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Tooth and Claw: Midnighter, Rahne, and John A (3/8/15)
Descending into tunnels deep below the streets of New York City, John, Rahne, and Midnighter are ambushed by one familiar mutant Marauder, and two new ones. Before the fight can truly break out, John breaks away to go deal with Creed on his own.
"Nice."
That was all John really had to say about the darkened tunnel that Rahne had led them to with her nose; she'd followed the runaway knife-chucker, and his eyes had already adjusted to the near-total darkness by the time he'd put his feet on the ground. They'd climbed a long way down. He wondered just how freaking old this tunnel was, but that didn't matter.
"Any idea which way he went?" John asked over his shoulder to Rahne, looking from left to right. Her nose was the best of them, and while John was picking up some people scents, they were mingled and muddled here, with some he didn't recognize... and one that he did.
Creed.
It had taken some work to get down into the tunnel, but now that her clothes were left behind Rahne was refusing to turn back into a girl. It was better this way, anyhow. In her wolf body she was a better fighter, a better tracker, a better athlete. It even made it easier to cope with the pain in her crushed cheek. As for following the boy who'd run away, his scent trail was practically lit up like a runway. She loped ahead of John, confidently navigating the maze.
Midnighter was right on her heels, unwilling to let her get too far ahead on her own. She'd already gotten hurt, and he had no intention of letting that happen again. His brain was constantly running scenarios in the cramped tunnel, and he didn't like the lack of maneuverability. All the more reason to stick close to Rahne, although all of his senses were focused outwards, to make sure they wouldn't be ambushed.
John wasn't far after, bringing up the rear simply by virtue of wanting to surprise Creed if at all possible. John had always run alone, and he wouldn't be expecting him to have backup, unless the runaway got too far ahead and reported in. Which, for all John knew, he had.
Something wasn't right, though. He skidded to a halt, catching a faint sight of movement.
But it was too late. An invisible wave of sensory disorientation washed over the group, and John, normally graceful and balanced, swayed where he stood, and then fell to his hands and knees as his vision spun and his stomach lurched.
Rahne swiveled her ears back, as if that would protect her from the nauseating hum. Her tongue lolled, and her feet crossed first one way and then the other, as if she were being tilted on a rocking ship. She coughed once but kept her lunch, and bayed a frustrated challenge into the darkness.
Midnighter had been about to warn the others, but the wave of dizziness took him by surprise. He wasn't used to feeling either dizzy or nauseated, and the combination of the two had him stumbling into a nearby wall and leaning his back on it heavily, trying to breathe through the fucking thing. Or maybe he ought to stop breathing? He wasn't sure which would work best.
As quickly as it came, the wave of nauseating dizziness subsided, fading to where it was just a bothersome bit of disorientation. Three figures stepped from nearby access tunnels. One was familiar, and two were not. The familiar one hand a knife in each hand, flipping them on his fingers. "Well, now that we got your attention," he began, wearing a stupid grin.
The other boy, skinnier and seemingly unarmed, looked among the three of them, sizing them up. "Wolf is mine," he murmured, quietly, but not quiet enough for the three of them to not hear.
The third, a girl, remained quiet, her eyes sweeping along the three of them, focused, keeping her psychic disorientation field up. With John's heightened senses, at least, he could sense it was emanating from her. It had a distinct sound, a sort of wave-shape he could make out. He had no doubt that Midnighter could make it out, and probably Rahne too, in her more sensitive wolf form.
They weren't blocking the path ahead, but they were poised to intercept if need be. John's fists flexed, but his claws didn't come out yet. His senses didn't lie, though. Creed was nearby. Midnighter and Rahne were beasts; they could tear these three apart if they really wanted, on their own, he figured. Being nonlethal would drag things out a bit. Creed could either get away, or worse, join in the fray, and he wouldn't be wearing kid gloves, in his estimation. John knew what he had to do, at the very least, to keep Rahne safe. She could survive these guys. The knife-thrower would probably focus on Midnighter. And probably wind up stabbed for his troubles.
"Guys," John murmured in a whisper, hoping none of their foes had super-senses. "I'm going after Creed. Deal with these losers." He wasn't going to lie. He'd done enough lying to Rahne already. Before anyone could protest, John made a break for it, getting his balance back. The lanky boy that was unfamiliar to them lashed out, though, and briefly contacted John's bare arm. John screamed, stumbled, his claws out and his hands freely bleeding from it, but he continued to press forward, toward Creed's scent, leaving the odds seemingly favoring their foes with three against two.
Stupid, typical John, running off on his own. After she and Mid had come all the way down here just to get him out of trouble. Before she could even see the rage coming, her blood was boiling. Her fur stood all on end, and she licked at her fangs once before bolting toward their foes, out for blood. This was going to be over soon. She was going to make sure.
As the dizziness and nausea naturally receded, Midnighter's body fought off the last of it from his system, and he focused his senses on the three figures barring the way through the tunnel. Mutants, all three of them, and the risk assessment was quickly done. His foot caught a broken empty bottle of cheap whisky and flipped it into the air, for him to grab and throw, dagger style, at the guy who'd touched Daken, only narrowly (but very purposefully) missing Rahne as she launched forward.
