The Bingo Hall Incident

Quinn was having a shitty day…

What started as a ploy to mug a bunch of old people on the way out of a bingo hall, somehow had ended in the street urchin catching a bronze gauntleted left hook to the jaw and him staring down the eyeless helm of… something alright. ‘What kind of freak just walked around like some ren-faire wanna be and how did I not notice him?’ Quin thinks to himself as time seems to slow and he feels the roots of one of his molars break loose as the tooth clacks around in his slack jaw. Sadly there wasn’t much more time to regret life choices as his face makes contact with the pavement and he endured an unexpected bed time.

Let's rewind a moment.

Insert Molly doing his usual comb through the streets for discarded scrap metal, usable wood or or things that would suffice for arcane components for his forging and wood working.He didn’t seem too out of the ordinary at first glanced other than the spiraling horns on his head and slightly outdated roughspun clothing. His new life of retirement had been quite relaxing, not being forced to siege, defend against sieges or really do much of anything he didn’t damn well please to. So far all he seemed to do was forge and build chairs, however he had been raking in the coins from people looking to buy magic weapons or some poor sap buying the single worst crafted chair in the world. Either way he had a whole 50 quarters rattling around in his pockets and had only been in one ‘incident’ since he’d gotten here which was a bar fight. Damn good bar fight if he did say so himself as he gave about as good as he got from that Sammy guy.

He found himself laughing to himself as he scoops up a few discarded nails. Molly thought himself crazy to look back at getting knocked upside the head and laughing but it was what it was. Either way he finds himself by some strange building with people shuffling in and out doing whatever. He didn’t even pay much mind to the few men stationed at most of the entrances/exits of the place either. Again he was after little bits and bobs he could smelt down and tinker with, not whatever it was the strange humans got up to.

He didn’t even notice the first three or four muggings. Only when Molly spots a good shaped iron table leg sticking out of some scrap heap was he close enough to realize it was some old woman trying desperately not to give up her purse to a thug with hands arching with electricity. He was threatening to send her to a just barely too early grave and his buddies were holding off the other elderly people while this woman was just trying to reason with the senseless brute. Molly’s ears twitch as he tilts his head. Sure, humans committed crimes in Dis, however none were brazen enough to do it so publicly. Whereas reavers were the soldiers, inquisitors were the police and they were absolutely brutal on moral crimes that went against biblical teachings. Theft earned someone a free hand removal service, therefore there weren’t a lot of street muggings at home. Where was the church here? Did they not have anyone cutting off hands and lopping off the heads of filth here or was that also something that just wasn’t done in this newer, cleaner world?

Either way Molly rolls his shoulders as a light bronze shimmer falls over him, half plate migrating into place as well as his eyeless helmet, his grand horns spiraling back like a ram’s from the cut outs. He saunters over as the man seems to occupied with snatching this woman’s purse from her feeble hands to even notice his approach.

“Heus, Sceleste!” He growls to catch the thief’s attention, slipping back into reaver-tongue for a moment before launching a nasty punch straight into the left side of the man’s face. The bronzed knuckles cracking tooth from socket as the thug crumples to the ground not to get back up. “cur senes omnium ?” He asks, inquiring why of all the victims they could have chosen, they decided old people where the way to go?

The thugs size him up with that deer in the headlights look, some of which choose to bolt, one getting brave enough to solidify his skin and barrel face first into the reaver. Oh it was that kind of glorious day of ass kicking. Molly braces himself before reaching out to grab the metahuman by the head and get him in a headlock. Struggling against what seemed unmovable Molly glances up to see one summoning what looked to be a small fireball to throw and the others turning tail and running down the alley way to escape. A small growl has Molly reaching for an axe and rearing back to throw it right into the back of one of the runners before he remembers these are petty thieves. They might be morally trash… but he was not an inquisitor and they did not deserve to die for it… only to wish they had. He realizes the mage was about to cast so he uses his axe handle to pull his stone man up, using it to lock him in place by his head and to block the blast of flames for him. Molly winces behind his helmet as the heat threatens his soul in his body, not enough to actually be dangerous, but enough to make him cringe. Once the blast is over he hauls the man back and over his shoulder, throwing him into the mage with a loud ‘crash’ as the wall behind the cracks at it’s mortar.

