Mall Mess

Brief Title:

Black Crow and X-23

Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:
02/19/13 18:11

Brooklyn Hazelton Mall – Brooklyn

Black Crow and X-23 deal with some bullies

Social or Plot:


Tuesday night and most people in New York have flocked to the mall to avoid being outdoors in the winter cold. The large crowds are a hindrance to Jesse Black Crow, the disabled Native American who find little space to manipulate his wheelchair. He would transform into his Black Crow form, but shakes his head and sighs as he tries to make it to the food court. Two performers are singing and doing a dance for money and as he watches. Some young thugs walk past him and snicker. One is slowly sneaking behind him.

The mall. It's an assault on the senses - almost as much as it's an assault on good taste, gauging by some of the inhabitants. A silent young woman slips through the crowds with predatory ease, ghosting along with a soundless tread. She's forgettable here - and that's purposeful. X-23 sniffs the air with a slight wrinkle to her nose. The source of her displeasure, fleeting as it is, is impossible to pinpoint, but it likely isn't the food court - which is where her curious course is taking her. Green eyes cut across the faceless masses, landing on only a smattering worth noting - that group of thugs, the performers, the wheelchair and his miscreant shadow. Curiosity claims her, but she doesn't make a move to interfere. Yet.

The main thug grabs the handles of the wheelchair and says, “Hey, Squanto! Time for a ride!” He suddenly pushes the wheelchair and starts to move very fast as he shoves Jesse away from the crowd and down his thug friends follow behind pushing the chair to a less secluded part of the mall.

This is observed with clinical detachment, green eyes shining flatly all the while. X-23 tosses a look over her shoulder and, satisfied with what she sees - or doesn't see - she continues. They can bullishly shove their way along; she'll just glide among the ruins left behind, light steps carrying her past reeling patrons or furious souls who are irritated only that their day has been slightly inconvenienced by hooliganism.

The young woman doesn't run - but she will catch up to them without a doubt or a word. A deliberate squeak of a boot sole on the floor marks her arrival in earnest, followed by the muted sound of her jacket's zipper being undone.

As they push him along, Jesse mutters some curses in a Native American language and while he could easily deal with this brats and bullies, he does not want to make this bigger than what it is by turning into Black Crow, so he allows this bullying to happen. One of the smaller three thugs kicks open a side door exit and shoves the chair Jesse of the chair. The other two get ready to kick him, “We’re taking your ride and whatever you got.”

"No, you are not. You will leave him alone."
Her voice is a thing of dead inflection, a suiting match to her eyes. She's followed this sad spectacle thus far; it would be a shame to just let it go unfinished. X-23 shrugs off her jacket and drops it on the ground behind her with a soft *fwump*. Her stance is deceptively relaxed, hands only half-curled into fists.

The one holding the chair looks over to X23 and starts to laugh, “Hey, girl. . .” He pushes the chair away from Jesse and the other two and saunters over to X, “Why don’t you and I find some private place and we can go fuck while they beat down the crip.” For his part, Jesse manages to take the brunt of the two kicks from the other bullies. He grimaces at the arrival of the young teen as she may now be in danger and sees no real choice. When the lead thug flirts with X23, the two thugs resume their kicking of Jesse who screams, but not in pain from their blows, but from what is coming. X23’s senses may pick up a surge of unseen energy starting to form around Jesse.

She is not amused. There's a look askance spared for the man in the chair, but her focus returns on the insolent one. The small hairs at the back of her neck rise just a touch - and it's not a sensation she likes.

There is no preamble. Three seconds are given. No fucks are. She just gives a slight shake of her head and surges forward, her movements both feral and efficient to carry her past the approaching asshole. Faster than them; stronger than them - they won't see it coming at all.

The nearest kicker is grabbed and lifted with a strenth that's wholly incongruent with her size - and then he's hurled, at her fullest strength, toward his fellow punter. If they're lucky, they won't break too many bones when they hit the wall or ground.

Her swiftness, strength, and agility allow X-23’s attack to happen in almost a blur. One kicker is tossed and landing smack dab into his fellow kicker. The two land with a hard thud on the ground, but where they would have landed on Jesse. He is gone as a crow flies up. The crow looks at the fallen bullies, to Laura and to the remaining bully. The bird flies over towards him and stares directly into his eyes. The amorous thug leader finds himself nearly frozen and unable to move as he simply stares into the eyes of the bird.

