1395/Brand Investigations: Daemonites and Strippers

Brand Investigations: Daemonites and Strippers
Date of Scene:	08 July 2017
Location:	MysteriX strip club in Metropolis
Synopsis:	Abigail Brand, Alien Hunter - well, OK, Director of Intelligence for Alpha Flight - investigates the Daemonite incursion at MysteriX, a strip club in Metropolis. She also interviews one of the dancers for information. Right. Besides just the dancer's number.
Cast of Characters:	Voodoo, Abigail Brand

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Voodoo has posed:
The report came in through the 'usual channels': Brand was informed that an incident that appeared to be alien-related was being responded to currently by Metropolis PD, and they were looking for a 'consultant' who might be able to take a look and tell them what they're dealing with, and what they should do about it. Specifically, they're honestly hoping someone out there in alphabet soup land will take this mess off their hands.

The site is a strip club. Pardon: an exotic dancing club. MysteriX. The place is definitely high-end and very nicely appointed with all the modern ammenities. Or at least it was, before it was torn to f-ing shreds by an amount of lead-throwing hardware better suited to the takeover of medium-sized countries. Incredible volumes of bullets were thrown around here, almost entirely from a collection of guys apparently trying to come in the front entrance against some kind of resistance, using cut-down Vulcan miniguns.

And they're all dead. All but two of them dead from being sliced apart by something incredibly - almost impossibly - sharp. And four of them show signs of reptilian alien-esque forms trying to crawl their way out of the bodies and similarly dissected with force.

So far, the details are rather disturbing. Apparently Senator Creed was arranging for a private audience with the dancers for a few hours, through intermediaries from his security team - he was not yet inside - when these guys came through the door and started blasting. Several of the security detail became little more than blood spray and bone splinters in short order. Two dancers were also killed, unfortunately, and several others sustained injuries from flying debris or riccoochet. The remaining members of the senator's security detail got the dancers and staff out as safely as they could manage, as a few tried to stave off the attack. But apparently someone else came in behind the murdering goon squad and sliced and diced their way through them quite brutally.

The other curiosity is one reptilian alien figure that is not in a human husk, but instead all by itself, and visibly 'sizzled'.

Voodoo has posed:
The report came in through the 'usual channels': Brand was informed that an incident that appeared to be alien-related was being responded to currently by Metropolis PD, and they were looking for a 'consultant' who might be able to take a look and tell them what they're dealing with, and what they should do about it. Specifically, they're honestly hoping someone out there in alphabet soup land will take this mess off their hands.

The site is a strip club. Pardon: an exotic dancing club. MysteriX. The place is definitely high-end and very nicely appointed with all the modern ammenities. Or at least it was, before it was torn to f-ing shreds by an amount of lead-throwing hardware better suited to the takeover of medium-sized countries. Incredible volumes of bullets were thrown around here, almost entirely from a collection of guys apparently trying to come in the front entrance against some kind of resistance, using cut-down Vulcan miniguns.

And they're all dead. All but two of them dead from being sliced apart by something incredibly - almost impossibly - sharp. And four of them show signs of reptilian alien-esque forms trying to crawl their way out of the bodies and similarly dissected with force.

So far, the details are rather disturbing. Apparently Senator Creed was arranging for a private audience with the dancers for a few hours, through intermediaries from his security team - he was not yet inside - when these guys came through the door and started blasting. Several of the security detail became little more than blood spray and bone splinters in short order. Two dancers were also killed, unfortunately, and several others sustained injuries from flying debris or riccoochet. The remaining members of the senator's security detail got the dancers and staff out as safely as they could manage, as a few tried to stave off the attack. But apparently someone else came in behind the murdering goon squad and sliced and diced their way through them quite brutally.

The other curiosity is one reptilian alien figure that is not in a human husk, but instead all by itself, and visibly 'sizzled'.

