X-Men: A Bright New World (IC)

[Remec]

Madrox - The Streets of NY (mostly)

Everyone piled into the Volkswagen and they sped off after the crazed mercenary and possible assassin...Jamie was still unclear what she was all about, besides being a lunatic, apparently. He kept his eyes peeled for people and objects that might get in the way of pursuing the motorcycle, although he might have been cutting it closer than was quite legal when it came to some of the traffic signals as they switched from yellow to red.

Deadpool took a turn and Jamie turned the wheel to follow, but it was a harder curve than he thought and....

SKIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD! The Volkswagen Beetle swerved, to the. Right. Struggling, to keep up, make the turn.

SHIIFFFFFTTT-turrrnnnnnn-SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

...Remy couldn't help, but. Bring up the obvious. "W'ere you learn t'drive, 'gain...Madrox -- GAH!"

"Mariokart," Jamie said with a touch of agitation mixed into the deadpan monotone of someone too focused to spare any thoughts for speech. "And original Pole Position...you think a Bug can handle a Tokyo drift?"

He kept on chasing after their quarry. In and out of traffic...around corners...down alleyways...eventually even ending up on the sidewalk, then they were making another turn into another alley and suddenly their immediate pathway was blocked by a dumpster.

"Êtes-vous fou?" Gambit exclaimed, reaching for the. Wheel, and spinning it. In an effort -- any -- so that, they. Might dodge! "...de breaks. HIT de breaks! Now!

Jamie did as asked and slammed his foot down on the brake. Hard. And grabbed the parking brake and pulled it as well. The vehicle skidded as it spun out from Gambit's tug on the steering wheel and then went down the steps and into the arcade, coming to rest against a bank of skeeball games.

As they sat in the Volkswagen, smoke still rising from the tires and the engine, they could hear the sounds of automatic fire coming from further into the game hall. Jamie opened his car door and slowly slipped out of the Bug, He kept breathing in slow and steady, trying to calm the adrenaline pulsing in his veins, and then he looked up and saw a familiar feminine form waltzing in their direction.

"Gambit! There she is!"

 

[Lachiyous]

Interlude - NYC

So. The options...once more?

Linguine with meat sauce. Tossed salad. Garlic bread. Riesling wine.
Left over chicken parmigiana sandwich. Mac and cheese. Witbier.
Order out -- Chicken Teriyaki with white rice. Wonton Soup. Yuengling Lager.

The significant thing. A single girl's. Got. An easy choice, which. The, ever. she'd like. To go with. For her meal. To of course, compliment. The purchased viewing, of. A movie, starring. Halle Berry. Something suspenseful. The trailer, at least. Caught her eye.

All right.

Take-out it was! If only--

BeepBeepBeep!

Ah.

BeepBeepBeep!

Shit.

BeepBeepBeep!

Don't look.
Don't look.
Don't look...at it.

Hold breath.

They can deal. There's Ste--

BeepBeepBeeeeep!

EXHALE!

Dammit.

The text read:

Need you ASAP at the World Trade Center. North Tower. Hostile situation up in the WotW restaurant. You are our only meta available. Sorry about the day off. Agents will meet you there.

--Hill.

Carol Danvers stood. Breathed deeply. And reached, for. A bottle of, water. Before, heading. For her apartment, bedroom's. Window.

She needed to, tend to. This ordeal. People's lives were in peril.

That was, after all. Her job. Her lifestyle. That was, what. It was. To be. A hero. A super hero.

Giving up -- sacrificing -- what, was. Important. For the well being, of. Others.

Halle Berry and her flick, could. Wait.

....at least it was, only. $10.99...right?
========================================================================

 

[Lachiyous]

NYC - Rogue

One Year Ago. [Undisclosed location]

The instant Irene, entered. Raven wasted no time. Not one moment.

"Out. Everyone."

When Rogue was, the. Last, person. To file out. She flatly, added. "Not you. Come." Before she, warmed. Slightly. "Let's talk. The three of us."

To gain an audience, with. One of these. Women. Sure was something. But BOTH, at the same. Time? That was lottery worthy, right there! Never, the. Mind. That, she. Herself. Had been, taken in. By them. Cared for. Her life, changed. Over. It wasn't, a typical relationship. With either, one. Individual. But, she. Also, was not. What one, might. Consider. 'Typical'...
========================================================================
Afterwards.

Alone. Alone, in her. Room. If she'd learned. Any, the. One, thing. At at all. It was, some. One. A female individual. That she'd, have. To face. To fight. And nothing, but. Everything. Depended on her. On this outcome! Which, apparently. Wouldn't happen, for awhile...

Some lady.

With blonde tresses.

And crystal blue eyes....?
========================================================================
Almost Six Months Ago.

After what, seemed. Like forever. Of not asking, for. Anything. Anything, else. Anything, other. Than, something. Pertaining, to this. Particular. Female individual. The girl could, have. Almost forgot, about. Talk, of it. Or any thoughts, relating. To her. If not, for. The entire lack, of. A social life!

What was there, to do. When she was, on. Her own. Of her own. By her lone, some? And she'd, leafed. Through. The same, book. More than, she. Could remember!

So it was, an. Utter surprise, when Mystique. Snuck in, and allowed. Slip, from her lips. "You need to...touch this woman. Where her skin is showing." She turned, to fade. Back, into the. Shadows.
========================================================================
Four Months Ago.

Once more. A seemingly, random. Odd, tidbit. From her 'mother'. Caretaker. "The minute you make physical contact. Don't let go."

??
========================================================================
One Month Ago.

"She'll know to come to you. Make no mistake!"
========================================================================
Last Week.

"You shall be seeing her...next Thursday!"
========================================================================
Earlier. [The World Trade Center. In Lower Manhattan, New York]

After she, sent. Rogue off to, change. Within the public facilities. Raven cracked the, door. Slightly open. And gave the girl. One final clue. "You'll be wearing the woman's name. Upon you. It's happening tonight. But first..food."

Then she was gone.
========================================================================
Now. [Windows of the World restaurant]

"Relax de one, relax de all. Gambit an' de Crime Masters -- goin' be de fun an' joy for dis night!" her 'date' had, announced. To the cast, over. Audience, of the. Restaurant. Crime Masters. That. That was...the team. Their team. Well. The squad, with. Mystique. But, where...?

Never mind that.

The dapper man -- her dinner companion, the one with the gleaming red embers -- interesting, ly. Still, within the. Fancy threads. If he, truly. Was a part of this team. Why, then. Hadn't he, changed. Why didn't he, suit. Up? Where was his, 'costume'?

Looked like an, expensive. Albeit, very-well put. Together, suit. To be messing up. Should the occasion call f--

SWIIINNG-boooonnnk! Blood squirted. A metal, looking staff. Caught, a couple. Poor, unsuspecting customers. That were just, trying. To snake, past. Him. In escape. "Dat not 'appenin'. Jus' gettin' started. Don't want t'miss dis. Promise!" he smiled, making eyes. Eventually. With Rogue. And winking.

DeetDeetDeetDeet! Something, was. Triggered. A button. A device. Something, near. The frosty, haired. 'Prisoner'. That which, drew. An annoyed gaze, from. The Trapster! "Whatever exactly, you think you did. It doesn't matter. Now..." he reached for, the. Man's hand. And took from, him. The object which -- DeetDeetDeetDeet -- still vibrated. Before aiming, his weapon. At the prisoner. And entrapping, him. The furtherment. With fresh, gummy. Sludge.

The younger, blonde. Meanwhile. Used the opportunity -- distracting moment? -- to yell out. To the 'host', with. The...most? "Gambit? What the HELL do you think you're doi--mmmpphhh" before...of course. Her voice. Mouth. Was also, clogged.

The red eyed 'host', didn't acknowledge. The captive.

"Take that back. You aren't really smart, are you?" Trapster snickered, blowing. At his weapon's barrel. Dramatically. Before, he moved on. And shot, random. Globs. To other, bystanders. Around...

...in case Rogue, was. Paying heed. To her surroundings, the. Little too, the. Much. Her dance partner -- The Beetle -- wasn't, backing. Down! A score needed, to be. Settled. Too many a time. Had he, taken a fall. Or been, under. The short end of, the. Stick. For this, outcast. This hussy. Sure, one. One had to, follow. Suit. Follow orders. Follow to the T. Or the hell, else! But...but. No one, said. He couldn't, bruise. Her up, a lil'. In the process. Knock her around, some. Hell. MAYBE. Get lucky. And break a bone, or. Something!

He ground, teeth. Against teeth. Behind his armored mask. Grinning, in the process. Both, angry. And somewhat, motivated. At the same. Before he set off, some more. Swinging punches, at her!

The Melter didn't mind, enforcing. His viewpoint, and. Presence. Onto the place. Many patrons, now. Huddled, onto the floor. In fear. Because, their. Seats, tables. Dinner ware. All. Reduced, to. Bubbling pools, of. Nothing, ness. "Didn't I warn you? Didn't I?!"

Trapster trapping.
Melter melting.
Beetle...beetle?

Where was -- UP! He had, leapt up. With his wings. Apparently, when she....wasn't paying him. Mind. And...

SWOOOOOP! He dove down, right at her...

...and because of this.
...and as a result of this.
...and perhaps, that could be why.

People -- Rogue, included? -- might, have. Missed, the. Introductory, presence. Of one. A woman. Decked out, in a. Black leather-clad outfit. For her torso, only. A mask covered, her clear. Blue irises. Golden, dapple. Of honey colored hair. Spilled down, her back. A singular, bolt of. Lightning. Was her outfit's, ever present. Emblem. The same, color. As her tresses. A strawberry red, sash. Tied, 'round. Her waistline. Leather boots, inched up. To mid thigh. Whilst, the same. Material, came up. To cover her arms. Past both, elbows.

She was, at the broken. Window's 'entrance'(the same one Beetle made/used). Standing, there. If but, for a moment. To survey, the scene. "This ends. NOW."
========================================================================

 

[Lachiyous]

Gambit

[Chinatown Fair. Within Lower Manhattan, New York]

The Cajun, in the midst. Of the action, packed. Edge of one's seat, vehicle. Chase...had inquired, of Jamie's. Credentials, as they. Might have, related. To the youth's maneuvering, of Alison's car. The "Mariokart" and "Pole Position" response, didn't. Quite, connect. Within Gambit's, mind. He was, if anything. More street savvy, having. Since a youngin, come alive. And unto his own, upon. The actual downtown, sometimes unsavory. Neighborhoods, of New Orleans. Through adolescence, and his. Becoming a man, elsewhere. Whence. Shadows might have, further...found home. Within his, soul. Video games, then, it. Was perhaps, safe to say. Were a familiarity, not. For this individual. Still. After a moment's, non response to his team mate's. Dupe, Remy -- the bit of, mirth returning to him -- chimed in. Unaware, even. That he, knew not the subject matter! "Toys, deyn't goin' 'elp in de matter at 'and.." he barely had time, to crack. A smile. Before the dumpster/brake/entrance, unto the Building....

...OVERTOOK them!

"LOOK OUT!"

"AHHH!"

"WHAT THE--?"

"...this game really sounds amaaazing--"

A few, of the many. Panicked screams, that were. Spewed out, upon. The faded white Beetle dramatically screeeeeeeetching...to a halt. Its bumper, kissed. Sweetly. The very contoured end, of a whole alley of Skee Ball machines. And the additive steam, from the automobile's. Tire's and engine? Just the right, amount of. Flare. One -- they -- could very well, have. Been in necessity of. (or even more dangerous attention, depending on the perspective!)

Without giving much time, for the any. Dust. To settle. Nor his companion to, pull. The key from its ignition. Remy leapt out. Quickly. And addressed, the small. Crowd. Before him. In a jovial manner. Seeming to compartmentalize, the before. Tension. "W'at? Didn' de no one 'rive dis eager --" he motioned to the big, white banner hanging from the. Above. Advertising what, the place was. Famous for..."-- 'bout seein' de dancin' chickens an' all? Dats all de vieil homme, in de back seat was ravin' 'bout eh? Heh heh." He put on, one of his most charming. Of smiles, for the likes of the bystanders. When he spotted, someone. With glasses, and a receding. Hairline. Whom appeared, to be an employee(or was it maybe upper management?) with his polo shirt...hard to tell. He was quick, to tend. To the individual, shoo'ing any. Forthcoming concerns, that their. Presence might garner. With a simple, folded bill. A 5 0 visible, near the. Mug of one, Ulysses S. Grant. Logan wouldn't miss, what he. Didn't know, was. In fact, gone. Right? "For de any, trouble m'sieu. Much obliged..." He gave the person, a good. Friendly, pat. On the shoulder. Bob, sans his name tag. Nodded, smiled a little hesitantly. At the 'donation'. And sped off.

The others...seemed, to have. Dispersed. Too. Per the antics of, the X-Man. Or. Or maybe something. Like this. Happened, more frequently around here...? What was it...all for the...chickens?

