Marvel, Rebirth:

IC:

"Too late, they already got to me."

IC:

"Given the lack of white paint and rubber hoses, I'm going to assume you don't mean the Borg."

IC:

"It's okay Jesi. I like your wings."

-Tyler

IC:

"Hey, I didn't say anything bad about them. They're very nice. Just not, you know, Star Trek. Hence my quip."

IC:

ohmygodtheBOTHOFYOU

i just can't

"Why thaank you."

IC:

"You are welcome."

IC:

"Just when I thought it was safe to leave you to your own devices for a while, you go and do this to me?"

A small fox, previously out of view, jumped up onto the table in front of Dallas and gave him a rather peeved look. The fox looked somewhat worse for wear, his fur being rather unkempt and it looked like he'd gotten a few scratches and what-not along the way. Almost on second thought he reached back with a paw, and pulled a loose tuft of hair from his tail. All in all, the fox looked just as annoyed at its current state as at Dallas's.

"Hello, gimpy," Morrison said, turning his attention back to Dallas. "How're you?" While he waited for a response, he reached out and snagged a strawberry for himself.

IC:

"Oh my god it's a strawberry stealing fox..." Ashley exclaimed in shock. "Oh wait it's just Morrison. Hi Morrison!" 

IC:

"What the other fox could it be?" Dallas asked, a bit brusquely. A sigh followed in short order. "Sorry, buddy. Little under the weather today. Ya have a rough nap?"

Despite - or in spite of - his "pet" fox's irritation towards being petted, Dallas smoothed out Morrison's fur gently and scratched him behind the ear before rolling another strawberry over to the kitsune with a finger.

"Me too."

-Tyler

IC:

Morrison looked over at Ashley and nodded his head at her in greeting (considering currently the only person able to understand him would be Dallas), before turning back to Dallas.

He resisted the urge to snap when Dallas pet him, and instead bit down on the next strawberry.

"Got lost in Quebec.

Annoying wolves attacked me.

Stupid lupine things."

He continued to calmly enjoy the strawberry, though he spoke up to Dallas again a moment later. "What happened to you?"

IC: Nero's eye twitched at the fox's sudden appearance, not for the first time, and certainly not the last.

"I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to that."

IC:

"Ah, Morrison just wanders. Never know where he's gonna pop up. Haven't seen you since New York, buddy." Dallas playfully balled up a fist at the kitsune and winked. "Could'a used you at New York, buddy. Maybe you'd have been smart enough to keep me from getting roughed up."

IC:

"Suuuuurly, surly Bekah." The moody ex-Weapon in question found herself on the receiving end of a surprisingly deft hand combing through her hair, stroking the long train of black softly with his fingers. "Like Brando with boobs."

IC:

"That's a scary thought," the Avenger replied, leaning back and grinning slightly.

"Me with control of Sieg, I mean. Wielding my own thunder god would be a of a thing to explain to Nat."

-Tyler

IC:

"Why must you be like this." Rebekah complained, though she didn't exactly protest the attention being paid to her hair. Quite the opposite, though she wouldn't admit it. "You induce my surliness."

IC:

"For quite a few reasons."

IC:

"I mean, it's a step up from Horseman of Death Bekah."

-Tyler

IC:

"... That is a fair point."

IC: "I, personally, would simply like to know how you would come about obtaining your own Thunder God in the first place. I hear we're in high demand, so we're somewhat hard to come by."

Cue sparkling grin.

IC:

"Man," came the sarcastic reply from the blonde demigod's teammate, "we gotta make a calendar of you one day, buddy. Want a beer?"

-Tyler

IC: Siegfried's grin widened and he swept Brando into a rather healthy hug, though significantly less bone crushing (he's learning, you see) and upon setting the man down, replied jovially "You know how to serenade directly to my heart, friend. Beer would be fantastic."

