2013.03.25 - Madripoor Mayhem pt 5

Late afternoon, the sun halfway down the sky in the horizon to the west, overlooking Madripoor and bathing it in sunlight that shades the grungy half the city in dark earthy tones, contrasting against the gleaming illusion of the wealthy side further away from the ports.

Aside the tanker Buraddi-bi, watching the divided city, 'William Bard', aka Roy Harper says nothing. Clad in a dark short-sleeved button-up dress shirt and black slacks, he observes the city for a moment, as seagulls caw, before moving to help secure the motorboat that had brought him and his companion here.

"Ready to rock, Dommie?" the redhead archer comments, giving himself and his equipment a once-over.

After Domino's recent 'agreement' with Belikova she's looking forward to this excursion a lot less than when she first arrived to this hole of a city. Roy doesn't even -have- armor, does he? Since she's not hiding her face she doesn't bother to hide the fact that she's also lightly armored, and quite well armed. A pair of Slovakian 9mm sidearms lurk beneath her arms, a chromed .44 wheelgun rides low on her right leg, and a seriously cut down Mosin Nagant rides across the back of her right shoulder.

The pack that's getting slung across the other shoulder, that's got something a little more potent. Shaped charges and a remote trigger, brought along with the sole purpose of sinking this repurposed oil tanker. Should be good times, assuming they don't go down with the Buraddi-bi.

"Let's just get this over with," she curtly replies while boarding the giant shop on a ship.

Perks of working with someone like the Baroness is the woman has money. Money enough to afford a chopper and an armed escort. Not that he was overly concerned on that latter part but more guns never hurt anything right?

They'd arrived almost in time with Domino and Roy the helicopter small and commercial armed only with one foreward facing light machine gun but it made for a flashy enough arrival. Not something Taskmaster was always approving of but sometimes it had psychological perks. It said, "Hey. Got money and willing to spend." Which is exactly what was wanted right now, new toys. Not for him so much as her crazed Freedom Group goons.

Taskmaster himself pops on the image inducer before visibility was possible, hopping out of the chopper is a rather simple looking man with a wiry build, balding head, sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat. Added in knobby knees, flip flops and a bad sun tan also an AK-47 (thats real). All fabricated of course as underneath is a fully geared to the teeth skull clad mercenary but heck, got the tech, may as well play with it. Stepping to one side he moves out of the way for Baroness and her two thugs. The tacky helicopter winding down.

Anastasia was dressed her best, something she rarely did but did enough to perform the show of a sidearm or woman of power. Taskmaster at her side looked like he was escorting her into 'Bat Country' but there was no fear in those blue eyes that rested behind glasses, just a narrowed natural onset of Loathing. It did not match the dress - black with a low dropped cowled back, sweeping in length to the ground with high slits on either sides that showed the equipped garters of sidearms with her steps taken off of the helicopter.

The two goons that disembark behind her glance her way wearing their own three piece penguin suits and adjusting to the discomfort of the layers of Kevlar that rested beneath as well as their own heavy artillery that they accessorized with. Pack mules for the Baroness with the HK's strapped to their backs.

"Go get him boys.." She speaks in that Russian accented tone as for brief moments they ducked beneath the winding down propellers of the helicopter and disappeared onto the ship.

One hand rose to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked across the deck and red painted lips curl into a foreboding smile. "At least this starts /fun/." With a glance to Taskmaster one corner of her lips rose with a twitch, lingering down on the flip flops with a glare that would light them on fire. She preferred the look of what was under the holo-projection, more conventional.

It only took moments before the raucous came from behind a door and security on deck shifted towards it as her two goons came forth with another man, half dressed for the event and already sporting a black eye and swelling lip that bled down his chin as he spoke in his own defense but was met with a swift kick that landed him on all fours a couple feet from Baroness and Taskmaster, one of her sidearms drawn to aim at his face that was pointed directly up at her.

"I Have intel stating this man is Interpol." From one of the goons a tablet is handed over and she offers it to security to look over but before judgment can be made and the man's pleas can truly be heard beyond 'I'll go and say nothing I have a fa---' the trigger is pulled and blood paints the decks. "Low profile, you said?" Her eyes sweeping from the body to security as heeled feet step over it as if it was a minor puddle on her night on the town.

No, Roy didn't even -have- armor. He'd tried it before, and discovered he could be -heard- in -that- getup coming from -yards- away. Better to rely on evasion and agility, at least, as well as pin-point shooting.

That indomitable crooked half-grin meets Domino's curt look. This would be -fun-.

The half-grin melts away as Roy arrives on deck in time to see the gorgeous brunette and her pasty... what was he supposed to be, a tourist with an AK-47...? Eh, must be an accountant. Pursuing his lips, Roy starts to make a bit of a crack, before the Baroness' thugs bring forth an Interpol agent.

Falling silent as brain matter splatter across the deck, Roy glances towards Domino, for -once- having nothing to say.

The auction security people swarm all over, arms at ready, inspecting the man claimed to be Interpol.

"Confirmed," one man calls out, at someone who seems to be the auction organizer. Tall, dapper, with a weedy moustache, the organizer nods curtly. "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay. If you will, give us a minute to get cleaned up, and then the auction will start."

The sound of an incoming chopper is impossible to ignore. It's not the first one to have made the flight out here. It's not out of the question that Domino and Harper might end up using one to leave this place once everything's in order. Those few disembarking from the chopper are ..well, peculiar. Domino expected a lot of the scruffy looking low-life sorts around here, which means either she's somehow been mistaken, ooor...

This woman in the dress? Big fish. Well-dressed goons armed with German ordnance, money is obviously on her side. She's one to keep an eye on, particularly with the piece of business that she begins her arrival with. There's not so much as a flinch as the lone man is executed, from either of the women standing nearby.

"Welcome to Madripoor," she quietly sides to Roy as if feeling that he needs the reminder. "Got a bad feeling about this. Bumping up the timeframe. Let's get inside and see what's what."

This couldn't have been too normal, right..? This tanker is filled to the brim with loaded weapons and bad attitudes, one misplaced shot and the whole place would ignite. Like what Austin had said the other day, 'massacre in a can.' Something bad's going to happen onboard this tanker. She'd like it to start by her own hand, not someone else's.

Without another word she heads through a bulkhead door and descends down to the closed-in bazaar and auction floor. Artificial lights are strung across the heavy bay doors, leaving thousands of exposed loops of wire hanging high overhead. There's tables set out in rows, over a hundred souls milling about, and as much smoke clogging the air as bullet-filled crates are stacked along the walls. It's the world's most insane gun show. If they made it, it can probably be found here. No background checks required.

