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xp_logsAfter days of dealing with increasingly weird and ridiculous 12 Days of Christmas-themed snacks, eXcalibur discovers that the wormhole in their basement might have some opinions about their vending machine... maybe. They think. Theoretically.
Illyana had heard mentions of the vending machine in the chapel, and when the gossip took an uptick during all of the human holidays that seemed to fall at the end of the year she got... curious. Perhaps unfortunately so. But some of the snacks had sounded quite tasty, and there weren't actually wards keeping her away, so she went exploring. She had tissues this time, just in case the vending machine was near enough to the wormhole or whatever was making her nose itch had her sneezing again, and various denominations of coins in her pockets, hopeful the thing would give her some sort of tasty snack she hadn't had before.
If anyone asked, she wanted to know how the wormhole worked so she didn't blow herself up doing magic. That sounded responsible. And snacks. People that had a vending machine instead of just walking back to the mansion probably wouldn't begrudge her for being a sweets gremlin, no matter how much Pyotr sighed and shook his head as he watched her cram gummy worms into her mouth.
She put in a few of her Euro coins, roughly a little over a dollar, and pushed a button for what looked like a chocolate bar. The machine beeped a jaunty tune, then dropped a package into the bottom. It wasn't... not chocolate. But it was a box with a card on it, and when she opened the card tiny dancing figures in elegant tutus spinning in neat pirouettes popped up, reminiscent of the great Russian ballerinas. The box contained a small pair of chocolate pointe shoes - too small for adult human feet, but so delicately and realistically sculpted that she thought child her might have been able to slip them on comfortably.
She bit into the ribbon of one of the shoes and hummed thoughtfully, patting the vending machine on the side. "Is good chocolate, thank you."
Did the machine deserve a pat?
The rest of the chapel basement might not agree.
The last eight days had been a flurry of activity, eventually resulting in what might have been the first time in a long time that the entire "team" of nine had been actively busy — machine tweaking, shield testing, system refactoring, simulation management. All to figure out the Christmas miracle that shouldn't have been possible. Or, worst case, if anything else could change so drastically due to the wormhole's interference. The hubbub was enough that the only one actively watching the wormhole readouts was, by all coincidences, the one not from this century.
"Kaíre pollá," was the response from a focused, albeit bored, Namor, who sat doodling on a loose pad near the control panel. He had his ankles crossed, and his little white wings flitted frantically every second or so. "We strongly encourage you to catalog your findings, or We have permission to use stronger encouragement than simple words."
The Atlantean glanced up at her and raised an eyebrow as if in challenge, or, more likely, to indicate a clipboard hanging by a Hello Kitty! magnet from the otherwise charmless vending machine's front.
"What Namor means," Matt said, munching on a peach, as he approached, "Is that the more the wormhole fluctuates, the weirder the vending machine gets. Like peaches," he ran his fingers over the machine, pausing as he encountered the braille sticker labels. They were never accurate since the vending machine seemed to have a mind of its own and did what it will, but that left the treats as much a surprise to those who could read the text as he was. Using his phone to pay, the machine rumbled, dispensing a warm beverage. Sighing, Matt took it. "Apple cider. Not coffee. Still. If you'll add that to the list, please," he didn't write on the clipboard for obvious reasons.
"Do not know what 'Kaire pollá' means," Illyana replied, grabbing the clipboard indicated and scrawling answers to the questions in cramped print. She added Matt's contributions to the list as well before putting the clipboard back and wandering over to where Matt and Namor sat. "Also do not think we have met. Illyana. Like your wings, very nice." She didn't hold out her hand to Namor, but she gave him a small smile.
"They are. We appreciate your good taste." Namor leaned forward just a hair as he said this, eyes trained on Matt. "You may call me Namor, First of Atlantis, Avenging Son. You may also tell me if you are feeling," and for this he had to check the pad he had been scribbling intricate patterns on, "Any strange or unexpected behavioral impulses, unease, or emotion."
That last bit was delivered with the professional deadpan of a one following a checklist, but Namor's tone perked considerably as he continued, "I am eager to see if the advocate turns colors after what happened with the last drink."
Clint walked into the room, noticed everyone else already there, and then realized Namor was taking the survey of people who'd eaten from their super special yet baffling vending machine far more seriously than he'd thought the man would. He hit the letter/number combo to get an item that looked vaguely like the sweet roll he'd received back when the vending machine was first installed but didn't enter the conversation. Instead, he grabbed the treat he hoped would be delicious and waited to see what their new Russian Queen of Limbo might say -- though he did have to agree with her assessment of Namor's ankles. Namor's wings were pretty great.
Formality? In this mansion? Illyana was honestly surprised. She broke off another piece of chocolate ribbon, raising an eyebrow at the taste of a fruit she was almost certain didn't grow on earth. She scribbled that on the survey too. "If being formal, may call me Illyana Rasputina, Queen of Limbo. And will of course call you by full title, though it is mouthful. Do wings carry full weight, or just decoration?" Maybe they expanded. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing she'd seen. She pointed at Clint with the clipboard, waving it at him to fill it out. "If I have to do work, everyone must do work."
