xp_logs | Poor Unfortunate Souls

Cyclops, Marvel Girl, Wildchild, Hawkeye, Bevatron - and a reluctant Namor arrive in Florida, borrow a boat (Clint is great at them), and make their way to the Starjammer. Their efforts to locate the Starjammer was fruitful - the crew, less so.

Florida was supposed to be somewhere safe, a state for oranges, retirement and amusement parks, it was the kind of place that would be interesting to visit, Scott mused, just not on board a borrowed plane with a load of paramilitary troopers. Only that's how Scott was approaching it now, a rueful smile pulled at his lips as his hands flew over the controls with a practiced touch, smoothly cutting power to the engines, slowing the aircraft as he lined up it's approach to their destination. "Everyone hold on, we're coming into land now. Thank you for riding Summers air, please don't forget to tip your crew."

Despite the situation, Jean could still appreciate the change in scenery. A seagull darted past the window, and she could see the waves lapping at the docks. The sky was impossibly blue. It would've been a nice vacation spot, if not for the whole mission thing.

"I'll buy you a beer later, does that count?" she said with a smirk.

"Don't think I won't hold you to that," Scott noted with a laugh as he gave the controls one last touch, goosing the throttle as the little plane sank down through the air, a whirling sound echoing through the plane as the landing gear extended, touching down on the ground. The X-man leaned back in his chair, glancing over the display before nodding, "There we go, safe and sound."

Jean grinned. "You're on. And bravo," she said with a small clap as she reached out to step through co-pilot checks.

"How long as it been since you've gotten to fly her?"

"Too long, way too long, but it's not like we can go up for random flights in a super stealthy aeroplane, at least not so much these days." Reaching out to shot the plane down Scott twisted around in his seat to stare back at the cabin. "Ok guys, grab your gear. We're here, now we just need to figure out how to get out there."

"Got that covered," Clint said, unbuckling his seatbelt and sitting forward. As he secured his quiver and bow on his back, he continued, "I know a guy who works for the Coast Guard out of Key West. They're off-the-books -- seriously, so off the books -- loaning me one of their as-yet-unnamed Sentinel-class cutters. No weapons are onboard, which is a shame -- those machine guns sounded like fun, it's waiting on a paint job, but its countermeasures boat -- prosecutor type, rigid hulled, already inflated -- is in place." He paused for a moment, then grinned. "This is gonna be fun. It's been a while since I got to do anything with boats."

Scott had to arch an eyebrow, glancing back at Clint with a small shake of his head, "You know, you sound entirely too excited about this," the X-man noted as she stood, stretching ever so slightly before turning fully to face Clint. "Let me guess, you're qualified to pilot one of those craft too? Or if not qualified then able?" Boats, despite his father's activities, were not something Scott had much experience piloting...although come to think of it he was sure he could manage it himself.

Clint waggled his eyebrows at Scott before shrugging. "I'm great at boats," he said. He was good at Quinjets and helicopters, too, but that wasn't relative at the moment. " Which means yes, totally qualified and certified and other -fieds. She should be warmed up at the marina, so we can leave once everybody's boarded."

Scott shook his head ruefully, "Well it's good to have friends isn't it?" A smile curled up the corner of Scott's lips as he grinned at Clint, "Well then Captain, take us out." It was one of the hardest things Scott had learnt, but he couldn't control everything, couldn't be the best at everything, sometimes there was going to be someone better at something than him, as hard as that was to believe.

"Aye, aye!" Clint said, giving Scott a small salute before deboarding the plane and pausing outside to double check his kit.

This was, however, not to be. An imperious voice cut right through Clint's kit-a-ca-boodling, to question, scathingly, "Archer, We demand an explanation as to that embarrassment of nautical failures."

The speaker, arms crossed, moved closer to the Clint from his perch in the shadows of the plane. Someone had apparently convinced Namor to wear a tight shirt for this transition, but his silhouette still cut tights lines across the landscape. More of a statue than a man. "It is that phrase your people use to talk about things appearing differently when flatly rendered. We do not judge this 'look worthy'."

"Half of what you just said I didn't understand -- expect for the part where you're disparaging that magnificent piece of seaworthy..." He trailed off for a moment, then pointed the fletching of one of his arrows at Namor. "I see what you did there. Clever, but. The Little Miss has some cutting edge tech onboard and she's fast. It's not always about the paint, bro." Tucking the arrow back into his quiver, he motioned the others to head for the marina proper. "And anyway, it's just a quick run out, check things over for Scott, then we'll ride back in and you'll never have to see her again."

Namor narrowed his eyes, his mouth forming a thin line. "We are going to survey for Atlantean technology. If We happen to magnanimously discover any survivors, I will allow you and this crew to assist them."

The king didn't wait for a response. Instead, he brushed past Clint, casually adjusting his pack over his shoulder, and began at a stately pace toward the marina. The archer would follow.

