Primal Kravings

Summary:
December 17, 2014: Wind of an endangered animal auction gets to 'Camille' and Fantomex, and they show up to free a man named Kraven of a lot of things.

Gotham Docks

On a ship only briefly docked named 'Gold'.


Characters

NPCs

  • Random emits by Melody Kenway
  • Kraven the Hunter

Mood Music:
[*<http://insert.video.or.music.link.here>]


Whether or not anyone needed notes on where Selina goes, her office just above the stage has anything she doesn't care to be seen laid out. One piece of note is a black envelope, small and sealed with a gilded old fashioned wax mark. The paper to the side looks like parchment, and the old calligraphy writing seems to even give that feel of lost time.

Written on the letter: // Dearest Camille,
You are cordially invited to our private party, as you have shown an interest in not only prime collections of excuisite taste, there will be much more to offer you as your inquiry has been heard, and hopefully you will be one of the many highest bidders on a new companion.
Signed,
The Exhibit(ion).

When flipped it gave a puzzle, but if you knew Gotham, you would know where to go, and scrated hastily beneath it all Selina left the name of the building as she solved it and hastily left.

-The Docks. ~Worth it's Weight.

Camille has word out on the streets, Camille also has a full sheet of known on the streets as a collector of exquisite animals. Live, not dead. So when this comes in, it is a rarity and she is overly eager to come to this sort of soiree, and ruin it.

Standing before the ship at the docks 'Camille' wears a black pair of boots that lace to mid thigh but at the back, straps ride up the front, black lather that seems to skip in its wrapping path to disappear beneath the thigh riding hem of a high waisted mini skirt, the back though dropping off in a semi sheer train of mutliple animal skin patterns, colored in silver, black, and white. Her torso is corseted, the laces matching that off the boots, as does the straps that criss cross across the front. Topped off with the most refined diamons, as well as those white gold claws upon fingertips.

Daggers edge skim just above ruby lips, sapphire gaze offset by the plume of cigarette smoke that is snared away and cast aside. Red head tonight. Fitting.

Step by step she heads for this private party on a ship called 'Gold.'

In this time and age this kind of auctions should be done online. Where they can be hacked by clever technorganic intelligences. Fantomex can barely believe someone is doing this without even a trace of electronic trail. Sacre Bleu, that is so early Twenty Century.

On the other hand, the auctioneer is relying in old fashioned means to keep intruders out. Guard dogs and thugs. The thugs are easy misdirect, the poor dogs are no good for a man without scent. Gotta love those secondary mutations. But who in the world would be so old fashioned to use snail-mail letters?

Inside the ship, where the auction is setup, the very old-fashioned gentlemen responsible for the whole setup is personally receiving the worst of the best (or is it the other way around?) of Gotham and neighbor cities. Some come all the way from Washington. A veritable collection of idle rich psychopaths, gangsters and collectors.

Camille, she of the red hair and dangerous-looking leather, gets a bow and a kiss in the hand if she allows. "So good to meet you in person at last," the big man has a Russian accent too. "I am your host, Sergei Kravinoff." Usually known as Kraven the Hunter.

The woman lets her hand be taken, the hooked clawed tips dancing the glean of black diamonds off Sergei's large hand as her own is brought to his lips. The smile upon her lips only dances at one corner, even her pale cheeks flushing lightly while heavily noir'd lashes bat. Her other hand comes to her plexus, just above the bustier pushed bosom as finally her own teeth flash in the slowly spreading smile.

"I was so flattered to get an offer, and one that I have anticipated for quite a while, I never thought my creature could be had." Camille puts on quite a show, now staring at the strapping Russian from beneath the half-lidded gaze of sapphires. "The Amur Leopard will make such a noble addition."
"It was as clever and elusive as its legend stated. A fine catch!" Proclaims Kraven proudly, inviting Camille to join the other 'guests' in the ship's upper deck, which has been setup as an auction room with a stage and hundred so seats. Kraven himself spends a few minutes greeting people, but soon retires to talk with his minions. After a few minutes the auctioneer comes with the list of items which include some living animals, a the white gorilla from Wakanda even rarer than that leopard, and will someone buy a five hundred pounds green anaconda? Sure they will. There are also the dead parts, of course. Pelts and bones of exotic animals, sometimes the value is in the size of the piece, more than the rarity.

