[Cross Fox] A Bear, A Fox, and an Idiot

It was easy to forget what centuries of exotic and pole dance did to Yoka's body.

For one thing, it made it more attractive to look at. Yoka with lithe and toned, but still kept her very soft curves. But, because Yoka could use illusions to look however she wanted, these things were meaningless.

It did mean that Yoka's reflexes were fast. To spin six feet above the air with only the back of her knee supporting her gave Yoka plenty of experience in learning how to move quickly.

Yoka was, by most accounts, a lover, not a fighter.

She could hold her own against human men, but on an island with magical creatures Yoka might not be able to do too much without extensive training. And training wasn't something she was interested in--why should she be when there were people who dedicated their lives to it and were happy to offer their services in exchange for something Yoka actually enjoyed?

Which is exactly why Yoka was packing heat.....in addition to her own, literal fire powers.

Murphy started to approach and say something, to introduce her to this woman that he...did he call her Milk? An odd pet name, and Yoka might have wondered about their relationship further but Milk had grabbed Murphy's wrist and flipped him.

And Yoka pulled a gun on her.

She wasn't the only one. The second her desert eagle was out, three of the nearest dancers had also produced them and had them trained on the tall woman.

Given what she'd felt of her arm, Yoka wasn't sure if the bullets would do anything, but she didn't care. There hadn't been a disaster at The Cross Fox since 1882 and Yoka was not willing to start another one.

Her hair rose up behind her as the magic within her started to pour forward.

Her voice was tinged with the promise of violence. A flicker of flame danced along the finger tips on the hand that did not hold the gun, which quickly pointed to the door.

"Get out," she said. "Now."

Her eyes narrowed.

"If you need to continue to speak to Murphy, you can do so outside, but not in here. You will not lay a hand on my employees while they are here working for me," she said. There was no arguing with her tone of voice. Yoka was someone who expected to be listened to.

Her rules did not just extend to her dancers.

The lights and music kept going. With the exception of the three nearest dancers, the rest of the club continued on like normal.

As soon as his hand touched her shoulder, Murphy knew he'd fucked up.

In many ways Milk could almost be seen as a combat machine rather than a mere person. Her strength, endurance and reflexes had all been honed to a razor's edge and tapping her from behind when she already seemed tense was perhaps in the top 12 bad ideas he'd followed through with this week.

Fortunately, he'd trained enough with her (see: been beaten up by) enough that he'd learned how to take her hits and he hopped up as she hauled him into the air, feeling his joint pop and crack in her vice like grip. Above her he curled up as best he could, bracing for one of the rib-cracking jabs that his teacher was so fond of. Thankfully the blow never came.

He was plopped down on the ground and his vision flickered as she did that weird bone knit thing that she could apparently do. His wrist now felt fine but his stomach twisted itself in knots in reaction to the unnatural healing. Well, that had hardly been ideal but things could have gone much worse with Milk. He could have tried to tackle her, someone might have tried magic, Yoka could have pulled out a gun-

Then Yoka pulled out her Desert Eagle.

Despite realizing that things were escalating far faster than he was comfortable with, Murphy had to admit that it was nice to not be the person being aimed at for once. That said, he needed to stop this now.

Using Milk as an anchor he hauled himself up, a brief phantom pain in his wrist making him wince as he did so. Standing between his employer and his friend he stretched his hands out, trying to get between at least one of the other guards. "Miss Sake, please, I am unharmed. It was my own fault that this occurred, please allow me to..."

The flick of his arms dislodged the small pistol he carried for self defense, and he felt an unfortunately familiar twist in his gut that heralded another burst of bad luck. He watched as the weapon tumbled in slow motion to the ground, the muzzle flashing as it discharged a shot into the air.

Then everything went to hell.

He felt the shot graze across his leg, making him buckle back onto Milk. The shot apparently spooked one of the security detail because he felt another pair of shots impact his chest and he fell to the ground gasping for air and scrabbling to keep a hold on Milk in hopes that she wouldn't immediately try to kill said security guard.

