Hi, everybody. Once again I am forced to re-associate myself with
reality and admit that I do not own anything vaguely X-Men related in any
form, matter or type.
Oh yeah, this is my first 'action scene', so it'll probably be 'buttock-clenchingly piss-poor', to quote Humphrey Littleton.
Into the valley of death...
&&&&&&
Present day.
Piter leapt back, his eyes dancing wildly as McIllvanney's blow hummed past his face. He readjusted his grip on his weapon, and crouched slightly, waiting for his opponent's next move.
McIllvanney began to circle slowly, and Piter followed suit. He ran two fingers up the blade of the machete, aiming for the next attack. Piter's eyes went to McIllvanney's weapon, and he swallowed awkwardly.
There was a blur of movement, and McIllvanney spun on one foot, swinging his arms around, trying to either slice or brain Piter. Piter ducked and rolled under McIllvanney's out flung arms.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid..." he whispered under his breath as he turned back to face his enemy, this time concentrating on McIllvanney's feet and not his machete.
"How wonderfully you dance..." McIllvanney said lazily, then grinned, his carnivorous teeth glinting slightly in the dark. He took a step forward, and stabbed forward with the blade. Piter jumped over the blow, then landed on the spine of the machete.
McIllvanney gazed at Piter in surprise. Piter replied by spinning on one foot, and kicking McIllvanney on the side of the head. He spun away, clutching his face and cursing angrily. Piter cursed too. That had hurt his foot. He held his quarterstaff in the 'ready' position, and waited for McIllvanney to stop staggering around.
McIllvanney shook his head, then turned to Piter once more. His grin was replaced with an angry sneer, and his nostrils flared dangerously. "That was an interesting development there, friend. However, will your fancy moves save you from your over-due death?"
Piter shrugged. McIllvanney flung out suddenly, aiming to split Piter down the middle. Piter's quarterstaff took the blow from the machete, but he couldn't stop McIllvanney's follow-up in the form of a kick.
The blow slammed into his midriff, sending him flying backwards. He bounced off of the field, somersaulted unintentionally and collapsed into some bleachers. To say Piter was in pain was only a slight understatement. His entire body was in agony, the dull throbbing type which left him completely incapacitated. He tried to lever himself up, but the ground decided to be less friendly towards him, and seemed to slip away from his hand. His head hit the ground again, and he felt blood start to seep out of his ears, nose, mouth and - he was a bit uncertain here, but then again, he was in too much pain to actually confirm his suspicions - his eyes.
Despite being in his own pain-fuelled private world, he still heard McIllvanney walk towards him. A boot roughly shoved him so he was lying face-up. There was a snort of smugness, and he saw briefly, a machete being raised above him.
There was a brief flurry of movement, and a lanky youth seemed to suddenly appear beside McIllvanney.
The boy made an exaggerated 'tutting' sound. "Shame on you, fine sir," he stated angrily, his speech quick, "you have no right bringing such weapons of violence into the city of Bayville." The silver-haired youth snatched the machete from McIllvanney's hand easily. "That's our job." He continued, kneeing McIllvanney in the groin.
As McIllvanney fell with a quivering cry, the boy shot off, grabbing Piter off of the ground as he did so. He stopped in front of the remainder of the Brotherhood and Dean, dropping Piter unceremoniously against a wall. Dean quickly checked Piter over, then turned to McIllvanney's groaning form.
"Y' can't win, McIllvanney. Leave us alone."
McIllvanney stood up unsteadily, and stared at the motley crew arranged in front of him. He grinned, then started to chuckle. "Scot-boy. My poor, naïve and stupid Scot-boy. Do you think you are going to stop me?" McIllvanney looked at the rest of the Brotherhood and snorted. "What are these boys supposed to do? Wear bad clothes at me to death?"
Pietro made an exaggerated affronted sound. "You're one to talk about poor tastes in clothes, you rube. What did you do, mug a boat person?" He preened his hair, and smirked at McIllvanney.
"You've got a big mouth on you kid, but tell me, can you walk the walk?"
"Ooh, that sounds like a challenge..." Pietro said, grinning in a condescending manner. Todd groaned and muttered something about poor come- backs.
Pietro sped forward, weaving as he did so. "It's twister time!" his gleeful voice said, and a blur began to rotate around McIllvanney, getting faster and faster. McIllvanney tried to keep up with the movement, sighed wearily, then stuck his arm out. There was the sound you get when you hit a steak with an iron bar, and Pietro stopped, mainly because his face was being held in McIllvanney's hand.
