Summary:Wade Wilson vs Bratva Goons - enter the Darkstar, madness ensues! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Night time in Little Odessa isn't too notably different than the evening in other parts of the city. Same skyline just from a slightly different angle. Same distant sounds with the clang of a buoy off on the river, and the low hum of ever-present traffic. Same dull grey landscape illuminated by yellow streetlights that cast a pall of a halo upon the ground.
But what Little Odessa does have over a lot of other neighborhoods in the city… is an appalling response time from the authorities, and a higher likelihood for people yelling from windows when their neighbors make noise.
"Tikho, lyudi pytayutsya spat!" Is screamed from the window of a nearby apartment building, a bitter grey-haired old man shaking a fist at the world but more appropriately towards the five story tall office building across the street.
Only for another voice, sing-song, to call back through one of the upper floor windows, "Moye sudno na vozdushnoy podushke polno ugrey!"
Yet inside that building, where apparently all the horrible racket originated from, stands a figure in red and black, leaning upon the sill and heaving a small sigh. "Some peoples' kids, right Dimitri?"
"I can call you Dimitri, right?"
Slowly swaying back and forth, hanging from a ceiling fan in what might have once been an office for some sort of insurance agency, only now it had been converted to… storage of a sort. What with the firearms, and piles of cocaine bricks. Not to mention the corpses. Bloody corpses fallen on the ground in various states of disarray. Though the only remaining man who survives apparently is this Dimitri, who is slooowly spinning with his tie wrapped around the arm of the ceiling fan. Twisting in a slow gyration, though conscious and aware enough to answer Deadpool.
"Da, I mean… yes friend Wade. Yes. Please."
"Thanks, Dimitri."
One other nice thing about Little Odessa, a Russian accent is not only beneath notice, it is expected! Laynia is checking the area out, a note in hand as she looks for the apartment building that Spider-Man provided her, when she hears. "…hovercraft full of eels?" Her left hand strokes some free floating strands of white-blond hair behind her ear as she looks up and tracks the shouting about sleep, and then the unexpected response.
"Ah well, perhaps a quiet night is not to be." Moving into a shadowy alleyway, she concentrates, and her garb changes, darkness enfolding her as she goes from street garb to her Darkforce generated costume, and leaps into flight.
Brown eyes masked by black energy streamers, she arcs gracefully upwards to peer into the window inside of which there is surely no eels, nor any hovercraft!
Inside the office building, "I'm a professional, Dimmy." He waves his hands around the room as if offering that up as Exhibit A. "I take a job, I get it done, with you know, maybe a smiiidge of give and taken back and forth. Just to keep people on their toes…"
Which Dimitri nods rapidly for even as his feet scrabble, trying to keep himself elevated and his tie from tightening around his neck. His boots catch on the desk the ceiling fan is slooowly turning over and then as its rotation brings him too far away to maintain his balance, the tie snaps taut and he's abruptly gagging and choking while the fan twists further.
"Like a craftsman, since like. Wow." He turns to face the now hanging man, "Like whoever installed the fixtures in this building. I mean seriously look at this, you weigh what 200 pounds? 210? Don't be modest. Look at that muscle. That thing…" He hops up on the desk and casually pokes at the ceiling fan's base with the tip of a long straight-edged blade. "That thing is holding in there. I expected you to go whabam, on the ground and I could be all intimidating. But now you're just dying."
There's a /SHING/ as the katana slices to the side and the man hits the ground in a pile, coughing and gagging as he pulls at the fabric around his neck.
"Probably a Mason." The masked man nods knowingly, "Did you know Free Masons are cultists? I saw it on Sally Jessy."
He hops off the desk with a thump and leans over the fallen man, stabbing the sword at him so it dangles in front of his nose rudely. "But I'm a professional. Or maybe… was I going with the craftsman metaphor? Either/or, both work. I was paid to bust up your little stronghold here, Dimitri. But you being here is sort of a bonus. But I wasn't paid to pop you. So you see my quandry?"
Dimitri, for his part, a middle-aged Russian bratva boss might well have pitched a stronger image if some of his men were alive or he had to save face, but now… "Da, da, I see. Well… it would be more professional to let me go, yes? Fulfill your contract to the letter. Yes?"
The sword whips up and then just rests on Deadpool's shoulder, "I can see it that way." But then the corner of his mask twists upwards, "Then again maybe they'll give me a bonus, you know?"
You know…in her time as a spy and agent for Mother Russia (Yes, she still THINKS it in caps!) Darkstar has seen a lot of things. Some terribble. Some beautiful. Some heart-breaking.
This is a weird mish-mash of…she's not even sure how she should feel, honestly. She's not a huge fan of the Bratva, that's for sure. She's also not very keen on drugs. Murder? Also not on her likes list, nor is torture. And this tags almost all those points on both sides of the equation!
She doesn't bother to knock, just floats her way into the room. "Dimitry Sergeivich Pavlenko?" She asks the fallen and terrified mob boss.
