Never Pretty


bao-wei2_icon.gif dax_icon.gif dong-tian_icon.gif griffin_icon.gif nick_icon.gif xue_icon.gif

and guests

adisa_icon.gif samara2_icon.gif

Scene Title Never Pretty
Synopsis The Center Stage gets a special guest who wants nothing more than to simply tear it up.
Date January 29, 2011

The Center Stage

It smells of sweat in the basement of Coco's boxing gym all the time; sweat undercut by blood. Beneath the floor of Long Island City's oldest boxing gym lies a newer secret, a dirty and grimy basement of exposed pipes and chain-link fence that has become an underground fighting sensation. Since the collapse of the Pancratium on Staten Island, the appetite for destruction held by so many of New York City's criminal element is sated here in painful beauty.

This basement is five rooms with low ceilings, serving as a unisex locker room, makeshift medical bay consitting of a single uncomfortable gurney on wheels and a few first aid kits and a back office. The primary feature of Coco's basement is the "center stage" as it's called, a spacious storage floor where a thirty foot by thirty foot floor to ceiling chain link cage surrounded by a ten foot buffer zone of screaming, sweaty spectators where the action happens.

Three nights out of the week unlicensed underground bloodsport takes place down in that cage, with non-evolved fighters from around the city pitting themselves against the desperate, the depraved and the sportsmen. Betting is organized and enforced by Triad connections and enforcers from the Ghost Shadows Triad are entirely common on all open nights.

One night out of those three, however, serves as the "main event" where Evolved fighters are pitted against one another in no holds barred competition.

With Martial law in effect and a city at odds with itself, one may think that the fight nights at The Center Stage would suffer. But when there is someone encroaching on the control of a people, there are always those who choose to break rules and start revolutions. Though the evolved fight nights are by no means a standard revolution, the laws being enforced outside cause the illegal fights to simply grow in popularity. The Triads have more than enough means to keep the fights going, and to keep them secret. Lately, for lack of other activities, the fights have been filled far to capacity- perhaps even more than they should contain in the large basement complex. It hasn't been an easy time for the security, but they manage.

Tonight's roster is the last for the month of January, and though the crowd and fights so far have been promising, it has been the usual scuffles; mostly men, one fight with two women that saw an opportunity to scrape up some cash and split it later on for their efforts. No rules against such exhibitions, likely, but it does not happen much. The fighters otherwise never know one another, usually. Tonight is little different from any other in terms of that. An especially enthusiastic man that could shoot burning torches from his palms caused the ring itself to be evacuated after a match so that the unfortunate Triads and the building security could clean up the stank of burnt skin and flesh from the floor of the cage.

The fight commencing right after it has been an interesting one thusfar; one contender a wiry man, tattooed over his arms, with the ability of invisibility, and the other one- well- one can say they are certainly getting entertained by this fight. The invisible thug that flickers in and out of sight coming to blows with a well-muscled gothic loli able to spew lights- plasmoids, judging by the snap and crackle of multicolored lights jumping out of palms. The part that seems to be entertaining the crowd seems to be the fact that the dolled up loli with the Muay Thai moves isn't actually a girl. A torn blouse makes that much obvious. Most of the crowd seems to think he is the cat's pajamas.

When a spectacular spray of magenta and pale blue sparks out of his palms square into the space where the invisible man had been a second before, the crowd rattles at the cage walls; the invisible man flickers dazedly into form, clutching at his face from the blinding effects. He has hardly any time to realize that the attack was meant to do this- expose him. The last thing he sees is a high-heeled boot flying down into his face, the crack of his bones there snicking against the heavy-hitting, whirl of a downward kick. Even before the tattooed man hits the floor, his bizarre- yet apparently skilled- opponent is drawing his leg back to himself, feigning the effortlessness and looking the part of his clothes.

Fight night is brutal- but for a great many spectators and fighters, it is the most fun in the world.

