[Volume 01]................................[PROLOGUE]
[Volume 02]....................................[INVASION]
[Volume 02]....................................[INVASION]
GM
Ruby No One Cares
Member
Seen
7 days ago
She was the last to be told. She was not the last to know. The message was cryptic and guarded from both Scott and Xavier, Scott with his texting code words and Xavier with his arm’s-length-telepathic signal. There had been a short discussion about heading off to Westchester for the meeting, but the truth of it was the old mansion had seen far better days. Instead, they all opted for a property along the Massachusetts shore.
There was irony to a mutant nation being discussed in such early stages at the white beach shores of Cape Cod. It was all such a distant memory. Jean Grey walked into a room filled with family, and a few others. There were clearly those who had found out already, and those who either hadn’t or hadn’t cared to listen to what had been whispered in their ear weeks ago.
Xavier went one by one, around the room, as the X-Men, past and present, and had it out about his change of direction and ambitious new plan for mutantkind. Unsurprisingly to her, each of them focused more on the change in direction of Xavier’s ideology. Living together, united, had become just co-exist peacefully as possible on the same planet. Now that was just gone, and some of the people who had spent their lives fighting and dying for that dream were more than just a little surprised to hear it was no more.
That they were all just moving on.
The last person Xavier came to. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was just star-crossed destinies. As a room filled with X-Men stared on, there was absolute silence as two preeminent telepaths stared coldly at each other, their discussion between them. When Gambit protested that everyone else had heard everyone else’s words, Xavier replied that privacy would be respected. Jean was the one who linked everyone into the room into the conversation.
Into Jean Grey warning Charles Xavier. “I will uphold my values. I will keep us honest…Charles, I will keep YOU honest.” He feigned some level of outrage at the suggestion, but Jean hadn’t a single moment’s patience for it. She said precious little about the dream he was giving up. There was a sense of knowing something, of some second sense that Jean couldn’t shake regarding the direction they were taking.
And it was all focused on Xavier.
Half a year ago, now. Yet it was a memory that didn’t shake the red-head in green and gold bodysuit as she smiled and greeted those nearby, those who approached, as she made her way through the dense crowd, exiting the northern most giant tree within the vast valley of the Carousel; centrally located on Krakoa, the Carousel was an area used for lavish Krakoan festivities and celebrations. The giant trees lining the valley were used for a variety of functions, from residential to industrious, their lobbies holding numerous Krakoan gates that linked around the world.
Concussions burst in the sky as the night dazzled crimson hues, burnt oranges, brilliant blues, pale purples, vivid pinks, glowing greens, and seemingly to Jean every color in the spectrum of color. Scott was waiting for her, but her most pressing matter was the new Council: Magneto had taken the unusual step of asking for her directly, privately, regarding a Quiet Council matter. Given the Quiet Council ruled the mutant nation of Krakoa, Jean felt the appoint was pressing and meant braving the thick crowds of mutants celebrating the birth of their nation, the vote of the UN on the issue of Krakoan sovereignty now in the past, a much needed win for all of mutantkind.
Once she was outside and on the ramp she felt safe to focus her telekinesis and lift her frame from the ground, taking flight in a bright haze of dark pink. She saw the points, she heard what was said: “That’s her, one of the originals. Yeah. The one that killed trillions.” If it bothered her, Jean didn’t show it, the look on her face pleasant, taking in the sights and sounds of an event that changed world history, and an event Jean wasn’t sure she would ever see.
At least in this reality. The House of M was a tall, slender, palace of intricate, delicate, beauty woven into every room and corner of the home of Magneto. He had helped craft the large building with Krakoa, itself, a collaboration of earth and metal that left the Master of Magnetism content enough to call The House of M his new house on his new home. Jean Grey approached the structure with a familiarity, landing on an upper balcony and letting the psychic force of telekinesis open the glass doors for her, stepping in and catching sight of the man immediately.
She nodded, as his eyes stared into her’s, a meager greeting. “Erik. You wanted to see me?”
coGM
Dr. Strange
Posts from the last thread, consolidated
The simple pleasures of a shave and shower in his own place had been exquisite, enough to clear any lingering feelings of remorse of losing the title of Sorcerer Supreme. He didn’t doubt Wong’s capabilities, it was just that Strange had gotten used to the role, and adapting would be one more part of the adjustment of returning home. After he finished up and ate some breakfast, Strange spent the morning gathering some of his belongings, and then stopped by the foyer on his way out to say a temporary goodbye to Wong.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Your room is just like you left it, and I’m sure there’s plenty you can do around here.” Wong said.
“No, I’m good. I’ll leave my stuff there and I might pop in, but I want to get out of my comfort zone. It’s all too familiar here.” Strange said.
“Alright, but just remember, you’re welcome any time.” Wong said
“Sure, and I’m glad things have been going well while I’m out. I think you’ll do a great job as Sorcerer Supreme.” Strange said.
“Thank you, It’s a great honor to have this responsibility. I just hope I can live up to the previous examples.”
“I’ve only heard a little bit but it sounds like it’s going well so far. Any goals you’ve set for yourself?”
“Well, I think comparisons between us are going to be inevitable, so I might as well work off of that benchmark. I’m aiming for the same amount of saving the earth; maybe a little less mess along the way.”
“Fair. If there’s anyone I trust to do that it’s you. I’ll see you around.” Strange said as he stepped out the door.
One of the old tricks of the Sanctum Sanctorum was that the back door would deposit someone on any street in Manhattan as long as you thought about it hard enough. That tripped up quite a few visitors, but for Strange it was just an easier way of getting to the library. He had four months worth of news to catch up on and some time to kill while he waited for his check-in at the hotel. Strange grabbed whole stacks of back issues of the newspapers and magazines from the periodical section and walked over to a table where carved out space for his pile. Even before he was trained in the mystical arts, Strange had a knack for reading quickly and remembering most of it; it was hard to get through a top flight medical school without that. The pages flitted by as he went through the events of the past quarter, as soon as he had finished reading one another floated over and opened itself, continuing the rapid pace. An animated pen filled up a scroll conjured from underneath his cloak with notes, half-muttered, half transmitted through telepathy. It was a symphony of activity around Strange, hyperfocused and devouring information with mystifying speed. The thrill continued until he felt someone tap him on the shoulder and suddenly it all paused. An old lady with a library ID badge had gotten his attention, and spoke in a voice that was trying to be firm but clearly startled “Ummm, sir I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your activities elsewhere. You’re scaring our other patrons.” Strange looked up slowly and saw that everyone in the room, from those seated at the table to the ones just walking by had stopped whatever they were doing to stare at him, and made sure to give him a wide berth.
While walking through Bryant Park after his unceremonious exit from the library Strange stopped by a news stand. He looked over the newspapers and magazines and bought a few different ones, even though all of their headlines were about one thing: Krakoa. He could tell it was a big deal when he was going through the back issues in the library, and even before he got inside he saw two rival groups holding rallies in the park. They were still there, just as determined as before. The pro-mutant side was clearly enjoying themselves; despite the signs they held it had the atmosphere of a celebration. Everyone on the anti-mutant was angry, whether it was simmering anger or blinding hatred varied from person to person. They chanted their slogans and alternated between glaring menacingly at the pro-mutant side and the cops manning the barricades separating them. Strange took a roundabout way to the subway station to avoid them.
On the train Strange enjoyed a proper New York bagel for the first time in what felt like thousands of years. Interdimensional wars didn’t care much about good food. Part of the reason he was so focused on the present and catching up was because it let him block out memories of the war. It had consumed him so fully for so long that much of it melded together into one massive event. He wish he could say he had come out of it better, but there was nothing he liked about it now, not even the “gift” they gave him at the end, a glimpse of the future as a way of thanking him for his dedication. That one would take him time to unpack, like many prophecies it operated on multiple levels, he had seen images, heard words, felt auras and so much more. Examining it would be for another time. For now he just focused on his food and the copy of the New York Times he had floating in front of him, reading about the UN recognition of Krakoa. No one on the subway thought it wise to bother the man who could make a newspaper levitate.
His room at the Hotel Chelsea was ready for him now. The clerk gave him a standard warning about how it was New York’s most haunted hotel, and Strange did his best not to laugh; while the clerk was talking he could see a whole host of malevolent spirits fleeing the premises, having realized who would be their new neighbor. Perhaps Wong could get one of the students to track them down before they found another place to haunt. Before he even opened the door he noticed someone had left a business card in the frame; oddly it was solid black, not a single mark on it. There was no magic residue at least, so Strange picked it up and filed it away as a curiosity.
Traveling was easy with magic, even a small bag could hold an enormous amount and with the right spell it could pack or unpack itself. As soon as Strange was sitting down his record player had already settled itself and loaded a Mahavishnu Orchestra album, and the electric kettle was readying a cup of tea. He held the business card in hand and twirled like one of those cheap birthday party magicians, then came up with an idea as he supped on his tea. A spell let him see the past of the object, and with that he saw what had been printed on it before it was covered in black: The web address of a meal delivery service on one side, and a logo he had never seen before on the front, along with one simple phrase “We’d like to talk”. It could’ve just been an advertising gimmick, but Strange had a lifelong belief in meaningful coincidences, and filed the logo away in his memory as he set the card down.
From the stack he opted to start with was a special issue of Time, “Krakoa: A Guide”. Most of it was basic, a lot of the profiles were of people who he had met personally, some of it was incorrect; overall it did help him learn about the power players and the features of Krakoan society. Strange kept reading and noticed a particular slant to the advertising, not a single slot was filled with the usual material about soft drinks and car brands. The most premium places had been taken by interests affiliated with Krakoa, the largest was an open letter from Xavier to the nations of the world, and further spaces were taken by the Hellfire Trading Company, the His Dream Foundation, Summers News and Media, and other mutant affiliated causes. All of it was glossy, well done, a little heavy on PR speak but clearly an earnest attempt to win the hearts and minds of the world, Human and Mutant alike. The rest of the ads were more numerous but less polished, and they all shared one feature: absolute opposition to mutants. It was impressive how every one seemed to come from a different group. Some of them tried to act highbrow, claiming to raise legitimate concerns about international law, world security, and human rights, couched in the sort of language common in the halls of power; those were credited to NGOs with little history and very generic names. Other ads came from groups aligned with old foes of mutantkind like the Friends of Humanity and the Church of Human Potential or new organizations like Facts and Logic About the Mutant Experience, and their content was downright vile. They featured headlines like “Magneto: From Nazi Collaborator to The Quiet Council”, “Decimation Wasn’t Enough: How You Can Continue Wanda Maximoff’s Legacy” and “The Genoshan Genocide: Mutant on Mutant Violence”. Whatever he could say about Krakoa, it had certainly given the anti-mutant groups a new sense of urgency. The next page made him pause.
It was an ad that was vague about their intentions, just mentioning some conference on “safeguarding the human race”, but something struck him about the logo, which he had seen only once before: on the card left in his doorway. The only thing other identifying mark on the ad was the name of the group, listed in fine print near the bottom: Orchis. This inspired Strange to pause his reading, maybe pull out his aging laptop for some internet searches, but as he set the magazine down he saw something else that grabbed his attention. By chance the page of the magazine he left facing up was a profile belonging to Ilyana Rasputin, better known as Magik. They’d met before, but now seeing her photo triggered something inside his mind, it dredged up the prophecy he saw in the war, it made him relive those visions, and it explained a part of him. Now it was clear as day to him, he had seen Ilyana in the vision, she was at the center of it all. Outwardly he remained calm, standing, staring at the wall for minutes on end. Inside, all he did was go over the words of the prophecy again and again, repeating the poem in his head:
“You Strange shall know earth's next sorcerer supreme
None born human shall hold the title again
All you know will be like water turned to steam
Make straight their path, depart and find peace at the end of mankind's reign
What more light, what glory shall be left for your eyes to ascertain
Mankind draws near finality and sorrow
Both you and they shall live without tomorrow”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Your room is just like you left it, and I’m sure there’s plenty you can do around here.” Wong said.
“No, I’m good. I’ll leave my stuff there and I might pop in, but I want to get out of my comfort zone. It’s all too familiar here.” Strange said.
“Alright, but just remember, you’re welcome any time.” Wong said
“Sure, and I’m glad things have been going well while I’m out. I think you’ll do a great job as Sorcerer Supreme.” Strange said.
“Thank you, It’s a great honor to have this responsibility. I just hope I can live up to the previous examples.”
“I’ve only heard a little bit but it sounds like it’s going well so far. Any goals you’ve set for yourself?”
“Well, I think comparisons between us are going to be inevitable, so I might as well work off of that benchmark. I’m aiming for the same amount of saving the earth; maybe a little less mess along the way.”
“Fair. If there’s anyone I trust to do that it’s you. I’ll see you around.” Strange said as he stepped out the door.
One of the old tricks of the Sanctum Sanctorum was that the back door would deposit someone on any street in Manhattan as long as you thought about it hard enough. That tripped up quite a few visitors, but for Strange it was just an easier way of getting to the library. He had four months worth of news to catch up on and some time to kill while he waited for his check-in at the hotel. Strange grabbed whole stacks of back issues of the newspapers and magazines from the periodical section and walked over to a table where carved out space for his pile. Even before he was trained in the mystical arts, Strange had a knack for reading quickly and remembering most of it; it was hard to get through a top flight medical school without that. The pages flitted by as he went through the events of the past quarter, as soon as he had finished reading one another floated over and opened itself, continuing the rapid pace. An animated pen filled up a scroll conjured from underneath his cloak with notes, half-muttered, half transmitted through telepathy. It was a symphony of activity around Strange, hyperfocused and devouring information with mystifying speed. The thrill continued until he felt someone tap him on the shoulder and suddenly it all paused. An old lady with a library ID badge had gotten his attention, and spoke in a voice that was trying to be firm but clearly startled “Ummm, sir I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your activities elsewhere. You’re scaring our other patrons.” Strange looked up slowly and saw that everyone in the room, from those seated at the table to the ones just walking by had stopped whatever they were doing to stare at him, and made sure to give him a wide berth.
While walking through Bryant Park after his unceremonious exit from the library Strange stopped by a news stand. He looked over the newspapers and magazines and bought a few different ones, even though all of their headlines were about one thing: Krakoa. He could tell it was a big deal when he was going through the back issues in the library, and even before he got inside he saw two rival groups holding rallies in the park. They were still there, just as determined as before. The pro-mutant side was clearly enjoying themselves; despite the signs they held it had the atmosphere of a celebration. Everyone on the anti-mutant was angry, whether it was simmering anger or blinding hatred varied from person to person. They chanted their slogans and alternated between glaring menacingly at the pro-mutant side and the cops manning the barricades separating them. Strange took a roundabout way to the subway station to avoid them.
On the train Strange enjoyed a proper New York bagel for the first time in what felt like thousands of years. Interdimensional wars didn’t care much about good food. Part of the reason he was so focused on the present and catching up was because it let him block out memories of the war. It had consumed him so fully for so long that much of it melded together into one massive event. He wish he could say he had come out of it better, but there was nothing he liked about it now, not even the “gift” they gave him at the end, a glimpse of the future as a way of thanking him for his dedication. That one would take him time to unpack, like many prophecies it operated on multiple levels, he had seen images, heard words, felt auras and so much more. Examining it would be for another time. For now he just focused on his food and the copy of the New York Times he had floating in front of him, reading about the UN recognition of Krakoa. No one on the subway thought it wise to bother the man who could make a newspaper levitate.
