(no subject)
Back on the island. Think I'm feeling better than I have in a while. More calm. Getting away for a while, putting other concerns aside, it seems to have let me focus again.
But goddamn, it's good to be hydrated again.
Need to talk to Toxin. I've cooled off enough and more than enough time has passed.
It's an hour or two after dawn, and Erik is currently lying flat on the shadowed side of a dune opposite the camp and the sunrise approximately two or three hundred feet away. Mystique's footprints lead invisibly away, down the dune - leaving him alone, silent and watchful. Waiting.
Derek is on watch, sitting in his desert camouflage gear. His skin has gotten darker, from a warm milk chocolate to a darker semi-sweet. Unsurprisingly, he looks hot and lifts his hand to rub sweat off his forehead. "I'm gonna walk the edges once," he tells his partner on watch. "Lose sight of me for more than five? Start wakin' people. If I scream like a girl, you may assume I could use a hand." His voice is dry as his tone as he rises from his seat.
As vast and open as the desert is, it still has a hard time concealing the well-trained. Take one, for instance, who dresses from head to foot in a sand-colored ninja outfit, complete with tan goggles to hide the eyes. He's been laying, bored, for several /hours/ now while Magneto 'chatted' it up with Mystique. More like a few minutes, but that's no excuse in Toad's book. "Can we get on with it, then," he mutters into his headset, tired of being literally underfoot. Derek's partner on watch is about to get a rather rude surprise that has nothing to do with him personally.
If Erik's temper flared before, it's nothing compared to the steely-eyed glare the direction Toad is in gets at the sound of his voice - static screeching through the headset in electromagnetic answer. When he speaks, however, his voice is calm. Very calm. The sort of quiet, deadly calm that Toad is probably rather familiar with, after all this time. "Take off that ridiculous mask. I want you to tackle Mr. Johnson." Pausing to hiss a breath out between clenched teeth, Erik flexes his right hand into the sand at his side and rolls over. "That's an order."
Around the edges of the camp goes Derek. Given the number of recruits at this point, it is not an exceptionally large camp or an exceptionally long walk. Given the heat, however, Derek has no inclination to take it fast. He only really got up to unstick himself from his clothing. Every so often, he passes out of his partner's sight behind a tent, but the trip is never particularly long. Eventually, he goes around Fred's tent, which is naturally the largest.
"Tackle 'im with me mask off?" Toad sounds less than enthused, but that followup 'it's an order' seals the deal for him. Damn. Two quick puffs of dust rise up out of the sand near the feet of Derek's watch partner, Padraig. Unfortunately for him, the second he looks down to see what it was, his right ankle is grabbed with one hand and the corresponding thigh is stabbed with a syringe full of Toynbee Brand Sleepytime Serum. He's out before he can give Derek the word. Toad springs from his sandy hiding place only a moment after, but doesn't tackle just yet. Derek's... a bit of a distance away. And... Toad's got Padraig. A grin spreads across his mouth, which is revealed as he pulls off his mask as ordered. One order, check. The other, however, is sorta disregarded as he improvises. Toad leaps most of the distance between himself and Derek, taking Padraig's unconscious self with him, then kicks the poor recruit the rest of the way.
In the meanwhile, there's something rather unusual going on beneath the sand. A bulge surfaces near the base of the dune Erik is perched upon - two or three feet across, and moving steadily for Derek's current position, leaving a trail of disturbed sand in its wake. Then a second. And a third. Like demon moles, all zeroed in upon the same target. And some distance away, Erik chuckles to himself as he gets to his feet.
So Derek, scanning the dunes idly, is only peripherally aware of motion back over the tent, back from the center of camp. His head turns, and there's an unconscious body flying directly at him. "Fu --!" his curse is cut off, as is his attempt to deflect Padraig's considerable momentum off line. He is not entirely unsuccessful, but the breath is knocked out of him by the impact. Derek stumbles to his knees, trying to get enough breath back to yell, only just locating Toad, and totally distracted from moving sand bulges.
Toad barely stays on the ground before he's in the air again, this time trying to come down on Derek with the same axe kick he tried to use on Magneto during their sparring session. This, was certainly not his idea. But at least they got one down.
It's at this point that bulge number one opts to reveal itself - a plate of steel that could very well have been a bit of boat hull at one point erupting out of the sand behind Derek, rusted and dull, so that the sunlight hardly reflects of its surface as it flings itself at the telekine. Or, more specifically, his head - seeking to wrap its impressive bulk around his face, his jaw, his neck - cutting off air and light alike and giving the false impression of being malleable as cloth in Magneto's distant grip.
