The Sound and the Fury

[Primer]

“… though it’s good to see you recovered from that attempt on your life. Did they ever catch the guy?"

A flash of distress, probably the only genuine emotion Primer’s let slip to Worthington during this impromptu little mid-air chitchat crosses his face. “No. They never did catch him.” And neither did I, which would have been so much more satisfying... But if he didn’t have ability to suppress such memories and emotions he wouldn’t be where he is today (literally today being a bad example though) and he settles for shaking his head slightly to clear away the residual thoughts of the incident.

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

Mood affecting student? The calm at the other end of the square? Then she'd be immune? They don’t know about me, that settles it. Maybe they’ll put this on her whoever she is… how could someone else have my mutation without my having heard about it? The fragmented thoughts whirl in a frenzied rotation through his mind even as his body continues to emit pheromones and his good-natured expression stays firmly in control of his features. “Mood affecting? Quite the psychological quandary, and if she happens to be here today… I did see a section of the crowd behaving oddly before I was affected… You know if any of your students ever need a counseling service or would consent to be anonymously interviewed for some research I can guarantee them a spot-“ he cuts off as they land and he situates himself to his new position on the fire escape of a building, grabbing the railing like a shaken civilian who’s just flown for the first time, which is actually mostly accurate.

"Anyway, I think we’re starting to get it under control, though the damage has mostly already been done. Sorry for the abrupt get-together, sir, but I really ought to get back and see what else I can do…"

“Of course, this is hardly the time for appointments. I suppose being holed up with research so long has made me a little scatterbrained. Still, get in touch if you or the Institute need anything. Charles Xavier was a great man, it's good to see his legacy isn't forgotten.” he agrees affably, dismissing the younger mutant with a smile and already thinking about how close to the riot he could risk getting when he returned when a buzz from the communications device alerts him to the fact that he’d never found a way to turn it off without being obvious about it.

“Uh...boss I'm going to assume that the whole flying away bit was unplanned, and not really an attempt to skimp out on my paycheck, okay?"

Shit! For a moment he’s certain that this is the end of the line for his charade, but before he does anything foolish he notices that Worthington’s expression doesn’t seem suspicious, just…apologetic?

"Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt business."

He bites back a grin and waves his hand in a good-natured dismissal of the apology before raising the device closer to his lips and responding.

“Right. Sorry for that delay Johnson… things got a little wild down here. No need to worry though your patient should be fine, just make sure she doesn’t take anymore-“ he cuts off as Worthington takes to the air again and his voice switches from affable-businessman to terse-leader in the space of an inhalation. “Worthington recognized me as my human persona so I can’t get back into the thick of things. I’ll try to find a place to emit without being seen but I can’t get too close and they seem to have a couple wind manipulators with them now. What’s your status?” I'd still love to get my hands on Pyro but it was beginning to look like we were outnumbered and the element of surprise is gone by now...

[Jolt]

It takes more than several moments for Will to notice the searing flicker of a flame that only registers as a bright-white blur at the corner of his eyes. Emotions churning on a high of anger, he releases another blast of electricity that forces a good section of the crowd closer together and into a panic, some of them wide-eyed and screaming, others just wide-eyed. Jolt-baby. All this time and not a fucking word? His body stiffens and snaps to the side, electricity now unconciously thrumming faster at his arms from the elbows down and becoming brighter at his fingertips. Jesus fuckin' Christ! is the only thing that escapes him as the torrent of flame propels in his direction and Will instinctively dives out of the way. Heat ghosts across his skin, and the electricity sparking on his left side suddenly flares brightly into a mess of static. I’m crushed. Really.

"Fuck you!" Will barks, jerking his body up from the pavement where he'd thrown himself to get out of the line of fire. You shouldn't be talking, Py. I never even got a postcard[/color] A torrent of electricity narrowly misses Taskmaster despite his silent plea for Will to hold in his anger, although that was more or less like trying to tell night not to turn into day. The static has prickled and crept across his skin, flaring and sparking off of him like a forest fire, flickering and flashing brightly in neon blues and blue-whites.

