2017-04-13: Helpfulness is a Well-Timed Grenade Aimed in the Wrong Direction
- Log: Helpfulness is a Well-Timed Grenade Aimed in the Wrong Direction
- Cast: Morgan Newkirk, Cassidy Cain
- Where: The Questionable Parts of Adlehyde
- Date: April 13, 2017
- Summary: As Morgan Newkirk attempts to set up an ambush for a gang of bandits, he does not expect or anticipate the presence of Cassidy Cain, there purely by chance...and as always can't help herself. Chaos and shenanigans ensue, though it all ends with a persuasive argument and drinks at the saloon. In other words, it's just another Thursday.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
The evening is just falling. The crisp disk of the bright sun sinking low against the horizon as it paints the sky in fire. Twiling comes creeping on Adlehyde as the one by one lights begin to appear on the windows of the houses. Traffic things, espicially towards the walls of the city as the darker and less traveled areas of town become less and less attractive to passerby.
Well most passerby.
Really it just depends on what you're into.
Even in the seedier areas the occasional wagon rolls though. Angling for who knows where. Its driver lazily leaning over the reins. Bundled up. Wearing a compleatly ridiculous winding turban style hat ontop of his head. That hat is dotted with feathers, sequins, glittering little boubles that rattle together and the wagon works its way down the narrow street. His clothes don't mark him as anything special, apart from the turban at least. The rough wool cloak, though there are hints of silk sticking out here and there. Perhaps a more fine robe underneath the worn outer wear. A clumsy disguise?
The wagon though. The wagon seems full of goods.
Did he wonder into the wrong part of town by accident?
That could be dangerous.
In fact it likely /is/ dangerous.
At least if one is to judge the group of five men eyeing it from an alley.
An ambush? Yeah. Thats what it looks like.
Poor wagon driver. He doesn't even see them.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Somewhere from the rooftop of one of the adjacent buildings, a chestnut shell goes flying, landing on one of the ambusher's heads.
It continues - the rain of detritus starts slow at first but progresses into a more constant thing and whenever the men look up, they'll be able to find the slender figure of a blonde in leathers, cracking roasted chestnuts between her fingers and flicking the shattered remains of their outer casings into the wind. Gravity will do what it must though, pulling these into its well and unfortunately, the five men seem to be in the wake of her very careless, very blatant act of littering. The thin point of a folding knife picks the tender flesh out of one of the remaining cups, drawing it in her mouth to chew.
Cassidy Cain does not appear to notice the five men below her, propping her leg up to rest on the ledge while the rest of her leans against the rail. Green eyes flecked with gold roll back to finally looking at the tableau stretching out before her; Adlehyde's capital city is bigger than the rest of the towns between here and Lacour - it is inevitable that there will be good parts of town and bad parts of town.
She finally sees the wagon. Chewing on a chestnut and flicking more shells out of her palm, keen eyes squint faintly as the cart starts rolling towards her direction, taking in the shape of the turban on the wagon driver's head, brows quirking at the feathers and sequins gaudifying it with a critical eye. She does not miss the way silk peeks out of the wool cloak. The ears, she recognizes immediately, try as he might to hide it underneath - she has expended much effort in poking them in the past, whose they are is unmistakeable.
It is inevitable that her stare finally drifts downward to pay attention to the men lying in wait. Taking another bite from her chestnuts, she slowly stands up and leans against the rail, dusting her fingers off and leaning against it, arms folding on top.
Perhaps this is it - an opportunity for some heroism. This would be the time when the troublemaking blonde listens to the better angels of her nature. This would be the part where she leaps from the building, in some fancy acrobatic maneuver that she learned after her time in the circus, to land somewhere below and lend an old acquaintance a helping hand.
This...is not what happens.
Instead, Cassidy cups a hand to the side of her mouth, and calls out for everyone to hear.
"HOT DAMN, MORGAN BLOODY NEWKIRK IS THAT YOU?" she bellows from the top of the building. "NICE HAT, YOU THINK YOU CAN POINT ME TAE WHERE THEY SELL THOSE?"
...thus blowing his disguise, to the people out to mug him, possibly kill him, and make off with his goods.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
The rain of shells seems to have an effect on the ambushers below. The first few brushed off as insects of some kind. Then as the rain becomes more constant they begin to argue. The argument gains volume.
"Creaty! Goddamit you hit me again! Do it again I'm gonna pop ya one!"
"YOU WOT MATE?! WASN'T ME! GET YA DAMN EYES CHECKED!"
"YOU'SE THE ONE BEHIND ME THEREFOR YA TAPPED ME! THATS JUS' SCIENCE MATE!"
"EFF YER SCIENCE!"
"OH YEAH?!"
"YEAH!!!"
