Butterfly Effect: Gauntlet
Sep. 11th, 2005 03:45 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsRemy receives a phone call from Betsy in New York. With no time to lose, he retrives Madelyn and they set off.
Waking up feeling hot, very hot. Betsy rose hesitantly from the bed, tugging uncomfortably at her gown that'd hung uncomfortably around her. Her hair was matted to her head, soaked with sweat. Betsy stood up and walked clumsily to the thermostat by the far side of the wall. She quirked her head at the ancient-looking dial. It read at normal room temperature. Her hand came slamming down on its' face, waiting for it move, to read differently. The way she felt the room was at least 35 degrees celsius.
It was then, a low rumble emanated from her stomach and she braced herself against the doorway. Her hand went to her stomach, soothing it, willing it to calm. But the contents inside churned again with more force and she bolted.
Betsy had lost her faith long ago, but as she collapsed in front of the porcelain god and she prayed till there was nothing left. It was then, she braced her hands on the sides of the toilet seat, angrily swiping at her mouth and then began cursing every deity she could think of until she passed out hunched over the tub.
It was sometime that Betsy stumbled over to the phone by the bed and began dialing. She sank to the floor, as she heard the other side pick up.
"Xavier's." Remy's clipped rough Cajun voice on the other end nearly jolted her out of position. He'd been sitting at his desk, pouring over the most recent information. The Professor had flat out refused to discuss JERICHO, dispite the fact that Wisdom had been positively identified as a player in the various HFC scheme and still was receiving information that was supposed to go to the mansion.
The words that fell on Remy's ears were slurred and forced. "Remy..." A wheezing sound cracked over the receiver, cutting into every word. "Larchmont. Woodbine Ave." A coughing fit overcame her and the phone slipped from her hand, fading out as she said relayed the last piece of information. "Yacht club."
"Betts?" The line went dead. "Merde." Remy got up quickly and bolted from the office. His first stop was the security room. Kuk wasn't there, but Remy had long before figure out how to jimmy his way in, and the communicator transponder terminal was running seach search seconds after clearing the door. Unfortunately, Betsy's transponder pinged her own room, and Remy stifled a groan.
Larchmont hotel was on Woodbine. Remy pulled up a chair and pounded at the keys. Why would she be there? The New York Biers yacht club wasn't far from it, but why was that important? Remy started another search and his blood froze.
'New York Biers Yacht Club presents the annual Fall Benefit dinner, sponsored by the Hellfire Club.'
Fuck. She'd walked right into a Hellfire Club event and something had happened. He logged into Doug and Kitty's handy little toolbox of cracking programs that they'd put together for the casino job back in November, and withen a few minutes was inside the yacht clubs' network.
None of the other names, save for Selene and Shaw himself twigged Remy's instincts, and no other 'professionals' were there. Between Betsy's training and powers, there wasn't anyone else that could have gotten the drop on her.
Remy was out the door and sprinting down the hall. No time to involve the X-Men, and that jet wouldn't help. What he needed was a fast car and no questions. He slammed to a halt as he considered the call. She sounded drugged, maybe poisoned. Smartest way to handle a telepath, and Wisdom had written the book on that particular subject. That meant he needed medical help.
Remy turned and slammed open the emergency stairwell, bypassing the elevator to the basement and the medlab. As he reached the door, it opened and Madelyn Bartlett nearly cannoned into him.
"What, LeBeau!" She said angrily as her clipboard spilled papars across the floor. "Can't you watch where you're going?"
"You got a crash kit?"
"What? Of course, there's one right there." She pointed at a large white canvas suitcase, with a red cross on the front. "Why do you-- hey, put that down!" She yelled as Remy reached in and grabbed it. She squeaked as he grabbed her shoulder and propelled her through the door to the stairs. "What the hell do you think you're doing, LeBeau! I don't have time for your silly games. Haroun's still in pieces in there, and we've got--"
"Betsy is down in de city. I don't know how bad." He said as he shoved her up the stairs. "She could be dead, for all I know. Remy need a doctor and no questions until we get dere." It had to be her. Christ.
Madelyn opened her mouth for an anger response and closed it, allowing Remy to push her up the stairs. At the top, she grabbed the crash kit away. "You'll probably damage it." She said, and following him to the garage. LeBeau was a pain in the ass, but he didn't screw around with this sort of thing. If Betsy was in trouble, there'd be time to ask questions later. Wordlessly she climbed in the car beside him, as he gunned the engine and burst out on to the road.