And Domino's left to get belowdecks to plant those charges. The sacrifices she makes for the job...

"What do you think he was about to say, sure not family, thats just boring. Maybe I have a fa.. lafel waiting for me? I have a fa... ncier dress than yours?" The crooked lips of the swarthy man tweak upwards in a white-toothed smile as he shifts the AK-47 to rest in the cradle of an arm. Idly Taskmaster spares a quick glance at the bloody mess... Interpol must have been reaching with that one, new, sloppy, folded too easy, probably his first field mission. He almost felt sorry for the dead agent. Almost. That easy pace kept with the crowd as they made way below. All eyes and ears now each person present getting his overly discerning once over. Body language, features, mannerisms; it's read 'n' profile time.

"Ugh, I have a piece of.. Rat.. On my shoe, these are Prada." Baroness states in a seething manner of detest as she notices the visceral remnant while reholstering her Ruger SR22 into her garter. One of the goons produces a handkercher and collects the piece-of-agent from the toe of her stilletto and is stuck standing there with it in hand as she commences moving forward to prepare for further festivities. Not like she /really/ cares, but it was part and parcel of the whole persona that she falls right back into place of playing.

One hand rises as she sweeps a loose piece of that dark hair back from her gaze, one left intentionally from the chignon that kept the mass of waves from becoming a hinderance. "...Fate. He -had- a fate, and met it." The smile spreads into something uneasy for anyone else, but seemed as casual as a hyena's grin on Anastasia. "I wouldn't be surprised if he had a fancier dress, he whined like a leetle.girl."

Moving inside and below Baroness' own gaze is sweeping over the occupants, the tables, and the stock, carefully weaving between the bodies that have begun to press in with a light twitch to her upper lip, not yet having noticed Domino or Roy.

Madripoor. Right. Always Madripoor. The half-grin returns to Roy's face as he nods at Domino, although not with any great enthusiasm behind it. "Right then. I'll go rustle up some purdy heat for you, Dommie," he replies, as he separates, moving among the bazaar while the auctioneer bustle about their stage getting ready, and leaving Domino to cover the starboard side of the tanker, while he was going to the port side.

Just look casual, browser, and then find an excuse to get below deck... that is, if he could get around the wicked lady with the chignon and her accountant.

"I've smelled sewers that are friendlier to the olfactory than this place," Domino mutters with a slight wince. "Yeah, try not to stir the pot -too- much? We didn't come out this way so you could practice becoming a bulletsponge--" she starts in before abruptly stopping to look at the wares upon one of the tables. So much for staying focused.

"Hey, check this out," she says with a smirk while holding up one of a matched pair of custom Beretta 92's. Extended barrels, faux ivory grip panels with chromed skull and crossbone inlays. "Seriously? Who would carry shit like this into a firefight? More cash than brains," she says to none in particular while setting it back down beside its twin.

C'mon, Domino. Keep with it.

Is that a fucking -howitzer?!- Right. "Meet me by the one-twenty mil in ten." Quickly now, before something else can distract--what..is..THAT.

Later!

With the interior fog helping her to disappear amongst the crowd she hurries along through the bazaar, finding an unguarded hatch that she can disappear through. There's bound to be some guards milling about belowdecks. Nothing she can't handle. Hopefully Roy'll have as much luck out on the floor. Dom does -not- trust that woman in the dress.

"You're a sick woman, Miss DeCobray." Recognition in 3 2 "Hey there buddy. Yer blockin' my view." The -accountant- says with a good natured tone. A side-step and he moves into Roy's direct path. Time to heckle. It's what he does, he's a heckler... well also a killer and numerous other things but why pass up such an opportunity? Not like Red will recognize him in this get up unless he can scramble his tech or it malfunctions. Been known to happen. Domino, however, going unseen.

Anastasia is just as distracted by the weapons, the plethora of heavy artillery Eden she hand hers could benefit from. They could easily swarm Madripoor, or a portion of it if the price is right and the bounty is filling. No small endeavors for her. Plucking over one of the tables pale fingertips cross over a display lined out nicely. Some of it junk... Most of it junk, but there was a gold nugget... COP .357. More for show, but it is a collectors item, and one right up her alley.

Picking it up lips part to inquire price from the seller only to give a sidelong glance towards Hunter S. the Accountant and another. They keep coming in younger and younger, youth today. A rise and assessing drop of her gaze along Roy's back only to pause on her cloaked companion with one brow raising in silent inquiry.

"Oh, excuse me, buddy," Roy says, just a bit dismissive of a balding accountant. No, not a sign of recognition, although if he hadn't been intent on getting to where he was supposed to be, he would have noticed just how -deliberate- that blocking was.

A step to the right to unblock Taskmaster's view, and Roy almost runs into the Baroness. "Oh, uh..." Running a hand through his hair, Roy flashes a half-grin. Ten? Plenty of time for like, a minute of chatting. "Hi there. Nice gun you got there." Glancing down belatedly at the COP .357. "So, uh... nice display there. How'd you catch on that he was Interpol?"

Hnh. No, not that subtle... better to just -look- up and down at Baroness as if it was more of a conversational excuse to study that woman.

No no, that wasn't such a hard task, after all...

Wait, didn't he have something to do...?

Thank you, timely distraction. Cripes, if Domino had -any- idea that the one person Roy decides to keep himself occupied with is the very same woman that the albino is concerned about... Maybe this is what happens when Lady Luck leaves him all by himself, though the guy rather is a jinx and a half on his own.

Life beneath the bazaar is thinly spread out. A handful of guys, a smattering of weaponry from across the globe, each tattered and worn from seeing constant use. Luck stays by her side for a while longer, slipping out of sight and into the maze of dark, narrow corridors beyond.

There's the occasional squawk of a radio, a static-filled Mandarin rambling as they keep one another updated. They really should have considered tripling security details down here, because it's rather lacking in some critical areas. The first man gets dropped where he stands, a blade piercing his jugular while a hand presses to his mouth from behind. His AKS sling almost neatly slips from his shoulder onto Dom's as she lowers him to the deck.

One charge set. She'll leave a line of them leading straight back to the engine room before she's through.

A chuckle. Yeah, Baroness has definitely got her own kinda /arsenal/ worth checkin' out. Taskmaster steps aside but not far off, he isn't overly surprised to see Roy here considering all manner of guns-for-hire and militant sorts show up at these. The odds are rather staggering of course but nothing to flip a wig over. Ohh an XM8 Carbine! Closer inspection required.

