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▓ At this Location: Mansion Hallway ▓ Thinking About: Lack of respect ▓ While on Team: Omega ▓



After the fight, Cam was forced off his feet for about a week. The metal chunk that stuck out of his calf was removed and the wound stitched up and help taken care of in the infirmary. However, it would take a bit of time for the scar tissue to heal and be strong enough for physical activity.

In that time, he had to take it slow. No heavy lifting, no walking, no physical upkeep. It was annoying to say the least. On the bright side, when it came to moving back to the mansion, he didn't have to work as hard or do any severe heavy lifting.

Cameron meandered the halls with a slight limp as he read a letter from his daughter. He had a slight smile as he read the little notes and her updates of how school was. Her penmanship had improved. In the note his daughter's mother had made it clear how relieved she was that the sentinels were finally shut down. She was concerned for their daughter in regards to the possibility of her carrying the x-gene.

As he continued to walk towards the kitchen, a commotion could be heard. He looked up as it was in the direction he was headed. At a hallway intersection, three mutants stood there, two of which he recognized, Marcel and August. Both of which were Alphas he had worked with before, very briefly, but was acquainted with to say the least. The third, Aksel, however, was an adolescent that Cam hadn't seen, or at least recognized. He was fairly young, so that was also a given.

He slowly folded up the letter as he eavesdropped. He was able to draw conclusions as he heard the verbal altercation continue. He raised an eyebrow as Aksel mentioned a 'wolverine wanna-be.' His glance went from Marcel to August and back again before continuing to listen.

August was very keen on pulverizing the adolescent into the ground to have a word with Frost. To which Marcel made a point that this was most likely not an uncommon thing. Cam pushed off the wall and stood upright, arms still crossed, as he gave a small cough, alerting them of his presence, in the event they hadn't noticed him yet.

"Besides man, beating up a 12 year old would look bad on you guys" Cameron started, "But on that note, it's a piss poor decision from the top if you ask me. I wouldn't want someone like him next to me when sh*t hits the fan." The oxygen manipulator stated coldly. If there was one thing Cam disliked most, it was blatant and unwarranted disrespect towards someone, especially if they were to be fighting side by side. "I sure as sh*t hope you're never around me on the battlefield." His words colder than the arctic air. Unknowing of his affiliation, Cameron could only hope that he wasn't an Omega. Truth be told, he hoped this kid got benched before a mission that had lives on the line came up.

(OOC: Sorry if it's sloppy, the original post I had got lost and I wrote this one in an annoyed rush.)

Luci mentioned the stipulations to her joining the team. She definitely wasn't going to just get thrown out into the field without knowing for sure that she could manage to not hurt everyone on her team. She kept her eyes on Blake's when he answered her before nodding, satisfied with what he had to say.

"Good, I'm glad we can make this work." They had to, otherwise she was going to have to leave. Where she would go she had no idea. She hardly had a home before she was taken from the streets months ago. She sauced and plated her food when Daylia had entered. She gave the redhead the news about her being invited to join their team.

"I do. If I pose any kind of threat to anyone here, I will leave." She took a bite of her food, chewing and swallowing it down before speaking up again, "I won't put the entire base at risk of dying just to be part of a team." There were plenty of people here that were dangerous. Everyone had the capabilities, but she did not have the control. Her powers ran almost constantly unless she was drained. The only reason why she wasn't a risk on the entire flight back to everyone in the plane was because she had been milked like a viper for months and hardly had enough energy to produce poisons that could do any harm.

Daylia took a carton of juice out of the fridge and drank straight from it. Blake didn't seem to like the idea of the woman drinking directly from the carton of what was a community item, however, the redhead seemed to clarify that it wouldn't be going back into the fridge. She looked to Blake when he spoke of Gracie as if she was a walking time bomb of destruction, though she seemed to prove it more than once. "I guess the only solution would be to hire someone to be the cook for the entire facility."

