1965-02-17 - The Black Arrow
Summary: Something fancy is up for sale on the black market. Highest bidders are welcomed to an underground affair. One of you has been tapped to purchase it on behalf of a friendly buyer… Who has the cash to make a major bid? Will you get out alive if you win?
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
jessica-drew elmo kai tigra malekith 


Chuang Ye Electrical Supplies:
A lonely white awning caps the entrance to Chuang Ye Electrical Supplies Inc, an unremarkable shop squashed on the corner of a red brick tenement. Like its fly-by-night neighbours, the heavy corrugated steel rolldown door covers the storefront windows. Metla gates hem in a tiny square of pavement that holds the garbage cans and boxes during the day. A fire escape loiters on the balcony of cheap apartments on the upper four floors. Like its neighbours, the shop is much longer than it is wide, and the front counter serves as a barrier to the workshop beyond. All kinds of electronics and their components make the place feel like a third-hand Radio Shack, indecipherable bins of transistors, tubes, wires, and worse. Beyond the boxes of stock is a heavily reinforced door, and a trapdoor leading down into the basement.

Metal doors again give way to a totally different feel, a room subdivided into three chambers. One private space is appointed like a whiskey bar in old Shanghai, red velvet curtains and polished teak furniture breathing Oriental opulence through scrolling dragons and firebirds. The largest is appointed similarly to any Manhattan club dining room, a quartet of tables placed around a central fountain. Its tiers resemble a pagoda. Armed men guard the only exits in and out, and further serve up alcohol from a rolling cart. The third room gives links to the city's subterranean network of routes; it's all but a Faraday cage.

2251 hours. Chuang Ye Electrical Supplies. Lower East Side.

Chuang Ye is an unimpressive shop, adjacent to an empty chain-in lot that once upon a time probably had a building there. This corner of town is rough, untouched by the gentrifying effect of artists bleeding out of the Village looking for even cheaper land. Ludlow Street by dark isn't friendly territory. Anyone looking respectable sticks out badly. A bad thing to be, especially on a night like tonight.

Representatives of the many different gangs in the city with clout and means throng in the neighbourhood when they'd normally never associate. The Bishops and the Red Wings, the Jesters and the Baldies have their places, along with the Tongs, the Irish mob, the Italian mafia, even some shadowier entities there for observation purposes. Anyone rightly out to play with the big boys better have cash and street cred to match. Agents of the various criminal influence get patted down, stripped of all metal they carry (and dumped into lockboxes), weapons taken, sent through the electronics shop with shoes in hand and thorough security above and beyond what the long, forgettable shop deserves.

The route is plain: through the stock area, down the stairs into a long chamber outfitted rather elegantly. Everyone is seated accordingly, keeping the Jokers away from the Barons and the Egyptian Kings no where near the Italians.

As to the source of all this fuss? Alien tech, the rumours go, for sale to the highest bidder. No evidence of that present. Fifty percent of the muscle present are Caucasian, dressed in uniformly black suits, pretty much near identical to one another minus a few variations: slick, dark hair, frowns, MBAs from the University of Hard Knocks. The others, Chinese, separated by a broad berth. They're the ones who handle things upstairs. Drinks are distributed after everyone is settled.

Jessica Drew's cover is an old one for her, a remnant from HYDRA that probably very few people knew about in the first place. But enough rumors exist to back up street cred. Enough that no one finds the arrival of the young woman in the black dress with the oversized sunglasses difficult to believe, even if they're whispering the rumors about her. Some European heiress or something, rarely seen. She gives no trouble through security, settling into her seat once she's shown inside with a supercilious smile.

Alien tech? Hell, even if Kai can't afford the bidding, he can come see what it is and who ends up with it. He's put the mod wardrobe away for the night, preferring something closer to what rockers would revere: leather jacket, white t-shirt, jeans and black boots. His blond hair is slicked back, showing just the tips of slanted ears through the strands. The normally frivilous elf looks dead serious as he strides in, relying on confidence and the old advice 'look like you know what you're doing.' He's brought Elmo with him and warned him against opining. "These are big guns," he told the electrician. "They won't hesitate to shoot you." When Kai's the one doing the warning, something's wrong.

