Alive [First Thread]

[Pyro]

John 'Pyro' Allerdyce reached over to turn the volume up on the speakers of the stereo. He'd been sitting there, in what had once been Magneto's main office, his feet up on the desk, scanning through the daily papers for what felt like hours.

Son, she said, have I got a little story for you
What you thought was your daddy was nothin but a...
While you were sittin' home alone at age thirteen
Your real daddy was dyin', sorry you didn't see him, but I'm glad we talked...

He threw down the tabloid he was reading, swung his feet off the table and rolled out the ache in his neck and shoulders. He should get some sleep. Catch some shut eye. Take a nap. God damn it, have a snooze. But he was too tightly wound to rest right now.

Oh I, oh, I'm still alive
Hey, I, I, oh, I'm still alive
Hey I, oh, I'm still alive

Pearl Jam. Pyro rested his head forward on the desk and let the familiar tune wash over him. It went some small way to easing what was an increasingly anxious situation. His work at getting recruits for the Brotherhood had stalled. That was partly a lie. OK, it was a complete lie. The recruitment drive hadn't even got off the ground yet.

But hey. As Eddie Vedder said I'm still alive. Not just that, but he was still in full possession of his mutant abilities as well. Not for him the fate of so many formerly great and useful allies who now were either ekeing out pointless existences as homo sapiens, or were quite simply worm food.

I'm still alive.

"And what damn good has it done me?" he said, to nobody in particular. His current efforts to track down Mystique - he still couldn't come to think of her as Raven Darkholme - had met yet another dead end. For some reason he had convinced himself that if he could just find her, talk to her, reason with her...she could get him access to some of the core system databases Magneto had left on the computers at Genosha. Databases filled with official records - and not so official - on known, registered mutants. He was no computer hacker; every attempt to get past the front end had been met with the same big fat 'Access Denied' message.

Several computer screens had met an untimely end at the end of one of Pyro's fireballs when he'd loosed his frustration on them. It was getting expensive now.

The stereo switched to another track, distracting him from his train of thought.

Well it’s high noon at the U.K. Corral,
and it’s high time I got myself back on the rails,
I’m the lonesome cowboy, ridin' across the range,
With just a hand held radio--to keep me sane...

A lonesome cowboy. Hell, yeah. That was what he was.

Pyro sighed and closed his eyes for a few minutes before reaching for another paper to scrutinise deeply in the hope he might find something, anything, that'd lead him to bring the Brotherhood back together again.


(ack. Pearl Jam and The The, thanks lads!)

[Pyro]

Time, as it has a tediously disconcerting habit of doing, passed. It was a clear two and a half hours before John sat bolt upright, a thin trickle of sweat running down his face, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

It took a few seconds of orientation to realise that he'd fallen asleep at the desk, his head buried in the newspaper that he had been reading. The whole damn tabloid press was still printing pictures of the so-called X-Men and being forced to constantly stare at the face of his one-time friend Bobby Drake had messed with his dreams.

As if it wasn't bad enough, the CD player, still shuffling through the sorter tray found Gary Numan and mocked him still further.

I'm playing at ice
But I'm finding it hard
She didn't break the wall
She just caught me off guard

Can you see ice in my eyes
Can you see ice in my eyes

"Shut," said John, with a low snarl, "the hell up!" He reached over and wrenched the volume knob right down and got to his feet. He was beyond tired, despite the couple of hours fitful doze and that had left him feeling faintly irrational. He paced the length of the office. The spark of creativity still continued to elude him. Why couldn't he just come up with one simple little idea? A way to reach as many mutants with one stroke as possible?

He ran his hands through his hair and clasped his head in the heels of his palms. This was too much. What had he been thinking, taking command of the Brotherhood like this? None of them listened to a word he had to say; he hadn't yet mastered the art of grabbing their attention. One or two had grudgingly deferred to his leadership, being aware of the place the young mutant had clearly held in Magneto's trust. But the others resented, or at least seemed to resent accepting the leadership of someone so young and green around the gills.

He had to find a way to reach them, somehow. A way to reach the mutants both outside and inside of Genosha. A way that cost very little - money wasn't exactly streaming into the coffers, it was more rapidly streaming back out again. He was discovering that 'leadership' also meant providing food and basic supplies for the people under his care.

John had never been particularly good with money and it had taken no time at all for the balance of incoming cash to be tipped by the scale of expenditure.

And then he had it.

His eyes rested on one of the area papers he had just been reading.

A simple, easy method.

Hell, yeah.

Pyro performed a little dance of absolute glee. It wasn't much of an idea, but it was an idea, nonetheless, and one that may or may not produce much of a result. But what did you get for not trying in this world?

You got a big, fat nothing.