The two bullies who fell over lament their pain, but rises up on their feet. “Stupid bitch!” Switchblades are drawn and one lunges forward towards Laura with his swiss army brand blade.

The crow. Mental notes are made, all the while that the calculating parts of her mind are at work. X will deal with the crow and the third thug in due course; for now, her attention is keen on the two teens with their knives. Her expression shifts from former impassivity into something feral. Hungry. The lunging foe's blade catches air on the first strike - and metal on the second. She blocks that strike with a knife of her own, several inches of adamantium piercing through the first and second knuckles of her hand. Then it's her turn, swinging with her other fist - aimed to hit the guy in the jaw, if he stays still - though she doesn't pop a blade out of this one. Someone's feeling generous - or just not in a mood to deal with a couple of dead bodies. One or the other.

The crow pays no heed to Laura or her attackers, clearly she is no ordinary teenager and so the crow maintains eye contact with the leader, both unmoving in their staring contest. Though as the crow flaps its wing to hover in place, it is clear who is winning and something more than a staring contest is going on.

The first attacker’s blade snaps like a twig when caught between X-23’s claws. And as soon as the blade is popped, the attacker soon follows suit. He falls to the side as the fist backed by the Facility’s assassin knocks him over and out. The last remaining attacker ponders a decision attack the girl and the bird or run and live. He screams, “Fuckin’ mutants.” And he tosses the blade aiming for Laura’s head as he dashes off in the other direction

The staring contest almost comes to an end when the lead bully leads out a pained scream, “No. . .please. . .stop! STOP!” His eyes widen, but he cannot move as whatever he is enduring reads on the incredibly frightened expression on his face.

Done. She watches the other youth run off and her body tenses, every instinct screaming at her to pursue. It won't do any good and she knows it; the odds of anyone believing him are slim to none. Instead, her claw snaps back into her hand with a soft, wet sound and she wipes the tiny bit of blood off on her top. Then the thug on the ground is dealt with. She flips him onto his stomach, digs her knee into the small of his back, and wrenches his hands up behind him, wrists gathered in her hands and pulled up toward his shoulder blades.
X holds him there while her attention slants to the bird and its apparent prey. She doesn't intercede; instead, she just watches coolly - and with some measure of sick fascination, naturally.

The thug within her grasps lets out whispers and moans of pain, but remains nearly inert in her grasp. For his part, the crow keeps his paralyzing gaze on the lead bully who foolishly started this. However it will be Black Crow who finishes this. The thug lets out a death curdling scream as he is fed horrifying visions directly into his mind and then the crow speaking in a booming human voice offers, “I release you.” The thug falls to the ground convulsing and drooling at his mouth, whatever he has seen has nearly been the death of him, but his twitches show he still lives. . .for now. The crow body enlarges as it is bathed in mystical energy and Black Crow appears and simply looks to Laura, “Your frame hides a brute force of nature, young one. . .but thank you for your intervention.”

She switches her grip slightly, to keep the teen's crossed wrists caught in one of her own. X-23's other hand starts to check his pockets for a wallet or any kind of identification - a name, an address, anything of the sort.

Her search pauses when the hypnotized thug utters that wretched scream. Her features scrunch up - not for the sound, but purely for the volume of it. Too loud. Between that and the thunderous voice from the crow, it's nearly enough to make her ears ring. The thing that -does- put her off, however, is the metamorphosis of bird to man. She tenses visibly, which also means the poor bastard under her knee is going to have something dislocated. Feral and bristling, she listens - but doesn't respond, not at first.

Composure is found a beat later in a hissed exhalation. "They were an inconvenience. There is no need to thank me."

“Fair enough, child. An inconvenience dealt with quickly and easily enough. I am Black Crow. And you are?” His eyes hidden behind his ornate Native American mask, but still his very being expresses one of examination and inquisition as he stares the teenager before him, “And you are?”

Her search ends empty-handed. He might have something on him, but she's given up the search - for good reason. The thug is released, such as it is; his arms are out of socket and he'll be nursing a hell of a headache, a possible broken jaw, and some serious brusing at his lower back, but he'll live until she catches his scent. For now, the question spurs her to rise and cross the space to where her jacket is.

The jacket is dusted off, then pulled on with a shrug. A final, narrow-eyed look is spared for the man-bird, but then she's headed off and well on her way to parts unknown at a pace that's purposeful, but unhurried.

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