7469/Shadows in the Moonlight

Shadows in the Moonlight
Date of Scene:	21 August 2021
Location:	King's Landing Scrap Yard, Brooklyn, NY
Synopsis:	Spider-Man meets up with two legends of the past and the mysterious Moon Knight.
Cast of Characters:	Peter Parker, Marc Spector, Clifford Secord, Natasha Cranston

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Peter Parker has posed:
The X-Men had the Danger Room. The Fantastic Four and the Avengers have their own training facilities. Even Luke Cage has Colon's Gym.

Spider-Man, vigilante, self-assigned do-gooder, and either a threat or a menace depending on how JJJ is feeling...has King's Landing Scrap Yard.

No, it's not a "Game of Thrones" thing. Andrew King had run the place, with his no-account son Carl helping out, until they disappeared three years ago, along with Andrew's wife. Since then, the place is locked in probate limbo, with no end in sight.

However, it doesn't mean there's no activity.
The Webhead in question is currently working at one of the three heavy punching bags along one wall. There's the left one (normal), the middle one (lead shot) and the right one...well, it's just a slab of battleship plate steel. Spidey was going to town on the middle one.

It hasn't been a good night for Spidey. A kid he had kept out of the slammer had been paid a visit by the two thugs who had hired him to play lookout. Spider-Man had caught up to them, but not before they had caught up to the kid. His name had been Tyler. Fourteen years old, and struggling with algebra...and, because of them, he was never going to get any better at it...

Marc Spector has posed:
Perspective is different from up in the sky. Moon Knight stalks the rooftops, yes, but the Angel Wing glider under his command flies high above, scanning for perpetrators, for those who commit injustice, for the victims of Khonshu.

The scrap yard's unusual elements are noted, the renovations Peter has made, hidden to the eye of the average citizen, but visible from above. Curious. Worth investigating at any rate.

And so the glider drops a cable, flying over a nearby rooftop as Moon Knight grasps the hook let down, letting the glider carry him over the buildings, his cape wide in his wake until it drops him from above, that cape catching air and slowing his descent until he lands lightly on his feet, his hood drawn forward over the white, faceless visage of his mask as he hears the sound of hands meeting canvas. A familiar sound.

The knight cocks his head, "What is this place?"

Clifford Secord has posed:
     Up, up in the late night sky a lone contrail blazes. It dips its way in and out of thick cloud cover bounding from one cotton embankment to the next. Is it a bird? No. A plane? NO! It's The Rocketeer! Out for patrol in the midst of the cool night air searching for trouble wherever it may rest its ugly head.

     He dives down low crashing through cloud cover dipping deep beneath the ocean of mist to see the world beneath as his vision fogs over almost completely using the heat of his own sudden dive to warm his own eyes back clear.

     This was the moment he lived for the thrill of kissing the sky where no man could reach, the closest he could ever feel to heaven. He held out his hand to one side cusping the clouds in his grasp, collecting the coverage in his palm as it faded through his fingers.

     Far below in Kings Landing Scrap Yard something catches the heroic figures attention, a thrust of movement and a clatter of sound. Dive. Dive! DIVE! Down periscope he plunges deep beneath the clouds thrusting himself with all his might towards the ground faster and faster as a hawk seeking to swoop off with a fresh field mouse. Up. Up! UP! He pulls at the last possible second avoiding impact with the ground and kicking thrusters into overdrive sending a clattering of dust and debris in every direction as he lands.

     Feet touch down on an old tin roof the billowing of an oversized american flag hung behind him carried out just behind his back as boots touchdown against metal. He strikes a salute to old glory out of force of habit, the kick of the rockets still billowing the flag slowly in each direction as he kicks his heels together one last time signifying his landing.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
            Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of Man?

    It's an average night for the Shadow -- a fairly simple kidnapping plot, dealt with before they could move on their objective. There won't be in jail long - conspiracy to abduct is hard to prove - but the loss of the opportunity will set them back quite a bit.

    She's on her way to calling Benny for a ride home when the noise of someone beating very hard against what sounds like entirely too solid steel catches her attention. She diverts to the rooftops and heads towards the source...

