maskormenacelogs | Ain't no change in the weather

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Ain't no change in the weather

WHO: Josuke, Sylar, The Man in Black
WHERE: Superior Bank of Heropa
WHEN: March
WHAT: Sylar and Man in Black gettin’ paper. Josuke has other plans.
WARNINGS: Violence, others pending.

[ Mid-morning on a Friday, sun slanting through the glass facade onto dark tile floors and polished desks, and most minds are on the weekend. One teller texts discreetly beneath the counter between customers; another is examining ID for a cash withdrawal.

The lobby seems even larger than it is for its emptiness. There flat out aren’t many people here. Three, maybe four queued up waiting -- last of the morning rush.

The man in black is the first through the door -- aptly aliased in western attire, with a revolver at hip and an oversized knife loosed up quick off his belt, black on black on grey. He’s an older fella -- evident at a glance despite the spring in his step -- eyes cold slits under the low slant of his cowboy hat, nose and mouth masked by the neat tie of a bandanna behind his ears.

He flips the knife in his hand as he cuts the line for the tellers, with a tip of the point to his hat for to the armed guard on duty -- ]

Mornin’, officer.

[ -- and slings the empty canvas bag over his shoulder down onto the counter. ]

DROP THE KNIFE!! [ the guard replies, with his gun drawn, and double punctuation so everyone knows he means business. William ignores him, busy fluffing the bag open with one gloved hand. Making it nice. ]

Just the hundreds, [ he directs the teller, helpfully. ]

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[ The man that shadows in on the old cowboy's heels is not dressed to theme, but is just as colourful, all black button downs and slacks and Sunday-shined shoes. Less extravagantly armed, too, in that his hands are empty. He is, in fact, down a finger, a gap where the middle one on his left hand should be.

The Man in Black gets in line. Or rather, makes his own.

Sylar pauses before breaking off at a swerve, like a shark scenting blood, but instead of blood, it's the smell of misguided authority, which is the kind of thing guns seem to give people. Several long legged strides put him in pointblank range, and closing in fast with the same placid aggression of a tiger coming down out of its tree.

The crack of the gun going off is a sharp, room-filling sound. The bullet stamps against Sylar's skin and bounces away, before he reaches and clamps a big hand over the weapon, wrenching it out of the guard's grip without much of a mind for sprained fingers.

A shout of pain is silenced with a blow to the head.

Now he's armed, settling the gun into his right hand, finger in the trigger guard, with an idle whistle as he turns on a heel with a touch of winsome flamboyance. ]

[Josuke is not on the heels of either man, not at first. His approach to the weekend was not to rob banks, but to stop by the closest ATM on the way to the Porter and make a withdrawal before engaging in a little pre-move shopping for the new house. And up until that last stop, everything had been going swell. He hadn't been able to sleep in, but setting his hair had been a cinch and there hadn't even been a line at the coffee shop on the corner when he got there. His bagel had been fresh, and his morning coffee, still hot when he leaves, is perfect—

—ly dropped on the concrete outside the bank when he hears that gunshot go off.

Fucking great.

But there's a part of him that's been expecting this for some time, ever since he'd had that conversation with the anon on the network. And with luck on his side, he's managed to be in the right place at just the right time. Meaning all that's left to do now is abandon his caffeinated mess on the sidewalk outside and make his dynamic entrance.

In his own way, he supposes he looks as much the part as the other two, or maybe he imagines it, because the heart-shaped sunglasses he wrenches off inside probably only lend to making him appear comical instead of threatening.]

Hey, assholes!

[As he approaches, drawing all attention to himself by stabbing the sunglasses in the direction of Sylar and then the Man in Black, the only two out of place and armed figures he can see, he gives those in line the opportunity to clear off to the sides where they'll be safer. And can maybe even slip away or call the police.]

You owe me a new coffee!

[ Ouch. ]

Keep still, follow directions, and the rest of you might get out of here without an ambulance.

[ Up front, it takes a mild, ] You hard of hearing? [ and an evil squint to get money moving through the teller’s shaking hands. One stack, two stacks, three, and Josuke bursts into the lobby all mentos and soda. Two civilians break for the door, leaving one cowering in the corner, but Heart Eyes has taken center stage. ]

Whoa, [ drawled out at a low warning, the man in black draws his gun on the boy in answer to jabbed sunglasses, smooth as the leather of his bullet-studded belt. It’s a revolver, long in the barrel, robust through the cylinder. Heavy.

