Marvel, Rebirth:

Captain Allergen stumbled- seeing the ugly features of the Red Skull had triggered something in him. Fuzzy memories, hazy recollections of who he once was began to come back to him. He leaned against a city wall and cupped his face in his hands.

"Uhhhh.... I think... I'm going... to write in my diary about this...." He slowly wandered back to his house.

IC:

"Knowing won't hurt him." Sierra said quietly, watching Ashley's internal struggle.

IC: Leon Wang

"In recent news, former Great Lakes Avengers leader Mr. Immortal has been sighted performing charity work in Bangladesh."

"It's good to see that even after his retirement, the hero continues to act in the name of the common man."

"That I agree upon Dave. Now, to the weather: New York City will be suffering from Nazi blood showers in the next few days ..."

Leon turned off the TV, snuggling back into his couch.

IC:

In the streets of New York, amidst the carnage wrought by the now thoroughly-repelled attack, a lone Ultimate sat on a piece of rubble. If anyone had been around to see her, they would have seen something odd; she was sitting quite still, two fingers pressed to her left wrist, silently checking her vital signs. Elevated, quite high, actually, but she wasn't in any immediate danger.

Though she never would have admitted it, using such heavy weaponry so cavalierly taxed her body. She had sent her weapons back into hyperspace, and now she simply waited to feel that she had recovered sufficiently to move without arousing suspicion.

IC:

"Well. Guess we aren't needed." 

I commented to Michael, situated on the rooftop he'd only just finished putting me on when the giant Nazi basically exploded. Real messy, actually, but hey. Ding dong the witch is dead. Without much further said, I started dismantling the Buster mode I'd put the DN Arms into.

"So what've you been up to, Mike?"

IC: Michael

"Not dying."

IC( Cynegild Picker - Congo Flashback):

Picker rummaged around through another of the stacked cardboard boxes, glancing over the contents of a sheaf of papers before sorting them, as quickly as he could, into two piles. In the old days, he knew, the really serious cults had kept their musings and their rituals and their surprisingly good fruitcake recipes on musty old scrolls, written in ink derived from a mixture of the blood of virgins (sometimes a junior cult member who had drawn the short straw, more often someone less sanguine about their exsanguination) and the nearest available substitute for oak gall. These days, they'd either photocopied the old scrolls or used the very same set of straws to choose the cultist whose job it would be to sit down at a word processor and manually copy the blasted things, resulting in six stacks of cardboard boxes that had been very neatly labelled in a language Cynegild couldn't read, the stacks of coffee-stained copy paper he was now shuffling through, and more paper cuts than he would ever admit.

One of the stacks he was sorting objects into rested atop a small pile of leathery tomes, titled in languages he (and the majority of the cultists) couldn't read and worth their age, rather than their weight, in gold. The other stack was on the floor, next to a matchbox and a canister of kerosene, and had more to do with philosophical ramblings than anything particularly useful. After a quick but thorough search of the booth, the things that were useful to him had been stuffed into his pack, and the rest blazed merrily on the floor as he crept out from the booth, readying a bundle of explosives for the next part of the job.

OOC: Not sure I could do a scene involving the demolition of a large piece of a structure justice right now, so I'm cutting off here. I'll come back to it later.

IC:

"Everyone else," Dallas blurted suddenly, "are they alright!? Did...ack...anyone hurt?"

"Aside from the obvious?" His Ultimate self-frenemy rolled his eyes derisively. "Nah. You're the only one dinged up with worse than a few cuts, least I know. Bekah was right after all. Nobody died."

"Huh." A small slant of a grin forced its way through the pain. 

"I don't like your ###### face," declared the only other person with Dallas' face in the room. "Stop smiling."

"Sorry. I just think it's good for you." 

"Smiling?"

"Sure. But her, too."

"Stop."

"Have you talked to her?"

"Stop." Showstopper looked stricken.

"I think you'd be really cute together," Dallas said sincerely. "She makes you smile."

"Euthanize him," the Ultimate told Alecto, whose neck was breaking itself in and out of place ,so quickly was he turning between the two incarnations of Dallas.

"So you haven't talked to her? C'mon. If anyone's earned some happiness, it's me. You. Us. How do you know she doesn't feel the same way?"

