The Uncanny X-Men

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OppositeInverse

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GW443H186



OHIO -- 0300 HOURS.


Undisclosed location.



A brisk light shines from an outpost among a series of warehouses in a night sky that covers a vast rural area. A man in a clean pressed suit stands aptly with a slight grin as he watches a line of blacked out Audi R6’s pull in with rank fashion. The high beams remain luminescent as a few doors open up, and a sizable ensemble of armored men exfil from the vehicles, didn’t even bother to address nor engage the suit until they scanned and searched the entire area. They check the convoy with the suited man’s own personal entourage around him, they too well armed with high tech gear, but for some reason, though they pride themselves on being the premier black-group task force, they couldn’t help but silently analyze the never before seen armor and gear of the men that now surrounded the warehouse and checked the perimeter. Finally, when all checkpoints were cleared, one of the men approaches the suit without a word, almost as if he weren’t even breathing. The man smiles and nods at the impressive group and their entrance.

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Man: “Nice intro, Audi? That’s my son’s favorite car. So, where’s the top brass? I mean… don’t mean to be THAT guy but, the henchmen don’t get to make the calls do they? Well...it is 2017 so--”

Voice: “Kilgore.”

Another sedan door slides open, this time a female voice with a luster whisper invades the air as Kilgore’s face loses all humor exceptionally fast.

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Kilgore: “I.. it’s you, I wasn’t aware I was dealing with--”

Woman: “Silence. Where are they.”


Kilgore instantly nods and opens the back of the convoy with his men as his arsenal is revealed to be very old, yet very highly advanced weaponry from the 1940’s. None other than the old HYDRA assault rifles that were used by HYDRA in their former regime. Their condition was astoundingly pristine, almost as if they were made yesterday as opposed to 70 years ago. He takes one and handles it carefully as he showcases it before the woman, a red silk robe draped over her with a solid white mask, exactly the color and composite of bone. Her piercing dark eyes almost seem demonic conveying through the mask, her eyes fixated on the metal piece of German ingenuity.
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Woman: "....."


Kilgore: It doesn’t run on bullets, so the clip is essentially limitless, the energy it uses is derived from some old power source found by HYDRA back in the day. Tesserift? Tessanact? Something like that. The energy breaches surfaces, and upon contact with human anatomy...total vaporization.”


The woman then takes the rifle, aims down the sights, right into the forehead of Kilgore. The sound of energy building upon itself can be heard. His nerves seemed to seize him in the moment as his breath hitches, and she returns the rifle back into his hands.


Woman: “Looks good. We’ll take them. All.”

Kilgore: “Really? I have like 5 in here, one would do the trick of pulling off even a DEFCOM level event. That’s about 2.4 billion dollar payout.”

Woman: “Check your account. Money’s there. Load them. Don’t make me ask again.”


Kilgore didn’t even bother checking his account, he knew exactly who he was dealing with. The people the Devil goes to for permission to make his deals. The Boogeyman’s Boogeymen under his bed. He signaled his private force to load up the weapons, but they stop halfway to realize the sedans simply don’t have enough room, the trunks were already full of blacklisted tech that the likes of the most influential and wealthy couldn’t get their hands on. They set all of the rifle crates down, as the woman walked sharply to the merchandise, and with a small device attached to her wrist she points it at the merchandise as it all shrinks to the size of a phone. She picks it up and pockets it as Kilgore and his men look in awe.


Kilgore: “Never cease to amaze, I swear it’s like you have technology the world hasn’t even thought to possess yet. Well, my men you know the drill...”


But Kilgore has seen this before, several times. He and his crew just don’t remember it. They never do. The woman signals her team as they face Kilgore and his men who were already kneeling, as the woman watches her men deliver an amnesiac flash to the lot. Kilgore and his men stare hazardly and gradually begin to lose consciousness. The effects never last long, it was designed to be potent and powerful enough to knock their synapses out and wipe their short term memory, but not radiant enough to last long at all. Precise and tactical enough for them to evac before anyone ever knew anyone was in the remote location. The Audi’s drive away as the warehouse lights darken completely, Kilgore and his men’s brief rest accompanied by abysmal darkness in the night…




----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



An A.I.M. freight-truck with the number “09-63” drives down a lone Ohio highway in the darkness of pre-dawn. The driver was accompanied by a passenger, both armed with SCAR assault rifles with ACOG scopes on them. In the freighter, two more men were armed like so, quietly riding in the darkness of the cargo. And then the approach of sedans: Audi’s. They speed at imperceptibly fast numbers, past the mechanical capabilities from that of a sedan’s makeup and horsepower. They reach speeds of 300+ Mph as the superior chassis and handling sway with perfection as they approach and surround the freighter. The armed A.I.M. men look from their side view mirrors and see a brief flash of headlights zoom by as their next second is filled with a white hot flash in between the eyes and eternal nothingness for them, the vaporizing blue light from the HYDRA rifles of the blacked out team hitting the vehicle inhabitants. The truck swerves for a split moment before one of the men hops in the driver’s seat and steers the truck to control, as the masked woman arises from the passenger side of the sedan and fires a HYDRA rifle at the back, blasting open the metal to reveal a metal turbine stocked with hardware components and robotic scrapped limbs. The sedan drives forward as the masked woman hops onto the back, quickly and efficiently aiming her wrist at the large technology as it becomes the size of a bottle cap. She pockets the objective as the truck comes to a stop. Her team hops out both the sedans and the truck, as she apathetically shrinks the freighter to hot wheel size, lighting a match beside it as they all return to the sleek dark Audi’s, and in a flash, darts away from an isolated and now empty highway. No evidence of life or tow as a small spark goes off on the side of the road, the explosion of the freighter. The woman silently bathes in satisfaction as the men all ride away with the vintage yet alien powered rifles intact, a precision that would make SEAL Team 6 kneel. The masked woman then touches the car radio, a static hiss and scrambling numbers appear and begins to speak.


