bury me in the ocean with my ancestors

[BLOG CURRENTLY INACTIVE.] who jumped from ships ‘cause they knew death was better than bondage [closed blog for MARVELZOMBIESRP]

[dailymarvelheroes]

[heyaunty]

Knock knock

[heyaunty]

akahowlett

She snorted at his surprise and the moment he took to appraise her, “Well, we can’t all get around with a leopard to signal we aren’t to be fucked with,” she gave a lopsided smile, “and my body doesn’t scar, so there’s only so much a five-foot-nothing girl can do to try to look like a badass.”  

She smiled when she heard him talking to the leopard like most people talk to puppies.  “There’s a hamper for your clothes in there,” she called, “we’ll decontaminate what we can and return them to you.”  She began to tidy up after the test, and refilled the bowl of water she had put down for Preyy in case he was still thirsty when they came out.

"Ha, yeah, my baby one of a kind." He was appreciative of her appraisal of his tiger, not to mention the rest of his look. And Laura was tiny. She was clearly young, too, but she was developed as a woman or he might have legitimately thought she was a child. "That so?" His immediate, flippant thought of her claim that her body 'didn't scar' was of just some chick with really healthy skin who had never been hurt bad enough to know shit. Then he remembered her idea of 'small talk,' the look she'd worn on her face, and he tilted his head, brow scrunched in thought. "You a mutant or something?" It was probably an impolite way of putting it, he realized after he said it, but hell, it was already out.

"Gotcha, thanks," he called as he shut the door behind them, reaching to hose down the tiger. He scratched Preyy's back, again leaning down in affection. "Come see, come see. I know it suck now but you be feeling so much better afterwards, remember? I promise you gon thank me later. Ha I know you won't, but you about to be so much happier! You ain't scared of scary things, oh no you ain't, you trifling grumpy kitty, don't be on nooo if you can't achieve it weave it. Every damn time, boy." He muttered affectionately, though probably Laura could still hear through the door. He turned on the water, as he stripped off his own clothes, half wrestling with Preyy to keep him from fleeing from the spray.

[heyaunty]

thecalmesttempest

It really was something to see a man twice take a bite out of a muddy apple, and then spit it out both times.  She had him flustered, that much was clear.  When they were fighting each other, she had not noticed him having any particular admiration for her, but then, she had been very angry.  

She smiled at the honorific, “It has been quite some time since I have been in possession of that title.  In fact, a very fine woman bears it in my place.  Ororo or Storm will be fine.”

In all honesty, it would not be the first time she inspired infatuation in a foe.  This case, however, was particularly strange.  Or was it?  Most of her issue was that she had been married to this man’s cousin, beyond that this was no weirder than Dracula.

“Perhaps you should put the apple down,” she suggested, in case he had the impulse to put it in his mouth again.  She didn’t need him flustered, she needed to know what his intentions were here.

He swallowed, just, staring at her. He wasn't sure what to make of the way she looked at him now. There had been every reason to fear that she would now hate him, and fortunately that didn't seem exactly to be the case, but it was hardly the opposite. That was okay. They hadn't exactly gotten off on the best foot.

When he'd fought her in Wakanda, Erik had been a being of rage, too. It had been justified, a righteous anger like the type Jesus was when he jumped his black ass on the vendors booths in the Temple. Only this was even realer, because Erik Killmonger had a stronger message than any of that.

A fine woman, huh? Well now he had to protest that shit. Well, Nakia was ridiculously fine to be with that wimp T'Challa, but nowhere near on the same level for Ororo to be calling her that. But Ororo wasn't petty like so many bitches were, even when she had the right to be for a minute, and… fuck, he couldn't breathe. Ororo was the finest woman in existence. There was a lot of reasons he'd worshiped her growing up in Harlem. "Oh. Storm," miraculously his voice remained steady when he spoke her mutant name. It was triply impressive, given the fact that she had literally just offered to let him address her as Ororo. Despite Erik's wild life and all the supers he'd met, this still was something he could not reconcile in his mind. He was on a first name basis with his hero. But he couldn't bring himself to say Ororo. He was on such thin ice right now, and he needed to prove his ass was worthy or some shit — but how could he ever be worthy? This was the woman whose photos he used to gaze at for hours, just sitting on his bedroom floor.