Since Derek has spotted Toad, airborn or not, he is not going to land on Derek. Toad's momentum is increased, sending him up and considerably beyond his intended target. As a bonus, Derek gives Toad an awkward spin. This sends Toad almost directly into the path of Magneto's first projectile, entirely by lucky happenstance. As Derek tracks him with his eyes, only then does he become belated aware of his danger. He does have time to holler, "HELP!" in a hoarse, raspy bass.
Shit. Toad knew /this/ was gonna happen. There isn't much he can do except go face-first into Magneto's projectile, trading one mask for a less comfortable one as he ends up crashing chest-down into a dune. He... can't... breathe....
At the deflection, Magneto's teeth bare out in a thin, irritated line - cold eyes narrowed behind his binoculars as the third and second bulges move in - one at Derek's fore. The other aft. The first erupts explosively before him, kicking up sand in all directions to flare up in the younger mutant's face - looking very much alive in the process. The second is more subtle, coming in silent and strong from behind like some horrible cross between a squid and a wet blanket. But made out of metal. Toad's inconveniece is rather conveniently ignored. In fact, the metal around Mortimer's head begins to drag him a short ways under the sand.
Derek throws up up his arms, instinctively also deflecting the worst of the sand headed for his eyes with his telekinetic abilities, and Derek decides that what he needs to get up in the air. So up he goes, starting with a jump that turns into a soar, back towards camp. His voice is returning now. "Help! Attack! Raid!" While he doesn't quite have a handle on just what is happening to him at the moment, he knows he'll be able to figure it out better if he can see it, which is difficult with erupting sand.
Still can't breathe. And.. moving? Toad pulls at the mask, lightly at first, then a bit more forcefully to try and free himself. Come on, bossman. Don't be hatin'. It's not his fault you and your ladyfriend were being chatty with headsets firmly fixed to your faces.
Magneto is hating at the moment. Very much so. Plates two and three swoop upward after Derek like well-trained hawks - still very much after his head, and now moving at a velocity that's well beyond escape. It's also likely that it's going to hurt rather a lot once one of them manages to impact, as Erik leans on the metaphorical accelerator. Without breaking a sweat, mind you. Toad is dragged on down...one foot. Two. Three. Down beneath the sand, past his shoulders. Past his chest. Nearly to his waist, once he's finally released.
There just really isn't much Derek can do at this point. 'Master of Magnetism' trumps 'decent telekinetic' any day. It is really all Derek can do to push back against the metal assaults and turn slightly, so that he can try to hit one before the other and orient himself to try and push off of it, instead of simply having his head swallowed. His cries for help run abruptly to curses as he senses a losing (and likely painful) battle.
Make that, beyond his waist. Toad is only of an average height, after all. Three feet's almost 3/5s of his bodylength. He can only wonder what he's done to incur Magneto's wrath this time, but it might be easier to ask what he hasn't done, eh? Oh well. His skillfull legs are now working to dig around him enough so he can very soon pull himself out.
Clang. Somewhere, the side of St. John's head has been introduced to plate number one - the young pyrokinetic staggering away from the blow. Concussed. Probably minor. Nothing to be too concerned about, though his honorable rescue mission has been cut a little short. Against Derek's struggle midair, plate three swerves one hundred and eighty degrees around Derek. The other remains in place, to be forced against, before both plates are clapped abruptly in towards each other, with Derek in between. And to make things even more fun, here comes plate number one again. Still after his head.
Ow. Derek becomes a jaw-breaking Derek-and-steel sandwich and abruptly, the cursing is cut off. He looks around for Magneto, knowing the leader of the Brotherhood must be somewhere (or at least assuming that he is not trusting remote controlled scorpions for tactical information) but unable to locate him. So he does the best he can to at least minimize his own discomfort. As the original disk comes flying towards him, he puts all his strength into a sharp, last minute jerk, attempting to coax the steel projectile to ricochet off one of his other restraints, and at least not collide with his head at full speed.
Toad pops out of his little sand hole and tumbles backwards. "Point made," he grumbles into his headset, then looks around to gain his bearings again. Derek's losing? Awesome. And... Pyro's on the ground as well? Man. This day's just getting better and better. To start, Toad hops over to Padraig and scoops him up, then starts for the sand drift where the dune buggy was hidden. Dum dee dum. Just another day, harvesting recruits.
Not full speed. But speed enough. The hot metal spins off the ricochet only to fold over Derek's head with enough force to bruise before it closes in upon itself more completely - the other two plates clamping over it as well - seeking to eliminate holes that might allow for signifigant amounts of oxygen to slip through. At the same time, he's forced back down to the earth, where he might catch the barest glimpse of Erik at the crest of a nearby dune, hastily dodging the blur of an empty medical case flung by Fred.