And then Midnighter joined her in the fray, very determined not to let her get injured any more than she already had, and cursing her, Daken and fucking Rankin for how much harm she had already taken.
But he had to admit, especially as they fought side by side now, that he was impressed, too.
"Nice."
That was all John really had to say about the darkened tunnel that Rahne had led them to with her nose; she'd followed the runaway knife-chucker, and his eyes had already adjusted to the near-total darkness by the time he'd put his feet on the ground. They'd climbed a long way down. He wondered just how freaking old this tunnel was, but that didn't matter.
"Any idea which way he went?" John asked over his shoulder to Rahne, looking from left to right. Her nose was the best of them, and while John was picking up some people scents, they were mingled and muddled here, with some he didn't recognize... and one that he did.
Creed.
It had taken some work to get down into the tunnel, but now that her clothes were left behind Rahne was refusing to turn back into a girl. It was better this way, anyhow. In her wolf body she was a better fighter, a better tracker, a better athlete. It even made it easier to cope with the pain in her crushed cheek. As for following the boy who'd run away, his scent trail was practically lit up like a runway. She loped ahead of John, confidently navigating the maze.
Midnighter was right on her heels, unwilling to let her get too far ahead on her own. She'd already gotten hurt, and he had no intention of letting that happen again. His brain was constantly running scenarios in the cramped tunnel, and he didn't like the lack of maneuverability. All the more reason to stick close to Rahne, although all of his senses were focused outwards, to make sure they wouldn't be ambushed.
John wasn't far after, bringing up the rear simply by virtue of wanting to surprise Creed if at all possible. John had always run alone, and he wouldn't be expecting him to have backup, unless the runaway got too far ahead and reported in. Which, for all John knew, he had.
Something wasn't right, though. He skidded to a halt, catching a faint sight of movement.
But it was too late. An invisible wave of sensory disorientation washed over the group, and John, normally graceful and balanced, swayed where he stood, and then fell to his hands and knees as his vision spun and his stomach lurched.
Rahne swiveled her ears back, as if that would protect her from the nauseating hum. Her tongue lolled, and her feet crossed first one way and then the other, as if she were being tilted on a rocking ship. She coughed once but kept her lunch, and bayed a frustrated challenge into the darkness.
Midnighter had been about to warn the others, but the wave of dizziness took him by surprise. He wasn't used to feeling either dizzy or nauseated, and the combination of the two had him stumbling into a nearby wall and leaning his back on it heavily, trying to breathe through the fucking thing. Or maybe he ought to stop breathing? He wasn't sure which would work best.
As quickly as it came, the wave of nauseating dizziness subsided, fading to where it was just a bothersome bit of disorientation. Three figures stepped from nearby access tunnels. One was familiar, and two were not. The familiar one hand a knife in each hand, flipping them on his fingers. "Well, now that we got your attention," he began, wearing a stupid grin.
The other boy, skinnier and seemingly unarmed, looked among the three of them, sizing them up. "Wolf is mine," he murmured, quietly, but not quiet enough for the three of them to not hear.
The third, a girl, remained quiet, her eyes sweeping along the three of them, focused, keeping her psychic disorientation field up. With John's heightened senses, at least, he could sense it was emanating from her. It had a distinct sound, a sort of wave-shape he could make out. He had no doubt that Midnighter could make it out, and probably Rahne too, in her more sensitive wolf form.
They weren't blocking the path ahead, but they were poised to intercept if need be. John's fists flexed, but his claws didn't come out yet. His senses didn't lie, though. Creed was nearby. Midnighter and Rahne were beasts; they could tear these three apart if they really wanted, on their own, he figured. Being nonlethal would drag things out a bit. Creed could either get away, or worse, join in the fray, and he wouldn't be wearing kid gloves, in his estimation. John knew what he had to do, at the very least, to keep Rahne safe. She could survive these guys. The knife-thrower would probably focus on Midnighter. And probably wind up stabbed for his troubles.
"Guys," John murmured in a whisper, hoping none of their foes had super-senses. "I'm going after Creed. Deal with these losers." He wasn't going to lie. He'd done enough lying to Rahne already. Before anyone could protest, John made a break for it, getting his balance back. The lanky boy that was unfamiliar to them lashed out, though, and briefly contacted John's bare arm. John screamed, stumbled, his claws out and his hands freely bleeding from it, but he continued to press forward, toward Creed's scent, leaving the odds seemingly favoring their foes with three against two.
Stupid, typical John, running off on his own. After she and Mid had come all the way down here just to get him out of trouble. Before she could even see the rage coming, her blood was boiling. Her fur stood all on end, and she licked at her fangs once before bolting toward their foes, out for blood. This was going to be over soon. She was going to make sure.
As the dizziness and nausea naturally receded, Midnighter's body fought off the last of it from his system, and he focused his senses on the three figures barring the way through the tunnel. Mutants, all three of them, and the risk assessment was quickly done. His foot caught a broken empty bottle of cheap whisky and flipped it into the air, for him to grab and throw, dagger style, at the guy who'd touched Daken, only narrowly (but very purposefully) missing Rahne as she launched forward.
And then Midnighter joined her in the fray, very determined not to let her get injured any more than she already had, and cursing her, Daken and fucking Rankin for how much harm she had already taken.
But he had to admit, especially as they fought side by side now, that he was impressed, too.