2012-10-18 Stolen Motorcycles

What odd circumstance brings unlikely allies together? Friends who might have no reason to become friends, save for the vicissitudes of fate. Places, stranger than strangers, that lure people to them and forge the unlikliest of kinships. The New York Motorcycle Club usually doesn't meet in the city. It's hardly the sort of franchise that lends itself to places where leather jackets and biker babes don't blend in. But the NYC-MC is a bit different. For one- the attendees are less Hell's Angels and more like CEO investors of Fortune 500 companies. It's a way for bikers of all walks and life- from the custom chopper shop on the Lower East Side to the wealthy prototype racers- to meet and greet at the New York Convention Center. It's of interest to many people, as much for industry meetings and commerce as it is for the food, which for the sixth year running is being provided by some of New York's best 'street chefs' in what has become an informal competition for such titles as 'Best Coney Island' hotdog stand or 'Number One Burger'. It's a fun, interesting even all its own- and featured this year is a HammerTech prototype motorcycle, which boasts shocking speeds and computer-enhanced controls that make it one of the most stable and agile bikes in the world. The price tag is probably out of reach of even Tony Stark. Needless to say, there are guards out around the display.

It's attracting a lot of interest. Somebody might even accuse the teenager who is currently gawking at the HammerTech bike of spying for Stark. Or at least of stealing ideas. She's actually wearing a biker jacket, although not full leathers...jeans and boots. Long hair, not tied back or secured in any way, but loose over her shoulders. Yup. Right now, Marissa Sometimes would be drooling over that bike if the guards weren't keeping everyone back a bit of a distance from it.

Dressed in her leathers, Tanya pulls up to the place on her Dodge Tomahawk. She can B.S. enough for how she got one, and these kinds of places are always good for showing off--like that old Harley Davidson she eases her bike past. That thing's had a lot of love and care put into it. She hasn't even gotten to the HammerTech prototype yet, and she's already drooling over a few. Sometimes, seeing what "regular" people do with their rides is just as interesting as what major companies do with theirs--though as a confirmed Hammer girl, she will definitely be checking that prototype out, after finding a place to park her Tomahawk.

Not -always- working, though she does always seem busy... Heather is attending this event for two reasons. Okay three. There's rich folks that she can hobnob with, making connections and such. Plus, she isn't really a biker chick, but likes the sleek machines. Lastly... at the moment, she is draping on one of the bikes, a series of photographers taking shots of her from all angles. Hey, they asked her to do it, and this might make Easy Rider, or something. It will at least make some heads turn here and there. Her jacket is off for the moment, and just that bikini top to go with her jeans as she arches her back, leaning her head back against the handlebars, blonde hair trailing down and with one foot on the seat, the other on the ground to the side of the photographer.

Rain doesn't... really fit in here, but at least she's in her black pants and her duster coat. She seems to have arrived on foot. Maybe she's curious. ... maybe she figures she needs a back up mode of transportation to the broomstick. She can BS her way through or look scared and hide behind something, if nothing else. Engineer BOLT! Few things move faster. Her dark hair is pulled back, and she doesn't have her gambler's hat on. Thankfully, there's no pigeons here. One grows to hate pigeons when you share the air space with them. It's a hatred matched for few things, except maybe like platypi hate people who make horrible analogies about their mismatched parts or - or ... either way, she drifts around to see the technology and who all showed out. There's a polite smile to passersby here or there. Is that - hmm. She drifts through the crowd, feeling like a stranger in a strange land without any of the creepiness (You know it).

