And I've wondered who's the woman for whom we all kill...
[[OOC: Party thread of awesome, guys! This operates on the same scale as all of our party threads in the past. For those of you don't remember or weren't here. See the following threads. Those of you who have archangels waiting in the wings can fill free to tag in and chat amongst your fellows. Those of you have kids already in the basement can ( Read more... )
There are, however, two who don't look like teenagers or punkass kids or... okay, there are absolutely no words for Steve.
There's a man with slightly messy brown hair and a brown leather jacket leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, looking vaguely like he'd like to curl up somewhere and sleep for a long, long time. International flights, plus a minivan ride, the entire trip spent with a group of archangels... oh yeah. He's got good reason to be tired out.
His partner, however, is pretty far from exhausted. She's been cooped up way too long, and is therefore wandering around the lobby - not quite bouncing, but very close - and investigating. There's not much that's very interesting here, but... oh, look, panic buttons at the reception desk!
She picks one up, turning it over in her hands. "You think anything bad would happen if I pushed this button?" she asks - possibly to Martin, possibly just to anyone in the general vicinity.
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Wolverine was in the lobby before the massive group of angels arrived. He considered leaving, but then thought it better to remain quiet by the wall behind the desk and see just what all he's going to have to deal with for the next who knows how long if when he decides to leave his room.
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Martin contemplates slamming his head back against the wall. Maybe if he hit himself hard enough, he'd pass out and then he could get some sleep. He also contemplates apologizing to this guy for Georgia, but... eh, if he apologized to everyone Georgia spoke to, he wouldn't have time for anything else.
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And they were too late to be of any help then.
But the Doctor destroyed the warehouse of death and Wolverine killed the demon so... it's not as if they did nothing at all.
"They won't anymore. Not many wanderers left down here, least not ones that'll need any help."
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"Georgia," Martin says tiredly, barely above a mumble. "Remember that talk we had about personal questions?"
"That was twelve years ago," Georgia points out, without bothering to actually look at him.
"I'm just saying, we did have it."
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"So what?"
He glances at the guy when he speaks. Logan might even look slightly amused at the conversation they're having.
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"So much for that," Martin mutters, presumably referring to the 'personal questions' conversation. Like it ever worked in the first place.
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"A mutant. Came through the Rift just like any other Wanderer. Just ain't exactly human."
Yes, it's real descriptive. He's... good with that. Hah.
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"A wanderer, huh? Heard you were all a little bit..." She twirls her finger around her ear. Crazy. At least from an angelic point of view.
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He is getting frustratingly used to people not reacting to his tough guy thing. He's trying to wonder if he should turn it up a notch or abandon it altogether (it's something he wonders often, but rarely actually acts on).
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Martin closes his eyes for a moment, sighs, then pushes himself away from the wall, moving forward to take Georgia by the arm and pull her gently away. "I'm sorry about her," he says to Wolverine. "She suffers from a tragic lack of tact - terrible, really, but she's had it since childhood, what can you do?"
There would probably be more to that ramble if Georgia hadn't just elbowed him in the ribs.
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Wolverine shakes his head, glances at the guy when he approaches and shrugs. He's stuck between amusement and annoyance. Mostly he isn't really phased by any of this like a rock or.... a big, chunk of metal.
"Dealt with worse than lack of tact before. Don't exactly have a great deal of it myself, but-" He shrugs, again. "So what're you, her keeper?"
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