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Post by Bobby Drake on Jan 17, 2007 22:11:02 GMT
Bob quiets suddenly as the soldier bursts in, and winces at the surprisingly loud click of the lighter. Note to self: quieter igniter for John. he thinks distractedly.
He’s surprised that John waits until their attacker is in-line with the closet door before moving, and makes a second mental note to work on indirect attacks in their next Danger Room session, and tries hard to suppress the inevitable uncertainties about whether he’s ever going to see the Danger Room – or John – again. There’s no room for that sort of thinking in battle, Logan taught him that a long time ago (well… really only a few months ago, but it feels like forever), and even if he’s just a useless bystander this is still a battle and he ought to at least play by the rules.
Anyway, it works out OK, as John’s flame throws the invader against the far wall. He can’t help but wince at the heat, not so much because he feels it – actually, John’s fire-lance-thing is surprisingly tightly focused – but because it brings back memories. Bob is, after all, one of the only people in the world to have experienced the full force of John’s power and been able to think about it later. (There was that incident with Piotr in the Danger Room, but that still makes for a rather select group… and the idea that this goon whose mom never taught him to knock might end up joining it leaves Bob feeling strangely jealous… which, granted, isn’t an unusual thing these days.)
After a moment, the armored invader struggles to his feet again, despite John’s pseudosolid fire-lance pinning him against the wall. Even over the roar of flame, Bob can hear the strained high-pitched whine of the armor’s power-cells, presumably as environmental cooling and gyroscopic stabilization systems switch into overdrive, and he actually cheers when the soldier’s energy-weapon fails to fire due to insufficient available power. Hell, we might actually beat this thing! he thinks, too exultant for the moment to even worry about his minimal role in the “we,” or the fact that “beating” it will no doubt involve roasting alive yet another human being.
He’ll feel guilty about that once it’s over, but for now his feelings of both guilt and inadequacy are submerged in the adrenalin-fueled flood of excitement and fear.
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Post by Pyro on Jan 19, 2007 4:24:12 GMT
It worked!
… ‘Course it fucking worked, Johnny. It’s what you do, remember? Now y’just got to keep it working long enough for you and Bob to have a fighting chance and…
Actually, don’t think about the ‘and’. You need to concentrate.
Fire’s pretty good for the dramatic thrilling heroics. It’s less good at passing unnoticed, and the flare is enough to distract one of the other units in the hallway from the invulnerable girl carving up their team mates. John doesn’t notice the movement at first, too keyed in to keeping the other invader pinned, not giving him a chance to get that gun working again, hopefully burning his way through that fucking armour which has to be giving the most protracted death rattle ever…
”Y’might want to shoot or something, Bob. Just an idea” John struggles to make it sound half-way sure of success through gritted teeth, the words harsh and short in a way which sits oddly in his tone, born of tension rather than venom. ”Now would be a good time…”
Getting that first flare was simple, but keeping it focused, especially against an enemy who tries to fight back? That takes concentration… and having to concentrate makes him vulnerable… as does having suddenly to chose between two targets.
It’s not much of a flicker as he trains a second flame in on the newcomer, knocking them (is this one a her? S’hard to tell; they seem smaller, and lighter, which makes the toss far more effective than it has any right to be) aside and into the doorframe where ‘she’ reels, stunned, for a moment… but it’s enough for that first guy to get back on his feet and make a dash not towards the escape but straight at the crazy mutant bastard who’s taking his unit out. The power shortage might mean his gun doesn’t work quite the way it’s supposed to, but as an alternative fuel there’s plenty of rage and desperation to go around, and it works pretty damn well as a club. John stumbles with the impact, tasting blood, before a second blow he can’t quite avoid sends the floor rushing up to greet him.
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Post by Bobby Drake on Jan 19, 2007 18:48:22 GMT
> " Y’might want to shoot or something, Bob. Just an idea. Now would be a good time…"
Bob manages to resist the urge to smack him. Right… because of course that shiny armor’s no good against bullets, right? But the truth is there’s really not much else he can do, and he might as well do something… who knows, maybe he can hit a weak point in the guy’s armor, or something. Before he can bring his rifle into line, though, the invader moves – faster than Bob had anticipated in bulky armor – and John goes down.
"John!" Bob swings the rifle, awkwardly in the small space, and at least manages to distract the invader’s attention from putting John out for the count as a swing of an armored arm smashes him against the far wall, next to the window, sends the rifle flying. He’s vaguely aware of the sounds of a storm – or, more likely, a Storm – whipping up outside the window, but she’s probably too busy to save the day just yet. Come on, Drake, you’ve gotta do something!
