465/Along Went A Spider

Along Went A Spider
Date of Scene:	12 March 2020
Location:	Jewelry Store, Manhattan
Synopsis:	Scarlet Spider drops in on a jewel heist, and Illyana decides she's had enough of cops and robbers.
Cast of Characters:	Ben Reilly, Illyana Rasputina

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Ben Reilly has posed:
It's a quiet day in New York City. No no it's not. New York is never quiet. It's a virtual cacophany of noise. Shouting people, honking horns, phones playing videos, people talking and walking. Bikes and cars and people oh my! A living tide of humanity flowing hither and thither and yon all in an effort to get through their daily lives. This river is broken at various places in the city. A broken sewer line that has an intersection blocked off. A car wreck that went from two cars to like 10 and now everyone is out ther yelling at eachother as the cops show up to try and sort it out. Places where crimes are being committed is another break in the river causing it to flow around.

An alarm wails from a jewelry shop with freshly smashed windows where the guys are inside. There's a paltry single patrol cruiser that's made it to the scene thanks to the construction and the accident, two cops outside trying to stop the bad guys from getting away with the jewelry. The alarm wails, and the people just flow around it. They go up a nearby alley onto the next street over, then cross back at the next available alley. It's stymied the flow of people but it's still moving, like blood through a partially blocked vessel.

There's a figure in a red suit with a blue sleeveless hoodie clinging to the side of the building across the street from the shop, one hand planted on the brick along with his two feet, he's peering into the storefront head tilting one way and the other, evaluating the situation rather than just rushing in.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
New York rages around its victims. Residents get used to the chaos, and those born here might wonder why the country is so quiet, when they consider a city the size of Cleveland or Sacramento to be 'rural.' It lies in the blood, and it ricochets through the body with a thrumming, living presence. It has a soul all of its own. For someone from the uttermost backend of civilisation, as Illyana is, sometimes the noise and the riot of motion simply overcomes her ability to cope.

Sometimes it really calls for a good coffee to numb the pressure and find the headspace to move. Moving, then, becomes an extension of thought, clearing the mind by taking in everything without too much focus otherwise. The wreck of a car, the honking of a bus' struggling engine, the blend and twist of different impressions colliding with her.

In a way it's a welcome thing. Her eyes half-closed while she swills the caffeinated brew without any trace of sugar or cream, taken as dark as can be, the blonde Russian negotiates a path. Some part for her, and others don't, but she's caught in the current suspended between one stretch of the block and the other. The city's immune system needs certain points: the white blood cells at the lowest level, the crusading antibodies, the macrophage avengers who cause trouble for everyone. The girl in the oversized hoodie with Captain America's shield painted black on grey rather than red, white, and blue, might be considered a watcher for the system. Nothing to suggest she's out for trouble, if it shows, able to response. The wail of sirens and epileptic lights flashing around don't exactly signal much of a reason for intervention. Not at first. Her gaze takes it all in, the way that stymied routes keep anyone from really stopping those who punctured the protective barriers of commerce and hedonism.

It just so happens she is trapped on the other side of the road, but if there's one thing causing little problems, it's using pointy elbows to make room. Not the size of her huge brother, she still has a vested skill at moving against the current. Headphones look to be in her ears. Maybe she's just /that/ oblivious, but Illyana measures whether anyone is getting fidgety with guns. It's been a bad week.

Ben Reilly has posed:
Where as to Ben it's life. The constant barrage of noise and activity is life. Outside of the city it's too quiet. There's not enough people and not enough noise. Not enough to do. Ben sighs softly as he finishes surveilling the unfolding situation below. He turns and crawls up the wall a few feet and sticks a paper bag to the underside of a window ledge hopefully for safe keeping and he can come back for it after. Then he turns and simply drops out of the sky like a short lived crimson rocket. He drops and at the last moment flicks a wrist that pulls him in against the wall just above the door. He holds a finger up to the face of his suit to tell the cops not to give him away.

