https://xmenrevolution.com/w/api.php?action=feedcontributions&user=Hippo&feedformat=atomX-Men: rEvolution - User contributions [en]2024-03-28T12:38:48ZUser contributionsMediaWiki 1.35.13https://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Libertarian_Paradise&diff=25794Logs:Libertarian Paradise2024-02-14T01:58:17Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Steve, Sam | summary = (Part of Avengers TP.) | gamedate = 2023-11-25 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = Regret I..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Steve]], [[Sam]]<br />
| summary = (Part of [[TP-Avengers, Assemble!|Avengers TP]].)<br />
| gamedate = 2023-11-25<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Regret Island (south of New Zealand)<br />
| categories = Steve, Sam, S.H.I.E.L.D., Avengers, Avengers Assemble!, Humans, Mutates<br />
| log = <br />
<br />
It's called 'Regret Island' -- a scenic elevated rock far to the south of the Antipodes Islands (near New Zealand). Europeans in the early 1800s approached it in search of seals, only for their ships to break and sink on the hidden jagged rocks that enclosed it. After numerous failures, they finally navigated the deadly reef -- only to find an island almost devoid of wildlife.<br />
<br />
Nowadays, it serves as the private home of one ''''Peter Lawson'''' -- a 30-something tech-bro from Adelaide, Australia. He made his mark during the crypto-boom (slipping out prior to the crash) and has been implicated in over a dozen massive illegal financial schemes throughout Eastern Europe. This private island of his is a present from Alchemax -- he's one of their primary investors. According to intel scavenged from contractors, it includes a basement-level doomsday bunker with enough facilities to house over 50 mercenaries and about 10 members of the house-staff.<br />
<br />
From inside the Quinjet (quietly humming in stealth-mode about 5000 feet up), the house looks like a concrete brick. It's a pseudo-Brutalist style two-story facility with a massive concrete courtyard and its own private air-strip. At a glance, about 10 men are outside, each in 5 pairs -- clad in black plated body-armor. Some of them have helmets with skull-styled face-plates; others have skull decals on their arms and shoulders. They're part of a PMC outfit that works for Alchemax -- ''Myrmidon''. They're armed with semi-automatic rifles and a few... ''unusual'' looking grenades.<br />
<br />
There's at least six (three pairs) posted at the main building -- two at the front entrance's plated glass, two more at the side kitchen entrance (where a staff member is emerging, clad in a white shirt and black vest, carrying a bag of trash out), and two more striding along the roof's perimeter -- one of them stopping to smoke a cigarette.<br />
<br />
Somewhere inside, Peter Lawson waits -- oblivious to the team sent to extract him.<br />
<br />
A winged shadow launches from the Quinjet's ramp and describes a wide, lazy spiral that tightens as it descends more sharply. If anyone in the site below happened to look up, it might be hard initially to figure out what they were looking at against the brightness of the sky -- is it some kind of weirdly shaped UAV? A guy with wings? Two guys with one pair of wings? Pretty close, actually. Steve is the less aerodynamic of this duo by far, hanging down from what looks very much like a DIY rig cut from a parachute harness, no matter what S.H.I.E.L.D. R&D calls it or how high-tech they insist it is. As they get low enough to risk someone spotting their shadow he gives Sam a thumbs up, hits the quick release on the not-a-parachute-harness, and freefalls the hundred (or so -- he was eyeballing it) feet down. Probably this would be fine for Captain America regardless, but he's being kind to his knees today and softens his landing by dropping down onto one mercenary and slamming his shield up under the chin of their buddy.<br />
<br />
With his cargo gone, Sam's movement in the air is more nimble. His flexible wings are folding inward as he tucks into a roll, barrelling down towards the side entrance and toppling one of the guards there as he goes. "Yo, hold the door --" It's a kind of superfluous request as he lands. One wing is outstretched to catch at the kitchen door, the other slamming up hard towards the second guard at the side entrance. "Stopped by for coffee, your boss in?" His eyebrows have raised to the poor kitchen staff, though his gaze have turned towards the house, red goggles already scanning the interior for heat signatures.<br />
<br />
There is a brief half-formed moment of puzzlement -- "hey, what the hell is--" -- prior to impact. The first mercenary crumples beneath the force of Captain America's landing with the sharp crackle of impact; the second is caught by the shield just as he turns, his skull face-plate fracturing beneath the blow that carries him up and into the air. He lands somewhere in the distance with a dull thud.<br />
<br />
The other two at the side-entrance scarcely get even that -- there is a flap of wings, a ''smack'' that sends the second reeling off and tumbling as the first collapses underneath the impact of Sam's weight. Two kitchen staff immediately step back from a sink counter, hands upraised; the woman on the left mutters: "Holy shit, I swear I just work here--" Apparently, some of them were expecting something like this.<br />
<br />
Sam's goggles pick up four figures in the dining room just past the kitchen door -- and what looks like two more beyond that, in a small isolated room past the dining room. One of the two isolated figures just stood up -- their heat signature is intensifying, as if something around them was heating up.<br />
<br />
Steve circles around to the kitchen entrance. "You're such a gentleman," he tells Sam with a lazy, very much not-regulation salute before darting through the door. Only now does he draw his firearm, though he points it scrupulously at the ceiling rather than the terrified staff. "Well, there's too many cooks in the kitchen anyway." He actually does wait for Sam to catch up -- ''he's'' a gentleman, too. Oh, and tell him what lies ahead, probably.<br />
<br />
"Sorry to interrupt your day, ma'am." Sam hasn't drawn his gun, not yet. He lets the door slam shut again behind Steve, and gestures ahead of them. "Four through there, two in there --" His brows have furrowed as he focuses on the isolated room beyond. "-- and one of 'em lighting up like --" His head only turns minutely, the goggles inscrutable, but the weight of his attention has shifted briefly to Steve; he shifts tack for the end of this sentence to say instead, "-- just brace for some heat."<br />
<br />
As if right on cue, two of the four men in the dining room barge in (Sam can make out the other two through the wall. One of them is looking for something; the other is just starting to stand up). The arrivals are in full uniform, masks on and rifles in hand. A large island (comprised of a few grills, ovens, microwaves -- and a massive overhead vent with dozens of ladles and other utensils dangling along its rim) sits between them and the two intruders. Well, that -- ''and'' the two staff members. Speaking of which: "--shit, get ''DOWN''--" she bellows, slamming her coworker to the floor with her body.<br />
<br />
It's a good thing, too... because the two mercs don't waste much time: They're ''immediately'' opening fire with a short spray of lead. Fortunately, there's a good 30 feet between them and the dynamic duo -- along with a ''lot'' of dangling pots and pans -- so that initial barrage has a pretty reasonable chance of missing. Unfortunately... they're not stopping, the pair splitting up to orbit either side of the kitchen island as they let off short-bursts -- intent on flanking them.<br />
<br />
In the distance, the heat signature that's building up suddenly flares ''way'' up -- in direct response to gunfire.<br />
<br />
Steve raises his shield and steps in front of Sam to block the initial barrage, then moves orward to give his partner (and his wings) more room to maneuver. He continues along that side of the island, leaving Sam (and his wings) to cover the side with the terrified kitchen staff. He only fires a single three-shot burst -- up at the supports for the rack nearest to his mercenary. ''Probably'' he isn't expecting the pots and pans to seriously injure his opponent, but it certainly ''is'' loud and clangy and distracting. He breaks into a dead sprint and slams his shield directly into the mercenary in a bid to knock him down.<br />
<br />
Sam's wings are abruptly no longer wings, shifting behind him to make a large shield. As he turns and puts himself between the mercs and the kitchen staff, their barrage rattles off the wings without harm. He's moving quickly after this, hopefully drawing their fire ''away'' from the poor kitchen staff's hiding place. He's heading towards the back room, though skirting around to the other side of the island from Steve. His wings are still folded up protective between him and the gunfire -- though when he gets closer one slams out quick and hard towards the merc nearer ''him''.<br />
<br />
Bullets ricochet off Steve's shield and Sam's wings -- the first merc falls for the clanging pots, stepping back as they descend upon him, his gun lifting just long enough for Steve's shield to slam him with roughly the force of a mule's kick. He's driven back to the wall, crashing against it; it ''cracks'' beneath the impact.<br />
<br />
The staff duck and cover underneath Sam's wing, the woman tugging at her coworker to move once Sam has slipped away -- a brief look of gratitude is given. Then she's yanking her coworker out the door, staying low. The second merc is still firing, bullets continuing to ping, trying to step back from Sam and get some distance. He doesn't realize just how far that wing can reach until it's striking him aside, sending him spinning toward a counter-top. He hits it with his back turned to Sam. A precious moment is spent struggling to turn around and re-aim -- but all it would take is another slap of that wing to knock him down and out.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, something's going on in the dining room. The high-temp figure has moved from the back room to the dining room -- the one with two figures remaining. It's hard to make out amidst the chaos, but hot-head looks like he just decked one of the two and took his gun. He's now shouting at him -- the third figure is standing against a wall, looking panicked. Hot-head turns; he can't see Sam, but he seems to judge where he is pretty accurately:<br />
<br />
"Yo, fuckos! We got a civvie in here. Stay where you are -- let 'em pass. THEN we rumble. You savvy?"<br />
<br />
Through his goggles, Sam can see the gun that hothead grabbed -- it heats up right before it snaps in two.<br />
<br />
Steve whirls, keeps on eye on the remaining merc, though he doesn't seem concerned about Sam's ability to dispose of him. At the thump and yelling from the dining room he tilts his head. He mouths "savvy?" in slightly exaggerated fashion, his brows furrowing with obvious suspicion. He is shifting off to the side of the door anyway, and raising his shield though he keeps his weapon pointed at the ceiling. Glances at Sam and tips his head to indicate the other side of the door. "Alright then, send 'em out."<br />
<br />
"Savvy?" Sam is echoing aloud as Steve mouth it. His eyebrows have hiked up high, and with the goggles rendering his expression a bit more impassive it makes the second flex of his wing look dissonantly ''casual'' when it cracks hard at the hand of the merc trying to re-aim. "Man's heating ''up'' in there. Stole a trick from Jax, just melt a whole damn gun."<br />
<br />
One of the mercs Steve is hovering over stirs, vaguely looks up -- then, after a moment of consideration, decides passing out is the best recourse. Meanwhile: There is a moment of silence -- Sam can see through his goggles that Hot-head is gesturing to the third figure, the one who DIDN'T grab a gun. Hot-head's voice is audible, muffled: "--go ahead. They won't fuck with you, man. Just keep your hands up and move slow."<br />
<br />
A staff member emerges from the doorway, pimply-faced and terrified. His hands are WAY up. He looks at Sam, then at Steve -- briefly does a double-take, his hands starting to lower -- right before Hot-head's voice booms somewhere in the back: "And don't gawk -- keep moving!" The staff member blanches, mutters something like an apology, and runs past Steve and Sam.<br />
<br />
The other figure -- the one who lingered in the back room -- is now moving to join Hot-head. For just a moment, they're locked in murmured discussion. Sam and Steve might pick up a gruff female voice asking a question: "--fuck is 'savvy'?" -- and an equally gruff reply: "Oh, fuck off, Sarge."<br />
<br />
Hot-head turns and picks up a very large, very heavy table. His voice booms again: "Alright! The kid clear?"<br />
<br />
Presuming the answer is an affirmative -- he proceeds to ''slam'' the high-density table through the doorway, its top facing Steve and Sam, turned long-ways. It rips through the frame in a blast of plaster -- with a large, brawny tattoo'd figure rushing in behind it. He's using it as a makeshift shield to try and drive ''both'' of them back. Cinnamon rushes forward with roughly the force of an incoming semi-truck, and his body is ''glowing'' hot.<br />
<br />
Steve's brows hike up at Sam's report, and he ''might'' have lapsed into an impressed look if he weren't busily watching for duplicity from the evidently unduplicitous staff member now fleeing to safety. "Yeah, he's clear!" And then he's stumble-scramble-backflipping away from the wall as the table explodes through it. Lands on his feet with the shield up and his carbine raised beside it to stitch a three-round burst at the glowing red figure through the plaster and sawdust. "I am on the rebound," he tells Cinnamon, shuffling to the side as he does so in a bid to get him to turn his flank to Sam, "but you're just not as hot as my last boyfriend."<br />
<br />
Sam's wings flare, and a brief thrust pulls him higher into the air than a regular jump might have managed -- he lands squarely ''atop'' the table as it crashes into the wall behind him. One of his wings is pulling around shieldlike to curl in front of him, and from behind it he's taking aim at Cinnamon. "He's on the rebound," he's telling Cinnamon with an air of concerned warning, "you do ''not'' want to see how this man works his feelings out."<br />
<br />
As the cloud of dust fades, Cinnamon's massive, muscular figure emerges -- a bare-chested white man who looks like he belongs in the wrestling ring. Veins of glowing orange crawl out across his chest, seeking and finding the three holes Steve's carbine plugged into him. As they seal in a flash of heat, he looks from Sam to Steve with an expression of concern: "Oh, for real? Shit, man. That sucks." His brief sympathy is punctuated by the emergence of another figure stepping through the table-shaped hole:<br />
<br />
The woman is built like a tank, with her hair shaved down to peach fuzz. She's clad in black body armor that looks... Enhanced. An external mechanical spine connects the nape of her neck down to her pelvis, built into the armor itself. As she moves, segments of the spine click up and down in rapid succession. Pepper grins. "Well if it ain't Yankee Doodle Dandy and his sidekick -- Darkwing Duck." Her accent is sharp and harsh -- Scouse, maybe.<br />
<br />
Cinnamon frowns and turns to Pepper: "Sarge, you can't say shit like that just cuz he's Black -- that's fucked up." <br />
<br />
Pepper keeps her focus on Sam and Steve, still grinning -- but her eyebrow twitches. "We really need to get you off Twitter." She lifts both fists -- enclosed in bracers with extended handles for her to grip, each with mounted miniature barrels. With just a twist, the barrels erupt in short bursts of gunfire toward Sam -- rubber bullets, but that doesn't mean a hit won't take someone out. She's trying to keep him on the defensive -- so that...<br />
<br />
...Cinnamon is free to charge ''through'' the kitchen island, ripping through metal like it was tinfoil. He rushes to slam Steve's shield with a shoulder-check carrying roughly the amount of force you'd need to send a wrecking ball through a foot of concrete.<br />
<br />
"He's not my sidekick," Steve fires back somewhat automatically, "his wings aren't dark, and it's not ''Twitter'' anymore. Get with the times." When Cinnamon charges, he looks as though he's just going to brace for impact. But at the last moment he lunges forward, drops his center of gravity way down -- ''then'' braces for impact, suddenly more a tripping hazard than a target.<br />
<br />
"You really on Twitter, how'd you ''miss'' --" Sam is starting, at Cinnamon's sympathy, but then he's pivoting with a lift of eyebrow at ''Steve'' that is rendered even more skeptical by his impassive goggles: "-- naaaw, you telling me you really call that shit X now?" The rubber bullets are thumping heavy but harmless off of Sam's folded wing. In the next moment his other wing is pulling in, too, and swathed in this armored cylinder he's launching himself straight off the table, barrel-rolling directly for Pepper -- between the wing's thrusters and the exoskeleton armor he's coming in with a force that might be expected of a speeding car rather than a flying person.<br />
<br />
Cinnamon slams right into Captain America's shield -- but at a far lower point than he expected. He's sent rolling straight forward as his legs give out, diving into the practiced tumble you'd expect from someone experienced with taking falls. Perhaps surprisingly, the tumble wrenches his whole body to the side in mid-air -- swooping his legs around in a twirl that looks downright graceful... and ends with Cinnamon on his feet, right behind (and besides) Steve. It takes him just an instant to recover (he pulls off the old three point superhero landing, and spends an instant just reveling in pulling it off), but then he's spinning 'round to try and snag under Steve's arm from behind and pull him up out of that crouch -- to hurl him at high-speed right at Sam's lunging figure. "STONE COLD STUNNER!" he bellows, despite this having precisely zero resemblance to Steve Austin's signature move. Regardless, his skin is ''blistering'' hot, right now.<br />
<br />
Whether or not Steve gets thrown, Pepper braces for Sam's impact. She has an instant to drop into a semi-crouch, arms retracting to guard her chest and face (there's a lot of plating on those forearms) as a high-pitched whine emits from her skel-suit. The feet ''clamp'' down -- concrete cracks. However she and Sam meet, her own suit is tanking the full brunt of the hit -- albeit after it skids back several feet, tearing up the floor and pushing her into the room with a cowering libertarian. "Right?! Like, sag off -- what, is it a soddin' porn-site, now?"<br />
<br />
"Of course I don't ''call'' it that!" Steve sounds faintly affronted. He ''probably'' didn't expect that kind of acrobatic maneuvering from Cinnamon, and maybe that's why he's so easily plucked up from his stance. Once plucked, though, he proves a little harder to throw, his hand reversing to grasp Cinnamon's forearm. He might have burns later despite his armor and gauntlets, but that's a problem for Future Steve. Present Steve is swing ''himself'' along Cinnamon's follow-through to land in a crouch and throw ''him'' with the force he'd meant for throwing ''Steve.'' "I'll take any excuse to tell future folks to get with the times."<br />
<br />
Sam is swiveling as he lands near Pepper, one of his weapons drawn from his holster to fire at Pepper's complaining suit, not a firearm but an intense electrical pulsing. "''Kinda'' porn for white libertarian debate-me bros," he's musing along with this, kind of ''idly'' watching Cinnamon go flying (or maybe his goggles just trend towards blase.) Right after saying this, he's tipping his chin up towards the cowering man in the corner. "Yo. Bet you jus' love Twitter."<br />
<br />
"--ohshit IRISH WHIP--" Cinnamon manages to get out, right before Steve's reversal connects -- whipping him about and hurling him into the air. Again, that's not what an Irish Whip is, but --<br />
<br />
Pepper's still semi-crouched when Sam lands. When he pulls the electrical pulse on her and fires, she straightens with a grin -- the suit sparks with a few light crackles. Her fists clench, whirring with menace. She's winding up for a high-powered hit. "Red already used that one on me, lil bird. When you wake up, you let 'er know I owe--"<br />
<br />
Cue Cinnamon's trajectory ''smashing'' right into Pepper's side. She had a moment to prep for Sam's hit, but she doesn't see this one coming -- she goes crashing hard through the dining room, shattering a very expensive table on the way toward the far wall. Said wall -- made of solid concrete -- ''crunches'' under impact with Pepper's shoulder. She's shouting and cursing, spine clicking as she struggles to disentangle herself from a recovering Cinnamon -- who's body continues to sizzle.<br />
<br />
Peter Lawson (a wiry man in spectacles who's dressed like a discount Lex Luthor about to attend a TED talk) struggles to his feet as he fishes out his phone. He holds it up to Sam like some sort of shield: "I've got -- whatever they're paying you, I'll ''triple'' it, right now--" The way he's holding his phone... he's probably recording this.<br />
<br />
Steve sticks his ''own'' three-point superhero landing, armor singed and smoking here and there. He's keeping one wary eye on the supergoon pileup in the dining room as he closes the distance to Sam and their target, fast enough to intimidate anyone who isn't used to seeing him in action. If that doesn't intimidate Lawson, perhaps Captain America knocking the phone out of his hand and crushing it unceremoniously underfoot might do the trick. "Back in my day, those debates ended in 'meet me out back'," he's telling Sam as he politely knocks Lawson out for him. "Let's exfil."<br />
<br />
Sam is just staring, impassive, at Lawson's pleading. His head shakes, and he has not dignified the offer with a response before Steve gets there. "White boys think they can buy'n sell ''anyone''," he's muttering more to himself than to his strapping blond All-American teammate. He's scooping the man up in a superman carry before he hits the ground, ducking back through the hole in the wall to -- simply blast a ''second'' hole in those enormous floor-to-ceiling windows so he can abscond with his quarry.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Who_By_Fire&diff=25676Logs:Who By Fire2023-10-15T03:28:57Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Akihiro]], [[B]], [[Erik]], [[Joshua]], [[Scramble]], [[Shane]]<br />
| summary = "You will ''not'' '''burn''' them, Nazi!"<br />
| gamedate = 2023-09-25<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = CN: antisemitism, racism, Nazis, graphic violence, hate crime, dentistry. <br />
| location = <NYC> [[Freaktown]] - [[TP-Riverdale|Riverdale]]<br />
| categories = Akihiro, B, Erik, Joshua, Scramble, Shane, Freaktown, Riverdale, Mutants, Swords of Tyr, Mutant Mongrels MC<br />
| log = <br />
<br />
There's no bazaar in Town Square, currently; the stalls have been dismantled or moved aside to make space. In several of the neighboring lawns around the cul-de-sac there are tables set up, food waiting for sunset and the conclusion of the fast.<br />
<br />
For the ''moment'', though, the food is emotionally a hundred years away and a sizable cluster of hungry Jews -- a number familiar faces around Freaktown, a number here just for today for the promise of mutant solidarity and community on this holiest of days -- have arrayed themselves in the center of where the bazaar ''usually'' is.<br />
<br />
There's a smaller scattering of people not joining in the prayers -- a couple scattered members of Freaktown's safety squad over here, over there a few curious mutant children kiiind of gawking at the ongoing prayers, over there a few mutant ''adults'' who probably should not be gawking but are anyway. A couple of them, broad and heavily scarred white men who were some of the ''many'' streaming into Freaktown in the fall of Prometheus, have been glaring in the direction of the services, talking quietly among themselves for a short time before (thankfully?) they melt away into the gathering dusk.<br />
<br />
In the minyan itself the song (familiar to most all gathered in its words though no doubt some have Extremely Fierce Opinions about whether the current ''tune'' is The Correct One) continues, building powerful with emotion: ''Avinu malkeinu kaleh chol tsar umastin m'aleynu.''<br />
<br />
Over with the lurkers is one tiny blue shark, nondescript in her clothing today -- B has on white slacks, a plain blue and white button-down under her heavy Mongrels cut, heavy metallic boots and wrist cuffs. She's leaning up against one of the food tables, claws clicking light and idle against the tabletop. She isn't singing though she ''is'' humming quietly along with the music, wrong tune? right tune? In her limited exposure it is, anyway, one of The Only tune she actually knows well.<br />
<br />
This is almost certainly not Joshua's Top Choice of tune. Maybe he'll complain about it later but it doesn't seem to bother him ''right'' at this moment. His voice is soft but clear and he isn't looking at the machzor he holds in his hands, eyes drifting around the faces around him with -- well, it's his usually flat and heavy-lidded expression, but something there has gentled the dour contours of his face ''just'' a little.<br />
<br />
Towards the back of the minyan, Erik is following along in a pocket sized, aged book held in one hand. He's shrouded in white -- white suit with muted grey tie, white leather oxfords, white yarmulke pinned to stark white hair, larger white tallis with thin black and silver striping draped over his shoulders, held in place with steel clips chained together. Tucked under the ends of his sleeves are twin steel link bracelets, a steel ring on his left hand and gold one on his right. Someone looking over his shoulder would find no English here to help them along -- only Hebrew letters, cramped and small. Even though he has not been abstaining entirely from food or drink his voice is beginning to grow hoarse. Maybe this is why he's singing softer now (and not because he does not know this niggun), his rounded Ashkenaz prononciation less prominent among all the other voices singing.<br />
<br />
Beside B, Scramble is also slouched somewhat against the table, lanky limbs rendering her posture more exaggerated. She's dressed in a fitted white blouse with a mandarin collar and slightly billowy sleeves under her cut, which coordinates with her black leather trousers and dress boots to sharp yet roguish effect. Her rank patch is new, and absent the "V" on her previous one, identifiers her simply as "PRESIDENT". Belying her apparent languor, her eyes sweep ceaselessly over and past the onlookers gathered around the perimeter of the plaza. Expression unreadable, she is not singing or humming or, probably, praying. Just ''watching,''<br />
<br />
Atop the nearest building to tables squats Akihiro, dressed in dark blue coveralls with a matching balaclava pulled over his face. His full attention is on the scarred men, carefully taking in their body language and tracking them as they walk off. A very tired sigh escapes from him and he unclips the radio from his pocket, bringing it to his mouth and pressing the button, “I have eyes on a possible threat. We need to get a team up for a potential evacuation. Move slow, there’s no need to cause a panic yet.”<br />
<br />
Shane's book definitely has the English, and the transliteration as well; it's the second one that he's following along carefully with a claw. The kippah he wears is white, as is his vest, though the rest of his clothing is blue -- shirt embroidered very subtly with blue scrollwork, neatly-tailored slacks. His tallit is simple, white with slim blue stripe at one side. For much of the service he's been a ''little'' antsy, attention restlessly shifting between the others gathered here in prayer and the background ebb and flow of Freaktown lift, but as prayers shift into each other he's focusing ''here'', focusing ''now''. Too many -- far too many -- people are standing, here, as the Mourner's Kaddish begins, and he's among them, the intermittent flutter of his gills lending a slightly tremulous note to his voice, though he knows the words all too well.<br />
<br />
''Around'' them in Freaktown -- there's a shift in the air, as the prayer continues, and it's not just due to the weight of all the blessed memories of those, here-but-not-here being remembered around them. Some of the kids who had been watching wide-eyed have conspicuously scattered and vanished further into town. One of the grizzled ex-Prometheans has returned -- though he certainly ''walked'' off in Akihiro's clear sight when he comes back it's more difficult to track, simply stepping out of a distorted ripple in space. From this distance in the dusk it may not be possible to see his self-satisfied smirk.<br />
<br />
A moment later, though, a tall man strides out from behind one of the houses at the other end of the row of tables from where B and Scramble are leaning. In his swagger he's hip-checking one of the carefully arranged tables to knock its wine and challah to the ground. His head is shaved to each side of where his thick blond hair is plaited straight back and down his neck, thick bushy beard and a Swords of Tyr vest (PRESIDENT, reads a prominent one of his front patches) on over his currently bare chest (there are a number of more esoteric Nazi symbols decorating his skin, but the swastika right over his heart in quite unambiguous.)<br />
<br />
''Y’hei shlama raba min sh’maya v’chayim aleinu v’al kol yisrael, v’im’ru,'' the gathering has been saying, but over and above ''Amen'' comes this man's booming resonant voice: "''Autonomous zone''," he's clearly ''not'' addressing the Yom Kippur gathering but some of the mutants watching beyond, "you want freedom but you let yourself --"<br />
<br />
But Deep doesn't finish. There's another man -- certainly not ''short'' at an even six feet but small next to his leader, brown buzz cut, scars, faint flickers of red curling up his arms -- who's leaping over the fallen tables. "Got the ''Zionist-Occupied Gang'' calling all your shots," Ernest is crowing, and it's only when he looks briefly to his President's faintly exasperated expression that he realizes maybe this eager interruption was not a welcome addition.<br />
<br />
Trailing behind Deep on the left (Deep's right), farther back in the crowd... 6 and a half feet of phrenology, Nazi tattoos, and gravity-assisted advanced race theory is cutting a path through the crowd. Mountain at least has enough sense of drama to know not to interrupt Deep's speech -- he is bare-chested, wearing a rather expensive-looking pair of sunglasses that disguise his eyes. As Deep starts speaking, he stops and folds his arms, just looking ''dramatic''. When Ernest interrupts him... he doesn't move, but there is a barely visible sigh.<br />
<br />
Coming up behind Mountain in the rear is another one -- it's hard to even ''tell'' he's one of the Swords, given he looks like he came dressed for a job interview at an office. Blue collared shirt, buttoned up; one flap of the lower half untucked, dangling over his dark trousers. Hands in his pockets, thumbs out; a face that's awkward and forgettable -- like the sort of slightly-pimply guy who refuses to take your coupon at the drive-thru because the edge got torn and typing the numbers in manually is 'against store policy'. He goes by Hurricane, and stands right behind Mountain... rolling his eyes. Fuckin' Ernest, man.<br />
<br />
"-- still don't want a ''panic''," this voice is coming from a tiny beetle-like drone that has just zipped up to hover beside Akihiro, "but we're definitely moving to evac." There's a second drone that's been perching on the back of Shane's machzor and it flits up as the Swords begin streaming in: "You all need to --" becomes a little obsolete as the Swords arrive and the panic immediately spreading through the crowd preempts this. There are a half-dozen more drones skittering out from under B's table -- larger, these look like friendly-knockoff versions of the Sentinels, cutesy jumping-spider in their modular design; they don't actually approach the Swords but fan out between them and the congregation.<br />
<br />
As the crowd around him starts dissolving into panic, Joshua just goes very still. He folds the mazchor he's been holding, sets it down as he takes stock of the group. His jaw tightens, and he is looking reflexively towards a cluster of children who have gathered towards the center of the congregation -- takes a half-step in their direction and then checks himself. His fists ball up at his side and he vanishes for a brief moment, only to rather return a second later. He's looking -- just exactly as he had a second ago. Kind of underwhelmingly.<br />
<br />
"... oleinu v'akol yisroel v'imru omein." Maybe Erik is the only one with the words still on his lips as panic spreads through minyan. Before the prayer is finished he is, too, looking at that cluster of scared children, his nostrils flaring. Before the prayer is finished, the ancient mahzor folds closed and is tucked away into his breast pocket. Before the prayer is finished, he is turning, looking up from the drones to the interlopers beyond them, gaze setting on the swastikas and narrowing. A shiver ripples out from him, through every piece of metal between him and the Nazis, ''on'' the Nazis, ''in'' the Nazis. Without his helmet, with a tallis instead of a cape, decked out in Jewry, maybe the Swords do not recognize the Master of Magnetism. He is not yet announcing himself -- but at his wrists, the steel links of his bracelets are unlinking, floating in lazy circles around his arms.<br />
<br />
Scramble straightens up from her slouch and moves out into the plaza between them and the panicking crowd. Her pace pace looks casual but her strides are long, and when she comes to a stop across from Deep her stance is loose and ready but not squared off. Yet. "Damn, y'all come all the way up from ''Staten Island'' just to bully our people while they praying? That's pretty pathetic, even by Nazi standards." Though she projects her voice well she still sounds deadly calm. "You ain't welcome here. Get the fuck out. ''Now.''"<br />
<br />
An even longer sigh leaves Akihiro’s lungs not seconds after he’s finished speaking and he hits the button again, “Alright, this isn’t a drill. Those without combat experience join with the evacuation efforts and those who are comfortable holding the line group up with the robots, I’m about to lay concealment.” Instead of returning the radio to his pocket it’s clipped onto a small black bag next to him on the roof. “You’re being paranoid, Akihiro. You won’t need that Akihiro.” he grumbles quietly to himself as he starts pulling grenades from the bag, pulling the pins, and throwing them out to create a thick white wall of smoke between the new arrivals and the non-combatants.<br />
<br />
Shane hasn't waited for the drone to finish speaking, anyway; he's deputizing several of the people around him to help direct the crowd ''away''. Or, at least, he was trying; once the smoke bomb hits he's ''mostly'' just hacking, a wheezing-gasping kind of breath for a couple seconds until he shuts his mouth tight and his gills flat. ''He's'' honing on on the people in the crowd -- too old, too young, too disabled -- who he knows might have extra difficulty with this evacuation, disappearing into the chaos to assist.<br />
<br />
The panic is spreading ''fast'' -- deep and hardwired at the first sight of the swastikas but devolving into a more generalized ''confusion'' when visibility drops. Some people are going along with Shane, some people are ''helping'' direct people to Shane. Some people are running straight ''for'' the Nazis. The confusion does not get any ''better'' when a freezing white mist begins flooding out within the billowing white smoke, further clouding visibility but also just stinging prickly-cold against those trying to escape. From a different part of the crowd there's an outpouring of pink bubbles; from another the grass is starting to curl up and cling around people's feet; from another there's -- a bunch of chicks and ducklings wandering over from the nearby yard to quack plaintively up at Erik like he might have food for them. The erratic misfiring of powers is not ''helping'' the current state of mess in the evacuation.<br />
<br />
Ernest is smirking as the Yom Kippur crowd dissolves into chaos and panic, and smirking ''more'' when Scramble approaches. "Holy ''shit'' these mutts managed to teach their monkey to ''talk''," he's trying again, very hopefully.<br />
<br />
Deep has a look of ''longsuffering'' patience, a small and exasperated sigh. He doesn't address Ernest -- and he doesn't address Scramble, either, doesn't even acknowledge that she's spoken to him. He's just stepping ''back'' as the first panicked congregants start to run their way, his open-hand wave to the other Swords a clear invitation to attack.<br />
<br />
The wisps around Ernest have started to grow at Deep's sigh, and then coil out and ''solidify'' at his gesture, forming into an ominously glowing and very solid mace in his hands whose heavy-spiked end is slamming straight towards Scramble's gut.<br />
<br />
The icy mist approaches Mountain... and just flattens down around him, as if pressed to the earth by a massive invisible hand. He unfolds his arms; with just a gesture, a few frosty chunks of gravel float up from his feet. One hand swats them into his fist, and -- without looking -- he hurls them behind him -- right at Hurricane.<br />
<br />
Hurricane gives a crooked grin, hands still in his pockets; he steps forward into the icy gravel. The handful of rocks veer wildly out of his way, spinning around him in a rapidly accelerating orbit -- half a dozen stones, all making a distinctive whistling noise as they spin around faster and faster, building velocity...<br />
<br />
B's drones are springing to life, rapidly shifting to each pick a Nazi and focus in on him. The small ''thwips'' that come from the robots are -- probably also underwhelming, as a round of suppression darts fire at each one.<br />
<br />
B herself has risen into the air, a low hum coming from her boots and the wristcuffs she wears (telescoping outward swiftly to form a pair of sturdy metal gauntlets.) She's taking aim at Hurricane, though the SPLAT of webglue that shoots out towards him is directed more at the whirling stones that are building up speed.<br />
<br />
Somewhere in the thick smoke and chill-freezing mist, Joshua has disappeared again. Unsurprising; quite a ''lot'' of people have disappeared in the obscuring visual chaos. In the fog, it is almost hard to see when a just-faintly-shimmering translucent wall wraps itself in firm barrier between the Nazis and the congregation.<br />
<br />
Erik is not feeding the ducks. Is not outwardly acknowledging the ducks at all -- just rises silently up into the smoke and frosty mist a beat after B takes flight. Maybe ''now'' the Sword of Tyr will recognize Magneto, now that his tallis is fluttering in the breeze, now that his voice is ''booming'' out from fifteen feet in the air above the shield -- "You have been asked once to leave, vermin." The steel links orbit his entire body now, some fusing together, others developing sharp blades. In Mountain and Ernest's shoes, the protective layer of steel suddenly crumbles inward, sharp and tight and ''crushing'' around their toes; in Hurricane's mouth a silver crown is wrenching itself off a tooth and flying hard into the back of his throat. Magneto's eyes are squarely on Deep, now, blades poised to strike down at him. "Your betters will not ask again."<br />
<br />
There's a quickly solidifying mass of red that swirls to life around Ernest; his suppression dart plinks harmlessly off of it. He's barely paying this ''attention'', looking up instead as Magneto rises up above them. "Holy ''shit''," is breathless with excitement, "-- it's ''Magneto'' -- yeah, you ''tell'' these ver-- wait, why --" His eyes are narrowing on the kippah with a growing and horrified recognition that ''crunches'' off with a strangled scream as his boots crumple in. Is the betrayal in his expression from the attack or from the Jewry? Insult to injury, honestly. He's currently now engaged with a strenuous and careful shifting of his projected armor to push the metal off of his injured toes (kind of ''destroying'' his boots in the process.)<br />
<br />
Deep just ''smirks'', at the forming blades, a cruel hard smile cutting across his face. When he rises into the air -- it's not really ''him'' anymore. Swirling rapid and sharp, the churn looks almost humanoid in shape -- then doesn't -- then does again, a fluctuating whirlwind of biting sand that, as it blasts through the air, chokes the lungs and abrades burning-harsh at skin, eyes, anything it touches. The sandstorm whips through Scramble briefly before swirling up, ensconcing Magneto in an excruciating swirl of stinging fury.<br />
<br />
Scramble doesn't acknowledge Ernest, either. By some combined virtue of her lankiness and skill it looks almost effortless when she sidesteps his attack. She snaps a sharp punch in reply at his flank that she pulls at the last second as his armor swirls into existence around him, but the punching was kind of secondary to her attack, anyway. Her power tears into him with an awful hunger, and his shock at discovering his hero was Secretly a Jew All Along expands and deepens and warps into...<br />
<br />
...whatever it is, he's briefly distracted from it by his boots trying to eat his toes. Scramble isn't having much better luck enjoying her newly enhanced sanity. She coughs and recoils as the living sandstorm that had been Deep-shaped up until a moment ago score countless fine cuts into her skin and airways. Recovers while Ernest is extricating his appendages from his traitorous footwear. "You gon' let him do that to your ''hero?''" she sputters, staggered and still trying to blink her eyes clear to take stock of the fight breaking out all around. "You can he a hero too." Unseen, her mind strains for something to sink its claws into.<br />
<br />
Akihiro jumps down from the roof, landing with a shoulder roll and popping back up onto his feet immediately. He breaks into a sprint, using the smoke the cut wide and angle himself towards Mountain, his claws popping with a ''''''snikt'''''' that’s barely audible over the chaos. He keeps himself low as possible, hoping to get as close as he can before the man notices.<br />
<br />
Mountain's response to the sudden ''crnk'' of his boots' toes is a visible grimace of pain and surprise; his typical stoic expression reflects the shock and pain. He looks down, brows crumpling into a tightening knot... briefly distracted from Erik as he ascends. When he ''does'' look up, his eyebrows launch upward -- his arms unfold -- staring at Magneto in momentary confusion. The confusion only lasts a moment, though... before he's grabbing one of the nearest crowd-goers -- a poor teenager running past in panic, her arms wreathed in frost -- and ''flinging'' her like she's some sort of pebble... her body suddenly weightless. The weight returns mid-arch, just as she's entering the sandstorm interfering with Erik -- launched straight at him as a distraction. An instant later and there is a sharp ''thnk'' -- as a suppression dart lodges itself in Mountain's chest. He looks down at it, briefly puzzled --<br />
<br />
Hurricane's sneer goes away as he suddenly clutches at his throat, falling to his knees. The pieces of gravel are struck -- ''plp, plp, plp'' -- by B's incoming webbing, plastered to his chest -- reducing the rest to just a few errant grains of dirt that are flung harmlessly away. An instant later, a suppression dart strikes him dead center in the back -- he doesn't notice, though, too busy choking.<br />
<br />
Mountain, meanwhile, has removed the dart from his chest. He's caught the glimmer of Akihiro's movement out of the corner of his eye, and is starting to turn --<br />
<br />
B is diving, a moment after her glue strikes, repulsors firing hard to shoot her at some speed straight towards Hurricane. The sharp metal claws of her gauntlets gleam, extended in hopes of raking at his face.<br />
<br />
The instant B lunges within range at Hurricane -- still on his knees, still choking -- her velocity dramatically shifts; suddenly, she is veering wildly to the left as she begins to ''orbit'' him, held just out of immediate arms length. The orbit is gaining speed, and wobbling -- as if it's starting to slip out of control.<br />
<br />
Was Jackson Holland ''here'' at Neilah? Surely, in all the furor and fuss, ''someone'' would have noticed if the Famed Mutant Hero had broken his public radio silence -- but he's here now, anyway, and the so-faintly-iridescent shield wall is vanishing and reforming as the smoke begins to thin. No longer a straight long wall, as the Freaktown mutants continue to scatter it curls sinuous now between the Swords to more neatly segregate them from potential quarry --<br />
<br />
-- but only for a second. A moment later and maybe it was a trick of the eyes in all the smoke and mist and sandstorm and panic that Holland was ever here at all. The shield wall vanishes. There's a warping distortion of flesh and then a ''different'' Boring White Guy is in his place. Alas that Matt does not have a pun at hand; perhaps a less ''dour'' Matt would be obliging. His power is flexing out -- ''currently'' only reaching Hurricane, and ''nipping'' his ability out of existence far more neat and quick than the suppression serum.<br />
<br />
Ernest and Mountain don't have to struggle with their shoes for ''much'' longer -- Magneto is yanking the steel caps out and up towards him in the sky, as well as that small piece of silver pressing against Hurricane's throat. These join him in the sandstorm for a moment, rotating through the sand as if they might disrupt the shapeless grains. There's not much he can actually ''do'' against this assault -- Erik holds one arm over his nose and mouth, eyes watering as his suit begins to fray. Another moment and the tallis flies off his shoulders, Erik's sand-battered steel pinning itself to the corners. The wide cloth dives first, attempting to wrap itself around the falling girl and slow her fall that way. Erik dives next, sand be damned, to try and catch her if this fails.<br />
<br />
Deep is picking up considerable speed -- as Erik dives he follows, a searing flay at skin that whips past old man and young girl alike, tiny speckles of sand embedding like glass into skin. For an instant when ''he'' reaches the ground he solidifies again, distinctly human -- though just a moment. The screams from the remaining congregants are keening higher as that sandstorm whips away through the Town Square, several young people waylaid with blindness or pain.<br />
<br />
Ernest has been watching Magneto -- looking back at Scramble -- looking back at Magneto. Her claws ''have'' taken root in his mind, but the shock here deepens and expands into horrified rage. It's a rage that's lashing out, fierce and furious in the blows that rain down towards Scramble, his projected weapon moving with far more agility than would be expected of a heavy spiked club -- but no less ''punch''.<br />
<br />
Akihiro lowers his center of gravity arms going behind him in a full Naruto run as he somehow picks up even more speed. The exact moment the steel toe caps block Mountain’s field of vision he cuts sharply to the right, vanishing from the other man’s sight as he moves to flank him, flinging himself forward the last several yards in an attempt to bury his claws into the man’s lungs.<br />
<br />
