20370/Winds of Loose Change

Winds of Loose Change
Date of Scene:	05 April 2025
Location:	Madripoor Low Town
Synopsis:	Lara, Patience and Patch recover a segment of the map, that Lara hopes will lead them to the current resting place of the Crown of Ages.
Cast of Characters:	Lara Croft, Patience Alperen, Logan Howlett

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Lara Croft has posed:
Madripoor's Low Town: Early Evening

The streets were bustling with the flow of foot traffic, vehicle traffic, and more. A bustling marketplace where people traded for all manner of goods lined a nearby street, and the thrum of engines, and Human denizens created a cacophony of harmonious audible chaos. One channel of sound in particular, grew closer, as a motorcycle banked off of a bridge, its relatively low powered engine chugging along as fast as it could. On the motorcycle, a brunette woman of British descent was leaned over the controls, her head snapping back over her shoulder to look out fromn beneath a pair of sunglasses. Strapped to her back a backpack shifted around, as a pair of small cars tailed after the woman on the motor bike. They were gaining ground on her small bike, and she knew she wouldn't flee from them on these main roads.

As the bridge crossed over a section of the city that did not have it spanning water, or a chasm, but instead MORE buildings that occupied Low Town, the bike rider pulled hard on the handle bars, and sent her bike roaring up a walking foot path, and right over the edge of the bridge, on its right hand side!

Her bike free fell, with the rider lowering down upon its surface, as the cars slammed on their breakes, the passengers jumping out to watch the motor bike, as it landed on a rooftop a handful of feet below. As the bike began to speed off, the men drew guns, and for the countless time this week alone - gunfire filled the air, the sounds of hot lead popping off from handguns, aimed at the fleeing woman on the bike.

After only a few shots, the man who had been in the passenger seat of the lead car, called the shooting off, and ordered the other men to holster their weapons. He sneered at the woman in the black leather jacket, as she rode off on the bike, riding across little metal bridges setup between the rooftops of various buildings. The man, quite angered by this, raised a phone to the side of his face, and barked orders in to it.

Lara, upon the bike, breathed a sigh of relief as she steered the bike across one of the narrow metal foot bridges, hoping to God they held strong, as she weaved her way from rooftop to rooftop upon the little motor cycle.

Lara spoke in to her lapel comm. "I'm on my way back to the car, get the engine going!" She said, as her bike dropped down off a foot path and on to one of the last bridges before the next major roadway coming up ahead.

Patience Alperen has posed:
Waiting around wasn't her favorite thing to do, but Patience knew how to live up to her namesake. Sitting in the driver's seat, she contented herself with people watching. The denizens of Madripor were not so different than those of other cities. Rome, Manhattan, Cairo. Everyone has bills and jobs that don't quite pay enough for those bills. They all hurry from one place to another, lost in their own thoughts usually. If not, they're absorbed in one sort of animated conversation or another with their companions as they hurry past the homeless and beggars seeking spare change.

Hearing the comms call brought her back from her own reverie and she started up the high performance Bavarian sedan before responding to the urgent request.

"We're ready and waiting for you, Lara. Just remember. This is a rental. We did not opt for uninsured motorist coverage."

Logan Howlett has posed:
In another part of the country, it's likely that the man in the white suit would be riding a bike as well. Perhaps his beloved Low Rider, the one that hasn't been destroyed yet. Yet here in Madripoor, some of the world's hairiest knuckles tap the side of a cigar that is extremely hard to come by in the US. The ash falls from the long, darkly colored cigar, and the man takes another puff from it as he watches for the arrival of the third member of their little party. Watching is a little bit harder to do with only one eye left unobscured, but as the other one is covered in a black eyepatch for reasons which he doesn't care to reveal... he'll have to put up with a somewhat more limited field of vision.

He's a stocky, squarish sort of man. The sort of man who would have a very hard time buying a suit off the rack. It follows then that this one must have been tailored specifically for his unusual build, though he doesn't really look like the sort of person who would be wearing one.

Opening the back door, he slides into the seat, with his cigar clenched between his teeth. As he rolls the window down, he does a quick functions check on a pistol with pearl handgrips and a highly polished finish.

