12870/Face Front, True Believers!

Face Front, True Believers!
Date of Scene:	23 September 2022
Location:	Excelsior Books
Synopsis:	Stuff
Cast of Characters:	Illyana Rasputina, Stephen Strange, Gwen Stacy, Kurt Wagner

---

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Ray's Occult Shoppe, of the embarrassing old English name, draws all sorts of real practitioners and fakes from around the city. In Tribeca, telling the two apart can be rather difficult. After stopping at Whole Foods for their parmesan-breaded chicken, a last-minute rush into Ray's to buy the necessary eco-friendly harvested white sage and fair trade pods of a rare Amazonian plant needed in a ritual keeps Illyana penned down near the doorway. Ray's odd hours help in this case, but he probably wants her out of his sight faster than most.

Hard to blame the man. If he has the Sight, he can see her fractured aura. Normal people lack fractured auras on the whole, and their stained glass aura shouldn't look like someone illuminated it from within by using an indigo shard they stole.

So it is that she sashays out into the street. Hell lords don't slink unless they mean to. Not at all when their eyes are full of promise, a dangerous grin on their lips for a man who really ought to know better. Wisdom and age, and all that.

"I think, maybe we need to go to the White Nights in St. Petersburg. You and me, eating dinner on the frozen river. We admire the Hermitage, talk to the cats."

Nice idea, but one that's impacted substantially by the hiss of a spray can. By the bite and jingle of metal, somewhere... close.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Ah, Ray's.

It is a familiar haunt. And yes, it does tend to draw a rather eclectic crowd, truth be told. Both pseudo and actual mystical types. Though, really, if one knows what to look for...or more precisely *how* to look...then it isn't all that hard to weed out the charlatans. After all, those who truly know what they are doing have a way about them.

And when accompanied with one such as Illyana, those that know what they are doing know to not keep the blonde by the doorway waiting.

So armed now with the white sage and fair trade pods, with the customary word of thanks, Stephen meets up with Illyana and steps out into the street. For, despite how much Ray did not want to have Illy inside the shop, he was not about to turn away Strange. And, because of that, Strange did the common courtesy of 'getting his shit and going.'

Although, Strange does not sashay. He does return the grin with a slight smirk of his own towards the blonde. Because yes...he does know better. And he doesn't care.

"Dinner on the river. Sounds enchanting." A pause as he adjusts his stride to match Illyana's. "I am sure the cats will ignore us. Such as cats are wont to do."

The pause in speaking is enough to allow the release of accelerants to possibly be heard. A glance is cast over to the Demon Queen. The question unspoken, but clear. Shall they investigate?

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Some people are out having fun and scheduling dinners while others? Out on patrol. Because Evil Never Sleeps. At least according to the music blasting on a certain Ghost Spider's earcomms, named accordingly 'Evil Never Sleeps'. A bit too heavy for her tastes so while she is spinning in the air and throwing another web to continue her patrol across town is when she changes tunes.

Back to her favorite band. Back to Garbage. Of course that the song that it starts with is 'I think I am Paranoid' which while one of her favorites always makes her shudder briefly when she gets it first in the mixer, "Stop being supersticious, Gwen. It's just a song." she murmurs to herself.

It's also when she hears that rattling of metal followed by a faint brush of her danger sense signaling there's something afoot. It draws her over.

*thwip* *thwip*

She jumps and lands against the side of a building not far from the Excelsior, one hand and a foot keeping her 'glued' to the wall. "I have a bad feeling about this .."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Russian cats are devils," she reminds Strange. It is in Illyana's nature to occasionally call on old folktales, and not to mention Baba Yaga, her grandmother. Or great-grandmother. It's a bit twitchy to know if she's Grigori-the-bad's mom or sister, and the genealogy is particularly hard to sketch a clear line around.

She instead has the pleasure of looping her arm around the sorcerer's. To walk untroubled by looks from her own cohort, who might not know what their little snowflake gets up to. In some ways, she prefers it so. In others, like in Tribeca, let them see and be jealous, the way she leans in and pecks Stephen's cheek. A brush of the lips, and longer to allow a brief stare at the alcoves of shadow pooling around the buildings pressed so close together. Away from the main streets, it's quieter, but space is at a premium in a city this dense. Nothing immediately jumps out with a sign to say 'Heroes, get me' but then Stilt Man isn't around, is he?

