The First Rule of Fight Club
Roleplaying Log: The First Rule of Fight Club
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

A fight club night features metahumans in some twisted protest against the registration laws. Sadly, someone broke the first rule of fight club.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: December 06, 2018
IC Location: Somewhere in Hell's Kitchen, NYC
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 07 Dec 2018 05:26
Rating & Warnings: PG-13/R
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits: Colleen Wing as Fight Club NPCs/NYPD
Associated Plots

It's around 1 AM in Hell's Kitchen. The temperature has dipped below freezing, driving most into the warmth of inside — if there is an inside to go. Near the waterfront, dozens of lots stand empty; after the arrest of Wilson Fisk, each and every of his warehouses were stripped and all contents confiscated.

With the right number of bribes, right number of palms greased, right number of eyes looking the other way, the organizers snared one of these warehouses for just one night — the fight night to end of all fight nights. The chosen site is behind several other looming lots, tucked near the water, but also obstructed by a massive container ship. There's two primary entrances into the venue — and crime scene tape hangs down from the doors like fringe on a flappers desk. There's massive bouncers at the doors, and a careful eye would catch the strange blue that runs through the veins, and the fact that they appear to be perfect sextuplets — metahuman bouncers for a metahuman event.

Inside, the seating is spread across the floor, into the mezzanines above, and the catwalks. Those upper seatings have tables and chairs and a rough bar has been set-up — a bar that does not check ID and does not mix drinks or has wine (so don't ask), but is happy to give cheap beer and shots of liquor. The center of the bottom level is occupied by a large reinforced fighting ring — thick plywood floors supported by heavy bolsters and barrels of cement. Someone had the bright idea to make this a cage match, wrapping the entire square of space in chain-link fencing and topped it off with a lid of the same construction.

The warehouse has been opened since midnight, and the crowd is immense and some of them already very, very drunk. There's signs in bright neon that point "Fighters" to what looks like a office cubicle near the back. There's a skinny dude behind a desk who is signing in fighters on a clipboard with two simple questions: Metahuman? (Y / N); Moniker.

At the top of the hour, a spotlight befalls the top of the cage and highlights a tall, narrow-muscled man in a dark violet button-up and dark jeans. His skin is like midnight, his smile warm and white between his dark lips. His eyes shine like violet light. "Is this fucking thing on?" He asks into the microphone he's holding, and the entire crowd cheers as if he had just asked more clichely How's it going, New York!. He grins that white grin. "Oh, good, good."

He balances neatly on the cage top wearing black sneakers, and holds up his hand to bring the crowd to a quiet hum. "I gotta do this shit where I read you the rules, so you understand what's what. Alright?" He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a folded piece of white paper. He unfolds it with the right amount of showmanship, clearing his throat, and beginning to read:

"Number one: each match will start with a handshake; number one: no groin-punches or eye-gouges; number three: no spitting — what the fuck is this?" He looks up seriously at the crowd, but there's a little swagger to his smile. The crowd appeases him with a low chuckle. "Nevermind." He balls up the paper dramatically, chucks it over his shoulder, and flashes up two fingers. "Two rules! No ranged attacks, and don't try to kill each other!" The crowd cheers, and the host grins another brilliant grin.

* * *

Emery arrives from Midtown Manhattan.

* * *

Bruce Banner tries to keep a relatively low profile amidst the spectators. He has on a grey hooded sweatshirt and an LA Dodgers stocking cap. He keeps his hands tucked into his pockets and has on a pair of sunglasses. He looks a little like the Unabomber, which probbly isn't ideal for not arousing suspicion, but better he be anonymous and suspicious than recognized and called out. Who knows, someone might be foolish enough to try and get him in the ring. And that would be bad. For everybody.

Bruce understood the rules of the fight club all too well. He doubted Hulk did. And, if he somehow did, he seriously doubted Hulk would care.

* * *

Frank Castle is not a metahuman, unless you consider ridiculous levels of stubborn and hard-headed to be metahuman. He also looks like he's already been in at least one fight already, sporting an aging shiner and a beautiful purple-yellow bruise on the opposite cheek. He is also rocking the Unabomber look like Bruce is, with a watch cap and hoodie, although he's added the ultimate in disaffected teen couture: the black trench coat. At least he's not wearing his skull-painted vest. He's up on the mezzanine, a thermos that smells suspiciously like non-Irished coffee open on the standing table he's claimed, one hand wrapped around the little thermos cup and the other hand free in case things get ugly.

* * *

"No ranged attacks?!" the very offended, and possible very drunk voice of Owen Mercer rises above the din of the crowd. "What kind of garbo rule is that?!" Bah! The very concept offends him. Well that and greatly reduces the likelihood of him actually winning one of these things. To the surprise of no one, he can be found at the bar doing shots. Not a great pre-fight strategy, but well, it's Owen. Even assuming there is a strategy involved, it's bound to be less than ideal.

He's dressed for the weather in his leather jacket, with a hoodie underneath pulled up. His face is already pretty badly cut up, maybe he's already fought tonight? He takes another shot before calling out, to anyone in the vicinity, most of whom are ignoring him, "And what the hell's a Psylocke?! What does that even mean?! Is it a mind thing? Stupid telepaths and their stupid nonsense."

It's like he's asking to get ninja'd.

* * *

Being the biggest man around has its perks in a place like this. At nearly ten feet tall, the monster that is Cain Marko is, for once, in common company with the size of the crowd and the varied metahumans, mutants, whosits and whatsits around serving to keep his monster size from standing out -to- much at the moment and giving the goliath little reason to actually hide himself under the veneer of being more..normal(ish).

This isn't to say that if someone actually catches sight of him he doesn't cause breaths to catch in throats and people to grant him a wide berth. Far from that. He dominates an entire table with his immensity, watching the proceedings with a look utter irredeemable boredom. Empty drinks are strewn across the reinforced table. His chest swells as he rumbles a breath of discontent, the appropriate image of Godzilla peering between skyscrapers, stretching violently across the mass of his perpetually widening pectorals before he lets out a dragon like rush of air from his flaring nostrils and drums his fingers boredly against the table before him producing a sound usually associated with pounding boots from the drum of his finger tips.

But then the fight club is declared 'open' more or less and he perks up slightly in consideration of things and then shrugs, rolling shoulders the size of boulders before slowly creaking to his feet. Cyttorak's urgings must be placated it seems. "Alright, alright.." he rumbles to himself, "Fine then.."

Now all that's left is one simple question..and that's not who will survive The Juggernaut. It's how the heck did he find clothes that fit him??

* * *

"Hello, Owen." The voice is smooth and soft and comes from right behind Owen Mercer as he lets out his tirade against the rules and a bellowing demand to know what a Psylocke is. Colleen Wing stands quietly behind him, smile perked slightly at one corner and strangely open despite her usual cool demeanor. She glances toward the fighting cage and back to him. Her brow arches. "What's a Captain Boomerang? Some kind of Australian thing?"

She's dressed in white again from head to toe, and today she bears the white-wrapped hilt of a katana over one shoulder. Her dark hair is braided back and then knotted. She looks sharp, clean, and serious — but that's Colleen for you. She looks over Owen and chides him gently. "You look like shit."

* * *

"I'd ask if I could buy ye a drink, but it seems like ye already have one." Emery Papsworth practically purrs teasingly in that Irish lilt as he sidles up to Frank's table. He is toting a duffle bag and a soft sided cooler which are dropped at his feet. He is not dressed like a unibomber, in a pair of designer black jeans, black docks, a dark blue cashmere hoodie and a dark blue beanie. Glint of a silver hoop in an ear as he tucks an unlit cigarette behind his ear. He looks out at the crowd, scanning and peering for a familiar face.

If Owen gets himself killed, Emery is going to kill him.

* * *

There's a presence of the law down below, though that side of Danielle Moonstar is carefully hidden away.

She moves with the general flow of the crowd, working for an unobtrusive angle as she goes.

And while she allows for polite head tilts and nods, her sharp eyes take everything in.

The speaker up on the cage, the faces all around, and those more familiar faces from those that she considers friends. While not necessarily near Owen, his sharp tirade is heard and it causes the Agent of Shield to briefly lift her eyes to the ceiling with something close to exasperation.

Then her expression tightens as she shifts to something closer to work-mode.

* * *

Psylocke is most assuredly not doing shots. Purple hair is braided back in a neat, utilitarian fall down her spine, hanging over the soot gray leather jacket she's wearing over a purple shirt with black leggings and laced up gray boots. She's not at all riled by the railings of a man drinking before he's due to fight. Her face is unmarked, and if anyone perchance follows fashion - they may recognize her even without any makeup or good lighting.

She will step closer to the bar, unzipping her jacket in a long motion, violet eyes on the man who had been screaming her code name like an idiot child. She gets a grin, moving to the bar to order two shots, of whatever decent vodka they may have. Money will be slapped down, before she will move over to the uncouth man she'll face later, setting one shot in front of him. "A toast? To your imminent defeat… at the hands of a Psylocke. A telepath with a stupid name." She will lift her shot glass, looking at him boldly with a challenge in her expression.

* * *

Jessica Jones stays far away from the bar. When she's with her friends, and only her friends, the bar isn't a temptation. She's even progressed to the point where booze can be kept in the house and other than occasionally opening the fridge and staring at it, she's okay. In this environment? It would be all too easy to revert to her old ways out of sheer habit.

