2019-03-19 - Bodega Burglary Foiled


Just your friendly neighborhood robbery foiled by the locals!

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Tue Mar 19 20:19:20 2019
Location: Brooklyn

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Theme Song



"Oh she was an acrobat's daughterrrr…she swung through the air on a noose…"

This is one of those days when you are enjoying life. Spider-Man is swinging along the buildings and singing. Badly.

"But on one fateful day, her bridgework gave way, and she flew through the air like a GOOSE…!"

And that was when his new app sent the bad news to the wireless earbuds. "BODEGA ROBBERY, LITTLE FUZHOU." He checked his phone for the GPS tracker, and made a left turn, winging his way towards the bodega in question.

Just another day on the border of the Brooklyn Blitz.


It would figure that the sunshine would bring out the riffraff as well as the well-meaning and the everyday Joe off to work in the Big Apple. A rumbling on the street below marks Steve Rogers astride his Harley-Davidson Street 750. It's just warm enough for him to be wearing a light cotton button-down beneath his black leather jacket. Tan slacks over brown combat boots and the quintessential Dodgers 'Baseball Caps Anonymous' effect mark him as local but not famous — unless you look closely.

A larger shadow passing by overhead means him glancing up. With a small frown, he signals then to turn and follow it rather than continuing on his errand. Withdrawing cash can wait. If that red-and-blue blur with singular traveling habit is who he thinks it is… Word does travel, after all.


Spider-Man lands on a lightpole to assess things. Okay…three guys in the bodega. Cashier, local man. Two guys, one Hispanic, one white. Both with guns, based on what the guy at the counter is yelling.

Time to get to work.

"Just put the money in the bag, old man! We got places to be!"

Mick, the alpha jerkwad, held the pistol on him while Juan held the shotgun on the two people in the back, a Chinese mother and daughter who were sitting on the floor, huddled in the corner.

Mick leaned over to cuff the cashier. "Moving too SLOW, old man! Hurry it up or we waste alla ya!"

Spider-Man crept along the right-side aisle, along the opposite end of the store towards the back. He heard the crying and realized he couldn't go in half-cocked. He had to put down the guy in the rear…and QUICK.


At the far street corner, the motorcycle rumbles yet again. With keen eyes, Steve picks out the young vigilante and marks how cautiously he enters the bodega. Through the window, he sees the silhouette of what appears to be someone holding a weapon. The Captain's eyes narrow. He pulls the bike on through the intersection and then kills the motor on the swing-about, letting it silently coast up alongside the sidewalk around the corner to the shop under duress.

Then, appearing to have been blissfully unaware of the brewing trouble inside, he enters the shop as the perfect distraction. Steve comes to a halt just inside the doorway and puts on a face of surprise. "Hmm. Am I interrupting something?" he asks dryly, slowly pulling his hands from the pockets of his leather jacket to show them empty. A quick look towards the back and then his attention returns to Mick up front with the handgun.


The reaction is pretty quick for the two men, already mainlining adrenaline (and a little cocaine, for their nerves). Mick whirls to point the gun at the new arrival. His lips curl into a smile. "Well, well, golden boy…looks like YOU wandered into the wrong store."

Chen and her daughter, Lian, were looking down as the other man kept the shotgun on them. Lian hiccuped, then whispered, <I want to go home…>

Chen heard something. An odd sound. It sounded like "THWIPP!" She looked up and saw Juan, a comical look of surprise on his face…and then he just disappeared. It was like a magic trick.

Steve can see past Mick to Juan as a thin clutch of webbing hits his back, and then he is yanked out of sight. A moment later, the back door opens.


Steve's decidedly polite expression doesn't twitch even as he sees the robber with the shotgun disappear like Vegas sleight of hand. Only David Copperfield pulls off better stunts. Then, Mick is on the receiving end of what could potentially be a smug little smile from the Captain.

"Guess it's my lucky day. Dunno about your partner there. He seems to have found the back door," replies the man evenly, now with his thumbs hanging comfortably from the pockets of his slacks. "You got three seconds to put down the gun or I'll put it down for you." A readiness slowly suffuses Steve's stance now.


