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| Second star to the left; Starjammers | |
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| Topic Started: May 30 2014, 05:06 AM (371 Views) | |
| Jean | May 30 2014, 05:06 AM Post #1 |
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Telepathy, Telekinesis
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May 31 st Fish jumped completely out of the water, flashed their silvery bodies in the gleam of the sun, and dove back in their watery home. Jean let out an answering whoot at the fishy-athletic display. The Starjammer sunned itself as the beings that took up residence inside it lounged on the deck. Jean felt the click-click-click as her fishing line played out and suddenly jerked the rod. Nothing. Reeling it back in, her bait looked like it had been picked clean by piranha. “I asked Starjammer to find us a nice place with lots of fish,” she said as she inspected the mangled fish skeleton on her line, “I should’ve specified – lots of dumb fish, who don’t steal bait. Darling,” she said with that edge of pleading in her voice as she levitated her hook closer to Scott, “please.” She was the Phoenix, senior X-Man, vanquisher of planetary evils and villains, host of the Phoenix Force, as close to a Goddess as you could find on the planet; but she didn’t like touching the bloody, slimy, squishy parts of fishing, and frankly, wasn’t ashamed of playing up her girlishness. “I’ll get you a birthday fish dinner, I promise.” And made a kissing face to her husband. This was not a pleasure cruise. They were sailing the world because Joseph needed to lock onto the opposite magnetic field which would lead them to Magneto's location. It was not just as easy as pointing the young clone in a direction and using him like some sort of magnetic geiger counter. This was not a game of hot and cold. It would take time, and that's why they were here on this ship where they could freely travel the world, until Joseph felt that pull. But, it was not a vacation, and Corsair made dead certain that Scott earned his keep. The X-Man had never worked like this before, not this back breaking manual labor. Oh, sure, he handled much of the maintenance around the school, but replacing roof titles and mowing the lawn, as large as it was, was nothing like the constant physical exertion that was required to keep the boat afloat. It might be half alive, but that didn't mean it was easy sailing. Hell, it might make things more complicated. Besides, Chris believed in the value of sweat and strain and the mental cleansing that came with just working, finishing a job no matter how tired you were and how daunting the task had become. His oldest son agreed with the philosophy and had thrown himself into the work, learning everything he could learn about how this ship worked, and what was needed to keep her afloat. The sickliness from his months of death and following months of depression had been purged. His pallor was replaced with suntan and wind burned cheeks. He was growing stronger, and he was learning things about himself that he had long forgotten. Currently coiling a rope as thick as his wrist, Scott looked up to see the hook hovering in front of his face, and he shook his head, "Are you kidding me, babe? Are you seriously going to..." He caught the hook out of the air and his voice stalled before he said, "Wait... Birthday? Is it May 31st?" “It sure is, Starbuck,” Jean grinned slyly. “You should get your head out of the sand more often and take a look around,” she teased. “It’s amazing what you’ll discover – that it’s your birthday, that it’s a lovely day, that I’m wear a red two-piece bikini under this big, floppy shirt, (your shirt, by the way), that my glass of beer is tragically empty,” she slid the sunglasses down a little farther on her nose and pointedly looked at the empty bottle and glass beside her. “And that it’s your birthday.” "I noticed the bikini," Scott said, crossing the deck to bait Jean's hook with the bait fish from the bucket near her, "Shirt and all, I definitely noticed the bikini." He took her pole from her, and he cast it out into the ocean for her. Placing the rod into the breaker meant for it, he glanced at her empty beer and he said, "Should I find the monster who broke your legs and avenge you?" A laugh burbled up and she snorted at his snarky teasing. “Ha ha. You’re lucky I’m so in love with you and find you irresistible.” And sprang to her feet, headed for the drinks cooler. “Irresistible,” she said again as she returned to her chair and added in a lower tone just for him, “and hot. Is winding rope your dream of a good birthday?” she asked blandly. "I've been telling you that I'm the lucky one since I first conned you into marrying me," Scott said, smiling at her in the way that only she ever got to see. He took the beer