1964-09-07 - Evildoers
Summary: Tanya, Lamont, and Kai take on some baddies and their own sense of right and wrong.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
kai tanya lamont 

The warmth of the late summer evening is trapped beneath heavy clouds. The distant rumble has nothing to do with large trucks on the highway nearby or the boats grating against weathered docks. It's a storm imminent and the Black Mamba herself glances towards the sky, its thick underbelly lit by the city's glow. Dressed in a form-flattering (a.k.a. skin-tight) supple leather suit and with dark hair pulled back into a severe bun, she's sleek lines and curves.

"Son of a bitch…" she whispers from her perch on the rooftop of an old baitshop. The place is nearly decrepit and far too easy to break into if need comes to it. She found her way up here via a rusty set of fire escape stairs. No easy escape, however, from any rain that begins to pour down. Maybe it's only heat lightning? Fingers crossed. She only does 'drowned rat' so well.

Why is Tanya here? Word got out that a mob, possibly eastern European in origin, had cornered some sort of winged creature. Blood was spilt. The Black Mamba is dubious. Still…what better reason to check in and see what nefarious deeds may be going down on such a night?

Why *is* she here? For there's another presence in the dark of the early autumn evening. One going unseen….for Tanya's not the only one to have heard those rumors, and that perennial foe of organized crime has come to begin his own investigation.

But her presence has piqued his curiosity, so now there's a figure swathed in black silk, observing her from the shadows of the roof.

The storm has Kai energized, and he's on patrol. Clad in shades of grey, he blends into the urban shadows and darkening streets. Rumors get around, and Kai has come to see what's what. If it's a minor issue, he'll deal with it. If it's more than that, there are the Avengers. In his pocket, the Apple of Idun lies heavy. Round his neck the Crescent of Tears hangs ready.

The first big, fat droplet of rain hits the top of the old shop with audible 'plip'. Tanya glances to it, senses attuned out of habit to random noises, and there's the flat glare at the offending splatter.

"Wonderful." The storm isn't on them in force just yet, but it seems that an unmarked van pulling up beneath a stuttering streetlight has arrived. She uncurls from her crouch and resets her position, remaining a low-lying figure and never moving too abruptly. What little ambient light shines from the street below gently limnes the lithe dancer's limbs and roundings.

Below, someone slams the door hard and then lights up a cigarette. The cherry glows brightly and then dims; bluish smoke curls up into the slowly-moving air and he took glances up at the sky. Some curse in another language can be heard — he's just as annoyed at the incoming weather in the end.

"…what the fuck are you up to…?" Tanya whispers to herself, her olive eyes slitted.

Rain. Rain is good. It's a friend, covering tracks, covering the few sounds he makes. He can't keep it off him self - it rolls down the brim of the slouch hat, beads on the silk and flows down. Tanya's soft question earns her a stay on the imminent world of hurt the Shadow's so ready to provide a passport to - clearly, she's not part and parcel of what he suspects is going on down there. The sense of a familiar mind has him reaching out - Kai will feel a tentative touch, and then that mental whisper. *Kai. It's Lamont. I'm keeping an eye on that van - I think this might be part of a human trafficking ring I've been investigating. But there's a woman up here on the roof with me - she doesn't see me. I'm not yet sure why she's here….but be careful.*

Then, in turn, he's ghosting the barest contact, trying to get a grip on what and who Tanya might be.

Kai breathes in deep the petrichor and sighs softly. He can never get enough of that scent. When his casual thoughts, wondering what his lover is wearing right now, are interrupted by the mental touch, he tilts his head, then thinks, 'Hey, cool cat. You got it.' He looks up at the roof. He's down on the ground himself, in the shadow of an alleyway. 'Anywhere in particular you need me to be?'

The man below continues smoking his cigarette and the wind takes the scent of it up to the rooftop. Tanya wrinkles her nose — blugh. Cheap brand, by the amount of dryness and ash she can pick out. The rain begins to fall more in earnest now, dotting the rooftop and everything on it. She grimaces as a cold droplet runs down her neck and carefully, she reaches up a gloved hand to brush it away.

Another set of car lights appears from the distant gloom of the one main street that runs along the docks. She shifts her attention to it, the turn of her head framing her profile in that faint streetlight glow. Still, the Mamba waits, minute shiftings helping to ward off pins and needles of trapped blood.

