2229/WAND: Smooth Criminal

WAND: Smooth Criminal
Date of Scene:	25 June 2020
Location:	Harlem's Speakeasy
Synopsis:	Caught by vampires, SHIELD agents fight their way free of a persuasive power and chase the clutch out into the night.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Daisy Johnson, Jemma Simmons, Dane Whitman, Lara Croft, Mikhail Uriokovitch

---

Jane Foster has posed:
Call it a night out, SHIELD-style. A group ostensibly going out for drinks in high style, headed to one of those shady places all the rage among the city's cool cats. Not long before, the greater portion of the J-Team -- or jokingly, Fury's Furies -- encountered some odd behaviour among the dancers. Not often that someone seems to be on their way to symptoms of dehydration, extreme anemia, and delirium with such calm, but the victim and his partner vanished with hardly a trace. The only trace being a wallet owned by Ioan Walker, per his driver's license and credit card. If anyone thought to call the speakeasy, Ioan apparently /has/ called to inquire about a lost wallet.

Otherwise, a particularly choice event might be the best chances of a good night out and seeing if patrons here regularly disappear through the brick walls.

The speakeasy doesn't really have a name. Like the best of places, it's one of those places known only to a select few. Plenty of places in New York offer great music and extraordinarily crafted drinks. Few give the throwback to Prohibition, sliding into the Dirty Thirties through some formidable bank vault security. A special week of Thirties music, style, and drinks beckons a rather healthy number of patrons, spaced out by discreet texts or timed slots to get in without a problem.

Tonight's password is, unsurprisingly, "Band Wagon."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Rule of thumb: Never dress the same roaring 20s dress twice when visiting inconspicuous speakeasies. And besides, this is supposed to be a stakeout soooo...., undercover. Which means instead of the green dress of the first time she brings a red one, all frills and glitz. A small purse is looped on a shoulder with a few trinkets proper for a stakeout. She is all for mixing business and pleasure afterall.

At arrival to the speakeasy Daisy opens the door and begins the way downstairs towards where the entrance is and where that 20s phone is. "My sources tell me the password for tonight is Band Wagon." she informs the rest of the team, a brief moment of pause to look them over again.

"We are hoping to find this Ioan Walker again if we can. You should have his image on your devices." she says.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Having been once before to the rather elusive speakeasy...and knowing the particular theme, Jemma has once again dressed for the occasion. And....it seems that Jemma might have coordinated with Daisy. For...last time Daisy was in green and Jemma was in maroon. And...this time it is flipped. Jemma herself is in a green A-line dress, with a sort of satin appearance. The dress has a lapel collar with a shallow V-neck cut. Asymmetrical round buttons adorn the left side of the dress, down to the waistline. The lower skirt portion of the dress tapers down and is shorter than what Jemma may have preferred...but is still tastefully in line for the Brit. Within Jemma's hand is a matching green clutch, with green heels. And...of course, Jemma completes the ensemble with her hair classically styled and lightly applied cosmetics. After all, it isn't too often she goes out.

    Jemma waits patiently for Daisy to offer the password, then turns and nods softly to the others. "Yes. He was engaged with his partner when last we saw him. So, certainly keep an eye open for him. But, also, really, just keep a close eye. If you see anything that strikes you as particularly odd, please inform everyone." Then...with a pause, Jemma adds. "Well...odder than going to an establishment in 30's attire."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Bedecked in a black pinstripe suit, with a red dress shirt beneath and a plain black silk necktie, along with a black panama hat worn at a rakish angle, Dane Whitman certainly looks the part for this speakeasy excursion. He is, perhaps, more clean-shaven than usual. And on his arm, perhaps to the surprise of no one at all, is one Jane Foster, whom he casts a sidelong grin at as the make their way past the doorman and into the establishment to take up position at a cozy table.

"Y'know, I've never been a smoker but I almost feel like this place demands it."

He's seeming quite nonchalant about it all, but his dark eyes are as watchful as any, and perhaps more than most, given their ability to pierce illusions of the magical variety. For now he's on "radio silence" at least until there's something to report. He's not yet sure what he's looking for, but he reckons he might know it when he sees it.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara is wearing her black leather jacket over a black tshirt that she took a neck tie from someone and has slung around it. On her head she has a black fedora with a silver ribbon around the base of its crown. On her lower half she's got a pair of dark slacks on and a set of black leather shoes. It's not very in-era for an outfit, but there's a very low-effort made to fit in. She got invited to this before she could arrange anything more formal, more 'appropriate' as it were.

She's behind the others with her eyes looking left and right, her hair is tied back into a loose pony tail, draping down behind her shoulders. It's hot outside, so she has a bottle of water with her - or she did up until she reached the door to this speakeasy location. The bottle magically vanished into a trash bin outside.

