Caution: Wet Floors, High Temperatures (Banner)

[Mercure]

In the broad corridor that led from the foyer of the Cullen Institute to the science wing, there were eighty-seven stained oak planks. Issachar Aloise knew that for a fact. He'd counted them.

Settling into a routine of sorts had been a gradual process for the Quebecois mutant, and even after a few weeks he still felt he was treading a fine line between fitting in and falling out; some days were good, following a balanced measure. Others... well, they left him feeling almost hobbled and when he retired to his quarters in the evenings he had just enough energy left to smoke a few cigarettes before fatigue overtook him.

Part of it was that he understood few around him. His language lessons with Henri were helping to balance the scales but it was a slow process--he found English crude and resented it with astonishing vigor. Apart from those weekly lessons, Issachar hadn't been able to conjure within himself the desire to seek any instruction beyond that. A certain caution, gained from wordly experience, prevented any scholarly ambition from overtaking the man.

But cleaning floors--ah, now there was something he could do. He had scoffed at the thickly-braided mop and bucket in the janitorial cupboard; one did not clean wood with such tools. A soft terry cloth, polish and careful circular strokes, that was the ticket.

He was on board seventy-three.

By now the students at the Institute had learned to steer clear of Issachar while he was working, particularly when his face took on the intent look of concentration that it wore now. He was not above tossing children uncerimoniously through whatever door was closest if they interupted him.

With a grunt, the dark-featured man stood and surveyed the shining floor behind him. A satisfied look crossed his features; he took great pride in labour. A glance at the small crowd that was passing through the area revealed no staff members, and he wasted no time in lighting up a Gauloises. It didn't matter how much time he spent with Henri studying the peculiarities of the English language, the Quebecois mutant seemed never to understand the phrase, no smoking.

[Banner Laverick]

"You're not allowed to smoke in the building."

There she stood, arms crossed, feet half on plank one and plank two. Her voice carried more than a hint of "Oh god, I'm SO beyond fed up with this place!" She'd had a few run-ins with the local pep squad, the last one being in the cafeteria. The small group of overly-cheerful students was making their way to her table, so she'd crushed the napkin holder flat. No-one else even talked to her after that, well, besides Taya.

Plank three, then four. Banner Laverick kept her arms across her chest as she glared at him. "I said, you can't smoke in here. What's the matter? No speaky english?"

[Mercure]

Two angled eyebrows rose in bored contempt and Issachar took a particularly long drag on his cigarette as he studied the enfant; oh how he wished she were closer, so that he might exhale into her scowling face!

Instead, the man glanced down at her shoes which had left dirty smudges on his newly-gleaming floors. A prod of exasperation made his shoulders knit upward and he crossed his arms over his chest. With a mad sort of intenseness, Issachar glowered at the brazen sneakers and seemed almost to flare in irritation before shrugging and waving a dismissive hand at Banner.

"Go away." He intoned flatly as he bent to retrieve his cloth.

[Banner Laverick]

"Make me."

Just for effect, she stomped her feet - mud flaked off her shoes, onto the floor, grinding into it. One last extra-hard stomp. CRACK. Banner lifted her foot to reveal a nice long crack in the wood.

"Oopsy."

[Mercure]

Now how in the hell the girl had managed to crack a floor that had withstood years of abuse at the hands (er, feet) of uncontrolled mutant youths and was made of solid oak was beyond Issachar. He was too shocked to do anything but smoke at stare grimly at the board.

A prickling sensation made the man suddenly aware of just how upset he was. His cheeks flushed warmly and Issachar tugged at his collar with two fingers, already beginning to feel unpleasantly hot.

This silly little girl was not worth it.

With a calmness he did not feel the Frenchman strode forward until he was inches from Banner. He towered over her, but she didn't seem in the least bit cowed.

"This thing you are doing, it is very stupide." Good, yes, communication was key. "You will go now before I am to become so..." He couldn't remember the word he was looking for, the English translation. Furieux. Instead Issachar raised a fist and looked menacing; his meaning would be clear enough.

[Banner Laverick]

"So what? Shakey fisty at me?"

Oh yes. She was a rebel now. Normally, Banner toed the line, especially at her old school. Super strength always had to be watched lest she hurt someone accidently. At Cullens, though, maybe she wouldn't have to watch herself so carefully.

