10230/Gen13 Recruitment Drive: Bobby Lane

Gen13 Recruitment Drive: Bobby Lane
Date of Scene:	27 November 2019
Location:	New York
Synopsis:	The Gen13 kids go to track down Bobby Lane at his bar. Things go pear-shaped fast and the young squad of supers is forced to deal with assassins from a surprising source.
Cast of Characters:	Burnout, Freefall, Fairchild, Rainmaker

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Burnout has posed:
Greenwich Village - Some Club - Open Mic Night

The smell of bodies packed into the small bar fills the air. The smell of stale beer mixes with hundreds of different scents. Perfumes, aftershaves and body sprays mash into a unique odor. It is almost overbearing, but for Bobby Lane and his bandmates it's a pure joy which causes each member to smile to one another.

They're the last band of the night, so Bobby awaits anxiously, tuning his guitar once again, as another group gets close to finishing their set. As the other bands before had stuck to more modern hits. Bobby and his band make the decision to go a bit older. Being only allowed only three songs, sorry no Free Bird or Stairway, the quartet had decided and grinned to each other again.

As the song comes to an end the emcee hops up onto the stage. "Alright! That was Studmuffin! Thank you girls for those interesting renditions." The emcee pauses, calps and shakes her head. "And now for our final band for the evening. Put your hands together for Everybody?s Covered!" As the band takes the stage the stage lights blare down on the four of them making it a bit hard for them to see. As Bobby plugs his Fender in he looks out to the crowd. It's understandable he?s a bit nervous but he?ll get over it. Besides there's no time to worry about it now.

Stepping up to the mic Bobby begins to speak. "Hi, We?re going to go a bit further back. All you older kids may remember this one." Okay it?s do or die and the show must go on. Turning to his band he starts off. "One.. two.. One, two, three." As Bobby turns back around he starts to play his fender. The opening cords alone cause many of the older crowd to cheer.

    ~Ridin' down the highway/ Goin' to a show/ Stoppin' on the byways/ Playin' rock 'n' roll.~

    ~Gettin' robbed, gettin' stoned/ Gettin' beat up, broken boned/ Getting had, getting took/ I tell you folks, it's harder than it looks.

    ~It's a long way to the top, if you want to rock 'n' roll/ It's a long way to the top, if you want to rock 'n' roll/ If you think it's easy doing one night stands/ Try playing in a rock-roll band/ It's a long way to the top, if you want to rock 'n' roll.~

Freefall has posed:
Roxanne's been at Cait's place for the past two weeks, since the Alpha Flight member/celebrity/superhero's got room to spare and *states* she doesn't mind the younger girl's company. Roxy's fine with this; Cait's cool for a nerd, and her fridge is *PACKED*. The big screen in the second living room isn't half bad, either.

THREE NIGHTS AGO

"You've been on that computer for like AN ENTIRE HOUR, I thought we were gonna hit the club?" Roxy's frowning at a VERY LARGE BOOK titled "A Primer On Gravitational Physics And Singularities - Prof. Diedrich Hearst, Ph.D, S.D., Litt.D.". She sets it to the side while she picks up her cellphone and dorks around on it.

TWO NIGHTS AGO

"I'm READING THE BOOK NOW, can we GO, PLEASE?" Imagine a camera focused on Roxanne's irritated face. Pan it out - she's brushing out her hair with one hand, while the other holds yet ANOTHER book - "Basic Gravitational Laws - Mass, Newton & YOU!". A dramatic picture of an apple and equations is on the cover. Camera's still panning out, flips around, Roxy's sitting on the ceiling.

"I've been practicing for like an hour now! Please! I'm BORED."

YESTERDAY NIGHT

"Wuhmuhguh I'll reahh ih thihh time I sweaah." Roxanne's brushing her teeth, frowning into the mirror, using her free hand to hold a paperback novel: "GRAVITY TROOPERS: The Adventures Of Freefall & Her Trusty Gravity-pup, Newton!". It is for children. She's gotten through a few pages. Next to her, Roxanne's levitating her cellphone to read texts while she brushes her teeth. An sPhone, its facial recognition software lets her unlock it through sheer camera line-of-sight, which means she sees the upcoming Open Mic Night. Sure, it's scheduled around ad-lib play, but some bands get special mention. In a fit of panic, Roxy spits out her toothpaste.

"KAT! Kat! HEY!" She's out of the bathroom, book abandoned.

TONIGHT

THE OUTFIT: Purple skirt, purple crop-top, white calf-height faux leather boots, and that iconic half-jacket. Roxy's swapped out her crucifix for a choker, and is in the process of ashing a cigarette while she slips into the open mic night. She flashes a smile to the bouncer as she enters the club proper.

"You don't get -into- this stuff? It's so... like, so *BUDDHA*, you know? All the bodies dancing, the heat, the BEAT... y'think that's Bobby's band right playin' right now?" Roxanne's talking to Cait, presumably, but intro posts are always strange. Maybe she's on the phone! Maybe she's just speaking out loud. We'll see, for sure. She pushes into the throng of bodies, lifts to her tiptoes to peer over heads and shoulders, maybe *SNEAK A PEEK*.

"So what were you saying about the band? You said you were worried about somethin'?" She's shouting to be heard over the music. It's loud.

Fairchild has posed:
There had been some... discussion about what to wear.

