2012 01 28 Good Intentions Different Approaches

Log Title:
Good Intentions, Different Approaches

X-23 and Misty Knight

IC Date:

Lower Manhattan/Nightwing Restorations

Brief log summary::
As Misty moves Nightwing to its permanent home, she encounters yet another hero in pursuit of thugs, and steps in to help. They disagree on what to do with the stolen goods.


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It's a quiet, gorgeous evening in Manhattan. A cool breeze is blowing in off the waters, but miraculously the nip isn't bitterly cold. The sky is shot through with colors as the sun sets, one of the few benefits of pollution. The usual rumble and honking of omni-present traffic is suddenly eclipsed. In the far distance there's a building whine, like an over-stressed airplane engine. Over the top of a building an aircar of some sort rises. The occupants are all dressed in jumpsuits and masks, they're mostly leaning out of the vehicle and firing energy weapons wildly towards the rear. Clinging to the back of the vehicle is a diminuitive figure, the masked girl gripping onto a landing strut as she slashes at the engine cowling with blades. Suddenly something sparks, a small explosion and the engine is engulfed in flames as the vehicle suddenly nose-dives for the street.

Misty is in the process of moving from her previous location to the agency's new, permanent home. Hallelujah.

She glances up, though, hearing that stressed engine noise. Energy bolts flying willy nilly out the back of a skycar? Bad news. Misty reaches the top step of the stoop, opens the door, and shoves the boxes she was carrying inside, before coming back out to stare at the scene, trying to gauge the air car's trajectory, and which side is which.

Another pop, a secondary explosion and a chunk of the rear drive shears away from the vehicle. The skycar hurtles down at near a perpindicular angle to the ground now. At the last second the vehicle corrects and lurches, people sweerving to get out of the way as the vehicle hits the ground and bounces once, twice, thrice and shrieks to a halt outside Misty's building in a shower of sparks and pavement. The diminuitive form of the girl that had been hanging on the back lays down the road about a half a block, limp. The costumed goons in the vehicle shake their heads groggily, it seems lucky that most of them remembered to buckle up!

Misty swears as the claws separate part of the vechile from itself. She swears again and rushes into motion, vaulting the rest of the way down the steps and breaking into a run as the little figure falls.

There's a brief moment of indecision; the girl or the goons. She chooses the goons, jaw set. Anybody who can cause a skycar to lose parts in flight is made of tough stuff. And if the goons get away — that's one more mess she or somebody else will need to clean up.

"You got any idea how fast you were goin', sir?" she quips, as she approaches the wreckage of the skycar. "License and registration?" Must be proximity to her old precinct, just up the street, that has her making jokes about her former career.

One of the goons looks up groggily, only his eyes are revealed by his facemask. They seem a bit dazed and unfocused as he looks up at Misty, almost squinting as he tries to make her come into focus. Others in the car are starting to unstrap safety harnesses as the one closest to Misty brings up some sort of energy pistol.

As for the girl on the ground, she shudders for a second, almost a fish flop. Getting up with a wince, she grips an arm covered in black blood and looks towards the vehicle. She limps, her pants torn in several places and well, ickiness abounding as she starts to make her way towards the vehicle.

"Uh-uh, Sugar, how we gonna be friends if you wanna try stuff like that?" chides Misty, light tone in her voice contrasting sharply with the steely expression. Bionic right hand darts out, much faster than a human hand, and crushes the weapon. Too bad his hand was still holding it. So along with the shriek of metal and plastic being deformed beyond recovery — the sharp sound of multiple bones in that gun hand breaking is also heard. Perhaps it will cow his buddies. Not likely, but a girl can dream.

She glances sideways as the woman gets up on her own, confirming her suspicions about being made of tough stuff. "So — whose goons are these?" she asks, conversationally, still scanning the others, should they try to rush her.

