Description: The Shooting Stars venture out into Metro City to try and crack down on the recent uprise in gang activity. Along the way, they meet a fellow would-be do-gooder, Dudley, who has some useful information and may be a future comrade. Most importantly though, he has TEA.
Metro City at nightfall, clear, star-studded sky above, and a cool breeze whisking about in the city below. The street lamps are all alight, the neon signs glowing brilliantly, and pedestrians moseying about. Well, some anyway. Not too terribly many. It's getting late, after all, and the uprise of gang activity has a good few people edgy about moving around when the sun goes down.
But that just happens to be why Drake is here, along with his Shooting Stars. Or.. well.. some of them, anyway. The ones who could be contacted. The lead Star stands just off the side of the road, taking a moment to survey the sidewalk for suspicious peoples. What does he intend to do if a suspicious person is found? Why, beat'em up! ..Okay, not really, but at least drift closer to them to see how they react. He is, indeed, searching for gangers to question and subsequentially bring to the law. But so far, he's not seeing anyone. Of course, this -is- the heart of Metro City. It might be a little stupid to cause mayhem out -here-.
And this is why when Drake begins moving along the sidewalk again, it's in the direction of the bridge and slums, thumbs hooking into the pockets of his pants casually. He's not suicidal so much as confident and determined. Really.
A shiny red Jaguar is parked just head of Drake in front of a snazzy Italian restaraunt where the famed boxer Dudley happens to be eating. Or was eating, since the man has just finished and is walking out to the sidewalk after paying the bill. He found the bread a bit lacking but the fish special to be exquisite. He pauses outside the restaraunt to take in the bustle of the street. Metro City is definitely a favored spot of the boxer, despite the crime troubles, which he frequently tries to help eleviate through volunteer work and donating money, not to mention reading books to elementary school kids.
Metro City is a -great- place to get face time for the band. There's a lot of clubs and sponsored events that Femme Fatale can attend! Arika is feeling absolutely fabulous getting back into the swing of things now that she's off that damnable ship. Especially heading out and doing official team-work. Not that she had issues working with Eva! Quite the contrary, but it just didn't feel right without their leader being there.
Since she had to be here anyway, it was easy enough to contact her to get her to help out in the gang-searching. The diva isn't too far off from Drake, and when he moves to the sidewalk, she follows keeping a few paces back and walking at a casual pace. She keeps her eyes on the opposite side of the road, for the most part. Scanning to see if there's anything going on over there while Drake seems to be looking ahead. She spots the Jag, but doesn't think too much of it. Not many gangers would stand outside a snazzy restaurant with an expensive vehicle.
Drake continues sauntering along, expecting Arika to be behind him. It's the way of things, it is. Either beside him or behind him. She's not the sort to up and disappear, he believes, and she's capable of handling herself in a situation. But when he spies Dudley, a boxer he actually recognizes to a degree, he has to pause again. Boxing gloves? Out here as casual as can be? Now that's kind'a curious.
This Dudley guy seemed a decent sort, from what Drake could tell. So the model figures him not for evildoer shenanigans, but all the same, he may as well ask him if he's seen or noticed anything. So with a glance down both directions of the street (public service moment :D *toothping), Drake crosses over towards the British guy and what is presumably his fancy, fancy car. His approach is amiable enough, gloved hand lifting to give a small wave and charismatic smile worn.
Dudley is not looking at anything in particular, so Drake and Arika's approach is easily noticed. He returns the wave amiably enough. Something about the two jarrs Dudley's memory though, preventing him from greeting them a moment. Then he recognizes the two. "Greetings. Forgive my staring, but aren't you the model known as Drake, sir?" he asks. "As for you, miss, aren't you the singer for Femme Fatale?" Dudley keeps up with the celebrity fighters. "It is an honor to meet you both. Excellent night for a stroll in the Square, isn't it?"
Yes, yes. Arika is following behind Drake like a good little puppy. She makes quite a habit of it usually, really. Since Drake seems to be waving at someone and crossing the street, she shrugs her shoulders and follows along. Spotting the boxing glove-clad man she raises a single eyebrow but otherwise remains stoic in her expression.
