Just Another Thursday Night in the Bronx

Summary:
February 27, 2014: Domino goes investigating some leads and winds up in over her head. Until, as luck would have it, a couple of friends wander by.

The Bronx, New York

A rundown old red apartment building in the Bronx.


Characters

NPCs

  • None.

Mood Music:


It's another cold night out in the Bronx. For as populated as New York City is as a whole, the streets out this way are generally fairly quiet. Not many pedestrians can be found on the sidewalks even on bright summer days. Much like the insects know when a predator is on the prowl, the citizens of the city know that there are some areas which are better left avoided whenever possible.

There's usually good reason for that.

A run down red brick apartment building once harbored all manner of questionable sorts. Drug pushers, drug users, arms dealers, information brokers, the usual assortment of gang-bangers, they easily outnumbered any 'honest' folk in the area up until about five minutes ago. From within the closed walls there's the rhythmic *thoomthoomthoom!* of automatic gunfire, a stray bullet occasionally busting out a grimy window. People are yelling. Often, both end within a short span of time.

Inside, Domino flattens herself around the corner to a stairwell, cackling like a fiend as one of her opponents goes down from his own shotgun exploding in his hands. "That's whatcha get for using last century's model!"

Having been away from Westchester to go nosing into another explosion, Logan lingered in NYC after his bump in with Winter Soldier, Shift, and company. And those few hours of lingering got spent in a run down, hole in the wall bar, with the Canadian downing cheap beer.

Now, he's meandering down the sidewalk through the Bronx with a can in hand, having left his bike in a…shall we say more pleasant area of NYC.

And that's when the feral mutant's ears note the all too familiar sound of gunfire and glass shattering. And…that's not some gangbanger just letting off one shot. Scowling, Logan throws his can on the ground and starts to run through the darkness, cowboy boots pounding the pavement. Making it to the front of the red apartment building in question, the old Canadian yanks it open and roars, "The @$*@ is going on in here?"

The front of the building was secured. It -had- been secured. Right now? Not secured! Some guy in a goofy outfit is standing in the doorway and yelling, like it's a bunch of kids that had a bit too much to drink in their father's garage! Dom's sight picture never changes, a compensated 10mm sidearm in each hand. One continues to fire down the hallway, the way she's facing, while the other snaps back up over her shoulder and takes a single shot straight for the person hanging out at the door. Announcing himself.

Because -really.-

"Got more mouth than common sense around here," she mutters while spinning back around behind cover, ejecting the magazines from both of her sidearms.

It's here that the patch-eyed mercenary notices just who's left over by the doorway.

"Oh, you have -got- to be shitting me."

(Odds of Logan dropping in to say hi: 1 in 408,917. A winner is me.)

And bam. And now the grizzly old mutant is really cursing.

The bullet's impact doesn't really /do/ much. It causes the hairy man to stagger back half a step and puts a hole in his leather jacket and the flannel shirt under it (a fashionista Logan is not), and stains it with the blood that escapes before the wound starts to mend itself.

Growling, Logan moves into the building with quick steps, eyes squinting at the patch-eyed woman and stalking towards her. There's the faint *clink* as the bullet is pushed out of his body and falls to the ground while he moves, "You are so fucking lucky I was the one standing there, Dom. What the hell are you doing having a shootout in the middle of the Bronx?" Briefly turning his attention away from the other mutant, he takes a look down the hallway before ducking out of the way alongside Domino.

Cursing, and not in that 'oh god I'm going to die' sort of way. It's..all so familiar. It's been a while, sure, but there are some things a person never quite forgets. The sight of that squat, furry looking mutant with the power of a bad attitude is one of them.

"The story of my life," Domino dismissively replies while reloading her sidearms. Spare mags are hooked right along her biceps, all it takes is a downward swipe with each gun and a twist of the wrist to break them free from the combat webbing. Then, feigning a look of both innocence and shock, she asks "Isn't this what everyone in the Bronx does on a Thursday night?"

One pistol rolls around a crooked trigger finger with a casualness borne of many hours of being armed and bored senseless before she edges around the corner just long enough to snap off a few more shots. It's immediately followed by a spray of automatic fire which stitches along the wall and the ceiling, taking out a nearby light.

The next muttered remark starts and ends with "Dumbass," bringing her pale blue stare back to Logan once more. "What about you, short and cranky? Got tired of slamming piss for beer and decided to have yourself a little fun and excitement? Feel free to borrow one of their guns, they're not using 'em all." Not -anymore,- anyway.

