Logs:Take It Outside

Take It Outside
Dramatis Personae Ion, Scramble
In Absentia	2019-02-12 "{You call last night /quiet/? Shiiiit...}"
Location Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. Tuesday afternoon is a slow time for shopping and socializing, and the streets of the Lower East Side are quiet in the chill. The roar of over-loud engines resounds down the cold streets as four black-and-chrome motorcycles come cruising down from Delancey Street, moving at a leisurely pace and staying in a pack. The Purifiers wear matching black leather cuts with stark white crosses. They gun their engines at a knot of teenagers having an impromptu dance party on a corner, but finally come to a stop in front of a tiny eatery advertising east asian street foods. Standing out from the advertisements and Lunar New Year decorations in the window is a simple hand-drawn sign of a double helix inside a cartoon heart, with the words 'Mutants Welcome' above it in English, and below it in Chinese. The riders dismount and loiter around outside for a few minutes, smoking and chatting in a leisurely fashion before heading inside -- two of them with cigarettes still lit. "Hey, you wanna take down that sign?" says one of the Purifiers, jerking at thumb back at the helix-in-heart symbol. The teenager behind the counter opens their mouth, then closes it again, eyes darting nervously among the rough-looking visitors. "Hey, you speak English?" another rider asks, his words loud and over-enunciated. The teen nods jerkily. "Sorry. I don't decide what signs we put up." "Well, you better let us talk to someone who does, huh?" says the first man, in a very reasonable tone of voice, as he leans on the counter. Scramble has been here for a little while, sipping tea and munching on karaage. She's wearing a red canvas motorcycle jacket with her MMMC cut over top, and fitted black jeans with lacing up the sides that shows off the red leggings underneath. She's been watching the newcomers with a lazy sort of nonchalance, but stops with a piece of chicken half-way to her mouth when the Purifier makes his demand. Finishes popping the food into her mouth. "{Just can't catch a break, can we?}" she asks in quiet, heavily American accented Spanish. Ion sits at the small table across from Scramble, tucking into a bowl of yakisoba. He's in jeans, boots, a long-sleeved grey waffle-weave shirt and denim jacket, his much-abused MMMC cut open on top. His eyes flit up, a quick smile brightening his face. He lifts the bottle of mango cream soda near at hand, takes a long gulp. "{You kidding me? Week's been too quiet already. What would you call them, then?}" He shovels in another mouthful of noodles, licking his lips before getting to his feet. Sauntering toward the counter, gravelly-deep voice lifting to rumble before he's made it quite there, "Can't smoke in here, bro." "Ama!" the teenager calls over their shoulder without taking their eyes off the Purifier. They do, however, look to Ion when he speaks. So do the Purifiers, turning as one. Three of them seem to notice and dismiss him in the same glance, but the one who had spoken first, slightly older than the rest and rougher-looking, takes in the rank badge on his cut and nods. "Mongrels here to mark their territory, huh?" He takes a very deliberate drag on his cigarette and blows the smoke right in Ion's face. "Well we don't answer to freaks." A middle-aged person whose features bear a strong resemblance to the teen at the counter comes out from the back, wiping their hands on a towel. "Hey, no smoke!" Their English, unlike the youth's, carries a distinctive Chinese accent. Perhaps noticing their biker paraphernelia belatedly, they add, a bit less harshly, "Take outside, please." "Don't answer to chinks, either," says the one who had questioned the teenager's language abilities. Their leader shoots him a hard look. "We'll be on our way once you take down that sign." He indicates the sign again with a still-lit cigarette. "Wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea about what kind of establishment this is." "{You call last night /quiet/? Shiiiit...}" Scramble gives an incredulous chuff, unfolding her lanky form from the chair to follow Ion. "{Brother /you/ the crazy one.}" She comes to a stop beside him, planting one hand on her hip, still looking deeply unimpressed by the exchange. "Nah, we here for the food. You should try it, after you learn some respect." "{I ever claim otherwise?}" Ion's grin at Scramble is brighter. He just exhales, short and sharp, at the puff of cigarette smoke. His head jerks over his shoulder to the store's proprietor. "You want these clowns out of here, da ma?" The proprietor's lips compress, their face flushing with anger. "That sign is for giving people /right/ idea. /Not/ for you." Glancing at Ion, then at the Purifiers, they look conflicted, and not a little worried. "Please. But no break store, OK?" "Whaaat, this scrawny spic and his bitch gonna take /us/?" This from the same Purifier who's evidently decided to carry the banner of good old fashion racism on behalf of his fellows. The leader's eyes shift from Ion to Scramble, appraising. "Boy, you really want to start some shit over a /sign/?" Scramble turn a cold but still deeply unimpressed gaze on Designated Racist. Her stance doesn't change, but her powers stretch out, winding and grasping his mind and /twisting/ into it, filling him with intense, paralyzing despair. "Some people just got no home training," she says, her tone suddenly cheerful and energetic. "We'll take care of 'em, da ma." "I would never! What, and risk your amazing bao? I got'chu." Ion looks back to the Purifiers, then over to the sign. "Don't think we were the ones *starting* anything, boy. {You meet us out back, sister?