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| The Angels that Attended My Cradle; (Open for cameos) | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 12 2010, 03:53 AM (903 Views) | |
| Surge | Dec 12 2010, 12:20 AM Post #1 |
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Unregistered
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So, after discussion, here is the plot Summary. Warning spectators, here there be Spoilers! Noriko’s brother, Keitaro, has gone missing, and she goes to Scott begging for help. With friends in tow, she is sent home, alongside Warpath, who will act as a Chaperone and aid in tracking down her lost siblings. Upon arrival, their investigation begins as they visit Keitaro’s parents and find out the reasons behind his running off. Surge comes face to face with the idea that she may never see her brother again and the party decides to visit the police to see what they have found out. Going to the police, they are warned not to get involved, and that they are investigating it as best they can in connection with a string of disappearances in the area. Surge believes the best place to start looking is in Akihabara’s market area, where her father’s old Electronics Shop was located. In the area, they find the shell of the old store, which has not been re-rented after its vacancy by her father. Splitting up to search in and around the building, the team is attacked by a group of slaver’s and following a minor scuffle, a few of them make off with Wallflower. Warpath interrogates one of the stragglers, finding out that these kidnappings are being made for a black-market slave ring, and that the next shipment heads out in the morning. This member doesn’t know where the people are being taken or held, being a grunt. Using James’ skills as a tracker to follow Laurie’s scent, they come to the docks, where a single ship is being loaded with containers, Laurie being ushered in to one with a group of others. The X-Team makes a move and a battle ensues, ending with the ring-leader’s life in Surge’s hands. As she contemplate taking a life, she is reached out to by her best friend, and ultimately stopped from violating everything she stands for. As the police arrive, the day is saved. This plot will take approximately three days in game time. Beginning with their arrival on Wednesday, some investigation Thursday, and the climax on Friday morning, in the early morning hours of Christmas eve. |
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| Rogue | Dec 12 2010, 12:48 AM Post #2 |
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Unregistered
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Jamie Madrox has a dupe in Japan. |
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| Quicksilver | Dec 12 2010, 03:53 AM Post #3 |
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
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Starting November 1st He had slept an entire night, which was not something that he did often. After being cleared by the medical staff, Quicksilver had gone to the apartment he had claimed as his own. He'd stood in the shower for long enough for the water to run cold but at least it had run clear. The soot, the dirt, the blood, the... other... it washed clear and washed away the death he had dealt. Then, Quicksilver had dressed in shapeless, colorless, soft clothing that was more for comfort then for style, laid down on his bed, expecting to lie awake all night. His apartment here in Sanctuary looked like any apartment on the surface of the world, except there were no windows. He had moved his few belongings into the room during the preparation, and had asked that there be no windows in this place, screens instead, that he had had the technicians program with scenes of forests, Transian wilds, Mt Wundegore itself visible in one of them. It was a live feed, he himself had placed the cameras where they needed to be, as told to him by the technician he had spoken to, and part of him hoped to some day see the caravan of his birth moving through the trees. Part of him was afraid to see that. He laid on his bed, a slender cot, not large enough for two, having no one here to share his bed with, no lover to caress in the calm times, no sister to comfort him in the dark ones. It was only Quicksilver, and he was satisfied with it. His clothes, two uniforms, and a handful of civilian apparel, hung in the small closet. His boots were lined up in perfect rows, more of them then clothing, because he wore them out so quickly. There was one extra boot, one much too small for him, and feminine, taken from his counterpart in the space between worlds, who had in turn accidentally liberated it from his Avery. It rested beneath his bed, where no one could stumble upon it and ask questions he was not going to answer. And, there was a violin, on the one table he had here. He had never played this violin, and it was not the one he had rescued from the garbage heap of a wealthy man who did not wish something flawed, but it was there. In case he wished to play, in case he wished to have some memory that was not of death and destruction and loss and pain. He did not play the violin because right now, he wished to have those memories. He wished the nightmares that would come when he closed his eyes. But, none came for him. His dreams, what he could remember of them, were pleasant, running, spinning the world beneath his feet, the wind in his hair, on his face, the blur of movement, the peace. When he awoke, any vestiges of bruising had faded, any strain in his muscles long gone. Yesterday never happened, except for the location he now found himself in. “After you have rested, I want you to go into the streets and look at the faces of the children you protected today. Find the hope you have given them in their faces. You'll see it.” his father had suggested, or had he ordered? It didn't matter. It was all the same now. He rose, dressed in simple denim pants and a plain sweater, and he stepped into the new world to see the kingdom he would help his father to run, the paradise he would inherit. He went to walk among the people and see if he could find himself again. |
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| Quicksilver | Dec 12 2010, 09:26 PM Post #4 |
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
