12325/No Cure For Being A Jerk

No Cure For Being A Jerk
Date of Scene:	11 October 2020
Location:	Bushwick (Mutant Town), Brooklyn
Synopsis:	The Punisher helps Shannon deal with some anti-mutant thugs in the course of his own work in Bushwick. Thanks long overdue are given.
Cast of Characters:	Nightingale, Punisher

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Nightingale has posed:
     The past several days had been rather... interesting for Shannon, to say the least. If she hadn't been in one scrape, it had been another. To be coming off of her shift at Evolution was something of a relief. Normal might be boring, but it could also be blessedly so.

     Coming out of the club, the winged teen is dressed in simple black slacks, comfortable but stylish black boots, and a white button-down blouse. She has her hair tied back in a bun at the back of her head, with the exception of one thin, pale blue braid dangling by the left side of her face, with three little silver beads on the end. She's shrugging on what looks like a long woolen, hooded opera cloak, black as night and lined with contrasting red material. It must be a custom piece, as somehow, it allows for her large, white, feathery wings.

     Just as normal on such a night, she's spreading her wings out, preparing to take flight and head on home. But, dear reader, since when was anything ever truly normal...?

Punisher has posed:
It would be a normal night. Except it isn't. Tonight, there's a man just across the street on a rooftop, and hidden cameras covering the other angles around the club, monitored by Microchip, off site.

Why? Because the Punisher is expecting a group of street toughs to come by and have their fun harassing mutants in the area, and they know Shannon was involved in one of said scapes. They were, to be fair, low priority... but all his other plans were in the works, and the Punisher had time to spare to check out this potential incident.

He was waching the scene with a pair of electronic binoculars, a custom M24 on the rooftop itself awaiting use.

Nightingale has posed:
     The universe had its limits, but stupidity and general assholery were, sadly, infinite. On her way out of the club, Shannon seemed to have picked up a few friends, of the perhaps less-than-friendly persuasion. One had a lead pipe, one had chains in hand, and another had just bare fists. None appeared at the moment to be carrying firearms. All were in ragged jeans, some form of waffle-stomper boots, and rather ragged-looking, nondescript layers of shirts against the chill of autumn.

     Big mistake.

     The sound of the chains was enough to give Shannon pause for just a split second, her right arm slipping beneath her cloak. Could she get away in time, or would there be a fight...?

Punisher has posed:
"Got them on my angle. Keep an eye for reinforcements." Punisher barks into his commlink to Microchip as he takes the M24 and aims. The bolt is charged, and the Punisher aims for a neck.

*pop*. A custom round is silently fired at the first thug.

One thing goes down instantly, out. There's no blood, but there's definitely a body that was just about sledgehammered by kinetic force into a wall.

They were out in the open, being picked off by a scout sniper looking to take at least one of them prisoner. They don't stand a chance.

Nightingale has posed:
     Now that was -definitely- not normal! Shannon whirls around to see who or what fell behind her. Oh crap. A body on the ground. A soft string of oaths escapes her, and this time she doesn't hesitate to spread her wings open wide. With a couple of running steps and strong downstrokes of those wings, she's up into the air, circling higher and higher. Whoever was doing the shooting, might find her a difficult target to hit.

     But that doesn't stop the thugs from trying. It seems that one of them was packing heat after all, a Glock 19. The thug takes aim at the flying mutant, and a few shots ring out. Luckily, none of them hit anything major, though one flight feather does get nicked and flutter down to the ground.

     "Get back here, you mutie..." Whatever slur he was going to use, is drowned out by the next shot fired at the winged girl.

Punisher has posed:
Once up in the air, the Punisher isn't all that hard to find on the rooftop opposite... and he's recognizable in his usual regalia; trenchcoat, skull vest, black clothing under a gear web. He's also not aiming at Shannon... but at the rest of the thugs.

*Pop* Another silenced round on the thug with the Glock.

Nightingale has posed:
     The shots stop flying at Shannon, with the one who had the Glock knocked down. The one thug who is left is, thankfully, a coward. "Jeezus, man, ain't no mutie worth this!" Boot leather meets pavement, the yellow-bellied, would-be assailant leaving his two buddies in the dust.

     Thus ends honor among thieves--or something to that effect.

     But something stops Shannon from immediately winging her way out of the area. It was something about the sniper on the rooftop. Where had she seen that trenchcoat before? Circling slowly above his location, she peers down, getting a good look at him.

     And then it hits her.

     Twice, she had seen this man. Twice, he had saved either her bacon, or that of her friends.

     Thanks were long overdue.

     Behind the Punisher, he might hear the fluttering of softly feathered wings as she touches down on the rooftop, keeping her hands empty and in plain sight. She'd seen him in action, and had no wish to be mistaken for an unfriendly target.

Punisher has posed:
The last thug... doesn't get away. Though the Punisher waits to check for witnesses before he fires another round at his neck too.

Almost immediately, Shannon sees and hears the bolt on the rifle undone, slid, and slid back. It's the practiced motions of a sniper who's been using bolt action rifles for most of his life.

It's another ten seconds before the Punisher stands up, slowly, the rifle left in place, and turns to regard Shannon. A face plastered on the news on a weekly basis as one of the worst mass murderering convicts in recent history faces her. An icy expression and a decided lack of warmth regards her.

It's unclear if he views her a a potential threat or not, with those cold, almost dead, eyes.

At least he's not going for any of the guns on his gear web, yet. That's got to count for something, right?

Nightingale has posed:
     If Shannon is afraid, she doesn't show it openly. Granted, perhaps her complexion seems to lose its normal rosy glow, but perhaps that might be a trick of the low light. Her hands, held out with empty palms upward, seem oddly steady enough; this was no normal teen to be quite as easily shaken by a few shots fired, nor by those who would normally be highly intimidating figures. She does, however, keep a few paces' distance away from the man. Her own eyes were pale blue and gleaming in the light, full of life, as she regarded the infamous vigilante.

     "Guess I owe you some thanks again," she says, her voice soft, and her tone, even and calm. Her lips tug upwards in a light smile, and she makes no other move. This was not someone she wanted to piss off.

Punisher has posed:
"I don't do this for thanks, but you're welcome, kid." The Punisher grates out. His stance doesn't relax, as if he's expecting the other shoe to drop anytime. "Their leader had some short term schedules. Figured one of those fools down there would have some more information for me on their activities. I don't normally bother with street toughs acting like fools, but their parent organization is making moves. I need intel." The Punisher coldly explains.

He looks down to the group of thugs he just knocked out... then, he looks to Shannon, "You wouldn't happen to know them, would you?"

Nightingale has posed:
     "No, I don't." Shannon shakes her head, her wings finally settling in and folding up neatly behind her back. Her brows furrow slightly as she listens. Parent organization? This did not bode well. "I mean, I wish it was otherwise, but with these..." She gestures offhandedly towards her wings, and lets out a little sigh. "...it's not uncommon for me to get some real jerks trying to take potshots sometimes."

Punisher has posed:
"Anytime I'm in the field, I'm always waiting for someone to take a shot." The Punisher explains, matter of factly. Then, he turns and heads for the edge of the rooftop. A device is taken from a pouch on his gear web, and he slams it against the side of the roof. An audible sound of drilling can be heard and prongs are jutted out; clearly, the device is a mobile anchoring point.

A grapnel gun is taking then, and he pulls out the end, attaching it to the point. "Time to go and find out, then."

Taking the rifle with one hand and the grapnel with another, the Punisher descends.