New Mutants: Scribblenauts - Velatura

[x-wildchild.livejournal.com]

Ty and some art have a Powers Interaction, which ends better than expected for Kyle. Namor takes over.


The situation had officially spun out of control.

Namor stared blankly at the canvas that has consumed their chaperon. There was, thankfully, less of a crowd in this area — the panic had driven most of the patrons back, and those left had presumably lost someone in the art or, for better or worse, were inclined to help.

The dark haired young man blinked hard, clearing his focus. It was hard to ignore the tiny, snarly cartoon of the school teacher than had appeared in the still-life scene, but he wasn't going anywhere soon. It was time to take stock of the rest of the situation. There were priorities.

Speaking of which, Namor turned just in time for things to get worse.

Ty tilted his head, completely absorbed by the changed painting. Something, not his stomach he finally realized, just growled in hunger. Shadows started to bend toward the painting.

He started to panic when he realized that the shadows consumed what they touched. "NAMOR!" he shouted.

Namor's eyes quickly darted back to Ty, then to the painting, and towards the shadows before he moved to place himself between the boy and the art. He raised his voice commandingly as if sheer inflection would resolve any panic, "Mr. Johnson, control yourself. Now."

Ty's eyes remained wide with terror. "I d-d-don't know w-w-w-what I'm doing!"

"Then stop it. Move away." He eyed the painting apprehensively, and made to lift it from its easel to create more distance between Ty and his tiny, cartooned mentor.

Ty took several steps back obediently, trying to get some distance between himself and the painting. The shadows merely stretched, but would not loosen their hold. Another inch of the painting disappeared into darkness.

The glare the boy received was ice cold. "Mr. Johnson, you will do better than this. Stop. This." There was no question. No hesitation. No leeway. Namor's tension on the painted slackened a little as if to dare Ty's shadows to disobey him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ty tried as hard as he could to make the shadows let go. Instead of losing hold, he heard a loud wooden crack. "Uh-oh."

Namor yanked the frame away in reaction to the pulling shadows, but this did not help. The cheap frame had cracked. The canvas was slightly ripped. "Mr. Johnson."

Ty grit his teeth and yanked back at the shadows with every bit of will power in his body. Another crack accompanied his pull, the shadows finally released the painting as the entire frame cracked in half, and the canvas tore.

With the painting destroyed, a messy blonde figured emerged prone on the blacktop just as suddenly as he has disappeared. Namor blinked at Kyle. "Well, that seems convenient."

As, as if a switch flipped, Namor's concern was widened. He eyed groups milling on the horizon. "Mr. Johnson, I trust that you can take care of Mister Gibney without killing him or becoming some sort of horribly timed shadow monster?"

Ty didn't even try to vocalize, he just nodded firmly and slid to his knees next to Mr. Gibney.


Hope saves a life - and in the process ruins her clothes. Topaz keeps Hope and her patient safe from the panicking crowd, and overloads her powers.



A chalk-drawn man, roughly ten feet tall, in a red hat, was stomping around with a hammer, trying to bring it down on the unsuspecting people who were running around at his feet. A painted hedgehog tried to shove its way jerkily through the crowd, rolling up into a ball whenever it was touched. A little, charcoal-drawn girl sat on the ground crying, black tears slipping down her paper-white cheeks.

It was like something out of a five-year-old's nightmare.

Topaz had positioned herself between the panicking crowd and Hope, who was kneeling next to the seizing man on the ground. She was doing her best to create a perimeter around them, but she was afraid to make her shields too strong - if someone ran into it they could get hurt, and the last thing she wanted to do was add to the injury count. But keeping them weak meant they were continuously being shattered, and she was starting to run out of energy.

"How is he?" She asked Hope as another shield went down, and she hastily brought up a new one. If they could just get him up and moving maybe they could find somewhere less crowded....

"Still seizing." Hope reported shortly, tossing a piece of rock to the side and moving to pull of her cardigan so she could fold it and maybe push it under his head. There wasn't much she could do with the man in front of her still twitching, except make sure he could not hurt himself further. Her eyes slid over his body, analyzing and trying to determine what exactly was wrong.

"Are you going to be able to keep them back? I don't see us moving him anytime soon!" She called as she carefully slid the folded cardigan in place.