“Fuuuuck.” Molly groans realizing that the thugs that had run had gone somewhere and they still had all their teeth in their mouths, and that couldn’t stand. The reaver lets the glass figurine of his horse slip from his hands, shattering into a pile of glass and sulfur as the hellish steed clammors forth from whatever abyss from which Damballa was bound to. The black mare faded into shadows and smoke at her outline as Molly mounts, taking a moment to track the group through the maze that was a modern day city.

Minneapolis was never a place Turo liked to frequent. The place reeked of urban pollution, stagnation, decay, and worst of all, shitty people. Turo hated cities in general, especially American cities, but Minneapolis even stood out to his misanthropic self as one of the "shitholes to end all shitholes", as he would so elegantly put it if asked, which pretty much never happens.

As Turo walked down the evening streets of some part of Minneapolis, he noticed that there were few buildings around this particular section that were genuinely active. Most people and establishments were closing down for the evening, but one place appeared to remain especially active: An old folks' home? What kind of establishment for elderly people would set up shop in a garbage heap like Minneapolis? That was a question that would have to be answered later, though, for as soon as Turo neared this aforementioned sanctuary for the elderly and otherwise useless, he heard the pleading of several elders on their way out of some event, the sounds of what was likely a brief scuffle, and then saw several lads running his way with what were clearly bags and purses used by old people.

Turo rolled his eyes and clenched his fist lightly, putting up a shield of his pure vibrational seismic energy that covered his form. That was by far the least destructive and most protective move in his arsenal, and it effectively guaranteed that most things would be incapable of harming him. Turo swiftly adopted the stance of a veteran practitioner of Hokutoryu Jujutsu (otherwise known as Finnish Jujutsu or Big Dipper Style) and stood in front of the hooligans running towards him, who were halted by the presence of some tall, lean, one-eyed blonde fellow adopting a fighting stance. One of the men, a mage of some kind, welled up some arcane power in his hand, while the others prepared weapons, and were likely either mundane people or more physically-inclined metahumans.

Immediately, Turo rushed to the mage in front of him, grabbed the man's wrist, locked it, and yanked it back. A little crack, likely of the joints and ligaments being twisted in a way they should not have been twisted, was heard, and the man shouted in evident pain. Turo then used the momentum of the wrist grab, latched his other hand onto the back of the man's neck, and kicked his legs out from under him, further using that momentum to fling him face-first onto the sidewalk. The other thugs rushed forth and used their enhanced physical powers to strike at the shield, which rebuked their efforts as if they were gnats attempting to pester the noble elephant. Swiftly, Turo got to work granting the rest of the bunch a lesson in respecting one's elders. One man with a pipe took a swing, but was swiftly deflected into smashing a fellow thug in the gut. Turo delivered a sharp roundhouse to the man's jaw for his mistakes, and then delivered a brutal high knee to the nose of the man who was doubled over from being smacked in the gut by a powered pipe swing. Two more men were down, while the others fruitlessly tried to smash through Turo's quake barrier. Turo whirled around to face another, whom he struck in the throat. However, the man was covered in some type of metal casing. Thanks to the shield along Turo's body, his hand was not broken on impact, but it still hurt. Immediately, Turo threw a side kick to another remaining thug's liver, which dropped him to the floor as well. There were now only two remaining thugs, one of whom was the aforementioned metal man, and the other being some type of unnaturally quick striker. Thankfully, both were pretty much incapable of dealing lasting damage to him, but there was one he couldn't beat with his Jujutsu. The quick striker, though, Turo quickly focused on. With a jab to the chin, a kick to the kneecap, and a grappling throw right into a nearby light pole, the striker was put on the floor with his fellows. The metal man stood in front of Turo, alone, but still willing to fight. He appeared to have full confidence that while he couldn't hurt Turo, Turo could not hurt him in turn.

The metallic thug boastfully commented, "Alright, you may have a cool little shield, and you may have used some silly martial art to take out my buddies, but how are you gonna deal with me? Just give it up, kid. You're in over your head."

