Logs:Super Soft Birthday Party

Super Soft Birthday Party
cn: police violence
Dramatis Personae Ion, Dusk
In Absentia	2025-01-13 "{That was funny.}" (A minute or two after a ferret rescue, followed by a hasty patching-up.)
Location <ME> Just Another Sugar Shack - Norway
There are little secluded cabins like this all over this part (and most of the other parts) of Maine, but with Sugar Season still a month or more away most of them are empty. This one is occupied, though the Genoshan refugees are staying inside and keeping to themselves -- not just for fear of pursuit or shock of the new climate, but their sheer sense of disorientation. Possibly that disorientation is not much helped by the baffling names someone thought to give the nearby towns or the maze of poorly marked sugar roads that thread these vast forests. Unfortunately, neither the climate nor the geography has put off their pursuit, even if they've had to stop and brute force their SUVs over particularly fierce pothole or lofty snow drifts along the way. The two unmarked vans have finally pulled up to what might generously be called a parking lot when not covered in snow, the Sentinels deploying first while the fleshier components of the Press Gang trudges up the hill toward the cabin, muttering darkly to each other about the snow. Two of the four are large, and though their heavy winter gear obscures their musculature they carry themselves like men who are probably stronger than you and would like to make sure you know that. One of the others is in fact quite small, and looks practically like a child beside their teammates, though the hard glint in their eyes is anything but childlike. The fourth is slightly underdressed compared to the others, and practically dancing up the snowy slope, eager to reach their quarry. There's a quiet crackling, and then -- well, someone is on the doorstep of the cabin, though it isn't any of the Genoshan refugees these men were looking for. Ion is in heavy boots, jeans, a thick parka (hands currently shoved in its pockets); there's a gaudily cheerful conical hat strapped to his head over top of a knitted beanie, rainbow pompoms at the brim of the party hat and bright metallic tassels dangling from its point. From beneath his coat there's a dangling end of a sash, spangled with stars and cheerfully glittery lettering as well, though all of it that can be seen is 'AY!' His eyes are narrowed, a quick flicking appraisal of the approaching hunters. "You traitors far out your turf." One of the big guys takes one big step ahead of the rest of his team. "We have jurisdiction," Cappy rumbles. "There are Genoshan criminals in that house. Stand aside or we will go through you." The other big guy does not wait for Ion to consider his captain's words and possibly step aside. He barrels down on the door as if he does in fact mean to breach the door and Ion with it. "{This is gonna be funny,}" says Render, the overexcited one, to the Littlest Enforcer, who completely ignores him. "Was Genoshan criminals." Ion is stepping aside, anyway -- if the Big Guy wants to Kool-Aid-Man the door down, maybe he's fine with that. He's snapping into a crackle of motion nearly at the same time -- just a short-distance hop that leaves him still shivering with energy when he lands. Claps his hook to Render's shoulder -- they disappear fast enough that the pain twisting at his face is hard to see, but there is definitely fresh blood dripping down the steel of his hook-hand when he reappears just outside one of the cabin windows again. Cappy had started to hurl a string of Genoshan obscenities at his subordinate when Ion vanished, and is still cursing when Ion reappears, though he has also unslung the assault rifle on his back. The half-dozen Sentinels hovering above them all zero in on Ion. Four stay back and fire, while two dart in to physically grapple Ion, threading through the hail of bullets in perfectly choreographed AI harmony. The small man chuckles. "{That was funny.}" His entire body crackles with blue electrical arcs and his feet lift out of the snow to circle to Ion's other side. He does not wade into the Sentinel's line of fire, just...watches, with keen interest. The man who crashed through the door comes back out, covered in splinters. "{Should I just go ahead and take them? They are soft cowards, and he's just...where's Render?}" "{Shoot him, you cursed idiot!