Marvel, Rebirth:

IC: (Vince Jackson Jr.)

Vince sat in his posh chair in his dressing room. The spunky young makeup lady touched him up, made his age fade away. When bashing muties, and instilling rightousness into the heart of America, he needed to look his best. After sipping his Pepsi, he slowly gazed into the mirror, looking for any slight imperfection. With a creak, he heard the door behind him open. A burly man came up, clad in a leather jacket, and wearing a badge labeled 'Security'.

"Everything check out, Chad?"

"Yessir. No audience member brought a gun, knife or any such weapon. With which he slash she would kill, maim or otherwise prevent Vince Jackson Jr. from spreading the truth to the American people."

"Good, but next time, make the word 'Truth' more prominent. Won't you?"

"Yessir."

He got up, gave a wink to the makeup girl, and walked on out. From the hall, he could here the clamor of his fans, his admirers, his children. Screaming, of his name, of their hate of mutants, and of course, the general whooping. The theme music began then began to play, booming loud, but not loud enough to obscure the clamor of his fans. It was hard rock, custom produced as the Mutie lovers wouldn't let him use their tracks. It played lie trumpets announcing a King.

With leap and bound, Vince ran towards the front row. He gave high fives to the men, kisses to the women, and fist pumped the kids. After which, the great baritone voice of his announcer came up, like the man saying 'Let's get ready to RUMBLE'. Yeah, he was that awesome.

"Hearrr youuu areee America! The voice of reason! The speaker of truth! The one man taking a stand against the Muties! VINCE JACKSON JR.!"

He let their screams of love come upon him, fill the room for three glorious seconds. It filled him with pride, filled him with hate, and merged him with the spirit of Johnny freakin' Carson. Taking a small bow, he sat on his red velvet chair, tapped the microphone on his lapel, and began the show. He started by pulling out a thick stack of papers, carefully clipped together.

"Hi, ladies and gentleman! Might I ask you a question?"

"WHAT?"

"Do you like muties? And please, keep the laguage down-for the kiddies, not the muties!"

"HECK NO!"

"Good! Good!" he stood up, stack of paper in hand. He feigned looking at it a second, and gave it a disgusted look.

"Ya'know what this is, America?"

"WHAT?"

"This is the freakin' Mutie Registration bill. Good 'ole President Mustache is trying to shove this piece of trash down our throats."

He pulled out a lighter.

"When will he realize that we voted him to deal with the mutie problem! Not by registering them, no, by DEPORTING THEM!"

The crowd screamed, and Vince lit his lighter, and watched as the bill caught. With disdain, he hurled it to the floor, dodged the embers, and hurled a wad of snot at the ashes before stomping on them.

"Is that how you feel America?"

The crowd roared in agreement.

IC:

It was later, but not so very much later, that Cynegild's car, ever functional and rarely pretty, pulled into a parking garage a block away from the Royal Suites.

Cynegild Picker does not arrive late, ever. If things are bad enough for him to be late, they're bad enough for him to cancel the meeting. If things aren't bad at all, then he can very well arrive fifteen minutes early, and so he does.

There are two keys on his person, and neither is on a keyring - both are tucked neatly into a pocket. The man may walk down the street with a bobblehead perched on his right palm, held outstretched just below eye level, but he needs a very good reason to jingle.

After a short - but by no means fast - walk, Cynegild arrived at the Royal Suites, where he saw, dressed almost as well as the guest of honour at the really good sort of funeral, either the hotel's doorman or the sort of loiterer he would very much like to have a drink with. Stopping two meters away from the man, Cynegild locked eyes with him, and, remaining otherwise perfectly still, slowly raised his right thumb, slowly nudging the bobblehead around to face the doorman - with a casual flick, he set Genghis' head wobbling, and he smiled, showing every tooth he had, while his eyes neither wavered nor showed any warmth.

