Logs:Hard Luck

Hard Luck
(Warning: Graphic violence)
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Marrow
In Absentia	2019-02-27 "I'll drag you all down into a pitch black hell and feed you to the rats."
Location <NYC> Sara Roosevelt Park - Lower East Side
This long, thin strip of a city park runs north-south through much of the Lower East Side, along its western boundary with Chinatown. At various points it offers ball courts, gardens, or just regular green space (less green in some places than others), and isn't necessarily the most peaceful of urban oases given that it's sandwiched by busy Forsyth and Chrystie streets. Here at the southern extremity of the park, near the Chinatown YMCA, the defunct restroom facility is intermittently broken into and converted to a crash space by the homeless in the neighborhood. Though police always eject the squatters and lock the building back down eventually, a small band of mutant youths have managed to hold onto it for a couple of months now. The "Men" and "Women" signs have been torn down and replaced with cardboard ones that read "Sleep" and "Fun", featuring a slumbering and dancing stick figure respectively. That is looking like it might change soon, as the over-loud roar of motorcycle engines announces the arrival of six Purifiers, identified by the stark white crosses on the backs of their black leather cuts. They coast up alongside the facility, gunning their engines to frighten off random passers-by, then dismount and converge on their target, their pace leisurely. Seeing their arrival, a skinny child who looks like a living, three-dimensional shadow gives a loud, piercing whistle and scurries in through the "Fun" door, slamming it behind them. The Purifiers split up into two groups, one for each door of the facility. Neither group immediately succeeds at entering -- clearly the youths have barricaded the doors from inside. But neither facility has seen any formal maintenance in over two decades, and it tells: the "Fun" door is already starting to come loose from its rusted hinges as the biggest Purifier kicks repeatedly at it. Flicker doesn't look like he belongs here. He looks like he might well be coming from church, in neatly pressed khakis and a crisp button-down under his dark peacoat, soft grey scarf and gloves, and if he's armed it certainly isn't visible. In contrast to the bikers, he's been on an /actual/ bicycle -- regular bike helmet and all -- drawn in perhaps by the sound of the gunning engines as he trails in after the Purifiers. There's a very slight crease between his brows as he watches the scattering, and though he ditches his bike (a kind of dinged-up old Giant very plastered-over with stickers and paint) he still has the helmet on as he approaches the "Fun" door. "You know, sir, I don't think they want to be disturbed." While Marrow is typically a very direct problem solver sometimes she resorts to cunning. Which is why a figure bundled in blankets ambles outside the facility. Her disguise has many benefits like keeping the weather off, but more importantly it makes her look meek and unassuming. Predator masquerading as prey. There's very little immediate reaction from her as a group of armed thugs begin to pull up outisde. She shuffles a few steps closer as everyone else begins to retreat inside. The blanket begins to shift around as her bones adjust in preparation for impending violence. No effort is made to announce her approach or issue any threats. After all she likely wants impending violence more than the Purifiers do. One of the Purifiers -- not kicking down the door, but gleefully looking on -- turns and looks Flicker up and down. "Hey, buddy," he speaks with a strong Brooklyn accent. "Why don't you fuck all the way off?" "Yuppie scum," adds the other non-door-kicking Purifier, clenching their fists to show off the words "HARD" and "LUCK" tattooed on his knuckles. "And you too!" in Marrow's general direction. "This ain't none of your goddamn business." To punctuate that last statement, door-kicker finally kicks the door in, sending the folding chairs, boxes, and kids piled behind it sprawling. Undaunted, Flicker pulls himself up a little taller, stepping -- was that /around/ the biggest of the Purifiers? It doesn't seem /exactly/ quite possible that he could have gotten there, and yet -- one small step takes him from behind the men to just on the other side of them, into the now-open doorway. "I really think you should leave." As soon as someone in the group takes note of her Marrow practically explodes out from her disguise. Revealing what was once biker leather but is now more ragged scraps encased in blood smeared bone. Her face is a rapidly healing mess with needle like bone spines jutting out. Her pink mohawk is just about the only part of her which isn't a mess. Despite the