The Spice Boys
Roleplaying Log: The Spice Boys
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Psylocke and the Punisher run into a couple of suspicious characters — and not just each other.

Other Characters Referenced: Owen Mercer
IC Date: January 02, 2019
IC Location: Hell's Kitchen, NYC
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 03 Jan 2019 06:03
Rating & Warnings: R for language
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Nighttime in Hell's Kitchen is still not much fun. There are still a few hotspots for those who like to go out and about. But there are also places like this, right at the edge of Hellraiser territory, where smart, sane people don't go. Gangs that dress in demon bones and are wanted for attacking city councilmen don't lend themselves toward tourist attractions. But Frank Castle lingers on the roof of a one-story building, wearing his trenchcoat, a black stocking cap — and his skull-painted vest. He's waiting for a pair of Hellraisers to come out of the bar beneath him, but the sound of a shout from the next block causes him to grimace. He hesitates, surprised at the draw of the person in trouble, the distraction from his mission. Looking down at the gravel beneath him, he grimaces, and then starts to move, running across the roof, grabbing the edge and vaulting down. His ribs creak with the landing, but at least he makes it easily enough, unlike at fight night, and then he's running toward the next alley over, where two men are struggling over a thick bankbag.

Psylocke was at that fundraiser, the demon bone wearing thugs, and had taken action against a couple. She doesn't need to dig for intel, not when she can read minds. So it is that a tall, striking woman is in the Kitchen at night - alone. Purple hair is braided back tight, and her clothing is dark, warm, and moves easily for action. She's slipped in and out of shadows easily enough, but it's the shout that has her moving. Thick soled boots are quiet on pavement, and she will arrive in the alley in short order, keeping to the dark. She will take a second to watch before she acts, but this is clearly not above board business.

Frank Castle comes around the other end of the alley from Psylocke, looking over the struggle for a moment himself. One hand disappears into his coat, grasping the grip of a pistol holstered there, "Shit." The gravelly words are enough to draw the attention of one of the two men, and then the other. The taller of the two, with bright red hair and a scar on his cheek, gasps in shock at the white skull on Frank's chest, while the other, shorter and darker, with a rounded face, curses in something approaching horror. They both try to clutch the bankbag, however, and end up going nowhere. The attention that Frank draws as he starts to stride closer to the pair, his shoulders low and broad, is great as a distraction, even if it wasn't his intention.

Psylocke will slip out of the deeper shadows, while the men are distracted by Frank. She knows the man's walk, she's seen him before a few times now. But her attention is elsewhere, moving to block any lame brained escape attempt, and then using her telekinesis to start lifting the bankbag skyward. If they hang on, they will soon find feet dangling above the pavement.

The redhead reaches for the bag with both hands, yelping in surprise and terror even as he goes to his tiptoes, off of them, and then drops back down onto his shoes, watching the bag with wide eyes. The darkhaired man, on the other hand, draws a knife, snarling, "What the hell? The Punisher has…" And then he notices the striking, purple-haired woman at the end of the alley, and he puts his back to the wall of the alley, "Shit. I shoulda never taken this job."

Frank pulls a heavy .45 from inside his jacket when the knife comes out, but keeps the barrel low as he looks past the men to the woman at the other end of the alley. "I know you." But he doesn't remember her actual name, just the insulting one that Owen gave her. A little smirk touches his lips as he looks to the two men. "You're fucked. Don't figure you want to Solomon the bag…?" Wait, the veteran Marine actually knows about Solomon's test?

Psylocke will smile at Frank. "Glad you remember." Is all she will say to him, even as there's a purple glow in her hand, that expands to the size and shape of a katana. Eyes will move from Frank to the dark haired one with the knife, a tip of her head. She looks almost disappointed at his backing up to the wall, even as she will take a couple steps forward.

The appearance of the katana out of nowhere draws the eyes of everyone in the alley. The redhead opens his mouth to say something, but the shorter man with the knife butts in, "The bag's mine. Fair and square. This asshole's just trying to steal it." Two words in, the redhead is talking at the same time, "Hey! No! I was goin' to the deposit and he tried to take it from me." The redhead glances back up to the floating back, then holds up his hands, "I don't want any problems, but I need that deposit."