He needed to fix this, her vision of him. Where was a common cause to unite against when you needed it? This was one time he'd be relieved if some white supremacy reared its ever-present head. For an instant the prospect of proving himself to her seemed hopeless; yet wasn't it hopeless for most to achieve what she had already done in life? He would never apologize for what he'd been trying to do there in Wakanda, and even the flawless majesty of Ororo Munroe could never cause him to waver on his beliefs. He meant it with his entire self, and he wasn't about that life. But he did regret coming to blows with her. He wished things could have aligned so that her good will towards his great nation hadn't put either of them in that position. He wished there could have been time, that she could have come to see his side.

"Good idea…" he was visibly palpitating, embarrassment washing over him. He set the apple down on the bench beside him, trying to seem calm. "You look good." Shit. That had been the first best compliment that had come to mind? Now she was about to think he was a creep. "Yanno, I always did see you as a real inspiration to my homegirls, seeing a dark skinned sistah make it… so powerful, so you know… you helping—" he stammered; there, that was better, that way he wouldn't seem like an obsessed fan, just being appreciative on femininity's behalf, "—and you don't have no sew-in mixed in there? I know you ain't about that, I only ask because it look longer than I ever seen a female real hair, I swear, how you grow it long like an Insta model? You rocking that protective style girl like an zombie queen—" sooo, he'd found himself back to her appearance, but because it was style wise, now she'd just think he was gay. Shut up Erik. Flushing in despair, he picked up the apple again tight beneath his nails and shoved it like a rock into his mouth.

[heyaunty]

chuckcoulson

Chuck sighed, “my Dad used to be part of SHIELD, he would run around with the superheroes, pretty much a glorified babysitter.” It was the easiest way she could describe the job to someone who hadn’t been in the thick of it.

She smirked as he made mention that she now knew three people, “yeah, I was born in Queens.” Picking at a tattered piece of her jeans she said, “though I was shifted all over the place. Especially after SHIELD fell, they shipped me and my mother to a small town for protection.” Her eyebrow raised, she was surprised by the tattoo and looked at it. Youthful curiosity examined the glowing tattoo. Not knowing who he was, she didn’t know what Erik had really done. “But I thought Black Panther was?”

He couldn't hide an awkwardly snorting snicker, despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm right now. Of course it had just been regular boring life to her. But a babysitter for superheroes was both hilarious and oddly fitting. To claim that those lot behaved like children was probably insulting to actual children.

"Y'all in Queens keep it real," he held out a hand, trying to be upbeat. "I stan for the Mets all the way. Mm," he nodded his condolences about what sounded like a scary unpredictable childhood. It had been very different from his. But at least she'd had her mother not behind bars (but hey, that just came of being white.) He smiled at her evident intrigue at his tattoo. "You right! And I should be the Black Panther. It's Wakandan politics, but put it short, T'Challa father betrayed my father and left me in America by my lonesome when I was a child. We cousins. Lemme tell you this, though, we got ceremonial combat for the throne. The election campaign right before the end of the world would've been a lot less whack" (he made a gagging noise) "if the US pulled a page out Wakanda book on that one," he joked. It was an internal battle inside him right now. He wanted to show Chuck what it was like keeping it gully, while at the same time he didn't want to get into too deep his movement and take some shit out that would scare the kid off. He owned the scary black man archetype, but this wasn't the time or the place.

[winona-ryder]

Erik Killmonger in Black Panther (2018) dir. Ryan Coogler

[risahmed-deactivated20181109]

I am N'Jadaka, son of Prince N'Jobu! I found my daddy with panther claws in his chest! You ain’t the son of a king, you’re the son of a murderer!

[heyaunty]

chuckcoulson

“Thanks,” She smiled gently and said, “I got him for my tenth birthday, it seems like ages ago, to be honest.” She scratched Malcolm’s ears and looked at Erik with a smile, tucking her curly red hair behind her ear she said, “I’m pretty new here, I don’t many people around here aside from my Dad and Mr. Stark.”

Watching him, Chuck had no idea of Erik’s past or who he was, her parents had told her to never judge anyone by their cover. And to be honest, with the world going to shit, she rather make friends instead of enemies.

“So are you from New York? I’m always interested in where people come from.”

He nodded a little distantly, mentally trying to estimate her current age. Tenth birthday; he didn’t know how old that dog was, but it seemed sprightly enough. He nodded his interest though, brow tightening slightly, “your daddy know Stark?” It was telling that those would be the singular two people she’d know.