The plan, such as it is, comes to him all at once. The soldier attacking John is still effectively gunless, though not for long, and is watching Bob with what seems like uncertainty, though it’s hard to be sure through the faceplate. Bob doesn’t blame him… charging a room full of superpowered mutants can’t be an easy job, no matter how spiffy your armor, and he’d just come very close to being parbroiled by one of them. He’s probably jittery, keyed up. OK, I can use that. God, I hope this works!
Bob gets up slowly from the floor, making no attempt at dodging, raising his hands dramatically in the air and putting on his best high-intensity-concentration look, like the Professor used to when using his powers to do something tough. "OK, that does it," he mutters, just barely audible. "Now I’m mad." Slowly he brings his hands down into line with the soldier, trembling as if against some huge resistance, two fingers and a thumb forked out like he’s in Lord of the Rings and waiting for the CGI to kick in and strike the guy with a lightning bolt or something.
And, almost predictably, the soldier charges... ready to take Bob down before whatever it is he’s doing can connect, the same way he did John. Except Bob is expecting it, and while he may not be Iceman anymore he’s still a halfway decent fighter, trained to deal with stronger opponents. Step-spin-drop-flip and the charging armored suit is off its feet and tripping over his back; straighten-HEAVE-toss and it’s crashing through the window out into the courtyard, and Bob is pretty sure he tore something in his back but right now it doesn’t matter.
The smaller invader by the front door is getting back to her feet, and John is still on the ground, and she’s aiming her gun at him… not good. He grabs John under his arms and pushes, hoping to get him back into the safety of the closet before the weapon fires, or at least to get in the way of the blast, even though he knows it’s hopeless.
Which is why, when the rest of the window behind him blows in a sky-shattering KABOOOM!, and the room goes bright and blinds the invader by the door for a moment, Bob is facing the closet and doesn’t really see it… and why, when the shockwave hits an instant later, it throws both of them in a tangle of limbs against the back of the closet and drops piles of clothing and boxes and who-knows-what on Bob’s back and head, leaves him more than a little dazed. Weird… thought their guns would pack more punch than that? he thinks, stupidly, then looks down at John’s face, slightly bloodsmeared from the gun-barrel strike.
(( OOC: for those following along at home, that was Ororo’s lightning-strike from the other thread… ))
"John, you’ve gotta get up… I did what I could, but you’re the one with the firepower, y’know?" He hates the urgency in his voice, the pleading… and he doesn’t even notice the word-play… he just wants John to be OK. "Now would be a good time."
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Post by Rogue on Jan 19, 2007 20:14:56 GMT
Swung by the arms and flung, one of the shiny-armored soldiers goes crashing into two of his comrades, sending all three sprawling, and they don’t move. She must have thrown him a little hard…but at least these aren’t dead. Rogue’s not touching the ground as she whirls towards the last standing two who were there when she turned around last – except it’s only one, now, standing there, weapon pointed at her…
One’s missing?
She turns towards the bedroom, and, sure enough, she can see the ‘missing’ soldier inside. ‘Course, being distracted isn’t so good, apparently, as she’s aware of a weird thrum-crackle sound in the air, just before a bright blueish light and she whirls, one hand on her arm where she’s been grazed by one of the shots from the gun. She shoots him a look, as if offended by the fact that he dared shoot at her, and glances at the place she was hit.
There’s a blistering mark there, and this actually hurts, too – like a shock, and the muscle in her arm doesn’t feel quite right, as she tries to shake out the sensation. Her fingers are definitely tingling unpleasantly from it – and she’s pretty sure any kind of direct hit with it would be really bad, weird invulnerability or no.
Ow, sh*t...‘Kay, note t’self – y’not immune t’electricity, o’to...whatever those are...
During the time it took her to look at her arm, he’s advanced slightly, weapon still pointed at her – seems a little shaken by the fact that she’s taken down his whole squad without so much as breaking a sweat. She’s a little unnerved by that, herself, but that doesn’t make it much harder to swoop at him and take him down too.
She’s standing over the body with something between satisfaction and revulsion when there’s suddenly a blast from behind, inside the room…. Or outside it, rather, she discovers once she’s rushed inside – seems Ororo’s stirred up something massive out there.
The stumbling-disoriented soldier inside fires off a shot, but it’s in the totally wrong direction…for anything. Just sort of at the wall. Rogue can’t help but smirk slightly as she tugs the weapon from her and uses it to knock the invader unconscious with the butt of it.
