2013-11-26 - Sex, Drugs, and Rock'n'Roll: No Need for 80s Cover Bands

Evening, Dalton's Bar in Queens.

It may be a weeknight, but the tables are full enough, and so is the bar itself. The band-- some local 80s cover band-- is finishing setting up over on the stage. At one of the nearest tables to the band, a couple of men who look to be in the mid to late twenties laugh suddenly, one accidentally knocking over his beer. It's quickly cleaned up, the beer replaced-- no harm, no foul. In fact, the mood of the place is a jovial one, very few, if any, of the patrons are brooding tonight.

Down at the end of the bar, Natasha Romanov sips her beer, smiling at the man beside her that is trying to strike up a flirtatious conversation. Her sunglasses rest on top of her head, and under her leather jacket she wears a black mock turtleneck, covering her neck. Her eyes skim the room as she leans back against the bar itself, as if she is waiting on someone. Maybe she is, maybe she's just trying to politely get the guy to leave her be.

Wandering into the bar, out of uniform for now, Zinda. Leather bomber jacket, jeans, combat boots, long hair flowing over her shoulders and back. She heads up to the bar, ordering a beer in quiet tones before glancing around. Is that a Natasha she spies? Pun, fully intended.

It's a school night but it's Thanksgiving break. So Hank's out on the town. Dalton's usually requires a low profile, but Hank's just not feeling it. The blue furred mutant steps into the bar and looks around. His uniform traded in for civillain clothes. He heads for the bar.

Grant Ward doesn't like to dawdle on the Helicarrier. Nothing wrong with the people there, it's just...not an environment he enjoys. So after returning from New Orleans and submitting his final report, he quickly packed up his gear and situated himself in one of the SHIELD-owned apartments in the city for the time being, at least until the next mission comes along. It's rare that he has much downtime between them.

That having been said, he -does- have at least a few days of downtime now, barring any emergency, and so he makes his way to Dalton's Bar, having had it recommended by some of his fellow agents. He's wearing a plain pair of blue-jeans, a dark grey t-shirt, and a black leather jacket overtop, as well as a simple pair of black sneakers. Casual as all can get out and not exactly looking to impress anybody from the look of things. Still, his eyes sweep the room and a curious brow lifted not so much for the blue-furred fellow that just preceded him inside, and more so for the redheaded superspy that seems to be bored with the fellow that's chatting her up. He briefly makes eye contact with her, a questioning glimmer in his eye. In other words...want him to interject?

Natasha gives Zinda a slight nod, and her brow furrows a bit at the sight of Hank, though she doesn't seem to acknowledge him otherwise. Ward does catch her eye, and his look is correctly interpreted, and she smiles brightly at him.

A young man stumbles through the door behind Ward, still wearing sunglasses despite the night and that he's indoors-- but that's not exactly uncommon. He rubs at his arms through his heavy trenchcoat, and weaves through the bar towards the two men at the table at the front.

The band begins playing, and a mediocre cover of Billy Idol's L.A. Woman begins. The singer sounds nothing like him. Even a little.

Lady Blackhawk sips at her beer. As somebody else heads over to Natasha, the blonde scans the area, and her eyes fall on...oh, hey, it's a blue fuzzy guy. She actually finger-waves to Beast, acknowledging him quite readily even though she barely knows him.

Beast waves to Zinda. He catches sight of Natasha and Grant. His eyes linger longer on Natasha than Grant. Then he turns back to the bar tender, "I'll take a Jack and coke." Hank wasn't even trying to be complicated or sophisticated with his drinks.

Grant moves across the bar, affecting a quite convincing, warm smile and lacing his voice with a tone that matches just as he gets within earshot of Natasha and her wannabe companion, "Hey there...sorry I'm late. You know how traffic gets in this town." He briefly places a hand on Natasha's forearm, and leans over and kisses her cheek, before finally "noticing" the other fellow nearby, his smile dimming, but not entirely fading, "Oh, sorry. I'd say I didn't mean to interrupt, but I'd be lying." He grins apologetically, "But if it's any consolation..." He catches the attention of the bartender and jerks a thumb towards the man, "Get this guy another of whatever he's having, on me. Give me the 20-year Glenlivet, one rock, and..." He looks to Natasha, "You want another?"

Natasha's eyes flash with an icy approval as Grant blocks the view of the would-be admirer, but then she smiles happily, and responds, "Yes, please, another would be fine." The guy smiles forcedly, accepts his consolation drink, and slinks off to find another target.

The guy in the trench starts talking in a hushed tone to the two guys at the front table, who do not look pleased to see him.

"Not here," one of the guys at the table snaps.

"I need more, Conrad," trenchcoat pleads. "Whatever you're charging, I'll get it. I just need it now."

