2011 06 12 Death Of A Hotdog Stand


Log Title:
Death of a Hotdog Stand

Phantasm, Ares

IC Date:
12 June 2011

Streets of Chelsea

Brief log summary::
On the way home, Mike gets approached by something a little not natural. Ares shows up to deal with this.


There is no TS in this log::

-==[ Chelsea - New York ]==---------

The Chelsea neighborhood takes its name from a single building, now demolished for a century and a half - the birthplace of Clement Clark Moore. Somehow, the artistic element never quite went away - anchored by the presence of the Hotel Chelsea, a residential hotel that's housed artists from Mark Twain to Stanley Kubrick to Jimi Hendrix (and, most notoriously, played host to Sid Vicious's probable stabbing of his girlfriend). These days, Chelsea's back in the center of the New York art scene, as art galleries have started migrating northward from SoHo.

Chelsea is, however, still primarily residential, offering apartments, tenements, and renovated warehouses as housing options. Most of the businesses here cater to the locals.

With Sunday working towards its end, daylight is slipping away and the man made types are coming alive to help fill the void. There is a quiet along the streets as crime itself seems to be taking the day off as well. Which is good for there is no crazed raven making the rounds tonight. Dressed in his Goodwill-eqsue attire, with his hair tucked beneath the knit cap he so commonly uses, Mike is doing what he can to simply blend into the background of this scenery. A task which may be much easier if there were other people to blend in with, or if knit caps were common things to be wearing during the summer time. What a weirdo. Perfect for New York. Hands tucked into his pockets, he's making his way home, passing by the subway entrance on his way to the apartment building.

The quiet is abruptly broken with a roar of sound that echoes from that subway entrance, a great moaning hollaring keening thing that lashes up and down the manmade tunnel only to allow a swirling darkness burst forth. Almost like a dust devil composed of shadow and solidifying out of nightmare, the creature blasts onto the scene with no warning and a wild abandon reserved for rabid creatures. It lands just at the top of the stairs, vortex swirling, small dark tendrils whipping out to and fore as it solidifies into a more bipedal shape, still with veins of lightning and darkness lashing through its being.

With such a noisy entrance, Mike's attention is quickly caught by the newly appearing form. Head turning, his body soon follows in stance as he looks to the subway entrance. "What the fu-?" That doesn't look like something he wants to just keep his back turned to.

The whirling swirling creature turns, a gleam of red is seen as what could only be its 'eyes' flash upon catching sight of Mike. It starts to cut across the way, dirt and debris kicking up all around it as it charges forth, the shadows bending chaotically around it. As it draws nearer it 'rears' up, black tendrils lashing out to /slam/ hard upon the concrete and _shatter_ the ground into pieces around them, almost as if a giant toddler had an abrupt tantrum.

But it does not attack, not yet. For whatever reason. It simply swirls in front of Mike then hisses in a graveyard whisper, Do you accept me, mortal?

Annnnnd it's coming towards him. Oh fantastic. He does start to take one step back but considering at the rate this thing is traveling, the idea of running doesn't seem like it would be all that useful. His foot sets back in place, stance reflecting that of a person expecting of some form of attack from this thing, eyes paying considerable attention to the form as well. Around the point of the concrete shattering, one hand curls, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm. This is not good. Nope. Not good at all. God damn New Y-. At the posed question, Mike blinks, a bit surprised that it stopped and a bit confused at what was said. "What do you mean?" Mike asks, "Accept that you're kind of misting there?"

/Accept me! I require a host form. You will serve!/ Of course the thing throws another tantrum, its long bladed shadowy limbs slashing up and then down again, leaving a great set of furrows in the concrete of the sidewalk. Small stones and pebbles pitter-patter to the ground, only now just landing from the force of the initial impact. It continues to glare pointedly at Mike as its eyes demand supplication.

Then, another voice is heard from the subway tunnel. Well footsteps first, walking up them easily enough. The echoing steps are chased by a voice that would sound familiar to Mike, save it was with avian ears that he heard it before.

"I recommend you tell it no."

