Recent Forum Posts
From categories:

It's a good night to be drinking. Sunday is St. Patrick's Day, Friday was a Friday, but tonight? Tonight is a Saturday. And like Saturn and the gods of yesterday, everybody thinks the night could use some fruity white wine. Above the room, the very faint murmurs of the overpopulated Peak are vibrating the building, and the smell of rich food and strong herbs fills the air even a hundred feet underground. Peak is, as always, above maximum capacity. But the Pub is not Peak. The Pub is pretty close to overcapacity too, though - because everybody likes some Pinot Grigio. A garishly dressed bartender slings drinks and makes winks from behind a large oak counter. Most of the thirteen tables are occupied, but the stools around the bar are still open. To the east sit the heroes, to the west, the villains. They take a moment every once in a while to glare at each other, but beyond a few sexually charged grunts and one villain making a tasteless joke to a hero with devil-eyes, not much goes on. Whispers of a third-party metahuman science agenda group meeting tonight have been around town, if you keep your ear to the ground for that sort of thing. The Pub is quiet, most people keeping to themselves. The stools look uncomfortable and the sign above the door reminds you - NO FEUDS NO VILLAINY NO HEROICS.

Someone might ask, "What kind of fruity white wine?" The answer is Maria's, but it's not a suggestion. "You want the des Baumard Chennin Blanc- 2009. It goes well with the sriracha soup." That's not a suggestion, and before the customer can say anything on the matter, the cook has walked off to fetch the bottle of wine. No one would say no to his choice of wine. Anything else would simply be…/wrong/. Shaking his head at the thought, the restaurant owner checks his watch.

She doesn't look uncomfortable on a barstool. It's a look she clearly has worked at over the years. She's sipping something bright, almost radioactive pink because fruity wines be damned, and she twirls her white-blonde hair absently at nobody in particular. Candy Charlemagne's here alone, but based on experience this won't stay that way for long.

"Did we make you the fucking sommelier too, Maria?" Ben Styx's voice is loud. As is his style. In a scarlet peacoat with a lime-green scarf and loafers (no discernible pants adorn his spindly legs) he slams his hand on the bar and reaches under the counter. He pulls out a thin tall tumbler and it is filled with a soup mix. A sriracha soup mix. "Sriracha Bloody Mary's, bitches!" He eyes the girls at the bar around him. "You're getting one?" It is also not a request, but Ben lacks whatever force of personality Maria has. It sounds more like a squeak - the adolescent voice break doesn't help. Or is that an intentional falsetto? "My drinks are Zagat rated." This is a lie.

The sounds of meat being torn and chewed a little too loudly can be heard from the stool Erik Norman decided to claim some dozen minutes ago. He sits relatively quietly, with the exception of the awkward slopping noises he makes each time he slices, stabs, and plops a slab of the incredibly bloody steak in front of him. The meat looks raw, it is no small wonder if the plate of steak was ever introduced to flame ever. Despite the undercookedness of the steak, Erik looks to be enjoying himself in a silent manner. He glances over at Ben Styx, hearing the obnoxiously loud voice and, with a mouth still stuffed with a beyond chewable meat, he takes a swig from his beverage; a warm glass of water.

The Pub is growing louder - not unbearably so, but louder nonetheless. The heroes to the east are getting rambunctious and a few look like they're itching for a good brawl. The villains keep more to themselves (the Human Id is uncharacteristically extroverted tonight) and are eying more than a few of the single ladies and stag boys. Those blessed with ears and further blessed without company can hear the steps above leading down to the Pub squeaking.

"Until we find someone better qualified," Maria replies with a smirk for his business partner- the mixologist. Bottle in hand, he bestows the beverage on the table that 'ordered' it. "I urge you to try the Sriracha ice-cream sandwiches for dessert to round out your 'St. Patrick's Sriracha can be Green' dinner." There's a tight smile, and Maria has moved on to the next table. He almost slaps the patron on the shoulder, and then thinks better of it. Some villains- and heroes, for that matter, don't like to be touched. "Plebes," he mutters under his breath as he eyes the room like a mongoose in a snakehole, intent on overhearing his customer's conversations. That, after all, is why the Pub is worth it. Not the underpriced food. Not the overpriced alcohol. The things one hears.

"Another," Candy says suddenly, waving her hand authoritatively. "Watermelon martini. Heavy on the martini. Fluorescent on the watermelon, please." She's still scanning the burgeoning group here and watching the owner with a moderate amount of suspicion."

You, tall guy." Ben gestures toward the man eating the blue-rare steak with a look of carnal appreciation. "This one's on the house." Ben reaches under the counter with both hands and fulfills his bar-tenderly duties, pulling out a glass of still-sloshing red liquid. "A vintage port to top off the meal." He looks to the blonde girl drinking the bright pink drink. "You look like you could use a wink." He obliges, and then sets about making a complex mix of liquids. Ice must be broken.

Erik slides his gaze over to Candy, the girl drinking the incredibly bright drink. Any brighter and it might have started to hurt his eyes. He suddenly wishes to say something to her, not quite sure what, and begins to regret the large chunk of steak still being torn to shreds in his mouth. At Ben, Erik wishes he could properly speak even more, against the idea of being served an alchoholic beverage. That wasn't why he was here, he was not here to get drunk in any fashion. He swallows hard numerous times, like someone struggling to swallow a couple of pills. "Thank you very much, very loud bar-keep." Instead of complaining, he accepts the drink. But doesn't drink it.

The door to the Pub slams open and a man in a ratty, stained lab coat walks in. He looks around and his eyes seem to zero in on the bar. The heroes get louder and the villains get rowdier. The bar is still amiable, however. There is a zero-tolerance policy for violence. In the background, somewhere, a very violent Asian man both the heroes and villains have no small amount of caution around smiles manically. The man in the lab coat, his dark hair covering most of his face in a classic bowl cut, pushes up his glasses and walks toward the bartender. The noise above in Peak seems to have gone down, though it can still be felt in the vibrations of the wood.

Maria stares at the bartender. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six seconds and he's still staring - glaring now, balefully at his partner. "What do you think you're doing!?" The cook stalks toward the bar, leaning forward toward Ben. "Are you SERIOUS?" He pauses, letting the question sink in for a moment. "Are you crazy or something? Do you realize how much MONEY we'll LOSE you economically challenged pothead?" The commotion serves to stop his tirade before it kicks into full swing, and he turns to consider the Pub.

Candy sneaks a sidelong glance of the bloody-steak-eating fellow, who clearly looks as though he might say something if he wasn't stuffing his face with shreds of the steak. "You know, some people jump at the opportunity to drink port on the house."

Ben tries to ignore his business partner's gripes, but as he mixes the blonde's melontini he can't help but "Fuck off, Bamapana." He throws him a wink as well. "I got Force Majeure and The Exclusion Clause to do our taxes - you know they make anything into a profit." Ben finishes the drink in record time and sets it in front of the girl. "Ben Styx, nice to meet you." He's off to another patron as he finishes the greeting. "You know," he calls out, "If my worser half agrees we can write yours off as a charitable donation." The melontini has spontaneously changed into a very delicious looking port.