"I hope they don't turn me away, I'll have to wait out in the car." She softly says with a smirk.

Jane Foster has posed:
A slit on the door pulls back, a pair of dark eyes in a pale face looking down on the assembled SHIELD team. Steel hisses back into place and a large lock thunks into place. "Make it quick, luvs," chaws the man who answers Jemma's literal call. He's got an authentic Welsh accent, thick on. Tonight's bouncer-slash-doorman has a slick charm to him, dressed the part in a unbuttoned white shirt with those telltale suspenders and ink winding up his forearms. The atmosphere is pensive, though not tense, as the door slips open.

"It's bad for your health. Cuts your life expectancy by years. Though I feel I need one of those sterling holders to really fit the part. That and a glass of gin," Jane chides with a knowing wink to Dane. Her own take on a dress has two parts Rogers to one part Lamarr. Fitted atop, unspooling into a longer skirt that absolutely will flare out if she is spun properly.

A torch singer crooning on a modest stage oversees the dance floor, accompanied by a shadowy cellist and backing band. She's got a healthy number prowling to slinky electroswing that puts a spin on newer hits. Beyond them, the speakeasy's got a bustling clientele. Women in veiled hats perch at tables, drinks poised on their fingers, fit to watch with keen interest. Gentlemen under broad-brimmed Homburg hats to make every godfather drool accompany them or stand at the polished wooden bar. No stools to sit mean getting orders from the cagey pair of bartenders, and seeking to sit at a table or a booth squashed against the sides. A fellow there leans leans over to speak to a stunning Latina woman who clearly has /nothing/ to say to him, so much as turning her head away. This doesn't seem to deter him in the least, not even when she pushes off the bar.

Jane Foster has posed:
The crummy photo from the Connecticut DMV gives salient details about Ioan Walker: a 37-year-old man with medium brown hair cropped short on the sides and longer in front, long face, clean-shaven. Caucasian, the name pings as Welsh. Age given as 37, 5'11", lying about that 185 lbs based on what the Furies saw. He was gaunter than that. Doesn't quite look his age, either.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"As long as people try to blend with the theme don't think anyone would get kicked out." Daisy says just before they are allowed into the place, then commenting. "Slick hats you two." then a grin given to Jemms at her choice of dress and color. "Liked the green, mmm?" but then it's go time.

Poker face on, commlinks up, prepared for the mission itself. She lets her gaze survey the room for a few moments. So far so good, nothing beyond what she'd expect. "I will take position by the bar. Drinks, anyone?" she murmurs quietly into the commlink. Because what's a stakeout without proper booze? She then starts on her way towards it to settle down by one of the stools.

Wisely, she doesn't take the latina's place that just got vacant, because she has nothing to say to the fellow there either! But it does give her a good vantage point of the room.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    As the group enters, Jemma offers a polite smile and a nod towards Daisy. "Yes, well, I thought I give it a go. But, with my own little twist." And, with that, she opens her clutch, withdrawing what appears to be a small eyeglasses case within. The case is transferred into the same hand with the clutch, then Jemma shifts to glance out...looking for a table. "If you can get me a Southside, Daisy, I would greatly appreciate it." Another 30's era cocktail for the scientist? It seems that someone did her homework.

    As Daisy heads to the bar proper, the biochemist's brown eyes shift to look out over the din. Searching for an empty table. Pointing with the clutch, she leans over towards Jane and Dane. "How about over there, to the left of the stage? Looks appropriately large enough to accommodate us." Not to mention slightly elevated to allow for a decent view of the room from the opposite side as well.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane chuckles, shaking his head a bit at Jane, "What did that one Comedian say? It's the worst seven years anyway?" Not that Dane is seriously making an argument to take up smoking. He orders up a bit of rye bourbon that he plans on nursing slowly, settling into his chair and now looking for all the world that he only has eyes for his date. Not a hard act to pull off. Though at Jemma's question, Dane notes, "Might be better if we break into smaller groups. Cover more real estate, as it were."

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara just glances down at herself after they gain admittance. "Yes, I suppose so." She says about not being kicked out. Once inside her eyes glance around from under the brim of the classically styled fedora on her head. She roams her eyes toward the bar where she sees the servers dishing out drinks, and when Daisy asks of drinks, Lara just shows a quick smile. "Whatever you're having will be fine with me." She tells the other, truly not being much of an alcoholic beverage expert - she masks that by just trusting in others choices.

