Poughkeepsie Attacks!!!: Team Smith Brothers

[gone_byebye]

The Smith Brothers were once upon a time considered the Beards Who Made Poughkeepsie Famous. In many a world, their old factory has long since shut down and their product is now manufactured in Chicago. Not so here; the same factory continues to operate, churning out lozenges by the gross.

Or they do during the day, anyway. Tonight the place is crawling with security. Who knew that non-prescription cough drops needed so many guardians?

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[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

Matilda is a six-year-old girl climbing down a ladder in a hurry. It's not much more than three-quarters of a minute before she thumps to the ground and peers anxiously up at Andrew. She will be highly put out if it turns out she should've stayed back to guard him after all.

[stilljustandrew]

*He's dividing his attention unevenly between the door and the ladder, and sees the gelatinous red pseudopod questing around the doorframe with Matilda still a few feet from the bottom.*

Go, go, go --

*He throws down the glass bottle of holy water just in front of the door; it shatters very satisfactorily, spraying glass and water everywhere, just as Matilda thumps to the ground.*

*He swings himself over the edge of the ladder, and pauses for just a split second to gauge the effects of the holy water, if any.*

[gone_byebye]

There's a little hissing, a little splurting- and then the pseudopod buds off a sizable sphere of its own mass and the holy water. The sphere is pushed away by the rest of the creature's oozy central structure, toppling to the ground below.

Then the mass of medicine resumes its former course.

[stilljustandrew]

*Andrew stares, and it cannot be denied that it's a stare of fascination.*

Wow. Like a lizard tail!

*...Possibly he isn't retreating as fast as he should, in the face of the common geek frailty of Oh Hey Look At That.*

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

All right - point the first: cast a worried glance to the dropped blob to make sure it really isn't moving. (It's not. Good.)

Point the second: whatever's happening up there, get Andrew the heck away from it.

He'll find himself being lifted as though by an invisible hand and thrown towards the ground, making the same descent as Tilda did only about six feet further out from the building and about ten times faster.

It's perfectly safe, of course. Matilda's control is exacting; when his feet are a few inches from the ground he halts abruptly and drifts the rest of the way with measured gentleness.

[stilljustandrew]

*Nobody gave Andrew the memo about it being perfectly safe!*

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

"Oh, hush," she says exasperatedly, patting him on the elbow. "You're fine."

[gone_byebye]

The blob of oozy gelatinous cough mess had been aiming for anything warm and moving before. Andrew just moved a whole lot, and he's decidedly warmer than his environment.

One pseudopod that had been extended to search tuuuuuuuuuuuuurns to follow the arc of Andrew's screaming flight, and then the whole mass lunges up as prelude to gorbling its way down the fire escape towards the landing point.

[stilljustandrew]

*Andrew stopped screaming when his fall slowed; he's trying to catch his breath now.*

Would you say we've got what we came here for and running for it might be advisable?

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

"Eminently," she agrees, casting a glance to the cough drop monster.

Quarter-second pause.

"--Though possibly I should blow it up a little bit first, so it has a tougher time following us?"

It's amazing how rapidly she can deliver such long-winded sentences.

[gone_byebye]

"WHURF WHURF WHURF WHURF WHURF WHURF WHURF..."

That would be Francis, running just shy of full speed, looping around the property towards them as he conducts his merry chase.

[stilljustandrew]

*...And guards pounding after him, some of them pointing and shouting as they catch sight of two people who very definitely Should Not Be Here.*

Oh, grife. FRANCIS, OVER HERE!

*To Matilda:* Get ready to hang on.

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

...Well, that sure makes sense.

Not.

"--Right," she says, and shrugs.

There's just about enough time before Francis arrives to idly fling an explosive at the cough drop monster.

It's not one of the ones she used to take down the steel door for Ray those many months ago: she's improved the model since then.

[gone_byebye]

The robot dog comes streaking across the grounds, yellow eye flaring, barking at the top of his synthesizer. Francis is the size of a Rhodesian Ridgeback and can generally keep up with Ecto, so we do mean streaking- and the guards are hard pressed to keep up.

The sudden rosy-purple SPLA-BLOOOOOEY that covers everything in sight in herbal scented sugar goo doesn't help their turn of speed any. Although it does piss off what remains of the cough drop monster, which is perhaps the size of a large goat at this point.

[stilljustandrew]

*Andrew is not interested in waiting around to see how much damage an angry cough drop monster, goat-sized or not, can do.*

*As Francis pulls up beside them, Andrew scoops up Matilda and deposits her unceremoniously on the metal dog's back.*

Okay go!

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

So that's what he meant.

Tilda becomes very glad she zipped her bag back up after throwing that explosive.

She clings to Francis and twists her head to look back at Andrew - is he keeping up?

[stilljustandrew]

*For the moment, yes -- though he's also got his head twisted around to look back at the grounds they're hurriedly vacating.*

*It has occurred to him that right now, it looks an awful lot like the cough drop monster was their doing.*

[gone_byebye]

Yes. Yes it does.

And for ostensible rent-a-cops, these guys sure do carry enough firearms- which it looks like they know how to use...

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

Oh.

No.

No, that is not happening.

Matilda throws a confident, focused look at the ostensible rent-a-cops. Specifically, at the first gun she can see. She jerks her head sharply to the side, tearing it out of its owner's hands and flinging it several hundred feet to the left, then directs her attention to the next one with the aim of repeating the trick.

[stilljustandrew]

*Andrew throws her an enthusiastic thumbs-up and keeps running, by now panting in his efforts to stay level with Francis.*

*Behind him, one guard yelps as he's hit with another guard's gun. A third guard manages to keep hold of his weapon, but considering that the gun is still hurtling into the trees and dragging him with it, he probably wishes he hadn't.*

[gone_byebye]

Really, only about half of these guards are real security guards. Most of the real ones are retired police officers. They know what they're doing, and what they're doing is trying not to get hit in the head with flying guns.

The fake ones are clutchignt heir hands and wishing they'd stayed in Illinois.

"WHURF WHURF WHURF WHURF WHURF WHURF WHURF..."

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

Right. No more guns. Well done, Tilda.

Andrew is not looking like he'll be keeping up with Francis for much longer. "Prepare to be carried," calls Matilda helpfully, and gets him in a much gentler telekinetic grip this time, skimming him along a decent distance above the ground at Francis-pace.

This means she isn't good for looking at much, of course, but by now she figures Andrew will probably have a handle on that part.

[stilljustandrew]

Thanks for the heads up!

*He means that. Because it means that he can twist around in midair (so he's now being carried backwards at Francis-pace), haul out his tranq gun, and take aim at anything that seems to be following them too closely.*

Francis, get us out of here.

[gone_byebye]

Francis was built as a hunter-seeker in the earliest days of Libria, when people still had private motor vehicles. His maximum top speed is around sixty miles an hour,a bit less when he's carrying weight.

"WHURF," he says, and throws himself into the task of reaching top speed.

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

...This, Tilda decides, bringing Andrew close by in front and to the right, is fun.

One six-year-old telekinetic, clinging to Francis' back and giggling.