Holding the COP Anastasia already seemed to have fingers' embrace on it like it was already owned, technically it was the moment she saw it, but after inspection.. One to ensure it did not have any show within the quad barrels of hang ups that had caused a backfire in the past. When Roy seemed to dismiss her 'accountant' and redirect his gaze Baroness simply smiled. But moreso at the weapon and her thoughts. Big mistake on Roy's part, but secrets were harbored in words unsaid as one of the goons shouldered in at Baroness' back and another dropped a meaty palm on Roy's shoulder while Task suffered the ADHD the rest of them seemed to.

"Time to move along.." The baritone voice of the goon stated as he attempted to redirect Roy from Anastasia towards a different path - his inquiry was one far too prying and none of his business.

"Everyone should know what they're walking into." Accented words coming with the faint lift of brows as she watched Roy in his possible (dis)placement. Odd question to come off with right off the bat; his eyes said one thing, words yet another.

Oh, right, the bodyguards. Flashing a grin, Roy holds his hands up in surrender. "Right, right. Uh, if you'll excuse me, I'll be finding the... uh, head. I'll see you around." Getting escorted off to another side, Roy keeps nodding and smiling stupidly at the Baroness and Taskmaster... at least until he was further away. And then it was hands to the groin, a whispered question, and down the deck he went... to the bathroom.

For all of a second, and then the undercover agent peeks out, and hurries to do -his- task, setting up a line of charges on the port side down near the joints separating the first hull from the -second- hull, to be sure the water was coming -in-.

Now to figure out how to explain why he was -just- a little late.

"Sorry, I was examining a bomb shell?"

"There was this great pair of guns I had to examine...?"

Nah. "I had to use the head." Good enough.

Guards are left alive whenever possible as Domino carves her way through the underbelly of the Bloody Sun, not wanting to disrupt their com chatter by too many people failing to report in. She's still got the proverbial ace up her sleeve. She'd very much like to keep it that way.

Whatever Harper's up to... Hopefully it hasn't killed him yet. She hasn't heard any gunshots since the last guy got himself axed, which is as good of a sign as she's likely to get. Coms were out of the question for this job, too obvious. They could just as easily have ended up being dragged out and killed.

Instead, she's progressively rigging this ship to become a giant steel tomb for a lot more people. A -lot- more people. With the volume of this tanker it's not going to be quick to sink but how long will it take between when she sets the charges off and when the first trigger gets pulled? Today this ship is going to live up to its name. Blood amidst a massive fireball.

Dom quickly checks the watch strapped to the bottom of her wrist. Making good time, but she's still just about out of it. Rig the engine room then break back to the bazaar.

"Hrm." The accountant manages in contemplation as Roy's smiling self backs off a short look tossed at Ana. "Gingers are always so damn weird." Saying outloud. The seller standing by the crates and rifles before him frowns knitting red freckle spattered brows in a glare. Head downcast and eyes still roaming up and down the XM8 Taskmaster's hand reaches out and brushes along it's casing, "Sexy... Oh what?" He looks up, "Not you, I'm sure you're just all kinds of upstanding normal, my gun dealer friend. Sell me on this, why would I want this over my HK G36?" A feeling of unease settling over him as the man begans to speak. Surely it's just a coincidence to encounter the archer here?

Anastasia knew nothing of the past between Dom, Roy, and Taskmaster, so she went on with her business which was simple. "I want this, and the according ammunition." Setting the COP down she slid it towards the seller who only looked blankly at her as haggling was not something she wasted her time on. Not right now at least.

Having only tailed Roy with her gaze for moments one of the goons cleared his throat and raised a wrist bearing a watch which got the Baroness to nod.. "Make it fast." She remarks to the seller who pulls out a small case of rounds for the COP and exchanges money over weapon swiftly enough, watching her as she slides past Taskmaster and leans in over his shoulder to utter lowly. "No time for haggling left, I insist on being punctual." Take it or leave it kind of deal. "I pay you plenty, get your toy." They had someone to meet and a heavy shipment to barter over, this, to her, was just orderves - the meal being just around the corner.

Long practiced efforts weaving in and out, without -killing-, and just slipping past people, enabled Roy to make it through his little obstacle course. Just call him Liquid Snake. Only, you know, without the terrorist part.

Checking briefly to make sure that he wasn't -smudged-, clotheswise after the last charge was set up, Roy checks his timer. Just a bit late, but he would meet Domino at the 120 howitzer in... hm, about three minutes.

And so, abovedeck once more, Roy moves through the bazaar once again, moving towards Domino. No problem, he'd just move towards a -different- part of the bazaar. Got a dangerous lady to meet.

This lasts just as the auctioneer calls out, "All right, step right up, it's auction time! We have for us, a lovely little bit of machinery. The 155mm M898 SADARM system..."

The resulting rush causes Roy to be jostled up as people start coming forward... why, hello there again, what -were- the odds

Even Domino can't push her luck forever. The last of her charges get spread out around the engines, should open up that end of the ship like popping the top on a can of beer. With her efforts concentrated within that part of the ship it also gives the opposition a better window for catching sight of her.

Time's up.

"Ting zai na'er!"

In an instant there's the muted, metallic echo of a single gunshot from much further within the ship. Seconds pass before it's followed by two more shots. Only silence results.

A moment later and Dom returns to the bazaar floor, the AKS hidden away and abandoned within the hall she steps out from. To anyone else she looks the same as before, just a bit less weight bearing down on her one shoulder. The guards don't happen to notice her return but the results of her absence are already being discovered. Noise had been made. Guards are failing to report in. She drifts right past another man out on the floor as he's rapid-firing Mandarin into his radio.

Now where the hell was that howitzer parked? A bit easier to find with much of the crowd getting distracted by the auction, good thing they didn't seem to notice the heated exchange belowdeck.

So..where's Harper hiding, now? Oh--oh you have GOT to be KIDDING.

"The whip crack-ith." Taskmaster murmurs as he pushes the assault rifle away and turns to join the rest of his companions. Reminding himself he has enough toys already. The tide takes a sudden turn as the auctioneer calls out whats up for bid. The big stuff. Everybody loves artillery but why on Earth half these yahoos would need it is beyond him. "Careful jagoff I'm walkin' here." He snarls as an elbow cuffs him in the rib. The sounds and possible scramble from men on this deck unseen amongst the expected chaos of the auction though he catches a piece of "shots fired". Yeah, added mayhem and lookit that, Roy Harper is here.

