Thursday, March 5, 2020
"-Get stuffed,- you metallic sonuvabi-" (Part of Future Past TP.)
<NYC> Tony's Penthouse - Stark Tower - Midtown East
Accessible only by private elevator, this home takes up the top four floors of Stark Tower. Three of them are residential, a luxurious sprawl of space equipped with state of the art technology and a wealth of comforts. Private gym, terraced pool room whose glass walls can be rolled back in summer to turn it into an outdoor balcony, full bar equipped with robotic-armed bartender, extensive home entertainment system. For all its opulence, the place is decorated tastefully, careful coordination through its wood-and-stone look.
The views, through many windows, terraces, balconies, might be the best part of all of it; from this perch high atop the tower, the city spreads out beneath.
The lowest floor of the home is less residential, more technologically bent; packed with a host of robotics, monitors, equipment. Where Tony does the bulk of /his/ personal work, it may well be the real heart of Stark Industries' R&D.
For /some/ people, maybe, the city outside is at war. Stressful, dangerous, deadly. But for the /humans/ of New York and the rest of America, life is pretty much -- keeping on, these days, admittedly with a large contingent of shiny armed guards and a somewhat irritating /curfew/ but -- keeping on.
In Stark's penthouse at the moment, "keeping on" means Black Sabbath playing loudly throughout the home, voices from the upper floor that suggest someone (someones?) upstairs, a wealth of Korean takeout scattered around the tables. Right now, though, whatever socializing might be happening above, Tony is down on the second floor in a living room, one hand occupied with a plastic bowl of bulgogi on rice, his other tweaking at a holographic display that is taking up half the side of the room. Schematics of some sort -- the internal workings of a power source, blown up currently to a large size that he is dismantling and examining. Outside it is snowing, kind of heavily. In here he's in a t-shirt, jeans. A frown.
Survival comes in nearly as many varieties as the species which look for a leg up over their competition. It's a very bad time to be a mutant, though for one who happens to have a little luck in just the right places (and a whole lot of it in many other places...)
Stark can fiddle with his holodisplay all he likes. Not far away paces an albino with a spot on her face, outfitted in black armor with a massive rifle slung back against one shoulder and a high-tech pair of binoculars in her off-hand. Maybe Domino's life isn't quite as exciting watching over someone like Stark but all of her current criteria is met. Continued survival, big scary weapons, plenty of alcohol on tap... There would be money involved too, if it meant anything to someone like her any longer. So long as she can keep on keeping on then she'll let Mister Richguy McMoneybags call the shots.
"You're surprisingly relaxed for someone that employs individuals on the country's shit-list," she says with a sidelong glance. "Neighborhood's sure gone to hell but we're still sittin' pretty."
Although life isn't going well for every mutant some have it considerably better than others. And despite a little radiation poisoning Kisha couldn't be happier. After all war is great for science! Despite the plethora of food and drink on display she hasn't touched a drop. Probably because she's sealed up inside her Latverian suit of armour.
"I'm sure that would be more of a concern if the country wasn't run by fools. It was far too easy to forge my credentials," she points out from over in the corner. Stood so still she could pass for a statue, if people were in the habit of making statues with oversized anime-esque giant swords. "I didn't even have to devote my own mind to it. A little-me did the job just fine. I still don't understand why you stick with holographic displays, it's much easier to interact with the data directly in your head."
Outside there are noises, but aren't there always? Far up in this tower they probably don't sound like much. Traffic way down in the streets below. The usual drone of pairs of Sentinels circling by. Though this time the droning is off its routine and singular -- and coming closer, fast. In the dim evening dark outside there's one more dark shape. Small. /Thud/, landing outside on one of the balconies and quickly hurtling closer. Small shapes skitter towards the door, swarming up over its frame; by the time B has reached the door ze thankfully does not crash through the glass but opens it to step inside, holding out a hand to collect a handful of tiny buglike creatures before shutting the door behind hirself.
