10910/Routine Practice Patrol...yeah, right!

Routine Practice Patrol...yeah, right!
Date of Scene:	28 January 2020
Location:	Upstate New York, Somewhere between Poughkeepsie and Springfield
Synopsis:	Illyana, Gwendolyn, and Shannon fight pirates stealing Stark Technology!
Cast of Characters:	Dragonfly (Armenteros), Nightingale, Magik

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Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
You always have to start somewhere.

As a newly tapped member of the New Mutants - provisional membership, in her eyes - Gwendolyn was tasked with a small team-building exercise to go on patrol around the counties surrounding the Xavier school with two other members of the New Mutants. A senior member was required to go along, since they were the ones who knew how to do things like fly the jet or call in things if problems got too crazy, but the other could be anyone of her choosing. Stepford Cuckoos were a little nuts, what with there being five of them so by default that broke the rule, Pixie was busy doing fairy things, Colossus and Kurt were teaching class, and Brad was in one of them, so that meant that Gwendolyn's across the hall roommate was asked along.

Shannon was the first choice for the student to come along, since she had been so busy. A nice, easy patrol is the perfect thing on the menu.

That just left the Senior member and, after a little bit of investigation around the school, Illyana, the Queen of Limbo, was discovered seemingly without anything to do and, with a polite request and a little bit of 'please' thrown on top, Gwendolyn managed to get a sword-wielding Magik to come along. All in all a success.

The three of them were in a small transport somewhere between Poughkeepsie and Hartford, heading east towards the Atlantic ocean. Gwendolyn was studying the sensors, seeing if anything happened to look interesting, leaving Illyana to fly and Shannon to keep watch. A quiet, relaxing patrol. Just what the doctor ordered.

Nightingale has posed:
     Normal often wasn't. Shannon had learned that on her first field trip out with the school, well before ever having been asked to join the New Mutants. Knowing this, as a precaution, she is not in her 'bees, but in normal jeans, white t-shirt, and caramel velveteen parka, with her favorite caramel-hued suede boots. They had been treated to be waterproof, much to her delight, having gained a bit of a taste for style plus functionality these past months. A small smile curls the corners of her mouth upwards as she keeps a general eye on things both inside and outside the transport, the sight of the ocean making her eyes light up. Oddly, she lifts one hand in a subtle salute, as if greeting an old friend. "So far, so good. But I'm not saying the Q-word. That's the kiss of death in a medical center, and on patrol."

Magik has posed:
Catching Illyana midway through slicing open a cappuccino muffin for a dissection in the kitchen really is a good way to get her attention. She no sooner has a crumb on a pointy knife headed to her mouth than she seems to be headed out on patrol. If anyone has a doubt she might be feeling cooped up in the house (or bored of Limbo things), this might be the surest evidence of it. Scribbling a post-it note that she tosses through a portal to who knows where, her form of anachronistic email marks her departure. Any longer, they might have lost the Russian for bouncing ahead.

So there she is, leather pants and a rather glorious coat, that cropped black top beneath totally unsuitable for winter. Not that winter bothers her very much. She has an umbrella just in case, stowed behind her. Flying is an odd pleasure for the demon queen, but it goes with freedom. All the data input is fairly straightforward as she flips another switch, giving an analogue readout to be checked. "Mm. Do you get out over the waves often?" A question for the pair ensconced with her. At least if the jet crashes, they have immediate outs instead of living under an iceberg for seventy years.

"Any signs down there of the fence line being broken? The trees should make it clear. Property lines are a good starting point."

Her eyes narrow a little, but her focus is on not crashing.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
Gwendolyn very nearly went up and grabbed her yellow and black uniform when she was tasked with this and, if she had her way, she might have gone out with the full quinjet and a mobile hospital for all the 'just in case' that might end up happening. Thankfully, before requesitioning all of that from the system and putting up all sorts of red flags for remedial traning on proper resource use, she got it into her head to think ahead and cut out 90% of what she was wanting to bring along. In retrospect, that remaining 10% was still too much, but that could be chalked up to overenthusiasm.

Dressed in a comfortable pair of pants with brown leather boots that go up to mid-calf, Gwendolyn looks comfortable thanks to the thick, comfy shirt and jacket over it all, a knit cap of green with, of all things, a ladybug perched on top of it, secured with a snap. Seems she's embracing the whole insect motif.

"You'll have to tell me what the Q-word is when we get back. I'm fairly sure I can guess what it is, but if it's anything like saying 'good luck' at a play, I'm going to keep my mouth shut." She reaches up and taps the touch screen, zooming in on a bit of hillside that looked slightly different from the other hillsides stretching out below them. "No breaks in the fence that I can see. The system's not picking up anything really crazy either. Just the usual traffic in a forested area which means...not much traffic at all.

Gwendolyn thinks for a second. "You know, I've never flown before being here. Wings or otherwise. So over the water no. I can swim, though, but I wouldn't want to do it after impacting the water at a hunnert miles an hour." Gwendolyn swivels her seat to look out the front of the transport, past Illyana, as they move east over the countryside.

A puff of smoke, followed by a thin, continuous line can be seen rising on the horizon, past the shore, black and oily.

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon grimaces. "Remind me to not even mention the 'Q-word' as such. Check out that smoke, two o'clock low, right over the water. Can the sensors reach that far?" She was still learning some of the equipment herself. Normal patrol? No such thing. "Pretty thick, looks like something bought it out there. What do you think, maybe a bit of a flyover?"

     The day had just gotten a whole lot more interesting, real fast.

