just "pax", dude

Dr. Paxton H. Balfour, PhD. thirty-six. he/him. research & development.

[jonahxwright]

miskatonicmistake​:

The worst part about getting paid by a high end research facility was the expectation of productivity - and the frankly exorbitant cafeteria food, fifteen dollars for a sandwich?! Dude, two words: Wage. Slavery. There was also the fact that sometimes, only sometimes, “real science” meant sitting around, waiting for results. Nothing to zap, vivisect, nowhere to take a field trip to, and even during these times apparently it was “unprofessional” to play gameboy or tetris. There were “reports” to file. 

Boring.  They couldn’t have suspended him now? No. Of course not. Green eyes flicked above his shoes, which hey, may have been perched on said reports, sue him, to the countdown clock above the various tanks and coolers. Ten minutes. Ten minutes until show time. Ten minutes was plenty of time to psyche up. Springing out of his chair, he set the lab stereo to full blast, fingers drumming he found himself popping around the lab, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Greta van Fleet blared overhead as he pulled on the sterile gloves.

“- Got love in my heart For an army apart I am bLEEEDINNNGGGG -” Fuck yes, clock says five minutes to science time, baby, and here’s the guitar riff and - “Oh shit, fuck, shit!” He skidded to a stop at a knock on the door that nearly stopped his heart before turning around to see…a kid? Intern? Wow, C.A.R.M.A. was hiring them young. Maybe delivering samples? Was he getting new samples today? Had Christmas come early?!

With a slightly abashed laugh he skipped halfway over towards the door, turning the music down a notch or two, “Hey, sorry man, didn’t see you there, step on in to the den of biophysics. You here with the samples or - new intern? Don’t tell me they need me down in IT again, dude, I told them, I’m not a code monkey.”

Jonah can’t help the way that he stares. From the music, to the singing, to the swearing–it was like the room contained a man-sized hurricane and Jonah was nothing more than a deer in headlights for the moment. He wasn’t sure if he would consider himself someone to have heroes, grown ups had always been disappointing, but Dr. Balfour was someone that came close to that status. Thirty seconds into meeting him, he was already unlike any of the adults that Jonah had encountered in his life so far, and for a second the only thing Jonah could do was blink. 

“O-oh, um, no I’m not um–” Jonah swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He’d never been very good at talking to people. “I don’t have any samples–I’m not an intern.” Jonah’s brain runs on overdrive, too many things to make sense of, leaving him stuttering and feeling the little dip in his stomach. He was always the kid. The assistant. The intern. The errand boy that older scientists bossed around without a second thought. Swallowing again, Jonah straightens his back a little. “I actually just started here as one of the research scientists, I, uh, I’m Jonah. I’ve read a bunch of your papers and I just um, I wanted to say your work is incredible.” 

He finishes with a little smile, shutting his mouth quickly in fear he’d start rambling–people always seemed to hate that. “I–I could um, grab those samples, if you needed?” He adds before he can stop himself. As much as he hated being the errand boy, even he seemed to push himself into that role, having been raised to be accomodating to those around him. 

[miskatonicmistake]

Turning the music down a scootch more he couldn’t help the way his shoulders sunk at the news for just a moment - No new samples, aw, man. Wait. New colleague? Even he hadn’t been that young - not at a professional lab. Green eyes blinked as his brain worked to register the name and the age and the twitchy scuffle-shuffl - “You’ve read my stuff? Which ones -  the one where I called Hoeffler a douche whose bioinformatic model might as well have been drawn in crayon? You know he took a hit out on me for that one. I mean, I still claim his tantrum at the science conference counted as like attempted murder, because dude, who throws laptops unless there’s an intent to kill - No, hold up. Wait, wait, wait - Researcher - you’re what...19? why does that name - ” His hand gestured in circles as his mind spun the data before he barked out a laugh in eureka! bingo!    “OH - oh. Dude. Jonah Wright? Unraveling the Mausler Effect? Advanced Prototyping of Mechanical Metaprosthestics? Sick. Up top. ”  Boy genius who knocked me out of my...damn twenty year spot? Man.Woof. Unless this kid was a total poser, but who would lie about that - and look that sheepish lying about that? Had to be the real deal, in the flesh wonderkind. 

He held up a gloved hand for a high five before the offer registered, shaking his head, “Man, what? No. How whack do you think I am? Lady Science did not put an expert on mech in my biolab to get me samples, c’mon. I was just about to check some results on something that’s maybe been birthed in a plasma rich environment and now it’s got these little like crispy fronds- You know what, You’ll totally get it when you see it.  This is so sweet, you have no idea how pissed I was about not being allowed to go to Boston for their MechCon last year to see your build and proposal for biophysics applications - Is that an ETH Zurich sweatshirt? Do we share an alma mater?! Dude. Mind blown.”

[miskatonicmistake]

Dimension ????

Dude, his hand killed. And his head - what portal had he just been shit out from? Yikes. Dizzily sitting up he looked around the room that looked like his if he had suddenly decided to rotate everything thirty degrees and keep a stack of kids books next to the bed as a comfort item. Not impossible, but these...These weren’t even books he’d read as a kid unless Clifford the Big Red Dog had had a serious rebrand to...Mikey the Metasaur Learns to Share?  

