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Harlem despite its relatively recent run-in with Hulk and that abomination, as well as the alien incident remained strong with a tenacity the most recent figure driving up could admire. Such was the mindset of survivors, of those who had learned from the lash and from hatred to become stronger for it, answering to none but themselves. It was a lesson in power she would take to heart as her driver respectfully opened the door for her and she stepped out.

Sleek nylon emphasized her muscular legs, combined with a business suit skirt and suit that while not as obvious as some who came, nevertheless hinted at in ways that were more tantalizing then simply showing them on display. Her hair was tied up in a bun, held in place with two decorative chopsticks and displayed a lovely face, Japanese in origin and completely at her ease. Subtle strength hung around her aura like she was made for it and with complete confidence, she headed for the front of the line and without a word, displayed a card.

The bouncer glanced at it, startled before opening the way for her to enter as the woman said idly.

"No rush."

Within, as the next number began to play she breathed deep and headed to the bar to get herself a drink while she waited on the man above. This was his domain after all. A good guest was patient and to be frank, there were worse places to be if you had to wait.

And the music vibrated her soul in a way to make her smile, small as it was.

Upstairs, the card would be passed down to a new minion as he cleared his throat and tried to not interrupt.

"Er, Mr. Stokes? Apologies sir, but there's someone here to see you once you're done. She says no rush."

And sliding over the card, he stepped back.

Foot_Clan_2.jpg

@OrlandoBloomers @Michale CS
Tockman lowered his head slightly, and smiled. "Poor choice of phrase, I'm afraid. It shan't happen again."

"I'm fully aware of the source of Miss Dillard's financing. I am, after all, her accountant. Though I do thank you for reminding me. I'm sure you're used to dealing with lesser minds, and such guidance is simply necessary. I applaud your patience."

The drink arrived then and he took a healthy drought of it. "I see you only stock the highest quality spirits, Mr. Stokes. But, on to business. Oh, tell your concerned friends that you surround yourself with to relax, as I'm about to draw a gun."

Then, faster than Cornell could even see, there was a pistol, plated in gold it seemed, in Tockman's hand, and pointed at the bodyguard who had let the accountant past him earlier. He reversed the grip and handed it, grip first, to Cornell.

"What you hold in your hand, Mister Stokes is the MIDAS. There are submachine gun and soon, assault rifle versions of it as well. I won't bore you with all the science but MIDAS stands for Multiple Ignition Directed Aperture System. You see, unlike the Judas ammunition, standard ammunition will work just fine with MIDAS."

Tockman opened up the briefcase to remove a tablet PC.

He queued up a video, and played it. A test dummy was sitting in an armored car. The scene pans to a man holding a pistol that looked a lot like the one Cornell was now holding.

The man walked around a cinderblock wall, lifted the weapon and fired.

The bullet blasted through the wall, through the bulletproof glass of the armored car, through the dummy and out the second layer of bulletproof glass.

"I'd advise against discharging that firearm in here, unless you really despise your neighbors. The muzzle velocity of a MIDAS round fired from a pistol is approximately thirty five hundred feet per second, and due to the Vibranium rifling, the range is just shy of eight thousand feet. The rifles will of course far outshine that."

He closed the suitcase and smiled again. "Production funding is being secured as we speak, but a limited run of pistols and submachine guns are already being machined. You should have a sample case by the end of the week. Please, keep the prototype as your own."

He leaned forward and whispered, "You might have a word with your friends here. They're far too slow to protect you from a truly competent threat."

Tockman picked up the drink, drained it and set the glass to spinning on the table, but it wobbled right back to being upright.

"Have a good night Mister Stokes."

Down below, another singer was being announced.

"In her first appearance here at Harlem's Paradise, up from Jersey way, put your hands together for miss Lizzy Berg!"



Tockman, if not prevented, would take his leave then.

@OrlandoBloomers @Ringmaster
The club lighting in the room shifted once more from red to a deep-hued purple, casting both the casual social scene downstairs and the tense, suspect business dealings upstairs in a shade that was inviting for one, sinister for another. Funny how perspective could change a whole situation like that. When his man sidled up and slid the card across their table, Stokes uncrossed his legs and peered in closely to examine it in the lowlight, expression all-business all of a sudden with less of the smugness on his face when he gave a solemn look back and a slow, intense nod to the employee that showed he understood. It was all the subordinate needed to return a less collected one and step back, waiting for Cottonmouth's business to be concluded with nervousness. Mister Stokes was always good to his boys so long as you did right by him, but he was always just one step away from deciding you weren't. No one here wanted to end up like Tone.

