2012-11-12 Beyond the Jersey Shore

It's one of those moments where everything becomes a blur. The ears are assaulted with a cacophony of noise; the eyes desperate just to find another place to put one's feet; the lungs simply pumping in the hopes that air continues to be fed to them. Consciousness and awareness seems to fade in favor of raw, animalistic survival.
It is in that state which Kwabena Odame finds himself, clawing his way out of a maelstrom of debris and rubble that falls around him. Someone's hand is in his, grasping tightly; he's not sure if it belongs to Psylocke, Domino, or one of the others, for it doesn't matter. That hand is his only awareness of life, where everything around him has become dirt and death.
Moments later, the hand is gone, but so is the noise. Collapsing on the beach, Kwabena closes his eyes and breathes deeply, tasting air that is finally sprinkled with something that might be considered clean. No longer are his teeth filled with dirt and grime, but he can taste the telling tang of saltwater. After a few brief moments, he opens his eyes, only to watch the last of the cascading collapse before him. It would seem his boots are upon the very precipice; one more slip forward and he would have fallen into the grenade-formed crater.
Looking to the left, he spies Domino. So, she made it. What of the others? Without a word, he looks around, trying to spot Psylocke, or the girl, or the man with the claws.
"Where... where..." he breathes, but is unable to finish the sentence. There's too much air to gasp into his burning lungs.
It's a blur to another mutant, as well. Deep crimson lighting, running, the bobbing flash of a high-output gunlight still clenched in one of her hands. Adrenaline, fear and regret run so high that she barely feels the chunk of cement that strikes the back of her shoulder, initiating the start of a massive bruise upon the joint.
Odds of throwing two frag grenades at exactly the right spots for a resonant disruption of the entire facility: 1 in 1,215,908.
Somehow she and Kwabena make it back to the surface. Somehow it's a burning, smoke-choked night sky that she's staring up at while the ground rumbles gently beneath her like the purring of an eight thousand pound feline, so many pounds of gear weighing down upon her battered frame as she simply..breathes...
"Let's not do that again."
Carefully sitting upright, Domino slowly cracks her neck from one side to the next with a stifled gasp of pain accompanying the second loud *pop!* Kwa's still here, that much is certain. "Try raising Violent Violet on your brainwave there, kiddo. I've got a good feeling they all made it out."
The girl has a name... but she's not in any shape to tell it. Feeling a hand holding her own, then letting it go, she reaches for it blindly, afraid to open her eyes for fear of the dirt, or that she's in a tiny cavern with no way out, or... lots of things! But dirt is involved in all of them! Jubilation Lee, perky defender of Justice, Bubble Gum, and Shopping, is as scared as she's ever been. And she takes some scaring! 
Gradually, as she struggles away from the direction gravity's pulling, the air stops tasting like dirt and the feel of it vanishes from her face. She stumbles and falls forward heavily, sprawling onto the sand without even a hint of her usual grace. Her eyes flutter open... 
For a long moment, it's her turn to meet Kwabena's eyes, fear vanishing beneath a flood of relief. "I can't see why kids /ever/ eat dirt..." she murmurs, exhaustedly. Then she sighs out a breath and her head tips onto the beachfloor as she mercifully loses consciousness. The defender of Justice, Bubble Gum, and Shopping is taking a brief vacation.
No hand passes through the telepath's own; no hand comes close, because it's with more resolution than is healthy that she elects to take the rear in that frantic, death-defying escape. Pushing the limits of her conscious mind, she tries at once to maintain a telepathic vigil on the others, and throw back the falling weight of tons upon body-crushing tons of metal and dirt. The monochromatic mercenary's explosive ensemble strikes her across the back before she's out of the warehouse proper, setting an agonizing blaze to her spine, so hot it feels as though the bone itself is melting away. It's all she can do to not pass out-- losing herself, instead, in the astral, allowing the instincts of Kwannon's stolen body to survive for her.
At some point she becomes aware of her mundane senses again, seeing the looming passage and the beckoning call of clouded moonlight beyond. Seeing three backs, three pumping pairs of feet, and becoming aware also that they're leaving her behind. For a moment that seems far longer she simply closes her eyes, willing back the collapsing ceiling, focusing on nothing but. The next instant comes after a seeming age, and it comes in a flash of searing pain. Then nothing.
Swimming on the astral plane, her consciousness spinning too fast for any meaningful conclusion to be drawn, Psylocke is unsure if she's living or dead - unsure if it even matters. She's felt death through the eyes of others, felt black despair and the almost fanatical need to cling to something, anything, resembling a continuation of one's existence. It's desperate, and cold, and every bit as woefully tragic as the endlessly-screaming creatures left behind in the rubble.
It's with that thought that she realizes she's not like them. A whisper of the sea breeze on her cheek, breaking through six feet of rock and sand, brings her back to the real world. Violet eyes slam open, flaring at their edges into wings of electric fire, and the weight upon her bruised, bloodied body is suddenly no longer there; immolated into swirling clouds of dust.
Standing tall, she steps with almost regal care out onto the edge of the broad, chaotic ravine. A sweeping gaze takes in the survivors-- those she can see, alighting with quick relief on Kwabena, something surprisingly similar on Domino, and then she breathes out a choking sigh. Stumbling in her haste, she bounds over the debris to take a knee at Jubilee's side, touching the collapsed girl gently upon a shoulder. Hand almost straying to her neck.
Her mind tells her first; she's okay. That's when everything comes together.
"We made it."
Her words are clear, far harder and colder than her heart would have them be as she raises her voice to carry across the beachfront. A glance goes back over her shoulder, trying to find in her physical awareness the same certainty her subconscious voices. Wolverine, and Danvers... they're tough. At any other time, any less shaken, she wouldn't have the first doubt that they'd be the ones to make it out of the heat and the chaos. She's sure, and that's enough. After gently shifting the unconscious mallrat to a more comfortable position upon the beach, she stands once more and moves to join the mercenary and... no. The mercenary pair, perhaps?
"When I offered you the chance at a new life," she quietly offers to Kwabena, violet eyes sweeping the length of his body - for injuries, and to simply reassure herself. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Her voice softens, a quick glance going to Domino before it reverts to the Ghanaian. But then she asks, "Are you both okay?"
There's more to the question than a mere physical assessment.
Tilting his head over toward Domino, Kwabena can't help but curl his lips into a grin and spit forth a bit of laughter. "Yes," he agrees though heaving breaths. "Let's.. avoid that."
