11887/Here Have Some Junk-I Mean Artistic Pieces

Here Have Some Junk-I Mean Artistic Pieces
Date of Scene:	01 August 2020
Location:	The Met, NYC
Synopsis:	During a lovely day at the museum, things go awry. Not surprising.
Cast of Characters:	Phobos, Nightingale, Warpath, Phantasm (Drago), Ares

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Phobos has posed:
    The Metropolitan Museum of Art, known affectionately as The Met, is a central focal point of the city. It draws millions of visitors from across the world, offers people insight into artwork across the ages, and lends itself toward the social life of Manhattan when at times it opens itself up for the times it needs to gather funding or when it launches an exhibit.
    But tonight the museum is doing both of those things, seeking donations as well as showing off its most recent acquisition. The main hall of the Met has been converted and decorated. Bunting in blue hang from the second story walk ways, the great pillars are adorned with golden decorations, and the middle information desk has been converted to a display area where the people who wish to visit this night are given a clear elevated point of view to see some of the works of art.
    Tonight there is a Greek theme to matters, 'The People of Thessalonika' is the title of the exhibit and there are urns, and vases, as well as some weapons and tools. All of them from that area, recovered several hundred years ago and only recently rediscovered in an old storage facility apparently.
    All of them are brilliant and in great condition, and some pieces seem to tell the story of Alexandros' March Across the World. And since the doors opened some small time ago it has been the subject of interest to most of the crowd.
    Yet further back, in the side wings of the museum, a gathering is held for the VIPs that have all donated in the past to the Met. Food and wine is offered to those there, and there is a classical string quartet playing in the distance.

Nightingale has posed:
     Myth and legend seem to come alive for a moment there in the Met, relics of ancient Greek history on proud display for all to see and learn from. One visitor in particular seems utterly and completely fascinated by the artifacts, drawn to them as if to a magnet. It would take a mountain to hold her back, and even then, the mountain in question might find it difficult at best.

     Shannon is dressed in a formal black gown with no arms, a modest sweetheart neckline, and a lovely ankle-length A-line skirt, with simple black flats to match. She carries with her, as always, her little brown leather bag, at odds with the formality of her outfit and the event. Also at odds with many of the visitors are the wings. There is definitely no missing those. Large, feathery, and snowy white, they would fit well with some of the classical paintings of angels hanging in other areas of the Met.

Warpath has posed:
     Speaking of mountains. Warpath seems to have drawn the look out for Shannon card tonight. He would stand out even if he wasn't so massive. It's not to say he is uncomfortable so much as he's...well he doesn't fit in here. He wathces Shannon's reaction to things and looks over the displays, humoring the winged teen.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
While a celebrity type and one who has at times contributed to the museum in the form of his time, Nick is attending as part of the public crowd today.

However, that did not get him out of having to dress up for the function. He does wear a suit with a red dress shirt popping in contrast with the black of the exterior fabric and tie. His hair, having recovered from the cut inflicted upon it for a film role is pulled back to a neat ponytail.

He's popped by early enough and has taken advantage of the temporary high ground to get a good look. After getting his fill, he turns to allow another person a chance to look from the perch which also causes for him to see a flash of white feathers. Recognizing one of Bean's friends, he gives a bit of a smile and a wave. Considering the monolithic figure alongside her, he assumes that to be the chaperone.

Ares has posed:
Not everyone wanted to be here. Some had no choice. They had to be here since it was necessary to maintain propriety. Thus the presence of a figure that towered over most of the high rollers, but was not as tall as some of the crowd in the public areas. Though, admittedly, John Aaron was trying to inch his way out of the crowd. Yet each time, the 6'3" man with the dark hair, just starting to gray at the edges and in his beard, would be caught by another patron. He would paste on a smile and chat about the artifacts present.

When one lived a double life, it was sometimes easier to omit details than actually lie. In this case the items had been found in a storage facility. That facility had not been what people imagined with that phrase. "Yes, I was certainly lucky when I purchased it." Not really purchased but he had obtained them through a certain means. His voice is deep, but smooth. "Having a history of collecting, I knew it was special. Being a collector and my love of Greek history, I knew it deserved to be somewhere like this." A wave of a hand to the surroundings. He was in a black suit with a a dark blue tie and a white shirt.

