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A Blissful Kiss from Judas Lips; Tag // Logan and OPEN
Topic Started: Nov 3 2017, 01:45 AM (68 Views)
Carmilla Black
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Not Viper
October 21, 2017
1:30am, warehouse docks in Hell’s Kitchen


There was a bite of chill in the air, this late in October, just enough crispness to make the air smell fresh and clean, despite the funk of the city it carried. At half past one in the morning, the yellow glow from the occasional streetlamp did little to fight back the gloom of the night, especially so far out of the way. The docks in Hell’s Kitchen were always a haven for criminals, under patrolled and with plenty of dark holes. It was an inevitable go-to for drug smugglers, gun rings, and other criminal organizations. Normally, it wasn’t a place a SHIELD agent would be without backup. But then, Carmilla wasn’t exactly an average SHIELD agent, either. While normally she’d be undercover, this wasn’t really a mission that was meant to be long term – hell, it really wasn’t a mission that was scheduled out, or really had anything but the main directive outlined for her. Track the drugs to the source. Report back. Other than that, she was pretty much given free rein. No handlers, no check ins – to be honest, she liked it.

She’d already traced the batch she needed from the junkie, to the small-time dealer, back to a smaller gang that hadn’t been worth her time in the main city. Those, she’d left for the authorities, while she followed her bait to the bigger fish at the end. This crowd, which had gathered at a seemingly abandoned warehouse that was far too well guarded, was more to her liking. She’d parked her matte black and green GSXR motorcycle a few blocks down, her heavy duty boots mostly silent on the concrete as she ghosted towards the gathering. In black jeans, and a black leather jacket over her tank top, her hair was tucked up under a black ski cap, hiding the green locks from sight, helping her blend into the shadows.

The silver gauntlet that normally kept her left hand, her stinger, in check, was currently shrunk to its bracelet form, a slim silver bangle tight around her left wrist, with a glowing green gem at the top, giving her a full range of movement for her fingers, and less obvious light reflection. Sneaking up as close as she could to check out the security, she quietly scaled one of the nearby warehouses, shimmying to the edge and peeking over, narrowing her eyes as she took in the increase in security, a surprising factor that she hadn’t expected. It was almost as surprising as the footsteps behind her, that her enhanced senses told her to coming, a few seconds before the muzzle of a gun nudged her sharply in the back.

“Roll over and show me your hands, now.” The rough voice was punctuated with another hard poke from the muzzle, and without showing the scowl she felt, Carm placed her hands palm down on the concrete, before rolling onto her back, narrowing vivid green eyes at the bulky guy standing over her. He talked into what looked like an earpiece, before leaning down and grabbing her elbow, hauling her up with the gun still held against her side. “Move it. You wanted to see, now you get to see – and the boss’ll decide what to do about it.” He muttered the last bit more to himself than to her, and she stumbled along as if having trouble keeping up with his long steps, forcing him to half-carry her by her arm.

By the time he’d gotten her down the fire escape and to the door of the obviously busy warehouse, he looked ready to shoot her, and he shoved her inside, where she had to admit…There were a lot more guys than she had expected. What the hell? Where had her small drug smuggling ring gone to? She was good, but this was going to be tricky as fuck, assuming they didn’t shoot her. Luckily, Carm had plenty of practice at playing all sorts of parts thanks to SHIELD, and so she didn’t flinch or look away as they eyed her, earning a few chuckles.

It took two of them to yank her jacket off, and the same two took an extra few minutes of grappling to get her into the chair that had been dragged over, as she grinned at their curses. Two guns, eight knives, a burner cell phone, and a holster full of filled, unmarked syringes later, and she was seemingly unarmed, when they yanked her hat off, spilling vibrant emerald curls everywhere. Tossing them out of her face, she huffed, testing the bonds that tied her to the chair in annoyance.

“Are you done? I was told I’d be talking to the boss.” Carmilla sneered the words as if she were in six in stiletto heels, looking down her nose at a bunch of servants, instead of tied to a chair with at least four guns on her, earning a few surprised looks. One of the bigger goons spoke without thinking, confusion on his face.

“What?” He earned a look of contempt from the green haired woman, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well why the fuck else would I be here??” A few of the men shifted, momentarily uncomfortable, until another man, not quite as beefy, but well dressed in a tailored suit, and holding an air of superiority, stepped forward.