For Cornell's part, he continued his proceedings with Mr. Tockman as though nothing had happened, leaning back in his throne again to cross one leg over the knee once more and flash that inviting smile again.

"Eventful evening. Now, you were saying..."

And when events unfolded as they did, Tockman's gun whipped out in a blur and leveled straight for a longtime loyal employee and street acquaintance of Cornell's, the chief's response even as the others on his payroll frantically scrambled for their own pieces was to simply hold up a hand faster than any of them could truly act on their sudden impulse to ventilate Mr. Tockman, leaned slightly forward in his chair again and with an unnerving stillness to his features like that of a snake coiled and watching in anticipation. He knew damn well Mariah wasn't sending anybody to smoke him in his own club, so the personal risk he felt was minimal, and in all frankness he was watching Tockman's steady grip on the weapon with a glint in his eye that was practically eager, flicking his tongue once to moisturize his lips.

He was ready to take the gun when it was proffered to him, holding it so his body shielded it from anyone who happened to look up at the balcony from downstairs as he popped the magazine out and looked briefly down the sights. Though watching the video with reserved judgement for the first portion, when the whshit am moment hit and the bullet took off through two panes of bulletproof glass and cinderblock, his reaction was to damn near bolt upright in his seat and do a double-take between Tockman and the screen, looking on with a mixture of stunned elatement and disbelief.

"THAT IS THE MOST GANGSTA SHIT I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKIN' ME?!"

The club owner's jubilant tone, though, implied he knew otherwise, his gaze going back to the piece in his hands with obvious excitement.

"Hell with Jesus, this is the shit you'd use to take out Iron Man at 4000 feet. I hook up Sionis with these, we're good, all our problems go away. The Bat and his crew's armor won't do shit. And Luke Cage?! That nigga stops rolling with his amazing friends long enough to set foot back in Harlem and any street punk with a gun can end his bulletproof ass! Shit, fuckin' ZIP could take him out!"

A laugh ran through the mostly-stunned crew members gathered (except Zip), defusing some of the tension from the gun scene earlier. "And this won't set me back none? Like Shades and his Judas?" Forget Diamondback. He started supplying specialized hardware that matched his best at lower prices, nobody was even gonna remember that name in Harlem.

Whatever the answer to that question was, he pocketed the MIDAS prototype on the inside of his coat and relaxed in his chair again, in too good a mood to let Tockman's questioning of his hired help weigh on him. Though he did take the opportunity to flaunt a little.

"Big leagues means big muscle. And if Mariah expands her personal staff then you sure as hell best believe I can too. Been eyeballing a couple freelancers, can handle shit a lot better than these sorry fools. That stunt of yours, I actually like that Wu Tang-style shit; But I wouldn't try a repeat performance, you show up here again. I understand these world-class cats are quick on the draw. Might not be fast enough to dissuade that unfortunate trigger instinct next time."

He smirked, though there was no malice carried in the expression. All things considered it was safe to say he was pleased by the visit, and when Tockman rose to go Cornell simply splayed out his hands accommodatingly, looking him straight in the eye and bidding him a breezy farewell.

"My man."

---


Yet another few minutes, yet another changeover in musical act. Cottonmouth finished up his drink before anything else as his looming presence watched over events in the club, lounged out in his seat with plenty on his mind. Finally, he beckoned for the one from before and leaned from his chair to address him.

"Bring her up."

The card lay flat on the table, his eyes roving over it occasionally. He rubbed at his upper lip.

"More drinks, too. Singapore Sling for our new guest. Ha-ha-ha."

He pushed out that laugh again, shaking his head. Of course, his own familiarity with the Foot came mostly from their fixture in Chinatown and pervasive presence across Manhattan, but word breezed in of what went down in Madripoor every now and then. Most like Cottonmouth kept the place on the backburner as an escape plan if plans ever went south, its criminal extradition laws making it an ideal refuge for the alleged criminal.

Alleged.

@Michale CS @Ringmaster
 
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Yet another few minutes, yet another changeover in musical act. Cottonmouth finished up his drink before anything else as his looming presence watched over events in the club, lounged out in his seat with plenty on his mind. Finally, he beckoned for the one from before and leaned from his chair to address him.

"Bring her up."

The card lay flat on the table, his eyes roving over it occasionally. He rubbed at his upper lip.

"More drinks, too. Singapore Sling for our new guest. Ha-ha-ha."

