By Any Other Nameless

October 29 2014: Rowan, Mera, Simon Williams and Vorpal meet the Nameless. Again.

Upper West Side Manhattan

A nice neighborhood on the northern Manhattan shore.



  • Nameless Psyborgs

Mood Music:
[*< None]

It's a nice day in the upper West Side. Quiet. Serene. Peaceful. Rowan is strolling down the north bank of island, taking in the ambiance. Most of this place is pretty upper class so the police protection is pretty dang good. Fortunately no one bothers the casually dressed Blue as he walks. Most days are like that. Today he'd merely been exploring, luckily he has sense not to explore into people's houses or property. He learned that one pretty quicky.

Sadly, he's not alone. Not that he knows it yet. There's a ripple in the Aether. A shadow of something not quite yet here, but definitely watching…


It is hard for Vorpalo to believe that his ordeal lasted only a few weeks- to him, the progress of time slowed down to a crawl. He is, perhaps, spending a little more time in his Vorpal form than he normally would be- but he's only rejoicing in the fact that he is whole again and able to use his powers, completely normal once more. Or ab, such as it may be.

Presently, he is taking a break on one of the nearby roofs, taking in the view so to speak.


Rowan is about to be even less alone shortly. Mera's telepathic communication likely interrupts his peaceful meanderings. ~ Rowan. Your location, please. ~ The tone of the message is likely more command than request. But hey, at least she said please, right?


For Atlanteans and Blue, it's probably easy, but Simon does NOT enjoy the sensation of clearing his lungs out so he can breathe air again. In fact, he goes off to a private place, hangs upside down, and horks out the water in a sort of messy glop, then gasps for a while, coughing a bit, and then shakes to become presentable. This whole 'being an ambassador' thing is interesting, except when it's boring, and the 'report to SHIELD weekly' is also interesting when its not boring but it's usually boring. And he's feeling the Acting Itch. Maybe he can talk Cameron into making the next movie on location in Atlantis? That would be awesome.


"I am on the north side of the island the surfacers call 'Manhattan.' Funny, it seems to have a derth of both men with hats." Yes, that was a joke. Rowan is developing a sense of humor. It's punny.

Over on the rooftops Keith may note a subtle portal open up and a group of five men in fancy, futuristic armor stalk out. They're not visibly armed but they are completely covered in head to toe.

"Is that…" That horking sound. Rowan round a bend and… "Simon Williams?" Beat. "Er… are you ill? Should I call Nine Hundred and Eleven?"


Vorpal frowns. Any portals opening anywhere had a 99.9999 chance of being bad news. That may be an overgeneralization, but he could always ask Gar to find one of his professors at the university to run the numbers. The cheshire goes invisible immediately and runs along the edge of the rooftops to get a closer look. That was anothing he had missed terribly- the ability to run over almost impossibly narrow surfaces. He's been able to run on cables in the past, too.

Maybe he'll get to do it now? It was a thought. For now, though, he is focusing and trying to gauge the intent of the armored visitors.

He bets they're going to try to blow stuff up, because why the gear?


Mera waits only somewhat patiently for SimonWilliams to finish clearing his lungs of water. Disgusting business that. She is GLAD she doesn't have that problem. But there's Rowan, and she regards him in his surfacer-looking attire and his clearly settling in demeanor. And, yeah. She's still every inch an Atlantean out of water. Because… Nine hundred and eleven? What does that even mean?


"Don't make me laugh while I'm coughing," Simon laughs to Rowan. "I don't have gills, I have to push the water out of my lungs the hard way," and he finishes shaking the water off his head.

"Her Majesty's on her way up, we should make sure we're clear of papparazzi and pests," Simon notes once he can breathe again. He floats up into the air and scans around. Wait. Weird energy signature at up-there-o'clock. Is that portals or something?


Rowan turns. He hadn't heard or felt the portals but then he's not attuned to energy in the same way. "Trouble, Simon Williams?"

The Blue starts to look about. Armored forms on the rooftops are not hard to spot, but they're not visible from the street level just yet. They seem to be fanning out, circling the Blue. It's a hunting maneuver if ever there was one and Vorpal may have had some recent experience with it.


Oh yes. Vorpal remembers being hunted quite well. In fact, he has a few things he has rehearsed, if he ever runs into the Circle Oroboros again. But for the moment, he is preoccupied with the fact that these people seem to be hunting someone.

He has grown distinctively less fond of hunters, as of late. He pads close enough to a group of the men on the rooftop, invisible. If they could see his facial expression, they would have an inkling of how much hell was about to be visited upon them.

Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

The Cheshire lies in wait to see exactly what is it they're going to do. He has an idea, of course, but he wants to make sure.


Mera is as numb to portal energy as Rowan is, though when Simon goes on the alert, she does as well in her own way. She 'listens' to the minds around her, more to get impressions of intent than actual thoughts. It's not easy, it's very limited, but maybe she'll pick up on something.


