95/Medium-sized Trouble in Middle-sized Newark

Medium-sized Trouble in Middle-sized Newark
Date of Scene:	21 April 2017
Location:	Newark, New Jersey
Synopsis:	Summary needed.
Cast of Characters:	Deadzone, Jack Burton, Artemis, 135, Beast

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Deadzone has posed:
After being told the terrible news that she is quite likely stuck in this 'worldline', Tatum's mood became decidedly morose and perhaps a bit self-destructive. With nothing to her name to really call her own, the goth with the borrowed, very non-goth clothes leaves Westchester and the safety of the X-Mansion and starts to walk. And walk. And walk.

Finally, tired and hungry and without a penny to her name, Tate decides to use the one thing she has to get a meal. Her looks. Heading into a bar, she goes to the bathroom, does her best to make her look presentable and then sits at the bar with a flirtatious smile at anyone who looks her way.

Jack Burton has posed:
Once in a blue moon, the hottest DJ in the eastern time zone sets up a top-secret invite-only dance party at a location only transmitted once via text from a burner.

Dance battles, fashion model walk-offs, and impromptu chef challenges are all so common that it's a guarantee at least half a dozen of each will happen before the night's young.

Only the coolest of trend-setters get the invite. Others only wish they could be in the right circles to stay informed.

Tonight, a super grimy dive bar with a neon sign outside advertising BLACK PEARL is the chosen place.

Or, at least, that's what the text said.

Cue a throng of haut-couture and over-privileged club-hoppers rolling up to a bar whose smell is noticeable outside. They look...concerned.

And pushing his way through this crowd is a man in a tank top and a trucker hat. "...I'm tellin' ya, Missy, this place has /the/ best noodles in the northeast." He looks up at the sign. "Or maybe it was the cleanest shot glasses. Either way, it's a win, right?"

The woman this man was talking to gives him a snide look and disappears into the crowd looking for a chic party, while the trucker heads on inside. "Hey!" he calls out cheerfully to no one in particular. "Look who's back for another round!"

Artemis has posed:
Artemis is in the bar, because it is a bar. Social media is not big with the Amazons yet. She settles to the counter, "Draft, biggest glass." She says before she glances around to get a feel for the room. A neck pop that sets that long red mane in motion.

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Why is Lillian in a shoddy bathroom bar stall in the middle of a Newark neighborhood at night? Because reasons. Certainly, it couldn't have anything to do with the pair of wallets she casually tosses into the trash - zealously rubbed of fingerprints - before stepping out into Black Pearl proper. Far from the standard eclectic clientele, she wears a comfy yet oversized pullover gray hoodie and a pair of faded old jeans. Nobody strictly invited her to the grimy dive bar, but nobody technically saw her enter anyway.

    Traveling to the bar and hopping onto a seat, she waves down the bartender and asks for a beer with a tight roll of cash. Upon sighting a blue-eyed brunette, she offers an idle smirk and tucks her hands into the roomy pockets of her sweater to await her drink. Then she hears the commotion outside, and feels compelled to casually glance back.

    Hazel eyes peek past the obstruction of her ash brown locks, judging the rowdy newcomer in a few short moments, and clearly seeming unimpressed. In a low murmur, she answers, "the resident alcoholic, obviously."

Deadzone has posed:
Drinking only a glass of water with ice and lime for now, hoping she can pass it off as a gin and tonic, Tatum smiles at the woman beside her in the frumpy sweater. She lets her icy blue eyes follow the blonde's over to the man that enters the bar and chuckles softly. "Would seem that way, wouldn't it?"

Her shoulders lift and fall in a casual shrug as she looks over the woman beside her, wondering if this one will be her target. The resident alcoholic would likely be an easier mark, but he's also over 30. Eww much?

Jack Burton has posed:
The assorted club kids begin to slowly trickle in, looking with blatant disdain at the decor.

"Is this really the place?" many ask in nigh-identical words and tones.

"Ugh" is just as common an expression.

However, soon the bar is crammed full, but somehow the throng has managed to keep space for someone to set up a DJ booth in the corner.

Throughout all of this, the bartender looks unfazed and offers only beer to anyone who looks like they're remotely connected to these shenanigans.

As the crowd presses in, Jack Burton finds himself squeezing up against the bar, prying his way to get an elbow on the bartop between two women. "'Scuse me, ladies," the man says, removing his trucker cap and setting it on the bar. "Guess it's yer lucky day, 'cuz it looks like we're gonna be up-close and personal while these kids shake their booties."

There's continued murmuring from the 'in' crowd:
"Who's the DJ tonight?"
"Supposed to be freakin' awesome."
"Who, though?"
"Oh, uh. I think it was--'The Magnanimous DLP.'"
"No shit?!"

As if on cue, the DJ finishes his setup and launches into the initial song, fading in some electronic dance music spliced with Ornette Coleman and a Gregorian chant undertone.

