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Summary: Armande and Jono chat while Chloe and Volk show up with news and supplies and something about a Goat.
Date: June 7, 2020
To Young To Fight
Rating: PG
The Future - The Underground - Gathering Area
Hidden in the maze of tunnels is the open area that the mutants have turned into their have, their home. Not wanting to risk electricity being detected down here, there are battery powered and gas powered lights leaving the place dark and damp. At least three mutants are always on guard down here at the entrance to the mutant camp and secret passwords and codes are needed to get into this room. Theres a large door with a large piece of wood barricading it as those down here dont take any chances.
Sitting on a few worn blankets on the floor of the gathering area, Armande currently has his father's guitar next to him, something he's rarely seen without, and his hands cupped, several inches apart though, in front of him. Inbetween his two hands can be seen a small ball of something just kind of hovering there as Armande is practicing his air control, trying to create a ball of spinning air. His face is deep in concentration as he's determinded to get better, determinded to be able to go fight next to those that call themselves the Rebellion.
Voices can be heard, softly spoken for distance and the wish not to disturb. Jonothon and a couple other of the adults move into the room, speaking to one another. The Brit doesn't look to be an adult really, for he barely looks mid twenties, much less the mid thirties that he really is. Still wears black. Still has that leather jacket he wore when Armande was small. Likely coveted by some others too. Too bad they don't know how many times he's rebuilt it over the years.
The topic? What it always is. How are we feeding everyone today? Battery power lets people grow some food, but as numbers grow, that doesn't answer everything. Jonothon notices the teen over there with that guitar and smiles. Excusing himself from the other two, and they look a trifle exasperated for that, the Brit makes his way over. Metal on his attire jangles a little, if quietly. "Hey." Said in hopes he doesn't make you blow up the guitar. Who knows how often he's put that back together too.
Like with most people down here, Armande looks ragged. Showers are a luxuary that's been long gone. "Hey Jono." He says since he's known the man for as long as he can remember. He moves his hands and the air just stops moving as if it was never spinning in a tight ball to begin with. "You think the next time they do a food run they'll let me go along?" Since it seems scavenger parties are common down here.
Jonothon has it easy in some ways. Doesn't need to eat or drink or shower. He's one of the few who doesn't have to look ragged, yet he does just the same. That's quite on purpose too, so that he blends in. "And what did I tell you last time you asked?" Go up on a food run? As if.. No. A bit over protective? Probably, but then most the kids don't get to go. Unless there are no other choices. Allow and he touches the teen's hair in a fond gesture before sinking down to the floor. "You need more control and some more training before that's allowable. You know that."
Armande does know that and it's the same ol' song and dance and the same old sigh. "No." He says grumpily as he allows Jono to touch his hair. "I'm getting better with my control though. I've been trying to practice." It's just hard to practice when there really isn't room to practice as it's a bit of a cramped space down here. Though he has gotten yelled at by some of the others down here for being a bit to anxious to practice.
"I know it's hard." Considering he hasn't been topside in years, Jonothon understands very well the frustration. "You want so many things and we keep you down here practicing." Resting back on his hands, the man can only shrug. Stretches his legs before him and crosses his ankles. "It's not forever, even if it feels that way. We do need you, Armande, you just aren't ready yet." If only things had gone differently.. the teen would be in Xaviers and having fun while learning.
Being an energertic teenager with a desire for revenge, it's tough to be trapped underground where nowhere to go but the next room where not much is different. Armande is trying not to sound bitter, as he's glad he's still alive but for a sixteen year old kid, it does feel like forever. "Is anyone really ready Uncle Jono? I dunno, just being told to sit and wait…I don't like it."
Jonothon is just as bitter. "So I should let you go die?" Asked quietly, and with that bitterness. "How is that honoring your father?" It's not any easier being the adult. "Do you know why we are down here? Honestly, do you even think about it? We wouldn't be here if it were easy up top. People who have trained for years against this kind of thing died. They are still dying. And I should let a partially trained kid with almost no combat experience go up and get more of them killed. Along with himself?" The Brit shakes his head. "Your revenge can wait. It's so meaningless now it isn't even funny."
A wind builds up around Armande protectively as he hugs his knees to his chest, he doesn't even realize he's doing it. It's not strong but it's a small barrier around him. "I know why we're down here, I know it's not safe up there, doesn't mean I don't like it. Doesn't mean I don't miss him." Doesn't mean that a sixteen year old kid will stop thinking that destroying what destroyed his life will make him feel better. "I'm not asking to fight against the Sentinels or the Hunters yet…just a food run, help us survive."