Caitlin's wardrobe consists of athletic wear and business attire. Even her 'casual' clothes are the sort of thing you see young professionals wearing if they expect they might be called into the office suddenly.

Roxy had at least talked Caitlin into dressing up just a little. The dress Caitlin wears was meant to be worn with a shawl or cardigan and she's visibly a little uncomfortable with her exposed shoulders and decolletage. Roxy had then insisted on attacking Caitlin's hair, which had produced a long-suffering silence that both had to endure with the stoicism of folks not wanting to tread on anyone's toes so new into a friendship.

So the bulk of Caitlin's hair was braided and twisted up at the back of her skull, with thin tendrils working loose to frame her face. Only the most minor of makeup was applied, and even then it was a fight to get Caitlin to agree to some eye shadow and lipstick.

"I said I was worried about everyone staring at me!" Caitlin yell-whispers into Roxy's ear, with a hiss of her breath against Roxy's temple. "I still don't know why I couldn't wear my sweater over this." The issue of clothing has made Caitlin somewhat peevish.

Cait has no problem looking over the crowd and stares at a guy on the stage, the one belting into a microphone. "That -can't- be him," she protests. The redhead seems unaware her foot is tapping a rhythm in time with the bass snare. "He looks like a beatnik! Maybe those files got corrupted." Caitlin bites the inside of her cheek in consternation.

Burnout has posed:
The crowd is loving it, Bobby can plainly see from his spot on stage. Sure the bagpipe solo is played on the keyboard. But who is he kidding none of them know how to play it. As he plays against in the bagpipes. He knows when it comes to playing AC/DC people are forgiving. As long as the riffs are hard and you get people pumping, everything will turn out right. As he comes back to the mic he continues.

    ~Hotel, motel/ Make you want to cry/ Ladies do the hard sell/ Know the reason why.

    ~Gettin' old, gettin' gray/ Gettin' ripped off, underpaid/ Gettin' sold, second-hand/ That's how it goes, playin' in a band.

    ~It's a long way to the top, if you want to rock 'n' roll/ It's a long way to the top, if you want to rock 'n' roll/ If you wanna be a star on stage and screen/ Look out, it's rough and mean/ It's a long way to the top, if you want to rock 'n' roll/ It's a long way to the top, if you want to rock 'n' roll.~

With that the song is mostly instrumental with him going over the corus a few more times. As the song fades the people are clapping. Bobby turns back to his very sweaty band smiling. Man the lights are doing a number on them, whereas he isn't sweating at all . Sure breathing hard, but that's just the excitement. "Okay let?s keeping it going." As he returns to the microphone Bobby looks down to his guitar and starts off another heavy riff. Is that Bush?s Machinehead?

Freefall has posed:
"Everybody's starin' at the band!! Besides, what if Mr. Right's here and you're too busy dying in a SWEATER to meet 'im? You're totally stylin' in that dress, Cait. Trust me." Roxy's voice modulates awkwardly while she bobs around on tip-toes to get even close to Caitlin's birds-eye view of things - there's almost a foot of height difference between them, so it's about like that. She pushes against Caitlin in a savvy sort of borderline-rude body-shuffle that any habitual concertgoer's learned to accept as inevitable, but this does win the pair forward movement through the crowd. It also might mean a *few* people aren't looking at the band, but Roxy has yet to understand the... gravity... of Caitlin's particular curse.

She hasn't finished reading the book, see.

"Ohmigod that IS him. He's totally doing a Leto thing. He's even got this SLAMMIN' lil' goatee!" Roxy's eyes light *up* once she sees Bobby playing with his band - she's found a boy who doesn't mind her pressing up against his back, and uses him as a sort of support for a tiptoe-flavored hop that puts her head up beside Caitlin's own. Caitlin will realize, quickly, that Roxy's hovering. It's subtle. Nobody's paying attention! Everybody's staring at Caitlin, anyway. It's fine. Roxy bumps heads against Cait's own, a jangle of those multiple earrings hopefully enough to get Cait's full attention.

"Betcha I can get us backstage," she asides. "I got a tight plan and stuff."

ROXY'S TIGHT PLAN: Roxanne sneaks up to the backstage area, smiling like the cat who's got the cream - these beefy black-shirt types are *all* so easy. Just flash a littl-- her eyes grow wide as saucers, she's briefly stock-still and ramrod-straight on the dance floor.

"What...!" Machinehead? Is that Bush? A hand lifts into the air, works to a sinuous little wave, and that wave is *for sure* traced along her body. Gyrating with the music, she blends into the crowd seamlessly, trailing behind...

"CAIT! THIS IS MY JAM! GOOD LUCK FOR THE NEXT FOUR MINUTES!"

PLAN: DELAYED

Fairchild has posed:
"Wha-- Roxy, no, don't leave me--!"

Nope, she's gone. Caitlin clutches at empty air in desparation but alas, it's too late, and Caitlin is left standing in an little pool of light as awkwardly as a red light on a one-way road.

The redhead hugs one arm across her stomach and rubs her tricep briskly as if chilled. The heat and humidity at the club makes it less likely to be an issue of temperature.

The brawny redhead drifts towards the bar. Her purse it kept clutched against her ribs and she moves with a careful, meek stop. At least she had talked Roxy out of wearing the sole pair of high heels Caitlin owns-- a crushed toe is probably preferable to an impaled foot if she steps on someone accidentally.

