887/DANGER: Band Camp

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DANGER: Band Camp
Date of Scene: 31 March 2020
Location: Danger Room
Synopsis: Explosions, broken robots, and a kickass performance.
Cast of Characters: Illyana Rasputina, Warren Worthington, James Proudstar, Piotr Rasputin, Henry McCoy, Tabitha Smith, Douglas Ramsey

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
/Band Camp./

Seriously, that's what the rotation says. Someone came up with this. Someone who wants to be creative, funny, or dead.

It's not the sort of summer camp with an instrument, a questionably lumpy bunk bed in a cabin, and early morning jogs with ribald teen humour.

Band Camp, as it happens, means something a lot bigger. More late 70s when the grandiose rock bands scaled the stage, mixed up with Glastonbury and Coachella. Nothing says large scale trouble for mutants than a large crowd of their unempowered peers. Heaving bodies fill the fields in front of a very large stage setup. Instead of the Glastonbury Pyramid, there's a good old ziggurat, with a huge blinking eye in LED lights flashing up there. "Bad Habits" is a band in the vein of Led Zeppelin or Queen by way of Greta Van Fleet, complete with shirtless bassist and guitarist, probably too much blow in the bus (or the plane, yes, they have one), and honest to goodness amazing lyrics and skills on their instruments. "Too Much Bacon" is, in fact, a real album. A wildly popular one. They are a real band. Their likenesses loaded up in the Danger Room could be akin to an actual concert held in Berlin last month that drew tens of thousands. The lead singer is happy to stalk across the stage, throwing his arm out while snarling lyrics, as the drummer behind is losing her mind on the cymbals and tophat. Saucy, loose, and dangerous, this sort of place, where the masses simply prevent widescale destruction. Right?

Yeah, well, things are turning pear shaped as soon as the group shows up.

Warren Worthington has posed:

Hell yeah. Those words bring --THOUGHTS-- into Warren's mind. And so he's smiling a little as he makes his way to the Danger Room, adjusting his suit here and there to fit his fit physique. It was a little tighter than he remembered, but it had been over a year and some change since he last stretched the old wings out in combat. Being asked to go run the family business after the old man died could do that to you.

He joins up with the others who are around and gives nods of greetings to them. "Hey, hey. Glad to be partying up with you all." He goes quiet as they wait for things to get started. Well only briefly. "I can't wait to see who sticks the flute int..." He trails off as he spots just what awaits them.

"Ohhhhhh. Oh, this isn't an American Pie band camp scenario. WELL THEN. Not really what I was -hoping- for exactly, but I should know better about these sorts of things by now." His eyes catch sight of the drummer who seems to be rockin' out pretty hard. "What a lady right there. I bet those arms would do some really great..." He coughs, remembering that there are younger people around. "She's very fit is all I'm saying, and that's a good quality in a lover, folks. Remember to ask your health teacher more about that later."

He flashes a quick grin and stretches his neck one way and then another. Then he flexes one wing and then the other. "Piotr, if you make one comment about 'elf eyes', I am going to throw magnets at you, I swear to every god ever known to man." He says this as he steps to one side and then flaps his wings to hover a little bit over the others so he can get a better glimpse of things.

James Proudstar has posed:

James Proudstar looks out over the crowd and the landscape, seeming...kind of impressed, actually.

"Probably not the best time to say it, but I kinda feel like we might've been overlooking the entertainment value of the Danger Room."

Or maybe that's just him, and folks like Kitty and Doug and probably Hank and others have seen these possibilities years ago. Maybe even utilized them. Mysteries for another time, perhaps.

"So we sticking together or splitting up to find out what the trouble is this time?" He's not really the leader-ly sort, so he'll let someone else verify the plan...or maybe lack thereof.