The people of New York have developed senses for this kind of thing. Ever since super heroes started showing up crime rates have seemingly increased, like the presence of heroes brings out the worst in some people. Or mayeb it's just that these crimes are turning into a spectacle instead of being handled more quietly by the police. But the fact of the matter is these heroes are better equipped for handling these guys than the cops usually are.

"Hey guys! Oh and lady!" The red suited figure is stuck to the wall upside down, just his head peeking down below the doorway to talk at the guys inside. "Is there any chance at all we do this without guns and violence? LIke you all just turn yourselves in?" Her jerks his head back and out of the way a split second before a hail of bullets is fired off from inside, shattering brickwork on the other side of the street. "Woops..." Ben's upside down head tilts backwards so it's sort of right side up as he looks to the damage caused. "GONNA TAKE THAT AS A NO!" He shouts downwards, thankfully no more bullets though since there's nothing visible. "At least they don't have laser guns this time." He calls out to the cops in the street. He's not diving right inside though, he's planning, ducking his head down for a few more quick peeks. "Might wanna clear any civilians that could get hit guys cuz... I think when I go in they're gonna let fly a lot okay?"

"We've got hostages in here!" Comes the call from inside of the jewelry store. "We want a helicopter! No a private jet! Yeah a private jet! Loaded with cash! Or we're gonna kill the hostages! You've got uhhhh five minutes!" Someone inside is not very bright, at all. This crew is probably in way over their heads. Would be even with just the police let alone people with super powers. The scarlet suited spider crawl along the wall until he's standing on the ground to the side of the door. "You guys know it's gonna take longer than that right?" He looks around, white eyeplates scanning the crowd, probably looking for anyone that might be able to help him out with solving this little fiasco.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Life is loud, hot, and frequently uncomfortable. Full of joy, full of thrills. Undeniably worth every drop to pursue, but in its way, heady and crazy as the center of a mob or a crowd streaming through the streets to make their will known. New York goes on, grinding past a theft in progress, burglary rarely worth pulling the collective attention away from the next stop on their journey, the worries about dinner and bills and homework and a thousand other things clouding the group mind.

Ben tumbling down like a Chinese firework isn't quite visible, not yet, to Illyana. She's acutely aware of her surroundings, especially in a way most other people never quite notice. But even being a vermilion streak can fade into the background. The mind doesn't catch up on that out of the first instant, but possibly the second. Her head tilts, spying him through her peripheral vision. The lithe blonde might be of interest, though her slouching posture and those earbuds planted deep might suggest she sees right past hi---

"Nyet, not with them," she answers in a profoundly disinterested tone when the gig is up, and she is wholly, fully in the way of the jewelry store. Easy escape to the street, anyway. They could try to go out the back into a blind alley that might lead nowhere at all, kind of a problem for them. When the shriek of bullets answers his efforts, the guy brave enough to try and end this without a fight, she doesn't flee. In fact, she doesn't do more than duck behind the vehicle acting as a barricade. "Did not think so. They never play smart." Similar impression there, even as the girl clutches her hand to her breast and hauls on the wires of the earphones. They pop out, giving her better range. No music in there, oddly, no hints of it.

"I can take you wherever you want to go," she offers in a loud, clear tone to the robbers. "Right now. You shoot me and you get no helicopter, no free ride to Tahiti or wherever we go." Who the hell is gonna believe a girl who looks like she's in university? She sounds extremely certain of herself, rounding the car they were shooting at and sitting right on the hood. There's no hostility for the spider person stuck to the wall, but her movements are extremely efficient, very controlled. The sort of worrisome way someone who actually can handle herself might have. "Do you want me to come in or do you want to come out? Either way."

