1965-03-25 - The Nuclear Diet
Summary: A ragtag crew of heroes stumble upon a plot to kill all fairytales!
Related: Birth of the FireHawk
Theme Song: None
lorraine-reilly scott-summers kwabena jean-grey 


Music played by a grand orchestra could be heard blaring from the castle. It was dark; yet the lights of the castle illuminated the lands as it was the fanfaire to be at. Many in ball gowns and tuxedos were meshed together in a dance, some with their palms pressed together, hands upon the smalls of their back, circling their partners with smiles and laughter. Others stood off to the side, the small town gossip of who's who was in attendance and the scandalous way some stranger danced with the Prince.

The woman in the ice blue gown was enchanting. Enchanted. So much so that when she glanced towards the clock she immediately left the Princes side and rushed down the stairs, leaving behind a glass slipper. (Wish we could say it was Jimmy Chu)

The girl was spritely enough to slip into a pumpkin, the magical carriage takes off down the winding road, blasting through the gates that were near closing. The Prince, heartbroken, picks up the slipper and looks on wistfully towards the carriage that leaves his grand residence..

But further down the road, there was something terrifying. The clock itself hadn't even struck midnight, three minutes past since she left the castle. There was a loud *HUUURK*, and a bang, a bang that sends the carriage careening towards the side of the road and an endless tumble against a large, oak tree.

Sensing the danger, the fairy godmother rushes to their aid. A quick spell, a teleport, and she was there to pull upon the doors of the large pumpkin, but they were jammed. What had happened here? What was that noise? Why.. why is this changing so much for the young lady? They never planned..

"Found you." The voice was deep, low. It wasn't a growl. There was a hint of disinterest that lingered there and one of sorrow. And as the Fairy Godmother drew her hands up into a scream, the young woman awoke from her brief slumber in the large pumpkin carriage, and crawled out the window to escape.

'Don't look back!'

For the screams of the Godmother were something unholy. Something that reaches out to those chosen few. They were in need of saviors.. but how, where, and who will they be?

Wolves aren't usually a good sign in a fairy tale. They blow down houses. They eat grandmas. But this wolf that ran beneath the cover of night wasn't the sort for fairy tales. In fact, it was a scent that caught his attention, a breath of something on the wind that didn't seem quite right. Severin paused and lifted his snout to the air, taking in a breath, and then off he ran in the direction of that scent, following his nose, for good or ill.

Sometimes, having a magic flying horse is a royal pain in the saddle. Particularly when that magic flying horse decides to interrupt one's daily routine and haul one away. Danielle should be somewhat used to it; Brightwind has always had a stubborn streak, and barely gave her enough time to get her gear on and her weapons slung before launching skyward. Trusting her mount to find the nearest convenient portal to.. wherever, Dani tries to sort through the jumble of mental images she's getting through their link.

"..what do you mean, they're not 'our' Faeries? How many F— well, if they're not 'ours', why the Hel are we rushing— Okay, okay, fine. Could've at least let me leave a note for Amanda. No, /you're/ gonna have to apologize to her after this," Dani grumbles and chides. How the different realms of Fae and Fairy Tales might be linked is a metamystical question that she's far too sober to contemplate. "Fine, fine, if they need help…"

JP was reanning from teh cops-er, well, he meant to the voice in distress. Right! That! Gearhead the hero totally not running from absolutely no cops. Just ignore any shouting from behind him. Boots came thundering across pavement then packed…earth…?! Fuck it he was following his brother like some leather clad huntsman.

What little girl doesn't love fairy tales?
What half-demon little girl doesn't love fairy tales gone horribly, terribly, attrociously wrong?

Jesse Custer isn't drunk. Yet. Fresh from the frozen hell of upstate New York, the preacher keeps himself warm with a cigarette popped into the corner of his mouth as he casually turns his back on a car parked in the wrong lot on the wrong night. Slipping the metal hanger down the window, with a sharp yank he unlocks the (now stolen) car and gets inside casually. A screwdriver to the ignition with the right amount of pressure and it chokes and rumbles to life.

And the world goes sideways.

A shriek of pain in his skull, Jesse drops the cigarette from his lips as he lurches forward, the cherry burning a hole in the upholstry between his legs. Jesse's skull hammers with pain, with light, with an echoing scream and flashes of imagery, urgent and too bright, too quick to immediately understand. It seems to last an eternity, though only manages to last a handful of seconds before the chain-smoking, car-thieving preacher throws himself back against his seat, breathing hard. Shaking.

Gen didn't have a soft touch when She really wanted something.

"Shit!" Jesse pats out the still burning cigarette between his legs. Pointed in the direction to go and a persistent ache that told him 'You /better/!'

Logan had been fishing, bundled up against the cold, his jacket pulled tight against him, fleece and leather only barely cutting through the icy grip around him. He wears a stocking cap in which he's managed to stuff his unruly hair, black leather gloves and boots thick-soled enough to handle bad terrain. It's easy enough to cut through the ice on the lake with adamantium and he was planning on a quiet night with fresh trout and the only warmth coming from the whiskey in his gut.

That strange scent on the wind? Yeah, Logan gets it, too, along with a few shadows getting longer than shadows oughtta be. Is he called? Well, there are calls and there are calls. But he's never been one to shy away from helpin' out a damsel in distress, even if the faint sound he hears is a lot farther away than just the next county. A few steps into the trees and he knows he ain't in Westchester anymore. That's just fine by him. He never minded a bit of undiscovered country.

Somewhere, some place, a faerie screams a wish. The universe has a funny way of answering.

Patagonia. Knife dripping ichor in clenched fist, a young woman rises from her wary crouch. Black-clad figures ring her in a dim, bloody hallway. The one at her back closes in, fool that he is, for the witch spins on her heel to block his sweeping punch intended for the back of her neck. Brimstone cloys the air, sickeningly thick, mixing with hot copper and the burnt damask rose resin of her spell-shield. His wrist caught and pushed high, the woman wastes no time to step in and twist the assailant's limb anticlockwise until sinews and joints scream their protest to uncaring ears. When he's reeling, the other cultists close in unison, but an elbow to the jaw removes her current problem. Now for the other five…

Rising amaranth flooding over her usually amber gaze is sufficient warning for anyone she is unnatural, especially when the burning rune on her wrist comes to life in a furious glow. Bad odds. Bad odds and Wanda Maximoff knows it. Her cold expression settles, and the cloven hooves strike a tattoo as the next two launch at her. The firefly sparks circling around her boots flash off her leather coat and black oiled corset, of a totally different variety than her own spell.

