Sandy

[notrosecolored]

Scott said he'd be there with information in five minutes. He was at the door, fully dressed and with his glasses replaced by a visor, in four. It took him that long to grab a cup of coffee and walk to the lounge where Sandy was waiting.

He got his debriefing on the move, and directly into his brain.

He felt better for having been looped in, however perfunctorily.

He walked in, and stayed standing up. Looked the guy over, and wondered why the hell this kid was the recon specialist and then moved on.

"New mutant manifested in Chicago. She's sitting in a jail cell, supposedly for her protection. We're going to get her. How long do you need to pack?"

Comments

[granularity]

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."

[notrosecolored]

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."

[granularity]

"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."

[notrosecolored]

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."

[granularity]

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?"

[notrosecolored]

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."

[granularity]

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.

[notrosecolored]

"1718 State Street. I don't know where in the facility she is, but it will be isolated and away from other detainees." It wasn't for her protection. They were scared of her. There was another brief pause, and then he gave his head a very light shake.

"It will take me 12 hours to make the drive. You'll have time to gather your information and check in before I arrive. I'll meet you there early afternoon. We'll move after the building locks down for night." Having the prisoners locked up would save a lot of risk to those who aren't involved.

[granularity]

"See you there."

Though he decided to add a something of a jaunty salute before phasing down into the ground.

[notrosecolored]

Scott took long enough to exchange his visor for a pair of glasses, pack a spare of each and grab his bag. All in all he was in the road fast. His twelve hour estimate was dead on, thanks to a little speeding and a whole lot of not driving. Empty roads at night enabled both to be easier.

By the time he pulled into the parking lot behind the hotel and made his way up to their assigned room, the sun was well up and shinning bright, glinting off the red of Scott's glasses and making them seem almost normal in the setting. The jeans, button down jacket, and sneakers (and preppy hair-cut) all aided that. Even the bag slung over his shoulder was almost aggressively normal.

That he had to knock, maybe not, but he had no way of knowing if it was locked or not. Even locked, he didn't feel much like blowing the deadbolt just to get in.

As soon as he was in the room though, he asked: "What've we got?"

[granularity]

Sandy popped out of the wall then, stepping down onto the carpet before letting his mask and gloves fade away. His coat was pulled off a moment later and hung on one of the hooks.

"She's being kept as far underground as the prison goes," Sand informed him as he went towards the room's small table, "which from what I understand was done so they could bury her if they thought she was too dangerous. And to discourage escape, of course."

He glanced over at Scott.

"...you didn't bring coffee?"

[notrosecolored]

He stared at Sandy from behind those red lenses and then his eyebrows appeared over the frames. He put his bag down, and tossed the keys onto the dresser. "I didn't stop to pick up coffee, no. I haven't eaten yet, either. I'm sure we can take care of both with a phone call." There had to be delivery to their area. It was on top of O'Hare, and in a major city.

He stretched the kinks out of his back. "Underground is good for more than one reason. It'll provide a buffering zone for us, as well as easy access." Provided they didn't get stuck down there too long. If that happened, Scott was going to run out of battery power. That wasn't going to happen in one night, though, and he didn't anticipate too much trouble, here.

These people just weren't that good.

A few steps to find the laminated menu of delivery options in the area, and he looked down to read that. While he read: "And of course they want to bury her. Isolated now, kill her later, and blame it on the mutation. That's how these people work. Or they'll let a lynch mob in and pretend they couldn't stop it."

[granularity]

"Deep down past where cameras can easily reach," Sandy said with some distaste.

"And underground, I'll be able to provide more support. Like cutting off outside access to the floor."

All it took was a wall of stone inserted into a few spots, phased back out and into the ground once they were done. No muss, no fuss. Or the least amount of muss possible.

He glanced over at the menu before ruffling his own hair.

"Honestly, you and me both are practically overkill for this. The only thing in there is standard police weaponry and human police officers."

[notrosecolored]

Scott passed the menu over to Sandy to look at, so he wasn't stuck reading over Scott's shoulder. "I have no idea why you're here." He was content to believe that the JSA had a reason to be involved in this, but. "I haven't been sent out on this kind of mission in years. If they needed an X-man with you, I can think of a dozen who would have been equally or better suited." Based on mutation and powers, not based on tactics.

And when it came down to it tactics, strategy, leadership, and making shitty decisions was what Scott was really good at. He was far from the most powerful among them, when it came down to the nature of his mutation. Add in brain damage leading to that mutation being haywire, and well.

"They wanted me out of the house and moving. This was an excuse." Not self-pitying, just - really bluntly stated. Aware.

[granularity]

He glanced at the menu, found something he knew he could eat, and put it down.

