2012-03-04: Capes And Cloaks


Connor_icon.jpg Donna_icon.jpg Fiona_icon.jpg

Summary: Much to her annoyance, the Stormwaltzer is tracked down for assistance.

Date: March 4th, 2012

Log Title: Capes and Cloaks

Rating: PG-13

NYC — Hell's Kitchen

The rough neighborhood in Midtown West New York known as Hell's Kitchen almost has a darker tone to it. Once you step into this neighborhood the city takes on a different feel, the buildings are shorter but everything feels darker. There is real grit to this part of town where many of the New York City criminals see to make their home.

Night has fallen in Hell's Kitchen, and among the press of the poor, the indolent, and the hard-luck cases, a small, pale, black-haired woman leads a younger girl down the streets, toward a delicatessen some blocks away. "So. You're beginning to learn, Fiona," she says, voice pitched low as the crowd seems to part around them just enough that their passage remains untroubled. "More importantly, you learn *why* it's important that we don't advertise. Clearly, if your friend was *truly* important to him, the how would have mattered little. Remember that, and never forget."

Fiona simply nods. That incident was certainly not the greatest. Perhaps she could've handled it better, perhaps not but… She wonders at the crowd parting around Donna. They seem to give the two space - but without her powers the girl is stil somewhat uncomfortable in this neighborhood. Her situational awareness is growing, though - it won't be long until she feels at home here, as kids do adapt pretty quickly.

There are sounds one becomes used to in Hell's Kitchen. Old cars, the milling of the poor and the destitute, the sound of children in the streets sometimes playing, something other things. Then the violence. But within the symphony, there is a dissonance, in the form of a high-performance motorcycle engine. A form in black rounds the corner to the self-same delicatessen, coming to a park so that the individual can remove his helmet. The predators spy this new piece of meat, and a few even step from the shadows to take greater notice… but something in the carriage of the young man speaks otherwise to them… save for the bravest of the few who begin walking closer…

"A lesson I hope you *also* learn," the pale woman says, her tone slightly more frosty, "is the value of *holding your tongue.* We are in a delicate position, you and I, and it gains us nothing to speak of the price we have paid for our actions to everyone that happens to shadow our path. That is but one manner in which *enemies* are made, child, and you would not survive the sort of interest those enemies may have in you." As they round a corner, a blue eye catches sight of the motorcycle, its rider, and the quartet of street toughs he seems to attracted. "Hel-lo," she murmurs, holding up a hand to signal Fiona to stop. "I believe we have the makings of an object lesson. Fiona. Watch. Learn."

Fiona simply nods again, peering at Connor. To the unlearned eye it looks like he's going to get his butt kicked but; well, she has a somewhat different feeling about it. After that comment about keeping her mouth shut though, she's nto about to say anything to Donna about it - besides, it may have been what she meant. Who's to know?

Four on one is not exactly a fair fight, but as the young man in question takes a device and attaches it to the front axle, locking the vehicle from being moved easily, he glances up and around at the quad that approach. Once the vehicle is properly secured, he turns to look at the first two. The next is predictable. The bike is asked about, complimented, and then the first of them pulls out a pipe and points it at the young man, and denotes the wiseness of handing over his property to them. The eyepieces covering the young man's own are not removed, but his voice comes, sounding young only in age, but with a resignation to action that can be felt by the more experienced, "I am going to say this once. Get that out of my face. Please."

"Hardly a fair fight," Donna muses, humor creeping back into her voice. "Four against one?" The woman sighs, shaking her head in patently false disapproval. "He'll have their guts for afters. This is what comes of display, Fiona; somewhere, somehow, someone will want what you have, ant attempt to extract it from your flesh."

"Well they can certainly try," murmurs the girl in response, though it's clear that she understands the lesson. Of course - in her current state? Fiona IS pretty much helpless. It's not as if she's a master of hand to hand combat, nor possessing of any great superpowers. But that's such a downer to think about…

The sorceress' estimations seems right on the mark as the one with the pipe swings, and it never connects. The young man is a blur of motion and the aforementioned steel lands with an echoing clang on the ground, followed shortly by it's former wielder. Two and three come at once, but he makes it almost look lazy as one attack is twisted away, and then one foe is used to strike the other, and finally both are taken out. Number four is a bit more pragmatic, and draws a cheap snub revolver, pointing it at the black-clad one. It's almost as if the newcomer can predict what's going to unfold, and as the trigger is pulled, he's rolled to use the bike as cover, and the pipe is in his hands, thrown hard to strike in the center of the gunman's chest. Up he stands, a few steps over, and a fast and crushing disarm is done. The gun is taken, the remaining bullets all tinkling to the ground as the weapon is then tossed in a skittering bounce so that it drops into the city's waterways.

