|"The Best-Laid Plans"|
|What: It's just another bank robbery--or is it? These guys are far better-trained than the usual mooks who knock over a bank.|
It's the kind of day that just begs to be enjoyed. A very slight chill to the afternoon air, but the sun is shining brightly, the gentle breeze is refreshing, and there are just enough clouds in the sky to make it pretty without being overcast and gloomy.
The First National Bank is somewhat busy; a few people are in line waiting for one of the four available tellers as soft Muzak plays over the speakers. It's not long after lunch, so there are plenty of full bellies to keep the tellers and customers in at least decent moods. And! The wait in line isn't even that bad. Not a bad day so far.
Well, Tanya is bored off her tuchus, but whatever. She and Passwall had come here to open an personal savings account in Passwall's name--a personal savings account, as far as Tanya knew, wouldn't be kept from Passwall, so she thought coming here was worth the shot, and be a chance to build Passwall's credit!--and while they wait for an employee to be free and see them at one of the desks, she's slouched on a couch and idly flipping through a brochure. Everything she didn't want to know about home equity, right there at her fingertips.
Passwall is, as quite usual, sitting next to Tanya. And if possible, she's slumped into a more sour mood than Tanya is. She really, really dislikes banks. And yes, there's a good reason for it. Anyone who remembers back could easily recall the theft of thirty grand from a bank's vault. The vault hadn't been opened! It wasn't long after that, that she'd been pinned as the thief - and true or not, anyone who can walk through walls so easily is usually kept a watchful eye upon in a bank. This is why she is uneasy - she's known in New York. At least as far as petty thieves go. "Tanya... Remind me why I have to do this, again?"
Manhatten in autumn can be a wonderful sort of place with the days still warm though not oppressively so -- or at least not as often. The feel of summer still lingers, at least for a few more weeks and anyone with a little good senses should be only too happy to take advantage of that fact. Of course getting around town in mid day traffic is no easy task, but there's always the subways right? Which kind of gives up on the whole enjoying the great, sunny outdoors. Fortunately Peter Parker has a way around both those problems. Kinda.
A little free time is a little free time and young man from Queens is still very much honing his photography skills as he tries to add to the earning power of his Aunt. Which is why the normally industrious student isn't on campus, isn't studying, but instead is zipping about the city, soaring high above the streets as weblines flare out, catching onto ledges, deep, swinging arcs carrying him rapidly across the city.
Autumn days! Rain still needs to set up a bank account or something. She's still wary of pigeons and what have you, but pigeons or not, it's a first step towards - towards... what IS a bank account a first step towards, really? Maybe buying a vespa or something... can't use the broomstick everywhere. Either way, she's waiting in the bank, peering out the door eagerly. Autumn outside is so much better for sitting and reading than being stuck in a bank line. She headtilts at some of the folks around, but is quiet for a the moment. Either way, she stares unhappily at the 'name' space of the form. Sigh.
Up on the roof, well over a dozen figures are milling about. Why are they noteworthy? Well, for starters, they're heavily armed with large rifles that make an AK-47 look inadequate, and some are carrying large satchels. All are covered head-to-toe in thick, Serious Business armor complete with thick masks (( http://tinyurl.com/96pvav9 )). They're finishing their work, which right now is attaching ropes to small and light climbing devices on their belts. The ropes are secured to the edge of roof with thick bolts, put in those spots with a hand-drill-like machine that sits discarded, and the locations were chosen to make no noise. As one, they jump toward the skylights...
Tanya glances up at Passwall, there, and arches a brow. "For one thing, you need a savings account. For another, it'll help you build credit, which will help /us/ down the road, unless you want to stay in that apar--"
Tanya is cut off mid-sentence--as everything goes to hell. The skylights are shattered by well over a dozen men rappelling down, using their left hands to guide themselves along the ropes, their right hands aiming their weapons. "Get on the ground!" they all shout as they land on the floor and immediately start to spread.
As for Tanya--she's used as an "example" that they aren't kidding around--and CRACK goes the butt of a rifle across the side of her head just as she was getting up from the couch, and goes down in a heap, a thick river of blood trickling from her hairline.
Passwall doesn't exactly... Respond, for a moment. Horror shoves all thoughts aside as she sees Tanya go down, crumpling. She's down just as quickly, to tend to the woman's wound, making sure to do what she's learned from first aid - or rather from doctor shows on TV. She's scared, but for now, but not for herself. Instinct is holding her back... But for how long?