blood she's grinning with glee as she covers the distance to the Purifiers like an Olympic sprinter. Door-Kicker was just about to charge in, but comes up short when Flicker blocking the way. "You cruising for a bruising, fag?" The other two Purifiers laugh uproariously -- at least until they catch sight of what Marrow looks like under the blankets. Hard Luck actually screams and takes off for his bike. Slightly more stoic, Brooklyn only leaps back and turns very pale, drawing a wicked looking combat knife from a sheath at his back. He meets Marrow's charge like someone who actually knows how to knife fight, slashing up from below in a bid to get in beneath her bony armor. Door Kicker wasn't positioned to see Marrow at first, but does raise his voice. "Yo Billy! We got some uppity mutie-lovers over here!" This said, he makes a casual grab for Flicker's shirt collar. Flicker's eyes dart to Marrow. His brows lift for a moment, but past that he seems far less alarmed than the Purifiers. "Are you alright in there?" He's ignoring the goading, asking this quietly over his shoulder to the huddled youths inside. The man trying to grab for his shirt finds himself grabbing at -- nothing. He's vanished in a flash, reappearing behind Door Kicker only long enough to drop a hand almost casually onto the man's shoulder. When he vanishes again, the man vanishes with him. Reappearing in a series of stomach-churning lurches to deposit him quietly several yards from the restrooms. Similarly casually, he's unwinding his scarf as he goes. A low knife blow to the gut would normally be a slow and painfull way to die. But little does Knife Thug know that Marrows bone armour can move. Plates shifting under the skin so that when she makes the unexpected tactical maneuver of slamming directly into the blade it digs through cloth and flesh but misses her organs. And while the thug reels from the force of the impact Marrow repeatedly slams her face into his. Once, twice then thrice. Battering him down in a brutal series of headbutts. The oldest -- or at least the largest -- of the children had pushed the others farther back into the small building and picked up a broken plank from a smashed-in wooden box, holding it both hands like a sword. Their eyes are wide like saucers -- almost literally, huge and round and an unnatural shade of electric blue --- staring unblinking at Flicker. "We're okay." Door Kicker flails as Flicker blinks him away, and he retches once they land, only barely managing to keep the contents of his stomach down. Brooklyn grins wide as his knife slices into Marrow, but his face falls when it skips off of bone where no bone should be. "Fuckin' /freak!/" is all he gets out before Marrow's weaponized forehead slams reduces his face to a bloody pulp. The sound of pounding boots announces the arrival of reinforcements: the Purifiers who had been worrying at the "Sleep" door come around the corner, brandishing weapons. One has a knife, another an extendable baton, and the last a pair of actual, old-fashion brass knuckles. Knife guy goes after Flicker, while Baton and Brass Knuckles go after Marrow. "Are there more of them over there?" Flicker is nominally directing this question to Marrow. Even as he asks, though, he is disappearing again -- still with Door Kicker in his tow. Moving in the direction the other Purifiers have just charged from. Barely acknowledging the knife wielder charging him -- they're gone long before the man is in range. By the time they land he's twisted his scarf into a makeshift lasso. He's slipping it around his new buddy Purifier's wrists, tightening it to lash them together behind the man's back. For /him/ these things occur smoothly -- between te brief hops it takes to investigate around the corner and return. For the other man, a disconcerting series of blurry world-spinning jerks. For the one with the knife rushing him, he's just -- displaced, in a strange ghostly blur that shimmers, shifts, resettles himself ultimately a couple yards behind. As the thug drops to the group Marrow lets out a howl of triump and casually stamps down hard on his knife hand. Twisting her weight until she's sure enough bones have broken to make picking up another knife problematic. "There ain't enough of them," is all she calls out in response to Flickers question. As she draws a pair of bone batons that sprout from her shoulders and surges forward to meet the next two Purifiers. Her healing factor and the massive dose of adrenaline her power inflicted injuries have caused making her just that little bit faster and stronger than any human has a right to be. Door Kicker gamely tries to body check Flicker once they said all again, but he doesn't seem quite to have caught on that he's been trust up and the attack ends up more like flailing than a proper tackle. Knife guy spins