notrosecolored

Sandy had chosen not to have his mask on when the other man walked in, had kept his mask off during the entirety of his time up here in Westchester. It made him feel a little naked, but he wasn't about to show that. He was a representative of the JSA, a former chairman (however short that had lasted) and while his social skills were beyond rusty in that sense (the sense where he wasn't Sand, where he wasn't playing a role, where he was dealing with anyone other than the folks in the brownstone genuinely)... well, he had to try.

That was why his surprise was a little plain.

"They didn't tell you much about me, did they?"

Edited 2015-10-10 15:37 (UTC)

"I was prioritizing the information you couldn't give me over what you can. I have the vaguest notion of who you are and what you're capable of. You're going to have to fill the gaps in yourself."

He was not at his best at the moment for a number of reasons - starting with where he'd just come from and what he'd been doing, and carrying on with still trying to deal with the information and details on what they were about to do. I

It was at least good that Scott had the visor and no option of taking it off, except to replace it with glasses. For reasons similar to Sandy's, if he ever did he was going to be horribly out of practice at controlling his facial expressions. Everything was going to be blatantly clear. He'd spent too long living behind red quartz.

He held up a hand: plain, longfingered, well-calloused. There was nothing in it and nothing on it until what looked like sand gathered around it and solidified into a heavy leather-looking glove.

"If it's not on me, it doesn't come with me," was all he said as his other hand did the same, much quicker, and his mask shifted out to cover his face. His voice, when it came out, was different. Darker, deeper... almost eerie.

"If you're ready to go, I'm ready to go."

Scott watched the transformation, silently. The entire scene was reflected back to Sandy in the mirror finish of Scott's visor, but Scott's expression didn't visibly change. He inclined his head slightly as the mask covered the other man's face and his voice changed, but that was about the extent of it.

He was a pretty hard man to creep out or disturb on that level.

"Is there something I need to know about your method of transportation? If so, now's the time."

"I phase through the ground," was his answer, though it wasn't the best answer. It was hard to describe what he did sometimes. Swimming was another good word, except it implied a physical motion or something slower and less integrated than what really happened.

"I can get us a detailed layout of the facility and make a stable underground entrance close to where she's being held."

Scott translated that explanation to something closer to the truth, anyway, by virtue of knowing how Bobby could move through water - or even water vapor. It probably wasn't entirely accurate, but exposure to Bobby as his abilities had increased had given Scott a pretty good grasp on, at least, moving through a medium. Or, well, reforming yourself from that medium.

"That will be useful, but I have to get there myself and we'll have to transport her back. The jet is grounded for the time being." Because Scott was the mechanic and he'd barely made it back in said jet. He hadn't been back long enough to start repairs and maintenance. "If you want to go ahead, get detailed plans and meet me at a hotel overnight, that may be the most effective plan, but you're not getting her out without me."

Which was closer than most people understood. Generally, the thought was that Sanderson had a way about him with dirt. It was a lot deeper than that, but like most things, Sanderson kept it close to the vest.

"The entrance would be to get you in and get her out. I'm not going to be seen involved with this."

Which would accomplished using a combination of him staying in the ground, sleep gas, and letting Scott do all the visible heavy lifting. They didn't want anyone, not the people holding her OR the X-men to know why they'd volunteered to assist in some of these cases. It wasn't their business.

Each organization took care of their own. It just got to be complicated when 'their own' might overlap.

"Which hotel?"

Scott had been exposed to (and worked both with and against) a lot of mutants. That was helpful when it came to his ability to quickly, intuitively, grasp onto some of the implications and finer points.

Then again, some people thought Scott shot fire out of his eyes, didn't realize his mutation encompassed spatial geometry, and that he was solar powered. All in all, maybe people were just idiots when it came to this stuff.

There was a pause while he got the information about the hotel. He covered some of it by saying: "I assumed that was the point of the entrance." He was just making clear that as far as he was concerned this particular kid was his, even if there was some overlap. He was a little (lot) protective. Then he knew what he needed to know, thanks to that direct linkup with Charles, still feeding him details here and there: "The Regal Inn. Room 301, behind the building. We'll have rooms reserved on either side as a buffer, but the door leads directly to the parking lot."

Sandy hadn't been one for pleasantries in... well, in a few years. As it was, he was done with his coffee and he'd been given his rendezvous point.

"Location of the jail? Or will I be finding out exactly where they're keeping her as well?"

He didn't seem troubled by that idea, just matter-of-fact.

...and the kid was Scott's until he saw, heard, or came upon intel that told him differently.

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