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| Voodoo Economics; Continuing after "Demons" | |
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| Topic Started: Nov 20 2009, 02:56 AM (1,075 Views) | |
| Amelia Voght | Nov 20 2009, 02:56 AM Post #1 |
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Time of Day: Late evening Place in the timeline: October 20th Continuing from Demons Remember New Orleans. That is what the message written in the floor had said. It was obvious that this had something to do with Gambit’s past but the Cajun wasn’t entirely forth coming with information. All that Amelia knew at that time was that he was in some form of trouble. There’s always hell to pay when your past catches up with you. The red head had been to New Orleans on a couple of past occasions. She and Charles had taken a holiday there so many years ago. She had a wonderful time and had wanted to go back once more. These circumstances however, left much to be desired. She hadn’t wanted to return to the city looking for a fight of some sort. Amelia teleported herself and several members of the Brotherhood into the French Quarter. They were going to try and help Gambit in this ordeal. If he needed protection or help of some kind they would try to be of service. It had taken a moment or two for her to find an alley devoid of activity for the group of mutants to materialize from thin air. An old wino stirred under his blanket of newspapers but chalked it up to the booze when the Brotherhood magically appeared. He rolled over and went back to sleep. The noises from the city were still loud. Katrina had knocked the city’s legs out from under her but she wasn’t out for the count. It would take a lot to destroy the spirit of the district. Amelia walked a few paces toward the mouth of the alley. There didn’t appear to be any threatening activity but she lacked any of the senses that allowed some of the others, like Primal, to perceive the threat against Remy. She returned to the group. “Where do we need to go from here Gambit?” she asked. Gambit was a valuable member of the team. He had done much for the Brotherhood after leaving the X-teams. Amelia, didn’t quite trust him however. She was normally open to anyone who had been willing to join the fight for mutant rights and supremacy but after the kidnapping with Alix, she wasn’t sure about him. He had his uses, yes, but someone needed to keep an eye on him. |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Nov 21 2009, 08:19 PM Post #2 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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New Orleans... the land of jazz and creole. And the best damn food you could get in the Western Hemisphere according to most of its residents. Cafe Du Monde's beignets and Mulate's crawfish etouffee while listening to the music from Preservation Hall floating down Bourbon Street... it was something you had to experience once before you died. Gambit had a feeling though that he wouldn't be experiencing the spicy dish before he met his own demise, but he wasn't sure he cared. His appetite for good food had been whisked away by the prospect of spending eternity in hell because of one youthful mistake. He glanced at Amelia – likely the purest soul among their little entourage – before casting an appraising look over his shoulder at the others. Remy had never been a saint... had never pretended to be one, but surely he didn't deserve the damnation that hounded him constantly when he kept company with people who had actually spilled blood with their own hands. Would God really allow the rest of them to continue with their lives, their souls blackened with the deaths of the innocent while he was to be thrown on the pyre because he misjudged the character of one man? Nathaniel Essex. The man had given him his life back and had only asked for a small favor in return – to meet more mutants with problems so that he might reach out to them... help them. The younger Lebeau was too beholden to Essex to see the deceit in the geneticist's eyes, and later as he guided him and his team through the old New Orleans sewage system, Remy suppressed the doubts and concerns surfacing in his mind. If he could have taken it all back, he would have much rather died of complete starvation than be responsible for the massacre that happened below the very street they were about to embark. “Where do we need to go from here Gambit?” Remy trailed behind the Acolyte, chill bumps forming on his arms as he stopped next to her, peering out from the shadows of the alley into Bourbon Street. He'd managed to grab an undershirt before being spirited away along with the others, but Remy had left behind his trademark trenchcoat... he only hoped he didn't need more than the single deck he had buried in the back pocket of his jeans. Gambit watched the few merry-makers roam from one bar to the next, but the streets were far from packed compared to the way they were in the early hours of the morning on Mardis Gras. He peered around the corner and scanned the area a bit more, “Don't know, cheri. Ain't even sure what we're lookin for.” “Recompense,” said a deep, dark voice in a thick Hatian/Creole accent from the street. Gambit's head jerked around to look in the other direction, finding a tall dark man standing in simple clothes and clutching a staff in his hand. His dreads fell around his face, hiding its details from the Cajun's view, but Remy was almost sure he could feel the man's eyes burning into him. “Jericho,” Remy finally said, his tone completely flat. “I told you. Your sins have found you, brother, and now you must pay de price for the innocent blood you have spilled.” A cold gust of wind blew down the street, whipping Remy's still-damp hair around as he kept his eyes fixed on the speaker. “Who is he,” the thief finally inquired. “The Angel of Death? Hell itself? Does it really matter?” He turned to look at Amelia and the others, “Your souls are already stained with enough blood. Your time will come soon enough. Do not tempt the Devil.” Remy glanced at the others, “How 'bout y'all do us all a favor and get the fuck out.” |
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| Spitfire | Nov 21 2009, 09:44 PM Post #3 |
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Superspeed with Pyrotechnic Effects