Ben Reilly has posed:
Ben Reilly turns his head away from peeking inside, or trying to anyway without getting pieces of himself blown off. "What?" He calls out, then looks back inside, then back to Illyana. "Oh. No. I was talking to the lady inside. Tough, lots of tats." He jerks a thumb inwards, only to yelp and yank it back when a bullet whizzes out of the door. "HEY! THAT WAS RUDE! I'M TRYING TO HAVE A CONVERSATION OUT HERE OKAY?" The red suited guy tucks his hands into the belly pocket of the hoodie that's pulled over his suit and leans back against the wall. "They really don't. Like seriously. They have no clue what kind of powers I have, or someone nearby has. There's already some of New York's finest out here. Play it smart? You know... exchange hostages for garuntees on lower sentences or something. Or I don't know. A hot dog. Or a good hoagie. A good hoagie solves a LOT of problems. HEY!" He ducks his head around the doorway. "IS THAT THE PROBLEM GUYS? And Ma'am. Are you all hungry?" No more bullets this time, they seem to have picked up on the fact that they're not hitting him. "So can we talk or is this going to be violence?"

There's some yelled threats from inside and the Scarlet Spider sighs audibly as he turns to look back over to the officers and Magik. "You can do that? Hey guys! Did you hear that? She can take you wherever. No one needs to get hurt!" Ben turns to look at the blonde now sitting on the car. "Isn't that hood hot? I'd imagine it would be." Eyeplates narrow a little bit before his shoulders shrug. "Hey guys if you don't give the nice lady an answer real soon I'm gonna have to come in. And well... I don't wanna. So why don't you march on out here and accept the nice lady's offer yeah?"

Ben's head turns to look back just as there's a crash and the sound of a scuffle inside. "Sounds like there's some disagreement on whether to take your offer. I'm... gonna go check it out." He waves as he lurches sideways, and kicks off with a foot shooting like a bullet into the store and rolling in behind a jewelry counter. Which promptly gets riddled with bullets. "Hey! Hey! I'm in here to talk okay? So hard to talk from out there. I think the offer is legit. Like... she could come in here and get you guys away as long as you don't hurt the hostages. PLus... I'm pretty sure all the jewelry in here is fake. The sign that used to hang on the door said as much... so...."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Illyana is hardly the sort of girl who constitutes an immediate threat, except for the wisdom in those brilliant, pale eyes full of Arctic fire and assessments well beyond her years. The Scarlet Spider's commentary on polite behaviour during hostage negotiations is impressive, earning the respectful tip of her head. Loose hair almost white in the sunshine of late winter skids over her shoulder, bangs hiding those utterly cold, rather frightening eyes. "Diamonds, gems? Not worth being dead, is it?"

She is fully visible on the hood of the car planted outside the shop. They could shoot her, if they wanted to, though she crosses her legs with a studied sort of unenchanted worry. Mafiya girl, maybe. Someone with an oligarch backing her, or a kid thereof. There are possibilities that could fit her as well as 'superhero on the wall yelling at us' that Ben so admirably takes up as a bracket. She isn't challenging that category. "Unfortunate to take the wrong offer, da? You are being very fair. A sandwich would be best."

Imagine, hangry criminals! Maybe it all makes sense now, or more sense than it did. "You know Katz's? They do a good sandwich. I think fair to give them some if they send people out?"

Her shrug answers the worries about the hood's heat, but she gestures lightly. "You are holding on to the harder space. I will stay back and give you room to work. It was a one-time..."

And he's gone. And there are bullets. The girl rolls her eyes with some disdain, and then she plucks her fingers along the hem of her jeans. Really? Apparently showing off some curb-stomping boots is the way to go. They're black, liquid finish, and it's the kind of gesture that says 'Fine, you made me come in there.' "I liked your approach. So how do you want me to do this? You go first, look fancy? I back you up?"

Ben Reilly has posed:
The bullets inside stop flying when it becomes clear that not one of the bullets found it's mark in the red suited annoyance. One of the gang is laid out on the ground bleeding from a busted lip, apparently that's the one that wanted to take Magik's offer of transportation elsewhere. The rest didn't. The guys look rather confused when Magik just... walks inside. There's some muttering amongst them as if they're not quite sure what to do with her just... strolling in.

