10616/Death Blossoms in Winter

Death Blossoms in Winter
Date of Scene:	02 January 2020
Location:	Two Bridges (Chinatown), Manhattan
Synopsis:	In a back-alley tournament in Chinatown, Cassandra Cain defeats Asp--but Typhoid Mary shows up everyone with a brutal takedown.
Cast of Characters:	Iron Fist, Batgirl (Cain), Typhoid Mary

---

Iron Fist has posed:
In a makeshift open lot in the labyrinth of Chinatown's alleys, walled off by dumpsters, trucks, and thick columns of steam rising from the sewers, a small crowd has gathered--for what appears to be an impromptu tournament.

Two fighters face off, each wearing the colors of a local gang. More groups' representatives stand around the innermost circle of the spectators of the match.

Among these stands a woman in green and white, relatively calm in posture--a contrast to most present, who display some sort of tension or excitement as they watch the fight.

Less than a minute later, one of the two fighters yields, his arm shattered by a lightning-fast kick. The victor is cheered and a new pair walks to the center of the lot, preparing to fight. The loser is given a sling and looks of shame.

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
--- THE PATH FROM BLUDHAVEN TO GOTHAM ---

Bat-Signal's back online. He's back. She can explain herself, or die trying. Belonging. Understanding. Purpose. She didn't have the words to describe what Batman's broken 'family' meant to her, just like she didn't have the words to describe the way she can't look at her own hands without seeing the blood staining them. She still doesn't know what to call the caustic bite in the back of her throat every time she thinks about it. There are innumerable things Cassandra Cain simply cannot understand or emote, but the Bat-Signal transcends even language, and calls -all- of Gotham's wayward crusaders home.

What it does -not- do is teach Gotham's wayward crusaders about the perils of sleeping on a train you selected by pointing at a picture of Gotham on a map. Intermediary stops and end-of-line stops are very different things...

But hey. Maybe this is just a different borough? Slums are slums are slums. Cassie's going to find out soon enough.

--- NOW ---

Dark hair, dark eyes, a sickly pallor to her honey tone, and a collection of scars that would send would-be attackers packing. Cassandra Cain's been through hell, but it's all hidden beneath the perturbing strength of her posture, the way she balances on her toes. Clad in a black hoodie, black undershirt, black sweats, and black trainers, she's hardly a stand-out figure, but there's a story if you care to look.

She approaches the ring of ecstatic combatants, eyebrows lifting in a way knowing mothers would attribute to excited teenagers on Christmas morning - oh, she's interested, but she's keeping a straight face. Really, it's only after the third matchup - a stick fighter too concerned with grandstanding to tend to the heel driving at his mastoid - that Cassandra moves or shows any other reaction. It's a simple gesture.

*WHUMPF* She drops her duffel bag like a statement. It hits the ground like any other 140+ lb object might.

Iron Fist has posed:
While most of the participants in the close vicinity to the dropped duffel bag look at Cassandra--although most try to avoid eye contact after catching a glimpse of her scars--the majority of the crowd maintains its focus on the fight just beginning.

One of the participants on the other side of the crowd--the woman in green and white--stares at Cassandra, her eyes not even momentarily glancing to the bag next to her feet.

A whirlwind of blows and blocks separates the women. One of the fighters takes a chop to the side of the neck, but it's answered with an elbow under the opponent's arm. The elbowed figure stiffens, his eyes wide, as victory slips from his grasp.

A squeak of air signals the yield, although some attendees boo. "I didn't hear shit!" "Technical, not honorable." "I thought we were here to show who was the BEST?"

"Oh," the woman in green calls out. "I'll show you." She steps into the middle of the circle as the previous fighters walk--and are dragged--out, respectively.

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
Exultation, derision, condemnation. Eyes focused on the failures, others on the successes, but so few on -everything-. There are degrees of fluency in Cassandra's chosen tongue, and so few experience it on her level. It's all she has, but she is the mistress of her domain. She'd isolated her fellow in seconds, though never to the point of tuning out the others occupying this space. The one man persisting in her reaction to a given break or beat is given a soft smile, a tip of the head - yeah, I get it - and nothing more.