Derek attempts to thrash, but...after that last impact there isn't much point. Derek hardly had a good breath to begin with, and he goes limp promptly.
But goddamn, it's good to be hydrated again.
Need to talk to Toxin. I've cooled off enough and more than enough time has passed.
It's an hour or two after dawn, and Erik is currently lying flat on the shadowed side of a dune opposite the camp and the sunrise approximately two or three hundred feet away. Mystique's footprints lead invisibly away, down the dune - leaving him alone, silent and watchful. Waiting.
Derek is on watch, sitting in his desert camouflage gear. His skin has gotten darker, from a warm milk chocolate to a darker semi-sweet. Unsurprisingly, he looks hot and lifts his hand to rub sweat off his forehead. "I'm gonna walk the edges once," he tells his partner on watch. "Lose sight of me for more than five? Start wakin' people. If I scream like a girl, you may assume I could use a hand." His voice is dry as his tone as he rises from his seat.
As vast and open as the desert is, it still has a hard time concealing the well-trained. Take one, for instance, who dresses from head to foot in a sand-colored ninja outfit, complete with tan goggles to hide the eyes. He's been laying, bored, for several /hours/ now while Magneto 'chatted' it up with Mystique. More like a few minutes, but that's no excuse in Toad's book. "Can we get on with it, then," he mutters into his headset, tired of being literally underfoot. Derek's partner on watch is about to get a rather rude surprise that has nothing to do with him personally.
If Erik's temper flared before, it's nothing compared to the steely-eyed glare the direction Toad is in gets at the sound of his voice - static screeching through the headset in electromagnetic answer. When he speaks, however, his voice is calm. Very calm. The sort of quiet, deadly calm that Toad is probably rather familiar with, after all this time. "Take off that ridiculous mask. I want you to tackle Mr. Johnson." Pausing to hiss a breath out between clenched teeth, Erik flexes his right hand into the sand at his side and rolls over. "That's an order."
Around the edges of the camp goes Derek. Given the number of recruits at this point, it is not an exceptionally large camp or an exceptionally long walk. Given the heat, however, Derek has no inclination to take it fast. He only really got up to unstick himself from his clothing. Every so often, he passes out of his partner's sight behind a tent, but the trip is never particularly long. Eventually, he goes around Fred's tent, which is naturally the largest.
"Tackle 'im with me mask off?" Toad sounds less than enthused, but that followup 'it's an order' seals the deal for him. Damn. Two quick puffs of dust rise up out of the sand near the feet of Derek's watch partner, Padraig. Unfortunately for him, the second he looks down to see what it was, his right ankle is grabbed with one hand and the corresponding thigh is stabbed with a syringe full of Toynbee Brand Sleepytime Serum. He's out before he can give Derek the word. Toad springs from his sandy hiding place only a moment after, but doesn't tackle just yet. Derek's... a bit of a distance away. And... Toad's got Padraig. A grin spreads across his mouth, which is revealed as he pulls off his mask as ordered. One order, check. The other, however, is sorta disregarded as he improvises. Toad leaps most of the distance between himself and Derek, taking Padraig's unconscious self with him, then kicks the poor recruit the rest of the way.
In the meanwhile, there's something rather unusual going on beneath the sand. A bulge surfaces near the base of the dune Erik is perched upon - two or three feet across, and moving steadily for Derek's current position, leaving a trail of disturbed sand in its wake. Then a second. And a third. Like demon moles, all zeroed in upon the same target. And some distance away, Erik chuckles to himself as he gets to his feet.
So Derek, scanning the dunes idly, is only peripherally aware of motion back over the tent, back from the center of camp. His head turns, and there's an unconscious body flying directly at him. "Fu --!" his curse is cut off, as is his attempt to deflect Padraig's considerable momentum off line. He is not entirely unsuccessful, but the breath is knocked out of him by the impact. Derek stumbles to his knees, trying to get enough breath back to yell, only just locating Toad, and totally distracted from moving sand bulges.
Toad barely stays on the ground before he's in the air again, this time trying to come down on Derek with the same axe kick he tried to use on Magneto during their sparring session. This, was certainly not his idea. But at least they got one down.
It's at this point that bulge number one opts to reveal itself - a plate of steel that could very well have been a bit of boat hull at one point erupting out of the sand behind Derek, rusted and dull, so that the sunlight hardly reflects of its surface as it flings itself at the telekine. Or, more specifically, his head - seeking to wrap its impressive bulk around his face, his jaw, his neck - cutting off air and light alike and giving the false impression of being malleable as cloth in Magneto's distant grip.
