| Two vs. the Jamaican Kings |
| Summary: | Daredevil and Iron Spider-Woman meet in Hell's Kitchen and discover trouble brewing involving the Jamaican Kings gang. After an aggressive interview with the leader of the gang the pair investigate the site of an attack which sparked the problems before Daredevil departed to do additional, private investigation. |
| Date: | 2016-08-12 |
| Related: | None |
| NPCs: | Franklin "Foggy" Nelson (cameo), five nameless thugs, Marcus Moore (leader of the Jamaican Kings) |
| Scene Runner: | Daredevil |
| Social/Plot: | Plot |
| Players: |
 .. .. |
Location: Hell's Kitchen, New York City
The light was burning late in the law offices of Nelson and Murdock. Saturday evening, the summer night is blazingly warm outside though the breeze off the river is at least helping to lend some hint of a chill to the city as it comes alive. It doesn't help inside that office, however. Matt Murdock is in there, having spent the last few hours trying to dig through the information that was here.
Cases he had never heard of surrounded him, his fingers drifting over the braille inscriptions as his brow knits in consternation. So many of them he didn't recognize, so many of them he'd already resolved… or thought he had. This one, Long vs. Wilson… he remembers that it went well, but now this deposition is stating there was a third witness.
Not all of his memories were wrong, but so many of them were subtly different… changed. He frowned to himself and then he heard a familiar heartbeat coming through the door, keys jangling.
"Matty?"
A familiar voice, "In here, Foggy."
"The heck are you doing here, buddy? Thought you'd left town for the weekend."
"Um, plans changed. Last minute. Figured I'd get some work in."
Foggy laughs, "Hah, don't expect me to join you, man. I am _drinking_ tonight, and not even you can stop me."
The other lawyer with the mirrored lenses in his glasses smiles, head turned just slightly to the side. "I wouldn't dream of it. Hey… we're scheduled to work the Henson case on Monday? Is that right?"
Foggy blinks, keys still in hand as he picks up a paper bag that he'd left in a chair beside the door. "Uh, duh. It's only our big pay day and what'll keep the lights on in this joint. Thought we covered all the angles, Matt. You alright?"
"Oh yeah, heh. Sure. I just wanted to make sure we were up to speed."
Foggy blinks a few times and steps back, "Alright man… stay safe if you decide to go on… you know. One of your 'things'."
"Always," Matt says with a smile even as the other man steps back, the door with the glass window and their law firm's name closing behind him.
This was not good. This was… very not good. He had to take this with him. But everything was so 'foggy' and unclear. He shakes his head as he takes one manila folder and lifts it. But yes. One of his late night 'things' was definitely in the cards.
…
And so, barely twenty minutes later he was rushing across a rooftop, the baton in his hand whirring as he throws it out to snare the corner of a flag pole and let him leap off the side of the building. He flips up into the air, landing light upon the rooftop edge of a riverfront storage lot. He's crouched there like a gargoyle, turning his head to the side and reaching out with his senses… feeling, seeking. A few moments later he finds what he's looking for.
This evening finds MJ in that strange apartment that was obviously hers but not hers at the same time. Between that and her encounter with that British businessman who shared the name of her husband she has a desire to get out and explore this city she has found herself in.
After changing into a sports bra and running shorts she heads up to the roof of her apartment building. Once there, she triggers the release of her armor which flows out of what looks like a circular back pack and forms tightly to her figure. She causes the armor's colors to mute to a darker shade of red than normal and an antique gold for 'night patrol' mode and begins webslinging though the city.
Not having a specific destination in mind she ends up in Hell's Kitchen…
And in Hell's Kitchen she'll hear the city's voice. The hub bub of a Friday night, bars doing a brisk business, people congregating around stoops, and civilians moving up and down the streets, all of it combines to create this low hub bub that carries for blocks. There's still a steady traffic going through the area, lights illuminating the night and looking like a steady pulse of movement through the veins of the neighborhood.
For a man like Matt Murdock all of those things tell him a story. He's able to fade out the pieces that are common, that are meant to be. Perched there on the edge of the building he listens so closely. There's a cat dying some distance away, poor thing. A group of young women are walking from one bar to another, giggling. A car needs its muffler changed. But nothing he wants.
That is until he hears the hub of an off-board motor that rumbles, most likely cast off from a larger vessel further out in the river. It's this small launch that approaches that storage lot that he focuses on, turning his head to follow the sounds. It's only when he picks up the vibration of voices that he reacts.
"Stack of twelve, four hundred rounds, decent run for an evening." One voice mentions.
"So long as the captain doesn't run a count at next port we're good." The second.
"Alright, man up. Time to look hard. These are serious people."
