Summary:Chaos breaks loose when a taxi dumps a bloodied Logan on the street…and he's got company on his trail. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Relatively quiet street, near Mutant Town but not quite, a little more upscale, a little better treated. Trendy restaurants and hole in the wall nightclubs, the kind of fly by nights that need a password and following the right Twitter accounts to even know they exist. Overpriced pickles produced by people with waxed mustaches. That sort of thing.
Evening is just setting in, the cool of the fall pleasant but not overly sharp, the dusk settling and making the place seem almost homey rather than just another cell within the vast organism of metropolitan New York. You could almost convince yourself the locals were nice and quaint.
Of course, reality sets in when a taxi skids around the corner and the back door pops, spilling the man called Logan out onto the asphalt and taking off without stopping. The windows of the taxi are shattered, probably by bullets judging from the smear of blood and the holes ripped in the mutant's jacket as he tries to scrape himself up out of the gutter. A pair of panel vans pull up and halt, doors opening wide. First, a heavily armed fellow in combat gear, face hidden by a striped mask.
Followed by a massive man near seven feet tall, his entire mouth a row of razored teeth, his muscled body flexing as he rolls the bones in his neck, his hands like claws.
No, this isn't Victor Creed.
This is a different monster. His name is Tiger Shark. And he brought friends.
She hasn't been to work, and with her family currently living in a SHIELD house to avoid being homeless, Anya has been… on patrol. Almost permanently. She's even slept on the street, in a manner of speaking; webbing herself into a black cocoon, night after night, for warmth. What ever is going on with the girl behind the mask, it ain't good.
As fate would have it, she isn't far from the sound of screeching tires. Lying in a hammock of spider webs that are black as the coming night, the music playing in her mask is muted at the sound, prompting her to bolt upright, spilling the cup of cooling ramen she's been eating.
"Shit," she cursed at the spilled food, and scrambles across the rooftop to peer down from above. Her eyes capture the fiasco happening down below, and a wicked sneer draws across her face. "Finally." Her head turns a bit to the left. "Arana, colocarse."
The little spider drone that was idling on the rooftop rises into the air at the command, and joins Spider-Girl, but it does not descend when she does; it just hovers there, activating its cameras and sensors for surveillance purposes.
Crawling down the wall, hand over foot and upside down, Spider-Girl is watching. Her form all but disappears when it finds shadow, as if the darkness swallows her up in quite the literal sense.
One of the most upsetting differences between Tamaran and Earth is how hard it is to figure out where anything is. The cities are laid out with an assumption you'll be walking rather than flying, so directions all rely on you either knowing what each street is named or at least being able to see the signs, rather than what Koriand'r thinks is a much more reasonable, landmark-based system ("the capitol building is the large building with the dome half a mile from the grove of scarlet urvthnkas, you can't miss it as long as you're at least two thousand feet up in the air"). So, when the Young Avengers are warned of a likely superhuman battle near mutant town with a taxi that has continued driving despite two hundred rounds put into it, Koriand'ror Starfire, she supposesknows she can fly there faster than most first responders could if only she knew the way. She could just use the GPS in her cell phone, except she doesn't have a cell phone because her clothes don't incorporate pockets and she's not going to bring a purse along.
So yes, it takes her longer than it should to find the scene of the crime, especially given the garbage line of sight in this city of too-tall buildings. When she spots a small man (even for human standards) rolling out of a taximobile, bleeding from what looks like fifteen bullet wounds, her hair and skin ignite with righteous fury that for now tamps down the mortification of being too late. She blazes down from the sky like a golden comet, eyes ignited with green fire, to land between the dying man and his assailants. Her hand is wreathed in a nimbus of green flame as she points at the enemies. "You have killed this man! You will explain yourselves NOW or I will make the vengeance on you!"
Because as angry as she is, Starfire comes from a culture that believes in killing people who make you mad enough. Maybe Logan had it coming.
Anya is not the only one who has been too keyed up to settle anywhere for long. She's been letting her feet lead, and Mutant Town seems as good a place as any to check for trouble, or for the monster she'd love to kill.
There's a slightly oversized leather jacket on over a snug fitting v-neck sweater and well broken in jeans, and her favorite combat boots. Deep auburn hair is loose, and to better blend in as someone maybe going out, she has makeup on, including a red lip.