"Yeah, do me a favor and look before you shoot next time," Logan grumbles, absently reaching up to thumb at the new bloody bullet hole in his jacket. He sniffs sharply, his own blue eyes sweeping across the pale-skinned mutant for a moment to make sure she's not injured before he chuckles dryly, "Bit of a point there, I guess. The hell is going on, some thug trying to play ghetto arms dealer, or what?"

At the spray of automatic bullets, the Canadian moves to take a peekagain, squinting down the hall while answering Domino, "I've been gettin' plenty of fun and excitement. And you wanna fork out for a few bottles of whiskey after this, Miss Mercenary?"

Looking back to Dom, the hairy Canuck snorts, "Gun? I'll pass. Looks like they're using cheap knock-offs. You want me to go get this guy before you get your ass shot, or what? How many left down there anyways?"

"Hey, is it my fault that you ran in here and started yelling?" Domino challenges with a narrow-eyed glare. That, too, is quickly followed by a "Keep it down, willya?!" and another hail of fire from both sidearm down the hall as some of the others start trying to close in on the pair.

Sigh! "What's going -on- here is that I've got some questions for these idiots and you're distracting me." Yeah. Because this is going so well for an interrogation.

The thought of drinks is..not helping keep her focused so much. Here she can't help but flash a quick smirk. "Got the time, but I'm not getting the tab."

To the offer to take the one guy out, she snaps back "Don't need your damn help, I've got this."

With that said she starts rushing up the nearby stairs, getting to the first landing before there's a deafening roar from something much, much bigger than the average street-owned Mac-10. In another second she comes rushing back down the stairs, debris tangled within her shorter hair, eyes wide once more. Up above there's more yelling. And a lot of footsteps rushing down the stairs.

"I've changed my mind. You can help."

Gunfire in the Bronx.

Returning home the scenic route from visiting, thanks to Father Joseph. Children are played with, stories shared as a family that is barely holding it together sits down to dinner together. A family of mutants.

It's not a block away, and the rapidfire sounds of fire certainly gains the elf's attention… and quickly. The family is only now, no doubt, having their dessert. It's not safe!

It's not unheard of for Kurt to appear suddenly upon a wall, bamf!, then a hallway, bamf!, then a stairwell, bamf! then a—

"Logan?"

Gleaming yellow eyes are upside-down as Kurt dangles off the ceiling, his tail wrapped about his legs for protection (no one likes to be yanked by the tail!). "What is—"

And then, the barreling of the albino down the hall back towards Logan… and him? "Was ist passie—"

Looking at his feet, Kurt murmurs, "Oh…"

Scowling right back at the glaring woman, Logan grunts wordlessly in reply to the first bit before she starts shooting again.

Folding his arms over his chest, the squat old Canadian simply stands there, watching the pale woman for a moment, "You've definitely got this. Is that why you're standing here lollygagging?"

Watching Dom turn to run up the stairs, Logan shakes his head slowly and uncrosses his arms, about to follow when suddenly there's a Kurt hanging out nearby. Chuckling, a hand comes up in a wave of sorts to the demonic X-Man while offering a grin, "Evenin', elf. Domino's in the middle of somethin'. She's got it all under con—" his words are cut off by the deafening roar from above.

Frowning, he looks back to wide-eyed Neena when she rushes back down, "The fucking hell was that, Dom? Get behind me." Stepping towards the stairs and her, he calls upwards, "Help would be great, Kurt. Think Dom done went and got in over her head…"

What—!

Domino's seen some crazy stuff in her time. Running down the stairs and seeing a blue ..demon..thing..? hanging from the -ceiling,- staring with those yellow eyes and all, she stops short. She stops short enough that she very nearly falls back onto her ass. Regardless of whether she remains standing or ends up sitting, she's got both of those big, unfriendly ten millimeter pistols snapping -right- up at the bizarre creature now entering the scene.

"The fuck is that thing?!"

She doesn't have any time to wait for an answer. There's baddies clogging the stairway. There's baddies rushing into the hall. Some have even managed to rub two braincells together enough to wake up an intoxicated neuron or three and have decided to cut around the -outside- of the building to close in around the same door that Logan had arrived from. It's about to get messy, especially with the machine gun being brought down the stairs.

'Get behind me.' It's true, Wolverine -is- more bullet-proof than she is. Still, that pale stare never once leaves Kurt's yellow eyes as she shifts herself around behind the Snikter. "Gettin' deeper all the fuckin' time… -That- was a belt-fed five millimeter—did you just call it -Elf?-"

"Tell me you weren't going to say the word 'control'," Kurt answers back, and in the next second, he's a little more forward, now just ready to angle himself behind(?), in front of(?), well— placing himself between the stairs and where the now identified 'Domino' is racing.

