Summary:A heist goes up in flames. Literally. Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
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"Three. Two. Go." Cold counts down, her fingers pulling and yanking at a few lines of hardware in a fuse box. The location is an old Soho gallery with a final show lined up in a few night's time. However, the art within is something special to the frost girl. She wanted it, and that's all that matters. Two floors, sixteen pieces, most in different shapes and sizes. They were gothic, dark, a hint of story behind them of a mythical sense: Caine. Lilith. She'd regret this if she didn't give it a try.
With systems down, the girl in the parka nods toward a larger man who stands with her. Her visor coats him in blue, and she graces him with a dark-lipped smirk and dimpling cheeks.
The car was stashed, the alarm was out and the night guard? well, he'd really have to hope that he didn't run across them or it was going to hurt. There was entirely too much subtlty in this plan for things to get too heated but well…he didn't pick the jobs most of the time for a reason. He was there if things went wrong, and to bust the occasional skull. It worked so far.
Pulling his own goggles down over his face, the man nods and makes to shove the door open. It wasn't quite the same as kicking it but…it'd have to do for now. "Lets go get some pretty pictures then."
"You're so good to me." She muses as they slip in, gun up and at the ready. A few strides coat them pair in darkness, but lucky for them, those goggles weren't just for a 'look'. They had purpose, everything had some type of purpose for the pair. She had promised him a number of things once this was all over - mostly food - and she aimed to deliver.
He knew the drill. Cut the pictures along the frames, roll, pack, repeat. It would be a quick job should they each take a floor, and as he lingers below, she heads up. So far, so good. A quick slice through canvas and it would all be set and done before long. That is…until…
A rumbling and heavy thump sounds from above the fire-starter. Foot steps and another thumping sound. The hum of an ice-gun firing off. A glow of white, darkness, and then another. The link was dead. Something crashes.
That much, he could do without breaking things. Working their way along the line was easy enough, piece of cake…til things go wrong. A noise, a frown, the man keys his link. "Snart?" he questions, looking up with the roof as if he might see through it. "Lena?" Nothing? That means something was wrong.
The painting is rolled up, stuffed in his jacket and then he stands, heading towards the stairway. It could be just as likely to be nothing, a dropped tool…only Lena was too precise for that too.
Someone was about to get a beating.
Lena Snart slid and crashed against a stall, one holding some object under a case of glass. It falls over, crashing and shatters, glimmering shards casting across the floor. But a busted lip, and probably more against her torso, the girl growls and sniffs back. Her nose was broken, that much was for sure, but instead of leaving her DNA on the floor, she swallows the mess of saliva and blood down her throat.
She stands, lifting her gun, its light connects, forming a triangular shape within its barrel. "Try that again…" She threatens…someone in the room. She sweeps, and sweeps again. She couldn't see. Panting, she reaches up and digs at her busted visors, yanking them free only to have a massive fist clobber the side of her head and send her sprawling.
Large, imposing, a figure stalks and looms over Cold, his body pulsing with muscle. Heavy in breath, clothing (of guard attire) stretching thin over the man's bulk. This wasn't normal…
Not normal is putting it mildly. This was a new threat, a bigger one than some normal night guard. A meta or a mutant…it didn't really matter. The guy was big and angry…and that's kinda Mick's thing. Lena was too close to use the gun, at least right away. Plan B then!
He charges, his huge frame rushing forwards and trying for a classic 'spear tackle' headed towards the creature advancing on his partner. He slams into the thing, throwing all of his weight towards the creature's midsection.
Crash and…stop. Taking the brunt of the impact, the…man looks down in Mick's direction. He blinks, eyes wide and lined with mutliple strands of red, blood vessels popped and threatening to bleed out and down his crazed features. The man's body pulses and he smiles. "For once, I fucking love my job…" he grumbles, his hands joining and moving over his head to swing down and slam into Mick's back.
Rolling onto all-fours, Snart sniffs up and back once more, her fingers groping out and clawing for her gun. Now, the tides were turned and she couldn't shoot into the tangle of Rory and Monster. "Shit…Mick! Move your ass!"
Stopped…damn. Mick just sort of…looks up for a moment before he brings his hands back and throws a few punches into the thing's stomach. He's even getting ready to go for a groin shot when that other strike hits him across the back. He's toppled onto his stomach, crumpling with a grunt before the call from Lena gives him an idea of where she is.
"Screw it," he's trying to scoot backwards, but his gun comes up to his hand and gives a high-pitched whine before he jams down on the trigger and the blast of heat fills the air.
