Supermaxx

Absolute Comics: The Advertisement Thread

I have a powerhouse character that is stupid over the top when it comes to personality almost to the point of being utterly ridiculous.

Think All Might and the Crimson Chin levels of absurd. Shouts things like "JUSTICE!!!"

Its a psychological response to childhood traumas, you know the usual.

Would this fit the bill and theme. Hes kind of comedic, ala Shazaam.

@ShwiggityShwah

That said? Totally should go Shazam. Shazam is the best.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

J O H N D O Y L E

♫♫♫

Saturday, June 11th. 12 PM
Downtown Charity, Charity Beach, Florida
Boardwalk

---

John wasn't particularly surprised she wanted to know about the Warmonger case, but he still felt his chest tighten at its mention. It wasn't something he enjoyed thinking about, even if it was the whole reason he'd come down to Charity Beach in the first place. Shifting in his seat to sit up further, the sheriff's expression visibly tightened as Detective Rose explained their suspicions. This was the first time anyone had mentioned the case's other contents aloud, even if Morgan had heavily implied that such a thing likely existed.

He didn't answer the question immediately, seeming to be mulling it over as he returned back to Pickett's Ridge and the Rusty Iron Motel in his mind. "I mean..." Doyle started with a shake of his head. "Suspicious, sure. We found Aldrich covered in his buddies' blood. Bunch'a bodies in his room, lookin' like they were fightin' over the money or..." John glanced over for a moment, lowering his voice. "Whatever else was in it."

"But uh, nah." He shook his head again. "Case was closed when we collected it. No way in hell to get it open, like I told your man Morgan. Everything's in my written statement." His eyes narrowed a little at that. He'd spent nearly a decade and a half as an officer of the law, and he had a generally strong grasp on the way things were done. With a case like the Warmonger one, it wasn't uncommon for there to be back and forth about who had jurisdiction, but information like his statement should've been available to another detective.

"How...exactly did you find me?" Doyle decided to broach the topic. Try as he might make it a casual inquiry, it still came off rather sharp and even somewhat accusatory. "Didn't tell Morgan where I was goin'. Ya'll havin' me followed?" He brought his hands together, watching Fujiko's expression carefully as he continued. "'Cause I don't much appreciate bein' followed."

Absolute Comics: The Advertisement Thread

<Snipped quote by Zoey White>

Yes, we can say fuck here.

@Lord Wraith

Jesus Christ, watch your language

Superboy's Shitty Characters

T H E X - M A N S I O N

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^{8:00 a.m. | Salem Center, Worchester County, New York}

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Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In aliquam ligula sed libero tincidunt convallis. In rhoncus eget arcu quis commodo. Vestibulum a vestibulum est. Duis tempus sapien eu elit pellentesque condimentum. Nullam dictum et sapien vel dictum. Nam ultricies suscipit dui eget tincidunt. Morbi ut turpis non lorem elementum ultricies ut at orci. Quisque ac dui tincidunt erat scelerisque cursus ut nec felis. Duis posuere vitae odio eget pulvinar. Morbi luctus aliquet elit. Pellentesque eu semper lorem, efficitur efficitur leo. Nunc commodo ante ut diam tincidunt, non iaculis sem dignissim. Duis sit amet tortor ac magna lobortis sagittis sed ac sapien.

Absolute Comics: The Advertisement Thread

In a similar vein, I've started working on a sheet for the original X-Men team. More than encourage people to jump in and make other mutants, though; half the fun of the X-Men is the school itself, after all.

Absolute Comics: The Advertisement Thread

Co-Gm here to threaten you all into joining pls I'm lonely and need new friends

Charity Beach: Paradise Gone [Semi-Sandbox/Superhuman]

J O H N D O Y L E

♫♫♫

Saturday, June 11th. 12 PM
Downtown Charity, Charity Beach, Florida
Boardwalk

---

John had just about finished his drink when a stranger came sauntering by his table. A young woman in...combat boots that spoke in a thick accent Doyle couldn't quite place. Certainly wasn't from around here. "Well uh," He sat up slightly, his old bones creaking as he reached up to tip the brim of his cap. "Thank ya kindly." He said, watching her for a brief moment as she took her own seat somewhere behind him.

