xp_logs | Endangered Species — Wings in the Night

Spider-Man and the X-Men, anticipating another attack on Norman Osborn, sneak into OsCorp's charity gala to keep an eye on him.

Balancing precariously on the railing along the roof of the north tower of the Time Warner Center, which housed the luxurious Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Miles wondered to himself what kind of amazing things could be done if all of the crazy rich people inside didn't wait for these gala events to give their money to good causes. Some corporation had to spend millions of dollars of its own just to convince other people to do the right thing? That didn't seem right.

Warren surely would have some long, convoluted explanation for him. He'd have to ask when this night for secret bodyguarding was all over.

Rogue tugged on her gloves a little bit, trying her best not to fidget. As much as she loved dressing up, even she could see that this was not her scene. The free champagne alone was easily over a thousand dollars a bottle. A thousand! Reaching up to ensure that her curls were still firmly in her hairdo, she leaned over to Logan. "Look at that girl," she whispered. "She's wearing a house payment on her ass. I don't even understand how someone can think 'oh, I need a dress for a one time event that costs more than a family of four makes in a decade." There might be a slight tinge of envy, trying to be cleverly disguised as disgust. "How much longer do we have to be here?"

Logan followed Rogue's gaze and shook his head. He could see it glittering under the lights from what were likely diamonds sewn onto the damn thing. "I don't know, sweetheart. Might be better to ask Xavier about that kind of thing. He comes from this level of society. Even if he doesn't show it most of the time." He felt distinctly out of place here and had made a point of flattening his accent as best he could. He'd also managed to tame his hair, giving it a cut and styling it into something more modern and polished. The suit he was wearing was a bit more expensive than the ones he normally broke out for things like this. All an effort to not utterly stick out like a sore thumb. How well he was succeeding, well he hadn't been thrown out yet. "As for how much longer, probably until something goes wrong."

The dress Clarice wore would have cost quite a bit more than she paid for it, had it been anything other than an original. She'd had it almost completed when the mission came up and she couldn't resist. It wasn't as done as she would have liked, but it was enough. A long white sheath dress that was modest and with the fabric, offered a nice bit of stretch....just in case. However, Clarice was not known for her simplicity of style and it also sported what looked like black feathered wings one draped from her left shoulder and the other beginning on her right asymmetrically. She looked hot and she could move in it. It made putting up with the image inducer almost bearable.

Flirting with some CEO, she sipped champagne, then caught Scott's eye, nodding slightly as he passed.

Scott gave Clarice a quick smile as he passed making his way to the next group. He actually did know some of the people here from when he'd had to attend similar events for and with Charles so the conversation wasn't new to him, although most of it did revolve around Xavier. Which, if he was honest, Scott was ok with, there were a lot of benefits for being seen as the assistant of a rich man. No-one really focused on him which let him float around the room from group to group getting a good picture of the room and the tactical situation in case anything happened.

It had been a long time since Jean had been to an upscale party, though she still had one of the dresses she had gotten from Adrienne awhile back: a gold floor-length gown that sparkled under the chandelier lights. She wore her hair down, in a 1940s style, with waves, one side tucked behind her ear to show off a pair of diamond earrings, giving her an old-Hollywood kind of look.

"Dr. Grey," a young woman with the obvious stature and beauty of a model proclaimed from across the room, draped on an older man's arm.

"My, it has been awhile. Where have you been without Worthington on your arm? I was sad to no longer see you around."

Jean smiled. "Ms. Sheridan, nice to see you again as well. I'm afraid I've been rather busy for the past year or so. Doctorly duties and all."

"Please, call me Amy," Amy said, putting his empty glass on a tray as a waiter passed. "And doctors are still allowed to have fun, aren't they? Or is that against the Hippocratic Oath?"

"We are," Jean said with a laugh. "But I don't think I could afford this kind of fun."

Amy grinned, then patted her date's arm. "Sorry, I'm being rude. Have you met Norman Osborn? Norman, this is Dr. Jean Grey. She used to date Warren Worthington."

Jean tilted her head, but her smile remained pleasant and cordial despite what she knew about the man. Be it told she could still play nice.

