19970/A-Bomb Party Patrol

A-Bomb Party Patrol
Date of Scene:	14 February 2025
Location:	Energetik Hall, Chernobyl
Synopsis:	The Nuclear Legion Hall 25th Anniversary Retreat in Chernobyl! The Presence, Starlight, Hazmat, Negative Man, Captain Atom, Doctor Phosphorous, and the Nuclear Family attend--with guest-appearances by Titano the Super-Ape, the dalmations from the Atomic Knights, and a werepanther named Felicia. Huh??
Cast of Characters:	Cliff Steele, Dr. Phosphorus, Larry Trainor, Rogue, Doreen Green
Tinyplot:	Threads

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Cliff Steele has posed:
Energetik Hall, Chernobyl.

THEN

It's been a long, strange trip for Larry Trainor to end up here.

The whole thing started when his fellow Doomie, the Cliffster, decided to stick his nose into Larry's romantic life--or lack thereof.

A plan was hatched between Cliff and Ted Kord for a meet-cute between Ronnie and Larry, and while there was no spark between them, the bumbling duo of matchmakers ignited a chain reaction that would circle the globe to Chernobyl.

Soon, both Larry and his recent squatter Doctor Phosphorous were delivered homemade invitations to the Nuclear Legion Annual Retreat via skull-masked goons, travel and accomodations paid upon RSVP.

When the day approached for the weekend summit, they were each tractor beamed up into a massive, glowing, skull-shaped saucer in the sky and, after a spin on the weirdest Gravitron of them all, delivered to Chernobyl alongside a cast of atomic outcasts so large that it hadn't been seen since the 60s.

Awaiting them were the Presence and Starlight, astride a dalmation of tremendous proportion, at least 6 and a half feet at the shoulder and weighing in half a ton, along with an ape that dwarfs them all, easily clearing 4 stories, with a friendly, chimp-like face and strangely green-glowing eyes.

NOW

A vast, open main hall with high ceilings and exposed wooden beams, illuminated by glass globules which hang from above. An abstract mural of workers at play has been partially restored on the back wall while, at the front, a raised stage is framed by heavy, velvet curtains in emerald, a podium with the Presence at the mic. A long, skirted, buffet table has been set out and members are taking their seats for the opening reception after settling in and freshening up. A boomerang-shaped bar has been moved from the lounge and a spotlight is on the stage.

Tap, tap, feedback. The Presence coughs, though he has no mouth. He throws his arms up and booms:

"Welcome to the 25th Annual Nuclear Legion Hall Retreat! Thanks for coming out this year, ladies and germs!"

The curtain shuffles behind Sergei, a muttered comment.

"What? I'm not shouting! Oh, all right. Well, anyway, first thing's first: we've got two very special guests joining us this year, Larry Trainor the Negative Man and Alexander Sartorius, aka Doctor Phosphorous! Give them a hand, everybody!"

"In fact, you two, get on up here and tell us a bit about yourselves!"

Dr. Phosphorus has posed:
Dr. Phosphorus shuffles up to the stage. He doesn't like attention... unless his actions demand it. He brushes at a name tag adhered to his left pec and it bursts into flam and falls off. The skull follows the flaming litter to the floor. Then he stamps it out.

"It's just Dr. Phosphorus, Sartorius died a long time ago. Former genius. Former crime lord. Former operative. I like pets and kids. I'm a great dancer. I melted a tank... but I can't talk about that. The Doom Patrol held out a hand to me. Mess with them and you're dead. Nice to meet you. Thanks."

Larry Trainor has posed:
Amidst the tepid applause, Larry Trainor manages to look uncomfortable despite his face being completely concealed. Swaddled in bandages like a mummy, he has already built a small fort out of the swizzle sticks provided with mixed drinks, despite not having consumed any beverages himself. As the crowd turns to him, he looks very much as if he'd rather slink downward in his chair until he was concealed by the table. But after a bit of insistence, he reluctantly stands up and breathes a heavy sigh.

Cautious steps lead him up behind the marginally more boisterous one, and he just kind of awkwardly stands there for a minute, looking out at the crowd of irradiated weirdos.

"And I'm Larry."

Turning, he walks back to his seat, hands in the pockets of his overcoat, head slunk slightly downward as he attempts to get back to his fort of drink stirrers before anyone cleans it up.

