Logs:Escort Missions

Escort Missions
cn: a fair amount of blood
Dramatis Personae Nessie, Sriyani, Quentin, Roscoe, Nick, Bryce, Elizabeth, Dallen, Ford, Kurt, Joshua, Emilia, Scott	2024-04-27 << We keep us safe >>
Location <NYC> Freaktown (warzone edition) - Riverdale
There is gunfire, not far away. Between some of the stately mansions the blaze-crack of flashbangs can be seen and heard. The prickly-itchy haze of tear gas isn't thick in the air, here, but the breeze is still blowing a decided scratchiness into the area. Right now this group is hovering, tucked just inside an open garage door (there are no cars in here; it seems to have been reconfigured at some point into a kind of ironmonger's workshop). They've swelled considerably larger since the X-Kids left campus not long ago, increased in size by the presence of a large number of terrified and stunned-looking mutants who are each highly visible in their mutations. There is one skinny young woman with large rabbity ears and downy fur liberally stained in red -- partly from the injury still oozing blood through the makeshift bandage wrapped around her leg and partly just splattered over her chest face and arms from Someone Else -- who is propped up kind of wobbly on Nessie's broad and solid back. The person behind her looks like a somewhat misshapen clay doll, slightly featureless and very lumpy and currently re-forming a partially-broken-off limb to better support the kind of faint looking rabbit-woman in front of them. "Okay," Nessie is saying, "I think she's stable but we should find the clinic before the tunnels, it's a lot of blood and a long way." "Um --" Sriyani is looking a little freaked out, although not nearly as much freaked out as they are feeling in their mind, somewhere between the Lots Of Blood and Lots Of Shooting and Lots Of Monsters, really struggling to stay as composed as they would like. They're somewhere torn between wish we had Nevaeh here and so glad Nevaeh is safely not-here, and we've done plenty of heroing before and okay but what happened last time and, meanwhile, are trying desperately to remember where the clinic space for this occupation had been set up. They're sending a hasty text to one of many busy Signal groups, but are meanwhile asking: "Do you remember where the clinic is?" Quentin is standing watch at the garage door, hands balled into fists as if his skinny-armed punches can be some protection against the many armed and trigger-happy cops storming jackbooted through the neighborhood. Probably his punches would not do much, but the fierce energy he is pouring into a psionic suggestion: this house has already been cleared / I think I saw something Over There any time cops stray too close is a little bit more effective. "Could take her to Mendel, right? Same distance for you anyway." "What's it look like? Should I look for -- a house? Ambulances?" Roscoe turns to look over his shoulder at the others, though his gaze lands somewhere at the back of the garage instead, his wide-open eyes flicking so frantically back and forth that they almost seem to vibrate in their sockets. He's clinging to the wall with one hand maybe just to orient himself in relation to the others; he has been scanning through the neighborhood since they bunkered up here, and though he's gotten better at avoiding the blinding bright-blare of the flashbangs in the distance he still has fading, distracting afterimages spotted in his vision. He pulls the hem of his shirt up, over his nose and mouth, to cough; his eyes squeeze shut just for a moment, but then they are far far away again. Nick is moving a bit slow and favoring his bandaged right arm, but seems otherwise unharmed despite the large quantity of blood--both red and blue--matting his brown fur. Physically, at least. Quentin can feel the shock and adrenaline of their narrow escape, bought with Taylor's life, fading to a deep agony that feels like it's tearing him apart from somewhere he cannot quite place. He gives Nessie's shoulder an encouraging squeeze with his less injured (and less bloody) hand, and joins Quentin and Roscoe and the door. "Clinic's at an ally's house just outside the perimeter," he says, his voice low and hoarse. "Few blocks that way." He points south, along the river. "Should be a big white tent in the front yard, but probably no ambulances." There's a bitter edge to the last part that he pushes aside with a defiant, "Our medics are better, anyway." With the bandaging finished, Bryce is kind of hanging back -- he's also covering his mouth, though with a furry arm. He's trying his best not to look scared, for Dallen's sake (unfortunately he is terrified; fortunately it's not all that legible on his mostly canine face right now. Also unfortunately, Chonk's smooshed-in face is more sensitive to this current Tear Gas situation than his own actual nose would be.) << too young for Wilderness First Aid, >> he's thinking, just a little smug and kind of a lot hopeful he does not have to put these skills to any further use tonight. "You -- can see if cops are coming, right?" he's whispering, at once confident (in Roscoe's