(2014-10-19) Another Opening
Another Opening
Summary: Agent Barton is in place for the opening of an controversial opera. Hellstrom is in the audience.
Date: 2014-10-19
Related: None
NPCs: None.
Scene Runner: Hawkeye
Social/Plot: Plot

Logfile from Age of heroes.

-==[ Metropolitan Museum — Upper East Side ]==-----

The lobby of the museum is a huge, roughly circular room with a very high ceiling. A staircase curves up one wall, dark-veined white marble stairs lined by a thick, dark red-brown railing of polished wood. The floor is tiled in black and white marble, and an impressive light fixture just shy of a chandelier's elegancy is suspended from the ceiling, casting light all the way down to the bottom floor. On one side of the lobby is the entrance to the gift store - a room lit just a bit too brightly, and stuffed full of shelves and racks containing souvenirs of all types. A short corridor leads past the front desk, and the ever-present duo of receptionist and security guard, into the depths of the museum.


'Another opening of another show.'

NYC at night is a vision to behold, it truly is. The neon lights that shine down Broadway outshine most everything else, giving colour to the shadows as they flicker. The more 'artistic' of areas, however, don't have quite as gaudy a showing, yet they are almost equally as trafficked as further south in Midtown. And the clientele differ not only by degree but also by kind.

The opening of the avant garde opera at the Met brings the well heeled around, some out of curiosity, some because they hold season tickets, and others to be 'seen'. That last one is most important in this case as the opera that opens is rather poltically charged. Writers, musicians, and songmasters have all received death threats in regards to this particular show, 'The Death of Klinghoffer'.

Some say that Americans have short memories. Some don't.

As a result, police presence is at a premium. There are uniformed officers around as well as plain-clothes pulled from their cases in vice, in homocide, just for this purpose.

That's not to mention SHIELD.

International terrorism is a big line-item on the SHIELD budget ledger, and as a result, this particular little gem has found its way to the RADAR. Seated upon a paid-for balcony, Clint Barton sits, his weapon of choice at his feet, quiver next to him in the dark box. He's dressed appropriately for the civilian occasion, and sadly, dateless.


Taking a seat in his personal box, Daimon Hellstrom is seen alone for this evening's event. He is presently dressed in a tuxedo. He holds a glass of wine and places it upon the small table next to his seat. Once seated, he looks about the gallery and stage. Hellstrom doesn't seem to have a care in the world, other than to relax and spend time escaping in the death of Klinghoffer.


The lights dip once, twice… the 'universal' message to gain seats as the production will be starting in a few moments. As the lights then fade to dark and the symphonic orchestra cues up, the opening chorus comes on stage.

Clint's attention isn't upon the stage, though it would be difficult to discern to any watching. He's got his eye on the audience below him, the flashes of light from the usher's torches bringing those late arrivals to their seats gives him a chance to catch random faces. So far, no movement.


Pleased that the opera is about to start, Hellstrom crosses his right ankle over his left knee, settles back in his chair and pulls out his opera glasses. Yes, opera glasses. He's refined, cultured, and loves making fun of his status; so of course he has opera glasses. Above all, Hellstrom is relaxed and expects nothing to go wrong in the world of opera on this evening.


There is some movement as the show goes up; from the ushers escorting those late arrivals to their seats and the divas on stage. In the next second, a shot rings out from the back, poking a hole in the set just a couple of inches above the main protagonist's head.

For any that may be looking, there could possibly be a glimpse of a man standing in a box seat holding a bow, the arrow loosed only milliseconds before, the red designator light shining in a path, and is turned off.

Screams come from the back of the house as a man lies dead with an arrow right through his eye, blood oozing from the single puncture wound.

In the next second, the orchestra ceases playing as Barton drops down from his spot in the aisle, bow in hand, arrows on his back, and begins the run upstream.


