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Post by Pyro on Nov 20, 2006 6:55:39 GMT
It’s dark outside. John could read something into that – it feels more than suitably apocalyptic – but truth is, it’s practical rather than supernatural, Magneto timing his attack on Neverland to coincide with the sunrise, and in any case pathetic fallacy is on a level with fairytales and if this whole fucked up thing has proved anything it’s that reality hasn’t got room for happy endings so there’s definitely no space left over for pretty literary devices. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less sinister, the abandoned corridors of the boarding house still cold and filled with lingering shadows…
… but he can’t let any of that get to him. It’s a fairly small window of opportunity they’ve been thrown, after all, these few hours when the bulk of the Brotherhood will be marching on Alcatraz for the second time, when those left behind are just the useless ones on the edges… a demographic John now finds himself, by another strange twist of fortune, numbering amongst.
They’ve been thrown? Yes. Because that’s the plan. Get Bob Out. It’s nothing fancy, and can hardly be called well thought out because beyond a hasty pack – the tote Bobby had given him at that first date bumping at his hip as he heads down through the various levels of HQ - he’s not set about any real preparations… but fuck, he’s always worked best that way, running on impulse, and besides, there are too many unknowns for any proper strategy… He can’t be sure that Bob’s in any state to run, or if he’s even…
… No. He is. Because if he wasn’t… John would know. He would. Somehow. And it’s stupid and illogical to think that, because neither of them are psychics. But they don’t need a mental connection in place for him to have that *part of his brain* feeling about Bobby, and he just knows he’d know.
Knowing doesn’t kill the hesitation when he reaches the door, however – a brief, sharp intake of breath and self-steeling preparing him for what might be on the other side. Or trying to. But once the door clicks open it’s clear how pointless that was.
Later he’ll take in the details – the bloodstains, the tear tracks, the way Bobby’s shoulder just doesn’t look… right. Now it’s just the one word which hits him – broken – and the conclusion of that thought terrifies him to an almost blindness, so everything goes out the window, starting with the few blurry seconds it takes him to get to Bobby’s side.
”Bobby? Fuck, Bobby!? Say something. Move. Anything.” John’s too scared to reach out, instead hugging his arms to him as he kneels nearby, because it feels like Bobby might shatter, or dissipate like smoke. His voice is shaky, the words choked, the pacing frantic in spite of that. ”Just give me something…”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 20, 2006 9:06:10 GMT
Bobby isn’t at all sure how long he’s been huddling in the cold, dark room. Long enough for the pain in his shoulder to… well, not subside, exactly, but become bearable. He remembers Logan explaining that continuous pain will do that, eventually… your brain stops processing it the same way after a while, as long as it doesn’t keep changing, and Bobby’s pretty sure he hasn’t moved that arm in a while.
The ribcage is another matter, a new spike of pain every time he takes a breath. He’s been focusing on that, riding it out with each breath, just trying to stay awake… he’s not sure how hard he hit his head, but concussion is a definite possibility, and the sedative still in his system isn’t helping either. So staying awake is important, leaving aside the fact that he might miss an opportunity to escape if he doesn’t.
Every once in a while, he tries to contact Josh or Sheppard with a mental distress signal. He has no way of knowing if it works or not, but he suspects Magneto has thought about that. Maybe the walls have the same mind-blocking gadget as his helmet; maybe he’s got a pet telepath working for him… it doesn’t matter, Bobby still has to try.
It’s only when the door clicks open that he realizes how dazed and dopey he’s allowed himself to get – before he can react, John has come inside and kneeled nearby.
His first reaction, to his own disgust, is a sudden wave of relief and longing, as if John actually were his knight in shining armor or something equally stupid. He doesn’t so much squelch that reaction as freeze it in place and watch it shatter.
