5138/Ninjas vs Gangsters

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Ninjas vs Gangsters
Date of Scene: 09 August 2018
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Miss Moreau, Shredder

Miss Moreau has posed:
Even gang members need to stay sharp, and indeed profitable. Miss Moreau insists on the fact, and so often sends her beloved minions out on tests of skill that range from 'difficult' to at times outright impossible. Tonight, a pair of newly blooded Roses are out on their first task from their odd mistress.

James' Bridal and Jewelry is right on the edge of the Narrows, looking more like a pawn shop than a bridal outfit. Predictably, half of the merchandise is stolen, and the other half are cheap chinese knockoffs of better brands. It's targeted often, and the security system is fairly robust. There's a lockbox in the owner's office.

Moreau wants that lockbox through any means necessary. This task, for the two young men sent for it, is merely on the side of 'extremely difficult' without access to the security company itself.

The attempt is admirable, and professional. Power is swiftly cut by the smaller of the two charcoal-suited men, only for a laptop to be jacked into a security box. It won't delay the alarms for long, but it might be enough.

After all, subtlety is not in the plan. A large, two handed electrical saw is in the hands of goon number two, current carving an entrance straight down from the roof of the one story shop at a good clip. Both goons have guns on them, but with only the two they're forced to be their own lookouts. A fatal flaw in these two recruits' plan.

On dingy lamp posts, a trio of ravens watches the operation. A dark purple tattoo sits on their foreheads, beady eyes keen as they observe.

In an idle car a block away, Miss Moreau runs her dainty fingers over her Scarlet Tome as she waits the results of her little test.

Shredder has posed:
    Quiet. That is the role of the ninja. They have the audacity to approach from the same direction as the goons' entrance, even through the same door. There are four of them, their hoods over their head, shozoku covering their faces. They use the whir of the electric saw to cover their approach, and at once, the four ninjas enter the room, staying low. It seems the ravens have earned no attention.

    Down the block, another boss stands on the edge of the building, looking down at the car. "She is alone?" he asks one of his elite, a figure wearing a rice hat and a red lion mask.
    "Yes, Master," comes the answer.
    "Very well." He gives a casual indication, and the elite leaps from the window, landing three stories below outside the car as if it were nothing more than a ten foot descent, a spear in hand. He walks up to the window, and taps the metal on the glass.

Miss Moreau has posed:
The roof drops in after another thirty seconds with that saw. Goon number two abandons the laptop, and with some help from a rappel, scales the side of the building to join his friend. These are no ninja, like the ones that slipped in entirely past their notice. But athletic, at least. Guns at their side, a shared knuckle-dab, and they make a casual drop into the building.

The ravens are a little more observant. Two of they take to the air, only to dive silently into the hole created by the pair of goons. They find perches, eyes piercing the darkness of the shop.

Meanwhile, there's a knock at the car door. Moreau frowns as she casually flips her page. It's a four door sedan, tinted, and the driver is a large bald man. "Sebastian, you know I like to be alerted when we have visitors. Especially when we're out."

Sebastian has a desert eagle half drawn. "Won't happen again, Princess."

Moreau mutters a word, the temp in the car drops ten degrees, and then the window rolls down. Moreau is seated at the opposite end. She tilts her head in the direction of the Foot elite.

"Odd time of day to be hitchhiking, isn't it? Care to join me?" Her voice is warm, genuine, almost inviting. And very, very amused. The door unlocks.

Shredder has posed:
    The Foot Elite stands straight, hidden behind the mask. "My master would have a word," he says. He stands to the side, and the steel coated form of the Shredder steps up. He seems unphased by the open lock, and opens the door for himself. The sharp-edged armor sets down on the seat, the owner casually avoiding destruction of the interior of the car, almost as if there was no danger of it in the first place.

    "Miss Monroe," he says. "Are you aware that the Foot have claimed this territory?" He asks simply, as if it is some sort of quiz. Of course, to many, the Foot have been a rumored bogeyman. "Yet your henchmen have chosen to perform a heist, and a rather sloppy one at that," he adds.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Moreau's smile doesn't fade as Shredder enters the car. Sebastian is a bit twitchy, but Moreau kicks the back of his seat. He shuts up. Windows start to roll up, and the car locks.

"Oh my! And here I had half thought the rumors to be the fever-dreams of ex-Arkham inmates. This city's grapevine is so unreliable. Ahh, then it seems this is a long overdue meeting. You are the 'Shredder', then, I presume?" She offers over her hand daintily. The tattoo on her hand seems to writhe when one looks out of the corner of the eye.

Her other hand doesn't leave her book.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

On to business, though. Her own goons are now floor level, making their way over to start smashing in jewelry cases.

Moreau sighs. "Their fangs and claws need sharpening. However, I find limited tools and desperate situations make for the best lessons. I wonder...what will they learn about the world after tonight? Will their hunt bear game, perhaps even unintended prizes?" Letting her rhtorical questions slip into the air, she giggles.