"«No! I have — »" Futile protest. She drops straight through the portal that winks shut, leaving behind the Sons of Aglair'shht very unhappy indeed.

'Don't look back.'

One shoe on and the other left behind in the hands of a potential love. Feet beating against the earth, cut against idle rocks, sticks that were upright and whatever else laid upon the earth during her rush. There were the screams, it was clear that her Godmother went first. She even caught the first few flashes of her light dying out by the loud *thud* of bodyparts that litter the scene. With a hop, the glass slipper comes off. Her hand lifts and the tiara is snatched from her hands. She was nothing like her Godmother but she had read books. She had seen the magnificent.

The squelches and screams of the rodents who escorted her, who lived with her were next. The thundering boom of something roaring, snuffing those friends of hers out of existence allowed a near yelped cry from her throat. Tears were already streaming from her face, she could feel the magic crumbling from her body. A trail of thin, light blue dust leaves a path that whatever that thing was would follow.

But what she gathers within her hands remain, cupped and held, her head ducking down to miss a fallen branch as it seems.. it seems that the world was on fire all around her. All around her..

"By the gods of all.. someone help!" She screams out, her hands mashing the dust into her mouth, the magic poured into her voice as she wills for a place of freedom. And there is a chance that she may or may not find any..

The world itself melts away, first into a bright flash of light in which she runs through, and into a thing of darkness.. spat right out to the woods of Westchester.

Circa 1964.

There's the sound of a cry and that scent on the air keeps pulling him, into the woods, through the woods. He's vaguely aware that JP is behind him, trying to keep up, but he doesn't slow as they dart around trees and over the small stream and further, further, until he almost crashes into the running woman. He comes to a halt and almost goes tail over snout in an attempt to stop, likely with JP hot on his trail. Severin gives the woman some space, letting JP be the one to speak for them both when he eventually catches up. Silly people running on two legs.

Brightwind's flight is brisk and dizzying, but instead of heading into deeper places, he takes a more familiar path. Dani frowns, hunkering down over his neck, recognizing the area. Sooner than they've done before, they begin to descend over the trees. "Where.. Ack! Watch it!" Or through the trees. Whatever. Brightwind barely slows down, shifting from flight to gallop with practiced ease, wings tucking back to his flanks. Danielle can't tell where he's going, or how he knows, but he's agitated, and she's on for the ride. Up ahead, a flash of light pierces the darkness of the woods, then fades. Her hand grips the handle of one of her favorite hatchets, and as soon as Brightwind draws up short, she leaps off his back, hatchet drawn and eyes searching the shadows. "Hello..? Who's out there?" she calls.

JP grew up weened off Nature's teet and honestly was happier running through more familiar, if not less spongey, terrain. He called back to Dani hearing someone who didn't sound hostile, "Here!" yes he almost tripped over his wolf brother, Severin, but somehow stopped with a short windmil of arms crouching down. He called out, "Help here?" Quieter he looked to the woman… maybe having a bad trip he didn't know, eating blue shit off the ground. "Wooooah slow down there, chere, is fine. This wolf don' bite. What happen'?" The other hand stayed on his knife though. One thing he wasn't keen on was someone coming and messin up a woman in teh woods. He had sisters, and he didn't like stories that started out that way much, though the knife stayed folded for now.

"That's a red light. You ain't gonna bail us out if we get caught. /Fine/." Jesse argues with, well, himself, when the pounding gets more urgent in his head while he sits at a stoplight in the middle of nowhere, forest country. Grunting, rubber burns as Jesse speeds through the red light and toward the edge of the wood, leaving the stolen car behind so he can trudge into it. "What the hell am Ah, an eagle scout?"

He starts out at a walk, stubborn, but eventually the preacher breaks into a trot while he weaves through. Cussing when he steps into a spongey piece of semi-frozen ground, soaking into his sock instantly and whicking up his pant leg.


Jesse hears voices. Heading in the direction of JP, Severin and Dani. What the /hell/? Strolling cautiously, the preacher squints.

Logan hears that he's not the only one in the area, slowing his approach and hanging back just a bit to get the lay of the land. He inhales deeply, letting the scents of the others touch his nostrils. No one he knows, but he doesn't exactly keep a running roster of who hangs around the joint. If they're hostiles, well, ain't nobody more hostile than Wolverine.

Oh, and there's a flying horse. Because of course there is.

Logan takes a long drag on his cheroot and shakes his head, "We really gotta put a fence up."

Gravity seizes Wanda and drops her into the damp needles of the mixed forest. Momentum punches her forward into a roll, her burgundy jacket repelling most of the moist soil from clinging. Hastily she slides the knife back into her boot-sheath and brushes off leaf-litter, perfunctory habit stripping the unwanted ghillie suit. Fading sparks collapse behind her, infernal powers banished in their Argentinian office building. Breathing out deeply only centers her. The witch's arcane senses are wide open to the broad spectrum, and the burst of magic pulls her in the way a magnet does iron filings. If only this magnet were not electrically powered to haul vehicles, and she's a pure iron ingot. Is that a flying horse?

She hastily shoves a mouthful of golden dust into her mouth, the packet slid back into an inner coat pocket. Crumbled honeycomb melts into nothing on her tongue, an energetic kick for the system. Slipping through the undergrowth, she proceeds on foot through the forest at a fraction of her twin brother's speed. For the better, no one needs fresh relandscaping in the woods. She might be spotted or heard coming on the path mostly taken by the Cinderella debutante.

The surroundings weren't familiar at all. Different sounds, different smells. There was no longer the lights in the distance that illuminated the castle grounds she once were upon, only something faint in the distance. Another light. Dimmer. Could she run towards that? No. Get father away. Farther and faster away.

Clad only in her slip now, and yet, she bleeds magic. Magic ingested within her belly that seeps down to her very bones, propelling her by sheer force of her own will to move faster. And if that magic allowed her to see all that was coming her way, she didn't think of it, for Severin was the first she came into contact with which cut her off at the knees to send her tumbling.

But not far.

The accidental drop to the ground had her skidding, a quick roll as if she were lit on fire and a dart upright, stick in her hand ready to beat and whip the wolf into submittion for she will not be eaten this day!