"What do your elf eyes see, Mr. Worthington?" Unfortunately for Warren's threat, Jimmy is not ferrous.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
Piotr was summoned to this training session and is suddenly confused. While he is aware of the stories told of these kind of things, Piotr is not exactly what one would call a "festival goer". He is a bit befuddled, standing there in his combat gear, arms bare as he looks around, "What is going on?" He looks to Warren, "American Pie, the song? It has a camp?" He shrugs and rolls his eyes, "Why do you assume I would make joke of you being a bird man?" The Russian shrugs and keeps his eyes open for the trouble they are here to deal with.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
No sooner has Warren SAID something than, yes, there are instruments. The whole back of the stage has a swiveling set of risers meant to launch out of the floor where a proper ensemble, vaguely 18-piece-section in the style of the Arcade Fire, welcomes guests. Get your flute, a sousaphone, the cornet. A girl in black, shirt and jeans both, doles out the offerings in the corridor behind the stage and guides anyone who should be up there being part of the ensemble to have an instrument. Get your tambourine, or failing that, pick up a triangle.

"Come on!" she shouts at Warren, gesturing with insistence. Up on stage, the angelic blond tosses his head and throws his arm out, addressing the group. Kinetic energy seems to be flowing between the savvy showmanship he's displaying and the roaring audience bouncing right along in heaving waves of humanity. Arms in the air show the same kind of cuff with a memorial clasp, an iron feather embossed or used to secure the thing. "Hella yeah, /give it to me!/"

Oh, and how they do.

Henry McCoy has posed:
Hank is ... stunned by the crowd. Quite the throng! He peers out over the jubilant fans, shaking his head. "Oh bother." A grumble under his breath. "Warren, I am certain that the health curriculum is well in hand, no need for suggestions thank you very much."

"I do belive it has been used as a vacation spot once or twice - mental health is important, and a good state of mind is paramount to keeping one's focus." A response to James' commentary.

His hands move up a bit, shielding his ears from the overwhelming sound. "I think we're ... part of the show?" He says, eyes on the fanfare going on stage front.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
Band camp? Sounds lame to Tabby, and she doesn't roll into this looking like she's about to be very impressed by ANYTHING. And no one can make her say that she is, or tell.

Those dark sunglasses are in place, and she's got her hair up in a no-nonsense-ass-kicking ponytail, popping a bubble of the gum she's chewing on before she observes, "It's alright."

The sound causes her hands to lift upwards and cover her ears for a moment, fingers sticking into them and giving them a quick wiggle before she's heading for the stage with a shake of her head, "I always wanted to be in showbiz."

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    Doug looks up, and then around, and then he pauses. "I--" He sighs, and shakes his head, before he rolls his shoulders and then says, "...Really, 'Yana? Really?" He takes a pair of protective goggles off of his toolbelt and puts them on, before he begins to climb the steps onto the stage. "Is there a clue about what all each of us are supposed to be doing here? ...Can any of you sing or play an instrument?"

Warren Worthington has posed:
"MISTER." Warren blinks and stares at James. "Mister Worthington was my father, please call me Warren. Or Angel. Or, to hell with it, Feathers. Just anything but Mr. Worthington. I hear enough of that at my day job to last a lifetime."

When the instruments start showing up, he blinks. Then looks at Piotr. Blinks. Then back to the stage and grins. "Piotr, you get to be metal tonight bro." He throws up the horns and bangs his head a little before glancing at Hank. "Yeah, and I bet you're a real beast with the tamborines. Come on, lets party!"

He flies a little higer into the air and speeds on over to the stage to try and be first. Because being first means you won't be stuck with an instrument that sucks, obviously. And what does he go for? THE TRIANGLE. Landing on the stage, he takes triangle in hand and then flaps up to hover a little over the stage and starts pounding the little metal thing onto the metal tubes of the triangle. "It's kind of like the More Cowbell thing, just without the cowbell."

He looks over at Doug and shrugs, "This is probably the one thing I -can- do. Unless there was.. nope, nevermind. Just pick something and start playing."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The lead singer swings back to thump out the beat, clapping as he goes while the bassist moves up to the front to show off. The sizzling reverb of the guitars howling from the speakers sends out pulsing waves through the masses of younger and older people. Fists slam in the air and flashbulbs explode in all directions like so many twinkling stars. Collectively a roar resonates over them, washing over the stage, almost building a sense of utter euphoria. Of triumph. Of collective animalistic joy.

