Kenuichio Harada (hellfirehound) wrote in gangs_of_nyx, @ 2009-02-18 21:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | black king, psylocke, silver samurai |
Characters: Kenuichio "Silver Samurai" Harada, Bette Royal, Sebastian "Black King" Shaw
NPCs: --
Location: Hellfire Club, Ken's apartment
Time: Wednesday, February 18th, 1978 (10pm)
Decription: Troublemakers hit the HFC.
Rating: R for language and violence
No matter where you went, what club you wandered into, what time you decided to go, there were always those willing to ruin a perfectly good time with their stupidity. It was hardly different for the Hellfire Club, aside from the fact that they simply had better ways of persuading others to behave themselves at least on some level. Some people, however, just didn't seem to have the mental capacity to get the idea. One specific group of four had been tossed out two nights in a row, and were currently working on their third. Thankfully the bouncers were firm enough that it had gotten the troublemakers away from the entrance long enough for someone to locate some extra help.
Ken couldn't really complain that it had been a slow night up to that point, considering how few and far between those were. When the head bouncer showed up, he was almost relieved that there was actually something to do, even if it was just clearing the premises. After all, if the sentinels stepped in to deal with things that would be rather unfortunate for all those involved.
The deviants had been relocated to the side alley of the club, currently taking up verbal blows with two of the clubs largest bouncers, a feat in itself. A line of patrons waiting to enter the club parted as Ken and the other bouncer neared, watching with interest as the situation unfolded. Even people who'd been closer to the entrance of the club had revoked their place in line to watch the spectacle, and more were gathering around now that Sebastian Shaw's guard dog had made an appearance.
"Is there a problem?" Ken called dryly over the sound of the shouting, stopping a few feet away to assess the situation. Drunks, as a whole, were irritating. Sure, most of them had their entertaining moments and were generally harmless, but the violent drunks always seemed to take any humor away. They always had something to prove, doubly so for the ones that were mutants.
"Yeah, we gotta fuckin' problem." The smallest of the four stepped up, his cheeks tinted with the effects of the no-doubt copious amounts of alcohol he'd already ingested. "We're fuckin' paying customers, man. And every motherfuckin' time we come here we get pissed on. Right?"
The question was met with a sloppy chorus of agreement from the little guy's three friends, though it did as much to impress Ken as their vocabulary.
"As I understand it, you've been harassing the dancers and the patrons on a nightly basis for the past week, and more recently you've decided to threaten the establishment itself. Knocking a few holes through the walls, was it?"
"They dented the side entrance trying to get in." One of the bouncers sighed, his attention turned to Ken.
"Yes, well. As you'd probably find easier to digest if you weren't so staggeringly inebriated, we don't take kindly to property damage. Or trash. I suggest you vacate the premises immediately or I'll be forced to vacate you myself."
"Whassat mean?" The seemingly biggest drunk in the group frowned a little, looking to the guy to his left, but it was the small one that answered again.
"They're shittin' on us again. Well, you kiss my ass, you fuckin' Oriental bastard!"
There was a distinct ringing in Ken's ears, his vision clouded and smokey before he realized that his eyes themselves weren't playing tricks on him. The wall that had once been behind him was now gaping a few feet away from his legs, debris and brick still falling to the ground in his wake. The dust cloud was thinning enough for him to realize he was sprawled over a pile of rock and insulation, and beneath that a plush carpet that had been torn to shreds in the area around him.
The little guy? Really? Super strength?
Their were shouts outside and shrieks all around him as he realized that he'd been tossed into the dancer's dressing room, several half nude women forming a semicircle around him, though only about half of them made any move to cover themselves.
"Kenny, are you okay?!"
"Woah, back off, honey." The first dancer tugged the second back as the man pulled himself easily to his feet, the crunch of brick and plaster echoing his movements. His hands brushed over his chest and legs, sending puffs of dusty wall remains up off his form. There wasn't a scratch on his body, his shield popping up on reflex, but suit coat was ruined, a fact that irritated him almost as much the Kenuichio-sized hole in Sebastian Shaw's club wall. He half-tore the suit jacket off of his form, tossing it onto the ground, leaving him in his white dress shirt and dark slacks. His hands went to fumble with his tie as he walked toward the hole, tugging it from around his neck, adding it to the trail he left behind.