Lilting his head to the other side, he just notices Jubilee lying nearby. There's another blink of recognition, but in his exhausted state, he can't quite place it, it's just there. However, when the girl loses consciousness, Kwabena jumps backward and scampers over toward her, eyes riddled with worry. "Kid, you alright?" he asks, while placing his fingers against her neck to search for a pulse. Finding it, he pauses for a few moments to judge its pace, and sighs with relief. "She has the pulse, it is strong." Releasing the girl's neck, he only then recognizes that Psylocke is -there-. Right there, on the other side of the fallen teenager. He blinks twice and looks back at her, only to heave a sigh of relief.
Sitting back down, Kwabena closes his eyes and begins to settle. Psylocke's words echo for a moment, but a somewhat sarcastic grin forms on his face, and he turns to look at Betsy with a warmth in his eyes that shouldn't be there, given what they all just went through. "This is still far better than mugging innocent people in dark alleys," he points out, pairing that warmth with a bit of friendly subtext.
Gratitude.
That, however, is short lived. How far can warmth and the gratitude of new friendship survive, when such dark tidings hang over them like a looming, insufferable cloud? When she asks if they are alright, Kwabena turns to inspect his injuries. Those two nasty sets of fingernail-made scrapes have turned quite ugly, as if some unfamiliar poison were at work. The Ghanaian touches the marks on his chest, only to wince at the surprisingly intense pain that comes from them. "What the hell is this?" he murmurs, studying the red marks, and the way they have blackened his already dark skin in a way that seems altogether unnatural.
When the question is raised, 'are they both okay,' Domino answers from a wholly opposing standpoint from Kwabena. "I'll be fine." Physical injuries are forgotten about and ignored, shoved aside. She may not be okay right now, but she would get over it. It isn't the first time she's had to do something that she didn't want to do, but whatever happened to those people? That wasn't living. Mercy killing typically didn't happen by the -dozens,- however.
There is some relief to know that Jubilee made it out okay, despite barely knowing the girl. The last thing any of them needed weighing down on their shoulders is the death of a young ally. And, yep, of course the psychic gal is going to pull through. One of the most peculiar tough cookies Dom's ever met, that one. "I still don't know your damned name."
"There's worse things than becoming a merc," she points out while tenderly rubbing the back of her neck. She'll just sit in the sand for a while longer, if it's no problem for anyone else. "Seriously gotta work on your approach though, Kwa. 'Leeroy Jenkins' isn't much of a strategy."
Such is the oft-ludicrous nature of the path they walk, that warmth and gratitude seem no more at odds here than they would in the bright and homely surroundings of a favourite cafe. In the field, Betsy has an ever-developing tendency to lapse with greater frequency into the cool demeanour of the blade-slinging assassin-- it helps her focus, and helps her *not* focus upon the more harrowing psychic backlash involved in her line of work. It's all too easy to receive a full blast of anger or pain, and to take those things on board...
ell, there are times when she understands the phenomenon of the Phoenix rather too well.
"Honestly, my friend," her gently humourous reply lacks any such darkness; the lingering, spreading shadow that Kwabena so fears. Psylocke doesn't speak often of the past, but like Domino, it can be reasonably assumed this is not her first experience with the blackest horrors of man's devising. And though it may be perverse, there's an unnamed feeling that she continues to love. Not quite satisfaction, but close. Deeper. The smile she wears contains only a hint of a tease as she finishes, "It's also better than swaying across a catwalk."
Despite the light-hearted shift, a return to business comes easy, as does a return to frowning concern. Following Kwabena's attention to his own injuries, and bothered further still by his own obvious confusion, she gives a slow shake of her head.
"We don't know enough about your powers, Kwabena. What you *are*. Knowing that you're a good man, knowing that you're brave and true, doesn't come close to understanding why you can do the things you do. But, all this," she flickers a glance to the devastation beside them, a distant wave of her hand sending her gaze flipping back out to sea. Contemplative. "We're moving ever further from the friends I told you about. There's so much you need to learn--" There's so much they all do, but she leaves that unsaid as she looks to Domino, inclining her head in agreement with the patch-eyed mercenary's opinion. "And you can't do that alone. I know I couldn't."
There's a brief pause, before she shifts tracks long enough to offer Domino a furtive smirk.
"Psylocke. But call me Betsy. I think you've earned that much trust today."
For that first remark, Psylocke is awarded a healthy smirk, a glimmer of mirth in his mismatched eye, and a certain cowboy-esque attitude that is starting to become decidedly Kwabena. It is a brief glimpse at the lighter side of the guilt-ridden, forming mutant, and something that should hopefully be seen more often.
It is also, sadly, short-lived.
When Betsy speaks so boldly about him, he turns and looks away, not wishing to have eye contact with anyone. Instead, he stares at the still-settling crater of destruction, watching the occasional spark of electricity arcing from severed conduits, or the cloud of dust kicked up by the occasional shift of charred concrete.
There is a moment of silence given while Psylocke and Domino introduce each other. After which, Kwabena steps just slightly away from the heavy thoughts assaulting him, only to remark about each of them in an off hand way. "Psylocke? Domino?" He grins. "Perhaps I should start calling myself... -The Shifter-." He says that with such flamboyant sarcasm that he can't help but laugh, just a little.
It did have a ring to it.
Struck again by the weight of Betsy's words, he turns and looks toward her for a moment, only to say something quite profound. "I'm afraid I can't learn fast enough... and yet, I fear what might happen if I move too quickly." He turns to look over at Domino, frowning. "I know that I have a lot to learn, but..." He shakes his head and stares at the destruction they've caused, considering all of the corpses that lay buried below. "... but I can't just sit by and not do /anything/. Not anymore. That life..." He shakes his head again. "That man is dead."
Buried. Buried underneath a massive beast of this craziness. At least Carol managed to tackle it away from the kid before two or three of its buddies dogpiled on her. The kicker? Energy blasts and claws flashed and ripped at her. The energy she'd absorbed from the mercenaries' weapons was one thing, but... this is wholly another. The battle ended for her, when there was an eruption of golden energy that virtually disintegrated the enemies around her and Carol wasn't exactly... well let's just say she wasn't in a good way. Power leaking out of her flesh like water coming out of an overstressed dam. 
When that happened, she took one look around and took off flying down the corridor and out into the night. It's a good thing she did that, as she was close to an eruption that was totally out of her control. The sky lit up briefly in the distance and afterwards, Carol comes flying back slowly, exhausted as she comes to land nearby. "Ow..." is all she says after all that's happened.