Will's on a roll now, and there seems to be no stopping him as he thrusts forth more jagged stretches of electricity that have seemed to grown brighter and stronger as he releases them. Like a wild animal he lets them go where they fly, not giving a flying fuck who they hit or if they hit anyone.

[Manslaughter]

Excitement courses through Roger's veins, reveling in the way John cringes at the burning feeling of heat go from cold to hot. His heart begins to beat faster, starting to hammer in his chest like a trapped hummingbird at his steadily growing satisfaction of giving John the consequence of something he'd long been able to control. Narrowing his eyes, he intensifies the feeling, imagining the brunette being licked with flames and burned and singed.

A sudden telekinetic jerk snaps his attention from John.. and suddenly Roger is flying the ground seeming to fall away from his feet. There is only a brief look of confusion and shock on his expression as his body arches upwards as if to meet the sky. His head snaps to one side as the world as Roger knows quickly becomes a blur of colour, his clothes whipping in the created wind as he spins rapidly in tight circles. Reflexively, the boy gasps and attempts to curl inward, almost frightened by this sudden change of scenery. It is a new experience, nothing like the sights of gore and blood that he is so used to seeing..

"No, no, no, no..," Roger moans to himself, starting to become incredibly dizzy as the world spins around him into an abstract vertigo. In his defense he frantically grasps for the intruding psyche that for several long moments has him at their mercy. Desparate for the world to stop spinning, the boy defensively mentally stabs sharp, irregular spasms of pain, hoping that it would make it all stop.

(Nah, 's fine.)

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

Satisfied that the creepy young boy’s mental concentration is now shot, Josh concentrates, ready to toss the boy. Suddenly, he feels a panicked presence groping for a mental connection, and he flashes back to a previous thought. Nerve-stimulator? Not good.

Fortunately, with his telepathic perceptions he actually has a defense against the other boy’s linkage attempts. At one point the connection goes through, and Josh hastily slaps out a mental hand. The boy’s own ‘hand’ quickly releases its hold on his mind. Yeah, take that.

Now in the clear, Josh chucks the boy as far as he can away from them, into the crowd. He vaguely hopes that the crowd softens the impact, but attacking his friends hadn’t exactly endeared the boy to him.

Josh does a double take as Storm is thrown offstage in a hail of bullets. Oh, no! He’s relieved, though, when a quick mental once-over reveals her to be annoyed rather than mortally wounded.

> "Storm’s out of action," […] "but I think she’ll be OK. "

Thank goodness. He’d been reasonably sure that her wounds, whatever they were, weren’t life-threatening. But hearing that same information from Warren set him more at ease.

> "Should I keep an eye on her, or does somebody need a hand?"

Is he asking…me? Josh starts at the thought. With Storm down, the only combatants on their side were Warren, Rogue, John, and himself. Warren’s leadership talents were plain on the negotiating table, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to test their field applications in the middle of a fight. Rogue and John had never shown any leadership qualities whatsoever. Which leaves... me.

A tightness presses down onto his chest, making it suddenly difficult to breathe. What if something I say gets someone hurt, or killed? The thought makes him feel almost dizzy for a moment.

“I…” Thoughts racing through his mind make it hard to think. Get yourself together, Josh! He reaches out to Warren as a mental touchstone, as the two of them had done so many times in the past. The reassuring presence helps ground him, and he’s able to finish his sentence. “I think there’s not much more we can do here. Rogue, you and Pyro finish what you’re doing, and join up with us. Let us know if you need help. Angel, let’s get Sofia and Storm back to the jet.” There… that wasn’t so hard, was it? It wasn’t, but his panic was worrying. It might pay off to run some tactical programs in the Danger Room in the future.

"This way... let's get outta here." Josh starts moving towards the extraction point with Sofia, waiting for Warren to join them with Ororo in tow.

