Stop the Presses

October 10, 2017:

A certain vengeful ghost turns up the heat in his quest to get revenge against Remy LeBeau. Spider-Gwen and Elinor Ravensdale pitch in to rescue themselves a Cajun.

A motorcycle dealership in New York City.

One with a great insurance policy.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's well into the 'after-midnight' zone tonight as Remy "Gambit" LeBeau goes slipping out of the back door of a major tech corporation. He's already done his thieving of the night— a very valuable thumb drive with some high-level tech information is now in the inner pocket of his duster, zipped up, capped, protected and ready to be delivered to his buyer. Now he's just got to get to his get-away vehicle, a motorcycle parked, for the moment, in a motorcycle dealership one street over. One he really liked, and one he intends to be his after the night's over.

Extracurricular thieving. Sure, he loves the big scores, but the bike he saw was one slick bike, and one tends to have to leave a paper trail to buy those things legitimately. He slips through the streets and heads to the dealership gates. He pops in a code he stole three days ago, looking for all the world like he could be the owner of the place, returning late to wrap up some work before the customers come in the next day. And then he strides right through to the bike of his choice.

Someone unseen to human eyes follows him, and he doesn't notice when a bike or two shakes just a little bit in their places in the parking lot. Elinor's senses might pick up quite a bit of ectoplasmic activity from that particular dealership, however. As for Gwen? Well, either her spider's-eye view of the city or her spider-sense might tip her off to the idea that something's not quite right at the Black Eagle Harley Davidson Dealership tonight.


Spider-Woman's senses are not exactly human, but they are not exactly human, either. She's doing her rounds as usual - condoned or not. As Gambit moves from the tech crop to the bike place, the white clad spider-themed heroine follows by fire escape. Her steps are silent, her observation purely academic at the moment.

However, her attention is entirely focused on the thief as she moves a few levels down to get a better eye on the man who seems to stride about a dealership in the middle of the night as if he owns it.


Elinor really, really, really, REALLY wanted to not give a shit about LeBeau after their last encounter. He's a pompous ass who deserves whatever happens to him when his luck runs out. Granted, he keeps hitting her buttons, probably intentionally and as much as she told herself that she's going to ignore him, and let fate deal his hand… she can't help herself.

The ghost she saw in the grocery store the other day spent all of it's manifestation juice to explode one can of spice in Remy's face. That takes a lot of effort and dedication to piss off one human. Which lead Elinor to believe that the ghost could turn vengeful, and harm others. Not that she wouldn't mind Remy taking a few hits to the face, but at the same time, she can't ignore it. Which is why she's had Gambit tailed for the last few days, giving her hints on this newly formed ghost and just how powerful it's growning.

The late hour doesn't bother her, because she's used to being up when the sun is asleep. Slipping through the shadows at this hour takes no effort, and that's where she's been most of the evening. Waiting for Remy to finish whatever business he has in this building, hovering in the shadows like a grumpy little cloud. She even follows him to the dealership lingering outside the fence while he steals his bike. When the bikes move she ignores Remy as she feels the pull of magical manifestation. She lingers toward the shaking bikes, remaining in the shadows and wondering if she can handle this without the mutant knowing.


The ghost is infuriated, and the one little incident has been enough to stoke its rage. It has fed off that rage. It's grown more powerful. It's also smart. It's found pockets of similar rage throughout New York City, fed off of them, and used them to strengthen himself. Julien Boudreaux is now perhaps one of the most powerful ghosts Elinor has ever felt in her short career. He hasn't absorbed other ghosts, per se, but just the emotions left behind by any event similar to the one that spawned him in the first place. Now he's easy to see, a strapping young man in his early twenties with what looks like a gaping sword wound directly through the chest.

He goes through just touching the bikes. Touch. Touch. Touch. Investing them with bits of his own energy. He moves quickly, zipping and zooming about until he's run his hand across twenty in all. Then he flies to the top of the dealership, stands there, and crosses his arms with a cruel smile on his face.

Remy LeBeau has no ghost senses. So he smiles as he runs his hands along the one bike he wanted, then uses his phone to unlock the smart lock of the dealership itself— another little theft carried out days ago. He's just going to walk in and help himself to the keys and a license plate, and he's even going to clean up their inventory to make the thing look like it was sold. He liked the sweet young lady who had shown him the bike, too. Might as well earn her a commission.

Julien does not care, it seems, that Remy has gone into the dealership. He lifts his hands, and all 20 bikes rev up at once.

