2018-09-22-Triad Revenge
| Roleplay Log | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Name | Triad Revenge | Date | September 22, 2018 |
| Location | Brooklyn, NYC | ||
- Danielle01.jpeg
- Vanya01.jpeg
9/15/18 Kwabena Yana Danielle
9:15 PM New York City
Its been well over a month since an explosion rocked the docks at Red Hook, tearing apart a sizable freighter docked in port. The police haven't reported much regarding the crime, considering many of them have been 'paid off' to keep quiet about what their investigators did or didn't find related to the explosion and the violence that followed. Typical Triad affairs... they've got moles everywhere, and a number of NYPD officials are on their payroll.
A lone African is seated upon his Harley Sportster, somewhere within the concrete jungle. A half-smoked cigarette sits perched between fingers covered by gunmetal gray, and the leather riding jacket cuts a silhouette that lies somewhere between 'cool' and 'inconspicuous'. The bike is silent and leans upon its kickstand; the rider, with one leg on the ground and the other curled between the seat and his ass, is also holding a hipflask in his other hand.
A pull is taken from the flask, before the item gets shoved into an inner pocket on his jacket. Out comes a cell phone, and Kwabena's finger scrolls through a few messages, looking for one in particular. Dark skin is lit by the soft glow of a backlit screen, reflecting against catlike, silver irises in a spooky way.
The camera zooms in on the message. 'T - action' is the first message, followed by an address.
Frowning, Kwabena sucks a drag from the cigarette before flicking it to the asphalt. Up goes the kickstand, and the bike growls to life with subdued thunder.
Yana Asarov is exiting out a local athletic club, looking refreshed, and carrying a small sports bag at her side where some of her gear is stashed. A group of people her age, a few women, and a couple guys all say their goodbyes and part ways, each going in their own direction. Yana's direction happens to be in the stairwell that leads to the parking lot, where her sporty BMW is parked. She pauses to put in her earphones, clicks her device to start playing some Dead Weather, and goes about enjoying her day. Because, why not?
In the air above the athletic club, there is a tiny distortion in the air. A small drone, black market variety with less than legal modifications, is nearly invisible given the reflective stealth panels with which it's been retrofit. As soon as Yana emerges into the parking lot, it tags her, and the BMW. However, something else appears on its scopes, and it buzzes around in order to catch a better view of the street below. Three imports, all SUV's with tinted windows, driving in a single file, are similarly tagged. The drone dives lower and closer.
A few blocks away, Kwabena is tearing through the streets on his Iron-883. The gunmetal gray paint job, paired with his monochromatic attire, tells a great deal about the man who's breaking the speed limit. While he doesn't need to wear a helmet, he does; partly because the drone just sent a feed to his smart phone, which is now being bluetoothed to a HUD inside the helmet. The three cars are visible, but an IR and X-Ray scan has been overlaid, showing men inside wielding weapons unlike anything he's ever seen.
"Track," Kwabena speaks, and the images shrink, replaced with a GPS I lay that directs him to take a left. Busting through a red light, he follows the directions and speaks another word. "Alert."
Yana's Dead Weather suddenly shuts off, and a SMS message comes through her phone. The message is cryptic yet clear all the same: 'DANGER'
The trio of SUV's suddenly pull over by the parking lot, screeching to a halt. Each of them pop their rear doors, disgorging Asian thugs wielding weapons that either haven't been cleared by the patent office, or weren't actually made on this planet. Angular devices that would be more at home on an episode of Star Trek, each with glowing purple accoutrements that suggest something far more dangerous than assault rifles. A few words are exchanged, and one of them levels his weapon on Yana.
- PLEEWWWW!*
A glob of iridescent energy, swirling with purple and blue, soars from the emitter and smashes into a security fence that separates the parking lot from the street. The metal immediately melts, sizzling the concrete and asphalt beneath it.
"Well, that's new," Yana states, after a few choice curse words in Russian, the blue-haired Mafia Princess, and X-Man watches the melting of the rather solid articles from the energy weapon with a bit of disfavor. Bullets have kinetic energy - energy projectiles are sometimes a different story. Danger, indeed. She doesn't know who sent the message to her, just that it wasn't her dad. She probably has a decent guess, though.
"You do realize," Yana says, keeping a calm demeanor about herself, and not seeking to attack back, just yet, "That you're about to start something bigger than you can handle?" Her eyebrows lift up in the manner of one who is reflecting a question, and earnestly suggesting that the other party take a moment, and -really- think about their next action.
But, for the moment, she remains still. Waiting - mostly, for the opening she needs.
It wasn't her hometown of Seattle, but New York certainly did have a few upsides. Namely, more crime. ...Which isn't really an upside, but more low level thugs are good when you're just starting out as a hero. Kind of. Danny still isn't quite sure she deserves the title, but when you're soaring over the city, cape trailing in the breeze, watching the lights below... it's really something.
What is ALSO something is what sounds like a sudden sci-fi battle below and flashes of light, accompanied by her suit rapidly flashing information at her through the display on her forearm. None of which she understands. The teen hero abruptly changes direction, the black and grey mottling of her suit hiding her against the night sky. She slows down about fifty feet up, observing the scene below. This... is a lot more dangerous than a few gangers with handguns. Maybe she SHOULDN'T dive right in.
"No," answers one of the Triads, while others line up and begin advancing on the parking lot. Three of them are making for the giant gap they just melted in the fence, while others start fanning out in an attempt at creating a perimeter. "You, and your friend, Shift? //You// started this!"