What can't be seen is the k-bar in her jacket, the other weapons that she conceals more often than not when she's on the look out.
She hears the squealing tires, and since her powers are on full power almost all the time, she sees the blood, like it is lumenescing under a black light. She breaks into a jog, heading for the injured man. She'll only move in double time at the sight of the panel vans. IT's one thing to fight, it's another to kick someone when they're down. She notices the man that had been ejected from the taxi is not your average sort, but she doesn't hesitate. The man who has been shot, will feel tingling and heat, and find that his already speeding healing is going even faster. "He's not dead, yet." She will say to the glowing woman, without much of a glance. "But I like your sentiment."
Dressed head-to-toe in Dior ready-to-wear for the season, Monet is partaking in a wine-tasting at a local winery who had been touted to her as 'transcendent' by some people in her usual social circle of the elite-rich. After initially having to berate the wine steward for incompetence when they brought her the wrong wine she'd requested, she was able to settle into her tasting with peace and quiet, considering the varied notes of the different wines she'd chosen to consider for the dinner party she was planning on hosting.
…That is, of course, until she catches sight of mutant predators spilling out of black, unmarked vans with blackened windows. She exhales a sigh and rings the tiny service bell left on her table for summoning the wine steward. "I'll 'ave ten bottles of zis, and ten of zat, and send zem to zis address," she says, tendering a card to the steward as she rises to her feet. "You may want to close up shop, because zere is somezing about to 'appen to lower property values," she adds with a little sigh. Making her way to the door after slinging her blindingly white genuine fur wrap artfully about her shoulders, she snaps her little handled clutch shut as she opens the door with TK to get a better look at what's going on outside.
Once outside, she gets plenty to look at as a bowl of ramen lands bottom-up and splashes noodles out on the pavement mere inches from her very expensive heeled feet. "Putain~" she cusses, lashing her gaze upward to see just where that came from. "Zut! Valentino, you miserable~~!" she barks at the shadowy figure that peers over the edge of the rooftop. She shakes her fist at the figure! Then, she turns her attention to the nearby, very flashy arrival of Koriand'r, a fiery figure with green flames at hand. Her gaze now in this direction, she catches sight of Logan, with bullet holes in his clothes, blood stains, and all that jazz. "LOGAN," she bellows imperiously. "Are YOU the cause of zis mess? I was almost christened in cheap, smelly ramen! 'Oo are zese ruffians??" Monet demands, looking at the growing number of baddies with stern disapproval.
Logan peels himself up slowly out of the gutter, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it aside. Ruined as it is, not that he doesn't have another to spare, but he was sick of replacing them. The wounds on his face, road-rash, visibly start to seal, but he's left with a smear of blood even in the wake of the rapidly disappearing raw tissue. He turns his neck, metal cracking against metal as he aligns his vertebra right.
None of which quite measures up to the sinister SNIKT sound as he pops his claws.
"Sorry there, honey, my fight first. I got dibs," he says to Koriand'r, starting to move to push her aside when Monet's shouting in his direction catches his ear and makes him turn his head, "Monet? Dammit, girl, will ya hush up, I can't help these mokes wanna have a tussle. A man's allowed to have enemi—" he starts to say, only to have a fresh blast from the weapon of the masked man hit him, some sort of energy rifle this time that sends him up in the air and spiralling into the wall below where Spider-Girl is perched, landing just behind Thea in a heap.
Tiger Shark grins his toothy grin at Koriandr's threat, "Ooo, this one's creamsicle flavored, my favorite. Nice light show girly, but maybe you oughtta step back before you get that pretty butt hurt," he says.
Behind him, other figures come out of the van. A man clad in purple with a large helmet and goggles. A young Vietnamese woman, dressed in a silk jumpsuit, who suddenly bursts into flame much like the human torch. And a formless cloud of smoke with an anular mask, dark as night…that suddenly vanishes entirely from view.
Sight of Koriand'r and Thea only emboldens Spider-Girl. The former may not recognize her masked up, but the latter gives her a burst of vigor.
And then someone is yelling at her.
Craning her neck up to look straight down at Monet, the masked woman mutters something under her breath. "Pendeja."
