2012-11-21 Learn to Fly

The sun shines brightly in New York today, but inside the D&P Warehouse, those rays parse through thin windows with harsh lines of bright yellow against the dimly lot interior. It's quiet inside the space, save for the sound of a man throwing himself at a large punching bag hung off to one corner of the warehouse.
Kwabena is positioned at the offensive, assaulting the bag with well thrown punches and jabs that cause the bag to sway back and forth in response. What's most striking, however, is the costume worn by the Ghanaian. From a distance, it has the appearance of gunmetal gray spandex, or perhaps latex, and seems to cover all but his hands and head. A set of matching gloves sit off to the side, and a hood is attached at the neck, hanging down against his chest and flopping about as he duels with his lifeless opponent.
In most situations, Domino would have aimed a gun first and asked questions later. But, it's the punching bag. Aaaalways with the punching bag. If she isn't busy trading physical blows with you then you were right back at that bag. While you're going to town on an inanimate object, she quietly walks up behind you and takes her time in admiring the slightly different view. "Decided to show off how much you've been working out, huh." From where she's standing, the view ain't all that bad...
"You content to pound on that bag until you tear another one off of its mounting, or do you want to dial things up a notch and try something fresh?" Who's the mercenary with a plan? That'd be this gal, right here.
Breaking his routine, Kwabena deftly backs away from the punching bag, and steps to the side so that he is at least partially facing you. A smirk crawls across his face and he motions toward himself with a bandage-wrapped hand. "You think this is just for show?" he asks, then clicks his teeth.
Stepping forward, Kwabena catches the bag with his hand to stop its swing, then steps away and begins unwrapping his hands. "Before you get any funny ideas, we ought to test this out." He smacks his chest twice, though the sound is slightly muted by the strange fabric covering him. "Got this on the black market. Unstable molecules. Apparently, it will accomplish my goals, but I haven't tested it yet."
Blackened arms fold together in front of the albino, returning your smirk with one of her own. An almost preadatorial gleam accompanies her gaze, along with something ..else. "Not -just- for show." It sure does a good job of it, though!
"-Funny- ideas? I don't get funny ideas. I'm one hundred percent serious, all the time." Dom's expression even supports the claim, though anyone that's spent some quality time with her knows it's complete BS. "Not sure that I'd want a bunch of 'unstable molecules' right up against my skin, but hey. So does this mean you want to go straight to the live fire training? Because that can be arranged."
How the idea of shooting you at close range is any more or less 'funny' than what she already has in mind is beyond her, but whatever.
That grin becomes almost feral in nature, and he takes a step closer to poke at you in the shoulder. "Bull shit," is his answer to your line about being oh so serious.
Kwabena takes a step away, snatching the gloves from where they lie and stretching them over fingers while he speaks. "I'm not too fond of the idea either. But if it works, it works. I'd rather find out here than at Doom's Palace of Debauchery." The gloves themselves make a little stretching sound as they seem to connect with the fabric against his arms, which draws a little frown. "Thats weird."
Turning back to face the albino, that grin comes back to his face. "Live fire training? You've got a sadistic mind. I think I might like it." He gestures then toward the enclosed ballistics room with a half cocked eyebrow. "After you?"
"If you're still not sure whether you like it or not, you aren't giving it as much thought as you should be." Because she just loves giving you a hard time. Domino sidetracks long enough to wander back to the trunk of her Audi, rummaging around in the back as she so often does. What she winds up retrieving is a small black case made of hard plastic, bringing it along to the proper training section of the warehouse. Betsy would never forgive her for putting extra holes in the walls here, especially when there's an area set aside just for this sort of thing!
The case gets set on top of a small table set in the area, her thumbs snapping the latches open. "Credit to you, I didn't expect you to be this anxious to try this part out." Out comes an FNP-45, complete with raised aftermarket sights and a threaded barrel for the suppressor which is next to be revealed. There's something downright clinical about how she threads the can onto the end of the barrel. A pre-loaded mag gets slapped into the grip and the slide gets racked with all manner of proficiency as she inclines her head toward one of the ballistic-backed walls. "Alright, Mister Odame. If you'd just take position in front of that wall, we may proceed."
All serious. All the time. Hah, she can't even fool herself. This is gonna be cool.
"Touche," answers Kwabena. He flexes his fingers inside the suit, frowning at it for a moment. "Unstable molecules," he murmurs. "This could be incredibly -stupid- of me."