Phobos has posed:
    The Met is no stranger to the empowered and the gifted, for there was even an exhibition last year about young Mutant artists, and it stayed open for an extra week as it drew curious on-lookers. So while Shannon does draw the eye, she is given smiles as well from the employees of the museum as well as the security guards.
    Though with the tall man known to some as Warpath, it seems unlikely security would be needed with her at his side. Yet for those inclined to look for such they'll see the cameras high on the walls, the slowly walking individuals who blend with the crowd. It's not the most secure facility to be assured, but the Met is no slouch.
    Nick, for his part, does get recognized by no small number of people. Though in this setting only a few take it on themselves to approach him. A few quick words asked for perhaps a selfie or a pictures taken, but with the more sedate atmosphere few seem inclined to push beyond a minute. Perhaps two. Yet it gives him a good place to look upon the exhibit, even as the eye is drawn toward Shannon and her compatriot.
    But the man known as John Aaron, he gets the lion's share of the attention there on the edge of the VIP area, likely in a place where he can observe the items donated. One of the museum's curators is indeed preventing him from his departure.
    "So you have no idea how they got there in that storage facility, Mr. Aaron? That is so strange." He asks the question he's likely asked repeatedly over the last few weeks since the donation was brought up. A shorter man than the deity he speaks to, but there is an intensity and authority to him.
    "Really strange," Comes a second voice that eases toward the curator and the contributor. "Especially since the people who did the excavation all died like what, two hundred years ago?"
    The voice belonging to his son, Alexander Aaron, lifts as he interposes himself into the conversation. "If you'll excuse us, Mr. Dinkley. I need to chat with my father."
    Dinkley does indeed withdraw, giving enough time for Alexander to murmur sidelong to the taller man, "Will you calm down. Relax. It's just a... museum thing."

Nightingale has posed:
     For one usually more calm, thoughtful, and perhaps even a touch serious in their demeanor, Shannon was all aglow and excited with the display on view at the Met. This was a period of history she loved--and apparently, such delight ran in her family. "I wish my mother could be here to see this," she says to Warpath. "She could get so much inspiration for her paintings from all this stuff!"

     Someone waving at her from the corner of her eye catches her attention, the young mutant turning to glance in that direction. Her eyebrows loft as she peers over; it takes her a moment, but recognition dawns in her eyes, and she extends one wing in lieu of a wave. "Nick, right? Good to see you! Haven't seen you since around Christmas... what was it, volunteering at that shelter? How have you been?"

     The smiles from staff and security alike are returned in full measure, her pale azure eyes twinkling with delight. What a night this was turning out to be!

Warpath has posed:
     He does seem a little more at ease with the situation as everyone around is more accepting of the mutants than one might normally expect. Warpath moves his gaze over the room once for a different reason, anyone adept at such things would recognize he is finding the exits and such things.

     His attention moves back to Shannon and he nods,"We should have called her and brought her along." The deep voice quiet, but even at conversational tones it is hard to miss when he speaks. Stoic, crisp, and to the point. It suits him.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick is obliging in the instances he gets recognized, even going so far as to linger long enough for a decent photo when he's given sufficient warning. But with his turn up, he's finding himself heading towards the most recognizable face in the crowd.

He smiles as Shannon recalls his name. "Hey. I think there was also Club Evolution too, but we talked more at the shelter. Things have been interesting." It's an understatement for sure. But if she's at all like Bean, or Karrin, or Pez- Yeah, bes not bring it up.

His glance shifts over- AND UPWARDS to Warpath as he speaks to Shannon. "One of the teachers I presume?" He inquires, giving a friendly nod. "Name's Nick. Pleasure to meet you."

Ares has posed:
"We tried to track down the original owners of the facility but had no luck, unfortunately. There is no telling how it got there." Not too far from the truth. Other than he knew exactly where it came from and how. Yet, not for this situation.

