Kaiju even lift, bro?

September 18, 2016:

A disturbance breaks out at a Meta-wrestling event, some heroes are called to the spot

New Yersey

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

It doesn't matter how often they make it illegal. There's something about gaining metahuman powers of strength, durability, agility, and so forth, that brings out the need to BRAWL in many of those so gifted - or afflicted. And tonight, in Northeastern New Jersey, in a place where peace is normally only broken by the fierce howling of the Jersey Devil or the warble of police sirens, it's broken instead by the shouting, cursing, and rumbling thuds of the MWF - Metahuman Wrestling Federation - a strictly unlawful and uninsurable event that involves some of the brickiest bricks slamming each other around to the fervent and excited howling and hooting of the less Meta-endowed but not necessarily smarter members of the public.

Tonight, things are a bit out of hand. It seems that there was some illegal betting going on and one of the bookies, well, several of them, have been completely unable to cover all the bets. And this has meant that the punching and such are not restrained to the inside of the squared circle, nor even the inside of the tent.

Behold! Some unfortunate metahumans with the even less fortunate tag of "superhero" have chanced upon the scene. Possibly sent by the police. Let the cleanup BEGIN!

Some people find relaxation, peace of mind, by giving themselves to long walks. That is the case of Pietro Maximoff, a mutant of silver-hair who breaks the speed of sun with his steps. It would be easy to assume, then, that his long walks are walked at mutant-level speed. Because that, speed, is what drives his life, in many different ways. The wind on the face, the lights that flow and fade and disappear around in a mad and chaotic dance, following a rhythm marked only by the breeze turned savage at his pace. This is what Pietro lives for. He runs.

And, sometimes, such runs guide him to unexpected places and unwanted situations. Tonight is one of those days. Some of those days, he finds new meta-humans. Not all of them friendly.

"Oh, the freak show has started without me. Slow as always." Quicksilver mutters to himself in a playful and mischievous tone as he stops at a developing street brawl outside a MWF event. If such thing could even be considered an event, that is. The pair of googles he wears is raised to rest on his unruly hair.

Vorpal has always been convinced that wrestling is fake. The theatricality of it, the coreography. It had to be, right?

As a chair makes contact with his face, he is not entirely sure.

"Owww! Goddanit, dat was mai dose!" the cat growls. He manages to duck a second blow as he gets up, just barely, before he ducks through a Rabbit Hole and emerges on the other side of the brawl, looking for backup. "Scooby Doo, were are you?"

A large, hairy, orange hand swings through the air with a faint CRACK as the sound barrier is broken in its passing. It slams with an unexpected THUD into the head of what was, a moment ago, a young man with green skin and a much slighter build than the owner of the orange hand; the head is now that of a large green buffalo, and buffalo doesn't really care about anything short of an LMD. The large hairy orange owner of the hand howls as he is tossed into the air.

The brawl has not slowed down. The orange goon has, but there are more like him. Or her. That might have been a her. There are now projectiles — large usually subsonic projectiles made, like soylent green, from People. They are mostly hitting other people.

Quicksilver is not actively looking for a fight. In a way, he is searching for a way to stop it! It's not that he doesn't find it entertaining, but people are getting seriously hurt. And he is an X-Man, now, so doing the right thing seems to be his first option. Where to start, though?

The speedster dashes avoiding hits left and right, getting deeper into the fight without hitting anyone himself. Yet!

"Ouch. Did it hurt?" He asks a cat that has just been smashed by a chair. He puts his googles on again, this time as a security measure. "Ok," now to everyone around. "Do you mind if I crash the party?" He chuckles at himself. "Crash the party." He softly echoes.

"… I think that joke hurt more than the chair," the cat says, brushing away some blood from his fur. He frowns at Quicksilver before he says, "Have we met befo-" and off he goes again- someone tackles him from behind, sending him reeling across the ground. This actually causes him to trip three metas who were engaged in a pitted fistfight, and a fourth one to trip on her cape as she backpedaled from the falling men. She trips, falls, and falls down on a table that had been set up near the tent, sending a cooler flying…

and the cooler lands on top of the green gorilla who has taken the place of the buffalo, and the contents are mostly water and beer. The gorilla is now fizzy; he punches the vaguely lemon-yellow colored guy who is wearing the "tate not tant" shirt, and the lemon-yellow guy goes careening back into some other drunk, temporarily pinheaded MGH abusers. The green gorilla is now a very large green labrador retriever and shakes all the beer and water off in a wave then turns into a hummingbird and zips up into the sky a bit so he can figure out who's actually fighting and who's just caught up in the moment.