"You could have either fought or messed around kid." McIllvanney stated, lifting Pietro off of the ground. "Now, I'd advise you to do neither." He threw Pietro back at where the rest of the Brotherhood were, then grinned and cracked his neck.
Freddy stomped forward, and grinned. "You want to try that move on me, buddy?" He smashed his fist into his hand, and his grin grew.
McIllvanney gazed at Freddy levelly, then he smirked. "Oh, this is going to be an easy fight." He suppressed a laugh. "All I need to do is wait for you to have a fatal attack of gout, and by the looks of things, that's not going to take long."
Freddy's face went from hungry anticipation to a look of anger. "That's not funny!" He yelled.
"Of course it is, thunder-thighs!" McIllvanney reprimanded. "I've got more from where that one came from too! Like; don't you think you should move to a different country? I know that the continental plate we're on can take the weight of New York, but aren't you putting a bit of strain on it?"
"SHUT UP!" Freddy bellowed.
"Or you'll do what? Have a heart attack at me?" McIllvanney taunted. Then he laughed.
Freddy screamed incoherently, and charged forward. McIllvanney raised an eye at the rapidly advancing mutant, then hurdled over him, kicking out as he did so, sending the Blob into a stand. He dusted his hands off and snickered. "I love beating up stupid people..." he muttered between his laughs. "It's so funny..." He turned back to face the remainder of the team, and got a face-full of slime.
"That's what you get for being nasty, yo!" Todd laughed as McIllvanney stumbled around, grappling at the glutinous slime. Lance concentrated, sending a seismic burst at McIllvanney's feet, throwing him to the ground. Another shockwave flung him against the field, beating him senseless.
McIllvanney stood up, tearing the slime off of his face with a considerable portion of his skin, whereupon Todd kicked him solidly in the chest, flinging him back to the ground. He landed face-down, and stopped moving.
"Ah think we got him..." Dean stated, moving up towards the prone body. Todd hopped over to McIllvanney's head, opposite of Dean, and shrugged.
McIllvanney's feet grappled around Dean's head, while he gripped one side of Todd's face at the same time. He spun around, sending the two boys cartwheeling to the ground and causing him to land on his feet again. Todd started to get up, but was then grabbed by McIllvanney.
McIllvanney smirked slowly at Todd writhing, then flung him away towards Freddy. "So, Piter... Anymore helpless lackeys for me to defeat?"
Lance held out his arms and smirked. "How about you try to defeat a shakedown, pal?" He concentrated, and sent another wave towards McIllvanney. The first roll brought him to his knees. The consecutive waves flung him onto the concrete of the carpark.
Piter raised an eyebrow. "Nice going, Lance..." he looked at McIllvanney. "Admittedly, you could come up with a better line the next time you're in a fight."
"I'll say!" McIllvanney yelled, getting up from the ground. He winced at the sensation of his grazes and cuts closing. "You need to come up with something witty and urbane, not something eye-wateringly poor. Something like; 'Here, suck on a car.'" He threw the aforesaid object at Lance to emphasize his point.
Lance and Piter dodged the missile as it crashed down to earth. Pieces of metal cartwheeled off of it, one striking Lance in the back of his head, knocking him prone.
Piter looked back at McIllvanney, who picked up his machete. Piter readied his quarterstaff, and braced himself. McIllvanney began to casually walk towards him. "I know you, Piter. That was Dean's plan. You would have nothing to do with something quite so 'dishonourable'," McIllvanney sneered at the concept, "besides, if you had done it, you would have done it so I would have been defeated." He smiled condescendingly. "You don't have to apologise for that."
Piter frowned. "You didn't accept any of my other apologises, why are you concerned about me making another one?"
"Because I know no blame resided with you. In all of the other circumstances, however, blame lies solely with you." He raised the machete. "Are you ready to die?"
"No."
McIllvanney grinned. "That's the spirit!" and lunged.
Piter parried the first blow, dodged the second, made a slight riposte, hitting the end of his quarterstaff against McIllvanney's nose. The Road Virus fell back, blood squirting from his nose. He charged blindly, swinging the blade aimlessly. Piter ducked under his arms and spun away.
At least, that was the plan.
He didn't quite so much feel the machete cut through his shoulder, he more so heard the slicing sound. There was a moment's pause, then the pain kicked in, dropping him to his knees. Nausea kicked in when he could feel the grass tickling his exposed bone and muscle. He tried to roll, but his body had gone on strike. The world took on a slightly distant feel.