Taking a moment, Lara starts to explore with a slow pace to her walking, she steps out of the way of a couple moving past her and offers them both a tip of her had to stay 'in character' for this place. She has a small smile on her lips, as she seems to actually be enjoying herself in this environment, perhaps it reminds her of something or is just surprising in it's classical Americana atmosphere for someone not from this country to behold.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Too hot for you to handle, huh? Always other fish, doll." The fellow left in one of the few vacant spaces at the bar grins despite his failure, bold and confident. He leans back when Daisy joins him, giving her a rather subdued once-over. Bartenders busily ply their craft, so she might need to wave or work to get their attention. "Evening," Zeke tells her, apparently blind to her disinterest. Lara joining is even better, two ladies! "Their old-fashioneds are something else here, if you're considering." He nods to the stage where the torch singer purrs with a smoky contralto. "Keep an eye on the singers up there. Place like this got some rare talent working a Friday night. You like dancing faster, wait til they switch!"

The Latina woman weaves back through the crowd for an open table. Just the one Jemma already zeroed in on. Advantage between being a single person or a group hesitating on possibilities puts the dark-haired woman a little ahead, slipping nimbly past occupied chairs and the dancers twirling on the floor. The two may nicely collide there in a British standoff of pleases and you firsts.

Jane nods to other spots up on a mezzanine level, smaller cafe tables where the cool kids loiter in the dark. One's bold enough to read a Kindle! Fool. "Should we go up by the safety deposit boxes or you want to withdraw onto the dance floor and show me how light you are on your feet?" she asks, already tugging Dane away with a grin. Those curved-heel shoes are low, practical, ideal for cutting a rug. At least that part is easy to research!

Daisy Johnson has posed:
At Jemma's request of a drink Daisy offers a grin and a thumbs up and once she reaches the bar she leans over the counter to catch the attention of the bartender. Hopefully back on suspenders tonight too. Oh, who is she kidding? It's the dress code for the staff here! "A southside and a couple of hanky pankys, please." she asks, then a look to Lara, saying to her. "It's this mix of vermouth with gin and fernet branca." her tone almost as if she was an expert but then she leans over to confess. "I saw a best of 20s drinks on youtube to decide earlier."

As the man nearby strikes conversation she takes in a breath. To engage or not. But they are here to figure out more about the place, and it's occupants so she does speak up. "Yea? You are here often then?" she questions, eyes finally taking note of this Zeke with a bit more attention. She even manages a small smile while waiting for the drinks to be served.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Ah, but the polite standoff never comes to fruition. Due to the fact that Jemma is, quite possibly, too nice. When seeing that her quarry is about to be lost to another, Jemma simply calls off the search. Dane's words ring in her ears and, honestly, it is a good idea. However, with Jane and Dane off together, rightly so, and Daisy and Lara at the bar, Jemma finds herself off on her own.

    With that, there is a slight sigh, then a small smile as Jemma opens up the eyeglasses case. Within are a pair of seemingly innocent glasses, round frames in a 1930's style. The lenses themselves are tinted a light blue, certainly for style rather than seemingly any practical purpose, with the frames a dark navy blue. "Really...you wanted me to wear the blue...." The words are soft, spoken only to herself as Jemma slides the pair on, depositing the case back into her clutch purse. "Really Fitz, you should have said so."

    A tell-tale tap on the left bow and the tech magic begins. A smaller pair of her IR glasses. Alas, no recording capability...and only the one mode. But...it is enough to bring up heat signatures...which allows the good doctor to do her own searching on the floor proper.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"While normally I probably wouldn't mind cutting a rug, I think I'm only willing to take advantage of the environment the job's brought us to just so much." Dane grins at Jane, "But maybe if we manage to wrap up without too much fuss. Or we come back later." He notes, tilting his head in the direction of said safety deposit boxes. "I guess we nerds get to be the cool kids tonight." He does spare a glance for where Jemma has wandered. Probably a good idea to try to stay in line of sight of each other if possible, though that's not always /going/ to be possible in a crowded place like this.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara reaches the bar to hear the last of Zeke's words, which earns another glance up to the stage where the woman with the purring voice is entertaining the masses. She stares at the singer a moment before Daisy's comments about the drink draw her attention to her. A smile is given in response to the drink's explanation, a gentle nod and a lean to speak back. "I can read an entire book about the lost cultures in this world and remember ninety percent of it. But I'll forget what's in that drink by evening's end." She says back, whether that's true or not, she still shows a brief grin. Lara looks to Zeke then and nods once toward him after Daisy asks him a question, she follows it up with a compliment. "I like your outfit." She says in her British flavored voice loud enough to hear over the mingling, but not so loud that she's shouting of course.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane follows Dane up the stairs, as much as one can. They're narrow, leading to the string of tables pressed up to the rail. Darker but not quieter up here, reverberating with sound. She puts her hand to the side of her head. "Too cool to dance, so we pose? I remember high school." Her lidded eyes and flat expression manage a reasonable attempt at disdain. The Black man reading his Kindle looks up as they pass, but returns to a book he's engrossed in.

