entrancelogs | i'm hardly capable of half the damage that i would like to do [open]

Entry tags:

i'm hardly capable of half the damage that i would like to do [open]

Who: Alex Kralie, some closed starters, and YOU
Where: All around the island of Genosha
When: August 5th - August 9th
Rating: Let's say PG-13 for general violence, colorful language, and trauma
Summary: Alex Kralie is one human attempting to tear down a society built for mutants. This is sure to go well. I'll match any format, brackets or prose!
The Story:

open to mutants; but you know i'm too full of shit to think this through

A man's been following you for a the past thirty minutes to an hour. He's been crossing every street you have, passing every establishment, stayed within a good thirty-yard radius of you this whole while. He keeps his hands in his pockets, his hood up over his features, his head low. Unobtrusive, except for the whole part where he's following you.

Maybe it's nothing. He looks normal. If he's a mutant, he's not an obvious one. He hasn't said anything to draw attention to himself or to you. All in all, he's been pretty harmless. So there's no cause to worry. Right?

Only the next time you look over your shoulder, the next time you wonder where he might be, you'll find he isn't behind you anymore.

Instead, he's walking toward you at a brisk pace, his stride hard and purposeful. There's a glint of something in his hand. A gun, or a knife, or some other weapon. He brings it up rapidly, his intent clear and telegraphed.

You can run, or fight, or let it be. But this man is here to kill you, and he's not leaving until either you're dead or his advantage is lost.

[ooc: Alex is intent on killing any mutants he comes across. He shouldn't die since he's scheduled to kill someone at the end of the event, but feel free to kick his ass if you like! Or he can kill you, either way.]

open to humans; i'm but a boy just like the rest of these thieves

A grimy office set up in some basement isn't the ideal living situation for anyone, but that's inconsequential. There's stacks of files, photographs pinned to his walls, papers with lines upon lines of names. Some of them are crossed out. Most aren't.

The Resistance isn't overly inclined to work with him. Alex clicks his tongue between his teeth, annoyed. That's a laugh. No, actually, it's not. It's bullshit is what it is.

He slips outside, stumping across streets and navigating back alleyways. He's had to lay low lately. Turns out committing acts of terrorism against mutants lands you on some higher-ups' watch lists, who knew? But he's got to stay on his feet somehow, and any humans sympathetic to the Resistance and any like-minded individuals are his best bet. He's not calling for charity here; he's got money, if only a little, and he can pay them back in favors - nothing's too unsavory for him. Whatever someone might require from him as payment, he's probably done worse for far less.

You might've heard of the elusive Alex Kralie, an anti-mutant extremist who can boast such achievements as attempted assassinations and bombings of mutants and mutant establishments. Maybe he comes to you in need of food or weaponry, offering his services in exchange. He's got no moral quandaries; he'll do whatever it is you need him to do, no matter how morally corrupt or inelegant. But if you turn him aside, think his methods too brutal - well, he won't blame you. He's on your side, after all. He's a human, just like you. Maybe you don't see it yet, but he's doing this for your own good. For the good of everyone.

Just help him out this once, and he'll never come to you for a favor again.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Voices. Alex adjusts his grip on the gun, draws back a few steps. An exchange, a conversation spiraling his way. Of course. Of course the favored celebrity wouldn't be without a bodyguard of some sort. He'll have to move quickly.

The fingers of his free hand flex, an unconscious, anxious tic.

"Me first, remember? Then you follow." The voice is too low and gruff to belong to the star himself. There's no way of stepping around it, so Alex doesn't afford the other man much of a window. He loops one arm around his neck as soon as he steps forward, dragging him backward in a motion that seems oddly familiar, rams the gun into the small of his back, and discharges two rounds.

He lets him slide to the ground, and aims the pistol unwaveringly at Mettaton's face, his expression hard.

It all happens quickly. One moment he and Eric are standing together in the warm night, the low lights of distant buildings lighting their way. The next his bodyguard is falling, the muffled sound of gunshots buried into the man's back. He doesn't have time to gasp before he sees another man standing before him, the barrel of a still-smoking gun pointed directly at his forehead.

There have been recent attacks on mutants in this area, he remembers Eric saying. That's why I will be escorting you from now on. Got that? You can't weasel out of this one, Mettaton. What would the world do without its biggest star?

What would it do, indeed. He's not letting him die in vain if he can help it.

"Stop!" he commands, his voice echoing out a deep baritone that crackles with the air of suggestion. It's fine. This is fine. He can talk his way out of this. The other man hasn't shot yet, so there's still a chance. The blood is pooling and the other man's gun hand is steady but he hasn't pulled the trigger, and it's fine, this is going to be fine-

"You will put the gun down, take the bullets out, and step away from me."

He waits for the other man to do as he says. He doesn't.

...well. Shit.