One may never truly find out how someone of the likes of Adisa Dunham found out about an event like this. And she may never actually tell. Dressed in jeans, a red blouse, a black leather jacket, and sunglasses, her hair is also done up and tucked under a baseball cap, with a ponytail coming out the back. Her attempt at a disguise, perhaps? Maybe. She wouldn't want to be recognized when back in the real world. She's somewhat near the back, her arms crossed, as she gazes at the fight. While she's just a tad put out by the fights and all, she's curious about this light-shooting person.

Fight Night isn't "fun" but "work" for Nick — though he's neither a fighter nor a bookie nor even a gambler, though he did lose cash on the last one, betting at Lola's advice on Elle. He's here for the crowd — to watch for familiar faces that might be able to give him a lead on his personal vendetta. Not seeing anything of the sort, he lounges against a wall, looking slightly bored. Weary blue eyes skim the throng of people, his eyes more on the spectators than on the fight, despite its fireworks that cause the audience to ooh and aahh.

Not finding anything of value, he pulls out a cigarette and a lighter, bringing one of the Capstans to his lips before lighting up, taking a long drag and then sighing it out in a plume of smoke.

Hazel eyes scan the room, curious, but too aware, as Samara slinks along the back wall, trying to semi-blend into the background. Why she's here is anyone's guess, but she's here regardless. She looks like her sister in a lot of respects, or, they're dressed alike: blue jeans, black leather jacket, blue t-shirt peeking underneath. Unlike Adisa, however, there's no effort to conceal who she is, one of the luxuries afforded a dead girl.

She frowns distinctly as her sister comes into view, however. Her head shakes and she lets out a quiet sigh as her steps slide over to her sister, except she pauses. A short pause that has her lingering just shy of Nick, which actually brings a sneeze to her lips at the smell of the smoke. A very mousy sneeze, cute, hushed, and squeaky.

She issues Nick an apologetic smile before shuffling to Adisa, arms over her chest. "You shouldn't be here…" she murmurs.

"«Get them the fuck out of my face.»"

The command causes the Ghost Shadows around to practically jump into action. The two men known as the bu xiu by the Ghost Shadows and simply the twins by associates, the two seem to be out of character tonight. Seldolmy seen with any emotion on their features the bu xiu seem to be rather… stressed. The twins stroll down the lane casually, with the crowd amassing all around them. A small squad of Ghost Shadow enforcers fight to hold off the crowd from stepping into Dong-tian and Xue's space.

As per usual, the two are dressed immaculately. One in a white suit, and one in black. Both sporting shades and light pink ties. The two are crowded around a pair of bookies who are rapidly taking notes. Tracking all these bets is hard work, but someone has to take care of it. As the strange competitor seems to have taken the victory, Dong-tian snarls at one of the bookies. "What is its name?" The lightly accented voice spitting out. A finger pointing accusingly at the combatant.

But Xue seems to catch something as they fight through the throng. Pausing near the back of the group, he slaps his brother on the shoulder, muttering something in cantonese. A single finger points out, as brows arch as the two men stare agape at Adisa then Samara.

Perhaps next time they should dress better.

Dax came to root for his girlfriend in the fights, but she's not there. He's been drinking steadily for the first couple of fights. Cheap bourbon is a sonovabitch and he'll be feeling this in the morning, and that's assuming he doesn't get into a fight with someone at some point.

Hands on hips and shoulders cocked, the Muay Thai fighter scuffs the toes of one boot over the ground and smirks as some of the security comes inside the cage to fetch the man now sounding like he is choking a bit on the blood going down his nasal passages. He tries to spit and stumble upwards, but for the most part they drag him out of the cage. The Asian photokinetic, long black wig still a dark halo around firm shoulders, lifts a fist as he saunters after them. He only puts it down when he is met outside the cage by an older white man, their fists meeting between them. Fistbumps, for great justice. The voice on the echoing microphone in the speakers around the hall goes over the clear results.

