Log in

No account? Create an account

Marvel Legends

Recent Entries

Marvel Legends



May 17th, 2009

Logan isn't what one might call an avoidant personality. The only reason he's keeping his distance from Buckethead has more to do with not causing about three million dollars' worth of property damage and a whole mess of injuries when he inevitably lost his infamously short temper.

He'd seriously considered heading off to the Territories for the duration, but then that old maxim of 'keeping friends close and enemies closer' had crept up on him. Which leaves Logan a hell of a lot of time to kill.

Some of that time he's killing right now - with a good old-fashioned oil change on his favorite chopper as the afternoon sun filters down through the trees overhanging the garage area. A half-finished beer rests on top of the tool chest, a bevy of old, oil-soaked rags litters the gravel, and the mutant himself sits on an old tree stump, watching the oil slip from the opened pan into an old gallon milk jug that's been cut in half for just that purpose.

March 14th, 2009

Simon Williams, aka Wonder Man, is hovering over Los Angeles, having completely forgotten about his audition today that was utterly integral to his life just ten minutes ago.

Then he read the paper. His brother Eric, who occasionally dresses up like the Grim Reaper to terrorize the Avengers, was in a mental hospital that was just attacked and obliterated by... something. Or someone. So much death. So much savage waste... but Eric was nowhere to be found.

On one hand, it's a relief that he's not among the dead, but on the other hand - whoever committed this mass murder apparently wanted him alive, and that's not good. Eric's unstable as it is, and this would unravel any progress that he might have made (should have visited him more, but the doctors generally said he was more of an irritant than a help in his healing).

So now, he's examining the... calling it a crime scene doesn't do justice to the carnage. But he's accessing a spectral viewing range that will hopefully give him a clue as to what's going on.

Being blindsided by an ionic displacement beam puts an end to his investigation... and the ensuing onslaught of absolute brutality that follows puts an end to his consciousness.

It seems the perpetrators wanted Simon alive as well.

For what remains a frightening mystery...


Nathan Christopher Charles Dayspring Askani'son Summers has a giant spaceship parked in Earth's orbit and cloaked from all detection thanks to advanced future technology.  It's where he lives and works, and it's also big enough to provide a home for his time-displaced half-sister Rachel and occaionally his life-displaced mother Madelyne. 

Ongoing projects;

* Figuring out how to kill Apocalypse
* Monitoring Magneto's presence and progress with assuming stewardship of the Xavier Institute.
* Monitoring the Genosha situation - the ULTIMATUM presence still feels too convenient.
* Monitor Theresa Cassidy's progress at Cassidy Keep in recovering from her traumatic experiences
* Locate and kill Sinister
* Locate the Phoenix Force
* Monitor Madelyne's progress in recovery and reacclimation into the world at large
* Monitor Worthington Industries and its various business and production lines
* Monitor Pietro Maximoff to make sure he's good enough for Rachel
* Monitor SHIELD operations globally to make sure Nick Fury isn't overstepping his boundaries
* Monitor Baxter Building projects to ensure Reed Richards doesn't lose sight of what he should do in doing what he CAN do.
* Monitor Avengers Mansion activity
* Monitor Latveria
* Monitor A.I.M.
* Monitor Hydra
* Monitor the Idiot Forge
* Monitor vampire infestation in New Orleans
* Monitor Shi'ar activity
* Monitor Skrull activity
* Monitor Kree activity
* Monitor Badoon activity
* Continue Stryfe-watch
* Stare quietly at pictures of Domino

There is a long list.  Cable does a lot of things, and he's never bored.  That's why it's good that he has distractions these days to remind him that life is more than duty.

March 13th, 2009

Madelyne Pryor needs to get out of Westchester. While getting out of there on a single day basis is simple, getting out and having a place to stay is more complicated. Having a day to day job, though she feels herself dreading the idea, is something she is going to need. It is also something that she has been offered.

By someone who can understand her desire to get out and likely understand the feeling the idea of a typical day job causes in her.

Flying has always been a soothing thing to her.

