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Descendant

Descendant

0 INK

Private RP between Mombie & Mjolnir

952 readers have visited Descendant since mjolnir created it.

mombie are listed as curators, giving them final say over any conflict & the ability to clean up mistakes.

Introduction

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C R E A T I O N . . .

It’s been many years since superheroes rose up to protect the Earth and its inhabitants. It all began with the creation of Captain America during WWII, and since then more heroes, and subsequently, villains, have made themselves known. Some heroes such as the Avengers and Justice League have made themselves known to society, whether that was desired or not. While others, like the X-men, have remained in hiding. Either way, the world is no longer in the dark about the existence of heroes or villains.

For decades, these heroes have courageously defended and protected the citizens of Earth, along with many other planets in the universe. Our reach in the galaxy has shortened due to the knowledge from some intergalactic heroes like Thor, Superman and the Guardians of the Galaxy. But the current reign of heroes have reached their end. Some have died in service, while others desire to hang up their cape and retire. Many of these heroes could not leave innocent people defenseless and in return decided to pass on their legacy to their children. These proteges have inherited their parents skills, abilities and powers, while also growing up watching and being trained by their parents.

Many of these children attended Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters during their younger years, up through High School. A good starting ground that helped these students learn how to hone their abilities, while also getting a proper education. Professor X always desires the best for his students, wanting them to have bright futures to pursue whatever they wish… Be that a hero or a lawyer.

Although Prof. X’s school was marvelous in many ways, some heroes still didn’t think it was enough for when another attack presents itself. So before throwing in the towel, Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark came together and funded the Descendant Academy. An elite, highly secretive facility that focused on the intense and vigorous training of the worlds finest heroes. Recruits were pulled from the most powerful and prestigious of proteges, only gaining entrance into the Academy if chosen. Bruce and Tony are highly selective about who joins the academy wanting uniquely useful and talented heroes to take up the reigns.

These Descendants come from all walks of life. Some are children of the most infamous and powerful heroes in the universe, some of simple human vigilantes and some… are even children of villains trying to get a clean slate for their family name. They all have been chosen to study, train and learn so that they can become the new saviors of the world.


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The GM of this roleplay hasn't created any rules! You can do whatever you like!

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 2 authors

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mjolnir
It has been a decade since the closing of the Descendant Academy. Once the U.N. created the International Hero Association, I.H.A., the usefulness for such an academy dwindled. Every self titled hero or person with special abilities was registered, cataloged, thrown into a databank and given jurisdiction over a district. Depending on a heroes rank, they were assigned to neighborhoods, cities and sometimes, the most powerful, were sent to help an entire nation.

And this worked.

Sometimes the order and regulation of it all was tedious, but it kept certain heroes in line while protecting the world from threats domestic... and foreign. It wasn't perfect, but it brought about a time of peace, although brief.

It was a year ago when it started happening. It began with the lower ranked heroes. They leave to go on a mission like any other, but never return. It was nothing out of the ordinary for a hero to go missing every so often. It was assumed they were killed in action by whomever the villainous threat was at the time. So, at first, no special proceedings were taken beyond the normal when a member of the I.H.A. went missing.

But then it grew more frequent. It started turning heads when it was happening all over the world rather than confined to areas like Manhattan. The I.H.A. and U.N. began looking into it all further while implementing more protocols for the heroes protection. But when top tier heroes disappeared, the world went into a frenzy. With no one to protect them, what would happen when there was another attack like Thanos, Steppenwolf... or worse?

With no other choice, Phil Coulson and Alfred Pennyworth, who were left to look after the Descendant Academy after it closed, sent out a distress signal. There was a secret hero network created before the I.H.A. and while it was ordered to be shut down years ago, it was kept up as a fail safe in case the new association was compromised. The message was sent around the world on the old frequency, to anyone who might be listening. The only information it gave was a date, time and coordinates.

For now... everything is quiet. Quiet, until threat came out of the shadows showing their true intentions.






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william richards
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It had been nearly two months since William's parents and the rest of the Fantastic Four disappeared. Classified as some of the higher tier heroes, they resided within the Baxter building as protectors of Manhattan but also the eastern seaboard of America and Canada. Before their disappearance, Will was in Greenland studding the polar ice caps and global warming. For over two years he had been working on a machine that would help make more glaciers. It was a large, autonomous machine that would be submerged into the Arctic Ocean and, essentially, make giant ocean ice cubes.

It took a few days for the news of the Fantastic Fours disappearance to reach Will. Although he hadn't heard from his parents in a few weeks, that was normal considering his location. But when the news hit him, it still sunk like a brick in his gut. He knew heroes have been turning up missing and it had only been getting worse in recent months. Perhaps his remote location is why he was lucky enough to not have fallen under the same fate? Either way, he had no choice but abandon his work and to return to New York to aid in the search for the missing heroes.

Some might call it tempting fate, how Will decided to return to the Baxter building and reside where his parents did as he searched for them. It's unknown if they went missing from inside the tower or on a mission, but many others have been avoiding hero head quarters like they had the plague. From what he had heard the Avengers tower had been a ghost town for the better part of the year and even civilians will walk a block out of their way to avoid it. It was like everyone was scared that if they went anywhere near remnants of the heroes, they too would go missing.

But Will wasn't the superstitious sort. His best bet was to stay where they were last seen and hope that some sort of clue or hint would turn up. It didn't hurt that the Fantastic Four had one of the best labs in the world. And perhaps, a small part of him, wanted to use himself as bait. Every lead the U.N. and I.H.A. had ran cold. So, in his mind, the best information he could get would be from the attackers himself.

William had lost track of the last time he slept or found even a crumb of information to follow when the distress call came in. The beeping in the Baxter Building took him by so much surprise he nearly fell out of his chair. But it wasn't a common alert from the many sensors, scanners and satellites he had skimming... well, everything. It was an old tune that chirped from the communications room.

Once he accepted the message, his heart sank, for a moment when nothing came through. But just before he turned the machine off, it began to beep in morse code. Date. Time. Longitude. Latitude. Will could barely contain the glimmer of hope that radiated from him as he quickly wrote it all down. This was it. This was the lead he needed. He hurried over to the large map and entered in the coordinates. Then the location pinged on the map.

The Descendant Academy.

Will froze as he stared at the blinking red light. This was either really good... or really really bad.

* * *

A strange sense of deja vu, or perhaps nostalgia, washed over Will as he turned onto the long drive toward the Descendant tower. It had been ten long years since he last looked upon the building. And while, on one hand it hadn't aged a day. It also looked like a barren ghost town. No buildings for miles, empty docks and weeds blowing in the wind through cracked concrete.

He half expected to arrived to a bustling throughway, with dozens of cars littering the lot surrounding the glimmering tower. But he should have known better. As his car slowly came to a halt near the entrance, he was surprised to find not a single vehicle, nor a light shining from behind mirrored windows. Was it all a ruse? Or perhaps this was how so many heroes had gone missing? It put him on edge, but he also couldn't help the slight ping of hope that still glistened in the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to give up.

Will turned off his car, leaving it parked in the large round about area. On any other occasion he might have actually pulled it into a spot, or the garage below the building. But in the event he might need a quick escape, he wanted it readily available. And it wasn't like there were others there to argue about him 'parking in a no parking zone'.

He stood before the entrance for a long moment, adjusting his necktie and taking a deep breath. Will had to know. He had to. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out his hand and opened the large glass door. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't seeing Phil and Alfred standing in the foyer waiting for him like nothing had changed.

"Mr. Richards, it is so good to see you," Alfred greeted him, crossing the lobby to offer his hand.

Still in bewilderment, Will took his hand and shook it before bringing the man into a friendly hug. "—The hell are you both doing here?" He then moved to Phil, giving him a similar greeting. "I thought this place was closed down years ago?"

"It was," Coulson confirmed. "We're more of glorified grounds keepers."

Will's brows furrowed as he tried to understand what exactly was going on. "... I have to ask, what is going on here?"

Alfred looked to Phil before responding. "We should wait and see if anyone else arrives. Then we'll explain everything."






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myla murdock
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Manhattan had quickly become a mess with the absence of some of it's most predominant heroes. The average crime rate was hard enough for Myla to handle alone, but then the audacity of criminals only seemed to rise with each new disappearance. She had been so focused on trying to help pick up the slack that her work suffered. Until, eventually, she lost her job... Which caused her to lose her apartment as well.

Luckily, her Uncle Foggy had been spending all his free time helping her search for her father or any other heroes in the area that might have answers. For several months Myla had been staying with him, although she was rarely home enough to call it that. His apartment became more of a glorified base camp to eat and shower before she had to leave again.

The only other hero she had heard of that was still... around was William Richards. The Fantastic Four were no strangers to media, and whether or not Myla would call it smart, he had been using this to his advantage. It wasn't hidden knowledge that heroes were more myth than fact those days, but civilians were happy in their ignorance rather than excepting the truth. She had tried on a few occasions to contact the man, but she also couldn't help but worry if it was a ploy to pull more heroes out of the wood work. Instead, she tried to reach the U.N. and I.H.A. to no avail.

It was the anniversary of her father's disappearance and crime in Hell's Kitchen was at an all time high. Myla was exhausted. She couldn't remember the last time she got more than a handful hours of sleep before she heard more sirens or police scanners in the distance begging for her attention. Without the Avengers or Defenders, and half of the New York Sanctum empty, whatever heroes remained were pulled in several directions at once.

She had stopped five separate crimes in Midtown Manhattan already that night and the sun had barely set. Myla made a detour back to her Uncle Foggy's just for a quick bite to eat and to address some wounds. With no sirens or distant cries for help, she allowed herself a moment to collapse on the couch. Just a minute of rest. No sooner did her head hit a pillow that she heard a foreign beeping.

With a groan, she sat up and followed the sound to a box shoved in one of Foggy's closet. It was what they could muster up of her father's belongings before his apartment was seized after his disappearance. Myla had all but forgotten about it. Neither herself nor her Uncle had the heart to sift through it's contents. But if she had hope to get any sleep before she was needed again, she had to silence the damned beeping.

Hidden beneath a jacket, a few braille books and trinkets she had given him as a child, Myla found a small device from which the noise was coming from. It felt like pager, of sorts. But if there was a screen, there was no way she could read it and her Uncle wasn't home. She cursed under her breath, trying to understand the device best she could. There seemed to be only a single button, so she pressed it. Then a robotic sounding voice spoke out from the small box. "41.158558, -73.166693 September 23, 18 00 hours."

Myla's eyes widened. Was this a message from her dad?! Could he be found at these coordinates?! She quickly searched the apartment trying to find her phone or a recorder, repeating the information over and over in her head so she wouldn't forget it. As she felt around, her hand accidentally pressed the button again. "No. No. No," she panicked, thinking she erased the information. But like before it repeated the data.

She let out a sigh of relief, holding the pager close to her chest. "I'm coming dad," she whispered.

* * *

Myla could smell the sea salt in the air as her taxi turned down a drive towards the coordinates. It felt different than the city. Everything was more open and quiet. She could hear the sounds of the waves against the shore and the wind whipping around a singular sky touching tower. To the best of her ability, she couldn't sense any other buildings in the general area. So, she could only assume that that was her destination.

In the distance, Myla though she might have heard another car but it was far more quiet than she was used to. So, rather than concern herself over it, she focused on whatever might come of this meeting. She hoped, that she would step out of the taxi and there her dad would be, like nothing had changed and it was all part of some elaborate ruse to fool some big bad that was threatening the world or something. But she knew it was wishful thinking. She still found herself saying a silent prayer before the car came to a halt and the driver announced that they had arrived.

She gathered her bag and cane, but before she was able to open the car door, it opened for her. "Allow me," a deep, yet somehow familiar, male voice greeted her. Myla sensed his hand extended out to her, but he must have noticed her cane because he then took her hand. Sometimes she forgot that when she was 'just Myla' people saw her as blind, not the daughter of Daredevil.

"Thank you... Mr. Richards," she replied as she let him help her out of the car. He didn't say anything, but she imagined the twisted confused expression on his face. Myla smiled. "The media does love you. I don't think a day can go by without you on the news. I have an ear for voices," she concluded pointing to her ear. "And the stretchy arm gave you away." Feeling no need to keep up the act, Myla collapsed her seeing cane and tucked it under her arm before heading toward the entrance.

William lingered behind for a moment, his brows furrowed in confusion. He quickly stretched out his arm, extending it past Myla so that he could grab the door and open it for her. His feet hastening to catch up to the woman. "Forgive me, but I thought you were blind?"

"Very," Myla responded and then entered the building.

She could only sense two older gentlemen in the room but no others. No booby traps, soldiers laying in wait or silent alarms signaling her arrival... and no dad. Her heart sank a little, although she knew the chances of finding her father here was slim. But there was some relief knowing that this all wasn't a trap to take her as well. She partly regretted having her suit and billy club in her bag, but she could never be too cautious.

One of the men approached her, offering her a hand. "Hello Miss—"

"Myla. Myla Murdock." She took the man's hand and gave it a friendly shake.

"Ah, Matt's daughter, I presume? I am Alfred Pennyworth. And this is Phil Coulson." He motioned to the other gentleman who gave her a similar greeting. "And I see you've met Mr. Richards."

"It's hard not to know of him if you have a television." She flashed the tall male a playful smile. "Although I think I confuse him." Myla then took a step back towards Will. "I would like to thank you though, for helping look for the missing heroes. I thought I was the only one. My father... You probably know him as Daredevil, he was one of the first to disappear."

"I remember hearing about that. I am sorry about your father."

"And I yours... And your mother." Myla's lips pulled back in a sympathetic smile. It wasn't an easy topic for either of them. But there was some solace in knowing that she wasn't alone and that someone else was trying to find them as well.

"You both are welcome to take a seat while we wait to see if any others will join us."

William motioned his hand toward the sofas in an 'after you' manner. Myla nodded her head slightly and took a seat. Will followed, helping himself to the same couch but was sure not to sit too close or invade her personal space. "I have to ask..."

Myla chuckled before finishing his question. "How can I see if I'm blind?"

He nodded his head in acknowledgement and quickly realized she couldn't see that. But before he could audibly agree, she seemed to know he nodded and proceeded to answer. "Well..." Then as they sat their, waiting to see if anyone else arrived, Myla explained her gifts to Will, whom seemed far too excited to learn something new.






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zehara el sayid
cheetahx|xoutfitx|x#c8a964

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Zehara never was one to call herself a hero. She knew what was in her was a monster and after seeing what her mother was like and what she did, she could never consider herself good. But that wasn't for the lack of trying. She lived the nomad life, flitting from one place to another wherever whispers carried her. And for a couple months it had carried her back to her homeland of Algeria.

The hero disappearances were old news and nothing Zehara particularly worried herself about. She wasn't a hero. And if she did disappear... Well, her captors would have to deal with the Cheetah, not herself. But the missing numbers only seemed to keep growing. She had no intention of involving herself, but when locals from her home showed a particular worry when Monet St. Croix turned up missing, she couldn't tell them no when they asked for her help.

Her investigations were turning up short and Zehara had no more information two months in than what she did the day she arrived. Even with feline level tracking, it seemed like Monet just vanished. There was no trail, no clues, no blood. Nothing. She spent day after day combing over everything within the hero's home trying to find anything that could be of use. But again, nothing. No strange sightings, no remnants. Everything looked like she just left for the store and never returned.

Zehara had all but given up. She gave a new definition to double checking because she was double checking her double checks. It was frying her brain and frustrating her. Not to mention her hunger was growing out of control. Until finally, one night when the rest of the town was asleep, she snuck out to feed on gazelles and the occasional jackal.

Not satisfied, but full, she returned to Monet's to try and give it one fresh look before delivering the sad news to the locals in the morning. But upon entering her home, Zehara heard a quiet, sad beeping, like a watch that's batteries were dying. She quickly searched the house, trying to find the source before it went quiet. It lead her to a loose floor board in Monet's room. Zehara was mad at herself that she hadn't notice this the first ten times. Cursing under her breath, she lifted the board and found an odd looking pager. The screen was dim, nearly out of juice, but numbers flashed across the screen.

Not wasting anytime, Zehara used her claw and quickly scrawled the numbers into the ground. She managed to get the last number down just before the screen when dark and the pager died. With a sigh, she sat back on the ground, staring at scratches. She wasn't quite sure if she was excited to have a lead... or worried that it could lead her into a trap like the one Monet must have fallen into. One thing was certain, she was relieved to return to the locals with some amount of hope... even if small.

* * *

Zehara had never been a fan of flying. She had only done it once or twice in her life, but this was by far the longest flight she had ever been on. She had heard a lot about America, everyone had. But she had never traveled there before that day. It was a long and stressful flight, but she'd take it all over again rather than the strange looks she got from the white minivan moms as she exited the plane and walked through the airport.

Luckily, no one approached her or tried anything, because while she might not be an overly mean person, her resting face scared away most who might try. She didn't waste her time on them. Zehara hadn't heard too many overly wonderful things about Americans and her time there wasn't to socialize and decide if she wanted to immigrate. She minded her own business, got her taxi and promptly zoned out staring at the scenery as the driver took her to her desired location.

It wasn't long before she arrived at the tall building, that stood out against the back drop of the ocean and surrounding nature. It was like someone decided to place a sky scraper in the middle of a forest. Zehara couldn't decide if it was beautiful or obtrusive. But it seemed... vacant. The grass around it was overgrown and weeds had broken their way through the concrete. And aside from a single parked car and a leaving taxi, she would have assumed there wasn't a soul there.

Zehara didn't know what to expect as the taxi came to a stop, but there was nothing that churned in her gut or made her hair stand on end. So, she took that as a good sign. She grabbed her bag and paid the driver, before ascending the steps up to the entrance. It wasn't until she started opening the door that she notice a couple people already inside. Normally, this might have put her on edge or made her defensive, but she felt safe... relatively. She couldn't put her finger on it, but these people didn't seem quite so different. Although she didn't know why.

Feeling the need to explain her presence, she dug the dead pager out of her pocket and held it up. "I was hired to search for Monet St. Croix," Zehara spoke with a heavy Algerian accent but spoke perfect English. "I found this in her house... The coordinates lead here before it died." She held it out towards Coulson who was approaching her.

He took the device with a slight smile. "Well, then you are in the right place. Welcome." Phil motioned his hand for her to be welcome to take a seat.

Zehara gave a slightly awkward smile as she looked around at the others. The one tall brunette male looked vaguely familiar but she couldn't put her finger on it. So, rather than poke around for names, she decided to take a seat quietly. If she asked questions, then they would ask questions about her. Somehow, someway the Cheetah would be the topic of conversation and she'd no longer be welcome. Instead, she opted for keeping that quiet for as long as possible... At least until she got more information that would help her find Monet.






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jameson blaze
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It's no secret that the Ghost Rider isn't always the most revered hero or kept in tight circles. Maybe that's because James' dad wasn't always the most amiable. But when James took on the mantle of Ghost Rider, he wasn't kept in close communication with other hero organizations. He often wondered about the country, going wherever his bike took him. It rarely steered him wrong, taking directly toward whomever the spirit wanted next. It wasn't particularly a glamorous job like Superman or Iron Man who had international fame. But he did his part... whatever that was worth.

He knew about the heroes that had been disappearing. You couldn't go anywhere without hearing it, but it hardly affected him. No one he knew was gone, and even if they were what could he do? James had no connections or networks. And most people saw him as more of a plague rather than a hero, regardless of what good he tried to accomplish. So, rather than meddle in business that wasn't his place, he kept to himself and did what he did best... smiting assholes and dragging their souls to hell.

James was somewhere on the Pacific Coast Highway between Santa Cruz and Los Angeles when he got a phone call. "James?"

Hearing his dad's voice nearly brought tears to James' eyes. "Dad? Dad, is that you? It's so good to hear your voice! I thought with all the disappearances that maybe—"

"I got a message." His father cut him off, cold and indifferent. It sounded like he was pained to have to speak with James and was merely doing it out of formality and wished to end it as soon as possible. "It's for the Ghost Rider... Which is you, not me." He then began to read out coordinates, a date and time. James did his best to write it all down on his arm because he knows his day would only relay that information once and couldn't care less if James got it down correctly or not.

"Dad—"

"If you go missing, don't think we'll come looking for you. You're already gone to us." Click. The line went dead.

James sat there on his bike on the shoulder of his bike, lost in bewilderment for the better part of an hour, staring down at the scratchy information on his arm. Part of him wanted to wipe it away and forget he ever heard about it. He didn't want to give his dad the satisfaction of him going. Or maybe he should go, get captured, disappear... die. Then that'd be one less mess up in the world. He could go straight to hell taking the spirit with him and then he'd no longer be anyone's burden.

It was a tempting option. But a part of James, the little boy still wanting his dad's approval, wanted to prove himself. He wanted nothing more than to make his dad proud, which only made him hate himself more. He sighed, running his hands back through his hair before he started up his bike and sped off down the highway.

He pulled over at the first gas station he found. He went inside and grabbed an atlas. For the next hour, James sat on his bike flipping through it page by page until he came to the map of Connecticut, where the coordinates finally lined up. Bridgeport. This city was nearly as far as possible within that damned country, but he had to try... for himself. He made a shitty route plan and then took off, making his way east.

* * *

James lost track of how many hours he hand be riding when he finally reached Bridgeport. He only stopped when eating, or showering at a truck stop was a necessity. Traveling cross country, especially on a motorcycle, was no easy task and was nothing short of exhausting. Somehow he managed to only get two speeding tickets, which is a feat in and of itself. He didn't know what he expected going into this and often during his ride he asked himself why he was doing this. There was no definite answer. Curiosity... and something in his gut telling him he had to go.

He came barreling down the drive toward the tower going nearly double the recommended speed. Then just before reaching the front of the building, he brought his bike skidding to a halt, nearly missing the bumper of a Tesla that was worth ten of his ride. The engine was barely off and the kick stand down, when James hopped off the seat and hurried towards the doors. He rushed inside, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw several people sitting around in mid conversation.

James swallowed and pulled off his helmet. "Sorry I'm late. I rode non-stop for two days..." He sighed trying to catch his breath as he looked around at the people that filled the room. All looking to be from very different walks of life and even then he felt like he stood out like a sore thumb. He instantly began to regret his decision to answer the call.

The oldest of the men approached him, offering a kind smile and a hand. "That's quite alright Mister...?"

"Blaze," he took the mans hand with a weak smile. "Uh, Jameson Blaze."

"Alfred Pennyworth," the man responded with a firm shake and motioned towards the chairs for him to take a seat.

"I didn't realize Johnny had retired," the other standing man commented.

"Unwillingly," James responded with a vague answer before going to take a seat in a chair that sat across from a majority of the others that sat in silence. He gave his best, semi-apologetic smile before setting his helmet on the ground, not really keeping prolonged eye contact with anyone.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by mombie
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J o s i a h x D a l i n s k i

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o f x h a r l e y & j o k e r
#B48F7C || Outfit || the jester

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Everyone knows that Villains love New York. Over the last couple of months, Brooklyn's finest heroes have gone missing in action. There were the greats like Spiderman, and Josiah actually didn't mind the guy. He went around, swinging here and there, dropping bad guys off at the police station. Really pissed off the donut gluttons. This was not the original Peter Parker Spiderman, but the newest addition -Miles. Not that anyone knew his identity. Peter Parker hasn't been around even longer than Miles, and it was assumed that he was dead.

