15340/Chaos at the Met

Chaos at the Met
Date of Scene:	08 July 2023
Location:	Metropolitan Museum of Art
Synopsis:	Some unsuspecting (and some suspecting) heroes get caught in the Met when a group of kids calling themselves the 'Iconoclasts' stage a flash-riot targeting the rich.
Cast of Characters:	Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen, Audra Meridian, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, Natasha Cranston

---

Felicity Smoak has posed:
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, often referred to as the Met, was founded on April 13, 1870. It is located on the eastern edge of Central Park along Fifth Avenue in New York City and spans four city blocks, its multi-building complex hosting approximately 19,000 visitors every single day.

Among those visitors today are two figures. Felicity Smoak wears a light cotton dress and wedge heels, a chunky necklace and bangles on her wrist that bump up against a smart watch, her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail and her rectangle-framed glasses perched on her nose. She also has a slouchy brown, leather purse tucked under one arm. But she's not the most recognizable of the pair.

For anyone that paid any attention at all to the corporate world (or that liked attending ritzy galas so they could rub elbows with the billionaires), she was on the arm of the ridiculously wealthy Oliver Queen, CEO of Queen Consolidated (headquarters located all the way out in Starling City). There were whispers of Queen Consolidated having recently purchased a twin-tower high-rise in an impoverished neighborhood with designs on fixing it up, however, so maybe that's why they're in town.

Of course, whatever the couple was doing at the Met, it wasn't exactly doting over a struggling neighborhood or its residents. Not today, anyway.

"Oooh, I like this one," Felicity comments, slowing near a suit of medieval armor in a display case -- a case of armor that obviously reminded her of /another/ case of armor, if the glint in her eye and the grin tugging at her lips when she looked up at Oliver was any indication. "I think you could totally rock the whole knight look."

Oliver Queen has posed:
It is business -- both the corporate world and the sometimes equally murky world of vigilantism -- that brings Oliver Queen to New York City, away from the more familiar confines of Star City which he noramlly calls home. The expansion of the Queen Consolidated housing projects has finally reached New York City -- though not without complications. And while the his company might have been able to complete the urchase of the Phoenix Towers project in Hell's Kitchen, it will take the Green Arrow and his allies to clean up the mess they've inherited along with it.

But it isn't business that brings him out today. While he has visited New York often enough, the same can't be said for Felicity so the pair is out sightseeing. Taking advantage of a brief calm before the inevitable storm.

The business suit -- both of them -- have been forsaken for a more comfortable pair of slacks and polo shirt -- much better suited for wandering through the many exhibits scattered about the Met. Stopping in front of the display case featuring the armor -- it does bear a certain resemblance to the display back at the Arrowcave to be sure -- he leans in a little closer for a better look and to read the plaque that gives a few details about the armor in question.

"You do, huh?" he comments quietly, a brief smile playing over his features. "It seems a little bulky to me. And noisy," he adds, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "Besides, I think I can be dashing enough without wrapping myself in metal."

Audra Meridian has posed:
Honestly art wasn't really Audra's usual thing to do with her time off. But visiting one of the most famous museums in the world during a trip to New York was just one of those tourist things you do when you have a chance to do so. It was more the act of doing so than the art in and of itself that has brought her to meandering about the various displays with whatever tour group is currently passing through.

Clad in jeans and a jean jacket over a generic t-shirt, hands tucked in pockets as she ambles along, ponytail of caramel color strung through the open back of a baseball cap, the Midwestern roots of her family was showing and she really didn't care if it clashed a little with the upper society and tacky tourists that usually popular the museum circle this time of day.

The tour group passes a set of abstract paintings, the guide stopping to on their shpeal in a monotone that boarders on can't believe they're still doing this for a living. Audra tilts her head one way, then the other way, and then just sighs. "I've seen storm wreckage that makes more sense than this." The things people consider art she just doesn't understand...

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier has posed:
One of the benefits of Aurora's work as a model is she often gets the chance to have fun photoshots in unlikely setting, today she did some promo work for the museum, and as a result got access to some of their neat artifacts. Got to take dress up in armor and period dresses, and generally have herself a good time. Once the work was done, she was given free reign to go about the museum and enjoy the displays.

Dressed in a potentially standout manner for a museum, what with her choker, fishnet gloves, sequined tank top and plaid skirt, she moved about the art display, losing herself to the thought of any one person being bored out of their mind enough to stay in one place for a month to finish a painting like those on display. Maybe it even took longer?

