ArchivedLogs:A thing, in MY tunnels?

A thing, in MY tunnels?
Dramatis Personae Peter, Tatters, Goblin
In Absentia	2013-01-19 The Goblin continues his hunt after a sickly little spider, only to run into an impromptu kicking of the ass. Happens after The Goblin and the Spider.
Location Below New York
Buried beneath the bustle and noise of New York's busy streets, the world underneath the city is a quieter place. Quieter, but far from deserted. Occasional ladders, often rusting, ascend to the city above and are evidence that at /one/ point these tunnels had been in use, or had been planned for it; perhaps by way of maintenance, or access to subways or sewers. These stretches have been abandoned by civic infrastructure for some time now, though, but occasional scraps of evidence -- discarded food wrappers, piles of tatty blankets or moldering old mattresses, sometimes voices carrying echoes through the dank concrete -- give evidence that /someone/ still uses these tunnels. The rumbling of subway trains sounds frequently through the walls, many of the train routes accessible through various doors and openings. It has been four days since Peter's inexplicable disappearing act. For three of those days, Peter has been /mostly/ unconscious, burning through the last shreds of an unknown, highly experimental substance. For the last day... he's been running. For dear life. Even if your mutations consist of being 'super-tough' and 'super-strong' -- and even if you got inoculated with a super-sekret drug that makes your mutations /stronger/ -- three days in a near-coma is going to take a lot out of you. Peter hasn't eaten. He hasn't had anything to /drink/, too -- nothing except some rain water and some sewer water (that was accidental). He's also been thoroughly singed, his shoulder's bleeding, and he is pretty sure something -- or someone -- is trying to eat him. And to top it /all/ off, his left webshooter is now officially 'out' of juice. He stumbles down the narrow service passageway, fumbling about in near-pitch black. The webbing he used to bind the Goblin down further up the line should hold him for a while -- but the best case scenario is an hour. And the worst case...? The Goblin's already demonstrated the ability to /tear off its skin/ to break free. Peter's betting he got himself a five minute headstart. TOPS. The boy doesn't have on his mask. Instead, his face is bare -- ragged, thin in the cheeks. He's got on a red hoodie that's soaked through and through -- blue jeans -- sneakers -- and a half-dozen tears in them both, exposing slivers of skin. To top it off, his clothes bare char marks and his left shoulder is bleeding from what looks to be a vicious /clawing/. He's stumbling, half-drunkenly, down the tunnel. At the moment? He's probably starting to look like he belongs down here. The darkness brings other things to one's attention-- change in temperatures can be felt more easily, it seems, and echoing sounds from unidentifiable sources becomes that much more noticeable. Stone crumbles and falls into wetness, /somewhere/. First on one side of the passageway, then the other. Or did it just echo one way and then back? Either way, it's most likely just some rats. That-- that next thing is not, however. Unless the rats down here have managed to learn how to let out stifled little /giggles/. It has been a similar few days since Tatters has last been on patrol. Apparently, consecutive concussions stack -- so she's been sleeping of a fierce headache, bravely resisting the temptation to reach in and /fix/ the problem. Her brain is right /there/ she could totally do it, it might even work...but it's not a good idea. Never a good idea. Still, rest is a luxury and she has a job to do, so here she is, strolling along a passage with her weight-bar (slightly singed, and now slightly bent) leaned against her shoulder, whistling absently as she traverses the concrete passage. Passing a long-abandoned room, she opens the door and peeks in, giving the empty chamber a quick look over in case it harbored any monsters. Seeing none, she lets the rusty door close creakily and carries on. Next she passes a service corridor, which gets a look and -- nope, no monsters there either, just some kid. With a shrug she starts to carry on, but after a second her whistling abruptly stops and she backtracks, peering down the passage with a curious frown, trying to make out specifics of the stranger in the gloom. "Oi, mornin! You feeling alright?" And then and echoey giggle reaches her ears, and an eyebrow elevates. "...something funny?" "OhGod," Peter says in response to the giggling -- and now the odd-looking boy who's stumbling about in the dark goes /completely/ stiff -- eyes locking with the vague silhouette of Tatters. He can't make her out in the shadow -- the voice, it's familiar, isn't it? -- but he doesn't get much more than 'there's some girl in the sewers, and HE'S COMING AFTER