Owner Pose
Comrade Spinner      It's a beautiful morning in Little Russia. The sun is shining and the snow is blowing wistfully across the city streets. So much of NYC is an empty scape of nothing but fresh snow and the occasional angelic beast waiting to devour anyone who might be in its path. For the city of New York it's basically a typical Monday in that regard.

     Inside of Little Russia proper where one would expect there to be more empty streets instead one would find the working poor of the district dancing in the streets drinking and enjoying what many of them would see as the end of the world as they know it. So many of them have stayed behind refusing to leave their simple lives their easy homes. Men and women in tracksuits squat outside of buildings smoking and drinking away their troubles as if nothing were wrong. Cars park up and down the streets with more people setting on the hood drinking light beer and enjoying the weather as they hope that their little enclave doesn't find itself attacked by the dangers of the city.

     Speakers have been webbed up to the side of buildings with simple jerry rigged cables connecting one to the next in order to blare out Hardbass for anyone nearby to hear. The webbing is strong as steel and holds tight into place the cheap speakers that look to have been gathered right out of the city dump no one speaker matching another.

     At the center of it all a lone DJ booth sets behind a pitch black car with white Adidas stripes running across the top of it. Behind the booth stands a man in a yellow track suit with an ushanka hat and aviator shades. His face is hidden behind a thick black mask that hides his features and he takes the duty of Djing for this group of Gopniks gathered all together for their end of the world bash.
Miles Morales      With the strangeness going on right now, Miles has been going around the city checking out various places where refuges were sent to make sure everything is going right. He's in his civillian clothes at the moment, drawn by the sound of music. Soon he sees the people dancing in the street, and the mysterioous masked figure behind the DJ booth. He just observes for a while, making sure nothing bad is going on. You never know in this city. A mind controlling DJ or something wouldn't be that weird, relatively. Since there's no tingling of the old arachnid radar, he decides that it's probably fine and moves into the crowd. He may or may not stand out a bit, depending on what percentage of the crowd is actually Russian. He ends up moving with the music as he does, humming along with whatever song is playing. He has his favorite types of music. But he enjoys pretty much everything. Except maybe country. Some country. He glances up at the speakers, then double-takes when he notices the webbing holding them in place, looking again more closely at the DJ.
Paris Bennet In an alley just up from this neighborhood, there occurs a brief spectacle. A strange display of light and darkness as a field of silvery white energy like lines of plasma cascade in geometric fashion around something like a rectangular portal to another place. Indeed, anyone who happens to be there will catch a glimpse of an office somewhere before a tall man with french features and an imposing physique clad in a three piece suit steps forth.

The field sizzles closed with a pop behind him, and one Bennet du Paris has arrived. He crinkles the bridge of his nose at the nearby music. Fortunately, this man is not here to play critic to the local flavor. Non, his purpose is much more nuanced.
Mary Jane Watson Long, red hair tumbles past black clad shoulders, laying haphazardly across the gold scabbard on Mary Jane's back. Soft red lips are turned up in a little smile as she casts her gaze left and right, occasionally making eye contact that's somehow simultaneously meaningful and nonthreatening-- as non-threatening as a SHIELD uniformed, sword-wielding teenager can be. She walks along the perimeter of things, rather than through the middle of it. Watching. Her boots crunch in the snow, leaving a path of prints behind her.

"247's quiet. Well, quiet-ish," the redhead's voice says softly to no one in particular as she walks. Emerald eyes cast up to the speakers that have been webbed to the corners, curiosity piquing her interest. There's a pause, then she continues, "No, I'm going to hang out for a little bit. Maybe make another pass." However, she lingers rather than starting another loop, her attention, too, drawn to the curious DJ as she edges her way closer.
Comrade Spinner      The DJ behind the booth is pulling off some strange moves, almost magical in the skill required. He drops down to a kickdance traditional for Russians in any way before spinning round onto the ground on his head with a twist kick dancing into the air as he spins round on the spot before slamming his hands to the ground forcing himself into a kickflip back round a full one eighty into a standing position.

     There's an energy about this place that's undeniable, an acceptance of fate by the people gathered here. They know the world seems to be ending and instead of hiding in fear, or crying in their homes many of them are arm in arm cheering and singing while they drink and smoke and dance. The people here are more than accepting of the end, they're embracing it with the joy that can only come from nihilism.

     The music is filled with a deep thrumming of boosted base that rattles the windows in their mounting from each and every one of the speakers that has been webbed into place. Cars even shake lightly with the sound as people gyrate and dance about the streets kicking snow out of the way with their happy feet.

     Off to the side several small groups discuss the coming end of the world over sunflower seeds and light beer in loud Russian and Ukranian voices. One of the men laughing grabs a bottle from the nearby cooler and tosses it through the air.

