16335/One good *boom* is worth a thousand pictures.

One good *boom* is worth a thousand pictures.
Date of Scene:	14 November 2023
Location:	Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls
Synopsis:	After a successful *boom*, our heroes finish the day with their 'usual', sharing a pizza and beer.
Cast of Characters:	Neena Thurman, Cable

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Neena Thurman has posed:
Back at 'home', or rather, where most of X-Force call 'home' is cold; dry but cold, with temperatures dipping to at least 0'C, if not a touch colder thanks to wind chill. Almanacs are declaring this year to have 'record snow falls' to try and cancel out all the duds from years previous. Here in Madripoor, however, it's almost a crime to be running around with bared arms and low-zipped leather cat-suits (the better for breathing, of course), thanks to the balmy weather. Heck, even a rain storm is more pleasant than frost on the windows. As a result of this fine weather, there are //certain// members of X-Force that simply can't help but take advantage.

Zipping through a side street on a motorcycle, black hair whipping back behind her, Domino is on the radio, running a quick countdown of the bombs placed in a storage facility.

Part one of a multi-part plan; set off seemingly random explosions against one of the cadres, and chuck the blame onto another. Infighting is a wonderful thing. Oldest trick in the book, really. Divide and conquer.

"Three.."

Domino's motorcycle revs underneath her, the front wheel lifting off the ground in the burst of speed. She's crossing in and out of traffic, dodging carts, trucks..

"Two.."

Coming to an intersection, the light blinks red, and as a beat up DeuxChevaux crosses the lane of traffic, Domino hits the brakes, slides the bike, and spins the bike around to make a quick right turn, the same direction as the car that refuses to give up to a life of being a derelict.

"One.."

In the distance, a deep *thrum* fills the air as a red fireball rises to fill the sky in that spot where .. there HAD been a warehouse.

There's an unearthly silence that follows, as if time stands still and people actually have heartbeats to actually understand what it is that just happened. It's as if the world simply took a breath, and in its exhale, the screams of people and the sounds of sirens in the middle distance rise to fill that void.

"Score one for the good guys."

(No innocent civilians were harmed in the making of this scene.)

Cable has posed:
The weather isn't something that Nathan Summers usually lets affect him very much. Cold or hot, wet or sunny, outwardly at least it is all the same to the mutant soldier from the future. Just one more thing to be endured. One more challenge to be overcome.

Still, there is something to be said for being able to hit the beach at this time of year, to feel the warm sun and warm waters. At least when they're not blowing things up.

Madripoor doesn't have a whole lot to offer -- at least not to decent folk -- but it does at least have some pretty desirable weather. That's something.

It also has plenty to offer to less then decent folk and Cable doesn't mind fitting himself into that category. Occasionally one has to do the things that aren't so nice to make sure that everyone else has the luxury to remain on the right side of that decency scale.

Plenty of information, particularly on the mercenary and underworld side of things. Plenty of targets. And some very lax oversight makes it a definite sort of playground. Not one that most should try to play in mind, but a playground for him and the other members of X-Force at the very least.

Some jobs are definitely meant for teams, some can be managed by partners. And sometimes it is best to tackle certain jobs solitary. Even without the advantages of having someone to watch your back, it can be worth it for the added stealth. Which is why Cable and Domino flipped a coin earlier.

Given their inclinations, it's not hard to tell who won. She's the one whipping along the city streets, weaving in and out of traffic and tremendous speeds while keeping track of that perfect countdown.

For his part, Cable is perched on a rooftop several blocks away, crouched low. There is no need to lift a pair of binoculars to keep track of the target site, that bionic eye easily keeping track of exactly what is going on in that compound, even from here.

Of course any risk of glare he's spared from lifting lenses that might catch the bright sun is somewhat ruined by the way it gleams off that metal arm instead. But then he doesn't exactly mind attracting attention. Particularly hostile attention.

"Scratch one compound," he says quietly over the comms. "Looks like things just worked out again. Imagine that," he says drily.

Neena Thurman has posed:
It's really a sucker bet, the flipping of a coin. No matter how things turn out, Domino's the lucky one. It may not show up immediately, it may not even //seem// at the time as if it's the lucky end of the stick, but in the end?

She's on the bike, screaming down the streets of Madripoor, having a grand time with that blast behind her and the busy streets before her. A broad grin is pasted on those blackened lips of hers as she slows the bike down bit by bit, the engine screaming at the over-rev as she engine-breaks. It's the rough and ready sound, the eventual purr that she can feel under her that makes riding motorcycles so very, very fun.

"Funny that," Domino returns. "Now to place the blame."

Brains, brawn, mind-woogying.. what else could a girl want in a partner? Add muscles and a shared appreciation of what is fun and adventurous? Pinch her, she's dreaming!

"If you'd do the honor? I'm sure you can find someone." They'd already identified a small handful of people who were sufficiently weakminded, and easily turned, given the right circumstances. It's not even a full woogy. Just a suggestion and imagination, with a healthy dose of conspiracy theory, should do it.

