(no subject)
When searchers arrive back at the school, they will find Tim and Jean laid out unconscious and flat on their backs in the entrance hall, with their arms crossed over their chest, corpse style. There will also be creepy old record music coming from the player in the attic. Power is restored, but all windows have been broken.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Friday, February 22, 2008, 8:06 PM
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=XS= The Dock - Breakstone Lake - Xavier's School
Thick, durable wooden planks make up the mansion's dock, extending a full thirty feet out into Breakstone Lake. Built to last, it floats on plastic drums, rising and falling with the water level, and held moored in place by galvanized metal posts sunk deep into the lake bed. They double as tethers for boats, and on the starboard side, side a sparkly blue four person paddle boat floats, proving the point. A painted sign nearby bears the words, 'LifeJackets in boathouse--Required!'. While a sandy beach offers ample subbathing space, and the water is shallow for the first twenty feet out, there's a sharp drop to the bottom a third of the way down the dock's long length, turning the water a deep blue and suggesting that jumping in would be safe. A few short paces away, the boathouse sits on a small rocky point, bottom floor boat launch sunk into the deeper water, and the top floor a cheerful little chalet with a deck overlooking the lake.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias XSDock to watch here.]
[Exits : [W]oodland [P]ath and [T]he [B]oathouse]
[Players : Walter, Jubilee, Tim, Madrox, Logan, Amp, Autumn, and Jackson ]
It's been a busy afternoon, all things considered, and while it's snowing now, a temporary tent city has blossomed down by the lake, in the lea of the boathouse and thus somewhat out of the wind. (To be fair, ten tents ranging from four to ten persons each isn't really a -city-.) Bales of straw from the barns have been broken open and layered thickly beneath the tents to keep the snow from chilling, and in the center of the camp a bonfire is burning high and bright, with broken packing crates vying with deadfall from the woods for fuel. The wind is bitter, but the apple cider and hot chocolate are warm, and there's a space already cleared for s'more assembly. Dr. Grey, having traded her stylish wool coat for something puffy and parka-shaped, is currently front and center in the marshmallow toasting, one small and mundled figure standing with her and learning from his mother. "You want to keep turning it," she coaches. "So it gets golden brown all over." "Mum. I wanna set it on FIRE," Wee Nate begs to differ.
Amp is disgruntled, with a capital Dis. She has yet to pass any comment, but she's wrapped up in her new coat and all of her old layers and gifted gloves, and her expression is pretty much as bitter as the wind. This is all very familiar. She munches on a piece of chocolate, sans rest of s'more, and keeps to herself.
Suffering through the cruel and unusual punishment cleverly disguised as character building, Walter sits close to the fire, it having actually gotten cold enough for the boy to have truly bundled up. Ear muffs, gloves, and his lower face tucked into his thick tan jacket as he roasts marshmallows. His nose, peaking out from the zipped up jacket, is quite red from the cold.
Autumn is suffering through the reappearance of the Coat that Ate Manhattan. The white parka that is a few sizes too big for her currently dominates her figure and is zipped up and she is nibbling on a graham cracker. She lingers as near to Amp as she can get without infringing on the older girl's space, but even with Amp keeping to herself, Autumn is trying to play the follower. Her hands barely peek out of the stiff sleeves of that evil coat.
Jubilee is here and there, hanging close to others and occasionally spiking a little fearful and emo as the shadows dance at the fire's bidding. She's curled up in a thick, down jacket with a sweater underneath, a pompom hat pulled low on her head, a scarf wrapped up to her nose and brightly colored striped gloves. /Her/ marshmellow is on fire.
Madrox is not marshmallow toasting. He is wrapped in a coat slightly thicker than the thin trenches he's usually satisfied with and he's kicked back some distance from the fire, writing in a scrabbly little notebook.
There's a sudden additional flare from the side of the fire that Grey and Grey-Summers have claimed, followed immediately by a child's chortling. FIRE. Nate has made FIRE. "Be careful with that..." cautious his mother, hovering out of a lack of faith in the sense of four year olds that have been armed with flame-tipped sticks. The flames die as the marshmallow meets the snow. "Silent bunch," Jean notes.
Unlike Walter, Tim is less than completely bundled up. But he has at least buttoned up his over shirt, and tucked it in as a little bit of respect for the unfortunate Xavierites that don't feel just fine out here. He sticks to the fringes of the fire, hands crammed in his pockets as he paces back and forth just in front of the tents despite the promise of s'mores. To passing by students "Fire's too hot." is his open excuse, though the longing glances he tosses Jean and little Nate every so often testify to other reasons.
"Cold," Amp notes, much more dryly. She inches a little closer to the fire, but her expression doesn't let up.
Autumn nibbles like a little mouse at her cracker. She glances over at Amp when she talks, dark eyes perked up a little as if she expects her chosen 'leader' to stop being quiet. The lack of a changed expression settles Autumn back down into cracker eating. "It /is/ cold," she echoes Amp.
Jackson is similarly bundled, opting for layers upon more layers upon more layers in place of a super-puffy outermost layer, but the end effect is the same: it makes him bear slight resemblance to the marshmallow he is nibbling at. Untoasted, from a large bag he brought for himself (and anyone else vegetarian-ly inclined.) The reddish glow that surrounds him flickers as changeably as the fire that he sits by.
Walter looks at his marshmallow, heading to the s'more station. "Yeah," he responds to Amp. "You /sure/ we can't go into the boathouse?" he asks Jean, peaking out from under the jacket before retreating, turtle like, into the relative warmth.
"I'll be more up to cracking inane jokes once I have some beer in me." Jamie doubtless says this to be obnoxious.
Logan patrols the edges of the camp, stopping to give a look of warning to a pair of young would be escapees, an added growl sending them turning in the other direction with some urgency. When their out of earshot, he laughs and turns his patrol inwards to the fire and better company.
Jubilee fishes out a marshmellow from the bag she's claimed and holds it out to Nate, then looks across his head to Jean and shrugs. "It was kinda cold an' dark... there. We built a fire too." That's all the apology she'll give though, and she reaches for the chocolate bar she'd set up on a bit of wood away from the fire.
"That," Jean notes, with the irritating smugness of one whose cause is righteous and who is also in charge, "Would be cheating. What you want to do is keep moving, though," she suggests. "Any time you stop feeling your toes, squirm them around and jump up and down until you do. But here's a topic for conversation," she proposes, letting Nate loose to toddle over to the graham crackers and chocolate squares, where he proceeds, stickily, to make something involving three crackers, two chocolate squares, and the blackened, snow-covered husk that was once a marshmallow. "I'm going to work with Habitat for Humanity to sign up the school for a volunteer project over the break. What tropical country do you want to go to--" But Jubilee's message crumples whatever cheer was blooming, leaving Jean looking struck.
"Our fire didn't have marshmallows," is Jackson's only quiet observation.
"I'm going to pretend that fire didn't exist." Jamie has gotten a bit more focused in his scrabbling. "I have so many other fires I can think of."
"Look--" Jean's voice is brittle as she looks over at Jubilee and Jackson. "I think this was a wrong thing to invite you to. If you want to leave, you're alumni... it was just an invitation."
"Caribbean on the Table?" Walter wonders, looking at Jubilee for a moment before taking a large bite of his s'more, sighing at Jackson's comment, then burying his face in his jacket at Jamie's comment.
Autumn looks over at the ex-students with a frown lingering on her face. She wiggles her hands deeper into her jacket and decides to look around for some other subject. "Could we be pirates?" she says, over at Walter, even as he puts his face down.
"Could be," says Jean, and resolutely marshals herself back to planning warm and happy hard work in the tropical sun. "There are areas of Central America still rebuilding after hurricanes."
Shadows dance and the fire crackles. Snow and ice crunches underfoot. The wind changes, and the faint smell of something rancid drifts in the air, fouling the taste of Graham cracker and marshmallow and chocolate. Mmm. Tasty.