At that another pair of shadowy creatures flit out of the ground, hovering high over the swiling creature. Their own raspy voices bitter and biting, « Foul soul, lost soul, impotent soul! Kneel before Lord Ares! You know not your place! »

Then the other cackles, « Oblivion is the punishment for such transgression, oblivion! Elysium was too good for the likes of you. »

Mike's eyes flit to the results of the pounding before glancing back to the figure, brow arching, "Was that really necessary?" To the familiar voice, Mike cracks the slightest of smiles before going back to his best efforts to a neutral expression as he starts to step back. "And I'm going to go with the recommendation of the Ares guy over there and say 'No'. Sorry." No. He's not sorry.

The tall man in blue jeans and flannel shirt gives a small shrug to the other man opposite him. "With some people you never know." Even as the swirling darkness howls with rage, long tendrils reaching up into the sky as if pleading in supplication for some distant power. It roils and writhes, then spins around to face the approaching Ares. / You hold no dominion here! I am free! /

To which the shadows respond happily, « Always a soul, always a subject. To Hades you swore fealty, to Ares you owe debt. »

Then, tilting his head to the side, Ares looks over at the vortex of dark hatred and points a finger. "I am not in the mood for theatrics." And then…


The vortex is gone.

With the darknesses vanquishment, Mike glances to the space where it was just a moment ago. "Ok. That was," he gives a slight nod, "kind of cool." He glances over towards Ares curiously, "When did you become a truant officer for random souls?"

"Since the war," Ares says simply, non-commitally. His hands are at ease in the pockets of his jeans, and the two wispy shadows still swirl around him hissing in agitation. « You should kneel, thank him for not taking your skull to add to his throne! Insignificant creature! » A hand slides out of his pocket and John Aaron gestures calmly, "Relax." And so the wisps relax.

A few steps carry the god forwards and he pauses to examine the crushed concrete and shattered stone. A broken news kiosk is still settling with bits of paper falling to the ground and blowing in the much more natural wind. He shakes his head and frowns, "Comes with the job in some ways."

"Which one?" Mike replies, cracking a bit of a smile as he tucks his hands back into his pocket, stance relaxing quite a bit considering what the shadows had hissed to him. He's learning to just ignore them for the most part. "How often does this happen though?"

"Second time so far," Ares kneels slowly to run a fingertip over where the creature struck the ground, small crackles of energy flickering between the flesh of his fingertip and the scorches upon the ground. He cocks an eyebrow to himself then slowly regains his feet. For the most part he looks like nothing more than some tall rural fellow, probably dressed for a weekend hunting.

"They seem to be drawn to individuals they want to take control of for some reason or another." A small shrug is given, and with that said he turns to start walking north along the still undamaged parts of the sidewalk. A man hollars from the remains of his hotdog stands, "Hey who's gonna pay for this!"

Curious and not really wanting to pay for a hotdog stand that he didn't destroy, Mike follows along curiously. "Drawn to? W- Where was the first one? When?"

Pausing in mid-step, the tall man turns to consider Mike. There's a furrow touching his brow as John looks over him, then he lifts his chin. "I don't recall granting you leave to question me." His eyes then narrow somewhat as he pronounces a few more words tinged with that divine arrogance that so rarely manifests itself in his words. "I know you." He declares, though perhaps not knowing for sure if he does. So rare that he's unsure about something that this instant might be pleasant to him in some odd way.

Mike's steps stop as John pauses to look to him. His chin gives a tilt in return, oddly not wary despite the display of power Ares showed earlier. "No you didn't. But I'm just the type to ask about things that may be causing problems for my home." With Ares's declaration, Mike tucks his hands into his pockets, tilting his head, opting not to fill Ares in on the connection. "A lot of people know me. Just generally not while dressed like this."

"Ah, celebrity. I see." As if that answered all of his questions he leaves it at that. The thin wisps of shadow continue to trail after him, though thankfully they keep their counsel to themselves for now as ordered. Yet it still lends to a certain eeriness to the whole moment. "The other was in a place of commerce, I don't know which. They blend together for me." He pauses to turn back to Mike again, not going further apparently until the other fellow's questions are used up. Though it does give the Hot Dog vendor time to come running after them, a few moments out.

The shadows continued to be ignored by the musician as he nods to Ares's assessment. "To an extent. I'm still reasonably new." He takes note of the approaching vendor but opts to continue discussing things with Ares, "A single store or many together?"

"Meh," Ares gestures openly to the side, dismissive of the topic. So detached and seemingly uninterested. Though as the angry hot dog vendor shows up he takes notice of that at the least.