The part of Josiah that was mentally stable, kind, and not vile - liked this Spiderman. There was a time, shortly after he was able to get out of the Asylum, that he was starting to get into some real trouble. One of his more brutish personalities slipped through, and during the commission of a violent crime, Spiderman showed up. He always showed up. Little to Josiah's knowledge, Miles knows him from school. He knew that something was wrong with the kid, even if he didn't know the circumstances of his genealogy or his upbringing very well. Miles knew that there was a kind person beneath all of the layers of personalities, so he tried his best to be a sort of mentor to him.

It's been seven months since he has last seen Miles. In these last seven months, it's felt like a hellish landscape of chaos and cacophony in his brain. Dark thoughts were starting to creep, and his multiple personalities were conspiring against him and he didn't even notice. The boy - the warmhearted intellectual that just wanted to live a normal life among typical people - was slowly being overtaken.

Today he sat at his computer desk, and the screen was on but his focus was pinned to his journal. He kept it because he started to notice that there were blanks in his memory over the last couple of days. Every entry was like reading the life of a different person, sometimes multiple people in the same paragraph. Scribbles. Elegance. Pictures. Ink splotches. Details he couldn't remember and writing that was not his.

"It's right behind you, and creeps on the ground. It follows you home but does not make a sound. Careful when you turn around," he read softly to himself as he leaned back into his chair. A riddle from his least favorite personality, the pseudo-intellectual with the God complex. He spoke in ways that Josiah could not understand. He tapped the opened journal against his forehead and sighed.

Just then, the screen to his computer began to flicker. An image of Spiderman, Miles, popped up but it was pixelated and went in and out. He seemed to be trying to tell him something, but Josiah couldn't make it out. He set his journal down and got to work on trying to stabilize things but failed. All he was left with was some binary code scrolling over and over again on his screen. He jotted it down to solve it and ended up with coordinates.

* * *

Connecticut. What kind of backwater state was he going to? Where had Miles ended up? He looked out of the window of the plane as they began the descent. There was no logical reason as to why he was doing this other than he felt Spiderman was the only person that didn't treat him like a crazy person. Other than that, he didn't know what to expect. Did he need saving? How would he save the renowned hero Spiderman anyway?

It didn't take long for him to get to where he needed to be, and when he arrived at the door and noticed that there were people, he froze. He couldn't be around people. He didn't know who he was going to be from one second to the next. What if they call him crazy? What if they hate him? What if he hates them and does something horrible right off of the bat? Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just be normal?

When the insecurity hit him so suddenly, it caused a crack in his otherwise typical shell. One of his more insidious but charismatic personas slipped through, and it was almost like he never had a second thought to start with. He moved through the door with a confident pep in his step, and when he was in the center of the room with all the people, he smiled wide and chimed, "Why all the long faces? Is this a funeral?" He laughed inappropriately after he swatted away the hand of the gentleman trying to greet him. He didn't want anyone to touch him. People were disgusting. Especially geriatric folks - they were the worst. They smelled, too. Like death at the door.

Alfred knew who he was. How could he not? The son of the infamous Joker and Harley Quinn - sworn enemies and longtime adversaries of Batman. They've kept a rather close eye on this particular child for obvious reasons. While he was a deviant of all kinds, he was hardly threatening at this point in time.

He waltzed over to Zehara, because she was super pretty, and wiggled his eyebrows at her flirtatiously. Yeah, he's the man. Then there was a tick in his eyes - a very subtle one, and his flamboyant aura disappeared like it was never there. He leaned down, and suddenly there was a predator gazing at her with a similar grin, "I come in a lot of different sizes. Sometimes, I drip a little. If you blow me, it feels really good. What am I?"

And just before she could answer, he flipped again, stood up straight, and laughed out loud. "Your nose!" Ah, that was hilarious.

When he was done toying with the beautiful lady, he addressed Phil and Alfred. "Josiah. Josiah Dalinski." Afterwards, he just did as everyone else - find a seat.





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A r i a x M u n r o e

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#475D6B || Outfit || tempest

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Aria was nothing like her mother, Ororo. She was not revered as a goddess, nor was she a queen of some distant world. She did not live a life of romance and danger, or anything of that sort. Storm exiled her from Wakanda, and this forced her daughter to New York where she had to suffer through her father's life. In the short time she had been away from her homeland, she was imprisoned by her own father, betrayed by another mutant, and thrust into some world that she wasn't sure of. By her mother side, Aria always felt like nothing could get her. No one would mess with the great Ororo Munroe, one of the Omega Mutants.

She had followed Cable to Alaska, ruled by the frigid sea and intense weather. There were things she was assigned to do here - given the number by the government, told she was supposed to play the hero. Anchorage Alaska was a small place fraught with very little villainous crime. However, Cable took her everywhere - to all parts of the world where there were real problems that required powers like her own to solve.

This lasted for a while - this relationship was almost father-daughter like. This last month had been spent alone, in a cabin in the woods of Alaska. It reminded her of when she was alone with Forge, but with less security and the freedom to go out. Only now that she was free to do as she pleased, she felt like she had to have Cable at her side. But he was nowhere to be found. She didn't even have the courage to pick herself up off of the floor and look for him.

Aria needed groceries, but she couldn't go out there by herself. People would be out to get her. She was Forge's daughter. Storm's daughter. That meant she was a target of every villain in the known world. Maybe even in other worlds. Her paranoia ran so deeply that she was thinning and gaunt from the lack of nutrition, but she couldn't leave this house.

A man's voice pierced her psyche, "Get up, Aria. Get up. She had her back pressed into a corner in the cabin's den, her arms were wrapped around her knees. She looked around, but she didn't have the strength to rise to her feet.

"Nathan?" She looked for Cable because he was calling out to her telepathically, but he was nowhere. It's been so long. Maybe she's dreaming. Just hearing stuff.

"I am sending coordinates to the computer. You need to check it, Aria. You need to go there. Your mother. Your father... Go there."

No, she couldn't do that. She couldn't go somewhere on her own. Regardless, she pulled herself up to her feet and labored toward the room in which Cable kept his technology. Coordinates flash across the screen, and she doesn't have to write anything down. They are just imprinted into her mind when she saw them. "I can't... I can't go."

"I have to go. They are -
Cable's telepathy was severed just like that, and panic set into her. She looked up the coordinates. Connecticut. That's a three-day trip if she drives, and an impossible one if she decides to take it to the sky. She couldn't possibly put herself on an airplane with a bunch of strangers. She grabbed the keys to Cable's truck and decided that it was good weather to drive in, and all the roads would be open. It would be a good time to try to contact her mother.

* * *


When she arrived at her destination, she was just behind Jameson Blaze. Aria parked the truck, but she waited for the last two guys to enter the building. She sat in the vehicle for a very long time, her eyes continuously glossing over the words Descendent Academy. It sounded like something akin to Xavier's School for the Gifted, and that meant that the same problems would exist. People betrayed each other in that place. They betrayed her father. Made her mother choose between her child, husband, and the team.

Superheroes didn't belong together in big groups.

She took in a deep breath and reminded herself that Cable sent her here. Something about her mother and father, she didn't know exactly. With a sigh, she dragged herself out of the truck and slowly made her way to the entrance. Before she stepped inside, she leaned off toward the side to peek through the window. She wondered what kind of people were there. She noticed Josiah hovering over Zehara and then laughing his ass off. A lot of people looked like they had to be dragged there by their teeth. It wasn't a good first impression.

Once inside, she suddenly found herself immersed in a room with people that she didn't know. Alfred approached her, "You must be Aria Munroe. You look just like your mother," he smiled at her, and she tried her best to smile back. She kept her hands close to her lap and tangled her fingers together. Her entire body was tight - almost as if she was trying to pull her limbs into it to avoid everything around her.

"Who are you, and why did Cable send me here?" She inquired, avoiding the handshake.

Nevertheless, Alfred was sympathetic to her. This was an unknown situation. He waved a hand toward a seat next to Jameson, "We are still waiting on other. Have a seat, Aria. We will explain everything shortly."

She looked over her shoulder at Jameson then back to Alfred and Phil. "No, no - I can't. I don't know what you want with me." She sort of hugged herself, as if someone was trying to take something for her. She walked backward, stumbling a bit. She lost her sense of direction for a second. She had no idea that she was no longer even walking back toward the door.

Unfortunately, she ran right into an awaiting Josiah. He grabbed her from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist after he stood up. Maybe it was to prevent her from ending up on his lap. Then again, Josiah, as he is right now, is sort of a predator. He leaned in, his lips brushed against her neck, "I make you weak at the worst of all times. I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat," he reached down and grabbed one of her hands, just there at the fingers, "- and your heart grow cold. I visit the weak, but seldom the bold. Who am I?" Then there was laughter, but it was dark and cold. He released her and reseated himself, one leg crossed over the other.

He did love to ruffle feathers.

Aria's eyes began to cloud over, and the rich chocolate shade of her braided hair started to fade to white. She clutched her biceps with her fingers, "Just tell me where my mother and father are. Where is Cable?"

Phil stepped close to the woman because she was beginning to spiral. He knew all-too-well the damage that Forge did to his daughter in her younger years. "Let's take a breather. Hmm? We'll tell you everything you need to know soon. You can trust us. No one here is your enemy."

Something about that quelled whatever storm was literally about to brew, and her appearance returned to normal. Phil guided her to her seat, which was close to Jameson's own. After she sat, she scooted her chair away from the Ghost Rider until it couldn't go any further. She looked around, but she didn't recognize anyone. Maybe just Richards. He looked very familiar.





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K a n e x N y g u y e n

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#000000 || Outfit || ronin

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Kane has always been on his own. Gotham City was home to many, many villains - and much of them much more glorified and infamous than himself. Their heroes were almost the same with some newsworthy faces like Batman. Ronin was nothing like any of the heroes or villains in this God-forsaken metropolis. He was just... here. However, he did notice that there seemed to be more and more crime as the months progressed. The city's most violent and brutal gangs have begun to boldly go where they once could not, and the city was in more chaos than usual.

But his job never changed. Grab a contract, kill someone, go eat. During the day he taught Judo and Karate to children, and he enjoyed it. He was still human, after all. Somewhat. He still required human connection, and children were more trustworthy than adults. Kids were his soft spot, especially in the Hellscape that was Gotham City. He could smile, laugh, teach, and no one judged him for that. He was a great instructor.

This was his life. He didn't care for change. He didn't need it to change. Yet, it seemed that fate had something else in store for him tonight.

Freshly spilled crimson dribbled off of the katana as the 'thud' of a body crashed against the rooftop. His eyes rolled just slightly - bored from this constant task. Everyone liked to romanticize assassins, but there was nothing especially intimate about dropping bodies without asking the big questions. No one really enjoyed it unless they were a psychopath.

He's not a psychopath. It didn't show, but something was starting to bother him about all of this. He sheathed the katana and walked toward the edge of the rooftop. He looked out into the city. It stunk here. There was a haze of poison in the air - pollution at its very worse. There were always sirens from some emergency vehicle. Always gunshots. Always screams. At night, Gotham City surrendered helplessly to the choir of violence, and there were hardly any heroes left to defend its citizens.

He placed his hands on his hips, wondering what kid he wasn't going to see tomorrow. It was always like that these days - people disappearing. Children. Women. Whoever. People were dying. The streets were not safe. Curfews have been put into place, but people tend to do what they want, even if it will kill them.

He looked over his shoulder at the dead body; a man in his late 30's. Kane didn't know what he did that deserved the death penalty, but... he did as he was bid. Kill. Kill. Kill...

... He's probably a father or a husband, or both. He probably had a good job. To be honest, he was probably a good person. Maybe he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. That's usually the case.

He held onto the hilt of his sheathed blade and ran; light-footed, he bounded from rooftop to rooftop as though he had superhuman power. Just as he landed in an alleyway, he heard something playing over and over again - a series of numbers. He stood up and looked around, edging closer to the source when he knelt down and stuck his hands out. After he fumbled through some classic alleyway floor trash, he found it. He lifted it up to get a better look. It was the famous Batarang - a communication device for the noticeably absent Batman. It repeated numbers over and over again until Kane figured out that they must be important.

He slipped through the open window of the apartment above his dojo and plugged them into the computer. They were coordinates in some state he forgot existed - Connecticut.

He wasn't certain that he wanted to go at first, but he was tired of this. This life drained him. He didn't know what to expect. Maybe he'd finally die because that was the only way to freedom from the League of Assassins. He suddenly found himself not caring about who was on the other end, or what their intentions were. He grabbed his bike, and much like Ghost Rider - set out on the ride. His was significantly shorter, of course.

* * *


When he arrived at the Academy, he parked his bike next to the other one, locked up his helmet, and brushed a hand through his slick, yet somehow still slightly shabby hair. "Descendent Academy," he said to himself, giving the place a once over before he decided to finally step inside. He moved through the foyer without much sound, and finally entered the room with all the occupants. Alfred and Phil acknowledged him instantly, but Kane noticed... someone else first. It was a vague sense of familiarity not rooted in physical appearance, just in... being around. It was hard to explain, but it is what it is.

He caught Myla in a sideglance. Naturally, the man well-loved by the media - Mister Jr. Fantastic, had seated himself right next to her, blocking most of the view. He just shook his head slightly and cast his gaze back to Alfred and Phil. He gave them both a slight respectful bow, placing a palm on his chest. They did the same. It was only right, and Kane was a deeply traditional man. He was glued to the customs of his culture.

"I found this,", he said, his accent clearly ethnic in nature, and a bit heavy at that. It was hard to place, as he spoke more than one Asian-centric language fluently. He tossed the Bat Communicator toward them. Phil caught the familiar item and tossed it to Alfred, who cradled it quietly in two open palms.

And that was all he would say about that. No questions asked. That was just the life he was used to. Without another word, or even waiting around to see if they would offer anything to him, he turned and found himself a couch that he could turn and stretch his legs on.

He didn't bother looking around to see who else was here. Aria was loud. Josiah was loud. The others... well, they were just there. Just like he was.






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#b45439 || Outfit || nightclaw

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The best thing about being the daughter of Sabretooth was that she was raised as a free roaming child. There were hardly any rules to go by, and they lived in the mountains of Canada - which offered Lexa boundless opportunity to be her most wild self. Victor Creed cared deeply for his daughter, just as he did her mother. He taught her everything he knew, even if she didn't get his intellect. There were other things that she did not get from him, but he would supplement what she lacked with other tactics. She was his pride and joy, and in many ways - just like him.

Lexa had always been surrounded by friends from the late Weapon X project. For a time, she even got help from the renowned Wolverine, X-23, and others. She was one of many children that escaped the Weapon X program, though she was one of the few that was able to get out before she was physically and genetically altered. There was a small group of them ranging from the ages of 15-30, and together they made up a tight-knit community of anti-villains. They were quite heroic in their vision, but their means to an end were not always desirable.

Her father had long since abandoned the villain title after Lexa came into the world. He had settled with himself as a father, and no longer had the dark ties that he once did. In fact, he and Wolverine had resolved their longstanding antagonistic relationship, often leaving on long trips to take care of things elsewhere. They were on a mission of importance - and that was to find and locate dangerous Weapon X projects around the world.

Victor had been gone for about a month or so, and that was hardly enough time for Lexa to be suspicious. It wasn't until his trip reached nearly half a year that she began to grow curious about his whereabouts. His last mission has whisked him all the way to Russia. He usually found a way to get into contact with her at least once a week, but lately... it's been radio silence.

It was a brisk afternoon, and Lexa was just hanging out with her crew. She sat on a thick tree branch, legs dangling and swinging to-and-fro. They were smoking, drinking, and talking about this or that. It's what they always did. A couple of them roughly played, but Lexa's mind had drifted elsewhere. She looked over the distance; a forest sprawled densely across the mountainscape, and just ahead - more desolate peaks. At the foothills rested small towns, and every so often, a lone home was tucked deep into woods. Her fingers toyed idly with a necklace. It wasn't anything particularly expensive, but her father handmade it for her when she was a child.

She jumped off of the branch, landing lightly on her two feet without regard for the ridiculous height. "I'm gonna head home, guys," she stated as she walked away from the group, waving her hand at them. They kept doing their thing, and she was able to leave in peace.

Lexa shut the door when she entered the cabin, resting her back against it while her hands clung to the knob. It was time to acknowledge that her father wasn't going to be coming home and that something might have happened to him. It was time to do something about it. So, she rushed to his room and went through everything. By the time she was done, it looked like he had been robbed.

There was nothing unusual in his room.

Fine, then she'll go to Russia. Her father had ensured that he got Lexa a passport, so she packed herself a small suitcase, grabbed her passport, and threw it all in Wolverine's jeep. It wasn't until she was on the way to the airport that the radio in the vehicle began to get fuzzy. She beat it a couple of times with an annoyed fist, and someone's voice started to come through. 41.158558, -73.166693 September 23, 1800 hours.

"What the fuck?" She hit the dashboard again, but the voice kept replaying. It wasn't even a human voice. It was some kind of synthetic production. She pulled over to the side of the road, plugged the numbers in, and hit on a location.

"It's a shorter trip than Russia," she told herself, trying to find a reason as to why she should abandon one plan for another. Maybe this is the X-Men calling for Wolverine. Were the X-Men still around? She didn't know. A lot of heroes were not around these days. "To America I go."

* * *


She pulled up to the Descendent Academy. The way she parked was abysmal, and she nearly hit someone's really nice car. She got out, pulled out her funky rolling suitcase, and sniffed her way toward civilization. There was a room full of people, and her senses guided her in the right direction.

It wasn't too long before she entered the room where everyone was located. Lexa was greeted by Phil and Alfred - given their names and such as they had done seven other times. "Got some coordinates from Wolverine's radio. I'm lookin' for my dad, Sabretooth."

Phil nodded, "You're at the right place. Your name?"

"Lexa Creed."

Phil nodded, "Well, Lexa, we will be getting to the details in a couple of minutes. Why don't you have a seat?"

She gave him a lazy nod and turned around, instantly locking eyes with William Richards. Her own eyes went wide. Oh, he's so famous, even in Canada. Her friends would not believe their ears when she gets to tell them that she met him. Like a true fangirl, or maybe more like a wild animal - she released her suitcase handle and pounce on him. Not on him, of course. More like she ended up sitting next to him.

She whipped out her cellphone, put it in selfie mode, "I can't believe it! William Richards. Wow! Can you take a picture with me?" It wasn't really a question because she didn't give him a chance to answer. She just smooshed her face against his, put out the phone, and snapped a picture. She made this happy fangirl motion, like a bounce in her seat, eyed the picture, and gave him a quick smile, "My friends are gonna freak out."

She picked herself up off of the couch, walked to her suitcase, and rolled both it and herself to an empty seat. All while gushing over her selfie with the famous Jr. Fantastic. It's not every day that a girl like her got to meet a celebrity, ya know.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lucas Isley Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: Franklin Richards Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mjolnir
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zehara el sayid
cheetahx|xoutfitx|x#c8a964

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Zehara barely had a chance to lean back in her seat and get comfortable before another joined them. He was well dressed, like his parents came from money or he grew up in one of those snobby areas in Manhattan. She couldn't recall the name of the area. She tried her best not to familiarize herself with popular places, especially those that bred walks of life she wasn't keen on. He seemed jovial... almost too much so. She couldn't help but wonder if the gravity of the situation was lost on the boy.

"Why all the long faces? Is this a funeral?" Zehara's brows furrowed as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Then he turned all his attention on her. Zehara inhaled sharply, crossing her arms over her chest as she sat more erect. He wiggled his brows like he was some casanova and while some girls might swoon at the attention, she rolled her eyes and scoffed. He then leaned down close, far too close for comfort. His presence made the real predator alert beneath her skin.

"I come in a lot of different sizes. Sometimes, I drip a little. If you blow me, it feels really good. What am I?"

A growl emanated from her chest. Zehara moved at an inhuman speed, something a person like him wouldn't have seen. Before he got the chance to spit out the answer to the riddle, be it innocent or inappropriate, she had shifted in her seat. She was leaning forward in a protective stance. Her eyes shifted orange like the beast's within. But the important thing wasn't what she looked or sounded like, but her right hand... Which hovered a few inches below the boy's family jewels, claws extended. "A eunuch?" She raised a challenging brow. Your move. her gaze said in the silence.

"Your nose!" He laughed and retreated. Then he proceeded to act like nothing happened and addressed the two older men. "Josiah. Josiah Dalinski."

Luckily, another man came bursting through the doors in quite a rush, thinking he might have been late. Jameson Blaze, he called himself, a name she wasn't familiar with like everyone else in the lobby.

Then there was a quiet, mousy girl who looked terrified to be in their presence. Zehara felt for the girl. It was a strange situation. But even in strange situations you have to keep your wits about you, and your fears close to your heart because they'll be used against you. That girl looked like a doormat to anyone with a single vertebrae more than her.

The girl's anxiousness quickly escalated. As she began to retreat, she stumbled her way right into an, all too eager, Josiah. The girl found herself in his lap, and his slithery appendages wasted no time in wrapping around her. Zehara quickly hopped up to her feet, crossing the lobby toward the creep like a predator closing in on its prey. I make you weak at the worst of all times. I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat—"

"No. No!" She interjected. Zehara wasn't about making a good impression for these people. She could handle creeps all day long, but not someone like Aria. Men like Josiah preyed on naive girls all too often. It's just lucky for the girl that she was here to put a stop to it... Abruptly.

Zehara's right hand took ahold of Josiah's face and shoved it backwards. Her left pried his arms off of Aria, all the while claws threatened to penetrate his skin if he so much as fought against it in the slightest. She gently pulled the girl from Josiah's lap and motioned to Zehara's now available seat. It wasn't a sofa and sat next to Jameson, who seemed content in keeping to himself. And she took it upon herself to take the other half of the couch next to Mr. Hands.

While she shared a seat, Zehara sat as far away as possible crossing her arms and legs. She was content with waiting in silence. But just for good measure, she held up her index finger stopping Josiah from talking regardless if he was going to or not. "Don't talk to me. Don't touch me. And if you bother any other lady here I will break your hands and rip out your tongue." She squinted her eyes slightly, before turning to face forward, proceeding to act like he didn't exist.

Once it seemed the influx of people had come to a halt, Alfred and Phil moved to stand before the small semi-circle of chairs and sofas. "Thank you all for coming," Alfred began. "I don't know what kind of turn out we were expecting, more or less. But regardless, we appreciate that you all came nonetheless."

Phil then sighed and took over the conversation. "We're not going to beat around the bush. We," he motioned to himself and Alfred. "We're the ones who sent out the distress signal. For the past year, as you all are aware of, Heroes have been disappearing left and right. We tried, on multiple occasions, to reach out to the I.H.A. and were met with the same response. 'There is an ongoing investigation. Details are classified.' No one has been in direct contact with anyone from I.H.A. for months, facilities are locked down, phone lines are dead, no public appearances and all digital correspondences are met with the same response."

"We have reason to believe that the I.H.A. could be compromised."

None of this was news to Zehara. She also had tried reaching out to the organization. She wasn't registered under the I.H.A., which was part of the reason she preferred laying low and keeping to herself. But even she couldn't turn a blind eye. And part of her hoped that she'd get some answers about Monet St. Croix, although deep down she knew it was a dead end.

"We couldn't risk sending the message through the I.H.A. network. If it is compromised, sending a message calling everyone to a single location wouldn't end well. We decided to use an older network that veteran Heroes kept a secret, for emergency purposes... It seems more of the veterans have been taken than we previously thought."

Zehara remained quiet and attentive through the explanation, but her patience was growing a bit thin. Her leg began to bounce as her eyes scanned the room and the windows. She couldn't help but worry, after everything they said, that having this many gifted individuals gathered was a recipe for disaster.

"We called whomever we could here... To try and solve this before it gets worse. I know some of you have personal stakes in this. But we feel like our best chances are doing this together. A strength in number, of sorts."