”…Now would be a good time."[/color]
She can hear, over the noise of whatever-the-heck-is-happening outside and in the rest of the mansion, Bob’s voice, and peers inside the closet, trying to paste on a smile over the worry she can’t quite hide. He seems okay, as best she can see from here, though covered in stuff like that, it’s rather hard to tell…
”Y’alright, hon?”
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Post by Pyro on Jan 21, 2007 4:50:23 GMT
Time doesn’t pass in a blur, nor does the world fade to black… Instead it’s like forwarding a chapter on DVD; one minute he’s on his feet with a pissed off tank of a man bearing down on him, then the image skips, and judders, and the next thing he knows he’s sprawled, battered and bloodied, somewhere dark and uncomfortable, with Bob telling him to wake up. It takes a second or two to remember why Bob would be concerned, and, ultimately, why he *blacked out*, which… ah, isn’t good. Only after he starts in response to that does he remember the specifics, wincing and cringing as if trying crawl back into the dark at the hot stab at the side of his head and the sting of a split lip.
”Dunno, Bobby-Boy. Staying down is good. Easier to forget that I’ve left half my skull out there…” The hoarse slurring is half of the aftermath of beating beaten over the head with a gun. The other half is a weird giddiness and the absence of things like common sense and self consciousness, concussed logic seeing nothing wrong with adding ”Far easier ways, y’know, if you’re that desperate for me to wake up next to you” before he winces again, gingerly mapping the bruise that’ll probably have blossomed by tomorrow with tentative fingertips. ”Fu-uck. That hurts”
< Y’alright, hon?
”I’m just fucking peachy” Two things, in this too, of note; the absence of surprise that she’s here (of course he’s not surprised, where else would she be?), and the hey, I’m here too half-whine of his reply, as if he knows the question isn’t directed at him (which, again, of course it isn’t. Duh.) ”… though telling me we somehow kicked Team Shiny’s collective over-equipped asses would just top things off.” John tries to pull himself up, but the combination of Bobby, random junk and headspinning dizziness conspires so that he only makes it a few inches before slipping back down with another flinch. ”There’d better be some fucking great perks to this hero business, because… shit. Oww….”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Jan 21, 2007 20:59:07 GMT
> " Dunno, Bobby-Boy. Staying down is good. Easier to forget that I’ve left half my skull out there…"
Bob doesn’t know how to respond to that, caught between the urgency of dealing with the still-standing invader and his guilt over not having stopped the other one before John got nailed.
Which, when he thinks about it, is pretty stupid – it’s not like he’s a serious player in this fight, after all. Sure, he’d dealt with the one invader, but only after John had drained the guy’s battery, and even then it had been as much luck as anything. No way can he deal with the other one… but judging from the sounds of battle back in the room, he’s not going to have to. Thank goodness for small favors, he thinks, knowing he should get up and evaluate the situation but right at the moment not feeling any desire to move. Or, at least, not to move away.
> " Far easier ways, y’know, if you’re that desperate for me to wake up next to you "
He stiffens at that, pulling his hand away from the cut on John’s head like a boy caught raiding the cookie jar. Had he been that obvious? Yeah, probably. So, great, now he probably thinks I was just taking advantage of the opportunity to grope him or something… except, now that he thinks about it, he’s not entirely sure John was objecting, so much as offering… which means… well, something. Doesn’t it?
No, probably not. It's not what it was, before Baker, before Magneto, before everything changed. Except... right now, it doesn't really feel all that different. Is it possible that the only thing that really changed is that I got scared?
Because, absurd as it seems given all the high-powered weaponry being discharged all around him, he’s not scared now... at least, not scared of John. That needle is still on his mind, sure, but somehow it’s not the same. Maybe it’s because John just saved his life… maybe because someone else is really trying to kill him now… maybe because John’s so obviously not a threat right now, dazed and bruised and bloody… maybe it just doesn’t make any sense.
Bob’s not sure what’s going on anymore… with John, with the invasion, with anything… but all of a sudden it doesn’t seem to matter so much compared to the here, and the now, and the them. Because really, it’s always been like that with John – it’s never made much sense, and it’s best when he doesn’t try to force it to – and so maybe nothing’s really changed?
Well… I guess there’s one way to find out? Gently, he touches the bruised side of John’s head, traces the blood along his cheek, and –
> "Y’alright, hon?"