“That is a very good question. Why are you here, spying from a rooftop? Cop? DEA? Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you and toss you in the harbor.” Unlike the bluster of the others, this man’s voice was calm and collected – in charge. Carm narrowed her eyes at him, before pointedly tossing her hair slightly.

“I look like a cop to you? Really?” Story, story, need a story…Fuck, here goes nothing. “I traced you from a junkie in the city, to a dealer, to the dealer’s gang, and followed that guy,” she nodded at her bait, sorry dude, “Here. I want a job, and I don’t deal with low-key lackwits like him.” The man studied her for a second, before turning to the paling lackey she’d just thrown under the bus. With a gesture, two of the armed men took him by the arms and dragged him outside, kicking and begging, before a gunshot sounded. She didn’t flinch, keeping her eyes trained on the man in charge, who stared at her.

“We have no openings.” He turned, and motioned again. “Kill her.”

Well fuck.
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Wolverine
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Short Hairy Healing Factor. And claws.
The constant surgeries and injections and alterations of being a subject in Nem’s lab were getting to Logan. They were making amazing progress, biologically speaking at least. The wild man was still chock full of jumbled up memories and grouchier than ever, but his brain was more whole than it had been in decades. However the work was making Logan angrier, paranoid, restless, and even more prone to take off then normal.

All of this was multiplied sharply by having Jet Black in his life. The woman was a ray of sunshine in a very dark life and Logan was very very well practiced at keeping dames out of his real life. So he pushed her away while keeping a hand extended, hoping she’d stay, already armoring herself for when she’d leave. They always left eventually, either death or drift took them and most were better off without him.

All of that was pushed to a far corner of his mind tonight however. Tonight Wolverine was looking for a fight. It was time to lose himself in something simple and primal and bloody, anything to get all those memories to shut up for awhile. So he’d taken his old harley fatboy out to Hell’s Kitchen and started looking for trouble. 3 bars later he still had no takers and his mood was blacker than ever. With all the other things going down in the world, not too many people wanted to step to a runt that had a dangerous gleam in his eye visible 10 miles off.

With a growl Logan kicked the bike back into gear and reached for his last Cuban cigar from the 1980s. However before he could slide it from the brown paper it was wrapped in, a familiar scent, very faint, drifted into his nose. It was spiky and warm, hints of danger and good humor laced through a definable aura of resolution. Logan’s senses were better than most everyone on this dustball and he knew it’s owner instantly. Carmilla Black: Agent Scorpian of SHIELD. A lady that reminded him of both himself and an old old acquaintance that he hated very very much. For a moment he pondered at the bizarre concept that both ladies in his life had the same last name, but by the his nose had picked up on a few more things.

Drugs, men, guns, and the order of Carm’s bike. The lady was either chasing some thugs who had it coming or had flipped the script and dealing these days. Finding that last bit too unlikely, Logan ceased his cigar struggles and kicked his bike into motion. Lady probably didn’t need backup, but she smelled alone and the feral was downright bored tonight. Miles later the scent positively filled an old warehouse as he drove closer. How corny could you be? Old warehouse, middle of the night, drug deals like this was the 80s all over again. If there was also a black Transam Logan was going to die laughing. He rounded the warehouse, trying to get a handle on the situation. His ears picked up Carm’s voice, apparently set on getting an interview, though what he heard wasn’t very clear. What came next was clear as day however.

“Kill her.”

Still moving at a good clip Logan spun the bike and revved it hard, the sound splitting the night and sending a gaggle of teenagers running. With a grin the small man aimed the big bike at a nearby car and gave it all the gas he could. In the next moment he jerk up on the bars of the chopper and lifted the front just enough to use the poor car as a makeshift ramp, sending bike and man up, into, then through a long ago busted out window. Fatboys being very non aerodynamic and Logan was heavier than his size would indicate, the pair made a giant crashing sound upon impact. The back tire blew out with a massive blast of noise as the small man rolled off his now rather damaged bike and came to his feet with a grin.

“I hear you guys are conducting open interviews?”
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I'm the best there is at what I do. But what I do best isn't very nice.
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Carmilla Black
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Not Viper
Carm wasn’t an idiot, and despite the appearance of the situation, she hadn’t gone into this without thinking things through. She’d been on this job long enough to have thought through plenty of different contingency plans. Sure, getting caught hadn’t been one of the plans she’d particularly been fond of, mostly due to the high possibility of injury, but it hadn’t been off the table. After all, in her usual two-man teams, she was the one to go into the nest and either get caught, or infiltrate the group, her natural immunity to drugs and toxins giving her the advantage over most other agents. It was the size of the gathering that threw her off, mostly. This was a helluva lot bigger than she’d expected, and it looked like she might’ve found the head of the ring sooner than she’d thought to.

