14790/Money don't grow on trees

Money don't grow on trees
Date of Scene:	27 April 2023
Location:	Air base
Synopsis:	Closing out.
Cast of Characters:	Mary McPherran, Carol Danvers

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Mary McPherran has posed:
Anyone tuned into military channels, or air traffic control, they'd be getting an ear full tonight. There's an issue around the air space of one particular location along the eastern seaboard. Typically transits of gold and precious metals, especially by air, aren't exactly public knowledge. There's a reason these things are hush hush.

But now, jets are being scrambled, choppers being sent up, because a delivery expected from overseas is hitting a bit of a snag.

Some arses are trying to make off with a heavy lifter of loot. And worse, there's costumes involved but no identities confirmed. What reports that have managed to get to radio speak of a snafu, of resistence, leading to gunfire between forces on the ground, on the tarmac. Whatever is being scrambled now is being armed for bear. It's a shame it'll take some time before it can reach the base.

Carol Danvers has posed:
Carol Danvers was out on one of her rare days off. An actual, full-fledged, 'No JLA meetings, no Avengers meetings, no SHIELD meetings, no Air Force meetings' days. You'd be surprised how much of Avenging, and Leaguing and Air Forcing involves meetings. And while she'd normally consider a poker game if she knew someone was throwing one, or maybe another flight with Zinda Blake (She's totally going to get a hit next time), instead as Carol's polishing off a slice of pizza in Midtown, her phone chirps with a generic but all too meaningful chirp.

Because you need a whole lot of generic but distinct chirps when you have like half a dozen encrypted messaging apps for different hero groups, government agencies, and your friend and fashion designer's late night texts.

And fortunately, Carol's not stuck flying towards the unfolding air base drama in her civilian clothes after a brief flare of energy, costume replacing jeans and t-shirt. She still takes a couple minutes to arrive, because she can't really kick into high gear until she's well above the city. People really stop cheering for you as a heroine if you keep breaking their windows.

And Carol knows how to make an entrance, rocketing down from practically low earth orbit in a glowing streak of energy. They might not be spaceships, but still, a heavy lifter is a big thin that carries things, and that's close enough to fit for Captain Marvel.

She slams down with the intent to take out an engine in a moment of shock and awe. And then she can focus on these 'costumes' that have shown up. Hopefully it's Shocker. Everyone likes beating up Shocker. It really feels unfair sometimes.

Mary McPherran has posed:
The scene is chaos, but to someone special with an eye for deployments of military assets, special and mundane, it'll be recognizable of how an orderly C-130 ~should~ have taxied the runway towards an available hangar, no fuss no muss. But Shit has gone south.

The heavy lifter, looks to have been about to take off, and was intercepted by three attack helicopter, of varying make and model. So, no organization with enough dough to have a uniform paint scheme or insignia apart from a quick dull matte finish to cover old markings. Not too shabby assortment, that wouldn't look out of place in Desert Storm, but not fully outfitted with all the missiles the military can afford. A trio of them on the tarmac with the big transport plane. Their rotors are still in motion, hovering near the ground. Their weapons trained at the jeeps and trucks that dare to try and peel towards the plane as it is hijacked. Pilots are wearing american flags, though it's stark and missing some stars, got a few extra symbols. Militia of some unofficial and zealous sort. So where are the costumes?

The costumes appear after Carol rather dramatically renders the engine on one wing totally out of commission. A woman almost falls out of the back of the cargo bay at the rear of the plane, throwing herself into a role. Showing a lot of flesh where her dark lavendar costume doesn't cover. "Fucker!" She comes out of the roll, and it's not the entrance Marvel made. It's lacking that terrific sound, that booming destruction when forces meet of the superhero making connection with the engine and the and impact to the ground, the propeller spinning off like a shuriken, slicing through the tail-rotor of one of the hijacker's copters. It starts doing the whirly-whirlies in place, a mad dervish.

Small arms fire and rifles are whizzing through the air, traded between plane, and defense forces of the air base. That ceases ~briefly~ with the arrival of Carol on the scene.