A Yelp is given as she springs from the wall, a beat behind the blast of that energy weapon and Logan's untimely collision. Spider-Girl glances off a neighboring building with a strong bound of both leg and arm, the force chipping brick that soon flicks down toward the street below, but it's a vault strong enough to send her flying across the street overhead, putting her behind the presumed bad guys; flanking them with the others.
"Don't look behind you," she says quietly to herself, and with a grin, she flings both hands toward the dude in purple, sending a pair of weblines his way.
If she was less angry, Starfire would be nonplussed that the villains don't seem to recognize her. Nearly every woman she's met has, but why there should be a gender divide— no, it doesn't matter. What matters is the man behind her standing up.
Starfire's fury dims (literally: the light she sheds visibly reduces) as she turns to examine the victim. "Ah, you are a cyborg? I am pleased they have undamaged your hardware, yet even so, their desire is obviously not for peace!" She says the last in the tones of someone making a discovery, one that reignites her righteous wrath. She spins on her heel to face the villains and flies at them fists first with a battle cry.
Thea will glance at Logan, the shed jacket. She's mildly fascinated by his healing, it's even more pronounced than that of any of the Spiders. At the sound of the accented english, screaming about Valentino, Thea will lift her eyebrows. "You're in the wrong part of town, if you're worried about dirtying your designer duds." This /is/ something the biokinetic would know about. But the dropped Ramen makes her glance up, recognizing those biosigns and giving a grin. She will attempt to distract the thugs who are just not quite swift on the uptake, stepping up alongside the now faintly less glowing woman that Thea knows is not a human - nor a mutant.
The first thing Thea does is invisible to the plain human eye. She'll tip her head, bearing her teeth in a mocking smile at Tiger Shark. "Man, your dentist bills must be horrendous. I hope you have good insurance." Even as she speaks, she'll work on pulling blood flow away from his lungs, depriving him of oxygen. Hands will slip up under her leather jacket in back, and there's a faint sound of metal against leather sheath, before she's pulled out a pair of chinese ring daggers. She'll give them a casual spin along her index fingers before settling into a comfortable grip, and stance.
Thankfully, Monet's attention is directed at Logan and she misses the uttered barb from the clumsy oaf she's yet to see as more than a shadowy figure. The Monegasque woman looks Koriand'r up and down, as though she looks familiar. Huh. She recognizes that she's from a young superheroes team, but she can't remember her name. "You walked for Givenchy's Fall/Winter 2019 couture collection, no, fire girl?" she asks, sounding thoughtful. "I sink I saw you on zuh runway in Paris," she comments casually, before she watches Logan get blasted with the weapon, again. That brings the current situation back to the fore of her mind, planting her hands on her hips as she addresses him, again, like a scolding wife to an errant husband.
"Bon, bon. Oui, a man may 'ave 'is enemies, but *must* you bring zem to nice, clean places like zis?" she chides, gesturing gracefully with her arms and hands to punctuate her words. "Now, we must 'ave it out wiss zeez filsy cretins," she gripes, pointing at the very sexist remark made by Tiger Shark. "See? Like 'eem. You are a sexist pig of a shark man," she practically spits at Tiger Shark. "Get 'eem, girl 'oos name I cannot remember!" she encourages Starfire.
To Thea, Monet whirls and tosses her head back haughtily, "Also! Shows what you know. Zis is an up-and-coming area. Or, it was until Logan 'ad to go and screw it up." She then assesses the encroaching individuals in the area for threat levels. Seems like one of those very serendipitous moments wherein multiple supers are concentrated in one area, so she takes a moment to toss her wrap and clutch into the back of her chauffeured town car and telepathically sends her driver somewhere safer for the nonce.
Tiger Shark has a unique physiology in its own right, hypertense in hide, superhuman in power and, even as Thea leeches the oxygen from his blood, capable of surviving without for longer than most. Still, while it will take a few minutes for that method to properly dispatch his gargantuan frame, Thea's both taken him off-guard and made him uncomfortable, his head thrashing in confusion for a moment, wondering which of these newocomers is attacking him.
Kori's charge is interrupted by the sudden reappearance of the cloud, the darkness manifesting and enveloping the charging Tamaranean, creating a biolectric shock net that will try to interrupt her progress entirely and inflict a bit of pain in the bargain, laughter coming from the smokey being beneath the mask.