...Gambit meanwhile, having glanced. Briefly, at some air hockey tables. Turned his. Inspection, upon the Skee Ball assortment, before him. He noticed, the inclined rampway. Leading, to the series. Of rings, with different. Point-designated, holes. The higher, the number. The further, in the back.

Okay.

So. How-to-play..? What to put, in the...

Ah. Making sure, upon the. Audience of, no one. He ever, slightly. Fidgeted, with the coin. Release, slot. Took the few tokens, that came. Out. And input one, into the machine. The lot, of game balls came. Rolling out, ready for action.

He grinned at this.

...wait. Didn't he -- didn't they -- come HERE. For a reason. A purpose. Wasn't there a mission, almost? What, upon ever...was this. About arcades, video games, and. And FUN? Fun. Really? In a time, like now? With, let one remind...another, missing team mate's? Was he losing his mind? Was...the...notion -- the concept, of doing just that -- if one. Could pardon, the accusation. Was it, all. Somewhat, contagious behavior?

Hmm.

...rolllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll -- SPRING -- plop! The first ball landed, within the 30 mark.

"Heh." His fiery orbs, gleamed. Before he, cracked. The both, of his. Knuckles. Took, the next ball into the right. Of his hand. And delivered, unto its target...

Within the car, The Wolverine growled. "W.ha.ts...th.a.t......bl.a.st.ed.....fo.o.l.l.l......do.i.n..'....?"

Jamie might, not. Have known. As his heart had, been racing. The whole time, from the. High speed chase. As he was, seeking to catch. His breath, that's when he had spotted. The masked figure sauntering, toward the. Skee Ball area. And his team member! He sought to call out, "Gambit! There she is!"

"..t.h.iss....mo.m.entt..." The still-ailing, older X-Man grumbled some more. To the youth, seated. Inside, with him."..d.on.'t....kn.o.w........gr.r.r.......w.h.o.......t.a......t.r.u..s.t.......m.or.e...........h.u.ff........h.i..m......o.r........h.e.rr...!" A fair point, maybe?

...the flashing lights, atop the machine. Indicated his game's end. Gambit tilted his head, peering over toward. The mysterious woman when Jamie, called his attention. To her. His reds flickering. This was most, certainly the same. Person. From before. From The Brazen Fox. The masked figure. Dead. Pool. Her full body armor survived, the explosion. From the aforementioned, location....barely. And yeah. She was wearing, a little paper. Crown, at the top. Of her mask. And sun glasses, completing. The look. Her identity, however, remained. Intact.

For now...

"'sfunny runnin' into de likes of you 'ere, no?" Remy bowed, with the. Little bit of a flourish. For her behalf. "All t'ings de same. W'at say lil' comp'tition.." He gestured to the lanes of Skee Ball, before them. "Lil' motivation d'ain't never 'urt de no one." A token, was placed. Unto the coin slot. One for her. One for him. The game balls rolled out. The score boards, at the top. Reset to 00. "De winner gets somet'ing from de loser!" He let out, a little. Laugh. The molten fire of his irises, flaring. Out. To her, and. Her alone. As did, a smile. Seemlessly, roll. Off those Cajun lips of his!

....Logan, Jamie -- could they, both. Be, on their own. Right now? Because....obviously, SOMEone. Had checked out, of. Rational, thinking world?

Yeah. Gambit gave the, impression. Of fitting into the atmosphere. Going with the flow. Playing games, and. Having fun?

..when. When in Rome? And...and what, about those. Chickens again?
========================================================================

 

[Tight_n_ready]

Rogue was distracted for a second, one vital second, as a stern command rang out through the room. It wasn’t shouted, it wasn’t even a raised voice. Yet somehow it pierced the chaos and confusion. The diners stopped moving, and the criminals turned towards the new arrival, a blonde haired, startlingly blue eyed girl floating just inside the window. Everyone had turned to look, even Rogue, and it was in this vital split-second that Beetle took his opportunity, and Rogue was too slow to even begin to react.

He crashed into her chest, forcing her to the floor under his weight and that of his powered suit. The breath was crushed out of her and she struggled to reclaim it as he bore down on top of her. He was heavy as it was, but the suit must have added a hundred pounds at least, servos, wings, power cells and all. She struggled and fought to push him off of her, but he had pinned her right arm, and he drew back his fist and launched a thunderous punch into her face. The back of her head hit the floor and she grunted in pain.

His fist impacted again, and she tasted blood in her mouth. He sat up, revelling in the power he had over her as he pinned her to the floor. He cracked his knuckles and looked down at her, his faceless helmet disguising what she was sure was a satisfied smile.

“All this time… all this time you’ve thought you were better than us… Just cause she found you. Staying behind when the rest of us went out. You thought that her liking you made you more important, you were never more important you arrogant little bitch.”

Rogue shifted under his weight, and then grinned, flashes of white showing through the blood pooling in her mouth. She spat, the blood spattering on his face plate, and then heaved upwards with her hips. He was too heavy to really knock off her so easily, but her sudden violent movement took him off guard, and she brought her knee up into the small of his back to force him all the way over her until he fell flat on his face. She staggered to her feet just in time for a blonde blur to flash between them.

 

[Remec]

Madrox - within a NY arcade

Gambit seemed to not even notice Jamie's shouted warning about Deadpool's approach. He had slipped from the Volkswagen almost as soon as it had stopped moving, made some odd, vaguely flirtatious remarks to some passing customers of the arcade, and now was, apparently, offering to play skeeball with Deadpool.

Jamie-the-driver turned and looked over his shoulder at the Prime who was still having to deal with a lapful of injured, but recovering, Wolverine. He sighed and gave himself a look questioning what they were doing and what was next.

"..t.h.iss....mo.m.entt..." The Logan grumbled to Jamie, don't....know....gr.r.r....who....ta....trust....more....huff....him....or....her!"

Jamie nodded and said, "I know what you mean. Stay here, I'll be right back." Jamie leaned one arm out of the car and slapped his hand on the vehicle. As he manifested his power, he let the duplicate take his position beside/beneath Logan while he stood beside the Volkswagen. After taking a moment to straighten his clothes, he looked at the driver and said, "I was considering taking you back in, but we might need to move the car in a hurry. Keep things idling and be ready to take off, 'kay?"

"Sure thing," Jamie told himself.

Jamie nodded and quietly slipped off into the crowd of people still in the arcade and gathered about the car, Gambit, and--to a much lesser extent--Deadpool. He tried to watch their interaction while remaining inconspicuous.

 

[KattDclaw]

Deadpool - Chinatown Fair Arcade

I don't get it.

Deadpool stood before a large red box with a plexiglass window installed on the front. Hanging from a sign with big red letters the words 'The DANCING CHICKEN' enticed passerbys to view the wonderment that was...the dancing chicken. True to the signage there was indeed a dancing chicken within the box, much to the delight of our superheroine. At this point, after inserting a few quarters to start the music, she was nearly doubled over from laughter. She clutched at her sides as she chortled in absolute delight, the sound was grating like Gilbert Gottfried moaning while he got a reach around with a tube full of packing peanuts. So pretty bad.

“What's not to get?! It's a chicken! Dancing!” She spat out into between snorting cackles and gasps for breath. It only took about five minutes for her to finally stop laughing, though she continued to giggle like an adolescent boy peaking into the girl's locker room.

I get it's a chicken. But why is it dancing? Who taught it to dance? Why here? Who would pay to see this?

“I think your over thinking the dancing chicken just a bit too much. Look!” She fished out a few more quarters from her pouch and slapped them into the machine, starting up the music just as it died. That only made her titter briefly before exploding into a fit of snorting giggles.

Weren't we suppose to be doing something important? I seem to recall their being a stripper.

“Wait,” Deadpool caught her breath, still clutching her sides. “This is an arcade, there's no strippers here. Silly, stupid voice in my head.”

I didn't mean here. We--

SKEE BALL!!!

The whites of her mask widened to ridiculously proportions as the idea flooded her mind. She instantly shot her arms up above her head like she made a touch down, her womanly bits jiggling enticingly from the sudden movement.

“SKEE BALL!!! Fuck yeah! I almost forgot! Fuck the chicken.” She waved at the red box dismissively.

Not literally, I hope.

“We'll see. The night's young. I'm not that desperate. Yet...Now...Onward to glory!” Deadpool pointed off into the arcade, verring off in the other direction as she shoved her way through the crowd.

“Comin' through. Out of the way. It's an emergency. My water just broke! I think I lost a contact. Hey who's hand is on my ass?!”

That's your own hand.

“Hmmm,” She hummed in thought, only to flex her hand over the athletic swell of her own backside.

“Well I'll be damned. I got a nice ass.”

It took awhile but she eventually made it over to where the skee ball games were. This was after stopping numerous times to watch people play games, offer friendly advice or tell them they blew hairy balls. All in all it was a good time, until she caught sight of those weird glowing eyes and that cocky smile.

“Er. That guy looks familiar,” She mumbled, rubbing a hand over her chin.


Yeah. He was one of the guys following us. He's an X-Men. Remember them?

“Kinda. What was his name again?”

His full name is Remy Etienne LeBeau, but he goes by Gambit. He's male, six foot one inches tall, approximately one hundred and seventy-nine pounds. His eyes are 'Burning Red' and his hair color is brown. He was created by Chris Claremont and Jim Lee. He was born in...Oooh, New Orleans, Louisiana.

Ooh! We should go there sometime. I hear chicks will flash their bewbis for beads!

“Hmm. Tits you say,” Deadpool continued to rub her chin, pretty much unmoving this entire time. “This guy looks like a chump though. What's his special thinga-mah-do?”

You mean his mutant abilities?

“Yeah those. What's he do?”

Well. He can control and manipulate potential energy and kinetic energy. He also has enhanced physical abilities and something called...'hypnotic charm'. Also also, he is skiled in Savate and Bojutsu.

“So he is an idiot Savate?”

Wow. You really know your X-men.

“Wait a sec,” She suddenly snapped from her musing. Fiddling around in her pouch she finished out her smartphone and tapped on the screen a few times.

“You don't know shit! Yer just reading off the damn wikipedia page! Word for fucking word!”

We have the internet?

...We'll talk about it later.


About that time Gambit seemed to actually see her, not that catching her in her armor and mask was exactly difficult. Still, his reaction was expected to be hostile. She had blown up a strip club with him inside of it, with a little help from some other chump who was still probably buried under the wreckage. So she did what any good self-respecting hero would do, she drew on him. Within the blink of an eye she had two fully automatic pistols leveled at his head, held horizontally of course, because that was how cool people held them. She was cool, right? Right?

Like I said. We'll talk about it later.

“Hey! If this is about the whole...trying to explode you to death thing, it wasn't anything personal, alright? Just part of the job, ya see.” Deadpool said, her voice like someone blowing into a vuvuzela on the pot after eating one to many crunch wrap supremes from Taco Bell.

I think that's enough with the colorful descriptions there.

Yeah...that one was kinda shitty. ...Ahah!


Instead of initiating the expected battle, the weirdo did something, well, weird. He bowed and smiled, which in a sense was kind of cute. He did have a pretty face.

Remember that hypnotic charm thing.

“Right,” She said, giving her head a shake, warding off the slutty vibes that were trying to pierce her thick skull. It wasn't about fighting, it seemed, well, at least not in the way they were accustomed to. He posed a challenge, none other than a skee ball challenge. Really? Him? Against Deadpool? Didn't he knew who she was?

“You just done gone and shot yourself in the foot, Coonass. You have no idea who you are dealing with! I use to be a Skee Ball pro...that was...before...the incident.” Deadpool holstered her guns and quickly turned away from Gambit. She held her arms curled before her, peering up into the sky, well, towards the ceiling.

[Hushed tone] The incident?

“Yes! ...The incident...Spotlight time!” Deadpool said with dramatic effect, just as the lights flashed off, all the games going dark. A spotlight flared to life above her, perfecting illuminating her bodacious frame. A disembodied hand – thanks to the darkness – appeared and handed her a microphone. She took is gratefully, only to bring it to her mouth and take a step to the left.

“It all started...” She began, as the spotlight cut to the right, bathing her in darkness. She paused, grumbled and stepped left, just as the spotlight dashed back to the right.

“That's it! Yer sacked buddy,” Deadpool hissed as she unholstered a pistol and shot into the air above her. There was a gasp of pain, a wilhelm scream and a thump of a body in the darkness.

“Can I get a little help here?”

On it!

Wait, how--

Just go with it!

The spotlight finally corrected itself, landing upon her and following as she moved off to the right.

“Much better. Now, as I was saying. I grew up with skee ball in my blood. I literally came out of my momma holding a skee ball. Really. I was so good at it, even before I could walk. So good in fact my nickname use to be Skee Ball Wilson.”

She took a breath, again pausing for dramatic effect before continuing, “I was good. Damn good. Destined for a career in the pros. That was...until the fateful day...I took a skee ball to the knee.”