prowess) and deeply stressed at having to incorporate this alien Cops Are Bad Today idea into his gestalt. "I can keep the meat cops away," Quentin assures the others with confidence, but is following this a little uncomfortably with: "-- can't do jack about the spiders, though, so like. Double heads up on those, yeah?" He's waiting for another trio of police to mysteriously decide that this house is totally not worth investigating before he leads them out into the street. Elizabeth is splattered with blood, her wings tucked around herself, but does not seem to have any major injuries. She's been grazed deep enough to require a bandage around her arm, but somehow managed to escape the gunfire. Taylor wasn't so lucky. << Oh god, Taylor... >> is one of the only thoughts going through her head at the moment, understandably disturbed by what she has seen today. Her knuckles are slightly blooded but intact, mainly due to her punching her rage into a brick wall before being herded to this area. A dumb decision, but it's better than getting herself killed by punching every cop she can see. The obvious mutant, quite frankly, is terrified. She's just composed enough to help if she needs to, but she'd really rather not, thank you. She's tapping her foot in an anxious pace, staying away from all the windows, shaded in shadow, the only thing visible her silhouette and the glow of her amber eyes. << God, they shot him right in front of me... Taylor, I'm so sorry... >> She just hopes they can leave soon. She just wants to pretend this never happened. Why did it have to happen? << How are you joking right now? >> "I would like to say... for the record... this will never be enough to erase the pain you all have dealt with today, but I am so sorry. I only wish there was something more helpful I could say." And then, to anyone of vague authority in this, using this moment to compose herself. "What can I do?" It's a question of action, not soothing words. Those will not help right now. What they need is action. Nessie is having a hard time keeping her eyes from the splatters of blue on Nick's fur, a roil of nausea and horror and rage all battling each other whenever she thinks about it. She's shifting slowly up out of the crouch she got into in order to let her injured passengers on, moving slow at first just in case her dazed and bleeding cargo starts to slip from their unusual mount. But when the others keep their balance she's nodding, and pressing forward. "Keep a head count?" she suggests to Elizabeth. "It's kind of chaotic and we don't want. Don't want." It's Taylor she's imagining here, left somewhere in a bloodied heap, but it's the thought of him alive and smiling and explaining to a Much Smaller Nessie how to stay safe in the city that keeps her going, finally. "-- Don't want to leave anyone behind." Dallen stays close to Bryce as they move out into the street, clutching his fidget bracelet tight, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the soft rubbery indents of "Choose the Right", over and over. Every whiff of tear gas, every crack of gunfire, every flash of a grenade jars his brain like a physical blow. But in some strange way the fact that these things are so overwhelming to his senses leaves him little space even consider being afraid of them. He's still puzzling over Quentin's concern about "spiders", until he spots a Sentinel in the distance, a far cry from the harmless jewel-bright orb weavers that spin webs for stray unwanted thoughts in the tangled garden of his mind. Almost reflexively, he's pulling his own shadow -- their shadows, collectively -- up off the ground, a dark obscuring mist that...may or may not actually hide them from the patrolling drones. In his mind, he's wreathed the Sentinel in a pulsing halo of red light to warn Quentin. "Bad spider," he's whispering, probably too low for anyone but Bryce to hear, "bad spider." Roscoe recalibrates, tries to aim at only a few blocks away, but he is looking too far away to see any cops (meat or spider) that might be scuttling around in their immediate vicinity. The reminder of the Sentinels jolts him sharply back into his own field of vision just as group has started to cross the street and his first step after them is too-hasty and slaps a little loud on the pavement, << don't leave me don't leave me! >> is with a spike of anguish and terror and guilt and he grabs instinctively for someone's shirt or hand or shoulder to hold, to make sure he stays with the group this time before he shuts his eyes again and twists his head, scanning now for a white tent, faster now he has a goal and a general area. << here here here! >> is with a helpful mental picture of the busy interior of the clinic and a wash of relief and more guilt at the familiar faces there. << not gonna leave you, >> Quentin assures Roscoe immediate and firm, even as the image of the Correct House shines clear in Sriyani's mind. "Thanks," Sriyani is saying, quick -- to Quentin, to Roscoe, to whoever. They're pausing at the very next house they're passing, grabbing hold of a side door and flinging it open -- not to the