Gone with the Winded

April 16, 2015:

Columbia discovers the Wolverine in a most compromising position in the Bronx

The Bronx, New York City, New York

The only borough located primarily on the mainland of New York, the Bronx is
the most city-like of all the boroughs. Highrises and heavily travelled
streets mark this area of the city. The sounds of the streets hold a music
influenced by island nations to the south - Puerto Rico, some Cuba, and even
further to the islands of Jamaica.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Reports were sketchy. There was a lot of tweets about a terrorist attack, but the truth of it was, people just didn't know what had gone on. There was a cab-over-axel that drove straight into a storefront window. There was a fire hydrant that got struck and was spewing water high into the air. There was what looked like the aftermath of an explosion, nothing too big, only about the size of a car. The pavement was cracked. And there lay a man, his clothing torn to shreds. He looked badly hurt. He was bleeding pretty badly. And someone good Samaritan had called the authorities. Would any of them arrive in time? In the middle of rush hour, not likely.


Cameron Tenoaks makes her way to New York every so often to get away from her job, but more importantly, to duck the hordes of paparazzi and fans that stalk her in Metropolis. Usually, she takes the time to get coffee — even though that hardly does anything for her anymore — or simply to window - shop. Being a hero with the appetite of a small squad doesn't help the bank balances any, and trying to mind expenses without selling out doesn't help that cause very much either.

Still, she's very much her own person as a result, and the orange - haired giantess is casually strolling a couple of blocks away when the geyser of water-main pressurized fluids shoots skywards.

It's not very far at all for Columbia, just a skip, hop, and a jump… not even really needing to fly as she carefully covers the distance in a couple of carefully placed bounds. Judging from what she's hearing on the mutual aid frequencies… yeah, the bus ain't gonna get here in time for this guy, whoever he is. A few folks (mostly tourists) take out cameras and take pictures of one of Metropolis' noteworthy paragons — who knows, they might even be able to make a few bucks off of it, given how reticent the woman is to do publicity even after joining up with the JL:A.

"Back up, folks. Need to work here."

A couple of people do listen to her as she starts to stride quickly to the injured fellow. And the locals, well, they're already back to whatever it was that they were doing before. New York is kind of handy like that sometimes…


There is a lot of blood around, and most of it looks to belong to the guy laying there on the pavement. His hair is a mess. Things are sticking to him. But already, he doesn't look that bad. But he does have a pipe sticking out of him, as if someone shoved it right through his chest. Impressive too. It didn't hit a single bone.

He groans, not making any sounds that are intelligible yet, but the man is still alive. He's probably in a lot of pain. And then a hand lifts up. Where's this guy finding the energy? He pats the concrete, still kind of out of it, then his side. His hand is blackened from the injuries, there's a gash across his side, like it might have been cut by a sword.

And then, as his hand sprawls about, looking for a way to reach the pole sticking out of him… wow, that's a stop sign pole. But as he reaches for it, and fails, he utters one word, "red…" at least it sounded like he said red.


Under normal circumstances, Cameron would have a paramedic bag, a partner, and all sorts of support for taking care of — How the hell is he still alive? — a patient. Unfortunately, at the moment she has a black hoodie, a trench coat, and some street clothes. Those two items come off and are quickly turned into bandages as she watches the guy flail a bit.

"Hey. Hey. Stop moving. Help is on the way, we're gonna get you stabilized here real quick. Too much to do a good job as a paramedic on, and that stop sign post… the only way she'd even begin to touch that is if there were some way to get it in one go.. and she's not nearly that confident on her skills to stop the guy from bleeding out.

"Easy there, guy. Easy. Here to help."

She goes to place her hands on the side, by the gash — and nothing happens. This causes her to pause. NOT the reaction someone normally gives her when she tries to heal them!


With his clothes shredded, especially his shirt, two pieces of silver glint in the sun. They look like those the kind of tags that soldiers wear. One of them reads 'Wolverine'. That's not very helpful now, is it?

The man is still alive, his breathing is steady, but he's in a bad way. You would be too if someone speared you with a stop sign. His hand continues to wander, flailing. He's trying to reach the sign. Does he really think he could pull it out? And wouldn't that cause far more problems than leaving it there for now?

"Where," he says among the mumbling, then "red" again. It's hard to make out his words. A moment later, he says 'is'.