[Juggers]

Juggernaut stared at the small television, a furrow of total concentration written plain across his features. The heavy, armoured helmet lay discarded on what passed for his bed, though in reality it bore closer resemblance to something that had once belonged in the House of Leather and long since died.

The images flickered across the screen and the tiny figures acted out their riveting drama.

Had the base not been so deserted a passer-by might have noticed that the huge man twitched occasionally and sometimes made to rise from his repose, changing his mind at the last minute.

The room around him was nothing special, but then Cain had spent the past year locked into an adamantium prison. By comparison, the small, grey walled cell was the Hilton. A 'bed', small table and television. Right now that was all he needed. Bigger and better things would come later. He twitched again, the heavy brows rising in alarm before settling down once more.

Outside, the halls and corridors were mostly silent save for the faint echo of Pearl Jam lingering on the air. Thus far few of the former Brotherhood had returned and it was only habit that had seen the Juggernaut returning to his former residence. He probably could have had his pick if he'd wanted.

He was almost convinced the Madrox was going to show up some time soon and claim half the rooms for himself. Bastard.

Events on the television accelerated and Cain's huge knuckles went white.

Then, with an almost explosive release of tension the Juggernaut surged to his feet.

"GOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!"

One fist slammed sharply against the roof leaving a substantial crack and releasing a cascade of dust that obligingly deposited itself on his head. Cain grinned hugely and roared with laughter that all but shook the plaster from the walls.

[Pyro]

"GOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!"

The yell, and the subsequent tangible shaking of Magneto - no - HIS - office stopped Pyro in mid-dance and he stared in alarm at the wall. A 'quake? What the...

A few panicked thoughts ran through his mind, then he made the connection.

The Juggernaut.

Since their return to Genosha, the former army captive had been, quite frankly, as much use as a chocolate fireguard. He'd spent virtually every day sitting in his room, watching badly received satellite broadcast sports programmes, drinking beer which he'd somehow acquired from somewhere without telling Pyro how he'd done it, coming up with precisely no suggestions as to ways forward and, worst of all, the English bastard had eaten all the Haagen Daazs and not replaced it.

Squaring his shoulders, Pyro counted to ten. Going in and shouting at Juggernaut was a little like spitting in the wind. He calmed his temper down a little and headed out of the office, down to the room that the Juggernaut had claimed for himself.

The door was open, so he leaned against the doorframe.

"Wimbledon playing again?" he observed, in a friendly sort of way. "I still can't see what you see in soccer."

[Juggers]

"Wimbledon playing again?" he observed, in a friendly sort of way. "I still can't see what you see in soccer."

Cain's eyes widened, slightly aghast.

"This," he gesticulated at the, now slightly listing, television, "is the sport of kings!"

He nodded sagely, dislodging some of the dust.

"An it's football, not soccer ... none of that runnin' around tooled up like a tank either. OI! ARE YOU FUCKIN' BLIND"

Cain bellowed at the tiny pixelated referee, suddenly distracted once more. He scowled darkly at the screen for a few moments until the state of play became more agreeable.

Truth be told the pair had hardly spoken more than a handful of words since their hasty departure from Alcatraz. John had been too wrapped up in his brooding for Cain to have been bothered with him. As far as he was concerned he was alive and life was for the living. Something as petty as a near-atomisation experience wasn't going to upset the simple joys of being alive and free.

"So," Cain resumed now that half-time had arrived, "this a social call? If I'd known I'd 'av tidied, wasn't expetin' guests ... "

Cain grinned.

[Pyro]

"An it's football, not soccer ... none of that runnin' around tooled up like a tank either. OI! ARE YOU FUCKIN' BLIND"

Despite the fact he'd come to expect little more of Juggernaut, John still cringed slightly. "Yeah, yeah, football, soccer, whatever."

"So...this a social call? If I'd known I'd 'av tidied, wasn't expetin' guests ... "

"Social, business, business, social, call it what you will." Pyro shot the big man an almost hesitant grin. "I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last couple of days and I think I've hit on a way to start getting our message...y'know. Out there." He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the window. "But I'm not sure where to start."

He flipped his trusted Zippo out of his pocket and sighed heavily as he absently flicked it on and off. "That's a bit of a lie, really. How d'you fancy a bank job, Cain?"

Well? They had to get money somehow: and here he was with the means to breaking into just about anywhere he damn well chose. Maybe the time had come to take action instead of just planning. Maybe the time had come to take charge of the situation, instead of continually looking up every time he heard a door close in the eternal hope that Magneto would come walking back in...

Don't think about him. He's dead, man. He's gone.

John had been genuinely saddened by the loss of the man who had become the father figure in his life. Right here, right now, the only father figure in his life was Juggernaut.

Dear God, no. He'd prefer to stay a pseudo-orphan.