"Yes." No. "Maybe." No. "Focus on him." Topaz returned her attention back to the crowd, swallowing hard. She had exactly one idea for how to get out of this without Hope or the man being trampled, and it wasn't exactly a good one.

But she was kind of out of options.

Topaz closed her eyes, reaching her mind out to every single person she could mentally touch - everyone within a twenty-foot radius. She could already feel the panic and fear and confusion rolling over her as she dropped her shields. And she pulled it all in.

Slowly people stopped running, looking around, mild confusion but mostly nothingness apparent in their expressions as they looked around, clearly not understanding why they had been running. They weren't scared after all. They weren't panicking.

They felt nothing.

Hope noticed with relief that the people had stopped advancing towards her and were just milling around. Another quick glance had her notice the strain on Topaz' face, but soon her attention refocused on the man before her as the twitching stopped. Leaning over him, she addressed him: "Sir, can you hear me? My name is Hope and I want to try to help you." She frowned as she caught the side of face drooping a little.

Ishmael blinked, slowly, almost overly so, as if he were trying to parse what was going on, and how he had gotten to be laying on the ground. "Mm..." he said, then frowned. "My head hurts," he continued, speaking slowly and forming the words deliberately.

Putting her hand on his shoulder, she nodded. He was talking, so at least that ruled out any immediate concerns with his breathing or his level of consciousness. The slurred speech and the complaint of his headache only confirmed her suspicions. "Alright. Does it hurt anywhere else? Or maybe feel nauseous or dizzy?" With her other hand, she reached in her purse for her phone, intending to alert medical aid.

"A little dizzy," the young man slurred. Even laying on the ground, it still felt to Ishmael like the world was tilted on its axis. His head rolled back and forth slightly, like he was trying to shake off the problem.

Fear, panic, confusion, fear, fear, fear, fear...

Topaz shook her head desperately, trying to keep track of what was her and what was everyone else she had drained off. She was calm. She was level-headed. She wasn't panicking she wasn't scare she was okay she was okay she was okay...

She had to focus. There were still people running around screaming, and the man was still on the ground. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and channeling the energy into a shield to surround them. Deep breath, and she looked down at Hope.

"What's happenin' to him?" Pure stress was making accent thick.

Hope held up her hand, asking for quiet for a second as she put her cellphone on speaker phone and put it next to her in an effort to keep her hands free. "Mansion, this is Hope. I have a medical emergency here, a young man with what I suspect is a stroke. His breathing is stable, but he is complaining of a headache and showing several signs of FAST."

Listening to the reply echoing from the phone, she mouthed at Topaz: "Can I have your jacket?"

Scared, helpless, confused, too much, too much, too much, make it stop, makeitstopmakeitstop-

It took Topaz a minute to realize Hope was talking to her. A minute longer to realize what she was asking. She didn't even bother trying to form an answer, just stripped her jacket off automatically and handing it over. Block it out, block it out, block it out, I'm okay, just block it out, I can handle this, block it out...

She accepted the jacket with a grateful smile and quickly draped it over the man in front of her. "Okay, Ishmael. I have called for help and it's on the way. We'll just stay here till they arrive."

Ishmael was about to take a breath and answer Hope, when his face paled and the contents of his hastily-eaten 'power snack' came up abruptly and violently. He did his best to turn his head to avoid spattering either girl with the vomit, but his body wasn't entirely obeying instructions, and most wound up on the sleeve of Hope's shirt.

Topaz had to look away at that, grimacing a bit, and poured a little more energy into the shield just to siphon it off somewhere.

Hopefully someone got there to help soon.

Hope grabbed his shoulder and hip as soon he started to throw up, pulling him over her knees as he vomited in the hope of stopping it from obstructing his airways. Her sleeve felt icky, but she completely ignored it when she noticed Ishmael having lost consciousness when she rolled him back. Leaning over to check his breathing, she detected no airflow and shaking her head she reached for a kerchief in her pocket to clear his mouth of any possible debris.

When his breathing was still absent after a recheck, she shifted and put her hands in place, pushing down his breast bone to start CPR. "If anyone could find an AED for me!" She called as she counted to 30 in her head...