Summary:Carol and Valkyrie were just having lunch, what could go wrong? Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Greenwich Village. 1300 hours.
Given the intense heat of summer and the hour, the lunchtime crowd is out in full force. They clot up the pavement, a living mass of sweating legs and designer yoga pants, skimpy shirts and permanent sneers. New Yorkers scowl at the humidity setting them under a pressure cooker but still they go about their day, while the pitiless sun beats down on the parched concrete. Humanity teems, wandering up and down the sidewalks, gathered near the entrance ot the park. Buskers play on the corners, people walk their dogs, and they perform the great primeval hunting ritual for nourishment and sustenance. Greenwich is happy to provide, the tangle of streets waging culinary war on the senses. Open doors and skimpy patios pour out the fragrances of spiced beef and zesty salads, hamburgers and pad Thai, all warring for the consumer and their almighty dollar. A few blocks off Bleecker Street, closer to the park, the tangle of buildings around the main drag features everything someone could want. They might as well call the place Greenwich Kitchen.
Buildings that have endured revolution and civil unrest are the front line in that battle of lunch, and the miasma hanging over the few shady patches is thick. Someone could probably fry an egg, but would they want to? Cars loiter, snuggled up to the curb, some jerk double parked and a horde of inebriated college students try to steer the barge-like pedal "bus" around. Ten of them hoot and cat call, observed by a slightly less drunk pub guide, as their feet spin and kegs wink-wink at the stalled drivers. There's also some dimwit on an e-scooter trying to navigate around the masses, which simply isn't doable.
Which is when he goes flying thanks to tripping over a tossed manhole cover. Curses abound as the Nest scooter topples over and ends up promptly bent in half by a slithery, glistening appendage feeling around. He hits the ground and immediately tries to take a selfie. Headlights strobe him as the world's ugliest Lyft-like vehicle — the ever unexciting Toyota Corolla — squeezes down a service alleyway meant for exactly one skinny nag.
Since Carol crashed to Earth not too far away (and she still owes Strange for that skylight she wrecked), she happens to know this great Pad Thai place in Greenwich. Which is where she is now, sitting across from Brunnhilde as the pair are apparently getting a quiet lunch. Carol then says, "So, yeah, I mean, there's plenty of room at my pla…" She pauses, her thought broken up by the giant tentacle that's emerging from the street. Then she glances back at Valkyrie, "Er, are you seeing that too, or is it just me?"
Hilde believes in heat. Green curry is her dish of choice, the tall ex-valkyrie sprawled at ease in a chair as she sips from it, pausing to munch on chipas (cheese puffs) as she mmms, her lips pursing curiously as green eyes watch Carol as she talks. She's not quite sure yet what she's leading up to here…is she asking her to…?
Andd then, tentacle monster.
She blinks a bit and glances over, perking. "Yes. I do." she purrs, sliding to her feet, her eyes already dancing at the prospect of a good fight. She's hardly dressed as a warrior…it's far too hot. Short but comfortable cutoff shorts, and a off-the-shoulder King Diamond crop top…in black of course with white lettering. She likes black. The motorcycle boots sort of complete the look, really.
The gleaming sword she somehow draws out of midair from her back, however, is heavy and metal but is definitely a bit different. (though no less metal) Dragonfang gleams, its golden runes shimmering as the ex-valkyrie walks towards the tentacles.
Because sharp objects are best when dealing with such things.
Squeaky sounds become louder as the car rolls up too uncomfortably close to Mr. Selfie. His iPhone snaps a few shots of the rusty bumper, a pale figure glaring through the windshield. For a moment, the engine revs and rattles, promising to pour all that finely tuned V4 action into a torrent of speed, circa 1998 champagne gold styled doom. Fear the rising tac! A loud noise echoes through as the driver flings open the door and it bashes off the brick wall, not leaving enough room for him to really get out. And it is a him; the grey man in a grey coat with a pale ashy crop of hair under a pretty unimpressive hat. But he manages to lurch out of the car, leaving its shocks squeaking as he forces his way around to the trunk. A good hard rap keeps the flinching passenger hunkered as low as possible.
