ArchivedLogs:Retaliation

Retaliation
Dramatis Personae Nessie, Nick
In Absentia	2018-09-15 "A freak's a freak." (CW: Violence)
Location <NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. It's a glorious September evening -- not too hot, not too cold, as if Autumn were here already. The crescent moon rides high behind occasional scudding clouds, and the neighborhood is slowly coming awake to Saturday nightlife. East Broadway near Seward is perhaps livelier than usual tonight owing to the unusual absence of the police. If the rumble of motorcycles in the distance worries any of the residents, visitors, and passers-by, they do not show it and carry on with their evening. Motorcycles are one thing, but some of those on the street are far more wary of Nessie as she approaches. She has a tatty old backpack on her back, an even more ragged old Stitch t-shirt on (featuring the small blue alien sitting under the Sorting Hat as it announces, 'Hufflepuff!'), a half-full iced coffee in a clear Evolve plastic cup. She's gnawing at the straw as she click-click-clicks her way down the sidewalk, dark shell gleaming in under the streetlamps. "-- /no idea/ why there aren't /more/ stories about badass lesbian pirates, honestly, it seems like a niche that needs more exploring. Apparently they used to tear their shirts open? Right before they killed dudes? /Just/ so their last thought would be that a woman killed them." "I guess you don't have to worry too much about running out of shirts if you're a /successful/ pirate, which it sounds like they were." Nick lopes along beside Nessie, his strides inhumanly smooth and his claws clicking on the pavement. The young man wears a black MMMC cut (the patch on the front reads "Prospect", and the skull on the back is distinctly canine, with a wrench and a spanner crossed underneath) over a green tank top emblazoned with the Green Lantern symbol, and faded jean shorts. There's a long hunting knife hanging from his belt. "Hey, I'm no good at stories, but I can write a /song/ about some badass lesbian pirates." The cool breeze ruffles his sleek brown fur and he lifts his muzzle, inhaling deep. His ears twitch at the sound of the bikes, and he tilts his head. A low, uncertain rumble rises in his chest. The motorcycles' noise grow significantly louder as they round a corner onto East Broadway. There are six of them, and they gun their engines at knots of residents sitting on their stoops. They slow as they close the distance to the two mutant teens. Some of the riders scowl openly, some just stare. It is only as they pass by that the emblems on the backs of the /their/ black cuts becomes clearly visible -- simple, stark white crosses. And then the rider in the lead wheels his bike around, circles past the Morlocks again, and drives right up onto the sidewalk in front of them. "Look here, boys. We've got a /Mongrel./" He practically spits the last word. The other Purifiers have followed suit, loosely encircling Nessie and Nick. A ragged wave of laughter ripples through their ranks. "Yeah, /literally,/" one of them says from the back. "A mangy dog and its bitch," the leader continues, gazing contemptuously at the two youngsters. "Let's teach them a lesson about what happens when you mess with Humanity." At this, the riders begin to dismount, producing knives and bats and brass knuckles and even one set of nunchakus before closing in on their targets. "Really? /Would/ you? You could do a whole pirate /album/, you already have the..." Nessie trails off as the motorcycles arrive. Her eyes widen as she shies back, tail curling up above her. "What who what I didn't mess with /anybody/." Her voice is edging closer to a squeak, her gaze darting quick and nervous between Nick and the Purifiers. There's a quiet crunch of plastic as she squeezes her drink too hard, its sides crimping inward. Nick's low growl rises slightly as the motorcycles approach. His ears press back, his shoulders tighten, and he sinks lower on his digitigrade legs as if preparing to pounce--or flee. He does neither as the Purifiers surround them. "She's not a Mongrel," he says, his voice low but surprisingly even. "She's got nothing to do with us at all. You got beef with me, fine, but leave her alone." Even while he speaks, though, he's flexing claw-tipped fingers. "A freak's a freak," says Nunchaku as he starts flipping his weapon around. "They're all in it together." "Five of our brothers were murdered this week," the leader says, the remaining lightness in his tone fled, "by /your/ people. If you didn't do it yourself, you know the ones who did." "/Biblically I bet,/" calls the same Purifier who had pointed out Nick's literal mongrel-ness as he starts closing in with a Bowie Knife. "Jesus, don't be gross," says Baseball Bat. "I think that bug-looking one's a /dude/." The bikers' eyes converge on Nessie, searching her arthropod-esque body with varying mixes of disgust, fascination, and fear. It's Nunchaku who strikes first -- and /fast/, snapping one segment of his weapon at Nick's arm. Not long after him, Baseball Bat takes a swing at Nessie from her left flank, aiming for the thick curve of her tail. Nessie edges just a hair closer to Nick, her segmented legs bending further to lower her nearer the sidewalk. "Murderer? We didn't..." But then she's squeaking again, flinging her half-empty cup of tepid coffee, startled and reflexive, at the face of the man swinging at her. Her tail is flicking, too, jittery and jerky. Not /intentionally/ rising to meet the baseball bat, but rapping up against it anyway with a sharp crack. Her pincer-tipped arms click together quick and quiet, and despite the solid-sounding impact of wood on her tail she doesn't seem