Rogue has posed:
Hazmat stands off in the crowd, her hands in her jumpsuit pockets. Her suit is pretty form fit on her teenage body, with the zipper zipped to mid-chest, and her blonde hair waving gently in the wind around her shoulders. She's chewing on some gum, smacking her lips, and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her suit has a protective hood, but it is laid down behind her shoulders, and her gloves are off, hanging over a belt around her trim waist.

"Booo." She dryly says, at the first moment of silence deep enough to let her random heckle carry across enough ears to make a good comedic impact.

When a few eyes look her way, she just flashes a big toothy smile.

Doreen Green has posed:
Of all the things the newest arrivals to the Nuclear Legion Retreat might not expect to see.... Well, that dalmation almost the size of a small thoroughbred is probably fairly high on such a list. The gorilla is less of an oddity, if one is into those sort of 'nuclear scare' and 'don't test weird science on animals' movies.
The other prominant thing they may not be expecting is to see an entire family, perfectly normal looking. When the concept of 'perfectly normal looking' one is going looks like it stepped fresh off the set of a family sitcom in the mid-60s.

"You're not shouting, rushkie," the middle-aged looking fellow seated at the end of one row responds to Presence with a good-natured ribbing tone to his voice, "Your voice is just naturally -bomb-bastic." Such a terrible joke can only come from someone going by 'Dad', as does the head of the Nuclear Family household. One look at him and one can tell this is meant to be a more casual event, as while he is dressed in nice white button-up shirt with slacks held by suspenders he's forgone the more formal suitcoat and tie for the time being. Instead idly putting a classic smoking pipe to his lips, which produces one of the few hints there is something more to the man when he puffs on it and the smoke has a faint greenish flicker to it.
Seated next to him is his lovely housewife Mom in her lovely housewife dress and apron, having just finished preparing much of the edibles that will be provided to the visitors before the grand beginning. In the seat next to her figits a young lad that could of easily stepped out of any Dennis the Menace serial. "A burning skeleton, neato!" he exclaims at seeing Phosphorus, and promptly gets shushed by Mom.
Sitting at Brat's feet is a scruffy mixed-unidentifiable-breeds Dog (normal sized this one) with the dogtag on his collar instead showing the classic 'atom' image, who barks at Phosphorus mentioning he likes pets.
To Brat's other side are the older siblings, Biff and Sis. As his name might suggest Biff is a strapping young man of the 50-60s high school jock type, while Sis is more demure in her puffy sleeved blouse and poodle skirt. Occasionally she blows a gum bubble, that like Dad's pipe smoke has a faint greenish hue to it, until it pops and she sucks it back into her mouth. "Wonderful, another bummer," she mutters at Larry's lackluster attitude.
"Don't be rude about the newcomers, dearie," Mom scolds in a firm but caring tone. Then shoots some side-eye glance in Hazmat's direction. Got to make sure that one doesn't rub off on the kids too much.
"Some people just take a bit more time to get comfortable and find themselves. Sure he'll have a bit more pep in his step later," Dad adds. And/or a few drinks later to get people to loosen up a little.

Cliff Steele has posed:
Although half of those assembled are unable to eat, a generous spread of shrimp cocktail, liver pate, and canapes has been laid out, and Sis is happily stirring up cosmic martinis, mai tais, and whiskey sours for those with mouths to drink. Titano the Super-Ape is enjoying himself, at least, tossing back hors d'oeuvres and cosmic martinis like they're going out of style. An enormous clap and screech of support for the newcomers.

When the bad doctor introduces himself, the Atomic Skull stands in support, clapping enthusiastically and whistling.

"Villain! Get it, son!"

The Presence steps back up to the mic, adjusting his elongated golden helm as he does so.

"Well, let's give a big round of applause to our special guests this year! And don't worry, you two--everybody feels awkward the first time they get up onto that stage. But I promise you, an inextinguishable flame shall be sparked tonight, an unbreakable bond of brotherhood--if you let it."

Polite claps and chuckles.

"I just want to take a moment to celebrate how far we've come. When Tania and I started homesteading here back in 95, the old Palace of Culture wasn't much to look at. And when we first organized the Legion, I'll be honest, it was for the wrong reasons--nuclear war, mass devastation, the culmination of east vs west. But that time has passed, and we're better people for it. Sure, we may play at heroes and villains out there, but in here? We've found real family."