He pushed out that laugh again, shaking his head. Of course, his own familiarity with the Foot came mostly from their fixture in Chinatown and pervasive presence across Manhattan, but word breezed in of what went down in Madripoor every now and then. Most like Cottonmouth kept the place on the backburner as an escape plan if plans ever went south, its criminal extradition laws making it an ideal refuge for the alleged criminal.

Alleged.
For anyone else who had seen her in action, the genial manner she gently rebuffed company might have surprised them. But then again, that was the way of the Foot Clan. Never flaunt power until you were sure you needed it, and even then you made damn sure.

Then you struck with all your might, with the focus of a surgeon and the force of a speeding bullet.

Just like her father had taught her. Still, when a figure approached her to inform her of Mr. Stokes open spot, she smiled and got up. All sweetness and polite like the stereotypical vision of Japanese woman in general. In that respect at least, she would agree with Cottonmouth. Everybody always underestimated a stereotype.

Besides, someone had to even out her fathers cruelty.

Upon reaching the level, she offered a smile and bowed her head once in greetings. Her voice when she spoke was like the Clan she hailed from, all smokey and with a hint of an accent as she said aloud.

"Mr. Stokes, how good of you to see me. I am Karai Oroku. It is nice to finally meet you in person."

@OrlandoBloomers
 
A laugh ran through the mostly-stunned crew members gathered (except Zip), defusing some of the tension from the gun scene earlier. "And this won't set me back none? Like Shades and his Judas?" Forget Diamondback. He started supplying specialized hardware that matched his best at lower prices, nobody was even gonna remember that name in Harlem.
"Consider your prototype, and the first case, paid for due in no small part to your contributions to OsCorp. After that, I'm afraid production costs are one hundred thousand dollars per unit." Tockman replied, with a nod. "And while Miss Dillard is willing to part with them at cost, due to this being funded by OsCorp, doing so in any sort of quantity would likely trigger an IRS audit. Even Capone couldn't dodge the IRS forever, so she regrets to relay to you that she would have to clear some profit, but that is beyond the scope of my visit today. For the final figure, you will be dealing with your cousin personally."

"Big leagues means big muscle. And if Mariah expands her personal staff then you sure as hell best believe I can too. Been eyeballing a couple freelancers, can handle shit a lot better than these sorry fools. That stunt of yours, I actually like that Wu Tang-style shit; But I wouldn't try a repeat performance, you show up here again. I understand these world-class cats are quick on the draw. Might not be fast enough to dissuade that unfortunate trigger instinct next time."
He smirked, though there was no malice carried in the expression. All things considered it was safe to say he was pleased by the visit, and when Tockman rose to go Cornell simply splayed out his hands accommodatingly, looking him straight in the eye and bidding him a breezy farewell.

"My man."


"While I appreciate your concern, Mister Stokes, my being fast enough will rarely be an issue. And trust me, I will only return here on behest of my employer. As you said... I don't really, fit in." And it might have been a trick of the light, but Stokes could swear he saw some freaky grey lightning in Tockman's eyes as he adjusted his glasses and met Cornell's gaze.
 
"Consider your prototype, and the first case, paid for due in no small part to your contributions to OsCorp. After that, I'm afraid production costs are one hundred thousand dollars per unit." Tockman replied, with a nod. "And while Miss Dillard is willing to part with them at cost, due to this being funded by OsCorp, doing so in any sort of quantity would likely trigger an IRS audit. Even Capone couldn't dodge the IRS forever, so she regrets to relay to you that she would have to clear some profit, but that is beyond the scope of my visit today. For the final figure, you will be dealing with your cousin personally."

"While I appreciate your concern, Mister Stokes, my being fast enough will rarely be an issue. And trust me, I will only return here on behest of my employer. As you said... I don't really, fit in." And it might have been a trick of the light, but Stokes could swear he saw some freaky grey lightning in Tockman's eyes as he adjusted his glasses and met Cornell's gaze.

The club owner didn't seem too daunted by that, chewing the inside of his lip and giving a slight bob of the head in comprehension as he alternated between eyeing the accountant and glancing over the balcony. "With my operations in business that's chump change. Long as I get a routine going, a network..."

He sniffed to clear his train of thought, filing the matter away for later thinking. "'Course, I'll save the specifics for whenever my cousin decides to grace us with her presence here once again." The brief moment of eye contact where the vaguest makings of some arcane aspect within Tockman were gleaned received much the same treatment, Cornell simply maintaining the stare a few moments later before he pulled back his mouth into that patronizing grin again and chuckled, shaking one finger.

