As unbelievable as walking trees were, Locke found it harder to accept the man from the tree. Maybe it was because he lived surrounded by other mutants who did things out of the ordinary everyday. Having someone walk out of a fallen Christmas tree, which, seeing as there was nobody else around, they had made tumble down on their own was not something he was willing to go along with. "You could have said timber," he shot back, not really sure how to argue with Martin's logic. He didn't want anyone to get hurt from the trees either. His intentions were different though. "A falling tree is more dangerous than one that's rooted."

"And that's what I was trying to do, replant these suckers," Locke gestured in the direction of some of his overturned dirt. If asked he wouldn't be able to describe just how he could tell what bit of the disturbed earth was his own doing. The Californian rubbed his uninjured arm's hand against his cheek, leaving a dark streak of dirt. "Instead I get swatted at like a fly." It wasn't like Locke expected the tree's to bend over and pat him gently on the head for his actions, but it would be nice not to be smacked. "And you?" he asked over his shoulder, trying to catch up to his tree before someone else got to it.

The kitten hung with paws tucked against its downy chest and tail tip curled into a cute question mark.

“A mutant kitten? No no, of course not. I am merely a feline lacking in age but possessed of a divergent genetic pattern.”

He She dangled cutely for a moment more, then mewed: “May I return to your pocket? I would normally climb a tree for safety, but it seems the trees are inclement to climbing.”

Ka-blam! Blam! Blam!!

Jorge felt the squeeze and could do the only thing which came to mind…fire the gun. The tree, that’s right, it was an actual tree trying to crush him to death, had tightened its grip on the struggling detective. For a moment panic set in as he figured his plan didn’t work. He didn’t hear the Thunk! of the bullets slamming into the wood of the tree’s limb. Instead all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears as the tree’s death grip seemed to cause a rush every ounce of the crimson liquid up, looking for a way out. But before he could feel the blackness fully take over his mind…

Creeeeeeak…SNAP![/i]

A rush of air filled his lung as suddenly gravity took over and pulled him back to earth. With a gasp he felt the hard thud of his back side slammed into the concrete below. Momentarily winded, the detective found the strength to finally open his eyes and looked up to see a very odd sight. The tree was still standing but it seemed to be looking about confused as it reached over with its free arm and touch the spot where its limb was formerly. Obviously whatever it was didn’t feel the pain, or at least didn’t register it, so Jorge took the opportunity to make his escape.

He squirmed and turned until finally he came free from the fallen branch’s grip and scrambled back, staring at it closely. The limb didn’t move but instead just remained there, looking as lifeless as any other fallen branch. He nudged it briefly with his foot and then proceeded to move to his feet. The tree was still confused but instead of looking for Jorge, it turned and continued on in the same direction that the other trees were going, sans one arm.

Feeling the presence of being stared at, Jorge turned and saw that Drake was still there, gun out, and looking at him with a certain look on his face. Jorge cleared his throat as he read his fellow detective’s look that seemed to say, “are-you-crazy”? Holstering his gun once more, Jorge could only shrug.

“Hey, I didn’t say it was good plan.” he said as he turned to watch the tree stomp off in the direction of other trees.

When he noticed that the family was no longer in the car that the tree had been attacking, he was thankful for that. At least Drake had been able to get them out of there before someone else got hurt. But he remained still as he simply watched, unsure of what their next move was to be. He didn’t want to attempt to put a bullet into each tree to draw attention away from citizens.

“We can’t set those things on fire. If we do, they could set the whole damn city ablaze. And I don’t think I can manipulate the enough water the drench it all.” he mused as he stared after them. “Axes will take too long, chainsaws seem to be the best bet but where….”

He paused as his phone suddenly rang to the tune of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. His hand reached into his pocket, pulled out the silvery “classic” cell phone, snapped it open and put it to his ear.

“Cervantes…yes…you’ve got to be…alright we’re headed there..” he snapped the phone shut and turned to Ashton with a look of a man on a mission. “Precinct got a flood of calls in. Everyone is saying that many of the first wave of trees have converged on Rockefeller Center. Come on.”