It's hard to resist being caught up in the ground swell of raw human emotion and energy being thrown back, like the masses worshipping a god, celebrating a festival, in ancient human ritual. Those in the front press closer, bouncing up and down in a vast diamond.

And the noise keeps building, the sonic melodies writhing and roaring. Expertly placed disks that resemble satellites amplify the sounds around them, and it's becoming hard to hear inner thoughts with the vivid, wild outpouring.

The band looks at one another, grins wild and fierce, then back to the stage. "Hello, where is the trumpet solo?" shouts the drummer, but she's almost unheard. "Leona, on three!"

Three being the cue to spin that screen with flashes of ALIVE and REVOLUTION splayed over the broken skylines of New York to show the orchestral accompaniment.

But out there, the revolution has already begun. They're starting to push forward, goaded on, squeezed in. Sound whips them, lashes them, expertly herding them. All that is visible from the stage, mind.

Henry McCoy has posed:
Henry McCoy sighs, still keeping his ears partly covered. LOUD NOISES. As he was about to reply to the Angel, the other is winging his way towards the stage. "Self-control, Warren!" He calls after him, making his way through the crowd from the side. He's careful to not jostle or shove, bounding up onto the stage gracefully once there. A glance over the instruments, he looks for a simple percussion instrument - the tamborine. Hopefully, it's quieter up here!

James Proudstar has posed:
Jimmy's inclination is to wait on the fringes. He's not the most musically inclined. Well, maybe the drums, but it's starting to look like an all-percussion group out there and...he's not sure the instruments are more than a distraction. In fact, the more he waits, glowering with arms folded across his broad chest, the more he's certain of that.

Since the group has apparently gone with "split up" he pulls the communicator out of the pouch on his belt and cues it up, "Hey...there's something weird going on here. Someone's messing with the music...some kind of...I dunno. Not exactly subliminal but something kinda like it. I think there's multiple relays in the crowd...maybe six or seven of them, can't quite tell."

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
Piotr is genuinely confused as this point, but seeing the others having joined the stage, and nearly rushes out to join the others to try and keep the group together; however, he listens to the communicator as Jimmy's call goes out over it and responds, "Then we take them out. Warren can take out one, and I could possibly take one out with a decent throw?" He stays in the wings, no desire to stand out at this point in time, looking for something to chuck at the satellites.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
Split up! Tabby clearly voted for that, because she's scrambling for the stage and the instruments on it. It doesn't matter what one gets handed to her, although she tries her damndest to get a stringed instrument. Like a guitar, or a bass.

She's thrown herself into the emotions that are flooding the place, letting herself be distracted by the fun of it all and bang out whatever badly played song is happening. Worry? She's not worried.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    Doug lets out a sigh, and then he looks up. "...All right, mom," He says, "You win." He gives his head a slow shake, "Let's see if all that suffering through Mrs. Bojanowski's piano lessons paid off for me," Before he walks onto the stage, sits in front of the keyboard, and cracks his knuckles.
    He sits back, and then says, "Well, Tabby..." He says, looking up at Boom-Boom, "Bass, guitar, or vocals? We need a guitarist..." He shakes his head, "Sam's little brother could play strings taped to a tire, I'm only fair to middling. We need vocals..."

Warren Worthington has posed:

Warren keeps banging on his triangle, grinning to Hank as he comes up on the stage and grabs the tambourine. He gives the furry guy a big thumbs up. That's when Jimmy's coming in over the ol' comm's device and he blinks and then frowns. "Oh, and not everyone came up on stage. There might still be some of the younger folks in trouble down there on the ground if things get worse." With a nod to Piotr, he tosses the big lug his triangle. "Here, go ham on that for a bit." He flies up into the air a little more and scans the area for one of these relays that was reported. With his hearing he can pinpoint at least the first of them and that's exactly where he heads to, flying up and then making a quick, swooping dive to try and knock the sound relay out of commission to see if that might have any effect on the rest of the crowd.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
On the stage:
The supporting act, with Hank and Tabby, Doug, Piotr and Angel, stand or sit on the risers. With their instruments of choice, it's a matter of keeping up to the beat. Fortunately when the shell spins around to face the crowd, they can see a screen overhead that displays the notes for the stomping harmony for the latest song. The lady drummer of Bad Habits is ahead of them to the right. The bassist is busy picking out an elaborate rhythm near the left, and the guitarist and lead singer snarl into their microphones. Exactly what is awfully hard to make out through the distortion cutting rolling over them, like standing in a wind tunnel.