The men start to pile out of the vehicle, except for the one that's now screaming his head off. One of the quartet left carries a massive metal suitcasey looking thing. A prominent Radiation hazard symbol on its side. Two of them start peppering the general area around Misty with weapons fire as soon as they get clear shots, the others running towards a nearby vehicle.
The youngish girl, a domino mask hiding her eyes, seems to be limping less as she takes cover from the energy discharges. There's a shrug towards Misty as she says in a quiet voice, barely heard over the ruckus, "Dunno, but they're up to no good."

….Aaaaand they have to start shooting. They always start shooting. The suit she has on — the red one — is bulletproof but not energy blast proof. She holds up the arm to let its metal bounce some of the hits, but hisses in pain as the suit takes a burn to her right thigh.

She sees the radiation symbol just as one of the fleeing thugs tries to make it past her. "Yeah, that'd be an understatement, hon," she says, giving chase to the one with the suitcase. "Whatever that is, bad idea to let it get cracked open in the middle of freakin' Manhattan." Her stride lengthens as the runner tries to outsprint her.

While Misty works on chasing down the fleeing thug, a couple of the others hi-jack a nearby convertible. As their friends lay down cover fire they start to back it up on the crowded street, trying to follow their friend with the case. Interestingly most of their fire seems to be aimed at the diminuitive dark haired girl.
With a snikt blades erupt from her hand and she proves why as she slices a car door off the vehicle she's hiding behind, twists and launches it towards her attackers.

It's a shame Misty isn't quite good enough to pull off eyes in the back of her head. She'd be impressed at the sight of the blades in her hand. But she's not, and her single-minded concentration is on the one with the radiation symbol case. The danger is too great for her to consider anything else.

She runs up the front of a PT cruiser and onto its roof, executing a flip to hopefully put herself out in front of her quarry.

When Misty lands in front of the man he stops short, shocked. A second later though and his leg is snaking out as he settles in to try to kick the girl. He was holding the case apparently because he was the most competent of them all, the man putting up a good show of fighting. On several occassions even swinging his deadly cargo to try and clip Misty if she lets him have an opening.
The convertible is finally spun around and roars off down the street towards Misty and the man with the payload. One of the men in the vehicle reaches up over the windshield, extricating the car door that has been lodged in it. X-23 lets out a soft sigh and sprints down the street, ducking behind cars and other cover as the men continue to pepper her with bolts of energy.

"…Really?" Misty says, breathing in a quick breath that segues into a rather sharp edged grin. Apparently she's been wanting a challenge and now she gets one. She isn't quite quick enough to dodge the kick entirely and it clips her in that same thigh where she's already taken a burn. Another hiss of pain, but she doesn't let it slow her down.

Swinging his case, though? Very bad idea. Up goes the arm. And she pulls — hard — with the intent to take it off the man she is fighting.

She can hear the car roaring down toward her, but she's peak human, not superhuman, and her attention is maxed out between trying to secure the deadly cargo and take out the one trying to use it on her as a weapon.

Well luckily these men don't seem to be that interested in running down Misty either. The car stops short just behind her with screech she's sure to hear. Of course a cybernetic limb taking the impact of the case while grabbing it means she's got her hands on it at last. A single sharp kick leaves the original carrier sprawling with an oof as the men lift weapons and aim at Misty. And just at that moment 23 climbs a car and leaps with a howl towards the men, trying to distract.

Misty gives a triumphant little, harsh-edged chuckle of triumph as the case comes away and her kick, still impressive for no superhuman augmentation, takes the guy hard in the chest and knocks him back. She hops down with the case in hand, and as he stumbles to regain his feet, swings it hard against the back of his head. Down he goes, and not likely to wake up for at least a few minutes after how solid that blow was.

She hears the howl and turns to see claws on a girl, who is leaping toward men trying to draw a bead on her. She spares just enough of a glance at the case to make sure that it is not leaking or glowing or broken open, before she turns to leap back into the fray, still holding the case but no longer inclined to use it as a weapon. "Uh uh — you are /not/ tryin'a gang up on this girl, are you really? I swear, the quality of lowlife these days."