Jorge said as he ran back to his car and awaited Ashton to join him. They would have to think of something, some plan in order to stop all those trees but first…what did they want? Was this being done out of malicious intent? Was there one person pulling all their strings? There’d had to be…it wasn’t like they were all making a conscious effort to storm New York city…were they?

Good. Ashton lowered his firearm. There'd be no shooting of trees today, no him looking foolish. Actually, he wasn't certain about that last one just yet. Jorge was safe. That was good. But they were still dealing with insanity incarnate. Not the kind of way he wanted to spend his holidays. Where was a flamethrower when you needed one? Or a GOOD plan. They needed one of those. They needed...

"You need to get your head in the game." Ashton eyed Jorge, holstering his gun.

Correction. Jorge needed one of those. Ashton was fine. He didn't need anything. Okay. Maybe a drink.

Jorge tried, he really did, to get a new game plan. He seemed to read Ashton's mind. Yeah. Setting them on fire would be pretty good, but... then, there'd by flaming trees running around and the whole city'd be up in smoke. Not so good. Chainsaws was an improvement. Maybe they could call Shinbo.

The man's cellphone rang. No stop signs, speed limit. Nobody was going to slow them down. His eyes swept the area, looking for something to give him an idea of how to handle this while Jorge chatted up the caller.

Nope. Nothing they could use at the moment. His hand dropped to his pocket, found his black cellphone there. He dialed a Shinbo. It rang. It rang long enough. The phone snapped shut as Jorge turned his attention back to him.

Another new plan. They had to go. Rockafeller center. Ashton met him back at the car. As he buckled in, he turned to the man."Think we can hit a hardware store on our way?" Chainsaws. Not a half-bad idea. Ashton smirked. The trees wouldn't know what hit 'em. If... Cervantes got his cue.

The waterbending detective had climbed into his car after the disturbing call from the operator. Trees were congregating at Rockefeller Center? Why? What was so important about that place? He could not get many more details since so far no officers had been able to call in and tell them what had occurred there. Judging from his experience with one of those walking Christmas trees, he didn’t doubt that his fellow police force must have been having trouble with them, but what could be the issue? Why were they attacking? Was it some insane mutant taking out the city? None of the options sounded like good ones so they only thing he could do was pray that there was something else behind this…but what?

He stopped in his musings once he heard Drake slid into the Impala. The man was right, they needed a plan of something. They had to get back into this game…but how could they if they didn’t know the rules? Then…Drake offered a very valid suggestion…

>> "Think we can hit a hardware store on our way?"[/color]

At first Jorge didn’t know what the man was talking about. Was he really suggesting that they go run an errand while the city was being terrorized? But it slowly dawned on him what he was referring to. Jorge had made a comment a moment ago before he was interrupted by a call from the precinct…he was talking about chainsaws. They really would be their best weapon right now. Axes were too slow and fire was too unpredictable. And since neither of them were termite manipulators…chainsaws would have to do.

Jorge nodded in agreement with Ashton as he pulled out his phone once more and dialed the operator. He was quick to identify that he was a police officer and he needed the closest hardware store to their current location. After a second, the operator responded and gave them an address. Thankfully it was close to Rockfeller as well. They would not lose any time.

Snapping his phone shut, Jorge revved up the engine and tore off into the street. No cars dared to get in their way as he drove, weaving in between both fleeing and unmoving cars. Many were abandoned or smashed to bits and the detective could not waste time stopping to check them out. With a clear focus in mind, he drove to the address he had been told and did not dare to slow down or stop for anything. They could not risk those trees harming anyone else because of their slow response time.

Finally, out of the corner of his eye, he stopped the hardware store and could see the glittering lights of Rockefeller Center none too far down the road. Quickly he pulled up to the sidewalk and unbuckled his belt. The store looked pretty unscathed but from the looks of it, they weren’t the only people with the same idea. Several fallen trees could be seen around the store and as well as discard axes of various sizes. Hopefully they would have a bit more luck in this endeavor than those who had previously tried.

“Alright Drake, time to try our hand at landscaping,” he said as he climbed out of the car and dashed into the store to grab a couple of gas-powered chainsaws.

He got it.

Good.

