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There's still an oppressive police presence in M-Town. Recent violence by and against mutants around the country has only stoked the NYPD's fears of disorder from the district. That said, life goes on for the residents themselves. The genetic ghetto is far from a well regulated area of the city; apart from occasional interruptions for a show of force, the police can't really stall the area's commerce… or its nightlife.
Case in point: tonight, the Eight Ball has moved its pool tables back to make room for a dance floor and a slightly raised stage, where they will play host to Wildside and the Quiet Fronts, an all-mutant rock quintet who have been taking the scene by storm. A couple of openers have already finished their sets: a somewhat shaky instrumental surf trio, and a local group known for playing all the hits. Its getting toward midnight, and the headliners should be taking the stage at any moment.
Clubgoers are milling around in the smoky room, chatting about the bands, chatting about the news, and just chatting each other up. The noise level is high but not uncomfortably so; in the booths along each wall, it's easy conversational volume for those who came with friends. The bar is doing brisk business, with patrons having short waits that promote casual conversations between strangers. In this bar, of course, every fourth or fifth person features some form of noticeable physical mutation, but these don't carry quite the same social stigma they do elsewhere. Indeed, the shared experience of mutation seems to have blurred many other divides: the crowd includes many races, and quite a range of classes and cultural groups.
*
Nightcrawler is indeed working tonight with the stipulation that he can also go out on the dance floor on occasion. After all, it's a party, he's going to be meeting others, and it's good for business…or something. He's new to the area and even those who work at the Eight Ball are trying to help the very obvious, European mutant get his feet under him. He's been mostly running drinks and barbacking for much of the night, but even as the headliners are about to come on, he's just as excited as the majority of the house.
It's been a while since he's been at an event like this. Years, possible.
*
Clubbing means… special measures. Special measures in the height of summer involve cutting loose in tights and those delectable boots she always wears, a dress in a psychedelic-to-be glitter pattern and long sleeves. Gloves can be overlooked, surely. Scarlett cuts something of a distinctive presence on the one time she's decided to wear her hair up, and girl can get loft to those locks, thank you very much. She barely counts as someone legal to drink and it's almost pointless to ask for ID, so the bar is steadfastly avoided. No, much more to her tastes would be a corner of the room where she can actually dance. The sinuous groove she cuts speaks to years of ashtanga yoga practice, and the swingy sway of that minigress isn't going to inhibit her from having a good time. How she notices anything in the press of people is something, but a blue demon with a killer sense of style will always be, well, in style. As he slithers by yet again with drinks or glasses, she calls out, "Herr Kurt!"
*
Wanda and her brother live in Mutant Town, and she's a regular visitor to the Eight Ball. She's not much of a drinker, but she likes to dance, usually to rockabilly on the jukebox. She's at the show, but her brother is absent. Instead she's at the bar waiting for her beer (even if she doesn't care for domestic brands that much, affordable though they are).
Wanda's engaged in casual chat with some of her mutant neighbors. Wooden Wally is next to her, and she is commenting: "You should start to trim the twigs and leaves that are growing. The twigs are already poking through the shoulders of your shirt, it will be ruined soon…!"
*
Among that twenty to twenty-five percent Armando sits quite comfortably. He's dressed casually, in a short-sleeved button up shirt and a pair of slacks with comfortable shoes. He's got a cocktail- a Manhattan with its cherry sitting pretty in the cocktail glass. He sips it for the taste- its an enjoyable experience.
Of course, when he'd heard of the event he let others at Xavier's know- willing to drive whomever wanted to go in his car, that slowly being restored 1936 Cord 812. Its a mid-sized car, and can easily sit four without much issue. Its supercharged engine easily closing the distance between Westchester and Mutant town.
*
While Moira didn't entirely know if it was 'cool' to come to a concern with your mother figure, when Armando offered to drive she agreed to go. A night out of the mansion and not at Columbia was desperately needed. So, the elegant, slender woman is sitting at the table across from the quite tall Armando. She's in a lovely sundress, yellow buttercream with a soft tulle layer atop the more solid fabric beneath. It makes her look more willowy and somewhat younger than usual. Her crutch rests against the wall behind her and she's got on JUST enough make up that maybe she looks young enough to be here. She's sipping on a glass of wine. "You're sure you don't mind me? I can find my own table and let you hang out with people your own age, you know…" Well, there goes her cool cred. That is so entirely a mom thing to say.
*
With the Xavier crowd…
There was a rather grim looking young Asian woman - nonetheless dressed for the occasion with minidress of gold and black horizontal stripes - horizontal barring a triangular point in the front and in the center of her back, like someone had taken a knife through brownie batter to mix the stripes. High go-go boots, likewise a gold in color, and… her huge gauntlets, hanging heavily upon her arms and forearms. She had certainly taken Armando up on his offer to drive, but now that she was here, well…
She wasn't quite certain what to do with herself.