"There's no way to feel," insisted Showstopper defensively, pulling up his sweater to disguise a faint tinge of red in his eyes and cheeks.

"I think I recognize my own pendant," he said cheekily.

...

...

...

...

...

"Dude. Whatever, dude." Showstopper's attempt at sounding snide vanished as he tapped the frame of the door twice. Dallas craned his head as far as he could through the pain in his arm and shoulder, just enough to be rewarded with the sight of Dallas Green groaning through his teeth and pulling out his phone while he left.

-Tyler

IC (Alecto)

Alecto rubbed his neck, noting that even if that slight ache developed into whiplash, witnessing that exchange had been totally totally worth it. With one raised eyebrow, Alecto turned too the wounded 'twin' with respect and something approaching frank admiration in his eyes. "And actually, this is a non-kill shelter. So I'll just be getting Borzoi here a shot of Vodka instead. Kay?" Alecto turned back to Showstopper with wide smirk on his face. "Think he's earned it." Alecto, still supporting the wounded man, then rounded a corner.

"This is my floor. Just need to make it to the apartment now. Then we'll get you patched up. And get you some victory vodka. It's the best kind. Trust me."

IC:

Alaric Carlisle was combining two of his favorite things: watching the news from the couch and drinking.

He did these things well.

-Tyler

IC (Borte Khan)

It was at this point Borte Khan, hair tied up into a neat bun and robes in perfect order, calmly strolled into the room. She paused for a moment, to take in the current story in the never-ending news cycle, then made her way to the cabinet. Moments later she'd poured herself a glass of quality bourbon, and quietly acquired a seat for herself. 

She had not made a single comment during the entire affair. 

IC: Abigail

People ran, people screamed, people shouted. It was chaos everywhere, buildings were ablaze or in pieces, usually a combination of the two. Police, national guard, and SHIELD swarmed the streets, hard at work hunting down any remaining HYDRA soldiers and other threats such as looters. 

The short, redheaded vampire known as Abigail stood out among the chaos, walking with an rather carefree manner as people ran in the opposite direction. It wasn't everyday you got to see such chaos, though it seemed common enough in New York City. 

She was actually hoping she'd run into an agent of HYDRA, she was kind of hungry. 

IC: Ashley

"Yeah...I suppose you're right..." Ashley stared at the remote, after what seemed like an eternity of indecisiveness, she picked it up and turned on the TV. What she saw wasn't quite as horrible as she'd imagined, but it was still pretty bad. When she saw the images of a gigantic Red Skull she nearly gasped, but felt relief when it was revealed that the red giant had been taken down. It seemed it was over.

She just hoped that meant Dallas and the others were coming home, safe and sound. 

IC (Leon)

Leon stumbled away from Times Square, clutching his nose, trying to stem the bleeding. Part of his mind was wondering just what the mechanics were behind bleeding in vampires, considering most of their blood was...donated. Heck. The blood in Leon's system wasn't even human. He made do with deer. Easy to hunt. Plentiful. And most importantly, legal. In certain seasons at least. The other parts of his mind were mostly focused on making sure his wasn't broken. This seemed to be a more pressing concern. 

His senses, being mostly occupied by the steady tide of blood flowing out of his nose, completely failed to pick up Abigail's carefree approach. 

IC: Abigail

Abigail was in fact being a little too carefree, and didn't notice Leon until they collided into each other. "Ack!"
 

OOC: Haha, I should post more often if it means all of you will get posts in soon after.

IC(Cynegild Picker - Congo Flashback):

Cynegild had not quite stepped out of the booth when he staggered, grasping at a railing as he felt the floor beneath his feet rocked by the first in a series of thunderous detonations that moved across the opposite side of the stadium, kicking up a pale cloud of dust as the timed charges pounded the structure in rapid succession, rolling the thunder of the blasts through the stadium and across the city, shaking the earth and nearly deafening Cynegild for several seconds after the last bomb had gone off.

There was a moment of eerie stillness afterwards as the dust lingered, and, for that moment, it seemed as though the blasts had failed to bring down the targeted portion of the stadium.

It was not to last. As gravity took a firm hold on the damaged structures, a full third of the stadium crackled and crumbled, sagging inwards as the surviving support structures snapped under a weight they had never been designed to hold alone. The dust cloud grew as the stadium collapsed, rolling out across the field in a choking fog. The ground shook more violently than before, throwing Cynegild from his feet as car alarms across the city erupted into a violent cacophony, triggered by the collapse.

