1963-12-12 - Chill Out, New York!
Summary: A frozen crane presents an imminent threat! Heroes to the rescue… or to watch.
Related: N/A
Theme Song: None
jean wanda magneto 

Recent attacks across the world, including New York City. While the docks lining the Hudson weren't directly attacked, one of the ice creatures happened to pass by the area, inadvertently freezing a handful of large cranes and shipping skids.

Earlier in the morning, Erik summoned Jean Grey for training. However, they did not disappear into the Danger Room as before. No, this time, it was into one of the cars, and into the city proper. Magneto had instructed Jean to use her ability, looking for signs of trouble, which has led them… here.

The car is parked, and Magneto steps out. While his X-Men uniform is worn, it remains safely concealed beneath outerwear; nothing too fancy, easy to remove should it become necessary. Keen eyes look around the area, observing the swatch of ice that is slow to melt in such frigid temperatures.


Two mutants are not the only ones able to spy danger from a distance by suspicious means. A sudden eruption of chaos in the world calls, perhaps, to one human female more than any other. Sleep has eluded Wanda for hours, her very blood singing its profane melodies. Even the wards at the New York sanctum dull the effect, rather than stifling it, and attempts to meditate or distract herself fail to address the root cause: the feeling in her bones, the vibrating excitement in her veins. Cursing the name of her progenitor silently, Wanda takes to the street, armed for bear. Her full complement of charms leaves a mystic imprint, and the gun hidden under her coat along with a plethora of knives makes her less than friendly.

The rest is visible in her cool expression and the way she stalks through the city, following disturbances visible only to her. The Sight floods her gaze, rimming her pupils in an unnatural indigo frost, and she follows the knotted trajectories straight past warehouses and crookedly parked cars abandoned by dock workers who still had to show up in the snow.

Anyone who makes a crack about the Sorcerer Supreme not showing up personally may just get flipped the bird. She squeezes between two cars, trying to follow the path that ignores solid objects in her way. A fire escape gives access to a rooftop, and that's a hell of a lot more subtle than deciding to float in mid-air and shout at the frost horror. Of course, being dressed in a vibrant burgundy coat makes her a rather visible target. Nothing new there, she's been a target all her life. So up she goes, rung by rung, for a better vantage point.


This was good exercise. Not sitting in the car, no. But her for brain. It expands, picking up various parts of conversations here and there.. some.. in the quiet of the car allows her a moment to laugh. One.. draws out a slight tear of a child wishing something from Santa.. and the other draws out another fit of belly laughter that obviously makes her look like a nutball being driven to her doom.

Her own uniform was covered with a peacoat, black leathers something that obviously mixed in what she wore, so there were obviously no glances in her direction that would make her stand out. It takes a clear moment of withdrawl for her to finally move again, her hand lifting to wipe away at her nose, one eye squinted as she steps out into the dawn of day, her shoulders rolling with a slight grimace as if something within could barely be contained within the confines of her thin frame.

"Somewhere around here.." She mutters out, one hand lifting to rub against her temple. "..not far, though."


There, within one of the cranes, are two men. Workers, huddled down in the cabin of the control room, freezing in spite of their warm coats and winter clothing. The crane is frozen solid, its mechanisms shorted out and no longer offering heat to the cabin.

Jean will sense it quickly.

As for Magneto, his brow furrows at something else. Metal, moving, small. Weapons. His expression curls, and he keeps track of the items as Wanda climbs, not yet turning to inspect who the bearer might be.

"Good," he tells Jean. "Now, focus on that. Try to find them."


An ice cold pillar hanging over the dockside stands out like a sore thumb, and on the low rooftop of the warehouse, Wanda has an unrestricted view. Her eyes narrow slightly, shaded by her hand, seeking signs that unfortunate ice monster lurking about. One would think it is visible, but possibly not given the snow and the icy conditions on the Hudson.

Should nothing stand out, she crosses the edge of the warehouse to the next where the two buildings practically rub shoulders. The icy conditions make a casual leap more hazardous than usual, so she piles up more snow for good footing, and jumps the narrow distance with only the slightest boost from her art, if things go pear-shaped. Landing heavily upon her feet, she crouches with the momentum and crosses the next rooftop. One building closer; there aren't many separating her from the crane. Of all the days not to bring crampons and ice picks…


"Focus.." Jean nods slightly, her hand reaching up to grasp the opposite side of her shoulder, rolling it out as she takes a step aside from where Erik stands. True to form, her fingers soon draw down to press against her temple, her eyes closing as she sweeps..

