Summary:A Spider-Man and an Amazon walk into a warehouse… Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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He didn't know much about history. Well, he knew a lot of the basic stuff, but he didn't know the relevance of ancient Roman mosaics or the reason for common stances in statues. He did study stuff like the Roman aqueduct system, a miracle of ancient engineering.
So when Molly called his Spidey Number and told him she'd overheard a dockhand talking about a special shipment he was getting paid under the table to handle, he pondered it. Thirty armed men was no joke, as much joking as he did. Which helped with the terror, most of the time.
But there was ONE person who might consider it significant.
So he had sent the text to the enigmatic woman with the regal bearing and the regal breastplate.
<Illegal ancient art shipment arriving at warehouse 38, Brighton, New York, 11 PM. Didn't know if you'd be interested or not. At the location now. 34 men, all armed with assault rifles. 20 outside, 14 inside. Let me know if you want to get involved. SPIDEY.>
<I would be happy to assist. It is a shameful thing, what these men have done. I will arrive soon.>
And the brunette does arrive in a rather timely fashion. After all, a brisk sprint is faster than navigating New York's traffic even at this hour. The orangeish glow of the streetlights gleam from the burnished metal of her armor. At her hip, the matte-golden length of her lasso, and opposite, her sword; at her wrist, her shield, sturdy in Amazonian make and marked with the sigil of her people. Even in greaves and boots, Wonder Woman is a silent presence at the location as she stays to the shadows. Her senses are on alert, all the better to be aware of sentries…and, of course, to spot her suited wall-crawling comrade if he too is hidden.
He is aware of her before he sees her. Spider-Sense seems to br branching out from Imminent Threat to make forays into Increasing Spatial Awareness. He suspected that was why webslinging was so intuitive.
"Up here." The voice is quiet, but quick. This isn't Joking Spider-Man, not now. He is crouched on the edge of the four-story office building across the stree from the warehouse property. "Need a lift?"
Pausing just before she crosses toes into another angular fall of streetlamp-light, Diana glances up. Ah-hah: the source of the breathing she was hearing beyond her own. It'll be easy enough to see her smile, glimmering with the expectancy of a fight fought for the good.
"I would not say no to one," she replies sotto-voce, trusting he can hear her even at this distance. Her free arm is lifted up, fingers loose, appearing open to the idea of a swoop or even a thrown line of webbing to bring her up to his vantage point.
The webline that strikes her upraised hand seems as fragile as gossamer, but it holds like steel handle as he HEAVES and she is suddenly vaulted 40 feet straight up and over the edge, her feet landing on the roof with a quiet thump. Always nice when you understand physics.
He gives her hand a quick spritz of some powdery mist from one of the metal bracelets on each wrist, and the webbing that could lift an Amazon warrior with ease simply melted away. It has a faint scent of cinnamon.
"Hey…hope I didn't ruin any prior plans," he says apologetically. He pointed to the warehouse. "The shipment's arriving on a fishing trawler they use to smuggle them in. Russian orthedox icons, small statuary, carvings, two mosaics I know of, and a mess of other stuff that probably belongs in a museum in Athens instead of smelling like fish in a trawler."
How delightful, that the web-dissolving liquid smells of baked goods and not something alchemical or ammonaic. Diana seems no worse for the wear for her flying lift to the rooftop and paces to the edge of it to look down upon the warehouse in question. She marks the obvious gunmen where they stand and spots two others in deep shadow, less easily or potentially not visible to normal human eyes.
"No, I had no plans for this evening. However, do you have a specific approach you wish to take in engaging these men? I am armored and able to defend myself against their weaponry." Her shield is lifted in accent to her point. Her dark-hazel eyes linger on Spidey. "You can dodge bullets?"
Spider-Man looks a little self-conscious. "Well, yeah, but not a LOT of them. Besides, a bullet has an average range of one MILE. I'd rather not open the Bugle tomorrow and find out some stray gunfire hit some ten-year-old a block away." He eyed the layout. "Okay…if we can get you onto the dock side, you can confront them when firing out to sea isn't a problem." He paused. "Can YOU dodge bullets?