Anywhere else in the world, he might be in a wifebeater and cowboy boots, wading through bodies. But here, the man known as Patch has a certain reputation to uphold.

"Tell her to step on it. We're going to get stuck in rush hour traffic."

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara's jaw was clenched, as her bangs brushed wildly across her forehead. She stared through her shades at the last makeshift bridge built over the gaps between buildings, and navigated the bike up on to it. As she was crossing said bridge, though, she looked back at the back tire of her bike. The tire was flat, completely flat. One of the bullets shot at her must've found a mark inside the tread of her bike's tire. Close call, but .. for all she knew, she had one in her butt right now too, and the adrenaline in her blood just wasn't making it noticeable yet.

Halfway across the roof, Lara just abandoned the bike, and let it drive without a driver, as it went about five meters, before toppling on to its side. Lara, feeling no bullets in her butt, hoofed it on foot, running for the edge of the last building...

Down below, with Patience and Patch having the getaway car ready, would suddenly feel - and hear - someone land on the roof of the car. A powerful reverberation went through it, partnered with a rather surprising THUD to boot.

Before they could really react, though, Lara's body was visible, as it rolled off the side of the car, clutching the backpack in her arms, up against her chest, as she pulled the passenger seat door open in front of where Patch was. The British adventurer practically threw herself inside the car, and pulled the door shut. "Step on it!" She commanded to her friend on her left, before she cast a look back at patch, her shades still worn over her eyes. "Are you good?" She asked him.

Patience would be able to fire up the vehicle, and get a good twenty feet, before an unmarked white van pulled out from an alleyway, and parked itself right in front of their vehicle. The van looked rusted, like something all the way back to the 80s, somehow managed to still live to today, clearly Russian in design, and as it so happened, it had a number of Russians piling out of the interior of it, moments after throwing open a side door.

They're all armed with handguns, and a pair of rifles in the hands of the men who came out of the side exit.

"Shit..." Lara voiced, still clutching the item that had brought this mayhem on today.

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen was already mashing the gas as Lara had barely spilled into the car. The engine revved and the tires screeched and spoked as the vehicle erupted into motion. Of course it was short lived as the rusty van pulled out to try and cut them off.

"Hold on" she said calmly as she turned the wheel hard with one hand and ratcheted the E-Brake hard with her thumb holding the release button in. As the car began to snap around, she buried the gas pedal once more to whip the rear of the sedan around. The sound of bodies thumping off the left rear fender was unmistakable.

"There goes the security deposit" she noted with resignation. "Also - duck" she added. The gunmen would certainly begin sending them love notes in the shape of bullets in the next fraction of a second.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Fortunately, Patch's pistol passed its functions check, or he might have been left embarrassed. But his thick, stubby hand sticks out the window, taking shots before the men with the guns have an opportunity to fire theirs. The inside of the sedan echoes with the sound of .45 ACP as his pearl-handled 1911 fires repeatedly at the Russians who, as far as he knows, probably deserve whatever death might visit them as a result.

Life is cheap in Lowtown, and Patch can apparently afford a few.

"Don't worry about me, darlin'! Did you get it!?"

The item that all the fuss is about will have to wait, as Patch is a bit busy getting his aggression out at a distance. Turns out, he's not the world's greatest shot, but not terrible. The eye patch is probably not helping too much, but he makes presence known as the sedan pulls away with sufficient power to end the lives of a few henchman with its bumper.

"Maybe they won't notice the damage! Stay optimistic!"

It's not likely, but people need a reason to keep fighting, and the return of a security deposit is great motivation to not crash the car too terribly.

Lara Croft has posed:
the well timed fish-tail from Patience's flexing of some skillful driving, does indeed cause three of the men to get swept up in trying to avoid the car, while outright being hit by it. Two of them were knocked back in to the open side door of the old van, both of whom were the rifle bearers. The third guy got hit the hardest, and was sent back against the van's own tail, where he was knocked to the pavement. The Russians began shouting in their native language, as the driver and passenger from the cab were the first to level their handguns toward the sedan. Patch's timely reaction though, caught the driver right in the chest with a pair of shots, and a nother across the firing shoulder of the passenger across the van's front side. Both men went down, disabled for now - or outright dead.

the two riflemen bounced back from their hit with the car, and as the sedan started to drive off in a new angle, they raised their rifles up, and began firing.

