MagneticEmerald on RolePlayer.me - www.roleplayer.me/1464927 MagneticEmerald

Female
24 years old
New York, New York
United States

Last Login:
June 26 2019

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     MagneticEmerald's Details
Characters: Lorna Dane
Verses: Marvel, X-Men, The Gifted
Playbys: Emma Dumont
Length: Multi Para, Novella, Para
Genre: Action, Comic, Heroes/Villains, Movie, Spar/Fighting, Television,
Member Since:November 10, 2018




Coming soon! Storylines hosted by Canary, Deadly Precision and Patriot!
Maze Runner, X Company, Jumanji and more! Don't miss this and stay tuned!
http://www.roleplayer.me/view_journal.php?journal_id=2235047



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" There’s nothing noble about struggle. "

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.
Polaris
Magnetic Emerald
Lorna Dane

this is just the beginning

" Little favor? Call me Polaris. "

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At vero eos et accusam et justo duo dolores et ea rebum. Stet clita kasd gubergren, no sea takimata sanctus est Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr, sed diam nonumy eirmod tempor invidunt ut labore et dolore magna aliquyam erat, sed diam voluptua. At vero eos et accusam et justo duo dolores et ea rebum. Stet clita kasd gubergren, no sea takimata sanctus est Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr, At accusam aliquyam diam diam dolore dolores duo eirmod eos erat, et nonumy sed tempor et et invidunt justo labore Stet clita ea et gubergren, kasd magna no rebum. sanctus sea sed takimata ut vero voluptua. est Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr, sed diam nonumy eirmod tempor invidunt ut labore et dolore magna aliquyam erat.

The loved ones

" Uhm, and what if I decline this exciting opportunity? "

Name First M. Last.
Relation Best friend
Comments Suspendisse facilisis nunc eget viverra pretium. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nunc metus odio, accumsan ut vehicula at, convallis nec lectus. Mauris consectetur ut nisl eu consectetur. Phasellus efficitur libero nibh, nec placerat erat consequat sed. Vestibulum cursus mattis volutpat.
Name First M. Last.
Relation Best friend
Comments Suspendisse facilisis nunc eget viverra pretium. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nunc metus odio, accumsan ut vehicula at, convallis nec lectus. Mauris consectetur ut nisl eu consectetur. Phasellus efficitur libero nibh, nec placerat erat consequat sed. Vestibulum cursus mattis volutpat.
Name First M. Last.
Relation Best friend
Comments Suspendisse facilisis nunc eget viverra pretium. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nunc metus odio, accumsan ut vehicula at, convallis nec lectus. Mauris consectetur ut nisl eu consectetur. Phasellus efficitur libero nibh, nec placerat erat consequat sed. Vestibulum cursus mattis volutpat.

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Deadly Precision

Apr 1st 2019 15:20


Jessica DrewHow To Save A LifePost 1

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. Or at least, that was what Jessica Drew had been told. She had known little to nothing about motherhood. Nor had she experienced much in the way of feeling a mother's love. It wasn't that she had been unloved as a child. That much she knew. It was that she recollected very little of the unconditional, unyielding love of her mother. After all, she'd only had the opportunity to experience it for five short years. Five short years of which a majority had been spent critically ill, poisoned after prolonged exposure to the uranium that saturated the land surrounding her parents' research facility. Most of the love she did recall came in relation to the illness and her parents' frantic rush to find a cure. The seemingly endless battery of tests she'd had to endure stood out with almost startling clarity in her mind. However, those memories were sometimes interspersed by those of happiness, love and comfort. It was her parents' love for her that drove their desperation. Desperation that eventually led to them injected her with an untested serum made up primarily of a c*cktail of the blood of various rare spiders. Then, they'd put her under stasis in a genetic accelerator. By the time she was released several decades later and not looking a day over 18, her parents were dead. And with them, her chance to feel the warm caress of her mother's love once more. From that moment on, it seemed Jessica was destined  never to understand or know a mother's love again.

Then, Gerald Drew, or Gerry as she called him, had been born. And for the first time, Jessica finally knew what a mother's love was like. A mother's love is irrepressible and limitless. It transcends beyond circumstances and feelings. It sees past flaws and imperfections. A mother's love is a force of nature. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path. Like an avalanche racing down a mountain side, it is unrepentant in its splendor. Before Gerry, she'd only heard stories about the extraordinary lengths a mother is willing to go for her child. She'd heard tales of the remarkable and often unbelievable feats mothers around the world had performed in their attempts to save or protect their children. Never in a thousand years would she have been able to imagine that she would feel the same drive to save her child. To protect him. But she did.

However, as it is often wont to do, history had, in the most cruel of ways, decided to repeat itself. Gerry had been born terminally ill. A  strange blood borne illness. A consequence of exposure of radiation in the womb. A byproduct of the multitude of tests and experiments her parents had run on her to find a cure. It was all her fault. His suffering. His pain. His slowly weakening body and the innumerable visits to the emergency room. The numberless tests and surgeries. All of it. Her fault. And yet, despite the countless nights lying awake, guilt lying heavy and solid as a rock in her soul, she couldn't bring herself to regret her decision to have the baby. Because despite everything, he was her life. The one person who mattered more to her than anyone else. He was her salvation. He made her strive to be better in every way that mattered. In many ways, he made her whole.

"Excuse me, Miss Drew?"

Slowly, bloodshot blue eyes opened. Before her, medical chart in hand and a sympathetic smile on her face, stood her son's doctor. Still disorientated and slightly groggy from her unintended nap in the waiting room of the paediatric ward, Jessica offered her a watery smile. Straightening out from the awkward and decidedly uncomfortable position she had somehow contorted her lengthy frame into, she rose to meet the other woman. A crick in her neck had her wincing slightly. An apology for her possibly bedraggled state ready and balancing on the tip of her tongue was instantly forgotten along with the contrite smile she'd pasted on her face when she saw the look on the woman's face. Something wasn't right. There was something in the set of the other woman's stance, the slightest slumping of her shoulder, the furrow of her brow, the vaguely pinched look on her face... Oh no...Dread settled over her like a shroud. A weight that draped heavily over her shoulders. It felt as if the air was being slowly squeezed from her lungs. For several seconds, she lost her train of thought. She could feel the frenzied pounding of her heart in her chest. Her breathing had quickened and was coming in short, shallow bursts. "What is it?" she forced out, tone sharper and more brusque than she had intended. Damn it. "Sorry... sorry.. Just tired," she explained lamely as she struggled to take in a deep breath to calm her nerves. Finally, after a moment of stilted silence, "What news do you have about Gerry?" she asked, already moving to follow the doctor, dread following like a spectre in her wake.

