1342/A very Marvelous Drive-By

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A very Marvelous Drive-By
Date of Scene: 07 July 2017
Location: Crowfeather Bar in Gotham
Synopsis: Carol Danvers visits the Crowfeather Bar, a den of scum, villainy, top hats, and white roses. A drive-by interrupts moralizing and pleasantries amongst Goths, White Roses, and a Superhero. Favors hang in the aftermath.
Cast of Characters: Miss Moreau, Captain Marvel (Danvers)




Miss Moreau has posed:
The Crowfeather Bar is yet another run down tavern in the Narrows, tucked somewhere between a crack house and a very low rent hotel. The usual amount of drugs, prostitution, and other vices flow through this area like water as in many other corners of this most dangerous blight on Gotham.

But the Crowfeather has one bright spot to it: a very specific clientelle. Catering to a very small community of poor but enthusiastic goth subset of the residents of the Narrows, visitors are most often dressed in knock-off Hot Topic fare. The inside of the Crowfeather is dim, slightly musky, and smelling of tobacco amongst other smokey scents. The bartender is a bald man in black leathers. The bouncers? Strong men in shades and cheap black suits with beer bellies. Cheap drinks and cheap drugs eagerly spread, desperate men and women slowly dying.

A place that should be beneath the notice of anyone other than the most brave or corrupt of vice cops. Only within the last month, a new group of regulars have rolled in. Twitchy, grinning men in charcoal hued suits, women in black and white affairs be they fancy dresses or top hats with polite manners and generous with tips. A single unifying theme amongst them: white roses pinned to their chest, and always a brown haired woman with a red book accompanying them. The White Rose Gang, thieves, mercenaries, and animal smugglers with a reputation for the strange and fantastical have all but taken the place for their own over the past few weeks.

But tonight, word slowly spread through back channels and loose lips. Rumors of an upcoming exchange between a branch of the Russian mob and the White Roses hits the streets near the Crowfeather. Details are sparse, but it's almost an open secret of where the Roses can be found.

And for a prosperous, rising star of Gotham's criminal scene, there's always those looking to cut them down, or in the law's case, take them in.

Captain Marvel (Danvers) has posed:
It's not that Carol was looking for trouble, so much as she happened to be in Gotham for official business, and had to make a brief stop at the nearest bar. Any bar. No, she doesn't have any drinking problems. It's none of your business anyways. She just have cravings, urges, and it's only on occasions. Now and then. Infrequently frequent. That's at least how she finds herself in the Crowfeather Bar at the moment. Sure she doesn't look like she fits with all the goth that inhabit the place, what with the bright golden lightning bolt emblazoned on her black crop top, her very flashy red leather jacket, and plain ol' washed up jeans that has no rips, chains or pyramid studs on them. But a paying customer is a paying customer.

The fact she heard some tidbits about a gang calling themselves the White Rose had nothing to do with Carol choosing this specific bar for her nightcap, that was just sheer happenstance. Walking up to the bald bartender, she keeps half an eye on the people around, seeking those white rose pins, "don't suppose you carry any aged scotch in this fine establishment?" She asks hesitantly.

Miss Moreau has posed:
The bald man, more wide than tall, cracks a smile. A half-yellowed, crooked smile, but one that's bordering on warm. His eyes are wary. The woman screams 'outsider', and few in the Narrows are welcoming of such. The clashing clothes has nearly the entire bar peering at Carol at one point or another. But not too long. That's a good way to end up shot or stabbed here.

"Heh. You a comedian, lady? 'Cause that's a funny joke." A few of the patrons laugh. One or two 'ironically'. There's even a top hat dipped Carol's way, from men and women alike, amidst low wolf whistles. Yet cruder comments are conspiculously absent.

A large, dirty looking bottle is pulled down from the top shelf, and opened after a good dusting. A glass is set down, and poured, then all but shoved towards Carol. "Best we got. Not from around here." A statement, not a question.

Almost as if on cue, the doors to the bar open, and a trio emerge. Two people in suits and tophats, lumps beneath their suit jackets clearly packing small automatics. Between, a slender woman in a dress that almost drowns her in ruffles and corset, long brown hair fluttering with every confident movement. Her arm is on the taller of the two, a cane tucked into her free armpit. She hums, voice warm and carrying in the bar, a smile on her face. A bit of cheer in the dim darkness of the bar. They all sit at a table close to the bar, easily within view of Carol. All three have those white roses pinned to their chests.