At the sound, Jack winces. "You'd think they could just play somethin'...you know, good."

Artemis has posed:
The large pitcher dropped before her, Artemis grabs it up with her right hand and slaps down a twenty with a pop that puts a shake to the counter. Her gaze briefly holds on Jack, then she lifts the pitcher, amber liquid tilting as she starts to drink. Then Jack is closer, elbow close nearly. The pitcher comes down and Artemis wipes the back of her hand on her mouth. "Hi.. Lucky me." The beer still two-thirds, she tucks in closer in on her body. "What is this? Not enough room in this city?"

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    "Should we make bets for how long he'll manage to keep on his feet?" Lillian grins wryly, whispering towards Tatum as she eyes the loud drunkard. Leaning her back against the edge of the bar, she continues to unabashedly observe Jack, like watching a movie. Or an anticipated human train wreck. In any case, that smirk remains. Hazel eyes only briefly glance aside to spot the giantess, and then what could only be considered malevolence crosses her fair features. "Fifty says he'll either run to the men's room or kiss the floor in half an hour's time."

    Shifting aside with only minor annoyance, she comments, "just the kids?" A sigh, "and here I was, expecting to see a show...I guess you're a lighter weight than I pegged you for." As the EDM commences, she leans over to call out at Jack's ear, "and what would you call 'good' music?"

Deadzone has posed:
Tate laughs softly, looking over the trucker. "My guess he tries to hit on one of these ravers, proving he ain't as old as he looks and still one of the 'in' crowd," she jokes. She starts to lean in closer, ready to flirt a little cause damn if she isn't hungry, when the 'resident alcoholic' goes and elbows his way between her and her potential mark for food and booze.

Tatum gives the man a "sweet" smile. You know the one. The kind that says 'You ass' while still being friendly enough to keep her doors open and use him as a mark later.

She looks over to the blonde with an apologetic raise of her shoulders and then looks away so neither of the two see just how upset she is.

Jack Burton has posed:
For a moment, staring at Artemis, Jack shows an expression of awe--which quickly turns to attraction--and then finally to defiance. "Yer not the only one who can down a pitcher, lady!" He fishes out his own bill for a drink and prepares to chug it.

It's right then that a graphic design graduate student bumps into the trucker, and he spills the pitcher all over his tank top.

Jack sets the pitcher down angrily and looks over his shoulder at the culprit, who's long since mingled elsewhere. He sighs and shakes his head, catching Lillian's gaze in his direction.

"What?!" Jack shouts against the music back to Lillian. "You want some /mood/ music?"

The DJ keeps up the weird chanting undertone melody and swaps the EDM for a Wu-Tang remix set to Fugazi interlaced with Captain Beefheart.

"This is SO next season's theme song!" a particularly cheerful dancer exclaims.

Another young man of the club crowd approaches Tatum. "Hey there. You interested in /eternal/ prosperity?" he asks with a wide grin.

Artemis has posed:
Artemis watches glances at some of the others, sweeping her hair around her waist to pile it at her lap. The length is a sign of pride, not a portable rug.

Jack challenges her about the pitcher and Art looks at him, "This is a thing you do.. Drink the most beer? That is silly." But, the dismissive comment spoken, the pitcher is hefted again. More, a tiny bit spilling. Her eyes water and she blinks at the hefty carbonation and alcohol in take. Yes, the Amazon thinks this is a ridiculous competition, but she doesn't plan to lose either.

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Chuckling softly at Tate's remark, Lillian quickly quiets herself down by the time said trucker butts his way towards the bar. She shares a smirk and a small eye-roll with the dark-haired woman, like they should have expected something like this to happen. While viewing Jack's antics, she does her best to dodge out of the way of the runaway pitcher, but sitting so close to its owner apparently means she's in the splash zone. With a gasp, she shoots up from her seat, steals her finally arriving mug, and sits with Tatum between them to act as Trouble Buffer. "Ugh." She looks to the bar tender and shouts, "can I get some paper towels? Please?"

    By now, she hears the curious choice in music, blinking in surprise, "that's actually...not half bad." In obvious appreciation, she witnesses Artemis downing that ginormous pitcher and lets out a fascinated woot, "I'd drown under that much booze!"

Deadzone has posed:
Okay, so the cute blonde is a no go.... or? Maybe not as she moves over to Tate's other side. Her stomach growls. She's not eaten all day. But she has to be patient. If she tries to work too fast, she'll scare the woman away.

Shifting in her seat so she can face the woman, she offers a hand. "Tatum," she offers. She smiles, nodding at the taste in the music. "A little retro, but it's okay. Sorta 2015ish, ain't it?" She's going to say more when she is offered /eternal/ prosperity.