Other pedestrians have quickly scattered, running toward their cars or the nearby subway station, which is serving at least to clear out the potential for collateral damage.
Meanwhile, a motorcycle blows through another intersection, but it's rider has killed the lights and engine. It leans hard to the right, and continues coasting at a quickened pace down the street toward the parked SUV's.
"You can hand yourself over," the Triad continues with an aggressive tone, "Or we can melt -" His words, however, are cut off when a barrage of gunfire comes from the man riding that motorcycle. Assuming nothing interferes with the passage of those bullets, they will rip through the Triad's torso, spilling blood all over the place. Kwabena pulls the CZ Skorpion machine pistol back to his shoulder, then fires the bike to life again and pulls the throttle with a scream of horsepower.
Yana has seen blood before. Lots of times. She's seen people die in numerous ways. By the bullet, by the claw, by tooth, and by many different powers, bombs, explosions, accidents.
Still, the firepower and exposion of guts and blood from the speaking Triad do catch her offguard, even though she knows Kwambe is 'spying' on her with the drone, and had probably sent the message she hadn't known where, or how, or even when, he might show up.
But it's the opening she needs. From her hip, where the small satchel is always kept clipped to her belt, a small ball bearing is whipped to another of the Triad's arm with enough force to smash the radius and ulna into splinters, even as her own momentum is pushed to it's limit, and she moves for cover behind someone else's car. Hopefully, the melty part of the energy weapon won't melt things past the car on the first shot.
Shouts rise from the assorted Triads in Mandarin, and the air is quickly filled with the exotic sounds of stolen alien tech. The car Yana has hidden behind is barraged by globs of purple and blue, but she guessed right; the car is very quickly finding itself melted down, but there's no chain reaction that puts her in danger.
Others have turned and are trying to track Kwabena, but that Iron-883 is fast and well maintained. Instead, various sections of road and a few store fronts become victims of those melting energy weapons.
Before anything else can happen, however, Danny's arrival takes all of the Triads by surprise. The shooting stops, at least for a moment or two. A couple of the Triads exchange looks, before another of them who speaks English pipes up. "Back to the sky, cape. This doesn't concern you."
Kwabena peers over his shoulder at the momentary cease fire. Behind the helmet, he scowls. The motorcycle is bent hard to the right, bringing him around toward the gangster furthest from those gathered near Danny. Up comes the Skorpion, and he takes aim.
---
Another open moment, with the flying girl causing a new commotion gives Yana the time she needs to whip not one, but two of the steel ball bearings at the Triads, one of them smashing one of the quite illegal energy weapons through the barrel while the other moves like a bullet and crack-snaps another Traid members kneecap.
She dashes behind another car, to give herself more time, more space, while commenting to Dani, "Welcome to the party, don't know who you are, but you might wanna watch out for those guns. They're eating through steel."
"Okay, I gave you assholes a chance, Punching it is." Danny pushes off the ground and charges forward into the group, leading with her shoulder and trying to send them flying. She aims her blows for joints and limbs, trying to avoid causing lethal damage to anyone. There's a sudden burst of swearing as a gout of plasma streaks across her chest and head, and the particularly unlucky mook goes flying into a van hard enough to leave a sizable dent in the side.
Kwabena's target finds his life ripped away by the remaining rounds in the mutant biker's CZ Skorpion. Reloading will cost him precious time. He yanks the bike to the left, then kicks it to the ground with his foot while simultaneously leaping into the air. His clothing, helmet, and spent machine pistol soon follow suit, and in his place, there is now a cloud of black smoke flying through the air.
The trio's combined attacks turn the block into a sci-fi war zone once again. The next car Yana chose to hide behind is melted into slag, but at this rate, these collected Triads are gonna be down for the count in short order.
The cloud of smoke lands behind another Triad. It solidifies into Kwabena, dressed in the gunmetal gray form fitting uniform that seems to transform with him. Two hands rise, grasping the thug by the chin and face, and with a vicious sound the Triad's neck is snapped. Seems he's not holding back on the kill shots by design.
At least -her- car isn't slagged. Yet. But now enough of the Triads are down that Yana feels she can move freely enough. She infuses herself with her own power, and moves around the car she was hiding behind, to run straight towards another of her enemies, closing the gap -very- fast, at about 100mph before she virtually collides with the man, who goes literally flying across the parking lot, slamming hard into one of the cement beams, and going still.
"Didn't realize you cared that much, tall, dark and handsome," she greets Kwabena with, her tone a mixture of quip and sobriety for the situation.
"They're getting too dangerous for their own good."
Even surrounded by the sound of energy fire, yelling in a language she doesn't speak, and cracking asphalt as Danny's boots dig in to let her change direction, she still manages to make out the sound of a snapping neck. Which sounds so much... worse than it does in action movies. "What the fu-" Another blast of plasma, a rough aproximation of a side kick that bounces the gangster into a dumpster more by brute force than technique. "What the fuck! Stop killing poeple!"
Not having time to put his mask on his a source of irritation, but Kwabena lets it slide. He's about to say something to Yana, but Danny's shout earns a disapproving look. He crouches down to pick up the discarded alien weapon, then swings it around and fires a blast at the last remaining Triad. The man screams aloud for a moment before his body turns into a pile of molten blood and guts on the pavement.