His room at the Hotel Chelsea was ready for him now. The clerk gave him a standard warning about how it was New York’s most haunted hotel, and Strange did his best not to laugh; while the clerk was talking he could see a whole host of malevolent spirits fleeing the premises, having realized who would be their new neighbor. Perhaps Wong could get one of the students to track them down before they found another place to haunt. Before he even opened the door he noticed someone had left a business card in the frame; oddly it was solid black, not a single mark on it. There was no magic residue at least, so Strange picked it up and filed it away as a curiosity.
Traveling was easy with magic, even a small bag could hold an enormous amount and with the right spell it could pack or unpack itself. As soon as Strange was sitting down his record player had already settled itself and loaded a Mahavishnu Orchestra album, and the electric kettle was readying a cup of tea. He held the business card in hand and twirled like one of those cheap birthday party magicians, then came up with an idea as he supped on his tea. A spell let him see the past of the object, and with that he saw what had been printed on it before it was covered in black: The web address of a meal delivery service on one side, and a logo he had never seen before on the front, along with one simple phrase “We’d like to talk”. It could’ve just been an advertising gimmick, but Strange had a lifelong belief in meaningful coincidences, and filed the logo away in his memory as he set the card down.
From the stack he opted to start with was a special issue of Time, “Krakoa: A Guide”. Most of it was basic, a lot of the profiles were of people who he had met personally, some of it was incorrect; overall it did help him learn about the power players and the features of Krakoan society. Strange kept reading and noticed a particular slant to the advertising, not a single slot was filled with the usual material about soft drinks and car brands. The most premium places had been taken by interests affiliated with Krakoa, the largest was an open letter from Xavier to the nations of the world, and further spaces were taken by the Hellfire Trading Company, the His Dream Foundation, Summers News and Media, and other mutant affiliated causes. All of it was glossy, well done, a little heavy on PR speak but clearly an earnest attempt to win the hearts and minds of the world, Human and Mutant alike. The rest of the ads were more numerous but less polished, and they all shared one feature: absolute opposition to mutants. It was impressive how every one seemed to come from a different group. Some of them tried to act highbrow, claiming to raise legitimate concerns about international law, world security, and human rights, couched in the sort of language common in the halls of power; those were credited to NGOs with little history and very generic names. Other ads came from groups aligned with old foes of mutantkind like the Friends of Humanity and the Church of Human Potential or new organizations like Facts and Logic About the Mutant Experience, and their content was downright vile. They featured headlines like “Magneto: From Nazi Collaborator to The Quiet Council”, “Decimation Wasn’t Enough: How You Can Continue Wanda Maximoff’s Legacy” and “The Genoshan Genocide: Mutant on Mutant Violence”. Whatever he could say about Krakoa, it had certainly given the anti-mutant groups a new sense of urgency. The next page made him pause.
It was an ad that was vague about their intentions, just mentioning some conference on “safeguarding the human race”, but something struck him about the logo, which he had seen only once before: on the card left in his doorway. The only thing other identifying mark on the ad was the name of the group, listed in fine print near the bottom: Orchis. This inspired Strange to pause his reading, maybe pull out his aging laptop for some internet searches, but as he set the magazine down he saw something else that grabbed his attention. By chance the page of the magazine he left facing up was a profile belonging to Ilyana Rasputin, better known as Magik. They’d met before, but now seeing her photo triggered something inside his mind, it dredged up the prophecy he saw in the war, it made him relive those visions, and it explained a part of him. Now it was clear as day to him, he had seen Ilyana in the vision, she was at the center of it all. Outwardly he remained calm, standing, staring at the wall for minutes on end. Inside, all he did was go over the words of the prophecy again and again, repeating the poem in his head:
“You Strange shall know earth's next sorcerer supreme
None born human shall hold the title again
All you know will be like water turned to steam
Make straight their path, depart and find peace at the end of mankind's reign
What more light, what glory shall be left for your eyes to ascertain
Mankind draws near finality and sorrow
Both you and they shall live without tomorrow”
What he had learned from the prophecy meant that Strange needed to get in touch with Magik as soon as he could. A telepathic message would be the normal way, but Magik lived a very eventful life; one never knew if she would be off in another galaxy or visiting some demon realm. Not being familiar enough with her signature to locate her without expending some effort, Strange decided the best option was to send a general message in the direction of Krakoa; someone there would know how to reach her. That gave him time to wait for a reply, and so he looked into another mystery,
Strange figured out that the meal ordering app on the back of the business card he found was a way of arranging a covert meeting. It advertised one free dine in or carry out meal anywhere in Manhattan, all he had to do was select the time. The fact they had timeslots open all week as soon as one hour from now showed that they were serious about trying to reach him.
The place he chose was called #1 Authentic World Famous Ray’s Original Pizza Manhattan. Despite the constant flow of tourists from the bus terminal every local knew it was awful. Inside there was a line out the door, full of people wearing newly bought “I <3 NY” shirts, speaking in a half dozen languages as they waited to grab a lukewarm piece of greasy pizza from one of the grumpy teenagers working behind the counter. Strange surveyed the place once he arrived and waited in the short line to pick up his order, as soon as he grabbed it a man sitting in at an empty table in the back started to walk towards him. He was in his mid-40s, wearing the midtown finance bro signature of Chinos, a plaid shirt, and Patagonia vest. Strange turned to the right, then to the left, and noticed the man still came towards his place, following the twisting path through the crowd. In all likelihood, that was the man coming to meet him.
Strange waved his hand and a field of magic fell over the area. Time slowed to a crawl, a spilled drink stayed mid fall, people stayed mid stride, and a dozen conversations became just extended noises. Then for his next trick he opened a line of telepathic communication to the main that was following him, confident he had the right person based on both deduction and magical intuition.
Strange sent his first message
“Don’t be alarmed, time is still moving, just at an extremely slow pace. Physically, neither of us will be able to do much but telepathically we can still have a full conversation in the time until the spell wears off. I apologize about not asking, but this is a very secure way of doing things. Not only is our telepathic broadcast warded and controlled enough that it will be difficult to notice, this will make it very short and nigh-impossible for an eavesdropper to understand. I hope you appreciate the security.”
The man replied
“I do, might take me a bit to get used to, hit me out of nowhere. You know I’ve gotten a little bit of telepathic training, purely defensive stuff but necessary with the threat model we deal with, and even before then I was with SHIELD and the three letter agencies when they started getting interested in this kind of thing.”
“Intriguing. I would like to know more about why you contacted me, whoever you are.”
“You can call me Agent Graham, and I’ll be honest with you, I’m from Orchis. What do you know about us?”
“Three things: The boilerplate on our website, the fact your ads ran alongside a lot of anti-mutant material in major press outlets, and that the Mutant Legal Defense Fund has added you to their list of anti-mutant hate groups.”
“Yeah…about that. I can’t exactly beat around the bush here but what I can say is that they don’t have the full perspective. Might not do much good to say it, but I’m not some Greydon Creed, Cameron Hodge type who just starts foaming at the mouth the moment they smell an X-gene on someone. I’ve never done anything to them personally, I’ve interacted affably with the few I’ve known, and I think you’d be surprised by how many of them would prefer us to that Krakoa business.”
“Whether I choose believe that or not I still don’t understand what you want to tell me. I think you know my current perspective based on my past actions, and my stance on recent issues is not yet settled. I would like to hear what your aim is.”
“Glad you asked, I’ll get right to it. Now, to start I’m gonna throw out an MLK quote, and it’s probably not one of the one’s you’d think. ‘Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men.’ King said that when there were thirty two thousand nuclear warheads in the world. What he didn’t know was that even then there were people walking the earth born with powers inside them that would dwarf every one of those bombs put together. There were a handful of them then, there are many more now, and who knows what the future will bring? Let’s talk about it in a different way.”
Agent Graham concentrated and a square of text and images appeared by his side, superimposed into the pizza restaurant. In the tone of his telepathic delivery Strange could tell he was surprised in a good way by his ability to leverage the medium and project something other than simple messages.
“Sorry some of the contents of my mind look like a powerpoint presentation it’s a bad habit I picked up. Believe me, I used to be the kind of guy that dove into papers back when I was the Kennedy School and SAIS, but enough years in the government will change you. To get to the point, I’ve got a couple of graphs that should tell the story.”
He flicked through a dozen charts, each showing trends over time of very serious matters. They included a logarithmic scale of known superhuman and their power outputs, a count of the postgenius level intellects on earth, a list of recorded incidents where extinction was narrowly averted, and more. Strange found them generally accurate, he could guess most of the datapoints; a few were missing but mistakes were inevitable, and all showed an upward trend over time. Then the agent wave his hand and all of the charts became divided into two colors, one representing mutants and one representing humans. Now an even clearer trend emerged: Mutants had been grabbing a greater and greater share. The agent said
“I minored in Math, but you don’t need me to tell you the way it’s going, heck even drawing a line on it is overkill. I’ve got another set.”
He pulled up charts related to the mutant population over time, all of the valleys from moments like the Genoshan genocide and M Day were clearly present, and supplemented them with a chart of mutants as a percentage of births, showing that although the population had faced a setback, it would rebound to even greater heights in the future.
“One final one, the showstopper.”
The charts from before returned, but now an additional feature: these showed what would’ve been without those incidents, how the mutants would’ve held an even greater share than they do now, and more than that, they showed the future projections, of mutant power spiraling so far the axes of the graphs had to be adjusted, so dominant that the human portion fell to an imperceptible sliver underneath.
“The funny thing about showing off these graphs is that it’s something most mutants agree with, something they’ll tell you it all if you ask them and it’s a point of pride for a lot of them. Everything I said here could be recycled into a Magneto speech and none of it would feel out of place. I’ll agree with all of the stuff Magneto says about the awesome power of the mutants, how they’re so much above the humans, except for one aspect, one point where I disagree with him: the ethical dimension. Homo Sapien and Homo Superior, there is one thing all of us share: the same hardwired instincts from our animal ancestors, underneath us all is some beast that is categorizing the entire world into things it wants to kill and things it wants to mate with. We can fight it, we do a pretty good job of in modern society, but we’ll never eradicate it, and mutants are no stronger against it than anyone else on the street, they just have way, way worse consequences if they do ever go sideways. If the mutants were a race of saints, down to every last one of them, maybe we could just go back to sleepwalking through our lives, but you and I both know that is a chance we can’t take. There is a loaded gun pointed at the temple of the human race, and we’ve got to find some solution other than hoping the mutant holding it doesn’t feel like pulling the trigger.”
Strange replied
“Interesting that there is one area missing from your chart, yet it is one that you alluded to: the spiritual dimension. I’ve never seen your agencies try to measure it, and if you did I wouldn’t trust your results, but I have seen much of it and I can speak from experience that it is the great equalizer. I’ve probably met or corresponded at least once with every one of the postgeniuses on your chart and I can tell you it is remarkable how little their talents correlate with magical aptitude; every attempt to find some inherent trait that will foretell who has a special genius for magic has failed miserably. I’ve tried to tutor Richards, Stark, Pym, Cho and others, none of them ever got far when it came to the mystical arts, and I’m only aware of two individual who have reached high levels in both science and magic. There’s even figures like Arash the Fool, an illiterate Persian mystic who never learned to count beyond ten or any mundane trade, but had magical power great enough to rearrange realms merely by misremembering where everything was before. Imaginary numbers came into existence when someone tried to teach him math. It seems to me that in the magical dimension we are all equals, human and mutant alike. I certainly haven’t seen any threat of mutant domination in that area.”
“Haven’t seen any yet.”
“I don’t indulge in fear-mongering. Even if I did, I wouldn’t trust your solutions. I prefer to see people as changeable, not fixed, and believe that moral character is something that can be built, can be honed and taught. I’ve always believed for that, I’ve always worked for that, and if your statistics are true then my work is more important than ever before. I see no reason to abandon my approach.”
“So you’ll do what? Hold some teach-ins, do some consciousness raising, and hope that’ll be enough to awaken the world and usher in a new age where we all just hold hands and sing?”
“You have a very small view of the possibilities.”
“Maybe I do, but I don’t deal with that kind of stuff, I deal with the concrete. Give me a call when you start to get worried, because you will, sooner or later. Every human will.”
Time began to move again and they both turned off in opposite directions, never exchanging a single spoken word.
Strange figured out that the meal ordering app on the back of the business card he found was a way of arranging a covert meeting. It advertised one free dine in or carry out meal anywhere in Manhattan, all he had to do was select the time. The fact they had timeslots open all week as soon as one hour from now showed that they were serious about trying to reach him.
The place he chose was called #1 Authentic World Famous Ray’s Original Pizza Manhattan. Despite the constant flow of tourists from the bus terminal every local knew it was awful. Inside there was a line out the door, full of people wearing newly bought “I <3 NY” shirts, speaking in a half dozen languages as they waited to grab a lukewarm piece of greasy pizza from one of the grumpy teenagers working behind the counter. Strange surveyed the place once he arrived and waited in the short line to pick up his order, as soon as he grabbed it a man sitting in at an empty table in the back started to walk towards him. He was in his mid-40s, wearing the midtown finance bro signature of Chinos, a plaid shirt, and Patagonia vest. Strange turned to the right, then to the left, and noticed the man still came towards his place, following the twisting path through the crowd. In all likelihood, that was the man coming to meet him.
Strange waved his hand and a field of magic fell over the area. Time slowed to a crawl, a spilled drink stayed mid fall, people stayed mid stride, and a dozen conversations became just extended noises. Then for his next trick he opened a line of telepathic communication to the main that was following him, confident he had the right person based on both deduction and magical intuition.
Strange sent his first message
“Don’t be alarmed, time is still moving, just at an extremely slow pace. Physically, neither of us will be able to do much but telepathically we can still have a full conversation in the time until the spell wears off. I apologize about not asking, but this is a very secure way of doing things. Not only is our telepathic broadcast warded and controlled enough that it will be difficult to notice, this will make it very short and nigh-impossible for an eavesdropper to understand. I hope you appreciate the security.”
The man replied
“I do, might take me a bit to get used to, hit me out of nowhere. You know I’ve gotten a little bit of telepathic training, purely defensive stuff but necessary with the threat model we deal with, and even before then I was with SHIELD and the three letter agencies when they started getting interested in this kind of thing.”
“Intriguing. I would like to know more about why you contacted me, whoever you are.”
“You can call me Agent Graham, and I’ll be honest with you, I’m from Orchis. What do you know about us?”
“Three things: The boilerplate on our website, the fact your ads ran alongside a lot of anti-mutant material in major press outlets, and that the Mutant Legal Defense Fund has added you to their list of anti-mutant hate groups.”
“Yeah…about that. I can’t exactly beat around the bush here but what I can say is that they don’t have the full perspective. Might not do much good to say it, but I’m not some Greydon Creed, Cameron Hodge type who just starts foaming at the mouth the moment they smell an X-gene on someone. I’ve never done anything to them personally, I’ve interacted affably with the few I’ve known, and I think you’d be surprised by how many of them would prefer us to that Krakoa business.”
“Whether I choose believe that or not I still don’t understand what you want to tell me. I think you know my current perspective based on my past actions, and my stance on recent issues is not yet settled. I would like to hear what your aim is.”
“Glad you asked, I’ll get right to it. Now, to start I’m gonna throw out an MLK quote, and it’s probably not one of the one’s you’d think. ‘Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men.’ King said that when there were thirty two thousand nuclear warheads in the world. What he didn’t know was that even then there were people walking the earth born with powers inside them that would dwarf every one of those bombs put together. There were a handful of them then, there are many more now, and who knows what the future will bring? Let’s talk about it in a different way.”
