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Post by Toni Craft on Nov 26, 2006 21:09:17 GMT
The bullets continue to ricochet of Toni's iron armour as she defends Warren and Josh, the latter having gone off on a psychic romp.
"Just hold our position ‘till Josh gets back, I guess?" Nice, a question. Guess we should have figured out the chain of command before I smashed our way in here.
The dupes, frustrated by there inability to injure either her or the other two, are starting to get a little more resourceful and start testing out other angles and methods of attack. Toni lets one hit her with his rifle (which did nothing) before smashing his skull in with a fist. Another drops down from the roof onto the car but is stopped by a sharp, iron spike driven into his chest. He gurgles and tumbles off the side.
<Josh, darlin', not to rush you or anything, but you may wanna hurry up.> Another dupe succumbs to a broken leg and back before getting thrown into a huddle of his twins.
"Okay, I knocked Elliot out… let’s take care of these idiots on the way down.”
<Is that my cue then?> Then without waiting for the answer, <Righto. You two can start heading in if you want. I'll get the rest of these guys.> Ensuring that Josh is up and ready to right, Toni dashes head first for the nearest dupe.
She bashes her way through the countless number of dupes issuing out punishments consisting of broken jaws, broken arms, broken necks, caved skulls, decapitations (that wasn't entirely Toni's fault, who knew trees could do that?), concussions and maimings.
<I'm usually not a violent person...honest!> Toni thinks toward one of the few remaining dupes before hurling him like a fastball up onto the roof. <It's just like baseball! Only they don't get to go to first base when you hit them...> Four identical men clamor as their teammate flies towards them, then they all howl as they tumble to the ground.
Toni pauses and looks around. <Did we get all of them?> She watches, clearly amused, as a handful of dupes disappear with a muted pop. While scratching the back of her head, Toni lets her armour recede. "Well, that was fun. Now where's the Bobster?"
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Post by Warren Worthington III on Nov 26, 2006 22:05:15 GMT
"The damned tank-girl's unstoppable! We need more firepower!" Warren can just barely make out the words as one of the clones shouts orders to a foursome that joins the battle, just before a metal spike juts through his spine. Warren winces, uncomfortable with all the bloodshed, as the group turns around and heads away from the battle, presumably to get more weapons.
Them, I can take care of, he projects. And maybe do some scouting while I'm at it. He leaps straight up and soars to follow that group, weaving to avoid the occasional bullet fired in his direction, though most of the firepower is concentrated on Toni... and is diminishing in intensity, in any event, as she takes out one clone after another.
Wow, he thinks to himself. And Ororo wants me on this team? I'm no use at all on a mission like this.
No time to think about that now. He dodges another hail of gunfire from the foursome, who fire at him as they retreat, briefly thankful for evasive maneuvers. Indoors those maneuvers become more difficult, though, and he ducks down a side corridor to avoid the spray of bullets, then loops back, figuring to come up behind them after they think he's gone.
It doesn't work that way, though... he soars back into the room to find the same foursome running up the stairs, towards him, apparently frightened. They bring their guns to bear on him, only to be wiped out by a burst of flame from behind them before a single shot is fired.
What the -- ?
Coming up the stairs is a familiar-looking short blond teenager in Brotherhood body armor, with sparks trailing from some kind of wrist-mounted gadgets. Behind him, not entirely visible in the darkness, another figure with a gun in each hand.
Warren is not a violent man by nature, but neither is he given to bluffing, and he meant every word about getting some payback for the attack on Josh. His eyes narrow at the sight of John and he accelerates his flight-path, intent on splattering the little pyromaniac against the nearest wall. Unfortunately, this keeps him from noticing yet another Madrox behind him, lining him up in his sights.
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Post by Josh Dalton Worthington on Nov 28, 2006 2:19:54 GMT
Josh shakes his head a little as Toni and Warren break off from him. After the fight with Elliot, returning to his physical senses was disoriently, and... limiting, somehow.