A heckler, the Atomic Skull, boos from the crowd: "Bring it back! Bad guys for life!"

"Ahem. Yes, well, as I said, family--even our resident black sheep, Albie. But what we've built here is important--a chance to find purpose and kinship in a world where life is fleeting for most, especially in our company. Honestly, I look back at the last twenty five years as the happiest of my life, and I thank all of you for joining me on this journey. To the next 25--and beyond!"

A smoking tear emits from Plasmus's eye, and a hearty round of applause is joined.

Dr. Phosphorus has posed:
Dr. Phosphorus moves around the room. He doesn't need food, drink or even air. But the food does look good and the martinis are more than he can resist. Martini in hand he approaches the Atomic Skull. He holds out a hand, "Phosphorus. I'm a fan of your work. I'm putting something together. We should talk. This martini is great. Your friend Rita would like this, Larry." He toasts Mom. Winking at her, not that you could tell.

"Hey! How about some music? Let's liven this place up? Where's a boom box when you need one?" He casts about for a sound system.

Larry Trainor has posed:
Although he's ostensibly in a place where it would be safe for him to remove his bandages, it's probably telling that Larry has elected not to do so. For it is not merely the thought of killing everyone around him that causes him to keep himself wrapped up so tight. Seated between Hazmat and Captain Atom, he looks pretty self conscious. Perhaps if he'd been sitting between Atomic Skull and Doctor Phosphorus, he'd be a little less shy about revealing his horribly burned, completely bald, radioactive head.

But there is a certain comfort to the familiar, especially in a place so strange. And 'Mummy with Aviators' is a much better look than Fallout Ghoul.

"I didn't mean to come with that guy. He's an acquaintance from work, and I'm pretty sure he's the that made my orchids wilt..."

Captain Atom seems sympathetic. But it's clear that he has no idea just how much work is involved in caring for orchids. Larry decides not to tell him.

Rogue has posed:
Once the scent of the food hit Haz's nostrils, she was called to it like a moth to flame.

The blonde was bent over one of the table's, reaching for a morsil of delicious meat that sat on a tray just barely out of range. She grabbed the whole tray up, and leaned back, straightened up, and began to pop a hot wing in to her mouth. When she turned back around, wing sticking out of her lips, and a bit of glaze running down her chin, the radioactive bombshell just looked at everyone gathered up.

She pulled the wing from her lips, and dropped the bone on a plate beside her right hip. "this place is kind've a freak show..." She said, now sounding disinterested, as her eyes went back down to the plate of wings, and her right hand went to grab another honey spicy wing up.

"Who is the acts scheduled to play tonight?" Hazmat asked the nearest person, which seemed to be this Dr. Phospherous.

Doreen Green has posed:
For a moment Dad's attention drifts as he tries to recall the name Sartorius. It's probably in one or two of the scientific journals packed away in the room he shares with Mom, but he can't put a finger on any specifics. Attention comes back to the here and now as the whole family stands to politely applaud, while Dog does tail wags and a few more barks. "Ah, the Good Ol' Days. Not always our finest hours, but without those hijinx none of us would be here now would we. And it's you rascals," a gesture towards Atomic Skull (it's going to take some getting use to having to differentiate between skull heads for once), then over at Captain Atom, "That ensure the real heroes have their shining moments and influencing presence." He pauses to puff on his pipe a bit. "Just wish Sparky would take a few more notes in the department, maybe finally learn something."
"Oh, Dad, be nice. At least he's cute." But possibly flirting with Firestorm is going to have to wait as for now she's going to take up the bar so Dad can mingle.

Speaking of whom, he leans to the side to give Mom a light kiss on the cheek. "Time to do your thing, hon."
"Of course, dear," Mom reachs up to give his chin an affectionate rub, then turns and walks back over to the buffet table. While many of members of the Legion don't eat, or at least require doing so for actual nutrition, many still prefer going through the motions as the saying goes. A gesture to keep in touch with some semblance of 'human', and not go entirely out to crazy town. Mom picks up a tray of finger sandwhiches. Only for a large hairy hand to scoop them up entirely and stuff them in his mouth. This is followed by a stern finger wagging at Titano and being reminded to share properly, before she takes up a second and walks off to distribute to the gathered. Either missing or more likely ignoring Hazmat's lack of table manners because she's got more important hostess things to do.