She stands in baggy cargo jeans cinched tight with a belt, soft sneakers, and a Luke's Bar tank top. Not the personalized one Owen gave her, which reveals dark secrets about her nature that she does not want the whole world to know, but just a generic one, as if she's advertising her fiancee's place while she's about it. She's pulled her hair up into a tight tail. She's just finished sighing her name with a flourish. Blowing off steam this way struck her as a fine plan. Curiosity also drove her, and a general desire to get better, which she always has. And…there's Emery and Frank. She helps herself to their table because she knows them, turning a chair around and straddling it. "Hey Emery," she says. "Rambo. Mind if I sit?"

Patently ignoring the fact that she already has in fact sat. Well, she knows at least one of them is probably fine with it?

* * *

Tonight the Girl of Thunder thought she might drink away her boot-less woes with a long journey to the bottom of her bottomless flask. Well, not really bottomless. Tomorrow there will be more, and tonight it is almost empty, and as it empties, her brow furrows and she stops not far from the venue, looking down at her bare feet. "Look at them Toothbender. They used to be pristine. Perfect. And now they are covered with every bit of this city's worst offerings." Indeed, in just a few short hours, the bottom of her feet have become a warzone. "Verily, is there no boot-mason in this entire, ridiculous realm that ca-"

The goat gives a bleating roar of a sound, and Atli listens as if deciphering some complex code. "Hmm, yes, she did have quite nice.. everything. You're right, this will likely Fix Everything. You are such a wise companion, my f-"

BLEAT.

"Well no you can't have the rest, it's almost gone and I am on the verge of hating everythin-"

BLEAT!.

And that is how Atli Wodendottir gave away the rest of her godly drink, and found her way here to this, an arena for the ages. Already it has lifted her somewhat irate mood, and she presumes there must be something for her to drink inside, and so inside she goes. But not before stopping at one of the bouncers. Drunk as she might be, she still managers to count their number. "Verily, if I do not succeed on my mission tonight, I may have need of you and you and you and you and you and you."

With a sharp pat to the bouncer's bicep and no elaboration to be had, she and the goat step inside to the sounds of great cheering, and without knowing what she's cheering for, and seeing a man atop the cage she lifts a fist to the sky and shouts her approval! "Yes! Sing us the song of your people! Also.. where might I find all of your drinks." This last part she asks only to the nearest in the crowd, banking on the kindness of New York strangers like the fool she is.

* * *

This particular metahuman event has drawn a very particular set of eyes. Their arrival was discreet, and their seating is equally discreet at a corner table at one of the topmost mezzanines, but any glance that lingers long enough in their direction would eventually catch sight of a very singular thing:

Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch are up there, and they are not troubling to disguise themselves… at all, really, despite being the leaders of a terrorist organization.

And why should they? In a place by metahumans, for metahumans, they should be among their own people, in their element. Surely no one would have either the reason or desire to pick a fight, either — not here.

Pietro certainly does not seem concerned in the least. He is pouring his sister a glass of wine (having sorcerous hex powers makes everything feasibly 'bring-your-own'), in fact, while his gaze canvasses the area. "We might yet find some decent new blood here," he says to Wanda.

A glance casts down towards the cage, in the direction of the drunken Owen noises. "Though that one is already bringing down the average."

* * *

Frank glances over as someone approaches the table, studying Emery for a long moment before he nods a greeting and gestures toward the other side of his table with two fingers, a silent invitation. "Figured they wouldn't serve anything I wanted." He glances at the cooler and duffel, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Also figured if I tried to come in here with a carbine in a bag, they'd get pissed." Which isn't to say he isn't armed. That would be silly. Owen's voice lifts up to him from the crowd, complaining as the speedster often is, and Frank grunts a little softly, "Just here watchin' out for a friend…." and there's Jessica Jones, and Frank's stance shifts, feet widening as if he thinks he's going to have to fight or flight. Still, he grunts, "Snow White. Everybody goes with Rambo. No one's creative anymore."

* * *

The young mutant known as Rockslide doesn't get many chances to cut loose you know. So well when he heard some students talking about it, so couldn't pass up the chance to come to the city and have some fun of course. He wore his standard go out on town clothes, a hoodie and jeans of course. Once he goes to sign in, he is forced to give the guy a smart ass comment, "Really you have to ask if I'm a meta?"

How many none metahumans are made out of pure rock that is. Once that is taken care of he goes to find his own spot to wait for his match. Looking up at the guy when he explains the rules, he sighs a little. Well there goes the surprise move dang it. Firing off his fists makes for a great visual of course.

There is a glance around and he eyes the bar, wondering if this place would actually try and card the 7 foot tall rock guy. He just shrugs and goes to find his own spot to hang out, and wait for his turn to fight.

* * *

Spinning to face whoever is addressing him, Owen somehow manages to make a beer appear in his hand during that turn, like a magic trick … by an alcoholic. He looks offended at Colleen's question. "The goddamn best boomerang thrower. It's in the fuckin' name Colleen." He then looks at the sword and realizes that maybe he's not quite as unarmed as he thought.. he does have the boomerang knife. But this realization is stilted by her comments on his appearance. Again, offended he scoffs, "What? I always look like this.." Ooh, self burn.

Turning back to face Psylocke when she addresses him, he looks at the shot and scoffs, "Clear liquor. Super, didn't realize I was fighting a tri-delt." He picks up the shot glass and toasts, ".. I already forgot your stupid name." Which may or may not be true but it never hurts to piss people off. Well technically that's not true, it often hurts Owen a lot to piss them off, he just never learns not to.

* * *

The upside to getting you face blasted across all kinds of media is that usually your words and deeds are as well. For Rachel, that means showing that Excalibur's brand of metahuman heroics can work just as well in the States while also drawing spotlight to how the government selectively cares about metahumans for punitive legislation rather than protective legislation.

The downside is that she can't waltz into seedy places like this without people recognizing her. Sure, she could drop a mental suggestion aura to make people ignore her, and sure she's strong enough that she'd probably be able to squash even resistant people, but in a crowd of metahumans the chances of something going poorly (or someone just being immune) skyrockets.

Not worth it. Not when she's got a somewhat wild rep anyway. If candid shots turn up on social media and filter back to the press, whatever. Stark does worse.

Besides, being here might mean that Rachel stops something bad from happening at a time when the forces of registration are doing a victory lap before going in for another push.

Rachel gets in through the bouncer (#4, if anyone's counting) and walks just far enough into the warehouse to get out of the entranceway flow before stopping. Her mind glides gently across the astral resonance of the place, assessing who's around. A few of the results surprise her. Some don't. And then…

The woman called Phoenix — but, as of a month or so ago, no longer the only woman — looks up toward the topmost mezzanine. The hexweave crawls. She dare not touch it while in such a delicate situation. She knows how hard it bites.

Rachel starts off toward the bar first. It'll give the twins a chance to notice her on their own. Maybe it'll keep things calm. A drink will also keep her calm. She's very obviously Rachel Summers to the casual observer: a red leather minidress with a sweetheart neckline and a brass statement zipper, matching knee-high boots with sharp heels, and a slightly oversized, more-than-slightly beat-up jean jacket fixed with studs and an enormous firebird patch on the back.

This is going to be a mess, she thinks. It's a good thing she didn't ask Meggan along. This place probably feels like vape juice and beef jerky to unshielded empathy.

* * *

Colleen's eyes roll. Owen does that to people, and not even the mighty Sensei is immune. She steps back a bit as Psylocke comes in, and she slides slightly behind the woman to let the two size each other up. She crosses her arms at her chest, looking serious once more.

When Owen goes for the anger, she just shakes her head ruefully. Then she looks back at Mercer. "Remember what I told you, Owen." The katana-bearing woman pivots a bit, and then starts to walk along the mezzanine, letting Owen get his game face on. She passes by Frank Castle and Emery Papsworth, catches a whiff of the coffee, and then settles in near the pair to watch the starts of the fight below.

* * *

GM Pose

Down below, the host tugs out his phone out of his pocket, scanning something before he announces: "Alright, alright, alright. First up! We have — " He holds up his hand dramatically, pointing to the far end of the cage. "Terranova! — "

A spotlight falls on a tall, slender girl with skin that is an ombre of green and pink and purple, her hair standing up in a two-foot mohawk of pearlescent white. She's wearing street clothes that look about three sizes too big, and no shoes. Her feet and hands are oddly shaped and numbers. The crowd is a mix of cheers and boos, and she holds up her fist in a vaguely offensive gesture.

'' — Going toe to toe with," and the announcer pauses, glancing from his phone to the scrawny kid wearing sweatpants and a metallica t-shirt. "Wreck-it-Ralph? Dude, seriously. You look nothing like the guy."

The kid shrugs, smiles, and ruffles up his brown hair. "Give me a chance," he says, almost sheepishly. Then he steps forward, and with a ring of the bell, the fight begins.

Two things of important note: Terranova moves like she's got a monster living inside her, and Wreck-It moves like he's somehow made of putty despite being as thin as a stick. They collide with punches and kicks, and each kick seems to deform Wreck-It a bit more.

Terranova's foot comes up in a sharp jab, and there's suddenly a obvious claw that looks very velociraptor-esque as it slices across Wreck-It's gut. Blood comes, but not pain.

Wreck-It is swelling up, doubling in size suddenly, then tripling, and soon he's a giant blob of putty that slams into Terranova bodily, throwing her back into the cage with an audible rattle. She collapses, blood trickling down her temple where her scaled head slammed into the chains. Then she's up and charging and then two become a loss of color, scales, and human clay.