Mr. Scooter-Rider finally realizes the peril of something flailing around for his leg. He shouts, a bleating goat noise, and then he's scrabbling at the pavement with his hands to avoid being dragged into the suspicious manhole cover. The New Yorkers move on, diverting around him, some hissing about stupid movie sets or uttering noises that aren't very comfortable or confident. Oh no. The ones with a brighter sense of danger hasten up, but it's a service alley. Not many people pay attention to service alleys or lightly, politely Japanese beeps from a very anemic horn.
Peep! Peep!
Thomas the Tank Engine is not burning down Skyrim. Ringo Starr isn't anywhere to be found. The Gray fellow is hastening with his burden around the car, muttering as he watches the other fellow being consumed by slimy, slippery arms that look like an octopus and an Atlantic dolphin had a love affair, a very unholy love affair. It probably involved courtship by hurled sea urchin.
All in all, a normal afternoon. Which might explain why there's someone atop the building peering down at the Toyota Corolla with a narrow stare. Clearly the car is the evil mastermind of all the world's woes, according to her.
Carol can't help but grin as Valkyrie saunters off to slice and dice some tentacles, glowing brightly for a second as she replaces her own tank top and shorts with the outfit of Captain Marvel. Properly attired and glowing, she immediately flies towards the tentacle-swarmed person, grabbing them as she says, "Hold on!" With that, she lets loose a photon blast at the tentacles to make them let go, since in a tug of war between her and the tentacles… well, she's not sure who'd win, but she knows who'd lose!
With a battle cry Brunnhilde breaks into a charge as Captain Marvel shoots past her, a wild grin on her face as the golden blade comes up, then swings in a sweep, aiming at the base of several of the tentacles keeping the other heroine from pulling its victim free. Lucky the blade is more or less slime resistant.
Ichor, though. Takes forever to get out of cotton.
Hilde does seem to have actually dealt with similar creatures before though, she keeps her strikes low to aim at the base of the arms and more towards the center of the creature. "I think I prefer the giant alligators!" she calls cheerfully up to Carol.
Nothing like a brawl to put a smile on the warrioress' face, after all.
Heave-ho!
Sadly it's not the 19th century. Sadly there are no longshoremen or fishers around to sing the shanty of Carol versus the Kraken. A lost cause, sadly. Getting any kind of handhold is tricky. It doesn't have suckers. It doesn't have hooks. It has the slurpy gleam and… that's rather sticky and tacky. Gloves help, bare skin does not. Mr howling selfie victim is rather stuck, and when the photon blast erupts, he howls and covers his head. "She's gonna kill me, I'm gonna die! The weirdo lady is trying to kill me!"
Okay, admittedly not the best intro line but it /does/ bring out a standstill to several pedestrians. Phones emerge. Photos! Body cameras! Police? Yes, if anyone has enhanced hearing, someone is calling about a 'person with an arc welder attacking a hapless Toyota. And maybe an escaped dolphin.' Right? Right.
The tentacle beast is not amused. It helpfully flings out two or three appendages more. The zapped appendage smells /awful/. And it wiggles. Wiggggggles. Is that a stump forking? Yes.
"Aaaauygh, it's bleeding on me, someone help me! Someone /help!/" shrieks the man unhelpfully. Yes, there are lopped off tentacle bits in places now, and they are still SUSPICIOUSLY wiggling. Wiggling with a purpose. Wiggling with intention of creeping after the bouncy Valkyrie.
Meanwhile, the gray fellow with his suspiciously large sports bag held in both hands, looks aghast. "What are you doing?! Stop! Do you know what you've done? Where will we put the babies?!"