"We know it's not easy to trust strangers. Ourselves or each other. If you don't wish to stay, we won't stop you. But know that this facility has the highest security protocols and protection. The Descendant Academy has been shut down for a decade, so no one comes around here or knows it's anything more than abandoned. We have cloaking procedures that make the building look uninhabited, and there is no one else who knows of it's current functionality besides us in this room."

Alfred tried to give his most reassuring smile. "This isn't an easy decision and not one to be made lightly." He set down a silver platter that held eight room keys, each of which were adorned in a keychain with a number. "You will be safe here, with your own private penthouse. Phil and I will aid in your training. It won't be easy, Mr. Richards can attest to that. But we'll do our best to help you prepare, hone your skills and work together as a team."

Everyone else sat around in silence, contemplating the offer at hand or perhaps leaving. No one wanted to be the first that stepped forward. Zehara didn't blame them. She had no allegiance to these heroes and no one she was close to had been taken, but it didn't help the nagging feeling in her gut telling her that this was where she was needed. For years she'd be trying to remove the tarnish her mother's reputation bestowed upon her. Perhaps this was her chance. Either way, this was her best chance to find answers about Monet St. Croix.

Zehara had no issue being the first to make a move or fill a silence. She leaned forward and grabbed the closest key. She then stood up and threw her bag over her shoulder.

Alfred looked to be relieved that at least one person took the offer. He smiled and offered her his hand. "Thank you, miss?"

She took his hand and shook it. "I guess we should introduce ourselves, shouldn't we?" She sighed, adjusting her bag. "Zehara El Sayid." She would have refrained entirely from explaining anything else about herself, but it'd come out one way or another. And the least she could do was prepare any others for what they might be getting into with her by their side. "I am the avatar to The Cheetah Goddess," Zehara said nonchalantly with a click of her tongue. Sure there were more details, plenty. Like her hunger for human flesh that is tamed by the eating of wildlife, or the fact that her mother was a piece of shit, or that she killed said piece of shit. That was none of their business.

Once all the introductions were over, Zehara turned her attention to Phil and Alfred. "Is there a bar? I don't know about anyone else, but I could use a drink..." If they all, or at least some of them, were going to have to play twenty questions like it was the first day in college, she'd need liquor. People didn't often take the truth of who she was lightly and if there was even a fraction of a chance Josiah would be staying, alcohol might be the only way she doesn't kill him.

Phil pointed to a doorway, down the hall on the left. Without another word she strutted in that direction, quickly making herself at home in her new abode.






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jameson blaze
ghost riderx|xoutfitx|x#cb7a06

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Even though Jameson arrived late, it seemed he didn't miss any of the excitement. He was happy to remain invisible as he took a seat, which wasn't hard when a very anxious girl entered shortly after him. Aria Munroe, Alfred called her. A name he hadn't heard before, but to be honest, he didn't know anyone there. She seemed terrified to be there, which only made him wonder why in the hell she came in the first place.

"Who are you, and why did Cable send me here?" Another name he wasn't familiar with. But James wasn't his father. He didn't know many heroes by name or even face. He just traveled the countryside and went wherever the demon lead him. Perhaps it was the fact that he disappointed his father? Part of him wanted to prove him wrong, but how does one do that? His dad didn't want him to be like him, and it wasn't like there were many other options available at the time. So, he chose the longer life, which by default left him in the blue when it came to most things, especially heroes.

No matter how much Alfred tried to placate her, it didn't work. She was a nervous mess that backed her way into a guy who seemed all to eager to take advantage on a pretty lady on his lap. James had half a mind to intervene, but before he could even stand up, a sharp tongued brunette took care of it. He found himself almost impressed with her tenacity and quickness to action. He didn't know if anyone else planned to jump in, but either way, the dark foreign beauty didn't let anyone have a chance.

Phil managed to get the girl to take the empty seat beside him. James wouldn't say she was calmed by any measure. Even part of her hair had gone white. Which only made him curious and his brows furrow. But it seemed when she sat down, she also wanted nothing to do with him. Once she found the seat, she proceeded to scoot it away as much as possible. If it was possible for his expression to scrunch up more it did. What in the hell did he do? He hasn't said or done a damn thing since he sat down.

James tried to sneak a sniff under his leather jacket to see if he maybe smelled. But he had showered that morning in a truck stopped, and smelled like... well normal. Not funky. He probably would have sat there and mulled it over in his head for several minutes. But luckily enough Alfred and Phil began to divulge the reason behind them all being there, which was a distraction, not a happy one, but a distraction nonetheless.

"Thank you all for coming.I don't know what kind of turn out we were expecting, more or less. But regardless, we appreciate that you all came nonetheless." And so began it all, the explanations, the reason they were all there, everything.

Jameson listened, perhaps not as intently as some of the others, but he paid attention. He was not one of the people with personal stakes in the current situation. He did not have his father's connections with other heroes. And, sure, James was registered through the I.H.A., but they learned years ago that he wouldn't follow their orders and went where he pleased. So rather than deal with their bullshit, he hid his tracker in the small trailer he owned, yet rarely visited. And honestly, to the best of their knowledge, he too had gone missing. He wasn't too pressed about that.

"This isn't an easy decision and not one to be made lightly." Then, presented before all of them was a tray filled with keys. This building probably had broom closets that were nicer than Jame's trailer. That offer alone was tempting. He didn't find himself as eager as some of the others, he wasn't missing family or friends. To be honest, he didn't really have either of those. But this was also about being better, better than what his father saw him as, better than what was expected of him and maybe better enough to prove his dad wrong.

With a sigh, James pushed off his knees and moved to his feet. He tucked his helmet under his arm before grabbing a key. "I uh... am Jameson Blaze, er James." He gave an awkward smile, running his hand back through his messy hair. "I'm Ghost Rider." His face instantly scrunched up as he nodded his head to the side before correcting himself. "Not that one... That was my father." His voice trailed off as he tried to think of an easy, short way to explain it. He came up blank. "It's a long story."

Once all the introductions had finished, and it seemed they all would be able to do as they pleased, James made his way over to Alfred and Phil. "Is there somewhere I can park my bike? I'm assuming you don't want a bunch of vehicles parked in front of an abandoned building."

"Very good thought, sir," Alfred applauded him. "For those of you with vehicles, around back is an entrance to a garage underneath the building. Your key has a sensor in it. The doors should open right up when you get close enough."

James gave Alfred a pat on the shoulder before heading back outside. He hopped on his bike, not bothering to put his helmet on and proceeded to take the machine into the garage. As the large door opened, he found himself in a bit of awe at the wide array of vehicles housed under the tower, everything from everyday cars, to ambulances, police cars and he could have sworn he saw a couple bat mobiles toward the back. The garage was massive. It had to be home to at least fifty vehicles, and could easily hold another hundred.

Surprisingly, or honestly, unsurprising, James found motorcycle parking next to the elevators. There were dozens of bikes lined up, with room for more. He did his best to line his up with the others before getting off and leaving his helmet on the seat. This definitely wasn't the type of place where he had to worry about his bike or helmet being stolen. He probably owned the cheapest thing in that garage. He took a moment or two to admire some of the other bikes and vehicles, then took the elevator back up and joined the others in the bar.






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myla murdock
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Once other people began to arrive, story time with Jr. Fantastic had to come to an end. Not that Myla's story was interesting in the slightest. But, she isn't surprised that when she openly showed herself to be blind... People were curious. That was something she could share at a later date, if that knowledge was prudent. She saw no reason to share more details than necessary at the current time and was more interested in finding her father's whereabouts over anything else.

Whether or not Myla wished to hear everything that was going on as the others joined them, she did. A woman who smelled and sounded foreign arrived next. Middle eastern, maybe? She couldn't quite place the accent. Unlike herself though, the woman was investigating the disappearances and that's what brought her there, rather than directly receiving the call herself. While, evidence would point to the fact that the woman could just be that... a woman hired to investigate, something about her was different. The air around her seemed the feintest bit warmer than it did around the others in the room. And her heart beat was faster, although everything else about her seemed calm. It reminded her more of an animal, rather than a human.

The next to join them just... made Myla uncomfortable, although she couldn't quit figure out why. One of those gut feelings perhaps? Or maybe it was simply because he thought his first words to them all should be, "Why all the long faces? Is this a funeral?" She didn't find it very humorous, especially with the fate of her father unknown. Then he approached the foreign girl, and while others might not have heard what he said, she did. It made her uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat slightly, hoping that this man didn't set his sights on her next.

Myla heard the motorcycle approach several moments before another came bursting through the doors. And not shortly after him came in a girl who seemed half scared to death to even step foot within the building. Myla could hear the girls racing heart beat. It was so loud it nearly drowned out all other noise. She wanted to console the girl, maybe reassure her that everything was fine... But she didn't know that for sure and by the state of Aria, no one's words of comfort would be of help. Unlucky for her, she moused her way into Josiah's lap. But thankfully, the foreign woman was quick to the draw. A woman that protects other women is something to be admired.

The next person peaked Myla's interest a bit more than the others. He moved far more quiet than most people. But it didn't seem to be intentional or strained, like that was his natural walk. She found herself leaning forward to get a better sense of the man. And the sensation of feeling one's gaze rang true in the moment, although she had no way of telling he did, in fact, look in her direction. He didn't say much compared to everyone else, which was both a relief and... a bit curious. He spoke with a heavy accent, far different than the foreign woman's. His seemed more Asian in origin, but again she could not place it. She subconsciously found herself, following his steps, deeply fascinated by his lightness of foot.

"I can't believe it!" The loud voice made Myla jump. It nearly made her ears ring and she tried her best not to flinch at the excited woman. Lexa, like any fan girl, shoved her way onto the couch. Unfortunately for Myla, she was practically invisible next to William. She managed to hop up from her seat just before the giddy girl sat on top of her. She scoffed at the forceful relinquishing of her seat. That didn't leave much else available. The only other openly available seat was besides Josiah, which she had no desire to take... For obvious reasons.

Instead she headed toward the quiet man, who sat half sprawled out on a sofa all to himself. Myla could have asked for a seat, but she wasn't going to impose on anyone because one girl evicted her. So rather, she took a seat on the armrest of the couch near Kane's feet. She crossed her right leg over her left and draped her things across her lap. It wasn't bad, all things considered. Myla found herself sitting in far less comfortable places for longer. And at least there, no one would try to sit on her.

With no other commotion or additions to the unique group. Alfred and Phil proceed to address them all behind the meaning of their arrival. Nothing so far was new news. She herself had tried to contact the I.H.A. to no avail. Every turn and every lead was cold before she even got it. Part of her had hoped the message was from her father, but even that was a pipe dream and she knew it. But like they said, some of them had personal stakes... And she was one of them.

It wasn't an easy decision. Myla wanted more than anything to find her father, and at the time this looked to be her best chance. But another part of her worried about leaving Hell's Kitchen. Crime was at an all time high, so much so that she was struggling to keep up. She had no idea how much more it would spiral if she left, or how much trouble that might put her Uncle Foggy in. But she also knew what he'd tell her... And he'd want her to stay, for her Father... because that's what he would do too.

With a soft sigh, she leaned forward and grabbed a key. "I am Myla... Myla Murdock." She shrugged her shoulders slightly trying to think of whatever vital information she should probably share. "My father, Daredevil, was one of the first heroes to go missing." Her head fell slightly as she bounced her crossed leg. "I don't have any powers or Goddesses inside me... I guess by most definitions I am a vigilante." She gave a weak smile. "Oh!" she added nearly forgetting. "And I'm blind." She raised her brows slightly, half waiting for an onslaught of questions. She always seemed to forget how important that information was to other people, even though she can live alongside a person with eyesight and they'd never know.

Myla's thumb traced the engraved numbers on the key. It took her a few passes before putting together the number... 80. As everyone started to get up and go there separate ways... Which all seemed to point to the bar, she held out her key toward the quiet man she shared a couch with. "Here. Pretty sure I got the top penthouse. A view like that should go to someone who can appreciate it." She gave him a friendly smile and took his key. Her fingertips traced the numbers again, revealing a 73. "Ha," she mused quietly, just to him. "I was right."

She tucked the key into her bag before slipping off the armrest of the couch. With items clutched in her arms, Myla made her way over towards Alfred and Phil. "I need to return to Manhattan to gather some of my things. I didn't come prepared for a long stay as the others did."

"Of course," Alfred replied kindly. "Perhaps someone else should go with you. It's probably best that no one travels alone, given the state of things. And you wouldn't have to wait on a taxi." He smiled.

Myla nodded her head, then slowly walked to a far side of the lobby where no one happened to be standing. She pursed her lips slightly as she ran through all the names, personalities... and to be honest, vibes, of the others who decided to stay. She wasn't a particularly shy person, but it wasn't every day that you walk up to a near stranger and ask them to go on a tiny road trip. Sure, it was only an hour and a half drive. But that was long enough to get tired of anyone... quickly.






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william richards
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William was far more interested in hearing the vast capabilities of a woman who was blind, but seemed to function better than most people with eyes. So much so, he didn't pay much attention as others began to join them. Sure, he passed them a glance, sized them up, but Will was not the best judge of character and his social skills were a bit on the lacking and awkward side. If he paid more attention, he might have noticed familiarity with some of them from the vast files in the Baxter building, but putting faces with names was not one of his skills.

There was a feisty girl, who easily could have been Catwoman, that arrived shortly after Myla. Nothing about her gave off any red flags or anything to be concerned about. And until Josiah arrived, he would have believed that she was a P.I. in a room full of supes. But when Josiah decided to get a little too suggestive, Will could have swore he saw a glint of a talon extend from her finger and her eyes shift color. Either way, she made it very apparent she didn't need any help when it came to keeping guys like that in check. So much so, she intervened when Josiah tried a similar, albeit far more inappropriate move on the skittish girl.

William would have intervene, much like the rest of the room probably would have. But the feisty foreigner was happy to oblige when it came to putting the guy in his place. It was endearing and intimidating. Strong willed woman often intimidated him, maybe because they were so damn hard to talk to. He could be awkward and his curiosity always took the driver seat which was often off putting for some.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos two men with motorcycles came in and took their seat with little to no show. Which is probably why, until he actually looked at them, that he nearly forgot they were there in the first place. He was fortunate that none of them had introduced themselves to Will, because given the excitement of it all, he probably would have forgotten and had to ask for their names at least 2 more times.

The last person to arrive was an attractive brunette who looked somewhere between a hipster and tomboy southern girl. It seemed the second she turned around her eyes instantly fell on William. He was never good at the whole fans thing. Sure, he always obliged, pictures, autographs, etc. But it was the saying no, or trying not to be mean, but moving on with whatever he needed to do, that he struggled with. It was probably one of the reasons he went up to the Arctic Ocean in the first place.

Lexa beelined straight for him, all but shoving Myla out of the way to get a seat beside him. "I can't believe it! William Richards. Wow! Can you take a picture with me?" Her cellphone was out and ready before Will had a chance to respond. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't used to it, just a bit out of practice. Lexa's cheek smushed against his as she held up the phone, and in typical Jr. Fantastic way he made a peace sign, but let his fingers stretch in all weird ways. People always wanted to see the powers.

Once the picture was taken, she bounced in her seat like a giddy child and flashed him a smile. Will reciprocated. "My friends are gonna freak out." Honestly, he was happy that he only had to do this once and that none of the others reacted the same way. So, it was a small victory.

"Any—No problem," he corrected himself before she stood up. Will nearly said anytime and that could have opened an entire bag of worms he was not wanting to deal with. Thankfully he caught himself before the words slipped out. And then before anymore pictures or word slips, Alfred and Phil got up and proceeded with their little speech.

Of course, none of this was new to William. He had been monitoring the situation very closely once he got the news of his parent's disappearance. The message that was sent out caught him by surprise, but he wasn't going to go to unknown coordinates without research. Once he saw that they came from the Academy, he was almost certain it had to be Alfred and Phil's doing. Really quite simple to piece together, but he wouldn't say that out loud. He's often been told that when he finds things to be easy or common knowledge he comes off arrogant or belittling because apparently it's not as easy for everyone else.

William wasn't going to say no to returning to Academy, especially when it meant finding his family. He took the key for floor 77, which was his room the last time he was here. He then stood up and followed suit as everyone before him. "I am William Richards... Will. You probably know me as the son of Reed Richards and Sue Storm, or uh, Mister Fantastic and The Invisible Woman." He lightly clapped his hands together trying to think of what else to share. "Oh, and my body is elastic, or more plastic..." He began to ramble about the science of it, but cut himself off not long into the drawn out definition of what he was. "Cliffnotes, I can stretch and change the shape of my body."

Everyone started breaking off, a majority moving towards the bar. Will intended to join them, but overhearing Alfred's comment about the cars, he headed outside. There was another car parked alarmingly close to his that he actually went around to the other side to make sure it wasn't hit. He had to back up very carefully, but managed to get out of the predicament and get his tesla to the garage. Just like he remembered, it was like nothing had aged a day. He could nearly believe it was a decade ago. There wasn't even dust on the hoods... But he had to assume J.A.R.V.I.S. has something to do with that.

At almost like the A.I. had ESP, J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice echoed throughout the garage. "Welcome back, Mr. Richards."

"Happy to be back." Maybe not under these circumstances, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't missed the place. Will smiled, giving a friendly pat to the wall before entering the elevator and heading up to the bar.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mombie
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J o s i a h x D a l i n s k i

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o f x h a r l e y & j o k e r
#B48F7C || Outfit || josiah
#52493d || the brute
#5c7340 || the enigma
#544073 || the jester

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He didn’t even get his chance to have fun with the doe of the gathering when Zehara pried him away from her. He didn’t seem to mind at all that she shoved his head back. It made him tingle a bit on the inside… in a perfectly good way, too. Something clicked as she proceeded to spew her alpha female threats at him, as though it was she that was the predator in this game.

This exotic beauty, even when she's putting hands on him - especially that - and threatening him, was going to be his. He whispered low to her, despite her warning to not speak to him, "If you keep treating me like this, I might think you want something from me." That was it, and soon enough he’d be at her mercy doing as she bade him. Because she’s sexy, and he didn’t mind being yanked around by a feral woman.

The smelly and geriatric men were saying something that he didn't really care for. There was something about heroes and disappearances, but Josiah didn't care for good guys. At least, not this particular part of Josiah. Certainly, the good ol' boy was in the background somewhere protesting everything like the nuisance he was, but he is not the king of this body. He's not even the king of his own mind right now.

He didn’t move much, but not because of the cat girl’s threat (he’d not-so-discreetly enjoy a good beating), but because his body had gone from full of devilish expression to completely blank. His head and eyes twitched slightly, and the woman might hear him mumble something incoherent every so often.

"Aaall the heroes are deeaad," he began to sing to himself. Aside from being absolutely tone-deaf, he seemed to be having fun at the expense of others' parents. But it wasn't fun that he was actually experiencing a psychological moment where things were shifting and the voices in his head were getting louder. Too loud. They were a cacophony of mixed thoughts, and he couldn't do anything more than raise his voice and sing louder. "Red streets, red str-- SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

He stood up and took a deep breath. It didn't appear that he felt embarrassed by the nature of his disease, as he had no real reason to be. What others thought of him was obviously back of mind. He turned around and gave Zehara his best smile, albeit a thin yet strangely genuine one rather than the nasty devilish grin of before, "Sorry, sorry."

He made a move to claim his keys, seeing no reason why he should reintroduce himself to anyone. They'd get to know him well enough as the time went on - the many voices, abilities, and personalities of the mentally disjointed Josiah. He slipped past the small gathering and left the lobby without exchanging any words with anyone other than his many selves. A hero. Hah! What kind of hero could you be?

Quit while you're ahead. They're all dead. He's dead. It's the age of villains.

Now you are going to really die, Josiah. Bye Josiah. Haha ha ha HA!

He forgot about everything that he was supposed to do. He found himself standing in a hallway, and it felt like time had passed without him knowing. His palms were sweating. He was sweating. He was standing in front of a room with a key, but he couldn't remember how he got there.

All he knew is that he felt a sudden urge to take a nap. Just a quick five minutes. Hearing all the noise in his head made him weary. So, he collapsed on a couch as soon as he was able to get himself inside, shut his eyes, and snoozed off.

Just for a few minutes... just until the world was quiet again.





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A r i a x M u n r o e

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#475D6B || Outfit || tempest

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The woman not as disturbed by Josiah as one might think. He was more than just a few screws loose, but she's actually used to that kind of crazy. Not to say her father has some dissociative identity disorder, but the idea of nutjobs were not new to her. It didn't mean she wasn't thankful that Zehara had come to her rescue because the last thing Aria needed was an emotional outpour of power. That'd just make everyone in the room miserable.

Normally, Aria didn't like to be handled by others. However, she also didn't want anyone's good intentions to fall to the wayside. She offered Zehara a tight-lipped smile and took her seat.

Many people in Aria's life were missing. There was not just her mother, Storm, or even her father - but almost an entire nation of heroes was gone. Her homeland felt like a ghost town, and there was no one to save it anymore. The last thing she heard about Wakanda was that it is facing some kind of invasion, possibly even a genocide. T'Challa and Storm had helped protect it for a while, but they were gone - as were their allies.

Heroes have become necessary in this world. The worst part about the whole dismal situation was that when the world needed them the most, Aria couldn't stand up and fight for her own city. She had gone an entire month just trembling on the floor, and the world outside screamed out in pain. She wasn't anything like her mother, who had always been courageous and just. Instead, she allowed herself to become a sidekick that didn't have the courage to operate when she had to be the real hero.

As Alfred and Phil spoke, then people went on to introduce themselves, she figured that maybe this was a safe place after all. Her gaze flits from one person to the next, thinking that they didn't seem too bad. Aside from Josiah, of course. He made it perfectly clear that he wasn't a good guy at all. Everyone else, however, appeared decent. Jr. Fantastic was - well, everyone knew about him. He's famous. She knows of Sabretooth because a bit of Aria's childhood was spent with the X-Men. There were a lot of parents that she did not know, but she figured that it wasn't entirely important. They were still their own person outside of their genetic pool.

When it was her turn to speak up, she stood and cleared her throat. "I'm Aria Munroe, child of Storm and Forge. I have control of the weather, flight, and some mystic ability... among other things." She gestures toward Lexa, "I knew Wolverine as a child." She left the whole Sabretooth bit out because she only knew of him through the rumor mill. By the time Aria had left Wakanda, Victor Creed was already taking care of his daughter.

There was nothing more to say, so she grabbed a key to one of the penthouses and followed the guys outside to the vehicles. She naturally got a good laugh from watching William Richards get out of his tight parking situation, but was kind enough to cover her mouth so it wasn't too obvious that she was amused. Jameson was next, then a Lexa snuck out. Myla and the man without an introduction had left to go somewhere. Maybe they decided against the superhero business.

She hopped into her truck, parked it inside, and pulled out her bags. Aria has... a lot of stuff. Her suitcases were heavy and full, but she didn't require any help carrying them. Instead, she allowed her command over weather to do that job for her, summoning a bout of wind to wrap around them and assist in the haul to the penthouse.

She left her room, took the elevator down, and found herself lingering at the entrance of the bar. Drinking was probably not a good idea, but the way her stomach was beginning to bother her - maybe food was. There was food somewhere. She took a step back just as soon as William was about to enter, and retreated right into him! "Sorry, sorry." Gods, she hopes it's not Josiah. She turned around, glad that it wasn't.

She just did her thing without waiting for his response and sidestepped him, muttering, kitchen, kitchen over and over again until she disappeared from sight. She eventually did find the kitchen. Of course, it had everything that she could possibly want! She wanted a cappuccino, and some cool gadget just made it for her - no problem! She sat at a table, propped up the side of her head against a palm, and sipped at her drink.