In the end, it's Wreck-It that stands over Terranova, pinning her to the ground on her belly with an enormous, misshapen foot of flesh-colored mud. She taps the mat, weakly, and the match is called.

* * *

"I was in the mood for vodka. I am afraid your insult misses the mark." Her voice changes, a slight British lilt. "I am not sure what a tri-delt is, but perhaps it's just your lowest common denominator vocabulary that throws me." She will tip the shot back, sliding the glass down the makeshift bar towards the tender.

"At least I know our fight will be colorful. I am sure you can teach me a wealth of interestingly low-class catch phrases and curses." She sounds almost upbeat about it. "See you in the ring, Captain Caveman." She turns to head towards said ring, shedding her jacket.

* * *

Bruce Banner keeps a wary eye on Juggernaut and scoots himself a bit away to try and stay clear of the big man. The last thing Bruce needs right now is to feel threatened and Cain was threatening just by existing. He reaches into his pocket and draws out a handful of pills, tossing his head back and swallowing dry with an unpleasant expression. He knows he needs to be cool under pressure. Things like this are tests, practice, ways for him to grow cool and distant and empty. Calm. Calm.

He tried not to be anxious about the results if he didn't manage to keep calm. THen the beastial creature roars and he jerks his eyes towards it, looking away again quickly. This may have been a mistake.

* * *

Meggan arrives from Midtown Manhattan.

* * *

Emery just smirks gently as he regards Jessica with a lift of an eyebrow "I've got hot chocolate, coffee, malteasers, cheeseballs, chicken wings, and a first aid kit. Also some cookies." He nods towards the cooler. "And some fancy as shit energy drinks." Then he looks to Frank and then back over towards the fights and then back to Frank. "I'm really just here to see if my adopted crazy as fuck brotherly associate gets his fake Australian wannabe arse beat like the red headed step child of a pain in my own ass he actually is…" He leans against the table. "Especially without his godamn razor sharp doublesided bent dildos of a weapon. I swear to god, if he gets his head kicked in, I am going to kick in his other head so that every time he looks in the mirror he's his own side show attraction…."

* * *

"Muscles McGee seemed a little over the top," Jessica tells Frank dryly, rocking forward until the front of her seat touches the edge of the table. "Seems like Owen's making friends and influencing people as normal." Despite the dry sarcasm in the tone, there's a hint of fondness as well.

As Emery gives his typically colorful and hilarious rant about Owen she starts chuckling. "He'll be okay," she says. "I hate to see what you have in store for me if I fuck up. Will you hold on to my ring when I'm up, Emery? I think smashing a little titanium knot into someone's face in the middle of a match is just a bit extra, and I also don't want it to get bent or broken or anything."

She is already digging for hot chocolate. Emery's hot chocolate is about 500 times better than any booze she could go after, and the first gulp of it eliminates any and all lingering temptation.

* * *

Cain rumbles past Bruce with all the grace of the largest oil tanker moving past a four person fishing boat. He takes little mind to who or what is around him. They either, wisely, move out of his way, or are easily bumped aside. A few drinks are spilled and glares tossed his way but the night is to young for the drinking to dull the senses so much that anyone actually thinks of hostile action against the giant once they get a look at him..and he continues on towards the ring and where the fighters are to sign up.

Ultimately he produces a massive wad of money from his jeans and this is stuffed towards the betting folk?fight organizers?whoever is in charge of such things.

"Put this all on me." He rumbles and then pauses when considering what name to use here. "Uuuuh..Marko.." he says, unimaginatively, while shrugging and then turning to make his way for the ring while stretching his tree trunk sized arms.

* * *

Entering the ring, Owen strips off the jacket and throws it off to the side. He finishes his cup of beer and throws the empty cup off to the side where it lands, right side up on a table. And with a handshake, along with a wink and blown kiss from Owen the two fighters begin their attack. Owen is obviously more from a military, boxing school of fighting with his fists up and his footwork. He moves around, waiting for Psylocke to strike, moving to block her hits, but not quite show his speed. The hits come but he's able to handle it and counter.

After a good solid kick to his head, Owen's head he has to take a second to regain his balance, which Psylocke tries to take advantage of, but then he's just not there. He's behind her with a viscous kick to the back of the knee and choke hold.

* * *

Eventually the Asgardian finds her way to the bar, near shoulder to shoulder with all sorts, including a certain Firebird sort. Oblivious to anything but her goal of replacing the contents of her flask, she points to whatever bottles they might have, and though the crowd is most unknown to her, if nothing else she knows how to engage in a revel.

"You there, with the hair that looks like it is made of troll skin, drinks for all of my new friends, and also my goat!!"

Asgardian gold smacks the counter, and she shoves it towards the bartender, and moments later takes her pick of a bottle for herself. It certainly is not beer. One for her, one for the goat (who ends up EATING his bottle), and more for anyone else around. It is about then she does a kind of double-take, stepping back a bit to look at Rachel's back, and then squinting at her before she takes a drink. "You there, with all the spikey bits and that glorious bird on your back, you look familiar to me. Did we once storm the gates of Chronux together? My memory of that day is blurry but verily, I do remember a glorious bird."

* * *

Frank follows most of what Emery has to say. Things like 'malteasers' slip right past, but he gets 'fake Australian wannabe' and 'doublesided bent dildos of a weapon,' and he blinks, "You know Twitch?" He blinks, "Of course you do. The big man knows him, so of course you two do." He relaxes a little as they settle into comfortable bandying of words, catching the easy connection between the two. "The fake Australian wannabe arse with the double-sided bent dildos of a weapon is the one I'm here watchin' out for." The match starting below draws his attention easily, and he grunts, "Crazy, man. I'm thinkin'… Dragon'sbreath rounds in a shotgun. For the putty one. And a Barrett for the colorful one." And then here comes Owen, and he manages to glance aside to add to Jessica, "Congratulations, by the way. And you're gonna fight some of them?" He's pointing at the 10-foot-tall Juggernaut. "Even Muscles ain't dumb enough to do that."

* * *

Psylocke sets her jacket aside, rolling her shoulders. The purple top is a tight fit, as naturally so are the leggings. There is no doubt the woman Owen is about to face is in excellent shape, not in those clothes. Once the fight starts, everything else outside of the cage stops. The focus is only on the mouthy, ill mannered man she faces.

She shows some of her fighting repetoire, but nothing close to her actual levels of skill.

When he's behind her, choking her, kicking the back of her knee, she simply chooses to fall forward, and use her telekinesis to keep him moving. Up, over her head, to land with solid force on his back. He will find his choke hold invisibly pried away, a fist he can't see punching him hard in the chest and pressing there. She will use that force of her power to keep him there, a kick in the ribs, before she will kneel on his chest and punch him in the side of the head. Her TK will spread out like leaden weights over his limbs, before she will punch him once more and render him unconcious, unable to tap out.

* * *

Rachel is peering down into the dubious choice of beer she's been saddled with when Atli arrives, saving her from the irresistible pull of being a snob about U.S. mass-market brands. The psychic glances over, assessing Atli for a silent moment before grinning apologetically.

"Sorry, wasn't me. I hear flaming birds are pretty common, though. Maybe you got the wrong breed?"

* * *

Matt Murdock arrives from Midtown Manhattan.

* * *

By now, Emery has a thermos of his own, its his own coffee and its fully Irish as he takes a long sip and just gives Jessica a long look. Its the look that only parents learn to master. Its a 'wtf did you just say' look where he squints for a moment and opens his mouth and closes his mouth. "I'm catholic missy, you get your arse kicked? I've got ways of laying on the guilt. Also, You'll be peelin' all the potatos. 2 weeks of potatos." He holds out his hand for the ring though with a nod.

Then he looks back to Frank and then to the fight with a look of concern. "I knew 'Twitch' as ye call him before I knew Muscles. He's family." He raises his voice to yell out at the ring. "KEEP YOUR GUARD UP YE GINGER BITCH!" And then a gaelic expression. "Don't ye let her - get your arse up! GET YOUR ARSE - YE - Back in MY DAY we didn't pass out when we got punched in the head! Don't you bitch out Captain!" Then he's swearing and throwing up his hands. "WHEN you are under a woman that fine you don't PASSOUT! Oh my GOD ye feckin' WANKER!"

Such is brother love.

* * *

"Whoa. Well." The announcer starts to smile against the microphone. "Look at that." Then he chuckles wryly and gestures toward Psylocke. "PSYLOCKE! Wins! Nicely done, girl. Let's mop up this sucker off the floor now, and then we got…" He scrolls through his phone again, calling out: "ROCKSLIDE VERSUS THE BIG SHOW."

* * *

Much like many of the fighters Dani is likewise dressed in clothes that aren't detrimental to her chances of winning.

Her hair has likewise been pulled back into a singular braid and bound tightly at the bottom, so as not to escape.

The sight of the Juggernaut causes the Shield agent's eyes to widen slightly, but she can't really yell 'you're under arrest' just this moment.

And really she's not stupid enough to do that without some form of backup, even if it was a good time.

Either way, her gaze flicks back to the 'ring' as Owen and Psylocke enter.

A slight frown ticks her lips faintly downward.

Emery's voice brings Moonstar's gaze around and over to Emery. She can't quite stop herself from grinning at his words.