"Hi, can I just-- hello?" The bartender isn't paying her much attention. Caitlin leans across the bar and tugs his sleeve apologetically. He turns, flashing momentary outrage, and then his eyes bug a bit at the bodybuilder-built woman smiling at him. "Could I get a virgin cuba libre?" Caitlin requests, and puts a ten dollar bill on the bar counter.

Almost instantly, someone oozes up next to her with all the social grace of a fraternity member on about his third pitcher of beer.

Probably because he *is* a frat boy on his third pitcher of beer. "A virgin cuba libre?" he asks, and leers at Caitlin. "Howcome yuh'gna come to a bar, and aren't gonna drink any booze?"

He earns a wary side eye and Caitlin deliberately shuffles a step away from him. "I don't drink," she explains with an uncharacteristic curtness.

Burnout has posed:
Now a three quarters through Bush, Bobby continues to look out over the crowd. This is great! the only time he can really feel at ease. Then he spies with his baby blue eyes a very tall redhead. Well that's something you don't see everyday. As the song comes to a close the band takes a moment to drink a beer, wipe off the sweat. "So far so good. Beth the bass player says." As he looks over his shoulder he sees the local douche bothering the girl. This will not stand.

As Bobby lowers his beer bottle he gets a wicked smile on his lips and turns to look to his bandmates. "Okay guys let's change it up." That's when Bobby looks to their drummer Mike. "Let's do Uncle Mike's favorite song." This alone causes the forty year old drummer to gleefully smile and the band to laugh. Stepping back to the mic Bobby speaks into the mic "Woo alright! Thanks, lets keep this going. But first I wanna dedicate this next one to the tall beautiful redhead at the bar." He plays three heavy strings on the guitar. "This is Kickstart my Heart." and the band is off to the races.

Freefall has posed:
Before long, Roxy's visible as little more than an errant streak of pink lost in a sea of bodies. Caitlin might be able to spy her from the bar, but it sounds like the redhead's got more than a few brewing problems of her own to contend with. Bobby might catch sight of her in the middle of the crowd, arms over her head, hips setting a rhythm her body happily follows. Certainly she's found her place in the throng, and goes happily uninterrupted in her personal enjoyment of the music. Bush is slammin', the scene's right, the smell of smoke and sweat and shitty cologne's all so TIGHT. It's her own happy little slice of escapism, a place where she can ignore the plotting, the studying, the jealousy, the inadequacy, the *PLANNING*...

Right, the planning! They're here to meet Bobby! It helps that Bobby's stopped playing GOOD music, though his comment about redheads has Roxy popping her head up over the crowd to figure out WHO he's talking about. Like, she already KNOWS... but it's gonna help her figure out where Caitlin went anyway. Cait really needs to get over herself and go dancing with Roxy, is the moral of the story... this isn't an abandonment so much as it's a chickening-out, right?

Anyway, Bobby's stopped playing *good* music and started playing *old* music, and the dance floor follows suit. Frenetic beat, stomping feet, a jostle of elbows into shoulderblades and some beer spilled over her shoulder and top - sure, Roxy's *pissed* but she can't be that mad. It's the club. It's how it *goes*.

Roxy can't really move right now. It's just not happening. Being on the dance floor's like being in the back of a semi-truck on a shitty road, and she's being jostled here, there, everyw- HEY.

Roxanne *SWATS* at some douchebag with grabby hands, but she can't figure out who that was. There's the slightest bit of victory in her eyes, either way. She turns to the band, finally up against the railing separating the audience from the musicians, and *JUMPS* to get the bandleader's attention.

Sure, he can't hear anything she's saying, but he can *see*, right? See how she's holding her hand up to her head like it's a phone? See how she's wildly gesturing to the tall redhead at the bar? You wanna get the redhead's number, Bobby boy? *Roxy knows her number*.

Fairchild has posed:
Freeze frame. Record-scratch. Caitlin has rather vivid green eyes and they're made even more prominent by the fact that they're doing their best impression of a saucer. People turn, cheer. Pay attention to her. /More/ attention, as a few folks start drifting Caitlin's way as if drawn by the magnetic attraction of seeing something coveted by someone else.

There, a flash of pink and a cell phone A CELL PHONE Caitlin goggles at Roxy trying to flag her down and she starts crumbling into embarassment against the bar. She's clearly doing the math on which wall is least likely to be load-bearing.

When Roxy FINALLY GETS THE MESSAGE, ROXANNE, and pushes back through the crowd an eternity later, she comes across the scene at the bar of a half a dozen frat guys mobbing Caitlin.

Who is... dictating something to the first guy, craning her neck to peer over his shoulder while he types in his phone with his features set in drunken concentration.

"Nonono, a /teaspoon/ of vanilla. A tablespoon's gonna taste just... blech," she exclaims.

"Wait, how hard is it to scale this recipe up?" one of them asks.

"Oh, it's super easy," Caitlin promises them. "I do it all the time, you can make four batches at once before it comes out weird."

"Dooood," one of them explains, and bro-clap, fist-bumps a buddy. "The senior center's gonna lose their *miiinds* over fresh cookies!"

A chorus of approbations go up as the frat boys toast Caitlin.

Burnout has posed:
Fast, hard and unforgiving. The Crue would be proud. The band put on their best as the burn through the heart pounder. By this point Bobby has lost track of the redhead. But he really doesn't care, he was trying to get the ass away from her. He does spy a teenager trying to get his attention with a phone. Oh great another crazed groupie. Thank goodness the solo comes quickly and Bobby goes to town.

