The Seasons Turn (Open)

Dear individual,

I am writing this letter as a fellow superhuman and a concerned citizen of this world. Before I begin, let me share my philosophy. In this world, there are two types of empowered people; those whom have power and let it go to waste, and those that possess power and use it to change the world. I represent an organization dedicated to just such a cause; Olympus, a paramilitary organization with a presence across the world. We boast over ten thousand individuals each dedicated and loyal to the cause of making the world a better place.

Recently, however, events have transpired which has led to the creation of another group, under my direct control. Though ostensibly a part of the Olympus, Blackguard will have no part in the regular, day-to-day tasks of the organization. Rather, they will engage in special operations, partaking in tasks and missions considered too difficult or even impossible for typical soldiers; in short, missions that only a superhuman can accomplish. In exchange for their service, the Blackguard will be exempt from the regular duties of service while recieving full pay, plus benefits, plus accomadations made for travel and expenses.

If you have recieved this letter, consider it an invitation. Come to the address written below in three days time; if you cannot arrive and still wish to, call the number below, travel arrangements will be made. I hope to see you all then.

Sincerely,
Katrina Anne Kawada
Head of the Summit of Olympus, Duchess of Cumberland

Underneath this letter was written an address to a house in England, and a number which would connect the caller with “Osiris Travel”. Somehow, they knew exactly what they were calling for.

The slight drizzle of an English summer heralded the mid-afternoon and the American sighed contently; it had been one hell of an easy day, just waiting here with all the accommodations that came with nobility. Free food, free internet, and more importantly, some really old, really good booze. A slightly chilled, fifty year old whiskey was just what the doctor ordered to get her pleasantly buzzed while she waited for the Blackguard potentials to trickle in. To be honest, she wasn’t sure they’d join. She wouldn’t. If the Scholarium hadn’t restored her arms and given her some pretty legit powers, she wouldn’t be with them now. Still, totally worth it most of the time. Just chillin’, drinkin’, and hanging out.

A loud burp behind her interrupted her bubble of thoughtlessness, reminding her she wasn’t quite alone here. The stifled laughter of Kuruzaki, followed by another loud burp and another little giggle, sent disgusted shivers up her back. Ugh, men. She was tempted to move away from Asgar and his assassin friend, but to be honest, she was quite warm and content right here, in front of the window, not to mention the tactical advantages. Besides, Asgar would just follow her, he has strict orders to remain within sight of her.

The door suddenly opened, and Jessica reached for her gun; a beautiful weapon, the Blackstrike 1700 was custom-designed for her. A bolt-action rifle, each round could punch a hole in a Destroyer-class submarine from over a mile away. Seriously a gorgeous weapon, but like most powerful weapons like this, it would rip the arms off of any normal human to use it. It’s cousins, Hawk and Eagle, were of course securely sequestered away in the holsters on her hip. More likely than not, however, she would just use the IM-R to to contain any threat that would suddenly burst in on them. As it turned out, however, her mental gymnastics and categorization of her weapons was moot; there was no threat, it was Bastion walking through the door, his mail clinking with every step and the false face showing a grimace.

”Ah. Miss Golem. Bonjour.” A flash of irritation crossed her face at the usage of her hated nickname, though she didn’t berate him on it. A hundred times was ninety too many. ”When do we be leaving? This place, it is not secure. If an enemy attacks-” Asgar cut him off with a deep belch and a laugh. ”Dah. You worry like an old woman! Let them attack. I shall send them to Valhalla myself!” He fingered the haft of the axe at his hip; what he wouldn’t give to bury it in the heart of a worthy foe and bathe it’s ancient blade in the blood of a warrior! ”C’mere, Jessica, the thoughts gettin’ me hard.” Jessica ignored the irritating viking and instead answered Bastions question.

”When our mission is complete, BJ. Relax, have a seat, might be a minute.”

Bastion threw her a question look, which Jessica responded with a shrug. Details were few and far between on missions like this. All she knew was, she was supposed to sit here and see if people arrived. If they did, she was to entertain them until Katrina can arrive. Because of course, Miss High and Mighty herself was too damn important to met some random supers in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, even if it was fancier than most French hotels. Another sigh wracked her frame and she threw back the rest of the amber liquid, draining the tumbler. Apparently, punctuality wasn’t a thing these people knew-

And then, a loud knock on the door.

"Its been quite some time since you've done this." An almost metallic voice broke the thum of the british drizzle, leaving its real question hanging in the air behind its words.. The small orb like figure would have been wearing a pensive face if it was possible. Instead, it hovered quietly, tucked into its hidden little corner.

An almost invisible figure remained motionless, not bothering to reply. He stood up slowly with the servos of the suit's cloaking device whiny softly. Rain seemed to fall just out of the way, abnormally shifting around a human outline. There seemed to be a cloak wrapped around his shoulders and down to their feet, but not much else could be seen. It might have been a while since he had done this, but that didn't mean his gear was any less effective these days. "Are the drone in place? Camaras piggypacked in?" the invisible man asked his tiny robotic compatriot. His voice was raw, as if it hadnt been used in a long time.