* * *

Psylocke flicks a glance upward at the yelling, blowing the vulgar Irishman a kiss before she's moving out of the cage to reclaim her jacket and a spot to wait and watch.

* * *

The hexfield — invisible to eyes, unseen, but felt by those who can perceive it — encircles of the Maximoff twins. Scarlet circles them in a crawling miasma, offering no implicit threat. Only a warning.

No aggression is at hand by the Brotherhood. Tonight, by all reasons, seems to be date night.

And at her brother's side, the Scarlet Witch looks like she could be cut from diamonds. She sits up in her own chair, back straight, legs crossed, arranged in place in a tense, icy untouchability. She is a rock against the busy current, unwilling or unable to fold into the atmosphere of the crowd. Not her usual atmosphere. Especially as Rachel Summers, one floor down and distant, steals her red eyes for a headbeat.

It ends. Her company attends to her every need, and so Wanda stays at ease. Her low-lidded eyes draw from the spectacle below, turned onto Pietro as he pours her wine.

His words twitch her mouth. Her hand finds his closest knee. "Pietro," Wanda admonishes affectionately. "If you cannot say something nice…"

She glances down again, sometime into Owen Mercer's headlock. Through the crowd, in that countdown to unconsciousness, the Scarlet Witch offers him an eely smile.

* * *

"Congratulations for what?" Jessica asks in confusion, not linking that word up to anything else Frank has said.

Then Emery is going all parental on her. It makes her smile, a warmth entering those brown eyes that doesn't translate itself into even so much as a moment of sheepishness.

But now Owen is fighting, and she puts two fingers in her mouth to whistle for him in support…only to watch him fall to his opponent. She winces, but offers: "At least he didn't get his face kicked in?"

* * *

Finishing his pour for his sister, Pietro pours for himself, and then tosses the bottle aside into a scarlet blink of nonexistence. He seems accustomed to Wanda's constant attendant hammerspace.

Sitting back afterwards, he lets his blue eyes comb the crowd, taking note of all the unique personages present — some familiar, some not, and some enormously and eminently unmissable. Only a sudden and familiar sense of unease from his twin draws his eyes inevitably back, his head turning so he can peer at his sister — and then follow her line of sight down.

Oh.

Pietro regards Rachel a few moment himself, bland as falling snow. The memory of what transpired between last time they met flickers in that silence… and then Pietro rests his hand briefly over Wanda's, in a mute restraint. Soon — but not now.

His attention returns to the match, which is over crushingly soon. Wanda's admonishment draws a lift of her brother's brows, as he absently swirls his wine. If he cannot say something nice… "Then I wouldn't be saying anything ever again, Wanda," he says. "It'd be vow of silence for me for the rest of my life."

He tilts his head. "Come on, not even I had time to get bored for that one. Let's have something more engaging."

* * *

Up in the mezzanine, Colleen joins the cheers for Owen — only to have him whiff it. She breathes out a slow exhale, and then nods. "Alright, Mercer." The words are said to no one in particular before she turns to watch the so-called medics get Owen off the mat. She listens to the cheers, the loud bursts of noise. Then she's back to watching as the host calls the next match.

* * *

It is difficult to maintain a straight face when Emery is in full 'on' mode. Frank barely even tries. He shakes his head, grinning at the 'encouragement' "Damn." Nodding slightly to himself, he adds, "Whatever the fuck she was doin'… was that ranged?" Shaking the question off, he shrugs a little and takes a sip of the coffee, "You sure he knows what to do under a woman?" Jessica's question draws a nod down to her hand, "Gettin' engaged." And then he's glancing around him, his eyes stopping on Colleen where she sits beside the trio. Taking in the sword on her back, he shakes his head, "Man, they let in swords? Then again, I probably coulda brought in an elephant gun," come to think of it, that's one of the few types of firearms he doesn't have at the moment, "and it wouldn't have hurt some of these people."

* * *

"Hmmm. No no, I don't think it was a flaming bird. It was a stone bird." There is a long, distant stare at some point in space, and then her brows lift slightly. "Which you are not." Asgardian perception at it's best. Atli beams a smile at Rachel after a moment, as if she had just deciphered some cosmic puzzle, and everything made sense again. "Which is good, because that means we can now be the best of friends, and you can join me in revels, something a stone bird could never do." And here, Atli passes a bottle of Grey Goose to Rachael, hoping to incite some bird on bird violence. "Drink heartily, drink heavily, and drink for glory, for tonight you are in the company of Atli Wodendottir, Goddess of Thunder!"

And somewhere outside, the sound of the fight will be equally met with thunder cracking overhead, just as she raises her fist.

And then the goat bleats at her, stealing her glory by nudging her for another drink. "No stupid goat, you may not have another."

* * *

Well okay it's showtime. Santo stands up and goes to enter the cage, "Okay where is this Marko? It is time for him to GET ROCKED!!!" Hey all good wrestlers have a catch phrase, and 'If you smell what The Rock is cooking' was already taken dang it. Once he gets into the cage the seven footer rips off his shirt, Hogan style of course.

"Lets go everyone, say it with me, ROCKSLIDE, ROCKSLIDE!" Okay someone has definitely watched way too much wrestling, in case you couldn't tell. "Hey Mr. Announcer guy, where are the steel chairs and stuff? Are we allowed to use them?" Yeah he keeps trying to play to the crowd, while waiting for his opponent to get into the cage.

* * *

The being beaten, badly is not a new sensation. Having a hot woman choking him unconscious? Well, Owen's not one to tell such tales … quietly. But the TK spin is new and just as he's about to go under, right as his vision is starting to blur on the edges something wicked this way comes. The smile, framed in red in Owen's vision causes time to seem to slow to an impossible crawl. By the time unconsciousness takes him, he's nearly begging for it.

And the next thing he knows, he's waking up at the bar. See? Just a bad trip. And someone's handing him a beer and this feels right. Maybe he just blacked out form drinking? … No, his heads bleeding. Oh, he lost. Right. But he doesn't seem to pissed about it, instead happy to drink whatever is put in front of him. He looks down and double checks before announcing, "At least I didn't piss myself… again." He lifts his beer and amicably toasts, "To Skylark!" Yea… that's.. not her name Owen.

He stands, intent on going to find his friends that he's pretty sure he saw earlier when he catches a cold wind blowing through his soul. Shit. That wasn't a dream. They're here.. just like he expected. Fuuuck. He swallows and does his best not to make eye contact with the Maximoffs as he unsteadily makes his way in the direction of where he saw Jess, Emery and Frank. Thankfully a few people in the crowd, help him keep his balance as he goes.

* * *

And yet, the crowd probably has watched too much wrestling too, because a good third of them are joining in the chant. "ROCKSLIDE, ROCKSLIDE!" And in some great natural balancing, another third is joining in opposition with a firm "BIG SHOW! BIG SHOW! BIG SHOW!"

* * *

That SHIELD or really anyone else in the know might have made out who Cain Marko really is is far from his mind. He's got a match to fight!

Cain Marko squeezes his immensity through the ring entrance with surprising grace considering that it's like trying to push a semi truck through a regular garage door, even if it is enlarged in consideration of some of the metahuman builds present.

Ultimately he makes his way in and straightens up to his full height while plodding towards the center of the ring with footsteps that begin to now literally shake the ground and rumble the warehouse. The goliath ceases using a portion of the restraint he had been applying up to this point in time.

As he bears down on Rockslide he raises an eyebrow slightly to the mutants brazen antics before nodding his head and rumbling, "Tell you what, Rocky, just lie down after my first punch and we'll split the winnings. I'm feeling like I'm in a good mood. I don't really need the money."

Cain raises a single arm skyward, fist clenched, and turns slightly to let the audience get a good look at him, as if they could miss him. Once sure eyes are on him, he brings the arm down into a flex. The creaking of sinew an audible thing as his bicep slits the seams of his tee shirt and bulges seemingly as big as a Buick to onlookers. Rockslide is cast in shadow by the immense posturing as Cain swivels his wrist a few times and stretches his fingers before finally clenching it into a tight fist and slowly giving a 'slasher' grin..

"You just need to take my SUNDAY PUNCH!"

* * *

There is a chin-up and a wink to Psylocke as he mimes catching the kiss and holding it to his heart. But Emery just tsks softly to Jessica, as he speaks to them both. "I'm sure it was invisible force." He was totally checking out the swords on her back. Really. And what's below the swords on her back. Then he's moving forward quickly as Owen approaches, even though he's swearing like a sailor. "Ohhh come and see teh fite, it'll have all the metamusil dosed people and ooo, come to the show and see me fite. We came to see ye fite you limey dumbass, and ye got knocked out. I swear to god…one day you're goin' to get your face punched in and its gonna get stuck that way. We're goin' to the gym to practice…" Irish Nagging like a pro yo as he offers an arm/shoulder to Owen to steady him and guide him over. "You are goin' to come over here, and let me put some ice your your bruises and ye are goin' to eat some candy and drink some whiskey and I swear if ye give me sass I'll crush your head between me thighs…and you'll wake up in the kinkiest 'massage' parlor I can find…" Fuss FUss Fuss.

* * *

Colleen watches Owen make his shaky approach toward Frank, Jessica, and Emery. She keeps her eyes on the metahuman with a kind of passive, distant concern. She waits for a count of five, because by the time Owen gets within a stone's throw of the table, he's already getting his hand shook firmly by a familiar man in what can only be described as a Hawaiian shirt mated with the glitter drawer.