Elmo had not been happy to see his tools and bits of machinery and random metal junk go into a lockbox. Not happy at /all/. Now, he comes in with Kai, nattily dressed as usual but on high alert, without his toys. Street cred—yeah, he has some, funny enough. He's starting to get a name as one of the troublemakers and vigilantes around Mutant Town, and that name is Sparkplug, of the X-ternals. He's behaving himself, though. Kai's warning has been taken seriously. For once.

There are places where Tigra is quite comfortable being, well, Tigra. There are times for that also. This place and this time are neither of those. Instead, she's in human form, though she's not exactly keeping a terribly low profile given her garb. Said garb consists of a nearly floor length dark purple dress, cut low at the neckline and high on one leg and revealing a black anklet. High heels add a couple inches to her height and a sway to her walk.

Though she has to resist the urge to punch a goon when patted down, the cleavage and sultry attitude are usful when she's searched, letting her keep her amulet in her purse. She sweeps into the room, trying to look about without being obvious about it, and missing her super-senses.

Rules are rules. Abide or there's no getting in. Each lockbox ends up stowed away behind the cardboard stock. Enough inventory for a warehouse probably keeps any guest from easily finding their things, and conversely, enemies from doing the same.

Most of the faces are Caucasian, sprinkled by Hispanic, African-American, Asian. Three seats a side for the tables are faced inwards on that pagoda-style fountain, and the staff circulate to offer liquors in small amounts. Whiskey? Got that. Vodka? Got that. Mead? Ha, no. Water? Get out.

Trouble, is there? And 'alien tech'? Well that just won't do. Chance has contacts with the seedier parts of town, so he shows up when he hears about it, without any of his usual vigilante toys. Just him in a pair of jeans, leather jacket over white t-shirt. There was a cane, and a faux-limp, but they let him in with it. They give him a lot of 'we will beat you to death with your cane' looks, though. He has a serious, but nonthreatening expression on his face, though.

Sometimes the spy game is just fun. Groomed for it most of her life, Jessica is certainly enjoying it. A martini for her, please, and she adjust the fur stole around her shoulders as she gives the gathered crowd a look. No electronics means no SHIELD backup short of things exploding, but she's not worried. She can handle herself. Pointed ears catch a glance, marked in her mind.

Kai takes in each face in turn, and he comes in to take a seat, gesturing for Elmo to join him. He may be fine-featured and pointy-eared, but he sure as hell isn't here from the Keebler Guild. He shows he's capable of a proud and strong bearing. All those nobility lessons foisted on him by his gran haven't gone entirely to waste. He smiles a little as his gaze passes over Tigra and Jessica, and he gives them each a polite nod. One must be genteel with the ladies.

Elmo is sticking close to Kai's side, defensive and nervy. Everybody gets a quick going-over threat assessment, except the women. Looking too long at a mobster's woman has consequences he's not interested in. When he sits next to Kai he's barely touching the seat, he's so tense.

Fun is not exactly how Tigra would describe things, though she would admit to feeling a certain exhiliration. Unfortunately she also feels like she has one hand behind her back in this form. She takes a seat with casual grace, missing her tail but glad it's movements won't betray her emotions. She returns the nod of greeting, mentally marking the ears.

Chance is a whiskey man, so he makes appropriate noises to that effect and gets himself a glass with a couple fingers in it. Keeping up the act, he leans heavily upon the cane he brought with him, letting his eyes scan around the room looking for the trouble that is surely to show up.

A martini comes to Jessica. Everyone else in the gangs takes a drink, even if that's only a shot of Jack in a clean glass. Manners count. Their uncomfortable shifting and stony stares build the hostile, prickly atmosphere to a low simmer.