He follows you with his eyes, watching that black case with suspicion, for he could only guess at what dastardly weapon you're about to produce from inside of that case, and even if he did, the odds of him guessing properly? Well, that's not his forte. Bootsteps carry him into the enclosed facility, and he walks over toward the area indicated. "I've been shot by lots of guns and lots of people. The result is always the same. If this little gimp suit is going to change that, I'd like to know here, rather than -anywhere- out there."
Finally, he turns to face you and your FNP-45, lips drawn into something between a grin, a scowl, and a worried expression. "You're going to like this far too much, I can already tell." Lifting his arms out to the side, he presents himself as a stable target. "Let's just get this over with."
"Yeah, unstable. I wonder if that might react with your disappearing act." But, that's why we run little tests like these! For science, and all that. "If this is as far as stupid decisions go for you, I'd say you're coming out ahead."
There exists a moment of time where eye contact is made and held, Domino grinning ever so slightly as she sizes you up with a loaded weapon in her hands. It's then that the admission is made, "Maybe just a little."
No warning is given. She tries to distract you with her stare, tries to keep you from focusing on what she's planning on doing. Even though you can see it coming, it's still possible to not be as prepared for the moment as one thinks they are. Her arms are nothing but a momentary blur of motion as the pistol is raised, centered square onto your chest, and fired with a momentary *Thoop!* The action of the slide and the brass singing against the floor are louder than the report, her aim holding firm.
And her finger already off of the trigger, as though safety is of much concern at this point.
There's not another word exchanged between the two, though eye contact is made. Within that contact, Kwabena sheds no distaste or hatred, but rather, an encouraging trust paired with a simple nod of his head. And then, the point of turning back is past, with the echoing *thoop* of your discharged weapon. The bullet screams through the air in silent death, and collides with the ballistic-resistant wall behind Kwabena with a muted thud.
Eyes darting down, Kwabena watches as the smoking hole in his body seals back up. The fabric covering his chest reveals a momentary hole, surrounded by dirty black smoke, but it forms back up into gunmetal gray in the same fashion as his flesh is used to doing. The Ghanaian reaches over with one hand and touches the place where he was struck, only to momentarily wince.
"Well, I -felt- it that time, sort of," he offers. "It was like... like a brief sting. Like being pierced with a needle. But it didn't last." He turns around to look at the hole in the wall behind him, where the bullet has been captured and wedged into the thickly woven material. "For the record, that's the only free shot I'll ever give you."
Domino would have had more trouble doing this if not for witnessing this trick of yours first-hand. Or for the fact that she already shot through you twice before, with fantastic effect. She knows you can handle yourself, and the end results prove as much.
"Trippy, self-repairing duds. Should find me some of that, help keep the red stuff on the inside."
Where, or -how,- you managed to acquire that suit she isn't going to press too many questions about. It seems to do the trick, so you can continue to do -your- trick without the fear of spontaneous nudity becoming an issue.
"You notice it more with it on?" she inquires, somewhat curious by the idea. "Oh, and for the record--"
*Thoop-thoop!*
"--I don't need you to give me them."
Three for three!
"From what I understand," answers Kwabena, "that's not how it works. Sorry, but you don't get to borrow the Shift Suit for one of your escapades." He starts to close the distance between, while reaching up to pull the mask up and over his head, giving you the full effect of his identity-concealing duds. "I do," he answers. "Maybe something to do with the chemical rea-"
And then, two more bullets whiz through him.
With a slight snarl of pain registration, he looks down at his torso, where the suit is sealing itself back up again. That snarl turns into a scowl as he lifts his head back to you, and follows it through with his right hand lifted into the air, middle finger extended.
"You done having fun yet, trigger-fingers?"
An amused grin slowly spreads across Domino's face, her head canting slightly behind those pistol sights. "I could clip your nail from this range, kiddo." Not that she tries to back up that claim, with the other idea she has in mind left to attempt? She has to draw the line somewhere as to how much of a pain to be to her teammates.
With those same practiced motions she ejects the mag into her palm and snaps the slide, catching the single live round out of the air. "Any time you feel like doing more of this kind of training..." she offers, unable to keep the tone of enjoyment out of her words. The various parts get tucked back into the carrying case as she says "Let's take a little hike." She thinks it's time to step things up a bit further.
It's time to lead you out onto the roof.
"Next time I need a manicure, you'll be the -first- I call," quips Kwabena. He walks over and out of the ballistics training room, opening the door that keeps the sound of gunshots safely muffled from the rest of the neighborhood. "You've never had -this- much fun on a date, have you?" he jests. "Live target training takes on a whole new meaning."