IC DamianIt was true that none of the audience members had brought any weapons. But one of them did bring a device of sorts. Specifically, as device to hack into the largest moniter in the room, to play a certain message. Live, of course; Damian would have it no other way. Pressing the on button and exited the room. The screen behind Vince flared to life. Across the city, similar individuals pressed their buttons, ensuring the broadcast was played around town."To all people watching this, please take heed!" the white masked man shouted, obviously trying to do an impression of Norio Wakamoto, William Shatner, and BRIAN BLESSED at the same time. Damian had installed a voice encryption to ensure that he couldn't be traced via voice, so he sounded a little strange. "You may recognize me as Shiro, the white mask representing the grievances of the people,a voice for change within this country. Today," Damian continued, hamming it up, "I speak to you not concerning the plight of the 99%, nor to press the White House for economic reform-something promised to us for 6 years but never achieved, nor to preach to you the sufferings of people halfway across the world. Rather, today I speak to you concerning an issue I'm sure you all know of: the Mutant Registration Act. Unlike our friends Mr. Dominik Lord and Mr. Vince Jackson Jr, I wholeheartedly support this action. It is not, as my dear associates in the Brotherhood of Mutants would tell you it is, a chain to drag Homo Superior to the lion's den! I present this challenge to Dominik Lord: on what grounds do you sauspext the United States of America? Yet at the same time, we must be wary of our President; I,m sure you all know of his actions at the Daily Bugle, slandering our noble Avenger and protector of the people Spiderman! Like all politicians, we never know what he might have planned.""But to Mr.Jackson, and all who share his ideal, I say this: you and your kind are a barrier to progress, a wrench in the works, getting in the way of the path to a world where all, may they be Human, Mutant, Atlantean, Inhuman, or Alien are free and equal! While I can understand your concerns, to take them to their logical extremes is nothing short of ridiculous and childish! I pose this question to you: why? Why do you stop humanity's march towards acceptance, equity, and brotherhood?! That is all. Shiro, out," and with that, the screens went dark.Inside of the studio were Damian operated, the teenager removed his mask, panting hard. "That was terrifying," he whispered softly to himself. But it did have a good side: nobody would suspect such a meek young man to be the "White Ranger", the voice of equity.

IC: Aella

I fussed a bit as the man cleaned up my wound and then bandaged it. Then he administered some kind of painkiller, which took effect rather quickly. The pain dumbed down and I started to feel all tingly and strange. With a slight giggle I laid down across the car seats in the back of the car.

"Trin....you gotta feel these seats...they're so soft...." I figured I could just take a little nap right there...yeah.

IC: Zack & JordanThe Rockies were beautiful this time of year. Especially at this time of night, when one could simply look down into the plains and see the glimmering lights of a thousand townhouses and office buildings.The engine of the Camaro purred gently, nearly putting its driver to sleep. Zack had been up late before, but his restlessness was starting to catch up to him. Ironic, as he needed as much focus as ever to pull this job off. "Hey, uh," Jordan's voice crackled through Zack's earpiece. "Think I see him.""Got it," Zack practically yawned.He flicked a switch on the night vision goggles he was wearing, and in an instant, the intersection went from dark grey and black to green. A pair of headlights approached in the distance. He turned a dial on the goggles, zooming in on the car's license plate. Perfect match. "Alright, I see him."He put the car in drive and eased up on the brakes. Wouldn't be long..."If I die, let it be known that this was your idea," he warned Jordan.His foot just barely touched the accelerator. He waited."My completely awesome fool-proof idea," Jordan retorted.Now.He pressed on the gas as hard as he could, pushing out on the seat with his other foot. The car flew out into the intersection and almost immediately collided with the oncoming vehicle's driver-side door while Zack leaped out, hitting the dirt hard and holy-****-not-quite rolling into the horrific accident unfolding in the middle of the otherwise-peaceful road. A red flower bloomed in the window where the target's head hit glass. The two cars, now practically fused together, skidded to a halt a few hundred feet down the road. For a few moments, it was eerily silent."You alright?" Jordan again."...**** you." came Zack's reply.

IC: Triblade, Christine"What do you expect us to go live with the Brotherhood or something?" "Honestly the Brotherhood looks better and better every day." Christine admitted.IC: John"Let's avoid slicing up the plane if we can. We don't want to get found. How will we know which plane is headed to New York?" He said as he moved through the large open space that made up the runways. John heard a noise behind them. The sound of crunching metal and a powerful engine. He whirled around to see a large semi truck have smashed its way through the fence. The truck was obsidian in color save for a single red hand on the side. "How did they find us so fast!" John shouted as he moves in front of Julia to protect her. John reached ove his head and drew one of his katana. He let his three bone claws jut out of his other hand. Snikt. "Get ready Sis." As john watched a squad of black garbed figures jumped out of the truck. "We're about to fight for our lives."OOC: on my phone so no colors :/

IC

Rachel Thomas found herself back in her office. She closed the door, then sat at her desk and allowed herself a brief moment to let her composure slip.

How on earth was the Institute still standing? One of the students had broken out one of the fire axes and evidently used it to hack down several doors, and possibly even threatened another student with it, and she was the only member of the staff who seemed at all perturbed. She'd had to deal with a lot over the past few months, but this took the cake. The students had no respect for her -or any other authority, for that matter.