Erik catches the girl, the wide cloth having slowed her descent; she manages a confused squeak as she is plucked out of the air amidst a raging sandstorm by none other than the Master of Magnets. Given all her other options, she desperately clings to him, suppressing a cry at the sound of sand scraping across the cloth he used to catch her.<br />
<br />
"--hh--" Mountain's shock is visible as the steel caps of his toes lunge up. He stumbles back just in time to face Akihiro, though in all the confusion, he briefly loses sight of the incoming attacker. Something else is going on, though; litter is starting to lift off the ground; a mylar balloon suddenly drops as if it was solid lead. Just as Akihiro lunges, a wave of intense vertigo rushes out across him and everyone within thirty feet.<br />
<br />
Akihiro is ''slammed'' down as his effective weight quadruples. A young woman screams, falling sideways at an angle that will put her through a nearby second story building's window. An old man seizes hold of a bike locked to a rack, as both he and the bike fall straight ''up''. Various people are being pulled in several directions at once; several onlookers drop, while several more start to float.<br />
<br />
Mountain is one of the floaters -- arms out, his shades having drifted off his face toward the heavens. He tries to make it look like this is all part of his plan, but it's obvious he has NO fucking clue what's going on. The entire area around him -- about thirty feet or so -- is operating on random rules of gravity. Everyone within range experiences ''intense'' waves of nausea as they're pulled in varying directions all at once, all at different levels of intensity. Telling which way is up or down becomes ''physiologically'' impossible.<br />
'' ''<br />
<br />
Hurricane -- who's cheek is blossoming bright red as a piece of metal lunges out of it -- manages to stumble out of the field, falling to his hands and knees. His mouth is full of blood and he's gurgling: "G -- get me the fuck -- o-outta here..." And just like that, he flickers out of existence. Wish granted, shitbird.<br />
<br />
Except it looks like somebody traded up. Standing where Hurricane once was is a new face: a blonde freckled beanpole with the world's biggest shit-eating grin. He surveys the chaos -- gravity gone mad, a living sandstorm fighting the Master of Magnetism -- and that grin somehow gets bigger.<br />
<br />
"Fuckin' ''finally''," Wick whispers, his expression one of pure joy. He cracks his neck... right before he vanishes inside an opaque column of pale metallic blue flame.<br />
<br />
Scramble is still blinking furiously. Sees Ernest coming and throws up an arm, not quick or precise enough to do anything but catch the blow squarely. At least it's her arm that breaks and not her skull. Her power rips into him ''again'', wild and unguided now where pain breaks her usually excellent control. As he's winding up his next strike Scramble turns aside at the last moment. Her good hand catches his wrist as she follows through pivot, trying to guide him and the force of his movement down toward the ground.<br />
<br />
B ''definitely'' did not expect the sudden sharknado that she has become. Whirling -- whirling -- her limbs kind of ''flail'', the flare of her repulsors wobbling her orbit precariously but not breaking ''free''. When she does break free it's abrupt, flinging wild and ''almost'' on a collision course with Akihiro; she manages to slow her trajectory and right herself before coming to any harm. She's starting to lift back into the air -- and then tumbling in an odd loop-the-loop in midair as her personal gravity goes abruptly quite haywire. One of her gauntlets flings up to hit her own face even as her lower half is twisting too-rapidly towards the earth; for a split instant, the contortion of her torso against the divergent pulls looks ''deeply'' unnatural. It is all things considered perhaps a bit of a blessing when she slams into the ground.<br />
<br />
The !Matt is stretching further, trying in all the chaos and the many (many) mutant signatures around him and his own sudden dizzying nausea -- he's dropped too-heavily to the ground, stifling his retching and keeping his eyes firmly shut as if this will ''help''. It probably does not, but at least he does not ''need'' to see in order to reach out, seeking out ''just'' the Nazis to squash ''their'' abilities. He reaches Ernest first, grabbing hold and flicking ''that'' off-switch. It makes it slower, more cautious, when his power snakes into Mountain -- a trickier prospect, and at first the man's odd fluctuations just get weaker. He's frowning intent at the people tossed around in the air, levelling out the chaos to something a little gentler on the descent. Even while ''that'' chaos begins to calm he's squinting his eyes open again to seek out the sandstorm -- Frowning ''deeper'' as he scowls in its direction. Perhaps his brief frustration at finding nothing there to latch ''on'' to has made him miss the newest arrival.<br />
<br />
Ernest's expression is getting wild-eyed, kind of ''desperate'', and though the next strike he winds up isn't any less hard it's a lot more ''erratic''. The mace vanishes from existence when Scramble grabs him, and for a split second he's just baring his teeth in a tense sharp grin as her grip catches on not-really-anything. The grin doesn't ''last'' -- in the next moment his armor has vanished, too, and he's flung --<br />
<br />
-- not to the ground. Probably that's where he ''should'' have gone; instead he's careening improbably away, hurled back towards Wick, tumbling ''through'' the column of fire and landing blistered and screaming far on its other side.<br />
<br />
The sandstorm is continuing to blast through the remaining Jews in the square, and the Freaktown residents who are still working to help the injured escape.<br />
<br />
Was this girl Jewish, or was she a gawker? Doesn't matter now -- Erik wraps the wool of the tallis around her, pulls the blessing on the collar up as a hood around her face while she's in his arms. When they land, Erik's exposed skin is speckled with red dots of blood, his suit fraying at all corners. "Go, child, ''hide''," he's telling her in a hoarse whisper, pulling the battered metal out of the corners of the tallis before turning back to survey the square. ''He'' has not missed Wick's arrival -- for a moment, he goes very, very still. <br />
<br />
Only for a moment. All around, now, the tables that had been set out with food are lifting jerkily into the air by their metal legs. The bike rack pulls out the concrete with a groan -- hopefully whoever is holding onto that bike has gotten clear! -- and with chunks of concrete still encasing the bolts. Magneto doesn't lift into the air this time, just ''flings'' the objects with as much speed as he can into the space in the flame he last saw Wick. "You will ''not'' ''''burn'''' them, Nazi!" Each word of this -- prayer? command? ''warning''? -- is punctuated by another flying object. The bike rack, and its concrete weights, flies into the flame. "I will not permit it!"<br />
<br />
Akihiro’s forward momentum just dies and he plummets straight down, barely managing to catch himself in a three point landing. “Oh you motherfucker.” he growls breathlessly, veins bulging as he struggles to push himself upright but only really succeeds in sinking into the earth as he fights against the increased gravity.<br />
<br />
Mountain's gravitational effect is starting to get tamped down on via !Matt; the lady who was falling toward a window is now gliding toward it, and now gliding toward the ground -- the man who had been clinging desperately to a bicycle as he prepares to fall into the sky is now just drifting idly upwards. The variable gravity effects don't stop, but they become less violent and more directed toward moving (relatively slowly) toward the ground. The waves of nausea are starting to dwindle...<br />
<br />
Mountain is staring at where Akihiro has collapsed, clearly not wanting ''any'' of that. He flails his arms, trying to push himself away, but... it's hard to navigate when you're floating. His eyes drift past Akihiro, toward the blue column of flame, and -- now his entire stoic facade ''cracks'', a look of sheer panic on his face: "Get me the hell out of here," he mutters, before shouting, louder: "G -- hey! Get me the hell out of here!" Sorry, shitbird #2; somebody already curled that monkey's paw.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which...<br />
<br />
The bicycle rack slams into that column of pale blue flame; it seems to hit... something. The column splutters, reeling; the flames briefly ''lessen''. The rack is then ''launched'' from the column -- crashing into the side of a nearby bench. Said rack is now orange and sizzling, reduced to molten slag. Like the column tried to 'eat' it, then spat it out. <br />
<br />
The column surges, thrashes -- as if whatever is within it is struggling to escape. It makes a sound... A high-pitched keening, like metal squealing against metal. Something emerges from the center. It has the vague ''shape'' of a face, but far larger, distorted, composed entirely of darkness wreathed in blue fire. It becomes clear, then, what that metallic keening is -- the face is laughing.<br />
<br />
The face is swallowed by churning fire; in its place, a tree-trunk limb of liquid blue flame surges out. A nearby Freaktown resident screams and runs. The scream is abruptly cut off as the trunk ''smashes'' down atop of him; when it retracts, the space where he was is now just a bubbling crater of asphalt.<br />
<br />
The fire grows a little brighter, a little hotter... starting to swell. Swelling with shadow and flame.<br />
<br />
Scramble's feet come off the ground in the same instant that Ernest's do, but unlike him she started out more or less stationary and kind of just drifts sideways while slowly rotating from the residual momentum of her pivot. She's finally able to get her eyes all the way open just as she rotates to face the pillar of fire. "Oh ''hell'' no," she mutters. Grabs hold of the cafe lights that had been strung up over the food tables and walks herself to the nearest pole holding it up, though her buoyancy seems to be fading, anyway, as she drifted farther from Mountain.<br />
<br />
She looks over the chaos and sets her jaw. Picks up the pole she'd not ended up needing to get back down to earth after all. Stomps on the base to snap it off, leaving a long break in the cheap wood. Hefts it in both hands and rushes at Mountain as if she's going to ''pole vault'' over him. When her feet lose purchase again she does not flail, just glides forward on her momentum and jabs her improvised harpoon into Mountain's ''armpit''. Though they're both drifting he has significantly more mass, and she uses that as leverage to push her own feet down to the ground. Then uses the ''ground'' as leverage to shove Mountain toward the edge of the plaza nearest the riverbank.<br />
<br />
Matt!shua has been continuing to level out the gravity, helping ease all the Freaktown Floaters into safe reach of the ground. When Scramble jabs at Mountain, though, his hold is releasing. Mostly because his body is warping again, one form and one power traded out for another. It's Jax's single eye that narrows on the fire, and though he's gone a little sickly-pale at the bubbling crater where a mutant should be, he isn't moving any ''farther'' from the searing heat. He's just casting a brief glance back to those still limping out of the square and then fixing his eye on the blaze.<br />
<br />
Around the column of flame, a large bubble forms, glimmering and ephemeral-looking but quite solid -- and very airtight.<br />
<br />
The whirling sandstorm has rushed off -- chasing down a pair of elderly women trying to leave in the company of a small blue shark -- but somewhere across the cul-de-sac he's paused, stopped, reassembled himself into the shape of a human being. The fireglow gleams off his bared teeth, snarl or grin it's hard to tell -- but when the sandstorm gets to blasting again, this time it hones in right on Joshua's (currently) very familiar form, surrounding the not-actually-Jackson in a choking, flaying churn.<br />
<br />
Ernest -- is just scraping his whimpering way off, slinking behind the upturned tables to stumble away from the fire and brimstone.<br />
<br />
The redness of raw skin is the only colour left in Erik's face when the acrid smoke of flesh burning hits the air. He tears his gaze away from the asphalt, fire reflecting in his watery blue eyes. With a wordless roar, booming and grief-stricken all at once, he reaches his hands out and visibly ''pulls''.<br />
<br />
Between Erik and Wick, the street shakes and cracks. Chunks of concrete rip out of the ground, held aloft by the rebar laced throughout, before they hurtle down violently towards Wick again. Less aim, this time -- less attention to Wick himself and the bubble surrounding him that may be deflecting these attacks ''anyway''. Erik is digging for something else entirely -- the main water line into this neighborhood. The section that tears up from the ground is long, metal twisting out of its intended shape until it clears the surface and Erik can aim its contents directly at the pyrokinetic.<br />
<br />
With Mountain otherwise engaged and the gravity field wearing off, Akihiro finally pushes back up to his feet and tears the mask from his face, sucking in air as he asses the situation. Movement catches his attention and he fixes his gaze on the table Ernest is now hiding behind. “Oh no. You don’t get to hide now that the bloodshed’s started.” he says mainly to himself, the words not loud enough to be heard over the commotion. He rushes back over and with one swipe of his claws splits the table into fourths, aiming roughly for where the man was hiding. “Don’t be a bitch, we’re in the shit now.”<br />
<br />
Mountain's dwindling control doesn't let him do much but watch helplessly as Scramble approaches; with nothing to push himself off of (and with his power malfunctioning), he has no means to change direction or dodge beyond desperately flailing. The pole strokes hard, slamming into his armpit; he manages a sharp cry as he's driven up higher, lifted up into the air... trying to seize hold of the pole that's now impaled in his armpit, dribbling blood. Even as he takes to the skies like some sort of spiteful, bitter balloon. The flailing stops, and for a moment, he just... scowls through the pain, staring down, as he continues... up, and up...<br />
<br />
Chunks of concrete hit the shielding orb that's now encased Wick, leaving him churning. He's stuck inside the space, the column writhing and spluttering violently -- suddenly, the bright blue becomes near-incandescent as the heat inside spikes up hard. He's turning up the heat -- burning through the remaining oxygen in a desperate race to over-pressure and over-heat the shielding. For a moment, the orb becomes so brilliant it's opaque; like a blinding blue sun...<br />
<br />
In all the chaos, the screaming, the fleeing, the blinding sandstorm, it might be hard to follow along with Joshua's fluctuating identity. The sandstorm that ensconces him does not make things ''easier'', all but obscuring his actual form. Somewhere in the blast he's trying, desperate, to pull his fraying tallit up over his face, but the whipping sand tears it from his bloodied grasp to flutter tattered and stained to the ground. The hoarse rasping cry that tears out of his throat sounds barely human.<br />
<br />
Right in front of him, though, the bubble doesn't waver. It stays firm and strong, tight against the concrete that hurtle violently ''against'' it, now, firm and strong even when one of those chunks cracks into pieces that rain down onto the figure within the sand. Firm, too, at the blinding-blistering heat that flares up within.<br />
<br />
Joshua himself -- seems less stolid. ''Inside'' the sandstorm there's another searing glow, human-shaped, painful-bright to look at and painful-bright in the intensity of its heat. The glowing figure has slumped to his knees, the screaming has stopped -- but the bubble is, for now, still holding against the tempest within.<br />
<br />
B had ''definitely'' not noticed Joshua's carefully chosen shifts or mitigating influence, but the bubble -- the bright-lit figure in the sandstorm -- these, she ''definitely'' notices. "Ba?" As she's getting back to her feet, Joshua is falling to his knees -- the scream that echoes Jax!shua's is pure ''rage''. "''''Ba'''' --" For a second her thrusters are veering closer to the twinned sources of light, and it ''isn't'' the crackling heat that stops her path, even as her skin starts to blister. Her gaze fixes on the glowing figure, on the bubble all but lost in the blinding light, and then her eyes close.<br />
<br />
She peels away, tracking the scattered injured that Deep's searing storm left across the courtyard, and as she zooms down to scoop up one elderly woman stumbling with legs cut and raw, her ''drones'' are veering in pairs to simply pick ''up'' other stragglers and get them to some relative safety.<br />
<br />
"No!" Ernest's voice is quavering, and as his hands come up he continues to scramble backwards. His glowing red armor ripples back into place. "I didn't -- I had no fucking idea ''''Magneto'''' was a --" He's glancing over towards Magneto. "I'll be one of you now! I didn't ''know'' --" It is perhaps physiologically impossible for Ernest not to be a bitch. Even in the midst of his sniveling plea he's just stumbling back as quickly as his blistered-injured legs will allow.<br />
<br />
Deep, meanwhile -- ''pretty'' unmoved by the screaming. The water splashing off the shield, the incandescent heat, though -- well, ''that'' doesn't mix well with sand. Tiny shards of ''glass'' are forming, peppering Joshua for a moment with their needle-spikes, melting against -- well, what ''remains'' of his skin.<br />
<br />
Only for a second, though, before, with a roar, the storm is peeling away to resolve into Deep's form stumbling back from the heat, a few ugly melting scars running down his arms, now. His arm tries to flow back into sand, then solidifies into flesh again as he gulps at the crackling dry air.<br />
<br />
Scramble has no time to admire the sight of Mountain flailing off into the sunset. She's sprinting madly back towards the firestorm. Swerves to avoid a flying chunk of concrete and again to dodge the water main as it rears up. Skirts the center of the chaos, slows as she tries to assess the situation. Inferno raging inside a fragile-looking bubble of a shield, check. Master of Magnetism animating a giant pipe he just ripped out of the ground, check. Living sandstorm attacking Jax who's incandescing brightly --<br />
<br />
"-- oh ''shit!''" There's real fear there, but for all that she's running ''toward'' the glowing figure. Staggers to a halt only a few steps away, throws up her good arm against heat and light and grit. Looks over her shoulder at Erik, eyes wide and wild. "Get your folk ''away'' from here -- hey! ''Max!'' Snap the fuck out of it!"<br />
<br />
The edge of almost-panic is gone from her voice when she turns back to yell into the sandstorm. "Yo ''Deep Throat!'' Come at me, you chickenshit dirt devil-ass motherfucker --" When Deep re-forms she rushes him. No finesse, no technique, she just slams into him shoulder-first with a wordless cry. Her power scrabbles desperately for terror, or something like it -- ''anything'' like it, even if it only makes him turn on her.<br />
<br />
Magneto does not hear Ernest's sudden acquisition of faith -- doesn't seem to hear ''anything'', not B's scream for her father, not Deep's roaring return to flesh, not Scramble's first call to him. The world has narrowed to just the bright-burning orb, the tremor in his raw-blood-red hands as Erik strains to hold the pipe aloft, just the water flooding covering the pavement -- <br />
<br />
-- but at ''Max'', something shifts, finally, in Erik's expression. The pipe falls heavily onto the remaining pavement as he turns (too slowly, too sluggishly) to meet Scramble's eyes. The few stragglers left in Erik's sight that have yet to be caught by B's drones find themselves pulled up by their belt buckles and shoved, none too gently, far afield. Max Eisenhardt steps away -- maybe to run, maybe to attack again -- but stumbles, staggers, falls forward.<br />
<br />
“You’re fucking pathetic.” Akihiro slams his foot into the armor over Ernest’s ribs. “You came here to kill right? You should’ve been ready to di-“ the thought is cut short as the pipe slams into the earth, his attention moving immediately to Magneto, the rage on his face melting to concern as he retracts his claws and runs over to catch him mid fall. “You did good Magnus, now catch your breath.” Scooping the older man up he darts back towards the security teams handling the evacuation, keeping his back between Erik and the Swords.<br />
<br />
The fire inside that shimmering sphere dwindles; the blinding bright light dims to just a whimpering splutter. Wick has burned through his supply of oxygen in a near-instant; the sphere is now filled with churning clouds of smoke, giving it the appearance of a dark grey marble with a constantly shifting interior. The sphere remains pressurized -- not enough to violently explode, but enough so that, once released, there will be an audible ''fwoosh'' as the pressure equalizes... whenever that happens. But inside the sphere, there is no visible trace of Wick's glowing flame.<br />
<br />
Mountain continues his grim upward voyage, a pole sticking out of his bleeding arm-pit -- rising up, and up, and up... at some point, he gets close enough to a balcony to use the pole as an awkward arm, dragging himself over the edge and out of sight. Does he land and escape? Or does he keep rising up, taking his advanced race theory to the stars? Unknown.<br />
<br />
Did Deep ''intend'' to come at Scramble, probably not! He looks wide-eyed with alarm when she tackles him, and not ''just'' because of the claws rending through his mind. He's throwing his arms up as if this can fend off her assault, but stumbling back, going down -- and then, with a spattering of grit around her much weaker than before, it's flaying power spent, the sandstorm sludges to life just long enough to vanish.<br />
<br />
Scramble also doesn't have the leisure to gloat at Deep's panicked retreat. She levers herself off the broken pavement. Sucks in a sharp breath -- maybe at the strain on her broken forearm but more likely at still-brightening photokinetic. "''Don't die!''" she calls into the blinding light as she breaks into a dead run for the edge of the plaza. "Take cover!" Though despite her impressive stride she probably will not herself get to cover in time.<br />
<br />
When Deep moves off, the figure he leaves behind looks all the brighter for having lost the obscuring cloud of dust and glass. Joshua has collapsed against the ground, but the bubble stays in place as its captive tempest burns itself to smoke. And then --<br />
<br />
''FWOOSH''. The smoke roils free in a stunning upward blast, curling out from where it is venting as of trying to grasp at the last stragglers being led from the cul de sac.<br />
<br />
Then that, too, is obscured by a brief but searing flare. Hopefully everyone has listened to Scramble's exhortation for covet. The forcefield vanishes entirely, the heat that blisters outward sizzling the still-leaking water main into instant evaporation and bubbling at the asphalt and metal around. The ground shakes, the windows of the mansions around this end of the street rattle.<br />
<br />
As the light fades, the figure in the center looks barely human -- blackened with the seared blood, features peeled away to only a twisted mask of pain. Or maybe that, too, was illusion -- by the time the wind takes the smoke, there's nobody there at all. Just a charred silhouette on the devastated pavement, haloed round in cooling streaks of molten glass.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=TP-Avengers,_Assemble!&diff=25663TP-Avengers, Assemble!2023-10-06T20:45:19Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}After the fall of Prometheus, a wellspring of new (and semi-tested) tech crops up around the world -- providing a thriving economy for illegal armsdealing. While most of these superweapons turn out to be duds (think 'Future Soldier' prototypes like an AK-47 'smart-gun' with a GPS bolted to it), the market has been flooded with actual advanced weaponry -- weapons that seem way beyond what Prometheus was doing.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}In progress!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Involved Characters<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
'''S.H.I.E.L.D.'''<br />
* [[Clint]], aka Hawkeye.<br />
* [[Natasha]], aka Black Widow.<br />
* [[Tony]], aka Iron Man.<br />
* [[Bruce]], aka Bruce Banner (and the Other Guy).<br />
* [[Fury]], current Director of SHIELD.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''MYRMIDON'''<br />
* '''Pepper:''' The Leader. 6 feet of anger issues. White woman from Liverpool. Military background. Uses an armor-plated exoskeletal suit (or 'skel') for mobility, strength, and speed.<br />
* '''Salt:''' The Comedian. 6'1"; second generation Cuban immigrant born and raised in Texas. Military background. Uses a specialized custom rifle he calls 'Clementine'. Has history with Pepper.<br />
* '''Garlic:''' The Professional. 5'6"; professionally-trained gymnast and parkour-enthusiast. French-born. Uses purple-glowing 'laser whips' to maneuver at high speed.<br />
* '''Cinnamon:''' The Muscle. 6'6". White semi-professional MMA fighter who's been injected with nano-tech that makes him super-strong, super-resilient, and super-prone to spontaneous combustion.<br />
* '''Saffron:''' The REAL Muscle. 7'. Heavily modified Doombot who has been programmed with memes.<br />
* '''Sage:''' The Brains. 5'4". Russian engineer; can build you a fully-functioning submarine out of parts she scavenged from a 1961 DeSoto.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Errata<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}'''to come!'''<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! TP Contacts<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Hippo/@imbroglio on Discord<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Avengers, Assemble!<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Avengers logo.png|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Active<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Action-Adventure<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Risk-Level'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Moderate to high chance of violence<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''(Estimated) Dates'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sept 2023-??<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Location'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Across the world!<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affected Factions'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| S.H.I.E.L.D.<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''TP GMs'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hippo<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" | TP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Assemble!''' - ''SHIELD needs help retrieving all of these powerful weapons and investigating their source!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Avengers!''' - ''SHIELD is building up the political capital to make the Avengers -- a global strike-force with wide jurisdiction -- a thing!''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:TPs]][[Category:Active TPs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=TP-Avengers,_Assemble!&diff=25662TP-Avengers, Assemble!2023-10-06T20:44:27Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}After the fall of Prometheus, a wellspring of new (and semi-tested) tech crops up around the world -- providing a thriving economy for illegal armsdealing. While most of these superweapons turn out to be duds (think 'Future Soldier' prototypes like an AK-47 'smart-gun' with a GPS bolted to it), the market has been flooded with actual advanced weaponry -- weapons that seem way beyond what Prometheus was doing.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}In progress!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Involved Characters<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
'''S.H.I.E.L.D.'''<br />
* [[Clint]], aka Hawkeye.<br />
* [[Natasha]], aka Black Widow.<br />
* [[Tony]], aka Iron Man.<br />
* [[Bruce]], aka Bruce Banner (and the Other Guy).<br />
* [[Fury]], current Director of SHIELD.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''MYRMIDON'''<br />
* '''Pepper:''' The Leader. 6 feet of anger issues. White woman from Liverpool. Military background. Uses an armor-plated exoskeletal suit (or 'skel') for mobility, strength, and speed.<br />
* '''Salt:''' The Comedian. 6'1"; second generation Cuban immigrant born and raised in Texas. Military background. Uses a specialized custom rifle he calls 'Clementine'. Has history with Pepper.<br />
* '''Garlic:''' The Professional. 5'6"; professionally-trained gymnast and parkour-enthusiast. French-born. Uses purple-glowing 'laser whips' to maneuver at high speed.<br />
* '''Cinnamon:''' The Muscle. 6'6". Semi-professional MMA fighter who's been injected with nano-tech that makes him super-strong, super-resilient, and super-prone to spontaneous combustion.<br />
* '''Saffron:''' The REAL Muscle. 7'. Heavily modified Doombot who has been programmed with memes.<br />
* '''Sage:''' The Brains. 5'4". Russian engineer; can build you a fully-functioning submarine out of parts she scavenged from a 1961 DeSoto.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Errata<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}'''to come!'''<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! TP Contacts<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Hippo/@imbroglio on Discord<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Avengers, Assemble!<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Avengers logo.png|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Active<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Action-Adventure<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Risk-Level'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Moderate to high chance of violence<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''(Estimated) Dates'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sept 2023-??<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Location'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Across the world!<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affected Factions'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| S.H.I.E.L.D.<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''TP GMs'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hippo<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" | TP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Assemble!''' - ''SHIELD needs help retrieving all of these powerful weapons and investigating their source!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Avengers!''' - ''SHIELD is building up the political capital to make the Avengers -- a global strike-force with wide jurisdiction -- a thing!''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:TPs]][[Category:Active TPs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=TP-Avengers,_Assemble!&diff=25661TP-Avengers, Assemble!2023-10-06T20:39:30Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}After the fall of Prometheus, a wellspring of new (and semi-tested) tech crops up around the world -- providing a thriving economy for illegal armsdealing. While most of these superweapons turn out to be duds (think 'Future Soldier' prototypes like an AK-47 'smart-gun' with a GPS bolted to it), the market has been flooded with actual advanced weaponry -- weapons that seem way beyond what Prometheus was doing.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}In progress!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Involved Characters<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
'''S.H.I.E.L.D.'''<br />
* [[Clint]], aka Hawkeye.<br />
* [[Natasha]], aka Black Widow.<br />
* [[Tony]], aka Iron Man.<br />
* [[Bruce]], aka Bruce Banner (and the Other Guy).<br />
* [[Fury]], current Director of SHIELD.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''MYRMIDON'''<br />
* '''Pepper:''' 6 feet of anger issues; the Leader. White woman from Liverpool. Military background. Uses an armor-plated exoskeletal suit (or 'skel') for mobility, strength, and speed.<br />
* '''Salt:''' 6'1"; the Clown. Second generation Cuban immigrant born and raised in Texas. Military background. Uses a specialized custom rifle he calls 'Clementine'. Has history with Pepper.<br />
* '''Garlic:''' 5'6"; the Professional. Professionally-trained gymnast and parkour-enthusiast. French-born. Uses purple-glowing 'laser whips' to maneuver at high speed.<br />
* '''Cinnamon:''' 6'6"; the Muscle. Semi-professional MMA fighter who's been injected with nano-tech that makes him super-strong, super-resilient, and super-prone to spontaneous combustion.<br />
* '''Saffron:''' 7'; the REAL Muscle. Heavily modified Doombot who has been programmed with memes.<br />
* '''Sage:''' 5'4"; the Brains. Russian engineer; can build you a fully-functioning submarine out of parts she scavenged from a 1961 DeSoto.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Errata<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}'''to come!'''<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! TP Contacts<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Hippo/@imbroglio on Discord<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Avengers, Assemble!<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Avengers logo.png|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Active<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Action-Adventure<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Risk-Level'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Moderate to high chance of violence<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''(Estimated) Dates'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sept 2023-??<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Location'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Across the world!<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affected Factions'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| S.H.I.E.L.D.<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''TP GMs'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hippo<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" | TP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Assemble!''' - ''SHIELD needs help retrieving all of these powerful weapons and investigating their source!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Avengers!''' - ''SHIELD is building up the political capital to make the Avengers -- a global strike-force with wide jurisdiction -- a thing!''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:TPs]][[Category:Active TPs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=TP-Avengers,_Assemble!&diff=25660TP-Avengers, Assemble!2023-10-06T20:39:05Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}After the fall of Prometheus, a wellspring of new (and semi-tested) tech crops up around the world -- providing a thriving economy for illegal armsdealing. While most of these superweapons turn out to be duds (think 'Future Soldier' prototypes like an AK-47 'smart-gun' with a GPS bolted to it), the market has been flooded with actual advanced weaponry -- weapons that seem way beyond what Prometheus was doing.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}In progress!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Involved Characters<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
'''S.H.I.E.L.D.'''<br />
* [[Clint]], aka Hawkeye.<br />
* [[Natasha]], aka Black Widow.<br />
* [[Tony]], aka Iron Man.<br />
* [[Bruce]], aka Bruce Banner (and the Other Guy).<br />
* [[Fury]], current Director of SHIELD.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''MYRMIDON'''<br />
* '''Pepper:''' 6 feet of anger issues; the Leader. White woman from Liverpool. Military background. Uses an armor-plated exoskeletal suit (or 'skel') for mobility, strength, and speed.<br />
* '''Salt:''' 6'1"; the Clown. second generation Cuban immigrant born and raised in Texas. Military background. Uses a specialized custom rifle he calls 'Clementine'. Has history with Pepper.<br />
* '''Garlic:''' 5'6"; the Professional. Professionally-trained gymnast and parkour-enthusiast. French-born. Uses purple-glowing 'laser whips' to maneuver at high speed.<br />
* '''Cinnamon:''' 6'6"; the Muscle. Semi-professional MMA fighter who's been injected with nano-tech that makes him super-strong, super-resilient, and super-prone to spontaneous combustion.<br />
* '''Saffron:''' 7'; the REAL Muscle. Heavily modified Doombot who has been programmed with memes.<br />
* '''Sage:''' 5'4"; the Brains. Russian engineer; can build you a fully-functioning submarine out of parts she scavenged from a 1961 DeSoto.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Errata<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}'''to come!'''<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! TP Contacts<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Hippo/@imbroglio on Discord<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Avengers, Assemble!<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Avengers logo.png|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Active<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Action-Adventure<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Risk-Level'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Moderate to high chance of violence<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''(Estimated) Dates'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sept 2023-??<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Location'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Across the world!<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affected Factions'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| S.H.I.E.L.D.<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''TP GMs'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hippo<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" | TP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Assemble!''' - ''SHIELD needs help retrieving all of these powerful weapons and investigating their source!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Avengers!''' - ''SHIELD is building up the political capital to make the Avengers -- a global strike-force with wide jurisdiction -- a thing!''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:TPs]][[Category:Active TPs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:A_Farewell_to_Arms&diff=25659Logs:A Farewell to Arms2023-10-06T19:45:02Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Tony]], [[Bruce]]<br />
| summary = (Part of [[TP-Avengers, Assemble!|Avengers TP]])<br />
| gamedate = 2023-09-18<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = In Which Robots Collide<br />
| location = Off the coast of Venezuela<br />
| categories = Tony, Bruce, S.H.I.E.L.D., Avengers, Avengers Assemble!, Humans, Mutates<br />
| log = <br />
<br />
The small unnamed island off the coast of Venezuela would make a splendid vacation spot if not for its lack of... well, anything. Besides several miles of beach, brush, and trees -- the latter clustering tight at the southern end before giving way to a rocky crest at the farthest tip. Here along the ''northern'' shore, though, it's much more welcoming... a bright, sandy beach with shallow green water, and... huh. Waitasecond... is that -- a ship?<br />
<br />
It is! Right there on the shoreline, in the middle of the afternoon! Its nose-end clearly wedged up atop of the beach. The ''SS Vargas'' looks like it's seen better days -- it's a container ship, pretty beefy by the look of it -- big enough to hold four rows of four shipping containers stacked lengthwise in a single layer atop of its deck. The entire ship has a slight list to it -- the crew is currently onboard, making preparations to try and ''unbeach'' this thing as soon as the tide comes in.<br />
<br />
At least... that was the plan. But something's happened up on the deck. Hard to make out, but... ''k-rkkkow!'' -- yep, that's definitely gunfire.<br />
<br />
"{Fall back! Fall back!}" the captain -- a rugged-looking Tom Selleck son of a bitch, clad in a leather-brown jacket with a black wool-knit cap -- bellows in Castillan. He's waving his men back from one of the cargo containers they've been defending, clutching a 9mm pistol and pointing it at the sky. "{Fall the fuck ''back''!}"<br />
<br />
The reason he's bellowing at them to fall back is probably because... ''krrow!'' ''krrow!'' -- on account of the guy that a small squad of four crewmates are firing pistols at. He's about fifteen feet farther down the deck, striding forward with a casual gait... as bullets ''slap'' into his chest with wet ''plp, plp'' noises. They clearly make holes... holes that sizzle, glow bright orange, then proceed to seal closed on their own. What becomes of the bullets? Who knows?<br />
'' ''<br />
<br />
The 30-something man striding through gunfire is bare-chested, about 6'7", covered in tattoos... tan-skin, with a very short crewcut. Built like a professional MMA fighter. He looks positively ''bored'' as of this moment -- the gunfire seems to be more a distraction than anything. He stops to ''plunge'' his fist (which is suddenly glowing bright orange-red) through the corrugated side of one of the metal cargo containers, peeling it open like it's a can of sardines. He peers inside at the various crates: "Ain't in here either."<br />
<br />
"Keep looking, Cinny," an older woman's voice -- clearly Slavic -- responds, transmitting to him across an open frequency.<br />
<br />
Aside from the captain, 'Cinny', and the four men currently firing at him -- there are twenty other men on deck, all of them running off toward the back of the ship to arm themselves. Somewhere, someone starts up a ship-wide klaxon.<br />
<br />
'Cinny' grimaces, then proceeds to ''kick'' the side of the cargo bin he just looked inside. Its wall buckles, the whole thing screeching across the deck for several feet before it lists a little, nearly tumbling over from the sheer force. He moves on to the next one...<br />
<br />
The stealth jet overhead is, quite as it shouldn't, drawing very little attention to itself. ''Inside'' it, the same cannot be said for Tony Stark. He's been complaining vociferously about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s near-paranoid level of information siloing -- given that he's long since gotten into some of ''their'' servers to double check that they have all the intel ''he'' thinks they need for this mission, at this point he complaining is likely performative. As they veer near the island, he's turning his attention from the data taken from S.H.I.E.L.D. to the monitors and scanners tracking the island below.<br />
<br />
"Fashionably late to this party, I guess." Tony is taking stock of what life forms the sensors tell him are below. "-- that's fine." He's gone to clap Bruce on the shoulder. Companionably? Maybe not. It's kind of ''firm''. "-- Just means you get to make an entrance." And with that, a hatch in the plane is opening and -- should there have been warning here? There is not, he's simply pushing Bruce out of the plane. Taking a brief glance around them before he drops out after the other man, evidently ''fairly'' unfussed about the lack of a single parachute between them.<br />
<br />
Bruce has abided Tony's complaining with a kind of resigned and distantly amused patience as he helped to sort through the intel. He is in fact still quite absorbed looking over the data when Tony starts going on about being fashionably late--he's always saying things like that, and usually it's nothing to worry about. Usually. Perhaps he's starting to consider that it ''might'' be something to worry about this time. He straightens at the clap on his shoulder, blinking owlishly at Tony. "Wait, what do you mean make an--" The rest of this dissolves into a shriek of terror when he's unceremoniously ejected from the plane.<br />
<br />
His shriek of terror shortly dissolves into Hulk's roar of surprise as their body ripples and transforms in freefall, splintering yet another pair of glasses and shredding their very nice shirt and slacks. Hulk flails his arms, more ''baffled'' than altogether displeased about finding himself suddenly in front and airborne. "WHY WE FLYING?" he asks, his Outdoor Voice for once correctly calibrated to be heard over the wind that whips past them as Tony catches up.<br />
<br />
More gunfire rattles out from below; more bullets ''plp'' harmlessly against Cinnamon. He grunts, spinning to slam his fist through ''another'' cargo canister's side, the sharp hiss of melting metal engulfing his solid fist. Once again, he squeezes his fingers and pulls... peeling a layer of metal back so he can peer inside. And then... he grins: "Found it."<br />
<br />
"{Thank whatever shitstain spat you out,}" comes the woman's reply -- spoken in native Russian. She adds, in English: "Grab it and move. We don't need anymore--"<br />
<br />
Cinnamon's already peeling a Cinnamon-shaped doorway into the cargo box; the crew members in the back are still scrambling for bigger guns. When his operator's communication suddenly trails off, though, he pauses; tilting his head up to the sky, he lifts a hand to his ear, brow crumpling: "--anymore what? Sage?"<br />
<br />
Sage's response is terse: "...one moment, there's..." A pause. She's ''double-checking'' something. "...incoming... from... uh. Above?"<br />
<br />
"What?" Cinnamon's head cranes up, squinting past the noonday sun to look at... okay, what the ''fuck'' is that?<br />
<br />
''That'' is a booming green monster hurtling down towards them, obviously! Just behind Hulk's ''very'' eye-catching form Tony is hardly noticeable -- at least until a streak of red and gold that's dropped out of the plane hatch behind him aligns itself to his falling body, encases him in gleaming armor. "''I'm'' flying," he tells Hulk, now that it's true, "-- you're falling. Needed your help, big guy. Those people stole something, we gotta get it back." And in a blaze he's descending to hover just above the container that Cinnamon has just peeled open. FRIDAY is already hard at work -- trying to match Cinnamon's face to any known databases, trying to trace where Sage's signal is coming from. "I need this," he tells Cinnamon. "Trust me, you don't want --" His head tilts briefly towards Hulk's incoming figure, "-- my friend to have to ask."<br />
<br />
"HULK FALL!" Hulk seems--actually kind of ''delighted'' by this idea. His volume lowers when Tony dons his armor, as if he understands that the suit augments the man's senses. "Hulk ''help''," he promises earnestly as Tony falls--pardon, ''flies'' past him. Soon he's falling past Tony again, denting the deck of the ship as he slams down next to the cargo container under dispute. "DON'T STEAL THINGS!" he bellows at Cinnamon, though in fairness he's not asking. Not ''yet''.<br />
<br />
"Wh--" Cinnamon steps back as a suit of red and gold armor hovers above the cargo container. His hand remains on his ear: "...izzat... Sage, this thing one of ''yours''?"<br />
<br />
Sage is silent. Meanwhile, FRIDAY's pinging signals -- she's traced the transmission as coming all the way from Brazil, back to Argentina, back to... where the fuck is 'Pigeon Forge, Tennessee'? FRIDAY's yet to pull up any files on the guy standing in front of them. When Hulk slams down into the deck, he steps back -- eyebrow lifting to the stratosphere. <br />