If you don't want people messing up the kitchen, then have someone in charge that made it so they wouldn't have to. "It may be cheaper than replacing a kitchen regularly." She took another bite from her stir-fry and watched the pair banter back and forth about the destructive intent of another member of the team.

Daylia brought up the idea of Blake becoming the personal chef for the two of them rather than having herself and Gracie destroy another kitchen. The poison generator looked over at the team leader to see what his response would be, "Seems like a hefty job, considering a lot of mutations take a ton of energy, which means a lot of food." Honestly, she was happy with almost anything she ate. Especially after what she had been getting for months of flavorless food and stale bread.

"You might need some help." She wondered if there were chores that everyone took care of. Not that she was nominating herself to help Blake around in the kitchen. It was too risky. One miscalculation, one slice through her gloves and she could contaminate the food for everyone in the mansion. She was better off cooking for herself. "Though, I think I have myself covered pretty well." She took another bite from her food, finishing up the plate before taking it to the sink to rinse and place in the dishwasher.

She set to cleaning up after herself, careful with everything she touched to make sure her gloves were keeping the food from getting contaminated. She didn't let her hands slip under the water at the risk of having them soak through her gloves and carry poisons into the drains.

To think, is this what hitting puberty was like? Marcel must have missed that memo, but screw narcotics: Hormones were one hell of a drug for it to make someone like Aksel very ballsy. Every other word from the tiny Caucasian male’s mouth was an indecent word complete with piss-poor insults. He could only chuckle, but this was more so for August

”Sorry, big guy. Couldn’t resist joking with you a little, but sorry kid, your insults don’t work on someone like me, yet alone whatever skills you can seemingly muster out that mind of yours with such limited potential.”

Naturally, Marcel knew of what transpired, so it wasn’t like August’s rage was not without warrant. If anything however, Marcel was trying to casually lighten the other’s mood a bit, but Aksel just had to keep his mouth going. Well, the Hydrokinetic didn’t mind showing the tiny flea just how much of an a** he could be himself. Aksel was just casually feeding into this all the while.

”Well, you heard the fella,” he stated as a smile formed across his thick lips while the look of nonchalance graced the features of his face to paint just how condescendingly crude he could be in return. ”He asked for a casual waltz.”

And a waltz Marcel would deliver. There was not much elegance to go with it as the hallway was slightly narrow, but Aksel would get the gist. Marcel was definitely smelling his own balls to let the illusion casting male know that at the end of the day, there was nothing nifty about his skills and as if to rub more salt into the wounds, the African-American stopped his casual dance with saying the phrase ”I have the world record for tricking people, so be a sport would you and actually try to get on our levels for once?”

And that was right around the time that a voice pitched in from around the corner. Marcel wasn’t concerned however as he’s heard it before, someone he briefly worked with when seeking to develop arms to demobilize large objects. Cameron spoke of how this would be a bad look for August, Marcel and presumably the rest of the Alphas if they continued to go down this path with a little brat. He was right, but to say that Aksel didn’t dig his own grave would be an understatement, this only after the possible revelation that the brat’s age might have been twelve.

”He’s only twelve,” Marcel inquired with a twinge of excitement to his tone as well. He doesn’t look a day past the slip out from his mother’s bajingo. This...this changes everything!”

And so, Marcel walked off, a whistle to the old song of “Getting to Know You” escaping from his lips as he walked into the storage room that Aksel had so kindly exited out from. Out among these hallways, the showers were nearby and if they were nearby, that meant cleaning materials for dirty bodies were inside this very room as well. Marcel returned with a bar of soap while the other three had no doubt hashed out several more words. When he returned, the illusionist had stated words he most likely could now not take back when equating them to that of a female’s private parts or a cat, rather. That had only set August off no doubt, but the Hydrokinetic hummed as he knelt down beside Aksel, peeling the paper to the soap away as he cheekily asked ”Hey, you don’t mind if I put this here while the grown folks have a conversation, do ya? Since we’re pussies and all?”

