The Ψiioniic / The Helmsman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
biiowiired) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-06-10 11:23 pm
biiowiired) wrote in thearena2015-06-10 11:23 pm
Entry tags:
Tell every creature of the night
Who| The Ψiioniic, Sam Wilson sizeofyourbaggage, and Clint Barton cognitived
What| One hell of a misunderstanding
Where| Catacombs, one of its belfries
When| 6-14
Warnings/Notes| Death by magic wand blast. It won't be pretty.
He fucked up.
"GO, get going, the wingbeathtth won't thtop!" he shouted to Sam, who he could hear on the stairs amidst the commotion of ringing bells.
The two men had initially come into Psii's musty hiding crypt to escape tracker jackers. Then Psii had discovered some new rooms and foolishly tried his hand at the belfry puzzle, confident in his genius. But intermittent bat attacks and screaming ghosts had distracted him, and he'd tugged the wrong rope. Now he sported several bites where small mouthfuls of his skin had been chomped by the bats, dribbling yellow blood. Perhaps they'd had enough of him catching them for food and wanted sweet bloody revenge. Or the bells were just making then crazy.
Behind the chaos of sound, a low thrumming pushed insistently at his auricular lobes. It did not echo, so it was not far away, but perhaps just behind the stone walls. Then the air from a small window up above changed, shifted. Anyone with eyes would have seen the light quaver before many tiny shadows. Buzzing erupted in the tower.
"FUCK!"
A glow of red and blue surrounded him as he charged the air, sparks leaping everywhere, even over Sam, a harmless web of telekinetic fingers trying to see where everything was at. Then he concentrated zaps in the pockets of air closest to them and felt some limp insect bodies begin to plop to the ground. Tracker jackers could go fuck themselves; they were nothing like Psii's favorite insect, his peaceful, hardworking bees.
sizeofyourbaggage, and Clint Barton cognitivedWhat| One hell of a misunderstanding
Where| Catacombs, one of its belfries
When| 6-14
Warnings/Notes| Death by magic wand blast. It won't be pretty.
He fucked up.
"GO, get going, the wingbeathtth won't thtop!" he shouted to Sam, who he could hear on the stairs amidst the commotion of ringing bells.
The two men had initially come into Psii's musty hiding crypt to escape tracker jackers. Then Psii had discovered some new rooms and foolishly tried his hand at the belfry puzzle, confident in his genius. But intermittent bat attacks and screaming ghosts had distracted him, and he'd tugged the wrong rope. Now he sported several bites where small mouthfuls of his skin had been chomped by the bats, dribbling yellow blood. Perhaps they'd had enough of him catching them for food and wanted sweet bloody revenge. Or the bells were just making then crazy.
Behind the chaos of sound, a low thrumming pushed insistently at his auricular lobes. It did not echo, so it was not far away, but perhaps just behind the stone walls. Then the air from a small window up above changed, shifted. Anyone with eyes would have seen the light quaver before many tiny shadows. Buzzing erupted in the tower.
"FUCK!"
A glow of red and blue surrounded him as he charged the air, sparks leaping everywhere, even over Sam, a harmless web of telekinetic fingers trying to see where everything was at. Then he concentrated zaps in the pockets of air closest to them and felt some limp insect bodies begin to plop to the ground. Tracker jackers could go fuck themselves; they were nothing like Psii's favorite insect, his peaceful, hardworking bees.