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Alias: Ky
Age: 27
Codename: White Queen
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Joined: 18-July 17
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Last Seen: Jan 17 2018, 07:55 PM
Local Time: Jan 19 2018, 06:45 AM
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Jan 15 2018, 12:07 PM

Despite Emma's misgivings towards her second ability (it dredged up unpleasant memories of her younger years), her diamond form did have its advantages--in this particular instance, it saved her from frostbite when her car swerved into a snowbank two miles from the institute. She'd made it back to the mansion on foot in record-breaking time--feeling neither pain nor exhaustion was helpful--and was nearing the gates when she noticed a dark shadow looming behind the otherwise impenetrable screen of sleet and snow. It seemed absurd that anyone would be out in this weather when warmth and shelter was just steps away.

Crouching behind stone gate for both protection and inconspicuousness, Emma reverted into flesh and blood so she could probe the stranger's mind. It was unlike any mind she'd ever read. In fact, it didn't even feel human. Whatever it was, she was resolved to deal with it quickly. She was freezing her arse off here.

10 minutes later

"Jean Grey, just the woman I was looking for," drawled a crystalline Emma as she strolled through the main doors, hauling a corpulent, stiff body behind her. It was huge and black with several limbs and bleeding profusely from its neck. It easily weighed as much as a colt, but Emma threw it like it was a bag of marshmallows; it slid across the hardwood down the grand entry hall, smearing the floor with blood.

"I found this lurking outside--dead now, obviously," said Emma carelessly, as though she'd brought in a stray cat. As she melted back into her human form, she peeled off her sopping wet coat and draped it on the back of a nearby chair; from her coat pocket, she produced a newspaper wrapped in plastic.

Slumping into the chair, Emma unfolded the newspaper and glanced at the front page. "God, this is from three days ago!" she exclaimed, shivering--with fury, obviously. "Oh, so I suppose newspapers don't get delivered now, because of a bit of snow?"

For Christ's sake, was the heat in this godforsaken building even on?

Still scowling, Emma began to peruse the newspaper anyway, turning the pages with effort as though they were made of lead. Without looking up, she said, "Jean, darling, could you do something about that?" She gestured airily at the mutated, alien corpse. "It's starting to bleed into the rug."

@JEAN GREY | Also open for one or two X-Men/X-Students!
Jan 13 2018, 02:01 AM

Although Wellington Tailoring enjoyed a steady stream of business channelling in from the stockbrokers at Wall Street, the owner felt, one day, inexplicably compelled to take the subway all the way down to Brooklyn, eventually knocking on the door of an unremarkable brownstone located on the less savoury side of the city.

A true professional, Mr Wellington did not arrive empty-handed; in his right hand, he carried a leather briefcase containing all the tool he required to deliver top-notch tailorship, and in his left, he held a brand new, three-piece suit of impeccable quality, suspended from a wooden coat hanger. Mr Wellington could not recall where or how he came to possess such a suit--it certainly didn't come from his shop--but for some reason, he knew precisely for whom he had brought it.

"Ian Stering?" he said politely, when the door opened. He held up both the unaltered suit and his briefcase, and smiled politely. Tapping the measuring tape hanging around his neck, he asked, "Shall we begin?"

As it turned out, an invitation card was conveniently left in one of the trouser pockets, containing the time and address of an exclusive party in the middle of Manhattan. Among the young and beautiful guests, Emma was the belle of the ball, groomed to perfection in a sleeveless, ivory number that concealed just enough to tease the imagination. While most of the guests were gathering in the main ballroom, Emma lingered in the hallway. Wine glass in hand, she appraised the object in front of her with critical, cold-blue eyes.

God, that was one ugly statue.

"This is honestly what you want?" she said, glancing over at the man standing next to her. She took a moment to eye him with open approval. He cleaned up nicely, for a dirty arms dealer. She turned back towards the statue. "It's in the middle of the hallway. Anyone walking by is bound to notice if I try to move it--if I can even move it."