The hissing rattle becomes a fast-moving pattern, rattle-shake, spray, rattle-shake, spray. The noise is peculiar in how long the ribbons of paint must be, something filled in or splashed in huge diagonal stripes instead of grunt work. She doesn't exactly seem to recognize the source, and the thwippy bit doesn't register. So she does what any smart kid does in the city.

She plucks up a plastic bottle left by some nitwit who can't use a trash can, nose wrinkling. Then she hurls it with troubling accuracy into the alley where it's likely to spill warm, half-drank knock-off Mountain Dew on someone. Hopefully not Gwen, but you never know. "Hey! I know The Shadow, you are a cut-rate excuse for a shade, <ovets!>" She totally just called the source a sheep.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Not just Russian cats, my dear..."

The cat commentary is set to the side, though. Of course, Stephen is willing to accept the arm of his certainly better half. As far as being in the public eye...well, it certainly is not a new experience for Stephen. And, considering his own sizable ego, he has no qualms in that sort of attention. A fingertip from the opposite hand traces along the curvature of Illyana's cheek. A return of affection...interrupted only by that which lies in the shadows.

The hissing of what is most certainly a paint can. That was definitely not imagined. And, judging from his paramour's reaction, she heard it, too. An act of vandalism in action. A sigh escapes from Stephen...surely in response of the foolishness of defacing whatever edifice while the two sorcerers are present. Of which one takes action, with the blonde hurling a warm bottle of what appears to be soda into the dark alley. At least, Strange hopes it was just warm soda.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Gwen makes her way close. Closer and closer. The music still in her ears.

~I think I am paranoid. And complicated.~

She jumps and gets into that alley quietly and then it's a matter of sneakily sneak going down the wall like a real spider to the source of this noise. That spatial awareness catches sight of the duo by the entrance but no, they are not the source. The danger isn't coming from them. She also refrains from telling them to get a room in a cheeky manner because this is a sneak mission.

All until that can of mountain Dew comes flying her way..

~Maim me, tame me, you can never change me~

"Not on a Janet Van Dyne, you won't.." Gwen murmurs even as she bends in an almost impossible angle to dodge the throw! It does sort of give her position to both sorcerers but also to whoever may be doing the thrashing of the Excelsior. So of course that she then speaks towards the darkness. "Whatever you are doing over there just stop. Vandalizing isn't cool."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
If it were up to Strange, the song might be 'I'm Only Happy When It Rains.' For Illyana, there would be better alternatives, but something about world-ending Bond problems might be in her wheelhouse.

Having successfully doused something and earned a pretty unhappy response, the Hell Lord breaks into a cheeky grin up at Stephen. "What? I do not do this beating around bushes. That never gets us anywhere."

She's just itching for a fight, maybe, though not with a white-clad spider up to no particularly naughty activities. Unless she's Li'l Miss Spray Paint, in which case, Janet van Saccharine is a new look. Rather than waiting for someone to come out from the darkness, she adjusts her bag over her wrist and haunts her way closer, disengaging from her paramour only if Strange isn't up to floating into the danger zone after her instead of staying on the curb close to the bookstore.

That someone isn't calling /back/ is mildly concerning. Though she probably doesn't hear Gwen, she sees the back-bending dart and smells the wet paint laced in crude attempts to outline a monstrosity of some kind. Sketched bits and pieces aren't finished, and they lie overtop older layers of paint that probably amounted to a nice mural. Now it's just defaced. As for who does this act of civic cruelty?

"Come on, you going to run or what?" Run. You know you want to.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Oh...interesting. A flash of white and...really, was that a bit of pink? And on the wall no less. That was unexpected. As is the flexibility of the wall crawler. Which could only mean...

"I do believe I spy a spider." Oh, but then Illyana grins towards Stephen...and he knows exactly how she operates. A plan is only for those that are not able to summon a gigantic broadsword at will. "Well, yes. Though, honestly, I had imagined dining on rivers to be a tad more inviting than foiling some random tagger."

A beat, then an equally cheeky grin back to the Russian. "But hey, you do you."

Besides, there is a little bit of fun to be had to scare the living daylights out of said random tagger. Which is probably the only reason that Strange decides to walk in after Illyana. After all, Illy alone is overkill. Hell, random Spider-person number 4 would be more than enough.