Looking the young man up and down, she tries to figure out just what he means. She is neither in her world or her time. Is this an offer to save her soul? Some sort of drug? "Well, eternity is a long time, sweetness. Perhaps you should tell me more?"

Jack Burton has posed:
The young man standing in front of Tatum continues grinning. "Oh, you know. Life without hunger. Pain. Just an eternity of merriment."

His eyes wide, Jack stares at Artemis once more. "Lady, I don't know what you mighta thought we were competin' for, but let me just tell you: my heart...you've won it." He clasps a hand over his chest. "But all the same, I'd hate for anyone to think I didn't give it my all. So here we go--" Jack lifts his pitcher again and, once more, is jostled by a random crowd member, spilling the beer on his stomach and pants--and a bit more on Lillian, too.

"Okay, now that just /does it/," he hisses through gritted teeth and spins around to crack the teenager in the nose with a balled fist.

As soon as that contact is made--and the punched teen drops like a rock to the ground--the entire makeshift dance floor stops, as does the music. The clubbers look to Jack and then turn to the DJ.

The Magnanimous DLP stands tall. He's apparently an old, pale Chinese man in a traditional robe and a set of high-tech headphones around his neck. The man's eyes grow even wider than Jack's had.

"Jack. F%#$ing. Burton," the man hisses.

In response, Jack swallows a lump in his throat. "David Lo Pan," he mumbles. "Uh...this is not good."

The man near Tatum blinks, and his eyes become gold and slitted like a cat's. "Welcome to the Hell of Merciless Dance Jubilation," he says as his mouth grows twice as wide and his teeth elongate into thin, razor-sharp fangs. The other club-goers transform into equally grotesque creatures.

Artemis has posed:
Artemis is wondering if Lillian is speaking prophesy. She lowers it, about a fifth of it still there. Free hand moving to her stomach, she tries to keep her mouth closed. That means the beer belch burns her nose, but the rumble is less.

Artemis taps the mug after shaking her head. "There. Beat that." Her face grimacing, brows lifting as she blinks. Then.. They are here. Artemis drags her palm over her face to try to rub off the affect. The pitcher, not yet empty is flung hard at the 'big mouth' next to Tatum. "Fight!"

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Smiling pleasantly for what seems the first time that night, Lillian sets her drink down in safer territory and shakes the offered hand. "Lillian." Chuckling once more, she notes with a shrug, "whichever year, I guess we can give him some credit for his taste in music. At the least." Finally noticing the young solicitor, she smirks and leans to whisper, "I wouldn't encourage him. He'll probably try handing you his cult book next." Unfortunately, she was failing to remain vigilant, and even Tatum couldn't entirely shield her from Jack's spilled beer. Which says nothing for what may have landed on poor Tatum. Wringing her hands angrily, she glares the drunkard's way, "seriously?!"

    Her position provides the perfect vantage point to see a teenager eat dirt - or in this instance, fall onto hard ground long overdue for a cleaning. That's soon the least of her surprises, as almost every body she can see starts shedding their human skin like some horror flick. "Well, shit."

Deadzone has posed:
Tate laughs softly to Lillian as she whispers about the guy offering eternal anything. She nods and actually feels kind of bad that she is only using this woman to get fed or drunk or both. she feels the beer sloshing onto her back and starts to get angry. Or is it hangry at this stage.

Glancing at the teen getting his teeth knocked in, she shakes her head and is about to lean in to say something to Lillian when the guy with the offer of ?? soul saving drugs, maybe? starts to change.

"Seriously? It's like I can't get away from this shit!" She says to the ceiling. With a clenched jaw, she hops off the stool. "Let's see what you assholes are made of, shall we?" she says through gritted teeth, a part of her brain laughing at her because apparently she has a catchphrase, as she fills the bar with her nullification field.

Jack Burton has posed:
The big-mouthed figure near Tatum opens its maw as if to bite her, but the space is quickly filled by a thrown pitcher. It stumbles backward and slams its head against a column, its eyes glassy.

The 'Magnanimous DLP' raises his arms out before himself, and his fingers seem to stretch out across the room. They gather up a quarter of the demonic dancers' forms, who morph into more extended bony digits, their faces the painted fingernails.

"This is the last time you annoy me!" David Lo Pan cries in a high-pitched voice. He points one of his seventeen left index fingers at Jack Burton, while his other hand makes an arcane ward of some kind.

The limbs of the dizzy big-mouthed demon fall off its body with audible 'pop' sounds, and its torso extends into that of a long, orange snake or worm. "Guess the dance is over, huh, boss?" it says in a sing-song voice.

"Just eat them already, you clod," Lo Pan replies in an annoyed tone.

The snake demon responds by lunging at Tatum--only to dissipate entirely as it gets within her expanding field.

Lo Pan curses in an unidentifiable language. The remainder of the grotesque demons launch themselves at the human customers remaining in the venue.