Anastasia did not have the worry of throwing elbows, she kept pace with her flanking goons and they did it for her as the path is cleared to make her and her small entourage towards a further corner. What better way to do her own large deal but under the guise of an auction she had no interest in -yet-.

No pause came as she heard the words come over the radios, though now behind glasses her eyes are becoming far more acutely aware of her surroundings, the holster straps over her garter-captive Ruger's undone as well as her goons pulling their HK G36C's from their backs to rest eased from palm to palm.

"Keep your eyes open boys and trigger fingers ready. No interruptions.. Until we're done." A man comes forth then to greet Taskmaster and Baroness, offering a hand in greeting that she only looks over. "No time for formalities, seems there is -other- trouble brewing." Baroness says, waving her hand over her shoulder towards security guards who were now fanning out to cover ground.

Oh for chrissakes... there was that balding accountant again. And then the woman in the dress and her two goons.

And while the auctioneer drones on with the technical details and how -guaranteed- the SADARM was... the ginger agent was still trying to navigate. "Excuse me, excuse me," Roy says, doing his best to navigate towards Domino. "Excuse me... woops... sorry... nice hair implant, looking good... excuse me, you're really good at working out... oh hello there, gorgeous..." Not his fault that he got shoved, pushed and going -thump- against first, Taskmaster, then pinballed around the bodyguards, before coming to a stop against Baroness.

How does one take a bad situation and make it worse? Easy. Just add Harper.

Domino's not in a happy place anymore. This job should have been a cakewalk, but of course there had to be someone else involved. If she had been allowed to handle it on her own she would already be out of here with her thumb on the detonator, but no. Now she has to keep Roy from getting himself murdered by one of the biggest baddies onboard, while not getting herself gunned down for a rapidly growing number of reasons.

Well, here we go...

"Pardon me, local village lost its idiot," she tells the gathering of goons while trying to push her own way through. In order to grab Harper. Who is trying to grab Mysterious Lady.

Times like this, it really makes a merc wonder if the pay is worth all of the effort.

"I got a hunch." Taskmaster says thoughtfully, "Grab 'm." He motions at Ana's goons towards Roy as the man plays bumper car and ultimately ends up plastered to the femme fatale. Spot! Excitement explained. Domino has shown herself and the rather un-assuming looking man is making sure to bar her path in his clumsy manner. "Hey there good lookin', I think you found your idiot." Himself of course. The auction for the moment forgotten what are the odds these two are behind the trouble goin' down? Could the hippie be here as well. So many possibilities. It's not like he has solid proof or anything of the sort but may as well hang close, just in case I mean... could be a reward for them or at least they could make for decent meat shields.

Anastasia's eyes narrow as she feels a form roughly pressed against her. "Ach." Her upper lip recoils back from teeth like a venomous creature about to spit venom and bite when she side steps with the possible apprehension of Roy by her goons. The man she was meant to do business with watching pensively, although appreciatively as Baroness smooths her dress crisply. More militant in sudden motions then anything casual of a woman smoothing out creases.

"Seems your een.give.ict (ginger in russian pronunciation)has found himself in the wrong place... Again." Baroness' gaze is on Taskmaster with question lingering as Domino reveals herself, a sweep of her gaze from toe to head of the woman and then dismissal as her vendor clears his throat. "It seems we need another moment to clear the space." She was not about to do business now, but it was something that has drawn enough tension in Baroness that somewhere in there she already had her Ruger's in her hands.

Mirror shades, a visible earpiece, a goodsuit, a little hair pomade, and James, AKA the Winter Soldier, AKA Henchperson #2 is the very picture of interchangeable goonery. His hand twitches towards the rifle strapped to his back when Roy makes contact with his charge... and it doesn't quite return to his side, even when it seems as though an altercation might not be jumping off after all. His eyes linger on Roy for a while, at that, before he returns to surveying the room at large.

Decades ago, he spent the last few years of his service to the Soviet Union as the bodyguard to a very important man in a very dangerous place; this may be his first mission with the Baroness, but he's plenty qualified to watch her back. Nevermind that he just sort of--showed up among the ranks of her soldiers for hire in Madripoor.

"Say the word, comrades," he coldly murmurs to Anastasia and her companion, hand still no more than a foot or so away from his gun, "and I will happily clear it."

The auction starts picking up bids, with much shouting and hand-waving, while Roy keeps holding up his hands. "No problem, buddy," he says to James. "It's just a little crowded, that's..."

Another hand shoots up, as a late bidder shoves his way through the crowd, calling out a sizable bid, and Roy winces as he bumps up against the goons. "Sorry, sorry, let me just see myself out. For what it's worth, that -is- a hell of a dress, and I love how you managed to get that gun out of there so quick..." he greets to Baroness, doing his best to back out and get out before ... well, they synched the timer to go off at the same time, but just how much -time- did they have left?

Trying to back away so that he can get to Domino is a question of whether the Baroness was feeling benevolent or not.

Yeah. Great. This is exactly what Domino didn't need today. Here's Hawaiian with his Kalashnikov, the lady that makes Dom think of a pit viper, and their merry little entourage of cookie-cutter cutthroats. Roy is, naturally, right in the middle of it all.

World-class jinx. No question about it.

It's a right shame that she doesn't recognize Taskmaster, though that could also be for the best considering how things last went between the two. "I think I found a whole herd of them, actually."

With the higher temperatures and abundance of sun (and no real reason to keep weaponry hidden upon one's person,) Dom's ditched the trench some time back and gone with nothing more than a thinly armored skin and combat webbing, sleeves rolled up a quarter of the way and a triangular patch of ghostly white skin left revealed at her sternum.

It's hot outside. It's like an oven inside of the ship. And yet, there's an icy chill flowing through her spine as Anastasia looks her over. Not a good place to be, right here. The best thing going for the merc is that a .22 isn't going to get past her armor. It's just going to hurt a heck of a lot.

"Yeah, he's real good at that," she answers Ana while trying to ignore her accountant weirdo. "I'm sure that we've all got business to tend to, so just toss him over here I'll put him on a shorter leash." Preferrably one that's capable of remotely tasing the dolt.

"Kinda business ya here, toots? You don't seem all that interested in the goods. Unless ya like what you see now?" The wrinkled projection of a face seems to scrunch up more as it hovers there in front of Domino. Yeah, Taskmaster is paranoid. Too much going on that smells and instinct for any person in their situation would be going haywire. Besides, Spot here owes him for some several dozen stitches. Why not string things out a bit. The auction proceeding as planned starts to pull his attention in enough of a shift his eyes wander from Domino long enough to make sure things have eased down, maybe all just a false alarm anyways. Maybe. Better safe than sorry. Roy's out of his hands anyhow, it's all in Baroness and James on that front.

