Players: Connor & Quenton
Summary: Quenton comes recruiting for a fight that someone else is already getting ready to start!
Date: March 22, 2010
Log Title: Picking Your Posse
Rating:PG-13 for Language
Xavier Mansion - Kitchen
This kitchen was designed to feed large numbers of people, and looks it with its bright white walls and stainless steel appliances. The stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher are all larger than normal. There is an island with stools around it for people to sit and eat around along with a table for twelve by the windows in back. Along the wall is a hole in the wall looking into the dining room so food can be passed back and fourth. Anything you want to cook or eat in the kitchen you will find the food and supplies to do so.
Word got around campus really quick when the self defense classes Connor normally held were cancelled on Tuesday, and almost daily, the Blackbird has lifted off from launch area for short flights and landings. But intense training and work requires equally intense things like food. So taking a break from whatever he's been up to recently, Connor is in the kitchen. Caramel-scented espresso roast percolates in the machine, and on the small kitchen table is a serving bowl full of yakisoba with chicken. He's not even in normal clothes these days, preferring to wear his 'work' uniform around campus, the grey and black X-men style outfit marking him as much an outsider as one of the family.
Enter Quenton. The cigarette (!) between his lips is taken from them after consideration of the younger students, and is slipped inside a pack and slipped away in his jacket. His hand lifts to his hair as he approaches the table, leaning his weight against it so it doesn't get destroyed. "Been meaning to talk to you," the Mansion's most physically inclined student at the time informs, schooling the anger inside him so that he can hold a conversation. He's wearing his squad uniform, jackket and hooded vest included.
"My fault," Connor replies, barely even looking up from what looks like a map that has a series of shorthand notes in permanent marker on it, and compass coordinates up on the top-hand side, "Phone's on the charger, and I left my spare battery at home. Not exactly able to run back and get it at the moment. What can I help you with?" Sounding almost like Mordin Solus from Mass Effect in how he nearly clips his tones, and cuts out extraneous words, but in consideration of the moment, that map is put aside. This does not however stop him from getting up to set up his espresso.
"Werewolves and Braveheart rejects that might have something to do with vampire mobsters? What can I say? I'm optimistic," Quenton mutters. "I want to help the girls. I'm eighteen now. I've done the saving people gig. I have experience and I'm more then capable of putting the hurt on if I have to." He wets his lips. "I'm going to you before I go to Frost because you're the one I trust. So. Do you know anything, and if not, are you with me or not?" he asks, releasing an exhale.
Connor takes down a second mug, and sets up a second espresso there. Someone either took a barista class, or he's handled the machinery often enough that his movements are all calm efficiency, "Local vampires? Hadn't thought to check if there was such a thing…" Going for his food though, he puts a hand up to pause anything else Quenton might say until he's got a good half-dozen bites into him, "Actually, you're coming with me. I've got an idea where all the girls were taken, who has them, and right now the mansion is lending resources for a rescue operation." Another pause, and another few bites, "Ever dealt with magic before?"
"Only magic I ever needed was my fists," Quenton informs Connor while he watches the other man set up a second mug. His eyes drift to his left hand, and he closes his eyes, coming up with a plan if the cup is for him. Hand slips through handle. It'll be awkward, but it's better then breaking the thing. Of course, the thing might not even be breakable, but he'll take his chances. "But to answer your question? Nope."
A simple nod in response is given, "Well… that's part of the problem. There's magic involved. Conventional intelligence tactics and even physics kinda gets chucked out in the recycling. I think where they are is being hidden with magic, so I'm not looking for the location itself, but the surrounding landmarks that the person who I got my information fro noted." Picking up the map, he turns it around so Quenton can look at it, "And we're getting you down to the uniform fabricator. Training uniforms don't have extra armor, communications gear, or even weather protection." Another rather pregnant pause broken by the slurp of noodles, "This is where you either laugh because you think I'm messing with you or you think I'm genuinely nuts. We're going after Dracula."