"I am pleased to learn your full title, Illyana Rasputina, Queen of Limbo." Pixie had paused in her work of making loose sketches of the machine and its output. She shivered and drew into her oversized sweater, which covered her body almost up to her knees, including her folded wings. "I could sure go for a cuppa." She went over to the machine and punched a few buttons, humming along to its strange electronic tune. A cup slid down and started to fill with a purple liquid from the bottom, up. When it stopped, she tentatively took a sip from the steaming cup, picked up her pencil and added to her diagram. "Pretty close to tea. I'm getting flower petals and ozone."
"I like flower petals," Kitty wandered over, poking a few buttons and frowning. Dark liquid steamed its way into her cup. "So much for roses. I got coffee." She took a small sip, then winced. "And it tastes like something overly sweet - gingerbread and sugar plums, or something." Holiday traditions were something she only paid a small amount of attention to, though she secretly loved the way that the mood in the mansion just seemed to lift in December.
"What kind of work are we doing? Did I accidentally wander into a job?" she grinned. Taking a step back, she bumped her head on a stray garland, then squinted to make sure she was out of any sort of mistletoe path.
Having taken the clipboard from Illyana, Clint wrote down what he'd gotten from the machine, then offered it to Kitty while shaking his head. "No job," he said, taking a bite of sugar-coated deliciousness. After chewing twice, his eyes widened and he inhaled hard enough to almost choke himself, then desperately searched for a bin to spit his mouthful out in. "Oh God," he muttered, looking from the bin to the vending machine and back again, betrayal writ large across his face.
"I'm gonna need that clipboard back. This is not a sweet roll. This is..." Clint half-gagged. "This is some kind of glazed fruitcake monstrosity and I think it's old cause it's stale."
Being the good brother he was, Matt immediately burst out laughing, reaching to take the bread thing and sniff it closely. "It doesn't smell stale. Might be how it is.... wherever it comes from."
Clint took the thing back and took another bite, making himself actually chew the thing and swallow despite the awful face he was making. He had a rule, after all. "Ugh," he muttered, going in for a third bite while wondering if he actually needed to take a fourth one, since he spit the first one out.
Illyana inched closer to the desk and Namor at hearing Kitty's voice. It wasn't her Kitty, the bearing was different enough and she was awake enough to tell, but the similarities... she stared at the other woman wide-eyed for a minute before giving her head a shake and offering her chocolate in Clint's direction. "Will trade piece of yours for piece of mine?" she asked. "Have gotten plain sweet chocolate and bite of fruit am almost certain does not grow here. Definitely have not had while in New York or Russia."
Clint forced himself to take another bite, decided the first one still counted, and then handed the whole thing to Illyana. That done, he broke off a small piece of chocolate from her proffered bar, grimaced as he swallowed the last of his gross glazed fruitcake, and then put the chocolate in his mouth to get rid of the godawful taste.
Unsure whether he should trust the vending machine any longer, Clint still pushed the button for some kind of fizzy water that was supposed to taste like wumpa fruit, whatever that was. "Thank you, your Majesty," he said around the piece of melting chocolate. He heard the clunk of his soda falling into the pick-up slot, so he bent to retrieve that and hopefully get rid of the favors currently converging in his mouth.
Meggan had had a hankering for a particular candy bar with marshmallow and caramel ever since she spotted it lurking inside that weird and tricky vending machine. After punching in the number, she could tell from the sound of liquid pouring that it wasn’t the right thing. She pulled out a steaming drink from the machine instead, studying it for a long moment.
There was, curiously, a pencil eraser floating in what had the appearance of hot chocolate. She plucked out the eraser, and sat it on the counter beside her; she wouldn’t presume that bit would be edible. A cautious taste of the cup’s contents brought with it a noise of mild surprise. It wasn’t a combination that one usually encountered. “Tangerines, tacos, and...minty candy canes? Right!” Beneath it all, there was a distinct hint of chocolate mousse. “It’s different,” she noted, even as she reached over to jot down the experience on a clipboard.
Was it a good different r bad different? Meggan couldn’t decide, and the concern was apparent on her face. It was an interesting novelty. She reached over to record her experience on the clipboard.
Ah, the things that bring a crew together.
Namor, meanwhile, sat with a cold, distrustful gaze on the machine. He hadn’t budged except to give Kitty a nod when she entered. “We suppose it is on us to ask, in difference to the Ruler of the Stepping Realm, if the nine of us here are certain no foul or arcane deals are struck with each transaction with that machine.”
His tone sharpened with a sudden realization, “The grumpy one who brought this machine in is missing. Where is he."
"Who, Forge?" Clint asked, popping the top on his wumpa fruit thing and taking a sniff. "He's doing something somewhere not here." Taking a sip of the soda, still suspicious, the archer swished the probably artificial fruit juice around in his mouth, then swallowed and half-smiled in surprised pleasure. Then he frowned again and snapped his fingers a couple times before raising his hand and pointing at Namor. "Dallas. Family stuff. That's where Forge is. We respect the family stuff, cause families're complicated."
"What's Forge gonna do? He already tinkered with Mystery-o-Matic," Molly said, pulling her bright pink beanie up and out of her eyes, her feet propped up on the table. "It's all normal inside. What it spits out is just...weird."
