Blizz

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Local cursed girl gets slammed with facts and logic

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Interactions: Everyone

The House on the Hill

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For all his gloom, Jack liked to consider himself an optimist. There was usually some silver lining to the way things went, and in this case, it was that the alliance had real potential thus far. Greenwood wasn’t asking for much in return: Vengeance when they had already been craving for it themselves. There was something to resonate over, and then Layla had to throw a wrench in it. Jack’s fave twisted up in bitter contempt for a brief moment, before falling back to dead neutral.

“I may not have been there, but I've got the memories of an apparition who’s life was destroyed after what you did. I know how Naomi egged her on, how Alizée was getting ready to leave, before Naomi fired her up and served her up to Wolfpack on a silver platter!”

What exactly did she know, when the Void Heart had its possessive hooks in her just as much as Alizeé?

“Naomi said it herself. Alizée was getting ready to leave. She knew Alizée was easy to anger, she knew Wolfpack was on the way. She knew everyone needed to leave, else suffer. And what did she do?!”

“It's her fault Alizée is dead. Naomi goes, or I refuse to acknowledge this alliance.”

”The Wolfpack is responsible for her death,” Jack corrected, with a firm tone. ”The Wolfpack opened fire on her, executed her as they had fully intended to execute everyone present during that incident. Alizeé left Auri’s shop before that incident happened, immediately after we discussed a now-deceased member’s connection to the government. She left because she felt cornered, and Alizeé’s mind went to dangerous places when she did not feel safe. ”

”I remember that conversation.” Stormy cut in. ”What you’re hearing there is Naomi Rodgers talking to me. I had to step in to keep her from attacking. That was right before the Wolfpack arrived. Britney can tell you she wasn’t up to anything great.”

”Thank you. Naomi is entirely innocent regarding the death of Alizeé, as I am certain the House of Card’s spy knows, since she was clearly present. Greenwood, pay no mind to her,” Jack said, addressing the others and disregarding Layla. ”Layla is not Sycamore. She is associated with the Temple.” It was taking considerable restraint and patience for Jack to not delve into a tangent on why she wasn’t actually one of them. So instead, he just left it largely at that.

”Now… To answer your question. Some of you already know me from our first meeting during the festival. Jack Hawthorne, red-purple Adept, I specialize in shadow-based spells and dimensional navigation. I can be virtually anywhere on this planet within a matter of seconds. I have been to the Void and back, and I personally followed the Stygian Snake through several worlds during the conflict against it.” That sounded like bragging, but Ruby was asking about who they were and what they could do, so it was the answer she got. Jack thought it would be best if they just completely avoided entertaining Layla’s bullshit anymore than that. It was opened, it was shut, it was in the past.

The adults were talking, not her.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Oh Layla

You sweet summer child

If only you knew what that would do for you

《 Super H.E.R.O. 》

Wiseman showed up at HERO Three fully armored, strapped to the teeth as usual in full hero gear. He didn’t live far from here, since he pretty much always stayed at Hero One when he wasn’t busy. This evaluation didn’t mean much to him in the grand scheme of things. He knew that Magician, true to his name and background, was an egotistical, chronic snark. Wiseman had dealt with egotistical people before, people who thought they ruled the world. ICOSA was among those people, but the constant smug tone of this inspector bounced off of Wiseman like water off a stone bridge. He simply didn’t feel intimidated by this. If anything, he didn’t seem to even pay attention to half of Magician’s rambling.

Sat on a couch in the lobby, Wiseman was immersed in work. Three separate holographic screens emitted from his Lexicon floated before him, and his fingers quietly flew across them as he did the best he could to support the two away teams from a distance. ”Yes, yes, I’ll see the doctor when I have a moment,” he said, dismissively. Though it was impossible for Wiseman to actually ignore anything happening in the room right now thanks to his powers, he was more worried about doing his job. Wiseman had done Powers a favor by being here today, filling a spot that wouldn’t slow him down. Other heroes couldn’t necessarily hack into two different locations at the same time from a distance, so it meant little whether Wiseman was actually present.

On one screen, he flew through lines of code on a keyboard, hacking into the building that Blast’s team was set to investigate. With a bit of teamwork from ALISA, his access to the Peterson estate left no trace in HERO’s databases. He worked his way into one camera of the building, which had a connection to a central server where security was managed. A simple, yet elegant bug was placed in there, allowing him remote access to every camera in the entire building.

