ataraxionlogs | EVENT: DUPRR ▒ THE SECONDARY SHUTTLE BAY

[ The ‘crank’ that makes the leap is rewarded by being caught up in midair by a glittering wrap of steel that severs limbs and pinches its torso neatly into thirds in time with a close of Erik’s fist. Flesh parts as easy as cheese pushed through a wire, and he lets the pieces tumble sloppily down into the fray to land on people he purports to be friends with. Sorry, he thinks, without feeling very sorry at all.

The knot of bloody metal left behind is the last to drop.

He’s less and less involved in the core of the slaughter below as the many are mowed down into a more manageable gaggle. Ricochets continue to deflect along impossible paths and the odd figure goes flying with the force of magnetic impalement, but he’s shifted focus over onto the figure Charles has called to their attention.

His descent is swift and quiet and at enough of a distance to spare him contact with the worst of what remains of the original hoard. He’s going after her on foot, circling wide around the ongoing battle behind him, a lone figure on a mission. For her, there’s no question as to whether or not he knows she’s there.

It’s his own team he’s dropped off the radar of. Honestly they should be flattered by the confidence he has in them to take care of the rest on their own. ]

[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.]

[They're distracted by the fighting, she thinks. She's distracted by the fighting, the various impossible abilities being displayed, the gore and efficiency. One of them is blue, from head to toe. Another keeps glowing. And over their heads, a man is flying.

It's letting her gaze jump to the last again that has her stir from the awed daze, because he's coming down to land, heading towards her. She doesn't spare any hesitation. Regardless of them taking out the same monsters she'd had to run and hide from, she is woefully unprepared to deal with the kinds of phenomena they've displayed. If they don't have good intentions, she doesn't have a chance.

She runs. Turning back behind the shell of the unfinished shuttle and out the other side, ducking low as she moves through a large nest of stacked storage boxes.]

You asked for our help.

[ Erik’s voice rises to ring after her; his pursuit ends before the shuttle, vision prying hard in the dark to see if it’s the one she might have arrived in. It doesn’t look finished. ]

Now you have it. [ Patience comes to him more naturally than it used to. Volume isn’t accompanied by anger. There’s no suggestion of threat to reverberate in the way his speech carries between crates. ] You can take your chances with the dark or you can return the favor.

[ Having someone in his head makes Fenris' skin crawl, but he appreciates the forewarning—not that someone is there, but that the other mutant may be headed in that direction. He follows. He does it as a distance, picking his way through straggling cranks one gunshot or crushed vital organ at a time, but there wouldn't be anything subtle about it even if he weren't glowing like a nightlight in the dark of the shuttle bay. He stays close enough to keep one eye and a fraction of his attention on Erik, so he can—

be a furious witness, he supposes, if Erik tries anything. He's worked out by now that his bullets would likely be useless. ]

[ They're dying out and there are still enough of them to worry about by the time his clip runs out of ammunition and Raven is abruptly there, slotting into personal space like she belongs. Charles flinches a duck at the sound of a monstrous shriek, cut short by fleshy impact of an axe sinking into bone and grey matter. A swing there, a kick there, gore still slick on the ground after it had coming raining down. He is taking care not to fumble ridiculously with the reload.

But he's done, and he shoots the next thing coming, and then, picks off another further off. The fight is basically over by the time he is ready to go at it again, but it's for the best. Erik has slipped out of psychic range, and glowing white magic reflects off spilled gore as Fenris does as well.

He looks over his shoulder. Raven's cobalt skin is navy in the darkness, but her eyes are the same bright yellow. A nod of thanks; ]

Come on.

[ Ladies first, a sort of automatic gesture with his hand for them to move, before Charles is making quick work of closing in on where he'd seen that stranger, where Erik has descended, eager to be back within unusually limited range. Of everyone present, he probably seems the most ordinary, and even then, ordinary is blood spattered and bruised and a little wild eyed. The pistol remains in hand, tucked at his side.

Hello we are here to help don't be alarmed!! ]

[There's a large gap between the far edge of the cluster of stacked crates and the next shuttle shell. She might be able to make it if she bolts for it, but it's going to be risky. Thankfully the man speaks, letting her know roughly where he is, and she flattens herself against the back of one crate stack, listening for his footsteps.]

It seems to me I'd be taking my chances either way.

