Saint Jean-Paul and the Dragon

November 20, 2014:

Jean-Paul and friends confront the Magic Dragon.


Eleanor Bishop Memorial Women's Shelter.


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Some things are slowly coming back to Rowan. Very slowly. In bits and pieces. Being dimensionally displaced is kind of hell on the memory, it seems. But he's started to remember how to control his odd secondary genetics better than he's been able to recently. Which is nice. It still has some hiccups though. For one thing, he can't do it all the time because he can't remember how all the time. One of those things he's still really kind of nailing down.

Right at the moment? Well right at the moment it's great! He's flying through the air as a crimson six winged dragon - the form he takes when he's Air aspect-ed. And boy is this fun. Granted, he vaguely remembers this was generally for combat. He never really had a chance to just sort of soar and look at the city lights below. Wheeeee! Er… wait… small bit of turbulence here… Might need to set down quick.

The Eleanor Bishop Memorial Women's Shelter does all right. Like most charities, it sometimes suffers from there being more need for its services than one facility can cover, but at least the person who provides most of the money actually cares about the place. That would be Kate Bishop, who's currently loading a few gym bags of training supplies into the trunk of her car out front. "So, it looks like Karen is almost ready to move out on her own?" she asks an older woman, the administrator who takes care of the details of the place. "That's good news. Does she have a place worked out?"

Azrael crouches on a rooftop, like a gargoyle of shadow and blood. The Avenging Angel watches, waits. This den of sin shall surely serve him ripe prey shortly enough. The mask Valley reconfigured cleanses some of the stench, he'll admit, grudgingly. Pathetic mewling thing, too weak, but an Angel does not choose. An Angel serves. The weight of the sword on his back is a comfort, as it the thought of the blood he might spill, his eyes hawk-like as he drinks in the street below, metallic gauntlets scraping on the ledge.

The internet has a funny way of being able latch onto something, and not letting it go. Sometimes it's an erroneously reported death, usually a celebrity. It can be someone trying to hype a movie or television series, or trying to hawk the latest must have product of the season.

Most of the time, Oliver Queen doesn't pay it any mind. He doesn't even like twitter or facebook or any of the other social media. But he knows people who do, don't we all, and after seeing seven or eight different angle photos taken with a smart phone, he was a believer.

It's a rare sight to see the Green Arrow speeding through the city in the day time, but he's on his motorcycle, racing through the city streets. Somehow, his hood remains down. It must have some kind of a tie, or memory fabric. Isn't technology wonderful.

Coming to a sharp turn, he has to negotiate a Taxi, a BMW, and a pickup truck, nearly causing a three car, and one motorcycle collision, but he manages to deftly speed through the three in the middle of the intersection.

The truck grounds to a halt with a loud squeal. The Taxi continues through the intersection after making a sharp turn. But the BMW, they aren't quite so lucky as when they swerve, they hit a traffic light. Great, just what New York City needed, another traffic accident.

But no one gets hurt as far as Ollie can tell, and besides, he's already past it and continuing on his way towards where they said the dragon was. And then he sees it. He slows, moving to the side lane, and coming to a stop on the sidewalk, right next to the Eleanor Bishop Memorial Women's Shelter.

His bike comes to a rest not too far from two women who are currently loading the trunk of a car. He looks up at the dragon, taking it in stride. "Well, this is new."

S.H.I.E.L.D. is nothing if not vigilant about monitoring their own stomping grounds for unusual activity. Today, what looks like a dragon — with SIX wings — flying around is what showed up on their radar. So, a pair of agents were tapped to go find out if it's truly a dragon and if so whether or not it has malicious intent.

Flying a Quinjet at building level is never not dangerous, but May is doing her damnedest to keep the aircraft under control in the turbulence that is practically the definition of low-level city flying. "Do you have a visual, Trip?" She's driving, it's his job to do the rubbernecking.

"You say that like it's hard to see a six-winged dragon that's… is that orange? I think that's orange."

Trip is doing the rubbernecking, that's for sure, as he's looking out the window and catches sight of the flying creature of doom. Normally, Trip would be some random civilian looking on with awe. But this time, he's kind of just looking at the flying creature with easy eyes. Since he's been with S.H.I.E.L.D., he's seen some things. And this flying dragon isn't exactly too much disbelief to suspend. "Scratch that. Pink. I'm gonna' go with Pink."