"Well two of them will be dropping in a few moments. Hit them with paralytic darts on the way in." He calls over to Illyana. And as if to emphasize that point two of the thugs start to sway and then fall to the floor with a meaty thud, leaving only three people still on their feet. "It looks like the one on the floor there wanted to take your offer, but the rest... eh they're fair game." He sticks a hand out over the counter to wave at the thugs, and when they open fire he comes out of hiding, dodging bullets like the world's deadliest game of dodgeball.

"Just you know... deal with them however you want! I'll keep them distracted. They can't very well stop firing at me after all. Maybe while they're busy you could rescue the hostages?" He asks, as he dodges and hops around the shop, the walls getting peppered with bullets but not the hostages or the people outside. Nor the Not Spider-Man either. He doesn't seem terribly strained with the dodging either. "Just you know, whenever you feel like it hop in." Ben calls over as he sends a bit of web thwipping over to secure the guy with the busted lip to the ground because he was getting up.

"Nice to meet you by the way. What were you listening to out there? I saw the earbuds and what not. Anything good? Or just hanging out and walking the streets? Not that... I... ignore that last bit. I heard an accent. Russian? Sounded Russian. I'd like to go to Russia some day." Carrying on conversation as he dodges and Magik does whatever it is that Magik is going to do.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Da." Yes in Russian, appropriately easy to understand. "Good thinking ahead." Her headphones swinging from their wires, she tucks the addition in the pocket of the hoodie. They might recognize the shield of the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan, and might consider it smarter to run rather than face off with the Scarlet Spider and 'anonymous Steve fan #59581.' The bullets don't quite hit one of them, being Ben, for obvious reasons. For hers, it is another matter altogether. The muttering brings her finally to a halt, leaning in the doorway a bit. Nope, let him jump around and she just gives the thugs that thousand-light-year stare with her hand resting on her hip, the other one lifted. <<No.>>

A word, and a word infused with power it would seem to bend the laws of gravity by deflecting the bullets this way or that. Could just be a shield, though they might regret looking too close. Underneath the hoodie sleeve liquid metal is moving, spinning its protective serenade to engulf her. Not exactly clear, since she's got something big enough to smother her frame. But it's bloody telling when her eyes start to gain that faint, frosty glow. "Led Zeppelin," comes her answer to the question of music of choice. Led Zeppelin, which means some heavy riffs and a damn good bassline and it's that point the wicked witch of the far east of Russia dares to give that piquant smirk. "Did not want to steal your lightning. You are impressive to watch. Tell you what, finish up with this, tea in Russia after?" She couldn't be serious. Surely not.

Until the girl extends her hand to the side to grip absolutely nothing. Nothing that unfolds into a growing spill of black metal, a cruciform hilt, that becomes an exquisite blade that lights up the jewelry shop with a scintillating glow. "But since you invited me to play, let's tango." A pause. "Waltz? Dance somehow."

The Soulsword sings its clarion call, and the Demon Queen gives it a lazy flick of her wrist, drawing a circle, addressing the hostage takers. "Remember, I offered Tahiti. Now, you wish you ran."

Ben Reilly has posed:
"Oooo definitely love me some old school rock. Zeppelin had some good stuff. When you could understand it and it wasn't just drug fueled nonsense. But that doesn't stop the music itself from being awesome." He dodges a bullet, leaping clear across the shop to do it, and even has to throw some web to yank himself out of the way of another bullet. That's the danger of going airborne when you're a spider. Can't really adjust mid leap without webs. He yeets himself across the store and behind another jewelry counter but is only out of sight for a moment. Don't want the bad guys deciding to turn on the hostages. Of which there are four.