inside of the house (from the windows, from Roscoe's vision around the portal, it can be seen full of police, three of them none-too-gently arresting a young woman who was still hiding inside). On the other side of the door now is the differently chaotic clinic. No gunshots, no police; here it's set up for triaging in a capacious garage; the tent on the lawn is handling decontamination from all those sprayed with chemical weapons, somewhere inside the house proper are quieter spaces for the more serious patients. Somewhere to the side people not-injured-but-not-well are huddled, staring blank-eyed or talking in low voices to volunteers wearing badges (NYCAM logo prominent but EMOTIONAL FIRST AID printed clear beneath) or, in one girl's case, breathing into a paper bag. "Here here here." Ford has been following along with the others, a pallor having overcome his expression. He seems to be operating on autopilot, anxiety mixed between being caught in the chaotic area, and also being around so many inhuman seeming mutants. Despite this, he does move to help any who need support, sticking near to where Nessie is to be in better position to lend his strength. << don't look at us don't look at us >> he mentally chants to both cop and sentinel. They're just some little guys, harmless, nobody Important at all over here. "Oh thank the Lord..." he exhales at seeing the new space opening up through the door. "Ohthankgod," Nessie is also saying, and she's scuttling quick through the door (with a guilty, anxious glance at the windows still leading into the house beside it.) Her more rabbity patient looks to be a bit woozy and fading -- probably it's a blessing to have Ford nearby to help prop the woman back up as she continually keeps trying to list to the side. She's a little uncertain when she scuttles inside, trying to keep the immense bulk of Herself out of the way of the bustle as she asks, tentatively: "Um -- medic?" One thing is certain: Kurt needs to become more addicted to his phone and use it far more often. It would have been handy to have GPS tracking and up to date information at the tip of his tail. Another thing becomes vividly clear: he’s got to reacquaint himself with landmarks in and around where they will be teleporting. Still, appearing in the garage across the street from where the students were is better than nothing; it was where he thought of for the best chances of arriving without immediate gunfire. It feels like a stiff punch in to the sternum, but he and Cyclops arrive none the worse for wear. “Made it,” he says, taking a small gulp of breath. Adrenaline is soaring in his veins, which is remarkably helpful at the moment. “Vas— is that—-?” The students? Across the street!? Emilia has been pretty silent the whole time, not quite sure what to say or do. What could you say in this situation? What else could be said that would fill any kind of silence? So she says nothing, merely following along, providing a get down when needed, when things are just a bit too close. Notably, she's been fox-walking almost the entire time, so her steps are near silent. Looking at the carnage, feeling the slight sting of tear gas in the air, she shakes her head. If this was what the cops did, maybe she was better off running half the time. She could handle her own problems, anyway. It only filled her with more rage, more concern for those who were not as fortunate as she was as to be more obvious. Sure, she set off metal detectors, but one of them resembled a demon. That couldn't have been easy. It almost makes her want to just cry out of anger, but she holds it back for now. There will be time for anger-crying later. For now, she has to keep a level head. And her claws from extending. Is the Yakety Sax music playing as the X-Kids slip away through the door? Maybe that's just in Scott and Kurt's heads but for a moment it almost seems like it. Quentin has been waiting to make sure the entire group goes through the door first but -- he's definitely glancing across the street with a small huff. Just before the door closes firm behind them all. Inside the clinic there are so very many medic options available -- if, unfortunately, one fewer than they started the night at. With Rachel no longer on site and Actual Doctors out preventing further death, triaging has lapsed back to the next highest licensed person still in the garage. Joshua is a familiar face to most of the gathered group, whether from Around School or from Around Freaktown, and as he hastens over (reflexively peeling very bloodied purple gloves one-into-the-other off his hands, after which they simply vanish) he's -- blinking. Blinking again. This is the only amount of startled he allows himself before his expression schools back into its glum resting expression -- but as his healing senses are extending over the group Quentin, at least, can feel his spike of anxiety (<< {not these kids, not these kids} >> followed by a quieter, not as relieved as he would like it to be, << Barukh HaShem >> when none of them seem about to die. He's locking in on Nick, and as soon as he's said: "Tell me what happened," a