Sneaky Coverts! (Open)

Jrake looked at the ghoul, his jaw almost dropping for a second. He examined the ghoul's features, a little disgusted. Then his eyes flickered down to the dead passenger that he was holding. "Who's Alex?" , he asked, looking at Metamorphi for a second. Then when he looked back at the ghoul, he felt as if he was gonna throw up. He was starting to smell the dead passenger, and it was N-A-S-T-Y. "Could you like..put that up..?" He looked at the ghoul while struggling to breath a little bit.

Extraneous situations had a way of bonding people. And the life-or-death struggle upon that mysterious island so long ago had formed an unbreakable attachment between the unlikely trio which would steer them through thick or thin, a camaraderie born of perilous trial and shared experience, uniting a ghoul, a Lord of Chaos, and a metahuman in a lifelong alliance. No two buddies could ever be closer than Scapegoat and dear... Alex wasn't his name? Oh yeah. Scapegoat never did learn the guy's name. Go figure.

"Right, right. I forgot. You prefer to be called not-Alex." Upon further recollection, Vernon recalled one or two disagreements back then. Not least being his continued insistence that the little girl called Jemmy die a horrible death. Not-Alex held a similar but not quite so personal disapproval of this plan. In fact, in a funny sort of way, you might even say those two became Vernon's enemies.

Oh yeeeah. It's all coming back to me. I should really keep a list.

Okay, revised introduction. How did one greet an enemy? He could try shaking his fist at not-Alex. But there was always the danger he would look like he was rolling dice. A terrible first impression, as Scapegoat was sure anyone would agree. Ah forget it. The moment had passed. There was always next time, Gadget, next time.

In all his pondering, Vernon had overlooked the stranger. Thankfully he already knew how to deal with strangers, as did everyone from England. Ignore them unless they were in your personal space, then cough uncomfortably until they moved. The exception to this rule was being spoken to directly. Acceptable topics were weather and the time. However, the ghoul was not at all certain what he'd just been asked. The phrasing was almost as alien to him as this corpse on his back. Nevertheless he'd have a crack at its interpretation. Because Scapegoat was a go-getter.

"'Put it up'? Erm. Sure." Holding a bewildered expression, Scapegoat lifted the body above his head, he continued enquiringly, "Higher?"

Metamorphi took the opportunity while Scapegoats arms were raised, to turn into paper, rush in, then turn into steel and throw a punch at his stomach, which he would then follow up with an elbow aimed the side of his head, if that hit he would take advantage of his position to grab into Scapegoat then throw him into the wall. This would easily kill a normal human, but Scapegoat had some weird power that meant he couldn't die or something, he didn't understand the specifics but he knew that Scapegoat would still be alive when Metamorphi spat on him.

The first he knew of it was the second blow. That first had been so fast, Vernon was literally dead on his feet until stricken by Metamorphi's elbow. The Zydon body was gone from his arms, fallen out of Scapegoat's sight, likely to his left, for his head was wrenching right at a sickening angle. There was an impression of weightlessness which intensified as Meta dealt out his next battle manoeuvre. The room span as the ghoul was thrown, his chains jingling noisily as one fell from his sleeve. Then more nothing. Finally Scapegoat made contact with the floor. Only the back of his head and his shoulders were resting against the ground, the rest of his torso mildly contorted above.

The miserable creature held his breath for a heartbeat. "You remember me!" The sound of cartilage cracking resonated as Scapegoat righted himself. A single flip-twist saw the ghoul back on his feet, apparently no worse for wear. Placing both hands around his head, he snapped it back into its usual position, "I chipped a tooth." A prying finger picked out a small piece of enamel belonging to a molar, "No wait. That's just food stuck in my teeth." A crunch followed as the leftover was munched. The ball was still in Metamorphi's court.

Metamorphi didn't stop there, if Scapegoat did not dodge it, Meta's fist would have crunched against his jaw at the exact same moment he swallowed the leftover food. Not wasting any time he would then attempt to sweep his legs out from under him and if that worked he would pull out a pair of handcuffs and try to slap them on Scapegoats wrists.

((OOC: Still no Kip. ))

A fist of galvanised steal smacked into the inattentive fiend once more. His jawbone held; ghoul anatomy being particularly formidable in this one aspect. Vernon blacked out again until a collision with the floor renewed his vitality. This was not a quipping match. Although Scapegoat might approach death with a callousness born of personal immunity, it was still a very dire matter to anyone else. Metamorphi was treating their encounter with the severity it deserved. Meanwhile Vernon was left blind-sighted by each successive strike.