He supposed it fit, when part of this place was built by Stark, not to mention how Haven was swarming with the costumed hero demographic. Vaguely he wondered if she had superpowers. It was either that, after all; or she knew him through snobby rich white brat events; but she didn’t seem that type, from the way she talked to him. She wasn’t judgmental enough. Didn’t even seem racist enough. Probably it was the superpowers. “Well, now you know three people,” he spared a smile, that might come off as encouraging or kind.

“Ah.” He scratched his head as he nodded. It was a simple question with a complicated answer. He had grown up in Harlem, the full biz. Wakandan blood ran proudly through his veins despite how hard they wished to deny him; yet the New Yorker would always be a part of him, and he was proud of it too, because those raised in Wakanda would never understand what real struggle was. He nodded. “I been grew up on them streets. New York made me. Let me guess, you too?” it seemed most likely, given her connections. “Yo, I stay bigger than that, though, I’m,” he leaned onto his knuckles, on a sudden devilish whim, pulling down his lower lip with a trimmed nail to reveal the Wardog tattoo (what would it hurt?). “I’m the rightful king of the nation of Wakanda,” he told her with excessively flippant grandeur.

[heyaunty]

thecalmesttempest

Ororo saw the apple falling as though time had slowed down.  She cringed as the fruit fell to the ground, rolling in the mud.  She continued to walk up, “It might be salvageable if you wash it and cut away the flesh that hit the dirt, but I could understand if that is unappetising.”  Ororo Munroe had grown up eating out of garbage bins, her threshold for unacceptable foods was at time much lower than other people’s, even 25 years on, when she had left the streets of Cairo far behind her.  She still remembered her rage when she learned how much produce American supermarkets just threw away.

It was then that she fully registered who had dropped the apple.  She had not seen him since she was pulling jets full of weapons out of the sky to foil his plans, back when she was still married to his cousin.  She had not been there for the start of his invasion, T’Challa had already been “dead” at the time she and a member of the Dora Milaje had landed.  That was when the sunny sky had clouded over, and the rain began to fall heavily.  She had needed to maintain that weather when she learned that her husband was alive, even though at the time there was a rainbow preparing to burst forth from her.  That all seemed so long ago now, a lifetime.

“Killmonger, is it?”  While she was wearing jeans and a simple shirt, somehow her attitude and way of speaking projected an utterly regal effect.

For Erik Killmonger, the pinnacle of beauty was warm umber skin against snow white hair. Slim curves, powerful thighs, that long hair that was — damn, it was actually natural — and so white — and wow, he couldn’t remember how to breathe? Goddess-worthy looks and breathtaking power and black feminine excellence was standing right in front of him right now and he could not breathe. Ororo Munroe. Goddess of the Storm. Former queen of Wakanda and forever queen of his heart. In his imagination, she was still Wakanda’s queen; of course, in his imagination, he was king. There was just one, very big, issue with all of this. This wasn’t the first time they’d met.

His breath caught, the apple clenched in his whitening hand. He froze in this awkward bent position, unable to move and look her in the eyes, whilst deeply awed as hell that this was even happening. He wanted to pinch himself to be sure, but he couldn’t.

Pull your ass together, Erik.

He straightened now almost stiffly, biting into the apple without thinking before promptly spitting it out. Maybe she wouldn’t recognize him. Maybe there was a lot going on that day. Maybe there was a chance the star of his youth and his life wouldn’t hate him.

Should he be delighted or horrified that she remembered him? He still couldn’t figure.

Storm of the X-Men. Storm. For whom he’d walked miles in middle school on the regular to browse photos on a library computer. Whose picture he used keep under the sagged pants jammed in his boxer shorts alongside his glock when he was a teen. Whose fifty-two posters he’d been teased over in college for plastering them all in his dorm. Who he’d actually fought, up there through the dancing weather over Wakanda, the day that his cousin reclaimed kingship. Truth be told, however, he’d earned an embarrassing number of his kill scars over this woman before he’d ever met her.

His hand clutching the apple trembled, just slightly.

A violently purifying memory. Pearl eyes, whirling cape, flashing lighting storm that was surreal even as his intentions and drive and even the heart-shaped herb sharpened his senses. How was it that even now, standing here with braids and unremarkable clothes, her beauty was still able to stun and amaze him. Her thighs were still able to take his breath away.

His mouth opened, then closed. Holla, do something. He lifted his hand towards his mouth and bit into the apple, dirt and all. Despite her understanding words, she did seem concerned about the food supply, or whatever. Storm said eat, he said how high. She was holding out her hand, though. Shake. “Uh,” he said, staring at her, his cheeks flushing with heat as he realized what he was doing, and spat it out the mouthful the ground.

