9306/Schook of Hard Knocks

Schook of Hard Knocks
Date of Scene:	27 December 2021
Location:	Midtown
Synopsis:	Winter attempts to quietly end a Russian traitor and criminal, but is interrupted by Satana, Monet, and Dane Whitman. After a brief altercation Satana succeeds in scaring off Monet, then convinces Winter to let her drink down the traitor, with Dane's grudgingly allowing it.
Cast of Characters:	Nikolas Kamarov, Monet St. Croix, Satana Hellstrom, Dane Whitman

---

Nikolas Kamarov has posed:
    Darkness has fallen over the city that never sleeps, but that doesn't mean it isn't lit by signs and streetlights, even this late at night. The shimmering huge signs of the various famous headquarters nearby are still quite visible, especially Stark Tower.

    on the other hand, there are still dark areas between the buildings, in the back alleys where people might cut through in a hurry, but generally don't linger unless they're service people fixing something or taking out the trash.
ut sometimes, it's people running away.
    In one such alley, a slightly portly man is puffing along, his suit looking mussed and tripped as he trips then pulls himself up on a dumpster, looking around him in a panic. In one hand is an oversized pistol, obviously tricked out with filigree and chromed up. A weapon more for intimidate and showing off the owner's wealth than a well used weapon.

    <<"Get away, you damned ghost! I'll blow you away!">> he booms in Russian, spinning around as he waves the pistol around.

    <<"I doubt that.">> a cold voice responds from the shadows as a man emerges from the shadows above, his costume a dark blue and grey, made for blending in for a dark cityscape. The bodyarmor is unmarked other than that...and the identity of the person wearing it is further hidden by a featureless reflective mask that completely covers the head, adding to the uncanny method of appearance. <<"Men like you always think they'll never suffer consequences...">>

    The man with the pistol brings the gun up, taking aim. <<"Fuck you!">> The gun blazes away, the figure twitching slightly as the bullets hit and then seem to just tumble straight down to the ground rather than penetrating.

    And the masked man just keeps coming closer.

    

Monet St. Croix has posed:
    She had been out shopping. There had been plenty of things to get at the boutiques after all. And Monet St. Croix having gotten -acceptable- clothing for the holidays, had gone out on the town to get appropriate accessories for them to complement her latest acquisitions. So after paying to have them delivered (she would never do anything so gauche as to carry them back herself) the Morrocan mutant had been simply going along to look for anything else that would catch her fancy to purchase.
    So when she would hear the sound of gunfire, she would murmur irritatingly under her breath "How typical" before heading along in that direction, floating a meter or so off the ground and then flying to go in at high speed, heading into the alleyway as she would be tracking the sounds of the firefight. Going to however stay somewhat out of immediate range while she would attempt to use her telepathy to if possible get an idea of what was going on before she would intervene. The last time she had gone in to such a thing had ended.. Most undignified. So flying in from an angle, hopefully out of sight as she would approach and try to survey on ahead.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
It's been a while. An honest to goodness traitor. Murderer too. Probably more in there, but treason and murder are a heady brew. So heady that Satana felt it while travelling through the astral shadow of Manhattan. Redirecting, she peered into the main plane and...

Hunter. Hunted. While this was entertaining, it did not give her the taste of traitor. Especially since the Hunted seemed entirely overwhelmed by the hunter. It looks like time for ...

... and now another soul on its way. Tsk. This is getting complicated. She's going to have to ...

The silver cord yanks her back to her home. Opening her eyes, the leather-clad redhead pauses only long enough grab her long overcoat before ...

Behind Nikolas pink smoke with a yellow tinge gathers, then forms into a column, roughly person-high. It brings with it the distinct scent of cinnamon and just a whiff of brimstone. Satana walks out of it.

"Erm..." Satana clears her throat. "Would you mind terribly much not killing that man? I have a use for him. You can have him back when I'm done."

Clad in tight leather from dangerously below the hips down, and barely clad above but for the open leather trench coat she's slipped on, and wearing riding boots with block heels that elevate her to a good 6', she doesn't look dangerous so much as she looks like a high class fetish call girl.

"Well, you can have his husk back, I mean."

Leaning so the man with the pistol can see her, she shines a friendly smile his way as if greeting an old lover.

Nikolas Kamarov has posed:
    The bedraggled man yelps, backing up until he hits the wall behind him as Satana walks out of the smoke, staring at her. Well, ogling her a bit, really, the gun still pointed vaguely in her and Winter's direction.