So, she had managed to pick up some water at the bar - in spite of the tender's odd look at that, taking a sip from the thing every so often. And while at the bar, she managed to start some likewise casual conversation with one of the other women there, the appearance of her smile perhaps casting away the notes of grimness that had effused her upon her arrival.
*
Sybil Dvorak decided to get declasse to listen to this new sound that's popular. She has a perfectly-shaped black turtleneck shirt on along with a pair of black leggings and, just to break it up, dark blue pleated skirt. Oh, and a beret.
You just can't Beat it.
Either way she's leaning against the bar and looking around, because she ordered a whiskey sour and that takes a little mixing. Her eyes turn towards the doorway as she sees people coming in, mentally already dismissing several of the people present before she turns around, looks past Wooden Wally and right at Wanda.
Sybil raises an eyebrow in an attention-catching way, though what she is trying to get across with that remains… UNCLEAR. Though she does give Nancy a sideways look as she gets /a glass of water/. "Sure you don't want milk?" she asides to her. From her tone she is about two-thirds joking.
*
Alison Blaire steps into the Eight Ball somewhat fahionably late, then again she didn't care much for the warm up act, she wanted to see Wildside and the Quiet Fronts. While surf rock wasn't quite her thing, it was certainly big in the country, and there was always room to learn from watching other acts. Plus, genres and popularity aside, she was a musician at the core, and she could enjoy all takes so long as the artist was genuine.
For a change, she also didn't dress to grab attention, this is not her night, it's Wildside and the Quiet Fronts' night. Super casual, if not criminally so, Dazzler is dressed in black capri pants, a striped black and white turtleneck shirt, and a pink headscarf over her head, tied at the nape. She looks over the crowd as she walks in, measuring the atmosphere.
*
After a quick sound check by a few techs, the headlining band takes the stage to a rising, enthusiastic cheer. They wave to the crowd, but don't waste any time picking up their instruments and getting their set started. The four-armed drummer starts with an intricate beat that turns to sudden thudding power when he starts doubling his hits with his third and fourth drumsticks. A black woman's hands dance with startling speed across the ivory keys of the piano, striking each with perfect precision even at a rate no other pianist could match. A portly woman with an avant-garde haircut and a pair of sunglasses lays down a solid electric bass line, bobbing to the rhythm. The lead guitarist, a brown-skinned fellow with deeply set eyes, stands opposite a pale, wild-eyed man whooping and hollering into the microphone.
The overall effect is of a fast and frenetic rhythm section set against an echoey, droning guitar. It melds elements of several popular styles into something unique, and when the musicians kick into a solo, using their mutations to the best possible effect, it becomes clear that nowhere but M-Town could such a sound arise. The crowd is grooving on it from the start: the most popular dance is, predictably, the twist, but plenty of other recognizable moves (and more than a few freestyles) are in the mix, too. There's even a crowd building at the entrance just behind Alison — good thing she got in when she did! — as passers-by hear the music and stop to listen, or pony up the small cover charge and join the revelers.
*
"Fraulein Scarlett!" Kurt grins as he's greeted by a familiar face. He also notes another…Wanda…talking to a man who seems to be part-tree. Interesting. He offers a wave to his fellow Roma before turning back to Rogue, "It is good to see you!"
As the band starts to play, he turns towards them and grins before setting his tray down and holding a hand out to the Bohemian woman, "Do you dance?"
*
Wanda sees the look that Sybil gives her. She doesn't seem to comprehend whatever meaning was supposed to be imparted, though. When she gets her beer, she excuses herself from Wooden Wally and begins to make her way towards Sybil, perhaps curious.
That's when the band comes on, and Wanda has to stop and watch for a moment. This is music quite unlike anything she's heard before. Then again, before coming to America, she was blown away by the likes of Frankie Lymon and Wanda Jackson, or any song that didn't have a fucking bouzouki part or something like that. Wanda is so startled and perhaps thrilled by this new musical development that she's actually standing right in the way of foot traffic, like a total country mouse.
*
Armando smiles to Moira. "Really, its fine." he says as he looks towards the bar, where Nancy has ordered water. He returns his attention to Moira, though. "Anyways, the way I see it this is an excellent way to put some real-world context to how some people use their mutations while enjoying a night out." he says with a grin.
The music starts, and he takes a sip of his cocktail- enjoying the music as it starts. Enjoying the celebration of one's genetic gifts in musical form. He watches as people rush to the dance floor- not one to run towards that particular bit of entertainment himself. He, as it happens, doesn't really know how to dance. That doesn't stop him from grinning- the music is electric.
