Super Screwy

Washington D.C., 12:34 P.M., February 14th, 2018

---

Although it has been 21 years since the world had ended, but the city of Washington, D.C. had not recovered like most of the rest of the world sort of had. Although pretty much every city had been damaged by the battles between psychotic rebels and sociopathic military and law enforcement, Washington, the place that had once been the center of the old government's power, had been especially damaged.

Most people avoid it. It brings back bad memories, or else reminds them of their parents' bad memories. It is mostly uninhabited by civilized people, save for a few freeholders and a bunch of loners, although the loners can't exactly be called civilized, usually.

However, the place does attract a certain class of people. It is all but swarming with roving bands of outlaws, nomadic mercenaries, wandering scavengers, and "agents of freelance acquisition", and when a landholder, freeholder, or lieutenant who lives nearby requires the services of said outlaws, mercenaries, scavengers, or "acquisition agents", that means they know where to go.

One of the few permanent locations run by said scoundrels and used in their hiring is an old, run down bar called the Black Cat. It went mostly untouched by the carnage of the revolution, and was fixed up in 2007 by a man known only as "Quint", who happens to be a blazer of no small amount of power. Quint doesn't tolerate any shit in his establishment, and those who refuse to leave when he tells them to learn the hard way that they should do what he says. The beer is actually pretty good, but most people come here either for a place to stay (Quint uses what used to be the stores next door as makeshift bedrooms) or to get hired or hire people for... various enterprises.

You have all, for your own various reasons, found yourselves at the black cat. Some of you are familiar with the place. Others aren't. Some of you like it here. Others don't.

Umm... so, I was here, I guess. If I wasn't, someone hacked my account. So, yeah.

Darren hated it here. Last time he was in D.C, his mind wasn’t his own. It hurt to see what the military and the rebels did to the once proud capital of the free world. It had too many bad memories. But he had his orders. The higher ups within the Chicago government had sent Darren and 11 others to recruit some mercenaries for their quest to take back Illinois.

The group had gotten within 50 miles of D.C via a Sikorksy H-34, then set up camp. The next day, on February 11th, Darren and 3 others walked the rest of the way to the fallen city, and split up to cover more ground.

So far, they had little luck. They managed to hire only 5 people, all of them amateurs. By now, the other 3 had given up. The others had decided to begin gathering Intel on the City, in the event the F.R.C decided to take D.C back.

Darren on the other hand decided to give his primary objective one more shot.

That's what brought him to the Black Cat. Scoping out the place for any potential guns-for-hire.

edited 10th Apr '18 4:00:16 PM by Warmaster23rat

Take him to Detriot

Black Cat

The Locksmith hated this place. Other people were an annoyance at best, and this place was filled with the lowest of the low. Loud, obnoxious brutes drinking and shouting and generally making nuisances of themselves. If she had a choice in this matter, she’d avoid this place like the plague.

However, it was a necessary evil to come here whenever she found herself without any work. Unfortunately, this was where new clients tended to make themselves known. So the best the Locksmith could do was position herself in a dark corner, away from the drunken mass of humanity that constituted this hellhole’s clientele.

This actually served a dual purpose. In addition to staying away from the dregs, sitting alone made her stand out more to potential clients. And if any sleazy drunks tried to approach her, well, someone’s bowel control could be considered a sort of lock.

Henry had heard stories about The Black Cat, though he probably wouldn't survive a day in D.C, so he sent Lucas to check it out. He lit the cigarette he had in his mouth with the one thing his family left him, an old Zippo lighter with a rose on it. Lucas surveyed the scene before him: A loud, boisterous bar, bursting with mercs and outlaws. If he was three years younger, he wouldn't have set foot in a hellhole like this, but because of how his time in exile shaped him, he kinda liked the place.

Looking around, he saw, among many others, an edgy Asian girl sitting alone, and a tall, rugged black guy who could probably punch his head clean off. He filed them under people to avoid, and sat down at the bar. When the bartender got to him, he ordered a fireball whiskey. He wasn't a big fan of the drink, but it was decidedly on brand for him. He sipped it, suppressing a cringe, and started surveying the scene again. He noticed some people looking at him, but most of it seemed to be in passing.

The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.

Henry took a sip of his drink and let his eyes wander around and take in potential allies.