Reaching out he caught the blurry - when had his vision gotten that bad? - stiffness of his hand and - HOLY FUCK WAS THAT GLOWING ALONG HIS METACARPALS? HE HAD GLOWSTICK BONES? EVERYWHERE?! Quickly shoving his glasses on he rapidly patted himself  down. Okay. Okay, breathe. Just the hand. Just woke up in a weird new place with a glowing hand with...okay that was some serious internal prosthesis work. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a tiny voice and smaller figure tiredly peeking into his room with a yawn, “Daddy? Why’d you scream?”  Uh. He officially needed an adult. 

[miskatonicmistake]

Phan-freaking-tastic

@xastcriiax​ (finn)

Here was the thing, the Hero Squad hadn’t been around a long time exactly but it felt like it had existed since beyond forever - like it had been born with the idea of every comic book super league and descended straight from those hallowed pages that lined young Pax’s imagination and current Paxton’s bookshelves. The fanfiction didn’t come anywhere close, but hey, give the guys a few more years. The forum ranking debates for favourites was no less vicious for it - really saw some people’s true colours come out with that one right there. Pax considered himself an omnifan - like, who was he to judge someone out risking life and limb, you know? Which was not to say he did not also have his favourites, I mean. They were all kind of his favourites, it was like picking a favourite rockstar or superscientist you just...Dude, it was almost rude to ask. There was Ion, of course,his usual go-to answer. Flashy power, flashier style - if anyone could have gone back in time and invented the ‘superhero landing’? That guy, totally that guy. Plus his merch was just so fucking quality. His fics were a bit angsty and dodgy, but hey, couldn’t blame that on the guy, not like he knew what was being written about him. Like if he did that would be wicked and hilarious, but mostly awful.  Deimos was a standard badass. Hologram and Mirror? Maybe he had a thing for glittery powers and badass ladies, but c’mon - how could he not? And speaking of, hello? Fallen Angel? Firehawk? Nebula? Legion? It was like the metaladies of Pansaw woke up one day and thought ‘let’s fucking tear it  up, man’. Stellar.

But...Then there was Phantom. Most people overlooked the teleporter in powers debates or standalone hero, but...he had always been the most relatable to Pax. No one got how fucking difficult and badass it was to be able to ping from point to point like that - there weren’t even words for some of it. It was literally tearing a hole in the fabric of reality and zapping out, rearranging millions and billions of your own molecules in the mostly-right-order-thanks-very-much, and being able to do it while predicting where someone else was going to be so you didn’t end up mashing dna in a very unsexy way? There wasn’t even a name for the space teleporters went between point A and point B - !

Well, scientifically, it was the ‘nullspace’ but only Pax called it that, and technically he was the authority since he was the only one published on the subject - academically, not on ao4, assholes  - and there was no way to explain that to anyone. And sure, he could have come up with a better name for it, sue him alright. He’d revise when he republished or if he got a note from the Ghost Man himself.  Someone calculating nullspace speed and navigation with that much range? Even with that much style? It was like watching someone invent a vaccine for polio, TB, and Super AIDS while skydiving off Everest and Hosting a Baking-slash-Obstacle-Course-Talk-Show  at the same time. So, frankly, reading it as “and then he zipped away” was a fucking insult. Open your eyes, people. Also, it was fucking tiring, like, let the guy have a churro after kicking ass. In fact, let the guy have a churro while kicking ass.

But the thing was, you couldn’t get a high quality Phantom t-shirt to save your life, there wasn’t even a knockoff website for the dude - which, good, because he totally should be getting a cut, well done fellow Phantom fans - but still...major pain in the ass. Indie artists did their best and all, but the prices, dude. And never a funny fourth wall break text bubble- was it so much to ask? He seemed like the kind of guy. In Pax’s professional and unprofessional opinion, anyway. 

So, you can imagine how stressed the resident biophysicist fanboy of the Hero Squad was when he not only got alcohol spilled all over his one good Phantom tee - but it wasn’t even like neon experimental ‘let’s roll the dice and see if the liver bails first’ alcohol. Beer, dude. At….whatever the fuck kind of cultural fest this was supposed to be that definitely tried to be German, but wasn’t German, man. And the person had to be a dick about it! Phantom isn’t even one of the good ones, chill out, little dude. Which may have led to an exchange of words a 5’6’’ scientist should not say to a 6’4’’ body builder, hence bloody nose, but that guy had a black eye so. 

Except apparently brawling was against fake German rules and he had been not so politely escorted away from that clusterfuck when he was JUST trying to get to the other side to buy some real ramen. Because he was tired. And hungry. And cranky from working too much so people like that guy could not worry about Super-Tuberculosis-Polio-AIDs or...whatever had come out since 2021. And now he was sticky, bloody, and smelled like shit. With a - WAS THAT A FUCKING TEAR - yep. In his shirt. Ugh. People were the worst. 

“Fuck. Me. Dude. This is what I get for walking.” Taking a deep breath he checked the nearest alley for bystanders. All clear. Taking a deep breath he began visualizing the portal, something that normally didn’t take concentration except when you just wanted to get it over with. Like pissing in front of someone for a drug test. Everyone face the other way. “Small mercies, man, I am so getting double...triple shrimp after this. Phantom not even a good hero, my ass. The American School System is failing so many people - that’s not even what Germany looks like, I’m pretty sure that beer was like watered down Austrian scheiße, and no one wears the Bavarian barmaid outfits outside of stripclubs. Not a real hero - like, is it really so hard to just get that teleportation is work?”