she had retrieved and opened it for her, taking the first sip as a labor tax, before passing it to her. "Honestly," he said, in response to her question, "I didn't actually figure on celebrating this year. I don't... I guess, I don't really know if this is still my birthday. I sort of think maybe August 21st... the day that I came out of..." He scrubbed his hand against the back of his head, wet with sweat and sea spray, "The day in the Danger Room," he muttered, uneasily, unhappily. "I don't know. What do you think?" She leaned forward and his wet, sweaty face in her hands. “No,” she said simply, firmly, but not harshly. “That year is still raw and sore, but if you keep making it the most important milestone in your life… your long, full life with other watershed moments, then it’ll stay the center of your essence, instead of one very hard year, but still only one factor in the wonderful puzzle that is Scott Christopher Grey-Summers.” She ran her fingers through his brown hair, a bit longer than he usually kept it, but still short enough to stick up into spikes from the salt in the air. “Your mother brought you into this world 37 years ago; I’d say that’s pretty darn important.” |
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| Ch'Od | May 31 2014, 07:25 AM Post #2 |
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NPC: Amphibian Characteristics
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There were times since getting the new Starjammer that Charles Oddenheimer, christened Ch'Od by a bunch of bird-fetished slavers who struggled to pronounce his name, wondered what value a pilot like himself had on a ship that was partially sentient. It hardly needed steering more often than not, and they very rarely needed to man the weapons and fend off an attack. But there were always other things to do. Clean things up, prepare food, scout the area, et cetera. He kept himself busy enough overall. But sometimes he missed being in charge of piloting the Starjammer around. Ah, well. Out with the old, in with the new, as they say. Satisfied at the cleanliness levels of the engines, Charles made his way outside, to the sun and the crisp sea air. Not too many clouds out, so hopefully the weather would hold for a bit. Storms at sea were never particularly fun, even though they could easily go under to take cover. "Heh," he said as he came upon the scene, the two Summerses enjoying each other's company innocuously enough. "You could easily grab whichever fish you wanted with your mind, but you opted for the pole anyway. I'm impressed, Mrs. Summers." The two had been with the Jammers for some time now, hell - they practically were Starjammers at this point. "Guess they're not biting? Or are you catching and releasing?" |
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| Corsair | May 31 2014, 08:48 AM Post #3 |
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NPC: Baseline Human
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Corsair watched the scene between his son and daughter-in-law from his place in what the 'Jammer had created as a crow's nest. Last night there had been alarms and alerts and the signs of something he was seeking for a specific reason. He lowered his telescope, enjoying, despite his concerns, the old fashioned look of the thing. He had been so many things in his life, but even now, in the midst of a world of heroes and villains, men and mutants, he enjoyed the simplicity of what he was now. The complexities of what the Shi'Ar had made him into, the tragedies of his life since the plane crash, it was easy to forget those things out here. Hard work in the sun, no one to answer to but himself (and Hepzibah, he was quick to remind himself), a family, now even containing some of his own blood. It worried him that he was hoping that it would be a long time before Joseph glommed on to the magnetic signature that was going to lead them back to their mission. He was going to miss them, he realized. How simultaneously sad and wonderful. As the conversation seemed to change from light to something more serious, Chris, unable to hear over the wind and the sea, the beautiful crashing sea, leaned over the rail of the crow's nest and said, softly, "Let me hear, 'Jammer." A speaker formed itself out of the living material of the strange and miraculous craft, and Chris listened to the concerns of his son. The memory of his death, the day of his birth, the confusions and pains of reconciling the two. Jean was there for him, there to remind him that the events of the last year defined him only if he let them define him. Easy enough to say. Not so easy to believe. Lovely that she would be there to continue to remind him until he did.vLovely though that she was so earnest about it. "Oh, Scotty," Chris murmured to himself, "I hope you know what a woman you have in her." As Ch'Od showed up to break up the seriousness of the moment with innate chatter about the fishing, clearly avoiding the tension with what might have been a conscious deflection but more likely was not, Corsair leaned back into the wind and raised his telescope. What he was searching for was on the horizon. Instantly, Chris was ringing the alarm, broadcasting throughout his ship like the electrical impulses through a brain cell. "All hands on deck, all hands on deck," he called, "We have a Shi'Ar renegade off the horizon." Leaning forward to see how Scott and Jean reacted, he called down, "Gear up, Kids, we're going pirating!" |