"There are portals… I can … ah. Armor. People moving. Hunting someone, looks like, possibly one of us?" Simon reports, then drops back down below so they can't shoot him with their sniper rifles … of course, if they wanted to he'd already have holes in him from whatever it was. Or maybe not, if it's not armor piercing. He's had to be more durable in the ocean, lately, so he's not relaxed to fully human squishiness.


"Armor?" As Rowan asks the question the five men jump down onto the street in weird synchronizations. Each one makes a fist of each of their hands and glowing blades of psychic energy hum into existance. Mera can feel them now. Exactly like the attack on Atlantis. The Blue's eyes narrow and he grabs at his spear, extending it to full length in one fluid motion as his skin takes on a aquamarine cast.

"Nameless…" he hisses.

"KILL THE DRAGON WARRIOR AND THE QUEEN!" One of them shouts. Then they charge.


"I am sorry, but today's invasion has been delayed by decree of the Queen of Hearts!" Vorpal's voice, augmented by his magic, echoes throughout the street as the Cheshire Cat creates an illusion of himself, larger than life, lounging on thin air overlooking the area. "hInstead, we shall have a lovely showing of Benny Hill's School of Pursuit."

Rabbit Holes open out of thin air in the path of the five charging men. Rabbit Holes open and close with blinding speed in order to transport one man in front of the other, so that they are charging at fellow soldiers. The aim is to make a nice tangle of the men, or at least a few of them, before they can get to their intended targets. He'll take what he can get-discord and confusion are the best tools of the Cheshire Cat when first approaching his enemies. Invisible from the rooftop, he watches to see how the other men will react.


Simon's reflex is pretty much built on his knowledge that Arthur would at best be a miserable fish-talking lump (or at worst, that he'd chat up C'thulhu in R'lyeh and talk him into waking up and taking a walk through New York) if Mera got killed by these jerks. So he says, politely, "Your Majesty, let me take you to a less infested location," and he does that super-speed thing he's been known to do, removing her from the scene… precisely where, well, Rowan might know.


This leaves Rowan seemingly alone to deal with… well it was the rush of five attackers. Now it's just a jumbled mess of attackers. Grinning ferally the Blue pouncs, spear at the ready on the mass of psyborg…

Only to be struck repeatedly by lightning. Okay, to be fair, everything is struck repeatedly by lightning. The man at the top of the pile floats up into the air and seems to become a tesla coil, arcing electricity in every direction. It hits buildings, trees, street signs, the ground (a lot) and sends Rowan flying back about twenty feet. When he gets up… he's gone rather scaely… and his legs have changed… and he's grown a fanged muzzle… and he has claws… oh dear.


Vorpal had to betray his location by creating a dome to protect himself from the lightning. No matter- dispelling the illusion, he also dispels the dome.

"Cute. Let's tone down that sparkling personality of yours, shall we?" the Cheshire mutters. They are near the water, and that means that the water is within line-of-sight, as is Mr. Sparky.

Rabbit Holes are perhaps the most versatile thing in the universe- they can be used to create a villain snugglepile, as it happened earlier, and they can be used to create a direct opening into the ocean through which a torrent of water is to emerge right on top of a lightning-enfolding villain. As it happens right now.


Simon returns from the Safe Retreat, taking a long curve around (and probably making air traffic control wonder what's happening) before he jets in directly for one of those high-speed HULK SMASH! style slams … if he's lucky, he might get there after the splash and before they're all over. Or, y'know, if Rowan's all mind-controlled monstery, he'll have the novel experience of trying to talk the OTHER guy out of it.


Rowan is just getting back up. Vorpal insulates the electrokine rather nicely. Just in time for him to get rushed by a pair of psy-blade wielding warriors. One of them mistimes his rush and Simon arrives just in time to see a powerful finnded tail slap him into a bus stop. Then it's spear and blade and one thing's quite clear, the Blue knows how to use that thing. His opponent is quite practiced too.

Keith's been spotted now and has the sudden, rather unpleasant sensation of being psychically assaulted. Not trying to control him it just feels like someone's trying to rip his mind apart from the inside out.

That leaves one to float up, look at the Man of Ions and give him ye-olde Matrix 'come and get it' gesture… right before Simon punches him in the chest. It sends him rather resoundingly into the pavement. For a rejoinder, the downed psychic tries to telekinetically grab Wonder Man and do unto him as he did.


The thing about trying to go into Keith's head as a psychic is that… well, it's already inhabited. His attacker will easily be able to pinpoint Keith's consciousness- it is at the fore, shining with that youthful mixture of idealism, naivete, occasional stupidity and passion. That part is quite easily attacked- and indeed, the Cheshire cat falls to one knee, clearly struggling with something-

And then, there's the Vorpal. The other consciousness that is also a part of the whole, moving up on the attacker and giving them the psychic equivalent of 'Nywaaa… What's Up, Doc?' only to point at a point over the shoulder.