(Pic for how she looked before she left: http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/11/114193/2364765-carol_danvers__earth_616__003.jpg)
"I could do with fewer catwalks," Domino agrees with a wry smirk. "Deathtrap, those things."
With introductions out of the way, and what Betsy has to say to Kwabena, Dom pushes herself up away from the sand and wanders over enough to ruffle the top of Kwa's head, hair or no hair. "You did alright today, kiddo. We'll keep you moving in the right direction."
Wait. -We?- That sorta implies a coming together of powers, doesn't it..? Careful how you start thinking there, girl.
"'The' Shifter, huh? I can work with that, Shift." Because everything always has to be abbreviated when it comes to names with this mutie. "Hey, I don't think anyone here is asking you to sit back and warm the bench. We take what happened here, learn from it, then do better next time. Worst-case scenario, if you screw up you're out another outfit. I'm more concerned with how your actions might affect the rest of us non-vaporeal beings."
There it is again. Team. Togetherness. Goddamnit, Dom's a loner, not a den mother!
Then there's another body coming out of the sky. The two teams haven't had a proper chance to get introduced, or even know of one another all that well, but this one doesn't look like an opponent. So, the guns stay holstered. Instead, Dom quickly inclines her head in Carol's direction. "Were you part of the fun? Sorry about bringing the roof down on your head and all. Orders," she kids with the slightest of smirks.
"The--"
There's nothing remotely ladylike about the *snort* that Betsy emits before she can gather any manner of composed reaction to Kwabena's suggestion. She's almost okay, until she starts to pass the name through her own lips, and then the laughter comes out so hard she hasn't got a remote chance to stop it blasting through her nose. The pleasant olive of her skin flushes brightly as she presses the back of her hand against the lower half of her face, eyes wide and just a little watery; as though she were a prim and proper schoolgirl caught on a rare misdeed.
"S-Sorry," she murmurs, pulling the hand back to fan at her face as she sends another glance out across the ocean. If she can't see them, they can't see her, right? She's back to relative normal in a few seconds, releasing tension with a sigh and turning back to the pair. "Remind me to tell you how I got my codename sometime, Kwabena. You can laugh at me all you like, I promise." Because laughing at painfully tragic things is what they're all about. It would be less disturbing if she wasn't, on some level, completely serious. "But Domino's right; if we're going to work together again..." She doesn't exactly sound dubious about that, either. "Teamwork begins in coordinating ourselves to be the best we can be. First, I want to--"
The approach of Carol Danvers registers to her just a fraction before it does the others, her speech dying with a frown and violet eyes shifting to meet the woman in her controlled drop. Expression softening just a little as recognition dawns, she remains wary of the vestiges of power still clinging to the SHIELD agent. Once more, not so composed and relaxed as Domino.
"Understatement of the century," Which isn't to say she can't still crack a little wise. That clear, clipped British accent may be a familiar one, perhaps, though it certainly doesn't match the physical vessel. Which makes what she says next... "It's been about that long since I last saw you, my friend." ...a mite odd. "Are you--" Is she what, well? Somehow, it doesn't suffice.
Betsy lets it hang dead in the air, waving a self-effacing hand as Carol comes to land.
"Alive, intact. Sore as hell... and remind me to tell you how I got my Callsign in the airforce someday." mutters Carol as she staggers forward, recovering visibly with each step she takes. She eyes Domino and smirks, "Trust me, the roof was a minor issue. Too much energy absorbed... that was the problem. I figured you guys wouldn't want me letting loose a small tac-nuke here in the room with you, soooo..." she gestures upwards with a hand in kind of an airplane climbing motion. 
But, she rolls her neck and looks about at the wreckage. "I'm still capable of being a human forklift, so... shall we start searching this crap?" Yep, Carol is a soldier... with a soldier's mouth.
With the 'ruffling' of his bald head and the raucous laughter from Psylocke at his suggestion, Kwabena gives them both a good-natured and full on half-scowl, half-smirk. "Yeah, yeah," he answers, dismissing their ribbing of him with a wave of his hand. "You're right though," he starts to say, sobering. "Both of you. -I've- never, uh, worked on a 'team' before. I can see that-"
Oh, was Kwabena about to admit that his Han Solo treatment of every situation could be putting his so-called allies at risk? Too bad, he never completed that thought, for out of the sky comes Carol Danvers. Turning to watch her land, Kwabena blinks twice, though he's not /as/ surprised as he used to be. Seems he's getting used to be surrounded by people with strange and fascinating capabilities. He inclines her head to her in greeting, but in short time is distracted by his injuries.
On that matter, Kwabena has the appearance of someone who ought to be dead. His shirt has been shredded to strips, literally, which hang off his developed torso in charred, half-melted strands. His black jeans, also half shredded and covered with dirt and burnt marks of flame, and boots that have seen their soles become half melted. In addition to the dirt and grime that covers him, there are two nasty looking scratches, one on his shoulder and one on his chest, to which is flesh seems to be having a nasty reaction to. Wincing again at the fire-like pain that courses from each scratch mark, he looks down at his chest with a scowl. "Damn!" hisses the Ghanaian. "If only I had some /whiskey/ left."
No one really came out of this unscathed. In Domino's case, all of the scratches, splotches of crimson, and vivid spots of disoloration on what little of that pasty white skin can be seen, it all looks pretty natural. It's like a second state of being for her, either hidden away in black or hidden away in diced up black. Personal injuries aside, she turns to stare at Betsy as she completely loses it. A moment later and she's laughing right alongside her, though with notably less energy. Laughter -is- contagious, but when the subject matter properly takes root within her turbulent thought process it proves to be worth a laugh, too!
Huh, so Betsy and Aerial Support Girl know one another? That explains the latter's involvement, at least. Alright, she can relax a little further on that matter.
Flinch.
Okay, almost. It isn't anything personal, but one thing Dom can't stand is when people say 'trust me.' That -never- ends well for her. "Speaking entirely for myself, I don't want to uncover whatever's left down there. As another thought, does anyone else feel like maybe we should be getting the hell out of here real quick-like? I'm shocked that the authorities haven't gotten here yet, even for Jersey. Besides, I've got drinks in the trunk," she adds with another smirk for Kwabena's benefit. "Better than the sorry excuse for liquor you were burning out there, too."