"Afraid to hit a girl?"

[Mercure]

"Not afrai-yed, non." Issachar clenched his jaw tightly, creating indents in his cheeks. "But les professeurs they are not agreeing with it. I would lose my job."

There was nothing more irritating than teenagers. Issachar was aware that just a few short years ago he had been one himself, and quite the likeness of an insolent thug, but he certainly hadn't gone about trying to provoke fights. This one seemed to be intent on it; he wondered if she were PMSing. Maudit Crisse, he hoped not.

Enough was enough. Issachar reached out and fisted the back of Banner's collar in his hand, fully intending to chuck her in through to the common room where she could terrorize someone else. Preferably small, innocent children who had the same capacity to be bothersome.

[Banner Laverick]

As soon as he touched her collar, he found himself sliding backwards along his freshly polished floor, ending up in a heap. Banner took a few heavy steps towards him, cracking the floor a little more with each one.

"Screw the teachers." In her head, she thought "I hate this place anyway, maybe this will be my ticket home." She stuck out her chin. "Don't be a little Cullens' baby. If you dont fight me, I'm just going to kick your butt anyway. Then every student is going to know you as the guy who got his rear-end handed to him by a girl."

[Mercure]

Every cog in his brain was trying fruitlessly to process what had just happened. He was left with a sort of gaping chasm of thought that limited his response to a startled look.

This was madness. If Issachar hadn't actually knocked his elbow rather painfully against the wall paneling, he would have laughed at the absurdity of it.

With slow certainty he gathered himself to his feet. He straightened his shirt. Each and every movement was calculated and precise because Issachar could feel, in the ragged breaths that rasped from his nose and the pulsing in his pressure points, that his ire was being drawn out. The man brushed his lank hair back from his eyes, which were trained on the floor.

"I think," The tightly-spoken words faltered, beads of sweat appearing on Issachar's forehead. The air around him wavered briefly. "That this is not wise for you."

[Banner Laverick]

"Well, I think that I dont give two craps!"

She'd moved closer to him, noticing the temperature increase as she pressed a finger into his chest.

"I think that I'm sick of holding back. If you're here, you're a mutant. So you can either use your powers, or get beat up while I use mine!"

[Mercure]

"Cesser!"

Before the shout had time to echo in the corridor a rippling wave of heat engulfed the two of them. Issachar's eyes glinted wildly and he raised his hands palms-out in front of him. It was unclear whether the gesture was one of submission, or offense.

[Banner Laverick]

It felt like the blast from an oven, when you take a peek to see if what you're cooking has burnt to a crisp. It felt weird, and it only made her more irritated. Another shove and he was sprawled out on the floor.

[Mercure]

Issachar remained motionless where he lay, his sinewy limbs akimbo and divided by the line where polished wood met dull grain. For a moment not a muscle stirred. It was an apt imitation of a corpse, from top to toe lifeless and undisturbed even by the shallow act of breathing.

And then, his eyelids lifted. The pale cast of the mutant's skin was beginning to colour until it became the uniform, viscious shade of sunburn. Now there was no mistaking the distorted air around his body, the hot lick of vapours which seemed to twist and tumble about his aura. Issachar stood, and a crackling followed his ascent as the rising heat disturbed the atmosphere about him.

A glow was beginning to appear in the sensitive areas of his wrists, neck, underneath his eyes. The thin skin became almost translucent and it was here that the first signs of the immense change that was overtaking Issachar became clear. Tiny white blisters rose.

"Gloire au Père, et au Fils, et au Saint-Esprit," He was shaking, his eyes rolled back as he staggered forward bringing with him a shocking intensity. The floorboards groaned and where his feet had been and now stood, the wax began to warp.

"Comme il était au commencement, maintenant et toujours, pour les siecles des siecles." When he looked again at Banner, it was not the same man that had so disdainfully regarded her earlier. A grin tugged at his lips.

"Amen."

He lunged.

[Banner Laverick]

She watched him begin to use his powers, eye-brows raising as she listened to his gibberish (to her ears anyway). Then he lunged. She just had enough time to flit out of the way, hovering a foot in the air. He turned towards her, getting a sneaker to the face with enough force to send him down the hallway.

