10857/Boo, stupid!

Boo, stupid!
Date of Scene:	24 January 2020
Location:	Prague, Czech Republic
Synopsis:	Remo saves Cheetah from a potetial mob of Prazaks. Or the Prazaks from Cheetah.
Cast of Characters:	Remo Williams, Cheetah

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Remo Williams has posed:
     His name was Remo and he was working on a lovely summer day in Prague. It was too nice a day to be working, but that was on his to-do list today, due to a rather vile man named Victor Urkenich. General Victor Urkenich. CURE had narrowed down his name as working with death squads in Belarus, and Remo had been tasked to find the general, get access to his military contacts, and then provide him with a convenient heart attack.
     All in a days' work.
     He made his way down Rumenska, heading towards the Americka intersection. There was a place called "Bad Jeff's BBQ" that was the general's favorite place to indulge. And indulge he did; the man weighed over three hundred and fifty pounds. *When his death is reported, the only thing people would be surprised about would be that his death by heart attack hadn't happened already. But, it does make a certain sort of sense,* he thought. *You have to have a heart before you can have an attack.*

Cheetah has posed:
Not far from the Americka Intersection one can easily find a lush, lovely park. Its pretty greenery, trees, and wide-open spaces present an irresistible lure to ex-pat, local, and tourist alike. Even a casual passerby can smell the water gurgling out of the Hapsburg era fountain happily bubbling near the park's center or smell the bratwurst being offered by the various venders with their attendant carts. Though it's relatively early in the morning and in the middle of the work week, quite a few Prazaks can be seen wandering the grounds.

Remo Williams has posed:
Remo stopped when he checked his location. Thirty miles, total. He nodded. That was enough for a light workout.
He stopped in the park, walking to the fountain and sitting down, looking around, letting his senses clear. His awareness reached out, more scents and sounds becoming clearer.

Cheetah has posed:
The sounds of a modest commotion arise from somewhere in the park -- nothing cataclysmic, but clearly /something/ has occurred. Just then, a local yokel appears. His swift-footed course takes him dangerously close to the fountain where Remo is sitting. The man is so intent on getting out of Dodge that he nearly careens headlong into the fountain. Luckily, the man course-corrects in time and, as he blows past Williams and the others clustered near it, he yells something urgent-sounding in Czech without pausing on his track. Other people suddenly start to appear: an old man with a cane, a mother pushing a pram, a young couple -- all making tracks as fast as they can go. A few can be seen on their phones, apparently trying to secure assistance from the authorities. One can easily determine the source of the problem by observing where these fine folks are coming from: a somewhat secluded location near a small grove of carefully manicured trees.

Remo Williams has posed:
Remo nodded, then stood up and did what he always did: see people running in one direction, and walking in the opposite direction.
His footsteps were deliberate, silent. He walked over a patch of sand left behind by the renovation of a nearby building without leaving a hint of a footprint. He walked towards the trees, noticing a lot of people leaving the area. He stopped a few feet away from the location, then said, "Are you all right in there?" he asked softly.

Cheetah has posed:
Ground Zero of the disturbance comes into view: a humanoid cat standing just beneath one of the trees in the grove. She -- and it is most certainly a 'she' - is standing awkwardly with her arms held away from her body and her stance wide. Her posture implies that some bolt from the blue caught her unawares and froze her in place.

The figure -- let's call her "Cheetah" as that's what she resembles -- isn't exactly dressed for action: a purple, floral-print, spaghetti string sun dress that ends just below the knee. As people continue to flee like ants around her, she very distinctly directs her gaze at the bare 'flesh' of her arms. Her shoulders slump and an audible sigh of disgust can be heard as though she'd just discovered a run in her stocking.

Her pointed ears perk at the sound of Remo's voice. Green eyes locate him immediately. Adding to the absurdity, a few stragglers crisscross the imaginary line that connects Remo to Cheetah, temporarily breaking their shared line of sight. This continues for several seconds. Cheetah lets out another disgusted sigh and plants her 'paws' on her hips. Finally, the two are alone. Cheetah sniffs impatiently and waits for Remo to flee, too. Hoping to speed things along she half-heartedly throws up her hands, claws out, and deadpans, "Boo, stupid." This has all the emotional investment of a Walmart greeter who has had a VERY long day.

Remo Williams has posed:
Remo walked over and said, in the driest tone imaginable, "Eek." He took a few more steps and stopped in front of her. "Come on. let's go...unless you want to hang around and wait for urban renewal. I ask again, are you all right?"

Cheetah has posed:
Cheetah puts her hands (deadly looking claws and all) back on her hips and quirks an eyebrow -- though with all of that fur it's somewhat hard to discern. Remo's noncompliance with the usual script takes her aback but she recovers quickly and half-snarls, "I'm not going anywhere with some weirdo!" Pot meet Kettle.

Remo Williams has posed:
"Well, lady, you have a choice. You can either wait around here for Prague's finest to show up, there'll be more destruction of property, people getting all, all of which will paint a target on you back larger than Herr Hitler's, or you can be nothing more than a mild disturbance and easily evade the cops while you get a chance to calm down. And I've got news for you, lady. Calling me 'weird' doesn't exactly narrow things down in this crazy world wer're riding through space, so..." He shrugged.