"Hanky-pankies? A woman after my own sensibilities." Zeke barks with laughter when Daisy requests it, but he waves a hand. The tender shimmies up, tipped head listening. "Mind making me up one too?" A few bills peeled off from the actual moneyholder wrapped around his wallet end up dropped in the tip glass for making extra work. "I get in here now and then. Loses the special shine to go anywhere too much. You a regular?"

The slinky reverb cuts over the torch singer's voice fading out, and the black-haired minx surrenders the mic. Applause ripples as she gets helped off the stage, shimmying her way in that sparkling black dress through the dancers to join them. Which leaves Jace introduced with a sliding, savory note from the cellist. Cool and chic, his black suit and tipped hat throw the right balance of drama. Let it be said his synthwave croon brought into the dying jazz era works, somehow. Damn good singer, at that. "//So good for bad, and it's so surreal. I can't believe you ever dared.//"

The Latina woman claims the table by the stage, then, and makes herself comfortable. It isn't long before act flips over, causing a bit of churn, people finishing drinks and going to dance or sit. Jemma is swept up into the currents of a rapt audience. Maybe not getting far, for sure.

"//I never meant to hurt you, girl. I am bloody, baby, and I am real.//"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"You know it." Daisy says with a bit of a smirk cropping up to her expression, regarding Zeke. Honestly, it was mostly due to how amused she was with the name. And did beat the first drink she had on her first time here. Scofflaw. Always improving! At least where it comes to drink proficiency. "That's true enough, nothing like the marvel of finding something for the first time. But for me it's the same, I come here now and then. Always something new to see, or at least I do hope so."

With the drinks finally coming up she slides one towards Lara before taking her own. As for the Southside, it will have to wait until Jemma is located and she can deliver it. But she has put on her glasses. And everyone knows glasses are the best superhero disguise, right?

Her eyes then go to Lara and she grins. "Hopefully you won't forget due to inebriation." but attention then follows to the stage and the singer. "Wait, that singer looks familiar but..." she speaks to the intercomm but then trails off, losing herself a bit to the song and starting to hum it, her eyes a bit hazy and distracted. "I nearly feel like jumping up onto the dance floor and dance it up.." and she hasn't even drank out of her hanky-panky!

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Those brown eyes, hiding behind the pale blue lenses, look around as Jemma gets caught in the flow of people migrating to the floor. It causes her to look up...and actually see the singer. Really see him. "that is the partner...the man that our gentleman was dancing with." This...is spoken into the comms....which she covers with mocking looking through her clutch. "and...his heat signature is unusual. Could be the lights but..."

    And...Jemma never finishes her sentence. As the singer starts, and the band begins to play, that urge that Daisy has to jump on the dance floor? It hits Jemma immediately. Perhaps it is her close proximity to the stage, but the usually prim and proper British scientist actually smiles brightly and starts to dance.

    If you ever wanted blackmail material on Jemma, now is the time. Jemma's dancing is actually rather free-spirited, which is much different from her turn with Daisy doing the tango last time. Perhaps it was just that Jemma was too tight then. She....is certainly loose now.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane settles down in the seat opposite Jane, though by the time he's settled his smile has dimmed somewhat. He silently reaches over to touch Jane's arm, and with a subtle gesture and an inclination of his head, seek to draw her attention to the tablet of the fellow who's so engrossed in it, and the swift...one might even suggest unusual...speed he's flipping through the pages. Either he's not paying any attention to the book at all, or he's reading it far faster than any human is capable of. Maybe nothing to worry about...this is New York after all...but still a bit unusual and worth notice.

But then Dane's attention is occupied by someone else entirely, and it's a thoroughly gobsmacked expression that crosses Dane's face as he watches Jemma dance, "Uh..well...that seems a little sudden given I don't think she's had anything to drink...."

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara hadn't even dabbled in drinking alcohol until she went to university and met a friend who drug her out onto the town at any possible moment, ever attempting to get the Briton to 'loosen up a little' in that charmingly sweet way that managed to accomplished said goals, at least a little. Lara had loosened up in college, or so she'd thought! But here and now? This was business, this was all about business as it should be, this was a SHIELD mission, an important outing that danger likely was lurking around any corner!

So naturally when the other two women on the main floor with her still are heading toward the dance floor, Lara remains ever vigilant in her duties after sipping HER drink, HER 'hanky panky' that Daisy had slid over toward her.