There was nothing but the sound of a gentle blowing breeze and crickets. Deadpool could feel the effect of the “.....” as they hung thick about her in the air.

“What? It really, really hurt! Those things are dangerous, man.”


The needle jumped off the record, making the undeniable scratching sound as everything came to a halt. The lights were back on and Deadpool was standing in front of Gambit, clutching a gun to her face like a mic and seemingly babbling to herself. She blinked twice, along with the gentle twinkling sound that accomplished them before she finally snapped out of her own delusion.

“Challenge accepted! Let's do this bitch!” She proclaimed loudly, spinning the gun about on her finger before slipping it back into its holster. She strode confidently to her game, straddling the place before it, her feet spaced out at a shoulder's length apart.

“Next up is...Deadpool versus...The dude with a heavy cajun accent and nearly undecipherable dialogue text!” Deadpool babbled as she snatched up her babble and gave it a toss into the air, sending it spinning about before she caught it mid-air.

Pot calling the kettle black there, amirite?

Sssh. Adults are talking.

Being the lady that she was, not to be confused with the Lady Deadpool, they were completely different dammit, she took the first shot. With a definite skilled precision she rolled it straight up and to the left, right into the 100 point hole.

“Booyah Grandma!” She cried victoriously, fist pumping for good effect. Suddenly she quirked a brow and remembered something. While Gambit was rolling his first ball she brought back out her phone and hurriedly tapped away.

“Forgot to cue the 80's montage music. Here...we...go!” She said with a certain maniacal glee as she pressed the play button and set her phone down between them on the skee ball machines. The music blared to life with all due intensity and the game was afoot! The two champions played like the pros they were, scoring goal after goal without missing a beat. It was intense, thrilling, and maybe sexy...if you were into that kind of thing. In the end though the winner was obviously, if only by a few points.

“Noooooo!” Deadpool wailed when the finally results flashed on the screens at the top of the game. Gambit had won, of course, he was much better at handling small objects and lobbing them about. She collapsed to her knees, doing her best Charlton Heston as she lamented her failure. It was short lived, since she noticed the tickets jutting out from her machine. Loser or not, she now had a butt load of tickets!

Sweet! I want a stuffed bear!

Deadpool swiftly lept to her feet, straightening herself as she brandished her winnings before stuffing them haphazardly into her pouch.

“Welp. You won, Frenchie. So whatta want? Oh I know...of course I know what you want!” Deadpool tittered like a Quarterback as she struck a seductive pose and reached for her mask. Slowly she peeled it away from her neck, revealing the red crusted flesh underneath. It was horrible, brutally disfigured and mangled to the umpteen adjective. It stretched all about, though it was hard to focus on anything but her lips, those crusty red wiggling worms. She puckered for a kiss, ready to relent to the victor.

Um. You got a little something on your face?

Yeah. What the hell is that?

“Oh,” She muttered as she reached up and felt her face. Quickly she rubbed at it, the red crust flecking off with her touch. She sniffed at her fingertips and rubbed it between them.

“Ketchup. Hm. Musta been a sloppy whopper,” Deadpool said nonchalantly, her half concealed face splitting into a wide grin. She wasn't half bad, when she wasn't covered in ketchup. Those lips twitched and pursed as her keen gaze caught something else familar in the crowd, just behind Gamit's shoulder in the mass of people.

“Hey. That guy has a familiar face. Get the wikipedia thing out...who is that?” She asked aloud, thrusting her finger out at Jamie urgently.

He's...Oh....OOOoh. Multiple Man.

“What's a Multiple Man do, exactly?” Deadpool perked a curious eyebrow. She leaned in, as if listening to somewhat whisper over her shoulder.

He makes multiple copies of himself, basically.

“Bingo!” With that, Deadpool was gone, leaving behind a Deadpool shaped cloud of smoke for a brief moment before she zipped up to Jamie, offering her best grin.

“Oheya there. So you can sprout multiple copies of yourself out, eh? Ever thought about having all of 'em team up on a girl?” She asked with reckless abandon.

This sounds like a science experiment about to go very wrong.

Ooh! I volunteer as tribute! Me, me, me!

 

[Lachiyous]

Russia - Kitty

The impacted force, of the. Taxi cab, with the. Remnants of, the rubble. Caused by its. Velocity. It all, happened....

SMAAAAAAAAAASSSSHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh-BOOOM!

Fast. An explosion, of. Smoke, and. Fire, lit. The nightly atmosphere. Created by the, collision.

If the small, of. A girl -- in Kitty -- was, ever. Looking. For the advantage, of...subterfuge. THIS, was in. No way. Going to gain her, that. Edge. Over the 'unknown' enemy. Over these locals. Over any, and. Every, a thing. That which, she couldn't. Seem to understand. When so much, remained. Unknown to her. Like...what was going on? And, why? But. But then. A girl had to do, what. A girl had to do. To live. And survive. And fight, for what. She believed in. Especially when, those. Closest to her -- heart -- might. Be concerned. Especially Piotr Rasputin.

Speaking of which. Subtlety aside. Obviously.

The big local, nearly. Cornered. On his back. And held, by her. Whim. At gunpoint. Was interrogated. "You no shoot me, little gir--"

Bang! She shot him, with his. Own weapon. In the leg. He slightly, winced. Tensing up. The pain. Not pleasing, one bit. The muscles, within his. Jaw, tightening. Tremendously. Though, he. Would not, audibly. Verbalize anything. Not for her, benefit. At least not, anything more. Than an angry whisper. Of contempt.

She was far, past. Motivated, and. Pressed on the offensive. "Where's Piotr?!" Came her scream, at the man. On the ground. Before her.

His icy blues, didn't. Flinch. As the words. Crept. From his lips. Flatly. "мертвых. He is..how you say. Dead." He gave her, a. Moment. "And now.." the man, motioned. To the wreckage, beyond. The both of them. As a result, of. Her meddling. Her antics. "You too...ahh...dead." Was the bullet wound, affecting. Him now. To a point, of. Pain intolerance? The light, from the. Flames, dancing. Shone. Upon him. So that she, could. Watch him. As evening, overtook. Everything...

Wait. What...what was he -- his hand. Fidgeting. Maneuvering. Some. Something. She couldn't quite, make. It. Out. But, his features. On his face. Changed. He smirked, if. Just a bit. Although, she could. Now, see. Blood, seeping. From the one, of. His nostrils. But what did he, just. Do. Which made him, so. Satisfied, with himself?

And.

And.

And, what he. Had said. About Colossus. About her Pete! Could...could she, TRUST. Him? Could she, BELIEVE. Him? Was there, to be. An ounce, of. Truth. Relevant, in this individual? Was...did. Gasp. SIGH. Heavy-hearted. Could she, could they. Could everyone, be. Too late. Much too late. To have fallen, into the. Presumed 'trap'. And missed a -- THE -- opportunity. To save their, dear. Friend. To save her best-est. In the whole, world. Was...there...any hope. Hope left, at all?

Did hope exist?

At this point...

Or. Or. Or was this. This guy. This man. This stranger, trying. To throw her, off. Her game. Was he, preying on. Her weakness. Trying to use it, to his. Advantage? Was she...walking, right. Into her own. 'Trap'. Carrot out in the, open. Nice cardboard, box. Propped up, by. A wooden stick. And lil', gullible kitty. Ready to get, caught!

"What you wait for then?" the dark haired man, grunted. Propping himself up, upon. Both elbows. Releasing, some. Object, on his left side. The side, darkened. And away, from the. Cast illumination. Of the fiery, accident. "You shoot again. Yes?" Did. Was. Was he goading, her. To actually, shoot. Him once more? Did he not, think. That she, wouldn't. Take the shot? Like she didn't, from. The before! And --

"...Мы идем к вам сейчас!.." an indistinct -- yet obviously local -- voice, communicated. Out. The source? Was it...

Glancing down.

...yes! The little device. By his side. That was, exactly. Where the, voice. Spoke through. Was it a phone. A walkie? It was even lighting up. Now. And vibrating a little. Not unlike a smart phone device, would. In receiving a text, message. The man, meanwhile. Didn't even, try. To hide any, of. It. From Kitty. His smirk, grew. Into a full, pleased-with-himself. Grin. Had he somehow, notified. Someone, or someones. Of their current. Location. And status update? Had he been, sharing. Their conversation? "Like I say. You too dead. You--"

...suddenly, within her. Head. Within her, mind. A voice. Not her team mate. Not at all Betsy. It was. Unfamiliar. One, a woman's. Clearly, the individual spoke. <>Please hear me. My name is Jean Grey. You are not alone. I'm coming to help you. I'm coming to give you assistance. Hang in there so that I may reach you!<>

Who...? Huh? Wha...?

In the distance. Within the direction, that. Perhaps. They were, originally, headed. She...she could hear. Sounds. Sounds of something. Something, that weren't. A part of, this. Growing evening. Were..were these sounds, voices? Were they vehicles? Were they...drums..within her own, ears. Echoing, the. Beat, of her heart. And playing, to. That. Of her imagination. Of one. A girl. Alone. On her own. Within some kinda...

Nightmare.

Upon Russian soil.

With. With her. Some stranger. And. And whomever, knew. What else. Out here. In the middle of no where. With Piotr, maybe. Swallow. D-dead...!

...and. Gulp. DEEP BREATH? Who..was Jean..Grey, again. Please?
========================================================================

 

[Lachiyous]

Russia - Sam and Kurt

The haze, of. Darkness. Was a fog. Cast out, this evening. And meant, to. Envelope all. Within it. The Darkness, much. Preferred it, that way. Having long, ago. Cursed, the Light. The Day. For all, that it. Was, and more. The two, forces. Would fight, their. Eternal of battles, the. Every. Twelve. So, hours. For...supremacy. For power. The victor, of course. Could flex, one's. Muscles. And net(or bathe), all. Within, one's. Charmed, designs...

Unless of course, one. Played. Both sides, of the same. Coin?

The Nightcrawler. Herr Wagner. Possibly, fearfully. Demon-esque, on the outside. And the, fullest. Sweetest, of. Hearts, on the interior. So. So was there, ever. A battle, with. Within him. Such that, there. Might be, with the. The very day, and night. To this Earth? Did he struggle, to endure. Endure, to struggle. With something, each. And the every. Moment of his, life? Or...or was it, simply. Easy. To be, all. That there was. To...the German. Mutant..?

As the two. Two of the X-Men, conversed. With one, the other. Within the darkening, night. Jean Grey's, message. Via telepathy. Certainly a hot topic. A long with any, sound. Man made, or otherwise. That wasn't. Natural, to their. Surroundings...

And the golden eyed Kurt, had. In fact, responded to Sam's inquiry. About this Jean. With not having any, knowledge. Of the female, individual. "My more immediate concern was, however, the sound of that gunshot-- who was it fired at, one of ours, one of theirs?"

Yes. The bang of, a gun. Which sounded, out. Westward. From where they were now!

The Kentucky born, southerner. Faced the shining, slits of. His companions eyes -- when he could notice them -- while Kurt, peered back. Westbound. Toward Sam. He continued. "Do we stay here and wait for this new player to find us, whomever they are, friend or foe-- though certainly she sounded like a friendly-- or do we mount a desperate search and rescue? I for one, vote for action-- if this new woman is zeroing in on our thoughts to catch us, she can find us on the move." And. And that's when, he. Could maybe. See..

A light. Orange. Yellow? It. It looked, to be. A fire. Flickering, flaming. Out, there. Out, in. The distance. Was...was someone. Starting up, a campfire. Here. In the middle, of. No where? It...it hadn't, been. There. A couple of, minutes. Ago. Right? And. And if not, campfire. What else, could. Be. On fire?

More chatter. More indistinct. From the, not. To far, away!

"Мы идем к вам сейчас!"

Then. "Расстались. Перейти получить ее!"

Finally. "Rest -- find boy now!"

One out of three, as. Was stated, hm? And. And curious. If and one, could be. Curious. An engine. Started. Followed, by. Another. Then a third. Automobiles! Roared, out. The both, could. Listen. From atop. Their ridged. Perch. Down below. Down there. The 'locals'. Were not. At all. Staying put. They were, actually. Doing, quite. The opposite! The automobiles -- headlights flashing -- sped. Off, and. Away. From the whole, of. Their, general. Location. But. But to, where. Exactly? And why?

...and. Could one, could. They. Seek, to find out. Together? Did it have, any. The thing, to do. With -- squiiiint -- the fire, in. The distance? Was someone, in trouble. There? Was it a trap? According to their, friend. According to Betsy, they. ALL fell, into the 'trap'. But...but, well. What about this, new. Development? Was it something planned?

The...unknown, sure. Wasn't, going to be. Helpful, tonight....

...nor any, team mate. Of theirs, apparently. Nope. Not here. Not now. Not....well....there was, that. Unfamiliar Jean Grey, person. Whomever -- where upon ever -- she was, again.