"As for your claim. Being a bit premature, aren't you? A pack may only keep what territory that they have the strength and resources to hold. We've yet to match claws over the matter."

Her smile becomes almost eager. "Unless, of course, you intend to make that challenge. Dancing, howling, hearts beating and minds /racing/ beneath the light of the moon! A vicious, feral chorus! ...Wouldn't it be so pleasant, to wet our fangs with each other's blood, to reach for greater heights of power and skill?" She licks her lips, eyes shining with anticipation.

Shredder has posed:
    There is a cock of the Shredder's scarred eyebrow, and he looks down at the offered hand, and then shifts his gaze to the shifting tattoo. He chooses not to take it for the time being, suspicious as he is.

    "You are an interesting person," he admits. "You speak as if you have some equality in power. Your operation deals in territory of blocks, mine deals in continents. I think there is little question of whether I have the strength to overcome your power."

    He holds up one of his clawed hands, examining the blade momentarily. "With the extension of my arm, you would die. Your clumsy henchmen even now find that they have made far too much ruckus to effectively pull of the small job you have assigned them. Even now they may find that the job has more asked of them than they can provide.

    Inside the shop, the ninjas come out from their hidden positions, blades drawn as the smashing begins. They don't attack, but the four quickly leap within striking distance.

    "We are afraid that we must ask you to pause," one of them says, his blade at the ready.

Miss Moreau has posed:
"Oh, I hardly mean to say that we are equal in terms of raw muscle. Mmm, honestly I find your grip on so many sections of the world fascinating! I would hardly know what to do with such resources!" She laughs, as if this were all idle chatter amid a moonlit walk.

She raises a single finger in a small gesture. "However, you are a stranger here. No matter your strength, no matter the talent of you and your Foot clan, you're foreign predators. You lack influence, knowledge of the locals, and most crucially, the respect, fear and love that allows a small band such as my own to flourish. I know these people in these small blocks, because they are my sheep to devour and young cubs to take in, to nourish into fine predators!"

A small shake of her head. "And besides, a grand, proud lion can fall prey to the ravages of venom and disease from insects. We White Roses are /very/ persistant. Even the clumsy, dull-clawed ones."

Moreau's eyes widen a fraction. "Well of course! Their task was practically impossible for them from the start. Ah, and now you've gone and made that even more difficult for them!?" She claps her hands.

"Wonderful, oh simply /wonderful/! My sweet cubs will have their backs to the wall! Will they cower? Flee? Fight? Will they act like men, or finally throw off their shackles!?" She blushes, one hand going to her cheek.

"Mmm! Correct! You could splatter my blood across the car window with but a flick, couldn't you!? Ah, but that would be but a moment's pleasant diversion for you. First of all, you are here to intimidate me into submission, or to simply let your operations expand into my hunting grounds. Second, I have my own precautions." She turns and 'looks' at the man with a teasing smile.

"There are at least eight living creatures in this vehicle at the moment. Two of them naturally produce a mixture of compounds that combine to create a substance not unlike napalm! And they're trained to release those compounds onto fuel lines and the occupants should they smell fatal amounts of my blood or my heartbeat ceasing. Now, perhaps you could survive. Bit of a risk to kill me now, when you could attempt it on grounds more favorable and enjoyable to us both?"

Back at the shop, the two men pause. The four ninjas have their eyes going wide in fright, and they freeze. The smaller one immediately drops what he was using to smash the case open with.

"Okay! I won't do nothin', just don't kill me!" A coward, this one.

The second, however, looks at his partner then at the ninja. He slowly puts down his hammer. His head is tilted away from the speaking ninja. He doubts he could pull out his gun and fire this close.

The electric saw he used, though, is within arm's reach.

He tenses.

Up in the rafters of the building, there's a horrible cawing sound, and then sounds of something being regurgitated. Several fleshy, wet, stinger-tipped masses fly from the mouths of the ravens, seeking the lead ninja and several of his companions.

From the tips of those stingers, hooked and barbed, a foul black liquid drips.

Shredder has posed:
    Shredder's deadpan stays true. "You are bold, and you are no coward. I appreciate that," he says. "But do not think that the Foot are new to Gotham. Time has simply come to change the nature of our relationship in this city. I have heard many people with claims that I will die if I kill them, but never have I heard claim that a creature could secrete an explosive chemical."

    The first ninja looks up, surprised by the attack as he is stung. He stumbles back, finding his breath to start to come quicker. "Poison!" he announces, stumbling backward. "Gas!" he orders, and the four disengage, hopping back from the attack and pulling a noxious pellet from their sashes, throwing them to the ground. A gagging gas explodes into the jewelry shop, the ninjas attempting to retreat to the doors, no longer concerned with alerting the security system.