Railyard Redecoration

April 09, 2014:

A seasoned soldier, an arrogant merc, and a SHIELD archer have a meet and greet. (Language use)

NYC Railyard

Perhaps the only surface railyard left in the city.


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

It's a -lovely- night, if only because of that magnificent breeze coming out of the south west. A pleasant enough night indeed, even if the moon is hiding beneath it's blanket of clouds. People are milling about, and well it's a night like any other in the big apple. Off the beaten path a little bit we find a train switchyard, one of the very few left aboveground in NYC really. It's actually not a place hoods typically hang out, but tonight well it's a little different.
Theres a pair of burly young fellows crumpled up in the patchy weeds poking through the coarse gravel, both are breathing but they look like they've been hit with a mack truck. Theres an arm at a totally improper angle, a jaw thats not quite right and plenty of swelling. The character responsible for this, is standing right over there as casual as can be. Unfolding a large stencil and taping it to the wall, before doffing her pack and snagging her spraypaint. Tagging over a gang sign, the old skool way.
A mixture of out of date european urban camoflague, well worn combat boots, Russian chest rig and helmet, American backpack, and the detail items are a veritable grab bag of old skool paramilitary equipment. From the CZ-75 on her hip, to the well worn AKSU slung across her chest. The distinctive bit though, is the mask. A gas mask to be precise, painted with vivid reds and whites in the pattern of a wolf's skull. A symbol not worn for many years supposedly, the same symbol she's getting ready to tag on the wall.


It's one of those things… Symbols, imagery, they hold meaning and exist for a reason. Many icons come to power, serve out their time, then fall into obscurity never to rise again. Others come about and last the trials of time. One symbol in particular is something which Domino never expected to see, nor did she expect it to effectively be resurrected. This one predates the first World War, well before her time began on this planet. Reading up on history is simple enough, though tracking down its current whereabouts…

In that she just got lucky.

That she now stands behind Partisan, one woman busy with spraypainting the image while the other nonchalantly flicks the safety off on a SCAR-L PDW, lends to a sense of caution.

"Big wartime fan?" the albino woman asks, standing loose but ready with the stubby weapon cradled within both hands, sights held sideward and low. "I may not be a massive history buff, but I'm pretty sure that one's already had its time under the sun."


Partisan shakeshakeshakes that spraypaint, before pausing only long enough to glance back at Domino. "You tryna tell me to retire, because you would not be the first."White goes down for the basecoat it seems. "Nice moves though, been a very long time since anyone could sneak up behind me. Guess I'm getting too comfortable in my old age." Shoulders slumped, her stance looks anything but combative. Downright casual infact, despite the SCAR behind her. "Those two belong to you, or you just come down to play peanut gallery?"


'Retire?' -Old age?- Say -what- now..?

"Checking in on the new players in the area," Domino 'corrects' with a stoic expression of her own. "Or if you're not completely full of shit, checking in on the old players coming into the area."

(Gees, we brought the same gun to the dance. That's embarrassing.)

"Can't recall the last time I've seen Willie Pete used on the field, but it wasn't anywhere near a major U.S. city. What's your deal, Wolfskin? Haven't heard anything but rumors, and now you're out here whomping on a couple of kids and getting comfy with petty vandalism in an area where hardly anyone's going to see it. Claiming some turf on the playground?"


Theres just a smile behind her mask, the sort've smile you can hear in her voice no matter how muffled. "If everyone was using it, it wouldn't be -cool- now would it? I used it -alot- back in the day actually, we used to have to dismantle mortars and hand load it into sort of a mason jar molotov. Thats back when you could buy honest to god strike anywhere matches though, and making contact fuzes was much easier. They never talked about it, because the authorities never recorded it. Nobody wanted to be the asshole who -let- some bitch get her hands on all manner of dangerous compounds, who then used them against the glorious state."The Partisan does pause for a moment there, glancing over her shoulder.
Down comes that first stencil, and up goes the second. "If I was full of shit I wouldn't be here. You didn't get too close I don't think, but I pushed their shit in -and- fucked up their fancy tank. Does that sound like some halfass amatuer, or do I need to show you what the back of your own eyeball looks like to prove it? I mean look, I'm just happy I'm not the only bitch out here with a gun for the first time in forever. Don't confuse that with my willingness to hurt your feelings if you wanna play games with me young lady."And on goes the bright, vibrant red through that stencil. Still offering a sort've aura of calm and tranquility despite everything.