Quickly, Wiseman wrote up a script on a second screen. His fingers were a blur across the holographic keyboard as line upon line quickly spooled out. He loaded the script into the Lexicon’s processor and typed out a message that only ALISA would be able to read. Transmit this script to their wristwatches, it will give them remote access to security.

Giving ALISA the reigns to relay the script served to also give her the same secretive, personal access to the cameras Blast, Gematria and the rest of their team would receive a secure, undetectable channel that would allow them to discreetly view the feed of the building’s cameras. It would connect their watches to the Peterson estate’s security network, with a screen over the bug preventing anyone from recognizing the access at all. In simpler terms, they’d be untraceable as long as they didn’t get caught by someone looking over their shoulder. With that finished, he closed the two screens out and kept working in silence.

A third screen displayed a map of the Fixeon plant’s electrical grid and camera network. A quick inventory showed it didn’t have much working, but Wiseman was able to spot a working camera outside and a set of cameras that had different model numbers and MAC hardware under the building.

And there was something the gun-toting hero did not appreciate. So he took care of that first. The junior inspector supervising the team would suddenly hear Wiseman’s voice coming through her ICOSA issued communication device. ”Remove your finger from the trigger of your weapon, inspector Perez. Or I will embarrass you in front of your superiors for pointing it at my teammates.” This was said aloud, in front of Rune, Oracle and the other unlucky heroes who were being evaluated. If Magician heard that, then he heard it.

His hands once again blazed across a keyboard as he patched into the team’s communication channel. ”Fixeon team, this is Wiseman. I have located a hoard of Terrazards not far from your location. They haven’t seen you yet, so you can ambush them.” The heroes at the plant would receive a top-down map of the location, as well as a snapshot of the camera that Perez wasn’t far from, indicating the exact location of the Leftovers.

”And our suspicions about unusual activists here are likely correct. There is a third party setup of cameras and portable spotlights beneath the plant. They are likely operating on a portable energy source, since the building does not have power. There is little more I can do to support you for now, but if your supervisor does not warn you of incoming danger from outside, I will try to myself. Wiseman out.”

A small part of Mire hated the term “Leftover.”

Humans had too many words for things. Every little expression they made, every little emotion or turn of disposition they developed had to be catalogued. The ones that thought there was no such thing as a cost too step were called “Machiavellian,” but the ones who were reasonable about it were “pragmatists.” The ones who looked after their own people were “altruistic,” but also “considerate” or “compassionate.” Depending on where they came to be, they were “American” or “Russian” or “Japanese” and then there were other words on top of that. Names, titles like “inspector.” None of these words meant little more than a damn way of remembering one face from the other as far as Mire was aware. Humans used so many names and some of them made them better than each other. “Director” was just a word, just a few guttural sounds in one language on this earth, but all these heroes seemed to be scared shitless of the one calling himself that and “Powers.”

Director Powers didn’t seem much different than all the others. Maybe a bit bigger, but Mire didn’t care about that sort of thing. But on top of it all, they had to slap labels on Mire. They didn’t care about even having the name “Mire,” let alone the name “Leftover.” To them, it just meant that whatever got the label was to be killed. Except that didn’t even matter when Mire was a leftover. They were still “alive” by human definition.

So when they crawled out of the metal vehicle along with Lab Rat (who they didn't recognize) and the other heroes, Mire didn’t feel concerned over what they were here for. Getting rid of Leftovers, but they wanted a Leftover to be a hero? ”Is that human on the tower coming down here or is it going to annoy us?” They asked, hearing Ardent mention the ICOSA “supervisor.” ”Are we supposed to care what they think? If that’s the case, why would they put me here? When they already don’t mean anything to me?”

Mire turned and look up at Perez off in the distance. That strange approximation of a humanoid skull glared right through her, emotionless but obviously unamused. ”They want me to get rid of the same thing that I am, but they want me to stay here… Fine. Where are they? They’re my problem, now. But if that human points that… ”Weapon” or whatever they’re called at me when I get rid of them, it goes next.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Interactions: Everyone

House on the Hill

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The kid started talking, and Stormy listened while Sully went to work getting these two up on their feet.

"She wanted to know why I went after the 'old man'. I think she was talking about someone I tailed... black, has a suit and cane, white hair, weird accent. Shayton. Worked with the bikers, then killed that asshole Judas, back at the club. For his bosses. Same creeps those bikers were working with, maybe, I don't... I thought maybe oneof them killed Ashley, and your friends too. Shayton said both he and his bosses had nothing to do with the murders, said he'd kill Father Wolf himself. 'Bad for business'. But he got away before I got real answers, back at that stupid Halloween thing where you were partying."