Rowan has indeed encountered turbulence so he's not paying a whole lot of attention to the Quinjet nearby. Surfacers fly around with weird machines all the time. None of them ever shoot at him so he's not too worried about it. What he is worried about is that he seems to have lost some of the finer points of control of his six winged form. This is so different from flying around with four wings when he's more humanoid. The dragon wobbles, roaring in frustrated concentration and then banks down sharply. Yep, he's going to put down and by the looks of it rather hard. Right on the lawn of that building. What does it say? Memorial something? Maybe it's a mortuary…

The horned, six winged form lands on the lawn of the Eleanor Bishop Memorial Shelter with a thud and skids toward the door, dragging a furrow across the grass before stopping about ten feet from the door.


"She's got a few… Katie, I know we've seen some strange things lately, but you just look up to your left there and tell me if you see what I'm seeing, yeah?" the older woman asks, and Kate turns in the indicated direction. "Yep," Kate says slowly. "That's… definitely a dragon. On the up side, not breathing fire?" Just in case, though, she reaches back into the trunk to pull out a quiver and her bow, just in time to notice she isn't the only archer around. She arches a brow at Oliver, but before she can say anything smart, there's a dragon on her lawn. "Hey!" she exclaims, jogging toward the creature. "If Fenris sent you, he is so fixing this!"

Azrael finds himself springing, the System engaging in his mind without thought, nothing but reaction sending him somersaulting, claws scraping along the side of the building to slow his momentum until he lands on his feet, his hood and cloak wrapping around him. His gauntlet goes back and he draws his longsword. Seems more appropriate and he's not sure his fist-blades would even punch through this thing's hide.

He's also not exactly a knight. He's an assassin. Just like those women appeared far more harlot than maiden. The armoured man stands, still and watching, waiting to see just what, if anything, the monstrosity does.

While still looking up, Ollie spies the Quinjet, and shakes his head in disappointment. "Just great, the runaway military industrial complex is here to save the day."

He rises from the motorcycle, lifting his right leg and then the left, stepping off of it. Still thinking out loud, he says, "I always did want to slay a dragon, I just have no idea how I'm going to do it."

He's not usually this talkative, but then, he doesn't see a six winged dragon flying over the city too often. Sure, he saw one dragon, but it only had two wings.

Leaning forward, Oliver reaches into his quiver for an arrow in one hand, and detaches his bow from the motorcycle with the other. Bringing them together in front of his chest, he fires off the arrow.

He notices the look that one of the women gives him, but he just assumes she's someone who doesn't approve of his brand of heroism. Some people still think he's a vigilante, and always will, no matter what he does.

Unlike most arrows, part of this one seems to stay with the bow, while the rest has a cable spiral out of it. The arrowhead latches onto the side of a building, and he rises into the air.

But as he climbs higher up, the dragon begins to descend. And it's coming in hot. For the briefest of moments, Ollie wishes he were Spider-Man, able to send out a separate webline, but his tow cable arrows don't work that way.

He briefly closes his eyes as he rises up, miraculously flying through a gap in the wings. He was close enough to feel the wind on his face, and this time it did blow his hood up. It almost blew off his mask too, but that's moulded to him and kept in place with a very sturdy strap.

Once he reaches the top, he'll breathe a sigh of relief, and fire off another arrow, this one creating a line between the building behind him and the lawn.

This time, he'll use his bow to slide down the line, where he rolls to a safe stop. Aiming an arrow at the dragon, he'll say that was "A little redundant, but that was fun."

May's eyes behind her sunglasses flick up toward the dragon. "Pale coral." But then the creature fails its 'city flying' check and hits the ground most ungracefully. And, there's a hooded archer (not Barton, she'd place him a quarter of a mile away) and… "Hell. Bishop. Trip, We're setting down in that courtyard, get your gear." And the Quinjet, showing considerably more control than the dragon did, sets down in the paved courtyard adjacent to the Women's Shelter and the dragon.

Trip is already rushing to the back to grab his gear, which is all SHIELD regulation and signed out under his name. He hates that, by the way. He's got to get some custom gear going so that he can stop using what everybody else is using. "Is it just me or you feeling a bit Shrekish too?" Trip isn't sure that they were going to have to slay (or capture) a dragon. Monitoring from slightly afar would've been preferable. But! May is the commanding officer on this op so Trip follows orders, pulling a harpoon gun up onto his shoulder via the strap.