[matthewmorgenstern]

miskatonicmistake​:

There was an issue. Apparently. Not for Pax, he was just fine, doing fantastic, thanks for asking,  not a care in th - Yeah, alright, so, this issue that was absolutely a C.A.R.M.A. admin problem, and may have persistently once or twice cropped up in his email inbox and several voicemails, was definitely now a Defcon 2 Paxton problem. Rapidly spiraling into Defcon 1: Immediate Response. As it would turn out, ignoring the grievances, warnings, reprimands, and other communications from your higher ups resulted in something adults liked to refer to as  ‘mandatory administrative leave’. Paxton’s terminology for it was slightly more colourful, but the middle ground had been a slightly screeched, “YOU’RE PUTTING ME IN TIME OUT?!11!?/” insofar as one was able to convey pitch and volume through email. The responding resend of the previous message, outlining the temporary revoking of his lab privileges and teaching permissions until he “cooperated with the Legal Department to find a solution” was enough of a yes. 

Sure, he could theoretically teleport into his lab, get some work in, but…and he wasn’t saying he knew this from experience (he did know this, from extensive experience which had ironically added to the current problem) there were alarms in a super secret science facility and it was still, technically, a crime to break into said facility even if it was your place of work. So. Legal. “Matthew Morgenstern” - and fuck if that name didn’t sound like the hard shaft of bureaucracy and corporate legalese. The assistant whom he had been in touch with several times daily  had assured him that once this alleged Mr. Morgenstern had reviewed his case, he would be in touch. Well, not alleged exactly, the guy probably did actually exist. There was a file with a grainy picture he’d gotten a glimpse of. But, it had been days? Hours? Time. and Pax was not good with ambiguous undefined time in practice. Waiting in limbo for someone else to do something? He could feel the sharp twist of heightened, frenetic energy jittering through him with every step, agitation and desperation increasing with every step, every dead end at asking everyone, less and less casually, “Hey, hey, you seen Matt? Uh from Legal?”

The guy was a ghost. Taking the exit through the parking lot stairwell Pax had been about to leave when - oh holy gods - person in car. Person to ask? Energy snapped through him and before he knew it he was at the window and BINGO, YAHTZEE. This dude totally resembled grainy picture guy. Except. Oh fuck high definition reality. Handsome. Disinterested. “You need something or are you just here to harsh my mellow?” Definitely hot AND disinterested. Awesome. 

That was some LOUD weed. Impressive. Sweet. If this was the guy, that was. Pax was going with this was the guy, “Uh, yes and dude, if anything can harsh your mellow with that then you are absolutely not inhaling deep enough. But hey! You’re the guy right, legal guy, lawyer, Matthew? Matt? Cool. Pax. Balfour. Research.” No one in the passenger seat and who was Pax to ruin someone’s hot box session? C’mon. With a slight tremor he visualized and - 

Yep, inside, cool beans. Slightly hit the old shoulder on the inside door, ow, but hey. Reaching into his jacket pocket he removed a baggie of his own rollies, “No music? Weird choice, but okay, so giant dossier - Oh hey, is that mine? Nevermind, confidentiality, I get it, but if it is mine, I can totally explain all of that. Well, 95%. 80- Most of it. Main thing is, none of it is a reason to lock a guy out of his lab, right? Like, maybe to lock me in my lab, which I guess would be unlawful imprisonment, but what’s a little imprisonment between friends, just because the mayor’s son happens to be an anti-meta fascist pig - and that’s just a fact not slander - so. You know, maybe we knock this out, I can just get back to work, you can get back to this awesome- would be more awesome with tunes - chill session?” He paused a second to dig through his pockets one more time, right hand trembling with strain, but too delighted to care, “You got a light? Oh, heyo, there we go -” 

Everyone had a different emotional aura, in Matt’s experience. His nibling’s was wide open and colorful, a pick me up to walk by nine times out of ten. Ellie’s was closed off and steely, with occasional spurts of lightning blue, which he could handle. This guy? This guy was the closest Matt had ever been to having someone emotionally suck him into a vacuum in a long time, and he was vaguely familiar, which honestly bothered him more. Balfour, Balfour, he only knew one Balfour and he was his old boss back on the East Coast. He’d had a kid though, hadn’t he? Matt was engrossed in this thought process when Pax invited himself into the Jaguar with nary a polite request to enter and Matt narrowed his eyes at the younger man. After he started blabbering and smoking his own weed in Matt’s perfectly permeated car, the arrow hit its mark in his head. This had to be Hal’s genius kid, and somehow he could understand why Hal had spent so much time trying to convince him to stay and take over the firm. Clearly this was a very sharp guy, but sharp like a handful of porcupine needles to the face when you weren’t expecting it. Made sense.

“Starting to get why Ellie said this was a magnum opus among PR clusterfucks all of a sudden. You’re Hal’s kid? Weren’t you like…twelve when I worked at his firm? And now you’re here, letting your mouth write checks that you can’t cash.” Matt said, letting the folder fall open on his lap as he gave Pax the sort of look that Matty termed ‘disappointed father impression. The vast majority of what the younger man had said seemed superfluous, so Matt held up fingers to count off on to focus his attention. Hopefully. “Number one, the fact that the mayor’s son may or may not be an anti-meta fascist pig is not for you to say in a public setting when representing CARMA. Number two, I’m sure he fucking is, but your dad would say that you zip your lips and let him dig his own grave, then drag his body through the courts.” If he focused, he could force his own emotional state on another person, and so Matt did so now, trying to get a little focused calm to stick to Pax before he had to bodily throw him out of the car for being a pain in the ass. “Number three, you aren’t getting back to work until I kiss the mayor’s ass enough to get him to drop not one, but three libel suits and unless you try to fucking behave in the meantime, I am so calling your dad.”