And there was JP. Cinderella was bewildered, her hand, shaky as it was, pointing towards the wolf, his ease of words doing nothing to clear her conscience. And then, a woman? More and more of them were gathered, and quietly she understands. They were here to save her. But no, she needed to save them. They were all in grave danger.

"No no no! No no no no no, somethings after me! Someones after me! It killed my Godmother and all my friends.." She was near to sobs, frantic and delirious.. "We have to run! We have.. we have to get away.. its still coming! I can feel it! IT.. it.."


The man stands at the edge of the last footprints that carried his prey's form. His hand reaching out into the darkness, drawing back so that fingers could be licked again to test the air. His shoulders move, the weight of the demons that he carries on his back, a few of them slithering along his skin until the drawn on Dragon itself peeks it's red eyes through the shirt that was cut above the elbows. "I know." He said quietly, his fingers soon rubbing together as he draws his satchel in front of him, covered in blood with the axe upon his back, fingers digging to gather the last few vestiages of magic that he had torn from the bodies of the faithful and hopeful.

"Part the way. And we shall see this done."

A hiss, a slithering, one would consider him a beastmaster but it was only the dragon that he controlled. And it was not an actual dragon, he was an embodiment of magic burned upon himself when he took up the task to kill them all. Blame the troll beneath the bridge, who took his story too far. The troll who was not designated to move to let the keepers of imagination past. The troll who tore his wife apart while he watched and begged for death himself, and would find no release from that certain coil.

To go on working, is what he was told, before he felt the thin neck within his grasp crunch and crack, to stare into the grey eyes that suddenly began to bleed as the old one gasped for air. He would see them all -gone-.


For it was true to form, the dragon, mystical thing that he was parts the way, a tear within the air not far from where those gathered looks as if a crack was upon a wall. Splitting, shaking the earth, pouring the fantastical things through that should not be in New York all together. But they were coming. And running.

Upon the Fable Killers side, he walked the path that Cinderella walked. First into a bright light. Then to darkness.. soon to reach the other side…

|ROLL| Severin +rolls 1d50 for: 5

|ROLL| JP +rolls 1d50 for: 26

|ROLL| JP +rolls 1d20 for: 3

When the woman comes up swinging, Severin backs off a bit, somewhere behind JP, nudging him forward. No offense bro, but she's less likely to stick you in the face. And then there's a tear in reality and that can't possibly be good. The wolf snarls and grabs JP by the pants leg, gently, and tugs him in the direction of that tear. Is he seeing what Severin is seeing?

Danielle doesn't leap to the distressed woman's aid, sorry. Instead, she takes the warning at face value. The hatchet in her hand slides smoothly back into a loop on her belt, and she pulls her bow from her back, nocking an arrow in the process. "Alright. Whatever 'it' is, it's not going to get you. Or any of us, okay?" She puts her back to the girl, the dude, and the.. is that a wolf? She shoots Severin a bemused glance, until her winged horse's whicker pulls her attention back to the tear opening up. "Brightwind, the girl!" At least until they know what or who might be coming through that rip. The horse agreeably clops over and positions himself in a 'guard' stance, more or less directly above Ms. Ella. And totally doesn't whufflemunch on her hair at all, when anyone's looking.

JP was being tugged with teeth by the pantleg and were it not his brother doing this he might take that as some sort of strange offer to get dinner. A hand waved back at Severin and rolled of in their mother tongue «Sev, knock it off. She's kinda hot». Yeah he wasn't likely to get stabbed in the face by Cindy' here. Still ahand went out to her to help her fancy ass up out of the dirt. "Ain' no thing, chere. Like this' lady say? Today ain' goin' be their day. Stick wit' us." He looked back to Severin and then up at the rift and murmured, "Merde."

Flying horse. Dude with a dog. Ladies falling out of the sky and cramming gold…stuff in her mouth. Sure. Why not? Jesse's jadedness wins out over his sense of human awe as he walks into the clearing of souls around the frantic young woman with the stick, in her underwear. "Ah'd like t'say this is the strangest camp out Ah've ever come onto," Jesse ambles up, his voice clear and calm, all in black, trimmed in silver with his clergy collar and all. You're a long way from church, preacher man. "But Ah'd be lyin'." He jerks his head back the way he came. "Maybe we get her outta here? Ma'am with the, uh, flyin'…yeah."

Logan steps forward a bit, clearing the trees and putting himself amongs the rest of them. He rolls his neck, adamantium-laced vertebra popping against one another for a moment. If he were a shotgun, that was Logan pumping a shell into the chamber.

"Fought plenty o' its in my time, darlin', ain't found a one yet could measure up to the ol' canucklehead. Seems like the some o' these folks of a mind t'fight, same as me. Best the delicate types get clear before the blood starts flowin', cause pretty girl got a point: something's comin', somethin' that smells like gator an' fire an' hell's own shit pourin' down the pipe. An' I get a feelin' it ain't comin' to ask fer a dance."


A rip in reality settles like a slap in Wanda's face. Her better half deals with such troubles frequently; her reaction is customarily dour. A draconic tang rippling over her narrowing Sight and she hones on that weakening, a foul stain on reality. A brief nod to Danielle, stranger that she is, almost says hello. Logan at least is a known, changing none of the tension taut in her posture. She'll stand behind them, at least.

"Get her out." Flat, Slavic tones make the warning a direct rather than a question. She snatches one of the charms from her belt, a spiral shell token, and through her fingerless gloves a roseate band melts out of concealment. Any time for subtlety is gone, too many things falling through. One line sketches through the air and out of nothing, searing ruby illumination blazes into existence. Downward facing triangles overlap in rapid time when she starts to cast, radiant mudras with a decidedly Buddhist slant imposing order on the fracturing in reality.

TL;DR: The Sorcerer Supreme's fiancee starts to sew up the wound and harden creation against being burst open like an overripe melon.


That loud sound was the end all to be all. The sounds were nearly amplified as they come through the portal. Fighting against the magic that pulls them in like a succor, and the one that fights to keep them in from the outside. Wanda's magic was working at a good pace, and while the Vanguard stands at the ready for the attack, Logan's nose did not miss the mark but he missed a-fucking-lot!

A dwarf tumbles out with a flash of light, sneezing and scrambling upon the ground, stopping onlyy to look up towards the gathered heroes with big eyes and.. a scream. A scream that sounded as if he were a little girl who had just gotten a pony, but yet that said pony reached down to eat up her favorite toy.

