There are two different types of high-altitude military parachuting techniques. In high-altitude low opening jumps (HALO jumps), you jump from a high altitude (duh), and open the chute closer to the ground. You just free fall. Terrifying? Apparently, it's mainly used for delivering equipment, supplies or personnel. HAHO jumps, on the other hand, are high altitude high opening techniques. You, uh, open at a high altitude and don't free fall as long.

The goal of the operation was to use one of those (she didn't know which), for insertion by the compound of a dangerous South American mutant crime lord. SUPER didn't like him. Wanted to either rub him out or nab him and bring him home. She was probably going for kill. Kill seemed easier. The thing was, this had been deemed a Two-person mission. Crazy, right? They were sending a professional assassin, yet wanted someone present to hold her hand and make sure she didn't do something crazy, like leave the reservation and go off on her own like Jason Bourne. Or maybe it had to do with him being good at his job? Whatever.

She'd read up on HALO jumps, or HILO jumps, or HAHO jumps in preparation for the flight. She was supposed to meet Mister Man on the flight, and he was supposed to help her with that. Even though she'd never done one, they'd trained her for just such an occasion. Or maybe she'd trained herself. She couldn't remember. Lenna boarded the flight, expecting the worst. Oh, not because he might take it upon himself to train her to jump out of an airplane and free fall mere moments before their insertion. She didn't care about that. Military types just rubbed her the wrong way.

Maybe he wasn't military. SUPER was, though, so that was the kind of personnel they attracted. Sometimes, she got along with guys if they knew their crap. Other times--- her personality hit them like a sledgehammer. It all came down to chemistry.

The inside of the plane was barren. There was a hold with nets tied on the walls, and a bench so you could sit during the long ride. The nets were for snapping yourself in with carabiners. Lenna wore the rig for it, a lot of dark clothes and pockets. It was more military wetwork than she was used to. She even had some camo pattern, on her pants. Tacky as hell, but it would blend in with the night sky(?). She didn't second guess SUPER costume design. They clearly had plans.

Lenna sat down across the hold from her co-worker, and clipped herself in. He was about 6'3", with blue eyes and short dark hair. He had a nice tan. She had not worked alongside many SUPER operatives. Much as she had not worked alongside many fellow assassins. What was the appropriate hail sign for someone who was planning to team up with you and help you kill some guy? Probably the same greeting for someone who was planning to jump out of a moving plane.

"Hey there, handsome. Come here often?" Lenna asked. And she smiled. Appropriate SUPER behaviors be damned.

To say that Blaine was mildly annoyed would be an understatement. A partner? What the hell did he need one of those for? The job was pretty straight-forward, and he was sure he didn't need a babysitter to take out who needed to be taken down. Sure, bringing him in was an option, but it was option he had no intention of going for. Teamwork be damned.

He was already on the plane and strapped in, ready to get this show on the road; this annoyance just made his proverbial trigger-finger even itchier. Blaine was decked out in classic Army camo, reminiscent of his time in the service. Though, technically he was still in the service; he'd just been involuntarily transferred from the Army to SUPER when one of their higher ups stepped in and said "We want him." And he never once complained. Matching the camo and the haircut, was the scowl he wore on his face.

And then the woman stepped in. She wasn't particularly short, but she had a build that said she could handle herself. But he still didn't think he needed someone to change his diapers and burp him. He'd been through far worse than this, and he did that by himself.

But she did have a sense of humor, it seemed. That or she was really hitting on him, in which case she would be gravely disappointed when she discovered what his mutation was.

"Yeah, I just don't usually get an escort," he said smoothly, some remnant of a smile forming on his lips. Might as well humor her a bit, because once he touched ground, it was all business.

Still smiling, Lenna told him "You need to work on phrasing. Toss the word 'escort' around casually like that, and some woman somewhere in your future might think you're calling her a whore. But yes," She sobered up and canned the smile. "The team-up's a strange choice. Usually, I work alone. I guess they figure it'll take two of us to penetrate the compound without having to leave a trail. My name is Lenna."

