Scene #1855: It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...

Owner	Pose
Taro	Rain lashes the windscreen as they leave the protection of the underground carpark, and Taro flicks on the wipers before pulling out onto the street. Traffic is mercifully light thanks to both the weather and late hour, and for once they travel along at close to the posted speed. The early spring storm swept in about an hour ago, with gusty winds and driving sheets of frigid rain. It is a night where most good folk would curl up with a hot cup of tea at home or stay for an extra pint or two at the pub while waiting for it blow over. But this is Hellsing, and its members don't get that luxury. Sir Hellsing needs to be picked up at their secondary base on the western outskirts of London. Normally this would be done by helicopter, but the weather makes that in Taro's opinion too risky. This means bringing 'round the car instead...though in this case 'car' means early Twenty-first Century British SUV, black of course, with tinted bulletproof windows. It's not as posh as the Rolls Royce in Integra's motorpool, but the rear seats are leather, has its own stereo and temperature controls, and most importantly, with the center bank of seats removed it's roomy enough for Nine.
No. 9	Nostrils flare, but at least Nine managed to stay dry, so there's no wet Golem smell to deal with. There's that, right? The sound of the wipers seem almost like a hypnotic thing to the Golem, the slish and swoosh, slow and rhythmic, seems to be lulling him into some sort of relaxed langorous stupor, his words just a bit slurred; like a state of faint drunkenness, just a bit. Another conditioning, a side effect, some legacy of his former keepers? Maybe. But he seems relaxed at least, head leaning against the inside panneling, watching the washed out lights outside bleed into one another. "It's so peaceful here..." His eyes close. "Even though there's things here trying to, y'know, wreck our shit, it's still so nice here. I don't know if I'll ever get over it..." He seems almost high, the way he's just sort of mellow and relaxed. has he been smoking and shooting up or something? He doesn't smell of anything, he hasn't been doing anything like that. He's just... relaxed, right now.
Taro	Better mellow Golem than hyper Golem, at least in Taro's opinion. He does steal a glance as his larger brother by the rearview mirror when he starts talking, but he doesn't seem to be concerned by what he sees. "Agreed. Preferable to spending each day on the front lines, hm?" He slows the SUV to a crawl, then to a halt as they reach one of the city's many police checkpoints. Rain and the muffled sounds of the city enter through the window as he rolls it down long enough to flash credentials, then quickly rolls it up again as they're waved through. A Hellsing badge opens many doors, even for a pair of monsters like them. During the day, the neighborhood is more open to traffic, but at night...the checkpoint is here for good reason. This part of the city has yet to be rebuilt. There's been some effort made at clearing away the damage, but far too many buildings in varying stages of ruin remain. Nearly all of the traffic lights still standing are dark, the streetlights nonexistent. Just like every other time that he's driven through here, Taro absolutely insists on stopping at each major intersection and looking both ways before continuing on . Never mind that there's not a moving car to be seen, and who would be walking in this storm?
No. 9	A low, wet chuckle. "Yes, well not /every/ day." He can be a violent fuck, but evidently he's enjoying the languor of the moment. It's not like when he's sleepy. Then he's leaden and grumpy and barely cognizant. This is not like that. This is different, more, positive somehow, less destructive and damaging, more just, enjoying the oddly drowsy serenity of a rainy night. As the window is rolled down, a cracking rough scratchy voice that is probably a "Heya" comes from the back seat, and a flash of broad powerful metallic hand. Friendly monsters. Nine doesn't seem to mind the frequent stops, though he sits up a bit, becoming a bit more alert as he does so, cracking a wide, heavy yawn and his body making awful noises as he stretches.
Taro	It's always nice to not have a back seat driver. "I wonder how much longer it will take to rebuild," Taro says, paying no attention to the sounds Nine's making as he's stretching. "It seems such a waste to have so much of the central district like this." His hands remain on the wheel, but gesturing to the sodden ruins outside the windows is probably unnecessary. Even with his careful driving, it won't take too long to pass through the neighborhood. The lights are on up ahead, a kilometer or so away.
No. 9	Nine can be irritating but yeah, not pushy, at least. He sort of leans forward, watching the dark and broken roadside. "Money has to flow. It's like water. If there's room for it and reason for it t' be there, it'll be there, and sometimes it's hard to stop it, but if there isn't much room to run or much water to go rushing in, you're lucky if ya get more than a trickle. S' one of the good things bein part of the Confederacy; you can get access t' th' funds t' fix a place like this; knock down the shattered wrecks of th' old, put in somethin new. You lose somethin... ya always lose somethin. But sometimes thass just th' way it's gotta go. A pity though. It looked like it was an alright sorta place, before everythin started happenin..." A glance outside, down the dark and rainy streets, face and hand pressed to th' glass. "By th' way ya might wanna air it out Taro before we pick 'er up. Not now but right beforehand? Dun need th' place t' smell like, well, me."