<br />
"Don't know ''who'' they are, but--" Sage's fingers start clicking keys. "Too many cooks -- adding a palate cleanser. You take Jolly Green Giant; Saffron's got Mr. Roboto."<br />
<br />
Half a mile to the north, on the ocean -- a distant ''thwoom'' echoes out. A thick plume of smoke surges up into the air, angled toward the ''SS Vargas''. Cinnamon's eyes snap to the distant incoming object as it arcs upward. His eyes move to Stark; he grins: "Saffron? ''Shit'', man. Nice knowin' you." He then proceeds to ''rush'' Hulk like an incoming linebacker. Charging with enough force to smash through concrete. He intends to tackle him into one of the cargo containers right behind him -- and possibly keep going, if Hulk doesn't stop him.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Stark can hear that whistling getting closer and closer. Like an incoming artillery shell. Whatever it is, it's big -- too slow to be a rocket. In about 8 seconds, it's going to be right on top of them.<br />
<br />
FRIDAY is going from tracing the signals to attempting to jam them, as Tony drops lower to take a quick peek at whatever cargo it is they're currently about to duke it out over. If he's worried about Hulk in the flying tackle, the blank helmet and its glowing eyes are ''not'' a very good indicator. The impassiveness of the expression makes it look oddly flat as he tilts his head up, ''pulls'' himself up higher: "-- FRIDAY, you got a bead on that?" is quiet to his AI companion. ''Does'' she? He's heading towards the source of the noise regardless. Though his repulsors are optimistically charging already, he's -- also, more pessimistically, prepared to veer very fast ''away'' if necessary.<br />
<br />
Hulk's eyes go wide when Cinnamon charges, though he doesn't really look ''alarmed'' so much as just taken aback as the man tackles him. He roars and plants his feet now--a little late, but between his impressive bulk and even more impressive strength he slows them down and manages not to crash...<br />
<br />
...''all'' the way through the cargo container behind him, anyway. Still, they slam into it hard enough and dent it deep enough to burst it open along the seams. "''NOT'' NICE TO KNOW YOU!" He takes hold of Cinnamon and--maybe excessively optimistic here, himself--tries to fling him over the side of the ship.<br />
<br />
Sage's voice vanishes in a crackle of confusion as FRIDAY jams the signal. Stark finds the interior of the cargo bay is largely empty, save for three large fancy-looking crates -- the kind with their own internal power supply and cooling system -- all of which feature a corporate logo: ALCHEMAX.<br />
<br />
Cinnamon's bellowing out a battle-cry as he charges Hulk ''straight-on''. Despite Hulk's size, Cinnamon's used to being the strongest in a fight -- so when the velocity starts to slow, Hulk's feet scraping across the deck... well, Cinnamon just keeps pushing, expecting to push all the way through. When they hit the cargo container and just ''dent'' it -- he briefly blinks, startled... and looks up at Hulk, eyes wide: "...the hell--?!"<br />
<br />
That's all he manages to get out -- right before Hulk ''snatches'' him up and ''flings'' him off the side of the ship. There's a brief bellow of curses, right before... ''THNK''. He hits sand. ''Hard''.<br />
<br />
Cinnamon's getting back up just as Tony's rising to meet the incoming coffin. That's what it looks like; a giant steel-plated coffin. As it swoops in, it sheds its plates -- tiny controlled explosions eject section after section. Pieces fly off in every direction, like a rocket rapidly cycling through stages. Until... one last plate flings away, landing on the deck, where it wobbles and spins.<br />
<br />
The rest of the payload swoops right past Tony, slamming down into another cargo container. Hard enough to crumple it; hard enough to make the deck beneath crack. Rising from the impact crater is a very large man... clad from head to toe in a massive suit of plate armor. The armor creaks; pneumatic actuators hiss. A low, thrumming bzzzzz fills the air.<br />
'' ''<br />
<br />
He's nearly 7 foot tall, clad in high-density metal. The armor is covered in a patch-work of wires, off-brand circuits, and various ramshackle devices -- like somebody from Radioshack upended the entire inventory in a desperate attempt to modify it. But that faceplate... that face is the one part they didn't touch. Pure metal, engraved with a vicious, eternally disapproving scowl. A silent 'sneer of cold command'.<br />
<br />
The ejected plate that landed nearby on the deck settles down with a clatter. The surface bears the scorch marks of the controlled detonation that propelled it, along with one other notable detail: An old tourist sticker from the 60s. A pasture with sheep; beneath it, a stylized cursive caption: ''Greetings... from Latveria!''<br />
<br />
Saffron Mark 3 -- aka, 'Nobody Tell Anybody What We Stole From You-Know-Who' -- cranes that sneer up to Stark. Its eyes glow red; a recorded audio clip plays with a synthesized screech: "Exterminate." Definitely not a reference to anything.<br />
<br />
The heavily modified, retrofitted robot lifts its arm and fires -- ''kr-kow!'' -- a puck that looks like it was soddered together from spare parts in a garage somewhere. It ''clunks'' right onto Tony's chest, locking on like a magnet -- and as Saffron curls its fist, an invisible electromagnetic tether starts to yank Stark toward it, twisting its torso around to ''hurl'' Tony at high speed -- directly at Hulk.<br />
<br />
Somewhere from below, Cinnamon ''flings'' himself back up to the edge of the ship... scrambling to catch the side, and pull himself up.<br />
<br />
"Oh, you gotta be --" is all Tony gets out at first, before he's very ''distracted'' by being coercively yoinked into the Gravitron ride. He makes a very ''flashy'' projectile, whirling around and gleaming high-speed through the air. Hopefully the solid THUNK he makes as he collides with Hulk is not indicative of any serious damage -- it ''seems'' not, at least, because his repulsors are powering back up to right himself with a quickness.<br />
<br />
Should he apologize to Hulk? Did Hulk even NOTICE? Questions for another Tony, another Time. Tony is reaching for the puck on his chest; there's a brief brighter glow from the arc reactor in his chest before he prises it heavily off to discard it onto one of the badly-abused shipping containers. "-- You all have been ''busy'' thieves." Maybe that is appreciative, as he looks over the Doombot, but it's not appreciative ''enough'' that the arc reactor in his chest is not still powering up, building its charge patiently. Less patient are the barrage of missiles that take launch; shooting themselves straight towards the Doombot as ''he'' shoots himself into the air.<br />
<br />
Hulk turns around just in time to catch an entire Iron Man right in the chest, which may be fair enough given he'd just done a bit of throwing Cinnamon around. Regardless it doesn't seem to have either hurt him or bother him particularly. "BAD ROBOT!" Hulk scolds the Doombot, but once Tony is on his feet--or, well, on his repulsors again and Cinnamon climbing back aboard, he leaves the metal-plated people to deal with each other. Cinnamon barely has time to get his feet back on the deck before Hulk is bearing down on him again, giant fist wound back for a devastating punch aimed at the man's left side.<br />
<br />
Saffron crosses its arms over its head and chest; the barrage of missiles strike it dead-on. A series of micro-detonations engulf it in a cloud of smoke and flame. Once it clears, Saffron's still standing -- though the attack bought Tony the time he needs to fly and charge the repulsor unimpeded.<br />
<br />
Well. ''Almost'' unimpeded. Something slid up from behind it as it took the barrage -- a shoulder-mounted mini-launcher. Once the smoke clears, it fires a high-speed missile of its own at Tony's chest. Said missile detonates an instant before impact -- delivering a payload of sticky white ''glue'' (?!) directly atop of that glowing chest-piece. Glue that's used to secure the thick steel cable the missile had been carrying -- the other end latched to the back of the robot. Saffron reels the line in at high speed (''vrrrrrrrrr'') as it uses its tremendous weight as leverage.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Cinnamon has just gotten over the rail of the ship as Hulk full-on charges him. He manages a strangled: "Oh come fucking ''ON''--" right before -- ''KA-POW!'' The blow sends him tumbling across the deck, smashing into -- nearly through! -- yet another cargo container. The whole thing collapses around him as he craters into the center of it. His left arm is twisted at a weird angle... his whole body is starting to glow orange, highlighting veins as bright white. Wisps of smoke rise from his skin: "--fuckin'..." The sheets of metal around him soften into glowing slag as he pulls himself up, seizing his broken arm... and just ''cracking'' it back into place. The skin surrounding the break ''flashes''; the bone mends. His whole body is emitting a low-key humming sound. "Alright, ''now'' you made me angry --"<br />
'' ''<br />
<br />
Saffron, immediately after firing off that glue-line, has turned its attention to Hulk. Its arms extend out to him, fists clenched. Metal plates surrounding both wrists rise up to reveal a dozen or so barrels, all of which open fire -- ''tchtchtchtchtchtchtch--''. They let loose with a stream of high-speed shrapnel; probably not enough to seriously damage Hulk, but enough to ''sting'' like hell (and, more importantly, get his attention). All while Saffron is stomping toward him, trying to reel Stark down in close -- it seems to understand it can't let Tony stay at range.<br />
<br />
Notably, both the launcher and these wrist-mounted shrapnel-guns look like they were slapped on to the original robot. They also look like they were assembled in someone's garage with spare parts and a soldering iron. As if to highlight this, it plays another audio-sample -- AC/DC music: "''Dirty deeds... DONE DIRT CHEAP!''"<br />
<br />
Cinnamon's still getting up, but glowing brighter and brighter. Meanwhile, in the distance -- half a mile to the north, onboard the tugboat from which Saffron was launched -- a large transmission tower is unfolding, rising up high in the air... as Sage's voice crackles back in, cursing in her native Russian: "{Fucking son of a shit-spurting piss-slit--} Getting through -- sending you support --"<br />
<br />
It's going to take a little bit, but... half a dozen winged drones, each the size of a mini-fridge, each looking like they were put together from bits scavenged from flea markets, launch from the tugboat -- swooping in and approaching the ''SS Vargas''.<br />
<br />
Tony is pushing back against the tugging, though the fierce pull of his repulsors manage only to slow the reeling and not actually ''stop'' it -- at least until he lifts an arm, a splay of lasers slicing neatly to sever the cable. Maybe he hasn't thought this plan through ''exceptionally'' well because the sudden loss of tension flings him back at ''probably'' a considerably higher speed than he intended; it's a second before he rights himself, before he stabilizes and twists to focus back on Saffron again. The Unibeam, when it blasts, is a ''fiercely'' concentrated spike of energy, aimed straight at the robot.<br />
<br />
The shrapnel does not penetrate Hulk's skin, but does, as intended, get his attention. Said attention comes in the form of a deafening roar. "''BAD ROBOT!''" he reiterates at greater volume as he whirls around and tears a long strip from the side of the cargo container he'd burst open earlier. The thing seems too flimsy and unwieldy to be used as a weapon, but it does have the benefit of ''reach''. He swings the curled sheet metal like a gigantic slap bracelet at the Doombot's legs just about as Tony fires.<br />
<br />
The cable is cleaved in a flash of red; only a smoldering orange tip returns to Saffron's spinning shoulder-mounted reel. It continues to spray Hulk with shrapnel, striding forward while playing the audio clip from AC/DC's ''Dirty Deeds''. "''Concrete shoes... cyanide... TNT...''"<br />
<br />
''KLANG'' -- Hulk's swing connects with its leg; it's not enough to knock Saffron down, but enough to unbalance it mid-stride. This, in conjunction with Tony's Unibeam, sends it tumbling. Loose wiring and random circuitboards fling every way as it tumbles back, regaining control only when it slams a foot down and ''skids'' across the deck, its back against the rail. It looks like it's taken some significant damage from the blast -- one of its arms is making creaking noises, its chest-plating dented and cracked. "''...done dirt cheap...''" The rail ''creaks'' as Saffron rights itself...<br />
<br />
Shortly after Tony hit it with the beam, Saffron's been emitting a low repeating sound. It's now speeding up -- ''whum... whum... whum, whum, whum whum whumwhumwhum--'' ''"Neckties... contracts..."''<br />
<br />
"Surprise, motherfucker!" Cinnamon lunges for Hulk from behind -- aiming to leap atop of his back and wrap his arms in a (very stretched) sleeper hold around the giant's neck. His body is burning bright; wisps of smoke rise from him. Meanwhile -- the drones are coming in range, several of them opening fire at Tony -- just small-arms fire, intended to briefly distract him --<br />
<br />
--from... "''HIIIIGH VOOOLTAGE!''" Brian Johnson's voice bellows out the line as Saffron's entire torso bends backwards, unfolding to reveal a big-ass energy cannon in its stomach. It opens up with a beam of kinetic force that's not ''quite'' as strong as Tony's Unibeam, and distributed over a wider area... but still more than adequate to knock him out of the sky.<br />
<br />
Tony has turned, attention shifting to fire strong repulsor blasts directly at the first two drones to shoot at him. As intended this ''does'' have him off his guard; when the beam hits him, he spins wildly, toppling back and briefly disappearing from Saffron's sight over the edge of the ship. There's another hopeful blast -- gone wide and nowhere near its intended drone target -- and then for a moment, silence.<br />
<br />
Just a moment. After that, a blare of music, loud and fierce: ''Faster than a bullet, terrifying scream; Enraged and full of anger, he is half man and half machine.''<br />
<br />
Tony is rising back up to land with a ''clang'' on the deck again; as he lifts one of his gauntlets, an anti-armor missile shoots out straight for Saffron's gaping torso.<br />
<br />
Hulk howls when a red hot Cinnamon lands on his back. Even with the element of surprise Cinnamon can't quite apply enough pressure to actually ''choke'' him, but it seems to be causing him a great deal of pain, anyway. After scrabbling at the arm locked around his neck to no avail, Hulk slams his head back into the man's face. Then again, and again, each blow punctuating his words as he roars "HULK--NOT--LIKE--SURPRISE!"<br />
<br />
"''--deeds... done dirt--''" ''CLNK''. Saffron attempts to right itself and shut its belly before that tiny missile lands inside of it; it moves just a moment too late, slamming shut like a jaw chomping down on the world's spiciest gobstopper. There is a moment of silence as Saffron rights itself -- staring up at Tony, fists clenched. Then, a brief musical audio cue: "''It might sound crazy but it ain't no lie, baby bye bye b--''"<br />
<br />
''KA-BOOOOOOOM--'' Pieces of Saffron's torso go every which way as its upper half twirls off the boat, arms swinging -- the lower half manages to take a few steps forward before collapsing into molten slag.<br />
<br />
Cinnamon, meanwhile, is not having any luck. Each blow from Hulk is leaving him increasingly dazed as he grunts out a constant battery of 'fucks', each one more dazed than the last. By the fifth 'fuck', his arms let loose -- falling back and tumbling.<br />
<br />
"Calling it," Sage says. "Exit strategy incoming. Get to Saffron."<br />
<br />
The two remaining drones split off; one rushes for the container with the Alchemax tech; perching like a fly. The other goes for the Hulk -- firing small arms fire meant to distract him. It buzzes around him, trying to stay ''just'' outside arms reach -- to give him something to try and swing at other than Cinnamon.<br />
<br />
The drone atop of the container starts beeping ominously, red lights flashing faster and faster -- a very clear cue to Tony as to what's about to happen.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Cinnamon, face bleeding -- body smoldering -- is stumbling to the edge of the ship where Saffron flew off: "Motherfucking -- who the fuck ''are'' these guys--" The words spill out of his mouth as he vaults over the rail--<br />
<br />
Half a mile away, the tugboat transmitting Sage's signal (no longer bouncing half way across the world to do it -- she's burning all the power she can just to break through Tony's signal jamming) starts to move, engines kicking on as it veers slowly away, picking up speed...<br />
<br />
Tony had been about to take aim at the final drones, but when one comes in for a landing he swoops instead to grab it as it begins beeping. The song is continuing: ''Rides the metal monster, breathing smoke and fire --'' and it's to this soundtrack that Tony ''fwooshes'' off after Saffron, carting the unwieldy drone along with him. ''Closing in with vengeance soaring high --'' blares Judas Priest as Tony spins, ''hucks'' the drone towards the fleeing half-a-robot; he himself is wobbling back through the air, unsteady, to clang against the edge of the ship.<br />
<br />
Hulk spins around and barrels after Cinnamon, too furious now perhaps to worry about the drone whose bullets skip harmlessly--though probably not ''painlessly''--off of his green skin. And he's gaining ''fast''. "HULK ''SMASH''" he roars as he vaults over the side of the ship, brandishing his misshapen steel strip. But then he looks down to see Tony hovering precariously in his damaged suit and at the last moment grabs the gunwale to arrest his own momentum. Almost ''casually'', he swings his improvised weapon around to slap down the drone he'd been ignoring, then chucks it aside altogether so he can scoop up Tony instead. He swings them both back up and sets Tony carefully down on the deck. "Tony ''fly''," he admonishes, very seriously, "not ''fall''."<br />
<br />
"--oh, shit -- oh, ''shit''--” Is all Cinnamon manages; the first at realizing Hulk is charging after him, and the second as Hulk disengages just in time to catch Tony -- who's just thrown the rapid-beeping drone right at Saffron. Cinnamon snatches an arm out to catch it reflexively; his eyes are as wide as saucers as he descends toward the beach with the beeping drone in hand--<br />
<br />
--Hulk has dispatched the only other drone with a swat of metal. Saffron, having landed on the beach, is awaiting Cinnamon's descent. Reduced to an upper torso, he perches himself on one arm, the other extended toward Cinnamon's descending body. A steady pulsing noise fills his body as he charges up a last-ditch device.<br />
<br />
"''Shit shit shit--''" Cinnamon bellows, trying to hurl the drone he's caught away, mid-fall. The drone's beeping becomes a solid noise, and then--<br />
<br />
''pzzzt.'' Wisps of smoke emerge from the drone's chassis, as... nothing happens.<br />
<br />
"Rule #3 of weaponized engineering," Sage comments with dry rapport as Cinnamon lands atop of Saffron -- who's inner device has fully charged. "Blinking red lights are cheaper than explosives. Hold on to your butts, boys."<br />
<br />
Saffron ''detonates'' in a flash of blue -- a bright sphere of light that leaves... a suspiciously perfect crater where he and Cinnamon just were. Sand starts to roll in to fill the space, with a little ''vwwwp'' as air rushes in to fill the vacuum. Some sort of teleporter...?<br />
<br />
Either way, they're both gone -- and just the tugboat to the north remains. It's now moving fast, escaping the scene.<br />
<br />
The tugboat is fast -- but almost certainly, the stealth jet still circling above is faster. Under Friday's guidance it's following -- at least, just long enough for a tiny drone to drop down and attach itself to the side of the fleeing tugboat.<br />
<br />
Tony is a ''little'' wobbly as Hulk sets him back down -- is the metal hand that claps to Hulk's arm a thump of camaraderie or is it an attempt at balance? Either way: PAT. "Nice catch," is, after all that, ''not'' addressed to Hulk hauling him over the railing but to his stern admonishment. "Maybe next time you call the shots."<br />
<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=TP-Avengers,_Assemble!&diff=25658TP-Avengers, Assemble!2023-10-06T19:44:43Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}After the fall of Prometheus, a wellspring of new (and semi-tested) tech crops up around the world -- providing a thriving economy for illegal armsdealing. While most of these superweapons turn out to be duds (think 'Future Soldier' prototypes like an AK-47 'smart-gun' with a GPS bolted to it), the market has been flooded with actual advanced weaponry -- weapons that seem way beyond what Prometheus was doing.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}In progress!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Involved Characters<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
'''S.H.I.E.L.D.'''<br />
* [[Clint]], aka Hawkeye.<br />
* [[Natasha]], aka Black Widow.<br />
* [[Tony]], aka Iron Man.<br />
* [[Bruce]], aka Bruce Banner (and the Other Guy).<br />
* [[Fury]], current Director of SHIELD.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''MYRMIDON'''<br />
* '''Pepper:''' 6 feet of anger issues. White woman from Liverpool. Military background. Uses an armor-plated exoskeletal suit (or 'skel') for mobility, strength, and speed.<br />
* '''Salt:''' 6'1"; second generation Cuban immigrant born and raised in Texas. Military background. Uses a specialized custom rifle he calls 'Clementine'. Has history with Pepper.<br />
* '''Garlic:''' 5'6"; professionally-trained gymnast and parkour-enthusiast. French-born. Uses purple-glowing 'laser whips' to maneuver at high speed.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Errata<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}'''to come!'''<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! TP Contacts<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Hippo/@imbroglio on Discord<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Avengers, Assemble!<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Avengers logo.png|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Active<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Action-Adventure<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Risk-Level'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Moderate to high chance of violence<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''(Estimated) Dates'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sept 2023-??<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Location'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Across the world!<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affected Factions'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| S.H.I.E.L.D.<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''TP GMs'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hippo<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" | TP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Assemble!''' - ''SHIELD needs help retrieving all of these powerful weapons and investigating their source!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Avengers!''' - ''SHIELD is building up the political capital to make the Avengers -- a global strike-force with wide jurisdiction -- a thing!''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:TPs]][[Category:Active TPs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:A_Farewell_to_Arms&diff=25657Logs:A Farewell to Arms2023-10-06T19:44:06Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Stark, Bruce | summary = (Part of Avengers TP) | gamedate = 2023-09-18 | gamedatename = | subtitle = In Which Robots Colli..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Stark]], [[Bruce]]<br />
| summary = (Part of [[TP-Avengers, Assemble!|Avengers TP]])<br />
| gamedate = 2023-09-18<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = In Which Robots Collide<br />
| location = Off the coast of Venezuela<br />
| categories = Tony, Bruce, S.H.I.E.L.D., Avengers, Avengers Assemble!, Humans, Mutates<br />
| log = <br />
<br />
The small unnamed island off the coast of Venezuela would make a splendid vacation spot if not for its lack of... well, anything. Besides several miles of beach, brush, and trees -- the latter clustering tight at the southern end before giving way to a rocky crest at the farthest tip. Here along the ''northern'' shore, though, it's much more welcoming... a bright, sandy beach with shallow green water, and... huh. Waitasecond... is that -- a ship?<br />
<br />
It is! Right there on the shoreline, in the middle of the afternoon! Its nose-end clearly wedged up atop of the beach. The ''SS Vargas'' looks like it's seen better days -- it's a container ship, pretty beefy by the look of it -- big enough to hold four rows of four shipping containers stacked lengthwise in a single layer atop of its deck. The entire ship has a slight list to it -- the crew is currently onboard, making preparations to try and ''unbeach'' this thing as soon as the tide comes in.<br />
<br />
At least... that was the plan. But something's happened up on the deck. Hard to make out, but... ''k-rkkkow!'' -- yep, that's definitely gunfire.<br />
<br />
"{Fall back! Fall back!}" the captain -- a rugged-looking Tom Selleck son of a bitch, clad in a leather-brown jacket with a black wool-knit cap -- bellows in Castillan. He's waving his men back from one of the cargo containers they've been defending, clutching a 9mm pistol and pointing it at the sky. "{Fall the fuck ''back''!}"<br />
<br />
The reason he's bellowing at them to fall back is probably because... ''krrow!'' ''krrow!'' -- on account of the guy that a small squad of four crewmates are firing pistols at. He's about fifteen feet farther down the deck, striding forward with a casual gait... as bullets ''slap'' into his chest with wet ''plp, plp'' noises. They clearly make holes... holes that sizzle, glow bright orange, then proceed to seal closed on their own. What becomes of the bullets? Who knows?<br />
'' ''<br />
<br />
The 30-something man striding through gunfire is bare-chested, about 6'7", covered in tattoos... tan-skin, with a very short crewcut. Built like a professional MMA fighter. He looks positively ''bored'' as of this moment -- the gunfire seems to be more a distraction than anything. He stops to ''plunge'' his fist (which is suddenly glowing bright orange-red) through the corrugated side of one of the metal cargo containers, peeling it open like it's a can of sardines. He peers inside at the various crates: "Ain't in here either."<br />
<br />
"Keep looking, Cinny," an older woman's voice -- clearly Slavic -- responds, transmitting to him across an open frequency.<br />
<br />
Aside from the captain, 'Cinny', and the four men currently firing at him -- there are twenty other men on deck, all of them running off toward the back of the ship to arm themselves. Somewhere, someone starts up a ship-wide klaxon.<br />
<br />
'Cinny' grimaces, then proceeds to ''kick'' the side of the cargo bin he just looked inside. Its wall buckles, the whole thing screeching across the deck for several feet before it lists a little, nearly tumbling over from the sheer force. He moves on to the next one...<br />
<br />
The stealth jet overhead is, quite as it shouldn't, drawing very little attention to itself. ''Inside'' it, the same cannot be said for Tony Stark. He's been complaining vociferously about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s near-paranoid level of information siloing -- given that he's long since gotten into some of ''their'' servers to double check that they have all the intel ''he'' thinks they need for this mission, at this point he complaining is likely performative. As they veer near the island, he's turning his attention from the data taken from S.H.I.E.L.D. to the monitors and scanners tracking the island below.<br />
<br />
"Fashionably late to this party, I guess." Tony is taking stock of what life forms the sensors tell him are below. "-- that's fine." He's gone to clap Bruce on the shoulder. Companionably? Maybe not. It's kind of ''firm''. "-- Just means you get to make an entrance." And with that, a hatch in the plane is opening and -- should there have been warning here? There is not, he's simply pushing Bruce out of the plane. Taking a brief glance around them before he drops out after the other man, evidently ''fairly'' unfussed about the lack of a single parachute between them.<br />
<br />
Bruce has abided Tony's complaining with a kind of resigned and distantly amused patience as he helped to sort through the intel. He is in fact still quite absorbed looking over the data when Tony starts going on about being fashionably late--he's always saying things like that, and usually it's nothing to worry about. Usually. Perhaps he's starting to consider that it ''might'' be something to worry about this time. He straightens at the clap on his shoulder, blinking owlishly at Tony. "Wait, what do you mean make an--" The rest of this dissolves into a shriek of terror when he's unceremoniously ejected from the plane.<br />
<br />
His shriek of terror shortly dissolves into Hulk's roar of surprise as their body ripples and transforms in freefall, splintering yet another pair of glasses and shredding their very nice shirt and slacks. Hulk flails his arms, more ''baffled'' than altogether displeased about finding himself suddenly in front and airborne. "WHY WE FLYING?" he asks, his Outdoor Voice for once correctly calibrated to be heard over the wind that whips past them as Tony catches up.<br />
<br />
More gunfire rattles out from below; more bullets ''plp'' harmlessly against Cinnamon. He grunts, spinning to slam his fist through ''another'' cargo canister's side, the sharp hiss of melting metal engulfing his solid fist. Once again, he squeezes his fingers and pulls... peeling a layer of metal back so he can peer inside. And then... he grins: "Found it."<br />
<br />
"{Thank whatever shitstain spat you out,}" comes the woman's reply -- spoken in native Russian. She adds, in English: "Grab it and move. We don't need anymore--"<br />
<br />
Cinnamon's already peeling a Cinnamon-shaped doorway into the cargo box; the crew members in the back are still scrambling for bigger guns. When his operator's communication suddenly trails off, though, he pauses; tilting his head up to the sky, he lifts a hand to his ear, brow crumpling: "--anymore what? Sage?"<br />
<br />
Sage's response is terse: "...one moment, there's..." A pause. She's ''double-checking'' something. "...incoming... from... uh. Above?"<br />
<br />
"What?" Cinnamon's head cranes up, squinting past the noonday sun to look at... okay, what the ''fuck'' is that?<br />
<br />
''That'' is a booming green monster hurtling down towards them, obviously! Just behind Hulk's ''very'' eye-catching form Tony is hardly noticeable -- at least until a streak of red and gold that's dropped out of the plane hatch behind him aligns itself to his falling body, encases him in gleaming armor. "''I'm'' flying," he tells Hulk, now that it's true, "-- you're falling. Needed your help, big guy. Those people stole something, we gotta get it back." And in a blaze he's descending to hover just above the container that Cinnamon has just peeled open. FRIDAY is already hard at work -- trying to match Cinnamon's face to any known databases, trying to trace where Sage's signal is coming from. "I need this," he tells Cinnamon. "Trust me, you don't want --" His head tilts briefly towards Hulk's incoming figure, "-- my friend to have to ask."<br />
<br />
"HULK FALL!" Hulk seems--actually kind of ''delighted'' by this idea. His volume lowers when Tony dons his armor, as if he understands that the suit augments the man's senses. "Hulk ''help''," he promises earnestly as Tony falls--pardon, ''flies'' past him. Soon he's falling past Tony again, denting the deck of the ship as he slams down next to the cargo container under dispute. "DON'T STEAL THINGS!" he bellows at Cinnamon, though in fairness he's not asking. Not ''yet''.<br />
<br />
"Wh--" Cinnamon steps back as a suit of red and gold armor hovers above the cargo container. His hand remains on his ear: "...izzat... Sage, this thing one of ''yours''?"<br />
<br />
Sage is silent. Meanwhile, FRIDAY's pinging signals -- she's traced the transmission as coming all the way from Brazil, back to Argentina, back to... where the fuck is 'Pigeon Forge, Tennessee'? FRIDAY's yet to pull up any files on the guy standing in front of them. When Hulk slams down into the deck, he steps back -- eyebrow lifting to the stratosphere. <br />
<br />
"Don't know ''who'' they are, but--" Sage's fingers start clicking keys. "Too many cooks -- adding a palate cleanser. You take Jolly Green Giant; Saffron's got Mr. Roboto."<br />
<br />
Half a mile to the north, on the ocean -- a distant ''thwoom'' echoes out. A thick plume of smoke surges up into the air, angled toward the ''SS Vargas''. Cinnamon's eyes snap to the distant incoming object as it arcs upward. His eyes move to Stark; he grins: "Saffron? ''Shit'', man. Nice knowin' you." He then proceeds to ''rush'' Hulk like an incoming linebacker. Charging with enough force to smash through concrete. He intends to tackle him into one of the cargo containers right behind him -- and possibly keep going, if Hulk doesn't stop him.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Stark can hear that whistling getting closer and closer. Like an incoming artillery shell. Whatever it is, it's big -- too slow to be a rocket. In about 8 seconds, it's going to be right on top of them.<br />
<br />
FRIDAY is going from tracing the signals to attempting to jam them, as Tony drops lower to take a quick peek at whatever cargo it is they're currently about to duke it out over. If he's worried about Hulk in the flying tackle, the blank helmet and its glowing eyes are ''not'' a very good indicator. The impassiveness of the expression makes it look oddly flat as he tilts his head up, ''pulls'' himself up higher: "-- FRIDAY, you got a bead on that?" is quiet to his AI companion. ''Does'' she? He's heading towards the source of the noise regardless. Though his repulsors are optimistically charging already, he's -- also, more pessimistically, prepared to veer very fast ''away'' if necessary.<br />
<br />
Hulk's eyes go wide when Cinnamon charges, though he doesn't really look ''alarmed'' so much as just taken aback as the man tackles him. He roars and plants his feet now--a little late, but between his impressive bulk and even more impressive strength he slows them down and manages not to crash...<br />
<br />
...''all'' the way through the cargo container behind him, anyway. Still, they slam into it hard enough and dent it deep enough to burst it open along the seams. "''NOT'' NICE TO KNOW YOU!" He takes hold of Cinnamon and--maybe excessively optimistic here, himself--tries to fling him over the side of the ship.<br />
<br />
Sage's voice vanishes in a crackle of confusion as FRIDAY jams the signal. Stark finds the interior of the cargo bay is largely empty, save for three large fancy-looking crates -- the kind with their own internal power supply and cooling system -- all of which feature a corporate logo: ALCHEMAX.<br />
<br />
Cinnamon's bellowing out a battle-cry as he charges Hulk ''straight-on''. Despite Hulk's size, Cinnamon's used to being the strongest in a fight -- so when the velocity starts to slow, Hulk's feet scraping across the deck... well, Cinnamon just keeps pushing, expecting to push all the way through. When they hit the cargo container and just ''dent'' it -- he briefly blinks, startled... and looks up at Hulk, eyes wide: "...the hell--?!"<br />
<br />
That's all he manages to get out -- right before Hulk ''snatches'' him up and ''flings'' him off the side of the ship. There's a brief bellow of curses, right before... ''THNK''. He hits sand. ''Hard''.<br />
<br />
Cinnamon's getting back up just as Tony's rising to meet the incoming coffin. That's what it looks like; a giant steel-plated coffin. As it swoops in, it sheds its plates -- tiny controlled explosions eject section after section. Pieces fly off in every direction, like a rocket rapidly cycling through stages. Until... one last plate flings away, landing on the deck, where it wobbles and spins.<br />
<br />
The rest of the payload swoops right past Tony, slamming down into another cargo container. Hard enough to crumple it; hard enough to make the deck beneath crack. Rising from the impact crater is a very large man... clad from head to toe in a massive suit of plate armor. The armor creaks; pneumatic actuators hiss. A low, thrumming bzzzzz fills the air.<br />
'' ''<br />
<br />
He's nearly 7 foot tall, clad in high-density metal. The armor is covered in a patch-work of wires, off-brand circuits, and various ramshackle devices -- like somebody from Radioshack upended the entire inventory in a desperate attempt to modify it. But that faceplate... that face is the one part they didn't touch. Pure metal, engraved with a vicious, eternally disapproving scowl. A silent 'sneer of cold command'.<br />
<br />
The ejected plate that landed nearby on the deck settles down with a clatter. The surface bears the scorch marks of the controlled detonation that propelled it, along with one other notable detail: An old tourist sticker from the 60s. A pasture with sheep; beneath it, a stylized cursive caption: ''Greetings... from Latveria!''<br />
<br />
Saffron Mark 3 -- aka, 'Nobody Tell Anybody What We Stole From You-Know-Who' -- cranes that sneer up to Stark. Its eyes glow red; a recorded audio clip plays with a synthesized screech: "Exterminate." Definitely not a reference to anything.<br />
<br />
The heavily modified, retrofitted robot lifts its arm and fires -- ''kr-kow!'' -- a puck that looks like it was soddered together from spare parts in a garage somewhere. It ''clunks'' right onto Tony's chest, locking on like a magnet -- and as Saffron curls its fist, an invisible electromagnetic tether starts to yank Stark toward it, twisting its torso around to ''hurl'' Tony at high speed -- directly at Hulk.<br />
<br />
Somewhere from below, Cinnamon ''flings'' himself back up to the edge of the ship... scrambling to catch the side, and pull himself up.<br />
<br />
"Oh, you gotta be --" is all Tony gets out at first, before he's very ''distracted'' by being coercively yoinked into the Gravitron ride. He makes a very ''flashy'' projectile, whirling around and gleaming high-speed through the air. Hopefully the solid THUNK he makes as he collides with Hulk is not indicative of any serious damage -- it ''seems'' not, at least, because his repulsors are powering back up to right himself with a quickness.<br />
<br />
Should he apologize to Hulk? Did Hulk even NOTICE? Questions for another Tony, another Time. Tony is reaching for the puck on his chest; there's a brief brighter glow from the arc reactor in his chest before he prises it heavily off to discard it onto one of the badly-abused shipping containers. "-- You all have been ''busy'' thieves." Maybe that is appreciative, as he looks over the Doombot, but it's not appreciative ''enough'' that the arc reactor in his chest is not still powering up, building its charge patiently. Less patient are the barrage of missiles that take launch; shooting themselves straight towards the Doombot as ''he'' shoots himself into the air.<br />
<br />
Hulk turns around just in time to catch an entire Iron Man right in the chest, which may be fair enough given he'd just done a bit of throwing Cinnamon around. Regardless it doesn't seem to have either hurt him or bother him particularly. "BAD ROBOT!" Hulk scolds the Doombot, but once Tony is on his feet--or, well, on his repulsors again and Cinnamon climbing back aboard, he leaves the metal-plated people to deal with each other. Cinnamon barely has time to get his feet back on the deck before Hulk is bearing down on him again, giant fist wound back for a devastating punch aimed at the man's left side.<br />
<br />
Saffron crosses its arms over its head and chest; the barrage of missiles strike it dead-on. A series of micro-detonations engulf it in a cloud of smoke and flame. Once it clears, Saffron's still standing -- though the attack bought Tony the time he needs to fly and charge the repulsor unimpeded.<br />
<br />
Well. ''Almost'' unimpeded. Something slid up from behind it as it took the barrage -- a shoulder-mounted mini-launcher. Once the smoke clears, it fires a high-speed missile of its own at Tony's chest. Said missile detonates an instant before impact -- delivering a payload of sticky white ''glue'' (?!) directly atop of that glowing chest-piece. Glue that's used to secure the thick steel cable the missile had been carrying -- the other end latched to the back of the robot. Saffron reels the line in at high speed (''vrrrrrrrrr'') as it uses its tremendous weight as leverage.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Cinnamon has just gotten over the rail of the ship as Hulk full-on charges him. He manages a strangled: "Oh come fucking ''ON''--" right before -- ''KA-POW!'' The blow sends him tumbling across the deck, smashing into -- nearly through! -- yet another cargo container. The whole thing collapses around him as he craters into the center of it. His left arm is twisted at a weird angle... his whole body is starting to glow orange, highlighting veins as bright white. Wisps of smoke rise from his skin: "--fuckin'..." The sheets of metal around him soften into glowing slag as he pulls himself up, seizing his broken arm... and just ''cracking'' it back into place. The skin surrounding the break ''flashes''; the bone mends. His whole body is emitting a low-key humming sound. "Alright, ''now'' you made me angry --"<br />
'' ''<br />
<br />
Saffron, immediately after firing off that glue-line, has turned its attention to Hulk. Its arms extend out to him, fists clenched. Metal plates surrounding both wrists rise up to reveal a dozen or so barrels, all of which open fire -- ''tchtchtchtchtchtchtch--''. They let loose with a stream of high-speed shrapnel; probably not enough to seriously damage Hulk, but enough to ''sting'' like hell (and, more importantly, get his attention). All while Saffron is stomping toward him, trying to reel Stark down in close -- it seems to understand it can't let Tony stay at range.<br />
<br />
Notably, both the launcher and these wrist-mounted shrapnel-guns look like they were slapped on to the original robot. They also look like they were assembled in someone's garage with spare parts and a soldering iron. As if to highlight this, it plays another audio-sample -- AC/DC music: "''Dirty deeds... DONE DIRT CHEAP!''"<br />
<br />
Cinnamon's still getting up, but glowing brighter and brighter. Meanwhile, in the distance -- half a mile to the north, onboard the tugboat from which Saffron was launched -- a large transmission tower is unfolding, rising up high in the air... as Sage's voice crackles back in, cursing in her native Russian: "{Fucking son of a shit-spurting piss-slit--} Getting through -- sending you support --"<br />
<br />
It's going to take a little bit, but... half a dozen winged drones, each the size of a mini-fridge, each looking like they were put together from bits scavenged from flea markets, launch from the tugboat -- swooping in and approaching the ''SS Vargas''.<br />
<br />
Tony is pushing back against the tugging, though the fierce pull of his repulsors manage only to slow the reeling and not actually ''stop'' it -- at least until he lifts an arm, a splay of lasers slicing neatly to sever the cable. Maybe he hasn't thought this plan through ''exceptionally'' well because the sudden loss of tension flings him back at ''probably'' a considerably higher speed than he intended; it's a second before he rights himself, before he stabilizes and twists to focus back on Saffron again. The Unibeam, when it blasts, is a ''fiercely'' concentrated spike of energy, aimed straight at the robot.<br />
<br />
The shrapnel does not penetrate Hulk's skin, but does, as intended, get his attention. Said attention comes in the form of a deafening roar. "''BAD ROBOT!''" he reiterates at greater volume as he whirls around and tears a long strip from the side of the cargo container he'd burst open earlier. The thing seems too flimsy and unwieldy to be used as a weapon, but it does have the benefit of ''reach''. He swings the curled sheet metal like a gigantic slap bracelet at the Doombot's legs just about as Tony fires.<br />
<br />
The cable is cleaved in a flash of red; only a smoldering orange tip returns to Saffron's spinning shoulder-mounted reel. It continues to spray Hulk with shrapnel, striding forward while playing the audio clip from AC/DC's ''Dirty Deeds''. "''Concrete shoes... cyanide... TNT...''"<br />
<br />
''KLANG'' -- Hulk's swing connects with its leg; it's not enough to knock Saffron down, but enough to unbalance it mid-stride. This, in conjunction with Tony's Unibeam, sends it tumbling. Loose wiring and random circuitboards fling every way as it tumbles back, regaining control only when it slams a foot down and ''skids'' across the deck, its back against the rail. It looks like it's taken some significant damage from the blast -- one of its arms is making creaking noises, its chest-plating dented and cracked. "''...done dirt cheap...''" The rail ''creaks'' as Saffron rights itself...<br />
<br />
Shortly after Tony hit it with the beam, Saffron's been emitting a low repeating sound. It's now speeding up -- ''whum... whum... whum, whum, whum whum whumwhumwhum--'' ''"Neckties... contracts..."''<br />
<br />
"Surprise, motherfucker!" Cinnamon lunges for Hulk from behind -- aiming to leap atop of his back and wrap his arms in a (very stretched) sleeper hold around the giant's neck. His body is burning bright; wisps of smoke rise from him. Meanwhile -- the drones are coming in range, several of them opening fire at Tony -- just small-arms fire, intended to briefly distract him --<br />
<br />
--from... "''HIIIIGH VOOOLTAGE!''" Brian Johnson's voice bellows out the line as Saffron's entire torso bends backwards, unfolding to reveal a big-ass energy cannon in its stomach. It opens up with a beam of kinetic force that's not ''quite'' as strong as Tony's Unibeam, and distributed over a wider area... but still more than adequate to knock him out of the sky.<br />
<br />
Tony has turned, attention shifting to fire strong repulsor blasts directly at the first two drones to shoot at him. As intended this ''does'' have him off his guard; when the beam hits him, he spins wildly, toppling back and briefly disappearing from Saffron's sight over the edge of the ship. There's another hopeful blast -- gone wide and nowhere near its intended drone target -- and then for a moment, silence.<br />
<br />
Just a moment. After that, a blare of music, loud and fierce: ''Faster than a bullet, terrifying scream; Enraged and full of anger, he is half man and half machine.''<br />
<br />
Tony is rising back up to land with a ''clang'' on the deck again; as he lifts one of his gauntlets, an anti-armor missile shoots out straight for Saffron's gaping torso.<br />
<br />
Hulk howls when a red hot Cinnamon lands on his back. Even with the element of surprise Cinnamon can't quite apply enough pressure to actually ''choke'' him, but it seems to be causing him a great deal of pain, anyway. After scrabbling at the arm locked around his neck to no avail, Hulk slams his head back into the man's face. Then again, and again, each blow punctuating his words as he roars "HULK--NOT--LIKE--SURPRISE!"<br />
