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Post by Deleted on Jun 13, 2013 16:46:51 GMT -5
Jordan wasn’t going to lie. She had been inactive with the brotherhood and was starting to get home sick. Making her way back to the Big Apple to find her long lost home she wondered back in to the place where she had last known of the brothers staying. Unlike her usual wear, her uniform of the naughty school girl she was in jeans and a t-shirt. she had left her so called uniform in gotham and only brought back her weapons and well ofcourese her blonde hair.
She had taken time off to relax and learn to control her abilitys, she was no longer the scary ice monster everyone hated. She was the girl with ice powers that everyone hated. She was no longer afraid of people touching her, although she would still finch she would act cool. The girl still pushed herself to be the best.
Snow could hear the voices of the others, they were like quite Whispers in the dark, most of the vices were those of the people she had made friends with. She was home finaly home, and this time she wasn’t broke, she was all fixed and ready to help Magneto with his plans. The blonde walked up to the small group of people and sat with them, “Hey snow glad to see your back.” One of the boys smiled at her and handed her some potato chips. The blonde smiled and took a few. “Im glad to be home, so what’s changed around here?”
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I am No Hero
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Post by Erik "Magneto" Lehnsherr on Jun 13, 2013 18:50:36 GMT -5
And it's a cruel memory To look back on who we were
Mutants left all the time. Some, yes, returned later, however most did not. It was nothing new to the founder. Granted Such situations were nothing to cause worry. Pawns is what they were. Very few ranked higher then such. In the grander scheme some would be sacraficed for the greater good. It was just a pure fact.
Erik was not one to migle with the masses that inhabited the building. His own quaters were nigh accesable to anyone who he did not wish them to be. Large impressive metal doors with no knobs nor handles, visible locks or hinges. Carefully designed to respond to one singular power. His.
The soft rythmic metallic clank of a seemingly normal Newton's cradle was the singular noise in his private quaters. Though the cradle held no strings, no base nor arms. It was suspended by his power. moving two and fro in a transfer of energy. He lounged in a high backed leather chair with a novel open in his hand and the heel of his shoe propped on the edge of the low coffee table.
The others could do as they pleased, as they did not cause trouble between one another. Should the elder mutant be foreced to intervien. He would rather not have the tension between members. They held a purpose greater then themselves.
Best act like it. | |
Because my past is a poison and I'll never find a cure
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