Taro	"One must tear down before building anew. Just so long as it's at least as nice as it was before." A pause. "Mm. Point. There should be someplace covered enough for us to pull under so we can open the windows." Just because he's grown accustomed to eau de Golem doesn't mean that they should subject the others to too much of it. Suddenly, a flash of headlights from the left side - bright headlights that only the tinted windows keeps from being completely blinding. Headlights moving way too fast and right towards them. Taro's inhuman reflexes kick in, and he floors the gas pedal. The tires spin on the slick pavement as he forces it to gain speed. "Hold o--" The sentence goes unfinished as the cement truck rams into their SUV in a crunch of side panels and cracking glass. They skid sideways, until the back end clips an already broken lightpole, sending them into a spin.
No. 9	A nod from the shadows of the back seat, the Golem settling back into the leather with a faint scrnch, his body relaxed, stretched halfway out. He's fussing with his belt, irritated that it's keeping him from draping or lounging, but reluctantly keeps it on, since the seat sensors would be blaring some stupid alarm if he takes it- "LOOKOU-" And then there is movement, hard kinetic impact and force and- A hard shoving push to the side and that hanging sort of odd helplessness and- And then another heavy whdCRNCH and spinning, the world whirling and his inner ear doing backflips and his head hurts, his spinal discs drinking in the tortion and the strain, polymer pads taking the impact effortlessly as his body goes sort of liquid; tensing does a shitton more damage, but it doesn't keep the high raw shriek that tears from him- "TARO!"
Taro	Taro's only answer is a teanse grunt as he tries to regain control, his hands clenched in a death grip on the steering wheel, myomer muscles straining as he turns it. He's doing all the things one's supposed to do in a total spin. But it's not enough, and the tires screech but find no purchase. Only when the driver's door slams into the pillar box does their SUV come to a complete and sudden stop. Taro is jerked sideways in his seat at the impact, and he growls in something between shock and pain as the door crumples against him.
No. 9	A ragged, screeching, raging sound from the back seat, all frothing snarling madness and shaking, repetitive jerks. THere's the distinctive sound of teeth on seatbelt, but even Nine's more grind-y muscles can't drive humanoid teeth through a locked-down seatbelt. There's a moment of tension, trying to just pop the thing, before he's shifting and laboriously sawing his way through it with a machete, frothing and sputtering, "Taro, hang on man, are you okay? Fuck man, just- gimme a minute...."
Taro	The SUV's engine is still running, and its 'door ajar' chime is chiming, weakly and intermittently. The windows are all cracked in a thousand places but are still in one piece. Bulletproof glass, definitely worth the price paid for them. There's a quiet snarl and a weak thump from the front seat. "Can you get out?" is Taro's reply, which of course doesn't answer the question. Outside, the cement truck's lights are still blazing through the rain, and there's the sound of doors opening and slamming again. The sounds of both engines and the weather make it hard to make out the approaching footsteps.
No. 9	"I, will, sh-ORT-LY." Fucking let GO DAMMIT he's a fucking ELITE why is a belt giving him THAT MUCH- uh, shit. His head snaps up, eyes flaring. "Oh great." Just that, so very flat, that one simple statement. His voice is a dull, dead hiss, his head low, eyes a-blazin. There's a low hiss, a rip, and the sound of the machete being slid back in it's sheathe, low and slow. He moves only slowly, sort of slumping down agains the floor and creep-slithering over, his head low and his eyes sharp and dangerous, like a stoat or a weasel, glittering and low, towards the enemy. "Doesn't matter if I can get out Taro, can YOU get out?" He looks to the man, down to his weaponry; the machete would take forever, and his gunblade would fill the SUV with orange light. A glance down to Taro, his eyes hard and his lips pursed; don't look don't look don't focus on it- "You got any tools that could help cut you out of this?" His hip isn't working, and with a snarling grunt low under his breath he lifts an arm horizontally- and SMASHES it against his hip, popping it back in with a dull wet meaty sound and a low grating hiss.
Taro	It looks like the seatbelt is not the only thing keeping his friend in place - his right arm is pinned between the door panel and the bent steering steering wheel. More than just pinned, really, but that's the nicer way of putting it. His eyes are narrowed, the corners of his lips twisted in a weak grimace. His left arm is still free, though, and he stretches it out horizontally across the emty passenger seat. A twist of the wrist, and one of his sharp throwing knives springs out from within his sleeve. "I'm afraid I left the beam saber with my other uniform," he says dryly. Outside, there's a light thump of someone kicking the back of the car. "Hope that knocked some sense into ye head," says a male voice in some flavor of British, probably from the north.