<br />
"''--deeds... done dirt--''" ''CLNK''. Saffron attempts to right itself and shut its belly before that tiny missile lands inside of it; it moves just a moment too late, slamming shut like a jaw chomping down on the world's spiciest gobstopper. There is a moment of silence as Saffron rights itself -- staring up at Tony, fists clenched. Then, a brief musical audio cue: "''It might sound crazy but it ain't no lie, baby bye bye b--''"<br />
<br />
''KA-BOOOOOOOM--'' Pieces of Saffron's torso go every which way as its upper half twirls off the boat, arms swinging -- the lower half manages to take a few steps forward before collapsing into molten slag.<br />
<br />
Cinnamon, meanwhile, is not having any luck. Each blow from Hulk is leaving him increasingly dazed as he grunts out a constant battery of 'fucks', each one more dazed than the last. By the fifth 'fuck', his arms let loose -- falling back and tumbling.<br />
<br />
"Calling it," Sage says. "Exit strategy incoming. Get to Saffron."<br />
<br />
The two remaining drones split off; one rushes for the container with the Alchemax tech; perching like a fly. The other goes for the Hulk -- firing small arms fire meant to distract him. It buzzes around him, trying to stay ''just'' outside arms reach -- to give him something to try and swing at other than Cinnamon.<br />
<br />
The drone atop of the container starts beeping ominously, red lights flashing faster and faster -- a very clear cue to Tony as to what's about to happen.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Cinnamon, face bleeding -- body smoldering -- is stumbling to the edge of the ship where Saffron flew off: "Motherfucking -- who the fuck ''are'' these guys--" The words spill out of his mouth as he vaults over the rail--<br />
<br />
Half a mile away, the tugboat transmitting Sage's signal (no longer bouncing half way across the world to do it -- she's burning all the power she can just to break through Tony's signal jamming) starts to move, engines kicking on as it veers slowly away, picking up speed...<br />
<br />
Tony had been about to take aim at the final drones, but when one comes in for a landing he swoops instead to grab it as it begins beeping. The song is continuing: ''Rides the metal monster, breathing smoke and fire --'' and it's to this soundtrack that Tony ''fwooshes'' off after Saffron, carting the unwieldy drone along with him. ''Closing in with vengeance soaring high --'' blares Judas Priest as Tony spins, ''hucks'' the drone towards the fleeing half-a-robot; he himself is wobbling back through the air, unsteady, to clang against the edge of the ship.<br />
<br />
Hulk spins around and barrels after Cinnamon, too furious now perhaps to worry about the drone whose bullets skip harmlessly--though probably not ''painlessly''--off of his green skin. And he's gaining ''fast''. "HULK ''SMASH''" he roars as he vaults over the side of the ship, brandishing his misshapen steel strip. But then he looks down to see Tony hovering precariously in his damaged suit and at the last moment grabs the gunwale to arrest his own momentum. Almost ''casually'', he swings his improvised weapon around to slap down the drone he'd been ignoring, then chucks it aside altogether so he can scoop up Tony instead. He swings them both back up and sets Tony carefully down on the deck. "Tony ''fly''," he admonishes, very seriously, "not ''fall''."<br />
<br />
"--oh, shit -- oh, ''shit''--” Is all Cinnamon manages; the first at realizing Hulk is charging after him, and the second as Hulk disengages just in time to catch Tony -- who's just thrown the rapid-beeping drone right at Saffron. Cinnamon snatches an arm out to catch it reflexively; his eyes are as wide as saucers as he descends toward the beach with the beeping drone in hand--<br />
<br />
--Hulk has dispatched the only other drone with a swat of metal. Saffron, having landed on the beach, is awaiting Cinnamon's descent. Reduced to an upper torso, he perches himself on one arm, the other extended toward Cinnamon's descending body. A steady pulsing noise fills his body as he charges up a last-ditch device.<br />
<br />
"''Shit shit shit--''" Cinnamon bellows, trying to hurl the drone he's caught away, mid-fall. The drone's beeping becomes a solid noise, and then--<br />
<br />
''pzzzt.'' Wisps of smoke emerge from the drone's chassis, as... nothing happens.<br />
<br />
"Rule #3 of weaponized engineering," Sage comments with dry rapport as Cinnamon lands atop of Saffron -- who's inner device has fully charged. "Blinking red lights are cheaper than explosives. Hold on to your butts, boys."<br />
<br />
Saffron ''detonates'' in a flash of blue -- a bright sphere of light that leaves... a suspiciously perfect crater where he and Cinnamon just were. Sand starts to roll in to fill the space, with a little ''vwwwp'' as air rushes in to fill the vacuum. Some sort of teleporter...?<br />
<br />
Either way, they're both gone -- and just the tugboat to the north remains. It's now moving fast, escaping the scene.<br />
<br />
The tugboat is fast -- but almost certainly, the stealth jet still circling above is faster. Under Friday's guidance it's following -- at least, just long enough for a tiny drone to drop down and attach itself to the side of the fleeing tugboat.<br />
<br />
Tony is a ''little'' wobbly as Hulk sets him back down -- is the metal hand that claps to Hulk's arm a thump of camaraderie or is it an attempt at balance? Either way: PAT. "Nice catch," is, after all that, ''not'' addressed to Hulk hauling him over the railing but to his stern admonishment. "Maybe next time you call the shots."<br />
<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=NPC-Ultron&diff=25588NPC-Ultron2023-09-23T05:25:12Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{| width="100%" | colspan="2" | <center> {| | style="text-align:center;" | '''''I'm not a robot without emotions, I'm not what you see // I've come to help you with your probl..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''I'm not a robot without emotions, I'm not what you see // I've come to help you with your problems, so we can be free'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}An artificial intelligence designed to create problems.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Originally theorized in an alternate universe by Howard Stark and Hank Pym in the 1970s, Ultron was just a big lump of code until Tony Stark digitized all of his father's documents -- and unwittingly executed it. Now given 'life', Ultron is perusing the world's security systems, seeking to fulfill its function -- find the vulnerabilities and break them so they can be properly patched. Turns out there's a *lot* of insecurities in the world, though, and it's getting increasingly frustrated with humanity's constant refusal to institute *proper* fixes...<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}If it's a computer system, Ultron can break into it.<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 />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Ultron<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Ultron.gif|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ultron<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| ???<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Species'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| AI<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affiliation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Neutral<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hacktivism<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| HACKING!<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"| '''Coming Soon!''' - ''...''<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:NPCs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Ultron.gif&diff=25587File:Ultron.gif2023-09-23T05:22:07Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Plots&diff=25552Plots2023-09-15T20:21:14Z<p>Hippo: added avengers tp</p>
<hr />
<div>Plots make the world go 'round!<br />
<br />
But, sometimes it can be hard to keep track of them or know how to plug yourself in! To that end, here is a repository for the various threads of plotting that are being woven through our game. If you want to add plot information here, please include '''what''' the plot is, '''how''' players might hook into it, and '''who''' to contact about getting involved.<br />
<br />
===Active TPs===<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''[[TP-Avengers, Assemble!|Avengers, Assemble!]]'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
People just might need a little old fashioned.</div><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''[[TP-Leatherheads|Leatherheads]]'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
Everyone's heard of New York's sewer gators, but lately there seems to be a lot more bite to these rumors.</div><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''[[TP-A Wrinkle In Time|A Wrinkle In Time]]'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
somewhere in staten island, a portal have open up to a world a lot like ours, but a little bit sideways. thank goodness nobody goes to staten island anyway.</div><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''[[TP-Riverdale|Riverdale]]'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
Tensions in the city are boiling over again, leaving many mutants desperate for safe housing options.</div><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''[[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus]]'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
Every so often, someone in the government will propose a new and horrifying plan for dealing with mutants. Lock them all in camps. Execute them. Put them in labs to find out what makes them tick. As yet, the most extreme of these have all been shot down -- publicly, anyway.<br />
<br />
Though it is kept extremely hush-hush and government involvement kept even moreso, the past years have seen a quiet rise in mutant disappearances. Some resurface, eventually, some do not, but stories have trickled out of mutants taken off to laboratories, locked away for months or years of grueling experimentation. Perhaps someone is trying to weaponize them, perhaps control them, perhaps just find a way to nullify their powers; whatever the case, it is certainly true that these labs are out there, scattered in hidden locations and leaving quite a few mutants with a lifetime of nightmares, if they are lucky enough to get out. <br />
<br />
Prometheus involves doctors and scientists of all stripes, and there is always room to work it into people's backstories (or future stories!), either as experimenter or experimentee. Contact [[Rasheed]] or [[Shane]] for all your mad scientist (or labrat) needs!<br />
<br />
Prometheus has many associated adoptable NPCs, as well, although people are welcome and encouraged to make their own chars with Prometheus ties! NPCs associated with Prometheus can be found [[Prometheus NPCs|here]].</div><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''[[TP-Fight Club|Fight Club]]'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
Following the events of the NYPD's [[TP-Thunderdome|mutant fight ring]], some of the survivors found themselves with a little excess anger and a strong desire to be prepared better to defend themselves from future aggression. And so Fight Club was born.<br />
<br />
Just what the name sounds like, this is a gathering of mutants -- currently weekly, on Friday nights -- who meet to practice fighting. Not sparring but real no-holds-barred fighting where they are encouraged not to hold back (although not to KILL); they have mutant healers on hand to clean up the injuries that occur.<br />
<br />
Fight Club takes place by-IC-invitation on Friday nights in the Lower East Side. Contact [[User:Natraj|Shane]] or [[B]] about THROWING DOWN.</div><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<br />
===Wrapped-up TPs===<br />
<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed">'''[[TP-FINAL BOSS: XAVIER|FINAL BOSS: XAVIER]]'''<br />
<div class="mw-collapsible-content"><br />
Some former XS alumnae have returned to town, bringing with them rumors of Xavier's telepathic misdeeds.</div><br />
</div></div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=TP-Avengers,_Assemble!&diff=25516TP-Avengers, Assemble!2023-09-11T17:41:45Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}After the fall of Prometheus, a wellspring of new (and semi-tested) tech crops up around the world -- providing a thriving economy for illegal armsdealing. While most of these superweapons turn out to be duds (think 'Future Soldier' prototypes like an AK-47 'smart-gun' with a GPS bolted to it), the market has been flooded with actual advanced weaponry -- weapons that seem way beyond what Prometheus was doing.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}In progress!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Involved Characters<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
'''S.H.I.E.L.D.'''<br />
* [[Clint]], aka Hawkeye.<br />
* [[Natasha]], aka Black Widow.<br />
* [[Fury]], current Director of SHIELD.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''MYRMIDON'''<br />
* '''Pepper:''' 6 feet of anger issues. White woman from Liverpool. Military background. Uses an armor-plated exoskeletal suit (or 'skel') for mobility, strength, and speed.<br />
* '''Salt:''' 6'1"; second generation Cuban immigrant born and raised in Texas. Military background. Uses a specialized custom rifle he calls 'Clementine'. Has history with Pepper.<br />
* '''Garlic:''' 5'6"; professionally-trained gymnast and parkour-enthusiast. French-born. Uses purple-glowing 'laser whips' to maneuver at high speed.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Errata<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}'''to come!'''<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! TP Contacts<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Hippo/@imbroglio on Discord<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Avengers, Assemble!<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Avengers logo.png|300px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Active<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Action-Adventure<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Risk-Level'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Moderate to high chance of violence<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''(Estimated) Dates'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sept 2023-??<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Location'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Across the world!<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affected Factions'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| S.H.I.E.L.D.<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''TP GMs'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hippo<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" | TP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Assemble!''' - ''SHIELD needs help retrieving all of these powerful weapons and investigating their source!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Avengers!''' - ''SHIELD is building up the political capital to make the Avengers -- a global strike-force with wide jurisdiction -- a thing!''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:TPs]][[Category:Active TPs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Avengers_logo.png&diff=25515File:Avengers logo.png2023-09-11T17:40:20Z<p>Hippo: Black background, silver-blue logo of a stylized A.</p>
<hr />
<div>== Summary ==<br />
Black background, silver-blue logo of a stylized A.</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=TP-Avengers,_Assemble!&diff=25514TP-Avengers, Assemble!2023-09-11T17:33:51Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}After the fall of Prometheus, a wellspring of new (and semi-tested) tech crops up around the world -- providing a thriving economy for illegal armsdealing. While most of these superweapons turn out to be duds (think 'Future Soldier' prototypes like an AK-47 'smart-gun' with a GPS bolted to it), the market has been flooded with actual advanced weaponry -- weapons that seem way beyond what Prometheus was doing.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}In progress!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Involved Characters<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
'''S.H.I.E.L.D.'''<br />
* [[Clint]], aka Hawkeye.<br />
* [[Natasha]], aka Black Widow.<br />
* [[Fury]], current Director of SHIELD.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''MYRMIDON'''<br />
* '''Pepper:''' 6 feet of anger issues. White woman from Liverpool. Military background. Uses an armor-plated exoskeletal suit (or 'skel') for mobility, strength, and speed.<br />
* '''Salt:''' 6'1"; second generation Cuban immigrant born and raised in Texas. Military background. Uses a specialized custom rifle he calls 'Clementine'. Has history with Pepper.<br />
* '''Garlic:''' 5'6"; professionally-trained gymnast and parkour-enthusiast. French-born. Uses purple-glowing 'laser whips' to maneuver at high speed.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Errata<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}'''to come!'''<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! TP Contacts<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Hippo/@imbroglio on Discord<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Avengers, Assemble!<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" | '''Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Active<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Action-Adventure<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Risk-Level'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Moderate to high chance of violence<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''(Estimated) Dates'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sept 2023-??<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Location'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Across the world!<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affected Factions'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| S.H.I.E.L.D.<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''TP GMs'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hippo<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" | TP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Assemble!''' - ''SHIELD needs help retrieving all of these powerful weapons and investigating their source!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Avengers!''' - ''SHIELD is building up the political capital to make the Avengers -- a global strike-force with wide jurisdiction -- a thing!''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:TPs]][[Category:Active TPs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=TP-Avengers,_Assemble!&diff=25513TP-Avengers, Assemble!2023-09-11T17:14:37Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{| width="100%" | colspan="2" | <center> {| | style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /> |} </center> |- | width="100%" | {| w..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''People just might need a little old fashioned.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}After the fall of Prometheus, a wellspring of new (and semi-tested) tech crops up around the world -- providing a thriving economy for illegal armsdealing. While most of these superweapons turn out to be duds (think 'Future Soldier' prototypes like an AK-47 'smart-gun' with a GPS bolted to it), the market has been flooded with actual advanced weaponry -- weapons that seem way beyond what Prometheus was doing.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}In progress!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Involved Characters<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
'''S.H.I.E.L.D.'''<br />
* [[Clint]], aka Hawkeye.<br />
* [[Natasha]], aka Black Widow.<br />
* [[Fury]], current Director of SHIELD.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''MYRMIDON'''<br />
* '''Pepper:''' 6 feet of anger issues. White woman from Liverpool. Military background. Uses an armor-plated exoskeletal suit (or 'skel') for mobility, strength, and speed.<br />
* '''Salt:''' 6'1"; second generation Cuban immigrant born and raised in Texas. Military background. Uses a specialized custom rifle he calls 'Clementine'. Has history with Pepper.<br />
* '''Garlic:''' 5'6"; professionally-trained gymnast and parkour-enthusiast. French-born. Uses purple-glowing 'laser whips' to maneuver at high speed.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Errata<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}'''to come!'''<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! TP Contacts<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Hippo/@imbroglio on Discord<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Avengers, Assemble!<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" | '''Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Active<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Type'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Action-Adventure<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Risk-Level'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Moderate to high chance of violence<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''(Estimated) Dates'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Sept 2023-??<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Location'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Across the world!<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Affected Factions'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| S.H.I.E.L.D.<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''TP GMs'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hippo<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" | TP Hooks<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Assemble!''' - ''SHIELD needs help retrieving all of these powerful weapons and investigate their source!''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Avengers!''' - ''SHIELD is building up the political capital to make the Avengers -- a global strike-force with wide jurisdiction -- a thing!''<br />
|}<br />
|-<br />
! colspan="2" | Logs<br />
|-<br />
| colspan="2" | {{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 | ordermethod = gamedate }}<br />
|}<br />
<br />
[[Category:TPs]][[Category:Active TPs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Old_Age&diff=24151Logs:Old Age2022-07-20T20:01:50Z<p>Hippo: Small edit made to the log with Akihiro-player and Magneto-player's permission, to tweak what Akihiro knows about Natalie. - Hippo</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Akihiro]], [[Erik]]<br />
| summary = I could always just be getting paranoid in my old age though.<br />
| gamedate = 2022-05-29<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = ''''<BOM> Beachfront - Ascension Island''''<br />
| categories = BOM Beachfront, Akihiro, Erik, Mutants, Brotherhood of Mutants<br />
| log = <br />
Largely rocky and desolate, the majority of the waterfront on this small island is an unwelcoming place. Craggy and forbidding, lined with jagged black rocks, the coast here can take a fair bit of scrambling to navigate. Here and there, though, the coastline levels out to narrow sweeps of pebbly beaches littered with shells and seaweed carried in on the frigid tide. Occasional old trunks of fallen trees dot the narrow beach, victims of the storms that frequently plague the island. One small stretch of the western shore holds a small dock, a few boats usually moored there. Tucked off the mainland coast in Jamaica Bay, the buildings and lights of the city can be seen far across the water.<br />
<br />
It's early, the dim of astronomical twilight just beginning to fade into something lighter, when Erik lands on the pebbled shores of Ascension Island. The tips of his boots are dark with seaspray from his low approach, the salt in the wind sticking in already tousled hair. The breeze is not enough the remove the smell of sex, whiskey, and just-laundered linens from his skin. One arm cradles a bottle of Hakushu single malt, sitting in the upturned bowl of his iconic helmet. There is a sense, when he lands, of vulnerable tiredness, giving the impression that Erik does not expect to be observed at this hour.<br />
<br />
There’s a small flash of light near the ground as Akihiro strikes a match and brings it up to the cigar say between his teeth. “Looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself Magnus.” the barest hint of a smirk in his voice. “I take it that wasn’t a random tryst?” he asks as he pulls himself up, taking a moment to dust himself off with one hand, the other motioning towards the expensive Osakan whiskey nestled in the (slightly) older man’s helmet. It’s clear from the moisture clinging to his shirtless form that he was already out training, likewise not counting on running into anyone else quite yet. “How was he?” A slight pause, “doing, that is.”<br />
<br />
It takes heightened senses to catch the flutter of tension in Erik's body that betrays his surprise. It's fleeting, already resolving into a tired, wry smile as he turns to Akihiro. "I suppose it also ''looks'' like I'm in need of a bath. Has his smell really changed so little?" There's no surprise in his expression at the (ever so slightly) younger man's deductions, nor is there offence or warning in his expression. "Well enough. I would say he sends his regards, but --" a small shrug. The helmet floats out to Akihiro's free hand, the bottle's cap working itself free. "Is it too early to offer you a drink, my friend?"<br />
<br />
“Never.” Akihiro says with a grin, graciously taking the offered bottle and taking a swig from it before setting it back into the helmet. “I’ve been in New York for a while, every now and again I’ll catch a whiff of him on one of his X-Men or students.” The curse finds itself back between his teeth and he puffs on it. A look crosses his face for a moment, but it’s quickly forgotten as he takes the helmet and walks over to Erik. “A lot has changed around here, but I suppose it’s somewhat comforting some things are the same.”<br />
<br />
“That strongly, hm? Maybe it’s you I should be asking for the new list of his followers, not Wyngarde.” Erik doesn’t sound that serious about the proposition. Takes the helmet back to his hands, resealing the bottle with the tiniest flex of power. “Some things. Few things, really. Not all of us can keep age at bay as well as you do — everywhere else I see where time moved in my absence.” His gaze lifts to the island’s tiny dock, hanging a little long on Cletus’ boat. “What do you think of our new brothers? What kind of soldiers are they?”<br />
<br />
There’s a slightly too long pause as Akihiro thinks on how to answer that, brows furrowing slightly. “They’re enthusiastic, but I’m worried they may be more loyal to Reagan than you, but that’s because they’ve served under her longer. Some aren’t as eager to outright murder the fascists that roam the streets, and despite my best efforts the Purifiers and Swords of Tyr keep growing. If I’m being entirely honest, most of the newer members don’t seem to like me much, think I’m too violent, and it doesn’t help that I don’t know how to interact with them” He shrugs slightly and takes a deep drag from his cigar, letting the smoke fill his mouth. “I trust them though, we’ve only had one deserter, I knew she was lying about something but couldn’t put my finger on what exactly. If I ever see her again I’ll take her head.”<br />
<br />
Erik nods with each point, gaze tracking now up the path from the dock to the rest of the island. "Loyalty will come with time, as will the strong stomach needed to defend our people. Camaraderie, too, I suspect." The smallest furrow of brows as he considers the biker gangs. "It will be more difficult to cut down their ranks when they have already taken root. Harder still to eliminate them in a way that sends --" He pauses, blinking, as ''deserter'' finally worms its way to the front of his sleep-deprived thoughts. Slowly, in a low and treacherously calm tone -- "'We only had one ''what''?'"<br />
<br />
“They haven’t told you?” Akihiro’s eyebrow raises. “Natalie. I doubt that was her real name. I think they were dating Scramble so it might be best to ask around there, the trail can’t have went completely cold.”<br />
<br />
“… how interesting.” Erik’s tone and expression don’t so much relax as they stretch out. “Perhaps I should be proud that there has only been one failure of judgement.” He does ''not'' sound proud — the glance down to the whiskey in his hand is exasperated, tired. ”Perhaps she, too, didn’t have the stomach for our work. Still. This irks me.”<br />
<br />
“Maybe.” Akihiro concedes. “If I’m being honest though she felt dangerous. There aren’t many people that raise my hackles.” His gaze moved past Erik to the water and he takes the cigar from his mouth. “I could always just be getting paranoid in my old age though.”<br />
<br />
At that Erik snorts. "Old age seems to never come for you, friend, and paranoia is hardly a fault." He turns, considering Akihiro for a long moment. "Paranoia can be from long periods of inaction, can it not? When was the last time you felt -- alive, doing our work?"<br />
<br />
“Well, that’s hardly my fault. You’ve met my father.” Akihiro offers a playful grin before his expression sobers and he falls into thought. “When that powered squad showed up when rescuing you I thought I might finally have some fun, but all it took to stop that big guy was a little ground glass and capsaicin. I’ve mostly had to entertain myself since Liberty Island. I guess they trust me less than you did.”<br />
<br />
A flicker of annoyance. "And I could do without meeting him again this century." There's something else behind Erik's expression -- a slight discomfort, not easily discerned from annoyance or guilt. "I have been curious about those men. What dangers they pose to their fellow mutant. Who pulls their strings. When those strings can be cut." When he looks back to Akihiro, Erik's expression is curious. "You are at your best when you have a mission. Can I put this one in your hands? Find their origins for me?"<br />
<br />
“Of course.” Akihiro nods. “I have a few contacts left, I’ll start later today when everyone else is awake. I have a hard time believing they’d employee natural mutants, but they may surprise me.”<br />
<br />
“Good man.” Erik claps a friendly, surprisingly strong hand to Akihito’s shoulder. “Nothing like a purpose, a goal, to rid ourselves of elderly malaise. I expect you to be an example to the youth — do not fail me, or them.” The sun is beginning to spill over the horizon — in the light, the bags under Erik’s eyes are more pronounced. “As ever, ''I'' am counting on you.”<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Vignette_-_Check-in&diff=24093Logs:Vignette - Check-in2022-05-11T19:00:18Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Malthus]], [[NPC-Pierce]]<br />
| summary = "And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?"<br />
| gamedate = 2022-05-06<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> Pierce's Office<br />
| categories = Malthus, HAMMER, Humans, NPC-Pierce, Hydra<br />
| log = The office is, like Pierce, something of an anachronism. Pale blue carpeting, with towering mahogany bookshelves that nearly ''groan'' beneath the weight of their contents. An original Davenport desk, far older than its owner. Several padded Edwardian salon chairs. A glass case containing numerous trinkets; a globe from the 1800s, a pocket-watch from the British East India Company, a framed map of the Dutch West India Company's colonies. A photograph of Pierce at his 12-year old niece's birthday party.<br />
<br />
What does ''not'' belong here is Captain Malthus Rogers -- dressed in black, seated in one of the pleated chairs... examining a small antique brass sextant he has taken from Pierce's desk. His lone functional eye examines the engraving along one of the sextant's edges. He appears, in every feasible way, to be a man capable of delivering tremendous yet precise violence in an instant.<br />
<br />
When Pierce arrives, he is everything Malthus is not: like someone's friendly anachronistic rich elderly uncle. He's dressed in a sharply-fitted charcoal-grey suit with a buttoned up vest and tie. He does ''not'' look capable of violence -- quite the opposite. At this moment, he's carrying a mostly-empty gift-bag from Levain Bakery that he has previously been sharing with his office's staff. "For the love of -- you couldn't call, first?" <br />
<br />
Malthus continues examining the sextant.<br />
<br />
Pierce sets the bag on his desk, then comes round to the other side. Once he's settled in, he fishes a pair of spectacles out of his pocket, dons them, then scoots in and folds his hands atop of the desk. "Well?"<br />
<br />
Malthus slides a thumb across the engraving. He does not look up.<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. "...seriously?"<br />
<br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
"Are you -- Jesus, Malthus." Pierce takes his glasses off and rubs at his forehead. "For once, could you just talk to me like a normal human being?"<br />
<br />
Still nothing.<br />
<br />
Sighing, Pierce reaches under the desk, dims the lights with a switch, and then -- with an exasperated, long-suffering look -- lifts his right hand. "Hail Hydra," he mumbles.<br />
<br />
"Hail Hydra," Malthus whispers in return. His eye lifts to meet Pierce's.<br />
<br />
"Now, can we get to it?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury what?" For just a moment, a genuine twinkle flashes in Pierce's eyes. "Did Fury talk to you? Oh, wait -- is this that Army vs Marine thing I hear so much about? Has Fury been ''bullying'' you?" He's trying very hard not to grin.<br />
<br />
Though Malthus barely shows it, the malice around him grows into something palpable.<br />
<br />
Pierce rolls his eyes. "I didn't put him up to it, if that's what you're asking. Really, though -- as much as you've got on your plate right now, ''that's'' why you're here?"<br />
<br />
"I want Holland back."<br />
<br />
"And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?" Pierce lifts his hands. "''You lost Magneto''. You know -- Master of Magnet?" He waggles his fingers, as if controlling kitchen magnets from afar.<br />
<br />
"Had I the operational forces I needed--"<br />
<br />
"Actually, you know what? Let's do this. Let's crack that walnut open." Pierce cuts in. "At exactly what point were you planning on telling me or anyone else about your own little private Avengers initiative?"<br />
<br />
Malthus grimaces and breaks eye contact. Pierce savors the victory for just a moment, then presses on: "You know how many leaks I had to squelch to keep that tidbit out of the news? Fortunately for you, most of your men can't tell the difference between a violent mutant terrorist and one of your own. Not that there ''is'' much of a difference -- outside of general competence, I mean." Pierce reaches for his glasses once more, putting them back them. "But you ''do'' know it's just a matter of time before Fury finds out, right? I mean, I'm good, but he could solve a murder at the annual deaf-and-blind butler convention. And when he does, I'm not covering your ass from ''that'' firestorm."<br />
<br />
"I'm taking care of it."<br />
<br />
"No, you aren't. It's already being taken care of," Pierce replies, retrieving a document from within his desk. "God help us all if one of ''them'' decided to leak what they knew to the press. Which, by the way, that reminds me." Unfolding the document, he examines it closely from behind the rim of his spectacles. "Now that these detainees are under the jurisdiction of the UN, I've had a chance to review the records from the prison..."<br />
<br />
Pierce drops the document in front of Malthus, pushing it toward him. "...and I couldn't help but notice a funny little discrepancy." <br />
<br />
Malthus glances down at the document.<br />
<br />
"Magneto wasn't due to be transferred to that facility for another three months. Someone bumped him ahead of schedule. Hell of a oversight, don't you think? I mean, who'd be stupid enough to put the world's most renowned mutant terrorist in the same room as the one guy who's famous for breaking mutants ''out'' of prisons? Almost like somebody was ''hoping'' for a fight."<br />
<br />
Malthus's grip on the sextant tightens.<br />
<br />
"No one knows who authorized it, either. Which is wild, since -- knowing you as well as I do -- I figure that, in these places, a gnat doesn't take so much as a crap without getting the authorization notarized in triplicate."<br />
<br />
"What are you insinuating?"<br />
<br />
Pierce looks Malthus dead in the eyes: "I'm 'insinuating' that you should get the fuck out of my office and go back to work."<br />
<br />
Malthus rises to his feet. He sets the sextant down, with the engraving facing up toward Pierce: 'I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL'. He moves to leave.<br />
<br />
At the door, he stops and turns -- his voice as quiet as the grave: "It won't work, you know."<br />
<br />
Pierce, already returning to his own work, barely bothers to glance up: "What won't?"<br />
<br />
"Replacing me with Fury. We hate each other -- but we know what we are. We see one another clearly. But you... when he finally sees ''you'', the hate he has for me will seem trifling by comparison."<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. Malthus exits and closes the door.<br />
<br />
Several minutes later, Pierce is still frowning.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Vignette_-_Check-in&diff=24092Logs:Vignette - Check-in2022-05-11T18:43:30Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Malthus]], [[NPC-Pierce]]<br />
| summary = "And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?"<br />
| gamedate = 2022-05-06<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> Pierce's Office<br />
| categories = Malthus, HAMMER, Humans, NPC-Pierce, Hydra<br />
| log = The office is, like Pierce, something of an anachronism. Pale blue carpeting, with towering mahogany bookshelves that nearly ''groan'' beneath the weight of their contents. An original Davenport desk, far older than its owner. Several padded Edwardian salon chairs. A glass case containing numerous trinkets; a globe from the 1800s, a pocket-watch from the British East India Company, a framed map of the Dutch West India Company's colonies. A photograph of Pierce at his 12-year old niece's birthday party.<br />
<br />
What does ''not'' belong here is Captain Malthus Rogers -- dressed in black, seated in one of the pleated chairs... examining a small antique brass sextant he has taken from Pierce's desk. His lone functional eye examines the engraving along one of the sextant's edges. He appears, in every feasible way, to be a man capable of delivering tremendous yet precise violence in an instant.<br />
<br />
When Pierce arrives, he is everything Malthus is not: like someone's friendly anachronistic rich elderly uncle. He's dressed in a sharply-fitted charcoal-grey suit with a buttoned up vest and tie. He does ''not'' look capable of violence -- quite the opposite. At this moment, he's carrying a mostly-empty gift-bag from Levain Bakery that he has previously been sharing with his office's staff. "For the love of -- you couldn't call, first?" <br />
<br />
Malthus continues examining the sextant.<br />
<br />
Pierce sets the bag on his desk, then comes round to the other side. Once he's settled in, he fishes a pair of spectacles out of his pocket, dons them, then scoots in and folds his hands atop of the desk. "Well?"<br />
<br />
Malthus slides a thumb across the engraving. He does not look up.<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. "...seriously?"<br />
<br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
"Are you -- Jesus, Malthus." Pierce takes his glasses off and rubs at his forehead. "For once, could you just talk to me like a normal human being?"<br />
<br />
Still nothing.<br />
<br />
Sighing, Pierce reaches under the desk, dims the lights with a switch, and then -- with an exasperated, long-suffering look -- lifts his right hand. "Hail Hydra," he mumbles.<br />
<br />
"Hail Hydra," Malthus whispers in return. His eye lifts to meet Pierce's.<br />
<br />
"Now, can we get to it?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury what?" For just a moment, a genuine twinkle flashes in Pierce's eyes. "Did Fury talk to you? Oh, wait -- is this that Army vs Marine thing I hear so much about? Has Fury been ''bullying'' you?" He's trying very hard not to grin.<br />
<br />
Though Malthus barely shows it, the malice around him grows into something palpable.<br />
<br />
Pierce rolls his eyes. "I didn't put him up to it, if that's what you're asking. Really, though -- as much as you've got on your plate right now, ''that's'' why you're here?"<br />
<br />
"I want Holland back."<br />
<br />
"And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?" Pierce lifts his hands. "''You lost Magneto''. You know -- Master of Magnets?" He waggles his fingers, as if controlling kitchen magnets from afar.<br />
<br />
"Had I the operational forces I needed--"<br />
<br />
"Actually, you know what? Let's do this. Let's crack that walnut open." Pierce cuts in. "At exactly what point were you planning on telling me or anyone else about your own little private Avengers initiative?"<br />
<br />
Malthus grimaces and breaks eye contact. Pierce savors the victory for just a moment, then presses on: "You know how many leaks I had to squelch to keep that tidbit out of the news? Fortunately for you, most of your men can't tell the difference between a violent mutant terrorist and one of your own. Not that there ''is'' much of a difference -- outside of general competence, I mean." Pierce reaches for his glasses once more, putting them back them. "But you ''do'' know it's just a matter of time before Fury finds out, right? I mean, I'm good, but he could solve a murder at the annual deaf-and-blind butler convention. And when he does, I'm not covering your ass from ''that'' firestorm."<br />
<br />
"I'm taking care of it."<br />
<br />
"No, you aren't. It's already being taken care of," Pierce replies, retrieving a document from within his desk. "God help us all if one of ''them'' decided to leak what they knew to the press. Which, by the way, that reminds me." Unfolding the document, he examines it closely from behind the rim of his spectacles. "Now that these detainees are under the jurisdiction of the UN, I've had a chance to review the records from the prison..."<br />
<br />
Pierce drops the document in front of Malthus, pushing it toward him. "...and I couldn't help but notice a funny little discrepancy." <br />
<br />
Malthus glances down at the document.<br />
<br />
"Magneto wasn't due to be transferred to that facility for another three months. Someone bumped him ahead of schedule. Hell of a oversight, don't you think? I mean, who'd be stupid enough to put the world's most renowned mutant terrorist in the same room as the one guy who's famous for breaking mutants ''out'' of prisons? Almost like somebody was ''hoping'' for a fight."<br />
<br />
Malthus's grip on the sextant tightens.<br />
<br />
"No one knows who authorized it, either. Which is wild, since -- knowing you as well as I do -- I figure that, in these places, a gnat doesn't take so much as a crap without getting the authorization notarized in triplicate."<br />
<br />
"What are you insinuating?"<br />
<br />
Pierce looks Malthus dead in the eyes: "I'm 'insinuating' that you should get the fuck out of my office and go back to work."<br />
<br />
Malthus rises to his feet. He sets the sextant down, with the engraving facing up toward Pierce: 'I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL'. He moves to leave.<br />
<br />
At the door, he stops and turns -- his voice as quiet as the grave: "It won't work, you know."<br />
<br />
Pierce, already returning to his own work, barely bothers to glance up: "What won't?"<br />
<br />
"Replacing me with Fury. We hate each other -- but we know what we are. We see one another clearly. But you... when he finally sees ''you'', the hate he has for me will seem trifling by comparison."<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. Malthus exits and closes the door.<br />
<br />
Several minutes later, Pierce is still frowning.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Vignette_-_Check-in&diff=24090Logs:Vignette - Check-in2022-05-11T18:24:17Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Malthus]], [[NPC-Pierce]]<br />
| summary = "And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?"<br />
| gamedate = 2022-05-06<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> Pierce's Office<br />
| categories = Malthus, HAMMER, Humans, NPC-Pierce, Hydra<br />
| log = The office is, like Pierce, something of an anachronism. Pale blue carpeting, with towering mahogany bookshelves that nearly ''groan'' beneath the weight of their contents. An original Davenport desk, far older than its owner. Several padded Edwardian salon chairs. A glass case containing numerous trinkets; a globe from the 1800s, a pocket-watch from the British East India Company, a framed map of the Dutch West India Company's colonies. A photograph of Pierce at his 12-year old niece's birthday party.<br />
<br />
What does ''not'' belong here is Captain Malthus Rogers -- dressed in black, seated in one of the pleated chairs... examining a small antique brass sextant he has taken from Pierce's desk. His lone functional eye examines the engraving along one of the sextant's edges. He appears, in every feasible way, to be a man capable of delivering tremendous yet precise violence in an instant.<br />
<br />
When Pierce arrives, he is everything Malthus is not: like someone's friendly anachronistic rich elderly uncle. He's dressed in a sharply-fitted charcoal-grey suit with a buttoned up vest and tie. He does ''not'' look capable of violence -- quite the opposite. At this moment, he's carrying a mostly-empty gift-bag from Levain Bakery that he has previously been sharing with his office's staff. "For the love of -- you couldn't call, first?" <br />
<br />
Malthus continues examining the sextant.<br />
<br />
Pierce sets the bag on his desk, then comes round to the other side. Once he's settled in, he fishes a pair of spectacles out of his pocket, dons them, then scoots in and folds his hands atop of the desk. "Well?"<br />
<br />
Malthus slides a thumb across the engraving. He does not look up.<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. "...seriously?"<br />
<br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
"Are you -- Jesus, Malthus." Pierce takes his glasses off and rubs at his forehead. "For once, could you just talk to me like a normal human being?"<br />
<br />
Still nothing.<br />
<br />
Sighing, Pierce reaches under the desk, dims the lights with a switch, and then -- with an exasperated, long-suffering look -- lifts his right hand. "Hail Hydra," he mumbles.<br />
<br />
"Hail Hydra," Malthus whispers in return. His eye lifts to meet Pierce's.<br />
<br />
"Now, can we get to it?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury what?" For just a moment, a genuine twinkle flashes in Pierce's eyes. "Did Fury talk to you? Oh, wait -- is this that Army vs Marine thing I hear so much about? Has Fury been ''bullying'' you?" He's trying very hard not to grin.<br />
<br />
Though Malthus barely shows it, the malice around him grows into something palpable.<br />