She squinted at it, super curious.
"I wonder if it'll vend something alive...like a puppy?"
"The rules of time/space and quantum mechanics suggest no... even the fruit tree started out as a pear, which is technically... sort of inert, I guess. I mean, it has the potential for life, so?" The image of sperm and caviar pops into Clint's brain and he decides chugging his wumpa soda is a better idea than continuing to speak.
Listening to Molly and Clint, Kitty stared down at her coffee morosely for a moment.
"If this coffee's sentient, then... you know, let's not continue that thought." She set it down, then walked across the room from the steaming cup. "I guess the question is - what if it spits out something dangerous? Whether that's poisonous or could hurt us in some other way."
Alani made a face as she entered the room to the current conversation, confused, then concerned, before a 'same shit everyday' zen expression finally settled. "Please don't ruin hot bean water, Clint. I have so very little, and if anything were to happen to it, the wrath I would bring down upon whoever ruins it would be unfathomable." Her lips tilted into a smile, raising the hand not keeping a small stack of books to her body against her to wave. "I assume if something dangerous happens, we take note and quickly find a doctor. Unless, of course whatever it is isn't dangerous to everyone? What've we gotten today, friends, Namor, countrymen?"
"Candy," Illyana replied around a mouthful of the fruitcake bread. She wasn't sure why Clint didn't like it, although the fuzzy bite of pink fruit was definitely something she'd only encountered before in Limbo. "And fruit bread. Drinks." Her eyes unfocused slightly as she stared at the vending machine, finally looking at it with her magic sense as Namor had suggested. "Cannot sense contract magic inside. Not black magic either, is just..." she shrugged lightly. There was something, but it was just a hint of otherworldly that looked and felt mostly benign. Maybe a little playful. "Weird," is what she finally settled on. "Not intentionally harmful."
"Oh, thank all the deities forever and ever amen," Clint said, letting himself fall into the chair near Namor. He hadn't even finished completely settling into the seat before he rocked it to balance on just the back legs while he kept one finger on the table. "Does anyone have any idea how much I depend on hot bean water to function? Does anyone know what would happen to me if I ruined it for myself?" He let the question hang there for a moment, then whispered, "Bad things. Baaaaaaaaad things."
Quietly, Matt crossed himself. Thank God it wasn't demons. Or magic.
"We definitely don't wanna think about that," Molly said with a laugh. Hopping up, she pulled her hands up as high as she could to stretch. "Speaking of things that we need to function, I require pizza. Headed to the big house...the mansion, not the slammer. I'll be back in a few."
"Pizza?" Illyana's eyes followed Molly out of the room. Chocolate and fruit bread were good, but dinner didn't sound bad. "Wonder if vending machine could have pizza. Tuna and salmon on crackers, some onion?"
"Ew," Clint said, shaking his head. "Nope. Negative. Russian pizza has been on my 'no, gross, never again' list since..." He paused to think about it. "Since a mission I'm not supposed to talk about, so I won't. But like three or four kinds of fish with onions and... whatever else they want to throw on? No thank you."
"Is better than anything that Limbo would call pizza," Illyana responded with a dour face. "Unless you like idea of fried brain and fermented egg paste."
"I dunno if I'd like that, but I'd at least try it three times," Clint offered. It wasn't like he hadn't eaten pickled eggs and various types of brain in the past, after all.
Illyana's voice was flat. "Three fish is too many but brain is fine. Sure." She questioned Clint's taste and didn't think she'd be eating anything he suggested unless someone else did first. She wasn't a picky eater - that was impossible when you'd lived in Limbo as long as she had - but she had standards, dammit. Small ones. Shaped like chocolate bars and potato chips, mostly.
"Hey, I said I'd try it three times. I gave the Russian fish and onion pizza three tries, too," Clint objected. "I mean, if it's down to Russian pizza or starving, obvs gonna eat it, but like. I'm not ordering it the next time I'm in a pizza place in St. Petersburg or whatever."
"Uh--" Molly's voice erupted from upstairs. "Salem Center, we gotta problem."
"Problem?" Clint asked, all four legs of his chair dropping to the ground as his head popped up like a meerkat's. "What problem?" They had an unstable Einstein Rosen bridge in their basement -- but Molly'd said she was going for pizza. That indicated a general mansion-like trajectory. "Mols?" Clint hollered back even as he stood up from his seat and cast his eyes around the room to check that everyone else was at least in the process of moving.
"Let us hope this problem requires punching," came helpfully from Namor. "We need more punchable problems."
"Like the way you think, Son of Atlantis. Some things need punching. Or stabbing." Illyana's sword hand was loose at her side, but not glowing yet. Fighting? She could do that.
A huge muffled crash came from upstairs: the sound of breaking wood, glass, and a small thud of metal.
"I'm okay!" Molly shouted a second or two later. "But I don't think I'm getting that pizza. The door won't let me out."
The crash had been enough to pause chatter, but what followed was a beat of wordless silence before a chorus of concern and confusion erupted through the crowd.
"What the hell?" gasped several people, or everyone, or it was simply a response from the single brain cell the group shared in that one second.
"What broke?"
"Everything?"
"It won't let..."
"Oh man, no pizza?"