Spider-Girl's attack will land clean, knocking the purple-suited man back and into the side of the van, stumbling to one knee. He looks up and cries 'STOP!" aloud and she'll feel a sudden overwhelming pressure in her mind as Mesmero attempts to inflit his will upon hers.
Monet's fancy clothes will likely suffer in this particular instance as the flaming woman takes the stylish mutant as her target, sweeping into the air and laying down a stream of almost liquid flame below her, arching towards M and leaving melted tar in the street in the wake of the blast.
And Logan comes up snarling, no more words as he picks himself up and charges past Thea, dodging another blast from the mercenary's energy weapon and leaping in to engage him in close combat, metal sparking on metal as he slashes along the man's ribcage with his indestructible claws and a bestial snarl as his body puts itself back together again for the second time in less than a minute.
The yank back and into the van was just the teaser trailer, or so she thinks. Spider-Girl is moments away from unleashing a fury, but she finds her limbs halting and her brain feeling… weird.
"Wh-" she starts to say, but her eyes grow dizzy with the pressure, and she can only bear teeth in an ugly snarl. "… at the hell."
Grinding her teeth, she fights against it, and a small spurt of webbing falls lamely from one wrist, white instead of black, and looking… well, we won't talk about what it reminds her of. But it's enough to make her gag a little.
It also makes her mad. Very, very mad.
Two steps are managed, but her spinnerets aren't answering. A growl forms in her belly, and something glows through the costume on her back; a hideous looking armor starts to form around the young woman, black as night with some sort of luminescent blue laid within; within moments, she now bears the appearance of an arachnid monstrosity right from hell, and the scream coming from her isn't pretty, either.
Maybe she can scare or rage away whatever it is that's… keeping her still.
Starfire is both easily distractable and hyperfocused in turns. Right now, her world is rage, a red veil across her vision that will only be satisfied by the impact of her body with her enemy's; the dark sensuality of battle, denied by the sudden explosion of electricity through her body. She's tough enough not to feel pain from the electricity directly, but her body is still conductive, so the blast causes muscles that could bend girders to contract with all their strength, rolling her into a fetal ball and making her bones groan with the strain of the convulsions surrounding them.
Starfire has never been so efficiently taken out, not even in training. It's humiliating, and for a Tamaranean, burning with shame is not just a metaphor. It ignites her starbolts, green plasma bursting out of her in a small nova of superheated, concussive light. She has no idea whether it will hurt smokeman, but the explosion should at least disperse him for a moment. Anyone else near her probably won't appreciate it either, but at this moment, such things are out of her control.
Thea will give Monet a bored look, before she will respond in flawless French. « It is getting gentrified, indeed. It is still not to the level where you can safely wear designer lines. My Louboutins were completely ruined, as was my vintage Chanel suit. While it is on the rise, there are still many that have nothing, and care for nothing at all. »
Then Logan is charging past her, bringing a faux breeze in his wake. If he can draw blood, Thea will be more than happy to exploit that little advantage. She's got enough frustration and rage inside of her to look forward to it. She will step in closer to the ones bringing the fight, especially the Shark. She pulls harder at his system, trying to block his optic nerve, a look of something like dark glee crossing her face. That step saves her from giving more than a duck and flinch at the plasma discharge, though her eyes stay on her target.
She will move quickly, a short dash of a few steps, before she will a feinted kick for the inside of his right knee, while trying to drive one of her daggers between the ribs on his left.
Monet shakes her head in something akin to sympathy for Thea's woes, "«That is certainly a shame. It's a good thing I have the car here, so I can put away some things, but I really need to find a way—-»" she is cut off in mid-sentence by the torrent of nearly liquid flame that accosts her.
And, just like that, Monet's bespoke Valentino trousers are ruined — burned off unevenly from mid-thigh and down. Her Valentino heels? Toast. They're not one-of-a-kind, so that's not so bad. It's not good, but she can replace them. Her trousers, however… They will never be the same. They cannot be repaired. They are ruined. She lifts slowly into the air, her eyes (figuratively) blazing with cold, cold fury, as she aims a stiletto nailed finger at the offending firewoman-who-isn't-Starfire. She speaks with a calmness she doesn't feel, and her voice can be heard all-too-clearly by the woman who attacked her, "You will regret that, *dearly*."