Magik has posed:
"Quagmire," says the Russian. Impressive to have that in her vocabulary, isn't it? Q being hardly the most common of letters in the Slavic tongues. Illyana gently guides the plane upon its approved flight path, letting the computer do most of the work. Not that she isn't fully plugged in but the benefit of technopaths, hackers, and reality readers is their ability to make systems do things that lesser mortals only dream of. Or they give demon sorceresses the means to handle matters without summoning up infernal help. Her gaze travels from the horizon to the treeline, to the oily mass warned by Shannon, in the off chance something triggers those highly attuned, unnatural senses belonging to the mystic suite. "Not as well equipped as the Blackbird, but we have several. IR, UV, full spectrum receptions." Pressing a few buttons brings up a wash of rainbows on a screen beside her, replacing the radar array with something else.

The disadvantage of the jet is its size, no immediate pinpoint landings, but she doesn't seem to mind. Adjusting course, she plots a course to circle around the site up ahead with a wide enough berth anything unfriendly is going to have to play dodge. "I should have asked Lockheed if he wanted to go. Sometimes it's good to get out, da? Make sure you're strapped in. If we have to make evasive maneuvers, it will get messier." She slides her fingers over the throttle, gloves creaking a bit. Nothing spells interesting like 'what is that black smoke?'

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
One would think that Black Smoke and Limbo are two very common things. Something Illyana would easily overlook, but black Smoke over the Atlantic ocean? That's a different thing entirely and, on a clear, calm day like this, with wind blowing in from the east, it's like a beacon that draws attention. Gwendolyn straps in as the transport banks, heading towards the smoke on the horizon, and as they draw closer, more and more information starts pouring in. The ship is a transport ship, hauling stuff from New York to Hamburg in Germany, legally registered and all that, according to records lookup from what can be seen on the screens.

IR shows that there's a fire on the stern of the ship, above the waterline, but what's odd are the two small boats tethered to the bow, with what appear to be cables going up to the deck. Several small forms are milling about, too, apparently securing a larger group in an out-of-the-way spot, letting the fire burn while various sprays of sparks can be seen as people work to cut into cargo containers.

Pirates of The Atlantic.

Nightingale has posed:
     Crap. This was -not- good. Shannon's brows furrow as she looks at the IR display, then out of the viewport. "Please tell me there's nobody belowdecks? And we'd better check if there's a hole in the side of that boat or not." If the pirates were well-armed enough to potentially sink a shipping vessel, that did not bode well for this being a less-than-violent confrontation. At least if there was nobody trapped below, there was less risk for loss of life.

     Turning to Illyana, she crosses her arms, ruffling her wings. "Thoughts? We could either fly around the other side to check, or I go outside myself, and hope they don't see something smaller than this transport."

Magik has posed:
"Your feathers burn and your skin breaks. They would not go to a ship that size being unarmed. Usually the captain or someone responsible for security has a sidearm." Or they really should. The witch queen snaps a few more buttons, plotting in an autopilot course. There are just some things you can't trust a demon to. "I prefer not to do a water drop. I can get you both to the boat and put the plane down, but that gives you no coverage for a few minutes. I would suggest taking cover until I can get back."

Because where do you conveniently put a flying plane on autopilot with no obvious airport around, and it can't land on the deck of a definite not-aircraft-carrier boat?

Like everything else, you dump it in Limbo.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
A glance at the temperature outside shows that, aside from the wind, the temperature is in the sixties so they might be able to get away with jackets and the like on the deck. It seems that's what the men on the deck are wearing - just basic pants and dark jackets with orange life jackets. Well, some of them, at least - most of them discarded the life jackets when they got on board. A quick count shows that there are about ten men on deck. Half seem to be armed with small-caliber rifles or shotguns, while the other half are working on shipping containers. There may be a rhyme or reason to what they're working on, but from this distance, it's not entirely obvious. Unbuckling her belts and standing, Gwendolyn reaches up to hang on to one of the railings mounted above the panel she was sitting at as the transport banks. "Shannon and I can fly. You can..." She gulps. "open the back and out we go. We'll land and take cover and when you get back we'll take off."

So far, no-one has noticed the transport, thanks to Illyana's casual flying close to the surface, so she should be able to get it close enough to drop Gwendolyn and Shannon off before doing her thing.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods once, giving Illyana and Gwendolyn a thumbs-up. "Take cover, Gwen, I'll try to stay below the railing of that ship and hope they don't look over the side while I'm checking the damage on the boat. Comms on?" It was showtime. She slips a comm into her ear and taps it for a quick sound check. "Testing... Okay, Nightingale here, your eyes in the sky. It's time to fly!"

Magik has posed:
"As you wish." The demon queen smirks. "Back door open in five, four..." She counts it down, smirking as the witnessed destruction below begs to be handled cleanly. The flight speed can only be handled so much, going too slow being a danger in and of itself. One has to hope they have goggles. "Three, two..." Metal groans and the roar of the air swirling by fills the plane. Gwendolyn and Shannon are given a thumbs up as she watches for any unexpected troubles, like angry gulls or space missions coming to abduct friends. The exchange is bound to be a rapid one, and once they are safely in the air, she ascends to level off at a comfortably high ceiling. Angels they're called for a reason.

Well, Angels 15 is going to be a surprise to a fair few demons, especially the one hauled awake from tormenting some of his favourite souls. Or mostly his lessers. <S'ym,> she calls in High Demonic, pulling lightly on the tether linking monstrous infernal horror to his mistress. <You are summoned to perform a task. Keep this flying craft safe and intact until I need it again. And if you deny me this use, Xraxre will devour your every thought before consuming your demonic essence.>

Because nothing says the boss is in like far-from-idle threats. The barghest hidden in her shadow might silently laugh. Either way, the radar traces from any nearby airport, if the thing isn't cloaked, will soon be a cause for panic when it simply /isn't/ there. She has to rip open a rather large teleportation circle to see it done, but being inside the ship helps. On the other hand, it means backflipping out of Limbo a few minutes -- half an hour, her time -- later.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
Gwendolyn already has her visor on - it's a constant, really - and the commlink built into the side crackles a little when Nightingale does her check. "Dragonfly here, copy." slim fingers adjust the microphone down next to her mouth so she can more easily talk. As Illyana counts down, Gwendolyn does a final check. Jacket is okay, belt with pouches is on and there's plenty to be found down there to fight with if necessary.

