1964-07-24 - Sticky Situations
Summary: Jean and Scarlett happen to catch Gwen Stacy in the middle of a sticky situation.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
gwen-stacy rogue jean-grey 

When it comes to the redhead duo, what's done in the dark shall never come to light. Ever.

Hence why they were near the areas that Jean had indicated upon the map. The map of Mutant Town, far past the seedy night clubs that her own kind had brought into existence. Jean herself was high upon a roof, levitating, so far is the only thing that she herself could do as she looks down to the quiet streets below.

If quiet meant that there were a few throngs of laughter, bottles breaking and shouts of 'mutie' slurs.

It wasn't all that bad, the truth of how a person feels comes out when they're inebriated, so Jean didn't feel particularly right in correcting such of a behavior.

"Sam." Jean states, pointing out into the air. "When I kissed Sam, I levitated. Right now, I'm thinking happy thoughts." Her lips twist, her gloved fingers adjusting her cat eyes mask. "Though, in all the lives we lived out in space, it's a simple trick of telekinesis. I just have to figure out how to fly without crushing the heels of my feet."

Down below.. something strange was happening..

…there was a rustle in the garbage and a few screams in the distance.. something that Jean herself couldn't hear over her own self absorption.

Sometimes what happens in the past stays in the past. Exactly never, of course. The other half of Team Redhead presents a bohemian, carefree existence to the world on that rooftop, the better to conceal the tarnished traces of wicked deeds done. It's not even like Scarlett possesses guilt or shame, memories scoured from the slate of her existence. But she knows how to function in covert situations better than a Columbia student ever should.

"Kissing makes you float, cherie? Be glad for it," she murmurs, English melting into a French diminutive. Her body stretches out over the rooftop, belly down as she stares into the tangled ghetto making M-Town a place anyone rarely sees her. Violence erupting from a bar or a seedy club marks her brow with a frown, those emerald eyes tracking every punch and kick. Every cry. It's those she cannot stand.

Kicking her foot forward to a low crouch, she murmurs, "Come on, time to be the cavalry, beautiful. Someone needs a girl they can't pick on." She dressed a la Diana Rigg in the Avengers; green, instead of black, nothing that couldn't be mistaken for a club-goer. A forward flip brings her down to ground level in a surprising display of lithe athleticism.

Jeez, this stuff is HARD!

She had been dealing with all the nervous energy for three days, ever since the bombing, and she finally sorted out how to do it.
First, she needed something to hide her identity. If it came out a cop's daughter was doing weird stuff, he could pin his badge to his ass and kiss them BOTH goodbye.
In the end, she used a black leotard with black tights and a ski mask with tinted safety-glass-lenses hot-glued to hide her eyes as well as protect them.

The running part was a wash. She kept overbalancing after she got faster than 30 MPH. She also had to do it on rooftops, which meant slow going. The first jump had been nerve-wracking, but it got easier, but she was taking her fair share of tumbles.

Then she had skidded off the slanted roof of a bar and landed in the courtyard, right in front of the John Tanner, BMOC at Empire State, and his football friends. They had been wildcatting in the bar, and were properly soused when the masked girl landed on her back on the paneled wood deck.
"Mutie!" one of them yelled, and that was it.
Gwen had enough time to get up before she saw the first one rush her…

Feet touched down upon the edge of the roof as Jean shrugs her shoulders at her bestie. Her lips even curl just a touch as she reaches back to grasp her cloak to tug around her. "Used to. For some reason now, it's all science that I can speak and not understand. Though I suppose your brain helps me translate."

Though.. everyone can hear the sound of a woman potentially screaming! And Jean's head was already cast in that direction.

Unlike the green that Rogue herself was dressed in, Jean was all black. She was the terror that jumped in the night, the redheaded fire 'demon' who came and went as she pleases and attempted to make men do -right-.

"Blech. We're supposed to be looking for Logan.." Not that Jean didn't mind the help, but there was a jump, a stall of a fall within the air as she quickly descended from the height of the building to land upon the ground with a full crouch and splayed fingers upon the ground.

Yes. Jean did a superhero jump, and a fall. She even cracked the concrete enough to cause the building behind her to rumble.

And this is why no one liked her.

"I see the world through a varied, cracked looking glass. Remember that," answers Scarlett, the plethora of voices humming at the back of her skull perpetually creating such a cacophony that telepathy rarely ventures far without being caught up in a war. "Mind, we both look to the stars now, don't we?"

She tips her head when Jean lands and the building quivers, yet another pothole left behind in an area with no viable tax base or political voice. Her lips crumple into a thoughtful moue; assessments come quick and fast.

Person wearing a stocking? Check. Unhappy frat boys out to cause mayhem, possibly? Her ability to read body language is bounds ahead what it was weeks ago, much as her willingness to walk into its midst. Unlike anyone else, she actually might be in street clothes. Her walk has all the golden charisma of a girl fully aware of her graces, and how to use them.

"Now, you handsome gentlemen wouldn't be having some fun tonight, would you? I do think I've lost my way," she calls out in that radiant soprano, cultivated with a musical note foretelling her youth and that bright smile. "And found a much, much better party. Mind if a nice girl comes to play?"