With the last drink up and person sat, a gentleman with dark, greying hair emerges from a side room. He carries himself like a conductor about to face the New York Philharmonic, double-breasted coat a nod to the nines. "I'm glad to welcome you all here to a singular event, and extend the hospitality of the Genovese. I represent Thomas and Joseph." Just the most powerful crime family in the city, a cadet branch of the Maggia, and in all ways Not To Be Trifled With (TM). He touches his collar. "You can call me Edward." Not Eddie. Edward, Eduardo, take one's pick. "The Genovese have for sale an item of no little significance. Our request for no metal is for your safety, inconvenience as it is. We appreciate your understanding upon that.

"You've heard the rumours and who am I to argue with gossip? Alien technology, a magic weapon, a mutant's device… none quite true. But it is a weapon that can never miss, and may be used by a child with staggering effect. In an age of guns and molotovs, this might seem a throwback. A spear might be the best description, made of a metal we've never seen before. In each briefcase presented by a gentleman, you'll find a photograph and a description by a scientist. Bidding starts at a hundred thousand dollars."

Jess arches a brow at the opening bid, high enough to let her slide the sunglasses down her nose just enough to look old Edward in the eye. He thinks quite highly of his merchandise. Very interesting. As information comes forward, she switches the cross of her legs, taking a sip of her martini before she gets a look. That's the nice thing about HYDRA covers. You don't have to play dumb. They expect you to be dangerous in at least a few ways.

Kai sits up straighter as the opening bid is mentioned. Yep, that's steep. Then again, Loki pays his way and he's had time to accumulate wealth. It's just that Kai doesn't often ask for a hundred grand in fun money. He affects an expression of interest piqued but not staggeringly surprised. When a briefcase is presented to him, he takes the photograph and reads the description. Just what have these foolish mortals gotten their hands on this time?

That number is obviously fake. Nobody actually /has/ a hundred thousand dollars. Maybe Elvis. Anyway, Elmo reads over Kai's shoulder.

Tigra assumed that the metal prohibition was a way to disarm people. Well you know what happens when you assume. That's right: Sometimes you're wrong. Sounds like there might be magnetic applications coming up. Hopefully her enchanted amulet won't qualify as ferrous. Eyebrows twitch but she manages to barely keep them from going up at the opening bid. That's a lot of money. She awaits the photograph and description, increasingly curious.

"A photograph." says Chance, dryly, "A picture and unverified-words. There's going to be no demonstration of this so-called 'weapon'?" He arches a brow and manages to look quite plainly what he actually feels: unimpressed with this operation. He sighs with a certain amount of drama to it. "You want a hundred grand for a spear. Say." He side-glances at some other customers, "I have a bridge to sell you, excellent, first-class Brooklyn real-estate."

Subject: Dark Spear

Length: 38 inches
Composition: Metallic, unknown; strong magnetic properties; observable light absorption
Origin: East Africa (?)

[Image: The spear is a smooth-sided, straight creation approximately three feet long with a four-inch leaf shaped tip, displayed in the image separately. When attached, the narrow profile of the tip gives the spear a straight appearance with a slanted end, a particularly high level of aerodynamic skill. There are no fletchings, weavings, or any form of decoration other than the slightest variation curving along the body of the spear, which actually heightens the visual impact of its straight lines to the eye. The weight listed together with the composition suggests an alloy relatively similar to steel, but far higher in melting point and tensile strength. Notes include they /couldn't/ melt it, scratch it, or chip it.]

"Well, if you've got Captain America's shield back there, we could even buy a matching set," Jess drawls with a smirk, the slightest suggestion of a French accent in her voice. She looks over her shoulder at Chance, then back to the auction itself. "The boy has a point. Shall we see a demonstration, gentlemen?"

The assembled twenty-odd gangsters, criminal masterminds, and representatives thereof look through the papers. A hushed cough or a dark look shot at Edward imply they have certain disbelief about the offering. A spear for a hundred K, righto, off to playland.