    Winter settles to the ground, his boots scraping over a blunted bullet as he cocks his head at Satana. She's at least distracted him from Monet's approach, since she's flying and thus not making a lot of noise. "His...husk?" the armored figure says finally, in English this time. "You mean to....kill him?" His voice is neutral, so he doesn't necessarily seem upset by the idea.

    The suited man takes that moment to try and edge towards the next alley exit, before Winter turns his head to just look at him, freezing him in place again as he tries to pretend he wasn't going anywhere.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"There would be death eventually," Satana purrs. "I would just ... feast a while first."

She smiles a too-pretty smile at Nikolas, taking a smooth, non-threatening step toward him. "It's also very humane. He'll experience the most joy he's ever experienced in his life before his demise. I've heard it's a very ... enjoyable ... experience from good sources."

Again the eyes fall on the prospective victim.

"If you need a body to prove you've done the job, that's still going to be around. I'm just ... hungry for that stench of treason and the urge to punish that sin is strong."

Nikolas can feel a very strong urge to comply. She's being very reasonable. And it does spare him some ammo. Besides he'll die happy, right? Give him a last little fling before his eternal demise. Just step aside and enjoy the ride.

Nikolas Kamarov has posed:
    Winter doesn't particularly care if he has an easy death...whatever he knows about him doesn't particularly incline him to pity. On the other hand...it doesn't matter to him how it gets done, so much as it does get done. It doesn't violate his orders as long as the end result is the same and doesn't expose him.

    "What are you...?" he murmurs. His face isn't visible, but from the way his helmet tilts, he's definitely focused on her now.

    Then he grunts faintly. "It doesn't matter to me how he dies, as long as he is dead."

    It's as much a hint of rebelliousness in him that makes him make the decision, the ability to go against the spirit of his orders, if not the wording of it. If someone else does the job, even less chance of it being traced back to him, after all.

    Besides, he's curious exactly what this woman is going to do to his target.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
Monet St. Croix is going to rapidly evaluate things. THe information she's picking up and out of Winter's mind - at least, what surface thoughts and intents she can glean from things.. And then she's going to land between Satana, the man that is about to be left a husk..
    Her landing isn't a superhero styled one, it's just landing firmly on her feet with her fists up and in front of her in a defensive posture. "No matter the man's crimes, he doesn't deserve to be consumed like this." Having been very much a 'husk' at one point in her life..
    That particular fate draws far too vivid memories that probably make her more defensive of a scum who likely doesn't deserve it than is intended.
    He's very likely being judged for a reason. Monet's fingers would forge into fists. "I'll give the two of you a chance to depart while we leave this man to the authorities. Or else."

Dane Whitman has posed:
The gunshots drew more than one individual of note.

The man in black is jogging up to the scene, his preferred attire of suit and turtleneck as much a staple of his public identity as his armor is of his nom de guerre. Dane Whitman is on the scene with an odd handle grasped ready in one hand like a maglight. The uninitiated might think he's out to chase down a gunman to club him into submission, and truth be known if anyone could do it he probably can! That's no maglight though.

Dane declares,"Alright, what's going on here? Noone's getting shot without answers!"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Satana makes an exasperated noise in her throat. Between the ridiculous little girl putting up her dukes and now the arrival of Dane, this whole scene has gotten to be too much for her.

"Dane, I'm in the very process of trying to end the gunfire," she says peevishly to the newcomer.

And then her eyes swivel to Monet. ~Ridiculous little simpering fool.~ Her face, however, is friendly. "Young one, I would suggest you, too, not get involved. You don't know what you're stirring up." ~If you want to see the second digit of your age you'd best run along now.~

Body language and face reveal nothing of the thoughts.

"You're cute." ~In that bland manufactured starlet sort of way.~ "Getting mixed up in this volatile situation could make you lose that beauty. Just walk away to preserve that."

Then, dismissing Monet without any more thought, or so it seems, though her thoughts are very much tracking Monet in her peripheral vision, Satana side-steps and walks toward her vision.

"Now come along..." she purrs to the man. "Just come along with your lover-girl and all this trouble will be over. All that and a mind-blowing orgasm to go with it."

Her formidable will weighs heavy on the target, tempting him to come to her arms.