'I.. fucking hate shoveling..'
'..work, I actually like it.. who in ..'
'Mm. A good burger.. great..'

And there it was, the voices that she was looking for, skimmed and picked through the ethers..

'It's so cold.'
'We're going to die here.'
'Not like this.. please god, not like this..'

Jean groans loudly, doubling over, one arm dragged around to hold her stomach as if she had eaten within the past few days. It was a dry heave of a sound, the desperation, the emotions flooding her senses, her hand striking out to gesture towards the iced over crane.. nearer to where Wanda herself approaches.



Erik looks on with worry as Jean doubles over. He thinks of reaching down to encourage her, when suddenly, her hand is pointing.

Just like that, Erik darts his head to follow. Then, a hand is slung forward, and the crane begins to rumble.

This ice is thick. Thicker and stronger than should be possible; only someone like Bobby would be able to break it.

"They're going to freeze in there," he murmurs, then throws another hand forward, growling.

The ground rumbles, and metallic objects in the area begin to groan in protest. Inside the crane, the walls pop and crinkle; metal objects fling themselves at the wall, and the levers pop and crack.

Somewhere, along the sheet of ice, a crack forms.

"Jean," Erik asks through gritted teeth. "The fire. Can you… can you control it?" He looks her way, even while the air begins to shimmer and distort between his hands and the crane. "Will you try?"


The rumbling crane gives all the warning one needs to have. The witch stands on her toes and frowns, metal yanked free and ice gathering minor weaknesses. That's never going to do, if the thing is going to fall on her or end up hurled at Central Park. As yet, she has little idea of others manipulating things, but the moment they come into sight, Jean and Erik may well get a double dose of scrutiny from the girl on the warehouse roof.

With no recourse, she approaches the forward lip of the building and raises her hands into a rectangle, thumbs to index fingers. And she starts to murmur, staring at the wall of ice for weaknesses. It's going to take her time to locate the critical weak point, the flaw, the fissure that when struck right might weaken the entire underlying structure.


It was a trying thing; dealing with the trepidation and feelings of loss and impending doom. It takes a moment for her to catch her breath, the skin of her paling considerably as she watches the display that Erik puts forth.

It wasn't working..

But there was also another mind nearby in which Jean lifts her green eyes to try to discern the source.

"Wai.. what?" Control the fire? She bites upon her lower lip as she takes a slight step forward. "I'll try.." Jesus.. "..d..don't tell Charles.." That.. always went well.

The closer that she stepped (which was still far off) allowed her to pace and time the release, fire begins to lick upon her shoulders, a clear stop and stand in place as her feet draw shoulder width apart. To deal with the weight of the thing within..

..and it came with but a glimpse. Like a soul separating from itself for half a moment, melding into.. the crystalized black molten effigy that slides sideways..

Claws of a bird that soon reaches up to grasp along Jean's shoulders. Wings unfurling that burns fire bright and flap to test their motions.

Jean all the while all but crumbles, the bird itself shrieking through the air as it uses her as a boost to shoot towards the crane. It was like a rocket, soaring through the sky to crash into the frozen parts.. seeping through the cracks.. warming the souls of the men and out to the other side, whipping and whirling in a horrible circle that bears heat that even Wanda could feel.

And it was chaos..


At once, Erik shifts from pulling the crane to containing it, keeping it in one piece. He turns to gaze upon the magician upon high, eyes furrowing. Then, back to Jean.

"Good!" he cries through the mayhem. "You see? It does what you want! It listens to you. Now, call it back! Call it back at once!" He turns from Jean to the crane, both arms outstretched as he manipulates the metal, holding it all together.


Wanda is chaos. Some part of her is assuredly responding to that bird, the forebear turning on a cosmic spindle possibly to make distant note. One can hope, at least, he isn't too interest or else the Bird might be meeting chaos incarnate.

Heat into her limbs, on the other hand, is welcome. She stretches out her arms a little further to receive the benediction of light and warmth while it remains. Ice shines in a mist as whole chunks fall away, transformed into liquid or sublimated into vapor. Her contributions are nigh to nil, at this point, given the firebird is anathema to the creation of an ice giant. She drops down to sit on the edge of the warehouse, and flips over onto her stomach, making it easier to slither over the edge and drop back down to street level without getting messy.


