16555/Midnight Mayhem

Midnight Mayhem
Date of Scene:	12 December 2023
Location:	Madripoor
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Noh-Varr, Lucas Trent

---

Noh-Varr has posed:
There are few places as intimidating and dangerous as Madripoor's Lowtown. It is a labyrinth of vice and crime, where people will mug you for the shoes you wear and then take your teeth to melt down the fillings once they've knocked them out. Any vice can be found for the right price, no act is too depraved or immoral to be done in the alleys cast in the shadow of garish flickering lights. And at the peak of night, between the hours of midnight and the rising sun, few dare venture forth... and those that do, do so armed.

It's perhaps with some surprise that an man in non-descript street clothes walks along the alleyways, not appearing to be armed or aware of his surroundings with hands in pockets, a pair of ear buds in his ears blaring music as his silvery-white hair bobs in time with the music in his ears, singing something about a boy named Sue under his breath as he ducks into a dark alley, completely oblivious to the gang of street thugs that watch him enter, whisper amongst each other, and then begin to follow him in...

Lucas Trent has posed:
Not surprisingly, Midnighter fights right in here. Lucas isn't hooded at the moment, his face exposed, his chiseled jaw punctuated by the salt and pepper hair atop his head. More salt than pepper these days. You'd think his healing abilities would prevent that, but there it is all the same. He doesn't mind, though. He's always been kind of a leather daddy anyway.

He comes out of a bar, mostly to escape the smell, all those bastards packed in like sardines, not a hint of deodorant among them and no baths for weeks. Dangers of going to a third world hellhole. A kid tries to pick his pocket and Lucas catches him by the wrist, giving it a firm but not brutal twist. Pain, not breaking. Gentle, by his standards.

"Not me," he says, simply enough and the boy gives a quick fearful nod as the strange white man lets him go. Then the scent of the strange man hits his nostrils and his senses immediately come up with one answer: not human. Interesting. Might as well follow. Especially when he sees the thugs. He's either going to get a good show or a bit of fun. Hopefully both.

Noh-Varr has posed:
Unfortunately for the thugs, they don't have Lucas's olfactory senses to alert them that their easy mark isn't going to go down so easy. They seem to ignore the little signs that all isn't what it seems, the white-haired man's eyes tracking them by the shadows cast by the glare of neon lights at the entrance to the alley as he stops and begins to pat down his pants as if looking for a lighter. Still singing about that poor bastard named 'Sue' and the violence inflicted upon him by his father's choice of names.

Noh-Varr turns around, blinking at the group of men grows bigger and bigger around him. "Silly man." One of them says with a huge, shit-eating grin, "Carve you up real nice. Sell you good time."

Another one: "String you up, like stuck pig."

Followed by: "Squeal real nice when guts open. Think they be white too?"

And they all laugh... Along with the white haired man. His laughing gets them to stop and stare at him.

"He crazy?"

Noh-Varr shakes his head. "No. But by chance would any of you have bubble gum?" He asks, pulling the ear buds out and filling the alley with the sound of Johnny Cash. They all blink at him, and he shakes his head, with disappointment. "Oh. Such disappointment. I came to... What was it?" His brow furrows as if he's trying to remember something, before grinning broadly. "Ah! Yes! That's what it was. I came to kick ass and chew bubble gum. And I'm out of bubble gum. Pity. There's a foul taste in my mouth from this city."

Pause. He holds up one finger, asking for a moment, before he takes two steps to the right.

And then motions for them to come at him.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas hangs back enough to make it clear he's not with the thugs in question. Just an interested observer. The nonchalance and the choice of tuneage both catch the Midnighter's attention. Decent taste. Kind of cute. The white hair's a nice touch.

He keeps his gloved hands in the pocket of his longcoat as his combat engine turns into gear. Even as an observer, his nanites begin to trace the flow of kinetic energy, simulate and analyze posture, muscle, eye movement, every nuance and detail broken down in a nanosecond to trace the various paths the fight will follow, variables growing the further outwards he goes. With only this many, it's relatively easy to trace - there's only one skilled combatant here and it's the strange smelling pretty boy with the white hair.

"Let's see what you can do," Lucas says in his gravelly voice.

