Logs:Get

Get
"While the gettin's good."
Dramatis Personae Heather, Ion, Scramble	2019-04-19 '
Location Lower East Side
It's not /the/ most pleasant of evenings for hanging out in the alley, but thankfully Ion is a /seasoned/ and veteran stoop-squatter. The awning over Evolve's door provides some shelter from the intermittent drizzle that keeps starting up -- tapering off -- starting up again, and there's a /wealth/ of snacks and drinks set out beside the doorway. Though the sign in Evolve's window reads 'CLOSED', the elaborate chalkboard placard (which isn't actually running in the wet weather) reads in cheerful bright lettering: 'Chag Pesach Sameach! 5779 liberation seder -- welcome, all!' An arrow points the way to Evolve's door; light shines out through its narrow slitted windows, and music can be heard when the door cracks open. At the moment, Ion, dressed in heavy boots, short-sleeved white tee, his Mongrels cut, is leaning up against the side of the building, teeth clicking against a metal straw stuck into a squat metal-rimmed gourd. "My parents they was holding out on me that's all I'm saying. /Every/ damn body they got the better holidays, they got the better food. You know," he's explaining earnestly, "them Jews got a whole-ass holiday it's just like Halloween except you get /stupid/ drunk. /Better/ Halloween. You get drunk /and/ yell a lot. We don't got no days like that!" Scramble is leaning right beside Ion, a bit more slouchily, availing herself of a flat round cornmeal cake. She's also sporting her Mutant Mongrels cut, though she's slightly better dressed underneath -- a tunic of gold, black, and red kente cloth, tight black jeans laced up the outseams, big chunky engineer's boots. "Hermano," she's eyeing Ion sidelong, "you know that's how you /already/ celebrate Halloween, right?" Heather's lips purse a moment while she considers. Her sticker covered recording device plays: "Maybe it is a less religiously sanctioned yelling." She wears a light jacket with pastel yellow, pinks, purples and blues and a pair of magenta pants, her eyes obscured by the tinted black lenses of her purple framed goggles. With the scuff of one of her well-worn, nearly tattered shoes on the ground she adds, "It would be good for a higher power to sense you drunk yelling and say-" She pauses while making a thumbs up, her flat voice deepened a bit for the last word. "-/nice/." An Uber pulls up and disgorges a couple of young white men in polo shirts and upscale raingear, each carrying a backpack. They wander past the entrance to Evolve, making a huge show of their casual disinterest. After a moment of indecision, they duck into the stoop of the shop next door to light up cigarettes and hunch over their phones, darting occasional furtive glances at Evolve's volunteer guard contingent. Ion clicks his tongue against his teeth, head shaking at Scramble. "Shit but do God party on Halloween with me? I don't know! He ain't telling me nothing." He snaps his fingers, points at Heather. "See, she get it? Is /different/ when /God/ telling you be drunk and yell! All God tell /me/ is be guilty, don't eat, have some sad, that's not the same at all. I needa switch teams." With another click of teeth against his straw, another suck of his drink, he shakes his head. His eyes cut sidelong toward the newcomers, shift back toward his companions. "Can't, though. Ain't sure Jesus would be down with this Jewish thing at /all/. Maybe I ask my priest about it." Scramble nods, finishing off her hoecake. "You know, I hadn't really thought about it that way. I'm a lousy Christian, when it comes right down to it." She watches the young men as they amble past, then sideyes Ion again. "I doubt your /Priest/ would be down with it, and I don't want to overly complicate this for you, but you know /Jesus/ was Jewish, right?" Heather's glances back towards the men multiple times in a quick jerky way, her eyebrows knitted, but she remains invested in the conversation in progress. "It would get confusing if the boss of your religion had a different faith," she decides while looking skyward as if trying to make something out up there. A white Dodge Charger cruises down the street slowly, pulling over to unload three more men, who go to join the two already loitering next door. After some whispered conferring and sharing of cigarettes, they move as one toward Evolve. One of them, blond-haired and blue-eyed and almost disturbingly handsome in the conventional sense, pulls half a step ahead as they draw near. "Well, the Jews have really bought into their diversity bullshit these days." He smirks, his eyes flitting from Heather to Scramble to Ion -- and then back to Heather. "Unless they're leaving you out here because you're /not/ their people, in which case this ain't your fight and you might wanna just..." At that he dramatically pulls open his leather jacket. Four knives -- clearly custom-made, each with abstract equine motifs in different colors -- float out from sheaths sewn into the jacket and turn abruptly in the air to point at the volunteers. "/Get./" "Tch!" Ion shoots a /very/ skeptical look at Scramble at this blasphemous assertion. "Nah fam he --" He closes his mouth for another long pull of his mate as the men approach, not actually straightening from his lean against the wall. His eyes skim up and down over the gathering crew, his brows raising. Around the straw his lips pull back, teeth baring in a crooked grin. "This real cute I was just thinking we gonna have to make up our own entertainment out here." He looks sideways to Heather, bright laughter in his voice as he slings an arm loosely around Scramble's shoulders. "Is nice you bring your friends, get dolled up pretty and all, but the club it's closed tonight. You gonna have to --" He pulls his drink from his mouth, waving the gourd in a lazy circle. "/Get./" Scramble's eyebrows