Shots peppered the back of the sedan, followed by the back window blowing out all together. A few bullets zipped between Lara and Patience in the front seat, meaning Patch got a buzzer past his ear too!

Lara was ducking, and reaching a hand for the glove box in front of her, where she had tucked her gun.

"Those aren't even the men I took the journal from!" She shouted over the hail of gunfire, and the bullets making their rental void for any sort of refund. R
With her own handgun pulled from the glove box, Lara glanced back again, before she checked her pistol, and looked toward the front windscreen, where a bullet hole was now newly marking the dash board.

"Patch, where was this hideout you said You had in town?" Lara asked, voice panicked. "I don't think we can get out of town tonight. We need a place to lay low..." Her eyes were scanning the horizon, watching for more cars to try and cut them off. "Pelligrin, and his men were in black sedans. German make. I don't know where they are... but they can't be far by now."

Logan Howlett has posed:
"Head for the Princess Bar, off of Third and Tunjungan Street!"

He does an admirable job of speaking with a cigar clenched in his teeth, but then Patch has had quite a bit of practice. Still firing shots until he runs out of ammo, he does a quick change of magazines. It's only when he reaches back out to keep firing that he notices the pain in his abdomen. The back of his immaculate white suit is quickly turning red, and the odds of getting back the security deposit are dropping ever further as he gets Wolverine Blood all over the seat. Wolverine blood is notoriously hard to get out of leather seating...

"Dammit! They got me right in the kidney. Think that was a 7.62 too... hope I don't pass that next time I take a piss..."

There's little to do about it now though. The suit is ruined, though Patch himself is already healing back up. It was just one round, after all. A typical Friday evening in Madripoor.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a cellphone, and quickly swipes to his favorites.

"Hey, O'Donnell... gonna need you to get the garage open. We'll be there in... about seven minutes..."

There is a voice on the other end, while Patch sits in a pool of his own blood.

"And break out a bottle of Canadian Club. I'm thirsty."

Patience Alperen has posed:
With a curt nod, Patience confirms, "Princess Bar.. It's going to be tricky with rush hour" acknowledging Patch's earlier mutterance.

Sliding the car around a corner and cutting down a too-narrow alleyway, the passenger mirror is knocked off by a dumpster. "Definitely not getting the deposit back.. Good thing we rented under an alias."

Hearing that Patch was shot caused her to spare a glance into the rearview mirror. He didn't seem terribly affected by the wound and any last wishful thoughts of the deposit were truly dashed.

Focusing on driving, she took a few more short cuts just to get some distance between them and that group in the van. Of course the others could be coming after them still.

"Without any more rolling gun fights, GPS shows we can be there in ten minutes. Add in gun fights and..?" She just shrugs. What else could she say?

Well there was one thing. "Patches? Drop down the other half of the seat back. There's a duffel in the trunk with a few things that will help you and Lara keep anyone else from stopping us."

That duffel has two HK G36 carbine rifles, short and easier to wield from inside a moving vehicle, and two bandoliers each with six spare clips. There is also a shoulder rig with two gold plated pistols and some spare clips. "The rifles are yours. The pistols are mine, please and thank you." Never say she doesn't like to come prepared, herself.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara reached a hand up to whip her sunglasses off, as she heard Patch exchange the information with where they were to head next. She set the backpack down on the floor at her feet, and turned in her seat. Her shades were dropped on the center console, and her eyes looked back toward the shattered rear window, before she saw the Russians were out of sight, and ... blood.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" She asked him, instantly regretting having uttered such a moronic question, considering that wound would have most people on their death bed, but Patch? He seemed nary a disturbed emotion on the matter.

She looked at the blood, and could only just give an ocular patdown of the man's well-being, and reminded herself that he had claimed to be of super Human ability, when it came to longevity... The details, however, were a mystery to her still.