A scream that was mixed with sneezing, scrambling of stubby feet, and a get the hell out of dodge towards Logan's cabin!

A fable escaped!

And that's not all. For the sound that follows after was thunderous, thunderous which stops mid-thump and soon, another flash of light. A rabbit, with all too big of feet comes tumbling out into a tucked roll and a run… and in the distance.. one could almost hear the sound..


There were many more like this that force Wanda to keep working. All of the familiarity was there, for they were the good souls of that portal. None of them stopped to swing a whip, brandish a knife, or threaten harm. As soon as they touched ground they kept running and wondered why those idiots stood there as if they were waiting for dinner and just what 'lands' they came from!

Birds flew from the top of the rip, their sing-song chirps cry a tale of fright. Cinderella sees this all, horrified, even at the ones that protect her so, she gets the need to run. Right? The woman, the magic woman said to get her out. And by gods, the horse that willingly guards her will be her noble steed for this day!

Cinderella knew how to ride a mare, if she were presented with a camel she'd learn to settle betwixt the humps to ride to salvation. But, sparing no modesty to the way she climbs she gathers the mane within her fingertips and reaches up, preparing.

"Fare the well, noble warriors! I shall return with the Kings guard!"

And it's really too bad, the King's guard is probably in England and she's a very large ocean away from completing that goal. What she didn't know, wouldn't hurt her. With a smack to the flank of the horse, it takes off like the wind. Hooves clacking upon the ground as she crouches low.. "HIYAH!" (Grab the reigns lady, eesh!)

The portal was closing fast, many of the fabled creatures and people were still spilling out, nearly creating a bottleneck within the hole. There was a roar upon the other side, followed by an axe, followed by a blast of lava-like fire to try to burn those who had gotten into the way.

|ROLL| Severin +rolls 1d20 for: 15

Women and dwarves and, hey wait, is that a rabbit? Severin's nose and head turn in the direction of the rabbit with big feet that comes rolling out and takes off. It is by sheer force of will that Severin does not take off after that rabbit on pure reflex alone. But then there's more tumbling out of the portal and Cinderella is taking off on Danielle's ride. He's too curious to depart though as he watches Wanda's work on the portal. Convinced that JP is looking at what he's looking at, he lets go of his brother's pants.

Had that first dwarf been Nidavellir-born, Danielle might have buried an arrow in his face. But a more .. Disney-ish dwarf is not what she expected. Nor is the tumbling cascade of fleeing .. creatures rushing from their realm into this one. "I feel like I should say something clever right about now," she mutters. But she's an empath, and there's no mistaking the raw fear on all those adorable faces. "Alright then. Br—" She hears hooves, then wings, and senses a half-guilty apology, but… One fewer innocent underfoot can only be a good thing. Brightwind rushes through the trees until he has enough space to take to the skies, heading like an equine dart towards the nearest 'safe mansion-shaped school' he knows. Dani, for her part, barely manages to tuck and tumble out of the way of the burst of fire as it rushes through, and launches an arrow through the tear when she finds her feet again. "I think we're out of the friendly faces."

JP WAS lookin at what Severin was lookin at and that was the lady (also the rift). Gearhead peered at Dani like you unbelievable cockblock. Still he sighed and begrudgingly let the woman flee to safety and miss out on the fun. Reckon she didn't have a phone number either. Man, a guy can't catch a break anymore. Still things were comin through the rift and there was a promise for a fight. No one ever said the boy had a lick of common sense but he made up for it in savvy and gusto. The switchblade came out and really in the more wooded area he was dead in the water where his other skills were concerned. He paid that no mind and turned to catch up to Logan and Severin, but had to agree with Dani, "Hope so." Weird thing to hope for, but hey, CInderella's phone number was now a no-go.

Jesse rushes his steps off to one side while the tear in reality seems to gush with scrambling, confused, terrified creatures and people who look at /them/ like they're the crazy ones. An axe, fire and lava spews on their heels. The chaos moves him toward inaction only because, well, he's not going to sew up a hole in reality now is he? "Git a move on! Git!" He encourages the—holy shit was that a dwarf or a midget in funny clothes? Well, he encourages folks onward as the young lady gets off on a flying horse. Hey, what a way to go.

But they still had to deal with whatever axe-weilding, fire spewing asshole was on the other side. Jesse's got no sword for this fairy tale, but pulls out his .45 casually from under his jacket and waits off to the side, quiet for the moment.

Logan has fought with a few swords in his time, but the claws have always done him plenty fine. He watches the cavalcade of fairy fellas go by, throwing a kick at a dwarf when it heads towards his cabin, "Hey, you stay outta that place! If any o' my beer goes missin', I'm gonna make a rucksack outta yer hide!" he shouts after him.

Still, he can smell the stink from the portal growing worse, even as the Witch starts to stitch it up. He crouches, his meaty thighs braced as he lays his forearms across his knees, gleaming claws criss-crossed in front of him. His lips pull back from his teeth, half-snarl, half-grin. Death was coming through the rift between worlds and he was more than happy to kick its face in. "C'mon, ya stinky bastard!" he laughs, prepared to leap and strike the second something comes into view.

Stories told in Disney fashion are lost on Wanda, the product of a far older culture more inclined to speak about gnashing teeth, severed limbs, and outstanding acts of trickery. Blame it on her guardians. Chthonic cultists and Atlantean witches do not make good role models. At most she can sidestep twittering birds and twitter-pated dwarves, upset rabbits and upended foxes. Concentration keeps her caught in a war against the dragon-sporting arsehat on the other side, and let's be fair, she constitutes the lesser of many evils to focus on.

That's an axe. Well, no more nice Missus Doctor-to-be. The fiery rift bubbles and glows under raspberry syrup light bleeding through it, the witch flicking her fingers in sharp, precise gestures. She uses the heat to cauterize the weaknesses how and where she can, far less precise a surgeon than Mister Doctor. A sudden twist of her wrist alters the yantras visibly suspended in the air, four round sigils rotating back on one another into an overlap. Brighter blood-purple radiance kicks up around her. Oops, floating. "It comes out, kill it."

|ROLL| JP +rolls 1d20 for: 14

There was a sense of calm as the horse flies over the forest. She could see the firelight from below, and a new mansion that was readily to be her home. The lights were on, the front door was open, and there was something or someone standing there.. waiting.