Since Derek has spotted Toad, airborn or not, he is not going to land on Derek. Toad's momentum is increased, sending him up and considerably beyond his intended target. As a bonus, Derek gives Toad an awkward spin. This sends Toad almost directly into the path of Magneto's first projectile, entirely by lucky happenstance. As Derek tracks him with his eyes, only then does he become belated aware of his danger. He does have time to holler, "HELP!" in a hoarse, raspy bass.
Shit. Toad knew /this/ was gonna happen. There isn't much he can do except go face-first into Magneto's projectile, trading one mask for a less comfortable one as he ends up crashing chest-down into a dune. He... can't... breathe....
At the deflection, Magneto's teeth bare out in a thin, irritated line - cold eyes narrowed behind his binoculars as the third and second bulges move in - one at Derek's fore. The other aft. The first erupts explosively before him, kicking up sand in all directions to flare up in the younger mutant's face - looking very much alive in the process. The second is more subtle, coming in silent and strong from behind like some horrible cross between a squid and a wet blanket. But made out of metal. Toad's inconveniece is rather conveniently ignored. In fact, the metal around Mortimer's head begins to drag him a short ways under the sand.
Derek throws up up his arms, instinctively also deflecting the worst of the sand headed for his eyes with his telekinetic abilities, and Derek decides that what he needs to get up in the air. So up he goes, starting with a jump that turns into a soar, back towards camp. His voice is returning now. "Help! Attack! Raid!" While he doesn't quite have a handle on just what is happening to him at the moment, he knows he'll be able to figure it out better if he can see it, which is difficult with erupting sand.
Still can't breathe. And.. moving? Toad pulls at the mask, lightly at first, then a bit more forcefully to try and free himself. Come on, bossman. Don't be hatin'. It's not his fault you and your ladyfriend were being chatty with headsets firmly fixed to your faces.
Magneto is hating at the moment. Very much so. Plates two and three swoop upward after Derek like well-trained hawks - still very much after his head, and now moving at a velocity that's well beyond escape. It's also likely that it's going to hurt rather a lot once one of them manages to impact, as Erik leans on the metaphorical accelerator. Without breaking a sweat, mind you. Toad is dragged on down...one foot. Two. Three. Down beneath the sand, past his shoulders. Past his chest. Nearly to his waist, once he's finally released.
There just really isn't much Derek can do at this point. 'Master of Magnetism' trumps 'decent telekinetic' any day. It is really all Derek can do to push back against the metal assaults and turn slightly, so that he can try to hit one before the other and orient himself to try and push off of it, instead of simply having his head swallowed. His cries for help run abruptly to curses as he senses a losing (and likely painful) battle.
Make that, beyond his waist. Toad is only of an average height, after all. Three feet's almost 3/5s of his bodylength. He can only wonder what he's done to incur Magneto's wrath this time, but it might be easier to ask what he hasn't done, eh? Oh well. His skillfull legs are now working to dig around him enough so he can very soon pull himself out.
Clang. Somewhere, the side of St. John's head has been introduced to plate number one - the young pyrokinetic staggering away from the blow. Concussed. Probably minor. Nothing to be too concerned about, though his honorable rescue mission has been cut a little short. Against Derek's struggle midair, plate three swerves one hundred and eighty degrees around Derek. The other remains in place, to be forced against, before both plates are clapped abruptly in towards each other, with Derek in between. And to make things even more fun, here comes plate number one again. Still after his head.
Ow. Derek becomes a jaw-breaking Derek-and-steel sandwich and abruptly, the cursing is cut off. He looks around for Magneto, knowing the leader of the Brotherhood must be somewhere (or at least assuming that he is not trusting remote controlled scorpions for tactical information) but unable to locate him. So he does the best he can to at least minimize his own discomfort. As the original disk comes flying towards him, he puts all his strength into a sharp, last minute jerk, attempting to coax the steel projectile to ricochet off one of his other restraints, and at least not collide with his head at full speed.
Toad pops out of his little sand hole and tumbles backwards. "Point made," he grumbles into his headset, then looks around to gain his bearings again. Derek's losing? Awesome. And... Pyro's on the ground as well? Man. This day's just getting better and better. To start, Toad hops over to Padraig and scoops him up, then starts for the sand drift where the dune buggy was hidden. Dum dee dum. Just another day, harvesting recruits.
Not full speed. But speed enough. The hot metal spins off the ricochet only to fold over Derek's head with enough force to bruise before it closes in upon itself more completely - the other two plates clamping over it as well - seeking to eliminate holes that might allow for signifigant amounts of oxygen to slip through. At the same time, he's forced back down to the earth, where he might catch the barest glimpse of Erik at the crest of a nearby dune, hastily dodging the blur of an empty medical case flung by Fred.
Derek attempts to thrash, but...after that last impact there isn't much point. Derek hardly had a good breath to begin with, and he goes limp promptly.