That's all he needs to hear. Having heard that he leaps off the side of the building, landing silently in the labyrinth of shipping containers and starting to move through the aisles between them. It's only when he comes upon those speakers, now standing on the dock with a few boxes unloaded from their boat and standing there talking with five men in suits, dark of skin and with long braids with some tucked tight and others let loose.
There's a rush, a blur of movement and suddenly the Devil of Hell's Kitchen is amongst them. No words are spared. Only short sharp strikes. Distantly, there is the single sound of a gunshot.
Iron Spider-Woman, an Avenger in her world and a stranger in this one, hears the gunshot and reacts as her training taught her. She heads towards the disturbance. With her night vision optics active she finds the scuffle and begins to crawl down the wall towards the combatants. As she moves MJ tries to determine how best to intervene in what looks, at first, like an assault in progress.
What catches her eye is a man in the middle of a swirl of conflict. There are firearms at play, two men pulling them even as they try to take bead, yet this man in the middle of them keeps moving, keeps them from being able to fire without their friends being in the way. A baton blurs out and slams hard into a man's brow, knocking him back and sending him sprawling to the floor.
"Keep him busy, Willie!" One of the men yells as he tries to crack open one of the crates that are loaded on the docks, using a crowbar and cracking open the wood.
Willie, for his part, dives towards the man in the black and red armor, only to get an armored elbow crashing into the side of his head followed up with a swirling kick that strikes not only him but one of the Jamaican gang members. The two men hit the ground heavily.
Yet then there's an instant where one of the gangsters gets clear enough and is taking a bead with a .38 revolver.
So yes, there is an assault going on but whether the man in the middle is an aggressor or a target bringing a gun into a brawl is unfair in any world…
Decision made, the action is easy. While clinging to the wall with her feet and left hand, MJ raises her right arm and *thwip* shoots a webline at the revolver and jerks, pulling the pistol out of the gangster's hand into the air. A second shot *thwip* releases a glob of webbing which sends the gun flying though the air into a nearby wall where it and the mass of fibers surrounding it adhere. Still unsure of the principles involved by having declared her side, MJ leaps from the wall and lands in a crouch in a clear space near - but not too close - to the man in red, extending her spider-arm waldos from her back as her foot touches the ground and glancing at the thugs nearest her.
Speaking in a voice obviously masked electronically, Iron Spider-Woman says, "I've got your back," to Daredevil.
That man in red doesn't look at her, he turns his head slightly and his brow furrows behind that armored mask. Not familiar. Not at all. That heightened heartbeat, the rush of her pulse as they stand back to back. No. He does not know her, yet she moves like that boy in Queens.
Batons snap out and are held forwards in front of him, his stance low to the ground with one leg forwards. He turns his head one way, then the other, squaring in on the remaining five men. His jaw tenses, and just before he moves the rumble of his voice is heard as he simply tells her. "Don't get hurt."
With that he bursts into motion. Feigning one way, then twisting to the other as he swirls into the air, leg slashing around and coming crashing down on top of the head of one of those men, carrying through and crushing him into the concrete with his knee in the back of his neck. Then he slings a baton around, side-arming it straight at a man on the opposite side of the 'circle' to crack against his chin unexpectedly.
Where her partner-of-the-moment's approach has some subtlety to it, the woman in red and gold's does not. Leaping in the direction of two of the other three opponents. Bypassing one of them she slashes in his direction with one of her spider-arms while she crashes into the other, grappling him as she falls to the ground with him beneath her.
As they hit and the wind is knocked out of him she keeps his head from whip lashing into the ground by cradling it in her hands momentarily only to slam it down herself with more control less than a heartbeat later.
So quickly are the four of the thugs put down, that the fifth holds his hands up and seems like he's about to say something…
Only for the baton that had been thrown to whir-whir-whir back and slam hard into his head, then ricocheting straight into Daredevil's upraised gauntlet. He holds it there for a moment as he rises up from the fallen, turning his head slightly. He still hasn't looked in her direction, hasn't said more than three words to her. His footsteps are silent as he suddenly steps away from the men on the ground, moving towards those crates that had been recently torn up. The wooden top is torn aside and thrown out of the way, revealing a stack of shotguns inside the crate.
She can see him now, in the dim halogen glow of the dockside street lamp. Black and red armor, athletic form, the only hint of humanity to him is that firm jaw as he frowns. He rests a hand upon the weapons, fingertips sliding over them for a moment. Then he speaks again, just as curt. "You can bind them?"
He starts to step back down the docks towards the fallen moaning men even as he touches a hand to a small digital display on his wrist.
Somewhere distantly an automated switch is triggered that sends anonymous information from a spoofed IP to the police with the GPS coordinates.