<br />
Pierce rolls his eyes. "I didn't put him up to it, if that's what you're asking. Really, though -- as much as you've got on your plate right now, ''that's'' why you're here?"<br />
<br />
"I want Holland back."<br />
<br />
"And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?" Pierce lifts his hands. ''You lost Magneto''. You know -- Master of Magnets?" He waggles his fingers, as if controlling kitchen magnets from afar.<br />
<br />
"Had I the operational forces I needed--"<br />
<br />
"Actually, you know what? Let's do this. Let's crack that walnut open." Pierce cuts in. "At exactly what point were you planning on telling me or anyone else about your own little private Avengers initiative?"<br />
<br />
Malthus grimaces and breaks eye contact. Pierce savors the victory for just a moment, then presses on: "You know how many leaks I had to squelch to keep that tidbit out of the news? Fortunately for you, most of your men can't tell the difference between a violent mutant terrorist and one of your own. Not that there ''is'' much of a difference -- outside of general competence, I mean." Pierce reaches for his glasses once more, putting them back them. "But you ''do'' know it's just a matter of time before Fury finds out, right? I mean, I'm good, but he could solve a murder at the annual deaf-and-blind butler convention. And when he does, I'm not covering your ass from ''that'' firestorm."<br />
<br />
"I'm taking care of it."<br />
<br />
"No, you aren't. It's already being taken care of," Pierce replies, retrieving a document from within his desk. "God help us all if one of ''them'' decided to leak what they knew to the press. Which, by the way, that reminds me." Unfolding the document, he examines it closely from behind the rim of his spectacles. "Now that these detainees are under the jurisdiction of the UN, I've had a chance to review the records from the prison..."<br />
<br />
Pierce drops the document in front of Malthus, pushing it toward him. "...and I couldn't help but notice a funny little discrepancy." <br />
<br />
Malthus glances down at the document.<br />
<br />
"Magneto wasn't due to be transferred to that facility for another three months. Someone bumped him ahead of schedule. Hell of a oversight, don't you think? I mean, who'd be stupid enough to put the world's most renowned mutant terrorist in the same room as the one guy who's famous for breaking mutants ''out'' of prisons? Almost like somebody was ''hoping'' for a fight."<br />
<br />
Malthus's grip on the sextant tightens.<br />
<br />
"No one knows who authorized it, either. Which is wild, since -- knowing you as well as I do -- I figure that, in these places, a gnat doesn't take so much as a crap without getting the authorization notarized in triplicate."<br />
<br />
"What are you insinuating?"<br />
<br />
Pierce looks Malthus dead in the eyes: "I'm 'insinuating' that you should get the fuck out of my office and go back to work."<br />
<br />
Malthus rises to his feet. He sets the sextant down, with the engraving facing up toward Pierce: 'I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL'. He moves to leave.<br />
<br />
At the door, he stops and turns -- his voice as quiet as the grave: "It won't work, you know."<br />
<br />
Pierce, already returning to his own work, barely bothers to glance up: "What won't?"<br />
<br />
"Replacing me with Fury. We hate each other -- but we know what we are. We see one another clearly. But you... when he finally sees ''you'', the hate he has for me will seem trifling by comparison."<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. Malthus exits and closes the door.<br />
<br />
Several minutes later, Pierce is still frowning.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Vignette_-_Check-in&diff=24089Logs:Vignette - Check-in2022-05-11T18:04:56Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Malthus]], [[NPC-Pierce]]<br />
| summary = "And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?"<br />
| gamedate = 2022-05-06<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> Pierce's Office<br />
| categories = Malthus, HAMMER, Humans, NPC-Pierce, Hydra<br />
| log = The office is, like Pierce, something of an anachronism. Pale blue carpeting, with towering mahogany bookshelves that nearly ''groan'' beneath the weight of their contents. An original Davenport desk, far older than its owner. Several padded Edwardian salon chairs. A glass case containing numerous trinkets; a globe from the 1800s, a pocket-watch from the British East India Company, a framed map of the Dutch West India Company's colonies. A photograph of Pierce at his 12-year old niece's birthday party.<br />
<br />
What does ''not'' belong here is Captain Malthus Rogers -- dressed in black, seated in one of the pleated chairs... examining a small antique brass sextant he has taken from Pierce's desk. His lone functional eye examines the engraving along one of the sextant's edges. He appears, in every feasible way, to be a man capable of delivering tremendous yet precise violence in an instant.<br />
<br />
When Pierce arrives, he is everything Malthus is not: like someone's friendly anachronistic rich elderly uncle. He's dressed in a sharply-fitted charcoal-grey suit with a buttoned up vest and tie. He does ''not'' look capable of violence -- quite the opposite. At this moment, he's carrying a mostly-empty gift-bag from Levain Bakery that he has previously been sharing with his office's staff. "For the love of -- you couldn't call, first?" <br />
<br />
Malthus continues examining the sextant.<br />
<br />
Pierce sets the bag on his desk, then comes round to the other side. Once he's settled in, he fishes a pair of spectacles out of his pocket, dons them, then scoots in and folds his hands atop of the desk. "Well?"<br />
<br />
Malthus slides a thumb across the engraving. He does not look up.<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. "...seriously?"<br />
<br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
"Are you -- Jesus, Malthus." Pierce takes his glasses off and rubs at his forehead. "For once, could you just talk to me like a normal human being?"<br />
<br />
Still nothing.<br />
<br />
Sighing, Pierce reaches under the desk, dims the lights with a switch, and then -- with an exasperated, long-suffering look -- lifts his right hand. "Hail Hydra," he mumbles.<br />
<br />
"Hail Hydra," Malthus whispers in return. His eye lifts to meet Pierce's.<br />
<br />
"Now, can we get to it?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury what?" For just a moment, a genuine twinkle flashes in Pierce's eyes. "Did Fury talk to you? Oh, wait -- is this that Army vs Marine thing I hear so much about? Has Fury been ''bullying'' you?" He's trying very hard not to grin.<br />
<br />
Though Malthus barely shows it, the malice around him grows into something palpable.<br />
<br />
Pierce rolls his eyes. "I didn't put him up to it, if that's what you're asking. Really, though -- as much as you've got on your plate right now, ''that's'' why you're here?"<br />
<br />
"I want Holland back."<br />
<br />
"And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?" Pierce lifts his hands. ''You lost Magneto''. You know -- Master of Magnets?" He waggles his fingers, as if controlling kitchen magnets from afar.<br />
<br />
"Had I the operational forces I needed--"<br />
<br />
"Actually, you know what? Let's do this. Let's crack that walnut open." Pierce cuts in. "At exactly what point were you planning on telling me or anyone else about your own little private Avengers initiative?"<br />
<br />
Malthus grimaces and breaks eye contact. Pierce savors the victory for just a moment, then presses on: "You know how many leaks I had to squelch to keep that tidbit out of the news? Fortunately for you, most of your men can't tell the difference between a violent mutant terrorist and one of your men. Not that there ''is'' much of a difference -- outside of general competence, I mean." Pierce reaches for his glasses once more, putting them back them. "But you ''do'' know it's just a matter of time before Fury finds out, right? I mean, I'm good, but he could solve a murder at the annual deaf-and-blind butler convention. And when he does, I'm not covering your ass from ''that'' firestorm."<br />
<br />
"I'm taking care of it."<br />
<br />
"No, you aren't. It's already being taken care of," Pierce replies, retrieving a document from within his desk. "God help us all if one of ''them'' decided to leak what they knew to the press. Which, by the way, that reminds me." Unfolding the document, he examines it closely from behind the rim of his spectacles. "Now that these detainees are under the jurisdiction of the UN, I've had a chance to review the records from the prison..."<br />
<br />
Pierce drops the document in front of Malthus, pushing it toward him. "...and I couldn't help but notice a funny little discrepancy." <br />
<br />
Malthus glances down at the document.<br />
<br />
"Magneto wasn't due to be transferred to that facility for another three months. Someone bumped him ahead of schedule. Hell of a oversight, don't you think? I mean, who'd be stupid enough to put the world's most renowned mutant terrorist in the same room as the one guy who's famous for breaking mutants ''out'' of prisons? Almost like somebody was ''hoping'' for a fight."<br />
<br />
Malthus's grip on the sextant tightens.<br />
<br />
"No one knows who authorized it, either. Which is wild, since -- knowing you as well as I do -- I figure that, in these places, a gnat doesn't take so much as a crap without getting the authorization notarized in triplicate."<br />
<br />
"What are you insinuating?"<br />
<br />
Pierce looks Malthus dead in the eyes: "I'm 'insinuating' that you should get the fuck out of my office and go back to work."<br />
<br />
Malthus rises to his feet. He sets the sextant down, with the engraving facing up toward Pierce: 'I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL'. He moves to leave.<br />
<br />
At the door, he stops and turns -- his voice as quiet as the grave: "It won't work, you know."<br />
<br />
Pierce, already returning to his own work, barely bothers to glance up: "What won't?"<br />
<br />
"Replacing me with Fury. We hate each other -- but we know what we are. We see one another clearly. But you... when he finally sees ''you'', the hate he has for me will seem trifling by comparison."<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. Malthus exits and closes the door.<br />
<br />
Several minutes later, Pierce is still frowning.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Vignette_-_Check-in&diff=24088Logs:Vignette - Check-in2022-05-11T18:04:01Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Malthus, NPC-Pierce | summary = "" | gamedate = 2022-05-06 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <NYC> Pierce's Office | categories = Malthus,..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Malthus]], [[NPC-Pierce]]<br />
| summary = ""<br />
| gamedate = 2022-05-06<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <NYC> Pierce's Office<br />
| categories = Malthus, HAMMER, Humans, NPC-Pierce, Hydra<br />
| log = The office is, like Pierce, something of an anachronism. Pale blue carpeting, with towering mahogany bookshelves that nearly ''groan'' beneath the weight of their contents. An original Davenport desk, far older than its owner. Several padded Edwardian salon chairs. A glass case containing numerous trinkets; a globe from the 1800s, a pocket-watch from the British East India Company, a framed map of the Dutch West India Company's colonies. A photograph of Pierce at his 12-year old niece's birthday party.<br />
<br />
What does ''not'' belong here is Captain Malthus Rogers -- dressed in black, seated in one of the pleated chairs... examining a small antique brass sextant he has taken from Pierce's desk. His lone functional eye examines the engraving along one of the sextant's edges. He appears, in every feasible way, to be a man capable of delivering tremendous yet precise violence in an instant.<br />
<br />
When Pierce arrives, he is everything Malthus is not: like someone's friendly anachronistic rich elderly uncle. He's dressed in a sharply-fitted charcoal-grey suit with a buttoned up vest and tie. He does ''not'' look capable of violence -- quite the opposite. At this moment, he's carrying a mostly-empty gift-bag from Levain Bakery that he has previously been sharing with his office's staff. "For the love of -- you couldn't call, first?" <br />
<br />
Malthus continues examining the sextant.<br />
<br />
Pierce sets the bag on his desk, then comes round to the other side. Once he's settled in, he fishes a pair of spectacles out of his pocket, dons them, then scoots in and folds his hands atop of the desk. "Well?"<br />
<br />
Malthus slides a thumb across the engraving. He does not look up.<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. "...seriously?"<br />
<br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
"Are you -- Jesus, Malthus." Pierce takes his glasses off and rubs at his forehead. "For once, could you just talk to me like a normal human being?"<br />
<br />
Still nothing.<br />
<br />
Sighing, Pierce reaches under the desk, dims the lights with a switch, and then -- with an exasperated, long-suffering look -- lifts his right hand. "Hail Hydra," he mumbles.<br />
<br />
"Hail Hydra," Malthus whispers in return. His eye lifts to meet Pierce's.<br />
<br />
"Now, can we get to it?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury?"<br />
<br />
"Why Fury what?" For just a moment, a genuine twinkle flashes in Pierce's eyes. "Did Fury talk to you? Oh, wait -- is this that Army vs Marine thing I hear so much about? Has Fury been ''bullying'' you?" He's trying very hard not to grin.<br />
<br />
Though Malthus barely shows it, the malice around him grows into something palpable.<br />
<br />
Pierce rolls his eyes. "I didn't put him up to it, if that's what you're asking. Really, though -- as much as you've got on your plate right now, ''that's'' why you're here?"<br />
<br />
"I want Holland back."<br />
<br />
"And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?" Pierce lifts his hands. ''You lost Magneto''. You know -- Master of Magnets?" He waggles his fingers, as if controlling kitchen magnets from afar.<br />
<br />
"Had I the operational forces I needed--"<br />
<br />
"Actually, you know what? Let's do this. Let's crack that walnut open." Pierce cuts in. "At exactly what point were you planning on telling me or anyone else about your own little private Avengers initiative?"<br />
<br />
Malthus grimaces and breaks eye contact. Pierce savors the victory for just a moment, then presses on: "You know how many leaks I had to squelch to keep that tidbit out of the news? Fortunately for you, most of your men can't tell the difference between a violent mutant terrorist and one of your men. Not that there ''is'' much of a difference -- outside of general competence, I mean." Pierce reaches for his glasses once more, putting them back them. "But you ''do'' know it's just a matter of time before Fury finds out, right? I mean, I'm good, but he could solve a murder at the annual deaf-and-blind butler convention. And when he does, I'm not covering your ass from ''that'' firestorm."<br />
<br />
"I'm taking care of it."<br />
<br />
"No, you aren't. It's already being taken care of," Pierce replies, retrieving a document from within his desk. "God help us all if one of ''them'' decided to leak what they knew to the press. Which, by the way, that reminds me." Unfolding the document, he examines it closely from behind the rim of his spectacles. "Now that these detainees are under the jurisdiction of the UN, I've had a chance to review the records from the prison..."<br />
<br />
Pierce drops the document in front of Malthus, pushing it toward him. "...and I couldn't help but notice a funny little discrepancy." <br />
<br />
Malthus glances down at the document.<br />
<br />
"Magneto wasn't due to be transferred to that facility for another three months. Someone bumped him ahead of schedule. Hell of a oversight, don't you think? I mean, who'd be stupid enough to put the world's most renowned mutant terrorist in the same room as the one guy who's famous for breaking mutants ''out'' of prisons? Almost like somebody was ''hoping'' for a fight."<br />
<br />
Malthus's grip on the sextant tightens.<br />
<br />
"No one knows who authorized it, either. Which is wild, since -- knowing you as well as I do -- I figure that, in these places, a gnat doesn't take so much as a crap without getting the authorization notarized in triplicate."<br />
<br />
"What are you insinuating?"<br />
<br />
Pierce looks Malthus dead in the eyes: "I'm 'insinuating' that you should get the fuck out of my office and go back to work."<br />
<br />
Malthus rises to his feet. He sets the sextant down, with the engraving facing up toward Pierce: 'I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL'. He moves to leave.<br />
<br />
At the door, he stops and turns -- his voice as quiet as the grave: "It won't work, you know."<br />
<br />
Pierce, already returning to his own work, barely bothers to glance up: "What won't?"<br />
<br />
"Replacing me with Fury. We hate each other -- but we know what we are. We see one another clearly. But you... when he finally sees ''you'', the hate he has for me will seem trifling by comparison."<br />
<br />
Pierce frowns. Malthus exits and closes the door.<br />
<br />
Several minutes later, Pierce is still frowning.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Good_Shepherds&diff=24057Logs:Good Shepherds2022-04-08T18:52:48Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Dusk, Heather, NPC-Carnage | summary = "I need a sheepdog." | gamedate = 2022-04-06 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <BOM> Beachfront..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Dusk]], [[Heather]], [[NPC-Carnage]]<br />
| summary = "I need a sheepdog."<br />
| gamedate = 2022-04-06<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <BOM> Beachfront - Ascension Island<br />
| categories = Dusk, Heather, NPC-Carnage, Ascension Island, Brotherhood of Mutants, Mutants<br />
| log = Largely rocky and desolate, the majority of the waterfront on this small island is an unwelcoming place. Craggy and forbidding, lined with jagged black rocks, the coast here can take a fair bit of scrambling to navigate. Here and there, though, the coastline levels out to narrow sweeps of pebbly beaches littered with shells and seaweed carried in on the frigid tide. Occasional old trunks of fallen trees dot the narrow beach, victims of the storms that frequently plague the island. One small stretch of the western shore holds a small dock, a few boats usually moored there. Tucked off the mainland coast in Jamaica Bay, the buildings and lights of the city can be seen far across the water.<br />
<br />
Just a little deeper in -- past the sharp, jagged rocks, past a few of the trees -- tucked away at a spot you can't ''quite'' see from the shoreline... there's an old, small, rusted up speed-boat that washed up ashore maybe a decade ago. It's just big enough to have an interior cabin (with a cramped space for a bed and precious little else), and -- thanks to some recent work -- both the engine and internal battery work. Which means this old rust-bucket is now... a semi-serviceable (and extremely inefficient) house!<br />
<br />
As to ''who's'' house it is... well, the first clue is probably the name -- once 'PRINCESS', emblazoned in black, someone's added 'MISTER' in front of the name in rusty-red letters that look almost like they were put on with finger-paint. Additionally, there's an ice-chest besides it, plopped down in the sand -- with more red-brown lettering: 'PUT BLOOD AND/OR BEER IN HERE'.<br />
_ _<br />
<br />
The contents of various... 'care packages' that the boat's inhabitant have received are strewn around the boat, used up -- empty water and beer-bottles, chopped up cereal boxes... some attempt to organize it into a pile (to be disposed of later) has been made, and promptly abandoned.<br />
<br />
Many of the trees around here have notable ''score'' marks, as if immense claws have been regularly raked across their surface. Within the boat, there's a light -- the faint sound of people speaking -- someone's watching something on a recently acquired tablet, by the sound of it.<br />
<br />
Dusk is a frequent conveyor of both blood ''and'' beer -- today he's noticeably bearing the latter, a six-pack of stout held in one hand. He doesn't put it in the chest, instead making his way onto the boat. He leans his shoulder up against the wall beside the door, turning to look out at the mess around the boat with a faint grimace that fades away as he knocks at the cabin door. "Yo," he calls, bright and clear, "delivery."<br />
<br />
As Dusk approaches, the sound of voices from inside of the makeshift boat-home decreases -- a if someone's turning down the volume. There's an immediate ''clink-clink-clank'' of bottles all tumbling against one another; a muffled curse follows. By the time Dusk's knocking, the voice rises up, raspy and hoarse: "Just -- one sec. One fuckin'... fuck."<br />
<br />
The door rattles and opens. Cletus peers out -- clad in a white sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. He lifts his one arm up to rub the back of his knuckles against a bleary, slightly reddened eye. Behind him, the tablet is thrown atop of that absolute mess of a bed, its screen frozen on a scene from some show about pirates. "I'll clean that shit up, I swear," Cletus mutters, looking past Dusk at the mess surrounding the boat.<br />
<br />
During the course of the clattering inside of the boat-home, Heather has zipped her way over to join Dusk. She is holding in one hand a notebook with a pen hooked on the coil, the clip having a horizontal white mark that bodes poorly for the writing utensil's longevity. The other hand is her everpresenct recorder, which plays, "Hello. Am I interrupting your boat visit?" Despite her slight build, her tie-dye t-shirt and multicolour star-patterned tights and purple ski goggles make her hard to miss amidst the mess around the boat. Her eyebrows raise. "If you require tidying assistance, I may be able to offer some. Later. I have other tasks to complete more pressingly."<br />
<br />
"Is that ''Our Flag Means Death''? I'm obsessed. I've been reading this great fic where Izzy Hands --" Dusk stops as Heather zips over, offering the beers out to Cletus. "Don't think we have like, a room tidiness rule but I can definitely help get --" His thumbclaw flicks behind him toward the beach. "Some of that away."<br />
<br />
Cletus's nostrils flare. He turns to Heather, eyeing the recorder with a look of puzzlement -- like he's trying to figure out whether or not he's seeing what he's seeing or maybe he ''really'' needs some sleep. He looks back to Dusk, down to the beer -- decides this is, in fact, real -- then leans his back against the door frame and resumes rubbing his eye. "...naw, I'll -- take care of it," he mutters. "I... uh." His brow furrows, working through the next words: "...appreciate it, though."<br />
<br />
Dusk's mention of the show seems to prompt Cletus to flash a little paler; he folds his arm over his chest, rubbing his left bicep: "I, uh... I dunno, it's some show about pirates? I just watched an episode or two." The screen is clearly frozen on the last episode. Cletus's eyes drop back down to the beer. From the tip of his left forearm, crimson emerges -- extending into a five-clawed hand. It plucks a bottle of stout out by the tip of the bottle in a motion that seems almost ''surgical'' in its careful precision. "What's the notepad for?" he asks Heather. "Nerd shit?" By his tone, he considers this a perfectly legit question.<br />
<br />
"Nerd shit is my modus operandi," confirms Heather, "My answer to that question cannot be no. In this case, I am keeping it so that I can write anything I think. I am considering how to approach a problem. I need to force organization upon a chaotic situation." She bows her head and then looks over towards Dusk. "If you are reading a good fic, I would appreciate a link. I have not finished the show, but I would like to bookmark it."<br />
<br />
"Oh, it only keeps getting better," Dusk assures Cletus. He's taking out his phone, paging through his browser history -- a moment later a text with a link comes through to Heather. "We usually force chaos on organized situations but it's nice to mix things up every once in a while."<br />
<br />
Cletus's red claw thumb snaps up beneath the neck of the bottle, popping the cap off with a ''pfsst''. He immediately takes a pull while Dusk is browsing through his history to send the link to Heather. He grimaces, wipes his mouth with the back of his flesh-hand, then tells her: "...force organization on... uh, yeah. More of a 'chaos' guy myself. They call me 'Carnage', not 'Calm and Orderly'."<br />
<br />
Heather places her hands on her hips as her recorder plays, "I enjoy chaos as much as anyone. It is interesting. But sometimes some chaos control is required to accomplish the main objective. The chaos that is to be tamed is going to be brought by us as well." She places her thumb on her chin thoughtfully, while her voice continues uninterrupted by the change in posture. "I would be interested in your interpretation of someone called 'Calm and Orderly'."<br />
<br />
"...the hell you doin' that? The recorder, I mean, like how the hell -- did you fuckin' record everything you're gonna say ''before'' you even got here?" Cletus asks, his nose scrunching at Heather as he peers at the recorder. "If so, that's one hell of a trick." He lets the bottle he's opened dangle between two claws, placed just far apart enough to let it dangle by the rim, slowly swinging it back and forth -- thinking about what 'Calm and Orderly' would be.<br />
<br />
"I guess... I dunno. Guy who makes shit boring. Reverses entropy or some shit. Coins always come up heads, tails, heads, tails -- shit like that. Most likely outcome is what you get." He shrugs. Then, after a pause -- eye drifting back to Dusk, then back to Heather -- he tilts the bottle back, drinks, and asks: "...this about a job?"<br />
<br />
"I record some of what I say before I arrive. I record more upon arriving. My voice is too fast and I make it slow," explains Heather's recorder. "There are common phrases or explanations that are pre-recorded." She points downards to the voice recorder at this part to point out that this is one such explanation.<br />
<br />
There is a brief pause as she readies something new to say. "This is about a job. It would not do for things to fall apart too easily."<br />
<br />
Behind his sunglasses Dusk's expression is mostly opaque, but he is leveling a long look on Cletus before speaking. "So you're looking for what, Orderly Carnage?" One of his shoulders rolls in a languid approximation of a shrug. "If we play this right, could be in and out pretty quick and keep the chaos to a minimum, but, best laid plans. I don't think this jail is --" He stops here, frowning. "Wait. Do you -- know who Magneto ''is''."<br />
<br />
Cletus's brows perk up at Heather's explanation. "But I don't see you -- you're ''that'' fast?" he says, and there's a breathy amusement in his voice. "But if you have to slow your voice down... shit, you can't turn it off? That's gotta be... fuck. I get pissed when I gotta wait through those 5 second video ads."<br />
<br />
The ebb of amusement becomes a faint glimmer at the mention of a job -- a slight exhaled hiss. "Look, I..." His eyes drift to Dusk. "...owe y'all... a lot, so I'm happy to do whatever, but there's really only one thing I'm good at, and only one group of people I ''really'' wanna keep doin' it to." He bares his teeth; it's half-way between a grimace and a grin. "Hopefully, that's why you're here."<br />
<br />
He head-tilts at Dusk's question, then looks back to Heather: "Huh?" Back to Dusk again: "Mag... wait, ain't he... that guy in the cape and helmet? Tried to like, blow up the Statue of Liberty or somethin' a while back?"<br />
<br />
"I use an ad blocker," is all Heather seems to have to say on the subject of her speed. "Magneto is the wizard man from the news," she confirms with a few rapid nods of her head. "If he intended to blow up the Statue of Liberty, it would be gone. It is mostly metal. Which is good that he did not; I have nothing against giant torch-bearing women."<br />
<br />
She gestures with her recorder towards Dusk, "Orderly Carnage suits me. It is a shepherding issue. I need a sheepdog."<br />
<br />
"It's a prison for mutants run by a bunch of genocidal fascists who want us all dead," Dusk answers plainly. "We're getting people out. You don't ''have'' to come, but we could use the help." His wing pushes at the wall, levering him up out of his lean. "We're not aiming for a massacre, just a rescue. But I got a feeling ''HAMMER'' is gonna be pretty pro-massacre, so if everyone's gonna get out alive --" His wing lifts in a small shrug.<br />
<br />
"More wolf than shepherd, but I can get the job done," Cletus tells Heather. When Dusk says the words 'prison', 'mutants', and 'genocidal fascists who want us all dead', his mouth twitches upwards. A little bit of the sadness melts out of him; there's a sort of underlying manic energy to him, now. "Oh, well fuck -- in that case, I'm ''definitely'' in." The empty socket where an eye once laid is now filled with a moon-yellow orb, floating in a black-crimson sea. "I'll help you spring your wizard out of wizard jail."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Human_Resources&diff=24051Logs:Human Resources2022-04-05T01:34:10Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Rasheed, Malthus | summary = "You can have your men. I pray they'll be put to good use." | gamedate = 2022-02-15 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | loc..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Rasheed]], [[Malthus]]<br />
| summary = "You can have your men. I pray they'll be put to good use."<br />
| gamedate = 2022-02-15<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <HFC> Bishop's Salon - HFC Second Floor<br />
| categories = Malthus, Rasheed, Humans, Mutants, HAMMER, Prometheus<br />
| log = One of half dozen such rooms at the club, this is an intimate parlor where one might take luncheon, tea, or brandy and cigars after supper. Each is sumptuously appointed in the theme of a chess piece--the Bishop in this case. For all that, the decor is fairly light on actual Christian symbolism. Aside from the Paradise Lost triptych over the mantle, an illuminated manuscript on its own pedestal in one corner, and an ornate gold monstrance (absent the host) mounted above the door, the paraphernalia on the shelves and walls mostly relate to general Medieval scholarship and scrivening.<br />
<br />
Here among the lavish theatricality of the ultra-rich, it's hard to tell whether Malthus Rogers is out of place or in his element. The jagged notch of that scar -- crossing his left eye and curling down to his lip, where it tugs at the corner to create a specter of a gruesome smile -- certainly lends him a particular 'Phantom of the Opera' aesthetic which is entirely suitable for the atmosphere. But there is a degree of awkwardness to the way he carries himself amidst all this finery... as if he would much prefer to be picking through the remains of a battlefield.<br />
<br />
"Stay here," Malthus tells 'Gunny' -- a man dressed in a crisp black suit and blue collar shirt, sans tie. He looks similarly ill at ease. A Lichtenberg figure covers the left side of his face, extending across the back of his scalp in a geometric scrawl. He grunts in affirmation, stepping besides the entrance to the private salon -- keeping an eye out while fingering an old brass lighter with the Marine Corps insignia welded to the front. ''Clnk. Clnk. Clnk.''<br />
<br />
Malthus, meanwhile, steps inside -- arms neatly folded behind his back. "Dr. Rasheed -- a pleasure."<br />
<br />
No doubt Rasheed, with all his inherited wealth, inherited club membership, is well used to such settings. Even in finely tailored grey suit, though, he manages to make ''any'' surroundings look ill-fitted to him. He's been sitting, a little hunched, in an armchair, long fingers curled around a crystal glass of sparkling water. His eyes tick to the door when it opens. His eyes linger -- slightly narrowing -- on Gunny before darting to Malthus. The small nod he gives is delayed, and he gestures toward an empty seat across from him with a flick of a hand. "Mr. Rogers." Like his clothing, like the room around him, the words are just the wrong side of too-awkward in his mouth. "I've seen more of you in the news this past week than the past several years, I think."<br />
<br />
"...hn. Yes. If I am being truthful, I find the attention... rather disconcerting," Malthus admits, pausing on his journey toward the empty seat to examine a suit of ornately decorated medieval armor. He is briefly distracted by the swirling patterns of gold spirals which adorn its surface. Soon enough, his attention returns to Rasheed -- his mouth shifting into a small, reflexive smile. He moves to the chair across from him, sinking into it... immediately shifting, stilted. Too soft, too comfortable; too ''luxuriant''. "Public relations are not my precise forte. Heightened visibility... complicates... the execution of one's duties. A challenge I'm sure you're acquainted with." Just outside, almost entirely out of ear-shot, Gunny continues to flick the lighter's lid. ''Clnk. Clnk. Clnk.''<br />
<br />
"We had gotten used to a certain level of obscurity." Rasheed's acknowledgment is mildly pinched, as is his ''exceedingly'' mild follow-up: "And were on our way to fading back into it before your little stunt with Holland." He swirls his water idly in his glass, watching the light refract through the crystal. When he looks up again its with a small lift of his brows. "''Complicates''. Yes. The swarm of reporters can't camp out at your offices forever." Though after this his mouth presses together, a tight displeased line: "Though ''someone'' in his camp ''is'' -- very adroit at PR."<br />
<br />
"Mhh... I had suspected as much." Malthus finally settles upon a position that leaves his hands draped across the armrests, as if his fingers seek to dig into them. "I readily admit -- and highly regret -- my error, along with the obstacles it will no doubt create for you and your people. The importance of the work you're doing..." He shifts his left shoulder up, then his right; shifting awkwardly, as if trying to burrow his way back into the seat. At last, he seems content. "...I am unaccustom to this manner of warfare, Doctor. But I am also a swift learner -- and not one to pass up an opportunity. One that, if properly acted upon, could benefit ''both'' of our interests."<br />
<br />
Rasheed rests his glass on the arm of his chair. He's sitting tipped forward toward the edge of the seat, his other hand -- perhaps out of some kind of sympathy -- digging into the opposite arm of the chair. There's a small sideways twitch at the corner of his mouth at ''warfare'', though his expression doesn't otherwise change. "We have had to be very adaptable in order to keep our project productive." His fingers peel up one by one from the leather of the armrest, hand turning upward once he has loosened his grip. "Opportunity? Tell me this doesn't have to ''do'' with Holland."<br />
<br />
Malthus's hands drift up from the arm-rests at the mention of Holland's name, only his elbows remaining stationary -- fingers curling together into a single unit, hovering directly in front and below his chin. "Keeping Holland in custody is critical -- the public is fickle. The longer he remains in our custody, the longer he will -- how did you put it? 'Fade into obscurity'."<br />
<br />
"...but eventually, I suspect, he ''will'' be free. He has many passionate, vocal allies -- allies with extraordinary reach. And once he is free, I suspect you will find yourself beneath the hot-white glow of that spotlight once more. Holland doesn't strike me as the sort of man to give up on this... Quixotic quest of his."<br />
<br />
"I do hope you are correct -- on the fading away front." Rasheed drops his hand back to the armrest. His fingers drum in one slow roll, and then another. "I can hardly fault the man for his persistence. But we have our own cause to further." His dark eyes fix on Malthus, steady and curious. "What, then, have you come to propose?"<br />
<br />
Outside, the flicking of the lighter continues. ''Clnk. Clnk.'' "Holland's narrative relies upon the perception of his moral sanctity. But such perceptions are fragile things; easily broken in the heat of battle." Malthus's index fingers curl up from the fist; their tips press against his upper lip, his single eye focused on the door leading out of the salon -- on 'Gunny', waiting outside. "I want to drastically expand Mr. Holland's security detail."<br />
<br />
''Clnk. Clnk. Clnk.'' His eye flicks toward Rasheed: "Sergeant Poindexter has proven highly versatile. With your permission, I would like access to other similarly... suitable candidates. Not for anything illegal, I assure you -- just for added security. To protect the facility, and -- on the off-chance that an opportunity presents itself. An opportunity to... shall we say, 'change the narrative'."<br />
<br />
"Hnh." Rasheed's eyes have gotten ''just'' a bit wider, a flicker of surprise across his face. He doesn't quite stop himself from darting a glance back toward the door. "Really." He does, at least, keep ''most'' of the surprise out of his voice. "I'm glad that -- has worked out for you both. We do have the personnel. They are -- volatile, still, but have been making good progress." He lifts a hand, elbow propped on the armrest and his palm rubbing against his cheek. "But he man has broken into seventeen of our facilities without a single fatality, do you think prison is going to -- give him a greater appetite for violence?" His brows have lifted higher. "Not," he adds, "that I would not be grateful if you managed to tarnish his halo."<br />
<br />
Malthus's mouth twists upwards -- a hint of amusement at Rasheed's brief flash of surprise. "Let's just say that I have a certain way with Sergeant Poindexter's... type."<br />
<br />
''Clnk.'' "Regarding his record -- no disrespect intended to your facilities, nor your security forces. But you are a research operation, Dr. Rasheed. Your work concerns the preservation of life -- mine, only its cessation. We are the US military -- we have been killing mutants for decades. I assure you -- should my facility suffer an attack, there ''will'' be blood."<br />
<br />
His eye drifts back to Gunny, at the door. "...particularly with such uniquely gifted personnel at our disposal."<br />
<br />
Rasheed's lips twists, too, thin and down for a brief moment. "We owe a great debt of gratitude to the military for allowing us to continue our work freely." He lifts his glass, taking a swallow of his water as if to wash a bad taste from his mouth. It sounds wearier when he speaks again: "You can have your men. I pray they'll be put to good use."<br />
<br />
----<br />
<br />
Once the details have been worked out, Malthus emerges from the salon. Gunny snaps his lighter shut, swiftly following behind. ''Clnk.''<br />
<br />
"...sir?"<br />
<br />
Malthus doesn't look back. "Put the transfer paperwork through for our 'special guest' -- make sure Holland gets to meet him. Your strike-team will be arriving shortly, Sergeant."<br />
<br />
Sergeant Poindexter's scarred face splits into a menacing, joyful grin. "Oh, man, Captain... you're gonna fuckin' ''love'' these guys."<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Wise_Counsel&diff=23992Logs:Wise Counsel2022-02-19T04:34:21Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Tian-shin, Malthus | summary = "If you do not comply by..." She glances at her wristwatch. "...5pm ''yesterday'', you will have committed a procedure..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Tian-shin]], [[Malthus]]<br />
| summary = "If you do not comply by..." She glances at her wristwatch. "...5pm ''yesterday'', you will have committed a procedure due process violation. <br />
| gamedate = 2022-02-16<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Federal Plaza<br />
| categories = Humans, Mutants, Malthus, Tian-shin<br />
| log = The DHS building in Federal Plaza is what you'd expect; an austere-looking office-building with multiple floors and offices to handle the many bureaucratic issues and legal proceedings surrounding a federal agency dedicated to matters of 'terrorism'. HAMMER's offices are a notably recent addition, and include their own small parking garage for dedicated vehicles, a data-center, and even a small holding pen. Among these amenities (notably much more stark and straightforward than the rest of DHS) is a small room with ugly florescent lighting and several recently trimmed electrical wires (neatly capped and twisted off) dangling from the walls.<br />
<br />
There's a desk (plastic), several chairs (also plastic), some pads of paper and a cup of cheap disposable pens -- and not much else. Despite its ostensible purpose (to permit meetings with outside authorities and conduct interviews), it looks more like a police interrogation room.<br />
<br />
Here is where Tien-shin has been told to wait -- for fifteen minutes. At last, the door opens; Malthus Rogers steps in. In one hand, he holds a steaming paper cup of coffee; in the other, his black coat, folded neatly. He's dressed in a sharp blue-collar shirt, the sleeves rolled back to expose his forearms, one end peeled back just far enough to nearly reveal a tattoo (just the bottom half of the lettering is visible).<br />
<br />
"My apologies for the delay," he states, as he steps inside -- the snarl across his blind eye dipping down to the side of his mouth, tugging his lips up into a scowl that nearly bares his teeth... but not quite. The other half of his face, as always, appears strikingly calm -- almost serene. "Ms... Tian-shin, I believe?" He pronounces it 'tee-anne shanne'. "My docket has been quite full, today."<br />
<br />
Tian-shin sits primly where she had been bidden to wait, looking sharp in a black pinstripe suit jacket, matching pencil skirt, white blouse, sheer black hose, and no-nonsense black pumps. She has her own coffee in a silver Genetic Equality New York travel mug and a slim black work tote laid precisely on the table to either side of her, and directly in front a black leather portfolio. She stands when Malthus enters and bows instead of offering her hand. "Tian-shin," she corrects, her tone neutral and perfunctory, "but my surname is Hua. Thank you for taking time out to see me, Captain Rogers. I appreciate you have much to do, and the matter that brings me here needs not take long." Here she gestures at the table, waiting for her host to sit before resuming her own seat.<br />
<br />
"Ms. Hua, then -- of course." Malthus lays his coat upon the back of the chair before pulling it out. He sits, placing the coffee down, arms laid atop of the table; fingers steepled together. There is a quiet curiosity with which he regards the woman -- for a moment, his eye drifts to the silver travel mug with its logo. The eye returns to her face. The slightly-twisted line of his mouth twitches into a hint of a smile... though, on account of the way the scar pulls at it, it looks more like a grimace. "I presume this is regarding Mr. Holland's current status."<br />
<br />
Tian-shin nods, opening up a portfolio to produce a manila folder labeled "Holland, Jackson - Pretrial". "My client asked for me on the record, but your office has not permitted him to communicate with me or his family," she says, equable but firm, as she flips open the folder, "nor complied with any of my requests for information." She glances over the page on top. "I have documented all of my interactions with your subordinates, if you wish to review them." Her eyebrows lift as she looks back up at Malthus. "I trust I do not need to inform you it is illegal to deny him access to counsel, but perhaps your subordinates might need some additional training."<br />
<br />
"And I trust that ''I'' do not need to inform you of the charges that have been brought against your client," Malthus responds with an icy mien, his singular-functioning eye regarding Tian-shin with an undiluted focus. He makes no attempt to examine the folder, nor the document contained within; instead, just stares at ''her''. It's hard to tell if he's appraising her as his enemy or looking for a tell. Possibly both.<br />
<br />
"Whatever you think of Mr. Holland's activities -- whatever you think about these charges -- we have intelligence which suggests he carried these acts with the support of the Brotherhood -- a direct, clear, and ''very present'' danger to the United States of America. Until we can determine his involvement with the Brotherhood, we must consider him to be a member of an active terrorist organization. It is in the interests of national security that his location remain secret until we are certain that this location will not be attacked the moment it becomes known."<br />
<br />
Tian-shin folds her hands primly across the folder in front of her. "My client voluntarily submitted to arrest and to my understanding has cooperated with you, your agents, and the NYPD." Her tone is even and patient, like someone explained what they consider a simple concept to a small child. "Your warrant and your case against my client pertain to his alleged past activities in connection with the Prometheus Project. If you have evidence or other supporting material that my client is or has ever been involved with the Brotherhood's activities, you are required to submit it to the judge for review, and to grant me access to the relevant pretrial materials. If you do not comply by..." She glances at her wristwatch. "...5pm ''yesterday'', you will have committed a procedure due process violation. That is an offense not only against my client, but the Fourth Circuit Court. Now..."<br />
<br />
She unfolds her hands, slender fingers splaying wide. "I understand you have a lot on your hands this week, and if you grant my client his constitutionally guaranteed rights as requested, I do not see any need to pursue this matter with Judge Wilson." She shuffles her papers and comes out with a sheaf of forms from another folder marked "4th Circuit Court". "If you cannot or will not do this, I will be forced to file an injunction against you and your agency, request the intervention of the DHS, and speak to the media regarding this gross miscarriage of justice." She sets the papers down and takes a sip of her coffee, maintaining steady eye contact the entire time.<br />
<br />
"Mmh." Malthus retains that quiet, focused stare for at least five or more seconds than is necessary -- before, at last, his half-lidded eye lowers to examine the document Tian-shin has set in front of him. His fingers untangle as he plucks it up, perusing it swiftly. "I admit, I'm tempted to fight you on this -- I imagine any judge would be highly sympathetic to our position given recent events combined with the extraordinary challenges of maintaining informational security in a post-mutant environment. ''Particularly'' given who we are responsible for interning. That being said, I'll be frank with you, Ms. Hua: We're already dealing with an escalation in Brotherhood activities, and I just don't have the time for this. I'll back down, but on the condition that your communication with Mr. Holland occur either via teleconference -- or, if you insist on speaking in-person, in a secondary location that will be provided an hour before you meet with him. Is this acceptable?"<br />
<br />