Lady Blackhawk isn't either. She's drinking beer, apparently NOT bent on getting drunk tonight - she struggles to get drunk on whiskey, let alone beer. Then the guy who was after Natasha heads her way. She offers him one of those sickly sweet smiles that really means "Watch it or I'll slap you."

There were a few potentially suspicious figures in the bar tonight it would seem. Just as Trenchcoat came into the club a hand snapped out to catch the door before it shut fully allowing a shorter figure, wearing a hoodie pulled up over her face to hide it in shadows, to walk in. With hands stuffed in the pockets of the hoodie it was difficult to make out if there might be something more than hands in there or not. While Trenchcoat starts chatting with the two at the table this figure moves around to a table not far off from the trio where she pretends to turn her attention to the band setting up.

Grant briefly glances over his shoulder at the man as he slinks off, then accepts his drink as well as Natasha's from the bartender, handing hers over towards her. He catches those snippets of conversation from the table nearby and for once can't help but smirk ever-so-slightly, "No rest for the wicked, huh?" He queries, ever-so-briefly flicking his dark eyes in the direction of the table the gents are occupying.

Beast decides Zinda needs rescuing or rather the guy probably needs rescuing from Zinda. He makes his way over to the others ide of Zinda. "Hey Zinda, it's been awhile. How you doing?" He says as he takes a drinking of his Jack and Coke. He though looks up to the bar as people come in. His students show up everynow and then.

"Junkies are NYPDs problem, not SHIELD's," Natasha leans forward to purr in Ward's ear, looking like a couple, though her words are all business. "And if you kiss me again, Ward, I will end you." She smiles, lightly poking his nose flirtatiously as she pulls away, though those blue eyes are as frosty as a Siberian winter.

The band begins to play a cover of Huey Lewis and the News "I Want a New Drug".

"You don't understand, Conrad--" trenchcoat begs.

Conrad narrows his eyes. "Get out of here. I'll see you tomorrow, Ace."

America peers from beneath the edge of her her hoodie regarding the trio from the corner of her eye. The others at the bar were glanced at as well causing her to narrow her eyes at Natasha. Later. She would deal with HER later. For now she keeps hidden in the shadow of her hood and looks back to the druggies waiting patiently for something to go wrong. It almost always did.

"Not bad. How's Logan? Did he disappear again or is it just me he's avoiding?" The other guy, seeing the mutant cut in, decides to...try a different bar. Because his luck in this one is just no good. Zinda watches him go with one eye. Yeah. Beast was probably rescuing him.

"That depends on the drug in question." There was, after all, already scuttlebutt on the Helicarrier that even Ward couldn't completely avoid. As Natasha taps his nose, he doesn't look at all taken aback by Natasha's threat. His cool facade really -is- tough to crack, it seems, "He needed to be convinced. He was. But consider it duly noted." That friendly smile never leaves his face.

Beast shrugs, "I don't keep up with Logan, sorry. He seems to come and go as he pleases. I'm sorry. I would suggest calling him." He says drinking his coke and jack, getting reminded he wasn't one of the cool kids at the mansion. He though seems to be listening to the other conversations especially the one involving Trench Coat and Conrad. "Keep your head on a swivel. There seems to be illegal activity afoot."

"You don't..." trenchcoat--Ace-- gasps. "You don't /understand/, Conrad. I can't..." And he breaks off, letting out a cry of pain, staggering, one arm catching himself on the table. His sunglasses tumble from his face, revealing perfectly black eyes-- no white, no iris.

And then hell breaks loose in Dalton's. Ace wails in pain, and a shockwave of psychic energy slams outwards from him, blowing back and knocking down everyone and everything in a ten foot radius, and causing lesser, but similar damage for another twenty feet.

"MUTANT TERRORIST!" shrieks a woman in the back of the back. The band stops, the drummer buried under his drums and the guitarist, bassist, keyboardist, and singer all knocked on their asses.

Natasha and her 'date' are knocked backwards into the bar, though the Black Widow recovers quickly. "What the hell--?" she asks.

Ace wails again. "I can't CONTROL IT! I /need/ the stuff!"

Conrad tries to pick himself up from underneath his table, his friend looking terrified and trying to hide. "Shit! Look, look, keep it... keep it cool, give me a second, c'mon..." Conrad frantically digs into his jacket.

Lady Blackhawk flies backwards into the bar, but recovers almost as quickly as Natasha does. "Slightly belated head's up there." Crap. OUt of control telekenesis. "Everyone get OUT." Is there a back door?

Ward is back on his feet almost as quickly as he's knocked off of them. He barks out after Zinda, "You heard the lady! GO, GO, GO!" Sure enough, panicked bar-goers start racing for the door. There'll be a jam-up at the exit, but it takes them further away from the out-of-control mutant. Ward doesn't immediately draw his concealed weapon, though, instead flicking a glance to Natasha, to see how she intends to handle this particular situation.

