Log Dump 3
<> The Cliffs
The freezing air bites deep over Brotherhood Isle, and the depths of night creep through clothes and skin alike, chilling to thebone. Padraig O'Hara trudges along the first steps of his patrol; no weapons for him, just a scabbard strapped down his back, with a hilt peeping over the top. The lilting accent carries easily over the still air. "--hate night patrols, you know? I mean, surely anyone with a grain of sense is going to attack when it's not so bloody cold!"
"Eh, had a r'mate once that controlled ice," Pyro sniffs first, the gives up and wipes his nose on his sleeve. "Need to issue us Brotherhood kerchiefs." No special weapons for him, though he's wearing his suit under the street clothes. As much for heat conservation as anything else. "All the worse knowing I don't have to be so bloody cold. Walking pyre of flame might draw some attention from the sky, though."
"Ice? Screw that. Then again... beer," Padraig muses, nodding a little as he peers around into the darkness. "My night vision's so crap, I don't care if you do, buddy. Figure there's gotta be a plane or two up there already -- reckon the X-Men might've said somethin' to the Feds since the boss got caught?"
"Heh. Doubt Bobby's ever even taken a second look at a beer, let alone held a bottle in his hands. Plays by the rules, y'know," he adds flatly. "And more likely they'd come a'callin' themselves," Pyro shrugs, the telltale wince at the word X-Men nearly vanished. "Not like the don't know where we are. And if they're looking for a time to, ah, neutralize us, I guess would be their word, now'd be it."
"Too square for the 'hood?" asks the larger mutant, with a grin flashed over to his compadre. "I dunno if they would. They haven't got the sheer firepower, I think. Screw it -- we're better prepared these days. We can take 'em. Kill the lot." A smirk scores his face, just a little cruel.
"Something's always held them back," Pyro shakes his head. "Just realistic. They've got us with numbers. Except they don't train people for fighting. Least not everyone. If they did..." he trails off, pulling the neck of his his jacket closer. "Even when they don't fill you in, you hear stuff. See stuff. Bruises on your teachers the next day. 'Cept I think a lot of times I'd hate to have been the other person. And look at me, going all yellow. Just don't like to think about the ones that, well, fire and thunder won't take out everyone."
"We got something to deal with anything," Padraig replies, firmly. "Hell, Derek can probably take half of them on his own. Then there's Creed -- would /you/ want to fight that?" A shudder rips down his spine, and he stops, suddenly, glaring into the shadows for a moment.
"Gawd, no!" Pyro stops, turning to face the other. "And if you ever suggest him for my trainer, I swear, I'll burn you in your sleep." He glances out over the water, allowing a small flame to leap to his fingers, casting long shadows around them. "They don't say it, but I think the seniors are really worried. With Toxin not on the island and Magneto... Hell, I'm going to the mainland to pick up something next few days. You /know/ when the last time they let me off this rock was?"
"I'll tell the bastard myself, next time I see him," Padraig retorts, with a vicious little smile, etched by humour. He sinks a little, though, as he nods. "When I got myself screwed, I know. No way am I even thinking about requesting -- not for a while."
"Wouldn't've myself," Pyro shrugs. "How long you give it before we try a breakout?"
"God knows," Padraig replies, with a shrug. "I mean, it's happened before, hasn't it?" He frowns as he walks, scowling towards something or other. "Can't be long. Soon as Toxin and Mystique come up with something, I imagine. Maybe even tomorrow."
"Don't imagine it'll be as easy as last time," Pyro kicks at a rock, sending it tumbling over the edge of the cliff. "Not that it was easy before, lookit me talking like I know all about it. They'll be watching for stuff like that, though. Might be some all-out fight. Or we get one of those huge magnet cranes to hang over his prison."
"All we gotta do is get some metal in there," Padraig responds, with a quick nod. "Maybe even just fill the place with bullets -- that should be enough for him, right?" He breaks into a laugh, suddenly. "I've got a vision of the boss stuck to a huge magnet. He'd be pretty pissed."
Pyro sniggers at that thought. "Oh god, man he would be. Can you even imagine walking around this place. For /weeks/. I guess if they need our help, they'll enlist us. Not sure I'd even dare offer anything to Mystique."
"It's gonna be hell as it is," Padraig mutters, with a little resignation, and a little defiance. "We just keep quiet, and follow orders when they come. Reckon the boss is likely to start taking bodyguard with him? I mean, I'm not wanted for anything major, just yet."
"Naw, he'd not admit he's not up to taking care of himself," Pyro replies. "'Sides, /I'm/ sure not going to be the one to suggest he needs one. And if they can take him out, I'm not sure one other person is going to make a difference."
"They must've been set up to take on his powers," Padraig says, quite quietly. "If they can drop him, then they can probably drop any of us -- but two are more than twice as hard to take, 'specially if the boss is doing his bullet thing." A shrug drifts shoulders upwards, and the man comes into a longer stride. "You're right, though. Who wants to tell Magneto he's not safe alone?"
