1203/Log

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Log
Date of Scene: 29 June 2017
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Bogatyr, Ares




Bogatyr has posed:
    Sixty three years ago, The "Golden Arms" was one of New York's premier hotels. It'd fallen on hard times, limped along for years and finally about ten years back it closed it's doors. The real estate was worth a boatload, but theres a problem. The paint, was all lead. The pipes, lead. The Wiring was rotten Aluminum ratsnests, the insulation was shockingly asbestoes and generally this entire place was until recently far more costly to own than it might appear. It was built well though, and nears of neglect hadn't really hit it too hard. If left alone, the place might survive another sixty years. Which is why, folks have been ripping all the nasty shit out under contract.

    Billy King wasn't that different really, he was generally an abrasive, alcoholic asshole who'd survived six combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Not many could stand the guy, and well more recently there had been rumors that Billy was getting into something heavier than booze. So when he didn't show up to the Union meeting, few brows were raised. But then he missed two cherry jobs in a row, wasn't picking up the phone and the kicker? His truck was still parked out in front of the Golden Arms, even though no crew was supposed to get back into the place for another week. So of course, somone needed to go make sure at the very least that they didn't need to call the cops.

    It's a hulk of a 30 story building then, partially surrounded by particle board and chain link fence. Of interest then, well tonight there's an unmarked box truck parked out front. The boarded up and normally chained up entrance to the place left swinging open, christ had those guys just left the place unlocked again? One only hopes OSHA hadn't noticed.

Ares has posed:
    That building had a number of bids lined up to do work on it. Oh nothing deeply planned yet, but there were some crews that could be hired to start turning that place around after all this time. No real strong investors yet, but the Local 477 was obligated to send a surveyor to eyeball each possible site and to get an idea of what would be needed.
    Such is the reason the tall man was there. He'd gotten out of his black SUV and started across the street towards that unmarked box truck and the front doors as well. His footsteps were purposeful, even. But then faltered a touch when he saw the open gate. He stopped there in the doorway, frowning for a moment and looking inside.
    "Hello?" His voice raised to see if anyone was still on the site. He had the impression he was going to do this alone. Maybe whomever sent an agent to represent someone else's interests while he was there. That's not unheard of. But who knows?

Bogatyr has posed:
    The Foyer is empty, save for a few rudimentary tables stacked with what might be generiously describes as "Future garbage awaiting it's can". There is however, a sturdy igloo cooler and a pack of menthol camels set out, Billy's of course. Thats all well and to be expected, but what does stand out is the smell. Death, it's unmistakable once you've smelled it once. granted at a site like this, it's liable to be some rat that died in a crawlspace but consideri-

    Theres a clatter from above, followed by the shattering of glass. Shards of the stuff come tumbling down another twenty feet ahead in a clatter, followed by a heavy irregular shape about the size of a Volkswagen. It's like, some manner of spider of improbable size. It's middle run through with a sword, an arming or "knightly" sword to be specific. It's blade uglied with spider-thing juices or not it all but glows in the dim light, not the weapon of any mortal man certainly.

    "Many apologies, most certainly. Just, keep an eye on that thing for a moment? I'll be down shortly, and again my apologies!"Theres a figure up above, ten floors or so? Peering over the railing, and whilst the language is english it's clearly spoken by no man. The russian accent is fine, but it's pitched a few octaves too low. Anyway, once spoken the figure vanishes. Presumably to come down..

Ares has posed:
    The tall man exhales slowly, just a slow controlled thing that signals little save perhaps mild displeasure. He takes in that scent, recognizes it easily enough, then steps further into that foyer. His footsteps are mostly quiet, avoiding whatever debris that might give away his position with its disruption.
    But then a tell-tale sound comes from above, then that crackle of glass. He steps back and out of the way of those small shards that hurtle downwards followed then by the great spidery caracass? Of some kind. He steps back once, holding up an arm as if to fend off a potential attack. Yet none comes.
    Then, from above, is that voice. John Aaron holds his response for now. But then he exhales a grumbling breath again only to lift his voice. "I trust this belongs to you."

Bogatyr has posed:
    "The sword, aye."And so Bog comes, emerging from the stairs. It's lovely gold leaf armor covered in scrapes, scuffs and no small amount of spidery juice. Hey that crest he's got going, yeah that survived just fine. "I've never seen a spider this big myself, seen photos but this is so different."And a pause, as Bog wraps a Gauntleted hand around that blade and with a stiff jerk removes it from it's foe. The Spider just, curls it's limbs as dead spiders are wont to do.
    "I'd offer to shake your hand good sir, but I'm afraid I'm a bit of a mess. Please know, that I mean no offence by this gesture."And a pause, as the knight turns to peer up above. "Oh and, fear not this was the last of the brutes." Which of course doesn't stop Bog from using that sword to prod a leg if only to examine the brilliant orange legtips and their strange hooked ends. "Kind of reminds me of a Centipede, yeah? The color I mean, the rest is all spider aside from the size and being bullet proof."

