2020-01-08 - Psychic Interference


Domino and Deadpool stage a hairbrained plan to kidnap one Emma Frost.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Wed Jan 8 02:48:16 2020
Location: RP Room 1

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Theme Song



It is just after six in the evening, and NYC is a bit chilly, around forty — the forecast is for snow tonight, so it will decidedly get chillier. Not that that matters to the elite upper crust folks gathering at Canoe Studios in Chelsea, Manhattan. The building is posh, stark white walls and glossy black floors, the area rented out for a charity event which has many many movers and shakers, though this event is not /massive/, it is sizable.

Located on the fourteenth floor, the view offered is literally breathtaking, and the place has been filled with tables complete with obscenely expensive 'per plate' fees attached gratis!

Having divested herself of an ermine and leather ankle length jacket, Emma Frost moves into the midst of the crowd like a shark that's scented blood. Eyes of blue are cold, hard, and very much aware of the environs. Her mental senses lightly scanning around her in short burst to sense animosity, to see if she can sniff out danger.

Dressed in stark white coture, her outfit is a surprisingly modest white pantsuit, the lines elegant and almost austere, platform flats making a tall woman a bit taller, hair worn in an artful disarray. Of course the neckline plunges deep, and she has the wiles to use her assets to maximum effect.

Emma is /striking/. She knows it too.

REF Pic of Outfit: https://static.rachelallan.com/products/8349_3653_1.jpg

"I'm ready."

A few blocks away, a gasoline truck is heading down one of New York's Avenues, headed presumably for FDR Drive or one of the tunnels. However, it's driver is… elsewhere. Instead, there's a man in a red suit behind the wheel, his mask pulled up to reveal half a disfigured face.

"I hope you're in position," he says over the earcomm communicator with Domino; "Because shits gonna go sideways here in a few minutes!"

Over the comm, the most obnoxious Death Metal Band money can buy is streaming on repeat. Wade clicks off the comm and says, "Time to scramble your brain, Wadey-poo."

Up comes a bag of white powder. He doesn't open it or measure it, he just… slams it into his face and inhales.

"WHOOOOOOOO!" he shouts as his brain is flooded with enough cocaine to rip it into pieces. The world rages around him, and his boot slams down on the gas pedal as his heart literally explodes.

A couple of blocks away, the gas truck turns toward the Canoe Studios building, its driver's brain an addled mess of cocaine-fueled insanity.

Already this is proving to be one of the more interesting jobs Domino's signed up for in quite a while. They have to sneak up and subdue a world-class psychic from inside an exclusive party within a high rise building. The direct approach won't work, Miss Frost would see it coming. Dom's not an expert on hunting psychics but she can work with what she knows alongside what seems like it might increase their odds.

She didn't try to cover up the white skin or black spot. She's doubled the hell down. Tonight a second black spot mirrors the tattooed one. Over the wonderful thermal suit she's decked out in spikes and black leather to look like a death metal enthusiast. Wade's providing the music, just in case her own playlist isn't harsh and angry enough.

One great thing about New York City, it takes ALL types. There's virtually no need for an excuse to fit in anywhere at any time!

Atop of a nearby building she's laying out rappelling cables, one end hooked to the back of a harness and the other secured to the rooftop. With eye shields protecting her vision from the cold wind and a hat keeping her skull warm she's bobbing her head to the aggressive beats while checking carabiners, straightening cords, and prepping a single shot dart rifle. Why bother with more than one shot? They're only going to get one. If she misses then it's up to Wade to follow through..if he has such an option.

"Rock and roll, Wilson."

Emma's good, she's literally one of the most powerful telepaths in the world, arguably either first or second in the line - but she doesn't have the range to sense the madness fueled by cocaine below, perhaps if Wade were psychic instead of borderline (or maybe actually) psychOTic — but he isn't. Whatever mayhem is going to occur, will occur on schedule.

She does have a discrete guard here, a professional she's giving a trial run before assigning her to her daughter's security detail when she goes to university soon. The smallish, rather unobtrusive young woman a pro, and dressed to fit in, even as she manages a very nearly invisible shadow of the White Queen.

Domino is able to get into position, also out of Emma's immediate sensing range, and that's a very good thing, Domino is /clear headed/ — or as much as she ever is, anyway.

Unaware that anything is afoot, she looks up as someone points out. "Say, that truck…that -fuel- truck is sure driving erratic…"

"Oh God, I feel like the whole Fleetwood Mac discography is playing in my head but it's only been two seconds!!!!" No one truly gets to enjoy Deadpool's self encouraging banter; the building is coming at him at what seems like 180 mph, even though the speedometer is only pushing 50.

Domino's words register, but Wade's mask is pointed at a big billboard that's been given to the State of New York Department of Public Safety as a tax write-off.


"Ha!" Wade turns from the sign and bears down on the building, removing his seatbelt as he does.

