Invasion -- Concussed and bleeding welcome

[Bernhard Putzkammer]

Bernie had already been awake when the first soldiers had begun to invade the Institute's property, let alone the building itself. Of course, he had been completely unaware of their presence until a handful came crashing through the living room window, where he had been enjoying a Tom Clancy novel.

By the time the soldiers had rolled to their feet, Bernie had already subdued three of them. Sure he wasn't as young as he used to be, but it helped that the fortified bones in his hands worked as organic equivalents to brass knuckles.

He had fled almost immediately after that lightening-fast confrontation. By the time he had reached the sleeping quarters of the mansion, most of the children had gone. Either they had fled, or (perish-the-thought) had been captured, but the stragglers that were left behind were quickly cared for by Bernie, then ushered down one of many secret passages.

As for Bernie, he had remained inside, fighting off any soldier that dared to confront him. One of them had surprised him with a regenerative healing factor, like that of Wolverine, but that hadn't stopped the German from spearing him to the wall with a broken lamp post. As he had left, the frantic soldier's body was already healing the wound in his stomach, the flesh fusing with the metal.

[[ And flash to the present, folks]]

Bernie takes the few precious seconds in the elevator to catch his breath. He definitely isn't built for this of action anymore. The pristine interior of the sub-basement is so bright in comparison to the dark mansion that he's forced to hold his arm over his eyes as he walks down the corridor.

With a low rumble and a hiss, the doors to the medical lab roll open, revealing...

No one.

Bernie knows the X-men had been fighting; he'd seen the telltale char marks of Ororo's lightening and the grooved scratches made by both Logan and Hank alike. He did not however, see anyone in the med lab.

During his last run through the mansion, looking for more children should any have gotten lost in the confusion, he hadn't seen anyone besides the invaders, but he had only gone through a portion of the building. No doubt, if the others were still alive and kicking, they were headed in Bernie's direction.

With that though in mind, he begins warming up the various medical equipment, readying himself for the worst possible scenario.

[Bobby Drake]

(( OOC: Picks up from “Feels like old times” in John/Bob’s room. ))

For the seventeenth time since leaving the remains of their room, Bob feels the urge to yank John down the hall to get him to the medlab sooner. He’s not at all sure why he’s so urgent about it: John may be mildly concussed, but it’s not he’s going to collapse unconscious or die at any moment or anything; there’s no reason for Bob to be getting all frantic.

So, for the seventeenth time, he suppresses the urge, and forces himself to slow down a bit. It’s silly for him to be taking point on this particular trip, being the most vulnerable of the four of them (well, OK, in some very short-term sense he’s the obvious choice, being the most dispensable of them, but even Logan isn’t that… um… practical), but he keeps edging into that position anyway.

If he were being honest with himself, Bob would have to admit that obsessing over the medlab visit gives him an excuse to be protective of John that doesn’t make him feel like he’s betraying his best friends or taking advantage of a horrible situation.

And that taking point makes him at least look less useless, even though he knows that if it actually comes to a fight, Rogue and Storm can take out anything they face before he’s even gotten started. And keeps him from having to look at John and Rogue, without obviously not-looking at them.

Later, when he has a chance to reflect on this, he’ll realize all of that and feel like an idiot. Right now, it’s easier to focus on getting John to the medlab.

(( OOC: Not posing the actual reaching-the-medlab part; dunno if any of the rest of y’all wanna have a firefight in the halls first. Feel free to do so yourselves though… ))

[Laurie Collins]

[[Picks up from invasion music room thread, whee med-lab conglomeration]]

“Jeez Laurie…are you okay?”

She should be responding to all of this, saying things, doing things, moving. She tries to give Matthew a reassuring smile, say ‘hey, I’m fine, worry about your sister’ without speaking but the expression translates as a sort of pained grimace instead because the changing altitude of the elevator really isn’t doing much for her dizziness and nausea. “I got knocked out for awhile.” she mutters calmly, “Hit me with a gun because they got scared and missed me until it was empty and I hit something else going down.”

