The Sound and the Fury

[Manslaughter]

Manslaughter. The sound of his name almost being purred to him in a calm whisper breaks Roger's concentration, which already has been stretched taut by a string of connection. The boy's body stiffens all over, giving him an elegant poise of a creature that is ready any moment to pounce on its victim. He turns his head over his shoulder, getting only a glimpse of Primer's face. You’re doing well, but you need to hide from these people if you’re going to hurt them. If they see you they’ll try to stop you or take you back. Back. By now this has significantly caught his full attention, and the distant mental connection between his mind and Rogue's suddenly shatters, the steady pulse of pain staggering and halting like a shuddering heart before it dies completely--only a distant memory of the feeling of a lance through one's skull. He breaths deeply and exhales sharply, his mind reeling and his slender fingers clenching. They would never take him back. Ever. A dark look crosses his expression, one that tightens his face into clean-cut features, sharpening the angle of his face.

Just take a few steps back and stand behind a crowd. Then hurt the man on the stage more if you’d like. Roger only gives the slightest of grave nods, his lithe body almost at once pulling backwards into the squirming mass of people.

He draws backwards slowly, his heart racing loudly in his ears, almost covering the cries of protest and fear around him completely, only able to feel the pulse of panic and hear the word back, echoing in his head. Needles. Doctors. Nurses. Long.. white.. hallways... ceilings.. floors.. chairs.. beds..

Hey, Rog.

Heat swells close to his face, almost singing his skin, so close that it tinged his pale face pink with warmth. _{..white.. everything white..} Roger turns. The fire had only been a mass of colorless danger, without red.. orange.. purple..

Didn’t we have this discussion before? About what happens when you play with my toys? ..or yellow. Roger only cocks his head, his shoulders drooping and his eyebrows slowly rising ever-so slightly as he blinks--just staring. Pyro had come back.. but Roger wasn't going back. Never.. never..

"They're mine now..," the boy says at last, passive until he is slowly smiling in a dreamy way. Creed has been forgotten, Rogue as well, both free of Roger's torture--for now. Faintly, Roger wonders if John has touched fire--felt it, if he knows that playing with fire only gets him burned. Roger had touched a stove once.. not knowing any better until the cold in his fingers turned into the white-hot feeling of fire. Does John know that..?

Distracted no longer, his focus shifts, and Roger starts to remind John what fire really feels like.

[Jolt]

There are two of them. And while Roger is physically no danger, a mere featherweight with a mentality that outweighs his body, Will is another story.

Static has long since turned to jagged bolts of premature lightning that arc over the crowd omniously, a few singed by the splashes of sparks and electricity that ricochet from metal surfaces. Sweat rises from Will's pores as he throws his energy into a web of scattered of humans, the group disbanding further in fear as most of them escape unscathed. A few are not so lucky.

He feels hot, his insides feeling like they're singing to pieces, and his hands from the wrists down are chapped and the skin is splitting at his fingertips. Will remembers what this feels like.. he remembers this power. Panting and his muscles twitching, he swallows and growls in a gutteral way, reminded of every waking moment of hell by the banners that are waving in tatters. 'HUMANS RIGHTS'. Fuck them all.

In the crowd he can make out familiar faces. Pyro. Taskmaster. Fuckin' Buckethead's crew, without the bastard himself anywhere in sight. Will's brows furrow, hissing between his clenched teeth, knowing what it feels like to be left to die--twice. "Pawns first my ass,"[/color] he growls, almost spitting the word pawn out between his teeth. Pawns go first.. and then kings die. Fuckin' kings; it was time for them to step down.

Even if he had to kill them first.

Energy rises at his arms, thrumming to life in a louder hum than before. The bolt of electricity makes a ksshFOOM! sound, almost like thunder as it seemingly explodes from his person. Someone's shirt catches fire in the crowd from the heat of it..

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

Josh can tell that Storm’s busy tangling with the psycho with the katana on stage, because the wind has dropped back down, and the crowd’s mood appears to be turning for the worst again. No, this is not good! Part of him wants to stash Sofia somewhere safe, but he knows that the love of his life is tangled up in all of it, and there’s no time for anything, and Rogue’s… falling out of the sky? He breathes a sigh of relief as Warren angles in on her.

