(2014-09-21) Four Eggs Scambled
Four Eggs Scrambled
Summary: Nightcrawler chances upon Domino locked in a trunk, as mayhem erupts, Beast stumbles upon the happenings and Hawkeye reveals himself while claiming a target for SHIELD - you do the math.
Date: (2014-09-21)
Related: NA
NPCs: Some mafia typs
Scene Runner: Domino/mutual
Social/Plot: Plot?

The sun descsneds in the sky, that time of late afternoon when the fall shadows creep down from the buildings and bring the night life out earlier. Not quite dark at this time, its the foreshadowing of fall and winter to come. Of all the metas in the world that don't mind any disposition they have, the one proudest by be blue and fuzzy is Nightcrawler. Taking time to explore the city, he's between Chelsea and the Village, not far from old Hell's Kitchen, in a part of town that certainly doesn't mind the odd appearance of a meta like him. Those who really pay attention might know he's a pretty big business fellow in Germany, but mostly has been lying low since he was outed when Spectre lifted the curse and he suddenly turned blue, grew the fire, sprouted a tail, lost a few digits on his hands and fingers. And yet, by his stroll, one would think he beleives all that makes him awesome. And to him, it does. Today he wears a nice blazer and jeans, wearing a t-shirt that shows a pirate monkey swinging from a rope. Booties on his feet are made for his three toes. He's smiling at any who would look his way, waving at anyone that even show more interest than a curious glance. It is a good day for Kurt.

Being in the middle of New York City, a wandering blue metahuman isn't the only strange situation one is likely to come across. There's strange things around every corner, some which can be explained and others which are not so easily identified.

For one woman, trying to identify just what the heck is going on is half of the problem. There's a few obvious matters which she can focus on, concrete points of familiarity which are not too difficult to deal with. This only accounts for about half of her current dilemmas, however. The next hurdle is going to leave her with fewer options. But, one thing at a time, right?

Not far from where the blue fellow roams is a small fenced in parking lot. There's a few cars parked there already, some nice ones and some not so nice. One of them is a black Bentley, someone must have some serious class and the cash to back up their vices. This in itself isn't the peculiar thing, though.

What's peculiar is the soft *thunk* which sounds out from nearby it. There's no one sitting inside, it's quite well parked, and yet…

It's also moving slightly.

If it wasn't for curiousity, who would be left to put the Kurt in Courteous. As much as he'd just like to keep walkin, the suspicious thud or thunk and the fact that the car is moving while no one can be seen means one of a few things. Certainly there could be a couple there, below the windows doing what couples do. But that thunk didn't quite have the sound of passion to Kurt. Instead, curiousity calls to him and he gives a pause, noticing the Bently that is moving.

Post haste, a distinct sound where he was is heard, Bamf! A slight hint of smoke, the smell of brimstone. A smiliar flash of smoke and brimstone is near the Bently. Not wanting to be overly rude, in case it was a case of the couples too much in a hurry to hurry home or to more private accomodations, he calls out. "Entschuldigung … eh, excuse me?" His voice thick with his German accent, easy to place as he begins in his native tongue and corrects to English. "I do not mean to pry but …."

German… Very..clearly..German. For a moment the shuffling around stops, though only after one final -THUNK- followed by a muted groan from inside of the trunk. It's entirely possible that the occupant in the (far) back just got startled in there.

"By all means, pry..! Some idiot disabled the safety catch in here and the seats don't fold down and I can't see a damn thing!" comes the woman's muffled voice.

It's quickly followed by another solid -Thunk- and "Goddammit! Generous trunk dimensions my ass! Look, break a window if you have to, I'm about to get a leg cramp in here!"

"Better plan," says Kurt, moving around to look inside the car itself. Only to get the dimensions down in there and make a good effort to not just break the car itself. The is that Bamf again, smoke and brimestone. Then he is inside the car, hanging from the ceiling and reaching down to find the right nob. Wipers go off, hazards, the radio, "You think I'd know this car, being a subsidiary of Volkswagan, Ja?" A chucle from inside then pop, the trunk release is found. "Tada!" Then a Bamf and he's out there to offer a hand to whomever it is inside the trunk of the Bently. Hopefully the car alarm isn't going off, but he did open it from the appropriate pull lever.

All she can do is listen. When she hears the wipers… "Try down and left!" Hazards. "Your other left!" The radio. "Too far left!" Pause. "Huh, I thought it was British. Whatever it is it's not very accomodating." -Whunk Whunk!- "Solid, though."