sick despair is starting to claw up and just as immediately tamped tight back down. He knows what happened, clearly; there are tentacles squirming at the edge of his thoughts and an ache that he is not focusing on, instead clarifying with just a touch of apology as he pulls on a fresh pair of gloves: "Who's injured. Where. If you're not, stand to the side, please." Elizabeth holding her arm seems to indicate that, plus the rather bloody bandage wrapped around it, clearly just fabric from her shirt, a sort of rudimentary triage, that anyone would reasonably know how to do in a situation like this. She's not as injured, so debates stepping aside, but who knows if she got injured anywhere else? It's best to get checked out while she still has the chance. Her wings also have some abrasions, it is unclear how long those will take to heal, but it stings at her back, makes moving them very inconvenient. It hurts, in other words. She's relatively banged up, but not bad. Some disinfectant and bandaging where applicable and she should be good to go. The rabbit friend on the other hand... "I don't know her name, but the rabbit one here might be top priority for triage." Elizabeth speaks, though it's only advisory, not at all assuming that that is how things are going to go. She is not the doctor, after all. She doesn't know anything about Doctor Stuff, actually. "But I think all of us could use a little help in some way." As soon as they are through the door, the group is no longer a group of unimportant little guys, and Ford is (a bit awkwardly) helping the rabbity woman staying on board. << I hope she doesn't think I am trying to pet her >> << so soft >> << oh no don't fall! >> "Yessir," he says, stepping aside when Joshua asks the non-injured parties to do so, though he vaguely points to all the injured parties (and subtly emphasizes their presence) to communicate accordingly. "Oh no I don't need any help," he says in response to Elizabeth's last words, though in his mind he is picturing a tylenol to help with the growing headache he is getting from using his abilities more than he is used to, though even this thought is pushed aside for worry that Quentin will think he is being a total weiner. "Don't listen to that lady," is a less tactful disagreement, but Roscoe is not, perhaps, capable of translating things from his native language of Rude right now; per Joshua's instructions he is scrambling to the side. "We're fine we came with Nessie we were careful, it's the Freaktownies they were with Taylor." Emilia stands to the side, making way for those who are actually injured to get the help they need. Sure, she helped, kind of, to find the... Freaktonians??? But she feels as though she's less of a help and more of a burden, taking up unnecessary space. However, some of her survivalist skills did come in handy. Does she offer? "I do have knowledge of like... basic first aid, if you need a helping hand. I'm not licensed though..." She speaks up from the side, and it's clear by her tone that she really Regrets Asking, actually. This should be left to the professionals, but they're seemingly short staffed right now. She keeps her gaze at her feet, somewhat ashamed, though why, she can't really pinpoint. Is it because she feels like she's overstepping? Because she doesn't feel like she actually did anything? The smells in here are nearly overwhelming. There's so many noises in her head, so many smells, so many everything. The only thing keeping her upright is regulatory breathing, but it seems now that the reality of the situation has set in, and she's centimeters away from an anxiety attack. << I did the bandaging >> Bryce is really really really wanting to say, standing up straighter and taller as if this will compel Joshua to notice just how responsible and helpful he is. But he gets as far as "I --" before some smidge of self awareness creeps in somewhere between the grim faces, the crying protesters talking to the mental health workers, the bloodied gloves Joshua had been wearing. "I, um, I have a wilderness first aid. Cert. If you need. Hands, sir." Nick drops back but, uncharacteristically and perhaps wisely, does not fight Quentin for going last. Once the door is closed he sags back against it, then quickly straightens up and stands clear of it, only wondering at a delay how the hell the side door of Apple House opened into Toni's garage. His relief at seeing Joshua is immediately overshadowed by remembering why he's doing triaging and not Rachel. "Yeah, you'll wanna help Liora first." He takes over steadying the rabbit-eared woman, nodding his solemn thanks to Ford as he steps aside. "That righteous chimera pup there," he tells Joshua, indicating Bryce with a tip of his muzzle, "put a tourniquet on, what...10 minutes ago?" He looks down at the makeshift bandage on his right arm, at the mingled blood drying in his fur. His answer comes kind of dull and monotonous. "Pigs stormed Sundew House guns blazing. Taylor--" Despite his exhaustion he's doggedly summoning up his psionic defenses, the tedious rounds of his motorcycle diagnostic checklist soothing