20400/Unheavenly Creatures

Unheavenly Creatures
Date of Scene:	10 April 2025
Location:	City Deck
Synopsis:	Kate rescues civilians while Zatanna manages not to be eaten by an elevator. Demons ahoy!
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Kate Kane

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A short trip down the Hyperloop away, a rather small hellish rebellion gives New York City a bad name again. Wicked trash cans and possessed trucks made headlines Monday for disturbing Grand Central Station. But not all the minions stayed put in New York.

Five get a ribbon for being enterprising coming to gloomy, wet Gotham. Since then they've had two days and change to settle in to a city wracked by rain and crime. Time to check out the larger nooks and crannies, nope out of the Narrows. Two of them have taken up residence in the Gotham City Tower.

Unfortunately it also happens to be the release of a guitar company's double-neck twelve-string model. Journos and musicians gather together, ladies in glittery dresses and aging rockers in black, swapping stories and drinks. LED lights encase the City Deck outside and inside, lit up to the announcement and performances live-streamed online.

Five minutes ago things went strange. Lights up there flashing to a complicated Tetris array suddenly bleep and blur chaotically around the crest of the building. The lights inside entirely go out and the last instance in the streaming projects shouts of "What the hell" and "Get that amp off-- it's got *teeth*!" Squeals of fear grow louder with lots of noisy reverb, the kind of metal pulling itself along the floor. Midnight appliance rearrangement, anyone?

Gotham City Tower has excellent security. Security that's stuck on the first floor when the elevator doors stay wedged firmly shut, oozing questionable goop that smells astringent and sulfurous. Stairs going up and up and up are a bit much for even a fit guard, which this one is, and made worse when he's lying in a daze by the ajar entrance to north stairwell 1, the fire exit sign chortling from its evil wires. Welcome to possession 101.

Kate Kane has posed:
The Bat-Family is not, despite their tendency to deal with the cowardly and superstitious, ones to actually deal with supernatural menaces. Recent problems with vampires aside.

However, Kate Kane aka Batwoman was probably the one that knew the most about occult menaces in Gotham, thanks to her dealings with the Cult of Caine and their weird obsession with her. So when reports started coming out about demonic things happening in the City Tower, she made her way over there, and asked Oracle to send out an alert to any magical help that might be willing to lend the Birds a hand.

After a few minutes, she arrived at the top of the City Tower, cape flaring as she hit the roof in a crouch, ready for quite possibly anything... because with demons, you never really knew /what/ to expect.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
It's not that she worships at the altar of Guitar Center. Her agent would never insist on a cameo, given her core fanbase doesn't overlap with many rock stars'. Celebrity status demands sacrifices at different altars. Blame this all on hearing one of her stagehands guffawing at the crazy social media reel, overhearing...

Happy circumstance forces Zee out into the rain at ground level, looking up, way up, to the tower. "Fee, fi, fo, fum, what I'd give for a great glass elevator." Rain splatters into her face but stage-proof makeup means nothing runs. Wading through a puddle, she pushes past the black sedans and fancy limos squashed up against the coveted valet parking. Her tailcoat flares upon reaching the doorway where bits of slime and one freaked-out valet gapes like a fish. "Why you goin' in?" is all he has to say before running out.

Zee 1, civilian 0. The Bat, unknown, since making communication in a place that makes her head hurt requires alternative measures. Power's out higher up the building, but not around here. Risking it, she fires a message through her phone. <<Inbound at lobby. Coords? Hope you aren't planning on using the express elevators. One has a tongue.>>

Cue blech face. She dashes over to the abandoned security board for a quick gander, but it's not a great sight.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Meanwhile, on the rooftop...