> “Warren said something about…using my wind to clear the air, right?”

Oh, right. She has no idea what’s going on. “Yeah… so there probably a mutant that’s causing all of this ruckus. We have a student at our school that can do something similar. She can use her body chemistry to affect others’ behavior. So if you can blow the chemicals away, people will stop trying to kill us.” At this, a crazed looking man emerges from the crowd and jumps at them. Josh catches him in a telekinetic grip halfway and catapults him back into the crowd.

> "I’ve got you. What’s the deal with that kid?"

“He was causing Creed to freak out before. He’s some kind of psychic, but doesn’t feel like a telepath. Be careful.” Josh shoves their way through the crowd, trying to take the majority of the pushing, rather than Sofia.

All of a sudden, their plans seem to fall apart all at once, with flames and electricity shooting off in the center of it all. Panicked, Josh shouts out Warren’s name and pushes faster towards the mayhem.

…John? It’s definitely John who’s shooting the fire, which makes Josh’s anxiety drop a few levels. Whatever John was doing here, it could only help. And some boy was tossing lightning like Emperor Palpatine. And the creepy boy was doing whatever it was he was doing - Josh assumed he’d used his powers against Rogue. They were still a short distance from the melee, but then again, his powers definitely worked at range.

“Take this, you little bastard.” Eyes flashing, Josh makes an abrupt gesture in Roger’s direction, intending to hurl him straight upward into the sky. “Hope you can fly.” He looks back at Sofia, embarrassed. “Um… excuse my language…”

“Are you guys okay?” Josh shouts over the noise of the crowd into his communicator.

[Warren Worthington III]

Rogue seems to recover from whatever it is that kid did to her almost immediately, so Warren lets her go almost as soon as he catches her, returning his attention to the crowd below.

Unsurprisingly, it has gotten completely out of hand, completely beyond even Warren’s ability to track. Lightning, artificial wind, and fireballs have joined garbage cans and beer-bottles in the list of projectiles being tossed around, and the prospect of diving into the middle of that crowd doesn’t appeal to him, but the truth is he’s not at all sure what to do next.

That’s when a scream of rage catches his attention, in a voice made somewhat familiar through careful analysis of speeches and news coverage, and it takes no more than a moment to spot Sean Garrison screeching like a banshee and dodging swinging fists in the mob. Oh, Lord… he’s affected too. That’s just what we need, one of the best-known human spokesmen for mutant rights arrested for assault and battery on a Friends of Humanity rally.

He looks around for Josh, in the hopes of coordinating a telekinetic airlift, but he’s busy dealing with the skinny psychic kid and probably doesn’t need distracting. Well, I’m a mutant cop now, right? I’m supposed to be able to deal with this sort of situation on my own…

He’s already winging his way around the mob, looking for the best extraction route available, as he thinks this; when he gets to the best available spot he takes a deep breath, wraps himself in a thick layer of non-poisoned air, and dives down in the hopes of rescuing Garrison from the crowd before whatever’s doping them gets through to him, and without having to fight the man himself.

OK, he thinks to himself as he tries for a grab, here goes nothing…

[Primer]

"Confirmed Sprite-boy. You just keep the dope flowin' and I'll keep Breeze-girl dodgin' bullets."

Primer laughs despite himself at Taskmaster’s reply. ”sprite-boy?” “Keep the dope flowin’ ?” are we terrorists or a comedy troupe? Perhaps we’ll go incognito as a comedy troupe someday on a terrorist mission…that sounds like a workable sitcom pilot actually…

The nonsensical musing has distracted him and he lets out a shocked combination of gasp and grunt as he’s forcibly slammed into a wall. Well that’ll teach you when to turn off the marketing portion of your brain. As his attacker presses an arm to his throat he begins to laugh as best he’s able against the pressure. Even through the musk of anger pheromones he sees a hint of fear in the man’s eyes as his ‘victim’ looks him in the eye and laughs, that amusingly predictable little scramble of the human brain as it moves from point A (something is not right here) to point B (run!) so evident in his eyes. Primer pulls himself as far forward as he can, slowly, not rushing, not panicking at the diminishing air supply, until he’s inches from his assailant’s face.

