2012-10-23 What Happens in Hell's Kitchen p2

(Continued from part one due to a tone change from comedic.)
Standing outside a bar, whose street-facing wall is not very unwall-like oweing to the fact that it is now more hole than wall - which one could suppose as giving a literal meaning to the fact that this place is a 'hole in the wall' kind of bar - is a very motley crew. Let's count them, because counting is what mathletes do, and since our resident mathlete Rain has gotten occupied with Owl Mail, she should do in her honor - or something.
There's Mend. In her costume and mask, she's clearly a super hero of some sort. She's just addressed the other woman...
Domino. The mercenary herself, with a black diamond thing over one eye. She's holding her hand out to...
Thor. Tall, blonde, brick wall who just finished putting the hole in said wall. He clasps the offered hand in his, hand near Domino's elbow, how very old school warrior of him.
"Nay, I would certainly have at least noticed if the building had indeed fallen upon my back," he starts to say, stormy blue eyes drifting toward the building as if sizing it up. Can't you almost hear him say: not that particular building, maybe...
"Verily? Then this is good. I am glad that my lack of attention hath not caused thee any significant harm," Thor replies to Domino, letting her decide when the hand shake is done. He's nice like that.
"Why do you think I won't fight him?" Mend grins at Domino. "Plus, he's one of the good guys. Mostly." Domino she's not so sure of, but given the woman has stopped fighting and isn't seeming to be about to try anything else, the Titan's letting it pass. For now.
With his head freshly shaven and the corn rows gone, Kwabena Odame has adopted a look and attire that is more fitting to what his needs are, and that is to blend in. He might easily be mistaken as any normal New Yorker, given a black leather jacket and clothing that is just trendy enough without making too much of a statement.
As he trolls the streets of Hell's Kitchen, his attention is half split between the cell phone, which he'd only purchased hours ago from one of the pop-up cell phone shops in the city, and his surroundings. Over all, he seems rather well relaxed.
But he's not.
When a text message pops up on his phone, he stops to check it. Suddenly driven by something almost animalistic in nature, he goes running down the street at top speed, leather jacket billowing in the wind behind him, until he skids around a corner where aforementioned 'hole in the wall' bar is located.
He studies the motley crew for a moment, but his blood runs cold when he spots Domino. Hissing, he backs against a nearby wall, eyes darting all about, as if he were looking for trouble. His hand slips into his jacket for a moment, before the other lifts his cell phone and begins texting a response.
That's right. Domino helped stop some of the fighting..! It's fortunate that this seems to be the general idea! Thor probably had it coming, anyway. Dom's grasp of the Asgardian's arm is firm, though considering that she can only catch a portion of it compared to how his hand completely engulfs her forearm (including the hidden knives strapped about that part of the limb,) it's not nearly as impressive a thing. "I still don't know what to make of you people, but if you're half as good of a drinker as Sif was then you're fine by me. Maybe next time we can do it without the brawl," she teases before releasing her hold of his limb. Mend's comment about him being mostly one of the good guys ears her a curious look. Thor didn't strike her as being morally flexible, it's interesting food for thought. "A sweet talker and a heavy hitter. Definitely not from around here." What's happening nearby with a running individual escapes her notice. Thor's a big person to look around.
Thor's grinning to the teasing, finding it semi-ticklish to his sense of humor. About to reply to Domino, Thor's irises suddenlly shift to a deep ocean blue, the kind of blue seen at the edge of a fierce thunder storm. His head snaps to the west. Stepping away as Domino lets go of his arm, the Thunderer murmurs a single phrase as he unclips Mjolnir from his belt and lifts from the cement with nearly unequalled grace.
"Midgard doth Call; I must fly to Her Aide."
And with that, the Lord of Storms and sometimes concealment for men running with a mission, summons a tornado-like vortex above him, and flings himself into the sky and toward the source of whatever trouble could so quickly catch a god's attention.
"...he does that." Mend figures if Thor needed help, he'd have invited people along. As he didn't, the slender young heroine glances at the bar, then at Domino. "So, who started the bar fight anyway? Or did it just seem like a good idea?" Mask or no mask, she seems to understand a bit of how these things work.