"What in my father's name?!" asks Hellstrom in a quietly annoyed tone as he leans forward to get a better view of what is transpiring. He spies Barton and he tries to put two and two together which reasons out that Barton shot a man in the eye with a bow. He looks back to the stage, the shot that missed the protagonist must have come from the man with the arrow sticking out of his face. Other words follow as Hellstrom stands, "You have got to be kidding me.". In all counts, his words are for his own benefit, not those around him and unlikely heard over the collateral noise of the room.


At least Hawkeye isn't going down for attempted murder of the singer on stage! Though, things will probably be a little sketchy up at ground zero, as it is. As he works his way up, he's dodging, and ends up walking across the tops of the seats, bounding one row after another after another.

"Hey.. hey!"


Recalling the threats and the events outside, Hellstrom will take his eyes off Clint and look around the room. Surely if there is one whom would terrorize, there would be two. At least that's how Hellstrom would do it. Therefore he looks for other good angles for LoS on the target/protagonist. He'd rather not see this play go to ruin because some jackhole killed the star.


There is the one, the shooter. The one who ultimately would have taken the fall, or rather, the bullet to the head so as not to lead anyone back to the main player. That main player is on her way towards the exit, looking a little less panicked, a little less excited than those around her.

Clint doesn't have Line of Sight on the second perp. He's still jumping seat back after seatback until he lands on the causeway in the back.

"Hey.. hey.. back off. Knock it off.." Barton just loves crowd control as well. The uniformed officers are pushing against a harder stream, their attention is on what is happening inside, and not what could be escaping to the outside. From all appearances, it's a lone.


Hellstrom won't let it go, and he knows he should. But, he's the Son of Satan and must maintain balance even though the balance he seeks isn't always for the best. Turning to leave his box, Hellstrom will /shift/ through space and step out of another door downstairs near to where the woman is exiting. It won't be obvious to those whom are blind to magic and its effects. Rather, just opening one door and exiting another. He will move to intercept the woman. His intentions upon his arrival are to take her by the arm and guide her to someplace else in the building. He doesn't wish to turn 180 degrees with her because that would take them back into the crowd. Instead, he intends to guide her into an office, perhaps a bathroom, or maybe a storage space. Also, when he grabs her, he will say in a stern voice, one of demonic tone, "You're coming with me."


Barton doesn't retrieve his arrow; that's for the ME. He'll get it back, eventually. Instead, once the uniformed officers do manage to get there and cordon off the scene, the SHIELD agent gets the chance to take a look around. These people -don't- work alone; not when there's a whole laundry list of groups that want to see this show close.

Opera. Would have been much more pleasant with a date.

Still, Barton's there, and he's looking around. Magic really isn't his 'thing'. Something he's never truly been trained for. The agent isn't anything 'special'; no tricks up his sleeve other than training, training and more training. He's good, he really is- but humanly good. What gives him the edge, however, is that he's not afraid of jumping off that cliff.

"'Scuse me, boys.."

The woman, once taken firmly, moves her arm to shake off the hold. It's trained, but not terribly effective. "Get off," she snarls. "I'm not going—"

And, like all good self-defense classes suggest, she doesn't scream 'fire' in a crowded room. Instead, she screams, 'Rape!!'


There's really only one thing for him to do; kill her. No wait; magick her. A simple compelling spell will do the trick. He whispers the command word that will have the goal of enslaving her mind. If she has magical wards or is telepathic and has a high psyche, then she'll easily resist it. Otherwise, it'll be a, 'these aren't the droids you're looking for moment.' as he compels her to turn and kiss his cheek, then apologize by saying, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I thought you were someone else."


The word certainly does gain the attention of more than a few, Barton included. Blue eyes whip over towards the scene, and the first few steps are taken in that direction. Not due to the actual accusation, but what could have caused such a thing. From all accounts, things are looking pretty damned on the up and up. Which means.. "Hey!"

The woman has no wards, no particular ability other than a reasonable will power. That is easily pushed over, and she purrs before she gives his cheek a peck. "No, that's mooore than fine," comes back as a response.


His next command will follow on the coat tails of the compelling and he will say, "Let's go this way and talk."