around, recklessly jabbing at the ghostly images of Flicker, though he is as likely to hit Door Kicker as his intended target. Brooklyn screams as Marrow's bootheel grinds his hand against the pavement, and thereafter is capable of little more than curling around his injured hand and sobbing. Baton and Brass Knuckles seems suddenly a lot less enthusiastic about the fight after hearing Marrow's howl, but it isn't any case too late for them to back down. Baton Wade's in first, swinging his weapon in a good old-fashioned skull cracking overhead arc while Knuckles tries to circle around and flank Marrow, aiming sharp jabs in the general direction of her kidneys. Hard Luck, perhaps contrary to expectations, has not taken off on his bike, but taken a pistol from one of its saddle cases. He's loaded and leveled it at Marrow, then at Flicker, but does not seem quite ready to fire given that both of his targets are in close proximity to his own fellows. Flicker is a conscientious captor, at the least. He blinks them in and out, turning Knife guy's wild jabbing into a near miss rather than a gut wound for his compatriot. The scarf gets wound once more through this -- around Door Kicker's entire midsection. It's not a very secure binding, tucked but not tied, holding his arms against his body, but easy enough to pull back out of. Or, at least, it /would/ be under optimal circumstances. Flicker vanishes again -- in midair tosses a hand upward to cast his captive off without him. The short tail end of the scarf catches neatly where he's thrown it -- lodged securely /into/ the overhead bar of a light pole. When Flicker lands it's with a grimace -- in Marrow's direction, though he makes no comment. Just ghosts his way off again to land /on/ Hard Luck's bike, his brows raising at the gun. "Are you more attached to this bike, or to shooting us?" Even as Baton raises his weapon Marrow drops to one knee and lunges forward, almost as if she's performing a fencing thrust. Bones sprouting from her back to cover her head from the impending blow from above. Her own bone batons slam down even as she receives a blow in turn that'd split a normal persons skull clean open, but her targets aren't the Purifiers head or even his chest. Each of her strikes is aimed for a kneecap. Knuckles practically has free reign to attack. Or at least it seems that way. While brass knuckles do increase your punching power they have several disadvantages. Like the short range and the need to get in close to strike a blow. And in the moment that first kidney shot lands four steel hard rib bones burst free from her flesh like a bear trap fresh out of a nightmare. Door Kicker probably doesn't realize how lucky he is to have avoided friendly stabbing from Knife guy because he's too busy freaking out about his new predicament, far above the park, hanging by only a scarf. Hard Luck lets out an undignified yelp when Flicker appears beside him. He probably didn't think things through very thoroughly before whipping the gun around to fire point blank at the teleporter. Baton's baton finds its mark much tougher than expected, impacting with a loud crack that probably still jars Marrow's brains around even if it doesn't fracture any bones. The double-crack of Marrow's bone batons on Baton's knees sounds much wetter, and is immediately followed by his anguished scream. This is just about in time with the blood-curdling screech from Knuckles as the bone spikes puncture his hand. Unable to find anyone at which to stab, Knife guy decides to join the other Purifiers piling on Marrow. His approach becomes slightly more cautious when he cease what happens to the other two, however, and he only ventures a quick diagonal slash at Marrow's arm. Meanwhile, two of the youths who had been huddled inside the "Fun" room have ventured out. One is the gangling big-eyed teen, still holding the plank. The other is scrawnier and darker skinned than the first, though they certainly look like they might be related. They grit their teeth, face contorting with intense concentration, and various debris -- broken bricks, pieces of concrete, fragments of boards, crushed cans -- rises up into the air around them, then fly at Knife guy's back. Their aim isn't great, as likely to hit Marrow as not, and in either case only hard enough to annoy and distract. There's /probably/ not really enough time to register the look of exasperation that crosses Flicker's face when the man votes Guns over Bikes. Even as Hard Luck is still turning, he's vanishing again. He hasn't moved from his perch on the bike, and it comes with him. Up, up, up. A little over. Given his complete lack of super /strength/, there's really one way this is likely to end, and so it goes -- when he does let the bike go, it's square over another one of the Purifier's rides. He blips himself