Cinderella 'oofs' loudly as the horse lands easily, taking a few trots forward which allow her to drop down upon the ground, racing up the steps, frantic as one would do, her hands reaching out immediately to grab the little girl with wings who, admittedly was up too late and not being watched.

"You have to send help! There are people in the woods! Something's coming! He's going to kill us all!" She nearly screams at the girl, shaking her by the shoulders.

But Little Susie looks a bit non-plussed, her chocolatey face all wrinkled now, the popcicle she had within her hands already melting due to the heat from the mansion in which she hoped to save by standing in the door. "Oh hey!" The little girl finally perks up. "I know you! You're my dolly!"

Which.. unfortunately sealed the fate for the princess. For as soon as the little winged girl fans her appendages, glitter flies in the face of the woman and…

IN THE WOODS: The portal was fast closing up, but the way was cleared and dripping hot lava due to the dragon upon the other side. This gives light to what was inside, scores and scorches of whatever could have been, which will never now be, and the figure of the man standing within the darkness as he looks on with a calm air.

His eyes were a faint glow of red, though he himself is shrouded by mist, the dragon winds and rolls around him, coiling back to its tether, its maw opening wide to snap out and…


The portal closes.

Granted, it was anti-climatic at best, but what the hell do people expect?! This was not going to be solved in a day!

But sadly enough, Cinderella has gone missing, a few fables escaped into the land of the real.. and there was a certain disconnect that hung within the air of something.. but what? Quite possibly it was the sound of something whipping through the air, bounced back by a magical barrier that sought to protect the princess from her bloody fate. And that enchanted axe?

It's headed right towards them!

Severin looks as visibly relieved as a wolf can look when that portal closes, through the magic enchanged axe was a problem, a problem that he had no intention of standing in front of, and so he grabs JP once more to haul him back and out of the way of any incoming weaponry-like projectiles, whether his brother likes it or not. *DRAG DRAG DRAG* He has one concern, and that's making sure that neither he nor JP lose any parts they might be wanting use of later.

Danielle is quite familiar with, and comfortable in, the role of 'Protect The Mage While Mage-y Things Are Done', and she holds her position in front of the portal. Bow drawn, a second arrow ready to fly, just in case. Then the portal is schlooping shut again, and the crisis is over. The tension eases from her bow, and she starts to exhale, only to grunt and drop the bow, as both hands snap up to grab at that flying axe. "Oh no you don't," she grimaces and does her best to wedge the business end of the axe safely in the ground. Slowly, she exhales and eyes the motley crew of impromptu defense. "Everyone okay? Hey, you want something bigger than that blade?" She gestures JP-wards, then axe-wards, in an unsubtle 'I don't want it' sort of manner.

JP wanted to make use of all his parts later! In fact the boy was a real huge fan of having all of his extremeties in tact, in contrast to his life choices sometimes. That said sometimes life's a real bite in teh ass, and sometimes that wolf, and that wolf is your brother that doesn't want you eaten. A hand went to the wolf's neck giving him a pat a couple times. "Yeah, Sev, You's a good boy." Take that other doggos. It was Dani's voice that got him and ya know those eyes squint at the woman whose horse ran off with the gal he was chattin up but offered him … weaponry? A slow grin came to his face and he looked to Sev and to Dani folding his switchblade back down. "Yeah I do." A sauntered pace waded over and he picked up the axe like a familiar friend, though he wasn't plannin on choppin firewood with that thing. "Hot damn this is sharp. A'ight, we're good." The grin warmed to Dani with a wink looking at the axe and then that craziness down wind. Okay he was armed with more than a lobster sticker now.

Jesse peers into the void as that ominously man-shaped silhouette lingers in the doorway before it closes. Every hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he peers, concerned, but resolute.


The portal seals up, leaving no trace of the man-thing beyond it aside from the smell of burning in the forest where that fire/lava had belched its way through. Well. And that axe. An axe that he honestly has no control over, so good thing when the ladies turn attention on it. Jesse turns with a stiff pivot, weapon hanging close against his side in hand while he eyes the rest. "All raght, ma'am." He confirms, but his brows are pinched together none the less, bothered by the whole mess of what they just saw. "But there are a mess of things out here now that, I'm going to guess, don't belong here." Sweeping his attention over the other unknown souls. The guy with the knife-hands. A boy and his dog. Flying pocahauntas and… … Wanda. "Any clue what any of that was all about?"

Logan retracts his claws and straightens up, sighing a bit as he tries to settle down the adrenaline in his nerves. With the portal sealed up, the smell's gone, but his body still hasn't quite come down from the expectation of a fight. He shakes out his arms and paces back and forth for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Not exactly meditation, but close enough to take the edge off at least.

A fresh cigar doesn't hurt either. He strikes a match with his thumb, puffing for a moment to get it started, "Ain't got a damn clue what just happened, but I'm gettin' used to that. I was lookin' forward ta that scrap. I dunno what was on the other side o' that hole in the world, but I bet it could put up a hell of a fight," he says. "No alligator steaks fer me tonight. Guess I'll have to do with trout. Speakin' o' which, I better get back to checkin' my line…an' makin' sure that little fella ain't swipin' all my booze. Anybody wants a beer, feel free to swing on by the cabin over yonder," he says, gesturing towards his house, "I ain't got no oats fer the horse, but I might rustle up a sugarcube or two."

Gratitude will come afterwards, possibly while downing hot chocolate in abundance. Dani catching the axe means no one's burying the hatchet with the resident sorceress. She likes her skull intact, merci beaucoup. Wanda stumbles back when the portal snaps shut, reflexes eroded to immediate response. Equilibrium in magical energies toss her up six inches and back three feet by the time she lands, the audible crackle-snap of malleable reality incredibly odd. Imagine whistling arrows and onrushing trains run through a Mellotron. Her breathing comes in short, shallow gasps for a few cycles. No need for an inhaler, not really.

"Thank you." She might breathe easier by loosening the corset, but not a chance in a moment. The spiral charm goes back to her belt, blindly tied on, whilst the Maximoff takes quick stock of her surroundings. Notably the people, and the cigar. No, no stogey for her, but probably worthy of consideration. "Track the animals? They could be in trouble."


The man stands in the darkness, staring. The dragon snaps upon his tether with the need to break free, but was pulled back by the sheer force of will to his owner. He crawls upon the arm like pages soon littered with words; swirling up to the point where it's maw rests upon his neck. He rolls his head faintly, then reaches up with his other arm to draw the arrow free, blood smattering upon the.. darkness. Darkness like this does not have a floor, not one that they could readily see.

