Owner	Pose
Rave	Some gigs were more 'big', public and promoted, intended to draw people to clubs and make a big splash. If one ever wanted to make a real career out of this sort of thing, they'd need to be -seen-. Then again, Rave was rather hard to ignore between 'in person' and on social media anyway, and this sort of 'Underground' thing was exactly where she'd started in this world long before her powers had 'errupted'. Out of the way, hidden enough to not disturb anyone with the noise, the warehouse was awash with lights and sound with the crowds of punk, ravers and fans both mutant and non-mutant who had come to see the neon songstress who currently stood behind the music desk. The music behind her was electronicly generated, but her voice was the real deal as Rave belted out the lyrics in an expression of joyful energy and passion so intense it may well rival the laser bolts she could throw.
Cecily Winters	Cecily is no stranger to the noise. Unfortunately, with her sensitive ears, she has to go through most of the night with a dull headache--and dulled hearing, having to put special sonic padding inside of them. Even so, the vibrations of the bass make the fluffy fuzzy triangular appendages twitch and often flatten against her head. Still, the foxy 'assistant' to Miss Shepard has a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She loves Rave's voice, and the elctronic jams are something that she enjoys. Despite her standing still and firm, scanning the crowd from behind the scenes, her tails lash and swish, swaying and pulsing to the beat.     The white fox is a usual fixture at some of Rave's shows, but when and where is often random, depending on if Rave (or her family) wants her to drop in or not. Or if she can even be found. Still, the crowd is friendly, if rowdy, and the mix of metas and normals has the group united around the neon blue bard and her sweet siren's song.
Rave	That's what asprin was foot, right? Perhaps one day the girl would find a suitable pair of earmuffs for Ms. Winters as a thank you for all she'd put up with...but right now she wasn't really thinking of such creative solutions. Eyes were closed, her hair was glowing and her body was moving to the rythems she'd created. The crowd was into it, the air was practically tingling with energy and vibrations. This was what she lived for. A 'drug' as potent as any that might be handed out in such an event to less moral goers, a thrill equal to running up a sky-scraper...this was it. Eyes half-lid and then open, flicking to the fox and bringing a smile to her blue-glossed lips and a little raise of her hand to 'wave' with her fingers. Perhaps some in the crowd would think it to them, or eyes would turn to the foxy fixture.
Cecily Winters	The fox might not be an adrenaline junkie, but she does enjoy doing her job. Even with the hearing impairment, she can enjoy the music to an extent, and directs that flicker of a smile when Rave acknowledges her. It's a good night. She glances to the side, her bookbag and briefcase sitting next to steel rack just out of view of the crowd and wtihin arm's reach, stacked high with sound equipment. It's a wonder the old shelves can survive the weight and the bass.     The lack of keen sound, however, does mean she misses some details. The sound of engines outside, footsteps on the roof. Minute details that her keen vulpine hearing would pick up normally. She doesn't notice something is up until a young couple slip outside, leaning forward to chatter, perhaps to catch a smoke outdoors. Because a moment later the girl is rushing back into the crowd, fear in her eyes. Something hits her in the back, her body tensing, spasming, and then falling, crashing into a trio dancing near the door. Cecily's eyes widen when she sees the movement, straightening immediately.     Several of the square panes of glass in the high painted-over warehouse windows shatter as canisters spewing smoke tumble down into the crowd below. This probably isn't part of the performance.
Rave	That was decidely -not- part of the plan. Smoke machines were on thing, smoke grenades? That was another! Even for the speedster who'd had her eyes closed and her world mostly drowned out by the sounds of her own song. The music continues to play, even as her vocals are abruptly cut short. The perils of an electronic setup! Her eyes snap open, shock on the bluenette's features as she looks about trying to work out source of the sudden chaos. Her hands, eyes, hair all glow almost defencively as she's left...lost. She was still inexperienced after all, and the heroine songstress couldn't immediately see what she needed to do next!