If there was one thing Jessica had been thought about life, it was that life was unquestionably unfair. The bad news she'd been expecting had turned out considerably worse than anything her mind had conjured up at the time. How did one go about acting like everything was alright when her world had been shaken to its foundations by the knowledge that her son had mere months to live if that? How would she tell him if at all? Would he know he had been handed down a death sentence? That since the moment he'd been born, he'd been living on borrowed time? That there had been no chance? That all these doctor's visits had been for nothing? Sitting here in her son's hospital room and watching him messily scrawl over his coloring books with crayons, her thought were unfocused. A turbulent maelstrom of frenzied thoughts. One after the other. Each as painful as the last. Each one like a knife to the heart. Her heart ached as she watched him, so carefree and innocent. Oblivious to the fact that even as he sat there enjoying his books, he was dying. This was the only life he'd ever known. Would ever know. Already, hyper aware to everything that was Gerry, she could see the pallor of his skin, how his eyes and cheeks appeared sunken or the slight tremor in his hands making his already messy scrawl even worse.  No child should ever look that gaunt. This weak. She would do anything to give Gerry the chance to live his full life healthy. Her parents had done that for her if nothing else. Unless...

"Oh God.." a voice exclaimed behind her then, cutting off her train of thought. Instinctively, she turned towards the voice, too used to reacting to every little sound that might have meant trouble for her son. A nurse stood by the doorway, medical notes in hand. Even as she watched, the clipboard slipped from her hands, clattering noisily to the floor.  The other woman looked so shaken and bewildered that Jessica was moving before she could even fully register what she was doing. But even as Jessica approached the woman, she had already started fading to nothing. Fading from existence itself. She could see the life draining out of the woman as pieces of her body, like a swarm of butterflies scattered by the winds of spring, swirled in a downward spiral towards the floor. A shower of ash. And that terrible fear. That was the last thing she saw as she met the woman's terrified eyes. Then she was gone. What the hell? Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine. The room seemed to tilt on its axis for a moment. She could feel a tingle running down her limbs like an electric current had been passed through her. Then, everything settled. She could still feel the strange energy thrumming through her. A hidden force. Something was very wrong.

Then she heard it. The screams. Utter, unadulterated panic. Pandemonium. She could hear screams of parents calling their children's names. The petrified, hysterical wailing of young children. The pounding of running feet. In seconds, Jessica was out the door. It was like she had stepped out into the middle of a nightmare sequence. People were running in every direction. Lost children crying for their parents even as they were jostled and shoved, like a leaves buffeted by a strong wind, by the panicked throngs. A blizzard of ash fluttering to the ground. The only signs that moments before, a person had been standing there.

To keep them from getting trampled, Jessica reached out, grabbing a woman and yanking her out of harm's way before diving into the frenzy to get to the little girl who had gotten bowled over in the rush. Picking the little girl up, she moved towards the girl's mother. She saw relief. "Melis.." The word was lost even before it was completed as the woman disappeared in a flurry of ash right before her horrified eyes. Melissa wailed in her arms, pudgy little arms reaching towards the spot where her mother had been seconds ago. "Melissa. You're okay. You're going to be okay," she whispered to the child but even as she said it, the little girl in her arms disappeared, ash slipping through her fingers.

"Mommy?"

She turned. How had he gotten out of the bed?  He was standing there, unsteady on his feet, arms reaching for her. Rushing back into the room, she caught her whimpering son up in her arms. "Mommy, I feel icky." Jessica looked down at her son then. In the past, whenever she'd needed a miracle, all she'd had to do was look into her son's bright. happy eyes to see that she'd created one after all. But now, those same eyes were looking up at her so full of fear. Ash. Jessica clung desperately to him, holding him tight against her as if she was trying to take him back into herself. To shield him. To protect him from a foe she couldn't see. Like she was trying to hold him together through sheer force of will. But alas, it was no good. "Mommy.." And then he was gone.

Arms suddenly empty, Jessica froze. No. No. No. Not Gerry. This can't be happening. She heard screaming again. Faded and in the distance like she was hearing it from underwater. She couldn't breathe. Fear had wrapped its icy hand around her heart and was squeezing. Only later, after feeling the rawness of her throat, would she realize that the screams had been hers. Jessica Drew hardly ever screamed. But in that moment, those sounds had come from her. Like a wounded animal. High, distraught, devastated. The sound of loss. The sound of a soul splintered. Broken by the weight of pain and sorrow. Legs weak, she had crumpled to the ground. Her thoughts were jumbled. Incoherent in her dismay. "Please! Please, not my son! Take me instead. Just give him back. Please!" she begged, desperation and anguish in her voice, followed by a broken sob. Nothing. Her baby was gone.

It was only through sheer force of will that Jessica managed to pick herself up off the floor and make her way outside. The streets outside were chaos personified. Abandoned or crashed cars. Empty strollers. Discarded personal items. Screaming. Crying. People calling out for their loved ones who they were very likely never to see again. And still more ash. What the hell was going on? Something of this magnitude had to qualify as something the Avengers would have to look into. She needed the Avengers. Nothing else mattered in that moment. She was going to get her son back whatever it took, even if it meant she had to physically move hell and earth she would. Turning towards Shield headquarters, phone already in hand, she pressed the first number she saw. Pepper Potts. All the better if she could reach Tony Stark first. The man was a genius and right now she needed someone she could trust and knew would be up to the challenge. If she knew him at all, Tony Stark fit both criteria.

"Don't worry, Gerry. Mommy's coming for you. Whatever it takes, " she vowed quietly under her breath hoping that wherever he was, Gerry knew she would be coming for him. She was willing to go traverse the universes to get him back.