A lot of conversation crosses his ears as Logan begins to close to the fire, but one sentence does draw him closer. Closing on Jubilee, a calloused hand reaches for a marshmallow as Logan sits down close besider her, Jean given a nod as he does. "Or chocolate." he adds to Jackson's statement with the closest thing to a comforting smile he can manage. "So far we're up to 5 escape attempts. The one's trying to move the whole tent is the best one so far."
"I make a good pirate," Jackson says, tone light even if his words accompanied by a slight twinge of sadness. "Yar." His eyepatch, today, is purple. "And I like the s'mores. I like the chocolate." He returns Logan's smile with one of his own. It is bright! He is not emo. Well. /Trying/ not to be.
"Does my music folder count?" Walter mumbles through his jacket with forced humor. "I told them that wouldn't work," he mutters quietly, grabbing a supply of s'more makings before reclaiming a spot by the fire.
"Let's no be so hard on the survivors, Jean, darling," Jamie says over his notebook. And sneezes. Only appropriate reaction to a touch of rancid. "You'll offend them. And then they'll stomp out and sing 'Mad World' together. I really can't take that song without a good guitar back up." Hey, he's trying.
Jubilee holds the bag up to Logan and gives him a bit of a smile. "Wait until they go for the sporks. Then you'll know they serious 'bout the great escape." She adds a quiet, "Sorry, Jeannie." and stays quite firmly put. "You'd think the milk'd stay cold without a freezer." Ew.
Autumn tugs her arms up entirely into her coat, abandonning the sleeves in favor of crossing them over her chest and, without any outward sign, clutching the necklace she's wearing under all of the warm clothes. She looks like some sort of albino penguin in that oversized coat, with the sleeves now standing out diagonally without her arms to bend them.
"Tell me at least it wasn't one of the ten-mans?" Jean wonders of Logan, distracted by the mental image conjured, and rubbing idly at her nose as something tickles it. Nate, his creation complete and his face now liberally smeared with soot adhered to marshmallow goo, tumbles over through the snow to present it to Logan. "I maded it for -you-," he decides, with the caprice of the wee. "S'a little burned 'cause I maded it go on FIRE, though."
The smell crinkles Tim's nose, and the boy plops heavy steps in the snow towards the fire. He smells again and shakes his head as he walks towards Walter. "I was starting to get hungry, too." he complains, and then turns to Jean to ask another question. "This part of the lesson, too? Cold, and smelly?"
"Want me to make one for you?" Walter asks Tim, stopping his mope, if only for the moment, only to have it annihilated by Nate the smaller, smiling over at 'Uncle Logan,' though it is somewhat obscured by his Jono-esque fashion statement. "Just hang close," he tells Tim quietly. "Fire's not that hot, is it?"
Logan accepts the gift carefully, but with his smile as he says down to the wee one "Just like I like 'em. Thanks, 'lil bub." Followed by a pat on his shoulder. "Nah, one of the small ones. Kinda let the cat outa the bag when they left a trail of straw behind 'em."
Nate beams, messy-faces, and then scampers off, taking a tumble into a snowbank at one point, to go find "Daddy! I'm makin' you a s'mores, OK?"
Madrox scribs, scratches on that notebook. "Now I'm hungry for steak."
"Well, I suppose the smell makes it authentic for a setting where there's often a lack of sanitation and medical care..." Jean offers, nose crinkling all the more and a light cough following. "God, that's vile. Must be some sort of animal droppings or something."
Worse than spoiled milk, as the wind picks up over the frozen lake, so does the stench. It is fairly distinct, for those that have smelled it before. And for those that haven't had the pleasure, this may prove to be an educational experience. Heavy, pungent, sickly sweet. It is the smell of death.
Cassy teleports in.
Mira teleports in.
Autumn makes a bad face at the smell coming in more heavily on the wind. She ducks her head down, trying to bury her face a bit deeper into her coat. "Ew. Smells like... ew. I don't know what smells like that." Whom she is talking to is not quite certain. The stink just simply needed comment from her.
Jackson has had the pleasure. Somewhat recently, too. His face pales. His knees pull up to his chest, and he abandons his bag of marshmallows, scooting slightly closer to Jubilee and Logan. The light around him shifts from glow to shadow, dark and murky.
For those just arriving, what greets sight rather than smell is a bevvy of tents pitched in the lea of the boathouse, of various shapes and sizes and bedded on thick straw. There is a campfire in the midst of them, with s'mores and a bunch of crinkle-nosed people.
That seems as good a time as any for Scott to get back to the party, so to speak. "Okay, Nate," Scott says back to his son as he gets back to the bonfire from the quick foray into the boathouse. The new smell draws his attention, Scott looking around at the others, though he's not sure what it is.
"Thanks, Walt, But nah... I'm alright." Tim assures, but even this close he is already turning his shoulder to it. When the heavier smell hits, his face contorts again, breathing shallowed on purpose, the boy getting a little green in the gills.
Logan has smelled this smell before. Too many times. His nostrils flair taking it in to confirm suspensions. Gentle smile is abandoned, replaced by a look of warning and care. Jean is given /that/ look. "Jeanie..." he calls over cautiously, and stands up slow to turn towards it.
Walter buries his face even deeper into the jacket at the smell. "You know... I'm not hungry anymore," comes out of the chest of his jacket as gloved hands tug the neck up higher, it pushing at his earmuffs now. "Think it's a skunk, or something?" he wonders, his hazel eyes glancing around from over what little remains visible of his nose.
That, Jean's nose and memories of cadavers tell her, is -not- deer droppings. "Faugh," she says. "I think Rahne must have chased down a deer and forgotten to clean up," she decides, rising to her feet and giving Logan a look across the campfire. "I'll go check it out, if someone will get me a mug of cider started for when I get back."
Madrox stops - whatever he's doing in the notebook, his nostrils flaring like a dog. "I'll go with you." Of course he will. Even traumatized, especially traumatized, Madrox is incorrigible.
Jubilee too has smelt the sticky sweet too recently, but she is in no hurry to go chase it down. She looks up at Logan and Jean rising, then back down at her bag of marshmellows. "Here, Natters," she calls out, offering a marshmellow to him for toasting. Jamie gets a quick, black look.
Jackson's jaw tightens. "'ll make your cider," he mumbles, somewhat shakily. He most certainly will not go with anyone.
Autumn scoots herself closer to the fire and to everyone else. This looks largely like a very big parka with a bunch of blonde hair sticking out of the top of it edging it's way closer to Walter and Tim.
Further away from the lake and conspicuously after all of the tents have been set up, a car arrives at the school. It is a very long and very black car, the kind with windows that are meant to be seen through only from the inside. The limo draws to a stop on the driveway. Out of it step two impeccably dressed young ladies. Mira straightens her sunglasses, as if her eyes are too good for the world. "God, Cass. We are so awesome."
Cassy really does seem a little overdressed for a night out in the cold, in her finest pinstripe skirt and black top and with a fedora on at a jaunty angle. "Well yes, but we already knew that right?" she replies, waving at the driver to get out the oversized novelty cheque. "Lets go make sure everyone else does as well."
The moving Autumn puff is noted even as the smell threatens to ruin Tim's image in front of the girl with some nausea. "Hey!" He calls over friendly, words distorted as he resorts to shallow breaths. "I hope it isn't a skunk... doesn't it take forever to get the smell to go away?"
"I think that's just if it's on you," Walter says to Tim, watching the approaching puff. Penguin, meet turtle. "Hey, Autumn."
"If it's a skunk," Autumn theorizes, "It held it in too long and it popped or something." She puts her arms back into her sleeves so she can unzip her coat a little and pull her shirt over her mouth and nose. At least her eyes carry the awkward little smile to the pair of boys.
Logan begins to pace to investigate, meandering his path so that it passes near Jean with a nod. As he moves, he rubs his hands together for a bit of warmth. He smells once more and prepares to follow his nose, so to speak. Cereal is the doubtful outcome, though.
Jean produces a flashlight of her own and falls into step with Logan, eyes scanning the shoreline as a likely spot for a dead Bambie that didn't fare so well with lake ice.
