Description: With the chance for global prominence at their finger tips, due to the unexpected contract with the U.N., the time for Mad Gear to call in its big guns has arrived..that is assuming Katana and Poison can convince Abigail to set aside his love for Monster Truck Rally's in order to add his horsepower to Mad Gear's efforts.
"It's the moment you've all been waiting for! MONSTER JAM – HALLOWEEN CRASH IS HERE!" roars the voice of an all to excitable announcer from an old TV set that sits outside of the massive warehouse turned scrap-yard/garage. The neon blue and red illumination of the 'Abigail's Scrap Yard' singage mixing with the light of the set.
Crazy imagery of screaming excited crowds, Monster Trucks hurtling through the air, crushing rows and rows of cars and other stunts and sounds to overwhelm the senses blare through as a heavy metal soundtrack adds to the confusion insanity.
"This year we've got something special planned for you! It's the long await return of---!!" BZZZT "We interrupt this broadcast for the latest updates on the ongoing crisis in.."
The news casters voice and images of the ongoing global struggle are interrupted by a loud deep voice booming "NOOOOO!! THE VROOOM!!"
A foot the size of the entire tv comes smashing down, flattening it and shattering it in a spray of sparks, plastique and metals and shaking the ground as the foot impacts it, cracking the pavement itself and leaving an imprint with the ruins of the set sunken deep within. Above this all, Abigail stands, a welding mask tilted up as to reveal a furious and then despondant face as his shoulders sag and tears threaten to well up. "Noooooo..Not again..."
Loyalty. Respect. Honor. Courage. Benevolence. Katana embodies at least three of these five virtues, the virtues of BUSHIDO, the way of the SAMURAI. It is these virtues that have driven him to take the reins of Mad Gear in Metro City after it was famously crushed by Mayor Haggar and his allies. Though lacking the leadership qualities of previous gang bosses, he has endeavored to hold the splintering fragments of the once feared gang together.
But at last their big break has come. As paid bodyguards to the United Nations in a world on the verge of catastrophe, the cash is pouring in again, and with it prestige. Protecting the United Nations as it targets Japan is unspeakably painful for Katana, but the true SAMURAI is loyal first and foremost to his clan. So he has told himself during long nights quietly shedding manly tears behind his thick blue helmet.
"Returning to Mad Gear showed your true commitment to the values of BUSHIDO. You have done well to come this far with me, NAKAMA."
That same blue helmet (has he ever removed it?) turns to face Poison now as the two of them approach Abigail's junkyard, his eyes hidden deep in the shadowy recesses of his helm's eyeslits. Katana is as always dressed in his SAMURAI armor composed of repurposed football player's gear, his twin jitte at his sides. As he reaches up to pull open the warehouse's front door, Katana flinches at the sound of a loud crash from within, followed by a pitiful wail. He glances slightly in Poison's direction, as though concerned she noticed his nervousness, before straightening as though nothing has happened and swinging the door wide to enter.
"Abigail, ORE NO KAZOKU," he exclaims to the mourning giant. "My friend, Mad Gear has need of you in Metro City! Heed our call to battle!" He strikes a wide-stanced pose before hesitating, reaching down to fumble under the breastplate of his 'armor,' and then withdrawing what appears to be a conch shell, before raising it to his helm and slipping it through his mouth slit.
The young woman at Katana's side smiles sweetly at the praise. Dressed in an outfit that could charitably be called 'sporty', if one twisted the word into knots a few times and then added some bondage gear for good measure. In truth, she looks like she should be hugging a stripper pole in some seedy red light establishment, her long purple-dyed hair doing more to conceal her body than the garments she wears - a thin white tank top that leaves little to the imagination and a pair of cut-off jean shorts that she hasn't even bothered to fasten closed. There's nothing virtuous about Poison and she isn't afraid to flaunt it.
Infact, the only reason she's standing here right now is because of all that money that suddenly got dumped into Mad Gear's lap. Things haven't exactly worked out for her in the past when she threw her lot in with these bozos but the new management has always struck her as the sort of dolt she can easily dupe. She's still pretty confused about the sanity of whoever thought hiring a gang of nutballs and junkies was going to work out in their favor, but until the floor inevitably falls out from underneath them she's more than happy to take her cut. So far, dealing with their 'illustrious' new leader has proven to be the hardest part of rejoining the gang.