When the woman in green makes her announcement and stands, Cassie doesn't have to seek eye contact or wait. Who else could the request be for? The confidence in the other woman's steps, the unmistakable, microscopic inclination of her chin towards Cassie prior to getting up in the first place? It's a callout as clear as a gauntlet thrown at her feet.

A man - enormous, with a chain wrapped around the length of his left arm, shoulder to fist - steps forward, a challenge in his throat and victory in his eyes. He's stopped dead in his tracks by a slender arm pushing a weighty black hoodie into his stomach.

Cassandra steps forward, fingers interlaced and bowed outwards in an attempt to make _some_ sort of vocalization, an annoucement of her intent to take this mysterious organizer up on her challenge. Popping bones seems to be the statement of the day, so she'll start with her own knuckles.

Cassie releases her hands and settles into a loose posture, left arm held before her waist, right held closer to her chin, side-profile presented to the woman in green.

Iron Fist has posed:
The woman smirks, her eyes narrowing, as she assumes her own initial stance: the coiled serpent. Her arms are bent and tucked in against her before extending forward so that the elbow angle is roughly ninety degrees. Her legs are bent slightly, muscles tensed.

Between the women, the emcee looks to each and nods. "Fight!" she calls, clapping her hands.

The crowd falls silent, all eyes locked on the match.

The woman in green, as fluid as an asp, lunges forward, right arm jabbing for Cassandra's throat. Her left, not even a second behind the first, goes for a knuckle strike to the eye.

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
An eloquent opening statement, delivered succinctly and with no end of passion - this is the discourse Cassandra's been missing. The distlliation of years of practice and a body tuned perfectly towards its execution, all poured into this complete story of a split-second. Those watching might not see it, but her opponent certainly will... her dark-haired opponent is *fast*. Why shouldn't she be? It's a story she's heard before. Her assailant just happens to be *very* demonstrative.

The woman in green's serpentine attack meets a combatant rocking onto her heel, grazing the side of Cassie's neck just as Cass' fulcrum snaps her balance onto the offensive. A clockwise heel-spin to the left completes the dodge while outstretched arms and a bent waist disguise gathering momentum as a flourish.

Her heel snaps up towards the other woman's jaw while Cassie's back's turned, a riposte offered in the same second as that intial argument.

Iron Fist has posed:
The kick is fast, and Asp should have taken it square on the jaw. She manages to roll out of it just enough to be spun backwards from the impact, trying to gain distance between herself and Cassandra, rather than knocked out cold.

Asp scowls, slowing her turn to shift into the third form of Striking Viper. One arm is extended upward, the other tight against her chest, hand in an upturned claw.

Then, she attempts to strike again, bursting forward with her clawed hand at Cassandra's gut, while her upheld arm sweeps down to balance while one leg snaps up toward the scarred woman's nose.

The crowd watches intently, although the silence has shifted to hushed commentary, most of it attempting to determine what informs each combatant's tactics.

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
A graze, a body pivoting away, control in the response. Cain feels before she sees, but her eyes validate what her body's already taken into account; Asp is still in the fight. The serpentine fighter will find her black-clad opponent with leg upraised, bent at the knee; she keeps it as such, adapting the familiar stance of a taekwondoka.

Asp's *speed* is incredible, her coordination and poise the physical mirror of a professional soprano's piercing performance. It takes Cain by surprise, the forward lunge, the two-pronged attacks. They seek - and succeed - in forcing awkward decisions to be made, in destabilizing the opponent's form.

Cassandra answers them by falling onto the other woman, her upraised knee dropping atop that thrusting claw, her forearm lifting to block the leg rising to her nose. Asp's leg meets Cain's forearm with enough force to bruise bone, but the women are close enough now that Asp might just see the absolute lack of response as Cassandra's arm is dislodged from its socket.

Cass seeks to get a grip on her foe's clothing, and takes advantage of this unorthodox, forced close-quarters situation: she drives her skull forward in a full-bodied headbutt.