back to the ground only long enough to snag the man who just shot at him and get him a little bit out of the inevitable splash zone, dropping Hard Luck unceremoniously under Door Kicker's light post. His stern "stay," comes with the same tone a misbehaving dog might earn. The pat on Hard Luck's hand is almost incongruous with the rest of the violence taking place -- more understandable, though, when the gun vanishes along with him. He reappears nearby Marrow and her posse, this time landing amid the erratically flying debris with an abrupt halt to his previously ceaseless-rapid motion and a sudden pallor in his expression. His hand /had/ been midway to reaching for Knife guy, but he checks himself with an abrupt uncertainty. The blow to her head makes Marrow grunt and on instinct she sweeps her bone clubs back and to the sides. It's a wild sweep and the cautious new friend with the knife will probably have the wits to step back out of the way but Knuckles, still distracted by the bones digging into his hand might take a blow to his ankle. Hard Luck flinches away from his airborne motorcycle but would not have gotten himself out of the way in time if Flicker had not rescued him. Once disarmed and dropped, though, he actually does just sink down to sit, less obedient than just poleaxed, staring at the wreck that used to be his and some other Purifier's bikes. He does not even notice his brother dangling high above, for all Door Kicker's shouting. Knuckles' feet go out from under him when Marrow sweeps the baton low. He doesn't actually seem too worried about the fall itself, but moreso the way his hand is gushing blood from where it was torn free from Marrow's bone spines /by/ the fall. "Jesus fucking Christ take whatever you want!" Baton, who actually has use of both of his hands, actually does pull out his wallet to throw at Marrow as he scoots away from her, pale with agony and terror. Knife guy manages to get clear of Marrow, and remains miraculously uninjured. Perhaps having seen all of his fellows laid low has given him some perspective, but he's backing away quickly. The debris pelting him draws his attention to the two teenagers who have ventured out, and he dives for them. The big-eyed teen shouts and swings the plank like a baseball bat, but their technique leaves much to be desired and Knife guy shrugs it off, grabbing the other, smaller kid and lifting them almost bodily off the ground. The young telekinetic frantically pulls more ammo from a nearby trashcan, filling the air with swirling detritus that misses as often as it hits. "Back the /fuck/ off!" Knife guy roars, putting the knife to the youth's neck. His hand is shaking so violently that it threatens to draw blood whether he actually bears down or not. Flicker stays put a moment longer. Jaw tight. Posture tense. He looks at the Purifier -- at the kid in his arms -- at the very unsteady knife. At the whirling detritus between them. When he moves it's as quick as ever, a sudden displacement that shifts him in a quick hop-hop over to the pair. He hasn't even settled into place yet when he's reaching out for the knife in an attempt to blink it away to the ground. There's a new tear gashed in the sleeve of his coat, one of his arms hanging limply at his side. "If you stab him what then?" Marrow asks, raising from her crouch and pocketing the wallet thrown in tribute. "I'll tell you what happens. I get upset." The assorted cuts she's picked up over the fight are already visibly knitting themselves shut. "And then I won't just beat you." She takes a slow and deliberate step forward. "I'll drag you all down into a pitch black hell and feed you to the rats. PIECE BY FUCKING PIECE." "What the fuck are you doing?!" demands Knuckles, who's recovered enough of his wits to put pressure on his wounds. "You're gonna get us all killed! Let's fucking /get/!" He's trying valiently to help Baton up with his good hand, perhaps unaware of how injured the latter is. A few steps away, Brooklyn has finally quieted down and is slinking away towards his bike -- or what's left of it, anyway, after Hard Luck's landed on it. Knife guy lurches back away from Flicker, but catches a flying, half-eaten hamburger right in the face. The young telekinetic hastily pushes the knife away from their neck, incidentally shoving the hand holding said knife right into Flicker's grasp. The big-eyed teen leaps in and grabs the telekinetic, half-dragging them out of Knife guy's reach, unaware the man is in the process of being disarmed -- perhaps a bit more literally than Flicker intended. The flying debris starts losing momentum and dropping to the ground all around them. The knife and -- several of Knife Guy's fingers fall to the ground a few feet away, amid the debris. Flicker takes a half-step back, a starkly pale cast to his scarred