[ It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue. ]

[superxgrlfriend.livejournal.com]

WHO: jamie_prime and mouth_breathing; superxgrlfriend, doubleoohbaby, hhhhfuckedagain, wadewilson and deadredbird; apocalypsewench and cry_andletloose
WHERE: A warehouse outside the city.
WHEN: Late Saturday/early Sunday
SUMMARY: Emplate nabbed Jamie for noms and now there are Emplate!dupes waiting for Monet to walk into his trap. He probably wasn't expecting her to bring a few people who don't mind shooting him in the face.
WARNINGS: Violence and character death.
FORMAT: I'm going with quick para for now, but whatever you guys want, really. Tag yourselves in when you're available!



[ Monet distracts herself with clothing, checking and rechecking her gloves, stretching out new leather, scuffing her heels against the pavement. It's dark at the rendezvous point and she's alone for the moment, drowning in her thoughts, so concentrating on the physical material is helping to keep her from asking herself, over and over, as she's asked herself every day for last seven years, why. Why her, why her family, why ever, why now? Why couldn't her brother have been born with the X-gene that allowed him to propel through the air like a rocket or turn into a giant rock? Would it even have made a difference? Would anything? Would he have still turned out this way, so angry, bitter, evil?

Monet knows so much but this she'll never know. What if, what if, what if. A dangerous game to play on a good day. This is not a good day.

She crosses her arms over her chest and waits for her team, and picks the lint from her coat because it's easier than wondering if her father would ever forgive her, or why she needs his forgiveness at all. ]

Comments

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"That much, I know," he shoots back as he starts to load up his pouches.

"What I don't know is how jug ears and great big man-tits (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6CoNUE5Zho) manages to make the womenfolk moisten up like Rush Limbaugh trying to jog through the Sahara. I've got my own... physical limitations I gotta make up for. Seriously, do you teach a class or anything?"

[doubleoohbaby.livejournal.com]

"Well, from our brief encounter I can already tell you're a man of extreme charm. I can't imagine why you'd struggle." Why yes, that is a painful amount of sarcasm coming from James, who doesn't appreciate his ears being mocked. Or his manly chest. Woe.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"Exactly!" he blurts, apparently having decided to ignore the sarcastic part of that. "I got mojo comin' out my normal-sized ears! The broadskis should be flocking to me to take part in my Cirque du Freak action! I've even got a sleazy Q feeding me cool gadgetry. All you've got on me is a snazzy wardrobe, near as I can tell - wait. WAIT."

An appraising look.

"It's the accent. Dagnabbit."

[doubleoohbaby.livejournal.com]

Okay, so Bond knows he's not the most attractive guy ever. And yet he still gets all the girls. Which would be why he's developing an air of extreme smug the counter his previous pissy stares.

"That's the keeper. Sounds like you've got some practising to do."

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"Okay, okay, how's this?"

Ahem.

"Cor, blimey, guv'nor, fancy a plate of bangers 'n' mash? Pip pip, cheerio! Flat loo telly lift crikey constable double-decker-bus Danger Mouse!"

[doubleoohbaby.livejournal.com]

"Too cockney. Classy women don't got for the cockneys," James points out helpfully, because he is all about helping his fellow man.

And James is going for his own selection of weapons from his truck, only a sub-machine gun and a few different grenades for now. Those and his pistol and knife shoooould be enough for the mean time.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"But... it's cockney," he protests. "How can the skirts NOT drop for that?"