Nolan gave a nod. It took a second then as if in a hurry  began to spew out all of its pent up questions. "Its all set up. What are we doing here though. You never rush into things like this. We need more.."

"Enough. Just pull up the data and blueprints of the building. I'm not sure whats going to happen here, but we are going to watch. Like always." Said the man, cutting off the robot. Hands underneath layered gauntlets formed a fist. He knew what the little ball of sass was going to ask. And for once, he really didn't know the answers this time. He really had been gone too long.

The man moved across the rooftop, taking up a position with access to the windows. He wasn't in the best hiding spot, nor even the second best hiding spot with his parinoia getting the better of him. He would have booby trapped both those positions just out of general principle if he was holding the meeting here. He debated on wether or not to pull his reavers into their sniper mode or to even draw them, but decided against it. Better to stay fully underneath his cloak to block a wayward sensor. It might have been possible to try and find then disable them, but there was always a chance to give himself away with that. Better to just piggy back on the local camera and keep quiet. He tensed up as one of his sensor were triggered. Someone was heading to the front door.

Jeisen's eyes narrowed underneath his mask, streams of data highlighting a pale face. Out in the London summer, underneath a light drizzle, once again Guardian was back.

As Stanton woke up he could tell that he was still drunk from the night before. No hangovers he thought at least not for a little bit. Sitting up slowly among the bits and pieces of detritus, he wiped the sleep from his eyes. Wet fingerless gloves met his face. Wet? he pondered, turning over his hand in front of still blurred vision to see it was dark grey and soaked through.

Shit he muttered, sticking a hand underneath the steady drip from the overpass. With a grumble he pulled the glove from his hand and let it hit the ground with a wet slap. And yet, the glove remained on his hand. He cast an annoyed glance at the duplicate glove on the ground before gripping the soggy rag on his hand once more and pulling it off. Another duplicate hit the ground and the wet glove remained firmly attached to him.

OH FINE! he yelled at the still wet gloved hand. The sound echoed, once, twice, over and over and over again, the sounds compounding as the reverberated off the concrete around him. No no no no he thought as he crouched on his toes and clasped his hands to his ears. With every ounce of focus he had he tried to stop the echos screaming out in succession overtop of him. The sound was in his head now too and he felt like his head was splitting open. Calm down, just calm down he told himself, taking the effort to breathe deeply and clear his mind. And with a few minutes there, breathing and blanking out...it actually worked!

Ha ha-ha! he started to laugh as he reopened his eyes, surprised at how easy it had been to quite the echos. But he quickly found a new thing to be distracted with. A letter, half soaked sat on the pavement in front of him and he focused on it he realized the name on it, Stanton Stacy. Immediately he shot up to his feet and put a hand to his hip and the 9mm tucked into his pants. His head whirled, scanning the surroundings for anyone, any sign of anyone. There was nothing. Just him and the letter in the concrete enclosure he'd tucked himself into. Even still his heart raced and he could hear it in his ears, the echos compounding the sound into drumbeat cacophony. He closed his eyes tight, trying to shake the panic away before kneeling down and picking up the letter.

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He'd called the number provided with a payphone as soon as he'd finished reading the notice. Nearly as soon as he'd gotten off the phone the car had arrived to pick him up. Instantly he regretted making the call, but they had his info, had found him out on the street. What other choice did he have? But there was another thought that played on his mind as the car approached the waiting plane. What if they knew about CHRONOS? That alone drove him, step after step up to the cabin door of the aircraft. He took a look down at himself, ragged hoodie, torn jeans the still wet damn glove. Yea, that'll make a good first impression he chuckled to himself before tapping out three sharp knocks on the door. It's Stanton he called out Stanton Stacy.

Medicine Woman had been in London only one time before today. It was an unpleasant experience.  Despite that, she was in England's capital city.

She was looking for a hotel.  Even a motel would be fine.  Her needs were really pretty basic.

As she arrived within a few steps of the motel entrance, a single sheet of paper gently flew through the air. It fell at her feet.  Being a conservationist, she picked it up.  

Medicine Woman was going to throw it away.  A second glance showed the letter to be on some fancy---and probably very expensive---stationery. She read the classy-looking font.

"This is worth checking out", she thought.  She followed the directions.  It took a while, but she arrived at the indicated location.

Medicine Woman entered the old-looking high-class mansion.  She was dressed in a full traditional Native American outfit.  She made her way to what looked like a woman very accustomed to the creme-de-la-creme of society. She made sure there was at least six feet of space between herself and the other woman.

"Is this yours?", she asked politely.  It wasn't certain that the woman would answer.  Medicine Woman wasn't even sure if the woman before her would even notice her presence.

((OOC:  I hope this post isn't too late.  It's your choice if you want to reply or not.))