2010-07-04: The Contest


Corrin_icon.jpg Erik_icon.jpg Jono_icon.jpg Rashmi_icon.jpg

Summary: Corrin and Jonothon are ambushed by more mutant haters. Rashmi and Erik soon arrive to help add to the mess.

Date: 07-04-2010

Log Title The Contest

Rating: R (V)

Mutant Town

Note: This log is unfinished. The last portion must still be added. Until that time it won't appear on the proper logs list. :)

A quiet evening, very warm but cloudy, so muggy. Sunday in Mutant Town is a quiet time, though, so there aren't many people on the streets. Lights shine in the windows of apartments all around, and the sounds of the city filter through the streets. There are a few people on the streets, driving or walking, most not hurrying. But all are watchful—there hasn't been a shooting in the neighborhood in a few weeks, but that doesn't mean there won't be one.
Corrin pauses on a corner. He's been doing walking patrols of the neighborhood at least three evenings a week. He was there for every one of the shootings, and he intends to be there for the next one… not that he wants there to be a next one. Not that what he wants has anything to do with it….

Jonothon meanwhile is sitting on the steps of the new building that appeared some days ago. It isn't open to the public yet, but he's been working hard on altering the interior. Right now, however, he's taking a breather. A black clad figure in the pale lights that surround the building. It's sure to be better illuminated than others around. That's when he notices Corrin on that corner. The Brit pulls ear buds away from said ears so that he can hear better. This has him frowning somewhat as he coils those cords to more easily place them in a pocket. That guy looks familiar. Oh right! The bar. That's one of the guys from the bar. «Hey, mate.» Offered quietly no matter the distance.

Corrin startles (of course), and turns to find out who is speaking to him. He doesn't realize it's Jonothon, not right away; the Brit is halfway down the block, and that voice didn't sound that far away. But, since Jonothon is the only person on the street actually lookig in his direction…
"Hi?" A bit dubious; he and Jono weren't introduced, after all, and last he saw, Jono was *on fire*… not something Corrin deals with well. He has to grit his teeth as he walks toward Jono. His attention does goes toward the new building, looking up at the fresh new facade—which means he doesn't have to look at Jono, and maybe see him catch fire again. "Nice… is this yours?" It went up fast. It must be mutant-built. "Were we ever introduced? I'm Corrin." More teeth-gritting, and he offers his hand.

Very aware of that teeth-gritting, the Brit pointedly doesn't burst into fire. For as long as he isn't attacked anyway. That hand is accepted and shaken. «Jonothon Starsmore, and no, it's not mine.» The building he means. «Belongs to someone else. I'm just loitering and dropping property values.» There's a smile for that however. «I never got to actually talk to you, but wanted to thank you for saving my life. You pulled me out of the line of fire once. Thanks.» See, he's not all bad. Just drawn that way.

Corrin looks puzzled. No fire (so far), so he's starting to un-tense. "You're not talking," he says, shaking Jonothon's hand. "I'm sorry, but are you a telepath?" He thought Jono was, but he wasn't sure, and… well. Curiosity rears its head. "And no problem. I don't believe in letting people ventilate other people."
Behind him, the street is still calm. Old Ma'am Tresky is closing up the corner store, and Joe the newsman is packing up his stand. A plain blue van is rolling down the street, followed by a giant white Olds from the '70's and a couple of rustbucket Toyotas from the '80's. Jono might see Joe look at the last vehicle in the line and just sink out of sight behind his stand, or he might not.

Jonothon nods confirmation that he's a telepath. «I'm mute otherwise.» So that's why he talks that way, no other means of doing so. Not unless he uses alien technology anyway. Tries to keep that bit hidden. «I still can say thank you.» For not letting him get ventilated. He really appreciates it. «You live here?» Means to say more, but even telepathically it's obvious that he kind of trails off to lean to one side and frown at Joe's disappearance. No, that isn't normal, for the man left property in the open. This can't be good. The Brit searches for the source and eyes those cars. «Now any reason why people would disappear at the appearance of some cars?»