A pair of small, heavy-coated figures are already on their way to the lake's edge, spurred on by curiosity and the need to find out what's what so that they can be the first to relay the appropriate rumors to everyone else. Their flashlights dance over snow and ice, lighting the way until they sparkle their way to the edge of open water, and past it. Some distance out, one light sweeps over something bloated and pink, with a flash of white -- a t-shirt, and a flash of red. It isn't hard to guess what the red is. The second light joins the first. The girls scream. Shrilly.
Mira straightens a thin jacket on her shoulders, a thing made more for fashion than warmth. Tucking the four foot long cardboard check under her shoulder, she sighs. "We're so far away, there's nobody to see. What's the point of showing up in a black stretch limo if there's nobody to see us do it?" Awkwardly, she shifts the check and begins trudging up the lawn, through the snow in her nice shoes.
At the scream, Walter turns his head sharply, emerging from his jacket to stare off into the dark. "That... doesn't sound good."
Madrox gets to his feet, black looks aside, although the moment he does, he seems to regret it. He's taken a few hesitent steps after Jean and Logan, before the screams stop him in his tracks.
The scream stops Tim mid laugh at the popping skunk comment, his eyes wide, head snapping in the sound's direction.
Autumn's head goes up momentarily as she looks in that direction, her eyes nice and wide as well, then she ducks her head back down. "Um," she says, very quietly, before looking back at Tim and Walter.
Scott turns from the others, a glance thrown at where Nate is before he looks around trying to locate the source of the scream without leaving the rest of the students on their own. His right hand moves up to the frame of his glasses, ready to pull them off should he need to use his powers at the moment.
"Like it matters, we'll still get to see the look on everyones faces when they see this cheque," Cassy replies, waving at Mira to hurry up and get moving. "I'd sorted out getting our bags with our overnight stuff brought down already."
Jackson is halted, too, in his current activity -- getting a mug of warm cider ready for Jean's return. Some of the cider sloshes out of the cup, shaky in his suddenly unsteady hands. His right hand lifts to cross himself as his head turns to peer out towards the source of the sound.
Walter steps closer to his friends, eyes still scanning the dark as he turns his back to the flames. "Recognize who screamed?" he asks Autumn without turning his head.
Jubilee stills, then reaches for Nate, grasping his hand as he reaches into the bag and pulling him into her. He doesn't protest at the unexpected restriction, picking up on the sudden tension of those around him and Jubilee's need for something to comfort and be comforted by.
"God... that had better be the results of someone overloading their septic tank and throwing things in the lake..." Jean mutters, stepping forward to try and beckon to the intrepid gossip-gatherers. "Back to the campfire," she orders. "We'll take it from here." << Ice fishing accident? >> is wondered on a more private band to Logan.
Behind Cassy and Mira, and well behind everyone who has turned to look after the scream, through the trees, warm lights in the mansion's face fall black. One, two, three at a time, then all at once. Something large and quite probably unholy moans at the dynamic duo's heels. It may be a good idea to run.
Logan hardens at the site of it, eyes focusing, face cementing, and fingers curling into palm. Leaving dealing with the traumatized gossip mongers to better hands, he takes a few steps closer. << Don't know. Maybe. Get Slim to call the police? >>
Madrox looks about ready to keep walking /anyway/, but he ends up sitting down. Without explanation or lead u p. He just sits behind everyone else and curls his legs up against his chest.
Mira stops with a sudden crunch of snow underfoot. She twists halfway to look behind her, at the mansion, and at the lights fallen dead. She opens her mouth to say something, but swallows hard at the low, echoing moan. Soundlessly, she drops the giant novelty check and hauls ass.
Autumn shakes her head at Walter's question, which doesn't do much to communicate with his head turned the other way. Instead, she settles for a tremendously quiet, "Nuh-uh," to get her point across. "This better not be some big ghost story prank... thing. I'll be really mad," she points out with an attempt at mustering disapproval.
Scooping up the precious novelty check, Cassy yanks the attack alarm whistle from her belt and begins whistling with all her might. Then, cheque held high over her head, she gets ready to put her time on the track time to use. Sprinting for the treeline.
<< Dammit dammit dammit... careful near the ice. >> Jean cautions, tension singing in her muscles as she peers out at the fleshy floater, squinting to try and focus. << Starting to get rotten. >> She tries for a telekinetic tug, and then gives up a half beat later, deciding that explaining to the police why the corpse has no arms is not a thing she wants to do, if it's that rotten. "I'll make the call myself," she decides. "Medical..." But the explanation isn't finished, and Jean turns to go follow the path up to the dark woods... and the mansion lights that she's not seeing. "-Shit-."
"If it is, then we'll have to commit murder. As a group. Lord of the Flies on their ass," Jamie is being helpful again. Sooo helpful.
Panting with breath, one of Mira's shoes comes off. She keeps running, crushing cold wet snow into her sock and nearly stumbling. She turns and throws an open hand toward Cassy. The whistle gets LOUD.
First a scream, then the whistle? "Uh," "ya" he tries to participate in the conversation but creeping fear reduces it to single syllable mutterings at this point. Fingers begin to flicker as tension grows, and piece by piece a Tim starts to slowly vainish. Oh so brave.
Jubilee jumps in place and cranes her head around toward the direction of the whistle. "Shit," she breathes, prompting a wide-eyed look of reproach from the young Master Nate wrapped up in her lap. "That's a bad word, Jub'lee" he says softly.
"Jamie, you're not helping," Scott says as he turns his attention toward the sound of the whistle. "All of you stay here. Jubilee, watch Nate. Nate, stay with Jubilee," Scott says quickly, tone of voice implying he's in no mood to argue as he moves off toward the sound of the whistle. The whistle meaning students in definite trouble compared to all of them just waiting at the campfire.
Walter's head snaps towards the mansion, where the lights have gone dark. "Not again," he says, quickly glancing around the group before his eyes lock onto the mansion. He takes one step towards the mansion, his hand rising to his jacket zipper, only to abort his mission as Scott speaks up. "Autumn, Tim, might want to stick close, and don't you /dare/ try to turn me invisible, Tim, it's cold enough." He looks worriedly towards the mansion one last time.
Cassy takes her flight off the beaten track, eternally gratefull that the one exception to her smart attire is her combat boots as she ducks between the trees. Spitting the whistle out she slows, risking a glance back towards the mansion.
The mansion is black. Quiet. Down at the lake, the scent of rot grows even thicker in the wake of Jean's tugging. But no more open chaos seems immediately forthcoming.
Jackson just cringes at the whistle, setting down the mug of cider to wrap both arms tightly around his knees. He glances briefly up towards the darkened mansion, and then turns his gaze back to the fire. He stares into it rather blankly.
When the whistle hits Logan's ears, followed by the looming image of a mansion dark, Logan looses any degree of eloquence and can only echo Jubilee's "Shit. The kids!" He abandons this investigation and paces back to the camp with more than some urgency. Priorities, the body itn' getting any deader.
"You guys! You guuuuuys!" Mira's voice yells out across the remainder of the distance between herself at the lake. "There's someth-" she starts, but cuts off suddenly. She stumbles and rolls in the snow, never seeing the tree root that tripped her.
Madrox scrambles back to his feet, not helpfully, but he does prefer to be upright.
<< I'm going to the mansion to see what's up with the generators and call the police. Dead body. >> This, it seems, is the sum total of Jean's asking permission to leave, after a pause to see that Logan is going for the kids, and Scott is headed for the screaming. She is briefly visible on the fringes of the woods, a flash of bright hair and a bob of a flashlight beam silhouetted against the dark, before she takes a disused trail known to one who's spent twenty years at the Old Xavier Place, and disappears, straight-lining for the mansion.
"Next camp out, Summers, bring your damned visor," Scott mutters as he runs toward the last whistle blow that he heard, fishing a small maglite sized flashlight from a pocket as he gets further away from the camp area and the light provided by the fire. Now to find the students that used the whistle, with the small beam of the maglite swinging back and forth before him as he looks for the trouble.