So, here she is, in Warren Worthington's waiting room. She doesn't have an appointment today but the secretary has been kind enough to let Warren know that there is a Ms. Pryor here to see him. Ms. Pryor is hoping that it doesn't show too much that this is the only suit she has and it isn't exactly new. She doesn't like having to go to others and ask for anything at all. This is a special level of humility.

March 12th, 2009

Mr. Sinister is prone to moments of opulent relaxation. It comes with the territory of being a mastermind. Sometimes the mind just needs time, soothing in warm, scented waters. So that is what Mr. Sinister is doing. Bathing in a massive, hot bath, petals of exotic flowers floating around him, true works of art adorning the walls, slaves delivering him anything he may want... Life is good for Nathaniel Essex. A shame about the hardships his slaves have to go through, but since when has life in Genosha ever been easy? They should be grateful that they're not in one of his many laboratories, having their genes spliced, or something equally as fun.

He sighs, satisfied not only with the thought that his being in Genosha is unknown to any but the Dark Beast and his slaves (all of whom are without tongues and forefingers, of course. No talking or writing). Like a vacation resort with so many possibilities for interest before him. Much better than Disneyland, at any rate.

His eyes open. His use of telepathy is especially potent when used from this secure chamber, and one of the slaves.. He smiles with one side of his mouth. Some assassins will go to great lengths to make their target, and this one went to the lengths of getting mutilated, and having mental shunts so that his mindreading might fail. But at the moment of climax, the point of no return, his will becomes apparent.

A mutant? He smiles with both sides of his mouth now, and focuses his gaze on the young man at the far end of the bath, no, pool. It's more like a Roman-sized antiquity that he had had meticulously shipped mosaic piece by mosaic piece from Florence. This boy could be interesting...


His deep, rich voice echoes around the otherwise silent chamber. He points at the nude manservant, his would-be killer, and beckons at him. Nude so that weapons cannot be concealed. Not easily anyway. Not unless the assassin is a mutant with a mutation that could be used as a weapon. And clearly that is what this man, monster, genetic hybrid must have. And potent mental blocks indeed. "Come hither."

January 23rd, 2009

It has been some months since the fire burned in Ororo Munroe's mind. The fire that whispered to her, to call her back.

Not to call her home. Home is lost to her--she has spent too much time building two new homes to truly know which owns her heart.

Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

And so she ignored that spark in her mind, instead following the flame of her heart. But as time has gone on, that mental fire has grown. Never enough to consume, but enough that she can no longer ignore it.

T'Challa understood, and allowed her access to a small Wakandan plane. It's taken but hours, and now her feet touch Xavier's soil for the first time in months.

She takes the moment to commune with the world around her--the air and the winds, the chill in the air, the building tension that announces an incoming frost snap. Tomorrow morning, what little life has peeked out from the winter chill will return to its hideaway until the Spring.

She's missed this air. Just this is like coming to an old friend.

Almost as if even the great North Wind knows just who is beyond the Mansion's doors.

January 22nd, 2009

(no subject)

There was a great deal of anger and irritation at the Mansion anymore and Erik was not the only source of it for once. Although he by no means held illusions that he was not part of the explanation.

Charles was missing, Jean had returned once more from the beyond, there was fear, anger and high emotions on all sides.

His injuries both external and internal were healing leaving him with slowly growing powers again. He had mostly hid successfully that he was very little threat at the moment but he didn’t hope for that to last forever so he had to regain what control he could quickly.

The piece of metal he was working spun slowly in front of him and reshaped itself into a fanciful form then almost into a face before he scowled slightly at himself and slowly became a ring that was braiding on itself. As far as he could tell he was alone in the garden but his sense of others in the magnetic field was not sure anymore so he refused to show how much what he was doing made his head hurt. The only outward sign of discomfort was the clenched jaw with the muscles standing out as he refused to stop.