To the side, he will note Barton. Behind the woman's back, he will point to Barton and then down the hallway where he intends to take the woman. As if that Barton should follow. He figures Barton is one of the good guys - the only JLr Hellstrom is concerned with it Wonder Woman and getting into those star spangled tights, all the others are clods and beyond his attention.


The woman is most decidedly pliable, and follows easily the requests, the commands of her companion.

Barton, for his part, glances down the hallway and nods, making his own way down, walking backwards as he does so. No uniformed getting involved in this; not yet, anyway. Once in the area, Barton looks down the hallway again before resting his attention on the pair. "Pretty sure you didn't ask me along for a threesome," hangs in the air. Next that rises is, "Perp's dead. This the voice?"


In a secluded location, out of the line of sight of the uniforms, Hellstrom turns his attention from the mesmorized woman and gives a nod of greeting to Barton's approach and questions, "If, by voice you mean - gave the orders to kill the actor, then yes." He will continue looking at Barton but tell the woman in his controlling voice, "Sweetheart, tell the man your role in all of this."


"That would be what I mean, yes," comes in response. Barton cants his head at the order given the woman, his eyes flickering from one to the other. Hair on the back of his neck begins to rise, and it's all he can do not to scratch at it. He does fail, however, and as she begins recounting, a hand rises to scratch.

"I planned it as per the bosses." The woman sounds petulant. Her 'wiles' aren't working as well as she'd hoped, having turned around from her earlier 'complaint'. "It's supposed to be a statement." Huff. "But yeah.. I told him to pull the trigger."


Hellstrom plans to follow the ladder of information and then asks, "Your bosses? Tell us who they are and where they can be found."

Hellstrom's own right hand can be found at the base of the woman's neck, not holding, just gently placed. His other hand rests by his side. He doesn't need to chant or incantate to extract his magical will, he just thinks and focuses it.


"Names? No idea.. Idi.. Abu.. something-something.." Hooray for New York women! "They're not even from around here. They're in… Afwidder.. Afabustan.. um…"

"Afghanistan?" Barton butts in. Not really in the mood for this… not right now.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Okay," Now Barton looks to the guy holding her, brows rising. "Mind if I ask who you are?"

For that little history lesson, at the time of Mr. Klinghoffer's death, -Russia- was boot-deep in trying to take over the country to add it to their collection of satellite states. Barton's been there.


Hellstrom's next word is, "Sleep." and the woman will take a seat on the floor against the wall. As she does, Hellstrom will offer the hand that was on the back of her neck - glad hand style but produce a business card out of thin air. "Hellstrom, Daimon Hellstrom. Paranormal investigator and psychic." His words are honest, but there's surely more to his story than the simple answer.


Oooo. Psychic. Barton's come across one or two of those in his time. Mostly fakes, but it's pretty remarkable as to how susceptible the human mind is to suggestion. "Ho-kay," the SHIELD agent replies. The bow in hand is reduced to it's smaller size, easily carried and managable.

Looking at the card, Barton cants his head. "Hellstrom. Works. That your real name, or…?" Because as far as 'work names' go, it's a pretty good one! "I'm Agent Barton. I'll have to take her in, and the bosses'll probably want a report or something from you. Doesn't have to be on our letterhead, but something typed up would be great." And as the beginnings are in Russian Afghanistan?

More under his breath, Barton pockets the card and mutters, "'Man, she's gonna looove this when I tell her."


"Agent Barton. Have your office call mine and we'll arrange something.", is said with an annoyed, yet not so follow-through tone. "I'm sure she'll be most cooperative when you get her with the thumb screws and won't need my assistance."


Barton smiles in a fine, thin line before he nods. Though now the woman is sleeping, which means either he has to wait for her to wake up, or call in support to take her away. The latter is the better of the two ideas.

"Right. I've got your number." Barton's got the card, and in a slight of hand very much like Hellstrom's, the card disappears and he turns around, pulling out a cellphone as he does. "I'll be in touch. Thanks for the help."


The moment Barton takes his eyes off Hellstrom, the investigator will step to the side and disappear through some magical portal. His evening is shot, so what else should he do other than go out and drink. The evening is his bitch.

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