The weather is perfectly unwelcoming. Sufficient to wear a good coat and a pair of gloves, slipping among the best Brooklyn has to offer. So walks trouble. She could be Latina, she could be one of the original Canarsee inhabitants of Brooklyn, she blends in by just walking down the sidewalk. That stalking pace informs familiarity with the urban jungle at every level. Wanda is in her element, flowing shadows and furtive looks to every cracked facade and lonely alleys tarred in perpetual layers of grime. The endless maze of New York isn't so strange to her. She has a reusable bag strung over her wrists, ignoring the lone cat skulking away into the dark.

Warning isn't screaming at the top of its lungs. Probably better that it has not. The look to a familiar bike stops her mid-stride. She pauses and cases the immediate surroundings: high to low, ground to sky. Relying on sight isn't quite enough. The Sight is always there, permeating her vision. Narrowing it down to the particular spectrum of Steve Rogers takes a wee bit longer, but she starts hunting his aura if it exists at all. The absence of magical firebombs being hurled helps this considerably. The other big fireball happens to be behind, or around, but not directly in line of sight. "I liked that cantina," she announces to Carol in that sharply accented voice. Her hand opens to catch the wind.


Carol arches a brow towards Wanda, responding in a muted Boston (or really BAHSTAHN) accent, "Oh boy. Anything we'd have a problem with, or just the property damage in general." She gives the witch a wry look, "Honestly, I was amazed the cantina was still here, it was one of my regular stops before I left. And I wanted some of the special blend there." Which is why she isn't pestering Wong for it.

Currently, Carol's dressed in a NIN T-shirt and blue jeans, while also wearing her leather pilot's jacket. Complete with a USAF ballcap and sunglasses, of course. She hasn't noticed Steve's bike yet, even as her left hand starts to glow in anticipation of trouble.


Spidey doesn't recognize Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America, but he does recognize a gun when he sees it. It's a very scary gun, one of those Berettas you see in a lot of action movies. They use that one because they jam a lot less with blank cartridges.

Question: What do you do when a guy is pointing a gun at an innocent person?


Mick whirled around, saw SPIDER-MAN instead of Juan, then glimpses Juan webbed to the wall.

Then he does the only logical thing in his coke-addled mind, and forgets the "defenseless" Steve in favor of the costumed freak.

The gun sound is very loud in the bodega. Wincing from the sound flows into Spider-Man moving his head away from the path of the bullet, and the 9mm slug headed for his right eye buries itself in the wall behind him, instead.

Not a GREAT answer, but they can't all be gems.


Poor Mick, distractions everywhere! No doubt the gun's discharge is going to attract attention as well, even with the surrounding walls to mute it. Gunfire this early in the day is abnormal enough to warrant a concerned passerby calling 911.

The blur of the gun being aimed and fired is enough to bring Steve into action. One quick step and he slaps his palm around the gunman's wrist. A hard grip is more than enough to strain tendons and delicate bones and entice Mick to consider dropping the weapon. It'll be caught before it hits the ground by Steve's spare hand to avert the small if real risk of accidental discharge.

"Don't think that was an appropriate answer," muses the Captain as he then rotates Mick's arm back into a bar-hold behind the man's shoulders. Mick can squirm all he wants, it's going to be more comfortable on his knees than fighting the serum-boosted strength. Steve glances up at the red-and-blue webbed-sporting vigilante on the bodega wall. "Wondered when I was going to cross paths with you," he says to Peter in particular in a friendly way, as if it's no big deal that both have interrupted a robbery.


That's the thing - - trouble doesn't come knocking. Why should she? "They have the best maize tortilla. I like the flavour. I will try to keep them for tomorrow, too." In that disdain of filthy casual attire, Wanda wears the uniform of the twenty-first century. Carol looks cool; she looks like she might trash someone with those curb-stomping, sleek boots. The soft fragrance of lime and cheese arise from the bag. Probably proof of a meal taken home from said cantina. Too stubborn to drop the meal, and the important spices, she swivels on the unseen world painted brightly to her as a pointilism on canvas fifteen feet wide. No pretty French riverside opens up before her though. Gunmen don't pass for ladies in their bustled dresses and the Beretta makes a poor replacement for an umbrella. The erupting sound is too telling, too loud.