What will Lamont sense? First and foremost, self-preservation. Oh yes, there's a veritable gloss of it across her psyche. It's not all curiosity that brought her here; there's also this twisted sense of responsibility, of 'I must be here because fill in the blank'. Worry, some of that — again, mostly for herself, but someone else as well — red hair and hazel eyes? Devious vengeance, oh, a good portion of that. There's a bone to pick with these folks, whomever they are, though it's not personal — it's the premise of the thing.

*I don't know yet,* Lamont admits to Kai. It's an odd sensation, as if he stood too close to KAi, whispering in his ear. *But be ready to move….* A moment's silence, as he touches Tanya's mind. *She is not our enemy, this woman, I think. She is also here for these men….*

'The enemy of my enemy…' Kai glances toward the coming car and ducks further into the shadows. His golden curls are concealed by a hood, nary a glimpse of those bright blue eyes. 'How fight-worthy is she on a scale from concerned citizen to murder-monster? I want to know if I'm leading the charge or following up the rear.'

On the street level, he looks around, and he listens for anything unusual, and he keeps an eye on that car.

The other van pulls up alongside the first, momentarily blocking the view of the cigarette-puffing driver. There's an exchange in another language, some of it lost to the incoming roll of thunder — nearer now and following a muffled lance of lightning up within the clouds — and Tanya slinks to the very edge of the roof. It has a low-rise of bricks to mark its end and she still stays beyond immediate light.

"Come on, you bastard, speak up," she grates to herself, eyes narrowing further. About her, the air itself seems to shimmer and then…to thicken. Fog? No, thicker still…smoke. A oily ribbon of anti-light is pulled from some place and wends about her almost lovingly. It undulates, slowly, emitting a faint psychic sense of malevolence. One might gain the same impression from a great white shark cruising the shallows.

The second van suddenly reverses and swings about, bringing the back doors to face their mirror in the first. There's little room between the two vehicles, enough to track motion, and the two drivers meet again in the space, talking quietly in their foreign language.

*She is a warrior, I think,* And then there's the abrupt jolt of shock down the link to Kai. *She's a sorcereress* Lamont corrects, losing some of that icy calm. *A practititioner of the darker arts. Not that this is necessarily evil* Otherwise, Lamont would be a big, fat hypocrite, wouldn't he? *She's got some sort of form of darkness up here….* He's listening again, straining to pick up the words the men are saying. *Kai, can you hear them? Can you understand that speech?*

Kai's hand strays to the pendant hanging from his throat, and with a quiet snick, the pendant falls into two pieces that assemble themselves into daggers. Now he's got a pair of them, one in each hand. Got to love that dwarvish craftsmanship. 'They've got teens in the van,' he thinks. 'I don't know how many, I didn't catch that. Let's get these guys, Monty.'

He steps out of the shadows, drawing himself up to his scant height. 'I'm going in. Watch out for the kids.' Kids? He looks like he could be among their numbers, maybe on the older side.

The back doors of van number one open and Kai might be able to see, from his angle, that the back of that vehicle is empty. It's the second van that contains the handful of youngsters, all no older than fifteen, and all drugged out of their gourds with a sedative.

"«Ioseph, they're all accounted for?» The first asks, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"«Yes, Luka, all six of them, as the man ordered.»"

Taking the cigarette from his mouth, the first mobster then removes the gun from his holster. "«Load them up. I'll stand watch. Don't sully the goods.»"

A coughing laugh. "«You are confusing me with Ogdin, I think.»"

The first kid is dragged from the back and then frog-marched to the other van. Tanya can see the orange glare of streetlight bounce off the young face and her knuckles crackle as she makes fists. "Oh, you fuckers! Hell's too good for you!" With dark hair glistening with rain, she then draws her own weapon, a modified Gyrojet, from a holster at her hip. Taking careful aim, the first specialized bullet flies.

The second van's front tire explodes in a snarling rip of burnt rubber — the two mobsters jump like scalded cats, there's a garbled cry from within the van as it lists — and then the back tire is equally destroyed. Even as the two men are attempting to retreat behind the vehicles for safety, she dismantles the first van's front and back tires. No escape now!!!

*I am with you!* It feels like a shout, though he makes no sound. Not at first, though. He's down the fire escape and on to the ground at speed, moving like a spill of ink. Only when he's come in accurate pistol range does he break the silence - and not just with the barking of the pair of Colts. No, there's that madman's laughter, starting as a low chortle, and scaling up to a raucous hilarity that has nothing at all of humor to it. There's the strobe of muzzle flare, each .45 round striking precisely where it was aimed. He's an odd figure, visible only in those freeze-frame instants.