> " Bobby? Fuck, Bobby!? Say something. Move. Anything. Just give me something… "
It’s a damned good act, Bobby has to admit… the way John (Pyro, he reminds himself… he’s picked his side, after all) kneels and grabs his own arms, the shaky high-speed delivery, it’s all perfect. A few hours ago he’d have believed it without hesitation… but he was stupider then. He’s not ever going to be that stupid again.
Punching Pyro in the jaw would be satisfying, except it would hurt too damned much. Spitting in his face is more Bobby’s speed right now, but seems like too much effort. What’s he even doing here… rubbing salt in the wounds? Or do they really think he’s enough of a moron to fall for the good-cop/bad-cop routine? Yeah, maybe they do, at that. He thinks about that for a second, and decides maybe he can use it. If the Brotherhood thinks he’s been suckered, maybe they’ll give him an unintended opportunity to escape.
Not that he cares too much about escape, in his current state… it might just be easier to give up and let them kill him… but he can’t let Magneto and Pyro keep using him as a hostage against the X-Men. So, OK. I play along for now.
It’s surprisingly difficult to let that initial, instinctive smile of relief come back… acting is not one of Bob’s strengths. But he manages at least a plausible facsimile, and his shallow breathing and swollen lips help cover the hate he can’t fully keep out of his voice.
" Hey… it’s good to see a semi-friendly face. Think you can get these chains off me? "
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Post by Pyro on Nov 21, 2006 22:42:19 GMT
John’s relief is of course entirely genuine, and distracts him from any trace of forgery in Bobby’s (not that there would be any, of course. Why should there? Okay, John might not be top of his wish-list as far as people to see are concerned – deservedly, of course – but anything’s got to be better than Magneto coming back for round two, and unless Bobby is a damn good actor then they’re on the same sheet as to what they had before and something like that doesn’t just go away… Yeah, of course it’s genuine), though that relief isn’t enough to make the restless shakiness dissipate. If anything it makes it worse, firstly because it means the plan can go ahead and that’s brilliant and terrifying all at once, and secondly because he doesn’t know what to do with it, Bobby’s condition and the things which have passed between them making most of the suitably dramatic displays impossible or impractical.
That Bobby still counts him as ‘semi-friendly’ doesn’t exactly make things easier. And it’s the ‘friendly’ rather than the ‘semi’ which stings, because Bobby has every reason to more than hate him, and it seems that he… doesn’t, and that only drives home how good Bob is, and how little he deserves any part of that, and how immense this… shit, he can’t just call it this thing any more, can he? It’s love, however fucked up that sounds…
… but there’ll be time for all of that later (and even as he thinks it, some part of him knows he’s kidding himself, but he’s not going to listen to that part) because it’s the rest of what Bobby said which he has to pay attention to.
”Sure… you might want to ice up though” A quick expert flick and the wrist igniters spark into life… only for him to extinguish the golden orb a couple of seconds later, a concerned and slightly bemused look working its way over his features. ”Why don’t you just do that? Ice ‘em and shatter ‘em?”
His mind’s doing backflips at that… until he smacks that part of it back into silence again. There’s no way, no way in hell Magneto would do that. Not to another mutant, not after he had it done to him (and yeah, the logic there is crap. Pyro was at the camp before Alcatraz, of course, heard Magneto proclaim that they’d never hesitate to use this poison against anyone who stood against them… but Pyro’s dead now, so John can ignore that). And of course Bobby will say something imminently sensible – something which escapes John’s logic but is never the less totally rational and completely right and explains all of this…
… Any time now, Bob…
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 21, 2006 23:34:51 GMT
> " Sure… you might want to ice up though. Why don’t you just do that? Ice ‘em and shatter ‘em? "
And that is almost more than Bob can tolerate… for John to add mockery to betrayal, insult to injury, and to wrap the whole thing in fake concern like that, almost drives him from cold rage to hot. Just how much of an idiot do they think he is?