Wow. Haven't seen Toni in actual action yet. He'd worked with her in the Danger Room to some extent, but he'd trained with Bobby and Warren more. He winces a little at the carnage, but, to be fair, they were shooting at her.
Kay, Josh. Time to help out. He can still hear the bullets spattering off of his cover. Letting out a breath, he dives from cover and swings a hand towards the nearest Madrox. The dupe crashes out a window with a shout. A second dupe's gun is telekinetically yanked from his fingertips, and the weapon smashes him in the back of the skull. The man's eyes roll back and he sinks to the ground.
Josh can see Warren flapping off out of sight, and he decides to follow. Toni doesn't need cover, in any case. He jogs up to the far end of the Vanquish, but stops when he sees a dupe materialize in front of him, aiming a rifle.
He throws himself backwards, pushing outwards with all of his telekinetic strength. Josh screws up his eyes, expecting to feel the bite of a bullet at any point.
After a moment, his eyes open. The bullet is hovering several inches from him in midair. As he watches, the dupe is tossed like a ragdoll by Toni. Josh lets out a huge breath. <Thanks, Toni!>
Not bad. You're getting better at it. Bullets were extremely difficult to stop telekinetically. Their kinetic energy was brutal. The bullet drops to the ground with a faint sound.
He picks himself up and tears off after Warren, arriving at what appears to be the basement entrance. Josh takes the scene all in at once. John - John! - is near the basement entrance. Warren looks intent at breaking a couple more of John's ribs... and...! He spots the Madrox dupe aiming carefully for Warren.
<Warren. Behind you.> His mental voice sounds panicked. He won't be able to react in time. Josh lifts the dupe off the ground with his TK, tipping him upside down. The gun drops with a clatter.
"Why don't you take a hike?" Josh's eyes are angry. He tosses the Madrox across the room, it hitting the wall with a thump.
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Post by Toni Craft on Nov 28, 2006 4:04:01 GMT
"Oh yeeeecckkk!!" Toni wipes furiously at her arm, trying to rid herself of the thick, red dupe blood. OK, so maybe spearing that guy, and pulling that guys arm off, and smashing that guy's head open....She pauses and looks back at the few piles of remaining unconscious or dead men. Right, the headless guy...soooo not my fault...and yeah, maybe that last one was a little over the top. An instant later the bodies are gone. Ah, what the hell. It was fun, and it's not like they're real anyways. She rolls her shoulder slightly. Damn, but those bullets sure as hell felt real.
She looks up to see Warren soar over head, diving his way toward the few last dupes, and nearly catches them too, if it weren't for the fireball that set them ablaze.
"Well, that was convienent." Anything could have caused the fire. Exploding propane tank; hyperactive blowtorch; but more than likely a flame thrower with a short blond pryomaniacal teen on the other end of it.
Riiiiight...John...What was I supposed to do to him again? Something about his...ah! That's right! Castrate him!
She runs around the scathed Vanquish just in time to see a dupe get lifted, disarmed, and thrown rather harshly into the building's wall. "Take'er easy there, Joshy-poo. Only I'm allowed to be the violent one. The blood'd just stain that sexy leather of yours." As if on cue, another Madrox raises his weapon and fires at her from across the room. The bullet hits Toni in the side of her skull with a muted ding!
Her head snaps sharply to the right and she stumbles slightly in the same direction. Fortunately, her iron skeleton is thick enough to send the bullet careening off in a ricochet, but damn if the shot didn't make her just a little disoriented. Toni touches her head tenderly and wheels around, another iron spike already forming in her hand.
"Fuck you, you fucking carbon copy!" She starts taking heavy steps towards the miffed dupe. "Do you have any idea how fucking hard it'll be to get that ringing out of my ears now?!" He just stares at her, wondering why she was still alive (because the law of biology dictates that just about anything remotely human-like should die when a bullet hits them in the side of the head...apparently the law of biology has never met Toni).
Toni can still see the mixture of confusion and distraction in his eyes as she drives the spike through his shoulder and into the wall. And then his screams in pain.
"Oh shut it." She grumbles as she snatches his rifle away and twists it half a turn along the barrel.
