|
  |
Snow lingers in the long shadows cast by architecture and nature alike as well as stubborn piles where it's been swept up and off the main paths leading to and from the Library. Having been called in to cover part of a sick coworker's morning shift, the glancing and brilliant sunlight from glass panes proves the departure of the librarian. A paltry few hours is at least a little more money for presents during the holiday.
With hand-knitted scarf in purple wrapped several times about her neck and warmest possible coat, gloves and boots complete the look. Cinnamon-brown eyes consider the safest way down the steps before she minces her way to flat ground once again. A glance too at the bus stop times is proof that walking home will keep her warmer than standing and waiting, so there she goes, down the street, and with each exhale puffing white in the chill air. It's about six city blocks to her apartment building. What could happen in six city blocks?
Someone should really explain to Rosemarie that most accidents occur within two miles of the home. As she starts to cross the street, there's a frantic beeping of.. a scooter horn? DEEP BEEP DEEEP!
The scooter races by, and on the back of it is one Peter Parker, frantic pizza delivery boy. "Not my day, not my day!" he's calling out as above him, there's a shadow that passes over Rosemarie.
Wings?
An older man, dressed in a green suit with white fur, complete with taloned boots and hands is chasing after the hapless pizza delivery boy. "Without Spider-Man to save you, boy, I'm going to rip you limb from limb!" he calls down to the seemingly hapless photographer. "And then you're going to tell me where your sugar daddy is hiding so I can go after him next!"
Rosemarie clears the pavement by about a foot for the sudden and incisive horn of the scooter. Her 'eeeep!' is probably lost in the shrill sounds. To the right, to the right, and then she's staring at the retreating back of the scooter driver with gloved hands up over her mouth. Wide eyes then flick upwards after a further flinch for the sudden swooping shift in air pressure. Wings indeed! …what?!
She knew that face — and that voice, hold up — oh! The photographer! Limb from limb?! She looks about frantically for others inclined to step in, but it seems the sight of an airbourne curmudgeon is enough to make most folks think twice about interrupting this spat.
Oh, but he was kind, the young man — Peter, yes, there jogs her memory, even as she's breaking into a hesitant and now more powerful run after the scooter. He probably wants to keep his limbs.
"Hey! HEY!!!" She shouts, her voice gaining a brassy note. The increase in blood pressure has triggered the Shi'ar Warbird's self-protective nature and already her irises are bleeding towards raptor-gold. "I'll call the cops!!!"
Though the green-clad figure hears Rosemarie, she's just another mouse in the street to the hunting hawk, as he turns his head to glare at the girl for a moment. "Stay out of this, girlie!" Vulture calls back towards Rosemarie. "This is between me an that little picture taking punk!"
"What'd I ever do to you?!" Peter calls out from the scooter, deftly avoiding a truck that's in the middle of the road, just as he hears Rosemarie's declaration. Oh no! It's the girl from the library. "Go call the cops!" Please don't get in the middle of it, he couldn't handle it if she got hurt!
"You know what you did to me, Parker! Those pictures put me in prison, and now!" he swoops down, and misses Parker by mere inches as the scooter gets shoved to the side. "…I'm going to put you into the ground."
A distraction.. Peter just needs Vulture off of him for a few seconds so he can get into the spidey-suit that's just below his street clothes.
"Leave him alone!!!!" Her shout echoes on the street as the scooter and young man are nearly mince-meat. Now showcasing bright avian eyes, it's no hardship for the crests of feathers to flick out behind each of her ears. Ow-ow-ow-ow, must get coat off, fledgling Shi'ar wings imminent! Oh no! But — the public?! But moreso, kind Peter, who probably doesn't deserve this in the least.
A nearby staircase descending to a basement-level door is momentary cover. Even as Rosemarie begins shucking sleeves in the shadow of the stairway's walls, she's grimacing. Her fingernails, now talons, are cutting slices in her coat. It's cold. She hates the cold. A long hot shower is going to be her best friend when all this is said and done. A gasp and the plumage emerges from the low-cut back of her turtleneck sweater. The wingspan isn't much, a paltry and not-very-helpful nine feet at most, but she emerges again onto the sideway and after mantling azurine feathering, she shrieks. It's a primal, hateful sound, something probably heard back when dinosaurs walked the earth. The Shi'ar battle-blood is thumping through her and that man is not going to hurt kind Peter. Or its host.