What guests can cram themselves out onto the lit-up glass blocks. Given they can accommodate no more than two people at a time, it's an unpleasant experience in the rain and persistent wind. Great for a bat cape flaring dramatically and not so much cocktail dresses or tees and jeans. The deck has a distinct load limits and several signs warning about who can go out there, but the guards who normally limit the flow are under assault from their podium or several hanging paper wall ads that wrap around them and batter them with bits of bent plastic. Other freestanding objects seem to have a mind of their own to chase the guests around.

Kate can see those from her perch, surely. Silhouettes limned by red or blue stumble through a pitch black room barely lit by wildly flickering outdoor illumination. The irregular flashes are painful, without rhyme or reason. Inside, the regular crash of people into chairs or someone being slammed by an animated door (or just a regular door in desperation) adds to the mix.

Kate Kane has posed:
Batwoman blinks at the message she receives, not quite expecting it that way as she responds in kind, << Delightful. How exactly did they get here? And do we have a way to send them back where they belong? >> With that, she does leap into action, and while punching demonic furniture isn't exactly her strongest suit, she did make a few stops along the way.

Namely, to supply up on a few special loads for the utility belt since this was a demonic infestation that was being dealt with, as she lobs some holy water mist-grenades towards the most aggressive room furnishings. Hoping to drive them back or at least get them contained so Zee can deal with them in a more permanent manner.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
<<Save postcognition for the afterparty.>>

The text flies back in record time, typo-free. Zee's lesser prestidigitation applies to gloves and gorilla glass. The elevator doors stay shut but the palpable stench and flexion warn her not to approach any closer without receiving a possible lick. No rush or anything. She grimaces as she looks at the fire escape layout on the desk, scrunching up her nose to commit it to memory.

"ekaT em ot eht hteitfif roolf llah." Her gloved hands swish and pop, miming opening the low half-door enclosing the security desk allows her to step straight through to the square landing she saw on the map. One can only hope the door isn't opening into sheer mayhem or a nine-armed monster. The music isn't playing but the thump and squeals of fear are very dimly audible through high-quality soundproofing for all your dubious crime family needs.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Meanwhile, on the rooftop...

Punching a floating poltergeist-like chair is still punching a chair. Padding on the seat is fun, deflecting metal legs is not. The chaotic mass of people rushing to find escape impedes easy movement, and not many except the hardest-core prog-rock band mount any reasonable defense. A guy with a truly impressive mane of fuzzy brown curls to his elbows swings a twelve-string double-neck guitar like an axe, smashing its laminated body into an offending amp that keeps snarling and spitting despite being unplugged. His blonde bandmate lashes out with a sidekick, halfway decent but nowhere near Bat-grade. It does the job to push back a pile of trash tornado that spun up out of somewhere.

Throwing holy water on the amp makes it squeal loudly -- loud enough even Zee hears it, a peal of shrieking decibels that rattle the glass. Cries of fear emanate from the people outside. One clings to the wall, face smooshed up against it like a hungry kid at a candy shop. Except screaming. A jumble of catering supplies clang and scrunch together, trying to hop behind bruised journalists and musical execs crammed in the corner. Mist is effective, though the perpetrator must take great pride in all this, since the sound is so damn loud.

Kate Kane has posed:
Batwoman battles her way through the demonic furniture, using strategic amounts of the holy water grenades as well as more direct punching or tossing of items that get too close to her to try and deal with the situation. Her main focus is to try and herd the demonic possessed items into one central area for Zee to deal with when she arrives. And also keep the civilians safe from, well, all the weirdness.

Because even for Gotham, this is definitely a ten out of ten on the utterly freaky scale. Even as Kate delivers a spinning roundhouse kick to a cackling demonic floor lamp, sending it careening off the roof and over the edge of the building, as it shrieks, "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANS!"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Despite her many qualities, Zatanna doesn't automatically see in the dark or come equipped with Tim's fantastic nightvision goggles. She has to make do with her cell phone flashlight, rather than wasting time on magic. Strobing the area in front of her produces no immediate threat, so she edges to the nearest stairwell instead of a window or the law office in prime position. The beam slides across a suspicious ripple, and then a purplish mass bruising the exit ripples into motion as so many crawling bugs and insects seem to chase her. She will not scream, she will not scream, she will not-- "dleihS!