Connor says softly to the man who's hand he'd just broken, "I said please." Turning, he begins towards the deli, pausing only to offer a vicious soccer-kick to the one who threatened him, knocking him back unconscious. The door to the eatery is opened and he goes inside.

"Whether or not they succeed is beside the point, child," Donna murmurs, eyebrow rising faintly as the violence begins. "At the very least, they've interrupted him. Sometimes, such interruptions" She falls silent as the gunshot rings out, but picks the thread up before the pipe is launched. "are simply annoying. Sometimes, costly. Had he simply taken the subway, there would have been no fight at all. And now, he risks his lovely bike being mauled while he eats. Subtlety, child; know when to display, and when to disappear. And now that it seems that out street-theatre is done? Dinner." And with that, she sets off down the sidewalk again, smoothly sidestepping the sprawled, groaning bodies as though they didn't exist.

Fiona pokes the remaining thugs with a boot toe as the walk buy, much as one would react to a dead animal laying on the ground. Yuck! KO'd thugs. She follows after Donna quickly though, not really wanting them to wake up while she's still around - though she figures the first thing they'll do will be to get the heck out of there. That's what she'd do, anyway! Once they enter the deli, she does spare a glance for Connor, sizing him up. So far as the purple eyed would-be sorceress knows, he could very well be a threat. Anybody of that calibur should be watched closely. And not just because Donna just told her to be cautious, either. Of course, there are probably quite a few other eyes on him, too, after the stunt he just pulled.

Inside, Connor is talking with the lady behind the counter, "…-nd I think you know who I'm asking about." Leaning on the countertop, he's already got an order ticket in hand, and holds it in front of him as if for anyone outside that's all he's doing, is placing his order graciously with the older woman, "This is Hell's Kitchen, Daredevil's turf… which means he doesn't like it when others come along, and don't make their intentions clear. I'm not saying I'm looking for trouble, but I need to talk to this woman… this… Stormwaltzer. Can you help me?" The lady behind the counter of course refuses, and is an old enough hand to not glance at the pair as they enter, but she busies herself to make a roast beef and horseradish sandwich, with gouda.

In a blink, Donna's entire bearing flickers from cooly amused, to incandescent rage… and not a single iota of it shows on her face. Instead, as she slips to one side and into a less-than-brightly-lit corner, the shadows seem to wrap around her, fuzzing out her features and blurring her outlines. Then, with a slow, even breath, personal order is restored. "Another lesson, child," she murmurs, as she moves back to her apprentice's side, "never, *ever,* shit where you eat. It seems I was rather careless, the night I found you. No matter." A few short steps take her to the counter, a solicitous clearing of the throat heard. "Reuben, dark rye, extra sauerkraut, spicy chips. … …*Fries.* Scowling faintly at her linguistic slip, she steps aside for Fiona to order.

"Um, smoked turkey please, with the bacon, melted provolone and…" Fiona glances at Donna idly for a moment. Chips? Eyebrows furrow, "Anyway. With the barbeque chips and an orange soda," she glances towards the menu, trying not to act nervous. In fact, she wouldn't have been, but now Donna seems to be and that makes HER nervous!

Almost predictably, it is in fact Fiona's almost rabbit-like behavior that draws the young man's attention from his sandwich. He finishes exactly half his meal, cleans off the table that he is at there, even lifting his bottle of water to wipe the moisture ring away, and uses the same to stop more from getting on it. The items there are rearranged slightly, then again, then a third time before he seems to be satisfied, and stands to move over towards where the two are. Through the frosted windows of the eatery, the shadows of the gang members can be seen to rise and depart in a run, their pride broken with their resolve, but not before they kick over the aforementioned transport, the sound of breaking glass outside heralding a busted rear-view mirror. That makes Connor's eye twitch a moment, but then he stops at a respectful distance, "Pardon me, but do either of you have a moment to indulge me?"

