lives Matter sign in their front yard!) but, overall, supportive of his decision to Help The Community. Jake has gotten no less determined in the intervening years to help the community -- but a lot of time spent on reddit and eventually falling in with the Purifiers has given him a more ''narrow'' view of who The Community is.<br />
<br />
His parents have, also, traded out their yard sign for a Blue Lives Matter one. It made dinner conversation less stilted.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Very adept with firearms and at close quarters combat. A skilled saxophone player. Great with animals. Knows the city intimately. Licensed motorcycle driver.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
* [[Max]] - Lil bro.<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Random facts you think are worth knowing about your character.<br />
*And more random facts!<br />
*And more.<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:Jake2.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Jake3.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Jake4.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Jake5.jpg|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Jake Finneas Kinney<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Jake.jpg|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 22 April, 1992<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Brooklyn, NY<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Human<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| NYPD<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Thin Blue Line<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Cop<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000" <br />
! style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | RP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Boys in Blue''' - ''Been a cop for many years. May show up if you're on the receiving or perpetrating end of a crime.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Puppy love''' - ''An ardent dog lover, volunteers with local shelters and is frequently found in the company of his own k9 companion.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Smooth Moves''' - ''Loves jazz music and swing dancing and can be found where there is music or social dance nights. Occasionally participating in jamming, himself.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Communion''' - ''Wouldn't call himself devout, but a faithful and very social Catholic who is found weekly at Mass and frequently at community social events.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''St. Michael''' - ''Also there's that small thing where in his spare time he's part of a gang of mutant-killing fascist bikers. Minor detail.''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:Active PCs]][[Category:Humans]][[Category:Purifiers]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Characters&diff=20596Characters2019-06-19T03:54:29Z<p>Blinkdog: /* Unaffiliated */</p>
<hr />
<div>To create a page for your character, simply enter your character's name into the box below and hit submit. This will prefabricate a template for you to fill in or edit as you liked. Then, simply add the link to your character to the list below. Please remember to add your character to the correct faction, organized in alphabetical order by your character's on-grid name.<br />
<br />
{{#tag:inputbox |<br />
type=create<br />
preload=Template:Characters<br />
width=40<br />
placeholder=Your character's name<br />
buttonlabel=Create a character page<br />
align=left<br />
break=no<br />
}}<br />
<br />
===Unaffiliated===<br />
*[[Alice]] Ferguson<br />
*Clarice Ferguson ([[Blink]])<br />
*Robert [[Bruce]] Banner/[[Hulk]]<br />
*[[Charlie]] Ann Wisp<br />
*[[Clint]] Francis Barton<br />
*[[Desi]] Tessier<br />
*[[Heather]] Brown<br />
*[[Iolaus]] Saavedro<br />
*[[Jake]] Finneas Kinney<br />
*[[Max]] Fitzgerald Kinney<br />
*[[Melinda]] Chylds<br />
*[[Rafael]] Tano Ayala<br />
*Montgomery [[Ryan]] Black<br />
*[[Sam]] Thomas Wilson<br />
*Daisy "[[Skye]]" Xinyun Johnson<br />
*[[Samara]] Rhys<br />
*[[Spencer]] Isaac Attali Holland<br />
*[[Steve]] Rogers<br />
*[[Tag]]<br />
*[[Tony]] Stark<br />
*[[Ted]] Altman<br />
<br />
===Brotherhood of Mutants===<br />
<br />
*[[Akihiro]] Victor Howlett <br />
*[[Anette]] Eccleston<br />
*[[Ash]]leigh Ricardo Raj Campbell<br />
*[[B]] Holland<br />
*Ryan Holloway ([[Dusk]])<br />
*[[Eric]] Sutton<br />
*Marion "[[Ion]]" Espino<br />
*[[Isra]] al-Jazari<br />
*[[Natalie]] Anne Farrell<br />
*[[Regan]] Wyngarde<br />
*Nia "[[Scramble]]" Washington<br />
<br />
===Friends of Humanity===<br />
<br />
*[[Chloe]] Raquel Walker<br />
*[[Deanna]] Freeman<br />
*[[Elliott]] May Carruthers<br />
*[[Rasheed]] Toure<br />
<br />
===HFC Inner Circle===<br />
<br />
*[[Emma]] Frost<br />
*[[Hive]]<br />
*Roberto "[[Kyinha]]" da Costa<br />
*[[Lucien]] Tessier<br />
*[[Mirror]]<br />
*[[Zeyta]] Roth-Mirza<br />
<br />
===Morlocks===<br />
<br />
*[[Alex]] Carpenter<br />
*Victor '[[Anole]]' Borkowski<br />
*Alejandro '[[Bug]]' Garcia Flores<br />
*[[Marrow]]<br />
*[[Nessie]] Grace Pelayo<br />
*[[Nick]] Thanh Gleason<br />
*[[Taylor]] Allen<br />
<br />
===Xavier's School===<br />
<br />
*Faculty<br />
**[[Jax]] Holland*<br />
**Roberto "[[Kyinha]]" da Costa*<br />
**[[Matt]] Tessier*<br />
**Hua [[Tian-shin]]*<br />
<br />
*Students<br />
**[[Cassy]] Villeneuve<br />
**[[Gaétan]] Tessier<br />
**[[Harmony]] Sun<br />
**[[K.C.]] Love<br />
**[[Kavalam]] Ramakrishna Neelakantan<br />
**[[Kitty]] Pryde<br />
**[[Lael]] Isaiah Winters<br />
**[[Marcus]] Emmanuel Lavoie<br />
**Taylor [[Marinov]]<br />
**[[Mina]] Naleieha<br />
**[[Nessie]] Grace Pelayo<br />
**[[Rhiannon Grey]]<br />
**[[Ruby]] Whitman Pierce<br />
<br />
*Alums and Associates<br />
**Victor Borkowski ([[Anole]])<br />
**Clarice Ferguson ([[Blink]])*<br />
**Dawson Joel Allred ([[Flicker]])*<br />
**[[Kisha]] Dorogoi<br />
**Olivia "[[Liv]]" Cohen<br />
**[[Lyric]] Sagal Dirie<br />
**[[Nick]] Thanh Gleason<br />
**[[Peter]] Parker<br />
**[[Rasa]] Djalili<br />
**[[Shane]] Holland*<br />
**[[Taylor]] Allen<br />
<br />
(X-Men are denoted with a *.)</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Jake5.jpg&diff=20595File:Jake5.jpg2019-06-19T03:53:37Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Jake&diff=20594Jake2019-06-19T03:53:21Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''Two types of people laugh at the law: those that break it and those that make it.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Friendly Neighborhood Cop Next Door.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Description<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}5'11" and athletic, Jake doesn't stand out in a crowd. Light skinned, hazel-grey a smattering of freckles, dark brown hair that he keeps cut short, a neatly cropped beard and mustache. A sprinkling of tattoos. <br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Reputation<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Jake is a born New Yorker. He grew up the oldest of three in a comfortable middle-class home, extremely close to his brother and sister, the child of a civil rights lawyer and a university librarian. His early life was comfortable, as these things go. Not luxury, not poor; he did OK in school, did OK in sports, occasionally dabbled in side hobbies here and there that his parents indulged. Attended church and Sunday school with a minimum of complaining. Summers at camp. Ice skating and fencing and tennis lessons that never went anywhere, saxophone and krav maga lessons that did. Graduated solidly around the middle of his class and continued on, as expected, to college. It seemed like he should have been on track to a quiet respectable white-collar job when he finished; it startled everyone in his family when he elected instead to join the NYPD. His liberal parents were flustered and a little bit thrown by the decision (after all, they'd only just put up a Black Lives Matter sign in their front yard!) but, overall, supportive of his decision to Help The Community. Jake has gotten no less determined in the intervening years to help the community -- but a lot of time spent on reddit and eventually falling in with the Purifiers has given him a more /narrow/ view of who The Community is.<br />
<br />
His parents have, also, traded out their yard sign for a Blue Lives Matter one. It made dinner conversation less stilted.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Very adept with firearms and at close quarters combat. A skilled saxophone player. Great with animals. Knows the city intimately. Licensed motorcycle driver.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
* [[Max]] - Lil bro.<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Random facts you think are worth knowing about your character.<br />
*And more random facts!<br />
*And more.<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:Jake2.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Jake3.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Jake4.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Jake5.jpg|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Jake Finneas Kinney<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Jake.jpg|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 22 April, 1992<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Brooklyn, NY<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Human<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| NYPD<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Thin Blue Line<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Cop<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000" <br />
! style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | RP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Boys in Blue''' - ''Been a cop for many years. May show up if you're on the receiving or perpetrating end of a crime.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Puppy love''' - ''An ardent dog lover, volunteers with local shelters and is frequently found in the company of his own k9 companion.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Smooth Moves''' - ''Loves jazz music and swing dancing and can be found where there is music or social dance nights. Occasionally participating in jamming, himself.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Communion''' - ''Wouldn't call himself devout, but a faithful and very social Catholic who is found weekly at Mass and frequently at community social events.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''St. Michael''' - ''Also there's that small thing where in his spare time he's part of a gang of mutant-killing fascist bikers. Minor detail.''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:Active PCs]][[Category:Humans]][[Category:Purifiers]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Jake4.jpg&diff=20593File:Jake4.jpg2019-06-19T03:53:07Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Jake3.jpg&diff=20592File:Jake3.jpg2019-06-19T03:52:58Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Jake2.jpg&diff=20591File:Jake2.jpg2019-06-19T03:52:51Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Jake.jpg&diff=20590File:Jake.jpg2019-06-19T03:52:38Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Jake&diff=20589Jake2019-06-19T03:52:29Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{| width="100%" | colspan="2" | <center> {| | style="text-align:center;" | '''''Two types of people laugh at the law: those that break it and those that make it.'''''<br /> |}..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''Two types of people laugh at the law: those that break it and those that make it.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Friendly Neighborhood Cop Next Door.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Description<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}5'11" and athletic, Jake doesn't stand out in a crowd. Light skinned, hazel-grey a smattering of freckles, dark brown hair that he keeps cut short, a neatly cropped beard and mustache. A sprinkling of tattoos. <br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Reputation<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Jake is a born New Yorker. He grew up the oldest of three in a comfortable middle-class home, extremely close to his brother and sister, the child of a civil rights lawyer and a university librarian. His early life was comfortable, as these things go. Not luxury, not poor; he did OK in school, did OK in sports, occasionally dabbled in side hobbies here and there that his parents indulged. Attended church and Sunday school with a minimum of complaining. Summers at camp. Ice skating and fencing and tennis lessons that never went anywhere, saxophone and krav maga lessons that did. Graduated solidly around the middle of his class and continued on, as expected, to college. It seemed like he should have been on track to a quiet respectable white-collar job when he finished; it startled everyone in his family when he elected instead to join the NYPD. His liberal parents were flustered and a little bit thrown by the decision (after all, they'd only just put up a Black Lives Matter sign in their front yard!) but, overall, supportive of his decision to Help The Community. Jake has gotten no less determined in the intervening years to help the community -- but a lot of time spent on reddit and eventually falling in with the Purifiers has given him a more /narrow/ view of who The Community is.<br />
<br />
His parents have, also, traded out their yard sign for a Blue Lives Matter one. It made dinner conversation less stilted.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Very adept with firearms and at close quarters combat. A skilled saxophone player. Great with animals. Knows the city intimately. Licensed motorcycle driver.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
* [[Max]] - Lil bro.<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Random facts you think are worth knowing about your character.<br />
*And more random facts!<br />
*And more.<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:Jake2.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Jake3.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Jake4.jpg|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Jake Finneas Kinney<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Jake.jpg|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 22 April, 1992<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Brooklyn, NY<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Human<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| NYPD<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Thin Blue Line<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Cop<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000" <br />
! style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | RP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Boys in Blue''' - ''Been a cop for many years. May show up if you're on the receiving or perpetrating end of a crime.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Puppy love''' - ''An ardent dog lover, volunteers with local shelters and is frequently found in the company of his own k9 companion.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Smooth Moves''' - ''Loves jazz music and swing dancing and can be found where there is music or social dance nights. Occasionally participating in jamming, himself.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Communion''' - ''Wouldn't call himself devout, but a faithful and very social Catholic who is found weekly at Mass and frequently at community social events.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''St. Michael''' - ''Also there's that small thing where in his spare time he's part of a gang of mutant-killing fascist bikers. Minor detail.''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:Active PCs]][[Category:Humans]][[Category:Purifiers]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs:Like_a_Park&diff=20578ArchivedLogs:Like a Park2019-06-18T21:42:04Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Samara | summary = "I don't know if worms make you sick but I don't like how they feel in my mouth." | gamedate = 2019-06-17 | gamedatename =..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Samara]]<br />
| summary = "I don't know if worms make you sick but I don't like how they feel in my mouth."<br />
| gamedate = 2019-06-17<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> [[Guerrilla Garden]] - Lower East Side<br />
| categories = Guerrilla Garden, Flicker, Samara, Mutants<br />
| log =<br />
Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chainlink fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it less than welcoming -- rusty as well, once reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY, though they've since been graffiti'd over -- a raised fist clutching a carrot painted over one, and PRIVATE X'd out to read COMMON on the other. A slitted gap has been cut out of the fence to allow for entrance.<br />
<br />
Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted.<br />
<br />
Later today, it might rain. The sky is overcast, but kind of benignly so, a muggy haze in the air that may eventually resolve itself into a proper downpour. Maybe. Eventually. Right now it's just humid, warm, grey -- but less grey in here, where snapdragons and nasturtium are blooming in bright range of colors, marigolds shine bold and cheerful alongside fragrant basil, delicate pale eggplant blossoms lush and promising good fruit later in the season. <br />
<br />
Flicker is not nearly as bright as the plant life around him; pale khaki pants, a crisp blue button-down, matte black prosthetic hand. A large trash bag that he's currently dropping crushed cans into; judging by the mess of them around some of the colorful chairs it looks like someone had a good night in here, last night. He moves slowly but methodically, stiffly bending to pick up another beer can. Stiffly crushing it under one black sneaker. Dropping it into his bag, moving on to the next.<br />
<br />
Samara is trudging along the sidewalk, her steps weary and slow. She is wearing a light purple t-shirt with darker purple trim at the collar collar and cuffs, blue jeans, gray canvas sneakers, and a dark green backpack. Her skin glows as if lit from within, which makes the grime on it all the more visible, and her dark brown hair is cropped very messily short. She comes to an abrupt stop when she looks up from the sidewalk, then shuffles over to the fence and gawps at the colorful columns of blooming snapdragons. It takes her a good thirty seconds before she even seems to notice the rest of the garden. She does not notice ''Flicker'' until she's actually stepping through the gap in the fence, and freezes exactly in place when she does. "Hello. Is this your garden? It's very beautiful." The words come out in a careful, even cadence.<br />
<br />
Flicker looks up with a blink and a tighter clench of hand around the bag he's holding. The grip eases as he looks over Samara. He stomps another can, stiffly bends to pick it up and toss it in his bag. "It's anyone's garden. I just help keep it clean. It's so people can have some food, if they need it." He looks up, looks ''around'' the space, gaze skipping between the plants. "It is kind of pretty, isn't it? I didn't -- I'm not the one who planted it."<br />
<br />
Samara keeps her eyes on Flicker until he stops speaking, though, lit as they are, it's hard to tell what exactly she's focusing on. She looks back at one of the COMMON PROPERTY signs on the fence. "It is pretty," she says, finally stepping inside all the way, although afterwards just stands next to the entrance. "Is it kind of like...a park?"<br />
<br />
"It's --" Flicker hesitates. His fingers scrunch at the bag again, and he looks around at the plants. The mismatched seating. He sucks his cheeks inward, slowly shaking his head in contradiction to his uncertain answer: "Yeah, kind of? I don't know. It's more like a community -- project. I guess it's not. ''Not'' a park. There's plants and you can sit here. What makes something a park?"<br />
<br />
Samara's eyes widen slightly, and she picks her way between the beds to a chair sitting slightly askew by the eggplants. She straightens it out with respect to the bed beside it, lowers her backpack to the ground, and sits down''. "Usually," she says seriously, "if a place is in a city, has plants, and you can sit there for free even if it isn't yours, then it's a park." Her light flutters brighter as she gazes around. "But most parks aren't ''gardens''. Do you work here? Do you need help?" Her light has started taking on a bluish, purplish tint. "I help my mom in our garden, but it's much smaller. We're growing tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, peppers, basil, oregano, and rosemary." She presses her hands against the seat of chair and sits up straight. Then quickly clarifies, "Bell peppers, not hot peppers."<br />
<br />
"Well. We have plants, and you can sit here for free. So I guess we count." Flicker slowly lowers himself to sit on a crate. He rests his elbow on his knee, setting down the trash bag. "I just help out. It's not -- like a job. I just -- it feels relaxing. To come here. Do you like gardening? You're welcome to help out." His smile is brief. "There's peppers. Bell ''and'' hot."<br />
<br />
Samara's light brighten significantly, shifting more purple than blue, though her eyes are still sunlight-yellow as before. She nods eagerly. "I'm not supposed to do gardening by myself. But I won't mess it up. I know which ones are weeds." She drops down to kneel in the dirt beside one of the beds, looking much more comfortable there than she had been in the chair, though now she frowns, dimming a bit. "I didn't bring my gardening things." Then she looks down at her hands. "I guess my hands are ''already'' dirty anyway." Though this sounds very dubious, she actually does start plucking out weeds. "I like hot peppers."<br />
<br />
"If you know what's what, why shouldn't you do it by yourself?" Flicker is gradually wilting forward, drooping over his knee with his fingers resting over the black prosthetic hand. His eyes track Samara -- idly at first but with a bit more interest when the tone of her glow shifts. "I've never thought of gardening as all that dangerous. Worst it's ever given me is a little bit of sunburn if I'm not careful." He nods off toward a row of plants at the side of one bed. "Do you have a favorite type? We've got a few."<br />
<br />
Samara looks up from her weeding to Flicker, her light dimming and tinging an unpleasant sickly brown. "My parents don't believe me. They think I will mess up or get hurt." Her color shifts to a faint pinkish hue, fluttering lightly. "They are afraid I will eat the plants. Or dirt. Or worms." She sits back onto her heels and adds, very seriously, "I'm not going to do that. I like Thai chilis. My avó grows them. Little ones." She holds up her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. Then she tilts her head slightly sideways at Flicker. "What plants do you like?"<br />
<br />
"The plants are for eating, though. So that's alright. Not so sure on the worms." Flicker's eyes close. "Avó?" His tone lifts, curious. "Do you actually get sick if you eat worms? I don't think I know. Probably one or two would be fine. I've never tried." He opens his eyes again at the last question. Then his mouth -- silent -- closes it. "I don't -- know. I mean." His brows scrunch together. "I guess I hadn't -- thought about it that much. My friend planted these and -- they were helpful to people so I." His cheeks flush darker. "I don't actually know all that much ''about'' them," he admits, with a sheepish dip of his head. "Basil is delicious?"<br />
<br />
"Only parts of the plants are for eating, and sometimes the other parts make you sick." Samara's eyes are wide with sincerity. "I don't know if worms make you sick but I don't like how they feel in my mouth." Her light flutters a little again, though the color doesn't change. "My avó is in Brazil. She has a much nicer garden than we do but it's not as nice as this one." She shakes her head solemnly. "Basil ''is'' delicious. There's some over here." She shuffles over to the herb beds and stares at the lush growth there. "Your friend is very good." After a moment's consideration and a few more uprooted weeds, she says, "You are also very good, if you don't know much but you still help. That's harder."<br />
<br />
Flicker opens his eyes wider, his mouth twisting down. "Eugh. I -- wasn't ''serious'' about the worms. I don't -- - think. Mouth squirming sounds awful." He looks up with a small uncertain tilt of head. "Avó? -- oh! A relative. Did she teach you how to garden?" The red stays in his cheeks as he shifts slowly into a more upright position. "He's great. And he knows tons about plants, just." Rather than finish the thought, he just watches Samara weed for a moment. "Do you? ''Know'' about the plants?"<br />
<br />
Samara nods vigorously. "Avó taught me. After that Mom did, too, but not before." The light flutters again. Then steadies and brightens, shifting purple. "Yes." Frown. "No. Yes." She squeezes her eyes shut. Her brightness doesn't diminish, though, and this time the fluttering looks more like flickering. "I know about ''some'' plants. Not all plants. I always want to know ''more.'' These are lambsquarters. They don't actually have anything to do with lambs, they're just called that." She holds the weed she's just uprooted toward Flicker. "You can eat the leaves."<br />
<br />
"There's a ''lot'' of plants to know about. Probably nobody knows about them all. Just means you get to have fun learning, right?" Flicker's jaw tightens briefly as he shifts position on his seat. "You eat the leaves raw? Like spinach or like lettuce?" There's a small fluttering blur of motion -- a moment later he isn't there anymore but sitting perched on the edge of the garden bed that Samara's been weeding, so that he can look more closely at the plant. "Do you know why it's called that?"<br />
<br />
"It is a lot of fun. Not like school." Samara glows suddenly much brighter when Flicker blurs, and she leans back so far that she topples onto her butt. Granted, it was not far to fall, and she doesn't seem particularly bothered once the initial surprise passes, shifting to sit cross-legged on the ground as her light settles back to its previous level. Notably, she's still holding out the plant. "You are really fast," she says, eyes wide. "You can eat it raw or cook it. It tastes kind of like spinach." She pinches off one of the leaves and eats it herself by way of demonstration. Her head shakes slowly and deliberately. "I don't know why it's called that. I tried looking on the Internet. Maybe your friend knows."<br />
<br />
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle." Flicker's blush returns, but he reaches to carefully pinch off a leaf, too. He munches it contemplatively, tongue running over his teeth afterwards. "Huh. Learned something new today. Are you going to keep them, then?" He nods towards the plants Samara's been weeding. "Or the edible ones, at least?" He's getting up again slowly, eyes briefly scrunching as he stands. "And some schools teach you this kind of thing. Not enough schools, though." He trudges over to pick up his trash back from where he left it. "I should get going. You're welcome to stay, though. You don't ''have'' to do work to hang out here, but we definitely appreciate the help."<br />
<br />
"It's okay, I overreacted," Samara says immediately and flatly. "Yes, I will eat the ones I can eat." She bobs her head. Then keeps bobbing it. "The other ones, the compost will eat, and then the other plants can eat it." Her light tints bluish-purple, brightening again. And then even brighter. "Maybe high school will teach fun things." There's a complicated ripple of other colors now, green and cyan and pink, but only briefly. "I will stay here. And help." Then, after a moment, hastily adds, "Goodbye!"<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Guerrilla_Garden&diff=20572Guerrilla Garden2019-06-17T18:43:21Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Description <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chainlink fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it less than welcoming -- rusty as well, once reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY, though they've since been graffiti'd over -- a raised fist clutching a carrot painted over one, and PRIVATE X'd out to read COMMON on the other. A slitted gap has been cut out of the fence to allow for entrance.<br />
<br />
Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Employees<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Note any PCs or particularly relevant NPCs who work here!<br />
*Note any other PCs or particularly relevant NPCs who work here!<br />
*Note any other PCs or particularly relevant NPCs who work here!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Notes & Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Technically illicit in that this garden was just PLANTED unpermitted on Someone Else's Property, it along with many other such lots around the city are largely left alone because they are far better than the trash and weeds that they replaced.<br />
*While planted originally together with several other sites around the city by [[Jackson]] as a food supply for the Morlocks, anyone is welcome to help tend the garden and take crops from it. Probably frowned on to take ALL the crops from it, but it's not like it has guards.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Important Events<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Anything particularly noteworthy happen in this spot? Note it here!<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Guerilla Garden<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Neighborhood'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Lower East Side<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Garden<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Hours of Operation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 24/7<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Mutant-friendliness'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Friendly<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| <br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Archived Logs'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
{{ RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate | namespace = ArchivedLogs }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
</div></div><br />
<br />
[[Category:Places]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Waiting_In_The_Rain&diff=20544Logs:Waiting In The Rain2019-06-15T03:09:05Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Alma, Flicker, Ryan, Ted | summary = "I mean, it sounds like a comic book supervillain, but they're always really smart and stuff, ri..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[NPC-Alma|Alma]], [[Flicker]], [[Ryan]], [[Ted]]<br />
| summary = "I mean, it sounds like a comic book supervillain, but they're always really smart and stuff, right? So they'd make good doctors."<br />
| gamedate = 2019-06-10<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> Langone Medical Center - Kips Bay<br />
| categories = NPC-Alma, Flicker, Ryan, Ted, Mutants<br />
| log = <br />
It's ''not'' a pleasant evening. The rain has been drubbing the city for hours -- now, at least, it's settled for ''only'' soaking the streets in a steady (but at least not ''driving'') shower. It makes the already pleasant and enjoyable task of dealing with doctor's visits, checkups, medical tests, hearing bad news about sick loved ones, only that much more cheerful. Not a lot of people are choosing to ''linger'' on the sidewalk outside of Tisch Hospital, then. For the most part, just hastening out the doors and on their way.<br />
<br />