Satisfied that the pinned dupe isn't going anywhere, Toni turns back to see John emerge from the stairwell. Oh...right...forgot about that again!
Assuming that the Brotherhood's second-in-command is ready and rearing for a fight, Toni armours up again, her steely grey eyes narrowing down on source of the aforementioned fiery burst.
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Post by Pyro on Nov 28, 2006 5:23:46 GMT
Following on from “Reeling From Decimated Dreams”Now isn't really the right time to grin, but that doesn't stop the glimmer of one coming through. Bob's back, it seems; whatever else in him has changed, nothing's broken. He's still him, and that's a good sign, right? Because even if it's too soon to say whether they still work as John and Bobby (and it is... or at least, it's easier to think of it that way rather than say they've stopped working) some part, at least, of their twisted pair dynamic remains in place - John heads out in front, but it's always Bobby who's really leading, and though neither will admit to it both have pretty much accepted it... All of that's a little deep for right now, of course, or at least a little deep to put into words when headspace is at such a premium, but the general point remains - it's a glass half full sort of moment. Or something. A sharp spike somewhere in the back of his brain distracts him from figuring out, as if a radio has slipped between stations - that squeal before it trails back to static proper - and it's... headspinning, and disorientating and... totally random. He's got no idea what it means, or even if it is anything *real*, and shrugs it off as another thing not worth thinking about.... "Okay, who's here now?" Bob's orders are somewhat more worthy of attention, so he shakes off the weird feeling in order to concentrate and try to keep track of what the hell is going on here… and when that fails to get the general gist and follow the directions he’s been given. "Never mind. Um... point, right. Stairs. Got it" John gives a quick thumbs up and a half salute, goes to head to the door… and turns back for a moment. Again the timing is hideously off, and it’s horrifically clichéd, but with things shifting a gear, and the distinct possibility that he won’t get a chance to say anything later (whether because he might not get out – which is the meaning he’s going to latch on to if it needs justification – or because Bobby won’t let him say it), he can’t not. ”If anything… happens, y’know.. erm..” – fuck. He’s never been good at these things (though that’s a vague thought, really, because he’s never done ‘these things’ – ”then… I need y’to know I’m sorry, and” – dammit, it’s just three little words… which refuse to come. And in many ways the one he settles for is more fitting - ”thanks, I guess.” He doesn’t add for everything or any of the other lines rolling around about having known something great yada yada because there are limits and they’d just sound false… but he trusts that Bob will know. Because he will. Obviously. He’ll understand. “Now let’s roll. Right, straight, up.” Another fist-clenched rock on sort of gesture, and he, erm, rolls. Straight out the door. That much is easy. Right… It’s odd that there are no dupe corpses, no guns lying around. The whole thing has the air of a first person shooter, all somehow unreal and sanitized and totally different to the battles he’s used to fighting, which is all good… but at the same time it would be nice to have some sign that these fucking things are killable, because they just keep coming and what with them all looking the same it’s sort of hard to tell whether they’re new ones or just the old ones getting back up… Straight… Speaking of *keeping coming*… it’s unnaturally calm down here. No dupes to be seen. Which is… freaky as all hell. He keeps expecting them to pour out of the very walls and turn this into a bloodbath, but… nothing. Possibly they’re all busy upstairs… He still has no idea what’s going on up there, though Bobby’s words hint at some sort of Institute action. How the hell have they found this place, then? Doesn’t really make much sense… U.. Oh, no. Not up John wheels back around at the dull click behind them… Lots of Madri. With guns. And it’s weirdly amusing thinking why the hell do they wait before shooting? Maybe it’s one of these villain rules, like how you have to spill the plan to the hero once they’re at your mercy rather than just killing them so that when they make their improbable escape they can foil said plan… which may have been why things never sat well with the Brotherhood, because such rules were obviously idiotic (hee… maybe the smoke and the blood loss are starting to get to him after all, if he’s thinking like that). Obviously it’s much, much better to just torch the bastards without nodding to traditions, without a second