"Shut up!" Matt spoke up, not quite a yell. "Be quiet," he added in a more normal tone, holding up a finger. Wordlessly, he began moving around the room, into the hallway and then back again to the vending machine where he tried to climb under it with no success, then over it, pulling it from the wall enough to fit behind it. "Do you hear that?" Of course they didn't, he had enhanced senses and he'd barely heard it. More... felt.
"Right here," he placed his hand on his sternum, "It's... not vibration. Very disconcerting. Clint. You remember that YouTube video that was the worst noise ever? The one that made me go pray the rosary until I felt better? It's like that," he had a rosary in his office. He wanted to go get it.
Clint had slowed down when Molly yelled that she was okay, tuning into Matt when his brother told everyone to shut up. His eyes went unerringly toward the laptop they'd set up on the other side of the room from the vending machine, catching the display just in time to see some sort of truly massive spike scroll offscreen to the right. "Oh fuck," he said, swinging himself around toward the other door that led to the subbasement and the wormhole. "MOLLY," he yelled, catching Kate's eye as well as he bolted for the stairs. "I'm gonna need some help analyzing some readings now!"
Another thud-shuffle and the quick crunch of glass echoed from upstairs as Molly raced down, brushing glass out of her hair.
"On my way! Also uh...I kinda broke the dining table. And the fridge sorryyyy..." she added as she rushed past the group after Clint.
"It's fine!" Alani wasn't panicked, no, but she'd followed after quickly, book left behind. Once she was face-to-face with the door, she cocked her head, following the destruction that must have come from Molly being shot back by... something. Shooing people away from the door, she focused on her hand and pressed it against the door. Nothing happened. Oh. That, no. "Namor! Get up here and open this door!"
For this, she got a sigh as the Atlantean turned toward his name. "We merely ask for the respect our station deserves," he addressed no one in particular, but his wings fluttered briefly as turned to head upstairs, too light and graceful on his feet to not be cheating a little with flight. He paused, however, as a grin crossed his face. "Illyana Rasputina, Queen of Limbo and all of the Space Between, I invite you to stab a door."
Illyana followed along, eyes wide and temporarily stunned into silence at the general mayhem and the frantic edge to Clint's voice as he'd bolted down the stairs. Ah, life at Xavier's. To think, she'd left Limbo again for this. Pyotr was going to lose his shit if they were actually stuck. "Sword would not do much physically, but would shatter wards around building. Best to not." She felt along the door and general area cautiously, but didn't feel anything obviously magical except the faint hum and pressure of the wards.
"Aw, wormhole," Clint muttered, already typing fast at one of the stations with the hi-res imaging conversion system they used to keep track of what was happening inside the portal. He widened its parameters to show activity within the unstable Einstein-Rosen bridge for the last twenty minutes, as opposed to the five they generally kept visible. It was almost like a heart monitor, in a way, but definitely more complicated.
"Nooooo..." The archer whispered, taking in all the micro anomalies that had registered with their equipment. They'd been clocked, obviously, but weren't large enough to cause any of the alarms to sound.
Not even the massive disturbance currently flagging on the monitor had triggered any of their alarms, which - that was not good.
"Will try to portal. If successful, will come back for rest of you." As the portal's edges appeared, Illyana's nose began to itch.
Downstairs, the wormhole's readings began to spike again.
"Oh no," Clint hissed. "No, no, no, no, no," he continued, watching as another surge of something started to register with the equipment.
The next events happened in some sort of succession, but if you asked Illyana later she wouldn't be able to pinpoint exactly what went when. She stepped into the portal. She sneezed. The wormhole spiked, hum loud enough even for her to hear it faintly. The portal seized, edges warping before shutting with an almost audible snap, the closure spitting her back out into the air.
She landed with a thump, the breath knocked out of her as her back hit the floor. "Ow," she said weakly, staying on the floor. "Weird magic, 3. Rest of us, 0. Free to try, Son of Atlantis. Do not expect different outcome, but is worth try."
Meanwhile, the sounds from upstairs were not any more encouraging. A few slams, pushes, and audible grunts outlined that Namor was having just as much success as Molly. Try as he might, despite any control, the door was shut.
The Atlantean gave Alani and Yana a forlorn expression and pointedly looked at the small kitchenette (including the now-dented fridge) and sighed, "Dose me. I require more water."
He returned to hitting the door, the only saving grace in that his flight limited the recoil that Molly had experienced. Still, "no dice," as some who weren't a king from the ice age might say. He'd merely keep punching.
Matt has seen Clarice use her portals for years, but only in that she was there and then not. Or others were. Unless she sustained the portal over a period of time he couldn't quite sense it directly, but they'd never quite...wobbled before. Illyana's had a wobbly aspect that he didn't think was normal, even for her. "Is it normal for it to... look like a sunny side up egg in a pan?" he asked doubtfully, trying to grasp for an analog that everyone might understand.
Illyana scowled, slowly moving into a sitting position. "No. Visible edges normal, wobble and spit back not normal." She pushed herself to stand with a wince, shuffling to the fridge. "Could also use water. More chocolate too." She grabbed two bottles, then thought about it. "Anyone else want water?" Might as well be polite to people she was seemingly stuck with.