Iron Fist has posed:
Asp has just enough time to furrow her brow in surprise at Cassandra's complete lack of concern for the kick--and then blood sprays out from her nose in response to the headbutt.

The stunned woman attempts to stumble backwards, but Cassandra's grip on her outfit prevents her from gaining any space.

Blinking, Asp inhales in a hiss between gritted teeth, only seeming to make good use of one eye to watch her foe.

Asp's right hand glows faintly, the air around it like static, and she attempts to drill her fingers just inside Cassandra's right shoulder, putting as much of her weight into the attack as she can from her flat-footed position.

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
A full-throated shout from Asp, the consolidation of every ounce of force she can muster into one strike. It's a lethal attack, and in that same vein it's the same sort of climax you might expect from a particularly compelling song. It's thrilling, luscious, electrifying, but also *expected*.

The ozone crackling in the air just above Cassandra's dipped elbow only serves to further agitated the goose-pimpled flesh it leaves in its wake.

Cain is moving even as she dips to the side, weight tilted in the direction opposite of Asp's attack - she lashes out instinctively. A fist to the cup of Asp's pelvis even as her left foot drives to plant against the inside of the other woman's knee. That same hand as before, thrust forward to catch the would-be falling combatant with a quartet of knuckles to the larynx... where she stops dead in her tracks, good limb quavering, injured limb limp, eyes wide and wild.

It looks badass.

She is mortified.

Iron Fist has posed:
Asp's 'perfect' strike slips past, rather than into, Cassandra, and the woman has no time for the miss to register before her hip registers sharp pain, and then her knee does the same.

The woman drops to the ground, held up only by Cassandra's leg intertwined with her own. Her eyes flutter as she awaits the final blow.

When it doesn't happen, she blinks and looks at the hand poised near her throat. She opens her mouth, her voice quietly croaking: "...yield."

The crowd offers its congratulations through slightly louder, but still hushed, statements of praise.

Half a dozen, dressed with a stylized snake head on their chests, come forward to lift Asp to her feet and then drag her into the crowd for after-care.

Before the woman disappears among her supporters, she groggily points a finger at Cassandra and says something difficult to hear amid the crowd's voicings of awe. But her lips look like they say: "Next time."

The emcee claps her hands again. "Now /that/ is a demonstration of skill. Will you stay and face another challenger? Or will you take the rest you have earned, for now?" she asks of Cassandra.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
It has been some time since Walker has been down here in Chinatown, or at least that she remembers. Maybe Typhoid is the one that comes to these places more. But she found herself with a room up here in Chinatown, for God knows what purpose. She wouldn't ask, not that she would have anyone to ask anyway considering she is in a no-communication relation with her other personalities these days.

So she found herself roaming Chinatown, first the sound of combat reaching her, then the crowd. Yea, something definitely was going on. She chose high ground, to better watch what is going on, climbing up to one of the trucks surrounding the zone and sitting atop it. An eagle's nest of sorts, guess some things from the military you just can't forget. The redhead is dressed in a dark-green, sleeveless tank top tonight, camo, loose pants on her legs and army boots. She also didn't ask where Typhoid got this clothing, but guesses she must have been hired as a merc down here. Her hair is tied up in a topknot and she currently watches the proceedings with an interested eye.

The first fights seemed easy for her, boring almost and she was of a mind to just jump down there and get on fighting. She didn't feel too much of a fever so she might be safe for a while. At least not that they seemed to be a match to her. Until Cassandra got in the ring though. She watched with some fascination at the battle with Asp, leaning forward as each blow was exchanged. Poetry in motion. Now, that was a fighter. But damn it, she was starting to feel that fever rising up. Yes, Typhoid was getting excited too. Would she come out tonight?

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
Acknowledgement from Asp is met with a small nod from Cassandra, even as the crowd rushes forward to take the injured woman away. It's evident in Cain's movements that she's somewhere else right now - her footsteps are afterthoughts to some internal monologue, her eyes riveted to the retreating Asp until the crowd swallows the other woman. Then, Cassandra's attention finds the asphalt before her.