Erik says, "Perhaps." Erik looks at his free drink, and then back and the lady with the bright drink, and then to his water, and then back to the lady again. "But I'm not much of a drinker, my lady." Of course, that was a lie. He enjoyed a good drink, but simply wasn't up for it today for some reason unknown to even himself. "I very much enjoy the steak here, see.""

The man in the lab coat reaches the bar and immediately grabs up the blond woman's melontini-turned-port and downs it in one heavy chug. He sits on the stool between her and the large blond man chewing over his steak and eyes his port enviously. "Oh, hello." He begins, looking around at the four closest to him: Maria, Ben, Candy, and Erik. His voice is loud and annoying, and it sounds like he is there for a reason.

Maria's temple screws into a sigh of acceptance. "We'll see," he states, leaving it at that. His eyes settle on Erik, then on Candy. Lab coat gets a look. His lips twist in distaste at the man's choice of drink.

"Excuse me?" Candy looks all sorts of offended as she stares daggers at the lab coat. "Was there a sign that said, 'Drink me!' that I didn't see on my drink?" She pouts, and not in an entirely attractive way.

"You want a drink or you just going to steal from my patrons?" Ben isn't put-off by the larceny. "Anything you want - you get." He looks to be visibly refraining from stroking someone's cheek. "Welcome to the Pub. What brings you out tonight in," he eyes the rancid-looking lab-coat, "That?" Ben is, it should be pointed out, still not wearing any pants. His coat barely covers his best bits.

Watching the new lab coat man intrude, Erik pulls the free Port closer to himself, feeling somewhat protective of the free drink that he probably will end up not drinking. "Excuse me, you said your name was Ben Styx?" He eyes the bartender, stabs the slab of practically raw oxen-flesh with his fork. "Kindly get this lady here another drink." He refers to Candy next, "If you do not mind me purchasing it." He waves the half-eaten steak meat around as he speaks, before finally looking at lab coat man and tearing off a sizable chunk with his teeth. "And you, sir, that seemed rather rude of you." Erik's mouth was quite full of raw meat, but he still manages to speak in an oddly fancy way.

"Oh, I propose an adventure, friend. Five melontinis for the lot, please and thank you. Mr. Bamapana, Mr. Styx - join us, if you will. I meant no harm - all in the game, isn't it. Entrances must flash." The man speaks quickly and with a southern drawl, his words seeping into those around him like water to a sponge. "I assure you, it will be quite beneficial to the each of you." He smiles at each of the four, and his look is surprisingly infectious - though to the especially trained eye it may be a bit too put-on. "Have you ever heard of Asclepius Industries?"

"If you're a fucking health regulator…" Maria begins, his eyes narrowing on the man in the coat. "We're not even registered, so you came to the wrong place. It doesn't exist." He scowls. "And we'd like to keep it that way," he growls- attempting to be intimidating. Much like a miniature pinscher, really, with that narrow lapel linen suit that he's sporting tonight. "Chivalry," he adds as a comment thrown in Erik's direction. "The barbarians still think it makes them civilized." His attention waivers once more, and he's checking the hems of his pants. Never know when a thread comes loose.

"Change that to a screwdriver." The pretense of a pout has disappeared from Candy's face. Her eyes are cold now, and every indicator from her body language implies that she's attempting to shun the labcoat while acting gracious to steak man. "Adventure's a word for the storybooks, mister …." Then again, so's chivalry.

Ben makes five melontinis in as many seconds. It is rather mind-boggling - but transmutation ought to be abused as often as possible, he says. "Here we are - four shitty drinks." One of the melontini's becomes brown and emits red steam, another becomes orange and swirls about in the glass. "And one hot chocolate candy-cane spirit for me." He takes a sip. "What sort of adventure?"

"Whatever you're thinking, adventure sounds odd." He swallows hard once more, having barely even chewed the chunk of steak. "Makes one think we're going to slay dragons. Rescue a princess, maybe on the way." Although, that sounded like it could be worth while. He shrugs at Maria's comment. "Better aPharmaceuticals. Family member gone and injured by some medical mishap? A beloved chimp killed in their laboratories? Don't tell me you're a disgruntled employee who wants revenge."
\\"I'm out, boys and girl. I have customers to ogle and people to serve and miles to go before I stop reciting bad poetry." Ben Styx smiles dazzlingly toward a group of mynx-y villainesses and stalks toward them with his undrunken liquid chocolate elixir. "I'll send a friend when you need him. Have fun." Ben generally emits an aura of stupidity and obfuscation but now he seems to have at least an inkling of what he's talking about. "Ta!" gentleman than some asshole." Erik makes no attempt to hide his grimace as the melontini is presented to him. Instead, he decides to down the free port from earlier, in two large swigs.

"So are men who can fly and women from Venus, m'girl." The man sips his melontini with poise. "But the storybooks look a lot like nonfiction these days." He looks to the man eating steak. "No, my adventure doesn't have many dragons. Asclepius Industries is a small pharmecutical company - and they're dangerous. Evil, even." He takes another sip. "And I want to stop them. Adventurous enough for ya?"

Maria stays silent, seemingly content to actually listen to another person. At least for the next few seconds or so. It doesn't even last that long, though. "Evil. That's a word used by politico professionals and spin men. I don't believe in good and evil, Mr…what was your name?" The arch in his eyebrow is practiced. He hopes perfect, but it's clearly not. "Why should we risk our reputation to 'take down' a company - whether financially, politically, or if you're mad… physically?"

"What've they done to you?" Candy throws back at least half her drink before staring down the lab coat. "Let's see. Pharmaceuticals. Family member gone and injured by some medical mishap? A beloved chimp killed in their laboratories? Don't tell me you're a disgruntled employee who wants revenge."

"I'm out, boys and girl. I have customers to ogle and people to serve and miles to go before I stop reciting bad poetry." Ben Styx smiles dazzlingly toward a group of mynx-y villainesses and stalks toward them with his undrunken liquid chocolate elixir. "I'll send a friend when you need him. Have fun." Ben generally emits an aura of stupidity and obfuscation but now he seems to have at least an inkling of what he's talking about. "Ta!"

"Evil, you say?" At that, a fire was sparked inside of Erik that has yet to be lit in some time. "If the cause is actually worthwhile, and you are not like the lady says, a disgrunteled employee, I would consider lending you a hand." He takes a smaller, much more chewable bite from his steak. "If it turns out that you are doing this for the wrong reasons, you will regret it dearly, sir."

"Oh," the man in the lab coat begins. "It's Gil, brother." He finishes his melontini and glares at Erik's, wishing for spontaneous alcoholikinesis but lacking the will. "And Asclepius hasn't killed my chimp. They kidnapped my girlfriend. And they're making a retrovirus that will turn everyone who hasn't gone through puberty into a drone. Unless you're into that kind of thing." He looks between the remaining three. "We hit them hard, take out the virus, and leave no casualties. This is a humanitarian mission. I need people who want to make a difference. If we let them get away with this…" He doesn't need to finish his sentence.