"Of course," she says and then begins to bind them where they lay with webbing *thwip* one *thwip* at *thwip* a *thwip* time *thwip* while also retracting her waldos. She fires webbing in net form in this case to keep them down for the time being.
"Where do you want to wait for the authorities so we can provide our statements?" Iron Spider-Woman asks as she moves to catch up with her.
Still hasn't looked in her direction. He kneels down, leather armor creaking as he begins to go through the pockets of one of the fallen arms dealers. A wallet is found, cards fanned out for a moment as he brushes a thumb over their surface and his frown turns into a scowl. He tosses the wallet and its contents back down upon the man and then rises to his feet silently.
Those batons slide into a holster at his thigh as he starts to step away and he murmurs to her quietly. "I don't do that." He pauses only then to face her directly, the mirrored lenses in his mask reflecting her bright image back to her. "Jamaican Kings are arming up. Irish don't have a clue." His jaw tenses, then he adds. "You did alright."
Not quite a thank you. But perhaps it passes for one with him. He turns away as if that was all there was to say.
(He doesn't "do" that, wonderful,) MJ thinks as she leaps up onto a nearby wall and quickly wall-crawls to catch up with him.
"What do you mean you don't do that?" she asks as if the idea of not working directly with the authorities was fundamentally wrong for some reason.
The man breaks into a run, planting a foot upon the lowest rung of a ladder attached to the side of one of those shipping containers, vaulting himself up and letting him bounce to the other and then flip to the top in a smooth parkour transition that leads him to running across the tops of those huge metal trailers and then leaping from there to the roof of the central warehouse.
Snaring the ledge he scissors his legs and vaults up in an act of rather perfect acrobtics… that most likely wouldn't impress the Iron Spider-Woman.
It's only once up there and he's walking across the rooftop that he addresses her if she had followed that far, probably making that transition easier than he did. "The police and I don't always see eye to eye."
As Daredevil ascends, Iron Spider-Woman follows along, similar motions but with obviously less practice and more raw power behind them leading to similar results.
"I see," she says as she rises from the crouch she reflexively landed on the roof in. "Not how I was…" she stops herself from saying 'taught' but Matt's good ears may catch a sub-vocalization of it before she continues, "Expecting things to work."
Turning his head to the side as he moves, he seems to be looking to the side away from her, yet for him it's his way of focusing… of sensing her from subtly different angles and taking in the information her body silently provides. The pace of her heart speaks to the veracity of her words, her intentions seem positive. There is no hint of malice in the way her pulse is steady and her breathing is level. Though when he takes in a breath, the scent that greets him is more mechanical and less of what she must be, little information there.
"You want to. You go back, talk to the police." He turns his head then, 'looking' straight at her, "You want to stay with me, find where this goes, then we're going to need to set ground rules."
After he says this he breaks into another run, boots barely making a scuff of a sound as he darts towards the edge and leaps off. His baton's grapple line is not as effective as her webbing, but it allows him to traverse the chaotic and decrepit rooftops of Hell's Kitchen. His fall is broken by the line catching and slowing his descent, letting him keep the steady stride. He flips over an air conditioner, slides under a water storage vat, and then ends with a perch upon an apartment building's ledge.
Once she's with him again, though doubtful she fell behind, he tells her in a voice that isn't even breathing hard. "We'll need to be quiet. Don't move unless I initiate. And be ready to stay in one place for a long time."
She's able to keep up with him move for move, webbing instead of grapple line of course and still rougher in execution than him due to less accumulated practice time.
Having heard from Peter about his difficulties with the police in his years before becoming an Avenger, MJ takes the unspoken advice to heart and is /not/ going to talk to the police at this time.
"I can be quiet," she says in response, almost as if insulted. And while stillness is not the norm for a dancer, it requires the same kind of muscles so she doesn't even deign to comment on that piece of advice.
"Do you have a channel to use or are we just whispering?" she asks softly. Likely louder than required with him, but seeing as the Avengers never knew what Daredevil's powers actually /were/ she isn't aware of that fact.
A hand is held up for a moment, as if asking for silence as he turns his head away from her. She can't see his brow knit in concentration. Has no idea of the way he extends of his senses, trying to separate the ambient noise of the world and to isolate other small facets for his consideration.
A moment passes… another.
But then he takes a deep breath slowly, deeply, as if focusing himself. His chest rises… falls, and then he gives her a nod. "This way." As quickly as that he drops off the side of the roof to fall the story to the next and land in a crouch. He breaks into a run and moves over a length of pipework that bridges between two separate buildings. It's another three minutes of rushing, three minutes of him trying to make time as quickly as possible. He slips around a hanging laundry line, leaps up towards a ledge and flips over to land upon his hands, then push himself back into motion.