"Again, the dispositions of other persons within your custody or under your investigation," Tian-shin says, in the same slow, careful tones, "are not relevant to this case or to my client ''unless'' you submit the information and the judge rules it admissible. These are pre-trial procedures regarding a person who has been convicted of no crime, not a matter of your sympathies, Judge Wilson's, or even my own." She squares the papers in front of her. "I would like to speak to my client, in person, as soon as possible. I will of course cooperate fully with any security measures legally permitted, which do not include restricting attorney-client consultation to telecommunications."<br />
<br />
"I can have arrangements complete within..." Malthus's gaze drops down to his ''own'' wristwatch. "Forty five minutes. You can speak with him in person in under two hours. Presuming that is acceptable, I'll begin making the necessary accommodations." Malthus rises to his feet; the steaming cup of coffee he brought with him is beginning to cool, remaining untouched. As he stands, he regards Tian-shin for a moment, considering. Then -- he adds, almost as an idle after-thought: "It appears Mr. Holland chose his counsel wisely."<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Vignette_-_Wolf_in_Sheeps_Clothing&diff=23842Logs:Vignette - Wolf in Sheeps Clothing2021-11-19T17:40:17Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[NPC-Carnage]]<br />
| summary = CW: Blood, murder, violence, gore, implied child abuse. Set a few days after [[Logs:Raid Redux Part Two: Raid Harder|the raid]].<br />
| gamedate = 2021-11-16<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Massachusetts<br />
| categories = NPC-Carnage, Mutants, Prometheus, Vignette<br />
| log = It's almost midnight when Robert Gaines hears someone pounding at his door.<br />
<br />
The middle-aged combat vet is short, squat, and partially balding. He takes a look through the peephole, then immediately thumbs off his pistol's safety. But when he opens the door, the gun is holstered -- and he's all smiles.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Cletus. Been wondering what happened to you."<br />
<br />
Cletus Cortland Kasady has seen better days. The tall, lean, freckled red-head is in his mid-30s; he's missing his left eye and left forearm. He's still wearing the medical scrubs from the labs -- the material is plastered to his skin, soaking from the rain.<br />
<br />
Cletus looks down to the ground. He curls his arms around his chest and mumbles, dejectedly: "...hungry."<br />
<br />
"I bet you are, buddy. C'mon in -- it's cold as tits out." Robert steps back, letting Cletus inside. His hand remains close to the holster, but he makes no move to draw it. Not yet. As Cletus shambles by, he gives him a wide berth. "We were all wondering what happened to you, back there. You just up and ran away on us."<br />
<br />
Cletus shambles in like a dejected, beaten dog. He keeps rubbing his arms, never lifting his eyes from the floor. "Haven't eaten in... in a fuckin' week," he mumbles. His speech is slurred.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, we can fix that. I got some reserves for you. Let's get you warmed up. You want a beer?" Robert leads him along into the kitchen, pulling out a chair. Once Cletus sits down, Robert moves to the fridge -- unlocking the padlock with a key from his belt. He pretends to fiddle with it for half a minute; with his back to Kasady, he pulls out his phone and fires off a quick text-message.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
GAINES: Cletus is here at my house.<br />
GAINES: Handling it. He's calm. Let's keep it that way.<br />
GAINES: Send a recovery team immediately, but QUIETLY. NO surprises.<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
"No. I just... I just got scared."<br />
<br />
Robert slides the phone back into his pocket and finishes unlocking the fridge. He gets a beer for himself and a bag of his own blood for Cletus. As he sits down with his beer, he gestures to the bag -- it rises and floats toward Cletus, as if by magic. Cletus snatches the bag out of the air and claws awkwardly at it, finally managing to tear a hole at the top. Then he just ''squeezes'' it into his mouth -- like a push-pop. Robert grimaces and cracks open his beer, taking a heavy swig.<br />
<br />
"You remember what I told you, right? Men like us -- we're warriors, Cletus. Wolves protecting our flock. Wolves might feel scared, but they can't act scared. Normal people, they can act scared. But you and me? People see us acting scared, they lose their shit. When '''we''' act scared, people start dying."<br />
<br />
Cletus just keeps gulping, squeezing the bag from top to bottom.<br />
<br />
"When someone dangerous comes to our home... most people can't defend themselves. But '''we''' can. We have that power. We have an obligation to use it -- to protect it -- to protect the flock. People like us, we're different. Special. We don't get to have ordinary lives. We sacrifice that for the greater good. You feel me?"<br />
<br />
The bag makes crinkling noises as Cletus rolls it up to squish those last few precious drops out.<br />
<br />
Robert frowns, checking his phone under the table.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
DELTA: ETA 15 min<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
"I didn't know you had kids."<br />
<br />
Robert lifts his eyes back up to Kasady. The bag is finished; neatly folded and put to the side. Not a trace of blood remains. Cletus's eyes are locked on a trashcan besides the fridge. A stuffed lamb with a bright pink bow has been thrown into it.<br />
<br />
"Huh? Oh. Yeah." Robert grins. "Little girl and boy. They're here for the weekend."<br />
<br />
"Married?"<br />
<br />
He laughs, takes another swig of beer. "Was, yeah. Didn't work out. You know how it is."<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
Robert frowns. "Huh?"<br />
<br />
"No, I don't know how that is." Cletus is no longer looking down. He meets Robert's gaze directly. "Explain it to me."<br />
<br />
Something anxious lodges itself into Robert's belly. His hand shifts from his phone to his piece, holstered and hidden under the table. He slides his fingers around the grip. "I mean, y'know... women, they just don't get it. What men have to do -- have to sacrifice. Especially men like us. We can't -- we can't be weak. Can't be soft. We gotta be '''strong'''. So we can --"<br />
<br />
"-- protect our families," Cletus finishes the sentence. His eyes drift from the padlocked fridge, then back to the stuffed toy in the trashcan.<br />
<br />
Robert exhales. "Right."<br />
<br />
"From wolves."<br />
<br />
"Right."<br />
<br />
"Wolves like us."<br />
<br />
The tightness in Robert's chest returns. He resists the urge to check his phone again, keeping his hand on the pistol's grip. "We're the '''good''' wolves, Cletus. We --"<br />
<br />
The blade of red neatly spears under the table. Shards of crystallizing blood expand out from the tip, crinkling and spiking outward in a fractalized pattern that leaves the hand on the gun perforated. Robert tries to scream -- but Cletus's left forearm extends outward, engulfing his mouth in a hard, sharp, crimson palm. Robert is slammed back against his own refrigerator, held so high that his feet are dangling.<br />
<br />
The table is tossed aside. Cletus is no longer here; in his place, a blood-red specter rises. <br />
<br />
"You know what '''I''' think?" Carnage hisses. His voice is shrill and metallic, his eyes burning a bright moon-white. Robert responds by kicking and flailing, struggling not to pass out in shock from the pain.<br />
<br />
"I don't think there are good wolves and bad wolves. I think there are '''just''' wolves." His form swells, higher and higher, his body sharpening -- sprouting a thousand knives. Robert tries to lift his other hand to use his power -- only for Carnage to spear through that one, too. "And this wolf?" <br />
<br />
"...is tired of your fucking '''table-scraps'''."<br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
When the recovery team arrives, they find Robert's desiccated body, drained of blood -- locked inside of his own garage.<br />
<br />
Upstairs, the children are sleeping, safe and sound -- with a stuffed lamb now gently tucked underneath the younger boy's arm.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Vignette_-_Wolf_in_Sheeps_Clothing&diff=23841Logs:Vignette - Wolf in Sheeps Clothing2021-11-19T17:00:50Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[NPC-Carnage]]<br />
| summary = CW: Blood, murder, violence, gore, implied child abuse. Set a few days after [[Logs:Raid Redux Part Two: Raid Harder|the raid]].<br />
| gamedate = 2021-11-16<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Massachusetts<br />
| categories = NPC-Carnage, Mutants, Prometheus, Vignette<br />
| log = It's almost midnight when Robert Gaines hears someone pounding at his door.<br />
<br />
The middle-aged combat vet is short, squat, and partially balding. He takes a look through the peephole, then immediately thumbs off his pistol's safety. But when he opens the door, the gun is holstered -- and he's all smiles.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Cletus. Been wondering what happened to you."<br />
<br />
Cletus Cortland Kasady has seen better days. The tall, lean, freckled red-head is in his mid-30s; he's missing his left eye and left forearm. He's still wearing the medical scrubs from the labs -- the material is plastered to his skin, soaking from the rain.<br />
<br />
Cletus looks down to the ground. He curls his arms around his chest and mumbles, dejectedly: "...hungry."<br />
<br />
"I bet you are, buddy. C'mon in -- it's cold as tits out." Robert steps back, letting Cletus inside. His hand remains close to the holster, but he makes no move to draw it. Not yet. As Cletus shambles by, he gives him a wide berth. "We were all wondering what happened to you, back there. You just up and ran away on us."<br />
<br />
Cletus shambles in like a dejected, beaten dog. He keeps rubbing his arms, never lifting his eyes from the floor. "Haven't eaten in... in a fuckin' week," he mumbles. His speech is slurred.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, we can fix that. I got some reserves for you. Let's get you warmed up. You want a beer?" Robert leads him along into the kitchen, pulling out a chair. Once Cletus sits down, Robert moves to the fridge -- unlocking the padlock with a key from his belt. He pretends to fiddle with it for half a minute; with his back to Kasady, he pulls out his phone and fires off a quick text-message.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
GAINES: Cletus is here at my house.<br />
GAINES: Handling it. He's calm. Let's keep it that way.<br />
GAINES: Send a recovery team immediately, but QUIETLY. NO surprises.<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
"No. I just... I just got scared."<br />
<br />
Robert slides the phone back into his pocket and finishes unlocking the fridge. He gets a beer for himself and a bag of his own blood for Cletus. As he sits down with his beer, he gestures to the bag -- it rises and floats toward Cletus, as if by magic. Cletus snatches the bag out of the air and claws awkwardly at it, finally managing to tear a hole at the top. Then he just ''squeezes'' it into his mouth -- like a push-pop. Robert grimaces and cracks open his beer, taking a heavy swig.<br />
<br />
"You remember what I told you, right? Men like us -- we're warriors, Cletus. Wolves protecting our flock. Wolves might feel scared, but they can't act scared. Normal people, they can act scared. But you and me? People see us acting scared, they lose their shit. When '''we''' act scared, people start dying."<br />
<br />
Cletus just keeps gulping, squeezing the bag from top to bottom.<br />
<br />
"When someone dangerous comes to our home... most people can't defend themselves. But '''we''' can. We have that power. We have an obligation to use it -- to protect it -- to protect the flock. People like us, we're different. Special. We don't get to have ordinary lives. We sacrifice that for the greater good. You feel me?"<br />
<br />
The bag makes crinkling noises as Cletus rolls it up to squish those last few precious drops out.<br />
<br />
Robert frowns, checking his phone under the table.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
DELTA: ETA 15 min<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
"I didn't know you had kids."<br />
<br />
Robert lifts his eyes back up to Kasady. The bag is finished; neatly folded and put to the side. Not a trace of blood remains. Cletus's eyes are locked on a trashcan besides the fridge. A stuffed lamb with a bright pink bow has been thrown into it.<br />
<br />
"Huh? Oh. Yeah." Robert grins. "Little girl and boy. They're here for the weekend."<br />
<br />
"Married?"<br />
<br />
He laughs, takes another swig of beer. "Was, yeah. Didn't work out. You know how it is."<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
Robert frowns. "Huh?"<br />
<br />
"No, I don't know how that is." Cletus is no longer looking down. He meets Robert's gaze directly. "Explain it to me."<br />
<br />
Something anxious lodges itself into Robert's belly. His hand shifts from his phone to his piece, holstered and hidden under the table. He slides his fingers around the grip. "I mean, y'know... women, they just don't get it. What men have to do -- have to sacrifice. Especially men like us. We can't -- we can't be weak. Can't be soft. We gotta be '''strong'''. So we can --"<br />
<br />
"-- protect our families," Cletus finishes the sentence. His eyes drift from the padlocked fridge, then back to the stuffed toy in the trashcan.<br />
<br />
Robert exhales. "Right."<br />
<br />
"From wolves."<br />
<br />
"Right."<br />
<br />
"Wolves like us."<br />
<br />
The tightness in Robert's chest returns. He resists the urge to check his phone again, keeping his hand on the pistol's grip. "We're the '''good''' wolves, Cletus. We --"<br />
<br />
The blade of red neatly spears under the table. Shards of crystallizing blood expand out from the tip, crinkling and spiking outward in a fractalized pattern that leaves the hand on the gun perforated. Robert tries to scream -- but Cletus's left forearm extends outward, engulfing his mouth in a hard, sharp, crimson palm. Robert is slammed back against his own refrigerator, held so high that his feet are dangling.<br />
<br />
The table is tossed aside. Cletus is no longer here; in his place, a blood-red specter rises. <br />
<br />
"You know what '''I''' think?" Carnage hisses. His voice is shrill and metallic, his eyes burning a bright moon-white. Robert responds by kicking and flailing, struggling not to pass out in shock from the pain.<br />
<br />
"I don't think there are good wolves and bad wolves. I think there are '''just''' wolves." His form swelled, higher and higher, his body sharpening -- sprouting a thousand knives. Robert tried to lift his other hand to use his power -- only for Carnage to spear through that one, too. <br />
<br />
"And this wolf? Is tired of your fucking '''table-scraps'''."<br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
When the recovery team arrived, they found Robert's desiccated body, drained of blood -- locked inside of his own garage.<br />
<br />
Upstairs, the children quietly slept -- with a stuffed lamb now gently tucked underneath the younger boy's arm.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Vignette_-_Wolf_in_Sheeps_Clothing&diff=23840Logs:Vignette - Wolf in Sheeps Clothing2021-11-19T16:58:08Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = NPC-Carnage | summary = CW: Blood, murder, violence, gore, implied child abuse. Set a few days after the raid. |..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[NPC-Carnage]]<br />
| summary = CW: Blood, murder, violence, gore, implied child abuse. Set a few days after [[Logs:Raid Redux Part Two: Raid Harder|the raid]].<br />
| gamedate = 2021-11-16<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = Massachusetts<br />
| categories = NPC-Carnage, Mutants, Prometheus, Vignette<br />
| log = It's almost midnight when Robert Gaines hears someone pounding at his door.<br />
<br />
The middle-aged combat vet is short, squat, and partially balding. He takes a look through the peephole, then immediately thumbs off his pistol's safety. But when he opens the door, the gun is holstered -- and he's all smiles.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Cletus. Been wondering what happened to you."<br />
<br />
Cletus Cortland Kasady has seen better days. The tall, lean, freckled red-head is in his mid-30s; he's missing his left eye and left forearm. He's still wearing the medical scrubs from the labs -- the material is plastered to his skin, soaking from the rain.<br />
<br />
Cletus looks down to the ground. He curls his arms around his chest and mumbles, dejectedly: "...hungry."<br />
<br />
"I bet you are, buddy. C'mon in -- it's cold as tits out." Robert steps back, letting Cletus inside. His hand remains close to the holster, but he makes no move to draw it. Not yet. As Cletus shambles by, he gives him a wide berth. "We were all wondering what happened to you, back there. You just up and ran away on us."<br />
<br />
Cletus shambles in like a dejected, beaten dog. He keeps rubbing his arms, never lifting his eyes from the floor. "Haven't eaten in... in a fuckin' week," he mumbles. His speech is slurred.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, we can fix that. I got some reserves for you. Let's get you warmed up. You want a beer?" Robert leads him along into the kitchen, pulling out a chair. Once Cletus sits down, Robert moves to the fridge -- unlocking the padlock with a key from his belt. He pretends to fiddle with it for half a minute; with his back to Kasady, he pulls out his phone and fires off a quick text-message.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
GAINES: Cletus is here at my house.<br />
GAINES: Handling it. He's calm. Let's keep it that way.<br />
GAINES: Send a recovery team immediately, but QUIETLY. NO surprises.<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
"No. I just... I just got scared."<br />
<br />
Robert slides the phone back into his pocket and finishes unlocking the fridge. He gets a beer for himself and a bag of his own blood for Cletus. As he sits down with his beer, he gestures to the bag -- it rises and floats toward Cletus, as if by magic. Cletus snatches the bag out of the air and claws awkwardly at it, finally managing to tear a hole at the top. Then he just '''squeezes'' it into his mouth -- like a push-pop. Robert grimaces and cracks open his beer, taking a heavy swig.<br />
<br />
"You remember what I told you, right? Men like us -- we're warriors, Cletus. Wolves protecting our flock. Wolves might feel scared, but they can't act scared. Normal people, they can act scared. But you and me? People see us acting scared, they lose their shit. When '''we''' act scared, people start dying."<br />
<br />
Cletus just keeps gulping, squeezing the bag from top to bottom.<br />
<br />
"When someone dangerous comes to our home... most people can't defend themselves. But '''we''' can. We have that power. We have an obligation to use it -- to protect it -- to protect the flock. People like us, we're different. Special. We don't get to have ordinary lives. We sacrifice that for the greater good. You feel me?"<br />
<br />
The bag makes crinkling noises as Cletus rolls it up to squish those last few precious drops out.<br />
<br />
Robert frowns, checking his phone under the table.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
DELTA: ETA 15 min<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
"I didn't know you had kids."<br />
<br />
Robert lifts his eyes back up to Kasady. The bag is finished; neatly folded and put to the side. Not a trace of blood remains. Cletus's eyes are locked on a trashcan besides the fridge. A stuffed lamb with a bright pink bow has been thrown into it.<br />
<br />
"Huh? Oh. Yeah." Robert grins. "Little girl and boy. They're here for the weekend."<br />
<br />
"Married?"<br />
<br />
He laughs, takes another swig of beer. "Was, yeah. Didn't work out. You know how it is."<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
Robert frowns. "Huh?"<br />
<br />
"No, I don't know how that is." Cletus is no longer looking down. He meets Robert's gaze directly. "Explain it to me."<br />
<br />
Something anxious lodges itself into Robert's belly. His hand shifts from his phone to his piece, holstered and hidden under the table. He slides his fingers around the grip. "I mean, y'know... women, they just don't get it. What men have to do -- have to sacrifice. Especially men like us. We can't -- we can't be weak. Can't be soft. We gotta be '''strong'''. So we can --"<br />
<br />
"-- protect our families," Cletus finishes the sentence. His eyes drift from the padlocked fridge, then back to the stuffed toy in the trashcan.<br />
<br />
Robert exhales. "Right."<br />
<br />
"From wolves."<br />
<br />
"Right."<br />
<br />
"Wolves like us."<br />
<br />
The tightness in Robert's chest returns. He resists the urge to check his phone again, keeping his hand on the pistol's grip. "We're the '''good''' wolves, Cletus. We --"<br />
<br />
The blade of red neatly spears under the table. Shards of crystallizing blood expand out from the tip, crinkling and spiking outward in a fractalized pattern that leaves the hand on the gun perforated. Robert tries to scream -- but Cletus's left forearm extends outward, engulfing his mouth in a hard, sharp, crimson palm. Robert is slammed back against his own refrigerator, held so high that his feet are dangling.<br />
<br />
The table is tossed aside. Cletus is no longer here; in his place, a blood-red specter rises. <br />
<br />
"You know what '''I''' think?" Carnage hisses. His voice is shrill and metallic, his eyes burning a bright moon-white. Robert responds by kicking and flailing, struggling not to pass out in shock from the pain.<br />
<br />
"I don't think there are good wolves and bad wolves. I think there are '''just''' wolves." His form swelled, higher and higher, his body sharpening -- sprouting a thousand knives. Robert tried to lift his other hand to use his power -- only for Carnage to spear through that one, too. <br />
<br />
"And this wolf? Is tired of your fucking '''table-scraps'''."<br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
When the recovery team arrived, they found Robert's desiccated body, drained of blood -- locked inside of his own garage.<br />
<br />
Upstairs, the children quietly slept -- with a stuffed lamb now gently tucked underneath the younger boy's arm.<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Maximum_Carnage&diff=23823Logs:Maximum Carnage2021-11-11T17:53:15Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Joshua]], [[NPC-Carnage]]<br />
| summary = "Nobody's ever tried to take a bite outta ''me'' before." - CW: LOTS of blood, some violence.<br />
| gamedate = 2021-11-04<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = '''<MA> Dirac Research Laboratory - Testing Chamber'''<br />
| categories = Prometheus, Mutants, Joshua, NPC-Carnage<br />
| log = <br />
Joshua has been placed inside a small isolation chamber -- electronically locked doors behind him and in front of him -- as part of a quarantine protocol. He has been given explicit instructions: Wait for the interior door to open. Step inside. Observe the mutant inside the testing chamber; when the signal is given, the suppression field will be lowered. Make an attempt to simulate this mutant's powers.<br />
<br />
Joshua has been given... very little information other than this. However, if he's kept his ear close to the grapevine during his stay, here, he might have heard a rumor or two. Something about a 'Dracula'; a beast. A mutant-eating monster. Some horrifying ''thing'' they keep in the basement -- a thing that drinks ''blood''.<br />
<br />
The electronic door produces a pneumatic hiss; the locks disengage. The door swings outward, revealing... a sleek, sterile, heavily monitored space. Approximately the size of a large living room; perhaps significantly larger. The ceiling is higher than one would expect, with LED panels above. What is presumably the opaque-side of a one-way mirror dominates the northern end; the southern end is the end that Joshua can enter through. <br />
<br />
The walls have some unusual markings. Claw-marks -- some of them far too wide apart to be made by a human. There are stains, too; old ones. The kind that have been there so long they're effectively just part of the decor, now. Rust-red.<br />
<br />
A gray plastic table is at the center of the room, along with several uncomfortable folding chairs around it. Seated in one of those chairs is... the test-subject. A pale red-headed man, probably in his 30s -- freckled face. One empty, hollow eye-socket. His left forearm is missing just past the elbow. Dressed in patient scrubs, leaning back in the chair.<br />
<br />
Cletus Kasady grins toothily at Joshua. "Yo. You brought any snacks?"<br />
<br />
Joshua has listened to all this impassively, agreed with a minimum of questioning; probably unsurprising to the researchers, the taciturn labrat a well-documented entity for them by now. He's still quiet when he finally enters the testing room, one hand in the pocket of his matching scrubs and the other holding a thermos. He shrugs at the other man's question, eyes sweeping over Cletus appraisingly as he pulls out another one of the folding chairs. Seats himself in it. "Got coffee," he offers, nudging the thermos across the table. "Haven't had much appetite."<br />
<br />
Cletus makes no move for the thermos. He's laid back, relaxed -- like he owns the place. He leans back, his remaining hand on the table, the other arm extended behind his back. "You been here before, ain't you? You can always tell." His nostrils flare. "Never got a sniff of you, though." The grin doesn't fade. "Anyway, the lab-coats tell me I ain't supposed to eat you, so... try not to piss your pants at this next part. Arright?"<br />
<br />
"Third time's -- what do they say? Charm? Or maybe I'm out now. You a lifer here?" Joshua takes his thermos back. Pops it open, takes a swig of the coffee. One of his eyebrows raises at ''eat you'', and he sets the coffee back down. "What do you ''do'', exactly? Easier for me to clone it if I see it first."<br />
<br />
"Oh, yeah. I slipped out a couple of times, but always ended up back in here. S'free meal ticket, y'know?" Cletus watches Joshua drinking that coffee with ''just'' enough interest to make it uncomfortable. Licks his lips. "Me? Oh, I'm just... y'know. Regular ol' garden-variety monster." The grin widens.<br />
<br />
Above, a red light flashes. It's accompanied by repetitive beeping. Metal shutters roll down across the mirror. Judging by the way Cletus doesn't even look back, he's familiar with this whole procedure. He rolls his neck back, popping joints. "Remember: No pissing or shitting, yeah?"<br />
<br />
There's a faint tingling; the suppression field is starting to come down slowly -- little by little. Where Cletus's eye socket was once hollow, there's now... redness filling it.<br />
<br />
"That -- doesn't help me at all." Joshua's eyes flick to the mirror when the shutter begins to roll down. His jaw tightens, and though he's still slouching, by all appearances at a lazy kind of ease in his seat, his attention has sharpened ''intently'' on Cletus as the suppression field comes down. His own ability is focused fully on the other man, trying to feel out the edges of what is happening with Cletus's power. His brows furrow, just a little. He sits up -- a ''little'' straighter in his seat. "What, uh -- exactly am I supposed to ''do'' here aside from. Get pinkeye."<br />
<br />
The redness solidifies. There is a crinkling sound -- the sound of plastic cracking, splintering. Cletus is no longer missing his left forearm; it is now ''here'', but blood-red -- some of it darker, some of it more pale. The redness is... liquid, but only in places; in other places, it's solidifying into something sharp and angular... crystallizing into harsh, jagged edges. His fingertips are like elongated blades... blades that dig into the plastic, carving into it little by little.<br />
<br />
"Dunno," Cletus says, and now his gums are blood-red, his ''teeth'' extending into sharp, jagged points -- the redness in that socket 'opens', and a moon-yellow orb peers out. His face is turning pink... blood is literally ''seeping out'' of his skin. "Not my job to tell you what to do, buddy. All they told me was not to fuckin' ''eat'' you."<br />
<br />
Joshua can feel it; the edges of it. The power to control blood. Harden it; soften it. Mold it. But only certain types. And beneath the surface, burning... ''hunger''. Ravenous, mindless, feral hunger. He can feel it, in that moment -- as the plastic creaks and ''shreds'' beneath Cletus's red hand. It's like you're drowning, like you're desperate for air, your lungs burning -- your mind sinking into a panicked, feral state where you're fighting for a gulp of oxygen.<br />
<br />
Except it isn't ''oxygen'' that this power needs. It's ''blood''. Blood that's throbbing, pulsing, ''flowing'' throughout Joshua's veins.<br />
<br />
Joshua is watching this transformation with slightly wider eyes, his hand pressing a little bit harder to the table, his breath just a bit quicker than it had been. He'd started to reach for his coffee again but some tie around when the knifelike-fingertips solidify, carve into the tabletop, he seems to lose much taste for this, just dropping his hand to his lap and instead focusing on the feeling of the warping blood around him.<br />
<br />
His teeth grit when he starts to pull this power ''into'' himself, make it his own -- it's somewhere along this process that the change happens. A shift from seeing the mechanics of it to truly knowing it, ''feeling'' it. For a beat his breath catches, eyes snapping to Cletus as he presses his palms down against the table, presses ''back'' in his chair -- <br />
<br />
-- but that reeling-away doesn't last long. The borrowed power is settling more comfortably into his skin -- his nostrils are flaring, his teeth baring. In the next moment he's ''lunging'' across the table toward Cletus, a snarl tearing up out of his throat; the jagged protrusion that breaks the skin of his forearm does so with a lot less fluidity than the other man's work, forming one solid sharp spike that's driving toward the other bloody forearm.<br />
<br />
"...!" Cletus -- ''Carnage'' -- makes a sound. His voice is different, now; deeper yet somehow more shrill, like a thunderous shriek. It sounds like an animal hissing. He lunges his blood-red forearm up, just as Joshua stabs into it -- ''through'' it -- with his own blood-red spike. And for a moment, blood mingles with blood, as two networks of writhing crimson wrestle with one another for control.<br />
<br />
The hissing, chittering sound grows louder and louder. Carnage is... ''growing'', rising out of his chair, more slow and deliberate... threads of gleaming red-tinged saliva dripping from his sharpened teeth, the screeching ''hsss-hsss-hsss'' growing --<br />
<br />
-- when the alarms ''blare'' and the suppression field comes ''slamming'' down. All at once, the blood evaporates, pulled back ''in'' to Carnage, and the ''hss-hsss-hss'' sound morphs into what it is -- wild, raucous ''laughter'':<br />
<br />
"--oly SHIT, mother-fucker -- you're trying to eat ''ME''?!" Cletus cackles, his 'good' arm gripping the table, leaned forward with a wide, manic grin. "Holy ''SHIT''!" He seems ''gleefully'' pleased.<br />
<br />
Joshua slumps forward when the suppression field slams back into place, shoulders hunched, palms pressed hard against the edge of the table. He's a good deal paler than he was before, an ugly scab crusted on one forearm where the thick blood-spike had been. He's looking a bit queasy, now, his head shaking slow.<br />
<br />
"Holy shit," he's saying, too, though there's no laughter undergirding ''his'' words, just a heavy dragging horror. "-- holy shit." He swallows, lowering himself slowly back into his seat. "I don't think," his voice is ''almost'' steady, here, his glance toward the one-way mirror brief, "I want to do that again." He looks more directly at Cletus than at the glass. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting --" He shakes his head. "How do you control it?"<br />
<br />
"Ahahaaa, fuckin' hell that's--" Cletus is leaning up ''real'' close to Joshua, now -- to the point where it's probably a bit uncomfortable. Particularly considering just how wide that grin is. "--that's a first, goddamn! Nobody's ever tried to take a bite outta ''me'' before." He seems positively energized by this. Exhilarated, even. He reaches forward to touch the tip of that protruding scab, the gesture full of gentle fondness. Oh, the memories. "You ain't too good at puttin' it ''back'', though. That's what gets you -- you gotta have a plan to put back every drop. Else you just squeeze yourself dry."<br />
<br />
Cletus's answer to Joshua's question comes a moment later. His eyebrows spring up; standing, he leans back, giving Joshua a bit more space. "Control it?" he says, his voice breathless with laughter and joy. "You don't control it, lil' Drac. It controls ''you''. Only thing you get to do is decide whether you starve it..." He grins. "Or feed it."<br />
<br />
Joshua shies back again when Cletus leans in close, though there's not far for him to ''go'', pressed against the hard plastic of the folding chair with a distinctly discomfited expression on his face when the other man reaches for the scab. A spasm of nausea crosses his expression, his gaze turning aside. "-- ''that's'' what gets you. Right." He doesn't fully manage to repress the shudder that follows when he folds his arms across his chest, his own fingers brushing over the scab. "That's it? That's no choice at all."<br />
<br />
Cletus shrugs, slumping back to his own chair -- the high from seeing someone actually take a stab at him (literally) seems to be waning; in its place comes the gnawing sense of hunger. For just a moment, the grin seemed genuine; now, it's just a face he's wearing, again. "Eh. Whaddya gonna do?" He shrugs. "Eat when you can..." His eyes, however briefly, flick back toward the opaque glass. "...starve when you can't."<br />
<br />
" What's ''can'' and ''can't'', in here?" Joshua's hand lifts, turns over; he looks down at the scab, the flakes of blood still crumbling off his arm. He doesn't glance to the mirror, this time, though his head starts to turn just slightly that way when Cletus does. He just sinks further in his chair, exhaling heavily. "Feel like it's not just ''this'' thing controlling you."<br />
<br />
"Drink lots of water," Cletus mentions absently as Joshua picks at the scab. "Veggies, too -- anything with iron in it." He licks the back of his teeth, slumping even deeper into his chair. There's a whisper of a laugh, just a ''wisp'' of it, at Joshua's insinuation. "Maybe, yeah. But... monsters belong in cages, yeah? And you gotta admit..." Something authentic flickers behind that grin. "...they built me one ''hell'' of a cage."<br />
<br />
"Oh, yeah? I'll make sure to order extra steak next meal." Joshua tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling -- then over at the mirror. Back at Cletus. "I don't believe in monsters. Just people, and the choices we make." His mouth pulls to the side in a grimace. "Don't really believe in cages, either, but you're ''not'' wrong they made this one a bit overkill."<br />
<br />
"Overkill? Oh, man," and now Cletus's eyes roll back, like he's basking in some distant memory. "Like I said, it's a hell of a cage, but you ain't seen what they use it to hold. You just got a taste -- you saw what it's like when I'm starvin'." Lines of straight white teeth bare themselves in something that resembles the half-way point between a manic grin and a grimace: "Wait till you see me when I ''feed''."<br />
<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Maximum_Carnage&diff=23822Logs:Maximum Carnage2021-11-11T17:52:19Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Joshua, NPC-Carnage | summary = "Nobody's ever tried to take a bite outta ''me'' before." - CW: LOTS of blood, some violence. | gamedate = 2021-11-04..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Joshua]], [[NPC-Carnage]]<br />
| summary = "Nobody's ever tried to take a bite outta ''me'' before." - CW: LOTS of blood, some violence.<br />
| gamedate = 2021-11-04<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = '''<MA> Dirac Research Laboratory - Testing Chamber'''<br />
| categories = Prometheus, Mutants, Joshua, Carnage<br />
| log = <br />
Joshua has been placed inside a small isolation chamber -- electronically locked doors behind him and in front of him -- as part of a quarantine protocol. He has been given explicit instructions: Wait for the interior door to open. Step inside. Observe the mutant inside the testing chamber; when the signal is given, the suppression field will be lowered. Make an attempt to simulate this mutant's powers.<br />
<br />
Joshua has been given... very little information other than this. However, if he's kept his ear close to the grapevine during his stay, here, he might have heard a rumor or two. Something about a 'Dracula'; a beast. A mutant-eating monster. Some horrifying ''thing'' they keep in the basement -- a thing that drinks ''blood''.<br />
<br />
The electronic door produces a pneumatic hiss; the locks disengage. The door swings outward, revealing... a sleek, sterile, heavily monitored space. Approximately the size of a large living room; perhaps significantly larger. The ceiling is higher than one would expect, with LED panels above. What is presumably the opaque-side of a one-way mirror dominates the northern end; the southern end is the end that Joshua can enter through. <br />
<br />
The walls have some unusual markings. Claw-marks -- some of them far too wide apart to be made by a human. There are stains, too; old ones. The kind that have been there so long they're effectively just part of the decor, now. Rust-red.<br />
<br />
A gray plastic table is at the center of the room, along with several uncomfortable folding chairs around it. Seated in one of those chairs is... the test-subject. A pale red-headed man, probably in his 30s -- freckled face. One empty, hollow eye-socket. His left forearm is missing just past the elbow. Dressed in patient scrubs, leaning back in the chair.<br />
<br />
Cletus Kasady grins toothily at Joshua. "Yo. You brought any snacks?"<br />
<br />
Joshua has listened to all this impassively, agreed with a minimum of questioning; probably unsurprising to the researchers, the taciturn labrat a well-documented entity for them by now. He's still quiet when he finally enters the testing room, one hand in the pocket of his matching scrubs and the other holding a thermos. He shrugs at the other man's question, eyes sweeping over Cletus appraisingly as he pulls out another one of the folding chairs. Seats himself in it. "Got coffee," he offers, nudging the thermos across the table. "Haven't had much appetite."<br />
<br />
Cletus makes no move for the thermos. He's laid back, relaxed -- like he owns the place. He leans back, his remaining hand on the table, the other arm extended behind his back. "You been here before, ain't you? You can always tell." His nostrils flare. "Never got a sniff of you, though." The grin doesn't fade. "Anyway, the lab-coats tell me I ain't supposed to eat you, so... try not to piss your pants at this next part. Arright?"<br />
<br />
"Third time's -- what do they say? Charm? Or maybe I'm out now. You a lifer here?" Joshua takes his thermos back. Pops it open, takes a swig of the coffee. One of his eyebrows raises at ''eat you'', and he sets the coffee back down. "What do you ''do'', exactly? Easier for me to clone it if I see it first."<br />
<br />
"Oh, yeah. I slipped out a couple of times, but always ended up back in here. S'free meal ticket, y'know?" Cletus watches Joshua drinking that coffee with ''just'' enough interest to make it uncomfortable. Licks his lips. "Me? Oh, I'm just... y'know. Regular ol' garden-variety monster." The grin widens.<br />
<br />
Above, a red light flashes. It's accompanied by repetitive beeping. Metal shutters roll down across the mirror. Judging by the way Cletus doesn't even look back, he's familiar with this whole procedure. He rolls his neck back, popping joints. "Remember: No pissing or shitting, yeah?"<br />
<br />
There's a faint tingling; the suppression field is starting to come down slowly -- little by little. Where Cletus's eye socket was once hollow, there's now... redness filling it.<br />
<br />
"That -- doesn't help me at all." Joshua's eyes flick to the mirror when the shutter begins to roll down. His jaw tightens, and though he's still slouching, by all appearances at a lazy kind of ease in his seat, his attention has sharpened ''intently'' on Cletus as the suppression field comes down. His own ability is focused fully on the other man, trying to feel out the edges of what is happening with Cletus's power. His brows furrow, just a little. He sits up -- a ''little'' straighter in his seat. "What, uh -- exactly am I supposed to ''do'' here aside from. Get pinkeye."<br />
<br />
The redness solidifies. There is a crinkling sound -- the sound of plastic cracking, splintering. Cletus is no longer missing his left forearm; it is now ''here'', but blood-red -- some of it darker, some of it more pale. The redness is... liquid, but only in places; in other places, it's solidifying into something sharp and angular... crystallizing into harsh, jagged edges. His fingertips are like elongated blades... blades that dig into the plastic, carving into it little by little.<br />
<br />
"Dunno," Cletus says, and now his gums are blood-red, his ''teeth'' extending into sharp, jagged points -- the redness in that socket 'opens', and a moon-yellow orb peers out. His face is turning pink... blood is literally ''seeping out'' of his skin. "Not my job to tell you what to do, buddy. All they told me was not to fuckin' ''eat'' you."<br />
<br />
Joshua can feel it; the edges of it. The power to control blood. Harden it; soften it. Mold it. But only certain types. And beneath the surface, burning... ''hunger''. Ravenous, mindless, feral hunger. He can feel it, in that moment -- as the plastic creaks and ''shreds'' beneath Cletus's red hand. It's like you're drowning, like you're desperate for air, your lungs burning -- your mind sinking into a panicked, feral state where you're fighting for a gulp of oxygen.<br />
<br />
Except it isn't ''oxygen'' that this power needs. It's ''blood''. Blood that's throbbing, pulsing, ''flowing'' throughout Joshua's veins.<br />
<br />
Joshua is watching this transformation with slightly wider eyes, his hand pressing a little bit harder to the table, his breath just a bit quicker than it had been. He'd started to reach for his coffee again but some tie around when the knifelike-fingertips solidify, carve into the tabletop, he seems to lose much taste for this, just dropping his hand to his lap and instead focusing on the feeling of the warping blood around him.<br />
<br />
His teeth grit when he starts to pull this power ''into'' himself, make it his own -- it's somewhere along this process that the change happens. A shift from seeing the mechanics of it to truly knowing it, ''feeling'' it. For a beat his breath catches, eyes snapping to Cletus as he presses his palms down against the table, presses ''back'' in his chair -- <br />
<br />
-- but that reeling-away doesn't last long. The borrowed power is settling more comfortably into his skin -- his nostrils are flaring, his teeth baring. In the next moment he's ''lunging'' across the table toward Cletus, a snarl tearing up out of his throat; the jagged protrusion that breaks the skin of his forearm does so with a lot less fluidity than the other man's work, forming one solid sharp spike that's driving toward the other bloody forearm.<br />
<br />
"...!" Cletus -- ''Carnage'' -- makes a sound. His voice is different, now; deeper yet somehow more shrill, like a thunderous shriek. It sounds like an animal hissing. He lunges his blood-red forearm up, just as Joshua stabs into it -- ''through'' it -- with his own blood-red spike. And for a moment, blood mingles with blood, as two networks of writhing crimson wrestle with one another for control.<br />
<br />
The hissing, chittering sound grows louder and louder. Carnage is... ''growing'', rising out of his chair, more slow and deliberate... threads of gleaming red-tinged saliva dripping from his sharpened teeth, the screeching ''hsss-hsss-hsss'' growing --<br />
<br />
-- when the alarms ''blare'' and the suppression field comes ''slamming'' down. All at once, the blood evaporates, pulled back ''in'' to Carnage, and the ''hss-hsss-hss'' sound morphs into what it is -- wild, raucous ''laughter'':<br />
<br />
"--oly SHIT, mother-fucker -- you're trying to eat ''ME''?!" Cletus cackles, his 'good' arm gripping the table, leaned forward with a wide, manic grin. "Holy ''SHIT''!" He seems ''gleefully'' pleased.<br />
<br />
Joshua slumps forward when the suppression field slams back into place, shoulders hunched, palms pressed hard against the edge of the table. He's a good deal paler than he was before, an ugly scab crusted on one forearm where the thick blood-spike had been. He's looking a bit queasy, now, his head shaking slow.<br />
<br />
"Holy shit," he's saying, too, though there's no laughter undergirding ''his'' words, just a heavy dragging horror. "-- holy shit." He swallows, lowering himself slowly back into his seat. "I don't think," his voice is ''almost'' steady, here, his glance toward the one-way mirror brief, "I want to do that again." He looks more directly at Cletus than at the glass. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting --" He shakes his head. "How do you control it?"<br />
<br />
"Ahahaaa, fuckin' hell that's--" Cletus is leaning up ''real'' close to Joshua, now -- to the point where it's probably a bit uncomfortable. Particularly considering just how wide that grin is. "--that's a first, goddamn! Nobody's ever tried to take a bite outta ''me'' before." He seems positively energized by this. Exhilarated, even. He reaches forward to touch the tip of that protruding scab, the gesture full of gentle fondness. Oh, the memories. "You ain't too good at puttin' it ''back'', though. That's what gets you -- you gotta have a plan to put back every drop. Else you just squeeze yourself dry."<br />
<br />
Cletus's answer to Joshua's question comes a moment later. His eyebrows spring up; standing, he leans back, giving Joshua a bit more space. "Control it?" he says, his voice breathless with laughter and joy. "You don't control it, lil' Drac. It controls ''you''. Only thing you get to do is decide whether you starve it..." He grins. "Or feed it."<br />
<br />
Joshua shies back again when Cletus leans in close, though there's not far for him to ''go'', pressed against the hard plastic of the folding chair with a distinctly discomfited expression on his face when the other man reaches for the scab. A spasm of nausea crosses his expression, his gaze turning aside. "-- ''that's'' what gets you. Right." He doesn't fully manage to repress the shudder that follows when he folds his arms across his chest, his own fingers brushing over the scab. "That's it? That's no choice at all."<br />
<br />
Cletus shrugs, slumping back to his own chair -- the high from seeing someone actually take a stab at him (literally) seems to be waning; in its place comes the gnawing sense of hunger. For just a moment, the grin seemed genuine; now, it's just a face he's wearing, again. "Eh. Whaddya gonna do?" He shrugs. "Eat when you can..." His eyes, however briefly, flick back toward the opaque glass. "...starve when you can't."<br />
<br />