Unpiloted, outside, a (flying?) motorcycle (with a grinning toothy maw painted on its front) is kind of hovering-toppling-landing on the balcony without hir. /In/ the room with them now, one very small shark -- probably mostly blue, though that mostly can't really be seen under the matte dark plating of armor that sheathes hir limbs, a dark grey-black jacket worn over thinner armor on hir chest, helmet on hir head. Behind the helmet, there are sounds of sniffing.) "... I forgot this city still /had/ bulgogi." Like ze didn't just break in here uninvited.
"Yeah," Not looking up, Tony's words seem directed to his hologram as much as to Domino, "You'd be surprised how much peace of mind a few billion can buy you. Sometimes when they get really mad they fine me. -- You," Kisha's words /do/ get him to look up, stabbing an accusatory finger towards the suit of armor in the corner, "no appreciation for beauty. No style. No --" But he's cut off here by the thud outside.
He pauses long enough for another mouthful of bulgogi. Shuts the display down behind him with a flick of wrist that collapses it down out of sight. The small upward hitch of his brows seems more bemused than alarmed, eyes flicking first down to his wrists and then to Domino.
Then to the doorway. "Why -- do I even bother with security, I don't --" He's holding his bowl of food just a little bit more protectively close to his chest. "You can still find most anything in this city. Just not after ten pm. They sucked all the fun right out of here. Kind of have to make your own these days. You really -- ah, fly all the way up here for take-out?"
"There is that," Domino agrees with Kisha along with a gentle sigh. Her next glance is reserved for the other woman in question, lingering for a moment before she says "It's really kinda creepy when you do that whole 'inanimate object' thing."
One stupid big sword, one stupid big gun, and every one of them in a stupid big tower. Testaments to where everyone's true devotions lie, perhaps.
Looking back to the windows with a humorless smirk, she says "But holographic displays look way cooler. Just look at the guy, that gizmo alone gives him fifteen extra Badass points."
Pale blue eyes quickly widen, the albino's attention snapping around to the direction of the source. "Contact, North!"
The binoculars are completely forgotten as she dives for cover, the rifle springing up to her shoulder with a menacing electronic whine of internal power cells charging to life.
"Iden - what..?" she promptly switches from a sharp, demanding tone to one of complete puzzlement. It even shows through her expression, mostly still tucked behind the rifle's sights. "Dammit Stark, don't tell me you invited someone -else- without letting me know first..."
Yeah, maybe she's being ..a little dramatic, here. Either way, she still has a job to do. "Stand clear of the bulgogi, Fishface."
"No /style/. Moi? Pfff," Kisha retorts without moving an inch. "My armour has little fans in to make my cape swirl dramatically even on a calm day. And my math is so beautiful that... Ah a little shark has appeared. How convenient, now I won't need to take that boat trip."
With Kisha still stood entirely motionless the sword draws itself, gliding silently on repulsor engines. "Tch, bad sword. B here is an old friend. So do play nice." The sword pauses and hovers mid-air. "Perhaps I added a little too much free will. The poor darling gets frighteningly over protective."
As if to make a point Kisha's cape begins swirling /dramatically/.
B's head turns towards Kisha, tipping to the side slightly with another brief -- sniffsniff? Sniff? "Jesus, you've changed." One gauntleted hand lifts to tap a finger curiously at the tip of the sword. Hir visor-shaded gaze turns towards Domino. Then Stark. "-- What's that?" Ze is gesturing towards Domino with a note of curiosity. "S'new." Ze doesn't, at least, try yoinking /Tony's/ bulgogi, though ze does wander further into the apartment, evidently heedless of the bigass gun Domino is pointing at hir. Picking up one of the other trays of takeout to nab it, dip hir face straight /into/ it to scarf up some pork. One ear stays tipped towards the door. "... thought I might crash. Just for a couple hours. Steal your basement."
Somewhere outside there is -- more droning. Humhumhum. Whoosh? It zooms by, though. /Whoosh/.