thought, and without mercy. The one concession he does make to the villainous stereotype is the small smirk and half-laugh. (Is it wrong that this should be fun? Probably, now he’s sort of a good guy again. Funny how it never felt good when he was, erm, bad… something to do with how it’s now *the right thing to do*? Whatever) It may be that which above all freaks out the Madri-Quads who appear at the top of the stairs – the way with the smile and the blackening and the trailing sparks he looks just a little, well, crazy. Could be. That, and the scent of charred flesh, and the general carnage… Not that it matters, because they don’t much time to be scared – another burst of flame cuts them short. Up into the foyer… John blinks, the light and the noise and everything just a little overwhelming after the relative darkness and small scale engagements of the basement; this is a whole different ball-game, because there’s blood and screaming and the dead still look like people and not like meat… and the fact they’re recognizably people makes the fact that the way they’re broken is a way human flesh isn’t meant to be just stab straight to the gut. But he hasn’t got time to drink any of that in… they’re still in the middle of this battle, after all, as the fact that there’s a blur of leathers and feathers streaking towards him drives home. He half considers sparking up in the half-second he has to think, but since it’s not ostensibly a Madrox, and he’s fairly sure torching one of Bobby’s teammates would be a mistake he couldn’t back away from (because, y’know, the rest of them have been trivial by comparison… heh. Whatever.), he instead darts back, flattening himself against the wall in the stairwell and swatting one arm out in an attempt to drag Bob – who, being behind him, is next in line – back as well… Slamming back into the wall hurts, and it takes a lot to bite that back from being a full yell into just a wince, but he’s ignoring that as he shoots a side-glance at Bobby ”You think maybe you could tell your lot not to kill me?”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 28, 2006 23:25:13 GMT
> " If anything… happens, y’know.. erm… then… I need y’to know I’m sorry, and "
Swear to God, if he tells me he loves me I’m gonna scream.
> " thanks, I guess."
Bobby breathes a sigh of relief… he’s not going to have to deal with that after all. Yet, anyway. "Yeah."
And when you do have to? What then, Drake?
Not a question he’s prepared to answer. He’s only just managed to (mostly) convince himself that this isn’t some kind of complicated trick, and he’s willing to accept provisionally the conclusion that John really has quit the Brotherhood (or been kicked out?).
Which is great, and would have made his year about twelve hours ago, but now... well, things are different now and he’s not ready yet to think about what that means. Eleventh-hour repentance or no, it’s still the same John who stuck that goddamned needle in his leg.
And you’re the same Bob who shipped him off to the Camps back at Alcatraz, and he forgave that…
It’s not the same thing, though. (Isn’t it?) It’s not. John had tried to kill him at Alcatraz; Bobby’d defended himself and his team. Yeah, the government gave him a raw deal after that, but Bobby hadn’t known that, and he’d done his best to fix it when he found out. Not the same thing at all! John had asked him on a date, for the love of God, and ambushed him, and John’s own team had done the torturing.
And sure, he may have thought he was defending Bobby when he did it, but that was just crazy! (Well, it’s John… what do you expect? He doesn’t come at things the way other people do.And he is trying to fix it, and – what the?!?!)
Ordinarily Bobby doesn’t indulge in this kind of woolgathering in a combat situation… Logan trained that bad habit out of him quite effectively, if painfully. But this situation isn’t ordinary, and Bobby’s caught flat-footed as four more clones come pounding down the stairs. He doesn’t even notice them until they make a noise, rubbing his nose in just how much he’s come to rely on his mutant abilities; he compounds the fault by forgetting about the guns in his hands and instinctively trying to quick-freeze them.
Fortunately, as Bobby stands there looking foolish, John deals with them. And that’s another. Just how many times does he need to save your life before you let this go, Drake? Except his life wouldn’t need saving if John hadn’t nailed him in the first place, and dammit he’s not going to think about this now.
Upstairs sounds like a fucking war zone, so of course that’s where they’re headed. (It occurs to Bobby, in passing, that that’s pretty much the story of his life.) Or were headed, before John slams both of them into a wall, sending a jolt of pain down Bobby’s arm that sends one of the machine-pistols flying back down the stairs.