His drink was non-alcoholic, of course, mostly because of his parents. St. Augustine enforced a minimum drinking age of 16, but his parents had always told him to wait til he was 21. They said that was how it was before. Henry didn't mind the wait.

Henry had come always the way up here for a few technical reasons. First, he'd heard that some of the more useful types could show up around here. Second, his parents had mentioned DC once, though not positively, and it made Henry curious. Third, he just felt like it. DC was just as good a place as any, maybe.

Henry had taken a seat at a corner booth but then stood, making his way up to the bar. Silently he expelled attention from himself, not hard, just enough for people to not notice him if they scanned the room. Someone looking specifically for him might see him, but most else would pass on by. He'd had the rare moment when people realized they couldn't stare directly at a certain spot, but hopefully that wouldn't happen. In any case, he was both looking for a job and looking for people to work a job with him. With any luck, he'd get both.

Riding Into Town - Jay

Jayden loved this place! There were so many people, all so polite too! He waved at the people who split to either side to give him as much space as possible. That was good, Silva was pretty big anyway. He looked down at the smudged note that once was the name of the shop he was looking for. Totally illegible, but that was fine. He remembered that the name was a color followed by an animal. How many possible shops could there be like that? Jayden craned his neck to look at the signs nearby.

"Rusty Boar... Pink Hippo... White Terrier... Oh. The Black Cat, that sounds close enough."

Silva kneeled to let Jay down as he hopped off and followed hot at her master's heels as he headed towards the door. Jay threw the door wide open and strolled in. A surprisingly large amount of people tried subtly moving towards the back corner as he did so. How considerate of them, thankfully whatever he had wasn't catching like last time he was in town. [[note: He probably dragged Noro into town or something.]] Somebody wasn't quite so quick to give him space though. Strangely, the man reached into his pockets before Silva grabbed the man's hand in her maw. Jay decided to leave Silva with her new friend, they seemed to be getting along great.

Jay strode proudly up to the bar next to someone who didn't appear to be enjoying his drink, a little conversation while waiting his turn for the bartender never hurt anyone. "Hello friend! How has your day be- " Jay stopped with a quick coughing fit that ended as soon as a short spray of blood left his mouth onto his new buddy's jacket. "Sorry about that, how has your day been?"

Argue everything you can argue. Doubt everything you believe. Ask every question you have. Argue, doubt and ask. Through this we learn.

Lucas watched the strange kid enter with caution, up until the brat coughed blood on him. He took another sip of the whiskey and splashed the rest on the kid. "A lot fuckin' worse since you pulled that, to be honest," intentionally accentuating his drawl.

He set the glass on the bar violently, though, careful not to smash it, and prepared to throw a punch.
And then he remembered the wolf.
He uncurled his fist, and looked at the bartender. "You think I can get a napkin or somethin'? That'd be real nice." He asked in a strained and stilted voice, dropping what he could of his accent. Then, he started smoking his cigarette again, exhaled a puff of smoke toward the door, and looked back at the kid.

"Don't do that again, if you don't mind."

The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.

Black Cat

Nope. No. Screw this.

Of course she would have the misfortune of coming into town on the same day as the disease kid and his f**king “pet”. And of course some idiot at the bar would splash whiskey in the kid’s face.

No way was the Locksmith sticking around for the inevitable slaughter. She hadn’t gotten this far in life by putting herself in unnecessary danger. Nobody here looked wealthy enough to be a potential client anyway.

With that said, there was no point in drawing unnecessary attention to herself. That beast might be agitated by sudden movements or something, or she’d cause a panic and get caught up in a human stampede. No, the Locksmith just casually stood up and walked toward the door at a pace that was fast without being suspiciously so.

The Black Cat - Why You Should Know Better Than To Mess With Quint's Bar

Quint felt the disease-carrying kid before he saw him. Of course. It was some kind of noro, probably. His disease manipulation was one of his secondary powers, so he didn't have as much practice with it.

He reached out, snatching all of the disease that had splashed all over the damn place. Of course, to most people, it wouldn't seem as if anything were different, but to someone with disease sense, like Quint, all of the viruses and disease-causing bacteria and fungi in the entire damn block suddenly left where they were and went into his lungs. He spluttered and coughed for about three seconds, making Ella, the bartender, shoot him a concerned look. He gave her the thumbs up. He then began brewing a little something of his own.