Masked Woman: “Black Rook, the task is resolved.”


She removes her hand and sits back. Ghosts were real, and they had just performed a feat of their non-existence. And it was only the beginning. They were out there, and all the chess pieces were moving into place. The Checkmate was coming.



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OppositeInverse

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Volume One - Hellfire


[fieldbox="X, goldenrod, dashed, 10"]

Xavier.jpg

Among a vast rural area in upstate New York, a large and pristine structure relishes among the green trees and plant life, nothing else visible for miles around. Inside the building, were beacons of light and hope for a greater understanding of a new and morphing world. Among those beacons, a spark. One to push and start these stunning representations of more in mankind to their absolute potential. A stern looking set of eyes look about an array of students, and even faculty. They bear into the souls of every last person in the room. A wheelchair rolls about as the man stare into the eyes of his following.


And then a student behind him blinked, one whose eyes could not possibly meet the professor’s since he wasn’t even in their vicinity, and yet he still smiled. He chuckles to himself before looking up at the ceiling and muttering a simple. “Out.” The student sighs and slumps in their chair as the professor rolls up to one last person. Last one standing. He stares into their soul again, not blinking nor budging as he could feel..more like read the urgency of the person across from him not blinking. Students in waves all gather around and stare at the two with intensity, as silence filled the room until it was no more. A blink from the last remaining person, and all the students cried in defeat. The Professor won the weekly game of staring contest, still undefeated. A wager that has existed since the small academy was formed a few years ago. He promised all residents of his academy that if any one of them could ever beat him in a staring contest, he would grant them permission to convert the outside foyer-house into a pool area. To this day, nothing. Charles Xavier smiles as he listens to the grunts and bellows of the young men and women, both vocally and mentally.
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X - “And remember your assignments! Report to your faculty for submissions!.”

Professor rolls about with his arms folded and a charm to his expression. Xavier’s was the name of the place where he welcomed students of the most unique gifts, not IQ or niches, but those that were given something more radical. The power of shifted geneology. Students and faculty alike were Inhuman, mutant, or enhanced supporters and enthusiasts, featuring the best and brightest, to the quietest and mundane. He believed in creating a haven for all of them. Few of the faculty weren’t enhanced in any way, but expressed passion and support for the outcasts. The Professor read their minds, to ensure honesty and no potential threats of spies, etc. And...he may have pushed into their minds that in any event of Xavier’s becoming exposed or potentially targeted, they would experience total amnesia, wiping the former experiences of the academy from their minds. X, as some of the students call him at times, rolls up to a window and looks out at the green surrounding him. So much world out there. People, who are free to do as they wish, but not them. Not people like them. They were freaks. Outcasts. Mutants. To the public, Inhuman & Mutant has no distinction, but the reality is, mutants don’t need alien/genetic stimuli like their racial cousin breed. He sighs to himself, remembering the good ol days. He closes his eyes and sees it crystal clear, as if it was right in front of him. Smiles, and pats on the back. Four others beside him. Four others that had his back. He began to fall into a meditative like state as a CNN news report comes on, about a missing A.I.M. team that went missing in the middle of the night the previous night, in the state of Ohio.

[/fieldbox]



[fieldbox="Ace, green, dashed, 10"]

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In a private residence a few blocks away from The Avengers tower, a set of eyes look from the window into the bleak and greyed New York sky. She longs to walk among those streets, to just be a girl shopping for clothes, or maybe even heading to the mall in rebellion with her friends. But for Marrian, that notion was just as outcasted as what she really was inside, the genetic template that was running through her blood. She sighed internally as she closed the curtains on the view outside, and opened her door to head downstairs. She could hear the routine tv show of “Twilight Zone” playing, the classic black and white rendition. Marrian steps down the stairs into the hallway as a voice calls her. She rolls her eyes and leans into the doorway of the den, looking at a blond woman with dark shades on facing the tv, her back to Marrian. Her eyes cold white underneath those glasses, devoid of sight. Still, she chuckles.

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Woman - “Don’t roll your eyes.”
“Sorry ma. Yes?” Marrian responds in a reserved and casual tone, her southern Missouri accent distinct in her dialect.. Her mother pats the seat beside her as the young girl walks and obliges to her command. Her mother faces her, almost as if she did have sight, looking right at her eyes. She brings her hands up to touch Marrian’s face, black velvet gloves covering her hands as she does so. Marrian remains still and quiet, her mother smiling. “Do you remember what we talked about? About seeing your future?” She asks Marrian. Marrian nods and responds.

Marrian - “Figuratively or literally?”
Ms. Adler - “Both.”
Marrian - “Well, one must always see their path before they can walk it, but one must always accept the change in order to never disrupt it.”
Ms. Adler - “What have you seen?”

Marrian breathes for a moment, looking down at the floor and begins to explain. “A sign. Not a figurative one, a vision of a literal sign. It’s blurry, my visions aren’t as powerful as yours so I can’t be sure what it is, but...I see cars, I hear music, people. And lastly, I see metal.” Ms. Adler whispers in a soft voice “What do you think it means?” Marrian then looks up at her. “Um, some kinda' of party?” Ms. Adler then smiles and claps, seemingly approving of Marrian’s inference.

