Farewell Gotham

December 22, 2015:

Fantomex' past finally catches up with him in the form of the living weapons of Weapon Plus.

East End, Gotham

Described in scene


NPCs: Weapon+ weirdos



Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

Not all the business in the East End are downtrodden or sleazy. Fantomex found Aitello’s while exploring Gotham, a year ago. Apparently it had been a favorite of the higher ups of the Five Families a generation ago, but when they drifted away, it became the place to have dinner in between casino runs. The entrance is at street level, but all the tables are in different rooms in the second floor. It is genuinely Italian food, which Fantomex figures Selina needs to learn about, since she is taking over a crime gang with mafia roots. She seems too American to the white-clad thief.
More importantly, it is in her territory, and the separate rooms offer privacy. They can talk openly about some enjoyable business. Like the imminent arrival of a jewel collection from India that once belonged to the Grand Mogul Akbar the Great, but now is in the hands of an Arabian sheik from one of the Gulf states. Undeservingly so, in Fantomex’ never humble opinion.

Walking on the borders and living two lives makes things difficult when you leave one turf and come into another that also knows you for your variant identities. Selina Calbrese was not known to be yet another masked vigilante, and for as long as she can keep it that way she intended to, as one business was nothing like the other.
Both walking the line of suicidal wih the way the feline reached over a ledge to play with that thread of life.
When Fantomex contacted her she slipped out of the Calbrese mansion and into her vehicle, the security that normally tailed her left behind as she moed like a wind-blown shadow from her balcony to the ground and into the garage. Sliding into the sleek black cadillac a device is pulled from the partially unbuttoned blouse, a button pushed and the GPS devices installed in the car scramble and go offline.
With the vehicle parked blacks away in the Diamond District, Selina arrives without further ado, fingers plucking at errant strands of dark hair to sweep them across forehead. She had barely spoken to Fantomex in quite a while and when she had at the Casino gathering it had been…strained. But that is her relationship with everyone in Gotham as of late while she hugs enemies closer.
Claiming the seat across from Fantomex, hands flick open the menu, all the while a single digit bearing a pointed and honed nail down along the dishes, the fact that it was written in italian not hindering her, as she is having to learn. The silver painted nail tipped in a glistening diamond dust pauses on an entree and ticks there idly, all the while he speaks of this transport and has yet to garner her attentions… That is until he is done speaking.
Without looking up she responds. "Well. It seems you have some very nice intel. Now, do tell me how you intend to split this between us if I agree to attend this intricate job?"
If? Who is she kidding, the slight shift in her seat from one hip to the next as legs re-cross says plenty.

“Naturellement, chere,” replies Fantomex, who is going over the wine list with interest. “In fact, I believe the pearl necklace would suit you neck nicely. And no one will be surprised if it appears in Calabrese hands in a few months.” Being a crime-lord has some advantages, too.
The faux French thief had left a folder with documentation on Selina’s side of the table. It includes personal information about the scumbag owning the collection; in the case she needs moral justification for the theft. Fantomex likes to have moral justifications… okay, it is mostly E.V.A. that needs moral justifications. But Fantomex likes them too!

Selina has become -colder- but that does not mean her morals faded completely. She has to do what she has to do. when she reaches for the folder the flash of wrist is bandaged and wrapped, and the tell tale signs of fabric upon the fabric of ace bandaging can show it encompasses her up both arms. She seems to not be hindered by it but it remains to be kept hidden.
Theft, larceny, suspect of war crimes, missing persons, a trail of crap behind him. Her eyes dart over the writing, skimming it enough to get the hint and highlight key points. Catwoman steals from the rich to give to charities and the rich have done not much of anything aside from buy expensive things she decides to appropriate. This gives more into consideration. "And what business does this /sheik/ have business in Gotham for, exactly? This city is below his pay grade. Who is he seeking to bring the jewels to?"
Ever her own peoples protector and a Gotham vigilante to the core. The dollar signs and where she could assist with them are what keeps her from sharing this information.

