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Feb 20 2018, 02:41 PM
Squinting against the harsh glare of late afternoon sun, Charlie surveyed the many faces that populated the small island. There were some characters she saw here that she hadn’t expected to see again, both friendly and not so friendly, but the faces she was searching for most ardently seemed to be absent. Some days ago, Charlie had come to the consider harsh reality that her reason for coming here, to bring back her friends, might prove to be in vain. Charlie, and the members of the group she’d fallen to the earth with after their planes were torn to shreds, had barely made it alive through the week or so since their arrival. And though Calvin was better equipped than most anyone she knew to survive something like this, a king of adaptation in his own rite, Chuck started to really consider the possibility that her friend had perished in this perilous place.

The hopeful light in her eager eyes faltered, the corners of full lips slightly downcast in worry. Amidst the bitter sweet reunions of many of the Savage Land’s captives, Charlie began to quickly lose hope, her exhausted mind and body assuming her worst fears were true. Then, finally, she heard that familiar voice from somewhere behind her.

“Chuck!”

Charlie whipped around, eyes wide as she searched for its source. “Cal?” She called out in response, unsure whether her mind or the mist were playing tricks on her. But when she turned to its assumed source, the hazel eyes of none other than Calvin Rankin were there to greet her. “Cal!” She exclaimed, the relief cracking her voice. She didn’t waste any time wrapping the man up in a hug before she’d even had the chance to properly look him over. The much smaller woman’s face buried into her friend’s chest, a muffled “Thank God you’re alright,” barely audible beneath the tight embrace. When she finally released him from the great squeeze, Charlie looked Mimic up and down, briefly assessing what sort of shape this God forsaken place had left him in.

“I was starting to assume the worst…” Charlie admitted, trailing off as she looked away and shook the thought from her mind before turning back to him. He was clad in animal skins, working the Tarzan look as well as someone is his precarious position could, and his skin was sun kissed and bronzed from years of intense jungle sun. Charlie’s brow furrowed in concern, her mind stacking up question after question that seemed to soon to ask.

“What happened, Cal?” She inquired, the broad net that her question cast liable to pick up any number of explanations. She shifted, tugging at the neck of her suit that was beginning to drive her insane. Being so contained for so long, especially in such oppressive heat, was beyond grating. “We were coming to get you, then the plane went down and I woke up in some verdant level of hell,” she began, the words forming themselves too quickly in her mind for her lips to adequately get them out in time. “Then there were the fucking dinosaurs… We must have trekked for a good week or so to get here…” she continued, gesturing animatedly with her hands before running her fingers through tangled tresses. Her forehead wrinkled as she considered Cal’s unkempt appearance against when she knew the last time she had talked to the man was.

“You’ve been here for two weeks now, right?” That was double the time that she’d spent in the savage lands, based on her estimations. What terrors had he experienced to have lost all his clothing and become this wild looking? He must have figured out something by now, some grand plan for how they’d make it out of here in one piece. “Tell me there’s good news. I could use some good news,” she pleaded with him. Even if he had to lie, she’d accept the thinly veiled source of optimism for the time being.
Feb 20 2018, 01:05 AM
Finally. Finally, after eight days of trekking, dodging dinos, and too many near misses for comfort, they’d made it. Wherever and whatever ‘it’ was still wasn’t completely clear, but there was relief enough in knowing that the weary crew’s arduous search for the location of the X they’d seen upon arrival was over. Charlie stopped a few strides from the water’s edge, peering across its still surface to the island at its center, a bit shy of a mile away given her estimate. So close, yet so far. The swim wasn’t of much concern to her, as any reprieve from this heat would be welcome, but what lurked beneath the surface was another thing entirely. She wasn’t about to have come all this way to wade into deep water and be eaten whole by the first thing fortunate enough to sniff her out.