Edited 2016-08-06 03:35 (UTC)

Alphys sighed, stepping out of the crowd and beginning to walk around the back. Mettaton's shows were always high-energy, packed, and very loud- all things she usually tries to avoid. The small lizard girl wasn't really one for this sort of scene, but Mettaton was her friend, and had begged her to come to one of his shows no less than a hundred times, so she finally caved when he was performing nearby. She tried to calm herself down as she walked around the venue, planning to at least say hi before she squirreled herself away in her lab for the next week or so to decompress from all of this. She ran her hands together, yelping a little bit as some static electricity shocked her slightly, before gently patting her own hand against the hip of her dress.

Don't get freaked out, she reminds herself, trying to roll her shoulders back. She knew her powers would overreact if she was stressed, and it wasn't a good time for anyone to touch her hand and get a shock. She's a little lost in this thought, about to round the corner, when she hears a gunshot discharge, and she stops, throwing her back against the wall and breathing heavy.

Poking her head around the corner, she can see Mettaton, his guard on the floor, a man pointing a gun at him, and oh no, oh god, she has to do something, has to stop him, has to--

She doesn't stop to think, consider an actual plan, before she's running at him, and jumping straight onto his body, head aiming for her shoulder and all her weight slung into knocking him down, as a bit of static electricity crackles on impact.

Alex tenses when the mutant speaks, as if he can order him around. He'd tried packing earplugs, or headphones, or something to block out sound, but when your powers are based solely on your voice, he knows all too well that there are ways of amplifying that. The plan had been to get in quick, put him down before he could say anything, and get out again. Clear and simple.

He compresses the trigger a split second after he gets the faintest impression of a small and yellow blur hurtling into him from the side. A startled yell tears from his throat, and the bullet streaks at its target at an angle askew. He tries to twist around to pin his attacker, but the force of the momentum carries him bodily into the ground. He crashes there with an angry thud, but the second he hits the floor he's scrambling to get the small weight off him, finish what he started, if only he could untangle his legs from his attacker's and those of the lifeless corpse he just shot -

There is a loud crunch of metal in his side as Mettaton's mind scrambles to understand what just happened. Certain death was staring him down, but now certain death is rolling on the ground, wrestling with something yellow and particularly scaly.

He steps back a moment, the gun shot still ringing loudly in his head. Unconsciously he puts a hand to his side, recoiling when he feels something wet, sticky, and warm. Bringing his hand to his eyes, he sees something red. Blood? He's bleeding? ...of course he's bleeding, he got shot, why would this be... strange...

It's as if an alarm goes off in his head as his attention snaps back to the two struggling figures in front of him, his would-be killer and Alphys.

Wait. Alphys!?

"Alphys?? What are you doing here- wait, that man is- he killed-!!"

Without further ado, he gives the murderer a sound kick to the back.

Alphys isn't particularly a good fighter, or even a good grappler, but for once stubby limbs and an unruly tail are working to her advantage as she tries to become as much dead weight as possible on the gunman, smacking at his face and hands with her palms, emitting little bits of static discharge as she does. She doesn't want to hurt him, like okay, he did just shoot her friend, but she's more worried she'll accidentally kill him, and it scares her deeply. So instead, she'll just continue slapping him and sending little jolts into his skin until he (hopefully) drops the weapon.

Her head whips around when Mettaton yells, though, and she addresses him directly. "I came to see y-you, and-- call help! Call s-someone! And get o-out of here!"

She knows he won't listen, but it's worth something as she struggles with the man, trying to smack either him hard enough that he'll let go of the gun, or at the very least somehow agree to stop shooting people. Either works. She's not picky.

The mutant is screaming, there's someone is sprawled haphazardly on top of him, and then someone delivers a hard kick from behind that causes Kralie to arch his back with a low grunt of pain. Something keeps sparking in the corners of his vision, every tiny, pitifully weak impact sending jitters of electricity rocketing through his nerves. Christ, it's like he's wrestling with an electric fence, only an electric fence wouldn't be half as goddamn wiggly. And then the jolt of the latest impact of a hand against flesh causes his hand to jerk and the remaining shots in his clip fire off in quick succession, bang-bang-bang, streaking harmlessly in the opposite direction they were supposed to go.

He winds back with his hand holding the gun and tries to crack it over the head of whoever keeps fucking hitting him, but there's stuff in the way, there's - there's spikes. Spikes?

Oh god. Good. Another mutant on top of the one he already set out to kill. All right. Fine. He might as well kill two birds with one bullet. Or however the adage goes. It doesn't really matter.

Edited 2016-08-06 05:22 (UTC)

Mettaton has his wits about him again, and when he hears the human empty the rest of his pistol into the air, he gives the man another kick. Then he starts trying to pistol whip his best friend and oh no, he is not having ANY of that. Everything that Alphys said has gone in one ear and out the other.