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Touchdown in New Orleans. Jac had always wanted to visit the city, even after Katrina, as she was just curious more than anything, and had heard great things about the food and food was important to the speedster. It was just a shame they were here under such weird circumstances, like something out of one of the horror books that she obsessively hoarded and read at incredible speeds. Oh, Interview with the Vampire and the other books were set partly round here. It was sort of fitting, with the weird shit that had gone on so far. Amelia questioned where they had to go and almost predictably, Remy replied that he didn’t know. Jac followed them, curious about the events that were unravelling around them, perhaps a little morbidly, she chastised herself as she dug her hands deep into the pockets of her hooded leather jacket that she had had the mind to grab before they departed Murderworld. Finding a small bag of bonbons in there, she pulled one out and popped the sweet, coated in powdered sugar, into her mouth. “Well, will you know what you’re looking for when we find it?” she asked, trying to make it sound a constructive question rather than a useless little quip at the Cajun. Then, he stopped, turned, and a man seemingly melted out of the shadows as it felt as if he had appeared from nowhere. There was an exchange of words between them, involving a lot to do with sins and hell, which sent shivers down the spine of the speed demon. The man spoke to them and the words seemed like a curse or a threat, that they would one day suffer as Remy was suffering now. Before that day, Jac would say she didn’t believe in the devil, but after what she had seen in the rec room…Well, the concept was growing on her, but what was done was done, there was no backing down on that now. “How 'bout y'all do us all a favor and get the fuck out.” Gambit’s request was addressed to the gathered members of the Brotherhood and Jac made a face at the words, stepping up to Remy’s side, shaking her blonde head solemnly, swallowing another bonbon. “Oh I don’t think so, somehow. I didn’t get myself teleported all the way down here to get beads or to provide the annoying yet somehow witty lines. I came to help you.” Spitfire raised her blue eyes, a nervous yet plucky grin on her pointed face. Getting her to budge would be a job in itself. |
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| Dead Girl | Nov 23 2009, 04:44 AM Post #4 |
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Unregistered
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“God! Finally! How long did it take you to reach this place?” Each sentence was from a different voice. And the Dead Girl had to listen to each one as she walked. “I made good time for only walking.” Several voices rang out in laughter while some chipped in their remarks, “It would have been fast if you took a bus. Or plane. Hell hitch a ride even. No that wouldn't work. Yea the people that pick up hitchers are just as fucking weird as the hitch hikers themselves.” New Orleans. The aroma on the street that filled the air. The chatter of people around her made it seem like she was less crazy just talking to herself. Although new voices did make themselves known in the blue skinned girls mind. The thick accents of people who had died. But their voices, as opposed to the impatient ramblings she had heard the past few months, were soothing, melodic even. But unfortunately they were saying the same thing. Except, their voices were more roused. As Moonbeam turned the corner and headed along Bourbon street it wasn't particularly clear at the time. Until a booming voice, more so then the Sergeant. It was his voice that stood out above so many. It was a plea, one that seemed genuine and something she could help with. His brother was in terrible danger. The rider that all the others said was coming for the 'swamp rat' was his own brother. The rider was coming for Remy LeBeau. The Dead Girl listened to his pleas and answered to him, “Where is he?” His directions were simple, “Just down the road. Hurry.” Nodding to him she made haste by picking up her step. If the dead had to be cautious and scared of this rider, she couldn't imagine the effects this rider had on the living. Luckily for her, she was dead and living. The blue tinted girl tried to look for this Remy, but was having no luck. Until the booming voice rang out again. “There! Over there! To the right!” Snapping her head she saw him, red hair, black on red eyes as clear as day and night. Moonbeam made her way to him. Closing in on him and the group he was with, not really paying the rest of them a second thought she grabbed Remy and made sure he was listening to her by clutching tightly to his shirt and saying in her ethereal voice, “You need to leave here now. Run fast and as far from here as possible.” Word for word she would repeat the message that was begged of her to repeat. Finishing with, “Because the rider is coming for you.” |
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| Jara | Nov 23 2009, 03:41 PM Post #5 |
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Unregistered
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New Orleans had a peculiar smell. Most old cities did. The smell of aging buildings and wood rot, the undeniably dirty stench of the Mississippi and the lake, the brackish stagnancy of the swamplands just outside the Big Easy’s limits. Sweat, alcohol, dirt, vomit, garbage-lined gutters, grimy streets in disrepair… yeah, real lovely place. Jara failed to find the romanticism in its history, a few square miles of aging districts and colonial throwbacks and tourist traps. But she loved its corruption. The murder capital of the country, a den of vice and excess outside of Vegas with their dirty cops and mafiosos and corrupt politicians and Kingfishes, a person could get away with anything here, with the right connections and enough money. It was a good place to make a hit, and hopefully their unnamed target was here, or else they’d just teleported a few thousand miles based on the delusions of some guilt-ridden basket case. She picked at an ear with a gloved finger, still coming up with little flakes of crusting blood while she walked with the assembled group of Brotherhood. Jara would’ve enjoyed a shower, but Remy’s problems overrode hers. She had to settle with a Russian bath over the sink and a fresh pair of jeans. Like hell she was going to hunt down someone across the country in a set of boy-shorts. Her only regret was not bringing a gun. She brought up the rear of the group, her attention focused behind and above. With the multi-story buildings and balconies around, it was easy for someone to get the drop