Abigail Brand has posed:
Brand arrives if not in record time, at least in quick time. It's not like she can -really- land a shuttle from orbit next to a str- exotic dancing club. Mostly because of the whole keeping Alpha Flight's protecting space thing secret, but also because... well, it's not like there's a runway here or anything. Still, once she's on scene, it's easy enough to flash a badge, throw some attitude, and get herself inside.

And boy is -that- a mess. She goes from cool, calm and utterly impassive to a slightly disapproving if not outright concerned frown. "Well... this is new. Usually don't see aliens recreating an 80's action movie like this." She's careful as she steps around the scene, paying cursory attention to the cut down miniguns and the bullet holes. She figures Metropolis PD handles -that- often enough they're not really going to need her input on any of that. The sliced bodies definitely draw her attention, eyebrow lifting slightly... those sharp cuts are definitely not the work of... well, maybe they're the work of ninjas, but she's never seen anything cut -that- cleanly. Plus, those reptilian bodies are doubly concerning. Ninjas usually don't fight aliens. Meaning this is something new.

She's already working on a theory... clearly, these guys were after Creed. A little unusual, sure, he's a jackass, and he wouldn't get -her- vote, but it's not like he's a big enough deal for aliens to want him dead. And he's certainly not popular enough for whatever the hell killed said aliens to be following him as some secret guardian. Brand clears her throat, pinches and rubs the bridge of her nose, and finds the lead Metropolis detective. "Well, you were right to call me in. I mean... doesn't take an expert to see these guys are... from out of town. Any witnesses around? Anyone who might've seen... whatever took out a bunch of minigun-toting lizard people? And... fried that one? Anyone hear some guy yell 'Flame on' before this all went pear shaped?" ...Sure, it probably wasn't Johnny Storm, but hey, super hero, senator, and aliens in a strip club? It could happen.

Voodoo has posed:
The detective groans slightly, more from sheer frustration than anything Brand has said, and shrugs his shoulders. "Most of the witnesses are at one of two hospitals at the moment. Goddamned video is white as snow; someone EMPed the f-ing thing, and somehow it ONLY wiped what was in this building." Yeah. He wants to know who the f*** did that, and how. Bad. "There is one witness still here on scene. Refuses to come out here, so I've got two uniforms on her in the back. Dancer, headliner. Thank got she put a robe on."

Abigail Brand has posed:
Brand might be rolling her eyes. It's hard to tell with the glasses. "Yeah, I mean... like, imagine. The -shock- of scanty clothing. I don't know how anyone could cope with that." ...She is definitely not looking around at the murdered corpses and -actual aliens-. She shakes her head and begins heading off towards the back, avoiding stepping near any of the carnage. "I'll get a team down here to handle cleanup of the... out of towners. You guys can handle the guns. I mean, you've got how many capes in this town? Like, miniguns've gotta be the new fidget spinner."

And off Brand goes, having reminded yet another random police officer that she deals with things that'd make his eyeballs explode before breakfast. That's a joke of course. Brand's too busy for breakfast. But she's not too busy to breeze her way into the back and point out the two uniforms, "Okay fellas, out you go. Back to... well, whatever they tell you to do that's not all up in my business. I'll handle it from here. You're free from the scary dancer lady and her terrifying sex positivity." Really, Brand should probably be nicer, but like... no? Yeah. No.

Voodoo has posed:
When Brand steps into the back, she'll find a lot more order and far less carnage, namely none. The biggest problem back here is a fine layer of body powder and glitter. The two cops are leaning against the wall, a man and a woman. They're watching over a young woman currently swathed in a purple robe, a mane of damned unlikely - and yet entirely nature; isn't life just unfair sometimes? - ravenwing black hair draped over her shoulders and down her back. As she turns towards Brand's voice the sunglassed space cop can see she's that most mysterious of creatures: a stripper visibly non-white, probably mulatto with a mix of other interesting ethnicities in there.

