2074/Tiggers on Parade

Tiggers on Parade
Date of Scene:	20 August 2017
Location:	Mutant Town
Synopsis:	Diya runs into yet another Russian in mutant town. Originally concerned this might be an operative for Russian Intelligence, she instead realizes that Vanya is some kind of thug, possibly for the Bratva. They do not part on good terms.
Cast of Characters:	Okhotnik, Feral

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Okhotnik has posed:
It is yet another summer night on the streets of Mutant Town. The recent spate of gang violence seems to have abated since the apparent elimination of the Evos. This has allowed a sense of order to settle in the area. With less street violence, the homeless are less likely to hide away, and are instead spread out in their alleyways, living their lives the best they can.

One amongst them stays as always just a bit apart, ever watchful and alert. Indeed, hyperaware and hypervigilant, as only one of her sort can be. The one the other homeless call 'Hunter' watches with eyes kept low, reducing the reflected-shine glow of her eyes as she keeps an eye on everything happening in the area. She would never admit it to them, but she is their protector. Their guardian.

A soldier forever on patrol.

Feral has posed:
Peace and quiet are precious in Mutant Town, in part because they only last so long. The start of commotion at a bar across the street is heralded by shouting then finally a loud wood-and-porcelain crash of a table caught in the crossfire. Metahumans or not most of the people of Mutant Town are a peaceful bunch and startled screams follow, closely, by a red blur being literally flung out the front door.

"And stay out!!"

"Oof!" the discharged patron grumbles as she rolls on the sidewalk and comes to a disheveled stop while her yellow-tinted glasses are flung in an arc and land close to the hunter's perch.

Vanya mutters a less than flattering string of Russian as she shakes her head clear and climbs back to her feet, pausing to brush dirt from her tattered pants and a shirt that's much too large and loose around her neck before she looks down and furrows her brow. <<"Now where the (#!$ did those glasses go?">> she grumbles in her native tongue.

Okhotnik has posed:
So hyper-aware, the Hunter has half-leapt to her feet by the time the woman is ejected from the bar, sure the ruckus will become a problem and a potential threat best answered on her feet rather than on her rump. But instead, the mess is all over as it begins, save that there are a pair of amber glasses on the sidewalk at her feet, and the woman just tossed out is muttering in Russian.

That alone ramps up the tension in Okhotnik to a painful degree; a Russian speaker, here? They cannot be so commonplace that she could encounter //yet another// with no connection to her own problems, can they? But running away will solve nothing. So the raggedy, unkempt and not entirely clean homeless woman bends to pick up the glasses, glancing at them, and then starts walking towards the Russian speaker.

To one with heightened senses, there are a few things about the approach homeless woman that stand out. The first, of course, is that she is homeless, with the unclean scents that follow. But there is something else, something more about her scent, masked beneath days without a bath or shower, layers of oils in her hair, and collected unlaundered scents in her clothing. Something ... primal. Almost predator. There are also traces of gun oil and metal filing residue, the sort that might accompany recently maintained weaponry. And there's a flash of reflected amber in her eyes as she gets near, before she twitches her head away from that passing light.

When the woman speaks, she does so with a very mushy, indistinct murmur, masking her native accent. It can make her hard to understand, but it's better than being labeled a Russian in the eyes of every passerby. "You dropped these." she offers, extending a hand covered in fingerless gloves holding said glasses towards the other woman.

Feral has posed:
The only thing separating the pair might be that Vanya is visibly cleaner. Her own scent, especially in a place like Mutant town, carries with it a faint predatory undertone as well, one recognizably feline, and as the hunter draws nearer, subtle features catch the light of a nearby lamp; slight points to her ears, sharp fingernails, and a faint trail of black stripes down her brown hair.

"Eh?"

As Vanya turns to the homeless young woman, the younger Russian is met with intense bronze eyes and the large runic brand that stretches across the were-woman's entire face. Despite the gaze, the tiger-eyed just smiles lopsidedly and reaches out with a calloused hand to take her glasses back. "Thanks," she grants offhandedly before slipping them back on her nose to conceal her distinctive gaze. The blue-blocker lenses do nothing for the sharpness but at least they hide the color.