A weight pressed down upon him, pinning Scapegoat to the cold and grubby walkway. He felt and heard the clasp of iron ringlets bind his arms behind him. At last the ghoul was starting to catch up. He was going downtown. Never to pass 'Go' and never to collect two hundred pounds. He now regretted using his 'get out of jail free' card on springing Mr Bun the Baker.

"The police must hear this more than you do. But please stop hitting me." Immortal he may be, but pain was never spared in making a ghoul. Even the introduction of handcuffs were rubbing his wrists raw. Scapegoat did not try to struggle and would allow himself to be pulled onto his feet, if the hero felt he needed to walk at all. "I bruise like a peach, you know. An allergy, I think. To aggression."

(OOC: It's short I know, don't kill me)

Metamorphi hauled him too his feet, not bothering to treat him carefully, it wasn't as if he cared if Scapegoat got hurt after all. He led him to the front of the school and called the police, they would arrive in 5 minutes and that would be how long Scapegoat had to attempt an escape.

In the interlude accompanying their passage, Scapegoat fell into an easy rhythm of being shunted forwards more forcefully each time he tried to start up a conversation. Meta just wasn't the chatty sort. Nor a great listener. He should really work on those people skills. The lad didn't even wish the cops a fine howdy doo when they picked up the line. This was no way to lead a life. No siree, Bob. Bob probably wasn't his name either.

Before hanging up, Scapegoat managed to get a word in edgeways, "And extra anchovies!" His eyes tracked skywards to avoid meeting Meta's. The next few minutes began to pass in awkward silence. Not used to standing still, Scapegoat began to shuffle his feet. Just the right foot at first. Then both left and right. Next into a heel toe combination.

Pausing, Scapegoat shuffled marginally sideways to gain space. Then he exploded into a three-beat riff walk which carried him backwards. This was counteracted by the forward momentum of a riffle step. Two alternating stamps gave way into a pendulum shuffle with his right leg, and then he began to pivot on his left leg, performing paddle turns clockwise. Only when he got to a load of armless trenches did the ghoul become self conscious and stop.

"Umm. It's tap." Vernon extended his leg so he was smacking the ball of his foot in front of the hero, "Tappa, tappa, tappa."

Metamorphi watched his little tap dance but it did nothing to remove the grumpy look on his face It's lovely the tone of his voice betrayed his words, there was too much disgust in it. Soon the police arrived and walked over to Scapegoat, grabbing him from behind and leading him over to the car, they thanked Metamorphi and he thanked them. Metamorphi would leave unless something else came up.

Philistine. Scapegoat had no idea what philistine meant, but he was sure Metamorphi was one. A complete and total one. "Lovely? It's taptastic." Sheesh, it was like that Zydon was his brother or something. Wait... was that Zydon- no, no this wasn't a soap opera. Scapegoat smelled too bad for this to be anything to do with soap. Nevertheless his denied applause or even the tiniest of reactions had saddened him. In protest, the ghoul continued shuffling until the arrival of a patrol car. At last! He had charges to file. This man had assaulted him with boredom. It was high time to liven things up.

Vernon cried out as the vehicle pulled in to park, "It's the Fuzz! Scam!" A blink of the eye later, he had swapped places with Metamorphi. It was the ability of his namesake, changing positions with another. His peril became their peril, his burden their burden. As some Israeli with a beard once said; 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'. The vigilante would find his arms bound by his own cuffs if he struggled. Reversals were never far off where Scapegoat was concerned, "Did I not mention I could do that? I didn't mention I could do that. My bad. Wouldn't wanna be you just now."

Another jump-cut - where Vernon once stood there was suddenly a police officer. Disorientation caused the man to stumble. Not a moment before he had been next to his partner, and driving. In that seat now appeared Scapegoat. Catching sight of each other, both occupants of the car screamed simultaneously. One out of surprise, the other just 'cus.

"Where did you come from?!"

"My mother wouldn't say." Scapegoat shifted gears, and banked the wheel round to face hard left, "Might wanna put down that coffee." He stepped on the gas, the patrol car lurched powerfully forward, aiming for the duel targets of Metamorphi and its previous driver. Links grew on the chains at Vernon's wrists.

Metamorphi was about to walk away, but then he was in the same spot that Scapegoat was with his own handcuffs on What the-!?! he then saw Scapegoat appear in the car and try to run him over, he shoved the officer out of the way with his foot and transformed his body into paper, then jumped into the air at the right time to crash down through the glass on the front, turning into steel to stop himself from being cut all over the place and his feet would land roughly on Scapegoat, he quickly kicked the buckler holding Scapegoat's seatbelt in before they crashed into a wall, the police officer would still have her seatbelt on but Meta and Scapegoat would be sent flying out.