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    "... I ain't sure I heard that right, Boss," Benny asks in the tone of voice of someone who is very sure they heard correctly, they just think that what they heard is exceedingly unwise. "The Met's about to get robbed by these 'Iconoclast' punks and you're going there to let yourself get robbed?

    Natasha graces him with a dazzling smile from the back seat of his cab. "That's the short of it, yes."

"... Does the longer version include the bits where this makes sense?"

    Natasha laughs. "First, despite their name they're closer to a loosely connected group of kids with an excess of free time, an enthusiastic passion for social justice and a severe paucity of good sense. Getting them all arrested honestly feels a bit excessive. Plus, there's always the chance some reporter covering the incident will take note of the fact that the Met still hasn't returned a number of artifacts that were stolen from the original owners. And finally... One of their posts specifically mentioned wanting to throw a can of paint over Beauvoisier's statue of the Muse."

    Benny frowns as Natasha falls silent. He's familiar with her habit of throwing out a lede to see if her conversation partner has been doing his homework. "... I think I read about it. Wasn't there something about it getting loaned for this big exhibition by... Aw, hell."

    Natasha nods. "Indeed. And while I normally wouldn't shed a tear if Mr. Fisk were to look bad, he tends to react... harshly... to people deliberately injuring his pride." She shrugs again. "They may be vandals, but they're no necessarily bad kids."

    "And they wouldn't deserve what the Kingpin would do to them if they messed up something of his," Benny finishes, nodding agreement as his cab pulls up to the curb by the museum.

    Natasha takes a moment to check her hair in the mirror, then exits the cab and makes her way up the steps to the Met.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"But can you imagine the impression you would make at the next board meeting if you went full King Arthur?" Felicity's eyes are alight with humor, her smile broad and infectious. "We could even get you a sword. And you could take Diggle with you. He'd happily be your Lancelot."

No, he wouldn't, and that thought seemed to amuse Felicity even more. They were moving on, now, slowly strolling through the exhibits as they chatted. "I should be careful what I wish for. With all the problems right now back home, here... in Metropolis, even, a spontaneous and unironic revival of the round table is /not/ out of the question."

Felicity's wedge heels 'clop' a bit more than 'click' on the marble floor, thudding with each one of her slow strides.

It's the comment about 'storm wreckage' that makes her burst out into spontaneous, genuine laughter, the hand not looped though Oliver's arm coming up to cover her mouth in a vain attempt to restore some amount of etiquette, given how the sound echoed in the display hall.

"Sorry," she says to Audra after a moment, blue eyes warm and friendly through the clear lenses of her glasses. "That's how I feel about a lot of these. The world at large is lucky I'm not an art critic."

Oliver Queen has posed:
"If I tried to make John dress up in a suit of medieval armor I don't think happy would be the way to describe him," Oliver counters drily, taking one last look at the elaborate suit before they start to drift away from that initial display, seeking out the next one that might catch their attention, at least for a time.

"And as it so happens, I can imagine the reaction of the board if I showed up in full armor next time I have to meet with them," he says, a smirk slowly sliding over his expression. "Given that they're already not that happy with me, I don't think it's too hard to picture their reaction to that. If you think they question my competence now..." he points out, letting the sentiment trail off.

Which, admittedly, does make it a little tempting. Oliver can be a little pigheaded about that sort of thing sometimes.

Hands tucked behind his back, the Queen Consolidated CEO smiles again when Felicty bursts out laughing, glancing towards the piece of art -- and woman -- who has garnered that particular reaction. "I'm sure there is a lot of artistic merit to the piece," he says diplomatically. "Buried way down within. And I'm not sure that the world is better off with you not being an art critic. But some of the artists probably are."

Hey, a lot of it is supposed to be subjective right?

Audra Meridian has posed:
Audra Meridian turns her head a little to see the source of the outburst of laughter, then smirks a little herself. "No need to apologize," she replies, slipping one hand from her pocket to give a general dismissive wave of the matter. It's noticable she's wearing some simple leather driving gloves, the kind worn to have better grip on the steering wheel (and not freeze your fingertips in the winter months). "I just say it like I see it." A shrug. "I'm more of a scrapmetal welding sculpture type, and I'm sure most these folks," a thumb jabbed to the side in the direction of the droning tour guide, "would feel the same about that as I do about their abstractism." Lady doesn't seem to have an issue with conversation with people clearly much farther up the social ladder than her.

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier has posed:
As she meanders about and looks at pieces of art, Aurora happens to catch some of the exchange between Oliver and Felicity and like a complete extrovert, just injects herself into that conversation, approaching them from behind.