"Like dat?" he growls, anger in his voice as he throws the borrowed weapon to the ground. "You think grace is how to deal with stolen alien tech?" he demands, before willing his temper to cool. "Listen, kid. Want to fight organized crime? Learn de language." He gestures toward the street, where the sounds of police sirens are now audible. "You think de cops wouldn't hesitate to take a kill shot? Jesus fucking Christ."
Only now does he turn back to Yana. "You want to put an end to dis tonight?" He jerks his head toward the nearest unattended Triad SUV. "Get in."
Yana, for her part, hasn't killed anyone, but neither has she scorned Kwabena for doing so - that comes with working with ferals like Wolverine, X-23, or others who might not kill indiscriminatly but not have a problem with it when the time comes, either. She moves towards the SUV, picking up the fallen weapons as she goes and collecting them up. These are dumped into the back, haphazardly, "It's about way more than my life now. It's about finding out where they got these weapons, and keeping them off the streets. If there's that kind of imbalance, it's ... going to cause a cascading chain reaction that will rip this city's heart apart."
The back door to the SUV is slammed shut, and she climbs in, looking towards Dani. "Coming?"
Danny lurches forward, trying to get between the killer cape and his target, but she's too late. What's visible of her face under the cowl is clearly radiating dismay and anger. "That's because the cops dont' have other ways to stop them. We do!" She runs a hand through her hair, the visible skin on her face slightly reddened. Presumably tanking plasma blasts with her face isn't painless. "And no. I'm not. Someone has to talk to the cops about what happened, and make sure these guys get enough medical attention to survive until trial." She turns her back on the other two, facing the incoming sirens and staring down at her forearm, an interface lighting up there.
For a few moments, Kwabena looks on with a blank expression. When Yana moves to the car, he gestures toward her. "I'll be a moment."
He closes the distance between himself and Danny, moving in a non-threatening manner. "Look. Dis is about what we can or can't do, it's about what kind of message we ah sending. I don't like it any more den you, but I've been at dis long enough to know dat sometimes, you keep up with one strategy? You're just spinning wheels." His expression is empathetic. "We tried no killing with round one. Dis is how dey chose to answah. You may not like it. Dats fine. But it's how de game is played. You want to talk semantics? Go to Chira's Coffee, tomorrow, 3:00. I'll be dere."
Yana squint, watching Kwabena curiously, her mouth setting into something thoughtful, she nods at his words and doesn't offer the fact she was the one who told, or asked (however you look at it) for the no-kill rule on their first encounter. "They were trafficking women," Yana informs Dani, quietly. "We stepped them, knocked them out, or took them out without killing them. Wherever they got these weapons? We have to stop them. And if we don't, that means every mafia, every organized crime family is going to rise up and take action, and there'll be not hundres, but thousands of deaths. I don't like it either. But I like the idea of these weapons getting out there a lot, lot less."
She exhales, nods to her 'partner', and waits for him, then.
"That still doesn't mean you kill them. We... We have to be better than them. I don't want to work with you. And I'm not going to let them dictate the rules. Now get the fuck out of here unless you want to get arrested too. Might want to leave one of those guns if you really want to find out the source, I have contacts in the Watch." She starts walking towards the cop cars, hands slightly raised to show she's unarmed.
"Fine." Kwabena's said his piece. "Just remember, we're on de same side, kid." He turns and kicks rocks, heading to that SUV so that they can make a getaway before the cops get close enough to become wise to it.
"Good. Let them know. Tell them if they come to Xavier's, I'll make sure they get one to look at," Yana tells Dani, sincerely. But she doesn't seem keen on leaving one of the guns with the local cops, for some other mook to break into the evidence room and steal, either.
She looks at Kwabena as he moves into the SUV, "Isn't this ironic? Y'know, the first time I got 'tested', I got yelled at for killing too discriminantly." She stifles a bitter laugh, and shakes her head. "This is crazy. You don't have any idea where they got this shit, do you?" Meaning, of course, the guns.
"That was discriminate," Kwabena answers from the driver's seat. He fires up the SUV and starts driving. He knows these streets well, and knows exactly where they're going: into the Lion's Den.
"I have some guesses," he answers. "Nothing concrete. Only tip I got is dat a retaliation was coming. I tagged you, by de way. Sorry about dat." A rueful grin pierces the sober expression on his face. "Don't worry, I didn't see you changing clothes."
"I know you tagged me. And, you've been watching me with the drone. You're lucky both and my father find you trustworthy. He didn't read any trickery in your movements," Yana relays, matter-of-factly. Then, she smiles. "Better to have an ally in the event of a retaliation, afterall." She adds, "If you had tried to see me changing clothes, I would've had to do something about that," she grins back.
She looks behind herself, back, towards where Dani had been, and the incident. "That girl has a -lot- to learn."
Kwabena doesn't say anything about the whole changing clothes thing, but his grin does remain a bit before subsiding. "It's a thing with dese young capes," he agrees. "I like dem. Dey have good hearts, and I'm glad for what dey do. Pity they can't see past de ugly side of things."
Yana Asarov is riding shotgun in a blacked out SUV with Kwabena Odame. The tinted windows are a source of irritation to the merc from Ghana, but he's keeping his opinion to himself... and following all traffic laws. The last thing they need is to be picked up by the NYPD for driving a stolen vehicle registered to God knows whom.