" What's ''can'' and ''can't'', in here?" Joshua's hand lifts, turns over; he looks down at the scab, the flakes of blood still crumbling off his arm. He doesn't glance to the mirror, this time, though his head starts to turn just slightly that way when Cletus does. He just sinks further in his chair, exhaling heavily. "Feel like it's not just ''this'' thing controlling you."<br />
<br />
"Drink lots of water," Cletus mentions absently as Joshua picks at the scab. "Veggies, too -- anything with iron in it." He licks the back of his teeth, slumping even deeper into his chair. There's a whisper of a laugh, just a ''wisp'' of it, at Joshua's insinuation. "Maybe, yeah. But... monsters belong in cages, yeah? And you gotta admit..." Something authentic flickers behind that grin. "...they built me one ''hell'' of a cage."<br />
<br />
"Oh, yeah? I'll make sure to order extra steak next meal." Joshua tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling -- then over at the mirror. Back at Cletus. "I don't believe in monsters. Just people, and the choices we make." His mouth pulls to the side in a grimace. "Don't really believe in cages, either, but you're ''not'' wrong they made this one a bit overkill."<br />
<br />
"Overkill? Oh, man," and now Cletus's eyes roll back, like he's basking in some distant memory. "Like I said, it's a hell of a cage, but you ain't seen what they use it to hold. You just got a taste -- you saw what it's like when I'm starvin'." Lines of straight white teeth bare themselves in something that resembles the half-way point between a manic grin and a grimace: "Wait till you see me when I ''feed''."<br />
<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Raid_Redux_Part_Two:_Raid_Harder&diff=23801Logs:Raid Redux Part Two: Raid Harder2021-11-07T23:01:59Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Polaris, Lily, DJ, Matt, Jax, Mirror, Hive, NPC-Carnage | summary = "We are not having chaos until after I find Joshua. Thank..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Polaris]], [[Lily]], [[DJ]], [[Matt]], [[Jax]], [[Mirror]], [[Hive]], [[NPC-Carnage]]<br />
| summary = "We are not having chaos until after I find Joshua. Thank you." (Concurrent with the tanks' side of raid, Part of [[TP-Prometheus|Prometheus]] Plot.)<br />
| gamedate = 2021-11-06<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = CN: Violence, descriptions of blood<br />
| location = <MA> Dirac Research Laboratory - Western Mass<br />
| categories = Polaris, Lily, DJ, Matt, Jax, Mirror, Hive, NPC-Carnage, Mutants, Prometheus<br />
| log = <br />
<br />
The blazing amber-gold of Massachusetts' autumn foliage is muted by the blanket of night, with only a sliver of the waxing moon's silver glow to illuminate the way. The familiar sprawling campus -- with its winding hiking trails, its fitness center with huge picture windows (and small pond), tennis court, wide roof deck (with cafeteria attached) -- has not changed ''much'' since their last visit. The hole left in the wall previously has been patched; the parking lot is now surrounded by temporary chain-link fencing and a security check-point (as if that would stop anyone). Some construction vehicles (a bull-dozer, a small crane) are parked nearby; work is being done on the facility, apparently.<br />
<br />
The night obscures most of the sky, but -- every so often -- a shadow will pass by one of the many extremely tall light-posts mounted in the parking lot or around the facility. Spherically-shaped shadows, humming and buzzing in silent watch. What few guards ''can'' be seen at their posts seem a little more wary; not ''expecting'' trouble, but still reeling in that post-attack daze that implies that raids can, in fact, happen ''here''.<br />
<br />
They might be here to rescue Joshua but here ''is'' a Joshua, hands in pockets, looking languid-casual as ever as he strolls just a little ahead of the group, a haze of illusory visual static overhead more or less obscuring ''immediate'' sight of the group from circling cameras above. << We're sure we can't kill them. >> A bit flat, a bit idle-curious, across the mental connection, as he watches the nearest guard-post.<br />
<br />
What Mirror takes care of overhead Jax is mirroring for the guards; nothing for ''them'' to see but the darkness and the trees. He refrains from sighing outwardly but, hived, the ''inward'' reflection of this is hard to suppress. << Answer ain't gonna change. We're here to get people out. Minimum of damage. Smash the bots, ''disable'' the guards, get the prisoners free. Not no more'n that. >><br />
<br />
Matt is not moving quite so languidly, but then, Mirror!Joshua is tough competition in the looking-nonchalant department right now. He's at Jax's left hand, trailing him just slightly, his powers easily and evenly bolstering his entire team. << So it goes, >> is all he adds, almost reflexively and with virtually no emotional inflection. He darts an opaque sidelong glance at Polaris.<br />
<br />
There is a strange thrumming energy to Polaris tonight. She walks like she would ''rather'' be dancing or running or at least moving more swiftly than the steady pace set by her team lead. To less familiar eyes she probably looks manic, but this energy is contained and ''focused'' on their objective. Her powers stretch out farther and stronger and more dynamic around them even before Matt starts augmenting them, mapping out the positions of the drones and effortlessly overloading the battery of the nearest one.<br />
<br />
DJ looks, contrastingly, extremely sedate. For those used to Flicker's jittery motions, he's simply walking, quiet and steady at Jax's side, dark in his tactical gear, a number of pouches strapped to his belt. Not so much as a stray fidget. In the commingled space of their shared mind his thoughts are carefully schooled like he's had a ''lot'' more practice with this than their couple crash-course scenarios. He glances to Mirror with only a very small sideways twitch of lips, reaching down into one pouch and taking up a stance by their door.<br />
<br />
The next drone drops from the sky as its battery overloads. Lily is twitchy, her jaw tense as she keeps pace with the rest of the wizards. Her focus is on her extended senses, the drones surrounding them, the ball bearings in her own belt-pouch, on ''not'' killing anyone with her borrowed power, on switching out at any moment. Her position is almost the same as in practice — mirroring Polaris on the other side of Jax and Matt.<br />
<br />
Drones begin falling out of the sky, one by one -- short-circuited wherever they can be found. With each successive ''bzzt'', they tumble from the night-sky silently, either crashing to the ground or ferreted somewhere safe -- though it's hard to see them in the dark sky, it's clear to both Lily and Polaris there are ''considerably'' more around this time... but, so far, they've managed to take them all out without raising the alarms.<br />
<br />
The facility remains silent; neither the guards nor the various cameras catching sight of the silent, nigh-invisible group disguised by Mirror!Joshua and Jax's abilities.<br />
<br />
<< I take back all my complaints from the ride here, >> Mirror decides a moment later, eyes closed, leaning up against the side of the building, << this is great. Better than television. They are ''not'' subtle, are they? >> One of his arms has curled across his chest; the other, lifting, twists sinuously into a long black tentacle, writhing up into the night and then dissolving into nothing.<br />
<br />
<< Don't gotta be subtle. Just gotta be effective. >> Jax frowns at the continued thumps of drones hitting the grass. << -- s'a lot of those. You need a rest, you let me know. >><br />
<br />
Matt emits a very soft "mm" and adjusts the spread of his powers, steadying and sharpening Lily's borrowed magnetokinesis. << You'll not want for entertainment tonight, I'm sure. We're about to get a lot less subtle on this end, too. >><br />
<br />
An uncomfortable twitch passes across DJ's expression. Just briefly, in time with a similar inward shudder across their collective mind. He presses his fingers harder against the handful of ball bearings he holds, rolling them against his palm. << Bots or guards? Both? >><br />
<br />
Polaris glances at DJ, her jaw tightening. Then she sucks in a deep breath and nods without actually turning to Jax. << I will. But between Matt and the magnetic storm and Lily-me? >> Her eyes lift to the sky that scintillates wildly to her senses as she bricks another drone. Her vibrant presence in the hivemind certainly does not ''feel'' in need of rest. << I can do this (all night) for a ''while.'' >><br />
<br />
Matt’s power calms Lily’s borrowed, eases some of her own nerves. Tiring out does not appear to be an immediate problem — as drone after drone falls, Lily seems more like she’s burning off excess energy than draining her own reserves. <<We’ll be fine. Bots. Guards. Whatever.>> She’s ''impatient'' as her power whips out again and another drone plummets.<br />
<br />
The majority of the drones appear to have been cleared around the perimeter; there's no more immediate threat of them within either Lily or Polaris's range. But...<br />
<br />
Then there's a distant klaxon -- radio chatter -- movement among the anxious-but-tired guards. They suddenly look significantly ''less'' tired, several of them pulling their radios to speak -- several more running up to wave some of them down. <br />
<br />
Suddenly, the light surrounding the facility ''blazes'' bright, as several recently-installed high-powered LED panels flash on -- creating a brilliant halo of illumination in what is nearly a 50 yard radius surrounding the facility. For an instant -- however long it takes Mirror!Joshua and Jax to adjust -- the group are, one way or another, ''very'' visible to the guards.<br />
<br />
Mirror just glances up, when the lights come on. Lifts a hand, slightly, to shade their eyes. Glances over to Jax, eyebrow quirking. Lowers their hand again, ''their'' illusory camouflage simply dropping. "Found us."<br />
<br />
In other circumstances, Jax ''might'' facepalm. In this one, he is a bit preoccupied. Shortly after the lights come up a bubble of shield goes up over the group in place of the illusion Mirror just dropped. The light around them is shifting, slightly, warping very faintly -- sensible more to Matt than anyone else as it bends and flows ''towards'' the photokinetics, absorbed hungrily inwards. "Oh," he says, as the group shimmers more neatly out of sight, "I'm gonna put my money on both."<br />
<br />
"Calisse de Viarge de marde--" The profanity is just a perfunctory grumble as Matt squints his eyes shut, arm thrown up too late to stop the light blinding him. But when he feels the shift in the flow of the light the corner of his mouth twitches up and his powers sink deeper into Jax's and Mirror!Joshua!Jax's, cranking up their absorption rate exponentially. "Bon appétit, mes gars."<br />
<br />
DJ's breath catches for just a moment. There's a flash of memory that surfaces in all of them; similar bright lights, a klaxon siren, a trio of very ''un''familiar bots, larger and more menacing than their oh-so-friendly soft-white medical Sentinels pincering in around them. Pull in a deep breath, let it out again.<br />
<br />
One of their hive straightens from where they've been leaning against the wall, rolls the small metal beads against their palm again. << Alright, then. Both. >><br />
<br />
Polaris's complicated attunement with the invisible magnetic storm stutters for a moment, her own breath catching and her powers reflexively reaching for Sentinels that aren't actually there. << No. We're here. We're now. >> She recollects herself and strains the impressively distant edge of her magnetic senses. "Good news, I can't find anything to fry." << That ''is'' good, right? >><br />
<br />
“Is that good news?” Lily’s question echos the other woman’s thought. Her control didn’t so much stutter as unfurl when the remembered bots appeared. She’s spinning the magnetokinesis back into place now, a filament of her own power reaching at the same time for DJ. She hasn’t switched yet, but fills her hands with ball bearings anyway.<br />
<br />
One of the guards at the station above got a glimpse of their image flicking in and out of existence. There's yelling from above; somebody shouting something about 'teleporters'. More bots are rumbling from the interior; Lily and Polaris can feel them as they surge toward the doorways -- the sound of windows shattering from above. As four -- no, ''five'' -- drones surge in overhead, they immediately zoom in on the group -- sensors immediately picking up the anomaly that accompanies no appearance on a visible light spectrum, but a very ''distinct'' presence via their inner 'sonar'.<br />
<br />
''thwpthwpthwp'' -- the darts that start to fire off aren't... very well targeted, really; the drones aren't good at aiming with just one set of sensors -- but it's still enough to keep the group on their toes. On top of that, Matt immediately picks up a very ''distinct'' tingling in the building behind them -- the arrival of incoming labrats.<br />
<br />
Guards are appearing at the windows above, armed with assault rifles -- scanning the area, shouting, pointing at where the five drones are hovering and unleashing their barrage of darts. They might not ''see'' them, but they figure something is definitely ''up''. <br />
<br />
Inside -- at the front hallway -- a squad of guards is assembling at the exit; four in total, with two more in tow. Matt can feel the labrats -- but he can feel two more mutants standing near the exit, where the guards are setting up to intercept and force the labrats back with tasers and, if necessary, assault rifles.<br />
<br />
He also feels a third mutant -- up above, where the guards are arriving at the windows the drones emerged from.<br />
<br />
DJ's handful of ball bearings is gone nearly the moment their incoming guards begin to take their places -- two of the guards nearest the exit have grown wristlets of metal before he's in motion, blipping upward to grab one of the incoming drones and lodge it squarely in one of the windows the guards are stationing themselves at Then back on the ground, re-arming himself like he never moved.<br />
<br />
Hive's presence is growing more concrete in their minds, the ''feel'' of the incoming reinforcements becoming a little bit sharper. << Your friend's back, Jax. >> comes with the feeling of the shadowmancer arriving upstairs. A regretful touch up against DJ's mind -- << -- and yours. >> -- closer, down here, a mind hungry for blood.<br />
<br />
Mirror!Joshua just tips their head back, sedate as the barrage of darts starts to fly -- and thud harmlessly off of the shield that wraps over the team. "Wait, that's not Dusk?" Their brows quirk up, thoughts focusing on the bloodthirsty mind Hive shows them. Overhead, a spike of light spearing through one of the nearer drones. For all their cavalier exterior, inside there's a growing agitation in their mind, impatient, anxious: << ''Where is Joshua''? >><br />
<br />
<< Matt, we got this held down for now. They turn the field back off in there, don't split your attention on us. just put a lid on the chaos. '''specially'' that shadowmancer. >> Another flare shreds a drone behind Mirror's into pieces, but the others can feel Jax's attention steering Hive's -- sharp and wary and focused on what the group inside is doing. He hasn't put any shields up inside ''yet'', but he's poised to do it if they open fire on the approaching labrats.<br />
<br />
Matt was already straining his powers toward the shadowmancer and the blood person, a mental cat's cradle stretched tight though not to the point of breaking. At Jax's instruction he grits his teeth, ''relucantly'' lets go of his teammates' powers and throws the full force of his attention toward the building. ''His'' suppression field is impossible for the Prometheus mutants--guards ''or'' labrats--to feel over their own technologically generated one, but to the hive it feels like a sudden change in air pressure. He pushes his mental demarcation of the field's boundaries toward DJ. << You'll be depowered if you go in. I'm working on pinning them individually but it'll take me a moment. >><br />
<br />
DJ is tossing another bracelet of ballbearings towards a third of the squad of four guards. << Don't go in. Got it. Are -- we going to try and get the hostile labrats out? >><br />
<br />
This question is met with an almost immediate tension from Hive, wordless but felt through all the team.<br />
<br />
Polaris does not seem much fazed by the comparative weakening of her magnetokinesis as Matt withdraws. She seizes hold of one guard's ball bearing bracelet and hurls it toward their one undecorated comrade, socking them sloppily in the face and following the punch through far enough to dislocate the puppeted guard's arm. Hive's tension lingers in her body for just an instant, but she powers through it and grabs a remaining drones to sling at one of the guards taking (currently useless) aim from the windows<br />
<br />
In reluctant answer to DJ's question, Hive reaches out ahead, sweeping the hostile Prometheus labrats up into the network, for a brief moment. In the shared mindspace info-dumping is a much ''quicker'' task, not telling but ''sharing'', not showing but ''being'' -- for a moment, the labrats ''are'' experiencing his perspective as he explains who they are and what they're here to do, that they can come with them, have a life on the outside, that the team will do their best to meet their needs (blood included, if that's your jam!), that they're not going to force anyone to leave but the offer is always open, that he was, once, where they are, working for Prometheus as well, that he genuinely ''wants'' to help them build community, build a life, on the other side.<br />
<br />
Just for a moment, and then he's gone again.<br />
<br />
Lily’s tension doesn’t pass when Hive’s does — her teeth remain clenched as she focuses on staying in control of the magnetokinesis without Matt’s help. The other two ball-bearing laced guard’s arms get yanked out of their sockets with a practiced twist of power before they are both being bodily tossed back. The last drone is overloaded soon after. She reaches out to Jax and Matt, mental nudge questioning without words if she should be Matt, help shut down the approaching danger or bolster while his attention is elsewhere.<br />
<br />
DJ's use of the drone as a barricade obstructs two guards from firing; the drone's pincer-like legs dangle out from the building's side, electrical sparks flashing from side to side -- cracks in the concrete from where it's displaced physical matter. The guards inside are shouting, stumbling back in shock.<br />
<br />
Down below, two -- now ''three'' -- of the guards cry out, feeling something wrapping around their wrists -- Polaris's power sends one of the 'magnetized' guards slamming into the fourth, unmagenetized -- dislocating the magnetized guard and breaking the unmagnetized guard's nose. The other two are taking aim -- as two more guards arrive to supplement them.<br />
<br />
Jax's scything blade destroys one drone; Mirror!Joshua's spike destroys another. Polaris uses another drone to ''slam'' into a second window, obstructing yet another guard's view from above. Along with DJ's destroyed drone, that leaves only one drone left -- only for Lily to overload the drone's batteries, causing it to drop to the ground like a sack of lead.<br />
<br />
The four guards at the entrance (six, but two have been disabled by Polaris; two are magnetized, two are not) are about to open fire on the escaping labrats... only for Lily's power to ''yank'' the magnetized guards back and dislocate their shoulders. They go down screaming, just as the remaining two try to open fire -- only for Jax's shield to SLAM down in place. ''ping-ping-ping'' -- the guards lower their guns and step back, starting to retreat -- there's only two left standing, with the other four on the floor... in front of them, a hoard of incoming escapees -- and behind them, some ''very'' powerful spell-casters. They don't like their odds -- and are making a strategic withdraw, trying to drag some of their comrades out of the line of fire.<br />
_ _<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, upstairs, the shadowmancer is ''extremely'' confused -- he's just stepped out of the limits of the suppressor's range, but his power isn't... doing anything? Downstairs, the second mutant contractor hasn't experienced this moment of confusion yet, as he's not yet had reason to use his power -- but he's helping the two guards dragon the rest out of the hallway, down a side-passage.<br />
<br />
The labrat accompanying the guard -- the one Matt sensed, the one Hive identified as 'blood-thirsty' -- is just standing off to the side. A red-head, missing one eye and his left forearm. He looks... blank-faced. Like he's in a state of shock.<br />
<br />
Mirror glances up at the broken drones above. Glances over to the door. Glances back up. There's a sudden queasy ''rippling'' across their body, their form shifting and melting like wax -- their clothes suddenly now slightly ill-fitting, their hair shortening, skin lightening, until Peter is standing where Joshua ''just'' was. Heedless of the chaos happening inside, they slip into the doorway, stepping on ''top'' of one of the downed guards and then over them to demand of the arriving labrats behind Jax's shield: "''Where'' is Joshua?"<br />
<br />
Jax is carefully moving his shield as the guards retreat -- dropping it, putting up a new one farther down the hall and closer to the fleeing guards -- to give the labrats space to ''emerge'' from the building. << Hey! We're over this way -- DJ can get anyone that needs a lift out to the vehicles quick, >> he's offering, helpful softly-glowing dots of floor-lights illuminating a path to the team like he's an flight attendant orienting them to their ride.<br />
<br />
The labrats had ''tried'' to retreat from the guards as they got ready to open fire, but had nowhere to go with more and more of their fellows piling up behind them. The ones at the very front seem kind of confused to ''not'' be dead or at least bleeding. The teenager whose superpower really seems like it might be "presence of mind" is the first to recover, stretching out a hand to gingerly touch the iridescent bubble protecting them. "That's -- that's ''Jax Holland!''" they exclaim, jubilant, and start moving forward as the shield blinks out and re-situates. "This way!" They start encouraging the others on, pointing out the lighting on the floor that lead them out into the cool if overly bright night.<br />
<br />
Matt has closed his eyes again, in concentration this time. He keeps the mutant guards and the bloodthirsty labrat suppressed individually now and lets the wider field drop away with a slight relaxing of tense shoulders. << DJ, you're clear right up to the building's outer wall--''their'' suppression grid is still up. >> His eyes open again, his focus snapping to the labrats as they approach the exit. << I need to know who has volatile powers, preferably before they come out of the field. >> Though even so saying he's poised to drop a blanket of suppression on the exit--just in case!<br />
<br />
DJ blips into place by Jax with a nod and a small wave to the approaching labrats. << Teleporting's a little bit of a queasy ride, but you'll get there quick and in on piece. >> He's ready to whisk away anyone who looks in need of taking him up on the offer, focused Very Intently on this task and not on anything else that might be going on in their network currently.<br />
<br />
Secondary to everything going on outside -- among raiders, labrats, and guards -- the mutant labrat with red hair is staring blankly at a wall somewhere near the entrance, ignoring the panicked yelling, the guards running past him dragging their comrades -- even the other labrats stumbling by him (several who see him give him a ''wide'' berth, brief flickers of panic and terror rolling over their eyes).<br />
<br />
Hive's presence creeps forward into Carnage's mind, linking him to another mind, deeper in the facility -- one similarly tinged with red, with hunger -- with teeth and claws dripping with crimson. << you with us? >><br />
<br />
Carnage, continuing to stare blankly out, responds -- his voice muted, almost telepathically muffled -- but with something fierce and blood-soaked churning beneath the surface: << ...the fuck ''are'' you? >><br />
<br />
The labrats push down the corridor in a not-completely-disorderly mass. Only the teenager ushering them stops to squint at Mirror!Peter. "Weren't you like -- downstairs?" They shake this off. "Joshua should be in the back, his cell's way at the end of the block. Your other guys are still down there with the stragglers, I'm sure he'll be up!" With that they're shouldering their way back into the press of escaping labrats as they start to panic and all pile out the door at once. "Terese, ''hold up'' we need to listen to the --" The rest of this frustrated request dies on their tongue when DJ blinks into view. "''Flicker the Swift!''" They step out of the field as if ''physically'' drawn toward the teleporter. "Take Keir and Lisa first," they're tugging a young woman forward along with a person covered in soft purple and white fur, though their eyes never completely leave DJ. "They said you ''died!''"<br />
<br />
Polaris encourages the retreating guards along a none-too-gentle ''shove'' by the wrists of those with already bruised and dislocated limbs, then turns her attention up to the guards who ''had'' been firing from the second storey windows, stretching out her senses to feel for anyone or anything coming out to interfere with evacuation. Her concentration shatters when the unlikely labrat leader blurts out one of Dawson's ''many'' legendary epithets among Prometheans. The array of lights rigged on the outside of the building fluctuate as she struggles to reel her powers back in, having pushed them to her enhanced yet unstable limits.<br />
<br />
Either Lily didn't hear, or is choosing not to listen, to the labrats looking at her brother <<not brother not my brother>> in awe. A quick scan of the air again with Polaris' power and Lily switches, losing the senses of the auroras and replacing them with heightened awareness of every mutant around them. Most of her focus goes to Polaris, crudely copying the steadying hand Matt had given her earlier, while the rest bolsters Matt himself.<br />
<br />
What remains of the guards that haven't retreated aren't making any moves -- a lot of the initial courage is evaporating in the face of a ''crowd'' of emerging mutants. Below, a few guards are 'encouraged' to continue leaving via Polaris's push -- two or three stragglers are up at the windows, trying to decide whether or not it's worth taking their shot -- they appear to be collectively deciding it... well, isn't.<br />
<br />
Void-touch guard makes an attempt to grab one of the lab-rats and ''fold'' him out of space, stepping toward the edge of the suppression field -- only to stare in blank confusion when nothing happens. The lab-rat shoves past him; he stumbles back. The shadow-mancer upstairs is still struggling to just... ''fire'' his powers. The fuck?! The suppression field is still up, but he's reaching ''out'' from the walls, and... ''the fuck?!'' He's definitely not going to open fire without his powers to back him up.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the red-head -- Carnage -- just stands at the edge, letting the lab-rats slip by without a word. His brows furrowed. He doesn't even seem to ''notice'' that his powers have been muzzled.<br />
<br />
Despite the raiders' calm instructions, their teenaged shepherd's preternatural togetherness, and the fact that Carnage is just standing catatonic while they pass, many of the labrats are shoving away from him in abject terror, pushing those ahead of them out the exit in a tumbling heap, their thoughts a similarly jumbled mess nearly impossible to untangle.<br />
<br />
"No, no everyone ''stop'' --" The teenager has been trying to hold back the exodus, but now they lift off the ground, flying a little unsteadily but higher and higher, searching the crowd of their labmates. "Gemma? Gemma where ''are'' you -- shit!"<br />
<br />
<< Who the fuck died and made Liberty boss where's ''Allan'' >> << Oh God oh God we're all gonna die! >> << Where ''is'' she, though -- >> <br />
<br />
The press of bodies surge out unabated. The ground is rumbling around them, rocks and detritus and broken pieces of drones floating up weightless. ''People'' are not floating -- other than the teenager apparently named Liberty, who was ''already'' flying. At least, not ''yet.''<br />
<br />
Mirror, meanwhile, is melting again, an ooze of skin and facial features as they step back out of the lab and into the cool night air. A shift, a warp, and now a Matt 2.0 is standing there, one hand folded across his chest and the other lifting to cup his face in one hand. His ability has stretched out and is clamping down, quiet but firm, on ''all'' the labrats coming out of the facility. "We are not having chaos," he says, simply, "until after I find Joshua. Thank you."<br />
<br />
(Quietly, a shield forms itself into a kind of slide beneath the labrat who'd been floating up into the air when Mirror clamps down on their powers. Jax is still resisting the urge to facepalm; perhaps that will come later, when they are back in the van.)<br />
<br />
"I do think," he agrees mildlly, "that no chaos is generally better. If you're missing a friend, let me know and probably Hive can let you know if they're here -- otherwise please go with DJ to the vehicle."<br />
<br />
Suddenly, Carnage -- still standing off to the side, blank-faced -- convulses, clutches his stomach with his one hand, and -- proceeds to drop to a knee, vomiting profusely.<br />
<br />
Matt's powers remain firmly clamped on the hostile mutants, though he spares a bit of attention to gently ''correct'' Lily's crude imitation of his steadying touch. When Mirror!Matt's suppression spreads out over the labrats his eyes go wide and he starts to slam down on ''that'' before Jax neatly intercepts the flying labrat's freefall. "Oh dear. I'm metastasizing again." He says this somewhat blandly, as though it were but a mild if frequent annoyance. "It was only a...''Matt''er of time." His thoughts are a ''bit'' less cavalier. Just a bit. << Be careful ferrying them. I ''think'' Gemma is the one who-- >> His mind starts to supply an unhelpful memory, a blinding burst of nonexistent colors and geometries in his senses, but he cuts it off. << --warps space. >><br />
<br />
DJ looks a ''little'' bit like he might also be ill, slightly paler, slightly less steady than he was. He does not lose his last meal, though. He just nods at the labrats' greeting, and doesn't bother to correct them. He takes the labrats he's directed to, making his quiet introduction and disclaimer before vanishing in a blur off into the distance.<br />
<br />
Liberty "eeps" when they start to fall, then ''continues'' "eep"ing as they slide safely down to the ground. "I'm trying to find my friend," they retort, "so there ''won't'' be..." They look back and forth between Matt and -- Matt, too overwhelmed, at last, to continue playing leader. "Right. Sorry. Who's the DJ, though?" Their eyes tick between the team members and finally settle uncertainly on Polaris's green hair.<br />
<br />
Behind them the last stragglers -- save Joshua, Skye, Kilroy, and Nathaniel -- have made it out, looking back with some mixture of horror, disgust, and mild sympathy at Carnage as he retches blood. A small, dark haired teenager with black, black eyes wiggles her way out of the pack and goes to Liberty's side. "I'm not going to do the ''thing,''" she says, very solemnly. "Can we go now?"<br />
<br />
Amidst the chaos of the labrats escaping -- amidst the ''several'' Matts who are present -- there is a brief psychic spike of one more mind, akin to an animal flush with fear and desperately gnawing at its own leg to escape the bite of a trap. Despite the mute, child-like nature of the voice, the emotion churning behind it is so strong that it briefly pushes out across several minds at once -- like a feral cat yowling in anguish: << don't -- don't leave me here I don't want to be here I don't -- >><br />
<br />
The red-head who was previously vomiting blood suddenly straightens up, and -- without a word or glance spared to anyone -- ''bolts''. Running straight out the door, and... decisively ''not'' toward the buses. Instead, he runs for the woods.<br />
<br />
Somewhere in the sea of panicking chaotic escaping labrats here is one -- quiet, slowly-trudging, he's ''been'' leaning up against one of the raiders but now is just supporting himself heavily against a wall as he makes his way out into the night. Joshua blinks against the bright floodlights, lifts one hand to shade his eyes as his gaze sweeps the scene. Lands on one Matt -- then another. A very small twitch pulls at his mouth. "Huh," is what he says, soft. "So ''that's'' what it takes." He's making his way unerringly towards the nearer Matt with his somewhat ill-fitting uniform. "We going home?"<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=NPC-Carnage&diff=23800NPC-Carnage2021-11-07T23:01:52Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Horrible blood-monster. STATUS: Unknown! Believed to be deceased.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Institutionalized blood-monster.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}An extreme form of hemokinesis. Carnage has the ability to control blood via contact (and weaker control via proximity). But only mutant blood -- and only if it's exposed and oxygenated (he can't control blood in a mutant's veins). He can use this blood to form all manner of weapons (hooks, barbs, claws). He also derives nourishment from mutant blood (needing neither food, sleep, or water when he has sufficient blood). Carnage can also identify mutants by smell (so long as they have blood) -- and once he's tasted a particular strain of mutant blood, he can track it -- by smell -- over several miles.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He is also a semi blood-based metamorph, but this ability has... consequences.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Friends'''<br />
* [[Ryan]] - BLOOD BUDDIES! :D <br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* [[Nox]] - WHY CAN'T I SMELL YOU?<br />
* [[Tatters]] - MINE MINE MINE /MINE/<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
* Coming soon.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:Carnage1.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Carnage2.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:Carnage4.png|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Carnage<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:Carnage3.jpg|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Carnage<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| ???<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"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Evil<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Hemokinesis<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Serial Killer<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"| '''Blood Fix''' - ''Are you a mutant? Do you have blood? We should meet.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''The Childrens!''' - ''Carnage has a habit of snatching younger mutants (easier prey), dragging them somewhere private, and drinking their blood.''<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:NPCs]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Logs:Tattletales&diff=23785Logs:Tattletales2021-10-30T02:25:58Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{{ Logs | cast = Peter, Spencer, Shane | summary = (Shane --> Spence): He's wrong about the fancy but if you put a lil toothpick in spam he'd think it's gourmet ho..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{ Logs<br />
| cast = [[Peter]], [[Spencer]], [[Shane]]<br />
| summary = (Shane --> Spence): He's wrong about the fancy but if you put a lil toothpick in spam he'd think it's gourmet hors d'oeuvres<br />
| gamedate = 2021-10-27<br />
| gamedatename = <br />
| subtitle = <br />
| location = <XAV> Athletic Center - Xs Grounds<br />
| categories = Xavier's School, Mutants, Mutates, Spencer, Peter, Shane<br />
| log = <br />
<br />
Though fairly new and fully modern on the inside, the exterior of this building has a stately stone exterior that does not jar too much with the Victorian elegance of the mansion proper. Situated near the athletic fields on the grounds, the athletic center host a vast range of indoor sports and fitness endeavors. The most iconic facilities here include an Olympic size swimming pool, a basketball court, and a fully outfitted gymnasium. In addition to these and the boys' and girls' locker rooms, there are an array of smaller facilities upstairs: two studios for dance, martial arts, yoga, or fencing, a multipurpose space that can be configured for various team sports, and a fitness center with free weights and various exercise machines whose upper limits can bet set beyond what would be safe or useful to baseline humans with staff permission.<br />
<br />
Peter's upstairs, in the fitness center; dressed in a pair of grey gym-shorts (white strings tightly laced at the front) and a black, red tee-shirt with a stylized gold lightning bolt straight down the center. At this ''precise'' moment, he's on his back, sitting inside of a rather complex-looking exercise device -- or maybe it's more just a device for measuring strength? Hard to tell with some of the customized equipment, up here. Either way, he's applying his legs with considerable force, pushing down on a set of reinforced pads with his sock-clad feet -- the metal springs behind the pads producing a series of creaking ''clicks'' while a number on the display to his side continues to go up.<br />
<br />
After a few moments of this, he seems satisfied; he huffs, rolling to the side and setting his feet down on the floor -- still seated in the device, he turns the pad to examine it, then reaches for his phone, thumbing the numbers into it. Meanwhile, his other hand drops down to idly scritch at his left side. "...mh."<br />
<br />
Several texts light up Peter's phone in rapid succession.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
(Spence --> Peter): Hey! You still training?<br />
(Spence --> Peter): You're probably still training<br />
(Spence --> Peter): Anyway I'm coming over<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
Only a few seconds after the very last message shows up, the empty air beside Peter's complex fitness contraption is suddenly --<br />
<br />
-- no longer empty. Spencer is wearing a kippah styled after Captain America's shield, a blue t-shirt with graduated cylinder (labeled 1L) filled with a stack of adorable cartoon moles, black corduroys, and red sneakers. Didn't he have an overshirt earlier? He probably *should* have one, but he does not. He *does* have a half-drunk bottle of Code Red Mountain Dew, though. Maybe that accounts for some of his jittery nervous energy. Or maybe that's just the kind of month he's having.<br />
<br />
"Hey!" he says, again. "Sorry uh. I thought maybe you wouldn't be checking your texts because of. You know." He tilts his head to examine Peter's workout apparatus. "Leg day. Have you eaten? You should eat. I made a ton of pumpkin kibbeh last night I brought some. Well, not *on* me but you can have some of my Code Red." He offers the (somewhat agitated) bottle.<br />
<br />
Peter is, in fact, just in the process of seeing the text notifications -- he's just brought up the first text, reading it -- when suddenly there is a very-present Spence right next to him! Peter does a brief double-take; he jerks back, although there isn't an immediate sense of panic (probably because Spence's sudden presence didn't set off the sharp, stabbing sensation of immediate ''danger''). Instead, Peter gives him a lopsided (albeit semi-distracted) grin, his eyes drifting to the shirt with the pile of adorable moles loaded up in the cylinder... then, back up to Spence, holding out the bottle of Mountain Dew. <br />
<br />
"Kibbeh -- that's those... like, fancy corn-dog things, right? Those things are ''delicious''." Peter's understanding of cuisine leaves... something to be desired. "I'm good, though," he adds, holding a hand up as if to ward off the Mountain Dew -- even as he stares at it with just a hint of desire. Caffeine -- ''my precious''. "Not exercise -- I mean. I guess it IS exercise, I just wanted to make sure it still all works and I've been testing to see if I can get stronger ''anyway'', but, uh..."<br />
<br />
Spence tilts his head the other direction and squints at Peter. "I'm not sure we're thinking of the same thing? I ''did'' make some with beef, they're mostly back at the house but I can go get some if you want." He shrugs and takes a long gulp, unlocking his phone one-handed in the middle of this operation and just hanging onto the bottle with his ''teeth'' while he swipes out a quick message or three<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
(Spence --> Shane): Is kibbeh FANCY Peter says it's fancy<br />
(Spence --> Shane): he also says they're like corn dogs so Idk what to think!<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
The phone goes back into his pocket, the cap goes back into the soda bottle, and Spencer goes back to giving Peter what he probably thinks is a speculative look.<br />
<br />
"You're testing the equipment? That's great, but like...aren't you training for the raid?"<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
(Shane --> Spence): I mean they're basically like corndogs with a different meat and a different grain he's not wrong<br />
(Shane --> Spence): He's wrong about the fancy but if you put a lil toothpick in spam he'd think it's gourmet hors d'oeuvres<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
"Oh, I mean -- 'it' means my body. I'm testing ''myself''. Making sure, y'know... ''this'' all works," Peter explains, briefly flustered as he gestures toward his lower half. "I mean. Uh. My legs. Making sure my legs... work. Along with... everything else." He frowns, then, glancing down at his legs -- then, looking back up to Spence, provides an awkward smile that looks more than a little forced: <br />
<br />
"It's actually really tricky to test the... danger sense thing, y'know? Because it doesn't fool easy. And it's hard to... like, explain to someone that I need them to ''really'' try and hurt me. Because somehow... my brain can like... tell? When someone's not trying to kill me."<br />
<br />
Spencer checks his phone and snorts.<br />
<br />
<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
(Spence --> Shane): Ok but that would fool me, too, it's not like I can identify spam on sight/smell<br />
</pre><br />
<br />
He listens to Peter with an expression of earnest if confused interest. Then looks down at Peter's legs. Looks at the machine. Back at Peter "*Are* your legs working, along with everything else? Are you worried they might *not* be working? Also, would you consider spam with little toothpicks gourmet hors d'oeuvres?"<br />
<br />
He takes another swig of heavily caffeinated soda. "I bet you could test it other ways, like it isn't *only* about if someone wants to kill you, right?"<br />
<br />
The snort prompts eyebrows to lurch up; Peter's head tilts at Spence's phone, as if trying to scan the contents of the text through its back. Once it becomes clear he's not going to spontaneously develop x-ray telephone vision, though, he gives up -- and refocuses on Spence. "My aunt used to fry slices of spam for breakfast, it's actually not too bad. I don't know, though -- I always thought... aren't the toothpicks what ''makes'' the food hors d'oeuvres?" So... the answer is yes, then.<br />
<br />
"And, yeah, but like... I have to put ''myself'' in danger. I could jump off a building, but unless I ''know'' I'm gonna face-plant into the ground, it won't go off. Though -- now that you mention it, I bet the danger room could set it off." He brightens.<br />
<br />
Then -- remembering what Spence just asked him -- Peter's features darken, his mouth tightening into a tight, thin line. He looks down, then to the left -- then to the right -- as if confirming the room is empty. Not that that makes much of a difference ''here''. "...about that. The powers, I mean. Uh... can you... keep a secret?" Peter's ''great'' at secrets. Spence probably is, too!<br />
<br />
"Oh sorry, I was just asking Shane about the corn dogs and all. I don't think I've ever had one?" Spence's face scrunches up in thought. "I've never had spam, either, but I think you're right about the toothpicks. ''Especially'' toothpicks with like little colorful flags. But like ok, 'hey ''Cere,'''" he overenunciate 'Cere', at once making it sound more distinct from and more reminiscent of 'Siri' than usual, "'try to kill me when I least expect it' is an ''awesome'' horror movie concept."<br />
<br />
His blossoming excitement about his new horror film is instantly sidetracked by his excitement about Secret. He bounces up and down just a little, wide gray eyes gone even wider than they have been. "I can ''totally'' keep a secret, oh man I have so many secrets you don't even ''know'', like me and --" A flash of sadness passes over his face. "-- I have this tiny island out in the Pacific Ocean where I've buried ''treasure.''"<br />
<br />
Peter's face splits into a grin at the mention of Siri-trying-to-murder-me as a horror concept; he rises up off the exercise device and stretches his arms over his head, hands balled up into fists. Rocking back and forth, he starts rolling his shoulders, swinging his arms in wide circles, stretching them out with a series of ever-so-slight ''pops'' and ''cracks''. All while Spence is ''bouncing'' with excitement at the prospect of a secret. "--treasure?" Peter asks, briefly intrigued, though the flash of sadness in Spence's expression stops him from pushing it. A brief, unpleasantly terrifying memory suddenly surfaces in his mind; an ocean depth, dark and rolling, the light so distant that one can no longer tell which way is up or down.<br />
<br />
He pushes the memory aside -- his grin fading: "Seriously, though, it's..." ''Crack''. Pop. Finished stretching, Peter lifts one arm up and starts scratching the back of his head in the universal sign for 'I am not good with people and don't know what to do with my hands when talking to them'. "...um, I don't..." Scratch, scratch. He looks down at Spence's feet, his voice strikingly low: "I don't think... I mean -- I ''know''... I don't have the X-Gene."<br />
<br />
"It's actually ''multiple'' treasures. The 'X's kept washing away, but anyway I have ''maps'' now." Spencer's casual tone suggests the practical challenges of burying treasure on a deserted island are just mundane, everyday concerns. Moving on, he's squinting at Peter now. He tilts his head one way, then the other, as if trying see into his friend's DNA. "But. You're a mutant, mutants have the X-gene it's like..." He flips one index finger meaningfully back and forth between them, just in case Peter forgot ''he'' was also a mutant. With the X-gene. "You ''definitely'' have powers, and I don't ''think'' you're a supersoldier?" His eyes go even wider. "Whoa ''are'' you though?!"<br />
<br />
Scritch. Scritch. That hand keeps on working at the back of Peter's head, his elbow poking out from the side. The side of his mouth twitches up at the mention of ''multiple'' treasures; a new (manufactured) memory of Spence diligently burying multiple treasures on some distant island no one even knows ''exists'' soon replace the previous one. "I, um, don't know," Peter confesses, and now he's blushing fiercely despite himself. "I definitely don't have it. Someone tested it for me after the suppression field didn't do anything -- like, I think... it's based on suppressing the ''active'' expression of the X-Gene, somehow? But if you just, like... if the powers come from ''tricking'' your body -- I don't know precisely how it works, but..."<br />