"Mariah has been meeting some odd cats up on ivory tower, huh? If I'm to understand my cabaret does not appeal to you, please. I invite you to put something in, with... customer service. That's how you number crunchers do that shit, right?"
For anyone else who had seen her in action, the genial manner she gently rebuffed company might have surprised them. But then again, that was the way of the Foot Clan. Never flaunt power until you were sure you needed it, and even then you made damn sure.

Then you struck with all your might, with the focus of a surgeon and the force of a speeding bullet.

Just like her father had taught her. Still, when a figure approached her to inform her of Mr. Stokes open spot, she smiled and got up. All sweetness and polite like the stereotypical vision of Japanese woman in general. In that respect at least, she would agree with Cottonmouth. Everybody always underestimated a stereotype.

Besides, someone had to even out her fathers cruelty.

Upon reaching the level, she offered a smile and bowed her head once in greetings. Her voice when she spoke was like the Clan she hailed from, all smokey and with a hint of an accent as she said aloud.

"Mr. Stokes, how good of you to see me. I am Karai Oroku. It is nice to finally meet you in person."

@OrlandoBloomers

If charisma alone was the mark of sheer presence, Cottonmouth had no shortage of either. He was already standing by the time Karai set foot on the VIP landing, one hand held casually in his trouser pocket while the other buttoned up his coat from the bottom with the sort of practiced ease that could be done without looking. The MIDAS firearm Tockman had bequeathed sat concealed within his suit's inner folds, likely not-so concealed from Karai's trained eye, although he seemed to have no intention of using the piece and was simply buttoning his jacket to keep it from showing too blatantly. Multiple pairs of eyes followed the Foot representative's progress across the floor, from Stokes' own coiled and calculated self to the less professional stares of some of the lowlifes on his payroll. There was, regrettably, a reason so many waitresses working at the Paradise found serving drinks to the upper floor such a discomforting thought. Cottonmouth was a man of considerable intelligence and at least some integrity; Many of those he paid to do his dirty work were not.

The smile, bow and general politeness were all observed through his intense eyes, his own wide smile thrown back like an unwanted present as he nodded his head to the bow.

"Now look at this. A business card. Patience. And actual manners? She better at this introductory game than you are, Tockman. What'd they teach you in business school 'bout all this?"

He glanced only briefly at Tockman before his gaze went back to Karai again, focusing on her. He assumed his cousin's assistant would want to stay largely anonymous from the fabled Foot Clan of New York, but if he wanted to stay and keep an ear in then it was all him.

"Miss Oroku. Your reputation precedes you by a couple dozen miles, in fact. The Paradise's attracting all kinds of strange patronage tonight."

He seemed to swell in an intake of pride at that, huffing his shoulders back and adorning a slight smirk.

"Only Harlem."

@Michale CS @Ringmaster
 
If charisma alone was the mark of sheer presence, Cottonmouth had no shortage of either. He was already standing by the time Karai set foot on the VIP landing, one hand held casually in his trouser pocket while the other buttoned up his coat from the bottom with the sort of practiced ease that could be done without looking. The MIDAS firearm Tockman had bequeathed sat concealed within his suit's inner folds, likely not-so concealed from Karai's trained eye, although he seemed to have no intention of using the piece and was simply buttoning his jacket to keep it from showing too blatantly. Multiple pairs of eyes followed the Foot representative's progress across the floor, from Stokes' own coiled and calculated self to the less professional stares of some of the lowlifes on his payroll. There was, regrettably, a reason so many waitresses working at the Paradise found serving drinks to the upper floor such a discomforting thought. Cottonmouth was a man of considerable intelligence and at least some integrity; Many of those he paid to do his dirty work were not.

The smile, bow and general politeness were all observed through his intense eyes, his own wide smile thrown back like an unwanted present as he nodded his head to the bow.

"Now look at this. A business card. Patience. And actual manners? She better at this introductory game than you are, Tockman. What'd they teach you in business school 'bout all this?"
No quick flick of the eyes for Karai. She'd learned at an early age just how fast that caught attention. No, for her she took her time taking in Mr. Stokes guest, noting his posture and trimmings with easy regard before she turned a charming smile towards both as she spoke.

"My father is very.... Old fashioned. In that respect, I am very much his daughter."
He glanced only briefly at Tockman before his gaze went back to Karai again, focusing on her. He assumed his cousin's assistant would want to stay largely anonymous from the fabled Foot Clan of New York, but if he wanted to stay and keep an ear in then it was all him.

"Miss Oroku. Your reputation precedes you by a couple dozen miles, in fact. The Paradise's attracting all kinds of strange patronage tonight."

He seemed to swell in an intake of pride at that, huffing his shoulders back and adorning a slight smirk.