Chance's question is repeated ten times over, and they must know this, because the door to the private room opens again and out come four men boxing in two with hoods on. Nothing says 'friendly' like handcuffs. The pair are marched forward and forced into the two empty seats. Choreography plays out as the hood is stripped from the man: instantly recognizable as Irish, in the papers not long ago, part some gangland affair in Hell's Kitchen.

"This," Edward says mildly, "is an unfortunate gentleman. Cormac Coonan, one of the Westies. There, you'll find his younger brother, Andrew. Best of friends. Closest and dearest of kin. Right to the point they broke the Westies' law, attacked someone they shouldn't have, and lost most of their crew trying. Murderers, by rights."

Cormac, being the only ungagged one after having a cloth pulled out of his mouth, spits, "I'm not going to hurt him. For the last time, no. Sweet Virgin boil your balls." A punch to the face from an enforcer silences that misuse of speaking.

Edward gestures. "We'll demonstrate with the spear how fast that sentiment turns round. Bring it."

Kai's lips press thin as the two Irishmen are brought out. Now isn't the time to go all savage protester on the joint. He shoots a glance at Elmo, showing his calm, and he watches the unhooding of the men without any of his trepidation showing on his face. Though he does shoot Chance a glance. He asked for the demonstration. Kai's fingers stray toward his pendant, but finding it gone, he frowns. That's right. All the metal got taken away. Damn it.

Elmo shoots a look back at Kai, a little wild, his hands going taut under the table. Static electricity rises just a touch in their vicinity, noticeable only as a light crackle in the folds of clothing. Are they actually going to sit here and watch this? Do they have a choice?

Tigra shifts slightly in her seat, uncomfortable with what's paraded in front of them. She looks to Edward at his exposition, wondering how true his story is. Likely is, not much reason to make up a story like that, in front of this audience.

"Okay, now this is starting to look professional." Chance's tone is mildly complimentary, and he sips his whiskey, preparing to act. But he's not going to do anything overt until the spear comes into view— but the moment it does… He glances around idly, looking for what ammo is available.

Cormac glares through his bruised lips. His face ain't pretty, and even Mama might not approve of the goose-egg that idle cuff earned him. Andrew is younger by a good four years, wilder-eyed, built like the Irish hooligan he most definitely is. Both are dressed in jeans and t-shirts, at odds with the formal air.

Out comes the last gentleman holding a long box, plastic and wood and foam, the kind for obscure sporting equipment. He opens the lid and throws back the foam layers, revealing the spear. Slim and dark, the weapon reflects absolutely no light, no beguiling shimmer anywhere. It's darker than the very shadows it throws, a void on the air, and if someone has metal that subtle, and demanding pull starts inching towards the weapon. The gentleman holding it, wearing thick gauntlets like one finds in a factory, holds the shaft and aims the bladed point at Cormac's shoulder.

Edward mildly notes, "A mere prick will do. It never misses."

Easy against a bound subject, except Cormac tries to jolt off the chair, cuffs or not. Darker-than-Vantablack, that spear thrusts forward in the thug's hands and strikes true, taking Cormac in the shoulder. The Irish mobster stumbles and falls with a cry of pain, and Andrew shudders, frozen in dismay. He mutters something in Gaelic, and there's a single long rush of Cormac scrambling to his feet and rushing his younger brother. Still cuffed, he can't grab but smashing his head into the nose makes a good start, knocking the chair over. As long as they can scramble, he can get a foot to the throat to crush the windpipe. Naturally Andrew starts howling, rolling, anything to get away.

Jessica Drew is cool as a cucumber as the men are pulled out, looking between them and the spear. HYDRA upbringing is good for that, too. She may have turned over a new leaf, but she isn't afraid of a little bit of damage or loss of life. Not when it can bring her more information. Like that display. "Interesting," she muses, raising a finger to draw attention and clearing her throat. "And can it be pulled back?" she asks. "After all, half the fun is when they see what they've done."