Rowan stands up, all thirty feet of him, woozy from the impact. He shakes his head and sweeps his gaze around and - eep! People! With weapons. Well this isn't good. The dragon turns and starts to back, eying the roof of the shelter as a possible vantage point. He begins to crackle with electricity. Sadly, this is probably not the way to convince people of his peaceful intentions. He hasn't started growling or snapping yet though. He does look very… veeeeeery nervous though.

Kate sees that look at the roof. Oh, she sees it. She doesn't aim any arrows at the dragon, not yet, but she does point an imperious finger. "Don't even think about it," she warns. "No roofs. Just…sit. Or something." After a certain amount of strange, some things almost start to seem normal. The Quinjet is a little less so, though. "Could people please not panic the dragon into damaging the shelter full of women and children?"

If there's one thing that Ollie is not, it's shoot first, and ask questions later type. Even when he was at his worst, he still only ever fired at people he knew to be bad. And this… dragon isn't bad. Not yet.

The bow remains out, ready, but the tension relaxes a little on the string. And then at Kate's urging, he slowly backs away, lowering the bow and returning his arrow to his quiver. What was it going to do against a dragon's hide anyway? He saw the Hobbit and he doesn't have one of those arrows in his quiver.

Deciding that this might be a situation that calls for something monumentally stupid, he calls out in a loud voice, but a monotone one, "can you speak?" Hey, it worked in the movies, and maybe it'll work now.

Azrael walks by the Quinjet. A weapon of the apostate government, likely come to collect their errant pet. He scrapes the tip of his blade along the side of the thing, like scratching a paintjob only, as he reaches the tip, his sword bursts into flames. The voice that comes from him is terrible, wretched, a damned thing, mixing voice distortion technology and Azrael's own twisted soul, "Speak or fight, monster! Choose or face the merciless wrath of God Almighty, channelled through the sword of His Avenging Angel!" he cries, flicking the burning sword through the air to attract the dragon's attention, giving these others a chance to flee if need be.

Melinda May follows Trip out of the Quinjet, though she stops to narrow her eyes at Azrael for scratching the paint job. NOT nice. The others have already started trying to boss the dragon around, so she keeps quiet while pulling a bundle of thin but strong paracord from a storage bin just inside the Quinjet's ramp. She hopes it won't be needed, but she'll hog tie the lizard if she has to.

Trip is not one to engage a giant dragon if he doesn't have to. Instead, he stands at May's side and stays quiet, himself. He's not going to start shooting or attacking a dragon if he doesn't have to. He's got one eye on May and one eye on the dragon, paying attention and trying to look as non-threatening as possible. This is why he's still got the harpoon gun strapped to his shoulder. He's still, technically, unarmed. His hands are free and empty! See, dragon? Not a threat. Don't firebreath him!

The dragon is still backing because whoa, all the people. It's backed up right to the front door now, which, being open, means that a good ten feet of its tail is actually inside the building. Which is probably quite a sight. The dragon's eyes flick from Kate to Trip to May to Azrael to… it hasn't seen Ollie yet. That electricity seems to dim slightly. Okay. They haven't attacked yet… he did rather ruin the yard though. Maybe they won't be too mad?

Kate claps a hand to her cheek, sighing. "Inside the building is not better. Okay. Excuse me. You need to move slowly away from the door, okay? I'm going to go in the side there and make sure no one is completely panicking in there." Carefully, she moves around the dragon, headed for the side door.

Azrael keeps walking, the flaming sword before him, flickering shadows on the metal of his breastplate. He can feel the agents behind him, that sense of constant awareness - the weight of them, their breathing. He can feel the boy inside him, the damn kid, something about dragons reminding him of a game, some useless, base thing that once obsessed him. Like so much of the world of man, trapped in the devil's fever dreams. This dragon was no dream. "Come, then, and let me roast your liver, wretches demon!" he cries.

Holding out a hand to Azrael, Ollie says, "you better call off the crusade pal, that's a thirty foot dragon you're challenging, and this is no place for a battle." With his other hand, he'll point at the shelter, "there are innocent people in there."

As Melinda catches sight of the scratch on the Quinjet, Ollie briefly gives her a sympathetic look. There was no need for that. But for now, he's got other things to worry about, like a thirty foot dragon on the lawn and a guy who fancies himself a dragon slayer. Sure, Ollie even made the same joke himself, but he's not dumb enough to try it.

