347/Peanut Butter Technobandits

Peanut Butter Technobandits
Date of Scene:	09 May 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	279, Loki

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John Henry Irons (279) has posed:
    The clouds billow as the pass through, a good spring day. More people out and about on the streets. Down there, a Radio Shack. The perfect place to disguise an actual hi tech smuggling outfit. Cheap drones, go pros, a few other digital gadgets in the front. Including the main tourist reason to vissit Radio Shack, batteries a plenty. Batteries, phone batteries, recharge packs, some phones, phone cards. All in the front, near some Radio Shack panchos. Its a Radio Shack. In the back, a door with a slotted eye hole, to see who is knocking, with a fingerscan pad that Radio Shack doesn't sale. Inside a meeting has taken place, someone is moving some smart chip between clients. Not the Siri sort that answers questions, with silly answers sometimes, the sort that could run hi tech weaponary without much human interference. The laser guided missles thorugh someones front door sort of thing, that fights off EMPs, nano-bots, all sorts of good things. Its moving between hands.
    And there, six guys dressed in black ninja garb, cliche, but they did it. They are descending on that door, up to the point one cuts it. That's not regular sword, its mystical. Nearly unseen. But even higher birds eye, Steel is scanning too. He doesn't pick up on mystical swords, he picks up on the door breaking and the alarm tripping in the back. So does the front room, people start to come out of that Radio Shack. Something is a foot at the circle.

Loki has posed:
Like everybody else, even the Asgardian god of trickery needs his occasional supply of caffeine and diodes, electrodes, and other wires for purposes unto himself. He strolls in to the Radio Shack in question, holding a tin in one hand. The sealed lid does nothing to smother the clattering contents within, their nest of fabric insufficient to wholly muffle the effect. He holds the bearing of a gentleman who would never descend to be in such a place himself, not the least because he carries himself with an exceptionally knowing, mildly sardonic air that almost shouts 'British aristocrat' to the rest of the world. Close enough.

Looks can be deceiving. In his case, they entirely are. "I'd like to know whether you sell anything equivalent to these," he asks the befuddled clerk under his tall shadow, gesturing to the tin. "Exact copies only. Compatible with copper wire, not titanium or fibre optical lines, nothing of the sort. The installation is somewhat primitive. Make do with archaic materials, you see."

The rest of the technical jargon can wait, for the clerk goes turning to inspect the back shelves full of various metal bric-a-brac indexed by some obscure code only a few - employees, geeks of a certain ilk - actually know. He could bother to decipher it, but instead the god of mischief picks up a tablet, the latest iteration for a Note, and flips through the various projected apps with smooth precision. He might almost be surmised to be a bored businessman, what with that exquisitely cut jacket, possibly an engineer sort. All facts are true. Likewise, when people burst out from the back, he actually //smiles//. Not the normal response, of course, nor arching an eyebrow at the squalling alarm. Rather than run into the parking lot, he strides for the door into the stock area, and the one with the keypad. "You shouldn't go there, it's a robbery!" doesn't not do much to halt him, though well meaning Desmond the clerk keeps running for the safety of the front. Oh well, some men are given to danger. This one? Very much so. He whispers a tale to the scanner and it promptly blanks out, a smudge of strobing light disengaging the lock.

John Henry Irons (279) has posed:
    In the back, two big men in suits with a breif case, opened up and that little bitty chip there on display to some old chinese fellow who looks blind. The old man had been opening his own case of money. The chip is small, but vibrant with some purple light. Why the developer wanted it lit in purple probably relates to their ego, no one sees that chip when installed. Its the Touch of Evil syndrome (movie, brief case, light - copied by Tarantino in Pulp Fiction, gold lit brief case). That stops when mystical ninja 1, of 6, cuts the door and kicks it in. So when Loki strides that way. Two of the mystic ninjas of entered, and one points a sword at the trio doing the deal.
    "Hand it over and one of you shall live," says the ninja with that one sword, a short sword in his other hand. Ninja 2 has a three part rod, chain between each part. He kicks over a shelf to get a view, it has all the copper wires and such for stock, now all out of sorts.
    And erstwhile, Ninja 3 and 4 are running for the door. Steel arrives overhead to see Ninjas 5 and 6, the final two, keeping watch in back. One has a bo staff, the other a fan. He lands with a thud, and gives a "Stop where you are." Its over his PA, alerting the inside that at least something is going on outside too.