With the final drum solo comes to an end the crowd goes crazy. With that the emcee returns "Alright, alright, alright! That was Everybody?s Covered! Great job guys. See you next week?" the band stands up and takes a bow. "And that ladies and gentleman is the last bad for the night. Remember drinks are half off for ladies. And gents be nice and don?t creep." as the emcee/bar owner continues to talk, Bobby and the band are already getting their stuff together. They know the drill, play and get out. But tonight they?re all buzzing from the rush.

But as the pack there is an uneasy silence, untill Mike breaks it "Hey Gordy, who was the redhead man?" Mike asks Bobby. "She looked familiar. Old friend of yours?" Beth and Dave agree with Mike. As Bobby looks to the bar he shakes his head. "No idea. And don?t really care. Lets just load up the 'Mystery Machine' and get our free beers. ?Kay?" Bobby answers as he closes his guitar case. He doesn't like hanging out too long. "Nah we should go say hi. Come on bro even looked like she had a friend with her." the other two agree, which is unusual, even for them. "Look... Fine you guys go say hi, I?ll load the van." Why is everyone being so weird?

Freefall has posed:
"AHHH FFS I'M NOT A GROUPIE DUDE!" Roxanne is so angry she's shouting in acronyms and utterly unheard by anybody in the band. Motley Crue is the loudest possible music you can play while retaining fans, and it works. Defeated by her own petard or something, Roxanne uses all of her irritation to *PUSH* through the crowd around her, intent on rejoining Caitlin - who is once again a minor celebrity - at the bar. She should check on her friend. Cait looked like she might have been in a little over her head, which is sayin' a lot.

She finds the girl SURROUNDED by hot guys, just... beefy, slick, with honest eyes and an experienced look to 'em. The teen's violet eyes are filled with a particular sort of fleeting, envious rage when she looks from them to Caitlin... but then she *hears* what's going on, and her expression falls through the floor. Caitlin's... not being hit on? They're having some kind of a baking rap sesh? Roxy's lips dip even more precariously into a cartoonish upside-down "U", and she pushes past one of the cuter frat boys to muscle-in, get her back up against his front in an Aimed Personal Placement that has absolutely no effect in the orbit of Caitlin's eye-catching baking advice.

Gawd, it's like she's twelve again.

"Hey! Kat! If you'd stop--" Roxanne's face screws up as she works through this sentence. "...teaching boys how to bake... I think the BAND is LOOKIN' AT US." She gestures to the stage, where, yes. Everybody but Bobby is gesturing towards the two girls, and seems to be trying to get Bobby to come down and pay attention to them.

"My plan totally worked! I was all like 'I know her number!' and he was all like 'I got you girl', and you're just totally lucky you know me." She turns to stand hip-to-hip with Cait, puffs out her chest, blows bangs outta her face, and announces, pridefully,

"Get outta the way, frat-dorks! We're totally groupies and the BAND'S comin' to see US." She's half-right.

Fairchild has posed:
"Oh, sorry guys," Caitlin says with dismay. Roxy starts prodding and nudging her. Physically speaking, the punky girl has as much chance of moving Caitlin as she does pushing a Volkswagon uphill. But Caitlin moves along obligingly and with an apologetic wave farewell for the 'bros at the bar.

"Wait, what are we doing?" The train of thought catches up to Caitlin and she glances nervously down at Roxie. "You gave him my /number/?" She sounds aghast at the proposition, and the tips of her ears go pink. "Why on earth would you do such a thing? He's ..." She glances at Bobby. "Okay, he's cute," she concedes, "but I'm really not... I don't wanna date anyone, Roxy. I don't /do/ dates. Please don't drag me into thi--" She's cut off as the two of them arrive in Bobby's proximity. Caitlin very deliberately lags back two steps to make it clear that Roxy's the one advancing her agenda with Caitlin merely in tow. An apologetic, slightly bashful smile is flashed at Bobby and she wiggles a few fingers 'hello'.

Not for the first time in the last few minutes, Caitlin allows herself some uncharitable thoughts towards Roxy for the advice about 'how to dress for the club'.

Burnout has posed:
    "C'mon Gordy. Look man she's waving." Uncle Mike says pointing to the red head. Bobby looks up as he continues to wind up the cords. Giving the red head a smile and nod. "Yeah? But you know how I feel about groupies. Besides its an early day for me tomorrow." with that said the band moans as the blond lead man picks up three guitars and walks away.

    The trio of band mates creepily move in close to Roxy and Caitlin, practically cutting off their path to Bobby. "Hey there girlies." The large drummer, Mike, says with a cocky yet menacing tone. "Don't we know you two?" he adds as Bobby is off the stage and out the door. Geeze they were being weird. Bobby thinks to himself as he continues to load the 'Mystery Machine' up with their equipment.

Freefall has posed:
It's true, Roxy was waving. She STOPPED waving the second she saw Bobby turn on a dime and head for the back, though! Sheesh? What gives? Caitlin looks AWESOME and Roxy's one-hundred-percent giving him the megaflirty look. She practiced in the mirror. Flutter the lashes, lower the chin, show off those cheekbo- No, don't do it NOW you idiot-- oh, shit, the band's looking at you now. Roxanne looks up to Mike as the large man approaches, her lavender gaze moving over each of the men in turn. She steps back, shoulder to Caitlin's elbow while the other girl (correctly) attempts to keep a low profile.