"Sounds like we're both here for the same reason," and he scrubbed at his face. "You an antisocial grumpy workaholic too or is that just me?"

He didn't actually wait for the answer before sitting up a little straighter.

"And the JSA is here to cover any cases of metahumans you happen to stumble over. Metahumans and family members of known JSA members, known or otherwise. It was deemed by Mr. Terrific and your Professor to be a good mission for relations between our two organizations."

[notrosecolored]

"I'm certainly an antisocial workaholic." Was he grumpy? Depended on who you compared him to, actually, but he sure as fuck wasn't warm and fuzzy. "That's not why I'm here." If it was, he would have been here a whole hell of a lot sooner. "Not entirely, anyway. If it was, they would have sent Logan."

Scott picked up the phone in the room and started dialing one of the numbers, to order his food and coffee and then passed the receiver to Sandy to place his own damned order since Scott wasn't sure what it was and he was lousy at playing waiter - and small talk.

He was more than willing to accept the 'relations' remark, though only sort of. May as well work in concert - until they got into a situation where they fought over the same person, but honestly... unless they pulled Avenger's level shit, Scott would let it go. Avenger's level shit and there was going to be flat out fucking war.

[granularity]

He made his order before hanging up the phone and spreading his hands.

"They don't ask me to do much," not that he had to do much, given what Wes and Dian had left him. But then there were the nightmares. And the only people he still cared about. And the organization that kept Wesley's legacy alive.

"I'm not chairman, so I do what's asked and leave it at that."

[notrosecolored]

Scott closed his eyes and pushed up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. It kept things safe, but also provided some relief from the weight of those things. The visor was lighter, but impacted his field of vision and was uncomfortable in other ways.

"And now they're trying to make you social. With me." He paused. "That's almost laughable." Scott was lousy at social.

[granularity]

He shrugged and leaned back in the chair to tuck his hands behind his head.

"Guess they're starting me on easy mode."

[notrosecolored]

Scott moved to take the chair at the desk, nearer to the door and positioned so all he'd have to do was pivot slightly when he stood to open it - or face it.

He laughed at Sandy's remark, anyway. It was a low, somewhat harsh, sound. "Yeah, sure." He was too self-aware to buy that. "Why is this something they want you to do, anyway?"

[granularity]

He tilted his head back and forth a couple of times before quirking his lips to one side and shrugging.

"Something a little more positive than my usual work maybe?"

Most of the cases he found on his own, the ones that made every sleeping moment a parade of nightmares, weren't exactly pleasant. There were occasionally world-ending events that needed handling, but more often it was just shootings, stabbings, murder, rape, kidnapping, suicides...

The common tragedies that he'd started his career fighting against, still around after decades.

[notrosecolored]

"Maybe." That was pretty close to an agreement, if not a full one.

Truth was, more than making him social, that felt like the truth for him, too. Maybe not so much more positive than his usual work, but a reminder of what they were doing and why, and a high chance of success with little chance of seeing someone he loved and fought for dead. Mental release, and emotional payoff.

He smiled, pretty wryly but a smile. Sank a little deeper into his chair and glanced toward the door.

"Nothing like rescuing a kid and getting them somewhere safe to give you a case of warm fuzzies." Even if the situation disgusted and enraged him to start with, it was providing him a way to strike back - simply. An easy win.

[granularity]

He was quiet for a heartbeat, considering the issue for a moment before glancing up to look Scott in the glasses before letting his eyes slip closed again.

"I remember being... enthusiastic," he admitted quietly. "Being a kid. They remember me like that. I'll put money on that being why."

[notrosecolored]

When Sandy was looking at him, Scott was mostly just glad that it was all but impossible to see his eyes behind them. When Sandy's glance slid away, he found himself wishing that they'd sent someone else on this particular mission.

He found himself thinking about Bobby, too. About how enthusiastic and bright Bobby had been, in the beginning. Then the way he'd changed, even while he held onto the facade.

He didn't say any of that. All he said was, "Nobody gets to stay upbeat and enthusiastic doing this, but maybe they're right. Maybe the moment will help." Fuck all if he knew. "They're either good friends, or the absolute worst kind."

[granularity]

"The best," Sandy said before standing up to grab a glass of water from the kitchenette. "Or I wouldn't be here. I've got other things I could be doing."

It was smaller scale most of the time, but that didn't mean it wasn't important. He was, in some ways, more of a mystery man than a 'superhero', no matter the level of his abilities.

"I'd assume it's the same for you?" And there was the faintest hint of a smile curling at the corner of his lips. "Your group reminds me more of the JSA than the Avengers, after all."

There was a reason they didn't deal much with the Avengers. The Avengers could deal with the Justice League, since they were much more aligned. But the results that the JSA were concerned with had more to do with the lives and quality of the members than anything else.