Captain Marvel blinks, "Weirdo lady? Sheesh, it used to be that when you rescued people from tentacle monsters they'd actually be grateful." Fortunately, bare skin is not something that Carol has in abundance with this costume (much to the chagrin of others, no doubt!), so that isn't a problem with dealing with tentacles. However, she does try to move closer to the trapped-selfie person, being very careful not to hit him as she keeps pinpoint-pinging the tentacles back, or trying to. "Um, 'Hilde, is it just me, or does this feel rather weird, even by New York standards?"
"You'd think they'd remember you better! I mean, golden glowing woman, bright costume…can't be /that/ many of you about?" Brunnhilde calls up to the floating woman as she keeps zapping away. Meanwhile, Brunnhilde stomps firmly on any bits that try to get too fresh to her. "This smells like a troll I fought once!" Ah, Gobbers the Troll. Reknown for lack of hygiene even among his kind.
Right, tentacles! And forking tentacles, and that is…not good. Regeneration.
Also getting grabbed by them as one snags her around the waist, Brunnhilde growling a bit a she reaches out with one hand to grip the tentacle, then slams the point of her sword into the pavement, before using it as an anchor and starting to walk backwards, with intent to try and pull the main body of the beast above ground, if she can!
"I'm on fire! It's hot!" The delirious warbling out of the poor young man who was just trying to mow down pedestrians on his nifty $1 per ten minutes scooter has now become bait for a foraging tentacle. Even free, he curls up in a ball in terror as Captain Marvel comes closer. He feebly kicks. Other than the goopy tentacle still clinging and wiggling to his ankle harmlessly, he is hardly at risk.
More of those exciting bits come after Brunnhilde. If she doesn't move too much, she'll have her own fileted Tribbles without hair cuddled up to her boot. Mounding around. The forking tentacle is making an effort to grow in two, wiggling in friendly way. Slicing and slashing, zapping and insulting only seems to produce that awful, gut-roiling stench and upset wiggling where they can't actually reach anything. The sticky, gluey substance is awfully tacky. Brunnhilde might find her sole getting stuck, for all the sad little splotches of tentacle 'blood' or ichor oozing out and smelling sort of like a sewer. Pulling out more and more means there's… a lot more tentacles. It's big. It's heavy, even for an Asgardian.
"Stop!" calls the driver and he throws down the bag. Excited wiggling ensues. It sounds awfully heavy, that collapse. "I'm just here to feed her! You're hurting her, she cannot possibly be out in the sun!"
Meanwhile, the passenger is trying to open the door with a foot.
Carol blinks and looks back at the driver, "Wait what? You know what this is?" She looks at the driver like he's growing a second head out of his shoulders, but… well, the young man isn't in danger, and she knows Valkyrie can handle herself. One brow arches as she sounds rather stern, "You do know that tentacle monsters are supposed to be kept, oh, from erupting on public streets right?" Okay, this is absurd, but at this point, Carol just decides to lean into it.
The valkyrie grunts, feeling sticky and hot and generally unpleasant. This has not put her in the best of moods, though the fight is helping with that. But the passenger does distract her as she plants her feet (the gluey mess is helping with that) and leans on her sword to keep from being pulled anywhere while she glares over at him. "He does? Wait, feed her /what/?" she adds, eyeing the twitching bag.
She's so going to need a looong bath after this.
The passenger in the car needs time to get away. The kind of time that involves squeezing open the door after somehow levering open the plastic handle with her toe. Her: it's an Asian woman, maybe 5'2. Wearing white Keds of all things. She manages to maneuver herself into the slot and falls promptly onto her bottom. The reason being, her long white coat is tied by the sleeves around her chest and her crooked lanyard is flipped up to reveal some kind of photo and a logo. Very scientific. By landing with said thud, she grimaces and tries to get away by crabwalking backwards. It's a singularly awful experience. She and Valkyrie are probably sharing a thought about baths.