> " I’m just fucking peachy "
– he pulls back again, startled. Right. What was I thinking? Yeah, Drake: you haven’t screwed over your friends enough yet, it’s time to get in the middle of John and Marie by taking advantage of John while he’s concussed. Whatever he was feeling a moment ago drains like oil through a cracked pan, leaving behind nothing but shame; he attempts to pull away from John just as John tries to pull himself up, and somehow the result is another painful-sounding thud as John’s head bounces off the floor again, and Bob winces with sympathy.
> " telling me we somehow kicked Team Shiny’s collective over-equipped asses would just top things off. "
"Well, judging from who’s still moving and who isn’t," and Bob tries to keep his voice light and professional as he rolls to his feet and looks around the room, "it looks like ‘Team Shiny’ is down, at least for now. Mar—Rogue, I’ve never been happier to see you since… well, ever, I think. Thanks for the save."
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Post by Rogue on Jan 22, 2007 3:27:27 GMT
“I’m just fucking peachy…"
Rogue can’t help the amused smile that crosses her face at the almost childlike whiny tone in John’s voice as he pipes up, as if irked he’d been ignored for even a split second.
“Good t’know, Sugah.” Placating tone, as if speaking to someone well younger than her, amused smile still in place. Her mood's a lot better, knowing they're both okay, that she got here in time to help. Now she doesn't have to worry so much.
“…though telling me we somehow kicked Team Shiny’s collective over-equipped asses would just top things off.”
"Well, judging from who’s still moving and who isn’t, it looks like ‘Team Shiny’ is down, at least for now. Mar—Rogue, I’ve never been happier to see you since… well, ever, I think. Thanks for the save."
She notes – and is slightly confused by – his correction of her name (he always calls her Marie, even despite her past best efforts to make him stop and call her Rogue like everyone else…), but she doesn’t say anything about it. Now isn’t the time to puzzle over things like that.
Instead, she just shrugs slightly and flashes a grin, as if it’s something entirely simple that isn’t anything near lifesaving magnitude (mostly because she doesn’t want to think about either of them dying on her…she worries about that enough as it is.). “Yeah, they’re out. An’ no worries, hon, s’good t’see ya too. W’should really get outta here – fin’ th’others…”
”There’d better be some fucking great perks to this hero business, because… shit. Oww….”
“What, y’mean y’not havin’ fun yet?” she responds lightly, stepping a little closer and offering a gloved hand to help him up, flashing a wry grin. ”We got great health benefits, if tha’s any consolation t’ya…”
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Post by Pyro on Jan 23, 2007 8:06:03 GMT
< I’ve never been happier to see you
”Oh yeah. Per-fect timing”
John can console himself, if the need arises (which it probably won’t, because you don’t think about these kind of things when you’re concussed, you just talk shit), with thinking that he wouldn’t have been able to keep that sting of sarcasm out of the comment at the best of times. Because… well, ignoring the *save*, she’s only totally interrupted… something. He’s not entirely sure what, really, since whatever it was was barely there long enough for him to pick up on, let alone get a handle on. But something. He’s marginally better at not looking totally disappointed when Bob moves away, though there’s a kicked puppy look he’s obviously blaming on dazed-ness and just general incomprehension of what the hell is going on rather than anything else.
< Thanks for the save
< Yeah, they’re out
Yeah, about that… how, exactly? Rogue absorbing a whole platoon of invaders, given how she still freaks at the idea of using her power on anyone other than him, just seems… weird. But it looks like the whole desperate times thing holds as good here as it did back with the ‘hood, and there can’t be any other explanation really unless she’s wandered off and borrowed someone else’s powers for a while (which given that that means hurting someone she actually gives a damn about seems even more ludicrous), and he idly wonders how Mini-Johnny’s facing off against them over in psyche!land…
< W’should really get outta here – fin’ th’others
… oh, right. They still have to worry about real!world. He can live with that, even if he’s finding that it’s taking an absurd amount of concentration to be concerned rather than either dozy or manic. John clicks the Zippo a couple of times, experimentally, to check that it (and he) are still working, frowning when he fumbles sparking it and the flame doesn’t immediately burst into life on the first attempt, but seemingly satisfied. Then he takes Rogue’s proffered hand, and gets to his feet, a little shakier than usual but trying valiantly to cover that up by pulling away, brushing himself down as if everything’s a-ok and grinning at her comment about medical plans. ”Oh, fan-bloody-tastic. Health benefits. I’d far rather… holy shit!”
