When the Coyote eats your chickens while you sleep, don't be so damn surprised.
I am so sore, it's not funny. I think the parts of me that were forcibly detached have grown back. I'm still walking funny though. There's also too many damn stairs in this mansion.
So, yes, I'm back at the mansion after following the Destruction Company right up to their intended targets. Followed them like they planned. Color me chagrinned.
So I was in Seattle last time had time and energy to record something. It went steadily downhill from there. I got to Vancouver on a flight so bumpy I thought we were riding on an annoyed bronc. Staggering off the plane and trying to keep my lunch inside my body for a bit longer were top orders of the day. Checked into a hotel near the airport and checked to see if any more of BHI agents had spotted more DC action. Nothing. That was not making me happy in the least.
Stewed a bit in the room when my phone rang. I stared at the phone for a bit because I had no expectations of anybody calling me on the room phone. Unless the BHI guys had hit pay dirt. I picked up the phone and got disappointed. It was just Longshot.
He said he had a very bad headache and knew that something was terribly wrong with Betsy. I panicked shortly thereafter, demanding he tell me exactly what the hell he meant. Only in nicer, stuttered words. See, I'm kinda sorta responsible for the X-Men in some tangential way of me accepting Xavier's plea from jail. Something like that in English. But I also have the problem of the DC running amok and doing weird things on the West Coast. The DC is a concern because they've never been major players, but they look to have amassed the power to give it a shot. Since I've had the most experience dealing with them of anybody remotely tied into the superhero set, I figured they were my problem. Sometimes I overestimate myself by a bit.
So anyway, I've got an achy Longshot on the phone saying all the objects he touches are dead to him and he feels more hollow than he normally does. I have no clue what that meant, but that's what he said. He asked if I had felt it, too. I thought about it for a second. Nope. Hadn't felt a thing except a bumpy plane ride recently. Lucky 'oh'ed and asked if I thought I might need some help. I said I could handle it and the conversation tapered off.
So, I ran around Vancouver for a day, trying to find anything new on the DC. Nothing until I get back to the room. There's been a sighting of an elemental disturbance heading right into Alaska. Boy did I feel silly. I mean, what did Vancouver have that could compare to Alaska? Plenty, but it didn't have the OrigiFive there. All relaxed and not expecting a bunch of killers heading straight for them.
I quickly get on the horn and tell Longshot to round up who he could as the shit had just hit the fan and splattered me with brown bits. I then left immediately for the Summers' residence. Or more accurately, the vague area where I thought it was since I never really paid attention to the address to send postcards or anything.
Most exciting thing I can think of during the rental car drive up there was hearing some weird reports about ravens attacking people in Anchorage. See? This is what happens when you piss off Nature. She strikes back before you obliterate her some more.
Get to the spot where I think the Summerses are staying and have my worst fears confirmed. The DC is there and they're in the Summers home. I knew it was the DC because who else would let their earth elemental flatten all the other houses nearby. Then again, the DC knew they were probably dealing with me and well, I need all the pointers I can get. Still can't get the image of that young woman smashed through her bay window and one with one of Bracht's earth walls. Those dead eyes brought back too many memories.
I set up camp in a wooded area and waited. Me waltzing into the house that was too quiet was a recipe for disaster. Though it was quiet enough around there, I expected Mrs. Summers to pop out of the house taking the trash to the curb or something. That didn't happen.
What had happened and would happen make me feel like I failed you, Charles.
So, yes, I'm back at the mansion after following the Destruction Company right up to their intended targets. Followed them like they planned. Color me chagrinned.
So I was in Seattle last time had time and energy to record something. It went steadily downhill from there. I got to Vancouver on a flight so bumpy I thought we were riding on an annoyed bronc. Staggering off the plane and trying to keep my lunch inside my body for a bit longer were top orders of the day. Checked into a hotel near the airport and checked to see if any more of BHI agents had spotted more DC action. Nothing. That was not making me happy in the least.
Stewed a bit in the room when my phone rang. I stared at the phone for a bit because I had no expectations of anybody calling me on the room phone. Unless the BHI guys had hit pay dirt. I picked up the phone and got disappointed. It was just Longshot.
He said he had a very bad headache and knew that something was terribly wrong with Betsy. I panicked shortly thereafter, demanding he tell me exactly what the hell he meant. Only in nicer, stuttered words. See, I'm kinda sorta responsible for the X-Men in some tangential way of me accepting Xavier's plea from jail. Something like that in English. But I also have the problem of the DC running amok and doing weird things on the West Coast. The DC is a concern because they've never been major players, but they look to have amassed the power to give it a shot. Since I've had the most experience dealing with them of anybody remotely tied into the superhero set, I figured they were my problem. Sometimes I overestimate myself by a bit.
So anyway, I've got an achy Longshot on the phone saying all the objects he touches are dead to him and he feels more hollow than he normally does. I have no clue what that meant, but that's what he said. He asked if I had felt it, too. I thought about it for a second. Nope. Hadn't felt a thing except a bumpy plane ride recently. Lucky 'oh'ed and asked if I thought I might need some help. I said I could handle it and the conversation tapered off.
So, I ran around Vancouver for a day, trying to find anything new on the DC. Nothing until I get back to the room. There's been a sighting of an elemental disturbance heading right into Alaska. Boy did I feel silly. I mean, what did Vancouver have that could compare to Alaska? Plenty, but it didn't have the OrigiFive there. All relaxed and not expecting a bunch of killers heading straight for them.
I quickly get on the horn and tell Longshot to round up who he could as the shit had just hit the fan and splattered me with brown bits. I then left immediately for the Summers' residence. Or more accurately, the vague area where I thought it was since I never really paid attention to the address to send postcards or anything.
Most exciting thing I can think of during the rental car drive up there was hearing some weird reports about ravens attacking people in Anchorage. See? This is what happens when you piss off Nature. She strikes back before you obliterate her some more.
Get to the spot where I think the Summerses are staying and have my worst fears confirmed. The DC is there and they're in the Summers home. I knew it was the DC because who else would let their earth elemental flatten all the other houses nearby. Then again, the DC knew they were probably dealing with me and well, I need all the pointers I can get. Still can't get the image of that young woman smashed through her bay window and one with one of Bracht's earth walls. Those dead eyes brought back too many memories.
I set up camp in a wooded area and waited. Me waltzing into the house that was too quiet was a recipe for disaster. Though it was quiet enough around there, I expected Mrs. Summers to pop out of the house taking the trash to the curb or something. That didn't happen.
What had happened and would happen make me feel like I failed you, Charles.