Nice flexin’, stunna.

Of course his fundamental beliefs had to take front seat to his lifelong celebrity crushes! She was wise enough to understand that. His actions would mean nothing otherwise — his motivation, the lives of his brothas taken by his own hand, the struggle that united them together across land and time — all for nothing. She didn’t know the whole story. And why would she? Erik was just a kid from the hood and she was… perfection. And the way she looked at him now… was intimidating. Very. And he didn’t get intimidated.

Oh god, one way or the other, his heart and soul was about explode into a gazillion pieces. For all his strength, she was Storm, and without an immediate throne to be claimed and battle to be won, it couldn’t be helped. Rarely did he hate his cousin as much as he loathed him now, for turning his hero against him on that packed emotional day. It had pained Erik to fight against Ororo — but he hadn’t hesitated for a minute. What good was his cause if he couldn’t make sacrifices of his own towards victory? Perhaps it was a mercy the way he’d died that way. If freedom were easy, everyone would have it. But Storm was so perfect. And good. She was a good person, maybe too good. Maybe that was it.

And now there was no war, no full force of driving passion, nor the structured bombardment of oppression that could keep him tied to what mattered. Even as he continued fought for what mattered most, there was no longer enough to keep him distracted from making fangirl eyes at Ororo.

Professional respect, self, don’t be actin’ like no fan, you know how she remember you.

Of course she hadn’t wanted to overthrow her as queen, only T'Challa as king! Obviously that selective premise wasn’t taking into consideration a very big ‘if’, while referring to someone who wasn’t Wakandan blood, who was too perfect to (dare he think) love someone like him. Then again, she had married his literal piece of shit cousin, so clearly she couldn’t have the standards that came close to reflecting her perfection.

Still, it was a moment before he could speak. What could a man do when the person he looked up to most in the world thought he was a terrorist, a war criminal, a wannabe of fratricide?

He swallowed, his face extremely hot, hyperaware of how awkward he must look.

“Hey. Yes. Uh. Your Highness, I realize we ain’t never been properly introduced before in a professional setting.” Fuck, he had actually said that. Stiff. He had no idea in heaven or hell how he was going to make good with her, but he could only pray that the time and distance from T'Challa had cleansed her mind from the blinding passions of emotions their relationship. He had every confidence (right?). She was a vastly intelligent woman. All those brains and all those thighs. Oh God. Breathe. He was growing incredibly sweaty. His breath hitched.

[heyaunty]

Knock knock

[heyaunty]

akahowlett

She clocked the abrupt end of the rant, and she realised that this was definitely the sort of person who might come around to rock the boat.  There was getting to be too many agendas in this place.

She laughed a bit at the reaction to her offer as she moved over and opened the closet.  She knew enough to guess he would need a very roomy shirt, she picked out a few options for him to try once he cleaned up.  “I got you a few sizes, yell out if you need something bigger or smaller.  There’s always time later to get something a little more trendy.  I snagged some leather jeans the other day – totally impractical but I missed having them.”  She set the selection down on the table.  “There are two showers and a bathtub through there, the bath has handheld shower nozzle with good pressure, you should be able to get any muck out of his fur.”

He smiled back at her jovially. “C'mon boy,” softly, he clapped on his thigh and lead the giant cat into the bathroom, past them both, and turning back to Laura. “Water pressure, huh?” he exclaimed. “Much love to Mother Africa, but Niganda never much blessed with the meaning of that if I ever seen. Thank you,” he accepted the clothing. “You too kind.” It had been forever, it seemed, since he’d had access to high-quality facilities. Maybe he’d become too used to the luxurious lifestyle his followers had provided him only not three weeks ago.

“You into leather jeans?” he smiled, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise and amusement. She was an emo girl. “Work it, girl. I love that.” He flashed a grin. He walked away from her into the other room, cooing overenthusiastically to his pet. “You hear that, Preyy? You gonn be fine tonight!” He ruffled the orange fur, pressing his cheek affectionately into the tiger’s muzzle.

[heyaunty]

Knock knock

[heyaunty]

akahowlett

She decided it wasn’t the time to say, ‘no, but his ex wife is in charge’.  Storm knew how to deal with situations like that, Laura would have to try to find her later.

She waited on the machine, they were lucky to have the equipment Cable had brought.  “I agree.  I’m hoping a lot of people see this as a sign to begin again, you know?  Do better than they did before.  Not everyone will, of course.  Any war or riot or football game will tell you that there are plenty of people who only need the slightest hint of permission to wreak havoc on each other.”  She scuffed her toe on the floor just as the device pinged, signalling that it was done.  She looked over at the reading.  “You’re clear.  Now, how would you feel about a hot shower and some clean clothes?”