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please?" A loudspeaker cuts across the room, and the lights dim, revealing a man in a suit and tie standing on the podium near the display bike. "I'm Armand Thorpe, HammerTech's Director of Operations for our Motorcycle division." There's a smattering of polite applause. A woman gets up next to him on the podium, dressed in performance racing equipment. "And this is Melanie Swift, our chief performance tester- and winner of the Eastern Classic 500 Bike Race!" At that, there's a series of whoops and cheers. Melanie raises a hand and grins at the crowd. "And," Armand continues, "the proud owner of our charity auction's 1941 Harley Davidson Classic raffle from last year's drawing!" That draws a lot of groans and some good-natured catcalls. The Harley is wheeled out, glimmering in its sky blue and chrome glory. "I'm here to talk to you about some exciting innovations in motorcycle technology," Armand continues. "And I'd like to begin with-" A loud whumph cuts him off, the lights flickering. The guards do what guards do- they rush towards the podium to protect the multi-million dollar prototype. "They're stealing the bikes!" someone shouts, pointing outside. There's a scream of anguish. "The classics! They're stealing the trailer!" Sure enough, there's the roar of a diesel engine and the sound of a dozen motorcycles taking off- as the trailer containing a dozen classic and extremely rare motorcycles is stolen, roaring down the highway!

Of COURSE somebody was going to start stealing bikes. With a sigh, Marissa ducks into the nearest good location for a quick change. She's going to have to borrow a bike to go after them, but she's hoping the superhero costume will convince somebody. Her own bike is just not up to snuff. Maybe the next one will be. (She also did enter the raffle. Of course she entered the raffle). It takes her remarkably little time before she emerges at a run, in costume. "Did somebody say something about stealing bikes?

"...well, crap," mutters Tanya as the diesel truck roars to life. She'd just found a place for her bike, too, damn it. She could keep an eye on it, never be too far from it, and answer questions about it--and now these assholes have to start something. When the truck starts taking off with the trailer full of motorcycle, she grunts to herself and flips down her visor, then guns the engine to get people to start moving out of the way. She'll go as fast as she can--which can't initially be that fast--to weave through the people and start chasing after the stolen motorcycles.

Camera flashes do illuminate Heather like some demented strobe light slow mo effect. She hears the folks complaining about bikes being stolen and before she does anything more, she bellows out, "Is anyone injured?!" She curses herself for letting her guard down. She really should've noticed the setup and execution here. She was just too focused on the photo-shoot aspect of things. She does however, roll her neck and does a situp before bouncing off the bike and at the same time grabbing her jacket and starting to run in the direction the trailer was in. Of course, lights and flashes make for clumsiness and the smash of her shin hitting an obstruction here and there can be heard, each time illiciting a grunt of pain from her.

The truck peels away at an incredibly unsafe speed, trailer drifting back and forth across several lines of traffic and forcing numerous cars off the road. Vanguards, ahead and behind, roar up on loud choppers. The riders are dirty and thuggish, but the bikes glisten like carefully maintained vehicles who've seen thousands of miles of road. They're also armed to the teeth. Forerunners fire handguns into oncoming traffic, using illegal police lights to help clear the road ahead of them. They're clearly hoping to be long gone before any kind of official response can be generated.

"Anyone got anything fast and well insured and not irreplaceable I can borrow?" Mend yells as she starts to run after the truck. Surprisingly enough, perhaps because she's known as a Titan, somebody pushes a not-quite-new Honda VFR towards her. Leaping on it, she sets off after the truck. Bad example, girl, not wearing a helmet! She's going to get those bikes back, one way or another. Hopefully without getting killed again.

When she finally gets to the road, Tanya's motorcycle lets out a mighty roar of its own and starts streaking down the road. She's not good with clean-up and she knows it; not her specialty. Her specialties are ghosts and making things go boom, get fried, or in whatever other fashion becoming incapacitated. And these jerks have definitely earned her ire for this crap. Narrowing her eyes behind her visor, she focuses on the rear guard. A pink glow comes from her hands, lights up her visor, and faintly outlines flame artwork on her right leg. Gritting her teeth, she wills water to come into existence in their gas tanks, to kill the engines pretty horrifically (for a motorcycle enthusiast, anyway). It's the safest way she can think to stop them, even if it's not as satisfying as trying to set fire to their tires.

With a trailer full of expensive bikes being pulled behind a semi-truck, it looks like the convention just turned caddywhompus. Mend and Tanya are both on bikes, chasing after the men on bikes and driving the semi. As Tanya's will interferes with the vehicles, several of them start to sputter and slow down. Screaming curses, the men are forced off the road- but several still remain, either luck or skill keeping them moving forward despite the vapor threatening to stall them out.