face. "You good?" To the kids, to Marrow. Still keeping an eye on Knife Guy /just/ in case the remaining Purifier doesn't have enough common sense at this point to go. Gingerly, he's removing a crumpled soda can out from within the tear in his sleeve, where it's been somehow lodged. The jerky motion of his arm beneath the rend makes it apparent that his forearm is now hanging at a not at all correct angle. "Your buddy there ain't gonna be gettin' by himself anytime soon," Marrow points out with a smirk. Instantly relaxing now the overt danger has passed. "Especially as I'm taking the rest of these bikes." She lets out a piercing whistle and in the distance a Morlock scavenging party whistles back "Consider it a stupidity tax. Oh and tell the rest of your inbred buddies. This part of town? It's off limits." She starts walking in the direction of Brooklyn and the bikes with a cocky swagger. "All this carnage? This was just me acting in /self-defense/." She points out. It's even sort of technically correct if perhaps not a statement that'll hold up perfectly in a court room. "I see another Purifier and it'll take the pigs a month just to figure out which parts belong to each of your bodies." The Purifiers are scrambling to get away now, the ones who can walk ushering, helping, or outright dragging the ones who cannot. They leave poor dangling Door Kicker behind, despite his shouts of protest. The other mutant youths are slowly emerging from their commandeered facility, perhaps drawing as much by the dispersing hostels as the distant wail of sirens. "Thank you both," the big-eyed teenager says. It's hard to tell what they're looking at, but they reach for Flicker's arm, stopping short. "Do -- do you need help?" "I don't think you're wrong," Flicker says carefully, "but you /know/ the cops are not going to listen to that excuse and lots of those bikes aren't currently rideable, right?" He's offering this very neutrally to Marrow, at the sound of the approaching sirens. "The wallets and weapons are probably an easier haul to move quick." Only now is he removing his bicycle helmet, brushing his fingers through his hair to rearrange it neat and tidy, straightening the collar on his dress shirt. "Oh, no worries." Though his face is still far too pale, he offers the kids a bright smile, tilting his arm when they reach for it and using his other arm to bend the break /further/ -- more clearly revealing the colorful prosthetic inside. "I have about five more at home." With some difficulty, he's bending the broken synthetic limb back into an approximation of a natural looking position, smoothing at his coat to hide the tear as best as possible. "I'm a pretty decent hand with carpentry if you want help fixing this all back up later, but also, if you want to talk later, I know a safer place you can go." "Don't worry. I'll called for a removal specialist," Marrow explains, moving to snatch up any wallets that haven't been thrown flying by the telekinetic debris storms. "Sunder should be able to carry at least two by himself." And sure enough out of the gloomy alleys nearby several well equiped (by Morlock standards) mutants appear. One of which happens to be seven foot tall with arms as thick as respectably sized trees. The newcomers seem to be all business and begin hauling off the most valuable looking bikes. They might not be much use for transportation in the sewers but the engines can be used to run all sorts of machines. "Anyway. Been a pleasure fighting with you. Always nice not getting shot during one of these little dust ups. But for now I've got plunder to deal with." She offers a casual wave and then, bone spines on her body retracting, she hauls an engine from one of the trashed bikes up onto her shoulder and briskly walks off into the night. The kids -- nine in all, mostly looking like tweens and young teens -- huddle around Big Eyes and stare around in stark amazement as the Morlocks go to work. The telekinetic kid, notwithstanding their recent traumatic experience, gawks at the sight of Flicker's prosthesis. "Whoa, /cool/!” Big Eye gives their shoulder a quick admonishing squeeze. "And I guess they're...not too hurt either." This not-quite-question is directed at Marrow as she goes, and carries a good deal of incredulity. "We have to get out of here, too. The cops will be all over this place for a while, and then it's gonna be locked up again probably." "Stay safe." Flicker lifts his chin to Marrow as she heads off. "And you all, too. If you can't find somewhere else to go, come by Evolve later. At the least I'll get you some dinner." For his part, he's not fleeing the impending cops. Just taking his time about tidying himself neat and presentable. He does, though, drop Door Kicker -- none too gently -- from the lamppost /just/ before the first police car comes into view.