Rubbing at his face, Jonothon says apologetically, "I miss him too." Misses a great many people. "But that's what a food run is. I'm sorry, Armande, but that's why we have so little food. The sentinels know what we need, and we've picked most of the city clean. There are ambushes everywhere." Fingers run through hair and he sits up, pulling his legs in, hands between them. "Just be patient. As soon as we think you're even close to ready you'll be up there. We can't afford not to." Which the Brit hates.
The wind around Armande dies down a bit to a steady breeze, his hair being ruffled ever so slightly. The one good thing about his powers is with the breeze it makes the air feel a little fresher, even if it isn't. "I know." About the once he's ready and the not being able to afford not to, they've lost to many and they keep losing them. "I guess this is what it was like when I was born, the hiding and everything, like what Dad told me."
"Probably." What it was like when the teen was small. Jonothon doesn't know all the details however. "All I know is that it bloody well sucks." Sure his accent is faint now, but he sticks to the words he grew up with. "Know the funny thing? When you finally get to go on a run? You'll probably feel like you don't know anything at all and wonder why we sent you." There's a smile for that and psy-fire wafts around his head as he teasingly makes your hair ruffle in directions other than the winds.
"It does suck Uncle Jono." Armande says as he started calling him Uncle years ago and it's since stuck with the teen. The wind does eventually die down though. "Sometimes I use to wonder why Dad smoked so much, now I think I know why." Not like Armande has any plans to start up. "I'll be glad to finally get to go out on a run and do something, other than just kind of help try to recycle air down here. I know it'll be scary too though." As the last time he was topside was the day his father died.
The two are seated, Armande on some blankets, and Jonothon simply on the floor. The Brit is not at all changed from his time at Xaviers ten years ago, excepting for that he looks scruffier. Still early twenties, still wearing black, still with that silver and gold X-comm.. he's entirely unchanged appearance wise. "Getting cigarettes could be trouble too." Said with a smirk. "He did most of what he did for reasons, mate. We all do. Sometimes it's how we stay sane." Jono hasn't been up top in about as long. When they found out painfully how it it was for him to be tracked topside. He's just as much a prisoner as others.
Most people use the door, know the passwords, and generally behave in the expected civilized manner. This is not one of those types. The air in the center of the chamber begins to distort inwards, and some unattended objects begin to shift and draw slowly towards that odd center-point. Only the one here familiar with the precursor might warn the others on guard before it happens… a radial explosion of light and energy resolving itself into a six-foot diameter pool of blue-green energy. It shimmers and sits there in the air, like a lighted pond, before suddenly there's a box that flies out through it and lands on the other side. A large crate that's marked on the side with a faded SHIELD logo and is old enough to probably have been from the Cold War.
Before the crate has even hit there floor there is a womens voice, calling the daily password. Then with a yelp of excitement she adds "Ooooo, that one's mine!" And darts a way down the corridoor, not quite fast enough for a sonic boom but so very close. The rapid movement is followed by a squeek cut short, before Chloe finally saunters back into view. Chewing on something….
Armande would probably not have much a clue what the Cold War is, but as soon as the portal opens up, he jumps to his feet with his back pressed against the wall. There's always that moment of panic as the unknown enters the base and he hasn't met Volk yet, only heard the name. "Shit." Armande mutters as this can't be happening, this is supposed to be the only safe place right? Jono might be able to see he's shaking a bit as wind starts to build up around him, but then as soon a Chloe pops out of the portal and back, the wind dies down and Armande leans back against the wall. "Shut up Uncle Jono." He mutters since he just proved to Jono that he's not ready.
Jonothon is on his feet, and wrapped in fire, as that box appears. The reaction is automatic after all these years, but as he stands defensively before Armande, the Brit stops.. Why does he know that energy signature? Where's he seen it? Been a very long time indeed. "Calm down, Armande." From the feel of the wind passing through psy-fire than any other reason. Jono glances back to the teen, then to the arriving Chloe, and eyebrows arch. Well now, that's unexpected. Doesn't mean the psy-fire goes away. The Brit holds ready, just in case. "..What's this all about?" The air around him will tingle if passed through. Active power going on here!