Fortunately the roads at this hour (approximately 9:37 PM) aren't filled with much traffic. They're headed from Brooklyn into Manhattan Island on the Williamsburg bridge. "I do my homework too," he remarks while they're driving over the bridge. "Dese Yin-Yangs have suppliers everywhere. Globally. Big chance dere getting dese Space Weapons from a non-domestic source. Undahstand my drift?" He glances toward Yana for a moment, before looking back to the road ahead. "I know where one of dere big wigs calls home. Think dey will let us in if we come knocking with one of dose?" He jerks his head to the back seat, where a collection of exotic and clearly not Earth-made weapons are resting in a pile that Homeland Security would collectively shit themselves over, not to mention SHIELD.
Yana plucks out her cellphone number, and asks Kwabena, "Address?" And then once it's given, as the phone, which rings in a raucous Russian rock song for the ringtone until it's picked up, Yana states, "Time to start earning some of that money I've been paying you, and the trip to Africa. Get to this address, pronto. Apparently the Triads are trying to kill me. They've got energy weapons." There's no further conversation as she hangs up, and tells Kwabena, "Personal bodyguard. You'll like her. She's very thorough."
She looks behind herself, nods, "It'd be a nice way in, to be sure."
Yana's phone rings her back only a few seconds later. Guess who.
"<Yeah that's great and all kid but /where the heck is that/?>" the predator snaps irritably as she strides down the sidewalk, looking for a street side. "<I'm somewhere in... I think Brooklyn right now, near the water. Can't one of your friends just pick me up?>"
"I'll see." Yana looks over at Kwabena, "Quick pickup in Brooklyn, if it's on our way? She's not the best with addresses. She's - old school."
Address is given. It points to a location in Chinatown, not terribly far from where the bridge dumps them off onto Delancey. Kwabena glances toward Yana's phone when it goes off, an eyebrow rising. "You want me to just get her an Uber?" he smirks. A quick check of the rear view mirrors for cops... none. "Hold on."
Brakes, then a yank to the left. The SUV's tires scream as it peels through a pass through to perform a very illegal U-Turn, ending up back on the Williamsburg Bridge.
"Delancey's a pain in de ass," he explains, and checks behind him to make sure the little stunt hasn't gotten them pegged by New York's Finest. "You get an address from Old School?"
"What's your intersection?" Yana asks back on the phone, then says to herself, "Going to have to get a better system in place." Once Vanya can provide her with a section of cross streets, she relays them back to Kwabena. "Trust me," Yana says both over the phone, and to Kwabena, "She's worth the side-trip."
"<'Seaview A-V-E'... and 'Rockaway Pikwey',> the weresoviet eventually replies as she reaches a sign and slips her sunglasses down from her nose. Vanya's hawkish eyes look upwards towards the sky and squint to get her bearings before she speaks into the phone again. "<So what is it: north, south, east, or west?>"
"Gonna take your word on dat, Twilight Speedball." Kwabena waits for the information to be relayed. "Tell her, go up Rockaway, away from de watah, right on Flatlands. We'll grab her at Flatlands and Pennsylvania."
Under his breath he mutters something in his native tribal speak.
Repeating Kwabena's directions (including the proper directional) to Vanya, she looks back at the tribal man, "Twilight Speedball? Now you're making me sound like some kind of new drug to hit the streets," Yana chuckles, then returns back to Vanya, "Get there as quickly as you can. We're on a timetable. And we're almost there. It's not too far from where you are."
There's a huff from the receiver on the other side of the phone call, followed by wind noise - lots of wind noise. "<Jawohl, mein fuhrer,>" Vanya scoffs as she rushes up the street and falls forward onto all fours, leaping across an intersection and bounding her way to their meet-up with only half a mind paid to weaving around the occasional late night pedestrians. Fortunately for her and the city, there aren't too many.
"Mos Def," answers Kwabena. He's already got his smart phone out, having taken it from a pouch that didn't appear to have any seams until he actually reached his hand for it. He swipes from an NYPD surveillance hack over to Spotify, and pulls up the track.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=Id9nCkVc54s
Auto sync is nice. The song starts playing over the stolen SUV's speakers, and Kwabena can't help but bob his head while bobbing through the streets, making shirt time through Bushwick. A couple of chicks jogging in yoga pants catch his eye, and he shakes his head. "Fucking gentrification."
It isn't more than ten to fifteen minutes before they've reached the rendezvous point. The playlist moved right on to 3030 by Deltron 3030, assuming Yana isn't too salty about Kwabena's choice in underground hip hop.
Yana seems to let the radio and songmix go, for the most part, and the goth-dressed girl has a quiet chuckle at the comment made by the dark skinned man driving. "There she is," she says, pointing out to the rather tall, and very not-wearing-yoga-pants Vanya, as she spies the woman down the road. "Let's do this."
The songmix is about to take a bit of a turn. Deltron 3030 drops into Forever Heavy by the group Black Moth Super Rainbow, right about the time the black SUV is pulling up to Vanya.
Kwabena's attire is certainly unique; gunmetal gray, form fitting, covering all but his head currently. The material, however looks exotic and certainly not something one picks up at Jo-Ann Fabrics, upon a closer inspection. Likely explains why he didn't end up naked after pulling his bike stunt. Otherwise, he appears to be a tall, dark skinned merc, no hair upon his head or face, and catlike irises that reflect silver color when the light touches them.
As soon as Vanya is in the SUV, Kwabena is driving down Pennsylvania toward the Belt Parkway. He glances toward Vanya through the rear view mirror, perhaps sizing her up.