[She calls back, then moves several stacks over to the left and in slightly, hoping to confuse his idea of her location. He's right, of course - she had asked for help. But she hadn't expected anything like what they'd done, and all the information they'd gathered from the Scylla's flight recorder bobbed around unpleasantly in the forefront of her mind. She hadn't even been sure which were the monsters, when she'd come across them fighting.]

[The blue woman tails her brother toward the cargo stacks, her gait still residually uneven. Her eyes roving the first of the crates with a visible touch of irritation. Wherever Eszter's hidden herself, it doesn't happen to be conveniently at an obvious and accessible exit from the makeshift labyrinth. In the meantime, Johanna's face is burned, Erik's head must be setting a record for traumatic brain injury, the pointy-eared one just got his arm out of a creature's torso, and Professor Charles Xavier just finished capping a dozen veiny zombies. (She might also be a little hangry.) (A little.)

In short, Mystique would like to be able to end this increasingly frustrating game of monsters and morons by seizing that little woman by the scruff of her neck and dragging her out screaming.

When she reaches the nearest pile of crates, she breaks out of her slightly-stilted walk. Instead, she launches herself up, foot and hand, her willowy frame drawing a blue blur up the half-light of the shuttle. She takes the axe with her, and lands light as a cat on top. A running leap takes her up onto the next stack over, moving counterclockwise around the edge, an ear out for the strains of footfalls or conversation. If axes aren't typically equipment utilized to capture, someone forgot to inform her.]

All of that talk promising aid and good will down the drain for fear of the unknown.

[ Derision, exasperation. Exhaustion. It roughs his voice as plainly as it shows in the slope of his shoulders and in a shift of his weight when he turns back to check on the progress of his friends (and also Fenris, who probably doesn’t have friends). He doesn’t have to look to sense Mystique making short work of the crates between here and the constellation of metallic accents around Eszter’s person.

Humans.

The sentiment is written in weary, blood-cracked lines around his face when he looks more directly to Charles, so deeply interred in every muscle fiber and bone that he needn’t think it. ]

She may be armed, [ is what he thinks instead. ] Tell her to be careful.

[ Then he looks to Fenris’s glow for the thousandth time. Unfortunately intrigue is a poor substitute for trust. Past the way he’s glanced to Charles, there’s no outward indication of a private conversation. Only the negotiations he’s having with the DUPRR at a distance: ]

If you’re not here to help, and you’re not here to learn, what are you here for?

[ He sizes up Johanna last, and only in brief while he struggles with whatever minor malfunction involved in setting her slightly apart from his feelings on the human race in general, at the moment. The usual visceral flood of relief at her being (relatively) alright is still there. ]

[ Charles watches and doesn't say anything as Raven springs up, the blunt glint of an axe visible, but he knows a touch of anxiety even before Erik dispenses instruction. He is silent then, too, concentrating instead, the tick of his gaze tracking easily towards the presence of a new mind as if he could see through the crates.

A flick of an acknowledging glance bounces back to Erik. ]

She isn't.

[ Armed.

He decidedly holsters his gun, even if it's a gesture empty of meaning with no scaredy researchers around to see it. Or maybe it's meant for his companions. ]

She moved, several feet leftwards. Listen.

[ That part is for Raven -- and Charles doesn't mean to presume through advisement, because action and intent is not brightly clear in his sister's mind. Impatience, anger, predatory determination, those things are.

This is going to be an exhausting trip back if they have to drag their quarry all the way. ]

You've spoken to us on the network. I'd hoped we could all talk in person, but we have to leave this place. Right now.

[ It does occur to Charles that he is surrounded by impatient people. It's occurred to him before now, too, because he isn't feeling much more generous either. All the same-- ]

You're Eszter, yes?

Edited 2015-04-28 12:10 (UTC)

[ Fenris (who has friends, thank you, three of them by his last count, how many do you have Erik) makes a soft but predictably impatient noise from his wary distance behind Magneto. Introductions are fine when danger is past, but it isn't. It's everywhere. He keeps his attention on Magneto—despite his good manners—his glinting eyes on the blue one while she makes her way over the crates, and his head tilted to aim one long ear into the space behind him, where there are faint noises and potential threats. Johanna counted among them.

But he's paying attention to Xavier, too, however impatiently. Taking cues. He distrusts him that little bit less than everyone else present, and he doesn't follow him in holstering his weapon, but in the silent space after his question, Fenris slackens his shoulders, and the light under his skin disappears like water through a cloth.