What steps through could be mistaken for one of the Hunters. Dangerous-looking and armed to the teeth. but the one blazing blue-green eye that can be seen is at least a giveaway for Jono on who the person is. Carrying a bullpup assault rifle in his hands, a larger rifle slung over his back, weapons from almost every possible grab point you could think of… Volk appears right in front of Jonothon. Looking the telepath up and down, the red-eye ocular device over his right eye adjusts with a little whirring servo sound before finally he steps clear of the portal, and two more boxes just as old come through, but both look to be much heavier and much better built. And on one the crate's contents are at least fully clear. it's a cold fusion battery. Both these are suspended in auras that look similiar to the portal's energy, which after the two crates resolve themselve just vanishes… like it was popped like a balloon.
Chloe finishes chomping on whatever it is she's eating, a little drop of blood on her lip and a brief glimpse of a tail the only hints as to what it might have been. "It's cool. He's with me," she informs cheerfully. "You'd have thought he'd outgrow the dramatic entrances thing, but apparantly not. Been a long days hard work, I should have brought a book to eat along the way…"
Armande won't deny that he hasn't thought about what rat tastes like, especially when they're really low on food and had nothing but spam sandwhiches for two weeks. It's that gourmet day when it's switched up with Turkey Spam! "Some people just love a flare for the dramaic. Nothing wrong with that." Armande says quietly as he thinks about his father and how Kenta had a tendancy to be dramatic at times. "I'd rather be able to read a book than eat one. It's boring down here." Teens.
As opposed to Volk, Jonothon is anything but intimidating even with the psy-fire out. Thin, young, and on fire. His expression is puzzled as he looks over Volk for the being looked over. If he was startled by the teleporting he hides it very well indeed. Psy-fire is going to be all around Vurt soon enough. "Hello, mate. This for the underground?" Not sure what to ask, so this is it. Been a long time, and the changes hurt. A few boxes of supplies or something? Not like he's even touching the things with TK to find out. Not yet anyway. Totally ignoring what Chloe is eating. Hasn't in so long he's forgotten what it means to taste, and he certainly doesn't want to learn what that tailed thing tastes like.
The soldierly-looking man gives Chloe a rather rude gesture… but such seems commonplace enough, and to Jono's question there's a nod. Volk lets the crates rest on the ground, and then pats the one on the left, followed by a kick to the much older crate, before he points towards where one of the beds are, and then towards someone eating and drinking from the meager supplies. The handle on the crate on the right is then grabbed and he starts dragging it over to one of the currently empty sleeping areas. Which takes him right on a path towards Armande.
Chloe pouts, her hands flicking in return with an obscene gesture too fast to follow. "How's things on the home front? All quiet I hope," she asks, pacing back and forth. Content to let the boys do the heavy lifting. "It's a bunch of old SHIELD stuff from… I'm not quite sure where, but it was dusty and with the odd mountain goat. Hardly state of the art and quite how the good ole C-man knew about it remains to be seen."
Sliding back down the wall, there is still a bit of wind around Armande as he still lets his emotions control his powers at times. "Yeah, it's been quiet. Except for that one kid screaming again. And was there really a mountain goat? Did you guys run into any trouble?" Almost anxious to hear any stories about what's going on outside. "Need help?" He asks the masked man.
Jonothon smiles in spite of himself as gestures are exchanged. Not that he's relaxing, but very much amused. Doesn't move from his spot even as Volk heads to the sleeping area, which Armande is in. That has the Brit wary, but he only watches for now. If Volk wants to sleep, far be it for Jono to stop him. "Quiet." Answering Chloe about things are here as he turns back to her. "Little changes down here." Boring, hungry, and dirty. How else can it be? "Doesn't need to be state of the art to help, thanks." Any kind of equipment can be helpful to the group. And with that he goes to see what is in the crates. The ones that weren't dragged after Volk anyway.
Volk stops dragging the crate, and just sits down on it at the foot of the chosen bunk, staring at Armande for several moments, looking over his shoulder at Jono for a moment and nodding before a shrug is given and he reaches into an armoured shoulder pocket. Taking out a PDA unit, one that looks like it has some old logo scraped off the back, he flips the screen up and types something out, turning it to face the boy, -Three mountain goats. Chloe ate one. The others ran off. These are what's left of some raiders from along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. Just scavengers preying on villages who's only crime was trying to live. Tell Jonothon the crate has a cold fusion battery, but it only has about five percent of it's power left. I give it a month before it craps out, unless you can get someone who plays with nuke energy to refresh it. Now get me some water, kid.-
The other crate has blankets, clothes, some slap-dash medical supplies and food… none of which smells local, and on more than one piece of clothes there looks like some spots of fresh blood. The only real treasure in there is a clay jar of goat's milk that still smells mostly fresh.