Slowly regaining his feet, unsteady in a world that still felt as though it were in the midst of an earthquake, Cynegild looked out over the field, and could only just make out the sacrificial altar through the concrete haze that was, for now, the only visible remains of the demolished section of the stadium. It seemed to be constructed of some black stone, and its form was that of four raised pillars adjoining the corners of a single raised platform. A slight shimmer through the dust implied the presence of a metallic inlay on the platform, but he could not make out more. Leaning heavily on the railing with his good hand, Cynegild made his way down the stands towards the field as quickly as he could, while the world around him was still catching its breath.

-- (Drachentocht) --

In the back alley where the walking wounded did battle with the Brothers of the Yellow Sign and their monstrous allies, the earth shook, thunder roared, and the cultists faltered in their steps, taken off-balance by this sudden development. The Dragon's Daughter, however, had planned this - she knew it was coming, and when the enemy balked at the sound of a demolition crew earning their pay, she knew her side was winning, and she and her mercenaries saw their chance to press the attack against the enemy before them. Roaring her defiance in the face of her enemies, she took the nearest of the cultists with her knife, opening his throat before he had fully processed what the thunder had meant, and leaving him in a pool of his own blood as she charged forth, firing from the hip at the remaining hostiles in the alley.

They moved uncertainly now; uncertain of their victory, uncertain of their orders, uncertain of the lives of their leaders. Though some tried to rally their comrades and push back against the mercenaries they had thought would be easy, wounded prey, the majority shuffled backwards, not knowing what to do but leaning towards running for their lives.

A faint crackle served as the only prelude to shouting coming through over the radios the cultists carried. The words were unintelligible, but the voice carried an edge of panic. It was all that was needed to turn the uncertain, shuffling retreat into a full rout as the cultists turned tail and fled, robes trailing behind them, and the winged beasts that served them took to the skies with a maddened bellow, winging over the city towards the source of the thunder.

Turning to her comrades, Drachentocht gestured briefly, and then took off at a jog after the winged beasts, ignoring the broken and scattered remains of the small army of cultists that now ran in any direction that took them away from her.

IC (Leon)

"OH FUC-"

Leon didn't precisely squeal in pain, but the sound he made could be mistaken for it. He hunched over, holding already abused nose as more blood flowed from it. Nazis. Jenna reuniting with someone who was probably just as insane as she was. Getting snarked at by some wannabe comedian with bat wings.

All in one day.

One day he'd figure out just what he'd done to deserve all this. 

IC: Abigail

Abigail rubbed her head, letting out an annoyed groan as she did. The nerve of this guy, running into her like that, why she outta- Wait, what smells like deer?

She looked up, actually getting a good look at Leon.

"Oh hey! You're that guy that was with Jenna!"

IC (Leon)

Leon, still cradling his nose, looked up. ".....And you'd be the teenager we found in Lynae's chambers. Small world." A look of sudden concern flashed across Leon's face. "You really shouldn't be outside right now. City....is not in good shape." It was...something of an understatement all told.

IC: Abigail

"I can handle myself, I'm older than I look." She crossed her arms, sizing Leon up. "Not sure about you though, you look like a wreck."

IC:

Sierra turned toward the TV and watched in silence, hoping it could captivate her attention for the moment. Disaster and chaos were a tight dread in the chest. Awful, yes, but simple. Entirely negative, no 'I thought' and 'you said'. Ashley's boyfriend was probably okay though, and that was what mattered. "You're okay, right?" Sierra asked, turning to look at her. "I don't want to leave you like this, but-" she broke off, realizing self-consciously how what she might have finished with could be taken. "I r-really have some important things to be doing." the fifteen year old stammered, backing out of the room. 

IC: Ashley

Ashley had been so transfixed by the television that she almost didn't hear Sierra. She snapped out of her daze and looked at her friend. 

"Oh...okay." Ashley said, a little sad she was leaving. "When I'm feeling better we should hang out. How's that sound?" 

