ArchivedLogs:Park It

Park It
Dramatis Personae Razor, Scott Summers
In Absentia	2013-05-09 Scott and Razor have a mild disagreement.
Location Somewhere in Brooklyn
Tucked away in a run-down neighborhood in Brooklyn, this is a park, at least nominally. It's a playground; a sad rickety sort of jungle-gym connected to a splintery wooden castle by a rickety swaying rope-and-planks bridge. A pair of swings, chains rusting. A see-saw at one side of the mulch, one of its handles half broken off. The basketball court's asphalt is cracked and breaking up, and the hoops have long since lost their netting. Scott needed a lead. And he had to hope that /someone/ out there knew something about these disappearances. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so he found himself alone at this small park in Brooklyn, his bike parked at the curb. He had his hands shoved deep into his bomber jacket pockets, and he was sporting a ruby-red visor - it was always more intimidating when it came to eyewear, and had a tiny bit more utility besides. He approached the group with his jaw set. He may not have been the biggest man, but he had nothing to fear. Not yet, anyway. Razor finishes off her latest level at this moment, then reaches into a pocket and pulls out a raspberry lollipop which she shoves in her mouth. She dumps the wrapper on the ground (not like she's going to upset the delicate balance of nature in this hell-hole) and eyeballs Scott with a bored look,"Look who just came in on the Red Eye." She's laughs as if she truly believes what she just said is clever, then points to a spot a few steps away from her,"Serano! This man on the appointment book?" Serano, an older gentleman whose hands shake everytime the woman addresses him, shakes his head,"No, boss. He's a walk-in." The woman shrugs again, her whole manner suggesting she doesn't actually care. "Well then, Corey Heart, what can I do for you today? Don't usually get such well-dressed people showing up on my doorstep." Looks like she's going to be joking about the visor a lot today. Truth be told, her 'goons' look more unsettled by Scott than she does. Then again, they've got a nervous look to them. Scott is hardly very tolerant of this sort of organization. He takes his time to note each and every individual in this group in his head, his face plastered with disdain. In truth, it was no secret that he felt this sort of crowd was beneath him. But they might have what he needed, so he would endure. Finally, his visor settled on Razor, his face pretty grim. "I understand you're in the business of information. So I want to know what it's going to take to learn where the Spider is." He was as direct as anyone, and there was a terrible conviction in his tone. "Hooohoohahahahah! Oh, oh... wow, you know, I can get you a good price on a wheelbarrow. You need that more. You know, to carry around those King Kong-sized balls you're totin'." She tosses her cellphone behind her, which one of her goons fumblingly catch, and pulls a package of slim cigarettes from her pocket. Like she has all the time in the world, she taps free a cigarette, even as she quietly and casually activates her power. There's no sound or physical indication anything has happened, of course... That's part of its insidiousness. Instead, if anything, the goons who had grown a little uneasier when she started laughing briefly glance off in the distance. Something is unsettling them alright. As she lights her cigarette, she eyeballs Scott. "The Spider? You mean that kid jump around the walls and ceiling of my facility a few days ago? That kid I slashed to fucking ribbons? Ain't nothin' good happened to him. What you want with him?" In a lazy sort of motion, she flicks out and open a butterfly knife and begins to clean her nails,"Information like that, sometimes it ain't always what you want, and not always for a price you like." Sadly, she is pushing the wrong fucking buttons. Scott had brought the visor out for a reason - because it was connected to a finger-press servo system that fed up from his gloves into his visor controls. He didn't waste any time, his teeth bared slightly in rage. The visor opened and an unholy tearing sound accompanied a burst of concussive red force blasted forward into the nearest goon, thunking him across the chin and taking him off his feet. It took only the most minute turning of his neck to fan short, successive blasts into each mook Razor had surrounded herself with, one by one by one. The blasts struck sickeningly into stomach, shoulder, face. They lifted each man off his feet. Scott hardly seemed human. "This visor opens from a range of a hundreth of a centimeter to point seven nine centimeters," he says slowly, his nostrils flaring in the aftermath of the cruel carnage. "That was three hundreths of a centimeter." There is the sound of clicking as one of the dials turns forward. "This is one third of a centimeter." "You don't have to help me, and I'm more than willing to compensate you for your scummy services. But the next time you open your mouth it had better be to explain to me you actually didn't leave so much as a scratch on my student." Meanwhile, back near the bike, Razor's clone pulls free a wire cutter and snips at some sort of tube. For all she knows, it's some kind of wiper fluid. She doesn't really 'get' mechanics. Then she uses her power again. Continuing to populate clones of herself in spread out locations every ten seconds or so,"LOOK AT YOU! So Spiderbait had a mentor! I know a costume that bad had to have a bad allowance behind it." The girl fishes