Waking up feeling hot, very hot. Betsy rose hesitantly from the bed, tugging uncomfortably at her gown that'd hung uncomfortably around her. Her hair was matted to her head, soaked with sweat. Betsy stood up and walked clumsily to the thermostat by the far side of the wall. She quirked her head at the ancient-looking dial. It read at normal room temperature. Her hand came slamming down on its' face, waiting for it move, to read differently. The way she felt the room was at least 35 degrees celsius.
It was then, a low rumble emanated from her stomach and she braced herself against the doorway. Her hand went to her stomach, soothing it, willing it to calm. But the contents inside churned again with more force and she bolted.
Betsy had lost her faith long ago, but as she collapsed in front of the porcelain god and she prayed till there was nothing left. It was then, she braced her hands on the sides of the toilet seat, angrily swiping at her mouth and then began cursing every deity she could think of until she passed out hunched over the tub.
It was sometime that Betsy stumbled over to the phone by the bed and began dialing. She sank to the floor, as she heard the other side pick up.
"Xavier's." Remy's clipped rough Cajun voice on the other end nearly jolted her out of position. He'd been sitting at his desk, pouring over the most recent information. The Professor had flat out refused to discuss JERICHO, dispite the fact that Wisdom had been positively identified as a player in the various HFC scheme and still was receiving information that was supposed to go to the mansion.
The words that fell on Remy's ears were slurred and forced. "Remy..." A wheezing sound cracked over the receiver, cutting into every word. "Larchmont. Woodbine Ave." A coughing fit overcame her and the phone slipped from her hand, fading out as she said relayed the last piece of information. "Yacht club."
"Betts?" The line went dead. "Merde." Remy got up quickly and bolted from the office. His first stop was the security room. Kuk wasn't there, but Remy had long before figure out how to jimmy his way in, and the communicator transponder terminal was running seach search seconds after clearing the door. Unfortunately, Betsy's transponder pinged her own room, and Remy stifled a groan.
Larchmont hotel was on Woodbine. Remy pulled up a chair and pounded at the keys. Why would she be there? The New York Biers yacht club wasn't far from it, but why was that important? Remy started another search and his blood froze.
'New York Biers Yacht Club presents the annual Fall Benefit dinner, sponsored by the Hellfire Club.'
Fuck. She'd walked right into a Hellfire Club event and something had happened. He logged into Doug and Kitty's handy little toolbox of cracking programs that they'd put together for the casino job back in November, and withen a few minutes was inside the yacht clubs' network.
None of the other names, save for Selene and Shaw himself twigged Remy's instincts, and no other 'professionals' were there. Between Betsy's training and powers, there wasn't anyone else that could have gotten the drop on her.
Remy was out the door and sprinting down the hall. No time to involve the X-Men, and that jet wouldn't help. What he needed was a fast car and no questions. He slammed to a halt as he considered the call. She sounded drugged, maybe poisoned. Smartest way to handle a telepath, and Wisdom had written the book on that particular subject. That meant he needed medical help.
Remy turned and slammed open the emergency stairwell, bypassing the elevator to the basement and the medlab. As he reached the door, it opened and Madelyn Bartlett nearly cannoned into him.
"What, LeBeau!" She said angrily as her clipboard spilled papars across the floor. "Can't you watch where you're going?"
"You got a crash kit?"
"What? Of course, there's one right there." She pointed at a large white canvas suitcase, with a red cross on the front. "Why do you-- hey, put that down!" She yelled as Remy reached in and grabbed it. She squeaked as he grabbed her shoulder and propelled her through the door to the stairs. "What the hell do you think you're doing, LeBeau! I don't have time for your silly games. Haroun's still in pieces in there, and we've got--"
"Betsy is down in de city. I don't know how bad." He said as he shoved her up the stairs. "She could be dead, for all I know. Remy need a doctor and no questions until we get dere." It had to be her. Christ.
Madelyn opened her mouth for an anger response and closed it, allowing Remy to push her up the stairs. At the top, she grabbed the crash kit away. "You'll probably damage it." She said, and following him to the garage. LeBeau was a pain in the ass, but he didn't screw around with this sort of thing. If Betsy was in trouble, there'd be time to ask questions later. Wordlessly she climbed in the car beside him, as he gunned the engine and burst out on to the road.
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