1923/So This Is What Punching Bags Feel Like

So This Is What Punching Bags Feel Like
Date of Scene:	01 June 2020
Location:	James Proudstar's Room
Synopsis:	A fairly battered and bruised Warpath talks about the day's battles with Magik and Boom-Boom.
Cast of Characters:	James Proudstar, Tabitha Smith, Illyana Rasputina

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James Proudstar has posed:
It has in truth only been about an hour since most of the X-Men have returned from their excursion to the Marauders. Jimmy has already been in the Medlab and thoroughly scanned. Thankfully, absolutely nothing is actually life-threatening for him. Unfortunately, that also means there's not much they can do besides let his superhuman recuperative abilities run their course, and while those abilities are astonishingly rapid by human standards they're not quite on the level of say, a Wolverine or his ilk.

Which basically means Jimmy is gonna be a walking bruise for a day or so.

Jimmy is not by nature a complainer. He's usually fairly quiet about any of his troubles. It is, perhaps, a testament to just how sore he is as he returns to his room that the strain of trying to remain stoic is written in tension across his face, and all the more so that he can't quite keep up the facade, as the occsional tic towards a grimace or twitch of an eye breaks through when he moves certain ways. And he's certainly not moving particularly quickly, either, though he's doing it under his own power.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
The damage done to Jimmy is certainly not her fault, but it is guilt over nearly pulling the caves down on top of everyone that has Tabby hovering anyways. He might not be vocalizing the pain he's in, but she can tell.

Those little tics, the grimaces. She does her best to leap to do the things for him that she can, even if it might become more bothersome.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The medical labs at the base now possess a few more occupants than usual under heavy confinement, divided from the rest of the school by protections intended to go haywire if they rise. What drugs and Shi'ar technology cannot manage, Scott can probably fry with a disapproving look.

The girl responsible for their presence has her hair wrapped up in a pair of braided horns and the rest down, a sufficient warning sign she is, in fact, demonic. Or convenience for the summer heat. Illyana doesn't carry her typical sword or anything other than a bottle of water, though the resonating warnings from Cerebro are probably irritating anyone tracing her portal network on the grounds in the last said hour. A sidestep and there she is, stalking a hallway.

She might overtake them before reaching the room. (His room? His and Tabby's room? Possessives are a confusing thing.) If they already are there, a knock. If not, the cadence of her footsteps are enough.

James Proudstar has posed:
They've only preceded Illyana a few moments...long enough for Jimmy to caaaaarefully lower himself to sit on the bed. He peels off his uniform shirt and tosses it aside, and the rapid-healing cycle he goes through already shows his torso to be a mess of purple-black, darkest right near the solar plexus and spreading out across his front in a slightly-fading wave. One big bruise really is about an accurate summation. The gash on his shoulder however, has already scabbed over.

"Yeah, come in..." He says at the knock. Not sure who it is but narrowing it down to a small list, at least, none of which he's opposed to seeing at the moment.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
Anyone not on the list might get tossed back out, anyways. Unless they are Scott. Hard to get away with tossing a teacher out, after all.

Tabby glances towards the door, but doesn't go to answer it since Jimmy's already called out that they can come in. Instead she moves to grab the dirty uniform shirt to toss it into a dirty clothes basket before finding him a clean shirt from the closet.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Anyone not on the list might have better luck getting into a speakeasy pop-up in the catacombs of New York, which calls for lifting her water bottle to her lips and meeting those on the other side with a direct gaze. The door opens and thus she is silhouetted at the hallway, last chance for take backsies. Throwing Scott out might be a social challenge, but Illyana needs all of two or three seconds to take stock. Dirty uniform, bruised and shirtless Jimmy, Tabby somewhere inside. She steps in and nudges the door shut with her boot, because ballerina slippers or gladiator sandals just don't fit their lifestyle.

"Well fuck," her elegant statement says it all.

James Proudstar has posed:
"You should see the other guy." Jimmy replies with that touch of wry humor he sometimes displays, then shakes his head slightly, "Looks worse than it is. Just remind me never to get in a REAL fight with Cyclops if I can avoid it." Jimmy replies, smiling slightly to Tabby as he accepts the clean shirt and pulls it on, then reaching to pull her in for a brief, gentle smooch, "Thanks, Tabby." And then his dark eyes flit back to Illyana, "Be fine in a day, maybe two at a stretch."