Or at least that's what sober Lara would be doing, whatever version /this/ is? Is walking up an empty chair in the seating area and standing on top of a table now to start to dance. She's even adding a vocalized "Wooo!" to her now swaying form, and her left hand picking her own hat up off of her head, while the other unfurls the pony tail to let her hair down!

She had TWO sips of the drink, /two!/

Jane Foster has posed:
Zeke grins goofily and turns back when the drinks show up. The bartender does it the old way, putting down a proper drink mat and then the glass in front of the ladies. "Thank you, Asher." Last is the gent's, but he reaches across for one of those extra serviettes and gently knocks Daisy's. Barely! Maybe not his first drink but definitely not much past buzzed but he sheepishly ducks his head. "I like the place. You two look swell, but me it gives an excuse to have the time of my life. Dress up when not at work." The singer has him leaning away from the bar and straining to see, then looking back to Lara and Daisy with interest at her reaction. Especially as he declared the guy was good, and it's important! "So? Whaddya think? I told you, he's goooood."

One of the dancers flops down next to Latina at Jemma's would-be table. If she wants a seat, two remain. Words are exchanged while her visitor gets settled, leering and leaning forward into her personal space. She glares at him, stiff-backed and straight, pushing her chair back and pointing at the table. The singer up on stage weaves his song while switching up the mic from one hand to the other, flexing his knees and dancing to the beat with swagger.

Fingers curling, leaning in to share whispers... they're disgustingly cute up there, aren't they? Jane is inclined to barely perch in her chair, maybe measuring angles for a selfie with Dane. Like someone isn't snapping -their- picture (totally are). His preoccupation down to the dancers takes a few moments to notice, since she already sways and taps out the beat with her heel. "It's a good song. Last time she danced a lot too, until it was time to be doctor." Her teeth catch her lower lip in that speculative grin. A dangerous one at that. And her words slip through the tempo, picking up the chorus. "I never meant to hurt, girl. I never meant to feel the way I am... Catchy."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The beat just seems to get into her mind, and straight like an arrow to her heart. True that she often can get loose easily enough yet with this being a mission there was just this hesita-... ah, heck. When Daisy notes the other Agent getting up to the chair she laughs and without hesitation slides out of her bench.

A woman with a mission!

"I think it's time to dance, that's what I think." she tells Zeks, starting to walk out towards the dance floor. "Come on, Lara." she tells the other woman when she is going past her position, clearly aimed to the dance floor. <<Are you listening to that? Such a beautiful voice..>> she even sounds dreamy on the comms, stepping up onto the dance floor. Just to note the 'dancing queen' there. A grin to Jemma. But she also has a vantage point to see the singer more closely.

<<Definitely one of our targets.>> She confirming what Jemma said earlier. Something just doesn't feel right though ...

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Despite being the one born closest to the era that this bar is themed towards, Great Patriotic War Siberia was not exactly the best vantage point, growing up. That being said when it comes to infiltrating bar and needing muscle, who else do you send but... Mikhail.

Tonight had not been a good night for him as he had trouble getting a costume to begin with, and then getting it on, on top of dealing with a slight hangover from trying to be wasted in the field. He quietly enters the room, and seeing a few familiar faces, gives a polite nod and orders a drink.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    There really isn't much consideration for a place to sit. Or even for the mission at the moment. No, it seems that someone is a dancing fool...and is not caring in the slightest at the moment. There isn't a response on the comms from Jemma, but it is really easy to find her. Just look for the green-clad brunette having what seems to be a grand old time out on the dance floor.

    Highly unusual behavior. Particularly for the normally strait-laced Jemma.

Jane Foster has posed:
Mikhail's going to have some trouble pushing forward with the bulk of patrons fixated on the stage. The young man dancing in a tailored black suit has some serious moves and even better pipes, guiding them into the next song that thrums with serious base notes. At the bar, almost all activity except with the bartenders has stopped.

Almost all.

Beside the stage, the dancer squeezes up to the Latina woman wanting nothing to do with him. "--have it or not?" she snarls at him. Something tossed into her lap lands softly. When he tries to grope her breast, she shoves the bigger young man back, already rising from her seat. It's probably driven by anger but he goes over the table to smack into the floor.

Bouncing.

That's a hell of a shove.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane nods his head somewhat absently, a foot having started to tap to the rhythm. "Yeah...catchy."

His eyes start to glaze over a bit, a smile spreading across his face. A feeling of deja-vu sweeps over him. He's felt something like this before. Where was it?

For a moment, he's staggering in the back alley of a Damascus Souk. He knows he should be revolted by some of the smells but the lady is so very charming. Her song pulled at his heart, and here she is! Isn't he married? Well no...the man who's body he's hijacked is married. It shouldn't matter, she's so beautiful, with that lovely, sharp-toothed smile. She draws him near.