*
Pale eyes flicker over Armando for another heartbeat or two, Moira's brows lofting, "Are you sure? And yes, this is an excellent way to do that. But I can do it without you hovering here. So… you shouldn't be sitting here. You should ask her to dance, instead." She states that with a subtly amused smile, perhaps knowing she's REALLY laying the mom-lines on thick now, but that's half the enjoyment of having an adopted son. It's also a way she shows love. Of course, the person she's intimating he should dance with is the lovely, slightly awkward Asian woman at the bar whom drove down with them. "At least buy her a drink. Go. Shoo. I'll keep our table." And the threatening grin beneath Moira's smile says she will do something FAR worse, like wave the girl down and suggest SHE ask ARMANDO for the dance, if Armando doesn't get up the courage to go approach the woman.
*
Bringing one of her big gauntleted hands up, Nancy brings the glass of water to her lips, taking a sip of the liquid. It was impossible not to feel that eyebrow raise from where she was at the bar, her head canting a bit to the side as she glances across towards Sybil. The tone made it clear that she was joking, but still - it takes Nancy a couple of moments for a smile to touch her lips again, a certain focus still in her eyes.
"They were out of milk, they said," quips the speedster, bringing up a hand to gesture a thumb back towards the bar. "But they saved some water just for me," she says, her eyes glittering. "But what about you?" she asks, her eyes flickering towards the door - and Alison Blaire right there. "What are you drinking? Something a little more appropriate for…" she makes an open hand. "The environment?"
A beat. "I'm Nancy," she introduces herself.
It was about that time that the band comes on, and Nancy steps nearer to Sybil - her eyes flickering to the stage at large. She even starts swaying a bit, at the hips, keeping the glass of water static in front of her. "Have you even heard anything like this?" she calls, her voice growing louder.
*
Hearing Kurt's voice in the distance - no, not so distant - makes Sybil look, because she RECOGNIZES that accent. Sort of! Maybe. Of course Sybil gives Kurt a meaningful look, but Nancy's addressing her. "Oh, they're digging the whiskey out of the ground for me," Sybil answers Nancy. *Sybil* has an accent too, even if it's under control.
"Sybil," she tells Nancy as she straightens upwards, looking towards the band.
And also towards Wanda. Who is standing there in the middle of the road. The music is good but out of what is doubtless purest heroism, Sybil reaches over to grasp Wanda's upper arm and firmly /pull/ her towards the bar, where she says - half-shouts over the music - "WATCH YOURSELF, HEY?"
That's all she can manage. Sybil's eyes end up getting drawn back to the stage as if by magnetism. She's trying not to sway her hips to the beat, and kind of failing.
*
Alison notes the crowd of people joining behind her and realizes how lucky she was, the venue looks to be packed tonight, good thing she didn't exaggerate with her attempt to be fashionably late. Though truth be told, she really wanted the people inside already focused on the stage. She was no big shot by any means, but there was enough of a risk someone from the music scene might recognize her. She wades further inside through the crowds and dancers, having paid her cover charge. While most others seem intent on pure dancing, drinking and shaking, or attempts at flirting through the noise, Alison is making her way as close to the stage as she can, her blue eyes locking in on the unbeliveable dance the keyboardists fingers perform across the keys. The unique effect of two drummers where only one is present thanks to the four armed drummer, and probably most of all, focusing her ear to the echoey drone of the guitar. She already knows this guitarist would get along quite well with her in a jamming session. No doubt he was also inspired by someone who could prove a mutual friend. She studies the music like this for a while, standing her ground if anyone tries to shove ahead of her for an even closer look.
*
As the band transitions into their third song of the set, there's a commotion from the door: raised male voices, including that of the bouncer, then the doors slam open. The group of would-be partygoers outside have scattered, replaced by a very large group of police officers, both uniformed and plainclothes. They're already shoving their way through the crowd, grabbing and wrestling with dancers, when the lead detective raises a bullhorn and yells, "Stop the music and remain calm!" The band, of course, has already stuttered to a stop, that guitarist giving Alison a look of dread, but the cop keeps shouting: "We are pursuing a fugitive who was reported in this area! Comply peacefully and you will not be harmed!"
That claim is more than a bit suspect. Already, uniformed beat cops have grabbed several of the bar's patrons, dragged them out of the crowd, and slammed them up against the wall opposite the bar. There, they are subject to a forceful frisking and questions, the latter straight into their ears, loud enough that they are cringing away, but too quiet to be heard by the crowd over the general chaos. The police seem to be going for anyone with obvious physical mutations, although there's no particular pattern to what those mutations are — one uniformed cop is already reaching toward Kurt with a determined look on his face, and a second later, another is trying to grab Armando's arm with a rough hand.
If Wanda thinks to look for her erstwhile companion, she might be dispirited to notice that Wooden Wally has decided to make like a tree — and leave. Guy's got warrants, okay?
*
Sadly, Scarlett seems to slip away which does get a sigh from Kurt. He puts the glasses from his tray to be cleaned and glances out at the dancefloor almost winsomely. He's about to move to one of the women who are sitting yet obviously want to dance when the police actually stop the celebration. Yellow eyes glance worriedly at the barkeep before one of the cops reaches to try and pull him from behind the bar. There's an obvious decisions being made, but he'll go along…for now.