She'd heard the stories; she had the files. She knew these young women and men had gone through incredible stress, but it seemed more than that. Not only were so many of them completely opposed to any sort of authority or rules, half of them seemed to take joy out of making her job as difficult as possible. They were completely out of control.

As much as she hated to admit it, the problem largely seemed to rest on the students' mutations. With great power comes great responsibility, and these teenagers had absolutely no sense of responsibility. Many acted as though the rules didn't apply to them. Giving kids like Dallas Green the ability to control time was like handing a five-year-old the keys to a Camaro: it was dangerous, irresponsible, and all too likely to end in injury and disaster.

Discipline wasn't her job; it was the Headmaster's responsibility to keep the Institute and its inhabitants under control. She was just a counsellor, here to provide a safe place for students to deal with their issues. But she'd hardly heard a word from the Headmaster since her interview. She often felt like the only adult on the grounds.

Why was she even here? These kids weren't her problem. She could have applied at any other educational institution in the country, but she'd chosen to work with a bunch of immature superheroes, and so far she all she'd done was feel helpless. It just wasn't fair.

Lifting her gaze from the wooden grain, Rachel turned her eyes to a small picture frame that stood on the edge of her desk. The plain black frame held an old photograph of two young teens at a beach, smiling for the camera. One was a girl with long brown hair and gaps in her teeth; the other was a taller boy with sandy blonde hair and breathtaking green eyes that seemed to cut through time and space and pierce her heart.

She reached out and gently touched the photograph, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. It wasn't the first time she'd contemplated leaving this job, and it wouldn't be the last. But she wouldn't leave. She would fight for these kids, even if it killed her.

If nothing else, then for his sake.

IC: JuliaThe itch turned into a sharp, shooting pain. Julia had almost forgotten how much it hurt to pop her claws.Almost.She grit her teeth as from each hand, two ten-inch Adamantium knives slowly emerged. With a final grunt of pain from Julia, the four blades extended to their full lengths, each with a fresh coat of crimson."Bring it."

IC: JohnJohn stood still. Waiting for The Hand to make the first move. The skyline of Tokyo was often times threatening to rain. Tonight the stars and moon were covered by a blanket of darkness. Now as brother and sister stood together staring down the line of would be assassins the first fat drops of rain fell from the heavens. "It's always raining when I fight these days." John mused as his dark hair quickly became soaked. The Hand moved closer under the guise of the rain. There were five of them. <<This is your only chance Howlett. Lay down your blades and come with us and we will forgive you for not killing the old man.>> the seeming lead ninja said. <<I won't stand down. You can't have Julia. I'm not becoming another assassin. I'm more then that.>><<You can't go back after you take the oath. We will have your head for this.>> Suddenly the two ninjas on either side of the speaker launched into action. Throwing stars flew through the air towards Julia and John. John's training snapped into gear as he deflected two of the flying knives. One of them landed in John's shoulder. He bit down hard from the pain but pushed it away. He had to concentrate now or he would die. His healing was weaker and his adamantium skeleton was gone. As two of the ninjas charged towards John twin katanas slashed at him. He pulled his sword up blocking the attack. The edge of one katana had passed right by his cheek before he deflected it. The point of the katana had drawn across John's cheek and a line of red had quickly dripped downward.The other two ran at Julia before jumping Into the air and lashing out at her with their own katana.

IC: Now John Harken had returned to his car he would have heard a series of static squawks coming from his standard issue communicator. Of course, advanced as SHIELD's tech was it wasn't actual static, but a pre-set noise designed to be used to communicate in code and without speech. Allowed information to passed from agent to agent while just looking like technical interference.

In this case the buzzing signified a request to know if the coast was clear for a call. It was Persephone, she wanted to know what the situation was for when she touched down at John's location

IC: Lynae"Thank you," she replied, graciously taking the spare wine glass into her hands. She held it up, swirling the wine around in it's glass before gently placing her nose close to the rim. "Oh, a Cabernet Sauvignon! You have impeccable taste, my dear." The vampire took a gentle sip, savouring the rich flavor."Impeccable indeed."

IC:

"I've been drinking since I was thirteen," Ric remembered to himself, momentarily surprised by the years that passed. "I've had time to refine these things."

His first drink had been a beer he'd found lying around from the old teacher's lounge. It had just so happened that the beer had come attached to five more; an hour later, Alaric was on his in his dorm; he'd slept for hours, through all his classes. He could still hear Ashlynn, ten years old if she was a day, badgering him in his ear.

You'll never go anywhere in life if you keep doing this, Ric!