Seems the world isn’t quite about to find out exactly what would entice him to become a proper hero (possibly because he himself doesn’t know how that sentence would end… can’t end like that, no way. Because even if he were thinking about it, it would be one fucked up benefits package. Brilliant, but not how the X-Men do it). Instead his attention is on the gaping hole that used to be their window… and, erm, the entire front of their room…
”Figures I’d be out when a giant mutie-slaying robot thing decided to take a bite outta the Mansion… seriously, what the fuck happened?”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Jan 23, 2007 18:57:27 GMT
> " Oh yeah. Per-fect timing "
The sarcastic bite in John’s voice stings, primarily because Bob knows full well he deserved it, though he’d vaguely hoped that John hadn’t noticed. He considers apologizing, but he can’t think of an apology that wouldn’t make the situation worse… “Sorry I tried to molest you back there, after you dumped me to hook up with my ex-girlfriend and then got your skull smashed in saving my life” really wouldn’t do it, especially since he’d be unlikely to keep the resentment out of his voice.
Better just to let it pass, he figures, and misses John’s kicked-puppy look as he turns to inspect one of the downed soldiers and the dents in his armor. Wow. He’d known Rogue had gone all invulnerable and superstrong after they’d saved Congress, but he hadn’t realized just how tough she was… wow. Good thing she’s one of the good guys…
The unusual sound of John fumbling his lighter pulls his attention back to his teammates, and the way John wobbles as Rogue helps him up actually manages to distract Bob from the fact that it’s her helping him up – at least for long enough to realize that something isn’t quite right. John seems more dazed and disoriented than usual.
> "seriously, what the fuck happened?"
"’roro happened, I think," Bob responds, distracted. John seems to be slurring his words a little… and the grin is not-quite-right. And that blow to the head had been pretty severe; he can see the bruising growing on John’s temples. All of which are signs of potential trouble, if Bob remembers his first-aid training properly.
"John… are you OK?" He knows it’s a stupid question as soon as he asks it, because John will always say “yes” unless he’s playing for sympathy, whether he’s actually OK or not. So he doesn’t even wait for an answer, just steps in closer to look more carefully at John’s eyes and the bruises on his head. (And no, he assures himself, it’s not entirely an excuse to touch him again, or to cut in between him and Marie. That would just be entirely understandable pathetic.)
"You may have taken more of a hit than we thought… we should get – " he pauses for a moment; he’d been about to say “someone to look at that,” which under the circumstances seems ridiculous -- "get you to the medlab, make sure you’re not concussed or something. "
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Post by Ororo Munroe on Jan 23, 2007 22:08:52 GMT
Ororo can see two helicopters, and can feel the atmospheric disturbances that several others are making in the distance. To her judgment, they are the greatest threat. All of them seem to be packed with troops, and they may be armed. Get rid of those, then, before moving on. If she can neutralize the source of the commandos, mopping up the remainder will be that much simpler. So she takes to the air, eyes clouding over as she effortlessly manipulates the wind currents. Ororo stretches out to the skies, feeling the variety of temperatures. For her plans, the air over the lake needs to be much, much warmer… Her goal is accomplished in a minute or so. The complex mix of warm and cold air has given birth to raging, gale-force winds, which she directs towards the incoming choppers. Ororo gives a predatory smile, and puts the finishing touches on her creation. The wind howls past her ears, nearly deafening her. She draws the storm off the lake and onto the grounds, where it rips through everything in its path. Fortunately, the outbuildings are strong, and are able to weather the blast. The same is not true of the helicopters hovering over the front courtyard. The first one is sensible and moves off after a few seconds of buffeting. The second tries to continue its maneuvers. After a moment, it begins to lose control, swerving dangerously back and forth. Captain Rick Bern eyes the woman floating in the front drive nervously. During the briefing, they’d been told about this one. Apparently, she could manipulate the weather, which frankly scared the shit out of him. The stunt she’d pulled with their ground support was unbelievable…
He shakes his head, and adjusts his grip on the controls. “Pull the launcher out of the back and train it on that bitch. I don’t like how she’s looking at us.” His men do as he says, as the controls get more and more finicky.
Shit. Belatedly, he looks up and past the target facility, to the lake they’d been told was also on the property. Angry rain clouds were whipping across the sky from that direction, and the sky around the witch was cracking with electricity again. Rain lashes the cockpit windows, and proximity alarms begin to go off as the wind pulls the helicopter out of control.