"Ready for a rev--
---soldier, keep march---
Until you fall!" The distorted, animalistic faces of the crowd in the front show ecstatic joy.

In the audience: The sound whips the audience up, fists in the air and bodies squeezing together tighter, closer. Gone are the rows, just the clumps of dancers and those behind shoving the people ahead of them toward the stage. In the back, the expressions are riveted by pain, hands lifted to protect ears already bleeding, noses running red in warpaint. Some hunch their back to ward off the blows of their peers and those they can't see. The sonic attack from one strafes over a few shaggy-haired kids, who go to their knees in agony. From Warren's perspective, it honestly looks like a nondescript guy wearing shades and a band t-shirt is shouting at them. From James' perspective, close to the same; just a guy. A guy with no heartbeat.

James Proudstar has posed:
OK, Jimmy's gonna have to be a little more careful than usual here. Sonics are one type of attack that tend to be a lot more effective on him than most other types. He's not quite as unbreakable as the big metal Siberian guy, but he ain't that far behind...unless you're hitting him in a way that turns his enhanced senses into a weakness.

So naturally, Jimmy goes charging in. Guess he's trying to take the "guy" by surprise?

"We got robots...or vampires maybe, I dunno. But they ain't got a heartbeat, I know that much." Is the last thing he sends over the comms before he rushes towards the attacker he can see, reaching to try to clamp a hand over the thing's "mouth" to hopefully block it's attack. If he manages to get hands on it, and can tell it's a machine well...machines break, let's see how fast and how spectacularly, huh?

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
Piotr catches the triangle and grumbles, "Well, it seems things have escalated" and he goes from fleshy to steely right then and there. "I'll take care of the discs." He takes the triangle and grins as he cocks his arm back and full power throws it right at one of the satellite dishes, hoping to take it out of commission.

Henry McCoy has posed:
The crashing waves of sound aren't helping the poor Beast. The tamborine is dropped, hands full on covering his ears as he snarls. Still, the communicator comment is heard. His eyes narrow, Hank crouching low. Yellow slits focus out on the crowd, looking for the nearest relay - ready to pounce on it.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    "This isn't my style of music," Doug says, his hands on the keyboard as he looks up, and then back at Tabitha. He sets an automatic beat on his keyboard, and then glances back to Boom-Boom. "Let's try something different! Uh... hm." He snaps his fingers, and then says...
    "Boom-Boom. Do you still know 'Material Girl' by heart?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The guy with the shaggy hair falling in his face is no mere groupie or guy who paid too much for admission, howling in protest about the prices charged by TicketBastard. When the big Apache leaps on the attacker, it's proven he is gripping something definitely human -shaped-. But not human, for it launches straight up with disregard for its boots. Several ports puff out super-heated air, adjusting for the added weight, and the sinewy arms that look human enough lash out to try and throw this unwelcome addition off. There isn't exactly a mouth for his hands to clamp around, but there is a weird set of grooved outlets that should be a mouth. Attempting to wrench it around works great. Until it howls that bone-rattling sonic wail at close quarters from a place within, a sonic lash cracking out for a ten foot 'burst.'

Tabitha Smith has posed:
It was all fun and games until someone made it not be. "I think I want to switch instruments and instead play percussion."

The instrument that Tabby had been playing is dropped unceremoniously onto the stage before her hands light up in orange-yellow as the bombs begin to form in the palms of her hands. The two bombs end up roughly softball size before she throws the one in her left hand first towards one of the people in the crowd. A second after the second one follows targetted at the same person.