For the most part! Then there's Ryan, recently freed from long confinement in a hospital bed and enjoying the use of his legs once more. Maybe, perhaps, ''enjoying'' the fact that between miserable weather and the paparazzi not yet having caught on that he's out and about (the latest tabloid updates have, still, been speculating wildly about how close to death he might be) he is getting soaked in relative peace.<br />
<br />
Hair slicked to his forehead, round dark glasses perched on his nose, in dark jeans that have grown much darker with the rain and a grey t-shirt (that would be slightly loose-fit, if it weren't currently plastered to him) reads WRATH in large capital rainbow letters across the chest, right now he isn't bothering with any kind of umbrella or raincoat. Just leaning up against the wall of the building to one side of the entrance, a black and silver plasma lighter in one hand that he is flicking at restlessly without igniting it. His other hand rests lightly on the head of a rainbow mosaic-patterned walking cane.<br />
<br />
A dark skinned young woman is standing beside Ryan beneath her own umbrella, which looks like a dark blue dome dotted with white stars. Alma's not ''actively'' sharing her shelter, but has left him room to step into it if he feels so moved. As usual, she is dressed on the dapper side, in a fitted blue brocade vest, white spread-collar shirt (the button undone), lightweight black jacket cut to her curves, and black trousers likewise tailored. Her long dreadlocks are gathered back into an elaborate five-strand braid, and a concentric rainbow-striped kippah is clipped securely to the crown of her head. A particularly keen or nosy observer may glimpse a number of throwing knives sheathed in a chest harness beneath her jacket.<br />
<br />
The last time Ted went to a dentist was over a year ago, before he left home for college. He hasn't been paying much attention to his dental hygiene since then, honestly... especially not these last few weeks. But the Student Medical Center emailed him a coupon for a free dental checkup at the College of Dentistry, and he decided to take advantage of it.<br />
<br />
Which mostly worked out to be a free teeth cleaning, since his teeth are perfect. So now he's wandering somewhat aimlessly down First Avenue, looking for a decent coffee shop or something to kill half an hour or so before meeting some friends downtown later in the evening. He's soaking wet, but he's OK with that... the rain never really bothers him much.<br />
<br />
There aren't many people on the street, but Ted notices a couple near the hospital entrance. The guy is about as soaked as he is, flicking a lighter for no reason Ted can make out, and there's something familiar about him but Ted can't place it just yet; the woman with him is much better-dressed. Ted himself is wearing faded jeans and a worn green sweater that doesn't fit him astonishingly well; he's started buying clothes at Dollar-a-Pound in anticipation of tearing outfits to shreds. <br />
<br />
He approaches the couple amiably, and when he gets within discussion range asks "Hey, can either of you recommend a good coffee shop in the area?"<br />
<br />
Ryan flicks again at the lighter -- once more to no effect. His other hand tightens on the head of the cane, and he settles for snapping the lighter cap open. Closed. Open. Closed. As Ted approaches his grip tightens on his cane again -- momentarily. The smile that follows, though, is bright and wide, and comes with a quick laugh that doesn't just sound warm -- it ''feels'' warm, too. A contagious sort of good mood, an brief ripple of cheerful effervescence. "A ''good'' one? Around here? Sorry, man, you're really in the wrong part of town for good. There's about a ''million'' Starbucks, though, if you just need a fix. Just up the block. How bad are you needing this, 'cause, you need to go all the way down by Madison if you want to start finding ''good''." His head rolls to the side -- he looks to Alma, brows lifting. Snapping the cap of the lighter again. "What about passable? Is there somewhere around here you'd call ''passable''?" About this he also sounds dubious.<br />
<br />
Alma's smile is more reserved, but still polite. There's a certain subtle stiffness to her posture that does not ease despite Ryan's chattiness. She does seem to give the question a moment's serious consideration, though. "Well, it's not a ''coffee shop'', but the deli at the corner of 34th has pretty decent coffee." She tips her head toward the intersection just north of them. "Pretty decent ''everything'', to be honest."<br />
<br />
At the sound of Ryan's voice, Ted's eyes go wide with recognition, though it takes a beat or two before the connection completes. "Holy shit," he blurts out, obviously delighted and pretty much ignoring everything either of them said about coffee shops, "you're that guy, aren't you? The singer, the mutant who came out at the Grammys, right," he snaps his fingers a few times trying to remember the name before he finally gets it, "Black, Ryan Black, right? Wow!" He looks around incredulously, expecting to see cameras and reporters and mobs of adoring fans, but the street is as deserted as it has been all along. The empath's projected cheerfulness has its effect on Ted, though he doesn't notice it, already awash in his own natural enthusiasm at the meeting. Not that he's especially a fan, but he's been paying more attention to celebrity mutants these last couple of weeks, and Ryan is one he'd at least heard of before. "You're awesome!"<br />
<br />
The door to the hospital opens. Thumps closed again behind Flicker. He's traded up from his standard khakis and polo shirts! Today he's in khakis and a pale green button down, his arm a plain matte black, holding a folded white coat that he's currently folding smaller to tuck into his backpack. Then, stiffly, sling the pack back onto his shoulder. He freezes, raccoon-shadowed eyes widening quickly, when he sees the others outside. It's such a quick blip of expression it's easy to miss, though, just a split instant before his scarred face relaxes back into -- well, mostly tired, honestly. He gets an umbrella of his own from his backpack's side pocket. Doesn't open it. Just lets it dangle from a strap around his wrist, trudging toward the others and lifting his chin in silent greeting.<br />
<br />
Ryan's smile curls just a little wider. He ducks his head, one foot resting back against the wall and his weight shifting. More heavily against the cane, fingers clenched on it hard. He takes a slow breath through Ted's enthusiastic recognition, lets it out slow as well before answering -- just as bright! Though less ''infectiously'' so, this time, the warmth contained to his tone of voice: "Yeah, I was that guy. Thanks. Awesome's a big step up from a lot of things folks were saying after the Grammys -- I'll take it." He lifts his hand when Flicker appears, waggling the lighter in a wave. "You survived."<br />
<br />
Alma's polite smile remains firmly in place as Ted gushes, growing only a touch more fey at Ryan's commentary, which she answer with a quiet bemused snort. If she was going to add her own take, though, she's sidetracked by Flicker's arrival, which earns a brighter smile. "Do we get to call you 'Doctor', yet?" She rises up onto the balls of her feet and slowly settles back down again, as if merely stretching. "I'm sure lots of people already do, now that you're dressing the part in an actual hospital."<br />
<br />
Ted doesn't notice Flicker initially, his attention entirely consumed by Ryan's presence. But he looks over when the singer calls attention to the new arrival and grins even wider with recognition. "Oh hey, I remember you from the --" he aborts the sentence, looks around furtively, and continues "from the vigil." At Alma's comment, he seems to notice Flicker's garb for the first time. "You're a doctor?"<br />
<br />
Flicker looks from Alma to Ryan. Tries to summon a smile -- it gets halfway there before fading back into Tired. "I -- guess I did." He's looking down at himself, though. Hand curling against his stomach like he's ''checking'' to make sure everything is working, still. "You can call me whatever you like," he allows Alma graciously, "but I don't think ''I'' get to call myself one for. The next hundred years at least." When Ted speaks he looks -- briefly startled, like he's noticing the young man for the first time. "Oh. Oh yeah, hey, you were --" A deep blush fills his pale cheeks. "Right. The vigil. Sorry. I'm -- not actually a doctor." Curious, now, gesturing between Ted and the others: "You know each other?"<br />
<br />
Ryan snaps his lighter closed again, tucking it into a sodden pocket. "How's that even going to work, though? Is it really going to be ''Doctor Flicker''? Will they even allow that? Would that inspire confidence in your patients?" His head has tipped, just a little, following the motion of Flicker's hand to his midsection. "He's not a doctor ''yet''," he informs Ted, the amusement in his voice offset by the sudden flutter of worry that accompanies his words. "But he's going to be great. ''I'd'' trust him, Doctor Flicker or not." He drops one hand to rest atop the other, rocking forward onto his toes. Away from the wall, weight resting more solidly on the cane for a moment. "We know each other ''now''. We were bonding over the lack of proper coffee options in the area."<br />
<br />
"My vote's for Doctor Flicker," Alma says primly. "He sounds real trustworthy, and I don't trust doctors, as a general rule, so take that how you will." She shrugs. "But ''you'' know each other." Her eyes skip back and forth between the two men, expectant.<br />
<br />
"We just met," Ted agrees, indicating Ryan, then nods agreement with Alma's surprise that Flicker and Ryan know each other. Though now that he thinks about it, it's not really as strange as all that... Ryan famously went to jail for punching a Nazi once, and Flicker was clearly well-acquainted with people going to jail for... well, for activism-type stuff, though Ted is still uncomfortable with that word. Still, he's curious about the details.<br />
<br />
"I don't -- I haven't. Given it much thought," Flicker admits with a small frown. "I mean, I didn't think I'd --" He gives a quick hard shake of his head. Presses his hand a little more firmly against his stomach. "If I ever have patients, I'll. Figure it out." <br />
<br />
He looks up at the sky, eyes squinting shut against the steady rain. "''No'' good cafes? I guess it's a good thing you had nice weather to wait in." A sudden pang of worry deepens his frown. "You haven't been waiting ''long'', have you?" His weight shifts restlessly; his hand taps lightly against the side of his leg, the (still folded) umbrella bapping against his knee. "No," he says to Alma, and then, "I mean, yeah. I mean, we just. Recently. There was a vigil for a guy from school. It hasn't been long."<br />
<br />
"I'd trust ''him''." Ryan starts to gesture towards Flicker -- frowns when this shifts his weight from the cane. Peels just ''one'' hand off of the other to wave it -- up, down, towards all of Flicker. "He's just got an honest face. But the name is going to be important. People will see that long before they ''know'' you're great." He turns to Ted, his hand now tipping up and out in a wider-flung gesture. "He looks like a doctor you can trust, though, right? What would ''you'' call him." Open-ended, apparently!<br />
<br />
"The one for Ben Wells?" Alma asks quietly. "May their memories be for blessing." Her eyes are downcast for a brief moment. "That was messed up, my friends. Hope you didn't get hurt." This seems to mostly have been directed at Ted, though she darts a very quick glance at Flicker's stomach.<br />
<br />
"Doctor Flicker sounds good to me, actually," Ted agrees. "I mean, it sounds like a comic book supervillain, but they're always really smart and stuff, right? So they'd make good doctors." He's pretty sure he just made a fool out of himself there, so he's glad that Alma changes the subject. "Yeah, we met at Ben's. And don't worry, I --" he stops short, then looks at Ryan and Flicker, and gives a small shrug before continuing "I, um, turn out to be kind of bulletproof."<br />
<br />
There wasn't much color in Flicker's face to begin with, but what was there drains further. His hand curls against his damp shirt, then drops away. "Comes in handy, sometimes." He's looking more at the ground than at any of the others. "Maybe I'll go with Doctor Allred."<br />
<br />
"Anyway, it was really good to see you again," Ted tells Flicker, seemingly embarrassed by his own admission, "and it was so cool to actually meet you," to Ryan, "and I'm really sorry I didn't catch your name I'm Ted," to Alma "but I'm meeting some friends downtown later and should probably get going or I'll be late but it was really good to meet you all and bye!" The last is delivered over his shoulder as he half-walks, half-runs away, skidding a little on the rain-slick sidewalk.<br />
<br />
"This is Alma," Ryan introduces -- kind of apologetic! "And it was great to meet you. Stay stafe." Only now, ''thoroughly'' soaked, does he -- not actually bother to get under Alma's umbrella. Reach, instead, to take Flicker's off his friend's wrist. Fumble with it a moment to open it and hold it above Flicker's head. "I think you're going to do a lot of good. Whatever name you do it under. Come on, man. Let's get you home."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:In_Case&diff=20517Logs:In Case2019-06-06T16:58:36Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Steve | summary = "You alright, there?" (cw: brief mention of suicide) | gamedate = 2019-06-08 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location =..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Steve]]<br />
| summary = "You alright, there?" (cw: brief mention of suicide) <br />
| gamedate = 2019-06-08<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> AirBnB - Red Hook <br />
| categories = Flicker, Steve, Mutants, Mutates, Private Residence, Prometheus<br />
| log = <br />
This is a one-room apartment crammed into the back of a labyrinthine red brick building, but its owner has furnished it with care, making the most of the limited light and space. The decorations and the books suggest an adventurous young professional with a fondness for history, art, and fashion, but there are surprisingly few specifically personal items on their shelves. The living room/kitchen is one continuous space, almost a third of which is consumed by an old but comfortable sectional sofa bracketing a coffee table and a flatscreen tv. The kitchen is tiny but well-organized, and bordered with a generous counter lined with stools that serves in place of a dining table. The bedroom is done up in soft earth tones, most up by the bed and a drafting table beneath the single window.<br />
<br />
It's late afternoon, the sun growing redder as it sinks toward New Jersey across the bay. The day has been glorious, warm enough to feel like summer come early, but with enough of a breeze to keep the heat from stifling. The windows of Steve's tiny apartment are thrown wide open to let in the air, which smells of salt water and diesel, though not strongly enough to overwhelm the savory smells of cooking. Steve himself is busy at the stove, flipping a pair of grilled cheese sandwiches in a large skillet and occasionally stirring a pot of tomato soup. In addition to a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans, he's wearing a black apron with the word 'NO WHISK/NO REWARD' on the chest in bold white letters beside a simple graphic of a whisk.<br />
<br />
The rapping that comes at the door is quick, a brisk shave-and-a-haircut. Outside Steve's apartment, Flicker looks much as he always does. Crisply pressed khakis, grey polo striped with green at cuffs and collar, hair combed neat. His arm is a deep ocean blue today, glinting and gleaming like sunlight on a froth of waves.<br />
<br />
Steve extinguishes the fire under the skillet and crosses to the door in two long strides, pulling it open. "Hey! Come in, please," he says, stepping back to make way for his guest. "Can I get you something to drink? I've got lemonade, Coke, tea, coffee, and beer."<br />
<br />
"Hey." Flicker's expression crumples into a smile. Small, quick, a kind of relief in it -- for the half second it's visible before he disappears. Reappears behind Steve. His eyes dart around the small apartment -- he's over by the couch -- no, the TV -- no, the kitchen counter -- a moment later, fingers dropping to trace against one of the stools. "I don't know what I was expecting, but this doesn't feel like -- you."<br />
<br />
"It's not me," Steve agrees with a crooked smile, closing the door and returning to the kitchenette. "It's Mister Kevin Davis, the person I'm subletting it from. He's spending a semester in Prague for graduate studies." He transfers the grilled cheeses to two plates. "Tomato soup?" he asks as he ladles soup into one bowl and sets it on his plate beside the sandwiches.<br />
<br />
"Prague. That sounds --" Flicker's vanished again. Reappeared beside a bookshelf, his fingertips trailing against the spines. He takes one off the shelf apparently at random -- he's not really looking at it /until/ he looks down at the cover. Opens it to leaf through the glossy pictures inside. "I don't know what that sounds, actually. Except for mission I haven't really -- done much --" He frowns, shakes his head. Flits back into the kitchen, still holding the book (/Greek Sculpture: The Archaic Period/) against his chest. "... travelling. Probably not you either?" he guesses, brows lifting. "Not --" His cheeks flush. "... not some way that /counts/."<br />
<br />
"I take it you mean the evangelzing kind of mission and not --" The expression that flashes across Steve's face is quick, sorrowful. "-- the fighting kind?" His eyes try in vain to follow Flicker across the room. "Oh, and there's tomato in the sandwiches. Homegrown and fresh, but you prefer it without, I can make more." He hesitates a moment and fills a second bowl with soup, setting it in the plate with the sandwiches and handing them over with a spoon and an actual paper napkin. "Yeah, it was just the war, for me. Saw a lot of new places, met a lot of new folks, but..." He looks down at his own plate. "Don't think I'd really count it as /traveling/, no." Pulling a pitcher from the refrigerator, he pours two glasses of mint lemonade, and slides one over to Flicker, as well. "You alright, there?"<br />
<br />
"Teaching the Gospel, yes. I was in Thailand, but -- I don't think it's like just -- visiting, you know? Just getting to --" Flicker shakes his head. "I mean, it's certainly not like -- /war/. But I just. Do you ever think it would be nice to --" He looks down with a slight crease of brow when he finds the food in front of him, blinking with some puzzlement before looking up to Steve. "Oh -- oh. Thank you. No. That's -- tomato is. That sounds really good, thanks, you didn't need to --" The red in his cheeks deepens. "Thank you. I'm sorry, this was stupid, I shouldn't have just invited myself over like -- you didn't have to go through the trouble of --" His eyes have fixed on the bowl of soup, mechanical fingers clenching hard at the book still in his hand.<br />
<br />
Steve regards Flicker steadily across the counter. "It was no trouble. I needed a snack, anyway." He puts the pitcher away and comes around the counter to sit beside Flicker. "Glad to spend some time with you before you ah...disappeared into your rotation. Haven't seen you at Chimaera all week..." His brows furrow slightly as he trails off. Bows his head over clasped hands and murmurs a quiet prayer over his food. Then turns to look at his friend again. "You seem like you're having a pretty rough time. Do you want to...talk about it?"<br />
<br />
Flicker's laugh is quick -- almost startled. "Right. Rotation, that's -- soon, that's probably going to pretty much. Eat my whole life." He quiets. Sets the book on the counter while Steve prays, his own head bowing as well. "Yeah, I just -- I'm sorry," he says again shortly after. "I mean, I am, but I didn't -- didn't come here to dump my problems on you, I just. Just wanted --" He looks away, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. "I don't know what I wanted. I." He swallows. Curls his arms against his chest, draws in a slow breath. "I know things have been. Pretty much nonstop crazy lately but I --" <br />
<br />
His fingers curl tighter at the crook of his arm, and he finally takes a seat -- hesitantly -- on a stool beside Steve. "I've been really glad to get to know you, Steve. I mean -- mean that I've really liked..." His eyes have fixed on his soup again. It takes an visible effort for him to drag them up, look Steve back in the eyes. The crimson stubbornly refuses to recede from his cheeks. "You've been like this. Bright spot in the middle of so much ugly and I. Wanted you to know that I've really -- liked --" He falters, here. Starts to look away -- arrests this impulse with a blink, a deep breath. When he finishes it's quieter, and though his voice is steady and clear everything in the tension of his posture where he is only-just-barely remaining on his stool suggests he might be a hair's breadth from vibrating himself straight out of the apartment. "... you."<br />
<br />
"Not exactly dumping if I've asked." Steve gives him a small, encouraging smile before starting in on a grilled cheese. After about the fourth time Flicker breaks off, he puts his sandwich down -- mostly finished already! -- takes a sip of lemonade, and studies the other man, his expression somewhere between curiosity and confusion. This does not ease when Flicker /finishes/ speaking, either. "You've really liked me...what?" Though, almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes go wide. "Oh, you mean -- you. Like me." Frowning again now, unsure, but his voice is gentle. "As in -- in the sense of -- /attraction/?" He's, perhaps surprisingly, /not/ blushing.<br />
<br />
Flicker doesn't seat himself any more comfortably on his stool. Still on edge, still nearly vibrating off of it, one foot on the ground and one foot hooked against a lower rung. His mouth opens, but then just closes once more firmly as he nods, quick and jerky.<br />
<br />
Steve opens /his/ mouth and closes it without speaking. "Oh." It's hard to gauge his tone, here. "I ah...sorry." He scrubs one hand along his jawline. "I really appreciate you -- I really appreciate you, in general. And I take it as high praise, in more than one way." He draws a deep breath, his expression flitting through several permutations of distress. "I just -- I don't think /I'm/ quite ready to...consider anything like that.<br />
<br />
Flicker lets out his breath, shakily. His eyes finally do pull away from Steve again, fixing on the ceiling. Blinking, several times in quick succession. "No, that's, I'm --" Far less steady than it was before, his voice briefly hitches. Leveling back out after a deliberate breath, a hard swallow. He settles himself firmly on his stool, turning towards his food to -- pick, twitchily, at a golden-brown curl of crisped cheese on the edge of his sandwich. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I mean, I didn't -- mean -- I wasn't trying to --" His short puff of laugh is, also, a little shaky. "Heck, /I'm/ not ready to consider anything like -- that. I just. I'd never actually told -- anyone that --" The picking grows more rapid, tiny crumbs of cheese accumulating on the edge of his plate. "I'm not trying to ask you out. I just, I thought, in case..." His shoulder tightens inward. "I wanted to be sure you knew."<br />
<br />
Steve finally does start blushing. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed -- I mean, you didn't /say/ you were. Asking --" He runs his hand through his hair. "Not that there would be anything wrong with -- it's not as if it /hurts/ me. I just --" He shakes his head sharply, as if that would clear away all the half-formed thoughts he's struggling to speak. It seems to work. His eyes fix on Flicker again. "In case of what?"<br />
<br />
"It's not -- that I wouldn't /want/ to -- to ask, I mean, if things were different --" Flicker keeps his eyes fixed steadily downward. A little too wide, a little too bright. "Maybe. I don't know, if things were different I probably /wouldn't/, I've never even -- I'm not even sure I should be here telling you /this/, I just. Just wanted." He's starting to shred the sandwich now, too. With a little more difficulty at its corner, the gooey melted cheese not /crumbling/ quite as easily as the crisped edges. Stretching. Muddling into a messy tangle. "Just don't know what might happen, you know? Things /aren't/ different, they've been. Dangerous and terrible, and if -- if. I mean. With how things are, you just. Never know."<br />
<br />
Steve nods, and is quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Dips the remaining edge of his mostly-eaten sandwich into the soup and polishes it off. "All those murders. The attempts on Ryan's life. The way the news talks about mutants, and worse, the way we -- humans just...look the other way." His jaw tightens, and he very deliberately lets go of the glass he was about to lift for a drink. "I can't even imagine the kind of stress that has to cause, day in and day out. I'm sorry."<br />
<br />
"Those are terrible, but that's just every day," Flicker dismisses this with a shake of his head, a sucking of cheeks against teeth. "If some rando Nazi gets /me/, I deserve to get got." He's frowning, now, as his slow deconstruction of his grilled cheese encounters a tomato. Squishes it, pulp and seeds oozing from the torn side of the sandwich but stubbornly not /tearing/ with the rest. His fingers flick sharp and restless against the plate like he's just noticing the cheese and tomato juice on them for the first time. "But the government's a little harder to. Dodge. And the things they do to us --" His shudder is visible. The fingers of his mechanical arm twitch against the counter's edge.<br />
<br />
"The government?" Steve echoes with an odd intonation that isn't /quite/ surprise or alarm. He does sit up straighter, though. "Is the government -- I'm aware that it is...fascist." It sounds like there should be more to that sentence, but his brows furrow again. "I'm sure there's plenty more I don't know, but..." His gaze drops to Flicker's hand. "Did they -- hurt you?" His voice is low, level. "Are they after you?"<br />
<br />
The mechanical fingers twitch again, scraping against the countertop. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -- this was silly, I just really wanted. I --" Flicker swallows, curling his watery blue fingers slowly inward. "It's. Complicated. They have these labs. Do these experiments on us, I -- I was in for a while, and I just. They're always /after/ us, I don't want to end up... end up..." His eyes close, head shaking slowly. "I'm sorry," he says, softer, "I've been such a mess lately. I shouldn't -- it'll be done soon. I mean maybe I'll actually get some --" He hesitates, sucking his cheeks inward. "-- sleep and not. Keep. Stressing out all my. Friends."<br />
<br />
Steve frowns deeper. Reaches for Flicker's shoulder. Hesitates. Pulls back. "It's not silly. You're not doing anything wrong. Those labs you're talking about? /That's/ horrible and unacceptable, and I'm sorry that happened to you, to -- your people. That it's still happening, and --" His jaw clenches, his words clipped and tight. "I understand if you don't want to say, but --" He draws a deep breath and lets it out, and when he resumes he sounds much calmer. "-- do you know what department is responsible for this?"<br />
<br />
Flicker's eyes widen when Steve starts to reach for him -- he inhales soft and a little ragged when the other man pulls back. His eyes are fixed on his plate once more, forefinger tracing slow aimless patterns in the tomato juice that's leaked from his torn sandwich. "I don't know. I think they're military. Maybe just contractors. It doesn't really matter. Most people seem to think we're. A problem to be. Exterminated, they'd probably be glad to hear about." His shoulder twitches jerkily up. "Mutant torture camps."<br />
<br />
Steve's shoulders stiffen. He swallows, looks away. "Then most people are wrong," he says, low and steady. "Is there a name -- or codename -- for the program? I just --" He seems to cut himself with a particular /will/ this time, rather than just fail to find words. Turns back to Flicker. "I'm sorry, that's not. Helpful." His next words come out gentle but halting, unfamiliar, "Are you -- do you feel...safe? Right now?<br />
<br />
"Yeah. Well. I wish more of them agreed with you." Flicker blinks down at his plate. Once. Twice. Finally looks back up at Steve, his eyes wider and brows lifting. His shoulders start to shake, hand coming up to cover his mouth -- to stifle a laugh that spills over anyway, breathless and gasping where he half-hunches over the counter.<br />
<br />
Steve sits up a little straighter and reaches for Flicker /again/. He does make contact this time, a steadying hand as if he expects Flicker to topple over. His expression is plainly alarmed for a moment before dissolving into confusion. "I didn't mean -- in /general/," he amends after Flicker's laughter has died down, sounding flustered but determined. "Just. I mean. At the moment, in terms of -- whether you might be thinking about hurting yourself."<br />
<br />
It takes a longer than it should, really, for Flicker's laughing to taper off, only getting harder and more edged when Steve's hand reaches him. He does, kind of, collapse, slumping the rest of the way forward against the counter, head buried in the crook of his arm. His face is flushed and breaths uneven when he does straighten up. "Sorry." The word is breathless, almost gasped in on the fraying ends of his laughter. "Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't. I'm -- fine, I'm not..." He rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, sliding off the stool and taking a reluctant step back. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I'm not -- going to --" His eyes turn toward the ceiling, briefly. "Thank you for listening to me. I should. Go."<br />
<br />
Steve...still looks deeply nonplussed. Then blushes fiercely, gaze dropping to the countertop. "Ah. Sorry, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." He twists around to look at Flicker. "Thank /you/ for trusting me. Take care and ah, godspeed." Then, a beat later, awkwardly, "On your rotation."<br />
<br />
Flicker's smile is brief. Very small. "Thanks. You're a good man, Steve." He starts to lift a hand toward Steve's shoulder -- pulls it back sharply with a duck of his head. Another fierce blush. In the next moment he's gone, a shivering blur disappearing off toward the windows and beyond.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Mina&diff=20420Mina2019-05-20T21:55:03Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''I haven't fucked much with the past, but I've fucked plenty with the future.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Bright and bold as the colors she favors, Mina is a lot of ''leap'' and not very much ''look''.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Description<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}a generous helping of curves, Mina looks far from delicate. Her hair is thick and long and brown, her skin lightly tanned. She has wide features in a wide round face -- huge (and readily deployed) smile, large dark brown eyes, broad nose.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Reputation<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Still working on acquiring one!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Had a pleasant and largely tragedy-free life, so far, with a large extended family in a small Oahu town.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Description of your character's powers.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A general adeptness at things of an outdoor nature; swimming, running, sailing, fending for herself in the wilds -- at least the wilds of Hawai'i, which are nothing like the wilds of New York. Ah well. She'll learn these new plants soon enough.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Decent singer, decent dancer, good storyteller. Excellent memestress, adequate seamstress.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Random facts you think are worth knowing about your character.<br />