As Alexander saves him from the onslaught, John lets out a sigh and shakes his head. He kept his voice low so the supporters of the arts with the deep pockets wouldn't hear. "I don't like museum...things. Why can they not be happy I gave them stuff? Without requiring me to be present? It is not as though I have not seen it!" He adds with a little hiss of annoyance.

"I should have made you come instead." As though it was that simple to do. They both knew otherwise.

Phobos has posed:
    People gather and mingle, there's a good ambient buzz to the room even as servers in the VIP area move about offering whatever they can to those who wander by. Though as one passes by Alexander he smiles to the server, "Hey, thanks. Can I have that? He really loves these..." A glance down at the tray even as he liberates it from the perplexed server. "Pigs in a blanket?"
    Those last few words are said with some disappointment, but he smiles to the server who then goes on her way back to the kitchen. He offers some to Ares with a quirked eyebrow and if he wants some he can have some. But then he /leeeeans/ over the velvet rope and sets the tray down over in the public area on one of the display tables and points at it as he tries to make eye contact with someone...
    Who just so happens to be Warpath. He mouths the words, 'Free food' and points at it, then grins and turns his attention back to his father.
    Back to his father, "You still want to be the whole, union rep guy. You need to put in the face time. I mean, you could just resign or whatever. But yeah." Alexander shrugs, the shoulders of his black suit lifting and lowering.
    Yet while everyone wanders and observes and enjoys the spectacle, there is a steady influx of people. Most everyone seems to be in a positive mood, excited to see the spectacle or enjoying the aspect of seeing and being seen.
    It's a handful of people who seem... more reserved, have made their way into the public area. A handful here or there, dour-faced but not angry nor displeased. Perhaps unimpressed might be the best way to describe them.

Nightingale has posed:
     While still smiling, Shannon gives Nick a quick 'look' at the mention of teachers, with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. There were times and places for that kind of talk, and this was not one of them! She does not presume to speak for Warpath, though, instead glancing about the room--and frowning slightly.

     Her voice drops to a murmur as she leans towards Warpath, her smile starting to fade. "You know that other gift you told me I have...?" She gestures out into the crowd with a very slight motion of her hand. "Is it just me, or does something feel... off?"

Warpath has posed:
     Warpath's gaze settles on Nick for a moment and after a moment he nods towards him,"James." he replies by way of introduction. Shannon makes up for his less than talkative nature.

     When Alexander approaches and mentinos free food he nods and looks towards where he indicates said free food would be. The promise of food could make this trip worthwile.

     He pauses and looks back to Shannon as she draws his attention. His attention moves where she indicates and studies the situation a moment and then his back to Shannon,"Perhaps."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick feels 'the look' and looks back to her, curious. When did talk of teachers become a dangerous topic? Hearing Warpath's response, he turns his head back to the taller figure, "Nice to meet you James."

Unlike the other two, Nick is not on edge or looking for something off. If anything's off with him right now, it's his observational skills. He turns his head, looking over to see a tray. Ooh Pigs in a blanket!

Ares has posed:
When the dish is offered to him, the glare given to Alexander probably could be likened to if a person was offered a head on a platter. For John, that sort of gift would be better received than anything that is related to, "Pigs? You have suffered a head injury I was not aware of?" He glares at the platter until it is set aside then smiles tightly when Alexander shares his ill-gotten gains with the public. "Well done," he mutters, giving a nod to those approaching the platter.

He looks over the crowd again and pauses, spotting the group that are not oooing and ahhhing over the displays. "What is wrong with them? Do they not appreciate art and history? Why are they here then? That urn predates many countries!" For complaining it was just stuff a moment ago, apparently it is okay for him to criticize but not others. Even by just being unimpressed.