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| Hepzibah | Jun 5 2014, 03:26 AM Post #4 |
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Feline Mutation and Characteristics
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JP Hepzibah, Corsair, et al "I miss when banging on you with wrenches was the key to all problems." She muttered, hand dragging along bulkhead as she moved towards what counted for a Bridge. There was no boiler room here. There were no real mechanical failures. There was maintenance, sure, but it had become less like keeping together a well oiled machine and more like keeping a pet. Hepzibah, she had no use for pets, and she wasn't so sure she liked it. Then, she wasn't so sure she liked a lot of things. Namor, this boat. The cargo it carried. All things she had particular distaste for despite the fact. Namor had, save their rocky introduction, been nothing if not kind and amiable to them, and he got on well with Christopher, which she figured was the important part, and he connected to this new ship also, strange though it was, and if he was happy, she found that regardless of her own reservations, she too was happy, and so she learned to forget the whybuts and the naysays. She missed the reek of oil and toil though. She never wouldn't. Wordlessly, her arms draped over the shoulders of the eavesdropping captain, a silent greeting in the side of her head pushing against the side of his for a moment before he snapped too, pointing out with fervor the order of the day, to which she immediately hopped to, bringing up a much wider view of the situation at hand. "Grow gills or get low!" She hollared over the line, reiterting Corsair's orders with her own bit of flair. Corsair smiled as Hepzibah slid up to him, and rested her arm arm, warm, soft and pleasantly furred over his shoulders, gentle and welcomed on the back of his neck. "We have birdie blood to spill," he said to her, after she shouted her orders to those below. "It's been a good long while since we've come across any of those bastards. The Majestrix is doing a good job scraping the scum off of the water." He turned his head to look his beloved in her eyes and she would see life in his, excitement and righteous fury, but none of the old sorrow and shame. This was his life's work, and he was, at last, content with it. "You think you still have it in you, or should I leave you at home to wait for my return with a martini and the evening paper?" Letting go of the button, Corsair caught her gaze and spoke his teasings as she flopped into her station's chair, she gave him a glare and a set of pursed lips as if to say "don't tempt me", but what came out of her mouth instead was a childish tongue. "You don't get to have all the fun just because now you finally agree that it's fun." She said. Her tone was chiding but playfully so. "I never miss a chance to add new feathers to my collection. These chazzers, they think it rude of Big Bird Lilandra to take away slave tithing. Give people rights and protection. Think they can make it out on the big blue without her mucking up things." She turned away from Corsair then, eyeing readouts and statuses. "The never count on old ghosts with new tricks, heh." "No, my love, they do not," Chris smiled, "and don't stick that tongue out at me unless you intend on... Well, that's something we'll save for our victory celebration, yes?" He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her lips, "And, yes, bird hunting is fun." "We are hunting birds?" came an accented voice at the door, a specific speed to it that was just as identifiable, "What is happening?" Pietro Maximoff, returned from his honeymoon to continue this search. "Why are we breaking off from our mission?" "Mr. Maximoff," Corsair said, straightening up and meeting the eyes of the younger man without a blink or flicker of lash, "there is a renegade boat of Shi'Ar slavers out there. We mean to attack them, kill them, and free their captives." He handed the telescope to Pietro, who did not lift it to his eye. "We have more important pursuits," Pietro said, not flinching from the human's serious stare, "Leave Shi'Ar business to Shi'Ar." Chris looked at Hepzibah, "Care to enlighten