After furiously texting multiple responses to someone on the other end of his cell phone conversation, Kwabena scowls and puts the phone away. "Junkies," he mutters under his breath, before taking another good look around the area. He sees no conspicuous vehicles, such as those that might have been following him courtesy of Slee and his drug cartel. Feeling confident that he's shaken his tail, he moves away from the wall and begins walking toward those gathered outside the bar, though making every effort to stay as close to the building-edge of the sidewalk as possible.
... and then Thor disappears in a tornado. Kwabena stops short, blinking. "What... the... actual..." he mutters.
"Gah--!" Domino jumps back as Thor suddenly leaps upward in a whirlwind of hammer-spun ..somethingorother. "Showoff," she mutters with a frown up into the sky. Good thing her hair's easy to straighten out, fingertips running through the shorter, spikey black mass. It doesn't really do a whole lot, it just naturally looks this side of messy. To Mend's question she takes on a blank expression, "Couldn't tell you. Drinking led to shouting, shouting led to insults, someone swings first... Bars have a life all of their own." Pause. "I didn't start it." This time. As for that guy creeping along the buildings, she's still none the wiser. She's got other things taking up her attention.
Mend hasn't noticed him either. She shrugs a bit. "I'm told that happens. I don't have any direct experience yet." And sadly, her powers don't keep her from getting drunk. Or, perhaps, that's a good thing. The young 'mask' shakes her head again, glancing towards the wrecked bar.
After staring up at the sky for a few incredulous moments, Kwabena shakes his head and spares one last look around himself before shifting himself onto the sidewalk proper, making his approach not so unexpected. He walks right past Domino, sparing only a momentary glance toward Mend. Only when he's a few paces away does he come to a rest, and leans up against a part of the outside wall that is still intact. Out comes a cigarette, which he lights before turning and looking toward Domino with a subtle nod of his head... but it's a nod backward, as if suggesting she should join him, rather than a forward-tilted nod of greeting.
Domino nods back to Mend, "It's ..oh, what's the word for it, organic?" She quickly shakes her head, "Whatever. There's not much that can be done about it, it just happens." It's also a heck of a lot of fun when it does, too! "In fact, leaving the area might not be a bad idea before the Blues decide to make an appearance."
Or someone else... The person that walks past the two is someone that she recognizes, a suspicion which is confirmed a moment later when he's motioning her over. She looks thrilled, truly. Like something bad's about to go down, or already has gone down. There's a tiny sigh as the merc says "Excuse me, business calls." Time to go see what this weird-eyed guy with the cigarette wants tonight. "Looking for me?"
Okay. Mend isn't welcome here, and she can sort of feel that. She moves back to her fire escape, vanishing up to the rooftops. Likely, though, she doesn't gone that far. Besides, she doesn't want the cops to think she was part of this and tell Nightwing. She wasn't. She just saw Thor get tossed out. Or whatever, exactly, happened.
Indeed, the sound of police sirens can faintly be heard in the distance, but they have at least some time before the police arrive. When Domino approaches, Kwabena looks her up and down, noting the distinct difference in attire. But no, there's no time for that. He takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke up into the air and well out of the way. "That's right," he answers with the heavily accented dialect that is his. "Listen, Jessica." He shakes his head. "It's a long story, but you're in trouble."
He glances about with his eyes... the sound of police sirens grows louder, but that is good news. If the police are getting close, that can only mean that Slee's coked out goons would be even farther. A stroke of luck, it would seem. Taking advantage of the noise coming from a passing bus, he leans closer to whisper to her. "The drug lord you knocked off is looking for you, and he is not happy." As the bus passes and the secret is shared, he leans away and looks directly at her. "Is there somewhere safe we can go?"
Odd, how he included himself in that. He speaks as if there is much more he wants to say, but... not out here, not in public.
Domino, 'Jessica' to this guy, gives Kwabena a blank stare at first. The stare forms a sneer, then a chuckle. "Jomas, was it? I appreciate the heads up, but I'm always in trouble." The more surprising element here is that he's the one that came up to tell her all of this..! What the heck is Kwaena/Jomas getting himself into, here? She may look amused, but now she's studying the heck out of him.