She didn't extend a hand. There was enough give in the netting that she could have, but she didn't. He was unfamiliar to her. Seemed like he felt capable though, if he didn't usually get paired off with help.

"Guess you should brief me on all the details I don't know. Like your mutation, and your idea for a plan. If we're working together, I guess full disclosure and teamwork is the best course of action." She made a face, but shook her hand like a cheerleader with pom. "Go team!"

Team SUPER. Was it still too late to change that? Lenna felt like maybe there were better names.

He scoffed a little, still smirking at her 'escort' comment. "Why? You know what I meant. I was going to say baby-sitter, but you look a bit young for that one. And you're far to pretty to be a sidekick," he remarked, but then the conversation focused more toward business, and he too, got serious. "Yeah...it is. Two people who usually work alone, though I guess they figured this would need to combine our methods. Usually, they call me when the ****'s hit the fan and they don't mind a trail. Or maybe they figure I could use a softer touch." He sort of scoffed at the word 'touch.' While he was proud of what he could do--hell, it was his greatest asset--sometimes the odd wondering popped into his head. But he was trained on how to get rid of those with relative ease.

"Sinclaire," he replied to her name, giving his last. In his expertise, everyone went by last names unless you were unfortunate enough to share with someone, then you got an embarrassing nickname. Luckily he was the only Sinclaire he'd ever met.

"What I know is, we're infiltrating the compound of some mutant kingpin in some godforsaken South American country. Normally my plan would be to case the area, figure out exactly where he is, then take him out as quickly as possible. Apply grenades liberally as needed. But since there are two of us, a different course of action may be in order." He paused at her little 'Go team' crack, not sure if she was joking or just that peppy; he hoped it was the former.

"My mutation is I have no sense of touch. So if you were looking for a little rendezvous after the mission, I'm afraid you may be sorely disappointed," he said dryly.

Young for a baby sitter? Lenna had heard baby sitters could be around 16. He was saying she looked younger than sixteen? But also far too pretty to be a sidekick? Was he out to sabotage himself, because none of this was flattering. He needed to take her advice about phrasing. Lenna said nothing, but her lip twitched in an almost-smirk. At his expense, really. Not at his wit.

Sinclaire clearly wasn't the world's best user of words. His talents lay elsewhere.

Lenna listened to his summary of powers and mission, and nodded. The plan sounded like a wise one, one she had utilized many a time. Maybe with fewer grenades, and more bullets, but hey! Different strokes for different folks! As far as his mutation went-- yeah, he really was terrible about phrasing. She laughed in his face.

"Ah, poor guy." She said. "I can definitely see how you feel no pain. You didn't say anything in the last few minutes every time you shot yourself in the foot. Didn't even flinch. I really would advise working on phrasing." She nodded helpfully. "Too young to be a baby-sitter? Don't kids do that? Yet also far too pretty to be a sidekick..." Lenna smirked, and let him come to the conclusion about what he was alluding to. It wasn't flattering. "And then you said just because you can't feel things, sex is worthless. That's a sad thought." A crass comment, but the sentiment was real. It was sad for him, really. Her tone was soft and sultry. "There's more to it than just feeling good, you know?" She didn't let that hang in the air for more than a split second, before continuing onwards brusquely. "Not that you'll learn anything from me. I try not to lose my inhibitions around the people I work with. It's just bad business." Which was a shame, because sometimes bad things could be fun.

Someone shouted back to them to make sure they were strapped in, because the plane was about to take off.

"They don't pay me to be charming," he said with a slight grunt, "So I'll break it down. You're too young to be my babysitter. And yes, I did say you're too pretty to be a sidekick. What we in my business call a compliment," he said, his voice not necessarily rude, but to the point.

"Well, I see no point in sex if I can't feel. That strikes me as being the gist of it, to be honest. Though if you're not gonna enlighten me, I guess this conversation is over," he said with a slight shrug. He was about as smooth as sandpaper, and he knew it. But he didn't really care. After all, as sad as it was, getting laid wasn't necessarily on his bucket list. "Well, you've done a great job keeping it professional so far," he said, teasing slightly, though his humor was best described as blunt, sarcastic, and barely there.