"I hope the next time we get just as much a show from miss Michiyo-" An explanation almost on cue for Dong-Tian's demands of his fellows. No last name, just a stage name. "-that was some fancy footwork. I don't think our Invisible Man thinks as much of her as we do."

Amidst the crowd, there are more than a few people looking to go unnoticed- some of them out of need, some of them out of desire, some of them out of avoiding danger. Bao-Wei Cong is one of the lattermost individuals. His frame is broad and his stature imposing, but when he stands stock still against a rear wall near an exit, he is able to afford himself to be missed by the jostling spectators so that he can watch and wait. There is a men's hat pulled low over his brow, a tattered scarf and a long, muddied coat shrouding the rest of him. Gloves, boots, long ragged pants- nearly everything is covered, and luckily people take that as a warning to stay away from that particular stranger. The space near him is cold- chilled, but not terribly different from the temperature outside.

The girls nearby him and their whispers draw Nick's attention, and he shakes his head slightly. No wonder he can't find the kinds of people he needs, with debutante sorts making it into the newest thing to do. The Evo fight night is 2011's "rave" apparently. He snorts a little derisively, and pushes away, blue eyes falling on the twin men. How many people can he invite into his vendetta against Walsh before word spreads and it bites him in the ass? He begins to move that way slowly, stepping around people in his path.

Sami's arms cross over her chest as her eyes flick from Adisa, to the fight, and then to the Ghost Shadows. Her cheeks flush slightly as her gaze lingers there, nearly hesitant, and she opens her mouth to lecture Adisa more, but when she turns back to face her sister, Adisa is gone. Not vanished entirely, but she's cut to the door, causing Sam's eyebrows to escalate. "That was too easy," she murmurs to herself as her eyes turn to the twins again only to discretely look away.

The stench of burning skin from the previous bout is still heavy in the air, but thankfully the bourbon…or is it scotch? Dax has lost track over the past few fights. It's brown and in a glass - that's really all he can tell. "Whenz…." he blinks blearily. "When's the nex fight….?"

So far, Bao Wei goes unnoticed by the majority of the Ghost Shadow patrons. Dong-tian and Xue continue to resist being jostled by the masses. Dong-tian glances towards the back again. At that girl in the back. Now alone. Dong-tian moves his gaze back to the cage, giving a light shrug. The twins motions for the triads around them to collect with a brief command in cantonese.

With the current fight now over, it is up to the announcer to bring in the next. The bump and rumble of the crowd is primarily due to anticipation of the next fight; security sends a man in with a floor broom to give a quick sweep while the voice crackles over the speakers in the corners.

"Next up, we have telekinetic versus cryokinetic! Calum Stewart, and his opponent, Xuan Wu!"

The name among most of the Triads is either familiar, or they recognize it immediately as the name of both an Emperor, and the name of the Black Tortoise that represents the north and the winter season- it is a part of certain legends that children in Chinatown are apt to hear from the adults. A peculiar thing, that someone use the name. Maybe not so much when it turns out to be who it is.

There is only one man that is immediately there to push his way into the cage, and he comes from the rear, people parting for him to get through one of the wire framed doors. Cong has butterflies- he will not lie to himself about that. He moves to the far side of the cage, movements stilted, hands prying gloves off, finger by finger, before tossing them aside. The long muddy coat goes next, discarded with a heavy thud as it hits the floor. The scarf goes, the dark glasses-

-and lastly, to whomever enters across the cage, Bao-Wei removes his hat and tucks it to the chest of his worn, blue cotton shirt, waist bending in a short and defining bow of greeting.

Anyone who is anyone who has been part of the underworld in the past decades knows who he is. And most either presumed him gone or dead. Dead, still, may be quite accurate. The pallor of his skin adds to it- the tinge of blues and purples and blacks, the pale, frostbitten look of his skin, the contrast of dark hair against it, the shimmer of his eyes which are very much alive. Anyone who also knew him knows something is wrong here- Doctor Cong was never evolved. Never a cryokinetic like his charge Song Ye.