“Boo.” he rasps out and changes his output suddenly to fear for a moment, as intense as he can make it, and the man drops him to begin screaming and clawing at his own eyes. Primer looks down at him for a moment with raised eyebrows before massaging his throat and stepping over the writhing body, changing his emissions back to anger. He’s managed to make his way back to the fighting and immerse himself in another display of mock-rage when suddenly everything goes to hell….some more.

Fire arcs through the crowd joined by lightning in the sky, and the winds increase rapidly. He swings his head around to see Rogue recovering, Worthington moving closer, two teenagers with their hands clasped making their determined way towards it all and…no, he can’t possibly be that stupid can he? But the fire wielding mutant fits the description every Brotherhood member has had drilled into his or her head to a tee. It’s Pyro, the boss’ former protégé, wanted- to use the dramatic turn of phrase- ‘dead or alive’ back at the home base and groveling at Magneto’s feet by yesterday if possible.

Currently the Brotherhood’s little lost firebug seems to be wrapped up in facing down Manslaughter who, while quite gifted in many ways, is not, so far as Primer knows, fireproof. “Change of plans!” he yells into his comm.-link “Pyro’s here, fighting Manslaughter. We get him and then we get hell out of here. Kill him, shish-kabob him with your katanas, I don’t care what you have to do, just get him.” he cuts the link and starts to make his way over in that direction himself, keeping up the charade of being involved in the rally as he goes. Almost there… he’s one dodged punch away from being close enough to touch the pyrokinetic-

-and then he’s airborne. The hell?! he twists frantically for a moment, arching his back and slamming his head hard against the chest of his captor before the surprise fades enough for him to realize it’s Worthington. Shit. He stops emitting anger and starts in, more subtly, on trust, familiarity, the slightest tint of all’s-well calm, the cocktail he uses with paranoid patients. “Worthington?” he gasps out as he goes still, making his eyes wide and doing his best impression of a bewildered victim of mind control. He takes a moment, pretending to get acclimated with the sudden change of situation and mental state as he shifts himself mentally from Primer to Dr. Sean Garrison- slightly aloof but infinitely persuasive and capable before a crowd. “…well as far as I can tell I should be thanking you right about now. I suppose getting to Creed before the rally started and trying to convince him to tone it down a bit didn’t work.” he muses wryly by way of inserting his supposed reason for attending the rally into the conversation. “What’s going on here anyway? I don’t remember intending to get into a brawl though it seemed like an excellent idea a few moments ago…”

[Warren Worthington III]

> " …well as far as I can tell I should be thanking you right about now. I suppose getting to Creed before the rally started and trying to convince him to tone it down a bit didn’t work. What’s going on here anyway? I don’t remember intending to get into a brawl though it seemed like an excellent idea a few moments ago… "

"No thanks required, Doctor; I guess it’s all part of the new job. I must say, I was surprised to hear your voice in the crowd… though it’s good to see you recovered from that attempt on your life. Did they ever catch the guy?"

Once they’re a reasonable distance from the crowd, Warren lets his “air-field” drop and takes a much-needed deep breath of fresh air. There’s only so much air he can trap in a few inches around his body, after all, and energetic flying takes a lot of oxygen. Almost as soon as he does, he feels a pervasive sense of centered calm, which increases as he stops climbing and drops into a steady glide, looking for a safe place to land.

"As for what’s going on, we’re not entirely sure. You’re not the only one who found himself in a brawl he wasn’t expecting – it hit me, too, a few minutes ago. It might be some kind of psychotropic gas or something like that… or maybe someone’s mutant ability? We have a student who can do something like that; it may be she’s not the only one."