The next hit attempt from inside is timed right with the trunk release, without alarm. On the inside is a woman with ghostly white skin, almost fully covered in a suit of dark monochromed colors. At first all she can do is squint and shield her eyes with ziptied hands from the assault of lights.

Then she sees the eyes peering down at her, fangy grin and all.

Almost immediately her own pale blue eyes snap wide open as she lunges up with both hands and makes a grab for the trunk lid to -try and close it again.-

Moving a hand to try to stop the closing. "Halten," he says, still grinning. "Ghost-chan," german - little ghost, "We just opened it up to let you out, there is no need to hurry back in. I fear I do not know when the next jersey blue devil will be along to, as they say, pop the trunk, ja?" If the trunk is still partially open, he'll offer a hand down to the woman inside. "I mean no harm, w(v)ahrheit." Honest. That he only has three fingers, or two big ones and one big thumb, might not help the current circumstance. But he can hope, and grin, and show off the canines and the yellow yes.

"Okay, -this- is surreal," the albino mutters as she's looking at those glowy eyes once more. "Wait-'we?' Who's 'we?' There aren't more of you out there, is there?"

She frowns slightly then winces, yet she does reach up for the offered hand. Her thoughts aren't entirely together yet but she's not too far gone to get the neurons firing. This lady happens to know German quite well.

Nothing like New York hospitality. Oh yeah, and he managed to pop the trunk from the inside without breaking any windows. I have no idea how you managed to get inside without tripping the alarm but can you do it again?

Giving a chuckle, Nightcrawler shakes his head at first. "Nein, no others, but us. You and I, teamwork." As if that answers it all, he'lll help her to her feet, dust her off if she needs it even, or maybe if she doesn't. Course, being out also gives full view of the tail, swaying in the breeze like its the coolest thing on earth. In fact, as she's out and hands are doing hand things, the tail is courteous and moves to close the trunk. Picking up with the German, he continues, //Exactly, New York hospitality, though really, my second day here. Getting in there, it's sort of wht I do and I can do it again. Did you forget something in there, or was this like a car jacking gone wrong. I'm not on one of those funny American candid camera shows am I?" Forget Germany has just as much, if not more, and of the more lewd variety even.

Alright, this could be useful… The odds may be turning in her favor. The problem isn't just dealing with light again, even with the alabaster skin she's looking slightly tipsy. Drugged, in fact. "Yeah, teamwork," she mutters while continuing to speak in German. She's just starting to rub at her forehead when she hesitates all over again as the trunk mysteriously closes behind her. Standing in place she turns to follow the whip-like limb which had reached around to the side, finding..of course. A tail. As if things weren't weird enough already.

"You're by far the friendliest demon I've ever met," she mutters before answering any more questions. When asked if she forgot something, however, she turns to give the guy a level stare which holds no emotion beyond irritation. "Yes, I forgot my handbag when I went to lock myself into the trunk. These jerks picked me up in Gotham and I'm kinda on the clock here, they wouldn't have walked off for long and I have no idea how long it took me to come back around. The odds of my things still being in there are one in five and I could -really- use them about now. You can help me or I can take my chances that they installed reinforced windows."

"Yes," he agrees, in German just the same. "I'll give you it could be in there and these aren't quite your best friends, unless this is some bacherlorette party thing. But I'm not one to argue either way. One open door coming up." Bamf, he's gone, leaving the smoke and smell again and he's inside, on the ceiling again, reaching with a tail to open the door. "Your chariot awaits, Ghost-Chan." Says he, holding to the ceiling with one hand and contorting down to a sitting position in a seat. He starts looking around, tapping his knees, like he's waiting for his friend to decide where they're going. Or simply waiting to see if she comes in to find the bag she is after.

No need to be stoic about it, though he continues conversing in German. "Rest assured, if your friend come back and are upset you ruined the wedding surprise, I can get us both to safety just as quickly. All is well, and it is - english … Bentley, though Bentley is subsidized by Volskwagon. Sort of like Dodge is a subsidiary of Nissan these days, but America forgets how upset it made them and believe their hemmy commercials, so Dodge is cool again." Quite the rambler.