Perhaps he is asking to be killed, perhaps there is some reason that he has suddenly appeared and put himself at great risk within the same tentative movements.

"You should follow her. Not a nice area. She might not be safe," Nick tosses quietly to Samara as he passes by, moving closer to where the twins stand, though their attention of course will be on Bao-Wei Cong taking the ring. He's too new to New York, even if he's part of the underworld (or pretends to be) to recognize the man, though he can sense the anxious thrill of energy that runs through the spectators. One brow rises and he nods to Dong-Tian. "Who's he?"

A hand combs through Sam's hair at Nick's words, "Yeah… I was kind of thinking the same thing." Adisa is still, in Sam's brain, just a kid (and she'll likely always be that way thanks to time apart while Adisa grew up). Her lips part. There's a silent release of breath as Sami watches the door where Adisa had left, and then a slow nod. Her jacket is tugged tighter to her body while her paces have her traipsing after the youngest Dunham.

The tall, lanky telekinetic, the wanted criminal who was deemed responsible for half of the chaos at d'Sarthe's on Christmas eve, the member of Messiah…has been lurking, hiding quietly in the back, out of sight from most. But now that his false name has been called, Griffin has raised to his feet and begun making his way through the crowd, toward the stage.

Wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, Griffin looks a little different from the last time he was here, when he got stabbed with pocket change, of all things. He's grown himself some facial hair, let his hair grow out a bit. Not the best disguise, but it doesn't match pictures that they had, back when he kept his face smooth.

But he still can't hide that damn nose.

His eyes are also glowing as he makes his way up, hands in his pockets. One of those wire-framed doors opens of its own accord, and after slinging his jacket to one side of the stage, Griffin nonchalantly makes his way onto the stage; once within, the door closes and latches behind him, those disconcerting white eyes of his quietly surveying Bao-Wei.

After a moment, 'Calum' dips his midsection down toward the man in a respectful bow.

And all the while, those invisible vectors of his are hovering around the ill-looking man, waiting.

Dax sits up when Griffin makes his way to the r ing…or whatever he's calling himself tonight. The last time he was here, Dax won a decent amount of money by 'helping' a little, and this might not be such a bad thing. "F..five hunnert on the not-asian guy…"

He sways uneasily in his chair, blinking blearily at the spitting guy and the guy he bet on. His money was quickly exchanged for a paper ticket, scrawled with the notes of his bet - telekinetic to win. There's nothing wrong with bending the odds in your favor, though. He focuses his amplification on Griffin and relaxes….the booze REALLY helps.

He has to be ill looking for a reason, and it isn't clear why still, even as he flicks the hat aside and it flutters down across the floor. He can hear the different murmuring- words of distaste, words of excitement, words of confusion; he's heard them all, one way or another, over the years upon years that he had been a staple in Chinatown.

"I do not want to kill you, so do not let me." The warning words come as a virtual rumble against the sound of the people on the outside, and Bao-Wei takes a few steps onward towards the telekinetic, his gaze sweeping just for a moment across the visual he gets of Dong-Tian. One look is enough, surely. He knows he is there. The older, wider of the two fighters raps his knuckles together before putting himself into a defensive stance, a faint and crooked smile on his face. Cong doesn't look it, but he has some tricks that decidedly don't involve turning people into popsicles and have more to do with hard fists.

Nick flicks a glance toward Griffin, brows rising. He recognizes the man, beard or no. Pale blue eyes flick to Cong. "Must have some ability, if he feels up to fighting. Looks like he belongs in a hospital, not a fight ring," he says lightly, taking another drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke upward to avoid polluting the air of those nearby him.