The curled fist that pulled something from its satchel was finally opened, a pair of eyes that were pulled from Ursula, stared back with anger, lively in life as she was in death. And enchanted. Still kicking. Eventually, that bitch will be useful soon enough.

"Yes. I will get it back." He says to no one in particular, finally turning to walk through the darkness, his hand lifting in a slight wave to tear open a portal to the world that he just exited, yet in a different place, same time.

In front of the Castle. Where the prince sat forlorn on the steps, until he wasn't there.

In fact, moments after the man landed in front of the castle, the doors were barred and itself was soon in flames, leaving only the sound of the people screaming to fill the night…


So yes. There were a ton of animals, dwarves, and whatever else that came out of that rift fearing for their lives. Animals that were enchanted, that could probably talk, that were probably the fastest around.. and yet…


"John? Did you brush your teeth?" The mother said.


"Pajamas on?"

"Yes." The boy said.

"Good boy!" The woman comes into the room, a smile upon her face as she leans against the door, her arms folded about her chest. "Now, shall I read a bedtime story?" She asks, wistful and hopeful, it was always her favorite time.

"No, mother. It's 9 o'clock. Please close my door."

"Wait.. what?"

"I said, please close my door. I need a full nights sleep…"

The expanse of landscape is a little awe-inspiring. An elegant arrangement of care and attention.
And right now, Lorraine can't see any of it.
Lorraine is looking out at the lakenot frozen, but the water is very coldand is lost in thought.
She had been brought here, unsteady, unsure, and aware that she has been…ALTERED in some fundamental way. She is also aware that someone meant to use her to hurt…maybe even kill.
And damn her eyes if she hadn't gotten close to succeeding last night.
She sits at the edge of the lake, legs bent, arms wrapped around her knees, the wings spreading out from her body, the wing-tips nearly touching in front of her. She had used the wrought-iron bench for about ten minutes or so.
And then she had melted right through it, landing on her fanny. Not very dignified.

Kwabena had been silent about Sage's decision to bring Lorraine back to the Institute. He was still the new guy around this place, as far as he's concerned, and regardless of the risks, truth was this might be the best place to take her. Upon return, the beleaguered African had gone straight to the kitchen. An entire chicken is now gone, along with a wheel of cheese and four baguettes.

That was just last night.

Emerging from the rear doors, Kwabena has another baguette tucked under arm, and perched upon his head is a plate with four apples cleverly balanced. He tends to dress a bit nicer around here, which probably has something to do with having close access to a number of replacement uniforms. The poor seamster/seamstress likely hates him by now. Dark brown slacks, a royal blue collared shirt, and a brown leather jacket are the ensemble, with a beanie to ward off the cold from his freshly-bald head.

Its hard to miss the new visitor. Reaching up, he snatches the plate from his head before it loses its balance, then moves over toward the slagged bench. "Don't worry. Lot of things get dahstroyed around here."

Scott Summers wears a dark turtleneck and pressed khakis, his eyes hidden behind his crimson-lensed glasses. He has a cup of coffee in hand as he gazes down at the lake and sees the unfamiliar figures outside.

A momentary motion and he's at the intercom, ringing up to Jean's office, "Miss Grey? If I could have your attention, there seem to be a few faces I haven't met. Reassure me that they're not in need of blasting, if you could?" he says.

Candle. Burning. Both ends. Perpetual motions with naps in between. Attending to the two mysterious mutants below, attending with the current class course (thank god for spring break), and just all around attending makes all work and no play some sort of.. insanity. With her own cup of coffee in front of her brought to her by a secretary, her arms folded across her chest, her head slowly lulling forward, the inter-com call causes a little snort and a jolt upright as her head twists back and forth from the sound.

Shaking her head briefly, she leans over to press the button and hold to open both lines of communication. "It's fine. For now. I suppose we should probably go down and vet whomever that is before we decide anything, yeah?" The vetting process is easy for some, brutal for others. Coffee was going to be needed. "Call Nurse Anne to make preparations. Meet me in the hallway, yeah?" She doesn't wait for an answer, her and Scott were cordial enough, but it was all business all the time.

The cup of coffee was gripped and sipped, her nose wrinkling from the chilled taste, which was soon rectified by a quick pucker of her lips, a blow upon the top of it, fire drawn and heated upon the surface as she snaps her head away to disconnect the flames. Not handy, but it works. The cup was swizzled and tasted, her eyes soon rolling as lips were smacked and coffee was tossed into the garbage (wrongly) and cup tossed to the floor. And.. to the door she went and out, waiting for Scott's arrival.

Lorraine looks up, and is almost startled by Kwabena's presence. "Oh! Oh…sorry, sir. I didn't hear you walk up." She sighs, then looks out at the lake.
"I don't know what's worse. Finding out I'm a walking, talking fusion reactor, or that I don't know how I'm going to talk to my father. He still thinks I've been kidnapped…"

"Ninja silence," Kwabena jests. "Is de secondary powah, next to de… weird, science shit." He stops nearby, looking around for a safe place to stow the plate of apples. One is kept for himself, and he bites into it hungrily. "De parent thing can be not easy," he agrees, before nodding his head to the plate of apples. "Hungry?"

Scott Summers joins Jean, but lets her take the lead. She was better at the interpersonal dealings than he was. "You know anything about this or are you as in the dark as I am?" he asks, walking in her wake with a measured step. He's not hostile, by any means, but he's on guard. Between the time portal in the danger room, the strange figure in Negasonic's vision and the stone man who nearly killed him a month ago, there are plenty of threats in the offing already.

Her hand waffles briefly as he asks his question. "Funny thing about Charles. He instills a sense of urgency when it comes to allowing people onto the grounds. When you were away, there was this thing with Logan's kid, so I decided in my infinite wisdom that I'd protect the perimeter with.." She lifts a hand to tap at her temple. "..just in case someone unfriendly comes along. Hence my sabbaticals. Can only concentrate on a -few- things for a while, but it's an always on thing." As she explains this, gesturing and the like, nods were gone out towards those who they pass into the hall and into the kitchen.

"..so I was telling Mr. Comstock that he really couldn't, and shouldn't do a dissection of live animals in the class to his biology students. Not to say that our students aren't tough, but why in the world would you do that to a cow?" To get coffee..

