ArchivedLogs:Gunpowder Plot

Gunpowder Plot
Dramatis Personae Alice Lambton, Doom, Roger
In Absentia	2013-05-09 Doom walks with Alice. Terrorism happens.
Location
It is not every day that Alice is invited out by the monarch of a small country. Particularly on a work day, in the /middle/ of the day, with a monarch who enjoys wearing full-body armor and a steel mask, with cloak. It goes without saying that the unique nature of the request has left the diplomat bemused and inclined to accept, if only to have an /incredible/ story to tell at future embassy parties. And so here they are: Ms. Alice Lambton in a smart linen skirt suit and high-heeled pumps, an ID badge clipped to her jacket's lapel. She strolls as only the British can stroll, with dignity, grace and ease that would not be out of place on a sun-dappled woodland trail rather than the streets of Manhattan. With her hands clasped behind her and her chin held high, she looks as if she is /enjoying/ herself. But then, it is her job to make certain those around her feel that she is enjoying their company, isn't it? "Is spring in Latveria very much like spring here, Victor?" Victor van Doom walks beside the smaller US diplomat. Each step his confident stride sends forward summons a faint metallic whir, followed by a decisive click that is easily missed by the subsequent dull thud. Each ironclad foot lands onto the concrete with a loud announcement of who walks here - Doctor Doom. Unlike Alice, Doctor Doom has not prepared himself for this special occasion. The only time his wardrobe has changed is when he claimed Latveria, which is when his quaint tunic saw the addition of a regal cape. Now, it swishes gracefully behind him, both of the wind and because of his wide steps. Fortunately, these usually busy streets are far less populated at the moment. Whenever the crowd thickens before the two, they quickly disperse once those telltale steps are recognised for what they are. Beside the two walk two other men, clad in fashionable dark suits that identify them as bodyguards. They walk ever so slightly behind Alice and Victor, constantly sweeping their surroundings with their sunglasses-concealed gazes. "Spring of Latveria carried symbolism for many years", he responds in his usual digital boom. "It carries the sign that you survived the cold winter. The snow melts, revealing fields of frigid carcasses. And you thank God that you were not among them." As ever, the most charming of monarchs. "And now? One imagines it symbolizes a different sort of rebirth." Alice smiles as if it were perfectly normal to be strolling down the street beside an armored behemoth. This smile is lifted so allow him to share it--one also supposes that peripheral vision can be ruined by masks--before she looks ahead. She has not commented on the bodyguards, nor seemed to take notice of the passersby who make quick work of getting out of their way. Perhaps this is a convenience she could come to enjoy! Or...she considers it her right. "I find myself missing England's springs, at times. There is a softness to them, a fragility, that reminds a person of how fleeting life can be. Nothing like fields of corpses, of course. Though the message is rather the same, isn't it?" There are reasons Alice is considered one of the top diplomats in the country. Being able to make statements of that sort without flinching or flicking an eyelash is among them. "Now, spring shall be the symbol of freedom and life, indeed." It is, of course, quite possible to get used to the horrifying sight and sound that Doctor Doom presents, especially after gentle handshakes and awkward tea drinking. Then again, the constant iron scowl and the mention of corpses even in the most casual of conversations might just rebuke such a thought. But if anyone is going to show no fear or at the very least hide it sufficiently well, Alice Lambton will be in that group. To Victor van Doom, that is a compliment. The apparent ease of his demeanour might be determined by the increasing length of his sentences, although without the accompanying indicators such as tone of voice or a facial expression, that is ultimately hard to judge. "During my short stay here, I have overheard many anecdotes pertaining to the weather of your native land", he comments, steadily looking forward, as if willing the crowd to segregate with his gaze alone. "I have two questions for you, Alice Lambton. What brought you here?" Finally, his scowl turns to face to the diplomat. "Do you believe in God?" Gunshots tear through the air at this very juncture, splitting the beautiful day in twain and cutting into the ribcage and clavicle of the bodyguard to the right of Doom. This unfortunate soul falls to his knees and plants his face into the pavement. In front of them from around the corner, a nondescript