Peter Parker has posed:
Peter's knuckles are already bruised, and the first dots of red appear across his fists. He stopped, giving a heavy sigh.

Then the voice is heard and he whirls around, looking towards the direction of the voice, arms held apart from his sides. Ready to spin a few webs, should the need arise.

Then SOMEONE decides to re-create the Apollo moon landing in the wide area set aside for sparring. A lot of dust, but very little debris - apparently Spider-Man likes to keep the area clean and devoid of broken glass, chunks of rusted metal, and general trash. So...now there's a guy standing on the roof of the equipment shack.

An oddly...FAMILIAR guy.
<Database check.>
The lenses record the image of the vintage Boba Fett look-alike, and one result. From the HISTORICAL section of the database.
"It...CAN'T be..." he breathes, flummoxed for the first time. (Definitely not the last.)

Marc Spector has posed:
Marc Spector accesses his own database as well, the glider above scanning the Rocketeer's appearance and running it through image recognition files. Well. That's certainly curious.

He keeps his cloak around him as he steps forward, head turned up towards the tin roof and the oddly patriotic figure above. Marc Spector never had much use for patriotism, even if he had been in the military for a time. He was never good at following orders.

"Hello there," he says simply, one hand resting on his belt, thumb tracing a crescent-shaped shuriken. Appearances can be deceiving. Better to be prepared.

Clifford Secord has posed:
     The figure lowers his hand from saluting the American flag back down to his side stepping off from the spot down towards the ground with a little bit of a hop skip and a jump down to ground level.

     "This is the part where I ask what we're all doing out here trespassing on private property a little past nine at night." Clif Lifts up the sleeve of his leather jacket revealing a simple aviator's wristwatch from about the second world war give or take a bit. He looks from one face to the next as he slides that sleeve back into place covering the watch and the complex control mechanism that allows him piloting ability over the complex looking rocket strapped to his back by a variety of leather strappings.

     "Unless of course I missed the rebranding from King's landing to Spider's landing." He offers a lighthearted chuckle and a smile beneath his helmet as he checks out the surroundings nodding his head at the little setup that's been organized within the junkyard.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    One, two, three vigilantes. Count von Count would be beside himself with joy. Natasha chuckles inwardly and moves closer to the roof's edge to watch unobserved.

    People are already twitchy; another surprise might set everyone swinging at everyone else. Better to wait.

Peter Parker has posed:
The place is about as tidy as a scrapyard can be. Large flattened cars take up the south side of the yard, but are lined up in rows, most of the sharp edges filed off or folded in. Numbers are spray-painted into the pancaked cars, with signs like "2.1 T" and "1.7 T" marking each one. The wide-open area is bare ground, but it is flat and even, suggesting some kind of arena area. A rudimentary shooting range takes up the north end, but judging by the scorch marks, it's not firearms that are being tested.

"UHM...well...hi." He immediately continues, a little defensively, "Hey, I didn't take anything from here, the owners have been gone for three years, and if they show up all of a sudden...well, they should at least be happy it's clean. Place was a pigsty, and that includes INSIDE the offices. So, no one else is using it, and it is a good place to keep in fighting trim without causing any collateral damage I can't afford..."
He looked back to the white-garbed figure. "I'm sorry, whoever you are, but you got the drop on me. You probably know who I am, but I don't know who you are. And YOU..." He looked back to the one-man aircraft. "...You look like a guy from the newspapers...during World War 2. You were called...the Rocketeer?"

Marc Spector has posed:
Marc Spector turns his head towards Spider-Man, his movements measured and precise, "Moon Knight," he says. It's a name that's been whispered mostly, another one of those urban legends, the figure clad all in white, striking out of shadows like a ghost.

"And so he does," Moon Knight agrees, his attention back on Secord. "Either a man out of time or picking up the mantle of the past. I was only investigating because I see someone's active here. It appears that person is you, Spider-Man. I hadn't pegged you for the heavy bag type. But I suppose appearances are deceiving," he says.

The glider moves a bit above Natasha's place watching above. Whether or not the infrared cameras pick her up, well...only the Shadow knows.