“That has to be it,” she offered, turning back to the group before settling her gaze on Kingtide. Reinvigorated by the notion that they’d soon be able to rest, their seemingly endless search over, Charlie was ready to get there. “Six, do you think you could part the water? Enough for us to walk through?” she inquired, pulling her mask off to see if it’d help garner a better look at what was on the island before turning back to Six. “I don’t trust swimming in it, it’s too deep to see the bottom,” she elaborated, frowning slightly at the calculated risk. Thankfully, Charlie was soon assured that they wouldn’t have to risk life, lung, or limb to cross the lake. Kingtide’s seemingly innate power over water had come to the group’s aid countless times in this last week or so of wandering, and now it would be the final step toward their common goal.

Like Moses had for the Israelites, Six parted the waters for the Israeli, and Charlie lead the way cautiously down the path toward the island. To her left and right was the entire weight of the aqueous body, its inhabitants curiously swimming by as if they were part of some elaborate aquarium display. Heavy boots trotted down the lake basin’s muddy bottom, making short work of the distance before they began ascending again as they neared the island’s shore. From their vantage point, it was particularly difficult to see exactly who or what was on the island, a miscalculation on Charlie’s part given that her tactic had relinquished the higher ground. She brought a hand to the pistol at her side, more out of habit than its actual usefulness. There were a measly two shots left in the magazine, some good that would do her against most of what she’d faced since arriving in the Savage Lands.

But with any luck, she wouldn’t have to use it. Charlie stepped onto the beach, at first greeted by nothing at all. Advancing cautiously and surveying her surroundings, she proceeded further up the beach, and was ready to turn around to address the group when she caught sight of something. No, someone. A face that kept popping up in the most unexpected of situations, first at a late night bike race some time ago and now in the middle of a the prehistoric jungle layer of purgatory. X-23 wasn’t alone, as Charlie soon noticed, her brown eyes picking up more and more forms just interior to the southern bank of the beach that they’d landed on. Some of them belonged to those with whom she’d shared the flight here, others were completely strangers. Holstering her gun as to avoid any possible miscommunication of a threat, Charlie called out to the nearest friendly and familiar face. Chrome!” She bellowed, the tall, dark, and dangerous man sticking out among the various throngs of folks scattered around the small island. Chuck made her way over in a light jog, giving the rest of her group space for their own reunions or room to tag along.

“You’re alright? I feared we were the only ones who made it out of the crash,” she marveled upon reaching him, stopping her usual safe minimum distance as she surveyed the others now more plainly in sight. One by one she picked out her former teammates, the cast of characters that made up the occupants of Princess Air some time ago slowly being accounted for. “What have you discovered? What is this place?” she almost immediately inquired, the questions that had been rattling around in her brain finally able to be posed to someone new. “We are lucky to have made it this far. It’s hell out there,” Charlie continued, her brow furrowing as she took in the reality of the situation at hand. A whole lot of people, all in one place, still stuck here. What was the plan? Though apprehensive of its answer, she had to ask the question.

“What now?”

Rat Guari Vincent Nightmare
---

OOC: Open to all Group 6 homies for arrival reactions and 3 more folks who wanna join in on the welcome!
Jan 14 2018, 03:16 PM
When Charlie first acquired this property, she hadn’t made plans to actually use it. This fourth floor walkup in Brooklyn was her safehouse, the place to go and lay low when things when sharply south, in a neighborhood few people would think to go looking. It was a place where she could blend in with the language and culture, seeing as she’d grown up in the midst of similar Hasidic communities back home in Israel. Now, as her life required a hard reset and some serious time for introspection in order to regroup, it was the ideal place for her to be.

Well, nearly ideal.

Given the life Charlie lived before this sabbatical, she had plenty of reason to assume she was being pursued. Unfortunately, she couldn’t guarantee it was just one solitary party after her hide, so naturally precautions must be taken in order for her to sleep peacefully at night. These precautions came in the form of a small arsenal of surveillance and security equipment. Deadbolts, door jamb reinforcers, cameras, integrated security software, the whole nine yards. And seeing as waiting for peace of mind wasn’t something people with Charlie’s recently acquired assets tended to do well, she’d opted to splurge for ‘ultra-express shipping’. Guaranteeing these items in 45 minutes or less was something Charlie couldn’t logistically see happening in a place as sprawling and chaotic as New York, but she was more than prepared to be amazed should it actually work out.