Okhotnik has posed:
The greasy blonde eyes the other woman with quick, brief glances, taking in all of the details. She figures out that thins are not as they appear, and notices the tattoo. Then she hands over the lenses without contest, backing up, easing back. This woman is a threat; she could well be here to take her back. But the sound of that familiar accent warms her; seh misses home.

"Watch yourself." Okhotnik murmurs indistinctly as she backs away. "Some bars here have powered bouncers." And they can do a lot of damage in short order, especially to those who challenge or threaten them and need to be ejected.

Feral has posed:
"A telekinetik just threw me out the door," Vanya notes, chuckling softly as Okhotnik backs up. "I'm not going to bite," she notes mirthfully before grimacing and fanning her nose as she catches a whiff of the other woman. "Ugh, especially like that. I don't eat rotten meat."

Okhotnik has posed:
Okhotnik growls a little, in a mostly human sound of annoyance. "Not rotten. Just unwashed." She doesn't love it anymore than anyone else. But she's homeless; what else is she supposed to do? If she starts using the safehouse to clean up and stay clean, the homeless will no longer trust her, as no longer being one of them. The stench is offensive; being an outcast even to outcasts is worse. "Unwashed better than branded."

Feral has posed:
"Hey!" Vanya snaps, taking an aggressive step forward and sneering enough to show a pointed canine. "Just because I've got a mark on my face doesn't mean I'm shackled like some cattle. I /earned/ it; you're not even strong enough to keep yourself clean."

Okhotnik has posed:
And just like that, the mush mouth is gone, and a cold, sharp Russian voice speaks firmly; there's no fear scent on this one, not even in the face of that aggression. No doubt. No hesitation.

~// "Strong enough to end you. No shackles on me. Try it." //~

The shy, furtive demeanor is gone. Suddenly there is a real apex predator in her place, poised balanced on a razor's edge between 'ready' and 'exploding into lethal action.'

Feral has posed:
Vanya's stunned for a moment and stares in surprise at the other Russian, then a wide smile spreads across her face and she laughs, hard. There's no fear before the ready predator suddenly beside her and as her laughter dies down, the feral woman swings her arm around to slap Okhotnik hard but fondly on the shoulder.

~// You're Russian? Where the ($!@ did that came from?! //~

Okhotnik has posed:
When that hand comes up and swings towards her, the homeless woman ducks, spins, lashes out with a leg sweep, a heel sharply aimed at the other woman's near ankle, and there's a metallic rasp as a knife comes clear from behind her back, out from under the olive drab coat to glint in the light of the street lamps.

Yeah. Balanced on that razor's edge, that wasn't a moment of commradery for her.

~// "You know where I'm from. That's why you're here, is't it?" //~ Okhotnik snarls.

Feral has posed:
Vanya springs into the air as Okhotnik drops and lifts her legs just barely clear of the sweep, rising easily to head height before landing with a nimble bounce on the balls of her feet. In a staunch contrast to the hunted woman's countenance, she's still all smiles as her nostrils flare to take in a deep lungful of air and she watches Okhotnik with added alertness.

~//"I *was* here to gorge myself on peanuts and stout a big red-skinned guy looked ready to buy me, but now I guess I'm here to play with a comrade,"//~ Vanya considers gamely as she bounces back slightly and raises her rear hand into a very low and very loose boxer's guard. ~//"Go on, Stinky. Show me the latest craze in Sambo.//~

Okhotnik has posed:
"Okhotnik." The other woman responds to the tattooed woman's snark and teasing, contempt oozing from her clipped Russian voice.

Diya lets her senses open up, keeping an easy, ready fighting crouch with the knife out in her left hand, the blade up along her forearm as she readies herself for what is to come, the flow of energy pouring into her limbs. The peaceful, law-abiding homeless guise is fading away as the lethal soldier takes her place.

~// "Then you're not here for me?" //~ Okhotnik sounds incredulous; she probably is. Hard to believe such a coincidence, really.

Feral has posed:
~// "Hunter?" //~ Vanya repeats, quirking an amused eyebrow at the name. ~// "You don't look like a very good one smelling up this block... maybe with a bear pelt on you. Why would I be here for walking sewer-smell?" //~ she replies while bouncing her arms a little to loosen them up. ~// "Now come on, if you're going to fight let's have some fun." //~

Okhotnik has posed:
Calm and cold - and unamused - the Hunter responds. ~// "This is not about fun. This is about survival." //~

She does not advance; she does not attack. But she remains poised and ready to fight, kill or die, a vague sort of rumbling sound seeming to seep through the air around her. Her eyes glint amber as a car's lights sweep past, reflected in the irises.