Tabitha Smith has posed:
"Hey, Illy." Tabby glances over the Limbo Queen, checking to see if she can spot any visible wounds on her, then she turns her attention back to James, giving him a kiss in return before she drops onto the floor. She reaches for his boots to start helping him get those off. With bruises like he's sporting, bending over probably wouldn't be much fun. "I pissed off Her Majesty."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Scott did that?" A query that doesn't shake the earth to its foundation but Illyana raises an eyebrow. There's no sign of any wound on her, perhaps a bit troublingly. Even her clothes are clean but then her portals tend to armour her up and remove the clothing in civilian terms when she launches through. Or fails to clothe anyone at all when she tosses them out of lakes. And her home absolutely has a lake. And a tire swing. Possibly a demonic tire swing. "Which majesty?"

A simple question as she gets closer, sizing up the damage and dropping down next to Tabitha to help with the process of getting off the boots. They're large enough to house a cat, they might need it. "You are yourself well?"

James Proudstar has posed:
"Not directly." Jimmy answers. "They had someone there that could reflect Scott's blasts. He just happened to reflect it at me, and Scott was playing for keeps, so...yeah. Ow." He gets a single laugh out but it cracks to a stifled whimper, "Pretty damn embarrassing showing on my part, all around. Now I know what a punching bag feels like." He wiggles his toes a bit as the boots come off, smiling once more at the assistance, and not protesting it, either.

"Think she's talking about Betsy. Tried chewing Tabby out after we got out of the cave."

Tabitha Smith has posed:
"Lorna." Tabby replies with a roll of her eyes, "Blamed me for the cave nearly coming down on our heads."

Which, honestly, was Tabby's fault. But she's not going to accept the blame. "I'm fine. They stuck me out on guard duty."

See above where explosions pull down caves.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Illyana might be staring too hard where the wounds are, considering them from a distance. She took the wrong path in life if she intends to become a physician and follow in the surgical steps of her erstwhile mentor or guy she'll replace in the future. Those cold eyes start fading out a little until she remembers herself, diligently unweaving shoelaces with gifted ease. She weaves spells. Shoelaces are pretty much a similar bent.

"Blame Arclight." A shrug of her shoulders, brisk and purposeful. "Lorna does not get to assign blame when her own list is out of whack." Another tug and a drag frees up the tongue of the boot, hopefully, unless these are space-age velcro boots of some kind. "Julio felt them, da? Reinforced the ceiling and walls. We had a concealed party and a telepath. One is still visiting Limbo. Did yours hide the same way?"

James Proudstar has posed:
"Right, Lorna." Jimmy shakes his head slightly and mutters, "Must be a little more out of it than I thought." He looks to Illyana and nods, "Wasn't Tabby's fault. Scott probably would've been paste if it wasn't for her, and we all made it out OK. Between Blink and Betsy at a minimum it would've been real hard for a cave-in to get us. Even harder if Lorna was in the game, but Scrambler got the drop on her...teleported in. Looked like we had Scalphunter and Arclight lying in ambush, and Prism, Scrambler, and Vanisher popped in once we made contact. It was pretty rough going for the first couple minutes. These guys knew what they were doing."

Tabitha Smith has posed:
"He the one that stopped it?" Tabby nods, starting to tug at Jimmy's sock, "Yeah...I just told her next time I wouldn't bother, and let people get beat up." Which, depending on the people, might actually be something she'll do, too.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Anger rides closer to the surface than not, and there's no smugness burning away in her eyes. Possessiveness, though, an absolute when she grips and boot and wrenches it off rather skillfully. This should be no surprise. Her brother is a very large person, and she was parading around in /his/ boots up to her hips when she was six. Trying to yank them off or hopping around in just the one boot like a potato sack race was probably de rigueur for daily Little Snowflake games.

