1965-03-12 - A Case of Bad Gas
Summary: There's something foul afoot in Hell's Kitchen and some of the Defenders step in to find a strange situation and some very bad odors.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
kevin-cole tchalla reno danny 

It's the deepest part of night, the pre-dawn hours before even the faintest lightening touches the sky. There's little traffic — the occasional truck rumbling from one place to another in the middle of the night. The rats have free play to run along the sides of the buildings and in and out of alleys. Occasionally the siren of a police car or ambulance goes by. But what sticks out tonight in this small section of the Kitchen is the smell. The smell permeates the streets at ground level, and has begun to rise to the windows on the second floors of buildings nearby. It's a strange, musty, fishy smell that one might expect perhaps closer to the docks, but not in the middle of the Kitchen, not unless someone was making some rank seafood stew.

Reno was showing out as a actual person instead of a bird and the Puerto Rican Mohican was dressedto impress. Not impressing anyone in particular but when he wasn't covered in feathers and hair clippings the man took some pride in his festidious self and put a bit of the polish on. That said he took a liking to the Wakandians and opted to stick around. THe smell though was proving a deterrant. "Ugh It smells like… I don' wanna imagine but you kno wlike bad but also where we should prolly be polite but like… how."

The unpleasant smile calls certain individuals from seemingly miles away. In the case of the Black Panther, that reek of must and fish scales stands out like a sore thumb, something he cannot possibly ignore. Thank goodness for cohesive masks designed by a bright young woman. Otherwise he might be praying to Bast to escape the awful, awful reek. Loose-limbed and casual, his path carries him over the rooftops and down gutters as necesseary. He follows the path of least resistance towards that untimely disaster, culinary or not, claws extended slightly from within his usual gloves. "I do not need to know why. How," T'Challa rumbles, "is most unfortunate."

Night. The best time to hunt. Kevin's in his normal clothing since it's just a matter of seconds for his costume to appear when he wants it. The smell though tempts him to follow T'Challa's lead and put it on. As it is, he's breathing through his mouth to try to avoid smelling anything. "Smells like a truck full of dead fish was sitting in the sun for half a day. In summer."

Another wave of noxious fumes comes from somewhere, and this time mixed along with the other various unsavory scents is that of blood. Those with more sensitive noses would pick it up. Those without, might just continue to recognize the awful. Also, that the smell seems to come with a kind of noxious yellow haze that is making the air thicker than normal to breathe.

Reno was unfortunate enough to be among those bewstowed with Crow's obervational accumen where in this case it wasn't cool or helpful, just punishing. Even as a biped his head tilted and then tilted againbeing every bit as expressive as his words would suggest and one might imagine behind the beak and feathers which is to say very bordering on 'quite'. "Wooooah duuuude dude dude, this ain' alright. Ummm I'd say call someone but I think this is one of them times like we draw the short straw and are those someone's." Crouching down he hesitated and then pressed fingers to the ground not expecting to see anything, but certainly expecting to be overwhelmed by a public place.

"Is there any time a body possibly stored in a dumpster is normal?" A simple enough question, all things said and done. T'Challa does not crouch, favouring instead the point on high. Climbing up for a perspective without necessarily digging into the dumpster, he peers into the nearest dumpster, or any other corner forgotten at ground level by someone passing by. It serves as a positive experience not to have to get his hands dirty. He wears sandals in court, for crying outloud, having to wade through muck could be truly awful.

"Blood." Kevin says, the odor being unmistakable even overwhelmed as it is. And speaking of overwhelmed, the odor growing even stronger prompts him to reach behind his neck. His clothing flickers and fades out to reveal his costume, the hood of which is pulled over his head to provide some relief from the noxious fumes. It's identical to T'Challa's except where the king is the Black Panther, Kevin is the White Tiger and the colors reflect that. "Depends what neighborhood you're in." he points out. So says the New York native.

When Reno touches the ground he is not only overwhelmed by the fact that he's now getting an even more concentrated blast of that horrifying odor which seems to be clinging lower to the ground rather than rising upward, and is nearly knocked over from the impressions of trying to get an impression off of a public street. The sheer volume of flashes of information and images of people coming and going knocks him clean over.