ME'. "Run!" Peter shouts. "Run, there's a MONSTER down here!" and he's moving toward the sound of Tatters' voice just in case she did not get this memo. Except it's kind of a lurching, stumbling run. Ouch, ouch, ouch, oh GOD everything hurts and he's very dizzy. "GET OUT OF THE SEWERS!" "Oh, CHILDREN." Promptly comes a voice, shrill and twisted, from around a dark corner Tatters would have wandered into had she not been so rudely interrupted by Peter. "Always so quick to jump to conclusions! I'm not a /monster/," Says the monster, rounding the corner in long, confident strides. Pointy-faced and green and clad in what is, by now, little more than a few singed, purple rags. His yellow eyes lack pupils and glow dimly on a partly scorched face, his fire-licked arms tense by his side, clawed fingers splayed and about ready to be sunk into something. "And he's one to talk anyway, you little THIEF." Fighting words for sure, though somewhat strangely, he just sounds like he's absolutely ecstatic about whatever has conspired between him and Peter previously, mouth curling almost unwittingly into a sharp-toothed, bright grin that seems to cover at least a third of his face. A practised thing. "...huh. Is it chasing you now, or is it just /around?/ And what kind of monster? You're gonna have to be more specific, we've got loads." Tatters taps her pole against her shoulder impatiently as she squints in the dark, eyeing the passage behind the kid as she strolls forwards and offers a bundled, sweatshirted arm out to support him. Her croaking voice has that air of forced patience common to those fielding customer service calls, of deliberately restrained snark. Of COURSE there are monsters down here, where does this kid think he is? He sounds weirdly familiar too, but maybe he just has that kind of voice. And then the predator in question appears from the other direction, the movement bringing her head around to eye the interloper and halting her stroll towards Peter. Biting back a grumble of annoyance, she sighs and turns to face the goblin, putting on her best and friendliest smile, and a suitably formal greeting. If it looks forced, it's because it is. "Morning! If this child has stolen something from you, we can return it. But if you are, uh, /hunting,/" The term is vague, but she waves her free hand about with similar vagueness, as if to apply the word to whatever is going on here. He probably knows what she means. "I would advise you to, like, cease. These are my tunnels, and I will not have that." That seems reasonable, right? Ugh, PLEASE let this not be another THING, it's been barely a few days since the last thing. What. The. Hell. Why is Tatters not freaking out there is a MONSTER behind him and he is pretty sure it is going to eat him and then /her/ and she should be FREAKING OUT! So, Peter decides to rectify this situation -- particularly when he hears that /voice/ -- and realizes that the Goblin is RIGHT ON HIS TAIL. Every muscle in Peter's body is /blazing/ with pain. The boy is beyond exhausted -- at this point, he is running on nothing but adrenaline fumes and whatever last traces of VENOM remain in his veins. But fear's a powerful motivator -- fear for himself, and fear for someone else. Somehow, he picks the pace /up/ -- and now he's hurtling straight at Tatters. Swinging out his /not/ damaged arm, reaching for her -- intent on grabbing, PULLING with ridiculous strength -- down the passageway. BELLOWING as he does: "STOP TALKING TO IT! IT IS GOING TO /EAT/ ME THEN YOU JUST RUN RUN *RUN*!" There's something strangely /smooth/ about the Goblin's movements as he strolls forward, like a cat stalking its prey, persisting even when he is in enough light to be quite clearly seen. "... /Your/ tunnels? OH. Ooohhh," He sounds, for a moment, genuinely impressed with an impression to match, before another brief laugh cascades out of his throat and he bows down, one hand on the floor to support his weight as it shifts-- perhaps an accidental hint at the fact that much like Peter, he's been through a bit of a kerfuffle today, and is slightly worse for wear. "You /must/ forgive me." That... that there, was probably sarcasm. When he rises again, moving closer still, his focus shifts to rest entirely on Tatters as he straightens his spine and rids himself of that slight animalistic gait. He seems to study her, smile twitching periodically into something larger. "Has-- has anyone ever told you that you look absolutely /wonderful/?" Again, he sounds genuine. The next sentence, however, comes out a little... greedier. "Such a good little soldier." Peter, the weak lamb, is ignored for now. Let him limp around until he passes out. That will make him all the easier to pick up, later. Tatters stumbles as she's pulled with strength the scrawny little teen shouldn't have, her stocky form staggering a few steps before she sets her feet and flails her arm violently in an attempt