He never sees Bennet coming before he's jerked away, landing in a puddle of something that's going to require some serious laundering and a trip to the bathhouse. Bennet is shouting at him. The song fades, and he sees his friend struggling with the woman...she's not so beautiful anymore...she stands revealed as a creature of the night...

Dane snaps from the reverie like a cold glass of water being thrown in his face.

His face grows serious, and he grasps Jane's hand with his own...the other reaching to pinch a bit of skin on her forearm. Rather hard, actually. Might even leave a bruise, but of course...it has a purpose and it's slightly less attention-grabbing then throwing a drink in her face or slapping her, which were the alternatives that sprang to mind.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara's probably raising a few eyebrows after going vertical in her resolution to dance, dance a revolution. Additionally so, since once she's up on that chair she steps up on to the table and pulls her black leather jacket on, a black tshirt on with that black necktie still loosely around her shoulders. She is /enthralled/ by the singer and seemingly very much enjoying the performance. But when Daisy sweeps past and calls out her name, Lara just smiles and steps off the table to land on her feet without a care in the world. Her hand reaches out to take her drink up from the bar, she raises it up to take another swig from it and then turns to rush out toward the dance floor, leaving her jacket behind draped over the chair she'd used to step up onto the table.

Soon she's out at the dance floor and smiling to Jemma as the join her. "This is far too much fun." She tells both of the agents that are with her, clearly having difficulty focusing on the 'mission' here, for whatever reasons.

When the person goes flying over the table, Lara ceases her dancing to stare at the display of sudden chaos... only to start to laugh at it a moment later, her mind too fogged over with a desire to be amused / entertained and enjoy things to really take in the full scope of it.

Jane Foster has posed:
Normally having one of your audience flung out of the way would stop the performance. It sort of does. The singer, Jace, curls his lip in abject disapproval of this act, but he doesn't stop singing much. Improvising means he struts with the mic to the other end of the small stage, leaving the stand in arm's reach. One of the tattooed servers rolls up his shirtsleeves and wades in to recover the fallen dancer, but in no immediate rush. No need to panic the regulars?

Zeke is being left behind with his drink. Swiping it, he knocks back a swallow and wombles after Daisy and Lara. "Hey, wait up! Don't leave me after that hanky-panky!" Snatching up the latter's coat gives him some reason to approach into the dancing, and if she lets him, he swings her around a little to keep her from knocking into a few other dancers throwing themselves into a wilder kind of beat. Maybe they're inspired but he is protective either way, blocking some flailing wrists.

In the milieu, the Latina woman snatches up whatever was thrown to her along with her coat and storms off to the main door. Anger and shame mar her clouded expression.

In all of this, Jane resides in a lyrically becalmed state, swaying but a little in her seat. A wonder she doesn't fall right out of it, especially with the pull forward. Running into the table redoubles the pinch's effects. "Wha--?" Looking down, the golden bracelet shines on her wrist, and her pupils gleam. In the low light, her expression is puzzled.

The man on his Kindle vacates his seat, the device in hand. A casual look around leaves him looming near Dane, and with a simple jerk of his wrist, he flings the table at the pair. Well, a bit indiscriminate: it's flung down the skinny mezzanine at /everyone/. All six people.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Woo, the music is so nice.., but then there is someone being tossed across the dance floor. Definitely something isn't --- And hello, nothing like a table being casually brought upon her to have her blink and get that mind working properly again!

"What the ..." just in time to throw herself out of the way of that incoming table. And like a proper Cinderella she loses one of her shoes in the process. Damn it, might as well make it two. She tosses the other one away.

"Guess it's time for the real hanky panky to begin." she says in a rather pissed-off tone. Whatever that singer was doing she clearly didn't like it. Her focus goes to the soundwaves being produced by the man's voice, if he still continues to sing that is, attempting to absorb them so it's not readily able to affect anyone else now. At least it's what she assumes was going on.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Being joined by Lara only spurs Jemma to enjoy herself more. "Indeed! Far too much fun!" She shows no sign of stopping....

    Until the person flies over the table and hits the floor. Hard.

    The sensibilities of the medical doctor, deeply engrained within Jemma's psyche, prove too strong for the lure of the music...and the perhaps supernatural pull to it. It is almost as if Jemma is waking up from a dream. The dancing just....stops. With a shake of the head and a couple of blinks of her blue-tinted eyes, Jemma turns...and immediately heads to the person tossed on the floor. Her head cranes up, looking across to the table and seems to catch the backside of the Latina as she storms off, her anger clear to regular eyes...but cold, so cold to the IR imaging. Then, down to the dancer/tossed person, who is definitely hurt, but none the worse for wear. And is sufficiently warm, like a human ought to be.