Cameron is having a bit of a time trying to conceal her concern as she looks at her patient. A few flashes of light catch that brief moment of hesitation, even as she carefully reaches for the hand grabbing for the sign.

"Hey! You pull that out, you'll bleed out, kay?" She shakes her head. "Bronx. Now stop trying to kill yourself, kay?"

Those cloth strips from earlier? She's quickly affixing them to the areas that AREN'T currently bearing part of the streetscape in them. "Gonna get you through this, you hang on, okay?"

Her focus is on the patient, though whatever this 'red' is that he is babbling about will probably get misconstrued as the fella talking about the blood all around him…


Logan is anything but your typical patient. Even some of the injuries he had when she arrived seem to be better off. Could her mind be playing tricks on her, or has he actually healed some of those minor injuries?

He doesn't have enough strength to carry on a conversation with her, to even acknowledge what she's saying, but he keeps on fighting. He's survived more than most would have, and he's still trying to push himself.

Right now, she could probably stop him, or at least delay him removing it. But he's still trying. "Out" he says amidst the moans, "gotta," but he may not be making the most sense.


When she moves to bandage a spot on the injured fellow and it shows signs of being healed faster than even her healing would work she gives the guy a grim nod. One piece of cloth that had the collar in it is folded over itself to make a bite block, as a couple more scraps are wadded up and placed around the base of the pole from the sign.

She'll attempt to place the bite block in the guy's mouth, and places her right hand around the sign post.

"Give me a nod if you want it out."

It's not quite 'informed consent' but… given the circumstances most rational folks would probably give her a pass for it.


He accepts the bite block, even if his eyes aren't open right now. He doesn't seem to be biting down on it, but it is between his teeth. Though her question does elicit a nod from the fellow.

Of course, when she does try to remove it, his eyes will flutter open, and he will bite down in the pain. You just can't remove something like a stop sign without causing undue harm. But in his case, he will live. It's better to have it out than still inside him, as his healing factor can't deal with foreign objects of that size. A bullet is one thing, but a post is another matter entirely.

He'll even cry out, biting down on the thing between his teeth, and is that a growl. This guy sounds about as feral and wild as he looks.


As the post clatters to the ground next to the patient, the Metropolis paramedic is quickly holding the bandages in place — not just to prevent bloodspray onto passerby, but also to help what apparently is a monster of a recovery capability do its thing.

"Gonna be okay, buddy. Easy. Easy. I gotcha."

Her head spins left and right as she glances up at the circle of tourists and such that has grown around them about ten feet away. "Anybody see the ambulance, or the cops?" she offers with a wan hope. She can't heal the guy, he appears to be doing that well enough himself… but if someone could do this to a world-class self-healing sort…


Healing factor or no, having a post shoved through your chest is going to take time to heal. But Logan will live and that's the important thing. Looking up at her, he greets her with those big blue eyes, and is that a grin. How could anyone grin after going through that ordeal. Plus, with the thing between his teeth, he might look more like Hannibal Lecter.

He mumbles something, but it's indiscernible. He has that thing between his teeth after all. He could spit it out, but then it'd probably hit her. He's smart enough not to do that. But he does try to reach for it with one of his arms. And oh look, the other one seems to be broken. It's bent in a very wrong direction. But he's got so many injuries, it was hard to tell.


Sometimes less life-threatening injuries get overlooked during the triage. Granted, this guy would probably have been black-tagged under a traditional arrangement, so the post out of the chest leads to a further examination.

She nods quietly to the guy and doesn't seem to flinch at the feral nature of the man — she's seen far worse in the Suicide Slums. Carefully she places her right hand on the broken limb.

"Keep that there for a second, this is going to hurt as bad or worse than the chest."

And if it is possible, she'll attempt to align that one properly, in one smooth practiced move. Do NOT try this one at home, kids.


A lot of people thing that Logan's bones are shiny, that they reflect light, and sure, they could, under certain conditions. But generally, it's like any other metal. It's dull until it's polished. And Logan's was never polished. It was injected into his skin in cavities that were created around his bones. It was all very complex, but the net result is that his bones are cover in dull metal.

And that means something because while some of his bones are visible, it might not be that obvious. He does as instructed, remaining there. Letting his healing factor do its thing. But he's coming around, at least a bit, finally asking, "what happened to red?"