     The DJ behind the booth slams his head up and down with the music before holding one hand up to the side as he scratches that record tightly. A stream of webbing comes not from some small canister against his wrist but from an actual opening on his wrist slinging a web that catches the bottle and sends it flinging back into the same hand that had webbed it leaving a trail of webbing behind as the port on his wrist closes back shut.
Miles Morales      Well that's different. Miles is quick to notice the difference in how this spider operates compared to others he knows. That organic webbing thing seems useful. If possibly a little disturbing. The dance moves are pretty good too. Still moving with the music, he settles not too far away from the DJ booth. Glancing aorund the area. Seeing people laughing and drining, Eastern European folks dancing, a redhead in a uniform with a sword. ....wait, what? He blinks, looking Mary Jane over. The uniform is familiar. The person wearing it less so. And the sword on her back definetly doesn't seem like standard SHIELD issue. Not that she wouldn't draw attention even if she was dressed normally. He keeps a close eye on her, trying to be circumspect about it. No way of knowing if she's there because something is about to go down or not.
Paris Bennet Following his ears, the big Frenchman makes his way along. Only his eyes would give away the fact that he isn't ordinary in any sense, being gold within gold. If one looked closer, they might notice a very subtle illumination of his physical countenance, but this is a much more subdued detail at the moment.

Bennet's hair subtly adjusts, the complex braiding of his raven locks tightening slightly as he polices himself in telekinetic fashion. He is very much the image of a wealthy stranger walking through a neighborhood unlikely for one such as he.

However, here is where he intends.

The golden eyed man in a suit will arrive at the street party with an expression of slight consternation, taking in visually all who are present. After a few beats, he simply utters to none in particular,"...strange indeed."
Mary Jane Watson Apparently quiet used to being stared and occasionally meeting those eyes in kind, it's only for a moment that MJ's gaze actually meets with Miles. She had spotted him, too, stopping to appreciate the DJ, even if just for a moment, and if her presence foretold any coming trouble, her expression didn't give it away. There's a kind of placid warmth there before she looks back to the web-slinger, watching him snatch the bottle with a webbed strand. How familiar.

"Anybody have any intel on a musically-inclined spider-guy in 247?-- No. No trouble. Just DJing.-- Yeah, I know. Curiosity killed the cat," the girl says, seemingly to herself, though more likely into the ear-piece that couldn't be seen.
Comrade Spinner      The DJ works his magic dancing up a storm as he works the records playing out loud and proud as he shifts from one song to the next scratching back and doing his part to keep the beet flowing. He looks like he's having a grand old time as he thrashes his head in time with the music.

     On his back as he spins around is visible what appears to be a gold damascned AK-47 to the keen eye it's actually a first generation AK-47 done up with gold damascening and stippling to make it look particularly over the top fancy.

     Sure some people look at MJ for quite a bit of time having not expected someone with such a large weapon to be mulling about, but there appear to be a number of mutants present who also enjoy their time with the music. People with scales, fur, and other abnormalities and one figure in the crowd who appears to have all of their skin replaced with ice which isn't a pleasant look.

     "Can you feel the music friends." The DJ calls out in an incredibly thick Russian accent his speech slurred from a few too many bottles of cheep beer. "The world may end but the party never stops."
Miles Morales      Bennet gets a look from Miles as well. Somebody else that doesn't seem to quite fit in. Hopefully this is just people being curious, and not a precursor to a supervillain attack. He hasn't had to deal with one of those in a while, and it's been nice. Thoughh with the furry, scaley, and frosted people there he supposes fitting in is relative. He looks back to the DJ on the stage. When the man turns to reveal an assault rifle on his back, gold plated or not, it makes him tense up. Still no tingling. But he's keeping a much closer eye on the other spider. And....Russian? Hmmm. He's never heard of a Russian spider before. Maybe he should get in contact with Peter. He always seems to know about this sort of thing. Eyes sliding between the two armed people, he makes his way more to the side of the crowd, blending in as best he can manage.
Paris Bennet Bennet hears the girl inquiring with someone unseen about this reveler and his party goers and offers his own unbidden insight,"This arachnophile hedonist is not a mutant, though many of his peers are. He only has powers of a certain persuasion."

With that offered, the big Frenchman takes note of Mary's chosen weapon with an arching of his brow. He doesn't immediately call it out however, he's still curious about the scene underway and instead observes,"The ruckus of this community is very different. I suppose I was not dispatched to render judgement, unfortunately."

With that, he reaches into his pants pocket to produce a sheaf of what look to be business cards. He clears his throat, and steps over to begin laying them in sight of the crowd at various places. Under car windshield wipers, on top of boxes, etc.