"The only way they'd take him alive is to knock him out," Pyro shakes his head. "Which might be tougher with two, but they'll find ways. It takes a team to take him down and still they refuse to see."
Padraig nods his agreement. "Eventually, they'll see. Once we've smashed him out, I bet there'll be retribution -- we should blow up the FBI HQ, or something..." He trails off, into a thoughtful look, that turns easily into a grin. "Not that I'm stupid enough to take stuff into my own hands, ever again."
Pyro grins right back. "And I'm not stupid enough to let you talk me into it," he quips. "Or make you talk me into it. Still...it'd be nice to get off the island. For anything, really."
Good-naturedly, Padraig responds, "Bastard." He continues his walk, almost a saunter, as he notes, "I could do with some air that isn't fresh. Something nice and dirty, filled with the taste of smog and vomit. I do miss the city, sometimes."
"Little too much like home?" Pyro ribs, elbowing the air between them. "Didn't get into the City much, but heck, even Westchester was louder than this. //Hear that!//" he calls out into the darkness, letting the wind whip his words out over the ocean.
Exasperated arms fly out wide. "And now the boy screams to the world at large that we're here and looking to die." Blitz shakes his head, tsking quietly. "Anyway -- better to be a country boy than a preppy little shit."
Pyro sniggers. "Hell, there's no one for miles up, down or inside out that could hear Fred bellowing, let alone me. And hey, you want preppy, you should meet Bobby someday. Even all iced up... you can almost see the sweats tied around his waist. Guess it takes more'n a bit o rebellion to make you a bad boy around here, though."
"Gotta be a mass-murdering psychotic killing machine with an uncharted healing factor and a penchant for maiming," Padraig quips, flashing another trademark grin. "We're the puddy tats, my dear boy. Badass puddy tats. Good job we're ranged troops, eh?"
"Yeah, so long as I keep /running/," Pyro grins, "they can't hurt me. And I can call down fire from the sky to smite them. Or something like that. While I'm ten paces ahead of them."
"Behold!" Blitz calls out, lifting his arms up high. "The unholy wrath of Pyro, as he rains fire and brimstone upon the bastards that nicked our boss!" He launches into a chuckle, before again scanning around. "Gott run /towards/ 'em, my man. You ever play Streetfighter? Dragon punch."
"Fire'n Lightning," Pyro snickers. "Good ole Zeus and Hades. We'll smite em good. And naw, I've played more video games since coming here than rest of my short years put together."
"Zeus? Derek suggested that for my post-human name," Padraig says, as he swivels his head in automatic scanning. "This place is a haven for the damn things -- you played that Farenheit game, yet? Awesome."
"Naw, I like Blitz better," Pyro says, after a moment's thought. "More... awe inspiring. Or recent, at least. Zeus just seems out dated. Maybe when you're like 80. And which one is that?" he says, making the obvious leap from mythology to videography in one teenaged leap.
"It's a film, practically. Play as a murderer who knows he wasn't in control -- great fun." Padraig brings a wry smile forwards, shaking his head. "If I live to eighty, I'll suicide. Imagine it being a race to get to the toilet? Hideous."
"Play as a murderer," Pyro lifts an eyebrow. "Sounds...delightful. Have to try that one out for sure." No sarcasm there. "But yeah, better to die young than to suffer that. Unless it's death by Creed," he adds after a moment.
Padraig is still busy suppressing a shudder. "Well, the guy knows -- just play it? It's good." Insistence is there, as the man again peers around, taking his duty somewhat seriously. "I dunno. Reckon Creed might be quick, if you got him angry enough." Lips purse. "Does that count as suicide?"
"Copos might rule it just to not have to hunt him down," Pyro smirks at the thought. Although he's probably got as many records as Magneto anyways. I think, mate, it'd be more about hearing someone coming than seeing anyways," he points out, half-snickering with the comment."
Padraig matches the smirk with one of his own, as he streches his arms to the sky, almost languid. His figure has trimmed a little -- less purely muscle, these days. "He's probably got more. I mean; how can you be /that/ obvious and not get noticed for it? Anyone torn to shreds is probably marked down for him." A quiet contemplation then comes over him.
"And anyone burned to a crisp probably mine," Pyro nods. "Ever run a net search for your name? Interesting what it shows up. Not half of it true. Got a few ideas, though," he adds, a wicked grin appearing.
Padraig snorts. "Padraig O'Hara, or someone looking like him, is wanted for some stuff, I think. Blitz, however -- I'm simply not known. Magneto's electric man, yes." Shoulders lifts into a shrug. "There's some Irish activist with my name. Y'know, not so long ago, I thought twice about the violence. I'm glad I'm properly willing, now. I'm changed, you know?"
Pyro scowls slightly. "Wish I could say the same. That one day, though, and suddenly I'm wanted. Expect someone at the school ratted me out even before the police knew anything, but who knows. Guess this place does change people. No, that's not right. It's humans forcing us into it. Whatever it takes, yah?" he asks, not quite as confidently as he'd like.
