9021/Mack the Knife: To Free a Witch's Wife

Mack the Knife: To Free a Witch's Wife
Date of Scene:	31 August 2019
Location:	China Basin, Old Gotham
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Film Freak, Spike

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Film Freak has posed:
When the debutante and diletante daughter of a local overseas financier went missing, a private investigator was dispatched to find her. When he turned up in Arkham Asylum after having a debilitating nervous breakdown, having run through traffic with his field pistol firing it into the air, the financier was forced to consult alternate means of information. A detective from the tropics, weeks after the woman went missing, identified the culprits: black witches of Gotham, the infernalists of the Barbatos cult, having bound the girl to sexual entropy and spirited her away to the narrow tenements and curio halls of Chinatown.

Burt Weston found the contract unusual. To approach an actor assassin, to kill his natural predator, was a dangerous proposition, insulting had he not been terrified of even the inquiry. The Caribbean voodoo man, however, told him many secrets, as a retainer simply for considering the offer. It was irresistable.

After a week of zazen meditation, meditating in his apartment and closing his mind from the mages, he was ready. Had he started younger, he would've been able to close indefinitely, and had he been more disciplined, he could've been an outright inquisitor, like the legendary Batman. But he would settle for a bit of revenge.

Film Freak walks through Chinatown, wearing his trademark black leather jacket with wide collar, shaved head and sunglasses making him look like a fascist punk. Rave boots slipped on the ground as he walked in an alpha male posture, his thighs distended faintly but without the telltale sign of permanent disfigurement from committing to the Far East, his posture too lean and his step balanced, he paused at an alleyway.

These indigents had selected Chinatown because they blended in during their rituals, the practiced religions here closing the Asian community from much of the unusual vibrations, and the superstitious Gotham dwellers having attributed the dark omens to Triads.

Film Freak smiled in a curly manner, pulling a knife from his pocket, then removing his sunglasses and slipping them in the other pocket. His eye had mascara on it, in the manner of Alexander Delarge, from Clockwork Orange.

Time to get a gulliver in the blarney or two.

Spike has posed:
Spike's patrol route is out here in Old Gotham, into Chinatown. He's come down here as part of his 'trying to turn over a new leaf' type thing. Sure, he's a /vampire/but....but....Spike's trying. Really. He's trying. He's not exactly hard to miss, walking thorugh Chinatown with his head held high. Gotta look out for vampires. Spike's got a stake in one hand. A vampire. A stake. That's kind of odd, but really.....Spike's out here late at night. Oh he'd heard about the things going on. He'd heard. And he had justified getting involved as protecting his friends. No, really.

A vampire. Protecting friends. Friends. Spike is just looking out for his friends. Oh and, and, about ready to sit back, eat popcorn, and watch the show in his duster, with his Billy Idol clothing, too. Boots? Yes. Duster, oh yes. And /that/ hair!

Rounding a corner Spike arrives at the same alley as the Film Freak, the British vampire leaning on the wall watching everything, tapping the stake on the brickwork as he's debating what to do.

Film Freak has posed:
Film Freak's forefinger runs over the hilt of his blade as he turns it down into his hand, cupping the smooth, narrow grip with the narrow point out and held up as he soldiers forward. He opens the door to an old larder, inside the abandoned market where the witches are squatting and casting rituals of the Bacchanalian variety. The door quietly slips shut, as he ducks low and moves along the wall with a careful foot and toe, heel up on his foot as he leans against the wall and looks around the corner, to the broad open space where the shelves used to be. It's a cozy little area, with a boarded up storefront and a door outside chained shut from the insight.

A trio of female witches smoke hash on torn sofas, and a male witch sits on an upholstered chair that's been chewed by a dog. He has the socialite captive on his lap, smoking a long glass pipe with her. There is a four-pointed star painted on the floor, the chair at the point with the door behind it, and a small altar of goat's blood in the center, the properties of the goat enhancing the senses of any of the witches imbibing it, the curdle making it a sour experience.

They don't sense Film Freak's approach, which he notes, knowing that the ninjutsu that he practiced before coming is working.

He slips around the wall, making himself known, standing tall in the shadows, his arm out at the side to announce his knife.

