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[Jane]

"It'll do. Why do I always end up luggin' your beat up arse all over creation?"

The Juggernaut picked up Pyro as if he were no more than a rag doll, which, at this point, he essentially was. Even if he couldn't feel it right now, Jane winced on his behalf.

"Please mind his shoulder," she said.

"Don't this just remind you of our last little bust up?"

"Not as messy."

"Heh, you got that right. Anyways ... uh ... your place it is!"

"...right," Jane said. Last little bust-up? Maybe that was where she'd heard their names. She couldn't remember any other mutant bank robbers, though. Maybe she'd look through her old papers when she got home. (Jane tended to keep things, mostly because she never really knew whether she'd be able to buy new things.)

"This way," she said, leading off down the alley at a slight jog, hoping no one would hear the Juggernaut's pounding footsteps, and that if they did, she could get out of the way fast enough that they wouldn't (a) shoot her or (b) recognize her. She didn't know whether they'd be willing to protect her if she was mistakenly tied to the robbery, and even if they did, they didn't seem very good at what they were doing, at least if they got themselves shot on a regular basis.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a very depressing-looking squat little brick building with three large windows per floor, spaced evenly on grimy wall, each one served by the metal grate floor of the fire escape. The third window up, all the way on the right, was cracked open.

Jane reached up to the hanging ladder that someone on the second floor always put up where it was supposed to be, supposedly to ward off thieves, though Jane didn't know who'd want to raid a buildling like this one, and tugged - it came down easily enough, though with a gentle screech of disturbed rust, like always. "I'm the third floor," she said. "There's always someone in the lobby. Just... try not to hit him on anything."

She climbed up through the ironwork quickly; Jane tended to come this way rather than through the front, mostly because of the stares and whispers she got from the pack of girls who lived on the fourth floor. She pushed her window the rest of the way open, climbing through it easily and stepping down into the tiny room beyond. She backed up quickly, not keen on getting squished as the Juggernaut attempted to get in - it'd be a squeeze, even through the big windows.

[Juggers]

"Oh bloody hell," Cain exclaimed. The claim that the fire escape was indeed 'older than God' could well be true. He looked up to where Jane was disappearing through the open window and recognised a very important fact. This could very well end in disaster for the decaying building. Still, there was nothing for it.

"Python, I'm gonna need a hand," the thin man obligingly scuttled up the first ladder and Cain passed the recumbent Pyro up to him.

"You take 'im up I'll ... uh ... be up in a sec."

Python swiftly ascended the network of steps and platforms and slipped in through the window. A moment later Pyro was assisted through.

"Wonderful," the Juggernaut grumbled, "well, here goes."

He deposited the safe on the first platform and started up the ladder. The rusted steel screeched in protest as he climbed and the once-straight rungs of the ladder bent into v's under his weight.

"Shitty old buildings," he growled, arriving at the platform. He picked his safe up again and trudged carefully to the first set of stairs. Each step caused the metal to bend and brought fresh groans of protest from aging structure.

"Bloody, shitty ... " every step was accompanied by a curse as the platforms juddered alarmingly.

By the time he reached the third floor cascades of brick dust tumbled from the wall with even the tiniest encouragement. Cain hardly dared to breathe as he reached through the open window and carefully set the safe down. Then he sucked in his breath and squeezed through the opening.

A couple of bits of plaster were dislodged in the process and as Cain stood and relaxed he dusted himself off.

"You might wanna get that looked at," he said gesturing to the recently vacated fire-escape.

"Probbly a health risk or somethin'"

[Pyro]

Python had put Pyro down on the sofa. The kid's eyes were unnervingly wide open and he was staring up at the ceiling, that same faintly daft smile on his face.

John had a small problem. Not counting the injury to his shoulder. He had another small problem.

He was still mostly unaware of the fact, but he had barely any tolerance for any narcotic of any kind. Drugs, nicotine, alcohol - even aspirin on a bad day. Part of his mutant physiology, most likely. As a consequence, the small amount of opium he'd been given, neat and pure as it was, which would have made the average person pretty high, had sent him absolutely sky high.