He winces slightly at that slip; revealing the mutant abilities of Institute students to outsiders is a pretty bad idea in general, but there’s something that seems essentially trustworthy about Dr. Garrison… Warren can’t put his finger on it, it’s just easy to relax around the man. And, after all, there aren’t many baseline humans who have put their own lives on the line for mutant rights; if there’s anyone outside the Institute itself who can be trusted with their secrets, he’s probably the one. So Warren doesn’t worry about it too much as he lands on a fire-escape landing a block or so from the riot.

"Anyway, I think we’re starting to get it under control, though the damage has mostly already been done. Sorry for the abrupt get-together, sir, but I really ought to get back and see what else I can do…" He hesitates before flying off for some reason he can’t quite articulate… feeling vaguely like Dr. Garrison’s student or junior partner or something, waiting to be dismissed.

[Ororo Munroe]

Storm notices the crowd increasing in rowdiness as she concentrates on the ridiculous figure in front of her. It can’t be helped - diverting her attention could prove deadly. She raises an eyebrow as the man essentially shrugs off her lightning attack. Perhaps I should take him more seriously.

About as soon as her previous thought registers, he pulls out a pair of pistols and begins blazing away. Reflexively, a gust of wind swirls up, helping Storm throw herself sideways behind cover. She can hear bullets spanging into the crates behind her. Hmm… what now? She concentrates, and a another bolt of lightning strikes the stage, missing her assailant. This isn’t working... Wood splinters fly in all directions.

As a distraction, she spins up a cyclone and sends it the man’s way. In the meantime, she begins recharging electrical energy for a melee attack. It begins to sparkle and crack in her hands. Not many options left. The idiot was just too fast for a ranged hit, and anything that was guaranteed to hit him would injure others as well.

[Pyro]

OOC: – Morgan, I’m working on the assumption that Roger is indeed, as we discussed, ‘getting a flying lesson’ by the end of this post (so yeah, not GodMod when the attack stops, um) but can edit if you need/want me to, ‘kay?

>They’re mine now[/i]
Fuck you, Roger. You always were an irritating little brat. He’s missed him once, but John’s not going to make that mistake again, and as Roger blinks up at him, smiling that stupid lopsided dopey smile the kid always does, he flicks his lighter open and readies another blast of flame. Payback for Loomis Labour. Hope you like to play with f… what the…? …. FUCK!

It takes a moment or two for John to work out what that sharp prickling sensation is, and another couple of moments for him to accept that, because no, it can’t be. It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t burn. Doesn’t (except for… yeah, no need for reminders of the last couple of times he played with fire and got hurt. One’s the reason this fucking demonstration’s got half the ground it has, and the other’s old wounds he doesn’t fancy revisiting). Except that somehow something’s burning, and shit, he’s forgotten how much that fucking hurts… forgotten what it’s like to not be able to stop it doing that with the merest shift of concentration, and maybe that’s the scarier part of it, because if he’s burning then his powers aren’t working and… fuck.

He’s a hair’s breadth from panic proper (as opposed to just breathless oh fuck wince-curl-ouch) – close enough not to notice that there’s no fire anymore, that his powers worked enough to put the real one he was playing with out, because there has to be one if it’s burning like this – when the prickling-burning sensation rushes back and… Oh, right. Roger. Of course. Should’ve realised, y’fucking idiot… sure, we’re ready for combat X-Men style. Right… shit, watch out for the punches. Yay, riots; so much to pay attention to.

The realisation that it was Manslaughter’s freaky-voodoo-crazies at work raises the question of why the sadistic little bastard has stopped… and where he’s gone. Josh? – gotta be, right? So the least he can do is *think loud* and hope Josh gets the heads up since the psychopathic kid is probably going to be less than pleased with that and may well turn on his new assailant. Thank fuck for the telekinetic bitch-slap… Y’gotta take him down, Josh, and fast; he’s a nerve-stimulator, or something. Sadistic little fucker whatever. Brotherhood. Lots of pain.