IC(Congo Flashback - Finale):

As Davy Jones's buff cousin advanced on him, Cynegild crawled backwards just as quickly as he could, not finding himself to be the biggest fan of the weird, bluish-green flames dancing along the squid's sword. He was still trying to figure out which of his weapons to try first when he noticed something held loosely in the monster's off-hand; a knife with a long, thin blade, about twenty centimeters, almost - no, exactly like one of a pair purchased in a small, grimy shop in Glasgow in the fall of '97. Some purplish stains lingering on the blade confirmed it; this was one of the knives he had thrown into the faces of the squiddy guards, now held in the hand of what must be the angrier of the two.

Noticing Cynegild's eyes on the knife, the monster roared, an action that did faintly nauseating things to the tentacles ringing its face, and tightened its grip on the allegedly-handmade knife. Quicker than Cynegild himself could have done it, the squid-faced guardian threw it like a dart, sinking the blade into Cynegild's knee to a depth much greater than any doctor would have recommended.

Though he did nothing to stifle the scream of pain that inevitably followed, he could still hear the guardian's gurgling laughter as it closed the distance, as well as the string of probably-cursewords in maybe-Welsh as it raised its blade to finish the job. Snarling something that might as well have been about breadsticks for all Cynegild understood it, the monster took the blade in both hands, reversing its grip to point the blade straight down at Cynegild's heart, madness and malice gleaming in too-large, opalescent eyes.

He'd stopped screaming by the time a hail of bullets reduced his attacker's head to discount cat food, but he'd have heard the Kalashnikov (along with a few definitely-cursewords in most-certainly-Arabic) even if he was. As Drachentocht surveyed the twitching, gushing heap of her latest conquest, Cynegild felt the sudden urge to spoil the moment.

"It's going to grow its head back, you know. And probably throw the bullets at you. Or spit them."

The Swiss mercenary already looked tired, but that pronouncement seemed to push things all the way to exhaustion. Muttering under her breath, she hefted the inert body of her foe over her shoulders in a fireman's carry, grunting and swearing as the dark, foul-smelling blood of the beast completed the task of ruining her clothes. Cynegild, still lying on his back in the grass, heard the stream of profanity (now in three different languages!) grow fainter as the merc trudged away, becoming no louder than the crunching of grass before it culminated in a sharp, wordless yell and the wet smack of soggy flesh on polished stone. More grass crunched, and then Drachentocht loomed over him, hair matted down with something else's blood, clothes stained an unflattering shade of purple. A quick look at Cynegild's knee told her the obvious, and, with a fair bit less complaining than the squid-thing had received, she lifted Cynegild over and across her shoulders, so that his main view was now of the grass.

"Do you still have the detonator, Williamson?"

"How much do you lift, anyway?"

"Enough. The detonator?"

"You tossed Big McLargeSquid down on the altar, didn't you?"

After his second question went unanswered, Cynegild hastily added that yes, of course he had the detonator.

"Then blow the altar. And don't squirm on the way to the extraction point."

Depressing the detonator with his thumb, Cynegild Picker had the satisfaction of seeing the hard work of the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign blown across most of the field; basalt was a hard stone, it was true, but never let it be said that a Picker cheaped out on explosives, and when the smoke cleared, nothing was left but a shallow crater.

As the altar was destroyed, the first wave of the winged beasts that had killed four of Drachentocht's friends appeared over the rim of the stadium, wailing like tormented souls - and indeed, to her eye, they seemed to be in quite a lot of pain, twisting and jerking as they cleared the stands, quickly turning their flight into a spiraling fall towards the crater. Landing, they clawed madly at the soil, as though they expected to find something buried there, but as their wailing increased in pitch and their movements became more frantic, one by one, the monsters lapsed into convulsions and died on the spot.

Picker, no doubt, would have had some theory about the destruction of the altar cutting off the power that sustained them, probably something about a connection to another dimension, but for her own part, she didn't care beyond the satisfaction of victory and a small relief that she would not have to fight with a billionaire on her back.

Besides, the sword she'd salvaged from that last kill would take some getting used-to before she field-tested it.