Feral has posed:
~// Well you seem to be doing a poor job of it so far, //~ Vanya retorts casually as she drops her guard and lifts her chin, inviting the hunter in with the same faintly-fanged smile. ~// Ooh, but nice eye-shine. You're wasting good genes in that gutter, aren't you? //~ she hazards on a guess.

Okhotnik has posed:
~// "//I// am still breathing. Those who have hunted me or mine are not." //~ Okhotnik responds, coldly; she apparently will not be baited into a fight just because Vanya wants entertainment. If she's that bored, it's up to her to find her own fun.

~// "What I am wasting is up to me, not you. //I// do not self-medicate on cheap Amerikaski alcohol because I'm bored and lost." //~ If Vanya feels like continuing this verbal sniping, she'll play, but she won't play nice. She's been given no reason to do so.

Feral has posed:
~// "Try hungry," //~ Vanya scoffs, tilting her neck from side to side. ~// "You're the one who seems lost; went looking for a shower a week ago and all you've found is me." //~

~// "Whatever... I shouldn't have expected much from a stray house cat," //~ she dismisses, shoving her hands into her pockets and starting to walk down the sidewalk - towards more than around Okhotnik.

Okhotnik has posed:
~// "Clue one: I don't get into fights just to amuse myself, or anyone else. When I fight, I fight to kill, and I don't stop until I'm dead or the other is. Period. So stop trying to taunt me into fighting you to prove myself. I did that in Siberia. I did that in Chechnya. I've done that everywhere, until my own people decided to //hunt me//. This isn't a game." //~

Okhotnik just snorts and turns her head, spitting into the sidewalk grate as she rolls her shoulders and steps back, marching back towards her alleyway and apparently ready to ignore Vanya's posturing.

Feral has posed:
"Hmph," Vanya scoffs as she continues her walk in a straight line with Okhotnik marching out of the way. The brawler pauses to look sidelong at her and add, ~// "You know the last soldier I met went on and on about Soviet pride, looking better than a two ruble train station whore... I guess that died out in the last few decades." //~

~// "What a waste." //~

Okhotnik has posed:
~// "Soviets were gone by the time I was in school. And pride is a stupid, arrogant luxury." //~ Okhotnik offers, tiredly. ~// "As for a waste, find a mirror." //~

That said, the homeless woman climbs back into her alleyway and rejoins her fellow homeless, the knife disappearing somewhere at some point in that process. At least the Russian she found - irony of ironies - isn't after //her//. Not terribly helpful, either.

Diya will have to ask Yana about her at some point; perhaps she works for the Bratva? They have some who are that wild, or so she has heard.

Feral has posed:
Vanya let her weight sink into her back leg and adopts a slight slouch as she looks at the unwashed soldier nestled in the dark.

~// "So you're the new Russia, huh? Disappointing... I'm glad I left now," //~ she murmurs. ~// "I've got a hot shower when I want it, beer when I want it, and I'm one of the deadliest animals on this planet right now - I'm not the one wasting herself." //~ The brawler pulls her hand from her pocket and flexes her arm for emphasis, displaying again her large and developed physique.

Okhotnik has posed:
"No. Right now, you're just one of the loudest-braying and most arrogant animals in the world." Diya offers, apparently done with trying to reason with the other woman, who has no interest in reason.

Feral has posed:
~/ "If I walk around with my claws out people get scared even around here," /~ Vanya rebuffs as tiger-striped fur begins to spread across her fist. Opening her hand, the were-woman displays a set of five needle-like claws before sheathing them back inside and letting the fur recede. She smirks and turns her head back to the path in front of her to resume her walk, apparently done throwing verbal barbs at her fellow Russian.

~/ "Have fun stinking up the alley!" /~ Okay, almost done.

Okhotnik has posed:
"Any time you are ready to test your claws, kitty, you know where to find me." Okhotnik offers in English, with a shrug. She is apparently done as well. "Just remember: you start the fight, it only ends when one of us is dead. And that won't be me." There's a tired sound of disgust in her voice as she dismisses the other woman as too childish to be worth much more effort.