Ms. Adler - “Not bad, Padawan. There’s a program party hosted by Mr. Buckman coming up, so you’re seeing the efforts of that event. If you focus your mind, you can laser sharp hone these visions. I..I didn’t have a choice. I was born this way, they always started off so immediate and direct, but then they started to become bigger and more powerful in scope, and well. You know the rest. I’ve seen something too. You, my little Ace. I know you don’t like me calling you that because you’re growing up but...you will always be my Ace. My baby daugher. I remember how bashful and just broken hearted you were when your father first brought you to us. I couldn’t see with my eyes, but I had a vision the night before you came, walking through that door. So terrified. So isolated. I made it my promise to never ever have you like that ever again as long as you lived here. And then your father told me you were one of us… why you were so scared and lost and I knew right then, I would hold you closer than anything. I’ve seen plenty of vision of you, I’m so warmed I get to see your face in my dreams every day. Growing up, learning, becoming a woman, fending for yourself and what you believe in amongst a cruel world that rejects what they’re too ignorant to grasp. I’m just so proud of you. And now, another vision. Of you, literally and figuratively at a crossroads. Everything your father and I have taught you, everything that you are and have survived, you Marrian, will need to decide how your vision embodies you for the rest of your life. A part of growing up is making the choice of not what’s wanted, but NEEDED. And no matter what, I’m so very proud to call you my daughter. I love you.”

Marrian stares at her foster mother, who was now by all intents and purposes always her real mother. She stares with sincerity and sympathy, before raising her eyebrows and delivering a humorous, judgemental smile. “You.... are sucha sap.” They both laugh together as Marrian processes her words , retreating the internal crucible of wanting to be normal and live a public life. She started to think about how it could be worse. She could have nothing, be nothing, if it had not been for her father and Mr. Max finding her. Bringing her into the most private, powerful, elite family on the planet Earth. One that no one would ever know about, because they wanted it that way. Everything that has happened was all because of this fated pull of strings simply allowed it to be. The invasion of HYDRA, The Chatauri Invasion, The semblance of gods among men, they knew, and they simply didn’t care enough for one fact. In all those instances, everyone involved in such events simply weren’t as powerful, not even close. Marrian gets up to prepare food and begin her home schooling and training, thinking about maybe even visting her auntie Emma & her father at the Manor. Her mom stops her one last moment.

Ms. Adler - “Oh! About that sign you saw...if you had to guess, what would you say it could be?”
Marrian - “Hmm, well it’s weird, but I can swear it looks like an X. Just tha' letter X.”

Marrian then walks away into the kitchen, and as soon as she’s out of her mother’s vicinity, Ms. Adler’s face drops to a shock and mild horror she hasn’t experienced in a long time. She drops her breath as her mind races at her daughter’s last comment. She scrambles her phone out of her Kate Spade purse, and gives the voice command to dial her spouse, Marrian’s father. A hint of frantic in her voice.

Ms. Adler - “Randolph, sweetheart. We need to talk. Now.”



[/fieldbox]
 
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Mook-LandStrider

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Octavia Delano
Kitchen>Xaviers Office

While many of the students made their wagers against the Professor, Octavia found the the empty kitchen was as welcome a place as any. Quickly eating several bowls of cereal she heard the Professor call out. It was about that time, what was to happen now? Putting everything away she made her way across the kitchen and put away the milk. Students now streaming into the kitchen she quickly made her way out.

Slipping past people she nearly ran straight into one of the mansions grand father clocks. Stopping, she waited and then moved past everyone. Rather than wait and procrastinate she decided to deal with this immediately. Going into the library she looked around before finally decideing to go Xavier himself. She knew she didn't need to make a noise to alert him to her presence. Unlike others, she felt more at ease around him.

"Hello, I heard you while I was eating. Where am I to report?" Octavia spoke within her head. She didn't try to block him. Well, for the most part. Some parts of her mind she didn't wan't known. But, she had no way of knowing if he knew. The thoughts stopped when she realized he knew exactly what she was thinking. But, not thinking was still thinking about something, and thus making a loop of thought. "Or, will me doing this suffice?"​
 

Gands

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James Proudstar aka Warpath

James smiled as the students lost another match of staring contest with the Professor. He had his doubts whether the Professor would ever lose a match unless he wanted to. James had committed to teaching some younger kids in a P.E. style class. He had been taking online classes studying to be a teacher. He spent his mornings working on the Mansion's vehicles. This last weekend's project was a refurbished WW2 Harley that was to be a gift to Scott Summers. Most faculty and older students had a mail cabinet and Scott was no exception. James called the younger man Slim and left the Keys in Slim's mail bin. He had been training with Scott. He found his friend to have a gift for strategy even when it came to hand to hand. Mind you, Scott's physical gifts were not his strong point, but James thought that was why he worked so hard at it.

He led his group of students out to the field where today's escapade would be a rousing game of Kickball. He had grown to love his Students. He worked hard to include all of them, to get through to them. To make them feel the same camaraderie that he now felt.

Specifically, he felt a friendship with Scott, Warren was pretty cool for a rich white guy. Most of the girls old enough to be anywhere near his contemporaries were weird. Hopefully they would come around in time.

@OppositeInverse @Camleen @Nightwing95
 
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Nightwing95

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Scott Summers

It was a rare opportunity, to find out that you needed something so bad only after you had received it. Like a lost piece of a puzzle found its place, that was the feeling Scott had once he checked his mail compartment this morning, as per his routine, to find the keys of a Harley waiting for him. He knew who left this early Christmas present, after all, not many of the other students ever approached him in order to indulge in a shared love for everything that moved fast on wheels or in the air. After all, it was Proudstars idea to haul in and restore abandoned vehicles, using them as academic transport instead of having to share the Professors car every Saturday afternoon.