our ignorant guest what exactly makes this our business?" Ah yes, the Grumpy One. He harped at her husband, and she felt her grip on whatever bit of machinery she was gripping tighten a bit. Biting her tongue was something Hepzibah had never liked to do, and though she had learned to do it, well, still, but then Corsair invited her into the discussion and she grumbled, as clearly as she could. "Birdies like this take slaves. Human, mutant, they don't care, they turn profits on people and we stop that. It always takes priority. You're fast enough. If you don't like it..." She turned to him, her playful expression gone, replaced with one of grave certainty. "You can get out and walk." She turned back to her station, giving the skinny to the ship, whispering what she needed to to it. There was a shift in the motions of the vessel as it course corrected. "On a bearing towards them, my one and only." She said then. Jammer, she's bringing us that horizon and all the chickies sitting on it." "Slaves?" Pietro frowned as the catlike woman spoke and he turned his eyes to the front of this strange ship, "I see why you would hunt them, then, I suppose, but why is it your duty? It is more, I think, than I know." Chris rested his hand on Hepzibah's shoulder, knowing how much she hated having to explain, having to think about those times, "We were slaves, Pietro. Shi'Ar killed my wife. Shi'Ar broke me. Shi'Ar tortured my love, turned my son into a monster, tried to turn me into one. Every man on my crew suffered at their hands, and we will repay that suffering tenfold. Do you understand?" Tilting his head in acknowledgement, Pietro said simply, "You have my speed then if it is your wish, but you must understand, I am supposed to stand as an agent of law. I am Shield. I am a Defender." "Well, Mr. Maximoff," Chris smiled, "today, you're a pirate." |
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| Cyclops | Jun 13 2014, 09:23 AM Post #5 |
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Punches from the Punch Dimension
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"Pirating," Scott said, as he and Jean joined the others. "What exactly do you mean, Dad?" Corsair looked over at his son, "Just what I said, my boy. Pirating. Boarding an enemy ship, reeking a bit of chaos, shedding a bit of blood, and leaving again with their ship in ruins and our ship triumphant." At Scott's startled look, Pietro lifted his sharply pointed chin and said, "Your father tells me there are slaves on that enemy ship, and that it is our duty to liberate them." Chris handed Scott the telescope, "Look out on the.... oh, wait, can you use a telescope?" With a sigh, Scott said, "Of course I can use a telescope. My vision is perfectly normal, it's just filtered through red lenses." "I'm not talking about your mutation," Chris said, pointing Scott in the direction of the ship, "I'm asking because you're getting up there. What are you now, forty-forty five?" Raising the telescope to his eyes, Scott said, "I'm thirty-seven, and I wouldn't get too cocky there, sir. If I'm forty five then how old does that make you?" "Well past my prime," Chris laughed, surprised at the ease of their banter. He cast a wink at Hepzibah. "Luckily I have Hepzi fooled." Pietro's head bobbed back and forth as he watched the rapid fire conversation of the two Summers, and he frowned, "This is a colossal waste of time. Why are we not in pursuit of the slaver ship? The sooner we can do this thing, the sooner we get to the real business we have to attend to. I do not wish to spend so long from my new bride because it was more fun to tease each other." Corsair looked over at Pietro and said, "The StarJammer is hot in pursuit, and we'll be diving soon so we can come up under her. Patience, Pietro, we have this all under control." With a cock of a white eyebrow, Pietro said, "Sir, I am a speedster. Patience is not my strong suit." "I imagine it isn't," Chris said. He touched the intercom button and said, "Jammers, we're diving. Ready the weapons. We'll be making contact in..." He looked to Scott who was watching the enemy ship through the telescope. "About five minutes, " Scott said, "Judging by the size and the speed we're traveling. Five minutes." Impressed, Corsair hit the button again and said, "Contact in five minutes. Lock and load, StarJammers, highest bounty gets a trip to Daddy's liquor cabinet." He straightened and said, "Scott, Jean, let's get you to the armory, get you some weapons. You know how to shoot, don't you?" Cyclops lowered the telescope, "What? No. We use our powers. We're trained in them." "We're trying to keep you low profile, Scotty," Chris said, "Remember? If you use your powers, whoever it is that has Magneto will know you're getting close to locating him. Guns, my boy. Guns and swords. Best things for birdie hunting." Scott frowned over at Jean, and shrugged. "What do you think?" |