This was the second time Roy had a brush with Baroness and her eyes are set on him like narrowed cross hairs, much akin to the way Taskmaster was sizing up his pale accomplice, but if she could dissect them both and put them under a microscope right there, she would. Glancing to James her chin rose in that silent debate, staring down the narrow bridge of her nose to the two before raising a hand and flicking her wrist in a dismissive gesture. "Take your pet. I'm not here for adoptions." A glance between Task, James and her other goon only had her refocusing on the intruding duo before she turned on heel and closed the small gap between herself and her business partner. About that...

Crates were stacked neatly behind him and one to his right that her reached for, lifting the lid to reveal it stacked and lined neatly to protect the 5.56mm ammo stacked to the brim. "This should only -begin- to catch your interest Miss DeCobray."

The Winter Soldier stares a hole right through Roy when he's directly addressed, and again when he's actually bumped into. He doesn't hold his gaze for long, in either case; it's mostly just to keep the intruder on his toes and make sure he moves along rather than linger near his charge.

"Americans," he softly exhales when Roy finally backs away, shaking his head. He follows after the Baroness, and though he glances around periodically to try and keep himself abreast of the redhead and albino's positions, he's more concerned with keeping anyone /else/ from getting too close.

Of course, when the hardware is revealed, he can't help but sneak a peek to see what kind of gear is being offered. Looking is about all he does, though; none of it, unfortunately, is for him.

Nodding away in obligation, Roy greets Domino with wide open arms. "Dommie, darlin'! Sorry, I lost you in the crowd," he exclaims, moving in close to give her a hug. Because, darn it, he needed to make this look good...

Brushing up against her cheek in a quick smooch, he murmurs, "That guy talkin' up the chick in the dress? Ivan Kozlov. Russian high-grade arms dealer." And then pulling back, Roy flashes a wide grin at Domino, settling an arm around her waist comfortably. "Did you have somethin' you wanted to show me earlier?"

"Yeah, because I'm here looking for a bald guy in a loud shirt lugging around a sixty-six year old rifle," Domino flatly replies. This guy's accusing her of not being here for the wares. It's only half true, she'd still make a point of checking out this bazaar on the water even if she hadn't been tasked with sending it to the bottom of the ocean. "What kind of a question is that even? They've got Khaybars, INSAS's, X95's, even saw an FX-05 for sale. You really oughta consider retiring that antique and picking up something with a little more personality."

Damnit, girl. You're getting -way- off track, here.

Oh hey, check it out. Roy's getting released back into her custody, after all. "That makes two of us," she mutters in response to the adoptions remark. And..oh, oh god, he didn't just-- Serenity now... A thin smile gets forced across her blacked out lips, her tone now positively saturated with sarcasm. "Because it's so easy to lose sight of me."

There is still the matter of security going bonkers. Another nearby radio crackles to life, more Mandarin coming through. //Someone got below, we've lost some men!// The guy with the radio clipped to his belt is eyeing the crowd with increasingly suspicious eyes, hands held firm upon his weapon of choice.

(I really wish I understood what the hell they were saying,) the albino sourly thinks. Judging by the tone it can't be very good. She promptly catches Roy by the bicep, a cold edge in her glare. "Come along, 'dear.' I have an order to place."

Guess which one of them is lucky enough to carry it out of here!

The smile remains etched upon wrinkled features, "If it ain't broke don't fix it right? This classic still purrs like I could make a kitten like you." Skeazy. How about that? Taskmaster works it and even grosses himself out in the process. "N' if you think these got no personality you ain't the girl I thought you were, Spot."With narrowed eyes he watches Roy and Domino embrace as more radio chatter gets picked up, faint once again under all the noise and ruckus of the auction itself but still there. Yeah, paranoia is warranted.

Ivan Kozlov a well known Russian Arm's dealer and supposed former OSNAV has always been known to treat his customers good. "I found it quite surprising you wanted me to get so much 5.56 for you but I managed and in bulk, small strings attached and as a special customer appreciation.. eh... what is it called... uh gift? I got you some of these, brand new! Just this year..." The secondary crate popped and Kozlov reveals a Kalashnikov AK-12 in all of it's glory. What looks like two or three more broken down inside the crate and situated neatly next to it on display. "Other crate has the RPG-30s I promised you, happy no? I told you, you come here I hook you up and make it worth your times." Large tooth grin just for his customers. Truly this man loves his job.

Oh, contrare. The weaponry is for those that find themselves at Baroness' side. Lucky them. The ammunition garners a smile from Baroness as one Ruger is holstered and fingertip ring a *ticking* noise from casings as they pass over the top of them. Leaning over the case, that hand loops around the lipof the crate, a lean taken over the surface of it as if claim was staked and approval gained. The COP she had purchased was being held by goon1 as well as the ammunition for it, she would have to have a proper holster made for that tiny .357 that packed more then the eye could gather from it.

Anastasia's eyes, however lingered on Dom and Roy as they 'caught up' nodding in aggreement with James in his simple word for them, summing the whole of it up, and yet... They did not seem so easily passed over, not with how the pasty woman addressed Taskmaster and his weapon - as well as the backdrop beat of chaos ensuing as bodies are being counted from below. The radio chatter was making her more on edge despite the pleased grin that painted the facade of a well-fed lion.

Though between those teeth her words hissed lowly to James, goonie, and Taskmaster. "Their presence comes with an unwelcome chord. I don't like it..." Though cut off by Ivan continuing his show that had her picking up the AK-12 and appraising it. "Oh, Ivan, your reputation precedes you and you make me a happy woman." Pausing the smile does not dwindle, even as she inquires the final closing deal. "And your price?"

"Mmm," is James' response to the Baroness' paranoia.

Well, that and handing his shades off to his fellow goon so as not to stick out /quite/ so much when he moves to slip into the crowd. The comm piece isn't /great/ for subterfuge, but he can't afford to cut himself off from the rest of the group; the gun, at least, shouldn't raise /too/ many eyebrows.

The former spy keeps his head down as he pushes through the crowd, raising it only to check for Domino and Roy's positions; he's aiming to tail them through the crowd, but for all that the other customers might provide him with some much needed cover to aid his skulking, they don't do him many favours when it comes to moving quickly. The best he can do is glare and nudge whenever appropriate and hope that his fellow criminals are willing to be compliant.

"Well, I -had- to head to the restroom, so and then the crowd," Roy starts to make excuses, looking every bit about as whipped as he could, just as he leans in closer, taking advantage of the proximity to whisper, "No, you don't get it. Contact -had- to know this guy was here, they probably run in the same circles. Whatever's going on..."