But for once, he manages to keep a lid on it, to think about the consequences before he opens his mouth. Mags and Pyro know about the Cure, of course, and they know he knows, so he doesn’t have to pretend ignorance. "Cute," he snarls, allowing a completely sincere note of desperation to color his voice. "Stop kidding around and get me the hell out of here already, will you?!? "
Bob isn’t quite sure where this little set-piece is going, but figures if he plays along and pushes he can get out of the damned chains, and that gives him some more options at least. What happens after that he’ll play by ear. John’s so accustomed to using him, he figures, that he won’t be expecting Bob to turn the tables.
Taking John out might not be too hard, actually, if he can get his hands on a weapon… but there’s no way he can fight his way through the Brotherhood itself. Not wounded and powerless, anyway. So he has to get to a phone, or something… but he can’t say that, or they’ll make sure whatever phone he ends up at doesn’t work.
OK… so he has to pretend to actually escape. He almost slaps his forehead then, realizing just how much of an idiot he’s been… that was the point of that little “Invading Neverland” setpiece they did for him, to make him think the HQ was mostly deserted. OK, he can work with that. " This is probably our best chance to escape, right? While everybody else is busy with the attack and everything. After the chains can you find me a --" he cuts himself off… he was about to say “gun” but, as with the phones, he can’t reveal his real goals in this little pretend escape. " – an aspirin, or something? Need something to take the edge off the pain. "
He’ll have to be careful not to take whatever John gives him, he reminds himself – it’ll probably be doped. Which is fine, he can manage that. It’s good to be moving, at any rate… it’s just like any other mission, now, right? He just has to be careful and trust his instincts and he’ll be OK. Well, most of his instincts, anyway… the ones telling him that John’s really just trying to help, he needs to tune out.
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Post by Pyro on Nov 22, 2006 2:36:28 GMT
It makes perfect sense, of course – the way Bobby felt warm back at Baker Mansion, the way he’s shivering now (which is something John’s never seen him do), the fact that he hasn’t knocked Magneto on his ass and escaped already… but it’s still just.. not… possible, right? The look on John’s face says erm, no… that’s not your line, and he pauses, waits with a hope which is becoming increasingly desperate and obviously false by the millisecond for Bob to say or do something else. Which he doesn’t, of course, and that… changes things. A lot. Focusing on that – on figuring out a way round it, rethinking his strategy, such as it is (which isn’t much, but he can pretend) – helps, stops him freaking out over how Magneto really has broken Bobby beyond one slip - ”He didn’t.. Oh fuck.” – which he bites back fairly quickly, snapping into as near to practical, focused and managerial as he can. ”Right…”
Okay, think. If there’s a key, then it’s not going to be conveniently left around, and John doubts that a man who can manipulate metal with a simple gesture would bother with… no, no locks, just a mesh of mangled metal. Same goes for the join between chain and wall. Which means it’s going to be down to melting a link somewhere. He shifts to behind Bobby to get a better look at the chains.
The silence in the room is oppressive, almost a physical force pressing down on him, ganging up with the spike of pain his ribs keep delivering to make breathing sting… Speaking is easier, somehow, gets rid of the silence and helps him not-think and at the same time makes any thoughts he does have that much clearer… He hasn’t filled Bobby in on what exactly is happening yet, has he? (The fact that Bobby is treating him as an ally and talking about escape in spite of that is a good sign… right?) ”You know what you were saying, back before, about hanging all this and just… I don’t know, running, or something? I’ve been thinking… does the offer still stand? Because now’s good.”
Though it’s not the time or the place he can’t help but slip an arm carefully around Bobby and lean in as much as he can while avoiding the (shiver) bruising and the (oh shit) blood. Of course words and gestures and body contact can’t really make up for any of this, but whatever, it’s childish and instinctual and just… is. ”I’m sorry… It’s my fucking fault, Bobby, all of this. I… Fuck” John gets his first real look at Bobby’s shoulder, and it just… ”That’s going to take more than an asprin… shit.” There’s a cold rolling stab of nausea because the way the arm is sitting just looks wrong, and dead, and… yeah, not good. ”You’re going to have to” – shudder – ”click it back and… fuck.” John shivers, fighting another queasy wave, and something hot and damp like tears, and something slicker and darker that stabs and twists and shouts It’s all your fault.