"Only Harlem."
Another smile, another nod of the head. That was the name of the game in New York City, where the Underworld was concerned. The veritable army of vigilantes, super-powered and otherwise enforced the Shadow Figures to adapt or be hammered down. Not like the old days, when open war was waged. Now you had to worry about a Spiderman or a Batgirl crashing your little party if too much noise was kicked up.

Or a Ninja Turtle.

"And your clubs reputation precedes itself in turn Mr. Stokes. But alas, it is not pleasure that draws me here tonight but business."

She heaved a sigh and waited to be offered a seat as the next number struck up and she glanced out at the stage with a small smile, one hand swaying to the music as though conducting by her side.

....She had to ask as well as she glanced over back at Tockman before looking back at Cottonmouth with a quirked eyebrow.

One of yours? the look seemed to ask.

@Michale CS @OrlandoBloomers
 
The smile, bow and general politeness were all observed through his intense eyes, his own wide smile thrown back like an unwanted present as he nodded his head to the bow.

"Now look at this. A business card. Patience. And actual manners? She better at this introductory game than you are, Tockman. What'd they teach you in business school 'bout all this?"
"My approach this evening was... coached, as they say in the business world, by your cousin. You may want to have words with Miss Dillard regarding that. Regardless... it was effective. Have a good evening, Mister Stokes." Tockman nodded. "Miss." He added with a slight dip of his head as he made his way out of Harlem's Paradise for the evening.

@OrlandoBloomers @Ringmaster
 
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Another day passed, three customers at least. On with the promise of more visits. I use my office to change into my armor. Out into the night I go. I have an evening appointment at the North investigation agency.

Interestingly enough, I don't think Fury got me this job offer. I am curious about who brought this about.

I find the expensive looking office, looking around before I go inside.
 
Another day passed, three customers at least. On with the promise of more visits. I use my office to change into my armor. Out into the night I go. I have an evening appointment at the North investigation agency.

Interestingly enough, I don't think Fury got me this job offer. I am curious about who brought this about.

I find the expensive looking office, looking around before I go inside.
Dakota_%28earth-616%29_004.jpg

As she entered the office, she was waved in by a redhead, indicating a seat across from her.
"Coffee?" She offered. "Personally, I'm not running on all cylinders without it, but to each her own."

Whether or not the offer was accepted, she would continue speaking. "First off, that is my name on the sign. I'm Dakota North, and as you can tell by the name of the company, I'm a P.I.. I've got a current client who, while quite capable of paying my retainer, has a suspicion, and a solid one, that someone in the metahuman community might be involved in her case. I asked a lawyer friend of mine if he knew anyone that could help me, and he gave me contact information with someone at SHIELD, who in turn... recommended you. Before I go into details, why don't I answer any questions or concerns that you might have."

Interestingly, on the wall, there was a fairly recent Vogue cover, featuring Dakota herself.
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@Gands
 
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No quick flick of the eyes for Karai. She'd learned at an early age just how fast that caught attention. No, for her she took her time taking in Mr. Stokes guest, noting his posture and trimmings with easy regard before she turned a charming smile towards both as she spoke.

"My father is very.... Old fashioned. In that respect, I am very much his daughter."

Another smile, another nod of the head. That was the name of the game in New York City, where the Underworld was concerned. The veritable army of vigilantes, super-powered and otherwise enforced the Shadow Figures to adapt or be hammered down. Not like the old days, when open war was waged. Now you had to worry about a Spiderman or a Batgirl crashing your little party if too much noise was kicked up.

Or a Ninja Turtle.

"And your clubs reputation precedes itself in turn Mr. Stokes. But alas, it is not pleasure that draws me here tonight but business."

She heaved a sigh and waited to be offered a seat as the next number struck up and she glanced out at the stage with a small smile, one hand swaying to the music as though conducting by her side.

....She had to ask as well as she glanced over back at Tockman before looking back at Cottonmouth with a quirked eyebrow.

One of yours? the look seemed to ask.

@Michale CS @OrlandoBloomers
"My approach this evening was... coached, as they say in the business world, by your cousin. You may want to have words with Miss Dillard regarding that. Regardless... it was effective. Have a good evening, Mister Stokes." Tockman nodded. "Miss." He added with a slight dip of his head as he made his way out of Harlem's Paradise for the evening.