The albino facepalms with a hand and a half at the bachelorette party remark. Before she can say anything back about it she's left standing there alone, coughing, as a cloud of dark hued sulfur completely overtakes her. "Mein GOTT what did you just DO?!" When the door is open the matter may as well be completely forgotten, it takes a bit of shuffling to get herself closer but she's eager enough to leap in that she grabs onto the top of the frame and sort of jump-kicks in right behind the wheel. She closes the door just as quickly, slapping the lock closed with an elbow before she turns to look in back and nearly smacks into a furry blue thing coming down from the ceiling.

Once more she stops to give the guy a level stare, just long enough to say "You're a jumpy rascal, arencha."

"Like your cars, huh," she stoically asks next as the case's lid is flicked open. Inside is a confusing mass of black straps and metal buckles. And weapons. Pistols still in holsters, holsters still hooked into combat webbing. And knives! She expertly flicks one of those out and snips through the nylon zipties at her wrists then repeats the motion at her ankles. (Improvement.)

Another glance is quickly passed back to the 'elf' as she drives the point of the matte black blade clean into the steering column, wrenching a panel free as she asks "You any good at driving? All wheel drive, lots of easily excited horses. You can stick around if you want but what I'm about to do maaay not be entirely legal."

Presnelty in a small fenced parking lot between Chelsea and the Village, it seems one albino woman and one blue fuzzy elf are in a Bently. It has just started up. "Tell you what, if you explain the need for this vehicle, from your friends and their poor attempt at inviting you to a party, maybe I'll be more understanding." All in German, then he looks around a moment, his tail tip rolling down the window. "You're welcome to drive, I can listen while you make good on your valiant escape, turning the tides on your captors by taking this lovely driving machine." Bamf, he's wall elf on the side of the car, he rolled the window down so he can still converse, ready to spring off should he need to, but curious if the woman does have a story after all.

It's all in the timing. Several dark-clad figures that all scream 'Mafia' start stepping out of a nearby building as the Bentley's engine fires up. They don't have a direct line of sight but they know the sound of the engine, which prompts the lot of them to reach under their suits for whatever manner of weapon each one of them happens to be carrying.

Oh, and the fuzzball's now stuck to the outside of the car. "One, I need the car because they're going to hunt my ass down in a moment. Two, they threw me in the flippin' trunk. I owe 'em one. The only party involved-"


The woman's shoulders reflexively tense as a bullet cracks the windshield right in front of her face.

"Is the one we're about to start."

All four wheels howl in unison as she steps on the accelerator, reversing the large, heavy, and stupidly powerful car across the parking lot and through a green perimeter fence. Between the fence and the shots being fired she loses a tire or two, causing the large sedan to slide out in a graceful arc until it stops short in the middle of the road.

Subtle! At least she turned in a way that puts Nightcrawler -away- from the bullets.

"Still need an explanation?!" she yells while diving into the passenger seat, hauling the metal case full of armaments with her.

Hank McCoy is out and about on a perfectly normal day. At least, as 'normal' as things can be when you're about three hundred pounds of blue ape.

So, when a car skids out into the middle of the road to the sound of gunfire? Well, that's…about 'normal,' for Hank these days. "Well, this was unexpected." he deadpans- and then springs up to perch atop a lampost- hopefully out of the immediate line of fire, and it provides him a vantage point to figure out just what's going on! Especially given the glimpse of someone similarly blue and cling-y on the side of Domino's car.

For which he is gratious, that is her turning the car away from the gun-totting mobsters trying to kill her. "For all I know," says Kurt, then bamf, he's next to one, grabbing him, bamf, he's in the car with Domino again, in the back seat with said goon who looks uncomfortable sick all of a sudden. "You totally robbed them," bamf he drops him off onto another car in the lot, bamf, the car again. "… these honorable sirs of the charitable sort, most likely donors of the local museum and outstanding gentleman that carry guns around and fire them randomly at strangers."

"But I like your sense of adventure Ghost-chan, don't make me regret turning out their lights, ja?" As if he'll bamf around some more even, with the remaining gun totting mafia fellas, but seeing that its not just him. His grinning just the same, its exciting after all.

Months. Clint Barton has been watching this particular group of track-suit mob for months. He's had their phones tapped, their financial transactions tracked… for months.

And in these ensuing moments, everything Barton's done has pretty much just blown up in his face.

There's going to be hell (reports!) to play.

Staked out on an opposite building, hanging out on the roof, Hawkeye's got his bow out, quiver on, and as the scene unfolds below, he simply can't believe that which he is seeing. "Oh… this isn't good," he mutters. As the blue… thing begins to teleport one, after another… after another… after another, Barton's got that sinking feeling that it's going to take months longer before he'll be able to get a good, solid hold on their operation. Again.