The red that flashes across catches Tim's eyes and is instantly recognized. Fear of evil knife things chasing Jean trump panicked self preservation and he gives chase as well, invisible by the time he should hear Walter's caution. The snow crunches between unseen feet as he follows.
Madrox takes a few steps into the outskirts of the camp and poises his hands apart. He looks down at them. "I think we need some cover," he informs those still at the camp.
=XS= Great Hall - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Rich dark woods panel the walls while lighter shades form the floors of the Great Hall, protected from time and scuffling student feet by runner carpets in red with gold and black edging, and a few larger throws in oriental designs. The ceiling is high, a vaulted twenty feet, with leaded glass windows letting in natural light from above and hanging lamps casting a warm glow at night. French doors lead to the library and rec room, and a hallway to the left of the entryway angles off to other rooms. While antique end tables hold curios and objets d'art, and while imposing portraits hang on the walls, the eye is drawn most by the large curving staircase at the heart of the Great Hall, wending its way between three floors in grand style. The discreet brass plate indicating an elevator living behind one section of panelled wall could almost go entirely unnoticed.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias XSGreatHall to watch here.]
[Exits : [F]ront [D]oor, [Li]brary, [T]he [E]levator, [R]ec [R]oom, and [H]allway]
[Players : Ghost ]
Tim teleports in.
The hallways of Xavier's School are dark. Even the emergency lights are out, and with the weather the way it is, cold has already begun to seep in through the windows to chill the air and creak at the floorboards. Somewhere, there is a shuffle, and a bump. To the left, perhaps. Up the stairs.
The bouncing, bobbing beam of a flashlight plays first off the windows, and next buries itself in a puddle of light by the front doors. Jean, having left the doors unlocked as befits a place with a half-mile drive and security guards at the entrance, peels off one glove, reaches over, and gives the door a good hard shove to try and open it. "C'mon," she encourages. "Don't stick on me, you damned thing." The door does not respond. Jean jiggles the latch. The door is locked. There's a moment's exasperated shoulder slump, as Jean recalls that her keys are, in fact, in her tent down at the lake. Nothing for it, then. The flashlight's glow flicks out, replaced for a moment by a light more orange and flickering as she focuses on things unseen but still percieved, and coaxes five pins and a tumbler into their proper form. With another shove of a shoulder, the dread portal opens. There is, naturally, a prolonged creeeeeak. And Jean swears.
An answering creak cuts off short. Again, there is silence, save for the rustle of the wind through the freshly opened door.
Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump... Its hard to tell which is louder as Tim gives a distant chase for Jean, his pounding heart or his plopping crunching footfalls. Still, he continues on with determination. He isn't able to keep a perfect path, however, and has to rely on the Jean's brief glow to correct his bearings. "Please be alright... Please be alright..." he mumbles panicked and wide eyed.
"God damned lousy generators..." Jean seems to be opting for the snarling, crabby approach to horror movie settings. Her flashlight is on, playing over the great hall, and there's a moment's consideration of where to go before, with a sigh, Jean heads off down the long and panelled hallway, a fusebox on her mind.
Tim's steps slow down just a tad as he hears Jean's voice, getting closer, the lack of more screaming calming the panic slightly. For this reason he doesn't hit the open mansion at full run, and has a chance to have the full intimidation of the moment land dead on him. Steps slowing to a pitiful pace by the thim he passes through the doors, he glances around trying to determine which direction Jean went.
Behind Tim, the door slams, and the lock turns itself over again, frozen fast. The windows rattle, and still, there is silence.
"Fuck!" sounds from somewhere ahead of Tim, Jean not censoring herself in what she believes to be the absence of students. This is paired with a solid whunking noise as her head hits the panel of the fusebox, startled. "Damn wind..." she mutters, and attempts to ignore the clicking sound of the lock. Clearly the wind. Clearly. She reaches out, albeit not without a heavy tingle between her shoulder blades, and flips the main breaker. There is an expectant pause.
"Wha!" Tim exhales as the door slams behind him. It isn't a right proper girl scream like the one the knife brought him, the sound itself too terrified to come out. While a Tim can not be scared even more invisible, he causes a hole to form in the floor beneath his feet that slowly soaks itself back together again. He paces after Jean again, feet too scared to dare sound his steps, and he attempts to call out "D-d-d-d-d-d-doctor grey..." but again the sound won't come, manifesting as a choked whisper at best.
The breaker box buzzes, and fizzles. Nothing else happens. Behind Tim, a dark shape looms black, with heavy footfalls that make no sound and cold breath that fogs thick and white.
"Oh, for the love of... Forge, if you're behind this," Jean calls out, letting irritation warm her against the chill of the weather and the chill of primal fears of darkness and the unknown. Her voice sounds somewhat hollow for all of this. And the beam of light sweeps back down the hallway, angling for "Tim? Is that you?"
Tim's breath doesn't even fog to give the light something of him to catch, but as it turns on him, Tim lets his clothing begin to peel back into sight for Jean to see. "Y-y-yeah..." he answers hesitantly, fear edging off only slightly as he begins to walk forward. "Are you... are you... are you alright?"
Behind Tim's reappearing act, the flashlight lands upon a tall, broad figure with a penchant for black leather and a metal skull for a head. Jack-o-lantern grin as fixed as ever, Xorn's eyes flicker coldly to life when he is exposed, combatting white light with harsher blue. "Hello." says his voice, made somewhat more hollow and terrible by the circumstances.
"Just fine," Jean assures, relieved at a source for the breathing that pairs with the lone mind pinging her mental scanners. Only, in an instance of pure dramatic timing, to have her flashlight land on Xorn next. "Holy -shit-!" says Dr. Grey. Nay, -squeaks- Dr. Grey, only to sigh and slump a breath later. "Professor Xorn. I missed you down at the lake."
Just as the boy's face begins to fade into view, the 'Hello' and the squeak are greeted with eyes flashing wide and Tim nearly tumbling to his back as he jerks around and attempts to back peddle. Breath jets in and out with the pace that would put an excited hamster to shame. Its only when he hears the name 'Xorn' that recognition fights back fight or flight and it begins to slow. The rest of Tim begins to come back to match face and clothing. "Thank goodness..."
Static rasps from Xorn's jagged-edged jaw, and for the first time, separates out into something that resembles a chuckle. Low, robotic, and harsh. "I have been busy." is all that he has to say to Jean, and then, "Yes. Thank goodness." His curled fists open, revealing the glint of metal concealed in each. One dart lances for the partially visible Tim -- the other, Jean in the same instant that her flashlight is snuffed dark. Only Xorn's eyes remain, lurid and unfeeling in what poor illumination they offer.
Telekinesis can act at the speed of thought. This is only useful when thought can keep pace with action. Barred from any mental tells, too trusting to suspect immediate betrayal, Jean's only response is a gasp in the darkness, and a frantic patting for the blossom of pain that is the dart site. She yanks it free! But, courtesy of impact plungers, it's already far too late. "Tim," she calls thickly in the darkness, poisoned blood blood already starting to burn its way upwards to heart and mind alike. "Tim... go get help."
Even if Tim could react, he is too easy a target this close. The dart lands home and true before his mind can even begin to process what happened. "Dr. Grey... Jean..." he calls back voice quivering in a new type of panic. Mortal panic. What ever dark formula lurks in the dart is aided through the boy's system with his thumping heart renewed "Jean-... I can't."
Bootfalls silent no more, Xorn moves quickly to retract both darts. Then, quickly enough, strong arms are wrapped around the still-conscious form of Tim to heft him up and drag him away. Jean will assuredly be soon to follow.