"I think that would only succeed in killing the conversation," Domino replies to the thought of having her eyeball examined somewhere which it does not belong. "Just a bit high-strung there, arencha?"

As if to help prove her point the PDW gets brought up to rest back against the top of her shoulder, as casual as can be.

Black-stained lips hook upward into a smirk, repeating the word "'Lady.' Heh. Been a while since I've heard that one, too. No, you're not alone. There's a fair number of us in this century, maybe you'll find someone else new and psychotic to play with." As for getting into a skirmish, this gal hasn't gotten in the way of one of Dom's contracts yet. So, what's the point?

She steps forward, and around, keeping well outside of melee range of 'Wolf' while still getting that much closer to the art project on the wall. "Been at this a long time, huh. Why the comeback? Why -here?- You must have something to prove to the city or you wouldn't be wasting your time. Besides, living under a filter's a real bitch," she states in regards to the mask. A bit more inwardly, she adds "Always hated that part…"


Theres a pause as she stops the spray for a moment, making sure the edges are exactly so. Then delicately she tugs down the stencil to expose the finished wolf skull, as real as ever. "They killed my husband."Comes a quiet little reply, before she turns to stuff those spray cans in her bag. Apparently the stencils are consumable, because she doesnt seem to be worried about getting them back. "I played by all the rules, I did everything they ever asked of me. I was never greedy with the money, I never had a side con going on. I'm the fucking Partisan, I believed in the cause. I gave everything to the cause, and I retired."On goes that back before she slowly gets to her boots.
Gloved hands lifting to fold across the little shelf her chestrig provides. "I wanted, I don't know. Not white picket fences or any of that shit, I just wanted to relax. Found a man who loved me, even if I'm a monster. So I found the men who did this, and I did a woman's duty. Now, well shit I'm not sure. Might work with the spooks again, might go overthrow some third world government to make myself feel better. We'll see, I'm just taking it one day at a time."


"Morals, what're those?"As she glanced over to the side after Domino, just two girls admiring graffiti nothing to see here. Nevermind the guns, theres a SCAR-L with a can strapped to her backpack. A weathered AKSU seems to be taking up first line service at the moment though, a Yugoslavian Suchka no less. Part's dressed in a mixture of european gear, some of it modern, most of it not. Gasmask ect. "Never had any problems with Mercenaries, a few have been very good friends over the years. Not my life though, I'm the Partisan afterall right? I fight for a cause, though pulling the odd job here or there to fund things doesn't really count now does it?"


God. Damn. It. Why is it that whenever HE has to go on a stakeout, something always comes up? Here, Barton could be back in his apartment, kicking back with a couple of brews, and watching the openers. But instead, he has wait until those idiots wake up again.

And no, not defending those punks from someone bigger and meaner up the ladder.

A shrill whistle sounds a couple of rooftops off to the side, and soon enough, a man with a quiver of arrows and a .40 sitting on his hip makes his way from the shadows some distance away. The dim lights give his form and figure something, but he's dressed in black, so could be a little hard to discern who (or what) he could be. The approach is casual, and by the time he makes it up, blue eyes are on the punks that have obviously been beaten up. He even kicks one with his boot for good measure, earning him an unconscious groan from the youth.

"Great. Just.. great."


"Case in point," Domino monotones. Morals are in short supply around these two. "Everyone's got bills to pay, just another fact of life. Resistance movements tend not to fund themselves so well." (This is so not how I had expected this encounter to play out.)

Any concern of things turning sideways between the two women now past her, Dom turns and leans back against part of the tagged wall that isn't wet with fresh paint. Her own stubby rifle is left to hang loose at her side, short enough for the muzzle to miss touching the ground. It's just in time to hear the whistle from across the yard, her shoulders barely settled against the chilled concrete before she's standing upright and on full alert once more. "Expecting anyone?" she mutters to the side at Partisan.

It's dark out so it takes a while for her to notice the SHIELD badge on the lone man's outfit. It's enough for her to add the subtlest "Oh, -shit-" beneath her breath. (And there goes my luck.)

"It is a pretty great evening, isn't it?" she calls back, instantly all smiles and good cheer.