He considered striking up a conversation with the young lady, more to pass the time and distract himself from his thoughts than anything else. After mulling it over for a short time he decided against it- better not to bother anyone and stew in his own business. John slunk back into his seat, returning to the terrible posture he seemed so intent on sticking to.

Some ghost of feeling touched Doyle's forehead, like a long and sharp tendril weeding its way into his brain. It itched at his mind, a painfully uncomfortable thing, and it dragged to the forefront a series of ear-piercing, childish giggles and the crash of the sea against the sand. John whipped his head around to look about the boardwalk, damned sure he was hearing it right beside him. Course the beach was way too far out for that and the only kids he could see were quietly devouring some ice cream cones at the shop next door. The pounding sensation in his skull was so intense that his hand had snaked its way down to the revolver on his hip out of instinct. But it was all in his head.

"Damn." He breathed, forcibly placing both hands, palms down, on the table in front of him to keep them from wandering away of their own accord. He waited there until the laughing and pounding of the surf against the beach came to a close, and the pain had eased away. Until his mind had quieted once more. "What in the hell was that?" He muttered to himself, bewildered and a little afraid. He'd had friends that came back from the war that talked about hearin' things, but...but it'd never been John. He'd always come back okay.

'Might be high time I find one'a them therapist types.'

He was still stuck in his little world after the episode until he heard someone say his name. It snapped him out of it right quick, even if he looked a bit disheveled as he met the eyes of another Charity Beach detective. A lady, this time. Wasn't too bad on the eyes, either, if he was ten years younger n' didn't have a ring on his finger. "Good'ta meet ya, Detective." Doyle greeted, pushing up from his chair to offer her a handshake.

Doyle was a more than a little surprised to be meeting another city detective so soon. He'd only finished speaking to Morgan a little over an hour ago, so the chances that there was new information were slim at best. On top of that, he hadn't told anyone he'd be down on the boardwalk, so everything about this little meeting was...strange, to say the least. But John wasn't going to mention it. Instead, he waved to the seat opposite his. "You wanna take a seat?" He asked, falling back into his own. "I don't mean'ta sound rude, Detective, but what's all this about?"

Muv-luv Alternative | Rising Horizon (OPEN)

Moses Yazov

__________________________________________________________ Name | Moses Yazov __________________________________________________________ Gender | Male __________________________________________________________ Age | 19 __________________________________________________________ Nationality | Russian __________________________________________________________ Service | Soviet Army __________________________________________________________ Rank | 2nd Lieutenant __________________________________________________________ Experience | Recruit __________________________________________________________ Physical Profile __________________________________________________________ [+] • Height | 5'4 / 152 cm • Weight | 145 lb / 63.5029 cm • Build | Short and stocky • Hair Colour | Black • Eye Colour | Grey TSF __________________________________________________________ [+] • Type | Su-27SM Zhuravlik • Role | Strike Vanguard • Loadout • 1x A-97 Assault Gun • 4x36mm and 2x120mm Magazines • 2x Arm Blade Motors • Spike Vanes/Blade Vanes Extra __________________________________________________________ [+] • Theme • Quite proficient in hand to hand combat. Uses it to blow off steam. • Keeps a portable CD player on him practically wherever he goes. Owns a large catalog of music, some of it he even paid for. • His most prized possession is his father's old NR-40 combat knife, notable for its all-black blade and hilt. He keeps it in a leather sheath and carries it with him at all times.