to shake him off, half-turning to raise her voice, an eye sliding along the side of her head to remain focused on the Goblin. "LET...GO! And I am going to KEEP talking to him, because if he can talk it means I maybe won't have to BEAT him to death." And then he's approaching and she coolly takes a step back, unslinging her pole from her shoulder and pointing it at him threateningly while she hears him out, and offers her response, accompanied by narrowed eyes and a bearing of teeth. "No. Have you been eating people? The last thing that came down here to eat people ended up spattered 'cross half a friggen sub station. And it was a /lot/ bigger than you are." Pause. "Also you could do with, like, turning down the creep. You're laying it on /really/ thick and it's probably not doing you any favors, you know?" Peter tries a few more tugs, but when Tatters responds with strength /she/ shouldn't have... well, Peter doesn't have a lot of strength left /in/ him. There's a light *thwump*; Peter tumbles down on his butt, hitting the ground and sliding a bit. Ooh... oh, ouch. He grips his injured shoulder, and... "Grenades," he mumbles behind Tatters. "He had a grenade maybe he has more they track you watch out I don't think I can even /move/ anymore..." But he's limping back, further down the tunnel. Putting distance between himself and the Goblin. Putting /Tatters/ between them. But also lifting his still-armed webshooter up. "He's -- he's insane," Peter warns her. And when he tells her this, he sounds sincerely terrified for his life. "/People/?" The Goblin answers Tatters, the tone of his almost-but-not-quite-entirely childlike voice squarely between ponderous and patience wearing very thin. His attention shifts to Peter once more, eyes widening, gleaming warmly. "... Nnno." Not recently. "I'm sure it was /very/ impressive." His shoulders push forward again, and his eyes bush past the business end of that pole before he simply starts to move again. Meaning to wander straight past Tatters, directly for the supposed thief. And as he moves, the pouch on his lower back comes into sight, half empty. "Look at you..." He angles his head and attempts to sound as though he pities the boy, but it's a hard thing to do while simultaneously cracking a big smile. And there's something else that doesn't show on his face just yet, but seeps through more and more with every hushed word. Frustration. "You're not doing to die here, don't you worry." In an even quieter hiss and with his smile growing ever so slightly brighter, he adds directly to the boy, "Not /here/." "...of /course/ he is." Tatters just sighs grumpily, mentally assimilating the information about...grenades that follow you? That doesn't sound like the sort of thing another run-of-the-mill homeless mutant would be carrying around. That'll be a thing to-- welp, now he's giving her the patronizing brush-off and starts to move past her, sending her pole snapping out to bar his path, her face impassive. "HOY. What did I /just say/ about the creep? Turn it off, go away." Peter's got his attention glued to the Goblin. Lurking. Getting closer. OhGod. He scrambles back a bit more -- as much as he can manage -- but then he sees that pouch being produced, and... and, oh /CRAP/. His injured arm slings to his wrist, adjusting the webshooter nozzle with a *crrrrkt*. "Lady," he says, his voice a bit tinier, almost /trembling/: "Grenade, he has a GRENADE and he HEALS and he's CRAZY..." "You keep TALKING about it like it's NOT EVEN THERE." This reply is /snapped/ back at Peter. His grin disappears in a flash, washed away by the fact that his path is now suddenly obstructed, and Tatters gets the brunt of his somewhat surprised-looking stare. He twitches a shoulder, leaning slightly closer to the floor once more. Is he about to just /pounce/ Peter? No. In fact, he steps back. He /hops/, one, two, three-four. "Oh, I'll /leave/. In juuuust a second." And suddenly he's reached to unveil the bright orange, segmented grenade, smile back in full swing as he suppresses a giggle and swings his arm back in preparation to throw the device. "CATCH!" As the Goblin hops back and reaches towards his bag, Tatters springs forwards in turn. She /had/ been paying attention about the grenade thing, after all. The sewer-knight quickly re-closes the distance and raises an arm to (hopefully) swat the grenade out of the air with her big gray mitt -- and if all goes well, continue to barrel into the Goblin with a shoulder-check, her pole trailing behind her. This action is silent, save for a grunt of exertion; she can figure out something clever to say later. Maybe something about sports? This feels weirdly BASKETBALL, 'cause who even /has/ bright orange grenades? Why is everyone she's had to fight this week so /weird?