Noh-Varr has posed:
Honestly, it doesn't take Lucas and his massive endowments to see that the white-haired guy is not your average tourist that ventured in the wrong alleyway... As far as ambush points go, this is a good one. The alley has only one entrance and exit, and while there's a balcony hanging over the ladder to the fire escape is high enough that it'd be a jump to get to it. With his little side-step, there's a dumpster flanking him that they'd either have to climb over or go around to come at him more than one or two at a time.

And he's very clearly in utter control, his laughing and cringe-worthy quip taking them by surprise. His control is so total, in fact, that when one of them steps forward he raises a finger again. "Not this one." He says firmly, and then pauses while a new song comes on.

Man Comes Around.

He nods in approval. And then rushes the men. Two are down before they can blink, one of them with his arm dislocated at the shoulder completely, hanging limp while he squeals and falls down. The other man gets a knee to the chest, and it doesn't take Lucas's enhanced hearing to hear the solar plexus shatter from the impact.

Noh-Varr takes a few steps back into his semi-fortified position before they can take advantage of his rush... And taps his foot in time to the music. "Still no gum?" He asks genially, green eyes looking about as much like a cat playing with a caught mouse as human-looking eyes can. The men hesitate. "What about you?" That to Lucas, as his eyes meet the other man's, with a hint of a furrowed brow suggesting he's marked Lucas as someone dangerous. "Got any gum?"

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent watches with the level, controlled interest of a professional. Except, of course, there's also that lunatic edge underneath the surface, a hungry shark always on the lookout for blood. Lucas liked what he was, liked the thrill of the fight, the physical edge. He liked hurting people. Simple enough. He just tried to do it where it did the most good.

"Think I might have a stick for ya, sure," he says. He reaches into his pockets for a moment and gets out some spearmint gum. Sometimes you gotta freshen your breath, what? He unfolds the foil around one and puts it in his mouth, showing the pack in the palm of his hand.

"Come get it when you're finished with the trash."

Noh-Varr has posed:
Noh-Varr takes a deep sniff, expression thoughtful as he regards Lucas and the gum. "Mmm. Spearmint." He says it consideringly, as if weighing his options. But finally, he nods in approval. "Good choice. Better than that thing you people call 'cinnamon'. That one makes me snee..."

One of the men rushes him while he's talking with a wild scream and flailing kermit arms. "Parkour!" Noh-Varr jumps back, bounces off the wall, and slams down on the man's shoulders with a crunch of broken bone. "Rude." He chides, the groaning man. "I was waiting on the chorus."

He squints, and as the song rises to a crescendo, he rushes the crowd of men again. It's brutal but efficient, none of that prissy martial arts shit with forms named after animals. Praying Mantis strike! Wet poodle kick! Iroooon Fiiiiiiist.

Fuck that noise.

The man's focus is solely on taking them apart in the most efficient way possible, clearly not pushing himself further than absolutely necessary...

Up until someone pulls a knife, and as Noh-Varr sneaks a glimpse to see if the leather-clad man has noticed his clever quips, brings it into Noh-Varr's shoulder. Dirty pool, but then again, they're in the middle of a shithole in the Asian Sea fighting in an alleyway that smells like a sewer.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Dirtier pool, one of their friends came late to the party and tried to sneak up behind Lucas with a gun. He moved to put it to Midnighter's head, in the midst of a muttered threat, when the older man turns with terrifying rapidity, almost too fast to see. His gloved hand rises and strikes like a cobra, seizing the flesh of the man's throat and tearing it right out with a splash of blood. Lucas' hand drives forward and feeds the man his own meat with a savage palm thrust, driving it down his gullet and breaking his nose in, shattering his face like crepe paper, a crinkling, brittle sound escaping the impact.

He shakes the blood from his fist, the gum safely in the other hand as he turns back to the action.

He's impressed by the efficiency and the productivity of the fight. No wasted motion, no showboating. Midnighter was prone to showboating now and then, but only when the prey was weak. Junk food was okay to play with. And these punks were barely worth the stain they'd leave on his leather.

Noh-Varr has posed:
Oh, there's a *little* show boating. Noh-Varr may be a soldier, given how he fights and Midnighter's near clairvoyant ability to read people, but it's that same analytical skills that show he's still young enough to be caught up in it all. Thus the knife to his shoulder.