Moments before entering the intersection below the target building, Wade yanks the steering wheel, hard. The gas truck's tires squeal, and it tips over, straining metal against asphalt with a resounding noise. It's driver is thrown right through the windshield in a shatter of glass that any EMT would call a 'dead on impact' moment, his body crashing through a third floor window moments before the truck goes crashing into the building's facade.

They'll feel the rumble of the building on the fourteenth floor, no question.

This is gonna be -such a mess.- A little overkill for kidnapping one person? Probably! But damn if it isn't gonna be one -incredible- rush! As the truck comes barreling toward the building Domino gives the lines one final check then turns her attention toward the edge of the building, smirks, and walks right over the edge.

Cables, pulleys and brakes all sing out in unison as the albino sprints down the side of the building with all of her gear, windows and storeys flashing past like a mirrored grid. She gets a truly spectacular view of Deadpool's wipeout and the resulting crash. Even at a height and at an adjacent building she's going to feel the heat wave of what's to come.

When her descent is halted she twists about like a cat on a wire and lets the air rifle neatly slide into her hands to be tucked into her shoulder. It's an air rifle..connected to a -grenade launcher?!- No, the other way around. The grenade launcher just looks so -completely- out of place on the precision instrument. Only Domino would pack indirect fire explosives on a -kidnapping run.-

..And maybe Wade Wilson.

"Your move, White Rabbit."

Dexter Exeter.

Not a name anyone would be familiar with that didn't know him personally, he's not famous, not wealthy - just a contractor hired on for extra security for the event. Presently he is right in line to see the whole truck thing as he's on his smoke break. "What the FUuuuu—-" He never finishes the sentence. See, though Dexter Exeter IS a smoker, he's NOT a complete drooling idiot. Nope, he takes one look, starts the expletive and then he pitches his cigarette /far/ away, and sprints for cover, doing his fastest ever hundred yard dash to dive into cover behind the base of a huge planter.

Drawn by the observant young lady, one of the staff, who saw the truck, Emma has a pretty good view of the tip and slide. "Oh dear lord." She mutters in time for the thudding impact. Now, EMMA is not a blithering idiot either, there's no time to delay. When the screams start she pushes herself - exerting a massive field around her of calm, it is /literally/ brain searing for the woman to blanket so much space, in such a short time. She'll be paying for it for weeks, but the result is that what WOULD have been madness, is semi-orderly as people evacuate the building. «Calm. Remain calm. Nothing is on fire.» Yet. «Head for the stairs, be calm. Remain calm.» Over and over she sends this, in truth mostly so SHE doesn't get trampled to death, but hey—she's helping!

The 'White Rabbit' is one of the last to emerge, and there's a tell-tale trail of red from her nostrils, droplets of scarlet on her ten thousand dollar dress as she moves down the stairs with the oddly pacified evacuees.

Of course the other floors don't have the benefit of her efforts, so there's still plenty of chaos to go around!

Here's the thing about movies, they're always such utter bullshit.

There is no rancid explosion, the building is not engulfed. Modern skyscrapers are designed to take a beating, and while concrete and glass go everywhere, it's all the facade; the superstructure of the building is totally fine. No one would expect the driver to live; is anyone even gonna go check on him?

What does happen… is a fuel leak. A very small fuel leak, but it's one that will grab attention, sooner rather than later. A fuel leak can result in a big, Hollywood style explosion. It always can.

Whatever chaos might be taking place on the other floors; there is none on the streets. Not yet. No one else was hurt by the crash, for these wealthier areas of the city are often relatively quiet this time of night. However, people start to emerge from store fronts and apartment buildings, looking toward the crash with cell phones out and live feeds blaring.

Its all relatively quiet until someone yells, "Gas leak!!"

Then starts the screaming, and the running, and the stampeding.

Somewhere on the third floor, the addled Deadpool drags himself out from the bloody remains of a couch that was demolished by his impact. "Fuck yo' couch, Eddie Murphy," he drawls, and grapples through the wreckage to try and stand.

There's only one chance to nab Emma Frost before she's surrounded by so many other evacuating people. Wait too long and there'll be so much chaos that it would be pushing even Domino's luck. With their 'White Rabbit' in the concrete walled fire escape inside of the building Dom's not going to get her long distance shot. She's going to have to get closer.

It takes her but an instant to reach back for a high power grappel gun then fire it at the neighboring building. The projectile pierces one of the heavy windows further above then locks itself into place, the sound of it barely a footnote with everything going on down at street level.

The next step might get a little more attention. It'll definitely help fuel the growing concern of that fuel leak. While swinging from one building to the other the metalhead albino touches off that single grenade round into another window, chasing right behind the slower moving round.

When it strikes the glass pane immediately shatters into pebble sized chunks -right- before she swings into the building, cuts the drag line..and drops neatly into an office chair which proceeds to roll right toward where the stairwell is.