"That 'minor issue' almost ended up killing us," Betsy counters coolly, tempering anything rough in her voice with a gentle sigh and a shake of her head. "I can't say I expected to find you here, but thank you. For the assistance." A single-shouldered shrug drives that home, with seeming casual ease, though a curious cant of her head carries another meaning; she's wondering exactly why Carol Danvers is here, and whose interests she's here *on*. They may ostensibly be on the same side, but this is a delicate situation. The contents of the remaining container...
A glance goes toward that, distractedly, as she nods quiet agreement with Domino.
"There's nothing alive down there, and I know who we're dealing with..."
At this precise moment, Domino may be flashing back to the few, brusque words in Japanese and the thoughtless ease with which Psylocke worked the access panel. Outside of the monochromatic one herself, there are a laughably small number of people who might hope to be lucky enough to make even an educated guess at a combination that long, so quickly. She's not reading minds, but it's the trigger-happy mercenary that receives the telepath's attention now.
"They might not have been expecting us-- me, to come here, but there wasn't much effort made in keeping things secure, either. Whether it was a trap or just a clever contingency, they kept us diverted from finding any real leads." Shifting violet eyes to Carol, she gestures toward the tugboat nudging the shoreline near the collapsed sewer outlet. That dull metal crate looms at once inviting and forbidding upon the wooden deck. "We'd best put your strength to use greeting the new arrivals. It was dark on the container, but I counted at least six in there. Whether they're alert or not..." That she doesn't know. But all seems still for the moment.
"Domino, you'll get your pay. You've earned it twice over," there's a wry half-grin with that, a preeminent warning not to get any ideas; gone as she continues more somberly, "You don't need to come any further with me. Unless..."
Unless she's developed a personal stake. It's hard to tell if Betsy is probing or hoping.
At Domino's mention of authorities, Carol just shakes her head with a smirk on her face. She meets Psylocke's violet eyes with her own baby blues and shrugs. Her mind is broadcasting . . o o O O (Should I spoil the surprise?) Even as she nods and turns towards the tugboat. "More new arrivals then?" she asks as she simply walks that way, once more with that boot-enforced hip-walk she does. Each leg placed in front, instead of the boy-like walk. Sure, she was a Tomboy, but sometimes, even a Tomboy's body enforces a bit of its... own desires upon said Tomboy. "I know that the [Insert Asian Merc Org Name] thugs that were down that tunnel were trying like hell to keep me out... oh and who's idea was it to bring the fur covered razorblade to the party?" she asks in general.
To Domino, Kwabena cants his head. "Why do you think I was -burning- it?" he asks. "Never tell me that cheap liquor isn't good for -something-." However, when the mercenary brings up the subject of exiting dodge, his eyes also go toward that one last cargo container. "We can't leave that to be discovered by the authorities," he agrees, and it is with no shortage of zeal. Then again, there was the issue of Jubilee, who still lays in the sand nearby, unconscious. He steps over toward her again, reaching down to check her pulse. Then, assuming that they were all going somewhere, he crouches down and shifts his arms beneath the girl's dead weight, and lifts her up. Making sure to cradle her neck against his arm, he turns around to face the others, then raises his eyebrows expectedly, as if to suggest he'll take the girl wherever it is necessary.
Oh, did this new woman have something to do with the destructive forces that obliterated the facility? Domino may have to adjust those odds slightly. Two grenades, and a Carol Danvers, hitting just the right areas at just the right moment, well...
It's a moot point by now.
There is, of course, still the matter of how Betsy is connected to everything that transpired here. How she got them through that secured door. It's a discussion which may or may not involve heated words and threatening gestures, so it's one which Dom chooses to have at a later date and time. Private conversation, that one. Especially if it results in aiming one of her guns at Psylocke's head. No, some things are best left for one on one interactions.
Normally, mention of her pay gets a better reaction. Tonight there's a flash of something grim looking across her sharply contrasted features, there and gone in an instant. Her thoughts, as always, remain her own, though she does confirm Betsy's hope without outright saying it. "Might as well see this one through to the end." There's a moment of time where she looks at all of her gear, picking and choosing how to proceed. In the end it's the massive matte black .44 that she claims, popping the mag out and shaking the grit out of the action.
Dom's involvement is officially confirmed with the *Click-CHAK* of the behemoth being chambered. "Let's end this before I take a brief coma of my own."
That Kwabena moves to care for Jubilee speaks volumes that Psylocke feels no need to speak on further; he may be reckless, rough around the edges, and doubtful of his own potential, but every other action merely serves to reinforce her opinion, and the emotional exchange they shared on the streets of New York. It brings a smile to the kunoichi's lips, covering beautifully for the widening of that same gesture as Domino makes her intentions known. It's amazing how swiftly a person can go from nudging at the bottom edge of one's 'list' to suddenly being a valued companion. They may exchange violence later, but for now...
"It's not just them."
Falling into step with the statuesque Ms. Danvers, Betsy runs a hand back through her hair, clutching briefly at the nape of her neck as she assorts her thoughts and feelings. A silent moment serves as cover for the concurrent meeting of minds.
|"Let's keep it between us. Are we friends here, or is this where you seize the investigation? I respect you, and you need to do your job but... the Hand are involved, and that makes this personal to me. I'm not here as one of the X-Men, Carol."|
It's not something she'd admit to many-- precious few even know of her affiliation, and even those that do rarely fall privy to the vengeful and regretful emotions she holds at her core. That she discloses so readily is indication of how important she feels this is.
"The Victorious Sons are in Gotham," she continues outwardly, similarly trusting the SHIELD agent to keep up with both ends of their exchange. "And they've worked together before now. An... old acquaintance used to hire them both to do his dirty work. There's a reason for that. Put a gun in their hand, give them an order, and they'll fight until they can't fight any more. They were a diversion; and these men topside, not even that-- a distraction at best. There's several layers to this. That's why I brought people I can trust... like Logan."
Neatly settling that particular line of enquiry; this was Psylocke's operation. Her choices. It's why she takes the lead, too, as they near the tugboat, gracefully vaulting over onto the deck and stepping through the torn exterior of the metal storage crate. It's large enough to admit all of them, with room to spare; the six high-tech sarcophagi stacked at one end, with the single, shiniest-looking propped upright against the others. Thick catches adorn one side, pressure-locked, and tough enough to resist anyone who can't snap steel girders in twain...
Just as well they brought somebody who can.
Shrugging once more, Carol carries on her silent chat with Psylocke as she walks
. . o o O O (I wasn't planning on taking charge. I just thought they might like to know that there's no whopping sirens inbound. I told Fury I was on the scene, and with SHIELD's presence, the locals are holding back for now. But, I understand personal. I'm here to -help-. Just tell me what you'd like from me Bets.)