Sirens might help keep any potential trouble at bay, but they also become a problem for her. As they get nearer, her reminder to start moving becomes louder. As soon as Kwabena leans in and tells her a little more of the story there's a subtle tensing within her coat-draped shoulders. Where she was seeming friendly before, now that air is turning cold.
"Yeah... This way," Dom tells the guy. She'll lead the way, but she won't turn her back to this guy. Right now, she'd feel a lot more comfortable with a weapon in her hand. Her black Jaguar is parked nearby, that's where she directs him. "Let's go for a little drive."
"Jomas, right," answers Kwabena. While he may fully intend on being honest with her, now is not the time. Soon, perhaps very soon, but not now. As he makes to follow her he adds, "I will explain everything shortly." He takes another drag of the cigarette, then pitches it into the street when they come upon her black Jaguar. His eyebrows shoot up into the air; in spite of the trouble he's gotten her into, he can always appreciate a fine ride. "This yours?" he asks. "Nice."
"It gets me around," Dom says in a dismissing tone while unlocking the car. She climbs in and waits for Kwabena to follow, waits for his door to close, before she locks them in with one hand and flicks out a large, compensated pistol in the other, holding it square at his head. Thank you, tinted windows. "Standard format. Who are you, why are you getting into my business, and why did you come looking for me? I don't like being played around with, Jomas. Now's the time for you to come clean." If he's done his homework, which it sounds like he has, then he'd know that she's a gun for hire. She's also cautious, borderline paranoid at times. It's kept her alive thus far, so she sticks with it.
The funny thing is, having a pistol pointed right at his head doesn't frighten him at all. It wasn't the first time he'd been shot at point blank range, and it wouldn't be his last. He looks sideways at her, and actually has the audacity to grin. "Do you want the short version or the long version?" he asks, but it's mostly rhetorical. He looks back forward while reaching slowly and cautiously with his right hand to pull the seatbelt around and fasten it. No need being shot just to prove a point, besides, she probably likes her windows being intact.
"My real name is Kwabena Odame," he begins. "Jomas Ahnbar is one of many identities I have fashioned for myself. Up until a week ago, I suppose you could have called me worthless. A street thug, living off the grid, stealing for food, and so forth. Kind of a sad story, really. But all of that has changed." 
He looks toward her again as she drives, seeming to act as if the gun were not even there. "Do yourself a favor, Jessica, and put away the weapon. I am a mutant, and if you discharge that weapon, you will find very quickly that it has no affect on me. I'd hate for you to ruin your window."
"Windows can be replaced," she curtly responds. However, getting a clear look into your eyes, she does end up relenting. The sidearm gets lowered, rolling partway around her index finger until she can spin it around and holster it again. "Figured you were. Mutant. That night at Otto's told me a lot about you. Don't worry, you hide it well. Up until you start stabbing tables. And I'm not taking in strays."
Now then, since we're all being open and honest with one another..! "Just call me Domino. You've probably heard the name already. Next question: Why are you getting into my business, Kwabena?" Putting some distance between herself and the cops helps her mood somewhat, though with you sitting beside her it isn't much of an overall improvement. "If you're looking to train for being a merc, you're probably better off sticking with stealing your lunch."
For a brief moment, Kwabena darts his eyes toward Domino, insulted. "I don't need to be taken in," he spits back. It's a short lived insult, for his point was made. He looks back forward and answers her other questions.
"Let me tell you something about myself, then, Domino. I have never been one to plan ahead. I can see that this now has to change. I have spent my life trying to hide the effects of my X-Gene, but it would appear that has all caught up with me. Now that Erik Lehnsherr has found me."
He pauses, turning his head to look out the passenger side window as she drives. There is a momentary silence as he pieces together everything that has happened in the past two days. "I don't know how or why, but he tracked me down. He found me. And he started..." He lifts his left hand and makes the figure of a drill, pretending that it is boring into his temple. "...tempting me. Trying to tell me that I should become powerful." He shakes his head. "Which I can assure you is the least of my concerns right now."
