Mark glowered at the Valkyrie. Indeed, his eyes literally seemed to glow with anger. But he said nothing. She had made up her mind about him, and he wasn't going to change it. He flicked a hand in her general direction; a dismissive wave.

"We're done here," he said. It wasn't a question. "Let's go."

Valkyrie laughed. “See what I mean?”

"Honestly, I don't," Hyperion snapped, turning back to face Valkyrie again. Along with having a lack of patience, there was a short fuse on his temper, and she'd lit it with a blowtorch. "Why don't you spell it out for me? Or is it your super-power to make snide remarks?"

“Nah, smart-assing is just a natural talent.” Valkyrie stared back, unbothered by Hyperion’s emotional outburst. “I’ll spell it out for you, though.”

She dropped the facetious manner. “Back home, the Hyperion I met got off on lording his power over weak and helpless people. He played the victim, although he never let a chance for victimizing others pass him by. The man I fought was cruel, egotistical, and corrupt as hell.”

The Hellcycle roared as it skidded to a stop just a couple of feet away from Specter. "What took you?" he grumbled as he swung a leg over. Revving the engine, he looked out at the sprawling city that awaited him... and then, for reasons he couldn't understand, he glanced back in the direction of the group that Strange had assembled-- the one he was now leaving behind. Was that the sound of an argument now? For just a moment, he felt an odd, sudden impulse to go back and try to help sort out the conflict.

Where were you, Scott? We needed you.

A memory passed through his mind: old friends and teammates piled amongst each other on the floor of a ruined mansion, their blue-and-gold uniforms stained red. From all around, the furious screams of the mob grew louder and more frenzied: Get those muties! Kill 'em all!

"'S'better this way," he grunted, gunning the engine of his bike. He took off in the direction of the main street that led into the city. "For their sake."

Bill grabbed his head.  "Oh, good! He's gonna go tearin' off through downtown on a flaming bike!  Like he's the Punisher, or something! That'll keep us off the Friends' radar!  Beam me up, Scottie...please beam me up, now!"   

It wasn't the best of days for Dollar Bill; an honest nerd, in a tense situation, just managing the best he could...

Unless anyone has any other agendas to accomplish, I'm shortly going to scene-shift the group elsewhere, somewhere more private.

Val, having access to wheels, you can either go with the main group, or follow in the wake of the Specter, as you choose. 
This message was last edited by the player at 21:24, Thu 18 Aug 2022.

"I see human nature has stayed constant despite the passage of time," Mordred said wryly as he watched the scene unfold. "Ego oft takes precedence over discretion, especially when distinction is to be found."

Mordred watched Specter take off on his mechanical steed. He let out a soft sigh and turned to the remaining members of their party.

"If we are to succeed in our endeavor, I suspect it best we follow our host's counsel," he said to Val and Hyperion. "This place may not be so strange to you as it is to me, but we are still visitors to a foreign realm. Let us not make our task more difficult than it need be."

Despite himself Cipher met Kid Hyperion's frustration with a look of genuine sympathy, laced with personal pain, "You got a perfectly good name there, Mark. What someone else has done with it in another universe doesn't mean anything for you".

Looking up at his less than inconspicuous teammates, Cipher sighed heavily, "Well standing here gawking at our convoy won't get us anywhere. Let's go to Bill's place."

Cipher's image ripples and blurs and he becomes a totally different bland man in his 30s, "I'll trail behind and make sure that we're not followed".

"Thanks," Mark said to Cipher. The guy seemed nice enough. There seemed to be something weird about him, but who was Mark to cast that particular aspersion. Mark was weird. "Don't hang too far back. If these Super Friends and Sentinels are truly dangerous, they might be the type to pick off stragglers."

Valkyrie watched as Specter rode off. She understood his choice. Freedom. Just taking off on your bike when the urge struck.

However, the mission mattered the most. “I’ll find him after we settle into your place, Bill. Can’t be that hard to find a guy on a flaming motorcycle.”