Ares has posed:
    "Where do these creatures come from?" The tall man asks as he steps towards the corpse, kneeling beside it and rather openly prodding at it without the normal amount of fear that one might expect a human being to have for such a truly gigantic disgusting creature.
    But then he turns his head and looks back at the Knight over his shoulder, one brow lifting curiously as he gives the fellow a once over. Polite at least. That can be said for him. But that often is used to hide ones intentions he has found. He turns back and nudges at the creature again, hrming faintly to himself before he pushes himself back to his feet.
    "Are you tasked with their extermination?" He asks of the metal being, even as he rounds to face him.

Bogatyr has posed:
    "Unknown to me, I heard they fought some bug-guy around here a few years back. I suppose the two could be related, or maybe this is something else entirely. I found their nest up near the roof access though, and then that really brought them all out to meet me. This big one, the female made a break for it and hid."Or so the knight explains, stepping back to give that sword an artful little -flick- before sheathing it back into his shield.
    If we want to be wierd about it, none of Bogatyr makes sense. The helmet and gauntlets are decidedly Italian in theme, but the rest is a mishmash of English, german and French armor from varying time periods. Heck that arming sword is more Gladius in profile than it is your traditional arming sword, and then what order has a tree and gold painted armor again? Not that Bog seems to mind, and lets not even address the presence of ballistic nylon.

    "I am tasked with saving Humanity from potential extinction, but I was driving by and heard the guy inside shouting. It seemed terribly impolite to just leave the fellow, this whole kind of thing though? No, normally not my kind of thing."And a pause, as it finally finds it's cape or whats left of it and the shattered remains of it's shotgun. With a frown it uses those tatters to wipe a gauntleted hand, before finally offering it towards Ares. "I am called, The Bogatyr sir. A pleasure to meet you."

Ares has posed:
    "Bogatyr," The tall man lets that single word hang there between them, as if gauging and testing its durability to the offering of silence. But then he answers as he accepts the other being's hand and giving it a firm shake. "I am John Aaron."
    The shake is short and precise, two pumps, done. Then he is released and he looks over the place. "I have been tasked with assaying this building for possible reconstruction. Your efforts to exterminate the pests here are commendable." He shifts his stance partially to turn and fully consider Bogatry for a time, arms folding over his chest.
    "If you would seek possible remuneration then I can grant you the name of this place's owner. Presented with this evidence he assuredly would appreciate the efforts you have taken here today." Another pause, then he adds, "Unless such things are not to your liking."

Bogatyr has posed:
    That grip is cold, the squeeze firm but measured and well the whole thing is well executed if a little...robotic. "I surely thank you for such kind consideration Mr.Aaron, but I need no such thing. I am the child of humanity, it is my duty."

    From there, well it eases back over to that slider for further study. "I intend to harvest the poison glands, and some measure of material to give to the experts in such fields. If you would offer me the kindness of helping me for a moment, truly I would be in your debt in turn."Casually reaching across to grasp that shield before with an audible -clack- it simply tugs it away. Offering it over like it may as well be a paper plate. "Please, and take care for it's quite a bit heavier than it looks."About two hundred pounds, to be precise."Anyway yes, the Bogatyr were Knights-errant of my homeland. Long since gone, but I endeavor to live up to the title in their absence."

Ares has posed:
    A gruff nod is given to the armored fellow as John accepts that offering of the shield and takes hold of it... and somehow seemingly has no trouble maintaining his grip on it. It's held level at the side for the robot to take it back when it is needed, almost held like a dish passed off to the next washer to dry it.
    "A noble goal then. Have you seen any evidence of other creatures in this area? It would be important for my people to know if the possible predations. They would send a crew here, but not if there is any danger." And as if he were looking to make sure there wasn't, John lifts his eyes upwards towards where the metal man came from.

Bogatyr has posed:
    "Negative, I wasn't even aware things like this were..things."Bog drops a hand back to it's thigh and with an audible -CLACK- the pomel of a knife swings out from the armor for it to grab. from there Bog goes to work with the precision of a surgeon, carefully parting bits and pieces. "I am very confident this building is clear, however I am uncertain as to the origin of these spiders and so it is entirely possible that they could return."And a pause as Bog begins lifting bits free.

    "I believe it prudent indeed to source some local specialist, caped or otherwise. Doesn't spiderman commune with spiders or, something to that effect? I confess I'm not entirely up to date, been rather distracted."It goes on like that, working for bits and pieces to set aside for well...until John gets sick and tired of hearing it talk...