As he follows you out, Kwabena lets you take the lead. "Unstable molecules are new science," he explains. "What I found in my research was that some of them have the ability of mimicking the matter state of any object they come into contact with. One of my contacts got me into touch with a Swiss chemist who's been experimenting with them. Apparently, the ones he's woven into this costume will mimic the matter changes in my own chemistry. Solids, liquids, and gasses. It's 'Eighth Grade Science', as you Americans like to say."
He slows slightly, upon realizing where exactly it is you are headed. Looking up the metal stairs that lead past the catwalk and toward the roof, Kwabena begins to frown. "Now wait just a moment."
A sly glance is passed your way, Dom's smirk yet intact. "Why Mister Odame, are you suggesting that we're dating now?" If there's any truth to your statement she doesn't say one way or the other. We aren't talking about her personal life right now. Maybe not ever. Because she's a mystery like that.
"Unstable molecules for an unstable mutant, huh," she jokes. "Interesting stuff, though I've never heard that expression before. If it works, that's all that matters. Plus, having a working 'prototype' can't hurt when we deal with Stark."
Well, it -almost- works... When you hesitate she stops short and breathes a tiny sigh, turning back to look over a shoulder at you. "C'mon, Kwa, don't be getting cold feet on me -now-... You're the resident Unbreakable! I'd point a gun at your head but we both know that ain't gonna work."
"Oh, am I mistaken?" replies Kwabena with mock surprise peppering his voice. "I thought -all- mercenaries considered explosions, car chases and drinking-while-planning-heists as fantastic 'date' opportunities." He fixes you with a most charming grin. Well, not exactly charming, but more like that of a scoundrel who just may not have the most honorable of intentions in mind. "Call me unstable again, baby," he jests.
Peering back up at the rooftop access, he shakes his head. "It's not that," he admits, growing suddenly more serious. "Every time I've been shot before, it's been painless. I've fallen from buildings -much- higher than this one... again, painless. But I don't know what this suit is going to do, or how it's going to feel." He glances toward you again, cocking an eyebrow. "Now, all things considered, you can't blame me for being a bit nervous."
With a sigh, and a begrudging lift of his boot-clad feet, he begins tromping up the stairway again. "Come live or die, only one way to find out." Grasping the heavy locking mechanism, he twists it to the left, and pushes open the trap door separating the warehouse from the roof.
The warehouse was not the tallest of its surrounding buildings, but it rose a good four to five stories above the dirty streets below. Kwabena spares a quick glance around, before choosing the back edge of the roof, which faces an alley long since blocked off by the city in order to keep the junkies and homeless closer to the streets, where they might be less likely to perform despicable acts against or with each other. He comes up to the edge, peering over with doubt and hesitation.
"Either that or foreplay," Domino admits. Clearly, something about your company puts her in a good mood as it still shows.
Nervous... "I just put three forty-five slugs clean through your chest, kiddo. By all counts, we shouldn't still be talking. Your new duds took to it just fine, didn't they? What's the worst that could happen, the unstable molecules decide they'd rather go critical and detonate upon impact? You'll be ground fog by that point, anyway. Be nervous if you'd like, but don't let it stop you from making progress. Remember, we've got much more dangerous game to hunt in very short order. And..I forget, isn't his island fortress also -flying?-" she inquires with a meaningful look.
Dom follows you to the roof and right on over to the edge, likewise peering over it as the unchecked wind throws her shorter hair into even further distress. Then, turning back to you, she goes back to looking serious about the matter. "If anything bad happens, we'll get you taken care of. We're a 'thing' now, remember?" Smile. "A team--that is, not..." Move along, Domino. "You can handle this. Oh, and one more thing?"
"Don't forget to be afraid."
It's all the warning you get before she boldly grabs you by the shoulders and tries to throw you clear off of the roof.
"I end more friendships that way," she mutters with a light sigh.
Again, it's a good thing that Kwabena's dark skin prevents apparent blushing. Plus, his eyes are concealed by the mask, making his reaction to your mention of foreplay that much more difficult to discern. There's only the telltale upturn of his lips into a very subtle smirk that might give any hint that he approves of your response.
"Believe me," he says, "Doom's flying fortress has been foremost on my mind. Like I said, I'd rather find out how this is going to go -here-, rather than there."
