2013.10.27 - Soup Storm

For the hungry and the poor. The indigent.

The soup kitchen run by St. Patricks is seeing a greater number of people in the last couple of years, and the press of bodies in the room makes for cramped quarters. Tables are lined end to end, cafeteria style, and the movement between the seats is in no way or fashion ADA (3' of room to accomodate wheelchairs and the like). In fact, the priests have had to scrunch the tables further together to fit yet another row for another 50 people.

Don't ask whether or not there's more food to accomdate, because that's always up in the air.

There is a lunchroom style kitchen, open air rather than one with doors, and paper trays with plastic utensils set to one end. The food that can be grabbed (cake, sandwiches) is all set in paper plates with plastic wrap covering them, while the hot meal portion of the service is, indeed, stew that is ladeled into plastic bowls and topped with crackers.

The night is beginning to fall, which brings a few more souls to the place, the effort to get a warm meal AND get warm is something that most are willing to expend- to walk those extra blocks.

It's the perfect time for a certain formerly blue elf to pay a visit to the deacons that are serving the food and just... check in.

Yeah.

Attached to the wall on the outside of the building, the cold wind is whipping up the boulevard, the lights and sounds of the city truly coming alive. The pirate's jacket billows in the breeze, while his tricorn hat is in no danger of leaving his head, even in a sudden gust of wind. Glowing golden, malevolent eyes peer down as he counts each person as they enter. Climbing a little higher on the wall, his smile shows his fangs.

"Ein paar mehr Leute geben muss." Just a few more people...

Stuck to the wall not far away from the critter with the big coat and the tri-point hat is another fuzzy critter, looking more like something from the next century out rather than one previous.

"Yeah, y'know what, remind me to talk to our Benefactor next time we see him. Gives -you- a coat," she grumbles while wrapping her plastic and metal-clad arms about her middle.

Famine's ready to jump right on in at any moment. She's after the food, food which is still being served out and eaten. She should have been inside the place hours ago! At the same time Pestilence requires there to be people, which means they get to wait.

The sacrifices she makes!

"Eenie..meenie..meiny..-yoink!-" she whispers in triumph as she snags the hat right off of a man's head with her tail. Startled, he jumps in place and looks all around before looking straight up at a pair of glowing red eyes and a broad, fang-lined grin. Famine holds up a three-fingered hand, "Hiya."

The poor guy nearly stumbles in his hurry to clear the area as Famine attempts to place the man's hat upon her own head, quickly discovering that it isn't going to work with the metal horn-lined crest already perched around her temples. "Aw, nuts."

Whether the fuzzy elf knows it or not.. the place is one of several around the city under Morlock surveilance. Active.. surveilance.. The dwellers of the underground have eyes on bastions of the homeless, aiding where they can.. normally from the shadows.

Cans of food appear in dumpsters, new-ish clothes appearing on peoples beds at night.. it's a quiet phenomenon that the homeless don't talk about.. for fear that it will stop.

Tonight though.. it's a certain purple spiny mutants turn to watch the place. Sitting quietly in the corner dressed in rags, a hat and an overcoat so drab as to be almost colorless, those lavender eyes are all that can be seen of her. By design. And watching Famine start shit.. well.. this is why she's here. Standing slowly, her eyes on the crested mutant after she snatches the hat. "You will give it back.. then leave. We tolerate no trouble here." She tells the other woman, still garbed in her overcoat and hat.

The planning session with Jean and Bobby was useful, and Ororo tossed out the idea that they might be able to locate one or more of the Horsemen by looking where the mutants they'd been before tended to frequent. And, knowing Kurt as well as she does, Ororo volunteered to try locating him first.

A call went out to another individual she remembers being a good friend of the Nightcrawler, and with Amanda accompanying her, Storm leads the way into the soup kitchen. She's hoping they can pose as volunteers while waiting to see if her hunch is correct.

Little does she know...

Oh, yes. Amanda knows Kurt very, very well. Better, likely, than anyone else on the team. They are still 'anyfriends', though Pestilence may not recall that. And it was she that suggested they look in the vicinity of St. Patrick's. After all, every other attack the pair have made has centered around Midtown, and the church.

Father Mike, Kurt's main contact at the church, was actually very accommodating to the two -- even to the witch, with whom he's had spirited, if reasonably good natured, debates in the past. They do have rather differing beliefs in the Great Powers of the universe, after all. But, when it comes to helping Kurt, they're of the same mind. Thus it is that Amanda find herself clearing tables and refilling glasses as people work through their meals.

