Resurrection of Thrones: Part 1

Victoria approached Amre's Cucina, the meeting spot Chelle had secured for today. The sign read closed and the door was locked, but Victoria had a key Chelle had sent her. She unlocked the door and stepped in, quietly closing and locking it behind her.

Victoria was right on time as was the nature of someone who, after all, did use the codename clockwork. The ticking of a clock and the click of her heeled boots on the floor of the restaurant would have been synchronized. In the refined setting, Victoria didn't look out of place at all. Her skin, which was only exposed above her neck, was pale and flawless. Blonde hair kept back by a white hairband fell down just above her shoulders. It was a little shorter than usual, but she had recently lost her skin and hair in conflict with a metahuman that used heat powers. Her pale face was lit up by big blue eyes that methodically scanned her surroundings. Most of her body was covered by a large white and teal coat, fastened by a series of buckles and with a large blue bow on the chest. Her hands were covered with black buckled gloves, and matching leather boots went up her legs and disappeared in the white and pink dress she wore under her long coat. She looked like a dainty model, though the truth was you could hit her with a truck and she'd shrug it off.

"It's been some time, Queen." A soft voice with a distinct British accent slowly filled up the mostly empty room. "I am eager to see if I can learn to be as amused as you look prepared to be." Chelle took a satisfaction in things Victoria didn't quite understand, though she wasn't sure if this was a human quality or a quality only held by the queen of Thrones. She took her seat across from Chelle and crossed her hands in front of her face. A decadent meal sat under her, no doubt extremely tempting to those with a sense of smell. "I hope you won't mind terribly if I don't go through the motions of eating. Such is a bit of a chore when you lack taste buds, and anything I eat will just have to be disposed of in the fashion of a human teenage girl." The last statement was Victoria's attempt at humor, though she didn't smile or laugh herself. She was no reason to fake emotional displays for Chelle's benefit, it wasn't as if she didn't already know what she was. In fact, it was because of what she was that she sat in the princess's chair right now. Some tasks simply required abilities that a human could not match. She had already noted the number of seats and nametags upon entering, and she knew that it was all new blood. "I'm eager to see what kind of motley crew you've assembled this time to turn into a proper court."

Sheryll walked down the street, sipping on a large drink. It tasted sweet in her mouth even through the overpowering carbonation. She was having a wonderful day, her "father" had gotten her a new set of clothes for completing a mission.

The mission itself hadn't been that hard, she had been assigned to take out a small group of metahumans who had gathered, she didn't remember why they had done so,
only that her father had said to skip the apprehension phase and skip straight to extermination. Sheryll didn't hate metahumans, in fact she didn't really hate anyone.
After all, she had no reason to, they hadn't done anything to her; the only reason she went after them was because her father told her to. She sighed as she finished the drink off, chucking it into a nearby waste bin. She passed by a large store with a glass front and looked at herself.

Her new outfit was a pretty sapphire colored sweater and black pants. Under it she was still wearing her N.A.S. but you could hardly tell given that she had gloves on over it. The suit's boots didn't actually look that out of place on her, considering that all the wire emitters on her feet were on the soles.

Sheryll continued walking, reflecting on just how easily she had taken down those metahumans, despite their bravado. She hadn't even had to use that.
Looking around she realized she was at the rendezvous point. Her father had told her to "join" this group for the time being and that was that, so she may as well enjoy it.

Sheryll searched her new pants for the key she had been given. She couldn't find it. Sheryll began to freak out but remembered that she didn't need a key for a lock this simple. looking around to make sure no one was watching she popped about half an inch of the wire's bladed tip out of her index finger and inserted it into the lock. The lock clicked around for a few moments before Sheryll heard the familiar popping sound of an unlocked door. She stood up proudly and gently pushed the door open. There were two people already sitting there.

"Hi!" she chirped, a big smile on her face "Nice to meet you, I'm Sheryll and I'm here to join your club"
It was a joke obviously but she wasn't sure how they would take it. She walked up to the table where the other two women were sitting and found her seat. It wasn't hard, seeing as there was a little card with her codename written in front of her seat.

"So, who else is coming?" she asked.

Robert walked out of his apartment and locked the door. He had to catch the bus for this meeting, which was about halfway across town. This meeting was for a group that interested Robert, it was a group about maintaining the balance in the world and he felt that it was the perfect opportunity to do something useful with his life. Robert walked to the bus stop in his usual outfit: black cowboy boots, black skinny pants, black dress shirt, a black sports jacket, and his black wayfarer raybans. He had 2 handguns on and 2 titanium katanas strapped onto his back. Though it was merely a meeting, you never knew what could happen.

