Logs:Get Schooled

Get Schooled
cn: violence
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Dusk, Hulk, Tony
In Absentia	2021-10-15 "You should really watch your cocaine intake." (set after DJ turning up at Tony's.)
Location <PRV> Bruce's Apartment - Midtown Manhattan and <NYC> Riverdale
It might be technically correct to call this a two-bedroom apartment, but probably misleading all the same. It has high industrial ceilings, capacious and sparsely decorated rooms all accessed through double doors and wide hallways. The living room is mostly open and looks barely used as anything other than a crossroads for the dwelling. It adjoins an elegant dining room that looks equally unused and opposite that a sun room that appears to be where the actual lounging tends to happens. On one side of this row of common spaces there is a large bedroom with a sturdy king-sized bed, an entire wall of bookshelves, and a corner set up as a Buddhist shrine, as well as its own private bath, private balcony, and private laboratory. The other bedroom across the way is twice the size and has a completely custom bed that looks like nothing so much as a giant beanbag, an equally oversized--desk? Other than that, there is only storage for art supplies. Lots of art supplies. Bruce is peacefully asleep in the smaller bedroom, the sound system emitting the faint sound of pattering rain despite the clear night outside. The rest of the apartment is quiet and still but not completely dark. But then, it's never completely dark here, the smart lighting built into the crown molding in every single room set to their lowest night-light mode during sleep hours. Bruce's peace is about to be disturbed. Does Tony have a key? That's probably irrelevant, but he's here now, beside the bed and dressed like it is time to go. Go where, at this hour of the morning -- well. POKE. A stylus is jabbing at Bruce's shoulder. Poke POKE. "Up up up. 'Tis the season. We're going vampire hunting." Bruce stirs only momentarily before coming awake all at once with a gasp, flailing in his sheets and batting in the vague direction of the offending weapon. "What--" He stretches out to feel for the thick-rimmed glasses that, among a few other items, are meticulously arranged on his nightstand. But even before he corrects his vision he has clearly recognized the intruder. "Tony, why--did you say vampire hunting?" He fumbles the glasses into place and squints at Tony as he sits up. "Are you high?" "Vampire. Fangs, drink blood? I'm sure you've heard of them. All the rage this time of year. Little too much rage, this one. Why," Tony asks, slightly exasperated, "are you so slow about everything." "Probably because I'm not hopped up on stimulants and also you just jolted me out of NREM sleep." Bruce finally rolls out of bed and, despite his evident disinclination to believe Tony's rambling, steps behind the screen around his wardrobe and starts dressing. "You should really watch your cocaine intake. Where are we going to ah, hunt vampires?" "The Bronx. If I wanted the lecture I'd have brought Happy." Tony trails slightly after Bruce, toward the edge of the screen entirely unapologetically. "Are you even listening to me. Vampire. Flying. Very strong. You gonna -- bring a pencil? Stake him?" His brows lift, head giving one small shake. "I'm here for the other guy." --- There isn't exactly a swath of destruction carved through the Bronx, but it's certain a couple of folks in the Riverdale area have been having a Very Bad Night. A couple en route home from a late night Burger King run now lie broken and bleeding over a dumpster. A taxi has been overturned, only a thick streak of blood telling where the driver might have gone off too. Up on the rooftop of a nearby elementary school, a winged figure is perched gargoyle-like, enormous wings mantled behind him. Somewhere below there's a motorcycle, crashed and broken; it probably belonged to the the young man in his arms, judging by the thick white-cross-emblazoned leather jacket he wears. Pale and mostly inert, the guy probably isn't like to be riding it any time soon. There's a soft purring rumble coming from Dusk's chest as he laps up the continued thick flow of blood, dark eyes sweeping the ground below with a continued hungry interest. The ground below might not be particularly interesting, but from just above and behind there's a figure dropping in toward Dusk. The red and gold of the Iron Man suit isn't exactly subtle or hard to miss, nor the low hum it makes streaking through the air. He's still some distance away when he slows in his approach. Hovers in the air, the repulsors on his gauntlets aimed out toward Dusk. "Think you've long passed last call, Count Orlok." The huge, muscular green man in purple athletic shorts bounding across the rooftops in Iron Man's wake is also hard to miss. He leaps down from an adjacent apartment building to land on the elementary school roof. The Hulk has no clever pop culture allusion with which to greet Dusk, but settles for roaring, "DON'T EAT PEOPLE!" The snap of Dusk's wingspan when it unfolds is perhaps considerably wider than it appears at its half-mast length. He drops the hapless Purifier straight off the rooftop, whirling around to slam the long spars of his wings out in either direction toward both the newcomers, a rough growl snarling up in his throat. "Hardly a people." Tony might have had a rejoinder to this, but when the man goes over the edge of the roof he does too -- or starts to, diving toward the falling Purifier. The slam of Dusk's wing catches him in the side, sending him spinning wildly off-course -- he has to veer hard into a sudden correction in order to grab the limp body before it crashes into the pavement. The Hulk does not seem to really understand what Dusk is doing until the bone of one long wing launches him across the roof--admittedly not as far as Tony, lighter and