He sent the anti-Noro virus at the damn kid. It would be extremely painful for about one minute, but the kid deserved it for coming to his bar while sick, and he'd be completely clear of the virus after the anti-virus was done. The other fungi, Quint just stored.

He took a look at the wolf-thing the kid brought with him. It currently was devouring some Randy's hand. Of course, if Quint knew Randy, which he, unfortunately, did, then the bastard deserved it, but it would set a bad precedent to allow fighting in his bar, even if it meant Randy got what he had coming to him. With the mental equivalent of a snap of his fingers, barely more effort than it had taken to gather all of the pathogens in the area, The wolf was tied up in ropes made of freezing blue fire. Quint walked over to the wolf. "Look," he said to it "I know Randy's a dick who deserves everything that he gets, but I can't have fighting in my bar. If you continue to do this, there will be very unpleasant consequences. Understood?"

He thought back to his time in the force. If he'd had these powers back then, he would've been able to do more to protect people. Of course, he also would've killed a lot more of them during the revolution. That was why he didn't like to think back to those days. He didn't know what had come over him, but, well, he lived in constant fear that it would come over him again. That was why he avoided leadership. Why he had thrown away his badge and opened a bar in the middle of post-apocalyptic D.C. where scoundrels and mercenaries got drunk and got hired by equally corrupt but more charismatic scum of a higher variety. He had actually begun to like it here, but it certainly wasn't because of the customers.

Umm... so, I was here, I guess. If I wasn't, someone hacked my account. So, yeah.

Henry flinched when the kid coughed up blood on the guy next to him, and he flinched again when the guy dumped his drink on the kid, the second time more out of sympathy than surprise. Henry stood up, still expelling attention from himself, and moved to the corner. He kept eyes on the two at the bar and glanced for half a second at the lady making to leave.

Henry reached into his pocket, retrieving a small rock he'd found somewhere or another, and rubbed it nervously. He didn't much like conflict, and these two seemed ready to cause some. Then again, the bartender clearly didn't want any conflict either. Henry wondered, after seeing the fiery ropes tie the wolf up, if the bartender himself was available for hire. Probably not, Henry thought, But it would be nice. 

As a test, and partially to mess with the woman leaving, Henry decided to try something out. He focused his powers, then released them in the form of drawing attention, specifically to the lady, who seemed to be very calm for the situation. While he was doing it, though, he dropped the expel attention stuff he'd been using, though since soon everyone's attention would be on the lady, it probably wouldn't matter. After all, he didn't use any gestures to use his powers; he would still just look like a normal kid.

Everyone suddenly finds The Locksmith to be the most interesting thing in the entire room.

Randy takes a moment to look away from his decapitated hand to glance at the woman who was suddenly so interesting. "Say, sweetheart." he says "How about I hire you for a 'job' I need 'done'. You're certainly pretty enough..."

Of course, the drunken perverts are much more of an immediate threat than the sober ones at this point...

Umm... so, I was here, I guess. If I wasn't, someone hacked my account. So, yeah.

Just his luck. Of all the people to stroll in, it happened to be some kid why was dying of some disease, with a pet wolf, who was eating some scumbag’s hand.

Luckily for Darren, he as around 3 seats away from the poor sod who got coughed on. Still, it made him uneasy. He discreetly unholstered his M1911, and placed it on his lap. Just in case.

Well, it looked like the owner-pressumbly a Blazer, given the fiery ropes binding the wolf- was handling it well. So, no need start a massacre.

And then suddenly, he had his attention unconsciously shifted to a woman trying to leave. He didn't really know what it was. Maybe some Blazer was in the bar trying to mess with him, just for the hell of it.

Darren laughed at the now one-handed man’s pickup line. “Nice pickup line ya one-handed freak!” The ex-Marine shouted at the man.

Take him to Detriot

Lucas turned toward and inspected the man who was coughing, and berating that wolf. Must be the owner of this place, if he has the influence to do the latter. He figured that people didn't need permission to do the former. His eyes shifted toward the Asian woman again. If he'd been paying attention, he would've noticed that everyone else did so, too. He took a second to study her, but he couldn't really make left or right of her until the guy who could punch his head off started laughing at the guy who was recently disarmed.

Dishanded?

Whatever.

