Out With the Old [modplot]

[letsgolegion]

Who| Everyone who signed up
What| The rescue of the NPC Legionnaires
Where| A movie studio in New New York
When| Takes place the same time as "Books of Magic"
Warnings/Notes| N/a

The studio where the Legionnaires are being held is swarming with supervillains. It's a trap, of course. But that doesn't mean they have to walk right into it. They have a plan, and now it's time to put it into action.

The Legion of Supervillains are expecting the non-native Legionnaires to be pushovers. They're about to discover just how crushingly, devastatingly wrong they are.

Comments

[nofortunateson]

Fortunately, a studio can't be too open. By design, there are all manner of little hidden areas behind the scenes - like the dressing room where North finds himself flopping down onto a chair just as his legs are starting to go shaky, the adrenaline of the fight wearing off and threatening him with the rising swell of pain and confusion. He props his rifle up within easy reach before he goes to work at the catches of his armor, gloves predictably gummy with the foam that's somehow melted down to a viscous slick in patches.

"That was some great timing back there," he comments, making conversation mostly to distract himself from the way those dozen-plus slices and jabs are layering with the pounding in his head into a nauseating muddle he has to fight to keep thinking through. "Thanks."

[thedreamisdead]

"Thank Cortana. She spotted you and asked for me." America doesn't remove her helmet. She's routed her comms through it out of habit, rather than purely the flight ring. Something she'll adjust later. "Judge Beeny. She must've been in a hurry, didn't catch your name."

No handwashing stations. A pain, but she can just peel off her gloves and slip on a pair of personal search facilitators from a belt pouch. At least those were sterile. The first aid kit is next. "This won't be pretty work, by the way. I haven't gotten whatever passes for a kit in the future yet." Stapler, sewing needle and thread, some coagulant foam, anti-rad cream, spray-on skin, bandages... The basics. She watches him disrobe and, in a pretty convincingly sincere voice, says "Sorry."

[nofortunateson]

The properly fastened and intact armor-undersuit assembly is, among other things, rated for short-term vacuum exposure. Functionally, this means that getting out of the thing is a pain, and that's when he's not working solo, clumsy with exertion and rattled nerves, and fighting the way blood creeps all around under the inner layer and forms a slippery, itchy slick against his skin. Plates clatter to the ground and his skin is streaked red and just starting to mottle with bruises when he peels the damaged suit down to his waist. There are old scars, too, some neater than others, a scattering of silvery-pink rips and impact points that speaks to years on years spent ruthlessly slamming his body into trouble.

"'North' is fine." He's more used to responding to that than anything else, and from what he's heard of the Legion names, 'Judge Beeny' doesn't seem like one of them. While she unpacks her kit he goes to work on the greave and kneepad over his injured leg, though he leaves pulling up the leg of the suit until she gets to that one. The pressure seems to be keeping the bleeding at a sluggish trickle, and he's not eager to see what's underneath the compromised material.

"Hey, no worries. If it stops me bleeding everywhere, that's pretty enough." He has a good look at his front and, not seeing anything very impressive there, leans his hands onto his knees to bare the furious patchwork of pains that make up his back and flanks.

[thedreamisdead]

It's not an unusual sight for her. She's shared communal showers with other Judges. North's body wouldn't be out of place on a twenty year man's. He isn't quite that old, but she imagines that the military tends to be a bit more active in some regards.

Grunting, she sets to work. At least the knife wounds were pretty clean. Spray them down with a sterilizing solution, wipe off the blood, make sure there's no debris, simply coat them with spray-on skin and bandages for the neater ones, staple the nastier ones closed. "There are better ways to get an introduction, you know." Talking might distract him from her work. She's trying to be gentle, but that only goes so far in situations like this. "A 'hey, you' would've worked just fine."

Mm. Some of these were pretty deep. "I don't have anything to see if he got anything important inside, so your top priority now is going to be getting out of the building to get to the medics." Y'know. Once she's done making sure North isn't going to bleed to death on his way there.

[nofortunateson]

Her ploy to distract him works, primarily because that sort of casual, denial-as-coping-mechanism machismo is so familiar that North relaxes the second he senses it. As much as he can relax at the moment, anyway.

He looks back at her, both by way of acknowledging her orders and reassuring that he's not about to topple over, and even manages a quirk of a grin.

"I dunno, first impressions do count for a lot. You make-" he cuts off with a wince and stiff ngh of bitten-back pain, grip going tight on his knees and shoulders tense as she clamps shut a particularly sensitive bleeder. "-make a hell of an impression with explosive rounds and a skin stapler."

[thedreamisdead]

"Isn't the motto 'Be prepared'?" Yes, explosive bullets count as being prepared.

She dabs some anti-septic cream on the wound. At least that didn't sting. It'd be adding insult to injury. No painkillers, unfortunately. Getting to the medics would be very painful, but he was a big guy. Mercifully, she's quick and efficient. Unless the medics here were very good, though(they were), he'd have quite a few new scars to show off.

America pauses, examining her work. She nods to herself. That looked like everything. It was bad, but nowhere near as bad as it had been before she'd wiped him off a few times. "Are you going to be able to roll up your pants or am I going to have to cut that off?" Dropping them would be easier, but he'd already gone through the trouble of pulling off the armored plating. Maybe he was bashful. Wasn't anything she hadn't seen in the showers, though.

[nofortunateson]

Be prepared, he knows he has that one, and he's creaking his way down to work up the leg of his suit as he flips through far too many organizational mottos in search of that one. When he gets it, he barks a laugh that stutters into coughing and glazes his mouth with the taste of iron, leaves him panting for breath as he leans back and props out his leg for her. "That's scouts, isn't it," he manages, grinning through the ragged ache of breathing, the entirety of the self-evident humor of her being a Girl Scout and his appreciation for the crack wrapped up in his question and the look that comes with it.

[thedreamisdead]

"At least one of the branches." America was never a Girl Scout, but if she had been one, he'd have already bought some cookies while she set to work.

"Sounded like a wet cough, there." Definite cause for medical. If he was bleeding into his lungs at all... Well, she didn't have the tools for that. Or the training.

She lets out a low whistle at his knee. Yeah, that was going to require some surgery, too. "You're lucky Cortana likes you." It's another tease, she doubts that the AI would just let anyone die if she'd noticed this. But this was some vicious work. "Did you owe them money or something?" First priorities, wiping off all the blood, get an actual view of the problem and not just red with torn flesh.