*And more random facts!<br />
*And more.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! XS Schedule<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Fall Term, 2018'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
*English: Asian-American Literature<br />
*Mathematics: Algebra (1/3)<br />
*History: Japan: Tradition to Modernity<br />
*Science: Introductory Astronomy<br />
*Language: Chinese (1)<br />
*Sport: Soccer (hopefully)<br />
</div></div><br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Winter Term, 2018-19'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
*English: Animals in Literature<br />
*Mathematics: Algebra (2/3)<br />
*History: Modern Latin America<br />
*Science: Chemistry<br />
*Language: Chinese (2)<br />
*Ethics: Bioethics: Humanity in the Post-Genomic Era<br />
*Sport: Swimming & Diving<br />
</div></div><br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Spring Term, 2019'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
*English: Journalism<br />
*Mathematics: Algebra (3/3)<br />
*History: Capitalism and its Critics <br />
*Language: Chinese (3)<br />
*Art: Fundamentals of Acting<br />
*Sport: Softball<br />
</div></div><br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:Minaeee.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minaaah.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minabeach.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minayay.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minayesss.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minaomg.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minadrink.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minaicecream.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minaflowereyes.jpg|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Ka'imina'auao Naleieha<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Minasmile.jpg|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| December 3, 2004<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Waialua, HI<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Mutant<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Xavier's<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ka lā hiki ola<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| XS Student (Freshman)<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| n/a<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Auli'i Cravalho<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000" <br />
! style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | RP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Hold my <s>beer</s> smoothie''' - ''Easily suggestible, readily up for dashing off on some new idea -- well-thought-out or otherwise, easily goaded into making a spectacle of herself. Always happy for company on the ride!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Flower Child''' - ''Lives up to her island stereotype in some ways; enjoys all things nature and can often be found where there are plants to <s>commune with</s> nap under.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Make a Splash''' - ''Loves swimming, boating, generally all things Water.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fish out of Water''' - ''Has never been off the islands in her life before now, has never been part of mutant community before now; probably would be glad for any help in acclimatizing.''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Archived Logs'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
{{ RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate | namespace = ArchivedLogs }}<br />
|}<br />
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</div></div><br />
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[[Category:Active PCs]][[Category:Xavier's School]][[Category:Mutants]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Finding_Joy&diff=20418Logs:Finding Joy2019-05-20T03:27:21Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Steve | summary = "A lot of things are different, now." | gamedate = 2019-05-18 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = Shawangunk Mount..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Steve]]<br />
| summary = "A lot of things are different, now."<br />
| gamedate = 2019-05-18<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Shawangunk Mountains, NY<br />
| categories = <br />
| log = In fall -- the peak of climbing season, here -- this campsite will be crowded. It's early enough and remote enough that tonight, after a solid few hours on the cliffs, Flicker and Steve have plenty of space to themselves. Away from the city there are actual /stars/ overhead, bright and glittering. The paella that was cooked up on their campfire earlier was not /gourmet/, but had a decent amount of flavor to it for a camping meal. Flicker is scraping through the last of his bowl, currently. Seated on a log upwind of the fire, he's dressed in shorts, a green and black quick-dry tee, green and black hiking boots. The arm that he'd been wearing earlier -- again different than any Steve had previously seen, silver and black with a cagelike sleeve and a specialized swiveling head that vaguely resembles the claw-end of a hammer, in place of a hand -- not so great for /eating/ but excellent for hooking into crevices in the rock -- has been removed and set aside. He hasn't yet switched it out with any other, though he did perfectly fine helping pitch camp and start their fire and cook dinner without a replacement. Right now he's quiet. Slowly nibbling at the remains of his meal. Head tipped back towards the stars overhead.<br />
<br />
Sitting beside Flicker, Steve has long since finished /his/ meal and is now poking idly at the fire with a stick, staring at the hypnotic motion of the flames. He's wearing a white A-shirt and olive drab cargo pants, the deep bruises along his arms, neck, and face already well into the yellow-purple stages of healing. "Thank you." Even though he speaks the words softly, and even though the wilderness is not, in fact, /quiet/, the words leap out into sharp focus against a backdrop with so little in the way of human voice for the past little while. Steve blushes. "For bringing me out here, I mean. It's wonderful, but don't think it'd have ever occurred to me, left to my own devices."<br />
<br />
Flicker tips his head back down. "Yeah." He looks down at his bowl. Up at the fire, his smile a little crooked. "I mean, I think I was about to drive Hive totally mad if I didn't take a break before exams started so --" He glances sideways at Steve, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. "Thanks for coming out with me." He scrapes his bowl clean, sucking sauce off his spoon. "We used to do this a lot, but lately --" His shrug is small. "This is nice."<br />
<br />
Steve chuckles. "Is that why Hive didn't come along this time? Or was he needed -- to manage Ryan's security detail?" He pushes one of the flaming logs with his stick and it resettles, a burst of tiny embers spiraling up into the sky on the updraft. "You'll have the whole summer off from school, though? After exams?" He smiles hopefully. "Could do a lot more of this."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I think he was pretty happy to have me out of his head for a while." Flicker's eyes track up along with the dancing embers. The breath he exhales is soft. "Off?" A quick smile crosses his face. He sets his bowl aside, stretches his legs out in front of him. "For a week. Then I start my first rotation. But -- hopefully. Can figure out how to make time for --" His hand sweeps out to the trees around them. "It's not that far." He drops his hand to his lap, looking back to the fire. "But there's lot's of other people who love the outdoors, even if I..." Briefly, he trails off. His fingers press harder against his leg. A moment later, with a quicker smile: "You should see Dusk on the rocks."<br />
<br />
Steve gives a small, incredulous shake of his head. "I can't imagine --" Frowns slightly. Blinks. "Well. Having /Manhattan/ in his head can't be a walk in the park, either, but I suppose you must have uh...disproportionate representation." His free hand makes a sort of vague circular gesture in the air that ends in tapping his temple with an index finger. "Up there." He darts a curious glance at Flicker. "'Rotation?' At a hospital." It's framed as a guess, but there isn't much uncertainty in his intonation. "Dusk -- yeah, he's very..." His eyes skip back to the fire, which he pokes at with renewed interest. Chews on his lower lip. "...athletic."<br />
<br />
"Yeah. In a hospital. I'm starting with ob-gyn." Flicker's brow creases briefly. His head tilts back, eyes fixing up on the stars again. With a small quick smile: "Athletic. Is that what all those bruises say?" There's a light amusement in his voice. He vanishes briefly from his seat, his blur of motion difficult to track in the smoky obscurity on the far side of the fire. He's back in short order with his water bottle, though. Sitting, pincering it between his knees to uncap it. "I take up a lot of mental real estate for him, that's true. But the city in general is -- a lot. For any telepath, I'd guess. But especially if you don't have any -- off switch."<br />
<br />
Steve's eyebrows raise up slightly, but he nods. "I wish you the best of luck with...well, I suppose it's the beginning of your medical career, in a way? Even if you are not /quite/ a doctor, yet." He looks down at one of the more impressive bruises on his forearm. Chuckles self-consciously. "Among other things. I knew he was strong, but had no real concept /how/ strong." His brows furrow. "Still don't, I guess. Wouldn't be surprised if he was still holding back more than just claws and --" Deeper frown. "-- /teeth./ Just like I didn't know Hive's range or Jax's..." That small shake of his head again, but tighter, jerkier. "It was a good fight, just -- /different./ A lot of things are different, now. I should stop trying to downplay that." For all that, he didn't seem much perturbed by Flicker's brief vanishing this time.<br />
<br />
"Not quite a doctor, no. But it'll be my first time --" Flicker shifts on his segment of log. Frowns down at his bottle before taking a quick gulp. "Practicing. Medicine." He looks over at Steve, his brows lifting. "You were /sparring/, right? Not trying to kill each other? He was probably holding back." His fingers drum lightly against the side of the water bottle. "Different from what? War? I'd hope so."<br />
<br />
Steve's eyes fix for a moment on Flicker, appraising. "Is it not -- really?" His tone is neutral and earnest, without skepticism. "Oh, yes, of course." He goes back to staring at the fire. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. It's a few long seconds before he speaks again. "I'd never really sparred with anyone who stood much chance of seriously hurting me, unarmed, even if they tried. Or who I could hit with even a fraction of my strength without risk of seriously hurting /them./" He turns his free hand outward, palm up -- a noncommittal gestural punctuation he's possibly picked up from one of the Tessiers. "/Since/ the procedure, I mean."<br />
<br />
"No, it will be," Flicker replies swiftly. "I've just been getting -- a lot of trouble at church over --" He shakes his head, hand waving in dismissal. He half-turns, facing Steve on the uneven seating, now. His smile comes ore easily. "So you've never had a chance before to just --" His hand gestures -- up, down, toward all of Steve. "I don't know. Enjoy being you! It /is/ kind of a new world now. Not to knock your scientists or anything. I'm sure they did great. But God did a pretty excellent job with a lot of us, too. I probably know a /lot/ of people who could give you a pretty decent boxing match."<br />
<br />
Steve's eyebrows raise up. "I'm sorry you've been having a hard time. Medicine has often been at odds with religion, and I didn't expect that would just -- go away in a few decades' time." He blinks, perhaps surprised by Flicker's reaction. "/Enjoy/?" he echoes quietly, as if trying the word on for size. "I -- hadn't really thought of it that way. It's always felt like a -- responsibility? A complicated one. Not that I /didn't/ -- enjoyed being healthier or..." His lips press together tight. "...of service in a way I couldn't be before. But our scientists -- our politicians and generals, really -- were trying to create a /weapon/." He looks down at his own hand. Curls it into a fist. "/Did/ create a weapon. I trust God's intentions a lot better, as ineffable as those may be."<br />
<br />
"I guess that depends on your religion. My church might kick me out after this rotation. But then," Flicker's smile is a little thin, "it wouldn't be the first time." His leg bounces restlessly, jostling the bottle that's still held in the crook of his knee. "Yeah. Enjoy. They might have been training you for a purpose, but /you/ --" He shakes his head. "/You/ aren't a weapon. Fighting is necessary." His jaw briefly tenses. "And it's good to know how to use what we've been given. But it's good to /enjoy/ what God's given us, too, isn't it? Out here hiking or sparring with a friend or --" He looks away, up toward the stars, drawing in a slow breath. "He didn't make you for their reasons."<br />
<br />
"I'm Roman Catholic. Still trying to catch up on changes in the liturgy -- apparently I'm allowed to believe in evolution, now?" Steve shrugs helplessly. "You think your church might kick you out for -- practicing /medicine/?" He's clearly struggling to keep his incredulity out of his voice, here. But something in his posture eases at Flicker's words. "Yeah, you're right," he says softly. "I just hadn't really sorted out how to even /think/ about all this." His fist relaxes, fingers splaying out in the firelight. "Much less how to -- find joy in it." His hand drops into his lap and he follows Flicker's gaze up. "Though I guess I've managed to stumble into it anyway, here and there."<br />
<br />
"For what? No." Flicker's eyes widen. "Or -- well, yes." There's a sudden deep flush in his cheeks. "Abortion is a part of obstetrics so I guess -- yes." His restless bouncing has halted, for a moment, but starts up again after this. His eyes return to Steve, his smile softer. "I don't imagine war leaves a lot of time for thinking it all through. But I hope you can find more." His blush deepens. "Joy. Not war. Maybe actually seek it out, now and then."<br />
<br />
Steve's eyes widen now. "Oh! I see." He lapses into a frown. "I don't know your church, or the people making decisions about this, but I really hope they can find a way to help you balance the responsibilities of a Christian and a healer. Instead of just...kicking you out." He looks down, too. Actually meets Flicker's eyes. "Sometimes seems like fighting's the only thing I'm much good at finding. Glad I found you, too."<br />
<br />
The rapid bounce of Flicker's leg stills. His breath briefly hitches, his teeth biting down at his lip. It's a long beat before he looks away from Steve, watching the crackling fire instead. His fingers lift, rubbing slowly against the waxy-scarred side of his face before dropping to wrap tightly around his water bottle. "I'm glad of it, too."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Dawson&diff=20385Dawson2019-05-13T18:37:02Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''The future belongs to the brave.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Boy Scout.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Description<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}5'11", athletic from plenty of regular training but lean rather than bulky. He wouldn't be particularly eye-catching; boy-next-door kind of looks, a neatly groomed crop of dark brown hair, bright green eyes. The wealth of scars he bears tends to stand out, though, twisted knotty and uneven down his face and the one remaining arm he has; his missing right arm tends to be noticeable as well.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Reputation<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None among the general populace. Among X-Men and Prometheans, known to be generally quiet and friendly, with a disarming politeness that belies the fact he will hand many people their asses when it comes time to throw down.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}The second-oldest (by eleven minutes) of a sprawling boisterous clan, Flicker grew up surrounded by a lot of noise and a lot of love. His parents moved the family from Idaho to Utah when he was quite young, and it was on the outskirts of Salt Lake City that he grew up. He came from a working-class family; his father was a carpenter (specializing in furniture making) and his mother was a librarian part-time. Love of books and learning was not so much /drilled/ into the children as it was just easy to /absorb/ with so much Knowledge always around for the taking. Flicker's mother took a strong interest in all their educations, and her early interest in reading to them and encouraging them to be curious gave many of his siblings a strong academic drive (for him, it didn't hurt that he was constantly in a friendly-ish rivalry with his twin sister Lily to see who could get the highest marks in school.)<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Outside of academics he was always an active child, heavily involved in sports and Scouts, fond of volunteering in a scattering of different pursuits. It was the development of his mutation the summer before high school that led his life on a starkly divergent path. His church -- the center of much of his and his family's social and support network -- was strongly outspoken about not wanting mutants in the congregation, and a combination of their own unease and the social pressure from their community led his family to kick him out of the house. He was out on the streets for a while, often targeted because his age and clear mutant status (his mutation, then, was poorly controlled) made it easy to single him out -- though his mutation also made it kind of hard to pin him /down/. He was fourteen when Prometheus picked him up and shoved him in a lab; shy of 16 when Jackson Holland's team broke him out and he joined them in their efforts.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Despite the horror of the experience, Flicker is -- well, thankful would be the wrong word. But it was the labs that gave him the family he has today, and he wouldn't give that /up/.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He enrolled at Xavier's once he was back out, and after graduating (as salutatorian of his class) continued on to Columbia where he graduated in spring of 2016. He continued on into med school. He moonlights as an X-Man, with a part-time side gig working security at the [[Mendel Clinic]]. Occasionally, maybe, squeezes in sleep somewhere, but it's rare to actually catch him at it.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Incredible reflexes, very short-range teleportation. Tends to make a ''lot'' of very short, ''very'' fast jumps in quick succession. His teleporting is hard for most human eyes to properly track; the trail of afterimages this method of transportation leaves in people's vision is what earned him his name.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}General nerddom. Board games, RPGs, M:tG; used to kick ''ass'' at video games but is having to relearn this with one arm. Basketball and rock climbing, same thing. Highly adept at CQC, decent enough with firearms, highly observant/attentive to his surroundings. Very proficient at carpentry/woodworking with a particular skill and love for crafting furniture, capable when it comes to many common household repairs.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
<br />
* [[Shane]] - Your will defines your destiny<br />
* [[Matt]] - I'm taking back my love<br />
* [[Taylor]] - Taking back my pride<br />
* [[Tag]] - Taking back my dreams<br />
* [[Tian-shin]] - This is the ground I will defend<br />
* [[Jax]] - A rage of angels bears the end<br />
* [[Spencer]] - I'm taking back my hope<br />
* [[Blink]] - Transforming destiny<br />
* [[Steve]] - We brace before the fates descending<br />
* [[Melinda]] - There is no wisdom that we surrender<br />
* [[Hive]] - Breathless time can take no prisoners<br />
* [[B]] - I feel the wishfire burning cold<br />
* [[Dusk]] - Black wings to fill the sky unfold<br />
* [[Isra]] - And nothing takes from God his storm<br />
* [[Ryan]] - See the angels' eyes transform<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Devout Mormon, his ward has extremely split feelings on having him there.<br />
*The second of thirteen kids, though the youngest three were born since he left home and he has never actually met.<br />
*Has a twin sister, Lily, eleven minutes older than him.<br />
*Can often be found through the city zealously doing his part to green it up. (Ingress Agent name: GhostInTheMachine)<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:Flicker.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Flicker4.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Flicker8.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Flicker1.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Flicker9.jpg|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Dawson Joel Allred<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Flickerart.jpg|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| December 29, 1993<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Boise, ID<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Mutant<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Xavier's<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sunny<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Blinkdog<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Mendel Clinic Security/X-Man<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| n/a<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Jonathan Bennett<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000" <br />
! style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | RP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''With one arm tied behind his back''' - ''Is a regular participant at [[B|the]] [[Shane|twins']] weekly [[TP-Fight Club|Fight Club]]; will happily kick some ass (or get his kicked) and then go out for cocoa afterward.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Watchdog''' - ''Works security at the [[Mendel Clinic]] since just about their opening, likely to be familiar to other employees or patients thereof.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''In lumine Tuo videbimus lumen''' - ''Columbia U graduate.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Ex-''' - ''[[TP-Prometheus|Labrat]], once upon a time; has helped on every raid since, and bears the scars and missing pieces to show for it.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''In Fellowship''' - ''Heavily active in the LDS church; will probably earnestly invite friends to come with him, given the slightest opportunity.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Chimaerical''' - ''A member of Chimaera Arts co-op, frequently found around the warehouse doing odd jobs or working on a project. Teaches woodworking when his class schedule will allow it.''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
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<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Archived Logs'''<br />
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{{ RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate | namespace = ArchivedLogs }}<br />
|}<br />
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[[Category:Active PCs]][[Category:Xavier's School]][[Category:Mutants]][[Category:Mendel Clinic]][[Category:X-Men]][[Category:Prometheus]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Dramatic_Yet_Incompetent&diff=20206Logs:Dramatic Yet Incompetent2019-03-22T17:04:02Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Isra, Melinda, Ryan, Steve | summary = "No offense to Mel but the coffee here? Not worth this price." | gamedate = 2019-03-20 | g..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Isra]], [[Melinda]], [[Ryan]], [[Steve]]<br />
| summary = "No offense to Mel but the coffee here? Not worth this price."<br />
| gamedate = 2019-03-20<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = CW: Violence<br />
| location = [[Montagues]] - SoHo<br />
| categories = Montagues, Mutants, Humans, Mutates, Flicker, Isra, Melinda, Ryan, Steve<br />
| log = Montagues harkens back to the day when SoHo was filled to the brim with artists, with its mismatched furniture, all plush and decorated heavily with carved wood, but remains trendy enough to keep its newer patrons by making sure that furniture is clean, in good repair and inviting. The antique tables all have been reinforced to seem less creaky. The real draw of the cafe is the smell: fresh roasted coffee mingles with perfectly steeped teas. Spices from crisp pastries mingle with the tang of clotted cream but don't overwhelm too much the scent of chalk on the menu boards.<br />
<br />
Late morning on a Wednesday is not the busiest of times, generally, but nevertheless Montagues is attracting a decent sized /crowd/ today. The ubiquitous of social media means that it has not taken all that long, during what would otherwise have been a quiet coffee break, for Twitter to spread the news of a celebrity sighting. Some people, with at least a halfhearted attempt at decorum, are hanging back to snap surreptitious (or so they think) photos, though every so often a more brazen fan actually approaches for autograph, for a selfie.<br />
<br />
Flicker is just watching all of this from the periphery. In his unassuming black polo, khakis, blue-grey cardigan, for all the rubbernecking spectators care he might as well be part of the scenery. Seated on a soft armchair catercorner to Ryan, he sips at a large cocoa and grabs snatches of conversation in between the frequent interruptions. "-- you couldn't /pay/ me to go to dinner with someone like him, though," he's picking up some thread of discussion as if interruptions had never happened, as one fluttery teenage boy departs their table.<br />
<br />
Ryan's bright and practiced Insta-worthy smile fades into a snort-laugh as he turns back to the table. "Seriously. There are /way/ more charming escorts in literally any city. It's nice to have solid examples to point to, though, for everyone who pretends like deplatforming fascists does not work." He has a very large coffee, and a tempeh-lettuce-tomato sandwich, from which he's so far only managed to snag a few bites. The button down shirt he's wearing is vividly colored, bright bold shades with a geometric design; his dark slightly silvery-sheened denim jacket is draped over the back of his chair.<br />
<br />
Steve has been in the back doing whatever Montagues employees do in the back when not actively roasting coffee, but he presently emerges with a spray bottle and rag. He's dressed much like the other workers, entirely in black: poplin button-down shirt, flat-front herringbone trousers, oxford shoes, and an apron marked with the establishment's small, tasteful logo. His eyes catch on Ryan, then Flicker, and he gives a polite nod but does not make any active attempt to draw their attention as he goes on about his work. He removes a cup and saucer from a recently vacated table and deposits them in the bus tub before wiping down the table, moving on to clean the long counter at the front window, and then the island with service items. At last he picks up the black plastic bus tub to bring it into the back.<br />
<br />
Sitting primly upright, more to keep her wings clear of the chair back than anything else, Isra has been remaining still while Ryan sees to his fans. Now she relaxes a little. She's dressed in a metallic green velvet dress, trimmed in gold, that clings to her slim, muscular form. A black cloak, also trimmed with gold braid, hangs over the back of her chair. Her skin is its natural gray, but dusted with gold, horns and talons a solid gleaming metallic gold. She picks up her coffee--also quite large--and takes a sip, her eyes tracking to Steve without lingering. "I hardly see what basis upon which they can even begin to argue that it is not effective," she comments, her voice low and rumbly. "I am sure such arguments are merely displaced discomfort with challenging...anything, I suppose." There's no rising intonation to indicate this last is a /question./<br />
<br />
The door to the cafe opens to admit four individuals. Two of them have no-nonsense military fades and all wear bulky winter coats -- perhaps slight overkill for the chill of this almost-spring day, but understandable given the bite of the wind from certain angles. They do not chatter among themselves quite as much as most groups of patrons might, instead perusing the menu soberly once inside, stealing surreptitious glances at Ryan and his companions. After placing their orders, two members of the group go to sit down near the door to the cafe, while the other two hover near the counter where their food and beverages are expected to appear in due time. Once the ones near the door have settled at their table, the two by the counter make eye contact with each other before calmly reach beneath their coats and producing pistols that they level in unison at Ryan.<br />
<br />
"I don't really know. Some people just really love engaging with fascists, I guess." Flicker leans forward to snag a potato chip off of Ryan's plate. Sits back with his cup, relaxing into his chair. He glances reflexively up toward the door when it opens, if only briefly. "And not that I have a very high opinion of Australia, but --" The rest of this cuts off, his eyes widening. Not, in fact, at the emergence of the pistols themselves but at the sudden tense gasps, horrified cries, that ripple around the busy room. Flicker doesn't exactly put /down/ his cocoa so much as it just blips from his hand to the table in the same moment he moves -- not really to get /up/. Just to lean in and clamp a hand down on Ryan's wrist.<br />
<br />
Ryan has just reached for his sandwich again, taking the opportunity of a brief uninterrupted moment to take another quick bite. It's one he nearly chokes on shortly after, sandwich falling from his hand to land in a messy splat on the floor. "Oh /shit/," is about all he has time to say. His eyes are skimming the room, taking quick stock of the (many) bystanders even as Flicker is grabbing him.<br />
<br />
Steve was just about to round the end of the counter with the bus tub, but slows at the movement of the two nearby reaching to draw their guns in his peripheral vision. His own body language starts changing even before he even fully turns, stance dropping low, shoulders relaxing as he lets the tub drop to the counter, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. By the time the pistols emerge he has pivoted mostly to face the gunmen. "Take cover!" he shouts, his voice firm and commanding, even as grabs at the nearer shooter's gun arm to force it down. Then quickly adds, "On the floor!" He twists the man's arm and attempts to slam the off-balance shooter into his companion.<br />
<br />
Isra reacts to her own companions' alarm first, a growl rising harsh in her throat. It is hard to tell whether she /intentionally/ upsets their table, tips it accidentally attempting to rise, or tips it accidentally trying to follow Steve's instructions. A cozy cafe is not the ideal environment for a six-foot-plus gargoyle with six long limbs and a tail to maneuver in. Coffee, cocoa, and plates go crashing to the floor, and the table becomes a barricade, though not a large enough one for the likes of Isra. But she gamely takes a fighting stance all the same, wings mantling out and--probably incidentally--pushing two nearby patrons out of their seats and onto the floor.<br />