"Yes…" Corrin trails off, too, as he realizes that Jono's attention has gone past him. He lets Jono's hand go as he turns and he tenses up again, ready for trouble. His attention flickers across the opposite sidewalk—Joe isn't in sight? Old Ma'am Tresky is dropping behind the stand, too… van, Olds, clunker, junker… junker. The driver is wearing a balaclava. Not good. A quick look at the other vehicles, even as he's fading sideways, away from Jonothon's side. The clunker is being driven by a man with muttonchop sideburns and a broad mustache. Who wears such things these days? "At least two bogies, Mr. Starsmore…!"
He doesn't see the blue van stop or the back doors open. Jono might not, either; the man in the Olds is pointing what looks like a cannon at him. It isn't; it fires a goop ball at the Brit… a bright pink goop ball. Sticky as hell, if it hits him….

«Christ.» There's a weary sound to that as he rises to his feet and finds pink goop headed his way. Jonothon spares a moment to thank Magneto as he throws up his arms and psy-fire bursts into being to catch that stuff. The Brit can make telekinetic shields.. they just aren't all that powerful. Catches that stuff, and unmindful of poor Corrin's fire problems, immediately blasts at that man with the Olds. Going to totally miss the blue van thanks to this. *PHOOM!* Good thing other people ducked for cover. It looks like there's more trouble on the streets. Jono makes an easy target now. Covered in flame, his hair rioting around his head..

Corrin YIKES! and he skitters sideways, away from the fire, mind whiting out with fear. But he knew this would happen… he knew it… he KNEW it… Fetching up against the side of a set of steps and tripping over them, he gets missed by another goop ball, purely by luck. Junker fired it at him; now Clunker is bringing one out and into line. His shield pings into existence as the driver fires. SPLORCH! Sticky stuff skips of the field and splatters all around!
The blue van disgorges four men, all dressed up in combat gear, all carrying goop cannons. The first two out fire at Jono. SPLORCH! SPLORCH!! Jono may not be paying attention to this—his shot on the driver of the Olds slammed the guy into the passenger seat and then into the passenger side door. Hands off the wheel, feet off the pedals, the Olds, still moving veers toward the sidewalk… and the newstand.

Rocking with the force, Jonothon finds himself pinned to the front door. He has no time to worry about the news stand. Mostly he just hopes that Joe got away. Unfortunately for these guys, the Brit doesn't need to move to use his powers. Using the goop, and the metal front of the building, Jonothon concentrates as he turns a large chunk of it all into projectiles. Glass, metal, and plastic goes in a wide spread before him. «Don't you idiots learn?» Asked as deadly bits are launched at high speeds.

Out of the Embassy doors, a dark-skinned face, framed in a curtain of bright red hair, peeks. Visiting the building was something Rashmi had looked forward to, from the moment she'd heard of its construction, and the sounds of shattering glass and rending metal have rapidly cast a pall on the experience. Dark eyes widen at the sight of Jono, wrapped in psy-fire, and she ducks back into the doorway, seeking to keep herself covered for the moment.

Corrin looks down at himself and the splashed goop — it has slid off him and pooled on the steps. Okay… don't let the force field go down. He looks up at the last car in line, the Clunker, and his sword appears in his right hand. He's turning his back to Jono because if he looks at him, he'll run, and … and. Old Joe and Ma'am are hiding behind the newstand and who knows what will happen to them if he doesn't help against these guys…?
Here goes nothing. "YAAAAH!" Charge the Clunker! The driver doesn't look impressed. He takes aim with another goop-gun shot.
Jono's barrage finds targets, in the van, the men piling out of it, the Olds, and the Junker. Of them all, the men have the most reaction; all four howl with sudden pain. One fires a goop ball into the street at his feet, gooping himself in place; another fires wildly, striking the door Rashmi just peeked through. Pink glop sprays through the gap before she gets it closed. The other two men don't fire
yet. One of them starts yelling into a comm device.

