edge_of_forever | Entries tagged with pc:forge

[5.31]

Everybody's favorite mutant terrorist (sorry, Erik!) bites off more than she can chew in a fight with a few lickers, only to find out from Abed that the resulting T-Virus will either turn her into a blue brain-eater or advance her mutation!

There's nothing Mystique values more than her X-gene, but the excruciating transformation may prove there can be too much of a good thing. Luckily, her old teammate Forge helps her through the worst of it, proving there are still a few sparks leftover from their X-Factor days.

[Here]

eof_classified

<00:01:ψ> INITIATE PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< ABERDEEN.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 00:01:ψ | 03:19:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ QUARANTINE RELEASE : < 1 M1A TS-#1758 > < 1 M2A TS#1000kw “EXCALIBUR” > < 1 M3A TS#4591971, TS#4591972> < 2 M2A TS#1979-1-TS#1979-3, TS#1979-1A-1E > < 3 M1A TS #4205A-E > < 3 M2A TS #731-12A-12E > < 3 M3A TS #MIR899-01A-01J > < 3 M4A TS #183RC-5A-5E “LICKER” > < 4 M1A TS #4781-8A-8G > < 4 M2A TS-#1966 > < 5 M1A TS-#396739 > < 5 M2A TS #510105 > ]
> [ LOCK DISENGAGE : < 2 M2A CP #23 > < 2 M3A CP #6319 “RIPLEY” > ]

<00:01:ψ> LAUNCH PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 29 | 12:00 A.M. :

The countdown clocks tick over to zero just as the time changes from 11:59 pm to 12:00 am. A clear chime like an elevator announcing its arrival sounds briefly in every room on board, but otherwise the passage of the countdown’s completion goes unmarked.

DING!

And then, on every floor of the station, doors that have heretofore remained locked begin to open, and one by one the things that those doors were keeping in begin to crawl out.

morethanhuman

Erik stands in the middle of the shuttle bay, one hand extended palm-up in front of him. Far overhead, almost at the top of the shuttle bay, Lwaxana’s shuttle hovers in midair. His eyes narrow, Erik curls his fingers in a little come-here gesture. A rush of power that's lain dormant in him for over a year surges out through his fingertips, and the shuttle hurtls toward him. It swoops down, passing so close over his head that the breeze from its passing ruffles his hair.

He can’t rein in a laugh-- it's been too long since he’s felt this, the full depth of his power wholly at his command-- and it bubbles up in him, exhilarating and wild, spilling out as he sweeps his hand out in another long gesture, sending the shuttle flying back up to the ceiling.

There's a sigh behind him and he turns, grinning, while the shuttle zooms around the room. “If you’re bored already, don’t let me keep you.”

"I'm sorry, did that read as an I'm bored sigh?" Mystique asks, sidling up to him with an uncharacteristically playful smile. "This is admiration. This is 'my god, you look good with ten tons of metal hovering over you'."

She crosses her arms and watches him hurl the thing back up a second time.

"But you're missing ( something... )

The shuttle lowers gently to the ground and Erik’s eyes go fierce, a wide grin breaking over his face. “Come on,” he says, striding toward the door.

. . .

They're not even thirty feet from the door when Raven sees it start to tremble in its frame.

Then all of a sudden, it stops. She glances at him and sees he's changed his focus: he's disregarding the door entirely, peeling layers off the wall, the metal rolling up and crumpling like paper until she can see the inventory shelves through the frame. There's a mess of wires, smoking and spitting sparks, but it doesn't stop Erik from stepping through.

Sure, it's petty, but Raven can't resist swiping her comm in front of the half-dead sensor; it gives a sad, bleating no access beep just as she lifts one white boot over the jagged wall.

How do you like me now, HAL?

"They're organized by serial number," she says with a frown, eyeing the tags on the front of the shelves. She pulls open one at random and sees a stack of filthy, bloodstained clothing: nope. Another: a pink vest and a cell phone covered in stickers. Another-- ooh-- has a duffel bag labeled STARK TECHNOLOGIES-- definitely worth checking out once she's found her stuff.

Finally, she pulls open the right drawer. She locks and loads her Glock with a look that's somehow both affectionate and smug, then glances over to see Erik holding his helmet up to the flickering light.

“I’ve always said it takes a very special guy to inspire fear in red and purple,” she says dryly, applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the grainy reflection of the shelves. “I think I just got goosebumps.”