So, back on task; Manslaughter’s not going to have been allowed out on solo-playtime, right? A kssh-FOOM somewhere in the crowd, the crackle of a burst of flame, and the screams of the soon-to-be-roasted confirm that there’s definitely another old friend around somewhere. Excellent. He and Will had locked horns often enough back in the day, and it would be a lie to say the prospect of finally kicking his ass properly doesn’t have more appeal than just playing the hero and beating the bad guys - though John’s definitely going to hide behind the latter reasons and ignore how uncomfortably like re-awakening Pyro this whole thing was, pretend that that’s not a dark grin lighting his features as he siphons the flame off (on instinct rather than any desire to help the flatliner on the receiving end of Will’s anger, but whatever; it’ll score him some bonus brownie points, right?) and…

… ducks as Warren soars overhead, having made a grab from the crowd…

… right, back to the ass-kicking.

One advantage of Will’s power is in scaring the flatliners norms crowd off, so there’s room to breathe – or as much room as there can be, in these sort of things, as people fall back to get out of the way of the sparks and flares. They move back still further once flame’s in the mix, of course, clearing a sort-of path between him and the equally (no, he remembers, more – whole 2 fucking inches, baby) diminutive electrokinetic mutant. ”Jolt-baby. All this time and not a fucking word?” – John fires off a volley of flame towards his opponent – ”I’m crushed. Really”

[Sofia Mantega]

“Yeah… so there probably a mutant that’s causing all of this ruckus. We have a student at our school that can do something similar. She can use her body chemistry to affect others’ behavior.”

Sofia nods several times, biting back the whys and hows at the tip of her tongue, realizing that now is not nearly the time for a barrage of questions. Will there be a time later? The thought is almost enough to release her questions, to get as much out of this now in case this is it, but she figures she has already filled the nosy, needy, tagalong little girl role well enough by now.

“So if you can blow the chemicals away, people will stop trying to kill us.”

“It sounds easy when you put it that way…” Now I can actually be of some use… It doesn’t take much effort to increase her windpower, as the air was already restless around her, reflecting her heightened emotional state. She closes her eyes, focusing on the air; she imagines her arms extending out along with the gusts of wind, pushing and guiding the air upwards and out. She feels vaguely silly with the image this creates—her eyes shut, arms extended, winds swirling around her—what am I supposed to be, a superhero? The thought brings out a small smile—This is helping people—and it is enough to sustain her windpower. “Is it working?” she whispers to Josh, afraid that opening her eyes or speaking too loudly or breathing too heavily would break her concentration. She’s never done this before, on such a large scale, and she has no idea what her limitations are.

[Tony Masters]

Taskmaster's body arcs instinctively, narrowly missing another bolt of lightning. He'd learned early on that there was a distinct motion in his opponents hands before she tried another electric attack (okay, yeah, and the fact that you can actually see the flashes around her hands helps a bunch too). With that successfully stored in his photographic memory, he knew to make his actions erratic whenever he saw her prepare herself.

“Change of plans!” His ear buzzes. Thankfully the ear piece was seperate from his mask, and consequently hadn't been short-curcuited during his moment of electrocution. "Pyro’s here, fighting Manslaughter. We get him and then we get hell out of here. Kill him, shish-kabob him with your katanas, I don’t care what you have to do, just get him.”

"Roger, Wilco." Taskmaster says, mimicking a soldier he's posed as a year ago. He'd forgotten how amusing his voice duplication could be...and how spot-on it was too. "Umm...right, gotcha Sprite-boy." He adds after a thought, worried that his superior may somehow assume that the military's hacked into their comm-line.

So now he had another task (how oddly appropriate, given the name and all). Take out Pyro at all costs. Note to self; against killing now. Killing is bad. Bad bad bad. But skewering I can do.

Though first he had to get the lightning babe off his fanny. A shot directly to the shoulder confirms his suspicions of body armour in an instant.

"Sorry, hun, but I gotta run. It's been a blast though." Ha! I love puns! Or is that one irony...meh. Six more shots and a hard kick to the abdomen later, he's sent his opponent crashing backwards, freeing himself up for other engagements.

Pulling his katana from the wood, launching himself off the stage and dodging his way through the crowd, he catches a glimpse of white feathers and then the distinguishable Primer getting hauled upwards.

