(no subject)
It's a Thursday evening, the evening where most of New York is lounging in their living rooms, watching CSI, and only the most devout are putting in time at the gym. But that's just fine with Pyro, perched outside Equinox, the primo spot for gym bunnies such as one Paul Spraig, who is no doubt inside, showering after his workout, if his normal routine is any indicator. "So Paul's the blond," Pyro repeats the final instructions. "I'll handle his friend. Whatever you do, /don't/ hit the friend. He gets to watch. And tell the tale."
Masia looks up from her crouch to tie her shoe and twists her lips into a smirk, quiet until a young woman in career clothes passes between them and into the gym. "I got it. What's the matter? Afraid I'm gonna hit /you/ by mistake?" She tugs the hem of her lycra exercise pants down on her leg and then pushes up to her feet.
"You'd like to /think/ I'm afraid of you, wouldn't you?" It's warm enough out that Pyro's forgone a coat in favor of a hooded sweatshirt. The easier to manhandle, and not as bad to replace if it gets a bit singed. He toys with the sleeve, pushing it back just enough to reveal a band of blue underneath, and freeing the flame mechanism. "Still, pretty nasty way to die, half your own age, half your granny's. Almost as painful as being burned alive, I'm guessin'."
"Me? Nah. Why would I want anyone to be afraid of me? I'm all sweetness and light," Masia retorts, eyeing the blue band with bored interest. "Hope he's been investing for retirement." White teeth flash in an easy grin as she runs bony fingers through the mess of brown curls falling in her face.
Pyro snorts, though at which of the comments, he doesn't elaborate. The sound of the door opening catches his attention, and he gives Masia a small nod, as two men exit, gym bags swinging in hand. He continues to lean against the wall, waiting as they walk past and get several strides away before calling out, "Hey, Paul. Wait up!"
The man pauses, at his name, though the other takes another few steps before turning, and Paul's searching finally stops on Pyro, then on Masia. He looks them over, finally decides that no, he doesn't know them, then replies, "Yeah, I'm Paul. What's it to you?"
Masia saunters up behind Pyro and shoves her hands into her jacket pockets to warm them up. "You remember Kevin? Kinda scrawny kid?" she asks conversationally, shoving a piece of gum into her cheek.
It takes a moment for Paul to make the connection, but then he says "Oh, yeah, that mutie kid with the freaky eyes," he sniffs at the memory. "Taught his sorry ass not to come muckin up our gym. What of it?"
"Wrong answer, mate," Pyro says, a cruel smile forming as he pushes off from the wall, pushing up his sleeves. "And we're going to make sure you spend the rest of your...well, shorter...life realizing /why/." A fireball appears in his hand, whipped at the other man with enough force to knock him off his feet and send him skidding some feet further away.
Masia pulls her hands out of her pockets and cups them together to blow on them while Paul stutters and gapes and only /then/ thinks to turn and run. Masia grins.
She sketches a vague circle with her index finger and suddenly, Paul screams--the sound gurgling on and on and growing thinner and weaker as his features start to alter. Hair grows thinner and lighter, then sparser. Skin sags, weight drops... "Oops. I think I missed his feet."
Meanwhile, Pyro has allowed the friend to find his feet, though he also finds himself surrounded by a thick very hot waist-high ring of fire. Neatly keeping him in place, with minimal harm, and with no obstruction of the spectacle before him. "What are you doing to him? What are you going to do to /me/? Someone HELP!" he calls out.
"Paul here is learning a little lesson about respect. By giving up the best years of his life. You," Pyro says, a sharp glance at the yell. "You, if you shut your mouth, nothing. You didn't do anything. That I know of. So you get to tell the tale of what happens to people who don't respect mutants."
A minute passes and suddenly, Masia retraces her finger movements to drop Paul back into current time. He collapses immediately, a quivering, twitching pile of weakened bones and stooped shoulders and decaying clothes. And beautiful feet. Masia glances at Pyro and lifts a brow. Like my work?
Pyro walks over, leaving only a bit of thought still holding the other captive, as he stands over the twitching human. One hand reaches down, easily tearing away the aged shirt and jacket, and rolling him over with the toe of his boot to reveal the shriveled form, wrinkled, vericose-veined and age-spotted. "Pathetic," he says, aloud, giving a final kick at the man. With a snap, the ring of fire vanishes, and he nods at the other. "Might want to get your friend to the hospital. Geriatric ward, most likely. And you'll probably need to find a new workout partner. Hopefully someone a little more open-minded, next time."
Pyro enlists Masia's unique abilities to teach a mutant-hater a long-lived lession. The feet don't get the message.