IC:

Alaric gave Borte Khan a questioning glance and got back a look the likes of which his language skills had never prepared him for. What was even going on. She was hot, in a sinister way, but she never looked hot. It was the Cthulhu look that did it. Total turn off. And Tali's sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Could Borte wake people up with the Cthulhu look?

Jesus.

"Hey," he said simply, taking a drink and looking back at the news.

-Tyler

IC (Borte Khan)

"Salutations." Borte Khan paused for a moment, to take a quick, graceful sip of her freshly pilfered drink. "An interesting day I think. You have a guest correct? I trust the days events have not been overly trying on her." Borte's voice was flat and calm throughout, as if was not disturbed in the slightest about the recently thwarted invasion or the fact more then a few parts of the city were still burning. 

IC (Leon)

"Tends to happen when you wind up in the middle of an invasion. And near more then a few large explosions." Good thing he didn't have any fillings. He was pretty sure they'd have come loss when Red Skull hit the ground like Jenna hit sanity. 

IC: Abigail

"Hmmm yeah, makes a lot of sense." Abigail nodded her head, still being awfully calm for someone who was in the middle of a burning, war torn city. 

"I know what will help!" Abigail exclaimed cheerfully. "What you need is some blood! There's plenty of HYDRA soldiers about, I can smell them! I mean, they're complete monsters, and they're gonna die anyway, either by the authorities or an angry mob. Hate to let that go to waste ya know?" 

IC:

By dawn, Brooklyn still hadn't slept, and kicked off every layer of her normally-welcome ocean of blankets. One slim, tanned leg was wrapped around Rebekah, separated from her waist by the covers, and Brook had buried one outstretched arm under a pillow. Her girlfriend's cheekbone was inches from her nose and her soft, sad smile. This is all I've ever wanted.

Which, for once, didn't help her feel any less guilty about ignoring the war that had ended outside their sanctum a couple hours ago.

Bekah always smiles when she sleeps, too. One of the things you picked up when you had a girlfriend like Bekah Fell was how to observe the little things that 99.99% of the people who ever lived would miss...like a little twitch of the lips on the right side of her face, and the way a fist coils sleepily around your thumb when you run it against someone's jaw. Those little quirks had come somewhere with their first anniversary, when Bekah had finally started to really leave Weapon-X behind, and by now they felt as natural and comforting to Brooklyn as the sound of her own voice. 

For once, she wished she'd gone back into the danger zone. Like Ric would have - her brother, alive then dead then alive again, always dancing in and out of her life before she could get a grip on him. She'd stolen his number from Rebekah's phone, even though she protected it with three different passcodes a week and always purged her call logs. Aleks English had taught her how to dig them up, in case life with Bekah ever required it. She'd always hoped it wouldn't...but Alaric Carlisle's number was too good a chance to pass up, so she had stolen it while her girlfriend showered and tried to call one late night after arriving in New York.

"Ric. Talk to me."

But she couldn't. She couldn't speak, but the croak was still recognizable as her voice even when choked up with tears, because Ric's breath had caught over the line and he had softly asked "Brooklyn?"

In the quiet that had fallen over New York in the hours since Red Skull died, that question was all the youngest Carlisle heard. She'd never found an answer for him.

Somehow, Brook doubted that Ric had gone out there tonight. Absurdly, that helped her feel better. And once it started, the relief wouldn't stop rolling over her for anything.

Her girl was smiling at her dreamily.

"Do you want coffee?" she asked her sleeping angel, brushing back fine dark hair with slim fingers and a white smile of her own. "Ssh. Don't answer. Don't wake up. I'll go make some coffee."

Mmmmwah.

Maybe she'd get lucky later, and find time for a siesta. Or, failing that, she thought, standing up from the bed and feeling goosebumps raise along her bare skin, I'll just try again tomorrow night.

Everyone found time to sleep eventually.

IC:

" little goddamn twerp." He'd forgotten what it felt like to have his feelings dissected, and once his mind had gotten set on his feelings there was no setting it back. Or going back inside to talk to him again, no matter how badly hurt he was. As if it wasn't bad enough facing a human version of himself. 

I should be calling Tali.

Says who? It was Bekah that had saved his life.

You've been sleeping with her for two years.

It was Bekah who was wearing his pendant right now. Bekah who could roll her eyes at him and make him laugh harder than he had in years, Bekah who had carried him through city blocks while he bled and cursed and died, Bekah who had broken into his room after a shootout and held him while he sobbed with hatred he'd never known he had... 