He looked around and noticed that a large number of the Black Cat's patrons were staring at the woman. He had a bad feeling about this. Lucas flipped the top off of his lighter and looked at his new "friend."
"Please tell me this isn't your doing."

The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.

Black Cat

Shit. Everyone was looking directly at her. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid. What happened? She hadn’t drawn attention to herself, had she? Shit! Shit! As a thiefacquisitions officer, this was a worst case scenario, and her every instinct was screaming “ABORT! ABORT!”

But she couldn’t just run away. That’d make her look suspicious for no reason, and draw even more attention to her. No, she held her ground and glared back at the oglers.

And then some perv with a bloody stump where a hand should be made a pass at her. As was to be expected. She was a woman in a bar full of drunks, after all. Normally she took care not to draw attention to herself, and only had to fend off the occasional “suitor”, but it seemed today was not her day.

Sigh. Well, she might as well get this out of the way now.

“Cute. Just so you know, I’m a blazer. If you so much as lay a finger on me, I won’t be held liable for the results. And that goes for the rest of you too.”

Of course, it was mostly a bluff. She had a few tricks up her sleeve to be sure, but her abilities were largely unsuited for combat, and while she could hold her own in a fight, she’d still be screwed if these guys ganged up on her. Hopefully that was enough to get them to back off.

Henry realized something. He had just drawn attention to some probably innocent lady, and a fellow blazer apparently. The bar was full of perverts. Ergo....

Henry immediately switched his powers so that everyone should be paying attention to the handless dude. This, Randy, was it? Whatever. The point was, everyone's attention would now be on him. Keeping note to keep their attention expelled from himself, he walked from his place on the bar to the woman. If this worked people would just straight up not notice him as he walked over. However, that didn't stop his voice from being heard, so he was careful to be quiet.

Henry leaned closer to the woman's ear, careful to not touch her. He whispered quietly so other people wouldn't hear, "Hey, if you're a blazer, I got a job for you. And not like handless man's job."

The Black Cat

Randy, now with his left and, pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. Opening it up, he seemed about to attack someone, although since so many people were taunting him, who he was going to attack was the better question.

Suddenly, he went up in in freezing blue flames. After they finished consuming him, all that was left was a pile of fine white ash and the shattered remnants of frozen bodily fluids. "There will be no fighting in my bar!" Quint proclaimed, then picked up the remnants of Randy's switchblade and put them in his own pocket.

Umm... so, I was here, I guess. If I wasn't, someone hacked my account. So, yeah.

Black Cat

After simply staring into thin air for a concerning amount of time, Jayden simply said: "Nope. Nothing to do with it." Before turning to the bartender and ordering, in his own words " two mugs of the strongest stuff you have."

Silva, for it's part never answered. It just spit out Randy's hand and got up through the chains, suddenly seeming much less solid. Silva padded over to her master and layer down on the floor, still big enough to put it's head on Jayden's lap despite his position on the chair. Jayden's only response was to scratch Silva behind the ears. "Such a good girl. Where'd your friend go? I don't see him anywhere. If you don't want to scare your friends off you shouldn't play so rough."

Jay turned to his new friend, "You need a replacement drink? You seemed to have spilled yours."

Argue everything you can argue. Doubt everything you believe. Ask every question you have. Argue, doubt and ask. Through this we learn.

Seeing a scumbag get turned into a pile of ashes is bound to startle anyone. No matter how experienced. Darren stared at where the boor bastard once stood, before going back to observing the crowd.

High up on his list was the owner of this establishment. He seemed a bit too calm with the man burning to death. No what could he offer him? Well he could offer him to set up a bar in Chicago. Plenty of abandoned buildings to go ‘round. Yes, he doubted the Owner would leave D.C, but it might be worth a shot.

Eh. Better save that for later.

Take him to Detriot

Lucas looked at the kid, at then at his wolf, and then back at the kid. Maybe it'd be a good idea to be nice to him, people seem afraid of him. But he seemed dumber than a bag of bricks. That would get annoying. Fuck it.

"What the hell, sure." He nodded at the kid, "I'm Lucas."

The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.

Black Cat

The Locksmith suddenly felt her attention being drawn to the handless perv. Just in time to see him draw a knife and get incinerated for his trouble. Well, that was one less person to worry about. Then she heard the whisper in her ear.