Personality ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Aggressive • Courageous • Cocky • Insubordinate • Passionate • Deeply Empathetic Moses Yazov is a young and hotheaded warrior who's out to prove himself to the whole world, consequences be damned. He fights and trains with the raw ferocity of someone that's seen their home ransacked and burned, and he's eager to set himself against the Great Enemy that has so ravaged the Russian countryside. His passionate personality and genuine skill in a pilot's seat makes him a difficult ally to work with- he often thinks he knows best even when he clearly doesn't, and he has a tendency to dive head first into danger. Most of his trainers and commanders think he'll be the first to die in any given operation and its only sheer stubbornness that seems to keep him dragging himself back to base every time. Though oft seen as stupidity, there is genuine courage in Yazov's heart- a willingness to put himself between the BETA and his comrades, countrymen and strangers alike. Moses has a hard time showing it a lot of the time, but he cares quite deeply for the people around him. Sometimes it shows itself in him yelling at them or berating them for their mistakes, and other times it appears in the form of him taking a bullet for them. History ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Born on November 6th, 1985 in a Soviet refugee camp far from the front lines, life's cruel realities were presented to Moses right from the beginning. His father was an officer in the Soviet military, fighting against the BETA on the front and rarely ever coming back to visit his family. Letters were all Moses knew of his father when he was a boy. Letters and whatever trinkets from the homeland that he could have shipped back for his son to know him by. It wasn't hard for a young, impressionable born stuck in a grimy camp to form an image of his father in his mind as a legendary hero and a soldier without equal. He often told the other kids in the camp that his dad was the hero of the Union, and he'd save them all from the aliens singlehandedly. By the time he was twelve, he'd only met the man himself a handful of times, and he treasured the memories of each visit like a poor man treasures gold. He was devastated when the news came that his father had committed an unspeakable act. Sources differed wildly. Some said it was an accident- just friendly fire. Others called it a homicide. Whatever the case, Captain Yazov was charged with killing a fellow soldier on the battlefield and sentenced to death. Treason, they called it. He was executed before Moses got the chance to see him again. The boy had never felt such a rage before. It boiled up in his heart and set into his very bones. His behavior shifted radically, and he made himself a fast enemy of many other boys in the refugee camp, getting into scraps with them often over the smallest infractions. His mother did her best to help the boy cope with what happened, but he had lost his hero. He thought the world too unfair, so he lashed out at it. Some time had passed before something had to be done about him. Mrs. Yazov called on an old friend of her husband- a wounded officer turned trainer of TSF pilots by the name of Gregor Barrikad. Gregor pulled some strings and got Moses into his TSF training program, giving the boy a shot at avenging the death of his father in some fashion. The program breathed a new life into him he hadn't felt before. The gargantuan machines felt like a second skin the moment he stepped into one. Moses had piloting in his blood, it would seem, and he dove head first into the program. All of his rage, his passion, was finally given some direction. He used it to drag himself up into the upper echelons of his class. Technical knowledge was always a constant failing of his, given his distaste for reading, but he moved in his machine better than almost anyone he met as a trainee. He came like a fish to water to melee combat in the suits specifically, his weapons acting as extensions of himself. It wasn't long before he had graduated, and they shipped him off to fight. Battle was not like the training. It was bloody, chaotic and messy. Moses nearly died half a dozen times over the course of his very first engagement. Several of his friends lost their lives right in front of him. It may not have shaken his resolve, but it did make sleeping harder. Time passed, and more battles were fought. He became more proficient in the killing, eventually attracting the attention of recruiters for some strange, multi-national battalion the U.N was cooking up. The 212th Tactical Armored Battalion, they called it. Moses wasn't going to pass up that kind of opportunity, so he took what few belongings he had, kissed his mother goodbye, and shipped off to wherever it was they were taking him. So long as he could kill BETA he was happy to be there.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

J O H N D O Y L E

♫♫♫

Saturday, June 11th. 12 PM
Downtown Charity, Charity Beach, Florida
Boardwalk

---

John had just about finished his drink when a stranger came sauntering by his table. A young woman in...combat boots that spoke in a thick accent Doyle couldn't quite place. Certainly wasn't from around here. "Well uh," He sat up slightly, his old bones creaking as he reached up to tip the brim of his cap. "Thank ya kindly." He said, watching her for a brief moment as she took her own seat somewhere behind him.