"The knight in shining armor would work at a cosplay convention, but I don't think any serious business people will approve of it, they like to keep the pretense that they're serious and professional all the time," Aurora pauses for a moment, before quipping, "which obviously means they're absolutely no fun and boring, if I ever had a company of my own, everyone would get to dress however the fuck they like. Expressing yourself makes life more beautiful. I'm Aurora by the way, nice to meet you."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    As she enters the Met, Natasha realizes that the tour has already kicked off. A more socially conscious person would experience embarassment and would try to attach herself to the crowd without attracting too much attention, but 'Nattie' is quite impervious to that particular emotion.

    "Sorry I'm late!" she calls out as she reaches the group, just loudly enough to briefly drown out the guide's droning recitation, before attaching herself to the group with a cheerful smile and her favourite slightly-vacant rich-idiot expression.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"Right?!" Felicity gushes after the mention of scrap-metal welding, letting her hand slip from Oliver's arm as she faces Audra more fully. "There's something satisfying about the way sculptures like that come together from their component pieces."

Of course, Oliver's diplomacy isn't lost on her, either, but her smile never wavers. "Buried /way/ down, maybe," she teases. And it looks like she was about to say something else before Jeanne-Marie spoke up, her attention turning with an amused twist of her lips.

"I'm sure there are more embarrassing reasons people have been fired, even from being a CEO, than dressing up like a knight. I mean, depending on your definition of embarrassing, I guess." Felicity pauses, looking back at Oliver. "Remember when Evelyn Thornwood got caught in the elevator /during business hours/ with her VP of Operations? ApexTech is still struggling."

"Felicity." She offers a little wave instead of her hand to shake. Who knows why. "I love your outfit, speaking of. You are /killing/ the fishnet gloves." And there's almost a sense of wistful nostalgia when she says it. Had Oliver even /seen/ a picture of her from back in her college days? Probably not. And for good reason. No sense scaring the poor man.

Natasha's late entrance draws a little smile, and though she allows her eyes to trail her for a moment, she doesn't say anything. It /does/ appear that she made it 'just in time,' though, since it's only a mere few seconds after she catches up with the tour group that a few phones start to go off. Three in the tour itself. Another couple on the other side of the room. A group of three girls standing around armor that's obviously designed for a horse. There's more digital alarms going off down the hallway, echoing in an eerie sort of disjointed chorus. It's not all even the same alarm tone, and it all begins to echo together in a haunting way from the depths of the museum. How many were there? It was hard to say. /What/ was it? That was even harder to say. At least, at first.

Oliver Queen has posed:
Admittedly there is a distinct lack of scrap-metal art in the Queen Mansion, though certainly Oliver wouldn't hesitate to display some in other, various settings. But then his appreciation of art might be a little on the questionable side as well.

As a younger man he was a little too shallow to be interested, and after his prolonged stay on Lian Yu, well, other things have pretty much taken over as the focus in his life, leaving a paucity of time to properly appreciate the finer things in life. Like, say modern art.

Such are the trade offs that one makes some time.

He is a little more subdued -- at least compared to Felicity, but then it might hard not to be -- though he nods to both Audra and Aurora in turn, offering a faint smile. "Oliver," he says, giving his own introduction as well. He likewise offers a small nod to the latecomer as well, one brow arching slightly though any amusement he might feel is hidden away rather well.

He's had his fair share of practice hiding things afterall. It's almost second nature by now.

When the alarms start going off on the various phones around them his mouth settles into a thin line, just for a moment. "Well, that doesn't sound very good, does it?" he says mildly, seemingly unconcerned -- or at least not significantly concerned. But while the tone might be strictly every day, he can't help but let his eyes dart around the grand hall, sweeping over the crowds and the exhibits in equal measure, taking it all in, gathering intel.

That too is old habit by now.

Audra Meridian has posed:
Finally, an art related topic that Audra could actually talk about. "There is just something in how a good scrap artist can use the shape and material of something to create a visual that no one would of expect of that par--"

So of course that's when they get an interruption in alarms and phones going off.

It's subtle, but there is a notable shift in Audra's demeanor. At least notable to those that are familiar to the occasion of dealing with unexpected trouble. It could just be because she's a stormchaser by profession and often aiding in search & rescue matters.

Or it could be something else.

Regardless, her stance shifts to be a bit closer to Felicity, Oliver and the other socialites that have gathered near her. "I do not like the sound of that..." One hand reachs down to pat the pocket of her jacket, and finds her own mobile phone neither going off or vibrating. So it's not a severe weather alert.