Black. ]

Slow down there, son. [ He sits the hammer back under his thumb. ] Take a breath.

Edited (difficulties) 2017-03-13 03:49 (UTC)

[ Sylar moves with prowling intent but sauntering gait, a physical enforcement to control the room while the Man in Black arranges their withdrawal. And then, a discordant interruption.

Heart shaped sunglasses. Kicky one liner. Heroes come in all shapes and sizes.

He'd been having fun. Playing a role. There's a new kind of interest, now, kindled behind his expression as the corner of his mouth curls up at the sight of this latest distraction. ]

I dunno, [ Sylar says, on the back of the Man in Black's urging. ] Lets see where momentum gets him.

[ He doesn't point his gun at Josuke; he levels it, still focused forward, towards the civilian huddled in the corner. The tearful, unintelligible protest indicates his aim is adequate. ]

[Josuke doesn't flinch when the barrel of the Man in Black's gun is pointed his way, but when Sylar directs his own firearm toward the civilian in the corner he let's slip a quiet expletive.

On one hand, he can applaud their preparation. On the surface, it certainly trumps his spur of the moment decision to confront them! But on the other, the cowardice they're both displaying by holding people hostage and threatening their lives makes his blood boil. It's for that reason Josuke makes Sylar his primary target. He can tolerate his own life being threatened, but not that of some innocent bystander.

For all intents and purposes, the pink aura that cloaks Josuke suddenly won't be visible to the pair, not unless they possess powers of a strong spiritual nature, and even if either one of them can see it, the only immediate application appears to be additional strength. With a flick of his fingers that settles his shades back into the palm of his hand, Josuke crushes the lenses and frames (r.i.p.) into a tiny metal and glass ball.

He's got one shot with this, and another with the lighter in his pocket that would be better used for a diversion. In this way, with his Stand's precision and quick reflexes, he can match the speed and distance traveled of the average bullet. In theory it'll be enough to throw off Sylar's aim if their projectiles connect. Or break some fingers if he can get a shot off before the Man in Black's partner.]

You wanna keep your hand in one piece, I suggest you drop the gun.

[ There’s something familiar in Josuke’s conviction -- a switch flipped in the back of the man in black’s mind. But there’s no immediate connection, no name to go with the voice.

Sights tilted back in slow relinquish to the will of Gabriel Gray, he takes a long look at the hostage wibbling at the end of that stolen gun. ]

Please, [ whispers the teller, behind him.

William turns, takes deliberate aim, and shoots out the nearest security camera in a shower of sparks. Wash, rinse, repeat -- he knocks out four in a row, all down the teller bay, and ends by pinning the latest stack she’s pushed across under the end of the barrel. ]

The sooner you fill up this fuckin’ bag, [ he says, ] the sooner it is we’re on our way.

[ He draws the stack under his gun in by a few inches and leans in, eyes burning blue to orange over the edge of his bandanna. Helping. ]

You understand?

[ The teller nods, snuffling, and the man in black vanishes in a churn of noxious black smoke. ]

Really?

[ He'd tracked that curious little trick with the sunglasses, and now raises an eyebrow at the threat that comes next. On the surface, this reply reads as on paper as smug incredulity.

In reality, Sylar is just curious.

He has to look, anyway, before he pulls the trigger. It's the only tell he provides before he's squeezing off a shot, and the sharp thunder-crack of gunfire elicits screams from his target, but not in pain. Because if Josuke makes good on his threat, then he saves the day for at least one soul. The pistol shatters.

Sylar's hand doesn't, and he laughs, low and dry. Out the corner of his eye, he registers that the teller is making as quick a work as they can on the haul, and that his current partner in crime has vanished. Maybe he got cold footsies. Maybe he's going to appear as a deadly apparition and join the party. The latter would be nice. Sylar would still like to get paid.

He wiggles five fingers, demonstrating. ]

Dropped the gun, [ in a manner of speaking. He is moving closer, the civilians off his radar. Bigger fish to fry. And to keep busy. ] Anymore suggestions?

[The sudden disappearance of the Man in Black is more than mildly disconcerting, but Josuke isn't given time to consider where he might have gone or what he might be up to when Sylar speaks again. He only has a second to align his own shot and fire it off, but it comes in the nick of time. The pistol shatters and a life is saved — in exchange for making himself the next target.

As Sylar begins his approach, Josuke answers his question with a narrowed stare and cracked knuckles.]