"I would have caught some for everyone. But it was all 'mission this and mission that'," Chloe laments, licking her lips and sighing at the memory of a good meal. "Next time I'm teleported on a supply run it better be somewhere they still have nightclubs. As for trouble… To be honest it wasn't much of a fair fight. On a scale of one to ten, with ten requiring guns, they were maybe a two. Which is soup spoon or perhaps a salad fork."
"At least someone got to eat something." Armande mutters as he looks over at Jono since he's just kind of curled up agaisnt the wall in the main room. "Jono, this guy here says that it's a cold fusion batter, not much juice left in it but maybe it'll last about a month." He looks over at Jono, almost hopefully. "I could probably handle a 'two' mission." Yeah, he knows he's hoping for a lost cause before getting up, making sure the guitar next to him doesn't fall over, and getting Volk some water. It's in a plastic glass but at least it's drinkable.
Not reading the PDA, the Brit is instead going through the first crate, which happens to be the one with bloodied clothing and medical supplies. The blood doesn't phase him. When you have no other choices, you wear what you have. "Thank you." To both Chloe and Volk, for the supplies are much needed - slap dash as they are. "Maybe you can run down some roast next time, gel." Teasing Chloe about the goats. Armande gets one of those adult looks. So not happening. "Didn't we just talk about this?"
The jug of milk earns a wrinkled nose, but as several other people come in, drawn by the goings on, Jono motions someone over to take it. The crate soon empties, and even that is taken off for use elsewhere. The Brit isn't shy about giving orders where things go, and people follow them for the most part. That's his job down here - organizing. There's interest in the battery though. Lots of interest. It disappears almost faster then the medical supplies do. A month is a month.
The water glass is taken and the balaklava is rolled up, revealing a recently-received bullet crease, the blood seepage from it absorbed by the turtleneck that Armande can see is now stiff with blood. Downing it all, the wound seems to be almost ignored by the man before Volk passes the glass back. At the mention of wanting to go on a missing, the young man is given something close to an analyzing look, before he then turns his head to Jono, and draws one of the pistols from a shoulder rig, tapping the side of it and pointing to Armande, as if asking a question.
"Honestly? If I were you I'd be glad to avoid missions," Chloe says distantly, managing to continue her pacing through the press of people taking supplies away as if the whole routine had been choreographed before hand. "What you're doing here is just as important and you'll have far less trouble sleeping. Trust me on this. Co.. Vork has a point, missions are best kept for people with blood on our hands already."
Looking at the gun, Aramande shakes his head. "No, I've never fired a gun before. And you're hurt." He says as he goes to get another cup of water and some med supplies that are already here. You don't get stuck living down here for years withouth learning some first aid. "Let me look at that." Armande says as he tries to see if Connor will let him patch him up a bit. "Both you and Uncle Jono." He says to Chloe with a frown.
Looking to Volk for the question, and away from people scampering off with goodies, Jonothon shrugs about Armande. Even if the teen doesn't recognize the man, the Brit does. Just can't bring himself to ask those painful questions is all. Of course Jono himself supposedly died in the sentinel attacks with so many others. "He's limited control over his powers. If that's what you're asking." A wan smile as he isn't quite sure what the question is. "I haven't allowed him topside because he's no experience at all. You know what New York is like these days." And teleporters are a rarity. Armande's look is ignored. What else can he say? "You need medical attention?" Did notice the blood. Would let Armande on a mission, if it were one the kid wouldn't get people killed on.
Reaching a hand up for a moment to stop the boy, there's a roll of the eye, and then a shake of the head. The HUD device over his eye is removed, and Volk unclips the entire array, and lets it drop to the bed. Then the balaklava is removed, revealing his bald-shaved head, the claw-mark scar along his head above the ear, and one along his lip and chin… as well as a rough tattoo on the other side of his throat that says 2018. The ALICE harness and the kevlar stealth jacket go next, each with a heavy thunk, and finally the turtleneck. Two years of war has given the man a prisoner physique, pock-marked and scarred from wounds here and there, without mutant healing to leave the body clean. This also reveals a large bruise on his ribs as the cup is taken again, and downed with resigned ease.
"Think about it this way. Some of the things which get done on missions are so bad that when the fighting is over people will want trials," Chloe explains, her hand blurring and a lit cigarette appearing in her mouth. "Not just of them. Us too." She inhales deeply and half the cigarette turns to ash.