That does anything but reassure her.

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier has posed:
"In my line of work it's really tough to get fired for that...I think," Aurora offers playfully, but likely not seriously at all. "I mean I've been asked to dress as a knight for a shoot before, but oddly, that armor didn't look very period realistic."

With the compliment to her style, Aurora beams with delight, holding up her fishnet gloved hand, twirling her fingers, "you're a woman of good taste, thanks, I do my best!"

When Oliver introduces himself, Auora does so in turn, offering a flourishing curtsy which she picked up on the set of Count of Monte Cristo, "Aurora, at your service."

But when the phones starts going off in multitudes, Aurora turns away to look at the crowd, "now that's just rude! Don't you know your supposed to silence your phones!? This is an art exhibit! Show some class!"

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Natasha makes something of a show of pulling out her phone at the noise and looking slightly confused when it's not one of the ones ringing. She looks around, a bit put out at the lack of manners displayed by people who aren't her.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity's reaction was much more along the line of Audra's, apparently. As soon as the phones start going off, her hand is reaching into the big, slouchy bag on her shoulder and comes out with a device that (if anyone was paying attention) flashes through a few more diagnostic-looking screens than one might expect for a consumer device. No pretty unicorn backgrounds or pictures of her and Oliver together. Instead, it's mostly dark backgrounds with snippets of either green or silver code flashing past.

But do you know what's not there? An AMBER alert, a severe storm alert, an evacuation due to alien invasion alert, or any other kind of alert. So what list wasn't she signed up for?

"Yeah. On it." It's the same voice Oliver's heard in his ear a thousand times before -- Felicity's 'Overwatch' voice, short and clipped while she focuses on flipping through a few screens on her phone like her thumbs had a mind of her own. Of course, the /simple/ solution would just be to /ask/ someone what it was, right? She could literally scour every law enforcement and scientific warning system she had access to. Or, she could have a simple social interaction!

How hard could that be? So, she takes charge!

She doesn't even wait. Where Audra moves /closer/ to the group, Felicity moves away, walking over towards the group of three girls that were standing together. That's a fairly benign thing in an art museum. Definitely no danger there.

"Hey! Sorry. Not to be nosy, but was that some sort of warning? It's just that there were a lot of phones that all went off at once, but my friends and I didn't get any notifications, so we wondered if there was something maybe going on with the museum or..." Yes, she always talks this much.

She was talking, anyway, until she heard the first screams from two exhibit halls down. It was like that scene from every zombie apocalypse movie ever. It's eerie the way the sound moves like a tidal wave, rushing closer, people screaming, until it's Felicity herself with a knife to her throat, being surrounded by the three girls.

"GIVE US YOUR PURSE, YOU SPOILED RICH BITCH," the one holding the switchblade shouts. How did she smuggle it in? Who knows. Maybe someone can ask her later.

Felicity's phone hits the ground and shatters when her hands go up, her voice frozen in her throat except for the stammered words, "T-take it!"

Within the tour group, chaos was starting to erupt as another older, obviously wealthy man was being forced to his knees. There's the sound of a crash as the couple on the other side of the room pulls a display over with brute force, safety glass shattering into chunks that spray across the marble floor. Similar sounds of destruction sound from the nearby rooms.

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oh, all the wonderful things that technology can do today. Access to information that would have been inconceivable years earlier. All in the palm of one's hand. It's pretty remarkable, really.

It is also something that Oliver leaves to Felicty. Everyone has their own bailiwick, their particular area of speciality. He might be able to find what he's looking for, but nowhere as quickly and easily as she can. So rather then duplicate her efforts -- only worse so -- he puts his attention more to where it will do the most good.

While museums might not be everyone's cup of tea, something like the Met still manages to attract a pretty diverse cross-section of people. It isn't exactly a simple matter to decide just who doesn't belong. But it is not exactly impossible either, not when you know what you're looking for. Or not as the case may be. Sometimes it is the absence of something that is the most telling.

Either way, as those frightened cries begin to carry through the grand hall Oliver is already moving. HIs point of interest? A young man nervously toying with the strap of his backpack and as he starts to slide it off his shoulder, to reach his hand inside, the Queen Consolidated CEO is abruptly there.

His arms are still very much tied up and that is something that Oliver takes advantage off, jerking him off-stride, towards the corner of the room and that nearby display case holding the suit of armor.