Grimly satisfied with the cries of pain, Jonothon pauses a moment to catch his breath. That was harder than it may have looked. For that his next action is far more simple. The Brit's psy-fire tendrils coil through the air to collect as much of that goop that's in reach. There isn't much near him anymore to be honest, but he flings it all right back at the men and their big guns. Maybe clogging up the guns will help. Doesn't notice Rashmi yet, but he's trying to keep an eye on Corrin. Even as he plays distraction as well as he can.

"Eep!" A startled noise, likely familiar to the immolated Brit, precedes Rashmi's hasty duck back into the building… Followed shortly thereafter by a disgusted, high-pitched shriek as the goop splatters through the empty doorway and into the redhead's hair. "WHY CAN'T THEY JUST BE *SHOOTING* LIKE NORMAL CRAZY PEOPLE?!"

Because 'normal' and 'crazy' are mutually exclusive concepts? The goop is rapidly hardening, which probably doesn't make Rashmi's day any brighter.
The goop Jonothon flings back at the men in the street splatters them. One gets his gun gooped, another gets his hand gooped to his gun. A third shouts, "It's a frakkin' X-er!" and he reaches behind his belt for some other weapon. The fourth man snarls and pulls what looks like a spray bottle out of a belt pocket and spritzes the goop around his feet. It turns purple and starts melting.
Corrin, meanwhile, is shot in the chest with a new goop ball. It *hurts*, but he's already moving forward too fast to stop. With a howl, he sweeps the sword across the windscreen of the Clunker, slicing through it like paper. The man inside screams and cowers.
…And the Olds plows into the newstand. It shoves backward and crumples under the old car's weight. Two terrified, pained old people scream in the wreckage.

Jonothon's spine straightens with that eep. He knows that voice! «Christ!» What is Rashmi doing here? «See if you can't help Corrin, gel?» Sent back to the young woman. «Just be careful. He's the glowing bloke with the sword.» Like duh! Really, the Brit won't mind if she stays hidden. He'd rather not see her hurt, but knowing Rashmi she's going to want to get involved anyway. For him, breather over, Jono decides that the guns have got to go. He really hates affecting people directly, but as he tries not to hear the screams of that poor couple, the man tries to take those guns away. Including the one that's being reached for. Will have to keep the spray in mind though. If only for a certain red-head.

The head peeks out of the embassy, nodding fitfully. At the sound of the old couple screaming in pain and terror, she lunges from the building, a half-dozen spheres of softly-glowing, translucent blue force fading into view, spinning rapidly around Rashmi's body in blurred, almost random orbits, making it an even toss whether she'll be hit by anything fired at her as she pelts toward Corrin's side, hardened goop clumping in her hair and doing well to identify her as a missed target.

One step to the hood of the car, the second to brace himself. Corrin, glowing like a golden… guy-in-a-t-shirt, swipes the sword back through the windscreen, cutting a gaping hole in it. He's grabbing for the driver in the next moment.
The driver is cowering. "Get away from me, mutie!" he shrieks, and he steps on the gas. The Clunker rams into the Junker and Corrin loses his balance, falling backward. Mind, he has a handful of the driver's shirt by then, so he ends up getting dragged through his windshield. "AAAAGH!"
Rashmi may want to dodge thisthe crash happens less than two feet from her, given how she's sprinting. At the least, she's going to get sprayed with broken headlight glass.
The guy whose hand is gooped to his gun is yanked forward toward Jono when Jono tries to grab guns. "Yeerk!" He's trying to fire it, but it is gooped good; the trigger is jammed. The guy gooped to the street isn't quite free yet, so the yank Jono gives him just puts him flat on his face. He yelps and there's blood
noses are delicate, you know. The third guy, the one not reaching for another weapon, fires once and then loses his weapon — gun and goop ball fly toward Jono. The ball will burst if it hits anything, such as Jono's hand or the gun. And the fourth guy gets his other weapon out in time for Jono to yank it, hard, wrenching his fingers. He yowls and holds his injured hand as the gun heads Jono-wards.
And the fifth guy, in the front passenger seat of the van, says, "Shit. This isn't going well." He hits the red button.