Because, if he needs to, he can probably get himself and the others out of there, pronto.
*
"As long as you're sure you'll be okay here." Armando says, with a smile towards Moira. Really, he was somewhat protective of Moira as he stands and takes a moment to compose himself. Dancing with Nancy *would* be excellent.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. Instead, it seems the police wanted to raid the bar- and so, as someone who was so obviously a mutant he was grabbed by the arm. "Hey now, I'm not going to fight you, Officer. No need to be rough." he says as he raises both hands and complies. "Careful now, no need to be rough." he says, trying to keep the police man calm- he has nothing to worry about, really.. but there are others here.
*
"I'll be here. I promise. It will be fin-…" The moment Moira STARTS saying that, it's too late. There is something at the door, officers, and they are bursting in. Everything is going quickly crazy. Moira's eyes go wide, panic and protectiveness immediately flooding her features. She reaches back to grab her crutch and forces herself to her feet, trying to impose between the cop and Armando as quickly as she can, "Officer! This man has done NOTHING, we were just listening to the music! Please! Cease this immediately!" She sounds like an aghast, upstanding citizen and looks like a school teacher in her yellow dress with her crutch. Surely they'd not do a thing to her, right? Surely they would listen.
*
Wanda lets out a surprised noise when she's yanked by Sybil — and then another, louder one when the music stops because of police. Wanda is actually holding on to Sybil's arm during this, gripping her like she would her date at a scary movie. "What is happening?!" the Transian teenager wants to know, as if Sybil can explain it all.
*
A repeat, from Nancy's lips, "Sybil." And a bit of the tension leaves her awkward shoulders, her eyes flickering towards the band proper. There was no doubt another question incoming. Perhaps something about the whiskey. But luckily - or not - that was when the police burst into the club proper. There was the grim look again, Nancy taking a step back towards the bar. Chin draws down, and she taps her fingertip sharply against the glass she held. No doubt, at Xavier's, they had been told how to deal with the police.
As Armando was showing, respectful, calm, polite. Fingers tap against the side of the glass even tighter, and she jerks once. Stress, of course, was leading to her powers sparking off a bit. But the gauntlets were keeping it down to a mild dimming of the lights around her, and a spark that jumps through the water she holds, Nancy's hand jerking to drop her glass of water, giving her hand a shake.
Flexing her fingers, she glances towards the bartender - biting her lip as she edges back towards Sybil a bit - in this sea of people, the vague familiarity of name-sharing was more than what she had with most. Barring Armando and Moira. Jaw tightens a bit more. "Have you… been through anything like this before?" she asks. Wanda and Sybil both, really.
*
Uh oh. The cops. Sybil's smile goes away and she tightens even if nothing in particular comes of it directly, not least because the cops are going for the poor bastard over there with the scarred up blue skin. She puts her arm around Wanda's waist protectively.
Nancy edges closer to her. Sybil can see those gauntlets but in M-town they don't pop as much as they might. She takes the risk of reaching over to touch Nancy on the shoulder, probably for reassurance. "Looks like vice," she says, doing her best to project without shouting. "Ought to go."
Which is easier said than done. Sybil makes an irritated noise which is entirely translateable to all languages as she realizes there is no convenient exit with which to abscond in casual style.
*
When the gig gets crashed by the cops of all people, Alison looks a bit stunned. There was no rioting, no underage drinking she don't think, why would the cops crash the party? Because the band are mutants? She'd like to think that's not the case, although that's very much her suspicion, as she catches that worried glance from the guitarist, she finger gesutres the question 'you guys?' while looking at the guitarist with some concern.
Turning to look from the band towards the cops who aren't quite near her yet, seeing how she managed to force her way to the front of the stage, she looks aghast. This night should have been about music, and these cops are defiling the one ritual she holds holy. The sharing of music, of creative spirits, of unbridled fun. This is wrong. It angers her. But she has a choice to make…flash her powers, and she might give everyone enough time to escape. But someone might see her, people might talk, and she may be ousted as a mutant and wind up banned from performing in public. Would she put her career on the line for what she feels is right? She's a bit too young and just starting out to really be able to answer that question, which leaves Alison looking like a frightened young girl, staring aghast and remaining frozen in place. Only real advantage she has here is having no visable mutation, and police being more likely to take it easier on a girl then they would a guy. Still, she has stored quite a bit of sound so far, if she only wanted…it's so tempting. For now, Alison holds it together.
*
The initial response to the police intrusion was shock and fear; that has quickly given way to anger. Adrenaline from the show still pumping in their veins, people are starting to shout at the cops, who lift truncheons threateningly in response. Shouts of "Pigs!" are met with whispers of "Muties" and frightened glances at the lights Nancy is causing to flicker. The room is a powder keg ready to blow.
