Nicholas Joseph Fury (furious_nick) wrote in oh_marvelous, @ 2009-10-29 10:31:00 |
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Black Betty.
Characters: Nick, Wanda, Tony, Zooombies
Setting: New Orleans
Content: Viooooolence and some intense stuff later
Summary: Nick and Wanda clear Bourbon Street
“-So anyway, they call it a Royale with cheese,” Fury finished explaining and Wanda groaned as she hefted a duffle bag full of guns up the stair case. Nick had his own bag of firearms and ammo slung over his shoulder.
“I don’t care Nick, it’s not like I ever go to McDonalds, especially not in Paris!” she snapped and Nick frowned. “Yeah, well, I just thought it was interesting,” he muttered, trying not to sound put off, “They can’t call it a Quarter Pounder because-“
“Of the metric system, yeah. Why this place? Couldn’t we find somewhere better than a bar?” So she was still angry at him. At least she was speaking to him. He shouldn’t be surprised really, but after he’d gone off at her during the meeting and said what needed to be said, Nick had hoped that would be the end of it. Apparently not. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Still, there was hope. Maybe they could bond over obliterating zombies; gratuitous slaughter seemed to be a hobby of hers. She was absolutely ruthless if she needed to be and that was why, despite her anger at him, Nick had chosen Wanda to come with him to clear Bourbon Street. For some reason there was a high concentration of Infected in the French Quarter. A tourist attraction for the living and undead alike, apparently. To persuade Wanda to join him he’d finally had to threaten her with expulsion from the team and even then it was with great reluctance that she helped him load up bags with weapons and climbed into a humvee beside him.
The trip was surprisingly uneventful and the few Infected they encountered were easily dispatched beneath the vehicle’s tires. Though he’d been warned, Nick was still surprised by the number of undead that swarmed the humvee when they actually reached the French Quarter. It took an energy shield from Wanda around the entire vehicle to get them through the horde. Nick pulled up in front of a building on a corner that seemed to have a good vantage point of the street’s length. They would make from the roof and set up there.
Now here they were, climbing up to the roof. “It’s Bourbon Street, all we’ll find is bars,” he answered flatly. “Tactically, it’s an ideal position.”
“Yes, but there are higher buildings,” she protested and he interrupted.
“Without such an ideal view.” He brooked no further argument as they raced into the bar, barricaded the door, and now here they were traipsing up to the roof with the addition to their arsenal of a portable stereo Nick grabbed from a tabletop.
On the roof Nick took a breath of the damp late afternoon air and surveyed the scene below. The street was swarming and he could see more Infected lumbering in from other areas. Somehow they knew there was fresh meat. As he emptied the bags of weapons Fury wondered idly how the zombies knew that he and Wanda were there. Sense of smell? Something else? He should probably have thought to look into that. Oh well. It was a bit late now. His next task was setting up the stereo. He fiddled with the dial for a few moments, receiving only static, before finally a station came in. To his great pleasure it seemed to be classic rock and he recognized the opening guitar rift of the song currently playing. When the chorus came on he whistled along happily.
Whoa, Black Betty, bam ba lam, whoa Black Betty, bam ba lam, Black Betty had a child, bam ba lam, the damn thing gone wild, bam ba lam…
Beside him, Wanda was struggling to load a cartridge into a FN P90. He watched her for a moment, wondering why she didn’t just use her powers instead of a gun. Perhaps she was just worn out, or punishing him for bringing her here. Surely she was capable of doing far more damage than a conventional weapon could. He took the gun from her hands and she stiffened, glaring silently as he loaded it and then handed it back to her. When she fired she seemed surprised at the kickback and he bit back laughter. Civilians.
When Wanda was busied Nick picked his weapon of choice, an AK-47, and opened fire on the Infected below. His first several shots were headshots and the skulls of the Infected seemed to burst like ripe melons. It was completely sick, but Nick found that he was laughing and when he glanced over, Wanda was grinning at him. Maybe it was because the gore and the violence were so ludicrous it was difficult to take it seriously from afar. Taking it seriously would mean losing his nerve. Humor was the best way to manage that he could think of, and apparently Wanda thought so too. She reached out and bumped her first against his before turning back to fire her machine gun again. So, it looked like things were right between them again. All it took was a little wanton bloodshed. That was why he liked the girl- despite the worries about her mental health and her immorality- she was just as fucked up as he was. And in a situation like this, that level of crazy was essential.
She said "I'm worrin' outta my mind," bam ba lam, the damn thing gone blind, bam ba lam, I said oh Black Betty, bam ba lam, whoa, Black Betty bam ba lam…
“Hold ‘em off for a minute, honey,” he instructed and she nodded, dropping her gun. Her hands began to glow and a sort of wall of energy shimmered below, stalling the undead. Nick took the opportunity to race downstairs into the bar with an emptied duffle bag. He filled it with every bottle of booze he could reach- no sense letting it all go to waste, he could certainly use a drink. When he returned to the roof Wanda gave him a bemused look and he politely offered her a bottle of vodka before picking a bottle of whiskey for himself.
He picked up his ak-47 again and shot it at random as Wanda dropped her energy wall and took a sip of the vodka. He watched curiously from the corner of his eye as she rooted around in her coat pocket and came out with a lighter. Methodically she ripped a piece of fabric from her shirt, wetted it with vodka and shoved it into the bottle neck. Then, almost gleefully, she lit it and lobbed the fiery bottle into the crowd of zombies. They were hilariously flammable. Unearthly howls split the air as several of them burst into flame and began running wildly, catching others on fire.
Whoa, Black Betty, bam ba lam, whoa Black Betty, bam ba lam, she really gets me high, bam ba lam, you know that’s no lie, bam ba lam…
It was a good idea, Nick thought, although it was a woeful waste of perfectly good liquor. She did it again with a bottle of rum, and then everclear. Nick uncapped his Jack Daniels and took several swigs then resumed firing with his gun. Wanda was suddenly giggling and Nick glanced over and asked what was so funny.
“Aside from flaming zombies?” she laughed, “Well. It’s just. You’re drinking Jack Daniels while you shoot. Whiskey shooters.”
Nick snorted, took another swig, and then fired another round into the horde in the street below. After a few moments of silence between them, interrupted only by gunfire and zombie shrieks, Nick decided to broach a subject that had been bothering for days. Stark had mentioned to him that Wanda wasn’t sleeping, that she’d been close to a breaking point a few nights ago. Although a breaking point for Wanda might mean the very quick destruction of all the remaining Infected, it could also mean the decimation of all of New Orleans. That wasn’t something Nick wanted to be held accountable for.
She’s so rock steady, bam ba lam, she’s always ready, bam ba lam, whoa Black Betty, bam ba lam, whoa Black Betty, bam ba lam…
“So, I hear you’re getting a bit…stressed out here,” he said casually and Wanda glanced swiftly at him and just as swiftly away.
“Nope, not me,” she answered, taking up a pistol now and firing at random below. Fury looked doubtful. He loaded a new cartridge into his gun and tried again. “Wanda, if there’s anything you need to talk about-“ he paused as she gave a sudden joyous howl of, “Head shot! Fuck yes!” as though she were playing a video game or something. He gaped at her for a moment and then began to laugh again. It was so out of character for her, but everyone had their ways of coping. She would be fine. “That’s my girl,” he muttered and gave her an awkward pat on the arm at which she turned and grinned adorably. Then returned to shooting.
Whoa Black Betty. Bam ba laaaaam.