He considered striking up a conversation with the young lady, more to pass the time and distract himself from his thoughts than anything else. After mulling it over for a short time he decided against it- better not to bother anyone and stew in his own business. John slunk back into his seat, returning to the terrible posture he seemed so intent on sticking to.

Some ghost of feeling touched Doyle's forehead, like a long and sharp tendril weeding its way into his brain. It itched at his mind, a painfully uncomfortable thing, and it dragged to the forefront a series of loud bangs and the gurgling of blood. John whipped his head around to look about the boardwalk, damned sure he was hearing the gunshots. So sure that his hand had already snaked its way down to the revolver on his hip. But it was all in his head.

"Damn." He breathed, forcibly placing both hands, palms down, on the table in front of him to keep them from wandering away of their own accord. He waited there until the bullets and manic, almost alien screaming came to an end. Until his mind had quieted once more. "What in the hell was that?" He muttered to himself, bewildered and a little afraid. He'd had friends that came back from the war that talked about hearin' things, but...but it'd never been John. He'd always come back okay.

'Might be high time I find one'a them therapist types.'

He was still stuck in his little world after the episode until he heard someone say his name. It snapped him out of it right quick, even if he looked a bit disheveled as he met the eyes of another Charity Beach detective. A lady, this time. Wasn't too bad on the eyes, either, if he was ten years younger n' didn't have a ring on his finger. "Good'ta meet ya, Detective." Doyle greeted, pushing up from his chair to offer her a handshake.

Doyle was a more than a little surprised to be meeting another city detective so soon. He'd only finished speaking to Morgan a little over an hour ago, so the chances that there was new information were slim at best. On top of that, he hadn't told anyone he'd be down on the boardwalk, so everything about this little meeting was...strange, to say the least. But John wasn't going to mention it. Instead, he waved to the seat opposite his. "You wanna take a seat?" He asked, falling back into his own. "I don't mean'ta sound rude, Detective, but what's all this about?"

Superboy's Shitty Characters

The Astonishing X-Men

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E X - M E N

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^{_{♦ S C O T T S U M M E R S ♦ J E A N G R E Y ♦ H A N K M C C O Y ♦ K U R T W A G N E R ♦ B O B B Y D R A K E ♦
♦ X A V I E R S C H O O L F O R H I G H E R L E A R N I N G ♦ T H E X - M E N ♦}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{" Mutants. Since the discovery of their existence, they have been regarded with fear, suspicion, often hatred. Across the planet, debate rages. Are mutants the next link in the evolutionary chain or simply a new species of humanity fighting for their share of the world? Either way, it is a historical fact: Sharing the world has never been humanity's defining attribute."}

The X-Men are a team of mutant superheroes that fight for the rights of mutants and to protect both mutants and humans alike. Led by Scott Summers -- AKA Cyclops -- and founded by Professor Charles Xavier, the X-Men are a newly christened team of young but fiery heroes looking to prove themselves to a cynical and bigoted world. They're based out of a manor in Worchester County, New York affectionately referred to as the 'X-Mansion,' an old estate that's been in the Xavier family for generations.

They've been in operation for a little over a year now, working from the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. It's little more than a simple mansion with a fancy title at the moment so that Charles has some excuse to live with his 'students.' Some moves have been made to potentially open its doors to other mutants in need, but they lack the proper facilities or staff to do such a thing.