Where upon ever she, wasn't. Was. Right here. Right now. With them both. Where it might have, mattered most!

The...darkness, reached. Its tendrils, across. The unlit, sky. Cackling sweet nothings, as 'comfort'. The wind, made it. Thus so...
========================================================================

 

[HotCider]

Wolverine - Chinatown Arcade, NY

The X-man had briefly dozed off, while his mutant genes knitted his burnt flesh like crochet needles. He had taken the brunt of the explosion. How? He had no idea. It was possibly bad luck since he had happened to be standing next to the United States Marine, who just so happened to be a mutant. His lower legs up to his stomach and the left side of his body had managed to heal completely, but it was his right side that still resembled the makeup special effects from some zombie horror flick. The pants legs of his jeans were haphazardly torn, burnt, and shredded. His right pants leg had been torn off in the blast up to his knee, and then right above that strip was a gap where fire had burned through the right side of his lap and might have even taken a testicle off. But as with the hair that flourished along his brick-like muscles, it grew back. Not even laser hair removal could have beaten his gene’s healing accuracy.

The white tank he was wearing was black, brown, and orange, showing the degrees of burn that had eaten through it and the thin, rippling flesh that was gradually growing over his exposed muscles and tendons. Wolverine’s right eyelid had just crawled over the white, golf ball-sized orb that was his eye, when he opened them to stare up at Jamie Madrox.

His blue eyes were small and tense as though he was staring at a dead man. Of course, Jamie wasn’t the dead man he had been envisioning. No, his eyes stared right through the teenager like knives through the brain. If it wasn’t apparent to him right then that Logan was pissed, well, all he had to do was sit back and watch. On another note, having just noticed, if Logan hadn’t been high on his rage, he might have questioned the position Jamie had put him in: his head in his lap as though the two were destined to be.

Without a word spoken to him, Wolverine sat up. The skin on the right side of his head and face appearing red and melted, but dark follicles of hair were slowly sprouting along his scalp and jaw. He popped open the back door of the Volkswagon and scooted outside. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind him as he hobbled toward the arcade, taking note of one of his boots having been incinerated in the explosion and the rubber that had melted to his foot was falling off in a trail along the asphalt and concrete.

Frightened gamers were fleeing the arcade and froze in their tracks when they saw what appeared to the undead—damn that House of the Dead game!—hobbling toward them, the shreds of his clothing, swinging to his gait. Screaming in horror, they fled around Logan as the X-man stopped before the door to raise his left foot and unceremoniously throw off his other boot—it was getting in his way. He pulled open the glass door and walked inside, noticing from his peripherals that Deadpool was busy with another Jamie Madrox.

He appeared to be walking toward Gambit until he stopped before a steel chair at one of the dine-in tables. There was still a slice of pizza on the table, having been left by one of the fleeing patrons, and a red and white cup of Coca Cola. Logan picked up the chair and tapped its feet upon the floor to test its sturdiness. Without a word or an eye wasted on Gambit, the Canadian faced Deadpool and started over to her, carrying the chair. When he got within a decent proximity, Logan bore his teeth and swung the chair at the back of her head without mercy, hoping he knocked her damn block off. About this time, he might have told Jamie that he didn’t normally hit ladies—just so that he wouldn’t seem like too much of a bad example for the future of the Xavier school—but they should have all been able to agree that Deadpool was no lady. If they had wanted answers, based on his past experience, he always had to beat it out of her. The chair was only the beginning, the mercenary was going to have a feral Wolverine on her hands.

 

[Remec]

Madrox -- Chinatown Arcade, NY

It's one thing to be inconspicuous, and another thing, entirely, to be trying to be so. Especially when the crowd of people you had hoped to blend in with have scattered into the farthest corners of a room (or simply left the building entirely). Jamie Madrox had allowed himself to be so caught up in the edge-of-the-seat skeeball match between Gambit and Beadpool that he had not noticed he was now pretty much all by himself as their audience.

He felt a surge of trepidation as the mouthy merc drew back her mask. The nervousness grew as Jamie felt his own mouth swell with saliva that he couldn't make up his mind if he wanted to swallow or spew forth all over the floor of the gaming arcade. He sighed in relief at the ketchup crust was dispense with and he realized that Deadpool was bad, but not terrible...and the way her costume hugged and accentuated all her curves made up for the badness.

Somewhat.

Sort of.

But then, the next thing he knew, she was right there in his space. Meeting his eyes and leaning in close. "Oheya there. So you can sprout multiple copies of yourself out, eh? Ever thought about having all of 'em team up on a girl?” She asked with reckless abandon.

Jamie finally swallowed and took a deep breath. "Well, growing up mostly by ourselves out in the boonies that wasn't something that was really a priority," Jamie said. As he finally got the farm wired up for Internet and then actually came into New York City to visit Dr Richards, he found himself exposed to much more things of a prurient nature. Things that he ordered a few dupes to research, both online as well as by visiting adult shops (such as were still left in tact after Times Square was gutted).

"Once I learned about such things, well, yeah, sure..." his eyes dropped down to take in how well Deadpool's uniform presented her cleavage to him "...I doubt I've really thought about much else." He sort of held his breath, waiting for a response, but when a chair came out of seemingly nowhere to slam against Deadpool's skull, Jamie jumped back and whacked his own head against a nearby game of Tron.

The pair of Jamies looked past Deadpool at the ambulatory Logan, slowly reforming the last bits of explosion blasted flesh and sprouting new growth of hair and fur and their eyes grew wide. "Professor Logan?!?!?"

 

[Lachiyous]

Snow Day -- Bobby

Thursday early afternoon. [Isère, France]

Don't fall.
Don't slip.
Don't slide...off, the snowboard!

No.

Stay. Stay up. Stay focused. It's important, to keep face. Keep confident. Or at least, fake it. For the camera. People -- fan boys(and girls) -- were watching, let. One, remember. It wouldn't do, to tumble. Down. The mountain....Frosty the Snowman-esque. And make a damned -- amateur-like -- fool, out of. Oneself. With all, slush. Moisture. And, wounded pride alike.

Nah.

That wouldn't happen. Not quite. First and foremost. He was, a. YouTube smash hit. People, from all. Over. The world. Looked to his, channel. To catch him. Do his thing. Tame the highest, sleakest. Of slopes. With his go-to-board. And trick it all out. At the same!

Bobby Drake, the Iceman sensation! (the nickname of course originated from his young-- albeit very successful -- career as an Olympic figure skater)

So, wait. Snowboarding, in the....Summer? Mid June, no less! How. How upon ever. How, in the warmest of warms. Could, this. Even. Remotely, be. Possible?

Les Deux Alpes resort, within the. French Alps. Elevated above, as one of the. Top most, areas. On the Earth. For recreational. Skiing and snowboarding. Its Glacier du Mont de Lans, enabled the. Winter activity, access. All year.

For him. For Bobby -- could the place. Be. Any more, perfect?

Mastering the sport.
Showing off to the fans.
Basking in the glory...within his element!

Oh. The second part. Secretly, yes. Of course. He was a mutant. Which may, or may not. Have had, something. To do. With this expertise, of his. This passion. This affinity. All things, cold. All things, moisture. All things, frozen....

But still.

But even so.

No one knew. No one could, or would. That the internet phenomenon. The Olympic figure skater. Bobby Drake. The Iceman....really, truly. Was. A mutant. People didn't even know. What that, meant. Even. So it wasn't possible, for any of. This -- and knowledge of his secret -- to be, common. Place.

Grin, on display. GoPro Hero 3+ in hand. His board, carving up -- swisssssssssssshhhh sloshhh LEEEEEEEEEAP! -- slopes...

One, by. One.

Cool as ice.

Even, this...time. Of day. After all, couldn't stop. The experience of, true passion. Right?

.....it may not, have been. Until. After. After, some. Time, had. Passed. And the individual, returned. To his room, in which. He was staying. That reality, was. There. Waiting for him. On his smart phone device. Something he might have, not. Checked, in awhile. Communication. From Professor Charles Xavier!

Bobby --

Join Sam and the others, when you're able to. For Piotr!

Charles

Also, an email attachment. To the text message. It was an online, plane. Ticket. To Russia! What could this mean? A mission? What had happened, to his. Companion in Colossus? Why were the others there? Perhaps, if Bobby. Hadn't been, 'vacationing'. Out here. He'd maybe, be. More aware. Of the situation. And current events.

Yet...everyone, needed. A vacation, the. Once in, awhile. Wasn't that so? And besides. Freakin' gorgeous out here! Ahhh...

UPLOADED!

Score baby. Kay. Now...responsibility land...?
========================================================================

 

[Lachiyous]

NYC - Rogue

[The World Trade Center. Windows of the World restaurant. In Lower Manhattan, New York]

She -- this mysterious presence, this female Angel, this....savior(?) -- was, there. At the broken window's, entrance. Radiant. Strands of her golden, tresses. Tossing, about. With the evening's wind. As too, the strawberry sash, tied. To her waist. One could, just....tell. She stood, for. For everything -- anything -- that. Was. Right, in this world. For justice. She exuded such, the. Aura, about her. Respect. Dignity. This. This. All from simply, looking at her? YES. It was in her stance. Her crystalline blue irises. And..."This ends. NOW."

Super. Heroine.

Game over.

These folk -- the super kind -- were, bred. To save the day. The world. The universe! They all, just. Found a way. Always. To win. No if's, and's, or but's about it. Because. Because, that's. Quite, simply. How it worked. Good guys = win. Bad guys = lose. There must, have. Been. Some kind of, manual. Some all purpose, all encompassing. Informative bundlement. A super hero bible, of some sort. Which dictated such. And illustrated the how's. And why's. On the way, things -- reality. Just was. As it was meant, to be. No questions, ever. needed to be. Asked...

"....who the hell are you su---" was the intended, inquiry. From Melter, before. A super heroine's, fist. Slammed, up. The side, of. His domed helmet. Effectively, knocking it. Off, and him. Out. Cold...

Crane the neck. Furrow of brow.

"Don't try it, sister or I'll--" was an attempted, threat. From Trapster, yet --

SWOOOOOOOOSHHHHH!

...she charged into him, like. A jet. Throwing the individual, against the. Closest bar. She smashed his, weapon. At that. And didn't notice, the. Device, he. Was holding, from the before. Which he picked up, from. The frosty haired, inhabitant. It had dropped, in the mid-flight. Stomping!

Okay. One. Two.

...meanwhile. Cat and mouse, time. With Beetle, and. Rogue. After he'd given her, some well. Thought out, and heart. Felt, medicine. As sincere, as he could. With his armored, fists. He additionally spit out the, words. Harshly. For her. "All this time… all this time you’ve thought you were better than us… Just cause she found you. Staying behind when the rest of us went out. You thought that her liking you made you more important, you were never more important you arrogant little bitch."

When she maneuvered her, weight. Around, shifting herself. After having a go, at him. With her blood filled grin. This took him, by. Surprise. Somehow. And she sought out, that. Tiny moment, of recovery. Shoving him off, from. Her. The notion, enabling her. To get. Up. Onto her own. Two of feet. Slowly, of course....phew!

And. And him? He...

"Gonna CRACK your sk---" was what came, out. From Beetle, although --

SWOOOOOOOOSHHHHH!

...the brilliant blur, of someone. Was upon him, first! It was...it was. The person. The lady. The one, that was. At the entrance, to the. Broken window. The masked female. Long, blonde hair. Cascaded, down. The curve of her, being. As she held, a boot. Down, upon his. Torso. And then bent, shoving. The other, knee. Unto him. He reached out. Helpless. At her. Magnanium alloy gloves sparking. With life. Right. At her face!

ZZZZZAAAAP!

"Ahhh!" her leather-glad hand came, to her. Masked face. As the shock, gave her. Pause. And caused her, to. Stumble. Back. A bit.

...Beetle didn't hesitate. Shoving her, the rest. Of the way, off. It wasn't until, he leapt. Up, at her. With angry. Armored, fists.

..that, she -- calmly -- reasserted, herself. And her position, unto. The situation. Stopped him. With both, her. Hands. His momentum. Everything.

SLAM!

...right back down. Onto the floor. "No." She stated, quite. Simply. And then. And then, she was. On him.

On top of him. Swiftly. Soundlessly. In a moment, before he could. React. She had his armored, mask. Off. Revealing the man's. Stunned, face. Beneath. That. That there, might have been the. Last. He saw. Before....

POUND!

The super heroine's fist, made. Such justice, with. His face!

...a few things, of note. Whilst this, last. 'Scuffle', of a. Beat down. One, the device. Which Trapster had. Dropped. By her ambushed, mark. On the floor, in the middle. Of the room's capacity. And, yet. With a mechanical, 'life'. Of its own...

DeetDeetDeetDeet!

...another, Rogue. Able, minded. And bodied, to lay. Witness, to. To the super heroine, before her. Whom, came. Not only to. The whole, of the. Restaurant's rescue. But that, of the. Girl's own, too. Yes? And yet....