She moves. A sudden and efficient dart for the nearest wall gives some coverage, her crouching position proof of every survivor of warfare in hell-holes from besieged Mogadishu to bomb-stricken Sarajevo. Been there, done that. Nothing more to hint things are all wrong as she mutters under her breath. A little Gaelic curse, there's nothing more to see except that she twists and slides her fingers together to call up elements invisible in her defense.

One mystic weave of a shield settles into place. Or she's calling 911 without a phone. Anything is possible. New York, baby!


Spidey tilts his head as he looks at the one the crook had called "golden boy." He doesn't know the guy from Adam, but he certainly took care of the guy quick. Maybe he was an Iraq vet.

He looked to the cashier, who was planted against the back of the kiosk area. He stepped forward, then picked up the paper bag, stuffed with cash, and handed it back to the cashier. "Here. That's yours." The cashier blinks, then moves forward to take the bag, now smiling in gratitude. He looks at Mick, then spits on him in disgust.

He looked back to Steve. Something about the build…the chin…

Then the connection made and, oh look, Spider-Man is now gobsmacked. "Ohmigosh…you're,,,you're…" He can't even say it out loud, his brain is vapor-locked. "…You're a HERO!"


Steve looks from the cashier and to the globlet of spittle on Mick's shoulder now. "Eloquent," he murmurs to himself before he glances outside towards the sidewalk. No one's arrived yet, be it pedestrian or police, but he's got this…inkling of familiarity encroaching on his gut instinct. The young vigilante's comment has the Captain smiling a little ruefully at him.

"Nah. A distraction. You did some work with the other gunman." Even as Mick squirm-fails a little more, Steve continues giving Peter his full attention. "I'd hazard you're the local menace the papers go on about. Spider-Man, isn't it?" There's only the barest hint of amusement in the soldier's tone of voice, like as not because he can tell there's a younger man beneath the spandex suit.


While Wanda is taking precautions… well, Carol is the precaution. Also, being invulnerable (at least to bullets) has an advantage of sorts, as Carol's also adopted Steve's hat disguise.

With about as much success, truthfully, as she just casually strolls into the bodega. Of course, the fact that her hand is glowing probably gives herself away just a little bit. Though when she takes in the scene, the glowing stops as she lowers her shades a bit, blinking at, "Steve? Is that you?" And with that, she stops dead in her tracks. It hasn't been ten years or anything, right?


A DISTRACTION? The guy who punched out HITLER, a DISTRACTION? Brain, I need help with this!

Spider-Brain: Error 404. Please try another time.

Stupid Mouth: I got this.

"Yes, it's me, your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Say it loud and say it proud." *Oh my God I sound like a GOOBER!*

Stupid Mouth: You're welcome.


Well, there are people out there of course. Are they pedestrians? Nope. Wanda sighs as she watches the influx of bodies double from two to… well, more than two. The signatures flaring in her vision are cemented in place. She does what every smart totally-a-pedestrian does, she wanders around to the back of the bodega. Assuming there is a back. If someone goes flying through a door made by bolt of energy, that's really on them.


"Spider-Man then. Thanks for the assist. Good work with the gunman." Steve eyes Juan webbed to the wall and smirks. "He's not going anywhere anytime — "

Hearing his name interrupts him as firmly as a slap to the back of the head. It helps that the voice is familiar when he finds the face attached to it. Mick yelps quietly as Steve's grip at his wrist fractionally increases out of sheer surprise.

"Carol?" he echoes back, eyebrows nearly crawling up into his hair. "Carol Danvers," comes the repetition as if to be absolutely certain he's addressing her correctly. She hasn't aged a day to his eyes despite the decade of time between their last conversation.


Normally Carol Danvers is pretty calm, cool, and collected, but… well, this is Steve Rogers she's talking to, so, um… yeah, she grins a little sheepishly, "Well, I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd drop in?" Inwardly, she kicks herself, and then says, "It's good to see you." She actually looks… nervous, which is an odd look for her. She doesn't step any closer, mainly because there's a would-be robber in the way that Steve's currently holding.