}" There's not much time for Scramble to respond. Ion hurls himself forward, shoving hard straight into the nearest Purifier. For the very briefest of moments it might seem like he is already ignoring his assurance about breaking the store -- but almost as soon as he's made contact, he's vanishing, and two of the other Purifiers together with him. It can be assumed he is back a moment later -- though too quick to see, there's only a static-pop, a crackling ozone smell in the air, and the rest of the men have disappeared as well. They're deposited, unceremoniously and with a considerable painful jolt, beside some dumpsters in the alley behind the store. Scramble's first target doesn't seem to understand he had been targeted. His shoulders just slump down as his face goes slack, eyes distant and staring. "Aya!" the proprietor yelps and pull the teenager back when the light show starts, but relaxes once it's obvious Ion is taking the fight outside, whether the Purifiers like it or not. The Purifiers, for their part, are too stunned -- literally and figuratively -- to voice their presumptive objections. The one Scramble had scrambled just leans against the dumpster and slides down to the filthy ground, heedless of the fight about to erupt around him. His fellows, meanwhile, are staggering and spewing invectives. One of them actually manages to fumble a combat knife (matte black for STEALTH) from a sheath at the small of his back. Scramble gives Ion a thumbs up that he may or may not catch on his second trip. "Hey, I'mma cut through to the back, aight?" She waits for the proprietor's assent before ducking under the flip-up segment of the counter, back through the kitchen and into the alley behind the shop. Kicking Stealth Knife hard in the back of the knee as she passes, she grabs the next nearest Purifier by his immaculate new cut and swings him hard into the side of the dumpster. Ion has snapped back into existence beside the dumpster, too. Not disoriented like the others, he nevertheless seems content to wait -- for them to recover? Or maybe it's just for Scramble. Once she kicks Stealth Knife he reaches for the other man's cut, yanking his face down harder to connect with his upward rising knee. Stealth Knife has just begun to swing his blade in Ion's general direction when Scramble's kick buckles his knee. He stumbles and starts to go down, and might have recovered left to his own devices instead of having his face slammed into Ion's knee. He looses a muffled cry and clutches at his nose, which shortly begins gushing blood over a string of incoherent curses. The Purifier thrown by Scramble bounces off the side of the dumpster and staggers backward to collide with a doubled-over Stealth Knife. Meanwhile, their leader has shuffled back, letting his brother distract the Mongrels while he gathers himself. /His/ knife, when he draws it, is an old-fashioned switchblade, and he lunges at Ion with a fierce roar. Scramble's mind reaches out to snare Stealth Knife, suffusing him with fear and suspicion just as his teammate stumbles into him. "{Behind you!}" she calls out, catching sight of the leader's attack. "Tsss." Ion's breath hisses out between his teeth. He pivots quickly, the knife grazing yet another tear into his much-shredded and patched cut. His lips pull back, teeth bared in a fierce grin. A crackling of sparks dance between his fingers. As he curls his fist, slams it toward the leader's ribs, a heavy jolt of energy precedes the actual *impact*, far from lethal but painful nonetheless. "Get off me!" Stealth Knife howls, shoving his brother away for whatever imagined threats his mind has projected onto him, incidentally slamming him right back into the dumpster with a loud clang and watching him crumple to the ground before fleeing in terror. The leader, meanwhile, looses a string of curses as Ion dodges mostly of his his way. It does not end up being a very /long/ string of curses, however, as his opponent's electrified punch knocks the air from his lungs. He looks about ready to spit fire when he recovers from the jolt, but then realizes that all of his fellows are either down or fled. Face red with impotent fury, he starts backing away, gripping his knife hard and licking his lips. "Y'all motherfuckers best leave these good people alone," Scramble says matter-of-factly, stepping up to lean an elbow on Ion's shoulder, heedless of getting shocked. "It /literally/ ain't none of your business." Ion holds up a hand, fingers loosely curling and a blue-white glow crackling between them. "You come harass them again, next time you won't be walking away."