ArchivedLogs:The Lorax

The Lorax
Treebirth.
Dramatis Personae Micah, Peter, Faelan, Jim, Jackson, Kurt
In Absentia	18 March 2014 Takes place directly following Jax and Jim's escape and all the ambulances.
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Small but popular, this tree-lined park is a perfect centerpiece to the eclectic neighborhood it resides in. Home to a number of playgrounds and courts from handball to basketball, it also houses a dog park and chess tables, providing excellent space for people watching -- especially during its frequent and often eccentric festivals, from Wigstock to its yearly Allen Ginsberg tribute Howl festival. Micah has been in a flurry of activity since leaving the park in an ambulance. Both twins are now established at the Clinic and at least stable, with Shane still unconscious and 'Bastian improving rapidly. He received a call that they /think/ Jax has been found and is back in the park, cryptic though /that/ sounds. A random volunteer in a blue station wagon drops him off /back/ at the park, which is considerably less crowded now that most of the injured people have been taken off to assorted medical facilities. He awkward lope-jogs his way across the park, dodging first aid supplies here and discarded burned clothing there. The grass is a twisted Impressionist painting of Holi dust and dried blood and ash and dirt. The air is acrid with the smell of the thick, black smoke still emanating from the sad husk of a building across the street. He moves toward the group of people gathered around the...burned tree that didn't used to be there? His auburn hair is a mess, skin and white undershirt coated in dried blood and ash and grass stains, a new hole in the left knee of his pants as he wanders in looking a little at a loss. Somewhere in the distance -- where the sirens are loudest -- there is a sudden commotion; a few shouts, some yells -- followed by something /loud/ clattering. The shouts continue for several long seconds... but soon fade away. They're replaced by closer shouts as something small and dark begins barreling toward the clearing. People -- some covered in soot, struggling to recover, others just curious onlookers -- are soon scrambling to get out of the way of the charging figure. Peter Parker -- clad in his hexacomb-patterned body-armor, with his unusual, matching mask (complete with respirator and bright, buggy eyes), is charging straight ahead toward the tree in the clearing. On his back is a massive backpack -- er, except it's not /quite/ a backpack. It actually looks more like... some sort of generator? With bright yellow handlebars flanking it, designed for lifting. He's strapped it on with weblines; a hose extends from it to what appear to be... a massive set of industrial SCISSORS. Aka, the Jaws of Life. Peter is charging headlong, straight toward -- the strange, bulbous tree. The engine on the back is making a steady, loud *put*-*put*-*put* noise, spouting out smoke. Peter is yelling, through the mask: "GET. OUT. OF. MY. WAY." Peter may or may not actually see Micah. But one way or another, he is /stabbing/ this mother-fucking tree. Arriving via teleport with herr Wagner is not always the most pleasant of experiences, and Faelan falls to his knees as the smoke and brimstone of the bamf begin to dissipate. "Hrk, god. I swear to god I will be a better person if I can learn to do this without suffering that again." There is a brief bout of dry heaving going on, before the young man raises up from his feet and wipes his mouth. It seems he had been in a relaxation mode when he had gotten yanked to help, a huge hoodie with a picture of a dinosaur eating a cupcake on it, hanging down below his waist to the sweat pants he was wearing. At the very least he had the time to shove protective footwear on, the boots being heavy and steel toed at the very least. "Er, park. Not burning building. Okay right, focus focus," he bonks the side of his head a few times gently with his palm as he inhales in and out in long deep breaths. "Thanks Mr. Wagner. Okay, perceive, assess, plan." As he focuses though, he sees Peter with heavy weaponry, and his jaw drops. "Peter, what are you doing to that poor tree? Did you inhale something weird?" Still, at least he's moving towards it rather than away from it, which is a good sign. In the meantime, the burning husk of large tree lies there and lazily gives off smoke in the soft rain of ash flakes drifting down from the building. It sizzles softly, where the blackest exterior harbors a few fading embers. It's oddly shaped and fugly; squat and flat like a huge crab, with only a few thick stunted leafless branches gnarling off its top and low-hunkered with roots snarled and curled in around its, for lack of a