on them, literally. “Recompense…” The voice caught her by surprise, Jara turned to face it, hand darting to her side reflexively for a gun. That wasn’t there. Me cago en Dios. Settling for the next best thing, her muscles tensed, ready to trigger another transformation, but Remy seemed to recognize the shadow-skulking stranger, even if they didn’t seem to be on the friendliest of terms. Jara glanced between them both as they spoke, but never quite relaxed. Fucking Cajun. Fucking Haitian. Fucking alley. The Haitian cast his ghostly gaze on the rest of them, offering them a not-so-cryptic warning. Her suspicion finally yielded, the changeling’s lip curled into a sneer. The Devil, with a capital D, right. “He’s already tempted us, houngan. Too late for that.” “How ‘bout y’all do us all a favor and get the fuck out.” Jade eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, glaring back at the Cajun. Was he fucking kidding? Spitfire took the comment in good stride, rebuking it with an almost plucky demeanor. However, Balam was not nowhere near as friendly and optimistic. She was still angry, the memory of blood a mocking phantom stimuli, and her ears still ached despite her shapeshifting restoring them to more or less functioning condition. Jara gave a snarling response, whirling on the Cajun. “We’re out here because of you,” she finally grated out, striding towards the scruffy thief and jabbing him with an accusing finger in the chest. “And you want us to leave? Puto cabron. You’ve got a funny way of showing thanks.” Her patience was wearing thin, though probably more so from not having been able to tear him apart properly than anything else. Her bloodlust was repressed, more or less, but Jara could hold a grudge like no one’s business. She still had enough sense about her, though, her human aspects in control. Whatever was after the thief could come after them, his Haitian friend had said as much. It was in her best interests to help; with a scowling breath, Jara backed off, walking away from the group. “I’ll keep watch, secure the area.” As she stalked off in not the most cheery of moods, a girl bolted right past her, white-haired and with a sickly palor that gave her the look of a drown victim. Jara immediately lashed a clawed hand towards her arm, intending on stopping her in her tracks. Her hand passed right through the figure, leaving Jara to just watch her traipse right on to, of course, Remy, babbling more insanity. This was getting ridiculous. “… I am sick of this shit, Lebeau! Who the fuck are these people?” she hissed. In a few seconds she was going to ask Amelia to teleport her to Tahiti. If she was going to spend a few hours from base doing jack shit, she wanted some scenery she actually enjoyed, not chasing ghosts. |
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| Primal | Nov 24 2009, 10:04 PM Post #6 |
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Unregistered
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Fuck, fuck, and fuck. Vertigo span along Primal’s limbs, his vision oscillating so that the still-focusing street corners tilted and crashed back to normal elevation in sudden, jarring thuds. His tail cracked and thrashed, jerking in spasmodic twitches, trying to correct an imaginary imbalance. He looked like a fucking moron, a retard saurian with a spastic tail tic. His bust eardrums were just now starting to really kick up a fuss; Primal didn’t have the luxury of being able to shapeshift his injuries away. Tinitus screamed like an alarm through his skull, trilling at high pitch like some infernal bat. Teleporting hadn’t helped much either; he was gonna puke soon. Motherfucker. Bile stung the back of his throat. He spat in an effort to rid himself of the musty acrid tang that rose around his gullet. Sounds came through muffled, conversation fading in and out. All he had was smell, and this place stunk like a shitheap at high noon in the middle of summer. Didn’t do his stomach much good either, given that over-sensitive olfactory nerves were intensified tenfold whenever something like nausea came into the picture. Industrial effluent swilled invisibly next to sweat and grease, seafood and pastries and coffee and spice clashing with dumpster moraine that spilled into the alleyways, and all of it was dirty. Under any other circumstances he might have been able to find something to appreciate about this broken town, this over-saturated city, which held onto what life it had once had through a mixture of stubbornness, superstition and irrepressible culture. It burst at the seams. Primal had passed through it a couple of times when he’d been vagrant, following the rail lines all along the east coast. Now he complained and grumbled to himself in a continuous stream of stunted insults and self-deprecation, mixed in with angry snipes at whoever ventured near enough to hear. Not being able to tell what the hell people were saying was pissing him off. Seeing the cold flats of the sidewalk rushing up like it was one of those infuriating magic eye pictures he’d never been able to figure out as a kid was pissing him off. Pretty much everything about tonight was pissing him the fuck off. He could take a goddamn bullet but a little bit of nausea and his dick shrivelled. The irony wasn’t in the least bit amusing. At least it was justified- he was built for balance; everything about his body had been naturally streamlined, and his mutation defined him, even if he sometimes hated that. Taking that away crippled him. Compromising on a low crouch, Primal scrubbed at his face, scales harsh against his cheeks. When he looked up Gambit was gazing glazed-eyed along the night-drenched road, manic seizure seemingly forgotten. “What the fuck is this shit?” the reptilian snarled too loud, gesturing at the ghoulish figments that materialised out of the gloam. One of them burnt cold, like he or she wasn’t really there. Couldn’t tell gender either. Smelt like death, like day old corpses and stale ice. Everyone acted all spooky and mysterious, icy winds flapping at hair and jackets and conveniently moaning through nooks that whistled and rattled in compliance with the encroaching holiday, Halloween already edging into the décor, hovering on the cusp of consuming the city with skulls and pumpkins and face paint and candles. Primal scowled and stood up and swore loudly when he almost fell over. He stomped over to the Haitian and eyed him cynically. “Didn’t hear a damn word you just said but ya stink like the inside of a fuckin’ voodoo shop so I’m sure it’s all end of the world juju mumbo jumbo bullshit. And you,” he span, pinning down the indistinguishable outline that hovered eerily on the outskirts of their milling collective. “What the hell are you supposed to be?” |