In addition to being a whole lot easier to get about the city and being an incredible rush, swinging about Manhattan on weblines high above the streets does something else; it gives Peter Parker aka Spider-Man a very different view of the city then most get to experience. For example, when a strange group of masked men congregate on the rooftop of a bank wielding exotic looking rifles -- well, he tends to pick out that little irregularity pretty darn quickly. The trajectory of his latest swing sends him flying high into the air, hands already out-stretched to launch another webline. Which is right about the moment he spots the group crashing down into the bank below. "Woah, compensating for much?" he mutters, already twisting in midair, angling his body for an abrupt change of direction. When his weblines lash out with a soft hissing noise he abruptly sweeps over the street below, flying out over the building's rooftop and landing in a crouch. Almost at once he is moving to the shattered skylight, peering over the edge to get the lay of the land below, trying to pick out just where the heavily armed men are. And just in time to watch them strike one of the bank's clients. Definitely not a training exercise then. Alrighty. Silently, he crawls through that shattered portal, beginning to pick his way across the rooftop.
Heywaitasec. Rain recognizes poor Tanya as she gets konked out. Rain opens her mouth, closes it. Holycrap. This is just as bad as Red Hood's robbery. What is it with things getting robbed just as she tries to open a legitimate bank account? Rain will obey, too, looking worriedly to Passwall and Tanya. For now, she's assessing the situation. Likely, even if she turned ONE of them into a newt, there's several more and one of her weaknesses is bullets. Bullets are bad for Rain, really. So for now, she watches quietly, unaware of the Spider-Man doing what a spider can.
Three men head for the thick door that allows access to behind the counter, one of whom is a satchel-carrier. What looks to anyone who's seen a crime drama would recognize as a form of plastic explosive is smooshed around the seam of where door meets wall, starting at top-center and working around. Meanwhile, the rest continue to fan out and make sure everyone's on the ground.
One elderly man is having trouble getting on the floor, so the nearest gunman helps him--the same way Tanya was "helped". CRACK goes the butt of the rifle, and the man goes down.
Gloved hands start roughly patting people down, yanking cell phones and such communications devices and tossing them away, and two pairs of men head toward Passwall and Rain, one pair for each, to relieve them of the same. The pair heading for Passwall, since she didn't get on the damned floor, shout at her to do just that. "Get on the ground NOW!"
Behind the counter, tellers start reaching underneath said counter to push panic buttons--but nothing happens. Yes, this was that well-planned in advance, where only key electric lines were cut so as to not arouse suspicion before--well, this very moment.
Of course, no plan is foolproof. Like with them being so focused on getting the people down and getting behind the counter, no one looks /up/ to the ceiling.
Tanya's... Okay. She's gonna be okay. Thank god. The woman's quickly propped up into an unconscious sitting position by Passwall. The woman doesn't care about the shouting... She's in her own world of worry. But once Tanya is okay? All bets are off. She stands, steps out of the way, with hands raised placatingly. And she speaks, with a calming voice, in Polish: "<You all made a horrible, horrible mistake. Now, you're going to get your asses kicked, and get thrown in jail.>" She smiles brightly... For a split second. The next phrase is said in English as she darts forward, face contorted with rage. "Say goodnight, Gracie!" Any bullets, she's not really caring about - and there's no one behind her, either. So everyone is safe enough... Except for the jackbooted thugs.
A webline is attached to the ceiling and then the red and blue costumed figure just drops down, swiftly and silently behind one of the armed crooks. Tapping him on the shoulder, he waits until the man starts to whirl angrily before blasting him in the mouth with a good dose of his webbing, cutting off any outcry before dropping him with one solid punch to the jaw. Still dangling, arms extend once more and another of the armed men watching over their hostages finds himself snared, yanked back towards Spider-Man with surprising speed only to end up just as prone on the ground as his buddy.
Rain for her part, is also quiet, and staying down for now. She's watching for anyone injured. Actually, she pauses, as she gets - is she getting patted down? She turns a bit red. Oh boy. "Um. Sorry... I don't have a phone..." She offers quietly to the guy patting her down. Whatever happens, she's doing her best to watch the injured people and figuring the best course to take without getting whacked herself. As Passwall moves forward though, she tenses. What should she - Wait for it - she waits to see if someone's going after Passwall. And oh my.
As Passwall stands and steps back, the men start hurrying forward. The Polish doesn't phase them; they're too well-trained for it. One lifts his rifle for another bit of "help"--then they suddenly get a fury-fueled Polish woman. 5bThe would-be "helper" gets his rifle kicked aside and his knee snapped with a loud CRICK! His buddy realizes he's too close to fire, so can't do anything about the man going down--but he can sure as hell retaliate, so he starts lifting his own rifle's butt...
And suddenly one man is just--gone. Too stunned to say anything as his mask is covered in webbing and he's suddenly in dream land. When the other man is grabbed, his short exclamation before he too is thrust into dream land is enough to alert everyone. Rifles swing up and bullets start flying in five-round bursts...
The man patting down Rain isn't going to take her word for it, and starts to get a bit friendly--but then they're suddenly being attacked! Those two swing up their rifles and add their own bullets to the spray aimed at Spider-Man...
The man working down the sides of the door protected by an additional two gunmen, covering him--but not firing, yet--and trying to buy him time to work.