So, he had been taking his own initiative to track down answers, and almost paid a price he couldn’t afford for it. Stormy wanted to say something about how he was just a kid and shouldn’t be going off on his own like that. But he very clearly wasn’t just an ordinary kid, no more than any of them were back in the old days. ”Well, you’re alive and in one piece now,” he noted. ”That’s the important thing, isn’t it? You might want to keep close to some of us for the time being. Just in case this woman wants to finish the job.” And if the rest of them weren’t around to act coherently as a group, then Clancy might not hold up against another shot from… Whatever those crystals were.

Greenwood walked in, at long last. They certainly picked an interesting time to make their appearance. Introductions started off, and everyone quickly forgot about the incident. Which was fine to Stormy. He stayed next to Luca to let the aura of his magic ward off the Rot, smoking like a green chimney. ”I met a few of you a few nights ago. Glad to meet all of you at last,” he said to the Greenwood Coven.”

When he heard the name “Rosefey” come up, it reminded Stormy of a certain arrogant prick from the young days of the days of the Sycamore. Stormy looked to the side and saw that the resident edgelord, Jack, was visibly cringing at the memory of that guy. At least he had the sense not say anything out loud. Yeah, me too.

"I know some of you have been very interested in an alliance. Our membership has also been interested in an alliance. I believe we can help each other with our respective issues in St. Portwell."

"Not just the 8th St. Coven, but with this serial killer that's after you. Yes, you might be thinking that the murders have nothing to do with us - they do; Sullivan is a target. Not just that, I'd be lying if I didn't think something bigger was going on that would, inevitably, drag us and the rest of St. Portwell into it. So, we're going to be proactive and see what we can help you guys with on that front."

Today was a damn good day, in Stormy’s opinion. This meeting so far was going mostly great, a plan was formed, an alliance was coming to bare. Though, Ruby’s concerns had him wondering what could be building beneath the surface. The PRA had been ramping up their hold lately, 8th St was clearly working for a higher up, he’d have to look into the Elite. And then there was the matter of the woman who made an attempt on Clancy’s life. There was no question that all roads were going to one place in due time. But where?

"Any comments, questions, concerns, fuck you's?"

”Is there anything we can do to return the favor?” Stormy asked. ”You’re going to a lot of trouble by stepping up for us, it’s only fair if we give back.” Of course, they didn’t really have much in the first place, but that was why Stormy tried not to outright promise something in particular. Rather, he just left the question open for them to fill in themselves.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Interactions: Sully @Atrophy, Clancy @Zombiedude101

House on the Hill

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Stormy would’ve been lying if he said he fully understood what was going on. Between the gloomy guy’s absolute dissertation on the Pale Horse, High Priestess and Raven Jones and all the other things he felt the need to compress into one instance, the history professor in him was struggling to keep up. But his attention went fully onto the child who bathed in. Clancy. The kid who had been “killed” the night they all came together again, maimed at Kari’s house and now very clearly not doing so great. He must’ve been an Abscised. Stormy’s jaw tightened at the sight of his ragged flesh and the clamor around him of people trying to help. He didn’t even fully register the fact that Adora had proper Abstraction yet.

That tension only got worse when Luca came up and destroyed the odd crystal plaguing the kid. He fell over, and didn’t get back up. That was when Stormy came over. He ran up to Sully and swiped his hand across the Chalice, enveloping it in a wreath of green sparks. ”Witchveil for magic resistance,” he knelt down next to Luca and pressed a hand up against his chest. Stormy lit up in shade of green smoke, warding off Apparitions and sapping their strength within his immediate area. ”Phantombane for the Rot. Sully, the Chalice will be fine now. Get them both. And hurry. It won’t last long now.” The combination of Phantombane weakening the Rot and Witchveil protecting the Chalice from magic meant that the artifact would barely get a scratch.

”Once you’re taken care of, tell us who did this to you.” He looked over to the Abscised boy, who wouldn’t be affected by either aura. Concern etched itself on Stormy’s face as he wondered if it was the Wolfpack coming back for revenge.