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The sky above him shone blue and clear, white clouds puffed lazily on a gentle breeze, and the sun shown warmly... miles beneath the ocean. This was a miracle, and it was a testament to mutantkind's true superiority. No one could ever say that what this was could have been done by humanity, even if they wanted to. They did not have the skill, they did not have the power. If only they understood the value of their evolved brethren, if only they had the acceptance, what marvels could be done for the world. What of terraforming other planets, should this one become destroyed by Man's own arrogance? What of colonizing the stars? If only mankind could see this place... Quicksilver did not think such things at the moment, and it was in the back of his mind that he should be. He should be grateful, so very grateful. Everything he had wished his father to become, he had. Everything he had wished his father to do, was done. Magneto. Savior of the mutant race. Wanda could be happy here, loved, cared for. She could find a husband who would understand what she was, and not fear it. Lorna could marry that fool Summers and raise their children. His nephews could grow to be men in safety and peace. Avery could walk the streets arm and arm with him and no one will even notice that she was green, only that she was beautiful. But they would never come here. None of those he loved. They would not find him here in this paradise, because he was not worthy of it. He had broken the one law he had given himself when this all began. He had betrayed what he believed in in order to get what he so desperately wanted and now that he had it, the blood on his hands, that was visible only to himself, turned Heaven into Hell. His apartment was in a block of others near the much larger structure that was the royal palace, the seat of this father's throne, and where the government of this new kingdom was run. The neighbor was still new, though the landscaping had been quickly grown by mutants with such powers. There were trees, there were flowers, and in the street, which was not yet cracked and soiled by cars. This was underwater, despite all illusions, though, so there was a look to the architecture, the plant life, that was not suburbia, though that would be the best way to describe where he had chosen to make his home. He would have rather his apartment to be in the wilderness, but something had driven him to choose a neighborhood. Perhaps because he had never truly lived in one and if ever Avery did come, she would want a house, a picket fence, a yard for their children. He could give her that, couldn't he... couldn't he... Most of the other apartments in this part of the development were still empty, the migration to Sanctuary not very old, not very old at all. Maybe three other households has been established, and in one yard, sitting on one end of a see saw, was a small girl. "Hello," Quicksilver said, pausing at her gate. She looked up, and there was a moment of fear in her eyes. He saw that those eyes were not 'normal,' behind the fear, they glowed a soft rainbow. "Hello," she answered him, in a soft voice, and he saw that in the space behind her teeth, there was more of the gentle glow. She put her hand up to cover her mouth, and he put out his own hand. "Do not hide it, it is very pretty," he told her, "You are full of the rainbow are you?" The girl smiled, and waved her hand in the air. He could see the pretty colors trail with her movement, "Uh huh," she said. "What do you do?" He was suddenly standing directly next to her, moving in a blur that was not a fraction of his true speed. "I run," he answered. She was still looking at the gate, and had to turn her head, startled when he spoke, "Wow," she said, "You're faaaaast." "That I am," he said, " It is in my name. Quicksilver. You are liking your new home?" "My name's Caroline," she said, "I do, I can go outside. I couldn't back home. Mom and Dad said that there will be other kids soon and I will have someone to play with." She looked up, hopefully, "Will you play with me?" He frowned, "I think I would break your toy, if I were to sit on it. But I will stand on the side and make it work for you for a bit, if you like." "Yay!" she said, and she turned, holding onto the little handle, as he placed his hands on the other end and pressed down so that she rose into the air. Releasing it, he lowered her to the ground again until she kicked off and they played like that for some time, the air filling with rainbows around the child. "Caroline, what are you--" a man's voice at the door, stopping suddenly when he saw Quicksilver there with his child. "Sir..." He was a human man, he saw immediately, or at the very least a mutant without physical differences. The fear he saw in his face hinted though that he might be baseline, brought here perhaps because his child was a mutant. "Sir, I'm sorry, did she..." "I spoke to her first," Quicksilver said, lowering the girl's end of the seesaw. "She seemed lonely, and I... I perhaps I was a bit lonely as well." "You're one of his, aren't you?" the man asked, his voice accented from a place Quicksilver had been to but never cared to stay "You're one of the Acolytes? I've seen you..." "My name is Quicksilver," he said, not commenting further. The man began to wring his hands in the dish towel he had been carrying, apparently his child's display of lights leading him from his chores, "My wife, she works in lighting," he said, "She makes light, like Caroline... Abosolom, he found her and offered her a place to work, but your father, he gave her a home. He saved her, he saved my daughter." "What about you, sir?' Quicksilver asked, "Are you saved?" The man came and placed his hand on his daughter's head. She looked up at him with a swirl of color. "I'm human, sir. I was allowed to come to a place where my family can be whole and happy. It's good enough for me." Quicksilver thought for a second and then nodded his head, "I see, and if it took war to bring this peace?" "Isn't that always how it is?" the man asked, "I fought in a war, in my home country, a war of religion and politics. Nothing would be gained from it but land, and oil, and the righteousness of a God that I am not entirely sure I believe in. My wife and my daughter were called abominations by the country I fought to defend. War will always be, blood will always be shed. Enjoy the peace while you can." He looked down at his child, "She will be able to grow up here, and use her talents to help her people, hopefully, without interference from mine. I'm proud to be here with her, and I'm grateful she has her peace now." He stood silent for a moment, processing what the man said, and then Quicksilver lowered his head in a slight nod, "I think there will be many children for Caroline to play with soon. I hope that when there are, she does not forget to invite me to play now and again." He lifted his eyes and fixed them on the man's, "I will tell Absolom and I will tell my father that you are finding their great masterpiece pleasant. You have given me much to think about, today, sir. I thank you for that." He glanced down at the child, "Good bye for now, Caroline." "Bye," she smiled, "You didn't stay very long." Quicksilver nodded, "I told you, Little One, I run." And then in a blur he did just that. |