Vehemently he nodded his agreement. Humanity was a violent species, and they were so gleefully. It was what they did. That was what he knew. Growing up in this culture of violence, whether over drugs, turf, simple disrespect; that had only worsened after his father was gone and real life set into full force. And the way you'd see white people would riot over football outcomes used to have him hovering between hurling and derisive laughter. (He stanned the Giants like anybody, but even the ballplayers themselves had bigger issues in their lives than being tackled. They played because they loved it. Not because they needed shit to be mad at in this world.)

"Society ain't never finna cross different walks of life to call to them they brother (let alone decent enough…), but out of necessity they gonn work together and maybe even get to know each other as brothers." He nodded, "Apocalypse and cooperation, I’m just spitting it now but this ain't right. I appreciate what y'all got going here. It ain't right, but it maybe a straw to break the camel back of the world as it been." He smiled wryly. "Hey. It must be tough on them, being learned the hard way what it be like to have nothing." If the comment was snide about anyone in particular, he didn't stop to reinforce it. It had been coming up on two years now since society collapsed. Not the worldwide future he'd dreamed of, but he hadn't entirely been lying to be nice. It was preferred by no one, but such decimation had to change something. Someday. "Sooner or later homeboys gonna notice even if they still stuck in they institutionalized feelings about shit, then fuck it they just ain't survive," he shrugged. Even if it was only out of survival. "Violence the only solution to humanity oldest problems! En mass all only about to respect peace if they backed in a corner." Oh hell — he shut his mouth suddenly when realized he was ranting. And to someone who didn't look like the ideal audience to get the biggest bang for his buck. And he figured he liked Laura, though. It was better not to scare her off too quick. “Haven, though... this environment gonna be bubbling.” At least till the world cosmic cubes back to normal and everyone forgets what’s inconvenient to remember.

He half smiled when she told him it was finished. He slipped his arm back into the jacket sleeve, adjusting it comfortably over his shoulders. "Oh hell yes," he gushed at the offer of a shower. "Girl is you a telepath because that's all I was thinking," he quipped. Erik combed his fingers lovingly through his tiger's orange fur. "Preyy also need a good bath. He know better than to wash himself with his tongue, but it agitates him," his voice softened, almost cooing over Preyy. Erik also liked the mention of clothes. He did have a penchant for select fashion lines — and tribal masks — but he'd be grateful for anything clean right about now.

[heyaunty]

(an open starter)

Erik had been elusive, lately, but he knew that some Wakandans were here. It had concerned him, the disturbances that confrontations could cause in this sweet little fortress town — yet his blood raced eagerly and fight simulations practiced in his subconscious. Unlike they might be in return — he was actually pleased.

But unfortunate disturbances weren't the only thing to concern him. Erik's initial entrance into Wakanda had been planned for all his life. He'd known exactly what he'd wanted. And he'd taken it — for a time. More than a few times (let's be fair). But now none the world was completely different. Erik was reasonable enough to see that there was no way anymore for his Wakandan Empire to look anything like the justice he'd pictured — but his hood taught him to be far tougher than that. His dream could evolve, never be trampled. All the most key elements, always real.

The world was always wrong, in ways more fucked up and eternal than any state of undead. Erik had grown up in it, beyond all odds through his conviction reaching to where he had. He counted his blessings. He sharpened his mind. Whistling now, he walked purposefully down the road till he spotted a park bench. That was one thing he could appreciate about Haven; they did not have a lacking of outdoor seating. He ran a hand along the spine, swinging his legs over it to sit his butt on the back of it like a teenager.

He wanted to fight somebody who had it coming, somebody who needed to fight. He hated living in this community of Haven, with so many people that he knew from a look that he didn't like. But Erik didn't run and hide. He made himself comfy in plain view.

He'd been patient for years after his father's death, as he'd worked towards goals. They hadn't all gone to plan, but then, the end of the world did the same to a schedule. Today, he was content to sit on this bench for the time being. Until he got what he was owed, he was at peace with claiming the back of this wooden bench as his throne.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts. Erik's dream was no longer imminent, but that didn't mean it was put on hold. Everybody needed each other if they were going to defeat this. He wished Wakanda's brightest minds would just pull their heads out their asses and actually cure the contagion already. But he lived in the real world. He couldn't wander in a fantasy anymore like he did when he was a child. In real life, given the sad state of the world-to-be-conquered, Erik couldn't not help the people of color who lived here, mere miles from ground zero. His heart was just too damn big for that. And there was no time like the present. He would help people, like he alway did. He'd live in some type of harmony with whatever type of Wakandans, too.