Three.

Two.

Gwendolyn starts to move towards the back in a light jog, staying with Shannon.

One.

The doors open and the outdoors beckons, Gwendolyn leaping out into the void below, her wings snapping out after a second or two of free-fall, following Shannon to a landing spot...wherever that may be.

Nightingale has posed:
     Thankfully, Shannon had gotten a pair of goggles from the most unlikely source for Christmas, a fairly fancy pair that at least did the job. She pulls these on as the back of the plane opens up, giving Illyana and Gwen a thumbs up.

     Three.

     Two.

     One.

     Going at a light jog, Shannon keeps her arms and her wings tucked in as she takes a dive out the back of the plane, waiting till a three-count to snap her large, feathery wings outward and arrest her free-fall. As she loses enough airspeed to turn back and watch Gwen make her exit, she beams with pride at the other girl. "Good job, Dragonfly, looks like you've been practicing. Let's get below that railing and try to survey the damage, and hope to God that they don't catch sight of us too soon."

Magik has posed:
One teleportation circle out, and another one back in.

There are benefits, however, for having the subtlety of a hand grenade in a barrel of oatmeal. Illyana does not fly without aid. The feathery or vibrating insect wings aren't her gift. But on the other hand, a girl with a glowing sword emerging from a crate on the back end of the boat where wind screams over her certainly makes a sight. If only the main structure of the boat weren't in the way. She has to narrow her eyes against the air streaming past. Normally this would be the point she kicks off and just goes to plow /into/ someone, but that's not why she is here. So hey, look, a pretty cool beacon is the shard of living sunlight in her hands.

Fortunately, one can hope some pirates don't pay attention to that girl over there.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
Gwendolyn has very much been practicing down in the Danger Room. Sure, a lot of it was playing with Pixie, racing on the simulated beach just to get her wings beneath her, but still, learning to dance requires simple steps to start. "Thanks." Gwendolyn responds, her voice tight over the radio as she tucks her wings in and starts diving towards the indicated landing spot, her wings snapping out and arresting her descent a few meters before she would impact the deck at a high rate of speed. Thankfully, where they were dropped off was the opposite side of the ship from where the men were working, and the high stacks of containers was providing a great deal of cover. Folding her wings, Gwendolyn moves to watch, maintaining situational awareness of what's around and what could be coming up from below.

On board the ship there are klaxons blaring, although a few of the ones on deck have been silenced with a spray of gunfire. It means that there was an alert given before these pirates got on board, which means that there might be injured. There are most definitely captives. And that's what they're here to take care of. Making the captives...not. The ship isn't listing, so there doesn't seem to be any damage to the hull, but the thrum of the engine, heavy, like a dance beat that goes through your entire body, is missing. The main engines are off, the ship dead in the water.

Illyana's dramatic appearance at the stern isn't witnessed by many - the blaze of light and licks of flame that wreath the portal she emerged from is dramatic, and actually causes the two that were stationed near the back of the ship to stare, dumbfounded, not even thinking to raise their weapons. AFter all, how often does a blonde with a sword of sunlight appear out of no-where?

There are two pirates, each armed with a small-caliber rifle at the back of the ship and, once they realize what they're seeing, they try to act, one lifting his rifle to fire, the other lifting his radio up to call for backup!

Nightingale has posed:
     It also probably wasn't every day that an avenging angel came out of the sky and tapped you on the shoulder. Nor was it every day that said angel would grab the pirate by the wrist of the hand that was holding the radio, and dig her fingers in between the wrist bones, -hard-. The advantage to being a healer in a fight was knowing where to hit to cause the most pain with the least damage.

     Shannon's voice is deadly low and quiet. "You don't want to do that. DROP IT. Now."

Magik has posed:
"Oh, this /is/ fun." Illyana's mien changes when there balanced on the deck. The black forked headdress that marks her with a crown, in lieu of horns, or just looks cool (take your pick) forms as she stalks across the deck like a water dancer on the waves, balletic and light-footed despite the heave-ho of the Atlantic under them. Whatever stabilizers apply to a sea going ship of this size aren't too much of an issue.

The golden blade is normally closer to a rapier or sabre when wielded in close confines, but this is another story. The seething fiery aura around it builds to a much wider, frighteningly oversized behemoth of a zweihander. Or just a slab of steel that glows of its own accord. If it were a lightsaber, there'd be three beams strapped together for the same humming, hypnotic effect.

Shannon has the radio down; the gun, then, is hers to play with. She hasn't her brother's monstrous strength but she can indeed jump far and harder than her petite stature suggests. "You brought a gun to a knife-fight? Nyet, drop it!" So it's a run over the deck at the rifleman, an all out bolt with the Soulsword strategically placed to intercept a close-range blast if need be. It also means the brunt of the blade is really just there to smash into her target, hopefully knocking him from his feet unless he gets any really exciting ideas like trying to aim for the face. Better her than the healer.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
Radio Guy was lifting his gun with his left hand, the radio going up with the right, and just when he's about to hit the button to call, Shannon grabs hold. She may not have super strength but knowing where to grab someone does a lot, and having the element of surprise to boot? Well, the demon-woman with the sword has a great deal of his attention already, so when he's grabbed from behind, the man yelps and the radio falls to the deck with a clatter, the battery falling out when it hits, a few stray shots going in the direction of the ocean where they can't cause any harm.