You've been...such an .

And at last, the two sides of him found common ground; he hit the back of his head hard against the cracking paint-and-plaster of the walls while he pressed '4' on his speed dial.

When she answered, he wolf whistled.

"Hey, Bekah. Just wanted to call you and thank you for the residual minigun prep noises I still hear ringing in my ears."

-Tyler

IC:

"I apologize. I failed to take into account the effect on others." The response was calm, measured, and exactly like she would normally have said it. A fine ear, however, could note quickly that she sounded a little too precise. Her breaths came on a specific count, five seconds in, seven out. There was a pause as the Ultimate shifted, holding the phone a little closer to her ear.

"You are speaking to me. however, which means you are well."

IC:

"T'late." A groggy former Weapon muttered, half blinking. "Coffee'd be wonderful."

IC:

"Yeah, I wasn't beat up too bad. Got a few good pics up on Instagram of the fighting, but you did most of the heavy lifting before I even had a chance." Dallas listened to her breathe for a second; chances are he would have missed it, if the very sound of that breathing hadn't lulled him back to the land of the living in New Orleans years before. His voice softened, for the first time in a long time. "You're exhausted. I'm gonna come down and get you. They're boarding up the Blackbird right now, but 'em. We'll, uh..."

He prayed no blush would betray him over the phone.

"...We'll grab some sandwiches here for breakfast. You can pull a motorcycle out of your . And we'll get each other home free and clear. Just tell me what street you're at."

IC:

"Noooo!" Brooklyn bellowed from the kitchen of the girls' rented suites as she closed the coffee filter and pressed the 'brew' button. She came stalking back to the bedroom on long legs and leaped into bed, chanting "Supposed to sleep in supposed to sleep in!" before planting an emphatic kiss on her girlfriend. 

Pulling the blankets up to her waist to smother the goosebumps on her legs, she grinned down at Rebekah.

"Good morning, sweetie."

-Tyler

IC:

"I am..." There was a faint shuffle as she pinned her phone between her cheek and shoulder, surveying the area. Her right hand found its way to her left wrist, taking her pulse to a silent count. Still high. Lower, trending down, but not there yet. Finding a sign, meanwhile, was proving much more difficult. Most such indicators were destroyed or obscured. "Three blocks northwest of Times Square, I believe. I cannot see any signs."

"I can get us moving once you arrive."

IC:

"Morning." Rebekah Fell muttered sleepily, still cloaked and wrapped in blankets up over her shoulders. "What time's it?"

IC:

"Just dawn." She let the unspoken implications - couldn't sleep, world's gone crazy, thank you for being here - between them both, and stared at Rebekah doe-eyed and grinning slightly. "I love you, sleepyhead."

IC:

"I'm at the building we dropped off the strike team at. Streets are still empty, I can be there in ten. Hey Bekah--"

The next three seconds were the longest in his life while he decided what he wanted to say.

"Without you, I...I mean, you and I..."

And then he decided against it.

"...Be seeing ya, babe."

CLICK

-Tyler

IC:

"I will see you then." The Ultimate responded just before the call ended, returning the phone to her pocket, and her attention to her vitals.

IC:

"I love you too." Blinking lazily Rebekah slowly began inching her way into a reclined position instead of a horizontal one, awareness slowly increasing. "Dawn, huh?"

IC:

"Mmm." Brooklyn's smile grew wider, lazier, and more catlike with every word. "You slept right in. I'm proud of ya."

The tanned, dark-haired girl rolled back over and stretched her arms up and her legs out before wrapping all of them back around her girlfriend. She was the one these days who was more likely to hog the bed, and insomnia had only made the incorrigibly perky young woman even more difficult to hold still. Seemingly on a whim, she yanked the covers down to their waists, rolled over onto Bekah's stomach, and then pulled the covers back up to their shoulders, arms wrapped around her neck.

"They killed Red Skull," she said a minute later. "I heard it. It's over."

-Tyler

IC (Leon)

Leon's mouth worked for a moment. Hearing such a thing come from the mouth of what at least appeared to be a teenager was...disconcerting. Jenna had never suggested something like that casually...which was saying something, considering that amongst her suggestion was 'there's only a dozen of them. We'll be fine.' If fine meant 'chased out of the tomb by a horde of troglodytic snake people' then she had an interesting definition of the word. 

