1964-05-07 - Spider-Man Ruins Everything
Summary: Spider-Man busts up an underground fight and Cassandra gets arrested.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
Peter Cassandra 

Manhattan gets the quietest it ever gets during a late Sunday night. It's the time when the weekenders are on their way home or in their hotels, when even the traditionally jumping night life in the city is taking it easy. Shows aren't showing, theaters are closed, and only a handful of bars remain open… enough to serve the really dedicated alcoholics of the city. But crime, crime rarely takes a break.

Though tonight, at least for the Spectacular Spider-Man, it seems like it's on vacation. Hanging upside down from the edge of a tall billboard that proclaims proudly, 'Marlboros, For The Real Man.' And a cowboy walking off into an artificial sunset… The vigilante keeps an eye on a section of the city and then decides to take the risk and talk to himself.

"I hate Sundays." Nope, nobody there to hear him. But sometimes it's good to hear your own voice. Reminds you to stay awake. Which he does. A few more moments pass and he heaves a heavy sigh, then abruptly /drops/ from that billboard into the abyss between buildings.

Falling… falling, then with a /THWIP!/ he fires a webline out to the side. It lets him convert that terminal momentum downwards into an arcing swing that sends him flying up into the sky. Little more than a blue and red blur against the night's skyline.
He falls again as gravity begins to reassert its dominion, another webline firing and catching the corner of a building and letting him run along the side of the windows, feet barely making a sound as he pads across the surface. Back into the air.

It's during one of these long winding leaps that he feels an itch, a tingling in the back of his head. He turns, eyelets whirring as they narrow to help him see the streets below. A sidestreet off of 16th. Just a few blocks from Hell's Kitchen. Two cars with their lights on pointing at each other and a circle of men who seem to all be standing there surrounding two figures of men fighting. Maybe an illegal fight, maybe somebody's getting beaten up for squealing… but one thing's for sure, whatever it is, it's rotten.


A referee stays just to the outside of this match up, as much to keep the fighters from killing each other as to keep the circle from interfering as they excitedly spoil for blood and action. Unfortunately, it's slow coming as one of the fighters, a teenage girl, dodges everything thrown at her and idley circles the man with a blank expression.

The man throws a punch and catches air. Then another and another, all whiffing past her as she almost casually leans out of the way to his frustration. He rushes, and she simply drops to tuck and rolls as he charges right into the circle to met with a mix of laughter and swearing! Money is on the line, and not everyone appreciates the show when its their guy being made a fool of.

"Yo, don't let dis trick a$$ b#-1 ARGUMENT OUT OF RANGEh punk you like that, jive man!"

"Screw you! I can't touch her when she don't stay put!"

The referee grabs him by the sleeve then to drag him back to the fight, upnodding the girl as he points to a nearby crate with apples and cartons of juice with a stern nod,"You two, quit foolin' around!"


There are any number of hustlers there, people throwing odds and slips of paper around as bets are placed here and there. They probably thought this was a good location, just outside of where the Devil makes the magic happen inside of Hell's Kitchen, but close enough to the neighborhood there that those other caped freaks probably wouldn't pay attention. Maybe even their first choice of locale ended up being a no go. But for now they've got things well underway.

It's definitely not a glamorous set up. The abandoned building's fenced off back lot has definitely seen better days and probably from way back during the war. But tonight it seems more alive than it's been in a long time. There are the shouts, the laughs, the mocking comments hurled from the crowd, not even to mention all the booze that's being shared. A few other fighters are also warming up just on the fringe of things. So it's all going pretty well.
And then there's a voice that comes from above, a bit sing-song and entirely too cheerful as it says, "Man, they said Madison Square was getting run down, but this is ridiculous. And did you see the parking? Lousy I tell ya." He's got a bit of a Queens accent, whoever the guy is that's talking from somewhere above in the shadows. Then one of the promoters grabs a side swivel light on his car and aims it upwards and suddenly there he is, Spider-Man, in all his red and blue pajama glory. The light glints off of his visored eyes even as he's perched up there on the wall impossibly.

"You guys should really take up a hobby. Like Philatelism. Trust me, it's not as dirty as it sounds."

But then the crowd yells, even as the guy who is 'fighting' Cassandra looks up… distracted. "Screw you, Spider-Man!"

"Get lost, ya bum!"