in its own way even as it nominally obscures his recall of the event from nearby telepaths who probably do not need any more second-hand trauma. "--he went and threw his stu--" He swallows, his voice going dry and brittle. "--put himself between us and them. So we could get away. Then these crazy fucking kids scooped us up, like some goddamn freak angels." "I don't know what time it is now," Nessie says heavily, "but it was --" She gestures to her back -- somewhere just in front of Liora & friend -- where a time is finger-painted in drying blood on her hard shell. "Mr. Summers was so mad but we heard about -- I didn't know if you all were. I had to know." BAMF. The crowded triage garage has gotten a tiny bit more crowded, though Scott too tries hastily to get out of the way, a little winded from teleporting so punchily around. Is he mad? His face is pretty unreadable even where it's not obscured by his opaque visor, and though his expression doesn't shift when he takes rapid stock of the situation his mind washes with wordless relief when he accounts for all of his students, and gratitude to find both Nick and Joshua here as well. He rubs at his unshaven chin with one hand -- "You kids scare the daylights out of me," he says, none too gruntled, his voice a little rough with exhaustion, but although his tone does not soften at all, his posture is easing at last. "Is anyone hurt? Let's get out of Mr. Joshua's way if not." Kurt is already counting heads as he leans against the wall (subconsciously pleased his eyes glow and it makes it harder to see any strain on his face.) His field training as a medic, while useful if one were, say, stranded in another realm or Mojoworld, is fairly basic and rather unhelpful in this particular scenario. All that to say he is ostensibly relieved to see Joshua there. Elizabeth steps behind... what was her name? Liora. She's not as badly injured, and those who need it most should be first. She spots the man she does not recognize with the glowing eyes, her own glowing eyes meeting his but for a moment, before they look away again, and she coils up underneath her wings, waiting, like someone crossing their arms. She doesn't really feel like talking to anyone with all the adrenaline now dumped out of her, and she'd like a nap now, thank you very much. "If you're injured but you're walking, right here." Joshua is pointing, by Elizabeth, as he helps Nick move Liora off Nessie's back. His face has gone just a little paler while they transfer her, and he's nodding along to Nick's report. His eyes catch, briefly, on the bloodied numbers Nessie points to. He's flicking a glance to Bryce with a kind of resigned, kind of aggrieved: << {WFA. fucking of COURSE you do}. >> "Good improvising," maybe this isn't supposed to sound like an accusation but in his grim tone it kiiind of does, though only half as much as: "Saved this woman's life. Your brother'd be proud." He has a million other questions swirling around: where the FUCK did these kids come from, what are they doing here, where are they GOING, Where The Hell Are The Adults. He's not answering those, though, just gritting his teeth and summoning up Just Enough energy to stabilize the heavy bleed. Some part of him is trying to evaluate the crushing need for medics vs. what it would take to onboard people to the clinic goings-on in the next Thirty Seconds and just as he's considering instructing them to get on the lawn and get a crash course in How To Do Eye Flushes -- BAMF. It's an immediate relief to see his teammates, little though it shows through on his droopy face. << Man Scott hitching a BAMF out here >> << {the fuck been going on at school} >> << give the man a goddamned break, kids >> is warring with his more clinical assessment: << might have lost another one if they hadn't picked these poor fuckers up >> It sums up to a brief look towards Kurt and Scott, a small acknowledging lift of his chin. Quentin, on the other hand, is Not at all pleased for this new intrusion. He is moving obligingly to the side when instructed but then steps back forward when Scott appears and the lift of his chin is not greeting or acknowledging but a stubborn defiance. "We're doing fine without you. You can go back to washing your hands of it while people die out here." "Thank you, Mr. Joshua." The grief in Nessie's mind has not faded but it's become such an omnipresent throb it's becoming easier to ignore, at least for this moment with concrete Needs to tend. She has crouched down, as low to the ground as she can get for ease of transfer as her passengers dismount; the other person is hobbling to the Injured, Still (Nominally) Walking side as Liora moves to the ground. She looks up quick when her teachers arrive, and there's a quick resurgence of rage that is soon checked by a swell of apology << ohmygosh I stabbed Mr. Summers >>. "Ohmygosh I stabbed you," is spilling out in the next instant, as she skitters a short distance away from Joshua At Work. "I didn't mean to I just --" She glances to Liora, to Nick. "My people needed me. And my friends --" Her pincer arm is gesturing, small, to the tired/wired other X-Kids, "kept us safe." Kurt is uncharacteristically grave as he looks over at Quentin. “Did you honestly think that potentially adding tragedy on top of tragedy was the correct thing to do?