...was. Wasn't there some. One. Some person else, missing. From this whole, escalated. Of a scenario. Herein? Well, besides. Mystique of course. Because she hadn't seen her, 'caretaker'. Since the down, of. Stairs. But. But. What about....that dapper man? What about her 'date'? Where was he?

Still...one -- Rogue -- couldn't. Help. But perhaps, remember. Words. Thoughts. At this point, of which. Were engrained. Within her very, pretty. Little mind. Those of her mother's. Mystique's. "You need to...touch this woman. Where her skin is showing." She had told the girl. "The minute you make physical contact. Don't let go."

Was. Was this. Was this super heroine. Was this woman, this lady. Was she, whom Mystique meant? Why? How could she? What was the reasoning, behind it all? She could...remember....the dire, and. Dreadful, of significance. That both Irene and Raven, impressed upon her. About this whole situation. About tonight. About the meeting, and this fight. And this encounter....

...but. But didn't this person, come. To help her. After all? Wouldn't it be wrong, to 'repay'. Her. In such a way. Such a dangerous, way. With Rogue's very special, very own. Mutant power? What would happen, if....

...and...and how could she even, be. Sure. That this, was. Even the. Person?

"Everyone all right? Miss? Are you okay? Here let me help you up. Nice and easy..." before Rogue could make, sense. Of it, the woman. Was there. Before her. Offering the leather covered, glove. As a means, of assistance. And in doing so --

Didn't Mystique also say something like. "She'll know to come to you. Make no mistake!"

....a perplexed, expression. Crossed the features, of the woman. As her masked liquid-blues, caught. Sight. Of Rogue's I.D. badge. With Carol Danvers, posted. On there, clear. As day.

"You'll be wearing the woman's name. Upon you..."

DeetDeetDeetDeet! sounded that device.

Remnants of her foster, mother's. Voice. Played out, within Rogue's mind.

And the woman. Standing before her. Incomprehension, upon her. Face. With her blue eyes, and. Blond tresses. Clearly, this. Development. This curve ball, wasn't. Something she. Could have. Come close to. Predicting. "What..what's going on here?" She slowly asked. Losing her, stance. Her aura. Her...foot. Hold, on the moment. For the moment. If, but. Because of this. Moment...
=============================================

 

[HotCider]

Iceman - On his flight to Russia

First class…It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever ridden in it before but he always appreciated the kind gesture, especially when it was free. Bobby was reclined with a big, blue firm pillow cradling his head. His blankets were drawn up to his shoulders—not like he needed them, but the comfort counts!—and he was resting his eyes as two earbeads whispered relaxing music into his ears. Man, this was the life. Yeah, he was going to save his friends but at that moment, it didn’t feel like there were any emergencies.

Suddenly, a hand tapped him on his shoulder and when he opened his brown eyes he didn’t see the stewardess. What he saw instead were two Russian or possibly Ukrainian girls standing before him with eager grins on their faces. What fi~ine specimens…one was blonde with dark eye shadow, thick fan-like lashes and eyes like crisp ice. Her lips were a rose-red and the dress she wore was a simple black sleeve with a slit down the thigh. Her friend to her right had short, dark brown hair, moussed in a bladed-style with purple highlights. Her makeup resembled her friend’s and her nice pair of tits seemed to sit far from her chest like a bowl of jello on a ledge. Her dress and the collar around her neck was also black, and how could he not notice the tattoo of a black serpent dragon extending down her right arm?

Sitting up in his chair, Bobby tightened his smile so as not to express the perverse grin that wanted to expand on his face. Pulling an ear bead from his ear, he arched a charming brow at the girls and coolly greeted, “Здравствуйте, мои красивые девушки. Чем могу помошь?” Yeah that relaxing music he was listening to? It was Basic Russian Volume 1. A stud like Bobby Drake had to learn to be smooth in all languages.

His swag seemed to have worked too. Their cheeks flushed as they giggled giddily.

“My name iz Irina,” the dark-haired beauty greeted.

“I Nina,” said the blonde.

“You are Bobby Drake?” the dark-haired girl questioned on her broken English.

“In the flesh, baby,” Bobby answered with a wink.

The girls squealed. Jumping up and down before grasping each other’s’ hands to calm down.

“We love you! So hot! So sexy! We saw you on TV durink Olympics! So beautiful!” the dark-haired girl screamed.

Bobby blushed. The flattery was making him grin. “Wow, you saw that, eh? I thought that Russia would be disappointed that Evgeni Plushenko had gotten his flowery-ass beaten.”

“Fuck him! We Ukraine!” the females exclaimed before falling into a fit of giggles. “Please autograph. For my Mama!”

Bobby glanced down at his blanket before drawing out his hand which was holding a pen. “Ta da!”

The girls smiled before their brows rose in surprise. Patting their dresses, they had forgotten the paper they were going to use. Desperate, the dark-haired girl shuffled closer in her stilettos, lowering her bountiful boobies before his face.

“Sign boobs! It okay. To Mama pleaze.”

Bobby exhaled softly an aroused breath as he popped the cap on his sharpie. “You’re lucky that’s all I’m gonna do to’em.”

He wrote along her tits: To Mama from Bobby Drake.

“Now get them out of my face before I get charged with molestation.”

Peering down at her chest, the dark-haired girl squealed with excitement that had her breasts bobbing before his eyes. Bobby had been following their movements unabashed until her hand cupped his cheek and she leaned forward to steal a fiery kiss from his lips. When the Ukrainian vixen drew her lips away, Bobby slowly opened his eyes feeling a little dazed as the girl went to hide behind her blonde friend.

“Me, do me!” the blonde exclaimed.

Bobby slow blinked. “What? When?...Wait, what?”

“To Nina!”

She didn’t have big ol’ boobies like her friend and so she resorted to hiking up her dress, showing off full, naked cheeks and the black thong that was snug between them. A pink curtain of lace hung halfway down her ass, and at first Bobby was hesitant, stunned by how bold and wild the Slaavic women were being.

“To Nina! To Nina!” she demanded, her cheeks jiggling in her excited shuffle.

“Hold still,” Bobby ordered as he rested a hand against her bottom—why not when the opportunity was presented?—causing the girl to giggle before the wet kiss of the marker followed. She held a hand to her face as she tried not to laugh from the tickling she was receiving.

With a poke from the marker and slap on the ass—God, he was loving it—Bobby announced with a grin, “There you go!”

The two girls squealed and just as her friend did, the blonde tugged down her dress and whirled to smash her lips against the famed figure skater’s. Tearing her lips from his own, the Ukrainian women ran like little girls back to economy. Bobby was left leaning over his chair with a happy and aloof smile on his face. Was that what this trip was going to be like? His eyes then rolled over to an old man who had been giving him an ugly stare. He seemed to have been offended by the American’s mannerisms. Bobby’s smile shifted to the side of his face into an arrogant smirk.

“Don’t worry Pops, they were before your time,” Bobby told the man before he sank back into his chair with a smile that he didn’t know what to do with. It was frozen there. With a content sigh, he stuck his ear bud back into his ear and nuzzled the back of his head into a pillow.

This trip is gonna be awe-soo~me!

 

[ChasNicollette]

Russia - Kurt - Ephesians 6:12.

The darkness deepened, and the plot thickened.

"They're spreading out, looking for us," Kurt squinted.

He hesitated. "Well-- looking for you, I don't think they know I'm here yet. We have that small advantage at least."

"Though it's odd-- why would they switch languages? Do they want us to understand some words but not others? Or are there non-Russian-speakers in their filthy cadre?"

Nightcrawler shook his head and tangled his hand through his hair, though this gesture was again all-but invisible in the darkness.

"In any case-- in the traditional Spanish schools of swordfighting, you choose what circle you stand and fight in-- and in show business, you always leave them wanting more. Whoever these people are, we should not be here when they get here."

"I wish to see what would still catch light in this blasted heath. If they have left soldiers behind to watch the flames, then we will perhaps be able to pick them off and seek answers rather than making a full frontal assault?"

He reached out and clasped Sam's shoulder. "And, with your forgiveness, mein Bruder, I think that your usual mode of travel might give away our position, given the brightness of your rocket-boost. I think perhaps a subtler means of locomotion is in order-- relax, I am told it makes things easier."

BAMF!

And-- carefully-- teleporting in the dark in unfamiliar terrain even with his lovely nightvision required both precision and accuracy-- he brought them within a couple dozen or so yards of the fire, hopefully still under the cover of night--

--subjecting Sam to the unpleasantness of Kurt's teleportation in the process, that all-over feeling of getting punched in the stomach and zapped by static at the same time, not to mention the vomitous stench of sulfur... but Sam was made of stern stuff--

--and where they landed they would find...

...was los?

 

[AnyOtherName]

Russia - Laura

"I received, well....I suppose I overheard a telepathic distress call. Back at the Estate. From someone -- a woman -- I've never met. Led me here to Siberia. One that I feel I want -- no, need -- to help! And I've been tracki--" Jean started to explain.

<>We've all fallen into their trap! They've separated us from one another. If we have any hope, we nee----<>

The projected thought startled this particular recipient. Laura doubted she would ever fully adjust to the experience, to the realization that some other had such easy access to her mind; which was particularly unsettling when the soundless voice was completely unknown to her. Understandably, a sudden rush of confusion and paranoia distracted her attention from the task at hand.

Who was this person? How was it that she...or why would she, reach out to X-23? Emerald eyes shifted towards her passenger, one of the only two people she knew in the world capable of such communications. Had the message been sent for her? Laura's lips parted, a question forming, when a sudden blaring of a horn suggested some sort of danger ahead.

...Oh right. Steering. A quick jerk of the wheel swerved the car out of the opposing lane, a maneuver the former assassin completed without any outward signs of stress. Instead, her brows remained drawn together, her mind primarily concerned with the stranger's intrusive call.

Her gaze lifted briefly towards the rear view, searching the reflection for potential tails: a ritual that would remain in effect as they continued on this unexpected escapade. There was an ever-present threat, even as X-23 couldn't directly identify it. She'd be vigilant to remain on guard.

<>Please hear me. My name is Jean Grey. You are not alone. I'm coming to help you. I'm coming to give you assistance. Hang in there so that I may reach you!<>

Laura was more prepared to receive such a message from a known source and didn't attempt to commit vehicular homicide in response this time. A glance in her companion's direction would reveal a complete whiteness of her eyes, something Laura hadn't witnessed previously, and something she might have stared at for a few moments longer if she hadn't already proven the need to watch the road.

"Something bad just happened.” Jean spoke as she came out of her trace-like state. “I can't explain it. But on the psychic plane -- with my powers -- I saw and felt...something. You need to step on it. We have to find this person and fast. Before....it's too late!"

Laura would follow her passenger's directions towards their destination without resistance, which took them towards the outskirts of the city. Laura had no intention of abandoning the mission her companion had set herself upon, or even questioning her on it – whether or not she understood the rational, or as foolish or unnecessary as she thought it was to seek to help a stranger... A mission was a mission. And it was nice to have a purpose every once in awhile.

Eventually the two women found themselves far outside of the city, the dying light upon the horizon sinking into obscurity. The driver had remained silent, pondering their predicament, considering the options of approach. For now, though, all she could do was follow Jean's sense, remain vigilantly aware of their surroundings and hope that they weren't speeding ahead to face-check an ambush.

Laura was hesitant to turn on the headlights, even as it grew too dark to safely drive without them. She could smell smoke. It was faint, but... The scent reeked of burning plastic. And...of oil, gas, and cloth...maybe even...human flesh?

Her eyes caught a flicker of flames in the distance. She let up on the gas and allowed their vehicle to coast as she considered the sight, too far off yet for Laura's keen senses to identify the situation with any detail.

“...Is this something we want to get involved in?” she asked her passenger.

 

[Lachiyous]

Gambit

[Chinatown Fair. Within Lower Manhatten, New York]

The moment eye, contact. Had been, made. She -- the masked figure -- flexed. On the ready. Pistols on the draw. Pointed them, at him. At his face. Her intentions. Her mindset. Her invitation....for brawling. Well-received. And she, even. Added, almost. Apologetic wording! "Hey! If this is about the whole...trying to explode you to death thing, it wasn't anything personal, alright? Just part of the job, ya see." The voice. Her voice. Still...as soothing, as. Nails on a, chalkboard.

Subtlety, was. A strong suit, for him. He knew, one needed. Plant a seed. Then bide, one's. Time.

"'sfunny runnin' into de likes of you 'ere, no?" Remy bowed, with the. Little bit of a flourish. For her behalf. "All t'ings de same. W'at say lil' comp'tition.." He gestured to the lanes of Skee Ball, before them. "Lil' motivation d'ain't never 'urt de no one." A token, was placed. Unto the coin slot. One for her. One for him. The game balls rolled out. The score boards, at the top. Reset to 00. "De winner gets somet'ing from de loser!" He let out, a little. Laugh. The molten fire of his irises, flaring. Out. To her, and. Her alone. As did, a smile. Seemlessly, roll. Off those Cajun lips of his!