> " You think maybe you could tell your lot not to kill me?"
Bobby’s mouth opens… closes… opens again. It’s not so much a question of not knowing what to say, as of being unable to choose among alternatives. Finally he growls out "Yeah… OK. Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll fucking shoot you myself." and climbs back up to the landing, giving Warren, Toni, and Josh his closest approximation of a cheery wave with the non-gun-holding hand while trying not to look too obvious about being ready to target John with the other, because if this is some kind of trick here's where the payoff comes.
Whatever he was about to say gets choked off at the sight of the messily dead Madrii all over the room. Not going to vomit. Not. He grins manically, remembering vaguely from an old CSI episode that smiling suppresses the gag reflex, and concentrates his attention on the pain in his arm, it being the thing most likely to distract him from the charnel-house he’s just walked into.
"Grateful for the rescue, guys… can we get out of here now?"
They aren’t real, he reminds himself. Yeah. Tell them that, he snarls back in the (relative) privacy of his own head as he runs – well, limps and shuffles – to the car, keeping his head down. All of which distracts his attention from John for a moment, before he remembers. "Oh, and don’t kill John. He’s mine."
It occurs to Bobby, as he climbs into the armor-plated car, that his last sentence could be taken several different ways. He wonders which one he meant.
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Post by Warren Worthington III on Nov 29, 2006 1:28:39 GMT
> < Warren. Behind you. >
Warren zigzags evasively without pausing to think, then flips head-over-heels to deal with the threat before registering that Josh has dealt with his would-be-sniper. Thanks, hon… He doesn’t even wait for the body to hit the wall before turning the flip into a full aerial somersault and returning his attention to John… who has taken advantage of Warren’s brief distraction to dive for cover.
Right. Like it’s that easy. Outdoors it wouldn’t even slow him down; in these cramped quarters he has to swoop and turn to regain an optimal approach vector, which is just as well if there are other snipers drawing a bead on him. But before he finishes that maneuver the shadowy figure with John reveals itself as the object of their search, apparently free and mobile, if not undamaged.
Their whispered conversation is hard to pick out against the background noise, but Warren’s hearing is more than up to the job.
> " You think maybe you could tell your lot not to kill me? "
> " Yeah… OK. Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll fucking shoot you myself. "
That… doesn’t sound like a hostage situation. Or a rescue, exactly… or, well, anything Warren can make sense of, and he veers off for another pass while trying to decide what to do now. He senses two additional Madrii coming down the hall before they’re visible and slaps them both hard against the wall like handballs before they even bring their rifles to bear. Your call, J – what do we do with the pyro?
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Post by Josh Dalton Worthington on Nov 29, 2006 3:06:57 GMT
Josh looks back at Warren, relief evident on his face. The Madrox is lying in a heap along the wall, already forgotten. Thank god. He couldn't think of many worse mission outcomes than one of them getting shot - especially Warren.
> "Oh, and don’t kill John. He’s mine."
Josh opens his mouth to express his happiness at seeing Bobby again, but quickly closes it without saying anything. There's something about his tone of voice that makes things clear that sort of thing is for later. God, Bobby. You look like shit, what did they do to you?
Now that the tension of the battle was winding down - in a sense, anyway, you could cut what's between Bobby and John with a knife - the dull pain of Josh's previous wounds begin to return. He winces slightly. Fortunately, the bruises from back at the Mansion were healing pretty well.
> Your call, J – what do we do with the pyro?
Josh chews on his upper lip for a minute, eyeing Warren. <Good question. Take him with us? Bobby seems to think he is.... In any case, he's not getting in the car with us with the flamethrowers. Back me up, alright?>
As the pair walk towards the car, Josh intercepts John at the front hood. "Right. Thanks for the help and all, but there's no way you're getting in the car with those." He indicates the flamethrowers. "And I want all the Zippos, too." He cocks his head. "No hard feelings and all, but after our little skirmish last night..."