That crack would be reassuring, if Passwall cared. At this point she's too angry. So as that man goes down, she throws a hefty punch to his face, and heads to his buddy. Her fist punches /through/ the body armor into the man's stomach, then up to his chin as her knee is also brought up to his groin - that's going to hurt, at full force like that. Oh, bullets? They sail right through her. Not a one even touches her, hitting the wall behind her as she assaults the unprepared gunmen mercilessly.
While he might be a little surprised that not all the hostages are content to be good little boys and girls -- and it isn't even a rent-a-cop with delusions of grandeur -- Spider-Man doesn't let that faze him, not for long. Especially when the bullets start flying. Of course, the bad thing about wearing a somewhat garish costume, complete with obvious mask that practically screams 'hero' is that bullets do tend to come his way on a pretty frequent occasion. The good thing? That's exactly what he wants at the moment. Better him then the crowd. Most of them are on the floor and quite content to stay there, but who knows how long that will last. So as soon as the rest of the crew is alerted to his presence, Spider-Man takes back to the air once more, a hastily fired off webline jerking him up and out of the immediate line of fire. "Missed me. Maybe you boys should go back to your video games. The real thing seems a little tricky for you to handle. The idea is to actually hit the target, not the wall behind him," he taunts, doing his best to encourage their continued attention. "But then you are robbing a bank, so I guess you and intelligent decisions are not synonymous," he adds helpfully as he pauses long enough to fire another burst of his webbing, this time seeking to catching one of the man's feet and jerk his legs out from under him. "Sorry, that means the same. I'll try to stick to one syllable words going forward," he says, sparing only a brief glance for the unexpected help down below.
A little friendly huh? Rain winces. On seeing one man gone, and bullets are flying and what have you, Rain pauses. She might not be much in the physical fighting arena - certainly not without her guns and magic, but she can at least screw up his aim. Maybe - hobo style fighting! Wait till he gets tired and push him over! Deep breath. She scowls and will shove the nearest man by her towards another or the floor. Maybe if she can push him over and take his gun - that'd work. Heave!
Oh, yes, that's going to hurt. Quite a lot. The man goes down in a heap, and it's quite likely he's not going to be getting up any time soon. If ever, thanks to the dark red stain spreading across the crotch of his armor. Armor--and even skin, for that matter--tends to matter for squat against phasing powers. Two men stop firing at Spider-Man to focus on firing at her, as apparently they didn't get the memo about her and bullets.
Making himself a target proves to work rather effectively, as most of the gunmen focus their fire on Spider-Man. They try to lead him, like the well-trained soldiers they are--but damn it! He's too quick for them! It's like he somehow /knows/ where they're going to be firing next! The upper walls and ceiling become like so much Swiss cheese as another man gets yanked away from them. Half the men stop firing, to eject clips and reload, but they're trying to keep their eyes on Spider-Man--as one can assume, considering that's the way the goggles are pointed.
The two men near Rain had all but forgotten about her. Just another homeless girl probably trying to get a cup of coffee or something. Even the best-trained can make a bad assumption, as is proven when one loses his balance and staggers to the side--conveniently leaving his heavy rifle in Rain's hands. The other gunman near her whips around to aim his rifle at the woman.
And the gunman smooshing the plastic explosive gets to the bottom, starting to work his way to the middle as his now-five companions add their own fire to the mix thrown at Spider-Man.
No, no, Passwall is /not/ done. She takes the gun from the now-crotchbleeding man and turns towards the men at the vault, carefully treading forward as she fires - at legs, of course. She's careful to only take potshots, to distract the men, and to /not/ kill them. Body armor helps as a few stray shots hit the men in the chest, a semi-bloodthirsty grin on her face as she simply walks through the hail of bullets. She's not exactly in her right mind at the moment, cursing /loudly/ in Polish.
The tingling buzz at the base of the back of his skull is nearly constant now with so many weapons trained on him. But that's what Spider-Man gets paid the big bucks for... oh wait, he doesn't get paid at all. And tends to get slandered in the local press. Why does he do this again? "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking did you fire two hundred and seventy-five bullets at me, or did you fire two-hundred and seventy-six. So I guess the question you have to ask yourself right now is... oh screw it!" As the automatic gunfire begins to rain down -- or up as the case is that moment -- once more, one of Spidey's hands flashes out, that webbing finding it's purchase. Running across the surface of the walls as easily as anyone else might the ground below, the red and blue clad teen builds up some momentum before abruptly taking to the air in a great, swinging arc that carries him towards the little gathering of gunmen below. He twists, contorts his body with unnatural agility, presenting a minimal profile to the reckless criminals and legs swing up as he powers towards them. Heck, if he can bowl them over he might be doing them a favor. The woman firing at them seems a little off her rocker at the moment and their best attempts aren't having much of an effect on her. Heck, he could probably sit back and let the pair already in the fray take care of things. They seem to be doing just fine on their own.