Meanwhile, back up on street-level, Peter looks relieved for just a moment as Rosemarie heeds his call to flee and call the authorities. It only lasts a few seconds before his spider-sense cries out it's panicked voice, raising and tingling his entire nerve cluster - just as Vulture sweeps in, knocking him off of the scooter. The bike travels several yards and then flips end over end in the street - that stack of pizzas on the back? A distant memory, as the loss of pepperoni, sausage, and that madman who ordered pineapple and jalopeno is left in the slush covered streets.
Vulture swoops high into the air. "And now, boy, like those pizzas, you are about to be dismembered!" he crows out, just as there comes that unholy Shi'ar shreik. As if hearing the call of another preadtor, Vulture turns towards the source, which gives Peter just enough time to roll up under a nearby truck and open a manhole cover, slipping down into the sewers.
"Oh no Parker, you don't get away that easily!" Vulture calls out as he alights on the truck, and starts to rock it back and forth to turn it over and try to trap Peter down in the sewers within.
There's not a lick of offensive wisdom in Rosemarie's human memories as to approaching this terrible individual. A nasally, softer cry and momentary freeze on her part follows the disaster that is the crashed scooter and pizza-pies. Rest in pieces, twelve-inch Meat Monster with extra cheese. She sees Peter disappear and the librarian can rest easy in this — at least until the grinding and screeching of stressed metal follows.
In this, the Shi'ar Otherness takes offense and now she's darting across the street towards the chaos, in exact opposition to her normal whims. Cars have stopped, hopefully, maybe even begun shifting gears to reverse. Another enraged shriek and she slides short of the front of the truck, glaring daggers at the Vulture.
"I said, leave him be! Last chance!" It makes the most sense to slam her hands down onto the truck's hood, piercing the metal with those alien-bird talons and attempting to hold the automobile steady against the rocking.
When Rosemarie slams down on the hood in full Sh'ar glory, even Vulture has to take pause for a moment. And while she is strong, that harness of his causes him to be able to still rock the truck. "And who are you?" the man asks the Sh'ar warbird. "And what is one worthless human to you?" he asks with a sneer. "You could come with me. I can show you how to use your powers to their full potential. Those on the ground. They are weak, they are prey. You and I? We're the predators."
"Barely meet a girl, and you're asking for her hand in marriage? Man, I thought Cassius Clay moved fast." That voice? It comes from the blue and red clad superhero that's hanging upside down from a nearby streetsign. "You murdered a margheretti? That's just an affront to Italians everywhere, Vulture!" With that, Spider-Man releases his grip and thwips out a line to catch a nearby fire-escape as he takes in the newcomer. "Love the feathers, but isn't that outfit a little.. chilly.. in December?"
Back and forth, she sways in defiance of the rocking truck, even with talons slowly drawing ragged tears in the metal. Whoops, this is going to be one hell of a claims submission! Rosemarie has no smart answer for the Vulture, not immediately, and chooses instead to remove her grip on the vehicle for the time being.
The sudden appearance of the suit-wearing superhero? That makes her jump in place again, wings flapping, and once she's landed, she's in a crouch, hands in clawed rictus and crests laid flat alongside her head. Spiderman is given wary scrutiny before she shakes her head sharply.
"I'll be warm later. Deal with this first," and she points at Vulture. "I already have help." And indeed, she does, in two beings with wings far broader than that of herself and the villain offering such tempting aid. "Knock it off!" Oh yes, scary librarian means business — that's the oh-so-librarian voice, cut through with brassy Warbird affront.
"I think she means business, Vulture. I wouldn't mess with her." Spidey isn't being condescending. On the contrary, he's doing this to keep Vulture's attention on him. Which really isn't all that hard to do.
"You've interrupted my business for the last time, bug! I'm going to squash you where you stand!"
"First off, I'm not standing, I'm swinging, second…OOOOF!" That would be the sound of the air being knocked out of Peter's lungs as Vulture slams a heavy beam into his mid-section, causing the hero to tumble end over end and smack into a wall. Ow. Can't dodge them all, after all.
"You're going to pay, Spider-Man. You. Then your punk photographer. Then the Bugle. I'm going to crush them all, bug. And there's not a thing you can do about it." But hey, Vulture's back is turned to Rosemarie, so she has that going for her.
The librarian draws up straight and tall, thin as a reed in shock with wings tucked close to her body. Oh god, how could anyone have survived such a brutal blow?! Defensive anger flushes Rosemarie's cheeks beneath her freckling and it's a quick scramble up onto the truck followed by a leap up at the Vulture. Intending to bury her talons into the metal of his suit and cling like a burr, a war cry follows the arc of her jump.