Phobos has posed:
    "Mortals these days." A comment offered by Alexander though sardonically so as he eyes his father sidelong, though his smirk is amused.
    But as the crowds continue to surge back and forth, a slow ebb and flow as people move from one display to the next, those solemn-faced individuals move along with it. Though never more than one in a location. Always some distance between them and the others. Yet they seem to be doing little more than just observing.
    Until.
    "Rodrigo? Is that you man? Wow, the heck are you doing here? Thought you said you weren't coming." A tall man though not as tall as Warpath nor Ares, his voice lifts as he walks over to greet one of those dour individuals. And normally such would not really draw the attention.
    Except that Rodrigo responds rather sternly and at first says something low. Something lost to the sound of the crowd. Only his friend, perhaps a touch intoxicated, lifts his voice. "What the hell man, you don't recognize me? We're roommates, the hell?!"
    Which, suddenly, seems enough to break the moment. When the dour-faced Rodrigo pulls off his jacket and throws it in the face of his suddenly surprised roommate. It's a flutter in the air as the article of clothing flashes in the man's face. A distraction merely to draw the eye.
    Even as the still grim-faced and vacant-gazed Rodrigo produces a long heavy blade from behind his back as well as a menacing looking pistol in the other hand. He starts to take aim...
    As around the room more weapons are drawn by all of those with their severe expressions. Emotionless, yet masked in such calm controlled hatred.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Oh, bollocks."

     That, and many other choice phrases in varied languages are muttered by the young winged mutant, her wings tensing behind her, posture alert and ramrod-straight. There were times when Shannon wished she wasn't right, and this looked as if it would shape up to be one of them. Now she is looking amongst each of those who seem to have drawn a weapon, frowning deeply. Damn it. There were too many to disarm, with too much risk to innocent bystanders. One wrong move and someone could get hurt, or killed.

     Another surrepitous glance around the room gives her an idea of the exits, and possible places to take shelter. There were groupings of around four or five Corinthian columns on either side of the immense gallery which could provide at least a little concealment, if not cover--but it would be dicey at best. And if she had to take shelter herself, let alone bring anybody with her, things could get messy.

     For now, best not to antagonize the gunmen. She glances at Nick and Warpath, her lips set in a thin, grim line. Her voice is barely a whisper as she mutters to them both. "Let's hope I'm not needed."

Warpath has posed:
     There is a deep sigh as the weapons appear and Warpath mutters darkly,"I think we need to rethink your name." The comment directed towards Shannon of course,"Carnage follows you like a magnet. Big Owl would be impressed."

     He sweeps his gaze over the room and typical of him he gets himself between Shannon and the weapons for the time being. The upside to not dressing fancy, Shannon can instantly see the outline of two weapons on his back,"Let's hope not. Everybody play it calm for a moment, see if security can live up to their paychecks first. Otherwise start getting people out of here."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
As the disturbance reaches his ears, the tray of pigs in a blanket are soon forgotten as he turns, looking over to the exchange. Upon the presentation of the weapons, a brow lifts. "The f-"

Nick doesn't finish the obscenity as Shanon fills in for him on that task.

The movement to the side draws his attention to more armed persons revealing themselves. He cups his hands over his face. "Oh, can't I just have a week where nothing happens?" A muffled complaint comes from behind fingers.

But it looks like it's not going to be this week as the musician uses the momentary obscurity to essentially phantasm in the most discrete manner possible. No ravens, no wolves, no shadow men. Just, A reversal... Which isn't that apparent as the suit is pretty close to symmetrical. UGH.

Ares has posed:
"Should have known," John mumbles, the sound so deep it is almost a growl of noise instead of words. He would say more, give more instructions. Yet, he doesn't have the time.

As people start to react, be it to try to get away or find cover or simply remain still to not draw attention, he does the opposite. Two long strides take him to where the first man has drawn his weapons. He isn't trying to hide his approach, fulling expecting those weapons to be turned his way and hopefully away from Rodrigo's roommate.

"There is no need for violence." The irony of him saying those words is not lost on the man called John Aaron. "We will cooperate. Just tell us your demands." And he tries to put between the assailant and (likely former) roommate.