And then of course, "Might've been nice to know Logan was here, and the kid." she says, gesturing to Jubilee in Kwa's arms. She softens her gaze for a moment as she notices that too, and Psy can sense her own warming up to the guy just for that single gesture. "I was using their entry method as cover during the first firefight. Had I known they were in there, I would not have risked it like that."
Indeed, Carol slows to -let- Psylocke take the lead. It might be purely cosmetic, letting the other woman move in front, but to a military officer, such cosmetic things are far more than purely symbolic. She lifts one hand, and summons enough energy to shed light through the whole crate. Of course, in the light it can be seen that her normally pristine costume has a handful of rips and tears that are strategically -not- revealing anything that would lend an R rating here, but she does look like she's been through a wringer... she just came out on top. Her -other- hand reaches for that lock and with a pause to make sure everyone is ready, she simply rips it open. Subtle eh?
For a few moments, Kwabena's mind wanders. With the girl in his arms, he takes a moment to observe her features for a moment as they trudge through the sand toward the tugboat. It is Psylocke's mention of Gotham that secures the memory in his mind. It was Jubilee, in fact, who tried to confront him in his dark place, before he'd met Psylocke or Domino, when he was merely trying to find shelter from the weather in Gotham. How could he have ever guessed that he would be the one caring for her in turn? It is then with a quiet smile that he murmurs something to the unconscious girl. "You did well, young one."
Psylocke's words are not lost on him, and while it would be impossible for the Ghanaian to fully understand the depth of her investigation, there are just enough clues for him to understand that this terrible incident may become merely the first chapter in a long, arduous tale. He glances up to watch as Carol takes a step back, letting Betsy adopt the role of leader in more than word, but in action alone. Hanging back near Domino, he glances the way of the mercenary and murmurs something toward her. "I was just thinking, what we could really use is a leader. Some direction." He lifts his eyebrows, fully expecting Domino to be resistant to such an idea. However, there is an expression on his face that suggests that, for now, it might be best for both of them to take a step back and let that one ride out.
After all, Kwabena had no desire to take that mantle. Far from it. He still has so much to learn.
Finally stepping up onto the tugboat, he hazards a glance toward Carol. He watches her perform with a curious perk to his eye, then allows for the subtlest of smirks to form on his face. He'll be caught dead before -ever- wearing one of those silly outfits. Then again, his mutation is prone to embarassing wardrobe malfunctions. Letting that one sit unspoken, he finds a series of sandbags nearby that are oh-so conveniently arrayed in a way that could be used as a makeshift bed. Carefully he crouches down, laying the unconscious Jubilee upon them, making sure she settles in as comfortably as could be.
Dom's not about to take the place of a leader, either. She might be able to run with a pack, but she's still the lone wolf at heart. Right now, she's still part of this peculiar team. She's taken position up by those containers on the tugboat, left hand crossed over the right wrist with a small but painfully bright torch held up and ready, helping to keep the sights of her magnum clear without interfering with her aim any. The mental communication between the other women is lost to her, she's no mind-reader. One doesn't need to read her thoughts to know where her head is at, anyway. This game's still on, and this is what she does. "Green here, let's see what we've got."
"Sorry, but with the way this country feels about our kind..." Betsy grimaces, waving another dismissive hand rather than explain further here and now. She brings the concurrent conversations together then, summarizing a whirlpool of emotions with a simple statement wrung through with dark subtext. "I just find it hard to trust *any* authorities right now."
It's an excuse, in truth, rather than an explanation, but one she at least hopes the other woman will understand-- she should know through her work that the telepath's motherland once went through similar straits, if not the accompanying revelation that Psylocke found herself one of those held against her will in the stark, squat buildings of a concentration camp. 'Personal' isn't really the half of it; this runs deep into her psyche, deep into what she's become.
Which comes around neatly to the question of leadership being raised nearby; in the now, Betsy certainly seems to fit the part, though it's by some concession of Ms. Danvers that she keeps the role for the moment rather than sharing it with the SHIELD agent. As photonic light floods the storage container, she looks on with the assumed air of command, keeping her internal considerations and her own issues to herself-- this is business, for all of them. To come this far and not inspect the remaining crate, to not see what they've tracked from China...
To complete this operation, and to come one step closer to fixing this, she'll gladly lead.
Which is all well and good, but her composure is overcome by momentary astonishment when Carol just ups and tears the metal coffin open. Steel tears and cracks, severing into jagged edges to lay bare the contents-- and there's a beat in time, before light falls on the chamber, where Psylocke's wide-eyed expression turns to a grim readiness. A foot slides forward, a knifehand leading as she prepares to deal with another feral, half-alive lunge from what's within...
The revelation is far more stunning, because what awaits in the crate *isn't* some hideous apparition, twisted by experimentation into a form barely recognized as human. The form inside isn't stood straight as the packaging would suggest, but curled up into a foetal ball at the base, shoulders hunched curiously still until the first touch of the cool air sets them to violent shivering. It's a girl-- skin pale, but body well-toned and athletic, a dishevelled mop of red hair falling across features that aren't so much terrified as barely aware.
Like watching a newborn take its first glimpse at the place called 'home', this 'abomination' - so unlike the others - lowers its arms and presses quivering palms to the ripped bottom edge of her shipping crate, scooting back hard against the flat metal behind. Brown eyes open against the burning light, finding the looming features of Carol Danvers above.
And then the girl begins to scream.
Psylocke stands stunned, uncertain of how to respond; failing to lead, or do *anything*. Absurdly, she reaches out for the first thought she can latch onto, to do something concrete and make a difference to the situation. What she settles for is reaching out further...
|"Blink? I... think you need to see this."|
BLINK!
The portal that opens up behind Psylocke doesn't last more than a moment, but it does appear with that audible noise. A momentary flash of pink and a warped glimpse into infinity as space is made to bend and touch, two distant points brought together for the instant that Blink needs them to touch before she can be here, in this place.
In truth, she's been waiting for... a while. Explosions have wracked this place and although she had every faith she'd be called if she was needed, sitting back is against her nature. It feels wrong that she should be waiting and thinking her own, selfish thoughts about life and her place in it whilst Psylocke goes and risks her neck. On the other hand, she knows well enough that when her head is in a bad place... it is a terrible idea to put herself in situations where she might have the opportunity to kick people. Because then she will.