Well, demihomeless and cups of coffee -are- pretty nice. Poor Spider-Man, though. Rain might feels sympathetic for the guy. Not only does he wear tights, he ends up looking bad in the paper. At least she's just 'some young woman' or 'lady with a broomstick'. Nevertheless, she ... suddenly finds herself in possession of a heavy rifle. She blinks, clearly just as surprised as anyone else that hey, Rainy's got a gun. She stares at the man aiming his rifle at her. Er, oh hell. She can use pistols, but rifles are a whole nother ballgame. Sorta. Um. There's also that whole not wanting to kill thing. Her eyes widen. If he's still aiming, she'll... try to shoot him in the foot. Was this thing loaded? Safety seems to be off...
Naturally, the legs are the less-protected. Agility and movement are what count the most for a soldier--but that also means bullets rip right through knees, shins--one of the five poor sods gets his foot shot through. One of the five--the last of the five, actually, with the others in heaps on the ground, likely without the use of their legs for the rest of their lives--actually shields the guy working the plastic. That means he crouches, and /that/ means the bullets that were being aimed at his legs--are aimed at his chest. He shudders violently--though whoever the heck designed the armor needs a commendation. None of the bullets go through--though there's sure to be more than a bit of internal damage. Either way, he sacrifices himself to buy his teammate those last few seconds.
And seconds are needed, thanks to Spider-Man mowing through the gunmen. Sure, they aren't phased by his tricks. Sure, they've been trained pretty darn well. And sure, they're not letting their dwindling numbers send them into a panic. And yet, they're humans trying to deal with a red and blue hurricane of pain. A good handful go down nearly simultaneously--which is really interesting because they were nowhere near each other--in unconscious heaps, their rifles flying. There aren't many left...
And there's one less, as a five-bullet burst from what's now /Rain's/ rifle rips through the man's foot and lower-leg. He'd just removed his finger from the safe position of resting against the trigger guard to slip it through when he's sent down, the gun pointing upward as he fires without meaning to. Collapsing on the ground with a loud grunt of pain, he shouts, "Step Two!" as loud as he can. There are only three satchel-wearers left with a small number of "mere" gunmen, and two of those--the third being the man finishing smooshing the door--reach into their satchels--for grenades. Not your garden-variety, Army-surplus grenades, either. Muted silver in color and vaguely egg-shaped, they're a touch bigger than Army-surplus--and probably deadlier.
Grenades? Well, that certainly registers in Passwall's mind. See, she's able to go through objects just fine - but fire and kinetic energy like an explosion makes? No sir. And the fact that it's got innocent lives at stake now, an en masse... Passwall stops taking precautions. She's hardly even noted Spidey or Rain, still going on the rage-trip for now - but it's focused. Focused enough that she points her gun at the men with the explosives. "Put them down, or I take headshots. Bullets don't work on me. What do you think those will do? Armed robbery is one thing - murder another. You won't get out of here scot free. And if those aren't put back, some of you will be /dead/." A bluff - but a good one. She's got a sense of raging purpose about her, like she means what she says... Even if she doesn't. But will the goons back down?
Ouch. They totally deserve all these non-fatal injuries coming their way, but behind that mask, behind those eyelets that hide his gaze away, Peter just can't help but wince a little. There's a reason he doesn't use guns. Well, several reasons. And a major one is... the fact that it clashes with his whole Spider theme. I mean really, who has ever heard of a spider with a gun? No one, that's who. But the other reason is that they are nasty things. As is proven by the growing collection of prone men on the floor of the bank, clutching at feet and shins and knees as they roll around on the ground, groaning in pain. But while he might feel bad, that tingling resumes in the back of his neck and Spider-Man quickly turns his attention to the trio who begin reaching for strange devices that look suspiciously like grenades. "No killing," he says quickly -- possibly more to his 'allies' then the dwindling number of... well, he's still not entirely sure what they are. "There are other ways to reach a compromise," he says before the red and blue arachnid moves with that inhuman speed. Webbing flies with unerring accuracy and the trio are likely to find those grenades wrapped rather securely to their own hands. "Now then, I hope you're feeling a new sense of pacifism when it comes to the use of thrown explosives. Since those won't be leaving your hand anytime soon. So stand aside and let me go fetch that friend of yours and you can all take a nice ride to the local police station."
Oh snap. "I'm trying!" Rain is trying not to kill, honest to goodness, but short of throwing the bullets at the baddies by hand, she's not much for melee combat, really. One even got all friendly and patted her down before buying her dinner. For shame! There's an 'oh CRAP' expression on Rain's face as the grenades come out. "Um. You DO realize you're in the blast radius too, right?" Her eyes wide. "I mean, I'm sorry about your foot and all but if you weren't hitting people and trying to KILL ME..." Well, maybe they could've been friends or worked something out. But outright trying to kill her is a good way to get on Rain's 'do not send a Christmas card to' list. "... seriously, put that thing down, you'll put our eyes out." pause. "And our internal organs and..."