Good. Now all she had to do was get the ropes off, and she’d be golden. Her mind had already started working, the second the boss had given her time to say her story, as she subtly tested her bindings. And despite his final words, and the fact that obviously they expected her to panic at them, the only reaction they got was an irate scowl, emerald eyes narrowing. They just had to make this more difficult. Heavy hands landed on her shoulders, squeezing, and before she could do much more than send out a faint cloud of dilute green toxins from her hand, a roaring engine interrupted them…And a fucking motorcycle crashed through a window.

That, she hadn’t planned for, and Carmilla spent a good five second gaping at Logan’s appearance with the rest of the idiots in the warehouse – right up until the man leaving fingerprints on her shoulder began to buckle, toxins seeping into his system. And then someone shouted.

“Shoot them!” Half a dozen guns lifted at the same time, and the green haired agent immediately kicked out at the man still standing and holding her, cracking his knee and sending him down, before shoving backwards and sending the chair she was sitting on skidding backwards. As a gunshot cracked off the ground next to her, she gripped the sides of the chair with her bound hands and lifted her legs up, flipping herself over the back of the chair with her arms twisted, before spinning to bring the chair down on the head of the nearest goon trying to grab her. It splintered with her strength, and she yanked the remaining ties from her hands, flinging splinters of the chair as the shouting escalated.

Another bullet whizzed by her head, and she turned with a scowl, moving swiftly to grab the arm of the next guy who tried to intercept her. Her left hand closed around his arm and she used him as a shield as he convulsed, before she shouted at Logan.

“Don’t kill all of them, I need some to talk!” Then she dropped the man now foaming at the mouth to the concrete floor with a thud, grabbing his gun from his limp hand, before grinning. As a cluster of men, armed and scowling, moved towards her, she let out a dark laugh, glancing once at Logan with a wink before diving headfirst into the crowd.
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Wolverine
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Short Hairy Healing Factor. And claws.
“I just came in here to fill out a job application. Wasn’t planning on killing anyone darling. Tying a girl to a chair ain’t grounds for execution. All depends on what you do with her after she’s tied.”

And that was all Logan had time to quip before a sawed off and two oversized nickel plated .45s made his sensitive ears want to bleed. What was it with men and guns that were too big and bulky to be practical and loud enough to wake the dead? Logan hissed as he spun and launched one of the busted pipes off his ride through the shoulder of the nearest asshole. The man’s pistol was sent across the room right as the speeding buckshot hit Logan right in the chest. Shotguns were a preferred weapon of hunter’s everywhere. They were capable of knocking large game to the ground, they made you feel like a king when the kick made your body flex, and they did grievous damage.

Well when you used a shotgun vs a 300lb man whose insides were meshed with metal, you got a bit of a different result. The blast did plenty of damage of course, Logan’s jacket and shirt were now shredded all to hell and covered in blood. However knocking him from his feet took way more work then that. It hurt like hell, but as the shot penetrated it made a clinking sound as it tagged his metal infused skeleton. His healing factor was already working on pushing the offending bits of metal back out, it liked small arms fire.

“You going to fill me in on what the devil is even going on here? I didn’t know slumming was your thing these days.”

Logan’s voice was a roar as his ears were still trying to adjust. Gunfire was absolute murder on a feral, worse than the actual bullets. He thought about going for cover for a few moments, however the looks on the idiot’s faces when his body started pushing out buckshot was priceless. So instead he took the direct approach and gave the scared gunman a cold grin.

“Listen bub, you saw how effective that was. Why don’t you and your boys let the lady go and scuttle off to your ratholes? I got nothing invested here besides a ruined bike and shirt and I can overlook that. As you can see, your guns don’t mean shit, so let’s avoid the Superman play where you decide to punch me next. It’s trite and boring. Besides, I got something a whole hella lot more effective.”

Logan’s knuckles expanded a bit as razor sharp metal slid from between them revealing long wicked claws of pure adamantium. The gunman gulped and wisely let his shotgun fall to the floor. His companions however didn’t make the same wise decision as one of them yelled “Wolverine!” and they all forgot Carm for a moment and opened fire on the canadian with all they had.

