A pained expression appeared on Cap's face and he leaned over towards Quill and whispered to him. "Do you know what that meant? He lost me somewhere around the fourth dude."

Quill couldn't help himself. When the smirk came to his lips, he didn't even fight it, just kept it toned down a bit. Yeah, he liked the duck. Gotta be awesome to use that many dudes correctly in an awesome sentence. With a returned whisper, Quill gave the bad news: "It's a 'babes' thing, dude...you probably wouldn't understand......unless that red head you were with is...?"

And Quill let the question linger, until the beginnings of a hard edge in Cap's eyes gave all the response needed on that note. "...totally get it. Who doesn't like redheads?"

Lord knows I do.

The women didn't take a hike, in fact they squeezed into Hercules, tighter than ever, afraid that this motley crew of rag tag adventurers would steal away their burly paramour. For his part the Prince of Power eyed the Duck and red-coated figure somewhat suspiciously, until he spotted Captain America and Daredevil lurking in the background, noble heroes and true comrades both. The Demi-God's misgivings about the group dispersed, and so he scooted aside to give the group space to sit. Let it never be said that Hercules was an ungracious host.

“Captain! Sit and. . .” He began, before being cut off by the duck. Usually the Prince of Power would find himself peeved to be interrupted by mere talking fowl, but on this occasion the content of the feathered word smith’s speech served as cooling water to the flames of Herc's rage. Admittedly he struggled to follow the exact point the duck was making, but he got the jist. The universe was in need of saving, and Hercules was picked to stand amongst it's champions.

Made sense.

Wine and milfs spilt to the floor as the big man leapt to his feet, a jubilant smile upon his face. Finally, a chance to do some real good again! A labour worthy of song, and one that didn't seem to have any shades of grey to the tale!

“Your words hearten me, bold and noble Duck!” He cried, wrapping his brawny arms around Howard and Quill, squeezing them in a good natured, yet nearly bone breaking hug. “Let us waste no more breath and be on with this quest!” He stepped out of the booth (over the complaining women) and strutted towards the exit, no idea where he was going.

“After all, the universe wont save itself!”

Quill found himself on hands and knees, wincing, gasping, and just able to raise his right index finger into the air before croaking the words, "...right behind you guys."

Bucky sighed heartily and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, and producing his Avengers card. He handed it towards the women who were sat at the table dressed in revealing clothing and plastered in makeup. Cap reached down, grabbed Quill by the arm and lifted him to his feet, before gesturing to Hercules bounding out of the club without so much as a look back at them. "I'm sorry about him, he's usually a really nice guy. Buy yourselves some drinks on Tony Stark and please, please, don't be shy about it. He can more than afford it."

The figure cut through the bar like starlight through a cosmic cloud; everything and everyone seemed to move heartbeats before their gravity even entered the figure's atmosphere, nudged gently by some invisible hand they could never sense, let alone conceive of. Few even noticed, and those that looked in the direction were left looking away, forgetting the image as quickly as they'd seen it, just another face in just another crowd, nothing worth noting or remembering. The figure was dressed for an autumn's gathering in Cape Cod, not a crowded bar thick with smoke and alive with chatter and music and the kinetic motion all too familiar with those that just wanted to let off a little steam.

They knew where they were going, turning shoulders this and way and that to breeze through the dense gathering of drunks near the back of the bar, at the entrance of a back hall that led to restrooms. Only briefly did they stop and retrieve the gin and tonic adorned only with a few slivers of lime in the thick based scotch glass before continuing on, excusing themselves past the small line waiting on the restrooms with no more than a smile. Reaching the back room and slipping in unannounced and unnoticed was no more than a matter of doing so at the exact same moment a young waitress slipped out the same backroom door.

The fact that Jean Grey stood behind Remy during the entire hand in silence, without a single soul at the table so much as gazing up beyond the green felt and shiny plastic playing cards, proved to her she was in the right place--at the right time. His heroism only brought about the memory of a smile on the red head's soft pink lips, a few of the players dealing themselves out and excusing themselves from the table at the conclusion of the shocking upset of the farmer over the Cajun. She picked the seat across the table from him to sit down at, setting her drink just to her side, her hair loose and straight with only a half-curl at the ends of every strand that hung just past her shoulders.