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| Saint | Nov 25 2009, 01:19 AM Post #7 |
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
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No matter how often that Saint got teleported to different places or in different methods, he still got the same stomach churning feeling of arrival, that brief moment of queasiness that accompanied the prickling feeling across your skin. Amelia’s power was one of the more gentle but the fact that he had been previously turned into gas and back to a solid state just made his body feel perculiar. It wasn’t a nasty sensation but still, Kyle wondered how often the older acolyte had to go through it till it felt normal or whether it did ever feel normal. Like he never felt his blades emerging half the time. However now wasn’t the time to be ruminating on matters like that, seeing as they had arrived to New Orleans itself. Having never been the place before, Saint’s only real knowledge of the place came from the news coverage of the Hurricane Katrina, absolutely nothing current about the state of the area or its history beyond that of everyday knowledge. The cold dark wind chilled along Saint’s face, feeling like a icy embrace from Mother Nature herself. At least he hoped it was the wind, and not whatever the curse was that had been following Gambit and creating some exorcist style mayhem. Following the others onto the main street, seeing people passing around in the night, their paths through the dark lit up by the streetlights and indoor lights spilling out onto the street. Suddenly out of the shadows, almost invisible till he spoke, came a stranger who seemed to know Gambit. And now apparently the devil was coming after them. Never one to believe in all of the hellfire and brimstone idea (and he didn’t like people who preached it constantly neither). The rest of the Brotherhood responded to it but Kyle kept his eye on Primal, who seemed somewhat.. dizzy. Maybe the teleportation had screwed him over worse than the rest of them. Almost soon as the mysterious stranger had finished talking to him, a girl who looked un-naturally pale (probably mutant due to the fact that Saint was sure that only corpses turned that colour) came up and told Gambit something just out of Kyle’s ear-shot. “Well we are just here to find answers. We get those then we will go. And you pal, whats the panic?” |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Nov 28 2009, 06:42 PM Post #8 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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Still looking over his shoulder at the lot of them, Remy scowled; he'd been pretty damn sure that none of them were actually planning on taking his advice and high-tailing it out of there. Worth a shot though... he'd likely lose, and there wasn't much sense in taking down these guys with him. Well... he wouldn't mind whatever was after him getting hold of Primal and Saint. Remy wasn't crazy about either one of the boys, but Amelia, Jac, and Jara? Would've been a shame to take those pretty faces out of this world all because of some spook after Gambit's ass. He didn't want to be responsible for that kind of crime. Hands grabbed him roughly, forcing his attention away from the Brotherhood as they began to move from the spots they'd materialized from. He looked directly into eyes that managed to seem dead, yet alive with wisdom and discernment at the same time – a pretty girl if it weren't for the fact that she looked like she'd just come out of one of the marble tombs in the cemetery. “You need to leave here now. Run fast and as far from here as possible... because the Rider is coming for you.” “Dey won't leave,” Jericho spoke up, leaning against his staff as if this situation were a regular occurrence for him – Louisiana Saturday night. “Dey think he cares about where they live... who they are.” He fixed a gaze on Primal, his white eyes almost seeming to flash from underneath his dreads, “I am what I am, but it's Him you gotta worry 'bout. He don't care 'bout nothing but your tainted souls. Go, and you may live to tell about dis to your grandbabies. Stay and interfere, and he'll take his pound of flesh from all of you. Is Lebeau worth it?” “You heard me, Jericho,” Gambit said, his fear forgotten slightly as it was replaced with offense, “I don't want to be in debt to any of these people. Dey stayin, it's on them.” He turned to look at the woman who had grabbed him, “How 'bout you tell this rider of yours I'm done bein his bitch. I'm waitin.” Jericho shook his head and turned away, walking down the street and away from them, “He will punish de wicked. Leave 'em, Moonbeam. Don't get in his way. Do what de Sargent says and get a bus out of here... far as you can... all of you.” He stepped into the shadow of a building and never emerged, having vanished. Remy gave a shiver, noticing that in the last minute, the temperature had dropped several degrees and couldn't help but observe that the street that had been littered with revelers now seemed nearly deserted. A gloom hung in the air so thick that it almost seemed to materialize into a visible fog. Something rattled from behind the mutants followed by a heavy scraping along the uneven stone causing Gambit to whirl just in time to see a black shape emerge from a dark corner of the ally. The thing drug its heavy form across the ground slowly with powerful, glistening, ebony arms as claws sank into granite and mortar, splitting and cracking it. The creature's dull yellow eyes flickered its gaze toward each person, swiping at those nearest as its fully-black pupils began to roll in the back of its head. It began shivering as it fell into some sort of fit, opening its large mouth that almost blended in perfectly with the rest of its dark body and let out a bloodcurdling gasp/scream before lunching once more at the group. Meanwhile, eyes began to peer from other dark places, digits grasped corners of buildings as powerful arms pulled heads into view to gaze on mortal prey. Things that had never been allowed to swim through this plane of existence stared down from rooftops... all seeming to be called by the first creature to approach them – ready to strike yet restrained... as if waiting for something. And then it came. The sound of a distant