"You will not hurt her, you little bastard!" he roars, a mixture of rage and hypnotic suggestion peppering his speech. He reaches down and wrenches the gun from the man's hands, casting it aside with a mighty throw. Then he sees Alphys just slapping their attacker, that's it, and almost wants to scream in frustration.

"Alphys!! You have your abilities! Why aren't you frying this human into next week???"

She lets out a little shriek when the gun hits her head spines, not especially painful (since they're mostly scales and not much nerve endings), but still enough to surprise her. She's not really wrenched out of it until Mettaton speaks, and then... oh. Right. She could've actually disabled this guy? She looks towards him, a little sheepish.

"L-Look, I don't want to, uh, h-hurt him, you know? And he was, uh, p-pointing a gun at you! I panicked!"

She's trying, alright. Still, she shifts a little on top of him, smacking his legs with her tail to try to keep him from getting up and sending more jolts into his arms. Hopefully, he'll just... stop? That would be nice. If he Just Stopped.

Abruptly and without much prompting, things get really confusing. There's a voice screaming that he won't hurt her, but he's clearly already hurt her and he remembers he was supposed to hurt someone because mutants are objectively terrible, and then the gun's out of his hands, skittering across the ground with the clatter of metal on concrete.

That's enough to jar him back to reality, which is, apparently: there's a lizard sitting on top of him, and a mutant screaming that he shouldn't hurt her, and a body lying motionless not two feet from the whole scene, blood steadily pooling around him.

This isn't how this was supposed to go. At all.

He snarls into the ground, jerking as he tries to dislodge her, hand groping for another weapon. The knife comes out, but at the angle he's pressed into, he can do little more besides ineffectually strain to connect blade to scales.

This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous!!! What he should be doing is grabbing his old bodyguard's radio off his body and contacting the rest of his security so that they can take care of this mess. Instead, he grabs at the gunman's (now knifeman's, he guesses) hands and attempts to pin them down.

"Of course you have a knife, you little-! Ugh! Stop that, stop that!"

Despite the emphasis on his words, Mettaton isn't using his powers, which is ironic, seeing as he just yelled at Alphys for not using hers. He turns his head towards Alphys and glowers.

"You don't want to hurt him? He just tried to kill me, and you're afraid of giving him some static shock??"

She shrieks a little, flattening herself on his torso and trying to pin his arms down on either side, her tail smacking at his legs.

"No, I'm a-afraid of killing him! I wasn't r-really, uhm, planning on murdering anyone tonight! And w-why aren't you calling anyone???" She looks back towards their assailant, trying to place his face. She doesn't think she's ever seen him before. "W-Who are you, anyway? What do you want with h-him?"

Now it's two against one, with the one progressing towards being disarmed at a shocking pace. Shocking. He hates himself a little bit more for the pun as he lies there, bucking frantically like a horse desperate to unseat its rider with little success. His hands are pinned and that's double the weight on top of him.

"I want," he spits into the asphalt, not caring that his cheek burns from being pressed against it, or that the scabs on his arms have been torn open and are bleeding freely, "you monsters to die."

"Monsters? You just killed a man in cold blood and we're the monsters?"

There is something about that word that stirs something. Like an echo in his head. Monsters. Are we...? No. No, we're mutants, and this man is a human who wants all mutants dead-

Wait. Mettaton peers at the murderer's face, taking in his features and thinking. He doesn't know this person from any experience of his own, but he matches descriptions he's gotten from other people.

"Wait a minute. You're... You're that Human Resistance fuck up, aren't you? Who was kicked out because your methods were, hm, inhumane?"

Yes! The more he looks at him, the more positive he is that this man is that... person? Was he ever told a name? He doesn't know nor does he honestly care. This fuck up is an asshole.

She has absolutely no idea how to react to this. I mean, sure, she's spent her whole life afraid of something like this- she's never passed for human, not by a wide mile, but she also never thought of herself as a target. Someone more important-- well, he wasn't there for her, anyway-- but hearing it said... it hits her hard, in the pit of her stomach.

Thankfully, Mettaton speaks, and she has a moment to look at him. Oh... yeah, Mettaton's mentioned him before. Something, oh, she heard the name...

"Well, t-that might explain why he's, uhm... c-chasing you down in an alley." She looks nervous, but finally, comes across the thing she was thinking of. "Wasn't... uh, y-your name, uhm, Alex?"

Oh, this is perfect. So now this fancy shmancy performer knows him. He'd be flattered, really, that someone that high up would deign to look down on a measly little human like him. He'd be flattered. Except he isn't. Mostly he's just pissed.

"Heard of me?" he rasps into the ground, with more venom than a man in his position can or should really claim, but he doesn't care. Deprived of all other weaponry and pinned down like this, it seems he'll have to resort to good old-fashioned verbal intimidation.