"That's --" Tony stops, turning his hand up and towards Kisha as the cape flutters. "That's /a/ style. And if what you're going for is megalomaniacal -- supervillain -- but look, /I/ don't live in a fortress under a volcano, I have a penthouse. You stick with the capes, and I'll --" A small frown, a brief look between Kisha and B. "What am I talking about, of course that's what you're going for. Look, this is the staff I have these days. City isn't what it used to be -- B."
He leans against the back of a couch, legs crossing, tucking back into his dinner even as B starts to steal some of the food. To Domino, his head shakes. "Friend, /invited/ that might be overstating things -- a little bit these days, the last I saw of B was, ah, was pictures on the FBI's most /wanted/ list but -- not that I'm holding it against you," he is quick to assure B. "These days who hasn't been there? The security codes to my workshop have been changed though. Might be best to find -- other. Lodging."
"The armor -is- a little medieval," Domino offhandedly agrees with Tony regarding Kisha's lack of style. "By 'little' I mean 'hopelessly.' Megalomaniacal supervillain, that," she agrees. That Kisha's sword can apparently draw itself is lost to the merc, she's somewhat focused on the fourth individual. (Are you friend, or foe..?) 'Friend,' according to Armor-All standing over yonder. Yet, Dom gets the weird feeling that Kisha's not telling the albino to play nice so much as ..something else...
Things sure are messed up these days. When did everything get to be so -weird?-
With everyone else's notable lack of concern, and Tony's flat-out confirmation that this new individual isn't a threat, Dom lets out a slow breath and comes back up off of her knee with a muttered "What the hell, over."
The weight of the rifle goes right back to her shoulder as she takes herself right on over to the nearest bottle of liquor. "So we're all pals and mostly terrorists here, fantastic. Memo received. Now would you please shut the door? I'm hearing more wind than I should be."
"Do you know how expensive it is to build a fortress under a volcano? I looked into it once and honestly for that kind of money I may as well build a yebani moon base," Kisha retorts. "And people can't all fly around in bright primary colours. We'd clash horribly." Six foot of sword idly begins circling B, rather like a wary guard dog. Only pointier. It doesn't seem to mind being poked though.
Finally the swords owner moves, if only to inspect her fingers "I suppose I have changed a little. On the plus side my party dress is always to hand. B darling did you by any chance have company a few minutes ago?"
"/Mostly/ terrorists?" B sounds /offended/ by this accusation. "Only /mostly/? Have I been slacking?" Ze bites another piece of pork out of hir bowl, huffing out a sharper breath: "I /closed/ the door." Straightening, ze turns back to look towards it, backing further into the room and -- kind of out of /sight/ of the glass. "S'why I favor black." Hir voice has lifted into an oddly lighter lilt. "Goes with everything -- since when do you like to party, anyway. I -- /might/ just have been partying, a little. But I kind of lost my dates."
Whooooosh! Sure is getting windier outside! Though the snow doesn't look like it's blowing any harder.
There is, however, a storm of /lights/ suddenly brightening the white-out on the balcony outside. And a lot more thudding. Thump! Thump! Thump thump thump thump thump!
B maybe likes to party hard. Ze's brought a whole gang of friends along, six Sentinels thumping down onto the balcony outside. Unlike B they are not polite about picking the locks, first. One simply pulls the balcony door off its hinges to open it as they file into the room, letting in a blast of snow and wind with them. In contrast to this glaring uncouthness, the robotic voice that addresses Tony is oddly polite: "We are in pursuit of a known fugitive. Please do not interfere. We thank you for your cooperation."
Now Tony finally does set his dinner down, hands clapping down to the back of the couch and a somewhat exasperated breath pushed sharply out. "Does nobody know how to knock anymore? Really? These," he informs Domino, "were also not invited. I don't suppose you like Korean?" He offers this to the robots with a wave of hand towards the takeout. He's tapping kind of absently at a pair of cuffs around his wrists. "Wouldn't dream of interfering, officers."