"All right, I think we get the gist," Kai says, his English accent crisp and clipped. Perhaps he can play it off as finding the whole business distasteful from an snooty (and elvish) point of view. He makes a general gesture at the violence unfolding before him as if to flick it away. "The bidding starts at a hundred grand, you said?" Yes, let's stop killing these people and move along please.

Other gangsters and crime lords watch the fight to the death with interest. They can sniff out honest violence and staged. No way does this ring as anything but genuine to those bloodhound monster noses. A couple of mutters are made, and instantly hands rise. Bid met! There's no secrecy here in terms of who bids or for what, and that starts the process.

Elmo's glad to have an excuse to quit pretending to watch this grisly demonstration. Beating someone up is one thing. Forcing a guy to beat his own brother via some kind of alien mind control, that's just not kosher. He takes a look around the room to check out reactions, particularly at Chase and Jessica, who aren't mobsters.

The disguised Tigra sits up straighter when the spear is withdrawn, hairs on the back of her neck rising. It's not just black, it's like it's actively avoiding light, or eating it all up. What it would be like with her enhanced vision is almost scary to contemplate. "Quite," she says, speaking for the first time. "Dead men have such a way of ruining the atmosphere."

Chance is in motion the moment he sees the spear, though he is too slow to prevent the stabbing; the first thing he does his bind his glass towards one of the guard-thugs heads, and it goes flying off towards him. But at the same time he sheds any sense of injury and breaks into a run, but by the time he has made two steps he's leaping up into the air— flipping with a grace that isn't quite possible— to land lightly on the ceiling and continue to run towards the thugs and prisoners. He's just running upside down with a Get Out Of Gravity Free card. He's gone into chaos-mayham mode of fighting. Its his specialty.

Edward maintains his composure, and the thug holding that dark spear swivels to face Chance while his unfortunate companion is down with a studding of glass in his chest.

"Take it out, now," says the Genovese rep without flinching. His instructions are met with instantaneous reaction, movement away to plop that delightfully dark weapon back in place. Naturally metal is teased along, hence all those wooden chairs, wooden brackets, wooden fixtures. Into the box ye go.

"I believe our point is made for its authenticity. Since you asked for it, young man, I advise you sit down," he adds with light stress to Chance on the ceiling.

The other criminals aren't exactly holding their ground, twitching, moving with readiness. Show is either over or its not, but the mob lords are happy to strike out. Cormac and Andrew are both fighting, heedless of anything else.

"Gentlemen." Jess's voice cuts through the crowd, one hand raised to her temple as if she has a headache. "Honestly. Did we come here to brawl, or did we come here to shop? I for one came to shop." As if all of the chaos and violence aren't happening around her, she takes off her glasses, raising them as a bidding paddle. "Three hundred thousand."

Kai watches Chance, and he tenses in his seat. Damn it. The only offensive advantage he has is in a box locked away. Damn it. He sits, hating that it's all he can do without getting himself and possibly Elmo killed. He leans to him and murmurs, "It'll be over soon, we'll see who ends up with it."

Sparks crackle to life at Elmo's fingertips as Chase leaps to the ceiling and things get suddenly very tense indeed. He's reined in enough to listen to Kai, though. "Okay," he mutters, eyeing those closest to him in case anybody moves aggressively. "There ain't nothing conductive in here."

Uhoh. Here we go, Tigra thinks to herself as someone lets loose with the super powers. She tenses up, reaching into her purse for her amulet just in case, but hesitates. The striking woman speaks, as does Edward, and Tigra stays steady, hoping things will calm down.

Another pair of paddles go up.

"Three hundred twenty-five thousand." Ooh, helpful!

"Three hundred fifty thousand." Bidding is fun! The auctioneer is not Edward, but another of the fellows near the side. Because fighting and money can be matched together.