"W-wow, you boys sure are *big* up close, huh? I thought celebrities were s-supposed to be smaller than you think, all in the flesh!" Roxy's jaw is set, and Cait's going to feel her new friend tensing up beside her. In fact, she's going to feel Roxy's hair lifting a bit, tickling her arm in a way that practically *screams* she's accidentally channeling her Gen-Active abilities because she still doesn't really know what she's doing.

Everybody's just a little bit lighter. Most in the area would toss the sensation aside as transient vertigo.

"C-Cait, why's the big guy gettin' all Marcellus Wallace on us? We're *cute*. We're *nice*! We just want autographs, really!"

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin interposes herself smoothly between Roxie and the bandmates on fast approach. Roxie's gently maneuverd behind her-- one second she's looking up at the ominous incoming train, and the next, Roxy's looking at Caitlin's shoulderblades.

Cait's still smiling pleasantly but there's a bit of metal in her backbone that has her standing straight and looking the stranger dead in the eye as he closes the gap. He's a big fellah, no doubt, but Caitlin's built on a scale common to Asgardians.

And despite how friendly and open she is, there's a little something in her expression that seems to say 'that's close enough'.

"We /are/ nice," Caitlin confirms. "Really, honest. We're just looking for an autograph, or a selfie?" she presses. "Huge fans of the band, just... /huge/. Really big. Love what you guys are doing."

"Very, super big fans," she adds, a little lamely. OK, so Cait's not exactly a good liar. But Roxy would feel a subtle tensioning of muscles in Caitlin's core as if she's settling her center of gravity a bit lower. In anticipation of what, however, might be a bit beyond Roxy's ken.

Rainmaker has posed:
    Frat boys were the natural enemy of Rainmakers.

But these frat boys, all told, seemed alright. Certainly not annoying enough for her to leave her drink, or conversation, for the time being. Rainmaker was dressed casually enough, her long hair in a french braid, tossed forward over her shoulder, and she was talking animatedly to a blonde woman in the darkness of the same, in the gaps where the music had faded down - appreciating the music - as best as she could, at least.

Or, mostly. "You alright?" says the blonde to Sarah, who responds with a small shake of her head, and a "Sorry." That tall redhead was drawing the attention of more than just the frat boys, her eyes not lingering on Caitlin /too/ long. The purple-headed punkster beside her also drew attention - for other reasons, however.

A sip of her drink, and she shakes her head to her conversation partner of the moment. "I think the music is over," she says. "But hey, here's my number - text me later? I'd love to stay in touch," she says. She had deliberately written the last digit of her number down wrong. A bit rude, but still.

Stepping closer to the bar, she had it in her mind to likewise start to linger near the bandmembers - but the pushing crowd and otherwise got in the way - and she wasn't, necessarily, very inclined to do so herself.

But there was that tingling in the back of her neck. And that lightness within her hair, the braid lifting up - well, maybe not. That feeling had passed, after all. The edges of her lips turn downwards into a frown, and the woman folds her arms before herself - one over the other as she surveys the room.

Burnout has posed:
    Mike, is built like a linebacker himself, stands like a statue peering at Caitlin. "Is 'dat so?" as he looks to Dave and Beth as creepy smile crosses his lips. With a nod Beth slowly steps away. Something isn't right here. He's quiet for a moment before his posture changes. "What I see are two more... what?" he quickly pauses, lifting his hand to his ear. "... three? Roger that." the smile grows wider as Dave starts to move to the side. "Three more playing cards just waiting to to get put back into the deck."

    Outside, Bobby finishes up with the last of the equipment before pausing and putting his hand to his head. Another headache? "Damn it." he mumbles as puts his head against the cold of the vans shell. At least it waited to the end of the night.

Freefall has posed:
Yes. YES. Roxanne's going to step behind Caitlin the absolute second the redhead decides to position herself between Spaulding and trouble. And absolutely, she catches that Caitlin's doing something with her lower back, but she doesn't really understand what. Roxy hasn't *been* in many Silent Teamwork scenarios. While Rainmaker makes her way to the outskirts of the small gathering, Caitlin sizes up Mike - who seems to be just about Caitlin's size - and Bobby massages his temples in the van, Roxy's going to lean up against the bartop, reach over its top, and fall short of getting to anything helpful.

"Two *playing cards* for the *deck*? What's that even supposed to MEAN? You think we're so- THREE PLAYING CARDS for the deck?" She COULD think about what that means, and indeed there's a spark of cognizant thought flashing across Roxy's snarl-frowned face, but this is obliterated when club instincts take over. Who the hell do these chubby hipster dorks think they are? What kind of a band has so much *meat* in the rhythm section, anyway?

"H-HEY! THREE? If you're saying CAIT'S worth TWO GIRLS I'm GONNA STUFF THOSE WORDS DOWN YOUR SONS OF ANARCHY THROAT!" And -- yes... there! Roxy harnesses her abilities to collect: ONE JACK DANIELS BOTTLE. It wriggles, jiggles, and scoots along its place in the bar well before shooting up towards her outstretched hand...

only to *soar* past her hand and explode against the ceiling in a shattering rain of whiskey and glass shards!