Eventually they make it to a rather hectic area, a bar that is doing brisk business, and their vantage point is a sort of balcony alcove of a partially condemned apartment building. It gives them good concealment from below and a place for them to hunker down out of sight. A place that Daredevil makes use of by dropping down into a cross-legged posture with his back to the wall. He rests his gloved hands upon his knees and tells her quietly. "Now we wait."
She waits, quietly. The waiting is something very familiar to MJ due to the years with Peter, but the anticipation in this sort of wait is still something new and exciting for her. Matt will notice her reaction to this in the form of a slight quickening of her heartbeat and negligible deepening of her breathing.
Then movement again. Running. Running is good.
She roughly follows his path. Vaulting over the clothesline he sidestepped, dropping off the ledge with inches to spare from scraping her back to then fling herself up and forward by extending her waldos and pushing with them in the same moment.
When they reach their destination, MJ opts to cling to the wall just over the man's shoulders rather than crowd him on the ledge he is perched upon.
Her breathing barely touched by the effort, Iron Spider-Woman asks, "Can you explain what we're watching for?" speaking as quietly as Daredevil.
As for him, his breathing is steady, his posture relaxed as he remains there behind the small wall that blocks the alcove from the abyss. He turns his head slightly and she'll wait a few moments to hear his response. "We're waiting for Marcus Moore." He frowns momentarily and then folds his arms over his chest as he realizes that perhaps his memory of Marcus Moore leading the Jamaican Kings might be… erroneous. So he adds quietly, "Or another officer in the Jamaican Kings."
He turns his head to the side, as if looking just a touch past her and over her shoulder. "When they arrive we'll wait for them, let them get settled, try to get Moore alone and then ask him politely why his people are arming up."
There's a beat as those words hang there, then he turns to 'look' at her and asks, "Who are you?" As if it just occurred to him to ask.
MJ, so used to her identity being public, starts to speak but stops before any sound could be heard, even sub-vocally. After a hint of a pause she says, "Iron Spider-Woman," and then asks, "You're Daredevil, right?" to confirm her assumption of correlation between her world and the one she is now in.
A small nod is given and then for the first time there's a hint of a smile, small and barely there, just at the corner of his mouth… but still. "Or the Devil of Hell's Kitchen." Though as he says this there's no hint of a symbol on him, no nod to it save for the small slight points on his helmet. But he adds, "I didn't choose it."
He 'looks' away from her, tilting his head slightly to the side as he listens for a specific combination of sounds, a familiar voice, the music that is always piping from inside the low vehicles that are often driven by the Kings. There's no hint of it, though inside there are people with the accent… but they are speaking of mundane things, casual conversation.
"You don't always get the luxury of choice," she says as thoughts of her 'Spider-Wife' sobriquet from back home. Then, realizing that she's neglecting to record the conversation for possible use as evidence she extends one of her waldos and activates a shotgun microphone.
She asks, "I'm actively surveiling them, do you need me to relay anything of their conversations?"
Turning his head to the side he murmurs quietly, "They're the wrong people. Low level button men." Somehow he knows that, perhaps he has his own technology, his own frequencies, bugs placed ahead of time? Something. But then he turns his head back, mirrored lenses catching infinity in the gaze of her own. "I would not like to be recorded." He says this, not demanding, nor ordering, nor even requesting. A statement, but leaving it up to her to address it as she would.
A car drives by, stereo thumping with heavy bass which causes him to frown slightly but then he turns his head back as if considering the bar.
"Don't worry, the directionality of a shotgun mike means that our conversation isn't picked up at all," she explains quietly before the loud stereo drive-by occurs. "Technically the recording's inadmissible anyway, but it'll be useful if I need to review it at some point," she adds.
The man in red and black gives a nod as he lifts a hand up, the gauntlet flexing slowly as he examines a small tear in the leather underweave, perhaps from a close brush of a bullet. He lowers that hand, then tells her. "This could be a while. If your time is better used elsewhere I understand." He frees her of any obligations she may feel, as he knows that a lot of his work… is waiting, gaining intelligence, acting on it is often a small part of his efforts.
(He's polite, that's nice,) MJ thinks.
"I'm good," she says before asking, "So, tell me how you got onto this immediate situation," with a hint of assumed authority audible in her voice as she beings a conversational interrogation.
The corner of his mouth curves up slightly and he says, "My evenings are often spent trying to do what good I can. Sometimes people tell me things. Sometimes those things lead to me hitting some people, who in turn tell me other things." He answers her… without answering her as he turns his head away to consider the bar.
Yet as he does so she most likely has no idea how intent his scrutiny of her might be. Each soft breath that is taken, each faint beat of her heart, the way her body shifts beneath the armor and the way the miniaturized electronics give off that very subtle tang of ozone. It all registers for him, serving to create a mental 'picture' to match that muted silhouette he holds of her in his mind's eye. In some ways more a mixed mechanism than truly a human to his perceptions. How he sees 'Iron Man' in essence.