Scott made a mental note to thank James later, and of course try out the gift later on his free time, but for now, standard practice had to be upheld. Following his early morning exercise, he would refresh himself with a quick shower and a new change of clothes before heading for the kitchens. It had become a sort of shared ritual with a friend of his, and for the last four years there wasn’t a single meeting in which he wasn’t on time.
 

Camleen

I'm going to be my own kind of princess
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~Jean Grey~

This has been a long time coming.

Jean was finally able to get her room right. She’s spent much time trying to find just the right vibe. This is her sanctuary. The only place she feels she can be by herself… physically at least. She’s only let a 2 or 3 people into her little sanctuary. Aside from that, most everyone has been kept at arm’s length. She isn’t anti-social… okay maybe a tad. But she does have reason.

When you can hear voices all around you all the time, it makes it hard for you to socialize. Especially when you’re the only one hearing voices.
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But it’s finally done to her satisfaction. For now. More than likely, she’ll end up changing things around in a month or so. Even better, she’ll get someone to change her room around for her. Lots of big strong boys around, after all. But then again… with her power she could probably lift more than all of them could combined. And while the room to most looks like something of a disorganized mess… every piece in said room has purpose. Organized chaos, some would call it.

But for now… it’s time to get out into the world. Which she has every intention of doing… but then she stands in her room for 10 more minutes scrutinizing it. But finally… she emerges from her room, her arms loosely folded over her midsection. She is wearing a dark blue skirt that goes to her knees and a pair of simple sandals. Kind of her comfort gear. Stepping out of her room, she closes the door quietly, her big green eyes looking down the corridor one way and then the other. She is still when she closes her eyes then, getting a handle on what she feels around her. Many of the students aren’t in the building at the moment. Some kind of… competition. James is there, too. Which isn’t surprising. If there’s some kind of impromptu group activity, James is usually involved. She reins in her emotions as she draws in a slow and deep breath, and now she proceeds down the hallway at something of a casual pace. Her long red hair is draped across her shoulders, now straightened. She’s been giving thought to getting her hair done shorter, but that’s just been thought. But as she strides down the corridor, her eyes drift upwards a little. She’s filtered out of her mind those in near proximity to her. But she feels like there’s something else.. out there… something she should be aware of… but just can’t pinpoint…


That line of thought she puts into the back of her mind, not wanting to be distracted right now. If it’s anything, she’ll deal with it later. Casually she proceeds down the stairs and makes a sharp right, into the general direction of the kitchen. She already knows there’s someone there in said kitchen, that much she can sense easily. And… well you don’t need to be a telepath to know Scott Summers is always on time. Jean, on the other hand, she’s about 10 minutes late. Because she’s rarely on time (though that’s something she’s trying to work on). With a smile she strides into the kitchen, her hands folding behind her back as she speaks in a pleasant tone. Her eyes drift along the kitchen as she speaks, as if discretely looking for something specific. “Morning morning, Scott.” Her eyes then settle on him. “so… new… bike? Is that what it is?” She says curiously, her head tilting to one side. She is able to discern his most surface thoughts rather easily. She doesn’t focus on anything specific, though. It’s kind of like she is able to hear someone’s conversation when in the same room. But… with her brain. “And before you say anything… I’m sorry I’m late. I know, I know.”
 
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AshenAngel

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Leone was never one for mornings. The thick curtains hung over the window in his room, casting it in near darkness, made it a bit easier to get out of bad. However, the light that filtered in from beneath his door always managed to slow his morning routine. There weren’t many hard surfaces in the room, mostly for the sake of visitors who lack the ability to navigate a dark room. That, and he enjoyed being able to roll off his bunk bed and land completely unharmed on a large, round, soft plush pillow that was close to seven feet around.

Doing just that, Leone began his day. He donned his sunglasses and smoothed some wrinkles out of his grey long sleeved shirt. Glancing in the mirror, he fixed the belt on his jeans and ran a brush through his moderately unruly hair. He crammed on his black steel toed boots, and with a final huff, he stepped out of his room and into the light. He didn’t exactly have a job teaching at the school, it was moreso him being an added amount of security. His abilities were useful for catching kids trying to sneak out past curfew, and for locating threats that we’re trying to find a way in under the cover of darkness. He didn’t exactly want to stay, but nothing has pushed him to consider looking for employment elsewhere.

He stepped into the kitchen and immediately ventured to the coffeemaker, only sending a small greeting to Scott and Jean once the scent of coffee filled the air. “Morning.”
 
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Nightwing95

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“Are you doing this to impress or are you always keen on ruining a surprise.” Scott pointed out, although without any ill will. Perhaps a slight disappointment on himself for is inability to raise defenses around his mind against a telepath, something he was working on during the year with assistance from both Jean and the Professor himself. “Truth be told, I’ll be dumbfounded if I ever find you waiting for me, so you can say I've already accepted that part of you.” Many more meetings followed after their first one, with the two discussing a variety of topics over their meals. They talked about their favorite movies, books, music….Scott even caught himself cracking a joke with her. They were like two ordinary teens, and any mention of their powers and pasts came long after that first experience. Jean Grey became his closest friend and confidant during those four years, yet the last couple of them put him in a quite peculiar situation.

“So, have you figured out you schedule for today…?” he asked. Perhaps this was his chance, to finally make the question. Ask her if she wanted to go on a ride with him, try out the Harley. The strategist in him warned him of the risk as always, but what better opportunity would ever present itself so perfectly. And then, Leone entered the kitchen and the thought crawled back into the shadows “Good morning” he greeted back, before reaching into the cupboard in order to produce two cups for Jean and himself.
 