Ding!

Relief wafts off her palpably in pheromones, she can feel them, has been able to feel them when they leave her since putting the soldier to sleep, like her body has catalogued the feeling. The infirmary is another seemingly blindingly white space, all sleek metal and harsh bulbs to expose wounds and she thinks don’t go into the light a bit hysterically and almost giggles, but it’s still one of the most welcome things she’s seen all morning.

"It is safe…”

Mr. Coleman’s voice uttering this verdict in such a trembling tone breaks down the last of her barriers against the reality of the situation and she lurches to her feet too quickly, almost going down again though she feels a little better now really than when she’d first clambered off the blood-soaked carpet. That was the wrong memory to dredge up, she feels fear beginning to radiate from her, rising like a cloud from her pores, guilt and sadness following not far behind and she pushes herself into an awkward scramble, ignoring the older man readying medical equipment in her dash for the nearest open door. She reaches it and slams it closed behind her, registering distantly that she’s hurtled into a medical supply closet before lurching towards a bucket sitting in the corner and falling to her hands and knees to empty the contents of her stomach into it and then some, her body jerking and retching like it’s trying to turn itself inside out long after there’s anything left to emerge.

When it stops after some indiscriminate amount of time she rocks back to sit against the wall and drops her head so that the heels of her hands press hard against her closed eyes. The soldiers she’d scared had vomited like that. The one she’d gotten shot hadn’t even been able to do so much, just blood gurgling out when he breathed, running out from the corners of his lips. I don’t even feel guilty. Not really anyway…revolted, afraid, sad…but not guilty. I should. Or maybe I shouldn’t but…should anyway? I should be thinking about Miss. Craft before them anyway, she could be… and they were trying to hurt us, maybe kill us, and why? Why would they want to do this to us? The thoughts are whirled round her brain and forgotten the next moment like the shifting patterns of a kaleidoscope. She’s not crying, just keeping hers wide, trying to stop herself even from blinking. It’ll always be behind my eyes. Hurting them with pheromones.

She sits a while longer feeling the pheromones she’s giving off change from their earlier volatile cocktail to sheer exhaustion and now all she wants to do is sleep, every blink is a battleground against it. Then that too passes and she's only tired and not any more so than the others in the med-lab most likely. She gets slowly to her feet, drained again but in a more cathartic way now, and crosses to the door, opening it and stepping back out into the med-lab. Her still rather unfocused gaze darts about for some sign of Matthew, Toni, and Mr. Coleman.

[[I'm thinking she was in there for about ten-fifteen minutes gathering herself so you have some fun pheromone free time for medical antics haha]]

[Matthew Craft]

Matthew tenses, ready in case of another fight, but Mr. Coleman's words calm him as he sees the blinding white of the medlab.

"It is safe…”

Perhaps in a less harrowing situation he would have been more polite and courteous, but his sister's immediate health takes precedence. Matthew's forced to turn sideways to rush both his massive frame and Toni's unconscious body through the door.

Inside the medlab, he spots Mr. Putzkammer, one of two German-speaking professors at the Institute.

"Sir! Toni needs help. She's lost a lot of blood." He's only vaguely aware that he's trembling, a sight that's surely odd to the others, since his reputation as the biggest person in the school also carried the stereotypical 'all round tough guy' image too. "She was attacked by...by a mutant I think. I don't know I wasn't there." Matthew's rambling comes out slurred and completely mashed together, no doubt incomprehensible to the others.

Frantically, his lays his sister down on one of several medical gurney's, ignoring the groan of metal as her weight sinks in. The blood from Toni's body had succeeded in completely soaking through his shirt and most of his pants. With noiseless little plips, the blood starts dripping off his clothes, making crimson puddles at his feet.