Then, it was time to take off, and he looked at Lenna with a nod.

Well then. Blunt and straightforward was something she could respect far, far more than foolish. They certainly weren't going to pay this man to be charming any time soon. If they did, they'd be foolish. Even his compliment was as rough as his handed

Lenna laughed. At his comment, as much as at him. He didn't think she had kept it very professional, and he was giving he crap about it. Accurate enough.

"I just like to keep things interesting," Lenna said. Professional? She already did that. Just not in the same way as a military man might like.

She returned the nod. If they didn't talk the entire flight, it was going to be a looong trip. Lenna tempted fate with small talk, as she could. Mainly stuff about preferred weaponry and other ideas for the infiltration. Maybe if they worked together on this, a real gem of a plan would come together over the long flight? Maybe not. Better anything than dead air. She didn't, it should have been noted, share her own mutation details. Why waste a nice surprise?

Interesting? "Well, you're doing a good job, there," he replied, the compliment thing still relatively new to him, but he was at least making an effort. It wasn't his fault he had the social skills of a wet paper sack. The military didn't teach them that, though he had to smile at what those exercises would look like.

Talking about weapons and preferred methods of infiltration really sparked something in Sinclaire, though. He went from being the gruff, uncharming meat-head to someone more relaxed and comfortable. He didn't really care for guns, though a good grenade really hit the spot on occasion. In talking about this kind of thing, it was almost like the large, professional patriot turned into another person as he discussed his passion.

This, he could get used to. But then, that conversation reached its end, and he thought a moment, wanting to keep the conversation going, but damned if this wasn't the hardest thing he'd ever done. Finally, he took a breath, looking across at the woman.

"From the sounds of things, you know your stuff. Can't wait to see you in action."

Shop talk was easy. Shop talk didn't require much commitment. During shop talk, something came out, something that was tangible. It was a spark. It revealed something about the person talking, some inspiration. For instance, Sinclaire was inspired by grenades. Lenna, in contrast, liked guns. A lot. Far more than him. She could have gone on and on about handguns and high-powered rifles if shed really wanted. She held back, just a hair. For his sake.

Knives, she liked. Blades. Hell, she told him she had a katana back home. But she'd left it. Probably wouldn't have traveled well. Those damn SUPER metal detectors, you know? She'd smirked at that. Lenna didn't mention how that katana had killed her only friend, in a betrayal that cut both ways. It was kind of, uh, heavy, for a conversation about knives and grenades.

They talked about infiltration styles, if briefly, and plotted, but eventually that all ran dry. With a short statement, he himself put the bullet in the conversation that concluded it.

Lenna nodded, and agreed. She said it sounded like they both knew their s%#t. She dug out a pad of paper and some pencils from one of her numerous pockets, and drew a hash mark across the corner of one page. "It's a long flight," she told him. "Tic tac toe?"

---

They reached the drop zone some time later. From the front, the pilots shouted out information they needed to know. They outlined where the landing zone was, how far itqas from the compound they'd be infiltrating, and how they'd have to navigate South American jungle and hilly terrain. During the flight, they'd shared details about the compound itself, and Lenna had made suggestions about the best ways to overcome them. They had made certain they'd have the right tools for the job. All very professional. They told them where the chutes were, what to do. Lenna knew exactly what she had to do. She stepped up to the gaping door. It was cold in the bay. Wind whipped against her, toying with her hair like a rough lover and raking her cheeks like a bitch. She glanced back at Sinclaire, as she rested one hand against the inside of the door.

"See you at the drop zone," She said. Lenna jumped out of a moving plane. Her parachute hung where they'd said it would be, unused. Left behind.

While they were talking business, Blaine was a completely different person. He liked grenades, she preferred guns, and they were rather even on knives. Knives and blades were nice, deadly, and as easily concealed or as flashy as you needed them to be. But...then he went and brought the conversation to a screeching halt. That always happened when he tried to small talk.