"Mr. Osborn? This is quite unexpected. I'm...pleased to meet you," she said, with only the tiniest pause to take a drink from the bitter taste of the words in her mouth. Glancing around, she tried to see if she could catch the eye of one of her teammates. She hadn't expected to run into the CEO 15 minutes after arriving. Wonderful.

Norman Osborn turned from the white-haired (and probably deep-walleted) man he was speaking to and nodded at his "date's" friend. Osborn was a tall, buff man who, despite thinning hair and a receding hairline, would have been well suited to be on the covers of GQ or Men's Health. (And in fact had graced both within recent memory.) Though he wore a welcoming smile, it did not reach his icy blue eyes.

"Doctor Grey," he said, taking her hand briefly in his — warm, firm, and well groomed — suggesting a life of privilege much enjoyed. "The pleasure is mine. Worthington the Third, I presume? Going for a doctor? How . . . exceptional for him."

"Yeah but Dr. Grey knows she's too good for him," another voice spoke up as a second redhead slid effortlessly into the conversation. Angel shot Jean a big and, for all intents and purposes, genuine smile before taking a sip of her drink. These kinds of parties were so not her thing, but she faked it pretty well.

Jean grinned back, then turned to Osborn. "Both of us have moved on to greener pastures, as the Bugle and the Post have so thoroughly reported. I'm glad to be away from the spotlight, whereas Warren would wither and die without it," she said, grabbing a glass of champagne.

"One of my colleagues sends her regards, Dr. Moira MacTaggart? She's been a major advocate of Osgal's potential uses in the mutant community."

It was a fine line to walk regarding how much information to divulge, but anyone with a computer and a search engine could link Jean to Claremont, and ultimately Moira and Muir. Reducing any potential curiosity was the best idea.

Osborn let his gaze rest on the newcomer for a moment before returning to Jean. He seemed quite at home, celebrating with opulence, surrounded by a group of beautiful women who hung on his every word. No one would even know that he had been the target of a failed assassination plot only the previous week.

"Yes, of course, Doctor MacTaggart," he said, those few syllables spoken with a mixture of professional admiration and personal weariness. "She has been in contact with my people since even before we submitted to the FDA. She's very persistent. I hope we can work something out. Osgal is revolutionary for any number of diseases, including x-gene mutation."

Clarice laughed gently, turning subtly to keep Norman in sight now that he was spotted. Jean and Angel had him in hand, but that didn't mean the rest of them could slack off. So far, things were quiet, but she didn't expect it to stay that way. The X-Men didn't send a team this large unless the threat was real an imminent.

Even though he was like fifty stories up and he only heard through the comms, Miles could practically feel the smarm radiating off Osborn. Ugh. "I'll show him a disease," he muttered, forgetting for a second that the rest of the team could hear his comment.

Perhaps fortune smiled upon him to save further embarrassment. The sky roared, though there was no thunder or lightning on this cold, clear night, and Miles dashed to the other end of the roof just in time to spot two figures rocketing through the air, straight for the ballroom.

"Incoming!"

~*~

The Beetle and Vulture don't even stand a chance.

The X-Men had only a few seconds' notice before the floor-to-ceiling windows in the ballroom — located at 15 stories up to afford a lovely view of midtown Manhattan — exploded, showering the OsCorp gala with broken glass. Terrified screams filled the room as New York's philanthropists all but crawled over each other to get to safety.

The metal wings seemed to enter the room before the Vulture did, the glass breaking around them as they flapped and folded. "Feh." The snort of contempt left Adrian Toomes before he even realized it. His wings extended, propelling a few tiny pieces of glass around the room as they stretched to their full expanse. "Osborn," he growled, "you thieving, conniving corporate windbag." He landed in the ballroom for a brief moment. "Time for you to die."

A second winged being appeared, phasing head-first through a wall and scaring a man cowering in the corner into screaming and scrambling away on all fours. Beetle chuckled as he completed his entry, apparently in greater spirits than his companion. He took a direct flight path to their target. "Thought you were home free, did you?" He called, swooping in and circling tauntingly above Norman Osborn's head.

Norman Osborn had not been among the terrified rats scurrying for power. One assassination attempt had not phased him, so surely a second would not, either. He brushed the broken glass from his jacket as if it were just specks of dust, and otherwise kept his place, standing tall, proud, defiant.