For his part, Jack leaps onto the bartop, fists at the ready. Unfortunately, one of his feet slips in the beer puddle his chugging attempt made, and he disappears, head first, on the other side of the bar.

Artemis has posed:
Demons, that's just great.. Artemis rises from her seat in a fluid motion, leaning in the direction of a coming attack to duck under a swipe. Her knee follows through to hit the bread box.

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Lillian watches in abject surprise as everyone seems to prepare for battle. Meanwhile, she's already sneaking towards the back exit when monsters charge towards her little section of the bar. Of course, the so-called hero climbs up onto the bar, slips in a puddle, and lands in a heap. "Oh, for the love of..." Stopped by a horrific creature, she kicks it in the most likely place to do the most damage, then spins a 180 for a different route to freedom.

Deadzone has posed:
"All I want! Is one goddamned day! That doesn't turn to shit!" yells Tate, letting her anger fuel her power. She normally hates forcing her power on others, feels it is an intrusion of privacy, but she's mad enough to really not care. She kicks the approaching demons, looking for something to use as a weapon.

"Get yerself to the bathroom," she yells out to Lillian, backing that way herself to protect the blonde's retreat.

Jack Burton has posed:
"Everybody's kung fu fighting," Jack mutters from behind the bar. "And one o' them must've sucker-punched me, fast as lightning. Well..." he adds, "if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that it's always all in the reflexes."

With that, Jack launches himself over the bartop and promptly tackles a demon with a catfish head and limbs whose joints seem to bend backwards.

"Baby, you're the ugliest chick I've seen in here in /minutes/!" he shouts.

Everywhere else throughout the bar, the demons assault the living patrons.

One attacks Artemis with its solar plexus. It groans in pain. Another demon flings itself at the Amazon behind its injured ally.

Another demon transforms into a giant eyeball that opens like a Pac-Man mouth full of teeth as large as Bowie knives. It tries to chomp on Lillian's delicious human flesh!

Yet another grows four pairs of bat wings and leaps up, ready to soar directly at Tatum's head. Before it can make contact, however, it disintegrates into nothingness.

In the back corner, David Lo Pan throws his headphones on the ground in frustration. "This /cannot/ be happening!" he laments.

Artemis has posed:
Artemis quickly drifts into a swirling dervish style of battle. Roundhouse kicks with that Amazonian power to drive them. Blocks snap up, then the elbow sweeps to follow through.

The movement though draws her right into then thick of it. A frog faced demon lashes a blistered and slimy tongue out to wrap her leg.

Artemis goes down into a chair, but she rips off the chair leg to impale the sticky appendage to the floor.

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Glancing to and fro in a desperate attempt to look for openings, Lillian hears the brunette shout a suggestion. With few other options at hand, she curses under her breath and hurriedly flees to the bathroom. She's stopped short by none other than a person-sized fanged eyeball, losing her footing in the ambush and crashing backwards to the ground. Screaming her pain, confusion, and dismay, she scrabbles wildly backwards. Fingers find a large shard of glass, and she lifts the item to level threateningly between them. "Stay back! I know how to use this!"

Deadzone has posed:
Tatum seems for her part to be safe from the demons. The magic that is keeping them on this plane of existence can't get through her bubble. She reaches out a hand to the floating eyeball to spread her field to keep the blonde safe before jumping onto the pool table.

Grabbing billiard balls, Tatum looks to the one that seems to be controlling the demons. David Lo Pan? The name means nothing for her other then the fact that she now has a target for her anger. Starting with the 8-ball, the girl in the leather jacket, Doc Martens, cargo pants and plain white t, start to huck the balls at the ancient oriental man. "All I wanted! Was to get drunk! You dumb! Fucking! Jerk!!" Each word causes her field to grow, pushing it larger and larger, trying to fill the whole bar, to remove the magical tether these things have here. To send them back home.

Jack Burton has posed:
The giant eyeball pops like a microwaved grape, although whatever gross demon juices were inside it fizzle out of existence once making contact with Tatum's negation field.

Glancing back and forth between that sight and Artemis' makeshift staking, Jack Burton elbows the demon beneath him and laughs. "Double /deuce/ that is some hot stuff!" He looks down at the creature below him, whose face resembles that of a four-eyed and skinned owl. "I mean, for a weird demon fight, you understand." Jack punctuates his comment with a kick to the demon's groin.

David Lo Pan, meanwhile, attempts to shield his own groin and face from the onslaught of Tatum's projectiles. "Come on! I just wanted limitless power!" he shouts from behind his arm. "Don't blame a guy for trying!" As Lo Pan is backed further and further into his corner, he begins to shrink in size--slowly but steadily.

"No! Not yet! I'm not ready! Give me more time!" he calls, seemingly to no one in particular--or, at least, to no one visible.