@OrlandoBloomers @Ringmaster
The slight, rankled stare Karai's look got in return from Cottonmouth spoke more than he could've aloud as he continued the casual one-handed adjustment of his jacket, flitting his gaze back to Tockman once more at his response. He flicked his tongue out and gave that false beam again, eyes crinkled and brow slightly raised in the middle, ever the unflapped condescender when others might look threatened. Despite the front as a humble club owner, he knew how this worked. It was an emasculating tactic when faced with opposition, something that made one appear unconcerned and above it all. To the people working for that individual, who might otherwise be shook, the attitude was a shot of confidence. "I just might. You sleep tight, Mr. Tockman. Don't let that ice tea sit too heavy."

He stayed standing in the same position to see Tockman off with watchful eyes, then turned his attention back to Karai with a smile much more affected by at least the pretense of civility as he touched a light hand to her upper back and gestured for his own personal booth with the other, the picture of a welcoming host. Assuming she went to take her seat, he followed and slid back into his own chair with a sigh of comfort, clasping his hands in front of him and looking out over the balcony at his kingdom as he was known to do. From up here he knew every move and shake of every person working that floor, from the bar staff to the music technicians. It was easy to underestimate a club owner, too. Especially for some big-time corporation accountant who thought he was better than him.

"You like my music?"

The current performance was just finishing up, the song reaching its apex as the instrumentals swelled. He recognized every beat, every singular note and tone. Most of these acts were booked by him personally.

"New friend," he continued after a moment, nodding down at the doors leading from the club out into the street as Tockman disappeared through them. "Lotta people wanting to be friends with me lately, ha-ha. Time was couldn't nobody black ever think of rising this high."

He shook his head, the tail end of that chuckle of his spiraling out into silence as he looked back in time to see the waitress bring them their drinks on a tray. His eyes dismissed her, settling instead on the business card still in place on the table as cocktail glasses were set down next to it.

"Reputation. That's important to me. I respect the power behind a rep. And you? No offense, butchu not exactly the person I'd expect to see repping an organization like what your daddy heads."

He shrugged, gaze back on the stage once more and looking nigh-entranced by the performance, fingers steepled together.

XEGOTR9.png


"I had a daughter, I'd keep her away from all this shit. She'd be in Juilliard or Curtis. Not out runnin' my business for me."

@Ringmaster @Michale CS
 
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She watched the man leave, before a beep on her phone had her glance at a text message before she put it away. Hmph. Not surprising, but annoying. As it was, it was just another sin to lay at their enemies feet in its proper time and place. Till then, she'd make a note of it and when the time came....Settle the ledger personally.

Or not, the Genin still needed to learn their place.
"You like my music?"

The current performance was just finishing up, the song reaching its apex as the instrumentals swelled. He recognized every beat, every singular note and tone. Most of these acts were booked by him personally.
She offered a smile in response as she leaned back comfortably in her seat.

"Very much so, Mr. Stokes. It feels as though Harlem itself is singing to me personally, with every performance. You've an ear for music I see."

Enough to know the perfect ambiance it'd give his club, which showed an eye towards the little details. Good, the Foot Clan needed people like that in their associations. And it'd mean less of a problem when it came to what she came here to do.

Provided she could manage to seal the deal.
"New friend," he continued after a moment, nodding down at the doors leading from the club out into the street as Tockman disappeared through them. "Lotta people wanting to be friends with me lately, ha-ha. Time was couldn't nobody black ever think of rising this high."

He shook his head, the tail end of that chuckle of his spiraling out into silence as he looked back in time to see the waitress bring them their drinks on a tray. His eyes dismissed her, settling instead on the business card still in place on the table as cocktail glasses were set down next to it.

"Reputation. That's important to me. I respect the power behind a rep. And you? No offense, butchu not exactly the person I'd expect to see repping an organization like what your daddy heads."

He shrugged, gaze back on the stage once more and looking nigh-entranced by the performance, fingers steepled together.
She stirred her drink, giving him her full attention. A moment later, she sipped and savored it as she flicked her eyes towards the card, whose brand laid between them like an onlooker to the proceedings. A pity father could not be here to conduct this personally, but their Gotham Pipeline had recently given them some trouble.

She pitied their contact, who had let it happen.
"I had a daughter, I'd keep her away from all this shit. She'd be in Juilliard or Curtis. Not out runnin' my business for me."
She placed her drink down delicately upon a coaster, the ritual giving the words time to settle before she spoke in turn.

"Mr. Stokes....I know my fathers....Excesses has given him a particular name in the circles we run around. Rest assured, despite that? There truly is no other place I would rather be than by his side. When I was a child, my earliest memories had been him teaching me our clans traditions. Honing me to what I am now- Everything I am, I owe to him. I would not have it any other way. We are, as we are...And the only thing that we can change, is that which we take with our own hands."