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| Jean | Jun 14 2014, 10:42 AM Post #6 |
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Telepathy, Telekinesis
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“I’d say, you need to jump to it, sailor,” Jean told Scott with a twinkle in her eye. “You joined this crew for the duration of our journey, and your captain just made a decision. And besides, darling,” she leaned forward and gave his lips a peck, “after so many years leading the X-Men, it’ll be good for you not to be in-charge. The change will be good for you. Come on.” Taking his hand, they hurried down to the armory. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to catch anything for you,” she lamented briefly. “I could just grab anything out of the depths, like Ch’Od said, but where would be the fun in that.” That was one of the curses that those with too much power had to deal with, something that most people wouldn’t understand - having to do things the hard way, the normal way… like this mad dash after the slaver-ship. If Jean tried, she could easily find on the other ship, take control of their minds and have them release their prisoners, then sit meekly down and wait for the Jammers to board. In a way, it was the same way Ch’Od suggested she could or should catch the fish. But there’s something to be said for the journey, not just arriving at the goal quickly. She had to do things the human/mortal way, or risk getting to a point where doing human things was a charade she didn’t see the point in continuing. Rushing into the room with guns and swords mounted on the walls, while those were fine, Jean’s gaze sought something else first. Fighting slavers was one thing; fighting slavers while wearing a swimsuit was something else. “Ah hah,” she exclaimed and put on a garment that looked like a silk robe. “Huh, Atlantians,” she said as the fabric responded to her mind, reshaping itself into more swashbuckling. “Their prince is still an ass though,” she said coolly. Slipping a gun into a holster that the garment formed at her waist, she took up a cutlass, briefly catching sight of her eyes reflected by the shiny blade. “This’ll be different,” she looked over to Scott with a smile. She lurched slightly as the Jammer dove and she felt hunting-thoughts, like a shark, coming from the ship. “Different but we’re doing the same thing we’ve always done,” she told him, “helping people who need it.” Taking a brief moment for themselves was fine, but they were both too well-trained for anything longer; there was a job to be done and soon the couple was back with the rest of the crew and ready for Corsair’s orders. Taking a position next to Corsair, Jean’s gaze went briefly glassy as her thoughts reached through the water. “There are thirteen crew on the ship. Unlucky thirteen,” she commented. “The captain is a woman, Mykla. The engineer is grumbling, worried about fuel reserves running low. Too low, because they’ve been rogue and haven’t a had a chance to keep up with repairs. Running too long. Running too hot. Seals in the engine are shot. Warped. Won’t take much more stress before they break.” Jean moved her head and left the engineers cranky mind. “There are 36 slaves in the lower cells. Their minds are groggy. They’ve been drugged, so they won’t cause trouble. They can’t help,” Jean looked to Corsair, “but they also won’t get in the way.” |
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| Ch'Od | Jun 17 2014, 03:07 AM Post #7 |
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NPC: Amphibian Characteristics
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A call to action. Good. Maybe it was a sign of a mental illness of some sort, but Ch'Od never got over the need to cause debilitating harm to Shi'Ar operations. The scars ran too deep, he fully acknowledged that. Would it have been healthier to move on? Perhaps. If that were the case, though, he was in the company of a crew of people who were similarly impaired. He smirked as the still-impressive Mrs. Summers laid out as much information as she could glean with her considerable mental prowess. Scottie had a good one on his hands. "I could get in from below the surface and disable the engine, leave them dead in the water," Ch'Od said with a sharp nod of his head, keeping his gaze on the ship up ahead. This would be as easy a run as they'd ever had, all things considered. This wasn't a Shi'Ar armada ship. This was a straggler, a small crew trying to make it in the ruins of their empire and finding themselves utterly lacking in that department. "Ought to be easy pickings from then, take the crew down at our leisure, tow the ship to whatever nearby port we can find and get their captives freed." |