There was the slim possibility that Namor let out a big sigh at that, but it was covered over by the sound of fists on the unbreakable door.
Illyana had heard mentions of the vending machine in the chapel, and when the gossip took an uptick during all of the human holidays that seemed to fall at the end of the year she got... curious. Perhaps unfortunately so. But some of the snacks had sounded quite tasty, and there weren't actually wards keeping her away, so she went exploring. She had tissues this time, just in case the vending machine was near enough to the wormhole or whatever was making her nose itch had her sneezing again, and various denominations of coins in her pockets, hopeful the thing would give her some sort of tasty snack she hadn't had before.
If anyone asked, she wanted to know how the wormhole worked so she didn't blow herself up doing magic. That sounded responsible. And snacks. People that had a vending machine instead of just walking back to the mansion probably wouldn't begrudge her for being a sweets gremlin, no matter how much Pyotr sighed and shook his head as he watched her cram gummy worms into her mouth.
She put in a few of her Euro coins, roughly a little over a dollar, and pushed a button for what looked like a chocolate bar. The machine beeped a jaunty tune, then dropped a package into the bottom. It wasn't... not chocolate. But it was a box with a card on it, and when she opened the card tiny dancing figures in elegant tutus spinning in neat pirouettes popped up, reminiscent of the great Russian ballerinas. The box contained a small pair of chocolate pointe shoes - too small for adult human feet, but so delicately and realistically sculpted that she thought child her might have been able to slip them on comfortably.
She bit into the ribbon of one of the shoes and hummed thoughtfully, patting the vending machine on the side. "Is good chocolate, thank you."
Did the machine deserve a pat?
The rest of the chapel basement might not agree.
The last eight days had been a flurry of activity, eventually resulting in what might have been the first time in a long time that the entire "team" of nine had been actively busy — machine tweaking, shield testing, system refactoring, simulation management. All to figure out the Christmas miracle that shouldn't have been possible. Or, worst case, if anything else could change so drastically due to the wormhole's interference. The hubbub was enough that the only one actively watching the wormhole readouts was, by all coincidences, the one not from this century.
"Kaíre pollá," was the response from a focused, albeit bored, Namor, who sat doodling on a loose pad near the control panel. He had his ankles crossed, and his little white wings flitted frantically every second or so. "We strongly encourage you to catalog your findings, or We have permission to use stronger encouragement than simple words."
The Atlantean glanced up at her and raised an eyebrow as if in challenge, or, more likely, to indicate a clipboard hanging by a Hello Kitty! magnet from the otherwise charmless vending machine's front.
"What Namor means," Matt said, munching on a peach, as he approached, "Is that the more the wormhole fluctuates, the weirder the vending machine gets. Like peaches," he ran his fingers over the machine, pausing as he encountered the braille sticker labels. They were never accurate since the vending machine seemed to have a mind of its own and did what it will, but that left the treats as much a surprise to those who could read the text as he was. Using his phone to pay, the machine rumbled, dispensing a warm beverage. Sighing, Matt took it. "Apple cider. Not coffee. Still. If you'll add that to the list, please," he didn't write on the clipboard for obvious reasons.
"Do not know what 'Kaire pollá' means," Illyana replied, grabbing the clipboard indicated and scrawling answers to the questions in cramped print. She added Matt's contributions to the list as well before putting the clipboard back and wandering over to where Matt and Namor sat. "Also do not think we have met. Illyana. Like your wings, very nice." She didn't hold out her hand to Namor, but she gave him a small smile.
"They are. We appreciate your good taste." Namor leaned forward just a hair as he said this, eyes trained on Matt. "You may call me Namor, First of Atlantis, Avenging Son. You may also tell me if you are feeling," and for this he had to check the pad he had been scribbling intricate patterns on, "Any strange or unexpected behavioral impulses, unease, or emotion."
That last bit was delivered with the professional deadpan of a one following a checklist, but Namor's tone perked considerably as he continued, "I am eager to see if the advocate turns colors after what happened with the last drink."
Clint walked into the room, noticed everyone else already there, and then realized Namor was taking the survey of people who'd eaten from their super special yet baffling vending machine far more seriously than he'd thought the man would. He hit the letter/number combo to get an item that looked vaguely like the sweet roll he'd received back when the vending machine was first installed but didn't enter the conversation. Instead, he grabbed the treat he hoped would be delicious and waited to see what their new Russian Queen of Limbo might say -- though he did have to agree with her assessment of Namor's ankles. Namor's wings were pretty great.
Formality? In this mansion? Illyana was honestly surprised. She broke off another piece of chocolate ribbon, raising an eyebrow at the taste of a fruit she was almost certain didn't grow on earth. She scribbled that on the survey too. "If being formal, may call me Illyana Rasputina, Queen of Limbo. And will of course call you by full title, though it is mouthful. Do wings carry full weight, or just decoration?" Maybe they expanded. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing she'd seen. She pointed at Clint with the clipboard, waving it at him to fill it out. "If I have to do work, everyone must do work."