"BOOM! That was a great show, great show." He continues to shake Owen's hand even if Owen has no idea what's going on. "All fighters are getting a cut tonight, to show our support. You interested in coming back? You do it, and we'll put your money down to double if you win your next fight."

* * *

Rachel glances up at the stage as the fight between Owen and Psylocke heats up. She felt Psylocke when she came into the place — though the name announcing would have helped — but remains unsure if she should say hello. While she knows Brian well enough to be irritated at how he handles a kitchen, she barely knows Elizabeth.

…right? Rachel briefly presses her eyes closed. Her Phoenix-stricken memories swirl in kaleidoscopic disarray. Something about a snarl. Nevermind.

"Nope," Rachel agrees to Atli's bird assessment. She returns the other woman's smile with her own (albeit one that's more bemused than beaming), but lets out a genuine little 'ha!' of amusement when the friendship rambling ends up in a bottle of Goose.

"Goddess of Thunder, is it?" says Rachel, taking the bottle up into her hand. She hefts it experimentally. Thunder rolls and goat bleats. Rachel puts on a sober expression.

"I've been told mortals shouldn't displease the gods," she says, and then pops the top off the bottle with a flick of her thumb. Rachel spares one final glance up toward the mezzanine where the twins are having… date night?? Is this a date night?!

Rachel tilts her head back and swigs deep.

* * *

There is a chin-up and a wink to Psylocke as he mimes catching the kiss and holding it to his heart. But Emery just tsks softly to Jessica, as he speaks to them both. "I'm sure it was invisible force." He was totally checking out the swords on her back. Really. And what's below the swords on her back. Then he's moving forward quickly as Owen approaches, even though he's swearing like a sailor. "Ohhh come and see teh fite, it'll have all the metamusil dosed people and ooo, come to the show and see me fite. We came to see ye fite you limey dumbass, and ye got knocked out. I swear to god…one day you're goin' to get your face punched in and its gonna get stuck that way. We're goin' to the gym to practice…" Irish Nagging like a pro yo as he offers an arm/shoulder to Owen to steady him and guide him over. "You are goin' to come over here, and let me put some ice your your bruises and ye are goin' to eat some candy and drink some whiskey and I swear if ye give me sass I'll crush your head between me thighs…and you'll wake up in the kinkiest 'massage' parlor I can find…" Fuss FUss Fuss.

…Fuss. Danger Will Robinson, somebody is approaching and Emery is already on edge. If the man does not back off, Emery is raising a foot to push/kick the man out of the way with a snarled. "Fuck off Aloha Sam, touch him again and I'll put some money of me own right up your opportunistic arse. Let him have a wee rest, then ye can speak to him…jaysus…"

* * *

"Oh!" Jessica's cheeks color as Frank explains. "Um. Thank you, Frank."

Now there's this amusing rant to watch, as Emery just fusses over Owen like he's about six and has scraped his knee. She tips the speedster a small salute of solidarity, and scoots her chair over to make room for him. She scoots it away from Emery so Emery can fuss, knowing better than to get into the middle of it, but she scoots. "Anyone can have a bad ni—" she begins, in Owen's defense…

And then Emery is going all protecto-Dad on Hawaiian shirt. Her eyes widen, and she just…drinks her cocoa and turns her attention to the next fight, which seems to be occuring with all sorts of showmanship and traditional trash-talking.

* * *

Frank scoots over a little to make room for Jess to scoot over to make room for Owen, "Glad you make him happy. He deserves it." Which Frank knows about Luke based on his weeks of knowing him. Frank finishes off his thermos-cup of coffee and pours another, "You ever fight someone who can do that before? Me, I figure the only way to deal with it is shoot the hell out of 'em, or get in close and keep movin'." He's speaking from the experience of seeing exactly one fight. "But it sounds like you better not do what he," Frank gestures to Emery, "says, because I'm pretty sure you want to wake up in the kinkiest massage parlor he can find."

* * *

Hey free money for taking a dive, he's cool with that. Jobbers are totally thing in the wrestling world, nothing wrong with being a jobber. Rocky flexes his own, much smaller muscles, well compared to Marko's that is. "Lets go Marko!"

He charges at Cain, and well just goes to do a bear hug, cause well Rocky does have rocks for brains you know, or does he. Once he gets close enough, he whispers, "Deal. But we have to make it look a little better than the last fight. And I want some booze as well."

Once that is taken care of though Rockslide goes to punch at Marko, hey even the jobber has to get into some offense, this isn't a squash match you know. "You are going to fall before the all mighty ROCKSLIDE!" if only he could fire off his fists, that would be a good move dang it!

* * *

There are a lot of words coming from Emery that cause Owen to squint and shake his head. Some of them make sense, and the sugar and booze are of course accepted and the overall theme of 'mother hen' is understood even if the words themselves.

And then there's a man, talking about fighting again and Owen just smiles and says "Oh, fuck you very much. I appreciate that." But no, he will not be coming back to fight anytime soon. Not because he lost. Oh no, that's fine. No. The real reason he won't be returning is in the words he turns to Jessica to say. The phrase isn't loud, but it's pointed.

"The fucking twins."

And Owen embues that phrase with all the double entendre that he can manage in his woozy state, which is still plenty for it to carry.

And then he's taking the drinks offered and trying to get his eyes to focus on the two mountains trying to make out in the middle of the ring. At least from what he can tell. Frank's question gets a bleary looks and a "You shoot the psi's first. Well. First the speedsters. Then the psis. Headshot. Boom." Well.. that's a cheery sentiment.

* * *

Colleen — just a stone's throw from the table that has Owen's companions — watches as the glitter-shirt tries to get Owen to sign-on, sign-up. Then his friends swoop in and that incites some curiosity from the Sensei. Just one degree of separation from this group — choose Luke or Danny — and the interaction she witnesses is fascinating.

The glitter shirt takes huge steps back, hands up and free from Owen. "Sorry, friend. Just giving Mr. Boomerang here… sorry, Captain Boomerang… a chance to make some money." Then he's making his departure, heading away to perhaps make the same deal to Psylocke, but in a different pitch. He heads for the mutant without looking to the ring, just listening in as the host winces loudly when the two charge into a bear-hug that literally rocks the ring, the cage rattling loudly.

* * *

Psylocke slips her jacket on, before she's heading to the bar. Her chin is up, level with the floor, the walk more suited for the catwalks of Paris than an old warehouse with underground fights. There's a pause as violet eyes find Rachel, the barest nod to denote a greeting without making it obvious that the two ladies are acquainted. As acquainted as Betsy is with anyone these days, at least. She will order a pair of beers with matching shots of whiskey, and lay down her money.

That's when she turns and moves through the crowd like a sharpened katana through silk, booted feet on the steps to bring her up to the next level. She has zero outward qualm about approaching Owen even as he's henned and fussed over. She will lean in, offering him a beer and shot.

* * *

Well that was a bit of a surprise. Cain was expecting Rockslide to rebuff his offer for the sake of ego and posturing but it seems that he's got a smarter guy in the ring here then he was expecting. The massive red head just blinks a few times and then finally shrugs his shoulders just as Rockslide bears down on him with his first punch.

The impact is a resounding *TWHOOOM* that shakes the entire cage and actually bounces drinks and tables up by a few feet just around the perimeter of where the match is taking place. A second his is hurtled at Cain and then a third. The repeated strikes slamming thunderously into the giants midsection. Cain doesn't move. Barely blinks.

When Rockslide wraps his arms around the more massive metahumans midsection and attempts to engage in a bearhug.. again Cain doesn't move as his strength surges thunderously and it may feel for a second to Rockslide that it's like a car trying to rip a sequoia from the ground with a rope tied around it.

Cain Marko merely keeps an eyebrow arced and huge arm cocked upward.. until Rockslide disengages from the bearhug attempt. What follows next is..probably unfair, yeah. Cain's arm cocks backwards like a loading trebuchet, his muscles swell - splitting his shirt apart, he pivots at the waist and then suddenly brings his arm forward with a full on overhead strike down onto Rockslide. His immense fist slams into the mutant like a meteor bearing him down to the mat and sending a thunderous *KABOOOOM* roaring through the entire warehouse complete with the ground lurching and then settling..

Cain pins Rockslide under his massive fist for a few seconds as the shockwave finishes rolling out and then he lifts his hand up, leaving the young mutant out cold. Somebody forgot to tell him what a squash match is.

* * *

Emery just eyes Glitter Hawaii with a narrowing of his eyes and a small nod as he walks off. Then the Irishman is making sure Owen is settled, he adds a dash of what is probably baileys to some hot chocolate to put it within reach of Owen, along with a tupperware container of chicken wings, and the promised candy.

There's a look over towards Colleen who he may not know but he just jerks his head towards the table. "There's plenty to share." Then a look over to Psylocke and he just quirks an eyebrow as yes…their damn table is being covered with food and tupperware containers and such. Because. Its Emery. He looks back to Jessica and Frank and offers softly. "Its like sittin' in a giant bullseye just waiting for shite to go tits up. So many unknowns…" He trails off.

* * *

There is a little shove from Atli to shoo the goat away as it begs for more drink, but then Toothbender does as he does and leaps between Rachel and Atli and up onto the bar, drawing cries of 'Bar-Goat! Bar-Goat! Bar-Goat!' from those around. Those who aren't watching the fight. Which, for a moment, Atli is not. Instead she is watching the woman drink like a God, which keeps her smiling until she decides it's clearly a competition and she must win.