He's only remotely aware as Laurie rushes herself into a small room and shuts the door, and as much as part of him wants to check on her, the majority of him urges for him to stay with his ailing sister.

Matthew's quick to get out of the way, allowing his teacher full access to his sibling. He finds a place against the wall and just stands there, shaking almost uncontrollably and each breath coming in raggedly short gasps. He can feel his chest tighten as his defenses fall and the panic finally sets in. Sliding to the floor, he puts his head in his hands tries to take slow, steady breaths, leaving the older teacher to do what he can for Toni.

[Arthur Coleman]

Like a victim in shock, Arthur enters slowly and tentatively, waxen and shivering in the light. Unlike the other two of their party, he is obviously not injured physically, but emotionally is another story. He knows that all he needs at this point is a chair.. and perhaps a vacation.. He is presently aware of the feeling of sickness fluctuating in the room, and he feels dizzy, sinking against the closest spot on the wall next to the doors. For several moments he leans there heavily, the narrow bones of his knees numb, but strong enough to keep him standing.

Counting backwards from some odd number, he takes a few moments to regain himself, many of the emotions that had radiated so strongly before now muffled by the layers of metal, insulation, wiring, and flooring. He shivers and clutches his biceps with his hands, arms crossed over his chest, rubbing his palms fiercely into his sleeves, trying to rid himself of the remaining flecks of blood that his skin had gathered while pressing along the wall. Arthur silently concludes that he would be of no help to Bernie, his hands so jittery at this point that undoubtedly something would only get broken or made worse...

Mixed emotions from Matty shiver ahead of him and Arthur lets out a slow, steady breath. Disregarding his own fatigue, he carefully steps forward, using the wall as support. After a few feet and deeming himself close enough, he sinks down to a crouch, his lithe body now pressed against the wall. Heistantly, he reaches out to touch Matty on the shoulder, shocked at the different feelings that were coming from him all at once. "You've done all you can..," he murmurs in a rasp while attempting to sound somewhat reassuring.

[Bernhard Putzkammer]

As bad as it sounds, Bernie's not entirely surprised when Matthew rushes through thr door with his sister bleeding in his arms. He knew that in a combat scenario such as this one there was always at least one casualty. He felt a certain amount of relief after seeing it was Toni and not one of the children, though he immediately feels guilty for thinking such a thing.

There's just a flash of blond before the slam of a door and the distinguishable sound of retching. That, he knew, was a student. The faculty all had stomachs of steel by now.

"Sir! Toni needs help. She's lost a lot of blood." The rest of what the extra tall teen says is muffled and blurted out too fast for Bernie to understand, but by the urgent manner, he gets the general gist.

"Don't worry, m'boy. She'll be fine." Not being a doctor, Bernie couldn't back that statement up, and Toni's condition looked a might scary, but he'd seen soldiers with worse wounds live to die another day.

He was proficient in first-aid, having upgraded his military training as the years passed between the Second World War, so Bernie knew he could at least treat Toni until a more medically-proficient teacher showed up.

"Remind me after this is all done," He says, taking a pair of scissors to the shoulder of Toni's blood-soaked t-shirt. Once the wound was clear of any fabric, Bernie pulls out a wad of gauze. "To teach you kids how to do up a proper field dressing." Not that he was angry or upset with them, they were all stressed, and even the best medics would become distracted in the battlefield.

He barely notices as Matthew sinks to the ground, too concerned with Toni's bandage. But by the time he's done pulling the dressing as tight as he feels necessary, the door at the far side of the room cracks open. Bernie secures the gauze and looks up.

"Laurie my dear, feel any better? I think I should look at that head of yours." He adds a smile of reassurance, knowing full well what they've all been through in the last hour or so. "And Artie, old fellow! I think you need a good drink. I know I sure do."

[Ororo Munroe]

As the elevator doors open on the sublevel, Ororo glances over at Rogue. In the trip from the second floor, they’d landed themselves in a variety of melees, and had come out unscathed. Mostly, anyway. She herself had been grazed with a bullet in the arm. They’d been lucky.