Whatever it takes.
Deadly Precision

Mar 15th 2019 15:35


Response to To Know & I Know Pt 2I'll Stand By YouKate Bishop

Have you known pure, unadulterated hopelessness? Absolute despair. The loss of all hope. Have you ever stood in the darkness or laid awake in the deep of night and known, deep in your heart, in your spirit, that the hell you were in was never ever going to get better? That something has been lost forever and that no matter how you wish it, you were never going to get it back? Like your very soul had been torn asunder, pieces drifting off into the eternal, never-ending darkness of emptiness and leaving behind the tattered remains of soul irrevocably, irreparably broken. It leaves a gaping, bottomless abyss in your very soul. A terrible emptiness that threatens to swallow everything in its path. Hopelessness that has the ability to overpower and defeat even the most able of men and women. To crush them under its ever-expanding weight. Or maybe, you know the deep ache of hurt. An internal pain so deep that even your soul throbs with it. The kind of gut-wrenching pain that steals your breath and muddles your thoughts. One that mercilessly reminds you every day that you are alive while simultaneously making you wish you could end it all. It is a pain that cuts deep to the core, taking root and spreading, festering like an open wound. Threatening to overwhelm you and edge you ever closer to the yawning chasm of hopelessness. A devastating partnership. And one that  Kate Bishop only knew too well.

It was this knowledge that drove Kate's desire to reach out and help the man who had come to mean more to her than most. A desire that found her standing outside Clint Barton's room door on a dreary Sunday afternoon. In her hand, was a steaming mug of coffee. A peace offering of sorts. Comfort in a mug. It had been three weeks since Bucky Barnes had succeeded in coaxing a somewhat reluctant Clint Barton from his self-imposed seclusion in his room. Five since Steve Rogers and Bucky had returned home with a semi-conscious, delirious Clint in tow and seven since he had gone on that fateful mission. While Kate hadn't gone along for the mission, she had been there to see the aftermath. She had seen it all. The feverish, incoherent babbling. Moments of lucidity chock full of darkness and despair. The utter fear, anguish and distress of recurring nightmares. His lack of appetite. She still remembered the two weeks in which he had sequestered himself away in the stifling, sweltering heat of his bedroom. Windows and doors shut tight against the outside world. Garbed in layers of flannel and huddled in a corner of his room on a nest of blankets. No amount of cajoling or pounding on the door had worked. Clint had remained unmoved. Despite all this, it was the hopelessness, his hauntingly vacant stare that hurt her the most. More so than even his continued avoidance of her.

No amount of joking, sassy remarks or good-natured ribbing could conceal his inner struggle against despair from Kate. She knew him too well.  While it might have fooled some of the others (at least Steve had stopped being such a futzing mother bear), his feigned levity worried her. She still spotted the darkness behind his blue eyes. The rigid set of his shoulders or the tightness at the corner of his eyes. Even when he laughed, something was amiss. There was no spark, no life. Like he was just going through the motions. And when he smiled, it never quite did reach his eyes. The only other person who seemed to notice was Natasha Romanoff. Not that that was much of a surprise. For two weeks, Kate had tried everything to get Clint to talk to her, acknowledge her, but to no avail. He was never alone in the same room as her for any significant period of time. She knew this had nothing to do with coincidence. Growing weary of his continued stubbornness and dogged determination to avoid her, Kate had decided to take matters into her own hands

However, despite her resolve to get Clint to hear her out once and for all, standing as she was right outside his door, Kate could feel the onset of nerves starting to set in. Anxiety settled like a  stone in the pit of her stomach. A maelstrom of a thousand butterflies' wings going bonkers in her stomach. Her heart pounded out a frantic, staccato beat against her rib cage. Why was she even second guessing herself now? Why was she even nervous? This was Clint. Her Clint. Taking in a deep, steadying breath, Kate raised her fist, ignoring the slight tremor in her hands, and knocked on the door.

Then, the door slowly swung open. Messy blonde hair that looked like he had run his fingers unconsciously through them one too many times.  His shirt, while clean, looked terribly wrinkled. Set in a tired, haggard face were those troubled blue eyes. Deep, purple bags under his eyes told of a man who hadn't been sleeping. While his face had remained decidedly impassive at the sight of her standing in his doorway, she had caught the barest flicker of emotion in his eyes. Something else that hadn't been there before. But it was fleeting and in moments, it was gone again. Fighting down the hurt, Kate gave Clint a small, almost apologetic smile before lifting the mug of coffee slightly and gesturing to it. Noting that his hearing aids were out, she lifted her free hand and signed, somewhat awkwardly given that she could only use one of her hands, to ask if she could enter his room. Can I come in?

Time seemed to stretch out before them as Kate waited for Clint's response. She respected him way too much to just go barging into his room. If it had been anyone else, she might have just walked right in but Clint wasn't and would never be just anyone. She stood silently in his doorway, mug of coffee held out before her. She was almost certain she knew what was going through his head. If he thought he was going to worm his way out of this once again, he had another thing coming. It was at this moment, with an almost inaudible sigh, that Clint seemed to realize the very same thing. His blue eyes lowered, he motioned for her to enter.

Making her way into the room, she waited till the door was closed before handing the cup over to him. Both hands free now, she signed to him, movements deliberate, to put in his hearing aids. You and I need to talk. Please.. Normally, she would have let it go if he'd rejected her request but not this time. This time she needed him to hear her. She needed him to hear what she had to say. There was too much she needed to express. To say. All those thoughts and emotions. Signing, while possible, would have been wholly ineffective, taken too long and required way too much energy. Energy, she didn't think she had. She watched him contemplate her request before, to her unending surprise, fishing up his discarded hearing aid and slipping it into his ear.

This was it. There would be no turning back now. Not that she would have wanted to anyway. Settling herself against the wall behind her, she met his searching gaze head on. "Talk to me, Clint," she began, deciding it best to just jump straight into it without preamble because she knew putting it off would have dissuaded her from continuing. She almost cringed at the beseeching tone that had crept into her voice. "Please? I just... I just want to help okay? I see you hurting and I don't like it."

Clint's tired blue eyes met hers then. She could see in their depth, him pleading with her to just back off. To let him be. But she couldn't. Wouldn't. Not this time. "Katie..." he began only to be cut off with a glare. "No, Clint. You're not fine and that is okay. Nobody expects you to be after.. after what happened. You were tortured for weeks. No one can come out of that alright.  But don't you dare try to tell me otherwise."