Shit! She's REALLY BAD AT THIS.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin had been expecting a gun. She knew how to deal with a gun. That's a fight she's been in more than a few times. The old 'crush the barrel' move was a great party trick that had been known to end fights rather spectacularly.

Unfortunately, anticipation can be its own enemy. The sound of the crashing whiskey bottle gets Caitlin's attention and she unfortunately glances at the spray of whiskey and broken glass raining down on the crew below.

She was therefore entirely unready for the straight cross that abruptly flies at her jaw. Caitlin's reflexes are good enough that she tucks her chin into a rolled shoulder, averting the disaster that would be a blow to her chin. The sheer force of the impact sounds like a piece of rebar dropping on a horse. Caitlin goes flying sideways fifteen feet. Knocking down not just Roxy, but partiers too, and slamming hard enough into a support pillar to *crack* it loudly and shake dust loose on everyone present.

"Ow," she wheezes, and struggles to her feet just in time to see the big guy make a grab for Roxy's shirtfront. Caitlin scrambles to her feet in an ungainly fashion as the two other band members break their 'cover' and simultaneously jump Bobby from behind. One pins his arms behind him and the other opens a heavy electronic collar clearly destined for Bobby's neck. The kidnapper advances on Bobby with the power neutralizer in hand.

Rainmaker has posed:
And things get... rather interesting, rather quick. Sarah's eyes widen as she draws back from the crowd - twisting to one side as a partygoer narrowly flies past her position, her eyes turning back from them to... those collars. She knew what those were.

The tendrils of ice that track up her back seize her heart, and she purses her lips tightly. She was a warrior, at her heart. And she would /not/ let others experience what she had.

And she had an advantage, right now - the advantage of not being noticed, more or less. With a brush backwards over her hand from her front over her shoulder, she puts her braid behind herself, stepping to the side - trusting that the attention of the men would be on the two ahead of them.

It was the one with the power neutralizer that she attempts to use the crowd as cover for, stepping out of the same and lifting her foot up - to attempt to strike him in the back of the knee.

Which is a bad spot to be kicked, as one might imagine. "I /don't/ think this is /that/ sort of club, friend," she says. Which would be the man's warning before the kneekick.

Burnout has posed:
As Bobby is attacked he looks around to see who it is. It takes a few moments for him to focus, but when he does his eyes go wide in shock. No. "Dave? Beth? Ow! Gah! What the hell guys!" He does his best to fight them off. Sure he would fire up, but these people are his friends. He would never hurt them. It has to be mind control. And that's when he see's the collar.

"Oh shit..." he says quietly "You're with them."

He was careful. He kept under the radar like that 'old dude with the scars' told him to do. How? When did he slip up? "No! Get the f**k away from me!" Bobby says as he struggles with both his assailants and the choice to flame up.

Freefall has posed:
Roxanne, being responsible for The Whiskey Mistake, is sort of caught up in wondering how it even happened. She was trying to push the whiskey bottle into her hand for a weapon, not explode it against the ceiling! Gravity, right? It goes up AND down, but not MEGA UP, that doesn't even make se-

She goes down in a flash of purple, leather, and legs when Caitlin slams into her and the partygoers around her. The world's a really unfortunate blur and some *really* dorky looking guy in a shitty mesh shirt is trying to help her up - help she'd normally shun, mind you, but her head hurts, and she's still sort of dizzy. With a smile, a fluttering of her lashes, and a lowering of her chin intended to highlight her cheekbones and make her look *very cute* and *very saveable*, Roxy reaches up for Ugly Mesh Shirt Boy's hand...

"Gyeek!" She's INTERRUPTED when BAND BEEFCAKE #3 grabs *her* shirt! The purple blouse is pulled up to her chin by a decency-sparing fist-forearm combo, one that leaves Roxanne uselessly kicking at the air below her. Uselessly, she slaps two hands around BAND BEEFCAKE #3s wrists and tries to, er, kick some more, but it's not really doing anything. Twice or three times, she impacts his thigh with her *very cute* Doc Martens.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spies Native American Jane Bond judo-kneeing somebody in the back of the head. It's not quite enough to distract her from BAND BEEFCAKE #3.

"Hey! Lemme *GO*! I'M..." Oh shit, think fast girl. WHAT ARE YOU.

"A RECORD COMPANY SCOUT!" Yeah! STALL FOR TIME, ROX. She looks around for something she can use, something nearby - she's panicking a lil' bit.

Fairchild has posed:
A hand claps down over the fist curled into Roxy's shirt. Caitlin stares daggers at Undercover Thug #3 and with a methodical sort of process she curls her figners around his thumb. Her grip clenches down and rotates that digit until something *cracks* and he screams in anguish. This loosens his fingers enough that Caitlin can undo his grip entirely. It's done with no more effort than she'd put into peeling a banana. Apparently he's strong, strong enough to give Caitlin a solid punch, but 'strong' is no substitute for good judo techiques.

From there his wrist, shoulder, and fingers are twisted violently and down he goes facefirst into the ground with arm sticking up behind him like the world's most awkward pennant.

Just for good measure, Caitlin wraps her arms and legs around his extended arm and rolls across his back.

Snap, crackle, pop. He screams again.

Caitlin rolls away from him quickly and lands on her toes and fingers, almost like a linebacker ready to rush the guy again.

"Are you OK?" she asks Roxy with a breathless worry.