[Warren Worthington III]

> " Rogue, you and Pyro finish what you’re doing, and join up with us. Let us know if you need help. Angel, let’s get Sofia and Storm back to the jet."

Warren smiles briefly at the almost-confident tone in Josh’s voice… if he hadn’t felt the surge of panic that preceded it, he might actually believe Josh was comfortable in the field-leader role. Hopefully, the rest of the team does believe it; a little injection of confidence would be extremely helpful right about now.

"Check; we’re on our way." As he picks up Storm’s body again, a stray thought occurs to him. "Oh, and: you know that, um, Fortress’ brother and, um… his new girlfriend…" …sorry hon, I’ve completely blanked on Matthew and Laurie’s codenames… "…are in the crowd, right?"

He launches himself into the air, high above the crowd, and soars toward their extraction point. Beneath him he can see the riot starting to unravel – apparently whatever the source of their unnatural anger was, it’s been removed, which his reassuring.

[Laurie Collins]

[[entering from On the verge of...]]

"Don't worry about me. These guys need you more than I need to not be acting like a stoner."

“If I could even manage it again.” Laurie mutters, frowning down at the ground, “I think I could only make myself before because-“ there’s a brief pause as she chokes ‘you needed me to’ down and thinks to substitute it with, “I had to.” It’s really striking her now how very useless she is, how much of a liability. During the invasion of the school she’d done well all things considered, had managed not to get herself or too many of the soldiers killed and had found Matthew and Mr. Coleman soon enough that she hadn’t really needed to do anything but follow them about and then sit with Matthew in the medlab. She’d felt some guilt over not being able to scare away the soldiers before they’d hurt Miss. Craft but had felt that no one had really been expecting her to, least of all the teacher herself, and she hadn’t made the situation any worse either. Today, on the other hand, she’d made the situation much worse, albeit for a short period of time, and if she hadn’t had Matthew there to reassure her and give her a pressing reason to get herself under control she has the feeling the fear emissions would have ended around the time she got trampled. Alternately if she’d been able to control her mutation the situation could have been much better, she could have calmed large sections of the crowd, people- Miss. Munroe- might not have been hurt as they had been. Or I could learn to control it and then a few months from now be the one causing the riots…

"I don't know...I'm not all that familiar with the Brotherhood. Doesn't seem like Magneto's style though. I've never heard of his stuff being so...chaotic. This could be a different group too..."

Matthew’s voice jerks her out of the old argument with herself and she nods slowly, biting her lip and scanning the crowd again as if someone will be wearing a large name tag identifying their affiliation. She’s not sure whether to hope it isn’t the Brotherhood, because they do not sound like the sort you’d ever hope to encounter or to hope it is them because how many violent mutant terrorist groups can there be before you just give up and run away?

Then the crowd reaches them and Laurie lets herself be guided back towards the wall, responding to Matthew’s sudden pressure on her hand with a return squeeze and shutting her eyes as the crowd jostles past them, trying to remain as calm as possible since it would be a lovely example of tragic irony if she got everyone all riled up again just as whatever had caused their anger seemed to disappear. It’s not helping her attempts to stay calm that Matthew seems to take it as a matter of course that he’ll be acting as the human shield in all potentially physically harmful scenarios- she knows it’s logical since he’s both bigger (and therefore more intimidating) and less likely to feel pain from the mostly accidental jostling of the crowd than her but it still just doesn’t sit well. She’s used to people thinking they have to look out for her- after all Gail Collins is in the dictionary under ‘overprotective mother’ as evidenced by the wince that appears on Mr. Shepard’s face whenever mothers are mentioned in their mutual presence- but that doesn’t mean the protectiveness doesn’t run both ways and it’s a struggle not to distract Matthew with a protest about the arrangement in the midst of the stampede.