Carol Danvers has posed:
Carol feels that familiar but not-so-often encountered tingle in the back of her mind, one of those strange Kree genetic manipulations that has her instinctively cataloguing, categorizing and otherwise considering the overall tactical situation even as she's landing, right arm thrusting out and firing off some... relatively... low-yield energy beams towards the more generic mercs.

They're going to regret taking the job, but they're probably going to be regretting it in prison, not the ICU.

And really, it's that Kree engineering that has Carol focused enough to not miss the tumbling purple figure rolling out the back of the plane, before she's recovering and issuing as _profanity_! That is not Avengers-approved language!! Captain America would be appalled.

Captain Marvel? Well, she's just a little irked. But really more at interrupting her afternoon than the profanity.

"Okay, today's costumed misadventure is over! Let's just agree to disagree about... the military industrial complex or whatever, and you go visit the Raft for a bit, and I get to go catch up on my /woeful/ backlog of streaming content!"

Carol's voice is dry, sarcastic, very 'I know this offer's not going to be taken, but banter's part of the job' tone.

Mary McPherran has posed:
Guns trained on the Air base's defenders, some of them are silenced, weapons blasted away, broken, and bodies thrown from cover. Marvel is amongst them, a cruise missile they're ill equipped to stop. They're starting to turn their weapons on her, and there is a ~look~ that passes over their eyes, what little is visible beyond their mundane tactical masks. They're not completely stupid, but they aren't smart. With a gun in one's hand, or a war machine's joystick, sometimes there are misplaced feelings of empowerment. These hijackers, the ones that aren't immediately taken out, they try and run for the hovering helicopters when the cargo lifter looks like it'll never get airborne now. It is a mad scramble.

The figure that gets to her feet is tall. Big girl, swole and her rap sheet looks like it's soon to get another bunch of details added. Titania rises and bunches her fists. She turns her head slightly, mouth a grimace, "I'm still getting paid!" yelling into the cargo area of the now crippled plane. Hints of crates are within that red-light bathed interior. There's no response, which isn't surprising given the rapid change of tactics. Fight or flight has turned purely to flight. Except for Titania.

The tall red-head sizes up Marvel, and she's not afraid like the others. But then, she's no stranger to a showdown. "Buzz off blondie, a pretty face like yours should be more worried about her teeth than what's on the boob tube." Rolling her shoulders, she takes a deep breath. "Fetch She-Hulk and go catch up on your watchlist!"

Carol Danvers has posed:
Carol's not really worried about the rats scurrying from the sinking ship. And if the air force shoots down the helicopters while they're trying to escape? Well, the US government has the authority to respond to an attack on their military with deadly force. That's not her circus, not her monkeys.

Besides, she's got literally /bigger/ issues to deal with. ...That woman did not look that tall tumbling out of the C-130. Oh boy.

Carol tries to look entirely casual about it, like she's used to facing off against... this woman. She should know her. Like, purple outfit, bad attitude, clearly throws down with costumed crimefighters on the regular... but nope, Carol's coming up blank.

"Oh! You're... you're..." She frowns thoughtfully, one eyebrow perking, teeth working her lower lip for a moment, "No, I'm coming up blank. You... uhh... you want me to actually call her? I mean, she's kinda busy. Lots of plates to spin. You know, active social life, crimefighting, other crimefighting..." She sighs and rolls her eyes, "Nah, sorry, you'll just have to settle for a tussle with me if you don't want to go quietly." She makes a show of idly cracking her knuckles, eyebrows lifting higher, "Last chance though, you could just give up, use that payroll you're supposed to get for a lawyer. Big green one maybe? I hear she's great."

Mary McPherran has posed:
Titania rolls her shoulders, limbering up one arm and then the other. She's pretty ready already, but it's important to have style. A thing that Marvel seems to just naturally exude by just showing up, in Mary's eyes. How infuriating, and the cherry on top is the shade thrown at her. It's a perfect shituation sundae that gets under her collar and gets her simmering.