Turo offered no response, only a cold and bitter stare from his one icy blue eye. Instead, Turo channeled a miniscule amount of vibrational power into his hand, focusing heavily on non-lethality and a general lack of relative destructiveness. It looked as if Turo was holding a marble of seismic power in between his index and thumb, which he then held up for the metal man to see. Turo had to maintain EXTREME focus just to pull this one move off; if he was even the slightest bit off-center mentally, then this little orb would have had far more catastrophic effects. The thug, still sure of his durability, simply laughed at the young man, full of hubris, but made no move to interrupt Turo or throw him off-balance, which actually worked in everyone else's favor. With the slightest flick, the tiny marble of power sailed towards the metal criminal, who saw fit to take it head on, thinking it would do nothing. Instead, as it connected, a series of cracks formed in the air all along the impact point, and a particularly loud rumble could be felt and heard across the city block. Thankfully, no one was hurt, and no unnecessary damage was done to the surrounding area or the incapacitated thugs. However, the vibrations and crackling power concentrated on the thug's chest not only totally dented his metal torso inward, it also sent him flying backwards and up to the top of another light pole, which he slammed into, before pinging off of it and slamming directly into the pavement, skipping a few times like a stone tossed along water. The thugs were all taken care of, all in particularly painful but non-lethal ways, and Molly would be able to arrive in the nick of time to see exactly how the entire thing went.

Turo kept the quake shield up as Molly (presumably) approached, just in case he also meant trouble, and stood near the collapsed forms of the defeated thugs whilst gathering up the bags and purses they stole. Turo muttered and grumbled almost inaudibly to himself in his native tongue of Finnish as he gathered the possessions of the poor elders who were victimized, barely even noting or acknowledging the existence of the nearby Reaver. Once the bags were collected, Turo held them as best he could along his left arm, clearly displaying every intention of returning them to the terrified old people further down the sidewalk.

Molly was on a hell of a tooth hunt, damballa’s hooves clicking against the pavement in a brisk trot, following the scent trail of the poor unfortunate souls. Not every day he got to punch humans in the mouths, but it was quite a refreshing bit of catharsis. In Dis humans sucked big time for the most part… here it was rarer to find a complete asshole but it was socially acceptable to do something about it. It was like heaven for the snarky reaver.

He was only half-way paying attention when Damballa snorted roughly to pull her rider’s attention back to what was in front of them. A man littered with groaning goons around him and arms dangling with purses and wallets like some sort of fruit tree full of figs… but made of money. “Hah, shows those fuckers.” Molly laughs as they begin to come too, even the one he’d introduced with the pavement earlier.

Molly leans over top of one of the groaning mooks as he removes his eyeless helmet, holding it under his arm like a football. “Boo.” He casually blurts as the metahuman leaps up, scattering away from the horseman, only to realize Turo was still there and fully capable of sending him into more lighting fixtures.

“Time to go guys!” He yelps just as the others work their way to their feet and hightail it the other direction and out of eyeline.

“Right… right… think they learned their lesson or…?” The reaver hums out loud, hoping Turo would be down for a bit of fun with the dunderheads should he be so obliged.

Turo blinked as he witnessed some strange armoured man on a weird horse trot over to the scene of the halted crime. He'd seen plenty of odd nonsense in his short time on earth, but this was a new one. Did people often ride horses around urban environments like this? Moreover, did people wear armour around here? Or was this just another unique phenomenon that the Finn was now being subject to?

Still holding the many purses on his arms and looking more at the elderly people who were huddled together, Turo briefly regarded the horseman that was sort of in his way. As the criminals, formerly laid out, finally started to come to their senses and made an attempt to leave, the Finn seemed ready to smack them up a bit more with his quake powers, but realised he was holding precious cargo, and so he refrained.

Instead, Turo walked towards and eventually past Molly, whereupon he was graced with a simple question. The horseman wanted to know whether the thugs learned their lessons or not, which was something Turo did not really feel strongly about.

"Don't care," Turo answered quietly, his voice carrying a rumble alongside his stilted and limited command of the English language. "They hurt old people. Fuck them."

With that, the young Finn finished his stride past Molly and rather gently handed the purses and bags off to the victimised elderly folk. Still quite afraid due to the entire situation, the old people took their belongings with quick but clear thanks, before promptly shuffling off so they could leave the area as soon as possible.