Combat Advice

Brief Title:
Combat Advice

Characters:
Phantasm, Armand

Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:
03/11/13 17:00

Location:
Phone lines

Summary:
Armand gives Mike combat advice. Does anyone else find something wrong with this concept?!

Social or Plot:

TS:
Yes

Log:
After a productive day filming in the Upper West Side and a less than pleasurable time afterwards getting makeup taken off by the artist, Mike has once again found himself with some free time until it's time for him to go on patrol. Content and oblivious to the happenings while he was working, he's back in his usual street attire, concealing his identifying hair from the passing public. Oh what a wonderful day!

Okay, so today was supposed to be normal! Getting of at 5:00 instead of 4:30 due to delivering some special party cakes to Staten Island! A big honor, Armand had even prepped some veggies and put dough in the fridge to rise...lots of stuff. But...no, he went to deliver cakes, watched alot of people die all around him, a massacre in fact it will probably be in on the news soon. His clothing is filthy, trenchcoat torn, hair dusty and hand shaky as he dials a familiar number.

As a default ringtone starts going off, Mike reaches into his pocket and tugs it out. Without skipping a beat, he hits the answer button and brings it to his ear, "Hello?"

"Oh! Monsi-Mik-Mike..." Armand starts rattling on in French, reflexively as he walks along, heading for the store no doubt and taking a deep breath and then another. There's a pause. "...and then the arrows came from the sky and killed lots of people, there's was blood everywhere!"

Mike stops mid stride, causing for someone behind him to bump into him, and causing for that person to say things that were less than polite as they step around him. Shifting to the side, the musician sets his back to a building wall, "What? Arrows?" He squints, "Are you okay? What happened? Where are you?" So much to answer.

"I have left the island, pardon, the French its. There was a massacre on the island. Native americans and gods and they just rained arrows down on people and killed a bunch of them...some rode on horses made of the clouds! And no, I am not smoking anyting!" Armand tries to pat his hair down as he shimmers into a dark black shade. "I-I am fine. There was superheros and there was the ting with the healing but I got hit in the face and punched in the stomach." A long pause. "...there was blood everywhere Mike, are you okay? I needed to check."

"Nat-" Mike grimaces, shaking his head, "Yeah, was in a shoot. Where are you?"

"Bus...I will have to stop by the um, grocers." Armand is just quiet for almost a minute before he offers softly. "They will be back I fear...the ones who started the tings. I thought maybe...you knew or maybe not there was a crow...it was black and he was helping and then he...turned into a man and fell. Also the warriors have balls, if you elbow or punch them there it hurts them." A sobbed on breath. "I have seen so much red, and touched so many cold bodies still warm from the red leaking from them...how can death of the innocent make the death of others fair?"

"Groceries?" Mike looks a bit surprised at that revelation but keys in on the warriors having a weak spot. Huh, funny how STABBING them with the concentrated force of full body strength on the tip of a beak didn't do anything, but an elbow will do something. "It doesn't make things 'fair'... but some people are stupid assholes and others are jackasses who are just grabbing at straws to justify being the biggest asshole around." Mike replies to Armand's question, "Thanks, for the advice...I'll keep it in mind if I end up somewhere where that happens again."

"...h-have you seen them before? I tink I have, they were familiar I believe but last time people did not die like this..." Armand closes his eyes when the bus stops, taking his time to exit the bus and he fumbles with his phone before taking a deep breath. "Please do not die. It will make tings even more so complicated."

There is a pause on Mike's end at the question as he considers it. "No, I haven't," he lies, "And I'm not going to look for them. I'm heading straight home. So no worries."

"Very good, I sh-shall make pizza. I tink pizza will be good. Or maybe some chicken pot pie, oui, that'll be good." Armand swallows. "I shall see you there. At home. Oh...I shall need lots of soap...lots of soap..." He murmurs softly.

Mike considers the pizza ingredients and shakes his head, "Let's try the chicken pot pie tonight. See you at the apartment."

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