Evidently deciding that attempting to beat a hasty retreat was better than sticking around and having to listen to her, Clint had turned for the door and was moving rather quickly towards it. In a flash, Kate had left her spot against the wall and closed the space between them. Reaching out, she snagging the back of his shirt, bringing him to a halt. He stood, with his back to her, his breathing ragged. "Hawkeye I swear if you leave..." she said, her voice sounded so tired. So worn. There was also poorly veiled dejection in her tone. "You can't keep running every time a situation arises that is too tough or you want to avoid. You can't keep running from me, Clint. This running away thing... this is everything about you that sucks..." Tension was thick in the air as was the silence that now permeated the room as she let her sentence trail off. Despite the fact that he had his back to her, she didn't need to see his face to know how he was reacting to her. To this situation. At this moment, his shoulders tense, he probably had his eyes squeezed closed. He was probably wishing that he could be anywhere else right now but here with her. That all this was just a dream. Another nightmare maybe. That if he kept quiet long enough and willed her away she would leave. Leave him to his own misery. To the encroaching darkness. Just his luck then that Kate was just as stubborn as he was.

"Katie, you don't understand. You don't know what it is like..." he finally said after an almost unbearable, interminable stretch of silence. It was her light but firm tug on the back of his shirt that cut him off. Grasping his arm, she slowly turned him to face her. His eyes were lowered to the floor. So sad and lost. "Clint, look at me," she implored, tapping his arm gently to get his attention and emphasize her point. Dark eyes met blue and in that moment, she knew she had to tell him. Tell him about the one incident that had destroyed her. The one incident she didn't like talking or thinking about. The incident that, until today, only a grand total of two people knew anything about. If her sharing this would help him see that he wasn't alone; that there were people who, despite not having shared the exact same experience, knew what it felt like to lose themselves, she would do it. The things she would do for this man. If it came down to it, Kate would have moved hell and earth for him.

"Thing is I do understand, Clint," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I mean it obviously isn't the same situation but I was hurt badly before too. You aren't the only one who has lost yourself," she said, meeting his gaze, hoping that he could see the sincerity in them. Satisfied that he wasn't going to try to bolt again, she turned towards the bed and perched herself on the side of it. Come here she signed before patting the space beside her. Once he had settled down beside her, she turned to him once more. "Katie... you don't have to.." he started only for her to wave his concern away. This was about him. Not her. And truth be told, it was time he knew. After all, he was the person, the one constant in her life, that mattered most to her. The one person she trusted above all others.

"No, Clint. Let me finish," she said, voice sharper than she intended. This was going to be tougher than she thought. Sorry. she signed. Her right fist rubbed in a circle over her heart. An apology without words. "This happened years ago. After school. I was walking home alone when it happened," she continued, forging forwards before she lost her nerve. She still remembered with vivid clarity the heavy weight of the man on top of her. Their jeers, catcalls and taunts. The putrid smell of his breath. Hot, clammy, rough hands on her. Touching her in places no person had a right to touch without her approval. She remembered her fear, her breathing coming out in terrified gasps. The pain. The tears. The hopelessness. She remembered her throat raw from her pleading, crying, screaming. No help had come then. Not for hours at least. "I was... I was... futz this is hard! I was assaulted, Clint," she finally spat out, bluntly. "I had no support, no friends. My family didn't care. I was alone. And I lost myself to the darkness. For the longest time I couldn't forget. Every time I closed my eyes, I was right back in that park again... under him... begging him to get off." Now that the flood gates were open, there was no stopping her, the words spilled forth, uncensored, from her. She needed to get it out.

"Thing is, Clint. That day I lost a part of myself too. You go through something like that? It changes you. You'll never be the same. No one expects you to be. But whether you choose to come back stronger or wallow in hopelessness and self-pity is up to you. There are people who care for you here, Clint. I care. I want to help. But I can't help someone who won't let me," she said fiercely meeting his shocked blue eyes with her own. " Let me in, Clint. You don't have to face this on your own. Let me help you," she pleaded. "Because you know I'll stand by you. Always."

Once again, silence reigned. Considering the bombshell she'd just dropped on him, Kate should have expected it. Still, as she searched his face for answers, she could feel the distinctive feel of the onset of burgeoning nerves. As the silence continued, she started to feel herself getting antsy. Shifting uncomfortably, she turned to catch his eye, hoping that he would just say something, anything to put her out of her misery. Her nerves, frayed as they were, were making it hard to sit still. Finally, Clint shifted, then to her utmost relief, he opened his arms to her. An invitation. Acceptance. "Come 'ere, Katie," he said with a small smile and just like that, Kate knew that difficult as this was going to be, everything was going to work out. Scooting over, she sagged into his side, face buried crook of his neck as she gave in to the sudden exhaustion that washed over her.
Agent Xero

Mar 4th 2019 22:40


Chris ValleyAgent Xero

Hey, how’s it going? Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Chris but professionally I’m known by Agent Xero. Stop me if you’ve heard this before, mutant super soldier trained to super human levels and experimented on to the point of being more weapon then man….well almost, luckily the Army got their hands on me and straightened me out before I entered the private sector just like the old man, might have heard of him to he goes by Maverick.

Any way, I just wanted to say thank you for the add and I hope that we can work out a storyline together some time soon. If you’d prefer to discuss in messages please feel free to message me in response. If you’d prefer to not get something going, that’s cool to and I hope you have a nice day.

Looking forward to talking with ya

-Chris ‘Agent Xero’ Valley
  Display name./roleplayer.me/valley_xero
Deadly Precision

Mar 4th 2019 16:40


Monday Night DebriefingLate Again

A Few Months Ago – Location Unknown

It had started with the visceral feeling of awareness. A light brushing of awareness at the corners of her mind as it closed in, hemming her in. It pressed in from all sides, rising specter-like out of the infinite darkness that was complete and utter unconsciousness, a total lack of existence, to meet her. In a mind that, as of yet, was unused to it, its very presence was unsettling and foreign.

Where am I? A stray thought floated, unbidden through her mind.  She tried to think back. Tried to remember. Nothing. Was there even a ‘back then’ to remember? She wasn’t sure. Truth be told, she didn’t know much of anything at the moment. Thinking was proving to be difficult, her thoughts coming in sporadic bursts followed by long stretches of sluggishness. Muddled as they were, the brief glimpses she did catch didn’t make much sense.

Giving it up for the moment as a futile exercise, she let her mind focus on other things. The cold, hard surface beneath her. A soft, repetitive beeping like that of a heart rate monitor. The almost inaudible sigh of crisp, chilly air issuing from the air-conditioning vents. There was a slow, steady hum she couldn’t quite place. Machinery maybe? And that sharp, clinical smell of antiseptic and the distinctive smell of various cleaning agents and chemicals. Somewhere in the distance she heard a door swinging shut. Footsteps in the hallway outside. The door behind her opening.