<br />
The shooter with the fade -- the one lucky enough to be standing near Steve -- makes a choked sound as his arm is twisted, and stumbles sidelong into the shooter with the fashy beside him. Fashy's reflexes are fast enough to allow him to jump clear, however, and he whips his gun around to fire on Steve without waiting to settle into a more stable position or. You know. Aiming.<br />
<br />
If the appearance of the guns and Steve's shouted orders didn't get the patrons moving, the report of the gun certainly does. Some drop to the floor and duck under tables, and some run for the door only to find it blocked by the shooters' two companions, both of whom have also drawn pistols. One of them raises his voice and says.<br />
<br />
"We're only here for Ryan Black," he declares blandly. "And his demon-freak boyfriend there." Notwithstanding the fact that /Flicker/ is the one holding Ryan's hand right now, it seems likely he is referring to Isra. "The rest of you can get out of here alive if you /calm the fuck down/!" This, along with his gun, is definitely aimed at Steve.<br />
<br />
As he finishes speaking, the fourth person -- who wears a USMC high-and-tight -- leveled his gun steadily with both hands at Ryan, and squeezes the trigger.<br />
<br />
The few brave souls crouching under their tables trying to dial 911 are finding their mobile devices have no signal where they did only a minute ago.<br />
<br />
Somewhat paradoxically, Ryan actually relaxes just a smidge when the men announce their intention to kill him. His eyes flick between the gunmen -- the door -- Steve wrangling one of the shooters -- the panicking crowds. He gives Flicker only the slightest tug in the direction of the table as Isra upsets it. Even while the men are speaking, his voice is sounding low and contained enough that only Flicker can hear. "The jarhead by the door." There's a concentration in his expression -- that shifts just an instant later into resignation. "C'mon, that's just /insulting/." As the coffeeshop music continues the first strains of Lady Gaga's "Shallow" begin piping through the chaotic room. His quiet humming along is hard to notice -- in the tumult most people likely also would not notice the ambient music growing just subtly louder. The music carries with it a determined calm -- certainly, under the circumstances, nothing near enough to sway the resolve of focused gunmen but enough at least to aid the panicking bystanders in actually listening to the instructions to take cover.<br />
<br />
Flicker, too, is eying the distance between them and the door with a touch of apprehension. Even before the empathic assistance, this is fading into resolve at Ryan's direction. He snaps into a blur of motion even as the fourth gunman is starting to take aim. Ryan finds himself deposited in an unceremonious lurch behind the upturned table. Flicker, in his usual spectral fashion, has blipped -- up overhead above the chaos, then back down to land just beside the man who shot at Ryan. He is reaching for the gun as he lands -- not trying to /wrest/ it away but simply (as far as can be seen) disappear it. (Its intended final destination, the inner cushion of a nearby stuffed chair -- so sorry, Montagues.)<br />
<br />
Fashy's shot goes wide, and the sugar bowl on the counter behind Steve explodes into sweet, sweet shards. Steve doesn't even flinch, but twists the arm of the unlucky gunman he'd grappled even further, maneuvering him to provide better cover from the two guns pointed at him. While he's still shifting, he reaches into the bus tub for a dirty plate and throws it like a frisbee -- it flies surprisingly true, all things considered -- at High-and-Tight's face.<br />
<br />
Despite the division between front of house and back and intentional sound barriers, it's hard to miss the disturbance that tears through the Monday morning work. Melinda looks up from her work to glance at the closed caption cameras, eyes widing and heart immediately starting to pound in her ears. "Fuck. fuck... fuck..." She picks up the phone, slips the receiver under her ear and calls 9-1-1 -- or she would, if there was dial tone. Phone slammed into place, she jumps in her skin at the first sound of gun fire. Rather than running away, she slinks towards the coat rack and picks up Steve's shield, jaw clenching with determination.<br />
<br />
It takes her a moment of hyping herself up to force herself to continue, lips parting as she peeks through the small window on the door to be sure no one is immediately in the way or shooting in her direction. Blue eyes track the dish Steve throws as her bows furrow and eyes narrow. Despite nausea welling up inside of her shaky body, she pushes through, almost immediately yelling. <br />
<br />
"For fuck's sake, Steve, you forgot your ... serving tray!" The first part is mumbled, as her mouth isn't quite working through the clench of her teeth and the fear that chokes her breath, but 'Steve' is loud and clear, and the rest rushes out at a stumbling pace. She chucks the shield like child trying to frisbee - throwing more that whipping - before diving down behind the bar with two of her employees.<br />
<br />
As the slow acoustic strains of 'Shallow' pull a wave of calm over the huddled patrons, a few of them turn their signal-less phones to record the spectacle. When Flicker reaches High-and-Tight, the gunman is still looking confused about where his target went -- the bullet embedded itself in the far wall -- and then startled at the abrupt appearance of additional Person beside him. He tries to pistol-whip Flicker, but the pistol part of the attack goes away mid-swing. Unless Flicker removes himself from the path of the attack, though, he'll still receive an awkward but heavy punch-slap to the head even as a slightly saucy white plate strikes High-and-Tight edgewise and snaps the man's head back.<br />
<br />
Steve's unlucky gunman yelps as his arm is wrenched further, but finally has the presence of mind to draw a knife with his other hand and blindly slash backward at Steve's torso. Fashy, meanwhile, has steadied his aim and fires again.<br />
<br />
"Leave the goddamned /barista/ and /get Black/!" barks the leader -- who has apparently decided not to risk shooting Unlucky in an attempt to take down Steve -- as he crosses the cafe in long angry strides to get a shot at Ryan where he's taken cover behind the fallen table.<br />
<br />
Isra flinches at the cracks of gunshot, ears pressing back hard against the sides of her head even as she sinks lower take cover. But when the leader comes searching for Ryan she springs at him in a way that human bodies definitely cannot do, talons spreading wide and wings snapping down to giver her an extra boost of speed and lift. Chairs scatter--a couple of them outright crumpling--where she strikes them.<br />
<br />
The leader's eyes go very, very wide when Isra pounces at him. He backs up one long stride, fires at the apex of her jump, and continues backpedaling in case she is not deterred.<br />
<br />
A teenager -- one of the fans who had come by for a selfie with Ryan earlier -- clambers out from where he had been sheltering under the table. He's holding one of the cafe's trays in in a white-knuckle grip as he comes up behind the leader in a somewhat cartoon-esque bid to smack him on the head.<br />
<br />
This might actually have worked, although how effective a weapon the flimsy tray would have made is another question entirely, but that the stage whispers of his more sensible friends ("What the fuck, Kaidan!" "Oh my God what are you doing?") gives him away. The leader whirls on him when he's only a step away, gun leveled to the boy's chest, near to panicking in the wake of Isra's (admittedly more intimidating) attack.<br />
<br />
The drone of the music continues placidly beneath the staccato punctuation of gunfire and pained yelps. From behind the makeshift shelter, Ryan keeps a careful eye on the room. The beginning of /some/ kind of instruction starts to shape itself within Flicker's hearing range -- but this cuts off with an odd dissonant warp of sound as the teenager rises. The music (still playing through the speakers) doesn't falter, but the artificially enforced tranquility threaded through it /does/. Ryan launches himself out from behind the table, half-dragging and half-tackling the kid right as the leader turns. Without time to actually /return/ to his hiding place, he opts instead to pull the teenager nearer the floor, angling his own body in front of the boy's as he tries to usher the youth back behind a nearby toppled chair. "You /just/ told me you were gonna show that pic off to everyone at school, you gotta actually /get/ there tomorrow, yeah?"<br />
<br />
Flicker half-ducks as the plate comes flying in their direction; this doesn't stop him from catching the cuff just on the side of his head a moment before High-and-Tight's own head snaps backwards. He grabs for the stumbling marine's arm, taking the man with him in a quick blip across the room -- in order to drop him just above the leader's head.<br />
<br />
Steve turns at the sound of his name and sucks in a sharp breath seeing Mel venture out from cover, the momentary distraction enough to allow Unlucky's knife to leave a long red gash in his side. He barely winces, and before he can admonish Mel to get down, she has thrown the shield and fled. He lets go of Unlucky, plucks the shield out of the air, and braces it between himself and Fashy just in time to deflect the shot that would have otherwise caught him square in the chest. "I am not a barista," he quips, flinging the shield unerringly at Fashy's gun and punching Unlucky -- probably hard enough to break his jaw -- before reaching back out to catch the shield when it ricochets. "I'm just here to help."<br />
<br />
The leader's shot, panicked though it is, finds Isra in the abdomen and her leap falters as her body pulls instinctively inward around the wound. She crashes to the floor--destroying another chair in the process--and struggles, wings flailing, to right herself before collapsing again, tail lashing and twitching beneath the hem of her dress. Her growl comes loud and continuous despite her rapid breathing, rises into a snarl when leader turns his gun on the teen, and then Ryan.<br />
<br />
The leader's terror turns to delight when Ryan /presents/ himself for the convenience of his aspiring assassins. He draws a bead on the musician and pulls the trigger just as High-and-Tight re-materializes above him and succumbs to gravity. The two men go down into a heap of awkwardly angled limbs -- not before the gun goes off in Ryan's direction, though its aim was surely fouled by the impact.<br />
<br />
Fashy's shot skips harmlessly off of Steve's shield and pings off of some pipes in the fashionably exposed industrial ceiling. Unlucky tries to scramble back and bring his gun to bear, but still has his (now bloody) knife in his left hand and doesn't quite have time to figured out how to dual-wield before Steve's fist connects with his jaw. Blood flies from his mouth as his head snaps back and he crumples without ceremony onto the floor. Fashy is about to fire again when the shield smacks the pistol from his hands -- slicing open his right hand in the process -- before bouncing off to be restrieved by Steve. He shrieks and clutches his hand as it begins gushing blood, then makes a beeline for the door.<br />
<br />
Ryan's teeth grit; briefly, the coffeshop music warps into a strange high pitched whine that would likely set nerves jangling even /without/ the accompanying shudder of empathic unease that comes with it. His hand has lifted to clutch at his chest as he dives back behind cover. When he drops it to help steady himself, it leaves a bloody smear against the floor. The musician looks down at himself with a grimace, frowning at the dark wet patch spreading against his shoulder. "Asshole. My nana gave me this shirt."<br />
<br />
Flicker lands heavily beside the tangled heap of gunmen. Only for a second, though. He's taking in the room, the blood, with a decided crumpling of expression that would be easy to miss in the brief second that he is still. In the next moment, he's stooped to take hold of -- /some/ limbs, he isn't picky -- and vanishing with the attackers still in a tangle as he blurs toward the nearest window and then past it, dumping the pile-of-bigot unceremoniously about two dozen feet above the hood of a van idling outside.<br />
<br />
While Flicker is taking out the trash, Steve is looking around. "Are there any doctors in the house? If you're injured and you can move on your own, please come to the end of the counter," he says, his voice firm but calm as his eyes take in Ryan and Isra. "Please check on your companions, I'll be right back." He does not set down his shield as he runs into the back and returns -- /extremely/ quickly -- with the shop's first aid kit.<br />
<br />
Isra has managed to prop herself up with the aid of her wings and actually attempts to stand up, though it is unclear whether she is doing so out of a desire to follow Steve's instructions or merely to go to Ryan. Either way, she slides back down to the floor in short order and makes the rest of the trip at a crawl. The growl in her throat never quite abates, not even she reaches her friend and asks, "Where are you hurt?"<br />
<br />
"My pride," Ryan replies with an exaggerated huff and an attempt at a smile that -- doesn't quite manage to surface through his pallor and clenched teeth. "Flicker's like a doctor, right? Half a doctor? Gotta count for something." He still keeps a hand pressed, more gingerly than is actually helpful, against his right shoulder; there's a decent amount of blood seeping through his fingers. "Hope they didn't get you too bad." He's turned a frown toward Isra's midsection. "No offense to Mel but the coffee here? Not worth this price."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Hard_Luck&diff=20191Logs:Hard Luck2019-03-04T23:58:29Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Marrow | summary = "I'll drag you all down into a pitch black hell and feed you to the rats." | gamedate = 2019-02-27 | gamedatename = | su..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Marrow]]<br />
| summary = "I'll drag you all down into a pitch black hell and feed you to the rats." <br />
| gamedate = 2019-02-27<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = (Warning: Graphic violence)<br />
| location = <NYC> Sara Roosevelt Park - Lower East Side<br />
| categories = Morlocks, Purifiers, X-Men, Mutants, Flicker, Marrow<br />
| log = <br />
This long, thin strip of a city park runs north-south through much of the Lower East Side, along its western boundary with Chinatown. At various points it offers ball courts, gardens, or just regular green space (less green in some places than others), and isn't necessarily the most peaceful of urban oases given that it's sandwiched by busy Forsyth and Chrystie streets.<br />
<br />
Here at the southern extremity of the park, near the Chinatown YMCA, the defunct restroom facility is intermittently broken into and converted to a crash space by the homeless in the neighborhood. Though police always eject the squatters and lock the building back down eventually, a small band of mutant youths have managed to hold onto it for a couple of months now. The "Men" and "Women" signs have been torn down and replaced with cardboard ones that read "Sleep" and "Fun", featuring a slumbering and dancing stick figure respectively.<br />
<br />
That is looking like it might change soon, as the over-loud roar of motorcycle engines announces the arrival of six Purifiers, identified by the stark white crosses on the backs of their black leather cuts. They coast up alongside the facility, gunning their engines to frighten off random passers-by, then dismount and converge on their target, their pace leisurely. Seeing their arrival, a skinny child who looks like a living, three-dimensional shadow gives a loud, piercing whistle and scurries in through the "Fun" door, slamming it behind them.<br />
<br />
The Purifiers split up into two groups, one for each door of the facility. Neither group immediately succeeds at entering -- clearly the youths have barricaded the doors from inside. But neither facility has seen any formal maintenance in over two decades, and it tells: the "Fun" door is already starting to come loose from its rusted hinges as the biggest Purifier kicks repeatedly at it.<br />
<br />
Flicker doesn't look like he belongs here. He looks like he might well be coming from church, in neatly pressed khakis and a crisp button-down under his dark peacoat, soft grey scarf and gloves, and if he's armed it certainly isn't visible. In contrast to the bikers, he's been on an /actual/ bicycle -- regular bike helmet and all -- drawn in perhaps by the sound of the gunning engines as he trails in after the Purifiers. There's a very slight crease between his brows as he watches the scattering, and though he ditches his bike (a kind of dinged-up old Giant very plastered-over with stickers and paint) he still has the helmet on as he approaches the "Fun" door. "You know, sir, I don't think they want to be disturbed."<br />
<br />
While Marrow is typically a very direct problem solver sometimes she resorts to cunning. Which is why a figure bundled in blankets ambles outside the facility. Her disguise has many benefits like keeping the weather off, but more importantly it makes her look meek and unassuming. Predator masquerading as prey. <br />
<br />
There's very little immediate reaction from her as a group of armed thugs begin to pull up outisde. She shuffles a few steps closer as everyone else begins to retreat inside. The blanket begins to shift around as her bones adjust in preparation for impending violence. No effort is made to announce her approach or issue any threats. After all she likely wants impending violence more than the Purifiers do.<br />
<br />
One of the Purifiers -- not kicking down the door, but gleefully looking on -- turns and looks Flicker up and down. "Hey, buddy," he speaks with a strong Brooklyn accent. "Why don't you fuck all the way off?"<br />
<br />
"Yuppie scum," adds the other non-door-kicking Purifier, clenching their fists to show off the words "HARD" and "LUCK" tattooed on his knuckles. "And you too!" in Marrow's general direction. "This ain't none of your goddamn business."<br />
<br />
To punctuate that last statement, door-kicker finally kicks the door in, sending the folding chairs, boxes, and kids piled behind it sprawling.<br />
<br />
Undaunted, Flicker pulls himself up a little taller, stepping -- was that /around/ the biggest of the Purifiers? It doesn't seem /exactly/ quite possible that he could have gotten there, and yet -- one small step takes him from behind the men to just on the other side of them, into the now-open doorway. "I really think you should leave."<br />
<br />
As soon as someone in the group takes note of her Marrow practically explodes out from her disguise. Revealing what was once biker leather but is now more ragged scraps encased in blood smeared bone. Her face is a rapidly healing mess with needle like bone spines jutting out. Her pink mohawk is just about the only part of her which isn't a mess.<br />
<br />
Despite the blood she's grinning with glee as she covers the distance to the Purifiers like an Olympic sprinter.<br />
<br />
Door-Kicker was just about to charge in, but comes up short when Flicker blocking the way. "You cruising for a bruising, fag?"<br />
<br />
The other two Purifiers laugh uproariously -- at least until they catch sight of what Marrow looks like under the blankets.<br />
<br />
Hard Luck actually screams and takes off for his bike. Slightly more stoic, Brooklyn only leaps back and turns very pale, drawing a wicked looking combat knife from a sheath at his back. He meets Marrow's charge like someone who actually knows how to knife fight, slashing up from below in a bid to get in beneath her bony armor.<br />
<br />
Door Kicker wasn't positioned to see Marrow at first, but does raise his voice. "Yo Billy! We got some uppity mutie-lovers over here!" This said, he makes a casual grab for Flicker's shirt collar.<br />
<br />
Flicker's eyes dart to Marrow. His brows lift for a moment, but past that he seems far less alarmed than the Purifiers. "Are you alright in there?" He's ignoring the goading, asking this quietly over his shoulder to the huddled youths inside.<br />
<br />
The man trying to grab for his shirt finds himself grabbing at -- nothing. He's vanished in a flash, reappearing behind Door Kicker only long enough to drop a hand almost casually onto the man's shoulder. When he vanishes again, the man vanishes with him. Reappearing in a series of stomach-churning lurches to deposit him quietly several yards from the restrooms. Similarly casually, he's unwinding his scarf as he goes.<br />
<br />
A low knife blow to the gut would normally be a slow and painfull way to die. But little does Knife Thug know that Marrows bone armour can move. Plates shifting under the skin so that when she makes the unexpected tactical maneuver of slamming directly into the blade it digs through cloth and flesh but misses her organs. <br />
<br />
And while the thug reels from the force of the impact Marrow repeatedly slams her face into his. Once, twice then thrice. Battering him down in a brutal series of headbutts.<br />
<br />
The oldest -- or at least the largest -- of the children had pushed the others farther back into the small building and picked up a broken plank from a smashed-in wooden box, holding it both hands like a sword. Their eyes are wide like saucers -- almost literally, huge and round and an unnatural shade of electric blue --- staring unblinking at Flicker. "We're okay."<br />
<br />
Door Kicker flails as Flicker blinks him away, and he retches once they land, only barely managing to keep the contents of his stomach down.<br />
<br />
Brooklyn grins wide as his knife slices into Marrow, but his face falls when it skips off of bone where no bone should be. "Fuckin' /freak!/" is all he gets out before Marrow's weaponized forehead slams reduces his face to a bloody pulp.<br />
<br />
The sound of pounding boots announces the arrival of reinforcements: the Purifiers who had been worrying at the "Sleep" door come around the corner, brandishing weapons. One has a knife, another an extendable baton, and the last a pair of actual, old-fashion brass knuckles. Knife guy goes after Flicker, while Baton and Brass Knuckles go after Marrow.<br />
<br />
"Are there more of them over there?" Flicker is nominally directing this question to Marrow. Even as he asks, though, he is disappearing again -- still with Door Kicker in his tow. Moving in the direction the other Purifiers have just charged from. Barely acknowledging the knife wielder charging him -- they're gone long before the man is in range. <br />
<br />
By the time they land he's twisted his scarf into a makeshift lasso. He's slipping it around his new buddy Purifier's wrists, tightening it to lash them together behind the man's back. For /him/ these things occur smoothly -- between te brief hops it takes to investigate around the corner and return. For the other man, a disconcerting series of blurry world-spinning jerks.<br />
<br />
For the one with the knife rushing him, he's just -- displaced, in a strange ghostly blur that shimmers, shifts, resettles himself ultimately a couple yards behind.<br />
<br />
As the thug drops to the group Marrow lets out a howl of triump and casually stamps down hard on his knife hand. Twisting her weight until she's sure enough bones have broken to make picking up another knife problematic. <br />
<br />
"There ain't enough of them," is all she calls out in response to Flickers question. As she draws a pair of bone batons that sprout from her shoulders and surges forward to meet the next two Purifiers. Her healing factor and the massive dose of adrenaline her power inflicted injuries have caused making her just that little bit faster and stronger than any human has a right to be.<br />
<br />
Door Kicker gamely tries to body check Flicker once they said all again, but he doesn't seem quite to have caught on that he's been trust up and the attack ends up more like flailing than a proper tackle. Knife guy spins around, recklessly jabbing at the ghostly images of Flicker, though he is as likely to hit Door Kicker as his intended target.<br />
<br />
Brooklyn screams as Marrow's bootheel grinds his hand against the pavement, and thereafter is capable of little more than curling around his injured hand and sobbing. Baton and Brass Knuckles seems suddenly a lot less enthusiastic about the fight after hearing Marrow's howl, but it isn't any case too late for them to back down. Baton Wade's in first, swinging his weapon in a good old-fashioned skull cracking overhead arc while Knuckles tries to circle around and flank Marrow, aiming sharp jabs in the general direction of her kidneys.<br />
<br />
Hard Luck, perhaps contrary to expectations, has not taken off on his bike, but taken a pistol from one of its saddle cases. He's loaded and leveled it at Marrow, then at Flicker, but does not seem quite ready to fire given that both of his targets are in close proximity to his own fellows.<br />
<br />
Flicker is a conscientious captor, at the least. He blinks them in and out, turning Knife guy's wild jabbing into a near miss rather than a gut wound for his compatriot. The scarf gets wound once more through this -- around Door Kicker's entire midsection. It's not a very secure binding, tucked but not tied, holding his arms against his body, but easy enough to pull back out of.<br />
<br />
Or, at least, it /would/ be under optimal circumstances. Flicker vanishes again -- in midair tosses a hand upward to cast his captive off without him. The short tail end of the scarf catches neatly where he's thrown it -- lodged securely /into/ the overhead bar of a light pole.<br />
<br />
When Flicker lands it's with a grimace -- in Marrow's direction, though he makes no comment. Just ghosts his way off again to land /on/ Hard Luck's bike, his brows raising at the gun. "Are you more attached to this bike, or to shooting us?"<br />
<br />
Even as Baton raises his weapon Marrow drops to one knee and lunges forward, almost as if she's performing a fencing thrust. Bones sprouting from her back to cover her head from the impending blow from above. Her own bone batons slam down even as she receives a blow in turn that'd split a normal persons skull clean open, but her targets aren't the Purifiers head or even his chest. Each of her strikes is aimed for a kneecap.<br />
<br />
Knuckles practically has free reign to attack. Or at least it seems that way. While brass knuckles do increase your punching power they have several disadvantages. Like the short range and the need to get in close to strike a blow. And in the moment that first kidney shot lands four steel hard rib bones burst free from her flesh like a bear trap fresh out of a nightmare.<br />
<br />
Door Kicker probably doesn't realize how lucky he is to have avoided friendly stabbing from Knife guy because he's too busy freaking out about his new predicament, far above the park, hanging by only a scarf. Hard Luck lets out an undignified yelp when Flicker appears beside him. He probably didn't think things through very thoroughly before whipping the gun around to fire point blank at the teleporter.<br />
<br />
Baton's baton finds its mark much tougher than expected, impacting with a loud crack that probably still jars Marrow's brains around even if it doesn't fracture any bones. The double-crack of Marrow's bone batons on Baton's knees sounds much wetter, and is immediately followed by his anguished scream. This is just about in time with the blood-curdling screech from Knuckles as the bone spikes puncture his hand.<br />
<br />
Unable to find anyone at which to stab, Knife guy decides to join the other Purifiers piling on Marrow. His approach becomes slightly more cautious when he cease what happens to the other two, however, and he only ventures a quick diagonal slash at Marrow's arm.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, two of the youths who had been huddled inside the "Fun" room have ventured out. One is the gangling big-eyed teen, still holding the plank. The other is scrawnier and darker skinned than the first, though they certainly look like they might be related. They grit their teeth, face contorting with intense concentration, and various debris -- broken bricks, pieces of concrete, fragments of boards, crushed cans -- rises up into the air around them, then fly at Knife guy's back. Their aim isn't great, as likely to hit Marrow as not, and in either case only hard enough to annoy and distract.<br />
<br />
There's /probably/ not really enough time to register the look of exasperation that crosses Flicker's face when the man votes Guns over Bikes. Even as Hard Luck is still turning, he's vanishing again. He hasn't moved from his perch on the bike, and it comes with him. Up, up, up. A little over. Given his complete lack of super /strength/, there's really one way this is likely to end, and so it goes -- when he does let the bike go, it's square over another one of the Purifier's rides. <br />
<br />
He blips himself back to the ground only long enough to snag the man who just shot at him and get him a little bit out of the inevitable splash zone, dropping Hard Luck unceremoniously under Door Kicker's light post. His stern "stay," comes with the same tone a misbehaving dog might earn. The pat on Hard Luck's hand is almost incongruous with the rest of the violence taking place -- more understandable, though, when the gun vanishes along with him. <br />
<br />
He reappears nearby Marrow and her posse, this time landing amid the erratically flying debris with an abrupt halt to his previously ceaseless-rapid motion and a sudden pallor in his expression. His hand /had/ been midway to reaching for Knife guy, but he checks himself with an abrupt uncertainty.<br />
<br />
The blow to her head makes Marrow grunt and on instinct she sweeps her bone clubs back and to the sides. It's a wild sweep and the cautious new friend with the knife will probably have the wits to step back out of the way but Knuckles, still distracted by the bones digging into his hand might take a blow to his ankle.<br />
<br />
Hard Luck flinches away from his airborne motorcycle but would not have gotten himself out of the way in time if Flicker had not rescued him. Once disarmed and dropped, though, he actually does just sink down to sit, less obedient than just poleaxed, staring at the wreck that used to be his and some other Purifier's bikes. He does not even notice his brother dangling high above, for all Door Kicker's shouting.<br />
<br />
Knuckles' feet go out from under him when Marrow sweeps the baton low. He doesn't actually seem too worried about the fall itself, but moreso the way his hand is gushing blood from where it was torn free from Marrow's bone spines /by/ the fall. "Jesus fucking Christ take whatever you want!"<br />
<br />
Baton, who actually has use of both of his hands, actually does pull out his wallet to throw at Marrow as he scoots away from her, pale with agony and terror.<br />
<br />
Knife guy manages to get clear of Marrow, and remains miraculously uninjured. Perhaps having seen all of his fellows laid low has given him some perspective, but he's backing away quickly. The debris pelting him draws his attention to the two teenagers who have ventured out, and he dives for them. The big-eyed teen shouts and swings the plank like a baseball bat, but their technique leaves much to be desired and Knife guy shrugs it off, grabbing the other, smaller kid and lifting them almost bodily off the ground. The young telekinetic frantically pulls more ammo from a nearby trashcan, filling the air with swirling detritus that misses as often as it hits.<br />
<br />
"Back the /fuck/ off!" Knife guy roars, putting the knife to the youth's neck. His hand is shaking so violently that it threatens to draw blood whether he actually bears down or not.<br />
<br />