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| Spitfire | Dec 12 2010, 11:42 PM Post #5 |
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Superspeed with Pyrotechnic Effects
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On arriving in Sanctuary, Jac had promptly passed out, the horror of what had happened ringing in her ears and burning on the backs of her eyelids as she had slumped into darkness. It was mainly a lack of food, as well as a little dose of shock, that had made her pass out cold, but enough time had gone by for her to recover, to eat something and rest up. Bruises and scrapes still patterned her body, as she was not seriously injured enough to warrant a healing, when so many needed it more. Everything should clear up in a week or so with the possibility of a few light scars being the only lasting physical damage. Jac was lucky, a lot luckier than some. She could still hear the screams and the explosions and she could still smell it…God, she swore she could still smell the burning… To take her mind off such things, as soon as she was given leave, the blonde had left the infirmary section of Sanctuary and had ventured into the city to explore. She had been hospitalised there before and had rested there briefly in the past, but since then the place had only grown and developed into something more wonderful than before. What she felt, more than anything, was an overpowering sense of freedom. Here, she could just run down the road, and no one would stop her, she could just run. The feelings were making her giddy, sending her into a near daze as she stood in the street, just watching everyone going about their business. To the speedster, their movements appeared slow and it wasn’t normally that she readily appreciated this view of the world, but she was deliberately focusing, watching everyone go about, free to be mutants, free to be different. As if for the first time, Jac put one foot in front of the other and started to run. Hurtling through the streets, the blonde dodged and wove in-between people and buildings carefully, her trails of fire dancing on the streets in her wake before flickering out of existence. Just because she could run freely didn’t mean she was about to run into people or anything quite so rude. Sanctuary was a big place, but it still had its boundaries and so wasn’t total freedom, but there was space enough for now to enjoy and enjoy it she planned to. Stopping after a while, the speedster procured herself something to drink and resumed people watching in the city streets, curled on top of a low wall in a square. Some people were watching her right back. Most people who glanced in her way looked just because they happened to be looking that way, but a few people were looking at her and a small knot of boys around her own age were even pointing and whispering. Jac ignored them, for whatever reason they were pointing, she wasn’t interested; as long as they just kept to their looking, that was just dandy. They kept looking, so after a while the blonde sat up and stared right back at them, a glare in her blue eyes. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” That did the trick and they paled, straightening up. “Sorry…” they muttered, along with other various apologies before dispersing, leaving Jac to enjoy her drink. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the impression of the sky above her, thinking how real it looked, despite the fact she knew it wasn’t. Bringing a hand up, she ran it through her long loose hair. It fell over her fingers and shoulders, fanning out and glinted in the light….Light. Running her fingers through her hair again, she separated a thick lock of it, pulling the hair in front of her eyes. It looked…lighter, a lot lighter than normal. The hair shined a white blonde in the cheer of the square. Must be a trick of the light. Shaking herself for being silly over something so trivial as her hair, Jac sipped her soft drink and continued to watch Sanctuary go by as a blur crossed her line of vision. “Pietro!” she yelled out, knowing that blur well by now. She hadn’t really seen him since what had happened and she had been wondering after him. It would be good to see him properly, especially in this new home of theirs. She leant forward on the wall, swinging her legs lightly as she waited for him to wheel around and return the greeting. |
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| Spitfire | Dec 14 2010, 10:05 PM Post #6 |
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Superspeed with Pyrotechnic Effects
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JP with Quicksilver and Spitfire The sound of a name that he tried to run from reached his ears long after he had passed it, streaking up towards the steps of the palace, but it was little work to wrap around and head backwards towards the girl who had called to him. Stopping before her with an almost audible twang of precision, he bowed deeply and said, "Quicksilver here. Pietro no more." There was a slight hesitation and he said, "You seem better than you were last night. I assume your brother took care of you." He reached out, his hand just almost touching her changed hair and he said, "This is new, is it not?" Jac rolled her eyes a little, shrugging her shoulders and wincing as she was still quite bruised. “Quicksilver, then. And yes, mostly all better. Well enough to give up a bed for someone who needed it more anyway,” the speedster gave him a half smile as she thought about the previous night, so much like a bad dream. It kept coming back in waves and she gave a shudder, closing her eyes for