“It is not just Gotham, they will be in New York and Washington too. And then they will be travelling to Europe,” explains Fantomex. “I have to admit it is not in character for the Sheik to share his toys, but perhaps he is…” he pauses, suddenly alert, as E.V.A. reports a sudden communications blackout in the area.
“Selina, chere, we might have to postpone this…” the building shakes, and there are sounds of broken glass coming from every direction. Then the screams of customers and staff. “Please, run!” His guns are out in a second, and he shots several time through the door.
But they come through the window. A window too small for a man, but that shatters, taking a chunk of the wall, and something hard to see lands on the table, sending wine bottles flying, shattering the legs and then tumbling to the floor. Midget? Animal? Mineral? Even looking at IT hurts the eyes.

The pause finally lifts those jade eyes to Fantomex, her head tilting slightly as her hand waves in the air for him to continue, fingers curling into palm to dimple sharp nails against cupped palm in a wave. But the sudden seize and reset of muscles comes when their languid eace is shattered by the uproar that has glass heralding their space in a shatter of cutting rain.
Run? Selina is already standing with her chair in front of her and the back is gripped while her mind shifts from business and pleasure to that of action. Easy one for the femme as she steps back from the thing that lands upon a table and sends it into pieces of shrapnel with the weight and impact.
What is a woman's normal reaction at the sign of a foreign creature in front of her? She beats it and takes the vermins carcass out to the trash. At least that is what Selina would do, and so with a sudden motion that betrays what Fantoex tells her to do the chair is kicked up by the lower rungs and stops its flight when hands grab the back legs.
Jaw set and a flash of teeth Selina is charging in and using that chair as the pummeling weapon against the odd -thing- that interrupted their Meeting of the Riches."I don't run well, you should know this by now, /fantome/."

“You must,” notes Fantomex. The critter Selina is beating with the chair is made of metal and flesh, about three feet long and headless, but it has six insect arms full of razors that spin at hellish speed, grabbing, crushing and tearing at the chair with inhuman strength. Only when Fantomex shots it repeatedly does it stop moving. And only then Selina can see it, as the strange look-is-pain effect fades when its mind dies.
“These are not gangsters or even Arkham lunatics, chere,” he reloads his guns. “This is my family calling me.” He kicks the door, already weak from the bullets. The room beyond seems full of mist, and the area is strangely silent. A faceless figure lies on the floor, chest full of holes, but he is quickly melting into goo and it is hard to say if it was male or female before Fantomex bullets hit him/her after going through the door.

"I must?" Selina remarks, her voice going higher as the swinging fight of her and chair vs. mechfreak starts to dwindle her weapon into toothpicks, she was not about to give up and just as she releases the last of the chair at the creature with a shove, her hands go to her back, and in a motion much like a swift loosing of a belt her whip is within her grasp only to crack outward at her side and mate with the heralding sound of gunfire that lays her tango partner to rest.
From narrowed eyes that could bely a felines ire she looks towards Fantomex, her brow slowly perking. "Oh~. Family. I see." Selina states as her wrist rotates and that whip recoils. "I mean, not to compare, /dah-link/, but I think fucked up families is what Gotham is made of. So let's show yours out."
So much for the /must/ part because Selina is right beside him when the door opens and the other is changing elements on the periodic table after becoming swiss cheese. "I do not care who or what it is Fantomex. You should know by now how I react when they come to my home."
That placid gaze now slides towards him once more. "Not only do you just up and disappear on my but then you come back with your family on your tail and insult my ability to stay alive and healthy? " Beat. "Tch. You were always good at upping the ante." A small waning smile and she tilts her head, letting her gaze slide away from him and back to the puddle of person.

“Excusez moi,” replies Fantomex, his guns moving quickly, searching. But there is nothing there. “This kind of affair is usually a step past the comfort zone of most people,” he explains. “The fog mutes sight and sound, I suspect. Move quickly,” he suggests, sliding into another room, ducking.
There is an elderly couple at the table. Selina probably knows them, right people from the upper Gotham society. They are sleeping, the woman face is on the salad. “And there might be psychics involved,” he adds unhappily.

Selina knows how to use cover, and when the sighting of the upper class elderly taking a nap in their appetizers comes to pass she only casts a half smile, sliding past their table to lay fingers along necks. A pulse check, and then the flash of jewelry is there and gone.
She cannot help herself. Don't judge.
"I am not most people. Despite all appearances, Fantomex; I am not all bad. Only to those who give up easily." Her voice fades at the final statement, but once Fantomex presses on, so does Selina, but from one moment she can be seen behind him and the next there is no sight or sound of the woman.