"Fool..." the voice was distant, but cruel. "You may have thought yourself to be a warrior, but you are anything but." There was a pause, then a sigh. "You may not be able to fight like a warrior, but at least you can die like one." There was the slight metallic clink of a sword being raised.
Piter braced his muscles, then pushed upward, using his stave as a lever. His legs threatened to collapse, but he pulled himself up regardless. Blood left his eyes, and the night swam back into focus. McIllvanney was standing in front of him, his face sombre. Piter grimaced, then held out his quarterstaff in the ready position. McIllvanney nodded, then moved forward.
There was a brief clash of steel, then a tearing sound.
Both combatants stood still. McIllvanney looked at Piter with a curious expression. His gaze drew itself down at his feet, where a small rivulet of blood was staining the earth. He lifted his shirt, exposing the quickly-closing wound to the night air. Piter flicked the knife from out of its hiding place, and pointed it at McIllvanney.
"There was one thing you taught me, McIllvanney." Piter whispered. "Never fight fair."
"I'm glad to see you remembered one thing." McIllvanney whispered. He raised his machete, then paused. "For insulting you earlier..." he started, "I apologise."
"I accept that apology." Piter whispered. "Shall we continue this fight?"
"Now?" McIllvanney asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Now."
They both lunged forward and attacked. They both retreated.
Piter gazed at McIllvanney levelly. McIllvanney returned the look, then put a hand up to his throat. Blood seeped through his fingers, trickling down his wrist and staining his shirt. His fingers loosened their grip on the weapon. It dropped with a dull thud. Slowly, slowly, his eyes glazed. He fell to his knees, then dropped to the ground.
Piter stood up, and sheathed the bloody knife. He turned back to where the Brotherhood and Dean were lying about. He stumbled towards one of the undamaged bleachers, and sat down heavily, grimacing at the feel of his shoulder wound widening.
He dropped the stave to the ground, and put his head in his hands. He felt the sun on his face, heralding a new dawn. He looked up at the blood-red skies. He sighed, then turned his face back to the field, watching shadows form and hearing the birds start their morning chorus.
"Parting with friends is a sadness..." he quoted. "A place is just a place..." He smiled wanly, nodding at the irony of it all. Sunlight glared into his eyes, and he winced at the feeling. He got up, and started the long walk back towards the institute.
&&&&&&
Oh, hell. That was poor. That was poor. What the hell is wrong with me? God, that was so poor I can scarce believe it. Please R&R to tell me how poor it is.
Oh yeah, this is my first 'action scene', so it'll probably be 'buttock-clenchingly piss-poor', to quote Humphrey Littleton.
Into the valley of death...
&&&&&&
Present day.
Piter leapt back, his eyes dancing wildly as McIllvanney's blow hummed past his face. He readjusted his grip on his weapon, and crouched slightly, waiting for his opponent's next move.
McIllvanney began to circle slowly, and Piter followed suit. He ran two fingers up the blade of the machete, aiming for the next attack. Piter's eyes went to McIllvanney's weapon, and he swallowed awkwardly.
There was a blur of movement, and McIllvanney spun on one foot, swinging his arms around, trying to either slice or brain Piter. Piter ducked and rolled under McIllvanney's out flung arms.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid..." he whispered under his breath as he turned back to face his enemy, this time concentrating on McIllvanney's feet and not his machete.
"How wonderfully you dance..." McIllvanney said lazily, then grinned, his carnivorous teeth glinting slightly in the dark. He took a step forward, and stabbed forward with the blade. Piter jumped over the blow, then landed on the spine of the machete.
McIllvanney gazed at Piter in surprise. Piter replied by spinning on one foot, and kicking McIllvanney on the side of the head. He spun away, clutching his face and cursing angrily. Piter cursed too. That had hurt his foot. He held his quarterstaff in the 'ready' position, and waited for McIllvanney to stop staggering around.
McIllvanney shook his head, then turned to Piter once more. His grin was replaced with an angry sneer, and his nostrils flared dangerously. "That was an interesting development there, friend. However, will your fancy moves save you from your over-due death?"
Piter shrugged. McIllvanney flung out suddenly, aiming to split Piter down the middle. Piter's quarterstaff took the blow from the machete, but he couldn't stop McIllvanney's follow-up in the form of a kick.
The blow slammed into his midriff, sending him flying backwards. He bounced off of the field, somersaulted unintentionally and collapsed into some bleachers. To say Piter was in pain was only a slight understatement. His entire body was in agony, the dull throbbing type which left him completely incapacitated. He tried to lever himself up, but the ground decided to be less friendly towards him, and seemed to slip away from his hand. His head hit the ground again, and he felt blood start to seep out of his ears, nose, mouth and - he was a bit uncertain here, but then again, he was in too much pain to actually confirm his suspicions - his eyes.