"Thank you, Andrew, Kelly. Officers. I appreciate your company and care of my safety." she offers warmly. It comes off like she's effortlessly flirting at both of them. Then Priscilla twists in her seat and comes up to her feet, her impressive six feet in height augmented to near-ridiculousness by towering six-inch platform stilletos. Thankfully, the robe falls over and hides her legs as she stands, but the color in the cheeks of both officers as they nod and brush past Brand to leave show they got quite the eyefull until now.

"Hello, Ms ... ? Detective, yes?" Priscilla inquires, waiting for an introduction. And ID. A badge especially. "I am Priscilla Kitaen. I am headlining here at MysteriX as Voodoo. I assume you are here for my statement? Andrew and Kelly told me I wasn't to say anything until someone was here to take it."

Abigail Brand has posed:
Brand gives just about the warmest smile she can, even as she actually has to tilt her head back to look up at Priscilla. That's... new. She nods her head, "I... well, actually, it's Agent. Or Director, or... just call me Brand, hm? And you may need to give another statement to the local detectives, but I imagine they'll be eager to write this up as a gang dispute and shove the file into some dust-covered cabinet never to be worried about again." Brand steps a few paces closer, not enough to be in personal space, just enough to be a reassuringly calm presence. She reaches into her jacket and pulls out her badge and Alpha Flight ID, not that it's exactly going to be recognizable. "I'm here about the more.. delicate portions of the investigation."

Brand's arms cross under her chest, one eyebrow perks up, "I mean, I doubt you know anything about the fellows with the guns, they most likely seemed -dreadfully- generic until things went ever so horrendously wrong... but did you happen to see what happened to... well, run through them like a food processor through cole slaw?"

Voodoo has posed:
There's just something about this woman that is ... compelling. Alluring. Even to a woman who has, perhaps, rarely if ever entertained a thought of interest in another woman, there's an indefinable 'something', and it's a zing that courses right through the body when she takes Abigail's hand for that brief, all-business handshake.

"Director Brand, then." Priss offers, quite warmly. "Yes. You are correct. There was very little about the men that stood out, beyond their demeanor. They were very aggressive with Daniel, our doorman. That was the only hint we had before it all erupted so ... horrifically. Some of those security men almost ... evaporated in gore. It took me almost fifteen minutes to get all of that off of me." Yes, she showered before being interviewed by the cops. Well, actually, she showered //while// being interviewed by the cops, who stood staggered in place as she cleaned herself off under the steaming spray, heedless of their attention.

"I did see something. Someone, actually, on the other side of them, cutting into them. I could not understand what she was saying, but she was very angry. And very efficient." Priscilla explains. She then proceeds to give a startlingly detailed description of a woman in crimson armor, equipped with a pair of crimson straight-bladed swords, face painted with crimson warpaint. The description is so detailed it's as if she's painting a picture on Brand's mind's eye with words. The lady has an eye and mind for detail.

"A few of the security guards tried to return fire. Most died. I believe two, perhaps three of them escaped alive with the others out the side. I ran in here." she finishes.

Abigail Brand has posed:
Brand might be a stern, snarky professional, but she's still a... well, okay -kind- of still a human. So she's utterly enthralled, lost in... well, okay, maybe 'gazing' is the wrong word with those glasses in place, but Priscilla has all her attention. She crosses her arms again, fingers cupping opposing elbows as she nods slowly in time to the story. Clearly she's memorizing it detail by detail. "Hm. Well, I suppose there's something tying all this together... I mean, Creed's politics -are- fairly inflammatory, but alien assassins seem like overkill when there are so many mutants with a bone to pick."

Ivory teeth worry her lower lip for long moments, before her right hand disappears into her jacket again, coming out with a small pale white business card, with her name and an honest to god toll-free number on it. "I imagine we'll be in contact again, and if you can think of anything else, or if you're suspicious these people are coming back, you can call me anytime. Generally, one alien incident is usually the beginning of more... and, well, this is -fairly- brazen. I mean, you shouldn't really worry too much, it's not like they were coming here to catch your show and just happened to decide to cause this clusterfu-.. ah... -incident-, right?" Eyebrows perk up in about the best approximation of 'lighthearted' Brand usually allows herself.