She wasn't seriously concerned about witnesses, but it would probably satisfy Ian if she put up a bit of a fuss about it. Most likely, he'd chosen this particular statue because of its ostentatious hideousness, and wanted to see her struggle.

"Just what did you say you wanted this for, again?"

@IAN STERING | this awful pair. lemme know if anything needs changing <3

Dec 1 2017, 04:06 PM

"You did not follow the plan."

There was no preamble, no idle chatter before transitioning to business. Standing under the Brooklyn Bridge, Emma was tall and unyielding; her custom-tailored, military coat cut sharp lines on her slender figure, and her eyes were dark and clouded like the sky before a storm (the weather was, in fact, clear and the air crisp and chilly, hinting at the first snowfall that would make its way to New York later that week).

Emma was angry, there was no doubt about it. When she and Stryker planned to disrupt the Stark Expo with the help of his sick little worshippers (Emma had never been the religious sort), she'd been led to believe the attacks would be localised to only one pavilion--the one where the keynote would be held. Instead, Stryker's minions launched attacks all over the Expo grounds, even at the science fair, which was where Emma had been. Thanks to a trigger-happy Purifier, Emma had been forced to transform to her diamond form, which risked outing herself as a mutant to the public. Fortunately, seeing as no task force agents had yet showed up at her door, her powers still seemed to be a secret, at least for now.

But it didn't excuse Stryker from the fact that he'd compromised her safety, and worst of all, her reputation.

"Explain yourself," said Emma with an austerity that cut through the cold air like a blade. "If I can't trust you, I won't work with you."


Nov 22 2017, 04:41 PM
Derek Smalls
Alex Flores
Nathan Dolly
Parker Robbins
Paula Crane
Namor McKenzie*
Oct 24 2017, 12:00 AM

"No offense, Logan, but you wouldn't have been my first choice as a science fair chaperone."

She was looking at him with an arched eyebrow, her hands planted on her hips and her blonde head cocked sceptically to one side. She was holding onto a clipboard--a pen that was tied to the clip swayed side-to-side next her leg--and she was sporting a rather demure pair of black-framed glasses that, despite the extra layer between them, made her gaze look more piercing than usual.

"How old are you again, a thousand?" Emma added dismissively. She flicked her glasses up and balanced them on the crown of her head as she held up her clipboard to peruse the student projects she'd been assigned to assess--being the former CEO of Frost International had apparently made her qualified enough to be a judge in this sad fair. Emma would have rejected the invitation, except she wanted to brag about it--namely, to certain teachers who hadn't been asked to judge...

(Like waterproof mascara, Emma never went anywhere without a thick coat of pettiness.)

Despite having no lost love for the hairy, little gremlin, Emma beckoned Logan to follow her as she made her way to the different projects. She couldn't very well have him loitering around and embarrassing her, even if he did have foul body odour. Did he bathe in moose sweat?

"Right, so my next one is located at K85--oh, of course it's all the way at the end," Emma tutted, clicking her tongue with annoyance. "The organisation of this event is complete--hey!" She'd made it halfway down the aisle when someone heading the opposite direction collided hard against her shoulder. Emma scowled, but the boy didn't even turn around as he hurried to catch up with his friends. Her eyes tracked him, memorising whatever she could in case she had a chance to get even later.

Tousled brown hair, skinny jeans, sneakers, and a black shirt with 'PURITY' silk-screened on it. Tacky. But as bonus, she even picked up a stray thought: It's gonna blow in ten, nine, eight...

Emma didn't quite know what it meant, but she understood enough to realise that--"Actually, I've already assessed this one," she said, her tone calm in spite of the fact she'd already broken into a run. "How ridiculous of--"

She was interrupted by an explosion at the end of the same aisle, followed by several more close by. Emma, who was immediately on her knees with her head buried between her arms, scowled at the floor as the hall crackled like popcorn in a microwave.

This was not part of the plan. What the hell was Stryker doing?

@LOGAN HOWLETT | hope this is okay! Let me know if you want any changes made <3

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