A glance to the red and black fellow with the blood spatters and blads. "Excuse please, just have question for Mister Pavlenko, I do not wish to interrupt your work, of course." Her voice is rather husky, deep for a woman, and yeah, that is DEFINITELY a woman right there, dressed in weird…what…solid smoke? Liquid blackness?
As entrances go, not big on flash, but stylish!
As for Deadpool, upon her entrance, he sort of looks sidelong at her. Then looks at her again with a rather noticable double take. He reaches his off hand casually to his hip and draws one of those automatic pistols from his side. Wade takes a half-languid lazy way of aiming at her, but then lowers it a touch as she speaks.
She might almost be able to see the smile and smirk behind the mask, the contours shifting slightly. "Oh by all means," He motions with the pistol towards Dimitry, "Though I am on the clock here sooooo…"
Dimitry, however, looks frantically back and forth between the lady of darkness and then Deadpool, then back to Darkstar. In her years of training she has likely seen people in varying states of despair and frantic fearfulness, and the expression on the older man's featuers definitely are a lovely melange of both.
"What is it you want? What is it with you mad people?!"
"Answer the pretty lady's questions, Dimmy." Though Wade steps over to stand beside her and says with a husky and really rather badly affected deep tone of voice, "Hi. I'm Wade." He looks upwards, "Sooooooooo."
Then looks sidelong towards Darkstar and asks, all the while still kind of aiming the pistol at her, "Live around here much?"
When the gun is semi-vaguely almost aimed at her, Darkstar's eyes shift to it, and then she cants her head to one side and quirks a half smile…that drips darkness even as energies halo her form, and her hands. Fortunately, he seems inclined NOT to shoot at her, so she inclines her head. "Spasiba — thank you." She even smiles. "I am Darkstar." Of course she is. Because…a Light Bringer she ain't!
"Do not worry, I have only one question." She steps up to the man, shifting to crouch by the man and cupping his chin…not with HER hand, but with an analog made of pure, chill, darkness. "The apartments called Shadow Run, they are not claimed by Bratva, da? It would be unfortunate were the answer to be nyet, I would be most displeased."
Rising, she stands with arms folding across ample chest. "Of course, it seems my questioning might be premature, perhaps I might need to speak to NEXT big boss…"
She looks to Wade then. "Thank you again, Wade, and I am undecided. The neighborhood…it might need, eh, how you say..some work?"
"Darkstar, what a lovely name. Very 90s. Edgy, yet sexy with that Russian accent. I've only asked two other women this in my entire life, but can you say Moose and Squirrel for me?" Wade practically purrs as he's standing there, arms now folded though with the pistol under one bicep, casually held loosely here and with entirely no trigger discipline.
Dimitry though, he's just looking between them with wide and maddened features, "You people are crazy!" But his brow knits as he looks towards Darkstar, perhaps finding his backbone in this heap of indignation placed upon him. "Why do you wish to know, 'suka? Where are we? We are everywhere that is where we are!" He spits on the ground.
"Oh yeah, lots of work." Wade says in answer to Darkstar, and then there's an abrupt loud, CRACK! as the pistol fires in his hand and a bullet cracks through Dimitry's skull, sending him sprawling on the ground as blood cascades from his head wound.
"Hey, you said one question." He holds up a finger as if in apology, but then he says, "Though now, looks like my evening has freed up…"
Yet even as he says this the sound of heavy boots coming from the back of the apartment building near the stairwell is heard. Heavy clomping and stomping that perhaps gives them a moment to spare a glance for each other before the siren song of the raging thug is heard in the words, "There they are, get theem!"
"I am not Natasha, you are clearly not Boris…I do not get 'moose and squirrel',.." And then Darkstar actually looks annoyed at herself. He's tricky! Got her to say it, this one is cunning!
She's about to sigh at Dimitry, when Wade makes that pointless. To he credit she doesn't look all that bothered. "At least energy shield stop most spatter." She observes, a bit sighingly, might be a tad irked!
And then she shakes he head. "I did indeed say one question. Perhaps next time — is ever is a NEXT time — I say three, put in margin for error."
And then before she can answer about the evening, there comes the thudding boots of the Bratva goons. "Ah, more cretins…" A nod. "…I suppose needs we must deal with them."
When she does utter the blessed phrase, Deadpool places the pistol over his heart and seems to feign swooning ever so gently. But then his attention is stolen away by the shout of the half dozen men breaking through the entry way and rapidly taking up cover behind the desks and tables covered with contraband.
There's the sound of suppressed automatic weapons fire as they send bullets down range towards the two of them. Packets of cocaine burst and explode as a white haze begins to fill the room.
"Don't worry, Princess Anastasia, I shall protect you!" Says the man in black and red as he runs and skiiiids along the floor, thumping his back against cover, leaving a faint smear of blood on the metal office desk from where a bullet must have clipped him.
Some of the thugs on the perimeter start to try and flank Wade, still firing towards Laynia and where Deadpool has taken cover. The merc though… he's just firing blind with one of those auto-pistols over the top of that desk, not even really coming close.