The chair barely has a chance to stop rolling as Dom reaches out to pull the door open and sort of lounge in place with a foot braced against the doorframe, giving the dart rifle somewhere to rest. What are the odds of one Emma Frost being -right there behind the door- by the time the rifle is leveled?

Too focused on keeping the masses calm, Emma has /no/ clue when she passes the third floor that a deranged merc is going to be fumbling his way to addle-brained movement, nope, it is literally all she can do to keep this up long enough to get to safety with the people she's been mind-herding along.

OF COURSE she is just rounding the bend when the door opens and Domino's rifle is aimed right at her head.

Emma has time to parse what is going to happen, but not enough to switch gears fast enough - she's nearly burnt through her entire reserves, she's probably suffering from multiple micro-hemorrhages in her brain from how roughshod she's run over her power.

She does manage a weak psi-blast, but is unlikely to do more than give Domino a headache.

If that.

She goes to one knee from /that/ rapid shift, even as the pacification effect is lifted, and the event guests finally panic and stampede, screaming of course.

"Oh God it's too much." Wade is breathing heavily; his heart is still in a-fib, and beating much faster than it should! He flails around, looking for his iPod. "Skrillex, Skrillex, it's time for some fucking—"

He finally finds the iPod. The screen is cracked. No go on the Skrillex.

"—- FUCK!"

The apartment door busts from its hinges, and Deadpool comes rushing out, his red suit all covered in detritus. His body slams into the wall, and he spins around, dizzily for a moment before suddenly catching himself.

"I broke my-" he starts to tell Domino, before noticing Emma Frost, aka THE TARGET on bended knee, and people in the stairwell panicking.

A loud and dramatic gasp, and Deadpool is pointing a trembling finger at THE TARGET. "Mayday! Mayday! It's an alligator! A rabid alligator! Run to the hills!" He repeats the next like, but does so in a piercing falsetto that sounds strikingly similar to the Iron Maiden song.


If a headache is all that Neena's going to get she is getting off EASY. Her smug grin falters slightly as the ache spears into her forehead but the favor is immediately returned as the dart zips through the air and spears into the psychic's neck. With barely a sound and the others already in full on panic mode they're likely not going to notice the well armed metalhead lounging inside of the doorway! The human mind is a strange and fickle creature like that.

As the White Rabbit meets the effects of the dart Domino's right there with the office chair, letting the downed psychic neatly collapse right into the seat. Which is good..because Wade is here and he's also in total freakout mode. Dammit, if only she had another tranq!

"You're doing great!" she calls back with the cheeriest of smiles. "The service elevator's thirty feet out, let's roll!"

Not a second more is lost as Dom slings the rifle and uses some of that grappeling line to secure the blonde in place, more so she doesn't fall out and hit the floor than out of any concern of her coming to. Though it never hurts to be prepared.

There is indeed a service elevator nearby and yes she is -totally- planning on taking an elevator while there's a fire hazard because down in that garage is a clean van waiting for them and luck had nothing to do with it. It's there because she -put- it there and it's really nice that at least ONE part of her plan seems to still be working…

Emma blinks at the sight of…"Deadpool?" The fuck?! She -knows- what Deadpool looks like? That is probably not so great, but heckfire, he's so high that kites get Acrophobia just being in the same city. And then she is facing Domino, whom she does not know (yet), and that gun. Her hands fly to either side of her head as the mind blast…fizzles, and then sends shockwaves of pain through what feels like her soul.

The sting of the dart barely noticed, the oblivion that follows after is actually a relief.

Emma slumps into the chair, slow trickles of blood flowing from both nostrils, and now one eye's tear duct as she falls.

Unconscious, all she will know for a while is darkness.

"Oh!" Wade reaches up to touch his forehead, and seems to suddenly begin calming. "Oh, it worked!"

Healing factors. They might make normal substance abuse nowhere near as fun as for others, but man. What a ride. Even if it is sadly drawing to a close.

Spinning around, Deadpool takes lead, pulling a twin pair of SIG Sauer P320's from his utility belt. The 'down' arrow is pressed with the business end of the gun, and he spins around to lean against the wall, one leg crossed over the other with both guns raised in an X-shape across his chest.

"Wow," he says of the prone Emma Frost, looking her body up and down. "Not my type, but… damn."

Once they're in the garage, things seem to finally be back to normal for Wade Wilson. He hops into shotgun, letting the lucky one take the wheel, and keeps the guns trained on the woman nestled into the back seat, seatbelt on.

"Let's get to the hideaway," he tells her. "I'll get Chalk on the board and rake some fucking nails."

A long pause, and the masked vigilante turns toward Domino, the disappointment written on his mask. "Should'a saved it." He shakes his head. "Should'a saved it."

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