"I am pleased to learn your full title, Illyana Rasputina, Queen of Limbo." Pixie had paused in her work of making loose sketches of the machine and its output. She shivered and drew into her oversized sweater, which covered her body almost up to her knees, including her folded wings. "I could sure go for a cuppa." She went over to the machine and punched a few buttons, humming along to its strange electronic tune. A cup slid down and started to fill with a purple liquid from the bottom, up. When it stopped, she tentatively took a sip from the steaming cup, picked up her pencil and added to her diagram. "Pretty close to tea. I'm getting flower petals and ozone."
"I like flower petals," Kitty wandered over, poking a few buttons and frowning. Dark liquid steamed its way into her cup. "So much for roses. I got coffee." She took a small sip, then winced. "And it tastes like something overly sweet - gingerbread and sugar plums, or something." Holiday traditions were something she only paid a small amount of attention to, though she secretly loved the way that the mood in the mansion just seemed to lift in December.
"What kind of work are we doing? Did I accidentally wander into a job?" she grinned. Taking a step back, she bumped her head on a stray garland, then squinted to make sure she was out of any sort of mistletoe path.
Having taken the clipboard from Illyana, Clint wrote down what he'd gotten from the machine, then offered it to Kitty while shaking his head. "No job," he said, taking a bite of sugar-coated deliciousness. After chewing twice, his eyes widened and he inhaled hard enough to almost choke himself, then desperately searched for a bin to spit his mouthful out in. "Oh God," he muttered, looking from the bin to the vending machine and back again, betrayal writ large across his face.
"I'm gonna need that clipboard back. This is not a sweet roll. This is..." Clint half-gagged. "This is some kind of glazed fruitcake monstrosity and I think it's old cause it's stale."
Being the good brother he was, Matt immediately burst out laughing, reaching to take the bread thing and sniff it closely. "It doesn't smell stale. Might be how it is.... wherever it comes from."
Clint took the thing back and took another bite, making himself actually chew the thing and swallow despite the awful face he was making. He had a rule, after all. "Ugh," he muttered, going in for a third bite while wondering if he actually needed to take a fourth one, since he spit the first one out.
Illyana inched closer to the desk and Namor at hearing Kitty's voice. It wasn't her Kitty, the bearing was different enough and she was awake enough to tell, but the similarities... she stared at the other woman wide-eyed for a minute before giving her head a shake and offering her chocolate in Clint's direction. "Will trade piece of yours for piece of mine?" she asked. "Have gotten plain sweet chocolate and bite of fruit am almost certain does not grow here. Definitely have not had while in New York or Russia."
Clint forced himself to take another bite, decided the first one still counted, and then handed the whole thing to Illyana. That done, he broke off a small piece of chocolate from her proffered bar, grimaced as he swallowed the last of his gross glazed fruitcake, and then put the chocolate in his mouth to get rid of the godawful taste.
Unsure whether he should trust the vending machine any longer, Clint still pushed the button for some kind of fizzy water that was supposed to taste like wumpa fruit, whatever that was. "Thank you, your Majesty," he said around the piece of melting chocolate. He heard the clunk of his soda falling into the pick-up slot, so he bent to retrieve that and hopefully get rid of the favors currently converging in his mouth.
Meggan had had a hankering for a particular candy bar with marshmallow and caramel ever since she spotted it lurking inside that weird and tricky vending machine. After punching in the number, she could tell from the sound of liquid pouring that it wasn’t the right thing. She pulled out a steaming drink from the machine instead, studying it for a long moment.
There was, curiously, a pencil eraser floating in what had the appearance of hot chocolate. She plucked out the eraser, and sat it on the counter beside her; she wouldn’t presume that bit would be edible. A cautious taste of the cup’s contents brought with it a noise of mild surprise. It wasn’t a combination that one usually encountered. “Tangerines, tacos, and...minty candy canes? Right!” Beneath it all, there was a distinct hint of chocolate mousse. “It’s different,” she noted, even as she reached over to jot down the experience on a clipboard.
Was it a good different r bad different? Meggan couldn’t decide, and the concern was apparent on her face. It was an interesting novelty. She reached over to record her experience on the clipboard.
Ah, the things that bring a crew together.
Namor, meanwhile, sat with a cold, distrustful gaze on the machine. He hadn’t budged except to give Kitty a nod when she entered. “We suppose it is on us to ask, in difference to the Ruler of the Stepping Realm, if the nine of us here are certain no foul or arcane deals are struck with each transaction with that machine.”
His tone sharpened with a sudden realization, “The grumpy one who brought this machine in is missing. Where is he."
"Who, Forge?" Clint asked, popping the top on his wumpa fruit thing and taking a sniff. "He's doing something somewhere not here." Taking a sip of the soda, still suspicious, the archer swished the probably artificial fruit juice around in his mouth, then swallowed and half-smiled in surprised pleasure. Then he frowned again and snapped his fingers a couple times before raising his hand and pointing at Namor. "Dallas. Family stuff. That's where Forge is. We respect the family stuff, cause families're complicated."
"What's Forge gonna do? He already tinkered with Mystery-o-Matic," Molly said, pulling her bright pink beanie up and out of her eyes, her feet propped up on the table. "It's all normal inside. What it spits out is just...weird."
She squinted at it, super curious.
"I wonder if it'll vend something alive...like a puppy?"