Beast has posed:
Ever since Tatum disappeared from the School, leaving only a note behind, Doctor Henry Hank McCoy (aka The Beast) has been FRANTIC with worry.  Fueled by his guilt of informing here there was no way to get her home to her own dimension, and her /own/ Hank McCoy, the blue furred scientist feels responsible for any actions she now contemplates, and any dangers she could now face wandering the world without a valid identity in any sense of the word. Because despite similarities, this world is NOT hers and she doesnt know what those differences may be.

If Only he would have kept his mouth shut.

Using school surveillance footage he was able to figure out when she left and in what direction, hacking every camera along her route to try and follow her and even though in this day and age there are LOTS of cameras everywhere, its not a perfect solution.  So grabbing his Bag of Holding and an image inducer to disguise his rather famous (or infamous) form he ran out to try and follow her.

Hours later, cameras and his heightened sense of scent has led him to some of the worst parts of Newark. The rather... fragrant bouquet of newark has done a lot to diminish her trail and a lot of cameras have been knocked out.  Of course, he had a back up plan for just this occasion, whipping out his own smartphone.. One of his own design., and /almost/ a twin of Tatum's.  Sure, hers may not be connecting to the local phone networks since it does come from a slightly different dimension but If /her/ Hank provided her with one of his phones, and if her Hank is even HALF as smart as /He/ his (and why shouldn't he be, since Hank McCoy is /ALWAYS/ a genius no matter WHERE he is) then Alt-hant should have added....

And there it is..  A medium ranged backup signal, meant to activate when the phone networks arent available. On the frequency of 456mhz.. Because while phone companies between dimensions may have different encryption schemes, a Hank worth his salt would base the frequency of his own beacons on a number from something he loved.  And it seems alt-Hank and This-hank both loved the same sci-if tv show.

He leaps forward, moving just like The Beast should with his cross of an apes lope and a felines run, though still looking like just a man (if a large one). The people will sometimes stop and stare as he passes them, and he has no witty repartee to offer at this time as he is led to the doors of a rather dirty grungy bar.  From the sound inside he deducts there is TROUBLE and he kicks down the door with a large foot and then just STANDS there, eyes wide.

Oh my stars and garters....

Artemis has posed:
The red hair flashes around in snaps as Artemis regains her footing and dance. One demon, whose claim to the title seems to be that his ears grew to the size of Dumb-bo's and his nose shrank to the size of Barbie's tries to tackle her. Artemis dodges, then pushes him on past. She grabs the next by the arm, who oddly, just looks exactly like Peewee Herman, and starts swinging him as a weapon to pound others.

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Thank goodness for negation fields, or else Lillian would not have enjoyed being nearby while that eyeball popped. As it is, she's just glad to see it go, features paling in revulsion. Releasing the now bloody shard of glass, she unsteadily rises to her feet and half-stumbles closer to Tatum, finally noticing the absence of Nightmare Monster in a safe zone around the brunette. Quite suddenly, the door crashes open, revealing another arrival on this chaotic dive bar battlefield. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she calls up to her savior, "Tatum! They've got backup!...probably."

Deadzone has posed:
Tatum is in full on pissed off goth mode, still hucking billiard balls at the shrinking DJ. "Oh! I'm sorry! You only want infinite power? Well, I wanna go home! Neither of us is getting what we want, sunshine! So QQ some more!"

As she yells, Tatum hops of the pool table and starts to storm up to one that ruined her attempt to lose herself in Newark and hopefully booze and meaningless sex. And then she does something very un-X-men like of her. She lifts her combat booted foot and stomps down on the tiny ancient asian sorceror, planning on squishing him like a bug.

Hearing that the demons have backup, Tate turns and flings her last billiard ball at whoever came in the door, realizing too late that it's Hank!

Jack Burton has posed:
As the blue-furred Beast bursts in the front door, David Lo Pan suddenly stands tall and confident, his shrinking halted. "Yes--I am saved! Fight with me, Master of the Hell of Nostril-Torturing Odors! I would never fail to recognize you!"

With that, Lo Pan points his pinkies at Jack Burton and attempts to zap him with bursts of green flaming energy.

Jack manages to roll out of the way, but the demon beneath him isn't so lucky, and it explodes in a specatular mess of demon viscera.

The other demons look at Lo Pan, and then the Beast, and then one another. They seem to come to some unspoken consensus and throw themselves back into the fight. Barbed tentacles flail about. An undulating jellyfish flops forcefully against a jukebox. An armadillo-like thing rolls itself into a Mobius strip.

Beast has posed:
Well /this/ isn't something one sees any day.. And that is saying something when one is a founding member of The X-Men. First there is the Mandarin wannabe who may or may not be the leader of these.. creature...? Whom Beast has NO idea who they are though they are. His accute eyes flash around the scene, quickly trying to take everything in, to make some sense of everything.. Wait, there's Tatum.. and some other women.. and a guy who looks like an older and less reputable version whathisname from hat disney movie.. The Computer that Wore Sneakers. Hank /loved that movie/...