Maybe this was why he was married to his job; he didn't have to worry about such trivial things as social skills. Not that he was looking, but he did occasionally wonder if it was possible...to which he presumed....no. No it wasn't.

"Sure," he said, almost disappointed. How dull were you when tic tac toe was more entertaining on a long flight? But, Sinclaire knew he was as charming as a lump of coal, but lacked all the social graces thereof. So unless he found a woman who was turned on by his combat prowess....he was going to die alone.

Page after page filled with hashmark after hashmark. Lenna won some, Blaine won others, but most of them were draws, as was the nature of the game. He took in all the information, then watched as she stood to jump first. He had to admit he did look her over rather....closely, but there was nothing intended behind it. After all, guys like him tended to look and not touch.

Then, she jumped, and he grabbed his parachute, noticing hers was still hanging where it had been. The pilots looked at each other, then back at Sinclaire.

"I hope that bitch can fly..." one of the pilots said, loud enough for Sinclaire to hear.

"I'm pretty sure succubi have wings," he remarked with a smirk and grabbed his chute, jumping out of the plane as he'd done time and time before. Maybe seeing him work would be more charming than hearing him put his foot in his mouth. IF she survived the splat, of course.

But something told him there was more to her than met the eye. It'd be really cool if she hit the ground, made a crater, then got up unscathed. He could do that. Minus the getting up part.

The first thing one needs to realize is that telekinesis is not the ability to make things fly. It is the ability to make things levitate. The differences are minor, but they're there. If it were flight, it'd be faster. She might have a bit more control. There might be things to consider, like lift or air resistance while going up or coming down. If she made things fly, she could make herself fly. Like some sort of comic book superhero, she'd move faster than a speeding bullet-- thus saving bullet money in the long run, because if we're being frugal, she'd put that talent to good use and become a human cannonball. It would have been a lot more graceful, if she could have flown. More like an eagle or a falcon, spearing down through the air towards the ground... and less like a chicken, with clumsy course corrections and a lot of obvious effort. Any mental images of a sexy succubi, sliding sleazily through the sky to land silently, and with unrealistic force, in the crater she had created with her soundless impact... were things Sinclaire would just have to save for his diary, as one of his fancies to fantasize about during the dark hours when nobody is watching and he doesn't feel a thing. There was no crater. There was just a woman, psychically slowing herself and shifting her direction as she drifted down.

It had been hairy and fast, the moments after she'd jumped out of the moving plane. She'd assumed a free fall position, arms tucked and aerodynamic. For a minute or what felt like a minute, she'd let gravity do its thang. Then when she figured it was appropriate, Lenna had started to steer and decelerate. Mental air brakes. She found the clearing they'd been instructed to aim for, and touched down smoothly the way only someone completely used to falling and stalling themselves with their mind can do. Not on one knee, or tumbling. Like a feather, one that suddenly grew legs. And settled itself neatly onto the ground, without disturbing a thing. Lenna glanced up, didn't see anyone falling against the darkness of the night sky, and mentally regrouped. This meant encasing her hair in a solid bubble of psychic energy that appeared orange to her, and smoothing down her hair. What had been in disarray got combed down and smoothed down so the brownish blonde bob wasn't a mess. There. Much better. One can't account enough for style. Any grunt who'd seen her when it had been destroyed probably would have died of shock. There's a good reason military parachuters have short hair.

Lenna waited in the clearing, idly contemplating the stars. You don't get stars like this around civilization. The sky reminded her of home. Cartagena. Columbia. Not all that far, in the big scope. Somewhere she was never going to return to. Hey! Maybe SUPER would find a reason to assassinate her old boss? A girl could hope!

Was he ever going to land? Men with their parachutes, taking their time. Sheesh.

Sinclaire was in free-fall, arms and legs spread as he watched the ground slowly grow closer. Sometimes he wondered what free-falling felt like. He knew what it looked like, what it sounded like, but he wondered if the feeling was why so many were afraid of jumping out of a plane. That Lenna chick though? She was a crazy kind of special, that was for sure. Or a special kind of crazy. Either way, this was going to be an interesting mission. And if it failed....well there were worse places to have your body disposed of.