It's the woman that speaks first. "Was that you I heard, Mister Jenkins? When it pleases you, vodka for Sebastion, a beer for Daniel, and scotch for myself." Comes the woman's voice, of cultured nobility harkoning to British, marred by an undercurrent of native Gotham running strongly. Obvious airs, but ones she clings to.

Said Sebastion and Daniel, look about warily, nodding to one or two, before both settle on Carol. She sticks out.

The bartender quickly fills the order, pouring another glass of that same scotch and soon gathering the two other orders.

"Sorry Princess, hope you weren't thinking of getting the first taste. Got another weird one." Comes the bald man.

Moreau's gaze doesn't move, yet she giggles. "Oh? Have we a visitor?" Questions the woman. There's a fourth seat at the White Roses' table, empty.

Captain Marvel (Danvers) has posed:
"I know, right? Didn't expect, but if you never ask, you never know...some people can surprise you," Carol offers with a big grin, at least she knows to not get offended from every little quip. "So, a cheap blended whiskey than?" She asks for an alternative she believes the place must have, even if they water it down. Carol seems unfazed by the wolf whistles, and inclines her head at the occasional dipped hat, which she really didn't expect. Old fashioned, sure, but cute, in a weird sort of way. She accepts the bottle pushed her way, blowing on it to clear some dust, before reaching to pour herself a glass. "I appreciate you bothering to look for something," she offers the bartender, and then looks back as the door opens and a notable trio walks in.

"Guys...I'm sure you know all about the 2nd Amandement, but I do believe it's not inclusive of those automatics you're brandishing in public...could you please put them away?" That's how nice Carol is, she always asks politely first. Some make the mistake of taking it to mean she's not going to get tough if need be.

Miss Moreau has posed:
'Jenkins', Harvey Jenkins in fact, gives a big fat nod. And then he leans in, side-eyeing Carol. "Cheaper than a five dollar whore. But don't tell the Princess that. Let her have her pride." Whispers the man, before coughing.

The drink, in fact, tastes like the most bottom barrel blend that one could buy. It burns horrifically. Yet, it's not watered down. The Crowfeather takes care of it's own, or perhaps the Roses simply have imparted some of their brutal honor to the place.

"Anything if you've got the cash." Offers Jenkins aloud. Several glasses get raised. One man falls out of his chair drunk.

The two men scowl. They look to each other silently. Then the taller Sebastion speaks up.

"Who the hell are you to..." WHAP!

A cane lashes out like lightning, and Sebastion is clutching his nose.

"How many times must I tell you, Sebastion? Manners. Do as the Lady says. You as well Daniel." With extreme reluctance, and after shoving his nose back to alignment on Sebastion's part, those guns are tucked beneath the table or into a bag.

Carol would soon have the brown haired woman tapping her way over slowly to join her at the bar. The two men are soon flanking the women.

All at the same time, all three take a pull of their drinks.

"Aaah! Wonderful, Jenkins! You have outdone yourself!" The bartender glows with pride.

A hand, gloved and thin, is offered to the sound of Carol.

"So very curious, to meet an outsider with manners here. Old traditions die painful deaths in this city of bloodlust, decay, and insanity. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss. Please call me Miss Moreau." Offers the woman with a smile and voice pleasant.

Another low giggle. "...Seek you a thrill among the broken?" Comes Moreau, curiously.

The faint screeching of tires can be heard in the distance.

Captain Marvel (Danvers) has posed:
Carol smirks at Jenkins, not having expected any less of any bottle one might procure around this bar, but beggers can't be choosers. She'll drink what she can get, heck, at the very worse she once tried some medical alcohol. It wasn't too good at all, and an experience best forgotten. When she has a sip, Carol looks surprised, going as far as to raise her glass at the bartender, "well I'll be damned, not watered down, congratulations," from her distinct non reaction, it seems she's not your casual every now and then drinker, she handles the burning without flinching.

Carol was all ready to tango with Sebastien if he was going to openly protest her request, but then the woman proves to truly be the brains of the operations, she played the correct move in a game the goons likely didn't realize was being played. "Thank you," she says to the lady, "good to find good people who will respect the law, even here, in this unreputable place." She looks from the corner of her blue eyes at the 'tender and quips, "no offense."

"I'm not in the habit of inviting myself to join people I've just met, but would you care to invite me to join you for a drink?" Carol asks, holding up her bottle, "apparently the best whiskey you can find here...I should know, Jenkins had to look for it." She's quick at picking names it seems, having just heard it in the exchange around her.