"Hey, what are --" the youth starts to question before the now grim-faced Mr. Queen covers his mouth and continues to bodily drag him away. "Shhh," is his only reply, his free hand already fishing into that same backpack to get a feel of what he has to work with.

As expected, there is indeed a knife that looks very similar to the one that is currently being used to threaten Felicty, to menace others in the hall as the shouts begin to pick up. But that's not all which is present. Cans of spraypaint fill the bottom of the knapsack as well and it is one of those that Oliver plucks out.

It's no bow and arrow, but he wasn't really expecting trouble on this particular outting. So it will have to do. The billionaire doesn't even hesitate as he simply draws back and hurls that can at the knife-wielding young woman. And while it might not be his preferred weapon, that can still flies with the same unerring accuracy that the Green Arrow is known for, plunking loudly against the side of his target's head.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Natasha yells in feigned outrage as one of the hoodlums makes off with her purse -- with any luck he won't think to inspect it for anything other than the cash and miss the microscopic tracker in the lining. She staggers back and does a credible job of looking around herself in shock, checking for the fool with the paint and wondering how she's going to intervene without being seen intervening.

    Thankfully, Ollie solves that problem for her when the spray can in question is bounced off the head of one of the others. Thinking quickly, she grabs it and immediately turns to spray another masked attacker in the face.

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier has posed:
Aurora quiets down real fast at the turn of events, she looks absolutely terrified at the mass screaming and sudden threat out of nowhere, she looked about ready to run away as fast as she could, until a knife was held to Felicity's throat. "Who you calling bitches, bitches?" The voice, though coming from Aurora, was eerily different. Raspy, angry, confident, and the look in her eyes was no longer one of fear. It was almost psychotic as she actually started to approach the girls, particularly the one holding the knife. "You have to the count of 1 to give it back," she warns while still advancing.

Audra Meridian has posed:
Well, that explains the phones going off. And that she's not all dressed up and fancy like many of the other people Audra is mostly left alone as the invaders for for the obviously wealthy and influential.

Paying her no mind is the first mistake made, as she pivots on her heel and then bolts forward, getting a little momentum to punch a gloved fist at one of the robbers trying to force the rich man down.

It was nothing like the dashing, electrified punches Windrose could throw. But her work and lifestyle (and the costumed heroics) kept her in good shape and even unclad Audra could throw a decent punch. Especially when her intended target likely was not expecting it. Even out of costume she was still more worried about others' safety than her own. "Back off, punks! Before I gotta rock ya like a hurricane!"

The weather references are still there, too. No getting away from those. They're just less punny at the moment.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"MACK!!" the boy Oliver took down is screaming, despite the 'shhhhh'd attempt to keep him quiet.

A professional quarterback couldn't have thrown that can of spray paint with a more perfect spiral or unerring accuracy. It sails through the room like a missile, and hits the knife-wielding woman in the side of the head with a *THWOK* that that sees her drop to the floor with her knife -- not out cold but her clock thoroughly cleaned, blood running down the side of her face.

Had the other two not been so close by that might have been the end of it, but even though the immediate threat of death was relieved, she wasn't out of harm's way. One girl had already grabbed at Felicity's arm, and when her friend suddenly /dropped/, she wrenched it around behind the blonde, twisting her into human shield to hide behind.

"WHAT THE FREAK WAS THAT?!" she screams, her voice shrill and scared. This was supposed to be an easy amount of chaos, steal some cash, ruin the experience for the rich people, trash their art kinda day. Not a death by flying projectile kinda day. And that can of spray paint was still rolling away.

The other woman, almost counter-productively, was trying to yank Felicity's purse off of her arm.. which Felicity would have been happy to help with, had she not been in the middle of being turned into a pretzel. "OW!"

Thankfully /that/ problem is taken care of when Natasha steps up and sprays the wanna-be purse snatcher in the face. The girl screams and clutches her eyes, dropping the purse on the floor at Felicity's feet. The remaining one turns Felicity to face Jeanne-Marie directly, literally hiding behind her so it was impossible to see more than a sliver of her.

"STAY BACK! I'LL FRIGGIN KILL HER!" It wasn't about the purse, anymore. Now it was about survival. The girl's voice was terrified and primal, a wild animal backed into a corner. Did she have something at Felicity's spine? It was impossible to see. And worse? She was starting to drag her backwards towards the exit, using her as cover. Felicity's expression doesn't look any better off, herself, the fear obvious in her face as she tries to keep her balance and pull her arm away.

