<hr/><em>Mark Milton, whose true super-power is Class 100 Aloofness</em><br/><hr/><br/>Mark had his neck slightly bent forward, reducing marginally the distance required to bring the frozen treat to his lips. Whereas the others were rather smitten with the real, living goddess, Mark was somewhat unflappable. He looked at the nordic blonde from the corner of his eyes, and wondered how best to react to her. On the one hand, her musculature seemed like it would render her attractive only to a subset of males, but the more typical feminine features seemed as though they would possess a much broader appeal. Mark tentatively decided to classify her under, 'golly, she's a looker!' It would have to do if it ever came up.<br/><br/><strong>"Oh, not to worry, chum. Who could blame you, with a looker like that? I sure could not!"</strong>Mark replied in the face of Gamoran's apology with friendly chipperness and good, down-home acceptance. He gave a light-hearted chuckle, and listened to Logan's . . . incident. He shook his head slightly, sooner than Gamoran did. Mark had heard the exchange between Logan and the girl, so far out of earshot, and had a good idea what was coming. And when it did, Mark found himself shaking his head because he was disappointed to be correct.<strong>"I am afraid I do not much understand that kind of macho-man stuff either, Gamoran."</strong><br/><br/>Mark looked up, unnecessarily, and looked over to where Logan stood with a group of young women. What he knew of humanity told him they were all rather stunning young women.<strong>"That is an interesting observation, chum. Do a bit of the old fisticuffs yourself?"</strong>Mark inquired coolly, more curious about the sound it had made when Logan had been punched in the face. A glance confirmed what his hearing led him to suspect: a skeleton laced with metal. Now that was a funny thing. The implications were many, but it was in itself not something that Mark considered outside the realm of possibility. His cursory knowledge of xenology and the existence of Stark tech really made grafting metal to a human skeleton fairly mundane; it was more a bit of wonder as to who was responsible.<br/><br/>Idly, Mark tapped his plastic spoon against the plastic cup containing the melting pink yoghurt, no longer frozen. He let the spoon rest in the cup and he smoothed a hand through his brown hair. Taking a glance upward, Mark looked for the first time at the SHIELD helicarrier, wondering if perhaps that the individual with the metal skeleton was one of their inserts. The sound of the ship's engines had been something he was aware of before the assembly when the craft was maneuvering into position, and its presence seemed to lend credence to the idea that Stark had been lying through her teeth about the school's proximity to Avengers' Tower.<strong>"Some humans, Gamoran, if you knock them down, kick them, and humiliate them . . . it just makes them hungry for revenge. And they will pursue that revenge, against all reason, and out of all proportion to the original slight. I would not be surprised if the quarterback tried something in the future."</strong><br/><br/>It did not go unnoticed how quickly Gamoran reacted to the violence, or the use of the word 'Terran.' But Mark made nothing of it. It would be just rude. His gaze shifted back over to the young women and Logan.<br/><br/><strong>"Would you like to go speak to the little group forming?"</strong>Mark asked neutrally, tilting his head in their direction.<strong>"They sure do seem like an interesting bunch."</strong>