The newcomer already closed the door? Then what..?
As it turns out, it is possible for an albino to look even more pale. It's not even because of the floodlights suddenly being focused on the group, though they do add a little something to the moment.
"Aw, -shit.-" They weren't invited. "So I've gathered. Sure hope you have enough money to buy your way out of this one, Stark."
She refrains from asking 'which one?' when the machines speak of a known fugitive, instead choosing to stand real nice and still as her pupils contract into pinpoints against the glare of so much artificial light. It's clear that the machines aren't here for Tony. Dom's money is on this 'B' critter that just dropped in on them all. Total sucker bet.
"Fishie, I -swear to god- if you brought these bastards home with you..."
First priority: Make sure they don't have a reason to come after her. Second priority: Let someone else fire the opening shot. See: First priority. If -Dom's- not in danger, and -Stark's- not in danger...
Well, that's just tough luck for everyone else here.
Then Tony starts fiddling with something on his wrists. She doesn't need to know what they do to know that things are about to get a whole lot more interesting. "Looks like we're turning up the heat tonight," she quietly announces. Though whether it's because of the ruined doorway or because she's subtly dialing up the power output on her rifle to 'eleven' is left open for debate.
"Oh and by the way B, Bob sends his love. He's put on a little weight over the years though. If you think I've changed..." Kisha offers with casual indifference to the invading Sentinels. "Perhaps it's time to fire up some military grade jamming equipment?" Her sword on the other hand seems far more interested in the latest guests, shifting to point at them. "Hmmm. Oh yes if they start being rude you can break them. Just try and mind the furniture, okay?"
From B there is a low growl, soft and throaty. It's not aimed at the Sentinels but at Domino. "Fuck you think you're gonna do to me they haven't tried?" Ze doesn't bother trying to /hide/ when the bots come in, taking one last bite of pork and setting the dish down on the counter. "Fff." It's practically hissed when Stark says he wouldn't dream of interfering. There's a soft glow lighting up the inside of B's gauntlets; outside in the snow on the balcony hir motorcycle is righting itself. "... you know it's /your/ fucking tech sitting up in Oscorp keeping these things fueled." /This/ is practically a hiss, too. "You want to stay here and get fucking drunk that's on you. But I'm gonna take it down."
Just, you know, if she doesn't get arrested or blown up first.
She is, at least, totally on board with helping Domino's priorities along. Not exactly waiting for the Sentinels to come /after/ her, one gauntlet extends to fire a bright repulsor beam towards the nearest bot.
One of the Sentinels is turning attention towards Domino when she speaks. The same polite tone with her: "You are in a prohibited area. By federal law you must come with us. Thank you for your cooperation." Admittedly, 'prohibited area' for mutants these days means the entirety of the country, outside of the internment camps.
B, though, is ensuring things aren't staying polite for long. /Probably/ also ensuring the furniture isn't going to be faring too well. Where the Sentinels /had/ simply been standing at the ready, the initial fired shot tips the balance from alert into hostile. "Be advised that interfering with a lawful apprehension may result in injury or detainment as well." Also oddly polite in tone, given that three of the Sentinels are just stomping into the room to converge on B (one of them with a heavy new dent in its chest, thanks to that blow.)
One of the remaining three lifts an arm to push at the sword that is pointed at them, aiming to turn it aside and back towards Kisha instead (together with a "Thank you for your cooperation!")
The other two are starting to head for Domino, though.
Joining into the hum of B's gauntlets and the hum of the Sentinels is another whirring. Coming up from the basement and zooming in quickly. "I never," Tony answers B, "sold Oscorp my tech. And how do you figure --" Now he's kind of /interrupted/ -- there's some projectile bits of metal whooshing up from his basement straight towards him. Clunk-thunk (and just a little bit of muffled grunting), pieces of red-gold armor attaching themselves to his limbs, unfolding, building themselves into a suit right around him. "-- you're going to take on all of that tower all on your own, kid? Mmph."