Aaand suddenly bad guys are getting teleported inside of the car. Where Domino happens to be. While she's trying to get out. "Would you -stop bringing them all closer to me?!-" she yells in protest while extracting herself from the passenger door, practically pouring herself out onto the pavement beyond. She's too preoccupied to realize that the one bamfed baddie is no longer in the Bentley but is in something else (probably a BMW.)

Having one of their own vanish from sight causes the rest to scatter in search of cover, half of them now trying to figure out where the heck the teleporting creature disappeared to. And trying to figure out what the heck the teleporting creature is!

Meanwhile the albino's fighting with her combat harness, keeping low as more bullets pepper the side of the car. They don't see to be going through but they're keeping her pinned down quite nicely. Just as she's clicking another buckle together she glances upward and spots the second most peculiar sight she's seen all day. Stuck to the top of a lamp post. Big and blue. Very big and very blue. "How many of there -are- you?" she repeats, staring at the Beast. "And I only tried to rob these fools because they took me first!" For once!

Hank McCoy surveys the scene- though that doesn't seem to be doing him much good. Someone stuck inside a car, while a teleporting metahuman bounces about…but, throughout all the confusion, at least the gun-toting mobsters are pretty straightforward. They certainly don't -LOOK- like law enforcement.

And so, Hank leaps from his perch, his tweed jacket flapping in the breeze as he sails through the air- he lands on the second-floor balcony above the gunmen- only to ricochet off of it, tucking himself into a ball as he attempts to cannonball the bunch of them from an unexpected direction.

"Gentlemen!" he says, flipping easily to his feet amongst the crowd, "While I'm not a member of the local law enforcement agency, I -must- insist you rein in these errant salvos before someone gets hurt!"

It's a perfectly logical plea- though the fact it's coming from a giant blue guy might make it a little more convincing.

In the car again and she's out the door, Kurt is teleporting out to join here as Hank is making an entrance onto the scene. "Uh," says the elf, for once at a lose for words. It passes briefly though. "Ya, two of us, at least. I'd say I have more style, but, ja, that was a lot of style." Seeing as they're either not around or in hiding, the remainder, he scratches his head for the moment.

Grinning and nodding to hank who is using the big words. Blue folks have to stick, props are given where do. "So, they randomly took you so you were taking their car, but then took out the wheels, impromptu, to all us all a valiant escape? Its all making sense, the puzzle unfolds, ja. I'm with big and blue, I vote we rain in the mayhem some and walk our way, no harm no foul." Except for Clint who's undercover spying bit was blown completely by his quarry being hit by the blue and the furious.

From his vantage point, it's all Barton can do to remain where he is and just watch. Eyes narrow as he spies yet -another- big and blue thing? As well as the teleporting creature- and…

Okay, there at least down by the door, there's an older gent that stands in the alcove. Bow is raised, an arrow is pulled from his quiver, and in the next heartbeat… he holds his shot. Barton drops his head forward, and once again, a hand rises to press firmly against his face, leaving it there for three, two.. one… before he raises it once more and, dammit..

Barton takes the shot.

An arrow flies through the air silently, and hits just at the top of the alcove, only to make a soft *ppppfffft* sound, and a strong filament net falls down on top of the grey-haired man. He calls out, suddenly in a panic in that the arrow came out of seemingly nowhere. The capo flails as the net seems to stick him even further.

Quick..quick like a bunny..there! Combat rigging's in place, .40 caliber Sigs are in hands, Domino's peering over the Bentley's hood, aaand..furry blue cannonball. She actually winces while watching the bigger meta plow through half of the guys, the other half still trying to track down Nightcrawler. She doesn't know about SHIELD having eyes in this situation but it's only a matter of time before it comes full circle.

She's about to get a hint, though. The net arrow that comes out of nowhere…

Options. She's talking to a teleporter. The bigger guy's an -excellent- distraction. The archer/sniper's going for the tracksuit goons. It's time to push her luck.

"Make a deal with ya, Indigo!" she calls out to Nightcrawler. "Jump me out of here and I'll owe you lunch. Maybe even a story. Or I'll just pay you. How 'bout it?"

She hasn't fired a shot yet but there's still time for this to change. The odds aren't terribly likely however, with the one group seeing what happened when Beast went after the -other- group they start to scatter. Grab the old guy and get going! They may not rate as the highest level of goon but they aren't completely incompetent, either.