"Wait.. whaaaaaat?" Hank cries as his brain catches up, staring at the green ligtening welding shrinking asian man. "Master of the... WHAT DID YOu CALL ME?" What the hell is the guy talking about.. Hank looks down and blinks as he realizes, somehow, his image inducer has shut off and he is standing there looking like a blue cat-simian in oxford tweed. He then growls.

"I'll have you know, /Good Sir/ that I am NOT a malodorous.. whatever the hell you think I am. Just who do you think you... YIPES!" He jumps up, grasping the door frame and his large articulate foot grabs the tosses Billiard ball before it his him in a VERY uncomfortable place. "Hey! Watch it!" he says, then notes that the creatures /aren't attacking him... and that his fur seems to be rising in his nape, an energy he has felt before.

"Magic? I /HATE/ MAGIC!" he excliams and tosses the cue ball at the demons who AREN'T attacking him... And being the physics wiz he is, it's like a combo shot. Head to head to head! "THREE BANKS! CORNER POCKET!"

Artemis has posed:
In short order, the Hermann flail is no more, so Artemis is back to kicks and punches. "MISTRESS!" The brawling Amazon yells as she kicks her latest opponent in the throat. Her left hand reaches up as she focuses on Lo Pan's new apparent ally. A huge, anime huge, battle-axeâ smashes through a window and spins through the air to Artemis' raised hand. Hacks, slashes, and slices meet abominable forms to slice them. The axe spins like a helicopter blade in a blur of motion. Gore splatters the walls and well most of everything outside of Tatum's shield. Jack seems to be doing decent, so she aims at getting to Lillian.

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Abruptly, Lillian's half a slaughterhouse away from her only true monster shield, and said cousins of Krumm no longer have a billiard ball thrower slowing their progress. Quickly, she races in the general direction of the bathroom. However, you'd have to bodily drag her away if you wanted to keep her from watching this crazy scene. Thus, the instant she's no longer pursued, she peeks around the corner to observe. And boy, what a spectacle. Thankfully, aside from a pitcher or two of spilled beer and an obliviously bleeding hand, she's managed to avoid the lion's share of carnage debris.

Deadzone has posed:
Tatum winces as the ball seems to be heading for Hank's smaller head. She exhales with relief, not having realized that she was holding her breath until she let it go. "Sorry Babe! I'm better with guns!" Guns, something she had been trying not to use while with the X-men; they sorta hate that whole lethal force thing. /Okay, so explain Logan./ her brain says.

Knowing that Hank is safe, and actually kind of happy to see him again, Tate instead turns her head to Lo Pan. "What did you call him?!" she says, clearly as offended by the mistake as Hank is himself.

With a boot to his jujubes, Tate then switches to attacking Lo Pan's pressure points with Xena like precision. "That is my boyfriend, you magic weilding shit!" she tells him. The fact that Lo Pan was able to cast his magic within her field attests to just how strong his magick arts are.

Jack Burton has posed:
The demons already weren't doing great against the combined forces of the Black Pearl's customer base this evening. And, even with Lo Pan's momentary rally, it's evident that the monstrous creatures attempting to devour the humans and mutants just aren't going to do so.

Maybe it's the decapitations that Artemis is dishing out. Maybe it's Lillian's tactical withdrawal. Maybe it's Jack's ludicrous luck. Maybe it's Tatum's negation field. Maybe it's Beast's sudden appearance. Maybe it's Maybelline.

Whatever the case...the demons begin to dissolve into hissing puddles and 'poof' into clouds of dust. Lo Pan begins to shrink once more, and he throws his hands up in anger. "Seriously?! This is the thanks I get for trying to bring the Many Hells back to Earth? For a Master of the Hell of Nostril-Torturing Odors, you're a real jerk! And you--" he adds, looking to Jack Burton with a sneer, "--I have not forgotten the many indignities you have caused me. You are not safe. Nor your girlfriends."

Then, Lo Pan sweeps an arm across the space in front of his body, and he disappears in a split-second burst of bright green flame that gives off an intense heat.

After that, the bar's (mostly) empty, and definitely more quiet.

From the floor, Jack rolls onto one elbow. He looks around and grins. "Hear that, ladies? Sounds like /someone/ knows a match made in heaven when he sees one. Or maybe several matches."

Artemis has posed:
Artemis aims to cut deep into her next opponent with a high slice down, only this one is vapor before she hits. The blade cuts into the floor and forces Artemis to wiggle it out of the bar floor. "Oh.. Victory!" Well, the axe is hefted to her shoulder, "Anyone need medical aid?" She is already scanning the remaining patrons to check for human casualties.

