Owner	Pose
Spiral	Things have gone to hell in a handbasket. But who is responsible for weaving it? Reports of renegade paramilitary forces having a field day at one of those black site depots that the general public aren't supposed to have more than conspiracy theories about. In truth it's on the books, but it isn't a place for reservists to lose a weekend at. It's a place for Deltas and Seals to test out some pretty spiffy new gear that the Muggles aren't cleared for yet. And now there's scrambled chatter over secure (for most) comms calling in Code words with the kind of tone that might make the hairs stand on end for those that have served in the armed forces. Tumbler 29 is the name of the site that suffered the heist. A series of fences to keep out deer and deerhunters for many miles of supposed safety from the general public. Deciduous forests and rocky terrain before the artificially leveled plateau for the military base. A great location for secluded evening of accepting choppers of detainees or eggheads, weapon drops and engineers. That's all on fire and smoking and the source of trouble has moved on to the nearest town. Flashes of muzzle fire, snap-bulb flashes of spastic special energy weapons being discharged. Fireworks of the non-celebratory kind. A sleepy little town better known for hunting and fishing and some multi-armed white-haired banshee on a motorcycle is streaking down the main street in pursuit of a big armored army truck and duo of jeeps.
Logan	"I thought fishin' trips were meant to be relaxin'," Logan mumbles and mutters as he rolls out a bed. It's a small room. Just a simple weekend getaway. Sort of. It may have been during the week, but same premise. Get away from people for two days. Fish and enjoy the peaceful quiet. Right now, Logan just puts on a shirt since he passed out in jeans. A simple black thing he can pull on. On go the light brown cowboy boots. The well worn bomber jacket's next and he's making his way out the door. It's not until the bike peeks out does he realize this is not a stranger waking him up. "Can't a guy just get some relaxin'?" he says to himself. Then he just marches into the middle of the road. He thought of taking a swipe at the tire, but that can get messy for everyone. This option gives Spiral a choice: Stop or keep going. When the bike turns back his way, both hands will hand low before a "SHNKT!" cuts through the air. It's probably muffled by the roaring engine. The gleam of those claws from a motorcycle headlight, oh, it's easy to figure out what those are. And there's only one person they lead back to. Spiral found a familiar face, just not one she's actively trying to find.
Spiral	Spiral looks like she wouldn't stop for anything short of a concrete barrier. The way she's riding that motorcycle doesn't make it seem like she's giving any F's for insurance or public safety. Her stolen cycle makes like an angry chainsaw and it rockets towards the single figure in the middle of the road. When her eyes fall upon those signature claws, her lips pull back from her teeth in an ugly instinctual snarl. There's no time to make a good decision, just go on reflex. Those claws are popped and an unholstered weapon speaks loud no matter how growly her engine. Her braking manuever is not skillful, but it is begun. Her wheels lock up and she leans into a sidewider skid to bleed speed and paint the road in rubber, torturing her tires. Spiral's mouth is moving a mile a minute, cursing and swearing and protesting. "...They're getting away! They're getting awaaaaaay." she shrieks, hunching over the handlebars and trying to throttle them off the chassis in a rage. The bike will bring her quite close, if not overshoot as it screams to a halt. The smell of melted tire tread is like the passing of bad gas. Spiral is missing her signature helmet, but not criss-crossing sheathed blades and a bandoleer of pistols. In disarray, she looks like she's got a bit of wind-burn and hasn't had nearly enough time to gear up properly. A real hot mess.
Logan	Logan sees the recognition settle in. The breaking begins. So, he will do his best to get out of the way. Hearing the groaning of metal, how the rubber cries out in pain, how sparks might be flying. He'll wait like this is an inconvenience. Logan's an X-man, he's kind of used to this thing. Borderline desensitized to a few sights. Spiral looks like a mess even before she gets off the bike. Words flow out in awhirl wind, "Who?! What?! Talk. One minute," Logan says firmly. Whether this is a countdown to determine what will happen next, or just a means to reign in the conversation while being quick with details, is hard to say. Logan may not know the answer until the last five seconds. The panic does have his attention. Something has her spooked.