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#000000 || Outfit || ronin

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Had crossed his arms over his shoulders; fingers curled around his biceps lazily. From the corner of his eyes he observed Myla's movement; from the moment that she was booted from her seat, to that in which she was walking toward the couch he occupied. When she finally plopped her butt down, it seemed that he was indifferent to her possible discomfort. Kane, fortunately, was no asshole. He looked like one, but he was not one. She'd find that he moved his feet for her and sat kind of properly, allowing her to have space. They were probably two people that valued a little space from others.

No words were shared between them as Alfred and Phil began to indulge all their curiosities. It was around this time when the Assassin began to doubt himself. He wasn't a hero. In fact, he's fought against many of the good guys in Gotham. He's no one's arch-nemesis or any sort of infamous villain, but he's had several extremely close calls with the best of them.

He was not a good person. As he looked around the room while introductions were made, he heard the names of famous heroes and vigilantes, and he knew that he was completely out of place. Whatever else was said after a couple of introductions kind of melted into background noise, and he all but slipped into his thoughts. Needless to say, there was no point in making his own introduction. Around all of these people, he was on the far end of the spectrum. He couldn't trust himself, let others trust him.

He finally snapped out of his own mind when Myla held the key toward him. He looked up at her and tilted his head, "Keep them." That said, he tucked his hands into his pockets, stood, and stepped around her to leave without saying anything else to anyone.

It just so happened that he heard the conversation between Alfred, Phil, and the blind vigilante, shy of leaving the room completely. He stopped at the exit, thought a little bit, and then sighed. His eyes rolled. He felt bothered. He lifted his foot to take another step but found himself just putting it back down.

Just as Lexa was leaving, he stuck out a foot so that her rolling suitcase got stuck. "You look her size. Got some pants and a jacket you can spare?" He turned to glance over his shoulders for a second and cast his gaze down to Myla's shoe choice. "Shoes, too.

"Uuuuumm, not sure you'd fit in my clothes," she placed a hand on her hip and stared up at him.

"They're for her," he pointed over toward Myla, "Since it's on my way to where I am going, I'll take her to go get her things. I mean, unless you prefer she goes on a bike dress like that. I wouldn't really complain. She might, though." Honestly, he really did mind, as he'd rather not have some girl's cooch all up on him for a whole ride. He did have more respect for himself and others than his words implied.

Lexa scoffed, squatted down, unzipped her suitcase, and tanked out a few clothing items and a pair of boots. "There are way too many perves here."

When Lexa handed him everything, he kept one hand in his pocket and walked toward Myla. He held everything out to her, "I'll take you, but you're going to have to change. Meet me outside. Take your time." He didn't offer much of anything else, and his words sounded rather cold.

He waited near his bike and watched as people came and went. He felt amused as William had to figure out how to get out of his parking situation, and was even more entertained by the idea of catching Lexa hiding and waiting until Richards was out of sight. He held a black helmet under his right arm; something he picked up from the garage, of which had a surplus of riding equipment that he was sure no one would miss for a day or two.

When he saw Myla, he let her approach him before setting the helmet on the seat of the bike and closing off the rest of the distance between them. Kane quietly took some time to make sure she was zipped up well because he didn't want her to be uncomfortable. Just as he thought - Myla and Lexa were about the same height and weight, so it fit her well enough. He didn't bother to ask her if she even wanted to ride the bike with him, and he wasn't going to. It was implied that she would, and it didn't seem like anyone else was stepping up to offer to be her traveling companion.

He reached behind him to seize the helmet and gently put it on her head. He had to take a moment to brush some hair away, but despite his cold demeanor, he was actually quite gentle about any physical contact with her. He made sure it was comfortable, fastened and tightened the straps, and looked her straight on for a second. He didn't even realize that he was still just slightly holding onto the buckle of the straps until he saw his own hands.

He was going to say something, but he didn't. What was there to say? He needed some time to think about this situation, and maybe a good three long cruise there and back would give him that time. Tack on another hour - probably a lot more - for however long it takes a woman to pack. He took out his phone to plug her address into the GPS, assuming that she'd give it to him when asked, "Where are we going?".

He pulled his helmet off of its lock and put it on. He climbed onto the bike, popped his phone onto its mount, inserted the bike key, and waited for her to get on behind him. When she did, he decided to clear the air, "You can hold onto me if you want." That was it. He's not going to baby her just because she's visually impaired. She's a vigilante, for Heaven's sake - she can take care of herself. It wasn't his job.

The pair would be off! He preferred a calm ride to a fast one. He loved a good thrill, but he had another person with him who gave a good excuse to take things easy. It was still faster than a car since they got to weave through traffic whenever it came. It's especially good in the perpetually crowded New York.





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William was right to steer clear from 'anytime', as Lexa had no shame about taking advantage of cute and willing guys. However, much to his (likely) relief, that was the last bit of attention she'd pay to him. For now..

Whilst Jarvis and Alfred explained the situation with them, Sabretooth's darling little spawn was racking up the likes on her Insta. Even her follower count rose. Jr. Fantastic was certainly a good boost for her social media. Not that she wasn't already quite popular with her transient, heroic, blah blah blah, hippy - whatever you want to call it - lifestyle. The world loved girls like her, and she shines even better next to guys like him. Regardless, she still heard what was going on, even if she wasn't quite smart enough to put everything together all at once.

All she heard was... missing heroes, I.H.A., training, compromised, and decision making. She looked up from the screen of her phone, her fingers still clicking on hit busily, and tilted her head in the general direction of... everyone.

Lexa is a villain's daughter, but no one could properly call her evil. In fact, the latter half of her father's life had not been spent living up to his infamy, either. Not that Wolverine can be truly classified as a hero, himself, it is worth noting that he is considered her uncle. He raised her from time to time. Up until the last year or less, many members of the Weapon X program have raised each other, and most of them were not evil. She didn't act like a hero all of the time, but she wasn't going to spend all of her life acting like a good girl. Lexa is simply Lexa - wildly unleashed, yet still able to bash in a bad boy's skull when she must.

Thus, there was no issue when it came to the decision as to whether or not she'd stay. Sabretooth is her father and Wolverine is her uncle, so if this meant she could get to the bottom of their disappearances, she could endure. As she looked around the room for a brief moment, she noted that not everyone looked like your typical good boy or good girl superhero.

Aria looked a little stuck up, but then again - her mother is Storm. The Queen of Storms had her frolicky romances with Wolverine, so Lexa knows a thing or two about that stick-up-the-butt, rule follower, mum. She wondered if she was like Ororo - a good girl into bad boys. Her gaze moved toward Myla, and she offered her a quick smile. Only to realize that, upon the woman's introduction, that she was blind. Then the smile disappeared from her lips, and she instantly felt bad that she practically plied her off of the couch to grab a selfie with Jr. Fantastic. A vigilante, though. Interesting.

Zehara is definitely a cutie. She seemed bold, like someone that will take quick initiative when others would not. Lexa noted that, as she is the same way. They would either clash or drive the group crazy. Those were the only two possibilities. Ghost Rider came up next, and girl Creed was not going to be mad at that.

Why is everyone here so good-looking? It's really wreaking havoc on her hormones. How's she supposed to train like this?

Of course, Jr. Fantastic required no introduction. However, his introduction needed a follow-up with a few dirty jokes, but she would spare him. Her jokes were always lame.

She wasn't going to give the lunatic, Josiah, the pleasure of her attention. What a creep. Kane was obviously not going to stay seeing as he made it known that he'd accompany Myla on his way back home. Not everyone could be hero material, she supposed.

It was her turn to make introductions, and she did so with a bubbly personality and a twinge of southern on the tip of her tongue, "I'm Lexa Creed, daughter of Sabretooth. I consider Wolverine to be my loving uncle," She just knew that she'd have to get that last part out quickly because Sabretooth is a villain and Wolverine is not. The last thing she needed was suspicion and prying. "I'm an influencer on social media when I am not busy saving the day from the world's many idiots. I self-heal, have enhanced speed, endurance, blah blah blah. I’m just’an overgrown human cat that bites only when provoked - or asked." She gives the room a bow and smiles brightly, "You can follow me on TheRealNightClaw on any social media platform."

With that said, she gave everyone a quick peace sign and picked up the key to floor 79. Thrilling! The higher the better.

She moved to the garage, leaving her rolling suitcase in the room temporarily after Kane had her give up some clothing. She knew that she'd have to repark before someone gets really pissed at her terrible parking job and keys her poor jeep. Not that it wasn't in bad shape already. Wolverine would murder her for ruining his car.

But when she got out to the garage, she noticed that William had beat her to it. That was his car, and she didn't want to be caught red-handed. What if she had scratched it? Man, she didn't have the money for whatever a scratch on that vehicle cost. She might as well as give him her life!

When he was out of view, she quickly ran to her jeep and brought it into the parking garage. She found a space that was mostly empty and decided to park it there. Safer that way. She sat in the jeep for a while and brushed her hands over the steering wheel. She missed her father. She missed her uncle. All of the attention she got from social media could never replace them. It was silly, but she sort of felt alone at this moment. Some might say that their villainous dads didn’t deserve a Father of the Year award, but Sabretooth wasn’t like others. He had taken care of her from the moment he chose to save her until the day he left. His vile days had been put behind him. While he was never much of a hero, he had settled down into his paternal role like it came natural to him.

She wiped away a tear that welled in her right eye and sniffed up some snot that dared to try to fall from her nose. Lexa was not about to let a bunch of strangers notice that she was upset. She got out of the jeep, gave that baby a few pats, and left for the lobby to grab her suitcase before heading up to her room.

Her eyes went wide when the doors of the penthouse opened for her. "What is all this stuff?" The penthouse alone was bigger than her mountain cabin back home. It was… uncomfortable. The doors shut because she had been standing outside of them for so long, and she rolls her suitcase to rest against the frame of the door before dipping. It was to the bar with her.

Once at the bar, she grabbed a stool next to Zehara right before Josiah could take it upon himself to do so. Girls have to look after each other when it comes to freaks like that. "Cheetah Avatar, huh? What does that mean? Does that make you a goddess or…?" Lexa couldn’t help it that she was intellectually lacking when she didn’t really have much of a formal education past elementary school.

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Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
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myla murdock
hell's angelx|xoutfitx|x#6e0000

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Myla was more than content to travel the short distance back to Manhattan alone, but even she couldn't disregard the current situation for heroes. How could she know the taxi driver would be a trusted individual that would take her to her home safely? Or return her? Who's to say what else would be waiting for her during the journey. In most instances, she'd be certain of herself and her capabilities. But the fact that people as powerful as Superman had gone missing would give anyone cause to worry.

Her attention was returned to the current matter at hand, when a soft thump caught her attention. Myla's head turned in the general direction of the noise. A suitcase, stopped by a foot. "You look her size. Got some pants and a jacket you can spare?" It was like the faintest gust of wind that showed her he had turned his head in her direction. She said nothing, but her brows furrowed in slight confusion. "Shoes, too."

In a normal situation she might have grown self conscious as a stranger seemed to degrade her attire. But to be honest, Myla had little clue about what she wore other than the shoes were painful and the skirt made it hard for her to move. Foggy's girlfriend Darcy loved to help Myla with her wardrobe. Her tastes were nice, for what she could tell. Silks, cashmere and satins. The woman even sorted her closet by outfit so that Myla would always match. But all the woman ever bought her was stilettos, skirts and tight dresses. She felt like a Barbie doll most days for Darcy to live out all of her fashion dreams. It was kind, but hardly comfortable.

"Uuuuumm, not sure you'd fit in my clothes." Lexa Creed. Sabretooth's daughter. Myla had already began committing names and voices to memory. What she could never adequately explain to people with sight was that every person had an... aura. It wasn't like a picture and sometimes it didn't click in her memory as quick as facial memory did for others, but it was how she learned people. How they sounded or smelled. How they walked, heavy on the heel, or light on their toes, long strides or quick steps.

"They're for her. Since it's on my way to where I am going, I'll take her to go get her things. I mean, unless you prefer she goes on a bike dressed like that. I wouldn't really complain. She might, though."

So the no named stranger was to be her ride. Wasn't this something parents often warned their daughters against? Myla knew nothing about the man besides he road a motorcycle and was light on his feet... Something the others in this haphazard party lacked. It made her question his profession. That, and his clear dislike for the situation. He didn't take the key, offer his name, nor give any indication that he intended on returning to join them. Those all seemed like red flags, but her gut wasn't screaming at her to run the other way.

Lexa scoffed. Myla would have managed in her clothes. She could have side straddled the machine. But she said nothing. "There are way too many perves here."

"One positive to being blind. I don't notice them watching," Myla commented toward Lexa. So far the only real perve she noticed was Josiah. "I do hear them though," she added with a slight quirk of a brow before the man made his way toward her.

"I'll take you, but you're going to have to change. Meet me outside. Take your time." He held out the clothes toward her.

Myla reached out. Her fingertips briefly brushed his hand as she took the clothes. It was unintentional. But his skin was rough and callused, like someone who worked with their hands, not pushed paper behind a desk. She nodded her head toward the man. Before she turned away, she spoke to Lexa once more. "I appreciate the loan. I'll return it cleaned."

She made her way toward the elevators and stepped inside. Myla had nearly forgotten she had two keys, one for floor 73 and another for floor 80. She stood there and pondered for a moment before hitting the button for 73. Perhaps the stranger wasn't going to stay. Either way, it felt wrong for a blind girl to take the highest room.

For being such a tall building, it was surprising how quickly it reached her floor. When the doors opened, Myla didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't what she found. An entire floor for one person. It was massive. It put Foggy's penthouse to shame. She didn't have the time to explore it, she could save that for later. Myla didn't bother wondering about and finding the bedroom to change when there was no one there. She left everything neatly folded on the closest table, only taking her phone and the two keys with her as she descended back down to the lobby.

Myla made her way out front of the building, finding the man waiting patiently by his motorcycle. That was something new. Most men who graced her life at one point or another had no patience. She stopped a few feet before him, but remained quiet. He didn't seem like the type who liked idle small talk and she was comfortable in silence. He closed the distance between them, taking the time to make sure the jacket was zipped up and the clothes fit her well. Which, surprisingly, they did.

It wasn't until he grabbed the helmet and put it on her that Myla had realized how tall he was. She had to tilt her head up slightly and he duck a bit to fasten the straps under her jaw. It was an alarmingly gentle gesture when he brushed some of her hair behind her ear. She remained silent and moved her head however he guided to make sure the helmet was secured. It wasn't often that Myla felt self conscious but standing that close to another person and not being able to look them in the eyes bothered her. That was one thing she never got over, how uncomfortable people got around her when she wasn't wearing sunglasses. They'd instantly tense up and avoid looking at her because her own eyes stared blankly into the distance.

It was the absence of movement, yet his hands still on the straps of the helmet that brought her out of her own thoughts. Myla hadn't noticed until he withdrew. She stood there patiently, getting a feel for the helmet as he dug out his phone. She was used to wearing a helmet with a mask to hide her identity, but this was much larger and heavier.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"Hell's Kitchen," she replied, followed by her Uncle Foggy's address.

Myla waited as he put on his own helmet and prepared everything for the ride. It wasn't until she felt him look toward her, that she took that as a silent invitation to get on. She placed her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she swung her leg over the back of the bike and took a seat.

"You can hold onto me if you want." Myla appreciated the offer, although said nothing. She didn't want to invade his personal space, but neither of them were left with much of a choice given his ride. The style of the bike forced her to sit with her chest pressed against his back due to the way the seats were angled. It was almost like being the big spoon. She wasn't going to hold onto him for dear life though. She wasn't frightened. Instead her hands gently rested at his waist.

Then... they were off.

No one ever dared take Myla anywhere near a motorcycle before... For obvious reasons. How was a blind person supposed to know when to lean, which way to lean... Or anything else. It's not like they could watch someone else do it. It was a liability that terrified far too many people to ever try putting her on the back of one. Yet there she was.

While to her silent driver it might have seemed like another day, to Myla it was everything. It was something so simple that felt so freeing. Part of her wished she could remove her helmet just to feel the wind in her hair. It was like she was flying. She found herself smiling at the weightlessness of it all. Like one minute she'd just lift off and float into the skies. And even though the machine was loud and her company was silent, it was exhilarating.

Quicker than Myla would have liked, they began to reach the city. Cars got closer and more congested. And the speed of the bike dulled. The engine no longer roared and silenced the world around her. She was met with distant sirens, drunken shouting and other sad sounds of the city that weighed her back down to reality like an anchor. Her body grew more tense and expression saddened. Luckily, her traveling companion could not see.

She sat up as they approached. She might not have been able to see it, but she knew... the sounds, the smells. This was home. And while this place will always hold a piece of her heart, a larger part of her longed for the quietness of the academy. Myla let out a soft sigh as the engine was silenced before she swung her leg over the seat and dismounted.

Myla took a moment to accept the sad reality of her feet upon the earth again, before she stepped forward to stand beside her company, who was still seated on the bike. She slightly tilted her head up as a quiet way of asking for his help to remove the helmet. Sure, she could have figured it out. But since he was the one who fastened it, it would be far faster for him to undo it.

Once she was free, Myla removed the helmet and held it lightly pressed against her abdomen. "I know you don't plan on returning," she broke the silence. "I don't know your story... I don't even know your name," she added quietly. "But you can't be all bad if you answered that message. And went out of your way to give me a ride."

She set the helmet down on the seat behind him, before reaching into her back pocket. Myla pulled out the key for the 80th floor. She reached for his hand, but hesitated for a moment, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he wanted. When he didn't move, she turned his hand over and placed the key in his palm with a slight smile. "In case you change your mind." Myla then stepped back onto the curb. "I can take a taxi back..."

Her voiced trailed off as she heard her Uncle Foggy's voice far above. She cocked her head to the side like an animal as she tried to listen better. "Who is it?" The latch on the door flipped, and before it could be opened, it was broken through and several footsteps could be heard rushing into the apartment. "Who the hell do you think you are!? Get out of my house!"

Then, like the sound of a pin dropping, she heard the click of the hammer of a gun. "Where is she?"

"Foggy," Myla gasped under her breath and sprinted for the door. She grabbed a hold of the handle and went to throw it open but it didn't budge. What time was it?! She had completely lost track of time. But it must have been nightfall if the doors were already locked.

As she stood there and yanked at the doors, a security guard approached. "Excuse me miss, I need to see some I.D."

Myla ignored him for a moment as she frantically tried to open the door. "I live here! Let me through!"

"I'm sorry miss. But I'm going to need to see some I.D. before I let you in."

"I'm Franklin Nelson's niece! Open the door!" She started to hear scuffling and Foggy groan after being hit and forced to his knees. "Open the door!"

"Ms. Murdock?" A familiar voice asked, concern evident in his tone.

"Percy, open this damn door before I break it down!"

He hesitated for a minute, before hitting the button to unlock it. The second Myla heard the mechanism click, she bursted through the doors and sprinted for the stairs. She didn't have time to wait on the elevator. She took the stairs three and four at a time. As she ascended her hands quickly unzipped the leather jacket and pulled it off her. Nine, ten, eleven. She counted the different voices coming from the apartment. With a sleeve grasped in each hand she spun the jacket like adolescent boys twisted towels in locker rooms.

When she reached the floor, Myla barreled through the door and beelined straight for the guy with the gun. Taken by surprise, the others didn't have a chance to grab her before she reached him. With a swift kick, she knocked the gun from his hand. She then clipped the jacket under his jaw. In a single move she spun around and yanked the guy up over her back, flipping him over her until he landed on the ground with a loud thud.

It seemed their attention was all focused on her the second she stepped through the door and Foggy was no longer their concern. "Foggy!" She said loudly, getting his attention as she positioned herself between him and the attackers. "Go! Lock yourself in and don't come out until it's safe"

"But—" He tried to argue.

"Now!" She demanded as she dodged a swing from the guy on her left. Myla ducked beneath his extended arm. She then reached up and hooked her hands behind his head before slamming his nose straight into her knee. She shoved him away just in time to dodge another punch.

"Are you Hell's Angel?" One of them asked as they took a step forward.

"Who's asking?" She replied as she ran in the opposite direction of Foggy, leading them to the other side of the apartment. Myla hurdled the sofa and knocked over a bookshelf behind her to try and slow them down. But when she reached the den, three more men were waiting for her. Her head tilted to the side as she listed. Several approaching from behind and the sound of a switchblade opening from one of the men before her.

Myla kicked a chair on the man on the left. It wasn't enough to do much damage, but it distracted him for long enough so that she could run at the one on the right. She jumped up and hooked her legs around either side of his head. Using her body weight she jerked backwards, flipping him over and slamming him onto the floor. Her hands pressed to the ground on either side of her head and she did a quick kip-up to get back on her feet. Laying in wait, the other guy came at her with the blade. She just barely dodged it. The knife sliced through her shirt and grazed the side of her ribs. Myla pinned his wrist beneath her arm and used her other hand to snap his elbow, making him drop the weapon.

One by one they flooded into the room coming for her. She side stepped and ducked as many hits as she could, putting her own in whenever there was an opening. Her lip was split and her side burned but the adrenalin made them inconsequential. If she downed one, two got back up. They were like cockroaches.

As she faced down two, another snuck up behind her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Before she could break free, he slammed her face into the desk. Myla spun around so her back was on the desk and lifted her feet, throwing them into the chest of the closest attacker. The force sent him falling backwards into a bookshelf, causing it to knock over and collapse on top of him.

Just as she got to her feet, another man stepped into the room. He smelled of expensive cologne, bourbon and Italian leather. The man didn't come after her, but spoke, more to himself in an annoyed tone. "What a waste of time."

Then there was a click of a button, followed by an ear piercing high pitch shrill. It was almost like a dog whistle, something at such a high octave that only Myla could hear it. The sound was like an ice pick to her brain. She instantly fell to her knees crying out as her hands cupped over her ears trying to dull the noise. Then there were hands on her, lifting her up. She tried to fight, maybe getting in a kick or two, but she was disoriented. All she could do was convulse and squirm, hoping to break free.

Just barely audible over the piercing noise, the man spoke again. "Sedate her."

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Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
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#, as written by mombie
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It wasn't that he was trying to treat her the same as he would anyone else, rather Kane was simply ignorant. It wasn't everyday that one dealt with a completely visually impaired person. However, if that meant that she would be treated normal, and she wasn't going to point things out to him - then maybe it's for the best. With regards to the bike ride, he felt that she was relaxed enough to allow him to guide her into leans when the need arose. She didn't give him any problems. It's the scared backseaters that did the most damage, and she seemed perfectly fine the whole way there.

It was relaxing for him, too. Even the ride through Hell's Kitchen wasn't particularly troublesome, as he had been fairly used to the high traffic. He was fine. She was fine. All had been well.
* * *

She climbed off of his bike, and shortly thereafter, he dismounted as well. His foot pushed the kickstand so that he could deal with Myla's helmet. Of course, he had to bend down a bit to get it undone, but he was quick and respectful with it. He didn't speak much, even when she cut the silence off to inject a few words, "I know you don't plan on returning. I don't know your story... I don't even know your name, but you can't be all bad if you answered that message. And went out of your way to give me a ride."

As they had before, his eyes rolled and he turned his head away from her for a second. His hands were shoved into his pocket, and he let out a slight sigh that she may have perceived much more audibly than a visual person. One of his feet, as always seemed to be the case with her right now, was half lifted and ready to pivot so that he could depart. Most of him didn't want to stick around her any longer than he needed her, yet a sliver... just this really faint trade of him, felt strangely compelled to remain frozen in place.