As far as curbside pickups go, Vanya's a difficult one to miss. The muscular woman is in her usual battered red pants - the same ones she took to Africa in fact. By now, the garment has begun to show quite a bit of skin but it's still managed to hold together. Spying the vehicle approaching her, the werewoman straightens up and offers a little wave before gripping the SUV's roof and swinging herself into the back seat.
"Spasibo, tovarEE--" she begins to offer Yana before glaring down at the back bench seat and rummaging under her legs for a moment. "<...Tovarisch. I sat on a buckle,>" Vanya grumbles. Their driver is ignored for the moment, giving him ample time to study the burly Russian in her tanktop. No weapons, tools, or bags of any sort, nor jewelry. She probably relies upon brute strength to solve her problems, and from the width of her neck and lack of any scars, it might have worked so far.
"Vanya, Kwabena. And, vice-versa. You two should get along well enough. We're about to go hit some Triads, Vanya, who want me dead for helping our friend here out after he blew up one of their cargo ships that was about to pick up a bunch of girls to send back to China for sex and slave trafficking." She glances back at her bodyguard, "They're playing pretty dirty, too. Take a look in the back."
In the back, there's a collection of guns that neither Vanya, nor about 99.9% of the population of Earth have ever seen before, plasma guns capable of literally melting holes in cars, concrete, and other very, very solid objects.
"We're pretty sure they have more. So. Don't get hit. Be careful." Meaning that Yana can't stop these particular shots. They're not bullets, or launched objects.
Aforementioned boat incident was all over the news, about a month ago. Papers called it an 'isolated incident' and a 'mechanical failure'.
Russians can be either your best friends or worst of enemies. The accent draws a very mild grin to the African's face, and he resumes his driving. However, they haven't made it far onto the beltway when his smart phone flashes a big red alert.
Looking down at it, his eyes harden. "Fuck. APB on dis god damn vehicle." He looks to Yana, then back toward Vanya. "You two see any cops, I need to know. We see blue and red? Pop dere tires."
Vanya half-listens to the introduction as she turns her attention finally to Kwabena and lets her shades slip down the bridge of her nose, exposing a hawkish pair of round but amber eyes. She smirks when she catches his gaze in the rearview mirror and a passing streetlight puts a momentary shine in the center of her pupils - she's got them too.
"Da, da... Policy are no problem. Just open a window and turn off that noise for me," she tosses casually, not seeming at all concerned about the prospect. The brawny bodyguard turns and bends herself over the backseat to study the weapons traveling with them before letting out a low whistle. "<These are some interesting toys, Yana. No reason to block them, just dodge? You can still speed me up, no?>"
"" Yana exhales, turns down the music a bit for Vanya's sake, and focuses her eyes on the road. "You put a lot of stock in your tech," she observes to Kwabena, casually.
The guns vary in size and look as if they belong in a sci-fi blockbuster. A purple glow comes from some spots which suggest energy cells or access points of some sort.
Kwabena isn't about to bitch about turning off the music. Considering Vanya's wolf-like appearance, he hazards a guess that her senses aren't quite as dull as a normal human's, and Black Moth Super Rainbow just might be an irritant stop that. Even after Yana turns it down, he up and turns it off. "Be stupid just to rely on my x-gene," he answers. "De hookers and blow add up though," he adds, a casual grin suggesting he might be joking.
Damn shame. She Wants Revenge was up next on the playlist, and a typical type caster would assume it might be right up Yana's alley.
Its only a matter of time before they're bound to come across the fuzz. A police cruiser happens to be traveling the other way on the beltway, and thankfully there is a big cement barrier preventing him from following. However, the officer driving does turn and look at the SUV, then promptly gets on his radio to alert dispatch.
"Ahh, much better!" Vanya chimes as she opens a rear window and the passing wind whips her hair backwards. The werewoman takes a few sniffs of the night air before returning her attention to the trunk. "<Hmm... these have a nice glow,>" she chuckles, hefting one of the weapons fearlessly for closer study and brushing her fingertips along the iridescent plate. Despite her supposed role as lookout, the brawler's eyes are held on her prize.
"Radioactive?" she asks with a curious, strangely hopeful glance back towards the front. Her bushy lashes flutter once at the pair.
And it's 'cause of These Things that Yana's own senses are on high alert. "Don't know, but probably not," Yana states. "In any case, you find one, round it up. We're turning them in. Last thing we need is the Triads, or some mercenaries to show up with these things in hand and tip the balance."
Yana pauses, frowning, leaning out her window. "Cop's onto us, I think. Just turned off and got on his radio. We need to get where we're going pronto."
"Hold onto yah butts." Kwabena jerks the SUV into the fast lane, no longer going the speed limit. Within moments he's got the vehicle pushing 100, and is bobbing and weaving throughout the minimal traffic. They don't run into real trouble until they're on Ocean Parkway, headed for the Brooklyn Bridge.
Blue and red begin flashing some distance behind them as a pair of cruisers merge onto the parkway in distant pursuit.
"We need to lose dem, fast," Kwabena notes.
Vanya belatedly pokes her head out the window about the time the flashing lights are visible and looks backwards. "<Oh, there they are...>" Pulling her head back out of the jetstream, the brawler studies the rifle in her hand, trying to spot its various working pieces. "<You want I should shoot them? This is no Simonov but I found the trigger.>" The werewoman thinks for a moment, then kicks her feet up against the opposite door with a smirk. "Or you can drive faster. Like this you are bringing police with you; they can fight the Triad for us."