Phobos has posed:
    As people realize that there is suddenly an abundance of weapons and sharp objects a scream of alarm goes up from several people, followed by a few more. There's that rush of movement as Rodrigo's weapon comes up and and the trigger tightens...
    Only for the tall man known as John Aaron to get into the way. The weapon raises, taking a bead on the face of the Olympian even as Rodrigo's dour and passive eyes suddenly brighten up with such glamour and adoration.
    "Oh great lord, it will be a blessing unto my fate to meet my end at your hands!" He cries even as he tries to point the weapon straight at John...
    And pulls the trigger.
    There's the loud report, the snap of fire. Suddenly four other bladesmen are rushing to the displays. One lashes out to shatter the glass with the pommel of his blade. Alarms are set off, security guards begin to rush toward the gathering and some drawing weapons to call out, "FREEZE!"
    Suddenly it is chaos and pandemonium as the crowd breaks and people begin to flee toward the exits. One of he security guards tries to grab the arm of one of those dour-faced individuals only to have his arm cut open by the wild slash of a curved blade.

Nightingale has posed:
     "I'll keep my name, thanks." There's a grim smile from Shannon as she replies to the mountain of a man who has interspersed himself between her and any visible weapons. "I don't go looking for trouble but it finds me anyw...."

     There's the sharp report of the gun, screams of the panicked, and the shattering of glass as all hell breaks loose. Even the best security guards would likely be overwhelmed by such bedlam. With Warpath's last command ringing in her ears, the winged teen springs into action. Doing her best to keep clear of the attackers, she begins working her way through the room, amongst the most panicked, her voice raised and oddly calm as she begins to shepherd visitors towards the doors as best she can, offering some measure of concealment as she spreads her wings out wide. For those familiar with the arts of war, it was plain that this wasn't the young woman's first rodeo.

Warpath has posed:
     There is no way of knowing if the people working here are actually "good guys" or not, but James is far from a saint himself. The guards represet the museum so decision made,"Jean's going to be pissed." he mutters under his breath and talk about a leap. He lands near the one that slashes the guard. His right hands slip behind his back and a long knife appears in his hand,"Bring that shit to me and see what you get." he growls darkly. Not all good guys play nice from the looks of things and malice isn't an issue for him.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
With the symphony of screams and a stampede of people exiting, a person who runs too close to Nick ends up passing part of their arm through him. Their panic blocking the observation.

Nick lowers his hands from his face. Eyes narrowed. Well. This is not ideal. But-

Not really hearing Warpath's suggestion but seeing him move forward, he launches himself in that direction. With his current phantasmed state, the approach is not hindered as his focus upon the target relieves him of the distraction of others going the other way. An arm lifts up. Concentrating his strength to the surface of his arm, he proceeds to clothesline one of the dour-patch kids HARD.

Ares has posed:
At the man's response, John's brow furrows and thunderclouds seem to appear in his expression. But if there is one thing he knows how to do, it's fight. He is The God of War. He will not tolerate such impudence, disguised as worship, by trying to shoot him.

His hand comes up just as the man is finishing his speech. The movement is so fast it is almost a blurr. Perhaps just well trained and not superhuman. A slap of his arm to that of the smaller man, forcing the gun muzzle upwards and the shot hits a window, adding the shattering of glass to all the noise already happening.

He brings his other arm forward in a single punch, a huge upper cut meant to knock the other man back and out. Then he quickly turns his head to look for the other targets even as he pinpoints the location of his son. Ever the father, even though his son is a man and well able to deal with fiends on his own.

Phobos has posed:
    As Shannon takes cover and then starts to work her way through the press of people, she's able to do as she can to herd people toward the exit. Right now it's a crush of people, some moving around the exhibits, some moving through as another glass container is pushed to the side and to the floor breaking apart.
    Then there's the rush and appearance of Warpath, brandishing blade and standing stern. He has his own weapon and the nearest dour-faced individual gets eyes of such utter longing and adoration that he cries out, "Oh blessed be!" As he /throws/ his pistol to the side and starts to rush straight at the X-Man, his own knife coming up and slashing down trying to disembowel Warpath with a single wicked blow.
    Yet while all of this is happening, several of the other pistoleers smash some of the displays and various small lockets and pieces of jewelry are torn from inside. Those perhaps tasked with the acquiring of the objects while the others... are just tasked with mayhem.
    One of the thieves turns and starts to break for it with the crowd, rushing towards the door only for suddenly his head to /snap/ back and his back to thud heavily into the floor as his head bounces twice on the ground, leaving him unmoving after that short sharp _crack_. The ancient antique that was in his hand, a bronze dagger with a twisted blade goes skittering across the floor only to end up underneath one of the bench-seats that are now abandoned.
    The one severe looking cultist who had been menacing John Aaron gets rewarded for his troubles with an abrupt slap and then a magnificently executed punch that knocks the man up... back, and then lands him heavily upon the ground with a crack as his head hits the side of a display case.
    But the blond God of Fear who stands there still in the VIP area, he has not moved to act. Not yet at least. Though he catches his father's quick look and returns it with a quirked eyebrow. And if a particular glower is sent his way then the Olympic Youth will scowl and dart forward to take action.
    Finally.