much /more/ fazed than her previous rising panic. Her tail flails outward again, a wild swing in the general direction of the man who just hit her. Nick's growl returns, soft and low. His amber eyes track the bikers in front of him, while his ears strain for the ones he cannot see. When the nunchaku-wielding Purifier swings at him, he lunges, hoping to intercept the blow. Whatever fighting experience the boy has, he's clearly not very familiar with his opponent's weapon of choice, because he grossly underestimates its speed. He manages to catch the strike not in his hand but across his forearm. Nunchaku's nunchaku strikes Nick's arm, hard enough to bruise deep if not break bones, but his thick fur dulls both the immediate pain and the noise of the impact. The stick goes into his other hand and the end he had just been holding swings at Nick's muzzle instead. The jokester with a knife darts in, as well, slashing at Nick's other arm. Another Purifier with a (much smaller) knife strafes back and forth awkwardly, looking for a way to get in on this freak-stomping. Baseball Bat was about to wind up for another strike, but the flailing of Nessie's tail sends him scrambling back. It only deals him a glancing blow, but even this sends him off-balance. His brothers are there to pick up the slack, though: Someone with a crowbar swings for one of her feet, aiming at a joint. A burly man with brass knuckles on both hands aims a punch at her ribs. Even the leader is joining the fray with a telescoping baton that he sweeps toward her face. Nessie is glancing around kind of wildly. She scuttles a few steps sideways, aiming for a gap between the Purifiers until others start closing in to fill it. This draws a panicked squeal from her even /before/ the crowbar swings; she backs away from this blow but /into/ the path of the baton, a solid line of red across her cheek illuminating where an ugly bruise will be later. It doesn't rock her as much as it might a bipedal person; she sways backward, air rushing out between her teeth. Her lower arms are grabbing outward, sharp serrated pincers snatching toward the brass knuckle'd Purifier. Her frantic, "/Stop/ it!" is shrill and pretty uncommanding. The reverse snap of the nunchaku catches Nick square in the jaw, snapping his toothy maw shut so quickly he only has time to emit a truncated yip. When the knife cuts into his arm, he snarls, quick and loud, swiping out in somewhat sloppy but powerful retaliation. When he sees the leader hit Nessie, he lunges for the older man, leaving himself open for the third Purifier, who had been so eager to get at him.. "Nessie, /run/!" Baseball Bat has gotten his balance back and swings the bat, aiming for Nessie's torso, this time. Brass Knuckles, makes a grimace of horror as the pincers reach for him. He backpedals and punches out blindly at the mutant girl's not-so-human arms. The nunchaku only draws a bit of blood and leaves a deep bruise where it hits, but the Bowie knife bites deep into Nick's forearm. Blood flows freely from it, much of it soaking into the fur surrounding the wound to somewhat disturbing effect. The leader, at least, did not expect Nick to come after him when already occupied with assailants of his own, and only belatedly brings the baton up to swat at the wolf boy's flank. Crowbar shifts his attention from Nessie to Nick, a softer target, at least. He swings the crowbar at Nick's leg. One of the pincers continues its sharp-toothed grab, at the hand that is swinging for it. When the bat connects with Nessie again it's more muffled, a thinner layer of chitin and a soft t-shirt over it. Thwump. A small whimper catches in Nessie's voice, her legs starting to fold downward and her arms wrapping against her chest as she tries to fold in on herself. It's Nick's yell that pulls her back upward, kind of bewildered at first. "Nick --" But her indecision doesn't last long. She rises unsteady but stretching up and up and up, far taller than her previous posture would have let on. Her tail swings out again, sharp and hard as the barb flicks toward the leader's shoulder. Her arms are still curled around herself as she starts to bolt, past the man Nick is tackling and down the street back in the direction they had originally been coming from. Nick barely even winces at the thud of the baton against his side, but the prying edge of the crowbar bites into his thigh and he yowls, a loud, primal noise that sends the few remaining few tentative spectators scattering further back. He whips around and snaps at the crowbar-wielding Purifier, some of his sharp teeth already stained red from the nunchaku hitting him on the jaw. The leader is still attempting to extricate himself from Nick's tackle when Nessie's tail barb sinks into his shoulder. He blurts a string of expletives and flails at her with the baton, but there's little strength in this. "Hey...hey! I can't move my arm" His voice quavers with fear, and he completely ignores Nessie as she makes a break for it. The baton drops from his hand and he starts swaying, feet unsteady. "I can't... Fuck, it's /poison/!" At the last word, the Purifiers who had been fighting with Nessie all draw up short, checking over themselves for signs of injury when they might have been exposed to the girl's venom. Bowie Knife and Nunchaku are not put off, though, one slashing at Nick's back and the other slamming him on the head, hard. The shock and fright of seeing their leader become incapacitated seems to have taken the wind from the Purifiers' sails, though. Two of them hurry him away, bundling him onto another Purifier's bike with its rider. The rest of them mount up one by one and they peel out, leaving the leader's machine behind.