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 22, 2006 5:17:15 GMT
> " You know what you were saying, back before, about hanging all this and just… I don’t know, running, or something? I’ve been thinking… does the offer still stand? Because now’s good."
It takes Bob a while to remember what Pyro’s talking about, but when that first night at Mimi’s finally returns to mind it almost shakes him. He hadn’t really known what he was saying back then, hadn’t known exactly what he was feeling, or what he was prepared to do about it, but he’d meant every word even when he hadn’t known it. And the truth is he still feels that way about John, and the arm around his shoulder sends chills up and down his spine.
John doesn’t exist anymore, Drake. It’s all just Pyro in there. Always was, you were just too damned blind and stupid to see it.
Meanwhile, the tactical part of his mind rings up anomalies, now that he’s thinking about this like a mission again. John seduces him so he can obviously betray him so he can seduce him again? That’s -- No. Don’t even go down that road… he played you like a lovesick schoolgirl and he’ll do it again if you let him, and God knows how many people are gonna die if the X-Men hang back ‘cuz you’re stuck in here. It’s not just your stupid life on the line… you could throw that away for whatever crap plastic fake version of “true love” the Brotherhood’s selling, but you have no right to bargain with their lives. Get it together, Drake. Bucket-head’s right about this much: you’re in a fucking war now, whether you want to be or not. This is just another battle, that’s all.
> " That’s going to take more than an aspirin… shit. You’re going to have to click it back and… fuck. "
Bob nods, the snarl too deep-dyed to overcome. "Yeah… I know. One thing at a fucking time. Just get me out of these damned things. Burn them. Melt them. Whatever… just do it. Now."
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Post by Pyro on Nov 23, 2006 22:49:28 GMT
John knows it’s probably mostly the pain talking. He’s acutely aware that Bobby has every reason to be that pissed off with him even if it isn’t. All the same it’s got to be the first time he can remember wincing at the sound of the f-bomb, because while he can toss it around almost as punctuation it sounds so alien and wrong in Bobby’s mouth, and beneath that there’s a sharper, harsher quality which scares him because if it’s coming naturally to Bobby then he really has been changed by all of this… which of course makes perfect sense, but is still not exactly easy to deal with.
Lucky, really, that he’s both provided with a handy excuse for any uneasiness in how beaten up Bobby is, and lacking any time to face said unease. Focusing on the matter at hand is all there is, and in that it’s helpful that Bob’s so harsh and demanding, because orders… help. Sort of. In any case John only pauses to exhale, a long hissed breath between teeth as he focuses himself, pushing back a few rogue strands of fringe before clicking the wrist lighters on and getting to work on the chains, melting through a ring he hopes is far enough away any conducted heat which manages to escape his control (which is at best wavering at the moment) will be at most mildly uncomfortable…
He tries silence at first, but that’s somehow worse, and so it’s back to the babbling. ”Magneto’s kicked me out. I’m no longer any use, apparently. Falling for you means I’ve failed some test of… something. In any case I’ve nothing to stick around for ‘xcept getting you out.”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 24, 2006 6:52:17 GMT
Bob grits his teeth once John (Pyro!) starts working on the chains, his power turning flamethrower into arc-welder... or some fascimile of one, anyway. It's not as focused as he might prefer, but whatever pain the heated chains or the occasional spark may elicit is pretty much ignorable compared to the rest of his injuries.
> "Magneto’s kicked me out. I’m no longer any use, apparently. Falling for you means I’ve failed some test of… something."