In their short time as heroes, they've earned themselves a number of enemies. From the vengeful Magneto to the anti-mutant Senator Robert Kelly and the fire-and-brimstone preacher William Stryker and his cult of Purifiers. They've made plenty of friends in that time, too. Many a mutant has the X-Men to thank for saving them from some injustice. The X-Men have made something of a habit of rubbing shoulders with other, big time superheroes, hoping that their popularity might rub off on the team and help their perception in the public eye.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I want to create a cornerstone of the Absolute Comics universe. The X-Men often either don't show up at all or are pushed into a rather minor role in these games, and I intend to change that. Though we're starting from the beginning, the plan is to explore the world of mutants in the context of a combined DC/Marvel world and to bring about the creation of the proper Xavier's school, and perhaps even bring up a new age of mutants sometime in the future.

The X-Men and mutants as a whole experience a great deal of prejudice and bigotry for being born different. They're going to experience the full brunt of this xenophobia, from both the world at large and many individual characters alike. They'll face hardships no ordinary heroes will face, and they'll have to tackle problems unique to their being mutants.

The X-Men seek to bring about equality for mutant kind and to foster peace between mutant and humankind. Each of them has individual goals of their own, such as Jean's desire to control her abilities and leave her trauma behind her, or Bobby's goal of acceptance and camaraderie.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Cyclops

Scott Summers is the over-eager leader of the team. The oldest member at twenty years old, he was orphaned from a young age and spent all of his youth being abused in the system by peers and adults alike. The birth of his mutant powers brought him into local police custody and eventually into Charles's care at the age of sixteen, and he learned under the Professor with an earnest, idealistic passion. He cared deeply for his fellow mutants and often got into trouble trying to protect them from harm- his heroics were the first sign that perhaps something like the X-Men was viable.

Beast

It was Scott that brought Hank McCoy into the fold when he found the young, brilliant man being picked on, harassed and bullied by his peers for his appearance. He had a mind that could rival Xavier's even at only eighteen years old, and his great strength and agility were comparable to that of a simian. Hank was introduced to Xavier via Summers and, before long, Hank had accepted an invitation to join them at the manor. It was McCoy that created the first prototype of the ruby-red glasses that allow Scott to have some semblance of control over his powers, and it was his idea to use the mansion as a 'boarding school' of sorts as a cover if they were going to continue recruiting young mutants to their cause.

Marvel Girl

Jean Grey was later found in a coma, apparently having gotten into a car crash and mentally experienced the death of the car's driver- her best friend since middle school. Xavier was called in by the Grey family to lift the coma and protect Jean from her own mentalist abilities, which had taken on a dark nature after the traumatic event. Xavier convinced the Greys to let Jean join him at the 'boarding school' in Worchester so that she could learn how to more properly control her powers. At only eighteen years old, Jean was terrified of herself and these strange abilities. It was Scott that convinced her to work with the 'team,' persuading her into believing that it was the best and most productive way to learn how to control her mutant talents.

Iceman

It was the rescue of Bobby Drake that marked the first official mission of the X-Men. Three costumed heroes appeared in his hometown of Floral Park, where an angry mob had chased the sixteen year old mutant into the police department, where the sheriff had barred the inside to keep the mob out. Bobby had frozen the local bully in a block of ice- whether by accident or on purpose, he couldn't say- and an angry group of citizens attempted to remove the threat themselves. The X-Men arrived. Their attempts to calm the rowdy masses quickly proved futile, and they were forced to push their way to the station. It was a dire situation, but it thankfully ended in Bobby's successful rescue, and he was returned to the safety of the school. Drake, without anyone else to turn to, decided to join the team.

Nightcrawler

Kurt Wagner is a German-American immigrant that found his way to Pennsylvania when he was just a boy. He had always faced discrimination due to his strange appearance, and his family had faced such intense mistreatment that they were forced to move homes across the state several times. Kurt, in his anguish, turned to religion, finding solstice and some comradery in the Catholic faith. He spent much of his time serving a local minister. It wasn't until puberty hit that his teleportation abilities appeared. His newfound mutation brought the hatred and distrust back to the forefront as he struggled to keep his powers in check. His family was attacked one night while they were returning home, and Kurt chose to run away to protect them from further danger. He was later found by Jean Grey hiding in the remains of a rundown church, and he was brought back to the Xavier school where he finally found acceptance.