Well, now look where we are, Ash, Alaric mused, more disappointed at the acidic vitriol that dripped from the thought than he was surprised. You're dead and gone, and I'm one of the most powerful men in the world.

And all I do is drink.

"I'd thought you had other matters to attend to tonight."

-Tyler

IC: Lynae"I think getting to know one of my associates is pretty important." She mused, the wine giving her lips a slightly red stain. She walked close to the balcony, eyes scanning the stars. "I use to be able to see so many and now... Hardly any can be seen."

IC:

"Actually, Doc Thomas? You have a minute?"

Kristen Hailey. She was standing in the doorway, holding the door partially open and leaning around the door to look at the Counselor. When she noticed that she was in the middle of something, her face turned red and she started to back out of the room.

"Or if you're busy... I'll just- I'll just come back another time..."

"Yeah, they're soft Aella."

Once Aella had drifted into blissful unconsciousness, Trinity learned her for a moment more, before turning her attention to the man.

Trinity learned him as well. Trinity had long decided that this part of her was a blessing, and a curse. She learned, indiscriminately, from everything that she saw. Since looking at things and 'learning' (She had no idea how she knew the word, or it's meaning) were so alike, she just referred to it all as learning. She'd been learning before meeting Aella, how to solve puzzles and make her way through mazes... But now she was learning how to fight. How to heal wounds. How to follow directions. It was liberating. Everything she saw (or learned), every move that Aella and the man had made during their fight, taught her how to fight.

And how to fight them better as well. Weaknesses that they didn't even know were learned to her. Like how Aella only moved a certain way when using her powers, or how the man preferred to use one arm over the other. But that wasn't all that she learned. She also saw the trees in the forest, what few night creatures that they didn't scare off, and how they scurried or flew about.

How they stalked and hunted. Kinda like another puzzle.

Trinity slowly slid out of the car, walking over to the side of the man and the little box that was making funny little sounds.

"Wazzdat?" She asked, looking up at him.

IC

Rachel hadn't even heard the door opening. She looked up, then took off her glasses and quickly wiped her eyes.

"No, no -come in, Ms Hailey," she said, putting her glasses back on. She smiled. "Take a seat."

IC: (Vince Jackson Jr.)

Vince was annoyed at this little stunt, oh so much. But he could keep his audience, get them out of this rut. He was Vince Jackson Jr. Bounding out of his chair, he gave out a hearty laugh, before speaking to his people.

"Ya'know AMERICA, this little stunt won't stop me from telling YOU the TRUTH," he said. "This was likely the work of some kid in his mommy's basement, trying to tell the world of the so-called plight of muties. I think I speak for you, my lovely audience, and for all good, HONEST Americans in that man and mutie are not brothers. No, and nor will they ever be!"

The crowd roared in agreement. They always did.

"Now, let's get back to the show," he said with a grin. "In past weeks, we've been examining theories on how these freakin' muties came to be on this planet. And I-I've kept an open mind for every last one of them. We've examined the theories that they don't want you to know, and yet YOU decide for yourself. Today, I'll put up a theory I find very interesting. A theory that it was the COMMIES who started this mess."

He pulled out THE BOARD OF TRUTH^TM. On it were pictures, of organizational logos, of politicians old and new, and to top it off, the majestic title 'The Communist Theory' in bold red and gold letters. Wheeling it in between the seats, he pulled out THE STICK OF TRUTH ^TM. He first pointed to the picture of the Soviet Union, on a mini-map dated to 1986.

"I've been doing my research, ladies and gentlemen, research into the dregs of SOVIET SUPER SCIENCE! You see, the Soviets may have died in 1991, a poor, pitiful excuse of a country. But they-they had one of the most powerful armies the world has ever seen. And like Mr. Jong-Un in North Korea, the Soviets invested a vast amount of money into their military. Now, in the Stalinist days, they tried to do everything from making half man, half ape soldiers, to battleships in the Nuclear Age. This wonderful theory says that Stalin's SUPER SCIENCE brigades managed to make a weapon unlike all others. A weapon that would destroy the west not by killing them, but by making their children into FREAKS."

"The theory says that the mutant gene was injected into unborn babies, to make it so they grew into freakish monsters. Said children would grow up and DESTROY America and her allies from within, by causing massive amounts of damage, killing normal people in droves, and would eventually try to establish THEIR OWN NATION, to stand up against AMERICA. Now, I won't tell you, my fellow humans, what theory on mutant origin is true. BUT it is sure as FREAK better then the theory our so-called scientists give to us. The theory that mutants are natural."