The whimpering scooter rider clutches his precious phone. Bystanders on the street haven't stopped. Fortunately it's so congested the cops aren't going to be here for a bit. He murmurs his farewells into Snap-something and Insta-stark-o-gram for good measure. Very good measure. "—and I… I'm feeling faint…" The wiggly tentacle on his ankle is still wobbly. Other chunks are trying to cuddle up to the huge grey mass that looms higher, higher, a convergence of tentacles that never stop. Imagine the Pacific sunstar, combine it with a dolphin, and make the ball of tentacles go in /every/ direction. That's what they've kept yanking forth from the hole in the ground. Metal squeaks. Eventually the asphalt cracks as she tries to haul it out. The thing is… well, it's big. Bigger than a certain friend of Thor's. BIIIIIG. And compact to get through, blobbing out, flailing helplessly.
The gray fellow wipes his face. "Darlene!" His eyes are reddened, by anger or being high or sorrow. He stares at Carol. "Who do you think keeps the sewers safe? You've made the population unmanageable. Do you know how hard it is to set them up? I'll have to go to… to…"
A dramatic pause as he clenches his fists, clearly ready to harangue them both. Marvelous Valkyrie, he's not impressed by either for the awful fate on his head.
"To Jersey." Dun dun dun.
Carol blinks, "Wait, what?" She flies down and lands near Valkyrie, placing a hand on her shoulder as she says to the man, "Alright, so… is this a danger to other people? At all?" She keeps her eyes on the stranger, then flickers a glance to Valkyrie as if silently asking if this is actually happening.
"Are you mad?" Mr. Gray, until he has another name, puts his hands out. One aims for the stabbed tentacle. Such a sorrowful shape. "She prefers the wastewater runoff after it rains. She filters it for nourishment. And I can convince her to eat plant products, it's like her native seagrasses or close as I can get to it. Darlene, be calm! It's right here, your food is waiting!" He looks back to Carol, still horribly aghast. "The only person at risk would have to be smaller than a vacuum canister and made of sargasso. Oh, the babies are going to be impossible, you've no idea how."
The passenger is still scootching away, swearing softly in Korean. The car makes a great block in between.
Brunnhilde just….eyes the man. Death glare. Eyes the mass of squirming tentacles. Death glare. Eyes Carol. Raises a brow? Yeah, she's at least pausing in the tentacle hacking for a moment as she tries to disengage herself from the mess now that it's pulled up above ground mostly and the singularly dumb passerby who lacks basic survival instinct is more or less free.
That said, she's eying the woman who just flopped out of the car now. "…who are you?" she asks. As if peeling tentacles off yourself while leaning on a giant sword is pretty normal for her while having a conversation.
Captain Marvel puts her hand on her head, "Alright, Val… um, don't stab er, Darlene for the moment." She points at the man, "You, do what you need to do to get Darlene taken care of. Then you are going to come with me, because if you're going to be chaperoning a tentacle monster in the sewers, I'm fairly certain you need to register that with SHIELD or something." She sounds more than a bit exasperated, at this point. And possibly thinking this is a reason why she left Earth in the first place.
There might be a look of consternation present. "Register? She's been here for two hundred years at least. Why, if anything she should be declared a state monument for all she's done. Do you think Boston would've had the molasses flood or the beer crisis if they had Darlene?" Mr. Gray sounds so flaming /proud/ of her. The tentacle horror is still wiggling around Brunnhilde, less trying to hug than to get the bag. Ooh, delicious bag. Hellooooo.
The passenger has crabwalked down the alley. It's slow, given her arms are sort of pinned, and the coat isn't shifting up to her shoulders without entangling her lanyard. Her feet are filthy, the filth on her soles squelching a bit, and the Corolla is still on with its engine running, a nice conspicuous barrier to Darlene. The horror of New York, state landmark, sanctioned since the Jackson administration. Right? When someone's talking to her, it takes a while for it to peg that she is the source. Like, ask three times because the guy with the captive ankle and the driver are perplexed by the interjection. "I'm just going to work!" she snarls hysterically. "By bus! By bus, okay? Is that all right with everyone?" Hysteria is _fun!_
To be honest, Brunnhilde has seen weirder in two millenia of life. Especially as someone who generally operates as a monster/bounty hunter these days. Though the smell is definitely memorable…sewer and whatever that slime is giving off. She boots a wandering tentacle piece into the pile, trying to flick off some of the mess, then looking….displeased…as it sticks.