"I can." The Amazonian warrior confirms this without an ounce of pride present. It is simply within her span of physical prowess. "Your point is a good one. Yes, I will approach from the side facing the sea. The gunfire is less likely to impact the city this way." Diana adjusts the straps of her shield about her forearm with a brisk, practiced series of motions before checking at her sword as well as the lasso.
"Shall we wait until the boat docks or…perhaps it would be best if the boat arrived to a lack of support…" The woman muses as she eyes the weaponry held by the men below. "Your webbing can keep the boat from pulling away from the dock once it has been moored, yes?"
Spider-Man nods. "I'll handle the boat when it shows up. But it might be better to take care of the gunmen on the docks first? I'd rather not risk a crossfire." He looks. "Unless you can fly, I can get you to the endof the docks. I can use a double-pendulum variation to get you all the way there before they know what's happening. I'll land on the roof of the warehouse, head inside, while they're distracted by you. Sound like a solid plan?"
Diana nods, her expression now going solemn. "Yes. I intend to disarm them and leave them where they lie. Justice will be dispensed by the system they know." In other words, nobody's going to die, but man, the migraines to follow will be wicked.
Rolling her shoulders, the warrior-woman then sets herself in a loose readiness. "I cannot fly, but pretending is more than amusing. When you are set, land me on the farthest end of the dock. I will work my war inwards and provide the distraction necessary." And won't she, in her shining armor and ancient fighting patterns against modern weaponry.
Spidey looks at her. "…Yyyyyeah, you'll attract attention." Warrior goddess, in full armor? Yeah, definitely. "Okay, You may feel a little jerk…"
And then he jumps from the ledge towards a loading crane, firing a webline at it.
He swings around at an angle once, then fires a webline at Diana, impacting her in the center of her chest (not bad, at the speed he's going) And she is pulled off the ledge. She in aware that, as he swings around, he is swinging HER around at a canted angle, her body sweeping around and down and up again, the combinined force of his swing and hers, causing her to increase speed drasticallhy.
Then she is flung towards the warehouse dock. She arcs high over the roof of the warehouse, then lands on the concrete dock, 15 feet from the edge of the dock.
If this was a physics test, Spider-Man just aced it. And he lands on the roof of the warehouse and snags the extra credit question…
"ENKELT!" That came from the lookout, pointing to Diana at the far end of the dock, and other riflemen move towards her, guns, raised.
Whoops. Physics is over. P.E. is about to begin.
Physics: never a dull moment.
Diana lands on the end of the dock with a graceful thump of a landing and slowly rises, even as guns in turn rise to point at her. "Gentlemen…I'm disappointed in you," she informs them, allowing her voice to carry. Perhaps it's a secret super power of Wonder Woman, the ability to make grown men wince — or maybe it's a latent "Mom Voice". Regardless, she's then a blur with her shield and sword drawn. Gunfire lights up from various points along the waterfront. It is always surreal, watching the silvery oblong slugs approach her, but Diana is unafraid. She mows her way down the dock with methodical precision.
Splash, here — splash, there — gun sliced in two — gun bent sideways — oof, that's a concussion — and another — and another. A bullet whizzes through her hair, leaving threads of it to fall, and she clunks this guy in the face with her shield, SMACK. He falls like a sack of bricks.
In a hanging moment of stillness, surrounded by unconscious or moaning bodies, she listens for the sound of Spiderman engaging in turn within the dock-building.
There are some loud sounds in the warehouse. And it sounds…wrong.
Spider-Man landed in the warehouse, perching on a stack of crates, and then then sees the 14 guys inside. He is putting the webshooters through their paces, jinking right to avoid a spray of gunfire, then plastering the guy to the wall. Another guy finds himself at ground-zero for a web grenade, which catches another guy with him when it goes off.
He is down to three people when the truck hits him, a H3 Hummer that his Spider-Sense warns him about, but he's still not up for tracking multiple opponents.
The truck sends him 60 feet into the far wall. He slams into it, dropping to the floor, then begins to get up again. Another guy hits him with an aluminum bat while he tries to recover, toppling him on his side.
"KILL HIM!" the third one says, racking the bolt back on the Chinese-made AK-47. Diana can hear both the command and the priming of the rifle.