Flicker stays put a moment longer. Jaw tight. Posture tense. He looks at the Purifier -- at the kid in his arms -- at the very unsteady knife. At the whirling detritus between them. When he moves it's as quick as ever, a sudden displacement that shifts him in a quick hop-hop over to the pair. He hasn't even settled into place yet when he's reaching out for the knife in an attempt to blink it away to the ground. There's a new tear gashed in the sleeve of his coat, one of his arms hanging limply at his side.<br />
<br />
"If you stab him what then?" Marrow asks, raising from her crouch and pocketing the wallet thrown in tribute. "I'll tell you what happens. I get upset." The assorted cuts she's picked up over the fight are already visibly knitting themselves shut. "And then I won't just beat you." She takes a slow and deliberate step forward. "I'll drag you all down into a pitch black hell and feed you to the rats. PIECE BY FUCKING PIECE."<br />
<br />
"What the fuck are you doing?!" demands Knuckles, who's recovered enough of his wits to put pressure on his wounds. "You're gonna get us all killed! Let's fucking /get/!" He's trying valiently to help Baton up with his good hand, perhaps unaware of how injured the latter is. A few steps away, Brooklyn has finally quieted down and is slinking away towards his bike -- or what's left of it, anyway, after Hard Luck's landed on it.<br />
<br />
Knife guy lurches back away from Flicker, but catches a flying, half-eaten hamburger right in the face. The young telekinetic hastily pushes the knife away from their neck, incidentally shoving the hand holding said knife right into Flicker's grasp. The big-eyed teen leaps in and grabs the telekinetic, half-dragging them out of Knife guy's reach, unaware the man is in the process of being disarmed -- perhaps a bit more literally than Flicker intended. The flying debris starts losing momentum and dropping to the ground all around them.<br />
<br />
The knife and -- several of Knife Guy's fingers fall to the ground a few feet away, amid the debris. Flicker takes a half-step back, a starkly pale cast to his scarred face. "You good?" To the kids, to Marrow. Still keeping an eye on Knife Guy /just/ in case the remaining Purifier doesn't have enough common sense at this point to go. Gingerly, he's removing a crumpled soda can out from within the tear in his sleeve, where it's been somehow lodged. The jerky motion of his arm beneath the rend makes it apparent that his forearm is now hanging at a not at all correct angle.<br />
<br />
"Your buddy there ain't gonna be gettin' by himself anytime soon," Marrow points out with a smirk. Instantly relaxing now the overt danger has passed. "Especially as I'm taking the rest of these bikes." She lets out a piercing whistle and in the distance a Morlock scavenging party whistles back "Consider it a stupidity tax. Oh and tell the rest of your inbred buddies. This part of town? It's off limits." <br />
<br />
She starts walking in the direction of Brooklyn and the bikes with a cocky swagger. "All this carnage? This was just me acting in /self-defense/." She points out. It's even sort of technically correct if perhaps not a statement that'll hold up perfectly in a court room. "I see another Purifier and it'll take the pigs a month just to figure out which parts belong to each of your bodies."<br />
<br />
The Purifiers are scrambling to get away now, the ones who can walk ushering, helping, or outright dragging the ones who cannot. They leave poor dangling Door Kicker behind, despite his shouts of protest.<br />
<br />
The other mutant youths are slowly emerging from their commandeered facility, perhaps drawing as much by the dispersing hostels as the distant wail of sirens.<br />
<br />
"Thank you both," the big-eyed teenager says. It's hard to tell what they're looking at, but they reach for Flicker's arm, stopping short. "Do -- do you need help?"<br />
<br />
"I don't think you're wrong," Flicker says carefully, "but you /know/ the cops are not going to listen to that excuse and lots of those bikes aren't currently rideable, right?" He's offering this very neutrally to Marrow, at the sound of the approaching sirens. "The wallets and weapons are probably an easier haul to move quick."<br />
<br />
Only now is he removing his bicycle helmet, brushing his fingers through his hair to rearrange it neat and tidy, straightening the collar on his dress shirt. "Oh, no worries." Though his face is still far too pale, he offers the kids a bright smile, tilting his arm when they reach for it and using his other arm to bend the break /further/ -- more clearly revealing the colorful prosthetic inside. "I have about five more at home." With some difficulty, he's bending the broken synthetic limb back into an approximation of a natural looking position, smoothing at his coat to hide the tear as best as possible. "I'm a pretty decent hand with carpentry if you want help fixing this all back up later, but also, if you want to talk later, I know a safer place you can go."<br />
<br />
"Don't worry. I'll called for a removal specialist," Marrow explains, moving to snatch up any wallets that haven't been thrown flying by the telekinetic debris storms. "Sunder should be able to carry at least two by himself." And sure enough out of the gloomy alleys nearby several well equiped (by Morlock standards) mutants appear. One of which happens to be seven foot tall with arms as thick as respectably sized trees. <br />
<br />
The newcomers seem to be all business and begin hauling off the most valuable looking bikes. They might not be much use for transportation in the sewers but the engines can be used to run all sorts of machines.<br />
<br />
"Anyway. Been a pleasure fighting with you. Always nice not getting shot during one of these little dust ups. But for now I've got plunder to deal with." She offers a casual wave and then, bone spines on her body retracting, she hauls an engine from one of the trashed bikes up onto her shoulder and briskly walks off into the night.<br />
<br />
The kids -- nine in all, mostly looking like tweens and young teens -- huddle around Big Eyes and stare around in stark amazement as the Morlocks go to work.<br />
<br />
The telekinetic kid, notwithstanding their recent traumatic experience, gawks at the sight of Flicker's prosthesis. "Whoa, /cool/!”<br />
<br />
Big Eye gives their shoulder a quick admonishing squeeze. "And I guess they're...not too hurt either." This not-quite-question is directed at Marrow as she goes, and carries a good deal of incredulity. "We have to get out of here, too. The cops will be all over this place for a while, and then it's gonna be locked up again probably."<br />
<br />
"Stay safe." Flicker lifts his chin to Marrow as she heads off. "And you all, too. If you can't find somewhere else to go, come by Evolve later. At the least I'll get you some dinner." For his part, he's not fleeing the impending cops. Just taking his time about tidying himself neat and presentable. He does, though, drop Door Kicker -- none too gently -- from the lamppost /just/ before the first police car comes into view.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Mendel_Clinic&diff=20155Mendel Clinic2019-02-09T23:28:11Z<p>Blinkdog: /* Security Staff */</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" |<br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
|<br />
== Description ==<br />
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building.<br />
<br />
Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction.<br />
<br />
== Care & Services ==<br />
<br />
*Medical Care<br />
**Primary Care<br />
**Specialty Care, including dietary, PT/OT, O&P, OB/GYN, and a long list of specialists available by appointment or referral.<br />
**Pediatrics<br />
**Radiological and Nuclear Imaging<br />
*Mental Health Care<br />
**Individual, Couple, and Family Therapy<br />
**Substance Abuse Services<br />
**Support Groups<br />
**Violence Recovery Programs<br />
*Dental Care<br />
*Eye Care<br />
*Pharmacy<br />
*Complementary Therapies<br />
*Financial Assistance & Health Insurance Enrollment<br />
<br />
== Hours ==<br />
<br />
*Primary Medical Care: Monday-Friday, 8 am - 7 pm, Saturday, 8 am - 1:30 pm<br />
*Mental Health: Monday-Friday, 8 am - 7 pm, Saturday, 8 am - 1:30 pm<br />
*Dental and Eye Care: Monday - Thursday, 8 am - 7 pm, Friday 8 am - 5 pm<br />
*Pharmacy: Monday - Friday, 9 am - 7 pm<br />
*Radiology: Monday - Friday, 9 am - 5 pm<br />
*Complementary Therapy Clinics: Monday - Friday, 8 am - 10am and 4pm - 7pm; Saturday, 9 am - noon<br />
*Financial Assistance, Health Insurance Enrollment, all other administrative offices: Monday - Friday, 8 am - 5 pm<br />
<br />
== Floor Plan ==<br />
<br />
*BL3 - Hazardous Research Labs, Hazardous Patient Rooms (built to exceed BSL-3 standards and contain EM, radiation, explosions.) No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*BL2 - Radiology & Nuclear Imaging, Server Room, Garage (employee entrance only.) Has PET-CT, MRI, X-Ray. Guard control room on this floor.<br />
*BL1 - Parking Garage. -- Employee entrance only -- Visitors still must ''enter'' through the front door.<br />
*FL1 - Lobby. Security entrance. Helpful desk to direct you where to go. Cafeteria. Visitors must all pass through security checkpoint (metal detector, belongings x-ray, mantrap, brief screening by guard.) '''Not actually a waiting room''' -- individual department waiting rooms are on each floor, with their respective departments. There is no receptionist here; security staffs the front desk and the on-duty guard can direct visitors to the correct floor.<br />
*FL2 - Primary Care - Waiting Rooms, Exam rooms, doctor's offices. Phlebotomy & diagnostic lab also on this floor. <br />
*FL3 - Primary Care - Waiting Rooms, Exam rooms, doctor's offices. Iolaus takes patients on this floor.<br />
*FL4 - Pediatric Primary Care & Behavioral Health - Waiting rooms, exam rooms, and doctor's offices. Pharmacy also on this floor.<br />
*FL5 - Dental Care & Eye Care - Waiting rooms, exam rooms, and doctor's offices.<br />
*FL6 - Research & Diagnostic Lab, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL7 - Research labs, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL8 - Research labs, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL9 - Staff offices - Iolaus's main office on this floor.<br />
*FL10 - Conference rooms. Guard breakroom. Staff breakroom.<br />
*FL11 - Storage. Roof exit, Helipad, protective signage.<br />
<br />
== History ==<br />
The Mendel Clinic was quietly organized in early 2013 by its founder, [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]], a clinical geneticist then at the Mount Sinai Hospital. Clinic applications and fundraising began in secret with a small, core team of staff, until the clinic was outed by an exposé in the Daily Bugle on the 29th of March due to the revelation of its application for a clinic license in the State of New York. The founder was subsequently arrested at the public announcement after the permit for a public speech in Central Park was revoked only minutes before his speech was due to start.[[ArchivedLogs:Who_throws_grapes!%3F|<sup>ref</sup>]]<br />
<br />
== Current Status ==<br />
The Mendel Clinic opened for general business as of November 2013. The Mendel Clinic redirects all press inquiries to [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]], its founder, who is not very good at returning calls to reporters.<br />
<br />
== Employees ==<br />
The following is an incomplete list of some of the current and former staff of the Mendel Clinic. All NPCs are noted with a star after their name, and many are adoptable. Contact [[Iolaus]] for more information!<br />
<br />
=== Medical Staff ===<br />
*Dr. [[Iolaus]] Saavedro: Staff Physician, Clinical Geneticist, Clinic Founder<br />
*Dr. [[Rasheed]] Toure: Neurologist (Contractor)<br />
*[[NPCs#Rachel|Rachel]] Nievas: Head Nurse<br />
<br />
=== Administrative Staff ===<br />
*[[Hive]]: Architect (work completed)<br />
<br />
=== Security Staff ===<br />
*[[NPC-Jane|Jane]]: Head of Security<br />
*[[NPCs#Alec|Alec]]: Senior security staff<br />
*[[NPCs#Daniel|Daniel]]: Senior security staff<br />
*[[Jackson]] Holland: Senior security staff<br />
*Reginald [[NPCs#Reginald|Reg]] Blackwell: Senior security staff<br />
*[[Flicker]]: Junior security staff<br />
*[[NPCs#Nightmare|Nightmare]]: Junior security staff<br />
<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Mendel Clinic<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000; vertical-align: top;"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Mendel_Clinic.svg|center|250px]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Founder'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | 501(c)(3)<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Founded'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | 2013<br />
|- <br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Focus'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | Mutant Health<br />
|- <br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Mission'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | To enhance the wellbeing of the mutants worldwide through outstanding access to the highest quality of specialized health care, education, research and advocacy. <br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
|}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Mendel_Clinic&diff=20154Mendel Clinic2019-02-09T23:27:44Z<p>Blinkdog: /* History */</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" |<br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
|<br />
== Description ==<br />
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building.<br />
<br />
Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction.<br />
<br />
== Care & Services ==<br />
<br />
*Medical Care<br />
**Primary Care<br />
**Specialty Care, including dietary, PT/OT, O&P, OB/GYN, and a long list of specialists available by appointment or referral.<br />
**Pediatrics<br />
**Radiological and Nuclear Imaging<br />
*Mental Health Care<br />
**Individual, Couple, and Family Therapy<br />
**Substance Abuse Services<br />
**Support Groups<br />
**Violence Recovery Programs<br />
*Dental Care<br />
*Eye Care<br />
*Pharmacy<br />
*Complementary Therapies<br />
*Financial Assistance & Health Insurance Enrollment<br />
<br />
== Hours ==<br />
<br />
*Primary Medical Care: Monday-Friday, 8 am - 7 pm, Saturday, 8 am - 1:30 pm<br />
*Mental Health: Monday-Friday, 8 am - 7 pm, Saturday, 8 am - 1:30 pm<br />
*Dental and Eye Care: Monday - Thursday, 8 am - 7 pm, Friday 8 am - 5 pm<br />
*Pharmacy: Monday - Friday, 9 am - 7 pm<br />
*Radiology: Monday - Friday, 9 am - 5 pm<br />
*Complementary Therapy Clinics: Monday - Friday, 8 am - 10am and 4pm - 7pm; Saturday, 9 am - noon<br />
*Financial Assistance, Health Insurance Enrollment, all other administrative offices: Monday - Friday, 8 am - 5 pm<br />
<br />
== Floor Plan ==<br />
<br />
*BL3 - Hazardous Research Labs, Hazardous Patient Rooms (built to exceed BSL-3 standards and contain EM, radiation, explosions.) No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*BL2 - Radiology & Nuclear Imaging, Server Room, Garage (employee entrance only.) Has PET-CT, MRI, X-Ray. Guard control room on this floor.<br />
*BL1 - Parking Garage. -- Employee entrance only -- Visitors still must ''enter'' through the front door.<br />
*FL1 - Lobby. Security entrance. Helpful desk to direct you where to go. Cafeteria. Visitors must all pass through security checkpoint (metal detector, belongings x-ray, mantrap, brief screening by guard.) '''Not actually a waiting room''' -- individual department waiting rooms are on each floor, with their respective departments. There is no receptionist here; security staffs the front desk and the on-duty guard can direct visitors to the correct floor.<br />
*FL2 - Primary Care - Waiting Rooms, Exam rooms, doctor's offices. Phlebotomy & diagnostic lab also on this floor. <br />
*FL3 - Primary Care - Waiting Rooms, Exam rooms, doctor's offices. Iolaus takes patients on this floor.<br />
*FL4 - Pediatric Primary Care & Behavioral Health - Waiting rooms, exam rooms, and doctor's offices. Pharmacy also on this floor.<br />
*FL5 - Dental Care & Eye Care - Waiting rooms, exam rooms, and doctor's offices.<br />
*FL6 - Research & Diagnostic Lab, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL7 - Research labs, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL8 - Research labs, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL9 - Staff offices - Iolaus's main office on this floor.<br />
*FL10 - Conference rooms. Guard breakroom. Staff breakroom.<br />
*FL11 - Storage. Roof exit, Helipad, protective signage.<br />
<br />
== History ==<br />
The Mendel Clinic was quietly organized in early 2013 by its founder, [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]], a clinical geneticist then at the Mount Sinai Hospital. Clinic applications and fundraising began in secret with a small, core team of staff, until the clinic was outed by an exposé in the Daily Bugle on the 29th of March due to the revelation of its application for a clinic license in the State of New York. The founder was subsequently arrested at the public announcement after the permit for a public speech in Central Park was revoked only minutes before his speech was due to start.[[ArchivedLogs:Who_throws_grapes!%3F|<sup>ref</sup>]]<br />
<br />
== Current Status ==<br />
The Mendel Clinic opened for general business as of November 2013. The Mendel Clinic redirects all press inquiries to [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]], its founder, who is not very good at returning calls to reporters.<br />
<br />
== Employees ==<br />
The following is an incomplete list of some of the current and former staff of the Mendel Clinic. All NPCs are noted with a star after their name, and many are adoptable. Contact [[Iolaus]] for more information!<br />
<br />
=== Medical Staff ===<br />
*Dr. [[Iolaus]] Saavedro: Staff Physician, Clinical Geneticist, Clinic Founder<br />
*Dr. [[Rasheed]] Toure: Neurologist (Contractor)<br />
*[[NPCs#Rachel|Rachel]] Nievas: Head Nurse<br />
<br />
=== Administrative Staff ===<br />
*[[Hive]]: Architect (work completed)<br />
<br />
=== Security Staff ===<br />
*[[NPC-Jane|Jane]]: Head of Security<br />
*[[NPCs#Alec|Alec]]: Senior security staff<br />
*[[NPCs#Daniel|Daniel]]: Senior security staff<br />
*[[Jackson]] Holland-Zedner: Senior security staff<br />
*Reginald [[NPCs#Reginald|Reg]] Blackwell: Senior security staff<br />
*[[Flicker]]: Junior security staff<br />
*[[NPCs#Nightmare|Nightmare]]: Junior security staff<br />
<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Mendel Clinic<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000; vertical-align: top;"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Mendel_Clinic.svg|center|250px]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Founder'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | 501(c)(3)<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Founded'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | 2013<br />
|- <br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Focus'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | Mutant Health<br />
|- <br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Mission'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | To enhance the wellbeing of the mutants worldwide through outstanding access to the highest quality of specialized health care, education, research and advocacy. <br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
|}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Mendel_Clinic&diff=20153Mendel Clinic2019-02-09T23:26:51Z<p>Blinkdog: /* Employees */</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" |<br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
|<br />
== Description ==<br />
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building.<br />
<br />
Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction.<br />
<br />
== Care & Services ==<br />
<br />
*Medical Care<br />
**Primary Care<br />
**Specialty Care, including dietary, PT/OT, O&P, OB/GYN, and a long list of specialists available by appointment or referral.<br />
**Pediatrics<br />
**Radiological and Nuclear Imaging<br />
*Mental Health Care<br />
**Individual, Couple, and Family Therapy<br />
**Substance Abuse Services<br />
**Support Groups<br />
**Violence Recovery Programs<br />
*Dental Care<br />
*Eye Care<br />
*Pharmacy<br />
*Complementary Therapies<br />
*Financial Assistance & Health Insurance Enrollment<br />
<br />
== Hours ==<br />
<br />
*Primary Medical Care: Monday-Friday, 8 am - 7 pm, Saturday, 8 am - 1:30 pm<br />
*Mental Health: Monday-Friday, 8 am - 7 pm, Saturday, 8 am - 1:30 pm<br />
*Dental and Eye Care: Monday - Thursday, 8 am - 7 pm, Friday 8 am - 5 pm<br />
*Pharmacy: Monday - Friday, 9 am - 7 pm<br />
*Radiology: Monday - Friday, 9 am - 5 pm<br />
*Complementary Therapy Clinics: Monday - Friday, 8 am - 10am and 4pm - 7pm; Saturday, 9 am - noon<br />
*Financial Assistance, Health Insurance Enrollment, all other administrative offices: Monday - Friday, 8 am - 5 pm<br />
<br />
== Floor Plan ==<br />
<br />
*BL3 - Hazardous Research Labs, Hazardous Patient Rooms (built to exceed BSL-3 standards and contain EM, radiation, explosions.) No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*BL2 - Radiology & Nuclear Imaging, Server Room, Garage (employee entrance only.) Has PET-CT, MRI, X-Ray. Guard control room on this floor.<br />
*BL1 - Parking Garage. -- Employee entrance only -- Visitors still must ''enter'' through the front door.<br />
*FL1 - Lobby. Security entrance. Helpful desk to direct you where to go. Cafeteria. Visitors must all pass through security checkpoint (metal detector, belongings x-ray, mantrap, brief screening by guard.) '''Not actually a waiting room''' -- individual department waiting rooms are on each floor, with their respective departments. There is no receptionist here; security staffs the front desk and the on-duty guard can direct visitors to the correct floor.<br />
*FL2 - Primary Care - Waiting Rooms, Exam rooms, doctor's offices. Phlebotomy & diagnostic lab also on this floor. <br />
*FL3 - Primary Care - Waiting Rooms, Exam rooms, doctor's offices. Iolaus takes patients on this floor.<br />
*FL4 - Pediatric Primary Care & Behavioral Health - Waiting rooms, exam rooms, and doctor's offices. Pharmacy also on this floor.<br />
*FL5 - Dental Care & Eye Care - Waiting rooms, exam rooms, and doctor's offices.<br />
*FL6 - Research & Diagnostic Lab, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL7 - Research labs, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL8 - Research labs, staff offices. No visitors on this floor -- Need security/staff clearance.<br />
*FL9 - Staff offices - Iolaus's main office on this floor.<br />
*FL10 - Conference rooms. Guard breakroom. Staff breakroom.<br />
*FL11 - Storage. Roof exit, Helipad, protective signage.<br />
<br />
== History ==<br />
The Mendel Clinic was quietly organized in early 2013 by its founder, [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]], a clinical geneticist then at the Mount Sinai Hospital. Clinic applications and fundraising began in secret with a small, core team of staff, until the clinic was outed by an exposé in the Daily Bugle on the 29th of March due to the revelation of its application for a clinic license in the State of New York. The founder was subsequently arrested at the public announcement after the permit for a public speech in Central Park was revoked only minutes before his speech was due to start.[[Logs:Who_throws_grapes!%3F|<sup>ref</sup>]]<br />
<br />
== Current Status ==<br />
The Mendel Clinic opened for general business as of November 2013. The Mendel Clinic redirects all press inquiries to [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]], its founder, who is not very good at returning calls to reporters.<br />
<br />
== Employees ==<br />
The following is an incomplete list of some of the current and former staff of the Mendel Clinic. All NPCs are noted with a star after their name, and many are adoptable. Contact [[Iolaus]] for more information!<br />
<br />
=== Medical Staff ===<br />
*Dr. [[Iolaus]] Saavedro: Staff Physician, Clinical Geneticist, Clinic Founder<br />
*Dr. [[Rasheed]] Toure: Neurologist (Contractor)<br />
*[[NPCs#Rachel|Rachel]] Nievas: Head Nurse<br />
<br />
=== Administrative Staff ===<br />
*[[Hive]]: Architect (work completed)<br />
<br />
=== Security Staff ===<br />
*[[NPC-Jane|Jane]]: Head of Security<br />
*[[NPCs#Alec|Alec]]: Senior security staff<br />
*[[NPCs#Daniel|Daniel]]: Senior security staff<br />
*[[Jackson]] Holland-Zedner: Senior security staff<br />
*Reginald [[NPCs#Reginald|Reg]] Blackwell: Senior security staff<br />
*[[Flicker]]: Junior security staff<br />
*[[NPCs#Nightmare|Nightmare]]: Junior security staff<br />
<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Mendel Clinic<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000; vertical-align: top;"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Mendel_Clinic.svg|center|250px]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Founder'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | [[Iolaus|Iolaus Saavedro]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | 501(c)(3)<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Founded'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | 2013<br />
|- <br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Focus'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | Mutant Health<br />
|- <br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Mission'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | To enhance the wellbeing of the mutants worldwide through outstanding access to the highest quality of specialized health care, education, research and advocacy. <br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
|}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Quiet_Morning&diff=20152Logs:Quiet Morning2019-02-09T23:25:54Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Flicker, Iolaus | summary = "It's like nothing else I've ever done." | gamedate = 2019-02-09 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = The Mendel..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Iolaus]]<br />
| summary = "It's like nothing else I've ever done."<br />
| gamedate = 2019-02-09<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = [[The Mendel Clinic]], Lower East Side<br />
| categories = The Mendel Clinic, Flicker, Iolaus, Humans, Mutants<br />
| log = With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most distinctive new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building.<br />
<br />
Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction.<br />
<br />
The clinic will no doubt be bustling soon enough. Saturdays are a popular time for everyone whose obligations keep them from making weekday appointments and the limited amount of walk-in hours are generally packed past capacity. It's quiet just ''now'', though, front doors still locked for a brief peace that is soon to be broken. Flicker is taking advantage of the downtime, laptop open at the front desk and a book heavily marked with sticky post-it tabs -- ''Principles and Practice of Infectious Diseases'' -- currently closed by his elbow. His black and red guard uniform is crisp, and the segmented tentacle-like prosthetic arm he wears matches its color scheme, matte black with metallic red geometric designs wrapped over it.<br />
<br />
The elevator bell dings, and Iolaus sweeps out of the elevator backwards, his conversation suddenly audible as the metal doors slide open. "It's justified, Jane," Iolaus says, in a tone equal parts harassed and amused. "I promise, I'll wait on this side of the front security gate, but I'm trying to ''downplay'' the amount of threat that there is. Seeing me with a bodyguard in my own office isn't exactly what I had in mind as 'calming'!" The crisp white dress shirt wrinkles slightly at the elbow as the doctor gesticulates in the air, holding his hands out in front of him. "Alright? Alright. I'll see you in a couple of hours." It isn't until the doors of the elevator close that he sighs, loudly, and bangs his head lightly against the mirrored finish of the sliding metal once, twice. "{Silly, silly, silly...}" Iolaus grumbles to himself in greek.<br />
<br />
Flicker's initial glance upward is reflexive. Quick, drawn automatically to the movement by the elevators. He returns to his screen momentarily, relatively relaxed when it's just Iolaus entering the lobby. "You doing okay there?" When he speaks it's mostly prompted by the older man's head-banging.<br />
<br />
"Sometimes," Iolaus says, turning around and flashing Flicker a wry smile. "I wonder what set of bad life decisions lead me to put Jane in the position to control my life so much." There's a moment of pause as Iolaus' smile widens, stepping forward over towards Flicker's desk. "Then I remember it's because I prefer being alive over being dead, and there are few more qualified than her to make sure I stay that way. Still." The doctor winks and leans against the counter, glancing towards the lobby doors for a moment and then back down to the younger man. "How's it going, Flicker? Starting to look forward towards clinicals, or still so far buried in the books that you don't even see the end?"<br />
<br />
"She does sometimes have that effect, doesn't she, sir?" Flicker hides a smile behind his screen, but looks up again when Iolaus nears. "To be honest, I can't think that far ahead. It feels like -- a lot. Right now. I'm sure I'll be glad once I ''get'' there, though."<br />
<br />
Iolaus scratches at his chin for a second, considering. "I'd be lying if I told you that I enjoyed most of my clerking. It was nice to get out of the classroom, but I spent most of mine just doing skut work that even the residents looked down on." He shrugs his shoulders once, and then spreads his hands out in a helpless gesture. "That was back before a bunch of medical school reforms. Back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth, and we had to walk uphill to class both ways. I'm sure it's better now. And, I was stupidly doing a research degree at the same time." He leans down and taps his finger against the textbook, once, twice. "Still, of all the books to be buried in, that looks like one of the more enjoyable ones to me."<br />
<br />
"Get -- out -- of the -- classroom?" Flicker echoes this with a widening of eyes. Quizzical head-tilt. "I'm sorry, sir, I recognize those individual ''words'' you're saying, but together they don't make a lot of sense." He glances down at the book cover. "Yeah, enjoyable if you're into -- oh." He ducks his head, a flush of pink creeping up into his cheeks. "''Right''."<br />
<br />
Laughing, Iolaus sticks out his tongue at the younger man for a moment, straightening back up. "What can I say? I spent too many summers helping out a professor with his infectious disease research for me to not have fallen a little bit in love with the creativity of nature to throw tiny little wrenches into our grand plans." Straightening up, Iolaus laces his fingers together and stretches them upward, a muted set of cracking noises matching the soft groan that he makes. "Occupational hazard of being a geneticist, I'm afraid," the doctor murmurs in a conspiratorial tone.<br />
<br />
"Nature does have a way of doing that." Flicker's eyes sweep the lobby. Come to rest on the Clinic logo behind the desk. "Guess that's pretty obvious here, of all places."<br />
<br />
"I wouldn't say the X-gene is a wrench," Iolaus says, giving Flicker a puzzled look for a moment before looking around the room as if the reason for his statement was written on one of the walls. "No more than the first animals crawling out of the water was, or the development of the opposable thumb." As if to explain, the doctor waggles the aforementioned thumbs in the air. "But, I agree that it probably has messed up with some people's plans." After several seconds of pause, the older man adds, "But fuck 'em."<br />
<br />