"... Jamming would be a good idea. Unless we want this party getting /bigger/ really fast." Only once the last piece of helmet has clicked into place does Iron Man clomp his way over to tap one of the Sentinels nearing B on the shoulder. The hand he places to its chest pushes out a similar beam, enough to blast the bot back away from the tinyshark... probably at severe detriment to his furniture.
"Throw you off of the balcony for starters," Domino replies to B. "Assuming they don't catch you first."
Despite the negative comments being passed between the two she's still prepping for a fight. One which is notably not hers, and runs a very high risk with her getting involved.
..Okay, so maybe it -is- also her fight now. "Hey, nuh uh. I'm -his- these days," she says while thumbing toward Tony. If she has to refer to herself as another's property to get these blasted machines off of her back...
It is easier to jump in after B gets the ball rolling all proper-like. Having two of the machines heading right for Dom gives her some proper motivation, too.
The room's excessive white lighting briefly takes on a pale blue glow as the air itself nearly gets cleaved in half, vaporized from the shot of her rifle. It's not so useful at a range, but when the Sentinels are only so many feet away... Dom's sure hoping for some strong results.
"Is no one else scared as hell right now?!" she yells while throwing herself behind cover. "This isn't some street fight with a couple of drunk thugs!" Six against four, and don't these machines have some kind of weapon which depowers mutants? Dom's no stranger to near-impossible odds but it sure seems like someone's stacking the deck against everyone else whenever Sentinels get involved. Heck yeah she's scared!
"I'll do the honours then," Kisha offers, devoting a portion of her collective attention to cutting the Sentinels off from the rest of the world. With a laugh she adds "The suit of armour isn't looking like such a bad idea now, is it? But no, six of them wouldn't really concern me even if I was by myself." Her sword jets back a few paces, angles up a little, then jets forward with a roar of repulsor jets like a missile. Aiming right for the Sentinels chin. "Here's a suggestion. Why don't you ask nicely for your old job back B. We can all work together on some exciting science projects and then for a little idle amusement we can turn Norman Osbornes tower into a smoldering pile of rubble. Ideally while he's still inside."
"Throw me off whatever the fuck you /like/." If B doesn't much seem to care about this, it might be because while the Sentinels are advancing on hir, ze is /levitating/ backwards, hir boots giving a quiet hum as ze lifts up off the ground and scoots back away from them. And then shortly thereafter glides right back forward, kind of a streak of light in hir wake as ze skates towards -- past? -- the bots en route towards the door, giving them a wide berth to fire of several more rapid shots in an arc around the one ze'd already hit. "I don't care much about my old job but turning Oscorp to rubble --" With half hir face obscured by the visor of hir helmet, mostly all that can be seen is the mouthful of excessively many sharkteeth -- gritted -- that ze is speaking through. "-- That I can get behind." The tiny bugbots that had swarmed Stark's door earlier are skittering /back/ out of B's suit. Crawling their way up over the Sentinel that ze has been firing on. "Scared?" Hir teeth are still gritted. "They mostly make me angry."
All the attacking seems to make the Sentinels less chatty, anyway. At least, externally. They're still attempting some sort of internal communication -- with each other, with the larger network -- though Kisha is doing a good job of preventing their signals from reaching out, at least.
As big as they are, they at least seem quite nimble. The Sentinel by Kisha ducks; the sword grazes it along the top of the helmet, though by then it backing up further, shooting its own bright-sharp laser-cutting weapons towards the sword's blade. The small tilt of its head seems /almost/ perplexed by the hovering missileweapon, like -- shouldn't someone be holding this?