If Cassandra noticed everyone looking up to the wall crawler, it didn't show. She had bigger priorities, evidently, as she dashed up to her combatant to wrap things up in an exotic but lightning fast fashion.

The hoodied fighter's hands go low as she suddenly adopts a half crouch with her feet slightly more than shoulder width apart, wrapping around one of his ankles to grab then yank his foot out from underneath him a violence that would write a shocked expression all over his face. When the man goes horizontal before her, her hands come up above him in unison where they ball into fists to crash down at his torso and drive him bluntly to the ground where he'll lie groaning.

The referee just blinks at her for a moment along with the others who could be bothered to peel their eyes away from Spiderman, then grins. He declares,"Well, we has a motha&#@*in' winner. Give it up for the Orphan!

Unfortunately, not everyone agrees! Apparently some think he was cheated, blaming Spiderman for unfairly interrupting! Things start to look dicey as a couple start crowding the ref for their money, and Cassandra just looks blankly at the crate of food."


"The hell was that, ref? We had a break in the fight!"

"I didn't hear no bell!"

"The fuck are you trying to pull?"

The crowd starts to move in as voices rise and angry words are hurled back and forth, even as some fists come down onto the hoods of the cars, some gestures are aimed towards Spider-Man and Cassandra. One man makes a grab for the handful of cash one bookie has only to start getting a riotous beating from the two bouncers the man employs.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, there's no fighting in the boxing ring." Spider-Man casually comments, ever topical on that blockbuster movie that came out a few months ago.

"It's his fault, get him!" And with those words chaos breaks out abruptly, finally reaching the boiling point. It's like a bar brawl only without the bar itself. Oh there'd been plenty of liquor and tons of drunkenness, but right now there's just rocks and dirt and old empty bottles around them. Men square off, fighting, punching, kicking. A quartet of men, probably the organizers, pull out pistols and suddenly the sound of gunfire is added to the mix of the brawl, all of the rounds sent up towards Spider-Man's way.
Yet for Cassandra all of this… she can read a moment ahead of time. A glance over the crowd and she can see the transformation of stances that signal the onset of violence. She can see the flush of features with blood as tempers literally rise. She can watch the dilation of their eyes and the beginning steps of the brawl. But if that glance over the entire scene feeds her such blanket information, should her glance pass over the now dropping silhouette of Spider-Man, what read she gains of him is like a beacon of light blazing amongst a myriad of fireflies.

The way he moves, slipping to the side of a bullet that kicks up dust and cement from the wall, the way he drops to the ground in a half-crouch only to almost instantly flip forwards and up, in between two men to smoothly twist in mid-air with one foot catching the side of a man's head, then his extending fist to smack square into the chest of another. He is clean precise movement, entirely otherworldly. But what is more… he seems to give off such strange signals, that it's almost as if his body knows what it is going to do before he does so himself.

Yet the time for contemplation passes in that blur, movement speeding up as the handlers for the man she had been fighting advance on her, one whirling a chain at his side. She just cost them the night's pay, but also the next few months of paychecks while their fighter recovers. Three men close on her and are looking to make her pay.


Seeing the outbreak of hostilities, Cassandra knows exactly what she has to do. There isn't going to be any killing here if she can help it, no matter who is to blame. Guns make for obvious targets, especially the one pointed her way. Noone cares if she's essentially dumb, and didn't realize the unfairness of the distraction.

Cassandra looks like she's dodging bullets as she dances left, then right, as one of the gunmen opens up at her. The truth is she can tell exactly where he's aiming and simply isn't there when he pulls the trigger. Closing on him like a disembodied shadow, she takes hold of the gun in his hand to wrench the barrel up and over with a suddenness that snaps his trigger finger as she relieves him of it! Fortunately, the pain isn't long as she whips the weapon back around to belt him across the side of his head and into sleepy time.

Cassandra wastes no time from there, making her way over the bookie being beaten down as she leaves the genuinely amazing Spiderman to his work, being ill equipped to handle multiple gunmen from multiple angles herself. Apparently, with his reaction times he is perfectly suited to that task. It is genuinely beyond her comprehension as yet, what she just witnessed of him.
The three men closing on her won't go ignored for long, she simply opted to deal with troubles all at once. dashing behind the first accosting the bookie, she'll press her body into his back while snaking an arm around his neck to alley-oop him to the ground where she'll head stomp his face into the pavement. This is followed immediately with a stomp kick to the side of the other's knee before a fist crashes into his face…and then a turn to meet the trio!