He looks back over in her direction, letting down some of his guard. A sort of empathy enters his tone. "Believe me, I didn't want to drag you into any of this. But, by sheer happenstance it would be, I ran into another mutant. A woman calling herself Ororo Monroe." He pauses to see if the name registers recognition. "She warned me about Mister Lehnsherr. She... she didn't say much, but she advised me to be wary of him. I felt it would be prudent to pass that information along to you." He turns away then, frowning. "Unfortunately, the only way I could find you was to work some of my contacts in the criminal underground. I don't know if you have bad luck, but... turns out we have mutual friends in Michael Slean, otherwise known as 'Slee'. He's the drug lord who owns the warehouse you knocked off. When he found out I was trying to find 'a woman with a black tattoo over her left eye'... well, he wasn't too happy that we are acquainted." He looks back her direction and offers what sounds like a heartfelt apology. "I'm sorry, Domino. But he's going to kill me if I don't turn you in... but I have no intention of turning you in. There is an opportunity here. An opportunity to bring him to his knees, and let him realize that people like us are not, as he would put it, his 'bitches'." He studies her, looking for clues to her reaction to such a proposal.
Hey, Dom doesn't know what angle you're trying to work yet! She's had people try to get easy training off of her before. "Yeah, good ol' Erik and his sweet, innocent words of mutant supremacy and complete liberation. The guy's half off his rocker, total nutcase. I don't trust him." But she might still be able to get some money out of him. "He's good at what he does. You saw the mob that followed after him. Guy's gonna start the next big religion or some shit, then it's all going to go sideways."
The name Ororo doesn't gather any recognition to the monochromed woman, focusing more on the drive and on listening than speaking. There's a fair amount of information to digest, and man. It's interesting stuff. Suddenly she's starting to feel like the center of the universe, which is a very bad thing. It's momentarily broken by the part about her having bad luck, leading into a faint chuckle. "Luck's a fickle creature. It cuts both ways, without remorse."
The apology... The admission. In a flash Dom's wondering if she needs to be going for a weapon again, up until you say that it's not the direction which you're planning to take. "Are you trying to say that you want to start a war against a druglord, kid?" Admittedly, that last job of hers could have gone a teensy bit better... Lot of loose ends on that one. Turning back to stare directly at you, she asks "Do you have even a small amount of an idea of what you're about to get yourself into?"
"Erik Lehnsherr is going to keep tracking and following me until he gets what he wants," observes Kwabena. However, he does not speculate on whether he trusts Lehnsherr or not. He merely made that point; Domino can be free to take from it what she wants. He does smirk at your remark about luck, but doesn't otherwise respond. An agreement, as it were, a silent one.
He turns to look at you and raises his eyebrows again. "More than you may think," he answers. "Oh, believe me, Domino, this isn't my first run around with organized crime. Would you prefer we duke it out here and now? Nothing you can do will kill me, so let's not waste time trying to find out why. That road is a dead one." He shakes his head and says, "I'm not going to start a war with a drug lord. I'm going to win one." He leans over just a bit, nothing close enough to cause undue alarm, but enough to make his point more intentful. "Follow it through. He will try to kill me... he will fail. Nothing in his arsenal can harm me. When he fails, he will keep coming after you. Something tells me that you don't need that sort of nuisance. So, I say, we team up and put an end to this. And not only that... we turn this around and make him our 'bitch'." He holds up a finger. "A criminal too frightened to betray you is a powerful ally."
"Great, the old guy's keeping track of you and you climb into my car," Domino grumbles. That's..just fantastic, right there.
"Look, Kwabena. Dealing with annoying people that can't die is something of a specialty of mine. For now, I'm a whole lot more interested in this crazy idea of yours." And..there it is. You're serious about the bitch part. Oh, lord. Another glance is shot your way. "Like playing with fire, don't you. I'm not about to trust anyone with that sort of profile until they're either six feet under or burnt to ash. And hey, maybe you can't be killed, congratulations. I still suffer from that whole fatal injury thing. Someone like that will always be a threat until he's put down. As luck would have it, that's exactly the sort of thing that I do."