"I see," she acknowledges his explanation as the start of one but pushes further, "So someone told you about gang movement and you began investigating. How trustworthy is your source?" Her technique is, like her parkour movements, easily discerned as that of a novice by someone with Matt's experience as a litigator but at least they are an honest inquiry rather than a deceptive approach.
"People are usually honest with me, one way or another." Daredevil replies, his tone calm and without tension as he unfolds his long legs slowly and draws up a knee to rest an arm across it. He leans his head back slowly, the helmet lightly clicking against the cement wall as his visored eyes lift upwards. Behind the mask he closes his eyes, resting for a moment yet keeping his senses open to that which he seeks. "I am sure when you ask people about themselves they feel a certain… incentive to be honest."
"Yes, that's true," she admits while moving slightly, flexing her legs as well to forestall the cramp that was hinting at developing in her left calf. She then clarifies by saying, "However, I usually asks with my words more than my firsts," and then asks, "How about you?"
For a time silence hangs between them as he doesn't answer her. It could be that his concentration is elsewhere. Or it could be because he is considering the right words. When he does speak it's been after a handful of moments. "It's reached the point for me where those I speak with know it is best to just answer."
She nods, unaware that this isn't the most optimal way to communicate with him. She too falls into silence for a while, letting the humdrum conversations in the bar fill the silence for her while she observes the man in red.
"You've been at this far longer than I have," she observes and then says, "I'm still getting used to… well, everything." Some might not hear that there is a depth in that last word that exceeds mere hyperbole but Matt Murdock will never be just 'some man' where it comes to sensing things about people and their speech: to him it is as clear as if she said it that she is having to become accustomed to more than just the life of a "super hero".
His jaw tenses, if she was looking at him she might see it in the clenching of his jaw, tendons standing out subtly. Then he turns his head to the side and she'll hear that rumble of his voice low and still calm. "A few years," He says that, as if that was enough. Then as those words sink in he adds, "I wouldn't recommend this life to anyone. If you still have options, I'd tell you to leave it behind you." She may hear the surface of those words, but then… she may also catch that by those thoughts he in turn may feel that he has no other option in his life.
Sharing the sentiment he expressed in her tone of voice, she says, "Its a bit too late for that," after having caught the clenching of his jaw. "You could say it found its way into my heart years ago," she explains.
A single nod is given that signals the closure of that line of questioning. He doesn't press, doesn't seek details. The distance he maintains with her is almost palpable as if a mason had taken this small time spent together in the alcove and constructed a brick wall between them. The tension grows…
But then another vehicle rolls up, a bright black and green SUV converted into a stretch limo with green LED lights underneath that light the street as it goes. From within it thumps with a lazy Reggae rhythm that seems to set the tone for its arrival.
Slowly Daredevil gains his feet and then extends a hand towards her to help her up, most likely instinct than anything else. His head is turned to the side and he tells her. "We'll wait five minutes for them to get into place. Then we move. Back my play. Though you do not have to enter unless something kicks off. Is that acceptable to you?"
"Are you giving me the choice to stay out where it is safe or…" she pauses and even with the electronic masking of her voice Matt can hear that tone of voice all women seem to master sometime during puberty that warns a man he is treading on thing ice as she continues, "Are you ordering me to stay out?"
"Inside, outside. Up to you." Her tone of voice doesn't seem to effect him. She might get the impression he's distracted, the way he's not looking at her… the way he's turned his head away. If she can read those subtle micro-tremors of the face and the curve of his jaw she might get the impression he heard something that he didn't care for.
He channels a breath, focuses, internalizes, presses down as he releases it and it comes out almost like a low rumble from his chest. He shakes his head. "Though you put your nose into this people might get annoyed. Stepping on toes, and being seen with me. Fair warning."
HHaving said that, the time has passed and with no further words he plants a hand upon the edge of the alcove and vaults over it, dropping down, down, and then catching a long defunct power line (the lack of that tell-tale hum of power cluing him in) and sliding down it across the way to the far building.
The heels of his boots catch the wall and he leaps off and up, climbing to the rooftop and moving across to head towards the back. His path is leading towards the single large gallery window that faces outwards on the top floor, a place where lights only recently have come on.
MJ nearly silently vocalizes a grunt of frustration at the man in red as he replies and then drops to the ground. Her response is to fire a webline *thwip!* across the space between the building she is clinging to and the roof of the bar. With the recently fired end anchored next to the gallery window she removes the line from her web shooter and fires a small glob of webbing to attach it to the wall next to her.