Lazy magic, maybe, but the purple ripple seething off her skin gives her a thin barrier for the nightmare of running at the door. Smashing into bugs and metal that flexes, gooey and muscular. They both bounce. From there it's only three floors up chased by blobby bug-shapes.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Meanwhile, up on the rooftop...

The grenades mist the air and give off a strangely metallic smell that turns peculiar -- salted popcorn, heaps of butter, a bit of brown sugar, possibly a broad streak of stale red liquorice. When saturated enough, the furniture doesn't dance a horrible jig stomping on the guests. One sad microphone keeps trying to slither along the ground but the fallen civilian wrapped in its wire is able to pull his leg free and army-crawl into being stepped on by another panicked woman. They both fall together, a love story only Gotham makes possible.

Slowly and surely Batwoman reduces the defenses. She cuts a swathe through the dark room full of tripping hazards, dragging them into the middle. Unfortunately one desperate soul on the edge calls his private chopper to "Get me, goddamn you!" and another crawls up as if she might go over the transparent glass wall. Some are crying, some huddled in fear. A couple just record because they're evil. Or influencers. Or demonic evil influencers psychokinetically controlling the furniture and see in the dark, unrepenting about the lamp minion. Sorry, Leanu Keeves, none will mourn ye.

Kate Kane has posed:
Batwoman slides on some brass... well, silver knuckles, as she looks over at the demonic influencers. At this point, considering the thinning out of the crowd, it's a bit obvious now who's a victim and who's not. And well, now that she knows who's setting it up.

Well, now she has a target of opportunity, and so she leaps at him, leading with her silver-clad fist going right for his face as she says, "Hey, chucklehead!" She absolutely has /had/ it at this point with this demon's nonsense, and frankly?

Demons don't count for her cousin's "rules," so now she can play /dirty/.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The demon door trying to hold back guests from escaping really isn't prepared for what comes through: a woman in a black coat and boots, a swarm of squirmy flying insects and worms and ants in a bundle. Zatanna's camera flash winks out as infernal distortions gut its power to project, but the afterimages are enough. The door smacks her, hits her shield, and rebounds in. She jumps through into the mix, boots in the puddles, catching sight of a flash of darkness beyond sweaty, wet popcorn hell.

"Drop!" she shouts, throwing her voice with all the stage skill she's learned to try and get some folks to listen. A few do, and an enterprising, battered cart full of guitars drunkenly slews her way with two wheels burning and a third doing the grunt work. Wire strings threaten her with a good time, snapping and lashing out, grabbing at her arms. Someone kicks her. Fear is an ugly business, but she doesn't scream for help.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Meanwhile, on the City Deck...

Fifteen foot blocks are barely enough for a hug and the 'maximum two and the GPD means it' warning signs aren't for show. Structural fatigue in the glass construction means too many people taking refuge could end up with bodies on the ground and a national disaster. Though--once again overshadowed by New York for some reason. Room doesn't allow for much past huddling when horrors descend, putting arms up or pushing the person facing the deck inward for protection.

Lucky that Batwoman knows more about close-quarters fighting than anyone in the tower. Coordinated responses might stop her advance, but everywhere, rival objects and the one demon trying to chase Zatanna don't help. So when she jumps the guy in a shabby shirt and pants, he has nowhere to go. But he delights in striking hard, inflicting pain, and flexing his strength. His fist goes and he ducks, leaving her to smash the wall. Cracks might form, but it's strong indeed. A few blows like that will remove its protection from the greater city's open air. He tries to run into her, head lowered, shoulders reared. If he can't get her in the stomach then he lets loose on trying to throw her off her feet. Because demons fight stupidly dirty - they know no other way. Not at his level anyway.