Fortunately, for the journey to Jane's flat, he had been blissfully unconscious, apart from when the Juggernaut had first picked him up. Now, however, his youth and energy already working for him rather than against him, he was regaining consciousness, but was as high as kite.

Rather higher, actually.

"There's a teatowel on the banana," he said to Python, very seriously, then started to giggle. Laughing made him aware of the pain in his shoulder, which made him laugh harder, which made the pain worse, which...ad infinitum.

"Did," he said, clutching at reality as it came spinning wildly around again, "we get the cash?"

Reality, in this instance, took the form of Python's sleeve.

Very carefully, very deliberately, he peeled John's fingers off his shirt, one at a time. "If you don't go to sleep and heal up," he promised, jovially, "I'm going to bloody well BITE you."

John blinked, slowly, then grinned.

"You," he said, "look like David Hasslehoff."

The giggling/saying 'ouch' cycle started anew. Python resisted the urge to smother the kid with a cushion. It wasn't his fault. Well, OK, yes, it was, actually, but...well.

"I think," said Python grimly, "that we're in for a very, very long couple of hours."

[Jane]

"Oh bloody hell."

Halfway up the fire escape, Jane rethought the wisdom of bringing them up the back way, and more specifically, the health of the building after they tried to get up the back way. She really hoped that wasn't where her security deposit would be going.

Well, it wasn't as if she had an option. A feasible option, anyway. Unless she grew a really bloody enormous beanstalk...

"Python, I'm gonna need a hand. You take 'im up I'll ... uh ... be up in a sec."

Too late. Jane peered back out the window to see the unconscious Pyro having been passed off to Python, who was bringing him up while the Juggernaut apparently contemplated his navel below.

Jane pointed Python and his burden to the couch, still trying to pay attention to what the massive mutant was going to do to her fire escape, and hoped very much that the skinny mutant wouldn't drop him - it wasn't the most secure bandage by any means, and her ill-used love seat didn't need any more stains than strictly necessary. She moved back further into the apartment to attempt to arrange him more comfortably, but he was too tall for the sofa - then again, everyone was too tall for her sofa, and if they weren't, the springs bit them in the behind anyway. Too bad for John, whose eyes were now freakily wide open, and who had begun giggling.

Charming.

She heard grumbling from outside and went to look back out the window - oh. Oh, yes, that was where her security deposit was going.

Seeing the safe coming at her from the platform, Jane moved back quickly into the main room, pushing herself up onto a countertop across from the window so she could be sure not to take up any more space than strictly necessary. There is a stolen bank safe in my apartment, Jane thought wildly as plaster sifted down onto her floor from the window, the frame slightly now off-kilter. I am in so, so, so much trouble.

"You might wanna get that looked at. Probbly a health risk or somethin'."

"Er," Jane said, "I think you may actually be its health risk."


"There's a teatowel on the banana. Did we get the cash?"

"If you don't go to sleep and heal up, I'm going to bloody well BITE you."

He sounded so cheerful as he threatened injury to the recently-shot. There had to be something wrong with anyone who was that happy about anything in a situation like this.

"You look like David Hasslehoff."

"Next time," Jane said worriedly, "half dose." Hallucination was definitely a step beyond what she'd been aiming for.

"I think that we're in for a very, very long couple of hours."

"I could probably steal Mrs. Upstairs's Lunestra," Jane offered, trying to be helpful (why am I trying to be helpful again?). "Um. To make him fall asleep. But I don't know how it'd react with that much raw opiate."

And he was kind of a lightweight. Seriously. The stuff hadn't even been cured yet and he was already stoned out of his mind.

[Pyro]

"I could probably steal Mrs. Upstairs's Lunestra," came a voice from far, far away. Despite his current state of what could only be described as 'intoxication', John managed to shake his head. "No more," he said. "It's OK." He closed his eyes for ten minutes, during which even Python managed to look a little worried.