He got on the bus and paid the usual bus fare, it was about a dollar or so, nothing much. He sat in the back of the bus and waited for the bus to get to his stop, which took about 15 minutes or so. He got off the bus and waved at the bus driver to show his thanks. The restaurant that they were suppose to rendezvous at was about a 5 minute walk away, which was the perfect amount time for him to smoke a cigarette. He took out the pack and took out a cigarette, he lit it with a match and took a long drag out of it. He walked to the restaurant, taking a drag every three steps or so.

Right as he arrived at the restaurant, he took one more drag and the the cigarette butt down onto the ground. He stepped on it with the heel of his boot, making sure to crush it completely. He took a mint and put it in his mouth, he didn't want his breath smelling like smoke. He took out a key and unlocked the door, he stepped in. His cowboy boots clicked against the marble floor as he walked to the back of the place. He found the dining room and took his name tag from the lady giving them out. He sat a few seats away from the one they called "Queen Chelle" and across from someone who was named "John". He looked at the group of people gathered here and almost forgot to take off his glasses. He took them off and put them in his jacket, his blue eyes adjusting to the light in the room..

"Nice to meet you all, my name is Robert, but you can call me Dylan if you'd like." he said in his trademark twangy, southwest accent. He looked at the food, it looked good but he wasn't that hungry. He put his hand through his hair and waited for everyone else to arrive.

That morning Cilian woke slightly conflicted, his mind was racing more than he would care to admit. No amount of fencing in the dark, which he considered effective therapy, could erase the thoughts of how today could very well change his fortune in his new hometown. Would he approach these people, one's he has never met before or heard of in a more safer manner, he could simply go out as a clone and save himself any possible damage that might occur, for all he knew there could be a psychopath attending and slaughter everyone there. However proper etiquette was required when invited to an exclusive 'meet-up' and he did have some hope that these other members wouldn't be as volatile as his imagination made them out to be. While he changed into his outfit, he chuckled to himself as the ever-shifting tattoos on his body quivered at his sudden thoughts of a possible violent outbreak, "at least I'll have backup," he said nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. Fastening Balizarde to his side he took one last glance at himself in the oval shaped mirror before striding out of his apartment.

The microfiber suit felt good against his skin, the soft material caressing against his skin. Even though it was a hot day he wasn't feeling overheated with the new addition to his ever-growing collection of formal wear. A simple three piece suit, nothing to gush over but typically pristine and well fitted; the black and greys added a nice contrast to the shiny metallic blade that jingled at his side. "When in doubt, always over-dress" he said with a grin as he crossed the road to the meeting point. Fortunately for him, the little apartment he had purchased was a mere five minute walk from the rendezvous point, enough time to scope out the area and its occupants.

It was a restaurant, apparently closed but he knew better as he produced the key sent to him by the 'Queen'. He swiftly unlocked the door and slid in, closing it behind him. It was a fancy restaurant, adorned with exquisite lighting and tapestry, so fancy in fact that he felt that he was dressed perfectly for the occasion. As he continued to casually checkout the restaurant's interior a woman approached him nearing the back of the room giving him a little smile, she was holding a simple name-tag. "Merci" he whispered to her as he took the name-tag and pinned it to his chest all the while making his way to the small group of people in the lavish dining room.

"Bonjour, I am Cilian, it's a pleasure to meet you all" he said bowing his head a bit, his silky accent amusing some of the members already seated. He took his place at the table, nodding his head at two woman seated in front of him and at his right hand side. Well at least I'm in the company of the more fairer sex he thought to himself giving them a polite smile.

Laszlo smiled at his own reflection idly as he went over his outfit carefully. The ruby red jacket, formal to the point of almost being military (except for the wide collar and shoulder clasps) had been pressed the night before. His elbows were sharp when he bent his arms, sleeves pulling tight. Good, if he got into a fist fight lose sleeves could be a handle and handles were generally a pain. Below, the jade colored turtle neck shirt had been buttoned tight over his throat and even now ended farther then the ruby sleeves clasped with gold, button cufflinks. His gloves were thick and bright, shined leather with wires running below the surface, practically invisible to the eye. Those hands moved to adjust solid back trousers, before they swung an unusual cape over his shoulders. The interior was a dark jade, like his turtleneck shirt, but the exterior was a solid back. The entirety of its weight were placed on some easy to detach gold clasps on his shoulders, more for show then actual use. Capes would tend to get chewed into things, or stepped on. But they were good for diversion tactics when needed. Plus, what kind of superhero worth his salt didn't have a cape?