"No, we're not using those on the police," Yana states, firmly, to Vanya. "But, if you want, you can fire it on our entrance. We'll need it to make an opening, from what our new friend here says." She looks over to Kwabena. "We almost there?"
"You want to give us some speed?" Kwabena asks. "Maybe clear de way ahead, block de cops behind?" He shakes his head. "Not gonna be able to keep dis pace up once we hit de bridge!"
Vanya lowers her new toy and huffs dejectedly. "Hmph... <That sounds like a job for you, kid,>" she tosses to Yana. "<Go throw some super-pennies out the window or something. I don't spit shark teeth or anything.>"
"Sure. Just be sure you can keep up with the reaction times." She places a hand on the dashboard, and the SUV's speed doubles, then triples. Her own reaction times she can control, adjust, but she's not sure about the current driver so she's not going to take it up too far.
She looks back to Vanya, "<Can't you shoot quills, or stingers, or something?>" Heck, she doesn't know.
Usually, Kwabena is pretty cool, calm and collected. He's not surprised that the speedometer just pegged, but as the car keeps on accelerating, his eyes eventually grow wide. Hands are clenched upon the wheel tightly, but he's in the proverbial zone. The SUV does at one point scrape a little too closely to a semi, causing a jolt and a spray of sparks from both vehicles. "Sshhhhit!"
Fortunately, these are expensive and well maintained cars! The SUV jukes back and forth a bit, but Kwabena manages to keep control. A brief glimpse into the rear view and it would appear the cops are almost out of view.
"Yana!" he cries, and veers the SUV toward the off ramp that will take them to the Brooklyn Bridge. Concurrently he kills the lights, and grimaces. He's gonna do his best not to have this end up in a bad situation, but he knows better than to pump the brakes when the vehicle's speeding along at nearly 300 MPH.
"<Oh yes let me just spit some venom through an engine block,>" Vanya scoffs dismissively. "<Pssh, if I could just sink my teeth into a hellhound then sure I'd roast theeeeeeeem--> nu blyat!" Sheer acceleration pins the Slav against the rear seat cushions, squeezing her into a Vanya-shaped indentation as she looks back in surprise towards the front. The werewoman laughs incredulously and fishes for the button to close her roaring window again.
"<What the heck, Yana. You can accelerate /whole cars/!?>" she barks. ""
The SUV decelerates, back to normal after the 'boost' of speed, like nitro on caffiene, and Yana tips her head towards Kwabena, "You asked me to, thought you were prepared. Sorry," she says, thoughtfully. And, to Vanya, she agrees, "Yes. I can. I weaponized my BMW to take out a SUV that was chasing Kwabena, that's how he knew. Thought you knew, as well." She chuckles, "If it crashed, at any rate, we wouldn't have anything to worry about." More soberly, "More concerned about the people in the other vehicles. Still, we lost our tail, I'm sure."
A few deep breathes are given. "Nevah know what to expect with you, Spikes." He uncurls the fingers of each hand in turn in order to flex and stretch them, then finds himself laughing aloud. "We've got to do dis again."
The rest of the journey is surprisingly uneventful. The SUV eventually pulls up outside a tall, five level brownstone sandwiched between larger buildings. Kwabena kills the engine and looks at the building with a sobering frown. "Lao Chin," he says. "All I got, a name. I am guessing he's already in ovah his head; dis is Hand territory. Should work to our advantage." He turns around and glances back toward Vanya now. "You evah deal with high level thugs like dis?"
"" Vanya chuckles, easing back into a more natural laying posture as the vehicle slows back down to its designed speed and tucks her hands behind her head to enjoy the rest of the ride.
"Hmm? 'High Level thugs'?" she echoes, quirking a brow at the rearview mirror while sitting up and spanning her arms across the two front seats. "Kid, do you know who you are sitting next to? This isn't little Miss Petya who sells potatoes on a street corner."
Shaking her head, the brawler turns from Kwabena to Yana. "<You want to fill him in? These are chumps with special guns, or will I get to have some real fun here?>"
"<Just chumps, with special guns, far as we know.>" Yana turns her head to Kwabena, "Vanya can handle herself. That's why she's my bodyguard. Should've seen her take out that lion, bare-handed." And no, Yana isn't kidding. Still, she frowns. "Let's stay out of the Hand's way. That's one group we don't want to mess with. And I'm pretty sure the Triad's don't either. Let's finish this."
"Not what I'm asking about," Kwabena answers while unbuckling his seat belt. "We want to try to do dis without escalation. Means we might have to bluff about some few things. Oh, and do me dis favah? Call me Shift. Dese assholes don't know my real name, I'd like to keep it that way."
The Ghanaian steps out of the car, and goes around to the back in order to grab the largest alien gun he can find. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walks up to the front door and raps on the knocker three times.
An Asian man comes to the door and opens it, glowering at Kwabena and his companions. He says something in Mandarin, to which Kwabena slings the large gun around to the front side of his body, aiming it at the ground.
"Recognize dis?" he asks, and pats a hand on the gun twice. "Lao Chin. //Now//."
"<Easy enough. If anyone asks,> I no speak English," Vanya reasons simply while she unlatches and opens the far door with her feet and scoots her way out on the same side as Yana. Rolling some stiffness out of her shoulders and straightening her hair, the were-woman lets her own rifle dangle limply from one hand with her finger curled around the trigger guard. She might be feral but she's still got trigger discipline.