“Damn it, shoot her!” Just before the ground rushes up at him, he hears the distinctive screech of the launcher going off. Ororo feels the missile heading her way. The way it parts the air feels like a knife on a collision course for her. She quickly spins and begins propelling herself along the building, desperate for a plan. It has to be heat seeking. She recognizes the projectile type, and a way out presents itself. Ororo quickly vents all the electricity she’s been storing. Instead of projecting them as bolts, however, they appear as pulsing spheres of crackling energy. As she hurls them high into the air, she throws herself, with assistance from the wind, into a hole along the second floor, smashing into the far wall. The missile whizzes past the opening, intent on her decoys. Ororo picks herself up, and realizes where she is - Bobby and John’s room. She brushes some drywall off her uniform, coughing once. “I apologize for not knocking… but I suggest we all get away from the window.”The missile reaches the electric decoys, and explodes spectacularly, brightening the sky with a fireball. |
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Post by Rogue on Jan 23, 2007 23:15:00 GMT
”Oh yeah. Per-fect timing”
She offers an apologetic smile, noting his tone, “Would’a come sooner, jus’ didn’ realize…” Didn’t realize anything was wrong – didn’t realize that she should have moved faster, done things sooner, not delayed… ”Sorry, hon.”
She watches his attempts with the lighter with a flight frown that almost matches his – the part of her that’s virtually become John is frustrated by the fact that it doesn’t work at first, then calms once it does, and her smile returns as he gets up. It worries her that he doesn’t seem entirely…right, but …well, he was just hit in the head. She knows better than to show too much concern, just shooting him a look, eyebrow raised slightly, questioning without actually outright asking if he’ll be alright.
”Oh, fan-bloody-tastic. Health benefits. I’d far rather… holy shit!”
She spares a glance in the direction he’s looking with a momentarily confused-startled look - almost expecting more troops to be flocking in and aiming more guns their way - which breaks back into a smile as she notes it’s the damage to the room that drew his attention.
”Figures I’d be out when a giant mutie-slaying robot thing decided to take a bite outta the Mansion… seriously, what the fuck happened?”
"’roro happened, I think,"
Rogue can’t help but laugh a little, stepping over some closet!junk and debris over a little towards the window…well, where it used to be, at least. “She sure tore th’place up real good. Jus’ imagine how th’ bad guys’re doin’.” She flashes a grin over her shoulder, then looks outside.
She doesn’t get too close – the idea of someone outside seeing her and targeting the room with reinforcements not one she really wants to think about. Better if they don’t think there’s anyone in here, so she backs up a little, eyes on the dark clouds outside.
"John… are you OK? …You may have taken more of a hit than we thought… we should get – get you to the medlab, make sure you’re not concussed or something. "[/color]
She turns to look back over at the two. “But…would it b’safe down there?” The idea of being trapped underground and being the only one who’s still got powers and no head trauma, the one who has to make sure they stay safe, makes her uneasy. But it’s true, they can’t risk that he’s hurt bad and have nothing done… “Y’think they’ve gott’n down tha’ far ye—?“
Something (someone?) comes flying through the gaping hole in the building, and slams into the opposite wall, and Rogue whirls, tensed and ready to do something... But it doesn’t take long for her to realize it’s Storm, and she relaxes slightly, flashing a brief smile at the teacher that’s actually really relieved – she doesn’t have to be the only one who can keep them safe, now.
“I apologize for not knocking… but I suggest we all get away from the window.”
Sharp glance out the gaping hole/window, and she moves from it quickly. The explosion that follows is slightly startling, and she cringes a little, shooting a glance over towards Bob and John, as if to make sure they're still there and okay.
[Wasn’t sure if it was supposed to rain shrapnel/debris or not, so…meh, left that open to other people to decide. ^_^]
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Post by Pyro on Jan 24, 2007 6:38:49 GMT
< John, are you okay?
”Hmm?” John doesn’t spare Bob more than a momentary glance backwards – though he’s quick to augment it with a I’m fine! grin – his attention trained (as far as it can be, at least, in it’s current jittery ooh, what’s that? mode) on the sky outside and its strange (and perhaps slightly morbid) firework display – bursts of shiny-gunfire, and more orangey shots, illuminate a sky so horror-movie perfect in its swirling clouds and mist that he thinks for a moment it must be a painted backdrop or CGI or something and… are those helicopters? ”What? No, I’m fine.”