He took a seat. "And now that I've given the theory to you today, America, I will introduce you to a special guest. One who is not nessesarily supportive of this theory, as opposed to guests we've had in past weeks. Here, AMERICA, is a mutie sympathic, who we will show THE TRUTH. Pleaseee welcome Yuri Aleksandrov!"

Red and gold cofetti flew into the air.

OOC: Ready for Yuri.

IC:

Kristen sheepishly slid into the indicated chair. Comfortable? Not really. She'd been in the office once prior, when it was still vacant. It wasn't exactly vacant anymore, now was it? Kristen silently fidgeted in her chair, trying to find some way to get comfortable. It was as if the chairs were designed to be uncomfortable. Or maybe it was just her. She never really had adjusted to her new body well enough...

Kristen folded her hands in her lap, and opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, then apparently decided against it as her face turned red as she closed her mouth.

IC: Lynae"I think getting to know one of my associates is pretty important." She mused, the wine giving her lips a slightly red stain. She walked close to the balcony, eyes scanning the stars. "I use to be able to see so many and now... Hardly any can be seen."

IC:

"The cons of immortality," Ric deadpanned, finishing his glass of wine and setting it on the balcony, looking out into the city below him; some nights he would look down and see nothing but a void, an inky black monstrosity waiting to swallow the Black King whole at the first sign of any misgiving. Other nights, he just saw streets, and people, and lives on a thread. The struggle was real.

"Well, you came here tonight for my Cabernet and my conversation, and you've already indulged in the former," he said, "so ask away. What do you want to know about me?"

-Tyler

IC: Lynae "Oh I already know plenty... About your girlfriend, your sister, and how you are hiding here." She took another gentle sip of her wine, eyes still looking out over the balcony, not showing much emotion as she spoke. "You mistake my reason for being here. I simply came for some conversation, seeing that we will be working together." It was true. She had simply come to talk. Bored with being in her room and not wanting to go out, seeing Alaric out on the balcony had been the perfect escape. She hadn't spoken to him much and the new acquaintance would be an easy remedy.

(Scott Jackson)

It had been a long morning for Scott. First the fire alarm going off, Scott was heading for the door, trying to use the network of cameras to see what had happened. Seems one of the versions of Dallas had taken a fire axe and set the alarm off. Seeing that, Scott went for food. The cafeteria always had a good stock in the morning.

Getting there, Scott wasn't disappointed. Grabbing a plate and loading it with eggs and bacon, Scott sat down at a table, his helmet folded away from his mouth so he could eat, but the rest was still in place. His audio sensors picked up on most of the conversations that were going on around the room. Apparently Ashley had made paper frogs for an army, and the Physics teacher was freaking out. ​Bad experience. You don't freak out like that without really bad memories. Scott thought as he got up and walked away, heading out the cafeteria. Time for his hand to hand lessons. He was taking them so the school had an instructor for H-t-H when Aleks was out and about. Being a cyborg really helps in learning the skills.

IC:

Alaric's demeanor grew a little bit more darkly amused as he shifted his weight onto one front food, placing the toe of his other boot on the ground and reclining forward as he poured another glass of wine and took a sip.

"You think you know plenty," he said, "but until you've heard it from me, they're just ghosts: casual little rumors that float through walls, with no substance."

-Tyler

IC: Julia

Julia slashed through the shurikens that came her way, sending fragmented metal scattering across the pavement. Her two attackers made the mistake of charging head-on, catching her attention almost immediately and allowing her to bring up her claws to block the oncoming swords. Unless the Hand were widely employing Adamantium, her claws would cleave through the blades seamlessly. .

IC

"This is a safe place, Kristen," The counsellor said as gently as she could. "You can say anything you need to."

IC: Alaric's demeanor grew a little bit more darkly amused as he shifted his weight onto one front food, placing the toe of his other boot on the ground and reclining forward as he poured another glass of wine and took a sip. "You think you know plenty," he said, "but until you've heard it from me, they're just ghosts: casual little rumors that float through walls, with no substance." -Tyler

IC:

Six months ago...

Angel sank into the chair in the headmaster's office of the Xavier Institute with all the weight of ###### on his shoulders.

It was the end of his first semester, an otherwise impeccable June day where the sun shone, but did not beat down; the wind was cool and blew casually, but the day was not obnoxiously windy; Warren Worthington III considered for a moment taking a swim in the pool later but turned back to the desk full of problems and reports on young mutants and the remnants of the X-Men and decided that the boardshorts would have to wait.