Payment is in cash only. Because Kraven is old-fashioned that way. He takes dollars, pounds, euros and gold. No refunds. Buyer can take the goods or they will arrange the transport for free. That leopard is one of the last pieces, which is good, as it lets the money pile up. Most of the poor beasts sell for hundreds of thousands.

Lead to the upper deck that smile wilts away and while scaling the small winding stairs from below one of those semi sheer slips of fabric that trail behind her is shifted to the side, revealing the leather coils of her 'elusive' whip, held snugly like a serpent's coil about the birth of hips, those tipped edges clicking lightly like dangerous fingertips over leather coated thigh.

Letting it fall into place she moves to the small bar and orders a pink champagne, sure to pull free her small hand purse and flaunt a hundred dollar bill amongst the stack. Affluence is not bred in, it is bought, and you can blend with anyone for top dollar. No looks of question, only the two flutes of champagne gathered in her hands as she walks to stand on the deck and lean upon a rail, waiting for the beginning, and patience for the end with every small sip.

Weird thing that the waiter wears a full head white mask, right? The weirdest thing it that it takes Selina three seconds to realize he is Fantomex, when it was… obvious? He is playing tricks on her senses again.

"This is not real champagne, just to you know," states the white-clad thief. "To find real champagne you need to come with me to France, and we can steal those bottles that are not for selling." He glances to the big dark-haired man. "Monsieur Kraven could be a problem, I have heard he has a thing for animal-themed metas."

He can play with her senses all he likes, there is not mistaking that voice and he is offered that pther glass of champagne, as if she was already expecting company and paid in advance for it.

Those claws that wrought their first introduction tap along the flute of her own glass as it is held just before lips. "If you can find me a champagne I even /like/ Maitre de l'illusion you have a deal." His words about Kraven's little fetish brings a small smirk to her lips. "Well I a no meta so count me out. Vacation accepted."
"Alors, you would be completely safe, oui?" The smirk behind the mask is easy to spot. "I will find out where the money is being stored, you have fun, but don't drink this… mockery. Once they bring that cat you want, we will have to be swift, hmm?" He steps back and vanishes among the crowd. And Selina can see Kraven looking in their direction, he seems thoughtful. What did the Russian see is hard to say.

Don't drink the mockery? But she is so /thirsty/, definitely not for this crap though. What 'Camille' said was true, she despised champagne and never tasted one she liked, if he could prove her wrong, she'd applaud him. When he blink out and away though her sapphire gaze lingers back upward and upon Kraven who is looking her way, the smirk upon her lips not fading, she simply offers the man a rise of her glass and she sips it.

*Eich* Smile on, own it, pretend the bottom of the glass has diamonds in it. With a light shift the curve at the small of her back leaves the banister on the ships deck, her heeled steps carrying her closer towards the stage..

Of course Fantomex can make someone to like almost anything, but that is not necessarily a good thing. On the other hand, stolen champagne always tastes better.

The auction starts. It goes quickly, because they don't have that long and drawing attention would be dangerous in this city of bats and lunatic villains. Money changes hands briskly. And finally…

"Item number twenty three is a rare Amur leopard from the Jilin province of China. This male feline is about three years old and weight forty five pounds. Only about forty five of those animals still exist in the wild. Bidding starts at fifty thousand!"

'Camille' cannot stand it, and she only held this alias so long and for this very purpose, slowly she is weaving her way through the crowd, pushing closer as they wheel the caged leopard into the main view, the backdrop one of live beasts in chains and cages as well as ancestors stuffed and mantled, which some may do to those in cages when they get home.

Hopefully Fantomex has a good handle on there the money is, because as she pushes through people that mesh train of ribboned pieces is being shed, ripped by the curl of her grip and beneath each piece she is withdrawing gear.

*Rip*, at the seat of the seam those stitch-work gloves come on, pulled up to her biceps.

*Rip* Legs are completely free.

Somewhere in the crowd someone is treading on a rare red kanekalon, because the wig is gone and her mask is tugged down over her face, both hands now rising to tug the goggles down.

