ArchivedLogs:Plotting the Attack

Plotting the Attack
Dramatis Personae Cage	2013-08-01 Cage gets a visit, along with a job.
Location <NYC> Heroes for Hire - Midtown East
The front room of the Heroes for Hire office has the secretary's desk, a small filing cabinet, a computer, and a ceiling fan. Janice, the aforementioned secretary is a sixty-something woman who's accent clearly marks her as being from Eastern European descent, though probably one generation removed judging by how well she speaks English. Janice was almost certainly selected by some busy-body lawyer on Luke's behalf, probably to keep him free of any more accidental law suits. The paint is faded, but everything pretty much works. Off to one side is the bathroom, and the other door leads back to Luke's office. There's isn't much in Luke's actual office but a small desk and a swivel chair pushed into one corner, with a pair of straight backed chairs on the other side of it. A couch is by the window that looks out over the city, with Times Square in the distance. All things considered, its actually a pretty decent little spot. The man who walks into Heroes for Hire is a big 'un. 6 feet and change; all of it looks to be /muscle/. Male, caucasian, short hair -- pronounced widow's peak -- and an unusual black-and-green striped /MUSCLE SHIRT/, along with jeans. He looks like a professional body-builder; there's something almost /too/ perfect about the sculpted shape of his muscles, his frame -- like a man who spends every day painstakingly molding his body to make sure he got it just right. He's scowling as he steps in, heavy workboots scuffing up the floor. "I'm lookin' for Cage," the man announces, half-way through a snarl. "Got work for 'em." A clatter from the back office precedes Cage's actual appearance. The clatter could /possibly/ be construed as the noise a chair makes, when the person in it has dozed off, and then is surprised by a loud noise in the front room. There's a brief shuffling noise, a muttered 'Sweet Christmas...', and Cage finally presents himself in the doorway. Tight yellow t-shirt showing off the body he hardly has to work for at all, black jeans, and biker boots finish it off. He pauses briefly, taking in the WWF wannabe, and finally nods to himself. "Yeah, that's me. I'm Luke Cage. Watcha got?" "You're a mutie." This is... a statement. A very /firm/ statement. Definitely not a question. The man asking it cocks his head toward Cage as he emerges, before: "Well, you got problems workin' with muties? Helpin' muties?" The man steps forward -- there's a surprisingly heavy /thump/ when his foot hits the ground. Like he weighs a bit more heavy than he looks. And this guy looks -- pretty frigging heavy. Luke's face, curiously, /softens/ at the question. He gets half his rear end on Janice's desk (good thing she's still working from home) and regards the other man for a moment. "Yeah, man, everyone knows I am." He smiles, trying to make it humorous, but follows it up with a nod. "And no, I don't got a problem with helping muties. 'fact, it's pretty much all I do, considering the nature of things in the city these days." He shrugs and rubs a palm over his bald head. "What can I do for you?" "Name's Flint," the man informs Cage, and then he extends his arm for a handshake. And by 'extend', we mean he extends his arm until it is /six feet in length/. It happens suddenly; one instant Flint's arm is lifting up -- the next instant, the texture of his shirt-clad arm (from wrist to bicep) is becoming a grainy, coarse yellow, even the material of his clothes fading beneath it -- and then it's sweeping slowly forward, /stretching/ as the sandy limb extends out to bring his -- notably still flesh-tone! -- hand to Cage's. "Some mutie boys of mine been kidnapped by a psychic Latverian bitch," Flint informs Cage. "Need your help to cut 'em loose." Luke whistles, openly impressed at the mutant's ability, before reaching out to shake hands. There's a brief flicker behind his eyes as something tries to bubble up the surface, but he mentally brushes away the notion. It's probably nothing! "Damn, ok," he says, all jocularity fading from his expression. He snatches up a pen and pad from Janice's desk and gestures for the man to sit in one of the chairs, while Luke pulls up the rolling chair for himself. "What can you tell me about them? Do you think they're all still in New York?" "No," Flint replies, his hand /de-extending/ -- the coarse texture that covers his bicep and forearm reverting to that green-and-black striped muscle-shirt. "Pretty sure they're in Pennsylvania, at the moment. Probably makin' their way to the Appalachians, to lay low. Got a hidin' spot down in North Carolina, figure they'll go there. S'whole carnival -- Madame Web's World of Wonders. The woman," he soon adds, "has a creepy-as-fuck power. If she touches you, you turn /into/ her. Like, in your brain." His other hand extends to poke at the side of his skull, as if to demonstrate. "S'got a lot of us -- muties -- under her control. Has for a while. A couple of serious hitters, but none as heavy-hittin' as me," Flint says. "The most dangerous one is her daughter -- can control you by talkin' at you. But if you can't hear her, you're fine. And if you know she's tryin' to control you with her voice, you can kind of -- power through it. Sometimes," he says, a little more tentative. "Anyway, point is, I mostly need some muscle. Serious muscle. And I figured, what with you... bein', well. Bulletproof." "Yeah ok, well at least they're not in Latveria." Luke puts down the pen and pad, not really sure why he picked it up in the first place. When has he ever taken notes in his life? "That sounds like something I could help you with. Nothing much lower in this world than muties picking on their own kind. Like things ain't bad enough with everything else." Luke takes a breath, obviously making an effort to calm himself. "So count me in Flint. Anyone know if earplugs work with this bitch?" "Earplugs," Flint responds, "or /sandplugs/." And suddenly, Flint has no ears -- just a grainy coarse /texture/ where his ears should be. He grins, right before his ears... return. Sand molding and sculpting itself into ears. "But yeah. She's the dangerous one. After that..." he says, lifting his hand, as if to count down, "you got Dillon, who can toss lightning -- a guy who can spit acid -- actually, /two/ guys. One of 'em can fly, too. Other's fast and jumps really high -- another who can talk to animals. S'got a lot of dogs, a couple of tigers -- /I/ can handle him. Other than that, s'mostly easy. Web's the tough one," he tells Cage. "She touches you, you lose." "Bring rebar, wear gloves. Check." Cage nods and stands up. "So when do we go after them?" "Instant you're willing and able," Flint responds. "Gotta move fast. Pretty sure she's gonna try and get her -- /and/ her crew -- shipped off to Latveria as soon as she can clear up the paperwork."