And, as the two enter the alley, the perpetrator comes more into view. And....it is more white and pink, apparently. Though, this one also has a guitar strapped to his back. Yes, definitely a guy. And goggles? And a pair of headphones? Oh, great...another rando with delusions of grandeur. It is definitely the culprit, as the spray can is still in one hand, while the individual is looking downward, at his white boots. "Aww, man! Now I gotta get these cleaned before my gig later or it's gonna stain. Which one of ya decided to chuck a bottle of piss at me?!" The can of paint is tossed aside, as the dark-skinned individual straightens, turning to face the entrance of the alley. "All I was doin' was a bit of advertisin' for my show. No one is gonna care about some boring old mural....not when they can have true art!"

Indeed...the mural has been defaced. From the looks of it, with a pair of giant H's, stylized. Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that it was not asked for, it would have passed for moderately okay.

The guitar-bearing individual continues. "Looks like you all are gonna get a free show. I don't do this for nuthin, ya know. Get ready for the Hypno Hustler!"

Cue the eye-rolling now.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
It's a spider indeed. Or in this case a GHOST SPIDER. At least to those who pay attention to social media and all that. She folds her arms as she comes to stand next to Illyana, a brow arching under her mask. "Okay, you have got spirit to you, blondey. I will give you that.." Blondey!? Well, if it was Gwen speaking she'd probably be quite a lot more reserved but when she has that mask on? Ghost Spider has no such care. But it's all done in good spirit at least. Illy seems like she is an ally... Maybe? Bit of an intense vibe going there...

And woah, what? Is that Doctor Strange? Ghost Spider recognizes the man of course, how could she not recognize one of the Avengers! She then looks at Illy, then to Strange, then at Illy.

Then maybe she starts to understand why Illy was coming out so brazenly into a dark alley.

Her eyes go to the guy. The Hypno Hustler? "Hey man, you are right. You got -no- idea how much it takes for me to clean my suit too. I mean, white, am I right? Whoever gets a hero suit to be white?" it's all a stalling tactic as she edges a bit to the side so they aren't all together.

Cue in a bit of a giggle out of Gwen. "Did you just say Hypno Hustler?" oh man she just loves these villain names! "Ever thought on teaming up with Paste Pot Pete?" one of her other favorites!

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"White Nights is not for weeks," says Illyana with an insouciant shrug. "When sun does not rise, da?" Autumn has barely hatched, they have a ways to go even in Russia.

Along came a spider who sat down beside... Err... Pink and white is apparently /not/ just Spider-Gwen.

Something else; the someone being unfamiliar to the blonde. Goggles and headphones could be Spider-Spray or Bat-Painter, a wholly unimpressive look. "Boom-Boom does it better," she says, shrugging. "You advertise online, da? Use posters. Someone makes a nice mural for reading, and you do this..." A hand wave shows the space past the Ghost Spider. She doesn't mind company, it's plenty fine by her. "Maybe we workshop this name to be better. The Mendicant. Conman... No, wait, that is another crap warlock. Maybe they can share? You should get some PR for that."

Stephen Strange has posed:
There isn't much that gets Stephen to laugh. However, looking upon a reject from a disco? With a name to match? Oh, that will do the trick. A slow smile cracks the surface of that mein of Strange's, followed by a couple of chuckles, before the sorcerer turns and covers his face to regain composure. "Seriously. I do believe I was wrong. This is entertainment."

A glance is given towards the Spider's direction. "Quips just like the original. Most definitely in the same wheelhouse. I do believe you may not need me at all for this one."

How generous of Strange. Besides....he's still laughing.

Which...does not agree with the aforementioned Hypno Hustler. "Aw, come on, man! Why you gotta play that way? Seriously, everyone's a critic." The guitar is pulled around, the hands finding their places automatically. It is apparent that, despite the bad nom de plume aside, the man seems to know what he is doing. "Posters are passe. When's the last time ya'll stop and looked at one? This is gonna guarantee people lookin'. And besides..."

As the musician and amateur art critic speaks, he slides the headphones into position, a wicked grin playing across his features. The white-clad individual squares off with the trio as he flicks the guitar on...which somehow hums to life even without an amplifier. There is more than meets the eye to this one.