"Language, Wolverine.." comes, though in that next moment, those gleaming, yellow featureless eyes widen as two guns are pointed directly at him. In that next second, the elf is gone in a cloud of sulfurous cloud and a distinct sound of bamf as the air fills that void that is the link between the infernal realm of hell and Earth. He isn't gone long, however, when he reappears in that same cloud, further up near the stairs, and is quite ready to disappear again, should this 'Domino' decide to shoot at him. "Who is she?" And why does she— oh, never mind the gun and pointed at him.

"I'm not an 'it', or a 'thing', fraulein. I am the 'Amazing Nightcrawler', though I still think 'Incredible' is better. Has more.. something."

"Manners, Dom," Logan growls at the patch-eyed woman's reaction to Nightcrawler's appearance, "He's a friend. Be nice or I'll start callin' you Spot." Snorting to himself, the feral sniffs sharply, "And this is not the time for introductions. Lots of bullets about to start coming our way."

"Who the hell did you go and piss off, anyways, Dom?" Logan grumbles before telling the pale woman behind him, "Let's go down the hall and take care of them first, eh? Or you got a better plan?"

To Kurt, the old Canadian suggests, "Elf, you get a chance, get whoever is manning the fucking machine gun off of it, yeah? Would be great." After that, the old man rolls his shoulders and gets ready to lurch into motion with the dark-haired woman, trying to make sure she's behind him as much as possible. Which might be hard, what with the incoming guns from..just about every direction.

Bamf?? Domino actually yelps abruptly when her would-be potential-yet-possibly-not-a-threat target up and vanishes in a cloud of ..very foul smelling.. smoke.

"Who am I? Who the hell are—" 'Nightcrawler.' Blink. "..You named yourself after a worm?" she asks, still staring at the guy. Though, speaking of 'control,' it takes her a moment to get back to grips with things. Suddenly that look of shock is replaced with a look of irritation. "Hey, everything was going just fine before you two showed up!"

Logan's remark about manners has her rolling her eyes. "I've been called worse. Hey—that's not fair. Why do ya have to go and assume this was -my- fault?" Pause. "Surrounded. Don't care whatcha do, now's the time to do it."

Snikter's got the stairs. Bamfer's got ..whatever the heck he wants, she's guessing. Dom's not really sure what she's doing besides running away from the stairs and across the hall. Heavy combat boots go right up the wall and spin her around as her sidearms dart out to the sides, covering both the door and the direction of the earlier mob. There's a lot of shooting, some cross-friendly fire amongst the baddies as they somehow -completely miss- the crazy little ghost of a woman, then she's right back behind cover near the other two.

(This is so not going well…) "Tell me where he is and you idiots can live to suck meth another day!"

Kurt exhales in a theatrically long-suffering sigh. "Language, mein freund," is murmured again, but it's obvious that the fuzzy blue elf is taking everything in. Situation, status, and movements. Taking one, two more steps towards the stairway, his tail flicks once, twice before, "Ja, will do. Und then tell me if you want better placement."

In that next second, the demon X-Man is gone in a cloud of brimstone, the sound of his passing that soft bamf. It's that next second that is the dead giveaway. Screams sound, and yet more gunfire that doesn't seem to drown out all the cursing and shock at seeing a yellow-eyed, fang-toothed, spade-tip-tailed demon. Grabbing the gun with his three-fingered hands, he takes hold of the main hand that holds the weapons with his tail and yanks before he's gone in the next instant.

BAMF!

"Got it!" There's a moment when he's hanging there, upside down on the ceiling, and he blinks at Domino as she's finding cover .. or not..

"I am not a worm," sounds, perhaps a little insulted? Hurt?

Dropping the weapon on the ground, Kurt looks around for his next target.

"Yeah, and you're lucky we did show up," Logan shouts towards Domino while charging to the base of stairs himself, meeting the few thugs on their way down while Kurt deals with the lot still higher up and armed with whatever made the roar earlier.

The short old Canadian doesn't opt for snikt'ing, not in an apartment building in the Bronx against drug dealers, anyways. Unnatural strength backed by the weight of adamantium and unbreakable bones really does a pretty handy number on meth heads.

There's gunfire, and grunts from Logan as he eats a few bullets. There's louder noises from the people he deals with. Most of the meth heads and friends winding up in crumpled heaps.

"Good work. And yeah, you're an elf." Flashing the other X-Man a grin, the feral heads to meet the lot coming in the front door and getting shot a number of times as he does. Better him than one of the others though. A fist cracks one gunman's jaw and without turning his attention, Logan calls, "You alright, Dom?"