"Whatever it takes, and then some," Padraig says, decisive and letting deadly malice come to the fore, though for whom is unclear. "That school was no good for you, man. Teaching you pure bollocks, and then trying to get you locked up? Hypocritical."
A crooked smile crosses Pyro's face. "Yeah, there's that," he nods. His breath whistles out through his teeth. "Someday. Won't have to live in hiding. Heros, they'll call us," he teases. "The mighty Blitz who made the world safe for statics everywhere."
"Mighty my ass," mutters the electric man, as he glares towards a tree. "Hopefully I'll get an island, you know? Lots of virgins. Reckon I'd make a good duke, or a colonel, or something." Then he chuckles, with wry sarcasm. "You got a preference?"
Pyro pauses in step, leaning back to glance at Padraig's backside. "Well, not sure I'd say 'mighty' but..." he snickers, quickly sidestepping out of range of any swings that might come his way. "So long as it's got lots of stuff to burn, I'll be happy. My own private hell. And maybe a few girls too," he adds with a grin.
No swing, but a hand envelops in crackling sparks as it is punched out sideways, and a spark flings from the end; the sparks fading as it does. "Damn' pervert. I know I'm hot, but I should /not/ make men wet." Good-natured, the man continues on his way. "Private hell? Mind if I visit, occasionally?"
"Get over yourself, mate. Besides, it's too cold for that out here tonight." Pyro chuckles, keeping pace and flicking a small flame toward the other's hands, vanishing in the air just before it would make skin contact. "S'pose I might allow visitors. Though not to the seventh layer. That'll only be for the really bad people. Handcuffs and all."
"Scrawny little wretch; you certainly ain't gonna pull any men around here," Padraig huffs, puffing up his chest. He breaks into a full laugh, quickly cut off as he remembers duty, and looks around. "I only want to come to the level with copious amounts of loose, incredibly attractive women. Maybe the level with beer, as well."
"That'd be 4th floor down. There's lots of dancing there too, so bring your shoes," Pyro says. "And hey, I've got ten pounds on the Pyro of 6 months ago. I can take you any day. With a 10 minute head start, of course," he adds.
Padraig laughs, "You are /so/ my bitch. We should go a few rounds, one of these days. No powers. Or with powers, if you fancy getting Ellen to help us out." A broad grin flashes across to the younger mutant, as Blitz strolls along, relaxed and easily. "Dancing... rock or pop?"
"Techno," Pyro's response is immediate. "The real low reverb that gets into your upper spine and keeps on pounding. For all eternity." He rubs his hands together, first in glee then for warmth. "See I can be evil. And yeah, I'd be up for it. Probably could get it approved if we work it into the team training bit. Two rounds. One with, one without." His eyes flicker in amusement. "I'll pound you."
Padraig lifts a hand to run through recently-cut hair; a practically military cut. "I /like/ techno, man -- the one from Blade? Awesome tune. Could be pretty depressing after a while..." He trails off into investigation of a bush. Interesting stuff. His voice calls out from behind it, as flies are unzipped. "You'll get your ass whooped without, boyo. With? It'll be fun to see how a burninator fries."
"How's about I burn that bush you got there?" Pyro calls back cheerfully, before stepping closer to the cliff and staring at the rocks below, shivering slightly as a rush of wind comes off the water.
"Try it, fireman, and get your ass kicked here and now!" Padraig calls out, as he begins to relieve himself. "Shit! That's cold -- oh, christ. I'm shriveling!" Almost panicky, but good-natured, comes the cry.
"Woulda thought you'd be used to that sensation by now," Pyro calls over his shoulder.
"That's it," the Irish lilt proclaims. "Get yours out, and we'll see who's the man, and who's the little piggy, eh?" The sound of a zip coming back up drifts out. "Where'd a little bastard get the right to abuse me, huh?" Blitz makes his way back out, and offers a glaring look.
"Little insecure, eh mate?" Pyro sniggers. "S'ok. I hear that women look at the whole... eh, package, uh, before looking at the... And hey, with your accent, she'd probably not even notice." There's a wide grin on his face, maybe even partly visible in the moonlight. "Besides, us 'little bastards' gotta make our place somehow."
"Oh, says the damn' criminal -- /descendant/ of criminals." A sneer travels across Padraig's lip. "I'm plenty big enough. More than I can say for the weed before me -- are we going back, or what?" He glances over towards the complex, invisible in the darkness. "Your place? In a brothel, being a sub for some sweaty old businessman."
"Why don't you tell me what that's like on the way back?" Pyro grins again. And with that, he turns his steps back toward the base. "Yeah, you're right. If they're coming, they'll wait til dawn when it's warmer out. Bloody New York. Bloody USA. Pay your cosmic heating bills already."
Padraig frowns a little, before launching into a grin. "Y'know, I'm convinced this place is far more cold than back home is -- which just doesn't make sense, because--" And so the mutants wander back towards the base, banter and abuse well in hand. The joys of friendship.