The men with the grenades look at each other, then flick their thumbs to pop the tabs on the grenades--/just/ as they're webbed. The men actually look at their hands in surprise. Speaking of surprises--no bang! But the two closest might hear soft hisses. Guess those masks were for more than decoration. The webbing contains whatever gas they might be emitting as the gunmen shake their hands, as if that would help.
As for the man on the ground, by Rain? He looks up at the woman but doesn't say anything. Which is probably a good thing, as if his angry grunt is any judge, whatever he would have said would have been filled with invectives and such profanity.
As for the others? They give up. They don't have much choice. They drop their rifles to the ground, though the stink-eye they throw at Spider-Man, Passwall--and even Rain--can surely be felt, masks be damned. They don't say anything, either. There's nothing /to/ say. They failed.
Passwall finally lowers her weapon. Webbing has been shot around the grenades and... Webbing? What kind of mook uses webbing? The battle fervor calms down at the confusion and she realizes... "Holy crap. It's the webhead." She keeps the weapon in hand, just in case, but isn't firing at the thugs anymore - she's too starry-eyed to aim right anyway. And since everything seems to be defused, she simply gives a gruff, "Lucky punks. Only going to jail. Coulda killed some innocent people." There's a nearby goon on the floor, so she kicks him half-heartedly for good measure. "...Punks."
Well at least they didn't go down fighting. That could have been troublesome. Though, if one were to glance about the bank, at the walls riddled with bullet holes and the shattered skylight overhead, at the hundreds of empty casings that now litter the floor and -- most especially -- at the small group of terrified hostage who only slowly, cautiously begin getting back to the feet, well, chances are they have done quite enough damage. "See? A little reason and absolutely no chance of victory whatsoever works wonders with your average criminal," Spidey points out helpfully, going to escort the man trying to break through the reinforced door back out with the others. Despite their surrender, he still webs those still conscious -- and capable of movement -- together. He can't really stick around and wait for the authorities after all. Having some gung-ho rookie try and arrest him is always awkward. "You two really kept your heads," Spider-Man finally comments to the two young women who also intervened. "But I think you both should stay far, far away from guns. Like, ridiculously far. Different Zip code far." The writhing men on the ground would probably agree.
"..." Pause. "... ah hey, I hit his foot ..." And not anything else. A faint pout. Sigh. She looks down to the man who grunted at her. "Sorry." She'll set her rifle down, too. "Um. I should go..." Rain's none too eager to stick around for the police. She is, after all, a transient and they tend to get a lot of odd looks from the police, least of all an -armed- homeless person. Sigh. She hesitates and will start meandering towards the door.
So, with Spidey having done his thing, Passwall drops the gun with a clatter. Yeah, she doesn't like guns that much either. "So uh. Spidey. You ever in the Bronx and need some extra hands... Y'know. I can help and stuff." She's mostly just talking so she can keep herself from thinking of what she just /did/. "...'Cuz if I remember, you stopped a bank robbery there once and I was out cold /right/ after you stopped it. I can help." She's not even looking at Spider-Man. Eyes are fixated on the gun. She's horrified.
Oh, Peter has been in circumstances so very similar. When he thinks about the rage he felt the night his Uncle was murdered, how very ready he was to take a life too it still makes him a little sick to his stomach. So as awe-inspiring -- and a little frightening -- as her display might have been, the costume-clad teen still lays a hand on Passwall's shoulder as he passes. "We do funny things when we're pushed into a corner, sometimes," he says quietly. "Just remember, no one died and you protected a lot of innocent people," he points out. "And if I'm swinging throughout the Bronx and need a hand, I definitely know the person to look for now," he adds lightly before glancing Rain's way and giving a little nod. In the distance the sound of police sirens can be heard and that means it is time for him to make his exit. "Sorry 'bout the mess. But I really gotta run too," he says more loudly, for everyone in the bank to hear. Then he catches sight of a clock that somehow, unbelievably made it through the shooting gallery intact. Oh shit, he's five minutes late for class. "I really, really gotta run. If any reporters ask, try not to slander me too much," he says, flashing a flippant salute before another of those weblines is fired towards the ceiling, Spider-Man swiftly disappearing into the mid-afternoon sunshine.
Rain is going in the general direction of away. "Sorry..." She looks apologetic, none too eager to be around for the press. She seems sympathetic towards the others, but for now, she nods back to Peter and bolts away. Hopefully, nothing gets in her way.
There's a quiet groan from the couches, where Tanya is propped up against a chair. "Cordy...?" she whispers nearly inaudibly, lifting a trembling hand to lightly touch the gash on her head. Tears well in her eyes, which are incredibly pale from the sheer lack of focus. That gash is at her hairline at the side of her head and /hurts/ like a /bitch/. She's dizzy, confused, and can't hear anything above the roar in her head. Well, roars, plural. The throbbing headache and the shouting, frenetic voices.