His voice trails off as he tilts his head, listening to the people whispering into the radios, just a bit. "Weird... they're talking about losing some men below..." he murmurs softly, for Domino's ears, following obeidently towards where Domino tugged.

Where she'd led them to is a stall with extraordinarily large ammunition, as well as valuable old antique guns. Magnums, Winchesters, Remingtons... some apparently there for sentimental value, most -very- well kept and well-oiled for use...

"... not bad, not bad," Roy murmurs, before blinking at what Domino has her eye on. "Oh god, no... you're gonna carry -that- back?"

He had a bad feeling he knew who was going to play packmule...

Firearms come in many shapes and sizes. Some of them, like Anastasia's nifty new COP, are tiny, portable, and cute. Some of them, like the cannon currently sitting upon the vendor's table with the barrel separated from the receiver, are absolutely, ludicrously, massive. It's over seven feet of rifle, weighing enough to bend the table that it's displayed on. One could probably pick off armored boats from a mile out with the monster.

It's also about as large as Domino's grin at that very moment. "C'mon, who -wouldn't- want one of these?"

There is, of course, a catch. Not that it would take both of them to lug it out of here and back to shore. It's the guy who's selling it, slowly growing more tense by the second as he sits a little further up in his folding chair. He's staring at the shiny competition revolver strapped to her leg.

"Don't see many of them around here."

"What, this guy?" Dom asks. "Yeah, I've only seen the one since I got here."

"Funny. So have I."

An uneasy silence suddenly falls between the two before the vendor speaks once more, "Custom sights. I sold that piece two months ago to a close friend of mine. You wouldn't happen to know what happened to him..would you."

There's a subtle -click- from beneath the table, the man leaning closer still.

"Hey Bard, know what time it is?" the woman asks her companion while carefully inching her hand toward the revolver in question.

"Time for the blue light special."

Iron clears leather along the woman's side as the man takes a shot from beneath the table, the -BANG!- acutely sharp within the metal belly of the ship. He misses, but only just.

The .44 that comes over the top of the table doesn't. -KaBLAM!-

Before the man falls out of his chair and strikes the floor, Dom triggers the charges. The ship's superstructre shudders with a dozen muffled explosions lighting up as one, quickly followed by a low, deafening groan from the mortally wounded oceanic beast.

As for the big gun? She's already reaching for the barrel. "Grab the receiver, time to go!"

Kozlov maintains his grin,"Well... we had an arrangement but considering there was a small issue with the uh, the, shipment? Handler fees you know, I am thinking 10% more than what we agreed up---" The seller visible trembles his legs wobbling enough to cast him back and forth as he reaches out and grabs ahold of one of his munition crates. "O Bozhe moi!!!"

The cacophony of sounds ringing throughout the vessel has Taskmaster's worn smile twitching off of his fake features. "Yep." He manages. "Shoulda figured." His weapon slinging out to point at the first trigger happy goon to make a draw for his own. Yeah, what happens in scenarios like this? Tons of lunatics with firearms, surrounded by explosives and shit goes south? Lotsa shooting. LOTS of it.

That poor goon1. Not only did he get stuck with brain matter in a hankie, but now a COP .357, ammo, and James' sunglasses. He was expecting to become pack mule.. "Help them see these crates to our chopper." Baroness states as she watched James nearly mold into the crowd to tail Dom and Roy. The small comm pieces in each of their ears will make for good communications, for now, and she was resting in as much ease as possible with Taskmaster and Ivan's company, unknowing of the odds that may be for or against them with the havoc arising from below in voices - but who was counting? She got what she came for (and then some), she was as pleased as a kitten with its claws imbedded in something pliant.

The explosion below was an added bit of chaos that, however, was not expected, her own footing staggered as well with the rocking of the massive metal beast beneath them and she grips the same crate as Ivan, her glasses having slid down her nose ever so slightly as she sets her sights on him, raising a hand for the packmuled goon to remain -as if he needed it. His HK was already drawn and he was standing ready.

"You get it if you get this to my chopper, in the next five minutes." The ship was going down and she wanted off, with her intended. The AK-12 was quickly being checked over for perfection in its assembly as well as being loaded while her prized Prada stilletto's are kicked to the side. Look vs. Ergonomic in this situation, they lose. Queueing up the comm Baroness barks in. "Location! Report." Even the driver of the chopper came in, barking the rapid words of needing to leave from the backdrop noise of propellers starting. Their clock is ticking...

James is fortunate not to tumble into anyone once the explosions begin; things are deteriorating rapidly, and the last thing he needs is to fuel the fire by pissing some gun-toting thug off. As soon as he's got his bearings - mostly a matter of the proper stance and not watching the room lurch about - he whips the G36 off of his back, lifts his head to squint at the shooter and her companion for a split-second, then squeezes off a single shot...

... that's pointed at the table beside Domino's big score, rather than she or Roy themselves. The movement of his draw continues on past that shot, until he's actually looking down the gun's sights--which are now hovering somewhere between Roy, Domino, and that cannon on the table.

"This woman is a thief!" he exclaims to anyone who'll listen over the din of the ship falling apart; it's the first thing that comes to mind, but trying to use the rest of the ship's occupants to keep the pair delayed seems as reasonable a tactic as any. Taking a step back from the table, he continues, "A cri--a /cheat/! Don't let her leave with her ill-gotten goods!"

It is not, strictly speaking, the best speech for rousing a ship full of black marketeers for action, but it's what he's got.


 * "I will be a moment!"| he then hisses into his comm device. |"I am coming."|

Oh, it was entirely self-defense, Roy could see that. Clearly, Greedo shot first, not Domino...

And yet, it didn't matter, as the cry by James as well as the gunshot causes Roy to pull back. "Aw hell!"

Bringing his pistol back to aim at ... he wasn't quite sure -where- it came from, and so rather than shoot someone innocent, he aims for something more distracting - one of Kozlov's munition crates -not- anywhere near him, while reaching back out to try and grab the big gun's receiver. It came apart in sections, thankfully, making for easy transportation. Normally, they'd just stick it in a bag... but eff that, no time, and if there were any missing kibble, that was -Domino's- problem, not his! He was, what, her faithful pet? Woof.

Gyah, -shit!- Domino's expecting a lot of gunfire, most of it completely random and not at all focused around her, but that -one- bullet could not have found its mark across that table by mere chance! In a flash she spins about, holding the massive competition magnum at arm's length as she lines up where the shooter is--

--and discovers that it's one of Lady Viper's goons. Separated from the herd. Calling her a thief..! -Double- shit!