Spike has posed:
If Film Freak is subtle...Spike isn't. Then again. Spike's rarely, if ever, subtle....and he finds a way in with a lot more noise than he probably should. But......but, it's Spike, who stands tall and looks around with a smirk. "Oh come on, we're in a hookah den?" he assks, sneering at the witches, and all but getting light headed from the scent. Good, his concussion's gone, but....no, high Spike is a bad, bad idea. Spike's getting into more trouble it seeems the more he's trying to be good. Not that being evil was ever simple, mind, but...

Spike takes another slow look around, then nods to Film Freak. Spike's staying put. He'll just follow the Film Freak's lead. Then again, Spike's got his mind whirling, there's so much wrong with this place, so, so much wrong with this...Spike's not a fan of being in here. Priority #1: Get the girl outtta here. And #2: Sit back, watch the fireworks, and...and....help out, too. Spike grits his teeth and looks over to Film Freak for a moment. "Ideas?" he asks, his accent loudmouth and cocky as all hell.

Film Freak has posed:
"The balloon foot will take a light touch," Film Freak indicates, gesturing at the male witch with a knife. "You can take the marties all you like."

The witches climb to their feet, at the male witch watches. There's a deep vibration of the infernal, the forces that permeate Gotham becoming palpable here, as the darkness swirls about the Chinese characters on the walls, the lights outside stretching the shadows inside too long to be natural.

Film Freak walks forward, slowly, carefully, staring at the man with a grotesque and knowing smile, as he appears to be immune to the mental vibrations of control and ward and watchfulness projected by the four witches.

Their captive, however, has a different reaction, climbing out of the chair she's in, and stepping between Film Freak, and the male witch.

Protect the principle, get the paycheck. That's all Film Freak cares about.

Spike has posed:
Spike coughs. "Seriously, what's up with this place?" Spike asks looking unamused. He's still got the stake Buffy gave him. Not that it'll probably do much on witches. Spike's not too fond of witches, or vampires, or, or.....

Spike shakes his head. Four witches, debutante, and...and.all that. He watches Film Freak shaking his head. He's not going to step in and do Film Freak's job fo him as Spike's stepping forward slowly. He's looking for an easy way out of this, he's in over his head. Vampires are one thing, but, but, witches.

Spike steps forward again with a grimace, coughing at the smell. "Oh for..." he starts and gets cut off by a coughing fit. That's one way to take Spike out of a fight. For a moment as Spike gets his breath back, hands on his hips with stake in his right hand, as he's doing his best figuring out how to 'help' these witches....'help' them out of here nd, possibly, out of this mortal realm? Spike's rapidly not liking these four witches.

Film Freak has posed:
One of the witches make a deep, bassoon-like bellow, charging at Film Freak. She slams into him with her head down and her fists flying, ramming him against a wall as she works his stomach and sides.

Film Freak shoves his knife down onto her back as he grips from the other side, pushing backwards and jaggedly wrenching his knife out of the woman, through her. There's a splatter of blood and guts as there's animalistic screams, Film Freak's hand going to the neck as he switches the knife into an upwards position, staring her down with his mascara covered lashes on his left eye. He shoves the knife upwards, over and over again, into the ribs, of the choking and gurgling woman, before kicking her directly upwards with a swift boot between the legs, to crumple the infernalist.

Covered in blood, he grins, now, asking, "So, ladies and gent, shall we get this carnivale into the light?"

There's howls from the two remaining witches, as the debutante backs up, terrified, the control over her breaking.

Spike has posed:
Oh it's on now...Spike watches, then gets charged by a witch. Sure, the chip won't let him /directly/ hurt humans. But he can let them get hurt by their own stupidity. And in this case, just getting out of the way of a charging witch is the best option. Spike really, really doesn't want to deal with the chip right now. More since, well, it's a pain in the butt. Spike's not happy about it...and he's avoiding the witches. Two left. Debutante. Spike's keeping an eye on the debutante....right up until he slips and goes down on his back. Oh crap. Not good. He didn't stake himself...yet, but Spike's scrambling back to his feet. Ah he needs Willow here for this. Or....well...anyone who knows what they're doing, aside from the psycho guy with the knife. Spike'll have to talk to him later really. That's some impressive knife work.

