Owner	Pose
Cheetah	A thick shroud of grey-black smoke chokes the air rendering the interior of the "Blue Rose" restaurant and bar as dark as pitch. Sweet Christmas! All Barbara-Ann Minerva wanted was a pink cocktail. How did it come to this? Her flight back to Metropolis was delayed. She stumbled onto this "dive" -- or what a regular person would describe as a perfectly acceptable watering hole -- and entered incognito (i.e. in a hat and sunglasses). The next thing she knows some crazy person starts shooting and yelling about the Serbian mob. The other patrons fled around the time the fire broke out. Barbara-Ann, now in her feline form, is lying on her belly on the floor close to the barstool she had been sitting on. Like everyone and everything else in what used to be the "Blue Rose", she is hidden by a thick blanket of smoke. Her clawed hand moves to her chest, has she been shot? Was that nut shooting at her? All she wanted was a cocktail...
Fiona Glenanne	Fiona shakes her head standing by a window, her back to the street with a sawed off shotgun in hand. She'd shot at the Serbian Mob. But the fire? That wasn't entirely her doing...nope, not her doing. The fire though.....it's a problem as Fiona has stuck her head out the window, sawen off shotgun in her right hand, the gun jerks and roars, as Fiona's got her head out the window. She's got that sweet oxygen. The fire though has touched off a bomb hidden under the bar. It explodes....as Fi lunges into the pitch smoke as she goes headfirst over the feline and the shotgun roars again. She puts shot into the Mob guy....that was trying to fight the fire and deal with the explosion. Kicking her feet up, FI feels a bullet rocket past her shoulder and out the window. Fi grits her teeth, running on adrenaline...as Fiona's not caring about the Mob. they'd tried to kill her. And set fire to the bar.
Cheetah	Cheetah snarls as someone (or something) trips over her. Instinctively, she lashes out with her claws but this is done blindly. The roar of the flames, the darkness of the smoke, and the near-overpowering stench of the overall conflagration plays havoc with her heightened senses. Wait. Didn't she just get shot? Panicked, Minerva paws at her chest. Huh. Everything seems fine. Sometime in the near future she will likely discover the same curse that turned her into a humanoid cat has also rendered her bulletproof. But not today. Today, she intends to do everything in her power to not get shot. Cheetah squints and peers into the murky gloom: where's the exit?
Fiona Glenanne	Fi scrabbles to her feet hissing as Cheetah's claws find her ankle. "You fucking shitting me?" Fiona says and is bleeding now. She stumbles over the cat again, this time....picking her legs up, bleeding over the cat again. before she finds the exit, by way of tables, chairs and....a desire to get out of the bar, too. Fi's screaming at the cat,absolutely screaming at Cheetah to come on, over here, and....so forth. She's trying to get the cat out of here. Fi's determined.
Cheetah	Cheetah's nostrils flair. These days, the smell of human blood is a real attention grabber even when contaminated by the omnipresent stench of burning god-knows-what. Her ears are still ringing from the explosion when the unseen Fiona stumbles over her again this time kicking Cheetah in the ribs. An angry snarl whistles past her clenched teeth. Fiona's blood drips in little pools next to Cheetah's face. As each little, red, droplet impacts on the well-worn floor it kicks up its intoxicating scent. Fiona's determined entreaties reach her through the din. Over where? Over there? Oh, Cheetah's coming over alright. With the heady smell of blood still rioting through her brain, kitty orients herself toward the sound of Fiona's voice, coils like a spring, and leaps blindly through the smoke.
Fiona Glenanne	Fiona gets a leaping cat to the face. She's not....really expecting it. She wasn't smart enough to move out the way after yelling for the cat. She's now very, /very/ well acquainted with the cat. And Fi's on her butt, holding onto a cat as Fi's sent into a wall. "Ow for fuck's sake" Fi mutters, hello, wall, concussion and holy hell that hurt. Fi shakes her head and decides now's a great time to try hiding her face in the cat's fur. Sure, pretend it's one of those stuffed animals from the fair and Fi's a little girl....sure, sure....Fi's just begging to get mauled. She's /just/ got over her foot, too. Now she'll all but ask a cat to claw her for not moving? Yep, FI's not the smartst in a panic. Admittedly, the shotgun went flying when Fi tripped over the cat. In a stroke of luck it shot the sprinklers. THey are all activated. There's now a freezing cold torrent of water to go with it all now...Fi's really doing a number on this place. Apparently she really, really hates the Serbians. Or, she's just finding her knack for destroying things....again.
Triage	Triage arrives at the scene amid the sounds of approaching sirens and squealing tires. Those who could run seem to have escaped already. The young man halts for a moment, leans to one side, and coughs when a billow of smoke catches him in the face. He takes a deep breath and crouches on hands and knees for a clearer view. With quarterstaff still in hand, he begins to crawl below the level of the smoke, making his way into the chaotic scene. "Is anyone here?" he questions. At the same time, his mutant ability to sense life-signs kicks into gear. He peers into the smoke, hoping to locate anyone in need.