Expensive bikes huh? Rain -has- no bike of her own and everything just went caddywhompus. So much for getting to observe things. She's not sure she can take off on a broomstick - that would out her harder and faster than Wizard Eye for the Mundane Guy. She's gotta -think- here. And that might take a little while. But maybe... Just maybe, despite being a bit behind - that wind guy was onto something. While she can't summon lots of sand to slow them down, and it'll take a moment, but she can at least work on making a breeze that'll be a potential irritant in front of the screaming bikers. Sand in your pants! Fighting crime with sand in your pants. Or at least whipping all around them. Her magic is slow to go off though, so it takes time to build.

A couple of bullets whiz past Mend. She so needs to get a bike like this for patrolling. And trick it out. That would be nice. For right now, though, she's riding...right for the truck, apparently not caring what might hit her on the way. It's a flatbed. Which means it's open. Her intent might, sadly, be rather too obvious to the outriders. With luck, it will also be obvious to her allies, however.

That's some taken down. Tanya doesn't take the time to appreciate it, though; she zooms on by the men slowing down, hunching over the handlebars in an attempt to make herself a smaller target. Though, frankly, she'd rather herself get hit than her Tomahawk. The pink glow doesn't fade; she's trying to think of what to do while keeping the weaving of magic going--and then she spots the woman zooming up as well. Okay, she can play teammate, and the Titan is probably better-suited at the hands-on stuff, anyway. And then she sees magic being woven around the men--air. No, wind. Good idea. Narrowing her eyes again, she helps that weaving, supplementing Rain's magic with her own to help make strong winds to hopefully at the very least keep the others in the rear vanguard from stopping Mend. All while trying to create a tunnel so Mend isn't affected by the wind, herself.

A bike roars up next to Rain. The rider holds out a helmet. He looks like Chris Evans and wears biker leathers on a 1972 Harley. "Get on, spellslinger," he says, jerking his head towards the passenger seat. "They call me the Wytchrider." He gives her a grin that's absolutely charming, to the point where the GM says that it's completely irresistable, and Rain gets on the bike as it roars off towards the running gun battle. The bikers are slowed down, more and more, and a few of them start to peel off, or even wreck. Tanya and Mend are doing their parts to eliminate the thieves, one at a time, until only a few remain. The ones on the truck run back to the rear of the vehicle, firing off bursts of automatic fire at the would-be superheroes.

Well, if the GM insists. Rain blinks as the bike roars up and - a helmet. She turns a bit red. "Um. T-thanks..." She really needs to learn how to cloak that. "Pleased to meet you, I go by Rain." She smiles politely at the grin and is riding along. She'll do her best to help Wytchrider out, despite totally ignoring all warnings never to hop into cars with strangers (do motorbikes count, really?). She'll wait, to see what sort of spells or guns are going to go off here before assisting, though for now, she works with the wind and making sure she's not causing any balancing issues. Happily, balancing on a broomstick has similar principles. She's also somewhat amused that much like her mom and family, dude's got a thing for the letter y. Intensely amusing.

Speed up. Roar past. Pray they don't hit her...well, much. With automatic fire you can't hit the broad side of a barn with any given bullet...you just throw so many out there one or two are bound to get lucky. A couple do, but the Titan is only winged...arm and a graze in her side...before she leaps sideways onto the truck, right at one of the gunmen, the borrowed bike spinning away. She DID say she wanted something well-insured and not irreplaceable, after all, but it doesn't seem to be taking that much damage. Closing in to hand to hand range, determined to move to a disarm at her first opportunity.

Well, with magic being woven back here, and the Titan dealing with the flatbed itself, it seems to Tanya that the front is left to deal with. Good thing her Tomahawk is, well, a Tomahawk. She guns the engine for all it's worth, so she can move around and make her way toward the driver. It's not easy with those goons in the front creating obstacles, which she has to dodge and weave quickly enough to almost make her tip right over.

It takes nothing for the Tomahawk to catch up to the semi truck. The driver leans out the window and puts a few rounds down at Tanya as she draws up, but his aim is poorly considered and erratic. He swerves, then overcorrects, trying to keep the vehicle on the right side of the path of travel. The bikers on the back of the truck duck and dodge as Marissa closes with them. One goes flying with a particularly well-executed punch, screaming off into the rain and wind that Rain keeps summoned from ahead of the convoy. The other biker draws a knife and chain, and closes on Marissa with a bruiser's practiced combat style, testing and feinting.