Cheetah has posed:
Pff! The nerve! Cheetah tosses her head to one side tussling her long, red tresses. "I shall have you know I have everything well in hand." Does one detect a slight, English accent? She makes a dismissive gesture to shoo Remo away. Yep. British.

Her self-confidence is likely misplaced. Unbeknownst to Remo, when not out inadvertently terrorizing people minding their own business in a park, Cheetah is Barbara-Ann Minerva, the cosmetics magnate. Not so long ago, Minerva was cursed by the dread demon-king Urzkartaga. Now, without the help of a bespoke magical potion, Minerva cannot maintain her human form. The potion, which has a precise half life after which it begins to lose potency, was dutifully consumed; however, crossing time zones complicates the math. Minerva was never very good at math.

Remo Williams has posed:
Remo shrugged. "Yeah. I can tell. The screaming civilians was a dead giveaway. But hey, fine, if you've got it under control, I won't take you someplace where you can hide in comfort until the heat dies down, then make your way back to where you want to go in relative privacy..." He looked around. "Prague police have a seven minute fifteen response time. Four of those minutes are gone."

Cheetah has posed:
Partly hidden behind the curtain of red hair, Cheetah's ears perk. Did Remo say the magic word: comfort? That beats Cheetah's "plan" of run for the border as fast as inhumanly possible, which, to be fair, would likely take her less than a minute. Color her interested.

As discreetly as possible, Minerva eyes Remo up and down. He looks easy enough to gut if things go south... Cheetah turns her face back to Remo and he gets a decidedly suspicious look, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Remo Williams has posed:
"My name is Remo. And I want to help you. And lady, it doesn't get any simpler than that. Four minutes, thirty seconds gone." He walked to one of the older buildings nearby. "You coming, or are you that eager to end up on CNN?"

Cheetah has posed:
CNN?! An involuntary hiss escapes Cheetah's lips. She hadn't considered potential media coverage. She can't be seen like this; without make-up! With the lithe elegance of a gazelle, Cheetah swiftly moves to follow Remo. Any thought of ulterior motives is swallowed up by her insatiable vanity. "Move, you idiot! Move!"

Remo Williams has posed:
Remo led her to...a museum. He went inside, trying to remember, counting columns. He walked past a tour guide and several patrons and stopped at an access tunnel leading to the restroom. He stopped, then reached up to a sconce and pressed upwards, a section of the wall moving inwards. "Right this way." He led her inside, closing the door behind him before anyone else could see the opening. Remo walked down some stairs, then turned to her. "So, you got yourself a name, 'Cheetah'?"

Cheetah has posed:
Cheetah skirts the notice of the museum tour guide and the patrons by keeping to the darkened recesses of the building as much as possible. Combined with her innate quickness and natural stealth, her technique is remarkably effective. Finally, she slips into the opening and down the stairs hot on Remo's heels.

"What?" It takes a moment for Cheetah to decipher Remo's question and this is followed by an annoyed snort, "Ugh. Yes, of course." she replies in an irritated tone. "I'm..." Cheetah pauses and makes a mock-dramatic gesture in the air as though trying to produce a name from the ether. What demonymic conventions do 'those people' -- a pejorative catchall for metahumans that, apparently, does not include her (at least in her own mind) - use to come up with their codenames anyway? Something dawns on her at last, "...the Catwoman, obviously." Yes. Obviously.

Remo Williams has posed:
"Well, I was going by the coloration of the fur you have. It's rather distinctive."
He continued on until they came to a set of stairs heading up almost two flights before coming to another door at the top. He opened the door, leading into a hotel room at a very old hotel. The room was furnished with amenities that looked at least two hundred years old.

Cheetah has posed:
Cheetah warily pokes her head into the room and peers around. Her velvet-y cat's nose samples the atmosphere. Her ears twitch. The room is old. But likely expensive. Test passed. Hopefully someone has taken an account of the objects stored here. Many of them are likely about to go missing.

'Catwoman' glides in behind Remo, "Just /who/ are you?" The sharp emphasis placed on the word 'who' suggests she's looking for a response other than 'Remo'.

Remo Williams has posed:
"You first. Hungry?" He smiled. "I'll order some room service. In the meantime...want to tell me what happened?"

Cheetah has posed:
Cheetah frowns darkly. "No." She moves noiselessly around the room scanning every nook and cranny but touching nothing. She's been in 'the game' long enough to know that nothing is ever what it seems. What she wouldn't give to go back and forego her dealings with Urzkartaga. It turns out life really *is* simpler when you're just a privileged, beautiful, white woman with a billion dollars in the bank. Who knew?

Remo Williams has posed:
Remo picked up the phone and dialed room service: one steak dinner with all the trimmings...and a bowl of rise with some slivers of fish. Once the order was made, he turned to Cheetah. "Then let's set some ground rules. One, if I ask you a question, don't really care too much if you give me an answer or not. Just don't lie to me. I can smell a lie like a fart in an elevator. I get a lie out of you, you're out on that perfectly sculpted ass of yours. Next rule: what applies to you applies to me. No double standards, one standard will do just fine. Third: I'm out of here in three days. Should give you plenty of time to plan your next move, unless you want to wait four months for Halloween. Finally, you can leave any time you want. You don't even have to ask me or tell me. But the only things you're allowed to take is the bathrobe. Because I'm taking one. Deal?"