"Tea in Russia? Yeah sure. Why not. I've got nothing better to do today." There's laughter in his voice as he says it, clearly not realizing that the offer is probably quite serious and not at all a joke. "Did you... just grow a sword out of nothing? That is... pretty aweso-HEY! Bad!" He spins away from the wall he was crawling up to knock the gun out of the hand of one of the bad guys who was turning on the hostages. "Let me be very clear. The hostages get hurt, you all leave here with broken bones rather than just in chains." Then the other two fire on him, so he's skittering away again, leaping dodging, rolling until he's made a whole new set of gun fire decorations on the walls. "This poor jewelry store."

Ben slips behind a counter and peeks out as the thugs turn to face Magik. "Just you know, holler if you want any help." What is Scarlet Spider doing? Scarlet Spider is sneaking behind the thugs and grabbing hostages, hopefully without them noticing. One hostage, and then a second get dragged away from the bad guys while they're busy looking at the woman with the gigantic sword. "Ummm we could.. .go for Tahiti now... if that's still okay." The tattooed woman yells at him and opens fire on Illyana. The guy who's gone got knocked out of his hand dives for one of his fallen pal's weapons and picks it up to open fire as well. "Are you bulletproof?" Ben asks from the shop window where he's busy trying to get the first two hostages out into the street and to safety.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
She barely deserves to be called a woman, in truth. Youth resides in her aspect, and that makes her easily mistaken as some kind of freshman at university at best. Not intimidating, until manifesting a glowing sword with a blade defined with no metal whatsoever forms. The smile tells the lie too, for there is an edge behind that mask -- pretty as it is -- that very real mortal danger might be coming through. "We can fix stores. People, another matter." They exchange places with Ben taking care of the hostages and she darts into the fray. Maybe not quite as fast as a web slinger, but that's made up for by wielding one of the greatest mystical artifacts of humanity. Hey, sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do. Her accessories don't come with the brimming thunder of //Immigrant's Song//, but it punches with the weight of //Stairway to Heaven//. Plant would no doubt be pleased to think his groovy ambitions form the footwork of her launching herself into motion. Most people in this day and age probably don't know much about fighting with a blade in close-quarters, not really. Fencing makes a hell of a lot more sense, so she modifies her style to that, the jab and thrust better than putting the Soulsword through the ceiling and bringing down two floors of stock onto them.

The tattooed woman becomes the focal point for the girl sliding into a deep lunge, whipping up the sword with vicious focus. It won't actually cut. That's the rub. Well, not through the woman, anyway, but it happily severs metal as good as glass or anything else. Gun? Easy point. If she can reach it, great. And the hoodie or jeans aren't bulletproof, so any missiles ricocheting at her will definitely slice through her clothes. But definitely not the shining black metal beneath that forms her shiny black corselet or vambraces.

"I like tea in Russia. Not bullies. You lost your chance." The backswing is coming, a spinning wheel kick down low meant to take out the foot of the second thug. He might have hit her but she doesn't even slow down, flinging away trouble to give those openings. Cat playing with her food, really. Let them wear themselves out trying. "This is the nice option. Want to find out what the ugly one is?"

Ben Reilly has posed:
Some people know how to use a knife, maybe even a really big knife. But a sword? You'd have to go visit the SCA or a similar group to find people that actually know how to wield a sword. These thugs? They do not know how to fight against someone wielding a blade. The woman staggers backwards as the sword swings at her, but she under estimates it's reach, and after the blade passes through her she screams and collapses on the ground. Bullets punch holes and tears in clothing but find no purchase on Magik's body with the armor under them. The second guy goes down hard with an audible ooof and the crack of bone as he hits something on his way down. The last guy... runs. Or tries to. He drops his gun and tries to flee past the sword wielding blonde. No doubt to meet a similar punishment as the tattooed woman now unconciouss on the ground. Or worse.