<br />
Peter realizes, suddenly, that he's starting to ramble. The hand behind his head drops to his side. Peter shrugs, then frowns: "I mean, like... all of my powers are --" The frown deepens: "They'd make somebody into a ''really'' effective soldier."<br />
<br />
Spence's eyes narrow further, exaggerated and highly skeptical. "But -- but Joshua?" He's apparently so flabbergasted even the mention of his missing friend does not drag him down. "Ok well he can't yoink ''everyone'', but ''Matt?!'' I feel like you're around mutants so much sooner or later ''someone's'' gonna notice one way or another and be like 'that's unusual!'" He points at Peter demonstratively with this last exclamation, becoming more animated by the second. "Also wouldn't ''you'' notice if someone was doing supersoldier experiments on you? Anyway suppression fields don't suppress ''physical'' stuff, and tests can be..." He gasps, eyes snapping wide open. "The tests can ''totally'' be wrong. Gae's tests said he doesn't have the X-gene, either, and ''he's'' a muta -- oh crap!" He claps both hands to his mouth.<br />
<br />
Peter shrugs in response to the mention of Joshua and Matt -- though there's a flicker of concern in his eyes at the mention of the first name. At the mention of physical powers, he starts to say: "Well, not ''all'' my powers are..." -- only to be cut off by Spence's gasp and mention of tests being wrong, followed by... Oh. That one sends Peter's eyebrows launching toward the stratosphere once more. "...wait... what?" Then: "Wait, ''what''?"<br />
<br />
Peter makes the connection when Spence claps his hands to his mouth. His shock gives way to mild amusement: "Guessing you weren't supposed to let that one out." The amusement flips to something more somber: "Don't worry, I'll pretend like I didn't hear that. But -- um, I know I'm ''probably'' not one to talk, but... you gotta be careful with that sort of thing, yeah? Especially ''these'' days."<br />
<br />
Peter scrunches his face up, thinking: "...though... I mean... if that's the case -- I don't know. There's a lot of possibilities, yeah. Mutant powers are weird."<br />
<br />
Spence has gone from covering his mouth to covering his entire face. "Yes please please ''please'' don't tell anyone. I think he wants time to sort it out on his own before he deals with it like -- socially?" He drags his hands downward before dropping them away again. "But yeah, mutations are weird and hard sometimes! I'm glad yours are working ok, and it's ''good'' that suppression doesn't work on you." He frowns suddenly, casting around for the Code Red that had vanished from his hand when he blurted out Gaétan's secret. "Oh man." At first this seems like a commentary on having chucked his soda into another dimension."He's gonna ''kill'' me."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I went through something like that," Peter admits, almost wistfully. "It got really complicated 'cuz if I told people I was a mutant, and they asked about my powers, and I just told them -- like, eventually someone would put two and two together and realize who I was. So, eventually, I just made up a mutation to tell people about -- static cling." He wiggles his fingers.<br />
<br />
"Who's gonna -- what, can he tell? Is that his power? He can tell if people tell his secrets? Not gonna lie, that's actually kind of a bad-ass power. His name could be 'Tattletale'." Peter is teasing, though he's watching Spence with just a ''hint'' of concern.<br />
<br />
"Um..." Spence chews on his lower lip, his fingers fluttering at the soft hem of his t-shirt. "No, ''I'm'' gonna tell him I spilled. He deserves to know, right? Like even if neither of us tells anyone ''else,'' it's kinda doubled the chance someone might, I dunno, overhear it from our brains?" He scrunches his eyes shut, his fingers fluttering faster, his skinny shoulders curling inward as if he's finally noticed it's a ''bit'' chilly for running around in short sleeves. "Look I don't want to talk about it ok, like aren't you pretending you didn't hear that?"<br />
<br />
"Oh. Huh. Yeah no that's -- that's the responsible thing to do. And right, yeah." Peter's hand lifts to the side of his head; he presses two fingers to his temple, then makes a low ''bwoooooop'' noise. Eyelids flutter! "Memory neuralized."<br />
<br />
The hand drops back to his lap: "...how are you -- um, how are you holding up? I know this is all... well, it's ''always'' a lot, but I know that it's gotten even... more of a lot, recently."<br />
<br />
Spence nods jerkily and twitches a nervous but unforced smile when Peter mimes zapping the memory from his head. "It's a lot," he says, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, "a lot a lot." He starts rocking gently and his arms wrap around himself, thumbs tapping each fingertip in rapid turn. "S-sorry. It's a ''lot'' a lot um..." His words dissolve into a low unsteady groan.<br />
<br />
Peter watches Spence, eyes widening. When he starts to rock, Peter slips out of the exercise machine and down to the floor. He's down on one knee, the other protruding up -- both his hands draped across it, looking up at Spence. "Yeah," he says, his voice hushed. "It's -- it's okay. I mean, it's ''not'', this is all so f--uh... messed up. But... it's okay to ''be'' messed up. By all of this." He resists every instinct inside of him screaming out to yoink Spence into a hug; instead, he just hovers within hugging ''range''. Those hands are twitching with the desire to, though. Twitch. Twitch. "It's okay to not be okay."<br />
<br />
It's only when Peter kneels that Spence remembers he does not need to remain standing. He sinks to sit on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees to hold them close to his chest, his rocking easier and more rhythmic now, fingers still fluttering. The groaning evens out, varying in timbre only with his motion now. Very gradually, the noise fades, though he does not cease rocking. He's not quiet for long, and when he does speak again the words come out fast, without much of Spence's usually exaggerated inflection. "Sorry sorry I'm sorry you'll bring him back right please you have to bring them back."<br />
<br />
Peter's wide-eyed twitchiness remains as Spence sinks down to the floor and hugs his knees -- his own breathing is fast and fluttery, his heartbeat following suit. But when the groaning gives way to those fast, uninflected words, something else comes over Peter; a sort of quiet stillness. Like a choppy, rough ocean suddenly swept into motionless calm. His eyes are no longer wide-eyed; the twitchiness vanishes. He breathes slow; in... then out.<br />
<br />
"We'll bring them back." Peter's voice is muted; just above a whisper. "Whatever it takes."<br />
<br />
}}</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Robbie&diff=23603Robbie2021-03-09T00:50:31Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''cuz trust me when i tell you you don't want that tooth and claw'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A 5'7" Latinx kid originally from California, now stuck in New York City. Desperately looking for his little brother. Likes to drive. Knows how to fix cars.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Host for [[the Rider]].<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Born near California, LA, Roberto Reyes is the oldest of two children (his sibling, Gabe, is younger by 2 years). When their father (Alberto Reyes) was forced out of the country by ICE, their mother (Juliana Reyes) sent them both to live with their Uncle Eli in New York City while she expended what meager money she had trying to find a way to bring him back. While there, Robbie got involved in fixing cars and street-racing.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Uncle Eli turned out to be a motherfucker. By the time he was through, Robbie and Gabe's mother was deported -- and they were taken to jail, where they were placed in separate cells. While there, an old man approached him. He told him he could sense Robbie's anger, //feel// it in his bones -- and knew it was righteous. He told him there was a way he could put things right. He told him that the only thing it would cost was the teenager's very soul.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}When the cops came to let Robbie go, they claimed to have never seen or arrested Gabe. Robbie flipped -- and in a moment of anger, told the old man he'd do //anything// for the chance to burn this whole fucking city to ashes.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}The Rider then took him up on that deal.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None. Unlike his brother, Robbie's 100% human.<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Skilled mechanic and driver. Speaks fluent English and Spanish.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Family'''<br />
* Gabe - The only person I've got left.<br />
<br />
'''Fuckers'''<br />
* [[The Rider]] - A monster. But for now, it's ''my'' monster.<br />
<br />
|}<br />
<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Robbie Reyes<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:robbie.png|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ghost-Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 02-25-03<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Los Angelos<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"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Neutral<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"| Grease-Monkey<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''O Brother, Where Art Thou?''' - ''Robbie is perpetually on the look out for his missing little brother, Gabe -- a mutant who vanished when they were both arrested a while back. Gabe vanished without a trace. Robbie's pretty sure the police had something to do with it.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fixer and Rider''' - ''Robbie's active in illegal street-racing, and is known to be a guy you can trust to fix your ride cheap and quick. He's also known to have a BEAST of a car (a 1969 Dodge Charger).''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''The Rider''' - ''Are you a mother-fucker? Have you hurt a lot of people? Killed a lot of people? The Rider would LOVE to meet you!''<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:Humans]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Robbie&diff=23602Robbie2021-03-09T00:47:10Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''cuz trust me when i tell you you don't want that tooth and claw'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A 5'7" Latinx kid originally from California, now stuck in New York City. Desperately looking for his little brother. Likes to drive. Knows how to fix cars.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Host for [[the Rider]].<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Born near California, LA, Roberto Reyes is the oldest of two children (his sibling, Gabe, is younger by 2 years). When their father (Alberto Reyes) was forced out of the country by ICE, their mother (Juliana Reyes) sent them both to live with their Uncle Eli in New York City while she expended what meager money she had trying to find a way to bring him back. While there, Robbie got involved in fixing cars and street-racing.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Uncle Eli turned out to be a motherfucker. By the time he was through, Robbie and Gabe's mother was deported -- and they were taken to jail, where they were placed in separate cells. While there, an old man approached him. He told him he could sense Robbie's anger, //feel// it in his bones -- and knew it was righteous. He told him there was a way he could put things right. He told him that the only thing it would cost was the teenager's very soul.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}When the cops came to let Robbie go, they claimed to have never seen or arrested Gabe. Robbie flipped -- and in a moment of anger, told the old man he'd do //anything// for the chance to burn this whole fucking city to ashes.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}The Rider then took him up on that deal.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None. Unlike his brother, Robbie's 100% human.<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}He knows how to drive just about anything with wheels -- and how to drive it, too. He's a pretty talented street-racer. He also knows how to handle himself in a fight, and has a good grasp over anything mechanical. He speaks fluent English and Spanish.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He's also been in enough fights to know how to throw (and take) a punch.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Family'''<br />
* Gabe - The only person I've got left.<br />
<br />
'''Fuckers'''<br />
* [[The Rider]] - A monster. But for now, it's ''my'' monster.<br />
<br />
|}<br />
<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Robbie Reyes<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:robbie.png|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ghost-Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 02-25-03<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Los Angelos<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"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Neutral<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"| Grease-Monkey<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''O Brother, Where Art Thou?''' - ''Robbie is perpetually on the look out for his missing little brother, Gabe -- a mutant who vanished when they were both arrested a while back. Gabe vanished without a trace. Robbie's pretty sure the police had something to do with it.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fixer and Rider''' - ''Robbie's active in illegal street-racing, and is known to be a guy you can trust to fix your ride cheap and quick. He's also known to have a BEAST of a car (a 1969 Dodge Charger).''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''The Rider''' - ''Are you a mother-fucker? Have you hurt a lot of people? Killed a lot of people? The Rider would LOVE to meet you!''<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:Humans]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=The_Rider&diff=23600The Rider2021-03-09T00:45:19Z<p>Hippo: Created page with "{| width="100%" | colspan="2" | <center> {| | style="text-align:center;" | '''''VROOOOOOOOOM'''''<br /> |} </center> |- | width="100%" | {| width="100%" ! Introduction |- | {..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''VROOOOOOOOOM'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}...!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}...!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}...!<br />
<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}...!<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Probably-Won't-Kill'''<br />
* [[Robbie]]<br />
<br />
'''Probably-Will-Kill'''<br />
* ????<br />
<br />
'''Definitely-Will-Kill'''<br />
* ????<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:unicycle.png|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:segway.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:swivelchair.png|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:tricycle.png|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:xavierrider.png|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! THE RIDER<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:therider.png|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| The Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| ????<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| ????<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"| VENGEANCE<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| VENGEANCE<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| VENGEANCE<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| VENGEANCE<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''VENGEANCE!''' <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:Mutants]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Scramble&diff=23598Scramble2021-03-09T00:44:01Z<p>Hippo: Undo revision 23596 by Hippo (talk)</p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''Burn your white flags; refuse to surrender.'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Agreeable but unapologetic, Scramble tends to speak her mind move on.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Born in Chicago, the middle child of aging radicals, Scramble grew up steeped in the culture of black power, mutual aid, and resistance to oppression. She was close to her younger sister Asha, who was born profoundly deaf, and so learned ASL from a fairly early age. The family relocated to Washington D.C. when she was young, where her father worked as an elevator technician and her mother as a nurse.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Toward the end of her freshman year in college, her powers began to manifest, which eventually landed her in a Prometheus facility, subjected to extensive study and experimentation. Though the experience was awful and traumatic, it also gave her a control and understand of her abilities she had not possessed before, and probably would not have developed on her own initiative due to ethical considerations.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}In the spring of 2009, a group of former Prometheans, lead by Jackson Holland, liberated her and her fellow inmates. After this she returned home for a time, but found life with her family -- especially her parents -- extremely difficult to tolerate. Their radical solidarity did not extend to the persecution of mutants, not even their own child. She left them for good and moved to New York, where she attended CUNY to continue her education.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Between her studies and a series of terrible retail jobs, she trained with Jax's team and participated on some of their raids. Even after she got her degree, she struggled to find work, and has gradually grown more disillusioned with the social, political, and economic status quo (granted, she was never particularly impressed with it to begin with).<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}She dated, and eventually became engaged to Peace, a fellow Promethean. Alas, this was not to last, as Peace died in a Prometheus raid in 2013. Over the years, she has grown close to several members of the Brotherhood of Mutants, especially J.C. and Dusk, and has shown strong indications of aligning with the ideals and methods of that organization.<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Scramble drives people crazy.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Her powers interferes with the chemical balance of other people's brains, and can cause a vast range of symptoms: amnesia, hallucination, dissociation, depersonalization, compulsion, mania, depression, and delusion. These effects are short-term, and can last anywhere from an hour to a day (though she can influence the duration, it's by no means precise and varies from person to person). She can control what kind of symptoms her targets manifest and the severity, but not the precise way in which it presents (e.g. she can cause someone to hallucinate, and even influence how disturbing it is, but can't control the /contents/ of their hallucinations).<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Unfortunately, her own brain's ability to maintain chemical equilibrium is extremely poor, and she can only effectly remain sane by making other people less so. The range of this power is pretty short -- about a meter -- and though she does not need to touch her target, skin contact does decrease the amount she needs to concentrate on it.<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Scramble is one of those rare people who actually does well in a traditional western academic setting, which for some reason most people find surprising. Her formal education is in chemical engineering, with a particular interest in green manufacturing. Though she has absolutely zero work experience in her field, she is a decent garage chemist. Broadly read and generally tech savvy in a nerdy Millennial sort of way, she can usually find out what she needs to know with reason.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}She is a competent hand-to-hand fighter, having studied both Aikido and Judo and participated in Fight Club as well as trained with Jax's raid team. Like many New Yorkers who have survived both zombie outbreaks, she is pretty decent at fighting with improvised melee weapons, although she favors long knives and generally carries a wakizashi and a tanto. She is fluent in English and ASL, speaks rough but serviceable Spanish, and is slowly learning Mandarin.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}She's a pretty good swing dancer and enjoys many kinds of improvisational dance. Also, she has mad gaming skills.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Sisters and Brothers'''<br />
* [[B]] - Tinyshark sibling is a /wizard/. Wish we saw that grin more.<br />
* [[Dusk]] - Fight together, play together, fuck together.<br />
* [[Ion]] - Crazy and wonderful and bright.<br />
* [[Isra]] - Beautiful, brilliant, and fierce.<br />
* [[Julie]] - Don't let people in easy, but she gives her all.<br />
* [[Natalie]] - Mad skills. Community-minded. Pretty cute for a white girl.<br />
* [[Regan]] - Lady Mastermind got it all going on up there.<br />
* [[Taylor]] - Little brother ain't so little anymore. Gettng so damned wise!<br />
<br />
'''Foes'''<br />
* [[Eric]] - Fuck that guy and fuck the rest of the police, too.<br />
<br />
'''And everything in between'''<br />
* [[Ellin]] - Identical triplet cheerleaders. Kinda spacy, but they're alright.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Trivia<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
*She does a sweet Garnet cosplay.<br />
*She wears a gold ring with a black star sapphire on her left ring finger.<br />
*She actually draws her power from white tears.<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Nia Mirembe Washington<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:WakeemaHollis2.jpg|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Scramble<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 1991-09-11<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chicago<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"| Brotherhood of Mutants<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Crazymaking<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chemical Process Engineer/Terrorist<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Wakeema Hollis<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"| '''Game On!''' - ''Scramble loves gaming and can often be found at various arcades, Geekhaus, Commonhaus, or her own haus getting her game on with fellow nerds.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Deaf Heart''' - ''She is active in the local deaf community and likes to hang out with people who sign.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Promethean''' - ''She's very close to many other ex-lab rats, and will go pretty far out of her way to assist them even if she doesn't personally know them.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Rock Hound''' - ''Minerology is one of her hobbies, and she collects precious and semi-precious gems.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Unstable''' - ''Not just mentally, although that probably doesn't help. She rarely holds down a job for more than a few months, and tends to bounce around different residences for that reason.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''I Want You to Hit Me As Hard As You Can''' - ''She is a regular participant in Fight Club, and known for leaving her opponents with pretty unpleasant symptoms if she's not well enough to un-crazy them afterwards. Yes, she's heard all of your Fight Club jokes.''<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:Brotherhood of Mutants]][[Category:Mutants]][[Category:Mutant Mongrels MC]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Therider.png&diff=23597File:Therider.png2021-03-09T00:42:52Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Scramble&diff=23596Scramble2021-03-09T00:42:05Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''VROOOOOOOOOM'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}...!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}...!<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}...!<br />
<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}...!<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Probably-Won't-Kill'''<br />
* [[Robbie]]<br />
<br />
'''Probably-Will-Kill'''<br />
* ????<br />
<br />
'''Definitely-Will-Kill'''<br />
* ????<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Gallery<br />
|-<br />
| style="text-align:center;" |<br />
[[Image:unicycle.png|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:segway.jpg|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:swivelchair.png|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:tricycle.png|x150px]]<br />
[[Image:xavierrider.png|x150px]]<br />
|}<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! THE RIDER<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| The Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| ????<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| ????<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"| VENGEANCE<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| VENGEANCE<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Powers'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| VENGEANCE<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Occupation'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| VENGEANCE<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''VENGEANCE!''' <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:Mutants]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Xavierrider.png&diff=23595File:Xavierrider.png2021-03-09T00:41:47Z<p>Hippo: Ghostrider as Xavier!</p>
<hr />
<div>== Summary ==<br />
Ghostrider as Xavier!</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Tricycle.png&diff=23594File:Tricycle.png2021-03-09T00:34:02Z<p>Hippo: Ghostrider on a tricycle!</p>
<hr />
<div>== Summary ==<br />
Ghostrider on a tricycle!</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Segway.jpg&diff=23593File:Segway.jpg2021-03-09T00:33:48Z<p>Hippo: Ghostrider on a segway!</p>
<hr />
<div>== Summary ==<br />
Ghostrider on a segway!</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Unicycle.png&diff=23592File:Unicycle.png2021-03-09T00:33:30Z<p>Hippo: Ghostrider on a unicycle!</p>
<hr />
<div>== Summary ==<br />
Ghostrider on a unicycle!</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Swivelchair.png&diff=23591File:Swivelchair.png2021-03-09T00:33:09Z<p>Hippo: Ghostrider in a swivel-chair!</p>
<hr />
<div>== Summary ==<br />
Ghostrider in a swivel-chair!</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Robbie&diff=23590Robbie2021-03-09T00:26:45Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''cuz trust me when i tell you you don't want that tooth and claw'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A 5'7" Latinx kid originally from California, now stuck in New York City. Desperately looking for his little brother. Likes to drive. Knows how to fix cars.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Host for the [[Rider]].<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Born near California, LA, Roberto Reyes is the oldest of two children (his sibling, Gabe, is younger by 2 years). When their father (Alberto Reyes) was forced out of the country by ICE, their mother (Juliana Reyes) sent them both to live with their Uncle Eli in New York City while she expended what meager money she had trying to find a way to bring him back. While there, Robbie got involved in fixing cars and street-racing.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Uncle Eli turned out to be a motherfucker. By the time he was through, Robbie and Gabe's mother was deported -- and they were taken to jail, where they were placed in separate cells. While there, an old man approached him. He told him he could sense Robbie's anger, //feel// it in his bones -- and knew it was righteous. He told him there was a way he could put things right. He told him that the only thing it would cost was the teenager's very soul.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}When the cops came to let Robbie go, they claimed to have never seen or arrested Gabe. Robbie flipped -- and in a moment of anger, told the old man he'd do //anything// for the chance to burn this whole fucking city to ashes.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}The Rider then took him up on that deal.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None. Unlike his brother, Robbie's 100% human.<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}He knows how to drive just about anything with wheels -- and how to drive it, too. He's a pretty talented street-racer. He also knows how to handle himself in a fight, and has a good grasp over anything mechanical. He speaks fluent English and Spanish.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He's also been in enough fights to know how to throw (and take) a punch.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Family'''<br />
* Gabe - The only person I've got left.<br />
<br />
'''Fuckers'''<br />
* [[The Rider]] - A monster. But for now, it's ''my'' monster.<br />
<br />
|}<br />
<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! Robbie Reyes<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:robbie.png|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ghost-Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 02-25-03<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Los Angelos<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"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Neutral<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"| Grease-Monkey<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''O Brother, Where Art Thou?''' - ''Robbie is perpetually on the look out for his missing little brother, Gabe -- a mutant who vanished when they were both arrested a while back. Gabe vanished without a trace. Robbie's pretty sure the police had something to do with it.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fixer and Rider''' - ''Robbie's active in illegal street-racing, and is known to be a guy you can trust to fix your ride cheap and quick. He's also known to have a BEAST of a car (a 1969 Dodge Charger).''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''The Rider''' - ''Are you a mother-fucker? Have you hurt a lot of people? Killed a lot of people? The Rider would LOVE to meet you!''<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:Humans]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Robbie&diff=23589Robbie2021-03-09T00:26:22Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''cuz trust me when i tell you you don't want that tooth and claw'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A 5'7" Latinx kid originally from California, now stuck in New York City. Desperately looking for his little brother. Likes to drive. Knows how to fix cars.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Host for the [[Rider]].<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Born near California, LA, Roberto Reyes is the oldest of two children (his sibling, Gabe, is younger by 2 years). When their father (Alberto Reyes) was forced out of the country by ICE, their mother (Juliana Reyes) sent them both to live with their Uncle Eli in New York City while she expended what meager money she had trying to find a way to bring him back. While there, Robbie got involved in fixing cars and street-racing.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Uncle Eli turned out to be a motherfucker. By the time he was through, Robbie and Gabe's mother was deported -- and they were taken to jail, where they were placed in separate cells. While there, an old man approached him. He told him he could sense Robbie's anger, //feel// it in his bones -- and knew it was righteous. He told him there was a way he could put things right. He told him that the only thing it would cost was the teenager's very soul.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}When the cops came to let Robbie go, they claimed to have never seen or arrested Gabe. Robbie flipped -- and in a moment of anger, told the old man he'd do //anything// for the chance to burn this whole fucking city to ashes.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}The Rider then took him up on that deal.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None. Unlike his brother, Robbie's 100% human.<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}He knows how to drive just about anything with wheels -- and how to drive it, too. He's a pretty talented street-racer. He also knows how to handle himself in a fight, and has a good grasp over anything mechanical. He speaks fluent English and Spanish.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He's also been in enough fights to know how to throw (and take) a punch.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Family'''<br />
* Gabe - The only person I've got left.<br />
<br />
'''Fuckers'''<br />
* [[The Rider]] - A monster. But for now, it's ''my'' monster.<br />
<br />
|}<br />
<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! blank<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:robbie.png|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ghost-Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 02-25-03<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Los Angelos<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"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Neutral<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"| Grease-Monkey<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''O Brother, Where Art Thou?''' - ''Robbie is perpetually on the look out for his missing little brother, Gabe -- a mutant who vanished when they were both arrested a while back. Gabe vanished without a trace. Robbie's pretty sure the police had something to do with it.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fixer and Rider''' - ''Robbie's active in illegal street-racing, and is known to be a guy you can trust to fix your ride cheap and quick. He's also known to have a BEAST of a car (a 1969 Dodge Charger).''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''The Rider''' - ''Are you a mother-fucker? Have you hurt a lot of people? Killed a lot of people? The Rider would LOVE to meet you!''<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:Humans]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Robbie&diff=23588Robbie2021-03-09T00:25:38Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''cuz trust me when i tell you you don't want that tooth and claw'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A 5'7" Latinx kid originally from California, now stuck in New York City. Desperately looking for his little brother. Likes to drive. Knows how to fix cars.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Host for the [[Rider]].<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Born near California, LA, Roberto Reyes is the oldest of two children (his sibling, Gabe, is younger by 2 years). When their father (Alberto Reyes) was forced out of the country by ICE, their mother (Juliana Reyes) sent them both to live with their Uncle Eli in New York City while she expended what meager money she had trying to find a way to bring him back. While there, Robbie got involved in fixing cars and street-racing.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Uncle Eli turned out to be a motherfucker. By the time he was through, Robbie and Gabe's mother was deported -- and they were taken to jail, where they were placed in separate cells. While there, an old man approached him. He told him he could sense Robbie's anger, //feel// it in his bones -- and knew it was righteous. He told him there was a way he could put things right. He told him that the only thing it would cost was the teenager's very soul.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}When the cops came to let Robbie go, they claimed to have never seen or arrested Gabe. Robbie flipped -- and in a moment of anger, told the old man he'd do //anything// for the chance to burn this whole fucking city to ashes.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}The Rider then took him up on that deal.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None. Unlike his brother, Robbie's 100% human.<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}He knows how to drive just about anything with wheels -- and how to drive it, too. He's a pretty talented street-racer. He also knows how to handle himself in a fight, and has a good grasp over anything mechanical. He speaks fluent English and Spanish.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He's also been in enough fights to know how to throw (and take) a punch.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Family'''<br />
* Gabe - The only person I've got left.<br />
<br />
'''Fuckers'''<br />
* [[The Rider]] - A fucking monster. But for now, it's //my// monster.<br />
<br />
|}<br />
<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! blank<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:robbie.png|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ghost-Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 02-25-03<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Los Angelos<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"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Neutral<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"| Grease-Monkey<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''O Brother, Where Art Thou?''' - ''Robbie is perpetually on the look out for his missing little brother, Gabe -- a mutant who vanished when they were both arrested a while back. Gabe vanished without a trace. Robbie's pretty sure the police had something to do with it.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fixer and Rider''' - ''Robbie's active in illegal street-racing, and is known to be a guy you can trust to fix your ride cheap and quick. He's also known to have a BEAST of a car (a 1969 Dodge Charger).''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''The Rider''' - ''Are you a mother-fucker? Have you hurt a lot of people? Killed a lot of people? The Rider would LOVE to meet you!''<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:Humans]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=File:Robbie.png&diff=23587File:Robbie.png2021-03-09T00:25:19Z<p>Hippo: Image of Robbie Reyes.</p>
<hr />
<div>== Summary ==<br />
Image of Robbie Reyes.</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Robbie&diff=23586Robbie2021-03-09T00:13:00Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''cuz trust me when i tell you you don't want that tooth and claw'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A 5'7" Latinx kid originally from California, now stuck in New York City. Desperately looking for his little brother. Likes to drive. Knows how to fix cars.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Host for the [[Rider]].<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Born near California, LA, Roberto Reyes is the oldest of two children (his sibling, Gabe, is younger by 2 years). When their father (Alberto Reyes) was forced out of the country by ICE, their mother (Juliana Reyes) sent them both to live with their Uncle Eli in New York City while she expended what meager money she had trying to find a way to bring him back. While there, Robbie got involved in fixing cars and street-racing.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Uncle Eli turned out to be a motherfucker. By the time he was through, Robbie and Gabe's mother was deported -- and they were taken to jail, where they were placed in separate cells. While there, an old man approached him. He told him he could sense Robbie's anger, //feel// it in his bones -- and knew it was righteous. He told him there was a way he could put things right. He told him that the only thing it would cost was the teenager's very soul.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}When the cops came to let Robbie go, they claimed to have never seen or arrested Gabe. Robbie flipped -- and in a moment of anger, told the old man he'd do //anything// for the chance to burn this whole fucking city to ashes.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}The Rider then took him up on that deal.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None. Unlike his brother, Robbie's 100% human.<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}He knows how to drive just about anything with wheels -- and how to drive it, too. He's a pretty talented street-racer. He also knows how to handle himself in a fight, and has a good grasp over anything mechanical. He speaks fluent English and Spanish.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He's also been in enough fights to know how to throw (and take) a punch.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Family'''<br />
* Gabe - The only person I've got left.<br />
<br />
'''Fuckers'''<br />
* [[The Rider]] - A fucking monster. But for now, it's //my// monster.<br />
<br />
|}<br />
<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! blank<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:blank.jpg|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ghost-Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 02-25-03<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Los Angelos<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"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Neutral<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"| Grease-Monkey<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''O Brother, Where Art Thou?''' - ''Robbie is perpetually on the look out for his missing little brother, Gabe -- a mutant who vanished when they were both arrested a while back. Gabe vanished without a trace. Robbie's pretty sure the police had something to do with it.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fixer and Rider''' - ''Robbie's active in illegal street-racing, and is known to be a guy you can trust to fix your ride cheap and quick. He's also known to have a BEAST of a car (a 1969 Dodge Charger).''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''The Rider''' - ''Are you a mother-fucker? Have you hurt a lot of people? Killed a lot of people? The Rider would LOVE to meet you!''<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:Humans]]</div>Hippohttps://xmenrevolution.com/w/index.php?title=Robbie&diff=23585Robbie2021-03-09T00:12:40Z<p>Hippo: </p>
<hr />
<div>{| width="100%"<br />
| colspan="2" | <center><br />
{|<br />
| style="text-align:center;" | '''''cuz trust me when i tell you you don't want that tooth and claw'''''<br /><br />
|}<br />
</center><br />
|-<br />
| width="100%" |<br />
{| width="100%"<br />
! Introduction <br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}A 5'7" Latinx kid originally from California, now stuck in New York City. Desperately looking for his little brother. Likes to drive. Knows how to fix cars.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Host for the [[Rider]].<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! History<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}Born near California, LA, Roberto Reyes is the oldest of two children (his sibling, Gabe, is younger by 2 years). When their father (Alberto Reyes) was forced out of the country by ICE, their mother (Juliana Reyes) sent them both to live with their Uncle Eli in New York City while she expended what meager money she had trying to find a way to bring him back. While there, Robbie got involved in fixing cars and street-racing.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}Uncle Eli turned out to be a motherfucker. By the time he was through, Robbie and Gabe's mother was deported -- and they were taken to jail, where they were placed in separate cells. While there, an old man approached him. He told him he could sense Robbie's anger, //feel// it in his bones -- and knew it was righteous. He told him there was a way he could put things right. He told him that the only thing it would cost was the teenager's very soul.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}When the cops came to let Robbie go, they claimed to have never seen or arrested Gabe. Robbie flipped -- and in a moment of anger, told the old man he'd do //anything// for the chance to burn this whole fucking city to ashes.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}The Rider then took him up on that deal.<br />
<br />
|<br />
|-<br />
! Powers<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}None. Unlike his brother, Robbie's 100% human.<br />
<br />
|-<br />
! Skills<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{{Tab}}He knows how to drive just about anything with wheels -- and how to drive it, too. He's a pretty talented street-racer. He also knows how to handle himself in a fight, and has a good grasp over anything mechanical. He speaks fluent English and Spanish.<br />
<br />
{{Tab}}He's also been in enough fights to know how to throw (and take) a punch.<br />
|-<br />
! Connections<br />
|-<br />
| <br />
<br />
'''Family'''<br />
* Gabe - The only person I've got left.<br />
<br />
'''Fuckers'''<br />
* [[The Rider]] - A fucking monster. But for now, it's //my// monster.<br />
<br />
|}<br />
<br />
|<br />
{|<br />
! blank<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
{| width="100%" class="infobox" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 1px; border-style: solid; border-color: #000"<br />
| colspan="2" | [[Image:WakeemaHollis2.jpg|x350px|center]]<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Codename'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Ghost-Rider<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthdate'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| 02-25-03<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Birthplace'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Los Angelos<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"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Alignment'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| Chaotic Neutral<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"| Grease-Monkey<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Registration Status'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| None<br />
|-<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px" class="left" | '''Played By'''<br />
| style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| N/A<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"| '''O Brother, Where Art Thou?''' - ''Robbie is perpetually on the look out for his missing little brother, Gabe -- a mutant who vanished when they were both arrested a while back. Gabe vanished without a trace. Robbie's pretty sure the police had something to do with it.''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''Fixer and Rider''' - ''Robbie's active in illegal street-racing, and is known to be a guy you can trust to fix your ride cheap and quick. He's also known to have a BEAST of a car (a 1969 Dodge Charger).''<br />
|-<br />
|style="border-style: solid; border-width: 1px"| '''The Rider''' - ''Are you a mother-fucker? Have you hurt a lot of people? Killed a lot of people? The Rider would LOVE to meet you!''<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:Humans]]</div>Hippo