When he opened his eyes again, they'd already started clearing, the haze of confusion leaving them. "I got shot," he said, but this time it was not punctuated by a fit of the giggles. "That really hurt," he added for good measure. He felt weak and woozy, a little nauseous and worse than any of that, he felt deeply, deeply embarrassed.

Still lying uncomfortably on the small sofa, he moved - very carefully - so that he was able to look around the room. "Cosy," he murmured, vaguely, then yelped at the sting in his shoulder. "Jesus Christ on a motorbike, that hurts."

"You got shot in the shoulder, you dumb kid, of course it hurts." Python folded his arms across his chest. "Good plan, John. Well done. Leave your back wide open to attack. Now we're stuck in this apartment - no offence, miss, it's beautifully - ah - decorated...with no way of getting back to the airport for the gods know how long, and all because you didn't have the presence of mind to stop and think out your plan. No, you had to be all reactionary, didn't you? Some woman bumps into you and you go all ballistic on her ass. Nice show, 'Pyro'. Nice."

Somehow what could only be described as a scolding from Python hurt John even more than the bullet to the shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was tired and bad tempered and I just lost control."

"How many more times are you gonna do that, John?" Python was relentless in his verbal attack. From an outside point of view, it may have seemed exceptionally harsh - until you came to realise that it was exactly the kind of thing the boy needed. Python, like Magneto before him, could see John's potential. However, Python, unlike Magneto before him, didn't have the patience to nurture. "Next time you might not be so lucky. Next time, the bullet might be here." He emphasised the point by poking at John's temple with a finger. "And if you think that I'm going to lug your bony little backside up any more fire escapes, think again. Last chance, kid."

Python's face was hard.

"Last chance."

John didn't say a word, neither did his expression change. He merely nodded.

A few moments passed.

"I need to rest for a while, then we'll plan our way out."

"Right you are, kid," said Python, cheerfully, as though the previous exchange had never happened. "You do that."

[Jane]

"No more. It's OK."

He closed his eyes, and Jane hoped he hadn't died. "All right then," she said, peering at him from over her knees, having pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around the tops of them, trying to seek comfort in the one way guaranteed for all humanoid life - the fetal position.

After several minutes had passed, Jane asked quietly, "do you think he's going to wake up?"

"I got shot."

Yes.

"That really hurt."

Jane lowered one leg, leaning her cheek on the other knee, watching silently. He didn't look like he knew where he was. Well, if Jane had been shot, then horrifically overdosed with uncured and probably impure opiate, then carted around who knows where, she'd probably be a little disoriented too.

"Cosy. Jesus Christ on a motorbike, that hurts."

That was an image. "Thanks," Jane murmured, probably too quiet to be heard very clearly, especially since she was halfway talking into her knee anyway.

"You got shot in the shoulder, you dumb kid, of course it hurts."

"Don't yell at him," Jane said futilely. Weird how someone who technically didn't have blood could be such a bleeding heart. Maybe she was more of an... oozing heart. Sure. That worked.

Ew.

"Good plan, John. Well done. Leave your back wide open to attack. Now we're stuck in this apartment - no offence, miss, it's beautifully - ah - decorated...

"Gee, thanks." John. He did have a name.

"...with no way of getting back to the airport for the gods know how long, and all because you didn't have the presence of mind to stop and think out your plan. No, you had to be all reactionary, didn't you? Some woman bumps into you and you go all ballistic on her ass. Nice show, 'Pyro'. Nice."

Jane slid off the counter and wandered over into her "kitchen" (two countertops with cabinets, an ancient General Electrics fridge and a gas stove that only worked about half the time and tended to make her a little lightheaded), only half-listening to the diatribe. Heists made her, at least, a little hungry.

"I need to rest for a while, then we'll plan our way out."

"Right you are, kid. You do that."

Sigh. Boys were bizarre, changeable creatures. "Y'all want any lunch?" she asked, sorting through her fridge, which was clean, if nothing else, and remarkably well-stocked with at least the first tier of the food pyramid. "I don't want to have to clean up your bodies if you starve to death."

(Time passes. Will be edited later.)

[Pyro]

Continued in thread Recovery