Kill him? 'Calum' raises a brow, smiling faintly to Cong. A brief glance is cast around the crowd for a moment, before he slowly turns his gaze back toward Bao-Wei. As he does so, the stiff wire of the cage flexes inward, then outward, as if it is breathing along with the telekinetic.

His head tilts to the side. Why is it that here, he's stronger? A brief glance is cast around the crowd, then back to Bao.

"I should say the same to you, sir. Don't let me kill you, either, Xuan Wu." A slightly enigmatic smile forms on his face…before it disappears. He'll make friends with Bao after the fight, or something of that sort. For now, the walls of the cage flex inward once more, as Griffin's feet raise off of the ground and he hovers into the air.

Then, a telekinetic fist is sent straight for Bao's gut.

Dong-tian glances with irritation over to Nick, motioning with one hand. One of the Ghost Shadows goes to place himself in between the twins and Nick. Obviously he does not speak to the rabble. When the cage bends in, Dong-tian makes another motion and a few other Ghost Shadows fan throughout the masses. Xue is turning a critical eye on the crowd.

Dong-tian makes eye contact with Bao-wei, a light smirk growing up his lips. "Doctor Cong." The words come off his lips as comfortably as an old pair of shoes fit the feet. A light laugh exhales from the man's lips before he's turning to glare at the crowd again.

Dax takes a slug of 'brown liquor' and grins, his eyes closing slightly, the power boosting on Griffin fading slightly until he focuses a little more. To outside observers, it looks like he's just really paying attention.

Immediately, Bao-Wei can tell that this is a different kind of telekinetic- he isn't moving something else, but instead something that isn't actually there, to create his very own kinetic force. But, even so, Cong is a big man- the 'fist' hits him square and sends him stumbling backwards and rebounding only slightly off of the corner wall. When he regains his footing it is only to resume his defensive stance and face down Griffin again, legs carrying him tentatively nearer a second time. Maybe he is waiting for something. Or, maybe he is taking his time. Figuring out what it is that Griffin does before he can do anything about it.

A plume of white comes curling out of Bao-Wei's nose and mouth, his jaw slackening enough to allow a second's glance inside- the flesh is visibly purple, as his lips are. There isn't any sort of natural flush to his skin left, not even on the inside. The corners of his lips are whited over, the cloudy breath leaving an icy paleness in its wake.

"«One more time.»" Bao-Wei growls in Mandarin, eyes flickering dark against the set of his skull. The left one, the mismatched one of hazel- it's gleam in contrast only grows, unsteadily beginning to give off a faint, golden hue.

Black brows rise when someone comes to act as a buffer between him and the twins, and Nick snorts, smoke coming from his nostrils. He glances at the ring, shaking his head a little, and moves toward the exit. The only familiar face in this joint tonight is not one that's likely to give him the answers he wants, and while he's usually itching for a fight, it's not with anyone here.

Griffin quietly watches Bao, watching him carefully with a raised brow. He took a pretty strong punch, and he's breathing like it's cold outside. Or like a freezer releases cold air. He's doing his own observations, taking his time, as well, a look of silent consideration on the terrorist's face as he hovers in the air. Again, the cage flexes, in and out, breathing with the telekinetic.

It's really a good tactic for intimidation, at times.

He doesn't understand a lick of Mandarin, but the intent of the statement is rather simple to gather. He seems more than content to oblige, either way. This time, he sends two telekinetic fists toward the man's gut, his eyes narrowed.

Dong-tian steps past Xue, leaning forward. A whispered message in mandarin is given to one of the Ghost Shadows. The triad then hurries cage-side. The twins watch the crowd with alert eyes, and it's then that a few Ghost Shadows return to the Center Stage. All of them heavily armed. Automatic rifles, a brief nod is given and the group go to wait in the locker room. No reason to turn this into a battle ground. This is a business after all. The announcement goes out:

"Anyone using abilities to efffect the outcome will not be tolerated! IDs will be checked at the door!"

Dong-tian and Xue give light nods as they watch the cage quietly.

