Ellen Park, the Lone Wanderer

X's nostrils flare as she takes in the surrounding scents.

"The width of the -- swarm? It has not changed?"

Just to check.

And --

"They will not ask me questions? The Knights. Or the family."

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If the animated yammering and scrabbling of claws is anything to go by, he's not too far off.

"Egalagooo! Aka tiki baba..."

There follows a bout of enthusiastic snuffling before something lets out a metallic screech of protest.

Edited Date: 2014-09-17 02:24 am (UTC)

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"The swarm looks about the same from what I saw before coming to get you," Ellen says. "As for the questions, the only person who has to answer the Knights' questions is me, and I have a reputation for coming up with unusual help."

The noise gets a wince.

"If he caved in the silo...."

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"I do not think it is likely."

X flicks a glance in Stitch's direction.

"Stitch. We are not fighting here."

A pause, and she looks back at Ellen.

"There is high ground?"

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Stitch peers up from the moldering diver's seat of a decrepit old hulk, grinning brightly.

"Ih! Eh.. Morcheeba aka-choota, feboogoo! Maka maka!"

The possibilities, you guys! Lookit it!

Edited Date: 2014-09-21 03:07 am (UTC)

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"The highest ground is the roof of the main farmhouse. It's about twenty or thirty feet tall," Ellen says. "I'd say one of the trees, but the trees aren't... they don't look structurally sound."

She glances over at Stitch.

"Good lord, I hope that thing didn't run on fission batteries..."

(It did.)

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"That is what we are trying to keep them from. The farm."

Well, there goes that idea.

"I will attack from below."

Or, you know. In front. Whichever.

A pause, and she flicks a quick glance at Ellen.

"They leak? The batteries."

(Uh oh.)

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"Leak, no," says Ellen. "Explode, yes. It's a pretty spectacular explosion, and I usually have to stab myself with a Rad-Away IV afterwards if I'm too close to one."

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Stitch cants his head to one side. Spectacular explosions you say?

X and Ellen are treated to a speculative moment of blinking. And in the next, he tears off the steering column and absently lobs it behind him. The little alien pauses at the resulting crashing sounds, turns to stare bemusedly in the direction of the resulting carnage (that poor shelving never stood a chance) and then leans into the newly formed hole.

A small cube is retrieved from tractor's innards, given a full olfactory once over and held up for inspection. Is this one?

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"Yes, just like that," Ellen says. "About the only thing I know that makes a bigger explosion, other than a mini-nuke, is a Chryslus car's power plant-"

She pauses.

"Stitch, if there are automobiles anywhere on this property, you need to know that they have atomic power plants under the hood. I've seen a man from Milliways throw one of those cars and take down a sixteen-foot-tall Behemoth."

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X flicks a glance between the cube in Stitch's hand, Ellen, and the vague direction of 'outside'.

"There is a known blast radius?"

No one wants to give radiation poisoning to allies.

Right, Stitch?

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"Um-" Ellen thinks for a moment. "The car blast radius would probably be about twice the length of whatever car the engine is mounted in. At least that's how it was with cars in the Capital once you breached the power plant."

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"I will not forget."

It is a promise.

She is pretty sure Stitch will not forget, either.

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"All right. Either way, let's get moving- the scorpions were moving pretty fast towards our location when I found a working door," Ellen says. "There's a couple dozen yards of open ground between here and the main house, but nothing with ranged capability in the way of hostiles, so we should be all right."

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"We are good at being quick," X offers, turning to move out.

Radscorpions cannot be as unexpected as Skrull, right?

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They do leave a certain distinctive scent on the wind, even at this distance. At least when there are very, very many of them.

Ellen's going to check outside through a chink between two half-rotted boards in the barn wall before throwing open the door. "The main house is at about ten o'clock from here," she says. "Follow me."

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X does, matching her speed to Ellen's at least as long as there are no radscorpions in view.

And no one seems to be panicking.

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There follows a brief pause before Stitch rushes out on all fours and scuttles along X's heels once he's caught up.

Given the amount of teeth currently on display, it would appear that avoiding panicking others hasn't occurred to him.

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No one's panicking, but the handful of wide-eyed humans dressed in Brahmin skins standing just inside the farmhouse door do look a bit off their guard. "Uh," says one of them, a man of middle years. "I know you said you were going to get help, but..."

"This is X," says Ellen, indicating the taller of her two companions, "and this is Stitch. Stitch is from Kawai."

... well, she did try to get the pronunciation right, it's just been a while.

"Stitch, would you mind saying hello to the people?"

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"Aloha!"

He offers the assembled farmers a winning grin.

Edited Date: 2014-09-28 11:09 pm (UTC)

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".... thaaaaaaaat's a lot of teeth."

"Yes, well, he's on our side," says Ellen.

"Is he some kind of mutant?"

"Paladin 101 has contact with a number of underground civilizations of mole people," comes a voice from the farmhouse stairs. It's a human in his twenties; he looks vaguely Filipino, and he's wearing heavy red robes not unlike something you'd see in a Star Wars movie. "I didn't think her network would extend this far north, but."

"Thank you, Jerald," says Ellen, and then to X and Stitch: "This is my husband, Scribe Jerald Cancio. We've got two Knights upstairs armed with plasma rifles facing the scorpion swarm's position. I'm planning on getting up on the roof with my Gauss for as much cover as I can provide."

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"Hello," X says. "Jerald."

Her attention then switches to Ellen.

"You can tell them they do not have to worry. About hitting me."

A pause, and a quick look at Stitch.

"Or Stitch. It is still more efficient not to. But they do not have to be careful."

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"Poocha! Chubugga! Oom chickee! Hahahahahaha!"

Which is to say that he concurs. Or possibly that Jerald's explanation of their origin is hilarious. Look, impending waves of monsters tend to get him a little riled up. At least manic cackling transcends any linguistic barriers, right?

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X does not sigh.

She just reaches down, nudging Stitch's shoulder just a fraction.

"Stitch."

Save it for the battlefield.

It will be more fun.

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