Agent Graham concentrated and a square of text and images appeared by his side, superimposed into the pizza restaurant. In the tone of his telepathic delivery Strange could tell he was surprised in a good way by his ability to leverage the medium and project something other than simple messages.
“Sorry some of the contents of my mind look like a powerpoint presentation it’s a bad habit I picked up. Believe me, I used to be the kind of guy that dove into papers back when I was the Kennedy School and SAIS, but enough years in the government will change you. To get to the point, I’ve got a couple of graphs that should tell the story.”
He flicked through a dozen charts, each showing trends over time of very serious matters. They included a logarithmic scale of known superhuman and their power outputs, a count of the postgenius level intellects on earth, a list of recorded incidents where extinction was narrowly averted, and more. Strange found them generally accurate, he could guess most of the datapoints; a few were missing but mistakes were inevitable, and all showed an upward trend over time. Then the agent wave his hand and all of the charts became divided into two colors, one representing mutants and one representing humans. Now an even clearer trend emerged: Mutants had been grabbing a greater and greater share. The agent said
“I minored in Math, but you don’t need me to tell you the way it’s going, heck even drawing a line on it is overkill. I’ve got another set.”
He pulled up charts related to the mutant population over time, all of the valleys from moments like the Genoshan genocide and M Day were clearly present, and supplemented them with a chart of mutants as a percentage of births, showing that although the population had faced a setback, it would rebound to even greater heights in the future.
“One final one, the showstopper.”
The charts from before returned, but now an additional feature: these showed what would’ve been without those incidents, how the mutants would’ve held an even greater share than they do now, and more than that, they showed the future projections, of mutant power spiraling so far the axes of the graphs had to be adjusted, so dominant that the human portion fell to an imperceptible sliver underneath.
“The funny thing about showing off these graphs is that it’s something most mutants agree with, something they’ll tell you it all if you ask them and it’s a point of pride for a lot of them. Everything I said here could be recycled into a Magneto speech and none of it would feel out of place. I’ll agree with all of the stuff Magneto says about the awesome power of the mutants, how they’re so much above the humans, except for one aspect, one point where I disagree with him: the ethical dimension. Homo Sapien and Homo Superior, there is one thing all of us share: the same hardwired instincts from our animal ancestors, underneath us all is some beast that is categorizing the entire world into things it wants to kill and things it wants to mate with. We can fight it, we do a pretty good job of in modern society, but we’ll never eradicate it, and mutants are no stronger against it than anyone else on the street, they just have way, way worse consequences if they do ever go sideways. If the mutants were a race of saints, down to every last one of them, maybe we could just go back to sleepwalking through our lives, but you and I both know that is a chance we can’t take. There is a loaded gun pointed at the temple of the human race, and we’ve got to find some solution other than hoping the mutant holding it doesn’t feel like pulling the trigger.”
Strange replied
“Interesting that there is one area missing from your chart, yet it is one that you alluded to: the spiritual dimension. I’ve never seen your agencies try to measure it, and if you did I wouldn’t trust your results, but I have seen much of it and I can speak from experience that it is the great equalizer. I’ve probably met or corresponded at least once with every one of the postgeniuses on your chart and I can tell you it is remarkable how little their talents correlate with magical aptitude; every attempt to find some inherent trait that will foretell who has a special genius for magic has failed miserably. I’ve tried to tutor Richards, Stark, Pym, Cho and others, none of them ever got far when it came to the mystical arts, and I’m only aware of two individual who have reached high levels in both science and magic. There’s even figures like Arash the Fool, an illiterate Persian mystic who never learned to count beyond ten or any mundane trade, but had magical power great enough to rearrange realms merely by misremembering where everything was before. Imaginary numbers came into existence when someone tried to teach him math. It seems to me that in the magical dimension we are all equals, human and mutant alike. I certainly haven’t seen any threat of mutant domination in that area.”
“Haven’t seen any yet.”
“I don’t indulge in fear-mongering. Even if I did, I wouldn’t trust your solutions. I prefer to see people as changeable, not fixed, and believe that moral character is something that can be built, can be honed and taught. I’ve always believed for that, I’ve always worked for that, and if your statistics are true then my work is more important than ever before. I see no reason to abandon my approach.”
“So you’ll do what? Hold some teach-ins, do some consciousness raising, and hope that’ll be enough to awaken the world and usher in a new age where we all just hold hands and sing?”
“You have a very small view of the possibilities.”
“Maybe I do, but I don’t deal with that kind of stuff, I deal with the concrete. Give me a call when you start to get worried, because you will, sooner or later. Every human will.”
Time began to move again and they both turned off in opposite directions, never exchanging a single spoken word.
Doctor Strange made a visit to the Crooked Market to pick up a gift for someone special. Some preferred to shop via scrying and using the free portal delivery available to members, but Strange didn’t trust the operator enough to do anything except face to face business. He didn’t particularly like dealing with Mad Jim Jasper’s quixotic brand of commerce either, but he had few other options for sourcing a special item. He walked up to the stall where Mad Jim himself was standing with payment in hand and said
“Here is your payment, ten thousand years worth of magical essence harvested from Earth’s leylines, encased in a time crystal with etchings done by the Dwarves of Nidavellir. The time crystal is a Lunella Lafayette design, she might not yet be as esteemed as Richards when it comes to that field but give her time and it will surely grow in value. In any case, it’ll be enough to keep the essence shelf stable until the heat death of the universe, possibly even beyond that. “
Jim said
“Huh, didn’t think you had it in you to actually match the demand. Very well, your payment is accepted”
“Eh, I thought it was a bit high but then I found a way to source it ethically from a timeline where life never evolved on earth. “
“Ah, I would’ve liked it more if you hadn’t told me that. I’m a busy man but I still have time to get wistful about times gone by, not quite as lovely if my little bottle of fun was appropriated from some inanimate rocks rather than a bunch of cultureless, underserving bores. But a deal is a deal.”
“Indeed. Do you have what we agreed upon?”
“Yes, except for some matters with the item’s shipping and receiving.”
“What matters?”
Jim gestured with his hands and pretended to look busy examining papers laying behind the counter, but Strange’s mystical senses could tell the stack had only been conjured into existence a few seconds ago. Jim said
“Oh, it’s not for me to know precisely, but I’ve been ready to do my part when it comes to receiving, so whatever difficulty has arisen must be with their shipping.”
Strange said
“Surely you can do something to figure out what’s wrong on their end, it’s a gift for someone and I can’t have it being late.”
“Excess hurry is such an ugly habit, it wouldn’t due for me to show exertion over something trivial, nor should I harrang them about such a lowly matter.”
“I thought we had an agreement.”
“Oh, but we did, unfortunately said agreement did not cover whatever business is going on with those layabouts at the Mall of Babel; if the item is in my possession it will be yours, but until then I can do no more for you. If you’d like a second opinion, I could direct you to the customer service department but I fired the relevant people when I realized how many inquiries could be dealt with by the sign behind me.”
Jaspers cocked his eye towards a sign that Strange didn’t remember if had always been there or if it had materialized just a moment before.
It read:
1. Mad Jim Jaspers is always right
2. If Mad Jim Jaspers is ever wrong, re-read Rule 1
There was a silence between them, and the big smile on Jasper’s face crept back to a neutral position when Strange didn’t find the matter funny.
Jim said
“Well, if you really want I can give you the invoice and you can look into it at your leisure. Might be a character building exercise, you know, personal responsibility and all that. “ Strange had a portal open as soon as the invoice was in his hand and made his way to the Mall of Babel.
The Mall of Babel was a dimension that sold everything. Not a lot of things, not just trillions of things, but literally everything, an infinite amount of products. It was composed of a series of endlessly repeating heaxgons, with stores along the edges of each gexagon and a set of escalators in the center, leading up and down to the next in an unbounded number of floors. Two of the edges of the hexagon were open, holding a pathway that ended in another hexagon. Along one side of each pathway was a set of restrooms, along the other a small food court. It was said that no two heaxgons were alike, even that no two stores were alike, but proving it was a futile exercise, just as hopeless as trying to map the layout of the space.
The hexagon Strange landed in had a typical assortment of useless shops. One sold decorations for holidays that didn’t exist. Another sold only sports cards of people that never played sports, showing what their stats would have been. The place by the pathway sold only defective toasters, and each one was broken in a slightly different way. Looking through the windows of the others he saw ones that specialized in mesh umbrellas, parts for trinary computers made with vacuum tube technology, luggage that used pocket dimensions to hold more space but had the unfortunate side effect of occasionally dumping their contents into the void between universes, and hot sauces that could only be consumed by immaterial beings. Finding the store listed on the invoice would be a struggle even for him.
Fortunately, Strange had the Eye of Agamotto with him, and when combined with a little finesse it would enable him to actually navigate the place. Even it’s awesome powers took some time to work in something as overwhelming as the Mall of Babel, giving Strange a moment to look around. What interested him most wasn’t what he saw, but what he didn’t see: any actual shoppers. There were employees, but the whole place was eerily silent, even when you’d expect it to be busy. He had heard that sleeker competitors like the Crooked Market emerged, lost teenagers found other realms to haunt, and that most of the people who ended up there were tourists visiting The Backrooms due to its sudden fame that took a wrong turn upon exiting. Still, he didn’t expect it to be this empty. He’d have to find something else to do, and he found it when he spotted a Nightmare’s Café stall in between the escalators.
Once he had confirmed it was a franchise store and thus not actually run by the eponymous founder and member of the Fear Lords who counted Strange as mortal enemy (which included terminating his rewards account and barring him from all corporate owned stores), Strange looked at the menu and thought about what kind of dreams he’d like to ingest. They weren’t great quality, but they had a brand name. As their slogan used to say
“It’s not just dreams harvested from the sleeping masses and bottled for you. It’s Nightmares.”
Strange looked at the bored looking multi-armed barista behind the counter and said
“Give me a cuddling with soft puppies with a topping childhood nostalgia.”
The Barista said
“Figures. Everyone wants the saccharine stuff overloaded with sweetness, no one wants the old school hard stuff anymore. And the order is for?”
“Do we have to do this? I’m the only one here.”
“Boss said I have to, people like the personal touch when you write it on their cup.”
“Fine. Stephen Strange, MD, PhD, Master of Mystic Arts, Sorcerer Supreme, whatever fits.”
As the Barista began to work, Strange asked a question
“Didn’t there used to be a lot of Mindless Ones around here? This place was practically daycare for them, they could just wander around and stay out of Dormmamu’s hair errrr flames and loiter or shop or skateboard, whatever they like to do when they’re not trampling over everything. “
The Barista said
“You’d think, but Dormmamu shut down the transit connection. Rumor is he’s trying to choke out the mall’s lifeblood to make a play for it when it’s really hurting. Wouldn’t be the first time he gobbled up more real estate for the dark dimension.”
“So who is here?”
“I dunno. Don’t really go beyond this part. The place’s infinite, not like you could get a good sense of it all. Unless something more infinite comes along and tries their hand nobody’ll ever have a grasp on it all.”
Strange picked up his cup and took a sip, ready to set off on the path the Eye of Agomotto had found. It was only when he got a look at the cup on his second sip that he made a small frown upon reading that the Barista wrote his name as “Steve”
Strange found the Cantor Gifts location inside the Mall of Babel completely empty, not an employee in sight. The shelves were unevenly stocked with impossible objects, one section had dozens and dozens of untouched Klein bottles gathering dust, another large display for Penrose Triangles was completely empty. Almost all of the things had gone out of style long ago; petering out when people no longer thought it was hilarious to give someone something from the Non-Euclidean Naughtiness section. The anti-theft wards were trivial to dispel, but Strange thought it important to do everything above board. He found a hold pickup shelf with his package sitting on it, but no matter how long he waited no one came to the counter, and his mystical sense confirmed the store was empty. With a heavy sigh, he carried his package to the self-checkout station and read off the runes above the checkout sigil to open a connection to customer service.
Strange could see that the signal from the speaking stone was being routed to Mephisto’s realm. Apparently Mephisto had been quite aggressive in the call center outsourcing business. The connection was crackly, possibly due to the sound of brimstone in the background. The voice on the other end said “Hi thank you for calling Cantor Gift’s customer service, my name is Pieter. How may I help you?”
“Hi Pieter, I have an invoice in my possession for an object that was shipped to this store. I found it in the pickup area but there were no employees. Can you handle my purchase?”
“Certainly, just give me a second to process some things.”
Pieter thought he had muted himself, but Strange was able to hear the conversation that went on while he waited. “If I have to take another call about people not showing up to work
in the Mall of Babel locations I don’t know how I’m going to get through these eons of punishment. Hey Nicolae! Shut up! I’m trying to work here and I don’t care if you’re on break you and your buddy Enver can go discuss your Marxist babble somewhere else.”
“Uhhm, yes sir I’ve made the changes in the system. Just wave the item over the checkout sigil one more time and the anti-theft wards will be released. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“That will be all. Thank you.”
Before he left the store, Strange opened the package and stared at it, scanning the complexities of its form. This was a work of fine craftsmanship by a skilled interdimensional smith, a crystalline structure filled with literally infinite fractal paths inside of it. Every one of the infentismally small passages bent light in its own distinct way, creating a shimmering effect like nothing else. Every second, every angle of view, and every change in light condition produced an entirely unique effect, nothing about it was static, nothing about it was exhaustible. Even if one could examine it on a microscopic level they would see new things, never before seen patterns, inside the truly infinite interior space. For all of its wondrous complexity, it was ultimately a curio, of no use other than admiring its aesthetic charms. Perhaps that was why it had been left to gather dust in the backroom of a mall store, a rare piece only appreciated by a few eccentrics. Strange himself had gotten it for Clea, who had memories of seeing one her mother owned when she was young. Clea had only been able to see it once, as soon as Umar heard how much she loved it she hid it away, thinking it was unbecoming of her daughter to be in awe of something so tacky when she could direct her energies towards more productive efforts.
Even though they were apart, Strange still cared for her, and wanted to give her something to help her cope with the stress of running one side of an endless Dark Dimension civil war. He didn’t expect anything back, he didn’t even really have a deeper intention, and he just wanted to practice a little generosity.
There was a rumble from the other side of the room. It was a low, quiet one but it was still the loudest sound Strange had heard during his entire trip to the Mall of Babel. He focused his senses in that direction and felt something that should geometrically impossible, like the space was entirely filled but warped, and whatever this disruption was emerged in one sudden moment, too fast to track. He concentrated further to try and see what it was, but in that time it had grown to the point that even his eyes alone were enough to see it: A mass of thousands of tentacles, from ones thicker than tree trunks to narrow as snakes, shooting out from the largest storefront. One glimpse told him all he needed to know, and in an action too quick to be perceived he opened a portal to another part of the mall, lightyears away from the mass.
As soon as the portal closed he heard the rumbling again, and knew it was coming. From the single sight of it he got he could tell exactly what he was dealing with: One of the Many
Angled Ones. He didn’t know if it was Shuma-Gorath itself or another of its ilk, but all were equally terrifying, devouring beasts from beyond reality. They wanted nothing more than to tear existence asunder, to devour it whole with their infinite appetite, ancient minds beyond reason or morality. Even for one as mighty as Strange fighting them was a hopeless endeavor, a fact he remembered when his invocation of the Winds of Watoomb failed to even slow the next mass of tendrils before he teleported away again. The Many Angled One knew nothing more than a desire to engulf the entire Mall of Babel, and from there it would free to spread to even more realms, connected to an uncountable number thanks to the Mall’s vast network.