But....still. Nothing like that.

Leon blinked once. Twice. "I don't....." He searched for a word that was both polite and got his disgust with the idea across. "....do that."

You're a poet Leon.

IC: Abigail

"Well, you're no fun at all." Abigail grumbled, crossing her arms. "But okay then, your loss... Where you headed anyway?" The poor guy looked like quite the mess, she figured she could at least help him out. Even if that meant getting a snack later...

IC:

"######, Saphine, you don't even need to breathe like I do! Back on that keg! Assume the position, soldier! O'Gradys, I see that you got 'em, but I don't see you smoking!" Lacey Marko, the Charisma Fountain, the One Secretary, Bane of Robot Hands and Buoy of the Cuban Economy, grabbed a nozzle and filled up her gauntlet to the brim with beer yet again when she saw Romulus, Thistledown, and a baker's dozen of Legionnaires crash the First Annual Markoletariat Revolution. The look on the Imperator's face said a thousand words. Lacey's brain slurred about a fifth of them.

"Rooooooom! Ave, you brilliant stud!" she bellowed, four gauntlets of beer amplifying her battlefield voice. She hadn't known she had a battlefield voice tonight. She kinda dug it. "Kyle's scalping cigars the size of freakin' hoagies! WE WON! Saphine, ready my horse!"

The vampire shoved a GoldPoint mercenary Lacey's way and she leaped onto the man's shoulders, wrapping her calves around his Adam's apple in a vicious leglock. When she had steadied herself (no mean feat considering the two gauntlets full of beer) the One Secretary advanced on the Roman's formation with both containers raised high.

"Open wide, Romulus!" she crowed at him, laugh veering back and forth over the line of a slightly buzzed cackle. "We were gonna try and fling this to you via scorpio, but we weren't sure how much of it would spill on the way to your mouth - and I didn't wanna crack any of ya teeth! C'mooon, open up!"

Laughing, grinning, and hiccuping at Romulus, the secretary tilted the gauntlet over his mouth like a mother trying to force her kid to drink his juice. Which...

Actually, yeah. Sounded about right.

-Tyler

IC:

"Hang...out? What's that?" Sierra paused in the doorway, confused. Even as intrigued as she was, her voice still sounded hoarse and tired. "Sorry, everything's just...just..." she yawned and leaned her head against the door frame. Lavender eyes unfocused briefly. "Remind me of what I asked you."

IC: Ashley

"Hanging out...it's when friends get together and do stuff that's fun." Ashley explained. "We could do whatever we want too, doesn't matter what it is." 

IC:

Dawn air should be crisp this time of year. And cold. Instead, New York's air still tasted like all the ash and gravel that Red Skull had kicked up when his bloated, enormous body had finally crashed. He was certain he'd inhaled a pebble or two in the wide berth he took around the Square, but as he got north of the site of the battle it was easier for him to breathe, and the air felt cooler and cleaner in his lungs. He was still wearing a single wine-colored pullover. Bay Area cold resistance ran deep in his blood, even at dawn. 

Dawn.

Hard to believe he was seeing another sunrise. Again. Thank Bekah for that one. I should call and tell Tali. He didn't want to picture her face when he and Bekah didn't get off the plane, especially after all those oaths Bekah swore about him not going until she went. Insanely, he felt his face smiling. It's an ugly day, I'm in the wrong world, and even my own heart can't agree with itself anymore, but the s haven't killed me yet. Robots, Nazis, the others...I can still fight 'em off for now.

He found enough triumph in that to sustain him for the next three blocks. When he saw Bekah, all of it went out of him in a low gasp.

Her phone was balanced between her shoulder and cheek as she completed some diagnostic pulse thing that he would have never understood, and the cold morning air had given her cheeks the first slight blush he'd ever seen on them. They puffed out a little in concentration while her lips silently counted out heartbeats. Two eyes - amethyst and garnet - looked up at him and she stood at attention. Dallas hadn't been so happy to see something in a long time. 

You look great, sixteen year old Dallas would have blurted, but he liked to think he was more mature than that. All the clever he said, his brain could have processed a hundred different ways to call her hot since th--

"You look great," he blurted.