Summoning every ounce of indignant rage in her body — and, with Monet, that is truly a staggering amount — she lashes out at her attacker's mind, savagely spiking her psychic fingers into the woman's mind as she tries to force her to begin to make amends to Monet.
Mesmero pushes slowly up against the wall of the van, managing to make it to his feet. At first, he sneers in triumph, thinking he's ground Spider-Girl under his heel, only to find his expression changes as she does, his egotistical glee turning to revulsion and horror, enough to let his will stumble for a moment and free Anya up for a momentary action.
Thea's dagger will scrape harmlessly off of Tiger Shark's hyperdense skin and kicking him is like kicking a concrete pole. He's still weakened, though, from the oxygen deficiency, so the swipe he takes back at her is clumsy. Lucky for her, judging by the breeze, as even weakened, his claws could tear through plate armor. This close, she has a better sense of his mutate physiology, the strange hybrid biology that makes him what he is and the realization that he is very much a cyborg.
Starfire's blasts do momentarily disperse her attacker, the clouded being reforming again, coming out fronm under the mask that remains floating in the air, iridescent and showing glowing yellow eyes as it rushes to try and swarm the golden Avenger again.
Monet's wardrobe took a bit of singe, if not the invulnerable heroin herself and Silk Fever is unprepared for the psychic onslaught from the stylish mutant. The flying woman drives herself rapidly into a telephone pole, sliding to the ground only to continue smacking her face into it, crying out loudly, "I'm *so sorry,* M. I made a /terrible mistake/. Please, allow me to suffer for it!", finally shoving herself away and looking in horror at her own bloodied hands, lashing out with another gout of flame in M's direction as she regains her wits.
Logan, for his part, keeps scrapping with the armed man, and he does send a spray of arterial blood, ripping at the man's arm and drawing a howl of pain as his claws destroy the energy weapon and send them both flying in a sudden blast as the core of it detonates, knocking out the mercenary and frying Logan for yet a third time.
While screaming, Anya has not been still. Her fingers have moved, and sent a very simple command through the Spider-Comm to Arana, her little drone that has been… hiding.
<SCREAM>
The drone flies down, sleek black with a white Spider-Girl emblem, and lowers itself quietly above and between herself and Mesmero.
Anya grins.
The drone suddenly lets out an ear piercing noise, focused upon Mesmero's eardrums. To the others it might sound like a dog whistle, but the speaker cones are channeled and focused mechanically upon the villain's head; and this is when she feels the pressure on her mind released.
Moving in a blur, Spider-Girl whings a glob of webbing at Mesmero's mouth to shut him up. Then she's charging him, leaving dents in the asphalt as a spray of webbing flies out before her, hell bent on cocooning him before he can do anything else.
Holy shit, it's the cigar dude from Luke's! The ADD brain, it seems, never wears off.
Her muscles her own again, Starfire twists her face into a wrathful snarl at her attacker who dared to inflict such indignities upon her. She rise literally, flying up off the asphalt and straightening her body out as she goes. Her fists smoke green as she conjures twin starbolts in her palms, which she hurls at the mask in the center of the madness. Her exaggerated overhand throws add a goodly amount of force to the blazing projectiles; if she misses, the building across the street will be the worse for it. She doesn't pay attention, though. She's already rising off the street, fifteen feet up now, ready to exploit her advantage of flight if the smokeman doesn't fall down from her initial counterattacks.
Thea does note the way the blades she keeps well honed, do her no good. Fine. She will just spin away and move back, and pour on with her power to pull the air from his lungs, and make his heartrate speed up. Time to see if a cyborg can have a heart attack.
Meanwhile, she sees what Anya is working on, and will move to see if her dagger will stick into Mesmero's shoulder joint. IT's a favorite strike of hers.
Hovering in mid-air, wearing nothing but her sleeveless silk blouse and her now-burnt-shorts, Monet watches with a chilly expression of satisfaction as Silk Fever begins driving her face into the telephone pole. Releasing her grip on the woman's mind, Monet watches as Silk Fever witnesses the blood on her hands from the pole. Monet smiles meanly to the woman, who is already gathering her wits and flying toward her with another blast of flames.