Loki has posed:
Four against one, or conceivably businesspeople and a blind man, doesn't make for very good odds. Under normal circumstances, someone would smartly turn on their heel and wander out of the way. Not so for the chap in the fine pants and glorious coat emerging from the darker inventory room. Dust back there dare not stick to his shoes, and the difference in light dramatically outlines his silhouette. The glitter of amusement in his green eyes matches the faint smile.

"Fascinating. I never imagined backroom deals were still a thing conducted so literally," he dryly comments, briefly flicking a look at the now severed door.

The man persistently sees in spectra unknown to mortal eyes. Magical traces stand out to him as profoundly as neon signs on a rainy night, and he concentrates briefly on the blades to determine the nature of their enchantments. It's secondhand nature at this point for him, identifying something as bespelled to permanent sharpness or capable of cleaving through steel, likely to burst into flames or teleport a man.

"Now what could they possibly fancy that they're willing to do this?" A query, really, but underlying that may be an offer. The tacit existence is present, even as he walks up to the trio and eyes the ninjas making their way deeper. "You're about to make a dreadful mistake. Oh, yes, I know, that's what they always say in the movies. This time, though, I mean it."

John Henry Irons (279) has posed:
    As far as mistakes go, outside, the ninja fifth, and ninja sixth, have decided not to desist. To which Steel responds, "As you choose." And jet boots fire, steel and bo staff clash. The weapon of the ninja doesn't quite buckle like it should against that steel hammer that Steel is carrying. That sound carries inside, the scuffle and clang as the two meet. Ninja sixth is engaged, blocking shots with the staff, and hitting at Steel with the brass tip of his weapon. It doesn't penetrate, but pushes him back. Ninja fifth moves about in a circle of them, readying the fan, splaying it out and moving for now.
    And on the inside, big guy one closes the case. Big guy two draws a weapons. "Yeah, one of them." Inferring, the ninjas made the mistake. The man has a handpiece, a small gun with a large clip, he lets a few bullets fly at Ninja first with the sword and long dagger.
    The mystical lines glimmer along the sword. As if nothing could stand in its way. Including steel and its ability to cleave it. In fact, the glow and seem to work with the ninja's hands to deflect the very bullets thug one just fired. The three part rod glows its own color, as if it can fold space and bind those unwilling to be held. An elusive sort of weapon meant to capture and hold. And lo, the chip glows too. That purple is deeper when viewed through that spectrum, infinite storage of data, or a partal to a pocket dimension where data gains substance. Even then, blind man move, and tendrils of the magic flow from his hand. He iron claws at the neck of Thug two, "I will take this," as his other tiger claw hand grasps for the chip, to take it and leave. Or the intent, that's what develops on the inside. One of them has probably made a dreadful mistake indeed.

Loki has posed:
"Delightful," says the god of trickery to himself, in a tongue guaranteed to be recognised by few here. He watches the thugs and the ninjas square off, and glides back to the wall to watch. Crossing his arms over his chest, he examines the cuff of his coat. A good tug fixes a slightly crooked line, and he plucks a mote of dust from the dark fabric. Rubbing thumb and fingertip together banishes that problem.

A choice few words murmured under his breath scarce reaches any ears, but the purpose is entirely assured with respect to magic. Eldritch bindings opens within the shut case, and the business of replacing one chip with its likeness in a facsimile -- a powerful illusion mirroring the same aura -- is quite another. Mustn't let such things on the open market without a fair bit of care, given the walking dimensional breach it represents.

He otherwise stays out of the fight. Ninjas and thugs be fighting, and he mostly sighs, mortal guise firmly planted and buttoned down. "Really, terrible business. And here all I wanted was a transistor. Ah well."

Willing to let bygones be bygones as he works, the brief flickers of power are subdued to the point of being unnoticeable, thanks to the deft veiling and protection thrown over the casting. And, besides, there's something remarkable to watch. $10 on jet boots man.