"Well. I suppose you wouldn't." There's a careful mildness to Flicker's voice. His lips twitch slightly. His eyes drop back to his keyboard, fingers tapping lightly against the keys without pressing anymore. "Some people's." His cheeks color darker at the profanity. "You have a lot on the schedule today, sir?"<br />
<br />
Shrugging his shoulders, Iolaus shakes his head and tugs a cell phone out of his pocket to shoot a glare at. "Not too much; hopefully will get out at a reasonable hour, for once. Have a new candidate for the peads team coming in this morning that I've got to try and convince to join us. Great CV, though he's been a bit... let's say 'gunshy' about signing on the dotted line." Iolaus shoots Flicker a look and shakes his head, stuffing the cell phone back where it came. "Then try and clear as much of my inbox out as I can before the day's over. How about you?"<br />
<br />
"At a place like this?" Flicker uncurls the tip of his tentacle-arm toward the heavily reinforced glass and mantrap at the front of the lobby. "I can't imagine why." He pulls in a slow breath, shakes his head. "Hard to say. I always really ''hope'' my days here will be quiet. The alternative is..." He trails off, brows knitting deeply. "A ''lot'' more reading left over for when I get home."<br />
<br />
"Not something either of us want to contemplate, I'm sure." Iolaus says, a note of tension in his voice. "Still, the kind of medicine we do here..." Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Iolaus' lips curl into a bright smile. "It's like nothing else I've ever done." His eyes flick back to the guard, giving him a knowing look. "You never forget the first time you help a patient with something they didn't know could be fixed. It's something most doctors only get to experience a few times in a career, but here...."<br />
<br />
The tip of Flicker's tongue darts out briefly to wet his lips. His lip catches between his teeth, after, teeth worrying at its corner. "Well, sir." His smile isn't quite as bright -- quick, polite. "I'm glad we give you that opportunity." A quick glance at the clock behind the desk. "I should get this place open. Good luck with the inbox."<br />
<br />
Iolaus pauses for a second, mouth opening to speak, before he visibly checks himself and nods. "Of course, Flicker. Good luck with the rest of your studying, yeah? Feel free to come up and knock on my door if you have a question about anything in that textbook, yeah? I could use a break from the paperwork." He gives the guard a cautious smile, then steps back over to one of the couches and sinks into it to wait.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Rafael&diff=20056Rafael2019-02-04T03:32:41Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{| width="100%" | colspan="2" | <center> {| | style="text-align:center;" | '''''Page subtitle'''''<br /> |} </center> |- | width="100%" | {| width="100%" ! Introduction |- |..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''Page subtitle'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Overview of your character goes here.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Description<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Average height, lean and filled out with a ropy padding of muscles, Rafael is un impressively built. He tends to scruffy -- a short but often messy crop of tousled dark hair, a short-trimmed scruff of beard shadowing his warm tawny skin. He has deep brown eyes, a tall bulb nose, thick dark eyebrows in a face slow to smile. A small sprinkling of scars and tattoos are scattered around his skin and his wide hands are heavily work-calloused.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Reputation<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}On a neighborhood level, gruff but helpful, considerate and conscientious proprietor of the Grand St Market, a bodega that is a neighborhood fixture. Always remembers how people like their sandwiches, always remembers when your mom's been sick or your kid has a recital coming up. <br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Your character's background.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Description of your character's powers.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Description of your character's non-mutation-related skills.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*[[Dusk]]'s cousin. Neither is particularly comfortable with this fact.<br />
*Born in the DR, but spent most of his life in Puerto Rico. Moved to NYC after Hurricane Maria caused a radical shifting of lots of his family's lives and homes.<br />
*His uncle ran the store for many years before him. He's doing his best to be as much a part of the community as his uncle was.<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Rafael Tano Ayala<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| September 11, 1982<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Santiago, Dominican Republic<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Human<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Citizens<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Bodega owner<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| (currently n/a)<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000" <br />
! style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | RP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Yeah, we got that''' - ''Runs a bodega in the Lower East Side with the unassuming name of Grand Street Market. Like many of its type, it can supply you with everything from your daily coffee and morning sandwich to repairing your cellphone screen to fixing your jewelry to holding your Amazon packages to stashing your keys for your AirBnB renters. Tends to know all his regular customers and, by extension, a lot of folks in the neighborhood.''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:Active PCs]][[Category:Citizens]][[Category:Humans]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Dawson&diff=20055Dawson2019-02-04T02:53:49Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''The future belongs to the brave.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Boy Scout.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Description<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}5'11", athletic from plenty of regular training but lean rather than bulky. He wouldn't be particularly eye-catching; boy-next-door kind of looks, a neatly groomed crop of dark brown hair, bright green eyes. The wealth of scars he bears tends to stand out, though, twisted knotty and uneven down his face and the one remaining arm he has; his missing right arm tends to be noticeable as well.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Reputation<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None among the general populace. Among X-Men and Prometheans, known to be generally quiet and friendly, with a disarming politeness that belies the fact he will hand many people their asses when it comes time to throw down.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}The second-oldest (by eleven minutes) of a sprawling boisterous clan, Flicker grew up surrounded by a lot of noise and a lot of love. His parents moved the family from Idaho to Utah when he was quite young, and it was on the outskirts of Salt Lake City that he grew up. He came from a working-class family; his father was a carpenter (specializing in furniture making) and his mother was a librarian part-time. Love of books and learning was not so much /drilled/ into the children as it was just easy to /absorb/ with so much Knowledge always around for the taking. Flicker's mother took a strong interest in all their educations, and her early interest in reading to them and encouraging them to be curious gave many of his siblings a strong academic drive (for him, it didn't hurt that he was constantly in a friendly-ish rivalry with his twin sister Lily to see who could get the highest marks in school.)<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Outside of academics he was always an active child, heavily involved in sports and Scouts, fond of volunteering in a scattering of different pursuits. It was the development of his mutation the summer before high school that led his life on a starkly divergent path. His church -- the center of much of his and his family's social and support network -- was strongly outspoken about not wanting mutants in the congregation, and a combination of their own unease and the social pressure from their community led his family to kick him out of the house. He was out on the streets for a while, often targeted because his age and clear mutant status (his mutation, then, was poorly controlled) made it easy to single him out -- though his mutation also made it kind of hard to pin him /down/. He was fourteen when Prometheus picked him up and shoved him in a lab; shy of 16 when Jackson Holland's team broke him out and he joined them in their efforts.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Despite the horror of the experience, Flicker is -- well, thankful would be the wrong word. But it was the labs that gave him the family he has today, and he wouldn't give that /up/.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He enrolled at Xavier's once he was back out, and after graduating (as salutatorian of his class) continued on to Columbia where he graduated in spring of 2016. He continued on into med school. He moonlights as an X-Man, with a part-time side gig working security at the [[Mendel Clinic]]. Occasionally, maybe, squeezes in sleep somewhere, but it's rare to actually catch him at it.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Incredible reflexes, very short-range teleportation. Tends to make a ''lot'' of very short, ''very'' fast jumps in quick succession. His teleporting is hard for most human eyes to properly track; the trail of afterimages this method of transportation leaves in people's vision is what earned him his name.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}General nerddom. Board games, RPGs, M:tG; used to kick ''ass'' at video games but is having to relearn this with one arm. Basketball and rock climbing, same thing. Highly adept at CQC, decent enough with firearms, highly observant/attentive to his surroundings. Very proficient at carpentry/woodworking, capable when it comes to many common household repairs.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
<br />
* [[Billy]] - It's only happened because I let it be<br />
* [[Shane]] - Your will defines your destiny<br />
* [[Matt]] - I'm taking back my love<br />
* [[Taylor]] - Taking back my pride<br />
* [[Tag]] - Taking back my dreams<br />
* [[Tian-shin]] - This is the ground I will defend<br />
* [[Jax]] - A rage of angels bears the end<br />
* [[Melinda]] - There is no vision that we surrender<br />
* [[Hive]] - Breathless time can take no prisoners<br />
* [[B]] - I feel the wishfire burning cold<br />
* [[Dusk]] - Black wings to fill the sky unfold<br />
* [[Isra]] - And nothing takes from God his storm<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Devout Mormon, though much of his ward isn't keen on having him there.<br />
*The second of thirteen kids, though the youngest three were born since he left home. Two of his siblings he has only heard about and the ''very'' youngest, born late-2014, he doesn't yet know exists.<br />
*Has a twin sister, Lily, eleven minutes older than him.<br />
*Can often be found through the city zealously doing his part to green it up. (Ingress Agent name: GhostInTheMachine)<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:Flicker.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Flicker4.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Flicker8.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Flicker1.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Flicker9.jpg|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Dawson Joel Allred<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Flickerart.jpg|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| December 29, 1993<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Boise, ID<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Mutant<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Xavier's<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sunny<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Blinkdog<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Mendel Clinic Security/X-Man<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| n/a<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Jonathan Bennett<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000" <br />
! style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | RP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''With one arm tied behind his back''' - ''Is a regular participant at [[B|the]] [[Shane|twins']] weekly [[TP-Fight Club|Fight Club]]; will happily kick some ass (or get his kicked) and then go out for cocoa afterward.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Watchdog''' - ''Worked security at the [[Mendel Clinic]] since just about their opening, likely to be familiar to other employees or patients thereof. Quit in October 2015, the same week as a good third of their security staff and a sprinkling of other employees.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''In lumine Tuo videbimus lumen''' - ''Columbia U graduate.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Ex-''' - ''[[TP-Prometheus|Labrat]], once upon a time; has helped on every raid since, and bears the scars and missing pieces to show for it.''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Archived Logs'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
{{ RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate | namespace = ArchivedLogs }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
</div></div><br />
<br />
[[Category:Active PCs]][[Category:Xavier's School]][[Category:Mutants]][[Category:Mendel Clinic]][[Category:X-Men]][[Category:Prometheus]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Mina&diff=20054Mina2019-02-04T02:45:59Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''I haven't fucked much with the past, but I've fucked plenty with the future.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Bright and bold as the colors she favors, Mina is a lot of ''leap'' and not very much ''look''.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Description<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}a generous helping of curves, Mina looks far from delicate. Her hair is thick and long and brown, her skin lightly tanned. She has wide features in a wide round face -- huge (and readily deployed) smile, large dark brown eyes, broad nose.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Reputation<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Still working on acquiring one!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Had a pleasant and largely tragedy-free life, so far, with a large extended family in a small Oahu town.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Description of your character's powers.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A general adeptness at things of an outdoor nature; swimming, running, sailing, fending for herself in the wilds -- at least the wilds of Hawai'i, which are nothing like the wilds of New York. Ah well. She'll learn these new plants soon enough.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Decent singer, decent dancer, good storyteller. Excellent memestress, adequate seamstress.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*Random facts you think are worth knowing about your character.<br />
*And more random facts!<br />
*And more.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! XS Schedule<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Fall Term, 2018'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
*English: Asian-American Literature<br />
*Mathematics: Algebra (1/3)<br />
*History: Japan: Tradition to Modernity<br />
*Science: Introductory Astronomy<br />
*Language: Chinese (1)<br />
*Sport: Soccer (hopefully)<br />
</div></div><br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:Minaeee.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minaaah.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minabeach.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minayay.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minayesss.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minaomg.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minadrink.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minaicecream.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Minaflowereyes.jpg|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Ka'imina'auao Naleieha<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Minasmile.jpg|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| December 3, 2004<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Waialua, HI<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Mutant<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Xavier's<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ka lā hiki ola<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| XS Student (Freshman)<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Unregistered<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Auli'i Cravalho<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000" <br />
! style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" | RP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Hold my <s>beer</s> smoothie''' - ''Easily suggestible, readily up for dashing off on some new idea -- well-thought-out or otherwise, easily goaded into making a spectacle of herself. Always happy for company on the ride!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Flower Child''' - ''Lives up to her island stereotype in some ways; enjoys all things nature and can often be found where there are plants to <s>commune with</s> nap under.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Make a Splash''' - ''Loves swimming, boating, generally all things Water.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fish out of Water''' - ''Has never been off the islands in her life before now, has never been part of mutant community before now; probably would be glad for any help in acclimatizing.''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''Archived Logs'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
{{ RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate | namespace = ArchivedLogs }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
</div></div><br />
<br />
[[Category:Active PCs]][[Category:Xavier's School]][[Category:Mutants]]</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs_Talk:One_Part_Vengeance,_Two_Parts_Blood,_Agitate_Well&diff=19540ArchivedLogs Talk:One Part Vengeance, Two Parts Blood, Agitate Well2018-09-17T04:45:43Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "*Niiiiiice. That was some mad stylish violence. --~~~~"</p>
<hr />
<div>*Niiiiiice. That was some mad stylish violence. --[[User:Blinkdog|Blinkdog]] ([[User talk:Blinkdog|talk]]) 00:45, 17 September 2018 (EDT)</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs:Full_of_Bees&diff=19537ArchivedLogs:Full of Bees2018-09-17T03:46:55Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Mina, Rasa | summary = "You're not afraid of bees, are you?" | gamedate = 2018-09-16 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <XS> Gardens | c..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Mina]], [[Rasa]]<br />
| summary = "You're not afraid of bees, are you?"<br />
| gamedate = 2018-09-16<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <XS> [[Gardens]]<br />
| categories = Xavier's, Mutants, XS Gardens, Mina, Rasa<br />
| log = <br />
<br />
From indoor gardens to outdoor, though without the protective greenhouse glass the back gardens do not last all year round. Still, the gardens out here are well-tended and well-worth spending time in, as well. The paths wending through the beds of flowers and herbs and vegetables spread out through the school's back grounds, tended by students as a credit class. Benches offer seating and a small pond is home to koi and turtles, as well as a few frogs. At the far back edges of the garden, a droning buzzing marks a few stacked white boxes as beehives.<br />
<br />
Perpetually an known and unknown figure around Xavier's Campus, Rasa walks up from the drive, not straying in the lease from hir normal path, making hirself recognizable through habit to compensate for the manner in which ze changes appearance nearly every time ze arrives. There is something recognizable about hir features, in that hir unconscious mind has settled in comfortable shapes and postures over the years, but even that shifts with mood and thoughts. Today, garbed in beat up jeans, heavy boots and baggy layers, ze appears pale and lithe, almost doll like, with large blue eyes and pale skin. Hir hair appears to be dyed black and swept back into a ponytail, heavy bangs falling across hir brow. In one hand, ze holds a cellphone to hir perfectly made up face, lips parted as ze listens to the person on the other side. In the grip of hir other hand is the strap of the bag resting on hir shoulder. When ze finally replies, ze swears loudly in Russian. It's a rather lengthy diatribe about the possiblity of the recipient having been dropped on his head as a child, repeatedly, as all of his other brothers were faaaar more sensible than he. As those heavy boots come to a halt in front of the school's beehives, hir voice softens, speaking finally in English. "Look, I have to do this thing for Vanya. We can talk later when I get home if you still think you need to." Barely waiting on a response, ze turns off the cell and slides it back into hir back hip pocket, kneeling down in front of the wooden boxes.<br />
<br />
Mina does not understand a lick of Russian, but there's something universal about swearing. She's making her way through the gardens barefoot, in bright yellow leaf-embroidered sundress and a giant purple cloth flower in her hair. She catches the tail end of it as she approaches, looking up from the text message she's been in the process of sending. Her head cocks, light steps pausing a moment as she sizes up Rasa. "Is someone getting chewed /out/ when you get home? That sounded like a /Talk/ kind of -- talk."<br />
<br />
"Eeeeehhhhhhh," Rasa draws the noise out, maybe shifting from a surprised note to something more thoughtful and deliberating before it ends. "He just... gets these ideas and he thinks he knows everything, but if I'm not firm with him in such a way that he understands that I do not approve of his suggestion, he tends to take everything else as encouragement to do what he likes. And no." The Russian accent is definitely tempered with natural born American, which becomes more and more New Yorker as ze draws to a conclusion. "I will not actually see him tonight. He is likely onto his next victim." Ze pulls hir bag in front of hir and pulls out a delicately made wood box, the size of a pencil case. "You're not afraid of bees, are you?"<br />
<br />
"Victim?" Mina's eyes flutter open wider. Quick steps bring her closer to Rasa, voice dropping confidentially lower and accentuated with an urgency. "This isn't your boyfriend, is it? Because that sounds --" She cuts off. Brows furrow, eyes flick to the hives. The shake of her head is kind of too emphatic. "Bees are great. I mean, I love flowers, and they come with the territory, right?"<br />
<br />
"It is my person's overly ambitious brother. And 'victim' is a loose term. Target perhapse?" Rasa glances over at Mina as one side of hir mouth pulls into a smile. "I can see that. Very much into flowers. And yes. Bees are a flower's friend. Or, Cupid, however the case may be." Ze slides the lid off of the box gently and exposes the hollow inside to the open air. One singular bee crawls out and hops around a couple times on the surface before stopping to stare up at its former captor. Rasa gives a little finger wave as ze watches.<br />
<br />
"Your -- person?" Mina's tone lifts, quizzical. "Brothers are harder to get rid of, I guess your. Person. Is just sort of stuck with them for life. What kind of ambitions?" Despite her confident previous assertion, Mina rooocks a step or two backwards when the hive is open. Her toes curl against the ground, and she sucks in a small breath before leaning just a bit closer to peer, curious. "You take care of these?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. Person. Um... well, relationships are awkward at best and people make strange assumptions when I use any other terminology. His name is Ivan. He used to be a student here." The small bee is ignorant to the conversation taking place and simply starts up its little wings, fly around Rasa's previously gesturing finger, and zips off back to its hive. Rasa exhales and turns hir attention back to Mina. "Not so much 'take care of' but rather 'deliver messengers.' Ivan... Vanya, he's the one who cares for the bees here." Ze studies he student's face and presents a gloved hand to hir in greeting. "Rasa."<br />
<br />
"/Oh/ you mean like a boyfriend. Is he better than his brother?" Mina is relaxing again as she watches the bee on Rasa's finger, though she still doesn't venture too much closer to the hive itself. "/Messengers/? What, like the bees? WAIT," Her eyes have widened again, hopeful, "do you /speak/ bee? Like --" She gives a small and somewhat circular butt-waggle into the air. "Sor --" One hand claps to her mouth; she stops, amends, "E kala mai i a'u -- it's none of my business I just mean being able to speak /bee/ would be so cool! I bet they know /so/ many things about the plants /oh/ right no hi, I'm Mina." This mostly comes out in one long breath. She takes Rasa's hand for one firm pump after. "/You're/ not a student here, though?" Only halfway a question.<br />
<br />
"He is the most important person in my life. Boyfriend seems... less useful, but if it helps you understand, you may use it." Rasa watches the little dance with a stoic face, but bright pink infiltrates hir face in bands of tie-dyed joy. Ze sits back on hir heels and relaxes. "Oh, that was pretty. What language was that?" Ze is nonplussed by the pseudo-apology. "I... can make bee... things?" Ze considers hir words quietly. "Vanya has the bees in his head. So, he has taught me some things. I do not understand bees. I might be able to repeat what he has shown me, but responses are lost on me." There's a short pause and then, "No. I graduated a few years ago. I come back here to speak with an available professor, usually Dr. Grey or Dr. McCoy, about... my difficulties."<br />
<br />
"Like are you going to get /married/? Wait, how old are you? Graduated how many years ago? Are you /old/? It's always so hard to tell around here. Yesterday there was some /gross/ old guy --" Mina shakes her head with a small /huff/. "What was wha -- oh, Hawai'ian. Well, it's not really /sorry/ we don't have a word for -- oh /crap/ I said it that ruins the whole /point/!" Both Mina's hands scrub against her cheeks, now. "Is his head really full of bees?" Now she's wandering slightly away -- not far, though, just bending down to brush a fingertip lightly against a feathery aster petal. "Difficulties? They must be serious I'd probably /shoot/ myself if I was stuck coming back to high school for /years/ -- uh, no offense." Hastily tacked on.<br />
<br />
"They are... unique enough that this is the place best equipped to handle it." Rasa shrugs, lifing hir box once more and looking to the hive. "Eh, I mean it more... in the idea that there are songs in a person's head, yeah? it's not like you could take an xray and find actual songs there, but if you are nearby you can hear them hum." A set of three bees makes their way from the hive to the box, one after the other, sniffing the outside for a while and dancing at each other in a busy little conference. "I don't know about married. It's not something we talk about. We just are and that's fine." Instead of attempting to close the bees in the box, as they seem to still be engrossed in conversation, ze reaches out and rests the box next to the hive and rests hir hands in hir lap. "And, Mina, I hope you never have the need. I just... had a couple really bad years and someday, I would like fewer nightmares."<br />
<br />
"I guess that's what sticks us all here, huh?" Mina sounds light about this, amused and not resentful. "There's not really a lot of competition in the -- sheltering potentially explosive teens market." Her head ducks after this, and she at least has the grace to look a /little/ abashed. "Apologies, I -- yeah. I hope they help. With the nightmares."<br />
<br />
Rasa shrugs and starts to gather hir feet underneath hir once more, moving to stand. "They are. And don't worry about this too much. I really do hope you never have to find out." Ze stretches hir arms behind hir back, slipping stature by about six inches. Hir features turn a brownish golden hue and hir eyes shift to an amber hazel. "Stay here, learn some things, leave when you feel ready, because at some point, you'll feel ready. Because, one day, you'll feel ready. And then come back if you need to."<br />
<br />
Mina straightens as Rasa stands up. "Did you feel ready?"<br />
<br />
"For a while, yes." Rasa smiles and pulls hir bag back up on hir shoulder. "Maybe just enjoy it while it is high school, yeah?" Ze turns to head inside. "I do have an appointment. I hope you will excuse me."<br />
<br />
"I /totally/ plan to." Mina's eyes dart back to the box, then the hive. She smiles at Rasa bright, lifting a hand to wave. "Good luck! I hope there's some pleasant dreams in your future."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs:Bait&diff=19530ArchivedLogs:Bait2018-09-16T01:41:43Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Mina]], [[Wolverine]]<br />
| summary = "Your business ain't really my business unless you pay for it to be."<br />
| gamedate = 2018-09-15<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <XS> [[Rec Room]] - FL2<br />
| categories = Xavier's, Mutants, XS Rec Room, Wolverine, Mina<br />
| log =<br />
School this may be, but life for Xavier's students certainly isn't all studying. Outside classes, this is a popular spot to find students in their downtime. An enormous tribute to slacking off, this room is a wealth of fun and relaxation.<br />
<br />
Comfortable armchairs, couches, and beanbags offer plentiful seating scattered throughout the room, and the cushioned windowseats by the high windows offer a cozy nook to curl up and look out on the grounds.<br />
<br />
The room is often filled with the noises of gaming -- whether it comes from the big-screen television (tall racks of DVDs beside it, if nothing can be found on the multitude of cable channels), tricked out with consoles from retro to the latest releases, or the less electronic clatter and thump of the pool table, air hockey, or foosball. For those a little more subdued in their gaming, the cabinets hold stacks and stacks of board and card games, ranging as classic as chess and go to as esoteric as Dixit, Catan, and Gloom.<br />
<br />
More days than not, there's some variety of snacks to be found on a table beside the gaming cabinet -- quite often in the form of fresh-baked desserts.<br />
<br />
It's been grey and miserable, on-and-off rainy through most of the day and only now, as the sun crawls down low behind the spread of trees outside, is it tapering off. It's the kind of weather that discourages most students from taking in too much of the outdoors, and the Rec Room has /been/ bustling, only now clearing out with the approach of both dinner and calmer weather.<br />
<br />