/ When Tatters steps forward, Peter balks -- and realizes he needs a new plan. Because if he just /sticks/ that grenade to Goblin's hands, the walls are going to be painted with Gobs /and/ Tatters. When Tatters steps forward -- to swat the grenade out of the air and shoulder-check the Goblin -- Peter fires at a new target. THWP! Web-ball, RIGHT FOR THE EYES. It's an oldy, but a goody. Also, he's pretty sure he doesn't even have enough energy to /stand/ now, nevermind help Tatters against the Goblin. -Tik!- The grenade goes flying, in /entirely the wrong direction/ at Tatters' behest. The Goblin hardly even has time for a "NO--!" Before he's rammed into, and loses his balance before /grabbing/ for anything of Tatters' to sink his claws into on his way down. Just in time for a ball of webbing to hit him squarely in the side of the face, covering two thirds of his vision. To the side, the grenade distinctly fails to tumble to the floor. Not an ordinary grenade, then, as the colour already suggested. It 'activates' with a click and a low whirr, coasting just inches above the ground as though sliding on ice, while the segmented parts of it separate to reveal its green insides. Which includes a laser popping out the side of it, wildly searching the ground and walls until-- it zeroes in on the first movement it finds and whiiirrs slowly upward. Then back toward the group. Picking up speed, fast. Tatters staggers forwards, hissing as the Goblin's claws sheer through her sweatshirt and dig into her flesh -- and then freezes, an eye swiveling to watch the grenade warily as it skims around and deploys. That's...actually kind of cool. "Huh." But now it's heading in her direction, joy, the red dot of the targeting laser dancing around on her face. With a grunt she lashes down with an arm, seeking to grab at the Goblin's neck, leaning backwards and attempting to hoist the gnashing, struggling creepster up and hold him before her as a shield, hopefully before he claws out anything important. There's a brief look of confusion of the Goblin's face as he's /grabbed/ and hoisted up, and it doesn't even look like he's struggling all that much to get free either, after he realises exactly what's going on. He just... hangs. "Oh. /Oh/. OhohoahahaHAHAHAHAAA! OH I /LIKE/ YOU." He /shrieks/ in excitement, showing quite the extraordinary amount of joy as the grenade hurdles his way. At the last possible moment, he lifts an arm to swipe it forward, only to have it collide with the speeding grenade, sending a colourful explosion of orange, yellow and green to come raining down on both him and Tatters, though decidedly less so on the latter considering the thing takes his arm clear off, along with half of the skin on his face and a good part of the skin on one side of his torso and leg. To his credit, though-- through broken bones and charred tissue-- he's still breathing. Choppily. Quietly. /Laughing/. Tatters squeezes her eyes closed (they're delicate!) as the grenade detonates, re-oppening them a moment later to blink at the cheerful, spiralling fireworks. And then up at the remaining half of the Goblin, who she promptly holds at arms length before he gets any more blood (and spittle) over her. Half-turning, she glances back over her shoulder at Peter and sighs, asking wearily, "Hey, uh, kid. Do you still have a phone on you?" And after a few seconds of silence, "I'm uh, gonna take that as a 'no.' Ugh." Gingerly, she sets the Goblin down against a wall (he won't be getting far on foot!) and unslings his grenade-pouch, quickly trotting back to stash it in the empty room from before, then kneels to check Peter's vitals. One of the Goblin's eyes, as he's sat down on against the wall, remains open. Nice and bright and wide. Despite the fact that his own toy has done quite a number on him, he's chipper and bright. Pondering the changes that will be made to his grenades, sure, but that's nothing to worry about /now/. By the time Tatters gets back and starts to tend to Peter, the 'monster' is already scrambling to his feet, signs of recovery showing; His face, torso and scorched leg have regained half of their missing flesh, though it remains ragged and thinly spread. Where his arm used to be is now a slowly writhing mess-- that's a slightly more complicated issue, and seems unlikely to resolve itself right now. "/Your/ tunnels," He mutters absently, through half-formed chuckles. "Gotcha." Ragged, healing muscles allow him a lopsided, low-hanging sprint back into the darkness. All the while sing-songing, "SEE YOU AROUND, ITSY BITSY SPIDER--" A hacking cough, likely caused by a still tangling together throat, cuts him off. Annoyingly, it is only to have him launch into another, high-pitched laugh. "Oh goddamnit." Tatters swears and looks up as her foe refuses to stay where she /put/ him and scrambles away, half-standing before she looks worriedly down at Peter and grimaces. Quickly, she collects her staff and the pouch of grenades, then carefully hoists Peter up into her arms and sets off at the smoothest jog she can manage.