Looking to Kate, Ollie is a little concerned when she decides to sneak into the shelter, but he knows firsthand that she can take care of herself. And since the dragon didn't respond when he talked to it, he's hoping that thing doesn't understand English, "try and get them out the back entrance, Audrey." The last bit being a nickname he gave her, since she reminds him of Audrey Hepburn.

Triplett doesn't particularly make any movements. He doesn't want to spook a giant dragon. He keeps a close eye on the fact that Bishop is moving into the building. He then takes stock of the others around. One looks insane and is talking to the dragon, while the other is a bit more on the calm side. Trip watches the dragon, as well, but doesn't seem to be worried about it being a threat. Not yet, anyway.

"What's our move here, May?"

The dragon sees Ollie now. And the big skeery- yikes! He jumps, pulling away from the building in a hurry and flapping those wings. The huge lizard sails away from the knot of people though… not far. He ends up perched atop the Quinjet, looking for all the world like a cat caught somewhere he shouldn't be. The electricity begins to crackle again. 'Oh no.' Rowan thinks. 'They're gonna kill me.'

Azrael ducks and rolls as the dragon flies overhead, landing itself on top of the Quinjet. "If their souls be innocent, then the Lord shall surely await them, archer. Or would you rather wait until its gullet bulges with the flesh of the women and their manservant?" he asks, gesturing towards Trip with his flaming sword.

Melinda May steps to put herself a little bit more between Crazy Jet-keying Man and the dragon, but then the creature chooses the top of the Quinjet as a better perch. After studying the dragon for a moment she looks at Trip. "Make sure everyone stays clear." And she's heading back into the Quinjet. But not before giving Azrael another warning glare. Don't touch her ride, and she won't feel the need to shove that flaming sword where the sun don't shine.

Great, he's one of those… Ollie thinks to himself after hearing the crusader's speech. If he weren't so worried about that 30 foot dragon, he'd roll his eyes. But there's a thirty foot dragon.

Gesturing towards the dragon, who now perches atop the Quinjet, Ollie briefly asks aloud, "can one of those things support a 30 foot dragon?" When it seems so, he nods his head, and wishes that Queen Consolidated made it. But then again, it's an instrument of war.

When Melinda returns to the Quinjet, Ollie reacts, panicking for the first time today, "lady, what the hell are you doing?" And when she gets in, he says in disbelief, "there goes a woman with guts." And shaking his head, "I like her."

But what's going on with that electricity. Looking over at Trip, trying to answer the question he posed to May, "kid, the smart move would be to stay put."

Which is why he decides to try and spook the dragon, making himself look as big as possible, "I hope this works," and he makes roaring animal noises. He must have seen this on some nature program, but it probably wasn't about six-winged dragons.

Trip narrows his eyes at the archer that is telling him to do anything. And also calling him kid. He doesn't say anything, though, because he's listening to May. Is she really about to take on a dragon? He's got to see this. The harpoon launcher gets dropped to the ground and Trip moves to make sure any civilians in the area are ushered away from the giant dragon. All the while, he keeps tossing a look in May's direction to see if she's battling the dragon head-on. It'll be awesome to watch, you see.

Azrael meets Melinda's glare, his mask giving away nothing. Of course, it doesn't have to, as the Avenging Angel marches forward, towards Trip, "I don't take orders from whores." he says simply, "Now call off your cur before I run him through and feed him to the dragon, in the hopes that it might choke on his yellow belly."

Rowan clings to the jet. He's not really sure what he's going to do yet except NOT GO DOWN AND FIGHT THE PEOPLE. If he had any wits about him he might just, you know, change back into a Blue. That'd probably solve this problem nicely. He's not thinking to clearly just at the moment. Sadly. So he just hangs onto the quinjet and kind of sort of glowers. It's the least intimidating dragon glower ever.

Melinda May rushes up the ramp and into the Quinjet proper, where a mere moment later the engines start spinning up as the rear hatch closes. The jet starts to lift straight up off of the tarmac, the turbines making frequent little adjustments to keep the surface the dragon is clinging to level as possible. Triplett can likely hear it instantly, Ollie may be able to hazard an educated guess: the engines are putting forth far more effort than is normal for this manner of take off.

It was a silly idea anyway. Ollie tried to make himself big, he made noises, he did what he could, hoping to scare the dragon away. At the very least, then maybe the boys and girls from S.H.I.E.L.D. could deal with him the air, steering him away from the civilians. That's what they're paid for right, isn't it?