If successful, she's a flapping, flight-disrupting limpet, shedding ocean-blue feathers left and right.
Vulture was just about to come in for the next strike when Rosemarie's limber frame and sharp talons dig into the harness that powers Vulture's suit. "What are you doing?!" he cries out in shock as he starts to swipe and flail, trying to tangle himself up with the Shi'ar bird and rip at her with his own claws. Feathers are going to fly! Mainly fake ones, but you know how that goes. The harness starts to spark and flare with the woman's grip upon them.
Meanwhile, Peter pushes himself up to his feet. "Ugh. Anyone get the street sign? I want to send a letter to the city complaining about their use as makeshift weapons." he grumbles, just as he sees the two warbirds tangled in nesting combat. "Hey, Bridget Birdo!" Since he doesn't know what to call Rosemarie. "Fling him this way, that harness is his weakspot!" Apparently Spidey's fought this guy before as he braces himself to start to lay down weblines.
Wincing at the passing flare of electrical wiring disapproving of interference, Rosemarie hears the shout of the friendly neighborhood superhero. Absolutely, there's a logical plan instead of tearing and swatting — because while that's effective, she's barely missed being clawed back and being buffeted in the face by faux-wings is no more comfortable than expected.
Backwinging hard on the rotational spin of the villain she clings to, the Warbird's battle-instincts take over this round. Releasing her grip on the fritzing mechanics, she attempts to use the weight of the villain against him in mid-air and send him fractionally towards Spiderman in turn. Unfortunately, with spin comes flail; one of the Vulture's wings takes her in the side on the beginning of her descent back to the concrete. WHOP — and she bounces off the top of the mostly-ruined truck and onto the pavement in a bundle of feathers askew. A tear in her sweater's shoulder is proof of further damage and a thin slice begins weeping blood as she groans and blinks dazedly up at the other two, still lying belly-down on the icy cement.
Spidey sees the hit on the girl, the blood that Vulture draws. Hopefully she's a fast healer, but as the green-clothed villain is sent flying, Peter thwips out a pair of lines, pulls himself back and slingshots himself, planting both of his feet into the villain's stomach. "Careful, contents under pressure!" And Vulture predictably hurks but doesn't puke, thankfully.
"See, you should study your birds. The cathartes aura, a turkey vulture, tends to throw up when in distress!" Spider-Man calls out helpfully as he starts trying to finish off the harness, but he's far more easier to grab a hold of more than Rosemarie.
"Little help." squeaks the Spider as he tries to keep those talons off of him and set Rosemarie up to take the finishing shot. Though when he notices her down on the concrete, his eyes narrow. "Now come on, hitting me? No big deal. But picking on your fellow birds! That's a pigeon thing to do!"
"Die, Spider-Man!" Vulture crows as he reaches to claw at the man's masked visage.
"…don't do requests, sorry.."
Rosemarie blinks a few more times to reorient her brain — there are only two people in fisticuffs, not four, oh good — and then the Shi'ar Otherness is yanking her upright by her own bootstraps. Never mind the cut, that's small change. It's righteously offended for having been swatted in the first place. A few testing flaps of her own wings proves them hale enough.
Looking back up at the combatants, she glares bloody-bright Warbird murder and shouts to Spiderman, "I'm coming!" It worked before, let's try it again: another scramble up the truck and at the Vulture's back, this time with full intent to rake those talons through the suit's electrical systems for extreme disruption.
Those claws are extremely close to the whites of Spider-Man's visored visage, when he suddenly goes, "Oh hey, look out behind you!" he offers to Vulture.
"I'm not going to fall for that, wall-crawler!"
Perhaps he should have, because Rosemarie's strike lands true, ripping into electronics and harness, and suddenly, the whole gear feels very heavy on Vulture. "Wench! What did you do?"
"I believe she.. de-powered you! Look into getting better batteries next time, Vulture!" And with that, he lays a hard right-hook into Vulture's jaw, sending him rocketting and spinning backwards. "All yours, pretty bird."
There's the set up and the pitch…
And the whip-kick, with a basis in self-defense, executed in another upwards leap from the top of the dented truck. Poor truck. Shi'ar battle-blood imparts knowledge of timing and her booted foot lands squarely in the Vulture's stomach, padded as it is by harness material. What a trajectory and a twisted smile from Karma — it's right into the same wall that currently sports the dent of Spiderman's previous impact. Snow angel? Nope, brick angel, and nothing angelic about the result.