Oh look, he has guns! In as much as people will want to look at them, the Brit crushes their barrels before allowing them to fall around him. This way someone can still look at their electronics, but they can't be fired. He's also hit by goop. Which he doesn't appreciate. For the time being he ignores it though, even though it pins his arm to his side. No, this isn't going well, is it? Will go less well when Jonothon is reaching out again. Going to grab for the man with the broken nose. Wrap him in psy-fire and protect him. From 'friendly fire'. Emma might like having a mind to sort through, even if Jono doesn't think the man knows much.

Rashmi skids to a halt, practically falling over backward in a desperate attempt to get out of the way, hands flying up to cover her face. The spheres, however, have a different idea in mind, and in response to Rashmi's instinct of GET AWAY! they speed outward. Over and over again, spheres of pure telekinetic force hammer at the wreckage of the cars, each blurring into the metal at ninety miles an hour, bouncing back to do it all over again, the intent to hammer the cars away from her.

The first teke ball slams into the Clunker's driver's side fender, and the second into the Junker's driver's side back door. The double hit knocks Corrin's feet completely out from under him and he slams to his back on the hood of the Clunker. He loses his grip on the driver, who tries to get back inside, but another teke ball slams into the Clunker's bumper and knocks him into Corrin. Rinse, repeat, and Corrin, unsure what the hell is happening, drops his field just long enough to grab the guy. The field goes up, with them both inside, and now they're a slippery marble in the middle of a punching bag… or a bunch of punching bags. Ow…
Bloody nose howls as Jono pulls him up off the street. There's a moment of resistance, and then the last of the goop lets free and he's hanging in front of the black-clad young man, trying to pry psy-fire fingers off himself. The other men are in various states of 'not able to do anything at the moment'.
And then the sonic amplifier attached to that red button goes off. Ear-splitting sound at well over jet-engine decibel level suddenly floods the street. Every bad guy there has earplugs… how many of the good guys have the same advantage…?

No, Jonothon has no such protections, and he doubles over with hands to ears thanks to the pain. Slamming the bloodied man to the ground, the Brit can't tell which of the vehicles is making the sound, but he can blast the nearest one. (Well, the nearest one he didn't already blast.) His psy-fire riots chaotically around him, showing just how badly this is affecting him. «AHHHH!» The scream can be heard for miles too. Jono's kind of his friend's own worst enemy at times like this.

Nor, sadly, does Rashmi. Happily, while her spheres don't have quite the range as Jono's psy-fire, there is the little problem of a sixty-foot-diameter zone of ballistic temper-tantrumming, as she curls in on herself, her own pained voice lost in the deafening roar of the sonic amplifier.

And Corrin makes three. What's worse, he's got his force field wrapped around a Bad Guy… who promptly slugs him. Corrin gets his chimes rung and the field drops…
…putting both him *AND* the Bad Guy inside Rashmi's 60-foot diameter ballistic field. OW…!
Jono's on one edge of the ballistics. He may have an opinion about that. Clunker and Junker are both well inside it, and the Olds is just outside it and on the other side of the street. The blue van is also outside it. Jono's blind strike hits the Junker, which knocks it away from the Clunker and drops both Corrin and the Bad Guy onto the pavement — which is good, given that it takes them out of Rashmi's direct line of fire. Not that either one of them is still awake to appreciate this…
The guys in the blue van look around and swear, and call in help. They did NOT expect this much hassle. "Go pick up a mutie," they were told. "Bring 'em back for some party fun." But now they've got seven wounded and three busted vehicles, and it ain't fun no more.