"The rules of time/space and quantum mechanics suggest no... even the fruit tree started out as a pear, which is technically... sort of inert, I guess. I mean, it has the potential for life, so?" The image of sperm and caviar pops into Clint's brain and he decides chugging his wumpa soda is a better idea than continuing to speak.
Listening to Molly and Clint, Kitty stared down at her coffee morosely for a moment.
"If this coffee's sentient, then... you know, let's not continue that thought." She set it down, then walked across the room from the steaming cup. "I guess the question is - what if it spits out something dangerous? Whether that's poisonous or could hurt us in some other way."
Alani made a face as she entered the room to the current conversation, confused, then concerned, before a 'same shit everyday' zen expression finally settled. "Please don't ruin hot bean water, Clint. I have so very little, and if anything were to happen to it, the wrath I would bring down upon whoever ruins it would be unfathomable." Her lips tilted into a smile, raising the hand not keeping a small stack of books to her body against her to wave. "I assume if something dangerous happens, we take note and quickly find a doctor. Unless, of course whatever it is isn't dangerous to everyone? What've we gotten today, friends, Namor, countrymen?"
"Candy," Illyana replied around a mouthful of the fruitcake bread. She wasn't sure why Clint didn't like it, although the fuzzy bite of pink fruit was definitely something she'd only encountered before in Limbo. "And fruit bread. Drinks." Her eyes unfocused slightly as she stared at the vending machine, finally looking at it with her magic sense as Namor had suggested. "Cannot sense contract magic inside. Not black magic either, is just..." she shrugged lightly. There was something, but it was just a hint of otherworldly that looked and felt mostly benign. Maybe a little playful. "Weird," is what she finally settled on. "Not intentionally harmful."
"Oh, thank all the deities forever and ever amen," Clint said, letting himself fall into the chair near Namor. He hadn't even finished completely settling into the seat before he rocked it to balance on just the back legs while he kept one finger on the table. "Does anyone have any idea how much I depend on hot bean water to function? Does anyone know what would happen to me if I ruined it for myself?" He let the question hang there for a moment, then whispered, "Bad things. Baaaaaaaaad things."
Quietly, Matt crossed himself. Thank God it wasn't demons. Or magic.
"We definitely don't wanna think about that," Molly said with a laugh. Hopping up, she pulled her hands up as high as she could to stretch. "Speaking of things that we need to function, I require pizza. Headed to the big house...the mansion, not the slammer. I'll be back in a few."
"Pizza?" Illyana's eyes followed Molly out of the room. Chocolate and fruit bread were good, but dinner didn't sound bad. "Wonder if vending machine could have pizza. Tuna and salmon on crackers, some onion?"
"Ew," Clint said, shaking his head. "Nope. Negative. Russian pizza has been on my 'no, gross, never again' list since..." He paused to think about it. "Since a mission I'm not supposed to talk about, so I won't. But like three or four kinds of fish with onions and... whatever else they want to throw on? No thank you."
"Is better than anything that Limbo would call pizza," Illyana responded with a dour face. "Unless you like idea of fried brain and fermented egg paste."
"I dunno if I'd like that, but I'd at least try it three times," Clint offered. It wasn't like he hadn't eaten pickled eggs and various types of brain in the past, after all.
Illyana's voice was flat. "Three fish is too many but brain is fine. Sure." She questioned Clint's taste and didn't think she'd be eating anything he suggested unless someone else did first. She wasn't a picky eater - that was impossible when you'd lived in Limbo as long as she had - but she had standards, dammit. Small ones. Shaped like chocolate bars and potato chips, mostly.
"Hey, I said I'd try it three times. I gave the Russian fish and onion pizza three tries, too," Clint objected. "I mean, if it's down to Russian pizza or starving, obvs gonna eat it, but like. I'm not ordering it the next time I'm in a pizza place in St. Petersburg or whatever."
"Uh--" Molly's voice erupted from upstairs. "Salem Center, we gotta problem."
"Problem?" Clint asked, all four legs of his chair dropping to the ground as his head popped up like a meerkat's. "What problem?" They had an unstable Einstein Rosen bridge in their basement -- but Molly'd said she was going for pizza. That indicated a general mansion-like trajectory. "Mols?" Clint hollered back even as he stood up from his seat and cast his eyes around the room to check that everyone else was at least in the process of moving.
"Let us hope this problem requires punching," came helpfully from Namor. "We need more punchable problems."
"Like the way you think, Son of Atlantis. Some things need punching. Or stabbing." Illyana's sword hand was loose at her side, but not glowing yet. Fighting? She could do that.
A huge muffled crash came from upstairs: the sound of breaking wood, glass, and a small thud of metal.
"I'm okay!" Molly shouted a second or two later. "But I don't think I'm getting that pizza. The door won't let me out."
The crash had been enough to pause chatter, but what followed was a beat of wordless silence before a chorus of concern and confusion erupted through the crowd.
"What the hell?" gasped several people, or everyone, or it was simply a response from the single brain cell the group shared in that one second.
"What broke?"
"Everything?"
"It won't let..."
"Oh man, no pizza?"