Well, isn't that convenient. Not just breaking me out, then... leaving the Brotherhood altogether. Just like I always wanted. Bob knows some reaction is called for here in order to stay in character... after all, if he were falling for all this crap, he'd be so hopped-up ecstatic at the thought of John breaking away from the Brotherhood that he'd hardly need painkillers. He should try for at least a pretense of enthusiasm.
"That's..." he starts out, and his voice sounds like he's lost his best friend (which he hasn't, he reminds himself, however much it feels that way... it was all just a fake, and probably had been from the beginning, and he'd just been fooling himself into thinking otherwise, and the tears streaming down his cheeks again are just from the pain and the heat, that's all).
"That's great, John." He tries to put more enthusiasm into his voice, but fails... if anything, it grows angrier and more bitter despite him, while his attempts to make it otherwise serve only to make him nauseous. One hell of an actor you are, Drake. Come on! This is important!
"It's just what we wanted, right? To get you away from Magneto, let us -- " he chokes on this, some part of his mind he refuses to listen to insisting that he shouldn't be playing this game, that he's sacrificing the most valuable thing he's ever had. Didn't you get the goddamned memo?!?, he yells silently at himself, I never had it to sacrifice! It was all a fucking lie.
It doesn't help... he still can't bring himself to keep doing this, and he hopes the pain and the stress cover his weakness as he lets the silence descend.
When the chains finally give way under Pyro's determined onslaught, Bob finds it surprisingly easy to stand up, make his way to the nearest wall, and throw his damaged shoulder into it. He nearly faints from the pain, and he's sure his scream will alert every guard within a quarter-mile, but for a strange moment he welcomes it... like some part of him wants to hurt more. He disregards the feeling and climbs back to his feet.
"OK. That's taken care of. Now let's get the hell out of here."
"Oh, I don't think so," drawls a strangely echoing voice from the open doorway. Bob turns to see two identical men leaning idly against opposite doorposts, each with a machine-gun. They speak simultaneously in eerie synchronization. "Seems the Leader was right not to trust you, shrimp. Now how 'bout you drop those flamethrower gadgets 'fore I blow both your fool heads off?"
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Post by Pyro on Nov 25, 2006 2:51:15 GMT
< That’s great, John[/color]
”Don’t sound so overwhelmed. I’m only re-arranging the universe here…”
It’s out before he can check the instinct, any concentration which would have gone on either *not saying anything stupid* or *remembering Bobby’s got every reason to hate you* trained on the job in hand… Of course just walking away from Buckethead’s not going to make up for what he’s done, is it? Even back when it was ‘re-arranging the universe’ it wouldn’t have been anywhere near enough… and now it’s hovering somewhere between the only natural conclusion and something uncomfortably like jumping before he’s pushed. So yeah, no reason for Bobby to be showing anything other than whatever the hell tone that is (some part of him still won’t let it be labeled bitter, or angry, or any of the words which fit it perfectly and which are of course no more than he deserves).
… and that would be one particularly spirited mental kicking going on now.
”Sorry” he flushes, bites his lip, goes back to the job at hand. ”Other things on… of course, yeah. Celebrate later.”
The chains give way and he drops back, giving Bobby room to stand, biting back the instinct to rush in (some part at least realizes that’s somehow inappropriate now, some fundamental shift he’s not quite caught up with (and isn’t ready or totally willing to try to face) having occurred… though the rest won’t let the impropriety be put down as due to anything other than timing and Bobby’s condition. In any case it’s only his own arms he’s hugging as he cringes at the scream.
< Now let’s get the hell out of here
Shit… Bobby has changed, hasn’t he? He’s a proper X-Man now – the way he recovers in a split second while John’s still fighting off a wave of shuddering rolling nausea at just the sound is testimony to that – and it’s… pretty awesome, in an astounding and totally humbling sort of way. Looks like running with the Brotherhood and doing the whole underground terrorist thing didn’t quite lead to the maturity and hardiness you’d have thought, while staying at school…
Again, no time for that tangent now.