Then, there's that moment where you mention a thing, and even stumble over the wording a bit. He cants his masked face your way, a grin finding its way back in place of the somber expression he'd carried when you did your due diligence to encourage him. It's just the distraction necessary to keep him from instinctively struggling when you grab him and make to throw him off the roof. Caught by surprise, he gasps, but the cry of terror that should come to any normal person is caught cold in his throat. This wasn't his first rodeo, after all. Teeth show as his lips peel back in a grimace when he's tossed over, and the ground begins rushing toward him. Preparing for the relatively unknown, he spreads his arms and legs out and positions himself for a face-down landing, rather than the bone-crunching debacle of landing leg-first in the alleyway below.
A blink before he strikes the pavement below, his body reacts, the mutation taking hold. Flesh, bone, and blood poofs into a man-shaped cloud of smoke, but normally, where his clothes would be left behind in a heap, the technologically advanced suit covering him does the same. There's a brief displacement of air, as wayward cigarette butts and long-since-discarded trash gets blown away from the impact. The man-shaped cloud of smoke lingers for a moment or two, collecting itself into a sphere, then reforming in the shape of a man lain up against the side of the building. A second or two later, smoke solidifies again, leaving a surprisingly intact Kwabena, still fully clothed.
His reaction, however, comes a beat late. After drawing in a sharp breath of air, Kwabena lets out a pained groan, and presses himself back against the wall with a growl.
All one can do from up high upon the roof is watch and wait, possibly with breath held, for the results of this little experiment. The turning into smoke bit is a promising start, everything so eerily quiet as nothing but the wind keeps Domino company.
Perhaps she should have grabbed her trench before coming up here, both against the chill and to cover the fact that she's openly covered in weapons and it's daytime out. Whoopsie.
When you resolidify down below, Dom calls out and claps a few times for good measure. "Knew you had it in ya!" Then she pauses, noting your discomfort. That's new, isn't it? "Um. You'll understand if I don't rush down there to see if you're alright."
Sometimes, luck doesn't like to be openly provoked.
"Right, okay. New plan! Come back inside, you can tell me how much of a bitch I am over a drink." She finishes with an impish, toothy grin and two half-gloved thumbs up before she ducks back behind the edge and hurries back to the stairs.
"I'm okay!" calls Kwabena, though his voice seems a bit strained. "Mostly." He shoots her two gloved thumbs ups, then drags himself to his feet and makes his way toward the secret service entrance near the back, to which he has they key code memorized.
Once inside, he reaches up and pulls the mask free from his face. Oddly enough, a bit of whitish-gray smoke seems to be coming from the inside of the mask, as if something inside of it had been burning. The African notices this with a frown, though he doesn't say anything about it until you're back in sight. "Well, if that's your idea of foreplay, you must scare away all of your prospects." He reaches up with a gloved hand to touch his bald head, frowning. "Where's that drink?"
Back inside, going for the liquor is one of the first things on Domino's to-do list. "You might notice that I'm single," she casually replies while twisting the cap off of her usual brand of vodka. This time she offers it to you first, her own little way of showing that she cares. "Not that there's any shortage of one-night stands in this day and age." She ..might not be joking there.
"So what's next. Empire State? Skydiving? Maybe some base-jumping off of a bridge in the Appalachians? Seems like the sky's the limit with you, Shift." Her next thoughts go unvoiced, someone with your abilities could be quite handy on the road ahead.
Well, to that, Kwabena can certainly raise the proverbial glass. He accepts the vodka, lifting it in a mock salute, before taking a hearty swig. "I salute the man who tries to bed you -without- some kind of mutation to back up his arse when he steps the wrong way."
Handing the bottle back, he shakes his head slightly. "I don't think that's necessary. I've already taken a dive off buildings much higher than this. It's the same, every time. Does not matter how far I fall. It seems the only thing that does real damage to me are energy weapons, like those plasma rifles we've been dealing with." He shakes his head slightly, frowning. "Something was different this time, though. It's usually painless. Not this time. It felt... a bit like burning." He tilts his head forward slightly. "You see any burn marks up there?'
Of course, there are none to be seen, but that doesn't necessarily count out the possibility.
There's a halfway thoughtful nod from Dom's end, "I'll take that as a compliment." Not that she's exactly in the habit of breaking her evening flings, but hey. If someone sees you as being tough, don't argue the point!
"Some sort of chemical reaction?" Dom suggests with a slight shrug. "I think the common thing to do when experiencing a burning sensation is to have a doctor check it out. I can give you a ride, if you need." Jab, jab. "Also, I do still have a plasma rifle if you ever want to test -that- out, though I think we'll need to find a better testing area. Might melt a hole in the shielding around here."