In a navy Henley with the top alabaster button unbuttoned, a pair of white skinny cords, and handsewn loafers of brown leather that were softer than sin to her feet, there was no denying a Boston girl even in a back room of a hole in the wall. There was no hesitation as she reached out and took the deck of cards, beginning to cut the deck, and shuffle the deck, and cut the deck, with the precision and speed of a card shark: the product of poker nights at the Institute that all too usually went to dawn of the next day.

It was only when Remy finally looked up from his drink and the realization of just who was sitting across the table struck him that a wide smile formed across Jean's face, a beat later bright green eyes under long black lashes fluttered up to meet his black and red look. She took a pause in shuffling to steal a long, thirsty, sip of the gin and tonic; her lips taking a drink of the cocktail, her eyes drinking in the image of an old friend.

Casual and cool she replaced the drink on the table, rebusying her digits with the plastic cards; cut and shuffle, shuffle and cut, before repeating the process all again. It was only a tiny eternity between when their eyes met, and her voice revealed itself, proving herself no ghost, no figment of his imagination. "Hello, Remy. You look bored."

Remy thanked the waitress as she came with his new drink, 14 year old scotch. He sniffed the drink, taking in the smokey aroma. Before he put the glass to his mouth and in a satisfied smile, he downed half the drink. “Another sucker looking to play away dere money?” He asked, and as he heard the soft thud of the woman sitting down on the seat next to him, he smiled “Or a girl lookin' for some fun.”

He peered over, and when he saw the red hair and the green eyes, he had a soft smile on his lips.
“Hello Remy. You look bored.” She spoke, her Boston accent ever so present. It was endearing, truly.

“And you look like trouble, Red.” Remy said, watching her cut the deck in half. “You came back from de dead just to play me in poker? 'Am honored, truly.” Remy said, watching her drink the gin and tonic by her side. One of the most powerful mutants in the universe come back to life, and sitting at the same poker table as him in the middle of nowhere? Well, it wasn't very likely, but nothing really surprised him anymore.

Other the past three hours Matt had been taken on quite the adventure, although he was initially reluctant about leaving New York to hop around the galaxy with a space-man who wore way too much cologne, a talking duck and a man in a Captain America costume who he could tell by the heartbeat, definitely wasn't the Captain America he knew from day to day life, Matt had now grown rather fond of the change of pace from alternating between fighting the Kingpin and mourning whichever friend of his had died most recently, perhaps this was the vacation he needed.

Matt now found himself in a Nightclub looking for the next of his menagerie of comrades. The music disorientated Matt's radar sense and the entire place reeked of alcohol, everyone thought Matt didn't like clubs because he was just too nerdy, but it was in fact that they were completely overloading. Matt could feel the throbbing bass of the music shaking through his head, however that wasn't the bass at all, it was a heartbeat, the mighty heartbeat of Hercules sounded like a war-drum to Murdoch who stood stock still overwhelmed in the middle of the dancefloor in costume, looking like some sort of BDSM fetishist.

It took Matt a moment to realize the others had left, but when he snapped out of his trance he ran out after them clutching his head. "This isn't the first time I've ended up with a headache after a night out at a club."

It was hard to explain this kind of joy, even to herself in order to gain perspective. As a telepath, Jean knew some things went far deeper than words would ever touch. Emotions moved people just as profoundly as gravity, and could brighten or darken them even more than a weather pattern. There was a rapture in it; getting to spend an hour with a friend so old and so dear that she could have laughed and teased and enjoyed Remy all night. How many nights had they spent within their group, doing just that? Countless. How many battles had they fought together, trudging onto the Blackbird dirty and bloody and half-beaten, but victorious? Countless more. But therein lied the rub: being around him, she thought of the others.

The were the X-Men. They were a group. Remy had always been indepdendent than many of them, but even he had finally succumbed to the pull of that close-knit family. Maybe Remy would never have that again, maybe he would, but Jean had seen her possibile futures: and precious few of them included her ever rejoining that group, that family. She thought of Hank, of Ororo, of Kitty, Bobby, Charles, Scott, Logan--even some of the kids like Jubilee and Julian. Quite frankly, it was a miserable thought, never getting to have those people and that joy in her life again. That this, here and now, might be as close as she ever came to it.

"You messin' with my head 'gain, Red?"

Jean smiled sweetly. "I've never needed my powers to do that, Cajun."