So much for the peaceful attempt.

@ReD @King

To her credit, Yoka started to lower the gun when Murphy stepped between her and the other woman, this Milk.

She would have lowered it all the way but then Murphy pulled out a revolver.

Yoka had to admit, she was surprised he carried a gun, especially given his, ah, abilities. But it was better than bringing a knife to a gun fight so she had to give him some credit there. He was full of surprises, this one.

She lifted her gun back up, holding it steady, and she was going to say something else when it all went to absolute hell. Her eyes didn't leave Milk, but she saw enough with her peripheral vision to see Murphy collapse, her own woman spook and fire two shots off, and then Milk did....a thing.

Well, this was going to be unpleasant.

Yoka sighed.

This was why Yoka had no interest in learning advanced fighting on her own. All this rage and bestial energy...it was fascinating in its own way, pleasurable to watch, but Yoka was just so tired of it. In her five hundred and odd years, she still could not understand why everyone wanted to resort to violence when there were far more interesting ways to solve problems. Hadn't anyone ever fucked?

Of course, she'd pulled the gun first, although she'd only done so because this woman had laid a hand on her employee.

Who...was now on the floor.

"Are you still with us, Murphy?" Yoka asked. Her voice was considerably casual for someone who just saw cracks appear by the woman's feet. If he was dead, Yoka was going to be pissed.

There was an unfamiliar flicker in her stomach at the idea of Murphy being dead.

It was just anger, she told herself. Anger because there hadn't been an incident in the cross fox since 1882 and Yoka was going to fucking keep it that way. It had nothing to do with Murphy at all. He was human. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

Yoka took a step forward and flames danced from her feet and spread out in a line between Yoka and the woman. Yoka snapped her fingers and the door to the club snapped open, on que to the sound of whatever fucking song was playing in the background.

"This is your last chance to leave on your own, or I'm going to have to make you leave," Yoka said, her voice rising. Her eyes narrowed. The flames by her feet were starting to grow higher. "Go. Now."

As he lay here gasping, Murphy became aware that either because of Yoka's powers or the adrenaline now screaming through his veins, just how clearly he could see things. He glanced up at the guard who'd shot him, the first signs of panic appearing on their features. He could see Yoka's lips moving and small flickers of flame appearing at her feet. The prickling of pain under his hand where he clutched Milk's ankle drew his attention to.... oh...

Shit

Milk was hardly the most... inquisitive mind, nor was she a great force of personality. What she lacked in those fields, however, she made up for in spades in terms of raw strength and combat ability. Her bone demon form just brought all of that to a more terrifying level. He'd never seen Yoka use her full fire power within her place of...well... power, but he doubted very little that there would be no shortage of collateral damage.

The place was going to crash and burn around hime AGAIN. He'd have to move, change his name, and-

No. A small, very tired and very ANGRY part of him refused the notion. He was tired of running, tired of fucking up and being unable to fix it. Sometimes you had to stand and make things right.

His free hand withdrew two objects from the depths of his coat. The first was a small, electrum coin which he tossed into the air. The other was a standard issue tear gas grenade he'd liberated from the police during his time as a janitor at the station, heavily modified with duct tape and the word 'MILKBONE' and a smiley face painted on the side.

As the coin hit the ground he felt a surge of confidence, a sudden and irrevocable sensation that this bullshit idea was going to work.

With a twist he bounded to his feet, pullong the pin and dropping the grenade. Wouldn't stop her but might buy a few seconds. Second, he flicked the pin towards Yoka, hoping to disarm the very shiny, VERY threatening gun she was brandishing, all the while a confident grin had wiped away the usual terrified grimace that tended to grace his features in combat.

Sometimes, you made your own luck.

@ReD @King

Everything happened fast.