Oh, I've got a few suggestions.

[Briefly making eye contact with the civ, he gives a sharp jerk of one hand in the direction of the door. And the fellow in the corner doesn't take long to respond. He doesn't need to be told twice, scrambling so quickly to his feet that he slips not once, but twice on the tiles before he can squeeze himself outside into the fresh air.

And now that he's as safe as he is out of the way, Josuke has a little more freedom than he would have had before. As his Stand moves forward to position itself in between him and his attacker, he delivers another punchy one-liner.]

First up: get wrecked.

[The question of whether or not he needs to hold back was answered by the way Sylar had shaken off the shot he'd fired earlier. The man isn't a Stand user himself, but he can take a beating like one. And so he will.

While Josuke himself doesn't appear to move, Crazy Diamond's fists hammer the tiled floor below it to cut into and wrench free a large slab of concrete. One that is promptly hurled in Sylar's direction.]

[ The hostage scrambles, slips, squeezes outside to fresh air and freedom.

Words are exchanged. Concrete takes flight.

And the same hostage is summarily dumped right back into the action from a pulse of smoke near the vaulted ceiling. The man in black releases him from enough of a height to break bone on impact if someone or something doesn’t intervene, his destination that crater Crazy Diamond’s beat into the floor.

Special delivery.

Worryingly, perhaps, William doesn’t resolve back onto the scene immediately after making a deposit, but the stink of burning wood and hot iron cloys close in the air, warm at the back of Josuke’s neck. ]

[ Sylar stops when the ground shivers at first impact, stare dropping down with only just enough time to blink before concrete is sent flying. For him.

He doesn't dodge. He braces himself, turns a shoulder to it, ducks his head in the kind of instinctive flinch that even practice hurling yourself off of buildings doesn't beat out of you. It slams into him, staggering him, but doesn't drop him. Slab shatters, instead, a fine dust thick in the air and greying Sylar's black clothing. His hair, his face.

Heroes and collateral, honestly.

It's with a sort of feline aloofness that, upon his posture straightening, Sylar looks down his nose at the unlucky civilian dropped between them, only the subtlest of smiles betraying amusement before his attention rolls back up to Josuke. ]

Careful. Someone might get hurt.

[ The implication being probably not Gabriel Gray.

He resumes momentum forward. It may seem like he's going for the civilian, happy to cultivate that possibility, that threat, that same kind of unpredictability of any wild animal thrown among the domesticated. But his trajectory is aimed at Josuke, ultimately, hands making fists, ready to dodge the next piece of bank thrown at him with superhuman reflex. ]

[That brimstone stench does worry Josuke.

In his experience, it's the vapory fucks who are hard to get a hand on that are some of the worst opponents to face, especially when outnumbered. And with the redeposit of that civilian back into their midst, he's certain now that the Man in Black hasn't fled the scene. Just great. If he'd known today that he'd be up against a tank and a cancer cloud, he'd have come a little better prepared.

There isn't time to wonder where the Man in Black is, of course. The civilian is dropping fast and it's all Josuke can do to keep that man out of the hole his Stand had formed. To slide beneath him and break his fall, to wrap his arms protectively around him as his Stand grabs his collar, and to shield him as they're both hurtled with a powerful throw towards the bank tellers and away from Sylar, who's been quickly closing in.

Putting them briefly out of range, and just in time.

It doesn't take long for Crazy Diamond's restorative powers to take effect, and even as the Stand follows Josuke, never more than two meters from him at a time, the dust begins to lift from Sylar's clothes. The debris on the floor shivers, shakes, and launches itself back towards the hole. And the larger chunks of stone that fell behind? They fly back in Sylar's direction, ready to barrel through him. If he doesn't move, the momentum could even knock him into that little pit. Might even pin him as the floor cinches itself back together again.

The moment his back hits the desk, Josuke sucks in a sharp breath of air and, as he scrambles back to his feet, shoves the civilian up and over to the teller's side. Once again out of the way, but who knows for how long.]

[ A column of smoke erupts from the floor opposite Crazy Diamond’s crater, the man in black at the middle of it, wreathed in sparks. He still has his knife in hand, now idle at his side -- eyes slivered keen after the sight of collateral damage accelerating into a state of hard reverse.

For a beat that feels like an eternity, he sheathes his knife to stand there and watch, embers sizzling at his feet.

He’s back to sizing up Josuke when he dares to step closer around the (shrinking) pit, left hand outstretched to intercept a lump of rubble about the size of a microwave.