raise up when the interlopers approach. They raise up even higher when the evident leader speaks. "Shit, I guess you're not here to eat weird food and get drunk about Exodus." She pays little mind to the jolt that comes with Ion's contact. Narrows her eyes at the knives as they float up, but more in concentration than concern. "Day-um, are those like.../Four Horsemen/ themed daggers? Or are you more going for Nazgûl? Either way, I gotta hand it to you, that's some next level edgelord fuckery." Heather's gaze also follows the knives that float up, her brows still knit and her lips pressed into a thin line. She chirps a few things, likely talking to herself, then repeats the leader's voice on her voice recorder back to him, at a few different speeds and pitches in agreement with Ion, "Gt. Geeeeet. Get." She hooks it with its clip onto her jacket pocket. The two men who had arrived first -- who look younger than the others -- have hung back a bit nervously, while the telekinetic edgelord stepped forward. The remaining two flank Edgelord, one looking kind of bored and the other quite angry. Edgelord turns red at the dismissive responses, and looks about ready to knife Heather over mocking him with his own voice. But it's Angry Guy who ultimately makes the first move, reaching out to grab at Heather's recorder. Edgelord glares at him, but then seems to conclude that fighting isn't such a bad idea after all. His four floating knives fly forward -- two and Ion, and one each at the women. Ion's smirk only grows when Heather repeats the Edgelord's voice back. When the knives start to move, he and Scramble are abruptly not /there/ anymore -- there's a quiet hiss-pop and the pair vanishes, reappearing off on the opposite side of Evolve's awning. "You dumbass know that most other Nazis, they don't want your freak asses neither, yeah? You a fucking pollution on the human race, what, you think you hate Jews hard enough they let you in the club? Please." Ion is actually taking the time to set his mate gourd carefully down. "These motherfuckers think /they're/ the übermenschen." Scramble doesn't sound or look impressed, and seems to have taken her electrical journey in stride. She pulls away from Ion and strides toward the two younger men cowering behind the others, her powers reaching out to whisper panic and delirium into first one mind, then petrifying horror into the other. "Let's face it -- we /are/ pretty excellent, but you shitstains are coming at it all wrong." Reaching back beneath her cut, she pulls two plain, no-nonsense knives from where they'd been sheathed at the small of her back, the long one for her right hand, the short held reversed in her left. Her voice drops to a low purr, "I got a special hate reserved all for you." And she shoves the one she's frozen in place forward, toward Edgelord. When Angry Guy's hand nears her recorder, Heather swats his hand reproachfully without thought to moderating her speed, and she opens her mouth to start chirping something. She is cut short, however, by the knife coming her way. She zips out of the way of its path, her gaze following it and the others that passed through the empty space that Ion and Scramble left behind. Her stance falls a little bit lower as she readies herself in case those knives make a comeback. Angry Guy's hand snaps aside from the force of Heather's casual swat. He cries out -- probably as much from surprise as pain -- and grows even angrier, charging after Heather when she dodges the telekinetically hurled knife in a bid to /tackle/ her. Bored Guy, on the other hand, just -- disappears. Or, at least, he has disappeared to everyone but Ion, who can still sense the man's bioelectric signature quietly circling the main thrust of the fight to wind back a fist at the electrokinetic. The two who had tried to hang back only to make themselves prey for Scramble's voracious powers seem to be having the worst of it so far: one simply shrieks clutches his head, crumpling into a heap where he had stood, and the other goes very, very still, going quite biddably where Scramble pushes him. For his part, Edgelord recalls all four of his knives and turns to assess the new locations of his opponents. He keeps two of them orbiting himself (in opposite directions no less -- fancy!) and sends two curving /around/ the guy who has gone catatonic aiming again for Scramble, though this attack has neither the speed nor the accuracy of his initial one. "/We're/ pretty excellent," Ion agrees, gesturing between Scramble and Heather. "These losers just /sad/, man." The gesture that follows this doesn't quite even rise to the level of /blocking/ a punch; more like a casual swat as though batting away a bug. When his hand connects with the invisible punch heading toward him, though, he vanishes again, funneling /himself/ through the unseen attacker in a painful and muscle-seizing jolt, manifesting in nearly that same instant on the man's other side to aim a hard kick at the back of his knees. Scramble knocks one of the flying knives away with her right hand blade and ducks out of the way of the other. "Seriously, though, what do y'all think this is gonna accomplish?" Then she kicks her catatonic human shield hard in the rear, toppling him toward Edgelord. Heather gestures quickly, almost instantly transitioning between poses when she points at Angry Guy and then juts her thumb behind her. She sidesteps his charge and delivers a blurry series of loud slaps to his side and back while she passes on by. Then she raises her open hands up, palms forward and closes them into fists as an implied threat. Bored Guy becomes abruptly visible again when Ion electrocutes him in passing. He hasn't quite recovered from that jolt when Ion's kick catches him in the back of the knee, and he goes down. He disappears again when he hits the sidewalk and rolls, coming up on one knee and