"Uh...boss?" Taskmaster asks, pressing a finger to his ear, waiting to hear from his superior while making a simple roundhouse kick to the jaw of an advancing rioter. "I'm going to assume that the whole flying away bit was unplanned, and not really an attempt to skimp out on my paycheck, okay?" And I've got some much better things to worry about. An elbow in the spine confirms that much, and he makes short work of getting out of the middle of the crowd.

”Jolt-baby. All this time and not a fucking word? I’m crushed. Really." Jolt? Oooh, right. That dude. Fuck.

"You shouldn't be talking, Py. I never even got a postcard!" Katana in hand, Taskmaster purposely avoids Jolt, but advances on Pyro. "I've got orders, kid. Something about making souvlaki with your head. So be nice and hold still." Please don't try and electrocute me. It's not fun, he wills in the more disgruntled teen's direction.

[Tempero]

Alright, panic seems to be the predominant course of action in the crowd. Daniel stands there, letting himself be shoved like a wild Ping-Pong ball under the onslaught of the drunken and mad player which is the panicking crowd. Soon enough, he feels a few good punches to his stomach, and he uses all of his strength to come out of the crowd without being tripped, caused to sink, and then trampled over by tons of unwelcome, angry feet.

Once to the side, he still feels the need to fight whoever comes along, but suppresses it, or at least tries to as much as possible, before picking up on the fact that it is a mutation-induced feeling most likely. Alright...this is the best time for me to try and see all the mutants in this crowd, I guess... he thinks, and moves a few feet away still, to make sure no one comes his way. Irritation is still high. It seems to come on in waves, however, and he has a few moments, sometimes a minute of peace before another attack, so to call it.

He closes his eyes, and concentrates, reaching out with his mind to as many as possible, not bothering to make actual telepathic contact, but simply to check whether they are human or mutant. Soon enough, he zones out John, Ororo, and Warren, two of them being different shades of blue genes suspended in mid air, and the third being a bright red in the middle of the crowd. He spots another mutant around John, and then one more, both quite unfamiliar. Daniel turns his attention to the rest of the crowd, giving it his best to ignore the migraine. As if the charge of someone else's emotions was not enough, he goes off receiving the emotion-ridden thoughts of everyone else.

He spots Josh's mutation, a signature he is quite familiar with after boosting the teen's mutation at least once, and then soon enough finds a few more. There is one moving at the very edges of the crowd, seemingly not participating in any amount in the riot, and then there is one that moves around through the crowd, sometimes fast, sometimes not. It is a murky yellow color, something he has not yet seen. Perhaps this is the guy who's screwing with our emotions? he thinks, forgetting that he actually sent the message in the general direction of Warren, Josh, Pyro, and that mutant with the yellow-colored mutation. There is a chance, Danny hopes, that over all the chaos, his message was actually disregarded.

And then he moves back to normal eyesight, deciding it is best not to get a paralyzing migraine, and looses any idea of where the emotion-affecting mutant is, although he saw Warren diving in that general area a few seconds ago. Now, there is no sight of Warren, or the man who got the wing express out of the riot.

Daniel decides it is best to help John, and walks up to the point where he is reasonably close to the other mutants around him, noticing that it seems the scrambled chaos of emotions is unraveling into coherent, and most importantly, his own thoughts.

He reaches out for John's mind, lingers there for but a minute, before connecting to his mutation. <John, it's me, Danny. I'm not prodding your mind or anything, but rather I'm going to try and improve your mutation, and I will be copying it onto myself, so I can help out, OK?> he sends him the message as a blue outline starts faintly glowing around both John and Daniel, quickly followed by another one, green in color. <Alright, we've got the same powers now, and they should be a bit better than earlier.> he sends John another message, fighting at the same time against the main stream of the crowd, somewhat happy that he actually persuaded the other to take him along.

Promises of mutation-improvement and threats of ratting him off seem to have effectively worked together in the persuasive "debate" between him and the violent pyromaniac.