He vanishes into the nether with it on impact, dust and smoke spiraling along the path it would have taken.

There’s no real sound that accompanies his appearance at Josuke’s back a moment later, past a spit of fresh sparks and the sizzle of embers snuffing themselves out against the chill in the floor. He’s lined himself up like a pool cue, Josuke now dead center in the same way Sylar is between pocket and displaced floor. The man in black's chunk turns itself loose like a ninety pound dove the instant it's rolled whole from the smoke.

He’s kind enough to whistle, shrill and sharp, once it’s cleared his fingertips.

Just testing the physics. ]

[ When the amount of moving parts begins to increase exponentially, Sylar stops, shoes a-slide on the dust strewn floor. He twists a look past a shoulder just in time to see a chunk of concrete at a frisbee spin coming straight for him and shattering into pieces against his shoulder, knocking him off his feet. Boot soles squeak on floor as he pitches himself properly out of the way, trailing dust as it course corrects from the diminishing hole in the floor.

The Man in Black disappears, and reappears. Lining up that chunk of concrete.

Presuming our hero of the day doesn't get squashed like a beetle, it remains Sylar's prerogative to claim back his attention. So he reaches leftwards, wrapping his hand round one of the metal poles used to delineate crowds between deposits and other sundry business, and hefts it up. Tile splinters, metal tears, screws go flying.

At least, when he next approaches, it's not for a civilian. Unfortunately, it's with the intent to swing metal pole for Josuke's coiffed head, as his next problem to deal with.

Batter up. ]

[As intended, Josuke whirls around in response to the shrill whistle at his back. In that same instant, his instincts immediately begin screaming that this is wrong, he's made a mistake. And there's no time now to change course. He's not entirely shit out luck, however. With his center of balance being thrown off from suddenly turning, he finds that instead of being dragged back to the mending hole, he's driven to the floor by the chunk of concrete the Man in Black cleverly maneuvered.

It buys him a few seconds at least to blink the spots out of his vision and wipe a smear of his own blood off his brow. A few more than he'd have if he'd landed at Sylar's feet, at least. But by the time he gets back to his own, he'll have barely enough to raise both arms in defense against that swing.

Steel smacks against flesh with a heavy and unkind impact, better suited to a butcher than a batter. The blow makes his knees feel unsteady beneath his own weight and leaves angry welts across Josuke's forearms in its wake. Those don't heal, either. But neither do they slow him down.

Whether or not it's bravery or foolishness that drives him, Josuke has Sylar within immediate range now — and it only takes a single heartbeat for Crazy Diamond to emerge, fists flying like a freight train towards their target.]

[ The impact is solid enough to give William a chuckle, dry as tinder and all but too soft to hear through damage being dealt out to person and property. The sentiment is stamped out into crows feet, bright in his eyes as he takes the long way back to the teller.

He walks, mister casual, crossing close past the battle as he goes.

The bag he left behind isn’t full, but it’s full enough. After a glance inside, he waves the teller off with a lazy turn of his wrist and an, ] Alright, get the hell outta here.

[ He doesn’t have to tell her twice -- she flees for the back, taking Josuke’s rescued hostage with her. ]

You two about done? [ Is he interrupting? He feels like he’s interrupting -- bag slung over his shoulder when he turns back to the fight, voice raised to cut through the chaos. ]

[ ooc ; apologies, guys, this one got away from me. we're close to done, though, so if we wanted to wrap for posterity? ]

[ Sylar is winding up for an unapologetic second strike when something attacks him. He can brace for impact against what he can see, but invisible superpowered flying fists are another matter. A hard swipe across the face is enough to spill him down to a knee, keeping tight grip on his improvised weapon. What had been predatory schadenfreude hard in his expression empties out into

well, 'spooked' is a little too on the nose, isn't it? When you're fighting what amounts to a poltergeist.

On his feet again, fundamentally unhurt except maybe in the dignity, another step towards Josuke is met with more of the same defense, and Gabriel swings metal at thin air, teeth bared, until the Man in Black hooks his focus back. A resentful look is cut his way, until his gaze drops to the full-enough bag of money.

Right. With one last look at Josuke, Sylar opts to heft the metal bar at him at a throw that slices through the air. Petty enough that he is unconcerned about whether it hits his mark. ]

Waiting on you, now, [ is sass back at today's partner in crime. ]

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Ain't no change in the weather

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