On the bright side, this might make Spidey feel a little better?


Spider-Man looks at the woman, and then recognizes her. The woman it's a bad idea to drive a car into. Captain Marvel.

Speaking to Captain America. Great. Outclassed twice. He looks to the cashier, but he's already calling the cops. He checked his phone. He had two minutes before he had to dash, then.

He backs up slightly. He was about to offer to web the other gunman up, but Steve is talking to someone and just…holding him there, like a recalcitrant puppy straining at the leash and having the same amount of luck.

He got the message. Let the adults talk, speak only when spoken to.


"Good to see you too," Steve replies to Carol with the beginnings of an incredulous smile. However, Mick gets to wriggling again and the Captain frowns down at him, brought back to the present especially when the robber spits out a very rude word. "Language." The chide is short and terse.

"Spider-Man, can I ask you a favor? You mind dealing with him? Figure he can join his buddy over on the wall there until the cops show." Peter's given a wry smirk. "Seems appropriate. It was your bust in the first place."


Carol then flashes a grin at Spidey, "Your bust? Nice work, Spider-Man." She nods at Steve, "I helped him with a high-speed chase last week, he's good." Which is not exactly faint praise from her, as she steps over towards Steve, "Wanda's with me, I think she's lurking in the back in case someone needs to be turned into a frog or something while trying to escape." Her eyes sparkle with a bit of amusement as she looks down at Mick and just says, "Ribbit."


Spider-Man gingerly takes the sullen Mick, walking him to the rear of the store. "Actually, it's not my bust. It'll be the bust of the first cops to show up. So if I disappear suddenly, that means the NYPD has arrived." He presses Mick against the wall, and then with a mighty (actually, a mildly) "Thwipp!" Mick is now also webbed to the wall, right next to the liquor cooler. "Yeah, she helped…as in, she stopped them cold when their car ran into her, and she dragged them out and scared them into surrendering."

It is a strenuous redefining of the term "helped," though. All he was doing was qualifying for the Garbage-Lid Skiing Olympic Team.


"Sounds about what I remember." Carol receives a small grin at hearing the tale of the failed escape by vehicle. "A car's not gonna win verses her." Now that Mick's under control, he safes and empties the Beretta of ammunition. The bullets go away into his pocket and he sets the gun on the countertop within easy, quick reach of his reflexes. Presumably, no one in their right mind is going to try and beat the Captain to it.

"Regardless, I can put in a good word for you with the NYPD," Steve continues towards Spider-Man in particular. Removing his baseball cap, the man scratches briefly at a spot towards the nape of his neck. "Been wondering why the papers try to keep smearing you as is. Only heard good things so far." He tilts his head towards Carol and her own aforementioned praise of the youngster.


Carol grins, "Well, you were going to be fine with it, Spider-Man. I just helped expedite it a bit for you." She shrugs, and looks over at Steve, "Honestly, I couldn't tell you, but he definitely deserves a good word in for him there." Then, because no more mooks are in the way, she actually does grab Steve in a hug, "Damnit, I missed you, Steve. And don't you dare say 'language' either!"


Spider-Man is about to say something when the two embrace. Well, she hugs him first. He should…probably check on something. Behind the store. The mother and daughter. Yeah, he should go see that they're safe.

He steps out back to take a look for the other two and stops as he looks at the wall.

The bullet is still there…but only because after going through the wall, it hit the ConEd meter on the opposite side. If the meter hadn't been there? Well, it would have kept going, right into the coin-op laundry across the street, unless it decided to accost a passing pedestrian in the way.

Geez, Pete, you can be real dumb sometimes. The effective range of a bullet is measured in MILES. You're lucky no one else got hurt.


"Happy to put in a word then." By his tone and brisk nod towards Spider-Man, Steve means it — which likely means he's also going to bowl over any stuttering attempts by NYPD to correct him as to the 'real' reason that the 'menace' was present. The sudden hug is enough to make him tense briefly, but he reneges and returns it with a mild thump-thump of his hand between Carol's shoulderblades.