Nikolas Kamarov has posed:
    First Monet....now a mysterious man in black with a sword. Winter makes a fairly annoyed noise, rubbing the back of his neck. <<"The hell...any alley in this city and capes just wander in the longer you're there....>>" he mutters in Russian, shaking his head. He sort of suspects the other two aren't going to let the woman in leather deal with his target either. He's not required to fight them though, as of yet. But at the same time, he's under orders he can't disobey.

    "Don't get involved." he advises both M and Dane, echoing Satana. "It will not go well."

    Meanwhile, the slightly portly guy in the mussed and ripped suit holding the big, chromed revolver with gold filigree sort of wavers, the gun lowering to his side as Satana focuses her attention on him. Not exactly a well disciplined mind, by comparison to anyone else hwere as he stares at her raptly as she approaches.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
There's a look from Monet St. Croix given to Satana, "You were warned." Then she would growl at Dane, "The two of them are quite content to kill him amongst htemselves. You are welcome to aid me in stopping them or you can make your own grave if you would assist them." Her warning's been given, and all she has to go with Dane is that Satana said she knew him.
    The cues in the woman's mind are enough as Monet would make no outward sign of having noticed them. The casuality of the half-demon's movements making it seem like she had missed them. So when Satana is half turned around then Monet is going in for the attack!
    She would go to blast in, moving to try and charge Satana at moderately high speed, going to try and if possible slam into her to send her flying along if she could to try and bounce Satana off a wall! "Point made?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
The man in black does indeed have a sword, though most normies would not have guessed that!

As Monet goes in for the charge, Dane feels compelled to intervene! He did warn, nevermind that Monet gave her own counter warning...

A golden shaft of light roughly a meter long sizzles into being as Monet charges in! He's no Spiderman, but he's not slow either...

Dane lunges after Monet, but he won't stop there or even wait to see if his strike is true. He's putting a stop to this the one way that he can be certain will have any effect as diplomacy seems to have ended with his mere arrival! That blade dances with subtle accuracy at everyone within his reach, those it connects with experiencing something of a sharp pounding migraine immediately after an impact like a hornet sting where it connects...the symptoms of a neural blade strike!

A single stroke delivered at everyone he can reach within the space of a few moments, Dane will declare,"Now...if we can be civilized and talk like adults..."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"You ignorant little girl." Only she didn't say 'girl'. She used an expletive best not repeated in public aside from obliquely referring to it as the 'C-Word'.

Satana growls this after having found herself having sailed through the air, head over heels, before face-planting upside-down into brick.

Then falling off the wall like she'd been peeled from it as in an old-timey cartoon.

Coming to her feet, she faces off against Monet, cracking her neck.

"I'm a lover, not a fighter," she says in what has been her thrilling contralto thus far, but ends with a lower, deeper, voice talking along a full octave underneath. "But for little girls like you, I make an exception."

Again, note: not 'girls'.

While she speaks her skin starts turning red, developing visible scaling. Something pushes its way slowly out from just under her hairline, though what exactly it is is not vis...Oh, never mind. It's a pair of horns. Her eyes have turned full-on black, with no sclera, except for the pinpricks of Hellfire burning in the middle where the pupils should be.

And then from those eyes come a twin jet of flame that combines and merges and fans out straight at Monet.

"Let's see how good you look with charred skin, cutie-pie!"

The soulfire advances at fantastic speed...

...only to fade away before landing as Satana takes in Dane's rapid attack which the little girl she was about to fry knocked out out of.

Her eyes narrow as she takes in Dane.

"You were going to hit me? You tried to kill me? After everything we did together?"

Monet's mind is filled with ... unsavoury scenes. Very. Unsavoury.

Satana narrows her eyes at Monet. "For knocking me away from that blade, whether intentional or not, you don't burn. This is my merciful action of the week. Don't push."

Then the angry eyes are turned on Dane...

Nikolas Kamarov has posed:
    As M throws herself forwards and decks Satana through the air and across the alley to smash into the wall, Winter sighs. "Blyat." The cursing pretty much sums up his opinion of where this mission is going. He doesn't move to stop M, at the moment...though his attention turns back to his target. Well, if they're going to be preoccupied.....

    One of his hands comes up, pointing at the increasingly panicked man...

    ...before Dane goes flashing by, landing a slash across his side as he does, the blade making an odd hum as it connects, flickering for a moment before he continues his charge.

    Winter just *looks* at Dane. With his best Bruce Willis.

    "...ow?" he says questioningly.