When he pulled the seat open, Lara raised up, planted her back against the ceiling of the car, and started to crawl in to the back seat behind Patience's driver's seat. Speaking of behind, Patience had Lara's bumping up against her shoulder, and the side of her head, as the nimble woman was still in a tight squeeze, as she transition from the front, to the back.

She helped pull some of the gear free, including her ice axe attached to the rest of her own little arsenal.

"Do you need a medical bandage?" She asked in her posh British fashion, to the Wolverine, somehow gracefully dancing away from asking Patch if he needed a patch.

She held the rifle across her lap, and gave it a check-over, as she glanced back toward the front of the car, over Patience's right shoulder.

They were coming up on a main road, one that would leave them exposed, should their tails manage to catch up with them.

Logan Howlett has posed:
"Band-Aid's not gonna fix it, darlin'... but I'll be fine. O'Donnell will have everything we need."

It's sort of a non-answer, but the pool of blood doesn't seem to be getting bigger, which is usually a really terrible sign, but in this case... apparently it isn't. He takes one of the rifles, but passes the shoulder rig up to the drivers seat, letting the holsters dangle from his hand until Patience has a spare second to grab them. Driving through rush hour traffic in Lowtown is almost as dangerous as getting shot at by Russian hoodlums.

And speaking of rears, Lara would no doubt be grateful that Patch left the rear window open, as the cigar is still clenched between his teeth and emitting especially pungent fumes. It's the sort of cigar that would stink up an entire family-sized restaurant within a few puffs. You have to pay extra for that level of stench.

The Princess Bar must have been named ironically, as the run down exterior makes it clear that no member of royalty has ever spent a single Madripoor dollar within its walls. But as run down bars go, it's got a certain amount of charm, and a location that's both off the beaten path and reasonably near the water. One could do worse, if ones goal was to waste away in Margaritaville. The garage behind the bar has a door left open, and a man with blonde hair standing by to shut it behind them. That's pretty good service for Lowtown. Or anyone else really.

So close to making it... but the car has been through a lot already.

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen blinks at her head being, well, butted by Lara. She slows down to just a little over the Posted Limit. Which, let's face it, is still too fast during rush hour. Still, they have somewhere to be and little time to get there before trouble comes knocking on their bumper again.

TUrning onto a historic stone bridge she knows better than to relax. "And so you know, those are low velocity rounds. We're not trying to slaughter the whole city.."

It was while she was mid sentence that they were side swiped by one of the sedans that were originally chasing Lara. The impact jars their car and causes Patience to correct course and get back on the correct side of the center line. Frowning, she added through gritted teeth, "... just those guys. Still. Try to watch your fire."

Lara Croft has posed:
Ten years earlier:
Lara sat beside a campfire in her mid teens. Dressed in an open parka coat, and scribbling something on a journal, that was perched on her knee, she seemed completely lost in her thoughts, as the men who were overseeing this expedition returned to the camp site after going on a hunt. Their voices filled the night air, and even with their laughter, and comradery, it did not pull Lara's eyes up from her jotting hand writing.

Conrad Roth was the first to sit down, across from Lara, he took a swig of his beer, and looked over the flames to his former best friend's daughter, who'd come in to his care, after Lord Richard Croft's demise. He grinned, as she still hadn't even looked up to greet them upon their return. "Lara...." Roth said to her, in a sing song voice. "Lara... Croft...." He continued, until finally the teenager looked up, her brown eyes sparkling in the flame of the campfire. She gave him a reserved smile, before she spoke back. "How did the hunt go?" Young Lara asked, setting her journal and pen aside, on to her backpack.

"Not bad, not bad indeed." Roth said, as he motioned toward the others in the group. "That buddy of mine caught up with us finally too. I was hopin' to introduce ya." Roth said, motioning across the fire toward the new arrival.

Lara stood up, her hands nervously smoothing her jacket a bit, as she looked toward the other men, carrying the food for tonight's little campfire feast. She spotted the new face, and she stepped over to him, offering him her hand, and speaking in a sweet British voice. "A pleasure to meet you," she said, perfect etiquette filling her voice, as Roth approached her side, and put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm Lara, Croft." She said. "And who might you be?"