But instead, Ollie just makes himself look like an idiot as his movements and roaring goes completely unnoticed by the dragon. Fortunately, it doesn't take Ollie too long to figure out that it's not working.

So he stops, and reaches up with a hand, running it below his hood, and over his hair. He gives it a little scratch, then withdraws the hand. "Well, I tried," he says, and reaches for one of his arrows.

He'll quickly fire it into the air, the arrow disappearing in the sunlight for a moment. But when it comes back down, it will have expanded into some kind of a high tensile strength netting, with automatic pitons that'll drive tiny, but sturdy spikes into the ground.

The netting might not do much against a thirty foot dragon, but if he puts enough of them, maybe it'll work. Even before the first net is down, Ollie's more arrows into the air.

Alas, he's working at cross-purposes again. Just as he tried to get up on top of a building as the dragon came down to the garden, he's firing netting as Melinda tries to take off. He curses in whisper.

"Damn." There's a mix of 'impressed' and 'worried' when Trip watches the Quinjet (with May inside) attempt to take off. There's a huge dragon on the thing and he's just watching. He doesn't say anything and he doesn't make any moves to assist. He doesn't need to because he's on comms (as always) with May and she'll tell him if she needs any sort of assistance. He'll be ready to move and do /something/ if he has to. He does take a moment to roll his eyes at Net Arrows, though.

With the arrival of some weirdo in a mask with a flaming sword, Trip's attention is taken by such. He narrows those eyes. He's got no cause to fight with this fool but he's definitely getting himself ready. And by getting himself ready, he means drawing his gun. And it ain't no damn ICER. Ka-Chak.

Guns. Azrael doesn't fear guns. Azrael is an angel, the sword of Almighty God, as channelled through the prophecies of St. Dumas, bringing fire and death to the wicked and the unclean. Also, he possesses incredible fighting skills and a set of bulletproof armour.

Fighting someone using the System isn't like fighting normal kung-fu or karate. Azrael moves with blinding speed, fast as a human can move, and lashes out with the burning blade, his aim so precise that he slices through trigger guard and trigger while leaving the agent's finger intact.

His other hand lashes out in a straight punch at Triplett's face.

It's a little bit like lifting a box up with a cat on it. Or anything with a cat on it. The Quinjet wobbles and bobbles as May tries to keep it steady while Rowan's weight shifts atop it. Then, as the guy with the fiery sword starts lashing out and, really, it's time to go. Willing to risk the turbulence once more Rowan vaults skyward. Heroic? No. But then, Rowan's no hero. Not on this world anyway. (As a matter of fact he's not even sure what world he's on). He can be, when need presses, but fighting here is only going to be really destructive. Plus, that guy down there seems to hate dragons. So it's up, up and away!

Or not. There is the small matter of the net. It's tangling up his wings and… okay. This isn't working. So Rowan does what he should have done five minutes ago. He gets smaller. A lot smaller. Human sized in fact. And when he's finished getting smaller there's a muddy haired young man perched atop the Quinjet. A crossbow made of energy springs into existence over his left hand and he aims it… just in case someone tries to actually bring the jet down. That'd be bad.

Melinda May frowns as the jet's engines are a full but they've stopped just a foot or two off of the ground. She'd anticipated the dragon being heavy, but the bird had been lifting off and then just abruptly stop… That's when she notices an edge of the netting along the far side of the Quinjet's front windscreen and she practically snarls a curse in Mandarin.

She's about to push the engines past their safe max when the amount of strain they're under changes abruptly and the jet lurches upward against the netting and sets the fuselage to creaking very unpleasantly. With another curse she cuts the engines completely and the jet falls the foot or so back to the courtyard's pavement like a car dropped from a crane. While the jet's seats and restraint harnesses are top of the line, some things push their limits just a bit, and May extricates herself with a wince. Soemone is going to PAY for that.

Why is it that Antoine always ends up fighting the people that can do more things in half a second than anyone should really be able to do? When his gun is taken out in record time, he doesn't even have time to react. Things are happening simultaneously and by the time he realizes he's been punched in the face, it is too late. He's on the ground and he's out cold. Because that's just the way the cookie crumbles when you're just a man with nothing more to you than normal man-ness. KO! He's got to pay for that gun too, doesn't he?

Azrael probably left a couple of cuts in Antoine's face, too, given that the knuckles of his gauntlets are razor-edged. He looks up from the fallen servant (A Moor, it seems, likely some sort of heathen cleric) when the dragon begins to shrink and transform, becoming what appears to be a man of some sort.