And DOES SHE? Of course she does, and she starts to sing cheerfully, "Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me..." At least she didn't start half-way through the song.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Piotr devastates the American-styled satellite dishes, showing Russians prefer their own cosmonautical traditions. Metal and shiny cloth is not meant to live up to Piotr's weight, and the fist goes right through the fragile construction. Flashing lights illuminate his shiny metal arm. In fact, he's very shiny indeed up there on the stage. Sound warbles weirdly, spilling out like a deflating balloon. The bassist stops strumming and swivels back, gaping. "Man! What in the everliving frag is wrong with you? That's a ten thousand dollar---"

"Keep playing!" shouts the guitarist, consummately tearing up his fingers on the strings. His fingers are bleeding. Blood runs down his left nostril. It's pretty bad out there in the gorefest of the crowd.

Warren Worthington has posed:
Oh, sonic attacks are always fun to deal with when your ears are able to hear much better than others. He spots Jimmy trying to handle one of the robot/vampire no-heartbeat thingies and trying to keep an eye out on him in the event that he needs help, he swoops down towards another one of the sonic-emitting terrors, shouting out, "I've known a few screamers in my time, pal, but they were at least a lot more fun than you are, so why not pipe down a little!" And tries to kick his target at the end of his dive to either put it out of commission or at the very least try and focus its attention on himself and not the crowd.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The guitar at Tabby's feet smacks into the stage. Her bombs are barely noticed at the beginning. Explosions come tearing through a mass, however, smashing like wave of energy. A few shirts go flying. Okay, and a few audience members get knocked off their feet. The uncool guy lurking back there has no clothes at all to speak of, and misses a leg when it floats unsteadily back up just in time to get a second ricocheting attack. The heavy metallic body goes flying into the air, howling like a banshee riding stallion on a possessed vacuum cleaner. A nice clean target for anyone else, or something to end up leaving a crater in the ground atop civilians. Your choice. Those sonic attacks, however, /hurt/. They're more than just actual waves, they're physical too, waves of compression blasting through the tissues and out the other side.

James Proudstar has posed:
There's a growl from James as that sonic blast hammers at his hand, but he doesn't let go. He does wrench it skyward to avoid it blasting the crowd. Jimmy's always been a good wrestler, and from the position he's grabbed the thing, it's arms have a hard time getting a solid hold.

A foot kicks one of the thruster-legs outward, causing the pair to lurch and nearly flip over, but it also achieves the desired effect of bringing it out over a more empty patch of ground...not nearly as many concert goers to potentially land on there....

And so Jimmy's now-aching hand clenches, thick arms flex, and with a squeal of wrenching metal and the buzz of electrical sparks the head of the automaton comes off.

Jimmy pushes away as they fall, and lands in a totally awesome three-point stance. Or at least it would've been totally awesome if the third point wasn't the hand that had just been subject to a bone-rattling sonic-blast. So he actually yelps a bit and quickly stands up, shaking the offending appendage in the hopes of warding off that pain.

Real smooth.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
Piotr grins as one of the satellites is taken out of commission, he looks to the bassist, "Do not worry, am fixing problem." He grins and moves over to Beast and says, "Care for some help?" And if Beast allows it, will throw the elder Mutant at the target Beast direct him to.

After throwing the good doctor, Piotr scrounges among the instruments and chucks a sousaphone at one of the speakers, trying to stop the crowd from at least hearing the problem.

Henry McCoy has posed:
So close to the animalistic side of things - Beast grunts his consent to Piotr. It's not like it hasn't happened before! He's launched like a furry missle, claws raking into his target - a shaggy gray faced man. Claws aren't the only trauma, as all four hundred pounds of Hank crashes into the enemy with snarls, growls and a plethora of eloquent explatives.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The sousaphone takes out a perfectly innocent speaker and knocks over the tall pole it's attached to, causing a commotion and a crash. Not everyone is fast enough to move out of the way, the crowd packed in like sardines and some of them preoccupied with their bleeding. Another of the robotic things flying into the air ends up uttering a shrill howl, sonic circles actually visible in puffs. They tear rapidly into the stage, leaving holes shredded into the metal and wood. The guitarist yelps and dives into the wings. Not the lead singer, who defiantly howls -back-. This is **his** damn show! And besides, Tabby and Doug are pounding out Madonna, meaning he can synchronize.