IC:

"Does anyone else feel like the fox has an awful sense of timing?" Alex wondered out loud, not paying all that much attention. Given that his phone, flat on the table a few inches away from him, was cycling through a number of different apps, photos, texts, and graphs at an astonishing rate it wasn't hard to guess why. He casually sipped at his coffee, glanced at the fox, then towards Dallas' phone.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Siri, but I don't think we've seen him for months. Ducks out before the trouble, comes back for the strawberries."

IC:

"Only if I get a beer too."

IC:

"Though I suppose the two aren't mutually exclusive." The former Horsewoman of Death mused, tapping her chin. "I was rather surly then. For a whole host of reasons, many of which were still related to you, but I was."

"So I suppose you're not entirely to blame."

IC:

"Well, strawberries are very sweet and nutritious. They're an excellent source of vitamin C and manganese!" Ashley said as she pulled a watermelon seed out of her purse and placed it on the table, moments later the seed practically exploded into a full sized watermelon with a touch of the plant girl's powers. "You know I was just thinking that even if the entire world goes through a famine we'll never starve..." 

IC:

"Well, assuming your mutation has an inherent manner of defying physics." The technopath's finger casually pointed from watermelon, then to Ashley, without any more focus than his earlier comment. "The energy to grow that has to come from somewhere, and energy is always lost in any process. Even if it wasn't, it would be a one-to-one transference of the energy needed to grow it into the watermelon. And taking into account that the human body is incapable of perfectly converting food to useful energy, there's energy loss there regardless."

"We don't notice it day to day, but if we suddenly had to rely on your powers to create all of our food we'd still be just as screwed. Barring, of course, an aspect of your mutation that defies physics. But that would mean you're creating something out of nothing, and thus far, all mutations I've seen don't defy that. Everything comes from somewhere, even if it isn't clear."

IC:

Ashley bit her lip, "Well if I had to guess I'd say that energy comes from me, if I did that repeatedly I'd become exhausted after a while. Of course if I grew it from the soil I could use the energy in the earth for most of it..." Ashley looked thoughtful.

"But yeah if I did that as our sole source of food I'd probably keel over and die after a couple weeks..." She frowned.

IC:

"I wouldn't worry about it. I have contingencies. In the basement."

IC: 

"Do those contingencies include Lucky Charms and whipped cream?" Ashley asked seriously.

IC:

"2040s era technology using Schroedinger's-Cat-esque quantum uncertainty."

IC:

"Well I suppose that's close enough, but I think I'll bring a box or two just in case."

IC:

Dallas sighed forlornly from beside Alex.

"You're going to get me killed with this one day."

-Tyler

IC:

"I don't think so. I test it all thoroughly. When has anything I made ever backfired?"

IC: 

Ashley pulled a rather large knife from somewhere and started to nonchalantly cut into the watermelon, listening to the conversation. 

IC:

"Siri has made my life an Orwellian mess."

-Tyler

IC:

"Siri is just trying to do her job."

IC:

"Siri works hard for a living."

IC:

"Oh yeah? And what's her job? You still haven't given me a straight answer. Ever."

-Tyler

IC:

"Siri is, among other things, a virtual assistant I've been tinkering with. Calling her 'Siri' is really an artifact. I doubt there's half a dozen lines of code left of Apple's Siri." The technopath answered, casually sipping at his coffee.

"She's also the closest thing to an AI I've ever made, and she helps make sure you don't do anything stupid."

IC:

"So what you're saying Alex...is that Siri is Dallas' babysitter..." Ashley concluded as she finished slicing the watermelon into edible slices, she had them in a bowl which she pushed into the center of the table, offering it to however wanted some. 

"Hey Siri! Has Dallas been behaving?" She asked, wondering if the phone could hear her. 

IC:

"Babysitter is a bit of an overstatement."

IC:

"I supoooooose." :3

IC:

"Screw both of you."

-Tyler

IC: 

"Well if you're offering..." She smiled.