"On my way back. I'm getting the pizza tonight? This time, I'm holding out for meat lovers, and I really don't want to know what 'meat' is in it." Domino's bike is slowed enough that she can easily maneuver through traffic and fast enough that she's still living the dream, the freedom of the road. The grin is still plastered on her face as she makes those turns, some wider than others to dodge the occasional pedestrian. "So don't spoil it, please."

Cable has posed:
While Cable might not be one to leave much to chance, he has certainly learned to appreciate the advantages of having luck on one's side. It does rather mean that whatever surprise obstacles might come up during a mission tend to be easier to overcome then they might otherwise be. Heck, sometimes they will even work in your favor. That's no small thing.

And that isn't even among the more obvious appeals that make them work -- and play -- so well together.

It of course helps to have a whole lot of shared experience -- and a heap of shared interests and priorities -- too, of course.

It does look that the first part of their plan has gone off without a hint of a problem and while the grizzled soldier might have one of his plasma cannons laid out close at hand -- to discourage any potential pursuit you understand -- it doesn't look like that will be necessary. Bad for the part of him that likes to blow things up. Good for the afternoon rush in Madripoor's traffic though, so there is always that.

Besides, this works best if there is no hint of their involvement.

"Already on it. I found the perfect candidate. Triggerman with the War Dogs," he says, naming one of the city's notorious mercenary gangs that higher themselves out to the scum of the earth. Those that can pay at least. "He's already in place, about a block away from the compound. I've left him a little addled I'll admit. And with a detonator in his pocket," he adds, a brief, sharp smile sliding over his expression.

Rising from his crouch, he uses that bionic eye to keep tabs on their chosen patsy, the rough looking man only slowly coming out of that dazed state, though still seeming not to notice the pickup that comes roaring around the corner, the flatbed filled with angry men. Angry, armed men.

It's probably not going to be a good day for the War Dog in question. But then given some of the things he's done, he definitely deserves some rough treatment.

"What's life without a few chances. And I think it's safe to say that we've had much worse to eat from time to time," he points out wryly, snagging that huge rifle from where it leans against the building's edge, slinging it over his shoulder.

Neena Thurman has posed:
While Domino may be a mutant, she doesn't happen to possess 'rapid healing' or, more to the point, 'iron stomach'. She's not immune to food poisoning, and has been known to ... regret culinary decisions in the past. 'Meat lovers' may not be the best of decisions in a tropical zone, but let the dice fall where they may!

"Perfect. I think they still owe us for the game last year, too. So, while you're at it?" How can the toothy grin //not// be heard in those words? "Meet you back home in 15."

The motorcycle glides now in a gentle but still powerful humm as she takes the streets, block by block. Finally, she reaches the hole in the wall joint which is honestly a //hole// in the //wall// of a building where a quickly made brick oven sits, and 3 cooks work on forming the dough, the sauce and, well.. just don't ask what carcasses they have hanging just behind them, buzzing with flies. Occasionally one of the workers will swat at it, but all in all?

It'll be part of the flavor.

"We have," Domino agrees as she parks the bike, dropping the kickstand easily and dismounting. She isn't wearing a helmet, so that black mop of hair is definitely wind-blown. It may seem odd that she seems to be holding a conversation with .. no one, but hey... maybe not so strange in Madripoor? "But I will never, ever get pineapple on my pizza. Ever. That's asking too much from me."

Cable has posed:
While Cable might be a little reluctant to let loose with that telepathic hammer he can wield, at least too often, he is able to be a little less sparing when it comes to his telekinesis and he puts it to good use now as he reaches the far side of the building's roof and simply... leaps from it without apparent concern for the fall.

Some of that lack of concern no doubt comes from the fact that his plummetting fall comes to an abrupt end about a foot off of the ground, instead gently lowering those last few inches to touch down with nary an impact. No trauma to the knees here.

Given what the future soldier no doubt sometimes had to eat where he came from -- or rather /when/ he came from -- the thought of a little questionable Madripoor pizza does not seem to particularly daunt him. In some ways it is probably a little more familiar then what he might eat back State-side. Not that he exactly seems to spend a whole lot of time off-mission, no matter where that mission might take him.

"I'm not exactly going to be shedding a tear over it," he agrees drily, padding over to his own waiting motorcycle. While he might have a certain fondness for the armored pick-up that the team has cobbled together during their stay here, and while Bodysliding is certainly a much quicker way to get around, there is something to be said for weaving in and out of traffic at high speeds.

Madripoor pizza might be an adventure, but it doesn't exactly hurt to cram a few different ones into the day.

That engine kicks over, revs for a moment, and then both man and bike are off, whipping out of that alley to a sudden chorus of horns honking and obsenities yelled, all lost to him -- at least seemingly -- by the rush of the wind. "You gotta draw a line somewhere," he agrees, lifting his voice just a little to be heard. "I'll make sure the cold ones are suitably chilled and we can celebrate a job well done and the coming havoc proper like."