..And out the backdoor..

"I really don't know what's going on with this little epidemic though. There has got to be something with Jingim's power. Quite possibly with some pheromone that he emits. Don't get me wrong, he's a cute kid, but for Jaqueline and Stacy and Nicole to fall over that boy like he's a lump in the road is something else.. it almost puts me in the mind of..

And towards the lake..

"..once we get around to cleaning up the yard and mowing the grass I'm sure it'll look lovely for our botany students to take up residence. I was thinking of the gazebo being decorated by roses that I'll threaten everyone not to pick or else it'll be a level omega destructive world event by Nurse Anne and her belt." Nurse Anne loves roses.

But once they reach the clearing to spy Kwabena and Lorraine, Jean shifts her hands behind her back with a lift upon her toes and down, and clears her throat rather loudly.

"Hello! Long time no see, Kwabena Odame. Who is your friend?"

Someone just got mom'ed.

Lorraine jumps, the bonfire on her head masquerading as her hair flaring as her head turns, the wings spreading as she gets to her feet, her body turning as she rose to her full stature. All 5'7" of it. She looks at the guy with the eyewear, brows furrowing. Then the redehad appears, sounding very in-charge.
She looks to Kwabena, but her father has talked to her about speaking when no one has spoken to her first. She looks worried. Maybe it's the iron-bench she turned into modern art, or maybe the patch of lawn near the lake that has been scorched down to the soil.

A visible flinch precedes Kwabena taking a step back, and the apple in hand falls to the ground. "Whoa. Hey, if apples ah not yah thing, we can…" Wait, is that Jean's voice?

Visibly relaxing, the Ghanaian lowers his hands (when the hell did he raise them anyway?) and turns sideways, so that he can view both Jean, Scott, and Lorraine in turn. "Hello, Jean," he answers, and gives the man with her a curious look, before motioning toward Lorraine. "Dis is Lorraine, Lorraine Reilly." He then turns toward the fiery woman, lifting his hands up again. "I am Kwabena. You remembah, yes? We put all of de things back togedah. We stopped de terror." He's not about to fill the air with more words, not just yet. He knows, personally, just how volatile this situation could become, so rather than offering any sort of explanation, he simply tells Lorraine, "Is okay. Dey ah friends."

The jump was expected; not by the reading of the minds, but as Jean and Scott were, their footsteps were light and the conversation died out as soon as they reached the field of ears. It was a magnificent sight, one that puts her in the mind of Warren but with -much- more fire, and scorched ground beneath her feet. She wasn't amused, however. Keeping her face straight and near dead-pan to not provoke a negative reaction, yet keeping herself calm and relaxed and unmoving as well. Hell, by the way Kwabena was acting, she was definitely alarmed. But did not let that show.

"Hello Lorraine Reilly." Jean says, finally putting a smile upon her face. Taking a few steps forward to cross the distance, she gestures to herself. "I'm Jean, Jean Grey. Acting Headmistress of the school. This.." She gestures towards Scott for Kwabena and Lorraine's benefit.. "Is Scott Summers. I suppose you could consider him second in command until the Professor returns from his own personal sabbatical."

She doesn't approach any closer, not offering a hug nor a shake of her hand, but she down frown a little bit as she looks in between the two. "Do you forget much when your powers are activated, Miss Lorraine?"

Lorraine utters a shaky laugh, one just a few steps below hysterical, quickly controlled.
Wow. Just…wow.
"Miss Grey, my father is Senator Walter Reilly. Ten days ago, I was kidnapped, and subjected to torture and psychological agony my mind is doing me the GRACIOUS favor of not letting me remember. Then, last night, after I am re-conditioned to kill anyone in a costume…or a uniform…in ways I will not repeat because either you've recently eaten or you are ABOUT to…I was imprisoned inside a machine from Satan's workshop and bathed in radiation…and by that, I mean the kind of bath you would get at the bottom of Niagara Falls."
Her voice is calm, not really quiet, but she is not yelling, or making any threatening moves. She is using the same voice she used when she was debating for women's rights in the workplace in her speech class.
"And these…POWERS are the result of me apparently sucking every last atom of energy out of a nuclear reactor. I nearly KILL him…" she says, pointing to Kwabena, the wing swinging up as her arm does but hitting nothing this time. "…and Sage, bless her holy soul, helps me put my mind together again like Humpty Dumpty. So…seeing as I have possessed these POWERS for roughly ten hours, a certain amount of…inexperience can be expected…?"

"Jean," Kwabena starts to speak, but he cuts himself short when Lorraine speaks up. He never thought to connect the last name to that Senator… blame his ordeal in Africa and severe malnourishment. However, at the revelation his silver eyes go wide, and he finds himself momentarily speechless. "Dat… pretty much… sums it up," he offers, and looks between Lorraine and Jean for a moment.

His expression lingers on Jean afterward. "Sage suggested she come here. I did not argue. I could have put her up in apahtment, but…" He glances to the molten bench, the scorched ground, then back to Jean. No need to really expound on that one.

"I don't know who was responsahble," he tells Jean. "When we got in, dere were alarms, like de whole place was going into, what is de word… nucleah meltdown? Had to contain everything, get her out before de police came back and make mattah's worse."

He chews on his lip for a moment then, and looks toward Lorraine with an unspoken question in his eyes.


Scott, hearing the laugh, immediately wandered off towards the mansion to prep Nurse Anne as told, leaving Jean alone with the two and well.. the story was quite magnificent. Though it appears that she wasn't listening; moving towards the ruined bench to settle down upon the safe side, one leg crossing over the other as she takes up a lean that has her arms folding about her chest and her shoulders risen. Now she was at full attention, words replayed in slow motion, catching up to the quickened words of Lorraine which makes her brow raised. She was quiet. Did not interrupt. Occasionally watching Kwabena's demeanor and then a quick shift towards Lorraine.

One hand finally lifts and waves off the silence along with a shake of her head. "You're speaking like you're telling on yourself, it's -alright-. We're all friends here. I just wanted to know what happened, why you were here and.. apparently I got more than I bargained for." Her nose twists as she sniffs, then finally looks at the bench with a worried glance, then back towards the two. "Sage was wise in bringing you here, but not too wise to leave you outside. There's a cabin back that way. Granted you probably would have burned it to the ground but it's rustic enough to appreciate it and hold your powers at bay. Plus, it's cold out. You're going to get sick."