Cecily Winters	At first, the crowd responds positively. After all, thick smoke begins to fill the room, the pulsing and pumping of music and light giving everything a surreal, all encompassing glow. And while Rave seems paralyzed by the developing situation, Cecily is already grabbing for her luggage. If the speedster were to look over, she'd find the fox ripping open the briefcase and snapping together a four-piece rifle, the expression on her features dour and focused.     Then the screams begin. At the front door, the reason behind the disturbance is noticed immediately. Figures, armed and armored, begin a tactical breach and clear. The weapons they carry look like exotic bullpup rifles, barrels mounting suppressors, because even with the heavy beats a series of gunshots has a much sharper crack to it. But what they unload on the crowd isn't a hail of metal and death. The puff and flash from the end of the suppressors is bluish, meta and mundane alike spasming when they're hit. Micro-taser rounds?     The bulk of the armor and the opaque helmets make it impossible to tell who the individuals are as they start to cause utter and complete pandemonium, the wave of bodies starting to flood in a panic towards side entrances, only to find them securely barred from the outside. One of the metas gets it in his head to fight back, a punk with fists suddenly wreathed in stone lunges for one of the troopers, staggering the armored figure before getting an electrified rifle butt to the stomach for his trouble.
Rave	Panic, crowds, terror and armored soldiers storming the place. Rave's eyes are wide as she flicks her gaze towards Cecily. The fox was kicking into action and that was the -shock- she needed as she saw several of her patrons hit. A hand raises, glowing with wrathful laser-light...but she can't loose it even with the world moving at a crawl. There was too much smoke, too many people for her to get a clear shot or even to move at full speed. Unknowingly, the speedster had created the worst place for her to fight back by her own actions! The breath exhaled, she erupts from the stage, a streak of neon-light moving fast, but nowhere near her full speed as she tries to weave through the smoke and chaos towards the first soldier she can find.
Cecily Winters	The level of violence seems to be increasing as the more bold among the metas try to fight back. But unfocused powers, even backed by rage and adrenaline, aren't quite enough to topple the troopers. Some are staggered by blows, but the crowd and smoke are serving their needs as many of the young mutants can't go full bore either, just ilke Rave. Armored and disciplined, something about their gear seems to make them resistant to a lot of what's being flung their way. Quills from one girl stick out of the shoulder of one as she's dropped by a shot from above, the windows shattering to expose the night sky as four more take up elevated positions over the crowd. A wreathe of flame from another boy's palms scorches and singes the thick pads into blackness but he too is grabbed... and yanked outside.     There's a pattern and a sickening truth. The crowd members are being incapacitated, one by one, and hauled -out- of the warehouse. The trooper in Rave's sights doesn't seem to be looking at her, as he's occupied hauling 'stone fists' over his shoulder in a fireman carry to abduct. Rave would hear the sharp 'KRAK!' of a gunshot behind her as Cecily opens fire on the the soldiers with the high ground, drawing some attention as the bullet seems to penetrate the armor and hit what lies beneath.
Rave	The -flash- of Rave's laser is met with an immediate 'bang' as the concussive force detonates behind it. A non-lethal laser, Rave was simply not as adjusted to the idea of killing as the more experienced Winters...and she couldn't risk accidently letting burning laser light go astray. Mutants and metas were being attacked, abducted and overwhelmed left and right and the bluenette could hardly see most of it, let alone do anything about it. Her 'glow' might make her easier to track for others, but she could only go at the aggressors one at a time. Her hand comes close, pretty much inches away from the distracted trooper before she looses the blast that sends him hurtling back. There was no smirk, no happy thrill of victory though...there was too many, and this was far from the rabid monsters or disorganized thugs she'd encountered before. These were well-prepared professionals...
Cecily Winters	And unfortunately for the side of the innocents, only one person here is any kind of a professional. And she's got her shoulder against an oversized amp, taking shot after shot at the troopers above. It takes what must sound like four or five shots before one of them drops to their knees, holes from the bullet wounds liquid shining with what one assumes to be leaking blood. At least the shots from on high are focusing more on her now that she seems to have done some damage, blue sparks flying off of the amp she's using as cover, showing that it indeed is some kind of electrified stun round.     The trooper Rave blasts? He stumbles, falls, the concussive impact being one that could probably break bones if she put enough behind it. It takes a momnet, but he jerks and sits up, dragging himself to his feet, that visored helmet focused on Rave before he reaches for his weapon to unload more shock shots at her. He seems uncoordinated, though, as if the wind were knocked out of him and then some from Rave's blast. The rock-fisted kid she'd rescued is still out cold, but he's not in the clutches of this faceless soldier now.     Some enterprising people have managed to bust one of the side doors down, but the crowd is still too thick and too panicked to organize a proper escape, and the sounds from outside aren't so promising.