While the line is sticky to others the wall clinging properties of her suit work just the opposite on the webbing. This allows her to grasp the webbing and slide down it like a zip line. She times this so that as he reaches the window she drops from the line next to him.
"Backup is good. Teamwork is better," she says.
His steps carry him over to the top of the gallery window, standing above it on the rooftop. He turns his head towards her as his visor reflects her suit's features. "Alright, on three." He says to her with a nod. He steps forwards and crouches, grasping a length of pipe that runs along the edge of the rooftop. "One…" He says,
And then with no further count he somersaults forwards while holding onto that pipe and straightens his legs out so he /smashes/ through the gallery window causing it to shatter into spattering glass beadlets, safety glass blasting forth into the room.
And such a room it is. It's a large spacious office with a giant oak desk. A bearskin rug is on the floor, several overstuffed chairs are present in front of the desk, and multiple stuffed creatures adorn the walls. But the thing of most interest is the dark skinned man who had been about to sit at his desk who suddenly finds himself shielding his face with his arms from the crashing glass…
Only to have an arm wrapped around his throat as Daredevil pulls him back into a chokehold against his chest, the both of them standing behind the desk. Locking his other hand behind the mans head, he exerts pressure and growls in a suddenly much deeper angrier voice. "Marcus Moore. You know who I am."
The man in the chokehold can't answer, he gurgles for a moment.
"Your men are going to come through that door in eleven seconds. You are going to tell them to put their guns down and leave. Understood?"
A short nod is given as the man is given a bare moment of breath.
And as predicted two men in black suits with 9mm pistols burst through the door, taking bead.
On one, MJ retracts the waldos into the suit… preparing for a dramatic entrance. Then, a beat after he moves, laughing as she does at his (in her opinion, playful) deception, she drops though the smashed window beside DareDevil. Where Matt lands behind the man in the chair, MJ lands in a crouch on the desk in front of him as the Man Without Fear wraps his arm around the gangster's neck.
As the question is asked… "Understood?" by the man in red she again extends her waldos with a snap, gazing at him with the nearly featureless face of her mask. When the men in suits enter she turns her masked face to stare at them from the desk.
The chokehold is loosened just enough so the man can croak, "Drop the guns! Drop them!" The two men look confused and then the pistols hit the ground with a ragged thump-tha-thump. "Now fuck off, geddouda here. Geddout!" Which the gunmen frown to each other as they slowly back up and then close the door.
For a few moments Daredevil holds the guy tight, yanking him around sharply so that he faces the door more full on though he extends his senses, listening, gauging distances and the pace of footsteps. But then once he's sure of the moment he releases the man who looks at the crouching Iron Spider with fear in his eyes, then darks a look back towards the Man Without Fear.
"Why are you arming up, Marcus?" His hands are by his sides, but there's this wild tension in his stance, this cord twisted to taut and so close to fraying feeling in the silent body language of the man. "You know if something goes down in the Kitchen what I'll do. Another war? Not while I'm alive."
"You got it all wrong!" The man coughs as he rubs at his throat. "All fuckin' wrong!" His voice heavy with accent is pained as he snaps back. "We gotta arm up. We've been gettin' hit! These three fuckers, been shootin' our people to shit, mon."
"Who? Who are these three."
"No fuckin' idea. They hit, they are ghosts, mon. We lost five good soldiers, no footage, no nothin'."
"Where?"
"Fuck you."
Daredevil abruptly jumps forward and there's no hesitation as his knuckles /slam/ hard into the man's forehead giving a short sharp crack that's meant to tear the skin and sting, causing a trickle of blood to drip into his eyes. If Iron Spider is aware of boxing, of the styles of strikes, she might recognize that one for the bleeder it is.
Marcus groans, those hits /sting/ so much and he holds a hand to his head. "Our fuckin' numbers game, man. The bookie on 37th. Fuck you. We don't hurt nobody there, mon."
"That operation is closed from now on. You start anything, Marcus, I'll know." Daredevil's eyes are hidden behind the visored helmet, yet the intensity is there.
MJ lets Daredevil handle this in his fashion, especially seeing as how it is quite effective. Rather than speaking, and risking to spoil the moment she turns her head slightly so that she can target the door out of the corner of one eye and aims with the same arm… *thwip! thwip! thwip!* a trio of quick shots of webbing gums up the doorway at the hinges and along the opposite to keep the man isolated from his men for the next hour… at least not without a lot of effort.
"The fuck did you do to Spider-Man?" Marcus asks as he looks at Mary-Jane, perhaps missing her obvious attributes. Then again, who can blame him in such a situation and so filled with fear.
Daredevil, however, ignores his question as he growls. "You hunker down, Marcus. You go to ground. Protect what you can. Get word to the Irish in case this is another move by out of towners. I don't give a damn if you all get killed, but I'm not going to let you risk the lives of innocent people. So you go to the mattresses. You got me?"