She breathed deeply, letting the scent of the club fill her lungs as she sighed out before continuing.

"....For now however, you may consider my words as those of my father. And let me say, he sees no color. He sees no race, nor even humanity. There is only power and skill and out of respect for both, we have avoided Harlem as a point of honoring both demonstrated." That and they had enough to keep them busy in East Village and Chinatown. More so, with the four thorns in their side whom they had clashed with, time and again. Like Wilson Fisk, it would have upset the balance of power to move in and with this unspoken agreement, all of them in this line of work had managed to accumulate their own power and prestige. Hell's Kitchen quaked before the Kingpin. Harlem was the den of the Cottonmouth and in Chinatown and East Village, the Foot had placed its mark on every illegal and legal line of work. Merely so much and no more.

Until now.

"We feel however, it is time to change that. Fisk had a run-in with a Devil as well as...The other one. You yourself, have experienced vigilante problems of your own. Ourselves, alas there are those who do not share our Clan's vision of purpose. For the longest time, we've watched our backs from each other as well as the costumed folk....Tonight, the Foot Clan has decreed 'no more.'"

She took her drink back up and sipped it slowly before putting it back down.

"Have I caught your interest, Mr. Stokes?"

@OrlandoBloomers
 
Does your client know what type of Meta is involved ?

Psionic apparently, which is why when your name was suggested, I followed this path.
It has something to do with the recent so called vampire attacks in the area. But from what I've been able to track so far, I think the vampire thing is false. It doesn't lay straight for me and I don't know why.


What do you know that it has done so far ?

Ah ha, you will have to sign the non-disclosure agreement for hire one before I give you any details.

Ii know and sign the paperwork, pushing it back across the table to her.




 
"Does your client know what type of Meta is involved ?"

"Psionic apparently, which is why when your name was suggested, I followed this path.
It has something to do with the recent so called vampire attacks in the area. But from what I've been able to track so far, I think the vampire thing is false. It doesn't lay straight for me and I don't know why."



"What do you know that it has done so far ?"

"Ah ha, you will have to sign the non-disclosure agreement for hire one before I give you any details."

Ii know and sign the paperwork, pushing it back across the table to her.
"My client, Carly Minelli was assaulted by one of these so-called vampires. She was wearing jewelry given to her by her great-uncle. Jewelry that protects her from psionic intrusions. She saw not a vampire, but a man in a mask, coming at her with a pair of syringes taped together. They're collecting blood, but not a lot. Enough for typing or... maybe experimenting. But there's far easier and less elaborate ways to get that. Run a false blood drive and one day you'll have what they've gained in months. That's why I think it's some sort of copycat, taking advantage. But someone without a lot of personal resources, or they'd do something like the blood drive I mentioned."

@Gands
 
Alright miss, I think I can be of assistance. Let me give you an idea what I can do and what I can't.

I am not a telepath. I am an empath. Here is the difference, I don't hear thoughts I can feel emotional states.

Sometimes I can feel items, tell their history, this is called Psychometry.

I have a small offense, I can mentally paralyze people. With most people the duration is measured in a handful of hours.
Powerful minds, measured in minutes. .


I am very slightly telekinetic, but I usually don't tell people. It's not very powerful.

I have something of an attack awareness, I use it subconsciously to help avoid being squashed.

I can separate my mental perception and detach it from my self.

Most of the rest as far as training should be in my file. I would guess you have a detailed version.

I wont comment on my change of employment, except to say that it was driven more by my citizenship and suspicion than any facts.

@Michale CS
 
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Alright miss, I think I can be of assistance. Let me give you an idea what I can do and what I can't.

...

@Michale CS
"First off, I'm Dakota. If we're working together, I don't want to be on anything but a first name basis with my partner. The rest, while very nice to know and useful, is kind of secondary to your investigative skills, which come recommended too. The psychic parts? Great once we catch up to whomever is doing this. I grabbed traffic camera footage of the area around where the attack happened, and all I got was a U-Haul truck that someone ran into and pulled out of in a hurry. Plate was partial, and one from Vermont, so I can't even nail it down as to which U-Haul place it was rented from."

Dakota stood up. "Come on. We're grabbing lunch, learning to be friends for a bit, then we're going to hit the alleyway where this happened. Maybe there's an object there you can work your mojo on that'll give us a solid lead."

@Gands
 

"Goongala, motherfucka'."

That was all the thugs had time to hear, before getting a baseball bat to the gut as one of many vigilantes that New York City had in abundance showed him the finer points of a Jose Canseco, Raphael's opinion be damned. Sure it was just a few thugs, but like they said. Every little bit helped and eventually, he liked to think it'd all add up. That'd be the day.