This whole operation seemed to be perpetuated by kids. They were all dressed in street threads -- not preppy, not expensive, but not homeless-looking, either, and none of them looked any order than nineteen.

The old man on the ground? He gets a reprieve when Audra steps in, sucker-punching the boy that had forced him to his knees. That kid drops, lights out, probably without even realizing what happened. But the boy and girl that were with him? They lunge straight at Audra, enraged by their friend going down and taking the fight to her, hurricane or not.

And Mack? Mack was here now with three of his friends, looking around for the plaintive scream of his friend. Mack's name wasn't really Mack. They called him Mack because he was the size of a truck. And when he saw Oliver crouching over his smaller friend? The group of them headed straight for Oliver.

Audra Meridian has posed:
Bodies collide with bodies. Audra braces herself, but without her suit and gear to absorb the impact and provide counterforce the collision has all three bodies tumbling backwards, and a grunt escaping her as her back hits the floor.

Not enough to put her out of the fight though, even as the two punks are scrabbling to try and hold her down. Now Audra didn't want to hurt a bunch of kids that were probably not entirely in their own decision on what they're doing. Peer pressure is a terrible thing.

But she's not about just take it lying down, so to speak, either.

After a bit of squirming and wiggling to make it hard to entirely pin her down, Audra jerks her upper body away from the floor. So she can headbutt one of the two trying to hold her down. That's one way of using your head.

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier has posed:
"I hate bullies, I hate abusers, I hate you..." the wouldbe Aurora tells the girl hiding behind her captive in Felicity. "You will have to think fast...real fast." And in the blink of an eye, she's not there, instead, she's right behind the girl holding Felicity, punching her in the back of the head, the most surefire way to get her to let go. A surprise attack in the span of a milisecond. It might look like magic, if it wasn't for that sudden rush of movement blowing by everything before the woman who introduced herself as Aurora is already beating on Felicity's captor.

Oliver Queen has posed:
That first instinct, naturally enough, is to go after Felicity as they start to drag her off. It's understandable really, but it is not really practical, more's the pity. Not with who he presumes is Mack and his trio of friends heading his way. Oliver's jaw clenches ever so slightly, but he does what he needs to. For now. It seems like those holding Felicity are more interested in getting out of here now, rather then hurting her so perhaps that's enough.

The same can't be said for the huge man and trio of sidekicks however. They look like they are pretty interested in hurting the Queen Consolidated CEO. "I told you to be quiet," Oliver chidess the young man on the ground and hten sharply twists that backpack -- or rather the straps around the young man's arms. He again gives a little cry as he abruptly finds his hands tied behind his back. At least he won't be getting up and coming up from behind.

It still leaves Oliver in a bit of a bind however and his hands dip into the knapsack once more. But this time he does not come out with more spray pain cans. Instead it is what looks to be a tour book of the Met and one of the free newspapers that one can pick up on the street. Even as he starts to stand, Oliver is already folding and twisting both of them up and by the time he stands he has two tightly rolled bundles of paper in his hands.

"Your friend's not hurt. He'll be fine. Now get out of my way before the same can't be said for you," Oliver says quietly. Unsurprisingly, none of the quartet advacing on his seem to be intimidated.

"Hear that?" Mack say with a laugh. "RIch boy thinks he's tough. I bet he'll bleed though," he says. And sure enough, his trio of backup almost immediately have those switchblades in their hand.

He could wait for them to come to him -- and while it looks like some of the other patrons are fighting back where needed -- Oliver is not exactly feeling his most patient. They're all young, it's true. But the equation changed when they pulled out knives, as far as he is concerned. So he doesn't hesitate to enter the fray.

Rushing towards them, he only drops and slides across the well polished tile when one of the teens swipes that blade his way. Dropping low, he takes that coiled up bit of newspaper and thwacks his attacker right across the back of the knee. It might not seem like much, but apparently it is effective because the young man gives a cry of pain and drops to the floor.

Then Oliver is well and truly in the midst of it, the rolled up magazine and newspaper flicking back and forth to ward off blows. Where he can he lashes out, taking calculated strikes to keep the three still standing off of him, waiting for his opportunity to take them out.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Natasha drops the can the moment the girl goes down and backs off, reverting to 'shocked and confused bystander' as the chaos goes on around her.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
There was a lot going on, so it might have been easy for most of the people in the exhibit hall to miss 'Aurora' blinking behind Felicity's attacker, but the one person who definitely does /not/ miss it is Felicity herself. Not only had she been facing her directly and watching with no small amount of fear, once Aurora disappeared from her line of sight, pressure on her arm suddenly vanished.