Tilting her bottle back she drowns her earlier woes in Earthly liquor, and then hands the bottle up to the goat, who does promptly begin gnawing on it.

"You.. you are very wise for a human. I would know the name of thee, oh wise woman with a bird on her back, for most humans are so very ridiculous, and you are clearly not."

Says the Asgardian with no shoes and one too many goats.

With the sudden explosion of power from the Arena, Atli peers sidelong, and scoffs drunkenly in the direction of Marko. "I could take him!"

* * *

"Alright, all hands who saw that coming?" Cuts in the Host's playful voice. He raises his own hand. Then he uses that same hand to point at Cain. "BIG SHOW! Ah, ah? Nice job! All yours, friend!" He then looks down at Rockslide and his violet eyes warm with a smile. "Time to take our boy here to the quarry." He makes a motion with his finger and the process begins to get Rockslide off and out of the ring.

"I think this is going to take a while, so let me see who we have up next!" He grins broadly, and then gestures. "COMING TO THE RING NEXT WE HAVE…. MOONSTAR!" The cheers begin. "Standing against the incredible… JEEEEEWWWEL!"

* * *

In the denouement of that devastating, founation-shaking punch —

There is soft, polite, solitary clapping from up on the mezzanine level. The Scarlet Witch, decked in her black dress and dark hair, demurely, primly tapping the fingers of one hand against her other palm. Good show.

* * *

"Who the hell is Jewel?" Pietro wonders, even as his sister expresses her demure approval of Juggernaut's devastation.

* * *

Psylocke will give Emery a level, violet look. Benign at worst, somewhat friendly at best. "I am simply buying him a drink. It will help him get drunk and forget all about his injuries until he wakes up tomorrow at least." She will glance at Owen, to see if he is taking the post fight offering or not.

* * *

Screetch…..screeeeeeeeeeeetch. That is the sound of Emery's brain grinding to a halt as he just stares at Jessica for a moment and squints. And then he looks towards the ring and then back to Jessica. He clasps his hands together as if in prayer and looks up as he beseeches God silently to give him strength. Cuz. It. He. Did fate just really put both his girls against one another. Yes it did. Tis is because he skipped mass or something. Sorry, his gaze is now locked on the cage.

* * *

The beer and shot set down in front of him are consumed automatically, downing the shot and taking the beer. He looks up and as his eyes slowly focus, he realizes his opponent has joined him. He raises a glass to her and offers, "Nice fight." But in his mind, it would have been a totally different fight if he were armed. And maybe it would be. But he holds no ill will towards his better. He event extends a hand, "I'm Owen."

Owen's head perks up at the mention of the next bout though at the name of Moonstar, and then the name 'Jewel' is spoken and Owen's eyes go nearly dinner plate sized. His jaw drops open a little and a soft "noooo" escapes his lips, as if he can't believe his good luck. Is this really happening? It's like Christmas. Did Jess bring her costume? He glances over at Emery to see if he understands the import of this moment.

* * *

Jess follows Owen's gaze up the bleachers, then nods to him thoughtfully. She feels eyes upon her and she glances Colleen's way. She has no idea who the woman is, but she raises a hand in friendly enough greeting.

And then the announcer is using that cursed name in public. Once it was a closely held secret. A discarded name suggested by Carol Danvers and Trish Walker. One she vehemently said no to, just like the outfit she vehemently said no to. And now it's being used in public. Her face just flames. She sloooooow pans to look over by the announcer. And there is her sister Trish, beaming and thumbs upping at her.

"I'm going to fucking kill her," she mutters, as she takes off her ring and passes it to Emery. Stalking down to the ring, one Jessica Jones couldn't look less like a jewel of any kind. The scowl couldn't be blacker, the black and white Luke's Bar tank top any plainer, the baggy cargo jeans any rattier.

Seeing her opponent she sticks out her hand. "Good luck," she mutters, her face still flaming. It's friendly enough, she knows Moonstar and likes her, and it shows in the respect she gives as she tries SO HARD to pretend this ENTIRE CROWD IS NOT HERE.

So once they've done their shaking on it, she may be a little more vehement than she meant to be as she suddenly leaps up, grabs the top of the cage, swings hard and fast to try to kick Moonstar in the chest against the bars, drops down, and comes in with a right cross, a left cross, and a hard punch towards the solar plexus. She moves with no particular grace, but she does have speed and power on her side.

Not as much power as she could. Anyone who knows what she can do will see immediately she's holding back. She has no intention of harming Moonstar permanently, or even breaking anything if she can really help it. She's not out for blood.

* * *

Frank should probably be noticing Psylocke's approach, but, well, she's a ninja, and there are two titans pounding the snot out of each other in the ring. Well, one pounding on the other, and the other pounding the dust out of him. And then Colleen gets an invite as well, and the warehouse is rockin', so no one should come a-knockin', and the nice quiet table he had to start with has been relatively swarmed with unknowns and relative unknowns and Owen.

That is not Tactical.

Frank shifts, grimaces, and then nods at Owen, "Headshots for the psis. I think the speedsters get claymores." Yeah. Not really comforting. And then Jessica Jones is getting a new-old nickname, and Frank blinks, looking over at her, "Jewel? Damn, and I was just startin' to like Snow White." Someone has a new nickname. Psylocke gets a wary look, "Pretty sure his BAC is already at forget-me-yes levels."

* * *

Rachel is already glancing away from Psylocke when the other woman nods at her. However, there is a faint, hidden little ~ping~ on the astral plane. A warm little hello from the woman whose psychic presence feels like wolves stalking. Wolves on fire. With wings. Look, she's been through a lot, okay?

The psychic redhead passes the bottle back to Atli, very nearly interrupted by the glorious ascension of BAR-GOAT. Much like Spider-man, please remember the hyphen. Rachel is briefly overstimulated as she tries to decide whether to be amused at Toothbender, bemused (and impressed) by Atli, drawn in by the X-student throwing down with a guy who is almost certainly the fuckin' Juggernaut making shockwaves in the warehouse, or on a guilt trip because she's not paying as much attention to the twins as she should be.

The alcohol is working. She's thinking too much.
"Really?" Rachel says, glancing between Atli and Marko. She shrugs because she really can't tell in a place like this. Moonstar gets called up by the announcer and proves her right. Surprises everywhere!

"I'm Rachel Summers, Phoenix of… uh, Phoenixes."

Except there really are multiple now. Rachel considers whether or not she'll need a new codename. Maybe…

…nah.

…no, not that one either.

…definitely not that one.

* * *

"GIve Rocky the rest of this.." mumbles Cain to the organizers as he collects his winnings. Apparently he's a man of his word, impressed enough that Rockslide stood his ground and took the punch, amusing Cain in the process. Sort of. It's not exactly half but Rockslide should be happy enough he lucked out there.

The new matches draw his attention briefly but he soon returns to counting his earnings as he makes ihs way back through the bar towards his original haunting ground near the back.

* * *

"Aye, one's named like a hippie and the other is named after a Stripper from Jersey." Emery just watches this fight thoughtfully, glancing between the women and taking a deep breath as he just distractedly passes a thermos a hot chocolate to the closest person and watches.

* * *

A mini-earthquake rumbles through the warehouse and Dani shifts with the crowd.

There's a shake of her head, but before she can do anything more, Moonstar's name is called. Along with Jessica Jones'.

She enters the cage as well and when Jess steps forward, Dani does too. She shakes that offered hand and with a flash of a tight smile, the Cheyenne woman murmurs to Jess, "You'll have to give me the story behind that name sometime."

Then once the handshake is over, Dani takes a step backward, her hands coming up in a classic brawler stance.

Seeing the kick coming at her, Dani brings both forearms up to block and while Jessica's booted feet slam against her arms, versus her chest, that doesn't stop the momentum from kicking Moonstar back against the bars of the cage. There's an oomph from her as she hits the enclosure, and then the SHIELD agent finds herself being pummeled.

Oh she moves as best she can and blocks that first strike, and part of the left cross, but Jess' third strikes her hard in the gut. A whoosh of air leaves her lungs and Moonstar sags downward. This could easily be the end, but Moonstar regains just enough breath to lash out with her powers. To try and pull the other woman's darkest fears from her psyche. She psychically reaches out and yanks!

Only the fears never materialize. Instead Dani finds herself at the end of an intense loop of psychic feedback. It's enough to cause the Cheyenne woman to cry outward, even as she drops to her knees.

This could be the end for Moonstar, it really could, but something within her causes her right hand to curl slightly, as if around something. And when she lifts her hand up there's a glowing magenta shiv held within her grip and with something like desperation, the black-haired woman stabs upward at Jess. Intending to burying the psychic shiv into the other woman's side.

* * *

Normally Atli would take 'really' as a sign that she must prove herself against the man-giant who just flattened that poor Kronan, but then she introduces herself and Atli reaches aimlessly as if trying to find another bottle. For the gold offered earlier, and the entertainment of Bar-Goat, Horned Menace, she is rewarded with another. One she almost drops when Rachel introduces herself properly. It is a long moment of silent disbelief, and then her eyes go wide.

"YOU ARE THE STONE BIRD!! Stories of your cosmic prowess and unbridled brutality are known well into the end years of the universe itself!! Verily, I am sorry to tell you, the statue of you on Odin's arm has been destroyed. Forever shall I remember the way he looked so longingly at you, with.. you know. That look.. so fierce..