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Post by Toni Craft on Nov 29, 2006 4:46:51 GMT
And there's John...and Bobby in tow? Now that is something that Toni isn't expecting and she can't help but pause for a moment.
Right...since when does John kidnap people then lead them to safety, guns and flame-throwers blazing?
Warren makes the dive for the pyro, and Toni watches as he presses himself into the wall and pulls Bobby back with him. Hmmm...he loves Bobby, he loves him not. He loves Bobby, he loves him not... If only she had a daisy to pluck.
And then after sharing a few words, Bobby steps forward and tries to smile and wave, indicating that he's okay. Hmph...doesn't look okay. Oh...wait...I'm the medic aren't I?
"Hey Bobs! You feeling all right?" She asks in a genuinely concerned tone after dropping her armor and following him towards the car. She also notes that John is a little rough for wear and blood is soaking a section of his shirt, but Toni leaves him to Josh.
Bobby seats himself in the car and Toni leans against the door frame casually, despite the obvious carnage around them. "You don't look so hot. Need a band-aid?" She studies him silently for a moment before noting his roughened up shoulder. "That's not looking very good. You--er...someone bang that up on you? Looks like it could use a sling." She grants him a small frown before fumbling to unlock the trunk. "I've got some stuff in the back. How's about some morphine to loosen ya up a little bit before we get out of here? You sure as hell look like you need it."
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Post by Pyro on Nov 29, 2006 7:11:52 GMT
< Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll fucking shoot you myself[/color]
Okay… what? He wants to shrug that off as just one of those things people say, but Bobby’s tone, and the f-bomb (which he still can’t get used to hearing from him… it’s just… not Bobby) suggests that no, it’s a very real threat. Which doesn’t make sense and at the same time is more than fitting and…
No. Bobby wouldn’t shoot him. That’s crazy talk.
Any crazier than you thinking handing him over to Magneto’s a good idea? Or Magneto kicking you out? Or fucking Madrox clones pumping you full of lead? Put like that, it’s probably whatever today’s definition of sane is, and that’s… there isn’t a word for it yet, because it’s both hugely terrifying and at the same time… just sucks all feeling out, like it’s been clawed out of him leaving just a big hollow space. And it’s not numbness, it’s something else, and it floors him that deadness can be such an acute, sharp pain… which rapidly turns to a cold dead feeling in the pit of his stomach as Bobby reaches the car and not only seems to consider telling them not to kill him nothing more than an afterthought but then says that he’s his. And yes, there are a few different roads that could be going down, but only one of them seems anything other than vain ridiculous hope just now.
It takes him a couple of seconds to realise he’s headed over to the car as well, numbly stumbling after Bobby (and that sickens him further, that he’s being so placid and shell-shocked, but really, what the hell else is he meant to do?). What does he think he’s doing? Going with them?
… well, yeah. Not like he has any other option now, is it? And besides, he doubts any of them will let him run, and whether he’s supposed to come freely (which is a gesture even he can appreciate the significance of and which might win some twisted sympathy which he feels pathetic for wanting but no less desperate to secure) or as a hostage or prisoner both are better than whatever vengeance Magneto will no doubt have meted out for him once Alcatraz is dealt with and infinitely better than being gunned down by Bobby. And even if he’s just walking to his inevitable execution – because even now there’s a voice pointing out that he’s not just their enemy, he’s probably near the top of some government hit list and therefore can’t just expect to walk free once he abandons Magneto’s protection – then it’s doing something, and doing is good because it’s in the stillness that insanity lies.