Donna turns, head tilting up to look Connor eyes-to-eye. Clasping her hands behind her back, she shifts her footing just enough to be noticeable, her bearing quietly speaking of dozens of different postures of attack and defense that may stem from the way she stands, right now. "…You have until our sandwiches are done," she says, voice low and genial. "After that… we'll see."

"Your bike's getting trashed," Fiona blinks, peering out the window at the motorcycle. Just as Donna had said! Go figure. The girl continues watching the thugs go to work on the bike for a moment, before she starts in on her sandwich, munching away at it hungrily. 'Stormwalzter' sure knows how to pick a restaurant, though.

Connor inclines his head in assent to this, and then says in a soft, calm, almost polite tone, "The bike is on loan… and insured. But thank you for your concern." His eyes flick to Fiona as he speaks, and then roll back to Donna, the light where he's standing just barely catching this behind the eyepieces he has on, "I am looking for a person by that goes by the moniker of Stormwaltzer. I need this person's help in locating multiple people that have gone missing. If either of you know of this person, I would be willing to pay for the information. The right information." Again his eyes go to
Fiona, the protectee in this situation and he adds, "I know people go missing in a place like this all the time, I know that there are a dozen things you could say to belittle what I am asking… so all I will say is the reason I look for Stormwaltzer is because the rumor is this person is a magic-user. And what I need requires magic."

True to her word, the moment their order is up she turns to collect, paying with a pair of crumpled bills drawn from a jeans pocket. Turning back around, she gives Connor a long, appraising look. "…Seems to be catching, this, people going missing. Perhaps I should be spraying for kidnappers, hm?" With a short sigh, she glances at Fiona, and nods to Connor's table. "I suppose we should speak more on this, then. Step into my office?"

… Maybe Fiona was just so hungry she THOUGHT she was eating her sandwich! At any rate, she grabs her tray, wandering over to Connor's table, which he'd so meticulously cleaned up, and sliding into a chair. She watches him carefully still. "I suppose. But… I don't think anybody would," she smirks a little, idly playing with the chain around her neck a little as she waits for the other two to sit down. She does have at least a few manners…

Waiting for Fiona to settle herself, he then nods once more to Donna, saying with almost a touch of humor, "I think they make an app for that." And then he returns to his seat, pulling out the opposite chair as he passes, and then sits down, then stands up and readjusts his seat a couple more times before finally he decides it's perfect. Then he picks up the remainder of his sandwich and takes a very fastidious bite, "Here…" And then he brings out two crisp, and exactly folded bills, "At least let me pay for your meal, as a way of being a good guest."

Donna bobs her head, settling down and arranging herself and her meal at the table to buy her some time. "I *have* to ask," she says after a moment, holding up a hand at the sight of the folded bills. "Did the large, dark, stubborn one tell you? I'm not one to silence people just for talking, mind, but I *would* very much like to know how the name has managed to spread this far."

Fiona continues nibbling on her sandwich. She doesn't exactly have a lot to add to the conversation - but at the same time she'd much rather be here than elsewhere…

A pocket is dug into, and what comes out is a paper-printed photo that looks like it was taken from a cell-phone. It LOOKS like it might be Donna, in the middle of throwing one of her signature spells at a pair of thugs with guns. He slides it across the way towards the older woman, "I don't know who you're talking about. I have a long list of interesting contacts… one of which keeps tabs on all strange activities in New York, and knows who patrols what parts with or without the blessings of the community at large. Excuse me." And leaving the two alone for a moment, he goes over and requests a can of Dr. Pepper, leaving the two bills on the table, in easy reach.

"Heroes," Donna mutters sourly, picking up her sandwich and pulling out a stringer of sauerkraut. "I suppose this Daredevil person is going to come and complain one night, mh? Start another one of those superfights you lot are so fond of?" Her visible eye flicks left, right, and the photo, not the bills, is snatched up and disappears. "Fine. You needed to find someone. Sharpish, now, I'm hungry."

Fiona lets out a silent sigh of relief that this is not her fault. Somehow though - somehow she thinks that it must still be. If not directly. It's much too large of a coincidence not to be… "He wouldn't, would he?" she wonders.