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Camleen

I'm going to be my own kind of princess
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Jean smiles a little proudly of herself, getting a haughty look upon her features. Moving into the kitchen now she pulls a chair out at the table there and settles into it. “A little of the former, a little of the latter.” She says with a nod. Sometimes she reacts to quickly to what she senses, as many people do. They speak before they really think about it. And that’s rarely a good thing. “You know it’s hard for me to not sense people around me, especially people I know well. Especially people I know well that are anxious about something. Like getting a new bike. Or whatever death trap it might be.” She says teasingly. She doesn’t have nearly the experience he does with motorbikes, or fast things like that at all.

“In my defense though…”
She now leans her elbows on the table top, her arms folding in front of her “One of my pillows was out of place. It was ruining the vibe. So I had to keep moving it right until it felt right. It’s not my fault it wasn’t being cooperative.” She says sounding as if unruly pillows was a thing.

“My schedule?” She says softly, shrugging now as she rests her chin on her folded arms. “Haven’t really given it thought, truth be told. Flea market? Meditating? Hike? Make a website? Make a new playlist? Yoga? Test drive a new bike? Smite my enemies?” She shrugs again, her eyes closing a moment. “Dunno yet, really. My brain hasn’t got passed my room or food yet.” She gives him a smile as she opens her eyes now, and she sits up.

Her eyes narrow discretely when Scott’s intentions suddenly switch up... her empathic abilities told her he was about to say something that, once more, made him anxious. And then… not. But as he enters the kitchen, she looks to Leone with a wide smile, leaning back in her chair a little. “Morning, Leone. Look at you being all out of your room and awake before noon. Good for you.” She smiles a bit more, giving him a thumbs up, her tone playful. “Hey why don’t we all go flea market shoppin t’day? Like all of us. That’d be fun, right? You boys like flea markets, right?” She knows they don’t like flea markets. Scott might tolerate them, she thinks. Same with James. Leone... she can't say for sure as yet.
 

Gands

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Prelude

James Proudstar AKA Warpath

It had been several days since the bald man in the wheel chair had visited. It was frankly quite incredible. It had opened his mind to the possibilities and the dangers. James in and of himself was very secretive about his powers and the changes in his body. A few men in his elite army unit would be suspicious but no one knew for certain. He had been especially careful during the brief time he spent with Tony Stark in New York. A period spent enjoying the intricacies of engines and cars.

When Charles Xavier spoke in his mind, James just about jumped out of his skin. However, Charles himself was quite soothing and diplomatic. James had a very strong mind, time in the military made use of his natural stubbornness. His mind had become very adaptable. He had learned to use his negative mental aspects. It took him a few days to realize it. But he agreed with Xavier's outlook. It was rather alarming that people with super powers were becoming more common.

As any native American who studied history could tell you, trusting the American Government to safe guard and take care of you was a mistake. He could in fact make that thought work towards the safety and rights of people with powers. It's possible there had been such in the past and his paranoid mind could easily imagine such disappearing into the science labs of the CIA, or SHIELD. Even more sinister less legitimate organizations.

So he took to the road. He had started working on a refit, a great old World War 2 truck he had found. It was almost finished. But he had left it in New York last time he visited Tony Stark. So he took the train. He would enjoy the long trip and do a little sight seeing along the way. He brought his grandfathers old travel trunk. The trunk had belonged in the family for generations. He was reading a book. An old sci fi masterpiece. There was a young Hispanic man at the back of the train car who was yelling at a woman that James presumed to be his wife.

The young fellow then slugged his woman. There was screaming and crying. James got up, slowly, walking towards the couple. The young man looked at him, eyes narrowed. He pulled a knife..

" Man, your woman doesn't want you dead and I don't feel like killing you "

Like a snake, one of James's hands snapped out and grabbed the other man's wrist. He used his other hand to break the blade at the hilt. He knelt next to the man and whispered into his ear.

" Man, you have a very poor attitude. Going to get you hurt someday. (( whispered )) You ever hurt her again man and someone's going to make it so you have to eat soup the rest of your long lonely days. "


The couple got off at the next stop, but the young woman gave James a grateful nod when the man wasn't looking.

It really was a lovely trip. There was a lot of thinking time for James. He had made his decision really when he started the journey. People, his people... those new people who suffered the great spirit's touch and had powers. . . Needed protection, needed a voice to speak for them into the wind.

And that is what Jean got from him the first time they met...

@Camleen @OppositeInverse

end prelude
 
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[fieldbox=”X, goldenrod, dashed, 10"]