Jonothon stands on the ruined steps to the brand new Genosha Embassy and he appears to be on fire. He also appears to be in a good deal of pain thanks to the sonics. Psy-fire tendrils lash out around him, digging spirals into the pavement and building both. There's no rhyme or reason to them. The Brit so very much wants to do something, but the pain is too much. He drops to his knees, hands almost pointlessly to ears.. then he realizes something and crawls back to that man with the broken nose. Can he steal those earplugs?

Rashmi pushes herself to her feet, staggering toward the van with her hands pressed uselessly over her ears, eyes streaming pained tears as she wavers with each step. The 'tantrum,' now, has a purpose, and her spheres slam against the ground at the very edge of their zone of effect, creeping closer and closer in the general direction of the hellish noise. *WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM* as the barely-controlled bludgeon-dozer approaches those assailants yet to be gone already.

Wild psychic screaming and then the crazy sonic sounds draws Erik's attention, as he arrives on the scene the pedestrian route, and winces. He holds out a hand and, just in case it survives the psychic bowling balls, crushes the electrical system. "God above, what happened here…"

Corrin is out for the count. So is the driver of Clunker, who is lying half-over him. The driver of Junker peeks up over the edge of his destroyed door, the one he was hiding behind, as the teke barrage goes past him. He's white-eyed with terror, and slithers out of the vehicle and away as fast as he can get. He runs away down the street, pausing only to pick up Clunker's driver on the way.
The driver of the Oldsmobile is also out, crumpled in the passenger seat of his vehicle. It is resting on the crushed remains of the newstand. Two people are trapped in those remains, but only one is making weak whimpers at the moment.
Of the four guys in combat togs, all four were sort-of able to stand and walk, so all four headed for the open back of the blue van. Bloody nose is the slowest, but he's still well ahead of Jono, when Jono has his revelation about the presence of earplugs. The van is revving up and moving as Rashmi stalks them, the men piled in the back, trying to get the door closed.

It doesn't improve any of the Bad Guys' days when the sonics go silent. "Not another one," mutters the one who pushed the red button. His window is open, so he takes aim on Erik with a goop gun. Here's hoping sticky pink glop surprises him enough for the van to get around the corner before he recovers…!

Jonothon misses his chance and slumps down to the pavement as the men reach their van. He's fighting the black that's creeping around the edges of his vision as best he can, but the black is winning. It'd be so nice to let the pain all go away.. his psy-fire is a dangerous thing surrounding him, digging small furrows into the ground, but really the Brit isn't able to do anything more.

The moment the noice ceases, so too, the spheres. Relief like a physical wave floods through the redhead, and she falls back to her knees, thin trickles of blood leaking from beneath her hands. Helpless, now, in the wake of such fury, but certainly it's clear by the wreckage around her the penalty for harming her.

Erik holds up another hand, angling a force field for the gloop to slide on along and away. He doesn't stop all of it, some gloops him and sticks the raised arm to his body. "Goodness, if only my force fields stopped physical things as well." He comments idly, as his other hand comes up. "What a wonderful world that would be." He offers as he exerts several tons of force to pull the engine block out of the van. "Summoner, get the people out of the news stand, I'll get the car out of the way as soon as I deal with these jokers."

"Well, hell," says the driver of the van, as his engine block parts company with the chassis and goes a-wandering. "If they'd told us Magneto was here…" He gives Erik a frowny-face through the windscreen of his vehicle. The guy who just tried to goop Erik shoots him a glare and reloads. Try, try again…
In the back, the rest of the team is now worried. The sonics are off, the van stopped… what now?! Who'da thunk a bunch of deadheads like the muties of Mutant Town would be able to stop *them*? They were a team, there were lots of them… and they got creamed!
The drivers of Junker and Clunker turn the corner at the far end of the street. They're gone.

Jonothon finds himself eternally grateful he doesn't have a stomach. Especially since right now his first instinct is to throw up. That's just the balance trouble he's having, and it will pass. The man forces himself to look up, squinting to see, and just frowns at who he mistakes for Magneto. Erik «Would you kindly stop one of them so we can get information?» The words are painfilled and soft, but there.» Then he's swinging his head, «Rashmi? Corrin? …Christ.» Those people! Staggering to his feet, his power almost holding him up more than anything else, Jono does an unsteady walk to that downed news stand. There he's going to do his best, head screaming, to unbury two people.

