gone_byebye | (no subject)

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Mid-January, 2008
RCMP/Ministry of Extraordinary Threats Emergency Hangar
Alert, Nunavut, CA

Even in times of the highest tension and most danger, people find ways to keep themselves busy, and neither the Ghostbusters nor the men and women of the world's northern watch bureaus were any great exception. "Ray? Ray! Ray, check it out." Venkman shook his friend's shoulder. "Egon's in a fight with one of the Inquanok guys."

Ray opened an eye and glanced sideways. Several of the Danish contingent and a couple of the Pohjola Project's Sami members were gathered in a semicircle centered on Egon and a broad-faced, dark-eyed man in Danish uniform. "Wow. Spengs is looking kinda..."

"Green," Winston finished for both of them. "That's freaky. What are they fighting about?"

"The worst thing they've ever eaten," said Venkman. "Eske's winning."

Ray and Winston exchanged glances. They both knew Egon's eating habits. "How?" Ray finally asked.

"That's not food," Egon suddenly said, loud enough to be heard over the snickering Greenlanders. "That's biological waste. You can't consider anything with that level of ammonia in it to qualify as edible."

"This from the man who admits to eating casu marzu," said his opponent with the serene smile of a man who knows he's won. "Hákarl is nothing-"

Winston shook his head. Ray gave up on the possibility of a nap and stood up. "Has anyone seen where Captain Korpan went?" he asked, and one of the Finns pointed. "Thank you."

He found the Canadian in the tiny office attached to the hangar, one hand pressing his headset against his ear and the other taking frantic notes. As Ray walked in Korpan lifted his eyes, winced, and held up a piece of paper that read:

Magnetic fields flaring
Deep ones report Russian helicopter near 82.7° N 114.4° W
Radio comms dorppinng like brick

A moment later Korpan scribbled one last line:

Dammit, I can spell. Marines on the way. Tell the others. We're going in.

Ray shuddered, nodded, and went in search of a better door.

[OOC: Assume everyone will be arriving from Milliways within five minutes of each other. Also, don't click on the food links above if you have a weak stomach.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Keep distracting him Kit, the kid's going to try and make himself scarce.

Now see you him now you.. where the heck did he go?!?

"I'm not surprised, truly," says the man. "Always good to know someone is taking care of the competition. The fewer troublemakers lie between my lord Azathoth and the Pole, the better my chances of supplanting His most potent servant..."

The next words that he shouts are in no language fit for the tongues of men as he whips a fistful of that green fire straight at Kit's head.

The Flying Squirrel leaps sideways to dodge the blast, while simultaneously throwing the grey cylinder at the Russian man's feet. It detonates with a sharp report and a spark like a firecracker going off.

Those magical flash grenades may not be too flashy, but they get the job done.

They do indeed. The man's face pales as the fires around his hands flicker and die; he can see, and he can act and all, but every particle of mystical awareness he has has just been whited out in a flood of indescribable pain.

He drops into a low, wide crouch, hands coming up in a fighting stance; if he can't bring this woman down the way he'd planned, he'll do it any way he has to.

The Flying Squirrel gets to her feet and assumes a similar stance. "So ya wanna do this the old-fashioned way, eh? You think you can put up a better fight than your hired goons?"

"I've served in the Navy since I was sixteen," says the man through gritted teeth. "I have all the close-quarters training the state could give me. Bring it on, American."

Either he's mistaken or he's being deliberately insulting. Either way, the tone of voice is the same.

"Sticks--and stones--may--break my bones," she grunts between blows, "but don't you dare--call me--an American!"

His only reply is a snort as he lays into the superhero full force. She's small, and nimble, and that means fewer targets- but he's not one of those guys who makes the mistake of trying to compensate by hitting harder. Unlike D&D players he's well aware that strength doesn't give a to-hit bonus. It's more important that the blows land than that they be hard.

He'll deal with his own injuries later. Azathoth accepts no excuses for weakness.

While his attention if focused on the pretty lady in the catsuit who just took out his magic-throwing temporarily, Moon Shadow's been invisibly checking up on the Russian President.

Namely by making sure the guy can breathe through the face-hole in the putty.

We do hope the Russian president favors the fast-pull method of tape removal.

"Sorry sir..."

It's a lucky thing he didn't have a mustache, that's all we're going to say. The man blinks a few times as he struggles to get his thoughts back in order. Then he says, in halting English, "Matochkin- did he finish- has he done the rest of the ritual?"

"I don't think so, but I have no way of being sure...I don't speak Russian. ...or whatever he's speaking to summon the Elder God." Moon Shadow says looking back at the fistfight. "The Flying Squirrel kind of interrupted and blinded him temporarily. Do you know what he did exactly?"

The President would nod if he had enough room to move his head for it. "The submarine is nuclear," he says. "He said- when the reactor was in line with the Pole, from underneath, and the whole sky was lit with red, he would call the god's power from the reactor. He needs human blood to finish it. Mine or the sailors'."

"...ooooh poop. We've got teams out to rescue the sailors, any idea of how to stop things from here?"

It's better the President doesn't have that much room to move at the moment, he'll stay warm bundled up like that inside of the putty. "We have to make sure he doesn't kill anyone here...or himself."

"He won't do that," says the President. "He wants his power too much... Stop the fire. He needs to start all over if the fire goes out."

"Gotcha. Sit tight... the putty'll keep you safe." A short pause and the kid is invisible a split second before he speaks again. "Is there an extinguisher in the helicopter? for emergencies?"

"Da. Under the seat. Be careful, you might set off the eject."

"I'll keep that in mind." With that Moon Shadow disappears again high-tailing it for the copter to find that extinguisher. A size-small butt plunks itself onto the seat to peer under it for the extinguisher.

"He said it's somewhere under here..."

-yank!-

-click-

....wrong lever are the last words to cross his mind before the sudden trip upwards.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH."

Some things are very, very hard to miss even if you're in a potentially life-or-death fistfight. Military ejector seats going off are among them.

Matochkin's head whips around for just long enough to see the unplanned exit from the helicopter.

Which also happens to be long enough for The Flying Squirrel to land a solid punch on Matochkin's jaw.

It's not enough to knock him out completely, but it is enough to send him down and leave him too dizzy to push himself back up. "Yankee pizda," he mutters, struggling to brace his hands.

"That's Canadian pizda to you," says The Flying Squirrel, lifting Matochkin by the collar just far enough to give him another punch that really should knock him out. Then she drops him and sprints toward the helicopter, looking upward for any sign of the boy hero.

There's a definite sign. A loudly yelling, sign that looks like a giant tetherball that's coming down just a little before the chair it was in. Built-in belt-airbags that activate at too-high speeds. Gotta love em.

The kid comes down with a couple of good boings before the big ball finally comes to complete stop.

The Flying Squirrel skids to a stop right next to the Tyler-ball. "Moon Shadow? You okay, kid? What in blazes was that??"

"I was looking for the fire extinguisher and pulled out the wrong lever." He says kicking down the airbags of the belt. "We need to extinguish that green fire, it's part of the ritual."

"Got it." Not bothering to wait for Moon Shadow to be mobile again, she picks the boy up under one arm and trots back toward the helicopter. It might slow her down a bit, but at this point there's no one conscious to stop them, right?

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