"LADY, Lara Croft." Roth interjected. "Don't forget your heritage, little one." He motioned to his friend, and smirked. "This here? This is the Wolverine..."

Today:
Lara cried out as the car smashed in to the side of their own, behind her back. It instantly shattered her window, covering her in glass from behind. She leaned forward, going down in to a ball, as she clutched her rifle in her lap, giving Patch the perfect angle to fire on the men that were weaving to the left, and coming back in for another hit, while pulling their handguns out to open fire on their very unreturnable rental car!

Logan Howlett has posed:
With a rifle in one hand, and a 1911 in the other 'Patch' takes the window offered by Lara's sudden doubling over, and fires both weapons as quickly as possible without causing them to jam. Though he's not the greatest shot on the planet, he clearly knows his way around firearms, and his shots are well-placed. Hopefully Patience will forgive him for a few strays, in a high pressure situation like this. After all, not everyone in the car can recover from a bullet wound as easily as he can, and Patch made a promise to an old friend to look after a certain 'Lady Croft.'

As the attackers get perforated by multiple rounds of both 5.56 and .45 ACP, the sound from all the gunfire will probably leave everyone with ringing in their ears for hours. Patch will be fine in about forty five minutes though, assuming he gets a beer and a nap.

The other car spins out of control as the drivers head turns inside out, and it flips dramatically behind them as they continue to weave through rush hour traffic! But Logan doesn't have time to celebrate. Now that the pistol is out of ammo, he sets it down to hold the rifle more accurately, and looks down at his charge, giving her a quick once over. She seems to be fine, and the only blood he smells is his own.

"Next time, we're renting a G Class... I could really use some more legroom back here!"

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen slams their car into the side of the attackers again, forcing the driver to veer into oncoming traffic and slow down to avoid a crash.

"A G Class? Next time it's going to be a Land Rover. Or a tank, considering the trouble our Lady Croft keeps attracting to us!" It's an accusation aimed with Much Love.

Just the same Patience shouts, "Hang on!" Just as she pulls hard on the E-brake again to drift around a turn. The poor GPS is pinwheeling now because it cannot fathom why the car is not following its perfectly planned route and must now attempt to reticulate the splines and find something that resembles a viable route to the bar.

"I do believe we're going to be a little later than planned."

Lara Croft has posed:
With Patch returning fire, Lara peered over the seat, toward the vehicle full of the men that Lara had stolen the item from. She had her rifle ready, but Patch was a pro at this... an old pro, clearly. He disabled the entire vehicle, of men in suits - not unlike Patch's own, and now they were bloodied up just like his too.

She glanced at Patch, and then back toward the enemy vehicle, that was completely dashed. "I don't think that was Pel's car..." Lara softly said, as she fingered the rifle on her lap nervously. Her booted left foot bounced on the floor, that was covered in glass from her window, and the back window that had been shot out when they initially took off from the side alley.

"Very nice driving, Patience." Lara said, an approving tone on her voice, as her left hand went up to give her friend's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Hopefully that will be the last of them for now... But I know Pel, he's going to have the city flooded with more men by sun down." Her eyes went over to Patch, her stare on his cigar for a moment, but the smoke didn't bother her, as she remembered all too well the cigar smoking around the campfires... "I am really glad you were in town." She told Patch, as wind whipped around inside their vehicle's interior, casting her bangs around her face, and her ponytail wildly around behind her shoulders.

Ninutes later:
Their battered sedan pulled up outside of Patch's safehouse, covered in bullet holes, missing a mirror, and multiple windows. The contacts of Patch's came out to greet them, and instantly fanned out around the car, one of them whistling at the damage.

"We better get this inside. Take it through the garage door, just over there." He told Patience, as Lara was already stepping out of the back seat, having grabbed her gear, and her backpack with the stolen item in it. She clutched the backpack to her stomach, as she slung the strap of her gear around her left shoulder, her jagged climbing axe swaying down at her hip. She looked over the exterior of this hideout, before she regarded her associates. "I hope we're not a burden, we just need to ... lay low for the night, I think." Lara told the men who'd come to greet them.