[Mercure]

So she could fly.

Banner was fast, but Issachar had not survived endless rounds of bare-knuckle boxing in Montreal slums without some speed of his own. Powers or none, he could fight.

The shoe glanced off his right cheekbone but at the last instant he grasped it and twisted. The shoe was loosed and came away as he stumbled back. The rubber sole quickly became malleable, and then began to stick to his hands. Issachar flung the footwear at Banner. It whizzed by her head and slammed against the common room door, just opened by a studious-looking young lady with thick-rimmed glasses and a stack of bound volumes. The girl took one look at the shoe, which had stuck to the panelled glass, and quickly retreated back to the safety of the den.

The acrid smell of singed floor polish reminded Issachar not to stay in one place too long; he darted over to a glass display case which contained recent student works. With a sharp clatter, his fists broke through the panel, and he grabbed a sheet-metal replica of an Aztex diaz. It took mere seconds, pressed between his palms, for the disc to heat.

Growling, Issachar whipped it at Banner like a molten frisbee.

[Banner Laverick]

Banner managed to dodge the flying chunk of melted metal, suddenly wishing Felix was enrolled at Cullens.

Without thinking, she flew into him. Her knuckles started to blister with each punch, she didn't care. It felt good to just let go. Banner started laughing as the punches got harder and less controlled.

[Mercure]

He was waiting for the second when she wasn't paying attention, when her fist was just a little awry. Then he grabbed her arm, his hands sinking through her clothes like a hot knife through butter. Using Banner's own forward momentum, Issacher hurled the girl over his head.

In the same movement he ran forward to the main staircase. Darting up a half-dozen steps, Issachar roared and launched himself off the banister towards the opposite wall. A solid thwack sounded, and then suddenly water was issuing from the ceiling. Seconds later an alarm went off. The man--dangling from a sprinkler head aesthetically camoflauged in the wall--grinned and dropped again to the floor.

Where the water struck him there was a hiss and popping sound. In the midst of the sudden downpour, Issachar felt the acheing tug in his chest that was his straining heart. He ignored it, indeed felt the prickling beneath his skin grow to a gurgling.

As he approached Banner, steaming, he began to hurl objects at her just as fast as he could grasp them; a handsome arm chair, a framed print of the grounds, shards of glass from the display case.

[Dragon]

The two combatants hadn't noticed the onlookers gathering at the extreme ends of the hall, nor the stocky man shoving his way through the crowd behind Banner.

John Rhee sprinted past Banner as she skidded backwards from the throw, his shoes squealing on the wet floorboards, and into the line of fire - he caught a charred picture frame and an ornamental vase out of mid-air and swung them harmlessly to the floor.

"Issachar! Enough! Banner, stay right there!"

John stood squarely between them, arms spread, but he was facing Issachar through the mist from the sprinklers.

[Banner Laverick]

She cried out, not so much in pain as in surprise as he flipped her over his head. Landing in a heap, she narrowly avoided what he threw at her, smashing the chair and throwing the remains back at him.

Then...someone got in her way. As she was about to tackle Frenchie, one of the teachers stepped in the way. The two mutants slammed into Issachar with enough force to send all of them crashing into, then through the opposite wall.

[Mercure]

Issachar would have careened with them but at the last second, even as he snarled at John and felt his own core temperature soar higher than it ever had, the man glimpsed Banner's forward rush. He bent his knees and jumped with as much force as he could muster. It wasn't quite enough--the toes of his leather boots struck a shoulder and he pitched forward, meeting the floor with his face.

The fall propelled the mutant forward a few feet, and the wide-eyed students backed away with a collective yelp. Ignoring them, Issachar sprung to his feet (staggered, had to suck in air to stop from toppling over) and saw the mess of splintered wood and broken drywall. He stalked over, stooping to grab a broken piece of the panelling which immediately began to crumble in his hands.

Enough? No, not yet. Like a dart the timber shaft was hurled towards it's targets. By now Issachar was a mess, his clothes burnt and festering in his skin. There seemed no end in sight, however.

Issachar roared and plunged towards John and Banner; if he just touched them and held on...