*CRACK!* The whip snaps upward, entangling into one of the fixtures and springing her figure from the crowd to spin and land upon the cage of the Amur, the feline pacing and panting beneath her and only pausing to sniff upwards at the intruder.

"Everything you have."

A lone figure dives upon the floor, sequined dress dragging against slick wood, hands outstretched as the figure snatches red wig with gusto. Before any polished foot could touch, or booted heel could snag, the figure slides towards an exit, prize in hand. She's been eyeing that glorious kanekalon the entire night, LaQuanda back home is going to be cray cray with jellies.

Folks and their weave.

Catwoman's appearance causes very mixed reactions, but none of them is particularly positive. Many of the guests try to leave quickly, a few watch fascinated, but a dozen of them pull out guns. So do Kraven minions, although the auctioneer makes himself scarce.

Kraven himself laughs loudly and steps forward, tearing off his own tux and stepping out of his expensive shoes. He was wearing leather pants to mid-angle under that? Yes he was. Maybe he should be a Gotham villain. He is very powerfully-built, one can almost believe the tales that say he captures the animals with his bare hands and disdains the use of weapons.

"Well, Camille. I knew you were more than you seemed, I have been watching you all the evening. Catwoman, yes?" He gestures to his goons to stand back. "Secure the money. She was not alone," he looks up to the woman. "Your friend had no scent. Who is he?"

Heard in the distance.. "Ooooooo giiirl! This hair!"

From that crouch her form shifts atop the cage, unfearing of the wild beast beneath her, not when she shares a kindred with it and they silently share whispers unheard by intruders around them. Partially open mouthed the leopard looks up and sniffs at the leather and claw clad hand that daringly grips its bars, almost like it is panting until it smears its furred cheek against her grip - marking, scenting her - often mistaken for affection from felines despite shared kinship.

Kraven's display garners a yawn from the red huen lips of Catwoman, in her stretched crouch where she braces herself above the feline she stretches now, a languid gestire that rises hips and brings that other hand forward, a flash of metallic claws in the exaggerated reach forward and grip now curled around the outer edge of the cage.

"Friend? I have no idea whom you speak of. Cats run alone…" The whip snaps to her side in a show of flare, the crack causing a disgruntled groan from the leopard beneath her, making it pace again, but in that gesture and fleet sweep of her hand the cage door slowly creaks open. "..Unless we have a purpose. Show me how you do what is rumored!" And in that moment she lunges forward with the spotted beast just behind her.

"Not lions," replies Kraven with a broad grin. "What kind of cat are you, girl?" But Catwoman charges. And the leopard follows her? Leopards -are- solitary hunters. That one is unexpected, but hardly threatening.

When Kraven moves, he does with remarkable speed. He jumps to intercept Catwoman and grapple her down. Along the way the poor leopard receives a kick that sends it flying and crashing against the now mostly empty chairs where the auctioning crowd was seated.

Meanwhile, in the lower deck, Kraven goons find that the money and gold from the auction is not where it should. They are shouting orders to close the ship and search the whole place for the thief. Also, to bring the dogs so they track down the intruder.

"LOCK DOWN THE GODDAMNED SHIP!"

"Find who took the money!"

"Somebody get King to sniff this asshole out!"

"One you will never obtain." Catwoman states as she is grappled down, unconcerned with herself as the leopard is kicked aside like garbage. Her lips peel back and a growling hiss even seems to escape her as they roll off to the side and she twists from him, her body writhing acrobatically to turn to the side and slide free, hitting the ground in a roll that she managed to warp into something acrobatic and landing her on her feet.

One hand is planted on the ground, her stilleto'd feet are in a balancing splay behind her, knees lightly bent to spring while the other hand snaps that whip in a criss cross motion before her.

"Cross my heart, you will pay." But instead of lunging for him she takes yet another risk to bet on her lives of nine, going for the other cages while people in the crowd now begin reeling, yelling, running. The leopard having regained its footing and acting like any other trapped and confused animal, claws and fury as it seeks its own escape through running legs.

As every cat owner knows, the idea of 'cornered rat' is nothing compared with a 'cornered cat', particularly an injured one. Kraven kicks hard, and the leopard is in pain. So the fools that didn't run when Catwoman appeared are now going to lament the decision. Some are going to need a large amount of stitches. It is amazing how much damage can a 50 pound cat cause in three seconds.