Erik's orders go unheard, as her ears are quite well defunct for the moment after coming under such punishing torment. But Jono's mind-voice gets through to her, she her head snaps up despite the pain. "Jono…?" Even she can't hear the words she speaks, but reflexes are reflexes, and she pushes herself to her feet as well, weaving toward the crushed newsstand, regardless of how badly her head spins, or how hard it is to keep her balance.

Erik blinks a little bit as the man fires again. Erik sends a wall of magnetism back at the gloop, forcing it back in to the window that it came from. The hand stays out, and all of the doors on the van lock, and the handles on /both/ sides crush. "Oh, they ain't going no damn where." He quotes, shaking his head. "Also, for the record, holding the hand out is for /theatricality/, I don't actually need them." He informs the van goons.

Erik blinks a little bit as the man fires again. Erik sends a wall of magnetism back at the gloop, forcing it back in to the window that it came from. The hand stays out, and all of the doors on the van lock, and the handles on /both/ sides crush. "Oh, they ain't going no damn where." He quotes, shaking his head. "Also, for the record, holding the hand out is for /theatricality/, I don't actually need them." He informs the van goons.

Under the shattered remains of the newstand… and the Oldsmobile now parked on top… Old Joe and Ma'am are barely alive. Joe is unconscious, bleeding from half a dozen wounds. Ma'am is mewling and trying to dig herself out. Unfortunately, eidetic pattern-matching isn't useful to her in this situation.
The driver of the van looks at his passenger, who is now gooped up. "Great going. You managed to make a bad situation worse." He shakes his head and pulls out a cell phone. Boop-beep-boop…

Jonothon all but tosses that car off the wounded pair. Maybe one day he'll learn enough to multitask well enough to have saved them, but for now all he can feel is guilty. That and the headache. He can't hear Rashmi either, but notes her there, helping. «Gel, we need to get them to the clinic. No ambulance will come for them out here. Not after this.» Said sadly, even as he digs out his cell phone and hands it to her. «I'm going to try to get them to help. ..And I can't hear a bloody thing, sorry.» Not sure he could mind link either. His mental voice is leaking what he feels in spite of trying not to.

Rashmi nods mutely to Jono's statement, reaching into her book bag to draw out her cell phone… and then pausing, nose wrinkling as she realizes the ridiculousness of trying to call 911 when even temporarily deaf. Glancing around, she wavers toward Corrin, kneeling and reaching a hand out, shaking the older mutant gently.

Erik shakes his head slightly at the scene. "Stay put…" He says, gesturing. A force field surrounds the van, encompassing it in an air permeable shell before he goes to help the others. The field may or may not disrupt cell phones with its' magnetism; if Erik knew they were dialing, he could make it so, but since he does not it is just there to contain him.

The cell call does go through — the Bad Guys may be idiots, but not all of them are total idiots. The van's driver has a good phone and although it's terrible reception, he gets his message out. When he completes the call, he closes the phone and glowers at the passenger, and tells him pink glop is everything he deserves, damn it. Do the anti-spray stuff himself.
The driver of the Olds was still in the Olds when Jono threw the car aside. And he's *still* in the car when it lands. He's very much the worse for wear…
Corrin is still out. Something about being beaten unconscious by 90 mph teke balls…
Old Joe is needing immediate help; bleeding and multiple bruises are dangerous for a man his age. He doesn't seem to have any broken bones, but that's the only good news. Ma'am, on the other hand, does have broken bones; it seems she was between the stand and Joe when the Olds hit it, and she took the brunt. But there's no head trauma — that's good….