"No, not especially."The Partisan is, well just as casual as ever it seems. "Don't present an easy target darling, we're in America. They're not allowed to take a shot at you if your not holding your weapon, allowing you time to study the situation and decide what you want to do. Fight when it's time to fight, and look like you don't give a fuck the rest of the time." Sage mode it seems, has been activated somewhere along the line.
"Those two are yours if you want to tag them, boyscout. I forget if you guys keep metrics, quotas and so fourth on detainees sent to your interrogation centers and black sites, we wouldn't want to let you fail in the eyes of your superiors. "Serious, maybe? It's not clear, thanks to that brightly painted gasmask of hers. "Well, I suppose one of us is going to have to supply the beer. Do either of you smoke?"


"Great evening? I could be home, watching the Mets lose and the Yankees choke." Clint looks up at the pair, then again at the 'sleeping' toughs. Where the first time was a nudge, this next time, when boot meets leg, there's a touch more force to it.


Straightening once again, the man crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking disgusted. "Guess I'll have to do this," and he gestures towards the prone figures, "the hard way." Of course he'll blame the girls, though, and he looks at the pair, "Did you really need to do -that-," and a hand motions towards the tag, "tonight? And here?"

In a bid to save what is left of what is probably a stakeout gone completely off the rails, Hawkeye crouches and rifles through the pockets, avoiding the needles and notions, and comes up empty. "God. Damn. It."

His gaze rises to the pair once again, and it lingers upon each in turn before he straightens. "It's a pretty crappy evening by all counts now." At least he's not threatening to take them in!


You don't get shot at if you're not holding a weapon? "Tell that to the kid who got gunned down for brandishing a Three Musketeers," Domino stoically replies to Partisan. Besides, with her ever growing reputation and the ever inclusive threat that the SRD's starting to become, she could be completely unarmed and still end up staring down the bore of a Whump Gun, or whatever the hell they decide to bring to the party.

"Not anymore," she replies to the question about smoking. "Though drinks are a completely different matter."

"Hey, don't let us stop you," she continues to the SHIELD man. It's not long after that she's holding up an empty, open palm from a half-gloved hand in her own defense. "Not mine," she states in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm just enjoying the weather." Blink. Wait. "Is that..a -quiver?-" she asks in a somewhat amused tone, now pointing at a definite quiver across Hawkeye's back.

Now she's just -grinning.-

"I see SHIELD took it pretty hard in the pocketbook these days."


If you ever wondered what a hundred something year old freedom fighter carries in her bag, it seems she's fine with sharing. The Partisan unshoulders her bag and pulls it around to dig about inside, before the wierd shit comes out. Three mason jars filled 3/4 of the way with rice and what looks like a grenade, duct taped to these jars is a tallboy of PBR. With a little fiddling she frees the beer from the jars, and tosses one to Hawkeye and another to Domino. "I did infact, have to do that. I was very tempted to tie them to a lamp post and set them on fire, so everyone could watch. I decided that'd be too much work though, good news for them right?"
So how do you drink beer with a gasmask on? You don't, actually. Which is why with very little ceremony Partisan rolls that gasmask off, revealing that beautiful face and those beautiful blue eyes of hers. She clips the mask delicately to a carabiner on her chest rig, before reshouldering her pack and cracking open that beer. "Come on now, you've got two beautiful women here and a free beer. Quit being such a sourpuss."


'Not mine' brings Clint's gaze around to Partisan, and brows rise if only briefly. "Ah," is exhaled before he shakes his head and scratches an errant itch on the side of his neck. This, for him, is now a little awkward, and with another glance to the downed gangbangers, he exhales in a sigh. It's the 'I did infact, have to do that' that fully identifies the woman in the gas mask.. and when that is pulled off?


But, any chance of sharing a beer with the 'two beautiful women' is completely lost when Domino starts to rag on him about his quiver, even though he catches the brew easily and unconsciously. A breath is taken, and held before he takes a step towards the albino mercenary. "That is, indeed, a quiver," is answered with a decided undertone. "I just happen to prefer the truly silent death." From several hundred yards away. To accent his words, now- now he yanks off the top of that beer.