((I know it's a bit late, and I apologize for that, if anyone needs me to edit or explain something, feel free to ask- the post's slightly confusing me myself O.o))

[Rogue]

"Just relax, Rogue, I’ve got you. What’s the deal with that kid?"

She’s really only vaguely aware of the voice – and that she’s no longer falling. It’s still hurting, and …

…And then it’s …not. It’s almost like it just …was never there, there’s not even the sort of afterwards-soreness one gets with injuries, or headaches, it’s just… gone. She’s still shaking, but even that doesn’t last long, and …what the heck? That doesn’t make sense…

A slightly disoriented glance at Warren, and she flashes a somewhat uncertain smile, still pretty well confused by what, exactly, just went on. ”Thanks, hon. …No idea what th’heck tha’ was…”

Once she's back flying under her own power, she spares a flicker of concentration to gently prod Psyke!John, make sure he's alright (because really, she can't help but worry) - and receives the impression that he's just fine, but pretty pissed off about the whole thing (the impression that he wants to burn things is fairly strong, especially)…

…So the flash of flame below, too quick to really see it, faded by the time she fully looks down properly, is slightly confusing, because …psykes can't do that, and …wouldn’t she have known if he somehow had? Flying down lower makes it clear that, no, it's not the psyke, but John in the flesh who’s down there, and… wait, that doesn't make sense. Why? How'd he get here..?

Okay, not that hard to get out of the mansion and get here, actually. And as for why – well, he’d wanted to come…It makes sense, even if it’s probably not a good thing that he didn’t listen to Ororo (she really doesn’t want him getting in trouble)…

He… looks off, though. Like something’s wrong – something’s hurting him…

Which, visibly, there’s nothing. Much like what just happened to her, except somehow different… And she’s already moving down towards him as soon as she notices that, and spots the kid who she’d went after not far off from him, and …

Then an invisible force sends said kid flying, and she can’t help but smile slightly (shouldn’t – that’s a bad thing, right?) at that, because it serves the kid right… And she makes a mental note, upon spotting Josh nearby, to thank him later…

…A second flare of light – this time it’s not flame, though, it’s… electricity?

Well, that’s not good…

And then more flame – good John’s recovered quick enough, nothing wrong (obviously not, seeing as she’s perfectly fine, too, but still) – and …she’s not sure she should go down there, really, seeing as she has no real way of helping against electricity.

But she can’t just float up here and watch, either, when, really, it’s pro’lly no better for him to fight against alone…And the newest arrival to that area – wielding a katana no less – doesn’t help reassure her that leaving him as-is is a very good idea…

So she sort of dives down into the crowd, reaching out to pluck the masked, blade-wielding man out of the crowd (if he has a weapon, he likely can’t do anything to her head, so that seems safer than her previous attempt…) from behind.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

Josh breathes in relief when he sees Warren swooping out of the fiery-electrical storm. Thank god. Warren appears to be carrying a man, as well, which he sets down farther way.

> “Is it working?”

It’s hard to tell through his own feelings whether Sofia’s actually affecting the mind-altering chemicals in a significant way. Ever since the battle started Josh’s mind has been flipping through fear, exhilaration, and panic. However, the crowd around them seems to be calming down once again.

“You’re doing great! Can you expand it any further?” Josh shouts over the noise.

> Thank fuck for the telekinetic bitch-slap… Y’gotta take him down, Josh, and fast; he’s a nerve-stimulator, or something. Sadistic little fucker whatever. Brotherhood. Lots of pain.

Nerve-stimulator? Lots of pain? That must have been what he’d done to Rogue. Josh winces in sympathy, and lets his voice echo through John’s brain.

No problem. Be careful… At this point, the ‘sadistic little fucker’ is at the apex of the original throw. He catches him in a telekinetic grip and starts spinning him like a top.

Josh prepares to toss the younger boy across the square like a baseball, in hopes of disrupting his concentration, or better yet, knocking him out.

(OOC - I'm also assuming Roger's flying, Morgan. If you want something changed, please get ahold of me. I just figured I should post again since it's been awhile...)