Rogue’s new powers still threw her off guard. Previously, the only member of the team who’d been able to shrug off gunfire effortlessly had been Piotr… who was gone for the time being. A useful mutation, Ororo decides to herself.

She nods, a signal they’d become used to in the last half hour, and steps confidently around the corner, out into the open. Three commandos stand facing them - the middle’s patch proclaiming him to be an officer, increasing the probability that he’d been dosed with MGH.

Storm clenches her teeth a little. This needs to be done with. We’re all injured. She throws a hand outwards, and a bolt of lightning flicks across the gap between herself and the leader.

Something odd happens, though, and the electricity rebounds back upon her, smashing into her and throwing her down the corridor. She slides down the hallway, coming to a stop on the slick floor after a moment, breathing heavily.

What on earth was that? Some sort of reflective mutation? She’s unhurt, except for the impact. This could be tricky. Disoriented, she picks herself up from the floor.

[N.P.C]

Logan and Zip
"Omigod! Thereslikeawholenotherbasementdownhere! Heythatsanairplanehangar wherestheairplane whatsthatbigemptyroomfor lookitthatarmorplateddoor thatssocool! Heymisterloganhwcmynvrmnt’nd…" Alice’s voice is audible from the point the elevator doors open, though it rapidly slides up into an uninterpretable whine, eliminating any sense of surprise when Logan kicks open the medbay doors with Tobias’ bleeding body over his shoulder.

As he deposits Tobias on a medical bed, he nods to Bernie, who seems to have set up shop as a medic and is looking over the Craft girl. "Good man, Putzkammer. Got another patient for you. Some broken bones, shapnel wounds, no gut perforation; tourniqet’s been on about a minute. Should be OK." He sniffs the air and calls out "Hey, Collins, save it ‘till after the battle, willya?"

He grabs Zip as she runs past him to check out something else, and she gives a high-pitched yip as he yanks her out the door. "C’mon, kid… let’s get you somewhere a little less in the middle of everything." Her response, if any, is cut off by the doors closing behind them.

[Tobias Smith]

Tobias' eyes are half closed, and his vision fades in and out. His body has gone numb and he's lost the ability to speak...for the moment. He can't tell where he is, or what has happened, and he wonders how he looks. The last thing he wants is another scar on his face...but where is he? He can't feel anything and now all he can see is a bright light in front of him. His jaw slides open just slightly, and if he could, he would swear.

Bright light....can't feel anything.......GODDAMNIT! I TOLD YOU I WASN'T READY TO GO! GOD! JESUS! ANSWER ME DAMMIT! I'M NOT READY! I...I don't want to go...I am NOT going to that damned light...Dad...can you hear me? Dad...Dad...I'm sorry...I'll see you in a bit, okay? I've got to stay down here...there are things I need to take care of. I don't know if you can hear me, and I'm not sure if you've been watching me. I know you wouldn't like what I look like...Maybe things could have different...maybe not...But...yeah, this thing I have...its a gift...I'm going to use it...Hey, I've got all the time in the world...I'm pretty sure that little freak's fine...but were there people in that van? Man...but...if I didn't do that...they probably had another huge gun in there that they were going to use...I'm sorry Dad...but I'm going to stay down here for a while. I'm going to try and make things right. Put in a good word to Jesus and God for me, okay? I...I think I'm going to take a nap Dad...I'll see you in a while...I love you Pop...

Tobias' body twitches slightly, and he struggles to keep consciousness. His body and mind tells him to sleep, but he still fights to stay awake.