"Then you should know that you shouldn't fuck with me." Admittedly not as threatening as he'd like, him being in this position and all, but he works with what he's been given.

If looks could kill, well, Kralie would look a lot like Mettaton's dead bodyguard on the ground a couple of feet back. He maneuvers his hands so that one hand is attempting to hold down both of Alex's hands, freeing the other one to grab the human's face so he can twist it towards his own.

"What you would know if you weren't a gibbering maniac with an itchy trigger finger, is that I'm on your side."

He flicks his hand, releasing the human's face so that his chin hits the ground.

"Does the name Glamour mean anything to you? Or are you so out of touch with your people that you don't even know that?"

Alphys looks towards Mettaton, mouth partway open. Is this really the time for the two of them to be having this pissing contest? Is this really what this is going to come to when there's a corpse nearby and someone should be calling the police?

"I-Is this really, what we're doing right now?" Alphys looks between the both of them. "I r-really don't think, uh, h-he cares, Mettaton! And, uhm, I r-really don't think Mettaton cares h-how scary you are, either. You, uhm, m-made that pretty clear, when you, uh, s-shot him." She looks back towards the body, and then up at Mettaton again. "Who, uh, would p-probably like it, if uhm, he w-were still alive, if you c-called someone!!"

Glamour? Glamour? He expects Kralie to believe that this gilt-and-glitter, jingoistic, propaganda-spouting celebrity has any feasible connection to the enigmatic Glamour? He tries to glower at the pair of them, but that would require him to contort his neck into a position that would be physically and geometrically impossible, so he settles for glaring at Mettaton alone, lip curling in a sneer.

"You expect me to believe that?" he rasps, ignoring the scraping of his chin against the concrete. "You? You?"

He looks at Alphys as she talks and sees her inclination towards his dead bodyguard. Oh. Right. He should probably be doing something about that.

"Well, I'm not surprised that someone who doesn't have a ghost of an idea of what they are doing doesn't believe me."

That's the only hint he gives to his legitimate ties to the resistance. This whelp isn't worth more than that.

"Alphys, hold him down. I'm going to go get Eric's radio and call someone out here to dispose of this trash."

Alphys looks down at Alex, almost scowling, at his response. Why should it matter if he was or wasn't? So mutants had to be useful to be allowed to live? Typical. She'd say something to sound smart and informed, but her nervousness gets the best of her and she just continues to use her weight to keep him pinned, albeit relaxing a little when Mettaton says he's actually going to do something instead of just shooting snappy cryptic messages.

"What d-does it look like I've been d-doing, since, uhm, this w-whole conversation?" She responds, exasperated. She just wants to go home.

Ghost. Oh, you fucker. Yeah, go ahead. Call him "trash". Trample all over him, like he does with all humans. It's expected. It's what he's all about, isn't it, preaching mutant superiority like everyone else does. He's one of them. He doesn't get to call himself a sympathizer.

"You gonna kill me?" he hisses, his tone one of a man struggling to land a taunt and coming up more along the lines of fearful guesswork, a glint of desperation lighting in his gaze.

He's already up and walking as Alphys responds and Kralie hisses. He doesn't answer immediately as he reaches down, his gaze oddly cold as he rifles through Eric's body to find his radio. One of his people is dead because of some idiot with a chip on his shoulder, and that idiot needs to pay.

"I'm certainly thinking about it." is all he says when he finally responds, toying with the radio in his hands. "Thank you, Alphys, you've been a doll."

He could call for backup and have him arrested. Or he could execute Alex extra-judicially here on the pavement and have him do it by his own hand.

"M-Mettaton, we're not gonna k-kill him!" She seems plenty distressed about this, head turning between Alex and Mettaton quickly. She bites her lip, nervous- she's already come too close to dying tonight to watch Mettaton off someone with his own hands. Alphys looks down at Alex, almost sympathetic, but looks away again.

"He just, uhm, n-needs to go to the police, and have this dealt with by... n-not us. It's not, uhm, o-our job, or right." She doesn't want to kill anybody. She doesn't want to watch Mettaton kill anybody.

This is not how she wanted this night to go.

Oh no. Oh no. He is not getting sent to the goddamn police - mutant law enforcement will string him up by his entrails for this. At least it's readily apparent that the lizard, at least, seems philosophically opposed to killing anyone, even if the situation requires or demands it.

The target has moved away. There is no better chance for him than this.

Kralie bucks, arching his back, knees scraping agonizingly over the pavement as he works them underneath his body with the aching press of muscle and bone, employing every ounce of momentum and additional leverage in a protracted effort to throw the lizard off him entirely.

i'm hardly capable of half the damage that i would like to do [open]

no subject

no subject

enter the Lazard

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)