"I can tolerate this sort of childish arrogance outside," Osborn declared, "But to invade my celebration and accost my guests? I will have you . . ."

His threat was lost by the loud THUNK sound that followed Spider-Miles's entrance as he swung inside, slamming Beetle with both feet and sending the mechanized man flying wildly across the ballroom. "'Sup."

Even though this was the entire reason for their involvement, Rogue still grumbled. "Always when things were just gonna get good," she said to no one in particular. Speaking into the comm, she gave the orders Scott had previously discussed with them. "And that's your cue Marvel Girl and Blink -- let's get these civilians outta here. Bet Spider-Man would give you a hand too."

Setting down her drink, she grinned. "Angel, how's about you and I show these two that flyin' don't intimidate us?"

"Do you know that this is the entire reason why I do what I do?" Angel asked conversationally as she kicked off her regrettably not fireproof heels and quickly finishing the last of her own drink - there was only a sip left after all. "Just so that one day I could look amazing kicking ass in a dress."

And she took off into the air, heading for the metal winged dude. The dress, thankfully, was fireproof, and no one got a free show.

"Hey!" Clarice called to no one in particular, "Emergency exit's this way!" she indicated where she was towards the middle of the ballroom. People turned and looked, so she opened a portal leading to the ground, "You won't ruin your heels on the stairs!" She shouted to a woman who immediately headed through it without a second thought. That was all it took for people to start clamoring through. She couldn't keep it open indefinitely, weight was her limiting factor and there were a lot of people, but it helped free up the others on evac and the regular exits.

As the crowd swelled, trying to find a way out, Jean made her way over to Norman Osborn. Despite his stance on mutants she didn't exactly want to see him killed for it.

"Mr. Osborn, we should leave."

She wasn't going to tell him that she was going right back in.

Osborn looked aghast at the scene unfolding before him. One could almost see the stock ticker in his head calculating the drop in share value come Monday morning. "This . . . this is . . ." he stuttered, his whole body shaking.

"A damn good party, I know," Miles helped him finish, appearing in front of the man. "Now come on, listen to the pretty lady and get out. You can swindle your friends out of their money another time. But you gotta go."

Osborn's eyes turned to Spider-Man and widened with renewed fury. "You!"

"Yeah, me. You should consider yourself lucky. Saving your butt twice in one week." Without waiting for a response, Miles began roughly shepherding Osborn towards Clarice's portal. "In you go. You can send me a fruit basket later."

Scott watched Miles drive Osborn towards the portal as he thumbed his communicator, "Ok, civilians are in the clear. Let's show these creeps they messed with the wrong party tonight." Putting action to his words Scott narrowed his eyes and took bead on the Vulture, the resulting force beam came out of no-where clipping the Vulture's wing and sending him into a spiral as he struggled to regain control.

"There go my hopes of keepin' this expensive suit in one piece," Logan grumbled to himself even as he ran toward where Vulture was going to end up. Claws weren't quite ready to be added to the mix yet so old school punching and kicking it was. He did use them to climb up the wall and launch himself at Vulture when he managed to keep himself off the walls. "Really shoulda picked a different party to crash, bub," he yelled as he wrapped arms around him, using gravity and his own weight to drag him to the ground.

The Vulture grunted at the impact of a stocky Canadian, which sent him plummeting toward the floor. "Not your smartest move, weasel." As gravity took him, he began to flutter his wings, and the razor-sharp edges sliced into Logan's arms.

The metal blades easily sliced into Logan but his healing factor closed the cuts as soon as they formed. His suit wasn't so lucky. It quickly became something he couldn't wear again. He'd be lucky if he didn't get called indecent once this was all over. He grunted as they slammed into the ground and attempted to get in a couple punches to knock Vulture out for the count.

Barely noticing anything else, Rogue joined Angel next to Beetle, trying to get close enough to punch him down to the ground. Prior to that, they'd simply been distracting him to ensure Osborn didn't get hurt, but at Scott's all-clear, well...all bets were off. She gave Angel a nod, and tried to end up behind Beetle, using her feet to kick him in the head as she flew over him. Then, with one swift kick, she pushed him in Angel's direction.

Angel was ready, throwing her hands out as soon as Beetle stumbled toward her, she blasted him back to Rogue with burst of fire, like they were playing a demented game of "pass the ball." If the ball was a bug-like mutant.