"ON IT!" Biff yells back at the call for a boombox. And a few moments later walks back in with one of the classic devices. It's the real retro deal, taking cassettes and everything.

"Technology keeps marching on," Dad notes wistfully. " Use to have everything on vynil records back in the way, or listen to the good ol' squawkbox." Aka a radio, for you 'modern' people.

Cliff Steele has posed:
"Ha! I like the cut of your jib, Phosphorous! And you're more right than you know--that old life is behind us, friend, and we're the better for it."

Whiskey sour sip.

"Truth is, everyone here is going to live forever--though the younger and dumber may not know it yet, we're effectively immortal--something more than human morality can dictate. We're talking total freedom, man. Do your thing, fuck the consequences. You dig?"

In dark green suit with thin black tie clipped with gold, the man with the golden-glowing skull snaps in time with the music, his foot tapping out the rhythm.

"Groovy. You know, I heard good things about your run in Gotham. SKULL's been looking to expand into Atlantic City, but I'm hurting for good middle management. What I really need is a boss who's tough enough to muscle in on the Royal Flush Gang's action. You know anyone that could fit the bill?"

...

"You work with Doctor Phosphorous? I thought you were with the Doom Patrol. And, um, that's too bad. I've never really gardened much."

An awkward pause, canapes chewed, Tom Collins tasted.

"This is a weird place to bring it up but, uh, the Bureau's still around. They're looking to round up escapees, put all the old toys back in the box. They asked me, but..."

Captain Atom shrugs nomcomittally, lemon squirts a shrimp cocktail.

"Not my call. Hope not. How're you settling in?"

He leans in, conspiratorially.

"It's weird, right? I can't ever really get over it. But they're nice."

Dr. Phosphorus has posed:
Dr. Phosphorus excuses himself from the Skull and Hazmat to slip his own mix CD into the box. A Jazzy Latin instrumental begins playing (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPSsx0EvWl0). He stands motionless for a moment then dances.

Phos can dance! He's part Samba and part Vinnie Vega from Pulp Fiction. Yes a little Batusi throw in. The flaming deadly skeleton pushes past his pain and madness and taps a well of joy he almost forgot he was capable of. He returns to Hazmat and holds out a hand, intent on twirling her out onto the floor.

"You want to dance with the Devil, prom queen?"

Larry Trainor has posed:
"Huh. This is a pretty good one."

With a voice that's slightly muffled by his bandages, Larry expresses slight surprise at the music selection. His tastes tend to be fairly conservative by today's standards, given that he's nearly a hundred years old. But he has lived through a couple of especially interesting decades, and every now and then displays an interest in the eclectic.

It's not enough to tempt him to get up and dance, but at least he can appreciate the vibes.

Behind his aviators, he catches someone looking at him curiously. Pointedly, Larry looks away, and puts a bandaged hand up to the side of his face. But though he turns his entire body a few degrees away from the person who happened to look in his direction, he finds himself a few moments later turning his head, very briefly, to peek back in that direction.

And he's still being watched.

Larry looks away again. But perhaps even a mummy can blush.

Standing slowly, Larry looks for the exit, and makes a point not to look in one very specific direction. "Well... I guess I should be getting out of here. Can someone point me toward the..."

Before he can finish his sentence, his chest begins glowing with an eerie blue light. Before he has time to react, the blue light has erupted swiftly and forcefully from his chest. Before he can catch himself he has fallen backwards into his chair, where he remains slumped over as if dead. In his place, a being of pure energy floats in the air, and zips off to mingle.

Rogue has posed:
Hazmat was still working on a hot wing, when she looked to the others nearby. She popped the small bone from her lips, and dropped it on the plate with the other one. a napkin was used to dab her fingertips, before the blonde reached for one of the cocktails. She was sipping it with great relief when the skeletal Doctor had some music playing, and was soon offering a hand for her.

The blonde haired Asian girl just shot him a smile, and took his offered hand, along with her drink. "Lets see what you've got, Boner." She chided him, as she joined him in a dance that would assuredly be remembered, as much as the 3 Mile Island disaster. But in a good way, probably.