Professor X

Professor Xavier is a wheelchair-bound mutant telepath capable of tremendous and terrible feats of power. He's a genius in the field of genetics, specializing in mutants and the 'X-Gene' that gives them their superhuman abilities. He's written a number of scientific papers on the phenomena and taught at a number of universities on the subject, and while he's well-respected for his research, it's his civil rights activity that has earned him his true fame- and infamy- in the public eye. The fear and prejudice that mutants often face from their communities and in the world at large are disturbing to Charles, and he fights constantly to see these people protected from those that would see them harm. His movement brought him to the X-Men, a group of young adults and teenagers all looking to make a difference. Xavier brought them under his wing and gives them the tool they need to continue the fight. That fight is uphill, unfortunately, and in no small part due to the terrorist activities of his former friend turned nemesis, Erik Lehnsherr.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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T H E X - M A N S I O N

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^{8:00 a.m. | Salem Center, Worchester County, New York}

Charles Xavier always felt a sense of satisfaction at the sound of chalk moving across a blackboard. Every stroke invigorated him like a shot of dopamine, and he found himself turning away from the board with a content grin on his aging face. "Genosha," the professor stated, tapping the name he'd just written in large, bold letters. "Does anyone know who first founded it?"

His question road like a wave across the makeshift classroom, which was little more than a sitting room with the chairs all turned to face forwards and a blackboard rolled in front of it all. Bobby Drake had made sure to occupy the furthest seat from the board, the hood of his jacket drawn down juuust far enough to hide his eyes as he tried to catch up on missing sleep. Movie night with Kurt had run a couple of hours too late. How was Drake supposed to know the marathon lasted that long? He regretted not checking the clock or something, 'cause being reminded by the sun coming up hadn't been very fun.

Kurt, to his credit, hadn't quite passed out yet. His head was resting in his palm, his three fingers running through the blueish fur on his cheek. His eyelids kept trying to clamp shut every few minutes, only for Wagner to lurch awake in a violent and distracting display that would keep him lucid for a couple of minutes before it all repeated again. If he ever tried to answer any questions it came out in unintelligible German.

Two pencils went soaring through the air like a pair of shurikens, one striking Kurt in the forehead and the second bouncing off of Bobby's nose. Both boys were thrown wide awake by the sudden attack, with Bobby nearly leaping out of his chair in surprise and Kurt vanishing and reappearing right back in his seat in a puff of black smoke. They shared a confused glance with one another seconds before realizing where the attack had come from, their heads turning simultaneously to glare in the direction of Scott Summers.

Scott crinkled his nose incredulously at them- even with his eyes hidden behind his crimson visor it wasn't hard to tell he was glaring. Sweat glistened off of the young man's forehead, still clinging to him after his long and exhaustive morning run. After making sure the two troublemakers were thoroughly and silently accosted for sleeping through the lesson he returned to looking in Xavier's direction, unable to muster an answer to the question. This was the first time they'd broached the subject of Genosha, and Scott wasn't too confident he'd be able to even point it out on a map.

The Professor pursed his lips, his eyes slipping between the three of his students as he seemed to contemplate how to deal with the brief interruption. The look lingered on Scott, giving the team's leader his own look of quiet admonishment before Xavier shifted his attention fully back to the lesson at hand. "Anyone?" Charles asked with a raised brow, "Hank?"

It wasn't until he heard his name that Hank McCoy even seemed to notice there was something going on around him. His pencil was rapidly shortening as he ran the tip of the graphite against his notebook full of crazy ideas and half-finished schematics. The current drawing before him was a series of functional upgrades to the team's costumes. Their current suits, aside from being a little tacky, didn't have any kind of temperature control, built-in communications, armor or other crucial parts to any superhero uniform. Hank blinked, pushing his nose up his glasses as he looked up to the Professor and then at the blackboard. "I'm sorry, uh, could you repeat the question?"