A shivering breath leaves her, travels down her spine and through the rest of her form. Even as the ring's emcee challenges any and all to come at her, Cassandra reaches up to work her limp arm around in a forceful semicircle, the ball-and-socket of her shoulder distorting before popping back into place. Eyes close in the pain, but she moves towards her duffel bag with the slightest limp, otherwise wholly ambulatory.

To onlookers, Cassie's *ignoring* everything the emcee is saying, ignoring the fight, ignoring the CROWD, but her goals are ultimately nebulous, her communication ambiguous. After hefting her duffel and making to leave (and calmly ignoring a few wondering bystanders), Cain approaches the emcee, reaching into a pocket to withdraw...

a map. Gotham circled in red. She hands this to the emcee, a hand firmly planted atop the offering to push it better into the woman's palm. Points to where Asp had been taken. For the rematch.

Iron Fist has posed:
Perhaps unsurprisingly, despite the fact the crowd is /filled/ with gang representatives looking to prove their fighting prowess, no one seems to want to challenge Cassandra or--once she relocates her shoulder--to even step near her.

The emcee looks with a raised eyebrow at Cassandra, hesitantly accepting the map. She nods, slowly, to the victorious woman and turns to wave over one of the individuals bearing a snake insignia. They step forward just close enough to snatch the paper and then dive back into the crowd.

Meanwhile, a large wall of a man steps into the ring. "I will fight," he exclaims boisterously. "Let it be said that--unlike these cowards--I was not afraid to face this crucible."

The man wears a sleeveless jean jacket with a faded bull's head on the back. His gang, the Toros, has a strong presence around the Two Bridges area, and it has a reputation for being especially vicious to those they victimize.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
'Keep it down, damn it' Walker feels the heat continuing to rise up. It's those kind of fights that can warm someone's blood. The complete disregard for one's safety, one that Typhoid knows so well, considering it's a mantra she follows. Is there any other way to fight? Any other way to live?

The laugh starts deep inside her, an wholly different voice to Walker but oh so familiar to her. She shudders and shifts, changing and becoming someone else. It is barely noticeable considering how high up she is on that truck, her hair changing to braids, her facial features changing to something more wild, her eyes more wide, bright green. Teeth are bared. Oh, she wants a piece of that.

Typhoid has but a brief recollection of what happened, but she knows this is a fighter she will want to face in the future. The two of them in fact, both Cassandra and Asp. They will dance for sure.

She stands up to her full height, cricking her neck to one side, then the other. A jump and she lands not too far from where the circle is (not a hero landing, she is no hero!).

"Sorry, bull boy, but I already got my sights on her." it's perhaps not the sanest of ideas to insult some gang member, but then again the wide gap of her smile shows she may just not be totally right on the head.

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
Map's given, Asp should figure out the meaning behind the circle and the city. She can't do much better than that, but skilled fighters have a way of finding one another. While Mary makes her landing and entreaty - and with it, a sort of silent promise that whoever beats *HER* gets to say they beat a *SUPER* - Cassandra pulls her duffel bag up, slings it over her good shoulder, and pushes past the crowd. Her winnings are left behind, as she wasn't aware they were there to begin with.

It's only a moment later that she returns to take her hoodie from the chain-armed man she'd entrusted it to less than two minutes ago.

Those watching her as she leaves can see her bob her head to the left, mimic a passing fist along her neck. That first hit, the gouge and throat strike. She was slow. Sloppy on her part. David would have shot her again. Has Bludhaven dulled her senses? Has it been *that* long?

Iron Fist has posed:
The large Toros member turns his head, mouth slightly open in surprise at Mary's landing. He glances back at Cassandra--and finds her already moving to leave.

"Ha!" the man says, punching one fist into his other palm. "It seems that neither of us gets our wish. So I suppose you'll just have to settle for Sour Charlie," he continues, grinning.

"/He's/ Sour Charlie," someone whispers loudly to Mary. "If you didn't know."

The emcee claps her hands. "Then fight!" she calls.