'The kids are drugged being transferred now,' Kai reports. 'If you find someone named Ogdin, castrate him.' Happy golucky elf has his limits.

He walks right into the gunfire, the wind billowing his cloak. His daggers gleam, as do his eyes within the shadow of his hood. One of the thugs pulls a gun on him, firing. He's not Asgardian. He's not that tough, but he's tough enough it bounces off him hard. It'll leave a nasty bruise. "Wrong answer," Kai says, and he knocks the thug in the head with the butt of his dagger. The man goes down in a heap.

Turns out that the vans harbor more than just drivers and kidnapped teenagers. It's like disturbing a small ant hill. Two more mobsters emerge from the first van from the passenger side door and one from the second — Kai drops this guy just after he realizes that the bullet meant to maim the incoming young man, with this weirdly supernatural body movements, missed. No, hit? Doesn't matter, he's lying on the ground insensate now, the gun useless on the rainy asphalt.

Tanya holds her fire, the muzzle of the gun pointed skywards at the sudden appearance of not just the grey-cloaked short person, but this cackling maniac who's firing with unnerving aim.

Well…they aren't going to have all the fun, what the hell?! Holstering the gun again, the wending of Darkforce unpeels from caressing her body and dives into the fray. A blitzing streak of anti-light, it hits another lackey like a bolt from the blue and then he's dropping to his knees in the rain, clawing at the shadow clinging to his face. Suffocation? Clearly on her list of deadly abilities. Another loud roll of thunder drowns out all sound.

His voice in full Shadow mode is nothing like Lamont's urbane drawl. It's metallic and flat, and sharp-edged with madness. "Leave one alive. We will question him." As if Tanya must necessarily follow his orders. And here, too, is the grace that only Strange and Lindon and Lambert have caught glimpses of, before, each movement punctuated by the crack of pistol fire. The three of them are mowing through the goons like reapers in a field of wheat.

Kai kicks away the gun belonging to the one who shot him, and he kneels, binding his hands with twine he's kept in his pocket. Then he heads for the teens, ducking low so as not to get in Monty's way. He leads the first one back into the van with the others. "There you go, you all just stay there for a moment." He closes the van doors. "Hullo," he says to Tanya as she suffocates one of the baddies. "I'm Kai. Nice to meet you." One of the thugs runs at him and is felled by the Shadow. Another follows on his heels and Kai kicks him. The little guy's kick sends the bigger guy flying.

Down the fire escape Tanya goes, swinging from the last few rungs and sticking that landing with grace. Growing puddles splash under her boots as she dashes in behind the men, one hand outstretched to impress her will upon the Darkforce wrapped around the lackey's head like some demented scarf.

CRACK — that was his neck. He drops like a stone and she recalls it. Her olive eyes are beetle-black entirely, even the sclera, and she wears a thin-lipped smile. There's a terrifying feedback loop between her power and her most basic sense of Id. The wending stream of liquid ink is recalled to her and circles her in an almost wary motion.

The teenagers are still too drugged to do much more than accept Kai's command as the word of power and thus, they huddle in the back of the van, still contemplating the odd lean to the floor. The driver's are firing back at the would-be heroes now. Another lackey drops, his brain pan succumbing to a well-placed bullet by the Shadow, and this leaves the two originals seen hashing out specifics. The first doesn't have his cigarette anymore. Just his gun and his terrified faith that this is going to end with him alive. Poor bastard.

That one. That one's his. Lamont goes for the first one….now with the butt of the pistol. There's the crack of metal meeting bone, but it's calculated to knock out, rather than kill. The man drops like an ox, and then he's turning on the other, that second. Lamont sheds that invisibility in favor of assuming the veil of raw terror, clamping fear down like a vise. "KNEEL," he snarls at him.

With the kids safe(ish) in the van, Kai goes about picking off thugs, moving among the with a sure step and remarkable agility. The cuts he delivers tend to be superficial, the majority of his damage dealt with the butt of his weapons or a well-placed super-strong kick or punch. He's a shadow in motion, flowing like a dance, still not giving no clear visage with his hood in place.