"Daredevil isn't like that, insofar as I've been told. He's actually one of the more laid-back of the community." Not using the 'tights and capes' moniker so many are familiar with, and then Connor seats himself, cracks the can, and takes a drink, "At most he'd just try and assess your intentions. Some people fight crime to right wrongs, some to redress personal issues… and others simply because it's an excuse for violence." The last muttered slightly darkly, and then the request is nodded to, "About nine days ago, a friend of mine was kidnapped from a local park in mutant town by why her boyfriend told me was ghosts. They touched him, and he felt drained and cold, and they did not truly speak, but they were heard." Eyes flick between the two before he continues on, "She's not the only one. Another girl was taken by wolves in upstate New York. Much larger than normal, and apparently intelligent. But not werewolves." To make the point, he takes his phone out to show the photo from the security
To make the point, he takes his phone out to show the photo from the security feed of the red-eyed beast, "I have an idea who did this, but I need confirmation and a direction."

As the story goes on, Donna's annoyance fades, further and further, eye narrowing in unhappy thought. "Ghosts," she murmurs, "*and* wolves." The photo is peered at, and only serves to make her unhappiness the greater. "And auld-country warriors, if that other lad is telling true…" Pausing to take a bite of her sandwich, she ruminates on the possibilities. "…I can think of some few reasons, none of them, naturally, good at all. Especially for the girls. Did they all happen to be virgins, by the by?"

Fiona frowns slightly at the picture, "Really?" she asks, tapping her finger on it. "I've never seen anything like that before…" And here she thought she was pretty well versed in these sorts of things. "Aren't wolves linked with vampires though? You know, like in the book…"

Connor puts the phone away before long, and then leans into the remainder of his sandwich, taking in the last few bites, and proceeds to clean up his crumbs in that same methodically fastidious fashion, "I… couldn't say for sure, but I think at least the two I know of were… my friend, I don't think she's ever been that far with a guy." Turning his head and flushing slightly, "Not that I'd know her private business… I…" And there's this oddly pregnant pause as Fiona's words sink in, and he replies to that, "In Brahm Stoker's classic tale, which was loosely based on local legends in what was called Wallachia… yes you're right. They were affiliated with wolves. Nothing like the version people write about today."

Silence, from Donna's end of the table. Silence, and a startlingly empty plate. Wiping at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, she sits back, crossing her arms over her chest. "…Well then. I'll see what I may about finding these girls… I don't suppose it's too much to ask if *you* have anything of your friend's?"

Fiona blinks back and forth between Donna and Connor. So it was vampires, then? That seems to be the unspoken possibility here. Just a minute ago, she woudl have asserted that vampires certainly don't exist…

A verbose background in literature means one has read on the subject of magic, and magic requirements… since sometimes the best place for a lie is to be the absolute truth. So when asked, Connor fishes into a pocket inside the motorcycle jacket he's wearing, revealing the armored costume on underneath to a degree, and the hilt of what looks like a knife, to bring out a small bag with some red hairs in it, "These are from her brush. Her name is Rashmi Franklin." Then another item comes out, a well-tended picture of three people, one being himself, a hindi girl with cropped red hair, and a scrawnier looking young man with wild hair standing in front of an Off-Broadway theatre, "Here's a picture." But he does not slide them across, and says, "But what guarantee do I have that what you're doing is the real thing… and that you're not just going to pocket this and tell me whatever. I need proof that you're not only what you're supposed to be, but that you'll deal fairly with me."

"Adorable," Donna says of the photo, her voice flat and neutral. While the question of proof probably ought to offend her, she takes it in stride. "….Very well, then. But not here, naturally." Gathering up the remains of her meal, she stands. "Let's take a walk, shall we? Go ahead and take your things, I'll not need them until you're satisfied. Fiona?" A nod is given to the door, the look in her eye clear as day; whether or not you're still eating, you're done now.

Fiona blinks. But, but she wasn't DONE yet! The teen sighs, setting down her sandwich and getting up. She stretches, fiddling with the keys around her neck slightly. THIS should be interesting. How does one prove, exactly, that they're a person of their word… without a reference, that is? Of course, she could help with that but… not necessarily if Connor has no idea who she is. She heads for the door, pausing once she's outside to peer down at Connor's now-probably-ruined bike.