There is a smallish fellow who looks a bit like a rat possum in a bad suit, who is sneaking past a brawl with a big purple guy with three arms. Ratty has a suitcase clutched under his arm and a guilty look on his face. Well. Rat possum. He might not be able to help it.

Pietro blurs out, disappearing and reappearing a fraction of second later, standing next to the one who has just tackled Vorpal. "Dude, it's rude to interrupt a cat while he's talking." His words are a clear show of his growing upset. And the guy then feels that sensation you get when a mutant punches you with a fist that flies beyond the speed of sound. But even before the man hits the floor, Quicksilver is already peering behind the punched cat. "Uh, I don't think so." A few passing objects are swiftly dodged. "My name is Pietro Maximoff. A pleasure to meet you. What is your name, by the way? You don't have to answer /now/, since I see you are a bit busy." He grins, his words always rushed but always friendly.

A big monstrous-looking meta runs close to them, chasing a smaller and less-monstrous-looking one. He gets kicked too. In part because he's being a bully, and in part just because Quicksilver wanted to.

"Going anywhere?" The quick mutant asks the rat possum like smallish fellow. "You don't look like the regular brawler around." His Transian accent tinting all of his words.

"I'm VorpAUGH!" Vorpal begins to answer, but is quickly pulled down by a meta with tentacular extensions in his hair. "Alright, this is too much!" The Vorpal sword comes into existence, and the cat is swinging the blade to give the man a much-needed haircut. It's a glorious comeback, but it only lasts for a little while as the Cheshire is rushed by a group. He uses a Rabbit Hole to duck out of the way just in time, as the group ends up smashing into each other.

The hummingbird zips back down to land on the shoulder of the three-armed purple guy, whose cheap suit seems to have been somewhat damaged. Then the hummingbird is a green snake … or possible a small dragon, given that there are wings and scales and four legs. The appearance of the dragon causes a moment of confusion on the part of the people yelling at Purple, and the phrase "want my money" becomes more apparent in the general yelling. The smallish dragon says, "You'll need to wait," and sprays out a cloud of gas at the nearby assailants, and they very quickly start giggling and falling over one another, with the occasional, "groovy man," instead of the things they were yelling before. The dragon is holding Purple's nose shut in one hand.

"OK, you look like One-Armed Jack, but you have three arms, how's that work?" the dragon says, and purple shrugs. Then he spots the rat-possum who has stopped in terror when an actual, obvious, dude-in-a-costume accosts him.

"Ratso, you ain't tryin' to run out on me are ya?" and the big purple guy swipes at the suitcase. The dragon, however, runs down his arm and grabs it instead and a large armadillo (green) now has the suitcase and is rolled up around it.

"SORRY GUYS, NO BOOKING WITHOUT A LICENSE!" it says.

Back inside, the combatants in the ring have turned to watch the brawl as it spreads inside. The more sensible audience members are also pulling to the other side where it's safer.

"Wow, be careful with that thing, Vorpaugh! Don't run and wield a sword." Pietro exclaims as the cat uses a blade to attack his own attacker. A cat… used a… Anyway, there's no time to think about it! In the middle of the fight, a young boy (probably meta, but his recen unconscious state makes it difficult to be sure) is smashed against a table which happens to be holding an unopened beer, which is now falling to the gr—Saved. No beer is harmed if Quicksilver is there to help. Most people, on the other hand… But he can't save /everyone/.

When people start yelling at the odd pair who got his attention an instant before, his curiosity grows even more.

"Huh, you're quite popular." He notes, beer in hand, dodging incoming hits. "And a talking dragon." he sips and ponders it for a moment. "More like a shapeshifter? Do you," He starts, at the (now) armadillo, "Uh, do you need any help there?" The purple guy receives a gaze of his deep blue eyes.

Vorpal eventually emerges from a Rabbit Hole after leading some of the brawlers through a wild goose chase over several dimesional openings. Those who did not fall under the sway of the dragon's breath are dizzy…. or puking their hearts out in the corner after being taken through one hell of a roller-coaster ride.

"Dude, just how much caffeine do you have in you right now?" h asks Piotr, smacking one of the more persistent brawlers with a purple glowing mallet.

"Me, or him?" the Armadillo asks the speedster, suddenly grabbing the tail of the equally-suddenly fleeing Ratso and pulling it into the armadillo-sphere. Rat-Possum is now going nowhere. The purple guy begins flailing his huge arms uselessly.

"C'monn, Logan," he whines. "Who woulda thought that Cho kid was gonna turn into a Hulk? It was 120 to 1 against him!"