"Look out!" she screams at Bobby and Sarah, entirely too late, as the duo enter the fray against the two former bandmates.

The one grappling with Bobby has some basic training in hand to hand combat. He starts trying to pin Bobby's arm behind his back in a classic 'come along' motion. He's strong, too, strong enough to make it hurt. The one Sarah kicks tumbles to the ground and bangs his knee fairly savagely against the flooring. "Fuck!" he spits. A hand digs under his loose shirt and the thug rolls onto his back and fires a stunpellet at Sarah from the weird little derringer in his hand.

Rainmaker has posed:
It was the first glance of the derringer coming out that has Sarah rolling to the left - bringing up her hand to drag down a clubgoer gaping at the scene as well. Her instinct was that the weapon was loaded with actual bullets, and she didn't have time to think - just to react.

And this next part - that would be the race.

"Get down!" she hisses at the clubgoer as they both impact the... mysteriously sticky floor rather hard, Rainmaker grimacing at that, and other things. The clubgoer was between herself and the gunman, now, though - snapping her left hand down to steady herself, she hipups over the clubgoer's butt, her foot lashing out in a whip-like kick towards the hand holding the derringer.

The race would be whether or not the man could fire a stunpellet at Sarah before this complex action could fully play itself out.

Sarah was hoping to divest the man of his gun - but...

A stunpellet to the thigh would likely knock her on her butt, just as well.

Caitlin's warning was the thing even giving her a hope at this.

Burnout has posed:
Bobby would help the girls. He does hear the screaming and commotion. But he is handling his own battle, "Please don't." he pleads to his friends as he tries to figure it out. How did this happening? How did he miss it? They live in the same place. Ate the same food. Drank the same beer, sure their choices were a bit suspect. But he just figured it was because they were from Canada or something. That's not the point, they spent almost two and a half years together. He should have known.

He cant do it anymore, he just cant keep hiding it any more as his baby blues, go all mood ring and shift to a red. "I'm so sorry guys." it's with those words Bobby lets go and just explodes. Well 'Explode' is a harsh word, to any onlooker it looks like he just spontaneously combusted into a plume flames in what looks like a two foot diameter.

Freefall has posed:
"Really! I am! Your act's uh..." Still kicking, Roxy attempts to peel back BAND BEEFCAKE #3 (his birth name, Caitlin!)'s fingers as though they were some kind of adamantium banana, which has little to no effect. She then attempts to work her thumbs into his carpal tunnel to attempt to push down on one of the ow spots she knows live in there, somewhere. She just sort of digs her thumbs into his *wrist meat*, which is as gross as it sounds.

Ugh, he's got gross hairy wrists. Roxy's able to pull her lips back in a truly disgusted sneer by the time BAND BEEFCAKE #3 reaches for her *neck* with his other hand. Fingers find their way around the line of her silk choker.

"Gyee-HGKRK..." Roxanne makes unfortunate noises for about a *second* before Caitlin steps in, unpeels the banana, and also unpeels BAND BEEFCAKE #3's arm from its socket. The movement leaves Roxanne on her butt, Caitlin in a Superhero Landing, and BAND BEEFCAKE #3 in GENERIC HENCHMAN KO POSITION #2, which looks a lot like the stock Family Guy knockout pose.

Roxy looks to Cait, and inclines her head in a swift nod.

"I'm *fine*! I had him going! You didn't HAVE to look out for m---" The *SNAP* of a gunshot draws Roxy's eyes towards Sarah. Panicked, she screams again. It's really the only thing she's got in her repertoire.

"KAT! They're *shooting* at P.I. Pocahontas over there! She kicked one of them while I was gettin' Undertakered by that band beefcake!"

Fairchild has posed:
Sarah's desperation move nets her successs. The tip of her toe smacks hard against the gunman's wristbone. The shot goes wide and buries itself a quarter inch into the wood panelling around the perimeter of the room. The limb doesn't break but it smacks hard on that median nerve and reduces his fingers to numb, inchoate tingling. The derringer falls from his grasp and skitters across the band stand.

Caitlin forcibly propels Roxy back out of the way. "Look out!" she barks. Just at that moment she's grabbed by the ankle and lands hard on her face and hands. The one-armed Thug #3 twists, grunts, and heaves Caitlin at another one of the support pillars. CRACK! She bounces off of it with a grunt of pain, even though the force was like a car slamming into it. He starts to wind up to do it again but Caitlin abruptly twists and spins, locking his hand into place with her other ankle. Down he goes, and this time Caitlin wastes no time in dropping him for good with a savage elbow strike to his temple. His head hits the deck, bounces once, and it's lights out.

It's at that moment that Bobby lights up and Caitlin throws a reflexive hand up to cover her eyes. "LOOK OUT!" she screams, in an entirely different tone of voice. Fire immediately ignites various draperies, melts the electronic cables and cords on the floor, and sets the stage on fire.

The doomed soul attempting to 'handle' Bobby stumbles backwards, her cry of agony sucked from her lungs by the flashfire. 'Beth' staggers, clawing at features melted to slag, and then collapses to a flaming blue lump as if dissolved into so much Sterno.

"Oh gosh, the /smell/," Caitlin winces, and covers her nose.

Rainmaker has posed:
Already, Sarah Rainmaker knew that she was in trouble. Trying to avoid the conversation coming from the purple haired one as much as possible as she puts her all into that move, there was the overwhelming sense of relief as the weapon is kicked away from him, the clubgoer she had vaulted over, essentially - starting to scream as he covers his hands with his head.