Yoka had taken another footstep forward when Murphy acted and Milk growled. She didn’t see what he threw, but it sprayed something and Yoka caught a faint whiff of it before she held her breath. Just that little bit was enough to reach her and make her head spin.

On one hand, she was glad Murphy was alive. She hated the kind of paperwork that happened when an employee died.

On another hand, she now had to consider if she needed to take her eyes off of Milk and onto Murphy, especially when whatever he threw at her was enough to knock the gun out of her hand. Yoka knew better than to try and catch it—that’s what often caused a shot to fire off rather than the weapon hitting the floor—but she was very unhappy to be unarmed as that Milk woman took another step at her.

Unarmed didn’t mean defenseless, though. The fire raised considerably and the heat and smoke rising from it made the space around them uncomfortable warm. Yoka started to raise a hand, harnessing more of the natural power surging through her. She was able to focus despite the fact that she was holding her breath; for once in her life, Yoka was glad about all the times she’d given head. This was nothing in comparison.

The same woman who’d shot earlier fired off another one. Yoka was doing her best to keep a count of the bullets depleted. She needed to know exactly how many shots they had in case this wasn’t over yet.

This time, the shot seemed to hit its mark. A bit of blood and bone sprayed out but not nearly enough for Yoka to be satisfied, but the woman fell backwards and onto the ground.
The fire surrounding them did not dim or lower.

Yoka risked a breath to bark out an order, her voice collected and much, much colder than the flames that danced around her and flickered in her orange eyes.

“Get her out of here,” she told the three dancers that held the guns and after a moment of hesitation in the silence that seemed to surround the small group, the moved. Yoka didn’t bend over—she arched a foot low in a sweep and kicked the gun up, grabbing it quickly and returning it to her hand.

She leveled the Desert Eagle at Murphy now.

“Mr. Banks,” she said.

Yoka was far too familiar with the smell of what he’d tossed at the other woman. Her eyes narrowed at him through the firelight. She took a step towards him, still holding the gun out, but she wouldn’t risk getting closer, not when she wasn’t sure what else had been in that thing Murphy through or how long it was set to last. Yoka had been at the receiving end of chlorophorm far too often for her liking and she knew how ridiculously susceptible she was to it. That didn’t mean she had to make it obvious, though. By all accounts, Yoka was as steady—and as furious—as she’d been moments before.

“I suggest the next time you lose your wallet, you make alternative plans to have it returned to you,” she said, and her voice was a low snarl. Yoka’s thumb brushed the safety of the gun. There was a click, reassuring her that the safety was still in place. “You are relieved of your duties for the night.”

It was hard to keep track of everything happening around him. Milk was on the ground which was probably a positive thing. Her passive regeneration... god he hoped it was passive... would probably keep her alive despite the gunshot to the cranium. Unfortunately, his muscle minded friend was only HALF the danger in this particular situation.

He fished back into the pockets of his coat as the trio of guards approached. The coin he'd tossed would last just a tiny bit longer though if things went right that would be just enough time to at least resolve... whatever this whole thing was turning in to. A practiced flick retrieved a thin, silver switchblade and he moved defensively around his fallen friend, swaying in smooth, dangerous motions to ward off the assailants. "Fuck off, I'll get her out of here. Wouldn't suggest firing your goddamn weapon again though." he added with a glance at the previous offender. "Can't promise the gun won't explode and take off your hand."

Speaking of guns...

Yoka did a frankly badass maneuver to retrieve her gun without breaking eye contact and levelled it at him. Murphy gave it a 50/50 chance that the gun would still work given the serendipity that followed the lady around but gave a manic grin and pointed his knife at her in return.

A small, logical part of him was screaming to drop the knife and let the professionals handle this. After all, Milk HAD technically committed assault, though he should have known better than to surprise her like that. Yoka's team had overreacted but again, it was hard to tell what overreacting was when it came to someone with the powers of Milk. Instead, here he was staring down a woman nearly 20 times his age who was loaded with magical power and a full team of trained security.. with a switchblade. She had a fucking DESERT EAGLE and control over FUCKING FIRE and he had a tiny piece of metal that would probably break after a swing.

