Logs:Controlled Burn

Controlled Burn
Dramatis Personae Kitty, Kyinha
In Absentia	2020-08-09 "Whatever works, right?"
Location The Blackbird - Somewhere Over the Indian Ocean
The sleek stealth jet is at cruising altitude high above the clouds, its interior glossy and clean and bright. Scott is at the controls in his black X-uniform, quiet as he checks over the instruments yet again -- nothing on the radar, as their mission plan had indicated would be the case. "We're going to start our descent soon," he calls back to his teammates, "you two ready back there?" "Just about!" Kyinha calls back. "Try to keep her steady, though?" He's in the process of pulling on his custom X-branded firefighter's turnout gear, bulk and black with yellow piping and details. Gear aside, he looks as uncanny as ever with his blacker-than-black skin wreathed with a fiery aura. He's spitting into his goggles now, flashing an apologetic smile at his other teammate. "I'm sorry if it's gross," he says, "but it keeps them fogging up better than any chemical treatment I've tried." Kitty laughs, a little louder than normal over the hum of air as the Blackbird cuts through atmosphere. "Whatever works, right?" She's sweating a little at her temples, either because of Kyinha or her own nerves. She wipes her forehead before pulling her brown hair back. This is the fifth or sixth time she's retied her hair in about an hour. "I've seen weirder stuff in the chem labs." Kitty glances at the gear in front of her and hesitates, not picking up anything to add to her uniform and gear. Kyinha pulls the goggles over his head and leaves them hanging around his neck. "This is all a bit excessive, I really only need the respirator. I guess this beats having all my clothes burned off, though." Watches Kitty tie up her hair again. "You'll do fine," he says, a bit more gently. Shakes his head "I really hope we catch it before it starts to come apart." "Respirator. Right." Another moment as Kitty scans the gear, then reaches for the respirator and pulls it through a set of heavy gloves. It's a little unwieldy - she goes to put it over her head, then sits down with it in her lap instead on one of the benches in the jet. "It's just..." She sighs. "It's been a minute. Plus, this isn't exactly my usual kind of mission." Kitty gives Kyinha a half smile. "Could always burn it off, right?" "Grad school's no joke!" Kyinha's smile -- might be sympathetic, but so little detail is visible on his face right now that it's hard to say for sure. "And then with the lockdown, a lot of us are somewhat out of practice, I think." Is his accent just a touch heavier than usual? It's difficult to tell through so much noise. "But Scott will be with you on welding detail, and we'll have Hank on the comms, too." He picks up a respirator of his own, fiddling with the straps. "Professor wants us to avoid a spectacle, if possible, but --" He grits his teeth, fiery light shining through them from within his body, "-- if it's bad enough and if we can coordinate with the cleanup workers on sight, I'm going for it." Kitty's smile widens as she chuckles. "This certainly beats doing lit review." The smile fades as she glances back towards the cockpit. "Right. Shouldn't be hard. I just haven't phased through anything more than the door to my bathroom in a few months." She reaches up to redo her hair again. "It just seems like a controlled burn might be the way to go at this point, you know?" The hair tie snaps in half. "Shit." "Helping to save beautiful Mauritius is a worthy cause for missing lit review, I think." Kyinha strokes his nonexistent (probably, who can tell?) beard. "You can take the first few decks slow, no?" he suggests, though he doesn't actually sound altogether sure, either. "It might be too flooded for you to get at the stress points, anyhow, but it's worth a look if we can keep it from spilling even more oil. But -- perhaps we can do both?" His eyes crinkle when the hair tie snaps, the expression on his dark face unreadable. "Jean keeps some extras in her locker. I doubt she'll mind you borrowing one." "Tell that to my supervisor," Kitty says, rolling her eyes. "He's not a bigot, that I can tell, but he doesn't understand my extracurriculars." On 'extracurriculars' Kitty puts up her fingers for air quotes, for good measure. "Slow, yeah." She says it slowly, considering how it might work. "We'll see." She looks around for Jean's locker, spotting GREY on one across from her. She steps around Kyinha, then phases her head into the locker to look around. Emerging, she has two new ties on her wrist. "Thanks for the tip." "I would love to tell it to him, but it might not help him maintain his not-bigot reputation." Kyinha's grin is wide and quite literally bright. "I have faith in you, but I also have faith in you being able to tell us your limits. We'll make this mission work, one way or another." He sounds just a bit grim, here. Manages to smile again, anyway, when Kitty emerges properly armed to keep her hair at bay. "Can't have you going on mission with your hair in your eyes." Outside, the Blackbird has descened below the clouds and is viering toward the green gem that is Mauritius, the turquoise ocean around it marred by a swath of dark brown and black. "Ten minutes to insertion, get ready," Scott calls back. "As ready as we'll be, no?" Kyinha asks, hooking the respirator to one of the straps on his turnout gear. At the word limits, Kitty bites her lip. "Yeah. Thanks Kyinha." There is a little bit of something to her tone there - could be heard as doubt, maybe, or frustration. "This one, and the next one," she says, a harder edge in her voice. She runs her fingers over the yellow X on her uniform before putting her hair up, more confidently this time, into a tight, high ponytail. She straps the respirator around her neck at Scott's words, not pulling over her mouth just yet, and cracks her fingers. "Now or never," she agrees, shooting Kyinha another grin. She's sweating still, but seems more still, more calm. Kyinha returns the grin, and then is quiet a moment, bowing his head and murmuring a string of quiet words not at all in English. The Blackbird descends, slowing her forward momentum as Scott skillfully shifts into VTOL mode, hovering just beside the hulk of the stranded ship just off the coast of Mauritius, then dropping lightly into the water -- clear, here, just beyond the booms hastily deployed to contain the oil spill. The hatch opens, the stench of petroleum overpowering the salty smell of sea air. Scott come aft, plucking up his respirator set and looking his younger teammates over. "Alright, X-Men. Let's move."