...

Dallas smiled with as much confidence as he had in him.

-Tyler

OOC: The flashback stuff is way more fun for me to write, but I'd be remiss in my duties if I didn't write a bullet-ridden Cynegild being the least awesome part of a party.

So, deal with it.

IC(Cynegild - Present - First Annual Markoletariat Revolution, apparently):

"You need to go to a hospital."

"I uh... oh wow that one's deep - I din't hire you as my advisor. Or medic. Or medical advisor. So shut it, I like this song."

"You're probably bleeding out."

Cynegild didn't slam the extremely fancy tool that apparently didn't have a name beyond its function of extracting bullets down on the table, because that would have been an unfortunate distraction from whichever of the several dozen songs that were currently playing that he actually liked, but he really wanted to as he took another swig of bourbon and turned his bleary-eyed gaze upon the commander of his mercenary forces.

"See, look - everything I just said, only much louder and with cursing. That's what I'm saying right now, only I'm not, because the status of my left lung remains pretty qua... quay.... Look, I don't feel like shouting, is the point. I'll give you a bonus if you sod off."

He wasn't entirely certain whether the distraction went away, but he stopped paying attention to it as he dunked the extractor in one of the eight bottles of alcohol he'd gathered at his table in the corner (the wood alcohol, and the very last one he'd drink that night) before essentially jamming it into one of three brand new holes in his torso and fishing around for a scrap of lead.

He knew this was medically inadvisable on several levels. He knew one American president (he thought Taft, or maybe Clinton) had refused the removal of several bullets from his own body. He knew he was in no way qualified to perform surgery on any human being, much less himself.

He also knew he was drunk, he'd never removed bullets from his own body before, and this was a party. Parties were for trying new things - he'd read it once in a magazine. Or maybe the paper. Didn't matter.

With a wordless mumble of probably-triumph, he pulled the last twisted fragment of metal out, and added it to the small pile at the feet of Li'l Genghis, which he assumed to be the only bobblehead in the Hellfire Club. Dabbing the device, which he'd decided to name a pajabber, back in the wood alcohol, he carefully slid it back into the first bullet wound, emitting a loud beep and dissolving into a fit of giggles when it accidentally touched the edge of the hole. On the next attempt, he held it there for a minute, and spent that time staring at the anatomical diagram laid out next to the scotch, mumbling gibberish phrases to himself. Finally, he removed the pajabber, dropped it back into the bottle, and looked up triumphantly at the space Drachentocht had last occupied five minutes ago, when she left to find a strong drink unguarded by a man disturbingly insistent on applying DIY principles to surgery.

"Lung's fine. Didn't need my gall bladder anyway."

OOC: This is the worst Cynegild post yet, and I really don't care. For clarity's sake, this was a terrible decision, but he got pretty lucky. The alcohol's more likely to kill him than the wounds, with where they hit. Even the gall bladder's fine, he's just drunk and slightly shot.

IC:

IC (Leon)

"Well. I lost my..." Leon paused. He didn't really know the vampiric term for what Jenna was...and he'd only heard her use one term. He sighed, clenched his teeth and cursed god, then spoke: "Foster-mother...in the chaos. Trying to link back up. Make sure everything's still alright. Last I saw, she'd hooked up with...." He clenched his teeth again, forcing the mental images down with sheer force of will. "An old flame."

IC (Romulus)

"...." Romulus looked helplessly at his bodyguards, a thousand questions in his eyes.

How did she get here before us?

How did she get drunk that quickly?

And what on earth is she doing?

Also should I add brilliant stud to my list of titles?

IC (Alecto)

"Aw ###### kid." Alecto dug around in his medkit, produced from one of the many cupboards around his kitchen. With a statisfied hum, he produced a syringe of morphine. "I can set the arm, but that won't do much for the pain. You aren't afraid of needles right? If ya are, well....I might have some pills around, but they're not gonna do alot on their own."

Alecto cricked his neck. "And I'm sorta wondering why you're telling me all of this....but I'm not gonna complain if you're in a talking mood." Probably helped him distract himself from the pain. "So you've got a twin. Can sense emotions..seem fairly decent...how the ###### did someone like you end up in the X-Men?"