Spiral	The amount of muscle spasms having a field day in her face is almost on par with some sort of clumsy shapeshifting or polymorph in progress. But it's just hideous fury. Still half-straddling the poor bike, she looks like she wants to stomp her feet in a war dance. Arms unfurl, each wanting to lash out or strangle something. A pair of hands pantomime taking an invisible object and pull 'n twist it apart. With her motorcycle no longer roaring, just idling and popping off, the louder sound of other vehicles can finally enter the equation. Though Spiral's sputtering doesn't help right away with explanations. A shriek seems to help reset her. She grinds her teeth and flares her nostrils before trying again. "Reeeeavers. Stupid..." Disobedient. "...brainless gunheads. They got loose, and this state is now designated...shore leave. They just got tuned up. All they had to do was sit tight for a few more hours and they'd have been collected, payment received, another invoice filled. But nooooooo, one of their number went and bypassed their barracks. I gotta go get them, and you're in my way. Don't get in my way! My reputation is in that truck, heavily armed and high on combat stims!" She sucks in great lungfulls of air, shivering in anger, bleeding from near-misses by high-velocity rounds.
Logan	Logan looks at the woman. The poor bike he'll mourn over later. Because that is a shame, but the C-plot of the story in his mind. Something to worry about when the dust settles. A sea of emotions roll off of Spiral before she even speaks. "What's on that truck? Why is it yer rep?" Logan's not sure if this is a planned score they sped up or if there's an honest awol Reaver. He wants that clarity. However, thre's a "SHNKT!" as the claws retract. Right now, they're not fighting. That means she has his attention. So, he waits patiently for the answer. That's what holds his actions back.
Spiral	"Mass destruction. A six pack of Bud Light's-Out. Enough firepower to probably bring down Xavier's toy jet, or at least a Sentinel. Or maybe even put a crease in Jean Grey's panties." Spiral seethes and starts uncurling fingers as if to count off the ways they could rain down death and destruction. "Acid grenades, Railguns, depleted uranium rounds, virus charges, flamethrowers..." Spiral trails off, perhaps tuning into the actual question being asked. "Mercs, killers and assassins. Wetworking gentlemen of the lowest calibre sporting the highest calibre weapons...judging from the weapons depot they just hit to the west of here." Spiral's flushed cheeks actually tug upwards as she smiles. "It's not as import and stopping their mad-dog rampage. I have to go put them down." The six-armed sorceress hefts the bike back in preparation to tear off. "If I don't reduce them to ash, I will...recycle them, so all my work upgrading them for their client doesn't go to waste. So in a way, I'm a hero. If you don't want a tire tread bisecting you from groin to forehead...you'll stand aside and let me do a...whatshisname...SkeletorBiker straight up their tailpipes."
Logan	"Yer gonna tell me 'bout the rep, ya got it. The firepower doesn't sound impressive at first, again desensitized, but then he pictures that scale to small places like this one. It would be a sea of ash, maybe even just a crater. That bothers him a lot. "No Killin' when yer wit' me," Logan knows Spral will if she ha to. However, someone has to b the moral one. Sadly, it's the one with questionable ones. "Let's go. Quit talkin' n' tell me intel when we get outta this," Logan marches back to his rented room to grab his bike. There' a temporary trust between them. This is to make sure she doesn't try and strand him somewhere. It won't stop kill him, but it would make for a very bad weekend, to say the least.
Spiral	Spiral considers trying to leave Logan in the dust. You don't have to be a telepath to read into her expression. Her antsy urges are also reflected in how she revs her throttle while she pauses to watch Logan acquire his own set of wheels. "That sounds like maiming is still on the menu...." Spiral's head tilts to the side for a moment, and her pupil-less looking peepers stare off into a middle distance. "I'm detecting power levels ratcheting up. I think they've trying to tap into some of the toys they've acquired. Maybe trying to remove more of those helpful safeties that the Muggles around here sometimes add to their prototypes. Oh yessss...the Reavers always seem to have a monkeybrain among them...always wanting to tinker and tweak." Spiral guns her bike when Logan is alongside. "I've got trackers on 'em. They're still working, for now. 10 minutes out. Keep up." she dares.