Cipher's soft chuckle drifts off into the void as he vanishes into the shadows.

"Huh. Neat trick." Vanishing into the shadows was a useful ability, no doubt. With a shrug, Mark followed Dollar Bill.

As it happened, Dollar Bill was friends with the owner of the Cab company he called for service.

The sky-blue mini-van that showed up, promptly, to transport the group was newish, clean and seemed to be well maintained.

For Sir Mordred -- his very first ride in a horseless carriage.   For Cipher, an outdated but serviceable mode of transport.

And of course the Valkyrie rode her own vehicle in their wake, the shining Aragorn.

The city sights they viewed en route were the group's first real look at the place.   Few would refute, Sundown City was nice.   No one could fault the planning, architectural skill, and care that plainly had gone into and now sustained it.    It was the kind of place that would likely have a near back-breaking cost of living in most worlds.

But if the environment was yet normal to most eyes, it also became apparent the unusual had its, or their, place here.   Not everyone they glimpsed looked fully human.   Some were clad in what could be called superhero garb, or otherwise different, eccentric seeming styles.

The Cab's route took them through the city's west-side (based upon the sun's position, that was to say), and out toward a suburban area.

On that road, they approached and passed a trio of bikers, headed in the opposite direction.   One of whom was big, scaly and blue, but smiled, honked and thumbs-uped with the two human seeming men, when they spotted the Valkyrie. 
Though Bill might've been expected to be an apartment dweller, it turned out he had a house.  A pleasant if nothing-fancy bungalow home; the kind with a second, partial story, built into its sloped roof.

"Home sweet home!" proclaimed Bill.  "Let's go on inside," he added, as he tipped the cab's driver.

Post any reactions or thoughts, if you've got them.   Or wait until we move along a bit further, as you so choose...

Used to skulking unseen through cities' twilight, Cipher seems a little put out at having to ride in a taxi to Bill's house.

He exits the cab as quickly as possible and stares bemused at Bill's home, muttering to himself, "Like a museum..."

Mark hadn't ridden in cars much. His upbringing at Project: Hyperion hadn't involved much travel. He wondered how ordinary people could stand it. For someone who could fly, the conveyance was slow torture.

The house was nice, though. Not nearly as sterile as the Project's bunkers, there was an inviting warmth to it. It didn't seem large enough for six people to stay indefinitely, though, so finding Eternity's Heart would need to happen quickly.

Bill led the others up, and unlocked his front door.  He entered first;  possibly from wanting to assure it was safe, rather than any lack of manners.

As the exterior, the interior was pleasant, with a fair bit of natural wood paneling, and mid-tone sorts of colors.

Unsurprisingly, there was more than a little nerd memorabilia on display.   Including a faux lightsaber, designed to look like that of Qui Gon Jinn, mounted on a wall.   And, a poster of a grinning, moustached man with the proclamation Excelsior! beneath his smiling mug.  (As near to a Stan Lee cameo as you're going to get)

There were photos of him with others, all appearing to have been shot here in Sundown City. Several of them in more than one picture.

Bill led the group into the living room, calling out "Honey -- I'm home!" 

Now, Bill was a bachelor.  And those words were entirely in jest.

Thus his mouth dropped in sharp surprise, when he was answered:

"Fantastic!  I didn't feel like cooking.  Hope you don't mind I called out for a pizza?"   A woman's voice, her words were accented in French...

"Holy SHIT!   I -- I was gonna contact you, actually -- couldn't you have done me the courtesy?"   

Just a bit on the taller side of average, her hair was light brown, and her eyes -- wide with surprise on sighting Bill's company --  were grey.  She was clad in denim jeans and jacket, with a purple t-shirt beneath.    White, cursive letters adorned it, declaring:

Cherchez la femme

There was an almost elfin cast to her features, on any second look.

"I -- I thought about it!" she countered. "But...had my reasons for doing this instead.   Who are your friends-?"   Her eyes skated over the others, with an assessing kind of look.