better word, /underbelly/ like a dead spider's legs. Mmm campfire smells. And... burntmeat and hair? Hard to tell with so much other pollution in the air. The last bit of distance is covered at a jog-hop to bring Micah over to where Peter is running with...way worse than scissors. "Peter! What in the world are y'doin'? Why's there a...tree-thing?" Amazingly, all of that manages to get out /before/, "I got a call that they /thought/ they found Jax an' he's in the park but this is the park an' I don't see 'im an' how d'you /think/ y'found someone an' know where they are at the same time? That don't make no kinda sense." He shifts nervously from foot to foot next to the boy with the Big Contraption. Faelan is spared a look when he speaks, a few blinks before Micah's brain digs a name out to put to the face. "Faelan? Ohgosh. That means they brought folks from the school t'help. Oh thank goodness. Are you teleportin' folks or...?" May as well speak frankly. It's not like anyone is really paying attention to /conversation/ in the midst of an ongoing emergency. "--DON'T. SAY. MY. NAME." *CRRRKT!* The massive set of scissors /slams/ into the bark; Peter's enhanced strength -- combined with the fact that they're solid stainless steel /blades/ -- is enough to dig through the center of the pulpy tree's flesh, near what appears to be one of its many unusual, bulbous grooves. No sooner have the scissors slammed into place than is Peter activating them -- a loud, gnashing *THRUM* emerges from the back of the contraption as the closed 'scissors' begin to open, attempting to crack open a portion of the bark -- wedge it wide to form a gruesome gash in the tree itself. "F. Get over here, /NOW/," Peter shouts, hunched over the front of the tree, the jaws of life gnashing and whining as they struggle to violently tear open a fist-sized hole in the tree's flesh. "As soon as you see something that doesn't look like tree, GRAB him and /port him out/." Peter's suit is notably covered in soot; some embers still smolder along his left side, trailing up in tiny wisps. The fact that the tree is burning is somewhat more apparent, and the fact that it wasn't a tree that had been planted in the area to begin with. "I'm no expert...but did someone else teleport this tree here? I haven't done any trees in months. Especially not burnt ones." Of course the other sets of information slam through the post Kurt port confusion, and his brain kicks into high gear. "They had said they needed people to move stuff, and I can do it safely at least." Peter's angry level of commands get a brow raise but he is over and right behind him. "If there's someone in there, get out of the way, you're gonna cut them in half! Stop the scissors!" He has a look as if he's almost about to push the armored and beweaponed Spiderdude for a moment, then looks to Micah for authority help. "Just, just let me at this. This is like Ivan and Lena and the moths. Just... Calm. I am Calm." He inhales and exhales again and tries to block out Peter from his thoughts as he holds a hand towards his tree. "Just like Ivan and Lena... but not being spooked." Letting out a breath he has a resolution in his mind, but his eyes defocus as he does the Opposite of concentrating and lets things flow. As the tree rips open, its interior - what becomes visible when the charred outer layer parts open in fits and spits, is greenwood and alive, sapling-green and a light blondwood color in layers. Plants do not /neat/ holds make; the fibrous plantmatter splinters and creaks with the strain of the jaws, adding soft creaking sounds and sharp /cracks/ as it gives to the pressure, grooves snarling open length-wise with ever widening seams. Watch out. Splinters. "I dunno, this thing didn't /used/ t'be here. Not sure how we ended up with the Ferngully...flippin'.../Hexxus/ tree in the middle of Tompkins Squ--oh, son of a /biscuit/." Somewhere between his own mental imagery of a thing being turned into a tree and Peter calling for Faelan to pull people out and his question about /thinking/ they know where Jax is, Micah gets an idea of what is happening. The adding machine in his head is nearly audible, and the ticker-tape declares, "That's /Jim/, isn't it? Is that /tree/ Jim? Is Jax /in/ that tree?" His eyes grow wider as the questions climb in shrill incredulity. "PETER, STOP! You're gonna kill Jim! An' cut into Jax! Stopstopstop! Fae, can you get 'em out?" He moves closer to Peter and would be pulling him back physically if not for the...smouldering-hot suit. Instead, he just gives Faelan a nigh /prayerful/ look. Peter stiffens at the /shrillness/ of Micah's voice; that, it seems, is enough to prompt him to pull the metal jaws of life back -- with a crrrreaking growl and angry snuffle from