Ben comes back into the shop a few moments later, walking through the front entrance dusting his gloved hands off, having evacuated the hostages. "Well... that's... interesting. Sword that big I figured they'd be diced to pieces. Not that I'd be okay with that. But they were threatening the lives of hostages so I wouldn't have been surprised by it." More cop cars pull up outside finally, with uniformed officers waiting out in the street. "They're waiting for the all clear out there." As he's talking Ben is webbing down hands and legs, not full body, the cops have to get the guys up after all. But he's pinning unconciouss people to the floor with the gossamer strands, little flicks of his wrist sending it out. Thwip thwip thwip.

"What -is- that sword made out of?" Ben asks, trying to peer at the object as he approaches the blonde. "Thanks by the way. I am not sure I could have gotten the hostages out without them getting hurt. Glad you were nearby and decided to help. Those people out there might very well owe you their lives." He holds a gloved hand out to her as he looks down and notices that there's a bullet hold in the blue hoodie. "Aww dangit." There are a couple of patched spots on the hoodie where he's sewn up or patched over other holes made by previous encounters. "Gonna have to get me a new one soon if this keeps up. At least it wasn't the suit this time. So much harder to fix."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Miracle worker Illyana is not. She claims nothing when it comes to dealing out the blessings of God. Invocations and prayers do not a great deal for it, though she dances like Uma Thurman in a certain movie by Mr. Tarantino, crossed perhaps with something much less common in the world. Her style isn't fully based on using a katana, partly because the incandescent energy blade is a piece of her own soul and expresses only the basic laws of physics as such. She doesn't aim to truly harm, so the punch of the blade ot the nervous system is simply one that hurts. It hurts like the sting of holy water to an actual sinner, at least as the old Catholic Church would have prescribed. It doesn't open a single cut or inflict any traceable wounds, partly because the blonde sorceress is keeping an oath. None of those hostages are actually dead, for example. Nothing in death to do them part, for she whirls around after levelling that rather quick scrape with agony and moves on. When he drops the gun, her second target might have a better chance of going through. He isn't going to be going /far/. Are there cops outside? Great, let them handle the fleeing thug. If he is escaping their perimeter, as much as two men have a perimeter, then she runs after him to tackle the criminal to the ground until someone can apply handcuffs or a stern talking to. Americans and their relatively nice, not so corrupt police. No matter what the majority of people say, it could be so much worse. And so much better, really, but the teenager is willing to give the idea of an object lesson while thoroughly in worse condition for her clothes. Hey, she tried.

Either way, it's a bit of a mess around her, a definite mess in the whirlwind destruction of the jewelry store, and someone gets to be cool hero of the moment. Fair enough. The Soulsword stays back where she left it, looking perfectly innocuous despite standing on its blade, point down, some kind of wonky Excalibur in the stone of a jewelry store floor.

"Teatime?" she asks Ben, in no condition to want to answer any of those questions. There are plenty of webs around, so it can all be blamed on that nuisance and his blonde girlfriend! Spider-Man and the one who keeps dying, right... someone ask JJJ for the headline!

She leaves Mr. Thug for the cops and darts back inside before making the offer of tea in Russia, giving Ben a once-over and nodding smartly. Recovering her sword is easy, hand wrapped around the hilt. She narrows the blade down to something closer to a saber, thin and just about mistaken for an umbrella if someone looked wrong. Same length, same curve. Either way, it sticks in place and she holds out her hand to him a bit woodenly. Handshaking is a thing, but it clearly is something she has a lot less experience with. "It is me." Well, that's an explanation about the sword but easy to mistake. "Just... light. You are welcome. This was your save. Helping everyone. Harder to rescue, easy to hurt. I am sorry, they will feel very sore for a bit." It isn't really a full apology, though she clearly has a few less qualms than some than tearing through a person like pages and ink, at least when it comes to cutting down their toys. His expression about the torn clothes earns a wince as she points to her own. "Not so good. I can maybe help you sew it better?"