He looks over at the archer, measuring the other warrior's reaction. Perhaps creatures such as this are known here? He has so little understanding of this foul America of Valley's. Apparently, anything could made with anything, though, so perhaps this was the result of some harlot spreading her legs for a crocodile for the amusement of the pagan masses.

That's what he thinks he saw on that 'television' last night. Although they called it 'The Voice'. Regardless, it was full of teats and dragons, of that he was certain.

"That worked?" Ollie said incredulously. The netting caused problems for the Dragon's wings, all six of them, and the weight of the dragon kept the Quinjet from lifting off. He was genuinely surprised that it had that much of an effect. Sometimes the Hail Mary's do work, and at that thought, he turns and glances at Azrael.

But he shakes his head. "Nah, it couldn't be," he whispers to himself. Looking back at the dragon, he watches as it shrinks and reshapes itself into a roughly human sized young man with a crossbow that looks to him like it should have been in the Tron sequel.

"Easy there, no one's going to harm you," and another glance at Azrael, "got it?" He says in a somewhat authoritative voice.

Before Ollie can react, Trip's weapon has been sliced and the poor guy's on the floor. Ollie pulls out an arrow, stringing his bow and aiming it at Azrael, "now you're gonna play nice or we're going to have a problem."

Oliver was tempted to fire his arrow, but then he saw May coming, and figured she could deal with this. He knows from personal experience that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

He lowers his bow, returning the arrow to his quiver, and in a surprised voice, tries to calm her, "hey, hey, hey, I know he called you a whore, but we're all on the same side, I think. I mean, sure, this guy's nuts, but there's got to be a better way than hitting upside the head with a fire extinguisher."

Azrael takes the spray of the fire extinguisher, although the filter on his mask immediately prevents any of the choking fumes from getting inside. It does obscure his vision, though, allowing her to crack him nicely across the side of his head with the canister. Indeed, it does hurt, hurt like hell, but layers of padding, hood and helm all blunt the blow at least.

Azrael stumbles from the cloud to one knee, his sword skittering out of his hand and dousing itself instantly. He slowly rises up and faces off against the woman, having heard Ollie's words. "If your servant had not impeded me, woman, I would not have been forced to chastise him as you should have." he says. "The archer claims kinship of purpose. Perhaps. And I will permit you your strike as recompense for the damage," he says, gesturing to Triplet.

"But if you insist on a fight," he says, and he crosses his arms in front of him, three foot long blades popping out of the back of his gauntlets and bursting into flames which lick and reflect off his mask, "Then you're the one who made the mistake."

Melinda May throws — THROWS — the fire extinguisher back into the Quinjet, causing it to clang loudly against something inside. "You assaulted a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Taking a crack to the head is getting off lightly." And with that, she's done dealing with Templar Knave. She turns her back on him and kneels to check on Triplett. "Hey, Trip," she offers softly while pulling a piece of cloth from a pocket. "Gotta get you back to Medical. Wake up."

Trying to diffuse the situation, after coming oh so close to pouring an accelerant on it, Ollie gestures to Azrael, who he's finally managed to break through to, "looks like we're done here. I'm sure there are… other holy missions." He doesn't buy Azrael's servant of god shtick, but hey, if he's committed to it, why not use it to try and get the guy out of here.

After all, there's no way in hell he's going near the human that turns into a 30 foot dragon. This actually is a rare case where he agrees that it's probably best left to S.H.I.E.L.D. "Miss," Ollie is kind to the older woman, "do you need any help dealing with…" and he nocks his head in the direction of the formerly 30 foot dragon.

Trip is startled awake. Maybe it's May's voice. Maybe it's the fact that he's just not ever out that long. He does have /some/ training. He flips over and is trying to get up. He's reaching for a gun that's no longer there and clearly still thinks he's in the middle of a fight. He doesn't even know that he's bleeding from the side of his face. He just looks like he's ready to kick somebody's ass. Much glaring and whipping of his head back and forth. Willow Smith.

Azrael has already turned his back now, his blades withdrawing back into their sheathes as he pauses to pick up his sword, "You would do well to place less faith in your mighty S.H.I.E.L.D. and more in the Lord Almighty. But, sinner or saint, your fate shall not be decided by Azrael this day. Christ be with you," he says and then walks into the shadows of a nearby alley.

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