[miskatonicmistake]

Oh-  OH. Shit. Dude, Senior Associate Matt-Don’t-Call-Me-Matty-Even-Though-This-Is-New-York. That’s where he knew that exasperated look from. Ah...and here was th- Okay, that  was totally unfair and maybe a little tr - Dammit, dude. With each attempted interjection he found himself stopped by a raised point in the argument lineup. He could practically hear his dad behind each one, “Uh uh, the grown ups are still talking, buckaroo, exhibit f-”. It was...definitely harshing his buzz way more than he could possibly be roughing up blast-from-the-past-Matt’s right now. And yet! And. yet. With a resigned sigh he sunk a bit in the seat, trying to contain his interruptions or at least channel them into only one leg jittering. 

“Okay, when you put it like that, dude, it does sound pretty bad. Also, you totally stole that cashing cheques line from dad - and c’mon, it was years. Like you came to family dinner at the restaurant. Uncle Petey made you MANICOTTI - and Nonna tried to find you a nice Italian girl, how do you not remember that? I was - you know, between fourteen and twenty-three that entire time. You drove me home from the police station in drag - when I was in - not that you wouldn’t, just - If you forgot how to math you need to hook me up with your dealer, first of all, and second, if you got amnesia, I know my way around the human brain - more or less, like it’s not my specialty, but I know some guys - ” Right, not exactly points in his favour or making the disappointed big brother look go away. In a rare moment of restraint he took a breath, replaced it with a hit of the joint, another breath, “Dude, how am I supposed to ‘behave myself’ when I can’t even work on anything. Oh - Oh no, don’t say it - if you say I have to apologize to the guy who ON REDDIT posted not ONCE but THREE times about bringing back the Camp Auschwitz registration system and limiting job opportunities for metas - That’s not a good look on anyone. Even ‘officially representing C.A.R.M.A.’ , which by the way should be distancing itself from douchebags like that, no. C’mon. Matt. Matty. I will give you the lasagna from Nonna that’s sitting in my freezer right now to not have to do that and also...to not call my dad even though he would totally agree with me about that guy. Okay, maybe the not talking shit in public part too... while representing a work institution. Again. Just...what can I do that’s not that. Also, that maybe - maybe- gets me into my lab.”

[miskatonicmistake]

(event bio)

Somehow, somewhere along the way has ended up repeating the family cycle and is a single dad to the most awesome little meta toddler, who unfortunately (or fortunately) inherited his love of science. Mother undisclosed, alive, not in the picture. Lives a much more secluded life because of it, affiliations and adventuring have been put on hold, seedy neighborhoods to be avoided at all costs because, hey, he’s got someone to look out for that isn’t himself....and alright, he is terrified of a future without all his abilities or where his kiddo is cured. Vocally pro-meta.

Received a botched dose of the cure by a group of H.A.M.E.R. extremists last year, ended up with a violently broken hand and other physical injuries. Unclear to what extent this dose has affected him and how. The hand required multiple surgeries and some degree of prosthetic enhancement.  Hasn’t been able to travel to alternate dimensions since. Retained very limited use of his portal manipulation and teleportation. Retained enhanced cognition. Misses off-worlding more than he could ever say. 

Who made this guy a team player? While his normal impulse would be to run off and join the RA full stop, he only helps them out on the side, for once in his life he believes the big bad institution of CARMA is the best shot they have against H.A.M.E.R. ...Or that’s what he has to keep telling himself.  Continues work with CARMA in bio-enhancement and counter “cure” research, shifted focus away from bioweapons engineering after his son/daughter was born, but will gladly hop in to help anyone out with whatever they need. Overworked, overtired, a little more cynical because he knows they’re losing this war. 

Brings his kid to work or leaves them with retired associates, because too paranoid to leave them at a daycare that might be targeted.

Racked up a few more reprimands for some pseudo-science breakthroughs or, as management calls them, “incidents”. 

Somehow, achieved recognition for work in bio-engineering with applications in meta compatible prosthetics and organ repair. Might make him a target. 

Collected a few more tattoos.

[ionicmurray]

@miskatonicmistake​

Occasionally Lachlan found himself in the halls of CARMA HQ, which both gave him the heebie jeebies by reputation alone and made him think of the Catholic secondary school he had left behind in Scotland so many years before. Well, those two facts might be related. Regardless, he had no fucking idea where the conference room he was supposed to be going to was and after turning about five different identical looking corners, was half certain that the building had been designed by the Spanish Inquisition. After the sixth, he collided with a man several inches shorter whose eyes went wide and locked on Lachlan’s chest. That was puzzling, but then he looked down to remember just what shirt he had put under his jacket earlier. Ah. The vintage Ion one from when he’d had pizzazz and nicer hair. Sure, it was gauche to wear your own merch, but it amused Lachlan to no end. “You alright there, mate? Did I knock you senseless or anything? Not quite sure, given you’re gaping at me like a fish.”