"Why did they kidnap your girlfriend?" Maria frowns. "And more importantly, why not recruit from over there? Why…/us/?" He gestures toward the hero side of the pub. "Also, how do we know what you say is true? You'll have to forgive me, but I have a hard time believing you'd want two wash outs, a random woman at a bar, and some man meat to save the day."

There it is. That offended look again after being called 'a random woman'. Candy sticks out her lower lip before turning the full force of her pout towards the lab coat. "And then there's the issue of your girlfriend being kidnapped. Why do they need her? Unless she's prepubescent I shouldn't think you have much to worry about them testing it on her." She gives a vaguely endearing snort of a laugh at her own joke.

Ben soundly ignores the racket for a moment. "Don't be such a prick, Maria. Always knew you were a pedophile… but you, blond-who-hasn't-given-anyone-her-name - you're alright with letting the children be used?"

"…Did you just refer to me as man meat?" Erik puts his fork down, and raises in eyebrow. "Actually, I don't care, don't answer that." He turns back to coat man, "All jokes aside from these two, I'm in as long as you speak true, lab coat man."

"Oh, no, I have a great reason for recruiting you." He looks toward Maria. "I remember a time when Marduk was a fine hero. And Candy? Well, every group worth its salt needs a lady." The man in the lab coat ignores the growing din of the Pub. "Your man's right, pretty boy - this isn't some petty vendetta. Unless you really are a man of the cloth." The man looks toward Erik. "I don't tell lies, that's the truth. Tomorrow night - I'll meet you there. Asclepius Industries headquarters. Bring your A-game, heroes." The man sits up from the bar stool and drops a wad of cash on the bar counter.

"Fine. You clearly believe we can pull this off," Maria begins as he slides a plate filled with pesto-tortilla cake squares toward Gil. "The question is…how?" The glass on the bartop is his, and it's got something pale and vaguely green in it. Pear cider with mint, perhaps? "Whatever. I'll bring some tapas to snack on. We can take the company van, Ben."

Candy doesn't look so much startled that he knows her name as pleased. And she nods in agreement. "I don't bring anything but my A-game," she remarks before turning her full attention back to her drink.

Ben Styx is three sheets to the wind and two steps past caring. "SHOTS!" He eyes the wad of hundreds the lab-coat man left. "Drinks are on that guy!"

"Very well, lab coat man, or rather, Gil." Erik stands up from his stool, clearly having no intention of finishing his steak or even touching that melontini. "Well, friends, you may call me Erik. The pleasure is not mine. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, when the villains play hero."

Two Blondes Walk Into a Bar by CotillionCotillion, 07 Apr 2013 01:49

It is night at Van Lente park. While normally the park is serene and silent, tonight it was considerably less so. A gaggle of punks, complete with 'Anarchy in the UK' mohawks and Sex Pistols swagger limp and hobble with broken bones and vicious bite wounds away from the park, while a large, gaping gash in the ground leads down in a set of spiral stairs from the entrance of the park. The large downward-going walkway leads into a hollow metal room, one hundred meters long and tall - from the outside, it is still clear to the eye. The walls leading down are a gleaming silver, the floor crimson, and the roof is naked earth. Several barriers look to be partitioning the lair, and a group of nondescript automatons can be spied moving large boxes labeled "Flour" "Butter" "Eggs" "Milk" and "Chocolate." The smell of baked goods fills the cavern. Loud laughing, ominous teeth chattering, and cacophonous merry-making can be heard, though the automatons seem dead to it. The room is mostly barren. A few of the large partitioning walls are moved aside showing the room is much larger than it might seem at first glance, with kitchens, living quarters, computer rooms, and a large DLP monitor screen is easily visible right off the edge of the stairs. Power tools whir inside.

"Goddamn Petes." Willie Gimle speaks, nude as the day he was born and leering about. He is tallish, thin, and hairy. His form is unpleasant. "Hope I fucking murdered that Billy Idol looking fuck. Good day for a cobra to fuck your fucking face." He does not like the Petes. He holds a set of clothing and looks around surreptitiously.

He's disheveled. This is not the state of affairs that Maria likes. When people see him, they deserve to see him in all his sharp glory. Hair perfectly cut. Cufflinks buffed to a radiant shine, and facial hair trimmed to be a treat for the eyes. This is not the current state of his dress. Instead, there's grass and dirt ruining his newest Gieves & Hawkes ensemble, and the grimace that's on his face isn't due to some rival's ignorance of the unspoken Crme frache ratio rule. It's clear he's writhing in pain on the ground, his taser still clutched in white knuckled fist. "Shit fuck," he manages to let out.

Previously, on Masked. Kristopher Richter ran, strode even through Van Lente Park. His perm'd hair fluttered through the wind as he chased after some musical hoodlums, though none of pop culture references even register through his head. It probably had a difficult time penetrating the gel. Bleeding out his shoulder through a bullet wound and his side through what looks like a knife wound, he gives chase… Will he catch up to the hooligans in time to rescue some woman he doesn't know and hasn't even had any major dialogues with? Will he get irritated with another thrown weapon? Will he return to the arms of his yet unnamed lover? Find out after the commercial break.

Noises from the underground lair can be heard, sounds like the chomping on food and the dulcet sounds of Blue-Collar Man and a few other Styx greatest hits. An intoxicating smell fills the air, brownies and fudge over cookies and milk and ambrosia wine stirred into cherry wine.

Willie looks around self-consciously and makes a point of keeping eye contact with the downed dark skinned man. He saw him get beat down pretty spectacularly just a few moments ago. Four Petes (the local gang Willie has always had a bit of history with) had gotten the better of the poor bastard, but his tall friend with the better hair took them down pretty quickly. He keeps the devilish eye contact and, unblinkingly, drops his clothes and begins putting on his pants.

Maria stands up gingerly, hissing with a slow intake of breath as he gathers his thoughts and walks forward with a frown. He's not fuming yet, but it won't be long now. It doesn't prevent him from watching his stance, though, and he approaches the entrance with a quick, sure gait. "Do you have a phone?" This to anyone within earshot who isn't a Pete. "I'm not about to get shot today. Are you?"

"Hm," Kris states before slowing down to a stop, watching the hudlums continue their flee. He would stand there for a few seconds, seeming to rack his brain about something as his face narrows in deep concentration. Unable to come up with a satisfactory one-liner, he settles for a flat classic. "Don't you let me catch you around these parts again!" he would yell towards the shrinking silhouettes. Satisfied at justice being served, he exhales a satisfied sigh before turning around to check on the previously-fallen dark figure. Hearing Maria's inquiry towards a phone, he almost cheerfully offers his own before he's distracted by the knife hole in his shirt. "Oh for the love of… don't they know how difficult it is finding clothes my size?!"

The enticing smells from the newly opened hole in the ground of Van Lente park, previously guarded by the Amazing Race-Changing Robo-Bitch, now divested of sentinel and wide-open. A few of the Petes, now at the entrance, break off into the tunnel system that Willa Lee, now fleed from the scene, had opened.