Ben Reilly has posed:
Oh no doubt Jameson will blame Spider Man for it all. Look at that web head trying to pretend like he's not spider man. Running around with a hoodie on like that concealed who he is. Blah blah blah. Poor Pete. Not that any of that will occur to Ben until later, that he might be heaping extra anger on Pete from his chief hater. Ben is walking slowly around the sword leaning close examining it. "That is cool. Is it like a lightsaber? Energy blade? Looks pretty stable. Then again so do lightsabers." Ben wisely does not try to touch the sword, in fact he quite pointedly keeps his hands clasped behind his back, probably to keep himself from doing exactly that.

"Oh. Wait. You were serious about the tea time? I mean sure. I don't know tea though. Also is there a russian tea house here in New York? Or were you serious about the ability to take these guys anywhere?" He asks gesturing at the webbed down thugs. The cops start into the building, getting weapons secured first before they start trying to get the guys up off of the floor. "Hey guys? You'll probably just wanna cut the carpet and pull them up that way. It'll be easier." He gives the officers a big thumbs up as he stands in the ruins of the jewelry store. "It's you? Oooo like psionics? Or focused energy? Or... Well I mean there's a million things it could be. Powers are so varied." He shakes the blonde's hand with a quick motion before letting his hand drop. "I'm smirking behind the mask. I know you can't see it. Clearly you're not used to basic interactions like hand shakes."

"Yeah your clothes came off quite a bit worse there. But like they could be fashionable rips and tears in some spots? Could sew a couple up, patch a couple others, and leave some open. Ripped clothing is still a thing right?" He turns and starts walking out of the shop at a casual pace, dodging around some police officers running in to help get the guys loose from the floor. "So the sword didn't kill them just hurt them? That's useful. Good way to put people down without doing permanent harm. I gotta be careful hitting them. Too hard and they break. And by too hard I mean like... Feather touch. I can't go yeeting things at them or yeeting them around. They're fragile."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Jameson will certainly do so. Menacing Spider-Man, taking Gwen around doing terrible things. Convincing her to shine a high-wattage flashlight in the eyes of the police and play the distressed damsel even! No one deserves to mistreat law enforcement so. Just a proof of the scourge Peter Park in his alter ego really is. Never mind they probably aren't even in Queens, it's proof that the menacing nemesis of goodness and light is expanding his base of operations like that Jeff Bez-- Lux Luthor -- guy! Next thing you know, there will be a corporation of Spider People causing mayhem.

How little does he know.

Illyana's sword is odd. It /does/ make noise sometimes, prone to occasionally humming at the edges of enhanced hearing. It can, in very rare circumstances, even seem to purr or bask in its own celestial glory. Not here though. The blade is most definitely a blue-white, tinted oddly gold at points, like reverse flames. "Bzzzzzt," she deadpans for his benefit. No pew-pew here. It's a terrible rendition of a lightsaber even if she has seen one. Still, big weapon, lithe girl, natural for people to want to look at the glowy blade at her back.

"Yes." English, see? She speaks it with an accent and the vocabulary of a 40-something don of an Oxford College. A vastly intelligent, terrifyingly literate don. Thank you, Chuck. His capacity is, after all, hers for that. "I said Russia. To go to the teahouse here would be cheating you, isn't it?" It would seem his question answered itself. With the shake over, she holds out her hand still. The armour has retracted; the danger apparently feels lessened. Or it's waiting like a little black scorpion for him to do something and voila! Russian stinger metal fingers... okay, not so much. But it is receptive to her, and nothing so obvious. "Something like that. We can be around the corner, Russia. I know a good one. The police will not be so upset, nothing here."

Which by default makes her the perfect cat burglar. Ben too. Scarlet Spider senses, clinging to walls, random wicked escapes with a vaguely Gwen-like blonde for distractions. Bonny and Clyde ended badly, but crime pays! (JJJ headline right there.)

"You do not hurt them too much. I do not. Killing is what the monsters do." She nudges her way through towards the back, as it's easier to just save them both the trouble. "Coming?"