Clifford Secord has posed:
     The figure extends out a lone hand towards well he's trying to figure out if he should extend his hand towards Moon Knight or Spider-Man either one could work, but he's in the middle of Spider-Man's training grounds so he goes that way. "Rocketeer, Agent of SHIELD" With an audible smile underneath that helmet of his as he extends a hand in greeting.

     "What can I say, retirement isn't for everyone" He adds after a moment pausing to mull over the words from moon knight. "Is it picking up a mantle if it was yours to start with?" He sounds.. Genuinely curious of all things as if asking for advice of all things in the middle of what just seconds ago had been a confrontation of sorts.

     He's taken in the surroundings and made a judgement call on his own in a matter of moments. "It might not be my preferred way of you doing things but squatters rights do still exist in the city of new york after all. Or at least they did the last time I checked." He pauses for a long moment. "I'm not a police officer, but if my memory serves as long as you actively work to improve a building and aren't evicted within a certain time frame the property can default to the squatter."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    "You would be correct," a voice echoes from the walls - and as those who hear it look up, shadows seem to flow against the light, moving down the wall to the ground, where they rise and solidify into a dark-clad figure that might be familiar to one of them.

    Tall, wearing an all-enveloping black greatcoat and opera cloak, a crimson scarf hiding their lower face, blue eyes blazing out from underneath a black slouch hat.

    "Spider-Man. Well met; your reputation precedes you." A glance around the battered environment. "I take it an ordinary fitness gym doesn't meet your requirements?"

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man was trying to deal with the fact that an agent of SHIELD, one that had been active at the same time as CAPTAIN AMERICA (Had they worked together? He should ask...) and then the mysterious Moon Knight was here as well...

And then Holy Jesus, Mary, and Joseph the carpenter from Brooklyn Heights WHO IS THAT?

"Uhm...uhm..." Come ON, Brain, WORK, DAMMIT!
Then Stupid Mouth, independently of his locked-up brain, says, "Well, about the third time you hit a punching bag and send it to Yonkers, free airfare, you realize your needs are different WHO IN THE NAME OF JIM BELUSHI are YOU?"

Marc Spector has posed:
Moon Knight turns towards the shadow, mask disguising any reaction on his face, the crescent of the glider the only moon in the light-addled sky above New York.

"Dramatic. I approve," he says simply to her arrival, then looks towards Spider-Man, "Not the Belushi that I would have chosen. But from your voice, I'm guessing you're younger than I'd imagined."

Then the Rocketeer, "How do you know he doesn't own it? You check the deed?" he says with mild amusement. "It seems you've chosen something of an intersection of night creatures for your stealthy headquarters, Spider."

Clifford Secord has posed:
     The shadows rising from the ground are familiar, all too familiar for Clif as someone who worked with The Shadow during the second world war. The voice on the other hand is completely new. Beneath his helmet he raises his brow getting an odd sense of familiarity and alienation mixing together in his mind as Cranston comes into view.

     He gives a firm nod of the head her direction and a light bow of the head in spite of not recognizing the woman herself, more so recognizing the modus operandi.

     "Good to know I'm not completely out of touch." He offers with a low chuckle beneath his breath. "Pleasure to meet you, Shadow."

     He turns to face Moon Knight. "Well it's about taking a guess at first then judging by the reaction someone gives you, gut instinct has gotten me into and out of more trouble in my life than Carter has pills."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
Bright blue eyes sweep the assembled group, seeming to weigh each man in turn.

    Spider-man's reaction gets an amused chuckle - which probably does not sound at all that reassuring. "Also difficult to explain to the proprietors why -- and /how/ -- someone built like you broke a piece of equipment that should be able to handle professional body builders, I expect."

Moon Knight, on the other hand, gets a nod of professional respect. "(Thank you. Yours wasn't half bad either. Practice, or a natural knack?)]"

    "As for myself, I was merely passing through when I heard the noise and wondered if someone was taking up cold-forging out of office hours. Curiosity is ever our weakness, after all..."