Now half clothed, Willie takes a moment to survey the scene and his eyes narrow as he sees the Petes enter the cavern. He jogs toward Maria. "Oi! You alright, mate?" His accent is, inexplicably, North English. "Fancy a tumble into the belly of the unknown?"

"You're not my type," Maria states with a wrinkled nose. "I am, however, fine." Straightening his back, he gives Kristopher's shirt more than a moment's glance. Noting whatever he noted, he repeats his request with a statement. "The phone. Or at least, you call the police." Wiping off the clods and grass from his suit jacket, he stares at the entrance. "Let's go. I have lowlifes to fuck up."

From high on his perch of six foot five, Kristopher glances down at Maria and quirks his brow, an expression in response to The Chef's attitude. "Didn't think you were the type," he states before smiling. The tall man pulls out his cell phone from his suit pocket, and presses the buttons to 9-1-1, placing the modern mobile device over his ear as he waits for a response.

The tunnel emits a curious light and those of weak-minds who seek adventure feel the slightest yearning to enter its unknowns. The Petes retreating into it are not fully out of sight in the labyrinth.

"Don't flatter yourself, mate." Willie laughs uncomfortably as he quickly puts on his shirt and looks between the two men. "The beast-belly I want a tumble in has four put-out punks running into it." Willie walks beside the man in the rumpled suit. "Besides. You couldn't handle me." As he finishes, a sizable roar quite identical to a tiger's comes from his throat. "Legen-Dairy doesn't call police. You new in town or something?"

Maria makes his decision, and it's solidified as he rushes toward the Petes. The cook locks his eyes on Willie, his lips curled in surprise. "Really? Legen-Dairy?" Whatever he was about to say, he stops himself. "Come to the Pub sometime. You'll see." At the end of the day, business is business. The Pub has specific clientele, and when you're serving a niche population you've got to take all the customers you can. "Apparently, our friend here calls the police, like all sensible men do. It won't stop us from going in after these criminals."

Yuki simply appears out of the darkest corner of the room when everyone's attention is turned to the gaping hole in the wall. Whether she had been there the whole time or had just arrived is unknown and she currently doesn't bother publically announcing her presence. With a curious expression on her face she examines the group of people to determine if they seem unusually hostile or were just caught up in a bad situation, then relaxes when she sees them trying to call the police. She takes this little moment to adjust her clothing by smoothing out any creases on her shirt and pulling her jeans a bit higher up by the glittery pink Hello Kitty belt that wraps around her waist. Now that the outfit is all perfect she is ready to make her grand introduction! By simply mewling exactly like a kitten and not making any other sound until the group directs their attention to her.

"Hello little Yuki," Kristopher says, chuckling. "Were you here this whole time?" He then strides over to pat the top of her head, before having a conversation with the police. Satisfied at probably directing them to the correct location of the assault a few minutes ago, he would close his phone and sheath the thing in his pocket once again. "Right. Well, Mr. Dairy. I'm Kristopher," he smiles lazily to Maria. "Shall we?"

The tunnel is wide enough to accommodate almost a dozen bodies at once, so the group is not crowded. The walls are silver with odd pulsating veins of what look to be primary colors. Loud bangs and electronic whirring can be heard now that the group draws closer. The smell of fresh pastry and fruity candies is present. A vague voice can be heard if you strain your ears enough.

Footfalls. They'd be intimidating if they didn't precede the awkward sound of a wiry man tumbling down stairs and making what would have been the most foolish entrance known to mankind. Except for the distractingly adept recovery and handspring to his feet. "Okay, bitches," Alex Tan says to all those around him, and looks suddenly disappointed that you are not, in fact, Petes. "God fucking damn, are you even still in danger? … damn you, Willa."

"Heard of me, eh?" Willie waggles an eyebrow as he walks down the first few steps into the cavern. "I used to go by The Cockatrice, but the fucks at the LC Times would print it with asterisks. Good times." He looks to the other one. "You guys a duo? What do they call you, the Gayer One?" He smiles as he says it, unaware of his general offensiveness. Willie perks up at the mewling kitten and yowls like that fucking tomcat behind your apartment, asking her something lewd in cat.

"Sugar, salt, and fat," Maria mutters to himself. That's not a super-power. "Bakers," he mutters. "Always reducing the wonderful art to a dreadfully boring science." Lowering his center of balance, he continues along the hallway. "Aliens. Secret government complex. Food chemist's lair. Whatever this is, these fuckers ruined my day." The prick shakes his head dismissively at Willie, but offers Alex a smile. "Go smash those Petes, Alex, because they ruined my suit."

She lowers her head lightly to bow in respect to Kristopher while he approaches and receives a pat on her head like a common pet. Straightening-up and giving her teacher an amused smile, but her attention only lasts for a moment as something distracts her. Inquisitively tilting her head to the side to peer around Kris to gaze into the opening in the wall. "Oh..There is a Ra-…Radd.. " pausing to huff out her frustration. "There is a L-ady offering candy down there!" The lewd question in cat-speak appears lost to her since she didn't respond.

The art teacher continues his easygoing smile as he follows briskly behind the group, satisfied at Japanese student being in relative safety somewhere in the middle. He gives a momentary glance behind to scan his surroundings, but his gaze doesn't linger long as he notices nothing. Kristopher casually places his hands in his pockets and strolls along behind with an easy-going pace.

As the group reaches the bottom of the stairway, the source of the cookies becomes obvious. A massive machine run by ancient clockworks and new-agey spires of gleaming mercury distorts shapes vulgarly to those looking through them. Men without faces or body definition move tirelessly about, hefting heavy boxes of food ingredients into and out of gigantic cook-ware. A single human being barks out orders, and does not seem to notice the newcomers. He is around ten meters away and his back is turned toward the group. The automatons do not seem to pay any attention to the people walking in. The room is enormous and mostly scrubbed clean, but a conveyor belt moves delicious-looking sweets from room to room. It smells sweet like a mother's loving kitchen.

Amidst Alex's baleful glares at his compatriots, there are glances of childlike curiosity at the delicious sweets… The automatons too, of course. He narrows his eyes and begins to inspect the sweets nonchalantly, intentionally (or not?) getting closer to the single human being.

"Where the fuck are those god damn Petes?" Willie mutters to himself. The hard consonant needed to fully form the "d" is absent in the befuddling dipthong only Englishmen are capable of, and half-misses the last letter in 'god damn'. His voice has adopted a sort of pan-British gruffness "Oi! Watch and Learn Super-Top and Power-Bottom, real heroes are working." He yells madly, his affected, gravelly voice carrying over the noise of the industrial-grade machinery. "Robo-fucks! You see any fucks with Johnny Ramone haircuts come in here?" He runs toward the single human as well.

"The cook keeps his eyes forward, appearing attentive. The key word is 'appearing', because it's clear to anyone more alert that he's not really seeing or hearing anything further down. There's a bobbing motion as his eyes flick down to check his nails. His shoes, which elicits a deeper frown. His pants. Essentially, Maria is too busy fretting about his outfit to pay attention to the very real problem presenting itself before him.