individual wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, shades and a trucker hat plods forward towards the small retinue, clutching a Glock 17 in both hands towards the group. "Bellum mutationis, sic semper tyrannus," he seethes, his face pulled into a scowl. The purpose he walks forward with is unmistakable. He then opens fire once again. "To the United States? Why, patriotism, my dear Doctor. I love both of my countries as much as you love yours." As for the other, Alice takes a moment to consider--and it proves to be a moment too long. Before she can even draw a breath to frame an answer to the question, shots ring out. It all happens so /quickly/. Gunshots, a man down, the few bystanders in the area screaming and scattering. Alice, notably, does not scream. Her eyes snap to the man who is both armed and striding towards them. Then--showing a remarkable calm under fire--she takes a step back and...darts behind the armored man at her side. Alice need not dart far-- Doctor Doom swings one of his powerful iron legs forward the moment he hears a shot, showing a remarkable measure of reaction. Or preparation, perhaps. Unlike the monarch, the bodyguards are unfortunately ill-prepared for this interruption. Poor souls, Latverian as they are, were left out of this scheme. The first guard immediately reaches into his jacket. A bullet zips into the ribcage first, cracking bone and penetrating the lung, collapsing it. Before the man can truly acknowledge the hit, a second bullet hits the clavice, and the second flinch is followed by the guard dropping to the ground. The grave injuries of his colleague distracts the other bodyguard, foolishly giving Roger another window of opportunity. But by the time the next shot (or shots) will pierce through the infamous green tunic, Doctor Doom is shielding Alice. It's long overdue, the fashion police will agree. What the bullets do not pierce through is the armour beneath, instead ricocheting and hitting the sidewalk, a nearby car, a lamp post perhaps-- Whether fired upon or not, Doctor Doom steadily approaches Roger and then attempts to calmly backhand the handgun out of his hand. If successful, the gun will actually break into multiple pieces and fly off. "Mutants mortui sunt", he bellows a response in Latin. Roger manages to gun down the other bodyguard quickly, the bullets whinging into him with a sickening entrance to his flesh. By this time, he is firing upon a very close Doctor Doom, who quickly disposes of his weapon by batting it out of his hands. The metal components, the barrel, the shaft, the hammer, the release, they all clatter into the side of the building next to them like so much garbage. Roger is left looking up at the towering figure of Doctor Doom with a squint behind his obscuring shades, scowling up at the imposing larger gentleman who blocks him from his prize. Dancing back a little bit, and veering clearly off course, he removes a bottle of dime-store Skyy from his back pocket, tossing it at the monarch petulantly with an overhand throw. And depending on whether it connects, he'll cruelly toss a clicked 99 cent lighter immediately after it. He won't linger much longer. At this point, he'll be vamoosing, his ill-advised plan having been crushed summarily by Doom's very presence. Clearly this is not Alice's first fire fight. The moment Doom strides off to confront their attacker, she hits the deck. That pretty and /expensive/ linen outfit? Ruined! Better dirt than blood, however. She's also somehow magically summoned a cellphone to hand and it is practically to her ear in the same moment. While watching the two, she is calling the authorities. But which ones? The shrill sirens that rise moments later answer that--those are police, and they're coming /fast/. For a short while, Doctor Doom merely stares down at Roger with a steel scowl no human face could muster. The bottle drawn and subsequently thrown has little effect on the monarch's composure. It soaks his clothing, dampening and darkening them. Some of the flammable liquid drips down the armour. When the lighter clinks against the armour before dropping down, Doctor Doom is set fanastically alight. Forget the saying about Christmas trees. Even now, Victor van Doom turns around lazily and begins to march back from where he came. It is probably good Alice is out of the way, now. The large flames lap at the armour angrily, unable to get at the man beneath yet creating an aura of intense heat around him. "The spring weather here is much too warm", he comments in his monotonous voice as he carries on. But where to? While Roger sprints in one direction, Doctor Doom marches in the opposite way. The repeated rhythmic thuds of his feet carry him some distance to a fire hydrant not /too/ far away, although by now the fire has consumed most of his