Hank McCoy clears his throat (which sounds only slightly like a growl) and then reaches up to straighten his glasses as the goons (the ones on their feet, at least) scatter. Hawkeye's arrow goes unnoticed- the archer's a sneaky one, after all- not to mention the fact that Domino and Kurt are both entirely too distracting.

"I suppose there's a rational explanation for all of this?" he says, just slightly wary- and he takes a moment to step on a discarded automatic pistol before one of the sprawled goons can make a grab for it.

"Apparently, there is, mein fruend," says Nightcrawler to hank. "Alas, I've yet to hear the truth and to be honest, free lunch is free lunch." He moves to offer Domino a hand just the same, "Sadly, I meet a kindred spirit and ghost-chan changes the game on me. I'd love to stay and chat, but alas … free lunch, you understand." He grins, chuckles even, playfully. Then bamf and he and Domino are several blocks away.

At that point, away from the guns, the other sniper, the other blue fellow. "You know, ghost-chan, I don't know your name yet, how do I know you're good for this lunch?" Hopefully the bamf'ing wasn't too bad for her as it was for the goon. "I'm Heir Wagner …" He offers a bow, if she hasn't pulled her hand away, he plants a genteel kiss upon it.

The shot is good!

Yes! Though, right now, the area's a bit hot, but with the scattering of goons, Barton's got a grand total of a couple of minutes at the very least before they regroup with weapons. Let's see how much of this is salvagable.

Another arrow is pulled from the quiver, and letting it loose once again, it lands right next to the deployed net arrow, giving him a nice, easy zip-line upon which to slide down. Once on the ground, the SHIELD agent only has a couple of seconds, and it's a well placed punch to the head that knocks the guy out… and grabbing him, Barton has to look around for… *sighs* another car.

Of course, in that moment, the blue tailed thing is teleporting away with an albino with a black eyepatch? Whut? And, there is no way that he's going to stay around with the other blue creature- "Rational explanation?"

"Yeah!" Now, Barton calls out. "They're the bad guys. Whitey and her buddy got mixed up in the middle of an official op… and I'm gonna track them down." He pauses before adding, "Later." Because now, the capo is in custody.

"Official?" Hank asks, puzzled. "Under…whose authority? Unless the NYPD has started recruiting from Sherwood Forest?" He glances to where Kurt and Domino -were,- and again furrows his brow. Teleportation? He'll have to follow up on that later.

A perfectly rational explanation… "Yeah, they're bad guys!" Domino calls back to the big beastie. Almost at the exact same moment that Hawkeye says those very words. (What..?)

1 in 57,420.

"Thanks for the timely distraction, Blueberry and mind-reading archer guy!" Then her ride swings in, tucking her sidearms away to once again reach up for that strange three-digit hand. "Isn't 'chan' Japanese?" she asks out of the blue.

Having someone trying to kiss the back of her hand while fighting back a sudden onslaught of dry-heaving is a peculiar sensation, to say the least. One which she could easily live with not experiencing again, mostly for the latter. "Domino," she mutters between 'hrk's. "Know a place called Bobby's Burgers? Two days, twenty-one hundred. Lunch for services rendered."

She hates being in debt, for anything. "Be there or don't."

"I am saying it to fast, ghost-chen," says Kurt, honestly having meant the german form of pet naming 'little,' but his player wasn't paying attention. "It is similar conceptually, but in German it just means little katchen, little cat, ghost-chen, little ghost. And I go by Nightcrawler, its a circus thing. Maybe real names will come, at Bobby burgers." Not that he considers it a debt paid, he offers a bow of his head again, no hand kissing offered. "Would I miss an opportunity to have lunch with a lovely woman such as yourself, what kind of fool am I taken for … unles the good sort of fool. I can live with that assumption. Until then Domino, I shall never forget our first ride, if not fast, and brief, it was an adventure all the same." And he bamfs again, saving her an excuse to be rid of him, at least for now - no telling what will happen at Bobby's.

Barton's got the guy, and he's pulling the enmeshed man forward, taking hold of another car and shoving the guy into the back seat. The archer isn't amused; not in the least. "Out of their jurisdiction. And…" a curve of one side of his mouth rises and he points a finger in Beast's direction. "Cute. Not original, but cute."

Now, Hawkeye gets into the front seat, and in the next couple of moments there is silence before the engine roars to life. Squeeling tires spin, leaving dark marks in the road, and the car and passenger are off in the direction of SHIELD NY HQ.

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