Noh-Varr lets out an oath that would peel paint and make these alley rats blanche... if it wasn't in Imperial Kree from another reality entirely. But them's the way it goes sometimes. Noh-Varr's grin disappears as he rolls his shoulder, contracting muscles to pop the knife out so it falls to the ground without him even touching it.

"F.. fuck you!" The knife-guy squeaks as Noh-Varr turns on him. Noh-Varr for his part just shakes his head. "The only think you are fucking.... is stupid." He says sternly, completely oblivious to the cringe. And then he abruptly kicks... not the guy. But the knife on the ground. Which buries itself in the guy's thigh.

There's a moment of silence.

And then the remaining crowd splits in roughly half, with three rushing Noh-Varr and four rushing towards Lucas after a brief stop and stare at the man fed his own throat. Apparently they're going to risk it, though.

And the soundtrack changes. "Hellooooo Laaaaaady!"

Noh-Varr nods in approval, and rushes towards the men like a white-haired angel of death ready to reduce the poor bastards to chantilly lace.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent sees the men trying to make a break past him, trying to shove him down, trying to run him over. Better chance of kicking their way through a mack truck.

Lucas ducks his head, striking hard into the first, a rising punch that goes up and under his sternum, punching into his diaphragm hard enough to make his heart explode inside his chest. The next he headbutts, splitting him open and sending him stumbling to the ground. The other two hit him, trying to shove him over, but he doesn't move, doesn't even flinch, flexing his calves and spitting their friend's blood in their face.

He shoves them away and back towards Noh-varr, leaving them to the tender mercy of the Kree.

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Sharing is, indeed, caring." Noh-Varr calls in approval to Lucas as he throws the men back towards him. And no-sells a board across the back of his head, wincing and of all things reaching for his bloody shoulder and flicking some of the curiously too-red blood into the man's face.

His eyes widen in surprise, then his pupils dilate, and then he stumbles back, swatting at things he can't see. Noh-Varr shakes his head in disapproval, before turning just in time to shatter someone's instep with one careful stomp and then knee to the groin hard enough the man's testicles rupture and he leans down. "Guess you should have had gum." He tells him, before straightening up and turning with his hands in fists to block a bottle swung at him, grabbing the man's hands and squeezing until the man whimpers, before stepping forward and bending his hand until it snaps like a twig.

He shoves the man towards Lucas, and turns towards the next guy... Who is backing up against the back of the alley. "Boo." Noh-Varr says conversationally. The guy squeaks and slumps to the ground, passed out.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent stands amidst the wreckage of some pretty sloppy expressions of humanity. He grips his skull momentarily, one hand on top, the other gripping his jaw, and tweaks it sharply, making his bones crack in his neck like a pair of brass knuckles.

"Just another day at the god damn office in Madripoor," he says. "I'm Midnighter. Let's get a drink. I know a place that sells the kind of shit that can even get post-human weapons like us get fucked up," he says. He leans down and casually loots the bodies a their feet, pulling out a few wads of cash and stuffing them into his trenchcoat. "Paycheck's a little late this month," he says stone-faced as he takes a few rings, too. Pawn shops here don't ask many questions. Blood washes off easy enough.

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Hey!" Noh-Varr protests when Lucas begins to loot the corpses, frowning. "I was going to loot their bodies. That was the whole point." He shakes his head, rolling the stabbed shoulder experimentally... as his blood begins to ooze *back* in. He glances down, frowns, and reaches down to untie one of the still-living guy's shoes, quickly and efficiently knotting them together again.

Is it petty, after maiming and killing them to tie their shoes togetgher? Maybe. But it's *funny* dammit. "Noh...lan." There's a slight hesitation when he gives his name, but... this *is* Madripoor. And it's not like Lucas's mother called him 'Midnighter' when she spanked him.

Because clearly she didn't hug him enough.

"And my gum, Midnighter?" Noh-Varr asks with a raised eyebrow as he walks over, stepping on the thugs like the trash they are. "But seriously. I need the money." He reaches up, and scratches his shoulder as nanites speed up repair. He also reaches into his pocket and turns the music off.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent chuckles, 'Don't worry, I'll pay for both of us tonight. I don't mind bein' your sugar daddy, son," he says.

He leads the way out of the alleyway, stepping over a couple of bodies, alive and dead alike. He tosses the gum back over his shoulder to Noh-varr, already fairly certain the young alien won't miss.