"Shut up!" Matt spoke up, not quite a yell. "Be quiet," he added in a more normal tone, holding up a finger. Wordlessly, he began moving around the room, into the hallway and then back again to the vending machine where he tried to climb under it with no success, then over it, pulling it from the wall enough to fit behind it. "Do you hear that?" Of course they didn't, he had enhanced senses and he'd barely heard it. More... felt.
"Right here," he placed his hand on his sternum, "It's... not vibration. Very disconcerting. Clint. You remember that YouTube video that was the worst noise ever? The one that made me go pray the rosary until I felt better? It's like that," he had a rosary in his office. He wanted to go get it.
Clint had slowed down when Molly yelled that she was okay, tuning into Matt when his brother told everyone to shut up. His eyes went unerringly toward the laptop they'd set up on the other side of the room from the vending machine, catching the display just in time to see some sort of truly massive spike scroll offscreen to the right. "Oh fuck," he said, swinging himself around toward the other door that led to the subbasement and the wormhole. "MOLLY," he yelled, catching Kate's eye as well as he bolted for the stairs. "I'm gonna need some help analyzing some readings now!"
Another thud-shuffle and the quick crunch of glass echoed from upstairs as Molly raced down, brushing glass out of her hair.
"On my way! Also uh...I kinda broke the dining table. And the fridge sorryyyy..." she added as she rushed past the group after Clint.
"It's fine!" Alani wasn't panicked, no, but she'd followed after quickly, book left behind. Once she was face-to-face with the door, she cocked her head, following the destruction that must have come from Molly being shot back by... something. Shooing people away from the door, she focused on her hand and pressed it against the door. Nothing happened. Oh. That, no. "Namor! Get up here and open this door!"
For this, she got a sigh as the Atlantean turned toward his name. "We merely ask for the respect our station deserves," he addressed no one in particular, but his wings fluttered briefly as turned to head upstairs, too light and graceful on his feet to not be cheating a little with flight. He paused, however, as a grin crossed his face. "Illyana Rasputina, Queen of Limbo and all of the Space Between, I invite you to stab a door."
Illyana followed along, eyes wide and temporarily stunned into silence at the general mayhem and the frantic edge to Clint's voice as he'd bolted down the stairs. Ah, life at Xavier's. To think, she'd left Limbo again for this. Pyotr was going to lose his shit if they were actually stuck. "Sword would not do much physically, but would shatter wards around building. Best to not." She felt along the door and general area cautiously, but didn't feel anything obviously magical except the faint hum and pressure of the wards.
"Aw, wormhole," Clint muttered, already typing fast at one of the stations with the hi-res imaging conversion system they used to keep track of what was happening inside the portal. He widened its parameters to show activity within the unstable Einstein-Rosen bridge for the last twenty minutes, as opposed to the five they generally kept visible. It was almost like a heart monitor, in a way, but definitely more complicated.
"Nooooo..." The archer whispered, taking in all the micro anomalies that had registered with their equipment. They'd been clocked, obviously, but weren't large enough to cause any of the alarms to sound.
Not even the massive disturbance currently flagging on the monitor had triggered any of their alarms, which - that was not good.
"Will try to portal. If successful, will come back for rest of you." As the portal's edges appeared, Illyana's nose began to itch.
Downstairs, the wormhole's readings began to spike again.
"Oh no," Clint hissed. "No, no, no, no, no," he continued, watching as another surge of something started to register with the equipment.
The next events happened in some sort of succession, but if you asked Illyana later she wouldn't be able to pinpoint exactly what went when. She stepped into the portal. She sneezed. The wormhole spiked, hum loud enough even for her to hear it faintly. The portal seized, edges warping before shutting with an almost audible snap, the closure spitting her back out into the air.
She landed with a thump, the breath knocked out of her as her back hit the floor. "Ow," she said weakly, staying on the floor. "Weird magic, 3. Rest of us, 0. Free to try, Son of Atlantis. Do not expect different outcome, but is worth try."
Meanwhile, the sounds from upstairs were not any more encouraging. A few slams, pushes, and audible grunts outlined that Namor was having just as much success as Molly. Try as he might, despite any control, the door was shut.
The Atlantean gave Alani and Yana a forlorn expression and pointedly looked at the small kitchenette (including the now-dented fridge) and sighed, "Dose me. I require more water."
He returned to hitting the door, the only saving grace in that his flight limited the recoil that Molly had experienced. Still, "no dice," as some who weren't a king from the ice age might say. He'd merely keep punching.
Matt has seen Clarice use her portals for years, but only in that she was there and then not. Or others were. Unless she sustained the portal over a period of time he couldn't quite sense it directly, but they'd never quite...wobbled before. Illyana's had a wobbly aspect that he didn't think was normal, even for her. "Is it normal for it to... look like a sunny side up egg in a pan?" he asked doubtfully, trying to grasp for an analog that everyone might understand.
Illyana scowled, slowly moving into a sitting position. "No. Visible edges normal, wobble and spit back not normal." She pushed herself to stand with a wince, shuffling to the fridge. "Could also use water. More chocolate too." She grabbed two bottles, then thought about it. "Anyone else want water?" Might as well be polite to people she was seemingly stuck with.
There was the slim possibility that Namor let out a big sigh at that, but it was covered over by the sound of fists on the unbreakable door.