"That'd be me, mate," she replies, somewhat nonchalantly. "Seen you fight a few times." She's not straying from the Cockney accent she uses in public, and she's not seeming to be overly chipper at the moment but that's because she's warily watching the other side of the street. Three fighters standing around chit-chatting idly, one with a really nice red Jag... they're just asking for trouble, the way she figures.
But really, who in the world would try to start crap with three well-known fighters? Drake doesn't concern himself with that. He highly doubts anyone would bother them. So he just continues along until he's standing on the sidewalk away from the street, and facing Dudley. The staring he's greeted with is... nothing out of the ordinary for him. Really, with his look, his fame in modeling, wrestling, -and- street fighting? He's used to it by now, and in fact, he favors stares.
"You got it," Drake replies casually, opposite to Arika. He sounds much more upbeat and personable than his British teammate. "And this is Arika Fade, as you had guessed. Two members of the Shooting Stars, at your service. And your name is... D-something." Pause. Frown. "Dudley!" His expression lights up again. "That's it, right? Seen some of your fights."
He is, indeed, beating around the bush. Drake's taken to sociology and etiquette. It's not really polite to jump right into the topic without first engaging in pleasantries, and this fellow seems to be the pleasant sort just as he expected. Drake's amethyst eyes shift to Dudley's gloves, then back up to his face. "You look prepped to fight," he notes.
Dudley feels proud that the two have seen his fighting but doesn't reveal much of it, merely chuckling. "Dudley is my name sir, yes. I took out that fellow from Portugal just last week in the title match." Arika's Cockney accent is noted, remind Dudley of good old London. If he looked down on such an accent, he'd probably be giving her language training involving musical numbers. "My gloves? Oh, an old habit. As a fighter I am always ready to meet any challenge that comes my way. It's happened frequently in my visits to Metro City, unfortunately. Those ruffian gangs are still about, particularly that one run by the samurai fellow."
Shifting her gaze back toward the men, Arika nods. If she cared what people thought about the Cockney accent, she'd not use it half as much as she actually does. "Dudley, that's it. From merry olde and all that." She stares at the gloves and then shrugs. Can't fault him for wanting to be prepared for anything, since she's carrying her cloth cord in her pocket. "Kind'a 'ard to eat with those things on though, ain't it?" Shooting him a wry grin, Arika pivots quickly and looks across the street again.
Yes, she's paranoid. The Suiryuu can be thanked for that.
"Samurai fellow? 'ere in Metro? Runnin' a gang?" It's odd to her, so she's got to question it. "'ear anythin' 'bout a group callin' themselves Blackjack?" May not be who they're actually here looking for, but any information that'd help her get Naerose away from being involved with them would be helpful.
Drake visibly tenses when the 'samurai fellow' is mentioned. If one were really paying attention, they'd even notice that his hands ball into tight fists. "Oh, yes. That one," he says, voice taking on a sort of edge. "Had a run-in or two with him. I suspect I'll have more in the future." More in the future with better results. Such as his capture and incarceration.
A look is shot over to Arika, then back to Dudley. "Or any gang," he appends to her question. "We heard about what's been going on here, so we decided to come and check things out for ourselves." Arika's lack of social graces has forced conversation to go directly into the point. Bah.
Dudley laughs at Arika's wry comment. "Actually I had taken them off while inside. Eating with gloves on his not exactly mannerly. Driving with them is another matter." The boxer notices Drake's reaction. "Quite unusual, that samurai," says Dudley, musing. "He and his gang tried to rob a scrapyard I was searching in; I was looking for a rare car part for a model in my collection. Fortunately I gave him a sound thrashing, but the rest of the ruffians fled. I phoned the incident to the police."
Dudley shakes his head at the mention of the Blackjacks. "The only gangs I know of specifically are the Mad Gear and that one run by the insane military commander, what was his name? Ah, Rolento Shugerg. I've been attempting to alleviate the crime problem myself, but through such things as soup kitchens for the poor."