Dax was in the middle of taking a drink when that announcement was made, and to his credit, does not spew liquor across the room. Still, he swallows his drink, sist back, and kind of closes his eyes. It might be a good thing to leave after this fight.

Bao-Wei gets what he wants. In the end, all that he wanted was to give the impression that he really wasn't in this for the fight- he was in it for the publicity, so to speak. He got what he wanted, and now he is smiling about it. Griffin is smart enough to be able to tell whether or not someone is smiling because of him or because of something else. Cong told the sign up he was a cryokinetic- while that is not the case, he was not being purposefully facetious.

The pair of punches sends him slamming back into the wall of the cage again, and for some reason, he stays there, fingers curling around the spaces in the metal, breath coming in a loud snort. The white puffs out again. Bao-Wei's arms and face begin to frost over when he steps forward again, the fake limp bleeding away from his gait. His eyes in both sockets sink inward, the right deepening enough to disappear, leaving the left one to shine a now brilliant gold. The moisture in the air feels like it is drying up; the comfortable damp of the basement drying into a stale cold in a matter of moments. Doctor Cong's laugh is abrupt and throaty, a second after the speakers announce. His jaw grinds together, and his arms hang out to the air to either side. If they thought someone was affecting him, and not Griffin- their own mistake.

Something happens between blinks that throws things just a bit off, at least; Bao-Wei's back hunches, his shoulders tighten, and the buckled stance he folds into precedes a crackle of flesh splitting and freezing, bone snickering and snapping. It isn't pretty. The Chinese man's bones, organs and muscles flash freeze from the inside out. The ice bursts seemingly in all directions, freezing all of him and whatever is on him with it. For the initial few seconds, it looks like a spiny hulk of icicles; Bao-Wei lifts his shoulders back up, and his head with it, the range of ice that is his back cracking together as he moves. He's turned entirely like this now, a more humanoid shape of that familiar monster that people have mentioned seeing in the underground and on November 8th.

Five long claws click together on the ends of his arms, and the jagged teeth in his face crook into an unmiskably wide grin. This one is for Griffin, but the glint in the golden eye is more one of knowing than taunting. He came to make a point- Griffin just gets to be there, so it is still all good.

Well. Now that is fascinating. His opponent has just turned into a monster. An ice monster, even. It's a rather disgusting transformation, and a painful-looking one, at that. He even goes so far as wincing, still floating in the air— and ensuring that he's well away from Bao-Wei's physical reach. You know, just in case. He is the one in the cage with the cryokinetic, after all.

This doesn't stop him from tilting his head toward the ice beast with a faint smile. "Fascinating ability you have there— have to say I'm glad I'm not the one who has it. That looks pretty fucking painful. I should buy you a beer after this." 'Calum' smirks, still quite happy to remain 'hovering' on the opposite corner of the cage.

For the moment, no further attacks are made. He's all about the theatrics, and it seems that's a large part of what the Chinese man came for. Thus…he gives the crowd a nice pregnant pause to react.

Dong-tian frowns deeply at the ring, flicking his chin over his shoulder. A hand comes up. A balled fist, an order to 'hold'. The crowd starts to go quiet at the form of Bao-wei's ability. A pregnant anticipation, waiting needily for what the ice mimic will do. Dong-tian holds the order.

In the silence, Xue takes a step forward. "Very nice, Cong. Now what are you going to do?" The man growls, staring at the cage.
Oh hell…

Dax remains sitting, quietly, watching….

Bao-Wei laughs, head canted to the side so that his eye trains on 'Calum' in the midair of the cage. When Xue speaks, the creature swivels its head around to look- the pupil in the golden eye contracts, dilates, and contracts again, vaguely like a reptile. His chest rumbles, his words growling out with a wheeze of cold air.