When it clears she moves next to him again quickly, giving him a rather sharp once-over to make sure he’s still whole and relatively un-bruised before looking up at him as he speaks-

"Something tells me that whatever this is isn't still being caused by the pheromones or whatever. So...I suppose that means it's safe...right?"

We obviously have different definitions of safe Laurie thinks wryly, though the humor at this stage is tinged with a bit of mental hysteria, and is about to say as much when he follows with-

"I'm going out there."

and starts for the center of the square, pulling her gently along with him. Do we have to? she thinks, looking longingly back towards the alley. Can’t they handle this? Or I could just wait there… but she keeps those ideas internal and merely nods, giving Matthew a shaky smile and tightening her grip on his hand, obviously not happy about the idea but willing to go along with it.

One of the small knots of fighting drifts their way as they get further out towards the center of the square- a few rather slight teenage boys hurling insults and punches and seeming less enraged now than puzzled but too proud to back down until there’s either a clear victor in their little skirmish or they’re forcibly separated. Laurie looks up at Matthew for a cue, not even wanting to attempt any decision making here, if he wants to help civilians this would be a good place to start, but if he’s intent on joining the main fight these teenagers probably won’t do any permanent damage to each other.

While she waits for that decision to come down she notices Mr. Worthington flying overhead and hops a bit in place, doing to the typical airplane-signaling wave as she realizes that the others might not have noticed them and that it might be good if they did- barring the need for any help she and Matthew are still definitely going to need a ride back to the Institute after this.

[Sofia Mantega]

“You’re doing great! Can you expand it any further?”

Even further? Sofia is already wearing down, exhaustion making her wind control more erratic, but she keeps it going strong. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter, as if that could actually increase her concentration, and keeps envisioning the air going up and out, up and out. Yet she can feel the air slipping out of her control the further away from her it gets, but as long as it doesn’t bring whatever is in the air back to the people then it would have to be okay. A little disorienting wind wouldn’t hurt anyone, especially with so many more pressing concerns all around.

It must be almost over, she thinks, with a bit of pride, as she dares to think, partly because of me? She went from being the helpless hurricane girl stuck in the crowd to an actual helping force in the ending of this riot, attaching herself to this strange group. She faintly hears Josh speaking into his communicator and wonders how many more of them there are. And the people doing this, who are they? She feels slightly ashamed to be so ignorant of, what, ‘mutant affairs?’ It sounds like such a silly phrase, the word ‘mutant’ sounding so foreign though it has completely dominated her life, separating her from the ‘normal’ people, breaking up her family, making any concern her father may have had for her impossible…but still, despite all that, she couldn’t imagine being without her power. It’s so cliché to say, but it is a part of her, it’s who she is, Sofia can control the wind and she likes it.

Perhaps she has finally found others who feel the same.

“Angel, let’s get Sofia and Storm back to the jet,” Sofia hears Josh say, and before she can even comprehend the implications of it, she lets go of the wind, the air going still around them in an instant. It’s an eerie feeling, such a sudden change in the air all around them—and even more for her with the sudden disconnection from the air, and she feels slightly disoriented on top of the overwhelming exhaustion. She feels a slight tingling sensation all over her skin and her muscles are trembling—her wind control, at least to this extreme, is as much a physical exertion as a mental one.

"This way... let's get outta here."

“Where are we going?” Again she is simply tagging along behind Josh, but now she figures there is a bit more time for questions. “Is it over?” She looks around again, finally, at the people now beginning to return to their senses, as scrambled as they are. Further off she sees—lightning? Fire? More mutants? She keeps her eyes on them as she follows Josh through the crowd, wishing she wasn’t too spent to pull back the sound with a burst of wind and see what was going on there. But dazed as she is, she shakes her head and looks back at Josh, still questioning. “Did you say…the jet?”