Jonothon doesn't dial. He can't talk on the phone. Since Rashmi has hers he tucks his in a pocket and wraps the three wounded in psy-fire. Oh yes, Corrin too! «Would you see that maybe Emma, or Magneto, know about this?» Yeah, figured out which of the family Erik was finally. The Brit looks like he's a nasty hangover, but that doesn't stop him from lifting into the air with his injured cargo. «I'll repair the embassy when I can. Take care of yourself, gel?» For Rashmi. And yes, in as much as he's never done it on school grounds, Jonothon flies off, over a couple buildings, to take a more direct route to the medical clinic. Would stick around for more, but Joe needs help fast.

Rashmi watches Jono fly off, wounded in tow, a rather bemused expression on the redhead's face. Letting out a quiet breath, she sort of sits back in place, a hand rising to her head. A doctor would be a good idea for her as well, but for right now, it's more a matter of letting the excitement die away. Thankfully, Jono had already prepared her for this sort of situation, so it's not nearly as traumatic as it could be.

Erik shakes his head slightly. "Emma is easier to contact…" He says dryly, before he looks around now that the wounded are gone. "Now then…to deal with our friends…" He says, beginning to walk towards the van, his jacket flapping menacingly. MENACINGLY.

The driver of the van is waiting patiently for the results of his call. He's got his chin on his fist and he's watching his mirrors, and the guys in the back are being told to pipe down already. There's nothing they can do, so stop being jerks already.

He can't even roll the window down, thanks to the 'adjustments' Erik did to the van, so… he waits.

Erik walks right up through the force field, as he is able to part it, and wraps himself in a smaller one inside the bubble in case they have any tricks. He knocks on the side of the van. "You want to talk and be conscious for the cops, or not talk and be unconscious and covered in your own vomit?"

The driver watches Erik approach, chin still propped on his fist. He watches the light show as the force fields shift and shimmer — interesting, but nothing he can do anything about. He watches Erik knock on the side of the van, and listens to him talk, and he shifts enough to indicate the window. Hey, dude, that move says. You're the one who pulled the engine block out. That trashed the electrics, and that means the window won't roll down. Gonna do something about it?

Rashmi's fingers work at her cell phone, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Apparently, lacking hearing, the redhead is taking the more circular route, texting a friend of hers at Xavier's, to tell an adult, perhaps even this Emma lady, that mutant-hunters have attacked the building Magneto put up, but luckily Jono and Erik were around to keep it rather manageable, and how's Marshall by the way?"

Erik sighs slightly. He holds up a finger, and makes a quick cutting motion. A vent, an inch tall and six inches wide, appears at the top of the door. "Wouldn't want you clowns asphyxiating. It's a shame to die in a way you can't even spell. I have a force field up, it can stop rockets, don't try anything stupid, unless you want to be wearing lunch."

"Not gonna do nothing," says the driver. Behind him, his passenger says, "Gonna break your head, mutie!" which gets the driver looking at him and saying, "Shut up, dick." Then he turns back to Erik. "He's an idiot. But I figure you already knew that." His attention goes past Erik to Rashmi, then comes back to Erik. "We don't got no rockets, so…" he shrugs.

Message away, Rashmi pockets the phone, weaving back to her feet and approaching the visibly displeased Erik. Her eyes focus through the windshield, somewhat angry, somewhat hurt, looking vaguely like a puppy wondering what cause these strangers had to kick her. A double whammy, threats of violence and guilt. How unutterably unfair.

Erik nods. "A suggestion, in case you're not incarcerated in the future. Pick people whose parents were /not/ cousins." Erik offers dryly. "So, you want to avoid idiots in the future…tell me, whether or not you were doing this for kicks and giggles, or whether someone outfitted you. Trust me…given what this building is, I can totally see it. What was the purpose?"