"I am going to kill you." He gets an answer, just not the one he was probably hoping for. When the golem moves now, it is fluid, and swift, and in a matter of a couple of seconds, he is thrumming up against the wall of the cage, claws lifting and curling into the wire. The thin metal creaks and freezes at his touch in a spiderweb pattern; a hefty yank backwards, and Bao-Wei rips a vertical chunk down from the cage perimeter. Now is the time that people begin to panic.

The response begins as a humming murmur amidst the yelling and hooting of the spectators, and by the time that Cong is tearing a space from the cage, people have begun to yell in fear instead of desire to see a fight.

Well, this just gets more and more interesting, doesn't it? Griffin slowly drifts down to the floor of the cage, quietly watching as the ice golem goes after the fence with a threat of killing the chinese man. Now, normally, Griffin would try to stop the beast. But really…he doesn't want much in the way of attention these days.

Granted, using his mental muscles to rip the other side of the fence away isn't always the best way to avoid attention. But hopefully, people will be more focused on the Ice monster.

Griffin feels like being helpful, though. So once he's out, he's doing his best to weave through the frantic crowds, circling around to get a good judge of the situation, now that the lights of the cage aren't interfering. Maybe he'll help the ice dude out before he buys him a beer.

In unison, Xue and Dong-tian turn on their heels. Walking cleanly away from the ice monster eating the cage. Walking alongside each other as the chaos begins, Dong-tian begins to murmur quietly in Chinese. "Go find firehands, and tell him we will pay him to melt this idiot. //This is how he's going to attack the Ghost Shadows?//" Dong-tian gives an agitated shake of his head.

"Bring the AKs!" He shouts. The shout goes unheeded ffor a long moment until finally the group of Ghost Shadow enforcers emerge from the locker froom. Four of them all, each equipped with an AK-47. All trained on Bao-Wei. Dong-tian gives a staying gesture as he and his twin near the back towards the locker room. Allow most of the panicking citizens to flee, before turning this place into a battleground. Xue glances to Dong-tian, "Mihangle." He mutters.

"If Mihangle is going to be an idiot, his son can grow up without a father." Dong-tian says coldly, going to lean against the wall. "Get more boys down here."

The aim wasn't so much to actually kill them. Yet. But chances are that pickings over the next fights are going to be slim. Bao-Wei rattles his head slightly, the angular shapes of his face grinding together with faint clacks of ice on ice. He sweeps out into the crowd now, absorbent of the air around him; it brings a fresh bristle of ice onto him, pale and gleaming over the darkened core he had become. The eye finds Griffin now. People are in all-goes stampede mode now, headlong for the exits on any walls.

"If you want to do me a real favor, find me a water pipe." Beer? Forget that shit. He wants to trash the place. Anyone that gets too close to him at this point encounters a bone-jarring cold even worse than the 2010 winter event- enough to freeze flesh if they even so much as come into contact. Drinks that splash across the floor, tables knocked over, bottles broken- the liquids that spill out into the vicinity from incidents like this freeze hard and slick where they are.

Hmm. That could do, in lieu of beer. It's also much more free to burst a water pipe than it is to buy a beer. Especially with the way bars jack up prices in this day and age. Griffin, for his part, appears to be deciding to not be an idiot; his jacket floats up from the stage and into his arms, where he promptly pulls it on as he follows the flow of the crowd.

A water pipe? Possibly. Does he really want to risk being hunted by the Ghost Shadows, on top of being hunted by the government? Does he really want to do this? Why is he helping the ice monster, anyhow?

Why not?

Glowing eyes turn up toward the ceiling, and the exposed pipes that line the ceiling. One of those has to be a water pipe, right? Only one way to find out; pipes begin to rip themselves from the ceiling, even as Mihangle is making his way toward the exit. Toward cover.

Probably not a good idea to stick around too long after this.