And that is what Elinor, Gwen, and (in short order) the man known as Gambit will see: twenty bikes suddenly go streaking towards the windows of the dealership, shattering them as they blow directly towards the man in the long black duster.


Gwen does not see Elinor at the moment. A woman outside the fence is not going to grab her attention as much as a thief seemingly manhandling bikes in a very obscene manner and then those all running away as if they had minds of their own.

There is a monstrous crash of glass and that implores the Spider-Woman to swing downward and make herself known. There are not too many people on the street, so she attempts to ignore the glass, the explosions the bikes. She cares little for collateral damage as long as it is not people that are in the way of said damage. Instead, she swings right into the place, thinking that Remy himself is responsible for the bikes and not the man on the sidewalk. Remy was - after all - the one who touched the bikes last.

Gwen lands on the pavement, between the store itself and the street. "Seriously? Motorcycles? You know they have a high death rate, right?"


The ghostly energy that Julien puts into one of those bikes is probably what most ghosts only manage to achieve in decades. A sinking feeling hits her stomache as Julien floats the the roof. Remy is going to owe her, big time.

If he survives, and doesn't end up haunting her instead.

Knowing she isn't going to be able to wave her hand at this problem and make it go away, she begins to fomulate a plan, perhaps try and disenchating some of the bikes before they can get going. That of course is thrown out the window when Julien brings them to life.

"Well. Fuck." She says flatly as she rushes into the parking lot pulling the shadows around her and pushing them toward the bikes. She's trying to knock as many of them down as she can. Hopefully she can slow them down enough for Remy to escape. "You really know know to make friends LeBeau!" She yells at him from outside, finally visiable now that she isn't hiding in the shadows.


Remy LeBeau whirls around to see the Army of Bikes coming towards him…and one Safety Spider. But the Safety Spider…and then the yelling shadow-weaver…are neither one of them his biggest concerns. He executes an acrobatic leap roll that takes him atop one of the desks, and crouches down to grip it with one hand as one motorcycle careens into it with a shower of sparks. To Safety-Spider he says: "I can do a lot, lady, but I can't do -that-, no!"

What he can do, apparently, is surf a desk, even as it careens into another desk. He has one hand free; he withdraws a single playing card. It starts to glow between his fingers even as he executes his strange, wild ride.

Elinor's shadows knock four of the backmost bikes into each other. Two of them get tangled into uselessness; two more right themselves.

As for Gwen, she might realize the only death rate one might have to worry about tonight is the strange man getting shoved around the dealership. They stream after him like the Wild Hunt, in a phalanx of fours only recently messed over by the shadow-weaver's efforts. They glow, now, with a sort of greenish, ectoplasmic energy that trails off of them, visible even to the eyes of those who can't see magic.

Elinor's commentary only elicits a hard smirk out of him. "I made friends with you, didn't I, ma bele t sorcière? You're here, you're helping me. Was it my winning smile? It was my winning smile, wasn't it?"

Is he seriously doing all this talking away while all these bikes are trying to kill him?

Yes. Yes he is. Almost like he can't help himself.


"God, get a room you two," Gwen rolls her eyes at Elinor and Remy as she webs one of the motorcycles. Though she doesn't care which, she plants her feet and yanks. All she is attempting to do is get it off its center of gravity. Even with magic, a motorcycle needs to be on its wheels to be a threat. If she continues that, she can try and minimize the damage.

"You see! What I mean! About death rates!" It seems even with fighting and webbing, she feels the need to make herself right. She has so little else here!

She has no idea what Elinor can do, but she's attempting to make sure Remy doesn't die here. That doesn't do well for her record. Arrested? Great. Dead? Not so good.


"Ugh, don't encourage him." Elinor replies to Gwen, glad that someone else is here to help with the choas because she's about to be very occupied. At least the bikes are just going after Remy (he probably deserves it) and she might be able to get up to the roof to calm Julien down, but there is so much rage in him. "She has a point, these are tiny death machines." Banter is the only thing getting her throught this right now

She has to snarl at Gambit as he continues to comment about his smile and she shakes her head. "I'm not your French words! I'm only here to prove you wrong you idiot. Now keep these bikes busy, I have an asshole to attend to on the roof." With that she dashes around the building looking for a utility ladder or something to get her on the roof. If only her shadows let her fly!


It is certainly not very much trouble for Gwen Stacy to user her webbing to yank a bike off balance. It goes spin careening into a wall, where it promptly ends its brief stint as a potergiest. Just 17 more to go!

