Hunger Pangs (Open)

Participants: Laura Kinney /Open
Open/Closed: Open
Location(s): Central Park
Time of Day: Early morning
Weather: Sunny, but with a chill breeze.
Summary: Laura Kinney is starving, and has managed to find herself a churros stand en route the the Xavier Institute to help quiet her hunger pangs. It would be a shame if her meal got interrupted...

She stood at the churros truck with her hands pushed deep into her tattered jean pockets. Her nose occasionally twitched, noting passing scents of interest that briefly overpowered the sugary, caramel odour of the street vendor’s desert offering, but her dark eyes remained trained on the food that was being prepared for her. Her stomach growled a little, reminding her it was empty, and she began to tap a booted foot impatiently. It had been a long, long night, and eating hadn’t been high on her list of priorities. However, as morning came, bringing with it a moment of relative peace and quiet, Laura Kinney had come to realise she was suffering near debilitating hunger pangs.
“You want chocolate dip?” the man within the truck asked in a thickly ‘Brooklyn’ accented drawl.
Laura just nodded her response, her midriff uttering a louder, even more aggressive snarl, urging the server to work a little more quickly.
“Coming right up.”

Her eyes followed the long, sugar-dusted donuts as molten chocolate was oozed across their surface, and she resisted the urge to lick her lips as the cardboard tray was placed down on the counter between chef and customer, and then pushed toward her.
“That’ll be 5 dollars.”
Pulling a fistful of notes from the bottom of her pocket, Laura let the dishevelled pile of tender fall next to her food, and then forgot about it, focused entirely on the churros. Picking up the tray, she tucked in quickly, devouring the first treat in a matter of seconds, turning her back to the truck and heading for a nearby park bench.
“Uh…you want your change? You’re like two dollars over!”

X-23 just continued walking, the second of her churros almost demolished. She wasn’t going to stop eating for the sake of two dollars – it would take a disaster to tear the hungry mutant away from her unusual breakfast, but then, disaster had a habit of finding her…

Central Park was a wonderful place to take a breather during the early morning. The scenery was like that of a painting with its serene plant life and lush green grass all around. This was Jericho's second morning in a row visiting Central Park since he had come to New York on business. Most of his days were spent cooped up in a stuffy boardroom listening to board members who wanted to remind doctors across the US that health care was, at its core, about money. Jericho found the meetings he had to attend throughout the day to be particularly draining, so as a reward to himself he spent the mornings after in Central Park just relaxing and stilling his mind.

He smiled pleasantly at a couple on a bench as he passed them to make his way to a food truck that was just beginning to set up for the day. Jericho was dressed in a well tailored gray suit, yellow shirt underneath, and zebra print Oxfords - he made the look work. His hands were tucked in his pockets as he stopped before the truck's window, a placid look on his face as he waited to be discovered.

Two workers were inside the truck getting their stations ready and their grill going. It was roughly five minutes of eager working in a rather cramped space before either of them took note of the man in the suit. 

"Ah, how can we help you, buddy?"

Jericho had poured over their menu posted on the side of the truck by now, he was quite sure in what he wanted in that moment. 

"Yes, good morning to you. I would like the scrambled eggs and plantains, please."

"Sweet or spicy plantains?"

"Oh, spicy sounds good this morning. Thank you." 

The Haitian food truck wasn't one Jericho had seen the morning before, but it was a very pleasant surprise to find now. He felt like he had been gifted a treat within a treat. He watched as the worker turned to begin cooking the eggs and cutting the plantains. The smells coming from the inside of the truck were familiar scents to Jericho that he sadly had not smiled in quite some time. However, it dawned on him that he had not ordered anything to drink.

"Excuse me," Doctor Voodoo lifted a hand to catch the worker's eye once more. "I'd also like a warm Akasan." His mouth was practically watering at the thought of tasting the old foods he'd grown up with. 

Somewhere behind Drumm, near a line of park benches, a sudden explosion rocked the area and threw civilians to the gravel.

Laura Kinney

The explosion blindsided Laura, catching the usually alert mutant totally off guard. The concussive force of the blast hurled her from her feet, and she bounced across the gravel path underfoot like a ragdoll. She was only halted when she collided with the food truck from which she’d purchased her breakfast, leaving a large dent in its side. For a moment, she lay face down, unmoving. About her, the peaceful park had been thrown into chaos. But in that moment, all she could do was grit her teeth. Every enhanced sense she possessed was assaulted, clouding her clarity: scents of smoke and burning filled her nose, her ears rang, her vision swam, and her mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood.

Her blood.

Slowly, pushing her body to respond to her will, though it fought hard against her, she raised her head a little, and while her eyes saw only blurred figures, she could tell civilians scattered, confirmed by the pounding of their feet: something she could feel through vague tremors in the ground beneath her. Another explosion rang out, further off than before, and her ears, which had only just begun to clear, once again found themselves able to pick up little more than a high-pitched ringing sound.

Two detonations in such close proximity made one thing obvious, even despite the mental haze she suffered: Central Park was under attack.

With a whimper of pain, Laura began fumbling at the ground below her, adjusting her position, rising to her knees. Once up, she looked down at herself, taking in the damage she’d sustained, and felt her half-severed tongue lolling idly in her closed mouth – bitten almost clean in two when the initial blast had floored her. It explained the taste of blood, at least. Her forearms were covered in cuts, scrapes and friction burns. In some areas, the skin had been torn clean off, revealing the moist flesh below. Her chest and midriff had been pitted with shrapnel – stones from the park’s pathways, bark from nearby trees, splinters of wood – all embedded in her person, leaving her clothing torn and tattered.

Some of the smaller wounds, however, had already begun to heal, the skin closing up about them, stitching itself back together with urgency.