[miskatonicmistake]

Hallways, unless they lead you to interdimensional rooms of tentacles, tended to be pretty much like the airports of everyday existence. No one wanted to really be there, nothing really happened, just a line from point A to point B. Pax usually wouldn’t bother with them, but a pizza bagel sandwich was just not the same teleported, but at his eye line it was mostly just ‘neck, chest, some dude chewing on celery, ches- Holy Fuck. Retro Hero Squad merch?! It was. It totally was. Ion circa Silver Age, it even had the flashy alternate stitching, they only made about two hundred of those how was this here? Was he dreaming? Wait why was it getting closer?

His legs, not informed that they were no longer on ‘escape the hallway’ autopilot, brought him up short against the moving object that was, well, another human being, knocking him on his ass in the process. Fuck. Hated when that happened. He dug around for his glasses, now partially covered in tomato sauce and...it was still there. Well, kinda it was sorta blurry and chunky now and - oh, oh shit.  Pizza. Bagel. The words took a second to register as his mind reeled through solutions - he had gotten plenty of blood and lab gunk out of clothes, this couldn’t be too different right?

“What? Oh, floor, yeah, dude I’m down here all the time, don’t worry about it, I mean yeah, it was like hitting a brick fucking wall, fuck, how much do you work out - no, no  - not important - DUDE YOUR FUCKING SHIRT!” At some point in that tirade his body had grown sick of being sprawled out in the battlefield of linoleum and slain pizza and pushed him to his feet, hands gesturing wildly as he took in the damage. Oh. Oh man that was definitely a lot of pepperoni lodged in there. “My lab is like - like 600 yards that way, we can run it through decon or the acid rinse -”  It was about then that he registered the face and accent with the shirt and his voice constricted to an embarrassing pitch, “Oh fuck, man, you’re - you’re fucking - you can’t be - are you -”

[fablesinbloom]

Kya x Paxton || Shenanigans

@miskatonicmistake

She hadn’t been keeping an eye on the time for however long and was ignoring all the hunger cues that would have any normal human running for the nearest cafe. Papers spread across her lab desk and hair askew from its normal updo, she let out a few frustrated groans here and there when she hit a brick wall. “This will be my downfall,” she said slumping on her chair as she glared at the offensive cold coffee that sat next to her laptop. A beacon of energy in the deepening hole of exhaustion.

Shaking out her hair from its rapidly loosening bun, she looked around the catatonic and sighed. Her lab mates would not be happy at their experiments and researching being hindered by her lack of organisation. She really shouldn’t have left her most recent chapter unfinished. It was due in a week and she already had many things to cover. Looking up when she heard a familiar voice, she sighed, “I’m sorry. Just... pile it up over there.” She waved her hand to a stack of titles Manila folders of to her right hand side. “What movie do you believe is an alternate reality today?”

[miskatonicmistake]

Science was not always a rave, sometimes it was a dance-athon, baby. Which was just pseudo-inspirational enough to leave up in the Science Lounge with a picture of the cannibalistic bioluminescent fish that totally didn’t exist in a tank in an adjacent biophysics lab. At all. Pax would never give real life examples of the top secret and obviously 100% above board, sanctioned, and productive “research” any of the labs yielded. That would be super irresponsible - and no one liked a snitch. Especially not the fish from what he could tell, they seemed to have formed a fish mafia and were slowly eliminating all rival fish or fish who mated with the enemy. Was there an alternate expression they used? Like ‘Sleepin’ with the fishes’ would have been totally accurate still before whacking a fellow mutant fish, but they sort of all slept with the fishes...being fish. Maybe they didn’t sleep at all - or, you know, maybe being a cannibalistic species they had a way more menacing tag line they went with. He had once played them Silence of the Lambs…

That little mental detour brought him down to the genetics-nerds’ labs, okay, okay he’d need a better insult, but he was tired. It had been like...three whole showers and two changes of clothes in the facility gym since he’d last seen the surveillance cube he called an apartment. Stifling a yawn he shook it off, bouncing a bit on the toes of well worn boots - which no, he did not wear to give him lift, they were cool- This was a mission he needed maximum, okay at least 58% energy, for. Kya missed her lunch pick day which meant the first opportunity he had to bring relevant data from his own adjacent research - “Heyyo, Kyaaa - Soon-to-be-Dr-Johnson-Smith - brought you some kickass notes I think  you’re gonna like on portal stasis and regenerative plant matte- dude. Is that coffee your next chapter? Are you growing something in there?” With a pitchy laugh he leaned over for a peek at what had to be the saddest - and he had seen and imbibed of many - lab coffees. The cannibalistic bastards would love it. Maybe. Were they Italian? Would this non-espresso offend them?  Nudging his glasses up with the back of his hand, green eyes flicked away from the possibilities of sustaining coffee fisht the question, envelope spinning between two fingers before tossing it onto the undeniable pile, “Uh, in theory all of them do exist, and I would prove it to you but you would probably become a magic glowstick skeleton - is that what we keep the fish for? Glowstick bones? That would be wicked. No, nevermind - if you mean ‘what alternate universe do I wish it was today?’ Well, then that would be a toss up  between Reality A)  where we worked at a successful version of Jurassic Park and got to eat that glorious Jell-o, which, yeah, our cafeteria still won’t stock, lame; and Reality B) You coming down to foodtruck fest with me for the Crispy Duck Brioche Donut Burger or the Fifty Flavours of Churro~ and hey, since we don’t work at Jurassic Park and it is Thursdayyyy, you know what time it is~ Don’t even try to tell me you’ve eaten yet, the coffee already snitched, man.”