"You! You wrecked my stall. I'll sue!" The thin man in a white grimy apron and a Yankees cap gestures angrily at Ares. "I've had it up to _here_ with you freaks." He gesture with one hand to his throat, "Comes with living in New York, but that doesn't put you above the law!"

Mike spins around, looking to the man in the apron, eyes narrowing. "Just WHAT were you watching?!" He snaps, voice a low growl, "HE didn't touch your damn cart! That thing that vanished did! If you're going to go around throwing accusations, you should pay more goddamned attention so you're yelling at the right person!" Shaking his head, he glances towards Ares, "Sorry about him. Dicks all around. Comes with living in New York."

The man in the yankees cap turns on Mike and rails at him back, never have to look far in New York to find an argument. "The hell are ya talkin' about, was one of his… his things!" He swipes a grungy hand forwards, gesturing with a thick finger at the small shadows that seem to swirl in John Aaron's wake. "He made em, I know about you muties. Senator Kelly is damned right! You all can go hang for all I care!"

To which Ares looks in turn at the hot dog vendor, then Mike's outburst, then the hot dog vendor again. He cocks an eyebrow at Mike as if letting the man take the lead in this, perhaps on some level it amuses him to see this one mortal defend him from another.

If there's one thing Mike's good for, it's entertainment. I hear he even makes a living off of it. Mike turns back to the man in the cap, shaking his head, "Kelly's a bigoted asshole who makes a living pandering to the bigoted, small-dicked assholes who can't deal with people being different from them or can't deal with actually thinking for themselves. You're probably one of those people who after looking at an optical illusion and being told it is one, still insists that the image was still moving on its own."

"Look, buddy! Take your mutie loving…" And that's as far as the hot dog vendor gets when a subtle nod from Ares is given and then sepulchral voices lash out angrily roaring in righteous indignation.


The other shadow slithers forwards, growing in height and spreading ephemeral arms as its eyes flash red. / HE SHOULD CRUSH YOUR BONES TO POWDER FOR YOUR INSOLENCE! /

The other swirls forwards positively hopping up and down as it brackets beside Mike, presenting a unified 'front' as all three confront the man. / HE SHOULD TAKE YOUR SKULL AND WEAR IT AS HIS TROPHY AGAINST IGNORANCE AND STUPIDIITY! /

Mike pauses as the shadowy trio speak up. Their silence prior having helped him forget of their presence if just for the moment where he was trying to 'reason' with the vendor. "Ok I guess we could go with that line of debate," He murmurs, glancing to the shadows before looking back to the vendor, "Now, I just ran into the guy tonight. But considering what his entourage is saying, are you SURE you want to be saying what you've been saying to him? Personally I think he's been rather understanding by not following through on their recommendation."

That's enough for the street merchant, his eyes widen and he gets the impression that he realizes he's in over his head. Instead of continuing the argument he turns and starts to /run/ the opposite direction, back to the scene of the carnage. He lifts his voice only to shout, "Help! Police!" Even as the crowd around them parts to let him pass as he rushes off, now chased by the cackling of the shadows.

/ Fool! There is no distance you can run that Ares cannot find you! Your days are numbered. Your impertinence damns you! Woe, WOE UNTO YOU! /

To which, Ares then finally lifts his voice. "That's enough." And as easy as that, the shadows fall silent. The tall man looks towards Mike and says simply, "You should probably step away from me lest they tar you with the same brush, as it were." That having been said he starts to walk on, hands sliding into his pockets as he moves.

"Eh. In my line of business, any press is good press." Mike replies, giving a bit of a shrug as he glances curiously to Ares, "Um one more question." He tilts his chin towards Ares, "You mentioned they were drawn to something. Drawn to what?"

"They tend to be drawn to power, they need it to sustain them on this plane of existence. What you witnessed was a jailbreak, in essence." Ares gives a small shrug, "He most likely wished to inhabit your form for a period of time until he could harvest another power source." A hand is held up as he perhaps stays another question from Mike. "In any case, be wary. Don't accept them, if they try to take you then I recommend you resist." That having been said he turns to start walking again.

Ares is allowed to walk away this time as Mike pauses, frowning. "Power." He murmurs to himself, glancing back towards the area where the cart once was, "Noted." Man is Susan going to get an earful whenever he runs into her next.


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