But he'd leave it up to destiny for today. It was kind of freeing, for once, when nothing made sense. He could do that, he wasn't a control freak. Besides, it had been his destiny to rule. Just like it still was. Humming, he rested his chin on his knuckles, gazing about to see any sociable-looking people wandering the road. Whether they were Wakandan or New Yorker or some place else entirely, he genuinely could not, would not, care right now. Some folks in Haven, Erik would never get along with; who, even at the end of the world, he still didn't fucking need to. So hey. There was no sense or help that came out of worrying about ensuing disturbances that might end up rocking this town.

[heyaunty]

blackscalesofmiracles

“You’re from Wakanda?” Chaoyi repeated, tilting his head in genuine surprise. “You don’t sound like a Wakandan.” At least, not what he expected one to sound like. Didn’t they speak Xhosa over there? This guy sounded like an American. But he hadn’t met a Wakandan before, so maybe their dialect wasn’t that uniform. He eyed the weapon again. He’d heard about that countries’ mysterious and powerful technology. Huh, he almost wants to have a go at the thing now. But not here. He did not want to spend his night patching this place up again.

Slited eyes narrowed on the little human at the question. “What’s to you, why I’m here?” A pause, and then he answered. “No, it hasn’t”

He considered the man’s offer for a moment, only because well, he could still throw him out if he didn’t like it. There was a long silence as he studied the little human, from the tips of his pretty little curls to the treads of his boots. There were worse trespassers. At least this one wasn’t overly curious and bombarding him an inumerable amount of inane questions. “Good enough,” he snorted finally, the large puff of air whipping by the little man like wind. Chaoyi then slowly sunk his head back into the water. “Feel free to see yourself out. I’m going back to sleep.”

"Wakanda forever," he crossed his arms across his chest, momentarily tucking the weapon beneath his arm to do so; as if that somehow would prove his nationality. "I be the rightful king, actually," his tone was purposeful, and he eyed the dragon superiorly as if daring him to contradict. "Politics, y'feel me." Whether Erik really was 'from Wakanda' obviously was up to debate, but he knew he was, and he wasn't about to explain the finesse details this guy.

"Oooh boy. You on some other shit if you think I ain't finna pay no mind — it fully my business what sneaky ass plans you up to." He wanted to call Chaoyi a derisive name, but he couldn't think of any relevant horror movies right now. Ah well, it was probably best to be less of a dick than Chaoyi was.

He shook his head. It was time to leave the sea monster alone. He kept his weapon trained on the dragon, but made certain not to lose the swag of his hip as he strode towards the door. "Fine by me. Sweet dreams, brotha. I just ain't tryna be minding my business at night with you scaring the shit out us humans as we finna sleep, you hear me?" Chaoyi had not lost any of his considerable intimidation factor, but Erik's voice was just slightly condescending.

[inthenameofsephiroth]

Iconique™

[heyaunty]

thecalmesttempest

To her surprise, the man retrieved his apple and immediately took a bite out of it.  She realised what was happening in the next moment, it did happen sometimes.  When you spend twenty years as a superhero, you sometimes get fans – even when you’re on a team that is perennially classed as terrorists.  When he spat out the apple, she pulled a small flick knife from her pocket, and offered it to him.

“You are T’Challa’s cousin,” her pale eyes did not reveal that she had just registered the fact that she had just given Killmonger a weapon.  However, she imagined that if he intended to kill anyone, he be perfectly capable without the assistance of her tiny knife.  “I have no right to that title any longer, I welcome you to call me Ororo.”  She withdrew her hand with a smile, “Which name do you prefer?”

She hesitated a moment.  “I do not suppose you know of the fate of Wakanda?”  She had no genetic connection to the country, and yet she was its queen for five years.  Of course she wanted to know what had befallen her former people.  If there was the slimmest chance that such a controversial figure would have news, she wanted to know.

He accepted the knife with mumbled gratitude, still flushing with warmth, and flipped out the blade to scrabble lamely at the apple. Damn bugs. (Gross, made him want to spit again.) For every single second he was acutely aware of his childhood crush still standing there in front of him. Maybe he stand, too.