As Kurt hits the wall, a nightstick across the back of his neck, the cop's free hand is already busy inspecting his pants pockets and patting him down for anything concealed. In his ear, a sneering voice demands to know, "You know Yancey's convenience store, three blocks up? You been there tonight? You steal anything? You know anyone who did?"
Armando is bound for exactly the same rough treatment: the cops are rushed and afraid, and as far as they're concerned, his compliance and Moira's pleading are more likely to be a smokescreen for superpowered treachery than genuine cooperation. In fact, as the cop drags the tall, gray-skinned man toward the wall, a second rushes toward Dr. MacTaggert, nightstick raised, pointing — at her cane. "Drop it!" he yells. "Put! It! Down!"
It's at this point that someone throws a beer bottle at the cop with the bullhorn, and hell truly breaks loose. "Everybody get DOWN on the GROUND!" he screams — never mind that there's nowhere near enough floor space for all of the people inside. The beat cops are getting ready to earn that name, truncheons raised as they shove the crowd back into a space it is simply too large to occupy.
Near Sybil, Wanda, and Nancy, one mutant shoves back — sending a cop flying across the room. A second later, the nearest four police officers have descended on him, beating with nightsticks and kicking the moment he goes down. More glass objects start to fly. Another group of cops is rushing toward the stage — and, incidentally, Alison — as though the band have done something to incite the confrontation. But from the guitarist's answering helpless shrug and panicky head-shake when she non-verbally asks him, it doesn't seem that they have. Behind Kurt, there's a distinct metallic clinking and muttered swearing as the interrogators prepare to handcuff their captives and join the fray.
*
The touch to Nancy's shoulder - Nancy herself doesn't mind it, but the young woman was humming with electricity that the old tech of the gauntlets were trying to shunt. The little touch on the shoulder would send a spark - mild, probably more surprising than damaging along Sybil's hand at the contact. Polite, composed, respectful.
There was the crowd mentality of simmering violence - no doubt on both sides. And Nancy - who had been harrassed in situations much like this one, and flashes of emotion were surging through her that reminded her much of the same. But this time, she had backup. It was taking all she had to keep things steady.
A flash of her eyes towards Sybil, the normally brown eyes tinging with a hint of blue. "I can't," she says, her eyes flickering towards Armando, and Moira. "Those are my friends. I…" A beat. Gritting her teeth - Nancy sees the cop go flying across the room. "We don't have to fight back - we can stay calm," she says, with an intense tone of voice that suggested that was the opposite of what she wanted to do. But her eyes were on the crowds.
*
Armando's white eyes narrow as a cop goes towards Moira. "Moira, please, sit. I'll be okay. They can't hurt me." he assures her, "You know I'll be okay." he says with a smile- calm, even in this storm. "Officer, that woman needs her cane to walk- she's got a bum leg. Please don't be the kind of man who takes a lame woman's crutch from her." He's not fighting against the officer who's got him- not really. He does, however give the man a quiet look with those pale white eyes. "If something happens to her, I will be very upset. I've memorized your badge numbers, and I have access to *very* expensive lawyers. Behave like men, and not like thugs." he says, "Serve and Protect- be the heroes of the common man you, hopefully, took to wearing blue wool to do."
Armando's jaw is set, tight- he's watching with obvious upset towards what's happening- ready to interject should that other police office try *anything* to harm Moira. Already his body is changing as the stress of the situation sets his evolution into overdrive.
*
"I *can't*, I need this to *walk*!" It's not even a cane she's holding, it's a full crutch, something that has cuffs that go around her arm for better stablization and, just the way her hips tilt, it's likely that most of her leg is useless. It's at a strange, slightly bent angle. Of course, Moira has also never been on the wrong end of the police. She's a somewhat slim, meek, white woman who works in academia. She's been on the wrong end of a fist, but that was something far different than this.
Armando's speaking to the cops, confiming the things she's saying, does try and hopefully calm her a bit. But she's not sitting — not while they lay hands on him. "You've done nothing wrong, I won't let them hurt you, please…Officers. Don't do this. Please." Her voice isn't confrontational, but more so begging. Gentle. So worried. She remains perched on crutch and on edge of tension, but hasn't taken a step forward or done anything else threatening. Her free hand is raised, palm forward, in an innocent gesture.
*
Sybil's hand goes back in the face of that shock on reflex. She looks towards Nancy - but she's not so surprised. That color flash, though. To herself, she thinks it's beautiful.
Nancy's words are much less beautiful, but Sybil can feel the passion behind them. "Well then - you had better to go and get them." She takes in a deep breath and lets her chest swell for a moment before she murmurs to Wanda, "Relax," and raises a hand in a casual general direction towards the four cops who are getting the police brutality on.
Sybil's eyes narrow as she reaches out, feeling the middling quality of the cotton shirts of America's finest, the New York Police Department's standard blues. Her mind skitters over the threads and then they start coming unspooled, one cop's shirt flowing into the next's in a half-dozen subtle ways, until, hopefully, one cannot tell where one pig ends and another begins. (Of course she thinks of them as 'pigs' to herself.)