}" Cappy roars. "Best check back with your Bloodhound, boys. Any you live you can go a whole other wild goose chase." The cabin behind does not, any more, contain the Genoshan Refugees it was supposed to, though it does contain some evidence that they were Very Recently here in the bags (packed and ready for quick evac, but abandoned in a corner), the half-finished bowl of soup on the table (next to an also half-eaten slice of birthday cake). A good thing, too, because the bullets meant for Ion clatter, splintering, into the walls of the cabin; shatter violent through the glass. There's been a shiver of energy dancing between them and Ion reappears, one Sentinel missing and the other still clinging in heavy drag on one of his legs. His eyes are glinting a little brighter, energy sucked out of the bots and coursing down one arm, though the bot dragging on him has not actually given up on life just yet. Still, he's firing a ferocious lightning-blast towards the two shooting Sentinels, hoping at least earn brief respite from the hailstorm even if it does not take it out For Good. Cappy and the other half of his brute squad add their own bullets to the Sentinels' redecorating. One of the previously airborne Sentinels has landed and linked up with the semi-crippled one on Ion's leg. In addition to their accustomed strategy of linking limbs for better restraint, the one that's low on juice is getting a rapid recharge. The Sentinels struck by Ion's lightning seize in mid-air, both crashing to the ground though one in much more controlled fashion than the other. Both of them are, unfortunately, reassembling themselves with alacrity. "{Hold!}" Cappy cries and, when the other big man does not immediately cease fire, adds, "{I mean you, Brother. Filthy misbegotten maggot!}" Cappy's brother stops shooting and frankly looks a little hurt. The fourth member of their team has been waiting for this with a curved knife bared in one hand, and the moment he can do so without getting shot he charges Ion in a weird half-flying, half-walking gait -- deceptively fast and unpleasantly spasmodic. "Now you feel the power of Shocker!" cries (presumably) Shocker triumphantly. Thick accent aside, his wildly incorrect emphasis suggests he doesn't actually speak English and is producing his catchphrase by rote. However poor his taunting may be, Ion probably is indeed feeling his power as the electricity rippling in constant waves across the Enforcer's body arc over to him. Shocker's already bright-blue silhouette glows suddenly brighter as his power tugs at Ion's electrical reserves. His grin grows suddenly brighter as he twists the knife upward to stab at Ion's abdomen. For a moment Ion is shivering out of place, there-and-gone fast enough to seem like an illusion. The FrankenSentinel on his leg is not there anymore when he returns, though. He's turning, another shiver of energy dancing around him, one hand lifted like he's going to intercept Shocker's charge. Instead he spasms once, unpleasantly jerky. He shivers again when the knife comes up, and does vanish -- but when he reappears, once more beside the cabin, it was clearly not fast enough. The knife has come with him -- buried at a steep angle deep into his jaggedly torn parka (and, presumably, the flesh beneath it). Ion drops his hand, pressing it to the wall of the cabin, but though he's shuddering again this time he does not actually yet move. The energy left inside him gutters, attempts to reignite where he's pulling from the cabin's wires. The surviving Sentinels are roll-crawling toward Ion before they're even fully re-assembled, and Shocker is lurching after him, as well. Cappy stands back with his rifle still readied, but his brother is wading in eagerly to flank Ion, his own rifle slung casually around his back now as if he means to kill Ion with his bare hands. Shocker seems to recognize the intention, because he speeds up and closes the distance to Ion in one long convulsing run-jump. "Ahaha!" He doesn't exactly laugh so much as say "ahaha", in what he probably thinks is a very American way. "And now you are death!" As he reaches to reclaim his knife his power licks out sharp and hungry for what's left of Ion's charge. Somewhere overhead there's a low hum, the not-so-very-distant sound (and feel, to those who can feel that energy) of some small hovercraft dropping down low. Not so very low before it's pulling back away -- but whumping heavily down into the midst of this fray is a new contender. This one is a lanky-lean figure dressed in tactical blacks, not quite as bundled for the cold as he should be. Despite the lack of heavy outerwear he is wearing gloves, and a balaclava, pulled snug down around his face and neck. He twitches one shoulder, pressing it back and then hitching, like some movement hasn't quite come the way it should. There's a low growl that rumbles in his throat a moment before he just reaches out hand out, intercepting CappyBrother's forward motion. The hand that clenches around the large man's arm is impossibly strong -- as is the ferocious yank with which he hurls the larger man at the smaller of the electrokinetics. Cappy doesn't yell "{hold}" this time, but the outraged noise he emits feels somewhat kin to it. Maybe he was going to say something about jurisdiction, but then the newcomer reaches for his brother and he just opens fire. Cappy's brother, to his credit, reacts very quickly -- but not quickly enough to grab before he gets grabbed. He shrieks in agony as his bones shatter under the newcomer's grasp, and louder as he's flung unceremoniously