She steps back a bit, walking over to the crabwalking woman, reaching down to pick her up by the back of her coat and setting her on her feet…but not letting go of the coat quite yet.
Besides, the smell is already on it at this point.
"So, you were in a car, with your sleeves tied around , trying to escape, because you're on the way to work. On the bus." she restates, peering down at the lanyard picture and name.
Eun-Kyung is an excellent crabwalker under the circumstances. She freezes seeing someone with a sword. A shiny sword. It is coming this way, and that way is into a dark service alley. Her face screws up. "Yes."
Eun-Kyung Cho, the tag reads. She works for a wee little company called Narest, the badge showing 'Sr Bio Analyst' underneath in blocky print. All very exciting, to be sure. The second flappy thing on the lanyard is one of those heavy passes used for security systems, albeit not the highest-tech that ever existed. "I'm going. To work. I work, and it's pointless. Taking a car."
"Maybe if she stopped grabbing the wheel," mutters the pale man in a pale coat.
Carol says, "Regardless of her history in this city, she needs to be properly registered so misunderstandings like this don't happen in the future." She glances between the passenger in the car, the 'keeper' of Darlene, and Darlene herself… itself, whatever, then sighs, "Okay. do what you need to do to get Darlene into the sewers, and oh God Nick is going to murder me, but yes, I think you all need to be registered properly with SHIELD." She's not even dealing with the woman who was tied up and a passenger because, well, Valkyrie's here and there's only so much weird Carol can handle at once.
Is anyone watching the bag? If not, Darlene seizes on it, cuddles it, and tries to get it open with big noodly appendages that just don't agree on doing that. But the zipper tears and out comes that weird plant-based not-meat, strings of pinkish wiggly stuff that supposedly cooks up like hamburger to freak out one's vegan friends. But plant derived, since it's completely translucent. The creature doesn't squee or anything. The added regenerating tentacles all maneuver to stuff the contents of said bag into a rather little mouth buried like a starfish's or a sea urchins. Nomnomnom.
"Darlene is a good helper," insists Mr. Grey. He runs his hand over his cropped hair. "Well, if it helps her, so be it. Maybe they can put a camera up to be sure she is fed. Oh, that might be fun! A feed, showing how nice she is. I'll get the bag back any time." Raving insane scientist or helpful, hopeful food engineer? Only Captain Marvel and Valkyrie will ever know.
Brunnhilde's mood: bemused. "…right. So he…tied your sleeves so you wouldn't touch anything?" The red-headed ex-valkyrie is still trying to figure this out. "So you're not being kidnapped or anything." That's…good? "…you need a better ride share." she comments, looking back at Mr. Grey as Darlene rips apart the bag. Which fortunately is not filled with kittens or something.
Eun shakes her head, face pale and pent up, irritating. "That stupid… you're feeding a monster. It's a monster, and you shouldn't be allowed—-"
"Cho, you're being judgmental again," says her partner over by Carol.
"You are all weird! All of you! You should be registered if you like them so much," she snaps.
The scientist scowls at Brunnhilde.
Carol sighs, "Yes, but you know what, the world is weird, and both he and Darlene are going to be registered, tagged, and monitored." She glances over at Eun, "Because tentacle monsters, benign or not, should NOT be bursting through the streets and grabbing passerby, got it?" The last redirects her gaze towards Mr. Gray, her look stern enough to make Thor stammer as she continues, "There's not going to be any further problems here, right?"
The dark-skinned warrioress seems unmoved by the snappishness and irritation. "It looks monstrous. Doesn't act it." the ex-valkyrie admits, sighing a bit as she watches the beast chew down on the faux meat. "Pretty good-natured considering the pile of chopped off tentacles, really."
She twists her lips thoughfully, frowning, then glances over at Carol. "…you're going to tag him too?" A slightly curious tone in her voice now. "I didn't know you could do that."