John Henry Irons (279) has posed:
    Outside, Steel finally manages ninja sixth with the bo staff, and the fan one uses some mystical trickery to knock him into a wall. Some bricks grind, some dust falls. The battle continues there. Jet boots engated, to launch at ninja fifth with the fan now by Steel.
    Ninja first continues the deflection of bullets, magic or not, it can only take so much. One bites his shoulder, then is abdomen and he clinches and goes down. Though Ninja second works the three part rod, enough to enclose thug two who is clutching his throat. Ninja second sets out lines of magic into a cage of sorts, tendrils holding thug twos hands and legs. This allows the blind old man some freedom.
    He has the case, and his grabbing is enough distraction that the swap of the chip with the illusionary duplicate goes unnoticed.
    He holds up a hand, keeping number two away by a barrier. A nod to the green eyed man leaning on the wall, as if they know whats going on. He doesn't know of the switch. "Transistors, second shelf, on bottom. There is a store wide discount today. Better hurry, looters may beat the police here." He means to leave with the goods.
    More banging around outside, such that by the time the old man may be leaving, Steel is at the door. "There are only two of you left." The ninjas that is, but he looks around, uncertain now. Thug one is still free, but he needs to change clips.

Loki has posed:
Manners ever do make the world go round. Loki shakes his head slightly at the thug brought down by the ninja, not lifting a finger to get too involved there. Risk of an unarmed man versus a magic using warrior, a little too dangerous, of course.

So it seems. He nods to the apparently blind elder, and adds, "Thank you. Not that I would dream of looting the store. I'll just leave my payment by the till."

Peeling himself off the wall, he slides through the open space and nimbly avoids a bullet planted in the wall. It leaves a puff of plaster and vaporized paint but nothing close to blood. Even so, he brushes off his shoulder as a precaution. The mild shake of his head as he ventures to the open doorway has a distinct if subtle effect, throwing a little chaos into the mix of magic and sheer skill displayed by the one with the bo staff. Things might not hit right. Calculated blows may prove to be less effective, coordination and finesse dealing with slippery luck. Might as well make the fight a little more fair, though it might make victory sweeter, too.

As for the real chip, well, that just needs to be flicked away to a proper spot out of Midgard. But nonetheless, he is thoroughly enjoying the show of skill.

John Henry Irons (279) has posed:
    The fight plays out, Steel handles the ninjas. Not because of his own mystical or ninja skills so much as the suit and his hammer. They can't seem to penetrate it. Otherwise the would of walked all over the thugs. Then again, the thug can't do much besides aim the weapon. The real trouble is that bo staff guy, and it cause some collateral damage to the store.
    Through that, the old man evades it all and leaves with brief case and illusionary chip. He glances once at it, smiles at his loot, but leaves it closed and leaves the scene. Such that by the end of the show of skills, Steel is left, and perhaps Loki in a business suit. To whom he'll ask, "Did you see where it went?" He stands with no hammer in hand, but then holds his hand up and it comes to his grasp. Magnetically, part self propulsion by the hammer, working together with the man in the suit. All tech, nothing like the green eyed business man's brother.

Loki has posed:
"No, afraid not." The rousing performance is entirely interesting, and Loki hasn't a jot of animosity visible for any of the combatants. He's built himself a spot that seems relatively safe, and he is not eager to leave that. "I was told where to find something I needed in a drawer. Though out there, not here."

He gives a bit of a grimace as the figures want to tumble over or slouch away, as far as they can, from armoured man with a hammer.

"I trust none of these miscreants caused you lasting trouble? Nasty. How terribly depressing that yet another bout of danger descends to this. Well. You did a fine job letting the rest of us get out." Which begs why he is here, perhaps. He slouches through the doorway and goes back through the stockroom, presumably, off to collect his tin and leave a dollar for the part he needs. Though not unkind. Gotta make good on the offer.

John Henry Irons (279) has posed:
    A curious look, from Steel to Loki, and yet the man in the steel contraption seems to believe the words at face value. "A shame, I was tracking that hardware." Not that he monologues into what it was or why even, just two cents on the topic of disappointment in losing it thanks to the old blind man. As he turns from Loki to survey said figures, prone to slouching or tumbling as they are, he shakes his head at the man's questions. A negative shake, "No, nothing lasting at all." But then, the one with the swords was taken by the thug with the bullets, that could of left some scratches. He waves off the comment, "No, no, just doing my part." Take the last comment as thanks and turning. Not minding as the business man leaves the store, himself staying at least until the cops arrive, but not much longer himself even. Needing to regroup and rethink how to locate that tech that's floating through the underworld as far as John Henry knows.