Domino's pair of bots are still oncoming, lifting into the air when she ducks behind cover to get a better angle on her. The stuff they are shooting down towards her is sticky and strong and white -- a powerful adhesive-glue moreso than a more conventional weapon, aimed not for attacking but for /binding/, in sticky weblike nets. Thwpthwpthwp. Her shot knocks one of the pair back /out/ of the air though with a sizzle and a crash, its last shot sizzling upwards in a burny-smelling mess of blackened webglue that patters down around it as it topples, down one arm and with its body considerably blackened, to the floor. Whirring quietly as it starts to move again.
The Sentinel Tony has hit skids backwards, leaving deep grooved scrapes against the floor and crashing through one of the plate windows it so-kindly /didn't/ smash before. Stumbleback-crash -- but it recovers its footing swiftly, rising up and over the heads of the others to land behind Tony. Thunk a heavy fist into his back. THWOMP.
B's robots are kind of ignoring its swarm of bugs (c'mon, /bugs/, pfft) in favour of the skatershark dancing circles around them. /Ze/ doesn't warrant the gentle detaintment-treatment at this point; the shots fired back are strong and searing bolts, bam-bam-/bam/. The other, rather than this, is aiming a heavy length of -- some sort of chain -- like a thick metal /lasso/ at the tinyshark.
Maybe Tony is scared. Maybe not. His only response, though, is a grunted "ggggh," as this time /he/ is sent skidding into his coffee table (spilling the remainder of his dinner /all/ over the floor, and seriously you can't /get/ good takeout for love or money after curfew these days. He would know.) "First the dinner, now the bar." This is Not His Night.
Behind the bar, though, the robotic bartender, helpful as ever, is -- reaching out to spritz down the counter. With /vinegar/, even, and wipe up the stray glue that has been sprayed there. It's possible it has dealt with this particular bio-adhesive before. Diligently wipe-wipe-wipe.
"Imagine they do," this might be in answer to B. Tony is marching back towards the Sentinel that had pounded him, though for a moment he glances to the speedskating shark; "... I saw what they did to your brother." This, before he stops, drops a little lower so that he can aim another blast up under the head of the bot this time.
"Okay, great! Tell ya what, you guys can go have fun being cocky or angry or whatever while I'm covering my own ass on this one!" Dom yells back over the developing chaos.
These machines have torn the city to ribbons. They've been hunting mutants like it's going out of style. Somehow she doesn't see this as having originated from a small number of individuals in possession of a few odd parlor tricks. They probably exist -because- of the heavy-hitters. After all, it had taken someone like Magneto to really kick the hornet's nest years back.
So let the heavy-hitters worry about the clean-up.
It's a splendid idea..in theory. She can throw herself behind the bar. She can even grab an errant bottle of -something- and chuck it toward the remaining robot's face. She even has a chance to lunge sidelong out from behind the bar, though it comes with some complications.
Once airborne she can't very well change her own trajectory. Hitting a Moving Object 101: Lead the target.
Any forward momentum is lost the instant her legs get glued to the floor, her plasma rifle merrily sliding ever further outside of her grasp. Even while she works out a Plan B there's a chance to stare at the Sentinel coming after her. If they can read emotions this one would see a whole lot of worry in her eyes.
Before Dom can give it any thought she's got a primed grenade in hand, throwing..and missing..until it neatly sticks to the ceiling right above the incoming machine.
"-Get stuffed,- you metallic sonuvabi-"
The giant sword is remarkably agile, twirling in the air to keep the cutting beam from having time to focus long enough to do more than scorch the surface. "You mean you /aren't/ having fun?" Kisha asks casually, raising her arm to point at the Sentinel trying to damage her sword. A little panel opens in the gauntlet and she opens fire with a rail gun. "I thought it made a nice change from the normal routine..." Meanwhile her a portion of her collective self is busy firing off fake updates on behalf of the Sentinel patrol to delay any re-enforcements that might be out hunting for the patrol.