One weapon swings up to fire directly into X-23's chest. The girl crumples and topples atop the car. By the time she's landed though she's already fighting again. No claws, she's not trying to kill anyone. But between her close quarters combat expertise and Misty's help it's not long before the men are all laid out. In the distance the sound of sirens can be heard. The panting, bloody, sweaty smaller girl nods to Misty. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem, li'l bit," Misty replies. "You wanna come in for a minute and clean up while I call a friend to get this stuff safely disposed of?" She holds up the case gingerly. "You look like you could use a minute to catch your breath. And like you also don't really wanna deal with New York's finest." It's only proximity to the precinct that allows them to show up so quickly in the thick traffic climate of the city.

"Fine," the girl's voice is going rather flat as she steadies herself. There's a glance towards Misty's leg and the minor wound. "Do you need to go to the hospital?" As for the girl, strangely, her own wounds seem to be gone, or in the process of mending. She's covered in blood, lots of it from the looks of it, but no actual wounds beneath the crusty mess.

"What, this?" Misty indicates her burn with her normal hand. "Nah. Stings a little. A good soak overnight in aloe and it'll be fine in a day or two. Nothing I can't live with," she assures. "Misty Knight. And you are?" Her lips quirk in a wry moue as she bites back the urge to make up feminized variations of 'Wolverine' by way of guessing what the other woman goes by.

The younger girl sighs as she examines her hair before glancing over at Misty and shrugging. "In need of a shower." It seems any attempt to discover her name is being deflected, at least for the moment.

"That can be arranged," Misty tells her, walking up the steps to the front door with the medieval facade. "Even got a tracksuit you can manage if you wanna toss your clothes inna wash." She continues to refrain from guessing, since the woman was not forthcoming. Pushing could cause a fight, and Misty's seen claws like that before. Bionic arm would be no match. "C'mon, let's haul ass before the blues show up and ask for statements. I can't /even/ if they want statements." She keys the door code and holds it open.

23 is not in the most heroic of outfits. Granted she's wearing a domino mask to hide her eyes, but other than that… well, it's plain. A black tank top, now with three or four scorch marks in it, cargo pants that have been ripped near to shreds and a pair of well worn black leather combat boots. After entering she makes her way towards Misty's apartment. She doesn't wait to be told or led, simply walks towards it unerringly and waits for this door to be opened as well.

Actually, Misty leads the young woman through the security door, but not to Misty's own apartment - instead to a second set of rooms, with their own security lock. "Make yourself comfortable. You'll find robes outside the bathroom in a cabinet, and the washer/dryer in the same one." The room she shows is pretty much like a hotel room on the low end. Nice, but not fancy enough to make it a temptation to steal anything.

"Call if you need anything, Cargo Pants." For want of something to call her.

Being led to the alternate rooms is actually a bit disconcerting for 23, she has to be called back as she's passed them already. There's a short nod before she moves into the apartment. The door to the bathroom is closed behind her as she goes about cleaning herself. After about seven minutes of running water she emerges in a towel, wet clothes are tossed into the dryer and she dons a robe as instructed.

By way of hospitality, Misty has laid out two bowls of rice and leftover chicken koorma at the end of the hall, where there's a little breakfast nook alcove. "Fightin' always makes me hungry," she suggests. She is also showered and changed, wearing a NYPD sweatshirt, and a pair of cutoff sweatpants. There's a little bit of bandage showing under the hem of the right leg. "An' you healin' factor types. Always seem to need the calories."

There's a somber nod from X-23, who is strangely and sadly still wearing her domino mask with her robe. The small girl slips into a seat and picks up her cutlery, digging into the food with vigor. "I appreciate your hospitality."

"Don't sweat it," Misty replies with a shrug. "The city we find ourselves in … not the easiest to get along in unless we lookin' out for each other, don'cha think?" She settles in her own seat and begins to eat. "An' it always seems there's no shortage of dumbass testosterone poisoning cases lookin' to make a quick buck workin' for the wrong people."

