6753/A Prayer for Hell's Kitchen

A Prayer for Hell's Kitchen
Date of Scene:	04 March 2019
Location:	Hell's Kitchen, New York City
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Azrael, Mon-El

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Azrael has posed:
Jean-Paul Valley is walking through the streets, wearing a suede sports jacket and jeans, and with a walking stick in his left hand that looks solid. As he is walking, he fingers a rosary, murmuring in latin as pale blue eyes look constantly about.

Mon-El has posed:
    Walking around at night in Hell's Kitchen, alone? Probably not the wisest place to be right now. Now of course, there are criminals who are very intentional about a specific job they have planned, because something is driving them. Usually some big payload or maybe revenge. But most of the time? Criminals are opportunists. They look for easy targets. Someone alone, lost, maybe. Someone who looks defenseless, and who could easily get caught off-guard.

    That's what Jean-Paul looks like to some particularly unsavory characters loitering about the streets tonight, and he suddenly finds three rather muscular-looking men standing in front of him. "Hey kid, where do you think you're going so fast? Not the best part of town to be out and about in all by yourself, huh?" One of them taunts, as the group begins trying to back him into a dark alley between two sketchy-looking restaurants that have closed up for the night.

Azrael has posed:
    "...tuo da gloriam." He faces the three men, and grips the staff firmly in his hand. His stance shifts jost a bit, weight on the balls of his feet, ready to move. "Prayer. With a name like Hell's Kitchen, this place can use it," he says, a faint French accent to the words. "Who do you think you are to stop me?" Maybe this can end without violence. Maybe.

Mon-El has posed:
    The muggers stare at him for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.

    "Damn, get a load of this kid!"
    "Haven't seen anyone react like -that- yet."
    "Ha, thanks for thinking of us, but you're SOL."

    The one who had spoken earlier tries to shove him into the alleyway, while the third starts to pull a gun.

Azrael has posed:
    Jean-Paul's reactions are fast, almost inhumanly so. Also, stronger than he looks, and so he ducks under the the first one's arms, and swings the stick as though it were a sword. Solid wood, thick and hard, right at the gun-puller's arm. "DIES IRAE!" The yell is loud, booming, full of wrath agianst the counterpart of joy on his face.

Mon-El has posed:
    "Holy hell, you got some moves, eh?! Well maybe this just got a little bit more fun!" The muggers certainly didn't expect Jean-Paul to be as strong and as fast as he turns out to be. The staff strikes the arm as the gunshot goes off, causing the bullet to go wide and hit the side of the building behind the shooter. He yelps in pain but manages to keep his grip on the gun and fire again, though somewhat sloppily.

    The first guy whips around after Jean ducked, backpedaling a step or two before also pulling a gun and attempting to put a bullet in the back of his head. Mugger #2 tries to grab the staff and wrest it out of his hands.

Azrael has posed:
    That's the problem with doing sword moves with a staff--they don't always go down, even if the arm is broken, and they can grip what would have been the blade. Also, there is no fire.

    But he's dealt with three on one before. So he thrusts the staff forward, hard, trying to drive it in to number two's chest, hard before turning back to number 1. Speed is paramount. He can't let them gang together on him. And when he sees the gun, it's another duck and bull-charge at him.

Mon-El has posed:
    Mugger the Second gasps as the wind gets knocked out of him when Jean jabs him in the chest with the staff, causing him to stumble backward and trip over some trash on the ground. Mugger the First, who had been trying to nail him in the back of the head, doesn't back down even when Jean bull rushes him, instead just starts unloading his magazine at his opponent with the hope of taking him down before he can reach him.

    Unfortunately, turning to face one guy means turning his back on the other. Though he might be bruised on the arm now from that staff, he still has that gun and a few rounds remaining, which he fires off at Jean-Paul.

Azrael has posed:
    Rounds hit. Pain blossoms. It doesn't matter as he punches, hard, at the second mugger's neck, before reaching around and turning to get the man as a human shield. Bleeding from several flesh wounds, he snarls, "Repent, or die and be damned."

Mon-El has posed:
    The man chokes and sputters as he is ruthlessly pounded in the neck before he can even get back up and collect himself. Then, he suddenly finds his companions' bullets in his own chest instead. Blood is everywhere. "Shit, shit! Okay, okay! J-just stop, we're sorry just leave us alone!!" he screams.

    Horrified, his friends drop their weapons, but they don't seem to want to leave him behind. What they thought was going to be a simple mugging has turned ugly so fast they could hardly believe their eyes...

Azrael has posed:
    There is a snarl on the man's face, before he squeezes at the guy's neck. Then he hurls him towards the other two, and takes up teh staff again. Shot, holes in his jacet, pants, beeding. And he doesn't care. "Run. Go to church. Confess. Repent. And thank God for your lives..." And then, still bleeding, he takes a step towards them.

Mon-El has posed:
    The man is thrown hard, and barrels into the other two, knocking them over. They stare at him as he starts to approach them, fear in their eyes. There is a panicked scramble as they all try to get out of the pile of each other that they'd ended up in at once, sort of tripping over each other.

    But the one who had been used as a meat shield is in no shape to run. They glance at each other, unsure of what to do, since they are not about to leave their injured friend behind with this psycho. "To hell with this I'm calling the fuzz..." one of them hisses, and he gets out his phone. The other relatively uninjured on picks his gun back up and trains it on Jean again. "G-get back! Don't come any closer, or I'll shoot you again!" he threatens.

Azrael has posed:
    Jean-Paul laughs. "Go. Take him. Leave. Now. Remember this kindness and mercy." A demented laugh, before he suddenly becomes stone-cold sober. He lowers the staff and backs up slightly towards what would go towards the better part of town. "And take your friend and make sure you haven't murdered him."

Mon-El has posed:
    They appear relieved, and start to try carrying their injured friend as far away from Jean-Paul as they can without hurting him further. It's not much, but hopefully an ambulance will show up to take care of things.

    But as Azrael/Jean-Paul starts to back away, another man appearing to be not too much younger than him suddenly lands between him and the terrified thieves. He stares at the shot up would-be criminal and then at Jean. "Overkill, don't you think?" he questions disapprovingly. At any rate, he plants himself there for now, to make sure this guy doesn't do any more unnecessary harm...

Azrael has posed:
    Jean-Paul blinks. The flying. Youth. An angel? Another one? "They live. They have the opportunity to repent. A quick death, execution or combat would be justice. Torture would be overkill," he says. "But surely every angel would know this."