Logs:There is no fit passageway to Fólkvangr here. Gather up our harvest, and with the corpse-wine of our enemies scour clean this chariot-field.

There is no fit passageway to Fólkvangr here. Gather up our harvest, and with the corpse-wine of our enemies scour clean this chariot-field.
CN: Eye Trauma & Body Horror
Dramatis Personae Kadar, Kamil, Karida, Kasim
In Absentia Khalil	2024-10-30 "I knew we were gonna need a U-Haul."
Location <NYC> Huginn's Perch - Eltingville - Staten Island
This place is always lively at night, a bustling pub that serves plenty of locals. Well, plenty of white locals. Well, plenty of white locals who don't want to be drinking anywhere this neighborhood's scant few people of color might show up. It's a good deal quieter now, the music (today's playlist seems to have been put together by some newcomer bartender who has confused Nordic and Celtic folk) at a respectable daytime volume, maybe a little noisier than usual just to drown out the sounds of construction in the back lot. The back lot started out pretty torn up, with splotchy smears of melted asphalt, warps and cracks and ripples marring what was once a more or less standard blacktop surface, but it's even more torn up now that the construction crew has had a crack at it. Many cracks at it, so to speak. A short distance removed from the excavator, one of the workers -- tall, wiry, orange hi-vis vest and hard hat in much better condition than the rest of his attire -- is dragging his hands down the sides of the hard hat (for a moment his fingers seem to stretch creepily longer along the surface) with a very disgruntled, "Hrrrrgh. I can try again?" He sounds at once eager to redeem himself and very unwilling to get back behind the wheel several joysticks. "Oh I'm sure he's got this! -- you're good at this, right?" Karida does look a little more apprehensive than she sounds while looking at the work of the excavator, tone bright but her brows pulled into an anxious frown beneath her fringe of purple-streaked bangs. "We probably don't want to rush it or this could get pret-ty messy." Kasim is drumming his fingers against the back a clipboard (why does he have a clipboard? unclear, but maybe he just feels it makes him look that much more official) tucked into his folded arms. He's critically eying the ongoing mess being made in the concrete. Very critically. Eyes narrowing at a suspicious streak and then easing when it proves to just be more reddish dirt. There's been a lot of dirt. "I got this!" Kadar is yelling down from the seat of the excavator, over another hefty CRONCH. The large chunk that is steadily being broken out of the earth in front of him is slowly getting more -- chunklike. Another edge starts to come up. Possibly there's a bit of arm cracking out of it, oops. "... uh, unless you want another turn?" "Ohhmygod, izzat --" Probably Kamil no longer wants another turn, he's watching this with a grimace, hands pressed nervously to his face now, pulling unpleasantly at the skin under his eyes. After a moment he takes an extremely casual step half-behind Kasim like he thinks the clipboard will protect him. "Don't break anything." "Ohfuck --" Karida is loping a little closer. Hastily farther back as the concrete continues to crack, but not before giving two thumbs up: "S'cool I think that one's just one of the Nazi fucks, there's a bit of the --" She's gesturing vague and unhelpful to her midsection like this should be explicative and then seamlessly transferring this ambiguous waving into an unambiguous flipping off of the window where someone has come to gawk from the bar. "-- shit, no, you were the Nazi fucks. I think you're gonna need like, another foot on the right or else we bury him with most of an arm." Kasim has transferred his critical scowl to the slightly torn and very concrete-crusted flap of Swords Vest that has been partially unearthed. "Mngh." He transfers the clipboard from the crook of one arm to the crook of the other. The windows of the bar rattle in a sudden fierce gust. "Can't bury him in that." Kadar's steady stream of "fuckfuckfuckfuck" is not audible over the sound of the machine and the crunch of concrete. It is visible on his lips, and the concentration is written into the furrow of his brow and squint of his eyes. "Look I'm just gonna --" He's glancing over toward the bar, where a couple of the bar staff, wary and a little suspicious, now, have returned to give longer looks towards the "workers" outside. He's breaking an unnecessarily larger chunk from the ground. It's also got a hefty bit of arm in it but, eh, this one he's blase about, they can desecrate just a bit of Mountain. "Think you might've, heh, rattled those guys. Little bit." Kamil peers down at this large chunk of parking lot, then over at the angry bar staff -- he flips them off too, with both hands, then swivels back, crossing his arms crabbily over his chest. "I knew we were gonna need a U-Haul," he says. "Jesus," this is to the bar window, which Karida is now flinging a hand up toward again, "go back to your fucking jobs, fuckwads, mind the damn business that pays you." She's turning back to the excavator but flipping them off behind her back, grumbling: "You'd think these are the first bodies someone's dug up back here. You could still get a U-Haul." This suggestion is in a tone that is trying for patient but not quite making it. "We might be here a little bit longer at least." The men in the window are still staring. Then arguing with each other, increasingly agitatedly. Then coming outside. It's hard to say exactly whether they've recognized Kamil and Kasim, but Kasim has evidently decided against waiting to find out. He's heading straight over to the bar -- the clipboard cracks in half, loud but a little useless as he breaks it over one of the men's bald heads just as the man is starting to take a swing at him. He's half-turning, kind of lifting his chin to Kamil like -- yep! -- incidentally sort of rolling his shoulder with the heavy punch. The blow he returns the other man (together with a fierce jet of air) rattles the walls of the bar behind them and sends the bartender shooting backwards through the open door. "Uh nnnnot so much longer I guess!" Kadar is calling down as Kasim charges into the creates the fray. He's hefting the whooooole big chunk with a very loud CRRRRACK, trailing dust and some gritty shreds of Nazi as he goes. Kamil gleefully gives Kasim two thumbs-up and a cackle and then, like