"Then we can split up whatever's left after the party's over. Don't worry, we can always get more. Money's never hard to find in Madripoor, long as you don't have any compunction about how you get it," he says.

He leads the way through a few more blocks, to thread into an underground lair behind an iron door, the bouncer an obvious mutant body in the from of a Killer Croc-style reptilian. Hell, it might be Croc. Everybody gets hard times now and then.

Noh-Varr has posed:
To be fair, Madripoor's a warm, moist place. Perfect for reptiles and other assorted cold-blooded monsters... Like the two men that stroll towards the undergrown lair.

The gum is, of course, caught, unwrapped, and tucked into his mouth, chewing with a nod of approval. One that turns into a squint, though, at talk of sugar daddies. "You are not unattractive, Midnighter, but I'm afraid I don't need money *that* bad." He says dryly, although he jogs a little to catch up with the taller man, "Money is easy. Not me." Point made, he sticks his hands in his pocket as he chews, walking beside Lucas as if they hadn't just taken on almost a dozen people in the space of two songs.

The bouncer is met with a friendly enough smile, one utterly confident of his place in whatever establishment they're going to.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent snorts, "I don't need to pay for it. Sometimes I do, just cause I see a pretty piece of rough trade and ain't no reason to make him have to do without just because I need to put him to use," he says. Clearly not exactly shy about his appetites.

He's clearly known here, rapping on the bar and rapidly presented with a bottle of amber-colored liquid, "Hydra brewed this shit trying to make a new rocket fuel. Ended up making booze that'll knock a Kryptonian on his ass. Cheers," he says, taking a shot.

"So, what bring you to this hive of scum and villainy?"

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Mmmm." Noh-Varr makes a non-committal noise at Lucas being able to pull trade without having to pay, and then smirks, scratching a stubbly chin. "So you wouldn't pay me?" He asks, raising an eyebrow as if the question were dead seriously. "Not pretty enough?"

The drink presented to him is met with an assessing glance, his attention momentarily elsewhere before he shrugs and taking the bottle from Lucas to swig from the same bottle. "Zesty." He comments, with only a hint of a wince at the corner of one eye as he sets the bottle down, wiping it absently

When he's asked about what brought him here, he shrugs. "Adventure. Money. A cheap fake ID that will hold up in court. Chewing gum." It's said seriously, as if it were a perfectly logical reason to be here... Which, hell, it might be. But there's a hint of something mocking in his green eyes. "You? Rough trade and..." He squints at Lucas, leaning back to look him up and down, "I think the term is 'cruising'? Although the videos make it look cleaner than this."

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent turns his hawkish grey eyes back towards Noh-varr and looks him up and down with a raptor's attention, picking out the succulent bits and wondering what they might taste like.

"You could sell your flesh, if you wanted. Probably make a good living at it, especially here. By the local standard, you'd be an exotic treat. The self-hating fascists would pay triple for someone as lily white as you, regardless of your technical heritage. You'd fit an aesthetic. Very euro."

"I like that movie," he says in regards to the gum. "Although I'm more of an Escape from New York man, if we're talking Carpenter."

"Cruising. That's a good word for it. Sex and violence. My two main vices."

Noh-Varr has posed:
Is there a hint of a flex as Noh-Varr leans back, emphasizing the lean muscles of chest, with his shoulders straightening as if he were lifting the world on them? And does his stance go juuuust the barest bit cocky as he spreads out his legs before leaning forward to take another sip of the drink?

Nah. That'd be vain.

Up until he's called euro trash, and he deflates slightly one lip curling in a bit of a sneer. "I was attempting to go for scruffy nerf herder." He mutters, before shaking it off with a roll of his shoulder, setting the drink down after carefully wiping it again. And flicking the napkin onto the bar. "They couldn't afford me. I am one of a kind." He says a touch smugly, "Besides, as open as I am to any new experience that presents itself... It's on my terms." And he eyes Lucas again, top to bottom. "Sex and violence, eh? Not much difference, Midnighter. When done right."

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent didn't so much mean to suggest he -was- Euro trash, just that he could easily pass for such. And there's a lot of young Aryan boys willing to shame their Nazi grandfathers lurking around Madripoor hailing Hydra in between playing hide the schnitzel with one another. They'd jump on Noh-varr as a treat, a piece of Turkish delight for their palates.