If anyone knows a version of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, similar to 616 Aurora, you will recognize her, although her hair is a few shades lighter, and she's a few inches shorter.

Cipher's appearance ripples subtly, as close to a gasp of surprise as he's likely to give, "Well, merde. Jeanne-Marie. I haven't seen you, or my version of you at least, since we busted Puck out of AIM's lab."

A deep sadness wells up in his eyes, "You were a great leader for Alpha Flight."

"I did not expect to meet a child of the Fae in this place," Mordred murmured. At least someone seemed somewhat familiar in this new realm. He gave the woman a courtly bow.

"I am Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot," he said. "My mother and aunt are daughters of Avalon, so I am acquainted with tales of your kindred. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Probably prepared for less friendly reactions, she seemed taken off guard by that pair of responses.   Looking upon the masked Cipher, it took her a moment, before there was recognition of the voice:

"Doug?" she queried, though seeming to have already concluded so.    And then looked to the medieval-garbed Mordred, with slightly raised brows.

"Your manners are impeccable, sir.   Though, if you are seeking Fae, I'm afraid I only have part of a similar, but different, set of roots.  I'd suspect you were joking about your name, and family in Avalon. But I get the feeling you mean it."
Then to Doug again:

"I know of no Alpha Flight.  And Puck sounds like someone who belongs with Sir Mordred's Fae.   But like you say, version différente.  Sundown City is the great stew pot of the changed and varied."   
This message was last edited by the player at 17:35, Sun 21 Aug 2022.

"Yeah, well, I was probably gonna contact her anyway.   And it seems at least one of you knows her.  Kind of.   I guess that sort of works.  Jeanne-Marie, look, there's things to unpack, let's say.   But how much...that isn't my call to make.  But we're working on something that matters, let's get that much out of the way." 

Barbara looked the house over with mild interest. Comfortable enough, she’d slept in far worse places. However, Jeanne-Marie truly piqued her curiosity. She stared at the chestnut-haired beauty.

“You’re talking about Camelot & fairies, but I clearly smell the Ljosalfr on you.” Barbara looked back at Dollar Bill. “Yo, Bill. How’d you hook up with a Light Elf?”

"Jeanne-Marie, all this time I thought you were a mutant?"   Bill asked the newcomer.  Then more seriously to the Valkyrie:

"She and I share a hobby, you could say.  We're both networkers.  Although, she's better at it than me.  What a surprise, right?" he grinned.

"Yes, I am a mutant.   And yes, I also bare some blood of Asgard's elfkind.   Mind you, what I know of the place is about like what I know of Avalon;  I've read the myths.   Somebody else recognized the lineage, and told me, shortly before I got to Sundown."  She looked more closely at the Valkyrie.

Jeanne-Marie was more mortal than she, and appeared to recognize something, but wasn't able to articulate it.

"Well, I'm glad to meet you.  All of you -- welcome to Sundown City, whatever brings you here. Also, I run a clothing boutique -- you need threads?   I'm your woman! Sweet deal for newcomers."     

"I speak only of matters that I am familiar of," Mordred replied to Valkyrie, offering a shrug. "Much as you all seem to volunteer your past encounters and experiences, I sought to provide mine as well."

Mordred allowed himself to relax now that he was indoors. He drew back the hood of his traveling cloak, revealing his face. He looked young, but his deep-set dark eyes wore a weary expression. It was the face of someone who had seen much despite his age.

"I must admit," he said to Jeanne-Marie, "I had hope that you might provide more insight to our task. We were summoned by a Sorcerer, and tasked to retrieve an artifact of power. I, too, only have the tales of Avalon to go from, though they were told to me by survivors of that vestige of Atlantis. The Fae were practitioners of magic. I suppose your ancestors were as well.

"However that seems to be naught but happy coincidence," Mordred sighed. "Although I would welcome any aid in finding a tunic and breeches fitting of this era."