"Psylocke? You wanted--?" The purple girl starts, casting her eye across the others - Domino looks vaguely familiar, Kwabena less so, and Carol not at all, but... it is none of them that shut her up. That is the screaming girl. Because it is a scream she has heard far, far too many times. For a moment, she is back in the pens. She'd never been a screamer herself. She'd learned very quickly that it didn't matter how much you screamed, or cried, or begged, it never made it any easier. But it is a lesson that others don't learn so easily. And that scream... for just a moment, she hates herself, because all she wants to do is /get away/...
But she's not there, and neither is the girl. Not any more. Blink ignores the others, and steps forwards, squatting down. She isn't smiling, but she says the words she remembers she loved to hear so well. Her voice calm, soothing, and utterly in control despite the tight knot of sympathetic fear in her gut.
"It's okay, kid." She says. "You're safe. Nobody is going to hurt you, ever again."
Sometimes, it is the simplest lies which are the best ones. The ones we need to hear.
Trusting authorities? This is precisely why the name 'Kwabena Odame' does not exist in any public records, anywhere. Not even in Accra, Ghana. The name 'Kwabena Odame' only officially exists in the memories of a small village named Kwesan, where they still tell the tales of 'Kwabena the Freak'. Loosely translated.
He hangs back, staying closer to the unconscious Jubilee. The weapon borrowed from Domino is still holstered at his side, and he hopes that he doesn't have to use it again, so it stays right where it is. Regardless, the sight of the girl, and the ensuing screams...
They start to disturb his calm again.
A grimace forms on the African's face. Hands form into fists, accompanied by the quiet cracking sound of flesh hardening to iron. Blink is noticed, and a small connection is made between the flashes of purple he'd witnessed earlier, but... that girl.
Kwabena turns away, putting his back to the lot of them and simply staring out at the ocean like a sentinel. His face has become stony cold, his injuries ignored, Jubilee still in his peripheral... and his fists still clenched into balls of iron.
Uh, victim, fetal... screamer. Carol steps back and dims her light a bit. She knows how painful it can be to have light shoved in your face after being stuck in the dark so long. She's not exactly... the caregiver mentality, but she is about to crouch and try to help ease the girl out when Blink appears. If not for her seventh sense warning her that something is coming, she might've tried to blast the purple mutant, but... she is aware that what's coming is not a threat and so simply steps back away without words. 
She lowers her hand and looks to Psylocke as Blink starts to handle things. It's that silent unspoken... oooookay... facial expression that Betsy oughta be familiar with from her. An expression of being totally out of her depth.
There's two things that Domino isn't prepared for. The first would be the sight of Carol Danvers there ripping a solid steel door free of that container like it had been made of balsa wood. "Good -lord- I am never arm-wrestling that chick," is muttered under her breath.
The second thing? Finding one girl on the inside. One that promptly screams. And who wouldn't when their little metal coffin opens up to the sight of this group! Danvers is glowing, Psylocke is ..psyblading. Kwabena's just Kwabena, seriously. Just look at the eyes sometime. Creepy. Then there's Miss Big Bore 2012 with a flashlight that is positively blinding even at high noon. It's not a particularly friendly introduction, even on the best of days.
In a flash, there's a third thing that she isn't prepared for. A pink elf appearing out of nowhere. Domino very nearly falls over in her haste to jump back and spin around, suddenly aiming both the flashlight and the .44 at none other than Blink. "The fuck?!" Psylocke may still be getting her leadership wings figured out, as one thing she's not so great at is making sure that everyone involved is aware of everyone -else- involved. Dom's seen the flashes of light. She's heard the sounds. But she's never properly seen the individual behind them all.
And hell, teleporters are creepy, too.
"Who's -this- one, now?! Should I start inviting my drinking buddies, make a proper social gathering out of this?" And what the hell is going on between the elf and the screaming girl! Goddamn, she's gonna need more guns.
It's too often said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but it's true here. Psylocke could spend an hour explaining to Blink what they've seen this night, what occurred inside and what's been discovered now. She could even have transmitted a small portion of her own sensations, but absolutely nothing compares to coming here and seeing - experiencing - the horror unfolding within this poor girl. Even if the telepath had words to mind when Blink apparates and immediately moves toward this kindred, tortured soul, she wouldn't say them...
Sometimes it's just best not to speak.
Settling for action, she snaps her hand out, as fast as she is deadly silent. Long, pale fingers slap the barrel of Domino's bulky firearm aside with surprising gentility-- and unerring judgement, ensuring that even if she pulls the trigger the shot goes far wide. Though it remains true; the monochromatic mercenary it's going to need to adjust to surprises if she spends much more time around the enigmatic kunoichi. At least Psylocke isn't telling her to 'shut up'.
"She's from our future," she settles for explaining, tone low and softer than she's ever used when dealing with the mercenary. "From a world where this sort of thing is normal. It's what I'm..." She trails off to correct herself, gaze slipping from Blink and the screaming girl to the almost-amusing 'o' face of the SHIELD agent. "We, are trying to stop."
Internment camps, genetic experiments, stones thrown in the street... all of it. There's a steely conviction in Betsy that's likely new to Carol - she always had a way with self-confident proclamations, always knew her duty, but this is something refined many times over.
Still quivering like a leaf, the red-haired girl at least stops shrieking at the soothing pitch of Blink's voice, still appearing little more than a child perhaps just easily distracted by pink skin and that strangely-alluring diamond shape. It's to the mutant's forehead that she slowly reaches, still thrusting herself convulsively back against the crate - the effort causing her extending fingertips to quiver all the harder, forcing her to take several moments lining things up before she can place two fingers over that mark. Those brown eyes are oddly dead, numbed of the emotion expressed by her trembling frame, as she tries to speak.
"Ruh-- ruh..." The attempt doesn't last long, before her head shakes hard enough to slam against the edges of the storage crate. Her brow comes within inches of a severed edge-- similar to the one below now causing the blood from a cut palm to pool beneath her feet. Dropping her hand away from Blink, she moves it instead to the inside edge of the box, where markings lie to match those on the outside. A sequence of letters and numbers. K-RA1.
"R-Rei..."
A Japanese name to match the Asian hint within her smooth features.
Perhaps the emotion, the life, will come back to those eyes. Perhaps it won't. There's really no way to tell. Blink has seen this too much in her short life. The horrifying cost of man's inhumanity to man. It is always the children who suffer the most. Who knows what this girl has seen? What she may have been forced to do, to cling to survival?