Nightingale has posed:
     The cultist's cry catches Shannon's attention, and she whirls about just in time to catch sight of the intimidating stare given to the poor, confused soul by Warpath. Her eyebrows shoot upwards, and she shakes her head. What a kook. A similar shout from another one of the attackers has her turning that way, in time to witness the blindingly block that deflected the gun pointed at John Aaron, the shot fired towards the ceiling, and the right hook that would put many a fine warrior to shame. "Holy sh..." Given the theme of the exhibit, she couldn't help a brief, grim smile. "Just the sort of thing I bet one would find Ares himself in the middle of when all this stuff was new."

     Little did she know....

     Glass shatters as she comes back around for another pass through the room, to guide more visitors to safety. Her course puts her right next to the guard who had his arm sliced open, and she frowns, ushering him to the side, behind one of the Corinthian columns. "Will you let me take a look at that?" she asks.

Warpath has posed:
     The goon might have a nice knife, but Warpath's blade is hardened vibranium. His blade cuts through the opposing weapon in a single tight strike. Almost military in his precision and movement conservation. There is a brief moment in his eyes that anyone could notice he wants to drive the blade into the man's chest. Oh he wants to. A lot.

     Instead he uses the hilt of the blade to reinforce his fist, like he needs that, and back fist strikes the man in the face, shattering his nose and likely more. His free hand grabs the man and with a quick roll of his hip he hurtles the dour sort into the back of one of his allies.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
It's a very... odd thing to be rushing into a fight when others are armed and you're... kind of not. With the presence of stragler civilians Nick's kind of fighting handicapped by having to maintain some form of appearances.

But... They're still threatening other people. Locating another one that isn't in the process of being stopped. He turns, running full tilt as he sets to tackle this one. Hitting lower but with just as much oomph as the last time.

Ares has posed:
John almost glares at Alexander but then just turns, letting the boy stay where he is. Man. He has to stop thinking of him as The Boy at some point in life. He turns to find another foe and is surprised to see them all handled. Except those two people heading for the door.

He has a long stride but they are too far away for him to reach. They are going to get away with whatever prizes they stole. Perhaps.

He looks back to Alexander and there is that look his son knew so well. The one that demanded that he act. "Stop them." Simple words spoken as a command, brooking no argument.

Course, Alexander isn't one to always be obedient anymore.

Phobos has posed:
    That guard with the torn and ragged wound on his arm, he grimaces as he's pulled to safety, blood trickling down his arm. Not a horrible wound, no artery sliced but there's some strong tendon damage even as he looks up at Shannon, and the old grey-haired man sort of grins a little and shakes his head. "Some folks might find you scary in such a situation miss, but feel free. There's a..." He motions with a nod, "A medical kit over next to the thermostat."
    Yet while Shannon helps the injured man, the one confronting Warpath charges forth only to find his ancient blade sliced in twain by that vibranium weapon. For an instant the cultist blinks rapidly at his maimed weapon, then starts to say something, snarl something back at the X-Man only for the pommel to crack him right in the noggin and cause a spatter of blood that ends with his opponent fallen at his feet. A quick rustle of fabric and he's hoisted by the exceptionally strong man and is hurled straight at the back of another that is in the middle of menacing one of the other security guards. The two hit the ground in a heap.
    There was only one remaining that was left menacing the crowd, his pistol waving one side, then the other as if trying to pick a target. "We are all blessed by his presence. You should know that before you die." Loud words that are hurled by that cultist even as behind him suddenly. NICK!
    There's a whumpf of impact as the pistoleer is tackled from behind, slamming face down upon the ground and thumping hard enough to send that pistol skittering across the ground even as more of the crowd runs around them. There's the feeling of the madman struggling against Nick as he tries to turn, looking to try and stab the famed man for daring to attack him from behind.
    As for Alexander, he had been in motion, sliding underneath the velvet rope and breaking into a run. He had cut across the distance, leapt past where Nick was tussling with the fallen cultist, up over the side of the display area to land with a heavy thump on the other side of that service desk. Just in time to see those two runners reach the door. Out into the night they run, with the young Olympian in hot pursuit.
    Though with their departure, and with most of the cultists down for the count. Matters are mostly safe...
    Save for the wild-eyed man with that dour-face and shaved head that is currently trying to stab Nick as best as he can.