the engine mounted on his back. "But I have to--" he starts, his voice briefly choked, strangled underneath the mask -- but then his head cocks back, toward Faelan -- bright white buggy goggle-eyes staring briefly, uncomprehendingly, as he /yanks/ the scissors out: "You can -- you don't need to touch -- oh, oh /God/, oh God I just put a hole in him please /fix/ it fix it fix it--" and then Peter is stumbling back, away from the gaping wedge he put in JimTree. As the tree rips open, its interior gives birth to a bloody-messy pile of charred flesh and charred remains of clothing -- not /much/ clothing, admittedly, just burned singed tatters /fused/ with blackened crisped /meat/ and bubbling blistering flesh laid in a somewhat /misshapen/ heap among the anachronistically /cheerful/ backdrop of colourful grass several feet away from origin point. Jax is -- rather brokenly crumpled, where he lies; being so close to the epicenter of explosion has done a number on his bones. And flesh. Possibly organs. Certainly tattoos. And hair -- at least that was getting shaved for spring soon anyway. He's breathing, though, that's something. Wheezily, hoarse, uneven; a little /gaspy/ now that he's out of the constricting wooden confines he'd been imprisoned in. Wood splinters fling on out from the crunching and cracks, but Faelan doesn't seem to notice the tiny bits managing to stick into hoodie and flecks in his face. There is a relaxing of his features as suddenly there was no tree.Blinking, he bites his lip and looks around slightly panicky "Oh god, I hope that was close I had done what I had practiced and they shouldn't be out of the park. It should be really close..." and there is a very low whisper "maybe." Thankfully, hope was enough as treeJim and burnedJax are not together. "Oh good. Oh, yes. Okay there is... oh, that isn't good. Oh..." seeing the tree somewhat further away in the other direction, he lets out a sigh. "Um, You probably want to call doctors, fast. Or, well. Mr. Wagner could get him somewhere, but... it hurts a lot." Disgorged of its burnt-fleshy Jax nutmeats, the now empty Jim treehusk... does not do much beyond lay around where it had been teleported like a cracked open walnut shell. Probably with a layer of burnt tattoo-skin layering that tender spring-green interior where it had fused to the wood texture, exposed to the air and light now. Where the outside remains charred and retains a few embers, it probably continues to casually smoke. Very Jim. Sssizzle. “I don't know how t'fix trees!” Micah near-panics back. But then Jax is just a few feet away, lying on the ground and gasping. “Faelan, if you have your phone call for an ambulance! Or Mr. Wagner if that won't make 'im worse! We need t'get 'im t'the Clinic!” He's already scurrying off in Jax's direction, swinging by to collect the handily-left-in-the-field first aid kit he had been using to treat Shane earlier. Falling hard to his knees at Jax's side, his eyes dart quickly over the man. Breathing, but not well. Pulse present. So many burns... He starts dampening gauze from his kit, silent thanks given for his recent trip to restock in light of just how /much/ gauze has been needed lately. “Jax, honey, it's me. I'm here. You just breathe.” "OhGod, oh--" Peter's stepping back away from the tree when everything /vanishes/, he's left to stare at the void in front of him -- until his head swings 'round, to focus on Jackson, off in the distance. Just a pile of broken, smoldering meat. And then his head swivels to the other side, and... "--F, can you port them to the clinic? Or to the school? Or--" He's already approaching Micah, hesitant -- as if afraid he might do damage just by being /nearby/. The massive engine on his back is already getting tugged off, a spritz of vinegar from his webshooters enough to encourage the spider-like lines to dissolve, sending it collapsing to the ground with a loud THWUNK. "--um, Mister -- Mr. Zedner, is -- I saw Shane and B over at -- do you know where Spence is?" The mask hides Peter's panicked expression -- at the sight of Jackson's viciously battered, burned body -- but his voice, imbued with that quaver, betrays it. He is /trying/ to hold it together -- and think of /all/ the angles. Jackson does breathe. Wheezy-gaspy, rough. His eye seems to be, at least, intact, more or less shielded from the worst of the explosion by Jim's bulk. He's more or less /conscious/ now, it seems -- it rotates to focus its bright blue on Micah at the sound of the other man's voice, fixing up on Micah's face. The sound of /Spencer's/ name earns a tiny strangled whimper, a pained trembling shiver against the ground. Shaking his head at the question, Faelan frowns and is already pulling out his phone. "Can't. I can do Away