[see the OOC post here before tagging.]

highfunctioning

Of course he had some trouble convincing them; John and Lauren were legitimate medical professionals. They had spent hundreds of hours learning how to break bad news to sick people, how to preserve quality of life above all else; they had taken oaths.

Sherlock had spent hundreds of hours studying tobacco ash and taking illicit drugs. His principle loyalty had always been to the facts, especially as they pertained to the solution to puzzles. So when he'd shared his new theory with the doctors, naturally they had insisted that their patients needed to stay in the hospital wing where they could be monitored, and not dragged into the lift to the 5th floor holodeck so Sherlock could experiment on them properly.

He politely disagreed.

It was partly the subject that had inspired the idea Sherlock and Forge had competed for access to the holodeck countless times, and from what Sherlock had seen of his programs [their specificity was frankly incredible], the holodeck might be just the medium to fine tune what they were already working on. After two unsuccessful attempts to shock the nanites into operating in situ, they had only enough blood left for one more go, and they all knew it had to count.

---

Naturally he'd built and worked in the holodeck program of St Bart's many times before, and though it was strange to be working in a room with a gurney in it, Sherlock pushed through. He more than half expected Molly to breeze through and ask what he was up to. Much of the equipment was custom ordered, including the electrode halo that surrounded Forge's head, as well as the control panel in front of Sherlock. Voltage, polarity, magnetism, and electromotive force, all controllable to the smallest imaginable interval, and an excess of power to draw from.

He eyed his partners with a mildly maniacal glint in his eye, but of course they looked nervous rather than anticipatory.

"Ready?" He checked in to make sure their attention was fully on their endeavor, and certainly not because a negative response would have stopped him.

xiii_legion

"...well okay," Pullo was saying, "I'm sure you think that's true, but you have to admit, my explanation makes just as much sense." 'Giant balls of gas' indeed. He snorted as he dealt out the cards - one, two to them both - and then laid the next three face-up on the table. A three, eight, and a King, which didn't do much with the five and Jack that he held. He narrowed his eyes at his opponent, then reached out and tossed two bottlecaps into the pile in the middle of the table.

The table in the rec room was more 'authentic', Mystique said, though there didn't seem to be anything authentic about the bright green fuzz coating it. The lighting was certainly atmospheric, and he had hauled along several bottles of what the replicators had gifted him when he asked for bourbon, though Mystique had made a face when she tasted it. They were playing there instead of her room because supposedly there were going to be more players tonight, an eventuality that Pullo relished. Not that he didn't like playing with her, but damnit, she knew all his tells.

Which was probably why she called his bluff, and his next two bluffs, and probably why the pile of bottlecaps was much bigger on her side of the table than his, and growing.

"Godsdamnit, woman, stop taking all my money! How am I going to pay the dancing girls if you keep robbing me blind!"

[tag into any TL you like - there's no posting order, just go nuts! wheeee!]

withmyshield

Sharon marches into the holodeck, which is empty [apparently there aren't any takers for her challenge, and it's probably for the best -grown men crying isn't the most fun way to start a beach day] and plunks her bag down in the middle of the empty space. She looks pretty hysterical dressed the way she is standing in the middle of an empty room on a space station, but Sharon doesn't give a damn about that right now.

"OK." She puts on her sunglasses. Let's do this.

"So, I want a beach. The best one you've got, preferably from Earth. I'm talking white sand, palm trees, blue skies, possibly a bar serving nothing but drinks with little umbrellas in them. Out of coconuts. There better not be any wildlife bigger than a starfish, either. Seriously. I see a single wild boar or the suggestion of a shark and I will flip out. Your little sweeper bots will blow all their circuits cleaning up the mess I'll make." The threat sounds pathetic even as she says it, but her powerlessness has become something of a joke even to her.

"Oh yeah, we're gonna need some chairs. Maybe a hammock."

Every time she speaks, there's a soft noise as the room reconfigures to her design. In the end, Sharon is standing on a stretch of beach that seems to go on for miles, not far from a long dock at the end of which she thinks she can make out a grass-hut bar. Next to her is a canvas chair with a big red umbrella. Thoughtful. It reminds her of a vacation she took in Aruba a few years back. Well, she almost got there. Rerouted to Cuba at the last minute, but Fury had been really apologetic about it.

She sits down and pops open the sunscreen. She also doesn't care that fake sun probably isn't harmful to her skin -it's all about the smell.

princess_bruiser

This is definitely the craziest dream she's ever had. It's not a nightmare or anything, cuz the only bad thing about it is that her friends aren't here, and it's sorta boring. Maybe it's a little scary the way she can't seem to wake up. Everything's so real-- she even ate a PB & B sandwich from the little cubby in the wall-- but there's no way she's really in space. That'd be insane-o.