Between the Elf, the Shadow, and the Mamba, the would-be child salesmen are dispatched. Blood runs red in the falling rain, draining off into a nearby sewer grate. Only the sound of heavy rain follows save for the pathetic weebling in the direction of the Shadow.

The first driver is unconscious and will sport a nasty goose-egg…whenever he awakens. The second wets himself in abject terror and falls to his knees, clutching at his skull.

"«By the tears of Mother Mary, SPARE ME!!!»" It's probably near-gibberish in a language from the Eastern European bloc, but Kai will know he's begging. "«SPARE ME! I HAVE A FAMILY!!!»"

Tanya's lips part just enough to reveal teeth. She's half within a cone of street light and runnels of water glisten on her leather suit. "I don't give a fuck what he says. Kill him." An upraised hand brings the zero-gravity droplets of pure blackness to swirl about her fingers and boy howdy, does that energy lust to seize hold of the man and strangle the life from him.

Tanya is spared a glance from those burning eyes, pale to colorlessness, the one feature vivid between the shadowing brim of the hat and the swath of scarlet silk that covers mouth and jaw. "Wait," he says, more quietly, though it has no crack of command to it. "This one I would spare. He will tell us more….and then he will tell the rest of those engaged in this sordid trade that they will desist….or the Shadow will bring them the justice they have courted." It should be camp, those theatrical declarations. ….but that tone is deadly serious.

To Kai, there's another of those mental touches. *Thank you. Help me with her, though. If she decides to fight me, I won't be able to take her. If you've got the children safe…..please come.*

"So do they," Kai tells the begging man. He holds a hand up to Tanya, all the same. "Woah, luv. This is where we tie them up and call the cops. We're saving kids, not auditioning to be the next threat." 'Are the kids safe? Just how dark side is she going to get?' The kids are tucked away though, for now, and the door is closed on them. Chances are they won't be wandering into traffic, so he comes around toward Shadow. "Our mission is these kids," he says. "Let's get them home."

"Then you get the kids home, shortstack, and let me dish out what these fuckers deserve," Tanya snarls at the Alfheimian, the concept of her attention landing on him purely for the turn of her face. No pupils, no irises, nothing except glistening blackness like ink behind those lashes. The hanging globlets of blackness shiver and quake in mid-air, their swirling about her upraised hand increasing in speed.

Her attention falls upon Lamont now and she has to wait out another rumble of thunder before being heard. "Interrogate the bastard and then leave him to me. It only takes one messenger to deliver a goddamn message." Such cold logic.

The one conscious mobster continues to kneel and tremble, looking between them all with terror on full display. Rain soaks his clothing. He can't reach his gun; he dropped it and lunging for it will only end his life faster. He doesn't understand English and continues to whimper to himself.

"These two live," Lamont's voice is cold, inexorable. "One for us, one for the police. You've slain your share this evening - this river of blood does not content you? My companion is right. The goal is to stop them….and to restore the stolen children to home." *The children are safe enough. I don't know. I've not met her before. She's more powerful than I…..but I think she's like me. Magic is not her first resort. Violence is.* And that, ladies and gents, is why Lamont is only barely an Avenger. He'll commit acts without thinking that would have Captain Rogers looking for the nearest trashcan.

The shadowed hood turns toward Tanya. "Don't be the next villain I have to stop tonight," he tells her with no room for discussion. He flips the daggers in his hands. 'You get the kids, I'll interrogate our guy. Avenge me if it goes south, and tell Loki everything.' Because that's how he gets his petty revenge.

The holds up his finger to Tanya again and tells her, "Walk away, shake it off. This isn't a negotiation. We don't murder in cold blood." He then says to the quivering guy, "Tell me everything, start with who is in charge and what is their objective?"

There's a second where the molten drops of obsidian fracture and spike out like demented pufferfish — Tanya's eyes narrow at the two men — and then it's like the smoothing of ruffled feathers. The susurrus of the rain…or perhaps of the power itself…hisses as the darkness seeps away, seemingly back into her suit itself.

"Fine. Dumbass high and mighty goodie-two-shoes." It's a comment for the general populace. She folds her arms beneath her chest. Turning her head aside, a few hard blinks serves to wipe away the rest of the emptiness from her eyes and olive irises are back again, though they hold a hard glitter to them…and a touch of compulsion to a weakened mind. "What I do then while you two make your mommas proud? Because I sure as hell am not standing around in the rain like some fucking maid while everyone chit-chats. And before someone says, 'Oh, miss, call the cops!', no. Someone else can go phone them. I ain't doing it."