With the bottle back in her hand, she claims a drink for herself. "Well, here's to present successes. With any luck Bets is doing as well for herself."
A dismissive gesture is presented when she offers to drive him to a doctor. "I avoid hospitals," explains Shift. "Too much trouble when you technically don't exist." He turns then to lean up against a support pillar, crossing his legs a bit and folding his arms against his chest. It's a bit difficult to look casual wearing a skin suit like this one; there are no pockets in which to stuff something.
Jab, jab.
"Haven't heard from her," he replies. "Though she's probably meditating. Getting ready for the job. Hopefully that includes finding some extra muscle, or rounding up some gear. She's the money, after all." He cants his head off to the side, casually observing the warehouse. It's mostly empty... which means there is plenty of room for expansion, assuming they plan to stay there long. "I am wondering now how far this goes. How many trails are involved." He looks back at you, frowning. "This Doom person owns an entire city? Who knows how many organizations might be involved, or where they lie."
Domino makes a sound that lies somewhere between agreement via first-hand experiences and disgust, "Don't need to tell me that story." She hasn't bothered to count how many times she's been the resident Jane Doe at emergency rooms across the globe. Work hard, play hard, leave a crater in your wake.
"Ugly bit of business, what we're getting ourselves into," she admits with another pull from the bottle. She lets the familiar old burn assault her mouth for a moment, only wearing the slightest of grimaces while letting herself get lost in thought once more. "One thing that I've learned to do early on? Every time I set foot out the door I accept the possibility that I won't be coming back through it ever again. We're about to have our hands quite full with this Latveria job. Way I see it, we still have ourselves a little bit of time before kicking things off. Time like that should be put to good use, following up on loose ends and all. So, here's the deal."
Domino passes the bottle back to you before laying out a verbal grid of tasks. "If all goes well, we need to hit up Stark for some assistance. We need to get some hardcore training in with you. And, if there's time for it, I might have a little something extra you could lend a hand with. Feel up to getting dirt on your hands? It's not easy work, but it pays."
Shift presents a grunt of agreement when you mention ugly business. He takes the bottle back with ease, but waits until you finish speaking. There's a thoughtful expression on his face that lingers for a moment, letting silence hang in the air until he takes a pull from the bottle. His lips rear back as the burn takes to him, letting it linger for a moment before he answers.
"No luck on tracking down Potts, but I haven't given up on that. I suppose it makes some sense, if she works for Stark, she's probably got the same security he has. As far as training, I'm all yours. There's got to be a better use for me then playing the 'hey, shoot at this decoy' role." He offers the bottle back to you, then considers the last offer carefully.
"Well, I don't see myself getting a regular job any time soon, and my stacks of cash are going to run out eventually." He cants his head your way, before letting a grin form. "What is it they say, the best experience is field experience?"
This isn't normally the sort of thing that Domino would consider offering. Her work is her business, not that of any other soul. Involving more people only adds to the list of liabilities. Dragging allies into it might end up revealing more about herself, leading to questions, undesired explanations, could be the whole works. Luck cuts both ways, it might save her rear more often than not but sometimes it likes to jab her in the ribs and cast a defiant grin right into her face. While she can't say that all of these matters are accounted for, there is one significant item upon that liability list which she feels safe in crossing out.
You aren't going to die on her if you get shot.
You've proven yourself to her in some areas. You aren't afraid to handle a gun or explosives. You're surprisingly confident behind the wheel. And, again, -you don't die.- It's hard to go wrong with that combination, especially in her line of work.
"Keep trying with Potts, we'll find a break there sooner or later." If anyone's left alive to follow through on it after the next week or three. "In addition, if you want to take part in this run then you'll need to gather enough supplies to see you through a max of five days. Expect to be on the move as often as possible on little to no sleep, I'm barely going to slow down long enough to take a piss. It's going to demand your focus, it's going to be hell on you physically and mentally. Just keep one thing in mind, above all else."
"It's going to suck for us. It's going to be a lot worse for everyone else."
While he's not quick to share the details of his history too quickly, there comes a time when a bit of explanation is in order. "I spent three weeks surviving in the jungles of Ghana when I was sixteen years old. I had my clothes, nothing more. Supplies are cheating." A most serious expression had come across his face while explaining that, but it's broken by a half grin. "And I have no problem with cheating."
Standing up and away from the pole, he gestures toward the warehouse proper. "Let's not waste any more time then, Dom. I believe you mentioned intense training?"
He cracks his gloved knuckles, then lets the trained mercenary take the lead.
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