Stumbling a little, X-23 pushed herself to her feet, then rolled her head atop her neck – metallic groaning sounds replacing the usual creaking of worn bone. Straightening her arms and balling her hands into fists, four long, thin claws pierced the skin between her knuckles - two on the left, and two the right. Then, with a slightly hobbled gait, she set off toward the second explosion, lumbering against the tide of civilians – most of whom gave her a rather wide berth, even in their blind panic.

It could have been because she looked physically worse for wear, or because there was an intense rage that burned in her sea-blue eyes.

Jericho Drumm

Jericho felt the high heat on his back first. Then came the force that exerted on his back, throwing breath and a grunt from his lips as he was tossed forward. The Houngan's mind lit up quickly to find a spell of safeguarding. Before his body could meet with the steel of the food truck a veil of soft violet light formed between himself and it. The veil softened the impact as it then warped itself around the truck as well, Voodoo left to brace himself against the side of the vehicle as his magical shield now protected himself, the truck, and the workers inside from the launched debris of the initial explosion as well as the one that followed soon after. The area was clouded in a dusty film, it was near impossible to see. However, Drumm did not need to see to know that civilians were injured and in a panic, he had been to enough war torn areas to know how sudden attacks played out - and there was no mistaking this, they were under attack.

He spared a glance to the two men in the Haitian food truck, they nodded to show they were alright, and Jericho departed them. His clothing began to glow a deep crimson and the fabric seemed to melt away from him, revealing his traditional suit and cloak. As Doctor Voodoo walked forward he slip out of the forcefield he had created like it wasn't there at all. To the left of him floated his Staff of Legba, it hang in the air on standby as Jericho cupped his hands around the amulet sitting on his chest.

"Eye of Agamotto, reveal my path before me."

In an instant the cloud of smoke and dust the clung to the air in front of Doctor Voodoo was expelled, shifting suddenly to all sides in order to make room for him. Debris from the ground and concrete and splintered wood levitated just out of his reach, paused in their own path and only continuing their chaotic falls and sprays once Jericho had passed those portions of destruction. The fait shimmer of the Eye of Agamotto ceased as Doctor Voodoo lowered his hands from the magical amulet, his left hand taking up his obedient staff. Though Jericho wished to pursue and deal out punishment to the party responsible for such destruction he knew first that he must give aid to the injured.

The Hougan Supreme first approached a woman desperately clutching onto her elderly mother, he extended a hand and helped the both of them off of the ground. 

"Are you two injured?"

They were covered in scrapes and bruises but that did not tell Jericho the depths of their wounds, hopefully they suffered nothing too severe. Apparently the daughter had a sprained ankle and broken wrist, miraculously her mother was in much better shape.

Doctor Voodoo had moved on and was tending to a man with a bad concussion when he noticed the girl with the claws. Jericho quirked a brow at her, his eyes following ahead of the path she stomped down. There was nothing apparent there, but the girl was born of Wolverine's genes, perhaps she too possessed an incredible sense of smell. However, she looked to be on a tear and Jericho was not so certain that was a good idea.

"Laura!"

The name came out of his mouth before the sorcerer had even intended it. Quickly he finished up healing the man's concussion. A hand delved into a small pack on Voodoo's hip and he withdrew an old bit of dried out root. He instructed the man to chew on it within the hour so that the concussion did not resurface.

Jericho stood, leaving the side of his patient, and began a trot for Laura Kinney . They hadn't been properly introduced but the girl was no secret in their community and she had worked with Jericho's predecessor on at least one occasion in the past. He hoped that would be a good enough foundation to build a repertoire upon.

"Laura, my name is Doctor Voodoo, and I could really use your help in caring for the injured here."

Stopping the bad guy(s) was always important, but that did not necessarily mean it was always the priority.

 

Dust and debris clouded her gaze and her ears still droned with a high-pitched tinnitus. Her nostrils were filled with the overpowering scents of fire, sweat and fear. Alert as she usually was, her body had yet to adjust to the shock of her sudden injury, or heal itself sufficiently to focus her discerning senses.
"Laura!"
She recognised the call, for it was her name. However, it seemed distant, far off, almost imagined, as if it were a word unrelated to her. A figment of her subconscious, perhaps, or desperate cry for another. Rather than go toward the shout, she continue forth, heading toward the origin of the blasts.

"Laura!"

It came again, but still failed to draw her attention. It was only when another had trotted to her side that her stunned reverie was broken, suddenly aware of a man speaking directly to her. Coming to an abrupt halt, she turned toward him, as the outside world came rushing back to her, flooding her dazed senses with an ocean of sights, scents and smells. Wincing, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, taking a deep breath to steady herself against the tide, before she finally found herself grounded enough to interact with individual who introduced himself as ‘Doctor Voodoo.’

"Laura, my name is Doctor Voodoo, and I could really use your help in caring for the injured here."

Injured – of course. Looking about herself, she saw the destruction with more clarity – the number of people that had passed her holding wounds, cradling hurt loved ones. Her brow furrowed, and for a moment, she found herself torn between her want to apprehend those who’d caused such chaos, and aiding those affected. She was no medic, and there could still be further attacks to come – but there was no telling how long it could take emergency services to arrive, how long it would take before the suffering were seen to.

Slowly, the adamantium claws that protruded from between second and fourth knuckles withdrew into her skin. She affixed Voodoo with a long stare and nodded.
“Ok…but once the ambulances arrive…”
She trailed off. Her words were ill formed and muffled as they were – tongue not yet fully healed. However, her unspoken intention was clear. Once paramedics were attending the wounded, she would be leaving to find whoever had incited the attacks, and they wouldn’t like it when she did.

Jericho Drumm