Yay! Positive reinforcement! For a moment, it looks as if Jean would unbend herself to jump up and offer random claps with a hee-hee, but the weight of the bird leaving her for that moment takes precedence. But there was a moment where.. the encouragement from what she deemed as an unlikely source has her rising up, gone was the green in her eyes and replaced with a blinding white.

Call it back? Here goes nothing.

The circling phoenix lifts high into the air, suspended, it's beak turning to give a pointed NOTICE towards Wanda. We see you. Chaos cannot hide from it's sister.

"Oh.. shi—.."

With a snap, the bird hurtles towards Jean like a child to it's mother, the mother who, skirts back a few paces with both arms raised up, forearms exposed in defense to deal with the blowback of a quick re-entry..


ROLL: Wanda +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 60


In a manner of defense, Magneto would have shielded himself as well, but he holds the lives of those men in his hands. He ducks his head, fingers trembling, but his hold remains true. The crane shudders and trembles as the ice is broken off and flung to the ground, the men inside cowering against a far wall.

And yet his eyes are upon Jean Grey, wide and filled with both terror and awe.


Landing on the ground, Wanda skids on the slush, but holds her ground. That part is easy: she can grab hold of the door's rough handle or cling to the doorway. Not exactly the most elegant of landings, but what more is a witch going to manage on the fly without cheating? She's played good so far. That becomes severely stressed and taxed by a bird bending its attention towards her vicinity, given not another soul or longshore worker is in sight. The very weight of its regard upon her brings her chin up, and her pupils stream with cherry red nimbi like comets tracked across the stars.

Chaos incarnate has a vessel, a living one, and she happens to be in a red coat. It has barely any of the signature that the Hellmouth did, and the hints are buried deep in the blood, less in the incarnadine aura enfolding Wanda. That it leaves a moment later is something of a frozen shock, and she keeps staring at the sky with a yawning awareness cracking through her thoughts.

"Yaga." Accusatory tone, apropos of nothing.


Where one would think that the pain from the fire-bird would hurt, it does not. The bird hits the arch of the TK wall in which it melds into, stretching and expanding it's wing-span to encompass Jean with the energy that had left her.

She saw her though, the woman in red, rising up to defense..

But the fact that Erik kept his eyes upon her, had her own red gaze turning towards him as well. Now.. who would need to focus?

For the rising panic and terror from all sides nearly made her sick, made her feel as if she were a monster, but that simple need for human contact has her quickly rushing towards Erik's side, stepping back to lace her arm around his chest, the other laying atop of his own as if she were to correct his stance. But no. She was -honestly- helping.

In fact, he could feel it!

"Don't let them fall!"


For a fleeting moment, Erik's eyes dart from Jean to Wanda.


It only lasts a moment. The Master of Magnetism, now bolstered by Jean's capacity, turns back to the crane. His fingers bend, and the cabin of that crane rips free, metal and nail bending to his will. The cabin falls slowly, finally coming to rest upon the slushy ground.

With a long sigh, Erik lowers his arms. The two men inside look on, eyes wide with shock and wonder. As for Erik, he reaches down, uncurling Jean's hand. "It's alright," he tells her. "It's over."


They, those in the crane, are caught. Their cradle may scream, and the weakened cables and exterior apparatus very likely might buckle without that much support. As long as the cabin comes down softly, then consider it a day well done.

Her: she's contributed little to this, and even more once those men reach the floor. She simply sets to disappearing into the warren of streets around the docks. It isn't at a run, nor a purposeful stride, but the movement of someone used to vanishing into the background.


Stressful, so much so that once everything falls apart, yet comes together in the form of a miracle, Jean was able to let out a sigh. His arms come down, and so do hers, the step taken back to dislodge herself from his shoulders and with a swift turn, she buckles yet again.

It was a harsh breath, a hand drawn up to cup over her mouth as she keeps the bile down with a wince and a choked-back cough. Even still, her shoulders roll, neck twisting slightly to the side as she finally stands.. dizzied. "Who.. who was that girl?"

It was meant when it was told that -they- saw her. Agents of chaos, one in the same. An agent of chaos who was soon rocking back upon her heels to pass out flat in the slushy snow.

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