*
With violence picking up, a cop being thrown, the demands for everyone to get down, Alison realizes she needs to act. She has two options, but one would be akin to unleasing the atomic bomb on her career. As she starts to get down to avoid getting roughed by the cops, she gets an idea, something she's utilized in a show before when the crowd was getting too violent. With all the sound she soaked up, she's got quite a bit of juice at her disposal, and suddenly the ceiling ceases to be visible. Why? Because little by little, an alternating haze of soft colors builds up and spreads about the ceiling, growing and expanding about the venue. With this soft light show comes a rather comforting calming effect on all who can see it, an pull on one's brain to subdue aggressive emotions and behaviours. Alison has no clue if it would work the same as when that bike gang tried to crash one of her shows, but she hopes so. If this can end without violence, her night will be so much better than it currently is.
*
"Was?" Kurt asks before the nightstick goes to the back of his neck. Oh, HELL no! He is -not- going to stand for that! His tail snakes around to grab the handcuff's from out of the cop's hands and toss them aside. "We have done nothing wrong! Dumm Polizist!" He then trues to turn and push the policeman away from him and maybe back into more of the fray.
Yellow eyes look around at the innocents being so bullied. Before, he might have run to get away from the violence. There are still flashes in his mind of times, so long ago, when raids like this meant death or worse than death. Maybe that is why he can no longer run and hide.
Fury is going to kill him.
He teleports away in a dark burst of brimstone-scented smoke, only to reappear next to one cop, pulling the gun from the cop's holster and teleporting away again. He manages this about half a dozen times before he dumps the collected guns in a bin of dirty glasses.
*
Wanda is, it must be said, panicking completely. She's been in situations like this before — she's Roma, she's used to a good kicking by upstanding thieves of society — but never quite like this, in this cramped nightclub, with truncheons, with badges, with so many people and the NOISE of the amplifiers squealing feedback or maybe that's just the din of the people or maybe she's just been caught in the ear by something because people are moving around and jostling and SHOVING and it HURTS and Wanda can feel bruises coming up under her dress like at her side like on her shoulder maybe and there's Sybil who's saying to relax and Nancy and she doesn't even know Nancy and she doesn't know Sybil for that matter and her BROTHER where is her brother she wants to get out of here she feels like she can't breathe she feels like the walls are going to fold in on her and
"STOP!" Wanda screams, throwing her arms out as she tries to climb up onto the bar. She's not thinking about her mutant powers. She's not thinking about anything more than base survival, really. Her powers, untrained as they are, are still potent. And when she throws up a gesture like that, she's conditioned herself, that sharp raise of the arms… her brain knows to tickle her X-factor, to make, well, bad things happen to the people and things in front of her.
Unfortunately, Wanda has a lot of people and things in front of her, in here, and she's not really thinking about how powerful a hex she's putting out.
*
The cop confronting Moira ignores Armando, and the one with a hold of him continues to drag him away, until the gray-skinned mutant makes the comment about lawyers. The officer turns, face red with fury, ignoring Moira and her terrifying crutch for a moment. "Are you threatening me?" he demands to know, signaling with a gesture for Armando's detainer to stop. Without waiting for an answer, he swings his nightstick through an arc that ends in the restrained mutant's belly. "Bad idea, freak." The cop holding him reacts only by tightening his grip.
Frightened by the treatment of the physically mutated people shoved against the wall and the growing violence in the club, the band start to flee backstage. The bassist simply shrinks to a size too small to see, leaving behind her cateye sunglasses, which clatter to the stage. Wildside bounds out the back door, quickly followed by the drummer; the guitarist and pianist stop by the stage exit, beckoning Alison and anyone else nearby to follow before the cops get there.
Alison's light show would be utterly hypnotic under less strenuous circumstances. As it stands, it's still mesmerizing and, to the police, terrifying. They have no idea what they're seeing. A couple, including the one beating Armando, draw guns to shoot at it, only to have their guns disappear as Kurt bamfs by. (The bartender is in for a real shock when he takes out the trash at the end of the night, by the way.)
Sybil's creative attack on the goon squad is both surprising and — to everyone but the entangled cops — hilarious. Caught up in each other's clothes, sleeves not where they're supposed to be, the quartet find themselves unable to swing their arms freely. The shover darts grateful glances in all directions through the tears and bruises streaked across his face. He's clueless as to who intervened, but he knows an opportunity when he sees one, and flees into the crowd. The lead cop tries to pursue, but the others aren't in step, and they all topple to the sticky floor in their shared sweater. And with Nancy sparking in the vicinity and all four of them writhing around in one wool sweater, you would not believe the level of static they're being subjected to.