[Pyro]

[Following on from Bob and ‘ro – John, Bob, Rogue and ‘ro en route to Med Bay]

Obviously John has no reason to want to waste time in the corridor. It’s just that, aside from how random things are suddenly a whole lot more interesting with his concentration not so much wandering as rambling wildly any and everywhere the mood takes it, there’s a strange thrill in having Bob worrying about him like this. And it’s a cheap thing to be leeching off, and all sorts of twisted, but whatever; maybe if he were less out of it, or they’d run into anything they couldn’t handle, he’d feel worse about willing them not to reach safety. Maybe. He’d like to think there’d be some small pang of guilt at exploiting the situation, at least.

Anyway, they’re sneaking through the corridors en route to the medlab, and it’s far harder than it should be not to start snickering insanely at the fake-sneaky thing they have going on – Bob’s weird protective vibe, the way Rogue’s torn between shadowing him and tailing ‘ro like a good second-in-command, the unspoken signals Ororo’s started usi…

Ah. That’s probably not meant to happen, is it? Ororo seems to be making a habit of being tossed through the air, and he tracks the arc, wincing at the impact before the concern morphs back into a more general huh-what?…

Oh, right. More commandos. Excellent. Despite having the flamethrowers back, John’s been expected to take something of a backseat in the engagements thus far, letting newly-bulletproof!Rogue take the brunt of the action. Which… well, it sucks.

”Fuck this.” *click* It doesn’t occur to him that maybe torching the units in wait around the corner isn’t the best idea, given that whatever Ororo did was so impressively deflected. Because… well, torching things is always a good plan. Yup. So here goes...

[Okay, I’m assuming someone will stop the maniac before he does something stupid? Plztnx ]

[Rogue]

As uneasy as she is heading downstairs – still worried it’s a trap, they’ll all get stuck down there and she won’t be able to help and all that – Rogue has to admit that maybe it’s a good idea after all. Under any other circumstances, yeah, she’d have argued to get John help immediately too – she can’t fault Bob for worrying. She’ll have to apologize for being a pain, later…

So far, nothing really bad has happened. Sure, they’ve been shot at (and Ororo’s been hit – not too bad, but still enough for momentary panic on Rogue’s part when it happened), but so far nothing major has happened since John’s head injury.

She, for one, is virtually untouched, save a few bruises from where she’s been shot along the way, and the small burn on her arm from the shock/energy gun, earlier – nothing serious whatsoever. She can’t totally help the guilt that comes with that, but she’s trying to suppress it, because it’s silly, and it doesn’t help anything.

Bob being upfront scares her, but she doesn’t want to say anything. He already seems… sensitive to anything that makes him feel weaker (and she understands that, understands why, but…it’s frustrating). It’s just the thought that something could get him without even time to do anything…

…And she’s going to stop thinking like that. Now. She instead spares a sideglance towards John – she’s been hanging back near him whenever possible, so as to keep an eye on him (even though he’s insisting he’s fine, she’s still worried), make sure he doesn’t collapse, or walk into a wall or whatever…

Following Ororo out of the elevator, she’s pretty glad they’re almost there. As long as nothing’s waiting for them (nothing bad, at least), she’ll be very happy to just chill for at least three seconds, knowing that everything’s at least mostly okay, before she goes to help get rid of the rest of the invaders.

As Ororo nods, Rogue moves so she’s somewhat to the side but still behind the teacher, looking down the hall The three men standing downhall from them seem something Storm can handle – so she just sort of steps back a moment, letting ‘Ro go at it --

-- Except that didn’t go as planned, apparently. Somehow, it looks like her attack was mirrored right back, or something… Not good. Good thing she moved back, she notes, because it’s likely she’d have been hit with that, and she’s really not up for seeing just how much electricity hurts.

”Fuck this.”[/color]

Rogue shoots a sharp glance over towards John at his words, and the click sound of the flamethrower. Can’t be a good idea to let him do that, can it…? Considering whatever’d happened had somehow duplicated/deflected Storm’s attack…they really don’t need a blast of flaming death reflected back right now.

”John, wait.” Raising one hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, she shakes her head slightly, ”Not yet, ‘kay hon?”