Moving up along with Kwabena, the burly Russian takes a lazy post to the side, weight back on one leg and eyes slowly sweeping around them. "<...I smell kung pao chicken,>" she murmurs. "<We're having a second dinner after this.>"
Yana walks just behind Shift and Vanya, looking vaugely disinterested in all of this, but that she's pretty much along for the ride. Still, her bright blue eyes focus entirely on the man at the gate, waiting, watching. And, rolling, as if by some measure of ditraction, three ball bearings in her right hand over and over each other with clever fingers.
The gatekeeper eyeballs those guns, then the trio in turn. After a moment of silence, he looks to the street beyond, then steps inside and holds the door open for them.
Kwabena steps through first. He keeps the plasma gun safely aimed at the floor, mouth silent, eyes vigilant.
The foyer is constructed with the highest quality of building material, and its decorations are ornate; a sign of the sheer wealth that organized crime yields. They aren't alone; quiet men, soldiers of a sort, line the foyer and the hallway. The place is well protected, and yet most of them show no sign of being armed. Of course, there are weapons upon the walls, for decoration of course.
The trio are led to an elevator, at which point the gatekeeper turns to then and says, "The guns. They're ours, or you go no further."
Vanya smirks quietly and her nose twitches as she steps inside. "<Boring... so boring...>" she grouses under her breath, trusting that Yana has heightened her hearing enough to catch it. Her own gun is held so loosely it nearly drags the floor, as if it were a mere piece of luggage. Her orange-tinted gaze flits to one of the seemingly unarmed men and her brow lifts faintly. "<...Maybe I will get to have some fun here.>"
Coming to a stop for the gatekeeper, Vanya turns more openly to her employer and reveals a playful smirk. "<Want me to wait in the lobby and make us new friends?>"
Yana look at Vanya, then, looks to Kwabena, as if to suggest at least on the surface, he's the one calling the shots. She looks at the new gatekeeper with a mixture of disdain, entitlement, and boredom, playing up the part of the Mafia Princess whose been irritated to it's full potential. For the moment, it's his call.
"Or..." Kwabena raises the weapon, and suddenly, all of those thugs are producing knives, pistols and various other weapons from hiding places on their persons.
The gatekeeper shouts a single word in Mandarin, while raising a hand. This keeps the thugs from attacking.
".... or," Kwabena continues, "I could melt through you, and de elevatah, and all of your little egg roll-eating dog-fuckers back dere."
The gatekeeper and Kwabena exchange poker faces for a few quiet seconds.
The stare may be daggered, but the gatekeeper finally produces a keyfob and waves it, prompting the elevator door to open.
Kwabena lowers the rifle and steps into the elevator at once. The gatekeeper follows, and holds the door for Yana and Vanya. Once they've entered, he'll key in the fifth floor, and the upward journey resumes.
The top floor is 70% penthouse suite, 30% something else, which exists behind a mirrored wall on the street facing end of the brownstone. This room also holds a number of Triads serving as guards, lining the walls. It is the large and ornate desk that draws the eye, on the far end opposite where the elevator door opens, flush with the mirrored wall. Behind the desk, Lao Chin sets his cigar down and rises. He is an aging Chinaman, with weight on his face and a dangerous look in his eye. "The one and only, 'Shift'," he greets. "The man who can't be killed. And... his new partner, Yana Asarov. Daughter of the great Alexsei, Pakhan of the Bratva's." He peers then toward Vanya, and his expression sours. "Your hired muscle would pay nicely in the slums of Shanghai. On the //meat// market."
"Lao Chin," greets Yana, mildly, to the man. "Yes. I've heard much about you." Her tone is courteous, if nothing else. Make no mistake, Yana has mapped out the floor, and her kinetic sense has already mapped out out much more than what the eyes can see, hidden traps, and the like.
"No doubt my father will be reaching out to you soon, given the recent invitations your men have extended me." You know. To die. And all that.
Vanya's smirk turns pointed when everyone draws weapons and her posture sinks a faint inch or two as her legs relax into a slight crouch, springy and ready to pounce at the first sound. She almost frowns when the standoff ends peacefully and straightens back up with a dull sigh, eyeing Kwabena sourly but following along without a verbal fuss.
As they reach the top floor and the group disembarks, the brawler... blinks. The werewoman tilts her head from side to side as she takes in all the mirrors and slows her walk to study herself in one of them, straightening her posture a little and flexing one arm at her side. A little self-satisfied grin accompanies the gesture before she turns her attention back forward and regards the man behind the desk. She gets a frown? Then he gets a smug smile.
"" Once again, a statement aimed only for Yana, though this time the werewoman makes no special attempt to hush herself.
"Your father," Lao retorts, while leveling a bony finger in Yana's direction, "would be a fool to interfere with my business." He reaches down for his cigar, and carries it with him while walking around the desk so that it no longer sits between himself and the guests.
"Our quarrel is not with you, Daughter of Alexsei," he continues. "Our quarrel is with //him//." He stabs the cigar wielding hand in Kwabena's direction. "However, since you saw fit to interfere with our affairs, we had no choice but to answer in kind. Surely you must have seen this coming?" He takes a long drag from his cigar, before slowly advancing upon his guests. "So, tell me, Daughter of Alexsei, how are we going to mend this... this rift that has formed between us?" Almost casually, Lao turns his face toward Vanya and speaks in eloquent Russian, "<Learn your place, bodyguard. You are in the Lion's Den, and you should be very careful with your animal attitude.>"
Kwabena's only response is the lifting of his eyebrows. Now he is the quiet observer.