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| Raza | Jun 18 2014, 04:10 AM Post #8 |
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Unregistered
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Raza sat up groggily blinking his one eye as the alarm went off. He looked around before again getting a call to arms, which jolted him awake further. His robotics system pumped some adrenaline and caffeine into his fleshy parts. Jumping out of his bunk from having done an update of his cybernetic systems, Raza quickly looked around for his gear. Grabbing his sword and strapping it to his waist, he grabbed his modified chain mail shirt and slipped it over his head. Popping open his chest compartment he tossed in a few grenades, and a small brick of C4. The others had told him a few times that he over armed himself but he felt otherwise. More weapons the better, and with that thought he grabbed a harpoon putting it on the holster on his back headed out of his room. "Thanks 'Jammer, ye the best," Raza said to the ship patting the bulkhead with his robo arm. With the ship being half machine he could interface with his cybernetics and it was quite interesting to talk to. It had a pretty interactive conversation and minor AI, so it was interesting to talk with it. Even it's flesh parts had an intelligence to it and that part was also interesting to talk to. Heading to the armory where he knew everyone was going to be, he entered just at the end of Jean's informative speech. "That is a great piece of information Jean, good thing te know eh?" he commented as he stepped over the threshold "Now look at ye, ye both look like proper pirates. I had an inkling ye'd go for the Atlantean gear. I traded a few pistols for that thing. I'm glad ye like it. Scott! Any preference fer a sword? Ye fancy a cutlass? A broader blade? Kitana? I have many in me armory. I know the Cap'n likes his cutlass, which reminds me Cap'n I need to rewrap yer grip later." Crossing to his workbench he grabbed a whetstone and switching his hand to his blade, quickly ran it over the edge. "That all can wait, right now we have some birdies to catch but being it's a straggler probably not many to catch. Hell, Speedy could wrap em all up right quick if he wanted," he said with a smile and a gesture towards Pietro "but some good ole privateering is always a good thing." Tying up his ponytail, he linked them all up to his HUD which light up with their signatures and heart monitors. "Ye are all up in me HUD, so if anything does happen I'll be able te see it," he said to the gathered group before resting his hand on his sword hilt. |
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| Joseph | Jun 18 2014, 06:55 PM Post #9 |
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Magnetism
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While Joseph loved this ship - the young clone having quickly found his sea legs and a childlike curiosity (well he was three years old, so really it was a childish curiosity) for everything on board. The travelling had become something of a waiting game. The changes that Doctor Nemesis had made to his powers had prepared him for finding Magneto. So far though, the magnetodar had failed to bring any results that Joseph or the others could use to find the so called Master of Magnetism. When not helping, or pestering Corsair or the others to learn more about the ship, or spending time with his brother, the clone had been practising with his powers. Not to the full extent, they were still in a metal ship that was beneath the ocean much of the time. So one wrong move could prove deadly to them if something bad were to happen, but little exercises that helped him build his control over the powers were ok. However when the call came that they were diving and that they were in hot pursuit of pirates. Joseph wanted to know what it was that he was meant to do. Would he be allowed to help? This wasn't really something he was trained to do, and he didn't really know what pirating was outside of the little bit that he had seen in books. "What can I do?" Joseph asked, looking between those that had gathered and were gathering their weapons. Joseph had no clue about weapon training, though he didn't quite understand why they were using weapons when Jean could likely blink them out of existence with her powers. There was also the small chance that they were potentially going to say no to him helping. He was rather green, but that hadn't stopped anyone else from the school helping before. "Do you think they are here because we are?" Naturally he had missed the large part of the conversation that had gone on topside. So right now Joseph was curious about the fact that these other people might be here because he was here. |
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| Cyclops | Jun 23 2014, 07:43 AM Post #10 |