From on high, T'Challa, however, while not seeing anything oozing out of any nearby dumpsters does catch a glimpse of the direction that the noxious haze is coming from, and that seems to be just around the corner behind the nearest building, as it seems to build up against the fence and then spread out through the alley.

Reno screached in Crow's voice, not his own. His eyes flashed black for a moment before the sclara cleared and his eyes had whites once more. Almost instantly at the same time his cheeks were wet and his body was shaking stumbling back scrambling for anyhting to grab onto to keep from falling from the brick wall to Kevin's pantleg to no avail. OOooooh, Jackieeeee, bad day, bad day, bad day!

Kevin is the nearer of the two, but that does not leave T'Challa safely on high. Not a terribly good king if he proves unwilling to intercede for his people, even the adoptive ones at the moment. A spring off the fire escape plants him flat into the ground, the sweeping bend leaving the black feline rotating as he comes down on his feet. He nods to the tiger: "Go." Another matter first at hand. "That way," he points briefly to the direction where the oozing mist is thickest, and hunkers lower in the event the screeching Native American falls into a fit or otherwise lashes out. Not so hard for him to offer a supportive arm or, if need be, haul the man out of the unwelcome, sickly miasma.

Kevin grabs Reno's upper arm to keep him from falling. "Easy there. Whatever you just did, don't do it again." Looking in the direction T'Challa indicates, he nods at the instruction and sets off, utterly silent.

|ROLL| Reno +rolls 1d20 for: 3

|ROLL| TChalla +rolls 1d20 for: 18

|ROLL| Kevin Cole +rolls 1d20 for: 2

With Reno steadied, Kevin is able to take off in the direction that T'Challa points while the Wakandan King makes sure that the birb man doesn't fall over into the thickening yellow haze. Reno recovers easily enough once he is no longer touching the ground on a public sidewalk, assaulted by images of muggings and murders, homeless despair, childhood joy, and the entire gamut of scenes and emotions that one might expect to find.

Around the corner, where the fumes seem to be coming from, Kevin an clearly see that they are pouring and billowing forth from a lit doorway at the top of four cement steps. The noxious gas just keeps on pouring out, and hugs the ground around the building before seeping out every which way but up.

Reno looked to Kevin with gratitude and, well, a lot of concer,. He wiped his face and opetted for the safe route which was to fold into being a bird which might grant him some insulation, eeeh, maybe. It made him less squishy if something blew up and importantly? It sort of protected his suit. We do not ask how this is possible or where it goes. newp newp newp. Reno stayed paced with Kevin following T'Challa's lead and coughed with a clap of his beak. "Drug thing gone bad?"

Smartly the sting to his nasal passages forces T'Challa into motion, hauling up Reno if the man will not rise on his own. Giving the bird a perch or a hoist to fly above the sickly miasma satisfies all sense of rightness, and then he heads upwards himself. No one question those light marks on the brick as he clambers up, and dashes over the nearest balconies and rooftops to find a clear route to Kevin.

Kevin slows when he gets in sight of the building and comes to a stop across the street. The thought of actually going inside makes him wince, knowing the odor's going to be magnified tenfold. Even a normal human is likely to find it unbearable. And speaking of which, he looks for signs of people. Or not people. Shadows crossing the doorway. A presence in a window. A flickering of light.

It's difficult to see through the haze that is on the first floor of the building and seeping out that open doorway, but Kevin can hear the sounds of coughing inside, and the occasional crash. There's signs of movement on the inside, and there's lights on inside illuminating the haze and making it no less difficult to see through. T'Challa has no trouble finding his way down the alley behind the building where Kevin stands on the opposite side of the alley from the doorway.

|ROLL| Kevin Cole +rolls 1d20 for: 15

|ROLL| Reno +rolls 1d20 for: 12

|ROLL| TChalla +rolls 1d20 for: 4

Reno was really trying to just… not breathe. Tiny bird feet clutched T'Challa's shoulder and dug into fabric, not flesh as he balanced himself. "I think… aw man this feels like some sorta crazy drug lab gone wrong. SOmeone… someone sounds like they're in there." He called into the buildin, "Heeey, everyone okay in there? Holler if you passed out or something… or… not. I mean I guess if you passed out you're not gonna hear me…" It occurred to him rapidly this was a bad plan. He reformed it! "Hey yo holler out if you not okay or somethin." There! Better.