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon offers a reassuring smile to the older gentleman, but is unwilling to leave him even to get the medkit by the thermostat. Instead, she goes for her little brown bag, opening it up and going through the contents. The first thing out is a pair of gloves, which she slips on, the better to examine the guard's wound safely. The cut looked deep, but there was not as much blood as there could be. With any luck, any major systems were missed. Either way, however, older people had a tendency to heal more slowly, and this, she did not like.

     Miss Grey was gonna be pissed.

     With one last glance around to make sure most, if not all, of the innocents were out of harm's way, and there were no further injuries requiring assistance, she slips her gloves off of her hands. "This will just feel a little warm, okay? Just hold still... you're going to be alright." She closes her eyes and rests her hands over the cut on the man's arm, bracing herself as she begins to heal him. Where the wound on his arm began to seal itself up in the matter of no more than a minute, the opposite happened to her. She presses her lips together to muffle a soft sound of pain in the back of her throat as her left forearm began to open up and bleed. The whole process takes very little time at all, leaving the guard whole once more.

     "I'd still get that looked at, just in case," the young winged mutant suggests, as she begins to bind the wound on her own arm with some gauze from her little brown bag. So much for her current streak of staying out of Mr. McCoy's lab as a patient!

Warpath has posed:
     The middle of a battle can be annoying at times. The two make a run for it and he turns to chase after them. Two things stop him and they both are enough to more or less forget the two fleeing cultists,"Dammit." he mutters.

     It is a quick movement and he is at the one trying to get Nick. Grabbing him by the waist band he does the simplest of things...throws him straight into the air at the ceiling. That should buy Nick some time. He turns towards the door again and his nostrils flare.

     He turns his attention to the last place he saw Shannon and growls. He moves way to fast for a guy of his size and is at Shannon's side. His shirt comes off, revealing a tank top under it, and he uses the knife to cut strips to dress the wounds that have appeared on her arms,"Taboo. Backfire." he growls darkly, making new names for her.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Unfortunately the feeling doesn't reach Nick as his switch over to his ability deprives him of three key senses. But the very thing that keeps him from feeling also gives him a pretty dang good defense against attacks from behind.

UNFORTUNATELY there are witnesses which means he can't just simply take the knife to the face and just drop the damage with none the wiser and he sure as heck can't just pass through the guy. So what on earth is he going to do-

...

Well, it appears that Dour-Patch #2 just ripcorded the heck off of him courtousy of one WarPath so - maintaining the appearance of a regular human fighting is intact. Yaaaaayyy...

Rolling to his feet, Nick glances up to see how the guy is going to land.

Ares has posed:
That landing may have been more pleasant than what happens. As the man is falling toward the ground, the second largest man in the room is there to greet him.

This greeting took the form of a massive backhand aimed at the falling figure, to slap him to the side like nothing more than an annoying bug. He stalks after as the figure lands. "One of you better remain awake to answer some questions or I will be upset." John's voice sounds like him being upset is likely the worst thing in the world. He hisses lower, so as not to be heard by everyone. "You will never know the honor you seek if you upset me."