Yuki confusingly looks around the room at all the weird people, weird objects, and out of place candy. Luckily she has some restraint and doesn't act upon her initial desire to grab a treat to eat. Willie's comments grab her attention and she looks upon him while speaking. "Oh! That is their names? Thank you… er… " She pauses, looking up to the ceiling and holding a finger to her lips as if that will help her remember his name. "Sir! I am very happy to meet you ar-.. " once again she continues to fail at pronouncing the letter L. " Alll- ."

"'All,' there you go," Kristopher nods to Yuki in encouragement. He then looks around the room with slight curiosity, keeping the girl in his sight as observes the two men up front. "Let me know if you need help."

The robots pay no attention to the humans they very much wish to eradicate - as is the robot's way - and continue their work diligently for a few moments. But their human overlord turns slowly and faces the group. "Miss?" The man speaks, holding a finger to a bluetooth device on his ear. "We have a slight problem." He waits a moment and then nods his head. "Very well, Miss." He frowns at the group. "Shut up." He is probably addressing all of them, now. He taps a command out on his tablet computer and the robots cease movement for a moment then begin walking ominously toward the group. "You will be incorporated. Sixty-five percent oxygen, eighteen percent carbon. You will be incorporated - the Confectioneer will not be stopped. Incorporation will commence." They raise their arms, which have morphed into blending attachments, mixing paddles, and measuring spoons. "Commencing incorporation."

The prospect of becoming 'incorporated' is not ideal. The prospect of no longer being able to enjoy confections is much worse. Alex Tan draws himself up to his full height, utters “Sassy one-liner!” and begins to pummel the nearest robot. A punch hits one, and its head rears back, but it keeps moving forward. As if in disdain, Alex follows through with an indignant slap across the robot's face, its head rocking back again. It only seems to stop for a moment, sputtering before resuming its march.

Kristopher simply states without looking, "Yuki stay behind me," not looking probably because he wouldn't be able to see her soon anyway. He steps forward now more confrontational, hands still in pocket, he finally stops a few feet away and pauses in front of the advancing robots. "Please stop," he states. Well, might as well try it, right?

Yuki turns on a heel, crouches low to the ground, and begins to creep to the back of the group at a quick pace towards one of the tables against the wall. On the table were various rolling pins (for dough) and meat cleavers that she seems to carefully eye individually, eventually settling with the closest cleaver to her and picking it up with her right hand.

"I knew it. Fucking bakers. Scientists pretending to like food," Maria scoffs in the antagonist's direction. "I will not be a part of your bullshit, you sanctimonious salt measuring oven abuser." He doesn't turn green, but it doesn't take a Paul Ekman to figure out that his flared nostrils, narrowed lips, and lowered brow indicate a fury that's just about to get unleashed. The knife that he pulls out of his pocket is small, but he's also a cook, so chances are it's as sharp as they get. The taser gets slipped back into his inner breast pocket. His left leg moves forward with a quick stab at a robotic eye, and he stumbles forward to hit the air.

Willie Gimle smiles viciously and looks at the robots in front of him. "Hey robofucks?" He starts, hoping the godless, mindless bastards were programmed with a humor chip. "You ever hear what the Earl of Sandwich asked St. Peter?"

The robots lurch forward to "Incorporate!" like a professor in a Business Admin law class. "Incorporate." One lashes out and hits Willie with a paddle mixer, another kicks him in the stomach. Another robot taps Yuki hard in the arm but a fourth doesn't quite hit her with a thrusting hand. Kristopher is targeted but nothing hits him, and he defends deftly. Maria is kicked repeatedly in the shin. Alex takes a thorough counter-slap from a robot one could swear is smiling. The human pulls out a large handgun and shoots toward the Asian girl with a deafening bang, who takes a hit to the arm.

As if on cue, Alex grabs for the nearest robot, grappling it about the body without much struggle. With an almighty swing he smashes the robot into a nearby duplicate robot, and there is a sudden crash of solid material as the robots tumble to the ground in pieces. "Yeah, bitches," Alex manages to say, barely breaking a sweat as he drops the remaining pieces of the robot.

"Fuck," Kristopher whispers, trying to communicate his frustration at the girl who decided not to go invisible and instead got herself shot. He closes his eyes to focus, and then yells very unceremoniously and inappropriately (I mean, really? No religious mumbo jumbo or anything?) to the half-dead Japanese girl. "WAKE UP!”

The wok slams hard into her arm with a dull thud as metal strikes flesh and bone, she follows that sound with a cry of pain. Unfortunately that was going to be the least of her concerns as a bullet rips into the epidermis of her left bicep, the one that was just whacked by the cooking ware. The care-free look in her eyes fades to bewildered, fearful expression. She drops the cleaver on the ground as she falls to her knees, using that hand now to clutch the wound as if it would save her life. A small bit of encouragement from Kristopher snapped her from her little daze and she quickly scurries off to the side and without explanation she disappears completely from sight.

"You motherfucker!" Maria adds to the number of expletives uttered in the last minute, his voice rising every so slightly as he gets physically abused with a mixing spoon. The kick that follows screws his nose into a raging troll face. "Fffffffuuuuuuuuuuuu," he begins, unable to continue talking as his shin produces unbearable pain and the baking tool takes it's toll. His eyes struggle to focus, but he's still up. Still extremely pissed off. And then he's down, crumpled into something no better than a baked good.

“The Earl of Sandwich asked him - Oi! He asked St. Peter 'Could God make a sandwich so big not even he could eat it?' and the guy just says - he just says 'God doesn't eat sandwiches, they are irrelevant and the lowest form of foodstuff.' and he sent him to hell!" Willie begins to ripple around the flesh but when he notices that the robots nearest him seize up entirely and shut down, the universe just sort of blinks indifferently and where power had been building up it instantly dissipates, and Legen-Dairy smiles like a madman. "Ah, fuck! I didn't think that would work!"

One robot kicks the downed Maria Falk in the stomach, another lunges at Alex Tan but misses entirely. The two around Willie fall prone and power down, and the ones looking for Yuki are sufficiently confused. The man with the gun shoots Alex in the arm and misses as he shoots toward Kristopher twice, actually hitting two robots in what passes for their heads. A loud voice can be heard and the stomping of boots comes from the back door leading away from the stairs. It busts open and a large, anthropomorphic cookie walks in. "What the shit is going on here!" the cookie-man yells in a voice much like a seven year old. "The fuck are these assholes?" The man with the gun cringes and bows, falling to his knees. "I apologize! I will deal with them now!"

"OH MY FUCKING GOD," Alex yells suddenly as the cookie appears through the back doorway. "I'm NEVER looking a cookie in the eye AGAIN." With a cry of effort he wades through the now-defunct robots and weaves through their obstacles before kicking the kneeling man in the back with a look of triumph.

Slow on the uptake or perhaps simply hard of hearing, Kristopher does not elect to do the logical thing and punches the nearest robot. Twice. Both hits seem to only cause a glance causing him to scream in frustration, "Fucking armor crutchers!"

Only a keen eye could see the meat-cleaver disappear from the ground, the one that Yuki once held. That would be the only thing noticeable, since everything else was done in under the veil of shadow.

Maria remains crumpled like a lump of stir-fried shiitake.

"Hey! Listen up! You can get them to shut down if you tell them a logic paradox." He hopes they can come up with some. "You!" He yells to a cluster of three robots. "Could Allah make a virgin so undefilable not even he would fuck her?" The three robots drop down, devoid of power. He points at a cluster of two more. "Could someone watch so much Bill Nye the Science Guy they actually become a scientist?" Nothing happens. "Shit, that one was just stupid. Could the gods make a stone so heavy not even they could carry it?"

The robots keep marching on, several falling to poor logic and poorer security programming countermeasures. The massive human-shaped cookie beast grows in size to almost twenty feet and roars out a challenge, running at a surprising speed toward Willie. "You shall not have my servants!" The keeled over gun-wielding man shoots Alex Tan repeatedly but he miraculously shakes the bullets off, direly hurt but obstinately standing. Kristopher Richter's manhood is hurt in ways more than metaphorical as he is kicked twice in the groin. "Robots! Attack these fools!" The cookie sounds as though it has been denied candy by its mother, and as is the villains creed, monologues. "Those fucks at Nabisco though they could just make me and then drop me when those stupid talking elf commercials got popular? I'll show them! I'll show all of you! I'm the Confectioneer, damn it!" Those who follow the baked goods world might recognize the voice and cookie shape as a former popular mascot for a brand of cookies targeted at teenage girls and gay men called Get It Cookies.

"Yeah, we got it, asshole, you're reeeaally smart," Alex bellows at the logic paradox-spewing fellow before apparently trying to do the same. "A barber in a village shaves everyone who does not shave himself, but no one else." Ever the bitch of a dramatic pause — or maybe the effects of being riddled with bullets — Alex pauses before the next phrase. "Who shaves the barber?"

Kristopher merely curls into a ball as he's fallen to the ground, a long way down considering his once glorious height. Unable to stand, he just lies there, eyes closed and arms over his head as he tries to use it to shield blindly from further attack. His legs are used to try to protect everything left important to him.

Suddenly Yuki re-appears in the most unlikely of places which would be right infront of the man with the gun. She has this murderous gleam in here eye while swinging her good arm with the cleaver at the villians neck. The blade cuts cleanly through in brutal fashion and severs the man's head from his body and his viscera hit the floor with the it's top and rolls around for a second. Blood, lots and lots of blood, splatters in the direction of Alex due to the momentum of her swing.
Maria sucks in air, his chest rising to signal to all around him that he's still alive.

"Oh come on, Bill Nye didn't work but you want to know who guards the guards? That barber one wasn't even good! Fuck this shit." Willie dejectedly hangs his head and his body rumbles, though not in any natural way. He begins to make the sound of a very angry rhinoceros. "Could Rutherford B. Hayes meet someone with such a cool name he would change his own name?" Roar.

The Get It Gurl Grain Cookie (as it was known in a past life) roars in fury and swings a hard hammer fist down onto Kristopher's body. It then turns its sights to the obnoxiously loud Englishman Legen-Dairy. "I'm going to eat your goddamn bones you fucking prick! And then I'm gonna bake you in an oven!" It's former subordinate, the bald man with the gun and the bluetooth, seems to have lost his head, and the pastry fiend wails at his loss. "And you! I eat Asians like you for a goddamn snack! Get ready, Mochi girl!"

The man in the fetal position spits out blood, and glares angrily towards the remaining threats.

Yuki flickers back into the realm of shadow without any other noticeable action.

Maria remains on the ground. Bleeding doesn't seem to be too bad, breathing is steady, and he's not choking.

"Fuck you, long live Ernest Keebler!" Willie Gimle yells, running toward the cookie creature. With a distortion of some sort of natural law, he ceases to be and in his place is a massive killer whale rushing toward the beast with its enormous jaws open. It goes right for the head, and takes a hefty chunk from the things upper body.

The underground lair falls quiet. The cookie beast is vanquished (or digesting) and the robots have been sufficiently depowered, though the heroes may be a bit worse for wear. The four Petes bodies can be seen among the remains of the cookie monster, looking quite like owl pellets.

"Well," Alex says, his words still muffled by the crunching of his sole bite of the monstrous cookie. "That's the way the cookie crumbles?"

Kristopher slowly unfolds like a lawn chair, picking up what remains of his dignity. Having nothing to say, he keeps quiet and begins to heal himself.

Stable. Still stable, even with saliva running down his cheek. His body shivers as it works in overtime to keep him from slipping away. For now, Maria remains in an awkward position on the ground.

Appearing close to the headless corpse, Yuki kicks the lifeless body out of anger for the bullet wound in her left arm. She takes a quick look around at everyone with the realization that her hidden violent nature might have been spotted. Despite not being in the best shape she manages to flip her personality back to her care-free and innocent persona, smiling happily at those still conscious. She heads over to Maria and uses her good arm to extend a finger to poke him. "Wakey-wakey…"

Whale-Willie flomps his way toward Alex to stomp the comedic abortion. But stops to laugh at the thought of abortions caused by comedy and when he gets close enough he's just emitting warbling song noises, flailing like a worm, and misses the bastard entirely as Alex flips over the beached whale on his walk to pick Maria up bridal style and carry him off for what Willie can only assume is some first-rate sexual healing.

The night ends as it began, with everyone looking to get some free-range cookies.

Singing and Robots Part II by CotillionCotillion, 07 Apr 2013 01:44

It is dusk. Van Lente Park is sparse, quiet, and full only of bad intentions. And a large African woman who is hawking some cookies. "Eight dollars a dozen. MmMmm! Come get your cookies and don;t you ever forget where you got 'em from! Mama Maddie's Eight Dollar Dozens, right here!" She continues speaking. If you are here tonight, you may have heard through the grapevine, leaflet system, or LCPD's Hero Text Alerts (TM) that Van Lente has been hit by a large spree of muggings in the last few days. The police are off doing unspeakable things to teenagers with a littlew bit of gold and pagers, so, as goodly citizens of Lotus City, you have heeded the call. or you wanted some cookies. "Eight dollars!" She leaves out the "r." "You folks know you want some peanut butter." And it takes her an inordinate amount of time to say the word "peanut." The park is dark, the light pollution from the large city aside it only serving to accentuate the shadows. The light posts seem on, but the light they throw out seems to be oddly dimmed. A group of roughstarts sits at a park bench a few dozen meters away, mostly mohawked. They are listening to something thrashy and speed-metal-y. Farther into the park, campers set up large flappy tents, evoking Bedouin sympathies (or more likely Zero Dark Thirty xenophobia). An invigorated, laughing ululation fills the air and the campers grab-ass without remorse. A sign on the Van Lente Park entrance welcomes you.

It's that kind of day, isn't it? The man relaxing on a park bench scowls furiously in the general direction of the thrash metal. Scratching the bottom of his goatee, Maria shakes his head and tries to focus on the large, flashy book he's got open on his lap. "Teenagers," he states with disgust to anyone within earshot. The woman with the cookies is simply ignored.

"Oi!" Willie Gimle, a large man in a shabby grey coat approaches the woman selling her wares. "What kinds are you selling?" As he approaches, Willie thrusts both hands into his coat pockets against the Pacific Northwest cold.

The tall man chuckles as he passes by, pausing to stop within earshot of Maria. "We've all gone through that phase before," Kristopher says casually, looking at the book Maria is focused on. "What're you reading?"

Willa Holland is cold. She sits across from the punks blaring something unseemly and approaches them, her slight blonde form towered over by their apparent leader. "What's all this?" Her voice is curious, her eyes alight, and her mouth curled into a small grin.

The woman selling cookies narrows her eyes toward Willie and doesn't answer him. A spectacular harrumph follows her dismissal of the man in the grey coat. The eight punks around the picnic table begin advancing around the woman. A few of them look around mightily conspicuously and one of them is eating a cookie while glaring in the direction of the vendor. He stands and begins approaching, flanked by three others. They walk with the kind of pizazz only street-toughs in 1950's musical can. Two begin snapping their fingers in 4/4 tempo. They direction they head will intersect with the bench the two men are conversing near.

"Have you got macademia nut and cranberry?" Willie is persistent and he tries cracking a smile at the woman. "I had that once. Good cookies." He pulls a ten dollar bill out of his jacket.

Maria looks far above at his towering interlocutor. "It's a collection of gustatory designs." He doesn't seem to notice the gathering of cads around the picnic table. "If you want my vote, you will have to present your sources to me and leave me be. If you want to convert me to your religion, kindly leave. If you're hitting on me…leave me your number and leave."

Kristopher's smile borders on a sneer at Maria's reply and discreetly pulls out a small card-like card, letting it fall on the bench near the man. He seems to be close to moving on were it not for the musically-inclined youngsters heading in his general direction. He offers a smile to them and begins to bob his head in rhythm a little.

Willa smiles brightly at the large men surrounding her. "I've never heard something like this!" She rubs her arms for warmth, covered thanks to a tweed, yellow and beige pantsuit. A massive scarf covers her neck and falls almost to her ankles. "I quite like this!" She hops on her feet a bit and her eyes widen cutely. She adjusts the scarf and takes another step forward.

The punks come ever-closer, now the third begins to hum a light tune while the fourth walks with so much swagger he may as well be juking. One has a large, protrusive pompadour latched to his head. The last three all have mohawks and now begin raising the tune. They wear matching leather vests with a stylized calligraphy letter "P" across their chest. The punks around the table look shocked for a moment and close in one Willa. "Mandingo Cage Fuck." He snarls, baging his head in a come-hither fashion. The cookie seller eyes Willie angrily and mumbles "Nordic lowborn scum may not eat cookies!"

Willie's eyes bug out for a moment but he laughs after a second of silence. "Can't say I've been called that before, miss." He looks around and notices the group of punks for the first time and exhales through his nose. A noise like a bucking bull can be faintly heard as steam lets out. "You sold to them, didn't you?"

A page is turned and the chef looks up, his forehead screwed. "Shut the fuck up," he tells the gathering in a raised voice. It's not a shout, though, or a yell. He's not really angry, yet. Just letting them know that they're annoying. He turns back to consider the pretentious result of overly expensive techniques.

A barely audiable sigh escapes Kristopher's lips as he assumes an attitude to more 'blend in' with the surroundings - not invisibility, but merely acting socially unassuming. Or at least, as unassuming as a six-foot five guy with indiscriminate heritage can act. Doing his best to act casual, he walks around the side of the impending gathering, his attention momentarily distracted by Maria's little quip before returning his attention to the group of young men.

"You call this machine a 'Mandingo Cage Fuck?'" Willa asks in wonder, pausing for just a moment. "I've definitely never heard of that." She mutters in afterthought, moving forward to squeeze past the large men. She just manages to make her through an opening and now has her back turned to the men. She reaches ominously into her breast pocket, her mouth quirked and lips pouting… and pulls out a Large Red Button [www.moma.org/interactives/exhibitions/2011/talktome/assets/TTM_017-large.jpg].

The woman selling cookies gets a blank look on her face for just a moment, then moves smoothly back to the same spot she was in the moment Willie began talking to her. Her head moves jerkily to assume the position it was in and she begins calling "Eight dollars a dozen. MmMmm! Come get your cookies and don;t you ever forget where you got 'em from! Mama Maddie's Eight Dollar Dozens, right here!" as though Willie hadn't said anything. The punks around the picnic table look shock for a moment but then their leader turns abruptly, gyrating his hips lewdly to mime something filthy behind Willa. The four no-goodniks now reach a steady, a cappella styling and one sings out. "Hey! We're the Petes! This park." Beat. "Is filled with beats!" They shale their heads in unison. The other three strike poses with wild hand signs and one lets out a convincing raptor call as the singer spreads his arms like a bird. "What'chu doing on our turf!" he questions Maria and Kristopher.

"Well, let's just pretend that never happened, shall we." Willie mumbles, turning. His mouth drops for a moment as he sees what is going on behind him, and locking onto Willa, he sets off at a dead run toward the attractive lady and the four rapscallions doing uncouth things without him.

"Are you serious?" Maria sets his book to one side and gets up. "Go run your flash mob elsewhere." His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. "Fucking amateurs."

"Isn't this a public park?" replies Kris to the singer, offering a smile before attempting to move through the middle of the group towards the cookie woman.

Willa keeps her back firmly turned toward the punks she walked passed, her attention and eyes toward the 'Mandingo Fuck Cage' in front of her. "Looks to run on lithium-ion or something similar," she mutters to herself. "If the tech is where i think it is. Maybe D-cells if their nasty." Willa wiggles her rump in sheer uncontainable excitement at the prospect and presses the Large Red Button.

A sputtering sound exits from the stereo ('Mandingo Cage Fuck') as the machine trembles then dies the stops playing music. The punks around Willa look shocked for the moment. And one still furiously air-humps around her protruding back side. The cookie woman begins going through the motions once more as she slangs out her product. "We got that PB&J - got that PB&J! Get yo' shit from Mama PB&J" her voice has affected a Baltimorian drawl and was her skin always Asiatic? Because it is now. She walks the precise line the previous vendor did. The four Petes call after Kristopher "Public parks!" Beat. "Come back, you coward!" They break for a tenor solo "We won't leave marks!" The snapping resumes and the bypass Maria entirely. Amateurs indeed!

Willie runs at full speed, only about halfway to Willa and now passing the Petes and Maria. "Hey fucksticks, Legen-Dairy will deal with you later - the Petes and me have some unfinished business!" A loud Doppler-ized moo can be heard as he speeds along.