Blink is aware of the discussion behind her; the comment about where she's from and what she's doing here in particular. But right now, she doesn't care to add her own thoughts. Instead, she is totally focused on the child. Brilliant, pupilless eyes somehow warm despite their alien nature. She still doesn't smile, and she doesn't return the touch, either. Letting the girl touch her, though. Letting her take their contact at her own pace.
"Rei is a nice name. My name is Clarice." She says, making sure to stretch out and add emphasis to 'Clarice', and then, "We're going to take you somewhere safe." There's a note in her voice which brooks no argument. The promise is made just as much for the benefit of the others as much as for the girl herself. "We'll get you some clothes, some food, and a warm place to sleep. You'll be safe." She lets the words sink in, but not for too long before she adds, "Would you like that?" Because, honestly, she has no idea if she's even being understood; if this girl speaks English, or if she's too far gone to understand what she's saying even if she can understand her. It is a horrible thing, to have to try and determine the extent of the damage in someone so young, but, Psylocke... has probably called on one of the best people around at doing it.
Psylocke's words give Kwabena the strength of will to turn around and acknowledge reality again, accompanied by the crackling sound of his fists reverting to their normal state, flesh and bone. "So, this is where our society is going," he wonders aloud. "This is where our great diplomacy leads." He shakes his head in disgust at the future Betsy has so briefly, and yet eloquently painted, before taking a single step forward to acknowledge this harsh reality.
Doing so, watching the exchange between Blink and the girl, softens him further. The angry expression relaxes into one of sadness, but he feels there is little more he can do save standing watch. Instead, he casts a glance toward Carol and Domino, adding a quiet word meant for them, and not for the girl. "-This- is something I can stand to fight for."
Another look is given to Betsy from Carol. This one is joined by a simple gesture of her left index finger to her temple. That done, she looks towards Jubilee and her guardian before Domino and her ... man that's a big gun. She does just give that look to the gun-toting merc. "Ma'am, that thing -fit- in a holster? why don't you show me?" She smirks a bit and adds, "Name's Ms. Marvel... or at least that's the moniker I use these days." 
For Psylocke's sake, Carol is thinking . . o o O O (If you want to pass along a message, I will sign off on pledging any resources SHIELD needs to use to help this .. Clarice help the kid. I can call in transport, shrinks, or just a meal wagon. Name it.)
Trigger discipline. Domino doesn't shoot, not when her aim is true, nor when it's thrown off kilter by Psylocke (who's apparently getting rather used to dealing with the albino, already.) For one oh so brief instant there's a significant level of anger within those pale blue eyes, snapping to the psionic in a cold stare.
It doesn't last.
Seeing Betsy's own expression and how calm she is about the momentary exchange handles the situation well enough. There's a long exhale of breath as the merc *ticks* the safety back on and holsters the hand cannon. Seems like it won't be needed at all for the time being, and ..hell, she's kinda jumpy now.
"What you're trying to prevent," she automatically finishes for Betsy with a scowl returning to her face. This time it isn't directed at their unlikely leader so much as it is someone else. Someone that's not present. "Stop, I've heard this one before. Christ, did he have a little chat with you, too? I wonder if they're buddies from that same future," she scoffs. "This is all getting -way- too surreal for me."
With Kwabena's comment she claims a long breath and holds it for a moment, settling her nerves. "As good of a reason as dealing with whomever stuffed that girl into a metal crate," she practically reviles. Tenderness isn't her strong suit so much. Revenge... That she can totally get on board with.
On a lighter note, Miss Tac Nuke introduces herself. The offering is returned quickly enough. "Domino," is given as she places hands onto her hips. "Glad to see we're all on the same side, here." She thinks.
There are situations that demand telepathic intervention, and it would be easy for anyone to question why Psylocke didn't take the burden of the girl's care upon herself; the truth isn't particularly complicated, and Blink certainly is the best, most sympathetic choice in this instance... but it's a matter of personal weakness, too. Though she's certainly suffered in her lifetime, Betsy has hardened herself to it, buried it beneath layers of strength that make it often hard to relate to those without a similar sort of armour. Dealing with the broken innocent, trying to soothe without using the sledgehammer bluntness of her powers...
It's just not something she feels right, or safe, doing.
As the terrified, broken thing squatted pitifully before Blink stares back at her with that same dead stare, Psylocke's no longer focusing on the horror of seeing this operation's true nature uncovered. She can hardly keep back a smile at the maturity and grace with which the pink-skinned mutant approaches the situation. It's heart-warming, and it's encouraging. To labour the tired cliche... it gives her hope. When found in one who's been through what Clarice has, who should be hard and cold and far more brutal than she, that means everything.
A touching moment cannot last forever, though. Kwabena's realization slices the briefly uplifted mood in a necessary twain, prompting Psylocke to turn and meet his gaze askance. She's not doubted the motivations of this man since seeing his reckless, noble sacrifice. But it's here where her doubt in Domino does return - where her question earlier was leading.
She'd return to that, if not for the immediate need for galvanization. Violet eyes find Carol, weighing the words that nobody else can hear, as a half dozen other things nag at the back of her mind. This burden, it's heavy-- but it's only going to get heavier.
|"If you don't mind... we'll deal with her. My resources don't match yours, but I want to keep this is in the family, so to speak. There are five more, though; and the wreckage... you can't leave this unreported, Carol. Can I ask you, as a friend, just to save mention of the girl?"|
"Blink," she says outwardly, brow knitting faintly as she's still halfway through the message to Ms. Danvers. "She'll come back with us. We'll give her what she needs." There's no edge to that; it's ALL she intends to do. They won't be interrogating this child. "Kwabena, Domino..."
"Wait." The latter has her full attention suddenly, eyes wide. "Did WHO have a chat with me?"
The exchange between Carol and Domino is certainly noticed. Kwabena perks an eyebrow and mentions quietly to Domino, "And you thought 'The Shifter' was funny." He offers a partial smirk, before looking back over toward Carol and joining in the introductions. "Kwabena."
When Psylocke draws his attention, he walks over toward her after sparing a momentary glance toward the still-sleeping Jubilee. There's a dutiful expression in his eyes, as if he were willing to do whatever she might ask of him. But then, something... develops. With a quiet frown, he takes a step aside and looks between Psylocke and Domino, curiously.