the briefest flicker, before continuing. “He did, he’s a good brother…It’s been so long I hadn’t realised how much I had missed him.” His hand reached out, hovering just within touching distance of her hair without actually making contact and the little blonde turned her head, looking at the pale streak that now show though her hair. “I only just noticed it myself…Maybe it’s a side effect? I was really pushing myself last night, think I went through my upper speed limit. Getting faster,” the smile turned a little nervous as she looked up at him with a mix of hope and nerves. It better just be a side effect thing. While the change wasn’t bad, it was a little unexpected. On top of everything, her hair changing colour was the last thing she needed. Quicksilver brought his hand up to his own hair, and said, "I outran my color as I sped to try and save my sister and mother. I was as dark haired as my twin when I first set foot to run. My mother was dead when I reached her, and my hair was as white as snow." Quicksilver looked away, and said, "It is good you have family here, I think. It will make things so much easier for you. You have chosen an apartment? I took a small home at the edge of the city. There is already a child there, families are starting to come to us. My father has done everything he said he would." He turned his slightly glazed look towards the palace and said, "Everything I hoped he could." Sitting back a little, Jac ran a hand through her hair, wishing she could offer some words of comfort to Pietro, but knowing that while not uncaring, he was a distant soul and would not easily take it. Taking a breath, she decided to continue on safer territory. “I’m wondering if it’s all going to change if I keep pushing my speed. D’you know if To -” breaking off suddenly, the speedster paled as she realised what she had almost asked and hung her head, collecting herself before looking back up. “Yeah, well, Brian had already chosen a place to live when I arrived, small place, so I picked this spot kind of near the middle of the city. I like all the people.” A small grin crossed her sharp features as he spoke of the place. “Yeah…He has. Now all it has to do is grow.” If Quicksilver recognized what she had stopped herself from asking, he made no sign of it. His eyes had focused at a spot slightly over her shoulder. Someone moved through the trees at the edge of the small park. It was nothing to be concerned with, there were many people who had begun to fill the city, workers and their families, a few refugees. But this person had caught his attention and he could not entirely understand why. Spitfire was still speaking though and he dragged his eyes back to her, "Oh... oh, yes, grow. It will. It is our hope. It is our... " His voice trailed off again and he said, "I should make my way to the palace. There must be work to do. There must be..." His eyes fluttered over the grove of trees but the man he had seen had seemed to vanish. "Is there... is there anything I can do for you before I go? Are you all right here alone?" Tilting her head to one side slightly, Spitfire watched him carefully. The other speedster seemed a little distracted and that in itself was a strange thing. But, they had all just been through hell and back so at that precise moment, she was not too concerned, not about that anyway. “I’ll be alright…” a slightly sad expression cast over her face. She would rather not be alone and the one person who she would wish there, she would not talk about in such a public place, out of respect for Pietro. “Don’t worry about me or anything. Are you going to be alright?” she asked, one of her legs dangling idly off the wall where she still sat. Quicksilver bowed his head, not noticing her sad expression, and frowned slightly as she asked after him. He managed a small sorrowful smile of his own, and he placed a strangely cool hand against her cheek in an uncommonly tender gesture, "I am dead already, Spitfire," he said, "There is nothing more that can hurt me." She bit her lip as his hand briefly cupped her cheek and his words rang in her ears. Since he had arrived in the Brotherhood, he had always been good to her. Quicksilver wasn’t exactly brimming with emotions and gestures, but in his own way he had been good, and the statement he had just uttered hurt her to hear. “Don’t say that…Never even think that,” the girl responded quietly, bringing her own warm little hands up to fold around his larger, cold one. “You’re not dead, Pietro.” He placed his other hand over hers, and brought her fingertips to his lips, "Quicksilver," he corrected again, "And, do not grieve, llittle one, I know my place now. It is as it should be. I sacrificed for my people, and it is well. It is all well." Then he shot off in a blur and was gone, as if he was never there at all. As if he was just a ghost. |
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| Quicksilver | Dec 15 2010, 01:57 AM Post #7 |
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
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[Mystique cameo] November 8th Starting before dawn The voices kept him awake, and he spent too much time trying to stifle their sound. He wasn't able to understand them yet, but they whispered, they whispered. The small apartment he dwelled in was dark. It was the night cycle for Sanctuary, though as he sat up the automatic systems lit his room with pictures of Transia from the screens on his walls. Day time. The first snowfall. Quicksilver rose and stood for a long time staring at the panel that showed Mt Wundegore. He and Wanda had been born on its slope, high enough towards its peak that even in April, there had been snow. His hand, as white and as cold as ice reached up to touch the image. There was something moving along the path at the base of the mountain, barely visible. He leaned close trying to see what it was that he saw. Was it someone moving? Walking? Running... Quicksilver's silver blue eyes nearly pressed to the screen to try and see who it was, what it was. "You can't go back." Quicksilver spun around at the voice. But he was alone. ***** Quicksilver ran and ran and ran, and circled Sanctuary on his patrols. They were unnecessary, they were not needed, but still he ran. Safety was top priority and he was not on the security detail. But he did what he did because if he did not he would be alone with his thoughts, thoughts that hurt. His feet turned him back