"Three seventy-five," Jess chimes in on the bidding, though she's watching the young man running across the ceiling. "Although I've some reservations about going much higher if you can't get your auction under control," she drawls with a look to Edward. "I'm going to be very upset if blood gets on this dress. This is Chanel, you know."

Chance did not come here to shop; he came here to cause havoc with the bad guys. Shopping was just a pretext: he rather intends on kicking everyone's ass and stealing the spear, he does indeed. When 'running on the ceiling' does not produce the desired level of what-the-hell that he expected, he shrugs and leaps and flips again to land this time in the normal down is down way, right near to a table. He reaches out to touch a table, and send it flying towards the goons in general, fast and hard to crash into them. "Consider the auction cancelled." he says in a calm voice. "No one's taking weird fight-your-brother demon poker home today, boys and girls."

"Three seventy-five. Do I see four?"

Paddles up! The Italian over there is perfectly happy, though when his table rises and soars past, the sounds of cursing and shouting. Jess' attitude is probably more impressive with splinters around.

The fellow with the box is most definitely working at getting out of the way, and back into the room out. Time to let the professionals do what they do. Edward gestures, and the Caucasians around the room working as Genovese and Maggia staff fall in to block just running upstairs.

|ROLL| Kai +rolls 1d20 for: 8

Kai rises to his feet when Chance declares he's here for the spear. "Who are you?" he says, because for now he can't tell if he's a good guy or bad guy. He flicks his hand and between the fighting Irishmen, there's a play of light and shadow, a horrific face gaping at them both, two sided to face each one. A trick of the light? Andrew starts thrashing somewhat in panic, poor throttled fellow. Kai frowns, and to Cormac, he says, "All right, mate, you're done."

"Half a million." Jess jumps the shark on the bids, keeping an eye on the confrontation ongoing over the gangsters. If she can just get the spear and get out of here, she can explain that she's one of the good guys, but that means getting this over with.

|ROLL| Malekith +rolls 1d100 for: 30

Now that Chance is doing something awesome, Elmo's not about to be left out of the action. Chance is going after the spear? The man holding it is trying to get out of the room, and it's for him that Elmo aims a debilitating shock. Lightning leaps from his hand, blinding white, with a loud *crack!*

Cormac has beaten Andrew to more or less an ugly pulp, and he's still hellbent on crushing his brother's throat. Kicking and headbutting are his main weapons given he's still handcuffed with plastic versions. Kai's efforts there are halfway successful with the younger thug cowering in terror on the floor. Cormac is not nearly so distracted, a man on a mission. Any questions on the spear's efficacy?

Edward and his particular friends are well guarded at the back.

|ROLL| Malekith +rolls 1d100 for: 17

"I'm the guy saying that criminals don't get themselves that weapon." remarks Chance to Kai, before he jumps and flips— but instead of landing on the ceiling, he's suddenly falling horizontally— and fast— towards the door where the fellow with the box is trying to escape to. He lands much more softly and gracefully then the speed of his fall should have been made possible, triggering a mechanism in his cane— which he wields as a baton— causing twelve inch blade to slide out the end. Whiiiich, has him suddenly being yanked hard *towards* the box, "Fuck." Here's hoping he doesn't accidentally get electrocuted by friendly fire with Elmo pulling the whammy out!

Funny thing about metal, it tends to attract electricity or at least do interesting, terrible things when unleashed in proximity. You have a charge, and you have a charge, and you have a charge! The man holding the spear case drops it, and he goes down to his knees, hissing hard. He shudders, but rather than passing out completely, he cries out in a low, shrilling noise. The only way out of the room is the way in.

In the chaos, one man is all business. Edward snaps, "To the lady." He nods to the auctioneer; the other guards of the Maggia take note of this. If she's willing to buy, great. "The deal is concluded. Secure the spear, and escort her upstairs."

Meanwhile the other crime lords are starting to book it if they can from whence they came, the Asian gangsters streaming alongside them to see them up to the street. With only two ways in or out, the choices are limited.