On the other hand, Kraven is just fine. He twists his body with lands on his feet, and his grip on Catwoman feels like steel. He is clearly superhumanly strong. "Let the animals alone. If I have to hunt them in a city they could get hurt." It is likely they would also hurt some humans, like that leopard just did, but that is not his problem.

That capturing grip brings her to shocking and abrupt halt, one that has her reacting much akin to the leopard. Though she isn't (yet) injured she spins on him, that solitary hand bearing claws that protrude from her gloves, hooked and anchored, going right for his eyes to dig her thumb into his opposing one if he does not move. Her other hand snaps that whip upward into the scaffolding, jerking herself upward sharply and if Kraven does not let go she is going to take him with her, by his own grip or by the one that threatens his sight.

Within the crowd the leopard has found an opening and is making for it, though it is one that takes it up into the scaffolding Catwoman is trying to sling herself up and into, favoring its right side from the kick, but within the light slashed shadows above the only telltale signs of the beast is that glow of eyes, a glow that is watching the duo in conflict.

Kraven lets go with an arm to block that slash to his eyes. Instead red lines appear over his forearm, but he barely winces. He has the scars of tigers and worse on his skin. He doesn't let go, even when Catwoman kicks him, and he weights well over 200 pounds. Climbing with him is going to be hell.

But up over the scaffolding is Fantomex, opening a hatch on the ceiling and reaching with a hand to grab the whip. One of his guns is in the other hand, and he shots twice. Selina can feel the bullets graze her skin. Kraven twists his body to try to avoid them, but one of them slashes his shoulder. He drops Selina and dives for cover, lightning fast. "Monsieur, do not try to follow us. I… ough…"

Because the leopard jumps up, lands on Fantomex and jumps again. Amazingly, the thief in white holds on the whip and even pulls up. Muttering in French about ungrateful cats.

Catwoman is not ready to go, not yet. The animals! Kraven is being hauled up with her despite the difficulty, the flux and press of sinewed muscles beneath the leather can easily be contoured out in their strain as she holds him in reciprocal fashion, her body like a dancers on a line while she contorts and swings her legs around, scissoring them to try and drive one silve heel into his…

The heated burning feeling of bullets grazing her skin make her cry out, her body jolting and taking a moment to regain upon that whip, casting an narrowed glare… Until she realizes who it is and that weight is gone, Kraven wisely taking cover.

"I can't leave them." Her eyes snapping to the leopard and back to Fantomex… "The money has no worth if they rot in cages."

"Cops are coming, chere, they will take care of it," replies Fantomex, hauling the woman up. "You can't fight him with a whip, you are a street cat and he is a damn gorilla. He would tear you apart, and then I would miss you terribly."

The goddamned leopard is calmly licking his paw on the top of E.V.A. Apparently he doesn't mind technorganic flying saucers too much. Besides, it is the highest point in the area, as the flying craft is hovering about a yard over the top of the ship.

Catwoman's look from Fantomex and to the cages as they are slowly distancing in sight is one showing the evident /tear/ in her emotions, her desires and the will, even her grip upon her whip falters and she slides back down only centimeters.

Lips draw thin and teeth flash, determination there, but the -know better- sense kicks in and she takes the win on the hearkening cry of sirens' wails. Her other arm that hung in wait of final decision, the one grazed by bullets finally lifts and takes Fantomex's hand, hauling herself up to sit crouched at his side, still staring down.

"Is he going to be left with nothing?" Now she finally turns goggled eyes upon him and then the preening feline. At least one would be free, she will personally deliver it back home after checking its wounds and ensuring no tracking devices were implanted.
Fantomex gives Catwoman an odd look. "I do not know." He never paid attention to Kraven, honestly. "We can try to find out more about him, but… not right now. He is coming." Along with a cadre of goons, armed goons. From the outside of the ship. They are going to get caught in a firefight if they don't leave quickly. And that would involve him (and E.V.A.) having to kill a dozen thugs and perhaps Kraven too. Not worth the money, which is already stolen anyway. So he grabs Selina and jumps to E.V.A. outer disk. She can berate him later. The flying saucer floats away, cloaking itself quickly.


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