aside. Shocker is so engrossed with his opponent he hardly notices the airdrop behind him. He's smiling gleefully as he grasps the blood-slick handle of his knife and starts to twist it deeper into Ion's side. "Prepare you to meet your --" This is cut off into a huff when his teammate, easily twice his weight without all his gear, slams into him at speed. They tumble quite a ways off into the snow, Shocker's electricity flowing wild and unstable through them both in fading spasms. "I will kill you!" Cappy roars, though this correct demonstration of English language taunting is probably lost on Shocker even if he is still alive. He flips his rifle to full automatic and empties the magazine into the mysterious interloper. Ion's hand is pressing harder to the wall -- this does not actually help him draw power any faster, but maybe it does help him keep his balance through the pain and the blood soaking into his thick layers of clothing from the wide and jagged hole gashed in him. When Yet Another Merc(?) drops down from the sky he is just sagging back, for a brief moment looking very faintly defeated. Even so his hand comes up, teeth baring hard as a surge of power arcs from wall to him, from him to -- -- nowhere, sputtering out at the sound of that growl. He shakes his head hard. Maybe the uncertain squint of his eyes is confusion. Maybe it's just pain. "-- the fuck?" His fingers grasp open and closed on nothing, somewhat aimless just beside him. "-- {ohfuck}," is harsher, sharp-edged with fear when Cappy opens fire. He's reaching out instinctively, fingers brushing at the black-clad figure's wrist. There's a jolt, and then the world has shifted, hail of bullets rattling against the outside cabin wall that now stands between them and the assailant. Ion stumbles back, slumping into the table; the half-eaten birthday cake on its cheerful paper plate falls with a splat to the floor. The other figure does not seem all that fazed by the first rat-tat-tat of bullets, thudding into his back but not actually slowing him. He's just turned to face Cappy but -- then abruptly finds himself inside. For a second he's just looking at Ion, some uncertain frown briefly narrowing the eyes behind the mask. The guttural roar that follows is harsher, deeper than the earlier growl. He whirls on Ion, fist slamming hard into the electrokinetic's chest to knock him forcefully aside. When he turns aside (shirt in tatters) it's clear enough that for all it doesn't seem to be slowing him he is not actually bulletproof, quite a lot of blood visible through the shredded fabric. Also visible are the long ragged scabs running down his shoulders and back, skin thick and knobbly from the layered scar tissue. Soon to be layered even more, it looks like; there are already jagged ends of bone poking back through, raw and red around where they're growing back out. The figure turns and walks out through the smashed-in hole of the door, a snarl in his throat as he crunches through the blood-streaked snow towards Cappy. Cappy is struggling to reload his rifle with frozen, shaking fingers, but when the interloper steps outside again he stops. He doesn't quail, really, his face stoic if ashen, but something quiets in him. He draws his knife, long and curved and wicked sharp, and bellows "{Glory to Genosha!}" He darts forward, startlingly nimble for a man of his not inconsiderable bulk, and slashes at his opponent's more injured side. Ion has crashed backwards with a heavy crack of bone, landing in his cake and then skidding. He tries to drag himself to his feet, but this effort fails somewhat miserably; he's landed on the cabin floor again in short order. The next time he does not actually try to stand, just pulls himself forward, hook digging into the wood floor and a trail of blood and chocolate icing behind him. He's made it to the doorway just as Cappy slashes at the other man. The hand he lifts produces only a few stuttering sparks and then falls to the floor; as more faltering energy gathers sizzling around him he's left just watching, wide-eyed. The interloper drops his hand, twisting Cappy's knife-arm aside with a sharp crack. He yanks the other man in, then, and with another snarl there's a flash of fang from behind the black knit, teeth sinking deep into flesh. He doesn't drink long before he's snapping the Genoshan's head to a disturbingly askew angle, tossing the body aside. From above the hum is returning, small hovercraft lowering back down. He is turning for it -- then pausing. Turning aside. The next low growl that rumbles in him ends in more of a whimper. His shoulders twitch once more. He lifts his hand to his mouth, teeth pulling back at the sleeve; another flash of fangs has laid his own wrist open. His steps are heavy, trudging through the snow to crouch by the open cabin door and drip -- drip -- drip -- several drops of blood against Ion's lips. Then he's turning, hoisting himself back up to his ride, and leaving the bloodied clearing behind.