Rosemarie lands on the top of the vehicle once more, crouching down low and very much ready to throw herself out of harm's way. Her azurine wings half-mantle again and those crests still remain aerodynamically-flat alongside her skull.
"Will that…do it?" she pants, looking to the jumpsuited superhero, with his odd webbing skills.
Vulture falls back against the ground, and besides a few twitches, he's not getting up again.
Spider-Man considers for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then straightens up. "Yep! Looks about right. Not bad. First time fighting a powered one?" he asks, turning to look at the young woman perched on the truck. More and more female heroes. Peter should look into that.
"You got a name? Or do I just call you Bird-Woman? Bye Bye Birdie? Featherstorm?"
With a final sigh puffing before her, Rosemarie settles down in a kneel to sit on her feet, shoulders drooping in weariness from her efforts. It's all relatively new still, this business of actually engaging the alien-bird's fighting inclinations, and she'll have one hell of a crick in her neck tomorrow morning, much less reminders of how pavement is not forgiving upon impact. Her wings wrap in close around her, their arcing joints tucked nearly against her mussed mouse-brown hair.
"Do…zombies count?" she asks, trying for a wry smile and finding it possible. Name? Uh….uh oh. So much for anonymity. She swallows and replies much more quietly, "No, but…Ptichka will do." Russian diminuitive, 'little bird', a monicker long unused. A clawed hand carefully drags hair out of her face as she frowns in his general direction. There was something — A glance down the street at the strewn pizzas rings a bell.
"Oh, Peter!" With plumage flaring wide suddenly, she scrambles off the truck and gets down on hands and knees to look at the open manhole. "Peter! Are you down there?!" Putting a shoulder against the passenger-side door, she shoves against it in hopes of moving it aside to allow a better look down into the Stygian depths of the hole.
"Peter? You mean Parker? He's okay. I fished him out of the sewers just before I swooped in to help you." Spider-Man offers to Ptichka before shaking his head. "Don't even know why he's so mad at him. I mean, if anything, I should be the mad one, he gets all this money from taking pictures of me, but do I ever see any of it. Nooooo." he could be smirking under his mask. "At least he's a better photographer than pizza delivery man."
The truck has moved a paltry half-foot by the time Rosemarie looks back over at Spiderman in obvious surprise.
"Oh." The quintessential reply when at momentary loss of words from this librarian. She ceases her efforts to stand upright and eventually decides on squinting at the superhero. "Are you friends with Peter then? He takes pictures of you all of the time? Where did you put him? I want to be certain he's okay." Her deep-blue crests perk up as she continues eyeing him with raptor-gold irises, the battle-blood still thrumming mildly in her veins. A shiver runs through her briefly, giving her cause to tuck her hands under her armpits and draw her wings close about herself once more.
"I put him down. He ran off. It's his usual." Spider-Man snorts a little. "Friends? More like I'm his cash cow." he says with a wriness to his smirk, but notices the movement of the truck. "Keep working on that. I think you're way stronger than you give yourself credit for. Just need the right motivation." When he hears Vulture give a soft moan, he turns his attention to the downed villain. "And that's enough from you today."
With that, he sends several weblines to bind Vulture down. "Aaaanyway, police will be here soon. So unless you want to answer all their questions, I'd suggest blowing this pop stand." There's a two fingered salute towards Rosemarie before he sends out a line. "By the way? That name? Very Russian. Might get the wrong idea in this city right now. Try to find something more American. Like.. The Mighty Peep!"
The masked superhero makes a good point about the authorities. Already, she can pick up the distant wail of sirens headed this way. Rosemarie turns her attention back to Spiderman after staring in the direction of the sound and nods.
"I d-didn't consider that. I'll t-try t-to think of s-something else," she replies, the habitual stutter of nerves coming into play. "Piper th-then." Not the first time she's used that particular nickname, which could prove interesting to hear in certain circles. "And th-thank y-y-you," Rosemarie remembers to add to the young man in his mysterious spider-themed suit. "P-Peter thanks y-y-you t-too, I'm sure."
Oops, those sirens are very close now! With a frightened flutter of feathers, she turns on a dime and darts back down the nearby stairwell to collect her coat and bag. It's into the nearest alleyway and down it as fast as she can manage, with the intent to emerge once the Shi'ar mutations have melted back away beneath her skin. She forgets entirely to say goodbye to the web-slinging vigilante, but oh well. They did need to scatter before the fuzz showed — and both succeed, leaving the Vulture to his demise.