SPIRITUM

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If someone in this group had taken some sort of issue with Morden's decision to treat the princess of Vangar like the credible risk she was, he didn't seem to notice. As far as he was concerned, she could draw on the mist at any time she wanted, and plant one of those glowing arrows in someone's backs when they weren't looking. Morden trusted that his group would to their jobs, and they could trust that he'd do his. Diplomat or not, he wasn't letting his guard down for any reason. Following Veld's leave, Morden walked off to help get the truck back into some semblance of a working condition. He gathered up junk and used his mistbegotten strength to bend things into just the right shape. He hauled the engine out and pieced the damaged, overexerted thing back together with little issue while holding it upright in one hand. He did, of course, have the common sense to do this out of sight, walking around the backside of the truck away from everyone else, but it was easy to fix even for someone who wasn't a proper engineer. While the whole thing didn't need to be rebuilt, Morden was the strong one, so he could just check things easily that way. It made little bits of damage that would take an hour to get to take a minute or two at most.

The strange ship that downed the Palatine was firmly in his thoughts, if the robots were from a third party, who else in the world would possibly oppose Vangar if not Rassvet? Morden's understanding of the was that Rassvet was the last line of defense. If the nation was conquered, then the war was over. Was it dissension in the ranks of the empire? Had someone else fought back and held them off?

"If we stay quiet, and stay moving, we should have no trouble getting there. If this ragged coffin we call a vehicle will stay intact that long," Morden commented as he manually lowered the engine back in and rigged it back up to the truck, after fixing what was damaged. "The noise we make from here on, the better."

X-Men: GenetiX

Ryder wheeled around on the man and glared daggers at him. Who did Xavier think he was, acting like he understood this? The things that went through her head, the secrets she knew, the weight of surviving in a pit where the ghost’s scheme was there she existed for. He was an ant on a mountain, and she was the sun.

”Let me tell you something about weapons, old man.” She stalked up to him, until there was barely enough room for one of them to stick an arm out. ”Weapons are pointed at something, by someone else who pulls the trigger. Weapons don’t have free will, they’re just an extension of someone else’s wants. Weapons don’t take freedom into their own hands by force. I’m whatever the fuck I want to be. I chose to be something else a long, long time ago. And you don’t factor into that. What I am is their fucking reckoning.” She knew what they wanted her to be, and something Xavier failed to account for was the fact that Ryder made her own choices whether others wanted her to or not. The implication that she was too shortsighted to not be different from what Umbra wanted boiled her blood.

”You don’t understand what I am. And you never will until you have to claw your way out of there just for the chance to choose what your life looks like. None of you had to make the choices I did. So stop pretending you get it,” she hissed. ”Stop acting like I need you to come and fix me.”

Avengers Academy: Junior Year 💥

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Location: Who the Fuck is Baldur
Skills:
WHAT. THE. FUCK.

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There was no way in fuck that the real Mai could be knocked out so easily by some twink with a knife. So Leah concluded that this must’ve been a fake Mai programmed to make Leah drop her guard long enough for a cheap shot. Still, it was a good punch. Leah looked around at all the dead cultists, unsure if more were about to show up. "Not bad. So... Anybody have any idea what the fuck we're supposed to be doing next? And what about that thing?" She asked, pointing at the weird crystal Mai was holding.

"Anybody know if that thing is cursed? Or important?"

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Interactions: _{ₜₕₑ Cₒᵥₑₙ}

_{ₜₕₑᵣₑᵢₛₒₙₗywₐᵣₜₕₑᵣₑᵢₛₒₙₗywₐᵣₜₕₑᵣₑᵢₛₒₙₗywₐᵣₜₕₑᵣₑᵢₛ}

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Amara was watching the conversation unfold, a pounding headache tempting her to just turn around and leave. The rhythm of her heartbeat was sounding through the base of her skull, like an axe trying to cut her open. It was a miracle she hadn’t crashed into a tree on her way here, but Amara looked stone-faced. To everyone else, it looked like she was just a little impatient right now. And deep down, she absolutely was. She had an infinite choir of voices in her head telling her no at this very second. Among other things.

Bad fucking day.

”The Pit? Absolutely fucking not. Lynn, did you go insane or something? Nothing good comes out of there,” She interjected, having pieced it all together from listening. ”You go there, you’re gonna see shit like the Stygian Snake left right and center. If you somehow survived, you’d go mad. Fucking insane, psych ward, straight jacket and everything.”

”We could-“

”Shut your discount Eric Draven looking ass up, Hawthorne,” Amara cut him off real fast. Amara looked at Lynn with a noticeably bloodshot look in her eyes. ”Aaron’s right. That just ain’t an option. I mean… Just, how the fuck are you even getting there?”