Who: T’Challa and Tony Stark When: May, during the Star Wars plot Where: The streets of the OC, where all the crazy is. What: Star Wars shenanigans! Rating/Warning: Low Status: Complete
T'Challa had always been a closet fan of Star Wars. He'd enjoyed the story of a rabble of people trying to take down a tyrannical, genocidal Empire and succeeding despite losses and setbacks. The taking place in space with amazing alien species and people with special powers and lightsabers just made it even more exciting.
He could relate from his own childhood experiences living in a war torn country where his people were targets simply for existing. Now as he saw Ocean County flooded with Clone Troopers and droids actively trying to hunt down people, he saw an opportunity to actively live out a dream of playing hero in a Star Wars setting, while also being able to use physical means to right wrongs.
Currently he was leaping from rooftop to rooftop in downtown chasing down droids that realized he had impenetrable armor and were trying to retreat. Despite their mechanics, T'Challa over took them and with a cat like leap, drew his energy daggers at the apex of his jump and drove them down into the droid he landed on, cutting through the alien metal like a hot knife through soft butter. He felt the impact of a blaster shot against his backside; he extended a leg behind him in a fierce kick sending the droid off of the edge of the roof.
“Tony, how are you doing?” He said, the comms in his helmet synced with Tony's armor.
Tony hopped into his armor the moment he caught wind of the fact that this was happening again. Wasn’t it just last year that he’d flown around Disneyland battling Storm Troopers? It was a thing. A yearly thing. Like the snow around Christmas time. Anyway, he was up in the air in his suit, surveying the ground troops when T’Challa’s voice came through in his earpiece.
Tony stopped and turned around in the air, taking a surveying look of the nearby rooftops. He spotted his friend off in the distance and zoomed in, just to make sure T’Challa was all right. “Right as rain. You know, except for the fictional villains attacking my county. How about you?”
“Couldn’t be happier,” he replied with a soft grunt as he dispatched a Stormtrooper with a roundhouse kick. Spotting Tony in the air he grinned behind his mask. “One way of sharpening our skills.” Three more of the white armored soldiers surrounded him, and T’Challa readied himself for hand to hand combat. Two aimed their blasters, the other pulled out some sort of energy baton, blue energy crackling. “Ah. I will save you for last.” T’Challa said to that one, before getting to work on the other two. They were easy enough to deal with. While in the midst of knocking the second one unconscious he felt the dull impact of the baton upon his back. Turning, with a cat’s grin behind his mask, T’Challa pulled from his belt and activated his own energy daggers, which glowed an unearthly purple. The confident trooper started swinging at him, but T’Challa matched him move for move, blocking nearly every blow, his daggers cutting into the armor deep gashes to the point that chunks of the white plastic like material were coming off. Still the soldier came after him, undeterred.
“I’m growing weary of this one,” he remarked idly, as if he were watching a boring documentary. “Would you do me the favor?” he said to Tony.
Tony had T’Challa’s back. He flew down and around, staying close enough to shoot assailants should T’Challa need the extra hand (though he almost never did), and he was far enough that they were covering twice or three times as much area. He’d just taken out about six of the troopers using energy blasts from his gauntlets when he heard T’Challa ask for his assistance.
“Sure thing, pal.” Tony said, and pointed his glove at the soldier. One quick blast, and the dude was flung off his feet.
“Thanks.” T'Challa stood at ease and glanced around at the unconscious soldiers. Distantly the sound of battle could be heard echoing down the streets. “My count so far is fifty three soldiers and twelve droids. How about you?” They had a bet going as to who could take out the most.
“I haven’t been counting.” Tony said, smirking softly into his helmet. Of course, Jarvis 2.0 was. “Jarvis, how’s my count?” He asked aloud.
A metallic voice came on. “Seventy-three. And counting.”
“Well, there.” Tony said. “I think that’s worth a drink or two when this is all over. Don’t you?”
“Of course.” T'Challa replied, jumping off the side of the roof and sliding down the side if the building with his claws scraping down the concrete. “But it is who gets the most that determines who picks up the tab.” Launching himself into mid-air before reaching the ground, the man known as the Black Panther flipped through the air before landing squarely onto a droid, sending it to the ground. Severing its head neatly with his claws he then roundhouse kicked its squad mate before pulling out his energy daggers and slicing it to thirds. “Of course extra points for style.” He smirked behind his mask.
Tony chuckled. As if it was even a contest. But hey, T’Challa had a fighting chance. (Get it?) Tony turned and zoomed down and around the other side of a building, taking a couple of troopers out with his blasters along the way. “How much is style worth in this contest?”
“I would think with you, style is everything.” T’Challa teased, letting out a grunt at the end of the sentence as he strongly kicked one soldier and sent him squarely flying into three others, the rest falling like dominos at the impact. The remaining two paused, then turned and ran. T’Challa didn’t bother giving chase.
“Style is everything,” Tony agreed with a nod, then turned his sights on the remaining two. A couple of short bursts from his blaster, and they tumbled to the ground.