"Everyone who pays attention," the Armadillo retorts, and sings a little tune, "Don't make book if you cannot cover bets. Be Prepared!"

The brawl has slowed a bit — there's a half-roar half-yell from the adjacent field/parking lot now, though.

"MY CAR!! WHO DROPPED THIS LOSER ON MY FU'IN CAR?!"

Quicksilver chuckles, tilting his beer towards Vorpal. His image blurring out constantly, phasing through the fight in short hops, from one point to the other, just avoiding being hit while enjoying his drink. He is an spectator and it is never too late to watch a wrestling match, it seems. "Not as much as I would like. Actually, I just wanted to chill, have a coffee, maybe get back home and watch a movie. You know, nothing really crazy. Perhaps even sleep early. But I said to myself," He clears his throat, "Myself, why don't you run a bit, do some exercise," He pauses to sip some more, his image increasingly more difficult to spot as he moves so constantly to avoid spilling the beer because of an unwanted hit, "And here we are. First row, watching the freak show in 3D."

To the armadillo, Pietro says full of conviction, "You. Him. You. Both? No, you. Helping armadillos gives good luck." Then switching to the purple one for a moment in a whisper, "Nothing personal." He says and chuckles a bit more but letting them continue with their talk. "So, running out of funds had something to do with the meta-drinkers killing each other, I assume?"

"Right…" Vorpal says, and winces at the scream. "Okay… that sounds like it's… bad. I'm going to check that out before there's a bodycount. The green shifty guy is Changeling…" and it looked like he had things under control here.

So he Rabbit Holes in the direction of the shout, bracing himself for what might happen…

"Maybe," the green shifty guy says. "These things usually have some amateur hour stuff, but not actual rioting like we saw tonight. And my friends here, uhm, will need to refund their customers. The state police have been following them for a while. Don't worry guys," he says. "They won't put you in the same tank with the drunk and disorderly. Probably."

The flashing red and blue lights go on at the edge of the field, and a number of officers appear, among them three in surplus Mandroid armor — yeah, that probably shouldn't exist, but if they seized it from a drug trafficker, they get to keep it. Some how. After a moment or two of conversation, the armadillo releases the suitcase to one of the regular cops, and the two miscreants to the police, and they're taken away. Remarkably nobody stops to deal with the still-ongoing fistfights on the sides.

Meanwhile back in the tent, the announcer has managed to get people back in their seats, and the tag-team between the four behemoths in the ring is back on.

And in the parking lot, a normal human but bigger than is reasonable, is yelling at another not-normal guy who looks like he got into the Kaijuu version of some mutagen or other is unconscious across three cars. One of them a testicle-laden Ford truckzilla, one some flavor of jeep, and the third a ridiculous little Smrt Cr (too small to have vowels) which it seems to have used for a pillow. It's crushed, of course.

Pietro nods at Vorpal. "Yeah, he sure looks like he's changeling a lot, Vorpaugh." It only gets better with his heavy Eastern European accent. By now the beer is finished, and he can't see any other nearby. He smashes the empty glass against some other bully's head. "Impressive." He says, perhaps to himself, as the cat Rabbit Holes. The shout gets his attention too, but it quickly returns to the shapeshifter. "I see. Huh, they will be leaving the dance sooner than expected." The mutant's gaze goes to the incoming police men. Wait, police?! He flinches at first, but then relaxes as he remembers he doesn't have to hide from police anymore. Or does he? He's still relaxed as the fight around considerably slows down.

Vorpal sighs and rubs his forehead. "Right. It must be a day ending in ''y''."

He walks towards the huge man and calls out, "Alright sir, please step back from the car. We will remove the, um, person from it and you can file with the police for the destruction of your car, and sue if you want-" he probably will.

"Why do we keep getting these jobs?" he asks into his earpiece.

"His name is actually 'Vorpal' as in the vorpal blade from the Lewis Carroll poem," the armadillo says, as he returns to a human form, a 5'9" male human in his early 20s, with dark green unkempt hair, lighter green skin, and wearing a red-and-white close-fitting "not spandex, unstable molecules" outfit.

His earpiece says something and he answers, "Because nobody else wants them??"

Looking back to the speedster, "I'm Gar Logan. Also called Changeling. You look familiar."

Back in the field — the big guy mutters things better left unmuttered, but then his proxy manhood has been crushed by a giant lizard.

"What's the situation there?" Gar asks into his own headset.