"...once I start playing, you ain't gonna care about no boring old mural anymore..."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
    Kurt can go out in public a lot more easily than he used to, but there's still something to being THAT unusual-looking that gets him up on rooftops. His method of transportation may not be gunshots, but it's not exactly subtle, and there's the smell. From up there, it's pretty clear that Kurt is not Superman. He doesn't have the hearing to distinguish a lot of stuff. He's not up there keeping watch, he's up there to get out of the way. However, Hypno Hustler's little show gets a bit more attention than most things.

---BAMF!---

    Kurt appears on the corner of a roof overlooking the concert. He plugs his ears as he distorts the guitar riff with his teleport, skipping a second or so as he literally passes by where those sounds are before they can get to him.
    "Ugh," he says, "they call this music?" he says to nobody in particular.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Ghost Spider fingerguns at Stephen. "You got the right attitude ..." pause, ".. Sir." even with the Ghost Spider mask she knows to respect the Doctor! Even if he's laughing out at Hypno Hustler. But then again, who wouldn't? At least she already had her dose of Paste Pot Pete last week so she doesn't laugh -as- hard but there's still the occasional chuckle.

"She's right you know?" She says of Illy, "You could use some PR. Someone like me. I am great in social media, I could set you up on insta, twitter, maybe on tik tok too. What do you say? Don't you want to make some short vids..?"

The guitar comes to life and Ghost Spider whistles, "Nice sound.. Say, do you know how to play Garbage?" she might as well ask.

And if HH doesn't play it? Well, she still has that music blasting on her ears.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Stephen Strange, unimpressed. Illyana, cocky. Ghost Spider, quippy. Welcome to New York, in all its oddities.

Illyana /is/ a critic of spray painting murals. Art apparently means something, but that big metallic brother pours his soul into painting and the elder Rasputin treats the world like clay when he wants. Maybe it's personal.

She spreads her fingers to wrap around her hip. Her teeth rattle when the guitar wakes up, and here, being a paranoid product of a decade of torture occasionally brings advantages instead of lingering trauma and waking up screaming. Responding to someone's cocky behaviour tends to bring out the firebrand in her, especially when the brash statement triggers her to smirk back.

"That so?" More attitude might come, but the brimstone of a blue elf with the German accent, going so well with her own Russian, makes a small hitch in the plan. "A whole lot of noise. Can he sing acapella?" Blue light in her irises accompanies that dangerous glimmering of a smirk on black lips, and then she's pulling her phone to bring up sheet music.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
---BAMF!---

---BAMF!---

    Kurt appears nearish to Illyana, someone he recognizes, at least. His ears still covered, he asks, "Are WE stopping this man?" He emphasizes to make sure it's up to superheroes and not local law enforcement. It can be fun, but this music is just...it's just too much.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Stephen Strange is indeed unimpressed. Then again, it would take a lot to actually impress Stephen. And, bad guitar playing doesn't seem to do it for him. He just shakes his head and looks over Illyana's shoulder as she works to pull up sheet music. "Well, I see you share the same opinion I do. Though, I highly doubt this poor excuse of a musician would be interested in taking requests." A glance up towards the guitarist. "Really...sounds like a grade school recital."

That...seems to have triggered the Hustler. The scathing review, coupled with the fact that there are now four people in front of him and none of them seem to care one whit about him causes him to grow flustered.

And miss a note, as the error clashes. Not that anyone is going to notice.

The Hustler speaks, frustration settling into his words. "Damn it! Ya'll got some strong wills. Imma gonna have to crank up the volume on this next solo." With that, his hand reaches down to turn a knob...which doesn't seem to turn up the volume at all. But, it does certainly change the pitch of the music, which shifts from seemingly random garbage (and not Garbage itself) to some sort of funkadelic vibe. George Clinton he is most certainly not, but the music starts to lean in that direction and, astonishing, is a little more melodic than the trash before.

Perhaps he just needed to warm up. But...whatever this playa is intending to do better be done quick. Four against one are bad odds for anyone, especially considering the makeup of the four in opposition.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Ok, I always thought your big power was magic, Dr. Strange but ... Those quips are just nasty.." From a quipper to another! Respect. Ghost Spider even extends her fist towards Strange as if fist bumping him from afar.

Kurt's sudden appearance has Ghost turning to look at him. She didn't see him arriving! That's nearly impossible with her spatial awareness. How the heck... Well, she just rolls with it. "Welcome to the party, but we need a new DJ. I am Ghost Spider." she introduces herself to get that out of the way and then just turns the volume on her RADIO-CASSETTE up. Yes, she is using ancient tech.