Kate Kane has posed:
Batwoman oofs and falls back a bit at the demon's strength, letting him think he has an advantage. She staggers, taking a few steps back, luring him away from the glass...

Which is exactly what she wants.

Once he's away from the glass, she then starts to work, using her skill to go to work on him. She might not match his demonic strength, but she does use her advantages of skill and speed to her own advantage. Plus, she has silvered weaponry, holy water. And one more thing. Something she was saving for a certain vampire, but it'll work for a demon too. But she's waiting until she's certain that this is really a demon, and not just a possessed human, as she smashes a vial of holy water right into his face with her fist.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Strength's about all that demon has going for it. While he fights, his ability to directly animate much becomes limited and the self-sustained chaos has to manage on its own. Advantageous for the music show attendees, some of whom find their courage to crawl or run into the stairwell. Maggots and stinging wasps pursue, a couple gross hornet-worms getting into their hair and clothes.

Zatanna grimaces as the strings slip into her shield and constrict her, but it's a sacrifice play for a greater good. Two guitars clonk into her, bruising, knocking her breath out while the insectoid demon shrills in wing beats, flailing limbs, and a cacophonous array of noises. It takes on a manlike shape, lumpen and squat, crawling flies for eyes.

"SSssssuffer! Ssssstupid!" it shrills in a buzzy falsetto.

She chokes out between red-stained lips, "livE stirips enogeb ot rouy ecruos!" Akuryo taisan, baby! Banishment in a bleeding swirl of light.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Meanwhile, on the City Deck...
Holy water in a minor demon's face is never a good time. Even one from a not really super-hellish realm. Something truly purified and blessed stings like a bastard, causing the demon to shriek and hiss in guttural noises its dad-bod grey-haired rocker dude shouldn't make. He keeps thwacking and elbows-up smacking, his arts not nearly as nuanced as Kate's. They never had to be. What matters if he can just get a grip on her that isn't a pointy part of her uniform, or rip her belt away and throw her somewhere--

--but that damn splashy wash burns into his skin, biting through the arrogant expression that's a mask of hideousness. Are those bottom tusks? They are, though covered in melty rivulets where his skin is sloughing off onto her chestplate as he tries to headbutt her. Or it's him collapsing forward, flailing around. Ewwwww.

Kate Kane has posed:
Batwoman grits her teeth, "So, not possessed at all, just a demon in the flesh, so to speak." She smirks and pulls back her fist, "When you get to Hell, tell your bosses that Batwoman says "Hey.""

With that, she unloads on his face with her silver-knuckled fist, punching again and again as the holy-water-coated weapon makes short work of the demon. She might not know too many spells, but she can cast Punch.

And as it turns out, it is Super Effective. As the demonic form dissolves into unholy sludge and mist, dissipating into nothingness, she murmurs in her voice-to-text, << All clear here, demon is dealt with. And I need a drink. >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Dissipation follows in short order as the bugs fall to the ground and reveal a raw-skinned brute, dogged and shrieking in softer, less audible gurgles until the purple smoke consumes him. He sinks into the ground, while the lights flash and flicker, still damaged enough not to brighten very well. Zatanna lurches into the pile of wrecked guitars on the cart, extricating her arms from the broken strings. Once free, she brushes the back of her hand over her brow.

On City Deck, the illumination stops chaotically flashing like a demented disco into mismatched, solid shades. An improvement over the previous experience. Rain continues to splash down, washing over the shivering, scared journalists and musical friends. Slouching back inside won't happen instantly as they need to be encouraged back in. Somewhere below, a few police sirens and flashing blue-and-red lights indicate the GCPD's belated arrival.

"Yuck," Zee hoarsely opines, staring at her phone. The flash is messed up; another thing to get fixed. She waves the lit up screen outward, spotting Batwoman in the mix. "Shall we get out of here before we have to fill out some forms? Drinks on me!"