Marvel, Rebirth:

IC: Ashley

Ashley pulled out a paper bag, sticking her hand in it and pulling out an eclair, she proceeded to eat it. "Want some?"

Meanwhile the Blackbird picked up speed, then with a loud boom it went flew off at incredible speeds, heading toward New York City.

IC:

"I want some," muttered Dallas Green from the copilots seat, seemingly lost in his game of Flappy Bird. "How many did you bring?"

-Tyler

IC:

"Just keep an eye on the jet controls, okay?" Song closed her eyes, stood up, and walked over to the nearest wall. Once there, she hit her head against the wall once before sliding down into a seated position.

IC: Ashley

"That can cause brain damage you know." Ashley commented as she turned around to face the controls. It was pretty easy to fly the Blackbird with the autopilot on, she had no idea where it was taking them however.

She decided it was a good time to sing one of her favorite tunes.

"If ourrrrrrrr love is tragedy why are you my remedy~"

"If ourrrrrrrr love's insanity why are you my clarity~"

OOC: For the heck of it.

IC: Peter

The Blackbird, in the space of fifteen seconds, had flown out of Peter's sight. Panting, he glanced in despair at the horizon. "This is so bad..."

IC:

"Really? Excellent." I said, falling over on my back and staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, Ashley. I shouldn't have come. This was my fault in the first place, and now I'm just making it worse."

IC: Ashley

"But if you hadn't come I would have missed you and I'd be sad. :c"

IC:

"Missed me? I literally just met you."

IC: Ashley

"Our friendship transcends time and space."

IC:

"Actually, Ashley, you aren't too far off the mark there."

IC:

"What about death? I can honestly say that I might try to kill you eventually." I paused for a moment. "Not intentionally, of course."

IC: Ashley

"Death can't stop the power of friendship and love! Everyone knows that."

IC:

"What do you mean, Morrison?" I looked at him curiously.

IC Peter

"A place just took off from the school grounds and is headed for the city!!!" Peter shouted, dashing into the front foyer. By the speed it was traveling at, it would probably be too late for anybody to do anything about it; it was still worth a shot though, and if the police came knocking, they'd at least know what happened. "A plane randomly rose from the ground and is flying for the city," he repeated, trying to get somebody's attention. "Somebody stop it..." After a few seconds, Peter dashed back outside, running in the general direction the plane had gone. "If I reduce the gravity around my immediate vicinity to Lunar levels, I should be able to get to the city without killing myself from exhaustion..."

IC

"Mr Tyrell. Calm yourself, if you please."

Dr Thomas walked at her usual businesslike pace as she approached the distraught Peter, holding a manila folder under one arm.

"You're apt to disturb the students with outbursts like these," she said formally. "I trust you were briefed upon your arrival, yes? Several students at the Institute are part of a sort of "next-generation X-Men" group, and have the right to exit campus at any time to respond to whatever threat is deemed appropriate. The Headmaster has, even in the face of my concerns, deemed this appropriate, at least as much in that he is willing to turn a blind eye.

"Therefore, Mr Tyrell, there is no cause for panic, other than the fact that several of our students may not return as they left, or even return at all. If you find that cause for distress, I'd recommend taking it up with Headmaster Warrington. If your luck is any better than mine, he'll listen. If not... I believe you have classes to attend to. Good afternoon."

Then she was gone, efficiently clipping her way back through the wide double doors into the Institute.

IC: Mikhail

"I assume," said Mikahil quietly, "that it is due to your status as one their creations."

IC Peter

"Ha, ha, ha... I know we have an X-Men group, but this?" Nevertheless, he turned back to the Institute and walked back inside.

IC:

"Oh, you know. Divine stuff." Morrison shrugged, in nine-tailed fox form. "I can't really tell you all that much about it. I'd get in trouble."

IC (Red Cross Camp, New York)

Cody Jackson was, all things considered, doing okay.

After the HYDRA attack, the teenaged mutant (shhh, nobody knows!) had escorted a couple survivors to the Red Cross encampment that had been set up, and somehow roped himself into staying there for something approaching twenty hours. It had been a close call at first: he'd almost forgotten that, except for his balaclava, he was still wearing most of his Zephyr gear, so he'd taken the first opportunity to duck away and pull his mask on. The only person who might possibly make the connection between costume and face was the girl he'd found standing amidst the rubble right after the attack, but she'd been in shock. He doubted she'd even remember him.