Sipping from a large mug of herbal tea, Charlie’s brow furrowed at the sound of her door buzzer a mere thirty minutes after she’d sent it. The buzzing pattern requested on the order was correct, but sharply staccato and much quicker than she’d heard it entered before. Charlie wrote it off to an issue in the intercom’s wiring, the unit not quite up to date with this decade or the last. Even so, she couldn’t imagine it was the courier service this soon, but was proven wrong as a man’s voice soon crackled over the intercom with the particulars of her order just as they’d been specified in her request. The paranoid bits of her brain screamed ‘trap!’ while the other parts were perplexed as to how this feat was humanly possible. Humanly being the key word there… In the event that this particular character wasn’t Pro-Chuck, she put down her mug and grabbed her pistol from the bedside table. She wedged it in the waistline at the front of her jeans and pulled the oversized knit sweater she was wearing over it, easily concealing the gunmetal.

Usually a perfectly put together visage, Charlie's lack of sleep and inability to drink or deny her problems away at this juncture in her life had the woman wearing worry on her brow. Her eyes were dark with fatigue, expression drawn and subdued in comparison to the sly, confident smirk she typically wore. With a long push of the intercom’s button, the front door buzzed open, allowing the courier’s entry before locking behind him. In the span of the seconds it took for Charlie to reach for the door handle in order to see what was coming from down the hall, there was a knock on the other side. She pulled her right hand back, her left hand instinctively lifting the hem of her sweater to allow the right to rest on the grip of her pistol. Rising up onto the balls of her feet, Charlie peered through the viewer to see the image of a backpack clad, white haired man waiting on the other side. Whoever this guy was, she reckoned he was either a teleporter or a speedster, and she had little advantage against either when it came down to getting out of trouble. For the first time since Genosha, Charlie turned up the production of her pheromones, high concentrations of the chemical compounds evaporating from the surface of her caramel brown skin.

“Ultra-Express Shipping?” She lobbed through the door, her tone playful for now as she tugged at the neck of her sweater to release the building concentrations of pheromones trapped underneath it. Charlie’s lithe form slowly and silently turned away from the door, pressing her shoulders and back to the plaster wall beside the threshold instead. “The pin, please,” she requested succinctly and politely, hoping that the answer would come soon enough and she wouldn’t have to go through this song and dance much longer. Cameras and reinforcements should rectify this inconvenience of not knowing if a threat lurked down the hallway, given that’s what was actually in the guy’s bag.

And luckily for Charlie, he rattled off the six digits flawlessly and without pause. It seemed after all that this was the actual courier, not some punctual assassin. Releasing the grip on the handle of her pistol, she moved her sweater back over the weapon, stepped away from the wall, and took a much needed deep breath. This whole paranoid, everyone’s out to get me thing was really starting to kick her ass. Her trigger happy right hand reached for the door handle once more, pulling it open to see a bag-toting Quicksilver in all his platinum haired glory. The man was quite a departure from the common courier in more ways than one, and Charlie’s growing curiosity was at odds with her better judgement for the time being. What was a mutant like that doing delivering packages?

“That was fast. Please, come in. You can unpack the order on the countertop,” she instructed, motioning to the small kitchen area’s counter space just a few paces from the front door. The countertop doubled as a small bar with a pair of stools, which Charlie quickly moved aside to allow the courier to unload the various home security components. She’d need to verify the order was as it should be before signing the verification and sending the guy on his way. And, of course, have him answer a series of questions regarding precisely who and what he was.