Even as Tanya's snarking in Lamont's general direction, the mobster is itching to knee-crawl to Kai and cling at his sodden cloak. "«Krishnakov! He is the lieutenant! It is for money! The men, they want the children for — for — »" Even he can't finish the thought, though the Elf probably can. Inside the van, someone starts crying.

"Most people just call me Hjuki," says the hooded figure. He watches the mobster clinging to his cloak. Nng, don't think he's on your side either, Mr. Bad Man. "Krishnakov," he tells Tanya. "He's some kind of lieutenant, in it for the money. Does the name ring a bell?" That's what she's doing, being given information.

"I've just saved your life, you owe me more than a lieutenant and a sudden bout of conscience. Out with it." The crying from inside the van brings a harshness to his voice. "Tell me what they're doing to someone else's son or daughter, family man."

"I will call the police, when it is time," Lamont says, calmly enough. The rain sluices off the brim of his hat, patters on the planes of black silk. To Tanya, he says, as he turns towards the van, "You can wait, and listen. And ask what questions you would like." That aura of terror drops - he's no longer a phantom and a horror, but some strange oddity. He opens the van's door, and before there's even a further peep from the contents, he says, almost tenderly, "Sleep now." There is the weight of command behind it.

Tanya actually doesn't snark for a time. Instead, she watches the odd gunslinger's actions and their results…and her stomach shrinks a little. It isn't just the rain running cold beneath her hair as she hides most of a shiver. The kids, they all pass clean out, already nearly there for the drugs in their system. One last sniffle from the weeping one and his head falls to his companion's shoulder.

The mobster leans some weight into the handfuls of sopping cloak he has. "«Truly, I don't know! I am just the delivery team! Luka knows more!»" Totally useful. The unconscious man knows more. "«Spare me, please, I have a wife and baby!"» Oh yeah, he's blubbering now.

The scoff from the Black Mamba drips caustic disdain. "Can we just shoot him now? Please?"

"You, let go of my cloak." A pointed finger to Tanya, "You, no, stop asking." Don't make him turn this crime scene around. "Luka's dead." As an afterthought, he kicks the man's gun further away. Then he kneels swiftly, taking the thug's chin in his hand. It's a supernaturally strong hand. A hand that could break one's jaw with a twist. There's a silvery glint within the shadows of that hood from his eyes. "Hands where I can see them. What are they doing with the kids?"

'Monty, any way you can make him confess? This is a bit off my beat.' Not to mention the elf wants to throttle the bastard, and it's only a mortal code that keeps him from turning him over to Mamba.

I can Lamont admits. One moment Whatever his scruples about killing an opponent beaten, he has none whatsoever about grinding the man's will under like a booted foot snuffing out a cigarette butt on the pavement. And that's precisely what he does - rolling over any attempt to conceal or deny like a dark wave. Then he's skimming the man's mind, seining for info - it needs no common language, but images, thoughts, universal. "Patience," he tells Tanya aloud, softly.

The Black Mamba lets out a prolonged, muted grumbling sound. Patience is not her strong suit — and if that dustmop-bedraggled knife-wielding man tells her to do something one more time, he's going in the bay. Whilst the Shadow doth bulldoze over what futile resistance exists in the mobster's mind, she saunters over to the van door. Opening it again, she checks on the teenagers. All still out and sleeping like babies. She carefully looks them over before climbing inside. Everyone seems healthy enough, even if there is a bruise or two to be seen, dark eyes from lack of sleep — though they're getting more than enough now. The first glimmer of true humanity shows here in how she pushes aside the sweaty fringe of one boy's hair.

"I'm sorry, honey. We'll get you home," she murmurs. "All of you."

In the pouring rain, the mobster's mind fractures under the implacable force of Lamont's powers. With his chin in Kai's grip, he tries to grab at the Elf's wrist and pull free, but…for naught. His gaze goes empty, staring a hole into Kai's sternum and beyond.

"«Krishnakov is the ringleader. He answers to the Boss and no one else.»" An address is rattled off with flat intonement. "«Luka knows the buyer. I am deliveryman. I drug the children, nonlethal dosage. Three hours, they are fine. I do it for the money. My wife has an illness and may die this year. We cannot afford medical treatment and I keep her comfortable as I can."» A shame for the force used. The man was telling the truth after all. His mouth goes slack and his grip falls from Kai's wrist. Only the Elf's hold on his jaw keeps him from slumping to the wet asphalt. Thunder rolls.

