[Mystique twists her axe free of the next crank, steps back out of the line of another creature's shrieking charge. It's about as much acknowledgment to Johanna's yelling as she can spare right now because some of us can't fucking fly around like a magnetic fairy !! christ. After it runs past her, the crank she'd evaded becomes immediately distracted by the real axewoman of the group, leaving the metamorph an instant to glance up at Erik's passing figure.
And then another moment to spot the new arrival. Not that she mistrusts Charles' telepathic share for an instant, but it's a different matter to have visual confirmation. There's an automatic scowl when she locks on to the woman, and she lifts an armored foot off the floor, telegraphing an approach, but
another crank comes shrieking. Not at her, but at the opposite end of the fray where her brother is steadfastly plugging creatures' faces/arms/etc. with bullets. She's been counting his shots, which is a far more relevant measure of time's passage than your conventional minutes and seconds. So it's just as his chamber empties out for his present clip that Charles sees her coming in, the faint uneven hitch to her gait failing to diminish the speed of her sprint by any discernible degree. Her back squares to his back, her feet quick to move their protective circle in any direction that the situation calls.
She cuts the next Crank's head in half, vertically. She doesn't think or say: I've got you, but she does.]
no subject
And then another moment to spot the new arrival. Not that she mistrusts Charles' telepathic share for an instant, but it's a different matter to have visual confirmation. There's an automatic scowl when she locks on to the woman, and she lifts an armored foot off the floor, telegraphing an approach, but
another crank comes shrieking. Not at her, but at the opposite end of the fray where her brother is steadfastly plugging creatures' faces/arms/etc. with bullets. She's been counting his shots, which is a far more relevant measure of time's passage than your conventional minutes and seconds. So it's just as his chamber empties out for his present clip that Charles sees her coming in, the faint uneven hitch to her gait failing to diminish the speed of her sprint by any discernible degree. Her back squares to his back, her feet quick to move their protective circle in any direction that the situation calls.
She cuts the next Crank's head in half, vertically. She doesn't think or say: I've got you, but she does.]