Hank's lost his shoes, he's always loosing his shoes. He's leaping up in the air does a summersault, "Damn my booze." The cup is thrown to the side. He goes bouncing in the direction of the telepath, "Excuse me, gentleman, I do not mean to be rude and interrupt. But I couldn't help but over hear your perdiciment. I would like to offer an alternative."

Just as everyone else in the radius around the out of control mutant is thrown back, so too is the figure that had been observing them. The hood to America's hoodie is thrown back sending her dark curls spilling out even as she staggers back. Until her feet slam into the floor, hard enough to leave an indentation in the floor. With teeth grit she glares at them all. "Knew this'd be trouble but this is ridic," she utters taking on the slang term that she'd heard a certain annoyance in her life use many, many times. Striding forward she grabs at the back of the mutant's shirt to haul him back a step with one hand. The other reaches out for the cowering dealer intending to heft HIM up as well. "Take it outside," she utters, "Before you bring this whole place down."

"Fucking hell, mutie scum," Conrad snaps at Beast, still frantically digging in his jacket. He watches with wide eyes as America lifts his client in the air, and then with false bravado snaps, "He doesn't need help from people /like you/."

Ace nods frantically, hanging from America's grip. "Jus' want to be normal again, don't want to be a mutant, c'mon gimme the stuff, please Conrad," he sobs, not even fighting with the superpowered girl.

The dealer looks terrified as a shaky hand removes a handful of vials of thick red liquid from within his coat. "Fuck, Ace. Take it. Just... just fix yourself." The trenchcoated young man looks upon the vials like a starving man on a crust of bread, snatching one and, trembling, rips it open and swallows the contents.

"Stop him!" Natasha dives forward, just a touch too late to prevent the man from contaminating himself. Her eyes flash. "...Ward, we're taking these two in."

"It's not illegal!" Conrad begins trying to back away.

"Oh, is *that* what this is about?" (Lady Blackhawk) She glances at Beast. "This is in your field, definitely." He's not out of control any more...but taking suppression drugs isn't the way to get control. Even she, completely human, knows that.

Beast hmms, "Most interesting." He frowns, "Son, you can be normal and not have to use this. I have people that can help. But if you'll excuse me." He lets out a feral growl as his lips pull back to reveal the fangs, Beast oh so carefully hides. He turns on Conrad, "Mutie Scum?" His hand moving out with a lighting quick to pick the man up by the front of his shirt. He lets out another growl, "Let me have those and where did you get them. I'd talk quickly, I am not a patient man especially with those too idiotic to know human is human."

"Right." Ward steps forward, reaching to pluck the second, untouched vial from the table and pocket it. He starts to move towards Conrad, but Beast gets there first, and Ward notes, "Might be best to answer the Doctor's questions. Or not, but if you don't, then you're going to have to answer mine, and I'm going to be a lot less nice about it." He looks back to America, "Mind if I take that one off your hands, miss?"

"Oh for crying out loud! I don't care what you do, chico, just want to know where you GOT that from!" America wasn't fond of drugs going around that could empower, or depower, and last she heard Clint was still looking into that stuff himself because of the crazy guy that was gunning for him using it against--"Natasha?" America's attention jerks over toward the redhead with a look of vague surprise at the fact that she was jumping in. She's just about to say something more when everything seems to go tits up. Beast is growling and grabbing at the guy, the vials start to fall. America keeps Ace just slightly off his feet while she reaches out to grab for the glass vials to catch them before they fall and shatter making things possibly worse. Her hand closes around a few...


 * Crunch*

America's eye twitches, and she lowers Ace to his feet with a thud only to push him toward Ward perhaps a bit TOO forcefully.

Ace's eyes begin to lighten, and in a matter of moments, turn normal-- whites, brown irises, pupil. He shudders, weeping softly. "Thank you... thank you..." he repeats over and over, seemingly to no one and everyone. Conrad nods, swallowing at Beast who has him by the shirtfront. He looks from America to the SHIELD agents to the big blue mutant and the human lady talking to them all. "Look... look, it's not illegal. Not even a little bit. I ain't even gonna charge him for that hit, it's gratis. You ain't got no right to take me in nowhere, and you don't have the right to steal my stuff." He looks at Beast and tries to act tough, though he is shaking. His friend has already scrambled up and disappeared with the other bargoers.

Natasha's expression is unyielding, though she says nothing, waiting to see how or if she will need to contain the others there in order to take these two into SHIELD custody. That Beast has the dealer by the shirt does not seem to bother her in the least, for now.

Her name being spoken by America doesn't draw her eye-- it's business time right now. But the crunch of the vial in America's hands actually does. She looks over, seeing the dark red liquid on the girl's skin. "...oh, America..." she breathes. And she moves, fast, to her ex-lover's current lover-- awkward, isn't it?--yanking off her jacket as she goes, revealing bare and bruised arms with multiple healing puncture wounds. She grabs the younger woman's hands to clean off the liquid, but it is already sinking into America's pores. "/Bozhe moi/!"