Gun Guy, with his knockoff AK-47, tries to establish what is called Command Presence, lifting his rifle and trying to look stern. "You, stop!" he yells, brandishing the weapon at Illyana, the gun very much off safe and his finger very much on the trigger, trying to intimidate her to stop her advance and drop her sword.

Wishful thinking that is, in his case.

When Illyana doesn't stop, he fires too - a small, three-round burst in her direction aimed at center mass that is deflected easily by the width of the soul sword, the bullets melting away into useless amalgamations of copper and lead. That's the full amount of bullets that can go out before he's slammed into, sent sprawling backwards into one of the shipping crates with a muffled *bang!* as his head collides, coconut-like, with the steel plated shipping container bearing a Stark Industries logo. Bleeding from a laceration on the back of his head, he struggles to stand, to bring the weapon to bear in an attempt to fend off his attacker.

Gwendolyn, from her spot on the deck, helps Shannon, since Illyana seems to have things well in hand. Grabbing hold of the radio guy's gun, Gwendolyn wrenches it away from him, putting a nice bend in the barrel and the railing of the deck when she sends it spinning into the ocean with a quick throw. He's got his life jacket on still so Gwendolyn glances to Illyana, then to Shannon. "Think he needs a bath?"

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon neatly twists Radio Guy's arm behind his back. "Been to the beach recently? Too bad. You're about to go for a swim." With a smirk, she pushes the man towards Gwen, shaking her head. "You know," she remarks. "Poseidon's gonna be pissed, we're throwing trash on his doorstep again." She shakes her head and takes shelter behind successive steel crates, working her way closer to the larger group. She had to see if there were injured to take care of. Illyana and Gwen had things well in hand. She allows herself a smile of pride. They were good. Damn good. Gods willing, maybe this thing wouldn't go pear-shaped.

Magik has posed:
Intimidation tactics rarely if ever work on Illyana. They certainly don't with high seas pirates, or coastal waters pirates. The restraint shown swinging the Soulsword is one benefit in her direction. As soon as the staccato retort of bullets bark from the gun, the black inkstone pauldron at her shoulder reacts of its own accord. The metal coating, a mirrorbright finish blackened where her brother is pristine slithers across her torso to shield her, making that crop top a laughable memory. Already vambraces clench her wrists, and the effect only grows as they collide with a crunch. The sword doesn't slice through flesh and bone, though it might sting for the balance of sin.

She doesn't wait for him to arise. The bouncy-bouncy crunch has her rolling with the momentum and rising up, blade in a guard stance. "The water is very cold. Give them their chances with getting to the boat," she suggests.

But she doesn't trust it, not for a moment. Slowly rising, she uses the cover of the side to see if anyone is taking potshots or climbing up a rope with an AK-47 in their teeth. You never know. Pirates don't win points for smarts.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
"I have an idea." Gwendolyn says with a smile as she pulls one of the locks off of a storage container, pulling it open, a tumble of potatoes rolling out. Radio guy is unceremoniously flung inside and, if Illyana's pants-wettingly vicious display doesn't convince him to go willingly, the aftereffects of the soul sword did. AK-47 guy gets the same treatment. "Be good." Gwendolyn warns, slamming the door shut and twisting the locks so a crowbar will be required to get out. Thus contained, the two pirates are locked inside, leaving another eight men to deal with.

Hooboy.

"So...thoughts?" Gwendolyn looks from one woman to the other, letting them dictate the movements.

Nightingale has posed:
     "There's three of us, and how many of them? And let's hope they didn't hear that AK-47 fire." Shannon frowns to herself, peering up in the sky. "I'll try to get up high, get some visuals, and call them out to you two." She chuckles lightly to herself, looking between Illyana and Gwen. Then an idea hits her.

     "Illy... remember that DR session we just had with Warren at the controls, how you portaled out the innocents to a safe location? What are the chances you could get them out to the lifeboats that way?"

Magik has posed:
Illyana takes stock of the water, and the sword in her hand thrums its siren song just at the edge of hearing. "Easy. Pulling them into Limbo and keeping them there would not be good for their health. But I can drop them all in." Portals needn't have her marching through them, though she tips her head. Any weariness is hard to see. But then, it might be right up until she keels over. "Take wing, but if you have reason for danger, drop. I'll catch you."

She sounds rather confident about that.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
"I'm kind of a glass cannon here." Gwendolyn says to Illyana and Shannon. "Hit hard but might not be able to take much damage. Are bumblebees bulletproof?" A hypothetical she doesn't want to test but really would like to know. Her goal now is to not be shot /at all/ and to prevent that from happening so a nearby hatch is opened and twisted from it's hinges. Hopefully a quarter inch of steel will help keep her protected. "You really need to invite me to these training sessions, if this is going to become a thing." Another succinct observation.

Gwendolyn looks to Illyana, then to Shannon. "You tell us where they are and we'll knock 'em out. There's probably going to be a lot of panic when the hostages go missing."

On the deck at the front of the ship one of the Stark Enterprises containers is opened to reveal large blue cases strapped down. "Jackpot!" one of the workers calls, the radio crackling to life as he calls it in. "We've got two!"

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon taps her comm as she takes wing, flying well above the fray. "You got it, Dragonfly, I'll let Archangel know. Unfortunately, though... the 'bees aren't bulletproof. Be careful out there." Soaring a bit higher, she gets to a point that she hopes is enough to make her difficult to hit for all but the sharpest marksmen, and scans the ground visually. She frowns deeply, and calls into her comm. "Guys, there's a few goons opening up a container towards the bow of the ship, and they look just a little bit too happy about it..."

Magik has posed:
"A good idea to put the sailors in the locker. They will not be problematic there. It is better than hurling them into the sea." She sidesteps to avoid tripping over a potato. That would not be a good end for her. Snappy, snappy. The grin to Gwendolyn is exceptionally sharp, appraising the ideas ahead.