There was really only one thing he could do in this situation. Fortunately it was something he was good at...

"Miss Sake, while I apologize for the disruption you can hardly expect me to have known that she would come barging into the club rather than simply give it to me tomorrow. But before you do anything hasty I'd like to warn you that as I mentioned to you subordinate over there... firing at me right now might just take off your hand."

Murphy bluffed.

Through the dissipating cloud of gas and the flickering flames it was hard to tell whether she'd lowered the hammer to load another shot or had just put on the safety of the weapon. It rankled him a little how people always blamed HIM for these sorts of things. Sure, maybe it was his power's fault for losing the wallet, or guiding Milk here, or making her tense enough to throw him in that moment, but its not like he'd MEANT for it to happen. And now she was aiming a gun at him and dismissing him, possibly forever. God damn it, he'd JUST gotten used to working here too. Well, better to be unemployed and save his friend as opposed to the opposite.

He reached down warily, keeping his eyes and weapon trained back on Yoka. He wrapped an arm around Milk and found her distressingly light as he hefted her up over his shoulder. Was she only dense when she was awake because she wanted it that way? She was certainly still not light, but she didn't weigh as much as the bloody punching boulder anymore.

The spooled up luck around him was already beginning to fade, and he felt the twisting pain in his gut telling him that there was about to be some serious backlash for his actions. Well, as long as it waited till he was out of here he'd gladly accept that.

It occured to him that while she was lighter, he'd have a hard time actually transporting her any sort of distance. Well, he'd pseudo dragged her to the hospital when they were both bleeding out, at least this time there wasn't any immediate life threatening danger. He glanced back at Yoka and her desert eagle. Okay, so there PROBABLY wasn't any immediate life threatening danger.

"Look, lower the weapons... please?" He tried, "I'll get her out of here but its going to be difficult with the lot of you aiming weapons at me."

@ReD @King

Yoka narrowed her eyes at Murphy again. The firelight flickered and reflected back in Yoka's amber eyes. They gleamed as though the inferno was blazing inside of her.

While Yoka's demeanor remained as cool and furious as it had been moments before, Murphy's words put a seed of doubt that was beginning to sprout in Yoka's mind. She had no intention of firing her gun at him. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Rather, Yoka would prefer not to fire her gun at him.

She didn't lower her aim though.

"Before I do anything hasty?" Yoka snarled. What was possibly scarier than the snarl was the low, cold laugh that followed. She didn't quite tilt her head back in evil-movie-villainess style because that would mean being distracted and lowering her aim...but it was pretty damn close.

"Let me remind you how all of this started," Yoka gestured with her free hand to the fire, to Milk, to Murphy, when she said this. "Shall I, Mr. Banks?"

Despite her fury, her cool demeanor...Yoka had bought Murphy's bluff. She had no reason to doubt him, after all. These were his powers.

Which meant....Yoka believed Murphy had the upper hand.

Which meant.....there was no way in hell Yoka was lowering her gun.

Not when Murphy still had a knife pointed at her.

"I don't see how lowering my weapon will help you in escorting your friend out of here, Mr. Banks," Yoka said. Despite that, though, the flames by her feet were diminishing significantly. Yoka was strong, but her powers weren't unlimited, and there was no reason to have them burn without need. She also did wave her free hand at her staff, who seemed to be momentarily confused by Yoka's waving. Was she doing a dramatic flourish or telling them to stand still?

One look at her face answered that question.

Despite this, it appeared they were at a stale mate.

So....Yoka did the one thing she swore she wouldn't do.


"You have seventy eight seconds to show to me that you're getting her out of here," Yoka said. "Seventy seven."

She started to fucking count.