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Punches from the Punch Dimension
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[Jp with Scott and Jean, then Scott and Pietro briefly, then some Corsair and Scott debate] His father was right. They were trying to be incognito, so using their powers was not a good idea, but then, neither was using swords or whatever. "I have never used a sword in my entire life," Scott said, folding his arms over his chest. "Now is not the time to start learning. I'll take my chances unarmed, thank you very much." Jean armed herself, and clothed herself in whatever weird Atlantean thing she'd found, but Scott shook his head. "I'm indulging this piracy idea to save those people, Jeannie, but, I'm not playing dress up." Jean tilted her head and regarded him, “You’ll need to dress up enough to blend in with the crew; those red lenses are going to be enough to draw attention as it is. And, regardless of their buoyant behavior, this isn’t exactly a game for the Jammers. Part of them is thinking about their days in captivity, when they’d dream of rescue. Now, they’re making that dream come true for others. That’s their joy and enthusiasm, not at playing pirates,” she reminded Scott. “You’ll need to find something more suitable than Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt.” "I'm wearing work clothes, not vaca..." Scott began to retort, but then he sighed, realizing that she was not going to budge on this. He looked around the weapons room and finally found a black jacket of sorts. He slipped it on, and as her's did, it wrapped around him in that strange way that Atlantean materials worked, sort of alive but somehow not. "I feel like I'm wearing a manta ray," he grumbled. Quickly, but not hurriedly, Scott scanned the room for something that suited him as a weapon, and finally settled on what appeared to be wooden darts, slightly curved but not as angled as boomerangs. "Fa bui," he told her, as he held them up, "Japanese range weapons. They work on ricochet principles, something I know fairly well." He tucked them into his belt, and didn't tell her that he had watched the Hand use them, that he had studied them in his growing delusional decomposition and had practiced with them in his long nights when the biomechanical virus in his body prevented him from sleeping. These here on this ship were a Madripoori variation, but the same basic idea. "Happy?" he asked her, knowing that she was not finding his petulance amusing, but also that she'd likely reward him for not being a total ass about it. “Very,” she replied. “One last thing,” she said then reached up, combing her fingers through his brown hair, longer on board ship than Scott usually kept it, mussing it up into a chaotic, windblown style. “There. Finishing touch. C’mon.” Scott grimaced at the hair ruffling, and stubbornly smoothed it back into place as he followed Jean back up to the wheel house of this strange ship as the 'Jammer dove. He recognized the glazed look that fell over Jean's eyes when she used her powers and as she gathered information he glanced towards Pietro, "You not suiting up?" "No," Pietro said, "I have no need. They will not see me." "You're going to use your powers?" Scott frowned, "Even though..." "There is no energy signature to what I do, Summers," Pietro sniffed, cocking a white eyebrow, "I am movement, pure and simple. They will not see me as anything more than a blur. I need no disguise." Folding his arms in an ungraceful slump, Scott muttered something under his breath that was drowned out by Jean's report, and it was probably best that it was. "Thirty-Six," Corsair said, his voice low and dark, "That's a big cargo for thirteen men to hold. It takes ten crew to run a Shi'Ar ship, I know. That leaves only three holding the slaves... that's not their usual numbers. You're right, Jean, they're desperate, they're floundering." As Joseph joined them, Corsair smiled, "Grab a weapon, young man, you'll earn your chin whiskers today." Scott held out his hand, "No, hang on there, Corsair, Joseph can't go out there. He's untrained, and it's dangerous. He's needed for this mission to succeed. Moreso than any of us." Corsair looked at the young mutant and said, to his son, "The boy will need to be a man, especially when you find Magneto. You can't coddle him, Scott." "I will protect him," Pietro said, "Your father is right. He must be allowed to do this thing if we are to make him understand the mechanics of heroics. He must see the dark things men do to one another, so that he will grow to be a man who does otherwise." Scott narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, and wondered when exactly he had given up control of his life. Finally, he said, throat tight, "Get a weapon, Joseph. The Captain's orders." |
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2:42 PM Jul 11