"I was gonna smack you around a little and just leave it at that." she mutters under her breath. She could stand to rage a little louder, what with those helicopters chopping at the air and the small arms fire and fuel touching off in dramatic little firey blossoms. It's yet another thing to compete against without having to mention the big green elephant not in the room.

She's tensing, building motivation with her massing anger. "You'll say my name!" And she launches herself forward, insteps digging right into the tarmac for hard purchase, springing with arms upraised to try and snatch a Superheroine right off her feet.

Carol Danvers has posed:
Carol's eyes are narrowed, lips pressed in a stern line, brow furrowing slightly. It is very much the kind of look that would probably get some guy to say she should smile more, and then lead to her and Titania bonding over throwing him into the stratosphere.

But since everyone that's not a costumed criminal or crime fighter is busy running around to deal with the surrounding chaos, there is no strawman made of ridiculous machismo to defuse the situation.

Carol snorts out, "Oh please, like I was going to let you just tussle a bit and then walk off? With the amount of paperwork I'm going to have to do? Not happening."

Carol's doing her best to ignore the small arms fire... after all, it's not going to hurt either of them, and luckily the bullets won't ricochet off them with enough force to threaten anyone else, so it's not worth worrying about. But then Titania's getting _angry_, and Carol probably won't like her when she's angr-

"Bitch! I don't know your na-!" And then she's cut off as suddenly Titania's right up in her business, hefting her up like it's some kind of pro wrestling match, "Oh! So it's gonna be like that!!" Great. She can't even text Jen to ask her what this gal's deal is.

Mary McPherran has posed:
The big gal certainly isn't playing the role of a Face tonight. She's full on heel, growling like a Harley Davidson. There's probably a lot of possibility in having things to bond over, if this was in another time and place. She has a lot of respect for gals that don't take crap. But Marvel's gotten under her skin, but she fully intends to exfoliate the other woman's perfect complexion against the runway. "Ti-tania!" she yells, and that light in her eyes isn't for any audience, it's just for Carol. Her grip bears down without much reserve and swings Marvel around as she bullrushes along with the momentum, trying to force her opponent down to enjoy what her jet's landing gear puts up with when coming in for a landing.

The two lesser concerns, the two whirlybirds, chatter frantically back and forth with one another. Decisions are being made, the situation has gone from pear shaped to inside out with the arrival of Marvel. The jig might be up, and whomever is in charge of the Excel spreadsheets is making demands and the pilots are making a few personal calculations themselves. The C-130 won't fly anytime soon, and it has a full belly. The pilots of the big heavy lifter emerge from a side hatch and run headlong towards the waiting helicopters. They are rather surprised when the cannons slung under their beaks start whirring like a pair of massive hair-dryers. Those trying to flee drop immediately, which saves their lives as the rotating barrels drag a stream of bullets across the tarmac. Plumes of pulverized tarmac puff upwards like an invisible sewing machine was trying to stitch up the runway like it was a pair of jeans. The firepower of the two choppers close their arcs of fire to play over ~both~ women tussling.

Carol Danvers has posed:
Carol is beginning to realize she /may/ have taken this alarm a little lightly. Not so much in not calling for backup. It's no alien invasion fleet or dimensional rift. But letting the amazonian angry gal grab her? Probably a bad idea. That faint telltale glow begins to increase, Carol hitting the throttle as it were... sure, that usually instantly makes people regret grabbing her.

But now she's realizing why this Titania gal is such a handful for Jen. ...Did she just remember her name? Well, her codename. Criminal name? Whatever. Bigger things to worry about. Like the tarmac coming up at her face. Fortunately, she learned early on that she's pretty rugged, and while she doesn't get out with unmussed hair, and there might in fact be a few faint abrasions, she takes eating runway better than most.

And while she might be effectively bulletproof, she _feels_ the gunfire raking them and growls out, "Okay, legs... we're going to leave the peanut gallery behind. Handle this on our own."