The fast metabolism of many an omega mutant comes back to bite Jean at this. Still clinging to enough consciousness to sink gracefully rather than fall over like a sack of potatoes, she's also clinging to enough to offer a low "Drop him, you bastard." Telekinesis flares out, lighting the room with an orange glow, but just as swiftly as Xorn can feel an invisible hand clenching around him, it's gone. Funny thing about placing demands on the brain: it causes increased blood flow. On her knees now, Jean falls over unconscious with a thud.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Friday, February 22, 2008, 8:06 PM
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=XS= The Dock - Breakstone Lake - Xavier's School
Thick, durable wooden planks make up the mansion's dock, extending a full thirty feet out into Breakstone Lake. Built to last, it floats on plastic drums, rising and falling with the water level, and held moored in place by galvanized metal posts sunk deep into the lake bed. They double as tethers for boats, and on the starboard side, side a sparkly blue four person paddle boat floats, proving the point. A painted sign nearby bears the words, 'LifeJackets in boathouse--Required!'. While a sandy beach offers ample subbathing space, and the water is shallow for the first twenty feet out, there's a sharp drop to the bottom a third of the way down the dock's long length, turning the water a deep blue and suggesting that jumping in would be safe. A few short paces away, the boathouse sits on a small rocky point, bottom floor boat launch sunk into the deeper water, and the top floor a cheerful little chalet with a deck overlooking the lake.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias XSDock to watch here.]
[Exits : [W]oodland [P]ath and [T]he [B]oathouse]
[Players : Walter, Jubilee, Tim, Madrox, Logan, Amp, Autumn, and Jackson ]
It's been a busy afternoon, all things considered, and while it's snowing now, a temporary tent city has blossomed down by the lake, in the lea of the boathouse and thus somewhat out of the wind. (To be fair, ten tents ranging from four to ten persons each isn't really a -city-.) Bales of straw from the barns have been broken open and layered thickly beneath the tents to keep the snow from chilling, and in the center of the camp a bonfire is burning high and bright, with broken packing crates vying with deadfall from the woods for fuel. The wind is bitter, but the apple cider and hot chocolate are warm, and there's a space already cleared for s'more assembly. Dr. Grey, having traded her stylish wool coat for something puffy and parka-shaped, is currently front and center in the marshmallow toasting, one small and mundled figure standing with her and learning from his mother. "You want to keep turning it," she coaches. "So it gets golden brown all over." "Mum. I wanna set it on FIRE," Wee Nate begs to differ.
Amp is disgruntled, with a capital Dis. She has yet to pass any comment, but she's wrapped up in her new coat and all of her old layers and gifted gloves, and her expression is pretty much as bitter as the wind. This is all very familiar. She munches on a piece of chocolate, sans rest of s'more, and keeps to herself.
Suffering through the cruel and unusual punishment cleverly disguised as character building, Walter sits close to the fire, it having actually gotten cold enough for the boy to have truly bundled up. Ear muffs, gloves, and his lower face tucked into his thick tan jacket as he roasts marshmallows. His nose, peaking out from the zipped up jacket, is quite red from the cold.
Autumn is suffering through the reappearance of the Coat that Ate Manhattan. The white parka that is a few sizes too big for her currently dominates her figure and is zipped up and she is nibbling on a graham cracker. She lingers as near to Amp as she can get without infringing on the older girl's space, but even with Amp keeping to herself, Autumn is trying to play the follower. Her hands barely peek out of the stiff sleeves of that evil coat.
Jubilee is here and there, hanging close to others and occasionally spiking a little fearful and emo as the shadows dance at the fire's bidding. She's curled up in a thick, down jacket with a sweater underneath, a pompom hat pulled low on her head, a scarf wrapped up to her nose and brightly colored striped gloves. /Her/ marshmellow is on fire.
Madrox is not marshmallow toasting. He is wrapped in a coat slightly thicker than the thin trenches he's usually satisfied with and he's kicked back some distance from the fire, writing in a scrabbly little notebook.
There's a sudden additional flare from the side of the fire that Grey and Grey-Summers have claimed, followed immediately by a child's chortling. FIRE. Nate has made FIRE. "Be careful with that..." cautious his mother, hovering out of a lack of faith in the sense of four year olds that have been armed with flame-tipped sticks. The flames die as the marshmallow meets the snow. "Silent bunch," Jean notes.
Unlike Walter, Tim is less than completely bundled up. But he has at least buttoned up his over shirt, and tucked it in as a little bit of respect for the unfortunate Xavierites that don't feel just fine out here. He sticks to the fringes of the fire, hands crammed in his pockets as he paces back and forth just in front of the tents despite the promise of s'mores. To passing by students "Fire's too hot." is his open excuse, though the longing glances he tosses Jean and little Nate every so often testify to other reasons.
"Cold," Amp notes, much more dryly. She inches a little closer to the fire, but her expression doesn't let up.
Autumn nibbles like a little mouse at her cracker. She glances over at Amp when she talks, dark eyes perked up a little as if she expects her chosen 'leader' to stop being quiet. The lack of a changed expression settles Autumn back down into cracker eating. "It /is/ cold," she echoes Amp.
Jackson is similarly bundled, opting for layers upon more layers upon more layers in place of a super-puffy outermost layer, but the end effect is the same: it makes him bear slight resemblance to the marshmallow he is nibbling at. Untoasted, from a large bag he brought for himself (and anyone else vegetarian-ly inclined.) The reddish glow that surrounds him flickers as changeably as the fire that he sits by.
Walter looks at his marshmallow, heading to the s'more station. "Yeah," he responds to Amp. "You /sure/ we can't go into the boathouse?" he asks Jean, peaking out from under the jacket before retreating, turtle like, into the relative warmth.
"I'll be more up to cracking inane jokes once I have some beer in me." Jamie doubtless says this to be obnoxious.
Logan patrols the edges of the camp, stopping to give a look of warning to a pair of young would be escapees, an added growl sending them turning in the other direction with some urgency. When their out of earshot, he laughs and turns his patrol inwards to the fire and better company.
Jubilee fishes out a marshmellow from the bag she's claimed and holds it out to Nate, then looks across his head to Jean and shrugs. "It was kinda cold an' dark... there. We built a fire too." That's all the apology she'll give though, and she reaches for the chocolate bar she'd set up on a bit of wood away from the fire.
"That," Jean notes, with the irritating smugness of one whose cause is righteous and who is also in charge, "Would be cheating. What you want to do is keep moving, though," she suggests. "Any time you stop feeling your toes, squirm them around and jump up and down until you do. But here's a topic for conversation," she proposes, letting Nate loose to toddle over to the graham crackers and chocolate squares, where he proceeds, stickily, to make something involving three crackers, two chocolate squares, and the blackened, snow-covered husk that was once a marshmallow. "I'm going to work with Habitat for Humanity to sign up the school for a volunteer project over the break. What tropical country do you want to go to--" But Jubilee's message crumples whatever cheer was blooming, leaving Jean looking struck.
"Our fire didn't have marshmallows," is Jackson's only quiet observation.
"I'm going to pretend that fire didn't exist." Jamie has gotten a bit more focused in his scrabbling. "I have so many other fires I can think of."
"Look--" Jean's voice is brittle as she looks over at Jubilee and Jackson. "I think this was a wrong thing to invite you to. If you want to leave, you're alumni... it was just an invitation."
"Caribbean on the Table?" Walter wonders, looking at Jubilee for a moment before taking a large bite of his s'more, sighing at Jackson's comment, then burying his face in his jacket at Jamie's comment.
Autumn looks over at the ex-students with a frown lingering on her face. She wiggles her hands deeper into her jacket and decides to look around for some other subject. "Could we be pirates?" she says, over at Walter, even as he puts his face down.
"Could be," says Jean, and resolutely marshals herself back to planning warm and happy hard work in the tropical sun. "There are areas of Central America still rebuilding after hurricanes."
Shadows dance and the fire crackles. Snow and ice crunches underfoot. The wind changes, and the faint smell of something rancid drifts in the air, fouling the taste of Graham cracker and marshmallow and chocolate. Mmm. Tasty.
A lot of conversation crosses his ears as Logan begins to close to the fire, but one sentence does draw him closer. Closing on Jubilee, a calloused hand reaches for a marshmallow as Logan sits down close besider her, Jean given a nod as he does. "Or chocolate." he adds to Jackson's statement with the closest thing to a comforting smile he can manage. "So far we're up to 5 escape attempts. The one's trying to move the whole tent is the best one so far."