Dong-tian watches Griffin pointedly. A step is taken forward, "He's here to kill, Mihangle!" The light Chinese accent sounds out. "You don't know him, you're going to help him kill?! You don't know what enemies you're making, you idiot!" The twins take a step back, one reaching into his suit jacket. Pulling his Desert Eagle out a single shot is fired into the ceiling. Aiding the urgency of the evacuation, the four triad take aim with the AK-47. And it's about then that the bullets start flying.

The echo of automatic gunfire rings out in the center stage as the weapons shoot out rapidly at the ice monster.

Now that the pipes are being torn out of the ceiling, they are definitely going to be needing some repair time off down here. Bao-Wei knows all too well that losing money in any form pisses off Triads just as much as killing them. If it works, if it works. A spray of cold water comes running down from above in little time, at about the same instant that Dong-Tian's men begin to open fire. Bao-Wei stamps forward to dunk himself under the open line, and the bullets wash into him just as the water comes down to freeze over. Most of them get stuck there inside of his chest and the pair of hulking pauldrons; those that keep firing pellet holes into the dense ice, darkening as it slickens and compacts. The pieces of him on the edges blast off with the firing, but the water pulled down replaces it in a matter of seconds.

He won't move until he knows they need to start reloading. The construct is now twice as tall as it had been, three times as broad, covered in sheafs of ice and spines along back and limbs, which are now bottom heavy with fists and claws. This is more like the thing that was seen on the eighth- pushing down buildings and climbing the spew of fire hoses. The curves and crags of him scrape and knock on the walls as he grinds down through the walkspace towards them, his movements quick. The metal and stone that he brushes against freezes as he walks, the floor crusting thickly with ice in his wake.

A middle finger is sent toward Dong-tian. He doesn't need to know who this fellow is to know that he kills people, too. AKs? Really? No, you don't kill people, either. At least his terrorism is usually done with some honest intent. "You kill too, Mr. Pot!" This is shouted across the crowd to Dong-tian, pausing only briefly at the exit.

He watches the chinese gangsters shooting at the ice monster for a brief moment, before he's back to moving with the crowd, doing his best to get the hell out of there while they're busy with the ice golem.

"You better get back to Owain!" Dong-tian yells out, flinging his Desert Eagle's barrel in the direction of Griffin lazily. Holding the gun there he smirks before looking back to Bao-Wei. "Step out of his way, keep the pressure on him." Dong-tian commands sternly. He and his twin raise their own Desert Eagles and pop off shots at the man. Before calling out to the beast,

"I know who you are! You want to kill me?! You go back to where you came from. Where you met me! Where I killed your boss! Back to the Case, Cong! Then I'll show you!" The threat is mixed with the truth. A confession to the monster while making it seem like he's giving the former Doctor a stern yet odd talking to.

Despite this, the firing continues.

Another rumble echoes, another laugh out of a cavernous chest. The water trails after Cong now in the form of that path of ice, crawling and roiling at his feet. Shots pop off more chunks of him, but he keeps forward. As they keep out of his way, and yet still fire, he lumbers dangerously near, blotting out the passageway and rattling hard against stone. The golden eye finds Dong-Tian, glinting murderously from its hollowed out socket. The look is venom, but the spark behind it is as intelligent as it could ever be; Doctor Cong is a man of sharp and attuned intellect, and the words pelted at him in the midst of a psuedo-threat do not simply ricochet off like a great many of the bullets.

He understands that there is something more to this. More than he can hope to learn here. If his shaking the bush resulted in anything promising, it is what Dong-Tian shouts. A snort of cold air filters out through his face as he makes to crash his way out through the doors and up into the streets. It is a great and terrible noise, people trodden underfoot as he overtakes them; the red stains the ice as it is absorbed upwards.

See, that was just the wrong thing to say. Because if there's one thing you don't threaten, it's Griffin's son. The boy has been through so much already, the last thing he needs is to lose his father on top of everything else that has happened.

Which is probably why, just before Griffin is out the door, a table is sent flying at Dong-Tian.

(End of log pose needed by Dong-Tian, to be added tomorrow afternoon.)

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