Okay, so …attacks like lightning bounce back, but would physical attacks do the same? She’s really not sure. But, really, can it hurt to try? Seeing as so far, nothing’s really been able to harm her, she can’t see the trouble with giving it a shot… She takes to the air and moves at them quickly, ignoring (though it does take effort; she’s still not used to not having to worry about being shot down) the bullets the two ‘powerless’ ones are firing, though she can’t help but cringe slightly as they bounce off. She’s fairly grateful they don’t have the shiny energy weapons. That wouldn’t be fun at all, she’s certain.

The punch she throws seems not to harm him – and then she’s sent reeling, though it doesn’t actually hurt, really, it’s just fairly disorienting. Collecting herself and lifting back to the air a little, as if standing just above the floor, she looks towards where John and Bob are, then back towards Storm.

”…Well tha’ didn’ work.”

[Bobby Drake]

Bob throws himself flat on the ground and around the corner when he spots the three invaders, confident that the others can take care of it. A moment later Storm is dazed by some kind of short-circuit and Rogue bounces off the guy and his confidence is significantly reduced. Well, at least Rogue’s handling the bullets… that’s something.

John is holding off on torching the three, which is clever… if his power “bounced back” it might fry them all! Or, well, him and Storm, anyway; John’s immune to his own flame and Rogue’s probably tough enough to shrug it off. Actually, that’s worth a shot, he realizes. John doesn’t just shoot off his power like a missile, he controls it… maybe that’ll keep it from being reflected? Only one way to find out, really, and that’s to get the nonfireproof folks out of the line of… um… yeah.

He rolls back up to his feet and slides in behind Rogue, grabbing the stunned Storm with the intention to drag her out of John’s reflected area of effect. It doesn’t quite work out that way… instead, a shock runs up his arm when he touches her, like grabbing hold of a livewire, and the resulting spasm sends him flying into a wall fifteen feet away, his head ringing like a church-bell.

He stares incredulously at his insulating gloves, which he suspects just saved his life, and tries to get up… getting all the way to his knees before the world spins and he falls face-first back to the floor. Note to self, he thinks woozily, holding onto consciousness by sheer force of will. Don’t try moving Storm after she’s been hit by lightning.

[Ororo Munroe]

> ”…Well tha’ didn’ work.”

No, it didn't. How are we going to get rid of these idiots?

Storm begins to get to her feet, when Bobby reaches a hand towards her, intent on... what? She opens her mouth to protest, to get him to back away, but with an electrical discharge he's hurled backwards into the wall. "Bobby! - - -" Storm shouts as he flies, rattled. She knew her body stored electricity... It was why it usually took her a moment to gather her power before striking. Never had it been illustrated so cleanly, however.

She looks between Bobby and the troops indecisively. We can get him to the medical lab as soon as these men are down. Storm fires off a blast of energy from each hand that hurls the two non-mutates down the corridor. She spins to the side to avoid a spattering of bullets, and summons the wind.

As she's encountered before... it's harder to manipulate atmospheric conditions indoors - especially underground. Fortunately, she's able to lift the man into the air and smash him against the wall. Rebounding, he curses, and takes aim at John.

This needs to end now. As her eyes eerily ghost over, the temperature begins dropping.

[Pyro]

< Not yet, ‘kay hon?
… at what point, exactly, did he morph back to being a little kid? So far it seems everyone’s treating him with that sort of patronising semi-indulgent but still highly irritating edge… and he reacts in kind, pouting beneath petulant scowl but ultimately complying and *clicking-off* as Rogue takes over. Again.