“ He taps the wall behind him with the spade of his tail. “You have every right to be angry, I am not taking that away from any of you, or anyone here. I should have thought of something sooner, something other than ‘think of other avenues’. But to storm here, half trained, sleep deprived, angry and with what tactical plan?” He pinches the bridge of his nose— he had almost forgotten he teleported Scott away after Scott had gotten stabbed. Add that to the pyre. "I'm transport," Sriyani pipes up immediately. "Quentin and Dallen were keeping us hidden from the cops. Bryce was on first aid. Nessie and Ford helped the injured people get here safe. Roscoe found us a safe path and got us where we needed to go. Emilia was ready in case we needed defense -- which we didn't, by the way. We saved a woman's life today. What have you done except criticize us for it?" Emilia stands taller upon being complimented, glaring daggers into the so-called leader of Scott. She has to fight back that good old feral growl of hers, but it's clearly bubbling just beneath the surface. Time to somewhat play devil's advocate but also fuck y'all. "I understand your worry. But Sriyani, (beautiful name by the way), is right. You sat there and waited, we actually took action. Could we have gotten hurt? Yes. Would it have mattered for me? Not really. I can heal. They can't. Running into danger used to be the X-Men's whole thing. How can you of all people tell us that we shouldn't do anything, as well, Kurt? Are we undertrained, yes. Should we have run in without a plan? Maybe not. But I am sick and tired of being told that I shouldn't act in the interest of our people. I understand that this is a really complex issue, and I'm a kid, so I don't know jack shit compared to you, maybe not. But don't either of you dare tell me that I have to sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs whole my own kind are out here dying. Last I checked, that is not what the X-Men were supposed to be about, and not what I am about." Ford's face has even gone more pale with the appearance of Xavier's authorities. << I hope they don't call dad. >> And his head swivels towards Sriyani when they mention his name and then he blinks a couple of times and raises his hands slightly at being implicated like this. "I was-- we were helping. The soft lady-- uh Liora. Was bleeding because of bullets. Going through her body, so we were." He looks back at the other X-kids, the eloquent speech he normally prides himself on having totally left him in the wake of being tired and overwhelmed. "Helping?" Bryce is just retreating a few steps back to be Out Of The Way, As Ordered. He's struggling to incorporate even more new thoughts into his already fracturing understanding of the world. Cops might be dangerous is already taking up a lot of his exhausted processing space and together this this hefty jarring he is trying to fit the injured -- other-people? Tunnel-people? << (mutants like me?) >> whispers confused and << monsters >> kind of guilty-thrilled. -- well, however he wants to think of them, he is trying to fit their plight together with Scott and Kurt's chastisement and his classmates' rebuttals and an extremely strong ingrained urge to Respect His Elders is wavering just slightly at the edges with the (even guiltier, even more thrilled) what if sometimes your elders are wrong. He shuffles a little closer to Dallen, his head bowing, and all he manages, aloud if in a soft whisper, is: "Mr. Joshua says Dawson would be proud, we should tell him." Scott nods back at Joshua, offers a, "Hey, Nick," as well, but then just holds up one hand, like please. "Please," he says. "We can talk about this back at the school," this is for Kurt as much as for the kids. "It's been a long night and we need to give these people space to work, let's go." "No." It sounds uncharacteristically firm, coming from Nessie, and she's kind of mentally hedging the impulse to apologize. << Taylor would do it >> << (Taylor's not here.) >> "You can go back. I still have a lot of injured people I need to get home." "You teleported out here thirty seconds after us with -- with what? A way more conspicuous teleporter and some eye blasts? Did you have a tactical plan past find us and badger us to stop caring about the mutants you're too good for?" Quentin's chin is still set, and he does concede as far as: "He is right, though, we should get out of their way here. C'mon. If we go outside I have a feeling those people could use a hand with eye flushes. And after that --" He's not looking at Kurt anymore, not looking at Scott, but making this promise squarely to Nessie: "You don't need these bougie cops. Whoever wants to stay, we'll help you get your people home safe." The only reason Emilia concedes is because she has no other choice. She needs sleep, or she's going to collapse. She'd love to help out, especially after that verbal lashing, but