[Dragon]

John felt the wind go out of him when Banner struck him, but as they hurtled toward the red-hot mutant, he had the presence of mind to reach behind him and pull Banner down so it was his shoulder that struck Issachar and not her head. The impact sent him skidding to the floor and Banner toppling over him.

"I don't need your help, Banner! Get out of here!"

He rolled to his feet and found Issachar charging, his hands glowing with incandescence - even John didn't want to test that kind of heat against his protective ch'i aura. He cast about for anything he could use as a barrer, and then he glanced up at the still-spraying sprinklers.

John leapt, kicked straight up off a wall, and punched both hands through the ceiling panels. He came down with a five-foot length of copper pipe.

Copper? Oh, great.

John assumed a defensive kata, the pipe held at arm's length in front of him - he only wanted to stop Issachar, not hurt him. He was hurting himself enough as it was.

[Banner Laverick]

"No...way...."

She'd ended up in a pile of rubble from the half ruined wall, feet hanging up in the air. She blew her hair out of her face, rolling to her knees with a groan.

"I can still fight. YOU get out of here!"

[Mercure]

You had to give Banner credit--even after pelting through a wall her mouth was as sharp as ever. Although he found her the epitome of irritating, Issachar couldn't help but agree with her sentiments. She wanted to brawl, he was game and the only thing stopping them was John Rhee in between.

Wheezing like an asthmatic Issachar grasped the opposite end of the pipe with both hands. He didn't wrench it away but rather cradled the pinkish metal in his palms, letting it absorb heat. Eyes that were rimmed with blood glinted at John through the spray. "Sst-stupid man; listen to her!"

[Dragon]

The rapidly-heating metal seared John's hands; with great effort, he wrapped his ch'i around them to try to dissipate the heat. He spoke in a voice that was calm but loud enough for Banner to hear as well.

"This isn't a fight any of us can win. Issachar, you're killing yourself. You're burning up. You need to regain control."

[Banner Laverick]

"He's an adult, if he wants to be a moron and power himself to death, let him. Right, Frenchie?"

A brick went flying over Johns' head, hitting Issachars' arm. It was followed by two more; one missed and the last hit the french mutant on the leg.

[Mercure]

In reply, Banner was returned one of the bricks, doing it's best impression of a torpedo. It had knocked one arm loose of the pipe and Issachar had let go with the other in order to retrieve it. Where he had gripped it, the copper was shiny and warped.

The man was visibly struggling to remain upright and great rivulets of perspiration streamed down his ruined skin, mixing with the blood and clear fluid that oozed from the blistered epidermal surface. John's voice sounded as though it had come from very far away--Issachar caught only a handful of the words, and hadn't the capacity to try and translate even half of them.

And then a searing pain that seemed to burst from the depths of his bones engulfed him. Issachar roared and reached out to brace himself against the wall framing. He arched against it, yelling every sacrament that came to mind. It was the most intense agony the mutant had ever felt; there was no possible way his body could sustain him, not through this torment, he would burst into ash at any moment--

It was suddenly over. Issachar felt nothing but a deep wash of peace; things had gone silent. With a detatched increduality Issachar found that he was watching the scene, as though from above. He noted everything--the determined set to Banner's jaw, the slight tightening of John's stance, every bead of water that hissed angrily from the displaced piping in the ceiling.

He saw his arms fall to his sides and his head come up, and it was only when Issachar caught sight of his own face that he became afraid. For the expression was one of terrible, carniverous intent. In the space of a few seconds, the man realized that Banner's goading had done much more than release his temper. This was something else.

In a rush he was back to himself. A tightening in his chest wrung the air from his lungs; Issachar stumbled towards the two with a warlike cry, hands fisted in intent.

[Dragon]

The situation was rapidly spinning out of control. As if it weren't bad enough that Issachar was going critical and was perhaps moments from setting the floorboards on fire, Banner seemed determined to escalate the confrontation as some sort of ego trip.

John sorely wished Locksmith were around. Because as much as he wanted to knock Banner out of the fracas, Issachar was still the greater threat to the school and its students.

"I'm not going to tell you again, Banner - stand down! You're endangering the entire--"

Issachar was in range, and John swung the pipe and caught him in the stomach, hoping to stun him.