He picked up a particular report - the Russian kid, English, was filling in yet again for hand-to-hand combat and his classes would regularly receive rave reviews or complaints that he was starting to adversely affect student health - and went through it for all of about thirty seconds before putting it down on the desk. He thought briefly about that swim again - he was in much more of a mood to take a dive than he was to administrate. If he'd wanted the latter, he'd be at Worthington Industries right now.

A figure familiar to the halls of the X-Manor, but didn't belong, somehow, stepped up to Warren's door, ignoring the gaping at seeing her again. A knock came.

"Yeah, come in," he said absently. "English, if that's you, we seriously need to talk about you smacking around the students, we've got a 300% spike in broken noses from the last six months, and you should've seen the numbers we had in the first place--"

A violet haired woman stood in the door, holding one elbow with the opposite hand.

"Hi, Warren."

"Yeah, English, you...you're...Braddock?"

Warren's folder almost slipped out of his hands and only a quick, impulsive tightening of the muscles in his fingers kept the contents from spilling out across the entire length of the floor behind his desk. His eyes looked her up and down and he took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. It didn't happen, and he put the folder down on the desk and ran both hands through his shock of pure blonde hair, letting out another shaky exhale as he turned to the window.

"Yeah, look, I don't know who you are, but if this is your idea of a joke then congratulations. It worked. I'll let you laugh your ###### off about it alone in detention for two weeks."

"No-no, Warren, it's me." She squeezed her elbow, then sighed, a distinctive purple blade forming in her free hand. The energy radiated by it was palpable. "I'm not as powerful as I was but it's me."

Her look turned mischievous.

"If you want me to, I can tell you exactly what we did after you saved me from Sabretooth's claw wounds."

"I remember what we - what...Braddock and I...did...after that. You..." Warren fumbled, brain shutting down and then restarting blankly like an overheated laptop. Betsy, it's Betsy, it can't be Betsy, what if it's...

"You have to understand," he started again, a little louder and less controlled than he'd hoped, "that it's been eighteen years. The Phoenix went manic eighteen years ago, and everyone died, and everyone died, and you...you just walked into my office happening to claim to be the long-dead....someone who meant a lot to me. You can...you know...how that looks to me."

"Warren," she said softly. "I did die. That doesn't change that I'm here now."

She smiled slightly. "I've come back from worse."

It was the way she said his name.

Memories he'd thought dormant for eighteen years came back: romantic retreats, Hellfire excursions, missions, time alone, time apart. Jean. Scott. The others. The doubt shrank and shrank, drying into a big moral raisin in Angel's core at the ninja in the doorway. It wasn't her. It couldn't be her. But what if...

"Betsy?" he asked softly, the name like sandpaper in his throat. She smiled weakly and waved at him with the hand not clutching for safety at her elbow and repeated a soft: "Hi, Warren."

It took all the concentration in the world for his wings not to burst through his button-up and out of his back as he paced quickly around the headmaster's desk and seized her in his arms.

*****

Fire alarms blared throughout the Xavier Institute's halls, and it seemed like there was almost no sanctuary their loud tolls couldn't reach; only one room, a makeshift "aerie" that was typically the Headmaster's private quarters, was spared any sort of misery from the clanging sounds of automated bells. A head with ruffled, unkempt blonde hair poked out from the pure white sheets, followed by a bare upper body as Warren Worthington stretched, back almost visibly popping underneath his lack of body fat. Betsy Braddock pretended to try and sit up, too, but gave up after about a second and a half and simply stared up at him; after a couple seconds of catching their breath the two realized the fire alarms had been blaring the entire time, began to laugh, and then lost it all over again.

"How?" Warren finally breathed, panting a little as he let his wings unfurl and get some air.

Warren Worthington had asked the same question every morning for five months, and Betsy Braddock would never answer him; this morning was likely no different, so Warren pantomimed an early sigh of surrender and stretched out one arm, listened to it pop at the elbow. His other arm was wrapped around Betsy, and when he laid back down again his grip slipped back around Psylocke's neck and he grinned.

It was looking like it wasn't just students who were going to skip school today.

Betsy kissed him lightly. "You know, I thought you were supposed to be running a school."

"You could always get out of bed and find a job of your own, if you want to start criticizing my management style."

"What am I going to tell them? 'Hi, I'm Elizabeth Braddock. Yes, I know that the city cleaners had to scrape the charred ashes of my body off of the sidewalk, but I got better."

"How?" Warren repeated cheekily.

Betsy's mouth clapped shut and she got that look again. The one that said she really, really didn't want to say.

"What's the worst you could say? You were wearing your old family ring out of habit when Jean burned you alive, and then you accidentally woke up the next morning because nobody ever bothered to tell you that the ring would resurrect you from the dead until it actually happened?"

