Hank McCoy | X-Men: First Class | First Enterance

[tobenormal]

[OOM: Hank goes looking for things he's not cleared for.]

The Front Door swings open today to reveal a young man, barely out of his teen years, who is dressed in a lab coat, brown sweater vest and tan slacks. He looks startled and confused and is rooted to the spot.

A little help might be in order.

(no subject)

[lady_bols]

Time slips. 

There are stars all around her.  

Someone laughs, calls her name. 

There is a shattering of glass.

Time slips.

Somewhere, the jukebox kicks in, and a song she knows by heart comes on.  She turns her head towards the music, and follows.


She crosses the threshold, chin held high.  It takes a moment for the new reality to settle around her, but she's getting used to that sensation. 

Being dead isn't at all what she imagined it would be.

(plot-locked, say thank you.)

(no subject)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Lucky Harith the weapons dealer contacted: check.
Crow the armor dealer contacted: check.
Doc Hoff, trader in chems and food, contacted: check.
Flak and Shrapnel, the gun sellers of Rivet City, contacted: check.
Crazy Wolfgang, oddly wealthy dealer in every kind of junk, trash, and random material found in the Wasteland, contacted: check.
Knight-Captain Durga, Brotherhood of Steel quartermaster, spoken with at some length: check.

And there's still stuff from the Armory that needs to be sold off.

Well, fine. Fine. Ellen will find buyers for the rest of it somewhere. She's got a hefty chunk of caps at the moment, at least, that's a good start. What she's also got is orders from Knight-Captain Colvin to brush up on her heavier weapon skills- specifically, her heavier energy weapon skills. If she's going to be working on the RobCo project for any length of time, he says she'll need them. She hasn't got a Gatling laser yet, but she has got the weapon she was issued for the battle at Adams AFB, so...

"Bar?" Ellen says hesitantly as she shifts the massive energy cannon across her back. It's a lot less comfortable in her jumpsuit than her power armor, but the armor is being tuned up at the moment. "Can I get some kind of target that would be suitable for extended practice with a lightning gun, please? I don't think just shooting at hay bales or clay pigeons is going to do..."

(no subject)

[bornuntotrouble]

[Out of Milliways:

"But I bet you can't ride, Mister Marston."

"I hate to take money from a lady, miss."]

It doesn't take a genius to see that John looks pleased with himself as he comes into Bar today. That smirk, that swagger, that pride - that, coupled with the trail dust still coating his clothes, sketches out the last hour on his side of the door pretty well.

"Bar. A glass of water, if you would."

She obliges.

"Thank you, miss."

As botherable as can be.

(no subject)

[cbucsrule]

No time like the present to do a little planning. There's only so much frakking navel-gazing a guy can do and there is nothing, he decides, nothing at all wrong with running a godsdamn pyramid league here. As long as he's stuck, he has to be doing something and this isn't hurting a godsdamn soul. It's helping -- people were excited, at least at first -- and he's got his initial scouting report out to his team on the other players. He can't help but do things the way he always has. Team 3's got a sixth man now, so they're equal in size to the rest of the teams, and he's good to go.

Tonight he's sitting at a table with a bunch of plays sketched out. Yeah, yeah, they're not playing positions, but the game's gonna happen the same way whether they call someone a forward guard or rear guard or center or just hey you. When they get to the point where they're ready to finesse their play by way of positions and the associated expectations that go with those positions, he'll assign them to people. In his mind he already has. He's seen some of his teammates' strengths and weaknesses, and he knows just what to do with a bunch of rookies.

Train them.

That's why he's got rudimentary game plays in the works. Learning to work together, that's what makes a team a team. If they can do that, they can do anything. He's got a bottle of ambrosia, two shot glasses, a regular glass, and a pitcher of water. And that sketch pad and a marker, and if the shit on all those pages looks incomprehensible, well, that's part of the plan.

It's supposed to, especially to prying eyes. But he promised anyone from any team that he'd help them with their game, and he meant it. He'll teach anyone how the game works or how to strategize or how to create a good workable play or how to do an end run around the other team. He just won't teach them to do it as well as he can, that's all.

Outside, by the lake.

[freemade_mantis]

The most-wanted man in New Crobuzon is having a very late lunch under a tree by the lake. He feels much better than he had when he'd arrived, still tense of course--he's always tense--but not on the verge of panic anymore, and he'd actually managed to sleep some (though he kept his guns close at hand), and even had a bath--

He hadn't had a bath, not a real proper one, in a good eight years--not since before his Remaking, when he and Sylvie'd had that little two-room flat in Salacus Fields with use of the landlady's bathtub once a week. He'd soak for a while, and then help Sylvie wash everything above her boiler, and then they'd go upstairs where he'd comb her hair and polish her metal... but here, he'd just stayed in the tub for what must've been five hours and then washed his clothes. The trick to blending in is not carrying the filth and scent of the city when in a bar full of people with access to running water.

Anyway, so here's Jack, with his lunch and his flintlocks, and his claw-arm disguised in a sling in concession to the warm weather (it's less conspicuous than his heavy cloak, especially in daylight), watching the lake. Not opposed to company, but it's probably not a good idea to sneak up on him.

[tinytags: jack half-a-prayer] [open forever, and slows are <3]

(no subject)

[one_man_army]

Those familiar with the sounds of gunfire and/or grenade explosions will probably take notice of the Front Door faster than those who are not; and while the Bar itself is in no danger from any shrapnel or wayward bullets, it is not protected from sound.

In this case, the door flies open with the bone-rattling sound of a nearby explosion, sending a man in camo fatigues and body armor sprawling onto the floor in a cloud of dust and smoke. His face is obscured by a black helmet and a pair of tinted goggles; his hands are wrapped around a M4, and it's only thanks now-closed door that he doesn't fire a burst back out into the fight.

(His men are out there, and he needs to get back--)

With a grunt, he tries to haul himself up off the floor, and manages enough footing to throw his weight at the door, shoulder first. It doesn't budge - and the soldier ends up in a heap at the foot of the door, blocking the path.

That hurt. A lot. He'll try again in just a minute, once his ears stop ringing and his teeth stop humming in his mouth. Damn RPGs are always more trouble than they're worth.


[OOC: Post is open. Carl will not shoot your pup - though he hasn't realized fully exactly where he is, since this is a pre-Milliways timeline shift that's occuring. He's younger, beneath the gear. Any questions can be hit on AIM at young scurlock. edit: SLOWTIMES please, still open to new tags though all will be hit back in the morning.]

(no subject)

[bloodyvirgo]

Kanaya's been productive and busy lately, mostly holed up in her room as she works on various projects for a few different people.

Firstly, a parcel gets dropped off at the bar, with instruction that Beauford receive it when he is next around. Next comes a letter for Shephard, informing him that she requires his assistance in regards to his uniform.

That completed, she claims one of the couches to begin work on repairing more still, of Terezi's scalemates.

Botherable.