It didn't take much to drop the girl that was holding her. That kick to the back of her head has the girl sprawling on the ground, hands covering her hair, curling into a ball and begging Aurora to stop with that.

"Thank you!" Felicity gushes at Aurora, quickly stooping to snatch the strap of her purse with one hand and her shattered phone with the other. "Ugh. Of course," she groans, throwing the broken device into the bottom of the bag.

But where Felicity had once been rendered entirely useless by a combatant, she seemed to recover her wits quickly enough. She didn't seem phased by the sudden disappearing and reappearing act, either. Her eyes shift to Oliver, taking on the three boys, and then back at Aurora.

"Can you get up there?" She's pointing at the tallest of the display cases holding armor. It was only about five feet away from touching the ceiling.. where one of the sprinkler nozzles was protruding. And with her other hand, from her purse she produced a simple lighter.

Audra managed to keep from being pinned, but there's a spray of blood when the girl on top of her gets headbutted, screaming as she recoils and scurries backwards. None of these kids were trained, professional fighters. All of them thought they were going to stick it to some rich people, and a few of them were so ready that they were actually willing to bring knives to /actually/ 'stick it' to them.

Natasha seems to be left alone in the chaos, at this point, and whether or not Felicity had seen what she'd done (she had) isn't immediately obvious.

Oliver Queen has posed:
While he might not be able to get over and help Felicity directly, Oliver does at least keep an eye on her situation, though the blink and you missed it nature of Aurora's speed means that while he doesn't exactly see just what transpired, he does know when she's out of immediate danger. With the others nearby also seeming to hold thier own well enough, he is free to turn his attention back to the matter at hand.

And the matter at hand are the trio of men trying their best to put Oliver down. While the pair of followers keep swiping those knives at him -- met each time with the rolled up, improvised weapons Ollie has thrown togeter -- Mack looks like he just insteads to bludgeon him until he's no longer moving. Of the trio, he is the only real threat even if the other two are armed.

But there's always luck. Sometimes it's better to be lucky then good and one little slip is all it takes to make sure that you have a very bad day.

But it doesn't come today at least. Spinning away from one blow, Oliver puts himself one on one with one of the knife-wielding teens, lunging suddenly to jab him in the stomach with the rolled up magazine and as the air rushes out of him he brings his other hand around, cracking him sharply across the chin with the rolled-up paper. Again, it doesn't seem like it should work -- at least to anyone not in the know -- but the second of the would-be vandals goes down.

He does have to stand still just a little longer then would be ideal to put that attacker down, and when Mack lashes out, Ollie is forced to roll with the blow. Even still he grimaces, though putting that extra momentum to good use as he drops low again, this time sweeping the leg out from the last of the knife men, hitting him with a swift elbow to the gut as he loses his balance.

Then there was one. But it's a really big one as 'Mack' rushes him, looming closer and closer.

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier has posed:
Once the girl that was grabbing Felicity is down, and crying for Aurora to stop, Aurora winces and shakes her head. Not waiting to hear Felicity's suggestion, she just disappears as if she wasn't there at all, leaving a strong gust in her wake from the rapid movement.

Audra Meridian has posed:
A bloody nose or whatever the girl busted is messy, but it could of been worse if it hadn't been someone like Audra that was concerned about not brutalizing a bunch of misguided kids.

With one less body on top of her Audra is able to grab the boy and push him off. Then get to her feet... only to leer a little to one side and put a palm to her brow, her own head ringing a little from the headbutt and then getting up so fast. "Ugh. That sucks without the protective gear," she mutters softly. But forces her focus back on the remaining kid. "Do yourself a favor and just back down."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Finding herself largely ignored by the fighting, Natasha goes to help some of the less able museum patrons back on their feet.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
"Or... not." Where Felicity had once been staring at Aurora, there was just empty space in front of her. "Great. No.. it's fine.. I can.. I can do this."

Without wanting to waste any more time, the blonde-haired woman in glasses took off towards that tall case, practically skidding to a halt next to it in her wedges. She dropped her purse to the floor, tucked the lighter in her shirt, and then moved to the case beside it, which happened to be a waist-high pedestal.

That was easy enough to get up on top of, even in a dress and incredibly inappropriate shoes.

"I suddenly regret not using that salmon ladder..."

And then she lunges, throwing herself up and grabbing onto the top of the tall case nearby. It wasn't exactly what anyone would call graceful, but she did manage to scrabble her way up the side, crawling up over the top edge and sitting, then swinging her legs up.