It's darker, without him, but that makes it easier to see contrast and discern shapes outside the ring of his glow. ]

Knock her unconscious, [ he suggests under his breath, to no one in particular. ]

[Johanna catches that suggestion, and she grins, grimly, her fingers tight on her axe. Good idea, she does not say, even if it shows in the glint of her teeth.

She has trailed along behind Charles, too; she has kept hold of her axe. But unlike Mystique, she's kept to that position and to the floor--in part because she's in less shape to be scaling boxes in a single bound. And like everyone else, Johanna is equally impatient, equally angry, equally tired--equally so done. Now would be a great time to get an axe in the meat of their target's leg so they can drag her back with them. Or, yeah: knock her unconscious.

But for once, instead of giving voice to all of those ironclad feelings of pissed off--Johanna lets out a breath, shaky--and sags into a crouch, one arm looped around the handle of her axe, like she's holding onto it for support, like she just can't take it anymore.]

If it's Eszter-- she promised to help. [Quiet, a little plaintive, edged with some frustration--but mostly just tired. She's a good actor. The huge chemical burn helps.] You promised. That's what I came out here for, all this fucking way, because--

[--And like she's caught herself, Johanna cuts off there. Swallows, hard.]

He's right. We can't stay. Come with us so we can get out of here.

[Mystique listens.

It helps to calm her down a little. It also helps her close in on Eszter, her gait slower now but still steady, inexorable as a comet seeking a planet to destroy. Heavy boots and an ordinary stride would hit the containers like drums, but she finds her way over in the kind of quiet that is easily obscured by cranky man voices. And Johanna sounding terrifyingly plaintive.

At least, Mystique is decent enough to take the suggestions being bandied about, and turn the axe in her hand. The butt of the handle sits ready instead of the gory blade, more of a blunt trauma opportunity than the presumption to murder. Thus prepared, she watches the squirm of the maze pathways as she closes in. If she finds Eszter, she'll hold at least for a couple seconds. Give this negotiation a chance to actually go somewhere.

Maybe pick a dumber-looking shape to change into. They all have to play their parts.]

It's not fear of the unknown when I've seen what you can do.

[She's muttering it to herself, bristling at the derisive tone, the assumptions in the man's words, a more personal irritation piercing through what had just been concern and fear.

But there are others talking - and they could all talk, it seemed, which was more than could be said for any of the humanoid shaped creatures she'd encountered since arriving on the ship. The use of her name draws her short, deeper motivation and memories of previous conversations swimming up through the sharp pragmatism of survival she's fallen into. Yes, she came here for a reason. If these people are still alive, then maybe--

She needs to try. There might be just as much opportunity for it in continuing to run, if she could get away, make her way into the ship proper. But these people don't seem inclined to let her go, and between them and the monsters, there is more hope of drawing reason and compassion from them.

One more moment, taking a breath and closing her eyes, steeling herself. She steps out and around the side of the last stack of crates, arms loose at her sides, expression still sharp with wariness, eyes narrowed. The glowing one has stopped glowing. It's harder to make them out in the gloom.]

Yes, I'm Eszter.

It’s no wonder you went for Security, [ Erik mutters back, posture shifted just short of Fenris’ personal (fading) glow bubble. Needling, into a look aside after Johanna’s performance that borders upon unsettled. But now isn’t really the time to contemplate her sincerity, historically. There’s Eszter, anyway, sidling out into the open. ]

The pleasure’s all ours,

[ he’s swift to assure, deadpan and at volume, too tired to bristle -- much. He looks like a dog who’s been rolling around in rotting corpses as much as he does a man, scruffed and cut up and tatty at the seams. ]

Where are the others.

[ To business. He prompts with all the subtlety of a fire poker turning through logs, coal and ash and hot iron. ]

Where is your shuttle.

[ He doesn’t expect her to answer, a decent portion of his brain still tracking the progress of Raven’s axe behind the scenes. Checking off a baseline list of questions for Charles to verify or otherwise follow. ]

[ This would be a bad time to smile at the exchange between Fenris and Erik, even the darkly humoured little twist of one threatening the integrity of his being super earnest and helpful and such like. Charles manages it. Just. Johanna's act is an inspiration to us all.