[Pyro]

< Be careful
Yeah yeah. This is me we’re talking about. Always careful

Of course, this has to be a special definition of ‘careful’, taking on Will – some odd parallel universe where ‘careful’ means ‘suicidal’, or something. Now that their ‘reunion’, and not whatever had been going on before, seems to be becoming the main source of panic, John’s got to wonder what the hell possessed him, because his definition of ‘good idea’ also seems fairly fucked up. Not that that’s in any way revolutionary, this being John, but… shit. Dying is still bad. Very, very bad. Not quite as bad as backing away and admitting defeat, but still far from good.

Will diving to the side like that, though, that’s good; the reassurance that playing with the good guys – if indeed he’s still playing with them, given that he’s clearly breaking their rules – hasn’t neutered him yet.

< Fuck you
”… no, not this time.” Will always was such an easy mark, wasn’t he? John smirks, slow and lazy, a drawl of a smirk, which seems insane and perverse when Will’s lobbing off the bolts left right and centre and he’s tossing a fireball between his palms and trying not to cringe when they come close enough to challenge his faith in how bad Will’s aim is when he’s riled up. Straight off he knows full well there’s no contest; he’d get his ass handed to him pretty damn fast… so it’s best to force things until Will makes the inevitable mistake. Down, dirty and just plain nasty is the only way to play this. ”Moved on to bigger and better thi…”

< You shouldn’t be talking Py
”…ngs-oh-fuck.” Today really is ‘overdue reunion day’, isn’t it? Shame this is someone else he really doesn’t want to see. And to think, outnumbered and outgunned always seemed one of the better ways to go out.

< I’ve got orders, kid
Orders… and a sword. Fantastic.

< Be nice and stand still
< FSHOOM
Now it’s John’s turn to dart – or, rather, given that he’s already ‘backing away without looking like it’, stumble – out of the way as Will unleashes a torrent of electricity at Tony, and to continue the graceless twisting manoeuvre as Rogue swoops in to deal with the katana-wielding mercenary, leaving him looking like a stunned civilian rather than a team member for the couple of seconds that he gapes after her… before another bolt of electricity stuns him out of it, jolts (ha ha ha) his attention back to Will.

It’s not the fight they both want it to be – there’s a little too much mutual cringing, far too much distance, and not enough pounding – but it’s the only one there was ever going to be, the one way it would play out; loud, and bright, and dangerous. Were he his old self (which is definitely isn’t, John reminds himself, definitely…) he’d think that was how Gods should fight…

< John, it’s me
… though it wouldn’t be complete without the fucking insects getting in the way. Quit stalking me, asshole. This isn’t the fucking petting zoo. Bugger off back to the playpen.

He thought he’d managed to lose Danny after failing to go good on his end of the ‘sneaking out’ bargain (really, did the kid expect to win him over with a couple of promises and some threats he was no doubt too goody-goody to go through with? Yeah right)… but no. With that sort of insane refusal to back down and his irritating faux-friendly smile and ‘I wanna be your best friend!’ demeanour he’ll make a natural therapist… assuming he doesn’t pull another stunt like this and meet a premature bloody end, heh - one can only hope, right?

< I’m going to try to…
Hold the fucking pho-Fucking Hell![/color] The last bolt comes far closer than he’s comfortable with, and John curses himself for getting distracted… for a second or two, at least, until he realises it’s better to curse Danny for doing the distracting. He ducks back out of the way to avoid any other projectiles until this exchange is done, taking cover. What the fuck, Danny? Oh yes, brilliant plan. Brilliant. What the fuck are you going to do? I suppose you just happen to have a ligh… Why the fuck am I lighting up like a goddam Christmas tree?

< Okay, we’ve got the same powers now
Great John sneaks a glance out from behind his cover, trying to place where Will is and mount his next return volley and ducking back as another bolt comes perilously close. You have fun with that. I’m going to go do something actually halfway useful. See you in hell. With a die now snarl he launches back into the action, returning fire with marginally more regard for the rest of the scene than Will but no less destructive desire.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

"Oh, and: you know that, um, Fortress’ brother and, um… his new girlfriend…" […] "…are in the crowd, right?"