The yelp from outside the doors, on the near side of the hall as she is, catches the sorceress's attention. Her head comes up and turns toward the sound, and she can just see a man go scuttling backward through the open doors. "Ororo...?"

"I make this look good," Pestilence responds, the grin creasing his face. There's something of a mockery of the usual amiable grin that normally appears, simply because of the harsh transformation. The iridescent, sickly green colour that has replaced the indigo blue of his fur simply isn't right.

Looking down at Famine's handiwork, as it were, a laugh rises from his throat; a sound that is also a a corruption of what it had been. "That should keep you warm. You've killed all the bugs."

It's in the next moment, then, that Pestilence makes the final decision, and teleports into the rapidly filling hall. There are many in line at the counter, more finding their way towards an urn filled with weak but drinkable coffee (and hot!), and they're just in the right place, all bunched together...

BAMF!

In comes the elf formerly known as Nightcrawler, teleporting up to the ceiling in order to hang from his feet for just a moment in order to draw his sword. From there, he drops from his upside down perch, and flipping himself over in the middle of the fall very much like a cat (only with much more style!), he lands in the middle of a filled table in a crouch, the rapier brandished now.

"Chicken soup won't help you, mein freund.." comes before the sword is drawn across the arm of a man as he reaches for a roll with which to sop his broth in the blink of an eye. The man pulls back, dropping his bread, and makes to rise quickly, as does his 'companions' around him.

"And I make it look like a cyber-cafe," Famine nonchalantly replies with a sidelong glance to her partner in Disaster. "What's your point?"

Those same glowy red eyes blink once as someone else steps forward and confronts Famine over the matter of a hat. "Hey. I'm technically homeless now, too. Doesn't that count for something?" Though, with a slight shrug she lightly tosses the hat over to Marrow. "Not my color, anyway." Well, that and it didn't -fit.- Not like she has a use for it!

"Thing is, Purple, if you aren't a fan of that trick? You're really gonna hate what's gonna happen next."

When Pestilence bamfs out, complete with a thick, disease-ridden cloud, he pulls Famine right along for the ride.

With Pestilence hanging from the ceiling, so..too, is Famine. (They really are a pair, these two.) After his friendly one-liner she quickly follows up with "And no soup for you--Ooo, cake!" while dropping down around the kitchen, practically landing right on top of the various pots and pans.

Just being in proximity to the food causes adverse effects. Soup quickly decays into a dark, viscous sludge. Mold starts to sprout upon anything solid enough to contain it.

Even the piece of cake that she selects for herself looks dull and grey by the time it comes up to her maw. There's a disheartened "Naww..." as it crumbles into dust, right there in her hand. "Sometimes these new tricks really irritate me."

Marrow growls beneath her overcoat, and sheds it, ripping the material off in places where it hangs up on her spines. Marrow.. current leader.. defacto leader anyway... of the Morlocks. The entire driving force behind the homeless aid phenomenon. She flexes, the spines on her back growing slightly in response. "OUT!" She demands, a call directed at the homeless. Not like they can eat here anymore anyway. Not with all the food spoiled, rotting and disgusting.

Her gaze though, is on the pair hanging from the ceiling, watching Famine drop. Twin bone spines grow from her forearms and she crosses her arms for a moment, ripping them free. One goes airborne, thrown with murderous precision at Famine's chest. Marrow doesn't subdue, she kills.

Storm truly wishes she could be glad that her hunch turned out to be right, but... not when a sickly-colored Kurt lands right in front of a group of men and starts stirring up trouble while Talia very promptly ruins the food that had yet to be served. Setting down the pitcher of warmed and spiced apple juice (the closest the soup kitchen could get to offering mulled cider), she hastily directs the people she is closest to to start making for the door. Quickly but calmly, please. She's trying to get them clear while if possible avoiding panic. She's not hopeful.

Amanda takes a step back as the sulfurous, pestilent clouds of her twisted anyfriend's BAMF cloud appears over a table not so far away. People begin running, particularly at Marrow's command. That complicates matters. But at the same time... it makes it easier. At least they're clearing the battleground -- until the next BAMF, anyway. Still, the witch's hands come up and she utters a new spell, one that renders the toxic cloud inert. A little disgusting, maybe, since sulfuric soot rains down onto the ground beneath it, but no longer virulently toxic.

"Kurt!" she says, switching into German. "Liebende. Bitte... Tun Sie das nicht. Das bist nicht du!" Does she think it will work? No. But hope springs eternal.