"That is simple. You are an intelligent man, Lao Chin. My father admires your intellect, and your patience. But this?" Yana gestures to the plasma gun that Shift is holding, "This? Is a mistake. Especially bringing it to the streets, where it could be filmed. I owe Shift a debt of honor. We have already mended it, or had, prior to your attack on my person. I persuaded him not to kill your men that were chasing him." She shrugs, once, and then looks to Shift, and then to Vanya.
"However. You leave him alone, and forget this attempt to take my life as well, and where the weapons came from will remain a mystery, in the eyes of the authorities, for now. Though, if your men continue to be so reckless, they'll do that damage themselves."
A light comes to Vanya's face and her countenance changes in an instant. She smiles widely and close-lipped, responding once Yana finishes with flowery, honey-sweet formality. "<Well-spoken, Citizen Lion.>" The lilt of mirth might be noticeable to an ear better tuned to her archaic speech but the dancing humor in her eye is hidden by the brawler's sunglasses.
"You will never learn where the weapons came from," Lao Chin answers, his footsteps still closing the distance. "And I do apologize for the attempt on your life, young Asarov. It was the only true way to draw //him// out." He gestures again with the cigar toward Kwabena. "He interfered with our business, //he// cost us countless millions in investment. You know this business well enough to know that such a thing can not be tolerated. To do so would set a precedence, a precedence that my organization cannot afford." He turns beady eyes from Yana to Kwabena. "They say he cannot he killed. I say... we have found the way."
Invisible doors suddenly open in that mirrored wall, and two men emerge from each door. They're armed with the same exotic weaponry, and the guns are charged, buzzing with danger, and are aimed at the three guests.
Yana had known that the men were there, behind the glass. But, had waited to see how this was going to play out. She neither moves, or reacts to the introduction of them, and their guns. Instead, she simply reaches out to casually touch Vanya's arm in a 'don't kill them yet' kind of way which helps disguise the fact that she's just buffeted her bodyguard tenfold.
"You've done honor to the Triads for some time, Lao Chin. You're putting that at risk now in a gambit that could cost you much. Let us go, forget this, and, we can all move forwards." In her other hand, Yana's fingers play with those metal ball bearings more, just rolling them fluidly between palm and finger, rolling them over and over again. She does not look at the men bearing arms down on her. She matches eyes with Lao Chin. "Do not embrace the role of Captain Ahab."
Vanya's head turns as the doors open and she locks eyes with the concealed men for only a moment before whipping back around to look at Lao Chin. In most of a mirror to her employer, the bodyguard's smile holds, growing subdued but faintly more excited as the hairs on the back of her neck raise and her bare feet grip at the floor. He's close... very close... but on Yana's command the broad-shouldered Soviet keeps her hands at her side.
Yana knows the language, and it shows. There is an expansive silence, during which Lao Chin's jawline moves back and forth to suggest the gnashing of teeth. He finally puts the cigar into his mouth again and draws a long puff. "Yana Asarov," he says, laughing openly. "You are just as clever as your father. I offer this counter proposal."
He steps forward again, though this time he's angled just slightly toward Kwabena. "We would accept your service in repayment, Shift, by working for us. We will pay you handsomely, and this business with the boat... we will pretend that it never took place."
Kwabena flattens his lips into a thin line. "Or, we have de third option. You throw your dice, and we find out if dese guns can kill me. But dere are some few things you don't know about me, Lao Chin. I will do you dis one thing and tell you. If de weapons do not kill me, den what will happen is completely out of my control. Dis building, your men, Yana and her bodyguard? All of it will go up in fire. Then, de Hand will assume it was an attack. De Bratva's will seek vengeance for the life of their daughter, and your influence in America will become nothing more than de ashes we made here today." He shakes his head. "I will not work for you, so... which is it?"
Lao Chin glowers at Kwabena for a long moment. The men holding their alien weapons grow anxious, looking from one to the other, to their leader, then back to their target.
There is a fire in Lao Chin's eyes. His hands clench around the cigar, slowly crushing it until the cherry falls on the carpet with a quiet hiss. "We will call it a draw. We will forget all of this happened... and you three will get the fuck out of this building and never show your faces here again."
"No," agrees Yana, inclining her head. "We won't." There's a certainty, there. She looks to Shift, to Vanya, "Let's leave, as our host requests." Fearless from the armed men, she turns on Lao Chin and the men and begins to head to the door leading out of the office, and, thereby, out of the building as well.
Vanya nods to her employer and takes a half step back as she prepares to leave, until her self control slips again. The bodyguard's smile spreads into a cocky smirk and she gives a loose wave to Lao Chin with her free hand. "<Bye-bye, Citizen Lion-Cub. Let Yana know if you ever want to play. I get plenty of time off.>"
Chuckling softly to herself, the brawler turns and follows after the Bratva princess.
Lao Chin utters a phrase in Russian, quite insulting; it's essential translation suggests Vanya to be an animal afflicted with a sexually transmitted disease.
Kwabena, who has also turned to leave, gives Vanya a look. He doesn't know the language, but most insults have a way of rolling off the tongue that don't exactly require a person to understand its translation. He shakes his head to her, then keeps moving right on into that elevator.