Three... His mind was focused as he watched the ground grow closer, and it was almost time to act.
Two... Focus. Intent. Ruthlessness. And he was ready to unleash all three...
One... Lenna's kind of interesting, isn't she? At least for a--
Zero! He pulled the cord on his chute, now gracefully and stealthily floating the rest of the way to the ground, which wasn't very far by now, and he landed quite light on his feet for such a big guy, ditching the parachute and laying low. After all, his mass would be easily determined if he caught someone's eye.

Not far from him, was Lenna. It was time to get this date on the road. Making his way up beside her, he gave her a nod.

Lenna returned the nod. Her patience was back, now that he'd landed and they could move. The woman's focus turned back to the mission.

"Just a short hike," she explained. Her gaze drifted to what lay ahead of them. Through trees and uneven terrain, in the dark. It would be slow-going. They'd have to watch out for roots, and hazards, animal life. And after that, they'd have to go low, hugging the ground so that they avoided detection from any potential sentries. If they couldn't find a way to scale the wall of the compound, they'd have to find another solution. For now, she started walking with Sinclaire.

"You ever been to South America?" Lenna asked.

He struck her as a man who went where he was told, when he was told to. Dutiful, if sardonic about it. It was entirely likely this wasn't his first time in South America. If she was reading him right, that was. If not, they'd have some things to talk about. Either way, really. She'd done several missions in the area. And all over.

Casually, she flicked her mind towards a snake that hung off to the side of them, within line of sight. An orange glow visible only to her surrounded the creature. Gently, she set it aside so it wouldn't get any ideas. She did so without looking away or acting as if she were doing anything at all.

It wasn't quite showtime yet; they still had a little walking to do. But after the long flight, he was starting to get used to having company. Sort of. Then again, considering the kind of person Sinclaire was, a short hike through a jungle strewn with hazards and wildlife with a dangerous enemy waiting at the end would probably be considered a romantic walk through the park. Well, not really, but he did find it quite...enjoyable. It'd be even better once they could get down to business.

"I've spent a fair amount of time here; only a few times since joining SUPER, but when I was in the Army, I was stationed here as a part of MIST--Mutant Integrated Strike Team," he explained. Well, sort of; there was only so much he could divulge about MIST, even though it was now defunct.

He looked over just in time to see the snake. And then it seemed to be flung aside casually even though no one was there. Okay, so that was kind of awesome. He gave a smirk. "I assume that was your doing, since you didn't leave a crater after jumping without a chute. Nice trick. It suits you," he said. It was more of an observation. After all, it was well established that small talk wasn't his thing, but he knew how to appreciate a neat power.

South America was beautiful. It was good he got to experience it, even if it was for work. With his strike team. Kind of like her and her old group. Cortez's army. Lenna wasn't sure why she was being wistful about the memories. She chalked it up to mental exhaustion from levitating herself down several hundred feet from a moving plane. There was no other reason she would ever be sentimental about those memories? Even if she had the sudden urge to share personal details with a complete stranger.

She distracted herself from sentimentality with a snake. He noticed. Dammit, Mr. Snake.

Lenna smiled mildly at him, and told Sinclaire she didn't know what he was talking about. And then she deftly changed the subject.

"I used to live in South America," She said. "That's why I asked. Columbia. Used to work for some overlord, before SUPER picked me up. He was awful. But the whole area is amazing..." She brushed her hair away from her face, and stepped away, so that she was walking ahead of him. She wouldn't she his reaction. "Some good memories, amid the bad. Glad you got to experience it before, and that this isn't your first time. South America virgins don't know to watch out for dangerous snakes. Or low tree branches."

She didn't duck the branch, because she'd already pulled it back when Sinclaire was distracted by her, and probably wasn't looking. A second after she passed it, she released her mental hold on the branch and let it snap back into Sinclaire's path. It was just a little joke, and she'd warned him. Hopefully, he would duck. He didn't feel pain, right? So even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter. Wasn't like he was getting squeezed to death by a giant snake.