It’s less irksome that Rogue’s been the one to run in when she too is thrown across the room by whatever it is. Maybe he should be more concerned, but it’s weirdly entertaining, the way that everyone seems to keep flying through the air and bouncing off walls tonight…

… though it becomes a whole lot less so when Bob’s the one being tossed around, something which he’s going to blame on how the other two are far less breakable rather than anything else, same way he’s going to pretend the incident didn’t rip a hideously melodramatic cry (almost a squeak, though of course he wouldn’t admit as much, and it’d be a fool who suggested such a thing) – ”Bobby!” – from his throat. Not that pretending anything is particularly important when Bob doesn’t just get back up afterwards. Not much counts as important, really, not next to (against what’s safe and sane, against his better judgement, and against the whole charade which is, of course, now one of the *not important* things) darting from ‘hanging back and letting the less-dead people handle things’ to in the thick of it, because obviously Bob’s side is where he needs to be… though *side* here ends up as *in between him and the commandos*, again for various reasons he doesn’t quite understand and isn’t too keen to look into.

By the time he’s in place, and doing something other than staring and doing impotent goldfish impressions somewhere on the borderline between paralysis and panic, Storm’s dealt with two of the three… and that *click* means the third one’s just noticed him. Shit.

Figures he’d be about the first to notice the creeping cold… and, insanely, he shoots a glance back at Bob before the idea that it might be Storm working some weather-magic begins to have even the vaguest of forms. In that brief Has he…? … fuck, guess not half-heartbeat the third commando gets a shaky shot off, and John reacts to the spark (… okay, perhaps the oh shit, they’re aiming at Bob me us more than the spark itself…) and hastily tosses up another heat shield, just the way Bob’s been training him to, focusing not so much on the heat (though it’s a nice side-benefit, having a little cozy glow of warmth, he can’t let it properly rage in case it compromises whatever Storm’s up to on the other side) as on making it as solid as possible.

Only after that’s up (him and Bob on one side, Storm and the commando on the other, Rogue… fuck, he has no idea, and for some reason that panics him far less than he expects…) does he allow his attentions to turn back to Bob, his words clipped as if in a valiant attempt to re-establish the appearance of control and disaffection over the oh shit, please be okay wobble underlying it. ”If you’re dead, Drake, I’m going to be really pissed off… so think carefully; you okay?”

[Rogue]

Trying to come up with a plan isn’t working. Rogue’s never been the brains of the team, really – that was always Bobby, or Storm, or Scott, or…well, whoever, but it was never her. Mostly because at times like this, she’s not thinking, not much more than get out alive, at least.

Her attention is drawn from looking at the commandos warily as she heard Ororo’s voice, and the sound of Bob hitting a wall – which draws a gasp from her, though, unlike John, she says nothing. She’s momentarily torn between hurrying to his side and staying back, doing something ‘useful’ and getting them safe …

…But there’s nothing she can really do at this point. They’re too well covered for her to absorb them (and she’s not sure she wants to), and …She should be over there.

She notices a quick change in the air – but it doesn’t register the same as cold used to. It’s just…sort of there, and sort of not…. And entirely ignored, because there are more important things to note than that.

Rogue makes it over to the two just before the flames seal them off from the enemies and from Storm, past the spot by only a matter of seconds, though that doesn’t bother her, really, because somehow she doesn’t really feel the heat – same way she didn’t really feel the cold. But still not of much note at the moment.

”If you’re dead, Drake, I’m going to be really pissed off… so think carefully; you okay?”[/color]

She drops to the floor, sorta-kneeling beside Bob’s fallen form and looking up at John a second, then back down. She can’t help the tears in her eyes, and she sort of fidgets with her hands in her lap, not really sure what she should do – he might have back or neck injuries, from impact, and she could hurt him worse if she moves him at all. And it’s not like a wound she can try to help stop bleeding, or something – she just…can’t do anything.

”Sugah? Y’awake?” she asks softly, because that’s all she can do, that and a quick glance towards John, as if silently seeking reassurance, though she knows he’s probably as close to panic as she is, and she should be reassuring him, instead. It's just too terrifying, seeing him like that, not moving at all and...too much like her dreams, except he can't be dead, because...no.