[miskatonicmistake]

[jonahxwright]

Whiz Kids || Jonah & Paxton

Jonah had been to America a few times before, mostly in his nanny’s attempt to try to get him to spend the holidays with his father, though there was only one Christmas that the man had even made a presence, and even then, he paid more attention to his phone than his son. But this time, Jonah was on his own. He’d never really been on his own before, but he’d been insistent about it, and while his nanny, a woman who was more like his very formal mother that only hugged him on special occasions, had tried to protest, Winston Wright thought it would be good for his son to get out into the world–to ‘man up’ as he put it. 

Jonah wasn’t so sure he was going to ‘man up’ as his father wanted him to, but he was excited to be left to his own devices for once. CARMA seemed like a chance of a lifetime, especially with the brilliant minds that were working there that Jonah was practically bursting to meet. 

One of those fascinating minds was Dr. Paxton Balfour. When he’d been given a tour of the facilities, he’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of the man, but didn’t have any luck. The CARMA Base was incredible, to say the least, and Jonah, as usual, found himself barely sleeping, up all hours of the night with excitement and ideas. 

As Jonah was heading to one of the labs where he was to meet someone that would help orient him into his new role, he found himself peeking into one of the other labs he passed, eyes catching the familiar face that he’d been so eager to meet. Freezing, his breath catching, Jonah stood in a suspended moment, his shyness stalling him. It only lasted for a couple seconds before, without thinking, he knocked on the side of the open door, clearing his throat in an anxious way. 

“Um, Dr. Balfour?” He says meekly, remaining in the doorway, should he need to make a quick get away. 

@miskatonicmistake​

[miskatonicmistake]

The worst part about getting paid by a high end research facility was the expectation of productivity - and the frankly exorbitant cafeteria food, fifteen dollars for a sandwich?! Dude, two words: Wage. Slavery. There was also the fact that sometimes, only sometimes, “real science” meant sitting around, waiting for results. Nothing to zap, vivisect, nowhere to take a field trip to, and even during these times apparently it was “unprofessional” to play gameboy or tetris. There were “reports” to file. 

Boring.  They couldn’t have suspended him now? No. Of course not. Green eyes flicked above his shoes, which hey, may have been perched on said reports, sue him, to the countdown clock above the various tanks and coolers. Ten minutes. Ten minutes until show time. Ten minutes was plenty of time to psyche up. Springing out of his chair, he set the lab stereo to full blast, fingers drumming he found himself popping around the lab, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Greta van Fleet blared overhead as he pulled on the sterile gloves.

“- Got love in my heart For an army apart I am bLEEEDINNNGGGG -” Fuck yes, clock says five minutes to science time, baby, and here’s the guitar riff and - “Oh shit, fuck, shit!” He skidded to a stop at a knock on the door that nearly stopped his heart before turning around to see...a kid? Intern? Wow, C.A.R.M.A. was hiring them young. Maybe delivering samples? Was he getting new samples today? Had Christmas come early?!

With a slightly abashed laugh he skipped halfway over towards the door, turning the music down a notch or two, “Hey, sorry man, didn’t see you there, step on in to the den of biophysics. You here with the samples or - new intern? Don’t tell me they need me down in IT again, dude, I told them, I’m not a code monkey.”

[matthewmorgenstern]

@miskatonicmistake​

Theoretically, he was working and not to be disturbed. Sort of. What he was really doing was reading an extensive writeup about a recent PR disaster that needed to be reviewed for possible legal issues before they arose, but from the comfort of his car and with the company of a blunt he was keen to hide from Ellie. Or anyone else who might have the foresight to point out that it was a smoke free building, including the parking garage where his car was parked. By now he had been out there long enough to get settled and stop worrying about a certain blonde banging on his window. This was as close to bliss as he could get at work, honestly. No emotions down here but his own, a to go mug of coffee in his center console, and a thorny legal mess to untangle in relative peace. He had just put pen to paper to make a note when someone rapped on his driver’s side window, making him scrawl a long line across the page in surprise. Not Ellie, which was weird. He could sense Ellie’s emotions from a distance, they had a very specific terroir. Matt squinted at the window, turned down his air conditioner, and then decided he was going to have to roll the damned window down after all. Unfortunate thing, that. The man standing outside was a stranger, but he had a CARMA badge and an emotional aura that was akin to a pressure washer to the face. Squinting, Matt gave the man a long look before speaking. “You need something or are you just here to harsh my mellow?”

[miskatonicmistake]

There was an issue. Apparently. Not for Pax, he was just fine, doing fantastic, thanks for asking,  not a care in th - Yeah, alright, so, this issue that was absolutely a C.A.R.M.A. admin problem, and may have persistently once or twice cropped up in his email inbox and several voicemails, was definitely now a Defcon 2 Paxton problem. Rapidly spiraling into Defcon 1: Immediate Response. As it would turn out, ignoring the grievances, warnings, reprimands, and other communications from your higher ups resulted in something adults liked to refer to as  ‘mandatory administrative leave’. Paxton’s terminology for it was slightly more colourful, but the middle ground had been a slightly screeched, “YOU’RE PUTTING ME IN TIME OUT?!11!?/” insofar as one was able to convey pitch and volume through email. The responding resend of the previous message, outlining the temporary revoking of his lab privileges and teaching permissions until he “cooperated with the Legal Department to find a solution” was enough of a yes. 