“Good morning, Kate,” a feminine voice spoke up from beside her. So much for that… I wonder what gave me away.. she wondered, a fleeting thought. However, before she’d had a chance to contemplate that question, the thought was whisked away as if by a breeze. Relief flooded her. At least she knew something now. The scattered memories. This woman. She was Kate. Kate Bishop.

Eyes opening for the first time since she’d woken up, Kate instantly regretted it. Squinting against the glare of the light fixture located right overhead, Kate turned her head towards the sound of the voice. Dark eyes met blue. Considering how spotty her memory was, it surprised her when, unprompted, a name slipped past her lips. “Agent Maria Hill,” she whispered, frowning in confusion at this random bit of information and her knowledge of it. All she got in return, was a smile.

Present Day – New York

Bone-tired, a freshly-showered, pajama-clad Kate Bishop sagged limply onto the couch in her minuscule apartment. After the rough week she’d just had, she had been hoping for a slightly less grueling start to the new week. She should have known better than to expect that. Lady Luck’s relationship with one Kate Bishop was unreliable at the best of times. Instead of the easy start to the week she’d been hoping for, it had turned out to be one of those mind-numbingly tedious days that always seemed to drag on a tad too long. Or at least it had started out promising to be one of those days and had, for the most part, been for a significant portion of the day till she had been coerced none too willingly into yet another training session. As if the last nine days straight of training hadn’t been enough. Several hours later, sporting a new collection of bruises and very much feeling as if she was about to collapse, she had been dismissed. So much for being a state-of-the-art Life-Model Decoy, Kate. You got your ass handed to you in there, she thought wryly to herself before wondering idly if it was indeed possible for her to suffer heart failure. Or in her case, the android equivalence of that. Whatever that might be. As a Life-Model Decoy (LMD), Kate was designed and programmed to be a perfect replica, a mimicry of the real Kate Bishop down to the skills she possessed. Like most other LMDs, she had been programmed to feel or, at least, exhibit emotions and natural human reactions to stimuli and her environment. If hurt, she was designed to bleed like any normal person would. The only thing that really set her apart from the real Kate, as far as she knew, was that she'd been created in a lab. Not to mention, the little fact that, despite her appearance, she was technically only a few months old. Not nearly old enough to have picked up the every day nuances that came with being human.

Exhausted, she let her head loll back against the backrest of the couch. Her limbs felt like they were made of lead. Heavy and cumbersome. If she had bones, she was sure those would have been aching. Kate, some of your bruises have bruises. Don’t even talk to me about muscles. Muscles created artificially in a lab shouldn’t even ache this much. It isn’t natural, she thought listlessly to herself.  The joys of being able to feel pain. Her movements felt sluggish like she was wading through quick sand or mud.  Eyelids, heavy with weariness, drooped close. It had been too long of a Monday. Wait. Even half asleep, her brow furrowed. She was forgetting something. She was sure of it. There was that vague, impending sense in her gut that she had forgotten something. If the incessant, niggling thoughts in the back of her mind were anything to go by, whatever it was,was something she should be remembering. Monday. 6.30 pm last I checked. Maria Hill.. That must mean... oh. Futz!

Eyes snapping open, she whipped around wide-eyed towards the clock ticking away unhurriedly on the wall behind her. The speed and abruptness of the movement almost giving her whip lash. 6.35 pm. Kill me now... I'm late again, she moaned silently to herself. Late as usual. Fatigue all but forgotten, she lurched out of her seat, only to almost tip over again as her head spun from the suddenness the action. At times like this, Kate absolutely detested being able to feel certain emotions and react to situations the way normal humans would. Sure, it made her the perfect decoy but it also meant she had to learn to cope with it all in just a few short months. Hastening over to the fridge, she yanked it open and peered inside hoping she had something to bring along so she wouldn’t have to turn up empty-handed. Vodka and a half-finished bottle of dessert wine she couldn't even remember getting or drinking. That would have to do. Grabbing the bottles, she placed them on the kitchen counter by the coffee maker. Coffee. There was still some lukewarm coffee left in the pot. Hurriedly pouring what was left into several mugs to heat up, she stuck them in the microwave before haring off to find her bag in her bed room. Her room, like most of the apartment, was in a state of what she liked to call organized chaos. She knew she had everything she needed within the apartment. Finding it when she needed it, now that was another issue all together. Finally locating her bag tossed haphazardly under her bed and semi-buried under a half-read book and a discarded hoodie, she tugged it from its hiding spot and, almost as an afterthought, tossed in a clean spare t-shirt and track pants. She wasn't sure why she thought to bring those but knowing her, it was better to be safe than sorry. Tumbling out of the room, she poured the now steaming hot coffee into a thermos, grabbed the bottles which were slippery with condensation and all but ran out of the apartment, almost forgetting to lock the door behind her.

15 minutes later, found a disheveled Kate Bishop fishing around in her Bermuda triangle of a bag for the temporary access card Maria Hill had given her. Dressed in a purple t-shirt and baggy cotton sweatpants, her dark hair in disarray and escaping from the messy pony tail she had fashioned it into earlier, she must have been a sight to behold. At least I have clean socks on.That must count for something, she thought in passing. That alone was a miracle really. Finally, her hand closed around the card with a triumphant whoop. She was already way too late and considering that this was the first time she'd been invited to this little meeting, she didn't exactly relish the idea of turning up even later than she was already going to. Praying that it would work, she scanned the card. Nothing. Frowning, she pressed the access card against the card reader again before leaning her full body weight against the closed door in an attempt to get it open. This time, something happened. Evidently, Lady Luck had decided to drop by and spare Kate from having to find another way in. With a soft buzz and a muted click, the door swung inwards under her body weight sending her toppling into the building. Righting herself in the nick of time, she darted off in the direction of the elevators, thanking her lucky stars that she hadn't stacked it and smashed the bottles earlier.  Never mind the dessert wine, why do you even have a bottle of vodka anyway? Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things. With a sigh, she pressed to up button and waited.

As soon as the doors slid silently closed, Kate slumped against the rear wall of the elevator. She was blissfully alone, at least for the moment. By the time it had reached the correct floor, Kate had settled herself down on the floor cross-legged, the two bottles and her bag beside her. She'd been hoping for a little bit more time but clearly that wasn't in the books as no sooner had she settled down fully, the doors were sliding open again, heralded by the elevator's distinctive chime.