he's just remembered that they were in the middle of something else, "Ohfuck." He looks at his brother driving the excavator, then at his other brother by the bar, one can practically see a cartoon devil and angel popping up over his shoulders before he vaults himself after Kasim with a hoot, cheerful over his shoulder, "Be right back!" "Hey, you can't just leave m..." Karida pauses, and looks over at Kadar, stuck in the excavator. She, too, is giving a very overt consideration between these two things and with a grooooan she stays where she is. She is, though, scrunching her face up, focusing -- there's another groan, from just inside the bar. A leak is springing down from the ceiling, and then from the sink, and then from a wall. A trickle and then a gush, starting to flood down into the inside of the bar. Her sigh is still a little dissatisfied. She is taking her phone from her jeans pocket to look up U-Haul. Kasim's chin jerks up more confidently as Kamil charges in. There's a flutter of wind -- it's not attacking, this time, just ruffling upward at the shirt of the other worker still outside who he's not been attacking, revealing a wealth of white supremacist ink hidden beneath his tee. He's barreling after the one who fell into the bar, not actually bothering with any feats of mutation and just pummelling the man into the increasingly flooded ground. "Got him! I got him!" Kadar is crowing, and then looking just a little put out that half his siblings are not there to see. He leans waaaay over the console to whisper towards the hunk of rock: "Gotchu, bro." And then, slightly put out: "... fuck. Be good to have a earthbender, wouldn't it -- how we gonna --" His head shakes. He slumps back. Mooshes his hand against the levers -- the whole big machine whines to the left. Whines to the right. (Take it back, now, y'all.) There's another rattling sprinkle of debris falling to the ground. He slouches to the side, elbow resting on the open ledge to the side of him as he looks towards the fray at the flooding bar. "We adding a demolition today?" Kamil grabs Racist #2's head and yanks -- it pulls away from the rest of his body with a streeeetch of neck before he lets go, and as the guy's head is whipping back to its usual position Kamil takes advantage of his imbalance to kick him in the chest, knocking him against the wall too. Unfortunately, this time without an elasticized head. "Yo!" he shouts after Kasim. "Get back out here, dumbfuck, we're in the middle of something!" "Yo," Karida is echoing, "K, bring it down." The water is gushing more fiercely. She's confirming their U-Haul, and (after texting the address to Kasim) waggling the phone screen imperiously in the direction of the bar. "C'mon it's not that far rocket your ass over there, we need wheels." She looks at the excavator and its heavy load with a frown. "Better wheels. Shit. Do any of you know any archeologists?" Kasim looks up, kneeling solidly on the man he's been holding (pinning him half under the water but! so it goes) as he checks his texts. Frowns, first at Kamil and then at Karida. His upturned what of hand is clearly a bit exasperated at this request, but he is, regardless, looking around the rapidly flooding bar. He jumps up onto the bartop, tears a large Gadsden flag down off its pole with a very disgruntled look as he saunters back out. "No fire," he grumbles, as a ferocious wind within the bar begins to rattle, to shake, to start whipping the flooding waters into a destructive surge that is shattering the bottles and the windows, smashing the tables against the increasingly unstable walls. "Don't rocket." He bends his knees, jumps high and out of sight with a thwoom -- sorry, Kamil, better get bendy, because the blast of it is shaking the immediate surroundings a lot. The outer wall nearest them crumbles (atop the bartender, trying to pick himself dazedly out of the flood). In the watery torrent of burst pipes, the rest are probably soon to follow. Kadar lifts an arm to shield his eyes from the outward blast of dust and debris. Should he have had the side panel of this slid properly closed, yes. Should he have been wearing some kind of eye protection, almost definitely. Too late now; he's yelp as he's peppered, clapping his hand against his face as fragments of wood and rock thwapthwapTHWAP against and into his vehicle. He's holding his hand there a few seconds, pushing it down against -- into? -- his face, and when he pulls it away his face looks immaculately unblemished. There's a gritty-gummy mess of debris-peppered skin in his hand, though, which he flings irritably to the ground; in the mix is an eyeball speared through with a wedge of splinter. "Has your whole damn year been like this?" Should he sound annoyed, he does not, mostly kind of impressed, as he watches the collapse of Nazi Central. He's wiping the back of his dirty hand against his jeans, clicking his tongue and looking at the concrete block still hefted on the arm in front of him. "... shit, and in Mutant Mecca, too. You gotta know someone, right, K?" "Dude!" is all Kamil gets out before the building starts to fall on him, his own hands thrown up in an indignant wtf. He's not buried for long -- the heap of rubble where he was standing vibrates unsettlingly before he pops back out amid a spray of crumbling brick, like a grimy jack-in-the-box, most of the healing scabs scraped angry and raw again on his bald head, his hands. Still he looks in good spirits as he hops down from the debris pile, hops back toward his sister, pulling out his own phone as though he needs to scroll his contacts to tick on his fingers, "Uhhh yeah, bunch of Nazis, bunch of dead Nazis, bunch of loony-tunes bikers, and you. Quit stressing! We came this far we got this." Karida, at least, is wearing eye protection, which does not stop a peppering of Huginn's erstwhile perch freckling itself angrily across the arm she throws up as she turns aside, hunches low. She doesn't seem particularly bothered about the new scrapes, they'll just add to the rest of her scars. "Who's stressing I think today's going pretty good." She's looking at the soon-to-be ruins of the bar with satisfaction. A stream of water rises from a flask at her hip to rinse her forearms clean as she steps neatly around the wad of Kadar's Old Face and leans up nearby Kamil, just beside Kadar's open cab. She flicks a droplet of water at Kamil and thunks her head against the window. "... those bikers got a number?"