Credit where it's due, as Spike shakes his head and stays by a wall while watching. Oh he wants to fight. But. Chip. Damn chip. If they're human he'll suffer the consequences. If not, well....well....he's not wanting to find out yet while they're outnumbered and psycho guy has a knife. Nope, not getting gutted like a fish. Uh uh. Spike prefers to live another night thanks. He ducks and balls up his fists. Fine. He'll fight the chip, too!

Film Freak has posed:
Film Freak grabs the witch attacking Spike by the hair, from behind, and jams his knife into her armpit, before tossing her to the ground, letting her bleed.

"Not much good are you, eh droogie?"

Film Freak whips around towards the last remaining female infernalist, charging at him from behind, and swings his left hand into her, in a fist, slamming her jaw and letting her go rictus across the room from the shock of the blow.

Film Freak, basted in blood, turns his attention to the male infernalist, who rises from his chair, stretching his shoulders and flexing his muscles, visible from out below his black tanktop.

Spike has posed:
Spike looks over to Film Freak then decides sod it, he'll deal with the chip later. Right now, Spike's in this...and as the female is sent across the room, Spike catches the Infernalist for a moment before her momentum is carrying her into the wall. "Ouch" Spike adds. He's past caring about these witches now. If anything, the male Infernalist has his attention. See, Spike's willing to test the chip and what it does to him. In that regard...he sets his feet, keeps his fists balled and is ready to throw down. Chip be damned.

Film Freak has posed:
The infernalist swings at Film Freak with a high right hook, Film Freak ducking under and slicing into the witch with his switchblade. The infernalist cycles around and lashes out with a boot, hitting Film Freak in the gut and stumbling him backwards.

Film Freak guffaws and lurches down, the witch stronger than expected, even with the zazen position blocking the magickal connection to the demons of Gotham City. There's a charge into Film Freak, and the actor assassin swings his hand up to catch the infernalist by the throat and wrestling him around to the side, shoving the knife into the sorceror's chest as he's bent over.

"Got the tib, mate?"

With a riotous welt of laughter, the blasphemous telepath is tossed backwards, bleeding twice over, and Film Freak tosses his knife aside, opening his arms and stance, fingers spreading.

As there are flickers of red on the walls from the dark energies, Film Freak remarks, "Can't get into my mind, can you, charm?"

Spike has posed:
Spike on the other hand....Spike, well, watches. He's impressed. "Depends" Spike says with a laugh. "BLoody hell you're good with that knife" Spike adds with a smirk. He likes what he's seeing and is annoyd he can't join in. Still, he's watching, and jealous though he keeps his jealousy under wraps. He's watching quietly, just watching. If anything, Spike's stepping back. "You got this, so..." Spike says with a look around. "Made a mess too. Should I get a mop and a bucket?" Spike adds before pushing off the wall. If he's not wanted for help, then...Spike'll leave. It's up to Film Freak if Spike's help is wanted to clean up or not

Film Freak has posed:
The infernalist rushes Film Freak like a bull, and Film Freak swiftly swings his boot up, his arms moving outwards, planting his toe directly in the face of the charging daemonologist. The iron-toed rave boot slams into the skull as Film Freak swings off to the side with a jaunty swing of his hips, his left arm back and his right arm up. The dark wizard swings to the ground, jaw broken and inertia shifted.

Film Freak swings back around, stumbling with a lilt-wristed loosening of his combat posture, taking a marijuana toker's huff.

His head snaps, and Burt Weston is back, his awareness outside shifting away as his internal world becomes a vivid, lust measure of black and red ambience, glitters and glimmers and motes visible inside his zazen as he shifts his breathing complex back to normal, the mission complete and the debutante required to trust him.

"I've got it covered from here, friend," comes a soft, shy statement from Burt, smiling, as he looks to the debutante.

She stumbles towards him, the psionic energies ebbing and flowing away softly, as the woman stumbles into a hug with Burt, the spell broken as the last of her darkness is consumed by Burt's now open mind.

Spike has posed:
Spike nods and raises his hand in a wave. Spike'll take his leave then now this is dealt with. "Hell of anight to patrol" Spike says, then nods again, "Listen, if you're down this bit of Gotham again, stay outta trouble"

That last bit's aimed at the debutante, as Spike heads carefully for the door. He's seen enough chaos tonight...and not been involved in any of it. Time, Spike thinks. Time for a shower and to see what the Scoobies are up to. Time, too, to figure out how he can unsee all this. A nice, long laze on the couch should do the trick