"It was self-defense, sweartogod! I have a witness right here!"

Ah to hell with it.

Another brilliant flash erupts from the front of Dom's magnum as she tries to put Winter Soldier to cover, or pick the gun right out of his hand if she's lucky. Problem is, there's guns -everywhere- around here. She might disarm him for a moment but it's not going to be forever!

Roy's got the right idea, go for damage and blitz. Damage equals distractions equals cover for them both. Didn't one of the vendors around here have some claymore charges for sale? Gods know there's plenty of grenades to go 'round.

In the meantime she just starts hauling tail, the remaining four rounds snapping off at random. Presumably. With her, random can be a very good thing.

Slug number five ricochets off the barrel of a TOW rocket launcher, whizzing down into another vendor's supply of reloading equipment. It collides with a pile of bullet primers, causing a sympathetic detonation that blasts the entire wooden crate into high velocity splinters as quickly as one could snap their fingers.

The auction is, naturally, cancelled. The buyers are, naturally, turning into a chaotic mob. The sound of weaponfire is ever-present, nearly drowning out the enraged yells and wounded howls. Even the ship itself is joining in with the latter responses.

One too many had already bounced in to or jostled Taskmaster. A spinning heel kick places one man who was far too close back and solidly on the ground as weapons are drawn and guns begin to light up the belly of the very badly thought out black market bazaar. The AK-47 is swung out like a club and drops a bystanding merchant with a crack of the weapon's butt. Breathing room! Finally. Getting caught up with a quick scan he spots Domino haulin' ass and Roy taking off shots, the henchman they'd picked up in Madripoor already earning his keep. No weapons drawn aside from that antique AK turned cudgel Taskmaster clears a path around Baroness. "Lets move, this place has gone tits up." A shimmer wavers over the man and his -accountant- look fades away to reveal the fully clad and skull-masked mercenary. He is at least recognizable now.

"You have 5 minutes to get to the chopper." No explaination needed, nor demand made. Once each voice and face is accounted for as alive, Baroness states the obvious. Time is ticking and you're on board or left behind on a sinking ship.

That crate Roy had fired at cracks and splinters and luck shines forth for the man as their own Russian friend had come through in promises of sabatoge and assistance, a small focused explosion inside nailed sparks off erupting outward with a *FWOMF* sound that causes a small proximity detonation. A blast strong enough to throw Ivan half way across the floor to slap boneless like a jellyfish against a stack of drums.

Baroness had a split second to react in seeing the wood of the crate splinter with the impact of Roy's shot and poor goon1 was gripped, thrown in front of her with a twist of her body that had her pressing in line against his back as that explosion on the crate detonated from what was rigged inside, leaving his body a pin-cushion for shrapnel and splinters; blasting back and carrying Baroness with that now-dead weight.

From beneath the goons corpse both hands escape and pry her from beneath, roilling him off of her so she could crouch beside him and get her COP and ammunition from his pockets.

"No... I couln't tell, I though that was the start of the real party, dah-link." Sarcasm dripped tones towards Taskmaster as she wedges the COP in with the spare Ruger against her thigh, the AK armed and her sights looking for someone to cut her losses on; take the aggression out on. What a wasted trip.. Where were those two?

Another dealer's ruined display provides the Soldier with something even better than cover:

More weapons.

Hunched behind an upturned table, he swiftly picks through assorted guns, clips and ammunition for a few seconds before managing to get Beretta loaded and prepped in his left hand.


 * "The albino--"| he hisses into his communicator before popping up just high enough to peek around for some sign of Roy and Dom; splintering wood and whizzing bullets soon force his head right back down, though, drawing a frustrated sigh from the former spy. |"Another time,"| he quietly resolves; he has an employer to see to. |"I am coming."|

With that, he darts from behind the table, keeping his body bent low to make himself as small a target as possible. The G36 in his right hand is swept rather indiscriminately to and fro, lead erupting from its barrel in a hellish spray intended to keep the /rest/ of the would-be buyers too busy ducking for cover to go for their own guns. The suppressive fire won't last long, though; there are only so many bullets in the magazine, after all.

Luckily, the Beretta is there to make sure that anyone who's of a mind to press him or his crew after that initial burst /stays/ down: if any other buyers /do/ make a move on them - whether it's advancing, pulling a gun, or even looking at them the wrong way - they'll get a swiftly fired bullet to the leg, hand, arm--whatever it takes to make them think twice.

When he finally makes it to the chopper, he tosses the spent assault rifle inside, hops aboard, then braces himself just beside the door to keep an eye out for hostiles.

If Roy had time to think, he might well be horrified that he'd misjudged - not the shot itself, but the sheer -amount- of ammunition stored in the boxes. Later, he might beat himself over it.

As it was, there was precious little time to think, aside from a quick blink as -Taskmaster- shows instead of the accountant. The supertanker's very slow listing causes Roy to quick-walk in hasty little steps down towards the little motorboats docked. "Dommie, boat!"

Ever get that feeling..that the world is starting to tilt beneath your feet..?

It's a gradual start. There's a whole lotta tanker to capsize. Still, it has begun. Shell casings are rolling that much further across the floor before getting arrested by the various wares. Spilled blood is starting to leak away from the bodies. This sucker's going down.

Domino's not about to go down with it. Steps are retraced. The quickest route back to their boat is mapped out. The four foot chunk of barrel remains slung across her back as she unholsters the K-100 pistols from beneath her arms, more concerned with speed than staying to fight. Anything that happens to get in her way won't remain an obstacle for long.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!"

The people they just ticked off have a chopper, with a chaingun on the front. It would chew another bird to ribbons. A boat would offer marginally better protection, along with that whole 'not falling to their death' bit if they do get shot down. Then again... The rifle that they're carrying out in halves might be a great deterrant against any form of retaliation.

Fortunate, that.

The whine of chopper motors can be heard out on the deck proper, though she and Roy are running in the opposite direction. She'll take the express route if necessary, she's a good swimmer.

Inside, things couldn't be much worse. Someone decides to make an exit for themselves by touching off the 120mm howitzer. Another massive fireball comes to bloom along the side of the ship, the cannon punching an obscenely large wound through its hull. It kind of works, anyway!

Taskmaster peels off from behind Ana and Bucky to grab a handful of Ivan's jacket to jerk him upright. Quick pulse check and the man is hurled over his shoulders in a fireman's carry that AK discarded carelessly in favor of a new .45 sidearm. Might look bad for business to leave him out to dry. Got a career to think of after all.