Fight or flight--and flight wins. She doesn't know where Cordy is, she doesn't know what happened, she doesn't know why she's in pain or why she's sitting on the floor or or why glass is crunching under her other hand or much of anything else. She starts struggling to her feet, though makes it about as far as "sitting a little more up-ish, kind of", as her hands grab at the chair for purchase.
It's been one /hell/ of a day, being Luke Cage. The line at Starbucks this morning? Out-the-door-long. The mid-morning post office run, to drop off fan-letter replies? Took for-freaking-EVER. He holds a special rage in his heart just for the post office anyway, and today was an 11 on that scale. The photo shoot for that gym downtown. Ages. It's literally been the WORST DAY EVER, and now, he just want to get some cash out at the damn bank, and traffic is all kinds of jacked up. He parked his big black sedan three blocks up and is just now walking into view of the disaster area.
"Sweet Christmas! What the hell happened here?" Well, at least he finally found somebody having a worse day than him. Barely. POST OFFICE!!!
"Shit - P-dub! Is that you? Hey, and you..." Luke takes in the two ladies, glances at the goons face down and gets a clear picture. "Well shit, ladies, we better bounce! I'm right over this way, you down?" He starts to jog backwards, indicating the direction.
Passwall cautiously, carefully, and quite horrifiedly, takes Tanya out without a word. She's in shock - she'd never used a gun before. It was absurd. She's in shock, barely able to function for the fact of how badly she scared herself. So there's a silent nod, dragging Tanya along as she follows Luke.
... eh? Rain blinks at the man now in the way. She looks apologetically towards Pass and Tanya. Healing right here would probably end up with her getting a touchdown Jesus statue somewhere in town and that's publicity she just does not need. "... Um. There were dudes... with guns ... and uhm. Holes got put in people..." Yeah, Rain's a great storyteller. "It was a robbery." Frown. She is NEVER going to have a bank account at this rate. Oh well, she is getting used to demihomelessness. She seems a bit stunned, mostly. And eager to GTFO.
In fact, Luke Cage is quite familiar with concussions and the signs. He wasn't /born/ with his powers, after all, and spent the better part of his youth scrapping and bangin' around. "Hey, ok, it's cool," he says to everyone dealing with their shock in different way. He quiets his voice some, and focuses just on getting everyone moving. When he sees how much trouble Tanya is really in, he makes eye contact with Passwall first, gets the confirmation, and gently scoops her up, like carrying child to bed. He crunches through the glass and rubble and nods at his sedan down the block. "That's me down there. I think I know where we should go."
When Luke picks her up, that's when Tanya goes from Flight Mode to full-on Panic Mode. She starts thrashing and wriggling, though about as effectively as a newborn kitten, and that's not even taking Cage himself into account. "No...!" she whispers, clawing the air in the direction Cordy was. She /had/ her. For just a moment, she /had/ her. Didn't she? Her eyes stay that incredibly pale pink, and the movements of the muscles around them show she's looking around wildly, looking at everything and seeing nothing--not even Cordy. Her weak kicks and wild, aimless smacks can't possibly do anything to Cage; as weak as she is, he might not even /feel/ it. But she makes grabby/clawing motions in the direction she thinks Cordy is--and she's off by a mile.
Passwall looks up to Tanya, and dimly notes the panic - but that dim light bulb is bright enough to tell her to quickly raise a hand up, and grab Tanya's hand tight. There aren't any words from her, just a look of concern, asking her to calm down without saying a thing.
Luke quickly turned the stereo off once everyone was buckled up, and he fired up the engine. He drove evenly through the traffic, and brought them to Hell's Kitchen without much fuss. Getting out, he goes around to Tanya's side, so that she can be poured out of the car and back into his cradle-carry. He looks up, spots the emergency double doors, and heads for that. "Everyone oughta get checked out, for the record. Shock and head wounds are sinister things."
In the car, Tanya climbs into Cordelia's lap, seat belts and traffic laws be damned. And she doesn't unbuckle herself; oh no. She fights and claws her way out of it to settle in Cordy's lap, shivering. Every now and then, she twitches particularly violently, wincing as her head jerks forcefully to one side. The twitches only increase, and the pink in her eyes fades a bit more. When she's picked up by Luke--she barely fights. Weak jerks, really, that are only calmed when Cordelia takes her hand again--if only a little. The concussion she must be suffering combined with the free rein the voices have--the lights are on, but there's almost no one home.
... Rain's not really sure why she's here, but here she is. She'll ride along quietly, looking faintly worried. At least she seems to be a good passenger. She folds her hands in her lap, and watches the others for now.