"Natasha Fatale, Boris Badenov - very inusulting names, very insulting characters, but perhaps not so much for Americans." Darkstar ponders aloud, she has to admit, this Deadpool is somewhat amusing. Either he's mad, or in pain, or both. After careful thought she decides that they're not mutually exclusive.
A hand is raised, and she creates a barrier of Darkforce to deflect most of the fire aimed at her, and then she makes sure that Deadpool is not in her line of fire. "Do you wish to play with them some more?" Seeing he's taking cover, and firing wildly, she nods. "No? Very well."
She turns, hair swishing as she does, and then cuts loose with a cone of raw force, an ebony blast of energy that hits the furniture, the goons, and a large section of the wall. Yeah, the blast does a real number on things, and plaster falls from the cracked ceiling.
And then she notices the blood by Deadpool. "Bozhe Moi! You are shot!" She moves over, concerned.
"What?" The pistol continues to bark fire over his shoulder as Wade just fires all willy nilly, "I'm doing awesome, I've killed like… a dozen of them so far." He has not.
Of course anything further Deadpool might have said is overwhelmed by the roar of ebony power that slashes past him and positively engulfs the other half of the room. Bits and pieces of debris are blasted into the air, shards of woodwork, twisted metal fragments, and then the men all trying to rush into position are thrust back and impact /heavily/ with the wall.
Plaster breaks around the silhouettes of the men and once the energy washes over them and away, they all fall to the ground, thudding over as consciousness had long left them. And all of a sudden… blessed silence…
Except for the car alarms down in the street that were set off. And the emergency exit door that was thrust open by the impact against the wall. And the groaning from some of the men. But /other/ than that. Silence.
With a little bit of plaster falling from the ceiling and settling on top of his head, Deadpool climbs to his feet, still holding the pistol with its receiver in the empty position. He wipes a glove over the lenses in his mask, causing another small flutter of dust and cocaine to fall to the ground.
He then says simply, "Wow."
Of course that's the moment when she rushes over, and he holds up a hand, "Oh hey, yeah. No. Totally fine. Went through and through." It's only then he notices his pistol is empty and goes about clearing it, and slapping another clip into place with a click.
"I SAID—nevermind." She mutters, and then cuts loose with that cone of force.
Darkstar looks a little surprised the sheer power of it. "Well…that was stronger than I remember."
And then she shakes her head to clear it, and moves to check on Deadpool. "Through and through is not usually 'okay', Wade." Eyes still ablaze with Darkness, she then looks at the wound — and can actually SEE the tissue knitting. "Ah! You heal fast, is very good." Much relieved she looks at the wrack and ruin. "I think that Bratva will not be using this place as base for while."
And then she turns back to Wade. "Do you need this as evidence?" A hand indicating the wreckage strewn ex aparemtnt.
One of the windows, shattered in its frame, takes that moment to collapse with a crash of glass fragments. Loud enough to draw a glance from the man in the red and black, only for him to look back towards Laynia. Behind the mask he blinks a few times. "Yup, just like the little toy rabbit and all that."
He reaches over and picks up one of his swords and casually swirls it around with a rush of air then sheathes it with a faint whisper of steel. Tilting his head her way, "Evidence for… wha…" Then his mask shifts a bit as his mouth opens a little wider, "I mean… yeeees, normally I would but I think…" He looks around the place, hands on his hips as another window crashes down to the ground. "I think I got everything here I need to build a good solid case. All that's left is to…"
Deadpool tilts his head back to look at her and adds with a tone of voice that might not be entirely sincere but then again Westerners and their accens, "To get back to the Hall of Justice. All the other Heroes are likely waiting for me."
He makes finger guns then and points at her, "Thoooough, before I go. Any hope in getting those digits there, girly girl?"
"Little toy…rabbit?" Nope, she's not catching the reference.
Darkstar watches the man sheathe his swords, she even helpfully has a tendril of darkforce hand him one of his spent clips! "You Americans, always so cavalier, such cowboys."
Darkstar looks at the wreckage once she's sure he's not going to take anything more, and then she nods. A portal forms, and most of the detritus just…falls into darkness, and then when it is gone the place is much cleaner. Still a mess, still wrecked, but not much wreckage and no corpses left behind.
"The Hall of Justice?" She asks, now…come on. Even forty years out of date she's not /that/ trusting. "I see." A smile then. "Nyet, no digits…but I will take yours, perhaps. Who knows, I might even get burner phone and make call, in emergency of course."
"Think more north of the border, but yeeeah, I get what you're saying." That said he reaches for one of the many… many many pouches on his belt and starts to withdraw a bank pen (with chain attached) and a business card that proclaims proudly in its text;
WADE WILSON, MASTER CHEF
He does take time to cross out the number on there and write in some more, then flips that to her. "There you go," He starts backing up after she accepts it, then makes a small heart in front of his chest with his hands, then waggles one hand with thumb next to his ear and pinky next to his mouth. And she might even hear the whispered, 'call me.'
Before he plants a hand on the window sill and leaps /out/ the window.