Though now, her hands were rubbing against her forehead, thinking this thing through, not thinking of the other heckling thing in her soul. The one that says to put her out and let her father deal with the mess.

"Don't worry about your father. I'll talk to him, yes? Invite him over for dinner or something, or out to dinner. But don't worry too much. In fact, don't worry at all." The temptation was there, really.. to make her not worry, but everything had to be as they let it. Or.. unless she was a threat.

"So, now that it's out the way. Twelve hours.." She bobs her head slightly. "I highly doubt you'd be able to kill Kwabena, probably the rest of us yes.. but.. before I even begin with blathering on about everything else.. how -are- you doing right now? Both of you."

Lorraine sighs, the hand lowering. "I'm wondering what's going to happen to me. I don't know if I'm going to be like this forever…and I'm afraid to find out. I don't know if telling my father will help or hurt. If word got out his daughter was some kind of superhuman, he's FINISHED. Politically FINISHED. He won't be able to breathe a word about mutant rights without getting accused of nepotism or conflicts of interest." She looks down. "And…as you can see, I barely know how to control this. I'm scared I'll…hurt someone again. I'm perfectly fine with never being invited to any public outings again, but my father is right about mutants not needing to BE controlled, but to LEARN control. And I don't know where to start."

With a long sigh, Kwabena reaches down to pick the discarded apple off the ground. He wipes it clean on his pant leg, then takes another bite of the juicy goodness. The sugar, the carbs, all very important right now. He doesn't quite understand why, but his body is screaming for it. Visibly relaxing, he motions toward the other apples and says, "Really, if you don't, I will eat dem all."

Another bite is taken, and he turns the apple around to inspect it for a moment. "Yeah… is all a shit show when it first happens, howevah it happens. You're lucky, in a way, to be here." He gestures around with his eyes. "Now. Not… years from now, aftah enduring God knows what."

Another bits and the apple is finished. He turns then to Jean, lifting his eyebrows at her question. "You remembah what happened with de boy from Iceland?" he asks, then gestures toward Lorraine. "Happened again. Someone… helped me control it, again, I think. It is difficult to remembah, just… dere was someone. What I do remembah is… burning. And now I feel I could eat a house." He shakes his head and looks away. "Is like in Africa. Burning." He says that in a cryptic manner, not intentionally, and for a moment seems disturbed by something.

Suddenly he collects himself and turns back to Lorraine. "You will learn to control it, especially if you stay here." He lifts the apple, fingers curled around it, and smirks in a manner that suggests he's drawing upon some deeply set anger. His hand crackles and transforms, a bit of popping and hissing as flesh becomes polished like unearthly rock. Then he hauls back and throws the apple core toward the lake. It soars higher and higher, at a speed no normal human could possibly attain, until the zenith brings gravity back into play. When it falls into the lake, it is barely visible, a small splash barely registering to normal eyes.

"Just… takes time. Practice."

Looking back, he studies Lorraine again, then looks to Jean. "We really should find her a change of clothes."

"Do you want to be like this forever?" Jean asks. "We can probably find a way to try to help change you back, but you have to settle with the reality that this has been in your blood all along and it was a catalyst that was waiting to happen." She shrugs at that. "As I said, let me worry about your father. But your place as his daughter is to be his daughter and not be his keeper, you understand?"

She stands then, giving herself a bit of a stretch, turning to look towards the bench, and turning to look at the two, and turning to look at the bench again. She turned into a full circle as she faces them, hands upon her hips, rocking from side to side. While Kwabena adds in his own wise words, there was a look there, one that causes her gaze to darken just a bit, then lighten again as if she didn't see anything at all.

"It appears that vetting isn't really necessary here. For now, at any rate. Twelve hours into your powers and I'd rather not put the world at risk." She smiles a little, then nods. "Right then. Marching orders." It takes not even a moment for her to think of what's right to do, but there was a little tapping of her lips.

"Before anything else, Nurse Anne needs to see you. Just a cursory look. Then she'll set you up with a shower and some fresh clothes and something to eat. Kwabena? Time to pull your weight. Her powers are similiar to yours in a sense of chaos. Help her learn to use them. Work with Sage if you have to. In the meanwhile, when you feel comfortable Lorraine? Call your father and make an appointment for us to meet." She turns then, still thinking, but taking her sweet time leaving the area. "Keep her at the lower levels for now until she gets a basic handle on things. She's not allowed to roam in public view as of now, but please encourage the more.. seasoned members of the school staff to visit her. Understood, Kwabena?"

Lorraine sighs heavily. "I just wish I wasn't burning everything around me…"

As she talks, the wings begin to flicker and suddenly fade out. In the virtual space Kwabena has seen in Lorraine's mind, she is turning down one untouched dial, the power level lowering.
"…because I'm really getting tired of how I can't seem to touch or get close to anything…"
Her skin loses its golden luster, the flaming hair seeming to subside and return to the natural burgundy red as her skin goes from gold to Caucasian pink. The costume itself begins to gradually lose cohesion, seeming to deteriorate…or would it be decay, for her?…drifting away like thistledown.
"…and i'd really like to…to…" She paused. She was feeling an odd draft.
She looked down to see two things had happened.
One, she had returned to her non-FireHawk form.
Two, she could see it all too well because she was only wearing what she came into this world with. Nice muscle tone.

"EEEEP!" she blurted out, diving behind the nearest hedge.

Looking toward Jean, Kwabena listens with a somber expression. He can see her point, in how their powers are both a physical manifestation of their own bodies. So, he nods his head, considering the gravity of the task she's laid out for him. "Alright," he answers. He… will save talk of Africa for another time. There are important things to discuss there, of course, but the situation in Africa is distant. Lorraine, however, is right here, and she needs their help.

He turns to look back to Lorraine when she speaks, and his brow furrows at her first sentiment. However, he's understandably distracted by the disappearance of her wings, and lifts his eyebrows in curiosity. That curiosity becomes a wide eyed stare, and well, the guy's a hot blooded young man. He looks her up and down, before coughing and remembering his manners. "Ah, uh, is…"

Were he any bit less dark toned, surely he'd be blushing.

Off comes the leather jacket, and he tosses it toward the hedge before turning to look past Jean toward the mansion proper. "Similah abilities," he quips. "Maybe is time we develop uniform dat won't make peopah naked." A beat. "I should… go fetch de nurse."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License