Much like the look she is giving Rachel now as she reaches out to casually steady herself on the bar, all smiles and Asgardian charm that, is utterly, totally without game. In fact she slips on the bar a little and then re-steadies herself, crossing her arms with oblivious confidence. And ten she makes a little face, remembering a few more details of the stature of Odin and the Phoenix, on Asgard, that her and her friends destroyed. "…and you looking back, as if you might peck his last eye out."

* * *

It seems Jessica just knows when Moonstar hits that psychic wall. A grimace crosses over her face as the other woman drops to her knees. And while most people would go in for the final blow right about then, that's not Jessica's way. No cheap, easy strikes for her. She takes a slight step back, settling into a ready stance with her fists up defensively, clearly intending to give Moonstar a moment to recover herself, get off her knees, and resume the fight once more.

And that proves to be her undoing, for Moonstar, of course, is already reacting on instinct. The psychic shiv, which Jess hardly expected her to have or stab her with from her position on her knees, pierces right into her side.

"Son of a bitch," Jessica cries out, clearly in some pain as she clutches her side. Her determined attempt at a hard punch towards Moonstar's face is cut short as the strange injury seizes up on her, leaving her doubled over for a moment. She shakes her head, and gently taps out. "Good one," she tells her foe. "Mind helping me back to the bleachers? I don't really want strange medics touching me."

* * *

"Elizabeth." She says to Owen, smirking. No, no the fight wouldn't have been different, just bloodier. His blood. But she clearly can't comment on the unspoken. Violet eyes will pin to Frank, as she tips back her own shot and drinks beer. "Whatever you say. And wouldn't speedsters be too fast to really get caught by claymore mines?" She'll query, looking at Frank with a veiled expression, sipping at beer.

Violet eyes find Rachel again, and then the presence of Betsy will wink out of the redhead's ability to read. She's just gone from the plane, cloaked. Perhaps she felt uncomfortable.

* * *

"I can say the same thing for whatever that was." Moonstar motions to her head, indicating that feedback loop of some kind. "Neat trick."

Dani rises to her feet and sticks a hand out to help Jess back to her own feet, "Good fight. I was pretty sure I was about to lose. Come on let's get us both patched up." And just like that, Dani helps Jess back to her feet and out of the caged ring.

* * *

Just as Jess's cheek hits the mat, the crowd erupts into strangely energetic cheers. The noise lifts until it's almost a roar, and that makes just what happens next all the more surprising. From one of the entrances come the sound of pounding feet, and the crowd begins to scream and shout. It barely covers up the bellows of men and women in full riot gear — shields and batons and taser guns and beanbag rounds — that break through the crowd.

"NYPD! Everyone stay where they are! THIS IS AN ILLEGAL OPERATION!"

The host's eyes widen at the sight of the dozens of police officers flooding the crowd. It gets violent and fast, perhaps because some confuse the moment for a sting on the metahumans when really this was just a sting on the illegal fighting. The host snaps his fingers and just kind of blurs out of focus, his microphone and clothes all dropping into a pile on the cage roof. The giant bouncers who had been manning the door phase back together into one single person and immediately take off at a run. He is tackled by two NYPD officers, taken to the ground, and sat on with hostile words that demand surrender.

Chaos explodes through the crowd, and people are running in all directions. Moonstar and Jessica Jones are still inside the cage, their host gone. Throughout the warehouse, tear gas begins to spread out in a great wash of white fog, obscuring the dark and intimidating figures in their riot gear.

* * *

Its just like watching a slow motion train wreck, Emery is very on edge watching the two ladies go after each other and he crosses an arm over his chest, his free curled into a fist as he presses his knuckle between his teeth, pacing slightly. When it comes to a non gory end, he's starting to exhale and then…

"I goddamn knew it. Feckin' Americans have no appreciation for underground fights! Damn savages!" But he's in Butler mode. Giving Frank a quick chin-up. "Get him out of 'ere. I'll get th girls." He nods towards Owen and then is looking to Coleen and Psylocke with a polite bow. "Pleasure to meet ye both darlings, but we have to get out of here quickly… who knows the fastest way?" He kicks the entire table over though in preparation for cover.

* * *

"Fill the room," is all Frank suggests to Betsy, his attention mostly on the fight between Moonstar and Jessic — Jewel. His lips purse together when Moonstar shanks Jessica, and he shifts his stance, his right hand slipping into his trenchcoat while his left stays on the little cup to his thermos. But Jess is still moving, and so his stance relaxes — only for the NYPD to show up. While many of the people present aren't illegal at all — even if they're participating in an illegal fight club — Frank is pretty sure he's wanted on about 27 counts of murder (that they know of). And so as the tear gas begins to fly, Frank snarls silently and steps back from the edge of the railing… then stops. "Oh, fuck me." That's Luke's girl down there in the ring. And so he spots a half-way clear spot below him, growls at Emery, "I'm gonna get Jess. Take care of my shit." And then he puts a hand on the railing and vaults over it. When he lands, the slash on his leg twinges hard, and he almost falls on his face, ruining the perfect trench-coat superhero landing. Forcing himself to his feet, he starts to push through the crowd toward the cage.

* * *

At the mezzanine level, something slender, blonde, and clad in a short, burgundy-red halter dress that glitters under the light, and black, over-the-knee boots clips her way towards the booth taken up by the Maximoff twins. A pair of aviators rests upon her nose. It doesn't matter what the hour is, day or not, Tabitha "Boom-Boom" Smith is definitely one of those who wears shades indoors, and at night. She folds her arms on top of Wanda's seat, ambient light reflecting off the large obsidian hoops that dangle from each ear. The devil's own smile curls up on her lips.

"Evening, you two," she says simply, winking at Pietro over her frames. "Any new— "

NYPD! Everyone stay where they are! THIS IS AN ILLEGAL OPERATION!

"…are you fucking kidding me?" she groans. "I just got here." She glances down at herself mournfully. "And this dress is new."

In Tabitha-speak, undoubtedly 'new' means 'newly stolen,' probably from one of the extremely high end boutiques that stand along Fifth Avenue, which might as well be Candyland for someone like her.

* * *

"Jewel?" Rachel murmurs. "Like… who will save your soul Jewel?"

Rachel will never know because NOW IS TIME OF STONE BIRD. The psychic takes a step backward, shifting her weight away as her eyes widen in confusion. "A-ah? What look?"

Atli leans on the bar and Rachel suddenly understands what look she's talking about. Especially if all Asgardians are… well. She hears the embassy has a mead hall.

Rachel tugs at the lapels of her jacket, offering a sheepish smile as her initial reply. Brutality — the end years of the universe — Odin von That Odin — oh, no, no no no, she does not need these mental images of mom.

"I'm not sure I'm the kinda lady to sit on someone's arm, y'know? I'd probably get restless. Still, I'm really flattered that your family likes birds so much. Usually I get a very, very different reaction."

Really likes birds.

Rachel feels Psylocke duck out of the astral. Of course she doesn't try to feel where she went — it'd be rude. Even if she could, anyway. She's heard enough to know that Betsy is no trifling telepath. Was it the ping-hello, she wonders? It can be kinda creepy, she supposes. Rachel is just used to doing it with the team so much that…

Rachel jolts upright as she feels the surge of intent a moment before the doors bust in. Or maybe Psylocke just knew what was coming.

"Fuck."

Rachel grabs Atli by the shoulder and walks by her, trying to pull the goddess along, or at very least inform her of where they should be going. Rockslide. She has to find Rockslide. Her telepathy scours the crowd. "You've got diplomatic immunity, right?"

Moonstar. There she is. Rachel establishes a psychic link with her characteristic warm, engulfing feeling.

«Did you know about this?!»

* * *

Psylocke straightens up tall, eyes sweeping around the place. She will glance between Emery, Owen and Frank. "You two get him out of here, I will run cover for you. There's got to be a back door. Find it, take it."

She will jump down the stairs up without hesitation, hitting the floor just the right way that she absorbes the shocks up through her legs.

Just like that, she is back on the astral plane, her power reaching for Rachel. « Help me confuse the cops and make them forget this whole thing? Give people time to get clear? »

* * *

Cain has barely sat back down when this chaos all begins.

"Ugh. Figures." He grunts, sounding irate and pushing back up to his feet again. For Cain his strategy and tactics are fairly simple. He considers just trampling his way through the main entrance and out over top the panicking crowd but that's liable to bring additional heat on him he's just not inclined to deal with..

So that leaves the walls..any wall really. Any will do. He stuffs his earnings deep into a pocket and then turns away from the center of the club and begins walking right for the nearest wall.? An instant later and the foundations of the entire structure shake once again and a new exit has been created along with a billowing plume of smoke and debris resulting from the giants impact and exit.

* * *

"Not exactly mine. Passive defense set by a friend," Jessica says, hanging on to Moonstar. And then…the NYPD. "Fuck me," she mutters.

She looks at Moonstar, not realizing Frank is trying to come to her rescue. She takes a deep breath. Adrenaline flooding her. She's really not the type to wait for a rescue, and she finds she has a second wind she didn't have just to hold on to her honor or badass cred in a cage fight. "Welp," she tells Moonstar. "I can't be here, how about you?"