Doreen Green has posed:
There is a brief distortion in the music when Mom walks past the boombox, due to the minor EMP field that accompanies her even when not using her special ability. Which gets a brief embarassed expression from her as she quickens her step a bit to get out of it's range.

Dad taps out his pipe in the ashtray on the bar, leaving it there for the time being and collects a mint julep, taking a light sip. "Ah, that hits the spot. You've learned well, dear girl." "Thanks Dad." While he turns and wanders back into socializing with the others. A brief wrinkle to his expression as the Bureau of Normalcy is mentioned. "No surprise they're still active," he murmurs. "That's the thing with government organizations, they don't die, they just rebrand. Got to keep the conspiracies and propaganda machines rolling after all."

It takes a moment but Biff starts to tap a foot along with the music while Phosphorus dances and tries to get Hazmat to join him. "Groove tunes old man. Go get that fox!"

While both Mom and Dad just slowly turn their heads to PEER at Hazmat's choice in nicknames. Brat tries to stifle a snicker with a hand, because he's probably not suppose to know what that word means in that context, as young kids never are yet always do.

Then the real reason Larry was invited to the Legion Retreat makes it's presence known in Negative Man. "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle." Pause. "No offense, Titano." The super-ape grunts, none taken, and resumes munching on snacks. "But that there is something you don't see every day. Quite the bee's knees."

Mom walks over to where Larry's body slumped in the chair after being evacuated by the Negative Man. "Now now dear, I know you had a long trip to come here but you shouldn't slouch like that. It's terrible for your back." She grabs Larry by the arm pits to lift him up a bit and set him a bit more properly in the chair, and gives his bandaged form a light dusting off.

Cliff Steele has posed:
"Well, if it isn't the Americanski pig-dog himself, with the whole litter of little capitalists to boot! If Tania wasn't the love of my life, Dr. Shanner, I should think I would steal your sweet housewife away and liberate her through Marxist-Leninism!"

The Presence moves in for a round of shadow boxing with Dad, playfully ducking and weaving.

"Yes, yes! Like Rocky and Drago, except this time the hero wins!"

A laugh and a shared embrace.

"Comrade, these winters grow too long without your smiling faces. Tania and I miss you terribly. When will you finally come and settle permanently? The Legion could be a sanctuary year round for us all, a new society--a better one. Please, consider it, old friend."

Titano, a bit tipsy but satiated and quite jolly, has to hunch but manages to stand, eeking happily and stepping as carefully as he can.

"Whoa, big fella."

Captain Atom helps balance the tittering titan.

"C'mon, let's get you some air, big guy."

The Skull cuts in, looking miffed.

"Hey now, he's my ape, isn't he? And I say he can dance if he wants to!"

Dr. Phosphorus has posed:
Dr. Phosphorus says to Hazmat, "The ape really can't dance, but he does a great ventriloquist act with the Atomic Skull dummy. You're a fine dancer. What's your story? Good, bad, disinterested?" He spins Hazmat again. A few Krackles drift downward from him. Sweat from the living dead. He takes a deep breath and does a split, and gets stuck on the floor. "Son of a bitch!!" He rolls out of it and stands with a jerk. Sartorius laughs, then bows to Hazmat. "Thank you. I haven't danced in a long time. I expected to be told to get lost." Parvani. He danced with Parvani. But he pushes that thought away. Move forward.

Rogue has posed:
Hazmat was a Zoomer. Dr. Phospherus was dancing with a Zoomer.

What followed, was a blonde haired Asian girl, in an unusually tight fit yellow jumpsuit, with a hazardous materials hood on the back hanging behind her shoulders, doing all manner of suggestion twerk moves on the dance floor, and body gyrations that would get high views on tiktok and low frowns from parents when they found out what their children were viewing on Tiktok.

When she rose back up to meet the Doctor's 'eyes' she had a dopey smile on her face. "Lack of options!" She cheerily said back to him, as she continued to move in a completely disjointed dance style from that of the good Doctor before her.

More twerking, more hip movements that belonged on a OF website channel, and more giggling as she witnessed him do the splits.

"But, everyone here seems cool enough. I mean, for dorks..." She added, as she did a bubbly jumping manuever that had her hood bouncing around on the back of her shoulders, almost falling over her head again, before she spun around, and took a big sip of her drink, which had somehow not spilled even a drop!