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The Professor opens his eyes from meditation, the trees now blowing gently with a breeze as he focuses his attention on the news. An AIM Truck, went missing in Ohio the night before. He thought of the machinations of this new world, figuring that it could be the likes of a terrorist group to that of a simple miscommunication. But in his experiences, things like that were never mere coincidences. He sighs as he rolls over to his desk, thinking back to the days where he himself was but a student, but not academically. Though he did graduate from Oxford, at 16 nonetheless, he learned far more involved with a group of rag tag friends and individuals just like him.They were his life, and he were theirs. They were in no way the same in persona, but together they connected and operated perfectly in harmony. As people, and as mutants. He slid open his desk drawer, a picture of four individuals including with himself, the one that took the picture the only one left out of the photo. It was himself, sleeping, along with another man sleeping near him. The other two were looking at the camera, but their eyes emitted a glow like that of an animal in the night. One was in the corner of the photo, fur and a brute physique concealing most of his face, but those eyes pierced the photo. And the other one, a grim and gruff look on his face, a mix between angry and irritated, a sharp single claw like protrusion arose from the middle of his knuckles, imitating a middle finger. Charles begin to laugh to himself, as Octavia enters his office, causing him to quickly force the photo back in his desk as the girl spoke to him mentally. Charles replied to her out loud. “Ah yes, Ms. Delano. I take it your recent studies are finished? It’d be wise to head to the kitchen, get a bite--” Charles stops when he reads that she’s already been and eaten, getting a head start on the others. Octavia was the newest addition to Xavier’s, him finding her literally on the street, a vagabond orphan. She was attacked by some very nasty men in Hell’s Kitchen, but she showcased her abilities in self-defense. She was so scared when he’d found her, unable to talk except mentally. He’d been working with her to use her abilities to stimulate the vocal cords in her throat so she could speak. But he was patient, he was just glad to give the girl a home, and to belong. “Well let’s see, Perhaps we shall go the the Crafting Room?” The Crafting Room to anyone at Xavier’s was an underground room encased in vibranium walls that cost Charles a fortune to make, and it’s not even that sizable. It was a place for the x-humans and inhumans to hone themselves. Charles motions Octavia to follow him as he rolls past her. She was so bashful, he wanted to warm the girl up to being comfortable. He rolled past the fields where he looked out to see James giving the students physical activity. He looks at James and gives a friendly nod, and continues onward. He heard vocal and mental chatter coming from the kitchen, as he rolled in to see a few students and Leone, a man who was laid off and discriminated against for his extrahuman gifts. He didn’t know it then, but Charles read his mind into what he was searching for. Understanding and a sense of purpose. Which was why he recruited him to help run Xavier’s. His abilities were unique in their own right. He could sense the apathy in Leone, but he also knew the young man wasn’t going anywhere. “Morning all.” He speaks to them. He then grabs the mental news of the room, a smile appearing on his face. “Well that was very nice of James, Scott. That bike has been sitting there since….ugh I can’t recall. You know, that same bike is the very one a friend of mine used to escape a HYDRA camp back in the hay day. Never thought I’d see it up and running again.” Charles then looks at Jean. “So, Jeanie how are things? Any disturbances in the force? Are you keeping balanced with your voices? Flea market shopping!? Hah! A bit rancor for your tastes eh?” He rolls around to the fridge and grabs himself a water, and takes a few sips before making his announcement. “Well then, I expect to see you all in the Crafting Room in about 30 minutes. Time to see what everyone has learned, and where they are with their gifts… Jean, do NOT be late young lady.” X gives her a playful stern pointing and prepares to take his leave, while Jean wasn’t looking X directs his attention to Scott, pointing his head towards Jean hinting at what Scott is nervous about. Charles reinforces this once more in a light nudge towards Jean, and gives the young man a mental spat.


‘You know, she’s just going to read it from your mind sooner or later. Ask her. Man up, Chap!’


X then leaves and heads down to the basement via secret elevator. He shows his retinal scan and allows Octavia to join him if that were her choice. The common practice is students and staff take the stairs to the basement, and are met with an ID scan which only clears if using their custom identification. No two ID’s are the same: some have the access code in a glove, some in a certain notebook, others in things as unique as their favorite to-go mug. Which emphasized them to never lose them. The door opens as Charles rolls out to a pristine white basement, complete with diamond-fiber walls. Hardly no one knew Xavier’s exists, but those who’d stumble upon this abode would find a private school for children with selective acceptance. But, behind that mask, lies the truth of having a safe haven for inhumans and x-humans to be themselves and hone their gifts, as opposed to being afraid of them. Charles rolls up to a silo-like door, a circle of metal that slides open as he awaited his entourage for the day. He then sends a telepathic message to all students and powered faculty ‘Crafting Room, 20 minutes.’


He sighed in happiness. Charles was honored to have such a place for those lost and those found, but them feeling safe all the same.






[/fieldbox]





[fieldbox="Ace, green, dashed, 10"]

AMR2.jpg


A swift jab with the left followed by a precise right. A quick duck and the sound of a multi barrage of punches, five quick taps in succession. A large man in all black martial arts garb with two impact pads watches as Marrian delivers focused and calculated strikes. This was also a part of her homeschooling process. Aside from the best studies history could buy and an access to a plethroa of wealthy educational books and sources, the Adler’s also had the means to reach for the most elite of extracurricular teachers as well. This came in the current form of a Krav Maga instructor. Marrian delivers three taps in two seconds, a jab, then a palm, then another palm transitioning into a grapple of the man. Marrian was reinforced with sleek black gloves with a layer of an old experimental metal weaved in the fabric.


Instructor: “How’s the Adamantium gloves?”

Marrian: “Good, I think I--”


The instructor delivers a swift and fast leg sweep, tumbling the girl over but he catches her before she hits the ground. He smirks and was about to tell her never let her guard down, before he’s met with a leg lock around his neck as she shifts her body weight up and around shoulder, causing him to thud into the floor as her grip pressures down on his right arm. She releases and he nods in respect. Irene then appears in the open studio room and claps.
Destiny.jpg


Irene: “Nice job, cub. You can go.”


Her latter comment directed at the instructor as he nods and bows to both the ladies, before taking his leave. Marrian’s blind mother walks around the room and towards the window overlooking the city with freakish senses and composure.


Irene: “Your father wants to see you.”

Ace: “Okay, I was going anyways for treatment.”

Irene: “Ugh, I hate it when you call it that.”