quieting his breathing, perhaps assuming he was found out because of some noise he had made. Scramble's human-shield-turned-projectile stumbles into Edgelord and almost gets sliced by one of his orbiting knives. Edgelord shoves him aside impatiently, snatches one knife -- with a stylized flaming horse on its red-coated blade -- out of the air, and drops his weight low to come at Scramble like an actual trained knife fighter, blade angled up for a wicked diagonal swipe at her thighs. The knife she had parried and the one she'd dodged both spin around to fly at her again, though /very/ sloppily -- as much distraction, probably, as anything else. The blows that fall swift along Angry Guy's flank do not seem to be slowing him /down/ much, although they must be very uncomfortable, and he's turning red in the face with frustration at his inability to actually land an attack. He roars again and just swings blindly after Heather as she passes by him. "They think maybe they do enough bitch work, the other Nazis they'll let them join the club? Please." Ion strides forward, stooping in passing to clap a hand down on Bored Guy where he is gathering breath. /He/ disappears, then, as well -- with a fizzle, a crackling that skates along the surface of the wet pavement, to reappear just beside Edgelord. There's a heavy jolt of electricity that runs /through/ Bored Guy and out toward the knife-wielding telekinetic, even as Ion shoves his quarry toward the assailants' leader. Grinning through gritted teeth with a fierce, manic delight. Scramble drops her stance even lower, trying to duck under one flying knife while blocking the diagonal swipe with her left-hand dagger -- not with great precision, as likely to just slam her forearm against Edgelord's as not -- and parrying the other flying knife with her right. Heather veers away from the wil swing. Bits of shoe come off while she skids and comes to a stop, turning back around to face the Angry Guy. Her facial expression remains dispassionate and her previously furrowed brow has relaxed. She zips towards him again, and this time instead of warning slaps, she throws a flurry of fast punches, the first of which is aimed as a hook across his face. Edgelord laughs, pleased perhaps that he has driven Scramble onto the defensive, but his mirth is short-lived as Bored Guy re-materialized /and/ re-appears with Ion, becoming a conduit for a rater severe jolt. The three airborne knives fall to the ground abruptly, though Edgelord manages to hold onto the one that was actually /in/ his hand. Angry Guy has barely recovered from the follow-through of his missed haymaker when Heather's retaliation comes in earnest. His head snaps hard to one side -- though not as /far/ as one might expect, considering the speed of the punch! -- and then starts staggering back in skidding steps, throwing up his hands in a feeble attempt to ward off the punches. Where he does get his hands in the way, he blocks remarkably well for someone so outclassed, as he seems to be exceptionally strong. But ultimately he is much too slow to keep Heather from hitting him save by sheer accident and just keeps backing away. "Think these clowns is sick of winning yet?" Ion's teeth are clenched, eyes bright; it turns his grin more than a little manic after he shoves Bored Guy toward Edgelord. He stoops to scoop up the nearest of the fallen knives, a crackle of sparks dancing down its blade as he points it out toward the pair. "I tell you again. You maybe want to just -- get." Scramble seizes the opportunity of Edgelord's distraction via electrocution to sink her own powers into his mind, wrenching hard for debilitating terror. "While the gettin's good," she adds, her voice low and cruel and harsh. Heather backpedals away from the surprisingly solid Angry Guy, dashing to pick another one of the fallen knives that had clattered to the ground earlier. She makes the same gesture at him, with her thumb jutting behind her, to punctuate Ion and Scramble's suggestion to leave. With her other hand, now instead of threatening with a fist, she waves the knife back and forth menacingly. Bored Guy has crumpled to the sidewalk again, unable to keep himself invisible after his third electrocution in hardly more than a minute. He crawls away and scrambles to his feet to make for the car that is still waiting for them. Angry Guy blanches at the sight of Heather whipping the knife back and forth, the motion almost too fast for his eyes to follow, and physically picks up Catatonic Guy before making a beeline for car, as well. Edgelord yelps and also runs, but in entirely the wrong direction, off into the night, one knife still clutched in his hand. Ion barely gives the fleeing Nazis a glance. He does stoop to grab the last of the knives, flipping it over in one hand and offering it out handle-first to Scramble. "Shit, yo, look like /we/ the Horsemen now." He raises the knife in his hand toward Heather as if in /salute/. "How much you want to bet that cocky motherfucker run off with War?" Scramble has sheathed her own knives and accepted the one Ion is holding out, white horse galloping across its blade. "Al/right/ Pestilence!" She laughs. "Or Death, I can never tell which is which." This with a casual gesture at the one Heather is holding. "Either way, though, that makes /you/" she juts her chin back at Ion, "Famine -- oddly appropriate -- and so yeah, I would not take that bet about which one Aryan Wunderkind there has. He probably sleeps with the damned thing under his pillow." Heather unclips the recorder from her jacket pocket, and spends a moment fiddling with it while it makes a longer-than-usual series of fast high pitched sounds. She raises her new knife to return Ion's salute, and then looks down to examine it while her recorder plays, "May a non-nazi someday steal the War knife. Then we can form a cool horse knife club."