Strange was running away even though he knew there was no safe place at the rate it was growing, all it wanted was more room to grow, and Strange could feel it seeping forth from the place between universes, holding open a hole from its home dimension. In his haste he remembered he was still carrying his gift for Clea and he began to think. With one more jump through a portal he sighed and solidified his plan.
The first spell he cast was a simple one aimed at the monster, a mental spell to open the mind. It was safer than trying a direct mental attack on the creature, merely allowing it feel the ambient emotions. Next he reached across the universes and focused his mind on one shining concept: generosity, the idea of giving without expecting anything back. He drew these emotions from countless being and brought them here, across space and time, filling the whole room in a sea of them. That was when he saw the creature stutter for the first time, struggling to process the unknown emotion that was now flooding in. Strange knew it would be only a momentary pause, so that was when he made his final move, one that didn’t require casting a spell. As he saw a tendril reach out he took Clea’s gift in both hands and tossed it towards it, then watched and smiled as the tentacle traced a path inside the fractal structure of the crystal. More tendrils followed, and soon the whole monster was rushing inside it’s newfound gift, and Strange felt it’s presence recede from the mall. Once it had all moved inside, Strange threw the gift back through the portal from which the Many Angled One came and sealed it up. Mall Security would hear about the incident, possibly even give him a gift card for his service to the community, but Strange doubted he’d be back. His gift for Clea was gone, and although she would’ve done the same if she had been in his position, he was still left with a touch of sadness. Life would go as normal, with her none the wiser about what happened that day, and Strange headed back to his solitary work, knowing that someday all would be well and he’d be able to find another worthy gift.
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Abillioncats Nyahahah you found me!
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Aya Tanaka
Posts from previous thread:
"Well here we are gamers, Krakoa!" The fox-eared mutant known as Aya Tanaka practically yelled to a small, floating camera drone in order to be heard over the fireworks and all the rowdy people around her. Crowds like this were normally loud and rambunctious as it was, but everyone in this crowd also had mutant powers to boot. It was going to be a wild night, and Aya was there for it.
"I know some of you doubted that I would make it here, but when I said I was a mutant, I meant it!" Aya stated further to the drone that was filming her. To many on the internet she was a known vlogger and twitch streamer. Being a mutant hadn't stopped her from becoming popular with both mutants and otherwise (It helped that she was cute), though many online had long debated whether or not she was a 'legit' mutant or not. There had been a crackpot theory that she'd been bitten by a radioactive fox as a child. Seriously, what idiot thought that up?
The fact that she'd made it to Krakoa would shut any doubters up. After all, only mutants could enter the island. As far as Aya knew, she was the only person vlogging on the island, she was going to get so many views!
"I think the first line of business is to find out what the drinking age here is, I hope it's under twenty!" Her tails swayed behind her as she looked at the camera with a cheeky grin, knowing full well something like a drinking age wouldn't stop her.
"I know some of you doubted that I would make it here, but when I said I was a mutant, I meant it!" Aya stated further to the drone that was filming her. To many on the internet she was a known vlogger and twitch streamer. Being a mutant hadn't stopped her from becoming popular with both mutants and otherwise (It helped that she was cute), though many online had long debated whether or not she was a 'legit' mutant or not. There had been a crackpot theory that she'd been bitten by a radioactive fox as a child. Seriously, what idiot thought that up?
The fact that she'd made it to Krakoa would shut any doubters up. After all, only mutants could enter the island. As far as Aya knew, she was the only person vlogging on the island, she was going to get so many views!
"I think the first line of business is to find out what the drinking age here is, I hope it's under twenty!" Her tails swayed behind her as she looked at the camera with a cheeky grin, knowing full well something like a drinking age wouldn't stop her.
Even with all the noise around her, Aya's ears perked up from Molly's answer to Aya's question, along with a question of her own. The multi-tailed girl pumped her fist. "Yesssssss, that will make things easier." Her parents had let her sample some sake before, but she'd never been able to drink more than that, at least not legally.
"I'm currently making a video, though I do stream as well. But I prefer to stream in my own room. There's less uh..." She looked around at all the loud and rowdy mutants throwing their powers around and yelling, the fireworks going off, and all the other party chaos. "...background noise. At least with vlogging my editor can fix up the audio afterwards."
Aya looked Molly over as she spoke, she wondered what sort of powers she could have, it wasn't easy to tell by just looking at her, could be anything. Wondering what other people's unique powers were wasn't something Aya was actually used to. Despite being a mutant, Aya had never really interacted with many other mutants growing up, at least not offline. Now she was on an island full of mutants, it was pretty exciting.
"Oh, you don't mind being on camera do you?" Molly didn't seem to mind considering she'd come up to Aya and started a conversation, but Aya had to be sure. Some people really didn't like being filmed, Aya had found.
"I'm currently making a video, though I do stream as well. But I prefer to stream in my own room. There's less uh..." She looked around at all the loud and rowdy mutants throwing their powers around and yelling, the fireworks going off, and all the other party chaos. "...background noise. At least with vlogging my editor can fix up the audio afterwards."
Aya looked Molly over as she spoke, she wondered what sort of powers she could have, it wasn't easy to tell by just looking at her, could be anything. Wondering what other people's unique powers were wasn't something Aya was actually used to. Despite being a mutant, Aya had never really interacted with many other mutants growing up, at least not offline. Now she was on an island full of mutants, it was pretty exciting.
"Oh, you don't mind being on camera do you?" Molly didn't seem to mind considering she'd come up to Aya and started a conversation, but Aya had to be sure. Some people really didn't like being filmed, Aya had found.
"I'm Aya Tanaka." Aya responded before looking at her camera drone as Molly asked about it. "The camera is from Stark Industries. My dad works there as an engineer and he got it for me." Aya realized that probably made her sound like a spoiled rich girl...which wasn't exactly wrong.
"I've been streaming for a while now, and I figured my next step in my online career would be to start vlogging, and I figured what better place to do that than here in Krakoa? I mean as far as I know no one else is doing it yet." Being the first to do anything on the internet was always a recipe for success after all, plus being on Krakoa was cool.
"Anyway, you wanna head to the uh..." Aya snapped her fingers. "...the Green Lagoon, that's it! I want to see exactly what sort of drinks they offer there, maybe sample a few~" She gave a foxy smile.
"I've been streaming for a while now, and I figured my next step in my online career would be to start vlogging, and I figured what better place to do that than here in Krakoa? I mean as far as I know no one else is doing it yet." Being the first to do anything on the internet was always a recipe for success after all, plus being on Krakoa was cool.
"Anyway, you wanna head to the uh..." Aya snapped her fingers. "...the Green Lagoon, that's it! I want to see exactly what sort of drinks they offer there, maybe sample a few~" She gave a foxy smile.
"Don't worry about the drinks, I'll take care of that~" Aya said, winking at Molly as she walked towards the Green Lagoon, her drone following her. "As for my fans, the majority do seem to be mutants, at least according to the comments! I get non-mutants too of course, human or otherwise. Of course I get trolls and other people in the chat that try to cause trouble. Every streamer has to deal with that, but my moderators are pretty good at shutting them down." Aya explained as they finally made it to the bar.
There were a few things Aya noticed as they entered the Green Lagoon. Besides there being a decent amount of people of course, there were a few characters that immediately stood out in a crowd. She was pretty sure it was Emma Frost over there, and who didn't know who Magneto was? It wasn't too surprising to see them of course, they were both important figures on Krakoa. Aya briefly wondered if she could get either of them on her vlog, or stream...or both!
They did however, seem currently preoccupied. And Aya knew better than to interrupt them, less she remove any chance of an interview or chat of some kind. For now, drinks!
Aya gestured for Molly to wait a moment as she smoothly slid up to the bar and looked at the barkeep, her camera still following her and fixed on her movements.
"Yo bartender! I'd like ummm..." Okay so, she'd forgot the part where she had to actually pick something...she knew almost nothing about alcohol. "...you know what, surprise me with something sweet and fruity...gimme two of them actually!" Even if the bartender could not legally give Molly a drink, there was nothing to stop Aya from doing so.
There were a few things Aya noticed as they entered the Green Lagoon. Besides there being a decent amount of people of course, there were a few characters that immediately stood out in a crowd. She was pretty sure it was Emma Frost over there, and who didn't know who Magneto was? It wasn't too surprising to see them of course, they were both important figures on Krakoa. Aya briefly wondered if she could get either of them on her vlog, or stream...or both!
They did however, seem currently preoccupied. And Aya knew better than to interrupt them, less she remove any chance of an interview or chat of some kind. For now, drinks!
Aya gestured for Molly to wait a moment as she smoothly slid up to the bar and looked at the barkeep, her camera still following her and fixed on her movements.
"Yo bartender! I'd like ummm..." Okay so, she'd forgot the part where she had to actually pick something...she knew almost nothing about alcohol. "...you know what, surprise me with something sweet and fruity...gimme two of them actually!" Even if the bartender could not legally give Molly a drink, there was nothing to stop Aya from doing so.
Aya looked confused for a second before her eyes widened in realization of what Molly was saying. "Ehhhh!?" Her foxy ears stood up straighter as she took another look at the bartender. One of the X-men was...bartending?
She hadn't expected that, well everyone has their hobbies she supposed. This was actually a great opportunity to get the infamous Gambit on her vlog. She could feel her heart pounding, whether it was from nervousness or the excitement of how many views she would get on her video, she wasn't sure.
The fox mutant played it cool and simply sat down on one of the bar stools as Gambit suggested, her tails fanning out behind her as she got comfortable. She patted the seat next to her for Molly to sit in.
"Don't bite these days? That implies you did at some point. I thought I was the animal here." She grinned at her stupid joke. Oh wait, that's right, she needed to order a drink still. "I'll have something fruity and sweet."
Aya pulled her phone out as she sent a few quick commands to her camera drone, it floated back to pan out and get a better view of the whole bar. "So anyway, how do you feel about being filmed? You could tell a story not just to me and Molly here, but the internet masses!"
She hadn't expected that, well everyone has their hobbies she supposed. This was actually a great opportunity to get the infamous Gambit on her vlog. She could feel her heart pounding, whether it was from nervousness or the excitement of how many views she would get on her video, she wasn't sure.
The fox mutant played it cool and simply sat down on one of the bar stools as Gambit suggested, her tails fanning out behind her as she got comfortable. She patted the seat next to her for Molly to sit in.
"Don't bite these days? That implies you did at some point. I thought I was the animal here." She grinned at her stupid joke. Oh wait, that's right, she needed to order a drink still. "I'll have something fruity and sweet."
Aya pulled her phone out as she sent a few quick commands to her camera drone, it floated back to pan out and get a better view of the whole bar. "So anyway, how do you feel about being filmed? You could tell a story not just to me and Molly here, but the internet masses!"
"Pretty or strong?" Aya was asked.
"Hmmmmm...is it too much to ask for both?" Regardless if it was or not, Gambit finished preparing the drink. Aya, unable to help herself, immediately took a sip and...wow it really did taste sweet, she could hardly tell it was alcoholic.
"Wow, Molly you have to try this! Make her one too!" Aya demanded, her tails wagging in an excitable state before she sipped on her drink some more.
The fox mutant thought over Gambit's question for a bit as she nursed her rum. "Well I'm filming a vlog, so just acting like yourself is all I could ask really. As for what kind of story...I'm sure you've been through more crazy adventures that you can count...just about any of them will do as long as it's youtube friendly."
Somehow Aya's glass was empty, she looked down into the glass for a moment before looking back up at the X-men bartender. "May I have another?" She asked with a cheeky grin
"Hmmmmm...is it too much to ask for both?" Regardless if it was or not, Gambit finished preparing the drink. Aya, unable to help herself, immediately took a sip and...wow it really did taste sweet, she could hardly tell it was alcoholic.
"Wow, Molly you have to try this! Make her one too!" Aya demanded, her tails wagging in an excitable state before she sipped on her drink some more.
The fox mutant thought over Gambit's question for a bit as she nursed her rum. "Well I'm filming a vlog, so just acting like yourself is all I could ask really. As for what kind of story...I'm sure you've been through more crazy adventures that you can count...just about any of them will do as long as it's youtube friendly."
Somehow Aya's glass was empty, she looked down into the glass for a moment before looking back up at the X-men bartender. "May I have another?" She asked with a cheeky grin
Now Aya wasn't exactly what you'd call a large woman. In fact she was definitely on the shorter side. And so with her tiny frame and general lack of experience with alcohol, the Bayou Rum Punch hit her like a truck.
She swayed slightly in her seat as she sipped on her second drink. "Heehee yeah I bet...you learn all sorts of juicy things as a bartender." Aya pulled at her shirt a little. "Is it getting hot in here? I need to take this off." With that her hands began to briefly glow and suddenly her shirt seemed to 'poof' out of existence. Aya often conjured her own clothing with her powers, and so she simply undid the creation of her shirt. She was wearing a bra still, at least for the moment, it was lacy and black to anyone who cared to look.
"That's better~" She took another long sip of her rum. "Sooooooooo, I'm guessing you uh...know a lot of Avengers and X-men and other people of importance. Know anything um...interesting about any of them? Maybe something that isn't well known?"
She swayed slightly in her seat as she sipped on her second drink. "Heehee yeah I bet...you learn all sorts of juicy things as a bartender." Aya pulled at her shirt a little. "Is it getting hot in here? I need to take this off." With that her hands began to briefly glow and suddenly her shirt seemed to 'poof' out of existence. Aya often conjured her own clothing with her powers, and so she simply undid the creation of her shirt. She was wearing a bra still, at least for the moment, it was lacy and black to anyone who cared to look.
"That's better~" She took another long sip of her rum. "Sooooooooo, I'm guessing you uh...know a lot of Avengers and X-men and other people of importance. Know anything um...interesting about any of them? Maybe something that isn't well known?"
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coGM
"Jean, my thanks on your promptness, I hope I have not disturbed your plans too greatly." Erik's response to Jean's arrival was much in the manner of her greeting. Unlike her communication with Charles, and perhaps others of her more long term allegiance, it remained spoken, in the clipped politeness of humanity rather than the freeflow of mutant telepathic thought. In this instance in particular the latter would have been impossible, the cold metal of Magneto's helm placed upon his features. A sure sign these days that Eric whished to keep his thoughts from straying into the minds of those who might wish to listen. "I would offer refreshments as a good host, but I imagine the selection and the celebration I have taken you from would be far superior, so we shall be direct." Eric's hands met behind his back, his eyes drifting from the form she struck, having just touched down on the structure of his home. His focus settled on the view of the island, and the celebrants, even as he spoke again.
"I am sure you well understand the fragility of this, even as we celebrate. What Charles and I have had to become to ensure it, among the work of others, has necessitated a pragmatism that is far from his first vision, as much as it was my own." As the man spoke, he extended one hand, a trio of metallic orbs floating from within the chamber he had been waiting in, beginning to turn and rotate in perfect even synchronicity around his hand. A form of meditation, but also no doubt, demonstration. "It could not have been done without it, but I also believe we have lost something important, and equally necessary." Once again his eyes settled on her, a turn of his head to bring her back into focus, all the glimmer of her outfit and the blazing corona of her red hair. The woman who had held creation within her.