Someone is very sensitive to Drake's tensing. Even if it hadn't been visible, she would have noticed the edge in his voice. Pivoting back toward them, she steps up to her teammate and places a hand on his shoulder briefly. It's not left there long before she drops the hand back to her side and shoots Drake an apologetic look.
Arika has a way of pushing a conversation forward, and she should really remember to let the team leader to the talking.
"I figured you must'a taken them off," she replies with a grin. "They'd be full'a sauce otherwise." Because -all- Italian pasta needs sauce. Eva might just kill her for thinking that. "Anyone outt'a the ordinary with the samurai-guy? I mean, anyone of note?" She's not sure why this guy sounds familiar to her other than having heard about him via Drake, but it's niggling at her brain.
She's not commented on the lack of Blackjack information or anything else though, she's definitely letting Drake take the reins on that one.
Drake starts to speak, but Arika is directing things yet again. So he just regards her with a more flat expression. Man, has that Suiryuu thing ever changed her. He clears his throat softly, but pointedly, and looks back to Dudley. He really has nothing else to add, seeing as Arika already said what he intended to. Saying something else would be a mite bit pointless, if not looking a bit like he's trying to force his way into conversation.
"Well, he said repeatedly he was Japanese, but he seemed to be a Yank. Er, American. Pardon that reflex," says Dudley, adjusting his bowtie somehow with the gloves. He's held teacups with them on too. "Had a strange scent of cherry blossom while we fought. Also that of...ah, what do they call it? Pocky! He was a very unusual man, fought with swords also." Dudley remembers landing on a sharp spike of metal thanks to a throw. It's a good thing he had his tetanus shots up to date. "Perhaps I could assist you in this gang watch. I'm sure you could use a third eye in your endeavors."
After getting that look, Arika stays completely silent. Why? Because if she says anything else, it'll cause issues and she's not really wanting an argument. So, while Dudley describes the weird American-samurai, she just makes mental notations. At the 'third eye' comment though, she snickers and looks between the three of them. "Wouldn't that be a sixth eye?" Presuming, of course, that they all have two eyes and haven't turned cyclopian while standing here on the streets of Metro City.
Seeing as Arika's shushed for the most part, Drake returns his attention largely onto Dudley. "I.. didn't exactly smell anything on him, but I did figure he sounded too American to be Japanese. So I'm pretty certain we're talking about the same guy." He just.. doesn't want to think about the sword usage. That was unpleasant in its entirety.
"Actually, I think we could use your help," Drake agrees. "If you're here to do good, too, there's no reason -not- to cooperate. And speaking of Captain Shogun Megalord, do you have any idea where we could find'em? I figure gang leaders know other gang leaders, and they know where to look for them." He pauses a moment to incline his head, obsidian bangs drifting outwards. "..Specifically, the gang that's kidnapped that scientist."
"Ha, better phrasing than mine," Dudley acknowledges of Arika. "I would be happy to help you then. I believe Mad Gear was sighted largely around the Subways. You might check there." The mention of a scientist intrigues Dudley. "A kidnapping? When? I seem to have missed that particular story. Is that why you two are here?"
"Heh," Arika says, forcing a grin. Seems she's actually a bit upset about something now, but she does nod in response to Dudley's question. That much she was told anyhow. They're here for a purpose, and finding that scientist seems to be it. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a piece of black cloth that's been tied with a thin, tightly knotted cord that matches the color of her fishnet shirt. This she begins to wrap around her right hand, popping her neck back and forth as she does so, trying to limber her body up on the off chance they run into any trouble.
The punk princess may be getting dirty looks for talking, but she sure as -Hell- is going to be involved in the fighting should any take place.
Drake still seems rather unconcerned with fighting. Not likely that a gangster should try to pick at a cluster of well-known prizefighters, and all that. But Dudley's agreement receives a bright, pleased smile. "Excellent. The subways, huh? Guess that kind'a figures. We'll hit that area next." It would be smarter to do things the guerilla way rather than marching right into their full-blown 'base' - i.e., the slums.