In another moment, she's standing, pulling that lighter out of her bra, and then flicking it on as she holds it up to the sprinkler system.

Mere seconds tick by before the alarms start going off everywhere and the protective shielding drops down over all of the art. Seconds later, water sprays down from the heavens, drenching everyone and sending people scattering.. including the boy that was debating whether or not he wanted to back down from Audra's fight. Instead of pushing the issue, he moves over to grab the girl, wrapping an arm around her and dragging her towards the exit in the chaos.

Audra Meridian has posed:
The kid is leaving, dragging the girl with him. That's good enough for Audra.

She's unbothered by the sprinklers going off herself. I mean, why would she be? Her job deals with hurricanes and typhoons and all that intense wet stuff. "If I ever find who put those kids up to this..." she mutters under her breath. But not important at the moment. She turns her attention to the man they had been trying to mug, helping him up and checking him over. If necessary she does have some limited first aid skills to tide over until the professional responders turn up.

Oliver Queen has posed:
'Mack' is definitely a big lad and his punches are definitely not something you want to be on the receiving end of, there is no denying that. But at the end of the day none of those intent on causing trouble today are exactly trained mercenaries. Or even hardened felons. None of them are trained in the art of violence, which makes it a rather one sided affair when numbers are no longer on their side.

And with they have the misfortune of dealing with heroes, even if they are not in their normal attire.

Now that his foe no longer has any helpers to distract or flank him, it's a pretty one-sided affair and Oliver gives the big teen a quick lesson in the advantages of speed and skill over raw brawn. HIs strikes with those rolled up pages are quick and precise, and in moments the teen is down on his knees, making one last, futile lunge to try and grab what he no doubt expected was a fairly helpless target when they started.

Simply spinning aside, Oliver steps around the downed figure and whaps him across the back of the head with his improvised weapons, sending him down to the tile for good. Then, tossing the paper and magazine back towards his first target in the corner he looks around at the others, busy picking themselves up or seeking cover under the sudden deluge from the powerful sprinklers above.

"Everyone alright?" he asks calmly, wiping his face clear of the water and stepping over to that display case to shot a wry look up towards where Felicity stands. "QUick thinking," he comments casually before a smirk slides over his face. "But a little wet," he points out, offering a hand up to her.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    "Mostly," Natasha replies in an only slightly shaken voice while she helps an elderly man back to his feet. "Can someone retrieve this gentleman's walker? I fear it was hurled aside..."

    She turns to regard Oliver. "... Ah, Mr. Queen. I thought I recognized you. Are you all right? You seem to have taken the brunt of their ire..."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity looks not unlike a drown rat by the time the water has doused her for just a few seconds. Her dress sticks to her. Her skin glistens. Her soaking, flat hair sags, ponytail sticking to the back of her neck and glasses suddenly hard to see through.

She's still standing there, trying to figure out how to get down when Oliver comes walking over, checking on everyone and then looking up at her with that smirk.

"I'll remember that for next time," she calls down, narrowing her eyes at him. When he lifts that hand, though, a hint of that smile returns and she scoots down to sit on the edge, hanging her legs over, then reaches down towards his shoulders and pushes herself off, trusting Oliver to catch her.

Authorities are starting to move in, museum security, police, fire department and the crowd itself is certainly thinning out. A young woman comes over with the walker Natasha was looking for.

"She's right," Felicity agrees. "Are you hurt?"

Oliver Queen has posed:
Look, he couldn't let it go without at least some comment, though Oliver does manage to contain -- mostly -- his smile as he offers a hand down to Felicity. He does indeed catch her sure enough, carefully putting her down, puddles already beginning to form on the wet tile underfoot.

Glancing back over Natasha, his brow furrows just a little bit before illumination strikes. He might not be the greatest of business minds in the world -- his Board has some reason to doubt him from time to time -- but he does have an awfully good head for faces. "Ms. Cranston is it?" he asks, though he's fairly certain. "Yes, quite alright, thank you," he assures her and both Felicity.

"Fortunately my company insists that executives go through hostage training," he says with a small shrug. Though it looks like he's been through much more then that. Still, as far as half-truths go it's at least mildly plausible.

As the authorities start to arrive, Oliver glances towards the exit. "Looks like the professionals are here to take charge. MAybe they've brought towels," he suggests with a sly smile for the woman at his side. "At least it's pretty hot out. Maybe we should seek the sunshine and see if we can dry off some, hmmm?"