They spared no time getting to the shop near that grisly scene. Ashton's buckle clicked undone. The belt flew back into the door.

>>“Alright Drake, time to try our hand at landscaping,” Cervantes said.

Ashton got out with a dumb grin. Now was about the time for stupid puns, wasn't it? "Any skills those trees have just won't cut it, now." He said.

The doors to the hardware store slid open, automatic, as if they'd sensed the presence of two bad bad men in need of bladed death motors strapped to their hands.

"Drake, Detective. MRC. Chainsaws." Ashton flashed his badge to a very flustered-looking shop clerk. He ran on ahead, to show them the way. The bladed death motors were strapped to a wall towards the back of the store, gleaming metal, dangerous rifle black blades. "Fill 'em up." He said. The shop clerk rushed to oblige.

A few minutes later, they were ready to do chew bubble gum and do yard work... and they were all out of Bazooka Joe.

"Ready?" Ashton asked Cervantes, holdin' his chainsaw up in his hands in front of him, and feelin' all sorts of hardcore.

>> "Any skills those trees have just won't cut it, now."

Really? was all Jorge could think at the badly placed pun. Then again, he was no better. What about that stinker he just told Drake mere moments ago?

Into the hardware store they went, hands itching to have chainsaws in them. It was not that they simply being men and wanted to hold a item of extreme destruction, though. There was a city to be saved and unfortunately these were the only type of weapons that seemed as if they would do any harm to the attackers. Guns didn’t work, fire would set the whole city ablaze, and asking them nicely did not seem like the best option right now. So that left them only a single course of action…it was time for loud, whirling blades of death. At least to the mind of this officer that was their only option.

As Drake took care of getting the chainsaws and having them filled up with gas, the detective began to muse silently to himself. He would have liked to have known what was going on, why were those things attacking the city in the first place? What could they possibly want? Were they a weapon of some eco-terrorist, or some disgruntled gardener? It was too early to get any straight answers and so far nobody had been able to provide any. All they knew was that an army of pines have descended onto the city and, single-mindedly, knocked away anything that seemed to get into their path. But what was their destination? Why Rockefeller Center?

Jorge was brought out of his musings when Drake returned with the clerk and two fully gassed and primed chainsaws. The child in him smirked a little as he took the mechanized death machine into his hands.

>> “Ready?”

Ashton Drake definitely did look ready to cause of tree mayhem. Jorge had to wonder if the man was enjoying this just a LITTLE too much. But then again, he really couldn’t blame the man. He had an attitude, but he was damn good at his job.

Jorge nodded as he held up his own chainsaw, almost as if the two of them were about to clink glasses and grinned. “Let’s do this. Get in the car, I’ll get as close as I can to Rockefeller Center and we’ll see what all the commotion is about.”

The detective slipped his chainsaw into the backseat and climbed in behind the wheel. The second that Ashton had joined him, the MRC detective drove quickly over to Rockefeller down the road. At first all looked normal, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary or strange except for a fuzzy line of greenery up ahead. But as he drove closer and the panicked faces of those on the sidewalk running in the opposite direction flew by, the whole scene began to take focus. The trees were there, a multitude of them, a living forest of bristly pine needles and branches as they seemed to be waiting. He didn’t know for what…and he didn’t time to ponder.

Before he knew it, a large tree stepped into the road in front of them and Jorge had to slam on the brakes. It looked to be missing an arm and shook with, what he assumed to be, anger, and caused needles to fall everywhere. It was then that he recognized the tree as the one who had nearly squished him earlier this evening.

“Great, a tree with a mindset for revenge.” he mumbled as he climbed out of his car and ripped the chainsaw from the backseat. Already this was seeming more and more like a stupid plan, but it was the only one they had.

Holding the chainsaw up, Jorge started it up and winced at the sudden loud sound of the gas propelled beast in his hands. Its sharp teeth spun, cutting through the air and immediately catching the tree’s attention. The detective revved it up louder as he held it deftly in front of him and glared at the tree. Was he really having a stand-off with a pine tree.

“Come on, Stubs.” he said. “Time for round two.”