"Nothing like napalm in the morning." The sharp cant of her head makes moving ahead happy. She is the armoured one, not the glass cannon, but she glances aside. "You want me to give you a boost? Bit of a shield is a great thing." With that said, she starts traipsing forward, almost ready to sing. "A bit too happy? That's your siren song, Dragonfly. Go, go, go!"

The Soulsword twinkles in ethereal glory as the length of the ship is just one straight shot.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
The ship is long, about the size of a football field from stem to stern and packed high with shipping containers. As Illyana and Gwendolyn advance along the decks on the starboard side...the right side...movement can be seen heading towards the front of the ship. Whatever they found in that container seemed to be the goal of whatever this hijacking was, because several other containers with similar numbers are all opened but their contents - cars, machinery, computers - are strewn over the decks. A few sailors are tied up with zipties, face down, on the deck, their heads turning to watch as Illyana sprints past, followed quickly by Gwendolyn who is carrying...a hatch lid? What in the world?

Two workers enter the shipping container, with two others watching and a fifth standing guard idly, but more interested in what's inside. That leaves three to take care of and, as the duo approach, they become evident. These three were set to guard the sailors who have been herded into a corral set up by moving the shipping containers, only allowing one entrance or exit with the men guarding them, their guns trained on the hostages. One is leaning on the railing, smoking a cigarette while the other two stand on either side of the 'entrance' of the holding area.

Illyana, with her Soulsword, could easily dart through and tip the scales in their favor...

Nightingale has posed:
     Illyana and Gwen had the area with the shipping containers well in hand. Three to one were not odds Shannon liked very much, particularly with the high likelihood of the pirates all bearing firearms, or hidden knives somewhere. Sure enough, all three near the sailors were armed, though they did not seem to be looking behind them.

     This was going to be more risky than she liked. Bean would probably smack her for this one. "Illy, there's a goon near the rail. He's smoking but armed. I can take the two near the sailors, think you can get the third guy before he can fire at me?"

     That is, unfortunately, all the warning given. The winged healer flies higher and higher, till she is nearly out of sight. One might be given to think she's left the area.

     One would be thinking wrong.

     A speck comes hurtling at the deck, growing larger and larger. It's Shannon, with her wings tucked in tight, diving straight at the backs of the two guards. At the last possible second, she snaps her wings outwards, and angles her body to drop-kick the two guards from behind, aiming for the middle of their backs.

Magik has posed:
"Da." One word, one syllable, and the concert of violence is about to begin. The sword shifted to an overhand grip, she does what, in truth, the endless routines of practice have refined to a deadly edge.

She dances, cutting a line past the containers that leaves Gwen behind her. That hatch cover being a Captain America/Red Guardian-esque shield is a definite win. But her explosive bursts of speed, though no where near speedster level, are reinforced by that infernal augmentation of dexterity. Whatever else, swords trump guns when it comes to not lifted weapons. Or that piece of her soul.

The last man was plowed through with a charge. The approach here is different, totally less direct. A flying kick from the angel of mercy is one approach, but the Russian blonde darts in directly at the smoker. "Hello, sweetheart. Would /you/ kiss me?"

Confronted with the blonde Russian, killer cheekbones and leather pants, and that utterly stellar smile, it might be the world's dumbest move. Or not. "One of your sailors back there told me he was too busy working. I tried, but..."

Three.
Two.
A provocative sigh.

And if he lifts that gun, thought rips open a hole to Hell.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
Thankfully, being all patched into radio channels means that discussions can be heard all around, and as Shannon suggests and Illyana agrees, it's Gwendolyn left to bring up the rear. Thankfully the two pirates are locked in their container, so there shouldn't be any resistance from the rear. She breaks into a sprint after Illyana, her shield held high just in case any bullets come her way. She's not nearly as fast as Illyana but she could certainly give a sprinter a run for their money!

Shannon's aerial assault works surprisingly well. The two soldiers guarding the sailors don't really have much time to do more than slightly turn their heads at the sound of rushing wind and wings before they're rugby-kicked in the middle of their backs and sent sprawling into the area where the sailors are confined, their guns clattering. And, to the sailor's credit, they don't just sit there. Hands bound or no, they get up and start kicking the everloving /crap/ out of these two guys, making sure they're well and truly disposed of before starting to work at their bonds.

The Smoking Pirate's eyes widen at Illyana's immediate arrival. Sure, he just watched two of his companions get kicked into next week (and thanks to Shannon's training, she didn't break anything or sprain any ankles - pure transfer of force!) and now he's being propositioned by a slinky blonde in leather pants that leave almost nothing to the imagination. The cigarette hangs in his lips, dropping to the deck as he opens his mouth, his gun pretty much unable to even be lifted, thanks to how close Illyana is. His pistol, though? That's at hand. He tries to leap sideways and draw, twisting his body to try and draw a bead on Illyana, sending two shots downrange!

Magik has posed:
"Oj, I tried." Oj? Icelandic is odd to hear on the sorceress' tongue, but it sounds so right. She raises her shoulder, the midnight assembly of sleek armour much too thin to be real - or really useful - creaking and shifting like a living serpent. Onyx shines. Her smile tilts a little higher, full of temptation and promise that amounts to nothing. "I like it better this way."

Oh, she might. Especially as his arm rises, pistol a murderous trajectory that haunts the sword-gleam of the pirate's reflection in gold and soul bright stuff. Once, there was an innocent girl who resisted the call of Limbo despite all the sins around her. Today, the dance is a bit different. The sword guards her, a good incentive to melt bullets or hit the deck somehow.

