cutting_edgex23 | gentle people with flowers in their hair

If one were to define the young woman's dog hurling itself across the in to the air in an attempt to headbutt the big guy in the ribs as "ugly" then...

Yeah. Things just got ugly.

The two slam in to the opposite wall of the cabin and go down in a tangle of thrashing limbs.

Edited 2011-03-06 05:41 (UTC)

Thrashing green limbs.

What the --

This is where people start screaming.

And the bus comes to a screeching halt.

It looks like the driver is one of them, too.

Uh oh.

Say this for the Skrull, they can take some nasty punishment. The snarling, cursing pile of extraterrestrial violence spills down the aisle. Quarters as close as these aren't really conducive to transforming your arm in to something like a flail. A lucky backhand with a hand and wrist shifted in to the head of a hammer though? That'll work.

Oh hold on now. There will be none of that.

Not when X is around, anyway.

But first, she's got to take care of the bus driver.

Before he calls in reinforcements.

Stitch hits the side of the bus and comes up bristling. He's walked away from much worse. The same can not be said for the image inducer which emits a loud crackling buzz before dropping the illusion.

The experiment drops to all sixes and charges back in to the fray. Shortly thereafter one unfortunate Skrull is sent careening in to one of the bus's windows. Both Skrull and safety glass pane are sent flying out on to the street outside.

A little boy flings himself out of his seat and into Stitch, skin sliding to green as he gets taller and bulkier.

Much bulkier.

Uh oh.

X, meanwhile, is keeping the transformed bus driver far too busy to activate his comms.

For now.

Edited 2011-03-17 02:08 (UTC)

"Ack!"

Well that's certainly unexpected! The two slam bodily into the opposite row of seats. Over sized teeth close on a green forearm. And then Stitch is up and scrambling for breathing room before the Skrull has finished screaming.

Edited 2011-03-17 02:43 (UTC)

crack

There goes the bus driver.

X is now free to turn her attention to the Skrull that --

Well, to the Skrull that is still screaming.

What is the harm in giving him another reason to keep it up?

Today is a very bad day to be a Skrull in San Fransisco. True, you're unlikely to be mistaken for a cow and lead into a slaughter house but there's the far greater possibility of having Adamantium suddenly introduced to unfortunate portions of your anatomy.

On top of that, there's always the chance a fuzzy engine of chaos from another reality will try to flatten you with a bus seat.

And when both occurrences happen to occur at the same time --

What you're left with is an unholy green mess.

Oops?

Stitch lowers his arms, teeth bared in a furious snarl.

He blinks.

And his eyes go very wide.

There's are screams from onlookers outside as the former fat tourist regains consciousness, leaps to its feet and begins sprinting down the street, features blurring as it goes.

X follows.

Because it is necessary.

Edited 2011-03-25 01:22 (UTC)

Stitch diliberately does not look at the mess again before following her through the ruined remains of the window.

Horns blare and breaks screech as motorists desperately try to avoid the figure lunging across thier paths. The Skrull is not stupid. Crazier than a bag of cats maybe but not stupid. The door to a black SUV is wrenched open. The driver, a middle aged woman, is pitched out on to the asphalt.

As the SUV takes off with a screech of tires, X begins looking for transport of their own.

A nearby convertible looks like it might be the easiest thing to corral Stitch into.

And sometimes simplicity really is best.

Stitch follows her gaze.

And grins. It's red. He likes red.

It is but the work of seconds to yank a mess of wires out from under the console. Sparks snap across a hastily created circut as the engine roars to life. Stitch grips the wheel in eager anticipation.

Edited 2011-03-25 02:00 (UTC)

X sighs, slipping into the passenger seat and and making a quick executive decision to grab a conveniently-placed phone book from the back seat.

She shoves said phone book at Stitch.

Visibility is key.

And Stitch is very short.

Stitch accepts this with bemusement. As an after thought his armrest is torn off and jabbed in the direction of the pedals with a lower arm.

Fortunately for them, if there's something San Fransisco is in no short supply of it's sharp declines. Which is to say that despite the driver being of small enough stature that his feet barely make it off the seat, acceleration will not be a problem.

"TUKIBOWABA!"

Edited 2011-03-25 02:28 (UTC)

"Turn left," is X's response, after they have gone down several sets of hills.

"There is a shortcut."

Stitch's driving does not hold a candle to dragon-diving. Though this may be due to the fact that X has a very strong stomach.

Stitch, ears and tongue flapping wildly in the breeze, gleefully complies. The convertible's tires let out a squeal of protest of their own before swerving on to a side street.

The first block is blessedly vacant of parked cars. There's the small matter of the row of parking meters lining the side walk but...uh... no one's going to be missing those right?

Edited 2011-03-25 03:16 (UTC)

X ducks the flying metal, then lifts her head back up over the dashboard to scent the air.

"Right. Past the alley."

The alley is where the garbage truck is. It would have been more efficient, but --

Also, at this moment, very stupid.

The steering wheel is rapidly cranked hand over hand over hand (the fourth maintaining pressure on the excellerator).

THUNK! The convertable disembarks from the sidewalk, cuts hard to the right, and fishtails in to oncoming traffic before zooming down its new course.

Somewhere behind them the shrill wail of a police siren starts up.

X shoves her hand into her pocket, nabs her cell phone, and makes a call.

While also calling out directions for Stitch.

At the same time, the escaping Skrull and his vehicle swing back into sight, just two cars in front of them.

Too bad there is a pack of bikers attempting to be in the way.

"Grrrrrr. Choota!"

The convertible's horn blares angrily as it swerves around them and in to the next lane. In which cars are rapidly coming towards them in the opposite direction.

"Crashing will be problematic for our mobility," X observes.

And hard on the heels of that --

"Turn right!"

Ahead of them the Skrull is attempting to squeeze the car down an alley that could maybe fit a Mini Cooper.

This will be problematic, too.

At her tone, Stitch cranes his body to the right. It takes his eyes off the road (and at least one tire momentarily off the pavement) but by miracle the car remains upright and lunges back across the line.

The bikers scatter to the four winds amidst a volley of high pitched curses.

Edited 2011-07-01 00:17 (UTC)

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