< there’s no way you’re getting in the car with those[/color]
He half considers growling some no-doubt ill-thought out response, because, fuck it, hadn’t he just proved how much use *those* were, as well as they he was wasn’t going to use *them* against them? The tone too merits a laugh and some disparaging comment, because Josh trying to play the big leader should be far too entertaining an image, the parental tone he’s taking equal parts irritating and amusing. But Josh’s logic is unmistakable and pretty hard to argue with and… yeah, he should probably go along with whatever they say because he’s got no delusions as to who the power in this lies with. Besides, it’s not like the igniters are such a big sacrifice. Magneto made them, and therefore the act of giving them up is only right and proper now, right? And so he unbuckles one and drops it fairly unceremoniously at Josh’s feet, and is about to start on the other one…
< And I want all the Zippos, too[/color]
… okay, that he baulks at (though underneath that there’s some small part which finds it hugely amusing that every time he returns to the Institute someone takes the Zippo away… which pretty much sums up all the reasons he left. But no time for that tangent now). All the Zippos? Fuck no. No way.
Okay, calm. Show willing. Because you only need one, right? And he doesn’t know how many you’ve got… just play along and then we can roll That ‘many’ turns out to be more than he’d expected, and there’s also a certain dark amusement in dropping the second igniter and turning out numerous pockets only to produce more variations of the Zippo and cheap disposable lighters than should be possible. And sure, it might be mad to expect people who know him not to pick up on the obvious omission from that pile… but there has to be a chance their heads are as messed up by the battle as his is, or that in their desperation to leave they won’t notice. Because damned if he’s letting that one out of his grip.
”There. Happy? We can roll now, right? Because I for one don’t want to be around when Buckethead gets back.” It’s still got that cocky edge, and he mentally kicks himself for not being able to train it out (though it’s sort of a good thing, letting him know there’s some of him left in there under whatever else is going on as well as pointing at a sort of normality), but the tone is far smaller and more vulnerable. And he’s really hoping they can roll, because staying here is getting uncomfortable in a way which has nothing to do with the carnage or the threat of imminent metallic punishment but is going to be put down to those anyway because reasoning anything else makes his head spin.
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Post by Bobby Drake on Nov 29, 2006 16:16:39 GMT
> " How's about some morphine to loosen ya up a little bit before we get out of here?"
Bobby shakes his head, looking for all the world like a petulant seven-year-old. "No more needles." He clutches his remaining machine pistol with his free hand like a security blanket, staring dazedly out the car window. "Just let’s go, OK?"
John molting his lighters would be funny under other circumstances, and the vulnerability in his voice and posture afterwards would have evoked a surge of protectiveness if Bobby were still feeling that sort of thing, or in fact feeling anything at all. (Because, he assures himself, he’s not. Except pain. Physical pain. That’s all. Which is good, because that will go away eventually.)
> " We can roll now, right? Because I for one don’t want to be around when Buckethead gets back. "
"Yeah. Let’s get out of here." John’s probably holding out a lighter or two… in fact, a quick glance notes the marked absence of “sharky”… but Bobby can’t bring himself to care. If he’s going to blow up the car or something, better to get it over with.
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Post by Josh Dalton Worthington on Nov 29, 2006 21:14:31 GMT
> We can roll now, right? Because I for one don’t want to be around when Buckethead gets back.
With slight concentration, John's sizeable armory floats like a mini asteroid belt between the two boys. Josh blinks, slightly agape. Why this suprises me, I have no idea. Someone's missing, though. With a jerk of his head, the items float around the Vanquish, dropping neatly into the open trunk.
"Okay... I know you've still got the one. Hand it over, please. I'd love to get out of here before Buckethead returns, too..." After a second, he reaches out with his telepathy to John. <I'm not mad, John. Weeelll... mostly not. Bruises heal. But if Storm finds it on you after we get back I'll never hear the end of it. Let me trust you... please.> His mental voice turns pleading at the end. Will he listen to me? Josh had been the only one to hear John's reasoning on this whole screwed up ordeal. It was typical John logic, but his intentions had been good... that is, as good as they can be when sedating your lover and kidnapping them.