The next thing he knew, his hand was outstretched and she had gently seized it. When he looked down he realized that she had placed the key to room eighty in his palm, and he looked up just a bit further and watched her expression. "In case you change your mind. I can take a taxi back..." He didn't understand it, honestly. She's smiling at him, but she doesn't even know what kind of guy he is. If they had met before all of this, they would have been enemies.

He took the key and placed it into a pocket, and at that same time, noted that there was a swift alteration in her demeanor. He couldn't place her actions, and he probably couldn't even imagine her capabilities in wven his wildest imagination.

She took off after calling out someone's name, and her hurried departure didn't make him budge in the slightest. Did she forget something? Someone? He just didn't know, and there was no way for him to know when he didn't even know who she was or what kind of person she is. He watched her as she attempted to get into the tight night security of the apartment complex and rushed inside.

He turned toward his bike and grabbed the extra helmet, locking it in place so that he could leave. He put his helmet on his head and damn-near fastened it, but he was just holding onto the straps for a long while. Something was bugging him. His gut was screaming at him - something was wrong with this whole situation. Yet, was it his business? He'd never see her again. She'd never see him again. He didn't need to intervene. He's used to a life where one didn't question the things that happened.

He finished buckling up his helmet, sat on the motorcycle, and revved the engine. But that's as far as this weird and urgent emotion swelling inside of him was overwhelming his natural instincts of survival. He needed to check on her.

He pulled off his helmet, turned off the bike, dismounted, and moved with a casual, yet slightly hastened, gait to the entrance. He didn't feel like wasting time with the guard, so he gave him a swift and rather cliche brachial strike to the neck which caused the guard to fall over. He's not dead, but he will take a nap for a few minutes.

He stepped over the man and entered the building, but he didn't know how far up to go. Thankfully, Myla's entrance had created quite the commotion, so he was able to use the noise to guide him. The closer he got - the fifth floor, the sixth, the seventh - the louder and more dire all the cacophony became. He was soon running up the steps and burst through her door, which was hanging open.

"Sedate her," was likely the last thing any of them would hear. As Hell's Angel convulsed on the floor, the only noise would come from the sound of bones cracking, banging, thudding, and all that other fun stuff. Naturally, he was not aware of the additional high frequency going off in the room, but he didn't have time to figure out why she was on the ground like that.

He collided with one man, violently headbutting the back of his skull. Kane wasn't necessarily strong, but even a more lean man like him could overpower brute thugs with a little bit of precision in his fighting skill. He ducked and slid across the floor to snag the knife that one of the ruffians had dropped. As soon as he whisked it off of the ground, he was back up on his feet. Men were coming at him from all sides, but Kane was especially swift in his motions.

He grabbed one man by the back of his shirt as he attempted to rush the assassin and pulled him back while delivering a hard swift kick to another. The fighting seemed like it was taking place for a really long time; the scene looking very much like one of those one-on-group Jackie Chan scenes from one of his movies. In reality, it had only been a few minutes - maybe three at most. He had been moving back the whole time, taking a defensive stance near Myla to keep them away from her, all while fending off attackers.

Kane was grabbed by one guy, and for his size and weight in comparison to the leviathan that now had him by the back of his jacket, was light as a feather. He slammed Kane down face and belly first, and the assassin groaned before he rolled over. The interloper took the now grounded man over by sitting on him. Kane had to hold up his forearms to guard his face.

While it certainly seemed like Kane was going to be subdued and that Myla might be out of luck, he could get a larger person off of him - no problem. Behemoth's had disadvantages, and they were easy to squirm away from. He caught one of the man's arms, even though his face now took the brunt of his leftover fist, and pulled the old-fashioned arm-twist joint manipulation maneuver. He was able to get the guy off of him by exerting enough pressure to force him to roll over onto his own back, but he tried to sit up. Kane simply back-backed him; moving behind him with quick speed thankful to the slow size of his opponent. He put an arm under his chin to put pressure on his throat and began to strangle him.

Strangling didn't work like in the movies. It took a couple of seemingly long minutes until the large brute passed out and fell to his side.

Myla and Kane had caused far too much harm for the rest of the intruders to stick around, so they didn't. They poured out of every escape they could, and Kane let them leave; a body or two left behind. Kane's face was a mess. Blood was trailing from one corner of his mouth, and he was pretty bruised up. When he stood up he even felt slightly disoriented, as though he must have gotten hit in the head at some point. He was also in pain, especially after being hit and even sat on.

Since she couldn't see, he decided to take advantage of that by pretending nothing was wrong. He tried to hide the ache in his body and the strain in his movements as he knelt down by her side and waited until she calmed. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder as a subconscious comforting gesture that was meant to give her the sign that she was safe for now.

When she calmed, he took her hand and stood up, helping her to her feet at the same time.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mjolnir
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zehara el sayid
cheetahx|xoutfitx|x#c8a964

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william richards
jr. fantasticx|xoutfitx|x#0b4a8b

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Zehara traveled with minimal luggage. Waiting at baggage claims or toting around several suitcases was a hassle. She had a small duffle which contained some basic essentials. Her load was light when she didn't need some superhero suit or elaborate case of weapons. The Cheetah was her weapon... And armor. She'd take the time some day to go shopping and get a couple things. Like more than three pairs of clothes. But it wasn't pressing at the moment. Plus she'd have to consider sneaking out to achieve it. She wasn't for the whole fieldtrip and holding hands everywhere.

... No one was hunting her. She wasn't a hero.

The bag sat on the ground beside her stool as she sat at the bar. Stark and Wayne definitely pulled out all the stops for this place. Even for it being over a decade old, the technology was still far more advanced than many things in the rest of the world. Aside from, perhaps, Wakanda and other hero facilities. The second she rested her hands on the counter, it lit up revealing a full menu of just about every drink known to man. Zehara wasn't picky. She scrolled through it just far enough to find bourbon and selected it.

A few moments later, a seam parted in the counter before her and the short glass, fresh with ice, was lifted up to sit before her. Zehara's face twisted in an impressed and curious expression as she apprehensively reached out and took the glass. She watched the bar close back up before she mutter a soft, "Huh," under her breath and took a sip.

Will took his time getting to the bar, making sure to take his things back up to his old room. Which, upon entering, hadn't changed. Not a single toe out of order. There wasn't even a single speck of dust or a cracked window. It was a strange sense of deja vu, but comforting. That midst all this chaos, there was still somewhere he could call home. Sure the people were new and different. But the walls weren't.

He descended back down to the main floor, watching as some of the others wondered their way towards the bar. Will lingered in the lobby, watching as Myla got on the back of a motorcycle with the silent stranger. His jaw clenched slightly as he watched them ride off. Something about it made him uncomfortable. He didn't know the girl but there were several things about it that rubbed him the wrong way.

A blind person, regardless of how heightened their other senses were, shouldn't be on a motorcycle. But perhaps that was the old fashioned man in him whining. What really bothered Will was the man. He didn't share his name or anything about him besides the batarang he found. Who's to say he wasn't the cause of Bruce Wayne's disappearance? It was too late for him to do anything. He should have offered to take her himself. But he didn't. Will could only hope that it didn't turn out as poorly as his brain was preparing for.

With a sigh, Will headed towards the bar. Just before he entered, Aria retreated backwards into him. "Sorry, sorry."

William held up his hands slightly, in an innocent manner. He offered her a slight smile. "Excuse me," he also apologized. He then cleared his throat and spoke up once more. "Do you need help—" But she was already moving on, not lingering around to hear what he had to say or the help he offered. "... Finding something?" He sighed, finishing his sentence more to himself and under his breath.

Zehara heard the footsteps approaching. She wasn't surprised that some of the others wondered their way into the bar too. If she wanted company, that she was unsure of. But it looked like her times of being a lone wolf were at an end. At least for the time being. She didn't look up from her glass when she saw Josiah out of the corner of her eyes. Her nostrils flared as she adjusted in her seat, pursing her lips and crossing her right leg over her left. Just as he seemed like he was about to take the seat beside her, Lexa swooped in and snagged it.

She managed to relax a bit, but didn't turn her attention towards the girl. Zehara had no problems with her, or anyone else, so far... Aside from the handsy Josiah. She was just never the super social type. That, and on top of everything else, she felt severely out of place in the Descendant Academy. Most of those who spoke up were children of well known heroes. Then there she was, daughter of a woman who was a thorn in Wonder Woman's side. A selfish woman who took over a tribe's tradition for her own selfish gain.A woman that was a monster. There were many skeletons in Zehara's closet. It was only a matter of time before they were aired out. It'd be easier if these people didn't try to be her friend. It'd save themselves the disappointment.

"Cheetah Avatar, huh? What does that mean? Does that make you a goddess or…?" The girl asked, breaking the silence.

Before she could respond Will walked around the bar and started to fix himself a drink, rather than letting the fancy technology do it for him. With a bottle in hand, he spoke up. "That can't be possible?" The question more rhetorical than curious. "I mean, look at Thor or Wonder Woman. They were revered as Gods because their presence came about in a time where humans couldn't comprehend beings from other worlds or dimensions with magic-like abilities."

"You're not a spiritual man, are you Mr. Richards?" Zehara asked with a soft chuckle, followed by a sip of her drink.

"I consider myself more of a man of science," Will mused, as he began to pour his drink.

"By definition," Zehara began, lightly tapping her fingertips down on the bar. "A God is just a superhuman being or spirit that is worshipped. By that definition alone, all of us in this room could classify as a God. It's actually quite common in many religions, especially tribal or primitive ones, that enhanced individuals, such as ourselves, were revered as Gods. And some still are."

Will's eyes squinted slightly as he put the bottle back. "Just because someone is worshipped as a God doesn't make them a God."

Zehara let out a soft chuckle as she adjust in her seat. It was at this moment she briefly gave Lexa side eye. Not as a way to say the girl was unwelcome. And, she hadn't consider if the conversation was trivial to someone worried about social media. But the look was more like, watch me talk this man in circles. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the bar. "So then how would you define a God?"

William ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of his front teeth as he pondered. He brought his glass to his lips, but never drank from it. After a moment, he set it back down on the counter. "Omnipotent."

"So, all powerful?"

He nodded his head.

"Then, by that definition, would Scarlet Witch be considered omnipotent?" Zehara posed the rhetorical question. Before Will could respond, she continued. "No, no. Of course not, I'm sure she can't do everything. But perhaps Doctor Manhattan? Or would it then be whomever wields the Infinity Stones?"

Will gave a weak laugh before he finally took a sip of his drink. "Touché."

"I'm not trying to make a fool out of you, Mr. Richards," Zehara clarified with a smile."Just somethings are not black and white." She then downed whatever remained of her drink. When she set the glass down, the bar opened and took it back in.

As her drink was refilled she turned her attention back to Lexa. "But to answer your question, no. I am not a Goddess. I am a vessel." Zehara's fingers took hold of her fresh glass as it appeared. "The Cheetah's spirit, or aura... life essence, or however Mr. Richards over here would classify it, is inside me. There is a ritual that is preformed within an African tribe that makes the tribe's chosen avatar become the Cheetah Goddess."

Zehara took another drink, glancing between the two. "It's quite complicated. But think of it as similar to the Black Panther. As for my abilities, in layman's terms, I'm similar to a werewolf... Were-cheetah." She made the terrible joke while shaking her head and furrowing her brows. Zehara never was the funniest, but that wasn't to say she didn't try on occasion.

Will tapped his hand on the bar softly, flashing a slight smile. "Well, thank you for that enlightening anthropology lesson." With that, he took his drink and headed towards the exit.

No, he wasn't insulted. On the contrary, William always liked learning something new. But that didn't stop him from being slightly embarrassed as well. When it came to battles of wits, he was usually the winner. If the topic was science or mathematics, he could talk circles around most people. But, cultures, religions... people were always topics his knowledge lacked in. To Will, Gods didn't exist. Everything could be answered by science. He had to remind himself that the way he thought, was not the general consensus. In fact, it was often the opposite.

He managed to wonder his way into the kitchen, wanting a sandwich or something. Leading up to this meeting, Will wasn't able to eat. And to be honest, he often had a habit of forgetting to eat until he was dizzy. He was working on it. When he first entered, he didn't notice Aria until after he rummaged through the fridge and closed the door. "Oh. Hi, again. Sorry, didn't see you there."

Will set the assortment of lunch meat, condiments and toppings down on the counter. He then half turned to face her. He pointed to everything he had laid out before him. "Want a sandwich?" Even though it had been a decade, he still remembered where everything was like it was yesterday. He took a couple steps to the left to grab a plate for himself and a glass. "I was thinking a double decker club sandwich myself." He spoke out loud to both himself and Aria. "But I also haven't eaten all day." He chuckled.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mjolnir
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jameson blaze
ghost riderx|xoutfitx|x#cb7a06

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Jameson shared an elevator with Aria back up to the ground floor of the tower. She seemed to have more than her fair share of bags. He contemplated offering to help her, but when she used her abilities and swept it up, he opted to remain silent. The girl seemed to be on the edge of anxiety since her arrival, so rather than making her more uncomfortable he just said nothing and settled into the farthest side of the lift.

He waited for her to exit first, being sure to hold the door open for her. Then he followed suit. Unlike Aria, James only had a backpack of items. Living off the back of a motorcycle, he had to live a more minimal lifestyle. Luckily, his wardrobe mostly consisted of black, so a small handful of clothing could be stretched quite far for himself.

James lingered in the hallway as Will and Aria bumped into one another and went their own ways. He was in no rush to get anywhere really. He slid his hands into his jacket pocket and slowly stepped into the room.

The room itself was larger than most bars or saloons he had been in. It looked like a high end VIP club, with dark carpets, crystal chandeliers and LEDs that slowly shifted colors. It seemed most of the others were all gathering around the bar. James hadn't quite decided if he would join them, or simply get a drink and then make himself comfortable on one of the sofas.

As he closed in on the bar, he heard Lexa ask Zehara about being an avatar for a cheetah goddess. Personally, James wasn't that curious. To him, it sounded similar to his own burden. But it sounded like it would be a roulette of inquiring about each others powers. Seemed par for the course with a gathering of heroes. Sure, he knew this topic would come up at one point but he didn't know if he was wanting to cross that bridge while he was still trying to grasp what exactly they all were doing here in the first place.

He snuck over to the counter behind Lexa, hoping he could go relatively unnoticed during the philosophical debate of 'what defines a God.' As he grabbed a beer, James noticed Josiah trying to slink his way onto the stool on the other side of Zehara. He sighed softly through his nose as he pushed off the bar. Before the boy could take the seat, James' placed his large hand on Josiah's shoulder. "Can we have a chat? Man to man?"

James didn't wait for a response. He wasn't taking no for an answer. The pair stood eye to eye, but Jameson was bigger, bulkier. He could probably bench Josiah, not that he was the kind to peacock in such a way. But he could be intimidating when he needed to be. And, if Josiah resisted... he could make him come sit with him. His senses told him that the boy held no powers or abilities, so it wouldn't take much. But he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Gentle, but with enough force to make Josiah move, James lead him to a far table in the room where they could talk without the others over hearing. He motioned his hand toward the chair that was back in the corner. This gave James a window to step in the way if Josiah decided to try and leave. And remained standing and waited until the male took the seat.

"Thanks," James said kindly as he took his jacket off and laid it against an adjacent seat. He Then spun his own chair around, straddling the seat and crossing his arms on top of the backrest. "So, who are you... really?"

He paused for a long second before continuing. "What are you doing here?" He pointed to the ground with his index finger. "You don't have anyone here fooled. I don't claim to know you, or what you're going through. But I'd like you to try and make me understand."

James ran a hand back through his hair. "I'll go first." He rolled up his sleeves slightly, before resting his arms back on the chair. "I am the host vessel for a vengeance demon... or spirit." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Whichever term you prefer. Some think they serve God, others Mephisto."

"Regardless, it gives me this little radar,"
he said, pointing to his head. "When I'm around people who are good or have good intentions... nothing. But when I'm around you, there is this little alarm ringing in the back of my head."

"Perhaps, it's nothing more than you have no idea how to treat a woman. But I don't think that's it." James leaned back slightly, tapping his palms on the back of the chair. "So, enlighten me." He motioned his hand towards Josiah. "Because you might be able to fool everyone else here, but not me. I'm the person whose trust you need. And if I think at any point you'll be a danger to us... I'll handle it." With his last words, flames flickered in his eyes for a brief moment as his voice rumbled like a primal growl. It wasn't a threat. It wasn't even intentional. Rather it was the demon inside begging for Josiah to misstep so it could tastes the man's soul and drag him to hell.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski
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0.25 INK

#, as written by mombie
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J o s i a h x D a l i n s k i

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o f x h a r l e y & j o k e r
#B48F7C || Outfit || josiah
#52493d || the brute
#5c7340 || the enigma
#544073 || the jester

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The man just wanted to get some sleep, but before he could sprawl out on a couch he was being approached. Rather, some other man's big ass hand fell on his shoulder in one of those demanding ways. When he looked up at Jameson, he rolled his eyes. What did he do wrong this time? He couldn't read his face. He couldn't read anyones face. "Can we have a chat? Man to man?"

To be fair, no one could know his mind. He barely knew it himself.

Because of Josiah's psychopathic idiosyncracies, the Ghostrider wasn't as intimidating as he thought. He has learned, to some degree, how to read body languages - but it's honestly a pretty pointless skill when you really didn't care in the first place. People. What use were people anyway? They were always like this, and maybe he didn't know any better - but he wasn't wired to. He certainly didn't have an adequate enough upbringing to make amends for the very important things that he lacked.

Regardless, he left with Jameson and sat himself down as requested. He could play along with this game. This guy wanted to be the man of the bunch - or whatever. Josiah was up to granting him his wish. He leaned forward, folding his arms across the table to look the demon of vengeance right in his face.

"So, who are you... really?" Jameson began, and there was no clear expression written across Josiah's face. In short, he was utterly devoid of the physical nuances of emotion scrawled across his face. It was good for him, but maybe not for others. Sometimes it was bad for him, too. People labeled him weird or rude, and maybe he was a little.

"What are you doing here? You don't have anyone here fooled. I don't claim to know you, or what you're going through. But I'd like you to try and make me understand. I'll go first." Ah, yes - the stereotypical man; some sort of alpha bravado. Some sort of white knight. Nothing short of a bully under the guise of 'for the better'. Josiah knew these types well, so he decided to hang back and listen. These people exposed more about themselves than he did to them, and that was well enough for him.

"I am the host vessel for a vengeance demon... or spirit. Whichever term you prefer. Some think they serve God, others Mephisto. Regardless, it gives me this little radar," the 'protector' kept spouting off at the mouth, and Josiah displayed some inappropriate physical gestures such as yawning and averting his gaze to someplace else. He was disinterested in other people.

He tilted his head slightly, and when he spoke his voice was passive and near robotic in nature. He sounded very much like someone that had no personality - no anything. "Who am I, really?" He started, and from here on out, there would be no lie that would tingle Jameson. There was only truth - a complex proof, almost like some really fucked up labyrinth that was inescapable and directionless. "I am a puzzle with missing pieces - a mansion with many strange occupants. I am Josiah, but sometimes I am not."

Yep, that was a perfect explanation.

"Perhaps, it's nothing more than you have no idea how to treat a woman. But I don't think that's it. So, enlighten me. Because you might be able to fool everyone else here, but not me. I'm the person whose trust you need. And if I think at any point you'll be a danger to us... I'll handle it." Whether or not that sounded like a threat to the mental case, he wouldn't give off any clue. Truthfully, it didn't register with him at the time. Not Josiah in his typical normal state. He didn't recognize the tonal indicators of a warning, and he wasn't quite sure what he meant by "take care of it".

Part of Josiah wanted to delve into the semantics of Jameson's language, but he decided that he didn't care enough to do so. He wasn't scared of the guy. This particular man was fearless, and it was a good and bad thing for him. He didn't have the capacity to be scared, especially of others. "When have I fooled anyone? When have I said I was anything other than who I am?" He'd pose these questions, opting to utilize a logical strategy to oppose having to jump through hoops to attempt to answer questions he did not, himself, know.

Who was Josiah? Where did he come from? Why was he here?

"Are you vilifying me before I have had the chance to do so myself? A lack of trust is understanding, but who are you to make the bad guy because of a couple of crude jokes? I didn't molest the woman, did I?" He leaned in a bit more to close off a little bit of distance, "You claim to not know me or what I've been through, yet you've already decided that I would be a problem." He sat all the way back into his chair and began to laugh. This was strange maniacal laughter; gut-busting humor that was completely out of place for this situation. A normal person might be extremely offended, but instead, Josiah could feel the insidious nature of his mental disease kick in.

His laughter stopped with such abruptness that it was immediately disarming, and he slammed both of his hands on the table top. His teeth clenched and his jaw pulsed, and he closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. The Ghostrider had unknowingly pushed the man's buttons; like a threat that stimulated his body's flight or fight response. Josiah wasn't aware of the threatening meaning or tones, but a part of him was at the same time. That part of him, much like Jameson's own inner-Demon, looked for a reason to reel its nasty head.

"Who am I? I am... a mansion with no windows and no doors, but many floors. All the occupants in my home," he tapped the side of his head, "help me survive this cold, cruel world in their own unique ways. Without them, I am just Josiah - a dumpster child with no parents pushed through a broken state foster system where most of us end up dead, abused, in jail, or in wards. I have been to all those places - even death."

He nodded his heads a few times and drew his gaze to peer elsewhere, "You might know me a little bit, Jameson. You have an occupant in your own mansion."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Aria Munroe
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#, as written by mombie
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L e x a x C r e e d

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o f x s a b r e t o o t h
#b45439 || Outfit || nightclaw

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A r i a x M u n r o e

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o f x s t o r m & f o r g e
#475D6B || Outfit || tempest

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William and Zehara were in some sort of conversation, and truth be told - the child of Sabretooth couldn't give a hoot about what was being said. She placed an elbow on the bar and then rested her chin in a palm as she "listened" to what was being said. Something, something - a few words that were too big for her lacking lexicon, and a bunch of heroes that she didn't know by name.

You know what? If being able to ogle Jr. Fantastic to death meant that she would have to sit through some of the most boring conversations in the universe, then she would pretend to be interested. He's just so handsome. She's way out of his league, of course - her being more in with the social media and him with the cute nerds. They'd never be able to hold a conversation that either or would be entertained by. She accepted that, but she's going to get a good eyeful of everything before they part ways. One of these days, she will.

He was blowing up her I.G., that's for sure. Lexa would have to deliver something better to satiate her hungry fans.

At some point during this sea of vapid words, she had ordered a beer. Nothing fancy because she's just not one of those girls. She just wanted something cold, thick, a little bit bitter, and preferably in a nice chilled bottle. She popped the lid with a sturdy canine tooth; her eyes turning amber with slit pupils for the brief second that her teeth were ferally retracted. Then she spat the lid out, lacking all manners and couth.

At least she's cute. That's about all she's got going on in her life.

When Will parted ways with the pair of ladies, she gave him this sort of coy grin whilst wiggling her fingers at him in a flirty little wave. It almost looked like she was not-so subtlety letting him know that she was going to see him around.

"So, you're feral - like me. I can already see that this is going to be a whole lotta fun," she replied as she kicked her head back for a long, hard swig of her beer. Ah, it was so bitter - a true beer and not like the piss that most Americans drank. "Is this avatar... thing... good or bad? Just curious."

Of course, she wanted to know if she was the only daughter of a villain in this place. Not that she felt like she couldn't co-exist, but she's not as into the whole 'pay for the sins of the father' bullshit, but some were. Lexa had never been a villain, nor did she ever have plans to be. Did she always solve problems in the best way? No, but she wasn't running around with a Kill All Humans vendetta on her plate.