Miss Moreau has posed:
It's a step up from medical alcohol. Maybe even a small bunnyhop! But not by much.

Still, the fat bald bartender looks happy, peering from Moreau to Carol and back again. "We're not much, lady. Bunch of weirdos in here, ain't that right, ladies and gentlemen!?" Suddenly shouts the bartender. Glasses raise, and laughs ring. A man in the back gets slapped for getting too handsy.

The last glass raised in Moreau's. "Crows of a feather, Jenkins." A nod.

A second round of drinks. Carol would find her glass refilled. Daniel slides cash forward. Should the woman try to protest? Sebastian would grunt and clear his throat. Painfully. Moreau knows her way around that cane.

Her goons silent, Moreau speaks for them all. "I am afraid you shall find 'law' and 'good' in short supply here. The words you are looking for are 'decorum' and 'respect'. The Crowfeather is simply a place to...rest our weary hearts. Outsider? Native to the Narrows? Treat us with both, and you shall be treated as a guest. As...family. Feel free to indulge in the pleasures of this bar as it suits you, oh Nameless Maiden." Comes Moreau, almost whispering.

Carol manages to distract the odd woman. "Oh, dear Mister Jenkins! So thoughtful! Come, come, we must dance for your efforts!" Jenkins' protests are cut off swiftly.

"No, no, I will not hear of..." Starts Moreau encouragingly. Her smile is wide. That's when those tires screech to a halt.

Doors to two black sedans open, and men in dark suits with black roses pinned to their chests step out. Triggers are pulled.

Moreau is out of her seat in a single moment, her quiet voice suddenly howling. "DOWN!"

Almost all of the bar drops, Narrows instincts serving them well. Sebastian is slower. Maybe still dazed, maybe a little drunk, the raking fire of AK's busts through wood and glass and metal of the run down Crowfeather.

Miss Moreau grasps the man, throwing herself atop him as bullets rake towards the woman's midsection. Jenkins, all but growling, blindly fires a shotgun from where he dropped behind the bar. One of the black suited thugs go down.

One of the thugs yells. "ICE THE WITCH! Forget the rest of them!"

Captain Marvel (Danvers) has posed:
"Hey, people from all walks deserve a good time," Carol acknowledges Jenkins toast, sharing a drink, as she looks curiously at Moreau. She shrugs at the correction of semantics, "call it what you will, but I hold that you can find it anywhere, it's up to a person to be noble or ignoble, no matter their profession of choice."

Not invited to join the table, Carol doesn't mention her request, it's up to Moreau if she'll have her or not. She was at least cordial enough. "Not nameless," she says to Moreau, having meant to introduce herself after she joined her group at their table. Instead, introductions are delayed by the cry of 'DOWN!' and the rapid fire that follows.

Carol, however, stands out in defiantly remaining on her feet, and simply turning for the door. Walking rather menacingly towards the men who just started shooting up the place with their AK's. The look on Carol's visage might be a tad unsettling for the shooters, if they care to look rather than fire blindly. "I am," she offers Moreau a reply for her earlier question, "Carol Danvers...better known as Captain Marvel." She levels her gaze with the shooters, her body starting to glow as bullets bounce off of her, "name means anything to you boys?" She's fair, she gives them a chance to reconsider and surrender before going to town. They picked a bad bad time for shooting up the place.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Moreau's words just prior to the chaos are thoughtful, and slow. "In any other city, I would say that you are correct. Senators and whores with hearts of gold, officers of the law and drug dealers seeking nothing but power and wealth over the backs of the less fortunate...but there is something beastly here. Beyond the failings of men. No. This city should rightfully belong to a very special sort of person." Offers the woman.

That invitation, almost on the White Roses' lips, is torn down by gunfire.

Bullets bounce, and the black-rose men pause. One of them already injured, pulled to the sedan, they're staring as the brown haired woman remains whole and healthy. Stray bullets have lashed off of Captain Marvel, striking into her ruffles. They find purchase briefly, but no further than that. Sebastian shudders, unharmed, and grips Moreau's hand. She smiles.

One down, Marvel speaks her name. She stands as a wall of power before these mortal men. Only a single stray bullet finally grazes Jenkins' cheek. He licks off the blood, and grins.

The leader of the black rose wearing men, screams aloud, Captain Marvel's name making him grow eggshell white as it's spoken and those bullets fall from her. "I'll kill you next time, Moreau! You were just lucky!"