She didn't respond to his jape and Warren sighed; the sound was lost under the pitched sounds of screaming bells, but around them, the aerie was still oddly silent; even the subtle brush of feathers against feathers his wings usually sparked were lost in the noise. Her eyes were a deep, hard violet and gave nothing away to him. Her mouth was set in an uncertain straight line.

"Betts..." Warren said softly, touching her cheek with two gentle fingers. "It's me. Warren."

"I know, and I wish I could tell you. But I can't."

Warren bit back a sigh and hugged Psylocke underneath the covers. Around them, the fire alarms stopped, but neither of them made so much as a snarky comment.

"I just don't want to regret trusting you," he said, with bluntless that belied the softness of his embrace.

"I know. Warren, I do. But I may not be able to stay here if I say."

Warren grew a little cooler after that one, and Psylocke got the sudden feeling that she'd said something that resonated with him, however inadvertently. In his mind, he saw Alaric, and Anberlyn, and Beast, and Scott, and Jean, and Scott again...something about Scott…

"Are the people here going to be hurt if you stay?" he asked, followed by: "And are you really Betsy Braddock? Because if the answer to the first is no, and the answer to the second is yes, then you're staying here. And I'll drop the subject forever. I promise."

"I don't think anyone will get hurt if I stay. They will get hurt if I leave. And yes. Warren, I am Betsy Braddock. Couldn't you tell?"

That same coy smile came back, then; they were both quiet for a few seconds and Warren finally sighed again - not entirely mocking - before concentrating on willing away his wings and falling back into bed next to Betsy. Slowly, after a couple seconds of idle staring that they hadn't really done since they first became a couple years ago, he leaned in and kissed her.

She was Betsy, there was no doubt; she was Betsy; she was home.

But even though he'd promised to never again bring it up, something still bugged Angel, itched at his subconscious, tore at his gut, begged an answer to the one question that had plagued him every morning for five months:

How?

-Tyler

IC: Ashley

Eventually Ashley gave up on the unconscious teacher, simply pouring a whole box of origami frogs onto his torso before walking back to the table where Alec and Nicole were still sitting.

She picked up one of the few eclairs still on her plate and started to nibble on it.

IC:

"Well... As you probably know, I wasn't exactly always like... This," Kristen said, awkwardly gesturing at her body.

"When I was born... I was born with my shapeshifting power active. I was born looking like a completely different person. When my mother adopted me... She didn't know how I looked like. I just mimicked anyone that I saw. When I got old enough... She just let me pick the form I wanted. And she just interpreted my personality as my gender..."

Kristen shuffled awkwardly in her chair before continuing her monologue, "She thought I was male. And I didn't argue. I had never seen my real form. Or gotten my blood tested or whatever they do... I just went along like that. I was raised like that. You know, like how most parents teach their kids... You know, girls have cooties, boys are only into sports, nice kids don't steal... All until my encounter with John... And I was stuck in this body. And now that I've been in this body for a year, I've gotten more used to it... Especially since Dal jokes about it all the time..."

Kristen took a deep breath, her face turning beat red, "I think I'm only attracted to girls."

IC:

Cynegild stared at the man with roughly the same expression as a dead fish for less than a second before he started laughing, shaking his head sadly as he palmed the bobblehead, lowering his arm to hold the desk ornament loosely by his side.

"Honestly, you have no idea how much practice that thumb trick took. Alas, as interesting as I'm sure your definition would be, I am here on business - meeting with one 'Imperator,' as a matter of fact. I would be quite grateful if you would direct me to the correct room.

IC:

"I never denied it. I would hope, however, that you haven't spent seven hundred years showing off information before you've got it all collected. Powerful people tend to end up toppled through vices like that."

-Tyler

IC

"Believe it or not, this totally normal," Dr Thomas replied as gently as she could. "Most teenagers go through phases where they're not entirely sure who they are or to whom they're attracted. If you feel attracted to girls, then there's nothing wrong with that, regardless of whatever body you're in."

She leaned back in her chair. "A more pressing question is whether or not you feel more comfortable in your body. Do you prefer this body to your old one?"

IC: Lynae"No... Just you." She smiled, a hand on her hip as she continued to look at him. "I was simply... Baiting. I didn't mean any threat or harm to you. Just curious if the rumors were true." She chuckled and then turned away, walking into the room and then to the hallway. "Lighten up."

IC:

"I... I don't know," Kristen admitted, "It's not fun to get used to... I'm still not used to everything that comes with this form... As for my 'old body'..."

Kristen laid back in the chair, trying to collect her thoughts in a coherent manner, "It certainly beats having no body as you would think of it... I'm just... Not fond of everything that comes with it."