"I make a good pirate," Jackson says, tone light even if his words accompanied by a slight twinge of sadness. "Yar." His eyepatch, today, is purple. "And I like the s'mores. I like the chocolate." He returns Logan's smile with one of his own. It is bright! He is not emo. Well. /Trying/ not to be.
"Does my music folder count?" Walter mumbles through his jacket with forced humor. "I told them that wouldn't work," he mutters quietly, grabbing a supply of s'more makings before reclaiming a spot by the fire.
"Let's no be so hard on the survivors, Jean, darling," Jamie says over his notebook. And sneezes. Only appropriate reaction to a touch of rancid. "You'll offend them. And then they'll stomp out and sing 'Mad World' together. I really can't take that song without a good guitar back up." Hey, he's trying.
Jubilee holds the bag up to Logan and gives him a bit of a smile. "Wait until they go for the sporks. Then you'll know they serious 'bout the great escape." She adds a quiet, "Sorry, Jeannie." and stays quite firmly put. "You'd think the milk'd stay cold without a freezer." Ew.
Autumn tugs her arms up entirely into her coat, abandonning the sleeves in favor of crossing them over her chest and, without any outward sign, clutching the necklace she's wearing under all of the warm clothes. She looks like some sort of albino penguin in that oversized coat, with the sleeves now standing out diagonally without her arms to bend them.
"Tell me at least it wasn't one of the ten-mans?" Jean wonders of Logan, distracted by the mental image conjured, and rubbing idly at her nose as something tickles it. Nate, his creation complete and his face now liberally smeared with soot adhered to marshmallow goo, tumbles over through the snow to present it to Logan. "I maded it for -you-," he decides, with the caprice of the wee. "S'a little burned 'cause I maded it go on FIRE, though."
The smell crinkles Tim's nose, and the boy plops heavy steps in the snow towards the fire. He smells again and shakes his head as he walks towards Walter. "I was starting to get hungry, too." he complains, and then turns to Jean to ask another question. "This part of the lesson, too? Cold, and smelly?"
"Want me to make one for you?" Walter asks Tim, stopping his mope, if only for the moment, only to have it annihilated by Nate the smaller, smiling over at 'Uncle Logan,' though it is somewhat obscured by his Jono-esque fashion statement. "Just hang close," he tells Tim quietly. "Fire's not that hot, is it?"
Logan accepts the gift carefully, but with his smile as he says down to the wee one "Just like I like 'em. Thanks, 'lil bub." Followed by a pat on his shoulder. "Nah, one of the small ones. Kinda let the cat outa the bag when they left a trail of straw behind 'em."
Nate beams, messy-faces, and then scampers off, taking a tumble into a snowbank at one point, to go find "Daddy! I'm makin' you a s'mores, OK?"
Madrox scribs, scratches on that notebook. "Now I'm hungry for steak."
"Well, I suppose the smell makes it authentic for a setting where there's often a lack of sanitation and medical care..." Jean offers, nose crinkling all the more and a light cough following. "God, that's vile. Must be some sort of animal droppings or something."
Worse than spoiled milk, as the wind picks up over the frozen lake, so does the stench. It is fairly distinct, for those that have smelled it before. And for those that haven't had the pleasure, this may prove to be an educational experience. Heavy, pungent, sickly sweet. It is the smell of death.
Cassy teleports in.
Mira teleports in.
Autumn makes a bad face at the smell coming in more heavily on the wind. She ducks her head down, trying to bury her face a bit deeper into her coat. "Ew. Smells like... ew. I don't know what smells like that." Whom she is talking to is not quite certain. The stink just simply needed comment from her.
Jackson has had the pleasure. Somewhat recently, too. His face pales. His knees pull up to his chest, and he abandons his bag of marshmallows, scooting slightly closer to Jubilee and Logan. The light around him shifts from glow to shadow, dark and murky.
For those just arriving, what greets sight rather than smell is a bevvy of tents pitched in the lea of the boathouse, of various shapes and sizes and bedded on thick straw. There is a campfire in the midst of them, with s'mores and a bunch of crinkle-nosed people.
That seems as good a time as any for Scott to get back to the party, so to speak. "Okay, Nate," Scott says back to his son as he gets back to the bonfire from the quick foray into the boathouse. The new smell draws his attention, Scott looking around at the others, though he's not sure what it is.
"Thanks, Walt, But nah... I'm alright." Tim assures, but even this close he is already turning his shoulder to it. When the heavier smell hits, his face contorts again, breathing shallowed on purpose, the boy getting a little green in the gills.
Logan has smelled this smell before. Too many times. His nostrils flair taking it in to confirm suspensions. Gentle smile is abandoned, replaced by a look of warning and care. Jean is given /that/ look. "Jeanie..." he calls over cautiously, and stands up slow to turn towards it.
Walter buries his face even deeper into the jacket at the smell. "You know... I'm not hungry anymore," comes out of the chest of his jacket as gloved hands tug the neck up higher, it pushing at his earmuffs now. "Think it's a skunk, or something?" he wonders, his hazel eyes glancing around from over what little remains visible of his nose.
That, Jean's nose and memories of cadavers tell her, is -not- deer droppings. "Faugh," she says. "I think Rahne must have chased down a deer and forgotten to clean up," she decides, rising to her feet and giving Logan a look across the campfire. "I'll go check it out, if someone will get me a mug of cider started for when I get back."
Madrox stops - whatever he's doing in the notebook, his nostrils flaring like a dog. "I'll go with you." Of course he will. Even traumatized, especially traumatized, Madrox is incorrigible.
Jubilee too has smelt the sticky sweet too recently, but she is in no hurry to go chase it down. She looks up at Logan and Jean rising, then back down at her bag of marshmellows. "Here, Natters," she calls out, offering a marshmellow to him for toasting. Jamie gets a quick, black look.
Jackson's jaw tightens. "'ll make your cider," he mumbles, somewhat shakily. He most certainly will not go with anyone.
Autumn scoots herself closer to the fire and to everyone else. This looks largely like a very big parka with a bunch of blonde hair sticking out of the top of it edging it's way closer to Walter and Tim.
Further away from the lake and conspicuously after all of the tents have been set up, a car arrives at the school. It is a very long and very black car, the kind with windows that are meant to be seen through only from the inside. The limo draws to a stop on the driveway. Out of it step two impeccably dressed young ladies. Mira straightens her sunglasses, as if her eyes are too good for the world. "God, Cass. We are so awesome."
Cassy really does seem a little overdressed for a night out in the cold, in her finest pinstripe skirt and black top and with a fedora on at a jaunty angle. "Well yes, but we already knew that right?" she replies, waving at the driver to get out the oversized novelty cheque. "Lets go make sure everyone else does as well."
The moving Autumn puff is noted even as the smell threatens to ruin Tim's image in front of the girl with some nausea. "Hey!" He calls over friendly, words distorted as he resorts to shallow breaths. "I hope it isn't a skunk... doesn't it take forever to get the smell to go away?"
"I think that's just if it's on you," Walter says to Tim, watching the approaching puff. Penguin, meet turtle. "Hey, Autumn."
"If it's a skunk," Autumn theorizes, "It held it in too long and it popped or something." She puts her arms back into her sleeves so she can unzip her coat a little and pull her shirt over her mouth and nose. At least her eyes carry the awkward little smile to the pair of boys.
Logan begins to pace to investigate, meandering his path so that it passes near Jean with a nod. As he moves, he rubs his hands together for a bit of warmth. He smells once more and prepares to follow his nose, so to speak. Cereal is the doubtful outcome, though.
Jean produces a flashlight of her own and falls into step with Logan, eyes scanning the shoreline as a likely spot for a dead Bambie that didn't fare so well with lake ice.