Another door down and they are by the terrace, which was closed for winter. E.V.A. should be here, but she isn’t. Instead, there are three blurry, featureless figures that turn to Fantomex as he steps out. One of them raises a hand and when Fantomex shots, the bullets stop in the air a few feet from hitting anything, “Charlie. Cluster. Seven.” Each one says one word. They sound too high-pitched for human throats.
One of the figures points to Fantomex, who dives away. Too slow. There are two holes in the wall behind Fantomex, and two holes in his chest. He grunts in pain. “Come back to the World,” says the blurry figures. The third one seems to notice Selina, and then she can hear some odd buzzing in her head.

Selina went low, a ventilation duct floor level and used it to ascend silently, using grates in passing to get a veiled view of the open spanse of the diner, but when she comes to the ventilation that leads to the terrace the trio gives her pause.
The moment is there and gone, their voices and how they call to him raise the tiny hairs along her skin that traces down her spine, th prickling sensation that reminds her of what rests at the band along the small of her back. Cold steel, dampened by the press against bare skin and not yet heated now gets the affection of her hand, drawing it quickly in response to the gunfire that centers on Fantomex.
Slipping back Selina uses that split second to kick the grate from barring her path with a force that sends it like a boomerang out towards the gathering, quickly followed by the fall of her form from the opening to land upon the ground in a crouch, rising with gun raised in one hand and that whip tightly coiled around the other.
"Sorry. He had…" The buzzing though brings her pause, lids rapidly blinking as if to stave off a headache but the sensation makes her finger flex upon the trigger as she takes aim at ones shoulder and fires.

A second figure turns to Selina when she speaks, and the first bullet hit the air and stops. Then, the grate lands on the head of the second creature, and he (she? It?) staggers. Selina’s second bullet hits the first one square on the general area of the chest, and it topples back.
No more buzzing in her head.
The third figure turns and raises a hand. But a shadow runs over the terrace, and falls on number three. It is E.V.A., but the shinny flying saucer looks scorched and shows several holes on her metal hull. Her arrival was more of a fall than a landing, and the floor of the terrace cracks and groans under her weight.
At the corner, Fantomex is trying to stand up, despite having two fist-sized holes on his chest. He is not bleeding as much as he should, though.

It happened fast, all of it from the repeat fire and squeezes of the trigger to the fact that he felt like she was about to suffer a nose-bleed of a migraine and then E.V.A's entry after the buzzing started to subside and vanish. The whip is dangling at her side, swaying with every step that carries her to Fantomex and has her looping her hand under his arm to aid him in rising.
"Okay, you both need to lay low. How did they know where to find you?" Selina inquires while patting him down, a gesture swift but deliberate, leaving no room for anything to go missed unless it is very articulately placed. That she would not put past this group.
All the while her eyes shift from Fantomex and EVA to the three laid out, watching for any possible movement of rousing. "Get you out of view, I will go get my car and take you somewhere where you can recover."

There is still the third blurry one, but the creature seems stunned, either because the grate that hit him or at losing its partners. Fantomex steps forward and kicks it on the head, just in case. "I am hard to kill, chere. And you can't take E.V.A. in your car. She is also injured, hmm?" He looks up, because someone shot the flying saucer repeatedly and E.V.A. couldn't see them. But the mist is lifting, and police sirens can be heard in the distance.
"I was too many times in Gotham, I suppose. Being predictable is bad for thieves, oui? You get back to your people, please, we need to vanish for a few weeks. And heal." He leans on E.V.A. and the fallen technorganic flying machine seems to sigh, and shift slowly into a more upright position.

Selina pauses, the motion that loops the whip back around her wist is smooth, leaving just the tailed end tapping upon the curvature of hip as she moves back towards Fantomex. Something he said or did perhaps, but suddenly her face is a mask and there is no warmth or cold there, and it seemed as if any sensation would be of an intangible fog to go through intead of upon.
Leaning forward Selina rests a hand on E.V.A., a light gesture but enough to place fingertips upon the burnt surface in a steepled fashion. Her other hand reaches up and strokes fingers along Fantomex's masked profile. "Vanish, mon voleur fantome. Do what you must. Send the sheik my regards."
Just as she was there before him she was turning and walking away, the back of the shirt lifted to reveal forming burn scarring as well as the holster where that small SIG had been cradled and in a fluid motion she was scaling a building and disappearing along the rooftops.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License