NOTE: Any views expressed by Pan about anything are definitely not my own. Pan's use of the word 'bounty' was the politest way I could find of stating his thought process. 'Sides what else would a god of fertility call it?
I've rated this R for Pan induced situations, which are kind of gross for people with vivid imaginations.
CAPS = loudness
italics = thoughts
bold = sounds
{-} = authoritive notes
Climb That Mountain High - Part 4
Beverly McIntyre
"Storm." Dakota shook the unconscious woman lightly by the shoulders. "C'mon. Get up."
He quickly glanced around the forest surrounding him. There was no sign of the creature calling himself Pan, and Dakota fervently hoped there never would be again. He didn't want mental images of a naked satyr running through his head anymore. Gah. Gross. Dakota shook the passing nausea off and looked back down at Storm.
She'd obviously been knocked out by something. Of course, nothing physically touched her, or at least Dakota had tried to prevent that. So if nothing physical happened to her, then it had to be some sort of mental energy or backlash. Neatly making this something under Psylocke's area of expertise. So if it were a mental problem, picking up Storm will not have any repercussions. One less time I have to be scolded by Reyes or McCoy.
He carefully slid his arms beneath her back and just under her knees. When he positively sure he had a firm grasp on her, he picked her up like a forklift, resting her against his broad chest. Dakota turned to head straight for the mansion only to find a three-foot-tall, extremely irate satyr standing in his way. Pan sneered at him.
"Release my prize or suffer the wrath of a god."
Dakota was unimpressed, but he did have a problem. With Storm in his arms, he would be severely limited in what actions he could and could not do. Also, he tried to keep his eyes above the satyr's waistline. Somethings he just didn't want to see ever again.
"No thanks. I'll pass this time," Dakota said as politely as he could under the circumstances. After all he was either dealing with a delusional mythological creature or a horny god. Either way, he still had to get Storm to the mansion. Dakota moved to step past the creature that was barely half of his height, but Pan stepped directly into his path.
"Do not trifle with me, mortal."
'Mortal?' Boy, does this guy have a superiority complex. Dakota looked down at Pan, who had his arms indignantly crossed in front of his chest, and found he was truly unimpressed. So far this creature had only managed to seduce Storm, admittedly through enchanted pipes, and survived being tossed in the air by a powerful wind column. Having lived with the X-Men for a few weeks, Dakota found these feats 'trifling.'
"Sorry. I don't have any chocolates," Dakota replied glibly and once again tried to move around the diminutive creature.
Pan, finding that his dignity was quickly being trod on by an oversized oaf, figured it was time to show this powerless idiot his true might as Lord of the Wilds. Of course, only after removing his prize from danger. It wouldn't do to have his mortal prize cease to live before he got his satisfaction. Pan uncrossed his arms and stepped in Dakota's path once more. He reached up to take his beautiful slave from the oaf.
Dakota looked down at the grasping satyr, his well-worn patience evaporating into nothing. "I don't think so." Dakota, not having his arms or hands free to prevent the creature from getting any closer, used a well placed kick to send the satyr away from Storm. The kick landed in the center of Pan's chest and caused the satyr to crumple backwards. For the third time, Dakota tried to get past the satyr and toward the mansion.
Pan could not believe this. This . . .this son of a WOMAN was disobeying a directive handed to him by a god. The only child of a mortal he even considered thinking above the level of a slug was Artemis, and that was only because she had beaten him several times for taking advantage of a few hapless nymphs. But this was not supposed to happen. The world had changed around him, but every mortal should know to respect a god. Especially one whom the word 'panic' gets its origins from.
Dakota stopped after a few steps. There was this odd sound coming from behind him. It sounded like two boulders grating on each other. This can't be good. Slowly, Dakota turned back toward Pan.
The goatman was pulling himself to his feet, eyes glowing with a malevolent energy. His lips were curled back away from his teeth which were slowly grinding against each other. Pan growled something inarticulate and lowered his head so the two small horns on top of his forehead were prepared to ram. He clawed on the ground with one cloven foot and reared.
Like a little brown lightning bolt, Pan rushed at Dakota. The tall man only had time to turn slightly so Pan would ram his hip instead of his groin. The satyr came with hooves pounding the ground and fists pumping madly in the air. His hardened forehead connected solidly with Dakota's flesh and bone, sending the big man sprawling to the ground with Storm laying beneath him. But Pan had built up a godly amount of momentum and continued forward, hoofed feet stomping across Dakota's thighs with satisfying crunches. Pan sped forward until his head connected with a rather large tree. The satyr teetered back ward before falling hard on his hind end. He reached up and rubbed the spot where a knot was quickly swelling between the nubs he called horns.