They bear the flag of Genosha and the contact details of their local embassy.
Mary Jane Watson MJ's eyes shift over to Bennet when he speaks up within earshot, watching him as he speaks. She doesn't say anything to him directly. Instead, her gaze returns to the DJ after a moment.

"Noted," comes Mary Jane's dismissive response. Whatever she heard through the other end of her ear piece apparently wasn't enough to make her suddenly want to 'shift into action' or anything of the sort. After a brief pause, though, she did speak again.

"No, we're not going to go 'have a talk with him,'" the girl says conversationally, once more to no one. "Because we can help deal with car thieves when we're not saving the world. Or in class. Or performing." Another pause, then, and a soft sigh.

"No, sorry-- talking to Sonja. Listen, the guy's got an assault rifle, but he's harmless, at the moment," the girl says, idly walking over to pick up one of the business cards that was left behind and looking it over. Her eyes look back up to Bennet, her curiosity obviously piqued.
Miles Morales     r Well, there' some strange people there. But it seems harmless enough. Miles slips further away from the edge of the crowd,and begins to make his way past the gathering. Hopefully the rest of the city is just as peaceful.
Comrade Spinner      The DJ slaps his hands together over his head after downing the bottle of light beer in one single go chugging it down without a care in the world. He throws those arms out to either side before diving over his DJ booth doing the worm against the ground before swapping into a series of flips end over end that send him back over the DJ booth and almost into the trunk of his car.

     He squats on the edge of his cars trunk using his webbing to snatch one of those business cards sat about the place. He flips it over in his hand before laughing to himself. "I can't read American." Before pocketing the card almost falling over from his position. He reaches into his pocket grabbing out a few sunflower seeds and begins cracking them into his mouth dropping a pile of shells onto the ground.

     Several members of the crowd also pick up the business cards looking them over in their hands with a bit of interest. It seems that there might be at least a handful of mutants potentially interested in this little project that might not have heard of it before it.

     The drunken spinner laughs to himself as he leans back on the edge of his trunk half about falling into it before something suddenly snaps his attention causing him to avoid just barely falling off of his perch. He speaks something in Russian that's not too kind about how he almost fell before he front flips one end over the other before landing back behind the DJ booth.
Paris Bennet The big Frenchman carries on with his duties for a few minutes more, exercising discretion not to interfere with the revelry in progress as the cards are placed in plain view. Duty finished in due course however, he glides through the the crowd to return to where he had previously been standing.

There are enough prospects in this crowd to have been worth his time, regardless of whether any actually take interest. It's the gesture that counts, to his mind.

The antics of public drunkenness earn a shake of his head, but no comment. He idley reflects that at least that one isn't one of his...
Mary Jane Watson Mary Jane's eyes follow Bennet for another moment. There's a strong tug of desire to follow up on the questions in her eyes, but when she catches the proclamation of the web-spinner, she seems to dismiss it. At least for the moment. "Fine, you get your wish," she mutters to herself.

Keeping the card in her hand, she makes her way over to car in front of the DJ booth. It wasn't too far away, by this point, and there's a bemused tug of one corner of her lips as she goes all the way over to lean on the hood.

"It's contact info for the Genoshian Embassy," the girl explains to the apparently drunken DJ, holding up the card between two fingers. "I like your music. What's your name?"
Comrade Spinner      "Me? I'm." He pauses for a moment thinking as if he's forgotten his own name. "Pauk-Tovarische" He pauses for a moment longer as he jams out on his DJ booth still enjoying the music as he pops a few more sunflower seeds dropping the shells to the ground with little to no regard as to what happens to the shells once he's gotten the delicious seedy goodness from within. "but" He chuckles to himself. "Americans call me Comrade Spinner"

     He flexes his muscles after pulling down his mask back to cover over his stubble ridden face. "Hero of the working people, maker of delicious food, driver of fast car." His accent is so thick it almost makes him hard to understand as he speaks but he at least seems to have a decent grip on the English language as he scratches the records and talks at the same time.

     He flicks his hand to one side snagging another bag of sunflower seeds that rushes past the head of Bennet and into his grasp a seemingly vulgar display of power but one he's happy to do all the same. "And before you ask, no we aren't going anywhere" He stuffs the package of sunflower seeds back into his pocket. "No evacuation for us, we're happy to just set back and enjoy end of the world."
Paris Bennet Paris Bennet shrugs at the declaration, not budging in the slightest as the bag whooshes past. As if he knew he wasn't threatened.

Paris simply folds his arms at this, and rumbles a reply,"The choice is offered. Not yours to make for others... Champion of workers."