The leader of this little group towers head an shoulders over the rest of the group. Those massive shoulders hunch as the volume gets more and more heated and finally he turns. A creak of a leather vest that hardly keeps the massive man clothed sqeaks in the alley. "YOU ALL SHUT IT BEFORE I POUND YA!" His voice somewhere between a roar that is trying to be a whisper. "LOOK UP YOU BLOODY IDIOTS!"
As one four heads tilt up to see the kicking leg of one Cassidy Cain. Just as she launches another shell down to tag poor Creaty in the eye.
"Bloody hell! That ain' sanitary!" He calls as he staggers back into the others.
There is a host of sushes as they quietly argue about what to do about Cassidy, knowing they can't get up there in time to finish the ambush.
But then she's moving. And she's shouting.
"Wait thats Morgan? I though he wasn't supposed to be here."
"Yeah thats what everyone said. This was just supposed to be an unguarded wagon..."
"I mean look at that hat that can't be the guy. He's supposed to have huge ears or something."
This is when the 'merchant' stands up from the front of the wagon. Now normally. With someone trying to help warn Morgan of an impending ambush. The fox-eared man would be greatful. It would be entirely like him to buy Cassidy a drink after this. I mean she just ruined the ambush.
...right?
"GODDAMMIT CASSIDY!" The beastman stands up to rip the turban off his head. The ears unfolding like a pair of sails once free of the confinging fabric. "YOU RUINED MY AMBUSH! DO YOU KNOW HOW UNCOMFORTABLE THIS DAMN HAT IS?! I'VE BEEN WEARING IT FOR A DAMN HOUR!!"
...yeah. She ruined the wrong ambush.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
It is a good bet that whenever Cassidy is involved that something was going to get ruined. It doesn't matter if it's on one side or the other, the fact is this is as inevitable as the rising of the sun and the waxing and waning of the moon. Considering how Morgan has had multiple chances to get rid of his connection to her years ago, he is either one of the greatest masochists alive or he, too, finds some sort of deep-seated fulfillment in the kind of trouble the blonde brings to the table. Either way, it doesn't change the reality that this is his life now, and really, he only has himself to blame.
GODDAMMIT CASSIDY!! bellows the Beastman in turn, ripping his turban off his head and revealing the ears he is so famous for, and the fact that she has ruined his ambush. Her brows lift to her hairline. She glances down at the crew of five in the alley.
"I have tae tell you, luv," she tells the fox man on the wagon, mischief filling her eyes. "It always fills my generous, charitable heart with joy hearing you yell at me."
To the rest of the gang in the alley, she grins, the sharp, cutting expression emphasized by pearly white teeth and the way those eyes glitter under the shadows cast by the brim of her hat. "You hear that, lads? I think what the man is saying is that he's about tae ambush the lot of you. Piss poor showing on your parts, dinnae you think? He already thought of it before you thought of hitting him! Really, speaking as a representative of the local community of irritating but superbly canny reprobates, I'm ashamed and disappointed. You'll nae go far if you're too slow on the draw! What are you, turtles? Is that what this is? A congress of wee bloody turtles? Some kinna conclave? The rest of you about tae vote in the next pope or sommat? I know old horny priests that move faster than the rest of you if you just hold up the latest Vin Barrett pinup in front of them! Come on, lads."
With the way she carries on, either she's using that god damn mouth to give Morgan the time to cross the distance, or give the crew of five a good lambasting about the merits of a proper heist. With the woman in question, there's equal odds that it's the former, the latter, or both. But really, who's counting when she seems really invested in trying to get herself shot for the things she says.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"I can't believe you are enjoying this!!" Morgan shouts back as he leaps off the wagon. The placid little horse he was using just continues to amble forward as he starts to stalk towards the alley. Looking like he is entirely ignoring the ambushers in the alleyway.
Of course though. He's being hypocritical.
She can tell, the way his ears are angled. The hidden twinkle in his eyes. That perticulalrly puckish twist to his smirk. He's having fun. He is in fact loving it. This sudden and unexpected twist to what was going to be a simple and boring job. Its a perfect end.
Morgan understands one thing, the only true way to deal with Cassidy in your life is to love it. Live it. Roll with it. Embrace all the kinks that get thrown in your path and roll with it.
Of course. He's trying very hard to look angry.
"I planned this for a week! I even egged on Tim here by beating him in arm wrestling!"
Tim, the giant of a man in leather grunts and shifts slightly. The huge man has at least a foot of height and a hundred pounds of weight on the fox, so the likelyhood that he cheated to get that win is there.
"Wait," Behind Tim the rest of his gang mill about in confusion as Creaty speaks up. "I thought...we were the ambushers? What even is this?! Opposite day?!"