"I am not sure what you tryin' to pull out but ..., I think I got a place for your act.." She shoots a web past the guy. Did she actually miss Hypno? Well, she wasn't aiming at him but at a large trash on the back. She yanks on the web and opens it while looking at the others as if to give them the honors of throwing him in there.

Though she's also fully unaware of how dangerous Hypno can be. But these all seem to be powered people. How dangerous can this guy be against such heroes, amirite?

Ah, the follies of being a young, quippy, cocky spider girl.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Attempting to thwart Illyana's command over herself reeks of another time, another place. A sorry history plucks at the back of her neck, raising the white-blonde hairs and hackles soon to follow.

"Ja, we are." German replaces her habitual Russian accent, though her voice takes on a darker, sibilant quality there for those sensitive to it. Darkness that lurks under the surface hasn't surfaced yet but the disco bandit has certainly triggered its thrashing around in a vexed sleep. Not for untold centuries has it in stony cradle slept but the tangible warning ripples in her aura and might set off Ghost Spider's finely-tuned arachnid senses. Her thumb flicks over the phone, and immediately comes a horrific jangling noise.

"Baby shark, doo doo doo..." comes warbling out courtesy of YouTube.

Unfortunately the chorus is... more diverse. And clashing, absolutely every voice -- all nine of them, and growing -- out of key when eagerly called up to play through a rip in space. "It's a world of LAUGHTER, a world of TEARS!" A pause. "Teaaars!" That's more like rips and shreds. "Doo doo doo!"

"It's a world of hopes, and a world of feaaaars!"

"Baby shark," comes break in, accelerated to maybe eight times the normal speed and shockingly loud. "Doo, doo, doo! Mama - - There's so much that we - - do do doo - - - time you're aware - - song that never ends!"

Behold -- she's bringing the damn chorus line, singing even louder in a swell of not-quite wrath. "Let the bodies hit the..." Oh, she can be loud. "floor! "

Kurt Wagner has posed:
    Kurt looks at the phone has a moment where he just walks backward away from Illyana. His hands clasp over his ears. "No, too much noise," he says. "What even is that?" He is decidedly distracted, but...

Stephen Strange has posed:
Oh, the cacophony nightmare fuel of the Parliament Funkadelic with internet meme songs, metal, and various selections of kid songs is a lot. Even for Stephen. The passive expression on his face shifts to distaste as he actually backs away from both Illyana and the guitarist. There is no words coming from him. And, judging from the volume of the competing musical stylings, he wouldn't have been heard anyways.

However, the local master of funk, the Hypno Hustler himself, seems rather unaffected by the musical selections of the Hell Lord before him. It could be because of the headphones on his own ears, blocking out the music. Which....seems rather odd, considering he is a musician and all. Shouldn't he be listening to his own playing? That's pretty odd.

Regardless of that fact, it appears that the Hustler knows when he has someone in his thrall. In this case, the newcomer to the party. Calling out loud, Hypno tries to give an order. "Hey! Blue dude! Run some interference for the old Hustler!"

Which....would work, normally. However, one must be able to hear in order to react. And Illyana's improvised sonic attack has effectively rendered the Hustler's vocal commands useless. The subsonic frequencies that make up the heavy lifting for the hypnosis did their job....but with the sonic shenanigans in place, it is only a manner of time before Kurt is freed.

And....Hustler knows it. Already he is looking like he is going to rabbit.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
So it was to be a song off all along! Hypno Hustler versus the Legions of Hell? Doesn't seem like the guy got much of a chance really...

"Uh, Blondey? What are you doing?" Ghost Spider asks Illy, perhaps too late realizing that calling Illy Blondey isn't the smartest thing in the world because she is literally getting a choir of demons to sing? Ah well, as long as no demon comes eat her all's good. She *does* take a step back too, just like Kurt does ...

But then she spots the Hustler trying to rabbit. Nuh-Uh!

"Trying to leave without us giving you our rating for your performance?" another web slings out from her arm.

*thwip*

So there's two webs on each side of the guy now. And she slingshots herself over to him, both feet hitting him on the chest before he's thrown over to the trash can she had opened earlier.

Slam dunk!

"You might have a better chance in Vegas, man.." she sighs.