Then Wanda cuts loose with her hex bolt. Chaos only knows what it'll do to every individual caught in its path, but one particular effect is immediately notable: right next to Moira, four mutants and one cop all trip over each other simultaneously, hitting a booth table with such synchronized force that it punches straight through a wall, knocking an exit where one did not exist before — meaning outside the police cordon that must be waiting outside. Many of the mutants most familiar with the wrong side of the law — including Wally! Where did he come from? — immediately start streaming through what is likely to be their best chance at a clean getaway.
*
Everything is moving too damn fast, but they're hurting Armando and that's the only thing Moira's instinctive, motherly brain can see right now. Tears sting her eyes, glassiness of the impotent rage and shock that they'd do this on a nice concert evening. The tears actually break her throat, so her voice is strung out as she begs, "Please! Stop this! He's just an innocent you man, please…he didn't mean it, it wasn't a threat!" Moira does take a limping step in the direction of the cop, her hand still open and upright in an innocent gesture, as she begs over and over for this to stop.
*
As the mutants start leaving through the newly-made back door, Kurt notes those still being attacked by the police. His eyes land on Moira and, noting her crutch, he 'Bamfs' over to her, reappearing by her side. "Fraulein, let me get you away from here," is offered with an apologetic smile even as he reaches to take a hold of her arm. The both of them disappear in that puff of dark, pungent smoke, only to reappear safely outside…and up the block from the bar. "Can you find a safe place?" is asked and he waits for an answer before teleporting back to continue in his attempt at a rescue effort.
*
Armando doesn't even lose his breath when the nightstick hits his stomach. "No. I was making a promise, Officer Ames- Badge number 3493." he says, as the beating becomes less than useless- they're basically hitting solid steel as Armando's body changes to defend itself against such attacks- "As you have not informed me of my crime, I must assume this is an illegal action taken by you and the other officers- you have not shown a warrant and so you are holding me illegally." At that point, Armando simply sands straight- letting the police exhaust themselves in beating him. It won't do anything to him- and he still makes no violent actions. "Furthermore, as I have not made any threatening motions, nor attempted escape you are currently in violation of no less than ten laws within the New York Penal code." he says, almost flatly. He lifts a hand towards Moira. "I'm okay, really. I promise- they can't hurt me." he assures Moira, as he stares the Officers in the eyes as they hit him- not even flinching as they hit him. No, he stands like a grey-skinned statue. "But I can *absolutely* ruin your lives when I own your houses after I sue the future away from your children." How he says it- so formally, so assured- all the while being beaten and not even flinching- his voice cold and calculated. His fists are clasped, as he nods towards the open area. "Moira, go. I'll be fine. Get Nancy and get back home.." he says, "I'll meet up with you later."
*
There was a moment, just a moment, where Nancy's eyes met Sybil's - and the grimness in her expression softens just a touch. A nod of her head. A moment, though, and her eyes flicker towards the group of cops as their clothes entangle them, and Nancy draws in a quick breath, holding it - glancing from them to Sybil, and back again. A smile - perhaps, edges at the corners of her lips as she looks back to the woman.
But she had something she needed to do.
Things she wanted to do too, but this energy, she had to… couldn't…
Light bulbs pop in the rooftops and the ceiling as electricity arcs down towards Nancy, the electric aura that the woman had only growing moreso. In these moments of being charged up, she was nearly impossible to understand - but in these moments - the world slowed down to her.
But she would move as a blur. Ducking around a flailing cop, she hops over part of the quartet that was busy flailing with themselves. Stepping through the chaos, she ducks another thrown bit of heavy thing, moving towards the cop and Armando. Now - what she was hoping to do was to kinda tackle Armando a bit - and sling him over her shoulder, and head towards the hole in the wall, preferably before anyone could respond.
The most ideal or best solution? Probably not. But… maybe?
*
Things get bad fast. Despite her efforts Sybil gets slammed into - she's not sure if it was a nightstick or Wanda's elbow -
At least all of those policemen are snarling up. Then SOME horrible thing happens — coming from Wanda. The place is starting to stink like the fires of hell and oh, Mr. Blue Skin there is disappearing and reappearing. Isn't that charming, Sybil thinks with coolness over the layer of panic that's welling up beneath her. There's been worse going on.
She looks at Nancy as she draws electricity out of the lights. It's dark.
Whatever the hell Wanda just did, Sybil is not interested in seeing it fire twice. She puts a hand firmly behind Wanda in order to hustle her forwards, guiding her into a half crouch and telling her, "Run!! I'll catch you if you fall!!"
*
Noting the chaos that ensues, thanks to Wanda, some of it very literal chaos, Alison feels confident enough to drop the calming light show, instead she uses a refracting mist around her to hide herself from sight, as she gets up and follows the band to the stage exit, not forgetting to get those groovy cateye sunglasses along the way. Too options, the bassist will thank her for retrieving them and she could make a friend, or the bassist is scared out of her mind and already half way to Florida, which means Alison just scored new fancy catseye shades.