Another word, her clothes shimmer into Daytripper's combat leathers, covered in refreshed runes, though still battered from her last encounter with Famine.

"That's okay. You know what too much cake does to you," Pestilence calls out over his shoulder. "Einmal auf den Lippen ..." Forever on the hips!

Those that begin to disperse from his table stumble backwards due to the suddeness of the appearance, the wielding of the sword (and the willingness to use it!), and the call out from the other side of the room to leave. It's not easy, however, thanks to the closeness in which all the tables are set. (Fire hazard! Just be glad that one of the styled Horsemen isn't a pyromaniac.)

Marrow gains the diseased one's attention, those golden, glowing orbs narrowing before he's off again with a BAMF! ready to spread his toxins over the table. "Deep breath!"

Landing now on the wall, clinging sideways, Pestilence is a vision to behold. His spade-tipped tail swishes from side to side, as he surveys the room. Keep moving until one has to stop to see where one is! Good to know he listens to his own advice.

There is a call, however, and he drags his attention away from Marrow- threat assessment says that the creature is easy enough to avoid, to have it land upon Storm, and then.. Amanda.

The German is caught, the diminuative, and in response, there is a grimace; there, those fangs that can now only be called 'slavering' show once more. "Du hast Unrecht.." You're wrong... and leaping from his perch upon the wall with a great push out, he flips once, twice, thrice in the air, only to BAMF! right above a table that is still clearing. Once, twice the former elf teleports, bringing a mass cloud of contagion to lie upon the area.

Soon enough, the coughing will begin.

Famine doesn't have long to act. Fortunately for her she can still live up to her new name without going all hands-on with everything edible in the joint. All the same, she's distracted. That bone shard comes out of freakin' -nowhere,- smacking into the Harbinger so solidly that she gets knocked right off of the counters with a stifled yelp. Kitchenware clatters all over the place, making for a much less contained mess as decaying food matter is sent flying to and fro.

"OW!"

When she returns to her feet there's a sizeable gash through the synthetic skin covering her torso, the bone projectile having cut through the material and gotten through the stiff fur to nick the blackened tissue beneath. If not for the alloy 'ribs' surrounding her in a form of armor she probably would have much bigger problems on her hands.

Famine looks down at herself and lightly dabs at a patch of crimson, trying to look at it through her dusty, matte hued complexion. Then, up snaps her head, narrowing eyes at the Morlock.

"Alright, honey. You want to discuss this like mutants?"

One leap straight up later and Famine's caught the ceiling again, practically somersaulting along the length of the serving area while (quite indiscriminately) throwing Hex Bolts out across the place. Chairs get flung around. A table or three get overturned. The bigger problem will come from the thick, caustic rust-red dust that each strike creates, effectively screening the room with a nasty airborne agent.

It really sucks on the skin. Literally! It saps the moisture right out of a person. It's even worse in the lungs and eyes. Caustic dust and plague clouds for all! They do rather compliment one another like that.

Marrow reaches up and back, gripping the twin bone spears growing from the center of her back, ripping them free with a sick tearing of flesh sound, and accompanying blood. Small spatter on the ground behind her, and the razor tipped spears are already crimson. She hasn't even stabbed anybody yet. "I'd fucking love to, bitch. Let's go."

The purple mutant goes charging in suprisingly quickly, considering she's armored as well as armed. More than once, the gray dust she runs past catches and clings to her pale purple flesh, eating at her as well as the tables. "Agg.. fuck..." She growls, refusing to give in to the pain. But the dying area's start to fade even as she runs, her healing factor counteracting the toxins. One spear get's hurled up at Famine, the other held like a sword for when she drops. She dies tonight.

Ororo Munroe keeps trying to usher people out, and upon seeing the clouds of ... stuff from both Kurt and Talia are spreading about willy-nilly, her eyes go white and a sharp gust of wind pushes as much of the particulate matter away from the fleeing people as possible. And if it happens to get pushed at Kurt... sorry, buddy. Really. And unlike the purple bone-slinging mutant, she's NOT trying to kill.

Amanda tugs on her hood and pulls up a scarf over her mouth as the dust starts to fly. Her eyes are still in danger, but it's a risk she has to take. With each dust cloud that goes off, the witch starts countering Famine's hex bolts by sending blasts of eldritch fire to consume that which Storm's winds collect and lift away from the fleeing homeless and volunteers. The result is an eerie green glow that turns the room into a weird hell Father Mike may yell at her about later. But, hey. Saving his ass, Amanda figures that'll buy her at least one indulgence.