Finally the blonde brushed his thumb along his cheekbone in the mirror, piercing blue eyes running over his own face. It seemed... less real when he wore this costume, like he took a less distinct place in this universe. It might have been worrying if it wasn't also just a little thrilling. Laszlo finally took hold of the hanging black hood, sewn into the underside of his collars and lifted it to cover his hair. Then the cowl, ruby red and bird like, was clasped over his cheeks. There was a bit of an adjustment to get his eyes in the optimal place. Once that was done, he took a moment to apply a little spirit gum to keep the mask from slipping free then booted the mechanical systems. He tested them by conjuring a bouquet of flowers with a flick of his wrist, the other fingers of his hand lightly pulling free a petal or two. The physics engines seemed to be working well, so Laszlo flicked the switch in his mirror off and stepped into the little space he called an apartment.

The Magician had recently purchased a mobile home, or should it be described as a truck, using every last penny of his father's inheritance. It wasn't that roomy, but it came with its own shower, kitchen and workspace. He was use to living in small compartments from a child hood of moving across Europe, the only difference with this one was that Laszlo had to drive.

The costumed "hero" did a quick glance about, before he descended the stairs and opened onto the bright sunshine of a New York summer day. The truck had been pulled into an empty building lot, a few streets from the restaurant that he had been informed to be at. It was easy enough to break the chain and drive inside, after a long couple of nights drive into the State. Rather then take the pavements, however, Laszlo scaled a fire escape close by. A walk across the rooftops seemed like a fine idea, breathing in the smell of petrol fumes from the street below and the sound of a city buzzing with activity. Most places in the world looked alike, but the sounds were mostly unique. Laszlo loved listening to the chattering, seeing it change to colors before his very eyes, thanks to an unique gift. Synesthesia closured his world beyond the norm, while he attempted to do the same for the people below.

The Raven only had to do a few tricks to traverse the block, one of them involving a slightly precarious walk across a tight wire over the street below. When Amore's Cucina came into sight, he made a point of waiting a few minutes on a precipice over the New York street below. The restaurant was closed for the day, with a few people wandering into it as he watched. The chance that this was a trap was pretty slim; the only things Laszlo had done in the way of Super heroics had been mostly beating up muggers and gangs who deserved a little punishing. When he finally decided on entering or not, he stepped off the ledge of the building and turned quickly, hand grasping a drain pipe which he road five stories down.

As easy as stepping off an elevator, he bounced to the street below and made his way to the restaurant door, fishing a key from his pocket and turning the lock. Stepping into the slightly dimmer hall he was greeted by a rather pretty young lady that presented him with a nametag and offered to take his cape, dry wit sparkling behind he eyes. He "sadly declined," a hint of amusement in his own voice as he ran a thumb over his civilian name. It changed into his Superhero title like magic, before he pinned it to a sleeve and stepped into a dining room. Those same people who had entered only a while ago had gathered around a table, which was being conducted by what appeared to be two eye catching ladies. The name tags caught his eyes, which were hidden by the reflective white lenses of his cowl. His own had been placed between an already seated male and an olive-skinned girl. The air was that of expectancy, almost thick enough to be cut, so he simply nodded his head here and there at the group and sat.

However, the respectful air would not last for long, before his lips cracked into a half smile and he said softly, "Do you think they have any Dom Pérignon?"