"WHO CARES ABOUT THAT SHE CALLED US TURTLES I'M CLIMBING UP THERE!"
"Wills you calm your arse down you look like a turtle with your stubby arms anyway."
"YOU TAKE THAT BACK! I'LL SHOW YOU I'LL CLIMB RIGHT UP THERE!"
Wills is the shortest of the group and does indeed look like a turtle a bit, but he starts trying to scale the building Cass happens to be on. Because he's angry. And stubborn.
"Wait! WILLS! Get back...what are you idiots doing?!" Tim roars. "You have guns! SHOOT THEM!"
"Oh yeah, we do have guns..."
"Makes it easy to shoot them there boss."
"Yeah good idea we brought them!"
"HEY!" One of the quiet ones calls up to Cass. "DO YOU REALLY HAVE ANY VIN BARRETT PINUPS UP THERE?"
The rest of them turn to stare at him.
"...I mean. Um. Lets...shoot them?"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
I can't believe you are enjoying this!!
Cassidy rolls her head lazily in Morgan's direction, easy look fading in lieu of an incredulous expression. One that she feigns, but given that she has spent a few years on a few traveling stages in the desert, it's not surprising that it is extremely convincing. "Are you bloody serious?" she wonders. "It's like you dinnae know me!"
All bandied about while the rest of the would-be ambushers yell amongst themselves as to what to do with them. Wills seems especially adamant about climbing up where she is, and that incredulous expression becomes completely and utterly genuine when she watches the stubby-armed thug attempt to wrap his arms around a pillar and try to start climbing. Confronted by the sight, all she can do really is lean against the railings on the flat roof she is on, and laugh. Mirth flushes her cheeks, an arm bands over her middle, and the sound carries through wind and the sounds of a burgeoning argument.
"You...you cannae even..." Wheeze. "...wrap your arms completely around the..." She chokes through another gale, her head throwing back. "You poor bastard! Had that all your life, dinnae you? Cannae reach the cookie jar whenever you want a sweet, or reach for anything that's nae two feet away from you. And what about your needs?? Out in the bloody desert for other ambushings, long nights on the road and...and..." She gasps. "Sweet sweet release so close and yet so far. No wonder you're so bloody mad! You're probably bloody mad all the time because you cannae get o-- "
You have guns! SHOOT THEM!
"Ah, shite."
The blonde twists and throws herself flat on the roof just as bullets shred the railings, splinters and chunks of wood flying across the way. She's still gasping, if not just to try and alleviate fire and pain braiding over her ribcage at the force of her mirth, laughing even as everything else gets decimated around her by a hail of gunfire, and torrents of bullets. Caught on a roof, getting shot at from all sides for her insolence, and this is what happens - without her pistols or her sword to aid her. Just the knife with which she was eating chestnuts, and a grenade.
Because she never leaves home without at least one.
She digs it out from her belt pouch and twists it, watching the indicator light flash dangerously red. She pauses.
Did Morgan want to take them dead or alive?
"...in retrospect, I should've asked him first before I armed the bloody thing."
Nothing else to do but...
"MORGAN! CATCH!"
She flips the small metallic canister over the decimated railing, towards where the fox man is. He'll catch it and then throw it, right?
"NEVER SAY I DINNAE HELP YOU WITH ANYTHING!"
Said as the grenade beep-beep-beeps.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"JUST KEEP SHOOTING! SHE CAN'T HIDE FOREVER!"
Tim roars from the alley as he turns towards Morgan himself. He'll deal with the fox. The roar of multiple weapons echo down the streets as they commance to shredding the balcony Cassidy happens to be on.
Well. All except Wills. Who is red faced and puffing. Pulling himself arm over arm up a pole. Face full of splinters as he slowly inches his way up the pole.
"WHEN I GIT UP TO THE ROOF YOU BINT I'M GONNA SHOW YOU JUST HOW SHORT I AM!" A pause. "BECAUSE I'M NOT SHORT! WHERE IT COUNTS YOU SEE! ITS A EUPHIMISM!!"
One of the other men pause in shooting for a moment. "I think he's getting his colorful metaphors wrong..." He says slowly, mostly to himself.
Morgan at this point is almost reached Tim and as the huge man swings a meaty fist towards the fox, the fox swings his gauntleted fist right back. There is a crunch as metal meets flesh. Both men stagger back and Morgan sucks in his air though his teath. "That bloody well hurt!"
Tim is staring at his manngled hand in shock.
"Ooooh. Not as much as that I bet..." He adds with a grin. But then. Then he hears Cassidy's voice again.
And looks up.
To see a familiar little canister with a blinking light on it comes winging over the bannister.
His eyes widen as he staggers back. His hurt hand isn't going to be able to catch it, so he leaps up and sweeps the turban though the air to scoop up the grenade.