a cellphone, smashed and wrecked from one of her jacket pockets: It's Peter's,"I certainly don't HAVE to help you. But..." She even tosses the phone to the man's general direction and of all things, turns her back on him... So she can look at the goons he so quickly ko'ed. "HAHAHAHAH! Look at that! Oh, man, that was so cool! YEEHAW! I love that. You just smashed the living crap out of them! Ooooh, so bad-ass." The expression on her face is close to hunger... no... lust. Lust at seeing the pain, and of her own men no less. The sort of equal opportunity malevolence that loves to watch pain, no matter its source,"Ooooh, Serano's going to be nursing that chin-blast for a while. He's gettin' old." She turns back around, her smile slowly creeping up into her eyes. As experienced as he is, it's likely Scott's seen that look many a time. Insanity, and the dangerous kind at that. "Brother, I'm afraid it is my solemn duty to inform you... That I damn near split him from solar plexus to clavicle, and more besides. Meddling little shit." With a lightning fast snapping motion, she flips her butterfly knife through the air in Scott's direction. Scott carefully caught the crunched up phone in his hand, staring down at it in his hand before he pocketed it into the front pocket of his bomber jacket. He looks up again, listening intently and with intense annoyance at Razor. A brief flash of surprise and awareness washes over his face when she suddenly breaks form and tosses the knife in his direction. He quickly rolls on his shoulder and stands up into a crouch on his knee, his hands at his sides in fists. "I warned you!" he shouts intensely. His visor clicks again, thankfully backwards. He's picked up on some of the Razors that have been appearing in the general area. For the original Razor, he spares a terrifying shot of red force, still much larger than he'd bothered to spare for her lackeys, which thunders towards her while tearing up the ground betwixt them. He wastes no time, fanning much more focused and less powerful shots at a few of her clones, his precision frankly uncanny. It's strange. When the first Razor is struck, she slumps to the ground, thrown against a wall. Mere seconds later, she crumbles into a pile of inert carbon. Another one is caught in the process of drawing a gun, and still another is charging towards Scott with another knife draw. Both with similar resuls to the first. And the fourth? This one seems to linger longer than the others, slammed into a jungly gym with an unhealthy 'cracking' sound. This one was hold a straight razor in its hands when it was shot. The straight razor drops from nerveless hands and she fumbles brokenly in one pocket for... something... A pocket watch? She chuckles as she fiddles with it, then sets it on her lap. Her smile doesn't cease, teeth covered with blood as she lays there, rumbling in a happily disjointed manner,"Got until this watch counts down to ask your questions, Red. Thirty seconds. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Didn't expect your aim to be that good. Won't make that mistake again. I seen your kid. I cut him up real good. But he left under his own power. Don't know he would've lasted very long without SOME medical attention, 'less his powers made him tougher than he looks. If he didn't die somewhere..." Her voice grows almost joyful now,"... cold, alone... crying 'save me, teacher, save me'... Scared and confused... If he didn't die, then there's a good chance... he ran afoul of someone who's been stiffin' me..." The woman coughs up some blood on her hand, looks at it, then uses the jungle gym to try to stand... Doesn't seem to be working all too well. "Gonna come at you hard, Red. Just you wait." "Just two questions and then you can go back to your pathetic racket," Scott says with a sneer. He pulls himself up to full height and takes a couple of steps forwards towards the sadly battered Razor. "One: when is the last time you saw the Spider? Two: Give me the name of the person he'd have run afoul." He never really comes off of high alert, his knees slightly bent, his chest still heaving. He'd scuffed his arm with that roll on hard turf, so it was hanging a little lower than normal. "The last time I saw him? Just before that fire a few days ago. I remember reading about it a little bit after. Don't know names, though. People been picked up for fights around here. If your boy is that strong and fast, he'd make whoever got ahold of him a ton of cash makin' him fight." The woman holds up the pocket watch, staring at it,"Got a detective hunting for them. That your bike? The license plate up to date? Don't worry. I'll come find you once I figure out where they are and who's behind it. When I find out who's stiffin' me on my cut... They're gonna feel lead in their guts." The woman crumbles to powder at this point and all might sound silent... were it not for the gunfire arcing in Scott's direction from the apparently FINE clone crouched on the rooftop. At least it's a pistol, rather than a long rifle. Without wasting any time as gunfire peppers around Scott, he quickly turns on his heel and books it towards his motorcycle at a sprint. His shoes crunch into grass, and by some miracle his jacket takes a bullet on the shoulder, ripping it while glancing the skin. Yep, and there's the blood. Ow, ow, ow. Sucking air over his teeth, he jams the key into the bike and turns it...and quickly realizes his brake line has been cut. This is not going to pass inspection. But it will have to do. He guns the motor and decides to haul ass back towards Salem.