"It is necessary for you to take a place on the Quiet Council, to hold Charles to account, myself as well, although I doubt you would ever refrain from that duty, even if you weren't." Time and shared struggle had done much to ease the scars of the past, but the memories of their own terrible power turned on each other was still there. "It has to be you, you are a beacon to them, the people celebrating below, even those who hate you, and more importantly, only you could make us appear trivial, were it to be needed." It was certainly not a question, although it fell short of an order, a statement impressing upon her the importance of what he was saying, and perhaps addressing the need for the wearing of his helmet, to prevent him being convinced otherwise before he could bring the matter to her.
GM
Ruby No One Cares
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Jean Grey
Location: House of M, Krakoa
Location: House of M, Krakoa
Worried about my plans? Jean felt like she was smirking, but managed to keep the emotion locked away and away from her outward expression. That remained perilously blank as she watched the man who used to try to kill her on the regular when she was a teenager, and most girls were worried about parties and having a life and school. Life was a crazy thing, and Jean had to try to keep a lid on just how much she enjoyed it all.
It was fun. Even the bad parts. It was still life, sometimes so mundane and agonizing in pace, sometimes so filled with anxiety or fear, sometimes heartwarming and thrilling. Perspectives had a way of changing when you experienced what she had, alive and ‘dead.’ It never seemed to matter. What mattered was timing. She was painfully aware of the timing at play here, now, and his request.
Also, he was worried about her PLANS. It was cute, and she re-doubled her efforts at holding her expression. When he was done, she finally broke, letting a smile slip past to her pink lips, “Sometimes I have to remind myself it’s the body of a forty-year-old, but the mind of a ‘get-the-hell-off-my-lawn’ man that is far, far older.” The way he summoned her, welcomed her in, then just stood right up on that soapbox and gave her the classic earful.
“So last time I was here you threw me on that table over there,” she said, twisting at the waist to turn and literally point to the exact large dining table in the adjacent room of the palatial House of M, “and ripped my clothes off.” Turning back to him and settling her hands back in her lap her smile had grown larger but seemed the kind of sharp not even the Master of Magnetism could control.
“Council, huh?” She really did try not to let the laughter bubble up as she spoke, but it became impossible at the end. Jean Grey all but giggled at Magneto. She was having way too much, and it was finally time to lift the veil and show Erik she was gently messing with him. Mostly. “Yes, Erik, I will take the offered seat next to Storm. I worry about Charles, too,” the sigh was almost out of place on the woman’s face in that moment, but fears existed in times good and bad, not just bad.
All of this, as she juggled multiple lines of communication. The first, Emma had contacted her about Wanda, and Jean had begun to lend her strength to the telepathic dragnet over the island. At the mention of Magneto, Jean revealed she was with him now, about the Council seat. A very Emma congratulations followed, ominous as anything Jean had heard all day, as well as a request to inform the man. On the other end was Sage about unusual data points from various levels of surveillance on the island and its systems. She tagged Logan and Quire, who was likewise occupied with the telepathic dragnet.
“Anyway, Emma wants you to know we can’t find Wanda, and her kids are in the Green Lagoon, one with a mighty attitude. Go figure, with that bloodline. Sage is reporting some weirdness, so I guess we’ll see how much fine-tuning we need on security measures and how fast X-Force responds. Scott and I were talking Treehouse with Forge. Business before pleasure, apparently a common theme around here.”
Her way out was the way in, just a take off with a wave his way instead of a landing.
coGM
Even for one possessed of great mental control, Jean Grey was distracting. Eric imagined he could stretch the belief that it was a facet of her powers, but in truth that would be giving himself too much credit. It had far more to do with the cascade of red hair, the sing-song of her laugh as the giggle tumbled forth and the way the shimmering emerald of her outfit flared after her waist into her hips than any great telepathic ability.
"I believe there are still grooves." He mused quietly as she turned course on their conversation to discuss the furniture and its unintentional use. A lesser man would have joined the grin, but he prevented such, instead offering a warm smile at her acceptance of the request he had made of her, allowing his previous words instead to suggest that he hadn't quite forgotten either.
The next words which issued forth from her steeled him, allowing the warmth that had been building from her presence to drip away. Matters with Wanda were never easy, and her own children were often even more extreme. He could not blame them, but it was still a complication. They were wounds he one day wished to heal, but for the moment, had kept on cutting.
"Thank you, Jean." The words answered the summation of both her agreement and the news she had passed on, even as she was drifting away, the enclosing hold of his helmet slipped away, allowing the other, less horrifyingly powerful, telepaths of the island to reach him from beyond its restraining hold. She had only just passed the lip of the balcony before Magneto began his own flight. Unlike Jean, he did not drift leisurely, the Master of Magnetism soaring into the air as he twisted the force of the world around him, moving at a speed that was enough to draw attention from the ground below.
The attention only grew more intense as he neared his destination, dropping lower in descent, the exited inhabitants of the Lagoon turning from their revelry to note one of the Quiet Council moving towards them at speed. It wasn't panic, it was just good gossip. He did not land with force, nothing quiet so dramatic, but the magnetic ripple at him suddenly coming to a half a short distance from both Emma Frost and the two boys. Without the helm, the passing wave of energy shuddered through his own grey-white hair as he halted in mid-air, before gently drifting the final foot to touch down deftly.
"Miss Frost, I do hope you are enjoying the festivities." His initial greeting was directed to his fellow council member, before his attention shifted to the forms of Wiccan and Speed. "Welcome Home."
GM
Ruby No One Cares
Member
Seen
7 days ago
The woman had arched a blonde brow as Jean Grey walked into the Grove, the scent of fall and freshly fallen rain mixing with the blonde’s perfume, Krakoa looming over them all, watching, leaves a brilliant reddish brown today. The metallic scent of the old man that stood behind her, watching as Jean approached, hit her last.
• --|A|-- •
Her mind instantly translated the Krakoan to what she had always known him as before: Apocalypse. That he was the first, the most notable, among so few mutants to change their names from what they had always been to a Krakoan language variant did not escape her, but there was time for curiosities between the blue giant and Jean.
“You’re going, I take it?”
Jean smiled a thin, bemused smile at Emma Frost. “What gave it away?”
Frost’s head tilted, as she took in the full view of the redhead, before blue eyes widened and her frosted lips looked to near gasp, “…my God, Jean Grey, is that a designer you’re wearing?”
The smile on Jean slipped, but the bemused look in her green eyes did not. It was a designer, though Jean refused to confirm that aloud, or even tell Emma which designer…not that Emma wouldn’t know it, already, knowing Emma Frost. She wore black; skinny black slacks, a thin black cotton V-neck sweater, her feet in black leather hiking boots with black steel tabs and black laces. The coat atop was a rich brown wool peacoat, her red hair long and straight, offering contrast between the black and rich brown.
”I would not recommend the Manhattan gates, Jean Grey.”
Jean blinked at Big Blue, surprised, “Surveillance?”
“Worse,” Frost sighed, a heavy, deflating thing that seemed to signal no end of annoyance within the White Queen, “those human cultists have only become more fervent. We’re concerned, well…”
”You are the Phoenix. You are the Mutant Alpha. They are fools, but they are not ignorant to who we are.”
Emma cringed, though otherwise ignored it, “Just…you’re going alone, we don’t want a scene…may I recommend the Capital District gate?”
“…there’s a gate in Albany?”
Emma smiled, and, once more, Jean was smiling back. Catty, playful, “Have fun, Jean.”
There was something Emma wasn’t telling her. Jean knew that because of her telepathy, but not because she was reading Emma. She knew from experience what Emma looked like when she was holding back, because she had seen the woman’s mind when she had done it before in the past to others. Shaw had “casually” asked Jean to explain the tell on Emma, but Jean could do nothing but disappoint Shaw. If you hadn’t seen Emma’s mind as an active observer, before, you just weren’t going to pick up any tells on the White Queen. Shaw had muttered something about telepaths before giving up.
Whatever it was, Jean was certain she could handle it. A nervous, anxious energy filled her as she left the Grove. It wasn’t whatever Emma kept to her chest; it wasn’t the Cult of X warning from Apocalypse. It was going home. She hadn’t been since the Phoenix held the entire area hostage, attempting to persuade Jean to stay in their union.
Instead, with Logan’s help, she ended the relationship as best she could and moved on. But that didn’t seem to count, to Jean. She had experienced it within the White Room, yet, still, the extermination of nearly her entire family; brothers, sisters, their little children haunted her. Going home meant experiencing it all anew, a feeling that pressed down on her as she let out a sigh and felt her booted feet leave Krakoa’s ground and her body slip into telekinetic flight, to expedite the trip to Carousel, where most of the gates to major population centers could be found. It was after clearing the canopy and descending that she saw the gate—and the figure next to it, awaiting her.
What are you playing at, Emma?
Her booted feet touched down just feet from the gate, and him. Green eyes regarded him softly, if curiously, “Hello, Max. You look dressed for a funeral.”
coGM
The carousel, despite it being the nexus of the Krakoan community, was not particularly busy at the time, a state of affairs which suited Magneto quite well. Much had been done to establish Mutants in their own nation, a people apart. It had not been the future most had hoped for, but it had been necessary. It was a truth he had known for longer than most, a lesson learned and earned many times over.
Yet here he was, preparing to attend the most human of occasions, a ceremony that, should matters remain as they were for mutantkind, need never again occur for his own people. Before he had been Magneto, however, he had been Max Eisenhardt, born to a people that were bound together tighter than most, across borders jealously guarded by other peoples, but mostly ignored by them. It was a closeness, much like mutantkind, forged by necessity, from the predations of outsiders. It had damned and saved them countless times, and it was not something he could ignore, not forever.
So the helmet had been removed, the white and black of Magneto replaced with a finely tailored suit of the same colouring, a silver chain hanging from the centre of his waistcoat to one pocket. He had been told that this, along with the flat cap position atop his white shock of hair had become fashionable once more, but to him it was simply the style of his choice, from a lifetime of altering tastes among the wider human people. He supposed there were some advantages to being a man out of his era.
He had been preparing to leave for some time, waiting for no particular moment among the sparse spattering of mutants going to and thro. Their presence only amplified the debate within him, these were his people, not those beyond the portal. When he had finally exhaled and taken to cross the threshold, a familiar voice resounded within his head itself.
"Hold a moment."
"I will not be long, Miss Frost, I am sure Krakoa will survive for a day," The sudden thought something had arisen that might prevent him from paying his respects was not a comfortable one, and it was one which convinced him, finally, that is was the right thing to do, even if simply for himself, and those who had been lost along the way. No reply was forthcoming from the telepath, however, and so he did as instructed, pausing, not wishing to risk any ire from a lack of patience.
Then he saw her, the crest of red hair over black and brown, drifting through the air itself. It was a sight many would enjoy, he was sure, but when he beheld her there was more to his understanding. Was that not how the humans depicted their divinities? The song of angels on high, Christ descending among them. As the woman who had been the Phoenix touched down, boot-clad feet onto grass, his mind considered just how much destiny shifted around her, around all mutants. Only her voice, spoken aloud unlike Emma's, snapped him from such considerations.
"Miss Grey, keenly observed as ever, although perhaps knowing the machinations of a certain mutual connection, I believe we may be heading in the same direction." Something of the Head Masterly tone entered his words as he spoke, it was not entirely deliberate, for their times at Xavier's school had never intersected, beyond the somewhat awkward number of times he had been trying to destroy the place. "While I do suspect of the two of us, she considers me the risk that needs managing, I may pretend at least otherwise, and ask if do not mind for me to accompany you?" He tilted one hand towards the portal, as one might have a carriage door, in ages past.
GM
Ruby No One Cares
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Although quiet drives were rare things, he found the pickup of the protectee from the small airport just north of the Capital District of New York, and the subsequent drive into Albany, to be a landscape of gentle, green rolling foot hills that seemed to melt into the Hudson River valley, with the Catskills Mountains hazy in the distance.
It would have been downright relaxing, if not for the protectee, and the reason for their presence. The handheld encrypted radio bleeped into activity, breaking the quiet drive.
“We have a problem.”
The man seated behind the driver of the large, black, General Motors SUV gave a wry smile, and brought the radio closer to his mouth to answer, “What problem?”
“She’s here, but she isn’t alone. Fucking Magneto came with her.”
Greg Joseph found his eyebrows perk at both the mention of the man, and the way in which the Agency analyst on the other end of the radio said it. Fucking Magneto, the senior analyst said, and he found himself not blaming them for it.
Joseph found himself pausing before responding, exchanging a look from the Special Agent in the front passenger seat, before turning his head to the right, to the man seated quietly in the seat behind the front passenger seat, eyes perking at the protectee, “News to you?”
“I had no idea, no. I just knew she was coming.”
Everything about Paul Bailey told the former US Army Intelligence and Law Enforcement turned CIA Mutant Desk Chief that he was being honest. A soft sigh escaped him before the radio went back to his mouth, Joseph taking another pause as his mind raked across the files and reports in his mind. “…we don’t normally see her alone, do we?”
Even the Special Agent in the front passenger seat looked back at his boss, a curious look on the Agent’s face. What are you getting at? Their senior analyst’s feminine tone softened, as her mind played catch-up, “Jean Grey?”
He didn’t have the patience for them to find it, themselves, “Think about every time we’ve seen her go through a Krakoan Gate. Is she ever alone?...no, right? Never? Meanwhile, Ororo Munroe sneaks out and surprises our analysts on the subway, or pops into Wakanda, or Kitty Pryde is boating around the world's oceans, or Emma Frost is strolling through gates solo like she owns the world…why is this woman different? Why is she never alone?”
“Could be coincidence,” the tall, blonde, former college athlete Special Agent in the front passenger seat offered.
The senior analyst came back over the radio, ”…she’s either always with teammates, family, or children. Or…”
“Or the woman who zapped an entire star and killed an entire solar system of people because she got godly levels of bitchy isn’t someone they want walking around the world alone.”
A surprise voice chimed in, the man next to Joseph, the woman’s former brother-in-law, “She’s not like that.” Even the driver peeked back in the rear-view when Bailey spoke up, as the thin man with the crown of brown hair on a quickly balding head shifted slightly, realizing every eye in the vehicle was on him, now, before continuing, “…I lost the love of my life, my wife. I lost my children.”
There was a knife’s edge of emotion deep enough for Paul Bailey to lose himself in, but Bailey took a slow breath before speaking more, “I knew her parents. I knew every sister and brother. I knew every member of that family. None of them ever spoke of her like that—not even remotely. And I knew her, myself. She’s not like that, Deputy Director. I would have told those Shi’ar aliens the same thing when they murdered my family, and her’s, adult and child alike. I would have died too, had I not been working late that night. Whatever this Phoenix did, it wasn’t Jean Grey. My wife and our babies bet their lives on that. They killed them all anyway. Justice, they called it, I was told…I don’t know about this Shi’ar Empire, Deputy Director, but I should hope MY government, THEIR government, wouldn’t be so quick to assume the same horrible thing.”
The car slowed to a stop outside the four-story over-a-century-old red-brown brick building that shared the entire city block with the cement parking garage that acted as secondary parking for New York State government buildings in the area. The corner space of the old red-brown brick building was The Hollow, a bar and restaurant popular with both the state government employees from their state buildings surrounding the street and the lawyers from the US District Court just a block down the street, across the 797 Interstate that divided Albany from the riverfront of the Hudson. They stood outside on the sidewalk, staring into the backseat of the long, black, American-made SUV.
“…okay,” Greg Joseph said, nodding, “Let’s do this.” The tall, youthful, former college athlete of a Special Agent was out of the car, first, not saying a word, just opening the back passenger seat to let Paul Bailey out.