The gateway shreds open beneath him with a truncated line of gold poured there. Overhead, the same eerie golden line tears through the fabric of reality. And top to bottom, there is no floor and no ceiling to give him succor. He can fall rapidly at near escape velocity between them, flung through the dimension rift into Limbo. An unearthly, shrill wail rakes up the spine. Is someone in there excited to say hello to a new guest? Is it the /airplane/, gaining sentience?

R"Have a good trip!" she calls out down there. Up there. Mr. Pirate crashes through once every few seconds. It's all very satisfying as she turns to see how Shannon and Gwen are doing.

"Never be afraid to be versatile and creative!" she encourages them.

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon herself goes skidding a little bit, but at least is not tumbling into the area with the sailors. As a few of them are making sure their former captors are taken care of, she shakes it off, and starts going among the captives, unbinding their hands. "Easy there, you're going to be okay. Are any among you hurt?" A brief glance is spared in Illyana's direction, and she just snickers. That unearthly screeching was enough to send shivers down her spine, and be very, very grateful she was not the one caught between those two glowing golden rifts. "Good one!" she calls out to the fair-haired Russian, giving her a thumbs up.

     Glancing towards the bow of the ship, she crosses her fingers, and prayed for Gwen's safety. "Come on, you can do it..."

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
The bullets fired downrange? One is deflected by Illyana's sword as it cleaves through the barrel, sending springs and other chunks of metal spinning into oblivion. The second ricochets off the deck and thunks directly into Gwendolyn's pseudo-shield, causing the whole thing to ring like a bell and leaving a nicely-sized divot right in the center. This does cause Gwendolyn to squeak, but she doesn't drop the shield or stop until she's close, stepping around the endlessly falling pirate who, after a few moments of screaming and losing everything in his stomach, mercilessly passes out, falling ever faster through limbo. She also makes a mental note to never get on Illyana's bad side!

The former captives are roughed up, but no-one is seriously hurt. A few bruises and contusions, one cut that's easily taken care of with a wad of napkins, and that's it. The pirates are unconcious, thanks to the kicking and such, but are breathing and that's really all that can be said about that sort of thing.

One man, probably the captain, judging from his T-shirt that helpfully says 'CAPTAIN OF THIS M'F-ER!' in bright yellow font, gets up. "We're just out of New York. Those guys waved us down with a distress call and boarded. Wanted the manifest and when I didn't have a copy, just put us here and started cutting into containers. Radio's down, triangulation's down. Where's the coast guard? We sent an SOS as soon as the fire started!"

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon smiles at the captain, tucking her wings in neatly at her back. "I can see what we have to send a distress call for you with. From where we were sitting, it looks like there's a pretty good chance they had the sense to cut your communications. Do you have any flare guns or such on board, too?" To each of the injured, however mild, Shannon applies her gifts--if they are willing. Those that accept, will find that they are soon relieved of their bruises, while the angel-winged girl takes them on to herself. This includes the one with the cut on their upper arm. "Please, let me take care of that?" If any of them decline, she respects their wishes, and only makes certain they are not bleeding, or otherwise in immediate danger.

Magik has posed:
"He looks like he will not have any problems now." A shrug from Illyana indicates her concern for the falling pirate is bound to be rather limited, though not entirely rude. Merely a matter of dispensing justice where it is do, and leaving him as an object lesson for the others. Never mind the harrowing experience of diving into the confines of hell and coming out again. Her concern is rather making sure Gwen is intact and doing well, and she heads that way to make sure that her fellow mutant is safe, sound, and perfectly intact. If not, Scott will likely yell at her. Her gaze travels over Gwendolyn and she gives a quick thumbs up. "Nicely done. You can help clean this up a bit, da? I need to eventually find out about the plane."

Where did it go? That's entirely her secret. Or because she doesn't want to panic any of the sailors more than she has. "We saw you were in trouble. The Coast Guard should be on their way soon, I hope. But it does not always turn out they show up first." The sword will be stashed away around the corner of a crate. "This was a Stark ship, or not?"

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
"We have cargo from Mr. Stark, yes. Just scientific equipment from what I could tell when it was being loaded on. Nothing that would require..." The captain gestures to the unconcious pirates. "All of this."

The healing is accepted, reluctantly at first, but when people see how it works and that the recipients feel better, there's an orderly line. A few do refuse, but they're the more hardy ones that don't need very much help with getting healed up.

Gwendolyn, still with her shield, watches the front of the boat as Illyana and Shannon tend to the sailors, making sure no-one comes around to check. The thing is? They have radios and, after a minute, they crackle into life. "Everyone move to the front of the ship. Cargo is transferred and ready to be transported. Set charges and get ready to evacuate. It'll look like one of the cars was loaded with a full tank accidentally and no-one will be the wiser." Another crackle on the radio. "Rene. Ron. Report in." Silence. "Jeff. Cade. Wes. Report." Silence. "Dammit, count off."

The radio goes silent as five people count off....and no more.

"We're compromised. Evacuate and shoot anything that you see moving."

Nightingale has posed:
     With the wounded either tended to, or having declined assistance, Shannon is one mess of cuts and bruises. Most of them are minor, but the one on her upper right arm might need a little attention when they got back home. She allowed herself a smile of satisfaction; it was nice to be needed for once.

     Then there was the radio, crackling to life with its ominous message. She frowns, listening for a moment, adding only one word of her own.

     "Scheisse."

Magik has posed:
"I am thinking evacuations are a bit preliminary. I can move them out, but if there is an explosion, they are too close. The fire or the shockwave would injure or kill nearly as many." Illyana's assessment comes in that flat tone, measured. "Set charges. They have not done it, but there are too many targets. She tilts her head, counting off the possibilities and the targets amassed in the ship, somewhere relatively unseen. The front of the ship gives them a location to direct to, but she jerks her head towards the clearest doorway. There are only so many ways up from a ship of that size: the cargo bay, the stern door, the upper deck lifts to the front. Maybe a few more or less. Seen one container ship, seen many.