[Ororo Munroe]

Storm continues to evade bullets as Taskmaster lights up the stage with gunfire.

This needs to end soon. However agile she was, sheer probability dictated that she was going to get hit sooner or later. She twists to the side, and a bullet grazes her shoulder. Storm hisses. Fortunately, the suit’s armor, in conjunction with Taskmaster’s poor aim, only meant that she was aching instead of bleeding. She ducks behind more A/V equipment.

Unfortunately, his aim appeared to be getting better, and while the suit should keep her midsection safe, her head was another story. Storm ducks as a few more bullets fly over her cover. Time to finish this. Hands crackling with electrical energy, she uses a boost from the wind to flip over the boxes she’d been hiding behind and drops squarely in front of Taskmaster.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ororo sees the lightning and fire erupt in the crowd. What the - - She also spots the source of the fire, which is John. Concentrate! Storm smashes a hand into his chest, and electricity plays across it. The impact makes him stagger backwards for a moment, but he follows up with a barrage of shots. She’s able to dodge all but two.

The two that make it through hit her solidly in her midsection. The pain is immense, and Storm chokes out a cry. She looks down, and the slugs are stuck, crumpled up, to the front of her uniform. They’d pierced the outer layer and only the suit’s inner architecture had saved her life. As she looks upward, Taskmaster is flying at her, and she feels another impact. The world tilts upwards and the stage begins to recede rapidly.

After a moment, Ororo realizes she’s been kicked backwards into the crowd, and her pain-filled brain can only think of one thing. Get the guns. Before darkness claims her in mid-flight, she tosses a lightning bolt in Taskmaster’s direction, hoping to damage his weaponry.

[Warren Worthington III]

> "Uh...boss? I'm going to assume the … bit was unplanned, and not really … skimp out on my paycheck, okay?"

Warren’s enhanced hearing just barely picks up the faint voice from Garrison’s earbud, and he points to it apologetically. "Sorry," he whispers, "Didn’t mean to interrupt business." Now that’s dedication, he thinks to himself, taking business calls in the middle of a riot like that…

He returns his attention to the riot in time to see Storm go down under a hail of Taskmaster’s gunfire, in mid-aerial-stunt. The sight of her falling towards the sidewalk and the still-frantic crowd overwhelms even the artificially induced calm he’s been under, Josh seems occupied dealing with the creepy psychic kid and taking care of Sofia, so Warren dives back towards the platform at top speed, leaving Garrison “safe” on the fire-escape.

"Storm!!!" He manages to reach her just in time to grab her ankle and pull her out of her fall, but doesn’t have enough time to pull up or slow his trajectory before accidentally swinging her unconscious body into several members of the crowd. Oops! The collision doesn’t seem to have injured her further, though he’s afraid he may have damaged her ankle in the catch, and he feels a moment’s pleasure when he notes that the knocked-over crowd members were sporting Friends of Humanity T-shirts. Couldn’t have happened to nicer guys. Hope they get trampled by their own team…

He wonders, briefly, if the feeling is artificial… and after a moment’s thought decides it isn’t. He doesn’t feel any particular urge to pound them into the pavement, he just doesn’t like them. Then he gets his trajectory under control again and soars up, Storm in tow, depositing her on the roof of a nearby theatre.

"Storm’s out of action," he calls into his communicator, "but I think she’ll be OK. " From his vantage point he can see the masked swordsman – er, gunman – who shot Storm getting ready to attack… John? That would explain the firebolts, earlier. Should have known he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer But Rogue seems to have that situation well in hand.

Meanwhile, the crowd itself seems to be… well, not exactly calming down, but making the transition from unreasonable rage to entirely sensible panic. Fortunately Times Square is designed to handle huge crowds of people trying to get somewhere else; what had started out as a rally and become a riot is now turning into a simple, albeit chaotic, evacuation that the police seem capable of handling.

"Should I keep an eye on her, or does somebody need a hand?" It occurs to him that he’s not sure who he’s asking… with Storm out of commission, they are suddenly leaderless. Well, I hope somebody has a plan.