"You just done gone and shot yourself in the foot, Coonass. You have no idea who you are dealing with! I use to be a Skee Ball pro...that was...before...the incident." the individual before him. In the own, of 'her'. Fashions. Appeared, to have. Accepted. His competition. Because she, put. Away. The both of her, weaponry. Yet...yet.

Gambit's gleaming, red's. Focused, on the. Presence, before him. She began, going off. On a tangent. Most of which, he couldn't. Quite. Discern. Was she, even. Addressing him, at this. Point, in time? What...was going on? She certainly, was. An animated one. If not, a mite....eccentric. Flamboyant even?

Wait.

Was she. Was she...on the floor, now. Gripping one of her, hand. Guns. By its barrel, yet. Bringing it to her. Masked, face?

The Cajun stared. Almost, unsure. If this was truly, a. Facade. Some kind of, brilliant. Act. Put on by this, mysterious. Person. Or. Or if something, really. Was. Amiss here. It would be, difficult. To tell. With having, just. Met the individual, not. The long, ago. (today!) He didn't know, what. She was, or. Wasn't. Supposed to be, like.

At the moment, he considered:

She was violent.
She was jittery.
She was perhaps...off.

He watched her, come to. Once again. More coherent, and eager than ever. "Challenge accepted! Let's do this bitch!" She squawked. And, as she. Took, to her. Position. In front of the lane, she. Rattled out, not unlike. Metal rubbing metal. "Next up is...Deadpool versus...The dude with a heavy cajun accent and nearly undecipherable dialogue text!"

She certainly liked, games. He notated, with. An upturned brow. And a side, long. Grin. Good t'ing dis won't be de last...game den. An' more 'mportant. De Cajun love a sportin' contest! "Gambit. De name's Gambit. 'Member it, Mlle 'Pool." he corrected her, with. A nod of his, head. This, before. He then, oriented himself. Fully. In front of his lane. And picked up, the first. Game ball. It wasn't about, the. Actual contest. Skee Ball. For which, he didn't. Anticipate, having much. The issue, in. Playing. And playing well, at that. At least, to. The point. Of believably, winning. All in de 'pearance an' de flick o' de wrist! Yeah. His opponent, though. Enthusiastic, in the own. Of her, right. Definitely didn't, seem. To possess, the right. Sense, or. Direction. Based of course, on being. Within. Her presence....

No. Not about the game. Or so much, getting. To know. This person, beside him. Dead. Pool. With so much, going on. Up and down. Remy could, have. Definitely, found it. Her, difficult, to. Get any read on. Such as, motivation. What was hers? What was she, after? Why was she, at. The Brazen Fox? The individual, was just. All over the place. How could anyone, keep. Up wi--

"Noooooo!" The match, was finished. He bested, her. And. And was she, down. On her knees, once more. In dramatic...anguish?

Gambit in took, what. He could. And should, of the. Entertainment, that was. A Dead. Pool. And all, the facets. She'd like, to. Display for him. Here. Today.

And when, it came. Time. To acknowledge, her loss. "Welp. You won, Frenchie. So whatta want? Oh I know...of course I know what you want!" Indeed. A deal, was. A deal. Time to pay up...

And she modeled, herself. In such the, way. As to make, the. Notion. Appealing, for. Him. Again. All over, the. Place. He didn't see, his. Opening, though. Until she, reached. For her mask, and. Pulled it up, away. From her skin's surface. At least, so far as. Up to her nose. Revealing...

"Oh. Ketchup. Hm. Musta been a sloppy whopper." she worked, out. Grinning despite, of. Herself.

"Heh." He allowed, slip out. At first sight. Of the 'mess', upon her. He placed, one. Steady, hand. Upon her face, and. Proceeded. To wipe, away. Any remnants, of the. Dried, hamburger. Sauce. From her face. His fiery orbs, gleaming at her. Nodding. Satisfied, with her. Current state -- considering -- Remy, then. Looked, to claim. His prize. "Now 'bout de winnin's.."

....leeeeeeeeeaning in close...

....one smooth, Cajun smile. No. He wasn't, even. THINKING about, giving this. Female individual, some. Appropriate, if. Not, well-earned(and deserved). Southern charm. Furthest thing, from. His mind. But one -- he -- couldn't. Very well. Move in for, the. Kill. At the start. Again, all about the. Subtlety.

A hand, to his. Pocket. Clutching the metal, therein. It was, after all. Entirely about, timing.

....whiiiiiiiiiiipp'ed it, out. Button pressed. And...

The timing -- had come!

SWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGGGGGGGGG'ing the bo staff. At her. The masked figure. Odd gal. Dead. Pool. Only. Only...

....whifff!

?

He missed. Somehow. She. She wasn't, in front. Of him, anymore. He hit, nothing. It was just...vapor?

Huh?

...this...caused him, to. Narrow. His red irises, and. Furrow, his. Brows. He whipped, his head. And gaze, around the place. And sure enough, there. The individual was. Next to.....the youth. Jamie Madrox! What's more --

DeetDeetDeetDeet!

Hm. The cell phone device, which. She had, set down. During their Skee Ball, one. On, one. It chirped. And angrily. He picked it up, slinging his. Weapon, over his. Shoulder.

SLAAAAAAAAAAMMMMM--craacckkk!

"W'at de..." he glanced, to the. Sound. And there. By now, TWO. Multiple Men. There, standing over. Yes. A now, what. Appeared, to be. Knocked-out. Masked figure. Out from, Alison's. Car. Up and about. He saw, The Wolverine. With an, obvious. Steel chair, still. In hand. Freshly used, on the. Person, that. Was, upright.

He made his way, to his. Companions. "So much for tryin' an' not draw 'tention eh?" His reds, roved. From the figure, on. The floor. To the Jamies. And back, to. The short, stout X-Man. "Nice t'see you upright 'gain, even if..." he nodded to, the. Eccentric girl, lying there. "...you beat Gambit t'de PUNCH!"

Remy allowed, the. Mite of a smirk, to register. Expressively, upon. Himself.

DeetDeetDeetDeet! her device called out, within. His possession.

"Oui. Gal left it, back dere." Inspecting it, revealed blinking words. Upon the LCD Screen:

FOXY RICH
MUTHA PHUCKA

"Don' know w'at dis 'bout...but...could be clue." After showing her, cell. To both team mates, the Cajun. Regarded the masked figure, with. Some doubt. "'Course, dat all could be diff'rent...if she dead, non?"

DeetDeetDeetDeet!
========================================================================

 

[KattDclaw]

Deadpool [Chinatown Fair. Within Lower Manhatten, New York]

With a sigh Deadpool settled back in her director's chair, one leg crossed over the other, ankle on knee. She cradled an ancient copy of Dragon Magazine in her grasp, issue #135, cuz...Dragons are fuckin' METAL. Her mask was pulled up just over the tip of her nose, revealing her lower features, wide, full lips that occasional drifted apart for the tip of her tongue, her thumb rising to flick across it before she thumbed through another page. A pair of Hello Kitty headphones lay snug upon her cranium, blasting out the hard hitting tunes of the Japanese metal idol band BabyMetal [insert obligatory link here]. Her foot twitched to the beat and she hummed an entirely different tune as she read up on her different types of Chromatic dragons.

My faaaaavorite is Blue!

Can't go wrong with Red.

Pft. You would, Munchkin.

“C'mon girls. Stop bickerin' for a few minutes, will yah? We got awhile before everyone else gets caught up with their posts,” Deadpool yawned, flipping another page. She lounged back in her chair briefly, her eyes slowly rolling up towards the ceiling as one hand fell to her stomach.

“You know...I could really got for a Chim--”

Hey! He finally posted!!

Hm. Well I guess you win that bet. Looks like it's back to work.

“Really?” Deadpool blinked, glancing towards the other character's that were left in place, Wolverine approaching with his chair and death in his eyes, Jamie looking all cut and just barely above jailbait status, and of course Gambit looking confused at the smoke shaped outline of her bodacious frame. With a sigh she threw the magazine over her shoulder and pushed up to her feet. She cleared her throat, took a sip of her Diet Coke(tm) and started to do her vocal exercises.

“Rubber baby buggy bumpers. Rubber baby buggy bumpers. She sells seashells by the shee shore. FUCK!”

Nice one, Jane Fonda.

...Why her...?

Uh. I dunno. She's kinda hot.

“She's no Bea Arthur,” Deadpool sighed, tugged her mask back into place just above her nose again and sauntered back into place before Jamie. She cocked a hip, arched her back, gave him that gratuitous cleavage shot and snapped her fingers.

Aaaaaaaaaand ACTION!


She flashed her very best sultry smile, which, in all honestly looked a little maniacal. But then again it was hard to pull off anything short of that. Still, the young boy looked eager and willing, so Deadpool couldn't help but titter like a Russian goalie and lean in closer. She brought a hand before them, tapping at the tip of his nose as she leaned in slowly.

“I just thought of the perfect game we can play, just you and me...and you...and you...and maybe you! We're gonna play hide the Jamie salami...I'll teach yah what a Donkey Punch is too,” She was so appealing, despite her obvious detractions, so numerous to count, she was pretty hot, not that it really helped her much all the time. Still, it seemed to work for Jamie boy here, so maybe the night just might turn out alright.

Yah for happy endings!

Oh we'll give him a happy end.

Wow...that was kinda lewd for you..

Why do I always have to be the uptight one? I like cock as much as the next disembodied floating text bubble, dammit!

You go girl!

It was hard to focus on anything more than the pretty face before her, the idea of being the cream in a Jamie Madrox Oreo was just too appealing. She almost missed the character strolling up with the chair in his head, intent upon removing her head from her shoulders. Luckily enough though, she had got caught up on her SPIDER-MAN* subscription, so her Spidey senses were in full effect! She heard the air hissing as the chair was swung and in dramatic fashion raised her right hand just in time to catch the leg of the chair before it smashed into her head. The muscles in her arm tensed and rippled as she resisted the full momentum of Logan's attack, only to slowly turn her head and provide the mutant a sidelong glance. A slow smile drifted out across her lips before a dry, slightly amused laugh parted them.

“Nice try, Bub.” She muttered lightly, before deftly spinning on the balls of her feet. She snapped out her left leg, connecting with the side of his still meaty face. It sent the mutant reeling, a lock of profound shock and horror upon his ruggedly handsome face. In the same motion Deadpool holstered two pistols and held them at the awesome gangster level before her, drawing down on the perplexed Logan.

“Yer in luck! I just loaded up on Wolverine Bane bullets today!” She flashed that lunatic grin and slid her fingers onto the triggers.

They bypass adamantium damage reduction! Squee!

And their +4 to attack and damage.

Without missing a beat Deadpool pulled the triggers and unloaded both clips directly into Logan's chest. The noise was deafening in the enclosed environment of the arcade, though as it died down Deadpool stood tall and proud, smoke rising from the nuzzles. Logan was nothing but a smoldering corpse on the floor now, a red smear like so much Chipotle in a pair of Tighty-Whities. Slowly, and dramatically, don't forget dramatically, she approached the still warm corpse and unloaded a few more rounds into his skull, just to make sure. With that done she brought one pistol to her lips and blew on the muzzle, a cocky smirk twisting her lips.

All of the sudden a placard appeared before her, along with a digital swoosh and the several words appeared in flickering gold:

Achievement Unlocked: Didn't even need adamantium bullets!!!

Fuck that movie sucked.

Inorite?!?

“Hail to the King,” Deadpool proclaimed, much to the fanfare of the crowd. They ran in, several adoring Jamie's that threw themselves about her. Gambit lept in from the side, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around her legs while kissing her hip. She saw fluttering heads floating about their heads, just before a few Jamie hands started to get all too grabby.

“Oooh! Hey now...C'mere...Gimme sum sugar baby!” Deadpool giggled hoarsely, grabbing for the nearest Jamie to slather with inappropriately wet kisses.

They poofed, much to her surprise, like a surprise fart after a hard cough. Deadpool snapped back into reality, just in time to see the confused look on Jamie's face. She'd seen that look before, usually it was directed right at her face, but it was slightly to the right.

She moved just in time to get a glancing blow to the side of her head, enough to let out a thunderous crack and send her sprawling to the ground. Stars replaced those little hearts as the pain laced through her head, nearly blacking out from the pain. She let out a very girly scream, clutching at her head and nearly buckling from the assault. She hadn't been expecting that, no, certainly not. Why does everyone always have to cock block her??

It's a damn shame.

Uh. I think we got bigger troubles than a case of blue balls, girls.

“FUCK! That hurt!” She bellowed, leaping up to her feet and ripping off her mask fully. It had a sizeable hole in it, as did her skull, which was giving a decent spurt of blood at a diagonal angle. Deadpool finally did reveal her face though, which surprisingly wasn't half-bad, it half of it wasn't covered in blood and the rest contorted in pain and anger.