His brows furrowed, his lips muttering something under his breath, black and red eyes narrowing at the cards in his right hand once more, his left clanking clay poker chips against each other in a stack that was starting to get desperately small. A small labored sigh, an even smaller shrug, and the Cajun tossed three black chips into the already sizeable pot huddled in the center of the worn green felt of the bar's backroom. "Raise you one-fitty. So dis Death...she go poof, and you jus' come on back? Dat easy?"

"Well, I'm not sure I'd call death easy."

That seemed to pique the Cajun's interest. "Why? Cold 'n lonely, Chere? Remy warm you up," he said, with that smug gambler's grin of his.

Jean gave him a bemused glance, before returning her eyes to her cards and putting some effort into appearing conflicted with her call; hesitating to answer him as if considering the math between her hand, the possible hand she may draw from the last card to drop on the table, and whether it was worth matching his aggressive bet. Only after a half minute did she quickly reach out, take up three black chips of her own, and toss them into the pot. "Oh, it's not the dying that's so bad, Remy, it's the coming back. Nothingness is sweet, life is harsh."

The Cajun snorted gently. "Not as harsh as dis hand."

Jean tried not to smirk as Gambit calculated his own options; or more probably, knowing Remy, argued between his gut instinct and his better sense. "Any day, now, Remy. We have people headed for us."

Red eyes glanced up at her once more, no trace of that grin left. "...what you mean?"

"The 'Death go poof' was part of a greater cosmic chain of events--"

"--ain't it always?"

Jean continued, despite her chuckle. "There's a group of heroes gathering to do something about it. You and I are on the invite list."

The Gambit tsked his all-too casual disapproval, before reaching over to the deck, 'burning' a card, and flipping over the next onto the table face-up. Queen of Hearts. "...you do dis to me t'punish me." Jean tried not to smile at his frown. A mostly successful attempt, as she put down her two cards, making a Royal Straight between the two cards and the community cards on the table. He had a pair of Jacks, she saw, as he tossed down his hand in mild frustration, before taking a long drink of his drink. "Aah, dere, now what if I dun feel up to dis cosmic mission?"

Her green eyes laughed at him, silently. "Please, coming from the hero that moonlights as a thief, I know you can't pass up something this dangerous."

"I moonlight as a hero, Red," when he was done scoffing, he was left only with her long look. The grin came back to his lips almost instantly, as they were interrupted, the room having cleared out an hour ago when their private game started--Jean made certain of that. When the door opened, Jean didn't bother looking up, though Remy threw a quick glance over his shoulder, already having been snuck up on once today.

"Heeey, Mr. Gambit-dude..."

"Mista?" More insulted than surprised, Gambit looked back to Jean, who snickered, before returning his eyes to the guy in the red jacket. "Who dis guy? Han Yolo?"

The blonde man hid both his confusion, and then when he realized what the Cajun had said, his slight offense. "No, man, I'm...Star Lord."

This time, Jean and Remy said it at the same time. "Who?"

Before he could do much than grunt frustration, Jean Grey was standing, feeling having gotten to the start of her third gin and tonic. "We're screwing with you."

"...I'm not, who dis guy?"

"Star Lord, man. St-ar, L-ord."

Jean interjected. "He's the recruiter."

That prompted Remy to turn just-so in his chair, so he could get a better look at this 'Star Lord' from over his shoulder. "Nice jacket."

"Oh, yeah, thanks. You too, bro. Don't see to many people rockin' the trench these days. Who's she?"

This time, it was Jean with the gambler's grin. "Jean Grey, otherwise known as Mar--"

"HOLY SHIT YOU'RE THE PHOENIX. Don't dust me."

Remy stirred from his seat, stretching to full height, eyeing Star Lord. "Talk about dis coat one more time, and she might."

"Remy!"

The Cajun smiled, innocent as a thief in the shadows. "What?"

The sweet, tangy sensation of mayonnaise. That soft, spicy undercurrent of sweet chilli sauce. The smoky deliciousness of grilled chicken, mixed with the juicy freshness of tomato and lettuce. And the cheese. Oh god, the cheese. Peter Parker had never gotten lucky, but that was okay. This kebab was so much better.

Sitting on a rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, he savoured each bite as he cast his gaze over the borough they called Queens. He liked it well enough. It was, after all, where he lived. The trees were nice. The air was nice. The people were nice, most of the time. But there was just something about it that he couldn’t put his finger on, something that hurt the very essence of his soul… Oh, yeah. The buildings. He couldn’t swing on them. They were too damn short.

The kebab vendor was its only redeeming quality.