"He asked who founded Genosha," Jean Grey cut in before Charles got a chance, speaking in a very matter-of-fact tone as she looked down at her notes, "and you're gonna say the British first declared the colony in 1901, but there was actually activity from various colonial powers going as far back as the 16th century. And..." She stuck her tongue into her cheek, her brows furrowing a little. "Something about making the suits out of a carbon fiber mesh?" Jean leaned over from her seat and attempted to get a look at whatever it was Hank had been doodling on his notebook. "-Are you making us new costumes?" She asked curiously.

"Hey!" Hank practically tore the book off his lap and slapped it up against his sprawling chest. "No mind reading!" He huffed, clearly caught off guard at having his thoughts so casually spoken aloud for everyone to hear.

Bobby was out of his seat and leaning over the back of McCoy's chair as quick as the word 'costumes' had left Jean's mouth. He grabbed both of Hank's shoulders and attempted to drag himself up high enough to see the notebook in his big friend's hands. "We're getting new costumes?!" He inquired with an energetic excitement that had seemingly spawned from thin air. Kurt shared his enthusiasm, popping up on Hank's opposite shoulder in a puff of dark smoke and trying to leer down at the page. Hank didn't take well to the intrusion, trying to buck the duo off and keep the sketches hidden against his chest at the same time.

Jean's face grew beet red the instant she realized what she had done. "I- I didn't- I mean, it wasn't on purpose-" She stumbled and stuttered, retreating behind her red locks as she bent her head low in shame at her actions. Reading minds came to her as easily as actual hearing did. It was hard for her to decipher what were thoughts and what were words, and sometimes it all got so jumbled that she got her own thoughts mixed up with someone else's. "I'm sorry." She muttered.

Hank, still busy wrestling Bobby and Kurt into submission, paused long enough to listen and reply. "Its okay." He assured her. "I'm not- hey!" He started, only to be interrupted by Kurt slipping underneath one of his arms and getting a hold of the notebook.

Nightcrawler slipped right away from the beast of a man's grip, vanishing out of the classroom and appearing in the hallway. He held the picture up in the light, a bright grin spreading across his face. "I look awesome!" He laughed.

"Lemme see!" Drake whined, jumping over chairs and racing over to catch up to Wagner. "When do I get to wear mine?!"

Hank, hot on Bobby's heels and having completely forgotten what he was going to say to Jean, was quick to shout after them. "Its just a drawing! We aren't even in the prototype phase!"

The lesson thoroughly disrupted and Jean left in her silent shame, Charles let out a quiet sigh. Kids, he thought with a shake of his head. No matter what kind of amazing gifts they might have, it was hard to forget that these five were still all children at heart. He placed the chalk back down on the tray and moved his hands onto the wheels of his chair, planning to go to miss Grey, as he had many times before. But he paused, not all that surprised to see that Summers had already moved to her side. He had a hand around her shoulder and he was trying to say something that might've been vaguely wise had the boy any idea how to say it. It brought a smile to Charles's face.

"Come on back, my students, there'll be plenty of time for that later! Our lesson's only just begun." Xavier called out to the wrestling trio in the hallway. They all seemed to look at each other and hold and a wordless conversation for a few seconds before deciding to call a ceasefire and return back to their seats. They spent a little while putting everything back where it was before and getting themselves seated, but their attention was eventually given back to the professor. Even if they bickered, fought or messed up in some fashion, they always seemed to land back on their feet. Always seemed to orientate themselves to point north again, even if it did take a bit of time. Charles let his hands come to rest on his lap as he waited a moment, making sure everyone was ready before he continued. "So, as Jean said, Genosha was founded in..."