He fought for a grasp on his tenuous French. "Issachar, stop! Vous vous tuez!"

[Banner Laverick]

Banner winced as Issachar got smacked in the stomach with the pipe. Even if John whacked him upside the head, she doubted it would down the other man. This time, she listened, staying back, hands balled into tight fists at her sides.

[Evelyn Cato]

There was a group of students who had gathered at the top of the stairs, and Evelyn eased herself in front of them to stand on the landing. The sight that met her eyes was amazing in its' own right, but the danger that was presented far outweighed anything else. The water from the emergency sprinklers overhead had drenched everyone, and Evelyn was certainly no exception; her hair was soaked through and through, and her clothes faired no better.

She had not been at Cullen's for very long, but she had seen Issachar here and there, going about his janitorial duties with precision and dedication. She'd never spoken to the man, but hearing John speak in French made her take a few steps down the wide staircase.

She'd heard from passing student chatter that Issachar spoke little English, and she suspected that any order to stop would not be so easily met.

"Issachar," she started, taking over in French where John had left off, "Calm yourself!"

[Mercure]

The solid blow to his gut made the Quebecois double over, wretching for breath. In such a position he could hardly defend himself (let alone launch an attack) so he stumbled back a few paces, hand pressed against the space above his navel. Despite the rapidly failing efforts of his organ systems to sustain him, a halo of renewed determination hung about Issachar. The predatory glean that danced in his eyes trained itself on John Rhee.

A noise from behind startled the out-of-control mutant. At first it was quite unrecognizable; warped and muted like sound heard from under water. Issachar twisted and thrust a hand out at the approached woman. Eddies of displaced air coiled about his fingers in her direction.

What was that noise?

It had come from both sides. Issachar stared at Evelyn with intense unease; her mouth was moving. The fuzzy harmonics followed. It took a moment for it to sink in that she was talking. The man remained where he was, arms outstretched in either direction, glancing quickly back and forth between the two parties. He was entirely unsure what to do.

[Dragon]

John sighed in relief at Evelyn's voice. He only hoped she could bring some stability to the situation.

He relaxed - outwardly, anyway, letting the pipe fall slack in his grip. Perhaps if he no longer appeared to be a threat, Issachar would come back to his senses.

If not, Evelyn was risking a great deal of bodily harm.

[Banner Laverick]

"You should just hit him now! While she distracts him..."

Banner hissed, standing perfectly still. One good whack across the back of his head, and Issachar would probably go down. Or it would totally kill him...which would not be good at all.

[Evelyn Cato]

Undeterred, Evelyn let her eyes take in Issachar's confused stance and shifting glances between John and herself.

"It is alright," she purred, her lilting accent causing her French to become somewhat softer and melodic, "None of us here want anyone to be hurt, including yourself."

She took another step downward, feeling the edges of the heat eminating from him. It was not hard to see that his exertions were bringing him very near to literally burning himself from the inside out.

"But you must calm yourself."

Another cautious step brought her closer, and she held her eyes to his.

"I know you can understand me, Issachar."

[Mercure]

With Rhee and Banner behind him, Issachar couldn't take a step back as Evelyn moved forward. It made him anxious. He felt panic swell underneath his tongue, tangly and metallic. The look he gave the woman was one of simmering venom.

As she spoke however, something flickered in his eyes. For a few seconds the sanguineous expression was replaced by one of desperate pleading. Issachar trembled.

"I... c-can't..." He managed to gasp, the chords in his throat protesting mightily. The mutant's head dropped and his outstretched hands curled into fists. Why had it had to happen with so many watching? He felt the eyes of the horrified student audience like weights on his shoulders.

Issachar moaned and lifted his gaze from the floorboards to Evelyn. "Please, I dooon't--" The despairing aspect of his features was struggling against something to remain. Ever so slightly, the temperature around them dropped.

[Dragon]

John held the pipe across his back, blocking off as much of the hallway as he could. He gave Banner a brief warning glance.

Then he turned to the onlookers behind him and said, in an even but adamant tone, "Everyone, back off. Find another route to your classes."

It was a delayed reaction, but the students gradually filtered away, whispering furtively among themselves. John faced Evelyn again and hoped the spectators behind her would get the message.