"Get in life vests," she says without hesitation. "Evacuate to the back, in the motor driven lifeboats. If you have that? Surely you do. I am going hunting. If you want to come with me," this to Gwen and Shannon, "then eyes up and hit hard. Not for play."

Was earlier play? Apparently. The portal of the falling sailor burns itself out, his body bouncing on the deck and flopping over towards another container.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
With five people left that the trio know about, anything could happen. There is movement towards the back of the ship. Surprisingly, a ship this size only has crew of about fifteen, and they move quickly and efficiently towards the lifeboats in the rear, cracking open the life vest cabinet as they pass. The crew isn't paid enough to die for anything on this ship and they're not going to.

Hefting her hatch lid, holding it by the handle on the opposite side with her left hand, Gwendolyn has a perfect bullwark against bullets - even with the one divot that it got in the ensuing melee. "I'll pull my punches a little." she says, banging the railing with one hand, bending it effortlessly, looking to Shannon. "You heal up a little. Keep an eye out. Direct us towards the people."

At the front of the ship, a man with two cases - the contents of which were in the container they cracked - hustles down the deck towards the front where cables have been looped, intending to slide the cases down to the deck below. Another man follows with a gun and, as they reach the front, the first one ties himself on with a climber's harness and starts sliding down the cable. "When I'm there, you slide them over. These cases are worth more than a year's salary for each of us. Not bad for an hour's work."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon nods to Gwen once. "These bruises'll probably be gone by tonight, and there's one cut that's gonna need stitches, but those'll be able to comoe out by tomorrow. Trust me, I'll be alright, I've healed way worse. This is mild." She was still very sore, though, and resolved to take a nice, long, hot shower when they got home! With strong downstrokes of her wings, she takes to the air, once more becoming their eyes in the sky.

     Her brows furrow as she spots trouble towards the bow of the ship, and she taps her comm. "Magik, Dragonfly, we've got two patients escaping with some goods, up towards the bow. Looks like there's a few cables over the side, they may have help waiting."

Magik has posed:
Springing from cargo box to cargo box is the faster way to get around than running down confined lanes, especially as that puts Illyana at grave risk of being stabbed or shot in the equivalent of the Grand Canyon. Her footfalls are weirdly quiet atop the metal, not silent but certainly not the thump, thump, thump death knell of doom. It could be much worse, come to think.

Gwendolyn then has the ground route, and the chance to bullrush them right off the ship. It's one hell of a way down. But the Soulsword sings brightly as the blonde Russian leaps diagonally to clear a narrow path and get closer to the edge. All she needs to do is /see/ them. She hovers on the precipice, practically crouching, a little black and gold gargoyle.

The timing is everything. Both cases, about to be slid over the ground. The moment either of them are close in range to one another, pushed over, she wrenches over the portal under the newfound gifts. They're going to be reappearing elsewhere almost immediately.

In the hallway in front of Scott's office. Can't say they weren't responsible.

"Ey, putains!" Of course she can curse in French. Probably smoked once, too. "You look like Jack Sparrow's crew! Tell your boss you're crap pirates!"

Somewhere, a sad eyed Piotr is mouthing, "Snowflake, no" at his desk.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
Of course the targets would be patients for Shannon. Gwendolyn can't help but smile a little, her jacket billowing out behind her, the 'shield' in front of her, her eyes peering over the edge as she makes her way along the starboard railings in a slow, even pace. Not as fast as Illyana, but as she steps up and leaps, her wings snap out and she flies, keeping pace with the running blonde, watching as one man lands on the other deck and the other man starts sliding the cases along the high-tension cable. It's only when the second case is slid over that Gwendolyn strikes, diving down and tackling the guy on the ship with her shield as a kind of battering ram, blitzing him out of his shoes and sending him careening into the railings, knocking him out cold. Gwendolyn skids to a stop and turns, putting the shield up between her and anything at the back of the ship. The other three are almost certainly 'setting the charges.' Illyana's portals take effect almost at the same instant, the cable snapping as its severed by the portal, the cases dropping into limbo and re-appearing a few seconds later in front of the door of Scott's office, smelling of brimstone and a little scorched.

"Nightingale, keep an eye out. There should be three more." Gwendolyn calls, propping her shield up in a gap by the railing, settling herself, and pulling, trying to detach the cable from the ship.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Copy that, Dragonfly." With that, Shannon is flying a bit lower, at a decent speed but not so fast that it becomes a hindrance to her spotting goons setting charges from above. There had been talk of cars exploding, as if they were left on board with a full tank of gas. So she sets her sights on a group of containers of appropriate size.

     And there they are. Wedged in between a group of three or four containers, one could only guess at the contents. The charges they were setting were powerful ones, enough to sink a ship of this size--and to send shrapnel from who knew what sky-high. A few colorful metaphors escape her, and she's on the comms again. "Directly amidships, there's a group of four large cargo containers, closely spaced. They're hidden in there, watch out."

Magik has posed:
"You take away all my fun, for certain. I like finding these troubles and doing away with them. You get to smash, and it looks like such fun!" Her approving statement is oddly deadpan, which is not entirely unlike Illyana in a fight. She does hyper focus. But rather, this way she can careen her way back. But not without gathering up a handful of ultraviolet light. Not gold; this is pure destruction.

Three bolts form and she hurls them at the cable to snap it, along with any of its friends. The darkness /is/ the magic missile. Party wizard, ha.