One foot stepped over the few inches of brick that remained on ground level, pulling the rest of his through. The bouncers had their hands full, two of them already thrown to the ground, the last managing to keep himself standing for the moment. Ken idly wondered, yet again, why the club had insisted on human security, but that was the least of the trouble for the moment. They'd just thrown him through a fucking wall.
The spectators at the entrance to the alley saw him first, a chorus of hoots and clapping following almost immediately after. The first of the four to go down barely had a chance to glance behind him to see what the commotion was about before he was slammed hard into the brick next to him. He heard and felt the crunch of the man's nose before he hit again, knocking him unconscious. Once the weight in his arms had sagged, he turned him a bit to the left, dunking the guy head first into a pile of empty wooden alcohol crates.
"Well, shit!" The little one's grin look strained, his less drunk-looking friend looking quite a bit more worried. The third was busy crouching over to vomit for reasons that obviously had nothing to do with their immediate situation. That left just the two of them for all practical purposes. One with super strength, the other...
The second troublemaker grunted, throwing his hand out, sending waves of blue electricity surging through the air in a line toward Ken. The energy danced over him with little effect, connecting with his shield in flashes of blue and silver light as he continued to walk toward them, past the remaining bouncer. The man moved to work on recovering the other two, several of the dancers tiptoeing their way through the hole to help him.
Ken took a few more steps, allowing the electricity to spark over his form before he vanished from his spot entirely, much to the obvious worry of his two attackers. Even the crowd quieted, and for a few brief seconds everything was still.
"Where'd he go?" The electric mutant turned to Shorty, his eyes darting from his companion to the darkness at the other end of the alley. "Where the fuck'd he go?"
"Fuck you guys....I just chucked on my shoes...." The useless fourth man groaned as he sank against the wall.
"Shut the hell up!" The electric mutant growled, a split second before a silver pulse of light flashed behind him, then he and it both vanished. Seconds later the man's scream echoed from the back of the alley, followed by the loud crash of something landing heavily into the giant metal dumpster.
The flash returned and Ken reappeared again in nearly the same spot he'd been in before. His eyes focused entirely on Shorty, his strides wider, carrying him toward the front of the alley more quickly. The audience as a whole looked less comfortable as the action neared, murmuring and shifting. Shorty was backing up with every step, though he laughed as he did so. "Come on, asshole. I'll fuckin' toss you through another one."
CONK.
Shorty's eyes went wide, then rolled up to the back of his head as his body slunk forward. Ken made no move to catch him, instead taking a step back to ensure a satisfying face dive into the concrete. When his eyes moved back up he was a little surprised, a light scoff escaping him as he saw who'd robbed him of his full victory.
"Does this mean I can't go in?" The pink-haired club girl squeaked, looking relatively meek as she pulled the half-finished bottle of rum that she'd used as a blunt object back toward her body.
Ken simply stared at her for a moment, trying to fight the ironic grin that threatened his face, though his eyes definitely showed amusement. His dust-covered hand went out with an open palm, and the girl frowned as she planted the neck of the bottle into it, both of them ignoring the two fresh bouncers that worked around them to get Shorty's limp form out of the alley. "No outside liquor allowed." He turned to hand the bottle to the bouncer, starting to walk away again as he spoke quietly to him. "Buy her a round. Put it on my tab."
Normally he would have used the front door, or hell, even the side one, but now there was a convenient hole leading him right back to where he'd left his suit coat. He stepped through again and crouched in front of it, tugging at the cloth until he exposed the inner pocket, reaching in for the thin, silver cigarette case he had stashed there. He saw that it was dented and frowned again, pulling the one cig that wasn't crushed out of it and between his lips, tossing the rest aside.
Fucking mutant drunks.