[Veritas]

Henri cursed his feeble legs as he hobbled as fast as he could toward the commotion. His office was ponderously far from the scene of the fight, and it didn't take long for him to make out one of the voices involved as being distinctly familiar.

"Issachar..."

He hobbled along at a fast pace, overextending himself once and falling over. Angry at himself, he pulled himself up and continued forward with his cane, reaching the scene of the fracas with a sheen of sweat to show of his exertion.

John stood stoically to keep others back, but Henri put a hand at his shoulder.

"Let me by, John."

[Dragon]

John lifted the pipe and nodded. Now that the situation was cooling, in more ways than one, he knew Henri and Evelyn should be more than capable of negotiating the peace. And perhaps Issachar would be more apt to listen without any physical threat hanging over him.

Speaking of which.

John turned and set a powerful hand on Banner's shoulder. "Let's take a walk," he said, gesturing across the lobby toward his office. (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?p=269152)

[Banner Laverick]

"Uh..."

She didnt really have LOADS of choice in the matter, so she reluctantly was lead towards the office.

[Evelyn Cato]

With a slow motion Evelyn turned to those behind her, gesturing for them to disperse before facing forward once more to watch John lead the girl away. Her eyes took in Henri's presence, but soon enough her attention was drawn back to Issachar.

She'd remained where she was, halfway down the staircase despite the slowly fading waves of heat; Evelyn had no desire to make the man uncomfortable enough to begin his rampage anew.

"Yes you can," she purred softly, "Just breathe. Breathe and let it all fall away."

The desperation in his gaze made her lift a hand, gently motioning for him to come closer despite the heat he was still generating.

Her eyes were soft as beckoned to him.

[Mercure]

There was a hypnotic tranquility in Evelyn's eyes that was hard to break away from. Issachar stumbled forward a few steps, vaguely aware of movement behind him. The man stopped near the banister, putting a hand out on it to steady his wavering stance. He wouldn't go farther, unwilling to risk injuring the woman. Minute by minute the heat was slowly dissipating.

It also meant that the pain was increasing. Devoid of whatever numbness that had blocked it out before, the man's body began to quake as nerves were assaulted by the sudden realization of injury. Issachar sank unsteadily to his knees, hand still gripping the bottommost railing of the stairs. In the sudden stillness of the foyer, the hiss of the sprinklers seemed very loud.

Finally his core returned to it's 105 degree resting-level. In a clumsy motion, Issachar slumped onto his back, one hand going to his chest as it rose and fell in difficult rhythm. It was then that he saw Bertrand. His head shook in distress. "Henri, it was an a-accident..."

[Veritas]

Henri stooped down to where the boy had fallen, putting a hand gingerly to his forehead. Burning up still, he thought, but the alternatives seemed dire by comparison.

"I know, son. I know."

Henri spoke low, nodding his head assuringly as he looked to Evelyn.

"We are here for you."

[Evelyn Cato]

She made short work of the rest of the stairs, and knelt carefully at Issachar's side. The heat that'd previously been radiating from him had become much more bearable, and she too passed a gentle hand over his brow. A thoughtful frown, and Evelyn gingerly swept sweat-drenched hair from his eyes.

"It's alright," she looked up momentarily, making sure that those who'd been watching the fight had now gone on to their next classes. Her eyes went briefly to Henri then, before returning to Issachar.

"It's over now."

[Mercure]

A sorrowful chuckle tumbled upwards, dissolving quickly into a fit of coughs. Issachar stared at the woman. She was drifting in and out of focus. "It will never be over. They g-go too far, oh!"

There was a sharp stab from behind his ribcage. It was enough to drive him up, where his hands fisted, one in the fabric of Henri's shirt and the other in Evelyn's. Issachar was all wide-eyed urgency.

"L'Oratoire St-Joseph!" He gasped. "Benoît Léon, at L'Ora--"

That was all that made it. His hands went slack in midsentence and the man fell back, unconcious.

[Veritas]

Henri's stern eyes fixed on Issachar as he faded out of conciousness.

"Duncan...Duncan!"

He fixed his attention on the nearest able-bodied rubbernecker, and snapped.

"You, get Mr. MacLaverty, go now, move!"