"Inbound. "

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
Gwendolyn has managed to wrestle one of the hooks from where it was imbedded in the deck - ruining her pants but hey, she can get new ones - when Illyana's magic missles streak through and cleave through the cables effortlessly, sending the insect-eyed girl tumbling with a hook held in both hands, a ruined mess of the deck where it was torn free. The ship on the water tosses aimlessly as the tension that was keeping it still is suddenly released, and the man on board who slid down earlier makes a break for the cabin to try and steady the ship. The three other men who were in the process of setting charges feel the ship roll as the cables are snapped, one going to the railing and waving his arm to get the attention of the man on the boat. "HEY!" he yells. "We're still up here!"

this gets the attention of the other two. Blowing up a boat that they're still on without an exit route is /not/ a good thing!

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon calls down to them, with the sun at her back; it gives the effect of a halo of light shining brightly about her, an avenging angel hovering above the three men in the sky. "Then I suggest you disarm or dispose of the charges. NOW. Tempus fugit, gentlemen!" Hopefully, this will buy Gwendolyn some time to get to their location, and either take the men down, or help get them off the ship in the event they were unable to do anything about the explosives. And, with any luck, perhaps Illyana would be able to step in as well....

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
In their initial circling of the ship, the cars that they were planting charges on were evident, right in the middle of the ship, covered in plastic and bolted to the deck so they wouldn't go anywhere. These being loaded with a tank of gasoline were nearly impossible, but they seemed to think that this would solve the problem by hiding the evidence of theft at the bottom of the ocean while their ill-gotten gains were sold and transferred. Plenty of time.

The man on the boat guns the engine, heading north, away, leaving the three pirates alone on the boat to fire streams of rounds at the retreating man, screaming their frustration into the wind. Thankfully, when shannon speaks they're in the midst of reloading, so she's not welcomed by a fullisade of gunfire, but they're reloading. Quickly.

Gwendolyn scrambles to her feet with the hook in one hand and the shield in the other, charging into the midst of them like a battering ram, bowling two over and knocking their guns overboard, the third skidding down the asile and nearly falling over the edge. With a mighty swing, the hatch lid slams into one and the hook slams into the other, crumpling the first and pinning the second to the deck beneath the tines of the hook. That just leaves the third, groggily trying to stand, trying to bring his weapon to bear.

Nightingale has posed:
     Well, at least the goons hadn't been too subtle about where they placed the explosives. There was no way to know if they were armed, and Shannon had zero clue how to disarm a bomb. But she'd seen them placed, and it didn't look as if they were stuck on too hard. Shaking her head, she swoops down and lands on the deck, plucking off the explosives one by one.

     "Frak. I'm going to have some explaining to do to Poseidon for this one." She works as quickly as she can, popping the devices off their respective targets, and racing for the side of the deck. She takes to the air, heading out well over the ocean and away from any ships in the immediate area. If these were powerful enough to sink a large vessel, she didn't want the shockwave doing any more damage than necessary. Opening her arms, she drops the bombs into the sea, uttering a quick, "Please forgive me."

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
Three men, three satchel charges of about three pounds each. Enough to definitely put a massive hole in the ship and enough to vaporize a healer, no matter how well or quickly she could heal. "Better three of those than a whole tanker." Gwendolyn quips, watching as Shannon flies out and drops the charges in the water, an explosion happening a few seconds later when the man on deck manages to find his remote detonator and hit the button. Shannon is soaked from the spray and probably is sent spinning, but that leaves Gwendolyn on deck with the last man and Illyana watching from her perch.

Gwendolyn's got to move before he gets that gun operational. Yes, he's reloaded it, but he's more focused on seeing if he 'got' Shannon than anything so when the sound of wrenching metal is heard, his attention snaps to Gwendolyn who /flings/ her cover at the man, taking him off his feet as he is impacted center mass with roughly fifty pounds of steel. Broken ribs? You bet!

Nightingale has posed:
     Ooof. Yeah, Shannon's sent spinning, alright, falling in a neat little arc right back onto the deck of the ship. There is a sickening crack as she hits the deck, sliding back several feet, and laying still. Her wings are at odd angles beneath her, and she is not moving. This was not good. However, the explosives are no longer a threat, the ship is safe, the crew is safe, and her teammates are safe.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
With the attackers neutralized, Gwendolyn runs towards where Shannon hit the deck. At least she hit the ship and not the water, but that ship is a lot less yielding than the sea. Skidding to a stop, Gwendolyn pauses and reaches for Shannon, not entirely sure of /what/ to do at this point. Sure, she knows a little first aid, but something like this is a bit beyond what she needed to know! Broken wings, broken limbs, broken everything! Oh no! "Shannon!" She very nearly yells, kneeling down next to her, trying to stay off wings as she slowly tries to turn the angelic girl over, keeping her head still. "We...Illyana! We need to get Shannon to the infirmary!"

Nightingale has posed:
     It's likely there's a few busted ribs in there too. However, Shannon's arms and legs seem to be intact. Her wings, head, and neck seem to have taken the worst of it, and there's likely some nice, healthy bruising on her back as well. She's not answering or opening her eyes, but does seem to be breathing. There is a bit of crimson pooling on the deck beneath her head. Thankfully, it's only crimson, and -not- grey. She's alive, but will need to be brought home ASAP.

Dragonfly (Armenteros) has posed:
With Shannon injured and not wanting to risk a trip through Limbo because who knows what the residents would do with an angelic woman on a trip through, a call is made to those who can more easily help transport a fallen angel. Luckily they're not far from shore and thanks to the Captain, the communcations array is brought back on and a call is made to the coast guard, who promises to send a Helicopter 'in a little while.' Obviously that's not good enough so Gwen makes another call to Warren and Cannonball who manage to send another transport on autopilot to the ship. A little magic telekinetic thingamobob lifts Shannon into a medical transport, and the trio are whisked away to the security and safety of the X-men base.

Shannon's gonna get /so/ many cookies.

The End.