Marrian had been through a lot, much more than any teenager or youth period is supposed to go through, She watched her family die and was chased from her home. Pillaged by people she used to speak to everyday out of courtesy, people that used to smile at her and cheer her on. She watched the only boy she ever loved, die from a seizure shock due to her kissing him. She watched her entire hometown become infested with some blue amorphous energy in the wake of threats ever increasing in a world of aliens and gods. Marrian’s life has been anything but normal, leaving her old life behind to become something else, something that will at least provide her extra security literally and figuratively. But, it does alot to her psychological state, and she sometimes needs a mental soothing, a release. This is where she goes to what’s known as The Phoenix Manor, a mansion home in NYC in which her father and some of his “cohorts” operate and work from. Citizens and people can only wonder what goes on in the manor, as people are ever hardly ever seen going in, or coming out for that matter. But Marrian knew the secret. She knew why. It was a nugget she would carry for the rest of her life knowing the natural free world would virtually never get wind of such a dynamic of truth, a truth that would turn the powers of the free world upside down on their heads.


Irene: “Well, get ready. He’s sending a car for you now.”

Marrian: “Or I could just walk there. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to actually see the sights and breath real air once in a while…”

Irene: “Marrian.”


Her mother had said it in a tone and expression to suggest that Marrian knows why that cannot happen. Marrian rolls her eyes, filled with mild disappointment and sadness as she sulks to her room to gather her things. Irene watches her with a tad of remorse as well. She wished for the girl to have a normal life as well, but she knew it’d never come. Not ever. No matter how hard Marrian tried, she’d always descend back into destiny. Marrian heads to her room to change into some comfortable casual wear, equipping her gloves as well and heads down with her backpack on her back. Irene sees the black Audi pull up as she stops Marrian before she departs.


Irene: “I know. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Marrian: “Love you too.”


Mari heads down the elevator to the ground floor, heading into the brisk air of New York as a well-suited man in tuxedo greets and opens the door for Marrian. She hops in the back as the car departs into the fray of the city. The Phoenix Manor awaited, and everything that resided within the manor. What Marrian referred to as absolute power and influence.






[/fieldbox]


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[fieldbox=”X, goldenrod, dashed, 10"]

View attachment 151781



The Professor opens his eyes from meditation, the trees now blowing gently with a breeze as he focuses his attention on the news. An AIM Truck, went missing in Ohio the night before. He thought of the machinations of this new world, figuring that it could be the likes of a terrorist group to that of a simple miscommunication. But in his experiences, things like that were never mere coincidences. He sighs as he rolls over to his desk, thinking back to the days where he himself was but a student, but not academically. Though he did graduate from Oxford, at 16 nonetheless, he learned far more involved with a group of rag tag friends and individuals just like him.They were his life, and he were theirs. They were in no way the same in persona, but together they connected and operated perfectly in harmony. As people, and as mutants. He slid open his desk drawer, a picture of four individuals including with himself, the one that took the picture the only one left out of the photo. It was himself, sleeping, along with another man sleeping near him. The other two were looking at the camera, but their eyes emitted a glow like that of an animal in the night. One was in the corner of the photo, fur and a brute physique concealing most of his face, but those eyes pierced the photo. And the other one, a grim and gruff look on his face, a mix between angry and irritated, a sharp single claw like protrusion arose from the middle of his knuckles, imitating a middle finger. Charles begin to laugh to himself, as Octavia enters his office, causing him to quickly force the photo back in his desk as the girl spoke to him mentally. Charles replied to her out loud. “Ah yes, Ms. Delano. I take it your recent studies are finished? It’d be wise to head to the kitchen, get a bite--” Charles stops when he reads that she’s already been and eaten, getting a head start on the others. Octavia was the newest addition to Xavier’s, him finding her literally on the street, a vagabond orphan. She was attacked by some very nasty men in Hell’s Kitchen, but she showcased her abilities in self-defense. She was so scared when he’d found her, unable to talk except mentally. He’d been working with her to use her abilities to stimulate the vocal cords in her throat so she could speak. But he was patient, he was just glad to give the girl a home, and to belong. “Well let’s see, Perhaps we shall go the the Crafting Room?” The Crafting Room to anyone at Xavier’s was an underground room encased in vibranium walls that cost Charles a fortune to make, and it’s not even that sizable. It was a place for the x-humans and inhumans to hone themselves. Charles motions Octavia to follow him as he rolls past her. She was so bashful, he wanted to warm the girl up to being comfortable. He rolled past the fields where he looked out to see James giving the students physical activity. He looks at James and gives a friendly nod, and continues onward. He heard vocal and mental chatter coming from the kitchen, as he rolled in to see a few students and Leone, a man who was laid off and discriminated against for his extrahuman gifts. He didn’t know it then, but Charles read his mind into what he was searching for. Understanding and a sense of purpose. Which was why he recruited him to help run Xavier’s. His abilities were unique in their own right. He could sense the apathy in Leone, but he also knew the young man wasn’t going anywhere. “Morning all.” He speaks to them. He then grabs the mental news of the room, a smile appearing on his face. “Well that was very nice of James, Scott. That bike has been sitting there since….ugh I can’t recall. You know, that same bike is the very one a friend of mine used to escape a HYDRA camp back in the hay day. Never thought I’d see it up and running again.” Charles then looks at Jean. “So, Jeanie how are things? Any disturbances in the force? Are you keeping balanced with your voices? Flea market shopping!? Hah! A bit rancor for your tastes eh?” He rolls around to the fridge and grabs himself a water, and takes a few sips before making his announcement. “Well then, I expect to see you all in the Crafting Room in about 30 minutes. Time to see what everyone has learned, and where they are with their gifts… Jean, do NOT be late young lady.” X gives her a playful stern pointing and prepares to take his leave, while Jean wasn’t looking X directs his attention to Scott, pointing his head towards Jean hinting at what Scott is nervous about. Charles reinforces this once more in a light nudge towards Jean, and gives the young man a mental spat.