"Uniform fabicator," Quenton echoes. "One of my powers make me tough, very tough," he mutters, "But you're the boss at the moment. As long as I get to keep the jacket and the vest, that's fine." He looks over the map, fingers almost moving to touch it, but he draws his hand away. His nose twitches as he glances up to Connor at the information on who they're going up against. "Are you… suggesting that uh… Dracula's real? As in, Count Dracula?"
Connor looks up as he takes the map back, "Vlad Tepes, Count Dracul, Dragon of Wallachia… sadist, warrior, general badass… and yes… vampire lord. He's real. And the people who told me so can be counted as very reliable. The creatures that kidnapped everyone were his minions… yes, I said minions… this is magic, you use terms like that… and so we have to expect to face them." Not seeming to be put out by giving out this information, more food is devoured, showing either someone has a hellish metabolism, or he's just been working hard and needs the recharge. Food is chased with coffee, and then he goes on, "I've got notes on some of the creatures described, and notes on items to face off with the big man himself. But if we can, this is a rescue mission. No fancy heroics, no going Michael Bay on the tower, no last minute sacrifices. We're no good to our friends as Transylvania buffet."
"Can a vampire bite break my skin?" Quenton asks, more himself then Connor, his fingers moving up and digging into his flesh, already breaking skin and drawing blood. "And I got it. Get the girls and go. But I'm also there to find out if there's any information, however scarce, on the Ferelli family, specifically the one who killed my brother, Romeo Ferelli. But Romeo sounds very… tame next to the real fucking Dracula."
"Magic." Connor replies, extending the syllables a bit, "Assume they can… which also means whatever the X-gene does for us, it doesn't make you immune to vampirism. I asked Miss Frost if she could built a mental scrambler command into my head in case I got captured, but she refused… said it was already too messed up inside." Yeah, he went there, and he keeps going, "I'll make you a deal… I've got no idea what the Ferelli thing is about, but if you shelve it and work with me on this, I'll make sure that the best intelligence gathering resource on earth since World War II will be giving me a file to give you on Romeo Ferelli." He hasn't really been making eye contact until now, but then he looks up at Quenton, and says in a softer voice, "There's a huge part of me curled up in a ball in a dark corner and crying like a wounded dog right now, but these are friends. And even the ones that aren't are still people. But between us and them is going to be a lot of things for you to take a lot of anger out on." And that makes him smile, ever so faintly.
"Right," Quenton mutters, wiping the blood that had gathered off on his shirt. "I asked Shane for help at first, but with this new information, her and Nick are staying here." His tongue draws over his lips briefly. "Why is there a huge part of you curled up?" he then wonders, furrowing his brow. The last comment causes his lips to twist in something of a cruel smile. "Yeah, well. Vampires killed my brother. I've more then a lot of anger to release. I won't lose control, though."
Connor stops everything he's doing, and looks down at the map, "Because if I had my powers, this would be easy. This would be a cake walk. I'd go in there, and I'd stuff Drac's ass so far down his throat that he's shit a moebius strip. But I don't have anything Quenton. I don't want to be the weight that drags the rest of you down, and I'm afraid I will be. Everyone else who's going, once I get it sorted out, is going to have powers, and have the stuff to back it up. I'm not Captain America. I never punched Hitler in the face… I'm scared of one of a million things going wrong, and blowing up in my face, and about the only reason I'm not letting it get to me right now is I'm too determined to let it." Determination also seems to come in the form of a pill, a bottle taken from his pocket and opened, and a single one popped in and swallowed dry.
"Who else is going?" wonders Quenton, while he looks down at the map again. "And you're a crazy good martial artist. You'd probably kick Jet Li's ass." His red eyes flick down to the bottle of pills, and then lift up to Connor's face. "What's that?" he then wonders, the tall mutant abrubtly tense.