towards the city, as he realized that it was approaching noon. He had a lunch scheduled with the leaders of the energy committee. They were going to discuss perhaps using some of his kinetic energies to power the terraforming equipment. Over five hundred families had applied for residency in the week since the destruction of Murderworld. Homes were going to need building, schools, grocery stores for Heaven's sake. The sea floor needed to be built into something that could sustain life, and that took so much power. Quicksilver could run on a treadmill for an hour a day and generate enough electricity to power the city for a month. It was a good thing he could do. It was something that gave him purpose. ***** Life bustled throughout the city streets of the Sanctuary. It was a paradise, just as Erik said it would be. The temperature was mild, around 70 degrees without a cloud in the sky. A gentle breeze was blowing and while the artificial sun provided warmth, the breeze provided a cooling sensation that evened it out and made it perfect. The city was not over crowded or polluted, but instead fit in with the scenery as if it belonged. Children played outside of apartments on the streets, unafraid. The adults either played along with them or went to and fro about their business, either going shopping or going to work. In the midst of this harmonious setting, Raven Darkholme walked down a city sidewalk in her true form. She was tall, graceful, and most importantly she was blue. Her dark red hair was longer than when she would be in battle, coming down around her shoulders and settling perfectly around her lower back and she even had a white flower tucked behind her ear. As any shapeshifter would be, she appeared flawless. Even her yellow eyes were set in such a way that they were beautiful. Among her own people, she dressed modestly, in a white sundress. The residents of the Sanctuary took notice of the beauty and recognized her as one of those who fought alongside Magneto. The younger ones seemed to flock to her, laughing and playing alongside her as she passed through the streets. The one who had killed so many was finally happy. Thanks to Erik. “Ms. Mystique!” Raven stopped as a little girl called her name and looked back towards her. Like herself, the little girl was blue. She smiled up at Mystique and walked right up to her. Raven put her hands on her lap and squatted down so that she could look the six year girl in the eyes. “Yes, darling?” Mystique asked. “Am I going to grow up and be pretty like you?” This brought a smile to Mystique's face. She nodded. “You are already more beautiful than I am,” she replied, reaching up to her ear and taking the flower. Mystique put the flower behind the little girl's ear and then touched her face. More curious children gathered around where Mystique was squatting on the sidewalk and she looked to each one. “Can Juggernaut really pick up a car? Because Tommy said he could and I don't think so.” “He can too! I saw him picking up a generator... with one hand!” “No you didn't!” Mystique raised a hand up to the two boys to silence them. “Now, now... Juggernaut can pick up ten cars. All at once!” she answered their question lifting up both hands as if she were picking something up. The boys looked at each other in astonishment. “WHOA! I told you!” “You did not, you said he could pick up just one!” Raven stood up and touched both boys on the head before turning around and walking away. The little blue girl ran up to her and slipped her hand within her own, causing Raven to look down in pleasant surprise. The little girl looked up to her as if she were idolizing her. Finally, the six year old asked another question that seemed to be vexing her. “Ms. Mystique... Do you keep the bad guys away?” Mystique was about to give her answer when she looked up from the little girl and spotted Magneto's son, Pietro. She stopped in her tracks. The other children caught up to her and gathered around, looking up to her expectantly for the answer. Raven kept her eyes on Pietro for a silent moment and then gave him a warm smile. It was a smile that was unlike any other smile that she had ever given him. Acceptance. Happiness. Love. It was as if everything she had been fighting for was coming to fruition. Finally, Mystique looked down to the little girl. “The Brotherhood will keep all the bad guys away, sweety,” she replied, looking back towards Pietro again. He had paused at the steps, to watch as Mystique played with children, and he thought about how he had paused to talk to young Caroline. Mystique looked at him and smiled, almost sweetly. "Brotherhood, at last..." whispered the voice in his ear, in his head. "At last you've found your place amongst your people. How wonderful." Quicksilver jerked his head away from the source of the voice, though there was no one there. |
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| Quicksilver | Dec 18 2010, 10:12 PM Post #8 |
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
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November 15 6pm A week later, he saw the speaker for the first time, and he had proof what had happened to him. Quicksilver sat alone in his room, staring at the images of his homeland, a plate of food untouched on the table in front of him, carbohydrates, necessary for a speedster. Down here beneath the ocean, food should have been something to be a concern, but his father had had his people create vast fields of wheat and corn, grown quickly by mutants who could do such a thing. How had he been so clever, how had he known so very much? The noodles heaped on his plate was like anything he had ever eaten before, completely normal despite the strange origin of it, yet, it tasted like sawdust to him. He still ate it. He has been unable to shake his misery, unable to dream without seeing death and destruction. Summers spoke to him in his sleep, asking why he hadn't saved them. Lorna and Wanda accused him of choosing their father over them, and he could not deny that he had. Magneto had told Gambit that X-Factor had not gotten out in time, and Quicksilver realized that he did not know for certain. He had laid the explosives. He knew that the Murderworld would be gone now. He could only assume that X-Factor had been lost, otherwise, they might have begun to search for the cajun, their captured spy. If he had killed his sisters, then his time with Avery was at an end as well. How