Bailey got out, immediately embracing the sister of his late-wife, and aunt of his late-children, Jean Grey. Joseph watched for a second, until he looked past the two, and saw the man still staring at him. The mutant, Greg Joseph corrected himself in his thoughts as he got out, putting on his best Sunday morning church of a smile. “Greg Joseph, Mutant Desk Chief,” he walked right up to Erik Lensherr, offering his hand, same as he always did, same as his daddy always taught him to do when meeting someone for the first time. Friendly, but respectful, firm. Same as he taught his son, he thought, as he looked at Paul Bailey and the woman, again.
“It’s okay.” Jean smiled at Paul, doubtless telepathic words passed between them as they stared at one another, Jean slipping her arm into Paul’s, pointing them down the sidewalk and heels clicking on pavement as the two started walking, towards the end of the city block, towards the car park, casting bright green eyes over her shoulder, at Magneto, then, to him. “Hello, Mr. Joseph. I hope we’re not keeping you too busy? Thank you for bringing Paul.”
He nodded, that Sunday church steps smile cemented on his features, the Texas in his accent as clear as the sunshine of the day, “Yes, Ma’am, one of the few times the Mutant Desk gets to do something so wholesome. We’ve been busy the past year since the uh…what do you call it? Birth of your nation?” He asked, not wanting to just call it ‘that Krakoa thing’, looking to the man keeping pace with Bailey and Grey next to him to answer the question, to Lensherr.
coGM
In the brief moments that existed before the arrival of the spattering of humans, the brief moments where there was still a possibility the day could have been a quiet, but solemn one, Magneto had asked the question that had niggled at him for the last few interactions he had with Jean Grey.
"Even Charles does not call me Max, not to suggest there are not differences between him and me, and you, but he knows those times of my life better than most." It was an unusual number of words for the usually precise Magento, and he would have to admit to himself that despite his experience of years, there was something about her that made him grasp for words in a way he had not for a long time. Equally, while the implication was otherwise, he avoided 'better than you' when you spoke with telepaths like Xavier and Jean Grey, they could know your own history better than you. "Why the change?" A simple question, for a complicated issue, interrupted by the arrival of the sort of blacked out vehicle which usually meant you were either meeting the Federal Government or the local cartel. In his experience on this continent, the distinction had always eluded him.
If there was another present with similar gifts to the finely, if slightly old fashioned, dressed mutant, the slight hum in the air would no doubt notice the subtle change in the air. All around them small metallic objects buzzed with the slight force of his attention, their focus trained gently to move through the air should he need them. The firearms in the possession of those stepping forth onto the street would be found to be most inoperable should they be drawn, only temporarily, but that's all that mattered.
He clasped the man's hand in greeting and decided roughly in that moment he would likely prove to be one of his preferred representatives of the United States various agencies he had met. This meant little in his evaluation of the man along lines that mattered, he had murdered people he had loved and spared those he hated when the cause was involved, but it would at least make the walk a more pleasant experience.
"Mr Joseph," It was a simple enough greeting, but the nod of polite respect he gave the man did much to suggest he simply wished to not insult his intelligence by feeling the need to give his own introduction. "The Birth of Krakoa is an apt name for it, if future communications to your government should be run through yourself I will be happy to inform our Council, although you may forgive our hesitation with divisions named as yours's is." The 'Mutant Desk' was never normally a pleasant term, not for those it had been created to monitor.
The formal meeting of state representatives, however different in their roles, was put aside for the moment as Magneto turned his attention to Paul Bailey, offering him another nod and smile of greeting, that was several degrees less political and several degrees more conversational, even as he walked ahead with Jean "Mr Bailey, pleased to meet you." In other circumstances he would likely allude to some support should he need against the government that had propelled him here, but that seemed a little unnecessary given the situation.
"Do forgive me if I am straight to business, but I had hoped to pay respects to a departed family friend on this day, what matter brings federal agents to attend us? I do so hope it is something a little more interesting than fear of our presence."
GM
Ruby No One Cares
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Jean Grey, Magneto, CIA Deputy Director Greg Joseph [NPC], Paul Bailey [NPC]
Location: Albany, New York, United States of America
Plot: The Trial of Jean Grey
Location: Albany, New York, United States of America
Plot: The Trial of Jean Grey
"I know this isn’t really what your ‘team’ does, Jean, but I have to ask…are you going to avenge them?"
Jean Grey gave no outward sign of so much as having heard, let alone understood, what her brother-in-law said to her through the temporary telepathic link between them. Watching them, as the humans clearly were, it would certainly appear that Jean’s ears were perked to the chat between Max and the CIA Mutant Desk Director behind her.
No one would guess where her thoughts really were.
“Mr. Bailey is under Federal protection, at his own request,“ the Director of the Mutant Desk explained, “When he requested to come meet his sister-in-law, Ms. Grey, we certainly weren’t going to say ‘no.’ The transport and security for this meeting was handed to our desk.”
Jean gave a squeeze to the arm of her brother-in-law she was hugging, before letting it go, and turning to directly face him. To take that face in her hands. To smile, at him, and at the memory of her sister, Sara, and their babies, her beloved niece and nephew. Green eyes smoldered with the kind of emotion that made people nervous to see in her features, her voice reduced to little more than a whisper. “I love you. I will always be here for you, Paul.”
It took little effort for the woman in heels to lean up and press her lips gently upon the man’s forehead, before her heels touched back down upon the pavement next to the entrance to the parking garage, and Paul embraced Jean with a tight, emotional, hug.
A smoke grey 2022 Bentley Bentayga Speed with blacked out windows emerged from the shadows of the parking garage at the kind of slow, deliberate, speed and perfect timing that hinted at telepathic coordination as it came to a stop just beside Jean and Paul as the two broke their embrace.
“Deputy Director Joseph,” Jean said as her head turned to his direction, noticing the harder look that had replaced the formerly charismatic expression on the man’s face, “take care of your people, and mine, please.”
Emma’s driver, an ebony skinned man hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and an expensive, perfectly tailored, suit got out of the SUV registered to the Hellfire Trading Company, holding the back door open for the two mutants present. “Thank you,” Jean said it quietly to the driver as she got in, giving a final smile to Paul before the mutant they knew best as Magneto got in, the driver shutting the door after him, and taking up his post at the wheel.
“We need to stop at a pharmacy before we arrive,” a quick pause as her mind evaluated the options, before, “a Walgreens is preferred.” She always liked their selection just a little more than alternatives, and they were small enough that, maybe, she and her companion wouldn’t be immediately noticed.
Her tone quieted, something closer to the kind of whisper that was reserved for private moments, her head turning so she could look the man next to her in the eyes, so he could see the sad little smile burned onto her red lips, “You’re not the man I first met. I’m not the girl you first met, Max…and if I address you, I would rather speak to the man I trust now; the real you.” Her eyes returned to the front, to the windshield and the streets before them as they began their trip to the funeral. After a quiet beating of hearts, she added, “Not the mutant everyone thinks they know.”
We aren’t the people they think we are.
GM
Ruby No One Cares
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Magik, Sunspot, Mirage
Location: ALPHA House, Akademos Habitat, Krakoa
Location: ALPHA House, Akademos Habitat, Krakoa
“Where did the coffee g—”
The question died as it slipped from Sunspot’s mouth, as his brown eyes met the cold blue ice of Illyana Rasputin’s eyes, and to the giant mug of steaming Krakoan coffee she nursed protectively.
“We’ll brew more,” Dani said, as she came into the main opening of ALPHA House’s first story behind Da Costa. Illyana’s arms untensed around the mug, as she returned to taking thirsty sips of the dark, strong roasted Krakoan coffee bean that was new enough to the island nation that of all places it could be found…the Akademos Habitat was the only place on the island, so far.
Although Blob had managed to trade some favors for a bag, in order to serve the occasional cup at the Green Lagoon. Da Costa kept his eyes on the black leather clad mutant, his body stiffened just enough to convey tension, and an audible sniff from him hinting at a dissatisfied Sunspot. Given his entitled nature, Illyana thought, she would continue keeping her mug safe.
“Aren’t you Manhattan bound?”
Dani peeked up from her work brewing the next pot, doing what Dani did in trying to keep her curiosity from leaping over the table and assailing Magik. “What for?,” she asked it, so casually, before being unable to offer a leading question, “Is it Great Captain business?”
“It is Apocalypse’s idea, supported by Frost and Xavier; they would have Stephen Strange visit the island. There is information the big blue man is wanting,” she said, shrugging, as she took another deep drink, her blue eyes keeping wide as if Illyana Rasputin could will herself into a hyper-alert, hyper-caffeinated state. “They believe he can help.”
Even without coffee, Da Costa perked, “Strange? Here?”
“How many people know?”
Illyana shrugged, “The children gossip and giggle. We do not want to scare the poor, nerdy, man, so they have asked me to provide transportation outside of the Gates for his arrival, so that he may be spoken to by members of da Council before.”
“About this thing they need information on?” Dani asked, as Da Costa tried to pay more attention to making his cup of coffee than to Illyana’s answer.
She noticed, but didn’t care, “I do not know what it is. I only know of the Great Captains, I can teleport, and I know magic.”
“That’s what I like about you, Illyana, you know when to stop caring. Can’t say that of everyone around here…” Da Costa quickly mumbled that last bit, as he avoided the gaze of Dani Moonstar.
Illyana, herself, just rolled her eyes. “You are more pathetic than usual without Sam, Roberto.” He protested, deflected with ego and humor, but she had already set down her empty mug and picked up her blade, leaving the irritation that was Roberto missing Sam to Dani, and the rest of ALPHA House.
The thin flesh of the ethereal sliced open at the glow of the Soulsword just outside the front door of ALPHA House, a group of four pre-teen mutants in the field nearby blinked and watched as she waved at them, and stepped through.
Magik, NYPD Patrolman
Location: 177A Bleeker Street, New York City, United States of America
Location: 177A Bleeker Street, New York City, United States of America
Her journey was quick, as Limbo was unsettled, and she lacked the patience to deal with it today. The screams seemed to echo a little louder, curdle the blood a little thicker, she thought, as she stepped out into the street shaded from the sun by the building that stood before her.
“..what the fuck?!”
The human man that happened to be walking down the Manhattan sidewalk near the edge of the street where she appeared said it out of concerned surprise, probably due to the hellish screams, defensively reaching for his black belt, with the weapon holstered. His clothes were blue. Or, rather, his uniform was dark blue. NYPD. Illyana offered him something that sat on the blade’s edge, between a smirk and a smile, as she answered him with a shrug. “Is portal.”
He watched her, but the moment she hit those stairs, there seemed to be a new understanding in the man's brown eyes. Oh. One of those. She ignored him as his hand drifted to the radio on his shoulder, and he began to whisper something into the device.
As if even the NYPD knew the reputation of where it was Illyana approached. The portal closed behind her as she stepped up to the stairs of 177A Bleecker Street, the sheer energy pulsating from the very ground, from the doors, from the walls, was enough to make her lightheaded. Or, maybe, it was the coffee. Her arms crossed over her chest, and her lips parted in a silent sigh, “Come now, Doctor, do not make me knock.”
coGM
Magik, Strange, Wong
Location: ... all over the place
Location: ... all over the place
Wong had never realized how much bureaucracy the Sorcerer Supreme had to deal with until he held the title himself. He already dealt with a lot when he was working under Strange, being more methodical and detail oriented than his former boss and used to dealing with things that Strange avoided, now he retained all of those duties along with a whole host of new ones. He was in some kind of Séance-discussion about the latest tricks in warding spells when Ilyana came to the door. Wong was trying to actually pay attention because this meeting involved some very ancient wizards who seldom bothered to even join these things, making it a rare opportunity to learn from them. The magic of the Sanctum alerted him that someone was at the door, but Wong was fine with letting them wait. Perhaps they didn’t know about his newly implemented policy of official visiting hours and scheduling consultations, something he had implemented after being tired of Stephen’s irregular approach. Of course, emergency requests were still welcome, but it was on the visitor to draw more attention to themselves
The greatest reminder of her fate was that of the city around her. The smell was a thick, complex thing that filled her nostrils with bewilderment compared to the crisp, cool, air of paradise that was most of Krakoa. Where there was just a man in a uniform with a little yakyak box for him to mutter into, now there were two more people behind him, on the sidewalk, staring at her.
When the only sound she heard was that man’s yakyak box muttering something back to him, Illyana Rasputin balled her fist in the cool spring air of New York City, and assaulted the door of the Sanctum with a furious rap of the bottom of her balled fist.
"RUSSIAN MAIL ORDER BRIDE, HELLLOOOO!”
When silence greeted her, her head turned to it’s left…to the man with his yakyak box and his gun, and the two behind him. Old man, old woman. 40s, 50s…was old, either way. Clothes expensive, woman’s purse around her shoulder, expensive. Locals gawking. She snorted out a chuckle, pointing to the door. “Rich old perverts.”
She nearly smiled at them, but the thought of it was enough to make her temper flare in a short burst, as the business end of her booted foot went slamming into the bottom of the door, as mystical black boiled leather armor studded with thick steel took turns defiling the wooden door physical, tangible, exterior.
It did nothing to the metaphysical, intangible, bits of the door…but it made her feel momentarily better. "STEPHEN! STEPHEN STRANGE! YOUR NEIGHBORS ARE STARING AT THE YOUNG BLONDE GIRL TRYING TO GET YOU TO THE ANSWER THE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!"
It was only a heavy roll of her eyes, and an even heavier layer of irritated sarca
sm, that her head tilted to the side, sharply, and straight blonde hair fell down off her shoulder and into the air as she side-eyed the sky. “…Wong’s the father.”
“…Mr. Wong?” The woman with the expensive clothes and the even more expensive handbag suddenly spoke up, bringing an absolutely glowing smile to Illyana’s face.
“Da. You know of baby daddy Wong, yes?”
Wong could hear everything happening at the door and his face immediately turned to a frown. He didn’t remember the last time he’d met Ilyana, but he did remember they didn’t exactly get along. Antics like this weren’t exactly helping, especially because he had been frustrated by the persistent rumors that (and patently false) rumors among the neighbors that Strange had died and the current owner of the Sanctum Sanctorum was a reclusive Chinese billionaire. Those bothered Wong on many levels, not the least of which being that he had taken a vow of poverty when he first became a monk and lived a lifestyle very far removed from that of a billionaire.
Wong let the Séance continue without him; they got distracted when they overheard Ilyana and one of the old hands had to get about a thousand years of history explained to him to help him understand that “Russia” is now a thing related to but not the same as Kievan Rus, which was what was around the last time he was on Earth. He walked downstairs to the door in his sorceor’s robes, thinking about what to say, wanting something with the right level of gravitas. He’d been on the job for several months but there were still many people he hadn’t gotten the chance to meet up with after assuming the title.
“Hello Miss Rasputin, and welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum. What is the nature of the inquiry that Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme may assist you with? I apologize if I don’t quite recall your official title, I’m not familiar with the customs surrounding addressing the reigning Queen and Sorceress Supreme of Limbo”
Illyana blinked, turning her head to the three humans off to her left, a nervous chuckle of performative art for them, “This man and his craaaazy pet names,” before stepping inside, letting Wong close the door, or not, behind her. Magik listened to her footsteps echo, as blue irised eyes became pools of neon-bright blue…she was looking at the inner Sanctum with different eyes.