"Well... you know me, sweetie. I'm always up for a good party."
She gives a girlish giggle, lifting a hand to cover her mouth in a faux display of demure restraint, but their conversation is cut short the sudden ground-shuddering crash that comes from within the building. Her eyes widen in surprise, caught off-guard momentarily, but she recovers quickly and turns to eye the warehouse suspiciously which causes her to miss Katana's flinch and subsequent glance. This was just supposed to be a social call. Whatever, maybe some rough-housing would cheer her up a little.
Slipping through the doorway behind the massive Japanophile, Poison takes several steps away to ensure she doesn't get swept up in whatever sweeping dramatic nonsense the man is planning. Even so, she can't escape the wave of embarrasment that washes over her as he withdraws the conch, a hand going to her face.
"Just think of the money," she whispers to herself.
Most scrapyards are a rumble of the noises of haulers, crushers, shredders, magnetic pulley;s and other pieces of loud over the top machines dedicated to the destruction, recycling, compacting and of vesicles and whatever else needs doing away with. , Abigail's Scrap Yard has these devices but they're currently switched off as he's te only one here on the job right now and...the brute prefers to do it all himself!
A loud wrenching sound of metal occurs as Abigail, welders mask down now, reaches under a van and heaves, flipping it over and then slamming it vertically into the ground with violent force. Another crash rippling through the area just as the two visitors soldier in. As to the van, it probably served as a church bus or some other ferrying service before winding up here.
"Hrrrooooom!" Abigail thunders as he reaches up, stretching his body high and splaying his fingers like the legs of a tarantula. He slaps down, smashing into the rear of the van, as it points up at the ceiling and a fw seconds later, a horrible sound of metal wrenching and glass shattering and groaning fills the air. With a single arm, Abigail begins to literally compress the poor thing like an accordion. This disturbing display of brute strength is the sight that greets Poison and Sodom as they actually enter the yard and it is only the sound of the conch sounding off that causes Abigail to pause, van halfway flattened into a cube.
".Hruh??.Vroom??" he rumbles, looking between them both, clearly surprised before exclaiming, "H..hey! Can't y'see??" He reaches a huge finger up from his free hand and flicks the welding mask back up, "I'm busy!"
It is fortunate for Katana that his helm obscures how his eyes bulge and jaw slackens at Abigail's preposterous display of might. He's familiar with the bruiser's incredible strength, of course, as they've been compatriots for some time. But some sights never get old. The conch slips from his lips as the sound fades and he hastily tucks it back into the sash behind his armor. Its clarion call does its job. Foresight like that is why Katana's the boss. Or something.
"HAI, WAKARIMASU, Abigail-SAN!" Katana makes a gauntleted fist before him in affirmation, voice booming. His wide stance would make him imposing were he not utterly dwarfed by the towering figure whose attention he has momentarily gained. "Nevertheless, duty calls! Mad Gear has need of your tremendous strength in Metro City. Hearken to the promise of a glorious future! Soon our notoriety will spread throughout the land, and all will tremble at our name once more! Yes, Mad Gear's sun rises, much like the sun emblazoned upon the flag of great NIPPON!"
He spreads his arms wide theatrically and pauses there. After a moment of silence, though, he seems to hesitate, glancing around the junkyard.
"Um," he continues more quietly. "KANE ARIMASU. We have money. To buy, um, trucks. Big trucks." He goes silent again, and then slowly, very slowly, tilts his helmet toward Poison.
"ORE O TASUKETE KUDASAI."
Poison, on the other hand, makes no efforts to hide her surprise at seeing a full-sized van get crumpled like a used up paper cup. Her eyes go wide and she stares openly at the sight, mouth hanging slightly ajar. Shit, no wonder Katana wanted this guy back on the team. He's like an overgrown gorrilla on steroids!