more airborne. He regains his feet before he's even rolled to a stop, no mark on his green skin and none the worse for the tumble. "PEOPLE IS PEOPLE!" he declares as he charges toward Dusk, reaching one massive hand out to catch him by the wing. Dusk is already launching himself into the air by the time Hulk regains his feet. He tucks from up above, diving down towards the enormous green man in a roll of spike-tipped wings. It's unbalanced when Hulk catches one of them; he splays the other out wide to counterbalance himself as he crashes back down to the roof, boots landing in a crunch of concrete and dust. One fist smashes up towards Hulk's side, just under the arm that's grabbed him. Tony has unencumbered himself, leaving the Purifier propped carefully against the side of the building before he launches himself back up. This time there's no hesitation; as soon as he's hovering overhead of the Hulk the repulsors fire, aimed at the enormous sails of Dusk's wings. Hulk makes absolutely no attempt to evade Dusk's fist, though for all the enormous strength behind that punch it hardly even digs into the bulging muscles. It does, however, launch Hulk up, up, up into the air, the entire exchange looking deeply improbable from a physics standpoint. The Hulk does not seem terribly bothered as he careens toward an adjacent building. He turns in mid air so that he hits the outer wall feet-first and launches himself back down at Dusk in the wake of Tony's attack, one huge fist wound back. "HULK SMASH!" Dusk snarls when the beams tear through the skin of his wings. It doesn't seem to faze him, much; he just bares his teeth up at the Hulk, feet bracing and both hands coming up to catch the massive green fist that comes down toward him. Successfully, too -- for some metric of success; the fist thuds heavily against his hands, his weight settling back -- and then dropping back precipitously as the roof caves under them. There's a crash, a thump, a tumble as they drop down into the recesses of the school below, landing in a shower of dust and vivid paints in a closet of a primary-school art room. Dusk's attempt on the way down to lever them back up proves futile, torn and ragged wings flapping uselessly now but failing to catch any air. Undaunted, he slams a knee up toward Hulk's chest. Dusk's knee catches Hulk squarely in the chest, but again there is no crunch of bone shattering, no torn and destroyed muscles, only the force of the blow throwing Hulk clean through the flimsy interior wall of the classroom into the next...and then the one beyond that. With a loud clatter of furniture and a roar of frustration, he picks up the teacher's desk and launches it back through the huge gaps made by his passage, charging after it on all fours and turning his shoulder aside to tackle Dusk through the opposite wall of the art room. Dusk is looking a good deal more colorful now than when this began, black and blue and red -- and pink and orange and yellow and purple as well, paint splattering over his clothes and chest and smearing now too across the Hulk's green skin as he's tackled. He bats the desk to splinters by an oddly careless swat of Dusk's hand, but the charging man that follows it carries him through the wall, through a blackboard, crunching into a cheerful diorama of the Amazon rainforest that some third-grader no doubt spent a lot of time on. Dusk grabs a handful of dirt out of the wooden box they've just crashed into, throws it up toward Hulk's face as his teeth snap (so hopefully) in the direction of Large Green Neck. His wings have closed in, sharp claws scraping, stabbing, down against whatever skin they can find. There's a low hum from above, a whir as a gleam of metal armor descends into the dusty ruins of the school building. A flap opens up on the arm of Tony's suit; several small darts launch themselves toward Dusk. Then several more -- the tranquilizer in them is potent but maybe Tony isn't in a mood to take chances. "Think you might've gotten these kids an unofficial holiday tomorrow." For all his nigh-invulnerability, Hulk evidently cannot see through an eyeful of rainforest soil. He roars angrily and throws his head back, lifting one hand to rub his eyes clear, the other pinning one of Dusk's wings to the debris-strewn floor. Though he has very helpfully bared his neck to his opponent's razor sharp fangs, Dusk cannot bite through his skin, neither can the talons of his wings find purchase on Hulk's broad back. He might as well be fighting a very motile, very strong, and very angry stone statue--except that probably he would have better luck with stone. "HULK NOT FOOD!" He sounds more indignant about Dusk misidentifying him than the actual biting and clawing. The next snap of Dusk's teeth is quick and irritable, seemingly annoyed at failing to find purchase in Hulk's stony skin. His hand slams up hard against the other man, shoving him off as he scrambles back to his feet. It's just about then that the darts catch him in one arm -- he hardly seems to notice at first, only a moment later brushing them away with a small flick of hand and rounding on Tony. His wing slams out, pinning the suit to a broken jut of wall as he closes the distance. Lifts the man easily with one hand to cast him toward Hulk. Shake his wings out again in an another attempt to get airborne -- though when this doesn't work he just digs claws in to try and scale the rubble toward the hole in the ceiling. It almost works, too. He's gotten a bit up the wall when his claws start to slacken their grip, loose their hold, and whump -- he goes tumbling back in an ungainly splay of fingerbones and claws. "Wh--" is as far as he gets before the world goes black. Tony marches over, repulsors still aimed at Dusk even after he's fallen. It's only after several beats of silence that he lowers them, retracts the faceplate on his helmet. "What'd I say. Vampire."