As Bob moves in anyway, John meets his questioning gaze with first a hey sort of half-grin, which first softens into a what? sidelong look of confusion then sharpens as a slight frown and even slighter pout finish the okay, what? Why are you looking at me like that? ”Absolutely, positively… something else-ly fine. Really”
He blinks a couple of times, and shakes his head as if refocusing, before the grin returns and he gives Bob a quick thumbs up, because obviously there’s nothing…
… okay, aside from that staying standing and still at the same time is more complicated than it should be (which means he sways slightly, the way people do when a train starts, and notes momentarily how very convenient it is that Bob should be stood right there to give him something to steady himself against without thinking why that should be okay when he was so ready to pull away from Rogue, except that it’s… obviously better it’s Bob. Obviously.) there’s nothing wrong. No-thing. Not like they’ll be standing around once things kick off again, is it?
< You may have taken more of a hit than we thought… we should get – get you to the medlab, make sure you’re not concussed or something.
John’s hiss-snort is dismissive as usual. ”Sure. ‘xcept that there’s nothing wrong with me.” He’s aware that his hand’s still on Bob’s shoulder from where it darted out to help him find a footing, and it seems perfectly in order to tighten it in something like a reassuring almost-squeeze and deliver a more playful almost-punch before pulling away, because shit, Bob seems really worried… and that’s cutely endearing more pleasing that it perhaps should be something that needs to be corrected oddly amusing. ”I’m fiiiiine… a-ok, Bobby-boy. Now let’s make with the thrilling heroics and kick some more shiny ass.”
He’s set to move off in some vague direction which, in his mind at least, translates as *towards the heroics and stuff*, when something comes flying through the window and slams into the wall, and he stops and follows the arc on a slight time-lapse, with a momentary flicker of confusion before he shrugs and announces matter-of-factly ” ’roro happened again” A similar declaration meets the shiny streak rushing upwards past the room; ”Not that time, though…”
At Ororo’s suggestion John moves back, mostly because that seems to be the thing that’s being done, and as the fireball lights up the blackness the look on his face isn’t so much shock at the explosion as somewhere between enthrallment and approval. Once the flare fades his eyes are still on the space where it hung in the sky, his mind instinctively darting between that and the numerous other fires below. ”So, ‘ro” he asks, casually, pausing there for a moment to grin inwardly at the sound of so, ro, ”Who’d the Canuck piss off this time?” (Of course it makes sense these should be Logan’s *friends*, discarding the Brotherhood theory and seizing on the link to that other invasion, though Team Shiny make Stryker and his commandos look like kindergartners).
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Post by Bobby Drake on Jan 24, 2007 20:28:20 GMT
> " She sure tore th’place up real good. Jus’ imagine how th’ bad guys’re doin’. "
Bob looks up from his inspection of the seven dead or unconscious soldiers in the room and grins. "’Imagine’? Don’t have to… just look around."
The grin is forced and artificial, and looks it, but it certainly beats vomiting at the smell of charred flesh and the thought of sharing his room with corpses. And really, given the line of work Bob has ended up in, he figures he really ought to get over his squeamishness about death… even if he manages to maintain his personal no-kills record (well… with one exception, if all goes well), he’s bound to be surrounded by it the rest of his life. And the grin seems to help... he remembers something about that from a CSI episode, once.
> "But…would it b’safe down there?"
At first, Bob is incredulous: after single-handedly trashing ‘Team Shiny,’ what in the world is Rogue worried about? He’s about to say as much, when anxiety about the attack and hypersensitivity about his power-loss combine to lead him to an understandable, though incorrect, conclusion: Oh. She means safe for me. Safe for the useless flatliner gimp, who has to be protected.
Which suddenly infuriates him – mostly, he’d have to admit were he being honest with himself, which right at this moment he isn’t, because it’s true.
He shrugs a bit defensively in response, gesturing to indicate the wreck of the room: "It’s hardly safe up here, now is it?" It comes out more bitter and angry than he’d intended. "And we need to do something to take care of that head wound. Besides, with you around, what can -- "
The rest of his sentence is chopped off by a missile being launched through what used to be the window, and he dives for cover before realizing, somewhat sheepishly, that it was Ororo.
> " ’roro happened again "
Bob can’t help but laugh out loud at that, and much of his anger drains away with the laughter.
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Post by Ororo Munroe on Jan 26, 2007 3:29:32 GMT
Ororo smiles briefly back at Rogue. “It’s good to see all of you are one piece… or nearly so.” Her gaze holds on John for a moment. “John, are you all right? What happened?” She looks to Bobby, questioning.
> ”Who’d the Canuck piss off this time?”