She stands in a corner of the room, now and begins to chant. Magic builds up around her. Her eyes glow with power and she is encased in a strong, magenta aura.

"Pestilence!" she calls out now in a resounding voice, no longer calling out to her friend. Her magic starts rippling out, a shield that lays close to the furniture and tables, and sweeps over the fleeing forms, encasing them in nearly skin-tight shields as they run. Too close for him to teleport into. "Let's dance, you and I. Because you will not be able to kill them, until you've first killed me."

And she's got healing potions.

Catching the flying of Famine through the air, thanks to an attack of the Morlock, his lips rise in a snarl. He's just about ready to go after the Morlock; two on on seems proper odds, but he's more than aware there are some tricks the other has up her sleeves.

Besides, there are others here. Mutants, from the smell of them.

There's understanding in those featureless, otherwise empty yellow eyes. Instinctual recognition, though not necessarily of relationships. Just.. understanding. Just as he'd fought his mother, leaving her impaled and bleeding on the floor of Grand Central Station, here now, the Harbinger turns his head towards the call.

Crouching upon a coffee urn now, his tail whipping in agitation, the elf has to block the wind generated by Storm. Thankfully, it's not a maelstrom (yet!), and it serves to simply billow his clothes. Even if it is a little more than what a room would normally have! (Where are the blowers for the furnace again?)

His attention lands upon Amanda, and his head cocks before a wolfish smile creeps across his face. He can feel the crackle of magic up the back of his neck, he can... and where once it urged caution, now it tells him that it is the first target that should be removed. (Or else teleport away, leaving behind the stricken.)

"Schnelle Tod? Oder lang, langsamen Tod?" ''Quick death? Or long, lingering death?''

It's only a second longer, a heartbeat, before he leaps from his position, upending the urn, spilling all the warm coffee onto the floor, to 'fly through the air with the greatest of ease', aiming for Amanda, ready to grab her, and if possible, flip her over his head in a stunt they'd done so many, many times from childhood.

Okay, who ordered the wind? Honestly..! The air had been too thick for (everyone else) to breathe then suddenly it's all ..flying..toward Pestilence... Famine's glad to not be in -his- goofy old shoes right now! No, wait, it's getting incinerated by Amanda. That's ..huh. Okay, point for teamwork there.

But, nevermind the pretty lightshow. She's got much bigger problems, as the calcified spear that suddenly thunks into the wall directly in line with where she was about to end up will prove. Naturally, it results in a wide-eyed stare.

"Dude--! That stuff's supposed to stay on the -inside!- That's just nasty!"

It's here that Pestilence has the upper hand, Famine's powers don't work quite so well on other mutants. Still, she's not without her tricks. The Kurt from her timeline taught her how to be handy with a sword. A bone spear is ..not exactly like a sword, but it's something, and it's here. In another moment she has it pulled free of the ceiling and brought forth within one of her hands, ready to duel Marrow while she's still inverted.

It's entirely possible that she's out of her league here. Too bad she isn't yet aware of that fact. Though, rather than attempt to defeat Marrow at her own game, she just wants to distract the purple mutant long enough to leap forward and try to outright possess her. She'll shut that gal down from the inside!

In the meantime she'll simply cause that spilled coffee to go from a hot liquid to a dark brown dirt whenever she happens to get within a few feet of it.

Unlike the fuzzy elf.. Sarah isn't a duelist. Her natural weaponry is a means to an end. Normally the end of her opponents life. Her fights are normally short.. explosive bursts of rage, blood and fury, lasting until one of them isn't standing. And Sarah can take a hell of a beating.

When Famine drops, Marrow hurls herself at the other mutant, tip of her spear first. But once her weapon is gone, her bare fists are already growing new ones. The bones of the back of her hands growing through her knuckles much like a certain Canadian scrapper, five shards to his three. Getting in close quick is her intent, punching and thrashing on Famine with razor tipped shivs and hard hitting knees to the stomach and groin with her bone capped knees.

Ororo Munroe lets the wind gusting through the open area die down as the dust clouds from the two Harbingers die down, and her eyes start to fade back from solid white to their more normal blue. And that's when Kurt launches himself at Amanda. Ororo is NOT about to let that happen. The white all but snaps across her eyes like a third eyelid as a single, microburst-level gust of wind blasts straight toward Pestilence.