"A drug lab. That should be halted immediately." T'Challa has his claws in on the building, the better for balance. The windows afford many proper escapes, excellent for breaking out bodies, but nothing so helpful as finding any bodies within at first. He moves from access point to access point, looking for signs of those residents unable to make their escape. It's altogether difficult business, especially as he holds his breath to avoid the soporific effect of that nasty miasma. A kick to any glass is unfortunate but essential if it means saving someone.

People inside. So much for closing the door to give themselves some time. "Seems likely." Kevin agrees. "We need to get whoever's inside out. We also need to shut that door before whatever it is starts killing animals and homeless sleeping on the street. That means no breaking the windows since it'll just let the gas out." He considers a moment then says "Safest to come in from the second floor."

Kevin easily manages to get up to the second floor. There's a dumpster, a fire escape, any manner of means that one with a little athleticism or a pair of wings can navigate to get up to a second floor window. T'Challa has no problem on the outside helping out with breaking at least one of those upstairs windows. There is no one upstairs for the moment, and though they can see the yellow haze on the first floor from the staircase, it is flowing down and out rather than up toward them.

There are no people on the second floor, but the sounds coming from inside definitely sound like glass breaking, and as the two descent toward the first floor, they are able to see better what is going on inside.

In the kitchen area there are all manner of beakers and test tubes and flasks that are in various states of shattered or bubbling over everywhere. On the floor there are several indivudals in various states of passed out or near-passed-out including a man in a recliner near a black and white television that seems to have conked out there, a woman who is sitting on the couch, and then two teenagers in the kitchen. One of them, a boy, has a wet rag over his mouth and seems to be trying to stem the tide of whatever it was that was going on the stove, but even with the heat off, that gas is just pouring out and showing no sign of immediately stopping.

Reno flapped over and grabbed the kid's sleeve and cried at him "Leave it, we'll fix it later we gotta get outside, outside!" Holy shit a talking bird. Looking around Reno winced but lightheaded as he was? No ghosts screaming at him soooo that was good. Hewill drag someone byt the collar if he has to. "Both of you come on!"

Kevin's costume should help protect him and he holds his breath as soon as he gets to the first floor. A quick scan shows him what's going on and he nods his approval at what the kids is doing. Smart, if ineffective. "Do what the bird says." he tells them and carefully lifts the beaker, trusting his costume to protect him for the short period of time. Yanking the fridge door open, he puts the beaker inside then shuts the door.

The kid is stunned by the talking bird long enough to stop fussing with the beaker, which Kevin is able to quickly take from him and shove into the fridge. As soon as the fridge door is closed, the gas is stemmed significantly. Sure, some of it still leaks out, but not nearly at the rate that it was before, and the gas in the room begins to dissipate, still sinking to the floor and pouring out the door. However, once the kid sees that the gas isn't going anywhere anymore, he tries to grab his brother off the floor, pulling him toward the doorway to get him out of the house.

The adults take a little bit more work to get out, but whether they take them upstairs and out the fire escape, or out the door, they do manage to get it closed, and contain the miasma and get all four people outside. They all seem to have chemical type burns around their mouths and noses and their eyes are bloodshot, pupils dilated, and clearly that crud is in their lungs — but they are alive.

Reno did what he could to guide hte kids to sa safe place and looked to teh cat-men,, "I'll go get the fire department. Help them out, I can get help faster." This… was not good and honestly he really hoped he wasn't going to smack into a building flying in a straight line. We got this!

Kevin wasn't expecting something as simple as a beaker on the stove but it definitely made things easier. He can carry/drag two people out at a time so it doesn't take long to get the remainder out of the house and get the door shut. "Idiots." he grumbles, nodding to Reno. "Make sure to warn them about the gas."

What is strange about the beaker on the stove is its contents, and what in the heck the kids were doing with it. And what were their parents doing? But that's an investigation for next time.

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