from Here. Not to There," there is a frustration in his voice though, knowing his limitations and knowing it makes him useless for what needs to be done Now. "Mr.... Nightcrawler, can get him to the clinic. But it feels like having your," he hand gestures vaguely with his hand and phone as he's waiting for the phone to pick up, "everything sucked out of you the hard way. He probably will live. But he may not want to." There is a noise from the phone and he puts it to his ear. "Herr Wagner? Mir Helfen. Need someone to the hospital...fast. Ambulance wouldn't be fast enough probably." He swallows hard at that as he walks over to Jax and the others. "He's on his way back. I...hope it's the right decision Mr. Zedner. I don't think there are better options." He is pulling out a small red fannypack type thing from under his hoodie though as the furry blue one reappears at the spot they had arrive in before. "Oh..I guess you wont need a first aid kit then." "Shh, shh," Micah tries to calm Jax without...really touching him because of all the burns and the need to use his hands to cool and cover as many of the burns as he can get to, as quickly as possible. "Honey, it's okay. 'Bastian's still got Chelsea's healin' an' he's all on the mend. He an' Shane're at the Clinic already. Ain't nobody seen no sign of Spence. But prob'ly just the /sound/ of the initial explosion spooked 'im enough t'be 'portin' off /far/ from here. S'prob'ly just collectin' 'imself an' he'll find his way back t'one of us soon. Or call if he had 'is phone on 'im." There is a well-practiced calm and assurance to Micah's tone that is not matched /in the least/ in his mind. At least none of this group are telepaths. "Fae, if y'wanna help...more hands wouldn't be a bad thing here if y'can." There's no lack of burned real estate to treat. "An', thank you. I'm sure...instant transport is best, even if it's uncomfortable." "O--okay," Peter replies, keeping his distance from Jackson and Micah, his hands clenching and unclenching in a steady, agitated rhythm. "--Micah I'm going to... check and see if -- I'm going to find Spencer," Peter tells him, already beginning to move -- fishing out his phone. "--and make, uh, another -- some calls..." He's hovering over Micah as he works with Faelan, stepping out of immediate auditorial range -- but keeping the group in sight. Probably to /web/ any angry looking people who might start to approach them. "Jim --" Jackson's voice is just a creaky-hoarse croak, rasping out froglike from his throat; his eye strains back around, though from this vantage point he cannot really see the Ent he was birthed from. His hand shifts slightly across the coloured grass towards Micah, and then stops moving; a bright flutter of light flickers erratically around him, his burned skin glowing warm-hot-warm-hot at intermittent intervals. "I meant that his ride is here. The other doctors can take over. You... should probably get a separate ride there though." Faelan seems surprisingly calm in comparison to what some others might know him for. He does however wave to get Kurt's attention and with a quick lope, the fuzzy one is beside the injured. "Guten abend mein freunde. To the Clinic yes?" And the three fingered hand is offered to Jax so the decision can be made, though as the hand stops moving it may have to be a forced call. Faelan is glancing between the more adultish sorts, and to Peter over to the side. Nodding as if a decision was made, he looks to Micah. "We should go get you a ride to the Clinic so you can go with him. It wont be as fast, but you can call ahead at least and, and I'm sure he will be alright." He offers a hand to Micah to help him up, though without the same decisioning that would come from taking Kurt's. Jimtree isn't exactly making a break for it. It's still over there, popped open like the mould from which Jax had been shoddily cast. Like a melted knock-off action figure. Maybe trees are just where dirty hippies come from. “Okay. Okay. Just try callin' 'is phone again first. Maybe he'll pick up this time,” Micah responds to Peter softly, but hopefully loud enough to be heard at the teen's distance. “Jim's here, honey. I don't know...how t'help 'im. Fae, if there's anybody at the school what makes /plants/ get better? Maybe y'should call 'em. 'Cause I don't know no tree first aid.” When Kurt appears and Jax stops moving, Micah's head nods vigorously. “Clinic. Emergency. Please.” His head is still nodding, like a faintly-jostled bobble-head, at Faelan's mention of a ride. “I have my van. She's...right at the edge of the park.” And his keys were conveniently tossed into the first aid bag, it appears. Maybe Sage left them there. He collects them and springy-jogs toward Lucille the moment Jax disappears.