roaring motor wafted through the air, getting stronger with each passing moment. Seconds went by and the eyes seemed to grow wide with anticipation... rivulets of thick, viscous, black liquid fell in ropes and left a trail as they inched forward. Gambit backed out of the alley and into the street as his crimson eyes, flashing with mutant power, scanned the area. Playing cards slipped through his rough digits slowly beginning to radiate with kinetic energy as he surveyed the situation... he'd rather be out in the open rather than get caught with his back against the wall. The sound of the motor began to get so loud that it was causing his ears to ring and his head to ache, making it hard for him to concentrate, yet Remy gritted his teeth and bared it. This had to be the Rider that Jericho and the mystery woman talked about. He whirled and looked at the rest of the Brotherhood and the young woman the Haitian had called Moonbeam, “What are y'all waiting for? Get the fuck-” A chain of steel and fire crashed into the side of his head, sending the Cajun sprawling to the ground as a motorcycle sped by, spewing flames and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. It skidded to a halt several yards down the road, its occupant staring at the prostrate thief; Gambit looked up at the Rider as he began pushing himself off the cold street, a gash across his cheek that was already blistering from the heat of the weapon that had hit him. His crimson eyes widened at what he saw – a man clad in black leather sitting on a bike wreathed in fire, his head replaced with a skull engulfed in flames. As the Rider slid off his motorcycle, the creatures sprung, making sounds that no one on this planet had ever heard before. Remy rolled on his back and sent three charged cards flying into the black form of a creature nearly on top of him and disappeared in a blossom of fuchsia energy. OOC: The creatures and Rider are really real, and they bite |
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| Dead Girl | Nov 29 2009, 03:49 AM Post #9 |
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The woman who swiped at her first when Moonbeam came along was the first to respond to her presence. She merely ignored her. Then the reptilian boy spoke, asking her what she was suppose to be. Turning her head to look at him she merely responded. “Dead.” The Sergeant was heard giving a quiet chuckle and responded, “Understatement of the year. But accurate none the less. Moonbeam, leave these creeps to be had by the Rider. They won't listen.” Looking elsewhere she said, “You know I can't do that.” The voice that beckoned her to save his brother muttered something that was directed at the Sergeant. As the blue tinted girl was listening to the voices of the dead, the other young man spoke, but she didn't catch a word of it. The Hatian's voice caught her attention though. She gazed her red hazed eyes on him as he was cool as a cucumber. He and the Cajun exchanged words. His words as he left saying the same as what the Sergeant had been saying. Telling her to run. Her ethereal voice softly replied, even though he had disappeared, “I would if Henry didn't plea for my help to save Remy.” Then, the temperature dropped, and sounds were heard, and the voices of the dead started scream and cry out. For a moment she winced as the shouts reverberated in her ear. They were all saying the same thing. Their voices were lessening, most of them were fleeing. It was enough for her to ring her ear out and hear normally. Taking a stance next to the Cajun as she did ring out her ears. Just before a motor was heard the Dead Girl spoke again. “The Rider is coming.” The motor grew louder, the Cajun was just responding when she saw something coming their way. The blue hued girl went intangible and missed being a target for the chain of steel that knocked Remy down. Snapping her head to the source of the attack, she saw him. For the first time since the name was heard there was a face to match with The Rider. Her eyes stayed focused on the Rider as he slid off. Not even paying attention to the creatures, who made the most horrid sounds, as they formed her red eyes stayed fixed on the flaming skull. She couldn't seem to focus on Remy or the rest of the group that followed him. “You're unlike anything I've ever seen.” The few voices that stayed behind whispered frantically into her head. Looking down at Remy as she started her sentence, then taking a glance to the others as she finished the Dead Girl spoke, “Don't look into his eyes. He'll burn you.” |
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| Amelia Voght | Nov 29 2009, 04:50 AM Post #10 |
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Unregistered
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How many surprises were they going to get that night? First Gambit goes on a bender at the Murderworld compound and could very easily have killed them. Now, once they had appeared in New Orleans strangers were cropping up out of the woodwork to tell them of the danger that was about to befall the group because of Remy’s past sins. A man with a thick Caribbean accent, Haitian maybe, emerged from the shadows and began to converse with the Cajun. He was tall, dark and handsome. His dreadlocks obscured his face and Amelia found his voice very pleasant to her ears. Apparently, this man named Jericho, knew of Remy’s past more so than any of the Brotherhood. Spitfire spoke up for the group and said that they were along for the long haul. They weren’t going to quit until it was finished. Then, a ghastly colored young girl with bright red eyes made herself known. Her voice was haunting and lyrical. She advised Remy and his group to leave the place as soon as they could. The ‘rider’ was after Remy. Jericho spoke again. Giving advice, once more to them and the pale woman, Moonbeam. He stepped into the shadows and vanished. Amelia looked around. She had hoped they would have been concealed in the alley until they had gained their bearings and come up with a strategy. “Is there anyone else that wants to come out for a friendly chat?” she asked in exasperation. The words were barely out of her mouth when there was the sound of engine revving up. Suddenly down the street came a motorcycle out of nowhere. In the wake, a trail of flames were left in the tread impressions. A chain rattled as it shot out faster than anyone could react. The chain wrapped around Remy’s throat and threw him to the ground. The Cajun charged a trio of playing cards with his signature mutant power and threw them. They passed through the apparition. The cards sailed toward the opening of the alley but Amelia teleported a nearby dumpster into their flight path. The cards exploded and sent twisted shrapnel and refuse into the air. The sound rang out through the night. Surely it was heard by many nearby. “What is going on? Don’t look into his eyes? What are you talking about?” |