she's barely on her feet at this point. She's no good to anyone if she can't even stand due to exhaustion from the adrenaline dump she probably has gone through at least thrice. Without a word, she shakes her head, but steps outside, wherever outside is. She doesn't want to go, doesn't want to just up and leave after all of this, but she can't physically do anymore. Her healing factor didn't mean she had the stamina to match. She'd been up for at least a couple days at this point, assessing needs, working on survivalist equipment for when it inevitably hit the fan, and preparing first aid kits, which she used on Elizabeth and whoever would let her treat them. It was tiring, being so angry. She had spite spurring her on, but it was fading fast. "You're very lucky I don't have any other choice, because I would have stayed otherwise." She looks, quite frankly, physically and mentally exhausted. She's been running herself ragged, and only now is it catching up. Oh, the nightmares that will result from tonight... "No." This is not exactly commanding, not censorious either, but Scott is brooking no argument. "You are all incredibly lucky nobody else was hurt. You did a tremendous job getting yourselves and all these people to safety, and I am glad you all kept your wits about you to do that, but I don't think you appreciate how easily that could have gone very wrong. It's my responsibility to keep you safe." But he sucks in a short, bracing breath and adds, "But if Mr. Joshua says it's alright, we can stay here and help, so long as so help me none of you leaves my sight again." Sriyani is hesitating, and it is not, really, because they are concerned about breaking the rules or particularly concerned at this point with the current danger, but their tummy is starting to grumble and they would very much like a nap before further Hijinks. Still, they're squaring their shoulders and trying to look fierce (their face is just kind of scrunched up which is maybe closer to 'constipated' but they do not have a lot of practice here.) "Nessie still needs us. I'm not going back to the school until they're where they need to go." Ford is also getting a grumbly stomach, and he rubs his eyes. << You're really offering -- ? >> The exasperation creeping into his mind is clear, he definitely wants to leave everything to someone else, but he pushes it down with, << Rutherford Reagan Rand Stonegate the goddamn second is not the kind of man who stops before the finish line. >> He looks almost apologetic to the teachers, and turns, giving his most reassuring look towards Nessie, shoulders squared and speaking confidently. "I've got your back, whatever you need." He still hopes that 'whatever she needs' is 'Ford going to bed'. Joshua has been feeling extremely relieved to have someone dying in front of him, a crisis he knows perfectly well how to handle and has been saying a quiet thanks for the heavy bleeding that's been keeping him from paying too much attention to The Problem Of The X-Kids. But a concerted application of healing power has averted the life threat here enough to finish the rest of the work manually, and he is kind of reluctantly glancing up to acknowledge his name. "Be a bit with the others," he's kind of mentally shuffling the walking wounded somewhere Down The Line; well below Liora, well above the crowds stinging from tear gas outside. "Quiet room on the second floor if anyone wants a nap. People on the lawn will be glad of any help with eye flushes." He's only lightly hoping for a new arterial bleed to show up before he's asked any more Authoritative Decisions. The incredible, unbelievably good luck that none of the students have been hurt or shot or grabbed by angry police feels like a gift. The damage to the school, whatever angry words are thrown at him, whatever barbed comments get said, none of it matters. The children are safe. Undeniably safe. Kurt can’t help but wonder if Father Len was right— “Sometimes God takes special care of children and dummkopfs,” in which case, Kurt thinks he’s covered on at least one front since he is by far not a child anymore. “I will go to the lawn to assist with eye flushing and whatever minor wounds need to be dressed,” he says for Scott’s sake. “I can also go get supplies for more water— I think we just got a shipment of purified water at the school as well.” Nessie's tail swishes, though this time it's slow and hesitant, not her earlier flailing agitation. There are a million things she wants to yell, right now, but instead she is chiding herself internally: << it's time to grow up. >> "The thing is, sir, we do appreciate it. We know exactly how easily it could have gone wrong, because that's how this started. We were asking you to help because we understood the dangers and knew you were better prepared. But you didn't care. Taylor died. Liora might have. A lot of these people got shot. Because a bunch of homeless criminals weren't worth you taking a risk for. I'm very sorry that we scared you, I really am. But I'm not sorry that we came. I'm not sorry that we helped when you wouldn't. And I'm not coming back to