The punches settle and don't seem to phase the man what so ever. He just laughs, watching as the thug falls to the ground. There's scrambling now, from both, but the sudden blast of heat gives the man pause. His clothing starts to burn, catching fire and fluttering off his body, threatening to peel his vein-rich skin only to feel the sudden drag of his feet against the ground. Blazing honey-red is backed by a blinding azure-white, keeping the man in place. Now came a questioning - was this heist worth it? What fell over? Was there a silent alarm on the solid objects? Counting, holding down the trigger and counter, she pants out and curses under her breath. "We need to move! Out in five. Mick! On your feet!"
Well damn. Figures it would all go wrong, doesn't it? Giving a little noise of frustration, he backs up to his feet and continues firing the trigger. There was so much flame and heat, the paint on the floor was probably starting to peel, but he didn't mind in the slightest. The light reflected in his goggles was accompanied by that savage smile that only this much fire could bring.
Then Lena was calling and it was back to reality, some growl of acknowledgement given before he backs off, giving her the covering 'fire' he could.
Lena Snart knew that smile, that unbridled joy. The heat was growing in the room, crackling the 'man's' flesh as Cold slips around and keeps the being frozen in place. He couldn't move, not with his feet anyway, and his upper boy was starting to crisp a lovely (horrid) raw-red. Finally, the chill is gone and Lena is darting for the exit. She hobbles and stalls out, her hand reaching and palming her side as she keeps going. "Burn it down, Mick! Don't let that freak follow us!"
The 'freak' was out for blood, it seems. He stands taller, starting to move again now that he can. He should be howling in pain, but not even the cremation of his own body seems to be stopping his drive, his pure desire, to kill the pair. He shares Mick's smile, and with a step, then another, he starts sprinting in his direction.
Burn it down? Mick practically lives at the edge of such a thought. To let it out is…freeing. The whine becomes a roar, one echoed by Mick's own voice as he backs up and twists the control to let the gun set to full power, as hot as a thing could be…and that most things couldn't survive. It was going to wreak hell on the gallery, but that just made it all the more pretty to watch.
The gun remains on the 'freak', blasting as hot as it can be. "BURN!" Mick yells, actually advancing towards the creature. "BURN YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
Burn it does. The sprinting comes to a stop as the figure sizzles, pops and chars. The smell is horrible and sweet, a mixture of ashen synthetic fibers, hair, and fresh meat. There was something sick about it, too, something wrong in the body that made it…unwell. The freak ceases and slams to the ground in a smoldering lump. The room was too hot, the walls sparking off and catching fire as did a number of seats, paintings, furniture. With the systems down, the sprinklers were also useless. A firealarm cries out, in the distance, sirens scream and join the chaotic chorus.
"Mick!" Snart all but growls out. "Now! Go, go!" She limps down the steps and slams her shoulder against a wall. She could feel it now, the bruising starting to flower out and around her wounds. "Mick…" she pants with a hint of hidden weakness and humanity. "Mick, help…"
There's a moment, a pause and a desire to watch the products of his work glow in the night. But they had to go, the heat was on and his partner was in need. A grunt, a growl, his weapon is holstered at his side and he turns to move up behind Lena. "I got you," he speaks, stepping up towards the woman against the wall and just sort of…scooping her up without slowing down.
They were headed to the car, Lena carried bridal style until they hit the door and then she's set down. He'd let her in, he'd even lean over to buckle her up before he rounds the car and sets the ignition.
There's a pause as he digs into his jacket and tosses the rolled-up painting towards Lena with a smug look.
"One is better than nothing, right?" he laughs as the vehicle roars away from the crime scene.
"Only one?" She smiles his way lazily, nose set to one side, swollen and eyes rimmed in violet. "Tsk, Mick…you're slipping." She takes the one and holds it, before pressing it into her jacket, where seven others wait. Patting their bounty, she rests back and sinks down as best she can. This was in Mick's hands, and he was the best drivers she had ever known. "Thank you, Antonio Diego…you have amazing taste."
A glance in the mirrors, the building they left behind lights up the sky with a welcoming, warm glow. Red and blue crash against the sight as police and the fire department arrive on the scene. "Mick," she murmurs. "What the hell was that back there?"
"I left the others down next to the frame…before I came to rescue you from that angry pile of charcol back there." Mick points out. What was it back there? Kindling. He shrugs, some grunt being the equivlent of an 'I dunno' before he rounds the corner to get as far away from those lights as possible.
Sometimes the chase was fun, but today…he'd let it pass. He'd had enough fun burning that building down after all. "I expect a good meal for this."