Ben Reilly has posed:
They are in fact not in Queens. They are in Manhattan where Ben just happened to be passing by when he heard the siren of the cop car going to the jewelry store robbery. When the bzzzt sound is made Ben looks up from the sword, those blank white eyes pointed directly at her before he dips his head. "Okay. I like you. I mean your lightsaber noise is way off. But just the fact that you tried is good enough for me. You're a good egg. And yeah, you did say Russia. I just assumed that was a joke. You know... because most people would have to take a plane, or fly there, either one would be a pretty lengthy process. Though I really shouldn't discount the possibility of teleportation or something like that. I mean... I can dodge bullets. Like a lot of bullets. Even if some of them came very close."

A scarlet finger pokes through the hole in his pullover and wiggles around. "Oh that means there's an exit hole." He turns and twists, pulling the hoodie around a bit and finds said exist hole. "Awww dangit. Even more work." He looks at the outstretched hand a moment. "Oh!" Took him a second or five to realize hew as supposed to take said hand. So he does, reaching out for it. Well his spider sense will tingle if there's danger and alert him, so he trusts his odd sixth sense and takes Magik's hand.

"Oh, okay." So he follows with her, holding her hand, shuffling through the debris on the floor. "Yeah but like. I have to -try- not to hurt them. Like when you handle something delicate, like china or... stuff. I don't know." He walks with her though towards the back of the store. "Don't worry officers just making sure there's no one hiding in back!" He waves at the police and then glances down to the held hand, then back before his shoulders shrug at them and he walks into the back with the young blonde. Not that he sounds much older than her.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Alas, no spreading to Queens. But the opportunity remains for J. J. Jameson to make or break the stories of the many different mysterious Spider Badpeople. Just wait until he learns about the missed opportunity of a studio audience crashing the swankiest restaurant in Beverly Hills this side of a sushi joint in a laundromat as a popup. Compete with /that/, Nobu!

"I do not have a helicopter." That leaves open a plane, a jump, or a sub, perhaps. Maybe a rocket. "Do you like adventure? That I can promise you. And coming home not so long from now unless you choose to stay longer." Illyana smirks a little, rolling her shoulder. He wants to give options, she's going to give him the footnotes, codicils, and case-by-case scenarios like the best of very young lawyers. This /is/ the demon queen of Limbo. Some things go with the territory.

"I have an exit hole. Small wound. Will heal up," she adds, in case he needs some kind of reassurance bleeding is totally and utterly normal. Or injuries can be walked off unless you have no leg. Hi, Deadpool, totally his neck of the woods. Her hand closes around his. "The first part will be the worst. Do not fear."

Don't angels say that?

The actual moment of displacement only takes about two seconds. One for stepping back into the radiant circle suddenly formed beside them on the wall where the cops can't see, swept wide enough as a dilating vision of ... Russia. It literally is Russia on the other side. The snowy streets of St. Petersburg and the Nevsky Prospect lay out there, along with the fortress of Peter and Paul, a sweep of gorgeously arrayed buildings full of light because it is night that many timezones ahead. And more importantly there's a proper teahouse facing the Neva River, twinkling, in full sight. A sprint would get Ben there in about six seconds flat.

Two? Weeell, they're sort of stepping sideways through Hell if he goes. What looks like hell. A brass city engulfed in copper staccato towers and brilliant domes, gouts of magma and that is honestly a freaking djinn looking thing swirling in a huge blackish-grey cloud of dust while being attacked by trebuchets and what looks like every dire wolf they could scrounge up. This all while falling backwards into the flow of time, wrenched up and down at the same moment, being flung from one's mooring in space and connected to another. Limbo. Whatever danger is there -- and so *many* places for web-shooters to stick to! SO MANY! -- is a brief flash, not coming from her. "They will behave," she states in passing before she crosses through to the other side, the cold of night.