Following that little escapade, he'd made himself useful. Tracking down survivors, pulling pieces of rubble off of victims, helping set up tents and cots and moving supplies... it was busy, to say the least. People had looked at him strangely at first, wearing a green balaclava and a good amount of leather, but they made the connection once they saw him single-handedly lifting a car into the air, or carting around six crates of freeze-dried food without losing his breath. He was some kind of superhero, mutant or otherwise, and he wanted his true identity to stay under wraps. Fair enough.

At least, that's what he hoped they were thinking. But yeah, all things considered, being a hero wasn't half bad.

IC Lynae

It is always the same. She thought as she looked at the man she had pushed away in disgust. They try to drown out their sorrow without realizing how once a bit of clarity comes through it, it strangles them again like a glutinous python.

Her blue eyes shifted back to her own glass, the red liquid shining in the dim bar light like a liquid ruby. Or maybe they do... Maybe that's why they stumble around like fools.

IC:

"So then... Am I the same as Tera and Aella?" Trinity asked, turning to look at Mikhail with wide eyes.

IC:

"Then why did you bring it up in the first place?" I said somewhat grouchily. "Now I'm just going to have to pester you about it incessantly."

IC:

"I didn't say I couldn't tell you anything, did I?" Morrison testily asked, glaring over at Song...or Sierra. 'Person-that-transforms-into-wolf-bat-evil-thing' worked just as well for Morrison. "I simply said that I can't explain the most of it...human minds aren't particularly cut out to handle this sort of stuff, anyways. I will say, though, that your friendship has been ensured for quite the long time."

IC:

"Quit being so mysterious, Vulpix."

IC: A friend was the answer to Kristen's question. Song considered it broadly true. She wasn't here to hurt or manipulate the girl, which meant she wasn't an enemy. And if you weren't indifferent and weren't an enemy the only option left was friend. Flawless logic.

You have quite a mind here Song whispered, her presence in Kristen's head wafts of smoke and suggestions of the lightest touches, You must struggle to keep everything straight at times. Do you take medication?

IC:

Obviously, ​because I'm filthy rich, Kristen thought back, Besides, all it would do would be to make me weaker, especially if I'm attacked by anyone.

IC: Trying to use the voices as guard dogs is not a particularly valid tactic against anyone with the power to assault your mind directly Song pointed out. The very fact that she was even talking to Kristen mentally was proof of that. It is akin to throwing your innermost thoughts at them like confetti.

The threads of smoke that represented her mental presence continued to swirl around Kristen's brain, spooling and spreading like milk in tea, steadily working deeper into her head under the guise of insubstantiality...

IC:

Yes but it distracts them from me. Can you like, go bother with them and let me actually get some proper rest for once? She thought back, starting to become irritated that she couldn't relax for long without a new interruption.

IC: If you wish to sleep, just sleep. Song was still whispering, it added a natural sibilance to the pronunciation of 'sleep'. Made it last longer, made it roll around inside Kristen's head. Sleep away and sleep well. I will keep the voices quiet, and you will sink deeper and deeper into a restful sleep.

Hypnotism was a lot more effective if you were actually inside the victim's head to do it...

IC:

Kristen couldn't help but yawn, trying to keep her thoughts in order before drifting off into a state of blissful unconsciousness.

IC: Ashley

Ashley turned to look at Morrison and Song. "I can handle it, I'm sure of it!"

IC:

"I'm old and divine. I can be enigmatic and mysterious if I want to be, and none of you can do a thing about it!" Morrison said, sticking his tongue out at the group in front of him. "...And no, if I explained it to you in full, you really couldn't handle it. There's a reason people almost never learn deep secrets of the universe from the gods and such...that's why the Buddha confused us so much."

IC: Ashley

"The trees told me everything...it's toooo lateeeeee...."

IC: Alec Trask was not particularly prone to attacks of the dreaded angst. Yet even he found it necessary occasionally to try a little introspection out for size. Turns out it wasn't a way to watch movies that required special glasses. Who knew, right?

But anyway, e needed some help over matters that were becoming increasingly important, which is why he was now knocking on the office door of one Doctor Rachel Thomas, the Institute's in-house counsellor

IC

"You have excellent timing, Mr Trask."

Alex turned around to see Dr Thomas walking up to him, a manila folder under one arm and a set of keys in the other. "I was just returning from my lunch break."