Oh right, but his current state. He dropped the thug and rolled him over, giving him the eye before blinking. He knew this clown, normally he ran through Hell's Kitchen. Hell was he doing out here, in Chinatown? Maybe Kingpin was looking to expand, in which case Casey Jones would be more than happy to turn him out in the direction of tinhead.

Maybe they'd get lucky and they'd tear each other apart, he could only hope. Anyway, good deed done he zip-tied the thug to a light post and swinging his bat in hand, went back to his walk as he stashed the mask away. He could go all Jason later.

Right now, he really was just going for a walk.

.....With his baseball bat and hockey mask.

@Michale CS
 
"Booyakasha!" He declared, as he landed on top of the dumpster in the alleyway. The two would-be muggers were laid out on the ground.

Standing about ten feet from him was the woman he 'saved' from the attack. She was trembling, and staring at Michelangelo.

"What? Hey, it's just a mask, see?" Mikey pulled off the bandana for a moment and the woman fainted. Thankfully he vaulted over and caught her before she hit the ground. "Why do they always do that? I'm not that ugly, am I? Naw... she was just in awe of my awesomely awesome skills." He carried the woman over to the nearest bus bench and sat her down, making sure to replace his mask before he left the alley.

She came around again and he was there, standing nearby. "Hey, sorry about that. You fainted back there. Maybe you need something to eat? Wanna grab a pizza?"

"A...talking lizard."

"Whoa, whoa whoa! No need to insult me. I'm a turtle. See? Hard shell in the back?" He turned around and tapped the shell a couple of times for good measure before turning back around... to see her running down the street.

"Huh. Maybe she just doesn't like pizza. I know who does like it though! It's about time I find a pal..." Mikey went back to his stealthy trip around the neighborhood, heading for where a certain hockey-mask wearing, pizza-loving vigilante often made his rounds...

@Ringmaster
 
In the end, Mikey would find Casey out in Chinatown, in a place he knew well.

Mr. Murakami's old noodle shop. The burn damage was extensive, a lot of things needed to be replaced but it was a place with a lot of heart and memory. Both for those who had eaten here, the Turtles among them and Casey himself. Not everyone was as understanding as the old man when it came to his buddies and his condition in the hospital really made him mad. But for now, all he could do was clean.

Try to get things good and the insurance through for the poor guy to make sure he was set up.

Casey himself would have replaced his bat for a broom as he vainly tried to clean up.

In silence, he waited a beat before he spoke.

"...I know its a dead horse, but he was a good guy. In New York, that's like super rare."

@Michale CS
 
In silence, he waited a beat before he spoke.

"...I know its a dead horse, but he was a good guy. In New York, that's like super rare."
"Noooo! Not the Noodle Shop! Why am I the last to find out these things?!" Michelangelo landed nearby and dropped to his knees, shaking a fist at the sky.

Mikey blinked and tapped his chin a few times. "Wait... maybe that's what Raph was yelling about this time while I was trying to watch So You Want To Be A Superhero? What about Mister Murakami? Are his noodle making... bones, broken? I swear vengeance on the dastardly villain who would dare destroy an honest man's noodle shop!"

Then, he looked up, and stood. "What, too melodramatic? Man, I always overdo it. Who did this, Case?"

@Ringmaster
 
"Noooo! Not the Noodle Shop! Why am I the last to find out these things?!" Michelangelo landed nearby and dropped to his knees, shaking a fist at the sky.

Mikey blinked and tapped his chin a few times. "Wait... maybe that's what Raph was yelling about this time while I was trying to watch So You Want To Be A Superhero? What about Mister Murakami? Are his noodle making... bones, broken? I swear vengeance on the dastardly villain who would dare destroy an honest man's noodle shop!"

Then, he looked up, and stood. "What, too melodramatic? Man, I always overdo it. Who did this, Case?"

@Ringmaster
"Who else in Chinatown?" Casey said wryly before putting the broom aside.

"And for the record, he got beat within an inch of his life and is currently blinded and the guy responsible got off in Court today. So yeah."

Though if he knew Raph, guy wasn't the sort to rest on his ass when something like this went down.

He expected to hear about it later, somehow.

@Michale CS
 
I get up with my new partner, feeling just a little too armored for casual fun. Luckily, there was investigation to do.

Have you been keeping up with all the new Meta's in town lately ? Seems to be some shifting about between cities.

You driving or would you like to be on the back of a motorcycle?

@Michale CS
 
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