(What girl?) O O o o . . thinks Carol to Betsy as she turns and starts walking towards the wreckage. "I really should call this in. I can't keep the first responders back forever. They're going to -want- to know what happened." She lifts a hand to her left ear and activates her earbud comm unit as she pointedly turns her back on all of you. Nope, she can't see any of you right now, right? 
(Out of sight.... as they say...) she adds in a mental comment to Psylocke before she says into her comm, "Agent Danvers, authorization Gamme-Echo-Omega-Niner-Seven-Four-Delta-Three-X-Ray." She waits then, still walking away from you all, "Situation under control. Damage to structure. Checking for survivors now. Give me five minutes and then send in EMT's and the FD."
Blink can be hard, of course. When the need arises, she can be very hard indeed. Just ask what remains of the men who were manning a spotlight last night. But in many ways, it is moments like these that keep her rooted; that remind her of who she is. She is lucky, very lucky, that she has powers that let her strike back. Not at any individual, not even at the world, but at the very concept of this kind of brutality. If she had been less blessed, if she didn't have the power to step in and undo this, if she had to carry her misery with her every day and accept that she is too powerless to do anything to ease the suffering of children ... she may very well have never recovered the life in her own eyes.
Quite how the pink girl coaxed the traumatized asian youth into her arms is a very good question. Now, though, she cradles her close, the child's hands wrapped around the back of her neck. Clarice turns to the others, finally showing them some respect. Or, at least, acknowledging that they exist. "Thank you for calling me here." She says, though, she's really got no idea what Danvers is doing or why. That whole, element in the equation makes zero sense to her. She does know what she has to do next.
BLINK!
The portal opens up along one wall, as large as a person and shimmering all darkness and mystery. She maintains it, this time, and nods her head to Psylocke.
"Back to my place, then. I've got a change of clothes and we can plan out where to move next from there."
She, has also made a mental note that Domino seems to think there's someone else from her world. Frankly, that is more /terrifying/ than it is hopeful, but she doesn't want to think about it right now. Getting the child safe and secure -- no, getting /Rei/ safe and secure, that, is priority number one. Everything else can follow after that.
It takes a moment for her question to get through. When it does, Domino has her answer. Her response comes out flat, suddenly lifeless. "Guess not." Right then, moving along..!
Yeah, okay, for someone that doesn't know what her power really entails, it -is- a fairly bizarre name. She could get into the nitty gritty about it, delve into the details, pick at the peculiars, but she doesn't. Kwabena doesn't need to know, not at this moment. For one as lucky as she is, she plays her hand very close to the chest. Instead, she offers back "That's because it is," complete with a wry smirk.
Hmm. -Agent- Danvers. Does any of this have to do with a certain conversation Dom had with Nick Fury a handful of months back? She's not paranoid, she's just particularly cautious and able to see and think for herself. Maybe they're unrelated, but knowing the relationship she has with coincidence...
"Are we ready to move on, now? I feel like ass warmed over." Eloquent, as always.
Watching the teleport work is kinda cool, too.
And just at the tail end there, Carol chuckles and says into her comm, "Yes director Fury, I'll be sure to do that." and she looks up at the sky, as if waving at a camera.
There's no response from Betsy Braddock, mentally or verbally, when she receives that beautifully understated response from the SHIELD agent. The only sign that she's heard and understood is a quirk of her lips, one side of her mouth tugging up just far enough to bare a flash of white teeth. It's all that needs to pass between them, that fleeting half-grin before the soldier is assuming that very mantle, slipping past to pad the tension with jargon.
It's exactly what's needed to send a wave of relief crashing through the kunoichi, her shoulders slumping as she turns to Blink and the emergent portal. 'Back to her place', the pink-skinned mutant says, a telling use of words that only draws - for the moment - a deep, assenting nod from the telepath. Her attention is quickly back upon Domino, awaiting further explanation that fails to arrive-- and she almost starts forward, the fingers on her right hand curling inward hard enough to send a gentle pop through one knuckle. Composure wins out, and reason...
Because they've earned a measure of trust with one another today.
"Let's go," is all she says instead, shifting her head toward the portal and turning away toward Blink once more. Like Domino, they can talk more later, for now she's given a tight smile that contains a curious blend of warmth and cold steel.
"Thank me," she replies, "When both our worlds are saved."
That seems to be enough talking for the kunoichi. Domino's spared one last, meaningful glance as she waits for the others to head through before her. A *look* that reminds her of their need for further discussion-- discussion that has absolutely nothing to do with money. They both know it. The last portion of her attention before entering the portal...
|"I owe you, Carol. Anytime you need something done..."|
Is as much friendship as business. She won't forget this.
BLINK!
"For the record," Kwabena asides to Domino, "I'm -not- going by 'Smokey'."
Kwabena couldn't possibly understand the breadth of what's really happening here. He is raw, untrained, but slowly becoming more dedicated to something greater than he's ever been a part of. Dutifully, he walks back to where Jubilee sleeps, and picks her up as he did before. He walks back toward Psylocke, pausing near Domino.
He's already begun to understand that the albino mercenary prefers to do things alone. He gestures with his eyes toward the earcomm he still holds and says to her, "Better not leave your car here. I'll keep in touch." Then, he looks back toward the portal opened by Blink with a certain bit of trepidation in his eyes. He draws a deep breath, then shakes his head in disbelief at the insanity of what he's about to do. Then, with a thin line drawn across his lips, he walks toward the portal with Jubilee in his arms, and steps through it with all the nerves of a cat spooked in the dark by the sudden barking of a surprisingly stealthy canine.
Domino isn't blind. She knows that isn't the answer that Betsy is looking for. With the tightening of knuckles, that demeanor casting into darkness like a coming storm, all she does is land that icy blue stare back upon a hardened violet one. Yeah, they both know. Psychic amongst them or not, they both know everything. Does Betsy want a throw-down? She can have one, but not here. Not now. Trust and companionship may be on the rise, but these two clearly still have a few areas to smooth over before everything's going to be kosher. And that? That's alright with her. If someone has to mess with her in order to learn -not- to mess with her, she's willing to help them learn.
To Kwabena, with that sneer back in place, she says "No. You're Shift." That's it. Yep, she's got her car. She's not leaving it behind.
Now that the fellow mutants are gone, Dom sends her attention over to Carol yet standing there. Oh yes, she heard it. She heard it -quite- well, thank you. When the SHIELD agent looks upward, so too does the mercenary. She does so with a middle finger raised, held out at arm's length. The message need not be spoken: 'You reading this, Fury?'
"Hell, I need a drink."
Category:Logs
Category:RPLogs