Without any proper ventilation system, the apartment reeked of Chuck’s pheromones already, their herbaceous and honey-sweet scents mixing with her fresh release of potent pheromones. Ensuring there was no funny business through the use of her chemical insurance policy was Chuck’s best bet at navigating this uncertain situation with peace of mind. And given that the guy should be in and out in the span of a few short minutes, he’d be no worse for wear after stepping into Charlie’s home. This was the new Charlie, after all, the one who didn’t take advantage of those ensnared by her mutation’s traps. Pietro Maximoff had nothing to worry about.
Jan 13 2018, 12:55 PM
In the last few weeks, the only times Charlie ventured outside of her modest Brooklyn apartment she was nearly fully clad in her suit. The marvelously designed garments gifted to her by former teammates were essential to blending in and leaving others unaffected. This was easy to do when living in a small Hasidic community in Brooklyn where covering up was all the rage. But today she would have to forgo modesty and reliable containment of her mutation’s effects in order to fit in back in Manhattan. Charlie hadn’t been back to the borough in nearly a week, her usual stomping grounds not holding within them their usual charm and comfort these days.

In a departure from her typically dark clothing color choice, Charlie was clad in all white, a nod to the warming relationship between herself and the woman with whom she’d be meeting today. Shrugging off her coat, Charlie made her way through the front door and into to the reception of Frost International. The warming weather provided the luxury of Charlie showing skin in her white dress, and along with it the scars of her service dotting her back and shoulders like constellations. A record of close calls and near misses. The swish of a few strides had her to the reception, stopping a bit further than might be expected before speaking.

“Good morning,” she greeted the perfectly put together, Bluetooth headset rocking blonde who was busily clicking away at the keyboard. Before the girl drew her eyes away from the computer screen with which she was so deeply engrossed, Charlie voiced her business. “Charlie Page. I have a 10:30 with Ms. Frost,” she offered, rolling her shoulder to hike the slipping strap of the briefcase up a bit more. A quick glance at her watch had the time at 10:23, a smidge earlier than she’d anticipated. Waiting wasn’t something Charlie really did before this whole turning of new leaves thing, but for once it wasn’t her powers of persuasion that got her access. It was her connection to the brains that built this entire enterprise, Emma Frost. She still wasn’t entirely sure what Emma had planned for her here, but whatever it was there was a solid chance it was a step in the right direction.

Regardless of the sass Emma had consistently cast Chuck’s way, she trusted the woman and knew her to be a brilliant strategist. Though she wouldn't admit it to herself yet, Charlie actually had the sneaking suspicion that Emma wanted what was best of her. If there was one person’s advice that she’d be looking to ask for, it was Frost's. And if their previous interactions were any indication of the norm, Emma was going to have plenty of things to say.
Jan 10 2018, 10:58 PM
Turning over a new leaf, namely her complete cessation of felonious activities, left Charlie with far more free time than she was accustomed to. All that boring was enough to make her skin crawl, but she tried to embrace it, seeing as laying low would more than likely be her best bet. These were trying times, and Chuck had been on the offensive of multiple bouts between mutants and some unsavory humans that worked to paint a big red target on her back. She was, on her own admission, “part of the problem”. Careless in her use of manipulation, taking as she pleased and seldom saying “Thank You”. An unfortunate series of events and some spicy truth bombs had led Charlie to the resolution that, if she wanted to find any contentment in her life, things had to change.

That led her to Trader Joe’s to pick up the week’s groceries, one of the woman’s few outings nowadays. Dressed casually in jeans and an oversized ‘Purple Rain’ sweater, all but Charlie’s neck and head were covered by the suit specially designed by her comrades in the Brotherhood to keep her pheromones contained. Without the mask to completely seal the sweetly scented chemical compounds in there was still some risk of exposure. But the brunette didn’t plan on being in the store long, or conversing with a soul in that place long enough to pose much risk. Picking her way through the produce, periodically scoffing at both the price and quality of what passed as fresh food in this country, Charlie’s paranoia addled brain couldn’t help but notice she had attracted some unwanted attention.

She’d been trained to notice when things weren’t quite right. Like the kid who wasn’t anywhere near old enough to be out of school walking around without a parent, stealing glances at the bag around her arm as she moved through the grocery store. The way he moved with her natural progression across the floor to casually intercept her indicated the kid knew what he was doing.

This wasn’t Alex Goya’s first rodeo.
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