All is chaos. It is all a swirl of movement and mayhem, and from someone on the ground there it's rare to be able to make sense of it. Fists are thrown, teeth are broken, faces shattered. The pistols are the first things to go, however. There was only a handful of them in the crowd, and abruptly one less as Cassandra breaks the hand and finger of the one who had been aiming her way. Another one finds the barrel of his gum suddenly jammed with a glob of webbing even while his compatriot has his revolver yanked from his hand by a webline that /thwips/ out and snaps back, the weapon clattering against the wall as Spider-Man darts past.

All through the conflict, Spider-Man is a being of reflex. Flipping into the air at times, ricocheting off the hood of a car to land upon the shoulders of two men and slam them to the ground, only to roll forwards and carom straight into the abdomen of another to crash into a third ending with a tackle to the ground. Sometimes there's the sound of a webshooter /thwipping/ to bind the men in place, other times there's a whack-smack-crunch as consciousness is stolen from them.
Yet across the way, Cassandra's facing off against the three who have murder on their minds for her. She can read them so easily, the one on the left carries more malice as he steps in, befouling the approach of the other two. It's his chain that lashes out first towards her head as he moves at her, the other two shifting around him. They'll arrive a half a second behind their comrade, giving her plenty of time to deal with him. One of them tries reaching for her hands to hold her in place while the other is going to try and grab her ankle, knowing how deadly her legs can be.

Yet even as this happens, when things take a turn against a crowd, it's a thing of instinct when it starts to turn from rage to fear. It sometimes doesn't take much. Such as now when two strange beings are swirling in their midst and clearly putting down people left and right… bravado aided by numbers fails quickly when those numbers dwindle. Already people begin to break and run. One of those cars has its engine roar to life as a handful of the audience make a break for it. Others start to scatter into the nearby alleyways.


Cassandra is almost bewildered by the cacophany around her, but she is focused with three motivated aggressors closing on her. The highly trained fighter that she is backs away for a couple half steps, observing them hawkishly behind her neutral features before going on her offensive once more.

She goes low to contradict their place of attack when the chain bearing assailant brings his weapon around, tumbling past the man grabbing at her hands to sweep his feet from beneath him with a strategy in mind along the lines of a row of dominos. Drop him towards the one who thought to try grabbing at her legs, thereby removing them both from the fight long enough to single out the chain bearing assailant.

That man will carry the inertia of his weapon whirling around as he follows her movements, frustration riddling his features at how agile she is. He'll bring his weapon crashing down at her once, then twice as she dodges then snakes out with a hand to capture the end of it. She'll plant the top of her shoe across his diaphragm as she yanks at his chain, briefly engaging in a tug of war to cause him to dig in. When he does, she's got him. She plants a foot on top of his lead knee then literally runs up his person, climbing to his shoulders to finish him with a sharp elbow to the crown, then another as he falls!
With that done, she quickly finishes off the other two after recovering her own footing. This is simple enough with a flash of acrobatic talent of her own, notably less astonishing than his own. After all, she is but a humble girl from out of town.


The dust is still in the air as the last of the crowd makes its way off and out of that vacant lot that now is populated primarily with moaning and fallen forms. How many is hard to tell at a first glance. A score of them perhaps? The cars are gone, the gamblers have rushed off, and all that's left standing in the thin light of the moon so high above are those two still standing figures. One of that blue and red vigilante, and other of that humble gal from down the way.

It's then that he straightens up, turning to face her and she'll see that… well he's not much taller than her. And actually he's pretty skinny. The mirrored lenses of his eyelets reflect her image back to her as he tilts his head to the side curiously and then his voice lifts, "So, I would ask if you're all right, but I don't think anyone laid a hand on you."

Strange to get such a reading on a person. He's utterly… at ease. It's as if he is comfortable with himself, with the world. There's no fear in his stance, at least that his form gives read of. Perhaps harder to get an angle on him what with that mask, but still.

"You were one of the fighters, right?" He asks, head tilting back the other way slightly.


Cassandra cants her head as she's spoken at by the wallcrawler, tilting her head slightly as she furrows her brows at him and regards him intensely. Her entire demeanor is loose, from the arms now hanging loosely by her sides ending with open hands extensively calloused to her upright posture. From a distance, her lean figure might be mistaken for a boy but for her face.