Trailing behind but keeping up as best he can with his new burden he is forced to gun down a heavy set Somali pirate looking individual who got a little too close and handsy. Probably screaming something like, "Take me with you!" But who has time for that nonsense.

The black modified red snake motif painted AS565 Panther with it's forward facing chain gun is already prepped for take off as the surviving bodyguard climbs aboard; he'll follow of course after throwing Kozlov in through the sliding door roughly.

For a moment, let's look at the day. Get dressed up. Dolce and Gabbana applaud your style, red carpet has nothing on your hair, Prada shoes ('nuff said), and a chopper ride to see hell from the heavens. It started great. Ivan showed, her stocks for her rallying numbers was right there, she touched the -bonus- and even the new henchman of the very few selected in this armpit of the world (New Jersey still wins that by a small margin) was showing great promise. A bubble bath would have made it perfect...

... Throw some Tide in the ocean, Baroness.

One hand rose, a single digit pushing the glasses back up on the bridge of her nose as she narrows her gaze on the backs of Roy and Domino. One second she is beside Taskmaster in his humanitarian act of the day, the next she is aiming that AK up and at the backs of Dom and Roy, walking casually towards them while bullets spray forward in an unyielding path after them, the ruger at her side is risen. Any that hurl themselves even remotely near her, get a .22 in the head, leg, wherever. She is clearing a path.

Someone defouled her cheerio's.

"We have no--"


 * BANG!*

The Soldier stares wide-eyed at the unlucky pirate as he stumbles back from the copter and collapses, then whips his head around to stare incredulously at Taskmaster. He doesn't offer any protest, though--perhaps because Anastasia seemingly decides to commit suicide by exploding tanker before he can figure out whether or not he even /should/. With another heavy sigh, he jerks his eyes away from the skull-faced merc, springs from the chopper, and sprints after the Baroness. He fires a couple of shots in Domino and Roy's general direction, more to keep them moving than anything; mostly, right now, he only has eyes for his employer. In fact, once he's right behind her, he actually tosses the Beretta aside, freeing him to loop his left arm around her midsection so that he can haul her right back to the safety of the gunship, heedless of any protests to the contrary. He does his best to be gentle with her, at least, but his grip is /strong/; pulling free might not be too easy, but if she's of a mind to struggle and make a fuss, that'll definitely slow him down, if not force him to let go.

Hell, motherf---

Trying to dance across down to the boat with that -angry- woman coming down at them like a bat out of hell was going to be problematic, especially with the -competent- bodyguard shooting at them.

Taking a moment to lift the large gun piece to his shoulder so he can balance it better, Roy moves, balancing carefully as he walks backward, aiming his pistol carefully after a quick glance to communicate to Domino that he was going to take -that- side... sharpshooting time, taking out that Ruger, and leaving the other side to Domino.

The trusty old Kalashnikov. Capable of flawless operation after some of the worst abuse any wartime environment can throw at it, and directly into its mechanism. The bullets it fires are capable of punching clean through an engine block with enough velocity left over to take out the guy hiding behind it and the vest he marched in on. For a small, fast target sprinting like the dickens in the opposite direction, getting a killshot on full auto is not very likely. Not that a hail of fire isn't going to give the woman plenty to think about.

Sparks flash across the heavily riveted structure all around Domino, the distinct clack of the rifle's action telling her what it is without having to look. Thirty rounds, a few seconds of burn time, a dozen more steps to the edge of the boat and the freedom of free-falling to the ocean beyond...

A few of those shots tug at her lightly armored limbs like friendly drunken jabs, adrenaline holding off the inevitable flash of pain soon to follow. The albino gets chewed into, though when that one lucky shot lines up in the chamber to clip her spine and paralyze her from the waist down, -that's- when the odds suddenly trade hands. Anastasia's AK has a fault within the spring of the magazine, catching at just the right moment for the bolt to slam into a cartridge from the wrong angle, jamming it tight in a heartbeat.

Domino lives to get her freefall, leaping over the edge and twisting around to randomly pepper the attackers with 9mm slugs before she plunges headfirst through the waves, momentarily out of lethal range of gunfire.

With super henchman hauling Miss DeCobray's overly hostile ass in to the chopper Taskmaster releases an exhale. That look he had gotten from James overlooked as just some heat of the moment thing, no real clue as to why it was given I mean... it's normal to gun down filthy criminals and pirates right? Clean conscience or no conscience at all. One of the two. "Not worth it, lady. Those two are slippery and more 'n' a pain in the ass to deal with than we got time. Just chalk it up as a bad game 'sides they travel the same circles, we'll be seein' 'em again." Slumping back in to his seat Tasky hauls Kozlov in to make sure he secure, even going so far as to buckle him in awkwardly - a groan escaping the unconscious arms dealer. "Hey! A silverlining."

It was one moment, brief, but when that strong grip twined around Baroness' waist she wretched and writhed, shots spraying upward in that jolt just before the Ruger flew from one hand and the AK ceased with a sound, the jamming making her curse in her native tongue, but the slight remaining bit of sanity kept it from casting it aside. She clung to that one weapon while a glock and the COP remained strapped to her thigh.

By the time they reached the chopper she seemed calm, collected, even setting the butt of the AK along side her and began to unpin her mussed hair, shooting a narrowed, yet somehow managing to be a non-malicious glance, towards James.

Pausing with a bobby pin pressed between her lips she glances to Ivan and then Taskmaster, only a twitch to one corner of her lips offered before pulling the pin free, ticking down like a grenade before she spoke.

"For their sakes, I hope we do not, and the silver lining would be him having more of those weapons."

James holds that narrowed gaze and doesn't flinch; if she /was/ of a mind to lash out at him for having her back, then so be it, but it mercifully seems as though things won't be going that way.

"We should leave," he suggests once their eye contact breaks and he's able to concentrate on the flaming carnage outside. "Chain gun should be ready; I doubt they'll chase." Beat; a sidelong glance towards Ivan.

"The weapon that the albino took: I want one."

Domino's leap into the waves of the ocean is followed by Roy's own follow and descent, a bit more cautiously down the side of the ship, as he slides down the ladder and towards the boat.

Starting up the boat, Roy spins around just long enough to pick up Domino.

As the tanker slowly descends into the sea, and motorboat, lifeboats, and helicopters head off in separate directions, the seagulls caw.

"Hell of a mission, Dommie... but why did you want this gun so badly?"

"Because it goes _BOOM_, Harper. Don't ask stupid questions!"

"Riiiiight."