    Then shifts his aim back and a bolt of energy cracks out of his hand, colored the same as the neural blade and slams into the suit who is slammed back against the wall, groaning as he falls over.

    "Yes. Ow." Winter says, starting to advance on the man as he tries to push himself up.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
Monet would go to rebound Satana off the wall, even as she was flipping herself back to get ready for the woman's counterattack and about to throw out a comment. The sudden transmogrification of the demoness' face and body while expected to some degree comes as a surprise. When those horns grow and that energy goes to build up all Monet can do is look on it with the morbid startlement of someone that is having their first true experience with something of magic right as she's withdrawing, fear and confusion radiating out on her face and suppressed terror and a fist cocking back..
    Right as there's the sudden SNAP-CLANK of Dane's sword slashing past and being in it's warning and she fails to control herself, "What the /HELL/?" Given Satana, that said all too literally as she's storming around to face the duo, and having lost attention of the position of Nikolas while she's face to face with the man wih the magic sword.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane, at his best, moves with the fluidity of the nigh legendary Captain. Regularly, he's no slouch. He stands with that lightsaber in hand, eyeing everyone around him, to include the target that was whacked at as well, and states,"This is stupid. If you're going to kill someone, do it out of sight. Then I won't have to do what I just did, nor would anyone like me."

He eyes the shapeshifting Satana at this point, doing his level best not to quail at her growing proportions. She of all people would likely know that that sword in his hand isn't magical, but a product of human science. Very advanced science, but nevertheless!

Dane is poised ready to defend himself like a duelist of old as he adds,"That goes double for you. I'm not about to kill anyone here, least of all you. But if a love tap gets you to keep your misbehavior behind closed doors then so be it!"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
You can see Satana counting from ten. Because she's counting it not only subvocally with her eyes closed, but also counting down on her fingers.

As she does so, the demonic visage fades leaving behind the dripping sensuality of her human form.

She opens her eyes.

"Dane, darling," she begins with a voice that sounds so reasonable it should likely send chills down the spine of any who know here.

Which in this company means Dane.

"I was just trying to help this gentleman..." An arm sweeps toward Nikolas. "...eliminate this traitor and murderer..." The other sweeps toward the erstwhile victim. "...without the mess and bother he was facing. That's all. Give the guy his last little fling..."

Satana does a little twisting, grinding motion at the hips.

"...and down he goes to join me in my realm. No muss, no fuss, no bother. Until the pretty-pretty here got in my way..."

Barely contained rage enters the voice.

"...and knocked me face-first into a wall."

Forgiveness is not in her nature it seems.

"And now here you are messing everything up too. If the pair of you had left things alone, there would be one less scumball on your precious little planet, one more wisp for me to toy with in Hell, and one full belly on top of it all."

She taps her foot on the alley ground.

"So, here's a thought, Dane. Walk away. Same with you, girly-girl. Walk away. It doesn't concern you and he..." The arm gesturing at the target waves again. "...is not worth your skin charring under my tender mercies."

That's said with a direct stare at Monet. And Monet will recognize the mental pressure being applied (but ineffective against her shield) as something akin to, but different from, what she herself does.

Nikolas Kamarov has posed:
"She is very angry, very scary woman." Winter comments, striding over until he's standing over the man in question. "Maybe listen to what she says." He looks down at the man, his face still hidden behind the featureless reflective facemask he wears, then toes the man, who groans at the motion.

    He turns to glance at the others, noting M's...well, fear. Then says steadily, almost sympathetically. "This is more than you need to take on your shoulders, girl. This man will not be judged in a courtroom, or a jail. His sins ends here, and more will cheer his passing than mourn it."

Monet St. Croix has posed:
The look of terror on the face of Monet St. Croix vanishes nearly instantly and is replaced with rage. The rage is instantly buried over as far too many bad memories would shoot up into her head, almost beyond her ability to control. Her mask nearly disintegrating, she would just sneer.

"You're wlecome to handlet hings then."

Apparently her care would only go so far.

Then as it was said she would be bolting away and flying at her best possible speed to find somewhere far, far away she could shudder.. And sob and let the fear and terror go off her where no one was around to remotely see her weak.

Dane Whitman has posed:
The unarmored knight watches as Monet flees, regret flitting over his features for but a moment as she disappears. He's no empath, but he has a pretty good idea about things there.

He points the tip of his photonic blade at the man in question, still likely delirious from the effects of its stun option, and asks,"You say this man is a traitor and worse?"