A pair of small, heavy-coated figures are already on their way to the lake's edge, spurred on by curiosity and the need to find out what's what so that they can be the first to relay the appropriate rumors to everyone else. Their flashlights dance over snow and ice, lighting the way until they sparkle their way to the edge of open water, and past it. Some distance out, one light sweeps over something bloated and pink, with a flash of white -- a t-shirt, and a flash of red. It isn't hard to guess what the red is. The second light joins the first. The girls scream. Shrilly.
Mira straightens a thin jacket on her shoulders, a thing made more for fashion than warmth. Tucking the four foot long cardboard check under her shoulder, she sighs. "We're so far away, there's nobody to see. What's the point of showing up in a black stretch limo if there's nobody to see us do it?" Awkwardly, she shifts the check and begins trudging up the lawn, through the snow in her nice shoes.
At the scream, Walter turns his head sharply, emerging from his jacket to stare off into the dark. "That... doesn't sound good."
Madrox gets to his feet, black looks aside, although the moment he does, he seems to regret it. He's taken a few hesitent steps after Jean and Logan, before the screams stop him in his tracks.
The scream stops Tim mid laugh at the popping skunk comment, his eyes wide, head snapping in the sound's direction.
Autumn's head goes up momentarily as she looks in that direction, her eyes nice and wide as well, then she ducks her head back down. "Um," she says, very quietly, before looking back at Tim and Walter.
Scott turns from the others, a glance thrown at where Nate is before he looks around trying to locate the source of the scream without leaving the rest of the students on their own. His right hand moves up to the frame of his glasses, ready to pull them off should he need to use his powers at the moment.
"Like it matters, we'll still get to see the look on everyones faces when they see this cheque," Cassy replies, waving at Mira to hurry up and get moving. "I'd sorted out getting our bags with our overnight stuff brought down already."
Jackson is halted, too, in his current activity -- getting a mug of warm cider ready for Jean's return. Some of the cider sloshes out of the cup, shaky in his suddenly unsteady hands. His right hand lifts to cross himself as his head turns to peer out towards the source of the sound.
Walter steps closer to his friends, eyes still scanning the dark as he turns his back to the flames. "Recognize who screamed?" he asks Autumn without turning his head.
Jubilee stills, then reaches for Nate, grasping his hand as he reaches into the bag and pulling him into her. He doesn't protest at the unexpected restriction, picking up on the sudden tension of those around him and Jubilee's need for something to comfort and be comforted by.
"God... that had better be the results of someone overloading their septic tank and throwing things in the lake..." Jean mutters, stepping forward to try and beckon to the intrepid gossip-gatherers. "Back to the campfire," she orders. "We'll take it from here." << Ice fishing accident? >> is wondered on a more private band to Logan.
Behind Cassy and Mira, and well behind everyone who has turned to look after the scream, through the trees, warm lights in the mansion's face fall black. One, two, three at a time, then all at once. Something large and quite probably unholy moans at the dynamic duo's heels. It may be a good idea to run.
Logan hardens at the site of it, eyes focusing, face cementing, and fingers curling into palm. Leaving dealing with the traumatized gossip mongers to better hands, he takes a few steps closer. << Don't know. Maybe. Get Slim to call the police? >>
Madrox looks about ready to keep walking /anyway/, but he ends up sitting down. Without explanation or lead u p. He just sits behind everyone else and curls his legs up against his chest.
Mira stops with a sudden crunch of snow underfoot. She twists halfway to look behind her, at the mansion, and at the lights fallen dead. She opens her mouth to say something, but swallows hard at the low, echoing moan. Soundlessly, she drops the giant novelty check and hauls ass.
Autumn shakes her head at Walter's question, which doesn't do much to communicate with his head turned the other way. Instead, she settles for a tremendously quiet, "Nuh-uh," to get her point across. "This better not be some big ghost story prank... thing. I'll be really mad," she points out with an attempt at mustering disapproval.
Scooping up the precious novelty check, Cassy yanks the attack alarm whistle from her belt and begins whistling with all her might. Then, cheque held high over her head, she gets ready to put her time on the track time to use. Sprinting for the treeline.
<< Dammit dammit dammit... careful near the ice. >> Jean cautions, tension singing in her muscles as she peers out at the fleshy floater, squinting to try and focus. << Starting to get rotten. >> She tries for a telekinetic tug, and then gives up a half beat later, deciding that explaining to the police why the corpse has no arms is not a thing she wants to do, if it's that rotten. "I'll make the call myself," she decides. "Medical..." But the explanation isn't finished, and Jean turns to go follow the path up to the dark woods... and the mansion lights that she's not seeing. "-Shit-."
"If it is, then we'll have to commit murder. As a group. Lord of the Flies on their ass," Jamie is being helpful again. Sooo helpful.
Panting with breath, one of Mira's shoes comes off. She keeps running, crushing cold wet snow into her sock and nearly stumbling. She turns and throws an open hand toward Cassy. The whistle gets LOUD.
First a scream, then the whistle? "Uh," "ya" he tries to participate in the conversation but creeping fear reduces it to single syllable mutterings at this point. Fingers begin to flicker as tension grows, and piece by piece a Tim starts to slowly vainish. Oh so brave.
Jubilee jumps in place and cranes her head around toward the direction of the whistle. "Shit," she breathes, prompting a wide-eyed look of reproach from the young Master Nate wrapped up in her lap. "That's a bad word, Jub'lee" he says softly.
"Jamie, you're not helping," Scott says as he turns his attention toward the sound of the whistle. "All of you stay here. Jubilee, watch Nate. Nate, stay with Jubilee," Scott says quickly, tone of voice implying he's in no mood to argue as he moves off toward the sound of the whistle. The whistle meaning students in definite trouble compared to all of them just waiting at the campfire.
Walter's head snaps towards the mansion, where the lights have gone dark. "Not again," he says, quickly glancing around the group before his eyes lock onto the mansion. He takes one step towards the mansion, his hand rising to his jacket zipper, only to abort his mission as Scott speaks up. "Autumn, Tim, might want to stick close, and don't you /dare/ try to turn me invisible, Tim, it's cold enough." He looks worriedly towards the mansion one last time.
Cassy takes her flight off the beaten track, eternally gratefull that the one exception to her smart attire is her combat boots as she ducks between the trees. Spitting the whistle out she slows, risking a glance back towards the mansion.
The mansion is black. Quiet. Down at the lake, the scent of rot grows even thicker in the wake of Jean's tugging. But no more open chaos seems immediately forthcoming.
Jackson just cringes at the whistle, setting down the mug of cider to wrap both arms tightly around his knees. He glances briefly up towards the darkened mansion, and then turns his gaze back to the fire. He stares into it rather blankly.
When the whistle hits Logan's ears, followed by the looming image of a mansion dark, Logan looses any degree of eloquence and can only echo Jubilee's "Shit. The kids!" He abandons this investigation and paces back to the camp with more than some urgency. Priorities, the body itn' getting any deader.
"You guys! You guuuuuys!" Mira's voice yells out across the remainder of the distance between herself at the lake. "There's someth-" she starts, but cuts off suddenly. She stumbles and rolls in the snow, never seeing the tree root that tripped her.
Madrox scrambles back to his feet, not helpfully, but he does prefer to be upright.
<< I'm going to the mansion to see what's up with the generators and call the police. Dead body. >> This, it seems, is the sum total of Jean's asking permission to leave, after a pause to see that Logan is going for the kids, and Scott is headed for the screaming. She is briefly visible on the fringes of the woods, a flash of bright hair and a bob of a flashlight beam silhouetted against the dark, before she takes a disused trail known to one who's spent twenty years at the Old Xavier Place, and disappears, straight-lining for the mansion.
"Next camp out, Summers, bring your damned visor," Scott mutters as he runs toward the last whistle blow that he heard, fishing a small maglite sized flashlight from a pocket as he gets further away from the camp area and the light provided by the fire. Now to find the students that used the whistle, with the small beam of the maglite swinging back and forth before him as he looks for the trouble.