"Futz..." she muttered under her breath as she scrambled to gather all her things. Juggling the two bottles and trying to keep her bag from sliding off her shoulder, she barely managed to stop the door from closing again by awkwardly sticking her right foot between the doors. Now, safely out of the elevator, right foot still thankfully in one piece, she made her way down the corridor. In the distance, at the other end of the corridor, she spotted an impeccably dressed redhead she didn’t recognize step into a room. Voices drifted down the corridor from the room’s open doorway.  That must be it. Well, at least I’m not as terribly late as I thought.

Picking up her pace, Kate hurried down the corridor. She didn’t want to give anyone a bad first impression of her. Maria Hill hadn’t even told her who the attendees of this little get together were going to be. All she knew was that Kate Bishop, the real one, was going to be there. She had caught a few names in passing. Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanoff and Jessica Jones. Those names she knew. However, she couldn’t place a face to any of their names. Then again, having never met any of them, it wasn’t surprising and clearly, whoever had programmed her, hadn’t seen fit to uploaded any of those memories.

Several close calls and fumbles (her infernal bag refused to stay longer than a few seconds on her shoulder and she’d almost tripped herself up a few times in her hurry) later, Kate stood before the closed door. Maria Hill’s name was stenciled in large, black letters on the door. The smell of food and the incessant hum of conversations taking place behind the thick door, wafted out to her. Still, as she reached out to knock, she felt an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety grip her. Sure, she was looking forward to meeting these amazing women but at the same time, she hadn’t done much socializing since she’d been activated. It made her nervous. She knew she had all of the real Kate’s natural awkwardness plus some. Her lack of experience in everything it meant to be human meant that that very same awkwardness in her was just made all the more obvious. Worrying her bottom lip lightly with her teeth, she took a shuddering breath to calm her frayed nerves. Her heart pounded out a staccato beat against her rib cage. Anxiety settled like a stone, heavy in her stomach. With the slightest shaking in her hands, she reached for the door again and knocked, cringing inwardly as her knock sounded uncomfortably loud in the empty hallway. Her unease increased as the voices behind the door died down at the sound of her knock. Well, here goes nothing.

“Guys… could one of you let me in? I come bearing gifts in the form of coffee, vodka and a half bottle of dessert wine I didn’t even know I had,” she called out in a voice she knew probably sounded exactly like Kate Bishop’s.
Deadly Precision

Feb 8th 2019 15:37


SHIELD AcademyWWW.ROLEPLAYER.ME/1459288"Kate Bishop"" Family isn't always blood. It's the people in your life who want you in theirs; the ones who accept you for who you are. The ones who would do anything to see you smile & who love you no matter what."
D
ark, watchful eyes took in the other recruits training as the young woman waited her turn on the mat. While to any casual bystander she might have seemed unperturbed and completely blasé to all the activity around her, if one were to look closely enough they might have noticed the attentiveness in her gaze. She watched, silent and still. Taking in everything around her. Missing nothing. She nonchalantly skimmed over the movements of the other recruits. They may not have been aware but she was quietly taking note of their physical movements, cataloging them and setting them aside for future use.  Dark eyes paused slightly longer in their scrutiny of two recruits : Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton.

"Bishop! You're up," the booming voice of her instructor called. Unfazed, Kate Bishop turned her head slowly to regard him, her penetrating gaze unwavering. A moment of contemplation then with an almost amused quirk of an eyebrow and an insouciant shrug, she stepped forward. Sizing up her opponent only took a second. C*cky. Way too arrogant for his own good, her mind supplied astutely as she considered him with a shrewd glance. His self-assured hubris rankled her nerves. She could practically feel the smugness issuing from his pores at the sight of her. Thinks he's already got me beaten. It took an astounding amount of self-control for her not to roll her eyes. Surreptitiously, she glanced at the digital clock on the wall. Noting the time, she let the corner of her lips tilt up in a minuscule smile.

"Rule number one, Bishop," her opponent's voice registered close in front of her. "Never take your eyes off your opponent." Oh didn't she know it. She also knew what he was about to do next. She caught his fist inches from her face. Meeting his eye for a second, she twisted the arm forcibly to the side, forcing her opponent to lean to that side in an attempt to keep her from snapping his arm. Swinging her body up, her legs snapped out in a move she had seen Natasha Romanov use moments before. Thighs on either side of his neck, she applied enough pressure to cut off his air supply then using their momentum, flipped them both over so that her opponent landed hard on his back. She suppressed a snigger at the sound of the air being knocked out of his lungs. She was glad Natasha Romanov had been training that day. Photographic reflexes, her instructors had called it. A fancy term for her uncanny ability to duplicate perfectly any physical movements she had seen performed. She only needed to see it performed once. A skill SHIELD seemed keen to cultivate and hone.

Releasing her thoroughly beaten opponent out from the hold she had on him with her thighs, she rose to her feet in one fluid motion. Brushing herself off, she turned toward her instructor. Her aloof demeanor now gone, she flashed him a genial smile. " With that, I'm out of here. After that rousing performance and the week I have had this girl needs a date with a bottle of beer," she quipped cheerily. "Thank you for today. That was truly a great session." With an impish grin at her winded opponent, she strolled toward the door with  a flippant wave over her shoulder.

Time to unwind and have some fun. God knows, she needed it. Besides, Steve Rogers had implored her, almost desperately, to join him in the boiler room after it became apparent that he wasn't going to be able to dodge anymore of Maria Hill's invitations. All out of poor excuses, she chuckled to herself. Normally, Kate wasn't one for hanging out in the boiler room but she hadn't been joking about the long week she'd had earlier.

At just 19 years of age, Kate was one of the younger recruits in the second year. She'd been recruited young. First impressions wise,  she was very much aware that she hadn't seemed to fit in with the typical recruit demographic here at SHIELD Academy. The youngest daughter of a millionaire, Kate had been seemingly gifted with both intellect and athleticism. With her stellar results in school and the fact that she stood a chance of inheriting her father's business empire, it appeared that she was destined for great things. The prospect of enrollment into an ivy league college of her choice had been all but a given. Evidently, that hadn't happened. Then again, precious few people knew the real Kate Bishop.