There were sputtered curses in a foreign tongue as Beetle ineffectually blocked fire with the metal suit, which was beginning to heat up to uncomfortable levels. Attempts at darting away and breaking the flight pattern did not work, so with a shout, mid-way between a pass from Rogue to Angel, he flung both arms forward and let loose repulsor blasts. Followed by a volley of blasts that were more rapid than aimed.

The air behind Vulture rippled as Miles faded into view, dropping his camo mode and kicking the man's wing with enough force to loosen one of the metal feathers. "These look dangerous," he admonished. "Should you be wearing these inside? This isn't like an umbrella where you get 7 years of bad luck, I hope."

The feather bent a little, swinging on a hinge and revealing some of the metal framework underneath it. The Vulture barely looked at Miles, continuing to writhe all the while in the hopes of shaking Logan off of him. After some struggle, he managed to spring to his feet, throwing the stouter man off of him. "I don't know if you got to this part of science, kid," he spun to face Miles, looking down at him with a sneer. "But bugs, spiders? They're pests. And birds like me? We're predators."

A clang rang out as the metal piece that Miles had kicked dropped from his wing, but the Vulture didn't show that it bothered him as he once again took to the air.

As awesome as she looked, Clarice hadn't spent a lot of time making her dress or a lot of money on the fabric. That was why she was okay with cutting it with the knife she produced from her thigh sheath. A ruined dress was the least of her concerns. Grabbing some of the marbles from the flowered table centerpiece, she ported them to pelt Vulture, the force of the little glass things denting his wings and putting him off balance.

Another clang sounded followed swiftly by another as a series of forcebeams slammed into the Vulture's back staggering him forward and almost sweeping him off his feet, "I don't know if you got to this part of strategy," Scott told him coldly as he launched a forcebeam into the back of the Vulture's knees, sweeping the older man off his feet, "but you should never turn your back on an enemy."

Clearly, no one had imparted that nugget of advice to Beetle either, who did just that the moment his little outburst put him in time out from being used as a beach volleyball for the two fire-toting women. He turned tail and sped overhead his companion and attackers. "Come on, Predator. Osborne's gone. Party's over." Mechanised wings fluttered rapidly, the light emitted from the heels of his suit telegraphing his movements for anyone to see.

Heat licked at his behind and Beetle made a strangled noise as he dove straight through the nearest wall, leaving behind a part of his dignity and scorch marks on the wallpaper.

A cloud of dust sprung up as parts of the wall crumbled; the Vulture used the distraction it caused to his advantage. As the X-Men's eyes followed his collaborator, the man rose to his feet. He cast a quick glance at his feet, assessing how much of his suit he'd lost, and making a quick calculation. And as the attention turned him, he made a decision.

"So long. Farewell," he quipped, fully extending the somewhat damaged wings of his suit. Even dimpled and shorn of some of their metal parts, they managed to knock a few tables back and rock a few lighting fixtures, the glass of the bulbs crashing to the ground. The wings started to flap, sending some of the debris of the fight hurtling across the room as the Vulture bolted for what had been the ballroom window, propelled by the extra force. As he reached the edge, he jumped into an unsteady flight, his body rocking and bucking somewhat uncontrollably due to the new balance of his wings.

Rogue shook her head at this evening. Although she was already prepared for the potential destruction, it didn't make the loss of her martini any better. Sighing heavily, she turned to her red-head friend. "Right, well, guess we do what we gotta do and follow them, huh?" Lifting herself up in the air, she trusted that Angel would follow suit.

Angel took off after Rogue, trailing the the mutants through the sky but trying to stay far enough back they wouldn't be caught.

"Got 'em," Angel hissed when they landed, tapping the communicate in her ear. "Cyclops, we've got 'em. Warehouse by the East River in the Bronx. Want us back or do you wanna just come to us?"

Scott took only a moment to come to a decision, "Hold them there and keep them insight, we'll make our way over to you." It would be easier than trying to keep control while moving the prisoners, letting go of his communicator Scott looked up at the X-men gathered near to him, "Blink, the others have located the Vulture's base, I need you to get us there now, we can't afford to let them catch their breath and start making plans."