'Language!' 'Manners.' 'Language…' "Would you two give it a fucking rest?!" Domino snarls at the pair. "Not the time for formalities!" (Excuse me fine sir, but is that an Italian Beretta M9? Smashing good choice, sir. I'd quite fancy a go with it, if I might indulge for a moment.)

Clack-clack-clunk. There's a blood-streaked stainless M9, lying in the hall.

"You're right, worms are a lot easier to catch," she starts to scoff before realizing that Kurt's now perched there with a flippin' machine gun in his hands. Once again she's staring up his way. "They're also not nearly so well armed. You done with that, Blue?" (Starting to run low on ammo again. For the first two.)

Only someone like Logan could walk into a hail of bullets, get shot to hell and back, then ask the person behind cover if -they're- doing alright. "No, I'm not fine," she snaps back with a glare over her shoulder. "This run's a complete bust!" BLAM-BLAM! "I'm back to square -fucking- one."

The mass of bodies piling up helps prove that point. It's a massacre, and not a single useful thing came out of it. Forensics are going to have a field day come morning.

BAMF!

Kurt's back to running forward support, landing on the shoulders of one that looks to be hiding out just to take a swing at Logan. With two hands, two feet and a tail, Kurt flips backwards, still holding on to the guys shoulder to slam him against a wall.

"Ja. I think it's the ears." Kurt actually laughs as he leaps from the floor back to the wall, and onto the ceiling. But it's a nickname he likes, and it's a lot better than what even Domino called him!

See now, Kurt knows that his friend is truly holding back, or it'd be a real massacre. This 'Domino', however, she apparently isn't seeing it all quite like the two seasoned Xers… and there's a lot of blood. Death. Near death with them moaning, calling out, or simply slowly spilling their life's blood on the floor.

Gleaming eyes narrow, and his lips press into a fine, fuzzy blue line as a decision seems to be made. "We're leaving."

It's with that statement, then, that Kurt drops to the floor, and reaches for Logan to just teleport out… but he won't forget Domino either. (Even if she called him an 'it'.) She'll get his tail, however.. before—

BAMF!

Central Park, New York City. It's cold, dark and out by one of the smaller lakes, on what used to be a bridle path. "Nothing could have come from that."

Sporting numerous new bloody holes in his jacket, shirt, and pants, Logan's body is steadily healing itself, bullets being forced out of wounds as they heal and falling to the ground.

"These guys have enough fucking guns? Who'd you piss off, Dom?" Logan shouts while bowling into another gunman. The guy sprawls back against the ground, quite likely with a fractured sternum or worse, "Definitely the ears," he answers Nightcrawler before turning to cast a look in Domino's direction.

Hearing Kurt's comment, the old Canadian grunts, "Probably a good idea. Grab Spot, before she catches a bullet somewhere unfortunate."

A couple BAMFs later, they're standing in the park. A few last bullets fall from the short mutant's figure and he pats at himself before wondering, "Anybody besides me bleeding?" Blue eyes settle on Domino, hand reaching to an inside pocket of his jacket to pull out a cigar case, "And you, Dom, are gonna be a real good girl and tell me what the fuck is going on, yeah? Yeah."

The case has a hole in it, alas. Pulling out one cigar, the thing is trashed so he tosses it aside before pulling out another which appears to have survived. Fetching a match he lights it, takes a deep puff, and then blows out the smoke with a long exhalation.

Yet again the question is asked, who'd she piss off? "I thought that much was obvious!" she yells back while holstering her sidearms in favor of the belt-fed so conveniently dropped right beside her. (Now we're talkin'…) "Guns are like beer, you can never have too many!"

She's just about to unleash unholy hell in a standard NATO format when she's grabbed. By a -tail.- Then her world turns inside out.

And very nearly her stomach.

The flock of pigeons that suddenly depart from near where the trio ends up very nearly get mowed down by a very high rate of fire. (Wait, I recognize that statue…) There's Domino, holding an impossible to hide automatic support weapon. In the middle..of Central..fucking..Park…

Point for the pigeons, they don't get cut down because she's too busy dropping onto a palm and knee with a wretching sound in the back of her throat. "A little warning—?!"

For all of the firepower she's now lugging around, somehow none of it feels adequate enough to take on Logan's next demand. As she rises from the snow, breath misting from blackened lips, she turns another glare at the slightly stunted scrapper. "None of your damn business, Logan."

Maybe it's for the best if she walks it off in the cold night air for a while. It's not like she can't be found again. By these two? It probably wouldn't take all that long.


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