Yikes. Rain will do her best to not cause Wytchrider any balance problems. She still seems amused he figured out what she was doing. Oh well. She'll keep the window up, concentrating and hanging on for dear life. No one wants an obituary that reads 'Roadkill'. Her magic is subtle, requiring no gesturing or chanting - though she lacks any sort of skill in cloaking it to those who can sense it. Wind whips and rushes around, though, she's trying to be mindful of friendlies and not play Biker Dominos. Not even with platypi.

Oh, he's going into bruiser mode, is he? Bring it. Mend uses the fact that she's smaller...and tries to use the wind, although it does affect her somewhat. Hard to *really* avoid friendly fire with something like that. Test, feint, and she aims for a kick somewhere nobody wants to be kicked.

Okay, Tanya was going to play nice. She was. But this bastard just put some holes in her bike. "Not cool, jack-off," she mutters under her breath--then the glow intensifies a little, the outline of the flame fading, a curved lightning bolt glow appearing on her left bicep. It will take a couple of seconds to build the magical charge--enough time for more holes to appear in her bike, damn it. When she finally releases the charge, every electrical system in the engine will overload and hopefully make the engine go splody. Deal with that, bastard.

The semi sputters, then starts to stall, the driver frantically using all his skill to keep it running. He fires a few more rounds blindly at Tanya, then swears, the engine sputtering as the semi slows. The biker fighting Mend makes a squishy sound and keels over. The semi hits a bump -he staggers, and Rain's rain causes him to loose his footing on the slick deck. He screams and falls over the side, rolling several times before coming up abruptly against a signpost that says 'Speed Kills'.

Oh crud. Rain winces, as the biker screams and falls. "Should we go check on him?" She asks Wytchrider, perhaps gauging his opinion. She doesn't want to just jump off - but she would feel guilty about leaving someone to die if he isn't already pavement pelted. She is only a bit aware of the melee combats in progress, and frankly would be of little to no use, unless someone needed battle hippo or something.

"I hope I didn't end up killing him," Mend notes. She can't easily get to the driver from here, but the semi is slowing down...and Mend follows the beat up bikers over the side to make sure she *didn't*. That would cause problems for the Titans and she knows it, even though she certainly wasn't intending it.

Unfortunately that leaves the front vanguard to deal with, and Tanya's already getting tired. So much magic-weaving in so short a time. But she can't stop now, and she knows it. Sparing a glance back at the semi, she looks ahead and guns her engine again, the glow still about her as she heads toward the other group of bikers, so she can make their engines go splody, too. No time for subtlety; she can't keep this up much longer.

The semi truck starts to slow down, then head off the road. Whether out of panic or necessity, the forward vanguard peels off, their bikes accelerating past the hail of wind and rain. Perhaps due to the damage inflicted by the driver's bullets, even the mighty Tomahawk can't keep up. The vanguard departs, the semi pulls over and the driver rather badly hits a ditch that knocks him cold. The bikes- and Mend- are perhaps a bit battered, but clearly not terribly the worse for wear. Mission accomplished!

Mend is battered and bleeding. She checks their pulses, then sighs. "Idiots. Hopefully none of those bikes got permanently damaged." Why, yes, the bikes ARE more important than the criminals. To a point, anyway. "If you guys feel the need to vanish before the cops show up, go ahead." Because SHE can deal with the cops as an equal if she needs to. Most supers can't.

There's a growl that comes from Tanya's helmet; the only reason her Tomahawk can't get up to its top speed of nearly four hundred miles an hour is the copious amount of smoke pouring out of the engine. "God DAMN it..." she mutters, slowing and pulling over. She's taking this out of someone's hide, oh yes. She pulls her bike around and makes the thing limp back to the semi truck, getting off and striding right over to the driver's door to yank it open!--only to see the bastard out cold. "Can't even--!" she mutters, clenching her hands into fists. Time to call a tow truck and get her bike back to her repair shop.