Mina, clearly, does not share many of her classmates' opinions on Proper Outdoor Weather. Only now bounding /into/ the Rec Room, her bare feet are still wet with shreds of grass clinging to them, her gauzy yellow-and-green layered skirt clinging damp to her calves. Her white tank top is dry, as are her arms; either she recently changed or had availed herself of /some/ protective rain gear while outside. Her single long braid is leaving a damp patch down the back of the shirt, though it doesn't seem to bother her much. She's humming to herself, something as sunny-bright as the outside /isn't/, as she traipses over to the games cabinet. Not to look at the games, but to look at the nearby table -- and then scowl. The platters sitting out on the table (still /smelling/ like the apple cinnamon cupcakes that had been there earlier) are empty, save for a lot of crumbs. Mina busies herself sweeping crumbs together, gathering as many as she can before licking them off her palm. It's not /quite/ a cupcake, but it'll do.<br />
<br />
He's not entirely clear on how he made it back here, or even found "his" room, which looks more like a guest room than anything else. Wolverine had meant his last vice run to extend his bender, but ultimately, he crashed and burned. The man looks rough, jeans and wifebeater dirty and reeking of the drug den he was in last night. Who was that he met? Oh right, Anette. He snrks to himself as he half staggers into the rec room. Steve's in for a real treat soon.<br />
<br />
He makes his way to the pool table and glances out the window at the clearing sky. So that's why everything he owns smells like wet dog. Was it raining last night too? Musta been. Would explain why his cowboy boots like like crap right now. He only hopes he used Scott's bike when he left the Mansion the other day, be a real shame to get his own bike all muddy. For that same reason - to annoy and antagonize Scott into proving he's really the dick Wolverine knows he is - he's been camping the pool table on and off the last couple of days just to ruin it for his, well, not frenemy, that would suggest either of the men liked or respected eachother in the slightest, and that's not the case. It's more of a love to hate situation.<br />
<br />
It takes Wolverine a moment to even notice Mina - his bar for weird and unusual behavior is, shall we say, skewed - but the crumbcake is hard to miss. His voice is rough, gravely, betraying the hard days' nights he's been up to, "What'sa matter? Miss snack time? If ya hurry I hear there's nap time and then freeplay coming up."<br />
<br />
A smile flashes across Mina's face, bright-bright as she turns to rest a hip against the table. Swipe her tongue against her palm again to clean up the last of the crumbs. Flick a quick up-down glance over Wolverine. "I /never/ hurry nap time. Especially not on a Saturday. Afternoon is the prime napping window." She dabs her finger absently against the platter, still picking up the last of the cinnamony crumble. "Why, does the Professor have /you/ on a schedule?"<br />
<br />
The other mutant snorts, "Yer one funny kid. Y'should do open mic night." His tone is playful and predatory at the same time. Wolverine smiles lop-sidedly at the petit brown-haired girl for a moment. Her lack of shame and table manners is refreshing in a way. And it gets his stomach grumbling. When was the last time he ate? Assuming booze doesn't count as food (he's pretty sure it does buuuuut-). "Anything good in the mess or we down to crumbs? Always figured Xavier was cheating in the stock market to fund this place, but then the economy's not so great even with insider trading."<br />
<br />
Mina cocks her head to one side, toes curling against the floor. "They have one at Evolve, but having my set interrupted by their weekly firebombing might kill the comedy." She sucks the crumbs off her fingertip, then pulls her damp braid around in front, fiddling with the loose end. "I'unno, dinner should be up soon? It's usually --" Her hand starts to lift, starts to waggle side-to-side in a 'so-so' gesture that lasts only a heartbeat before she knits her brow. Squints at Wolverine. Upgrades her assessment: "... pretty good, actually. I have no idea how they pay for it. I only know like /two/ people here who aren't on scholarship. I figured maybe he had a drug hustle on the side. He'd be a /hell/ of a salesman, you know?"<br />
<br />
Wolverine chuckles and shakes his head, "Y'know, I'm startin' ta believe y'actually /do/ work open mic night." He runs a hand down his face, which bristles with what is becoming a scraggly beard, "Heck, I'd come see it if ya did." He leans against the pool table, as if guarding it, marking it as his territory, "What's yer name, chuckles?"<br />
<br />
"Would you?" This pulls a smirk onto Mina's face, briefly. "Be careful, I totally throw tomatoes /back/." She hoists herself up to sit /properly/ on the table, now. Hands dropping to her knees, legs swinging freely. "It's Mina. What about you? You look way too old to be a student and way too --" Her hand waggles in the direction of Wolverine's face, though she doesn't elucidate further on what this is meant to indicate. "-- to be a teacher. You're not a /parent/, are you? If you're lost I can point out where they stash the adults around here."<br />
<br />
"Heh. Parent." Wolverine shakes his head and runs a hand through his unkempt hair, "Maybe. Maybe I got a one or a dozen little bastards runnin' round out there." He shrugs those muscular, stocky shoulders, "Wouldn't know." He looks Mina up and down, "Name's Wolverine," he tip his head back, "'n yeah, I'd show up 's long as there's booze, which there usually is- 's easy t'make a drunk laugh. And be thankful for those tomatoes, could be a bottle if ya get the wrong kinda drunk in your crowd." He chalks that same pool cue he always likes to use - he knows it by his own scent all over it - and starts taking those practice shots. It's like meditation for him. But then so's stabbing people. It varies. Is he hungry? Yeah. Is he hung over? Yeah probably that too, but it's fading away. Even so, when he leaves he's going to get some poutine. Nothing like grease and carbs for the booze blues, and meat is never a bad thing. "So what's yer power?" the man asks amidst the clack of the balls. He's half making idle conversation, half evaluating how useful this girl might be to him in his future endeavors... or how much of a threat if things go south with Chuck.<br />
<br />
"Okay so how about instead I point you towards our sex ed teacher? He's really good and it sounds like your school maaay have glossed over some things." Mina hops down from the table, wandering toward the window to peer out at the misty-drizzly dusk. "I'm going to take it yours /isn't/ minding your own business?"<br />
<br />
The man only scoffs at the sex ed joke, "I've fucked more people 'n you've ever known, kid. Can't say I recommend it." He smirks, "Can't say I don't either." He shrugs and paces around the table to line up another shot, not really thinking about it, "It can be," Wolverine offers with a grunt, "Your business ain't really my business unless you pay for it to be."<br />
<br />
"Wow is that not something I needed to know. And /believe/ me," Mina is drifting away from the window, now. Plucking at her still-damp skirt as she heads toward the exit, "I have /no/ intention of paying old men who hang around on the students' floor talking about their sex lives. For anything. Don't forget about dinner, all the best stuff goes fast."<br />
<br />
He doesn't take the bait. Fuckin kids. Always taking the bait, shooting off their smart mouths, and then surprised at the outcome. "Yeah," Wolverine snarls, "Don't wait up." He continues his Wolverine v. Wolverine tournament, content to let the dripping wet little girl do whatever the hell she wants. Well, content isn't the right word, but there is no substitute meaning couldn't give a fuck less. If anything, he's glad he chased this one away. Better for him, and better for her.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
Posted later that evening to the students' digital bboard:<br />
<br />
Mina N<br />
Sat, Sept 15, 2018 at 20:10<br />
subject: Creepster<br />
<br />
There's some skeevy dude hanging around the rec room. Not a teacher, I don't think. Muscles, mid-tall, dark hair, forgot how to shave apparently. Anyway I just want to give the other girls a heads up because he thinks talking to teenage girls about how much sex he's had is Totally Appropriate.<br />
</pre><br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs:Bait&diff=19529ArchivedLogs:Bait2018-09-16T01:36:08Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Mina, Wolverine | summary = "Your business ain't really my business unless you pay for it to be." | gamedate = 2018-09-15 | gamedatename = | subtitle..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Mina]], [[Wolverine]]<br />
| summary = "Your business ain't really my business unless you pay for it to be."<br />
| gamedate = 2018-09-15<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <XS> [[Rec Room]] - FL2<br />
| categories = Xavier's, Mutants, XS Rec Room, Wolverine, Mina<br />
| log =<br />
School this may be, but life for Xavier's students certainly isn't all studying. Outside classes, this is a popular spot to find students in their downtime. An enormous tribute to slacking off, this room is a wealth of fun and relaxation.<br />
<br />
Comfortable armchairs, couches, and beanbags offer plentiful seating scattered throughout the room, and the cushioned windowseats by the high windows offer a cozy nook to curl up and look out on the grounds.<br />
<br />
The room is often filled with the noises of gaming -- whether it comes from the big-screen television (tall racks of DVDs beside it, if nothing can be found on the multitude of cable channels), tricked out with consoles from retro to the latest releases, or the less electronic clatter and thump of the pool table, air hockey, or foosball. For those a little more subdued in their gaming, the cabinets hold stacks and stacks of board and card games, ranging as classic as chess and go to as esoteric as Dixit, Catan, and Gloom.<br />
<br />
More days than not, there's some variety of snacks to be found on a table beside the gaming cabinet -- quite often in the form of fresh-baked desserts.<br />
<br />
It's been grey and miserable, on-and-off rainy through most of the day and only now, as the sun crawls down low behind the spread of trees outside, is it tapering off. It's the kind of weather that discourages most students from taking in too much of the outdoors, and the Rec Room has /been/ bustling, only now clearing out with the approach of both dinner and calmer weather.<br />
<br />
Mina, clearly, does not share many of her classmates' opinions on Proper Outdoor Weather. Only now bounding /into/ the Rec Room, her bare feet are still wet with shreds of grass clinging to them, her gauzy yellow-and-green layered skirt clinging damp to her calves. Her white tank top is dry, as are her arms; either she recently changed or had availed herself of /some/ protective rain gear while outside. Her single long braid is leaving a damp patch down the back of the shirt, though it doesn't seem to bother her much. She's humming to herself, something as sunny-bright as the outside /isn't/, as she traipses over to the games cabinet. Not to look at the games, but to look at the nearby table -- and then scowl. The platters sitting out on the table (still /smelling/ like the apple cinnamon cupcakes that had been there earlier) are empty, save for a lot of crumbs. Mina busies herself sweeping crumbs together, gathering as many as she can before licking them off her palm. It's not /quite/ a cupcake, but it'll do.<br />
<br />
He's not entirely clear on how he made it back here, or even found "his" room, which looks more like a guest room than anything else. Wolverine had meant his last vice run to extend his bender, but ultimately, he crashed and burned. The man looks rough, jeans and wifebeater dirty and reeking of the drug den he was in last night. Who was that he met? Oh right, Anette. He snrks to himself as he half staggers into the rec room. Steve's in for a real treat soon.<br />
<br />
He makes his way to the pool table and glances out the window at the clearing sky. So that's why everything he owns smells like wet dog. Was it raining last night too? Musta been. Would explain why his cowboy boots like like crap right now. He only hopes he used Scott's bike when he left the Mansion the other day, be a real shame to get his own bike all muddy. For that same reason - to annoy and antagonize Scott into proving he's really the dick Wolverine knows he is - he's been camping the pool table on and off the last couple of days just to ruin it for his, well, not frenemy, that would suggest either of the men liked or respected eachother in the slightest, and that's not the case. It's more of a love to hate situation.<br />
<br />
It takes Wolverine a moment to even notice Mina - his bar for weird and unusual behavior is, shall we say, skewed - but the crumbcake is hard to miss. His voice is rough, gravely, betraying the hard days' nights he's been up to, "What'sa matter? Miss snack time? If ya hurry I hear there's nap time and then freeplay coming up."<br />
<br />
A smile flashes across Mina's face, bright-bright as she turns to rest a hip against the table. Swipe her tongue against her palm again to clean up the last of the crumbs. Flick a quick up-down glance over Wolverine. "I /never/ hurry nap time. Especially not on a Saturday. Afternoon is the prime napping window." She dabs her finger absently against the platter, still picking up the last of the cinnamony crumble. "Why, does the Professor have /you/ on a schedule?"<br />
<br />
The other mutant snorts, "Yer one funny kid. Y'should do open mic night." His tone is playful and predatory at the same time. Wolverine smiles lop-sidedly at the petit brown-haired girl for a moment. Her lack of shame and table manners is refreshing in a way. And it gets his stomach grumbling. When was the last time he ate? Assuming booze doesn't count as food (he's pretty sure it does buuuuut-). "Anything good in the mess or we down to crumbs? Always figured Xavier was cheating in the stock market to fund this place, but then the economy's not so great even with insider trading."<br />
<br />
Mina cocks her head to one side, toes curling against the floor. "They have one at Evolve, but having my set interrupted by their weekly firebombing might kill the comedy." She sucks the crumbs off her fingertip, then pulls her damp braid around in front, fiddling with the loose end. "I'unno, dinner should be up soon? It's usually --" Her hand starts to lift, starts to waggle side-to-side in a 'so-so' gesture that lasts only a heartbeat before she knits her brow. Squints at Wolverine. Upgrades her assessment: "... pretty good, actually. I have no idea how they pay for it. I only know like /two/ people here who aren't on scholarship. I figured maybe he had a drug hustle on the side. He'd be a /hell/ of a salesman, you know?"<br />
<br />
Wolverine chuckles and shakes his head, "Y'know, I'm startin' ta believe y'actually /do/ work open mic night." He runs a hand down his face, which bristles with what is becoming a scraggly beard, "Heck, I'd come see it if ya did." He leans against the pool table, as if guarding it, marking it as his territory, "What's yer name, chuckles?"<br />
<br />
"Would you?" This pulls a smirk onto Mina's face, briefly. "Be careful, I totally throw tomatoes /back/." She hoists herself up to sit /properly/ on the table, now. Hands dropping to her knees, legs swinging freely. "It's Mina. What about you? You look way too old to be a student and way too --" Her hand waggles in the direction of Wolverine's face, though she doesn't elucidate further on what this is meant to indicate. "-- to be a teacher. You're not a /parent/, are you? If you're lost I can point out where they stash the adults around here."<br />
<br />
"Heh. Parent." Wolverine shakes his head and runs a hand through his unkempt hair, "Maybe. Maybe I got a one or a dozen little bastards runnin' round out there." He shrugs those muscular, stocky shoulders, "Wouldn't know." He looks Mina up and down, "Name's Wolverine," he tip his head back, "'n yeah, I'd show up 's long as there's booze, which there usually is- 's easy t'make a drunk laugh. And be thankful for those tomatoes, could be a bottle if ya get the wrong kinda drunk in your crowd." He chalks that same pool cue he always likes to use - he knows it by his own scent all over it - and starts taking those practice shots. It's like meditation for him. But then so's stabbing people. It varies. Is he hungry? Yeah. Is he hung over? Yeah probably that too, but it's fading away. Even so, when he leaves he's going to get some poutine. Nothing like grease and carbs for the booze blues, and meat is never a bad thing. "So what's yer power?" the man asks amidst the clack of the balls. He's half making idle conversation, half evaluating how useful this girl might be to him in his future endeavors... or how much of a threat if things go south with Chuck.<br />
<br />
"Okay so how about instead I point you towards our sex ed teacher? He's really good and it sounds like your school maaay have glossed over some things." Mina hops down from the table, wandering toward the window to peer out at the misty-drizzly dusk. "I'm going to take it yours /isn't/ minding your own business?"<br />
<br />
The man only scoffs at the sex ed joke, "I've fucked more people 'n you've ever known, kid. Can't say I recommend it." He smirks, "Can't say I don't either." He shrugs and paces around the table to line up another shot, not really thinking about it, "It can be," Wolverine offers with a grunt, "Your business ain't really my business unless you pay for it to be."<br />
<br />
"Wow is that not something I needed to know. And /believe/ me," Mina is drifting away from the window, now. Plucking at her still-damp skirt as she heads toward the exit, "I have /no/ intention of paying old men who hang around on the students' floor talking about their sex lives. For anything. Don't forget about dinner, all the best stuff goes fast."<br />
<br />
He doesn't take the bait. Fuckin kids. Always taking the bait, shooting off their smart mouths, and then surprised at the outcome. "Yeah," Wolverine snarls, "Don't wait up." He continues his Wolverine v. Wolverine tournament, content to let the dripping wet little girl do whatever the hell she wants. Well, content isn't the right word, but there is no substitute meaning couldn't give a fuck less. If anything, he's glad he chased this one away. Better for him, and better for her.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs:Timeless&diff=19451ArchivedLogs:Timeless2017-12-19T20:17:51Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Flicker]], [[Hive]], [[Steve]]<br />
| summary = << Could do a lot with thirty inches of piping. >><br />
| gamedate = 2017-12-18<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> [[Creative Little Garden]] - Lower East Side<br />
| categories = Citizens, Creative Little Garden, Flicker, Hive, Humans, Inner Circle, Mutants, Steve, Xavier's<br />
| log = It's not a big park, really. A small secluded garden in the Lower East Side, quite close to Tompkins Square. The trees stretch overhead to both sides of the mulched paths, forming a leafy canopy through which New York's murky city-sky is visible. Between the paths the grounds spill over with an abundance of flowers, hedges, community-tended, in here. The paths all wind together into the small central clearing, a little circular retreat with fountain and benches.<br />
<br />
Too late for lunch, too early for dinner. It's a pleasantly quiet hour, this tiny nook of a garden occupied largely by squirrels, who for the moment are ignoring its lone human inhabitant (already investigated and discarded as a potential source of food.)<br />
<br />
Flicker is here to ruin that peace -- the blur of motion he makes as he enters startles at least two squirrels to run chittering up a tree. And immediately creep their way back down in curious investigation of the tote bag he carries, laden heavily with a feast. Crispy spring rolls and lemongrass tofu, basil fried rice, coconut juice, garnishes and dipping sauce and pumpkin cookies. He lands neatly beside Hive, quiet as he starts to lay out the food. Externally, anyway, though his mind is cluttered: running over what he needs to do for his lab, considering the backlog of furniture orders he has promised people, mild and familiar irritation at How Long It's Been Since Hive Last Ate. The arm he wears today is gold, shaded with green pine roping wrapped around it, the tips of the needles glazed with a touch of white frost. The rest of his clothing is bland in comparison: khakis, grey polo shirt.<br />
<br />
Hive doesn't look up, as Flicker arrives. He reaches for the coconut juice even as Flicker is taking it out of the bag, taking a long and thirsty gulp. The numbness in his leg, the slight ache in his back and shoulders (echoed faintly through shared mental connection) suggests he has been here A While and forgotten (again) about things like Moving.<br />
<br />
This time, because of work: the glowing much-marked-up skeleton in front of him of an in-progress housing complex is absorbing much of /his/ attention. If he notices /where/ his newly delivered beverage has come from, it doesn't show.<br />
<br />
It's a little while longer before Steve arrives, straight from work, judging by his outfit -- lavender dress shirt, black-and-purple color-block tie, black slacks. His shield is slung casually over one shoulder by its harness, and he's swiping at his phone (retweeting a video featuring one of New Leash's pups), heading toward his neighbors before he's even looked up to see them. He sits down with them, putting his shield down in the grass. There's a small twinge of pain in the crook of his elbow when his arm straightens out, though it doesn't really register in his conscious thoughts. "Gracias," to Flicker, as he snags a spring roll. "How were your days?" His eyes drift to Hive's blueprint, which inspires a mild curiosity as well as somewhat incongruous amusement (<< Perspective! I'll never draw buildings quite /that/ well. >>).<br />
<br />
Flicker passes off the bottle of coconut juice without a thought. Makes up a plate, tucks it -- kind of beside, kind of amid Hive's display. Dishes out a second plate for himself, more heavily laden. There's an unconscious adjusting of his /own/ posture, a small shift to take strain off (their?) twinging spine.<br />
<br />
He's in the process of making a third plate already, even before Steve has appeared. Even more heavily laden than the others. He's setting it down at about exactly the time Steve is reaching for a spring roll, shifting the container of dipping sauces nearer the other man. The small twitch of his mechanical arm comes with a small frown, a small discomfited shift at the not-phantom phantom pain.<br />
<br />
Steve's question stirs up a chaos of potential answer. Heavy pull of exhaustion. Snippets of a frustrated exchange with one of his professors over accessibility concerns (it comes with a thickly layered dose of Very Determined Politeness). A long and frustrating email chain with his team relating to hurricane relief logistics. An even longer and more frustrating back and forth with some of his church elders. A particularly draining but unsurprising exchange at school over Flaunting his freakishness in Normal People's faces. Ultimately, thoughtful: "About usual. You?"<br />
<br />
Hive takes a spoon with one hand, shoveling a mouthful of fried rice into his face. He straightens (just as unconsciously), back adjusting to a more comfortable position. His other hand is turning at his blueprints, blowing up one level to a larger size to study with a frown. << (You/we) are definitely going to Fight Club. >> The thought that surfaces in their minds is soft, wry. His hand drops, absently rubbing at the crook of his arm. The motion makes the twinge of pain register more consciously, pulled to the forefront to examine pensively. It's only here that he actually looks up from his work, eyes slowly drifting from one man to the other. "I worked."<br />
<br />
Steve dips the spring roll in the sauce that Flicker has placed -- exactly where he needed it, apparently -- and devours it in short order before taking up the bowl. His day flashes rapid-fire through his mind, too: a boring meeting in the morning followed by a somewhat tedious debrief, training with his team in the weight room and subsequently S.C.A.P.E., a prodigious lunch, a heated argument with Nick Fury about the disposition of a quantity of weapons-grade Plutonium that S.H.I.E.L.D. had retrieved, a headquarters lockdown drill, and finally the inexplicable (<< Fifth blood test in as many months -- I don't buy that I need /this/ much monitoring. >>) visit to the med lab and the starstruck phlebotomist's carelessness that gave Steve both the minor wound on his right arm and a slightly early escape from work. "Same." There's a touch of self-deprecating laughter in his reply. His eyes track the expanding blueprint. << Well. Not /all/ the same. I'll be taking my week's worth of frustration out on punching bags and social media. >><br />
<br />
Flicker laughs, quick and quiet. Leaning forward onto the table, weight resting on his elbow and chin propped in his palm, he doesn't touch his own food at first. His easy smile is content enough enjoying the fried rice, the spring roll. << It's been a week. >> He's unselfconscious about his ready agreement with Hive, his quick choice of recreation regardless of looming duties. "Are you going to be arguing with Friends on Twitter again? << They're probably checking up on our /blood pressure/. >> Only -- very mildly serious.<br />
<br />
"I'm sure there's people who'd let you punch them. Dusk's been in a /mood/." Hive leans back, frowning discontentedly at his work. Kind of irritably pulling up his email to check over a request from a client with an irritable, << -- all this gorram fucking fuss over thirty inches of copper piping, wish these rich-ass motherfuckers would -- >> This cuts off with a small flick of his display, /batting/ it out of sight to pull his food closer. He slumps back in his chair, eyes narrowing on Flicker's prosthetic arm. << They're not /monitoring/ u... you. >> It's a little jarring, a little dissociated; he has to make a conscious effort to wrest the idea of Steve away from /them/ in their somewhat nebulous mindspace.<br />
<br />
"That's the idea. But I'll have you know my blood pressure is perfect, no matter how many people are currently being wrong on Twitter." Steve finishes the rest of his roll and picks up the bowl Flicker had assembled. << Do I need to punch our /clients/? >> floats causally through his mind as Hive sets the work aside. "I suspect that if Dusk decides to stay home, he probably /isn't/ up for punching tonight, anyway. Though I'll still /ask./" With that last addition his thoughts stray to various less violent things he might proposition -- video games, dancing, decorating Chimaera's epic haunted warehouse... This train of thought veers off into the back of his mind, though. It's not so much Hive's reply as the effort he makes to single Steve out that rouses him. << What do...you mean? Why /do/ they keep running tests? I can't imagine they'd be finding anything /new/ at this point. >><br />
<br />
<< Could do a lot with thirty inches of piping. >> Flicker's deceptively idle musing has veered away from Hive's architectural woes straight into how best to apply the pipes directly to the bothersome clients in question. "If you ask, Dusk might be more likely to stay home tonight. With or without punching." He swipes the coconut juice -- a casual motion for him though it might look like a rapid snatch if there were any outside observers present. The reflexive worry that stirs in his mind is quashed with a very practiced effort. Instead quietly listening for Hive's reply.<br />
<br />
<< Don't think they understand they're going to have to pay me way the fuck more for the time to make these changes than for -- >> Hive's mental image ends with piping shoved unceremoniously up his client's backside, but he seems to have picked up Flicker's general violent tendency. His chair rocks precariously as he eats. Quietly, gently, nudges Flicker to eat as well. "If Dusk wants to fight I don't imagine he'll give much of a fuck about /where/." Shrug. His teeth are grinding, slow, after his last bite. A reluctant deliberate hesitation. A continued careful detangling of his (and Flicker's) own muddled identity from Steve's. Despite this detachment, the immense myriad sense of his mental presence is curling inward, careful and gentle, in a slow bolstering support up against Steve's mind. << You were at war. And then you died. And science has come a ways. There's hella lot they can keep discovering. Some shit takes time to figure out. >><br />
<br />
"I'm hardly a challenge to him." There's no hint of argument in Steve's tone or the thoughts ghosting beneath his words, which continue after he ceases speaking, << ...and that's probably what I want right now, in any case. >> He has only just started in on his bowl, but stops short again. Eyes snap to Hive, a slow, dull dread creeping up into the depths of his mind. << They've been picking at me since I was frozen. >> He leans hard against Hive's psionic presence, and the dread recedes, bit. << /Have/ they found anything new? >><br />
<br />
"Shield, tie his wings back, get him before Taylor's fed him. I think you'd have a chance." Flicker reaches for his food. Finally remembers to start eating it. This time, the worry surfacing in his mind isn't so easily quelled.<br />
<br />
Hive clenches his spoon tight. Stops eating, as Flicker starts, his eyes a little unfocused and looking more or less through his food. His mind curls a little more snug around Steve's. << You're not aging. >><br />
<br />
Steve's reflexively conjured mental image of Dusk with his wings bound does not look particularly /violent/, but it does not persist, either. He picks up on his companions' tension, even if he isn't quite immersed in them as before. To Hive's actual reply he barely reacts, at first. Doesn't seem to really process it at all, for a few seconds. Then the dread comes back strong and sharp even as his conscious mind is scrambling to reject the information. << I didn't while I was frozen, certainly... >> But he already knows that's not what Hive means. His mind twists inexpertly in the telepathic grip. << Not at /all/? >><br />
<br />
A light flush dusts Flicker's cheeks with a touch of pink, though his expression doesn't otherwise change. Not until Hive's reply, at least. Brows furrowing, then. A small brief clench tensing in his jaw. He swallows his mouthful of food, puts down his spoon. His eyes dart reflexively over to Steve's face. Searching. Then lowering.<br />
<br />
Hive's brows dip slightly together, too; a faint tension in his jaw, a swallow that rolls down his throat though he has no food to take with it. It's only when Flicker looks to Steve that his eyes flit there as well -- and linger, even after the other man has looked away. His head shakes, small. << Unsure. Slowly, if at all. Not enough that they've been able to tell, so far. >><br />
<br />
Steve's shoulders hunch slightly. He gives no other outwardly sign of distress, but inside he's all roiling hurt and confusion. << How -- /why/?! Doctor Erskine never -- >> His jaw sets tight. Relaxes. "Well. As unforeseen side effects go, it's -- hardly anything to complain about..." He trails off and focuses, disciplining his thoughts into coherent words again. << But I guess I should expect them to want plenty more tests. {Thank you, for telling me.} >> Then, with a profound effort, goes back to his abandoned meal.}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs:Neutrality&diff=19343ArchivedLogs:Neutrality2017-09-18T22:36:46Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = B, Flicker, Theo | summary = "Didn't think it would be so harder to get the support of my own kind than to get that of the humans." | gamedate = 2..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[B]], [[Flicker]], [[Theo]]<br />
| summary = "Didn't think it would be so harder to get the support of my own kind than to get that of the humans."<br />
| gamedate = 2017-09-18<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> [[Washington Square Park]] - Greenwich Village<br />