Naturally, Aksel might say something in response to this, but Marcel wouldn’t care as at the end of the day, there was only one of them pinned down by the weight of gravity itself and as a result, not subject to do much of anything other than spew more words of weightless insults out. As a result, Marcel would deviously smirk when saying ”Nah, of course you don’t mind!”

His hand would reach over for Aksel’s nose and try to pinch it shut. If Marcel succeeded, then he would wait for the other male to open forth his mouth and then slide the bar of soap inside before releasing the hold on the nose to let him breathe. If not, Marcel could already see the frustration in the illusionist’s eyes. Clearly, the kid was going to try something reckless he might regret, a move that clearly reeked of pure desperation. Perhaps, another illusion was bound to occur and Marvel was quite curious to see how this might play out.

What with the shift in gravity occurring however, the illusionist probably lost his gaze as he was bolted through the air against the ceiling and if Marcel had succeeded in placing the soap in his mouth from before, the Hydrokinetic would now quickly pluck it out, though he could not guarantee that Aksel might not have scraped some of it up in his mouth. Cameron might have a change of heart, but Marcel was fond of letting the small male drop harshly to the floor. Why, exactly? Simple. He was a bit too nonchalant on that matter to actually care. If it was someone like August or Cameron though, that might have been another story.

”With his skill set alone, he’s certainly not going to last long on a high-end mission. Maybe they’ll stick him to security detail, like making a wall to fool the eye or something.”

Alice chuckled a bit, "Of course they do. It's the perfect competition to flaunt gluttony." She wasn't going to admit that there had been at least two Matt Stoney videos that she had watched with awe as the boy who looked like he weighed about 160lbs snarfed down ten pounds worth of food in an incredible amount of time. She laughed a bit more when Aren was determined to try to beat an eating competition.

"I wouldn't be too worried about you dying. But it might be cheating if you grow to giant sized and just dump a tray of hotdogs into your mouth." She liked seeing Aren in this kid of mood. He was joking with her more than usual. Having control of the teams switch over was hard. She knew that Blake was already kind of stressing out about it, and hating it by the minute. But Aren seemed to be adjusting well. Alice was like water, and she changed with the current sometimes a little too easily. She had a nonchalance about the situation. As long as no one was dead, then she didn't care. Besides, that meant that Bella was gone, too. So her headache was over.

"Tell you what, we will bring a few people to come and visit. Maybe I can get the cowboy to see the error in his sass. Besides, I've always thought that kind of history was really cool. I ain't there to step on the toes of anyone, scout's honor." She held her fingers up in the scout salute. "You can't ever forget your home, it's silly for her to think that." She understood, though. She wasn't gonna make someone jealous even if she was far from close or handsy with Aren, or anyone for that matter.

"Good! You practically hit hero status when it came to getting my a** through the portal when we first met." She chuckled thinking about it. She was like a cornered, rabid dog that day. Her body hurt, everything hurt. And she did not want to be babied through a portal to escape a fight that she was more than ready to finish. He earned points in her book after she was done being sour about it.

"I don't think Peta is girly. Petra maybe, but not Peta," she shrugged her shoulders listening to him. "There are all sorts of people where I'm from. Historically we are the outsiders here anyways. And besides, I've seen plenty of people at Walmart not wearing clothes that fit." She shuddered a bit at the thought. He was different, but hell they all were. She could create earthquakes for ******** sake. Skin color didn't mean jack to her.

She could tell that Aren wasn't a fan of the training sessions that they had to do. Alice thrived in them. The destructible environment was her favorite thing. "Well, if you ever want out, I could dislocate your shoulder." She grinned, clearly kidding. "Covers just about anything you'd need. But I get it. I'll just come see you rather than bring you here on the cowboy's dime." She loved seeing Blake all worked up when it came to stuff like that. It was her favorite form on entertainment.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't remind me." ********' tabloids. They had nothing else better to do than to follow them around and try to discover what this mystery girl was that was with him. It wasn't even like she was hanging on his arm or anything. She was just hanging out, getting s**t faced. But because of their opposite genders, clearly she was his date. She hated everyone.