She turned to look at the source, but her eyes didn’t want to focus, wanted to return to the pile of ash that had been a man. Was that his power, then? The Locksmith thought for a second, then gave a whispered reply.

“I’m interested. Though you should know, my skillset revolves primarily around the acquisition of items. Particularly items already in the possession of other people. We can go over my fees later.”

"Perfect, perfect," Henry whispered back to the Locksmith, not that he knew her as that yet. "I have a job in mind stealing something from one of the landholders roundabouts, one of the big fish. It won't be easy, but the rewards will be fantastic, I swear. Just... follow me out the door if you feel like hearing more."

Henry backed up slowly, careful to keep everyone's attention away from her and himself, and fumbled for the door behind him. As he stepped out he sighed and dropped his powers, letting everyone go back to what they were normal doing.

"So," he would turn to the Locksmith, "What should I call you, potential job person?"

Black Cat

Jayden ordered another fireball for Lucas and when they came he grabbed his two mugs of an oily black drink and downed one like it was water. "Hi, Lucas. It's good to meet you. This is Silva, and Steward should be around somewhere. My name is Jayden. I can-" Jay stopped as a long hand fell gently yet firmly upon his shoulder inciting a half-hearted growl from Silva.

---

Black Cat: Steward

Introductions. Steward didn't like that.

Steward was watching as he always was, ready to step in. Something unusual happened. The bloodied man- Lucas, greeted Jayden. First Jayden came to the wrong store, now he threatened to get cozy. This just wouldn't do. Steward had gone out of his way to make the town revile and fear Jay. It was time to interfere.

Suddenly, it almost felt like everyone in the room had blinked. And steward stepped out of some spot that seemed to be behind an obstacle no matter the angle or proximity from which one observed it. He strode calmly up to Jayden laying a hand on his shoulder to stop him from talking too much. The stupid mutt was feeling bold today it seemed, earning the scruffy thing a glare that put her tail between her legs.

Steward turned to address Lucas. Light danced merrily through orblike eyes regardless of where any real light source was. A comforting dulcet voice flowed from the shadow around steward that seemed almost a refuge from the harshness of light. "I'm terribly sorry. It seems that Jay here has caused you some trouble. He does try to cover his mouth, but sometimes it simply doesn't work out for him..." Steward trailed off as Jay downed the other mug like it was nothing then continued apparently unfazed. "I do hope I'm not being rude when I ask what your business here is?"

edited 17th Apr '18 9:47:27 AM by TopGof

Argue everything you can argue. Doubt everything you believe. Ask every question you have. Argue, doubt and ask. Through this we learn.

Black Cat

The Locksmith followed her potential client out of the bar, only then being able to get a good look at him. He was young, real young, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have money. She had certainly worked for younger clients.

“You can call me the Locksmith. Or, if you’re one of those people who cares way too much about names, I suppose Smith is fine. Now, how about yourself? I don’t take anonymous clients; it’s a good way to get double-crossed.”

As she said this, the Locksmith reached into a pocket on the inside of her jacket and took out a business card, holding it out to her would-be client. On it was her “name” and a summary of her rather high fees.

"My name's Henry. Call me... Henry." He stretched, arcing his back. "Sooo, I don't know how to go about this, but... Jesus, these are high fees. I mean, I could probably afford it. Still. So anyway, the job entails robbery, which, considering your name, sounds like your specialty. I was thinking, maybe, we could go for this place, Atlanta, Georgia, or if that's too far, Columbus Ohio. Whichever you prefer. I know the Atlanta place better - I took some odd jobs there for a while - and that's my personal preference, but hey, I need some help to pull it off."

"See," he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands, "The Atlanta job is interesting. See, there's this blazer landholder with some sort of metal powers, or so I've been lead to believe. So he's been stretching out his feelers, hoarding precious minerals. I don't know why, but that stuff is valuable. Gold, silver, most people still take the pure stuff over a dollar bill any day. So how 'bout we split the loot, huh? I don't want much, or rather I don't need much, but it should cover your fees. Not that I can't cover them now," he added quickly. "It's just, it pays even more if we split it. So how about it?" He said, slipping into a more reserved demeanor. "I promise it's not a waste of time. Any questions?"

Lucas looked at the... thing... talking to him, and took a swig of the whiskey in his hand. "I don't know what the fuck you are, I just need some gas money."

The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.