    Jemma's voice speaks into the comms. Cool...collected. "Latina female heading out the door. Too cold of a heat signature to be human, or alive. Also...don't listen to the singer..." No other explanation is given. With Jemma's head down on the person on the floor....she is in no position to see any airborne tables heading in her direction.

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Crowds are the bane of large people, and Mik is no exception as he pushes his way through, trying to find some more familiar people, but the thrown table definitely catches his attention. The large Russian slams his drink back. It does not matter that it was a triple of grappa, though that was going on the expense report. He lets his hands go near his sidearm, but it is far too crowded for guns, leaving only two options.

Mik elects to not go into angrier form at this point in time, but does respond to Jemma with, <<Intercepting. Cover me if needed.>> With that, he carries out this plan, putting his large frame in the doorway, blocking the exit for the Latina. The Russian directs his attention to the target, humming to himself an old Russian lullaby to keep himself focused on not the music.

Jane Foster has posed:
Violence crumples all remnants of a normal song, but what speakeasy doesn't have some fisticuffs? Havoc ripples out from a few points. A young man stays crumpled on the dance floor, not getting up. His prostrate form is the price for pushing his hands much too far. Quite a few people mostly make room for him, but none rush to check on him.

On the upper mezzanine, a table goes flying at the two SHIELD agents plus diners behind. The tall man strides purposefully for the stairs, Neglecting to take the last few when he can smartly clear the rail. Meanwhile, Jace keeps singing until it becomes apparent Daisy's powers /aren't/ letting his work so well. Absorbing soundwaves takes him some time to notice, the band looking more than a little confused. Two stop playing, the violinist peering at her instrument.

The bartenders pull a few glasses away from the bar as a precaution, sanguine and stoic in the face of some rowdiness. Being Irish Bostonians, though, anyone putting a finger on that bar gets a fist in the face. The Latina is fast-moving and clearly not very happy shaking her head as Mikhail aims to intercept. There may only be one way out other than the kitchens or the exit sign by the washrooms, but she gets the message quick. He doesn't move and she halts. "Pardon me. Please?" Accented voice, unhappy, her bearing agitated. "You're in the way. I need to find the police." Rasping, falling voice. It's an urge, driving her to slide past Mik's side if she can.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Well-honed reflexes have Dane grabbing Jane and hurling them both out of the path of that table, which briefly takes them both to the floor. Much as he'd like, there's not much he can do for the folks behind him just this second. He doesn't linger, trusting his instinct that she's mostly OK despite the manhandling, and quickly retaking his feet and racing after the tall table-thrower. No swords yet. Close quarters, lots of people around. He's confident in his ability to avoid hurting anyone he doesn't intend to but he'd like to allay complete panic as long as possible. "Guy running around with sword" is as likely to be viewed as the aggressor than the protector at first glance.

Lara Croft has posed:
Unfortunately for Lara, the drug that is effecting her has a very strong hold upon her, so she's none the wiser with regard to the actions and activities going on around her... the table, the comm chatter, it's floating over her hazy-clouded mind. Clouded by the desire to have more fun, so when Zeke arrives with her jacket and takes her hand to spin her, she spins right along with him and dances quite happily with the man she doesn't even remotely know. Even the rather large and sizable Russian, in the form of Mikhail, goes right over her head. With Zeke's hand held by one, and her jacket by the other, Lara sways around the dance floor quite content in her hallucinogenic-induced state!

It isn't until the man falls on the dance floor that Lara stops dancing, having nearly run right into him. She starts to laugh at what she sees of the man sprawled out upon the ground, but something in her head makes her stop. She has a change in her mindset as she starts to look around for where Jemma and Daisy are, she hears the commotion all around her, but doesn't fully grasp the context of it all.

"What's going on?" She asks over the team comms, now holding her jacket up to one side of her face in her left hand.

Jane Foster has posed:
Hitting the ground hurts, no matter how much SHIELD trains an agent. Jane at least knows what hits her, knees going soft, getting her shoulder down to absorb the blow of the floor. Not much space to go, flat to the wall, whereas the unfortunate pair startled out of watching the improv song and fracas get bowled right over in a cacophony of squealing metal and startled cries. The metal cafe table rolls away, mangled, and a shoe flops onto the floor below, doing no harm unless you are a half-finished sidecar. The same can't be said for two down. That leaves two in the back cowering, and Dane versus the erudite fellow going down the stairs. Getting up takes the astrophysicist longer, mostly due to the limited options. She has cover, after all.

<<Headed for the washrooms, there's an exit to the alley,>> she warns after getting into a crouch.