could she love him? How could he trust he would not hurt her? Sitting before the screens that replaced his windows, sitting before his home, he saw now that the tiny figures he saw moving at the base of Wundegore had come closer. He saw now that it was his clan, his caravan. Wasn't that himself and Wanda running along through the fields? They were so little, his hair was still dark. How was this possible? "Pietro," came a soft voice, and for a moment, he sat still, very still. The voice was still garbled and for a moment, he feared it was Hodge. But Hodge would not have called him by his name. "Mother," he said, looking up to the screen, and she stood there, as he wanted to remember her, alive and vibrant. She reached out to him, placing her hand on the screen and he was beside it in a blink, <"My son, what has happened to you?" > she whispered in their home tongue, and when he lifted his hand to place it against hers, she drew back. <"Do not touch me. You are not my son... are you?" > <"I am not..."> he whispered... and then he switched to his adopted manner of speech, unable to continue this way, "Magda Maximoff, your son is dead." "Pietro," Magda moaned, and she pushed forward, stepping through the screen into his room. As she did, she became what he remembered of her, her last image seared into his mind, bruised, battered, broken, stoned to death for the crime of bearing twins who were other than human. "Pietro, who are you? Who have you become?" He closed his eyes, throwing his arms up over his face, "My name is Quicksilver," he protested, "That is who I am. That is all I am." Cowering that way in the darkness of his own fear, he felt his mother rest her hand on his head, running her hand through his white hair, then pull away. When he opened his eyes, he was alone. Whirling, he turned too look at the screens that showed Transia, but his caravan was gone, only a soft childish giggle floating back through the trees. His sister's voice. Suddenly in need of what passed for fresh air, here, Quicksilver stepped outside, and the simulated sky was dark, and the streets cold. It was well passed midnight. How had so much time passed so quickly? |
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| Quicksilver | Dec 22 2010, 07:22 AM Post #9 |
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
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November 20 through December 1st The whispering voice and the images that followed were constant companions now. Quicksilver felt as though something had infiltrated his mind, entered into his skull and pulled out his soul. Outwardly, he showed nothing. It was helpful that the son of Magneto was a solitary man, that his skin was pale and his eyes cold, that his movements were too swift to notice if his hands trembled or his gaze lit on that which only he could see. Even his speech, always a beat more rapid than a man should speak, as if he had much to say and little time to say it, seemed even faster now, but the moments when he talked to those phantoms that were invisible to all but himself which he did in a blur, in a blur so rapid no one could hear, and none could see. He was careful to hide the spectres... no one must know he was lost, no one must know he was already dead. The number of ghosts grew as the days went on, on and on, and he forgot what the real sun looked like, the shapes the real stars took on. There was only Sanctuary, and there was only this strange mix of heaven and hell. Wanda wept tears of blood from windows as he passed. Twice he saw Lorna call his name as she clung to the hand of her ridiculous love. Even Hodge visited him in the night time, and reminded him that he would never again have peace, that he would never again see Avery, his love. How could she love him knowing that he had cold bloodedly killed the man? How could anyone... He did not see Avery's ghost. She was alive. He hadn't killed her. He hadn't. It was suddenly December and Quicksilver had been in Sanctuary for a month. Why was the world moving so quickly. Was he alone in feeling so out of sorts? Where these simulated nights and days sped to interrupt the internal clocks of those who dwelt here? Had it truly been a month? Or was it the opposite? Had it possible been longer than a month? Could a year have passed since he had been down here? The only time that the voices were silent and the ghosts did not reach out for him was when he manned the treadmills that would power the energy stores. When he did his work, when he brought light to his people... when he could run... He sped home on that first day of December and there were two more families that had moved into his neighborhood, which brought the total to seven now, three of which had children. He slowed to a walk as he came upon the street, for the children were playing in the roadway, unimpeded by cars, or more accurately the small electric craft that were what had taken their place. One of the technopaths that had moved to the Sanctuary had developed them and they were quickly being mass produced. "We will soon be a real city," Quicksilver murmured. "A city built on bones and blood," Alex Summers spoke in his ear, as he stood so close that the speedster could see the broken planes of his face, the shattered ribs that pierced the black of his containment suit. The fires did not burn him. He was immune. He had been crushed, or the concussion of the explosions. "You were supposed to flee," Quicksilver spat, "It is not my fault you did not heed the cajun's warning." Summers grabbed his arm in a hand too cold. The heat that filled him had dissipated into darkness, into death. "Who set the explosives? It was you. It was you, Pietro." "Quicksilver!" he snapped, "That is my name. That is my name. No other. Pietro died with you, Summers, he died." "Who died?" a voice at his elbow. Quicksilver turned, startled, to see young Caroline standing beside him with rainbows swirling around her. "What?" he asked her, not understanding her question. "You said someone died," Caroline said, worried, "Was it the bad people? The human people? Daddy told me that most human people would want to kill us." "Your father is human," Quicksilver said, "Not all humans are wicked." "The ones outside are," Caroline said, "That's why we're lucky to be here. That's what teacher says too." "Your schools are teaching them to fear and to hate," Lorna said, as she took the place of her fiancee. "How long before