”… Right” he starts, when he’s interrupted by a voice from the doorway… okay, two voices, one from each doorpost, which are somehow… only one voice. And puzzling that out would really make his brain hurt if he wasn’t concentrating more on the fact that the source/sources of the voice/voices has/have machine guns trained on them.
< Seems the Leader was right not to trust you, shrimp. Now how 'bout you drop those flamethrower gadgets 'fore I blow both your fool heads off?
The part of him which still thinks of itself as Magneto’s left hand man is weirdly flattered that ‘the Leader’ doesn’t think him totally useless but instead enough of a threat to leave Madrox in charge of security while the rest of the Brotherhood levels Alcatraz… but the rest of him is screaming oh shit too loudly for that voice, or the one which has picked up on his choice of nickname *scowl*, to make much impact. Sneaking out he can handle, but fighting his way out? Not so easy, given that Bobby’s depowered and hardly in any state to make an impact without his powers, and he’s not exactly in prime condition after facing Josh. Facing off against any number of uninjured and well rested over-zealous Brothers puts one hell of a spanner in the works.
Hopefully the dupes are the same numerous kinds of stupid John’s used to seeing in their maker (parent? Originator? Uber-dupe?... okay, can’t afford to waste time thinking about that). The tone these ones are taking, and their weird synchronicity, suggests that may well be the case, but it’s one of the details he can’t afford to wait around and find out the specifics of.. like whether hurting one hurts them all, or anything neat like that. No, he has to assume they’re all separate enemies and take them down as such. Brilliant. Sigh.
”Okay, fine” He bites his lip, glances down to the floor – to the Madrii it would seem a perfect gesture of resignation and defeat. ”Y’got me. Great.” John lowers his hands to waist height, making a great show of fumbling with the buckles on the left device before letting it fall with a clear thud which masks the far quieter click as he switches to the right. ”I’ll just go back to my room like” – a sideglance reveals that the Madrii are shifting, one of them no doubt about to head over and deal with him – ”a good boy…” FWOOSH.
The rush of flame should be enough to, if not totally disable them (though he’s not holding back this time the way he did with Josh, instead putting everything into both flame and force), then at least knock them back long enough to get a head start. John doesn’t wait to check. Snatching the discarded igniter he pushes Bobby in the direction of the door, tone and gesture more than clear in conveying urgency. ”Time t’go”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 25, 2006 4:34:14 GMT
The guards’ sudden appearance is almost the last straw for Bob, the latest in a too-continuous series of reverses. He’s distracted, slow, sore, drugged, weakened; he’s barely registered their presence before Pyro fries them. That surprises him, though recognizing Madrox makes it more plausible… still, it’s becoming a pretty involved plot. He’s missing something, he realizes… but what?
John’s – Pyro’s, dammit! – urgent shove towards the door distracts him further. He knows he ought to be controlling this more, steering their “escape,” but there’s only so much he can do in the shape he’s in. He stumbles through the doorway, stumbling over the Madrox body, crouches down carefully to pick up one of the guns.
" OUCH! Dammit," he mutters, dropping the still-hot weapon and sucking on his blistered palm.
> " Time t’go "
"Yeah, yeah. What’s the quickest way outta here?"
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Post by Pyro on Nov 25, 2006 7:17:36 GMT
Fuck… He can’t bring himself to look at the charred used-to-be-Jamie… which doesn’t make any sense because he’s done this plenty of times before. Just never to one of the Brotherh… Oh for fuck’s sake, John, you’re not with them any more, remember? They’re the enemy now. Just like everyone else…
John winces again at Bob’s shout, and at the blister. ”Gonna have to remember you burn the same as the rest of us now” His tone’s an odd mix of the patronizing-commanding you use on little kids and something nearer pity, and it’s not totally clear whether he’s reminding Bobby or himself. In any case it’s something which has to be added to the list – remember he hasn’t got any powers, remember he’s still sedated, remember Magneto’s told them you’re the enemy now… Shit.