Right?

She drifts in and out of sleep for a few more hours until, finally, she feels something shift and she knows, even half-asleep, she's not on the dream-space-jail-bed anymore.

Molly opens her eyes and looks around, then gasps loudly as she jumps to her feet.

"HOLY CRAP!"

Where is she? It looks sorta like an airport and it's nighttime and nobody's around and it's definitely not LAX because she's been there before when her parents take her on vacation and there are always tons of people there.

"GUYS?" She runs off the transporter pad, sprinting across the room for no real reason other than to do something in her panic.

That's when she remembers her cell phone. Duh!

Molly reaches reflexively into the pocket of her space-prison-jumpsuit...

Wait, if I'm awake, why'm I still wearing this weirdo outfit? ...and where's my cell phone? Where're my clothes?

She stares up at the Hub, and all of a sudden, she's pretty sure she's gonna puke.

If I got kiddernapped, I'm gonna be grounded so hard.

"HEY!" she shouts at the room, voice at full, angry volume, her hands balled up into fists at her side. "HEY, JERKFACES! Unless you want me to make a new window in your fancy house, you better come explain yourselves now!"

She thinks Chase would be proud. All she has to do is scare them, punch their lights out, and find the door.

[ Come find one pissed-off fourth grade dropout in the Hub, ready to rumble. ]

morethanhuman

[March 1, late afternoon]

After beaming down to the planet, a group of Proserpinians meets up on an unfamiliar beach to try and figure out why they're all there.

[Here|Ongoing]

born_guilty

[ February 18th ]

Politics make for strange bedfellows when the station's most genetically x-traordinary residents gather to discuss recent events that have made the natives restless.

[Here]

-

[ February 19th ]

The morning after, Mystique delivers the group's proposal to Captain America, along with a surprisingly adamant pep-talk.

[Here]

dr_lauren

Lauren shows up to the party on time - well, okay, she's five minutes late, but for most people that's still pretty much on time. Lauren knows this and yet she's still there at five minutes past the hour to find... a completely empty room. Well, not completely empty, there's a few bowls of what looks like snacks, some bottles lined up along a table, and some red and silvery decorations on the tables and walls. But no people, not even a host.

"Happy Valentine's," she says aloud to the room, a self-deprecating smirk on her lips. Fitting that someone who managed to screw up not one, but two relationships should now be in this position. At least there was booze. And thankfully few hearts and cupids.

[PARTAY! Tag in as you wish - if you want Lauren just say so, otherwise she'll be quietly drinking in a corner somewhere.]

gadgetguru

[February 8th]

After being let out of quarantine and getting a quick orientation from the residents, Forge chooses a room only to discover his new neighbor isn't a stranger. Arguing and catching up ensue.

[Here|G]

xiii_legion

First things first: nothing will ever compare to the feel of going up against a real opponent, the feel of his fists smacking into another man's face, the taste of blood in his mouth as perpetually battered teeth loosen again with a ringing blow. That being said, cumbersome though these gloves are, he likes working up a good rhythm against the 'bag', venting frustrations and landing punch after punch on a target that won't fall over when he's just getting warmed up.

Proserpina had been the one to introduce him to this 'boxing' thing - on one of his first days at the palace the goddess had all but read his mind, leading him to one of the strange mirrored rooms with oddly springy floors and showing him around the equipment. Eager to please her, he hadn't even complained much when she pointed out that the gods frowned upon the wholesale slaughter of other residents, so all endeavours would have to be blunted and gloved (and yet without providing any chickens, sheep or doves they were making it seriously hard for a man to make a decent sacrifice). She had been suitably impressed with his showing, and so he made it a priority to come 'work out' every day - well, every day he wasn't too hung over or otherwise indisposed. So, most days.

Today they're up on the second floor of the palace, where the room is bigger and there's a roped-off area the goddess calls a 'ring', which seems to be something like a tiny arena for two men to fight in. He's eyeing it hopefully, but he knows better than to ask the goddess to join him there. Just like he knows better than to ask her to join him in his bed, though the urge is damn hard to fight, most nights. With such distracting thoughts in his head it's no surprise when he misses the bag, swinging himself round with the force of the blow until he's facing the other way entirely, a sheepish look on his face. Get a hold of yourself man. Concentrate!