Jimmy at least is below the level of the sonic attacks from the remaining three robots separating and sowing chaos by random strikes and attacks. Three, because Hank is now cobalt and furious, tearing apart something into wires and chips and a lot of blue blood. Is it blood? Yep. Smells icky and bloody. Lobstery goodness.

Warren Worthington has posed:
Awesome, Boom-Boom is going to give him skeet targets to smack!

Warren makes a bee-line towards the metal screamer thing as it flies into the air and punches it up further into the air, following it up a little so he can turn in mid-air and punch it right in it's ugly stupid face. He lets it fall back to the ground, nodding as it smashes to bits.

With that done, he flies around and shouts out, "Keep the fun times coming Boom-Boom!" He grins over at her and then heads back into the crowd to go and see if Jimmy needs any help, having seen that Piotr and Beast are already having their fun.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Warren better look out for that long stretch of wires and a mast sent crashing to the ground around him, or else he's going to be a grounded angel.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    "God, it's like I'm at Woodstock '99." He wasn't even ALIVE for Woodstock 99. He wasn't even a gleam in his mother's eye." Doug has the artificial drum machine going now, and he's got the chords of Madonna's #1 going on the keyboard -- "Warren -- I need a second set of vocals on backup!"
     and then he leans in and joins in on the backup vocals. Well, he is a ravenous omniconsumer of media.
    'They can beg and they can plead but they can't see the liiiiight, because the boy with the cold hard cash' ...Which is where Doug leans in to the mic and joins Tabby on the backup vocals, "Is allllways mister ri-i-ght!"

Warren Worthington has posed:
Warren is totally not going to see the wires and the mast coming down around him because he's paying attention to some pretty face or one another.

"Oh shiiii..." Then a loud grunt as it smacks into him and he goes tumbling to the ground, hitting hard and even bouncing once or twice.

"Uggghhh..." He says, laying on the ground spread-eagled, eyes staring into whatever the sky looks like right now. "...Gonna feel that come the morning..." He puts a hand to his head and shakes it before looking at his communicator. "Did he say sing?"

Tabitha Smith has posed:
When Warren targets the one she landed those bombs on there is a scramble, just because Tabby was pretty sure that there was going to be a return attack. Helpful Featherheads are helpfully give a thumbs up.

"'cause we're living in...a material world. And I am a material girl." Tabby continues to sing along as she starts to form another one of the bombs, this time larger. Only one of them.

The ball is absently tossed in her hands before she finds a target in the crowd, lifting her arms up above her head with the larger bomb held in between them, "You know we are living in a material world..." She pulls her arms back before launching the bomb forward into the crowds. "And I am a material girl!"

James Proudstar has posed:
Jimmy looks OK. He's done swearing and waggling his hand, and instead focused on grabbing the nearest piece that came off his late opponent, and hurling it towards one of those flying menaces with...the-other-hand. Not that it affects his accuracy much.

And then he's moving over to help the guy that was coming to help him. Irony!

"Pretty sure that's what he said." He adds to Warren as he uses the non-injured hand to help him back to his feet. "Ramsey usually knows what he's doing with stuff like this."

A beat.


Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Damage assessment: a lot of hurt people, not all from the bots. Jimmy battering one to death. Tabby blasting another out of commission that Warren flattened. There's Piotr out there dancing and yeeting, Hank ripping them apart. And no one look to the girl all in black who directed them to the fore uttering a shrill wail. No sonic scream but the sound of dismay as a robot with a pointy-coned chestpiece -- someone has a sense of humour with Madonna, okay? -- and a wild blonde set of curls marches right up and takes a blast at Tabitha because she's actually in the way.

That bomb might go flying, who knows!

Warren Worthington has posed:
Warren takes the offered hand and gets to his feet, flapping his wings as he nods his thanks to Jimmy. "Yeah, you're probably right. What an eventful band camp this turned out to be, eh?" He slaps the other man on the shoulder good-naturedly and nods to the stage. "I'll go help with the singing, thanks for the hand up."