So she did know who he was. His cheeks felt on fire, his eyes wide and fixed upon hers, unable to keep a big sudden grin from suddenly spreading over his soft lips. Her demeanor didn't seem hostile at the recognition, thank God — what had T'Challa told her? Perhaps she'd merely rejected her ex-husband's arrogant selfish biased views of people! As much as he a billion percent supported her exercising her rights to a divorce, the correction made his heart flutter quicker — she was owed that title for always, she was his queen — but then again, she literally wanted him to call her Ororo! Not Storm, not ma'am, not 'Ororo Munroe'; Ororo. She was so humble. Oh hell yeah, first name basis! This was going better than he could dare dream.

"Yeah! I, uh, also served as king for a minute there, Ororo," oh man this really was surreal, but now she wanted to know what he'd prefer, and which name would she prefer to call him? She'd married a guy with a chic Wakandan apostrophe name, but she spent so much time in America anyways and she probably didn't pick a husband for his name… probably not Killmonger, though, he wasn't aware of any X-Men with 'kill' in their codenames. And now a moment was passing, and he just needed to decide, what was wrong with him? He was so confident in his decisions towards world domination, but now he was back to that little boy lovingly taping posters to his wall. "Erik's fine." Don't rethink it. "Ain't no thing nohow." Self you sounding like a pushover. "Or whichever you vibe with." Shut up now Erik.

His heart surged with warmth at the concern she displayed for Wakanda. So good, so wonderful, with their shared passion for that breathtaking country of promise that could pave the way to the shining perfected future of all. Plus, he could actually help with her question (omg!)! "Straight, Ororo, I was actually in Niganda kinda recently. So what had happened was I was already on the continent when the outbreak occur, and the infection did reached that area fo'sho, but Wakanda stuck up asses tech'd they selves off from the suffering of the world, you know how they do. So they doing wonderful." He was sweating, he felt sure he looked gross. He should take his shirt off. Unless body mod scarring weirded her out. Erik it proudly, he never felt self-conscious for a woman. But she was more than a woman. She'd think taking his shirt off was too forward, anyhow. The weather probably wasn't yet hot enough for it to be okay.

[heyaunty]

eleven-elleevans

Elle rolled her eyes, knowing how to handle guys like that. Her middle brother had sometimes acted like it, and his friends certainly did. Crossing her arms, she elected to drop the injured bird act. “Why? You going to take pity on the injured gal?” Her hands shimmered a little and she hid them between her arms and her torso. They weren’t dangerous, but she’d rather not heal this guy right now. He was starting to grate on her nerves with his macho talk.

Still she followed after, ready to run if need be. She couldn’t let him have all the fun, now could she? “If you checking this out gets me killed, I’m haunting you for eternity.”

His eyebrows raised, not missing those glowing hands as she hid them promptly beneath her crossed arms. There was definitely something about her; she had superpowers, maybe? A healing factor? "Well yeah, I was gonna," he snarked, adopting a sassier tone. Her annoyance was tangible. A part of him appreciated that she wanted to keep him in check. It was irritating, but he could respect the spunk.

He smirked, shaking his head more cheerfully as they reached the unsteady building. "Yo, it maybe nice to have a guardian ghost by me!" He tugged on the doorknob, wobbling it around a bit before it managed to turn properly.

[heyaunty]

blackscalesofmiracles

Chaoyi widened his teeth baring grin and he slowly slinked down to level his eyes to the little man’s head, deliberately taunting. “Still paranoid huh? I get it - actually, no I don’t, but I’ll let you have your moment. You’re little weapon doesn’t make a difference anyways, in my eyes or otherwise.” His armor of scales weren’t his only defense afterall.

“You make all these idignant threats, bu you did trespass into my quarters you know,” the dragon said giving him as human an unimpressed look as he could manage. “And you ruined my sleep no less. So I’d say we’re even now, but this place does have a tendency to get really boring.” He puffed a little blow of air into the man’s face just to add on the taunting, then bared his teeth in an unapologetic grin again. “If it makes you feel better though, I am the only one of my kind around here, thought not certainly not in general. I hope you hominids didn’t think you were that special.”

Aw, the little human wasn’t falling for it. Pity, but at least the man wasn’t stupid. Kind of interesting actually, Chaoyi mused to himself and the swished the pool water about with his tail. Then the little man mentioned it and he laughed.“Oh no, a few tons of surface gravity, what will I do?” He snickered a bit more before leveling his gave back at the man. “So, you done keeping me from my sleep now or are you planning to being more of a nuisance?”