IC: "Miss Lynae."A young man stepped out of the shadows, bowing."I don't believe you remember me."

John Harken- Middle of nowhere Nebraska

IC: The SHIELD agent ran a slightly bulky medical scanner over Aella's head before nodding to himself. There was no brain damage, so it was safe enough for her to sleep at the present.

Standing up, he replied to Trinity while making his way over to the communicator. "It seem that my comm unit is getting some static. That could mean several things."

Picking it up he pressed a series of buttons that would send a brief explanation of the situation back to Persephone.

 

WARNING WARNING DOCUMENT FOR EYES OF DIRECTOR FURY ONLY WARNING WARNING

 

INCIDENT LOCATION - CLASSIFIED. INCIDENT DATE - CLASSIFIED. INCIDENT TIME - CLASSIFIED.

 

Subject: Akihiro, Daken.

-Tyler

 

IC: (Texas, Early Morning, Agent Asa Thurman aka Agent Ripple)

Some people are just born lucky, some of these people have luck favor them in all things, in the case of one mutant in particular that was her power. It just so turned out though that, that luck would serve another. In the early morning where the was on the on the verge of cresting over the eastern horizon and starting a new day. A convoy carrying precious cargo was making it across the great plains of Texas ready to deliver it’s highly valuable cargo to the right location.

It would never reach it’s destination.

The current wielder of the PSG-1, Asa Thurman, codenamed Ripple was watching the convoy as it drove closer and closer to her position, five rounds meant five shots and Ripple barely ever missed a shot, not to say she was infallible, far from it, she had made mistakes here and there. Unlike most people though Ripple was adept at bouncing back from anything, including defeat, luck was in her hand, although it required a bit of effort.

For example the first shot was on the tire of the large truck, when she held her breath, narrowed her eyes as she focused on the front tire, her finger pulled down on the trigger and the bullet tore a hole in the rubber of the tire, causing the driver to lose control. The man despite his best attempts could not keep control of such a heavy vehicle traveling at such a high speed from spinning out and spin out it did. He fought the wheel, pulling hard and pumping the brakes, unfortunately for him, it only exacerbated the problem and the heavy truck spun out, flipping on it’s side and careened across the pavement. The second shot was taken on the first driver of the group, the man driving the Humvee at the front, there was a red spray on the windshield as the bullet connected and without a proper driver and the foot still accelerating on the gas, the Humvee spun out and flipped, an unfortunate occurrence for the man in the gunner’s nest on top of the Humvee, before he could pull himself inside, the Humvee flipped and the man was likely crushed under the full weight of the vehicle. The second vehicle another Humvee had done it’s best to avoid the first Humvee, but found itself having to decelerate as back left tire had been shot out. The last two shots missed, as Ripple had lost focus and had gotten too confident over how well she had been thus far.

Breaking down the rifle she packed it up and and pulled the case over her back as she jumped on her blue and chrome Ducati Diavel, she had a fine figure, something the tight catsuit she wore for most ops did a good job of showing, her hair was a dark shade of crimson and her eyes a light blue shade to them as her grin grew as she tore down the road and back onto the pavement, on hand on a pistol as she raced towards the wreck cars,

The fight had just started, and for Asa Thurman she was glad it was so.

IC: "Miss Lynae."A young man stepped out of the shadows, bowing."I don't believe you remember me."

IC:Forty-five.Forty-six.Forty-seven.Forty-eight.Forty-nine.Fifty.Rashad dropped from the pull-up bar, landing in a crouch and slowly standing. He stretched sideways, allowing his muscles to relax as he opened a bottle of water and downed the thing. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he headed towards the showers. One of the best perks of this job, he decided, passing other agents in the midst of strenuous exercise, was the gym.In the shower he turned the heat as high as it could go, basking in the steam. When finished, he dressed in a simple black uniform and headed to his office, where a quick retinal scan confirmed his identity. Entering the now unlocked door, he sat down at his computer, opening his inbox to check for a new assignment. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk, concealing the need to be moving that he always felt. One of the side-effects of a life in a secretive government organization, he always thought.

OOC: Oops...Edited.

OOC:1. Wrong topic2. Why? Last thing Reyson needs right now is a giant lizard popping out of nowhere.IC ReysonStanding off to the side, Reyson continued to monitor the man. It looked like he was givingone of the girls medical treatment. Lying down motionless in the tall grass, his breathing barely audible, he silently monitored the suspicious individuals, using a technique that he perfectred when he was trapped in that nature did pension. Such a beautiful place.