Almost reluctantly, she gave a nod and a shrug, “Eh, yeah, okay. It is impressive.” As if by magic, the young mutant returned her gaze back to Wong, and folded her arms over her chest, eyes dimming back to a natural iris. “I am here for Strange. He is invited to Krakoa by the Quiet Council…well, really by the big blue one, Apocalypse, but no one is crazy enough to tell this one no,” she paused, thinking about it, before continuing with a roll of her armored shoulders, “…other than Jean Grey.”
It helped to be eternally tied to an omniversal force of nature, Illyana thought to herself, with a smirk. “Where is this Doctor?” Her faint accent seemed to only get more pronounced when her nose wrinkled in visible irritation, eyes suddenly focused on Wong. Not the man, himself, but his appearance…in particular, “Nice robes. For a monk.”
The tone was hard to nail down, but it was there, and it definitely meant something…
Seeing Ilyana reminded Wong that he should probably find more time in his schedule for trips to the gym. He suspected she had that effect on many people. He also wasn’t looking forward to the next batch of rumors that would come out of this. He sighed and said
“I don’t know if you’ve been aware of recent events, but Strange has been absent for the last several months, he was off fighting some kind of interdimensional magical war. He returned to Earth less than a week ago. I’ll contact him. You’re sure your council wants to speak with him specifically?” As he spoke, he sent Strange a message, letting him know Magik was there to see him.
Wong’s telepathic message reached Strange when he was in the middle of making a complicated sigil out of sand in his hotel room, calming down after his escapades earlier in the day; hair still wet from a shower. It was frustrating to be interrupted, but Strange was ultimately doing it as bit of exploratory magic, nothing urgent, and he trusted Wong not to bother him with trivial matters. With a wave of his hand he opened a magic portal to the Sanctum, smiling subtly as he found that he was still trusted by the wards enough to be allowed to do so. Strange stepped out into the middle of the room, roughly equal distance from Wong and Ilyana. He looked around for a bit and simply said “Hello?”, also trying to not to draw attention to the fact that he had brought a hotel towel with him by accident, still clutching it in one of his hands.
Illyana shrugged, the hint of exasperation at his questions coming in the way of what was almost certainly a sigh under her breath, “I don’t know. I stab people and make portals, Supreme Wong.“
When Strange appeared, she arched a dark brow at the hotel towel in his possession, “Stephen Strange, the Quiet Council would like to invite you to Krakoa. Apocalypse would like to speak with you, personally. No, he did not tell me why.” She looked from Strange to Wong, “And, no, we were unaware of interdimensional magical war.” She paused, before adding well under her breath, “…you think they’d have better things to do, honestly…”
She nodded to him, and more specifically, to the towel in his hand. “Take that. Might need it.” Their towels were grown, some newcomers had complained about chaffing. Illyana thought them in need of a season in Limbo for…perspective. “I’ve been asked to take you through a gate, Washington Square Park is the closest. You will be wary of the crowd around; spies, Cult of X crazies, cape-chasers, NYPD…”
Wong sent another telepathic message to Strange when he showed up “You’re way faster responding to messages than you were before you left.”
Strange answered back “I have a lot less responsibilities thanks to you. Also, sorry about leaving the state of communications a mess before I left, didn’t exactly have time for succession planning.”
Wong sent one more message “I managed. I finally have things the way I want them.”
Not wanting to ignore Ilyana, Strange spoke
“I thought they would have better things to do than have a war also, but there was no getting away from it. I tried. You know far better than I how it goes when something from another plane really wants to join them. If you ever end up establishing a support group, let me know, it might help me and others process the experience a bit. Maybe before we go to the gate we can talk a little. You up for a quick round of real-life Geoguessr?”
He made a gesture with his hand and another portal appeared, ready for them to step through
“I’m uncomfortable sitting in chair-circles,” the Russian born New Mutant said it, flatly, as her blue eyes regarded his portal with a gentle expression of reserved pain, “I thought you’d never ask.”
Not drawing the Soulblade took some effort; Rahne had called it her ‘safety blanket.’ Illyana called it a literal piece of her soul, a manifestation of all the skill and knowledge she had gained during her time under Belasco and Storm…but Rahne’s point was taken. Instead, she stepped through Strange’s portal with arms crossed over her chest, hoping where ever it was, it had coffee.
She liked coffee.
Once they were on the other side of the portal they could see trees all around, plants of all varieties, a colorful vista arranged neatly with a walking path that cut through it all. There were people around, startled, talking amongst themselves but not venturing too close. Wherever it was, the afternoon sun was out, and there was a house with Japanese writing on it in the distance.
Strange didn’t miss a beat when talking “So, like Edwinn Starr said, War is good for absolutely nothing.” He chuckled at his own joke and then stopped himself. “I’ve tried to put it out of my mind, and I’ve also been trying to catch up on all of these changes, but they did give one thing before I left, a vision of the future, and it’s the kind that is hard for me to forget. Forgive me if I’m rambling a bit, I am curious about what Apocalypse wants to talk to me about. I haven’t heard about him in a while.”
Illyana’s chest tightened, and her nostrils flared, her face scrunching tight and uncomfortable…right before the sneeze blasted it’s way through her sinuses. The blonde rattled off a series of curses, some Russian, some Krakoan, before flipping her hair back behind her after it flung itself forward with the sudden sneeze.
“Japan always makes me sneeze. I don’t have allergies, until I come here…and this isn't even Japan.”
Her body straightened as she became aware of people in the distance. The Soulblade came to her as seamlessly as most breathed air, her right hand slashing out in the sky, slicing through space and time, the orange haze of Limbo with the electric blue light of her ability framing it, a sister portal just steps away from the current one…even if those few steps were through hell.
“After you, Doctor.”
The difference in the air was immediate; thick and heavy with heat and humidity, gone was the sweet crisp air of the faux-Japanese (actually English) country. In was the immediate wall of noise and light, restaurants and stores and bars framed in glass and neon and intricate signage on the ground floor opened up all around them, floors above painted white and decorated in stucco, their windows with open wood white shudders, their architecture British colonial, and all the buildings and people under a great canopy of steel bathed in bright blue.
They started with a bar just to their left, tables and chairs on the outside unique; the patrons drank from IVs, and sat in wheelchairs around their tables. Those that noticed gawked, some drew phones and tried to capture the portal that was gone before any of them could react quickly enough.
“He wants to create mutant magic.” She hadn’t lied to Wong. Apocalypse hadn’t told her, but she was no idiot, and Meggan had spilled Apocalypse’s beans nights before in the Green Lagoon to Magik after a few of Blob’s stronger cocktails. Everyone came to her about magic on the island. She would complain, but given her mutant was name was Magik…
“How you factor into that…” Again, Illy shrugged, before helping herself to snatching a full beer mug from a man sitting at an outside table of another, more normally styled, bar they passed. It was done before they fully walked past the bar, allowing her to leave the empty at a table where a man and woman on a date stopped their conversion in Malay to stare.
Strange smiled at the chance to see Earth again. He had missed it so much, and every little jaunt brought new sensations that made him grateful to be back. Even if he stuck out like a sore thumb in a modern cityscape and would prefer to be almost anywhere other than a trendy bar, it was still a joyous occasion. This is what he had fought to protect for so many years.
“I don’t know either. There is certainly no shortage of failed schemes to create new magic systems in this world. Is he more…pleasant than he’s been in the past? I can’t say he’s on a list of people I trust, and his approach doesn’t strike me as one willing to do what it takes to master magic, but I don’t know any more. Maybe it’ll turn into something. I had planned on talking to you before you came, but not about Krakoan or mutant business. Or at least I don’t think my reason is related to it, anyway.”
When Magik finished her drink Strange opened another portal and stepped through. He was now bathed in the sunlight of dawn, rising over the mountains in the east, reflecting off the ocean to the west. He was on top of a hill, staring at the surroundings, a busy highway full of traffic, a cruiseship terminal and cargo port flush with activity, and an inclined railway that slowly trundled down the hill, it’s ancient cab painted with a bright work of civic art.
Magik shrugged, "Is he the same Apocalypse at his core? Yes. Is he an evil blue jerk? No. He seems to have found a sense of purpose and peace, like the strict parent that softens as they grow older, seeing their children mature into what they've hoped for."
If there was one, truly, shocking thing it was that—Apocalypse, the Shadow King, Exodus, even Sebastian Shaw—becoming productive and useful members of their nation. Magik had held her doubts, but Xavier and Magneto had held firm. She had been part of the Phoenix Force, she had been part of the last band of mutants fighting for their kind when all hope seemed lost, she had fought the Avengers to a stand-still next to their captain, Cyclops.
Cyclops and Dani being such big believers had been enough for her to give a genuine chance. "He is older than even you know. Older than we knew." She spoke as her eyes surveyed the horizon. The air was thinner, but she had traveled enough to know what Chile looked like.
There were long, deep, moments of silence until he looked her direction, only to find Illyana Rasputin staring at him. "...it is an ominous thing, hearing Dr. Strange say he was planning to talk to you." The blade may have been actually part of her, but in a more practical sense, the blade seemed an extension of her arm in the way a master swordsman's weapon was always an extension of them, no wasted motion, no awkward pause...just a blue blade that sliced through the air, and unleashed a portal via Limbo once more.
"We go," she said, nodding to the portal, motioning for him to go through first.
There, he waited, hands folded uniformly behind his back, his pure white eyes trained on the pair as they emerged, dressed in little more than ceremonnial robes that left his massive blue chest bare, a voice that sounded like the deep rumbling of an ancient, powerful, being coming from his lips to fill the otherwise background noise of small waterfalls falling into the hidden grove, drifting off behind rock.
The scent of incense, and far more mystical things, filled the air.
"Thank you, Magik. Doctor Stephen Strange, welcome to Krakoa, and to my personal labratory, the Grove of Theorhetical Gates. I require your assistance," he paused, white eyes flickering to the woman beside Strange, "and, as I understand my visions regarding our Great Captain, I may be of service to you, as well."
While Strange was stepping through the portal, he spoke again.
“That’s the thing about us, about people. Purpose is something we have to find. A knife is made to cut, a sewing needle is made to mend; even wild beasts, though they are alive, have an innate sense to spend their days grazing on grass or hunting prey, but for us it begins as an open question. It’s a burden we all live with, and whether we find the right one matters deeply. I don’t need to tell you how awful it is when someone goes searching and comes back with an unsound answer. “
Once he was throught it became clear that Krakoa was unlike any other country that Strange had ever seen. Even from just the grove, it was different, all was alive, pulsing, and weaved together so finely that even the densest jungles on earth looked barren by comparison. Dozens of species of flora he had never seen before surrounded him, more brilliant, more wild than the most exotic specimens found anywhere else on the planet. It felt more like another plane than it did a piece of the mundane world.
Apocalypse looked different from Strange’s memories of him. Gone was the metal shell, the combat armor he had always worn in past encounters, now he looked like he was trying to prioritize culture over raw power. It wasn’t the side of him Strange had seen before. Strange stopped looking around to address him
“Hello. I’m not sure how I should greet you since I assume one as old as you has had many names over the years. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken under friendly circumstances until this moment, but it seems that fate have placed all three of us here for a reason. What exactly are you trying to do with your work? “ Strange knew that the answer to that last question wouldn't be short, and already got to work looking at the material laid out. Even for an experienced sorcerer, it took time to understand the work of other hands.
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Eviledd1984 Narn Liberator
Member
Seen
9 hrs ago
@Fiber
Ashley arrived in New York a few hours ago after her search had led her to the big apple. She had hitchhiked here from Providence. There was a place called the Sanctum Sanctorum where she could possibly find some answers. She had not been to New York before so she was on guard at all times. Really this was her first time being in such a big city. Even though Providence is a city, it’s not nearly as big as New York. From the corner of her eye, she could see figures in the alleyway. Hearing muttering and mumblings of things like looking to score dope or looking to spend a night with her. Ashley squeezes her grimoire close to her body. She hated being here already, this place was making her very anxious. Fast walking down the street she could see some of the people’s faces morphing into grotesque smiles.
Finally arriving in front of the building, she thought it was quite impressive looking. It reminded her of some of the old victorian homes in Providence. She wondered if the person living here could give her some answers. Knocking on the door rapping her knuckles onto the wooden door to the tune of Shave And A Haircut. “Hello my name is Ashley Williams, I was told the owner of this place knew how to deal with supernatural problems.” She waited for the door to be answered. She didn’t think her request would be met. But perhaps someone would open the door, and let her in to help her out.
She started feeling more anxious as she waited for the door to open. Hearing a voice or rather multiple voices speaking to her. These voices were chanting together, "JOIN US. JOIN US. JOIN US." But she ignored these voices and focusing on the here and now.
Ashley Johannes Williams
Ashley arrived in New York a few hours ago after her search had led her to the big apple. She had hitchhiked here from Providence. There was a place called the Sanctum Sanctorum where she could possibly find some answers. She had not been to New York before so she was on guard at all times. Really this was her first time being in such a big city. Even though Providence is a city, it’s not nearly as big as New York. From the corner of her eye, she could see figures in the alleyway. Hearing muttering and mumblings of things like looking to score dope or looking to spend a night with her. Ashley squeezes her grimoire close to her body. She hated being here already, this place was making her very anxious. Fast walking down the street she could see some of the people’s faces morphing into grotesque smiles.
Finally arriving in front of the building, she thought it was quite impressive looking. It reminded her of some of the old victorian homes in Providence. She wondered if the person living here could give her some answers. Knocking on the door rapping her knuckles onto the wooden door to the tune of Shave And A Haircut. “Hello my name is Ashley Williams, I was told the owner of this place knew how to deal with supernatural problems.” She waited for the door to be answered. She didn’t think her request would be met. But perhaps someone would open the door, and let her in to help her out.
She started feeling more anxious as she waited for the door to open. Hearing a voice or rather multiple voices speaking to her. These voices were chanting together, "JOIN US. JOIN US. JOIN US." But she ignored these voices and focusing on the here and now.
scrawls the scribbly man himself
Member
Seen
5 mos ago
S P I D E R - M A N
N E W Y O R K C I T Y
The rush never got old. Swinging from building to building, feeling the wind flow by, waving at bystanders, webbing up crooks, being the one and only Spider-man. One moment, Peter Parker was just an average New Yorker, late for dates, a fan of good pizza, selling photos for a quick buck. But with the mask on? He was spiraling through the air, diving past office windows, running on walls, and leaping off skyscrapers, ready to save the day. And today was just another day. After hearing a police siren in the distance, Peter Parker raced through the air to be on the scene. Who was it this time? A small-time thief or someone big? Rhino? Scorpion? But as he found himself outside a bank, he saw the police arriving at a scene already covered in webs.
“Hey there Spidey!” One of the police officers smiled up at him and waved. “You’re late buddy.”
“Afternoon officer! How’s the—”
“One of your smaller spider-bros just managed to clean up a couple of bozos and webbed them up good. I guess he’s like Spider-boy or somethin’? Arachne-kid?”
Peter nodded, it must have been Miles. Peter's not really the only Spider-man... A few months back, he’d met Miles, a bright kid from Brooklyn who’d also gained spider powers. Peter had been trying his best to teach Miles all that he’d learned over the years, but at some point, the kid had to spread his wings and do what he had to do, and that seemed to be being a hero. Ever since then, Peter had felt a bit less alone, and the Big Apple seemed to feel a little smaller—for better and for worse, as Miles began to take his share of rescues and criminal shut downs. Sometimes Peter wondered if he himself was growing too old for the job, if it was time to fully pass down the torch… “Just Spider-man.” Peter corrected.“We’re both Spider-man, officer!”