“I just got this sewed up, fuck man! Do you realize how much these cost?” Deadpool all but whined as she smashed the ruined mask against the back of her head, the gash still gushing blood.

Head wounds are always so messy.

It was about that time that she finally managed to turn and face her assailant, who was quickly collecting his X-men's to his side. That look of pain faded at the realization of just how had assaulted her. She looked shocked, then crushed, then adorably sad before she started to squeak, “Et tu, Wolvie?!”

She sniffled, a disgusting that that made even her disembodied voices cringe.

“All I did was try to kill you! Why all serious? The rest of your crew knows how to have a good time. C'mon! How 'bout a nice game of skee ball, huh? Oh! Or maybe air hockey is more yer thing, huh yah sexy Canuck?”

You do remember your Canadian too, right?

“Shuddap! You wanna have it like this? Then fine!” That weepy expression suddenly turned hardcore as she reached for her chest, only to snap off one of her numerous hand grenades. Just as she flicked off safety pin though, those brown eyes blinked sharply, focusing in on what Gambit held in his hand.

“Whoa! Hey! That's mine! Dude! You can't go stealin' a girl's phone! That is so...gah...I can't even! Give it back yah Sonnabitch!”





Do I really have to read this?

Yes. Just do it. We have to appease the masses.

Sigh...Fine!

* This correction has been brought to you by the letter N, the number 2, ChasNicollette and all the other comic book geeks out there!

 

[Tight_n_ready]

Salvation.

Or at least, that is how most would have viewed the leather glove extended towards them. It belonged to a tall blonde woman. She was a mutant, that was fairly obvious to Rogue, she’d appeared at a 107th floor window, and then disabled the three members of Rogue’s team who were present. Apparently without coming close to breaking a sweat. Beetle, who Rogue had struggled with herself, was out cold, put down with one brutally efficient punch.

She allowed the woman to pull her effortlessly to her feet, the words of her Momma running through her mind. Was it her? This costumed character who had so easily cancelled out any and all threats in the building, who so casually dismissed the device that The Trapster had dropped. What was she expected to do? Mystique had told her what to do, for years now. Every time she had almost forgotten she had been mentioned again, cemented securely into her mind as if it were the very reason for her existence.

Rogue’s dress, though still clearly very expensive, was now merely an expensive mess, ruined by her tussle with the Beetle, ripped, with splatters of food and sauce marring the fabric. Her gloves were still intact though, the black, elbow length gloves that had been in the bag. And here was this woman, her ‘target’ it seemed, stood before her. Her hands were covered, and the woman had already demonstrated frightening speed in her elimination of the other threats in the room, she had nothing, no distraction, no edge…

The woman’s eyes found Rogue’s I.D. Card, or more correctly, Carol Danvers I.D. Card. A moment of surprise and puzzlement flashed across her face. Her stance, once so powerful, so confident, became unsure, as she tried to make sense of the situation at the same time as Rogue. And now Rogue had the edge.

Everything while she had been under her Momma’s care came to the fore. For years she had trained and worked for this moment, a moment that until now had been concealed from her. She had honed her body to peak physical condition, and pushed her mind through every trial, ordeal and challenge that Mystique had prepared for her. All of it had been leading up to this mission, this event, this restaurant. This single fraction of a moment.

Rogue pushed it all aside, there was no time to remove her gloves, the woman was too fast. No time to think, the distraction was only temporary. No way to disable her, the woman was too strong. Her mind’s eye flashed back eight years to the moment she had first discovered her abilities, her curse, her gift.

Rogue took one step forward, put her hands to the side and back of Ms. Marvel’s head, and kissed her…

Time froze, Rogue locked her lips over the blonde woman’s and the whole Universe stood still. Then she felt it. Power, unbelievable power. She had used her abilities before, usually accidentally, but only on normal humans, never, never on a mutant. She felt the rush of life pouring into her, invigorating her frame, but it was so much more than it had ever been before. Her mind soared, she felt strangely elated, energised, as though she were simultaneously high and buzzing on caffeine.

Ms. Marvel felt the opposite, she had raised a hand as the well dressed, but battered guest stepped towards her. She was in a state of shock however as her lips locked around her own, and her arm suddenly became heavy, all the strength fading from it. She tried to pull away, but couldn’t, her strength draining from her, failing her for the first time. Her lungs struggled to draw breath, as if now she didn’t even have the strength for that, and her vision faded. The scene before her was clouding over as she struggled in the grasp of the girl who, only moments before, she had rescued from a beating at the hands of The Beetle.

 

[HotCider]

Wolverine - Chinatown Arcade, NY

It was about time somebody had shut that maniacal psychopath up (even if it was for a second). She was upset about the chair. The piece of furniture had actually shattered against her dense skull and it hadn’t been because it was a movie prop—far from. Throwing down the chair legs he still held in his hands, Logan growled at Deadpool, lips rolling back over teeth clenched like an affronted wolf. God damn her voice was annoying. If she talked less she might have actually been attractive.

All I did was try to kill you! Why all serious? The rest of your crew knows how to have a good time. C’mon! How ‘bout a nice game of skee ball, huh? Oh! Or maybe air hockey is more yer thing, huh yah sexy Canuck?

Wolverine’s fists clenched tightly and ripping through his flesh and knuckles were bony protrusions with thick, segmented rings going down them. Blood dripped upon the floor as he retorted, “If we’re gonna play skee ball, I won’t be playin’ with no ball. Tell us where Alison is!”

It was a nice try but the mercenary was too distracted. Actually, she was always distracted, which was why he insisted on sedating the bitch with his fist. Logan tensed, his metaphorical hackles rising when Deadpool removed one of her grenades.

Shit! he thought, his blue eyes briefly widening until she took notice of Gambit. He didn’t have time to figure out what Gumbo was doing. There was a live grenade in the arcade and it may just have been the answer to their prayers.

Wolverine charged the mercenary and threw open his arms as he lunged to tackle her. His intention was to pin her to the floor, his hand having grabbed her grenade hand to sandwich the explosive between them. The explosion would be smothered, and their insides would be fucked all to hell. It wasn’t like this was the first time that he had to take one for the team, but he was hoping that the blast while not only putting him out for another few minutes that it would also put Wilson out long enough for hopefully Jamie or Gambit to have the common sense to restrain her.

 

[Remec]

Sam and Kurt -- Russia

Sam listened intently to Kurt's discussion of their next plan of action. "And, with your forgiveness, mein Bruder, I think that your usual mode of travel might give away our position, given the brightness of your rocket-boost. I think perhaps a subtler means of locomotion is in order-- relax, I am told it makes things easier," his companion said as he reached out to take hold of Sam by one arm.

The younger mutant swallowed nervously. The Professor had had them all practice being transported by Kurt just for this very reason. Not even counting the disorientation and nausea that the accompanying cloud of brimstone could create in a person, just the nature of slipping bodily between dimensions to move from one place to another instantaneously tended to be a little problematic for some.

He always thought of Dr McCoy from Star Trek when it came time to use a teleporter. A slight grin crossed Sam's face at the memory of the cranky Federation doctor complaining about having to be beamed instead of using a shuttle, and then they were off with a sudden

BAMF

The fire that Kurt had taken them towards seemed to be the remains of a somewhat better than average touring car--maybe a taxi, maybe just the sort of thing goverment agents or nameless goons might drive. There was indications around it that people had been there to investigate, but Sam wasn't a tracker like Logan so he couldn't say if any of them had been in the vehicle.

A short distance away, the two of them could make out a man lying on the ground. From his alternating moans and swearing at a slight figure near to him, it was obvious he was on the opposite end of the shot they had heard across the desolate landscape that had been the Rasputin farm and the terrain surrounding it.

"Kurt!" Sam said then coughed as the teleportational upset caught up to him. "Is that who I think it is?"

 

[HotCider]

Iceman - Landed in Russia

When the bird had landed, Bobby was off his flight as fast as he was able to slide by the slower-moving traffic. With a black Jansport bag slung over his shoulder, Bobby ran through the airport so as not to give people a chance to recognize him. He wasn’t about to take any chances on finding out how famous his name actually was—as tempted as he was. He was on a mission!

Good thing I only packed a carry on, Bobby thought. He had one outfit inside it in the case of. If he needed anything more, well, it was either his money or the school’s money. Difficult decision. Geez, why couldn’t I’ve just taken the jet? It couldn’t be that hard to operate. It’s better than sendin’ a famous guy like me through a public airport.

Смотреть! Bobby Drake!

He could already hear people shouting his name, pointing him out to those who were oblivious. If he couldn’t escape in time, then he would have the news up his ass, wondering why American Olympic Figure Skater Bobby Drake was in Russia.

Bobby! I love you!

Lately, the only types of people to shout that were…Bobby glanced to his left to find a hot red-headed woman at the checking station waving him down. She was wearing a dress that could have been stitched from the fur of a thousand dead snow hares. She had on white winter boots and cap, which in contrast to her dyed, ruby-red hair seemed to glow against her pallor skin. Bobby whirled around, taking a quick detour over to the snow bunny who was hopping in her excitement to see that he had stopped for her. Giving her a quick hug, she frantically demanded: “Selfie! Selfie!”

As she held out her cellphone, Bobby turned around to face it holding up two peace signs in the first shot before the snow bunny’s red lips smashed against his own in the second shot. That was going to be all over blogs, Facebook, and maybe even the news if they could find it and steal it. Fan kisses Bobby Drake!

Regardless, he was back in action, racing for the nearest такси he could find with red lipstick smudged all over his mouth.

“American! This vay!” one of the cabs called out, flagging him down.

“Buddy, you’re a lifesaver!” Bobby called out as he ran over to the yellow cab and hopped into the back. “Let’s go!”

“Go vhere?” the cab driver asked, peering into the rearview mirror.

Good question. “Uh…just drive for now.”

The cab driver did as he was told without stalling, while Bobby removed his cell phone to glance over his contacts.

 

[Lachiyous]

NYC - Rogue

[The World Trade Center. Windows of the World restaurant. In Lower Manhattan, New York]

"T-thank you!"

"It was terrible! I've never been so scared in my life..."

"...don't know what we would've done without you---!"

"My heart. My heart's still pumping so fast!"

People. Tonight. Reacted, in bouts. Of relief...to the save, she. The super heroine. Woman, with blonde locks. And, lovely. Masked blues. Performed...

Some exhaled. Away, that fear.
Others cried. Out, the tension.
Select few shivered...still. Beside, themselves. Almost unsure, if indeed. It was all over...

Stand. Standing there, in. The center of the room's, capacity. The two female, individuals. Face-to-face. With, the one. Another. The super heroine, and. Her damsel in distress. Whom she, saved. Like, the. Every, one. Else. From villainy. But. But Carol Danvers, couldn't. Begin. To grasp, the meaning. Of her very own, name. On Rogue's I.D. badge. In front of her.

She was instantly, thrown. For a loop! And faltered..."What..what's going on here?"

She didn't.
She couldn't.
She sought out, that. Which, wasn't available to her....

Comprehension. Clarity. Something, anything. It wasn't possible, that this was a--

...and before one, before all. Before another moment, transpired. Her damsel. Her rescuee. The lady, before her. Why she responded. She answered. She reached out, to Carol's, lovely. Face. With her own, gloved. Hands. Leaned forth. And brought her lips. And brought her lips. The female individual, brought. Her soft, feminine lips. Unto her own...

In a kiss!

Eyes shut.

Was. Was that how gracious, this other. Woman was? Was that a thank you for saving her life? Because...unexpected! Because..tingles! Because...

??

SparkSparkSpark! ZAAAAAAAAAAP! ZAAAAAAAAP!

What the--?

EYES. WIDE. OPEN.

ZAAAAAP -- ZAAAAAAAAAAP -- pulsePULSEpulsePULSE!

She...the...woman's. Lips. Were still, upon. Hers. As the person, held her. Close. For the most, of intimate. Touches. But. But...

ZAAAAAP! ZAAAAAP! pulsePULSEpulsePULSEpulse!

...her insides -- what she was...experiencing, it was. As if, there was. A MAJOR onslaught, attacking her...therein!

PULSEpulsePULSEpulsePULSEpulse! Spark. ZAAAAAP! Spark. ZAAAAAAP! pulse!

...and she couldn't breathe! She couldn't think! Yet, through it all. Rogue's lips, held. Steadfast. To her own...

PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULSEpulsePULSEpulse! ZAAAAAP! ZAP! ZAAAAAAAAAAP! ZAP!

...she tried. She really did. She attempted, to get. Away. To stop, this. Person. To fight. But. But. But...

ZAAAP!

To no avail.

PUUUUUUUUUULSE!

Swiftly.

Spark. ZAAP!

Soundly.

PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULSE! ZAAAAP!