After a few moments of gawking, the woman regains her composure and lets out a soft whistle, leaning back against the wall as she crosses her arms under her chest. The motion pushes her prominent bosom to the fore causing the fabric of the already tight tank top to strain in its effort to contain her assets. Might as well turn on the sex appeal a little. She assumes that's why Katana brought her along. That or she was the only person willing to pick up the phone when he called.
"Hey there, fella. That's some impressive strength you have going on there. We sure could use someone like you back on the team. I know I'd feel alot safer with a big guy like you around."
She tosses the muscle-bound lug a playful wink for good measure. Go go sleazy sales pitch.
"Ffffphbbb.." Abigail rolls his tongue in his mouth. Rumbling and making a sound like an engine petering out. He listens, as best he can, but it's clear that his legendary impatience is threatening to rear its head. His foot begins tapping as he rocks back and forth slightly. That subtle movement enough seems to slightly rattle the ground. Nope, the theatrics aren't doing it for him. Finally he snaps, curling his large lips and heavy jowls into an expression reminiscent of a frowning junkyard bulldog before bellowing, "I told you, I don't speak chinese!!" before reaching up and bringing his welders mask back down with a snappy flick of his hands.
He then brings the mask back up again, as something else finally registers and he stares his beady grey eyes at Poison and Katana, "..Did you say...buy more....Vroooom?"
Tempting...tempting. He then hears Poison and he snaps his attention back to her., pursing his lips abit in thought as he gives her a good loooooong look. He may have been Bay Area chief under Belger but that doesn't mean he knew everyone in the gang and she's not one you forget easily.
Some, though, he does know of all to well, "Hmph..Not enough muscle, eh? The Andores all go running back to..uh...where they from, Russia? I suppose all of them is equals one of me.." He snaps the welding mask back down again and begins to turn his attention to the compressed van as he asks. "So where's the trouble at?? I'm trying to be all legit now. You trying to get me into some trouble?"
Witnessing his NAKAMA's provocative display, Katana is impressed, not that it is possible to tell. Emboldened by Poison's KUNOICHI-like sensuous charms, he turns back to Abigail and assists in the seduction, mimicking her by crossing his own burly arms in front of his armored chest beneath his pectorals. The breastplate slides up slightly.
"N-no trouble!" the Mad Gear leader stammers, voice echoing. Even he can ditch the Japanese a little when he has to, for at least, like, 30 seconds. GOMENNASAI, NIPPON. "This is a legitimate job! Good work for good pay. We're being hired by the United Nations!" He spreads his arms wide, as though to indicate the scope of the globe. "We can operate out in the open again no problem as long as we protect them from ... from ..."
His voice quivers, then breaks. Swiftly he turns away, placing a large hand gently on Poison's slim shoulder.
"NAKAMA, ONEGAI ... please tell him ... I ... I cannot ..."
That was a quick 30 seconds. His hulking frame trembling, Abigail and the mission seemingly forgotten, Katana turns away from them both and covers his facemask with his gauntleted hands.
"OOOOHHHH! NIPPOOOOON! NAZE DAAAAAA!? NAZE ORE NO FAITOOOO!?? DOSHUTEEEEEHHHH!??"
Poison has to physically bite back an outburst of laughter upon witnessing her boss's 'alluring' display. God, but this man was an idiot. An idiot with a lot of money, however, so she does her best not to upset him, disguising her amusement as a sneeze. She recovers after a moment, gracefully pretending like nothing happened, instead turning her wiles back towards Abigail.
"That's right, sugar. There's never enough muscle around when you need it but you look like you might have enough to satisfy even me."
She pushes away from the wall and slinks over towards the towering wall of meat, boldly striding up to stand before him. Let it never be said that she lacked for courage. She's pretty sure this guy could step on her like a bug. On the other hand, he seems to be somewhat lacking in the brains department, much like another massive lunkhead she knows. You just have to know how to get through to them.
"Hey, there might a little bit of trouble, but it's nothing for you to worry about," she says, waggling a finger at him. "We've got ourselves a big time sponsor. They're super legit and totally ready to dump truck-loads of cash on us for doing a little bit of their dirty work."
Poison takes another step closer, grinning like a kid on Christmas, and puts a soft hand on his leg.
"You look like the kind of guy who doesn't mind getting a little dirty if the pay off is good. Am I right?"