Voodoo has posed:
"I should certainly hope not." Priscilla offers. And yet, she knows the truth is these vicious killers came here for one and only one reason, and she was that reason. Is. And she knows they will be back. Another pack of Daemonites will come, eventually, when these do not report back. Helspont will see to it. Not even the loss of the entire pack will slow them down in their quest to forever eliminate The One. But there's nothing she can do about that now. She did what she could to save those that could be saved. Now she just has to figure out the next step. Which will include talking to a certain Coda killing machine.

The alluring dancer accepts the card, letting her fingers brush Abigail's for a lingering moment, and then she looks it over carefully. She does not tuck it into her decolletage, though that's likely because there's nothing against it to keep the card there. "If I should spot anything I think you need to know, I promise I will call right away, Director Brand. We would not want a threat like this unanswered. Who knows what they might do next?" OK, just give the telepath a minute, she'll see what she can find out. Just as soon as she finds a Daemonite to brain-rifle.

"Do you need me for anything else, Director? I remained because Andrew and Kelly seemed to feel it would be important. They were a bit put out with me that I took the shower." Priss pouts rather adorably at that. "As if I could sit here like //that//. Those poor men."

Abigail Brand has posed:
Brand finds herself following the card with her eyes, even after her gloved hand gave an almost involuntary little squeeze at that brief touch. She lets out a slow breath, head shaking. "No, I don't think we need to keep you around here for now. But really, if you feel in any danger call me immediately. You'd be surprised how quickly help can arrive. You do have a ride home, correct? I mean, even -I'm- enough of a rules follower not to make a witness walk home through Metropolis in a bathrobe."

Brand heaves a soft little sigh, "I'll walk you out, just to make sure you don't compromise any evidence, but I'm sure this is the last you'll have to worry about alien invaders. I mean, why would they possibly want to attack -you- again? Sort of too late for quieting any witnesses, and it's not like 'giant gunfight' is a subtle act to begin with...." She shakes her head and mutters softly under her breath, "I'm really out of practice with this side of things. Aliens are so much easier to handle when it's just a bunch of Skrulls who need a proper punching."

Voodoo has posed:
Priscilla smiles gratefully as she is informed that she is free to go. "Oh, thank you. That is good to hear." She glances down at herself in the body-clinging, almost but not quite translucent purple bathrobe. "Mmm. I think I have some civvies in the back. Perhaps I should change, before we walk out?" Of course, changing would require slipping that robe off, and the indellible impression Priss give off is that she's unlikely to offer a second warning, or a modesty curtain, before she does just that.

While Brand continues, Priss does unbelt the robe and turn, peeling it from her shoulders and tossing it lightly over the back of a chair. She doesn't linger, and doesn't make a show of flaunting herself at Abigail, but she really doesn't need to, does she? And the dancer doesn't ignore Abigail, either; she keeps chatting amiably, as if nothing different is happening. "I do hope it is the last time. I don't want to see anything like this, ever again." She doesn't want to, but she will. Oh, she will. So many damned times. Daemonite scum. "I do hope you catch them, before they can hurt anyone else."

Finally, Priss turns back around, now wearing a pair of painted-on cutoff shorts that would make Daisy Duke cringe and a scanalously-cut purple sleeveless half-shirt with a white stylized Voodoo stenciled across ... well, across. That card Brand was following is now tucked away safely right where Abigail figured it would go. And Priss gathers up a small backpack - it's more a purse with delusions of grandeur and dual thin shoulder straps - and slips that on. With a toss of that incredible mane, her glistening body art showing along thighs and back, she steps over to Abigail again. "I am ready, Director Brand." And with her demonstrated grace and agility, yes, she really can mince around all the mess out there and never lose her balance ... except perhaps intentionally, to lean against a handy nearby watcher.