The driver looks over Erik thoughtfully, while his buddy mutters imprecations from the passenger seat, among which is the comment, "Why'd they have to make this crap *pink*?!" The driver ignores him, looking at Rashmi instead, then back to Erik. Then he turns away from both and starts rooting around on the floor of the van, finding a receipt, which he examines and shrugs over, and then he's rooting around some more, finding a busted pencil. Hmm… now he pulls out a pen-knife. His buddy glares at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Rashmi's eyes narrow, leaning in to peer through the window. Behind her, the glowing blue force spheres circle, idling on a vertical orbit but ready at a moment's notice, should the window need broken. "Um…" She pauses, shaking her head at the sensation of knowing she spoke, but not quite able to hear the actual words beyond the vibrations of her voice. "Mr. Anderson… What's he doing?"

Erik shakes his head slightly. He slides a pen out of his pocket, and folds out exactly enough space in the metal to put a pen through. "You guys are killing me, you know that? And entirely not in the way you wanted." He offers. He keeps his eyes and energies on the driver and the van of dangerous men as he answers Rashmi. "I believe writing a note."

Give the mutie a kewpie doll! —Not that the driver says that in so many words. He eyes that pen, but shakes his head. "No, thanks. Got it covered." He sharpens the pencil with the pen-knife (that's what pen-knives are for… or were, once upon a time) and scribbles the note against the window. Finished, he offers it through the speaking slot Erik formed in the frame. "Knock yourselves out," he says, and smiles. It isn't a pleasant expression.

Rashmi looks very much on edge, at the sight of that smile, spheres whirling behind her a touch faster. Slowly, carefully, she scoots around the edge of the forcefield, glancing here and there. Smiles like that tend to mean impending trouble, if her time at the Academy has taught her anything.

Erik takes the note, and closes back up the slot (although he leaves the vent in the top of the door to make sure they don't suffocate. He steps back and away from the car, leaving them in the force field and him seperately in his, before he glances down at the note.

It's a web address, www.thecontest.com. The driver, watching Erik and Rashmi hover over the note. At the corner, a cop care and a taxi appear, and the smile comes back, triumphant. Some things just work out, you know? No matter how freaky the locals.

Erik eyes the car, the taxi, and the smile. His expression is hard and cold, and very Magneto-esque. "Gentlemen I suggest you find a different line of work. Because you've seen what my powers can do, and you know what that leads to. You ever attack anyone I care about again, and I won't disable your cars. I will give each and every one of you a stroke. I will leave you vegetables unable to even wipe yourselves, and make sure every single one of you has a nurse who happens to be a mutant. And you will scream inside every day, for the rest of your /long/ lives, while no one else can hear." And here Erik smiles, a deeply wintry smile, with a darkness in his eyes.

It's for things like this, sometimes it pays to be even temporarily deaf. Had she understood what Erik had said, she would be horrified by the cruelty of the threat, as things stand all she knows is that there is a contest, it can be found on the Internet, and because of it people are being hurt and terrorized and sometimes even killed. And all of this can be seen in the look of utter disgust on her face, disappointment that people who live in this same country, would find a game in terror.

The cops take control of the scene, asking their questions and making their notes. The taxi disgorges a pair of lawyers, both of whom look seriously irritated to be there. The driver's smile goes away at the sight of them, and it stays gone. —At least, while he's looking at them. When he slides a sideways look at Rashmi and Erik, it lurks in the corners of his eyes and his mouth.

Erik notes the smiles going away, but keeping in the eyes as well. He takes two fingers and taps his head with them to the Driver, before he moves over to Rashmi, motioning up to the sky and holding out an arm.

Rashmi blinks, looking up to the sky, then smiles a bit, nodding. Taking hold of the elder mutant's arm, the redhead takes a last look around at the assailants. "This is a horrible thing to do," she murmurs, just loud enough to be heard. "What could *possibly* be fun?"

The driver is now handcuffed and being put into the patrol car. A cop van has shown up to collect the others, and a coroner's wagon for the driver of the Oldsmobile, since no one did anything about him. The guys from the back of the van are regarding the bright yellow plastic sheet over the body with trepidation.

Not the driver. He watches Erik and Rashmi soar up and out of sight and he mutters, "Fun? You ain't seen for fun yet, girlie," and then he lets himself be put in the cop car. His part's over. He smiles.

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