Peter Parker has posed:
Shadow? Time for another database search.
While it was working, he got his mouth unstuck and his brain engaged again. "I don't claim ownership, and if someone actually does return to claim the place, I'll just have to find someplace else. Beggars, choosers, you know the drill."
He tilts his head as the database comes up with ANOTHER entry from the Wayback Machine. That...have THEY come forward in time, or did HE go BACK and not know it? Moon Knight was suitably an unknown factor enough to come out of some film noir celluloid.
Maybe he should wear a broad-brimmed hat and trenchcoat, probably sound like Nicholas Cage...

Nahhh. That's too silly.

"Well, if I had known I was going to host so many blasts from the past, I would have brought along the camera with the black-and-white film." Kodak Tri-X. Accept no substitutes. "So...since I'm getting a crick in my neck, would you all mind taking a break from perching ominously and come down to ground level?"

Marc Spector has posed:
Marc Spector had already been aground, so has no need to move. WHich is good, stillness is one of his best features. To the Shadow, he keeps his voice steady and measured, "A bit of both. I've always been good - but I have a bit of help," he says, feeling the cold touch of Khonshu's just fingers at the back of his neck.

"Like her, I was just investigating something unusual. I don't care if you own the place or not. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed. I was in the mood to break some fingers."

Clifford Secord has posed:
     The Rocketeer hops his way down to ground level with little in the way of pomp or circumstance. He kicks a light burst from his rocket pack to lessen the falls impact on his knees to prevent arthritis later in life and hits the ground gently with a tuck and rolls back to a perfect stand.

     "Personally I don't enjoy breaking fingers, or hands, or arms, or noses." He pauses for a brief moment. "I don't enjoy breaking most things really." He looks about for another moment thinking to himself.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    The Shadow regards at the Rocketeer's slightly showy landing with a look of... Probably mild approval; it's hard to read expressions with that little visible face. His comment gets a nod, then the figure turns to regard Moon Knight and raises a hand to indicate the steel plate and the visible dents in it. "Had it come to a fight, I'm not certain /his/ knuckles would have anything to fear," they point out.

    "... At any rate, as... Fascinating... As this meeting has been, I've business to attend to, and some of it won't wait. A good night to all of you -- and good hunting."

    With that, the Shadow turns to leave, fading with every step until it's impossible to tell whether that motion was the billowing of their cloak or just a wisp of fog... And then there's nothing there but the sound of receding footsteps, echoing off the walls.

Peter Parker has posed:
Boy, and he thought BATMAN was intense. Moon Knight was definitely up there. And if this was the Shadow, it had to be someone picking up the mantle. A protege or something, but she certainly filled the shoes of her predecessor well.

"Well...THAT happened. Half-expecting to see Sam Spade show up next."

Then his Science Mind kicked in and he looked at the Rocketeer...or, more precisely, at what he was wearing.
"Could I...take a look at that rocket pack of yours?" he asked, almost an embarrassed tone in his voice now...

Clifford Secord has posed:
     "That's about right" Rocketeer comments as Shadow vanishes just as quickly as they had arrived drifting off into the darkness without a single trace. His helmet looking off into the inky black for a long moment before he just shakes his head with a bit of a smile under that helmet of his.

     Clif turns to one side looking over towards Spider-Man. "Oh of course not, just don't break it." He offers in a joking manner as he turns allowing for a better view of the large rocket pack. The strong smell of alcohol permeates from the pack where it had been firing instead of the rocket fuel one would expect.

     "It's fueled by pure alcohol, though it'll run with most anything you put through it really, she's a marvel of modern technology." He pauses a bit on the word modern chuckling internally at the thought that this once immense piece of world shattering technology was now considered almost mundane in some circles of technological advancement.

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man peers at it, the eye-lenses of his mask widening perceptibly. "That smells like wood alcohol. Would grain alcohol work as well?" He pauses. "Amazing. The thrust must be incredible. Okay...steer using the directional vents. Is it hot or cold, the thrust?"
This thing is AMAZING. It was built in the 1940's, but so much of it is 21st-century design...

Clifford Secord has posed:
     Clif smirks lightly beneath his helmet as the kid has a fieldday with his rocketpack. He wasn't expecting anyone to be quiet so excited by the thing. He holds up his arm showing off the control mechanism which wheels its way up the forearm and into his hands grip near the thumb. "Well the casing is cold to the touch even after prolonged flight" He explains clearly not being the one to have designed the thing that he seems to fly so well. "She's a dream to fly though I'll tell you that much."