"Most everyone is stupid," she muttered thinking about it. "A girl can't have a guy bestie this day and age without everyone and their grandmother's thinking that they're banging." She sighed, her head falling back over the arm of the couch dramatically. "I don't get why they can't just ask. When did asking become less important than just assuming s**t?"

"Good, then that means I still got the look to strike fear in the hearts of many." She grinned a bit thinking about it. Resting b***h Face was a great tool if you were at a bar and didn't want to be approached by any half-drunk sleazeball that existed. She had better things to do than to talk to someone that spent more time slurring their words than thinking through a complete sentence.

"Maybe I'll just try Tinder." She said halfheartedly, not really meaning it but also getting to the point where she was willing to try just about anything. Aren went on to talk about the differences between himself and Blake. She snorted, "Ah, yes, the age old rivalry," her snort turned into something more like a full laugh when he mentioned being a bookie for their bet. "I might need to take you up on that. I gotta have someone who can make sure he goes through with paying up."

They went back full circle to talking about Aren returning home and what his duties there would be. She laughed a bit before shrugging her shoulders. "Honestly, I got no idea. I might end up being a full-timer here. I don't really got much more to offer than breaking s**t."

Location: Gym Company: Felix, Farren

Jesus, Mary and Joseph she couldn’t seem to escape the mistake she’d made on the field - not the statue that would ever keep her as the butt of some jokes, but the one she had chosen to make… Unable to believe that he hadn’t come here simply to goad her, Gracie turned her back to him and continued to punch the bag - this time imagining it to be his stupid face. He offered the pair of them some critique, and Farren seemed a little better at ignoring him. Grumbling that she’d show him a bob and weave, something seemed to crack in Farren’s sober expression.

Realizing what she had said a little too late, she fought the urge to smack her forehead in disdain when Felix replied. “Not that kind of bob and weave you perv. I’ve made it pretty clear that’s not happening.” Haughtily, she instructed the man to go away and then informed Farren to hit him instead of the bag before adding that neither one of them needed him to coach.

Rolling her eyes heavenward at his cryptic retort about the mistake she kept trying to bury, she bit her tongue until the taste of copper reminded her that it was still attached. Were it not for the fact that they had company, she might have fired back something about how he’d seemed pretty hooked without anyone telling her what to do, but instead she shelved the urge.

He turned his attention to his comm, and she felt some reprieve then. Maybe if he went after Aurelie, he’d stop tempting her.

Once Farren stepped away from the bag, she found amusement in Gracie’s blessing from earlier and decided to run with it as she shamelessly sized up the man in front of them.

“I think that’s the point…” Gracie stated when the brunette said she’d make Felix cry if she punched him. Catching the last part of what she said, the Georgia belle shook her head, her vehemence taking over her entire form. “Trust me, whatever he makes this look like, he’s not my boy toy. That’s the last thing I need when I can’t even get rid of my husband properly.” Her punches got jerkier then, harder out of her frustration pouring in from two ends.

She muttered something about needing new headphones, seeing as they did so little to drown out his voice, and Felix mocked her, stating she needed a lot of other things first. Throwing shade over her shoulder, she couldn’t stop herself. “Oh yeah? And just what is it that you think these ‘sweet cheeks’ need?” She kicked the bag, wishing it would translate to a blow to the speed demon’s ribs. “That’s a rhetorical question by the way.”

Farren flicked her attention over to Felix then, acknowledging him for the first time since he’d sat down. The hex-witch’s lips quirked upward as her fellow teammate finally addressed his commentary from the peanut gallery, until she mentioned him making out. She paled, rounded hazel eyes on the speedster and shot daggers at him. Someone had been bragging, and it certainly hadn’t been her. Kissing Felix was definitely not one of her prouder moments. Wanting a shovel now to dig her own grave, she could only imagine who else might know.

Embarrassed, her color came back all at once as she turned fifty different shades of red. Too lost in that, she missed most of their back and forth, the space between her ears numb and deaf temporarily as she thought of everyone else knowing the one thing she was trying to keep a secret.