(Huh. So that's what a Partisan looks like.) "Moisturize often?" Dom asks the other woman with another sidelong glance. After catching the beer that's tossed her way, of course. (Seriously, I'm gonna kick back and shoot the breeze with a freedom fighter war relic and SHIELD's answer to Robin Hood? Wish I could say this was the strangest thing I've ever done on a Wednesday evening.)

With one 'disarming' comes another, the albino shifting the carbine around behind her shoulder from the black sling still securing it to her person. It'd hardly seem sporting to take down an -archer- with anything carrying the NATO label on the end of its designation. Not that she's done with the verbal attack, because c'mon now, this is just too damn fun. "Silent but deadly, read ya loud and clear," she says with that purely amused smirk once more in place. It's punctuated with a slight upward lift of her drink and an equally subtle dip of her head.


It's warm PBR, but it's free god damnit so it's not that bad. Partisan for her part, seems hardly picky. "Don't doubt the bow, we used them with great effect in the fourties against the Nazis. Until we got Sten guns and 1911s anyway, its a fine weapon system if the archer knows his shit."Knocking back that tallboy before leaning back against an unpainted portion of that wall. "Moist-, oh sure. The Gas mask isn't all that bad though, it's the nomex that does it, well and the DIY projects. Nitric acid is just hell on the skin, let me tell you."
Theres a pause for another pull of that PBR, before like all old people the Partisan feels obliged to tell people about shit nobody cares about. "We used to take the brake lights off ZIL trucks, because they were just the right size. Then we'd use a diamond file we stole from this jewelry shop, and we'd gently cut the base off. Then we'd fill them with Sulfuric acid, or if we didn't have any we'd use Nitric acid. We were drilling out bullets back then to get the lead out of them, so we had all these kraut bullet sleeves. We'd plop that on the end of an arrow, and attach a rubber cork to the lightbulb. So if the arrow hit a magazine or something it might have a chance at getting through it, and so that'd deliver broken glass and sulfuric acid into the wound. That was early on, when we were trying to terrorize them as much as we could. Killing him wasn't even as important as maiming him horribly, because then he'd go home and everyone would see this deformed fascist. Anyway, bows and arrows are not to be trifled with."


Fart jokes? Clint holds the now open beer in hand, and he's simply -staring- at Domino now. "Did you really…" is followed by a disbelieving, "Really?"

"Fart jokes." Pause. "Really."

Shaking his head, the SHIELD agent steps forward again to Partisan and hands her the open brew. "I think I'm gonna pass. Gotta type up the report on my Selectric. Budget cuts and all."

The trick related by Partisan gains a pause; another corpsicle? He'll have to check into that when he gets back. "One shot, one kill, or go home." A nod of his head accompanies the explanations and support, but as far as he's concerned now, he's got a botched mission, and he's got to track it back differently. Dammit.

"Sorry I can't stay but gotta work if I want to eat. I would like to say it was great, but…" and a shrug rises. "Thanks for the beer. Was a nice offer."

With that, Clint turns to depart the trainyard.


"That's informative," Domino replies to Partisan's bit of storytime. Mark it up to young arrogance, the gal's not even thirty yet. If she didn't happen to be stupid lucky, she'd have learned to be pretty inventive, too. And, sure, a bow's a perfectly legit means of taking someone down, but in a country full of superpowered beings when she sometimes can't get her point across with an armor-piercing thirty caliber…

It's a -bow.- Fine if you happen to be hunting deer, but… A -bow!- On a goddamn SHIELD agent! Are they that desperate for new recruits?! Hawkeye's holstered .40 may be the only thing that's keeping her from being doubled over laughing. "Too easy?" she asks Hawkeye with a grin.

Merc humor knows no bounds.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing is that she got away with this encounter with nothing more than a mild scolding of 'really?' (Way to play the odds, girl. Best cut now while you're still in the lead.) Rather than hand the beer back to Partisan, she keeps hers right with her. "I'm gonna wander before any more battered baddies and oldschool agents decide to make life more interesting. Happy hunting, kids."

(With a bow.)


Just chuckles at the two, because well not much seems to get to her now does it. "Be safe and well kids."Offering Domino a folded strip of paper, and a wink before moving off to quite casually meander over yonder. Snuggling that beer down into her chest rig before lifting that Krinker, to quite casually roll the bolt back a few inches to check for that familar green casing. The important bits taken care of, she lights up a cigarette and vanishes off into the subway tunnels.

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