Sure, he could theoretically teleport into his lab, get some work in, but...and he wasn’t saying he knew this from experience (he did know this, from extensive experience which had ironically added to the current problem) there were alarms in a super secret science facility and it was still, technically, a crime to break into said facility even if it was your place of work. So. Legal. “Matthew Morgenstern” - and fuck if that name didn’t sound like the hard shaft of bureaucracy and corporate legalese. The assistant whom he had been in touch with several times daily  had assured him that once this alleged Mr. Morgenstern had reviewed his case, he would be in touch. Well, not alleged exactly, the guy probably did actually exist. There was a file with a grainy picture he’d gotten a glimpse of. But, it had been days? Hours? Time. and Pax was not good with ambiguous undefined time in practice. Waiting in limbo for someone else to do something? He could feel the sharp twist of heightened, frenetic energy jittering through him with every step, agitation and desperation increasing with every step, every dead end at asking everyone, less and less casually, “Hey, hey, you seen Matt? Uh from Legal?”

The guy was a ghost. Taking the exit through the parking lot stairwell Pax had been about to leave when - oh holy gods - person in car. Person to ask? Energy snapped through him and before he knew it he was at the window and BINGO, YAHTZEE. This dude totally resembled grainy picture guy. Except. Oh fuck high definition reality. Handsome. Disinterested. “You need something or are you just here to harsh my mellow?” Definitely hot AND disinterested. Awesome. 

That was some LOUD weed. Impressive. Sweet. If this was the guy, that was. Pax was going with this was the guy, “Uh, yes and dude, if anything can harsh your mellow with that then you are absolutely not inhaling deep enough. But hey! You’re the guy right, legal guy, lawyer, Matthew? Matt? Cool. Pax. Balfour. Research.” No one in the passenger seat and who was Pax to ruin someone’s hot box session? C’mon. With a slight tremor he visualized and - 

Yep, inside, cool beans. Slightly hit the old shoulder on the inside door, ow, but hey. Reaching into his jacket pocket he removed a baggie of his own rollies, “No music? Weird choice, but okay, so giant dossier - Oh hey, is that mine? Nevermind, confidentiality, I get it, but if it is mine, I can totally explain all of that. Well, 95%. 80- Most of it. Main thing is, none of it is a reason to lock a guy out of his lab, right? Like, maybe to lock me in my lab, which I guess would be unlawful imprisonment, but what’s a little imprisonment between friends, just because the mayor’s son happens to be an anti-meta fascist pig - and that’s just a fact not slander - so. You know, maybe we knock this out, I can just get back to work, you can get back to this awesome- would be more awesome with tunes - chill session?” He paused a second to dig through his pockets one more time, right hand trembling with strain, but too delighted to care, “You got a light? Oh, heyo, there we go -” 

[miskatonicmistake]

about

BASICS

full name: Paxton Heinrich Urs Balfour

occupation: Researcher, Department of Bio-Engineering

nickname(s): Pax, (embarrassingly “monkeyman” still by his dad)

age: 36

date of birth: June 16

gender identity: Male

preferred pronoun(s): He/His/Him

species: Metahuman

sexual orientation:  Omni

romantic orientation: Same as above

spoken language(s): English, German, Italian, Japanese, Russian, Klingon

ethnicity: Caucasian

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES

face claim: Charlie Day

height: 5′6 1/2′’   5′7′’

weight: 145lbs

body type: lean, compact

hair color: Brown

eye color: Green

accent: Standard American with overshadows of Berliner German or Manhattan

scars: See ‘Scars and Tattoos Lore’ for further details. Lichtenberg scar that wraps around his right ribs. Burns, cuts, lab accident mishaps on forearms. Exploding glass scatter patterned scars on right calf. 

tattoos:  See ‘Scars and Tattoos Lore’ for further details. Many scifi and actual science themed tattoos intermixed with botanicals. Barcode tattoo in wrist. 

PHOBIAS & DISORDERS

phobia(s): funhouse mirrors

mental disorder(s): PDNOS that shares some similarity with both Borderline and Bipolar disorders, PTSD, ADHD

physical disorder(s): Tremors in right hand post traumatic injury

BACKGROUND

hometown: Berlin /  New York

current location:  Pansaw, CA

financial status: There’s a card in the lab specifically labeled ‘Bail Fund(s)’

undergraduate: Columbia

graduate: Various

Degrees: BS Theoretical Physics & Pathology, MEng Computer Engineering, MEng BioMedical Engineering, Phd: Theoretical Physics, Neurochemistry, Astrophyics, Quantitative Genetics, Bio-Engineering (Biomedical focus), Biophysics (molecular specialization)

criminal conviction(s):  Resisting arrest - 2041 (apart from this no convictions, many arrests)

RELATIONSHIPS

father: Henry “Hal” Balfour (1973- ) Possible unregistered metahuman

mother: Giselle Fuchs-Zeigler

sibling(s): N/A

significant other: N/A

children: N/A

rivals: various lab partners, they’re all problem children - or maybe just he is

enemies: whoever keeps dumping his lunch in the lab’s ‘biohazard container’, fascists, you know, whoever. 