Phobos has posed:
    When Shannon touches the guardsman she'll see him look at her curiously, confused as his brow knits together with that lack of understanding. Then she touches his injured arm and he winces at first, just from the sensitivity of the wound. But there's tha warmth, the faint feeling of heat drifting through his limb. Then he blinks again as the wound closes, "Thank you... thank you miss."
    But then his eyes meet hers and he sees her wound, "Oh no..." He tries to get up, to reach for his walkie talkie on his hip as he starts to place another call for the authorities and for an ambulance now that he has the use of his arm again.
    Meanwhile, the cultist that is menacing Nick does his utmost to try and shank the man, only for a rough hand to grab him from behind and almost negligently hurl him into the air with a rush of movement. For a time the bladesman flails, arms windmilling as he tries to catch something to arrest his momentum...
    Only for him to be slapped to the side roughly and ending up smacked against the wall, the impact cracking the frame of the poster that was placed there to advertise the exhibit. That cultist falls to the ground, slides, and then grooooans loudly as he lies there, perhaps barely able to understand Ares, let alone answer him.

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon shakes her head, reaching out with her good right hand to touch the guard upon the shoulder. "No, it's alright. I'll get this seen to and heal very quickly. Please, though, would you see if anybody else needs medical attention?" With the worst of the furor past, and some semblance of calm being restored, perhaps those that remained and could think more clearly now, would be more apt to heed the guidance of someone more familiar to them, in the form of the guard who had likely served on staff for many years already.

     Though her forearm is already wrapped in gauze, the added pressure and layers of fabric provided by Warpath's shirt definitely do help matters. Too, his somewhat dark humor does bring out her smile, and a light chuckle. "Backfire? You make it sound as if I ate some bad chili. I'll keep my name as it is." Her look, however, is one of gratitude for his help.

Warpath has posed:
     Shaking his head, Warpath makes sure the shirt pieces are tight and he looks towards the door. It is clear he wants to track the two that got away. The joys of being chaparone. He sighs and makes sure Shannon is on her feet and mutters,"Can you walk? We should find somewhere else to be before emergency services get here and start asking questions."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick's brows raise in surprise as the man's projected arc is interfered with as Ares swings for the fences. He glances around, seeing if anyone else is being threatened but upon not seeing anyone heads over to Shannon. Looking to the arm, he frowns. "Are you okay?"

Ares has posed:
As the others gather near the winged girl, Ares is glaring at the man fallen on the floor. He won't be talking. For now. There is the sound of sirens outside, letting those within know that help has arrived.

Considering the five fallen villains, law enforcement will be able to take them into custody. A few will need trips to the hospital first before incarceration.

John glances to the trio nearby around the winged girl, taking a few steps that way. "Thank you for helping the people here. It will not be forgotten." It sounds very formal. At odds with his everyman appearance. "I will go speak to the authorities."

With that, he will give them a moment before turning to head for the door, intending to again place himself in the forefront. This time perhaps to allow them to depart if they wish before it becomes questioning and paperwork.

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon nods in agreement with Warpath. "I'm okay walking. But you're right. The sooner we make our exit, the better." A reassuring, if mildly pained smile, is offered to Nick, and she nods. "I'll be okay. Got some good folks to see to this, and it'll heal pretty quickly."

     John Aaron's approach catches her by surprise, and his words, even more so. But she does smile, sketching something of a bow, with a little flick of her wings for a flourish. "It was just the right thing to do. Perhaps we'll meet under better circumstances one day." His well-timed and well-placed intervention is met with a smile of gratitude, and she takes advantage of the moment to slip out the door without another word, out of bureaucracy's path, and heading for home.

Warpath has posed:
     Making sure Shannon is up to move, Warpath rises again. He turns towards the exit and meets Aaron's gaze as he does. Listening to his words, James nod and replies,"Thank you." It's about as wordy as he gets.

     Putting Shannon where he can keep an eye on her he moves with her to get out to the truck and back to someplace safer. Not done with Shannon he comments,"How about Bad Moon, Bad Break, or Misfortune." Not letting this one go anytime soon.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick looks over to John, giving a nod of thanks for him volunteering to speak with the authorities. With Shannon giving her assurances that she will be fine and the two making their leave from the scene, the musician is left with a decision. Stick around, or leave and deal with the eventual knock on his door. Well, better do it in a way where they're not mad...

He ends up hanging back, long enough to give a brief statement and contact information.