Sour Charlie steps into the circle, rolling his shoulders and effecting a boxing stance. "Come on, then," he chuckles.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
And Cassandra didn't even take her winnings. That's just a treat for Mary, means she will have just enough money to continue her plans down here in Chinatown. Once she gets done with Bull Boy here. "You will be a lousy side dish, Bull Boy. But I will fuck you up just the same.." yes, seems like she didn't accept Sour Charlie as being his name. Bull Boy it is!

Typhoid steps up to the circle, rolling shoulders, tongue brushing over her teeth and then lips. She seems eager, very very eager. Her eyes seem to shine almost, as if they were burning, her fever running high. Yes, this will be just perfect. But first a look to the departing Cassandra. "I will be seeing you around, baby. Love your style."

And then it's go time, she moves forward, no defense there, she just seems to be asking to get the first punch. Begging for it maybe. Maybe she likes some pain before dishing out her own.

Iron Fist has posed:
Indeed, while Mary's momentarily occupied saying goodbye to Cassandra, Sour Charlie steps forward quickly on the balls of his feet to try and jab his left fist into Mary's face, cocking his right arm for a followup cross. He keeps a smile on his face throughout his movements.

"OLE!" shout other members of the Toros in the assembled crowd. Some others chuckle, while still others focus on how this particular match is unfolding.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
Would Typhoid had dodged it even if she wanted to? Most likely not. So she takes that punch squarely in the side of her face. It sends her reeling back, she tasting that sweet blood on her lips. Just enough to get her flow going. She has to take a step back with the strength behind it. Boxer style, eh? Certainly seems like the man has quite the strength behind those fists. But she doesn't let the followup cross hit. She tosses her head back, bending and then rolling over to one side.

"Nice one, bull boy." She brushes her tongue over the blood on her lip, her green eyes wide and feverish.

And then she goes back in, again no regard to safety but now employing her own full lethality. The man is taller, larger, but she doesn't seem to fear it at all, in fact the bigger the challenge the better for her. She goes for an exchange with Charlie, fists up, boxing it is, moving to attempt a one-two combination. Being smaller though means she will need to get into his reach before she can deliver her own, most likely putting herself in a vulnerable position.

Iron Fist has posed:
Sour Charlie shrugs off Mary's first punch, blocking it with one arm at an oblique angle. The second, though, connects with a crack of the cartilage in his nose.

"Owdge," he stutters, wiping blood from his upper lip. "Otay den."

Charlie swings a wild haymaker at the side of Mary's head, huffing as the breath escapes him from the effort of moving more quickly than he's clearly accustomed to.

"OLE!" comes the quieter shout, from fewer Toros members, in the audience.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
Yea, being so big normally means not used to going fast. Typhoid knows the type, and as if they were in a bullring so does she dance with the bull, as if she was the 'matador'. Not that the wild haymaker doesn't connect against her rising arm, barely blocking it, making her nearly fall down to the ground with the impact. Inside she is burning though, a terrible fire that needs to be released. She laughs out then, a wild, disturbing laugh. "Time to go down, bull boy."

And she suddenly moves in, yes it means she will most likely still take a few good blows. But she is wanting to get that distance closed. Her motions are fast, faster, now more disciplined, play time is over apparently and she aims to deliver a vicious elbow to the man's sternum. Then a knee up to hit a leg. All vicious, no-nonsense strikes.

Iron Fist has posed:
Charlie doesn't have much time to try and respond to the flurry of attacks that Mary launches at his midsection and leg.

So, he doubles over when his sternum is struck, and then he drops to his knees from Mary's assault on the nerve cluster in his leg.

"Guhhh-gahhhh," is all he can wheeze out, unable to catch a breath. He reaches out in an effort to grab his opponent with one hand, the other propping him up off the ground. Charlie's definitely slower now that he was a minute ago, and any threatening vibe he might have given off is waning quickly.

The crowd, in response, is quiet as it watches Mary approach victory.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
Unlike Cassandra, who was perhaps just looking for a fight, Typhoid Mary can be all about the show when she wants to. When the man bends over she opens her arms to her sides, wide and exhuberant, "Where are my Oles, bitches?" She nearly screams it out, barely able to contain her excitement, the feeling of the fight, battling and winning. Her feverish gaze goes over the Toros, looking at them threateningly. It's as if she is wanting them to cheer for her.., or face the consequences.