Seeing he wasn’t needed so much anymore, Peter got ready to swing away once more, but before he left, he saw the officer reach out to pull out a phone. “Wait a sec Spidey. Could I get a quick photo? The other guy seemed great, but my daughter’s a big fan of you too. And her head’s gonna blow when she sees that her pops met you.” Peter smiled softly and hopped down to stand beside the officer. “Sure thing sir!” He felt a bit guilty thinking this, but Peter couldn’t help but enjoy being needed and admired every now and then. He was still needed.
***
The city was surprisingly peaceful today. Besides that robbery handled by Miles earlier, and a few minor incidents, Peter wasn’t seeing much crime. He sat on top of a light post, looking down at a busy city street. A group of teens bustled over toward an internet cafe, an old man was being helped cross the street by a young businesswoman, and a pleasant shopkeeper was painting a new sign for their cafe. Things seemed to be just right—
“HEY MUTIE! We don’t want your kind here! Buzz off!”
Peter’s spider sense tingled ever so slightly, and he craned around, trying to find the source of this angry voice. Was there some bigot about to assault an innocent mutant? As he turned around on the top of his light post, he squinted and saw a man holding a beer bottle in one hand, pointing his other hand right at Spidey. “Me?” Peter asked. At this point, Spider-man was more confused than worried.
“Yeahhhh, you! Mister fuckin’ Webhead, mask-wearing, mutie. I know you’ve been swinging around this fuckin’ city, but I’ve seen the truth, I know who you really are… Get your mutant ass out of my country! Go back to Krakatoa!” The man’s speech was slurred and he seemed to be vehemently drunk… at two in the afternoon. Peter rolled his eyes under his mask and stood up from his crouching position.
“Look man, first of all, it’s Krakoa, not Krakatoa. Second of all, I’m not even a mutant! And even if I was, that is a terrible way to greet a stranger, like at least a hello—” Peter tensed as he watched the man reach to chuck his bottle at Spidey, and Peter reflexively shot a rapid-fire of webs, one to stick the man’s hand to the bottle, one to stick his other hand to the wall, and a last one to cover his mouth. The man writhed in tipsy, muffled rage, and Spidey gave a little salute. “This is for your own good, and for the good of everyone else who definitely does not wanna hear your voice!” Peter then began to swing away through the city. “So much for peaceful…” he muttered.
What was the whole deal with mutant hate? It was never something he understood, even with all the controversy around Krakoa recently. When people like him or the Avengers put on their masks, they were revered (most of the time) as heroes. Yet when everyday people happened to get superpowers, the world seemed to twist against them. But mutant or not, hero or human, if they were here in this city, they all were New Yorkers in Peter’s eyes. Was that so hard to understand?
As the sun began to set, Peter swung up towards the top of an apartment building, running across the glass windows, then shooting a web towards the roof and pulling himself up to the very top. The city looked so small from up here, millions of people, real honest people living their lives, working towards their dreams, all here in the greatest city in the world. The relative peace was strangely getting him a bit too sentimental. He needed to get busy. What else was there to be done?
Suddenly, Peter felt his Spider-sense tingle once again, yet not that aggressively. Something potentially dangerous was behind him, hopefully not another bigot with a bottle.“Spider? I swear, it’s like you’re stalking me.” Peter turned towards that familiar playful voice and saw none other than Black Cat, his… enemy? Friend? Situationship? The woman was someone he’d tussled with time and time again, sometimes trying to put her in jail for her elaborate crimes, sometimes fighting alongside her against a greater evil. No matter what the situation was, she always managed to catch him off guard.
“Black Cat, I did not mean to run into you… What are you doing up here?” Peter eyed her suspiciously, looking at a black bag in her grasp, and seeing that she’d just crawled out from the fire escape.
“Always questions with you isn’t? Well, I’ll have you know, that it’s none of your business Spider, just a little personal project.”
“Thieving again? T’was hoping you’d get tired of the whole petty theft thing.” Peter said. Although he said it jokingly, he did genuinely mean it. He wondered if there was a chance she would ever give up her criminal ways. Despite her antics, the two of them had had moments in the past where it felt like they had something more… More than just hero and villain, but perhaps something as equals, as partners, as more.
“This time’s not just petty theft, I have a legit purpose right now.” She replied with a scoff, then swung the black bag over her shoulder. “I don’t see you giving up the mask anytime soon, why should I?” Black Cat walked over to Peter and placed a single finger on his chest.
“Felicia. Is this all you’ll ever do? Is that all the future holds?” Peter looked at her, and an expression of genuine concern seemed to take hold on his face, surprising her and even himself.
“Future? Awfully dramatic aren’t you this sunset? What, Spider? Worried about me? High-and-mighty Avenger wanting to help a corrupted villainess out of a wrong path towards danger?” She snickered and walked her fingers up his chest towards his collarbone, and up to pat his shoulder. Something in her expression softened when Peter didn’t retort back.
“You’re so quiet suddenly… Are you… genuinely worried?” Peter backed up from her reach but nodded. “Is it wrong? Wrong, that I am worried about you? That I wished you’d give up crime and try out being good?” he said. Whenever he met the Cat, he always felt so tangled up inside, caught in her own webs. Black Cat’s hand dropped to her side.
“You really are a hero aren’t you?” she whispered. Before Peter could respond, she began to walk away briskly. “I’m fine Spider. Don’t worry, this kitty can take care of herself… But I’ll see you around… Maybe we can talk again… about the future.” And just like that, she lept away, from one rooftop to the next, disappearing into the shadows cast by the sunset.
Peter Parker was left alone watching the moon rise. As much as it had been a quiet day, there had been big moments throughout it. He looked over the New York skyline and just took a deep breath. He had no idea what the future held in store, but he knew that as long as he could, he’d keep being Spider-man.
coGM
@Eviledd1984
This was the second unexpected visitor of the morning for Wong, but this one at least wasn't creating as much of an incident with the neighbors. He opened the door and saw someone he didn't recognize, nor was Ashley one of the people who had scheduled an appointment. However, he had some sympathy, it sounded like this might be something that needed rapid attention.
When he answered the door he was wearing his full Sorceror Supreme robes, different from Strange, not as colorful but a more scholarly look than he had when was only the right hand man. He talked to Ashley "You have come to right place. My name is Wong, and I'm the current Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. Rest assured, I have plenty of experience with supernatural matters. I'm curious as to how you heard about me, was it one of the flyers I left around the neighborhood?"
The flyers had been Wong's idea of advertising, since he didn't have the budget for anything other than that or an extremely low budget internet campaign, and the internet was far from his strongsuit. He hadn't heard much on if the flyers worked, which was a shame because he was particularly proud of the slogan he came up with: "When it comes to magical problems, don't choose wrong, choose Wong!" While he waited for Ashley's reply he looked at her aura, seeing if he could notice anything obvious.
This was the second unexpected visitor of the morning for Wong, but this one at least wasn't creating as much of an incident with the neighbors. He opened the door and saw someone he didn't recognize, nor was Ashley one of the people who had scheduled an appointment. However, he had some sympathy, it sounded like this might be something that needed rapid attention.
When he answered the door he was wearing his full Sorceror Supreme robes, different from Strange, not as colorful but a more scholarly look than he had when was only the right hand man. He talked to Ashley "You have come to right place. My name is Wong, and I'm the current Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. Rest assured, I have plenty of experience with supernatural matters. I'm curious as to how you heard about me, was it one of the flyers I left around the neighborhood?"
The flyers had been Wong's idea of advertising, since he didn't have the budget for anything other than that or an extremely low budget internet campaign, and the internet was far from his strongsuit. He hadn't heard much on if the flyers worked, which was a shame because he was particularly proud of the slogan he came up with: "When it comes to magical problems, don't choose wrong, choose Wong!" While he waited for Ashley's reply he looked at her aura, seeing if he could notice anything obvious.
Eviledd1984 Narn Liberator
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9 hrs ago
@Fiber
“Well, I’m really sorry to bother you, Mr.Wong. Is it okay if I call you Mister Wong? Or do you prefer Sorcerer Supreme? I heard about you from a witch in Boston. She said you knew alot about the supernatural.” She nervously tapped her finger on her grimoire, which was pressed against her chest. Her aura was would be quite strange, to say the least. It was red with a small tint of green. Something that was probably quite different than most people’s aura. Most peculiar was the book she had with her. For someone knowledgeable in magic, Wong could tell she was carrying a spell book of some kind. “I have been having hallucinations for well most of my life. Recently I’ve been seeing a shadowy looking man in my dreams. He doesn’t really talk to me in the dreams, just takes me to very weird places. Or sometimes back to the past to some ancient city.”
She stopped speaking nervously looking around at the people walking behind her. “Would it be okay if I come in? I don’t feel safe being out here.” She could see the faces of the passersby starting to morph once again. She could hear a voice speaking to her behind Wong. “I’m here, come and find me.” The voice spoke in a jovial manner like it wanted Ashley to find them.
Ashley Johannes Williams
“Well, I’m really sorry to bother you, Mr.Wong. Is it okay if I call you Mister Wong? Or do you prefer Sorcerer Supreme? I heard about you from a witch in Boston. She said you knew alot about the supernatural.” She nervously tapped her finger on her grimoire, which was pressed against her chest. Her aura was would be quite strange, to say the least. It was red with a small tint of green. Something that was probably quite different than most people’s aura. Most peculiar was the book she had with her. For someone knowledgeable in magic, Wong could tell she was carrying a spell book of some kind. “I have been having hallucinations for well most of my life. Recently I’ve been seeing a shadowy looking man in my dreams. He doesn’t really talk to me in the dreams, just takes me to very weird places. Or sometimes back to the past to some ancient city.”
She stopped speaking nervously looking around at the people walking behind her. “Would it be okay if I come in? I don’t feel safe being out here.” She could see the faces of the passersby starting to morph once again. She could hear a voice speaking to her behind Wong. “I’m here, come and find me.” The voice spoke in a jovial manner like it wanted Ashley to find them.
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Abillioncats Nyahahah you found me!
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7 mos ago
Katherine Pryde
"Fuck." Kate held onto the helm of the ship she had uh...commandeered back in San Diego. She took a swig from her bottle, letting half the rum drip down her face. How many days had she been at sea again? Five? No...six? Eh, who cared anyway.
She honestly should have made it to Krakoa by now, however she may have made a slight navigation error while drinking away her boredom. She was really bigging to understand why sailors liked to drink now, there was fuck all to do while on a boat.
At least Lockheed was having fun, the small dragon had really taken to sushi it seemed. He was happily munching on a fish he had caught while on top of a crate. He cocked his head at the mutant when she looked at him.
Kate gave him a frown. "Don't judge me." She stated, before taking another long swing from her bottle. "I never snitched on you when the squirrel population at the school drastically dropped." Not that anyone would care too much, besides Squirrel Girl perhaps if she ever came to visit.
Kate shook her head before bringing her attention back to her steering of the ship, she was about to grab a new bottle when she noticed something in the distance. "Oh?" As they got closer it became apparent that it was an island.
"Finally." Being drunk could only entertain Kate so much, what she really wanted to do was get the hell off the boat and onto land for once. She kept her course as straight as she could, looking for a decent spot to anchor. "Land ho and all that."
========
Kate stumbled out of the water as she made her way further into the beach. It was already apparent that Krakoa was quite different from the rest of the world, almost alien. Strangly appropriate for a mutant nation.
"Now if I could only figure out what your problem is with me..." She complained to the island as she dragged a crate of rum behind her. She looked around for well...anyone.
"I know I'm late to the party but I figured at least someone would be around to greet me." Being drunk really made her snarky.
The Man Emperor Your Mom
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7 days ago
Zahariel Jackson
Krakoa
Zah, as his comrades often called him, dipped back into his home, located near the southern coast of the living island of Krakoa. The fact that the nation of mutants is also on an island whose ecosystem that acts as singular hivemind consciousness still hasn't escaped him. When he first came here through a portal, he remembered how Krakoa used to be a hostile entity. Alas, Krakoa allowing them to settle on its was perhaps due to the fact that the governments of the world fear mutants and those like them, and a living island certainly is in the list of entities that the ignorant and fearful baseline humans thought of as a threat.
And so, what they have here is a delicate symbiosis; Krakoa and the mutants defend one another.
Part of that defense is assessing and taking out threats, and as a member of X-Force, Zahariel had done exactly just that. Sometimes he only needed to ask nicely; sometimes, he had to gaslight them; and on a few occasions, he needed to resort to measures that he was, admittedly, not proud of. But it's not like the CIA and Dora Milaje doesn't do the same thing, don't they?
"You are home early," Grudge, his… well, talking cat, grumbled. "My food box has not been filled for six hours."
"You know you can tap the button to get yourself more, yeah?" Zah answered the talking cat. He wasn't sure why the cat even talked. Maybe it was his imagination? No, no, visitors already noted that the cat could talk. Maybe the cat was also mutated? Yeah, that's right.
"I want you to put it there," Grudge answered.
"... Why?"
"Because I want to."
Zah shook his head. Sighing, he took off his glasses and tapped the feeder, allowing it to disgorge more cat food. "Are you happy?"
"Yes," the cat answered, and began to gorge herself.
With that little incident done, Zah let himself out of the door, finding one of the few true friends he ever had, the empathic mutant Johannes Brahms, waiting at the railing.
"You called for me, Zah?" Johannes asked. "What is it?"
"The voices, they're… rather persistent," Zahariel confided. "They're annoying."
"Oh, much more than that, so it would seem," Johannes scoffed as his empathy went to work. "You're afraid, yes?"
Zah slowly nodded. "Admittedly, yeah," Zah replied, looking down towards the other buildings below. "I know that I pull power from another dimension, just like… a few others. Well, we both know that. But the voices seem to know my most personal… things. I'll have to take a break, first. I need to get this sorted."
"Excellent life choice," Johannes nodded in return. "Who are you going to?
"Someone who's familiar with things like parallel dimensions, especially seemingly malevolent ones," Zah replied. He thought for a moment, and then found his answer.
"Of course… the former Sorcerer Supreme. Doctor Strange. He'd know everything about this, hopefully…"
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Ruby No One Cares
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7 days ago
Kate was expected. A day ago, at Hellfire Bay, neither of which happened to have come to pass. Logan was likely to forget about the delay, just happy to have his delivery having arrived. Her, on the other hand? It seemed unlikely, given the look on Emma Frost’s face resembled something as warm and cuddly as an actual diamond.
And she wasn’t even in her diamond form.
Emma watched from higher elevation, where grassy ridge met the thin, tall, grass coming out of the sand dunes that separated the low, rolling, hills region from the actual white sand beaches on the western coast of Krakoa. It was Krakoa’s own underwater vegetation that first spotted the vessel; leading to a quick message from Sage. Emma asked the Cuckoos to gave it a telepathic peek. When they responded with a positive identification of Kate Pryde, Emma excused herself from her current spot at the Green Lagoon and made the trip.
She waited wearing an ice white Prada silk pants suit, heels to match, with what appeared diamond heels on the otherwise ice white leather pumps. Under the white jacket was the kind of white corset that clung and pushed on various parts of the blonde billionaire’s sun-kissed tan body.
”You are late, Ms. Pryde.” The telepathic voice echoed Kate, with a subconscious suggestion of where Emma was. The moment Kate raised her drunken eyes and found the white silhouette perched upon the short grassy cliff above the beach, Emma continued, ”Forge is working on your issue with the gates. You will have to stop by and speak to him about that, but first, walk with me back to the Lagoon. The night is strange, and I would make it stranger for you.”
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