The Soul-Thief is a mercurial creature right down to her mutable DNA. She's every dream, every nightmare, and at the moment, she's the pretty redhead out for a little taste of danger.

This was working.

WHY was this working??
When she felt that squalling in her mind, like an alarm bell, she looked right at the guy about to tackle her.
So…why was he moving so slowly? He is was like he was moving in slow motion. Gwen herself could move just fine. In fact, she had enough time to sort out the best way to handle it.
She jumped up, her hand on the guy's back, and jumped over him, legs splayed, and she suddenly wondered HOW she was able to do this…

Jean and Rogue was not seeing this record playing at 33 and 1/3, but at the normal 78 RPM, so they saw the masked girl leap effortlessly over the charging man and his grasping hands. He continues on, a body in motion until acted upon by an outside force—namely, the wooden pillar. He hits it head-first, knocking himself out cold.
The girl lands and turns, smiling under the mask until she sees the entire front four advancing on her. She opens her mouth to speak and then the earthquake, and she is as startled and the four guys are. She jumps back, a good 25 feet of a jump, and goggles at the two new arrivals. "WHAT THE…?" she blurts out.

The slow rise of her body straightening and the cloak.. so overdone it was.. was soon swished upon her shoulders. With a roll of her neck, she takes the approach that Scarlett had, yet keeping off to the side with a little smirk playing upon her lips, her gloved hand reaching back to rub at the back of her neck whilst she watches the young.. masked.. girl.. leaping..?

Kind of familiar?

Also kind of not.

With Scarlett making her intro, Jean immediately reaches out to keep her bestie from taking those few steps forward. For empathy's sake? Jean could feel the startled emotions within her own bones just as Gwen did in that moment of their appearance.

"Ut ut.." Jean says loudly, almost amused. "Careful boys. Muties on edge! Muties on eeedge!"

And the thought, which was a quiet whisper that may have mentally penetrated the many voices that currently scream within Scarlett say..

'Lets watch.'

Is it cruel? Possibly not!

Cruelty, is it really that in the game of survival? That's all of what this is. Predator facing off against apparent prey. Prey turning the tables, showing those spots aren't actually for show, but a warning display.

The redhead with her hair in elaborately constructed braids halts right where she is, leaning back slightly on her heels. Scarlett has no reason to rush, no purpose to hasten into. In the words of less than immortal Augustus Caesar, "Make haste slowly." Thus she does.

Baiting them with an offer thus, she startles back slightly for show. Danger dances as her partner, not an unwelcome suitor. Leaps that leave men unconscious do not register more than the faintest flutter of her brazen lashes.

"Enchanting," she deadpans back to Darkwing Jean, a smile granted to the fire demoness from the succubus. "Why do I imagine he might be sad to miss this?"

Normally, Tommy and his friends would consider this to be a bad concept, starting a fight with weird strangers, especially muties.
Unfortunately, that finely-honed self of self-preservation has been dulled in a sea of Coors and Jagermeisters, and one of them pulls a chair leg free from one of the wooden chairs. "Fun's over," Tommy says as he faces the masked girl. I'm going to beat your head in until-"

The alarm becomes a Klaxon, and she doesn't think. She just reacts.
Her hands rise on stiff arms, pointed at the four men moving towards her. "NO!" she nearly shrieks, fear and panic and instinct mingling like oil, mapalm, and a lit match.


The white stuff SPRAYS from under her wrists, covering all four of them like a net, and suddenly the front deck looks like the Halloween decorating started early, as the four are COVERED in webs.
Then Tommy tries to raise his hand…and can't. "Chucky…I'm stuck!" he says, and edge of panic in his voice.

Gwen STARED at her hands, then at the guys, then at the two mysterious and forbidding women, and then the flight instinct weighs in. She JUMPS towards the nearest building, landing on the side of it thirty feet up, then scrambles up and over the edge and going into a panicked run.

There was a quiet nod that goes to Scarlett as she quietly expresses the enchantment as she sees Gwen at 'play'. Even though the young spiders' emotions were nearly making her want to vomit yesterdays lunch that was barely eaten, she keeps her composure with folded arms about her chest to watch with a lean that her counter-part takes on.

"He would be sad.." Jean murmurs quietly, finally crouching down to rest elbows upon the flat of her thighs, her fingers at a slight dangle until..


For some reason or other, Jean immediately reaches up to clamp her hand against her mouth, watching in the distance as the girl… wow..

And she laughs. She wasn't laughing at the fright of the girl.. but what the girl did to the men. It was just desserts! Karma!

"You can fly and you're fast, can you get her? I'll take care of the boys here." Oh.. this is going to be nasty..

The rapid fire movement may be beyond Scarlett's ability to see fully, but she can react to the apparent threats within range easily enough. Her stance is guarded, her body slipped in front of Jean's on the off chance something goes awry. Not that the telepathic woman has anything to really worry about, but the other, tall redhead has her pledge to live up to.

Defend the Phoenix, save the world, right?