This time, however, Monet is aware and prepared. All else leaves her mind as she focuses on the battle, more alert and aware of her surroundings as she gracefully dodges the enraged stream of fire hurled at her. She uses incredible speed and dexterity as she rapidly flies up and over the head of Silk Fever, coming down right behind the woman to attack her from behind. Completely ignoring the flames, though she certainly feels their heat, as she attempts to knot her hand in her hair — right at the base of her skull — with every intention of bringing the woman's face down into Monet's upward surging knee…working an established injury, if you will. "I told you you'd regret it, you bitch," she says coldly.
Silk Fever had no chance at all, only barely coming free of Monet's psionic grasp in time to find her hair gripped and a knee driven into her temple with superhuman force. She's concussed and out like a light, falling to the ground with her flame snuffed out, leaving her curled up and likely out for a while.
Starfire's blasts pass harmlessly through at first but one catches the edge of the mask and knocks it free. There's a wild scream as the fog chases the mask, trying to wrap it up again, only to disappear into wisps as it clatters to the ground on its own, its power seemingly broken for the moment.
Mesmero has no chance, rapidly overwhelmed by Spider-Woman's assault, cocooned and smothered, his concentration destroyed by the drone's attack.
Tiger Shark stumbles to his knees, gasping for breath and shuddering as Thea's power violates the sanctity of his heart and lungs, the monstrous creature stumbling to the earth and coughing up blood.
And Logan rises from what remains of his opponent, bloodied and triumpant, the man curled up and lucky to be alive, clutching at a dozen slashes from those claws as the hairy mutant reaches into his jeans and pulls out a cigar.
"Well. I'll be damned. Street justice is real downtown."
Behind the armor and its bulbous eyes, behind the mask of Spider-Girl, Anya's HUD is feeding her a ton of information. It comes in the form of tactical information that would fit right into the finest of military airplanes, but what sets it apart are… Emoji's. There's a knife around the blip that is Logan, a flame for Starfire, a halo for Thea, and so forth. Mesmero, of course, gets the poop Emoji, being her current target, and Monet gets a purse. It seems she's upgraded Arana's AI.
The bum rush of Mesmero is completed by a flying kick to the knee, and quickly followed by a smack upside the head that is strong enough to crack a normal person's jaw. It reeks of a gutter punk girl who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, and has had to fight dirty her whole life.
"Pendej-O," she clarifies at the downed bad guy as the chitinous hide absorbs back through her costume and into her body again. Then, as turns her attention upon Monet, calling out to her, "I take it back!"
Starfire soars down to the mask like a missile as if to collide with and destroy it, but she stops short before she can shatter it against the road. Tamaranean fury is legendary, but so is their mercy. She snatches the mask off the ground in fingers that can crush bone like beer cans, holding to it tightly, daring the creature tied to it to make her muscles convulse again. With it in hand, she whirls around on her enemies to see who needs assistance…
…Oh. Looks like things are in hand, then. That's wonderful! "Victory!" she cries joyously, hands clasped together over her heart (mask still in her left fist because Momma 'R raised no fools) as she drifts over to the heroes as if blown on the wind. "Your skills are transcendent and your wills are magnificent! Well done! You must experience much pride in this accomplishment!" Her arms fling wide at these praises, as if she's planning a group hug, which, at her size, she can probably pull off. Initiate evasive manuevers now!
Thea will take care of clean up on her daggers, sliding them back into their sheaths with a smooth, practiced motion. She will take a couple steps, before she launches a steel toed kick towards Tiger Shark's face.
She will turn to look at Logan, and his bloodied opponent. "You want him to live?" There's a lot of wounds, after all. A tip of her power could heal him, or a tip the other way could finish him off.
Monet's measurements are pretty precise. Learning how not to kill people with her superhuman strength was high on her list of priorities, upon coming into her abilities. It's a lot like riding a bicycle, now. She just knows how to move to be highly effective without going overboard. …At least, physically speaking, anyway. Her temper and her tongue…not so easy a task. At any rate, as Silk Fever's head rebounds off her knee with a satisfying bounce, Monet lets her go, entirely, letting her fall to the ground in a heap. Unfortunately, Monet is now rather more un- than -dressed, having been so close to the flame aura of the baddie she faced…and her outfit has suffered greatly. No shoes, burned trousers-turned-shorts, burned up blouse that's barely hanging on… But, she still looks glorious in mid-air, her expression imperious as she observes the fallout of the multitude of battles. If only she could take note that more of her is visible than she'd probably prefer — it puts a damper her haughty air, kind of like someone walking around with toilet paper stuck to their shoe, or their skirt tucked into their underwear.