"Just curious to know is all," she shrugged, gave her now empty bottle back to the bar, and was given a new one. "My father is a notorious villain. Rather - he was." She laughed a bit while pressing the bottle's mouth against her bottom lip to prepare for another swallow, "There are so many children of renowned heroes here, I am starting to second guess myself! It will be interesting..." She said that last part mostly to herself, almost as if an afterthought now that it's in her head.

She didn't know what to expect from this crew, and that lowkey freaked her out a little bit. Everyone here was eye-candy, but that was only going to get her so far.

* * *

Aria is so quiet that it was not hard to believe that someone didn't see her, even when she is in plain sight. Unfortunately, she didn't take after her mother's grand presence, and that really harmed the woman's self-image. Regardless, she watched as William walked in and began to rummage through the kitchen for stuff, and she did so without speaking up. Maybe he'd just get his stuff and leave, but that sort of luck wasn't something she carried around with her. "Oh. Hi, again. Sorry, didn't see you there."

She lifted her head for a second to see who the voice came from and managed a smile, "It's fine. I get that a lot." A short few words, and that was all. It didn't appear that she had much to say, which left William to fill in the gaps.

"Want a sandwich? I was thinking a double-decker club sandwich myself. But I also haven't eaten all day." Food did sound really good, and Aria's stomach agreed with a slight rumble.

"A sandwich sounds great, actually. It's quick and easy and requires almost no thought," she agreed with the nod of her head. However, she wasn't going to have him make it for her. No, that was really awkward for her. Instead, she pushed her chair out and stood up to walk over and stand next to him. She grabbed a plate, and just in case he forgot the little things - the utensils they'd need to make beautiful sandwiches.

Once she was at his side again, knives and a cutting board in hand, she side-eyed him and the height difference. She felt vertically challenged all of the sudden, and she grew up being told that she was normal-sized .

She started to make her sandwich by cutting up some onions. Sure, this highly technological space could have done it for her and spared both herself and William from the teary-eyed task, but nothing beat the anxiety of a social situation like keeping her hands busy.

"So, William Richards," she decided to start some small talk, and it was not too hard. Aria had a soft voice, and he would likely be able to hear the hesitation and all the anxiety of things bleeding through her tone. A moment was taken to wipe a tear from her stinging eyes, but she went back to chopping up the onion and then a tomato. She preferred freshly cut cheese, but she let William handle that task. Cheese is notoriously a pain in the ass to cut. "You've been here before. Is this a place something like the X-Men or the Avengers?"

They put their sandwiches together, and Aria took a seat at the same table alongside her now cool cappuccino.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
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#, as written by mjolnir
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myla murdock
hell's angelx|xoutfitx|x#6e0000

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Myla had no idea what happened next. One minute multiple sets of hands were restraining her and the next they released letting her fall the foot or so to the ground. She landed with a slight thud, or so she could assume. She couldn't make out anything beyond the high pitched ringing that made her ears feel like they were bleeding.

She tried her best to get her bearings, feeling around until she found the leg of a familiar desk. It wasn't much, but it gave Myla a basic understanding of where she was in relation to the rest of the room. Occasionally she would feel someone back into her. One guy even managed to trip over her as if he had forgotten why he was there in the first place. She'd rather be invisible than try to fight them off while so disoriented. But even the boot of a man tripping would leave a bruise on her ribs for a few days.

While they were distracted, she had to take it upon herself to figure a way out of this mess. Myla tried her best to push through the straining tone and follow it to its source. She kept to the edge of the room, moving on her hands and knees, using the edge of the rug to guide her. Where she had expected to find a man holding the object, instead she found a small box sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. Abandoned.

She didn't hesitate to pick it up and throw it against the wall. She then was only met by the sounds of plastic breaking and small metal pieces scattering. The tone had ceased. Her ears still rang even absent the noise. Much like after being around loud noise for a significant amount of time. It was uncomfortable and gave Myla a headache. But it was manageable. It'd take her a bit to get her bearings back, but she'd manage.

Just as Myla let out a sigh of relief, a hand rested on her shoulder. She spun around, grabbing hold of his wrist with her thumb along his palm ready to snap it backwards. But like muscle memory, the calluses on his skin made her pause. It was him. To say Myla was surprised was an understatement. He didn't seem the type of person to worry himself with other's affairs. She had thought he left. She could even recall the sound of his motorcycle revving as she ascended the stairs. Yet there he was.

Without a word between the two, Myla's fingers curled around his hand when he took hers. With his aid, she moved to her feet. Her mind was racing. There was so much she wanted to say. Why did you come back? Are you injured? Did you see who they were?... Thank you. But nothing came out. It seemed in each others presence, neither one of them were much for words. To some extent, it almost felt as if nothing needed to be said at all. Like he knew exactly what she was thinking without ever speaking it, and she knew his response without ever asking.

Then through the silence, Foggy could be heard stumbling around overturned furniture as he hurried down the hallway toward them. Myla hadn't realize her hand was still in his until her Uncle showed up, which caused her to quickly retract it before he saw. "Oh my God, Myla!" He closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands. "Are you ok?" He asked looking her over. Her lip was split, blood had dried along her mouth that fell from her nose, there was a cut on her side that he luckily couldn't see, but aside from minor bumps and bruises, she was fine.

"I thought... What happened to your father..." Foggy's voice cracked and trailed off as he brought her in for a gentle hug.

"I know," she consoled him, gently rubbing his back. "It's not safe here. You should go stay with Darcy until this all blows over." Hopefully.

He nodded his head. "What about you?"

Myla's head turned slightly towards the stranger for a brief moment, before facing Foggy once again. "It's safer if you didn't know. Just... Know that I'm going to try to fix this."

Before he turned to leave, Foggy moved in front of their current company and took his hand in a firm, but grateful handshake. "Thank you, so much. Please, please look after her for me."

"Foggy..." Myla contradicted, a bit embarrassed.

"Shhh," he hushed her. "I can't lose you too." He gave her a kiss on the forehead before heading out of the room. Foggy stopped in the doorway, looking around at the state of his house. "What do I say happened?"

"Burglary... And I stopped it."

"Hell's Angel doesn't kill..."

"Well... Today she does."

Foggy had nothing else to say. She knew part of him wanted to argue the point, but Myla was just as stubborn as her father. He knew that. So, without another word he headed out, leaving the pair alone in an apartment in ruin. "Come on," she said softly to the stranger before she started down the hallway.

For the most part, she managed just fine, but occasionally the ringing in her ears was just enough for her to get a little dizzy and stumble over misplaced furniture. She tried not to draw attention to it and quickly regained her balance. Myla had already been saved once that night, she didn't need to be babied too.

Myla opened the bathroom door for him and pointed toward the toilet. "Sit." Once he was in, she closed the door... And locked it, just for good measure. She could tell he had been moving differently, a bit more strained. She figured he was trying to hide it from her, but eyes aren't the only tells. Regardless, the least she could do was help doctor his wounds since he got involved in her mess.

She pulled out a medkit from underneath the sink and set it on the counter. Before diving into that, she grabbed a towel and got it damp. Myla wrang out the excess water and then knelt down before him. She held out one hand a few inches from his face, but paused. "May I?"

When he didn't argue, Myla reached her hand forward and began to lightly trace his face with her fingertips. Yes, the stereotypes were true. The blind often ran their hands over another person's face to try and understand what they look like. And while that was tempting, it wasn't the time. She only picked up on faint features like his long nose and smooth skin. But mostly she was feeling for injuries or blood. Her hand stopped when they found tacky drying blood near his temple. She'd start there.

Myla picked up the towel and gently began to wipe away the blood from his face while her eyes stared blankly at some point on his torso. Once that was cleaned, her fingers searched again until they found more along his lips and mouth. She turned the towel over to a clean side and softly ran it along his bottom lip. "So..." She broke the silence, speaking barely above a whisper. "Do you think I could know your name?"

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Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski
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jameson blaze
ghost riderx|xoutfitx|x#cb7a06
the vengeance demonx|x#dd2f00

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"Who am I, really?" Josiah's voice was cold and monotone, almost like someone void of... being someone. "I am a puzzle with missing pieces - a mansion with many strange occupants. I am Josiah, but sometimes I am not."

That was not the answer Jameson wanted and his present company knew it. Enigmatic. It was no surprise that some of the people there would beat around the bush rather than being just open and honest. It didn't make it any less frustrating, but James didn't let that show. He simply sat there with the same stoic expression and his arms crossed over the back of the chair... waiting.

"When have I fooled anyone? When have I said I was anything other than who I am?"

"I didn't say you've fooled anyone. I'm stating that you can't fool me." James met Josiah's cold and distant demeanor. He showed no flux in emotions.

"Are you vilifying me before I have had the chance to do so myself? A lack of trust is understanding, but who are you to make the bad guy because of a couple of crude jokes? I didn't molest the woman, did I?" Debatable. By James's definition he had. Laying hands on someone like that without their consent was wrong, no matter how Josiah wanted to paint it. "You claim to not know me or what I've been through, yet you've already decided that I would be a problem."

Josiah sat back in his chair and began to laugh. It wasn't a humorous situation yet he laughed like he had heard the funniest thing imaginable. It was loud enough that anyone in the room would have heard and took note. Then like flipping a switch, it stopped abruptly. And as if that wouldn't have caught their attention, Josiah slammed his hands down on the table threateningly.

Then, like his own switch, the act of aggression toward him, even if passive, alerted the demon. James had no control over it. One minute he was there and then the next, Vengeance had taken over. Perhaps Jameson had pushed the buttons of the resident psycho, but the psycho pushed the buttons of someone far out of both of their leagues. He laid in wait like a predator stalking his prey. The flames burned in his eyes and tickled at the edge of his collar waiting for his moment to make his presence known as the boy continued to spout whatever nonsense he wanted.

"Who am I? I am... a mansion with no windows and no doors, but many floors. All the occupants in my home help me survive this cold, cruel world in their own unique ways. Without them, I am just Josiah - a dumpster child with no parents pushed through a broken state foster system where most of us end up dead, abused, in jail, or in wards. I have been to all those places - even death."

Josiah then quickly became disinterested, looking elsewhere. "You might know me a little bit, Jameson. You have an occupant in your own mansion."

In the blink of an eye, flames consumed James's head leaving behind only his skull and a mane of fire. "I'm not an occupant. I'm the puppet master." The demon's voice boomed. It was deep, guttural and echoed like it came from the pits of hell.

"You couldn't be the villain even if you wanted to be, pretty boy." The demon laughed. His voice was so deep that it'd make Darth Vader sound like a child. With each sound it rumbled like thunder. "You lack conviction. You act tough when you're backed into a corner. But you're like a little chihuahua. Cute. But all bark, no bite."

The demon grabbed hold of the table between them and flipped it out of the way like it weighed nothing more than a sheet of paper. He then scooted his chair forward so he was maybe a foot or two away from Josiah. His hollowed eye sockets focused on the boy. No lids to blink or need to waiver his stare. "Four trapped in a prison for one. Three masters, one servant... Crazy like that couldn't be made in a factory." He chuckled. "Like father, like son."

"James wants you to prove us wrong. Be the good little boy and help the team." The demon then leaned forward, inhaling deeply through the absence where a nose would be. "But I... I smell the sin on you waiting to burst free. Like the smell of coffee in the morning. Delicious." His voiced trembled with the final world, almost orgasmic. Like there was nothing more that he wanted in the world than to devour Josiah's soul. "I'm patient. I can wait."

Then, as quickly as he came, the demon disappeared back within Jameson. It was like his body sucked the flames back in. James's presence slammed back into existence, almost knocking him off his chair. Sweat sparkled along his forehead as he took a deep breath. It took a moment for him to realize what happened. His gaze darted around the bar as he felt all eyes on him, like an elephant in the room.

Jameson had nothing to say, wanting to be free of being a spectacle more than anything. He refused to make eye contact with anyone as he stood up and yanked his jacket free from the chair. Without a word, he made his way to the door and exited to the room. He didn't stop there. His feet carried him along the corridors until he reached a pair of large glass doors that lead to a patio and garden that overlooked the bay.

Once outside, he felt like he could finally breathe. Fresh air always seemed to help clear James's mind. He froze for a moment as his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. He then slowly wondered over to a patio chair. With a sigh, he tossed his jacket over the arm before collapsing back into the seat. Not even one day around others and the demon had to rear his ugly head. It was exhausting. While a deeper, more reluctant side of himself almost found the power intoxicating. He hated it. He hated what he had become.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
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zehara el sayid
cheetahx|xoutfitx|x#c8a964

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The two women were left alone as William disappeared to deal with matters elsewhere. Zehara took a moment to take another sip from her drink. From the lack of Lexa's interjection in the small philosophical debate, she assumed the conversation was over the girl's head. Not that she minded either way. Not every hero was destined to be a genius. Zehara didn't consider herself one, just knowledgeable about people. For whatever that was worth.

"So, you're feral - like me," Lexa commented.

"Quite." That was an understatement.

"I can already see that this is going to be a whole lotta fun." Not quite how Zehara would have worded it, but it'd be interesting nonetheless. Both women took another sip from their drinks before the conversation continued. "Is this avatar... thing... good or bad? Just curious."

"Avatar... thing?" Zehara mused with a chuckle. That was one way to word it.

"Just curious to know is all." Lexa gave her bottle back to the bar and got a new one. The girl could put them away, that was for sure. "My father is a notorious villain. Rather - he was." She chuckled and took another drink. "There are so many children of renowned heroes here, I am starting to second guess myself! It will be interesting..."

Zehara pursed her lips slightly as she stared down at her glass, tracing the brim with the tip of her finger. She couldn't leave it unanswered but... The truth worried her. People never took it well. She sighed. "The 'avatar' itself, isn't bad or good. That's just... me," she said, motioning to herself.

"But not all are good. My mother was not." Zehara looked down slightly as she slid her glass onto the bar and waited for a refill. "This power didn't belong to her, yet she seized it anyway. She killed one of her traveling companions for the blood ritual to obtain said power." She took a sip. "See, the ritual calls for a virgin and my mother was not one. So, the Goddess didn't bond with her properly... Fast forward to when I was of age the Cheetah Goddess transferred to me, a proper vessel."

She inhaled sharply trying to decide what she wanted to say. But in the end, Zehara figured honesty was her best course of action. "She came for me. Threatened my father to get me to give up the power... Which I have no control over. So, she killed him and tried to kill me." Zehara slowly brought her glass to her lips, stopping just before taking a drink. "She failed." Then she downed the remaining alcohol.

This time, Zehara didn't take a refill. She didn't need to get drunk her first night there. "The Cheetah is feral... Wild. She does not have morality. She likes frenzy and the hunt... And hungers for human flesh." With that she slowly looked over at Lexa. "I hunt animals to satiate her hunger. Which is like... eating tofu," she squinted her eyes slightly as she tried to explain it.

"But good or bad... I don't know what I am." Zehara shrugged slightly. "I suppose you could be the judge—" Her voiced trailed off when loud maniacal laughter broke the otherwise quiet ambiance of the bar. Zehara slowly pivoted on her stool, glancing over her shoulder to see Josiah laughing like a loon as Jameson sat across from him, looking far less than pleased.

Whatever conversation they were having seemed to go from bad to worse as Josiah slammed his hands on the table, looking visibly agitated. Zehara spared a glance over in Lexa's direction before looking back toward the pair. Their conversation seemed to dull, but just as she was about to turn back around Jameson's head became engulfed in flames. It took her by such surprised that she gasped at the sight. She had no knowledge of Ghost Rider. She had never been to America before, so her knowledge of American heroes was limited to the Avengers, Justice League and other renowned heroes that always seemed to make headlines.

She watched in awe and silence until the flames disappeared, and Jameson left the room. Zehara wasn't all that bothered that he went off at Josiah, twerp probably deserved it. But she couldn't help but wonder what happened. She looked back to Lexa with a slightly confused expression. "What the hell was that?"






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william richards
jr. fantasticx|xoutfitx|x#0b4a8b

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"It's fine. I get that a lot." William smiled, but there was a slight sadness at tugged that his brows when hearing that. No one should be used to being overlooked. But he didn't bring attention to it. He was trying his best to make her more comfortable... not less.

"A sandwich sounds great, actually. It's quick and easy and requires almost no thought," Aria agreed and moved to her feet. Will would have happily made her a sandwich as well. But he wouldn't stop her from doing it herself. He stepped to the side slightly to make enough room for her beside him.

While Aria took hold of the onions and began cutting, Will began to rinse some lettuce and pull off a couple pieces for themselves. The onions didn't seem to bother him too much, but he chuckled softly as she began to tear up from her self appointed task. "So, William Richards," Aria began. He let his gaze drift over to her as he shook some water from the lettuce and set it aside. "You've been here before. Is this a place something like the X-Men or the Avengers?"

"Well," Will began as he shifted tasks to slicing some of the cheese and helping put together the sandwiches. "Both and neither."

Once their food was assembled, Will put everything away and took a seat opposite Aria. First he took a bite of his sandwich to cease some of his stomach's protesting before he continued. "This place was create by Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark." He didn't elaborate on who they were, everyone knew because of the media. "It was a place they created to train heroes' children, and even some villains' children. So, it's not quite a school like Xavier's but it does have training like it. And it's not exclusive to mutants or super powered individuals."

William took a couple more bites, allowing himself time to chew and swallowing before proceeding. "My time I spent here I trained alongside Superman's son but also Black Widow's son. I think it was more preparing us to take up our parent's mantles. The world has gotten so dependent on heroes anymore that they wanted to prepare the next generation." Somehow he was already finished with his food, obviously being more hungry than he had previously let on. "I think they were trying to prevent something like this from happening." He motioned his hands in general around him, showing he meant the current situation with the world, not necessarily them at the academy.

With no more food, Will was finally able to take a sip of the drink he made back at the bar. A bit watered down at that point, but still good. "But then, you know... The government always has to get involved."

He stood up and took his plate to the sink. The moment he set it down, the kitchen, with all its bells and whistles, began to do its thing, cleaning it and placing it back into the cabinet. Before Will sat back down, he grabbed a new thing of oreos and placed them on the table between them. "Can't forget dessert." He smiled.

He leaned forward and took one, twisting it apart and licking the icing like a child would. "Did you ever study at Xavier's? Or did your mother tell you about it?" Considering Aria began the small talk, Will figured he continue it. She didn't seem like the type who wanted to deep dive into past traumas and considering he didn't really have any of those, he was happy to oblige with the simple conversations.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
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K a n e x N y g u y e n

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o f x c h e s h i r e
#000000 || Outfit || ronin

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Kane was lowkey glad that she didn't ask him any questions because he didn't have any answers for her. He gave her a gentle tug, folding his fingers over hers with a gentleness that looked quite odd coming from a man who had blood dripping from his face after choking out a beast of a man. He still didn't speak. Naturally.

However, his grip over her tightened and he was prepared to pull her behind him when Foggy came bumbling into his field of vision. He couldn't help but be under high alert, and for some reason, a bit on the over-protective side. Fingers relaxed, and she eventually withdrew her hand from his. Not that he was paying too much attention to their physical touch.

He stepped back, allowing Foggy to check Myla out. Kane wasn't going to say anything, but she looked just as messed up as he felt. The pair would have their conversation without the assassin's interjections; standing beside her statuesquely with little to no interest in the topic at hand. At least, that would be the impression that he gave off. He tucked in the little bits of information that he could glean from their words and tucked them away just in case they would be necessary later.

He didn't react much to being told to look after Myla, but he accepted the handshake with the subtle bow of his head. He watched as Foggy left, seeing him all the way to the door until there was no trace of him left in his field of vision. Just then, "Come on," she commanded him, and he did as bade. He kept a couple of small paces behind her and watched as she stumbled. His arms and hands were doing these weird gestures like flailing out in a bracing motion without actually touching her, just in case. He even grimaced a little. She was a real mess, and she wasn't good at hiding it.

Then they entered the bathroom and Myla locked the door. Now, any other guy might have been a little more concerned - or maybe even have a few bad jokes about the situation. Kane, however, just wasn't sure what was about to happen, but he didn't feel like he had anything to worry about. He's a pretty good judge of character, but his job requires him to normally ignore all of that and get things done.

"Sit" she commanded again, and he did. He plopped his ass right on the toilet and watched her rummage through the cabinet beneath the sink. When she verbally sought his permission to clean up his wounds, he rested his arms on his thighs and leaned forward and down some for her.

Still, he didn't say anything. He looked her directly in the eyes, and whether or not she knew was no concern to him. The fact that she couldn't physically see made looking at her less uncomfortable than it would be for others. Aside from split lips, a few abrasions, and maybe some bruising - she might also happen upon some older scarring along his jawline and even his right cheek. It wouldn't be an assassin's life if there wasn't horrid marring riddling his person.

"So... Do you think I could know your name?" He blinked at her, the question taking him back for a few long seconds. A name is no big deal for a normal person with a normal life and nothing to hide. A name made a man like him vulnerable to a lot of things - a relationship of some kind, an eventual cracking of his enigmatic facade, or at worse - exposes him to his enemies.

He snared her wrist with his hand and coiled his fingers around it to pull her away from further medical attention. It felt wrong to sit here when she's bleeding, and the pain didn't really bother him. What did bother him, though, was that he had a rather stereotypical manliness when it came to certain things. While he wouldn't baby her because of visual impairment, it didn't feel good, as a man, to have a hurt woman take care of him. It felt backward.

It seemed like maybe she had asked him the wrong question, and that maybe he was going to get up, unlock the door, and leave without giving her an answer. Instead, he picked himself off of the toilet while still having her wrist trapped in his hand. He pulled the towel out of her fist, tossed it in the sink, and sought a clean one. He was quick with going through her medkit, and he took things like physical health pretty seriously. A pretty girl shouldn't have the kind of scarring on her face that such ugly wounds might leave. A new scar for him wouldn't make him any less unattractive than his burdens did anyway.

He gently turned her away from the sink and very gently pressed her against the counter so that she couldn't make many protesting movements to wriggle away from him. He grabbed an alcohol swab, moved a palm to the back of her head with his fingers combing through her hair, and leaned down and in toward her. He first swiped it over the wound at the side of her head, lifting his own head just slightly enough to blow some gentle cool air at what would otherwise be a very harsh burning sensation. He'd do the same for her lips, but he's not going to breathe all over her mouth. Hard pass on that one.

He applied some ointment to the side of her head, "Kane," he finally answered her while applying a bandaid. He left the lip wound bare, though, only dabbing a little ointment so that she doesn't infect it. Mouths are dirty.

Since he was working on her already, he decided to make sure that he hadn't left anything else out that required his attention. The wound to her side was noted immediately. He unzipped her jacket and pulled it apart, sliding only one shoulder down enough so that he could tend to the wound. He pulled up her shirt, just barely, and sifted through the medkit once more. He decided against alcohol to spare her the pain and opted to just clean it with water for now. She could get proper care when they get back. After it was sort of cleaned, he used his teeth to peel the plastic off of a bandage. He could have used something to seal the wound, but without a good cleaning, it sounded like a bad idea. He's not a doctor. He wrapped it up; coiling the bandage around her abdomen and making it taut, but not uncomfortable.

When that was done, he figured the rest could be dealt with back at the Academy. For now, he knew that he had to get her back, and it was looking like there's a strong possibility he'd end up claiming his room after all. "Get what you need. We'll take a taxi."