clothing, baring his massive steel chest, robbing him of most his cape, and destroying his hood completely. His armour, sturdy as it is proving, has had its surface darkened. The hydrant is summarily kicked with sufficient force to knock it off the side-walk. Water streams out with great pressure, and Victor wastes no time in positioning himself right in its way, extinguishing himself, although the way he stands, it looks like he's enjoying a tan. Roger quickly disappears around the corner, police cars turning the corner soon afterwards behind them. They will eventually fade out of hearing range, engaging in an entire adventure and crazy awesome car chase that we will spare ourselves from engaging in to deal with the ultimately much more impactful consequences of Doom and Alice being more or less alone in the aftermath of this heinous attack. Alice remains down for several minutes after Roger dashes off--one never knows if there's a second sniper hidden on the roof, after all. But as the smell of scorched metal and blood fills the air, rather than the sound of further gunfire, she slowly draws herself up to one knee. Miraculously, she has not lost her high-heeled pumps, nor suffered damage to her chic chignon. The suit she wears has seen better days, however. The phone remains to her ear as she glances from the corner Roger disappeared behind to the dead bodyguard to Doom himself. If she blinks to see that he remains standing and apparently unharmed, surely she can be forgiven for this minor lapse in composure. "No, just the one. He ran. We do need an ambulance, and the consulate will need to be notified...Doctor? Are you harmed?" In the meantime, in an ordinary van not too far from this chaos, sits a couple of men at a bunch of screens and an overall setup that isn't too different from what the cinema has envisioned the insides of an FBI stake-out vehicle. A few miniature cranks are turned, a couple of buttons are pressed, and the awe-inspiring care chase meets an anticlimactic end. It turns out both bodyguards lie now dead, poor unwitting cogs in the machine. Speaking of machines, Doctor Doom steps out of the water stream. The barely dressed yet still entirely steel clad dictator steps towards Alice, dripping with water. The heavy footsteps arrive to a halt a decent amount of distance away from the US diplomat. "No." There is a moment of silence. "I hope I will receive fewer questions about the importance of my fashion sense from here on out." He probably means his armour, rather than his tattered green outfit. A thunderous explosion is muffled by the amount of distance that stands between it and this pair. Only two people know what happened. One of them is Doom. The other one is not Alice. Just like that, however, Victor speaks anew. "Alice Lambton. We were interrupted. Do you believe in God?" "It seems to have served you well," Alice says of the armor. With that assurance as to her companion's well-being, she murmurs a last remark into the phone--soft enough for normal ears to miss but perhaps enhanced ones will catch it: "I want to know where Osborn is. /Now/. Call me back." Then her phone is snapped shut and she begins to look up at the monarch...only to whip her head around in the direction of the explosion. "Oh, dear. This isn't good." How very restrained of her. She backs slowly towards Doom, towards the approaching police cars. "I believe in myself, Victor. Thus far that has been enough..." A brief pause ensues. "You handled that very well. Thank you." "You have proven yourself far too valuable to be terminated", comes the response. In this case, Doctor Doom doesn't even lie. His voice actually carries itself at a marginally slower pace as he adds, "And I admire your resolve." Beat. "And your tea." His chin ever so slightly dips upward, and he considers the echo of the explosion. But Alice is what ultimately retains his attention. He spends a good, long and silent moment looking the female diplomat over. "I have underestimated you. On the inside, you are as hard as I am on the outside. Your belief in yourself is not wasted." "I am afraid our walk will have to be cut short. He may not be the only one conspirator. If you permit it, I will escort you." How awfully helpful of him. Given the circumstances, her thin smile seems just a little out of place. "I prefer to think of myself as strong rather than hard but I appreciate your opinion. Yes...yes, it is probably best we leave. I've a car coming. The police will want statements and there will be...ah. Damn the man." Which? She does not clarify. Instead, /Doom/ is treated to a head to toes study--as if she were assuring herself that he was still capable of walking--before he's given a brisk nod. "Come. I did /not/ have time for acts of petty terrorism today," she sighs, tucking her phone away.