Between his error in confusing her with a missile, and the dazed way he’s tracking objects, Ororo assumes that John has been concussed. Referring to Logan as a ‘Canuck’ simply makes her snort. “I’m afraid that Logan got in a fight with the Labrador next door, and Mr. Jones simply refuses to take our fruit basket this time.” Perhaps it’s not a good idea to confuse him any more…
“I was able to get their helicopters to move off for the time being… but I’m sure they have a backup plan. These people certainly must have known I could throw hurricane winds at them... whoever they are.” She looks around. “It seems you’ve had some commandos to deal with. Well done.”
“Which reminds me. I have your flamethrowers in this bag…” She indicates the satchel tied to her belt. “I’m not certain you’re fit to be using them right now, though…” Ororo hesitates for a second. We need all the help we can get… but I’m afraid you’re going to burn down the rest of the mansion. Ironically, John betraying all of them currently ranked rather low on her list of worries.
Ororo looks at Rogue and Bobby. “How bad is he? Would giving them to him help us or hinder us?” She waits for the inevitable outburst from concussed-John.
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Post by Rogue on Jan 27, 2007 0:01:49 GMT
"It’s hardly safe up here, now is it? And we need to do something to take care of that head wound. Besides, with you around, what can -- "
The almost-hostile tone is upsetting, and she visibly tenses, her own anger (or…hers, enhanced under her current influence, possibly?) bubbling up. Does he honestly think she’s that heartless..?
She wants to respond that, of course they need to do something, she knows that well enough, but something can be done somewhere that doesn’t involve underground and potentially dangerous area, and that at least here they can defend their current position, and….a lot of things. She doesn’t like that it makes her seem like the bad guy for not wanting to go face whatever might be downstairs waiting – she cares about his head injury just as much…
She doesn’t say any of it, though. Says nothing at all, pushes the anger aside – this isn’t the time. It won’t help anything to get bent out of shape now. And later, she reasons, she won’t feel like bringing anything back up – so she’ll just drop it, let it go.
” ’roro happened again. […] Not that time, though…”
She can’t help the slight half-laugh that bubbles up, though she feels a little bad for finding his behavior so amusing when he’s clearly out of sorts and everything. She shoots John an apologetic sorry...but it was funny... look, before returning her attention to Storm.
“It’s good to see all of you are one piece… or nearly so.”
Rogue nods in agreement, and her smile flickers to somewhere closer to worried. “Th’other students – are they doin’ okay - puttin’ up a fight..?”
It’s almost an afterthought, the other students, something that makes her feel a bit bad – there are kids here. She does care, though she can’t help but note that it’s a lot less strong a concern than that she has for the two males in the room with her. Their little circle, their ‘family’, back together now, and she wants to keep it that way. The weird possessive-thing is a little creepy, but she doesn’t have time to think on it much.
”So, ‘ro. Who’d the Canuck piss off this time?”
“I’m afraid that Logan got in a fight with the Labrador next door, and Mr. Jones simply refuses to take our fruit basket this time.”
Another laugh, the image of Logan fighting with a small puppy crossing her mind…. She finds it incredibly good that, aside from John’s injury – which isn’t really life-threatening, so long as they’re careful – everyone’s okay and joking or laughing…Almost like normal, except that it so obviously isn’t, what with the invasion going on around them, but that even so, they’re okay, and happy (ish) and…it’s all okay. Will be okay.
“I was able to get their helicopters to move off for the time being… but I’m sure they have a backup plan. These people certainly must have known I could throw hurricane winds at them... whoever they are. It seems you’ve had some commandos to deal with. Well done.”
She spares a glance towards the hall, where the soldiers she’s taken down are – some dead, some not – and says nothing. She doesn’t feel right having done that, hates that it’s almost like a step towards Template’s example – even though at the same time, she wants to hurt them for breaking in here and disturbing their lives and upsetting and killing and hurting…
“Which reminds me. I have your flamethrowers in this bag…I’m not certain you’re fit to be using them right now, though…How bad is he? Would giving them to him help us or hinder us?”
A blink, almost as if coming out of a daydream, and Rogue’s eyes shift over to land on John. On the one hand, him being disoriented and wielding flamethrowers has the potential for danger – missing targets, not stopping the flames from burning something (or someone) they shouldn’t, or the like...
But on the other, they need as much proverbial firepower as they can get, and…well, if anything goes wrong, Ororo can put out the fire effortlessly with a little rain. Or she could possibly absorb him and put it out, too, but…the former would be better. Especially given his injury.
A brief questioning prod towards John’s Psyke returns a very enthusiastic, very typical John-like positive, and she laughs a little to herself, looking back towards Storm and flashing a grin. “I’d let ‘im give it a shot, Stormy.”
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