Description: When Ralf shows up in Las Vegas, Echo gives him a hand against some NOL operatives.
Fremont street, Las Vegas. Or 'Glitter Gulch' as it had become known. The first place to receive it's gambling license from the federal government way back when. It's become the largest home of Casino-Hotels in the city, a giant canopied neon distraction.
Perfect place for a Shadaloo operative to while away some time while they're in the area on business. Shadaloo had been doing a lot south of the border, after all, and rather than go hang out in some straw hut or shack down in Panama, Echo is here--she doesn't care /how/ good the Van Halen song is, thank you very much.
This particular suite had at one point been a home to Howard Hughes, the eccentric billionaire who had decided to 'de-mob' the city after Benjamin 'Bugsy' Segal, one of the most famous Jewish Mobsters in history, had established Vegas as a money making machine. She wore a bathrob and open-toed bedroom slippers, quite undisguised and not caring as she padded through the thickly carpeted suite. She opened a large ice chest, removing a white styrofoam medical material container, taking out a few plastic packages of rich red bloos plasma, getting a champagne glasses ready.
She wondered how long Hughes had stayed here. This couldn't have been where he died, that was down in Mexico--but at one point he had. He had died arthritic, hopelessly addicted to opiates and very much insane. Dishelved, nails grown out to hideous lengths. Like that man from the Guinness book of world records! God, she would have /loved/ to have seen that.
"Ahhh, well," she sighed, pouring herself a drink.
Glitter Gulch may be amazing for all of its casinos, but that's only the touristy crap. The real show is the clubs and bars that line the strip. All you can eat buffets that are combined with all you can drink cocktails. Burlesque shows with cheap drinks to keep you seated for more of the show. Heck, there is even drinking contests where the winner gets a clean tab at the choice of his bar!
All in all, one would assume that Las Vegas is the pinnacle of 'Where to be!' for a certain Ralf Jones.
Unfortuantely, it's not. See, Ralf may be considered a wanted man by the NOL, but that doesn't mean a damn thing to him. He'll still drink where he wants, piss where he wants, and most importantly: He'll still beat up who the hell ever he wants. Because that's the Ikari way.
Atop one of the lower rooftops, just visible from the Hughes Suite of the Desert Inn, a group of people in white uniforms surround a lone man. It's obvious to anyone who may take a look down just what seems to be going down. The lone man starts to rampage, easily tossing the current group of white uniforms around like they were ragdolls. Brilliant explosions fly from the rooftops, easily ignored by the pedestrians below. This is Vegas. Stuff like fireworks from rooftops is normal faire for the city. Someone will have to try a lot harder to draw attention to their business!
The red liquid, thickened to the consistency of maple syrup by the cold, ran slowly and cooly along the length of her tongue as Echo tipped the wineglass back--eyes half-lidded. It was then the bright flashes of what looked like explosions appeared in the window, indeed, most of the people milling far below likely thought it was some kind of pyrotechnics or light show from some event nearby. Slowly, Echo angled the glass back, leaning closer to the window now, her yellow eyes peering out at the tableau below. Her eyes weren't her strongest sensory organ, however, as she was soon opening a window and hanging her head out of it, leaning carefully to try and discern what was going on over the noise of the city below.
It was the fucking Librarians, but why were they here? Were they after her? After what she had pulled at one of their bases not too long ago? Were they looking for the poor schmuck down there, or did they just happen to run into him while trying to sniff for her? Their magic was /weak/, she'd have to make them sorry.
Very, very sorry.
Undoing her terrycloth bathrobe, she just let it fall, slipping her feet out of the bedroom slippers, leaving them there for now.
As the stupid whitecoats try to mob Ralf upon the roof, each one of them in turn finds out just how bad of an idea it is.
The One Man Army rushes into the frey, quickly slamming a violent uppercut into the jaw of the closest white jacketed soldier, who goes flying across the roof, only to land on the hard concrete in a crumpled heap. Ralf doesn't stop here however, launching himself into the second and tackling them to the ground. Six consectutive blows are launched from the Ikari's fists, leaving the second soldier's faced battered and destroyed.
The Ikari Warrior stands, rotating his right shoulder as he glares at the rest of the men trying to surround him. "COME ON! You fucks think you have what it takes to take me down?! You shits are weaker then watered down beer!"
Giving a mighty yell, Ralf slams his right fist into the roof top, creating a firey explosion as he stares down the NOL soldiers who made the mistake of trying to take him in. Smoke rises up omniously around the Ikari, only for him to motion towards the remaining survivors.
"Either come at me or kick rocks!"
"Did this one have an overdue book...?" a smoky female voice comes out of the gloom nearby, likely more audible to Ralf than it is the NOL operatives trying to subdue him. What looks like a long white leg wearing a red heeled shoe emerges from the darkness, the black dress the figure is wearing obscures the rest of her.
From either side of her, two ghostly, glowing blue figures of men in tweed jackets and fedoras appear, one hefting a tomhpson machinegun, also spectral and etheral, the other a very sawn-off shotgun. Not exactly street-legal anywhere nowadays, but it was however ghost-legal!
A pair of red lips with ivory fangs and yellow eyes finally glides into view from the darkness, the lady clearly not white-skinned but white-furred, snapping red-nailed fingers as the two ghosts--that's about what they had to be--opened fire on the white coats.
The scene had just broken out into all-out bedlam, ghostly bullets filling the air amidst the strange bat lady's cackling!
Ralf has seen some weird shit before. So a woman appearing out of thin air with ghosts following after may just take the cake some. Once the bullets start flying however, that's enough to cause the One Man Army to take a defensive stance before the NOL soldiers behind him. He doesn't kill people unless he has to, and really just beating the daylights out of the soldiers would have been enough for him.
The intangible slugs of led tear into Ralf's body, forcing him to grunt loudly, only to drop to his knees as the pain actually starts to get to him. He's been shot before, but the physical sensation of having full clips unloaded into you is something he's not experienced, and its enough to actually drop the Ikari.
In what would be a stroke of luck however, it seems that the remaining soldiers are in the same boat as Ralf, and they too fall to crumpled heaps, each moaning loudly about the pain and a couple proclaiming they see their dearly departed grandparents standing at the end of the tunnel for them.
Rising to his feet, Ralf staggers now towards the white furred woman, "Thank y---hurp..." Without even having a chance to finish his words, the Ikari suddenly hunches over to unleash a mighty torrent of whatever foul concoction he's pumped into it. The world around him turns a blinding white, only for it to turn to a pitch black as he falls to the ground before Echo.
It seems that finally his night time activities have gotten to him.
"Sorry boys, it's a bad time to tell you this--my library card is expired!" Echo cackles, before finally blinking and realized her two ghostly enforcers have just hosed down Ralf /also/ with bullets. As the very large-statured dark-skinned man staggers toward her and begins to vomit, she furrows her brows and narrows her eyes at the two ghosts at her side.
"I didn't say /him too/! Gawd, no wonder you two bit it before 40! Amoretz!" she has taken off one of her red stiletto heels and is using it to club one of the ghostly figures--though it just passes through him, it's distressing for him, to say the least. And while she might sound a little Yiddish there, she is likely not by blood, moreso from acquaintances she's had since settling on Earth--though to be fair at times she acts like she is.
"Oh well, boys, give me a hand here," she finally settles down, realizing that Ralf has blacked out.
At least for Ralf's sake, he'd find himself waking up in a bathtub sometime later--in that suite that one Howard Hughes had stayed in, and there would be some explaining to do there!
Log created on 02:12:17 01/11/2019 by Echo, and last modified on 04:59:11 01/12/2019.