Despite being in his own pain-fuelled private world, he still heard McIllvanney walk towards him. A boot roughly shoved him so he was lying face-up. There was a snort of smugness, and he saw briefly, a machete being raised above him.
There was a brief flurry of movement, and a lanky youth seemed to suddenly appear beside McIllvanney.
The boy made an exaggerated 'tutting' sound. "Shame on you, fine sir," he stated angrily, his speech quick, "you have no right bringing such weapons of violence into the city of Bayville." The silver-haired youth snatched the machete from McIllvanney's hand easily. "That's our job." He continued, kneeing McIllvanney in the groin.
As McIllvanney fell with a quivering cry, the boy shot off, grabbing Piter off of the ground as he did so. He stopped in front of the remainder of the Brotherhood and Dean, dropping Piter unceremoniously against a wall. Dean quickly checked Piter over, then turned to McIllvanney's groaning form.
"Y' can't win, McIllvanney. Leave us alone."
McIllvanney stood up unsteadily, and stared at the motley crew arranged in front of him. He grinned, then started to chuckle. "Scot-boy. My poor, naïve and stupid Scot-boy. Do you think you are going to stop me?" McIllvanney looked at the rest of the Brotherhood and snorted. "What are these boys supposed to do? Wear bad clothes at me to death?"
Pietro made an exaggerated affronted sound. "You're one to talk about poor tastes in clothes, you rube. What did you do, mug a boat person?" He preened his hair, and smirked at McIllvanney.
"You've got a big mouth on you kid, but tell me, can you walk the walk?"
"Ooh, that sounds like a challenge..." Pietro said, grinning in a condescending manner. Todd groaned and muttered something about poor come- backs.
Pietro sped forward, weaving as he did so. "It's twister time!" his gleeful voice said, and a blur began to rotate around McIllvanney, getting faster and faster. McIllvanney tried to keep up with the movement, sighed wearily, then stuck his arm out. There was the sound you get when you hit a steak with an iron bar, and Pietro stopped, mainly because his face was being held in McIllvanney's hand.
"You could have either fought or messed around kid." McIllvanney stated, lifting Pietro off of the ground. "Now, I'd advise you to do neither." He threw Pietro back at where the rest of the Brotherhood were, then grinned and cracked his neck.
Freddy stomped forward, and grinned. "You want to try that move on me, buddy?" He smashed his fist into his hand, and his grin grew.
McIllvanney gazed at Freddy levelly, then he smirked. "Oh, this is going to be an easy fight." He suppressed a laugh. "All I need to do is wait for you to have a fatal attack of gout, and by the looks of things, that's not going to take long."
Freddy's face went from hungry anticipation to a look of anger. "That's not funny!" He yelled.
"Of course it is, thunder-thighs!" McIllvanney reprimanded. "I've got more from where that one came from too! Like; don't you think you should move to a different country? I know that the continental plate we're on can take the weight of New York, but aren't you putting a bit of strain on it?"
"SHUT UP!" Freddy bellowed.
"Or you'll do what? Have a heart attack at me?" McIllvanney taunted. Then he laughed.
Freddy screamed incoherently, and charged forward. McIllvanney raised an eye at the rapidly advancing mutant, then hurdled over him, kicking out as he did so, sending the Blob into a stand. He dusted his hands off and snickered. "I love beating up stupid people..." he muttered between his laughs. "It's so funny..." He turned back to face the remainder of the team, and got a face-full of slime.
"That's what you get for being nasty, yo!" Todd laughed as McIllvanney stumbled around, grappling at the glutinous slime. Lance concentrated, sending a seismic burst at McIllvanney's feet, throwing him to the ground. Another shockwave flung him against the field, beating him senseless.
McIllvanney stood up, tearing the slime off of his face with a considerable portion of his skin, whereupon Todd kicked him solidly in the chest, flinging him back to the ground. He landed face-down, and stopped moving.
"Ah think we got him..." Dean stated, moving up towards the prone body. Todd hopped over to McIllvanney's head, opposite of Dean, and shrugged.
McIllvanney's feet grappled around Dean's head, while he gripped one side of Todd's face at the same time. He spun around, sending the two boys cartwheeling to the ground and causing him to land on his feet again. Todd started to get up, but was then grabbed by McIllvanney.
McIllvanney smirked slowly at Todd writhing, then flung him away towards Freddy. "So, Piter... Anymore helpless lackeys for me to defeat?"