Not many people knew about the lonely, neglected girl who had lost her mother at a young age only to be left in the care of a negligent father whose shady business dealings had placed her in danger more times than she could count and an older sister whose steadfast indifference towards her bordered on pathological. Survival had forced Kate to step up to the plate. Having had no real friends to speak of, Kate had essentially raised herself. She had been taught early on that she could count on no one, trust no one except herself.  Not many knew that Kate hated being rich or that she frequently spent time helping out at homeless and women shelters. Kate was a girl who was all heart and very few knew just how bruised and battered that heart was. Fewer still, with a grand total of two, were the people who knew the broken, traumatized girl Kate had become after the Central Park incident. After years of therapy, Kate had erect a facade to hide that side of her. A scarred and broken side she knew would always be there.  So, with an outwardly wilful, contrary attitude borne of poorly managed trust issues, Kate had bucked all expectations laid upon her and decided to forgo college.

Focusing all that rage, pain, fear and shame from the incident, Kate had channeled all those negative feelings into picking up an impressive repertoire of skills. Wanting to be able to defend herself and others who couldn't, Kate had picked up and excelled in several different forms of martial arts, archery, sword fighting and the use of staffs and battle staves. Still, she hadn't expected to register on anyone's radar let alone SHIELD's. Needless to say, when she had been approached one day after a Jiu Jitsu class and been handed a confidential letter, she had been surprised and decidedly suspicious. However, after ascertaining the validity and authenticity of the letter and it's contents, she had been more than willing to join the esteemed academy.

It was here, at the academy, that Kate had experienced what it felt like to have real friends. There were people she could consider family. People she could trust and rely on. Honestly, it hadn't been easy for Kate to open up the first couple of months. Any outward interest towards her made her wary. But as time passed and she got to know some of her fellow recruits, she found herself slowly breaking out of her shell. She had always been independent and headstrong but as her confidence grew, more and more of her personality started to shine through. Opinionated, sarcastic, sassy Kate was very much back.

Never having been particularly vain, Kate threw on a simple get up of dark wash jeans, white blouse, denim jacket. Comfortable and functional. That was all she needed. Besides, the boiler room was as casual a hangout as one could get. Designed by students through the the years, it had become the place to be when you weren't tied down by work. Music, people, food, games and drinks. It was a young person's haven. Still, as she reached for the door knob, she felt anxiety grip her. Too many people. It made her nervous. Worrying her bottom lip lightly with her teeth, she took a shuddering breath to calm her frayed nerves. Her heart pounded out a staccato beat against her rib cage. Anxiety settled like a stone, heavy in her stomach. With the slightest shaking in her hands, she reached for the knob again. Come on, Kate. You can do this. How bad can it be? A bottle of beer and you'll be right as rain again anyway.

The interior of the boiler room was dimly lit, shadows gathered in the corners, crowding in at the periphery. Music blared from the speakers, the baseline a driving beat. Glancing around the room, she spotted a couple of familiar faces. At least Rogers is here, she thought, relieved that she wasn't alone. Approaching the bar, she ordered herself a bottle of beer before turning to join the few people in the room she recognized. Although anxiety still gripped her like a vice, outwardly Kate showed little of that. Seemingly unruffled and relaxed, she sauntered over, cold beer bottle held casually in her hand. An unreserved smile spread unbidden across her lips as she neared them. "Maria, Phil. How are we all doing today?" she greeted amiably before turning to Steve, her gaze perceptive before she lowered her eyes to glance at the can of orange soda in his hand. "Orange soda, Rogers? You, my friend, need to learn to live a little. Besides, that orange soda is not going to do anything for those nerves," she pointed out.  
Blood makes you related. Loyalty makes you family.
Deadly Precision

Jan 4th 2019 13:40


SilenceWWW.ROLEPLAYER.ME/1459288"Kate Bishop""I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid but he who conquers that fear."
H
er graceless fall into the lake was what did it. Frigid cold water soaked her to the bones in milliseconds, stinging at her skin like a thousand tiny, red hot needles. Her clothes clung uncomfortably to her but that wasn't what bothered Kate. Inhaling a mouthful of that foul, bitingly cold water on impact was infinitely worse. She sputtered and choked only to inhale yet another mouthful. She tried opening her eyes only to realize that they had snapped open in shock. What she was seeing wasn't the back of her eyelids. It was seemingly endless, pitch black water. No  up. No down. Her lungs hurt, burning from the lack of oxygen and from all the water she'd inhaled. Extremities were starting to lose all feel. Her vision was starting to dim, blurring around the edges. Her mind starting to turn hazy and sluggish. She felt drained and so very tired. A part of her, a large part, wanted to give in. For her to just close her eyes. But the other part of her, the logical and far more insistent side was demanding that she stay awake. Gathering what was left of her energy, Kate chose a direction and just swam hoping it was the surface.

A frosty breeze hit her the moment her head broke through the surface of the water but cold as she was, she couldn't find it in her to care. Coughing violently, her body worked to rid itself of all the water she had inhaled. If she had thought inhaling that stuff had been bad, regurgitating it was worse. Gagging as the final bit of water was expelled, Kate took a moment to catch her breath. Only to regret it. There was a pungent, cloying smell in the air. Something that smelled suspiciously like rotting flesh. It overpowered the other less objectionable scents like the smell of fresh, wet dirt and rain. Having control of her breathing once again, Kate took the opportunity to look around. As luck would have it, she had somehow landed right in the middle of a large pond. She frowned. What the hell? How had she gotten here?

Drained and decidedly over this whole situation, she had swam to shore. Her mind working frantically to figure it all out. The last thing she remember was being at Clint Barton's. He hadn't been there. She remembered ordering in pizza, helping herself to some left over coffee and feeding Lucky. Dread suddenly gripped her like a vice as she started to piece everything together. It had been one of those nights. One of those nights when she felt just about ready to crawl out of her own skin. She'd been feeling out of sorts all day. The feeling of being watched and followed had stuck with her for a good portion of the day even at Barton's. And yes, she had checked. Several times in fact. As the night had progressed, she'd convinced herself to chalk it down to the fact that she hadn't seen much action in a while and she was starting to go a little stir crazy.

"No need to go looking for trouble, Kate," she'd chided herself silently under her breath." You get into plenty of that already."

However, the feeling didn't go away. In fact, it got worse. Things had taken a turn at around midnight. She'd been heading down the corridor to bathroom when the feeling of being watched returned with a vengeance. She'd felt the tell tale tingling on the back of her neck. The room had suddenly felt terribly stifling and claustrophobic. A creaking of a floorboard worryingly close behind her had her whipping around ready to fight only to be met with...nothing. But the feeling remained. Just to put her mind at ease, she'd gone through the entire apartment again. Absolutely nothing. So then why had she felt like she wasn't alone? Kate should have trusted her instincts because as she turned to leave, a sudden blinding pain erupted at the base of her skull then nothing.