“Hey, kid!” yelled some guy from below, standing on the sidewalk.

Peter, halfway through another mouthful, said, “Hmm?”

“Get off my roof!”

Peter chewed. He chewed some more. Then he swallowed. “Hey, no way, man. Finders keepers. I got here first.” He took another bite. “Wow, this kebab tastes good.”

“But that’s my roof!” whined Some Guy, “My apartment’s roof!”

Chew. Chew. Swallow. “Nice.”

“So get off!”

“Hey, listen, guy,” he paused to wipe some sauce from his mouth, “I’m just trying to eat here.”

“Yeah, well, you better not get any on-- ”

“--Your roof, yeah I get it. Now please, I’m almost done. Can’t you just learn to share?”

“If you don’t get off on the count of five, I’m calling the cops!”

“Now sir,” Peter said, shuffling on his behind away from the roof’s edge, “That really won’t be necessary.” Out of Some Guy’s view, he removed his backpack, extracting from it its contents. Suit: check. Mask: check. Web shooters: check. “Because,” he continued, hurriedly putting said items on, “I,” he stood up, in full view of the street below, “Have taken care of it.”

“Spiderman!” exclaimed Some Guy in surprise.

“That’s right. Have a cookie.”

“You got that kid off the roof?”

“Yup. You’re welcome.”

“So, uh… how about you get off it, too?”

“They don’t do this to Captain America…” muttered Spidey, dejected. Half-eaten kebab in one hand, backpack in the other, he leapt to the neighbouring roof, turning to address Some Guy for one last time. “You happy?”

“Yes,” said Some Guy, “Thank you.” A smile on his face, he entered his building, not bothering to grace Peter with anything other than the bird.

None of this would have happened if I was on the Avengers… thought he, lifting his mask to take yet another bite of his delicious chow.

Gloved fingers absent mindlessy tapped on her hip as the girl known as Lady-Deadpool stood (im)patiently for her food. She decided to leave her house this one time cause she kept getting commercial for a new mexican food place that was just down the street. Her spidey senses were on full alarms and it could only get sated by the deliciousness of a chimichanga. THE LORD'S GIFT TO THE EARTH! Or whatever deity one would believe in. Flying Spaghetti monster, Buddha, Cthulu, Mewtwo. Whatever or whoever created such a beautiful and glorious food should be praised. Her mouth instinctively beginning to salivate at the thought.

She groaned loudly as she peaked out around the crowd to see how far from the front she was. Her heart stopped (probably literally) as she noticed she was nowhere close. Her hand starting to twitch over the holster on her thigh. After a few minutes of contemplation she whimpered in defeat. Having promised the authorities she would try to stop killing people that opposed her in her tireless search for food. So she simply huffed and crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.

Light bulb!

"OH GOD! IS THAT A BOMB!?!" She cried out in a terrified shriek.

Several people within ear shot heard the out cry and began to panic. The weak willed pedestrians beginning to flee in terror. She smirked, the plan going exactly to plan; only not as well as she had hoped as there were still those who were onto the spandex clad heroine's ruse. A fact she snickered at but was still happy with what she could get. She then skipped ahead to her new position in line, only a few people from the front now. So close to glory she could nearly taste it. Now her stomach was grumbling.

"Soon my little friend... Soon..." She whispered sweet nothings to her tummy.

Nexus of All Realities

He stood in the shadows, just his tiny feathered silhouette could be seen. From somewhere, a horn blared out a tune. He snapped his fingers as a spotlight appeared and shone on Howard the Duck. He wore a sequined tuxedo jacket, no pants, and cradled a microphone in one hand while he snapped with the other.

"We'll meet again," he crooned. "Don't know where, don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day."

The Duck spun, his sequined jacket flashing in the light, and winked at an audience only he could see.

"Keep smiling through, just like you always do. Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds, far away. So will you please say hello to the folks that I know, tell them I won't be long. They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go I was singing this song."

Getting down to one knee, Howard sang his heart out just one last time.

"We'll meet again. Don't know where, don't know when but I know we'll meet again some sunny day."

The spotlight faded to black and Howard disappeared to parts unknown. Some say to right wrongs, other say to finally get that long-promised meal, but the truth is Howard the Duck went to do... whatever it is ducks do. Eat bread? I dunno. Do I look like a duck guy? What do they call those things? Ornithologist. Just googled it. Goodnight, everbody!