Quietly. "Newt. Neutralize. Might even be useful...but not on the streets. What happens if somebody who doesn't have powers take this stuff? What happens if somebody has a bad reaction? What if that bad reaction is things going the other way?" This stuff belongs in some kind of clinic where it can be administered properly. NOT on the streets. Zinda's...pissed.

Ward staggers back a few steps when the addict gets shoved into him, but manages to retain control of the fellow, quickly getting him restrained. He looks back over to Conrad and practically snarls, "You've been directly involved in a class 3 metahuman incident. Drugs or no drugs, you're coming in for questioning." Since Beast has Conrad mostly under control, he notes, "Drop him off with me outside when you're done, Doctor McCoy." And with that, he starts to hustle "Ace" back outside to get him properly into custody. He notes Natasha's alarm with America, but she seems to be handling it for the moment. If she needs help, she knows he's just a shout away.

A hand that is gentle and accurate to perform the most detailed of surgeries despite it's large size. People seem to forget that hand also ends in sharp claws with a lot of muscle behind it. Hank reaches up patting Conrad on the face. His claws just beginning to dig in, "You're seeming to think I'm the police. I'm not a superhero. I'm a X-man. We're mutie scum outlaws. What's the life of one dealer to a revolutionary like me. It's been a while since I remind folks, I'm the original clawed feral mutant with anger issues." He digs in those claws just a bit deeper. "This is where you talk or I get angry."

America has grown rather, strangely, quiet. Which was unusual for her on many levels. When Natasha rushes over to take her hand she finally glances down at the shattered vial in her own grasp. There were three, really--two were still whole but one had been crushed in the center of her palm where the red liquid was pooling up only to dribble down between her fingers. "... Swear to god if this gives me a headache," she begins only to fall short on her normal angered rant. Instead she opens her hand further letting Natasha sop up the mess on her hand which was, thankfully uncut. It didn't stop the liquid from soaking in though. "I'm fine. Just need to wash my hands," she mutters.

"From the clinic!" Conrad chokes out. "The clinic on 42nd. One of the nurses there brings it in. I don't know where she gets it. I bring her profits every other Thursday, she gives me more Newt. I swear, I usually deal to club kids, but that's my little brother's best friend-- the nurse said it would help him-- he keeps hearing voices, man, and exploding like that. What else was I supposed to do? WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?" the dealer is shaking in Beast's grip.

Natasha's face, already pale, is stricken, ignoring the dealer-- Beast and Zinda seem to have him under control; and besides, the infected one is the one SHIELD wants anyway. She looks at America. "...I need you to come with me, America," she says quietly. "You may have been contaminated, and we'll need to run some tests."

"He needs training, not suppression. Turning his powers off isn't helping him learn to control them." She glances at Beast. He has the contacts for this. "That's like, I don't know...never walking and then expecting to run a marathon." Zinda, not stupid, it seems.

Beast lets out a growl after reaching into the trench coat and pulling out the dealer's wallet. He then opens his hand to let the dealer loose and drop to the floor. He opens the wallet, "Conrad. This information better be accurate or I'll be to visit you....at your home." He says pulling out the man's driving license. He looks to America, "I want a vial and are you alright with that. The going with them?" He looks like he'd fight the SHIELD people if he needs too."

"Tests won't do shit, chica. I'll be fine. I'm not a mutant." Even as she says this, America doesn't seem entirely sure as she looks down to her hand, then up again. "... Pretty sure not at least." Her hand clenches again, and drops to her side with a roll of her eyes. "I'm never going to hear the end of this from Clint."

Natasha waves at Hank. "Take it, we have enough to test with," she says absently, focused on America. "No. We do not know how it will affect you-- I am not a mutant, either, and it gave me troubles." Then mention of Clint brings the slightest, barely perceptable flinch to Natasha's expression. "Please. For Clint, if nothing else. He will worry.”

Beast takes a vial and produces a card giving it to America. "If you do not like how they are treating you. Please contact me." He frowns, "I do not approve of lab rats." With that he slips out.

America narrows her eyes at Natasha when she mentions Clint in that way. "Hmm." Rolling her eyes again she lets out a small snort, and mutters, "Fine. For a few hours. Then that's it. I'm gone one way or another." Her arms cross over her chest as she states this though she keeps that one hand balled into a fist. The urge to SCRUB it clean was still quite there.

Lady Blackhawk glances at the SHIELD guys. "As you guys seem to have this under control, I'm going to go find a bar with fewer drugs in it." The blonde stretches, following Beast out the door...albeit at enough distance that she's probably not actually following him. Probably.