your school. My family is going to need a lot of help and --" She's trying not to think of Taylor, here, trying to imagine stepping into those Very Big Shoes. << well at least I have plenty of feet >> somehow manages to tickle her through her grief, even though she is wishing she could tell Taylor the joke. It's her classmates she's addressing now, instead: "Thank you. Not many people make my kind a priority." "You don't have to do that, but it sure would be nice to have you around," Nick rumbles, soft and low, "And I am grateful you all came. It was brave and slick and you saved our asses, but it was also stupid as fuck. You think me and Taylor had a plan when we ran the gauntlet to Sundew? If I were in Mr. Summers's place I'd have tried to stop you, and I'd have come after you hella reckless, too." His mental chaff is starting to stutter under the strain of containing his anger and grief and disappointment as he looks to Scott, ears pressing back. "I'd also have tried to help before it came to this. You know I respect you, Sir, and I know you got a lotta kids to look after, yourself. But you coulda got the Professor to cut us a fucking check or something. Still could." He slumps a little further, and puts a hand on Nessie's shoulder to steady himself. "We break the law to help our folks, and so do you, every time you suit up. I just wish you'd get some perspective about that." Turning back to the X-kids, he gives Quentin a searching look, his thoughts a fragmentary half obscured mess of << (smart kid) >>, << (kinda crazy) >> and << (brown kids can white knight, too) >>. "Same goes for you, though. Tell it like it is, but we'd be all the way fucked if these guys were actually like the pigs who killed Taylor, and would kill Mr. Wagner just as quick if he stepped outta line. Now drink some fucking water and get some different water and go help." There's a faint wolfish curl of a not-quite smile on his not-quite lips. "I can hear Ms. Hua out there, you sass her right about now she might give you detention." Scott is making a concentrated effort to quell his frustration; he scrubs his hand roughly over his chin again, regarding Nessie for a long moment with the blank one-eyed stare of his visor, carefully treading on the impulse to mount yet another defense of X-Man neutrality, on any impulse that just feels like arguing. He puts his hands in his jacket pockets. "You don't have to be sorry for helping," he says tightly. "You all showed remarkable courage and generosity tonight, but that still doesn't mean it wasn't an outrageously overconfident thing to do. None of you are risking your lives again on my watch. If Nessie and Nick --" he is highly conflicted about the way Nessie just dropped out, but quite grateful for its potential rhetorical power right now -- "need help getting these people to safety, once everyone has been treated, then Mr. Wagner and I will help them. After the rest of you have gone back to the school to get some rest." "Um, but --" Sriyani is starting, but then checking their first impulse -- not because they are not feeling argumentative (they are always feeling argumentative) but because of their very strongly held opinion that the least rational possible creature on the planet is an adult talking to some children that they feel are Out Of Line. Instead they're considering, shifting uncertainly from one foot to another and getting out their phone to text Nahida about if she minds very much coming to deal with The Water Issue. They're at the same time thinking very unnecessarily hard at Quentin about if he can ask Nessie for a convenient Door to get the monsters home. Out loud, they're piping: "Oh, Mr. Joshua, NYCAM gave a whole training to my affinity group back when --" and then check this impulse, too, mostly because they can feel it welling up into a Whole Unnecessary Story. They curtail this ultimately to: "You don't need to spare any people, I can teach anyone who wants how to do the eye flushes. The lawn is totally in your sight from here." << We keep us safe >> is murmuring, quiet, in their head, and while they picked this phrase up from Years of being steeped in activist community, it's the Mongrels and their ferocity in Freaktown that they're now hitching it too most strongly. Quentin's gaze has been fixed very steadily on Scott, and he's probably about to continue this streak of backtalking, but somewhere in here his eyes flick to Nick and he subsides with a very small frown. There's a sudden, exhausted push of information-without-words that is playing several telephone games at once -- telling Ford they have a Quick Route Home for Nessie&co and there'll be a door to the school open in a minute if he wants a nap, relaying Sriyani's offer to Nessie, telling Joshua about the potential for Infinite Water Bottles -- and then he's kind of slumping, exhausted. << We keep us safe >> is not actually familiar to him but he's seizing on it quickly, whispered back to the tired X-Kids with a somewhat smug sense of pride. "Alright, Doc," is directed toward Sriyani as he starts for the lawn, "guess Protest School is back in session."