As Pestilence's attention turns round to her, Amanda gives a sharp grin. Yeah. Somehow, she knew that would work. Of course, maintaining the shield she does takes a lot of energy. The people beneath it are moving, so it's always changing. And there's a limit to it. Once they're out of the room, they're out of her range. "Sie haben tatsächlich, mich zu berühren, zuerst," she retorts. You actually have to touch me, first. Not so easy to do, shielded as she is.

Besides, she knows that stunt he's setting up. And she knows how to counter it... even as the wind kicks up around him and starts to quickly grow. A soft chant starts behind her scarf-shielded face.

It's in midair that the wind catches Pestilence. It's not one of the cleansing breezes that he's had some experience with, no. It's a good and proper gust that takes the changed elf off his desired trajectory, and headed straight into a wall, tail whipping over his head as he somersaults ass over end.

-WHOOF-

It takes a moment for Pestilence to realize exactly what it is that happened, and by the time that he shakes his head to clear it, he's on the move once again, albeit a little slower.

BAMF!

From the bottom of the wall to the top of the ceiling, the teleporting Pestilence rises in a cloud of contagion. Turning yellow eyes to his partner in crime, Famine, he calls out, "Es ist Zeit zu gehen!" It is time to go.

They've made their mark, and the disease, with any luck, is beginning to creep into systems, ready to spread to the general population without.

Not good. Very not good. Famine's opponent went and turned herself into a bone-lined blender, headed right for her on 'Frappe.' She can teleport, and leave herself almost entirely depowered. She can let herself get shredded, but -that- just doesn't sound like any fun at all to her. Or...

Possession is quick, but it does require getting close enough to make physical contact with the would-be host. Famine makes her move, and she gets slashed for her efforts. Just where and how bad doesn't matter--it can wait! There's a flash of magenta-hued light as Famine falls right on into Marrow's person, followed by a length of armored tail that gets drawn in like that one long spaghetti noodle that always gets in the way.

Ding! Famine checks in, Marrow checks out. ..Sort of. (Got a real live wire, here!) Even so, the other mutants powers, and the knowledge of how they all work, are now within the hands of someone else.

"Oh..-Gyawd,- this is not a happy place to be..." Then to Pestilence, she adds "Are you -kidding?- I'm not leaving, I just got here!"

Pale purple skin ripples as fresh shards of bone are grown, splitting through the surface before they can be grabbed onto and broken free. (Ouch! That kinda hurts a lot!)

"Hey! Gotta bone to pick with you two!"

It's Famine. Yes, she had to say it.

One shard gets whipped toward Amanda. The other toward Storm. "Scrappah -powah!-"

You ever play one of those first person shooters? The good ones where your arms and hands and lower body are actually visible. Not just a gun toting camera... Well... Marrow is living one right now.

In an instant, she went from rage and bloodlust, scoring a small hit on Famine's side, and watching in satisfaction as her spear drew blood.. to... nothing. She can see herself.. but.. when she moves.. nothing.. then she turns, an entirely involuntary action, spouting lame catchphrases like one of those X-men. All she feels is a dull ache. A sort of muffled 'after the fact' reaction to a forest of small bone blades sprouting from her flesh. But pain.. pain is her out.

The Morlock has been possessed once before.. well... telepathically dominated.. semantics at this point. Pain... the one thing most familiar to her.. she reaches out, mentally speaking.. and grips that feeling with everything she's got. The thrown bone shards.. Amanda's flies free and clear, wickedly accurate. But Ororo's... that one is unsteady and a poor throw by Marrow's standards.

The woman pauses, making a sort of.... snorting.. squelching sound, veins standing up on her neck and down her arms. It almost looks like she's having a seizure, her arms moving.. but not really doing anything.. fighting themselves so hard she's bruising.. Freezing in her tracks and standing there. A target for both sides, an internal war raging for control.

Ororo Munroe looks toward Amanda and nods once. It's apparently some sort of pre-arranged signal as the moment she does so, the wind that shoved Kurt into a wall goes from being a straight shearing wind to circling the room. Just a few seconds and there's the beginning of a room-sized tornado starting to push chairs and things across the floor.

The shard of bone hurled at Ororo is completely ignored, as she focuses every bit of her concentration on forming and maintaining the room-sized tornado. Its trajectory is indeed affected by the rising winds, but only enough to cause the projectile to scrape a line on her cheek and bite a piece out of her left ear. It's probably also now tangled up in hair.