The presence of the metal answers a few questions incorrectly for the orange-haired woman. She can't heal inorganic material, and if there was enough that could completely explain the problem she was having — not even considering the healing factor that her patient had.

She blinks at him a few times as she pulls the bite block out.

"What do you mean… 'what happened to red?'"

Her attention is on her patient's words, and not situational awareness. Mom would have a fit if she knew!


"The… big guy, Russian, you… can't miss 'em." And Logan was right. How often does one see a towering, albino, tenacled, Russian super soldier, or whatever the hell that guy was. He was big, he was mean, and that was usually enough for folks to give him a wide berth.


Cameron doesn't recall seeing this big Russian fellow, but she will make a note to look him up when she touches base with the League the next time they meet. She'll take a few moments to bandage the already healing injuries as she watches her patient warily.

"There wasn't someone like that near here when I got here. I'm sorry I wasn't able to heal you up faster?"

She glances around again for an ambulance or police cruiser or the sort.

"Cameron Tenoaks, AKA Columbia, out of Met. How's your chest doing?"


"That's all right darlin', I heal pretty quick. 'sides, most o' these are flesh wounds." He may not hide his powers the way others do, but he doesn't call attention to them either, at least when he can avoid it. Still, he's probably going to be hurt for a few weeks, maybe days if he's lucky. His healin' seems ta fluctuate.

"Name's Logan. Thanks fer savin' my life. Still hurts t' talk, but feelin' better." He even reaches up to shake her hand, with his good arm anyway.


She gives him a nod then considers. "Normal conditions, I do that for folks." She just sort of lets that go for the moment and squints a bit, emerald-grey eyes flashing.

The hand is met and shaken. Nice grip, but not a crusher. Impression is there, though, that she actually trained to not have a crushing grip. That's… a bit different.

"You need to be getting somewhere, Logan? I can drop you off since the authorities still haven't gotten here?"

Of course, she'd come back afterwards to give a report. Kind of has to, what with being part of the League and MetFireResc…


Looking at his current state, on the ground, bandaged up, "someplace with a shirt'd be nice, and a bus stop. I'm headed upstate." Probably far too long a drive for her to consider driving him.

His breathing doesn't seem to be as ragged as most of his minor stuff is a hell of a lot cleaner. He still looks like he was thrown through a wall, but at least now he doesn't look like someone backed a garbage truck over him.


"How FAR upstate? I can be anywhere within two hours, pretty much, possibly less."

The somewhat taller woman takes one knee and offers a shoulder to the still somewhat injured fellow.

"Name a spot. I'll fly you there. Faster and cheaper than a cab, though you might get a fan club in a few days of folks wanting to know if we're an item. Sound like a plan?"

She doesn't seem thrilled about that latter prospect, but she's at least willing to give it a go.


"Salem Centre," he says to see if she's willing to drive him that far north. He doesn't mean to impose, but if she's offering, he's in no condition to argue with her. Using her shoulder, he rises to his feet, nearly losing his balance. He doesn't like being this vulnerable, but he's smart enough to know he should accept help when offered.

"Fly?" He says, surprised by that. And he winces a little, gritting his teeth. It hurt when he raised his eyebrows like that and reacted, all those micro-movements. Logan's old, so old that he thinks if men were meant to fly, they'd have been given wings. But still, it is faster, and probably just as safe. "If yer sure about this?"


Cameron stands up with the fellow, and she can keep Logan from falling over. It is part of what she's good at, after all. For each person that can end a life, there's probably someone that can save one. She's one of the latter.

"Yes. Fly." And despite the guy's apparent weight, she holds her arms out in a cradling motion in front of her.

"Here." Well, she seems to have gone into Terse Mode sure enough. Though admittedly, in some cases that might be better than some of the other types what sit there and give a treatise on what it is to fly, with the wind and the birds in the sky and all that crazy flowery stuff that even Cameron might enjoy writing about at some point… but this is a bit more blunt, more effective, and gets the point across.

"Salem Centre? Should take me about half an hour. Hang onto your hat."

And barring any further protest, she'll take two steps and bound into the sky, booking it northwards to the accompaniment of many pictures being taken…

The orange-haired paramedic returns after making the quick side-trip and STILL beats the fire department to the scene, and makes quick work of helping with damage recovery.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License