Of course, the unceremonious dunking she'd just taken had been when she'd woken up. Underwater and thankfully, still in the clothes she'd been in when she was taken. Gingerly reaching up, she pressed the spot at the base of her skull wincing at how tender it was. Stumbling onto shore, she took stock of her situation. She was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. She definitely wasn't in New York anymore. Great.. lost out in the boondocks alone and in dripping, possibly see through clothes. Life's really loving you today, Kate, she thought sarcastically to herself. As she turned to leave, a glint of something in the bushes nearby caught her attention. Warily but with no shortage of curiosity, she had approached. A single backpack. The glinting had come from the little metal tag on the front. Reaching out and grabbing it, Kate had yanked it open to find it  full of First Aid Supplies. Bandages, syringes and needles, suture kit... and was that a scalpel? The general strangeness of the whole situation drew a disbelieving laugh from Kate.

Crunch! The laughter died in her throat. Something big was definitely behind her. Turning slowly, scalpel still in hand, there had been a few in the bag, she looked out into the gloom. Deepening shadow pressed in from every side like phantoms lurking in the dark. It was dead silent. So deathly still that not even a breeze stirred. Then, something did stir. Or several somethings. Out of the gloom came first one men then another then another till there were five of them, their faces still hidden in shadow. They advanced on her as one, their movements synchronized to perfection. As they approached, she finally made out enough of their facial feature despite the darkness to recognize them. She froze. Icy fear racing down her spine. Her heart was hammering out a staccato beat against her rib cage as she backed away slowly.  It couldn't be. Not again. Not after everything they'd done to her.

Then the first one pounced. Without even thinking, Kate dropped into a fighting stance even as she felt, for the first time in a long time, genuine fear. Adrenalin pumping through her, she dispatched of the first assailant with a vicious stab to the throat. The second didn't fair much better however, the noise seemed to be attracting more. She recognized them all, their faces seared into her memory. She had to get out of here. Launching the scalpel into the neck of one of the advancing figures, she used a well-placed kick to send him sprawling back into his companions. In the chaos and confusion, Kate slipped away into the darkness and ran.

Never again.
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Octave

Jan 2nd 2019 14:37


We Are The Resistance.

Could there really be a resistance? A Heroes Underground so to speak? Theresa Cassidy didn't dare to hope. How long had she and Lorna been on the run? How long since her world had quite literally crumbled away, like a swarm of butterflies scattered by the winds of spring? She wouldn't have been able to tell you even if she tried. Time, for her, had lost all semblance of meaning. Hours blended into days which seemed in turn to blend into weeks till one day was indeterminate from another. It seemed like everything had changed with the metaphorical snap of someone's fingers. The world she had emerged into from the back of the Sentinel Services transport vehicle was a different one from the one she had left behind. Full of darkness, pain, suffering, anger, distrust and hatred, it was a terrifying one to behold.

Theresa remembered the day everything had changed with a sharp, almost uncomfortable clarity. Just weeks prior, she'd been caught trying to use her abilities to get some thugs to leave a young mutant child alone. Sure, she hadn't resorted to utilizing the more destructive aspects of her power instead choosing the more subtle touch of the ability she had dubbed her Siren's Song but that didn't matter. Sentinel services had showed up unexpectedly at her apartment one night and carted her away. That was how, weeks later, she found herself in the back of a transport vehicle with another inmate, Lorna Dane. The collar-like power inhibitor around Lorna's neck was identical to hers and marked the other woman as a fellow mutant even if her deep green hair hadn't been a dead giveaway. The drive had been mostly silent, the women too afraid of accidentally angering their jailers with their abilities suppressed as they were. They had no idea where they were going. All they knew was that those who had gone before them, had never been heard from or seen again.

Fate, however, seemed to have other plans that day. One minute, they'd been driving along smoothly then it had all dissolved into utter chaos. An almost inaudible gasp from the guard next to her had involuntarily drawn her gaze. Before her disbelieving eyes, the man started fading from existence, pieces of his body drifting to the ground in a flurry of ashes. She met his eyes for a few seconds. Watched as the life drained from them. An then, he was gone. A soft clinking noise drew her attention downwards. A small device lay in the pile of ashes. She knew what that was. They could get those infernal collar devices off and their powers back. "Lorna!" she'd called out only for it to end in a startled yelp as the van started to swerve madly. Glancing to the front of the van, all she saw through the grilled window separating them from the driver was... ash. Sh*t.. Catching Lorna's terrified gaze, they seemed to reach a mutual agreement. Before she could really think, she was lunging for the tiny device on the floor.

To say it had been a close call would have been an understatement. They were only alive due to Lorna's amazing ability to manipulate metal. Pretty handy really when you were stuck in the back of what could be considered a runaway metal coffin. They had set out on foot, doing what they could to stay alive. Being fugitives made things all the more difficult. Things were getting rough for powered individuals. They'd seen the propaganda. “Superheroes are the reason our world is destroyed. Anyone with powers should be tortured.” With Lorna's green hair giving her away as a mutant even after they'd changed out of their prison garb and ditched the collars, they were in a precarious situation even if they weren't already on the run from Sentinel Services which evidently was an organization backed by someone with very deep pockets.

By the time they found the flier announcing the existence of a Resistance, both women were in rough shape. Neither had rested, eaten or drank anything in days and with people actively killing and hunting mutants now, getting a change of clothes had been out of the question for a while. After their latest run in with some purifiers, Theresa was just glad they had gotten away without worse injuries.

"Lorna, come t'look at this. What do ye think? Should we try t'find them?"

Not knowing how much longer either of them would last, the women had, to the best of their ability, navigated their way to the rendezvous point. A small tunnel. Bright red door. Soft dirt under their feet. Given how hazy her mind had been the last couple of days, Theresa was surprised that both of them had even managed to decipher what was in the flier let alone muddle their way to the location they now found themselves. With trepidation, she'd reached for the door handle and opened it. It took a moment for her exhausted mind to register what or who she was seeing sitting behind the table. Accent more pronounced with her exhaustion she addressed the man.

"Ye're Professor Xavier, aren't ye? I believe ye knew a relative o' mine. His name was Sean Cassidy. Ye called him Banshee. I'm Theresa."
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