Logs:Corpse Copse
| Corpse Copse | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-12-29 "I keep wondering if there's a way to -- negotiate." |
| Location
<XAV> Forest - Xs Grounds | |
Quiet and shady, the trees rise all around here high and thick. In stillness, woodland creatures make appearances, though sudden noises scare them back into the cover. Dappled sunlight filters down between the thick foliage, and the ground underfoot is heavily overgrown, though here and there paths have been worn, by deer or years of students wandering familiar trails. Quiet and shady? Psych! The trees here may be tall and thick, the underbrush overgrown and the forest floor thickly carpeted with rotting leaves and fallen pine needles, but this clearing is alive with the eerie creak-groan-crack of falling trees. None of the trees are actually falling, mind -- just swaying dangerously where they stand, their bare branches whipping to and fro, one particularly violent maple bent practically in two, its uppermost boughs pounding into the ground with a repetitive spray of dirt and, more unpleasantly, blood. The whole clearing reeks of it, actually -- clotting in the pine needles, running slick down the smooth bark of the beeches, spraying in uneven spurts from splits in the maple's bark. Not to be left out, the undergrowth is teeming with life too -- shrubby hardy bushes colorful with unseasonal flowers that snap open and close, also-unseasonal grasses bristling thick and knife-sharp from the slushy melty ground, rapidly-growing ferns that claw at the ground with their many-fingered leaves. Perhaps the only good thing is that, without the dense overhead foliage, it's quite easy to see all of this. In the middle of the clearing is Scott, probably that is Scott in the protective yellow coveralls, who knew they made ruby quartz respirator masks? The tank he was probably spraying on these plants is cracked open on the forest floor, the fluid long since soaked into the riotous shrubs and ferns; Scott has already given up on it, is just trying to get himself out of this clearing. With one leg dragging he's not getting far -- the crack of one of the pine boughs at his head tears a chunk of skin away with it, clawed off by the many-many needles, and much more concerningly it shatters the ruby quartz. Not to worry! Scott has a visor in his coveralls that he's deftly pulling out, as he backs away, and -- well -- his phone is in the same pocket, so a moment later a little alert is going out. Heads up, X-Men! At 14:08 Sunday afternoon, Scott Summers's panic button was activated. GPS coordinates put him on school grounds, out in the woods. At 14:08(:57) Sunday afternoon, the clearing is sprouting another X-Man. Joshua doesn't have protective gear -- isn't really dressed for this or any other task. He's in pajama pants, boots fully unlaced (one of them he is still kind of stamping a foot into), Xavier's sweatshirt. No kippah, the muss of his hair more striking for its lack. He's looking down as he appears, and jerking his foot sharp away from the lashing grip of several too-long, too-sharp grasses. The boot comes halfway off; he's twisting his foot at sort of a strange angle to try and keep it shod in the face of the hungry vegetation. His hand clamps to Scott's shoulder; a moment later they've blipped a good distance back, still in eyeshot of the ravenous clearing but not, quite, in reach of these particular frenzied plants. Behind them, some of the branches are starting to quiver. Joshua is turning a dour look on them, and does not, yet, move his hand from Scott's arm. "... getting worse." Scott is still replacing his visor, pulling his respirator down to dangle around his neck. It's clearly very painful to fit the visor over the torn flesh at the side of his head -- he hisses in a sharp breath as he does -- but he clears his throat and manages a polite (if very gruff) "Thanks," a moment later, as he too takes stock of their new clearing; he's not moving away from Joshua, though he does reach down to snap a protruding blade of ryegrass off his calf. "Mmgh. Might be my own fault. Spilled Anahita's plant hormones. Not -- working as intended." This last sentence, though just as clipped and breathless as the others were, is a little dry as well. Scott huffs out a breath. "I keep wondering if there's a way to -- negotiate." The branches behind them are starting to jerk more noticeably, a sort of creaky thrashing that is beginning to turn in their direction. They vanish once more -- -- and reappear approximately the same distance away on the direct opposite side of the clearing. Joshua's eyes are narrowed on the trees around them, which are rustling in the breeze. Hopefully just in the breeze. It's only then that he -- still doesn't let go, actually, but this time it is because he is taking a careful stock of Scott's injuries and (hopefully) not for another Quick Evac. "-- close your eyes," is a little perfunctory; he's grimacing at the torn skin beneath Scott's visor. His eyes cut away to the clearing. "Need a damn good mediator." "Hhh. You know anybody?" Scott dutifully shuts his eyes and removes his visor, tilts his head so that Joshua can see the wounds (and incidentally so that his eyes are pointing away from the other X-Man, Supposing Something Should Happen.) He turns the visor over and over in his hands, grimacing. "Need to tell the kids to keep this area clear but I worry some of them will take that as encouragement." Even with his eyes shut he's paying close attention to the clearing around them, head twitching infinitesimally at the distant clash of trees, even at the softer, drowned-out flutters and rustles of their own, quieter clearing. "Getting worse," he echoes, more quietly. Joshua's grunt sounds vaguely affirmative. "Dunno if they speak tree, though." For a moment there is itching at the side of Scott's head as the wound knits itself back together, but as this fades so does the pain. Joshua gives a small tap-tap on Scott's shoulder once this is done, and finally drops his hand. He's taking a step back, almost putting his hand up against a tree for balance as he works his other boot on properly, but he decides against this particular bolster and instead crouches. He's watching the vegetation suspiciously as he situates his boot. "... gonna get past the grounds soon." He plucks a blade of grass near his foot -- it hasn't been moving, hasn't been attacking, but it does ooze red where it broke. "Could talk to Leo." Scott puts his visor back on -- "Thank you," he says again; as Joshua crouches he folds his arms, tilts his gaze back out to the other clearing watchfully. "Does Leo do plants?" he says. "Could be worth a shot." He glances down at Joshua's blade of grass; probably he can't actually see the color but he can definitely see the beaded droplets. His frown deepens suddenly and severely, the corners of his mouth tugging down unhappily, and then he looks back across the clearing. "I love these woods," he adds. "And zombies." This reply comes with a small tensing through Joshua's shoulders. His fingers press down into the clammy cold dirt. His jaw sets as he pushes himself up. He's mostly looking back towards the thrashing clearing they had vacated, but he steals a small sideways glance at Scott. He shoves one hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt and grunts again, quieter. The wind is calming -- the rustling of the trees nearest them is quieting. In its absence, the neighboring creaks and groans sound all the starker. Joshua blows out a hard breath, and drops his hand heavily to Scott's shoulder. The brief but firm squeeze there is not really necessary for jumping them back to Scott's "Office", and yet. "We'll get them back." | |
