15029/Cast it into the fire!

Cast it into the fire!
Date of Scene:	04 May 2023
Location:	West Chelsea Park, West Chelsea Hill
Synopsis:	Dragons, and Elves, and Vampires, oh my!
Cast of Characters:	Spike, Colleen Wing

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Spike has posed:
It was evening in Gotham, and all the good little boys and girls were snug in their beds. But in West Chelsea Park, something was up. A bonfire had been created, was there a permit for it? Who knew. The police in Gotham were notoriously selective in what laws they enforced, and to what degree. But this was after sunset, and in a park, so the crime was likely viewed to be low priority.

A group of figures, each clad in dark green cloaks, had formed a circle around the fire. Their faces were only lit up by the flickers, with the nearby trees blocking out some of the far off city lights. This bonfire seemed to have been clearly marked, with stones around the edge, to help prevent it from expanding too much. But what was its purpose?

Spike... well, he really didn't give a toss. He was in the park, sitting on a bench, having a fag. He could see over his right shoulder that there was a fire in the distance. He wasn't too sure what it was, but it was far enough away that the risk of him catching fire was remote. Still, good to keep an eye on it.

Colleen Wing has posed:
Colleen was in Gotham for a martial arts tournament. The kind that cops frown on. The kind that, to be honest, Danny frowns on too. The kind where there's basically no rules beyond there being three ways to exit the cage: dead, unconscious, or begging for mercy. Colleen had aimed for the third, wanting to get a darkness in her soul out and mistakenly thinking that by feeding it the darkness would leave instead of sticking around for more.

She's a martial artist, not a psychologist or philosopher.

Bruised. Battered. Bloody. Smart people seeing her take the shortcut through the park would note the blood stains, the bruise on the face, the abrasions across her forehead, and the almost feral expression of enjoyment on her face and steer a wide berth.

Most criminals are not smart people. Not if they're hanging around in a park.

The fire attracts Colleen's attention and she shifts her kit bag, shrugging her shoulders through the handles to turn it into an impromptu backpack. With, quite by coincidence, naturally, the handle of her sword readily available through the partially-opened zipper on the right side.

Spike has posed:
The group of cloaked figures began chanting something, in a language that Spike had never heard of before. He had a good view from his place on the bench, and squinted his eyes, looking confused, as he tried to place it, figuring that he might have an idea what kind of demon, monster, or otherwise they were. But he was drawing a blank.

With a roll of his eyes, he turned, slapped his hands against his black jean covered thighs, and got up, "all right, let's see what all the commotion is about." He wasn't intended to speak to anyone in particular.

But as he got up, he caught sight of a woman with a kit back, which was worn as an impromptu backpack. She looked to be quite eat up, but if he knew her, he'd be asking just what happened to the other guys.

Colleen Wing has posed:
Chanting in a strange language. Always a good sign when it's night and there's a bonfire. And they're not the Grateful Dead. (Are they even still touring? Colleen makes a mental note to check up on that.) She changes course to intercept the the bonfire instead of passing it by.

"Ooh, cool! A fire. It's a bit chilly tonight isn't it?" she says as she approaches, friendly smile not really concealing the deadly eyes. "Mind if I warm up a bit?"

And she slips past the outside ring of people without much effort, slithering between people with such alacrity and control it seems like she's walking through them, not around them. She approaches the fire with her hands held out as if to warm them.

Spike has posed:
"Infidel!" One of the bigger ones said in a soft New York accent. Another spoke in whatever language that they had been chanting in, seemingly addressing the one who had called Colleen an infidel. A third one spoke in a muted Gotham accent. "I speak a little of the common tongue. You may warm yourself by our fire. You appear to have survived a great battle. Would you care for some Lembas bread? It is quite refreshing." A forth, seemed to be glancing at Colleen's injuries, studying them, "who taught you how to make these? They look so real."

Spike meanwhile, wasn't as close. He never liked to be around an open flame, even to toast marshmallows, and this one was large enough to incinerate him if he were knocked into the pyre. Instead, he hung back, leaning against a tree, watching for now, ready to jump in and act if the young woman needed help, but they... seemed reasonably welcoming, except for the big one.

Colleen Wing has posed:
"Oh, they're not simulations," Colleen said. "I got careless and let someone rub my face against the cage for a bit." She ruefully rubs her forehead. "And this one," the bruise on her face, "was a sacrifice. He got a punch in, I snapped his elbow. Fair trade as far as I'm concerned."

Looking down at her clothing, she adds, "Yeah, I probably should have thought about what I looked like before approaching. Sorry if I spooked you or grossed you out or whatever. Don't worry, though. Most of the blood isn't mine."

The chilling words are spoken with the gentle conversational nicety of someone talking about a good wine they tasted, but how it stained a favourite blouse.

"Most of it," she amplifies. "I did get sucker-punched in the nose."

She starts warming her hands by the fire and looks around carefully, using the edges of her vision to make it less clear that she's checking people out, trying to figure out what she'd stumbled into. Cosplayers, likely. Lembas... That's ... George R. R. Martin? J. R. R. Tolkien? One of that crowd of fabulists.

Spike has posed:
The people who had been chanting around the fire, were far more interested in Colleen Wing, after that little speech. Either she was one of the best LARPers that they had ever met, or she was a serious badass. Either way, many of them wandered over to her, to get a better look. It didn't hurt that the athletic young woman was also gorgeous, even with the scars and the blood, which wasn't hers, naturally.