Martins look was more cold then warm, more indifferent then concerned as he let it wander over the indicated, the indicting heap of earth. Mildly curious maybe. All quite modest, quite immaterial the damages, the slashing and the fighting. And the kid seemed to be included in that maybe speaking from his stance. Maybe useful. Maybe not.

"I care to suggest these trees do not wish to be rooted." He said, German accent creeping in, coloring the words with sharp edges, hard edges, which seemed as ready to cut as the knife that he held in hand. Just being there, not threatening in any way, just being dangerous. Like he usually was, just rarely showing, hinting at what was to come. "So I also suggest you try to make them fall. Break them. And do anything else to them you can think of thats sufficiently destructive. Anyone still in the streets is probably dangerous enough himself to keep out of trouble." He raised his hand in a sharp, stopping motion, held out the palm to the boy. The hand was white. So very white. Almost unnaturally white. The one that did not hold the knife.

Three eyes were looking at the kid, one beyond. Time was not stirring here. Was unbroken, whole. Unlike him. "If things swat at me, they usually don't get where they intended to go." He closed his talking session with a small smile. From somewhere else echoed over to them crashing noises, life, fight. How eerily silent a city was when there were no people around to scream. To walk, to run. All dead. They were alone, the would-be gardener and the earth-moving child. Both dangerous enough to be out. Both dangerous in a dangerous season. Call all ye children... I'd have said cry.

Ashton fell into place by Jorge's side, chainsaw in hand. The engine seemed to cackle as it revved up in front of him. Heck yes. Heck freaking yes. This was the best Christmas ever.

>>“Come on, Stubs.” Cervantes said. “Time for round two.”

That about summed it up.

The two detectives rushed forwards, far faster than could be seen as sane for men wielding chainsaws. They came at the tree from either side, in unison. There were two flashes of metal, the sounds of ripping teeth. The rest was too graphic to show to nature lovers.

In the window of a street side store somewhere on the block, a robotic Santa hip-swiveled his little holiday dance of destruction. His black eyes were all-consuming.

((OOC: Fade to epic win.))

"Of course they don't want to be in the ground," Locke grumbled. He wondered how had the stranger managed to take down a tree with just a knife. Granted it was an impressive knife, but these were not tiny sapling trees that looked more like twigs. The wisdom of having the guy around was questionable, seeing as Martin had taken a tree down with just a knife. In the end Locke decided it would be easier to defend himself against a person than it would be a tree that didn't want to remain stationary. "If they did then they wouldn't be here," he pointed out.

Catching up to his tree from earlier Locke tried once again to grab onto the roots. Martin might want to chop them all down but that was out of the question for the Californian. These trees had a place that they were suppose to be. Earthen hands wrapped around a root and pulled down. The tree wanted to keep moving, but the earth, with Locke's stubbornness, wanted the root to stay down.

The man, German, tilted his head to the side, puzzled somehow. Maybe sutdying, as the object, target, walked off, sped off, running, just that little bit of faster walk, not nearly enough to escape, just to get somewhere. Hopefully there would be an arrival. For the boy. Just in stride. So the German was left standing, slightly lost. Starting to hum, as his near-acquaintance tried his best to pull down another tree. To root it firmly in the ground.

Yes, he was humming slightly, the man with the knife, the bloodied knife, deathbringer. Humming just a bit off tune. O Tannenbaum. Wonderful christmas. It was over. Like all illusions it found its ending. The fata morgana was swept away with the wind, he disappearing into the shadows as if he had never been, no, just a reminder, fanciful memory.

Young people needed to make their own mistakes. Meanwhile he needed to find his hat. And get cleaned up. It was after all only another night out in mutant capital. Another illusion. It was comforting.

Ashley only hummed a response before she shoved the kitten back into her pocket as gracefully as she could. She did this because...well, she knew the kitten was talking. She just didn't know what it was saying. It wasn't that big words hurt her head or anything, but...well, it was times like these that reminded her of her lack of a proper education.

And there were STILL trees outside.

She looked back down into her pocket, at the cat she'd saved and gave it a small poke to the head. Softly.

“Hey.” she said gruffly. “Any ideas?” She jerked he thumb to the chaos outside the alley. “'bout that?”