Dane fliks his gaze over to Winter at that. He's troubled by the logic of this. His ancestor had dispatched by his own hand men by the scores for similar, and had indeed pushed him to do similar and chastised him for not. He grits his teeth as he states,"...Just be less public about it."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Satana's face is pleased and ironic as Monet flees the scene. She fingerwaves after the fleeing form, saying, "Bye-bye little birdie!"

Making mental notes to hunt the bitch down and teach her to interfere with Infernal business.

"She seemed so NICE!" Satana then says effusively to nobody in particular before turning her attention to the scene before her.

"Dane," she says in a perfectly reasonable voice, "first it was the gentleman in question who made the noise and brought down the attention. I can't be too angry, however, since that's what caught my attention and made me find ... such delicious ... sin."

Her eyes have strayed to the victim again.

"I haven't had a proper traitor in so long. Please, Dane, walk away too, and let me feast on the sweet stench of treason. He'll enjoy most of it. You know that..."

Sly eyes slip to Dane with a wink.

"The problem will be gone in no time flat, and this gentleman can take back the husk if he likes, to prove he did the job."

Nikolas Kamarov has posed:
    Winter nods slowly to Dane. "It will be done." he says simply, leaning down and picking up the man's revolver, then just steps back, making a 'go ahead' gesture to Satana as he does. "If it helps...he has done more than just betray his oath. Even if I weren't required by orders to kill him..." He shakes his head slightly. "Sometimes the world is a better place without certain people in it."

Dane Whitman has posed:
The man in black snaps his blade off, the golden shaft flickering away with a staticy POP!

The maglight shaped handle is tucked into a pouch on his belt, where it might resemble either the aforementioned or perhaps a mace dispenser to the more common nefarious types. His dark eyes flicker between them all as he shrugs gravely, reminding himself how unpleasant Satana could be without such as he intones,"Yes, yes...also, my apologies for the...love tap."

What sort of knight would he be without the occasional acts of rash bravado? A very dull one, that's for sure!

Dane regards Winter then, as if for the first time. What an interesting mask. He notes,"He did have a nice shooter, gotta give him that."

With that, he tucks his hands into his pockets, and does like she said. Strolls back from whence he came.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Satana's eyes flare up again as she ponders her food. The food, momentarily squeaking in fear, is placated--hypnotized--by those eyes as she steps forward with sultry hip swaying and counterpoint shoulder sway. Finally she crouches next to the hapless man.

"Shhh..." she says soothingly. "There won't be much pain, but there will be a lot of pleasure."

Gently taking the man by his collar, she effortlessly lifts her smitten, vacantly-staring victim and holds him against the wall. Sidling in closer, she presses against him in ways that seem like she's been vacuum-sealed to him from knee to neck, wrapping her arms around him while his own hands seek ... crasser embrace.

"Ooh, aren't you the eager one?" she coos, chuckling into his ear, undulating her form against him. His eyes roll back from the attention, then, as her lips hungrily seek his.

A long groan of raw passion rumbles in his chest as she kisses, seeming to kiss his very soul. His body shudders, stiffens, presses against her desperately as if seeking entrance, then, after a second sudden, violent stiffening, relaxes profoundly. Somehow the fact that he has crested his little hill is apparent.

Still the kiss goes on, Satana's iron grip now holding his head to her lips as he struggles to get away. His hands fruitlessly try to push her away. His head desperately tries and fails to turn away. His eyes open wide, in a panic, frantically looking around for escape. For succour. For aid.

And still the kiss continues, even as his body starts to ... shrink. As if dehydrating. Or aging. Or both. Wrinkles form. Then the wrinkles themselves shrink as the body loses half its mass, seemingly, like those touristy 'shrunken heads', only full-body.

Finally the emptied husk of the man drops to the ground with unnatural lightness. Purple streams flow out of his mouth, forming, of all things, a butterfly shape on Satana's fingers. When the last stream of it finishes, the butterfly takes flight, only to be captured by the demoness' cruel claws and taken to her mouth, swallowed, never to be seen again.

And then Satana's body rocks in her own climax, knees giving out as she lets out a loud, satisfied, moan, sliding to her knees as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her.

Finally the street show is over and Satana struggles back to her feet.

"Thank you," she says. "The rest is yours to do with as you see fit."

She turns and walks into pink, cinnamon and brimstone smelling smoke, vanishing from view.