Armande doesn't even recognize Connor but then he hasn't seen him since he was a kid, long before his powers manifested and before life went to hell in a handbasket. He doesn't say much but sits down kind of grumpily after handing Volk the med stuff if he needs to use it on himself. "Chloe, I watched my Dad get killed. I know bad stuff happens out there. I just hate being stuck down here."
"You were the same way, Chloe." Jonothon notes with wan amusement, for all his expression is serious. "Nothing I said would keep you kids from rushing right into trouble the moment it appeared. Now it's his turn." Not that this makes the man happy, but Armande is that age. It's going to happen as soon as trouble reaches the teen. As he speaks he watches Volk. Jono himself wouldn't have recognized the man if he hasn't known the power signature. Sometimes he feels he's the only one who hasn't changed, and only because he can't. "Anything we can get you?" Asked of Volk, but he means both.
Volk shakes his head as he pours some water on the wound, and then takes up a rag to clean it out. one eye twitching shut as he gets the dirt and blood free, and then reaches over and gives Armand a firm grip on the shoulder, and meets his eyes, something almost indiscernable passing from them, and then just a subtle nod before he takes up some moonshine-turned-anesthetic, and pours it right onto the spot. Squeezing the boy's shoulder hard for a moment, the discomfort passes, and he proceeds to actually start stitching himself up… poorly, but still enough to show he's had to do this kind of thing before.
"It's another thing entirely to /be/ the bad stuff. I'd tell you how many bandits died for these supplies but I honestly can't remember," Chloe points out, blowing out a series of smoke rings before finishing her cigarette in another huge gulp of smoke. "And I never really wanted to rush into trouble. I only really went to Barnes because they said they could regrow my hand. Which, admittedly, they could.
Armande just watches Volk as he cleans his wound, and doesn't complain, or even flinch, at the hard squeeze, but the look in the eyes, it gets to him a bit, gives him an odd feeling in his stomach. "I think I'm gonna see if anyone on guard needs anything." He mutters as picks the old guitar that was his fathers and goes to the front area. There's at least a bit more food now, so who knows what's on the canned food buffet tonight.(re)
Watching Armande depart, there's a long exhale and a shift in Volk's jaw before he just closes his eyes and shakes his head. Motioning after the boy as he uses duct tape to bind some gauze and seal over the wound, there a look to Chloe that seems slightly wistful but at the same time harshly critical. Pushing up off the box, he reaches down and flips the top off, taking out a pair of old Russian bayonet blades, and tosses them towards Chloe, then rubs his fingers together, like as if he was holding fresh dollar bills… and just smirks at her.
Jonothon drags fingers back through his hair and sighs as Armande leaves. Kids. Still feels he has no idea how to handle them. Leaves the Brit not certain what to say, so he goes to sit on a makeshift chair not too far from where Volk sits on a bed. He looks curious at the blades, but simply doesn't ask. Considering the state of the world, this has still been a strange day. The psy-fire does finally fade though, even though his hair continues to ruffle of its own accord.
Chloe snatches the blades out of the air without the slighest bit of trouble, then flicks them back into the ground by Volks feet. "Charming. Old school friends go for a nice relaxing vacation someplace sunny and it ends with him throwing knives at me!" she says, shaking her head with dismay. "Why did I never meet any /nice/ boys?"
Rolling his eyes and motioning towards the blades once more, he tilts his head and gives Chloe a slightly 'What the fuck' look before picking them up out of the ground. This time Volk walks them over and presses them to her, handles first, leaving them with her before he goes to sit back down, wincing at bit as the bruise on his side looks rather harsh. He starts to poke at it, and then slumps a bit before reaching for more of the 'medical' duct tape. Sitting on a crate at the end of the bed that he dragged there himself, the man is topless, all his various weapons and armor now resting in a pile in front of him.
"Take your vacations in the rough part of town, Chloe," Rashmi's voice calls from a bend in a nearby access tunnel, "and you're *never* going to meet the nice boys. It's a fact of life." As she emerges, it seems she took a few bumps and bruises yesterday; beneath her bodysuit, a shoulder is bandaged, and ribs are taped. Though the movement causes her some pain, she makes her way toward the others, leaning against a wall with a nod to Volk. "So how'd it go today?"There's a snort from Jonothon, "Because you'd be bored with one." A nice boy he means. Chloe gets bored enough as it stands. He looks over as Rashmi appears, smiling to the woman. "They entirely failed to bring us a couple of goats, but did bring medical supplies and clothing." Looking back to Volk, all he can think to offer is, "Anything you'd like repaired? Since you don't let us offer medical aid.."