"Oh, Vorpal. I'm sorry, people were shouting, so it was difficult to hear it right." Quicksilver nods and offers a smile, while still being too focused on the conversation to actually join a fight for the time being. "It's nice to meet you. And it's nice to meet you, as well, Gar Logan." The blue eyes of the mutant narrow slightly as his smile widens even more. "If you are cops, I honestly hope I don't look familiar." Clearly a jest, closely followed by a laugh. "Pietro Maximoff, also known as Quicksilver from time to time. And also, I think you didn't answer me. Would you find useful the help from a speedster? I have some free time, and my beer is finished, so I wouldn't mind. Unless you have another beer, and you can buy a few minutes of my silence." He grins.

A Rabbit Hole opens up again, letting Vorpal through. It doesn't close behind him. "Vehicular damage. Someone's going to get the crap sued out of them when they come to. Unless they start punching each other, in which case we might have to get involved. How's the situation over here, hon?"

He peers at Pietro and smirks, "Well, if you want to put those zappy zoomy powers of yours to use, you can always zip tie the perps that got knocked out. Stay away from the puking ones, though. They're a mess…"

"I'll buy you a beer if you want to hang around long enough to make sure this doesn't go sour again," Gar says. "Vorpal and I are part of the Titans. Not cops, but not vigilantes either, we're licensed."

He grins at Vorpal, and says, "I'll go get some zip ties from the car," and flies off as a bat. Because it's kind of after darkish.

And, a moment later, "Vorpal? Why did you not tell me that there was a kaijuu on our car?"

In the distance, a basso-profundo pained yelp is followed by a bit of monster-scale yelling. It's possible, in the lights, to see a pair of giant monsters, one purple, the other green, yelling in monster-ese.

"I've done so many things preceded by a promise of beer." Pietro sighs and then smiles sharply. "Ok, avoid the puking ones. And, Titans, huh? I've not met your teammates yet, but it would be an honor, if it ever happens. But I've heard of your team, certainly. So, let's clean this mess before it gets worse." The speedster's last words are more serious. He could continue the conversation while going to help and returning at full-speed, but he runs to clear the zone of knocked-out people as soon as possible. And many troublemakers join the ranks of the knocked-out in the process. He is no longer a dreamy, joking mutant. He is now raging silver wind, sprinting around and lending a hand to help as much as he can.

"I'm so sorry, love," Keith says into his earpiece, "I just couldn't find the right words."

Maybe, just maybe now they can get a car that has a little bit more space. Maybe.

"I'll make it up to you with a hot stone massage… whoa, look at silver streak go!" the cat says, and whistles as Quicksilver does what he does best.

Zip ties are provided as a full bag of the nylon cable-and-criminal-control devices is tossed towards Pietro from the parking lot with an underhand lob by the green kaiju, while the purple one … throws up on the Ford … in the bed of the truck. And it demonstrates that it doesn't QUITE have the capacity for those really large jobs. And it's not terribly long before the green guy comes walking back from the parking lot with a short, skinny, purple-haired asian guy with a tee-shirt of Godzilla, leaning on him.

"Someone," Changeling says, "was selling some really out-of-date barbecue here… a lot of it."

He notices all the restrained rioters, and clicks his headset.

"More to pick up, Officers."

The too-rowdy revellers, having been subdued, are collected. The asian guy manages to find his way to the bench next to the underage kid that Quicksilver noticed earlier.

The raging wind stops in front of Vorpal for a moment. It would look as if he had just materialized in that spot for someone unaware of Pietro's ability! "Silver Streak? I love it. Do you think it would sound better, more serious, than Quicksilver? I mean, I love to be Quicksilver too, but Silver Streak is not a bad name, either. Or I can get a side-kick and… Anyway, one sec." He disappears once more, continuing his task and collecting the zip ties, but not before quickly speaking his mind, "Meta-human fights are racist acts of ignorance. Kaiju fights are pure amusement."

"Well, I kinda like both. You should consider them as moniker and subtitle, maybe?" Vorpal points out, and then looks at Garfield. "I rather like how fast the guy is. We've never had a speedster since Kid Flash retired. Think we could ask the X-Men to loan us their speedster when they aren't using him?" He grins.

"Sure," Gar says, and grabs a glass of something beer-like from a vendor inside, giving him a few dollars. He returns to hand it to Quicksilver.

"Actually, most of these guys are pretty much doing it for fun, it's like MMA without the profits nowadays. Though I've heard there are places that do pit-fight captured metahumans. I … remember some of that from when I was a kid, although it wasn't really me who had to do that."

He shrugs. "Kaiju fights are also good but they take a lot of space. I hear they have a big outdoor arena on Monster Island near Japan, but I'm kinda afraid to look. Keith? I think we need to shop for a car tomorrow. I hope my insurance covers acts of Godzilla."

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