As if that would help if he actually got shot.

Standing up to her full height, the braid ducking behind herself, Rainmaker brings up her boot to the fallen man's face, and almost... almost stomps him.

But what distracts her from following through with that motion, is, well.

The man literally melting in front of her, her widened eyes on the sight of Burnout, and the doomed soul that had hoped to help contain him. "My god..." she says, her voice hushed at that as her foot draws away. Totally open if the man on his back wasn't paying attention as well.

She was... ignoring Roxy, at the moment, but there was a small boiling up of emotion at her banter.

She was kinda irritating. The exact opposite impression that Caitlin was leaving, of course.

Burnout has posed:
A lone figure stands covered in flames as everything around him burns. It also doesn't help that Bobby stands buck naked, having burned his clothes off. It's the down side of being a 'firestarter'. Taking a deep breath the flames seem to pulsate. It's now, if one can see through the flames, they'll be able to to see his face turn from sorrow to a scowl.

The glowing red eyes peer up from the smoking dead bodies of the band members, followed by an erie silence. Til a single single word can be heard. "Mike." His voice is something out of a horror movie. It sounds hollow with an soft echo and hisses like a propane tank with a leak.

Freefall has posed:
Roxy's constant stream of narrative, screaming, and metaphorical questions starts petering out around the time Caitlin slams her elbow into MYSTERIOUS BAND THUG #3s temple. Instead, she's focused on backing up as quickly as she might, elbows and heels scrabbling over broken glass and spattered whiskey in a quick course from the *middle* of the fight towards the periphery, where the gathering crowd continues to watch.

The gangly boy in a mesh shirt is there, and Roxy's *just* about to reach up for the hand he's still offering. Her nerves are frayed, her attention's scattershot, and when the chaos fades for a split-fucking-second before the sound of sudden, overbearing *ignition* takes over? She'll pause. Adrenaline causes things to move in slow motion.

Gangly Mesh Dude's not quite caught in the middle of the pyre, but he's close enough that he and -most- of the fashionable youngsters in the audience have their various products and chemicals catch fire. Hair and eyebrows ignite in some cases, but only enough to contribute to the smell of burning hair and flesh, and to make a few bystanders look *REALLY* stupid for standing so close.

Gangly Mesh Dude's one of them - his face is as bald as it can get by the time Bobby's done flaming on. Roxanne's already looking away from her non-savior, content to stay on the floor while she drinks in the sight of Bobby burning people alive. Where everybody else is disgusted, Roxy's face is a literal :D.

"Ohmigod! BOBBY! YOU STILL DO THE FIRE THING THAT IS *SO* SLAMMIN'! Burn 'em alive!" *CRUNCH* goes glass as she finds her feet to cheer him on.

Fairchild has posed:
The hesitation on Rainmaker's part proves to be her undoing. The bandmate takes advantage of that split second to grab the derringer, cock it, and fire it directly into Sarah's gut. It explodes like a paintball, crackling with enough wattage to knock out anyone not possessing exceptionally tough skin.

The fire around Bobby grows of its own now, climbing up the walls and lighting the ceiling overhead on fire. Anyone not already out the door beats feet towards the exit in a mad stampede, screaming in panicked unison.

She breaks into motion like a juggernaut and launches a flying kneestrike at the gunman just as he gets to his feet. The collision collapses a section of his ribcage and he drops like a stone and promptly passes out from the pain.

Caitlin winces and shields her eyes from the fire. The heat's enough to make perspiration stand out on her brow. "Roxy! Get them outta here!" Caitlin yells at the purple-haired girl. "It's gonna burn down!"

No one moves. Caitlin cups her hands to her mouth. "GET. OUT." The words rattle the rafters and are clearly heard even over the crackling flames.

Caitlin lifts Sarah into her arms, cradled like a baby, and grabs the gunman by the ankle to haul them both to the safety of the fire exit. "Hurry!" she adds in passing to Roxy-- a little redundantly.

Rainmaker has posed:
And Sarah does try to react, of course - as the bandmate reaches for the derringer again, she grimaces - bringing her foot up again - but foot versus a gun - the gun wins. The impact drives her up and off of her feet, her muscles seizing involuntarily as the woman falls to the ground like a limp noodle.

Normally, she might be able to channel this power into lightning of her own.

But she had not seen it coming. Not really.

She was expecting to get shot - with real bullets.

So thank heaven for small mercies. Half dazed, she barely notices herself being lifted up by the amazonian woman, but she was in no condition to really appreciate the scenario. Her body goes limp, and her hand falls as she slips towards unconciousness for now.

Burnout has posed:
He's had enough. Turning he starts to walk towards the unconscious Mike, causing the wood under his feet to burn and char with each step. He also starts to put off more heat. He's taking 'fuming mad' to another level. "Wake up you son of a bitch!" Bobby demands as he heats up more without letting his flames get out of control.

There's an unsettling silence as the bar burns. With the occasional sound of beer bottles popping off like gun fire inside from the heat. There are a few people crying with the occasional drunk singing 'The roof is on fire'. Then the body of Mike the drummer is tossed out onto the sidewalk, still alive. The man is missing his shirt and something seems to be written on, no burned into, his chest. DONT SEND ANYMORE.