:holds out the bottle for Quenton to see, "Busipirone. Anti-Anxiety medication. It's not addictive, and
Connor holds out the bottle for Quenton to see, "Busipirone. Anti-Anxiety medication. It's not addictive, and about the only side effect it has for me is dry mouth. I've been on it since I came to the school two years ago. Good stuff for managing, just need to remember to take it. Usually I have my phone to remind me." That goes back away, and he then adds, "A friend by the name of Travis. One of his abilities is to heal, so if the girls are hurt, he can get them up and going… and I'm going to want someone else about as strong and tough as you. I figure if we're going to knock on the door of the Dragon, we should be loud enough to be heard, right?"
"Busipirone," Quenton echoes, reading the label. "Alright. Just as long as you're in control. I'm supposed to be the wild one." He rolls his tongue in his cheek. "Is there anyone else, or just us three?" he asks, while his fingers lift and he digs them into his cheek. As many times as he's broken skin, it's remarkable there's no scars on his smooth features.
"Right now, just the three of us. I'm waiting for something solid before I call Travis to come up here." Connor replies, and then proceeds to scarf down the rest of his food. Oddly for a moment, there's an odd sort of 'wiggle' in the air around him, as if reality was just water. It's a trick of the eyes it seems, and as soon as it was there, it's gone again, and he then says, "Thanks."
"What the fuck was that?" Quenton says rather brashly, flicking his gaze about the… space around Connor. "Thanks for what?" he then wonders, crinkling his brow, still as tense as he was before when he saw the pill bottle.
Connor looks back at the window behind him, some noodles still in his mouth which are slurped away and swallowed, "Huh?" Comes the brilliant reply before he sets the empty bowl on the table, adjusting the chopsticks a couple times, "For agreeing to come with, even knowing what's coming at us. Bravery isn't about not having fear. It's about acknowledging the fear, and not allowing it to rule you."
"The air around you… rippled," Quenton mutters, brow furrowed. "It fucking… rippled. Like water. Or jello." Yes, Quenton's classy when it comes to superhuman phenomenon.
Connor stands up and takes his bowl and mug over to the sink to wash, "Probably a trick of the light, or something else… or maybe some weird afteraffect of being around someone who used magic. I don't know… but I gotta get back to work on finding where we're going. Soon as I know that, sooner we can move. I'll catch up with you later about the uniform… and I'm serious about it. What if they have a spell that cancels powers? I want you to be ready just in case."
"Huh. Right," agrees Quenton, eyeing Connor with no suspicion spared. "I'll go and have at that uniform fabric - whatever. Then I'm on the first flight to Romania," he mutters. "I'll fly there myself if I have to. I won't make any moves 'til you guys get there, though."
Connor replies once more as he's putting his drying bowl up in the cupboard, "And do what? You don't speak Romanian, you don't know where they are, and if you show up, there's a good chance that it tips the hand of Dracula that someone's coming for him actively." There's nothing deprecating, or belittling in what it says, just matter of fact, "The Danger Room has files on every enemy that the X-men have faced. They use it as training tools to keep up in the field. I'll bet there's a program in there for each of the minions used to kidnap our friends. If you want my suggestion… get in there and learn how to fight smart. I've got permission to fly the Blackbird. So… once I know where, we're less than twelve hours away with no customs, or baggage check, or crappy seats."
"Pretend I'm a tourist. Besides, he went to a mutant school, a highly classified and secretive place, and kidnapped some girls. He has to know that eventually someone was ging to come for him," Quenton mutters, while he wets his lips, rolling his shoulders again.
Connor exhales hard, and then pauses at the doorway to look over his shoulder at Quenton before departing, "I'm going to say something to you someone recently said to me. I would ask you to stay safe, but then you'd lie to me just to reassure me. So be smart, allright?"
"Me, smart," Quenton murmurs as the man walks away. "That's a laugh. I'll do what I do best," he agrees, at least, rolling his tongue in his cheek as he watches after the other man.