Frank watched her drop Owen, but the appearance of the katana is still a surprise, his eyes widening slightly in the violet light before they narrow again. The big pistol comes up, covering the pair, with a definitely emphasis on the darkhaired one. "I say we just shoot 'em both." There's the faintest, driest hint of a smirk behind the words, the bare suggestion that he's joking, "But maybe you can make a glow-y lie detector."

There are slow, stalking steps forward. She will point at the redheaded man with the psi-katana. "Up against the wall." She doesn't look at Frank, eyes on the men now. Never know when they might do something dumb. "Well, it won't glow, exactly…" But she will do exactly that - she will slip around the edges of the consciousness of each man, and poke into his brain gently. "I can find out which one is lying."

The redhead looks almost as shocked at Frank's suggestion to shoot them both as at the psi-katana — almost. Still, he backs up against the wall as directed. The dark-haired guy, though, he looks a little like a cornered rat, hefting the knife readily and turning between Frank and Psylocke.

Frank hefts the pistol again, pointing it at the dark-haired one and gesturing for him to put the knife down. Pyslocke's response causes him to blink in surprise, "That's fucked up." Still, he's not protesting.

The redhead seems more afraid than anything else, afraid of what the two vigilantes might do and afraid of what will happen if he doesn't make the deposit. The dark-haired man, on the other hand, is a mixture of afraid and covetous. If he had the bag fair and square, it's likely because he stole it 'fair and square.'

"I am not sure how it's fucked up, but you can explain that to me later." Psylocke responds to Frank in a distracted tone. She's fully aware of the world around her, but between using the telekinesis to keep the bag aloft, her energy in the katana, and read minds takes some delicate balancing so she doesn't tread too hard in a mind.

"Ginger Spice here is really afraid of not making the deposit. Scary Spice is the one trying to steal. Of course, that doesn't mean either of them should really have it, but.. that's not my call."

Frank shrugs slightly at Psylocke's 'offer,' but he nods, keeping his attention on the two men — mostly the dark-haired one. "Question is, then, where the money comes from, yeah?"

Ginger Spice presses both hands to his head, his eyes going wide, while Scary Spice shakes his head, "No!" Yes. "No no." He takes a step forward, then stops as Frank tilts the pistol slightly, reminding Scary Spice that he's still covered. "It's blood money. Mob money. Drug money." He's lying, or at least lying-ish. Exaggerating at the very least. Ginger spice shakes his head, hesitating and biting his lips, "Just the vig. Nobody got hurt for it. Promise." He actually doesn't seem to be lying, although he might be exaggerating its clean-ness a little.

Betsy will lift and brandish that psi-katana when Scary Spice steps forward. The expression on her face and the glint in her eyes states that she just wishes he'd try her. "Scary is still lying way more than Ginger. Ginger is just stretching the truth to be near see through. This is your neighborhood, your call." She's just out for the fun of it.

At the suggestion that this is his neighborhood, Frank grimaces, shaking his head. "I don't want this neighborhood. I don't want any neighborhood." That's just griping though, because he gestures at Scary Spice with the pistol, "Play-time's over. Get the hell outta here." Scary looks from the pistol to the psi-katana and turns to run past Frank, who steps aside to let him go. Looking back to Ginger, Castle frowns thoughtfully, then grunts, "You tell your boss as long as he doesn't break any legs, I don't give a shit about his business. I hear he's gettin' rough, maybe I step in."

"No offense meant." Psylocke will state to Frank, watching Scary with a smirk as he chooses to run past the guy with the gun. There's a hint of a snort of humor, as she will lower that bank bag, letting it spin in a lazy clockwise motion in front of Ginger. "And don't forget, I can hear even more than he can."

Frank watches over his shoulder a moment, making sure Scary Spice actually disappears, then looks back to where Ginger reaches out for the bag as if it held the thing most valuable to him in the world. Maybe it does. "I'm just a runner, man. I just deliver the dough." He missed an opportunity for a clever combination of professions: baker-dough, something like that, but maybe it can be excused since he's totally freaked out. Assuming he can grab the bag, he takes off running again, leaving Frank and Betsy in the alley. "Everyone gets all territorial. Criminals, capes, masks…" He shrugs a little helplessly, wincing a touch as he does. "Shoulda known someone who could handle Twitch in the ring would be a vigilante." His eyes narrow, "Unless you're some new kinda cop like those nutjobs after the bombing."