Passwall isn't exactly all here either - no, she's still in quiet shock of what she'd done. Not that she /killed/ anyone... But she tore up some knees pretty badly, and one poor sod got his jewels cracked open. Yes, there was a spot of rage, and she snapped... But still, Spider-Man's words of doing good shoot through her mind. /Did/ she do well? She isn't so sure. And so she still follows along almost aimlessly behind Luke, making sure that Tanya was calm and not going into hysterics.
The clinic is, thankfully, not very busy at the moment. The waiting room has maybe two other people in it, and the medical staff visible past the front desk and swinging double doors next to the desk don't seem to be in any major hurries. Sitting at the desk typing something in to the computer there, Sue glances toward the front doors when she sees movement there. She blinks in surprise as the man that dropped off the donated MRI machine is approaching, carrying a pink haired girl and pulling two other girls in his wake like shell shocked ducklings. She turns and says something quickly to one of the passing scrubs-clad nurses, then hurries toward the double doors to pull them open.
Rain will follow along, though she herself is quiet. She'll likely do her best to keep out of the way and not cause any trouble. She is one with the potted plants.
Luke watches as Rain takes a seat in the general waiting area, but checks to make sure Cordy is with him. He doesn't want Tanya to come-to without Cordy there. He nods to Sue as he enters, obviously recognizing /Sue Storm/, with the force fields and all. "Oh, hey Ms. Storm," he says quietly. "Uh, I know we can't play favorites or nothing, but my friends were in a- were too close when... a gas main blew up. Yeah, I think that's what they said. Anyway, they're in shock. They need your help."
Some switch flips in however much of Tanya's mind is actually left. In a half-beat when it seems like Cordy's hand is going to slip away, she hoarsely exclaims, "Wǒ xiǎng jiàn ni!" and clutches on tighter, tears appearing at the corners of her eyes again--and he head jerks to the side once, another wince coming to her face. She's still looking around blindly, as evidenced by the tiny movements of the muscles around her eyes, though without the wild frantic aspect they had before. She can't /see/ Cordy, and can't /hear/ her--can't hear anything, really. "Nǐ zài nǎ li Cordy?" she whispers, starting to shiver again. And she's babbling, yes, as she then almost immediately murmurs, "Wǒ xǐāng shùi jìao..." Another jerk of the head, given with a cringe, her grip on her girlfriend's hand growing tighter still--which is still about as tight as a newborn's, but.
Sue Storm pulls the swinging doors open, pushing one aside herself and using a force field to push the other. "No need. Please come through. First door on the left." She apparently already guessed that something bad had happened.
Passwall quickly reassures Tanya that no, she's not leaving her. She does this by keeping to Luke's side, hand tightly gripping Tanya's. In Polish - though it's not likely to be understood, though the intent would be - she whispers out, " Tanya. <I'm not leaving. Stay awake for me, just a little longer. Then you can sleep. Stay strong.>" Whether she understood the Chinese or not, or whether Tanya can understand her or not... She doesn't quite realize. And her etiquette with Polish is quite perfect, too - like her grandmother had taught her. Which is true, of course.
Luke squints down at the women, looking from one to the other, shaking his head. He turns his head then to speak to Sue over his shoulder, "This one," the one in his arms, "Took a solid hit to the noggin. Never heard her speakin' Japanese before... I assume that one spoke German already, but whatever." Good try, Luke! 0/2, but still! He walks Tanya into the room Sue indicated and gently lays Tanya on the bed, standing back so there'll be room for Cordy + doctors, etc. When one of them tries to get Cordy to stand back, Luke just puts his hand on the man's shoulder, and shakes his head with the doctor's face tracks up to Luke's. Cordy gets to stay!
When her hand is squeezed, Tanya's Mandarin babbling fades to unintelligible murmurs, but she still can't see Cordy, can't hear her--can't /find/ her. And yet--there is a lot of comfort given, the shivering lessing a little, the jerking of her head fading to shorter tics. And when she's laid down--that's perfect! "Wǒ xǐāng shùi jìao..." she whispers again, closing her eyes and nestling her head against the glorified pad that passes for a pillow.
Sue Storm disappears again briefly when Luke and his charges are settled in the exam room. She arrives a few moments later with a clipboard and pen in hand. Kind of have to get the intake information, y'know? She looks from Luke to Passwall, not
Passwall gives, without turning to look away from Tanya, a point towards Luke. Her eyes are starting to mist up as she sees Tanya like this. "<Not yet, honey... Not yet.>" Her squeezing hand is firm. No way is she going to let go.
Luke's eyes go a little wide, having assumed Cordy would know all of Tanya's details. He barely knew the woman, really. But he's also checked in his share of friends, who didn't really need to have anything tracked back to them. He finally takes the clipboard and jots down a slightly more convincing version of 123 Any Street, NY, NY, but to the same effect. Handing it back to Sure he whispers, "Send the bill to Heroes for Hire, ok? Care of me." He's pretty sure neither of the girls will hear him anyway, but whispering is for pros.