The question the boxer presents receives a nod in response. "Yeah, it was kind'a recent. Scientists getting nabbed, connected with that weird drug that's hit the street. It kind'a points to that Hellraisers group... but I can't find a shred of information on them. So I figured having a chat with the other gangs might be helpful. From what I know, gangs don't take too kindly to other gangs in their turf, so..." Drake's wry, roguish smile should hint at what he has in mind.
Dudley smiles back at Drake. "Well sir and miss, I hope you are successful. Making these streets a little cleaner is an honorable pursuit. So that's the drug I've been hearing about..." Dudley remembers hearing about some new drug that is becoming quite popular among the poor. "As for myself, I must be off. Here is a phone number if you need me." Dudley takes out a business card, not having a pen or paper on him. He hands it to Drake balanced on his glove quite destrously.
Arika glances over at Dudley and blinks. "I'd love to learn 'ow to be that dextrous with gloves," she comments as an aside. Tightening the cord and then cinching it in place she adds, "Wouldn't mind a sparrin' match with you sometime either. Doubt I'd stand a chance against you but it'd be a bloody good work out." Shifting her deep blue eyes toward Drake she frowns. Scientist she heard about. Even the gang she's heard of. His plan though? "So long as you don't get caught in the crossfire, Drake. I'd 'ate for you to get shot by some loose cannon." That's her... odd way of being apologetic about popping out of line earlier with her questioning.
Business card is eyed in due wonderment. "Dude. To be able to work with gloves like that, you -must- wear'em all the time." But this causes Drake to puzzle over what Dudley's hands must look like. He's never seen them! They're probably not weird malformed flippers, or really gross... right? Lord, maybe the gloves -are- his hands.
Oh, right, the card.
Drake quickly snatches it and retrieves his cell from a pocket. The number is quickly dialed, permitted to ring/buzz/explode/whatever once, then he hangs it up and places both back in his pocket. "Now you've got my number, too. I'll give you a buzz when I find something out, or if we get into a hard sitch'. Nice to see there're actually some other well-known fighters out there that give a care outside my team." His left hand sets to his hip, and he bobs his head once. "Pleasure meetin' ya, Dudley."
After a few moments, he glances to Arika, expression softened a hint. "I've been through worse."
Dudley takes out his cellphone and looks at the number, before putting it back in his pocket. "I would love to spar anytime," he says to Arika. He then just jumps into his Jag, which has the top down. "I am happy to help. It was a pleasure meeting you two. It would be nice if you were to drop by my estate for tea sometime. Ciao!" Dudley starts up his car, backs smoothly out onto the street, and drives off.
Tea? Did he... just invite them for tea?!? Arika is positively beaming at this point. It's been a long time since she's actually sat down to a nice tea, and well, most hints of the Cockney is gone now, replaced with a more refined voice as she calls out, "We would absolutely love to! Take care of yourself, mate!"
All the woes in the world can be fixed with a good cup of tea at that!
Turning to Drake she looks down and nods. "I know you have. Still," she gives him a mischievous little grin and moves over to nudge at him, "It'd suck to see you full of bullet holes, so avoid them!"
Drake blinks once. Tea? Huh. He looks to Arika and sets his hands to his hips, even as he's nudged. "Don't worry 'bout that. I'm sure I've been hit by things worse..." Way worse. "Anyway, we have some work to do. Let's get to the subway station and see if we can't find some things out." And with that, he turns curtly to resume walking down the sidewalk. Same direction as earlier, just with a different destination.
Tea! Arika is completely stoked about that, really. "If I didn't worry about you, Drake..." The diva shrugs her shoulders and clamps her lips shut tightly. There's a time and place for affection and worrying, and while they're looking for gangsters is obviously neither time nor place. "You're right. We got work to do, so let's get to it then!" Clenching her clothed hand into a fist, she falls into step beside and to the back of him a little way. "So when do I get to meet this new team member?"
Log created on 18:51:41 11/14/2007 by Drake, and last modified on 00:31:37 12/14/2007.