"Whaddya think, big guy? Hit a bank, get the cash, start working our way out of this underground and start heading for the big time?" Absently, he scooped up the flame of the Zippo and held his arm out, concentrating momentarily on the fire, which curled around his arm excitedly, like a friendly, deadly snake.

[Juggers]

It was true, Cain reflected, Pyro had done an awful lot of thinking since the loss of Magneto. The Juggernaut hadn't seen much point in dwelling on the subject, he regretted loosing the old codger that had given him his freedom but that was done. This was the now. The Juggernaut lived for the now. And what was immediatly ahead.

"Whaddya think, big guy? Hit a bank, get the cash, start working our way out of this underground and start heading for the big time?"

Cain's grin grew wider.

"Yeah?"

He looked the young man up and down. The kid certainly had a gift for destruction, he had witnessed as much at Alcatraz and on the news when Pyro had set the cure clinic ablaze. He certainly had a point as well.

Right now they had nothing. Almost nothing, Cain ammended with a quick galnce at the TV. With Magneto gone, so had gone the great sweeping plans for mutant dominance. It was all well and good having a roof over your head and comfortable place to park your arse but then things tended to get ... dull.

Cain had done banks before. But he'd never had a partner to watch his back. He kind of liked the idea. Besides, with Stryker dead it wasn't likely he was going to get caught again any time soon.

"Yeah," he said again, with a bit more conviction, "I've nearly run out of beer anyway." He paused, "not right now though eh?"

He was met by a blank look.

"Only the second half's about to start."

[Pyro]

"Yeah...I've nearly run out of beer anyway." He paused, "not right now though eh?"

John blinked slightly, surprised at the response. He'd sincerely thought that the Juggernaut would be well up for a spot of bank robbery.

"Only the second half's about to start."

Goddamn jock. "Whatever, buddy. Listen, I'm gonna go let off some steam out back. You just come and find me whenever your - ah - football finishes, OK?"

Without waiting for an answer, Pyro snapped his Zippo back into his pocket, but the wreath of fire wrapped around his arm remained. John had moved a long way forward in the mastery of his powers since the boy who had denied a bully use of his lighter in the food court all those months ago.

'Out back' was a large patch of mostly bare tarmac space which was home to several empty oil cans that had been long since emptied into the generators, but which provided Pyro with an opportunity for a little target practice.

As he watched the first oil barrel catch and explode into the night sky, he expended a little effort to hold the flame perfectly steady. That didn't last long, though, as the fundamental nature of fire was that it was always flickering and he just found that he was getting a headache.

Instead, he tried to recall some of the lessons Magneto had taught him.

Imagine the fire as a living, breathing extension of your mind and soul, Pyro, and it can be whatever you want it to be.

Whatever I want.

He stared at the flame, which was burning off quickly due to the low level of oil left in the barrel and mentally nudged it up again. It flared obligingly. He reached out a hand and a lone tendril shot out from the centre of the blaze towards him, like a rope, stopping just shy of him.

"Whatever I want," he murmured, concentrating. He attempted to achieve the result that he'd strived for in his lessons with Magneto. A fire lasso that had tangibility and form, that he could use at will. The result was still beyond his abilities to control yet, however, and it was a furious Pyro who balled up the botched attempt and hurled it with an unrepeatable epitaph towards another barrel, which he allowed to explode without intervention.

He amused himself thus for quite some time.

[ Exit Pyro to thread 'Fun' ]

[artemis]

Caterina glanced around her own rooms. She shook her head and sighed inwardly. Family problems had come across earlier, between her and her sister, but that had supposedly ben resolved until now.

Rolling her eyes, she raised her left hand and flicked her wrist. A fire ball formed between her fingertips. Closing her hand into a tight fist she sighed, not was obvious not the time.

Caterina shook a few strands of her black hair out of her eyes, inwardly she swore, family problems didn't usually follow her life this, until now.

Flicking her left wrist again, a fireball formed again, and she closed hand into a fist, except her index finger, remained out. The fireball floated briefly above her finger before she opened her hand again, and then closed it, the ball disappearing.

She walked out back, and caught brief sight of Pyro. Shaking her head she caught sight of one of the empty oil cans. Shaking her head, she stepped forwards slightly.

Stretching her left arm out she flicked her left wrist, a plasma ball formed in her hand, raising an eyebrow slightly, she closed her hand. Flicking her wrist again, a fireball formed in her hand.

Chuckling slightly, she made a slight movement with her left arm, and the fireball flew towards a barrel.

She watched slightly, as it blew up, before she herself closed her eyes. Her form glowed briefly, before her eyes snapped open, smirking slightly, she raised her left hand and the flames rose steadily to her fingertips.

She closed her hand and the flames themselves disappeared completely.