Kai approaches the combatants, or rather the aggressor and his pulpy brother. Kai hoists Cormac off Andrew like he weighed no more than a toddler. "I said you're done," he tells him. He sets Cormac down on his feet but doesn't let him go. He looks the man in the eye. "You're done," he tells him again, looking him in the eye. He has no mind-altering magic, but he looks to see if anything he's saying is getting through. If not? He clobbers him unconscious. Great, now he's got his very own Irishman.

"Excellent." Jessica stands up, setting her glasses on her head as she looks at the chaos. "Darling, if you've a way to turn that thing off? Perhaps that might convince the rabble to move along before this gets any messier. I will stop payment if this isn't in hand before I leave with the goods."

Clobbering is the only option there, for all that the handcuffed Westie is doing his finest to buck off Kai. Unfortunately elves are built a little stronger than even hooligans from Ireland, though they have a bunch to say about frigging faeries.

Elmo laughs wildly. As far as he's concerned, lightning hitting half a dozen people is a massive success. "Grab it!" he yells at Chance. He has no idea that Jessica is trying to get the spear out of the mobsters' hands as well, unfortunately. "I'll cover ya!" Anybody getting near him gets a love-shock to drive them away.

As far as Chance knows, Jessica is one of the mobsters; and he really did mean he wasn't letting any of them have it. He doesn't have much sympathy for the man beating his brother to a pulp, but Kai has that situation in hand. Chance lets go of his bladed baton-cane, grabs at the box, but doesn't immediately go to leave. Instead with a touch he sends it flying up to stick on the ceiling, and then he's doing a standing back flip and lands deftly on the ceiling again. Only then does he go to pick up the box and try to make a ceiling run for it.

Chaos begets chaos. Some people actually work better in it than not, and who they are becomes apparent.

The gangsters fastest to scramble out take advantage of cover. The slower ones will have a story to report, when one of the Italian guards throw them literally at the stairs, getting them out of the way. Jessica is exempt from this, as she now holds the buyer mantle and the privilege that brings.

In the private side room, the box hits the ceiling all right. Wood shatters. That might be about the time one of the Asian fellows loses his temper. He snaps two words and throws an impressively pointed finger at the broken wood shards holding the spear in place. Gravity works great keeping it from moving, pushed right into an inky black portal staining the wood and plaster. Immediately the spear vanishes into that portal, which winks out moments later. Chance might have shards, but unless he wants to lose his hands, he's not going through that portal, is he?

Edward sounds less than pleased by all this. "We're professionals." Lightning or not. "You'll have your weapon, as soon as the cash is received."

"Excellent." Jess smiles sharply as the weapon disappears from potential interference. "Let's get you your cash then, sir." She lowers her sunglasses once more, swanning off to make payment. Some days the spy game is complicated.

Kai punches the guy unconscious, because what can he do? He then goes for Andrew and says, "You need a band-aid." He looks to Elmo. Elmo's fine. Elmo's thriving in this new chaotic environment. Kai? He's collecting Irishmen. One he intends to heal where no one's watching. The other? Well, he'll have to explain to Loki why there's an angry Irishman shackled to Bucky's bed. It won't even be the oddest thing he'll have to explain that week.

Elmo in fact could be accused of having a great time, surrounded by static that manifests itself into grounding bolts leaping hither and yon. But when the spear vanishes—well, there's nothing he can do about that. Checking on Kai, he sees Kai has the two Irishmen handled and prevented the one from murdering the other. Awww, Kai is so nice! There's chaos, some of it his own making, and now that he can't do much more, he decides to get the hell out.

Nooo. Chance is not going into any portals, but he does cast a glare over for Jessica and the gangsters; its no fair when the bad guys have powers too. He flies over near Kai and Elmo, since they seem to be not on the side of Evil People Having Weapons Of Mass Weirdness, "Everyone okay?"

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