Rave	Weave. Blast. Punch. Duck. Move. Rave's world had become a blur of motion and frantic repetition as she tried to take out the armored man and every one of his compatriots that she could find in the confusion. Around her shots ring out, lethal fire from the ever-precise Winters was her best support, but even with their powers there was only so much she could do. Leaping high, her feet slam down, accelerated motion driving her boots square into the top of the dazed man and driving him down into the concreate floor...then she was off again. Rince-and-repeat, the blue-haired bolt makes her way through the chaos of this dirty, scrappy fight as best she can. A weaving motion between bullets has her avoiding danger...until a scream cuts through her perception and realization hits her. Every shock bullet she'd avoided had hit someone else. It was a moment of doubt, a moment of 'shock' that was all several gunmen needed to focus on her and suddenly the shock was very real as her hesitation results in a round hitting the small of her back. A cry of pain, a flash of light and she crumples to join the twitching gathing of subdued metas and mutants when several more rounds hit her for good measure.
Cecily Winters	Chaos and collateral. Dodging bullets only gets you so far in a crowd. It also takes a monumental amount of effort, if Rave is working on pure concussive force and non-lethal take-town techniques, to bring down her targets, which few she can. She and Winters become the primary threats, at least until Rave is finally shocked into submission. Cecily, to her credit, has taken down two of the upper gunmen. Unfortunately, it's taken an entire magazine. Ten shots, all told, and she's down her rookie partner.     Then that cry and that flash. Her ears, muffled as they are, pick up the sound and she looks up just in time to see Rave spasming on the concrete floor. She drops her rifle, snatching up the MP7 from her bookbag, and sprints towards her sworn charge. The gunmen are in retreat, having taken what one could imagine to be at least two dozen or more college-age music enthusiasts. The fallen soldiers, be it from bullets or blasts or the concerted efforts of several metas in the audience, are pulled out by their partners, shock rifles, batons, and butts keeping any persuit at bay.     Winters' gun is up, spraying a burst of armor-piercing rounds as she rushes one about to grab Rave and drag her out, too. After all, she'd been -very- feisty. The mag is emptied as several rounds tear through his chestplate, staggering him, but not enough. The fox gets within grabbing range and her arm is yanked upwards. The bodyguard's eyes go wide, her gun clicking as she struggles.     There's a motion and a loud shriek of pain comes as her arm is bent grossly in the wrong direction, bone snapping at the joint with a surprising lack of effort from the armored man. She grits her teeth, blue-white fire engulfing her arm, and his, searing pain rushing through both limbs as she pulls her sidearm from its shoulder holster, pressing the barrel to the front of the helmet and pulling the trigger until there's nothing left. There's enough rounds at that range to dent the back of the helmet from inside, and the soldier crumples to the ground with the fox's knees dug into his chest.     Loud engines sound out from outside as the mob manages to 'chase' off the departing soldiers. Through the door, armored vans rush off into the night, leaving the sorry scene in their wake.
Rave	The world for Rave was pain and panic, disorientation and chaos outside of proper perception. She could heal from injury, but it was a concious effort, not a passive regeneration like some. She couldn't really percieve the rescue that Cecily was mounting, rushing forwards to try and come to her air as her slender frame was picked up by the thug. Couldn't see the frantic violence intended to come to her aid, nor could she see the vans tearing away with fans and club-goers who'd come to see her. Perhaps that was a mercy for her squirming, twitching form, because the horror of reality...that was going to hurt far more than the voltage.
Cecily Winters	It's a world of pain, and by now the music has also stopped. The smoke is dissipating through open doors and windows, and the general atmosphere of the club is... grim. People are mourning missing friends and partners, others are huddled in group embraces thanking their blessings they weren't taken, still others are keeping vigil on friends and strangers still out cold. To Rave's credit, some of the mob that had mounted the final defense linger around the neon DJ, just in case anyone comes back. What few aren't dealing with the rest of the aftermath anyway.     Cecily is gritting her teeth, tears staining her cheeks from how much pain she had been in from the break, and the pain she's still in. That arm hangs uselessly at her side, but had thankfully not broken skin. She dumps the two empty magazines from her MP7 and her sidearm, loading them in fresh and finally lifting the hole-filled visor of her new couch. If the fox wasn't already grimacing in pain, she'd grimace in disgust. What's left of the man's face is a hideous amalgamation of flesh, metal, and syrupy blue liquid. Even before the dozen .45 slugs were dumped into his skull, it's clear he wasn't exactly pretty.     Slowly, she drags herself off of him, only to drop to a knee next to Rave to look her over. First aid for herself can come later, she just holsters her handgun and removes her ear padding before checking her charge's vitals.     Somewhere in the distance, the sound of sirens are far off. Someone had finally called the authorities as the silence in the once-energetic venue is broken by grunts, groans, whimpers, and sobbing.