That psi-katana disappears, as she looks at Frank with amused violet eyes. "I'm not a vigilante in the slightest. Was just in the neighborhood, hear the scream. Came to check it out. I've been a bit restless lately, work is slow around the holidays. Twitch… you mean Owen? That wasn't even a fair fight. I'd just never done underground ring fighting before, so I thought I'd do it for a lark."

"Oh yeah, that's why we all do it — boredom." Frank grimaces a little as he realizes he just lumped himself in with the vigilantes, but he lets it lie. "Yeah, you take away his stupid-ass bent sticks," the ones he took the name Boomerang from, of course, "he's not so scary." Still, he's seen Owen work with and without the boomerangs, so he stays wary, lowering the pistol but not holstering it yet. "Guess I don't need to warn you that you're on the edge of Hellraiser territory then, do I?"

Betsy smiles, a warm, bright thing that's meant not for fashion photos, but for conversation and laughter. "I didn't say I was bored. I just like to keep busy, try new things. I'd been idle a while too long, thought some fight and adrenaline would be just what I needed." Eyebrows raise, just slightly. "I know they work out of this area, yes. The warning is taken. Truth is, they ruined a perfectly potential date, and I'm not terribly enthused by their methods." She sounds so very, very British at the moment. "But if the warning is for my safety, no, it isn't needed. I don't carry a hand cannon like yours, but I am far from unarmed."

Frank nods his head slowly to accept her correction, smiling just a touch in response to her laughter. The smile fades away immediately, "You were there then?" He grunts sourly, "Pretty sure that the Hellraisers weren't behind it. Heard it from a source that I mostly trust. They don't screw around with magic anyhow." The veteran Marine glances down at the pistol, "This? This is just a sidearm." Said sidearm is holstered, "I can see that. Pity the asshole who tries to mug you."

"In a full stop ball gown. Which got ruined when I had to fight in the thing." There's a mockery of a sigh, as the model smirks. "That side arm would look ridiculous in most hands." She teases him gently, before her chin lifts. "They could probably use the pity, after I was done, yes. But it's not just the.." There's a brief glow in her hand, though there is no katana this time. "Though I hang around this neighborhood long enough, some idiot might try."

Frank smirks faintly at the mention of the ballgown, "And I fucked up a perfectly good dress shirt." Which doesn't compare in cost or effort to replace, of course. The glow causes his shoulders to tense slightly, his right index finger twitching a moment, "Yeah. And then the cops'd be all over the place." Not that he doesn't draw plenty of police attention himself. "Probably for the best to avoid that." One hand rises up to tap at his temple, "And avoid lookin' in here." Because he's thinking of baseball scores now, and that's just boring.

"We all have our little crosses to bear for fighting the bad guys." She grins at the mention of his dress shirt. "I doubt it. But I don't need that to beat the snot out of someone. It's a bonus." Brows lift as she looks at him. "I generally don't poke around in a head without a reason. You're a friend of a friend of a friend. So that pretty well puts you off limits."

Nodding his acceptance, Frank gestures toward her with one hand, "Yeah. That's why it's fucked up. I gotta trust your rules to say why you ain't goin' pokin' around in my head." And then he takes a step back, "Good luck findin' somethin' to keep you busy." He pauses a moment, "Psi-somethin', right?"

"I hate to break it to you, but I have enough of my own trauma. The last thing I need to do is go poking around in other people's heads. It's not fun, it's very rarely enlightening, and it is often downright boring. It can even be painful. It's not something you go out and do for a thrill." Her tone is dry, vaguely annoyed. "Psylocke."

"Psylocke. Frank." And now he can stop thinking about baseball scores. Theoretically. Next time it's stripping firearms and cleaning them. "Good. Everything should have a consequence."

"Everything? Lord, I hope not." Betsy is clearly amused. "Pleasure to meet you again, Frank. Next time I see you at Luke's, I'll buy you a drink." She's completely unaware of any thoughts or plans or the like. She will walk towards him, gait casual, as she moves towards the street behind him.

Frank shrugs a little at her amused comment, then nods, "Thanks in advance." Two fingers rise in a sort of salute, and then he steps back to let her pass by. No bravado-stances or attempts to slow her down there. Apparently, he's secure enough in himself for that.

Psylocke will return that salute, completely at ease as she walks on past. There's a faint hint of amusement lingering on her features, and she'll hum to herself as she turns at the sidewalk to head on down the way.

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