Moreau's hand is reaching for the Scarlet Tome at her side. Black Sedans peel out, away from the chaos of the now bullet-peppered bar.

The meaty hand of Jenkins stops her, and the other pats her head. "Save your anger Princess."

Silence reigns in the chaos. Four of the patrons run out, hats falling. The majority pick themselves up. Drinks, slowly, are being refilled. Jenkins is out from the bar, checking for wounds and encouraging the small crowd.

Moreau turns to Carol. Her cheeks are blushing. Her smile is almost feral. "It seems...that I owe you a Boon, Miss Danvers. For both my own life, and more importantly, those of my Family and friends. I find myself confused. Why would you endanger yourself for those so lowly as us?" Her question, and offer, is earnest.

Captain Marvel (Danvers) has posed:
"And just who might that person be...?" Carol asks Moreau curiously, already having her suspicions before the bullets began to fly.

"Might I suggest next time you have your gang fights, keep it off public grounds, avoid harming civillians..." Captain Marvel knows better than to think she can control and demolish the entire underworld, she's educated and experienced, more than dozens of men. But she knows that she wields enough might to steer things in directions that would at least cut down on loss of innocent civillian lives. She can be quite persuasive, she hasn't even began with the Black Rose hitmen and they seemed to have already gotten the message that they shouldn't try their luck with her.

With the Black Roses splitting for safety, likely praying that Captain Marvel won't set chase, she turns back into the bar, dusting off her bullet torn clothes, revealing glimpses of an otherworldly toned body underneath, "lucky I stopped by for a drink, these guys were crazy," she tries to down play what just happened, before turning to Moreau when she addresses her with a question. "I don't buy it, Miss Moreau, there's no such thing as lowly...there's only those who haven't been shown they can make more of themselves. Those who lost faith and therefore their way. Look at the likes of the King Pin, he may be quite a chaotic force in the underworld, but he also does a lot of good. I believe if you can steer a person and show them the way, bad or good, lowly or high, mighty or meek, they all might surprise you. Humans are incredible, bearing souls like shining diamonds. It's just that some of them need to be polished before revealing their radiance."

Miss Moreau has posed:
"And in turn, I shall say that I do not desire the life or pain of any truly innocent person. Children...the poor not engaging in our sort of lifestyle...I have no quarrel with them, Miss Danvers. You asked me the sort of person that this city belongs to?" She too stands, brushing off a stray round from her dress. The heavy silk-and-kevlar vomits a few rounds. Sebastian takes to her feet on unsteady legs.

Her ear is tilted, the Black Roses long gone. Her nails finally brush away from the book at her side reluctantly. The anger roils within her, begging vengeance for this insult, for trying to hurt her Family, to tear the life from herself and those so close. For a moment, there's a bloodthirsty scowl to the mage.

It lifts, as she addresses Marvel once more. "This city of Gotham, so often clad in Darkness, belongs to those of us born with beastly urges. To hunt, to kill and slay each other and rejoice in the sweet, delicious scent of blood! To lust and hate and love without reason through any means necessary! The criminally insane and those who know nothing but scorn from the rest of humanity...to me and my Family, that is what Gotham truly is. Not the G.C.P.D., their politicians, or the idle rich who make profit off of our backs." Comes Moreau. Her words are heartfelt, and yet, bitter.

A deep breath. There's tension still in the bar, both from the shooting and Marvel's words. Police won't be here for a very long time of course. Still, many are already emptying out. Jenkins threatens more than one tab.

And then, she's laughing. Her two goons laugh in turn, nervous, shifty. They're already moving her towards the exit of a bar just as a glaringly white sedan pulls up. Daniel gets an elbow in the side, and that alone lets her linger just a few, final moments.

"I am afraid I have never once beheld such radiance. My Family has done nothing but fend for themselves. Never once have I been told of any 'radiance' that you speak of! A 'right path'?"

Her smile turns sad just before both men wrestle the woman into the car. Both take whacks to their nose, and she finally stops to curtsey before Captain Marvel.

"Miss Danvers! I would like to meet you again in less dangerous circumstances. If you truly believe what you say, then I would hear how you would lead such lustful souls as us to shining brightness! Good night, dear Hero. This debt will not be forgotten."

She turns, and daintily steps in, her minions following into the car. They too, peel out.

Jenkins slowly stands up. He has a mop over one shoulder, and then there's the rest of that bottle slamming down.

"Rest is on the house." He adds, with a wink.