That glow brightens further, and suddenly gravity is really more of a suggestion than an immutable law, and Carol kicks in the jets as it were to try and launch herself and Titania into the sky. She's pretty sure there's a bombing range nearby. She'll stop holding back and give this gal what she wants there. A little rough and tumble throwdown.

Mary McPherran has posed:
Titania reacts to the ~help~ from her supposed allies with howls of shock. The bullets don't break her skin or leave an apparent bruise, but soft tissue still doesn't enjoy the high-velocity rounds rabbit punching her in the kidneys and thighs. A baker's dozen of bullets get her against the temple and rock her head upon her neck. All about herself and Marvel is that scattering of uplifted turf and airstrip, making choking dust and dropping some visibility. "Assholes!"

God but does it feel good to do a little street sweeping. It's all going to crap, but this is immediate gratification and being able to pull out the stops. The glow beneath her lights up her features, twisted into a facsimile of fierce pleasure. It changes into a look of confusion, which amplifies as her feet leave the ground, legs running in places. Her leverage is left behind, and her stomach, and she screams and tries to tighten her grip on Marvel. To get a choke hold on her means losing the grip she's got, so she has to settle for hanging on rather than plowing. "F-fine with me! I don't need an audience to lay you out Princess!"

Passing the duo are scrambled fighters that shriek past on afterburners like a flight of avenging angels. And somehow that's not as freaking startling as being shot aloft by Marvel. The fighters bank and separate, their engines a pair of embers in the night, HUDs inside lighting their cockpits with eerie green. One of the pilots whips his head to watch Marvel soaring past and continues on to handle the helicopters left behind. Those two heist pilots are definitely realizing maybe they should have tried to beat it while they could, as futile as that might have been.

Carol Danvers has posed:
Carol /really/ wasn't expecting to catch a glimpse of Titania looking like this fight is all she wants. Like she's /enjoying/ this. ...Why didn't she expect that? She's a known costumed criminal who tangles with She-Hulk on a regular basis.

If you do that on a regular basis it's not because you /don't/ like a good scrap. Or you really like green. Maybe both. She'll ask her her favorite colour later.

Like when she reaches the ground. Because while Carol /could/ drive them both down into the cratered bombing range, it's much more satisfying to grip Titania by the collar and give a spin around like a forming tornado before launching her downwards.

Carol? Carol follows at a more leisurely pace, landing downright /lightly/, cracking her knuckles, her own lips splitting in a grin. "Okay, listen, we've got like... ten minutes before god knows how many SHIELD agents or spec ops teams or a helicarrier show up... so let's do this. I promise I'll put in a good word at your parole hearing if you agree not to try and cause any crap when they get here."

Mary McPherran has posed:
Titania doesn't get to experience getting treated like a meteorite often. Maybe she was expecting less, but that grip on Marvel is tenuous when the other woman displays just how much damn might she's got. The disorientation is quick and absolute, and her opponent is suddenly there, and then smaller like an action figure, and then there is darkness as the ground obscures her sight. Compacted turf arrests her descent and when she scrabbles her way above ground, she's like the world's angriest zombie returning to the land of the living. Spitting literal rocks and dirt, she gives her head a shake and lets debris rain down from her mess of hair that obscures half her face.

A cough and she sucks in a cleaner lungful of precious air. "O-kay..." she rasps. She blinks and reacquires a vision of Carol's grin. She reaches up to the side of her head and ~baps~, head tilted like she just got out of the pool and has a bit of water in her ear.

A bullet pops out of where it was wedged unluckily in her eardrum. It falls to the earth as fireworks go up at the distant airfield that was left behind. Fellow flyboys and flygirls getting their licks in, making short work of the militant remnants.

"So, 10 minutes to tango. I'll only need 7 to send you to heaven, toots." Titania offers a grin of her own, flexing, veins and muscles accentuated. Never one for overthinking, she tries to feint a little rush to the right with a kick, but goes for a lefty uppercut to the gut.