     "Would you believe she was built in the 30's?" He pats the side of the tank lightly with a tap of his hand clattering out against it. Clearly just looking at this thing there have been numerous repairs and repaints done over the years, but the basic design remains unchanged even from its original creation.

     "I'd offer to let you take her for a spin, but she takes a good bit of getting used to, and you kind of need the helmet to help steer." He pats the side of his helmet with a light clattering thunk.

Peter Parker has posed:
Spidey whistled low as he looked at the control device. "Wow...the design is so SIMPLE, and yet so elegant. I'll bet she flies like a dream. And it's so easy to learn and master with such an intuitive system."

Spider-Man stepped back, holding up both his hands. "Wouldn't even ask. Besides, I have my own way of getting around. It's more physically-demanding, but I happen to have the strength and stamina for it." He brings one hand in closer for Cliff to see the web-shooter mechanism along his inner wrist. "This is totally mechanical, but It also has a simple control system, which works well with my own senses and abilities. I can fire weblines or webs, based on how hard I press the palm-trigger here." He holds out the hand towards one of the car wrecks. "Press until you feel a 'click' and then hold it for a second."

Clifford Secord has posed:
     Clif leans down for a moment examining the wrist mount. He's fascinated by the design himself. Looking from behind those bugeye lenses of his helmet. He looks right at it before moving out of the way once he's told exactly what it does. A propulsion system in such a small package. "Astounding." He offers even before he presses down on the little lever.

     He moves his hand down onto the lever applying pressure to send fourth a stream of web and is astounded by what he sees jumping back slightly at the imagery on display. His eyes go wide as his smirk turns into a full on smile from one ear to the other.

Peter Parker has posed:
The webline shoots out from the end of the tiny aperture, the end of the line arcing slightly before hitting the car wreck, affixing itself to the steel. The pressure is enough for Spidey to grasp the line as it ended. "This is reverse-engineered from actual spidersilk. And this variant actually dissolves after an hour, so no muss, no fuss." He chuckles. "Simple to control, but capable of many uses once you learn how to control it. Much like your jetpack."

Clifford Secord has posed:
     "And you made this yourself?" Cliff offers amazed as he looks over the strand lightly tapping it with a finger. He's audibly smiling the entire time he speaks looking from one end to the other as he tries to take it all in. "Reminds me a lot of a certain scientist I used to work with back in the day." He chuckles quietly as he pulls away from the web looking back over towards the webhead. "And of course his Rocket Pack."

Peter Parker has posed:
Spidey shrugged. "You've be amazed what you can do with an understanding of mechanical engineering and a fully-functional machine shop. I'm also pretty good at chemistry. I created the spider-silk liquid base myself...as well as some of its variants." He points out the bracelet-looking housing to reveal the small squared cartridges. "I can even switch between variants in two seconds flat."

Clifford Secord has posed:
     "Two seconds?" Now Cliff is truely floored. "It takes me at least two minutes to refill the tanks on my pack." He shakes his head lightly. "You're really something else you know that?" He offers with a bright smile under his helmet. "Well, as much as I'd love to stay and talk shop, I've got to finish my patrol if I want to catch the new episode of Family Feud." He digs into his pocket for a moment. "If you ever need me." He tosses a small piece of paper. "Call this number."

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man smiles. "Hey...maybe I can do you one better. Let's meet up in a few days...I might have something for you that could make things easier. I and some other people use a special communication system called Spider-Comm. Maybe I can show you a few things that might help? It might take some getting used to, but the benefits can be huge."

Clifford Secord has posed:
     "Don't mind if I do." Cliff offers with a low nod of his head. "Anything to keep informed am I right?" He starts walking off to a clear area of the junkyard. "I'll meet back up with you in a few days Spider-Man." He jumps up into the air throwing his arm into the air and in the same motion kicks on his rocket pack thrusting himself into the air kicking up dust into the air as he rockets away at 500 mph.

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man looks skyward as the Rocketeer lifts off at a speed he can scarcely comprehend. "Jeez Louise, look at him GO..."