He laughed, shaking his head. Yes, this horrifically widened smile, those sets of long razor sharp teeth, certainly unnerved every bone in his body, and the way that head lowered as if to look into Erik's very soul was legitimate nightmare material. But there was still a chance that Chaoyi's claimed invincibility was uninformed, and Erik could grasp onto a chance, if it was a friend to his self-confidence. And so, he chose to laugh, both heartily and scathingly, to keep himself from showing the intimidation. He felt his own secret upper hand. "Paranoid, you going with, after all your posturing! You think you all that, but before you get to be dissing on my 'little weapon', before you think you allowed — tell me, have you ever faced down a nigga from Wakanda?"

The dragon did make a good point, however. Erik had — albeit unknowingly — disturbed Chaoyi's sleep. He tipped his chin in recognition. "Misunderstanding all round, then." He let some insincerity show in his voice. Because strolling by a consequentially inhabited swimming pool totally equated to threatening to eat somebody. Screw this guy. Chaoyi wasn't wrong at least on the topic of boredom. The whole general peace, order, and tranquility of Haven was starting to make Erik want to tear his locs out. "Nah," he replied instantly, though thinking on the actual issue as he said it — had he thought hominids were so special? He knew about aliens and shit, but they always seemed to be vaguely human-shaped. He loved his leopard like a son, but obviously he knew Preyy wasn't at their level. "Why you here, did the infection reach the ocean?" He imagined being a human in a town full of dragons. It sounded lonely. Even if they obeyed his every whim, he'd be miserable.

The way he phrased it was interesting. If Chaoyi really was a sea monster, it only followed that he was able to withstand tons of water pushing down on him; and yet, somehow, he was still just fine without it. Would vibranium have its famous effect at all? "Nah, man, I come in here to escape the crowds, now I'm faced with this? You ain't got no chill, man, zero. Look, I can let you alone then if you ain't tryna mess on me, it ain't like I'm enjoying this conversation." He would never admit defeat; but he could recognize the need for quality sleep in this overcrowded refuge.

[heyaunty]

Knock knock

[heyaunty]

akahowlett

She gave an uncertain, thoughtful shrug, “Is it being a conspiracy theorist when the world really is out to get you and yours?  We’re mutants, for starters.”  She picked up the needle again so that she could prepare a slide.  To answer his question about her being Canadian, she said, “For lack of a less complicated answer, yes.”  Her forged birth certificate said so, anyway.

“As long as you don’t intend to kill people here, it won’t be a problem.”  She said coolly, sample in her hands, eyes locked with his.  She then turned to insert the prepared slide into the machine Cable had brought.  Two thousand, one hundred and eighty four.  She wondered how long he had been at it.  He didn’t look much older than thirty, but then, she had made her first kills at eleven.  Who knew how young he started?  “A lot of people’s pasts don’t matter so much here.”

He gave a wince for effect, knowing that might have been inconsiderate. He liked mutants. Even apart from providing the world Storm, they were the abused stepchildren of the (white) human system — and they had the built-in abilities to fight back, probably stronger than most ever did. They deserved his solidarity. "Preach it to the world, sister." No, they didn't have the rich cultural history as his own people, but sure enough mutants knew discrimination in a very big way. They shared a struggle, but the struggle didn't share them. Their means of oppression was linked, but it was far from the same. A simple nod felt appropriate to convey all that sentiment, he didn't want to get all deep in this moment. And oh, she was Canadian for lack of a less complicated answer? Perhaps she was from there but had moved around growing up, he assumed.

He raised an eyebrow observantly at her dispassionate manner. "S’long as King T'Challa ain't here," which he ain't, "y'all ain't got nothing to worry about." (Or the particularly racially disrespectful, but that would be a given once she learned who he was.) He cracked purposeful a smile, to seem like he was joking. Erik had no ties to this place, he'd only just arrived, and he knew it wasn't his place to make any moves yet. Your house, your rules. He knew to set his flow right with Haven. "Unity, that's mad real, for a lot of the planet, ain't shit matter from before it all ended. A zombie apocalypse really shake out your priorities." Although, her words did suggest that he was liable to be meeting troublemakers. Sucks to be them. Fucking blame Wakanda and their disinterest, though. He knew they could've cured this by now. Just like that. His brow again furrowed as he watched her examine his blood sample. “Second chances a thing I can stand for.” It was truth than Erik held long grudges when a person had wronged him personally. But, provided he got apologies, he was all for new beginnings, theoretically.