"Fuck, fuck. Whatever, man. Fuck." Marcus holds up his hands as if not wanting to get hit again, his frown clear as he looks away as if hoping that the two vigilantes would disappear…
When he next looks up… he's right as the vigilantes are already gone. He waits, waits more, then calls out behind him. "Somebody break the door down, I need a drink!"
But some small distance away, another rooftop, Daredevil lands in a silent crouch. He waits for her to join him as he turns his head to the side and says quietly, "I'm going to the operation. 37th. It's a jog." He says this, but doesn't ask if she's coming with.
The impertinent question from Marcus gets answered softly even as Daredevil growls at him. "There's more to spiders then men, the females of the species should concern you more," she says softly enough not to obscure her companion's words but loudly enough to be heard.
And then Marcus was alone with blood trickling though his eyebrows as his men begin pounding on the door after finding it impossible to open due to the webbing in the works.
"I can get us there faster," she says and wraps an arm around his waist without a pause and with a *thwip!* she sends forth a webline and begins swinging from building to building high above the streets effectively invisible due to the habit of people not to look up.
She steps up to him and in that instant his brow furrows behind the mask. She can almost see the silent question he's about to ask, but then suddenly she draws him to her and… damn she is strong. Then in the next instant they're /launched/ into the air and she can feel the rigidity in him against her, the stiffness of surprise and trepidation. But then the first signal of his gaining ease is an arm around her shouldersr for a moment to steady himself, and then his muscles relax and goes with the flow.
And that flow is amazing. It's like a rollercoaster compared to the rough-riding of his baton and grapple line. Up and down and faster. Much faster. He almost grudgingly gets a small smile, but he hides it easily enough. Shaking his head he murmurs to where her ear would be he figures. "This wasn't what I had in mind."
At this proximity she probably can't sense too much of him through her suit. He's definitely strong, the musculature of his arms and chest are firm and she can feel them shift under her touch. He also could use a shower if she draws in scents. He smells of sweat, and blood, and other men's fear.
Focused on the web slinging, MJ doesn't notice the fleeting smile from Daredevil. "Gives you and my feet a rest," she says in response to his comment, speaking up to be heard over the wind caused by their motion though the air without yelling. The smell doesn't bother her though it does make her think about how good a shower will feel when she goes home.
As they get close to 37th she rides the motion of her latest swing higher only to release the webline without firing off another. This causes the pair to fly in tandum freely though the air in an arc which cares them over the edge of a rooftop so that as they come down upon it.
As they are about to land, she releases Daredevil about a foot and a half above the surface of the roof trusting him to handle the relatively soft landing himself.
The recovery is made, landing in a partial crouch with splayed fingertips catching him. He turns his head to the side, then slowly he regains his feet. There's no hint of how hard he is concentrating as he slowly turns around, walking first one way along the rooftop… then towards the other side. All of the whispers of distant conversations, all of the hum and rumble of far off traffic, all of the music and sound of bottles clinking against bottles must be filtered out for him to find what he seeks.
It takes another minute… two. But then he turns to face her as he lifts a finger to point towards a laundry storefront. "There. They're getting a phone call now… Marcus. Telling them…" He turns his head and frowns. "Telling them to shut down. They're bugging out." He moves to the rooftop's edge and kneels.
She chuckles softly. (That's a man for you,) MJ thinks as she looks int he direction of the building he indicated. "And so… we're just letting them go? What's your objective now?" she asks.
A hand waves, "Let them go. Gambling is a lesser sin." She might get the impression that he does indeed have a myriad of sins quantified and qualified in his list of transgressions against the world. But then Daredevil gains his feet, "Marcus was telling the truth, they're afraid of whomever these three are… will go down and find what we can."
Turning away he slides back down to take a seat with his back to the wall of the rooftop, taking that posture they had from the alcove so that people from the street can't see them. "Need to give them time. Why did you start doing this?" The personal question comes out of nowhere. Perhaps he means her following him tonight… or perhaps he means big picture.
MJ doesn't comment on the sin comment but it defiantly makes her think think of Catholics. She doesn't waste time contemplating that means about a man who wears devil horns as part of his mask - too complicated for the moment…
"Alright," she says as he dodges a committed answer again. And the question, that gives her a pause. It would be apparent to Matt's enhanced senses that this is not over any doubt of what the answer is. When she speaks again his impression is proven correct as she says, "That's a very personal question. Would you answer it if the question was put to you under these circumstances?"
MJ is obviously interpreting the question in the big picture sense.