Doreen Green has posed:
"Right back at you, you dirty Commie," Dad replies as he balls up his fists to mimic the same boxing gestures. The whole 'float like a butterfly and sting like a bee' shtick that one famous boxer used. "That Iron Curtain won't protect you from these knuckledusters!" A few jukes and feints, then a laugh as the two men embrace, and a pat to Presence's back as they seperate after. Just two older man having some jabs and wit over their differenting views while still being communial.

"Oh, the missus and I have considered it. But we're not quite ready to call it in for a happy retirement just yet. Wanderlust, American Dream and all that." Dad nods towards his family. "It's good for the kids to see the world while they're still young, you know."

It's hard to hear over the music and conversation, but some howling echos from outside. Dog hears it though, snarling then barking a few times, which gets Dad's attention. "Well, sounds like the neighbors are acting up. Those 'Chernobyl Wolves' the news talks about." It's the wildlife that's been slowly adapting to and repopulating the location, but Dad refers to the name like it's some greaser gang in the sitcom the Family lives in. He turns his attention to the youngest of the siblings. "Boy, why don't you take Dog out for a walk? Play Davy Crockett and scare them off. But don't hurt any of them." Don't want to undo Mother Nature's effort to accomidate the little atomic hideaway.

"Sure thing Dad!" Followed by what could quickly pass for a 'gearing up' montage as Brat grabs a slingshot, slaps a coonskin cap on his head, clips a leash onto Dog's collar, and then two bound off outside.

Larry Trainor has posed:
The Negative Spirit doesn't really speak to anyone. But occasionally it'll get really close and stare creepily. Or at least that's what it appears to be doing. As a ghost-like being made entirely of crackling energy, it's debatable whether the eyes that appear to be floating in roughly the spot they would be within a normal head have anything other than decorative value.

Back in his chair, Larry neither moves nor responds as he is pushed around ragdoll-like by Mom. It's true, he could probably use a good dusting, and spending so much time every day wrapped in bandages can't be good for one's personal odor. At the moment, he's merely an especially heavy, and especially floppy, mannequin in a chair.

The Negative Spirit, however, has begun to move its shoulders in time with the music, while hovering around the room.

But like its host, the Negative Spirit doesn't seem to really be able to dance, and it ends up at the snack table soon enough with all the other wallflowers. But while Larry doesn't eat at all, and the Negative Spirit doesn't really need to, it has a bit more curiosity than expected. Sticking its finger in the punch bowl, the Negative Spirit swirls the liquid around for a few moments, and then sticks it other finger into the middle of a cake. There's a flash, and both disappear.

Doreen Green has posed:
Yet Mom repositions Larry's body like it was more the doll and less the heavy, as some level of enhanced strength is a shared trait amongst the Nuclear Family. You wouldn't believe how much easier it makes homemaking, when you can lift the furniture with one hand while pushing the vaccum with the other.

Cliff Steele has posed:
Hmm. There does seem to be something of a ruckus outside. Those wolves have been joined by what appears to be the cry of a wildcat, some stray panther that wandered into the nearby amusement park.

"Felicia!"

The Skull looks afright, and Titano ooks nervously as the Dalmation joins in, hopping to his feet with a mighty bark.

"Quickly, Titano--to Fel-Fel!"

With a screech of assent, the enormous ape reaches down to scoop up his master and scooch down the main hall towards the front entrance, leaving partygoers scattered in their wake.

Outside, Brat and Dog witness a pack of mangy, growling wolves--nearly twice the size of the standard breed--circle a black panther beneath the parachute ride that Energetik Hall overlooks.

As the atomic ape and his master emerge, the Skull cries out once more: "We're coming, Felicia! Stay strong!"

Larry Trainor has posed:
While its host sleeps lazily in a relatively comfortable chair, The Negative Spirit zips upward and passes directly through the ceiling. Capable of moving at nearly inconceivable speeds, it flies on an intercept course with the commotion, and quickly arrives on the scene.

Back inside, Larry begins drooling into his bandages. No, he did not bring a fresh set to change into. Those shits are expensive. Hand made by a guy in a wheelchair who never comes home and has better things to do than spend all of his time making fresh bandages.