At the tight squeeze to her hand, Tanya's eyes flutter open, though immediately start to droop once more. She murmurs something that's unintelligible, for all her lips don't actually move for it. She blinks slowly and is obviously trying to fight the desire to sleep, but.
Passwall simply looks down at Tanya, trying to fight back tears. But it's like blocking a tsunami with a spoon - not happening. Light trickles trail down her face as she looks to Luke, silently pleading... Something. It's hard to tell exactly, but it's most assuredly to do with Tanya.
It's about this time that the doctor arrives, all business. She's a smallish Hispanic woman, and does not have any qualms about looking right up at Luke. "Sir, if you could please wait in the lobby?" She considers telling Cordelia the same, but the girl seems really distraught, and seeing as the injured woman has a death grip of sorts on the girl's hand... fine. Whatever. She reaches for a pair of gloves to start checking on that head wound that's not at all concealed by that pink hair and brusquely introduces herself to Cordelia. "Dr. Ardilla."
Luke sees his friend suffering, with her own aches and pains to boot, and can't take it. He's about to storm out looking for a doctor and - there she is. He nods, briefly squeezes Cordy's shoulder in support, and looks his thanks to Sue. "Uh, yeah, I'll just wait out there. Hang in there Cord."
"Cordelia Kowalewicz." Passwall mutters her name near-silently. Luke is gone, bit she knows he's there. Somewhere. The lobby. Something. And it takes her a moment, but then realizes how hard it is for most people to say her surname. "...Kowalski." That's a good approximation to English. Her hand doesn't lose grip with Tanya's through the process of her falling asleep. "...She's gonna be okay, right?"
"She'll be just fine, Cordelia." She pronounces the girl's name as if it were a Spanish name. Fits with her accent, though, so it makes sense. She efficiently cleans around the cut on Tanya's head, then turns to get out a suture kit. "Going to need a few stitches here, though."
Passwall doesn't look too relieved. If she did, she'd not be so tense. "...Good. Uhm. Is there a TV to check the news? Or... Just in the lobby?" Seems Passwall is eager to learn of anything going on with a certain bank. And if she'd be arrested for saving lives.
Dr. Ardilla nods. "Break room is down the hall and on the left." She gestures slightly with one slightly bloody-gloved hand, then turns to apply a local anesthetic to Tanya's scalp and then start the sutures.
Passwall looks to Tanya, then to the doors, then back. Hopefully, Tanya is out cold, because she leans in to kiss the hand, pats it once, and makes her way for the TV in the break room. She'll be back for Tanya, obviously, just has to make sure that they weren't about to get cuffed.
The news is covering it, of course. There are no pictures or the like, but there are plenty of descriptions, though the only one everyone agrees on is Spider-Man. Some talk about a woman in a trench coat, a weird woman who dodged bullets faster than the eye could perceive, that kind of thing. Anyone with information is asked to step forward...
Well, they're safe from the fuzz... For now. Thankfully - and regrettably - Spider-Man's presence caused more of a stir than the rest of them being there. Likely that the Bugle, trash rag that it is, will call him the mastermind who was foiled by some unknown heroes. Dumb newspaper. They don't even investigate news, anymore. So Passwall comes back, relieved, to sit next to Tanya, holding her hand tight. And woe to the person who gets in her way for the stink-eye she gives them before simply walking around.
Dr. Ardilla has finished the sutures by the time Cordelia returns, and has covered the head wound with gauze. She's also tended to the small glass cuts on the woman's face and arms etc, and is now trying to rouse Tanya enough to confirm whether or not she's got a concussion, though it's already almost a foregone conclusion.
Passwall looks to the good doctor with a bit of misplaced dagger-eyes as the woman attempts to wake Tanya. "She was thumped pretty hard, doc. Just let her rest. She needs it." Her malice drained, she turns back to Tanya and sighs.
The doctor looks at Cordelia for a moment, then relents. Won't make a difference either way in the long run. The recommendations from this point on are the same. She cleans up, depositing most everything in the biohazard trash, then pulls a prescription pad from her coat pocket and quickly scribbles on it. "For the pain, for the nausea if needed. Antibiotics. Bed rest for three days, then take things slowly for at least another week. You can make sure of this, si?"
"Tak," Passwall notes with a nod. "I will." Her free hand idly outstretches itself towards the doctor without looking, ready to accept the prescription. "...Thanks, doc." She's at least trying to be polite, no matter how worried she still is.
Dr. Ardilla separates the top page from the pad of paper and lets Cordelia take it. "If you need transportation home, there's a phone in the lobby you can use to call a taxi." With one last nod, the woman is gone, and a much friendlier nurse arrives to help maneuver Tanya off of the exam bed-ish-table and into a wheelchair.
Tanya is out of it. Her eyes are open, but she doesn't really respond, even as she's lowered into the wheelchair. Until Cordelia comes close enough, then her hand dashes out to grab onto the woman's shirt and hold on tightly.