"What are you talking about, want 'eem to live? Of course, 'ee must live to be put in prison to full z' full weight of 'ees actions! Same as any of zees sorry creatures," she gestures around at the fallen foes, not helping her underdressed situation at all. "If zey are killed, it will be over like ZAT," she snaps her fingers loudly and with the practiced ease of someone who snaps their fingers at underlings on the reg. "I want zem to pay, and to suffer for zere crimes!" she says, looking to Logan, at whom she narrows her eyes. Seems she still blames him for what happened.
Logan raises an eyebrow at Monet, "Yeah, yeah, I get it, I owe ya some duds, send me the friggin' bill," he says. He lights his stogie with a Zippo, puffing a few times before he responds to Thea, "Honest truth, darlin', I don't give much a damn either way, but probably ain't real sportin' to put him down in his current state o' wreckage. Frenchy's right, it'll probably burn him way worse knowin' he got his butt kicked, especially by a dame," he says.
Koriandr he regards warily, having seen her briefly before at Luke's and being vaguely aware of her existence because he sometimes used newspapers to wipe up spilled beer when he went out drinking. Or sometimes the bars had on TVs where she would appear in footage that he would ignore while playing pool. Vague and general, but she was hard NOT to notice.
"Yeah, don't worry, I'm fuckin' chuffed, I am."
Spider-Girl isn't about to stop a group hug. However, she can't help but keep her eyes on Monet, feeling bad that her clothes got singed and also that she misplaced the insult. Even as she comes alongside Thea, her eyes remain on Frenchie.
"You ever hear of a sample sale?"
Starfire sweeps Logan, Anya, Thea, and Monet into a wide group hug. Though her skin is blazing with elation, she's only sweltering, not actually painful to the touch. She moans the moan of a satisfied hug as she squeezes her new friends close before releasing them. "Your heroism is most admirable!" she cries, the stiltedly formal language lightened by the obvious sincerity in it. She seems unconcerned by all the Loganblood now on her skin and her outfit, some vaguely rubbery textile that's probably easy to wash. "I am Starfire, and I wish to know you better, new friends!" she beams.
Thea will look up at Monet, brows lifted with as her chin inclines slightly. It's the cold, frigid look of disdain. "Look. You may have all right taste in designers, but that doesn't give you any license to try to decide my actions. Oui?"
She won't bother to wait on a response, before there's a a breath of laughter at Logan. "There ain't nothin' you can name, that is anything like a dame." But for all the soft song of delivery from a classic musical, there's something in Thea's eyes that doesn't match, a dispassionate sort of expression.
Then, she is being hugged, and Anya will see the biokinetic go tense, one hand starting to reflexively curl fingers into a fist. "Not a hero, …Starfire." Whatever she wants to be called, Thea will abide by. "But I'm not so huggy with new friends." Anya being the only one around who could back that up, as Thea takes a deep breath. "But if anyone knows a nice spot to get drinks where current appearances wouldn't cause a ruckus, first round is on me."
Logan receives more glaring. Looking to Spider-Girl, Monet blinks a bit. "Of course, I have 'eard of sample sales. Zey do not sell bespoke garments," she says testily. But, after a moment, she exhales a sigh and adds, "But, zank you for trying to 'elp." She looks away as she says this, as if finding it difficult to look people in the eye as she amends her snappish ways.
Monet finally extricates herself from the group hug, lightly grimacing at the display of affection. "I am not Frenchie! I am Monet St, Croix, or M, if you must, but never 'Frenchie'! I am from Monaco, not France," she says, finally, poking Logan in the arm with a sharp nail. "Nice to meet you all. I must go. My car is arriving," she says, looking down at herself in dismay…only to find she's wearing even less than she'd thought she was after the fray… "Merde," she breathes, crossing her arms over her chest and giving a teeny wave with her fingers. "Au revoir," she says and turns to climb into the towncar she'd sent away, earlier. She disappears inside and, the door closing, the car silently moves out of the area.