"I'll let it slide this time," he assures her good-naturedly. "Missed you too, Carol. It's good to have you back in town. Now we've got another set of hands in case things get out of control." — as they invariably will at some point in this city. "Good to know too that we've got a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man to help out when we're not in the area," he adds.


Carol grins and steps back, looking at Steve, "Well, you got the Super-Soldier formula, I get cosmic rays I guess." Since neither of them really look like they aged in the past decade. Then she chuckles, "Do I still have my room, or did Jarvis follow through on his threats and turn it into a pantry?"


Spidey spots the woman and child, peeking nervously around a building. They are startled when he waves to them. <What is going on?> she blurts out before switching to English. "My husband?"

"He's just fine. A little shaken up, but unhurt."
The girl looks up to him, then says, <Mother, he looks funny.>
The mother laughs, then says, "She said you look strange."
"Spidey chuckles. "Well, I kinda am. But can you tell her I'm glad she's all right?"
The mother nods. <The Honorable Spider is pleased you are not hurt.>

There is the click of a cocked hammer. Two patrolmen have their guns aimed at Spidey, and one just upped the ante.

"Don't move, Spider-Man. You are wanted for questioning with multiple felonies, aiding and abetting known felons, and conspiracy charges."

Spidey stood up slowly. "The conspiracy one is new…" he said with a sigh.


The crack at JARVIS is enough to make Steve laugh aloud. "No, your room's still there. We'll bump you up from reserve to active listing. Just flash your ID card at the front doors. JARVIS will let you in and you can get settled." His habitual scan of the bodega marks the shop-owner but not the young Spider-Man. However, with the back door cracked, there's no missing the bark of the police officers. Carol gets a concerned side-look. "Sounds like trouble."

Walking briskly to the back door, Steve makes himself highly visible with baseball cap in-hand rather than on his head again. He raises his voice to make himself the focus of attention yet again. Today's Distraction Day, apparently! "Captain Rogers, please stand down. There are two robbers inside that need addressing. You'll find the handgun on the counter. The shotgun's on the floor," he informs the pair of officers evenly. "This man is responsible for securing them and averting a potential homicide." A nod towards poor Peter.


Carol comes out after Steve, and nods slightly in agreement with him, letting him take the lead on this one as she tilts her head, "Think you boys might want to take those robbers into custody. I'm sure the family that runs this bodega would be grateful for that."


One of the officers takes out a pair of handcuffs with his free hand. "The person known by the alias Spider-Man has 13 warrants out for his arrest, Captain Rogers. Obstruction is a federal offense. If you want to avoid running afoul of the law, you will let us do our job. Once we book and process him…"

Translation—take pictures of him sans mask, fingerprint him, and make all of that part of public record.

"…and have him arraigned, then he can defend himself."

Everyone slips up, once in awhile. The radio is keyed and the cop speaks quietly into it. "Mr. Osborn, we'll have him in custody short-OW!"

The cop drops the handcuffs as the mother, Chen, swings her non-inconsequential purse at him, raising his arms to fend off the blows. <Johnny Chao, you should be ASHAMED!!!> When his partner looks over to him, just for a moment, Spidey fires two weblines and launches himself upward and out of sight over the rooftops.


With hands hooked in the pockets of his slacks again and the snap-clasp of the baseball looped around a thumb, Steve gives Carol an unimpressed side-look at the flimsy if legally-appropriate explanation from the cops.

"You got your cell phone on you? Record this for posterity," he suggests, not adverse to using modern technology to make a point for the sake of a potential future case in court. However, the mother steps in and disrupts the entire affair with some well-placed whallopings of her purse. Go Mom. Steve watches the vigilante-hero disappear up over the nearby ledge of the three-story building and sighs in mild frustration.

"Osborn, was it…?" He glances over at Carol again for confirmation of the name heard.


Carol shakes her head, "Doesn't sound like a cop to me, otherwise he'd be a Lieutenant or Captain. Which sounds like these guys are doing a little side-work." She narrows her eyes, "But yeah, Osborn. Name doesn't ring a bell, unless Ozzy is spreading out from biting the heads off of bats." She pauses, and smiles a bit at Steve wryly, "Sorry, music reference."


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