Logan Howlett has posed:
When laying low in Lowtown, there are plenty of options. And some of them are probably even less conspicuous. But the Princess Bar has a garage capable of hiding their car, and a friendly staff that seems to know 'Patch' well enough to drop everything and help his friends get inside as quickly as possible. There are other considerations though, chief among them the fact that the Princess Bar is also a bar. The importance of this cannot be overstated.

The white coat is shed almost as soon as Patch gets inside the place, as it wouldn't do for him to scare away the very few customers that the place has this evening. From the looks of things, they're not the sort of people to go blabbing their mouths, or even pay very much attention. It's the sort of bar where people tend to keep their heads down and mind their drinks. Behind the bar, O'Donnell is wiping down glasses with a dour expression on his face. Soft jazz music plays in the background courtesy of a tinny sound system. But it looks like there's also room on the stage for a small band, when it isn't such a slow night.

"Got a room open for the girls?"

It's only half a question, as Patch seems confident of the answer. O'Donnell slides a key with a large plastic tag and the number '3' on it.

"You ladies are in luck. We just got the hot water fixed. But the cable's out."

Sighing deeply, 'Patch' looks particularly struck by the news.

"Aww... the Leafs are playing today..."

Lara Croft has posed:
Surely a woman with a whole host of gear making her way in to the bar, a rifle hidden beneath a jacket, and an ice axe hanging from a leather bag over her shoulder - would draw attention, right? It didn't seem to though, and as Patience rejoined them from a back hallway, Lara accepted the key, and showed a grateful smile toward O'Donnel. "Thank you... It is very appreciated." She said, her voice sincere, and warm with her aristocratic accent.

She gave a glance toward Patch, and nodded to him once. "I'll be back down here in a bit." She told him, before she adjusted the strap of her bag and started off toward the stairs to the rooms.

Lara was gone maybe 45 minutes, before she appeared again, hand on the railing, and dressed in new clothing. Black jeans, a dark grey hoodie zipped up to her chest over a light blue tanktop that peaked out from just above the zipper. Her boots looked a little cleaner too, as she descended the stairs, and returned to the bar, freshly showered, and with her hair loose around her shoulders.

She ordered a beer, and thanked O'Donnel again, before she moved to wherever Patch had ended up. With a heavy exhale, Lara sat down near to him, and showed him a quick smile. She produced a gilded envelope from inside her hoodie, and slid it over to him.

"I found this, in the journal." She told him. It was an invitation to a swanky party in High Town. "The journal? That we came here for? It said that Monica St. Claire was in possession of the final piece of the map, that will take me to my ultimate goal."

The invitation? It was marked by the St. Claire name, a party at the family estate here in Madripoor.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Forty five minutes is a long time for a guy like Patch, so when Lara arrives she's not the only one who has managed to change outfits. Unlike her, however, Patch is wearing an identical ensemble, as if he didn't so much 'clean up' as 'respawn.' The smoke of a fresh cigar fills the Princess Bar, and more than half a bottle of Canadian Club whisky has disappeared into his gullet, one glass at a time.

As the jazz music plays softly in the background, Patch listens to the exposition as he looks over the envelope. After turning it over, he checks out the invitation within, a look of recognition on his face. He doesn't possess a face that gives away much, but it's clear that the name causes him both surprise and a small amount of alarm.

As dangerous as Lowtown can be, there's a certain honesty to the sorts of criminality that can be found here on the poorer side of the island. But up in Hightown, the rules are a good bit trickier, and the stakes that people play for are far more dangerous than mere life and death.

He slides the invitation back over to her.

"Don't suppose there's any way I can talk you out of going to that party, huh darlin'?"

A deep puff of the cigar, as he looks up at the television that is most definitely not playing today's hockey game. The local channels in Madripoor are pretty terrible, and the island is famous for not being the sort of place where anyone plays hockey.

"Alright then... guess we'd better get a plan together. We'll need to get you a dress. And probably some grenades..."