Beast has posed:
Beast isn't one to just sit around, or in his case /hang/ around. He's Just been slandered, apparently being copared to some chinese style of demonic entity from hell (and the chinese have a lot of hells). He's almost had his family jewels replaced with a cue ball thrown by the girlfriend of his alternate-dimension (but not-possibly as good looking) double, and at this point she seems to mistaking him (probably drunkenly) once more for Alt-Hank. he swings off the doorframe, flips opver the other women, grabs a hanging light above the pool table, twirls around a few times and drops down BESIDE Tatum as the demon things start to dissolve and Lo_pan fistshakes and screams.

"I am not a Master of the Hell of Nostril-Torturing Odors JERK! I am a SCIENTIST. I am a MUTANT. I am /BEAUTIFUL/, not STINKY! And YOU, YOU C-LIST UNDERPOWERED FU-MAN-CHU RIP-OFF WITh DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR? YOUR FASHION SENSE SUCKS and your KUNG-FU IS WEAK!!" he roars at the tiny man as he dissapears.

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Breathing out a heavy sigh of relief, Lillian first inches and then bravely strides from her safe place around the corner. She tries her best to tip-toe beyond the hissing puddles and perplexing dust, expression full of disgust. Rolling her eyes at Jack's quip, she retorts, "I told you he'd kiss the floor in less than half an hour. So who's paying up?" Hazel eyes dart around the bar, "and best be quick about it. I don't want to be here when the roof inevitably falls in. Or the cops have awkward questions." A brief pause, and then she glances between Tatum and Artemis to admit, "you two were amazing, by the way." Blood continues to idly drip from her right hand, staining what can still be seen of the flooring.

    When Hank flips an arc above her, already drunk on adrenaline and fear, she reacts on instinct. With a surprised shout, she swings a fist at the furry blur.

Deadzone has posed:
And she still hasn't had a damn drink! So much for trying to lose herself in drunken debauchery to forget her troubles. She flips the departing form of the itty bitty Lo Pan the bird, pulling away from the green flames. With a huff of an exhale, the jet haired woman turns to the room. "You wish, Jack Burton," she tells the neighborhood drunk before turning to Lillian.

Tate can't help but laugh. "I hate to tell ya, but I'm stone cold broke, beautiful. But I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today?" She shrugs a single shoulder sheepishly.

When he lands in front of her, her field still shrinking down, Hank reverts to his very human looking self. She looks up at him and shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I just... I didn't know what to do. I ... I don't know what to do anymore." She leans in and slips her arms about him, looking to the others. "You were pretty awesome," she tells Artemis.

Jack Burton has posed:
From his spot on the floor, Jack frowns dejectedly. "Well, I guess nobody here's gonna be the next ex-Mrs. Burton, then." He slowly pushes himself to his feet. "Don't worry. Ol' Jack knows when to take a hint...even if the lady of my dreams has already shown me she exists."

Jack stomps to the bar. "Where's my hat?" he asks, reaching blindly over the bar. When he pulls his hand back, he's holding an absolutely disgusting bar rag.

"That hat sucked anyway," Jack sighs, dropping the rag.

Beast has posed:
Okay.. sooooo.. That happened. Aaaaand it's over with. Hank is still confused at what just was going on that he barely notices that he has shrunk somewhat (he's still a huge guy, with rather large bare feet an hands just not QUITE as big as usual. The size he was BORN with. She can negate abiliies, but not nature.) It's when his glasses, specially shaped to fit his usual snout, slips down the now furless nose taht he realizes he is relatively depowered.. He looks at everyone in turn, slowly, then at taum and raises a less shaggy than usual brow.

"Don't be sorry, Ms O'Neal. You didn't do anything wrong.." he assures her, gently, then rests his large hand on her shoulder and looks to Artemis. "I'm fine.. but of anyone else /does/ require medical attention, then.. well.. I /am/ a doctor.." he says.

Then he looks to Jack. Smiling, sorta rude, mysogynistic, arrogant Jack who is smiling WAY toomuch for what just occured. "Sir, are you alright? Or are you just an idiot?" he asks slowly. Of course, the answer he is waiting for is not the expected one. He is expecting jack to say something..

Instead Lillian's fist answers by flying up from beneath the dge of the table and sinking into his groin. Hank's eyes go REAL big.. and he slowly falls to his knees, cupping the offended area with his hands.

"Oh Balls.." he wheezes.

Artemis has posed:
Artemis smirks in Jack's direction, sheathing that massive weapon on her back. Her focus moving back to Lillian and Tatum and the big guy, "Thank you." The Amazon offers to both and suddenly seems a tiny bit less smooth than her fighting style, "I am Artemis, of the Amazons. You both did very well." Her voice picking up as she calls to Jack. "You preformed well, Jack.. But I killed my last husband. You would not enjoy being the next ex-Husband of Artemis."