‘You know, she’s just going to read it from your mind sooner or later. Ask her. Man up, Chap!’


X then leaves and heads down to the basement via secret elevator. He shows his retinal scan and allows Octavia to join him if that were her choice. The common practice is students and staff take the stairs to the basement, and are met with an ID scan which only clears if using their custom identification. No two ID’s are the same: some have the access code in a glove, some in a certain notebook, others in things as unique as their favorite to-go mug. Which emphasized them to never lose them. The door opens as Charles rolls out to a pristine white basement, complete with diamond-fiber walls. Hardly no one knew Xavier’s exists, but those who’d stumble upon this abode would find a private school for children with selective acceptance. But, behind that mask, lies the truth of having a safe haven for inhumans and x-humans to be themselves and hone their gifts, as opposed to being afraid of them. Charles rolls up to a silo-like door, a circle of metal that slides open as he awaited his entourage for the day. He then sends a telepathic message to all students and powered faculty ‘Crafting Room, 20 minutes.’


He sighed in happiness. Charles was honored to have such a place for those lost and those found, but them feeling safe all the same.






[/fieldbox]


Octavia Delano

Tilting her head as the Professor spoke Octavia smiled. She knew he could already know what she had already done or was doing. Nodding she agreed, she didn't know her way about the mansion as well as she may have liked. Keeping away from most of the areas she didn't know Octavia followed the professor out and into the kitchen. She could hear the voices as the approached rather clearly. Before she even entered the room she had heard most of what was said as they approached.

The people in the room were still mostly unknown to her. She knew their names but didn't know much about what their gifts were. Not able to speak and not feeling up for sign language she decided to only wave as they entered the kitchen. Looking at Xavier she wondered what it must be like to be able to hear others voices, their thoughts and know just about everything about them. Grinding her teeth at the thought she aligned it to having a constant migraine.

Rubbing the side of her own head she looked around the room and to each of them one last time before following him out and towards the basement entrance. "They must think I am an odd one. Not speaking nor saying hello." Octavia spoke mentally "What is it like Professor?" She asked the thought obviously more a question than curious daydreaming. She knew the answer would be complicated "Must be complex. I understand not being able to describe it. Not being able to show it must be different as well. You and I are among the lucky. Our gifts are unobservable... unless exposed." She finished as they stepped into the elevator.

Stepping out and following behind she thought back to the incident where her abilities flared. "It haunts me at times." She professed to Xavier mentally. With just the two of them where they were, she felt alright to discuss these things. "It is still hard to come to terms with. I still have a small problem with blood." She continued on before changing the subject "I think I ate all the captain crunch. I wanted to say something earlier. You probably already know this so, this is just me being honest. It's not I think, I did eat all the Captain crunch. Sorry." She said unable to contain a smirk on her face.
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James Proudstar Aka Warpath

James got the Professor's message during the younger kid's kick ball game he was still refereeing. He had gotten the idea when he saw the professor earlier along the edge of the field and returned a friendly nod. Not surprisingly, Harmony was along side. That one was very shy still, kept to herself. At least James, thought she did. She didn't interact with him much as yet. She hadn't been at the school for long.

James use his short range radio to call in a back up so he could get to the meeting. When she ran a little late, he had to take off in a hurry. This disrupted the kids at their game as he ran off at high speed. He used the moment to practice parkour with his high speed running. Through doors and down the stairs with a breakneck speed, just avoiding a few people on his way downstairs.

James had a pair of goggles and high end military boots, steel toed. His two fancy daggers he always wore when he could help it. He got there only with a few moment to spare on Professor X's timetable. He still wasn't breathing hard. His heartbeat barely budged with such short term activity because of his mutant physiology.

As he passed those others present, his said a quiet hello and giving Slim a fist bump. His disciplined military mind kept him focused largely on the situation as he waited for further explanation of today's activity.

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The slightest of smiles appeared on Leone’s face when the girl joked about his habitual ‘not dealing with anything until the sun stops working’ approach to mornings. He poured himself a cup of coffee, keeping an eye on the two of them in his peripheral. Scott’s body language was a bit too telling. Poor awkward kid. His attention snapped back to Jean at her suggestion. It took a surprising amount of control in order to not choke on his coffee. Oh joy, wandering around out in the sun in hopes of finding some neat piece of junk. He couldn’t help it if his immediate reaction was sarcasm. Fortunately he almost never said the first thing that came to mind. Of course, he lived with mind readers now. So he quickly answered the question in order to avoid being too blunt. “No thanks. Not worth the migraine.”

His gaze flicked to the doorway when the professor came rolling in. “Morning Professor.” He replied, leaning with his back against the counter and simply watching the room. He waved back to the silent girl, though his mind was primarily focused on figuring out whatever the Professor had planned for their little ability check. It didn’t matter all that much, he’d figure it out as he went along. He was very good about that. “Let the fun and games begin...” He muttered softly into his coffee cup before finishing it off.

He cleaned it out and dried it off before making his way downstairs to the super secret training area. He took off his shades for a brief second and held them up to the scanner, before quickly putting them back on in order to enter the bright white room. Even with his shades on, this room tended to give him a bit of a headache. It wasn’t as bad as a bright summer day, but it was on the level of not good. He lightly leaned up against a nearby wall, surveying all of the people accumulating in the room. He was pretty familiar with them all. It was safer to have a vague idea of what to expect from the people he looked after. It had saved him a few times when he accidentally scared some of the teens during their past curfew adventures. Not his fault if he doesn’t need a flashlight.
 
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