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Unread 1st of September, 2010, 13:54
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"Jesus, Mario. Would you shut up? If I wanted to know what you were thinking, I'd read your mind." Psycho looked daggers at Mario Milito, aka Mr. Amazing, 'Captain' of the State of Illinois' Super-team, the Protectors. She considered, briefly, making him punch himself right in his concerned, self-righteous face.

It was really clear to everyone involved what was going on here - the Protectors were going in a different direction, temporarily at least. There was no room in their roster for Moira Barrie.

The Showman, Zeke Zibkowski, was next to speak up, "Look, Moira - it's nothing personal."

"Liar. Try better."

"Man, Moira! Can't you stop that? We're on a team, here. A little privacy in my own thoughts, yeah?"

"You're just mad because I know you're a liar. And that you want to 'tap' Bomber's 'fine ass.' Oh. That was still a secret?" Moira smirked within her cowl at Zeke's blush and stammering denials.

"Whatever, Pretenders. Good luck stopping that thing i saw the other day without me." Moira stripped off her cloak in the Protectors' gaudy Orange and Blue, revealing her glittering, pale blue skin - the remnant of ancient Kree bloodlines in both sides of her family colliding together - and the form-fitting dark blue jumpsuit she wore underneath it was all she wore.


Moira was... adrift. In a blink of an eye, a fledgling race called the Casiens on the 2nd planet of the Morlian Solar System, 40 million light years away on the other side of the Milky Way galaxy, discovered Nuclear Power and one-hundred thousand Casiens died in the terrible use of mankind's most terrible scientific weapon.

But rare was she able to see things so clearly. Her mind was clouded with a Universe full of genocides, wars, rebellions - atrocities. It seemed the good parts of the Universe weren't in the plans of whomever had burdened Moira with this Awareness. Someone had sprayed water down Moira Barrie's cheeks.

She thought for the third time that day that she should call her... Nancy. Certainly, Moira's own mo.... Nancy would want to speak to Moira. Isn't that what girls who'd just gotten fired did, is call their Moth... Nancy? She reached over and grabbed the phone, wiping the wetness off her cheeks, when her moment of serenity and conviction was shattered by an image.

Iron Eagle, Commander of the Delta's Ordersmiths was on a poster, his finger pointing straight at Moira in a strangely fitting reincarnation of the old Uncle Sam for U.S. Army posters. A recruiting slogan blared through her telepathic mind, beckoning, calling, insisting that she come to the Delta.

She may not have been able to stop Nuclear War on Casien, but she should have been in the Delta for a week, anyway. It had been a week since those two, particular visions. A week since - well, a week since she'd collapsed into Mr. Amazing's surprised arms, revealing the weakness and redeeming the fear in her companions' thoughts. Moira was unstable. Moira was cracking under the strain of their duties. Psycho was, perhaps, a freaking Psycho!

How could Moira share what she's seen, when the Protectors thought those thoughts about her just when she needed them most?

It was past due Moira left Chicago, anyway. The Delta and the Ordersmiths were as good as any other place or group to hide in.


Psycho sulked when she saw the robot in the meeting, even though there were plenty of thoughts floating around the room, unprotected, unguarded. Quite foolishly. She was distracted as the robot tweeted about something or other, her mind literally somewhere else as it was flooded with information of the galaxy at large.

Then, one of the assembled freethinkers said something which piqued her interest, "Before we go, we should give the others a chance to introduce themselves."

Moira sat up straight in her chair, no longer quite so bored with the entire ordeal. None of these people knew anything interesting - except the Robot. And the robot wasn't exactly broadcasting on the frequency Moira was tuned into. "Please, allow me. It'll save a bunch of time, and cut through all of the usual 'Who's more mysterious and guarded' bull that goes on when any group of supers bumps into each other outside of a dark Alley. The Gentleman with the baseball hat, the cigarette, and infuriating mental discipline insists on being called Brunt, and is able to adjust his size when the need arises, though not, apparently, through Hank Pym's wonderful Particles."

The man in the trenchcoat, the Shadow, is worried about what this all means. He has a rep as gunman and lady's man, but I can see, now, that the more interesting parts were a wee bit exaggerated. Blonde Bomber will be crushed when she finds out. Also, none of us care what his name is. It isn't all that interesting. Believe me."

Then there's the waif, too light to exist, nearly, but calling herself Obsidian Dawn - ridiculous, for a pale white girl who makes Paris Hilton look robust and well-fed. She's new to the game, nearly a complete rookie. But not as lilywhite as..."

The Wiz, barely hours into her Superhero career. Your brain is powerful, but not in the way mine is. It's different. Like your outfit. Are you colorblind, lady?"

This guy, Blue Blazes, is like," Moira inflects her voice with a surge of girlish titter, "totally a bad-ass. But seriously... Guns, bows, arrows... you name it, he uses it. Or makes it. His mind's kind of hopping about, and there're a lot of people in this room.

And the 'sheriff' here is Bike Star, our resident Human Motorcycle. He can explain what, exactly, that means to those of you who don't get it. You know who you are.

Hoplite, on the other hand is... interesting. How do you do that? Blue Blaze's trick is interesting and all, but... interesting. I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Moira leaned back a moment, before sitting back up in a hurry. "Oh, and I'm Pyscho. And I'm psychic, for that same person who knows who he is."

"There. Now we're not strangers anymore."

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To the Arena! To the Death!

Last edited by Krypton; 2nd of March, 2013 at 04:56.
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