Shaking his head, Clint jogged to catch up with Namor. "The royal 'we' only works when you use it consistently, you massive dork. Also, I wish we had more intel about the Atlantean tech we're looking for. What're the chances of you recognizing the area without actual landmarks and stuff?" He hopped up the short step that led to the metal ramp, which in turn led them to the dock proper.

"Tell me, Archer, were you born to, or earned the right to, the weighty mantle of guiding the course of a nation's destiny? Is that something you have failed to mention any time in the past few years?"

"I'm helping you," Clint pointed out, raising his eyebrows as they reached the Sentinel-class cutter. "I'd say that earns me the right to ask some questions. And to get some answers."

Clint might have not even answered. "When you do, We would be delighted to speak about royal grammar and who, there, makes the rules."

Namor continued onto the ramp for the boat with a self-satisfied grin. "You did correctly note my personal Massive aptitude before. I will be up to the task of finding proof of Atlantis as it presents itself, and if not we will have to fall back on something as unsure as, say, your science."

'Personal massive aptitude?' Clint mouthed the words at Jean-Phillippe with an eyeroll. "Whatever you say, fishdick." He didn't even feel sorry for stealing the insult from Molly. In fact, Clint was pretty sure she'd approve of his usage.

"And people call -me- catty," Jean-Phillipe observed. "And I think we are all well aware of His...Majesty, yes, seeing as how his swimsuits leave little to the imagination." Okay, perhaps he was catty.

---

Some time later, as the requisitioned boat skipped across the waves, Jean-Phillipe frowned at...whatever it was that he had been told to keep watch over. All he knew was that it was some manner of radar designed to find the distress beacon from Scott's father's ship. And so he had kept to the task, watching the readout without touching any of it, leery of accidentally causing problems with static electricity.

"Lesser Thor, We require an update." The voice was familiar from not so long ago, but Namor now stoof hovering near JP's shoulder expectantly. He looked irritated and impatient, but that was... normal Namorese. Still, the man crossed his arms over his chest. "We have been told that you are our expert over..." He waved a hand, indicating all of the assorted technology present.

Lesser? Jean-Phillipe bristled slightly at that. So he wasn't an actual god, what did that have to do with anything? "Expert? Hardly. I simply pay attention to briefing points that others find beneath them." He indicated the display with a wave. "When we are in range of the Starjammer, so long as they were able to turn on their distress beacon, it will show on this display. As you can see, there is no-" And of course the display would pick that precise moment to pick up the beacon and show a heading. And interrupt Jean-Phillipe's sass. "...you have impeccable timing, Your Majesty," he finished a bit sourly.

"My timing would never be anything less, Not Hardly Thor. I do no require your obvious praise, but do feel free to continue." Namor leaned over, inspecting the display. He waited a few moments, expectantly, before raising an eyebrow in question at Jean-Phillipe. "It is still beeping."

If Jean-Phillipe made it through this mission without murdering someone, it was going to be a miracle. "Just...please inform Scott. Or someone." Anyone, really, just as long as it meant the Atlantean was elsewhere.

---

If Kyle had known that this was going to be a three-hour-tour he'd have gotten a Gilligan hat. He was certainly feeling about as useful as Gilligan, although probably less accidentally destructive - he knew better than to touch the flashy thing, the beeping thing, or anything that had a button on it that he didn't know what it did. Which in this case, was every button and switch on the consoles.

"Monitor duty is actually not any more fun on a boat." He complained. "And. and Scott already banned me from playing anything from Lonely Island, like, as soon as he saw me with my phone out."

"Scott is very perceptive." And thank god for that, because Jean-Phillipe did not need comedic stylings on top of crippling boredom and Namor. "Has anything changed? This..." He waved a hand. "...indicates we are still heading in the proper direction, at least."

"Yo nothing has changed, which is why I'm bored." Kyle retorted. "Beep beep beep, there's a distress signal, beep beep beep, Scott's dad is a pirate, beep beep, he's missing, beep beep, I don't know how to read this thing to tell if we're like, decently closer or if we outta settle in and start raiding the kitchen."

"I will be damned if I can tell," Jean-Phillipe volleyed back. "I am beginning to think that Scott gave me this responsibility because I have the longest attention span and least likelihood of viewing it as 'beneath Our Royal Demeanor'." His impression of Namor's haughty tones was fairly good. "I would enjoy raiding the kitchen-" He was almost as constantly hungry as Kyle, after all. "-but the sort of things they tend to stock on ships isn't always the most appetizing. High in preservatives and so forth."

"I got beef jerky, granola bars and a couple of oranges in my backpack." Kyle said, and waved his arm in the vague direction of the backpack. "But I wasn't expecting like, get on a boat and drive the boat for hours. I mean okay I know I should have read the briefing, but ugh." The briefing was boring. It told him a lot of things he already knew, and he'd skimmed it and nowhere had anyone said "Boat for hours."