[miskatonicmistake]

plots, schemes, and wants

Former Rebel Army scientist, bioengineering specialist at C.A.R.M.A., former wunderkind holding multiple doctorates and a few masters, and all around trouble promoter - if you need a small but shrill advocate or archnemesis, here we are. Open for business, baby. Yes, he will insult that supersoldier towering over both of you. It’s cool, he’s tough. (Never, ever, trust the words “It’s cool, I’ve got it” from this man. Or always trust them. Not quite sure on that one). Loyal to a fault, cocksure, reckless, volatile, and always siding with the little guy - what could go wrong?

Connections

- Lab Partner(s) and Science buddies/rivals

- Former Rebel Alliances

- Romance: Eh, Pax falls into infatuation a bit too easily for his own good, that doesn’t mean he won’t hit the breaks after a certain amount of manipulation. 

- Former/Current C.A.R.M.A. or H.A.M.E.R. enemies

- A good vet - or, you know, real doctor

- Anyone looking to buy blackmarket knickknacks from the dimension next door

Storylines

Lab Shenanigans: These are essentially crackfic storylines. 

- Gotta Catch ‘Em All: Roll the dice to meet Pax after his return from an adventure somewhere bizarre.

- Science Beats Witchcraft, Baby: Why go visit a medium when your local madman can find an alternate universe where your dead loved one is still alive and give THEM your message? 

- Officer, this is a misunderstanding: There is a card in Pax’s lab specifically for his inevitable bail funds. Let’s put that to work.

- Not Technically a Teacher: Guest Lectures gone wrong at the local university or among colleagues. 

- We Definitely Were Not Meant to Make That: Lab monsters. 

Other:

- Level Up: Some unsanctioned powers training anyone? Loads to unlock. 

- Could have stopped talkng anytime

- No, really, I’m not your guy: Mistaken Identity

-Agents Are Assholes: Okay, they aren’t all horrible. They just get all the glory, which mega sucks. That and some of them are essentially cops so. Not all of them are fascists anymore though. Progress.

- H.A.M.E.R. Time: There could not be anyone worse to meet a member of that group. Hostage taking? Torture? Temporary loss of powers?

- A Little Help From Your Friends: Someone just come watch K-Dramas with him on Dark Days. Please. 

[miskatonicmistake]

So... Not the Cafeteria - Open

Look. Look. Just because you jump through a portal in a wall in one dimension does not mean you end up jumping through the same wall back home. Well. It might if you were not strung out on caffeine and the science juice your brain pumps out like a broken slurpee machine at 7-Eleven - Damn, wish those were still around - to keep you up and active and ever pursuing the tantalizing call of Lady Science through her many interdimensional….Alright, it’s gotten weird. Any word that comes next would just make things super weird and Pax would be the first to tell you that living in some Freudian hellscape of Boggle where everything is either a sex, birth, or defecation metaphor with your local portal user featuring as the pervert-slash-baby-slash-cosmic-turd was  not a great place to be. He’d also be the first to tell you that he would have totally, and really - totally, dude, scouts honour -  managed to open a wall to wall portal between the lab building of Dimension 239 (No Seinfeld?!-verse) to the lab building of Dimension 001 (Home. Okay, fine, that was a bit Dimension 7739 centric, but the next dimension hopper could come argue with him about naming methodology). Instead, he was falling through the ceiling of -

Oh, fuck - FALLING. THROUGH CEILING. 

“No, no, no floor, no bone crushing -!” Eyes clamped  shut - Good one, genius - he felt the pop, fizzle, crack of teleportation and the only slightly softened impact of his shoulder against linoleum. With a groan he cracked one eye open, one hand checking rapidly over his ribs and organs searching for anything broken. Nothing.

“HA!” Shit, that was a bit loud. Slightly pitchy? No, just hearing things, definitely heard a shrill shriek during the fall that was definitely an aural hallucination of some kind. Totally better than it having been him - what? Alright, lingering interdimensional hallucinations from a Seinfeldless existence or channeling a pterodactyl’s vocal chords yoursel - Oh. Yeah. When put like that it did sound way cooler that that was him. 

Laying back with a sigh he let his gaze drift upwards, calculating what the full fall would have done, portal still glowing in place, taunting him from the vaulted ceilings of this ridiculous place. Closing one hand he watched it crumple. Bad portal.  A few more minutes basking in his not death, complete with no smug looks from Cheryl in the infirmary this week, he took out the widget he had perhaps not gained through lawful or legitimate means he turned it over on his chest. Intel storage meets debugging device? Transmission components? Halocube?  Maybe Dimension 239’s McDonald’s version of one - Hey, you could get a lot done without certain sitcom reruns, I wonder if I can get this ironically to play Seinfeld or if it’ll short circuit? Maybe classic Star Wars - ‘Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are my only hope -’ 

SLAM. 

THAT was definitely not a an auditory hallucination. Pterodactyl unconfirmed. Scooting up to a shaky stand he almost lost his footing again under the wet flooring - Wet? Blood? No. Urine? Oh thank the gods, no.  Nudging his mercifully uncracked glasses up and pressing a hand to a newly discovered nosebleed, he took in his surroundings: Metal lockers, tile floors, benche- Bathroom? Locker room.  Womens? Mens? Either way: Agents. Time to go. 

A cleared throat stopped him short, “Haha, oh, what? This isn’t the cafeteria, I’m just gonna - yep, all good, not looking, nothing inappropriate here - which sounds like the most inappropriate and sketch thing ever, but really, dude or - or ma’am -” 

@wotnastarters