Josh is startled. “They are?” He misses the ‘new girlfriend’ bit completely. “Hmm…” Josh reaches out with his telepathy, making sure to keep Warren ‘patched in’ on the conversation. It’s not easy to keep his mental concentration while being buffeted by so many people, but fortunately the worst of the riot seems to be over. He tries not to think about whomever John and Marie are fighting. Got to get Storm back to the Blackbird. And the kids, too.

He tentatively identifies Matthew in the crowd, based on his height, and lets his telepathy skate across nearby individuals. There you are. Josh finds Laurie, as well.

Guys, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but the Blackbird is hovering in front of the library a couple blocks over. Do you need a ride? Josh sights Warren winging in his direction and waves, albeit unnecessarily. Anyway, go down Broadway, and take a left on 40th. You should run straight into it. Well, the park, anyway. The plane’s cloaked. If we get separated, meet us there.

“Where are we going?” […]“Did you say…the jet?”

Suddenly, jets, superhero suits, telepathy, and riots all disappear, leaving one very confused young girl. Josh feels stupid. “Um. Sorry. I’ve kind of not been explaining much, have?” He ignores the scattered odd looks he’s getting from walking around in a black leather catsuit in the middle of New York City.

“We’re all from a school. Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters… It’s a place where mutants can be safe to learn about their powers.” Josh brushes a bit of hair out of his eyes and catches sight of his gloved hand. Oops. “Er, but the fighting terrorists in leather suits part is optional.”

Josh directs his telepathy towards Rogue. You guys have things under control? Warren and I need to get Storm and the kids to safety…

He looks over at Sofia. “We can take you there, if you want. Just to get away from here, anyway. I bet you’re hungry after all that excitement, right?”

[Jolt]

… no, not this time. Will growls at the smooth way John responds, still chucking smatters of electricity that more or less miss his desired target and end up rupturing street lights and traffic lights that almost explode into pieces above the squirming mass of a crowd. His snarls of 'fuck' and 'goddammit' have gone by now, not even bothering to make a noise when he misses John again and again. Instead, he only grows silently frustrated, his face contorting into a rather bitter scowl and gritting his teeth as he exclaims something that is lost in the loud crackling of electricity and kshoom! and fwoosh! of static and flame. Whatever it was, it couldn't be anything particularly nice, especially if it came from him.

And it just wasn't as fucking satisfactory as he imagined, and he kept missing the goddamned fucker because he kept fucking moving out of the fucking way. Any form of tactic or strategy that he might have had an inkling of before is slowly becoming a single plan of 'fry the motherfucker and anyone who got in the goddamned way'.

It fucking burns to keep the energy in too long as it forms faster than he can let it go, seeking extra room and crawling up his arms to his shoulders, flashing like some back-ass-wards light show that would kill just about anyone but him. Will keeps moving forward, plowing into the fray so he could get his hands on Pyro's neck. He's still white trash at heart and he'd rather beat the shit out of the pyrokinetic then have him burn, but it feels so much better to have his own power coursing faster than his own adrenaline.

He curses as a ball of flame swells and materializes before his eyes and then John throws it at him--a fucking demented baseball from hell. Will regains his senses enough to jerk himself out of the way, flicking several bolts of electricity towards the blaze as though that would do any good. The heat singes his arm and Will knows for an instant what they mean when they say 'white-hot as fire'. He lets out a sound akin to a strangled shout bitten back from something short to a cry. The blaze keeps going behind him and it strikes a car that promptly erupts into fire. The heat is sweltering, so strong that it makes Will's eyes tear up and his pasty skin blotch to red.

His arm twitches beneath the remaining sting of a burn and Will growls, offering John a glare that reads 'fuckin' bring it'. The crackling of static that snaps and hisses grows louder and more intense as the fire gains more fuel from burning the interior of the car that smoulders as easily as paper until it stretches all over him. The neon blue light refracts in his already blazing eyes until they look like they're glowing from his drunken hunger for power.