He’s already trying his best to think like he’s in command of this, though it’s a totally alien mind frame, the whole strategic and responsible thing taking more than a while to get used to. He’s rerunning whatever vague schematic he had as to how this was going to play out now, trying to second-guess Magneto and drawing a blank… Other than Jamie, who could have any number of other dupes out there, who the hell would he risk leaving behind on the night of their big victory?
< What’s the quickest way outta here?[/color]
… and that’s why he’s not the leader, this swinging between over-thinking and not thinking at all. Can’t waste time on projecting when he’ll more than likely be wrong… they’ll just have to run and be ready for anything. Only a small ask then…
”Along, up, through the nearest wall” – yeah, that sounds like a plan. Might not be perfect – there are still all those finicky little details to figure out – but it’s something. He's not going to say anything stupid like..
”You just keep going… Anything other than running I'll handle... ‘re not getting yourself killed playing the hero.”
... ah, yeah. Guess he would then. Still, there's got to be a reason all these cliches fly around, right?
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 25, 2006 18:09:09 GMT
> "Gonna have to remember you burn the same as the rest of us now"
"Yeah," Bobby growls back, "thanks to that handy fucking syringe of yours." It's becoming more and more difficult to maintain any semblance of bemused cooperation with this supposed escape, more difficult to remember that none of it's real. Adrenalin is pumping through his system now, he's out of that room, out of his chains, stumbling over the dead charred bodies of his erstwhile guards -- except all of a sudden he isn't, as the bodies and the weapons disappear with a faint implosive "pop!" -- and trying not to think about the smell... it's hard to remember this is a set piece. It seems so real!
Most of all John -- Pyro! -- who is playing the part to perfection. Too perfect, Bob realizes... he's having more and more trouble believing that he's acting.
> "Along, up, through the nearest wall. You just keep going… Anything other than running I'll handle... ‘re not getting yourself killed playing the hero.”
Like that. It's such a ridiculous, cliched thing to say, but Bob's been in this sort of situation enough times to know it's exactly the sort of ridiculous, cliched thing people really do say, even when they don't think they would.
He runs as best he can down the hall, briefly grateful that it's his arms and not his legs that were damaged. Even so, it's more a stumbling shamble than a legitimate run. Which is probably a good thing, since when they turn the corner into another half-dozen Madrii John is in the lead.
Whatever the guards say is inaudible in the hail of gunfire. Only a couple of bullets are fired in Bob's direction, and he manages to evade them by diving abruptly to one side... unfortunately smashing his injured shoulder into the wall in the process, and dropping to one knee in the sudden shock before picking himself up again.
All of which leaves John on his own for those first crucial few seconds. Bob swears at himself for being so completely useless, then reminds himself for the umpteenth time that this is all a setup... but he's less convinced of that with every encounter.
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Post by Pyro on Nov 25, 2006 23:37:27 GMT
It’s all very well saying you’ll be prepared for anything… Anything is, by and large, far too big a concept for the brain to handle, which means you end up missing parts of it, and sod’s law says those parts are the ones you run into. So whatever it is John’s prepared for, the split second it takes for him to realise that what they’ve (okay, he’s… shit, where’s Bob?) actually got is a load more Madrii is long enough for…
Fuck!
It’s odd, and somehow really darkly amusing, that his first thought should be huh. Never been shot before, though without the chaos raging around surprise would be a totally valid response… because it’s sort of odd, really, given how he’s been doing the terrorist thing and by and large escaped any sort of major injury until fairly recently (and another part of his brain points out that every time it has happened, it’s been in some way down to Bobby…). Hot on the heels of both those revelations is another wave of surprise that hmm… it really doesn’t hurt all that much. Again it seems an odd thing to think given that the first scorching stab is blossoming into a warmer numb feeling across his shoulder, which probably isn’t all that good a sign, but it’s hardly the explosion of agony you’d expect, and Hollywood has been lying for a while because he doesn’t spin like a top or collapse or spurt hot and red, and whether that’s down to stress-induced analgesia or relative non-severity or it genuinely not hurting… whatever. He’s not dead, and so it’s not going to stop him until they – or at least Bob (and that’s another odd realization, that he’s slipping into the hero role… huh) – get out.