January 8th, 2009

Across village and city, country and continent, the robot army marches on. And yet despite Gewtoll's encouragement, humanity refuses to surrender. Heroes in Kevlar, blue polyester, fatigues, and sometimes nothing more than jeans and t-shirt fight back. With eldritch bolts that sizzle the air. With missiles. With bullets. With ordinary hand tools. With rocks, when they can find nothing else. They will not go down easily.

And yet, the army marches on, its general still safely ensconced in a place of power, savoring the changes in this brave new world, so different from the world in which Gewtoll had first fallen into chained slumber.

Humanity refuses to surrender, but they have not won, and cannot win, as long as Gewtoll remains.

December 26th, 2008

"Good morning New York! You are listening to the Peak, at 107.1, and you just heard 'No Sunlight', by Death Cab for---"

"Dopo una settimana di tregua, con giornate di sole e temperature sopra la media, il maltempo si e' oggi riaffacciato sull'italia. la perturbazione ha gia' portato le prime nevicate, e ora il rischio e' il ghiaccio. Previste nevicate su buona parte del nord e del centro, con--"

"Официальный сайт самой известной в России радиостанции. Хит-парад лучших российских песен «Золотой Граммофон». Музыкальные новинки, новости шоу-бизн--"

With a burst of static, the radio transmissions cut out.

To be replaced with a smooth voice, deep and rich.

"What a beautiful thing you all have here. So... rich. So full of possibilities."

It's almost like having a conversation -- like the owner of that voice is sitting next to you, or on the phone.

"So very wonderful, with its machines, its gadgets that can do anything and everything for you, that you've managed to insert into every part of your lives.

I like it here."

A long, rolling laugh, dark with menace.

"I like it here so much, I'm going to stay. Now, I realize that there might be some... opposition to this. Some of you, you're not as friendly as you could be."

A shimmering spiral starts forming in the middle of the street, in cities across the world -- Moscow, New York City, San Francisco, Rio, Sydney, Rome, London, Cairo -- and with it a sound of humming, a whine that builds and grows as the shimmer spirals faster. It finally coalesces into a wide portal, encompassing the width of every street that it touches. The whine stops, only to be replaced by the sounds of marching feet.

"So I've brought some friends, to help... smooth the way."

Out of the portal comes scores of metallic figures. Ranks of short stocky robots, fists clenched, in front of armored figures mounted on creatures who pull at their reins, emitting cries of anger and destructions. Behind them stalk thin graceful figures with long fingers upon which are mounted a row of vicious metal spikes.

"I do really think I'm going to enjoy myself. So it is in your best interest just to surrender at this point -- I promise to make your death a quick one."

A pedestrian on a New York city sidewalk looks up at the marching army, frozen on the spot. One of the robots at the front catches sight of him and reaches out a long arm to grab the man. As he struggles, the robot's chest opens wide, wide enough for the human to be placed inside; his screams are cut off abruptly as the compartment spirals closed and the robot pulses briefly with a pale white light.

"Or not. Really, you don't have a choice, so prepare yourself for the inevitable." The laughter begins again, rolling out across the airwaves as the robots march on.

December 17th, 2008

It's December.

banner betty couchsnuggle
The Fantastic Four's hospitality has been unbelievably generous, although it likely helps that their guests try to stay out of their was as much as they can, and help with the babysitting duties when necessary. These people are inspiring in their altruism, and Bruce Banner has been striving to be worthy of receiving it.

Every failure to find a cure for himself intensifies the feeling of guilt that sits heavily in his belly. For letting down his hosts, for confining his wife to this life of general isolation, despite the occasions they do get to take a break and hit the Apple. He's been lucky. It's been quite a while without a public incident.

This is in part to the deal he struck with the Hulk, letting the monster out at night to continue the hunt for Emil Blonsky, who's currently accompanied by a mutated clone of Betty - which is the reason she's no longer speaking to her father.

There's a lot going on in this relatively quiet life, but at least for today, Bruce has been convinced to leave the work aside for now, and go out with his wife to find some Christmas presents for the people that have been kind enough to treat them like family.

"I wonder if I can turn Ben into a pipe man," he smirks, glancing at a smoke shop.
Powered by LiveJournal.com