Ceta de Cloyes — Roleplayer Guild

V A L O R

M O N - E L ,  M I K E  M A T H E W S

Location: Underground, Jump City - Present DayFamiliar #1.03: Quartine
Interaction(s): NonePreviously: Familiar #1.02: Celerity

There was a slam, a resounding metallic echo immediately followed by breathy chatter. It startled him awake, hands yanking free from... they were cuffs maybe? Little metal loops attached by a short chain, seemingly meant to hold his wrists tightly to the awkward wooden bed. Ugh, what kind of primitive planet still used wood as a viable resting material? Probably slugs. Or rock monsters. Or- oh Rao, please don't let this be Xudaria, that's his worst language! Damn those scaly bastards and their total disregard for cushions!

"What the hell guys?! You got a freakin' SPACE SHIP?!" The voice was feminine, with an accent he didn't know- in a language that was unfamiliar and yet... Oh, that was right; he'd been in a wrecked chariot-class pod, an orange alien had used a tactile Tamaranean balm on him, which, lamest handshake ever. One day he'd actually kiss a Tamaranean for that little trick, the balm was just a cheap rip off.

Or, well, it wasn't cheap, it was pretty advanced bio-engineering actually, but he'd rather kiss Tamaraneans. Or have a Kryptonian robot butler who just downloaded all the languages ever spoken in ten different galaxies. Either one would be nice. At least he didn't have to learn yet another language the old fashioned way. Oh fine, the lame handshake was better than nothing, and hey, his hands weren't blue anymore! Or restrained! How had he done that anyway?

"Whoa mama, who's the snacc?" Mon-El looked up, drawn to the woman's voice - the same one that had spoken before. She looked normal enough, though she had an unusual style with her black leather jacket, purple blouse, and a pair of dark tight pants in a fabric he didn't recognize. She walked like Daxamite elite, confident and beautiful, with a band of metal holding her dark curls out of her face, and golden hoops around her wrists and dangling from her ears, but there was something else to her, something free and unrestrained and energetic. Not to mention the surroundings; the woman was stood on the steps of a short metal staircase against a wall, leading up to a solid metal door, and everywhere there were plastic tarps, metal stools, and crates of opaque glass bottles. Daxamite elite? Relaxed as that in a place such as this? Never.

The rest of the room was somewhat dark, but large enough to probably count as a public space. Probably. Mostly it was the many stools and tables that tipped him off. The aliens from before, the pointy-eared bearded one and the orange antenna'd one, they were stood with their backs to him, attention drawn up towards the newcomer. The slam that woke him must have been her coming through the metal door. "Q!" The bearded one greeted, voice surprisingly youthful and cheery compared to the more wild exterior he presented.He had fangs and didn't even sound a little bit growly! That was such a letdown! "This one crashed on the beach by the mine, we swiped him and his ship right from under the human's noses!" Whatever a human was. The alien sounded proud though, excited even. Again, Mon-El wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"What is a hamon-" The two men jumped, startled at his voice and spinning around. Had they not realized he was awake?Shoddy work from his would-be captors. First the weak cuffs and then blatantly turning their back on him? There weren't even any weapons in this place! He kept going; "hemun- er, humm-eny. That. What is that?"

The girl bounced down the rest of the steps, "Me! I'm a hummeny! Well, a human. Welcome to Earth!" She was a chipper little alien, smiling widely and disregarding any kind of formality in favor of her own eagerness. The duo behind her exchanged wary glances.

"You didn't intend to come here?" The orange one asked, bemused.

Mon-El tilted his head in thought. Earth, Earth, did that sound familiar at all? Not really. "Uh, no? What sector is this?" No recognition. Even the hummeny- the human - even the human looked to the two men with a blank expression. How did she not know her own sector? He'd figured out he was actually on a table, not a bed, so he'd thought maybe this world wasn't as primitive as he first guessed, but if they were so out of touch-

The ring on his finger hummed into activity, lighting up with a faintly purple glow before projecting a little star map. "Sector 2814, my prince. It's good to see you awake again."

"Oh Worm, good. 2814? That's not too bad at all!" It's only like what? One galaxy off? More or less anyway. He could manage that. He cast his eyes to his ship, which he could see tucked away towards a large metal wall. He slid off the table, accidentally crushing the thin wrist bracers that had maybe tried to restrain him while he slept. They slipped off easily. Maybe they were meant to be that destructible.

"Oh worm?" The girl repeated to herself quietly with a huge smile, "That's the most adorable nonsense alien slang I've ever heard." Mon-El scoffed a half-laugh at the miscommunication, and the other two shot their companion dubious looks.

So maybe they weren't captors, he had yet to see any of them react to his broken restraints. They could be playing it cool, but he didn't feel threatened. He'd have to ask them about it later though, because the state of his pod demanded his immediate attention. "What kinda bizarro sprocketing happened here?!" He ignored "Q's" snort of giddy laughter, probably at his actual alien slang this time.

The glass was shattered, the shielding nodules were crusted with salt of all things, and the engines! Some kind of pronged wiring had ripped the insides apart. It was a wonder he hadn't died. Daxamite ships were made to be hardier than this! Chariot-class, a holdover from the war, they were civilian ships that could be conscripted as light fighters in a pinch! Someone had been slacking back home, probably that scumlord bastich Roxxas. Politicians, oh how so very loathsome they are. "Well, that's going to take a while to fix." He sighed, and then turned back to the trio that had clumped together behind him to peer over his shoulder. "I am Mon-El, of Daxam, who are you?"

And that is how he met his team. Q, her name was Jazmin Cullen, but she used Q around the aliens as a little codename, she was a metahuman. He still wasn't sure what the difference was between a human and a metahuman, something about magic? Brin was a Zuunian, and despite his woolly self he was only nineteen, a refugee on this planet. Orange antenna man was a Durlan, something he finally recognized at last. A shapeshifter and a runaway, and Mon-El knew what that meant; Durlans only really ran away for one reason after all.

"Oh, Mon-El? I gained control of the nanites while you slept, shall I expel them now?"

Er... what nanites?

He barely had time to make a confused face before a surge of metallic dust shot up his throat. He promptly threw up, the sound of tinny tacks piling up at his feet.

"Uh, is that normal on your planet?"

"Daddy-fragging nanites..."
Ceta de Cloyes Member

Roziphontes

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts
