| Speakeasies, Tommy Guns, Bourbon and Fish-Men |
| Summary: | Hellstrom and Mystique meet for the first time in a 1920s speakeasy where they strike one another's fancy. |
| Date: | IC Date 11/03/1924 |
| Related: | None |
| NPCs: | None |
| Scene Runner: | {$runner} |
| Social/Plot: | Plot |
| Players: |
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8/22/2014
08:48 AM
-==[ New York, 1926 - RP Suite #2 ]==-------—
Autumn, 1926. The cooling months are accompanied by rain. The streets of New York's Lower Manhattan glisten with the latest shower. Evening has fallen and there is a sharp breeze that whips between the high rises of the metropolitan city. Lower Manhattan is rife with life and excitement. Party-goers and those in the know seek out the various private clubs that illegally serve alcohol. One such hidden club is called the Half Quarter and is found amidst a back alleyway off 51st. Here, many seek shelter from the cold and warm themselves on the sweet nectars and liquors of the time. Here loud small band music is played on a stage while a blonde sings sweet lullabys to the men who dream of finding someone for the evening. Here, anything can happen.
The Half Quarter is a medium sized establishment, no windows, only a few doors and with several tables, chairs, a small dance floor (all filled); and a vip area where the local mafia holds court. Within the folds of the VIP wing are Benny the Mook, Tiny (a heavy with a Tommy gun) and several cappos along with the Dom, Julius Calpatta. Various flapper girls are all around and there are many others who are here to pay respects as well as do business (legal and illegal).
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Daimon Hellstrom is a well dressed man in his mid 20s. He has money and it clearly shows in the nature of his attire. Albeit experienced, he is not tempered and finds himself near the bar with several empty glasses before him. He has drank too much and seems disgruntled with something in particular that he often shares with the bartender or a nearby flapper girl who finds him attractive, yet disgusting. She lingers waiting for him to say something interesting.
Hellstrom comments, "I had it in my hand.", he holds his right hand upward as if holding a baseball or a rock. "It was magnificent, one of the last gemstones that has been around for thousands of years, hundreds of thousands of years. Worth millions, it would have been a prize in my collection."
The life of a Baroness is certainly comfortable, but not very exciting. Mystique is in New York under the premise of a shopping trip, where it was a simple matter to slip out of the 5-star hotel and out into the streets. She developed quite a few contacts during the Great War, and many of those are in the Big Apple. Not that her soldier buddies would recognize their comrade in the present guise.
The limo pulls up to the Half Quarter and a stunning redhead steps out. She could be a movie star, and the gown certainly helps. Backless, the long velvet is split well up the right side to show plenty of shapely leg when she walks. Wrapped in a fur, the woman walks in like she owns the place. And as far as most everyone knows, she just might. The password is whispered to the bouncer, and then she's let into the VIP room without so much as a blink.
The Dom is taken with the new arrival and he smiles with her entrance into his domain. He looks around at his family for those who may be moving to engage the redhead, but when none do, he assures himself that she is available. He motions to one of his henchmen and they converse quietly. The henchman then says, "Righto boss." and moves toward the redhead with the intent to speak with her, "Heya sweetheart. Tha boss would like to honor you with his presence. Sos that means he wants youz to come and sit at his table and share a drink." indicating the boss in question.
Meanwhile, at the bar, Hellstrom is also distracted from his own story when he sees the redhead enter and move through the club toward the VIP area. He doesn't sober up, but instead, he does find some clarity in his growing interests and imagination of what he would clearly do to the redhead.
The woman tilts her head almost haughtily when she's approached, regarding the henchmen deferentially. Opening her clutch purse, she pulls out a cigarette holder before giving him a slow nod. "Then by all means, lead the way." she replies in a southern accent. Adjusting her fur, the woman doesn't walk so much as -saunter- as she's led to the table. Offering a satin-gloved hand that is noticeably absent of bling, she greets with a bright smile and waits for introductions.
The henchman introduces clumsily, "Boss, this is the dame you wanted." The boss rolls his eyes and then smiles to the redhead. He pats the lounge seat next to him and says, "Commere sweetheart, let's get acquainted. I'm Dom Julius, head of the Calpatta family. Perhaps you've heard of me." He begins to fumble for a lighter so when she's close he can offer fire.
Over at the bar, Hellstrom watches through the beaded doorway into the VIP area where he is still formulating a plan of action - which will be just as ill tempered as himself.
The redhead continues to smile, but waits until she can mount a cigarette in the holder before sliding into the seat beside him. She shrugs the fur off, baring her shoulders and exposing the sparkly choker that's holding the gown up. "Miss Angela Hopkins." she drawls. "Enchante, Mister Julius." And then she'll lean in, placing the cigarette holder in her lips to be lit.
Standing, Hellstrom suddenly realizes that the alcohol has touched him a little more than expected and he has cause to steady himself on the back of the chair. Once he gains his footing, he starts walking through the club, across the small dance floor, and toward the beaded entrance of the VIP suite.
Julius strikes the lighter and offers fire. The additional illumination reveals that his hair is laiden with grease, his skin is oily, and if the fire were closer to him he would immolate himself in mere seconds. His chubby fingers steady themselves as much as they can- albeit his physical excitement is hard to conseal. His heart rate is up, he bears a very minor tremble, and the smile on his face is from ear to ear as he ponders how lucky he is going to get in a few minutes. He comments, "Pleasure's all mine. Let me get Benny to get you something to drink.". He redirects and says in a loud demanding tone, "Hey Benny, get the dame something strong." - "right away boss" is heard from the thug.
Angela's attention may be focused on Julius, but she's had too much tactical experience NOT to notice Hellstrom's approach in her peripheral vision. Taking a drag from the cig, she smiles warmly and crosses one leg over the other. A well-heeled shoe nudges the Dom's calf while they talk, and she replies with a delightful drawl. "Bourbon, if ya' please. On the rocks, with a twist of mint." Benny doesn't even merit a second look.
Hellstrom does not know the password. He's stopped by two heavies that stand in the doorway. His face twists in displeasure and he raises his voice, "I said, I'm Daimon Hellstrom and that woman is mine." One of the heavies rebukes and says, "Not anymore she ain't." Taking offense, Hellstrom and the two heavies begin exchanging blows. People in the club turn and are appalled by the display of violence (or something).
Benny is caught in mid walk by the disturbance and Julius is annoyed. He states to Angela, "Looks like your boyfriend didn't get the memo that you're with us." Then says to his thugs, "Take him out back with the trash." Other thugs will join the fight.
Angela has a choice to make, here, and she considers it while she smokes. Julius has money, true, but then again so does she. And he smells. This… Daimon Hellstrom, on the other hand. He dresses well and he's bold. She likes the bold part. Angela/Mystique also knows how much reach Julius has in the city, and how his 'reign' here has affected the common people. Families of the buddies she fought beside in the trenches in Belgium.
"Thanks for taking care of him…" She replies, leaning in to kiss Julius on the cheek. The woman spotted the shoulder holster under his tux on her way across the room, and while she kisses her way towards the corner of his mouth she deftly lifts the .45 as well.
Julius is a sucker for a pretty face, especially one that kisses on him. He has no idea she's lifting the .45.
Meanwhile, Hellstrom is growing tired of the battle between the two heavies and then the two others that join. He ducks a blow, moves between the two new arrivals, grabs a nearby wooden chair and then bashes them in the backs of their heads thus shattering the chair. Hellstrom then turns to face the Dom and the pretty redhead who are both across the 12x12 room. His shirt has been torn and his chest displays a glowing inverted pentagram. Eyes widen and that's when the cappos and two others pull out their firearms and start spraying Hellstrom with bullets.
In the main part of the club, people panic and start to flee into the alleyway beyond.
There's no hesitation as Angela places the muzzle of the .45 under the Dom's chin and pulls the trigger. Blood and brains decorate the wall behind, the sound lost in the echo of tommygun fire. She's deliberate in her choice of marks, and deadly accurate. Tiny gets capped next, his attention focused on cutting Daimon down with the tommygun when he takes the round in the temple. One shot one kill, and in just a few squeezes of the trigger the only one still holding a gun is the pretty redhead.
Angela's focus is on Daimon's chest, now, especially the glowing pentagram. The civilians are screaming and fleeing the club, but she watches what he will do as she holds the still-smoking gun… not aimed in any particular direction.
Daimon never moved during the volley of gunfire. In fact he seemed to relish in the assault. The pentagram glowed brighter as the bullets struck him through his clothing. Seeing that /his redhead/ joined his cause, he smiles and brushes his chest. Several bullets fall from his hole ridden suit and he states, "Hello, love." in an endearing tone that suggests familiarity even though they have never met.
Angela smiles lazily, watching the bullets fall to the floor. She hasn't moved during the intense, but very short, gunfight. Gesturing towards his glowing chest with the automatic, she tilts her head and replies in that lazy voice. "Nice tattoo, Daimon Hellstrom." Or at least she assumes that's what it is. "I'd ask if you'd mind getting my drink, here, since Benny's so unreliable." Pausing, she raises up a bit to peer at Benny's face-down corpse before continuing. "However, I have this feeling that New York's finest are gonna be all over this place real soon. Would you mind escorting a lady to a more suitable venue?" And with that, she slides out of her seat and adjusts the fur.
Hellstrom will look down, notice the birthmark is exposed and adjust his shirt to cover it up. He looks back up with a smile. He states, "Of course, my dear. I know of other, more suitable locations for one as refined as yourself.", and as he grabs the bottle of burbon while in route toward her so that he may offer his arm.
She's wearing gloves so there's no worry about fingerprints on the gun. With an amused smile, she presses it into Julius' dead hand and curls his fingers around it. That'll give the police something to think about. Only then does she step up and slip a hand through Daimon's offered arm. "Be my pleasure, then."
Stepping over the dead bodies, Hellstrom comments, "You're quite handy with a firearm. I'm sure there's more than just ravishing good looks to you, miss…?" thus asking for her name, or what ever he should call her.
"Hopkins. Angela Hopkins, of Norfork Virginia." And she pronounces it 'Naw-fook'. Smiling almost sheepishly at his observation, she glances down at her gun hand as she replies. "Mah daddy insisted that awl of his gals be handy with guns. Sorta break in tradition, Ah know, but it's come in handy. On occasion." Pausing, she asks. "So what is it YOU do, Mistah Hellstrom?"
"Little of this, little of that." notes Hellstrom as they exit the club into the cool darkness of the alleyway. "Mostly I'm a procurer of rare antiquities. Tell me, my dear miss Hopkins. What brings you to the big apple and into an illegal club in its heart? Surely it wasn't to kill a mafia dom for that could draw more attention than a young woman such as yourself could want."
She chuckles softly as he leads her out, deftly stepping around the bodies in her designer pumps. "A procurer of rare antiquities? Mah, but that DOES sound interesting." Angela drawls back. "As for me? Ah was just out lookin for a little excitement tonight. Seems Ah came to the right place."
"That you did. Now, for a different type of excitement." Hellstrom states as he moves her out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk. In the distance police can be heard blowing whistles and sirens whirring. "With gams as amazing as yours, I trust you dance?"
"Dance?" Angela chuckles softly, fingers stroking his forearm while they walk. For a woman in heels she moves rather easily, strides long and brisk out into the alley and onto the sidewalk. "So what were -you- doing in the club? You move pretty well for someone who's consumed so much alcohol. I can smell it on your breath."
"Wallowing in my regrets. If I might be honest." states Hellstrom, "I was in possession of a gemstone. A unique stone about the size of your fist. It didn't just have monetary value, but also possessed a unique quality to it that is not normally understood by the common mind. Though, it was snatched from my grasp and taken far away such that I will likely never obtain it again."
Okay, so the gemstone gets her attention, now. "Snatched from your grasp? How very disappointing for you." Angela replies. "Do you know who took it, at least? Or where they might have taken it?" Innocent enough questions, to be sure, although her curiosity is certainly more than one might expect from a socialite.
"Not so much a who, than a what." states Hellstrom as they continue to walk. "I call the creature a 'Fish-Man', others call them 'Deep Ones'. Either way, they are a hideous species." He then describes the creatures, "I think their predominant color was a greyish-green, though they had white bellies. They were mostly shiny and slippery, but the ridges of their backs were scaly. Their forms vaguely suggested the anthropoid, while their heads were the heads of fish, with prodigious bulging eyes that never closed. At the sides of their necks were palpitating gills, and their long paws were webbed. They hopped irregularly, sometimes on two legs and sometimes on four. I've encountered several species and I was somehow glad that they had no more than four limbs. Their croaking, baying voices, clearly used for articulate speech, held all the dark shades of expression which their staring faces lacked. Horrible, disgusting creatures." He gives pause so that she may digest such knowledge and to study her response as it will give a better clue as to her true nature.
Angela purses her lips, although she becomes more and more interested the more he goes on. "You keep interesting company, Mister Hellstrom." she replies. "And these creatures have stolen your unique gem. Do you -have- a plan to recover it, or have you already counted it as lost?"
"Considering that I don't swim very well, I'm chalking it up to as loss. Fish-Men dwell at the bottom of the ocean. Far from my reach and there's no reasoning with them as they are all focused on one singular goal - to awaken their god."
The redhead whistles low at that, shaking her head. "The bottom of the ocean. That -does- put the gem a bit out of reach, doesn't it?" Walking along with him, her fingers tighten at the mention of awakening a god. "How will they do that? Awaken their god, I mean. Will they do that from the bottom of the ocean, or will the Fish-Men need to come to the surface?"
"Their mythos details that their god sleeps at the deepest depths of the ocean. I doubt even the Nautilus could reach such depths. Nemo himself would be challenged, if not reticent, to search for such a deity. So, in all likelihood, the fish-men need not rise to the surface to summon or awaken the god. Instead, they come to the surface to acquire lost artifacts that may be used in their incantations and worship. Items which I hope to obtain first. As much as I dislike mankind for their abominations, I don't savor the idea of this Earth being overrun by something more vile."
Yes, he's got her now. Pursing her lips, the redhead considers while they walk along. And after a few moments she replies simply. "What help do you need to locate these artifacts?" And her accent has noticeably softened, now, as well as her mood shifting. Yes, the red-haired debutante in the heels has just offered her help collecting fish-man artifacts.
Noting the subtle change in her demeanor, Hellstrom raises an eyebrow and glances her way. "Surely a native of Virginia such as yourself wouldn't be interested in horrible creatures of the deep? Unless of course there's more to you than I've already discerned. Perhaps Virginia is but a fleeting segue from an undivulged reality?"
Angela just smiles at his suggestion, her expression becoming even demure. "As you said, Mistah Hellstrom, there is more to me than meets the eye." she replies. The accent becomes less exaggerated as she adds. "But before I commit to anything, I would certainly like more background. And I believe we'd discussed bourbon and dancing?"
"Then we should partake in the enjoyment of the evening before we address the business. As it were, we are /here/. He indicates another alleyway where others seem to mingle. Penetrating the alleyway they will find another club and rewards such as dancing and Bourbon.