Or make that 14, because the man on the desk suddenly flings the glowing card into one of the bikes in the lead, one of the four taking point on pushing it into a big screaming cubicle pile-up. The bike downright explodes, shattering into a bunch of bike pieces that take out two of its fellows just by virtue of the shrapnel that goes flying everywhere. At this point it seems real prudent to get off the desks, because the pileup is about to become deadly. Gambit flings himself into an acrobatic tuck and roll, withdrawing a long extendable staff as he lands neatly on his feet in a sort of flanking position. "They're fine as long as you drive responsibly," he points out to the two women who are very much anti-bike. "I can't help it if whoever's in control of them right now didn't take him any basic safety classes."

He still seems remarkably cheerful, really, given the situation.

It might take her a bit to find a utility ladder, but at least she's free from bike aggro as soon as she gets off the show room floor. Not that she had much to begin with anyway. There is a long hallway leading to various offices, which in turn leads down to a service center, which in turn leads to a garage. There might be a maintenance closet somewhere that might have the right spot, or the garage might be the right one.


A frantic search isn't helping anyone, and while she knows this place has to have roof access some where, by the time she finds it the building will probably be a rubble. Shaking her head she pokes her head back into the show room and calls out. "Who is dead that you would have really pissed off recently? Huge hole in his chest like a sword was driven through it? Does that ring a bell?" Maybe she can summon him down here, but while she waits for her answer, she continues to look for that roof access in the garage.


The staff starts to glow next, and Remy slams it into the wheels of one of the bikes, causing something rather more controlled. The tire pops and it goes careening away before he dashes to leap on the service counter instead, causing another to simply crash in pursuit of him. This thing is largely more sturdy and stable, being set right into the floor.

Elinor's words cloud his face. "You really are the real deal, you," he mutters.

He's not sure whether he's going to answer her or not. Indeed, after a moment he tries just snarling a bunch of Cajun French, presumably to the ghost. An apparent rapid-fire indictment of something, which probably doesn't help. Indeed, all the motorcycles remaining rev up in a sudden frothing fury, and go circling around and around the counter as if looking for some sort of opportunity. Which they may get; the power that was invested into the crashed motorcycles goes fleeing into the still-good ones; in a moment they may be able to pull some things motorcycles weren't meant to pull.


"Stop the presses, LeBeau has finally figured out the FUCKING OBVIOUS." Elinor barks out snarling as she notices Lebeau is now on an island is surrounded by swimming sharks. "A name! That's all I need!" Well not all she needs, but it's a start. She's going to need luck, a lot of power, and probablly a hot shower once all this is done. She finds a bare spot on in the garage and kneels down on the floor, pulling several things out of her satchel. She takes an athame out and unsheaths it quickly dragging the sharp blade over the palm of her hand. She knows that this is going to get messy and she feels slightly bad that the owners aren't not going to know what happened in their shop but she can't let this continue. It's going to take a lot of power to calm this angry ghost down and blood is likely going to be the only way to do it.

Elinor never said her job was pretty.

She draws a few quick runes with her finger and focuses, trying to banish the ectoplasmic energy in the bikes, at least buying them some time before she moves on to her actual target. "Any time, unless you like being a sitting duck."


"Julien Boudreaux," Gambit growls, and all the playful flirtation is gone from his tone. He collapses the staff as basically useless and shoves it back in his belt, then pulls three more playing cards in rapid succession. They, too, start to glow.

"In case he weren't listening? You tell that two bit revenant I never wanted to hurt his fool dumb ass. It was an accident."

The three cards go slamming into three more bikes, but now he's forced to duck his own shrapnel, and some of the bike sharks choose that moment to leap. They soar towards him, and he flattens, watching them go over his head with wide eyes. "Merde," he adds, in what might be a moment of justifiable shock.


"Ugh, gross, seriously, just go into a closet or something," Gwen says through the mask as she leaps, landing pristinely on a large shelf and thwipping at four more bikes to yank and pull them off their course. As she yanks with her superwoman strength, she looks to Gambit - pointed even through the mask. "And don't, for a moment, think your Southern accent fools me. You came in here to steal something or fondle some bikes and neither of them are really good for the neighborhood."

As Elinor starts to draw runes on the floor, her eyes draw to that action, but pays it only partial attention. There's a somewhat assuredness in her demeanor that she thinks it won't work.