It appeared that he was done at that point, the sound of him unlocking the door would be enough to let her know that he didn't need medical attention and that they should leave. He didn't grab anything on the way out, but he did wait for Myla to do so if she wanted to. When they decided to move on, he slid the duffel she packed off of her shoulders and just carried it himself. Kane walked down the steps in front of her just in case she got a little dizzy or something. He wasn't feeling too great himself, but he wasn't blind.

They stopped at his motorcycle and he unlatched a long, slender compartment that almost blended seamlessly into the matte black on the side. It was his weapon, and he tucked that into her duffel bag because he couldn't just explain that away to a taxi driver.

He flagged a taxi down, opened the door for Myla, slid himself in there with the duffle on the floor, and gave the cab driver the address.

"Get some sleep." He just didn't want to suffer through the social niceties of small talk. His personality was very hot and cold like that.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski
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J o s i a h x D a l i n s k i

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o f x h a r l e y & j o k e r
#B48F7C || Outfit || josiah
#52493d || the brute
#5c7340 || the enigma
#544073 || the jester

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This is a typical day for Josiah. The world was made for neurotypical people, and they could not even begin to fathom the eccentric labyrinth of a malformed mind. He has long-since gotten used to this fact, and he accepted it and allowed others to sit before him and spout off at the mouth as if they have even an inkling of a clue as to anything. It didn't take a genius level intellect to gather that Josiah was socially inept, mentally disturbed, and all-around atypical. He never claimed to be a good guy or a bad guy, and he's never been completely either. He's just Josiah, and sometimes his other selves, and what they do - well, there are many situations that simply disappear from memory.

Even in the face of the Ghostriders Demon coming to a fiery showcase, Josiah was not amused. Most of him had no idea what had actually set the guy off on a tantrum, and he didn't know how to fix it. All he could do was go through his wording and try and figure out why he deserved such god-awful treatment. He could understand Zehara, but she clearly didn't require the help of some white knight to save her from a handsy maniac. Even with Zehara he fails to notice where he really went wrong, wondering if it was really just that his joke was bad and tasteless. A guy like him was well-practiced in mimicking certain social niceties, but it didn't mean he always used them. The idea of personal space isn't something he has fully formed.

Josiah is so many things that are wrong, but he's also not done anything that deserved being insulted and scolded by some Demonic entity. The closest sin that the demon might seek out is that he once tried to commit suicide. Okay, more than once, but that's not really the point. He's been violent. He's never been okay with being told no by women. Yet, he's had a lot of sobriety from his other-selves for the last couple of years. Then again, how would James know that? He didn't even bother to look any further than his own ill-constructed assumptions.

So yes, he let the Demon rant and have his fun. The man's expression remained stoic, and the entity's words kind of went right through him. However, whilst Josiah, himself, did not feel moved or threatened, there were always three others waiting to be slighted. It was taking everything he had not to allow James' words to slip through even the tiniest crack in his carefully constructed facade. If it did, then this might not end and the pair would end up already shattering the whole concept of team building.

Then James left, and so did Josiah. There was no reason for him to stick around this place. A bar was no place for a guy like him. This was no place for a guy like him, or so that's what everyone is assuming. He brushed his left shoulder off, turned around to face the bar for a split second, and gave the smokin' ladies there a little flirty wink and some finger guns. He smiled almost as nothing had happened at all.

Then he dipped out of the bar with one hand in a pocket of his pants, waited for an elevator, took said elevator to his room, locked the doors, and decided that this was a good place for him. Alone. Josiah had his own demons to ward off, he didn't need to have James' forced on him, too.





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#b45439 || Outfit || nightclaw

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Lexa was a perfectly good listener when it came to topics that she could kind of understand. "The 'avatar' itself, isn't bad or good. That's just... me," her newest conversational partner began to understand. Assuming that she was going to continue with her explanation, she allowed Zehara to keep going. It could only help Lexa to understand where this particular woman was coming from, as they were both of feral origins. She didn't want to clash or anything - mess up the vibe. At the same time, she already knew that she was sitting in front of an alpha female. So was Lexa. That could be a problem later.

"But not all are good. My mother was not. This power didn't belong to her, yet she seized it anyway. She killed one of her traveling companions for the blood ritual to obtain said power. See, the ritual calls for a virgin and my mother was not one. So, the Goddess didn't bond with her properly... Fast forward to when I was of age the Cheetah Goddess transferred to me, a proper vessel." Lexa cringed a little with that. She's never heard of any villain in her world that required a virgin. That sounds like something straight out of some crazy movie about cults. Then again, there were many people here at the Academy that were so different from heroes and villains that she knows about. Sure, she knows the greats - Batman, Fantastic Four, and all the rest - but some were simply human, others were Mutant. The Humans were really curious. In her world, people were born with the X-gene, but then there were Humans that seemed to rival Mutants. It was interesting.

Her thoughts were getting ahead of her there for a moment, but she tuned back into Zehara's story with genuine interest. "She came for me. Threatened my father to get me to give up the power... Which I have no control over. So, she killed him and tried to kill me. She failed." Obviously, she wanted to say, but not in a condescending manner. More like power to her for making it out alive. "The Cheetah is feral... Wild. She does not have morality. She likes frenzy and the hunt... And hungers for human flesh. I hunt animals to satiate her hunger. Which is like... eating tofu. But good or bad... I don't know what I am. I suppose you could be the judge—" Zehara was cut off, and this caused Lexa's train of thought to derail as she turned her attention to the scene that played out.

She didn't know Josiah, and she didn't know James. She did know, however, that sometimes people just clashed. That always happens in groups like this. Not all of them were going to get along. It is what it is. Yet, it was also a bit too early to be threatening each other and things. That already puts cracks in whatever foundation the team might try to build later.

She sighed as both of them disappeared. "What the hell was that?" It was the question that was pretty much on everyone's mind at the moment, and by everyone - just Lexa and Zehara because there was no one else here.

"It looks like we already have a crack in the team, huh? Great start!" Sure, Alexa wasn't that smart, but she had a small "band of brothers" back in Canada - failed Weapon-X projects, just like her. She knew a lot about working with others, as she preferred to not go around on her own doing dangerous things, even if she really enjoyed thrills.

That said, she pushed back her stool and slid onto her feet. The bar served her two nice cold beers, and she made a toast toward Zehara. "I'll go check on the blazing firehead. Wanna come?" She offered just in case, not wanting to just leave the woman behind as she didn't just spill out her unfortunate life story.

Whatever Zehara chose to do, follow or go do something else, Lexa dipped out of the bar and headed for the great outdoors. To be honest, a little fresh air would do her good anyway. When she located James by scent, she made a beeline for him and thrust the beer in his face. After he took it, she grabbed another pattio chair and plopped it down next to him. She sat, sunk low, and stretched out her long legs. This was chill.

She took a moment to grab a quick selfie, look at and edit it, and post it to her IG.

"Man, this is nice," she states casually, not bringing any attention to whatever just happened. Maybe he just needed someone to pretend like they didn't see anything, and she's cool with that. Besides, she's busy clicking away and smiling at the 'pings' of likes and comments on her IG.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
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myla murdock
hell's angelx|xoutfitx|x#6e0000

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There was a long silence after Myla asked him what his name was. Rather than an answer, he grabbed her wrist, causing her to gasp slightly. She didn't fight him. Perhaps she offended him, or that was one thing he had no intention of sharing. She couldn't help but wonder if he was purposefully keeping his name from her. Was he someone she encountered in the past? Someone she imprisoned or angered? But if that was the case, why help her at all in the first place?

With her wrist still in tow, he stood up from the toilet, pulling her to her feet along with him. For a moment, brief and fleeting, they stood close. Strangely close. Myla could feel the breeze from his breath and the slight brush of his jacket against hers with every inhale. He then released his hold on her and took the towel from her grasp. She didn't fight him or argue, just stood exactly where he left her. She half expected that to be the end of their interactions. For him to walk out of the bathroom and disappear forever with not so much as a name to ever find him again. Instead, she heard him open the medkit and quickly sift through its contents.

Gently, he spun her around so her back was to the sink and pressed her against the counter. One hand of his gently moved to cup the back of her head. Myla could have swore she felt him lean in towards her. She swallowed. Many scenarios rushed through her mind in that split second. It felt intimate. Her pulse raised as anxiety tried to set in. Then there was an abrupt stinging sensation on the side of her head. When she realized what he was doing, she nearly kicked herself over her mini mental freak out. She let out a soft sigh and her brows furrowed from the cleaning of her wound.

When he was finished, he softly blew on the wound to ease some of the stinging. Myla's head adjusted the smallest amount as if she was trying to look at him. He confused her. Of course, she had barely known the man so that didn't give her much grounds for knowing him at all. But in the brief time they've spent together he's come of cold, distant and detached, while some how also being compassionate and protective. It was enough to make anyone wonder.

"Kane," his voice broke the silence and her train of thought as he lightly put some ointment and a bandaid on her head. Myla didn't move and remained silent as he put a dab of medicine along her bottom lip. For some unknown reason, she almost felt like she had a piece of knowledge now, that no one else did. It made her feel special, if only a small bit. He hadn't shared that with anyone else... But he did with her.

Before his hand withdrew from her face entirely, Myla took his wrist this time. Kane didn't seem like the type who liked the attention of gratitude or any special attention, but she couldn't not say something. "Thank you... For coming back for me." That was it. She had no other words to share, nor did she expect any in return from him. Her fingers gently released their hold on his arm and let him proceed.

Myla was hopping she could get by without him noticing the cut to her side. No dice. It wasn't bad. She, obviously, had no idea how bad it looked but it didn't feel deep. There was no tearing or tugging when she moved, or at least not that she noticed. Of course, there was the adrenalin that could erase it from all thought while in the middle of a fight. So, she might not be the best judge of that. Either way, she wasn't going to argue, and let Kane put a bandage over it for the time being. While she probably would have slapped some gauze on it and called it a day, he went the extra step to wrap her abdomen.

"Get what you need. We'll take a taxi." With that, Kane was finished. She heard the bathroom door unlock and his footsteps retreat toward the entrance of the apartment.

Once alone, Myla took a moment to breath. She ran her fingers over the clothes she borrowed, each piece either torn or tacky from blood. "Damn it," she cursed under her breath. She tried to clean as much of the blood out as possible but knew the clothes were effectively ruined. With a sigh, she trudged down the hallway toward her room, pulling off the shirt and jacket on her way.

Myla went to her closet and quickly sifted through the clothes trying to find something to wear. "Jesus, Darcy," she muttered under her breath. A good 90% of her closet was pencil skirts and dresses with twice as many pairs of stilettos. She shoved and moved the outfits out of the way until she found her own old clothes towards the back. Myla put on the first outfit she could find and grabbed whatever casual clothes she had left, not much and tossed them onto her bed.

She knelt down on the ground and pulled a duffle bag and a trunk out from under her bed. Myla open the chest revealing her suit perfectly folded and tucked away. It was a simple costume, much like her dad's. It was a black leather bodysuit, with angel wings that started at the shoulder blades and stretched down the sleeves embroidered into the leather. Her helmet, was nearly identical to Daredevil's, the only difference was her's was black and instead of devil horns, there was a golden halo that fastened at the crown of the head.

Myla placed it and the billy club into the bag, followed by shoving a few pieces of clothing inside and zipping it up. With the bag on her shoulder, she headed back toward the entrance where Kane waited for her. Without a word, he took the bag from her and headed out. She followed him down the stairs and for the most part she was fine. Whatever issues she did have, the railing more than sufficed to help.

Kane made his way back over to his motorcycle where he grabbed something from a hidden compartment. A weapon perhaps? Myla didn't care much either way. And while he stepped aside to flag down a taxi, she stopped in her tracks at the sound of a faint beeping sound. Without a word, Myla knelt down on the ground and ran her hand along the underside of the bike. Her fingers stopped when they found a strange foreign object. A tracker. After she stood back up, she dropped it on the ground and smashed it with her boot. She had to do it a couple times, but eventually the beeping stopped.

"You should put your bike in the garage." Myla said before showing Kane where he could park his motorcycle. At least there it'd be safe from the elements or getting towed. She'd feel even worse about the whole situation if he lost his ride simply because he helped her.

Once Kane got a taxi, he opened the door for her and she slid in, scooting over to the farthest side of the backseat. He gave the driver the address while she buckled herself in and settled into the seat. "Get some sleep."

"I'm not tired." Myla had far too much adrenalin coursing through her to simply fall asleep. Her mind was racing with everything that had transpired. Less than 24 hours and her life had been flipped upside down. It was times like these she wished her dad wasn't missing or she had a friend she could confide in... Just to have someone to talk to. But like most of her life, Myla was alone. So, she tucked it away. A small part of her wanted to cry. But not then. That was something for the privacy of her own room, behind closed doors. She hated nothing more than appearing weak. She's had enough of that for the day.

For awhile, the drive was quiet. But as time went on, Myla could feel the taxi driver's gaze lingering on her longer and longer. "Lovers quarrel?" he asked.

"Something like that," was all she could manage to think up in response. Myla hadn't even considered what it might look like to someone else. She was pint sized sitting next to Kane. And while he had some woulds too, it always drew more attention whenever it was a woman. Domestic abuse. Of course that's what he thought. She could sense his concern and hear him moving for his phone. That's all they needed, for the cops to be called and them stuck in a precinct for the next 24 hours.

Myla scooted forward in her seat before he had a chance to make a call. "You've heard of BDSM... Right? We just get carried away sometimes. Heat of the moment and all that." Her voice was soft and hushed with a small taste of seduction at the end of her words. "Isn't that right, babe?" She turned her head toward Kane.

"Oh... OH! the driver said, quickly realizing what she meant. Myla could sense a change in his heart rate. He went from concerned to uncomfortable as he laughed awkwardly and tugged at the collar of his shirt.

Bullet dodged. Myla gave a coy giggle toward the driver as she sat back in her seat. Luckily, he didn't ask anymore questions the rest of the drive, so she was able to drop the charade and return to her thoughts.

* * *

When they were a few blocks away from the Academy, Myla asked the driver to stop there. Considering the day she's had, she'd rather air on the side of caution and not let anyone know where she would be... Beyond those who already knew. She paid the driver and climbed out of the backseat.

Once the pair were left on the side of the street alone, Myla reached into her pocket and pulled out some money. Each bill was folded differently so she knew what they were. She then held it out toward Kane. "This should cover your ride back." From what she knew of him, he was the stubborn type and wouldn't take the money even if he needed it. So, rather than argue about it, she stepped forward and slid the cash into his jacket pocket.

And while she was there, Myla reached up and took her bag from his shoulder. To the best of her knowledge, Kane still had no intention of staying. It wasn't her place to argue one way or another. That was his decision to make. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder and gave him a small smile. "It was nice meeting you."

Myla pivoted on her heels and headed in the direction of the Academy. It didn't take her long to reach the building. And it seemed the second she walked through the doors Phil and Alfred were there, waiting. Before they could bombard her with questions, Myla spoke up. "Looks like I was next on their list." They didn't say anything. Maybe they were digesting. Either way, she was happy not to answer all their questions at the current moment. "Where is the infirmary?"

Alfred cleared his throat. "11th floor and then take a left."

"Thank you." She had nothing else to add and proceeded in the direction of the elevators.

Just before pressing the button, she could hear Lexa's voice coming from near by. Myla side tracked toward it, finding herself out back on the patio. She beelined for the girl who sat near another one of the men. She couldn't quite make out who it was when he wasn't talking, but it didn't matter. One by one she lifted each of her feet and pulled off the boots. She set them down on the ground beside Lexa, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out roughly $200. Myla held the money out to the girl. "If this isn't enough, just let me know."

And that was it. No other words were shared and Myla didn't linger for their questions. If they were dying to know they could find her in the infirmary. She went back inside, her socked feet quietly tapping against the floor as she moved towards the elevator. Level 11. She pressed the button and patiently waited as the lift ascended.

It wasn't difficult to find the infirmary. It was quiet and there wasn't a soul to be found. The second Myla stepped foot in the room she could hear the fluorescents turn on. "Hello, Ms. Murdock. I am J.A.R.V.I.S.. What may I help you with?"

At first, the voice took her by surprise. But she quickly grew to accept it. Tony Stark was one of the most intelligent men in the world. It only made sense that this tower came with every bell and whistle known to man. "Abdominal laceration," she replied as she moved towards the closest hospital bed and set her bag down on the ground beside it.

"Of course. Please lie down and expose the wound."

Myla held up the hem of her shirt with her teeth as she removed the bandages Kane wrapped her in. With the wound exposed she could smell the blood and couldn't help but wonder if it was, perhaps, worse than she had thought. She climbed onto the bed and laid down on her right side, being sure to leave the cut visible.

A machine off the side of the cot, like a little arch, raised and scanned her body. "Ms. Murdock, I will need to sanitized and then suture your wound. I estimate the procedure to take 12 minutes and 27 seconds. May I proceed?"

"Yes."

Arms began to extend out from under the hospital bed. There were so many of them moving around it was hard for Myla to know what exactly was happening. She closed her eyes and tried not to focus on it. Stitches hurt, but it was a sensation she was more than used to. Her back and torso were covered in several scars from various injuries since she took up the mantle of Hell's Angel. She remained calm and still, the only movement she made was when her chest rose and fell from each breath she took.

And now, in the quiet infirmary, away from everyone else, one silent tear fell from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mombie
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A r i a x M u n r o e

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o f x s t o r m & f o r g e
#475D6B || Outfit || tempest

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Aria took her plate to the table alongside William, taking her seat shortly before he did. The sandwich was handled with both hands, her elbows pinned to the tabletop. It was the ultimate lazy eater pose that disobeyed all the rules of dinner etiquette. Not that this was much in the way of dinner, but that's hardly important.

"This place was created by Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark," William began to entertain her line of questioning after taking a bite from his food. While he didn't go on the further explain the two men he mentioned, Aria knew of them. Batman and Ironman were very popular figures in the superhero world. "It was a place they created to train heroes' children and even some villains' children. So, it's not quite a school like Xavier's but it does have training like it. And it's not exclusive to mutants or super-powered individuals." The last part caused a brow to quirk. Not exclusive to super-powered or mutant individuals?

Several thoughts went through her head in regards to that. Her world was comprised of super-powered and genetically modified humans, so it could be weird to imagine a place where a mere human in cool gear could be equal. In fact, and though she'd not voice it out loud, there's a slight prejudice against non-powered humans where she's from. While he spoke, and she sometimes thought about his words, she ate - every so often adding a head nod or some sort of sound to confirm that his message made its mark.

"My time I spent here I trained alongside Superman's son but also Black Widow's son. I think it was more preparing us to take up our parent's mantles. The world has gotten so dependent on heroes anymore that they wanted to prepare the next generation." She imagined how lucky he must have been to be able to train in a place like this. Aria even spared a moment to take a quick glance around the kitchen. "I think they were trying to prevent something like this from happening." By this, she knew that he meant the disappearing villains and heroes.

"But then, you know... The government always has to get involved," he mentioned, and that was something that mutants could really feel on a visceral level. They've been persecuted by the governments and citizens for an extremely long time. There were entire programs built on the concept that mutants were something that needed to be immediately wiped out, and the x-gene was under constant scrutiny to see if there was a way to further prevent more of this adaptation from being created.

"The government always gets involved under the guise that they are helping, but it never turns out well," she agreed as she reached over to snag an oreo. Like a child, she gave the two dark cookies a quick twist to expose the cream and licked it without much reservation. How else does one eat an oreo if not that way? It seemed that William was of the same mind. They weren't barbarians!

Aria smiled lightly at the current climate, and then William broke the unintentional silence with his own questions, "Did you ever study at Xavier's? Or did your mother tell you about it?"

She sat back in her chair, nipping a bit at one of the cookies. "I studied under my mother until I was six. Then I got the privilege of studying at Xavier's because of my father. It wasn't as technologically marvelous as this place, but it was a good school. The teachers were intelligent, and there were always things that we could do as students. I think my father was bitter, though, as I wasn't properly raised on the mother's abilities." She laughed softly at that, but it held more of a regretful note, "It's really hard to come out from the shadow of a parent that has been named a goddess or one of the most powerful mutants. Then there's my father - not really known, a bit loony. Rather, way too smart for his own sanity. Neither my mother nor my father made social interaction with my peers very easy."

She snatched up another oreo and treated it with the same respect as the former. This time she dipped the cookie pieces into her cappuccino to soften them up. The beverage was cold anyhow - no better than flavored milk with a hint of coffee at this point. "By the time I was an older teen, a lot of mutants were losing their lives and powers. We lost so many X-Men, and everything was falling apart. I wanted to become part of a new team that was being formed, but something happened to my dad."

Aria left that one there because no one needed to know that she was victimized by her own dad. She never blamed him for what he did to her, but it made her feel like less of a person for having allowed her own self to become trapped by him and his paranoias.

The topic shifted away from the past and slipped easily into more futuristic curiosity. After all, if this was an academy, then that meant it was time for her to finally embrace her mother's legacy. Storm's abilities surpassed most mutants, and while Aria didn't want to become anyone's revered goddess of weather, she knew that part of her was far superior to the mysticism of her father. Not that she should choose sides. "I'm eager to see the training facilities," she remarked, finishing off another cookie or two... or five. Who's really counting?

"I wonder what the training will be like, or even if we have time to train." A sigh slipped from her lips as her mind dipped into more grim thoughts. Yes, she imagined the worst of the worse of scenarios with both her mother, father and even her stepfather T'Challa.

"I haven't worked with others in such a long time. In fact, I am a little afraid that I don't know how to anymore. When I was at Xavier's, I was able to co-exist with my peers, even if they weren't always good teammates. After what happened to my dad, and then all of the events that followed that, I don't even know if I can anymore." For one reason or the other, the normally quiet woman didn't seem to mind spilling everything out to William. He just had a trusting personality, so she felt comfortable with speaking.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mjolnir
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jameson blaze
ghost riderx|xoutfitx|x#cb7a06
the vengeance demonx|x#dd2f00

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James was content being alone. Hell, argument could be made that he was happy alone. It's what he knew. He just needed a breather, a moment away from everyone. He wasn't trying to step on toes or cause a rift so soon. Josiah just seemed... off, which after their conversation, it looked to be that that assumption was correct. But he didn't seem to care about the present situation. Would he even be helpful to the cause? Or just a hinderance? Either way, what's done is done. Not even a full day at the Academy and the demon has already blown his top.

Whatever internal monologue had been rolling on repeat in James's mind was interrupted when a beer was shoved into his face. He did a double take, leaning back slightly to get a look at the drink and the person offering it. "Uh... thanks." He reached up and took the bottle.

Lexa then snagged a chair and moved it to sit beside him. James didn't say anything, just raised a curious brow as he watched her. She took a seat and it was calm, for a moment. Then she whipped out her phone, took a selfie and did whatever other social media bull that she was doing. Whatever interest he had was lost as he shook his head slightly and took a drink of his beer.

"Man, this is nice," she said, breaking the silence.

I've seen better, James nearly spat out but kept his words to himself. He has spent several years traveling from coast to coast across America. He's seen every grand site there is to see. The view from the Academy was nice but nothing spectacular. "Yeah. It's peaceful," was all he responded with. It wasn't much.

James was still in his head. And from the looks of Lexa she looked to be more interested in whatever was going on in her phone than what he would have said. Call him old fashion, but he always hated how everyone's noses were buried in their phones anymore. So far Lexa was the only one there who seemed to suffer from that affliction. He wasn't ungrateful for her company, but he didn't understand it either. Everyone seemed a bit solitary. Although, he supposed, they'd have to make nice and become friends at some point. How else would they work together?

A soft sigh escaped his lips as James sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. He then, finally, brought the beer to his lips and took a drink. He'd never been much of a drinker. One or two here or there. But it was offered and he didn't want to seem rude. Beer honestly tasted like piss and only got worse the warmer it got. So rather than sit around and sip it for half an hour, James made quick work of the drink and set the empty bottle down on the ground beside him.