The answer is given, quick, and clear, as if he did not need any moment of introspection. Instead his moral compass spins rather true and he replies, "I'd answer it as I could. I do this because of loss." And as easily as that, there it is, it's given to her. Just a one word answer, but she can imagine what could have passed for that to have moved a man to such.
A soft and kind smile forms beneath MJ's mask. The subtle expression would be lost on most people but Matt can see it. "In that sense I can answer you. I started this because of love." Just as simple an answer, and true in the fundamental sense as he can tell by listening to the sounds of her body speaking to his sensitive ears beneath her spoken words.
A slow nod is given to her, slow and resolute as he turns his head to the side. That answer is enough, and so easily… that line of inquiry is dropped.
But in that moment the front door of that laundromat opens as a cavalcade of rag tag individuals begin to file out. There are people from all walks of life, though they seem to have the sort of roughness around them that speaks of a hard life. People continue filing out slowly, some people wave to each other, a laugh is heard rough and raucous as an older white-haired gentleman goes on his way counting out bills to himself… apparently having won a decent haul.
It's only when the last man turns and locks up the laundromat that Daredevil gains his feet silently. "Alright." He says, and then steps away from the ledge to get up enough of a running start, then leaps off and into the abyss between the two buildings, catching an antenna that juts out the side and arresting his fall with it, flipping around and then dropping to catch a window sill on the side of the laundromat. He pulls himself up, arms swelling from the exertion as he frowns, then reaches up to push it open before slipping on inside.
She leaps across the gap between the buildings and crawls down the side of the one containing laundry mat, flipping though the open window after Daredevil opened it to end up clinging to the same wall on the opposite side from where she began her flip.
Not feeling the conversation was completely over, she says, "And as for tonight, when I first arrived I wasn't completely sure who I was there to protect," to answer the other, previously unaddressed, interpretation of his question as she looks around.
"Ah, making sure I'm not insane." At that his lip curls wryly and she might actually see this one as he pulls himself into the window and then lands upon the second story game floor. "Probably wise. What's your verdict?"
Around him there are a bunch of card tables, large wooden chairs with decent cushions, a bar that's definitely seen a lot of activity tonight… and what looks like a craps table against one wall.
His nostrils flare slightly as he takes in the scents of the surroundings, his brow furrowing behind the mask as he moves around slowly. It's so strange to see him work to hear him as he explains what he is learning… almost as if he were psychic. "There were three of them." He walks past a wall and drifts his fingertips over it slowly, bullet holes still in evidence. "Military weaponry." He turns his head slightly. "One was inside. A plant. Did not have weapons…" He crouches down then, drawing his fingertips slowly over the grain of the wooden floor. "Used martial arts. Can't tell what style." He gets back to his feet and starts to walk across the room.
For a moment he seems lost as he turns his head left and right several times but then he moves back towards the far wall… opposite the bullet holes. He traces his touch along that wall, producing a small bullet that had apparently gotten lodged in a knot in the wood. "Ricochet."
A deep breath is taken, "Was two men, one woman. Eastern European I believe. The woman was the martial artist."
"Stay still," she says as she leaves the wall, supporting herself on the ends of her waldos, causing them to scurry her across the floor surface as she examines it after switching to her IR optics so she can see the heat patters in the floor of people's movements - actively ignoring the brighter ones left by Daredevil from the window to where he crouches.
Turning slightly to consider her, Daredevil holds his motion, still holding that bullet in his hand. He slides the metal slug into the pocket of his armored uniform, slipping it out of view as he waits for her to pronounce him free to move again. Like her, he is reaching out with his senses, trying to catch anything he may have missed. Yet what he's gained… that seems to be it, for now. A shake of his head is given and he lifts his voice. "Going to need more intel."
"The foot work looks like Krav Maga," she says after a few position changes to look at the fading heat impressions from different angles. "The woman definitely knows it and it influences her fighting style. Can't tell much more from this but its something at least."
She then stands and says, "You're good now, had to preserve the heat signatures," as she switches off the IR optics.
Stepping away from the wall he gives her a nod. Another deep steadying breath is taken and he murmurs quietly, "I'm going to have to follow this up… but you can't come with me." He looks up towards her and then gives her a slow and solemn nod. "You weren't a liability. At least." But then his smile will come to the fore as he starts to turn away, making his way back towards the window, something in his body language saying that they're going their separate ways. He rests a hand upon the window sill, and then glances back. "Iron Spider-Woman, huh?"
A small heh comes from him as he shakes his head, as if having passed judgement.
"Yeah. And thanks," she says out loud. Under her breath, but loud enough for Matt's ears to pick up, she says, "Hope that nobody here picks up that "Spider-Ma'am" thing here," to herself. She walks over to the window and, after Daredevil slips out and departs she begins to take a meandering path though the city back to her apartment… for that much anticipated hot shower and the 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets on her bed.