"Criminal behavior isn't limited by gender or economic status. In the end it's people who decide to live outside of society's limits." Ironic as a statement coming from a vigilante, but she doesn't acknowledge it. In fact she doesn't even seem to speak that much unless spoken to. She does pause every now and then to subtly sniff, taking in the complex scent of Misty and her surroundings, evaluating and considering it.

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other," allows Misty, pausing to meet the eyes beyond the mask.

Among the scents that will be available here — homemade liniment. Gun oil. A different sort of oil, the type used for swords. Rare spices, some of which are simply — not of earthly origin. Then there're the sharp spices from the Indian food they're eating. And the cleaning products used to keep those rooms clean. The cardboard of the boxes Misty is moving in. And finally, the awful smell of scorched flesh and aloe on Misty's own injury.

"Either way," adds Misty thoughtfully, "There's always enough to go around, so why not make allies where I can, right?"

"Again, I appreciate your assistance. I'll want to drop off that case at the police station before I leave. It's not the sort of thing that should be left lying around." 23 is solemnly quiet as she continues to finish her food. Her eating motions are quick, efficient and utterly mechanical. It seems she takes little joy in the process of eating.

"I'm not trusting the police with it," Misty says with a shake of her head. Her tone is not unkind, but it is firm and a little curt. "Too many corrupt ones." Even in the precinct she started out. "I've got some acquaintances who can get it disposed of safely." Her tone implies she will brook no argument on this score.

"You can accompany if you want to, to the police station." X-23 looks rather, dangerous for a moment. "By the time we're finished with this meal I'm sure the FBI will be on site. But I am not going to leave it in your hands, I don't know you."

"I don't know you either, hon," Misty points out. "I do, however, know Tony Stark, and he, me. So, the person I trust gets the dangerous case. The police aren't equipped, and their bureaucratic process is too slow. If you can't trust him, we'll have to find some other compromise. Plus, honestly? This is my neighborhood. I am not wantin' a radioactive or otherwise dangerous thing left where just anybody could get at it until the police can get it put away somewhere safer." She makes a gesture with her hands that implies a mushroom cloud taking out a sizeable chunk of Manhattan. "/You/ are welcome to come with me to take it to the New York labs."

"You want to give atomic material to a business man who makes weapons?" 23 looks frankly incredulous. "The police have way too much media coverage on this. No one is going to slip the case out the back of the station onto a truck. It will be handled, legally."

Misty meets the other woman's gaze levelly. "Yes. He does make weapons. Sometimes." There's a brief tightening of the fingers on her right hand. "But he is not merely 'a businessman'. And while he makes weapons, he is not as unscrupulous as your apparent idea of him seems t'be." She shrugs. "Media coverage. You think Media coverage is gonna stop somebody like the Vanisher? You think media coverage is gonna stop somebody like The Spot?" Misty shakes her head. "Media coverage is just a bright flashing neon sign saying 'Hey Supervillains, Come Beat Up The Soft And Squishy Regular People For This Shiny-Ass Prize!'" She picks up the empty plates and carries them to the sink behind the alcove. "So no, I don't really believe media coverage is gonna do the good you think it will. Been at this more than a minute, kid. You're gonna have to trust me on this."

On seeing the other woman is truly uncomfortable with the idea, Misty sighs. "Okay — if not Tony Stark, there are other people I can take it to. Fantastic Four? Avengers? I'd trust them before I'd feel safe leaving this in a residential neighborhood, even with the police. Will you accept that?"

X-23 eyes Misty warily and nods quietly. "We can take it to the Baxter Building, I suppose. You have a car, right? I don't want to take it using a taxi, or walk it."

"Yeah, c'mon, and lets get it out of the way, then," Misty says, rising and heading for the stairs, grabbing the bag from where it sat at the door leading back to the office. "C'mon, shake a leg. It's not like I am comfortable leavin' this thing lyin' around here either." Misty's tone is serious, though her body language is fairly relaxed. She's had disagreements of this sort before, it'd appear.

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