Maria simply watches the gaggle of goons, his mouth turned down in a considering scowl. A moment passes, and he pulls his phone out, thumb sliding across the screen. It might be that he's let the situation go. Finding the number he was looking for, he dials. "Pick up, pigs," he mutters to himself as he calls the cops.

Kristopher ignores the gaggle as he approaches the cookie woman, and pulls out his wallet. "One dozen please," he asks before pulling out two fives and offering it in exchange.

Willa keeps her composure in a well-practiced manner and inconspicuously slips the Large Red Button back into her pocket. She laughs for a moment and straightens back up. "Not quite how I expected that would go," she admits. Her back is still to the punks.

"One dozen sandwiches, ten dollars!" The woman places the basket she is holding on the ground and slides it forward with her foot toward Kristopher. She pulls another from places unknown and when he looks up she smiles widely at him. "Got that PB&J, got that PB&J!" she yells. The four singing near Maria walk up to him and one lashes a hand out. He snatches the cell out of Maria's hand. "Fuck tha' Police." he opines as only a gangmember can. "We got your phone, bitch!" Belts out the pompadour'd Pete. "Don't be a punk-ass snitch!" the other two harmonize. The gangmembers around Willa finally start to reach toward her and one grabs out at her. She is in a headlock and another gangmember laughs out loud.

After a long run, Willie Gimle finally reaches the gangmember around Willa, and seeing they now have her in a headlock, he breathes out a growl sounding much like a wolf. "You pricks! I was gonna pretend I was spanking her!" He seems genuinely unthrilled. Willie looks about for a moment and closes his eyes, taking a moment to center himself. His body begins to emit an odd pressure to those in close proximity.

"Alright, fucksticks. You asked for it." Maria takes off his two-button jacket and neatly lays it on a bench nearby. "There's a tracker on that phone. Do you really want to take it?" His eyes watch all four men, noting their features. "Where'd you get those clothes? Macy's?" The condescension in his voice drips like marmite.

Seemingly a little befuddled at the change of products sold, Kristopher opts to ignore the woman offering the sandwichs and smoothly puts his wallet away, moving towards the gangmembers with a purpose now. "Hey hey hey, break that up," he says, extending his arms to place on two of the gangster's shoulders in a clear effort to inturrupt their rhythm and flow… and to make his own presence clear as he unspeakingly counts on Willie to deal with the Willa situation.

Willa attempts to slip her way out of the choke hold she finds herself in but the Pete behind her is just too large and she is just too giggly. "I'm really in a bind!" She laughs madly and wiggles her whole body in a deep laugh.

Placing his hands on the two Petes quickly tells Kristopher his actions will lead to a violent confrontation… and he decides to even the odds a bit. Taking advantage of him being behind the two, he disengages from the man to his left to deal with the one to his right. Which he does promptly, by stomping on the back of his knee to be quickly followed by an elbow to the face. Without even bothering to check if the man goes down, he turns to face the man he left alone and offers a sarcastically apologetic smile.

Willie's body shifts grotesquely in a way few could fully appreciate, and in a dark blur and with a wicked serpent's hiss, he is no longer there. A massive cobra, twenty feet long, coils menacingly, and after a moment launches forward, biting the Pete nearest Willa in the buttocks. The cobra unclenches and lunges wildly at the nearest Pete - but flies right bast it into a large, green bush. "Hisss!" It hisses indignantly.

Events seem to transpire too quickly for Maria to follow. At one moment, it's a bunch of pricks. The next, it's a gang of idiots. Idiots can kill. The taser that he deliberately pulls out of his pocket probably wouldn't help against firearms, but he doesn't see any. Yet. "What is this, Inglewood? This is the twenty-first century! Back the fuck off!"

Willa hears a cobra hiss and stiffens a bit. When her attacker yells in fear, he tightens his hold and chokes her a bit. "Ack!" Willa struggles for a moment and, summoning her courage and years of experience binding out of jams, wriggles her way right free of the grappling goon. "Haha!"

The Petes are scared but it takes more than a few punches, nice suits, and snakes to shake them down. The chorus starts up again. "Hit me with your best shot!" One, the Pete Kristopher threatened with a smile, returns it, and pulls out a revolver. "Fire away!" He holds the last syllable so loudly it almost masks the resounding blast. But not quite.

"Oh shit!" is the only thing Kris could respond with as he sees the gun, too flat-footed to dodge the incoming bullet. He turns as best he could to only be hit in a noncritical area on his left shoulder, and gritting his teeth, catches the man's shooting arm in a with one hand, and strikes it solidly with his good hand. …Only to be quickly followed up on with another quick strike, which seemed was too much for the bone to take, as the radium peeks out grotesquely from the struck man's forearm.

The cobra slithers back through the shadows, sneaking up on the punk Willa has just broken free from and lashed out with a vicious bite to the eyeball. "Hiss!" As the man falls, The cobra rears up and with animistic ferocity lunges toward another, who just manages to roll out of the way. The cobra moves its head mockingly in an odd fashion, and if you didn't know better, you might think it was Walking Like an Egyptian.

Maria takes a wide, wobbly step away from the ruffian's attack. His trademark scowl lingers as he edges toward one of the gang members. His shoulder telegraphs the blur that moves toward the man's neck. The ZAP! of the taser firing off signals the man's fall, and the cook spins without grace to face the next opponent. "Where's my phone, fuck stick?"

Basically, Willa runs. "Thanks, Cobra Kai! I always knew you weren't evil!" Her last word extends as she runs toward the cookie/PB&J slanger. "I'll call for help!"

The Petes behind Willa, only two of whom are still standing, let her go and look back in fear toward the snake. One lets out a yell and his knife slices through the air, slicing the beast across the chest. A glint of steel lights the night for just a moment as a balisong lashes into Kristopher's flesh. A voice rings out. "That's my purse, I don't know you!" and Maria knows pain.

The pain from the wounds temper

Kristopher's caution, though it is nowhere near enough to break his commitment. "Come back here!" he would scream, keeping pace despite the pain. Perhaps not commiting to an attack because of the pain. Still, it's clear he does not intend for them to succeed in catching up to Willa.

Squirming on the ground, Maria mouths a number of curses. "Fuck." That's a word he seems to like. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck…" he squeals, his eyes narrowed as he attempts to get up. He looks like he wants to say something else, but his world is spinning.

Willa doesn't look back but pulls out her Large Red Button one more time, and while passing the vendor woman - now a Caucasian tamale saleswoman - and the saleswoman shudders and shakes. "I'll send help, I promise!" And off she goes into the city proper.

Willie Gimle shimmers into the air, nude, and look to find his clothes. Piled next to him, he grabs the pile and begins running toward the Petes as well. "Get back here you pricks! I'm not done with you yet!”

As Willa passes the vendor, the world beneath her seems to quake and a large opening is made known, stairways leading into the ground, guarded by the now powered-off woman sentinel. The Petes seeing no better options, make their way down into the unknown. The door is open.

Singing and Robots by CotillionCotillion, 07 Apr 2013 01:40
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License