The bike was only kicked over, and a couple whacks with a pipe taken to it, but it seems hardly worse for the wear… as if it was built to take this kind of abuse. Connor finishes off his drink, and makes sure everything gets to the recycling and trash, and a wrap for what's left of Fiona's sandwich so it can be brought along. Waste not, want not. This means that he's the last one out behind the two, and takes a small remote from YET ANOTHER pocket inside, and deactivates the security system on it before he props it back up, "Also… I may need to know how to beat all of these things… including… well… vampires. And I'd be willing to pay for credible information. All of it. I'm not just asking you to do this from the goodness of your heart. And I wouldn't expect you to. You've got no stake in this, and by the sound of it, no love for the hero-types either."

"As to payment," Donna says as they emerge onto the street, "we'll discuss that when *and only when* I've learned what you need to learn. It tends to make transactions simple; you don't pay, I don't speak, and I still go home happy. So. It's proof you want, is it? Very well. There's an alley two blocks down, next to the convenience store. Go there, and wait. We'll either show up with your proof? Or, someone will try to stomp you again for your bike."
Fiona blinks again. So frustrating! These sorts of things would be easier for her if she had any idea what her teacher was actually going to do. Is her newbie showing? So far this time, though, she has done a good job of keeping her mouth shut. Maybe Donna won't yell at her later.

Connor takes a moment to pass over the wrapped half-sandwich to Fiona before he gets on the bite, dons his helmet, and checks something on a small screen on the bike, and then just nods, starts it up… and drives off slowly to the location in question, leaving the two to their business for a moment.

Donna watches Connor drive off, arms folded across her chest. "…Well," she says, apparently rather pleased with the outcome, "*that* was a lovely change. If only they couldn't all be like that… Ah, well. Come, Fiona. I suppose it's time to satisfy your curiosity, for a change." And with that, the petite sorceress walks off down the street, the crowd subtly parting before her, apparently unaware it does so.

Fiona is going to have to learn /that/ trick at some point. It sure does beat being jostled whenever she tries to walk down a busy street. That's fure sure. "Oh?" she murmurs, blinking at her sandwich. When did - wha - oh well. She begins nibbling on it again. This guy sure is nicer than the last one!

The bike parts in the appointed alley, and the kickstand goes down once more as Connor takes a few moments to check the broken rearview, and frowns at it. Then out comes a multi-tool, and he undoes it off the side of the bike, and puts it under the seat in the small storage compartment. From there, he takes… of all things… a form… that he fills out, dates, and puts back with it, grumbling to himself, "There goes my maintenance bonus again." And then he checks a seperate pocket… his spare money. Patting all the other stuff, and then checking his staff and knives… he busily waits in the manner of one who sometimes overthinks himself.

"Well, I've not cast anything like a proper spell in your presence since you came into my home, haven't I? But it's not one you're like to try on your own, so I'm not terribly worried. Now then… you're improving, child; what you did say was intuitive, possibly helpful, and did little to showcase your ignorance. A lesson well learned, this time." And with that nugget of encouragement, Donna leads the way to the alley in question. "…So!" she says, her tone dangerously bright, as she steps into the alleyway's mouth. "Like to see a little magic, would we?"

Fiona blinks, "Well, no, but - okay," she smiles a little. She had thought that the display that Donna put on when they 'fought' each other was quite more than impressive enough to estabalish her as credible. That is, in Fiona's eyes… she certainly wouldn't want to be up against it.

Connor replies with a nod, and then assumes a military at ease position next to his motorbike, eyes forward under the covers. There's a bit of a sense of tension around him at the moment, and for a brief moment, there's a disturbance in the air close by him, like something between eyeblinks, a ripple so faint it would take a keenest eye to note.
The disturbance, to Donna's eye, does not in slightest go unnoticed… but it does remain unremarked upon. "Ask," she says, voice all but dripping sweetness, "and ye shall receive, is that not the way?" Without waiting for an answer, her eye flickers briefly, and to Fiona's senses she snaps into her center with the ease and perfection of a bird taking flight, small arcs of electricity crawling between her fingers. Geister der Luft und Licht, bremsen und kette mein Feind sein wird als meine… The calling, as it seems to be, is answered in time to the unique cadences of Donna's spell, every second word causing a rune to flare to life around Connor, crackling white-and-blue. Before him, behind, left, right, halving and quartering and halving the circle again, creating a circle of runic symbols, no more than five feet in diameter. Her hair whips back, uncovering the eye that has always remain hidden… an eye that looks to be nothing more or less than a solid, blood-colored orb. KETTEN VON LICHT! There's a sharp *crack* of tortured, seared air, and what springs to life around the young man is a cage composed entirely of bolts of lightning, straining and thrashing agains the sorceress' will. "Does this qualify as your proof, child?"