"You.. throw.. like a goddamn.. girl!" Will growls between clenched teeth, his muscles twitching from the strain as it draws on more energy to keep this storm going, lights down the street going out one by one. It's his fuckin' turn to show Pyro a fastball.

So he fuckin' throws him one.

[Pyro]

Will keeps coming – something he should know better than to expect anything other than, and which simultaneously exhilarates and terrifies… Once they get face to face it should be easy enough, if somewhat one sided; Will’ll no doubt beat the shit out of him. Ho hum. It’s the bit before that which worries him, especially once the lights start going out and it all feels a lot like the big final fight, complete with dramatic lighting and epic – if in a minimalist percussive sort of way – soundtrack of explosions and flares. Oh fuck-a-doodle-doo.

John, Marie! Josh?![/i] For fuck’s sake, what’s with the constant mental poking? This some sort of new Team X protocol? Seems like there kind of thing, but it makes it bloody difficult to concentrate. It’s time to get out of here!

No argument there. Where the hell are…[/i] The Blackbird careers into sight. Never mind. Well, this makes everything a whole lot more… insane, really. Because now the goal isn’t simply (simply! Ha!) escaping Will, but getting up to the Blackbird and escaping X-Men style. Okay Will, let’s see how you like this one…

… O-kay. The demented fireball might not have been the best idea; deeply satisfying as it is to land a shot and know that Will’s burning, the flare of static which follows… yes, definitely not anything even vaguely resembling good.

Throwing up a fire shield, and hoping that’ll do jack, isn’t a much better plan. On a par with Super-Juice-up-Kid as far as stupid goes, though it’s all sorts of unfair that this particular bout of stupid’s going to prove fatal, out of all the stupid fucking things he’s done lately…
… and he can’t even die happy that he got that right, even if it was a stupid fucking thing to do, because he’s fucked up the angle and it’s more…

… what the fuck?

No, the floor definitely should not be doing that, unless…

It’s laughable – and yes, he lets out a demented giggle-snicker – that this really is, apparently, what dying is like (because there’s no way he could have survived a direct hit like that); the whole *onwards and upwards into the light* thing…

… only, if he were dead… there’d be a body, right? And… he’d be a little more ghosty… and…

Okay, not dead. Which means…

Holy fuck, can I even do that? … and then How the hell am I doing that? becomes slightly more pertinent, because bizarre, exciting and, yes, terrifying as this new flying thing is, dying with a splat-squish is still not anything other than very, very bad.

[OOC: Incredible Rocket-Powered John, wheee!]

[Rogue]

_{[Sort-of G'modding TM, hope that's okay since RPer isn't around an' all...]}

Whoever her ‘passenger’ is, he’s sure a squirmy one. Leaving him on a roof works, though, because surely he can’t get off soon enough to be any real problem to anyone at the moment, especially with things clearing up quickly and all… And she heads back over the crowd to see what she should do next…

John, Marie! It’s time to get out of here![/color]

Rogue pauses in midair, looking around for a second, spotting the jet flying into view and smiles slightly, thinking towards Josh as best she knows how ’Kay, be there in a sec…[/color]

She glances back over the crowd again, wondering absently if she should go give John a lift out of the crowd and to the jet…

A burst of flame and electricity has her wincing and dropping lower, momentarily worried – she has no idea what that was, in terms of who hurting who, and …

…What?

John’s …flying..? Well, sort of - more like being propelled like a rocket but…

Can he even do that?

Apparently he can, if he is, but …still. She supposes she shouldn’t be too shocked, because it sort of makes sense, a little, but… no; she’s still surprised, and a little nervous about the fact that it’s only flame holding him up (which is a little hypocritical, as there’s nothing holding her up but her own willpower, however that works, but it’s somehow different)…

Once he’s up to the height she’s at, she sort of follows along nearly even with him (partly because she’s curious, but mostly because she’s scared he’s going to fall and die and if she’s close she can catch him before that happens), and flashes a slight grin and wave his way.