"Eh bien, jerky please." Jean-Phillipe held out his hand for the food. Protein was always a good idea. As he chewed on it, the tone of the scanning machine changed, and a clear dot appeared on the screen. "I believe that means we are close enough to begin seeing the boat visually. Could you please go tell Scott?" Kyle was friendly and shared food, so the 'please' was much more sincere than the one he'd bestowed on Namor.

"Yep. Text me if like, the radio picks up anything. I totes spent the last half hour getting it to try to sync up with the Starjammer's frequencies." Because Kyle had read some of the briefing, and the binder that held the instructions for the radio. He'd been bored, after all. "If they're all just like, fighting some other pirates who are all "I'm the captain now", I mean, at least one of 'em has to have gotten to the radio, right?"

==

Kyle hadn't wasted any time getting to the other ship. Before Clint even had the little motor-engine powered inflatable boat tied onto the Starjammer, Kyle was up the ladder and almost over the railing.

And despite his impatience, he was beaten to the deck by Jean.

The floorboards creaked slightly under Jean's feet as she floated down and took a step onto the ship. They were in open water, so there wasn't really anyone to see her.

Glancing around, Jean frowned. "I'm not....sensing anyone around," she said quietly.

"At least, not in the immediate vicinity.."

Still she didn't want to rule anything out. That meant there were two alternatives: they abandoned ship, or they were all dead.

Kyle's bare feet slapped against the deck as he prowled. "Yeah, I'm not getting anything either. Which is ... " He jiggled the handle of the ... hold? Belowdecks? Cabin? He was not great at boats, or boating and nautical terms. "I mean, this is some Mary Celeste shit right here. I smell salt water and some locker funk, and fish." He jiggled harder and then shoved at the door once. "Unlocked but stuck. Can you make with the opening? I gotta flashlight."

Jean eyed the door, pausing for a moment as she took a few steps away.

"Stand back, maybe. This is just like the set up to a horror movie and I do not want the Creature from the Black Lagoon or ghosts or something to pop out," she said. If it was ghosts she was going to very displeased.

"Maybe it'll be like Shape of Water and someone can get a fish boyfriend." Kyle dutifully backed away. "If it helps though. I don't hear crap. I mean, I'd think Black Lagoon man would be loud, right? I hear literally nothing except us."

"I don't know if I want a fish boyfriend that makes people disappear," she said, glancing around for emphasis. Where the hell did they go?

Shaking her head, she let out a breath.

"Okay, here goes," she said. Focusing on the door, she gave it a sharp tug with her telekinesis. Being wet, it seemed to wrench open with a heavy scrape. They were met with darkness on the other side.

Jean paused, then motioned ahead with a smile. "After you? Or I can go if you'll shine the light ahead of us."

"I got it. I can see in the dark better than most people." Kyle offered, as he stepped through the door. "And if there is an evil fishman down here, better if I got two hands to fight. I mean, you don't need yours to, right?" His feet slapped on the wet metal and he made a 'bleh' sound as he stepped in a puddle. "Pretty sure this shouldn't be this wet, right?" He asked, after sniffing at the staler air. "And I still don't smell or hear anything but us and water."

"There might be a leak somewhere. We should probably keep an eye on the water levels just in case," Jean said, following behind.

"Maybe they abandoned ship?"

"Not to be a bummer but Hawkeye and Cyclops counted lifeboats. All intact and accounted for." Kyle said, frowning. He padded down the metal stairs and stopped at a dimly lit set of doors. "Well, I mean, at least they're labeled." Engine Room. Kitchen. Quarters. Captain's Quarters. All neatly labeled with signs. "Okay, so I don't even smell... you know, the poo of the recently deceased. So. I mean, if there's anyone on this thing, they're alive."

Jean gave a simple nod. "Good to know," she said with a faint smile, one of times she'd actually smiled about poo (other than it being an achievement for a patient, perhaps). She'd worked with her share of cadavers in medical school, and been around the recently deceased in more than a few hospital rooms, so she knew the smell all too well.

And now she was thinking about poo a bit too much.

"Anyway," she said, rubbing her forehead.

"Let's finish surveying the rest of the lower levels and rejoin the others," she said. She shook her head.

"I don't have a good feeling."

"Yeah, you and me both. This is creepy as eff." Kyle pressed his ear to each door, cautiously listening before giving Jean a thumbs up nod to open each one.

Each room was empty, most tidy and well organized and curiously, for an abandoned ship, nothing was disheveled or damaged, other than the puddles of water along the floor.

After another long sweep, Jean shook her head, still feeling disquieted as she side stepped a puddle. .

"Marvel Girl reporting in....There's no one here. No signs of a struggle. We're heading back to top deck."