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| Spitfire | Nov 29 2009, 07:54 PM Post #11 |
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Superspeed with Pyrotechnic Effects
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The weird, unsettling feeling of displacement had rapidly passed for the speedster; the sick feeling in her stomach dealt with swiftly. So, by the time they had come down this way and bumped into this weird bloke with a sort of Caribbean accent, she was feeling better. That is, until the woman that looked like a corpse came running up and grabbed hold of Remy…Jac felt a little ill and more than just a little confused. Rider? What Rider? The young woman was offering no real explanation apart from it being demanded of her, well, in a manner of speaking as everyone just seemed generally confused. “Seriously, this isn’t how I planned to spend my evening and while I’m behind you, I don’t much fancy being behind in the retard sense…” Jac sighed, directing it mostly at Remy but somehow she had a prophetic flash of not getting much of an answer. Something was bound to happen as the air felt tense and there were these two weirdoes just stood around talking about impending doom, because life wasn’t full of enough drama, of course. The voices of the other members of the Brotherhood clamoured around her and she felt like yelling her head off to get people to shut up a little bit, or even better, actually explain something. Glowering at the Haitian man, Jac was about to bolt forward and verbally lay into him some more until he spouted something more like sense and less like fortune cookie from hell, when he did that melting into the shadows thing that you saw on the films. “Well, fat lot of help he was. What do we do now? And why is it getting really cold?” the blonde wrapped her arms around her slender form, looking at the others to see if they too noted it, or if she was just in need of some sugar. A noise behind them made her turn her head slowly, and she wished that she hadn’t. Creatures were coming at them, horrid things, dark in colour, their shapes almost indistinguishable in shadows. One in particular seemed to be taking the lead, calling the others to come to it, who had crawled out of god knew where for god knew what…Well, maybe God wasn’t the one to be contacting on this thing. Taking on a defensive stance, Jac waited, looking for an opening, some sort of opportunity to allow her to get the upper hand on the impending fight...How did you fight things like this anyway, go all Buffy on their asses and kung fu them around some? Then the roar of a motorbike filled her ears and she heard a warning shout about not looking him in the eyes. Turning as she heard this, Spitfire immediately cast her eyes downwards, getting in a flyby view of a man dressed in leathers and chains, his head seemingly on fire – no, his skull was on fire, he had no visible flesh. Oh, this was actually insane and almost film worthy. It was times like these that the speedster wished she was more experienced, although this was the weird sort of shit no one should have that much experience in anyway, but it would be nice to know what to do and not go about flapping. One of the bikers chains lashed out, grabbing Remy by the throat and he went down. Swearing, Jac dashed forwards, skidding to a halt and swerving as cards came at the creature that was almost on him. She backed off to avoid the explosion and looked towards the Rider, who was now up off his bike, standing, hands still on the chains. “I think I’ve actually gone crazy…This is far too weird…What the hell do we do?” |
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| Primal | Dec 2 2009, 01:47 AM Post #12 |
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Unregistered
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Primal tossed his hands up into the air. Him. Tainted souls. Pound of flesh. This guy was smoking crack, a big fucking pile of crack. Happened to be a crack smoking teleporter too; the Haitian vanished like a wisp of smoke, thermal profile disintegrating into a few strands of thinning yellow before evaporating completely. The saurian narrowed his eyes, glowering at the empty space. He was probably the first to notice the temperature dropping. Streetlights wilted and bricks dulled, heat still retained from the day dissipating into the mortar, breath-clouds misting the air with steamy amber fog trails. All kinds of misshapen, fleshy conglomerates began to emerge from behind fixtures and edifices, spilling out of nothing, gloating down from rooftops and drainpipes. They levered themselves along on limbs that bent in ways they shouldn’t, all disjointed, jerking and fitting. To Primal they were nothing more than dense black wraithlike figures, dark splotches on a paler background, only visible by their shocking lack of temperature. He stared at them blankly while they shivered and crept and found nothing remarkable about them save for their incredible hypothermia. Primal sucked on his teeth, wondering if they’d do better with a few ice picks. Sculpt a fucking swan or two. Then of course, because the situation clearly wasn’t yet at an acceptable level of weird, the night spewed out some monstrous motorbike and its rider, which were both so violently bright that Primal was momentarily blinded, shapeless blurs imprinting on his retinas. The incandescence faded just enough for him to watch Lebeau take a short flight, sailing unceremoniously to land in a heap on the wet asphalt. Don’t look into his eyes, dead chick said, like Primal had a freaking choice. Sure, he would have loved to gaze adoringly into those big beautiful burning pools of brimstone, but hey, he was just shit out of luck in that department, wasn’t he. He’d just have to find some way of coping with the heartache. To be defiant, or maybe because he really didn’t give a fuck, Primal glared at the biker as he stood there swinging his chain around like it was a bad analogy. The saurian tilted his head; guy was a big fucker, burnt white hot on his vision, and his head appeared to be on fire. Yeah. On fire. What the fuck was up with that? He’d