...until finally. Down, upon her knees. Nothing. There was, nothing. More. To be done --

KRAAAAAAA-koooooooooooom! VOOOOOIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDDDD--

...and the. The super heroine, lie. Empty, the. Shell, and. Lifeless, the. Being. Within, Rogue's...ever, so. Close, and intimate. Notion, of a...

Kissing embrace!

...and. And there wasn't, one. Single. Word, that. Could be spoken, aloud. Amongst the, shocked. Crowd. Of bystanders. Whom, moments ago. Had been, saved. Entirely. By the person. That. Had just, been. Brought, down. Completely. By. By. By...

One of their own! Though, apparently. She -- this woman -- was nothing, like. The any, of them. The absolute horror, contagiously. Spread. Like influenza. Upon, every. Single. Witnessing, face. Present, therein. Tonight. Reality was, more real. Than ever...

This 'unassuming' person, took down. The mighty heroine! Just what, upon. Ever, exactly...did she have, in store. For the lot, of them?
========================================================================
[Within Rogue's Mind]

FLUSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh--

FLUSHHHHHHHHHH --

--burrrrrrrrrsssssssssssssssssssssssssstttttttttttttttt--

.S

..P

...I

..R

.A

..L

plop!

What. What was happening? Where was everyone? Where...was she? And. And. Why...

Turning, all around!

...was it soOOOoo *DARK*....?

Spark. Spark. Flicker!

Up. Up ahead. A light. There was, some. Thing, to be. Seen....

Spark, le. Spark, le. Glitter.

Some, one(s). Actually. People. Talking. Maybe. Maybe, if they could, just. See or, hear. HER--

"It's not you. It's me. Obviously."

"Really? That's what you're leading with?"

"You have this whole...super hero thing. And I'm going back to school for my double major..."

"We've always been 'busy' in our lives. That hasn't stopped us before!"

"Tell ya what. Let's see where we are. In six months..."

"You're kidding me right?"

"Carol, we need time. I need time...away from you. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. So am I."

"We can still be--"

"Don't."

Spark, le. Spark, le. POOF! *DARK-ness*

Gawwkkkkkk....

-- she. She couldn't believe, what. She just, witnessed. What, just. Played out, before her. It....had been, them. The day, he officially. Broke up, with her. Some time, ago. But. But what did that mean?

Spark. Spark. Flicker!

...again. Ahead. Lights. And voices...

Spark, le. Spark, le. Glitter.

"Hello Rogue."

"..."

"Wait! I’m here to help."

"What d'you mean help? How d'you know mah name? Who are you?"

"I’m like you Rogue, always having to hide who I really am."

.

"I know how you feel, to be afraid of what you are, to have everyone else fear you for who you are, to fear yourself through something you can’t control, I know what you’ve been through, let me help you..."

Spark, le. Spark, le. POOF! *DARK-ness*

Gasssssp!

....that. That wasn't, anything. That she, herself. Had ever, experienced. It was, two. Entirely different people. One, distinctly. Unfamiliar to her. Older. And the other....

-- brought her soft, feminine lips --

...and the other...

-- unto her own --

....and the other...

-- in a kissssssssssss! --

EYES. WIDE. OPEN.

It was her. Somehow more, youthful. But, she could tell. It was the person, the woman. That she saved. It was....

Swallow...

...the same female, individual. That. That. That, in some way. DID this. Brought her....'here'. Where upon ever, that. Was. It...she....

*DARK-ness*

Why?

A finger, upon her own. Lips...

Why...was she brought here? What...was the meaning, of all of this? What, truly. Did she do. To this person. Whom she'd never, met. Before. Today. Tonight, even? And why did it feel, so. Lonely in here....?

"Hello? Can...can anyone hear me? Is anyone there?"

Shiver.

"Please! Answer me....I'm....I...."

Unsure. Unable. Unmoving.

"...don't know...where...to go...anymore..."

Blonde tresses, crystalline blues. But meresome, wisps. Here, in the...

*DARK-ness*
========================================================================

 

[Tight_n_ready]

Silence…

An awful, achingly empty silence filled the room. Even the howling wind seemed unable to penetrate the heavy curtain that had fallen about the guests of Windows on the World.

The guests stood, or sat, in stunned silence. Unable to react, unable to comprehend what had just happened before them…

Their heroine, their saviour lay on the floor before them, unconscious, perhaps dead. She certainly wasn’t moving, and her skin was pale, the veins showing darkly through the skin. Nobody moved, nobody could, nobody wanted to. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t have really happened, it must be a hallucination, a bad dream. Anything but the horrifying event that was unfortunately occupying reality before them.

Rogue staggered back, her head swimming. She put a hand to her forehead as she swayed. She hardly registered the immobile woman at her feet. She looked around, suddenly very aware of everyone’s eyes on her. She frowned, and winced as both hands went to her head, then she stumbled again. Memories were flashing through her head, memories that didn’t belong to her.

"It's not you. It's me. Obviously."

"Really? That's what you're leading with?"

"You have this whole...super hero thing. And I'm going back to school for my double major..."

"We've always been 'busy' in our lives. That hasn't stopped us before!"

"Tell ya what. Let's see where we are. In six months..."

"You're kidding me right?"

"Carol, we need time. I need time...away from you. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. So am I."

"We can still be--"

"Don't."

Loss, anger, familiar feelings, but not ones that were hers, they didn’t belong to her; she didn’t know who he was, except… she did. His name and face rose up in her mind. Rogue shook her head, trying to clear it of the strange visions that were suddenly filling her mind.

She fell, sitting down in the wreckage caused by the fight that had now come to an eerie stillness. Her head hurt, a confused mess of images and memories attempting to sort themselves into her head. They didn’t belong there, and yet, somehow, they were hers now.

"Hello Rogue."

"..."

"Wait! I’m here to help."

"What d'you mean help? How d'you know mah name? Who are you?"

"I’m like you Rogue, always having to hide who I really am."

.

"I know how you feel, to be afraid of what you are, to have everyone else fear you for who you are, to fear yourself through something you can’t control, I know what you’ve been through, let me help you..."

“Oh gawwdd.”

Rogue cradled her head in her hands. She’d got memories before, but never like this, normally it was only a few seconds, and whatever she saw was gone before it could even register in her psyche. This… this was very different, there were more, they were more intense, and they weren’t fading, they weren’t going away.

“Mama…”

She was collapsed on the floor, her head in her hands as her now bedraggled hair fell down about her face.

“Mama…”

 

[Lachiyous]

Jean Grey

[Upon the Metaphysical Realm]

Something.

Something occurred. It had to, have. To this person. The female individual. The lady, whose message. Jean intercepted. It was a fore, gone. Conclusion. Why? How?

Because. Because there, was. No longer, a. Trace, of her. Psionic imprint -- the purple butterfly...no longer. Present. Any, of. Where. Mayhaps, if. If and only, if. She could, concentrate -- and hasten -- there. Might, be. Residue, of some sort. Left behind.

Some clue.

Evidence.

Any a, thing, The much, better. Than, no. Thing. For sure!

She'd press. Forward.
She'd exert. Herself.
She'd travel. All over...to find, this mysterious woman.

At all costs. The no, matter! It was about finding answers. Doing what, she instinctively. Knew, was right. And lending her, hand. If she could, aid. In any fashion--! Certainly, it was. Better than doing, the alternative. Hurting. Or even, sitting. Around, idly.

Not while there's breath in these lungs.

FWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH! The fire's flames, of which. Jean now, was. Wreathed. Shot, her form. Across the mindscaped, sky. As she sought, out. The every, morsel. Of glittery iridescent, goodness. Possibly, retained. Somewhere. Somehow. In, someway. So that, she might. Locate. Locate and find. Maneuver, this pathway. The closer. And in the accurate. Direction.

Both. Both here -- within this plane of existence -- and. There. On the physical. One, with. With...
========================================================================
[Russia]

HONNNNK! swiiiirrrrrrrrrrrve --

!

-- Laura. Her raven haired, protector. From all things, that'd. Ever. Seek. To bring harm, to her. Own, very. Doorstep. She didn't, enlist. This service, of her. Former team mate. It...just sort of, transpired. The girl latched on, to. Jean. In an, unexplainable. Way. From the get-go. And now. And here. It was, that. The two, were. Upon a journey. Together. Far from home. Far, from...familiarity. But, they did have each, the. One, another.

And the redhead, attempted. With the most -- psychic of an -- inclination, to. Play co-pilot, to her. Companion's driving. And direct their, vehicle. Mainly. Roughly. Toward, the general....'right' location.

..even if she didn't, truly. See, yet. Within her heart. Her mind. Nor with her, eyes. Exactly where, upon. Ever that was, supposed. To be! Going off of, something -- vague as it could be -- would have to do. One could only, persistently. Hope beyond hope, that. It. That, this. And. And them. Would all, be. Enough...

The scenery changed. The landscape was, slowly. Becoming more, rural. The sun, had. Fallen. Asleep, the while. Ago. And the last, remaining. Flashes, of its. Glorious, ness. Being, swallowed. Whole. By the blackness, of. Night.

Her eyes, remained. Affixed. Straight, ahead. Before the view, through. The automobile's, windshield. Yet. Her natural emerald, colored. Irises. Went unnoticed. They were not, seeing. They were not, intaking. Steady. Steadfast. Instead. The white glow, from the. 'Fore. Took their place. The tell-tale, that. She was, using her. Abilities. Concentrating. Or doing a little bit, of. Both?

"Further. We must go further..." she'd relay, to Laura. Nodding, off. Indicating, some. Unseen, goal. Off, and on. In, and out. Back, and forth.

...between...

Here. And, there!
========================================================================
[Upon the Metaphysical Realm]

Shadow.

A shadow. Wasn't it, so. Unless it'd, been. Her imagination. But, had she. Witnessed. Some sort, of. Actual. Dark...shadow. In place. In place. In the, place. Of that delicate, lil'. Butterfly? Almost as if...hm. As if what? That. That something, as. Sillysome, as a mere. Shadow. Could be the cause. For all of this, fuss?

If she. If she gave, any. The pause. To think. And mull details, over. It could, be....precious time. Much more, useful. Allocated, in getting. To the bottom, of it all!

Jean Grey soared, across. The way. Arms, outstretched. FLAAAAAAMESSSS, etching a path -- hers -- from, the. Behind. She wouldn't stop. She'd never stop. Not without success, fully. Making a positive, mark. On whatever, scenario. Lie ahead.

But how, could she. Be sure. This way, was the. Right way. And not, entirely. The wrong?

Scannnnnn.

Please let me find her! <>My friend. It's Jean Grey. I hope to find you soon. Can you hear me?<> she was sure, to. Push. FORTH. So that it, might. Be, received!

What's that. There. Up there. Over...there? Ahead....

DARRRRRKKKKKKK-ness!
========================================================================
[Within the car]

...and simultaneously, she was being. Spoken to. "...Is this something we want to get involved in?" came the inquiry.

Could she hear, these words. That would be, voiced? Should she, understand their intent. And acknowledge any, the. Notion?

In. In fact. What was, the. Present situation. At hand? The telepath's, eyes. Still blazed out. She turned, her steady. Gaze. Not. From its same, position. All the same, as before. And yet...

...this time. This time, her brow. Slightly, creased. As an...expression, over took. Her lovely, features.

Evening took, away. The mite, of visibility. And Laura's decision, not. To use their, headlights. Added to the, difficulty. The car was coasting. Now. Not, dashing. As previous. And, true enough. A spark of flames, was off. In the distance...

...only she. Only Jean. Still unanswering -- at least, audibly and sensically -- what, seemed. To be affecting her? What was troubling her? This...couldn't...be, a. Reaction, to. To Laura. To the 'fire'? To any, a. Thing here, right...?
========================================================================
[Upon the Metaphysical Realm]

It was, like a. Sudden, impenetrable. Wall. A wall of ever, thick. Black, mist. Which, inexplicably --

-- ground her, flight. To a, halt! Instantly, she was. Upon her, own. Two, 'feet'...

FlickerFlickerSpaArkk?

...and from. From the DARRRRRRRK-ness. Besides the sense, of. Dread. And, foreboding. <>Stay away.<>

Within that, unmovable. Nightmare of, fog. Could. Could she spot...movement? Was that even, possible? Was the, nothing, Impossible?

Chilllllls.

A shadow, from within! A shadow, inside there. A shadow, possibly. Not, unlike. One, she could...have...sworn, she'd. Imagined, earlier! One, which...danced. Its way. Forward, toward her -- <>Your only warning.<>

DARRRRRRRK-ness, began. Descending, upon. Jean Grey--
========================================================================
[The car]

--and finally. Whether it was, from. Laura's bringing, the vehicle. Steadily, if not. Slowly, closer. To that fiery, source. Her passenger. Her former team mate. The redhead. Jean, let out. Something, by which. The younger woman, could. Gauge reaction, conversation. Anything by....

She screamed, aloud. Shrieking in terror!
========================================================================