Given a slight indication of the woman's permission, she leaps again, holding Moonstar. This time she punches through the top of the cage, and keeps right on going to make a hole through the roof of the operation. She lands them on said roof…

And, well, she'll need help again in a moment, because she doubles over again when they get there. "Son of a bitch," she mutters again. "Boy do I hope that wears off soon. Wanna finish the job of getting us out?"

She is worried for her friends, of course, but trying to get them would not have helped. She could see that for herself.

* * *

Pietro's gaze slants upwards towards the new arrival as she drapes across the back of Wanda's chair, and a rare smile that is neither cruel nor sardonic haunts his features. "Hey, Tabby," he says. "You really haven't missed much, it's been absolutely boring — "

And between heartbeats, that changes.

Pietro finishes his wine, perturbed, and flicks the glass off-camera. There is never any sound of it hitting the floor. He rises to his feet afterwards, surveying the crowd and the advancing police in the slow motion of his accelerated perceptions, fury in his eyes.

"How dare they," he says. "As if we were animals…" And the date is ruined now!!

His hands twitch, fingers curling, but ultimately he glances towards his twin, and whatever urge he felt is momentarily bridled. He reaches towards Wanda, to give her a hand up out of her chair — and eventually, to pick her up into his arms. Above all, Wanda must always be secured first. There is nothing more important to him than that.

"See our people are safe?" he asks of Tabitha, before he vanishes with his sister in a whisk of speed.

* * *

Psylocke's comments to Frank cause Owen to frown a bit at her and he would retort, but he's busy yelling support for both the two women in the fight. It's tough because he'd really rather they neither lose, well what he'd rather is both inappropriate and possibly illegal, so … moving on. And then the fight is over .. and then it goes to shit.

Frank and Emery are all nobly declaring their intentions to save people and Owen just starts swearing. Loudly. Louder than usual. But the funny thing is? He's suddenly very clear minded. Immediately gone is any sign that he's drunk or swaying. He just shakes his head at both Frank and Emery and says, "Dani's got Jess. Trust me. That's a done deal." He takes out his phone though for some reason and snaps a pic of Frank, "Sorry, just needed evidence of you crying." Yes, it's from the tear gas. Still counts.

Owen then twists a dial on his watch, and *BOOM* explosions shatter the windows out of the warehouse along one wall. Owen then hands Frank something and says, "I suggest using this to get to the roof" It's a compact grapelling gun. Technically that was his escape route, but he still has his speed and apparently a very clear mind all of the sudden.

* * *

"That's a nice defense either way." Moonstar says and then, like everyone else, Dani's is caught by the arrival New York's finest.

"Shit." Mutters the Cheyenne, but then Jess is there and offering her a way out. "Sounds good to me. Let's get out of here."

Because really, she'd rather not be outted for who she is on the professional side. An Agent of Shield. She has a cover she needs to keep.

So, as Jess picks her up and busts them out, Moonstar responds to that psychic link suddenly established.

« Rachel? And no, no, I didn't. I'm surprised just as you. »

Though there's an undertone to her voice. She's telling the truth, but there are layers there.

Then Jess and Moonstar are out and on the rooftop and Dani steadies the other woman. "I sure do got us a ride out." And just like that Brightwind, winged pegasus, drops from the sky.

Looks like the two women are flying their way out of here.

* * *

When Frank goes jumping down before Emery can scamper up the railing he just flails and sighs, snatching up his duffle bag. The cooler. Looking like a goddamn fashionable Soccer game after the match trying to clean up as he coughs softly at the gas and reaches out for Owen's arm to tug him along. "…you are not drunk or that hurt? You mother fucker…" He drops his hand and just slings the duffle bag across his back, securing it and shouldering the cooler. " I was goin' to take you for Ice cream and the strip club…but /now/ only the girls are gettin' it…" His muttering switching to fluent explicatives.

* * *

Frank's pushing through the crowd becomes a limping as his leg pulls harder, and then Jess is flying up through the roof, "Oh fuck me." He shakes his head, getting a lungful of teargas and starting to cough and hack, tears streaming down his face. He turns back up to the mezzanine, just in time to get stealth-pic'd. Wiping his face, he finds something in his hand, and peers at it through the wisps of gas, coughing, spitting, getting knocked around by some big-ass metahuman, then firing the grapelling gun up toward the hole that Jess made, hooking the gun itself to his belt. "Where the fuck do you keep these things, Twitch," he asks of Owen, then shakes his head, "Nevermind. I don't wanna know." And then he's reeling up, getting pegged by one beanbag round on the way up that sets him swaying like a pendulum and groaning in pain as he hauls himself up onto the roof to lie flat there. "Fuck." A pretty good night just turned into a really crappy one. Stupid NYPD.

* * *

It's hard to say if it's an Asgardian trait, or just some small spark of the Odin-Force that's made it's way all the way to Atli, but she carries on the family tradition well, starry-eyed and head over heels, following each of Rachel's words with a slight delay, thanks to all of the alcohol. Of course, when she mentions sitting on someone's arm, she gives a wave of her hand. "No no, of course not. I'm sure that was all my great grandfather's foolish pride. Besides, who asks a beautiful woman-bird can sit on their arm when you can ask them to sit on yo-"

'NYPD! Everyone stay where they are! THIS IS AN ILLEGAL OPERATION! '

Atli's brow furrows at the interruption, and she looks out over the sudden chaos of the crowd, which she then turns away from and promptly ignores, giving her attention back to the glorious Fire-Bird-Woman. "I-" And then she's being lead along, away, which she takes as a good sign! "Ah, well, I'm immune to most things. Fire. Lightning. Well, not all fire. Dragon fire is a bit much. I'm sure I can take bird fire. Wait, where is my goat?!"

Indeed, where is the goat? Leaping over their heads to skid to a stop on front of them both, Atli's loyal companion having become suddenly over protective in the chaos. "Worry not, Lady Firefeathers, if all else fails, the goat can ferry us to safety. Well, depending on his mood. And his recent diet."

* * *

"What?! What do you mean no strippers?! I had a plan! It totally worked!" Owen is indignant. He came here specifically to find out two things, if these fights were being used to recruit for the Brotherhood (probably) and if it was a way to round up metas (again, looks likely). He planned and executed and he is damn proud of that! The little drunken bit of business was all just fun and games, and really Owen is all about that.

But then he's also way to close to getting nabbed by cops, so he flips off Emery with a "Yea, fuck you too." which is of course their way of confessing their undying love and support for one another. And then isn't there anymore. He manages to get clear far enough and then catch a ride back to Harlem.

While on the way he texts everyone he knows that was there including Colleen…

'That was fun. Same night next week?'

* * *

Rachel turns her head as she keeps pushing through the crowd away from the riot line. It's buying time, but time is what she needs right now. Her telekinetics flash through the room without a trace to give her a sense of where everything and everyone is — especially the twins.

Quicksilver's already gone. Well that's lovely.

Psylocke pops back in. Rachel presses her lips thin. No real time to think about ethics. Dani checks in a moment later, sealing her impulsive decision. She sends a ping of acknowledgment back to Dani, then refocuses on Betsy.
«Right. I think Rockslide and Moonstar are out. You take the lead on the effect, I'll send you my push.»

All this and she still manages to hear most of what Atli is going on about. PROBABLY mostly. She almost definitely didn't hear something about sitting on someone's—

"Okay — so let's say no on diplomatic immunity. Look, you and I are going to go out that door over there in a moment, alright? Goat too."

Rachel narrows her eyes. Upon the astral plane, she floods her psychic force toward Psylocke to bolster the other woman's efforts. It's not full force because that would be ridiculous, but it means Psylocke can focus on targeting the right minds rather than split attention on channeling power.

* * *

Frank…is gone. Jessica and Dani are gone. Owen is gone and Emery just rolls his eyes and nods replies with something super rude in Gaelic, because the bro-love is real there, and he's left to find his own way out. Somehow. He's very old, and very resourceful and somewhere…he's walking down a dark alley and getting the bags into the back of his dark green 1967 mustang. He takes a quick message into his phone to reply to the group text before driving off. "New phone. Who dis?"

* * *

Arrests are being made, violent and not-so-violent all across the floor and levels of the mezzanine. Not everyone has fancy ways to escape, and there's easily two dozen or more people being hauled out in handcuffs and zip-ties all around the warehouse. Terranova from the first fight is screaming and thrashing against two police officers before she violently hurls them across the room only to be tasered and dropped in a heap of ombre and scales.

There's other similar stand-offs, though most are just trying to quietly surrender despite the high-adrenaline of the police around them. Some arrests are calm, some are not, but what is clear: this fight club is done.

* * *

Psylocke has shimmied out of her jacket, setting it spinning around her, and in it's own little spinning orbit, to keep the worst of the tear gas at bay. At least she doesn't need to actually speak out loud to use her telepathy. With Rachel coming online, so to speak, those cops will sort of… stop. Stare stupidly. Just long enough for everyone not caught up already to get away. Including Rachel, Goat Girl, and herself. She will head out, and then drop the telepathy so she can use her TK to carry herself up and over buildings.

* * *

Laying on the roof for a moment, Frank Castle tries to catch his breath and cough some of the tear gas out of his throat. Of course, there's a helicopter overhead, and so he slides down along the roof to avoid a sweeping searchlight, his phone buzzing in his pocket with group texts. He really needs to pull the battery out of that son-of-a-bitch again. Wiping his face with his sleeve, he retrieves the grapnel, zips it up, and drags his ass down a gutter, wincing and grumbling and cursing to himself as he does.

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