seen some weirdass mutations, but this one seriously took the piss, and then some. A flaming head. If they hadn’t been surrounded by a million walking ice cubes with sharp teeth and bad tempers Primal might have found the whole thing gut-splittingly hilarious. As it was, he was on the verge of puking his lunch all over the sidewalk. He didn’t really relish the idea of the rest of the terrorists getting a good eyeful of regurgitated nachos, half digested jalapenos and curdled cheese… what with their tainted souls and all. Primal’s teeth tingled and he grit them, eyelids hooding, everything swimming. At that moment one of the gremlin-shapes decided to erupt from the shadows, needle-sharp teeth sinking into his ear, clawtips scrabbling for a purchase on his scales. Primal managed a furious “Motherfucker!” before he was set upon by a dozen more tearing, biting, nipping bastard goblins, all squealing like ringwraiths on acid. His scaled armour prevented their frantic gouging from dealing any damage, but underneath their collective weight he went down, unable to keep his balance. |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Dec 13 2009, 11:22 PM Post #13 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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The smoke and heat of Remy's attack cleared, showing the Cajun weakly rolling around, trying to get up on shaky limbs. His shirt was burned through in several places, showing skin reddened from the backlash he had received from his own explosion. The air around him smelt of singed hair and sulfur, making the man nearly vomit on the pavement underneath him. He couldn't bring himself to look over his shoulder to see what had happened to the creature that had nearly been on top of him. It was either dead or about to open his back up with the massive claws that had driven grooves in stones as if they were made of icing. It didn't really matter whether he was aware or not... the otherworldly monster was nothing compared to the figure steadily walking toward him, every step accompanied by what sounded like the clink of chain links. His crimson eyes widened as the man approached, gazing into eyeless sockets that burned with a supernatural fire. He couldn't look away. Suddenly the chain lashed forward and wrapped itself around Gambit's neck, burning his skin where the metal touched, but not as much as he would have expected seeing as its entire length was ablaze. With a flick of the Rider's wrist, the chain tightened and forced Remy into a kneeling position; Gambit's fingers seemed numb... his mind screamed at him to reach for more cards... to send them hurling into the skeletal man approaching, but he couldn't seem to make his arms move. The man stopped several feet away, staring at Gambit as if they were the only two beings present despite the terrifying sounds the creatures made as they attacked the rest of the group. He was here for one reason only. He raised the arm the chain had been wrapped around and pointed a skeletal finger at Remy. “You.” The sounds of children laughing could barely be heard, then those same voices grew louder as they burst into terrified screams. A woman cried out for help... cold laughter rang off the old brick, and gray water made an excellent conductor for the sounds of bones cracking and victims retching before taking final rattled breaths. His throat burned, pain shot through his chest and down his stomach... he could feel something warm slide down his cheeks from his eyes. Dying thoughts flickered through his mind as he was vaguely aware of being brutally beaten, cut up into pieces, stripped and molested. Terrified that he would never see his mother again... screaming for the life of his daughter. He was everything and nothing. And then he blinked, and that one moment's break in the gaze between man and myth was enough to silence it all and allow him to look away. Don't look into his eyes. He'll burn you. He didn't look back. Remy reached up and grabbed the chain in his hand with an arm stretched out as much as possible. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to suffer the fate this demon had waiting for him. He'd cost the lives of scores of mutants, but it had been a mistake. He hadn't known for sure that Essex had been a murderer. He wasn't a mind reader, and couldn't have determined the scientist's true intentions. He'd owed the man, and had it not been for Essex, Gambit would have starved to death, unable to even look at a po-boy without detonating it. This was his fault, but it was an honest mistake, and he was working to make up for it... something he couldn't do if he was dead. “Sorry, mon ami. I still got a job to do.” The glowing links under his fingers took on a slightly more orange hue that traveled up the chain toward the Rider, and Gambit suddenly collapsed as much as he could, hands over his head as the chain detonated, throwing the Cajun backward and away from the Rider, who was completely engulfed in flames. He immediately pulled himself up off the ground pulling the length that was still wrapped around his neck free with a cry of pain. The creatures lashing at the rest of the Brotherhood... piled on Primal, lashing out at the others... suddenly staggered backward as the Rider was engulfed in bright orange fire. All of them reared and cried out in protest, momentarily disoriented as if a blindfold had been placed over them and they'd been spun around a few times. The Rider walked out of the fading blossom of flame and strode toward Gambit with purpose, but Remy wasn't ready to go. “Quit playin with the animals. Could use some help, here!” |
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| Saint | Dec 15 2009, 12:05 AM Post #14 |
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