She unlocked the door and hit the lights as she entered, bathing the room in pleasant yellow light. The folder she placed on her desk; the keys went to her pocket. She took a moment to orient herself, then looked back at Alex, who still stood at the door.

"Please come in, Alexander. How can I help you?"

IC:

"If you're so old and divine, then why did you stick your tongue out like a five year old?" I rolled my eyes. "Goodness knows there's enough immaturity at the institute to fuel this plane without you displaying the amount of restraint only familiar to a toddler."

IC:

"Simple. I'm old and divine so I can act how I want. You're one of the many human beings we try to help out all the time and you never show any respect, so we're not often likely to be respectful to you, or act how you think we should." Morrison shrugged.

"Now, you can stop acting like an entitled brat, or you'll get to deal with me acting even worse than this for the rest of eternity."

IC:

"If you're trying to help us, than you aimed pretty low." I sighed. "If we're self entitled brats, then why do you care?"

IC:

"I'm saying you're an entitled brat. Your other personality is much cuter. As for why us divine beings help - simple. We all put something into making this world, and all of you. None of us want to see you destroy it or yourselves, so we try to help ameliorate your ignorance, your petty, violent natures, stuff like that." Morrison yawned, settling back.

"I'm done with this conversation, though. It's coming dangerously close to breaking the rules Inari gave me, and some of the rules on various internet websites. Regardless, just know that you and Ashley were pretty much supposed to be friends, and that you two breaking apart from each other might destroy the universe."

IC:

 

The black Hydra vehicle landed discrelty in an alleyway. The wings folding in and the tires going down as it set down on the ground. Conrad opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle. He had seen something amazing as he'd flown in over New York. An entire army of blue men raining down upon the city. So this must be SHIELD's new army... their new super soldiers. Conrad thought as he moved towards the back of the van. He opened the hatch and then smiled as he looked at a weapon laying in the trunk.

 

"Heil Hydra..." Conrad said as he lifted the sleek black sniper-rifle. It came loaded with only for or five shots but that's all Conrad needed. He was close to the coordinates Ryck had given him. Close to his targets. Conrad wasn't sure if Bootleg had followed him to the city or not but he couldn't wait for his comrade. He had to proceed before his targets moved.

 

Conrad walked to the alleyway wall and began to climb up the rusty fire-escape, sniper-rifle strapped to his backside. Once he reached the rooftop he crouched down and shuffled to the far wall of the rooftop. It had a fairly high wall coming up to about his waist if he was standing up. Conrad set the rifle down and began extending the tripod legs to keep it securly in place. He then moved behind his weapon and turned it towards the apartment building. He zoomed in with the scope, looking for signs of his targets. He wouldn't shoot them. He couldn't. Hydra wanted them back alive. But the other two people they were with. They were expendable.

NPC:

The Archangels, before they were Archangels, came from all walks of life; some had been Army Rangers and Green Berets, some NAVY Seals or Blue Angel pilots; some had been SWAT or NYPD or LAPD; some had even been CIA or SHIELD in their day. Each of them was a trained killer and operative long before they were chosen for the Initiative. Each could pick out a mediocre sniper from a bird's eye view. Each knew exactly how to deal with them.

One such Archangel was a fast-talking Bostonian cop in his late twenties whose real name had been lost in the sea of accent jokes during conditioning and replaced by the dubious moniker "Marky Mark." It had taken all the gusto he could muster not to have his entire squad named "The Funky Bunch" when command divided him up into groups, so in regards to nicknames he would take what he could get. As degrading as his callsign was, Marky Mark was as trained as any of them, so when he saw what was obviously a blonde-haired male on the roof, about his age, with a sniper rifle primed at the parallel apartment complex and a vehicle of suspicious make not twenty yards away, he connected the dots and nudged the Archangel next to him, a Southern gentlemen with an almost bow-legged swagger to him. The boys in conditioning had called him "Kris Kross." It was better than his first, short-lived callsign: "The Notorious Hill. Bill. E."

Together, the two unfortunately named Archangels swooped down on their metal, SHIELD-assembled wings and landed on the roof while Conrad Kaufmann lined up his shot. They did not make noise when they walked towards him, nor did they make noise when they drew their guns on him. The Archangels never made noise on the job.

On the job, they were silent as Death.

-Tyler

IC:

"Whatever. Forgive me if I don't believe something as preposterous as that."

...

"You find violence cute?"