"Owwwwh." Pan rubbed that spot for a minute until the pain faded. A little wobbly, the god got to his feet. He shook a shaky fist at the tree while still rubbing his forehead with his other hand. "Why don't you watch where I'm going! Damned greenery!"
CRRREAK-The tree trembled under the god's scorn, uprooted itself, and -FOOM- fainted dead away. Or so Pan liked to think. {Actually, the blow from a creature with a head hard as adamantium and rushing at a 'godly' speed would logically cause the tree to fall over. But no one really wants to ruin Pan's delusionsal visions of grandeur.}
Pan turned from the frightened tree to a softly cursing Dakota, who was grabbing his legs in pain. The satyr smiled triumphantly as he wobbled his way over.
"Now, hand over my prize."
"Gee, that would be easier if you hadn't broken both of my legs, wouldn't it?"
Pan's brow furrowed. He hadn't foreseen that possibility. With the big man laying over his hard-won prize, it would be hard to harvest her bounty. Well, he was a capricious Greek god who really had no whims. Maybe he could harvest this energetic oaf's bounty, too. He definitely was a fighter. Pan reached forward with an odd gleam in his eye.
Dakota, being not too far off of the ground, saw that Pan was quickly becoming excited and hard as he reached for him. The pain in his legs suddenly became secondary to the new problem presented him: a horny satyr who suddenly was very interested in him. A lump the size of a grapefruit appeared in Dakota's throat as he tried to scoot himself backwards but found Storm's unconscious body was stopping him from getting very far. I hate having a conscience.
Just before Pan's hand grabbed the front of Dakota's blue jeans, a raucous barking came straight out of the woods and right toward the satyr. Through the haze of panic, Dakota recognized Longshot's puppy, Yankton, just before she lunged right at Pan's haunch. Yankton had one of her masters to protect from an ugly creature, and she was not about to fail. Launching her tiny frame into the air, Yankton's jaw closed on the meaty part of Pan's leg. Her teeth sunk in as a growl ripped from her throat.
The satyr yowled in pain at the sudden attack. He danced around on one leg while kicking with the other to disengage the tenacious puppy. Yankton just clamped down harder on his leg. Pan stopped dancing around and reached down to grab the little menace. He drew his hands back quickly when clawed feet swinging wildly connected with his hands and took off quite a bit of skin. Pan looked at the golden blood slowly welling on the back of his hand and the blood pouring down his leg. He snarled at the small, black-furred warrior.
Snikt. Pan looked up from the puppy to see a yellow and blue man-animal emerge from the woods opposite him. Six bony claws emerged from his hands.
"If you think that dog's a scrapper, wait 'til I get ahold o'you, bub."
Pan looked from the man-animal to the puppy still clamped onto his thigh. One of them had to be taken care of before he could turn his attention to the other, then he could do justice to his prizes. Moving faster than before, Pan reached down, managing to avoid the flailing paws, and ripped the black-furred puppy from his haunch. More golden blood poured out of the wound, but Pan put that to the back of his mind. He hoisted the puppy up and threw her toward the sturdiest looking tree he could see.
Wolverine was fast, but he knew he wasn't fast enough to catch Yankton before she became a pancake against that tree. Wolverine growled as he launched himself at Pan.
Yankton yipped as she flew rather quickly, end over end through the air. This was not a sensation she did not enjoy. She saw this big blur coming right at her and let out a yowl of fear. Before she and the blur could become fairly intimate, a pair of familiar hands plucked her out of the air.
Longshot, with his eye glowing brightly, set his puppy down on the ground, where she began to pee all over the place. As luck would have it, the only spots she missed were the ones Longshot's feet were in. He looked up from his frightened puppy to the creature who scared her so. With firm determination set in his jaw, he pulled out one throwing spike. A faint, white glow surrounded the spike. No one was going to harm his little companion.
Pan turned in time to see man-animal just before he was tackled. Kicking with his one good leg, Pan felt a few ribs give under a barrage of body blows.
Wolverine rolled away from the satyr. He had underestimated this thing. But all he needed to do is get the ground back under his feet. He had smelled the brewing trouble when he and Longshot had stepped out the mansion to do a little practice. Yankton must have sensed it, too, because her ears perked up just before she lit out for the woods. Wolverine had followed the puppy's scent to find the half-man, half-goat creature with an acute case of Yanktonitis on his thigh. Logan looked past the satyr to see Longshot step out of the shrouded woods with one throwing spike in his hand. What is that kid up to?
Longshot threw his spike in one fluid motion, luck and skill guiding it to its target. Straight and true, the spike connected with Pan's midsection. With a bright flash and loud boom, the energy held in the spike released, blowing the satyr right off of his cloven feet. Pan flew backwards, disappearing in a blinding flash of golden light before even hitting the ground.