The green eyes focus on Lillian's hand, that is right before it racks Henry in the now new tonsils. A hand is offered the large man to aid him in standing, but it is Lil that gets the sympathy. "You are hurt, that needs to be cleaned and wrapped, perhaps sewn up."

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    When she realizes what she's done, Lillian's hazel eyes widen and she lets out a gasp. "Oh! Sorry! Ummm..." She looks around uncertainly, trying to figure out what exactly to do. A shake of her head, "I'm so sorry!" A pause, "do...do you need ice?" She regards Tatum with an apologetic wince and a look that asks for help. Waving her hand distractedly, she replies, "-I'm- the one that owes -you-. So long as you forget anything to do with payment, I'll buy you all the hamburgers you could ever want." Shaking her head again, she repeats, "seriously though, I didn't mean to. There were so many monsters, and then him, and then...sorry." Looking sheepish, she murmurs an awkward sort of introduction, "Lillian." Then she blinks, bobbing her head in confusion at Artemis' concern, "what? Oh. Huh. When did that..." She commences staring at her cut palm, pursing her lips worriedly.

Deadzone has posed:
Lillian's fist nails Beast in her second favourite part of her boyfriend, or well this reality's version of her boyfriend. She lets out a wince and a bites her lip. "Lillian! Geeze if you're that pissed I'm shirking on the bet, then I'll pay! I'll pay!" She looks to Hank, doing her best to hold him up in spite of their vast difference in body size. "Hank? Baby? You okay?"

She helps Hank to a sitting position, then runs to grab him some ice. Once the ice is delivered, she turns to Lillian. "Let's look at that hand. Seems we have a couple options for first aid. Sadly, the actual doctor is a little... " She glances to Hank to check on him again before returning her attention to Lillian. "Indesposed."

Jack Burton has posed:
"Lady," Jack says in reply to Artemis, smoothing his hair back over his head, "Jack Burton is nobody's husband. What he /is/ is a one-man love machine. But, sadly, for the moment I've got to meet my mistress, the open roa--"

At that moment, Beast asks if he's an idiot. Jack spins around in response, looking at eye level for the source of the insult. Unbeknownst to him, Beast is down below, doubled over in pain.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jack says to the empty air. Holding his head undeservedly high, Jack strides out into the night air toward a truck cab parked across the street.

Beast has posed:
Beast slowly holds a hand up at Lillians attenion, shaking his head and not saying anything.. Not TRUSTING himself to say saything besides a squeaky gasp until the pain recedes a little. And he says nothing to jack as the guy saunters off, all gung-ho and full of himself. Jerk.

Finally he turns his head to tatum and allows her to help him sit. "I will.. be fine.." he says between laboured breathes. "And I.. am not.. Indespeosed. Just.. sore.." he wheezes. "And there.. better be.. some Bourbon.. with that ice.."

To Artemis he offers a nod f greetings, trying to smile. "Well met.. Artemis of the Amazons.. and please help the young lady.. with her hand.. I have.. bandages in my bag.."

Artemis has posed:
Artemis watches the trucker leave the pub, wreck that the place is at the moment. "Right." She offers to McCoy. Then she heads over to the bar, grabbing two bottles from behind and slapping a golden coin on the counter. As she starts back, she carries vodka and bourbon bottles. Bourbon to Tatum for Beast. The vodka she turns up a big swig from the bottle, then prepares to use it as an antiseptic. "This will.. Burn, but clear the wound. You can drink some to reduce the burn on your hand." Her free hand offered palm up to Lillian.

Lillian Foster (135) has posed:
    Laughing her embarrassment, Lillian reassures, "no, don't pay me! I'm so sorry..." With another wince, she looks to Hank, obviously worried she may have seriously hurt him. Running to help Tatum find the ice, she mumbles upon return, "it's really not as bad as it looks..." Nevertheless, she lifts her right hand to reveal her palm. While probably not deep enough to require stitches, it's still far from a negligible injury. Face warming at Tatum's reminder of Hank's predicament, she murmurs, "right...sorry." Too busy with worry, she barely notes Jack's departure.

    Gritting her teeth against the inevitable pain of alcohol on an open wound, she somehow manages to pull through until her hand has been well bandaged up. With that complete and the possible sound of sirens on the way, she bids her farewells - and extra apologies - and soon scoots out.

Deadzone has posed:
Taking the bottle of bourbon offered from the amazon, looking her over more carefully now. "Artemis. Named after the goddess? Or should I be... you know... offering sacrifices in thanks?"

She looks to the bottle in her hand. She was so intent on getting drunk and forgetting her troubles and yet now, now that she has it in her hand she finds that she doesn't actually want it. She hands the bottle to Hank. "We need to talk later," she tells him.

"Don't worry about him," she tells Lillian. "I promise I'll kiss it better later," she says with a smirk.