Kai repeats it all, knowing it will come out in English to the English speakers, and he grimaces as the man slumps. "By the gods, Monty, fix him. What is it with you two?" He awkwardly lays the man out so he doesn't fall, but he also gets his faced rained on because people who drug children don't get 'face not rained on' privileges. He gets his hands and feet bound too, for his trouble. No running off on the cops, now.

Kai rises to his feet from the task and shoots Lamont a look. The hell, man? His thoughts aren't hard to read. What is wrong with everyone? With a sigh, he heads toward the van, pops his head in, and says quietly, "I have an address." He rattles it off, in case she didn't hear it the first time. There, he's arming a psychpath with knowledge of where to find more of these people. "Do you need help with this lot?"

"You are a fortunate man," Lamont's voice is suddenly soft, soft, softer than the rain but still inexorable. "You will survive. Your wife's treatment will be paid for. This will not longer be needed," Bitter necessity he knows. He's smoothing over what he can, and looking to Kai. "I wonder if we can find and heal his wife," he muses. "And if we can keep him from being killed by his Boss….and even out of jail. It's time for me to start rebuilding my network."

Ioseph is now bound and left to chill in his soaked clothing. He just stares up into the clouds, probably entertaining ideas of living nightmares and wondering if anyone will notice how he wet his pants. Luka remains sprawled, still unconscious and sporting a nasty bloody lump for the cold-clocking he received earlier.

Tanya emerges in time to see the mobster slump and she pauses, one boot extended out of the van to touch the glistening pavement. It leaves her framed in the van's doorway and she listens to hear the benevolence cast upon the man. Her brows flick high and then she's stomping over to the Shadow.

"What the HELL?! No! NO!" A finger pointed at him and then at Kai. "Both of you frickin' numbskulls are going to let them LIVE?! CHILD SLAVERS?!" Her voice breaks for the sudden rage.

Kai twirls his knives, calm and speculative. "I'm an Avenger," he says. "We don't commit murder and, on my watch, neither do you. We have a judicial system, and you're not it." He looks to Lamont. 'You might want to talk to her, mate, because I'm about one more murder-thirsting outburst away from knocking her out, and that just seems, I don't know, rude.'

To Tanya, he adds, "Anything else upsetting you want to shriek in front of traumatized kids, or are we good here?"

That persona pops back into place, making him again a stark figure of horror. The shadows seem to gather about him. "They are the little fish," he tells her in a low hiss. "They will lead us to the bigger - if all we slay are minions, the ringleaders will just find more disposable thugs and use them, instead." A flick of a gloved hand indicates Ioseph, "He did what he did out of necessity. It does not excuse it, but it admits the possibility of redemption. I've been fighting this fight since before you were born, don't think to dictate to me. What would you not do for the ones you loved? *Think*," he tells her. It's not a command as such. Not with the weight of magic behind it. I'm trying, he says, mental voice rueful. I will have her as an ally, if I can. I can't force her, though, even if I would.

Kai is given a more introspective look after his announcement. Avenger. …oops. The rage melts away again to mere irritation, which could be counted as success, even if her knuckles crackle again with the tendon-whitening clench about nothing. Her plush lips purse against the worst of possible responses and she instead retorts with, "He put them to sleep. They can't hear a damn thing right now." Lamont continues to get that pointer-finger in his direction. At the flip into Scary Mode, Tanya takes a step back. She's not about to tangle with this guy.

The Shadow makes a good point. Still… "And you can preach all you want, Stetson, but they only need one messenger in the end. Whatever you did to him, I hope you got the information you needed. And I don't love anyone. It makes things pretty fucking black and white for me." Her olivine eyes drop to Ioseph and to both gentlemen, it's pretty obvious that, for a fleeting second, she's contemplating something drastic for the deathly stillness that overtakes her frame. Then, a dismissive sniff. "I'm done standing in the rain. Do whatever Avenging bullshit needs to be done." She turns on her booted heel and makes to walk away.

"I am sorry for you, then," says Lamont, a little bleakly. He lets her go, turning back to Kai, and becoming again just a middle-aged man in a costume, nearly sodden with rain. There's weariness there. "We'll get the children safe home. One for the police….or perhaps both of them. I fear they won't survive, otherwise. I'll see about his wife."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License