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Post by Pyro on Nov 30, 2006 19:33:19 GMT
Okay, maybe Josh’s reaction is genuinely amusing (though come on, what did he expect? John’s collection had always been sizable even before he had a reason to be that heavily equipped beyond paranoia and addiction) – the way things don’t fall, but instead just hover in some sort of freaky-teeky-field is particularly funny the way things are when you’re all headspinny - and he’s prepared to just get in the car as Josh dumps his armory in the boot and sort out the messy details later. Because getting out would be very good right now (sleep would also be very good – at least, if he wasn’t an odd sort of jittery hyper, which is probably a good thing in keeping him from dropping out – because he’s totally drained and ready to collapse)… but no, Josh is going to make it difficult. Understandably difficult, of course, but still, understanding doesn’t stop it feeling all sorts of evil and petty. And the mental poke which follows hardly inspires any greater sympathy.
Fuck off, Josh. If trust was still an issue Bob’d be rotting in that basement and the Madri would’ve roasted your precious fucking boyfriend… Shit. Should probably have got used to telepathy by now, right? Because you’re probably still listening in, aren’t you?
Next to everything else that’s happened so far in this whole sordid tale, surviving without a lighter should be easy. But it’s not, is it? Never going to be. And the way his brain starts working when he doesn’t have a lighter scares him almost as much as the withdrawal itself (because yes, withdrawal is an oddly appropriate word…)
John flicks the Zippo open, but doesn’t light it, just thumbs the wheel for a long moment as if trying to commit the feel of the thing to memory…
Fine. It would be truly fucked up if they got through all that and died now because he wasted time refusing to give up a lighter, wouldn’t it?
… when he snaps it shut it’s not Josh he surrenders ‘Sharky’ to, though. Instead it sits between thumb and index finger, waiting for Bob to take it. Why? No real reason. It’s not like he trusts Bobby to return it or whatever – in fact he wouldn’t be surprised to find the former Iceman destroying it (shudder, don’t think about that) – or feels the need to make the gesture (except that yeah, he obviously does, only… not. Okay, that doesn’t make sense either). It just… well, that feels like the way it should play out.
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Post by Josh Dalton Worthington on Dec 1, 2006 2:01:06 GMT
>Fuck off, Josh. If trust was still an issue Bob’d be rotting in that basement and the Madri would’ve roasted your precious fucking boyfriend… Shit. Should probably have got used to telepathy by now, right? Because you’re probably still listening in, aren’t you?
Josh's lips compress briefly. This was almost too much. He'd been able to sympathize with John's twisted sense of logic to a degree - he'd certainly do anything to keep Warren safe. The mention of Bobby and Warren raises his hackles, though, and he finally loses his composure.
"If trust wasn't an issue, John, Bobby wouldn't be here. And I don't 'listen in'. I can't help it if you're shouting. Get in the fucking car." The trunk slams shut at the end of his sentence. Josh makes his way over to the car door, placing a hand on it.
"Warren, Toni - let's get out of here." I wonder how the Alcatraz team is doing. Good luck, guys.
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Post by Toni Craft on Dec 1, 2006 13:44:40 GMT
"No more needles. Just let’s go, OK?"
Toni smiles lightly and steps back, "Sounds like a plan, Bob. I'd like to get home before my soaps come on, and I know that Matty'll screw up the VCR if I'm not there."
She turns back to watch the lighter-shedding scuffle between John and Josh, raising an eyebrow at the sheer number of the damn things. But this is John, remember? The kid has always had enough lighter fluid to launch his ass into space.
"If trust wasn't an issue, John, Bobby wouldn't be here. And I don't 'listen in'. I can't help it if you're shouting. Get in the fucking car." Toni can't help but reel back a little at the sound of Josh's angry commands. Obviously there had been a whole conversation that she'd missed, but given his irritated composure, Toni can safely assume what it had been about.
"Warren, Toni - let's get out of here."
"I've got no problems with that. M'I drivin' again? I promise to take it easy this time," Toni grasps the handle to the driver's door and gives it a tug, only to hear a metal on metal crunch. "Let's just hope that the cops don't happen to notices the beaten side panels and the bullet holes." To emphasize her point, she sticks her finger into the shattered indent on the windshield. Toni frowns and then turns back to John. "Speaking of bullet holes...how's that shoulder, John? You're looking a little pale." She tries to come of as caring, but she can't help the residual amount of anger that filters into her voice.
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