"You can tell him that yourself!" Because she is bringing him down here, forcefully, if she has to. Once she has the name she nods her head and focuses, letting her blood drip over the runes she's already written. She takes several deep calming breaths and before she finally speaks. When she speaks, her voice sounds commanding and dark. "Julien Boudreaux. I summon you. Appear before me, or be banished back to your grave." She puts her will into that command, using her blood to fuel the ritual. When she opens her eyes, they've gone black as she lets the darkness around her help to fuel her command.


This is the first time Remy gets a good look at the thwipping webs, and, really, Gwen's whole get-up. As she snags four bikes out of the air and takes them down for him. He springs back to his feet and widens his red eyes. He looks ever so innocent. "You have me all wrong, t araignée! I'm night security. I did touch a bike, but I just like them, me. Both I and the dealership greatly appreciate your service to our fine establishment. I mean, come on. I have the smart key on my phone, I had the gate key, you think they just hand those out?"

He sounds ever so matter-of-fact, just like a security guard might, thanks to the hypnotic vibrations humming in those smooth Southern tones, all coupled and married with his own acting skills.

Meanwhile, this most unconventional of guards deals out three more cards for himself. Blood and fire and explosions and webbing. They probably have great insurance, this dealership. Probably.

Meanwhile, Elinor's magic forcibly yoinks the ghost down to her blood circle, a tattered wraith that even Gwen can see. He snarls at Elinor, "That son of a bitch ended me."

"You're the son of a bitch!" Remy snaps back. "I told you I didn't want to duel. And then you sucked at it! I try and disarm your ass, you walk right into it like you ain't never held no sword before! Damn, you so dumb not even Hell gonna take you? Go on with you!"

Julien's response is to fling himself against the bindings with all his ghostly might…and to suddenly reverse the course of the four motorcycles that remain, sending them after Gwen, this time, because she's helping Remy, he's noticed, and he doesn't like it.


As the four motorcycles run at her, Gwen leaps again, swinging toward a desk this time and grabbing at the vehicles to not just disable but destroy. With the force she pulls at her webs, she certainly hopes that the motorcycles aimed at her are parts rather than anything that could do any real damage.

"You're summoning the bad guy?" she asks to Elinor. But it is too late. Things are happening and she swings with it. Literally. "Uh huh," she tells Remy and also the suddenly appeared Julien - a ghost. "Dude. This is far beyond webs. I don't generally deal in ghosts. You got material things I can web, that's good for me."


This unconventional guard might want to think about removing the security footage from the cameras in the room before they leave. This is going to be hard enough to explain as is!

When Julien is brought before her in her circle, Elinor keeps her focus and concentration on keeping him there. Sadly it's not cutting him off from the bikes, but at least she can get him talking and perhaps distract him. "I have to get his attention some how or he's just going to keep throwring bikes at everyone!" She replies to Gwen.

"You're both sons of bitches." She spits out in frustration to Remy and Julien as she continues to keep the ghost contained, which is troublesome when he's fighting against his cage. There is a look of fierce concentration on her face and a light sheen of sweat is breaking out over her skin. "Why did you duel him Julien? When you knew this about yourself, when you knew this about your combatant? Killing him now will not break you peace, it will only seal the deal on your destination."


Gwen Stacy is strong and fast enough to get all the rest of the bikes with her webbing, and reduce them to slag. At the very least, he doesn't have anything else to control, having had no chance to invest his ghostly presence into anything else at all.

Meanwhile, Elinor Ravensdale is a master of her craft, but the ghost is insane and strong. She can feel it, the moment when he wrenches himself free. He shrieks a howling snarl of Cajun French as he goes streaking off into the night, zooming away so fast that he is soon completely out of range of the entire thing.

Her blood bindings shatter, hitting her with a wave of backlash energy hard enough to knock her out.

Remy swears at all of it. The security cameras are less of a problem than people imagine, as he paid someone off to set them on a loop days ago. What they're recording, right now, is a serene dealership with no trouble whatsoever. And he shut off the alarm with the door app.

Nevertheless, he doesn't want to stick around, nor does he want Elinor to stick around. He scoops her up, throws down his coat, and uses it to wipe up all the DNA evidence she just spurted all over the floor in his defense. He scoops that up and covers her up in it. "Gonna get her to the hospital, t araignée." Like the best and most responsible of security guards. "You might wanna go before someone misunderstands you, Daily Bugle got itself a rant about spider people every day, seems like. Thanks for the help!"

And lack of security footage or no, all the broken glass and noise and sound and fury is summoning sirens. He slips out quick, leaving Gwen to her own devices. Hoping, mostly, she'll cover herself rather than worrying about him and the woman who is apparently trying to save him from his bayou-born baggage.

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