“By the way, I think someone saw us making out.”

His amused tone sparked her anger - mostly with herself if she was honest - and she clenched her fists tighter in the gloves. “Yeah well, I hope they got a good show, because it’s never happening again. Trying to prove you wrong on something when you’re as bull headed as a barn full of mules was a mistake, and not one I intend to repeat.” Damn him for catching her off guard, and for pulling her back in. Damn her for thinking the stupid idea would work.

No more impulse decisions. She vowed to herself silently.

And definitely no more working with him on the field. Or anywhere.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like a long walk off a short cliff?”

While he wasn't sure what type of sandwiches Siege had whipped up, Dimitri held out his cast and motioned it right and left to Gabe to signal he was joking on the sandwiches; in the case he thought the Alpha was serious. As for the chick, well he couldn't speak for her or her hunger. "Enjoy them. I'll grab something later." Though that comment may have been in vain with the appetite of the other members on campus.

In response to her question he put his hands out and gave a guilty shrug. "The one and only." Dimitri replied, putting out his 'working' hand for a handshake with a smile on the side.

"Dimitri Otengam, nice to meet you." Then he pointed his cast towards his sentinel fighting partner in crime. Or should he say, ex-sentinel partner. "This here is Gabe. He's also on the Alphas."

"What about you? Are on you on the Omegas?" he asked just as her attention was averted. Dimitri didn't see her at attention with the Alphas back on their last joint. But he certainly was seeing her now instead Wraith and Colin. The two were not to far ahead of them but perhaps Gabriel would have seen them. If so then the more the merrier.

Gabriel Byrne
Location: The Institute Gardens
Thoughts: Hunger

He made his way through the gardens, enjoying the fresh air. The sack of food gently rocking against his back as he slowly made his way around. Each time the wind kissed his face he felt a small tinge of pain across the freshly healed scars on his face. One that was most perturbing in terms of sensation was the one across his left eyelid. The strangeness was less the pain (which was a minimal sting) and the fact that it was almost constant. The fact that the dermis was so thin was perhaps the reason, but it was just so strange.

Making his way to the pool he saw what looked like an Omega sitting beside. He asked if he could join her, to which she seemed happy enough to allow. Dimitri soon arrived, and the idea of splitting the sack of food came to mind. His thoughts immediately went to a more base level, the reptilian portion of his brain kicked in. Food. Must eat food. his brain went. Food. Must protect my food. it yelled in his head. His stomach churned and his face almost quickly shifted into a defender mode. Had he less self-control he’d have grabbed his gun, but he avoided doing such a thing. Instead, he opened the bag and pulled out a sandwich.

“Hope you like turkey and cheese” he said, tossing it her direction. He quickly pulled out a Fat E. LeGrand, unwrapping the monstrosity of a sandwich before him. He breathed in the Buffalo boneless wings, mozzarella sticks, onion rings, french fries, turkey bacon, jalapeño, and bleu cheese with a massive smile. His adoptive father had gone to school at Rutgers University in the early 80s and had become all too familiar with the famous Grease Trucks there. He took that love for monstrous street food to heart, bringing the idea home to Vegas where he shared it with his wife and children. They kept themselves abreast of all the different sandwiches, this one named in honor of Eric LeGrand, a Rutgers football player who was paralyzed during a game. He became a national sensation, and was well respected for his recovery. Little known fact about him, he was also an advocate for mutants. So that was another tick in the young man’s book. Dimitri did him the courtesy of introducing the two of them, to which he grabbed another sandwich and continued eating. “Sorry if I look like a hog.” he said, in between bites, “I’m rebuilding my energy reserves.”

“So what can you do? If you don’t mind my asking?” he asked, in reference to her ability. He said this while managing to inhale the sub and subsequently unwrapping another. The beautiful thing about his mutation was that despite all the crap he was practically immune to gaining weight. That and heartburn.

Ah the simple things….

OOC: Post is blah, sorry. Let me know of any critiques please.