Somewhere in the midst of all that the rest of the world pushes in and points out that there are still six-ish guns trained on him… but it seems that some instinct took care of that, throwing up a shield of flame almost automatically while the rest of him caught up, and punching that wall of crimson and gold forward clears the corridor long enough for him to dart through a side door and into one of the numerous rooms which make up the basement. John’s immediate concerns – shouting for Bob to join him, refitting the left igniter, and checking exactly how much the Madrii have buggered his shoulder up - stop him noticing which.
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 26, 2006 3:00:05 GMT
"JOHN!" Bob’s shout when John’s shoulder gets hit is barely audible over the gunfire and the flame-shield (neat trick, that!), and he manages to get himself back under control by the time John – Pyro? – leads him through a side door, away from the hallway-turned-warzone into an unlit room.
It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and he’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t a God-damned armory. "Jesus! You guys have enough firepower here to equip a damned army! " It takes him a moment to realize the absurdity of that statement, but he doesn’t laugh.
Well, so much for not letting them know I’ve got weapons. All right, I can roll with this. " I may not be Iceman anymore," he mutters as he grabs a machine pistol and a few belts of ammunition, " but damned if I’m going to stay helpless. " A moment later he notices a rack of armored jackets and grabs one, pulling it on gingerly over his injured arms.
After a moment he tosses John one, too. "Might come in handy. How’s your shou--" His question is cut off by a resounding crash from just above the armory, punctuated by staccato bursts of gunfire. " What in the hell was that?"
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Post by Pyro on Nov 26, 2006 4:02:21 GMT
< Jesus! You guys have enough firepower here to equip a damned army![/color]
”Yeah, funny that” John replies between gritted teeth, testing the edge of the bullet hole… It’s a far neater wound that he’d expected, and a lot less bloody, and it still doesn’t hurt anywhere near as badly as he’d been lead to imagine it would, just sort of… burns, which is a novel experience for someone who can handle fire, but whatever. He’s trying to remember exactly what the proper course of action is, and can’t think of anything in what little training they received beyond ‘If someone gets shot, leave them’, which isn’t exactly reassuring… okay, worry about that later. ”Anybody’d think they were trying to take over the world or something” – and yes, the emphasis falls on the ‘they’, as it should, as if in direct opposition to Bobby’s ‘you guys’. Because he’s not one of ‘those guys’ any more, is he?
Okay, enough thinking. Looks like Fate’s finally decided to toss them an ace (About frickin’ time… True love isn’t the magic automatic happy-ever-after it should be. But true love with guns? That’ll work just fine) and Bobby’s suitably quick to capitalize on their good fortune. There’s something hugely reassuring about Bobby being back in something like the hero role – that’s where he belongs, the one doing the saving rather than being saved – and more oddly and indirectly touching in his concern (though why it should come as a surprise that he still gives a damn is something John’s pointedly not thinking about, putting any disbelief down to the more general one which used to sit around anything sentimental or romantic which passed between them rather than a loss of that sort of feeling).
The crash startles him as he’s awkwardly yanking the jacket over his injured arm, and he glances up at the ceiling, at first somewhere between bemused and something like scared, and then just contemplatively confused… what the hell is that?
Answer? Another thing they haven’t got time to worry about. ”No idea.” Finishing tugging on the jacket and slipping his other arm into the other sleeve he checks that both igniters still fire (using his right arm provoking a small wince – shit. Guess that counts the lighter out if the ‘sparks stop working, since if simple movements sting that much then delicate complicated ones are going to be near-impossible).
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