The turban beeps helpfully at him.
"HOW IS TRYING TO KILL ME HELPING!!"
He shouts right back at her. With one grand throw he flings the hat though the air. It flops and flaps, feathers fluttering. Sequins twinkling. Little glass pieces jingling as is arcs none to gracefully towards the shooting gang.
Creaty blinks as he catches the thing. "This hat is weird--
FWACKOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
Bits of hat, and debris fly in all directions. The force of the blast takes out the bottom of Wills' pole just as the stubby man was starting to crest the roof.
It slowly starts to angle as slooooowly topples over and into the road. Taking the poor thief with it.
It crashes down just infront of the carthorse. Blinking slightly the horse just stares at it placidly.
Morgan peers at the smoke and carnage for a moment then draws a deep breath. "I HOPE YOUR HAPPY!!"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
There is a loud explosion, the sound of it tearing through the alley and the surrounding buildings. This is followed by the unmistakeable snapping of wood as foundations are blown out and reduced to kindling on one side of the building she is on. Cassidy looks up from the basket she has made out of her arms, blinking as the roof suddenly tilts in an incline.
Her curse is lost when it all just collapses with her on top of it, forcing her to make a crash landing with one half of the roof right in the alley, dumped into the crater fashioned by her hastily tossed and turbanned grenade. For a while, she is lost in the dustcloud left at the wake of the small explosion.
With a cough, she soon emerges from it, dusting off her jacket and inclining her head at the gang's unconscious bodies on the ground. "Well," she tells Morgan, sliding into a step next to him. "I dinnae know whether you wanted them dead or alive, so I left the decision tae you. That is totally helping, methinks. Could you imagine if I simply took the decision from your capable hands? That wouldnae be sporting. And rude! For all I know you were after them for bounties and you could only claim them if they were alive. So really, tossing it tae you was all for the best. Plus with all of that battling experience and you expect me tae believe you wouldnae know how tae deal with a grenade if tossed tae you? I dinnae think so."
A hand lifts, clapping it over Morgan's shoulder in a gesture of pure camaraderie. Angling her head up at him, she flashes him a winning smile.
"See? All in a day's work, and you dinnae even havetae fight too hard. So...I think this means you owe me again."
That smile only broadens at the sheer, ballsy temerity of the statement.
"A couple of rounds at the nearest watering hole, y'ken?"
This, in the end, is what separates experienced cons from habitual liars. One cannot spell 'confidence' or 'convince' without those first three letters. Anyone can lie, weave fabrications in the same way as breaths are instinctive. But to be a professional is to be able to turn the words, however their level of truth, and turn them in a tapestry so plausible that it is persuasive. And a person cannot do that with lies alone.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
For a moment as the house slides over Morgan raises his arm to shield his eyes. Smoke and dust billows up as rushes down the street, the fox, and the placid(at this point the damn thing has to be stoned out of its mind, or blind) carthorse. There is a worried look there for a moment and he draws a deep breath. He gets ready to shout Cassidy's name.
And then out she walks from the smoke and carnage.
He blows out a sigh as she slowly strolls towards him. His eyes slip towards her and one eyebrow twitches up as she slaps him on the shoulder.
"How do I owe you for this?!" He gestures towards the house and the ruined alleyway.
The house in question slowly tilts forwards. A massive cracking comes from the edifice as wood splinters and metal groans in protest. Then the whole thing tumbles over and into itself in a rush of stone and wood.
He takes a long breath as he walks over towards the pillar that poor Wills is still attached too. Its two stories tall but the beastman simply gets his arms under it and heaves. Flipping the piece of wood into the rest of the rubble with a grunt.
Turning back towards her. He's still wrapped in the the horrible robe and silk combo as he crosses his arms back over his chest.
A second deep breath as he surveys the damage and shakes his head. "Fine. Get in the cart. Lets go get a drink. I mean I was only supposed to stop them. And...I'm guessing they were pretty well stopped now. Lets get out of here before I get blamed for your antics!"
He starts towards the cart.
"What the hell do you put in those grenades anyway?!" He asks as he swings himself up.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
What the hell do you put in those grenades anyway?!
Cassidy tilts her head back to look at him, virid-gold gaze brimming with good humor.
"Love," she deadpans, moving over to where the cart is and swinging herself on the seat next to Morgan. "And sex. Oodles of it. Hope that's nae too surprising, they're always the perfect weapons tae blow people away. I s'pose I should leave kiss prints on them before chucking them in case it's nae verra clear."
Flashing him a wink, she settles into the bench in a comfortable slouch. A knee bends, the heel of a boot propping into the wagon's metal grille. A hand tips her hat lower over her head to shield her eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun.
"Let's ride, luv."