Vermillion looked out of the window from the back of the Mercedes in which he was being driven in. He had been thinking about his past, trying to remember back all those centuries ago to his mother. He wondered if she was still alive, and if so where on this earth was she. He was on his way to an establishment names 'Amore's Cucina' which he had been given a key to. Vermillion looked down at the key through the mask he had on. He had on red gloves that oddly accented the key. He flipped it around in his palm and held it between his fingers looking at it intently still reflecting on all of history itself.
Earlier that day, he awoke in his hotel suite on the morning of one of his most important meetings yet. He had Alexander his usual bodyguard and another man whom he had granted great strength to standing outside his room wearing well fitted suits. They were to accompany him to his meeting today, he always brought a meat shield or two whenever he attended a gathering of powerful people. It mattered not if the individual's power lay in governmental affairs or the supernatural. Looking in the mirror, Vermillion noticed a few dark spots and wrinkles under his eyes. He turned his face and ran over the aging spot with his index finger causing them to disappear completely. For the meeting Vermillion, or rather 'Vincent' as he is know to the rest of the world, wore a custom made solid black suit. Over top he wore his masquerade disguise. He handed his two bodyguards black concealing cloaks with a matching red pattern to wear over their suits in order to further conceal their identity.
His driver was another individual whom he had granted abilities to, he was given incredible perception. Able to process a situation and find the best outcome as fast as possible, he figured this would be very useful if they ever needed to make a quick get away in a vehicle. Alexander sat with him in the back and the other bodyguard in the front. Not a word was spoken as Vermillion found silence golden, he also wished to think though possible situations of the meeting. Impromptu speeches, greetings, introductions, he was all about first impressions. Vermillion knew that the leader of the organization was 'Queen' so he figured that there must be a hierarchy of positions in the group. With this in his head he was worried on his chances of obtaining a higher rank. He did not enjoy others knowing his true identity, but if it came down to it he would remove his disguise if asked. Vermillion took his gaze away from the window and closed his eye. "You are thinking too much Dominic..." he thought to himself in order to regain control of his runaway mind.
After a moment his driver announced that they had arrived. Vermillion awaited for his chauffeur to open his door and then made his way to the door. His unnamed bodyguard went ahead and tried to open the door for him, but to no avail. Vermillion went ahead and used the key he had been given and walked in ahead of his two body guards. Entering the room he saw that eight of the seats had already been taken, seeing his name at a designated chair he headed there immediately. Alexander pulled out his chair and Vermillion sat without saying a word to any of the other attending members. His two guards stood directly behind the chair with their long cloaks concealing every inch of skin. Vermillion sat completely still as well, looking around through his mask. He noticed the two females at either end of the table, he sat closest to who he could identify as "Queen Chelle". The one on the other end he assumed was her right had lady, the Princess so to speak. Mr. Zarkovich sat with perfect posture in silence with his hands folded underneath the table waiting for the meeting to commence...

Roy hated this new city. He had always hated the Americas in general,
preferring to stay in Spain. But for whatever reason that idiot
Ottoman's curse had sent him to the US. At least the first city,
Miami, had the decency to have many Spanish speakers, for Roy loathed
use of English. But this new city he was in, this New York...full of
English speakers. Roy had gotten a place of residence in East Harlem,
though many people shut his doors on him after hearing his rants on
how he was truly the king of Spain and would repay them for their
generosity. But a kind old Puerto Rican couple had decided to allow
him the choice to reside at their homes, for which Roy was thankful,
despite their requests that he stay at the local asylum. Roy claimed
he was perfectly sane, and the couple decided not to argue with a man
with a sword.

He had landed in this bizarre new world a week or two ago- time went by so quickly and yet so slowly sometimes- and he hated every bit of it. Where else would a King like him be forced to endure commoner standards of life? It was disgusting and repulsive. And people were so rude in Miami, not acknowledging him as their sovereign or giving the respect that would be given to the sovereign of another country. And the women here! So disrespectful. Especially the 'Ara' or 'Ari' girl he had met in Miami. Sure, she saved his life, but she was still rather a bitch and Roy was glad he wouldn't see her again. 

He had decided to join Thrones because it made sense. It was ordered and organised in a world that seemed to actively rebel against any order or sanity or decency. It would help him fit in and eventually escape to his real home instead of this place. 

He walked from East Harlem to the more wealthy part of New York City. He trusted his legs far more than he trusted these 'buses'. The smoke their engines made caused him to worry they would explode at any second. At least he was relatively certain his legs would not combust. 

He entered the dining room the meeting was to take place in, nodding in approval at the high standards of the hall. He watched the others flood in, till she came and sat next to him. The Spanish king raised an eyebrow in shock, staring at the girl. "Bloody hell, it is you." he said with a slight sigh. "I thought i had seen the last of you in Miami." he grumbled to her, his voice low like a student talking to his friends in class. The girl was an impressive fighter, but her personality was one Roy could not tolerate. 

He glanced around at the other members. They all looked bizarre or had bizarre clothing. The Spanish man wearing a suit of armour while keeping a sword in a sheath found this amusing. He wondered what these men and even women were like in a fight or if they would follow orders. Roy had a natural tendency to see himself at the top of everything.