Once more she pauses, lost in thought. This guy, this 'Slee,' he does happen to have some connections which are of particular interest to her. Connections to plasma weapons, for one. That won't be a lead which she can hope to follow if he takes a thirty caliber slug to the brainpan. But, if he's alive, and properly coerced...
Slowly Dom blinks, releasing a slow breath. Only a small amount of tension comes along with it. "I'm crazy. Only explanation for it. He wants you to deliver me to him? There's your upper hand."
Well, there is a moment where people change, or at least recognize something about themselves that they never had before. As for Kwabena, he's spent the last five years of his life believing that he couldn't be killed, and for the most part, that was true. Bullets, knives, and other fatal objects have failed to do the job, which has rendered him a bit too cocky for his own good.
Your first retort seems to make him realize that, if he's going to start playing this game, he's going to have to start thinking about people aside from himself. As such, his stubbornness is drawn into the open, and he's forced to look forward, lips pressed into a thin line as he feels embarrassment over his decisions.
Regardless, there is this... predicament. He looks over to you when your position changes; he hadn't thought of that upper hand. "Two things," he says. "I will defer to your expertise on these matters, naturally. Second, if you want some extra muscle, let me call Monroe." He grins slyly. "Her talents are... well. Impressive and most useful."
There's that name again, Monroe. Domino's not one to actively seek out a group to work with, maybe it's paranoia or pride but she's always felt the most comfortable working alone. "Do you trust her?" she pointedly asks, glancing your way once more. "She doesn't sound like a mercenary, are you sure she would even be comfortable with something like this?"
Thinking. Planning. It's all preliminary, but it all serves a purpose. She knows someone else that could be useful in this sort of situation. "This is going to take some time to figure out, but we have an interesting starting point to consider. If you did bring me to him, we'd be able to get straight to the source. Take out his higher ups, back his ass into a corner. The list of potential complications is longer than my arm, but it's an option. These guys--some of them--are extremely well armed. Trying to wipe them out on our way to the top is suicide, we may as well bash our heads against something unyielding now and save everyone the trouble."
(For the record, Domino? You're stupid for considering this. Stupid, and maybe desperate.) "Before we go any further, you need to have a lengthy discussion with Monroe. Find out where she's at, this is something we need to know now. Not later."
"Do I trust her?" echoes Kwabena. "I have no reason not to."
"I have forty eight hours to turn you in, but don't worry. I can stall Michael Slean, draw this out, and in the process, find out everything I can about his operation. Security, hide outs, munitions, connections. Whatever you need to know. Just give me a list and I will go right to work." He looks back over to you, as if to press one issue. "I can stall him, but one thing about thugs like this, they won't let up. We will both of us still be in this predicament one way or the other. I hope you understand what I mean." Again, that signature phrase, directed at making sure she can hear through his accent.
At long last, he withdraws the cell phone from his jacket, and begins to send a text message. "I will find her. Tonight. You will have your answer by morning." Then, he notices that they are coming upon a subway station. He gestures toward it and asks, "Drop me off here?"
"Generous timing," comes the sarcastic response. With the request to be dropped off, Domino finds an opening and pulls up to the station. A second later and she's holding a card out to you with her number. "Time for a little leap of faith. Show me what you're capable of, Kwabena. It's going to make a world of difference after the next two days. Until then, watch yourself. They're probably keeping eyes and ears out for you, don't blow your shot at this and get caught in the act." Just how they're going to handle this situation she does not know. Something will come up. It always does. One way or another, things always manage to fall into place for her.
With a smirk, Kwabena looks over at you again. "Assholes like Slee are not known for being generous." He reaches out to take the card stealthily, slipping it into an inside pocket beneath his jacket. "I made sure we weren't followed tonight," he assures her. "You watch your back, Domino."
When the car stops, he slips out and doesn't look back as he heads for the subway station. However, about twenty minutes later, a text message comes through to your number, with the letters "KO". Then, five minutes later, another message from the same number. Seemingly gibberish, it reads: "liam eeg ta rabnha tod samoj". A little sleuthing, or perhaps a bit of luck, might lead you to guess at reversing that gibberish...
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