The title is spoken with a smirk...
Mary Jane Watson MJ raises her hands defensively for a moment after that last question, card still in them, a smile still on her lips. "I wasn't going to ask," she protests, still apparently content just to rest against the hood of the car, even as the web shoots out past Bennet and the seeds are snatched back. "You seem like you can take care of yourself."

MJ's green eyes shift back to Bennet when he speaks, her curiosity reinstated. "What's the choice being offered?" she asks curiously.

The redhead tucks the card into a pocket on her belt, however, before reaching down beside one hip and tapping gently on the hood. "Speaking of fast cars-- /this/ is a nice car. Is this the fast one you drive around?" There's a small tilt of her head that shifts her red mane over to one side.
Comrade Spinner      Spinner pulls out a cigarette from his tracksuit and stuffs it into the corner of his mouth deciding to keep the music going even while he talks. He's a man of many talents after all. He lights his cigarette with a simple plastic lighter and the smell of smoke rises up from the cheapest money can buy cigarette that's lodged in the corner of his mouth.

     "Good that you weren't because answer still is no." He takes a long drag on his cigarette before looking off towards the distance thinking to himself. "These people have homes here, I make sure they can stay in homes where they have community." He speaks confidently even if he's more than a bit tipsy. His words slurr one into the next in an almost musical way that makes them hard to understand.

     "This is GAZ-31013 fastest car soviet union was ever making." He motions behind himself towards the car. "I call it Blyatmobile, it slavic car number one make Lada look like crap by comparison." He pauses for a moment wobbling on the spot as he adds. "Though I still like Lada. How could anyone hate proper Lada with stripes?"
Paris Bennet Paris Bennet chuckles darkly at the man's response, shaking his head. If he had pupils one might see his eyes rolling. He glances to Mary at the question now that his business has been completed regardless of the Spider's opinion on the matter,"A chance to relocate to Genosha, formally extended by my Queen, Lady Dane the first. They have but to approach our embassy. We are building new cities and farms, plenty of room for new citizens."

His voice carries unconcealed pride in these facts. A sharp contrast with what follows,"It is an offer that one cannot refuse on behalf of another. Only they can choose to remain...mere workers."
Mary Jane Watson "What's the catch?" comes Mary Jane's reply, much more matter-of-fact curiosity than any amount of accusation. By and large, foreign policy and immigration weren't her specialty as much as say-- acting or, more recently, swordplay. However, it didn't take a super genius to be suspicious of random acts of generosity by Kings and Queens, even without the extra voice in her head.

The girl's attention is drawn back to Spinner with an equally curious, less-than-accusatorial question for him, too. "Is this the one you stole?" It's just thrown out there as if she were asking about an overdue library book.
Comrade Spinner      "Oh no that one I drove into river." Spinner offers either too drunk or too foolish to really see the harm in admitting to his crime. He makes a splashing sound with his mouth motioning with his hand. "Should have seen look on Ivan's face when I took it, he was screaming about Bravda kill me this, Bravda kill my family that." He chuckles to himself doing a lot of gesticulation. "Like to see him try when I have mask, and big gun." He motions to his own mask taking a long drag from his cigarette.

     "Ivan think he can get away with loan sharking in my neighborhood?" He pops another sunflower seed before adding with a bit of a toothy grin. "Cyka Blyat."

     He looks over towards Paris with a bit of a wobble. "Da, because everyone is jumping to be under a queen who come from Russia." He shakes his head. "Tyrants come tyrants go but Slav remain squating all of time."
Paris Bennet The big Frenchman rumbles a rueful chuckle at that last comment from Spinner, replying readily,"Then your fellow slav should try standing if squatting is so troublesome."

Back to Mary, Paris glances as if keenly aware of the difficulty of telling where he is looking. He arches a brow as if considering how to answer that. After a couple moments, it does come however,"We are a nation of mutants carrying the stigma of a recent attempted genocide against our people. We do not pretend it won't be tried again. Our Queen is young, our King is old and rightly feared as the man known as Magneto. I would have you know that I am Sir Bennet, the sworn knight of our Queen. Some know me as Exodus."

With that he peers back at Spinner, apparently having little else to say at the moment.
Mary Jane Watson Mary Jane raises an eyebrow at Spinner's story, but she purses her lips and nods. "Two sides to every story, I guess," she comments softly, not looking at all like she intended to do anything about it, at the moment.

"Mary Jane Watson, Agent of SHIELD," the girl returns the introduction with a small smile as she stands from the car, offering a small bow of her head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Bennet. I wish I could ask you more, but I'm needed elsewhere."

Green eyes shift back to Spinner, and she smiles. "I'll see you around, Comrade Spinner."