Well, they would if Midnighter didn't keep kicking their teeth down their throats.

"When done right, yeah. Don't always gotta be the same thing. Of course, most can't keep up with me in either category. You got potential, though, from the scouting I did."

Noh-Varr has posed:
To be fair, Noh-Varr *is* the product of an eugenics program designed to engineer the perfect ubermensch by a fascist military regime. That *is* pretty on brand for euro-trash.

But don't worry. It's *Zen* fascism.

"That?" Noh-Varr blinks at Lucas, as if he doesn't quite know what he means by 'scouting'. "That was barely anything." He sloooowly reaches for the bottle again, since if Midnighter isn't going to drink it he damn sure will. After all, it's rare he finds anything the nanites and his own genetic healing doesn't negate. He eyes Lucas. "I assure you, Midnighter of Madripoor, when I play? I don't break my toys." Pause. He considers that, and adds thoughtfully as he rests the lip of the bottle against his lips. "On purpose anyways. Humans are so fragile." He then takes a quick drink, wincing slightly at the slip of the tongue.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent shrugs, "Some things deserve to be broken. Something steps to me, I step on them. Simple as that."

"They were weak. But I could read so much from seeing you move, I know how you'd fight even in a true challenge. Part of my own gifts," he says. "I'm not here to fight you, though. It would be fun, no doubt. Maybe even a test. But no need for it. Not many interesting sentients in this world. Wouldn't do to get rid of the first one I've found in a while," he says.

He considers giving his own name, even though it still feels strange in his mouth. He knows he's Lucas Trent, but the identity doesn't mean much to him. Those memories are long gone. He's been Midnighter first and foremost for so long.

"Humans survive because they're adaptable. Some of those adaptations, of course, are getting more powerful. Even get their own countries, sometimes," he says.. "I'm here to fight the good fight. But I don't need a bunch of moralists in capes looking over my shoulder either. I can fight the dirt in the dirt. Let other people shine and fly."

Noh-Varr has posed:
"It would be fun." Noh-Varr has a slightly wistful tone when he says that, looking out over the bar with a far-off look as if his brain were a million miles away. He breaks off his day-dreaming with a shake of his head and another drink, glancing down at the bottle. "What did you say this was? It's making my toes feel funny."

But then the topic goes to heroics, and his expression grows serious, intense. "Capes are poor strategy, according to the wise Edna Mode." He says with a straight face, nodding, "And for all your adaptability, humans do tend to think in binary... Male and Female. Heterosexual and Homosexual. Black and White. Hero and Villain. Civilian and Soldier. Crunchy or Creamy." He shakes his head. "Even your DNA is coded on a binary helix structure." Apparently it's not only his toes that are tingly, as he blinks rapidly. "No surprise your views on morality would be. There is no right or wrong, Midnighter. There is only the greater good. There is only the self, be it individual self or group self. Anything else is irrelevant."

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent takes another shot and closes his eyes, feeling the electric-neuron rush of that potent toxin that passes for superhuman booze in this joint. "God DAMN," he says.

"Sounds pretty groovy. I've been a one man army long enough, the self's all I've ever had, I suppose. Another guy with white hair almost...well...maybe I'll see him again someday," he says. He hasn't thought about -him- in a long time.

"I'm a crunchy guy myself, if you're asking about my nut preferences. But I won't turn down creamy either," he says.

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Somehow, Midnighter of Earth, I expected your nut preference to be worldly." The more they talk, the more relaxed (and, possibly, drunk) Noh-Varr seems. The innuendo isn't delivered with a wink or a lascivious look, or even a dry sarcasm. Instead, it's said conversationally, almost as if he doesn't know what he's saying.

But there's a certain gleam in his green eyes.

He sets the bottle down, leaning back and spreading his arms and legs out. "Men with white hair. We are superior." He says with prideful agreement, before relaxing into a slouch. "And do you prefer Pepsi or Coca Cola?" He asks, with genuine curiosity as if Lucas were a friend and not a stranger that watched him murder people and then got him drunk at a strange club. "While we are on the topic of your binary preferences. And coffee or tea in the morning?" He eyes Lucas, giving him a quick grin. "I'll save how you take your eggs for when we know each other better."