She nonetheless leans forward to rest her brow against Jimmy's knee, hand resting gently there. "Words and actions measure character, or lack thereof." An old Russian proverb tipped sideways, but it speaks to a seething dislike all the same. Her shoulders twitch with discomfort, horned shadow bending and dipping. "Scrambler is the one who confuses the body, da? We had the northerner with the harpoon, and Laura took him. A long time to settle that death. I stole the green-haired one, then the idiot who spins. Ugly talent but Julio, he does very well knocking them over. A huge fighter for my brother, Blockbuster? He is a video store? And then the psychic. Jean ripped her apart."

James Proudstar has posed:
"Yeah, I think so. He touched Lorna and she went out like a light for a minute or so." Jimmy speaks of Scrambler, as another set of toes is wriggled with some relief. Jimmy looks to Illyana and nods at her recounting of her own battle, "Sounds like you guys made out a lot better than we did." He smiles a bit wearily then adds, "You've got a Marauder in Limbo? The one that took Julian?" He jolts with a short laugh again, this time managing only to wince a bit at the ache. "That's great. Bet she's having a wonderful time." He'd chortle if it wouldn't hurt so much.

Jimmy reaches down and briefly caresses the side of Illyana's face, then carefully pulls his feet up and scoots himself over to lie roughly in the center of the bed, "Think I'm gonna crash for a little while. You know you can stay if you want, Illyana." It goes without saying for Tabitha, of course. "Hopefully I won't be so sore when I wake up." Once again, yay for healing factors, even the slower variety.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
"You want some tylenol?" Does that even help him? Tabby starts to her feet, moving to kick the boots away from the bed so no one stumbles over them in the middle of the night. Which would probably be her, honestly.

There's no move to make Illy stay or go, instead Tabby heads to find herself a change of clothes of her own since it's apparently time to be quiet for the night.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Magic could fix everything, and Illyana does not call up any spell. Her thumb runs the curve of Jimmy's calf while his hand traces her face. A gesture reaches out for Tabby's hand with certain blind momentum, found when she tilts her head and those long, slanted eyes hold a tacit question. One has said yes, but the other has a choice too. A squeeze of the fingers, a promise spoken thus. "Do you want me to?"

A simple question, that.

"Da. I have Vertigo in Limbo, and I intend to have the demons give me a full account of what she does so we concoct an appropriate counter." Because why have the Danger Room when your world is literally a Dungeons and Dragons game? She might at most summon a book, something to read. Something forbidden in like nineteen dimensions, but still comfy for her to curl up with, in sight of them both.

Because she won't sleep that evening, not until the dawn, holding her wordless vigil. Her brother is the paladin, but even a black-knight can hold to the faith.

James Proudstar has posed:
"Dunno if it'd do much good, but thanks." Jimmy replies to Tabby's question, before adding: "Maybe just grab a couple bottles of water from the mini-fridge and keep 'em by the bed?" He requests of Tabby. Won't do diddly for the pain but hey, at least he won't have to get up if he (or she, for that matter) gets thirsty!

He does watch the interplay with Illyana and Tabby silently. She does, after all, get her own say. Meanwhile, he just shifts a little bit to get more comfortable. He doesn't bother with the covers right now but hot and cold, like many other things, don't affect him so much as normal folks.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
"What, stay?" Tabby looks marginally confused by the question, glancing in Jimmy's direction for a moment before she shrugs, "You're welcome to stay. Won't be very exciting, though."

It's a brief warning before she changes into a t-shirt, then grab tylenol and several bottles of water that all get brought to the bed. The tylenol is handed to Jimmy along with a bottle before she crawls on the bed, flopping down next to him, "Turn the lights off when you get into bed?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Excitement? I had that. The corpse is in a pit. I do not need excitement." Illyana flips open the page of the book, breaking the grimoire's seal with a wave of her hand. Fluttering parchment settles in, the scent rather beautiful all in all: a suggestion of fresh dew and creamy, spiced carnation over a touch of sugar crystals. Nutmeg strikes a dipping sillage, lushly rendered. "Nyet. I need humanity."

Those frozen eyes never rise from the page, not opportunistic enough to greedily drink either of them in immediately. "I need you." You, vous, the formal plural. Not the singular tu. If it were French, anyway. English doesn't distinguish but somehow she does, crowned with her pointy braided horns and not a scratch to be named. Next time may be different. They need a clapper thing to kill the lights, or a 'Jarvis, lights off' equivalent. "Sleep well."