Her concern for a pile of frat boys may be somewhat understated, in part from the burning bright hue of those green eyes catching Gwen's display of acrobats and prowess in handling then. Right up until she creates a range of Mount Blancs; then, the laughter does surface, just as it does for the other half of the duo. There's a reason they are best friends. "That is bloody effective."

A nod to confirm understanding and she gives a warm smile to Jean. Scarlett dashes off towards the buildings; no need to indicate what she really can do. The acts of a traceur practicing parkour are more in Gwen's wheelhouse, but she has absolutely no difficulty taking fire escapes and scaling walls nearly as fast. And besides, a dead run isn't an issue at all for a girl who scorns the earth's gravity. Sooner or later, her merry, gentle call might be heard. "It's safe to stop running. They will not chase you this far."

The great superheroine who had vanquished five guys…was huddled behind an A/C unit three blocks away, shaking with adrenaline and fear. She had no idea she could even DO that! What WAS that?

When the call came, she thought, *SHIT!* She had no idea who they were, but something about them had jangled her nerves worse than the QB and his blockers. She tried to slow her breathing, tried to calm herself down.

Dear God in His heaven, what had she become?
She jerked when she heard the voice, unable to keep the fear out of her mind. Her father's voice came to her.
*If you feel no fear, you're an idiot. If you let fear run you, you're a coward. LOOK IT IN THE EYES.*
She closed her eyes, took a deep long breath…
…and stood, turning to face the origin of the voice.

Glad of the defense, but like a little sister irritated, she gives the small of Rogue's back a light push. (Thankfully, gloves and covered skin. Rogue doesn't need to see that mind of hers again.) It was a little playful push, for once the laughter dies down from Scarlett and the women were in the wind, the men were sighed at.. and head was soon shaken.

"I know that your drunk.." But.. the words doesn't fall farther from her lips. Instead, she grunts just a touch, then inhales.. her chest puffing out as she exhales harshly, allowing the phoenix fire to manifest within those cupped hands to burn away the webbing.

Which.. she's pretty sure the end result would look like gross marshmallow!

With a draw back and a turn, a light dance upon her feet has her hand shaking, fire catching upon the tips of her gloves to shake them out.. even as the men 'whoot' and hollared, tumbled and began to ran.

"Try to do better!" Jean calls out! "Don't drink and try to pick on people! Make healthier choices! Try milk!"

Yes, she told them to drink milk..

How utterly terrifying is Scarlett, the resident bohemian, famed of Greenwich Village. Hardly worth the concern to someone as lithe and capable on their feet as Gwen, and not precisely imposing.

Tucking a braid back over her ear rather than allowing it to slouch low in its moorings, the redhead offers up a sunny smile and open palms, the near universal sign of being unarmed. That might mean absolutely nothing up here, but it counts for something.

"We happened across those men giving you trouble." Her voice carries echoes of somewhere refined, English, though the precise spot for the accent may be hard to place. Never mind it has a faint trace of Tibetan some days skimming the very underpinnings. "I don't mean you any harm. Just checking they did not harm you or give you worse than a surprise. Girls need to stick together when trouble comes, sometimes." Her gaze goes back to the pyre made for an instant. "Or rather, you stick and I make sure you're well."

Gwen tried not to show fear. What was so scary about a pretty girl standing in front of her?
Her hands. It was her hands. The points of light she saw all around her were different colors—white, green, yellow, gold, black…and red.
The points of light on the girl's hands were bright red.
She realizes she is staring at the girl's hands and looks up to the face. Some sort of strange ability, and lovely to boot. One of the Beautiful People
She was suddenly very glad she wore a mask.
"They…wouldn't have been able to hurt me. Bigger chance of me hurting myself than them hurting me." It was true, she realized. For guys like that, she had never been in any actual danger.

Her hands were dusted off as she watches the backsides of the men who ran away. There was no mental manipulation used on her behalf, scaring them straight usually (read: never) does the trick at all.

But with everything said, she turns and begins to walk towards the area of where she senses Scarlett and the other to be, her chin tilted upright so that she could easily unfasten her cloak from around her neck.

"Stupid cloak. It was a stupid idea. I just didn't want anyone to see my tookus.." She says to someone.. or no one in particular. But -SOMEONE- was listening…

"Point is that you chose not to hurt them, and more importantly, they threatened you," points out the redhead quietly. Her serene voice and auroral gaze pass over Gwen, and she inclines her head, "I'm Scarlett. The young lady down there is a friend. Should you need anything more, we'll be here to help you."

Everyone's friendly neighbourhood bandwagon, right?

Her dreamlit smile holds no threat there, not even as she takes a step back to the edge of the building. A backflip is an easy thing to execute, running down the building to rejoin Jean.

Gwen gapes, then moves to the edge of the roof, looking over the ledge to see the girl join the one with the cloak, only now removing it.
Distance mutes the red in those hands to a soft yellow. Danger muted by distance.
Her friend's head, though was as red as the Corvette Sting Ray that was her pride and joy. Distance didn't matter there.
She ducked back, on the off-chance the literal redhead looked up at her.
Then came the macaroni knees and the chill down the spine. She had to get back to her clothes, to her car, to her home, dimly aware she had brushed up against something larger than her.

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