The red that flashes across catches Tim's eyes and is instantly recognized. Fear of evil knife things chasing Jean trump panicked self preservation and he gives chase as well, invisible by the time he should hear Walter's caution. The snow crunches between unseen feet as he follows.
Madrox takes a few steps into the outskirts of the camp and poises his hands apart. He looks down at them. "I think we need some cover," he informs those still at the camp.
=XS= Great Hall - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Rich dark woods panel the walls while lighter shades form the floors of the Great Hall, protected from time and scuffling student feet by runner carpets in red with gold and black edging, and a few larger throws in oriental designs. The ceiling is high, a vaulted twenty feet, with leaded glass windows letting in natural light from above and hanging lamps casting a warm glow at night. French doors lead to the library and rec room, and a hallway to the left of the entryway angles off to other rooms. While antique end tables hold curios and objets d'art, and while imposing portraits hang on the walls, the eye is drawn most by the large curving staircase at the heart of the Great Hall, wending its way between three floors in grand style. The discreet brass plate indicating an elevator living behind one section of panelled wall could almost go entirely unnoticed.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias XSGreatHall to watch here.]
[Exits : [F]ront [D]oor, [Li]brary, [T]he [E]levator, [R]ec [R]oom, and [H]allway]
[Players : Ghost ]
Tim teleports in.
The hallways of Xavier's School are dark. Even the emergency lights are out, and with the weather the way it is, cold has already begun to seep in through the windows to chill the air and creak at the floorboards. Somewhere, there is a shuffle, and a bump. To the left, perhaps. Up the stairs.
The bouncing, bobbing beam of a flashlight plays first off the windows, and next buries itself in a puddle of light by the front doors. Jean, having left the doors unlocked as befits a place with a half-mile drive and security guards at the entrance, peels off one glove, reaches over, and gives the door a good hard shove to try and open it. "C'mon," she encourages. "Don't stick on me, you damned thing." The door does not respond. Jean jiggles the latch. The door is locked. There's a moment's exasperated shoulder slump, as Jean recalls that her keys are, in fact, in her tent down at the lake. Nothing for it, then. The flashlight's glow flicks out, replaced for a moment by a light more orange and flickering as she focuses on things unseen but still percieved, and coaxes five pins and a tumbler into their proper form. With another shove of a shoulder, the dread portal opens. There is, naturally, a prolonged creeeeeak. And Jean swears.
An answering creak cuts off short. Again, there is silence, save for the rustle of the wind through the freshly opened door.
Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump... Its hard to tell which is louder as Tim gives a distant chase for Jean, his pounding heart or his plopping crunching footfalls. Still, he continues on with determination. He isn't able to keep a perfect path, however, and has to rely on the Jean's brief glow to correct his bearings. "Please be alright... Please be alright..." he mumbles panicked and wide eyed.
"God damned lousy generators..." Jean seems to be opting for the snarling, crabby approach to horror movie settings. Her flashlight is on, playing over the great hall, and there's a moment's consideration of where to go before, with a sigh, Jean heads off down the long and panelled hallway, a fusebox on her mind.
Tim's steps slow down just a tad as he hears Jean's voice, getting closer, the lack of more screaming calming the panic slightly. For this reason he doesn't hit the open mansion at full run, and has a chance to have the full intimidation of the moment land dead on him. Steps slowing to a pitiful pace by the thim he passes through the doors, he glances around trying to determine which direction Jean went.
Behind Tim, the door slams, and the lock turns itself over again, frozen fast. The windows rattle, and still, there is silence.
"Fuck!" sounds from somewhere ahead of Tim, Jean not censoring herself in what she believes to be the absence of students. This is paired with a solid whunking noise as her head hits the panel of the fusebox, startled. "Damn wind..." she mutters, and attempts to ignore the clicking sound of the lock. Clearly the wind. Clearly. She reaches out, albeit not without a heavy tingle between her shoulder blades, and flips the main breaker. There is an expectant pause.
"Wha!" Tim exhales as the door slams behind him. It isn't a right proper girl scream like the one the knife brought him, the sound itself too terrified to come out. While a Tim can not be scared even more invisible, he causes a hole to form in the floor beneath his feet that slowly soaks itself back together again. He paces after Jean again, feet too scared to dare sound his steps, and he attempts to call out "D-d-d-d-d-d-doctor grey..." but again the sound won't come, manifesting as a choked whisper at best.
The breaker box buzzes, and fizzles. Nothing else happens. Behind Tim, a dark shape looms black, with heavy footfalls that make no sound and cold breath that fogs thick and white.
"Oh, for the love of... Forge, if you're behind this," Jean calls out, letting irritation warm her against the chill of the weather and the chill of primal fears of darkness and the unknown. Her voice sounds somewhat hollow for all of this. And the beam of light sweeps back down the hallway, angling for "Tim? Is that you?"
Tim's breath doesn't even fog to give the light something of him to catch, but as it turns on him, Tim lets his clothing begin to peel back into sight for Jean to see. "Y-y-yeah..." he answers hesitantly, fear edging off only slightly as he begins to walk forward. "Are you... are you... are you alright?"
Behind Tim's reappearing act, the flashlight lands upon a tall, broad figure with a penchant for black leather and a metal skull for a head. Jack-o-lantern grin as fixed as ever, Xorn's eyes flicker coldly to life when he is exposed, combatting white light with harsher blue. "Hello." says his voice, made somewhat more hollow and terrible by the circumstances.
"Just fine," Jean assures, relieved at a source for the breathing that pairs with the lone mind pinging her mental scanners. Only, in an instance of pure dramatic timing, to have her flashlight land on Xorn next. "Holy -shit-!" says Dr. Grey. Nay, -squeaks- Dr. Grey, only to sigh and slump a breath later. "Professor Xorn. I missed you down at the lake."
Just as the boy's face begins to fade into view, the 'Hello' and the squeak are greeted with eyes flashing wide and Tim nearly tumbling to his back as he jerks around and attempts to back peddle. Breath jets in and out with the pace that would put an excited hamster to shame. Its only when he hears the name 'Xorn' that recognition fights back fight or flight and it begins to slow. The rest of Tim begins to come back to match face and clothing. "Thank goodness..."
Static rasps from Xorn's jagged-edged jaw, and for the first time, separates out into something that resembles a chuckle. Low, robotic, and harsh. "I have been busy." is all that he has to say to Jean, and then, "Yes. Thank goodness." His curled fists open, revealing the glint of metal concealed in each. One dart lances for the partially visible Tim -- the other, Jean in the same instant that her flashlight is snuffed dark. Only Xorn's eyes remain, lurid and unfeeling in what poor illumination they offer.
Telekinesis can act at the speed of thought. This is only useful when thought can keep pace with action. Barred from any mental tells, too trusting to suspect immediate betrayal, Jean's only response is a gasp in the darkness, and a frantic patting for the blossom of pain that is the dart site. She yanks it free! But, courtesy of impact plungers, it's already far too late. "Tim," she calls thickly in the darkness, poisoned blood blood already starting to burn its way upwards to heart and mind alike. "Tim... go get help."
Even if Tim could react, he is too easy a target this close. The dart lands home and true before his mind can even begin to process what happened. "Dr. Grey... Jean..." he calls back voice quivering in a new type of panic. Mortal panic. What ever dark formula lurks in the dart is aided through the boy's system with his thumping heart renewed "Jean-... I can't."
Bootfalls silent no more, Xorn moves quickly to retract both darts. Then, quickly enough, strong arms are wrapped around the still-conscious form of Tim to heft him up and drag him away. Jean will assuredly be soon to follow.
The fast metabolism of many an omega mutant comes back to bite Jean at this. Still clinging to enough consciousness to sink gracefully rather than fall over like a sack of potatoes, she's also clinging to enough to offer a low "Drop him, you bastard." Telekinesis flares out, lighting the room with an orange glow, but just as swiftly as Xorn can feel an invisible hand clenching around him, it's gone. Funny thing about placing demands on the brain: it causes increased blood flow. On her knees now, Jean falls over unconscious with a thud.