Amanda catches Storm's nod from the corner of her eye, her attention mostly on Pestilence. She returns it slightly, power flickering in her eyes as the shields she wields start to reform some. Her concentration thus focussed, she doesn't really have time to worry about a sharpened bone flying at her. And, frankly, that's part of what the wards on her combat leathers are for. Thus, as Marrow's shard streaks towards her, the winds Storm calls up pull it enough off-course that, when combined with the wards on the soft leather she wears, the thud it makes when it rips through her left bicep sounds worse than it actually is.

Nevertheless, the sorceress does yelp in pain, and her shields flicker briefly. She's quick, however. She has to be. She knows Kurt -- even twisted as he is. She knows what he'll do. And Storm's signal is clear.

The tornado rises. Furniture and just about everything else not nailed down is caught up in the maelstrom. Amanda begins reshaping her shields until, ultimately, she's sending a torrent of heavy, wind-driven furniture gusting straight at both Pestilence and the possessed Marrow.

Verdamt! Didn't he say...?

Nope, she's not, and now--

Pestilence can only hold on for so long on the ceiling as the tornado begins to whip up, gaining strength. His jacket whips in the wind, breechs, and he has to cling with a great deal more pressure. Pulling himself closer to the ceiling, it's impossible to hold on for too much longer.

Those hands and feet finally lose their puchase, however, and the wind whips up and takes him along for the ride. Once again, the changed elf goes ass over end, his tail whipping up and around as he's buffeted.

Finally, however, this simply won't do. Won't do at all...

BAMF!

Wait a minute... No, that bone projectile was not supposed to go over -there.- Something's not right. No, Famine's quickly discovering that this particular mutant is a -very- live wire. It's like being at war with herself. Heck, that's exactly what it is. Arms want to move one way but also another way but also want to not move at all. This mutant host has a healing factor and one -heck- of a pain tolerance, but Famine, and the woman that had been turned into Famine, doesn't happen to share that tolerance.

As the tornado starts to take shape the form of Marrow doesn't seem to be in a real big hurry to run. Instead there's more bone shifting beneath the skin, both wanting to break free to the surface and -not.- Though, once there's a stiletto-sized shard ready for the taking it's snapped free like a dry twig and ..turned on herself.

Quit stabbing yourself, quit stabbing yourself!

It's a battle of wills in a shared body. That it also happens to be joined with some particularly creepy powers probably doesn't help matters for any bystanders.

"No..! Get back! It's my turn, let go!"

If no one has ever witnessed a self-destructing Morlock, now's a great time to see it!

Now there's also furniture flying through the air. It isn't until Marrow/Famine get caught right in the forehead by an airborne table and get knocked to the floor, -then- slide around while ripping up the floor with jagged pieces of bone, that the person lurking within starts to think that -maybe- this might be a good time to evacuate.

Alright, Pestilence. You called it.

Famine literally -leaps- right out of Marrow's shoulders, teleports with a *FOOMP!* for all of twelve feet, lands on Pestilence's back, and--

BAMF!

Exit stage anywhere!

Marrow collapses as Famine jumps out of her, the strain of fighting... herself.. overwhelming even for one of her endurance. She doesn't even manage to pull the bone shard from her stomach, though the wound seals around the shard and stops the bleeding.

Ororo Munroe realizes only after several seconds that both Talia and Kurt are gone, and the moment she does the room-sized tornado dies, the whipped-up air currents dying just as quickly and allowing several airborne pieces of furniture to crash back to the floor. It's only after the furniture stops falling that her eyes return to their original blue and she winces, reaching to touch the scrape on her cheek with one hand. "Amanda, are you all right?"

The tables end up in a huge pile, though most of them don't land on Marrow, thanks to Amanda's skillful shielding. But there are toxins to be neutralized, and fleeing, sick people to be rounded up and healed... The witch, and the weather goddess, have a long night ahead of them.

Amanda glances to Storm, gingerly touching the slash on her shoulder. "Yeah," she says after a moment, looking at the congealing blood on her fingertips. "It's just a fleshwound. I'll be fine." She reaches into her satchel and pulls out a trio of glass vials filled with a thin pink liquid. Tossing one at Storm, she says, "Catch. You'll need it." It's a healing potion. It's main purpose is to innoculate them against possible contagion. It's side effect will heal the scrape. She swallows down the second vial, herself, and the flesh wound closes and disappears. Finally, she moves over to where Marrow lays. Healing factor or no, whether the Morlock likes it or no, she checks to insure the woman is alright, and gives her the potion. Because even if the Morlock can withstand the infection, there are Morlocks below who can't. And she doesn't really want to carry the plague to them, now does she?

After that, however, it's back to work... They've a church to restore and a city to cleanse.

Again.