Who: Gregory Kim [PHILISTINE] and Montagne [PURPLE OGRE GUY] Where: A stretch of road somewhere When: Monday; during the APEX Attack What: Gregory makes a call for cooler heads to prevail Warnings: Violence; Language; Ego
Gregory absolutely loathed the 'combat suits' that military efficiency insisted they wear on patrols, but as he pushed himself out of the rubble in the wake of the terrakinetic's shakeup he was grateful for the extra padding. He coughed, brushing debris from his shoulder and finding his fear, looking up to the transport truck they'd been protecting. He found the vehicle now sans doors with multiple metas piling out, with one particular purple hulk at the forefront.
"Montagne, I presume." Gregory spoke, his voice crisp and civil as he stepped up onto the broken tarmac, dwarfed by his former prisoner's size. "I apologize, we haven't been properly introduced. Gregory, though I suppose in the field I'm meant to be addressed as Philistine."
Some of the other escaping prisoners made as if to pounce but Montagne held them back with a gesture, his eyes on the small Korean man before him skeptically. "Kim, if I'm not mistaken? I attended one of your Father's guest lectures some years back."
"Ah yes, you're Harvard if I recall correctly?" Gregory returned with a slight nod of approval, "To say they have an excellent program would be an unworthy platitude."
Montagne waved one massive hand as a gesture of modesty, albeit one that could overturn a semi. "Well this flattery is far preferable to my previous treatment by your peers."
"Peers is a generous term," Gregory answered, his tone rivaling Montagne's for most self-satisfied. "But I do apologize for Azrael and Knockout. I've heard their methods leave quite something to be desired."
"Thank you," The ogre answered emphatically, "It's a relief to encounter a civil tongue, rather than such unnecessary and tawdry violence."
"On this we're in full agreement," Gregory returned with a thin smile, which faded as he continued, "Which is why I really must insist that you and yours return quietly to your restraints. I really would prefer not to have things devolve into anything as unbecoming as fisticuffs."
Montagne tucked one hand into the crook of his arm and the other under his chin, all the better to give Gregory a patronizing once-over as he smirked. "Oh, isn't that darling of you?" One would be hard pressed to describe his tone as earnest. "But I'm afraid I must decline your generous offer. One does wonder though, if you're to be the good cop then who, pray tell, is the bad?"
Gregory's smile had now completely faded, replaced with a mixed expression of reluctance and annoyance. "Do please remember that I made every effort to avoid this," He said pointedly, while removing his glasses and folding them neatly into a pocket. "You have no one to blame but yourself."
Montagne and his ilk watched curiously as Gregory bent over, beginning to emit a series of growls that grew increasingly animalistic. His body seemed to grow, muscles bulging and eventually tearing along the seams of his costume, which had yet to be sufficiently adapted to accommodate his unpredictable transformations. His neatly combed hair turned into a frizzy mop, as tufts of fur sprouting in all manner of unfortunate places. Fingers and toes elongated, claws grew, until what hunched before the ogre was nearly equal in size.
"DING DONG, BAD COP CALLING!" Greg snarled triumphantly, striking out with impossible reflexes to drive one well-aimed punch directly into Montagne's long-suffering crotch.