Lance held out his arms and smirked. "How about you try to defeat a shakedown, pal?" He concentrated, and sent another wave towards McIllvanney. The first roll brought him to his knees. The consecutive waves flung him onto the concrete of the carpark.
Piter raised an eyebrow. "Nice going, Lance..." he looked at McIllvanney. "Admittedly, you could come up with a better line the next time you're in a fight."
"I'll say!" McIllvanney yelled, getting up from the ground. He winced at the sensation of his grazes and cuts closing. "You need to come up with something witty and urbane, not something eye-wateringly poor. Something like; 'Here, suck on a car.'" He threw the aforesaid object at Lance to emphasize his point.
Lance and Piter dodged the missile as it crashed down to earth. Pieces of metal cartwheeled off of it, one striking Lance in the back of his head, knocking him prone.
Piter looked back at McIllvanney, who picked up his machete. Piter readied his quarterstaff, and braced himself. McIllvanney began to casually walk towards him. "I know you, Piter. That was Dean's plan. You would have nothing to do with something quite so 'dishonourable'," McIllvanney sneered at the concept, "besides, if you had done it, you would have done it so I would have been defeated." He smiled condescendingly. "You don't have to apologise for that."
Piter frowned. "You didn't accept any of my other apologises, why are you concerned about me making another one?"
"Because I know no blame resided with you. In all of the other circumstances, however, blame lies solely with you." He raised the machete. "Are you ready to die?"
"No."
McIllvanney grinned. "That's the spirit!" and lunged.
Piter parried the first blow, dodged the second, made a slight riposte, hitting the end of his quarterstaff against McIllvanney's nose. The Road Virus fell back, blood squirting from his nose. He charged blindly, swinging the blade aimlessly. Piter ducked under his arms and spun away.
At least, that was the plan.
He didn't quite so much feel the machete cut through his shoulder, he more so heard the slicing sound. There was a moment's pause, then the pain kicked in, dropping him to his knees. Nausea kicked in when he could feel the grass tickling his exposed bone and muscle. He tried to roll, but his body had gone on strike. The world took on a slightly distant feel.
"Fool..." the voice was distant, but cruel. "You may have thought yourself to be a warrior, but you are anything but." There was a pause, then a sigh. "You may not be able to fight like a warrior, but at least you can die like one." There was the slight metallic clink of a sword being raised.
Piter braced his muscles, then pushed upward, using his stave as a lever. His legs threatened to collapse, but he pulled himself up regardless. Blood left his eyes, and the night swam back into focus. McIllvanney was standing in front of him, his face sombre. Piter grimaced, then held out his quarterstaff in the ready position. McIllvanney nodded, then moved forward.
There was a brief clash of steel, then a tearing sound.
Both combatants stood still. McIllvanney looked at Piter with a curious expression. His gaze drew itself down at his feet, where a small rivulet of blood was staining the earth. He lifted his shirt, exposing the quickly-closing wound to the night air. Piter flicked the knife from out of its hiding place, and pointed it at McIllvanney.
"There was one thing you taught me, McIllvanney." Piter whispered. "Never fight fair."
"I'm glad to see you remembered one thing." McIllvanney whispered. He raised his machete, then paused. "For insulting you earlier..." he started, "I apologise."
"I accept that apology." Piter whispered. "Shall we continue this fight?"
"Now?" McIllvanney asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Now."
They both lunged forward and attacked. They both retreated.
Piter gazed at McIllvanney levelly. McIllvanney returned the look, then put a hand up to his throat. Blood seeped through his fingers, trickling down his wrist and staining his shirt. His fingers loosened their grip on the weapon. It dropped with a dull thud. Slowly, slowly, his eyes glazed. He fell to his knees, then dropped to the ground.
Piter stood up, and sheathed the bloody knife. He turned back to where the Brotherhood and Dean were lying about. He stumbled towards one of the undamaged bleachers, and sat down heavily, grimacing at the feel of his shoulder wound widening.
He dropped the stave to the ground, and put his head in his hands. He felt the sun on his face, heralding a new dawn. He looked up at the blood-red skies. He sighed, then turned his face back to the field, watching shadows form and hearing the birds start their morning chorus.
"Parting with friends is a sadness..." he quoted. "A place is just a place..." He smiled wanly, nodding at the irony of it all. Sunlight glared into his eyes, and he winced at the feeling. He got up, and started the long walk back towards the institute.
&&&&&&
Oh, hell. That was poor. That was poor. What the hell is wrong with me? God, that was so poor I can scarce believe it. Please R&R to tell me how poor it is.