they are taught to use their powers against the enemy above? This is no haven, it is a military outpost. This little girl is damned. She'll be a killer by the time she is grown." Quicksilver looked back at the little girl, and saw her rainbow turn dark around her, her brilliance tainted and corrupt. She frowned, and it seemed a rictus grin, "Are you ok, Quicksilver? You look like you have a tummyache." "I must go and rest," he told her, "Continue your play, Caroline, and do not fear. There are no bad people to reach you. Not here. You are safe." "I know," she said, but she was speaking to the wind, because he was in his home and in front of the screens before the second word left her lips. Quicksilver huddled on the floor, and his sister stepped from the wilds of Transia, wrapping charcoaled arms around him, resting her skeletal cheek against his bowed head. He stayed there like that, in the embrace of a ghost, as the blood from her tears pooled around him on the cold floor, that he imagined swayed in the ocean currents, miles below the life he had left behind. |
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| Quicksilver | Dec 23 2010, 02:21 AM Post #10 |
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
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December 5th through 15th In the small featureless back yard of the home that Quicksilver had made his own, a small construction had begun to be built. Something made of scraps of wood and sheets of metal that disappeared from where the city expanded. He built in the middle of the night, he built when he should be sleeping because sleep brought nightmares far worse that what day brought. Somewhere Wanda had whispered to him that he had forgotten their customs, forgotten the rituals of their people. "Are you so far, my darling, that you do not remember that the dead do not stay in their own homes?" she had scolded through blue and cold lips, that felt like ice on his pale cheek. So, he built the canopy, and he started the rituals. The mirrors in his house had been covered with cloth. The screens that showed his lost life had been turned off, because he had forgotten that the lake could not show his reflection, the dew could not capture his image. His possessions, what little he had, had been placed in neat bundles and would be distributed to those without when someone finally came to notice he was a corpse. Some of his more expensive items had already appeared on doorsteps in the city, always on a stranger's door step. All who had ties with him must be shunned, lest his spirit be trapped in their home, lest he end up causing them harm. The only thing that he kept with him in the canopy was the violin, and the sole boot, which he had tied to the belt of the single outfit he wore day in and day out. He did not wash, which was not noticed because his mutation did not produce the byproducts of excess energy, little sweat, little fatique poisons. He did not comb his hair, though the wind did that for him when he ran. He did not drink water, because he might see his reflection and be trapped. Instead, he drank only coffee or brandy, the latter of which he had to purposely request, because such things were not entirely freely available yet. And, throughout the night, anyone who might listen to what was happening in the backyard of the small house at the very end of the block, would hear the sounds of something being built, something small, something the size of a man... a coffin. As he built his coffin, voices sang to him in the tongue of his people, a prayer that the Lord would have mercy to the souls trapped in purgatory, Wanda, his mother, even Lorna, Alex, and Hodge, Jet Black and many Madroxes, everyone he had killed. Gambit too was there, because he had been killed by now surely... Everyone but Avery. He would never see her face again. They sang in the Transian dialect of Roma, even though they should not know it. It didn't matter. Because anyone who listened might think the singing sounded a lot like Quicksilver himself. "Meu Isus, de necazurile Te-ai suferi în agonie în Grădina Ta, în Ta biciuirii şi încoronare cu spini, în drumul spre Golgota, în răstignirea şi moartea Ta, avea milă de sufletele din purgatoriu, şi mai ales pe cele care sunt cele mai părăsite; Tu nu-i elibereze din chinurile cumplite le indure; le numesc şi le recunosc Tău cel mai dulce îmbrăţişa în paradis. Meu Isus, de necazurile Meu Isus, de necazurile Tu-i elibereze din chinurile cumplite le indure; le numesc şi le recunosc Tău cel mai dulce îmbrăţişa în paradis." His fingers bled as he built the coffin, and the wounds healed before he would awaken from his trance in the morning, and go about his business, as if he was alive... ... just as if he was alive. |
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| Primal | Dec 23 2010, 10:28 PM Post #11 |
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Unregistered
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Kinda weird. Time was playing hopscotch with his senses, his instincts muddled up. He couldn't remember which way was North. The streets all looked the same, similar buildings fashioned into homes in rows, all of them symmetrical. They smelt the same too, like new cars, like leather couches and furniture stores. He couldn't see the facade of sunlight and sky above him; the whole thing looked like a plain old roof, him trapped somewhere beneath. Amongst the newcomers, everyone pioneers, Primal thought he saw hope, but wasn't sure he remembered what that smelled like. They were stressed and uncertain and curious about their new home, claustrophobic and nervous and relieved. The claustrophobia might have been his own. Time didn't move like he wanted it to. The month dragged its heels, sluggish into December, some strange intermission between winter and fall. There were no seasons here. It would always be warm, always be summer, always be a paradise, some mutant-made, would-be Garden of Eden, built on the backs of fallen brothers and misguided humans. It felt like a concentration camp. Superficially, it was perfect, and perhaps if Primal had been one of those mutant kids playing ignorant on the pavement, he might have been stupefied by the community and this overwhelming sense of belonging. But he was behind the scenes. Beneath the skin, it wasn’t so pretty. He was jaded, hours of torture branding the walls an ugly shade of purple. There had been no honeymoon