Cheetah	Cats always land on their feet. Just not always where they intended. Or on whom they intended. Between the smoke and the noise Cheetah's aim could have been better. Her full size and weight have largely been wasted. She merely grazed Fiona with her body and not at all with her pointier bits, which is a terrible disappointment. Now that foul-mouthed cretin, presumably the same maniac formerly armed with a shotgun, is pressing her face into Cheetah's back. That just tears it. Still blind as a bat, Cheetah tries to untangle herself from whatever she landed on -- likely an overturned barstool -- so she can try to bury a hand in Fiona's liver or other conveniently handy vital organ. Before she can, the sprinklers go off. Instead of clearing up the smoke, there is an audible "hiss" as the fire starts to cool down and steam starts to joust with smoke for mastery of the sky. Minerva lets out a shrill shriek. Smoke plus water equals a VERY upset kitty. Talk about a 'person' in need!
Fiona Glenanne	Fiona shudders at the shriek and gives a shrill whistle of her own. Given she's got her face in cat fur....she's spitting out cat fur left and right...and swearing even more. SOmehow. In three languages. She's also unintentionally winning a wet blouse competition, though...given Fiona's all but trying to hide in cat fur, it's not exactly revealing much. Whether that's good or bad is up for debate, but Fi's hair is frizzy. And then some. And she's /still/ bleeding. She's just...ya know....got an angry kitty to deal with too. Somehow, scritches won't work... So Fi sighs. "Look, we gotta work together to get out of here. Quit your yowling already, you want to get out of here right....all it takes is a few running steps over there and....ya know....we're out of this place" FI adds looking around. She's unsure if sirens are a good thing. She's also unsure if Cheetah will get snatched up by Animal Control. If they even try...Fi's gonna fight them for the kitty!
Triage	Triage hears the hissing of the sprinklers and glances upward. Even poor fire suppression is better than none. Then he hears the smoke-roughened voice and squints in that direction. "Over here!" he calls. "I'm just inside the door." He raises his staff and bangs it on the floor as an improvized homing beacon. "Follow my voice and the stick!" he calls. "If you're stuck, give me a signal. I'll come to you."
Cheetah	Cheetah snarls in Fi's general direction. She should probably say something pithy and/or vulgar to clear up any confusion but, like the rapidly cooling flames around her, the urge to wear Fiona's skin as a fashionable cape (very 'in' this year) is rapidly receding thanks to the water. Cheetah is soaked. Her long, red hair clings to her shoulders like a wet towel and the situation is doing her fur absolutely no favors. Her green eyes are positively throbbing thanks to the smoke, she's apparently losing some sort of T-shirt contest popular in Florida, and an idiot who has buried herself in Cheetah's back is chastising her for 'yowling.' Everything is great. Just great. Just then Triage's voice reaches Cheetah's hyper-acute ears. He sounds competent. What a welcome change of pace. Minerva sets about trying to free herself from Fiona so she can head toward the sound of the makeshift beacon and away from this fresh hell. The fact that she could slice Fiona open and be on her way is momentarily overlooked.
Fiona Glenanne	Fi shakes her head and looks unimpressed at the kitty untangling herself from Fiona as Fi shakes her head at the cat. Fiona looks over in Triage's general direction as she makes a run for the door once she's untangled from the cat. She's following the voice, and the stick, oh yeah the stick. Fiona's hell bent on getting out. Like...um....now
Triage	Triage continues to tap the staff in a rhythm and calls, "That's it! Anyone eles? Any who can't move? We need to clear this place in case there's another explosion!" He coughs when a billow of smoke belches toward him. "Target the sounds! Call if you can't move! Hurry!"
Cheetah	Free at last! Lord, almighty. Cheetah drops to all fours and slinks toward the sound of Triage's staff rapping on the floor of what remains of the poor "Blue Rose." Even in the depths of her misery she finds her savior's commanding tone rather irksome. She dislikes being ordered about. Closer to the doorway now, Fiona's darkened form becomes visible in front of her. Predatory instincts start to muscle their way into the driver's seat. Fiona, the object of her discomfort, just stumbling toward the door. Close enough to reach out and...gut. Nearer and nearer still, padding along silently. Far enough from the flames, Cheetah is assaulted by the lights and the sirens. Some rescue vehicles appear to have arrived others (many others) are approaching the scene. Discretion is the order of the day. Spying a gaping hole in the roof Cheetah rises to her feet. For an instant, an observer peering into the gloom of the doomed bar might catch a glimpse of her: fur, fangs, and a nasty demeanor. Just as quickly she vanishes straight up and out into the night. Perhaps it was nothing but a trick of the smoke.