Cassandra will blink once at him after a long moment before walking to claim her prize, the crate of food. She disregards the money that is doubtlessly lying around from the failed robbery of the bookie, not giving it even a sideways glance. She can't eat that after all. One thing Spidey might notice as she makes to walk past him for this, is she's ripe. Living on the streets isn't hygienic, and if she isn't allergic to water then she hasn't experienced it in a while.


"Kid of a few words, got it." Spider-Man watches her for a moment, then steps back and out of the way as she moves to walk past. She can probably tell that he's pensive for some reason as he gives her the room. Perhaps gauging one course of action over another. After all, she was in the brawl, but then again she didn't go after anyone beyond the people who went after her. Only crime she might be guilty of is being competent enough to handle herself.

But behind that mask, as she walks by, his eyes widen a bit. There's a crinkle to his nose as he grimaces slightly and steps to the side. "You uhh," He tilts his head and considers the box of food and the ignored money… then her again. "Are you alright?" He asks again, this time concern entering into his shift of one foot to the other, trepidation evident for a moment. "I mean, do you speak English?"

He'd read things about people being kidnapped, enslaved. Just last year there was the deal with those mutant kids who were busted out just off the East river. But, even as he's considering that, that's when the bright red and blue lights of several police vehicles start to flash off the walls of that vacant lot as several cruisers begin rolling up the alleyways, a single chirp/whoop of a siren announcing their presence.
"Ah crap. This…" He quickly looks back, yeah this doesn't look good. The police never have his best interest at heart and if he bails… she'll be stuck holding the bag. Or in this case the box.

A frown marks his features, "Look, if you understand me at all," He gestures towards the cops, then back to her. "We need to beat feet. And I don't want to leave you here. Also I think… something is up. So hey." He extends one bewebbed hand towards her, offering… something? It might not be clear what to her, but the way he's extending of himself towards her isn't a threat, there is no malice in his manner nor deception.


The bright blues and reds are a sight she's familiar with, and usually tries to avoid as she isn't interested in spending time with people that carry restraints and guns and fun sorts that make people spazz all over the ground. This isn't a good situation in particular because even Cassandra knows how they like their perimeters when they are carrying people away, and sometimes even have dogs and whirlybirds.

Cassandra regards the wallcrawler with trepidation of her own, perhaps remembering how he showed up dangling upside down. She sighs then, looking forlornly down at the crate of food in her hand. Mind made up, she'll take off to the fence like a shot in the dark, hoping to clear it before the cops surround the place.

Hitting the fence, she tosses her food crate over before deftly clearing it with a chinup and a vault. She's got guns, clearly. Unfortunately, so do the cops and evidently they are on the ball! Whirlybird incoming with a searchlight, did someone have a sting going with this fightclub…?


For a moment a spotlight flashes over the wallcrawler as he looks after the fleeing young woman. There's a moment of consideration as he looks after, then he shoots a glance at the approaching cruisers. "Man," He says to himself before he looks after the fleeing Cassandra. A breath is taken then he murmurs, "Be careful, kiddo."

With that having been said he takes three quick strides, rushing towards the side of the building and /leaps/ up the side of it, two stories straight up and then bounding/crawling up the rest of it til he plants one hand and leaps over the lip of the building onto the roof. For a moment just the silhouette of his masked head is seen over the edge of the building, the lenses in his mask gleaming for a moment as he looks after the woman trying to escape from the police.

Too many unknowns, too many questions. He ducks back from his vantage point and then turns to walk across the rooftop, away from the enclosing police cordon. He shakes his head and frowns, something definitely not sitting right. But one thing is for sure, whomever that young woman was she made an impression.


The police have rolled in fast, their whirlybird overhead illuminating the scene of the brawl. A foursome of cruisers have pulled in, with only two of them having been seen at first. The other two were circling around to the side that Cassandra opted to escape. She was in the midst of gathering up her mealtimes when they closed in.

The police roll up and she makes a break for it, staunchly determined not to lose her earnings.

"FREEZE! Drop the crate and put your hands up! Dammit…"

One of the cops pulls out a shotgun with rubber shots, taking aim. Cassandra isn't looking, focused on escaping instead. A shot rings out, and her food goes forward as two other cops run up with cuffs and tazers ready. As tough as she is, those things raise knots and she's drug to her feet and halfway to the cruiser before her breath can get back. Kicking and screaming, one of the cops knocked to the ground by a fierce foot to his chest, she's eventually put in the back of a squad car to be hauled off.

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