But she may have underestimated the man. She thought the fight was over but then there's that big hand coming to her. It grabs her arm but then she gets a vicious smile to her lips, "Stay down, bull." and at the pull she feels from Charlie she welcomes it. In fact she tosses herself down at him when the man is getting up. Her aim to hit a headbutt. Yes, it will damn hurt, to both of them. But that's just what she wants right now.

Iron Fist has posed:
There's laughter--loud, cacophonous laughter--coming from several members of the Madison Street Marauders, a rival gang to the Toros. "Yeah! Ole!" some shout, clapping.

"Unghh--ngunghh--" Charlie continues to try and spit out, unable to catch his breath. His efforts are cut short when he's headbutted, blood spraying in a mist from his nostrils, and he reels backward, falling back onto his butt.

For a moment, Sour Charlie's eyes try to focus, and he glares--maybe it's glaring, at least?--at Mary, blinking furiously.

Then he loses consciousness and slumps to the ground.

"He yields!" the emcee shouts, clapping her hands together once. "Victory!"

The Marauders whoop and cheer. The Toros surround Sour Charlie to drag his limp body out of the circle.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
Skull on skull, just like Typhoid likes it. When she stands up she lets out a loud howl, blood flowing down her nostrils as well. Yes, this felt good, but let's not turn up the heat too much. Bloody Mary can just be a party stopper if she pops out, and she has money to get. People to see, plans to get in motion. All the works..

She wipes the blood on her nose carelessly on one hand, making some of it spread across her face as if it was some kind of war painting. Her teeth are showing, a grin on her expression. "I told ya, bull. Lousy side dish." and then she walks to where the money is, gesturing for the emcee to give it to her. "I will be taking that." she states, with that kind of tone that isn't up for haggling.

She is breathing hard now, excited, a near palpable heat exhaling out of her body. Dangerous.

Iron Fist has posed:
"Uhhh..." the emcee begins, looking around at the assembled crowd.

No one seems willing to argue the point. A few of the gangs even begin slinking off into the shadows, having been adequately humbled by the brutality on display by Cassandra first and now Mary.

The emcee considers her options and nods, offering the cash to Mary. "Sure thing. What crew do you run with? Who gets to brag about the win today?"

Typhoid Mary has posed:
For some reason Typhoid finds the question hilarious. Her crew. Sure, she does have a crew, of all her personalities. "My crew?" oh, she can't help but laugh at it, hard and loud. "They're a bunch of bitches..." she waggles four fingers at the man, as if denoting the size of her 'gang', "Always trying to take over. But you can put it on Typhoid. Typhoid Mary." a wink given over to the emcee.

And then there's the money. She snatches it. That's just as good for her, but there's still that lingering feeling of not being fully satisfied. Who were those other two again? She didn't even get the names. So she asks the emcee. "Those two fighting before I did. Who were they?" and she steps forward, closing in the distance. "... And where can I find 'em?"

Iron Fist has posed:
The emcee weighs her options once more before responding.

"The two who fought..." she says. "One was the Asp. From the Serpent Clan. No," she adds quickly, "that's not right. The Serpent ... Society. Yes."

"The other," the emcee continues, "is unknown to me. She had a map on which was circled Gotham City. I have no desire to stalk her and learn what kind of injury she could do to me. But if you want to find her ... I would start there."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
Typhoid Mary is the type of bad girl that has most likely heard about the serpent society before. She mmmms in consideration to that, "Asp..." she seems to savor the name, rolling it through her lips, then the unknown girl. ".. and Gotham Girl.." the vicious smile that appears on her lips shows blood and teeth.

Then her eyes go over the emcee, head to toe, And too bad you aren't into some pain. You would look great in a corset." teasing tone, blood still running hot, "But maybe another time, mmm?"

Her eyes roam the departing gangs, then she looks up to the sky. Yes, she can be quite the stalker when she wants to, and she has found proper prey to follow. She can barely contain her eagerness.

Tonight was a good night, she begins walking away from the circle, time to go spend all this money. Oh yes.