He takes a running leap into the air and flies up and over to the stage, taking a moment or two to survey things. "That's a 9.2 on the Yeetometer there, Piotr. Give it some more heft next time." He calls down.

Finally he reaches the stage and lands near Douglas.

"Ok, what are we singing again?"

Henry McCoy has posed:
Once the foe is defeated under him, he turns - almost feral in his look for another opponent. It's not that he dislikes music, quite the opposite really. The volume. The sonic attacks. Beast glances to James, seeing the other man having things well in hand. Piotr, no question that he's got things under control near him.

That has him looking back to the stage, spotting the incoming attack on Tabby. He launches into action, leaping forward and galloping to try to intercept.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    "The backup vocals to 'Material Girl'," Doug says to Warren, as he belts sout chords on the keyboard. "We need to lure them in!" He slowly turns up a slider, "I'm going to give them a taste of their own medicine!" He looks up, and shakes his head, "Mom and Dad wanted me to be a lawyer! Look at me now, getting into music!"

"Come on Boom-Boom, bring us home!" He calls out. "This is your moment!"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The outer shockwave of the Groupie-Robot smacks into Doug's keyboard and keyboard bench, and possibly the mutant himself if he's not paying attention. It definitely clips several bits of stage decorations, the props including a huge piece of silver bacon that comes flying out diagonally. Ten feet of delicious rippling fake-meat gets thrown into the mix.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
Piotr scowls as there is collateral damage from his attack on the speaker, but now is not the time to wallow in a mistake. He turns to the new arrival on the stage and is coming forward and this does not bode well. The large metal man sighs and elects to impose himself between the new threat and Boom boom, believing he is better suited to take the damage. One problem. Metal reverberates, and he finds himself taking a few moments to recover from the shaking.

Tabitha Smith has posed:
It was her moment, at least. But Tabby's focused on those out in the crowd, and doesn't see the Material Girl herself coming at her to take a swing at her. Figurative, not literal in this case.

If it weren't for the brave, self-sacrificing move of Piotr she'd probably be sailing back off her feet and skidding across the stage on her rear-end.

Luckily, he buys her the time to launch that larger bomb and this time the Material Girl herself is the target now that she's had her focus shifted as she sings out, "Some boys romance and some boys slow dance. That's all right with meeeeeee."

Warren Worthington has posed:
"Being a rockstar will make you a sex symbol, that's for sure!" Warren says to Doug, grinning. He grabs a microphone and seeing some of the some of the bits and stuff heading towards Doug, he reaches out with a wing to help nudge Doug closer if need-be. Otherwise he's going to rock that mic like it's 20... and something. One hand lifted up, legs spread and pose captured, he joins his vocals in with Boom-Booms at the right parts. He's totally a material girl living in a material world.

Henry McCoy has posed:
The big metal Russian is faster - closer. he takes the blast from the bot, sounding like a giant gong with reverb. Hank is still in motion, an arm outstretched for both Tabby and Piotr. "Skipping breakfast!" He explains, trying to bowl them out of the way of the metallic bacon, slicing across where they were standing.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Vibrations on metal: good. Vibrating Piotr? Well, now he's a human earthquake. The weakened stage groans, and a good portion of it threatens to collapse, leaving people seven feet down. Hank's velocity is another stress, but at least nothing exploded for Tabby! Unless she wants it to.

Though the display is fairly well demolished, there are no more robots shrilling sonic attacks at them. The bouncy scientist with his huge bacon prop probably comes close to knocking Warren over in his moment of triumph. Definitely messes with the wings.

Which leaves Jimmy and Warren in possession of a hysterical crowd turning tale and running fast as they can for the exits in a swarm. The stage creaks and groans under the angelic man. He's likely to be knocked askew. At the t-intersection ahead, the lead singer clinging to his mic stand and staring aghast, and the drummer buried under her drums.

Then the lead singer flings his hand up, making devil horns, while on the only intact structure around him. "METAL!"

"SHUT UP, GERALD!" wails the drummer.

And so it mostly ends.