The sound of automobile impact is something Diana's familiar with, having been batted about a handful of times over her long decades of life by various cars and trucks. She grits her teeth and sucks in a gasp of dismay. Quick as a cat, barreling through a locked door with her shoulder leading, she sprints down one of the hallways dedicated to a few spartan office rooms.
Breaking into sight out on the main floor of the warehouse, she lets out a yell in hopes of distracting Spiderman's attackers on this basis firstly. An empty crate goes flying at the gun-wielder in hopes of it knocking the gun off-target if not out of his hands entirely. Then Diana's in with the pommel of her sword and the shield. Try crossing blades with a baseball bat: it doesn't end well, with the bat cut clean in two as if it were nothing more than wet-formed clay. A quick turn in place means her sword thrown into the engine compartment of the truck to piece it and gum up its interior workings.
The gunman is bowled over by the crate, and is knocked sprawling, the rifle skittering along the pavement twenty feet beyond. He is momentarily stunned, but not out.
The guy with the bat swung for the fences, only the weight shifts as a chunk of metal flies off to the side, and then he is staring openly at the bat, which is suddenly missing the business head, leaving him with a very short club.
The sword cuts through radiator, cooling fan (shredding it in the process) and engine block, turning the vehicle into modern art. Immobile modern art. Which isn't too fun for the driver, who is knocked out when his head hit the windshield. Forgot his seat belt, most likely.
And Spider-Man is on his feet. She can't see his face, of course, but his body shows the tell-tale signs of his trauma. His body reveals the kind of concussion damage she has been by people who jump on hand grenades.
He should be dead. Even if he isn't, the pain must be excruciating…and yet he has gotten to his feet, nevertheless.
"Everyone else…" he gasps. "Taken care of?"
The gun-wielding goon tries getting to his feet only to find himself seeing tweety-birds once Diana's shield bounces off his face. Baseball-bat goon has a moment to stare as the warrior-woman approaches him with unruffled poise and disarms him of his club when he tries to swing it; she catches it and yanks it away, only to toss it over and beyond the truck. It lands with a clattering ring and rolls away. He then gets a nice biff to the face with the shield as well, slumping to the floor.
"Yes. Everyone will need a cold compress for their headaches while waiting in their jail cells," Diana replies as she turns to offer a hand to Spidey, even if he's already on his feet. "I did not see the boat coming in to dock just yet, but it should be arriving soon if your calculations were correct. Are you alright?" Her brows meet. Poor Spidey: he definitely looks as if he lost to the truck.
Spidey takes a pained breath. "I'll…be fine. I'm the Evel Kneivel of the superheroing biz. Accept no…" He cough, the cough wet and bronchial. "…substitutes. The police should be here…any minute. If you want to…touch base with them, tell them about the shipment…go ahead." He limps over to the doorway. "
"Of course, Spiderman, I will speak with the police." Still frowning, Diana takes a moment to walk over and remove her sword from its mounted state in the engine's body. Metal screeches and rings. She looks it over once and finds it unharmed — ah, the delights of Amazonian weapon-make.
"You will seek medical aid, yes? If you do not, I may carry you myself," she informs Spidey as she briskly walks over to join him in his slow shambling travels. A hand is still offered out, intending to at least support him at an elbow if need be.
Spider-Man smiles weakly under the mask. "If you can just…get me to the subway station across the street. It's not the first time I've been knocked down…I'll…make it home, get healed up. Promise." A pause. "Thanks…for everything. It got real dicey in there."
Diana lets out a slow, patient sigh. If allowed, the lift of her palm at his elbow is warm and strong, still gentle despite the inherent power bequeathed to her.
"It would have been more dicey without your presence, Spiderman. If I had been able to keep the vehicle from hitting you, I would sleep better, but knowing you will be hale next we meet will suffice." The distant wail of sirens makes her glance up and then back over to the young man in his wall-crawling suit.
"You may count on me to keep you safe from the police. They will not argue with my word given in your favor." Of this, she appears very certain as they reach the stairs leading down to the subway. "Be safe, Spiderman," the Amazon wishes quietly of him.
Spider-Man doesn't stiffen at the offer of help, and does not put on any airs of everything-is-perfectly-fine. He grips the railing hard as he takes the stairs down, one careful step at a time.
All hail the bargain-basement hero.