These folks were Lord of the Rings Live Action Role-Players, with each of them wearing varying degrees of near authentic outfits, some being elves, others dwarves, hobbits, though no goblins or orcs. There was also a lack of a wizard, but that was unbeknownst to Spike and Colleen, due to a fight as everyone wanted to be Gandalf, and the last time they had one, there had been a Gandalf the White and a Gandalf the Grey, who put each other in the hospital in a freak staff accident.

Spike was struggling to contain himself as he overheard much of this from his near, but not too near, listening spot. The black on black on black, in this night, also helped to shield him.

Breaking character, the 'lead' one offered a hand, "my name's Barry Horrowitz. Would you like to join our Fellowship?"

Colleen Wing has posed:
"Fellowship?" Colleen asks, curiously. She eyes the cosplayers with a raised eyebrow. The people with elf ears, the dwarves, the hobbits all get a curious glance. "Are you Asgardians or something? I hope you're registered if you are; that Thor guy apparently is a bit of a stickler for people not coming from his realm without registration." She smiles and offers a hand after pushing aside a stray strand of hair. "Colleen. I'm a martial arts instructor." And a cage fighter on occasion. She won't advertise that part, though. Seems a bit impolitic.

She shakes her head, adding, "And don't worry. If you are Asgardians I'm not a bigot. Just ... never met any before. Outside of Thor. At a distance."

Spike has posed:
Some of them give polite but shocked looks. Others are less polite. It would seem that she insulted them, but most are too nice to make a deal out of it. Two of them passive aggressively talk dismissively about her in Elvish. A third joined in. The 'leader' seemed to roll his eyes, but tried not to be too obvious about it. "No, uh, we're not Asgardians. We're Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, the Hobbit... rings of power..." the last part was said in almost a whisper, as it was quite divisive, to this day.

Spike at that point decided to step in, just to mess with them, "That's Aslan right, and the guy in the robes, what's his name, Obi-Wan Snape." Oh, he was really digging it in.

Colleen Wing has posed:
The penny drops. Far from the mark. "Oh, HARRY POTTER!" Colleen says with an embarrassed grin, having recognized the name "Snape" and going completely in the wrong direction. "Sorry, I didn't recognize that. I'm more a physical type, not really a reader. I watch movies, too, but that's mostly chop-sockey stuff because that's high comedy most times. S'OK, though. Everybody's got their hobbies. I have to say, though, your costumes are very convincing. Made me think you were the real deal, hence, you know, the Asgard stuff. Aelfheim and such."

She peers around, now openly curious. "You don't have any bakemono or other yukai costumes here do you? Some of those get really impressive too."

Spike has posed:
Fortunately for Spike and Colleen, the cosplayers were not armed with real weaponry. And they, collectively, probably couldn't take either of them. But they were most displeased. The ones towards the back began to chant, again in Elvish, and walk away. Slowly, the ones in the middle began to follow, until soon, they were all doing it. Leaving the bonfire unattended. They were that upset. With any luck, they would hang back, and watch over the fire they started. In case Colleen and Spike didn't put it out. Turning to her, "what got into them? It's not as if we complimented their Star Trek Wizard uniforms."

Colleen Wing has posed:
Colleen looks genuinely baffled, though the "Star Trek Wizard" thing gets a curious look. "Star Trek doesn't have wizards," she says. "It's a science fiction thing, not a fantasy thing. But I really don't know. Sometimes people get really touchy about their hobbies when someone else doesn't understand them. I guess it's ... just clannishness?"

She looks Spike up and down.

"This is where I put my foot in it and ask if you're Billy Idol, right?" There's an expression on her face that suggests she a) knows he isn't, and b) is teasing. "I'm Colleen," she adds, unnecessarily given that he overheard, but it's still polite. "Should we put out the fire if they're gone? I really don't want to stay here until it burns itself out."

Spike has posed:
"Name's Spike," the man answered back, nearer to the bonfire, but still further away from it than Colleen, and making no effort to close that distance. This was about as close as he was comfortable around that. It was weird to be so near to his own death, well, not death, but permanent death, the kind you don't wake up from. He decided not to date himself and mention that Billy Idol stole the look from him. "Sounds like a good idea..." And then he looked around for shovels, water buckets, some way to do it, "... how?"

Colleen Wing has posed:
Reasoning that nobody starts a bonfire without having something to douse it with, Colleen hunts around the outskirts of the partitioned-off area looking for ... probably sand buckets? Finding one, she brings it over and douses a section of the fire with it. "Buckets over there. We probably need about four."

She returns for another bucket, throwing that on the fire, before pausing to watch Spike.

"You're ... British, aren't you?" Captain Obvious to the rescue! "Love the accent." Damned Yanks and their love of the British accent suites. Makes them easier to manipulate though.

Spike has posed:
Spike wasn't about to just stand there while the clearly injured young woman was going over the bonfire, looking for a way to sort it out. He went around the other way, meeting her on the opposite side. He would set himself up, with her closer to the fire, so she could hand the bucket for him to fill it with sand, and hand it back to her, fireman style, "born and raised, but I couldn't take the food, so I moved across the pond. A New Yorker, Two Bridges area of Manhattan, I'm guessing?" He had a good ear, or was just guessing one of New York's multiple Chinatowns.