“Yeah, gonna be one of those nights.”
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I'm the best there is at what I do. But what I do best isn't very nice.
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Carmilla Black
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Not Viper
Logan’s quip, spoken before all hell managed to break loose, caused Carm to roll her vibrant eyes, and she let out an unlady-like snort. “Well their toys aren’t the kind I prefer when I’m tied up, so do a gal a solid, wouldja?” She may have said it a little louder than necessary during a pause in the gunfire, earning a momentarily odd look from the nearest goon, who actually seemed to take a second to consider what she was talking about before he figured it out, much to her amusement. For a second, the guy looked at his gun, and then at her, and she had to let out a laugh, even as she scissor-kicked the gun out of his hand and lunged in close.

“Sorry sweetie, you’re not my type.” Closing her glowing hand around his throat just long enough to stave off his confused reply as he passed out, she turned at Logan’s shout and grimaced at how bad he looked. Ouch. That had to be painful, and now she really regretted that he’d come barging in here after her. Healing factor or not, it still had to hurt, and that sucked. A hand landed on her shoulder before she could reply and she grabbed the wrist, twisting and using her weight to crack the elbow over her shoulder, hearing the guy behind her cry out, before turning and sending him headfirst into the wall, her eyes cold and vicious.

“Slumming it is always my thing. I’m here to take out the trash, bring the higher ups something they can gnaw on until it breaks. The usual.” She yelped as a needle plunged into her arm, momentarily freezing in place as a rush of chemicals pumped into her system – and she sucked in a long, exquisite breath as she turned her eyes, then her head, to stare at the beast of a man who was staring at her in shock, probably wondering how the fuck she was still standing. His hand was still on the syringe, and she ever-so-languidly rolled her neck, flicking her tongue out as if she could taste the drugs now coursing through the lymphatic system, before locking him in a slightly manic grin.

“Oh, you’re just the best. I could kiss you.” Instead, she slammed her forehead into his, ignoring the sharp pain as the syringe ripped out of her arm, enjoying that delicious overdose that sent fire through her system, a pain she knew so well, even as it tapered off, filtering through into the arm, the tips of her fingers brighter than ever. With the same slightly off-kilter look, she placed her palm against the man’s face and pressed him back until he fell, convulsing, letting out a high pitched laugh.

“Sleep. Good boy.” And as the rest of them seemed to forget her for a moment to focus on Logan, Carm simply slid right up and started placing her hand on them, one by one, as one by one, they toppled over. Even in her altered state, she was in control enough to make sure they all got small doses – they’d all be hella sick, but mostly they’d live. A bullet grazed her shoulder and spun her around, and she dropped into an immediate crouch, flinging a leg out to bring the gunman down, her hand slamming into his gun hand through her hazy vision – he wouldn’t live, but oh well. As the last of the drug metabolized, she shook her head clear, cracking her shoulder and glancing down to see the steadily bleeding furrow on her shoulder.

“Ugh. Someone give me more drugs, I like that better.” She grumbled to herself irritably, stalking closer to Logan.
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Wolverine
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Short Hairy Healing Factor. And claws.
“I know I’m the best, it’s part of my tagline. But no kissing, I’m dating a gal these days.”

Logan was, almost seemingly instantly at Carm’s back, helping her make a clearing in the middle of these goons. He was moving way slower than he’d like, it was hard work taking people out without killing them, but this was her operation, Nicky didn’t like the paperwork dead men always brought. Beside he had to slip into the path of bullets when nervous hands were aiming the firearms.

“How about you? I see you’re still playing the junkie with men who carry heat. You really gotta get out there and see a better class of guy. Is it the money? The fast cars? It can’t be the suits, these guys are strictly off the rack.”

It felt good to fight back to back with Viper. The lady had moves, wasn’t squeamish, and used her gifts by instinct, not by caution. Carm was herself, not someone afraid of what they could do. Logan could dance to that tune and he had to admit, found it incredibly attractive. It was that same controlled frenzy, that just barely in control dance that moved him, that was so thoroughly embedded in his dna. He backhanded the nearest gunman, the metal backed blow taking all the fight out of him in an instant and kicked the now loose gun into another man’s hand. This in turn caused the uzi he had pulled to fire wildly at two men rushing into the warehouse presumably to be back up. This caused the Canadian to grin for the first real time tonight.

“Hey we got 3 runners, that enough to chase the bigger fish or is this a full mop up? I mean I’m down either way, can’t have you causing trouble all by yourself. They’d call me a sissy.”
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I'm the best there is at what I do. But what I do best isn't very nice.
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