*
Wanda doesn't know what is and isn't her doing anymore. When Nancy brings down the house with an electric light orchestra, if you will, Wanda kneels and covers her head, only to get squarely shoved right on her ass by the extremely rude Sybil.
Wanda seems to be trying to say something, but it's mostly swear words in her local Romani dialect, and she's not even being that articulate in clearing that low bar. She moves forward, since Sybil is shoving her, and hopes that she's moving in such a way that will get her out of here quickly. Where is her brother?! He's supposed to be protecting her! (Wanda will not stop and think about how she plays both sides of that field later, when next she whines to him that she's her own woman and can look out for herself.)
*
Sybil answers Wanda, in her /own/ Romani fashion, which should at least have significant overlap. The message is essentially 'be cool! I'll take you home!' Make your own remark about playing both sides of the field.
*
Between the band's backstage railroad and Wanda's impromptu Hexit — not to mention many inborn teleportation, flight, and related abilities — the crowd is fleeing this confrontation fast. The club is getting empty enough that, before long, anyone still inside is going to be easy pickings for the remaining police. But for now, the cops are caught flatfooted. It's just enough of an opportunity for most of the crowd to make their escape.
Alison's dazzling aura is plenty to keep her identity secret. In fact, it serves as a bit of a beacon for a few stragglers unaware of the backstage exit. Thumbelina will likely have words about the glasses once she's back to her normal size, but that can wait. The general flow of people escaping is a great help as Sybil shoves Wanda. The latter's relatively directionless advance is directed by equal parts herd instinct and actual shoving from the others trying to flee. This should get both women out of the line of fire before the arrests start in earnest.
Moira's pleading falls on deaf ears. Armando's blasé demonstration of his own invulnerability has them convinced he's a deadly threat, and his lecture only serves to enrage them further. It takes Alison's lightshow and Kurt and Moira's sudden, smoky disappearance for them to finally collect their wits enough for one to snarl to the other, "Cuff him and throw him in the wagon." The one who still has a gun draws it to cover the mutant as the other clicks the cuffs into place — but then bulbs pop all over the club and, before they even know how to react, their long-limbed detainee is just gone. Just as Kurt rescued Moira from physical danger, Nancy's timely intervention has saved Armando and his associates from what would at best have been a lengthy and public legal battle.
*
Armando is grabbed- despite his body being steel hard, it hadn't really gained any weight- and when the super-fast Nancy has a hold of him things change to this new super-speed based life his body has found itself in. He's moved at speeds like this before- although he wasn't the one being saved.
When the pair eventually come to a stop, he takes a slow breath and looks to Nancy. "Are you okay? Not hurt?" he wonders of her, a touch of worry in his voice as he starts to look around. "We need to find Moira, and get out of here. I think things in there are only going to get worse…. thanks, by the way." he offers. "Things are getting worse with the cops. This was just straight aggression…"
However, the task at hand is find Moira and get the heck out of NYC. "First things, first, though. Lets find Moira- and then get back home." Armando then looks down at the hand-cuffs, his hands seeming to go rather like jelly as he pulls his hands through and let them fall to the ground. His hands start to look more solid after the steel falls to the ground. "Lets make tracks."
*
It all happens so fast. Kurt is whisking her out of there before Moira can yell again at the cop OR at Armando for making the STUPIDEST comments around angry, violent cops. She's in the alleyway, far with Kurt, breathing hard and giving him a fast nod that she'd be alright and then he's gone again. She has to figure out where to go… where to find Armando. It's not too much longer before she sees where people are pouring out and can find them. They'll make a fast get away to the car, but she won't forget that blue man who saved her.
*
'Aarrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yooooooou okaaaaaaaaaaay?'
Nancy pauses for what feels to her like the better part of ten minutes as Armando finishes saying what he was saying. The world to her was moving so slowly, she had to focus, to concentrate upon him for the eternity he took to finish his statement. And she nods, for the better part of what feels like ten seconds.
To him, it was like she was moving in fast motion, like she were vibrating in place, really.
Nancy responds to the rest of what he says. To her, it sounds like, "Sure - I can make a sweep of the area," she says. To him, it probably sounded closer to "Fzbtfjt!" Like someone playing a record far too quickly. Moira would be aware of her presence when she would zip up nearish here - and soon enough, Armando would be led that way. All the while, however, Surge was releasing electricity - arcing from her and towards nearby others. Darwin was safe enough, probably due to some mutation, but Nancy would run home.
She needed to drain all this energy anyways.
*
Nightcrawler returns to the bar, helping others to get out via teleport if they aren't able to escape from the police. Will he have a job once things are cleared and the bar is reopened? It's hard to say as he's pretty recognizable. The police may just raid again.
This must be one of those times that Raven was speaking of — where Mutants really aren't treated like others. At least they haven't been made to wear badges to identify themselves, for those who can easily hide among everyone else.
Yet.