Operation: Take A Bow - Home

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X-Force's brownstone is under attack.


"Here," Amanda said, setting a mug in front of Wanda. "Tea. Cure for all ills." Her voice lacked its usual verve, however; the witch sounded tired, almost listless. Taking her own seat in Wanda's living room, she carefully looked the older woman over. "Have you been eating? Sleeping?"

It was purely an automatic reaction on Wanda's part that she reached over to pick up the mug. It was in that state of being almost too hot to touch and she didn't drink from it yet, though, just cradled it between her cold hands. "When I can remember to or, more precisely, when I am reminded," she responded honestly after a moment, drawing her attention slowly back to Amanda. "And you?"

That drew a small, wry smile. "Kind of have to - the spell, it took a lot out of me. And Ange has been making sure I take care of myself." Her own tea sat on the coffee table, untouched for now. "I just... I can't believe he's gone."

Wanda closed her eyes at that. Her expression was pinched and drawn, not really a change since they had stumbled back from the church in various states of shock and disbelief. She'd thrown herself into her work in a desperate attempt to find something, anything, that might give them hope. But the facts were just too many. "It has been far too quiet around here now," she agreed roughly.

"Remy and Pete, they kept telling us it'd happen one day. I thought I understood it. But I never thought it would be Mark." Amanda bit her lip, struggling to contain herself. "And not like that. Those fucking 'Wolves..."

"Knowing it was going to happen one day –" She'd been well aware of the fact that on any given mission, someone might not make it out. The disaster that had been Africa had proved that to her. "—and dealing with it when it does are worlds apart." Wanda took a deep breath in a futile, desperate attempt to find her center again.

And then the entire building started screaming. "~Shit!~" Wanda spat, spilling hot tea all over her hand as she jumped to her feet as alarms went haywire.

"Downstairs. Something's busted my wards, too." Indeed, Amanda was grimacing and pressing her palm to her temple even as she surged to her feet and headed for the door - mystical security tended to involve leaving little pieces of yourself in the spell. They hit the stairs running.

A writhing tentacular mass of blue-white energy greeted them in the lobby, the image of a frozen wasteland barely visible within it. A dark figure, shivering from frostbite and bleeding from uncountable wounds, knelt on the tiled floor before the portal, glowing hands clutching its abdomen as if trying to keep its insides inside. The energy slowly dissipated, and the loud, screeching sounds of the brownstone's alarms were soon drowned out by the hissing riff of Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song." The figure looked up, dark eyes widening at the sight of the two astonished women.

"Oh, Toto," Mark rasped, "There's no place like home."