Fiona goes rather wide-eyed at that point, her eyes glowing purple in the dark of the alleyway - though it's probably not all that readily apparent what with all the FRIGGIN LIGHTNING everywhere. Her eyes water a little as they adjust to the sudden brightness, "Faaantastic," she murmurs. This is not /altogether/ different from what Donna had shown her before. She glances to the other woman, peering at that super creepy eye. Okay. Okay. Random creepy bloody eye. There's nothing to… be afraid of there. Right? Right? It's not any different than her marks! Still…

The young man inside the lightning cage tries not to react to things, but as it increases, his tension increases, and when the final yell comes, despite himself… those combat reflexes kick in and his hands whip out and around to reveal a telescoping metal fighting staff. Which is not the best thing to have inside an electrical nightmare. He looks around, but does not have the curiousity to touch. Instead he slowly pushes the staff back into it's core housing and then puts it back away, "I have to admit… if it wasn't for the fact that I regularly teach self defense to young mutants… this would be frightening. Instead… I'm just impressed. Thank you. Now… will you let me out?" Followed by a slightly chagrined, "Please?"

"Oh I *like* this one," Donna says with a chuckle, snapping her fingers… and with a second *crack,* the electricity discorporates. "Manners! So rare these days… Now then… you asked if I would keep my word, yes? To this, I give *you* a question; did I *have* to let you out?"

Fiona rubs the back of her neck, "I don't know…" she trials off, "You definitely could have killed him," she posits, "But wouldn't that have been a stupid thing to do? If he's from Xavier's they aren't necessarily the type to fuck around with…" the young apprentice murmurs.

Connor immediately checks all his electronics… and then frowns as he looks at the dead screen on his smartphone, and his emergency beacon… then taps at the visor-piece… and catches it as the last of the catch from his head loosens and they fall away, revealing his curiously blue-green eyes, "If you hadn't… I'd have deserved it for stepping in here willingly. I put out trust, and it was returned." He then puts all those things away, and he retrieves the picture and the hair once more, "Here are the things. How long do you think it will take? I can provide you with a contact number if you need time. And like I said… I can pay for your time."

Donna casts a glance over her shoulder at Fiona, her blue eye — once again, the only one visible — narrowing, and with a *snap* a tiny electric arc impacts the ground near the girl's feet. Returning her attention to Connor, she takes the hair and picture, pursing her lips. "This time tomorrow, I *should* know where. Once I know where, like as not I'll know who. Call it… Tuesday, for the greater part of the research. I'll name my fee then, and not before; I only charge for the worth of the answer. This time, this place… I doubt that now, it'll be difficult to find."

Fiona ee. Don't kill me! I'll be good! I promise! That's the look that Fiona seems to have on her face. Ever the worthless student! Okay, maybe not, but that's somewhat how she feels at this point. She opens our mouth as if to say something, and then closes it, thinking better of it. She shakes her head silently.

Connor finally approaches Donna, and extends one gloved hand towards the woman, "I'm Connor. Connor Blake. And I hope that this is the beginning of a good working relationship. I'll be back here on the day and time you've noted… in the meantime, if there's anything else we can offer to you, let us know. And is there anything else you might need from me?"

"Your silence," Donna answers, taking the hand and giving it a brief squeeze, exchanging pleasantry for pleasantry. "*No one* is to know where you come by this information. You'll make enemies, young man, don't doubt it. I've enough of my own to be bothering with, I've no wish to shoulder yours as well. Agreed?"

Fiona just sort of… nods at what Donna has to say. Getting hooked up with Fiona and Donna probably isn't the greatest thing to have happen to you in the world, but on the other hand… it's a bit like making a deal with the devil. Not that Fiona herself is dangerous, but it seems every magic user has some kind of strings attached…

"Done," Connor replies, "A name I don't know I can't give away." And as if that was it, he looks to Fiona… nods… and then turns and mounts the motorcycle once more. Helmet on, strapped in place, and then he's off with a feline growl of the bike's engine. A turn of the corner and he's a little more than one more angry howl in the Hell's Kitchen background.

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