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Without so much of a warning, half of Gambits welcoming committee vanished almost as quickly as he had arrived, a few statements all echoing the same sentiments. They should leave, run and let Gambit deal with his fate so they might live. Now, seeing as the Brotherhood had collectively brought down the worlds strongest prison, bested the X-Men before and had even helped bring down a near-god, the thought of leaving a fight for one of their own, even Gambit, was not an option for Saint. they were the Brotherhood and that meant having that whole "one for all” mentality. The atmosphere had changed so suddenly that Kyle hadn’t even recognised that it had happened at all till the thin tendrils of the mist hung in the air, a small cloud of air coming out of his mouth. But when the creatures, looking like something from an oily pit appeared to take them on, complete with their horror movie style entrance, Saint glanced around, judging their capabilities to take the growing numbers down. He didn’t know if the greyish girl could hold her own in a fight but he guessed that she wouldn’t be a target. If they were going for corrupted souls, then Saint guessed he fitted that description. Ok, most of the people he had killed had deserved it or were just on the wrong side of the fight but in that dark hour of night, Saint knew that Wolfs Head would come back some time. He had killed a few human children, not that would have mattered, seeing as humans didn’t really deserve to share the same air as mutants but what if some had the x-gene? He would of killed innocents. He had never claimed to be a good man, or even a nice one, but he did what he needed to do for his cause. Even if he knew they weren’t always the best way. Not that he was going to be breaking down a church door anytime soon and begging to be forgiven and take mass and all that trash. But then he came, on the motorbike, looking like someone had taken the approach of a hell’s angel but neglected the wings at home. He had never seen anything like it before, nor that he had wanted too. Flaming skulls, like something a tattoo artist sketches up and idiot teenagers wanting to look hard got tattooed onto their forearms. If this was the Rider that they were scared of here, he looked like him and his friends had come ready to have a throw-down. Anticipation and fear mixed in an heady cocktail in his stomach, hot and cold sensations rushing over in a brief second as Saint focused, ready to fight against what ever the hell this creature was. Man, mutant or something completely different, no-one fucked with the Brotherhood in their home. Taking the advice that he had heard, Saint focused more on the creatures than the man, but still maintaining that thought in the back of his mind that the Rider would be the leader. A brief moment passed and then the creatures began to attack. Swinging back with blades when a creature leapt at him, Kyle saw Primal stumble and fall under the weight of the attack from several, surprised at his fellow Acolytes weakness. Maybe he was really shaken up by earlier. After all, the pain had caused him and Jara to nearly turn Gambit into lunch. The Cajun got a chain wrapped around his neck and as much as Saint wanted to help out his team-mates, he had his own enemies to deal with. Claws raked at his stomach, catching at the fabric of his clothes while Kyle swung down, his blades digging into the creatures hardened skin breaking the surface after a few moments of dodging and slicing. Like breaking into a marshmallow chocolate, as the insides seemed to be soft. Kyle had no idea why his mind had conjured up that image in the moment but almost as soon as that had happened, an explosion from Gambits escape from his chain via his powers seemed to have stunned the creatures. A telepathic bond perhaps, but for Saint, the answer was clear. The Rider was their leader. Beat the leader and they would fall and right now the Leader was after Gambit. Time to go straight for the head. Giving a swift hard kick to the dark creature, Saint took action, sprinting past them to try and position himself between Remy and the Rider. “Get the fuck away from Remy!” he shouted, his voice thick with hypnotic suggestion. If that didn’t work, the eight blades that he flung at the Rider, brightly glowing purple, fuelled by his anger and fear, with four to the body and another four to the head for good measur, maybe would have a better chance. |
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| Amelia Voght | Dec 17 2009, 03:07 AM Post #15 |
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Unregistered
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With the flaming rider coming ever closer and more threatening, the Brotherhood leaped into action to help their teammate. The little demon creatures began to pour from the woodwork, so to speak, as well. They crawled along the walls of the building, their little fingers and claws giving them purchase in the brick and plaster. The tiny fangs in the creatures’ mouths glinted. They might be small but they looked dangerous enough. One started to attack Primal as Spitfire tried to loosen the chain from around Remy’s neck. The saurian swore loudly just as a wave of them tried to take him over. From above Amelia, a pipe broke open and the little monsters poured like as if a waterfall had been turned into a stream of flesh. The creatures rained down on her and began to bite and scratch at the Acolyte’s face and skin. “Ahhh!” Amelia shrieked. She was able to wrench one of the things that was gnawing on her shoulder off and hurled it at the ground. He drove her heel into is chest with a satisfying crunch. One down and who knew how many were left. Between the little beasts attacking them and the strange rider attacking Gambit, they would be overrun quickly. Amelia was about to teleport them all away when the chain around Gambit’s neck began to glow. It was now lit a different color than before. The light traveled down the length of the chain. The length of metal detonated, the sound of the explosion rang in Amelia’s ears and she covered her face with her arms. Where the Rider had been standing, was now a bonfire. The little gremlins were now howling and dropping from off of Amelia’s body. They seemed to have lost their sense of direction. From within the flames, something moved. The Rider was still moving! The red head focused her powers on the moving form within the flames. There was something blocking her abilities. She was unable to use her mutant gift on the Rider. Amelia was puzzled at first. Perhaps the rider had some kind of protection against teleportation. She then came up with something else. She vanished into thin air after Remy had called out for help. A moment later, a cement truck fell from the sky without warning. With a loud crash, the truck struck the pavement. The fire had blown out either side underneath the truck as it bounced once, then twice. The axles were shot and ruined and when the truck finally came to rest it was lying flat against the ground. Voght reappeared afterwards. “If your explosion didn’t stop that thing, I don’t know if dropping a truck on it will either,” she said breathlessly. |
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7:26 PM Jul 11