That's where The Other appears. Ancient, full of feline malice, and the wiles of the Fae. The Cait Sidhe. It does not take kindly to intruders. It had just moved in for the final time, after all.

The tripartite consciousness closes in upon the attacker like the petals of a venus flytrap. The thing about attacking the minds of amalgam souls is that they tended to bite back.


Oops. This is a new sensation… being glommed and slammed into the pavement. Wait, no, the only 'new' part of it is that there were no hands involved. Simon shakes his head and says, "That's one."

He moves FAST again — between one twitch of an eye-muscle and the next, he's on the attacker, hands moving to clap like the monkey with the cymbals, only the psychic's head is between where the cymbals go. It's probably non-lethal. Certainly not comfortable.


By the way the psychic attacking Vorpal begins to scream one would think that being in his head is a most unpleasant experience. And Keith's always such a nice boy. Surely not…

Well, apparently so.

The discombobulation Simon visits upon his attacker prevents any further telekinetic chicanery. It won't for long though so Simon should probably… er… do something.

There's a deep thrum from Rowan's direction and a wave of powerful, low frequency sound sends the remaining psyborg on him arcing up into the air. The dragon warrior leaps, catching his foe at the top of the arc, and then comes down with him. Spear point first.



Vorpal stands up. Keith is a nice boy. He just happens to have an ID whose current attitude is 'I just went through so much shit, I am not putting up with you, too.' He was abused, soul-cleaved, on the brink of death— anyone who chooses to screw with his insides is going to find a very, very enraged feline.

The psychic's screams are easy to pinpoint, with his hearing. A rabbit-hole leap, and the next (and last- at least for a while) thing the psy-attacker will see is Vorpal, falling from the sky and leveling a glowing croquet mallet at his head.


What to do, what to do. The man is wearing some sort of armor and stuff, that looks like it's HELPING him do all that power stuff. So Simon starts to remove it. Starting with all the bits that look like they might be power supplies, emitters, and so forth.

"Hm. Haven't" !SNAP! "had this much" !PING! "fun since I took apart my Agent's car." !CRUNCH! tinkle.


Simon's victim doesn't seem to find it fun the way s/he squirms. But the psyborg goes still soon enough so it… seems to have worked. Rowan walks over. His spear is coated in something that looks like a mixture of blood and oil. "Well done, Simon Williams." Beat. "What is that strange creature over there?" He says pointing warily at Vorpal.


Vorpal twirls his croquet mallet and then rests it on his shoulder, at which point he transforms it into a parasol. Purple, glowing, and perhaps with a faint pattern of grins. "The strange creature over here," Vorpal says, stepping over the unconscious psychic, "is Vorpal, of the Titans." Maybe it is the way he reverently says the name, but the hint of a golden 'T' is present. "Just your friendly neighborhood cheshire cat, crime-fighter, snappy dresser and all in all someone who may or may not be related Puss in Boots at your service."

He grins. God, he had forgotten how good it felt to be so completely … weird.


Simon looks at the purple cat-guy.

"Disney Legal's worst nightmare," he replies. "That's the Cheshire Cat."

He shakes his head. Yeah, the Norse are bad enough, but what next, playing card soldiers?

"I'll show you later, I think Mera will want to continue her visit now that the pests are gone."


"Er… alright…" Rowan cants his head at the odd cat thing while his own draconic features fade away leaving a muddy haired young man once again. "I think I'll make myself scarce. Nine Hundred and Eleven gets upset when they find dead people. Nameless or not."


Vorpal frowns and looks at the two. "Oh geez, you're being wet nellies and bailing? Fine, fine." He reaches into his outfit and pulls out two cards. Hm, his outfit. The design was good for summer, but now that things were getting nippier…

He'll have to stop by Zelinksy's and ask for a padded version that went down to his ankles and his wrists. And probably his neck, too. "Here… get in touch with me when you've got some time, I'd like to know what this was all about. The Titans are always interested in helping if there's some sort of invasion or similar thing looming ahead."

It's a simple card with his name, hero name, phone number, tumblr and twitter. Because he has been taking notes from watching Booster's representation. "I guess I should make myself scarce as well. I don't have a license to croquet in public."


"Right. Uhm. I'll let SHIELD know about it," Simon answers. "They probably want to know anyhow."

He … doesn't have his phone. They don't make one that gets a signal in Atlantis, and more importantly, they don't make one that can "resist" water that deep. Though, he's got a guy working on the problem.

(What would Batman do? Or Tony Stark?)


"Alright… it was nice to see you again, Simon Williams. And you as well Vorpal of the long ecomium." The young man then sprouts wings, four of them and brightly colored and fethered, and shrinks his spear back down to a flashlight sized cylinder. "I shall be in touch. Beware the Nameless in the mean time." Then he takes off skyward.


"Alright, I will. I will call them 'George' from now on," Vorpal answers. And he makes his way out as well.

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