Abigail Brand has posed:
Brand's not so much distracted as she is enthralled. A UFO could probably show up out front, carve graffiti in the moon, and then tow her car away and she'd not even begin to click to it happening. "Oh, well, yeah. That's understandable. I mean, it's... I guess meeting me more than once is -rarely- a good thing for people." Aww, poor space cop hasn't got much of a social life. Still, she's not going to complain about it, especially not when her thoughts probably sound like classical music, or an empty house.

Still, once Priss is dressed, well, she's -still- stunning, but at least she's not literally stunning Brand. The green haired woman gives a sharp little nod, offering her hand out again, seemingly on reflex, keeping the dancer close. "Well then, let's get you home, or at least out of here... is there a back way out? I mean, I'd like to avoid just -literally- walking you through hell on your way out. I mean, we're not -all- getting paid to see this kind of thing." Once she's got some sort of exit route planned, she's happy enough to guide the tall dancer along, "Really though, you should -totally- consider super powers. I mean, you can handle walking in the highest of heels, so like... between you and me? I'm pretty sure that's actually what most of the training heroes get is about. The rest is just like... get zapped by something, get powers, try not to wreck the city."

Voodoo has posed:
"Of course there is. Back this way." Priss offers, as she gently draws Abigail around and slides her other arm behind the big brave space cop, guiding her through the realm of shiny mirrors, bright lightbulbs, body powder and glitter, and then through a little side-juke passage to a barred door. She taps her fingers along the keys of an unlit keypad, and then with a loudly audible buzz, the door pops unlatched and she pushes it open.

"I honestly would not mind meeting you again, Director Brand. I would just prefer no one else have to die for that to happen." Priscilla offers as she steps out, still hand in hand with Brand, and pushes the door closed, at which point that teeth-clenching buzz finally dies off. She gives a twitter of laughter at Abigail's joke about high heels and super-powers. "And I promise, if anyone offers me super powers, I'll consider saying yes. As you say, I've already got the heels down pat."

And still Priscilla stays hand in hand with Brand as she sashays up the alleyway towards the street.

Abigail Brand has posed:
Brand follows along with a delighted little murmur... oh, not at being close to Priss. But more at not having to deal with the local cops... and them staring at her and Priss. Cynical ol' space cop knows -just- what kind of muttering beat cops get up to. She lets out a little laugh and glances sidelong at Priss, "Well, you have my direct number and I'm fairly certain I'm supposed to take some time off work now and then. Something about how I can't be doing this twenty four hours a day." She glances back at the building and mutters dryly, "And you -might- have a couple of days off before you can go back to work yourself." She's a little tensed with that arm across her back, but maybe she's just -always- tense.

"Well, if you're going to be seeing me again and -not- have it involve this sort of dramatic display, you should probably just call me Abigail, hm?" She lifts one eyebrow, and even offers a downright playful little grin. "Besides, it'll be nice to have someone to talk to who isn't a direct subordinate, or... well, okay, I guess I can't talk about anyone else I know, classified information and all, hm?" She shakes her head and sighs, "See? This is why I don't get out much." She grins even wider, "The classified thing. Not the 'I wind up hanging out with dancers' part... I mean... not that I wind up... er... I..." She clears her throat. Yep. This is -definitely- why she doesn't have a social life. Punching is easier.

Voodoo has posed:
"Well then, Abigail, I promise that I will call. And if you would like to hang out with a dancer, you can let me know that when we speak again." Priscilla offers, smiling warmly. "It's up to you whether you consider that classified information." Just, y'know, don't mind if Priss uses that physical contact and conversation to gently rifle the alien hunter's thoughts for details that might be important to her, and to her alien friends. She'd never use it to hurt Abigail, or anyone else. But she's not above using what she picks up. "Thank you again for the escort. Good luck with the case." And if she sashays while leaving, well, that's just what happens with heels like that. Has nothing to do with wanting to see if Abigail will watch. Or wanting her to watch.