period; his life here had begun violent. He was still waiting for Murderworld to end. What should have collapsed along with their old home was being held up on the rotten limbs of betrayal and revenge. He felt as though he'd never really left Coney Island. He wasn’t homesick, but it sure seemed like it. When everyone knew your face and didn’t want to curbstomp it, walking the streets was surreal. The Brotherhood were legends here, celebrities in their own right. Primal didn’t like the awe. It didn’t suit him. New city blues. He wasn’t the only Brother experiencing a delay in the expected euphoria. He wasn’t given time to appreciate the architectural marvels of the supermassive urban sprawl; he wasn’t giving himself the time. He sought out work without respite, beyond the few hours he took to sleep (what little good those did, filled with hard sex, mindless fucking and violent dreams), requesting nothing of Magneto but the names of new recruits. Made busy, he didn’t have to dwell on what he did in the cells. It didn’t feel like a month had passed; it felt like several. There were kids to train. Eager little shits with loud mouths and big ideas and raw anger. Kinda like him then, except stupid and new, all swelled-up on Magneto’s glorious dream. The big man wanted an army, and when Mags snapped his fingers, Primal barked. The barracks ran alongside HQ, the palace ridiculous and huge next door, a gleaming hotspot in the dead centre of Sanctuary. When he wasn’t in the cells he was here, kicking all those eager butts into shape. It was night when he left the barracks, and he could’ve sworn it was a Friday—pseudo-night, an obese yellow glob that Primal couldn’t see hanging low over the jagged skyline. A fake moon sitting overweight in a fake sky. Pretty as hell, absurdly realistic. He didn’t care. He wanted Chinese. He wanted to scoff Singapore noodles with a goddamn fork while listening to Jesse bitch about the latest moron to give her grief over trade supplies and import, and then he wanted to make her shut up about it until she screamed. It wasn’t Friday, but it sure seemed like it. There was staccato motion in the residential district, a rapid zigzag of colour. Halfway to Jesse’s apartment, Primal caught glimpses of white hair and turmoil. Quicksilver laid a bundle at the foot of someone’s household, depositing it at their door muttering arcanities, arms full of bags and packages. He zipped to another and did the same, bouncing from house to house until in a matter of seconds he was empty-handed. Weirdass shit. The speedster stunk like something sour; he was off, as if the too-proud, cocky asshole Primal had despised had been replaced by another, spastic freak. They were forced to tolerate one another- as Acolytes around one another more than either one of them liked. You got used to someone’s smell. When it changed, the shift made his skin crawl. Pete was suddenly back, blurring along the adjacent street, overloaded again with bags that to Primal’s heat sensitive eyes were fat and nondescript. He snapped, “Ain’t Christmas yet, Claus,” to the hot streaks that burnt tracks in the air. |
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| Quicksilver | Dec 25 2010, 08:47 AM Post #12 |
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
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December 23th It was the last of it, it was the last of what he owned. The only thing that Quicksilver owned was the clothes on his back, the boot tied to his belt, and the violin that rested in his coffin waiting for him at home. Everything else, all his possessions had been dispersed amongst the strangers of Sanctuary, around the city, around the new home where the children were taught to hate, and the adults forgot how to fear. Heaven and Hell, Damnation and Salvation, spinning at the bottom of a ocean, beneath a false sky, drowning in the illusion of a normal life, a perfect life. Quicksilver laid the last thing on a doorstep and he heard a voice behind him, “Ain’t Christmas yet, Claus.” "In my homeland's tradition, the gifts are given throughout the month, for those who are loved, and forgiveness is given to those who are hated," Quicksilver said, his eyes very far away, even though Primal wouldn't be able to see that. "There is no one beneath the dome of this sky who I love enough to give a gift to, and there is no one I hate enough to give forgiveness too. I am left a man without a purpose. There is no whitewash for the walls of my home, no yellow clay to spread on the floor, no pine branches to nail over the door." He looked off into the distance for a moment, and he shook his head to the ghosts that circled behind them, and tried to distract him with their scoldings and their dark premonitions. "Romi ierta. Romi merg la reciproc să ceară iertare şi să fie iertat. Romi, deşi acestea se mai înverşunaţi duşmani, ierta şi sunt reconciliate în timpul Crăciun. Cum am putea trăi la toate, dacă nu am învăţa să se ierte reciproc?" Wanda and Lorna whispered the prayer of forgiveness into Quicksilver's ear, and he unconsciously repeated it. He bent suddenly, dropping to one knee in a blur before Primal and said, "My sins against you, I beg forgiveness. I wish not to haunt you, I wish not to cause you harm, when my body catches up with my soul," He rose again, and said, without explanation, "I do not understand how I became so slow, so very slow." "He is torturer, he is general, he is killer," Hodge whispered in another ear. "When the world burns, he will stand at the right hand, and he will bring the end of mankind, of mutantkind, no evolution, only de-evolution, only the stripping away of humanity. A great future a grand future... When will you realize that you have no place here... When will you escape the confines of this oh too brightness and fall into the darkness of the night?" Quicksilver hissed between his teeth and he slipped backwards, to pull away from Primal. "I stay too long," he told the semi-saurid. "I stay too long and will be trapped. I must move. The only rest is in my grave, in my grave. Primal, forgive all I have done to you, for when Christmas comes, the only gift I wish is to sleep... to finally sleep." Then, he shot away, and spent the rest of the night curled under the canopy, curled into the coffin that he had built, whispering conversations to himself in names that were not his own. |
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2:11 PM Jul 11