Still unspeaking, the Negative Spirit descends, putting itself between the wolves and the panther. Glowing furiously, and crackling with lightning-like jolts of energy barely contained within a more or less translucent body, it seems to be more curious than anything else, its head tilting a bit to the left as it observes the circling pattern of the wolves.

Doreen Green has posed:
Those wolves are a bit larger than expected. And have caught some kind of cat. The duo of boy and man's best friend duck down behind the remains of a ride. "Whoa. That pussycat is about to get pussy whipped." Brat once again proving to know words a kid of the age he appears to be shouldn't know the context of. Even Dog hunkers next to him an whines, as while having powers as well is much more family dog than attack animal. Those wolves are big enough to be very intimidating.

But then Biff strides out of the hall. He may be a bit of a jock and a meathead, but he's not without a heart and seeing how concerned Skull and Titano were got him a little worried too. "Don't freak out, squirt." Biff crackes the knuckles of one fist against the opposite palm. "Big bro's got these skuzzs bagged."

Biff charges up a thermal blast and, remembering what Dad said about scaring rather than hurting, fires it into the ground near the mutated wolves, causing a boom that's more extreme heat and noise than directly harming them to drive them away from the panther. "Hah! Let's see the hotshot do that!"

"That's wicked keen!" Brat cheers in adoring younger brother manner.

"It's nice to see the kids bonding," Dad comments after checking outside on the ruckus.

Rogue has posed:
With her dance partner having wandered off, Hazmat spun around to see him gone. She looked left, she looked right, and she huffed out a heavy sigh. Just as things got even more strange. Her drink was on her lips, and her eyes had shot open. She spit out a spray of martini, and used the back of her sleeve to wipe her mouth dry.

"What in the name of Communist Russia is this?!" She called out, as she turned to hustle her little booty back toward the table of food.

Dashing behind it, Hazmat moved toward a plate of chicken breasts, and snatched up a long handled fork. She speared one of them, and raised it up to throw it at the beasts. What followed was a a blonde haired Asian girl in a hazardous material jumpsuit too small for her, throwing chicken breasts, while beginning to giggle uncontrollably!

"You guys sure know how to throw a party!" She declared, as she launched another one, before pausing, and taking a bite from it. "Mmm, good glaze. Lemon chicken is the best."

Woosh! She lets it fly!

Cliff Steele has posed:
Bursting out amidst the ruckus at the top of the broad marble stairs of the Energetik Hall is what must be nearly a dozen Dalmation pups, yipping and tumbling playfully--though far larger than any should have the right to be, each 4' at the shoulder and weighing in at nearly 200 lbs. Along with is a concerned, full-sized mother, who does her best to herd them back inside.

Joining her in the effort is the Presence and Starlight, who look embarassed as they try to rein in the curious and excitable litter of dangerously large puppers.

The Presence cries out in mock frustration, "Agh, you naughty little doggies. You've gone and ruined the surprise, haven't you, hmm? Come here, come here, there's nothing to be frightened about, hmm? Just some nasty old wolves. We'll protect you, ya? But you must come inside. Quickly now, I have treats!"

Meanwhile, Titano is loping at full speed into Pripyat Park, crashing through the fencing, ooking terribly. Even these enormous wolves balk as the ape enters the fray, and one catches a green-glowing gaze that reduces the beast into a smoking skeleton.

"I'm here, Felicia! I'm here!"

The panther snarls and backs away from the Atomic Skull, who points a ray pistol in her direction.

"I'm sorry, okay? Just got caught up in the party!"

A golden beam fires at the panther, and she begins to change, mutate, grow--until a raven-haired beauty appears, doing her best Venus de Milo.

"I'm really getting tired of this, Albie. Is it so hard to set an alarm? Now hurry up, I need some clothes and a cigarette, stat."

Doreen Green has posed:
As the panther starts to transform into a very undressed woman Biff reachs down to push Brat's coonskin hat down over his eyes. "You're too young to see this, squirt!"

While Dad steps out and clasps him on the shoulder. "Excellent shooting, lad. One day you'll outdo your old man, but don't get cocky." Then glances up as there's more barking. "What are those commies trying to do, a Russian imitation of 101 Dalmations? Dog, go show the reds how a proper American breed herds."

Dog barks in responce and runs back to help the Ruskies with their spotty situation, evoking a yelp from Brat as he's pulled by the leash. "Hey, no fair! I'm suppose to be walking you!"