B -- /has/ been heading towards the /door/, really, hir motorbike is still /waiting/ outside. Tony's last comment freezes hir in hir tracks with a deep growl, though. Ze turns just in time for the thick chain to clunk around hir legs; this doesn't stop hir, exactly, nor does it stop the growling. It does bind hir legs together though /ze/ just shoots straight /up/ into the air, coming down hard atop the head of the Sentinel who had launched it. Clamping hir gauntlets onto the top of its head as its beams fire up and /blow/.
The bugs are still swarming over the other one. Swarming /into/ the other one, cheerful and friendly, really. Making themselves at home much as they had in Tony's security system -- hello friendly Sentinel would you like to become one of us now? The stable of reprogrammed Sentinels B already has at home is testament to how often they have played this game.
The chain wrapped around B's legs is starting to jolt, charged with quite a /bit/ of electricity -- unfortunately B's new position means that this is slamming through the Sentinel ze rides every bit as much as through the armouredshark. The bolts crunch down through the bot's head even as the electricity jolts through it -- shocking B quite badly, perhaps, maybe kind of a crispyfried sharksmell in hir metal suit, but toasting the Sentinel innards as well.
The other of B's Sentinel's may have been planning something. Maybe? Possibly? But it is oddly finding itself disinclined to pursue this course of action anymore. Maybe what it wants most in the world now is to come to the assistance of its new sharky overlord.
Tony's bot is aiming a shot down at him -- blam -- even as /it/ takes one on the chin, toppling back to crunch down onto the armless one Domino had earlier dispatched.
Kisha still has a rather puzzled bot -- firing at the blade? Firing at the /hilt/? It's a very tricksy sword that it cannot seem to pin down, but in trying to pin it down it is taking quite a bit of rail gun fire -- by the time it turns to start firing at the /armor/ instead it is -- a very badly damaged Sentinel; the sword could probably take it down easily.
And the last bot, well. It is just aiming a taser blast of its own at Domino when --
The shattering of breaking glass fills the room.
So does kind of a lot of bot-shrapnel.
... and kind of a /lot/ of booze.
Fzzzt. One singey ex-Sentinel is -- in pieces. Sort of /everywhere/.
A very pleasant voice -- not the Sentinels this time but Jarvis -- remarks mildly -- "That was quite a lucky shot, miss."
"/Lucky/." Tony sounds so put out by this. Even where he's lying on the floor -- a little bit dented. A little bit banged up. "That was all my best Scotch."
"We can mourn the loss together at a future occasion," Domino grunts while rubbing at one of her ringing ears. They're down now, right..? They actually won? -One- of them is still standing though it doesn't appear to be bent on capturing or killing them anymore, so..awesome, there.
"Hey, uh..mind tossing that spritzer bottle over here for a sec..? I need to get off of this floor so I can go be sick somewhere more appropriate."
The sword does indeed swoop in for a second pass. Punching clean through the back of the remaining Sentinel and, as it passes through, there is a pulse of tiny repulsor beams from along the flat sides of the blade. "Oh now was that /really/ necessary?" Kisha mutters, putting her hands on her hips and tutting. "Of all the emotions for my creations have to mastered they had to pick tetchy. Well, regardless it's been a pleasure catching up with you B. I may drop in to visit you sometime for a spot of tea. We could discuss a class re-union I had been planning. But for now I think it might be best if all us non-humans left while Tony here comes up with a plausable story for why mutant terrorists might want to assassinate him."
"I was here to steal his tech. Clearly." B's voice is very strained. Ze doesn't so much /get/ off hir sentinel as /topple/ off it; its only the levitating suit that stops hir /crashing/ to the ground. Hir words come out in a rasp, now, sort of breathless, wheezing, as ze pushes the chains down off hirself and staggers slowly towards the door. "I'll be back, though. Because it's a fucking travesty that that other tower is still /standing/." A small wave of hand sees the other Sentinel following /after/ hir as ze drags hirself out the door, tugging hirself heavily up onto hir motorbike. It sounds eerily like the murderbots as it lifts into the air, disappearing out into the blizzard with its domesticated Sentinel in tow.