Abigail recoils slightly at Katana's attempt at being, uh, alluring. It..doesn't seem to be working. But his words, once finally calmed and measured, do begin to get through to him. Not even Abigail is so dense that the concept of working for and being paid by the United Nations is lost on him. He pauses in his acts of demolition and slowly raises his welding mask back up one more time. His face paint crinkles as his brow furrows in confusion as to just how it's possible to go from a street gang to being in service of..uh..the world. "Vrrrrrroooooom?" he rumbles, "Vroom..vroom, vrooom...hrrrn.." he continues..seemingly having a conversation with himself that is interrupted when Katana turns away and cries out in anguish. Abigail goes briefly slack jawed at that but Poison wisely picks it up from there and begins approaching him.
"Eh?" He raises a brow at her, allowing her to get closer and closer and actually seeming to consider her words more carefully. "Vrroom..hrrrrmm.." he rumbles finally before finally snapping his fingers and coming to a conclusion. He reaches down to try and place a single finger against her forhead and begins to exert the slightest bit of strength to try push her back off him while slowly grinning,
"Okay fine! You need more horsepower, you got it. But I call my own shots! I'm the chief around here. You all just make sure I get my new Vrroooms. And I want them all Detroit V8, 6.5 Diesel." he peers at Poison, grinning, " You're hired! You're in charge for getting that!"
Katana, as the current leader of Mad Gear, of course could never accept Abigail's proposal as sated. The armored SAMURAI must maintain his authority and noble bearing at all costs. The dignity of a warrior represents his honorable commitment to--
"UUHUUHUUHUU, UUUUHUHUHUHU ..."
Sobbing in the background, Katana can be seen blowing his nose through a gap in his helmet onto a hankerchief printed with the Japanese flag. He withdraws it from the slit, sniffling, pauses as he sees the symbol upon it, and then breaks down again.
Okay, so the dignity of a warrior is optional. Katana's in a difficult spot here. But he's already made such a sacrifice for the sake of Mad Gear in taking this job (or so he thinks) that, even if he were in a position to insist upon some sort of authority over Abigail, it doesn't cost him much more to let the brute believe whatever he wants. Not that Katana currently has the composure to make such a calculation in any case. By the time he turns around, Poison seems to have sealed the deal.
"SUBARAISHIITZU!" the armored figure booms delightedly, his mood apparently doing a 180. "Poison shall make all the arrangements." There, leadership. "While I shall inform our current client that we will be well-prepared to defend them in their hour of need. AISHITEIRUZE ONII-CHAN!" With these wise parting words, Katana turns toward the door to make a call, reaching up to tap the side of his helmet.
"MOCHI MOCHI. Yes, it's me, how did you know? Good news--"
There must be a bluetooth hooked up in there or something.
Taking the hint, Poison scoots backwards as the massive finger pushes against her face. Part of the trick of wrangling these big bulls is knowing when to give them space. Sometimes, you just have to let them think they won. In this case, that's probably true, seeing as her new boss is busy weeping over having to go against his precious adopted country. Big baby, it's not like they're going to see any fighting anyways. What's Japan going to do, send ninjas? Pfft.
The woman finds herself caught in an unexpected position, however, when Abigail unceremoniously recruits her to be his personal gofer, a motion which is supported by Katana so fast that she barely has the time to even stutter a protest. Well, shit. She doesn't know squat about cars. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time that she's found herself on the receiving end of such orders. Gangsters aren't exactly notorious for their progressive stance on who gets sent out to fetch things. She might be a little higher up the ladder this time around but it doesn't seem to be helping her out at the moment.
With a soft sigh, Poison shrugs her shoulders. "Alright, fine. Just make a list of what you want and I'll see what I can do."
She turns away and saunters torwards the exit, sashaying her hips in a provocative manner that comes as natural to her as breathing. She moves quickly, lest he get any other ideas for errands that can be foisted on her, and Abigail is left to continue doing his impressions of a trash compactor.
"Maybe Roxy knows something about this stuff..."
Log created on 22:35:26 10/23/2017 by Abigail, and last modified on 02:30:24 10/24/2017.