Zeke looks a little sheepish and a whole lot pleased to have Lara to dance with. He negotiates around the fallen guy and the bouncer coming in, trying to avoid stepping on her feet. Swaying a little, still moving, he heads for a wall. "You're good at this. Let's not lose your hat, huh?" Back two step, turn and they move through the crowd. He surrenders her coat. "Good time to get moving. Don't want to get caught in a rush, yeah?" A nod for the exit sign helps, right?

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    The answer to Mik's request over the comms is short and to the point. <<Detain her if possible. This man is dying and I believe she threw him.>>

    As far as Jemma is concerned, her mission objectives have just changed. She drops to her knees, the clutch in her hand dropping to the floor besides her as Jemma immediately shifts into paramedic mode. She leans down, taking vitals while she examines the unfortunate dancer. "blunt force trauma from hitting the floor." Her fingers reach up, the touch feather light as she examines the neck and the skull. "possible fracture of vertebrae. no immediate damage to the skull. He hit hard, though."

    As Jemma works to save a life, the dancers around her seem to get the picture...as if a flying table wasn't obvious enough. Something is very *wrong* here....and the crowd that was around Jemma scatters, giving her plenty of space to work. All attention of Simmons....is devoted to her new-found patient.

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mik mumbles into his comms and says something once the reply comes, "I am sorry, miss, but it seems someone is close to death and police are already on way. Need to keep all witnesses here." The former Soviet is good at several things, but one of them is being a better door than a window, and he shifts like a goalie to keep blocking the way and further violating fire code. "Best we all stay here so that we can solve this," his tone is serious at this point, ready to physically grab her if she tries to bully past him, and while he is not in his ursine form at the moment, he is no slouch by any measure.

Jane Foster has posed:
"I can't stay here. Just some air out of there, please." The woman again nods at the door, the vestibule beyond leading out to the street having more room than only for two. The 1920s phone and the stairs beyond give a refuge for anonymity in the club, but they have to meet fire code! "He was touching me like he owned me. Like I was meat, and I need to talk to the police, just... please let me go up there to wait." Her voice is increasingly frustrated, on the edge of distraught, and she nudges at the wall as though she'd shrink into it.

Meanwhile that kid on the floor is going to have himself some fracture lines that weren't before. Bouncing off the ground is rarely good. His vitals are miserable, but Daisy at least can focus on keeping the attention away from Jemma while she works, standing over the battle cleric so she can do her battle cleric things. Her stance settles in, not willing to move.

That is enough for the band, who disband. Or rather, they slip off the stage, singer with them, grumbling in their erstwhile plunge to the kitchen area. All four are on their way, singer with them.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane quickly susses out the direction of the Washrooms and the exit that lies near them, and continues his pursuit in that direction, trying to keep the Tall Man in sight. Thankfully height helps with that.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara's hand goes up to her hat when Zeke speaks of it, it had been about to fall off and she hadn't even noticed it. Holding her jacket now she looks around for any sign of where Daisy or Jemma had gone, but she doesn't see them in the mess of people all around. Zeke speaks of the doorway though and she moves toward it, but soon finds that it's being blocked, by Mikhail? Another Agent, she's seen him around. She also isn't entirely recovered from the mind warping elements of what happened here tonight. So much so that she groans in frustration. "This is why I don't /drink!/" She grunts out, even though, realistically... it wasn't the few sips of that 'hanky panky' she'd have that had altered her mind.

Jane Foster has posed:
Dane's pursuit lends a problem: two vampires, three musical acts, and a cello. Does a cello count as its own enemy? Certainly for flanking purposes, it stands as large as some people. The table-throwing intellectual making a beeline for escape arrives to the hallway slightly ahead of Jace, the singer, but it's a narrow thing. Certainly that puts the knight in an uncomfortable position: pursue into a bottleneck, squeeze between the two men, or take another tack. As it is, the options are the men's room, the broom closet, or women's room. They split: two musicians to the ladies; three to the men's.

On the floor, Zeke and Lara have exactly one other option, the bar-kitchen. Hey, they do serve food in limited quantities. With a spark of inspiration, he points to her. "Fewer people this way? You need to get out, that's the way to go, I figure." It's not an idle statement; the crowd, shaking off the lassitude of the music, is seeing the intimidating effects of a fight and happy to make their way out. Mikhail is one man against a tide, a tide planning on leaving.

Jane, in the meantime, uses the height of the mezzanine to coordinate what she can, though she heads for the stairs. <<Four up here. They're hiding and the ones clobbered by a table are somewhat injured. I can patch them up but move quick. Got a guy punching someone down there, might be a brawl. Simmons, can you get out?>>