| categories = Brotherhood of Mutants, Xavier's, Citizens, Mutants, Washington Square Park, B, Flicker, Theo<br />
| log =<br />
Behind a majestic white marble arch, a smaller cousin of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, this beautiful green space is a popular destination for the young, the hip, and the artistic. A huge circular wading fountain is the centerpiece, ringed by benches, playgrounds, dog runs, gaming tables, and lush green lawns. In fair weather, the park is almost always crowded with tourists, students, chess enthusiasts, and local families come to tire out their children and dogs.<br />
<br />
It's a grey afternoon, warm but threatening rain. The park isn't as crowded as it might be in sunnier weather, many of the tourists and buskers kept away by the looming threat of Weather. There's plenty of other people out and about, though; business people on their lunch breaks, college students eating or studying. Flicker looks like he probably numbers among that latter, parked on the lip of the fountain with a large textbook beside him and a laptop on his lap. Dressed unimpressively boring in khakis and a blue polo, his arm (at least /vaguely/ human-shaped, today) currently stone-grey and shaded craggy and lifelike like moss growing over stone. Frowning, right now, from screen to textbook before scuffing his fingers through his hair with a huff.<br />
<br />
There's a quiet droning hum overhead. B's sleek small blue and silver motorbike is not approaching from streetside but from the /air/, gliding smoothly down to settle light and easy beside the fountain. The tiny sharkpup (slightly more colorfully dressed in stompy black and silver boots, black skinny jeans, a purple t-shirt reading "Sometimes you have to be a little bit naughty" under an open Mutant Mongrels vest) tugs her (grinning) helmet off to reveal her entirely ungrinning blue face, ridged brows lifting to Flicker. "You want an interruption? You /look/ like you want an interruption." She's hopping off the bike regardless, digging through her pannier to pluck out a bag that smells distinctly like Indian takeout. A small metallic-blue dragonfly-shaped bot is -- or has been, anyway -- perched on her shoulder, gliding off of it to over around Flicker instead.<br />
<br />
The smile on Flicker's face comes as soon as the humming is in earshot. It only broadens when B actually lands, relieved and grateful. "Food /and/ procrastination. You're a godsend." He tucks his textbook into his backpack. Closes his laptop, snags the takeout bag instead. "Even more of a godsend if there's baingan bharta in here. You wouldn't think infectious diseases would make me so hungry, but --" Shrug.<br />
<br />
"Depends on the disease, I guess. Zombie flu does kind of give you an appetite." B flops down, sitting on step one level below Flicker around the fountain. "There's samosas. I want the rogan josh, though." One boot stretches out, hir elbows propping behind hirself. "I needed a break anyway. There's this new dude on my team I swear I'm having to teach them everything from scratch. I should've just got back to school, it would've been less frustrating. The new hiring team is like --" Ze grimaces. "I don't know where they think we are, /Oscorp/?"<br />
<br />
Theo isn't wearing a suit today. He didn't feel like it. He has a pair of jeans with a green polo on, and he is taking a walk through the park doing what all people do in the park. Working. His phone is up to his ear. "Yes, I know that the Gothamist gave it a fairly nice review. The problem is that the mutant community did not. For this company to work, it takes support of the community it is trying to benefit. What happened Friday did not give this company the image that it needs to have... I think we need to scrap the current plan and do something else. I'll meet you in about an hour." He hangs up the phone, and lets out an exasperated sigh before clipping the phone onto his belt. Behind him rolls the familiar orb of Proto, and he glances up as he senses the incoming motorcycle from the skies. "Well, that's something worth looking at," he says to Proto. As it lands near Flicker, of all people, Theo grins. "Yeah you can go say hi." There is a whirr from the little robot, and it speeds up, a good twenty feet ahead of Theo in order to unfold in front of Flicker, with no regard to B's presence.<br />
<br />
Flicker chomps vaguely in B's direction. Only halfheartedly. "Can you get them transferred? To a different team? Or do you have to settle for sticking them with the easy work?" Most of his attention is focused on digging samosas out of the bag. He doesn't open them, though, looking up with a brighter smile when the /other/ robot whirs up to him, too. "Hey! Proto!" Though he glances past Proto in search of Theo, it's the /robot/ who gets the first introductions: "You should meet my friend B." His hand waves toward the small shark. "They're great and they speak robot like. Amazing." His chin lifts after this, smile undimmed as his eyes actually focus on Theo for /real/ this time. "Yo. Sup, man."<br />
<br />
"I could eat them." B sounds very serious about this. Hir enormous black eyes widen even bigger as the robot approaches. The little blue dragonfly that arrived with her rises, zooming forward to circle Proto curiously. "Oh hi!" Hir webbed fingers waggle -- though hir head has tilted, listening thoughtfully to the half-overhead phone conversation in the distance. Quietly, to Flicker: "That's your friend?"<br />
<br />
Proto whirs excitedly, and glances up at B when he is introduced, his camera focusing and refocusing. When Theo catches up a few seconds later, he reaches out to shake Flicker's hand. "Hey, just trying to get back in the saddle. Was a rough weekend. How about you?" He then turns to introduce himself to B. "Hi, I'm Theo." His eyes dart down at the little flying bot, and he grins widely. "Yours?" he asks. Proto's camera circles the little robot as it circles him, making him look something akin to a puppy chasing his tail.<br />
<br />
"Apologies, man, I heard. Some of my housemates went to the fair." Flicker's wince is sympathetic. "And -- yeah. My friend Theo -- Theo, this is my housemate B. B's on leave from MIT right now and runs an robotics team over at Stark so you all probably have -- at least a couple interests in common." He leans forward, mechanical hand reaching out to shake Proto's limb firmly. "Always good to see you. Hope you're looking after this guy." With a small jerk of head toward Theo. "You have a plan moving forward from here? Business-wise?"<br />
<br />
"Hey." B's smile is small, closed-lipped but polite. "Yeah, this is mine." Hir eyes are watching Proto more than Theo -- it takes a concerted effort to look away from robot to /person/ when Flicker makes introductions. She extends a webbed hand shyly. "Do you want some samosas? They help me when I've had a rough weekend."<br />
<br />
Theo shakes the webbed hand without any hesitation. "I think we might," Theo agrees. "I graduated from MIT a couple of years ago. My focus was in A.I. and app development, though you might see that I dabble in robotics." he points at the small flying robot. "That's impressive. I haven't the skill to make anything that could fly by wings. I've played with some of the standard drone technology. That's really impressive," he compliments. "I don't know if I've ever had a samosa. I grew up in Virginia, we weren't well known for being a foodie town where I was." He shrugs to Flicker. "I am not sure, really. There was some positive response from the mutant community later in the evening, but it's amazing the damage an internet troll can have. That's what I get for trying to be balanced, I guess. I am meeting with my PR manager later. Didn't think it would be so harder to get the support of my own kind than to get that of the humans."<br />
<br />
Flicker offers the bag of samosas out toward Theo. "It's like a turnover stuffed with potato and peas. Pretty delicious." He sucks his cheeks inward, nibbling slowly on their insides. "I don't," this comes slower, "think it was really one internet troll. I mean, they were just saying what most of the people I've talked to were thinking. Most of the mutants, I mean." A slight flush of pink has colored his cheeks.<br />
<br />
"I used to live in Montana," B confesses. "New York is definitely on a different level." Hir cheeks have flushed just a little bit darker as well -- more purplish than pink. "It took some work. People get more impressed by the bike," hir hand waves toward the hoverbike, "but the bugs were trickier." Ze quiets for a moment after this, taking the container of lamb curry and a plastic fork. Nibbling on a piece of lamb as Flicker speaks. Ze fidgets, hir gills fluttering briefly; there's a considerable hesitation before ze pipes up quietly: "If I were in the market for a job, I would have felt pretty uncomfortable even coming to your fair." It sounds a little apologetic.<br />
<br />
"Huh," He looks in the bag, and pulls out one of the pastries. He takes a bite and chews, slowly starting to nod in agreement. "It is pretty good, thanks." He uses the rest of the pastry as an extension to point at the bike. "That would be a great deal of fun to ride I imagine. I love good rides." He takes another bite before responding to the second half. "Yeah, I know. The later part of the fair went fine, there were no hecklers so there was a lot less drama. Had three that we can place immediately, but... I dunno. I have spent the last several years trying to make this happen /for/ the mutant community, trying to carve someplace for a truly neutral environment. But I guess there is no neutral environment anymore. One of the people there said that felt it was too aimed at keeping humans at ease rather than mutants. It's hard, because the company has to keep the humans at ease, or else there are no clients. If there's no clients, there's no jobs. I've been planning workshops and awareness groups for threats to mutants. Maybe I should have opened with that instead of the job fair. Tell me, what about it made you feel uncomfortable?" he asks. "Honestly."<br />
<br />
"It's silly amounts of fun." Flicker also plucks out a samosa, chewing over it slowly in lieu of immediate reply. "I think that might be part of the problem, man. Being neutral in a hostile world is --" He bites down on his lip, pausing -- more thoughtful than hesitant. "I get what you're trying to do. And I don't think it's an easy line to toe. But I'm not sure there's any such /thing/ as neutral, anymore. If the world is really unjust, not taking a side is always going to alienate /someone/. If it helps, though, I still know plenty of people who are -- theoretically interested in the services you're providing. Plenty of people who it'd /help/ a lot. Folks are just hesitant with -- the way things have gone down. I think some really decent outreach could get you back on a good footing."<br />
<br />
"Flicker helped me test it a lot. It used to have a lot of problems with, um." Kind of bashful, B dips hir head. "Falling out of the sky." Less of a problem for Flicker than many other people. Ze's quick to add: "It doesn't do that anymore!" Food procrastination seems to be a theme, now; B dawdles over another piece of lamb. "Honestly?" One booted foot bounces restlessly against the marble step. "I wouldn't have felt safe. My experience as a mutant is going to be a lot different than -- say, Flicker's, you know? We're both registered but nobody needs to look at my card to know that. And the kind of ventures that say they're aimed at helping the mutant community but try really hard to tiptoe around talking about us, it -- doesn't feel like they're taking into account what the experiences are of those of us who /can't/ hide. I can't tiptoe around what I am. I can't try catering to the humans even if I want to. And people like me are the ones who are going to need your company the most of anyone."<br />
<br />
Theo nods. "Hey, if it doesn't fall now it sounds like you are doing something right!" he encourages. "I hear what you're saying. In Michigan things aren't as intense as they are here. But you're right. A majority of the people with physical mutations which are obvious that I have employed are employed with my company internally. If you had gone to the fair you would have seen many people who looked different. I'm not going to give up. Not only am I a stubborn ass, I've also invested a lot of money into making this work. Gotta keep it moving forward. I think I'm going to need a new PR manager for the New York City branch." He quirks a sideways smile. "I hate to run, but I do have to meet the current PR guy shortly. It was really good to meet you. If you ever have time, I'd love to get your input on Proto, and if you ever want some A.I. tips, let me know." He pulls a business card from his pocket for Effective Staffing, and pulls a gold pen from his pocket. A fountain pen. He scrawls his cell phone on it. Dawson, it's great to see you again, see you again soon, all right?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah, things around here are --" Flicker shakes his head. "Well. Intense. Good luck, though. I hope you make it work." His smile is quick. "I don't doubt you're stubborn enough. Take care, yeah? You too, Proto."<br />
<br />
B reaches out, taking the card and looking over it with a nod. "I'd like that." Ze sounds earnest, hir eyes a little bigger when ze looks back to the robot. "And I hope you find a good new PR person. Someone who knows New York good, I hope. It's a strange place." Ze gives Theo a quick small smile. "I"ll see you." It's hard to tell if ze is talking to Theo or Proto with this, though.<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs:I,_Dead_Girl&diff=19315ArchivedLogs:I, Dead Girl2017-09-14T03:22:05Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Harmony, Marinov, Mina | summary = "I only got regular razor hands." | gamedate = 2017-09-13 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <XS> G..."</p>
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<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Harmony]], [[Marinov]], [[Mina]]<br />
| summary = "I only got regular razor hands."<br />
| gamedate = 2017-09-13<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <XS> [[Gardens]]<br />
| categories = Xavier's, Mutants, XS Gardens, Harmony, Marinov, Mina<br />
| log =<br />
From indoor gardens to outdoor, though without the protective greenhouse glass the back gardens do not last all year round. Still, the gardens out here are well-tended and well-worth spending time in, as well. The paths wending through the beds of flowers and herbs and vegetables spread out through the school's back grounds, tended by students as a credit class. Benches offer seating and a small pond is home to koi and turtles, as well as a few frogs. At the far back edges of the garden, a droning buzzing marks a few stacked white boxes as beehives.<br />
<br />
"{I four boy,}" Mina is busy declaring, in... well, it's /meant/ to be Mandarin, though the sentence she's trying to repeat at the moment should actually be "{I am a girl.}" She's beaming -- hopeful! Expectant! Surely /this/ time her pronunciation isn't terrible.<br />
<br />
Spoiler: it's terrible, even leaving aside the mix-up of vocabulary.<br />
<br />
Perched on a bench out in the gardens, she has a notebook and textbook on her lap; she's dressed right now in a cheerfully green and vine-printed sundress, a pink cardigan over it, flowery sandals on her feet. Kind of a restless bounce in her posture as she looks over at her tutor.<br />
<br />
"{Is}, not {four}," Harmony corrects, switching between Mandarin and English fluidly, "but the sounds are close! Also {you are a girl}" not a {boy}." Sitting cross-legged beside Mina on the back of the bench, they are dressed in a long woven tunic in purple-pink spectrum colors, belted at the waist with a cornflower blue linen sash, and brown wrap pants. They're busily knitting a long rectangle out of pink ombre yarn that matches their tunic, hands moving fast and smooth though their eyes are on Mina and not their work. "So let's try again: {I am a girl.}"<br />
<br />
Marinov is walking through the garden barefoot, eyes cast down as they catch the movements of the moving vegetation. Their ears perk up at the sound of a voice that they don't quite understand. "Ah? What-?" they start before looking back up, "Oh." They are presently in a high-necked sleeveless red top and a pair of black yoga pants, likely returning from a jog. "Prosti. Didn't mean to interrupt your... studying?"<br />
<br />
"Wait wait wait say that again? {four}... {death}?" Mina's hopeful look hasn't faded. "{I death girl.}" The hopeful look brightens into a bounce of excitement at the sound of Approaching Person, though her smile freezes on her face for /just/ a beat when Marinov comes into view. The startle doesn't last, shifting easily back into a warm: "/Please/ interrupt my studying I'm probably driving poor Harm totally crazy. I think my ears are /broken/ it all sounds the same to me. I'm s... {I'm sorry}," this one she at least gets right! "that I'm a terrible student!" She doesn't seem particularly /abashed/ about it, at least. "You should let me cook for you or something to make up for your patience. -- Hi by the way I'm Mina!" With a cheerful wave to Marinov.<br />
<br />
"{Is,}" Harmony repeats. "{four} is the number four, and {death} means..." They suppress a snicker. ".../death./ Or dead, depending on the context. 'I, Dead Girl' sounds like a badass band name, though!" Looking up at Marinov, their eyes go wide. Their knitting needles stop moving momentarily. "Oh! Hey there. I'm Harm, and she's not driving me crazy at all, but it's good to take a break sometimes. We're doing Mandarin. And..." she adds to Mina, blushing a little, "you don't have to cook me anything but I definitely wouldn't say no!"<br />
<br />
Marinov stops walking when they are in more comfortable conversational difference, looks between the two and then chuckles to Mina, "Well, I'm happy to deliver you from studying! Or at least, like, momentarily disrupt it." They consider momentarily, looking skywards, "I, Dead Girl could be a good movie title, too. About... I mean, I guess a dead girl who narrates? It wouldn't be a good movie, just a good title. I'm Marinov. Taylor Marinov. Nice to meet you, Mina. Harm." They pronounce both names deliberately, trying to commit them to memory. "How are you liking it here so far?"<br />
<br />
"Oh /man/ do you all want to start a band? I don't think you'd have to /be/ a girl to be in I Dead Girl, I don't think there's /any/ girls in Mean Girls. I play," Mina screws up her face a moment in thought, "Ukelele. That'll fit in a band, right? Hey do you know anything about making movies? We could make a movie if a hand doesn't work out." She's already closed her notebook, clearly not all /that/ attached to the studying. "MarinovTaylorMarinov you could be the suave spy in the movie? And I don't know it's a lot so far but I've met some cool people and the lake is gorgeous. Have you been here long?"<br />
<br />
"Nice to meet you, Marinov." Harmony smiles, a thin, shy smile. "Do you prefer that? Or Taylor? Also...uh..." They blush again, or more. "What are your pronouns?" Their knitting needles start moving again, clicking softly against each other as they lay down a new row of stitches. "I don't know anything about making movies, but I play the mandolin. And oh, yes, there's great people here, and grounds are /so/ beautiful." Their smile pulls hard to one side. "Not so sure about the classes, yet, though."<br />
<br />
"Marinov's fine, lots of people call me that. But Taylor's fine. Or Tay, if you want to be real familiar," says Marinov, nodding a few times, "And my pronouns are 'they' and 'them', spasibo. And you?" They tilt their head slightly and then decide, "I think I'd be a rad suave spy, so, I'm very on board with the movie idea. I don't play an instrument, unfortunately. I can sing, but I'm not really sure I'm 'lead singer of I, Dead Girl' material." They pause a moment to think, "I'll have been here for two full years at the beginning of October. And yeah, I love the grounds here. I spend a lot of time in the woods so, if you see something out there you think might be a panther, don't blast it with force beams or whatever, if that's a thing you can do."<br />
<br />
"Taylor. Cool. Definitely the spy. I'd probably be like. A really inept sidekick," Mina says with a grimace, "I don't think I'd make good villain material. Are you a good villain?" Now she's peering curiously at Harmony. "Oh! I... {am a girl}?" SO HOPEFFUL this time. "I don't have any force beams, do people here have force beams? /Are/ there panthers around here? The mountains look like they could be full of cougars or bears or -- does anyone ever get attacked by bears?"<br />
<br />
"Oh! I -- um, I'm not sure, but I think...I'm also a 'they'? I think." Harmony frowns down at their knitting for a moment, then back up at Mina, smiling. "Yes! You got it right!" To Marinov, though. "Mina uses 'she' and 'her.' I could probably pull off a good villain if I put my mind to it. I had better start practicing my nefarious laugh. Play with chess pieces with a knowing smirk." They blink at Marinov. "Not to worry, I don't had force beams. Or anything like that. And if I did, I still wouldn't randomly blast wildlife."<br />
<br />
"Well, I dunno if any of the students do force beams. But like, at least one has, like, force blasts," says Marinov, before adding, "I don't think I've heard of anyone getting attacked by bears or cougars around here. I'm probably the scariest thing you'll find in the forest there, if you go on walks through the woods." They tilt their chin up slightly to sniff at the air. "I think it's the sidekick's job to seem a little inept, so that the hero can be all the more heroic! At least, I think that's a trope. I dunno. I'm actually not good at film studies either."<br />
<br />
"Woah! We /probably/ need to get someone with some sort of death ray on board for I Dead Girl. Unless they're invisible death rays, that's not very impressive. Maybe just lasers? Oh or giant razor hands! Does anyone have those?" Mina scissors her first two fingers together in the air. Chopchop. "How's your evil laugh /now/? Can we hear it?"<br />
<br />
"Or we could just...add in special effects like they do for movies?" Harmony sounds deeply unsure. "I'm not sure how, though. With computers, I'm sure." They frown. "Maybe finding someone who shoots lasers might be easier, at least around here!" They put down their knitting for a moment and steeple their fingers together, drawing a deep breath and emitting a long, low, insidious laugh -- that quickly becomes less insidious as they break into /actual/ laughter.<br />
<br />
"I think Jax could be our... hm... what do you think of the title 'on-set death ray consultant'?" asks Marinov thoughtfully. "Maybe he could supply baking to the crew, too. Did either of you have some of the rec room mystery desserts? How were they? And... We'll have to ask the new batch of students if any of them has giant razor hands. I only got," they flex their fingers to produce claws demonstratively, "regular razor hands." Their ears perk up as Harmony tests out their evil laugh, and Marinov laughs along the moment when the sinisterness starts to drop off.<br />
<br />
Mina's eruption into giggles has absolutely nothing insidious about it. Her hands clap together a couple times, smile wide. "Okay so we /also/ gotta add in a training montage that's /entirely/ Harm practicing his... their evil laugh. And your razor hands are /perfect/ but we should probably paint them gold or silver or something for proper razory /bling/. I think this'll be a /hit/!"<br />
<br />
A brighter light comes into her eyes at the mention of mystery desserts. "I had some cupcakes the other day they were /so/ /good/. Apparently there's cookies today? Is that a /person/ who puts them there I thought the Rec Room was just enchanted or something. Anyway if it's a real person they should totally be enlisted to help because those were /good/ actually now I want cookies." She's bouncing up from her seat, clutching her book to her chest.<br />
<br />
"Wait, there's someone who shoots /death/ rays?" Harmony is still recovering from their 'evil' laugh, but looks alarmed all the same. "I suppose it's appropriate for a film called 'I Dead Girl'? But I did have some of those cupcakes, too, and they were /delicious./" They crane their neck at Marinov's claws. "Wow! Yeah, those would look /great/ in silver." Their eyes flick back to Mina. "Well, studying works up an appetite. Let's go get some of these magic cookies, huh?"<br />
<br />
"Silverclaw would be a rad codename for my character, so I'm down for getting these things painted," says Marinov, chuckling as they look back and forth at their hand, "You two have fun getting magic snacks, I think I'm gonna actually head back out for a little more running." They start walking backwards where they came from while doing double finger guns, "I'll see you both on set."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=ArchivedLogs:Brightening_Up&diff=19205ArchivedLogs:Brightening Up2017-09-06T22:57:23Z<p>Blinkdog: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Mina, Paras | summary = "There is much to see." | gamedate = 2017-08-24 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <XS> Allison, Mina, and Nessie's..."</p>
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<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Mina]], [[Paras]]<br />
| summary = "There is much to see."<br />
| gamedate = 2017-08-24<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <XS> Allison, Mina, and Nessie's Dorm - FL2<br />
| categories = Xavier's, Mutants, XS Dorm, Mina, Paras<br />
| log = <br />
The influx of new students this year has led to a bit of overcrowding at Xavier's, and it is starting to show in the dorm arrangements, many rooms like this one refitted for three students where they had once been built for only two. The standard two closets have been joined by a large armoire against one wall; three dressers have been moved in, three desks. A set of bunk beds on the left side, a lofted twin with its desk underneath it on the right.<br />
<br />
Though the side of the room with the bunk beds is pristine and neat still, awaiting its occupants, the side with the lofted bed has experienced an explosion of color. Bright floral sarongs hang down from the loft, curtaining off the desk beneath into its own private nook that has been liberally decorated with photographs, an eclectic mix of artwork, stuffed toys, knickknacks. The desk itself is a cluttered mess, the armoire as well, its occupants' belongings in a perpetual state of disarray.<br />
<br />
The door to the room is flung open wide, music -- Ke$ha's latest -- playing loudly within and spilling out into the hall. Inside, the room is in /kind/ of a state. Two suitcases have been opened -- in the middle of the floor. /Half/ unpacked, for a value of unpacked that includes things scattered over the desk, the loft bed, kind-of-tossed into the armoire. The window has been thrown open; at the moment there's a girl sitting perched on the windowsill, phone in hand, holding her camera up to the grounds outside. Dressed in a vividly yellow halter-neck sundress, an enormous pink flower pinned into her hair, Mina is as bright as the sunny day just beyond.<br />
<br />
Eventually the music does draw Mina a spectator. Large maroon eyes in a light purple face; Paras is colourful, here, too. Differently colourful -- in /attire/ today she's monochrome, a white kameez with black geometric patterning at its cuffs and hem, white chudidar, black and white similarly patterned dupatta over her chest and draped down her back. She hesitates at the doorway, bare toes wiggling against the floor before she lifts a hand to knock at the doorframe. With a distinct but crisp accent: "Have you only just come?" Though she steps into the room, it's only just, staying by the doorway with her eyes skimming the mess.<br />
<br />
Mina's attention swivels -- her phone swivels with it, for a moment capturing Paras in the doorway before, with a blush and a widening of eyes, she lowers it. "Oh! I'm sorry, I swear I wasn't, like, filming /you/ I was just trying to show my friends at home -- these grounds are /crazy/ you know? I mean I filmed you but only by /accident/ not because --" Her head shakes quickly. "-- hi! Yes, I mean --" Her dark eyes are kind of fixed, kind of staring this whole while at Paras. At least for a moment before she hops down off the windowsill. "No, I got here /yesterday/ but honestly who had time to unpack? There was /so/ much to see, you know? I'm sure /you/ know, you -- have you been here long? I'm Mina." Bustling about now to -- clean up the mess? Maybe? At the least she's definitely moving some of the clothes from the floor to shove them (in a heap, still) into the armoire.<br />
<br />
"Ah -- some time, yes. I mean, some years I have studied here." A smile flashes, quick, small, across Paras's face as Mina begins her cleaning. "But /here/-here I only recently returned, also. From the summer. Do you -- need a help?" The offer is kiiind of uncertain, eying Mina's clutter without a lot of confidence. "I am Paras." Offered belatedly. "And yes. There is much to see. Have you come from far?"<br />
<br />
"Paris?" Mina echoes brightly. "I came in from Hawai'i. It's -- it /feels/ far. Not as far as some people, I guess! Oh, /wow/, if you've been here a while you probably know a /lot/, right?" Still bustling about her pseudo-cleaning, Mina drops her current armload -- books, now, which rather than going Away in any reasonable order just get set in a stack on the floor by the leg of her bed -- and hops over her suitcase, flitting over to the door to peer out into the hall. "Which of those is /your/ room? Is it far? Is that an /eye/ in your head? Do you know how to get to the city from here? I really want to liven this place up it's -- you're allowed to make it feel more /homey/, right?"<br />
<br />
Paras takes all this in in silence, though one hand does lift to touch lightly at the jewel in her forehead. Her brows pull together, skin wrinkling around it. "You are -- allowed to personalize your space," she finally ventures, plucking upon perhaps simply the most recent of this to actually answer. "Do you know who your roommates will be? They have --" Glancing around, briefly. "Not arrived, yet. Sometimes it is best to see their tastes as well. Before you put up all your favourite circus-art pictures and discover your new roommate has a terror of clowns, no?" Her smile passes quickly. "The city -- is a bit of a distance, but, yes. Sometimes it is nice to go."<br />
<br />
Eyes wide, Mina dashes back into her room to dig a pair of sandals out of one of her large suitcases, grab a purse off her desk. "/Everyone/ hates clowns, I'm not going to be /stupid/ about it. Only pretty happy things, right?" Her smile, at least, is bright. She hooks an arm through Paras's, tugging her out into the hall. "Perfect, it's still early, it's nice, we've got time, today's great to go, right? Right. I have things I need still -- I have a /list/. You look like you have great taste. You know where we can go get some flowers? This place /definitely/ needs some flowers."<br />
<br />
Paras's mouth opens -- closes. She looks down at her outfit -- looks over at Mina's. A slow smile tentatively makes its way back onto her face. "My room is just down here," she finally ventures, allowing herself to be led out into the hall but then taking over the tugging -- a bit more gently! In the direction of her dorm. "I think I can find you at least some bit of colour in the city."<br />
}}</div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Minaflowereyes.jpg&diff=19162File:Minaflowereyes.jpg2017-08-24T23:20:13Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
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<div></div>Blinkdoghttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Minadrink.jpg&diff=19160File:Minadrink.jpg2017-08-24T23:19:36Z<p>Blinkdog: </p>
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