For a long moment, James sat there, silently staring at the pool. Then like the flip of a switch, he decided the best way to cool down was a dip. He didn't say anything. He felt no need to explain his actions. It wasn't like they wouldn't reveal themselves in due time. One by one he kicked off his boots and then pulled off his jacket. He reached over his head to grab a fistful of his shirt and tugg it off. James nearly looked over at Lexa, but he felt like he might have been met with an inappropriate gaze, so he opted for feigning ignorance. Lastly, he unzipped his jeans, stepping out of them and leaving his clothes in a pile on his chair.

Silent and stripped down to his boxer briefs, James walked over to the pool and dived in without hesitation. The water was cool but refreshing. He came up to the surface with a soft inhale and brushed his wet hair back from his face. He couldn't remember the last time he got to take a swim. It was nice.

James hadn't been in the water long, when he heard the door to the patio open. He swam to the edge of the pool, peeking his head over the side to see who it was. Myla, the girl who claimed to be blind, beelined straight for Lexa. And while she took off the boots she wore to give to Lexa, he was focused on everything else about her. She looked like she had the shit beat out of her. He couldn't make out all the details from where he was, but he saw bruising on her face and glimpses of a bandage around her abdomen under her shirt. Then, as quickly as she joined them, she left.

"Myla!" James called out to her once as she headed towards the door. She paid him no mind and disappeared into the tower. He had half a mind to chance after her to ask what happened. But they didn't know each other. None of them did. She didn't owe him or anyone else any explanation and James wasn't keen on chasing after her, slipping around the halls in his boxers dripping wet. He sighed softly, crossing his arms over the edge of the pool. He'd ask her later, although he wasn't sure if he'd get an answer.




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zehara el sayid
cheetahx|xoutfitx|x#c8a964

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"It looks like we already have a crack in the team, huh? Great start!" That was one way to put it. Lexa wasn't wrong. But Zehara also knew that it was unlikely that a group of strangers would be able to get along without any problems. Nothing ever was that smooth. She always worked solo for as long as she could remember, aside from with her Father. But family was something else entirely. It always seemed all those superhero teams, the X-men, Avengers, Justice League... They always called themselves a family. A group of strangers didn't even come close. Maybe at some point in the future, but at that moment? They couldn't be more different.

Lexa seemed finished with their conversation, which Zehara was indifferent about. The girl stood up from her stool and toasted in her direction. "I'll go check on the blazing firehead. Wanna come?"

"I'll be there in a minute." Zehara sat there for awhile longer and got herself a bottle of water. She drank a little too much, she could already feel it. With the water in hand, she snagged up her bag in the other and headed toward the elevator.

It was a short ride up. The doors opened up into her own private penthouse. It was... giant. Zehara had been in entire villages smaller than that apartment. She felt guilty for having it. She would have been happy in a small broom closet. This was too much. She sighed softly, setting her bag down on the ground beside the door. While it was tempting to wonder about the area and get a feeling for her surroundings, Zehara left before she could and went back down to the ground level. Getting to know the people she was going to be living with was more important than her presidential level living quarters.

As she turned the corner off the elevator, Zehara nearly ran into Myla who... wasn't wearing any shoes. Her brows furrowed and girl went to swerve around her like nothing had happened in a bit of a daze. "Hold on," Zehara said as she gently took a hold of Myla's arm. "What happened?"

Myla sighed, freezing where she stood from Zehara's hold. Everyone was going to ask until they got an answer, no matter how much she wasn't really in the mood to talk about it. "They came for me next... Whoever they are. And they almost succeeded."

Zehara had nothing to say. Her hand just slowly fell from Myla's arm in silent shock. Yes, she knew what was going on with heroes. They all did. As stated earlier, that was what brought them all there. But it still felt foreign and distant to Zehara. She didn't know anyone, personally who was taken. Yet, standing face to face with someone who nearly was taken was a reality shock for her. "I'm... sorry." The words sound foreign coming out of her mouth but what else was she supposed to say?That was the best she could do. Sympathy that Myla probably didn't want or need.

"Thank you," Myla said, seeming about as uncomfortable with the situation as Zehara was. One was not the type of woman to apologize or show much if anything in the realm of sympathy, and the other wasn't much of a fan of receiving it. But pleasantries and all that. What happened to Myla was important. And while the details of what happened would be dissected as they all tried to figure out some fragment of information, now was the time. "I have to get to the infirmary."

No other words were exchanged. Myla headed off into the elevator leaving Zehara standing in the hall confused, and to be honest, a bit worried. This whole thing was much closer to them all than she previously thought. How long until they find them in the tower? Attack one of them on the streets? What do they do if one of them is taken? All the outcomes were bleak. When she stepped foot into the Academy, Zehara assumed she was safe from it all. She wasn't a registered hero. She kept to herself. And if anything, she was probably labeled a villain because of her mother. But now... She wasn't so sure.

Zehara made her way toward the patio with haste. She paused for a brief second seeing a pile of clothes on the chair beside Lexa. She looked over toward James who waded in the pool. Was he naked? She shook her head. It wasn't important and it wasn't like she hadn't seen a penis before, even if he was. Zehara sat on the edge of the chair that had James's clothes, being sure not to sit on them. "Did you see Myla?" She asked. And while she looked at Lexa, she spoke more to the both of them. "She said they attacked her when she went to get her things, and nearly took her."

Maybe the situation only seemed serious to Zehara, she didn't know. It wasn't that she was necessarily worried about Myla's well being. Hell, she hardly knew the girl beyond her parentage and being blind. But the fact of the matter was she was nearly taken. Which could mean any of them could be next. And perhaps, a small... very small, part of Zehara was scared. She didn't let people close to her so then she'd have nothing to lose. This weird group of strangers was already closer to her than she'd care to admit and whatever their alliance was already seemed to be more fragile than she previously believed.






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william richards
jr. fantasticx|xoutfitx|x#0b4a8b

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"I studied under my mother until I was six. Then I got the privilege of studying at Xavier's because of my father. It wasn't as technologically marvelous as this place, but it was a good school. The teachers were intelligent, and there were always things that we could do as students. I think my father was bitter, though, as I wasn't properly raised on the mother's abilities." Aria laughed, but it seemed more somber than joyful. But William said nothing. "It's really hard to come out from the shadow of a parent that has been named a goddess or one of the most powerful mutants. Then there's my father - not really known, a bit loony. Rather, way too smart for his own sanity. Neither my mother nor my father made social interaction with my peers very easy."

Will picked up another oreo after Aria and leaned back in his seat. He twisted the cookie open and ate the icing as she continued to speak. "By the time I was an older teen, a lot of mutants were losing their lives and powers. We lost so many X-Men, and everything was falling apart. I wanted to become part of a new team that was being formed, but something happened to my dad."

"I can relate to living in your parent's shadow. My father isn't a goddess," he jested, finishing his oreo. "But he's one of the smartest people in the world and he's just plastered in tabloids, news... wherever. My mom too. Ever since my birth that's all it's been. They even call me 'Junior Fantastic.' He waved his fingers slightly with exaggeration and an eye roll. Like the people who gave him his name couldn't even separate him from his father. It's a shadow that he'll never be able to get out of. It can be overwhelming.

"I'm sorry about... whatever happened with your dad." William held up his hand in a you don't have to tell me what happened sort of way. "But maybe this can be your new team? I don't know how everyone else here feels about... Well, all of this. But I'd like to think that there could be a possibility of that."

The room grew quiet for some time. William and Aria munched on cookies both lost in thought. Will didn't mind the silence. He did wonder if all of them would be able to make a team. They were all so different, even from the small amount he has seen. And some of them he wondered if their heart was in the right place. The only people he could say with confidence that he believe would stay were Aria and Myla. There have been smaller teams, but he hoped that the others would prove him wrong.

"I'm eager to see the training facilities." Will looked up and met Aria's gaze. "I wonder what the training will be like, or even if we have time to train."

She made a good point, one that William hadn't fully thought about. How long would it be until a target was on their head? Sure they were in this, supposedly, abandoned tower. But how long until they, the ominous 'they', realize they are gone. All eight of them, disappeared from where they were and it wasn't their own doing? Eventually it'll stir questions. It could only be a matter of time before they are found out and targets the size of Texas would be placed on their heads. He didn't want to imagine it. Will tried to remain optimistic as best he could.

"I haven't worked with others in such a long time. In fact, I am a little afraid that I don't know how to anymore. When I was at Xavier's, I was able to co-exist with my peers, even if they weren't always good teammates. After what happened to my dad, and then all of the events that followed that, I don't even know if I can anymore."

William dusted the cookie crumbs off his hands before he stood up. He took the oreo container and placed them back into the cupboard. He then took a step toward Aria and offered her his hand. "Let me show you something." He helped the young woman to her feet. Once she was standing he released her hand, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. He lead her out of the kitchen and to the elevators. Sub-level 20.

They road the lift down, in a comfortable silence. When the doors opened, Will extended his hand to make sure they didn't close and allowed Aria to exit first. Before them was what looked like a very technologically advanced locker room. There were doors on either side of the room with names on them of students who no longer attended, one of which still had his name. There were rows weapons racks, benches and rows of robotic dummies. Then on the back wall was a single set of large double doors, with an interactive monitor to the right of it. And while the room hadn't been touched in years, it looked like it was freshly cleaned and read for new students.

"Go ahead. Look around." William motioned his hand around the room. Aria was free to look at and touch whatever she wanted. After all, it was there for them to use. She mentioned she wanted to see the training facility and he thought, perhaps it might help her feel more comfortable, if even only a little bit.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
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James might not enjoy small-talk, and that was okay with Lexa. For whatever it's worth - this was also not the most peaceful place she's seen, either. She's also seen better, but perhaps not to extent that James had.

He was also correct in assuming that she was far more interested in her phone than his company. It wasn't anything personal, but she was the type of girl that most people made fun of for being too into themselves, technology, and whatever else. That wasn't true in Lexa's case, as she had a perfectly normal and healthy relationship with both herself and other people, but she understood the perception that she gave off. She didn't care. These silly little "Boomers" could kiss her cute butt.

While she displayed overly-invested interest in her cellphone, her peripheral did pick up on a Ghost Rider on the move. Curious about his sudden animation, she sort of did this thing where she peeked her eyes up over her screen and gawked. Not that she should have been ashamed to look at him. He's probably about to dip on her, and she wouldn't have any complaints about it.

Much to her surprise, he actually began to strip. Now this had become more entertaining than her Instagram, which still pinged rapidly as people flocked to eat up her social media empire. James was right not to look back at her because she was totally checking him out. In fact, she even snapped a quick picture of him from behind with the hashtag #superherobutt #boyfriendgoals #photooftheday #poolparty #sexyguy. As she went about adding this to her Insta, she bit her bottom lip and smirked. If James had look behind him at her, he would be able to tell that she was up to no good. Yet, the deed was done, his sexy backside was out there for women and men all around the world to savor. The internet is forever.

It wasn't even a minute before her Insta blew up once more, just as much as it did with Jr. Fantastic. Ah, the men here were going to be good for her internet reputation, which was really the only reputation that really mattered. Honestly.

As she watched her screen, Myla had come out onto the patio obviously in very bad shape. Lexa's clothes, too. Just as thought about the state of her loaned attire, the blind woman held some money out to her. "If this isn't enough, just let me know."

Lexa wanted to say something, but after accepting the money with a blank stare, she was left to swallow those words back down. She stared at the money for a good while, realizing that Myla had given her far too much. Honestly, her clothes were never worth anything over fifty bucks. Lexa lived in low-end shopping places and thrift stores. She'd pocket the money to give it back later. Sure, she liked things - she was very self-centered and materialistic, but she wasn't dishonest.

Lexa stood, set her phone down, and looked over at James. "I hope you don't mind if I join you," she said, flashed him a quick grin, and stripped down to her own undergarments. All black and lacey, obviously. There was no need to be a prude. Bodies were just that - bodies. You see one, you've seen them all. Modern society really was too conservative sometimes, but Lexa enjoyed little freedoms like this.

She dove into the pool and quickly resurfaced, brushing her hair out of her face. She swam up to join him at the edge, shoulder-to-shoulder, unabashedly touching. The guy was broad, and she's more on the slender girly side of things.

"So, James," she began, turning her head to look at him as she crossed her arms over the edge of the pool, "... aside from almost stripping naked, what else interests you?" Lexa didn't want to touch on potentially sensitive topics like his reasons for being here, his parents, and all the rest of those things. She likes conversations that are more like hanging out with a group of friends at a clubhouse in the woods or something. She's that type of girl; casual, a little bit on the edge of flirty, ready to open up the stoic reserved types like James.

As she posed her question, Zehara came out. "Did you see Myla?" She asked. "She said they attacked her when she went to get her things, and nearly took her."

Lexa could only shrug her shoulders and point to a Kane, who seemed to have laid himself out across the pool chair.





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Kane stared at Myla quietly as she seized his wrist and voiced her gratitude. His brows furrowed slightly, and he felt confused for a couple of seconds. When she touched him and thanked him, there was some kind of... feeling in the pit of his stomach, and even his chest. It was a light sensation, like butterflies fluttering their way through his trunk. Was there something wrong with him? Some of the hits that he had taken must be getting to him.

"I was already here. No need to thank me," he replied cooly as her fingers slipped away from him.
* * *

He had parked his bike in the garage, but he didn't expect to see it again. It wouldn't kill him. Too much.

They were in the taxi now, and Myla had just declared that she wasn't the least bit weary. While she may not be tired, Kane certainly felt the weight of his wounds. Having been slammed ruthlessly into the ground, his body was definitely bruised and his head pounded to the point where the ache reached the backs of his eyes. He felt tense all around.

Kane had sat in the middle seat, close to Myla. Their proximity was as if they were partners in some way, and he seemed comfortable this way. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he had tossed his head back after his eyes closed. It wasn't even five seconds into him drifting into sleep that Myla thought to "clear the air" and address the obvious elephant in the room - rather, in the car.

"You've heard of BDSM... Right? We just get carried away sometimes. Heat of the moment and all that," He wanted to protest the moment she posed the question to the taxi driver. If that guy felt uncomfortable, Kane suddenly felt like he was anchored heavily to the seat. Did he look like that kind of guy? "Isn't that right, babe?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah," he grumbled in the fog of wanting to slip into a nap. Whatever. It was said and done, and it appeared that she warded off the police for now.

When Kane finally moved into a quiet nap, his head rolled onto Myla's shoulder. It was only natural with all the motions of the car. He really, really was just that tired.
* * *

They arrived at the Academy, and after they both stepped out of the cab, Myla was shoving money at him, "This should cover your ride back." He didn't even bother to protest. What use would it have been? He let her slip the cash into his jacket pocket. She then needed her duffle, and he leaned and bent enough for her to reach for it and slide it off of his shoulder. "It was nice meeting you."

When she turned around to leave, he grabbed her duffel and forced her to stop. He had put his weapon in there, and she was about to run off with it. The hilt was already sticking out, so he just grabbed and pulled the object out. He also slipped her money back into it then pushed her gently forward, letting her know that she could go on.

He waited for a long minute and watched her leave with a tilted head. He cast his gaze over the shoulder at the waiting cab. His hands slipped into the pockets of his pants, and he felt the key. After some thought, Kane motioned the taxi away.

He followed Myla at a far distance, and slowly. When she took the elevator to the eleventh floor, he decided to take the steps. He's quick and athletic, so this was no problem for him at all. He ended up on the floor moments after she did, but he trailed after her toward the patio - but he did not go onto it.

Why the hell is he following her? He looked up at the ceiling as he questioned his own motives.

Yet, once she was on the move from the patio, he dipped back behind the door to the stairwell and watched her move toward the infirmary. Great, now he's hiding from her. There's obviously something wrong with him.

Once she was receiving the care, Kane decided against his own medical needs. He was used to it. He wasn't the kind of guy that could just go to a doctor's office or the emergency room. Instead, he found himself wandering toward the patio and flopping onto a long reclining patio chair.

Even though he closed his eyes, he could feel everyone's stare burning into his soul. Without opening his eyes, "It wasn't me. I helped her." The way he answered the question before it was even asked was indicative of someone who might be used to being a suspect. He didn't need the neighborhood wild cats or the resident demon on his ass.

"No more questions," he concluded rather coldly, and let his eyes close so that he could rest a little bit more. He could have gone to his room, but the air was nice and he's subconsciously waiting to make sure Myla's wounds were taken care of.

Not that he was going to admit it.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: William Richards
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"I can relate to living in your parent's shadow. My father isn't a goddess, but he's one of the smartest people in the world and he's just plastered in tabloids, news... wherever. My mom too. Ever since my birth that's all it's been. They even call me 'Junior Fantastic.'" She laughed softly at that, but it was more or less out of sympathy than the fact that she could possibly find that funny. There's no humor to be found in not being your own person because your parent was great. For Aria, she had always felt a certain insecurity in never being able to be even a glimmer of the queen of weather as Ororo Munroe. There was an even farther divide between she and Storm when she was just handed off to Forge; a parent that was a stranger to her. A parent whose power did not blend well with what she had been taught for two years. He had ruined her; bastardized her from her powers and eventually made sure that she had the same insecurities about other Mutants as he did. Specifically, the X-Men and her mother.

Aria was deep in thought when William's voice came back to her, "I'm sorry about... whatever happened with your dad. But maybe this can be your new team? I don't know how everyone else here feels about... Well, all of this. But I'd like to think that there could be a possibility of that."

She smiled at that, albeit lightly, behind taking a sip of her now cold cappuccino. "I'm not sure how I feel about all of this, either, other that it was an inevitable occurrance. However, I agree that maybe some fresh and friendly faces will help a lot. I don't know how to be part of a team anymore, but I am looking forward to relearning."

When she looked up from her mug, the oreos were gone and his hand outstretched toward her. There was a brief moment of confusion; not emotion, but just a general confusion that followed actions coming out of nowehere. "Let me show you something." With that statement, she concluded that there must have been a sudden thought that popped into his head. She took his hand long enough to stand up and released just as he did, himself.

They took the lift to Sub-level 20, and she was very curious for the whole quiet ride down. Part of her, just a smidge felt more on the edge of waryiness, but for some reason - she felt like William was trustworthy. He hadn't done anything to earn her trust, yet she somehow knew that she didn't have to be on her toes. He just had that air about him.

Not everyone is out to get you, she had to often mentally remind herself in order to stand strong against the brainwashing of her father. Though, he might notice that she kept at least an arm's length away and perhaps even sideglanced him a couple of times. While her mind was telling itself that everything was okay, and her emotions were stable right at this moment, her body had its own battle.

The lift doors open and she slipped out of it first, per William's silent insistence. It took her a couple of seconds to register that they were inside of some sort of enhanced locker room, of which she was not unaccustomed to having been a student at Xavier's once upon a time.

Aria spared a look over her shoulder at William, and he urged her to go on, "Go ahead. Look around."

So, she did just that. It was easy for her to separate herself from conversation and wander off on her own. The first destination was for the lockers, and they had the names of former students on them. Aria was familiar with many of the names, but some were more obscure. Still, it made her feel some strange sense of loss - even though she didn't know any of them personally.

Among the names were members like Spider-Woman, the famous Black Widow, Shadowcat, and others. Some of these names were also those of former students in the Xavier Academy, only they were no longer there when Aria had been around. They did, however, leave quite an impression on the future generations of X-Men. She ran her fingers along the names of those that were not familiar, likely due to the bias between Mutant and non-Mutant heroes. These were figures like Batman, Green Lantern, and more. They were media-famous, but Aria hadn't really paid them any mind.

She moved on, traversing the room quietly; surveying it in silent comparison to her former school, Xavier's. She looked over at the interactive monitor then to the wide double-doors, the scene instantly reminding her of the holoroom training entrance of her Academy years.

"This must be a holoroom training area," she guessed as she moved to the monitor and tapped a few keys to power it on. They'd be able to train a whole range of scenarios here, and that was lowkey exciting. While she tried to keep herself from a wide giddy smile, it couldn't be helped.

As she did that, she happened to also get a good look at her watch. Her eyes went wide at the time! It was nearing eleven at night. It was no wonder that she found herself growing a little weary despite the cappuccino, which was more or less just flavored milk anyway.

She spun around on her heels to face William's general direction, "Thanks, William. I think I needed this," Aria admitted with that same light smile. "I also think my body is going to start screaming at me to go to bed soon. I'm up much later than normal." Typically, the young woman preferred the routine of being in bed at 9pm. That meant being settled on her bed with a good book and eventually falling asleep around ten. Today thwarted her body's natural circadian rhythm.

She walked past him at an obviously hasty pace and waved at him after pushing the button to the lift. "Night, Will! Maybe I will catch you at breakfast in the morning." Aria left him with a bright smile and a waving hand as the lift doors close and she was taken to her penthouse.

When she got to her room, she tossed her braided hair into a showercap, slipped out of her clothes, showered, tugged on some PJs, and was soon after snoozing away in bed as quickly as someone being physically knocked out.

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View All » Add Character » 14 Characters to follow in this universe

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock
Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze
Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid
Character Portrait: Lexa Creed
Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
Character Portrait: Aria Munroe
Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski
Character Portrait: William Richards
Character Portrait: Charlotte Cairns
Character Portrait: Tobias Lehnsherr
Character Portrait: Vincent Fries
Character Portrait: Daphne Rogers

Newest

Character Portrait: Vincent Fries
Vincent Fries

Mr. Zero [wip]

Character Portrait: William Richards
William Richards

Jr. Fantastic

Character Portrait: Aria Munroe
Aria Munroe

Tempest

Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
Kane Nguyen

Ronin

Character Portrait: Lexa Creed
Lexa Creed

Nightclaw

Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid
Zehara El Sayid

Cheetah

Trending

Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
Kane Nguyen

Ronin

Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid
Zehara El Sayid

Cheetah

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze
Jameson Blaze

Ghost Rider

Character Portrait: Lexa Creed
Lexa Creed

Nightclaw

Character Portrait: Aria Munroe
Aria Munroe

Tempest

Character Portrait: William Richards
William Richards

Jr. Fantastic

Most Followed

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock
Myla Murdock

Hell's Angel

Character Portrait: William Richards
William Richards

Jr. Fantastic

Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
Kane Nguyen

Ronin

Character Portrait: Lexa Creed
Lexa Creed

Nightclaw

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze
Jameson Blaze

Ghost Rider

Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid
Zehara El Sayid

Cheetah

Character Portrait: Vincent Fries
Vincent Fries

Mr. Zero [wip]


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    by mjolnir on Mon Nov 09, 2020 12:24 pm
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Re: Descendant

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    [color=transparent]xxx..[/color][font=georgia][size=90][color=hex][b]hexcode[/b][/color][/size] [color=transparent]x[/color] [size=80][i]#******[/i][/size] [color=transparent]xxx[/color] [size=90][color=hex][b]faceclaim[/b][/color][/size] [color=transparent]x[/color] [size=80][i]* * *[/i][/size] [color=transparent]xxx[/color] [size=90][color=hex][b]creator[/b][/color][/size] [color=transparent]x[/color] [size=80][i]* * *[/i][/size] [color=transparent]xxx[/color] [size=90][color=hex][b]cs[/b][/color][/size] [color=transparent]x[/color] [size=80][i]mjolnir[/i][/size][/font][/center]


Just gonna stick this right here so I don't have to go to my inbox and sift through messages. Lol.

Descendant

This is the auto-generated OOC topic for the roleplay "Descendant"

You may edit this first post as you see fit.