Mom would object to Hazmat wasting some of the food, but maybe something to eat will help encourage the wolves to leave?

Larry Trainor has posed:
The Negative Spirit seems to have roughly the same reaction that Brat does. But it's a fickle thing, and and constantly craves new stimuli. Perhaps it's the fear that it's missing something that causes it to head back inside to the party. Or perhaps it just misses Larry for some unexplained reason. Sometimes people like a guy who spends all day moping, who are we to judge?

As the Negative Spirit reenters Larry's body through his chest, Larry wakes with a start and a sudden inrush of breath. Looking around a bit frantically, he seems to be concerned about how long he's been out this time. But it's still the same party, and things look to be in basically the same state they were when he passed out.

Maybe nobody noticed?

Looking to his left, Larry is surprised to see the handsome man who was checking him out earlier, now sitting at his side with a smile on his face. Larry leans away, watching the man skeptically behind his mirrored glasses.

"Oh! You're awake."

"Mmhmm."

"Sorry to bother you, but your friend told me that you thought I was cute, but that you'd never introduce yourself if I didn't make the first move."

"Oh?"

"No, he didn't really say any of that. But he did put his finger in the punch bowl."

"Oh. I hate it when he does that."

"It's okay, nobody was really drinking it anyway. Too chunky."

Rogue has posed:
With the situation growing ever more dire (get it? wolves?) Hazmat reaches for the platter of wings. She was about to start hurling them too, but decided otherwise. "Time to go back to my room, I think..." She muttered to herself, as she picked up a number of cans of booze, and slipped them in to the pockets of her jumper.

With a wing in her mouth, the radioactive gal strode past Larry, paused, and eyed him. "Smooth moves, ya Ghoul. Let me know when you're gonna raid Vault 69. I'll bring the Dogmeat."

She smiled brightly, before her free hand tipped her hazardous material hood up over her head, once more looking like a gender swapped version of Marty McFly from that scene where he confronted his father as Darth Vader.

"Good party, ya'll. Let me know when ya get more hotties at the next one, and less Skinwalkers!" She called out from behind her mask, muffled and distorted through the modulator on the front of the mask.

Swish, swish, swish, the Asian rushed off, with her wings and several cans of frothy brew in her pockets.

Cliff Steele has posed:
"Gosh, Felicia, don't be sore. C'mon, let's get you to the saucer and into something comfortable. Besides, I was hoping I could introduce you around."

"After this? Are you kidding? I'm likely to die of embarassment, Albie."

Titano ooks with concern.

"Oh, don't you worry, fella. I just wasn't looking to meet your pals in my birthday suit, /Albie/."

Big though these wolves may be, an entire Nuclear Legion is perhaps too much trouble for what it's worth, and so they slink off with a snarl, unhappily leaving one of their own behind to the triumphants blurts of Titano as he gently cradles the strange couple of catwoman and skull-headed super scientist. They lope back into the square at the base of Energetik Hall, and disappear into the interior of the Skull Saucer.

At the top of the stairs, the mischevious band of gigantic dalmations is yipping and cavorting excitedly, spreading out across the hall and onto the dancefloor. One bursts between the Lar-Bear and his tastefully unnamed boo, barking playfully and slamming his paws expectantly on the lap of our own Negative Man, another barrels playfully into Hazmat's backside, trying to clamber onto the table to get some food. The chaos would be even more widespread were it not for the heroic efforts of Dog, who's more than happy to show these young whippersnappers a thing or two, and their protective and apologetic-looking parents.

The Presence, standing in the massive doorway, laughs heartily.

"Oh, my friends! You will have to excuse the mess! I'm afraid that my most recent experiment has been a handful, to say the least. Don't worry, they're as safe as can be--if, perhaps, a big larger than the standard issue, no? But they're 14 weeks now, and getting feisty. Please, during your stay this weekend, get to know them."

He pauses, as Starlight joins him. They smile at one another--or at least she does, hard to say with no mouth.

"I, well," he pauses to hold his wife's hand, "we had hoped that you would consider adoption. It is our gift to all of you, our beloved friends. We know it how lonely it can get for many of you and we hope that these feisty little bundles of joy will bring you some solace on those cold winter nights. To the Nuclear Legion!"

A general cheer.

"And with that, my Legionairres, a good night!"