He still won't be the most reassuring sight, all of them doused in a fresh hail of blood and guts, but the tip of his head relays interest and curiousity.

As Erik talks, he chances a few steps closer. One hand hovers in front of him, fingers lax, placating. ]

Are you hurt?

[ He does hunt around for those answers as Erik puts those questions in her mind, a good enough tactic to rustle them up to the surface whether she wants them to or not. If they come, he'll relay them across, busily and tidily, all clipped efficiency in contrast to gentle inquiry.

He would prefer Eszter focused forward. He would prefer Estzer join their group, but if push comes to shove, or the quiet turns to monster-- ]

[Her eyes flicker from one speaker to the other, somewhat unsurprised that the man who had spoken before sets straight into interrogation.]

Only a little. [A gash down her side, aches and pains that might indicate strained or torn muscles from getting away from various creatures.]

The shuttle's back there. [She lifts an arm, gestures back behind them, over the other side of the bay. Half a wreck, now. Her mouth presses, concern and frustration.] I don't know where the others are. We were split up.

[ Erik's aside earns a flat look—not so invisible in the dark as it might have been, if Fenris' eyes didn't glint when they turned his way—but it's a good reminder. Fenris takes another step back from them to pull his comms device from one of his utility pockets and switch it back on. It's a milder glow than his skin had been.

The newcomers were able to reach the main area of the ship from here, is what he's thinking, and they may not have much time left before searching for the likely-dead becomes throwing their own lives away. He may be able to reach Tyke or Hawke for an update. He doesn't say it. He glares at the screen instead, glancing up periodically to check on everyone's relative locations, and at one point smacks it against his palm to try encouraging it to cooperate.

The same thing he'd like to do to Eszter, if this goes on much longer. ]

We'll check if anyone else has seen them.

[Mystique's voice comes from above, nearly directly over Eszter's head. She's sitting by now, a pretense of casual comfort that's exactly that: a pretense. Her leg hurts. Not badly, but in a shooting kind of way that's worsened steadily since she was doing ballet all over the tops of the containers.

She opted not to shift after all. Stays blue, an indifferent thug with a bird's-eye-view, her ridged shins swinging below and axe bridging her hands loosely. The vantage doesn't actually give her such a great view of the DUPRR agent herself, though she'd probably have easy access if Eszter did anything obvious. She's looking over her teammates instead, discreetly, but assessing.]

Do you know what happens if you're out here when the Jump drive engages?

[Eszter's gaze flickers to the woman up on the crates, discomfort immediately showing in the widening of her eyes and the set of her mouth. It isn't for the blue of the woman's skin, as curious and previously shocking as that had been - it's for the simple fact of her being above her, with an axe. Tension filters into her shoulders, a barely held back desire to take several steps to the side.]

Everything in the ship is subjected to forces greater than 35G. Yes, I know.

[She isn't especially concerned about that. She doesn't intend to be on board for the jump, or perhaps to prevent it happening entirely.]

[ Erik’s eyes flicker and fade blank as realization slots into place. Rapid acceleration explains decimation of living tissue in the jump, the passage of time inside and outside, and so on. This might already be known -- he’s been preoccupied. He turns the same look from Raven on high over onto Charles near his side. ???? At which point would wormholes come in? Did we already know this?

From the outside, this is a dumb silence, as silences go.

His next thought is for the horse they rode in on, far enough away across the bay to make retrieval impractical. Temptation isn’t enough to overcome the foggy pain pounding in his skull -- no telepathy is required to follow his thought process, this time. All the breath pent up deep in his chest vents into a sigh. ]

Let’s keep moving.

[ The inevitable do yourself a favor and don't try to run is limited to a look. He starts to turn. ]

When was the last time you saw someone else?

[ Physics, man. Charles just raises an eyebrow back.

As far as he is concerned, they've rarely gathered quantifiable data on the nature of the jumps, but he does not say as much, or really think it -- there have had to be reasons other than forces greater than 35G making the time during jumps dangerous. God knows, other things happen during. This isn't the time. ]

She expects she won't be here for the jump, or to prevent it altogether.

[ The group on the whole is treated to this commentary, save for Eszter herself.

He otherwise keeps the floor open for Eszter to answer, body language turning to invite her to join their group, to find safety in the midst of them. ]

Edited 2015-05-04 09:15 (UTC)

EVENT: DUPRR ▒ THE SECONDARY SHUTTLE BAY

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