”Hey Sugah. Fancy meetin’ you all th’way up here…Since when can y'do tha'?” And she’s glad she sounds more playful than anxious – she doesn’t want to make him uneasy, if he isn’t already (though since he doesn’t like flying in the first place, she can’t imagine that he wouldn’t be uneasy at minimum, but making it worse would be bad), and make him break his concentration.

[Jolt]

His muscles ripple and strain beneath the effort of pushing the energy forward, and the flash of electricity and the flare of fire almost blinds him. For a moment, a shadow of grim satisfaction flickers across his visage, only to be replaced by the tiniest fraction of sheer horror and then to a gruesome snarl.

Will swears beneath his breath as he watches John shoot upwards from the ground, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He watches him go up, up, up, and it makes him feel small.. watching the pyrokinetic rush upwards past light poles.. and buildings.. Irritation rapidly changes into fury. A roar of frustration spasms up from his throat and he pitches his power up, taking with him the shivering extension of a streetlight that rips up jaggedly from the pavement, now charged with so much electricity that it is following his beeline of energy.

And then it falls.

He's spent. Panting in short, shallow breaths he stumbles forward and glares angrily at the sky, cursing and growling between heaves of his chest while beads of sweat slide down the bridge of his nose. His shirt is almost soaked through.. the shirt that isn't even his. Vision fuzzy at the edges, the redhead gives a valiant step forward, barely registering the fact that nearly everyone else has fled. Will grunts, static clicking at his palms but so weak they only flicker in spider web concentrations that are almost invisible.

Working his jaw, Will wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He clenches his fingers slowly, suddenly snapping his foot up and kicking in the nearest tail-light of a car. His foot throbs slowly, but he doesn't seem to notice.

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

[Pyro]

He’s tempted to snap back something along the lines of can’t talk, concentrating on not dying… but he’s meant to be cool about this flying gig, right? So it’s a nonchalant and teasing ”Since about… 10 seconds ago. Figured that if someone like you could get this flying this right then it had to be a piece of fucking cake, right?” which gives no hint of the questions still swimming… starting with how the fuck do you steer?

People think an electric shock is hot, sharp, like a burning needle, but they’re wrong. It’s not like being burned, and it doesn’t really hurt… not much, though this of course just a little one. It’s more like being fire – a weird, yellowish, underwater fire, and John snickers – no, giggles, at the comparison, because it’s also a lot like being high… Woah. Dizzy…

Very high. High up in the… oh, no. Going down. Hello ground.

[Rogue]

”Since about… 10 seconds ago. Figured that if someone like you could get this flying this right then it had to be a piece of fucking cake, right?”[/color]

It’s weird, the playful-bantering with him while they’re flying away from a riot on a mission, but not in a bad way. It’s nice, and Rogue laughs slightly, and sticks her tongue out at him, not quite distressed anymore (even though she’s still a little worried, he seems to be doing okay so there’s nothing wrong, right?). She does wonder if this is how all missions with him along would have been will be, and that seems like a fun thought…

”'Someone like me', huh? And what’a y’mean by -- Sh*t!“

That then it’s suddenly no longer fun, and he’s zapped and falling (she’s glad it missed her, in the second it takes to realize what happened, but then she feels bad about that thought because at least if she fell she’d be okay and he wouldn’t be and oh God, she has to catch him…) and she has to dip down quickly – almost hesitates a second because she’s startled by how sudden, but she gets far enough down to catch him before he gets too close to the dissipating crowd (or, worse, the ground), and pulls up sharply. There’s a buzzing-shock, almost like when you rub some fabrics and you touch metal, but it’s not enough to do more then startle, thankfully, and she’s glad she’s covered so she can hang onto him without worrying about killing him.

”John? Y’okay Sugah?”