---

The sparring rooms are easily the place Mystique clocks the most time outside of her bedroom, and she sure as hell has more fun in them. Most of the time, anyway-- watching Pullo go to town on that sandbag in all his big brutish glory is almost painful; she understands innately that as long as she's playing goddess, there are certain activities she really happens to enjoy that are verboten, and beating the tar out of her disciple (or worse, her disciple figuring out he can beat the tar out of her) is one of them. So she's just a spectator today, occupying three of the audience seats like a chaise lounge and watching Pullo through the lens of her communicator's camera, because all of this is precious and so very baby's first boxing match, giving him a firm thumbs up the first time he almost knocks the bag off the chain.

"Atta boy," she calls, pleased, entertained, but deeply pining for more first-hand violence. Just then, she hears footsteps behind her, and from the look on Pullo's face, he's as enthusiastic as she is at the prospect of a real skirmish.

[Tag one or both - be spectator or contender! The choice... is yours!]

ithinkiwasbornforthis

The 24 hours are just about up, as far as Forge can tell, and though he doesn't want to admit it he's anxious about what the next move is. He sits on the edge of his bed, clenching and relaxing his fist, having not the slightest idea what's about to happen to them - who is going to come through that door, or what they're going to want.

Luckily, as it turns out, he doesn't have to worry about that. One minute he's sitting on the cot, and the next he's standing in the middle of a vast room, something like what Grand Central might look like if it was abandoned and untouched for about a decade. That's not what strikes him, though. At the moment, all he can register is that he's once again on his feet.

Two feet.

"Oh, thank god," he mutters, flexing the fingers of his cybernetic hand and feeling the familiar response.

Pam materializes a few feet from Forge, on edge and alert, looking about and assessing everything at once. With no direct threat, she relaxes visibly and arches an eyebrow at him. "Found something?"

She does not wait for an answer, but paces a few feet away, turning about. "The Proserpina," she says, wonderingly. There are not many things that can still surprise her, but this has quite caught her off guard.

It is a very pretty cage and she half expects Victor or even Felipe to walk into view at any moment, but despite dropping into a half sleep, Pam had had plenty of time to think that through. As much as she would love to corner Victor and put an end to him, she highly doubts his connection.

"I want answers," she says. And if answers were not given, Pam would find them.

[Tag one, tag both, tag both together, just let us know in the subject who you want!]

ithinkiwasbornforthis

There's blood in her mouth, young and virile, hot and sweet. Pam is loathe to release the Panther and at another time she might have savored the moment, but the pain lends her feeding an urgency that she cannot ignore.

She has no idea how long it's been, but eventually her prey starts to struggle.

"Pam..." croaks Jason.

Pam focuses on him, and not knowing him for a moment, she drinks deeper. He lets out a faint cry before it registers that this is Sookie's brother. After a heartbeat, she lets go with a great effort that leaves her gasping and Jason tumbles away from her.

"Eric..." she breathes hard.

"He's fine, fine. Sookie's with him."

Pam flips onto her stomach and grinds her teeth together, letting out an animal sound as her crushed ribs light up like fire.

"Go," she growls and as Jason staggers down the hallway, Pam tries to follow, inch by inch, dragging her dead and broken arm and leg. The hall swims in her vision and the sensation of being pulled backward as her sight recedes is all she can regisiter before all goes dark.

---

Pam wakes again laying flat on her back. She does not open her eyes immediately, but she is instantly alert. This is not her nest, nor Eric's, nor any of the emergency hideaways in and around Fangtasia. It feels wrong. Smells wrong. There's nothing right about it.

She tries to think, and it comes flooding back. Alexei! How stupid she had been! And such trouble over fucking Bobby Burnham. She should have let Alexei eat him and save them all the trouble. No, she had been cocky, cornered the brat prince, and he had fucked her up thoroughly. She can still feel it now, worn out, bruised maybe, still healing.

Eric!. She thinks suddenly, feels it with all her being, but what she cannot feel terrifies her as she has not been terrified since she was human. He's gone.

Pam sits up in a blur, throwing away all of her caution in one movement, and she's on her feet, taking everything in at a glance. Only two things immediately interest her, the door, and the man in the room, and only one of those things talked.

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Edge of Forever RPG

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the city on the edge of forever

[[ a pan-fandom roleplaying game ]]

Entries tagged with pc:forge

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bow in the presence of greatness

5.15 | 14:52:04 | 5th floor holodeck

Ante up!

Beach Party GP

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It's Valen-time!

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belle of the brawl

Out of the frying pan...

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