No. 9	Nine's lips are tight and bloodless, his brows drawn low and tight, looking over his friend, obviously pinned, obviously in pain. Were he human Nine would be frantic, but, well... he's not, prejudice, and he's not unaffected, but Taro is less likely to rupture and die and more likely to, say, take massive gunfire to the head and die. The boot to the back bumper has the Golem suddenly snarling, his teeth bared and his eyes just, crazy, his body spasming as he tightens and hisses. "Hey buddy. Do ya think you might be okay with sittin tight-" Ha ha Nine, asshole, though no pun was intended, obviously, from that cracked, strained expression- "While I go get sum insurance information frum th' fellas outside?" His body is quivering, his eyes just, mad.
Taro	Thankfully for them both, his humanity is literally skin deep. The damage is there, but he can to a degree ignore the pain or whatever he feels that equates to injured nerves. He can still function, and if Nine doesn't take the knife from him, Taro will use it to begin cutting his seatbelt. "Go," he snarls, his tone now more angry than pained.
No. 9	There's a nod, then the Golem is eyeing the door, eyes narrowed. He can't get it open the traditional way, and it's armored, both glass and metal, armored. The men outside might be expecting a battered head lady of the Hellsing organization. They might not expect the deep WHUD! ... WHUD! ...WHUDcrnch ...WHUDCRNCH! ...WHUD-CRAKK and then the door flying off it's hinges, sort of spinning to the side and skidding in a circle, the sheet of bulletproof glass spiderwebbed and fucked up... and, bloodied, hissing, eyes blazing, the hideous /thing/ rises from the car, eyes blazing. "I think. You. CLIPPED. My. CAR." HssssssSSSSSSSSSS!!
Taro	From the way they jeer, not all of them sound like common hoodlums. Relatively well educated hoodlums, and relatively well dressed in wide-brimmed hats and trench coats that keep off the worst of the weather. "Count Alucard sends his regards, Dame Mortimer," another one sneers in the seconds after Nine and Taro's conversation. "And this lesson. He hopes you'll --" The first WHUD cuts off those words. With the second, they begin to back away. The final WHUD sends the door flying - and one of the four is caught by it and thrown to the ground. Pictures, perhaps even video, has been previously seen. But that was scant preparation for meeting King Golem Number Nine in the flesh. "Bloody - what the hell is that?!" None of them had guns in their hands at first - perhaps they thought ramming the car would be enough? - but one of them quickly draws a pistol out from under his coat and begins firing.
No. 9	Each cough of the gun is reassuringly familiar, but the thing rising from the car doesn't seem to live in a world where bullets matter. The first one opens a red line along the face which flares orange, drizzling as dirty water down the face, the eyes twin slits of stained darkness, bleeding tainted light. Hideous, bestial, it rises, bullets making horrid noises as it crunched through the leathery flesh, doing, nothing. It's not even running. It's sort of, walking, down the bullets, till they click, click, click, impotent, vacuous, empty, the thing's eyes blazing. The teeth flash, the breath a thin hissing thing, deep in the throat. "Lesson. Yess... do tell, sir. What is the lesson. For, today."
Taro	The man that's been firing has been slowly backpedaling as Nine lumbers towards him, his face paling as he realizes that the bullets aren't stopping the Golem. They aren't even slowing him down. He fires, fires, fires, until the magazine is spent and the hammer clicks on nothing. to his credit, he doesn't gibber in panic. He musters a brave expression, a false bravado that's given away by the fear in his eyes. "Monster! She's consorting with monsters now, the harlot!" He backpedals faster now, the truck behind him, reaching for something else under his coat. The other two still standing finally snap out of their surprise. Though it's already been shown what little good bullets are against him, pistols are all they have, and so they open fire as well. Surely he can't shrug them all off...can he?
No. 9	The thing lunges forward, biting down on the gun and ripping it out of the man's hand- there's a flash, and- did it just get shot in the mouth? Blood runs from the jaws, sizzling orange, the thing hissing roiling orange light. "You. DO NOT. /TALK/. ABOUT HER LIKE THAT!" A lunge, and heedless of the other gun, the thing has one of them, arm like a crushing, inexorable grip; it's a breaking grip, but not fast, oh no, not fast. There's the satisfying soft whine of metal, slowly, slowly, staring to close, starting to drag the man towards it, croaking voice a murky, inhuman bubbling slur, "Take it back..."
Taro	The first man's eyes widen, mouth dropping open as the pistol is torn from his hand, in too much shock to realize how badly his wrist's been wrenched in the process. He takes one step back, then two, and then he turns and bolts for the truck. The second man barely has the chance to fire off one last shot at Nine before the Golem's much larger hand closes over his own. H'es drawn forward in spite of his struggles, his hat lost in the process. No apologies are forthcoming as Nine squeezes. All he can do is scream. The third man drops his spent clip, draws a spare from an inner coat bocket, reloads. His nerves are jangling, but he raises his pitol to put Nine's head in his cross hairs... ...only to cry out in pain as a sharp throwing knife stabs him through the arm. Taro's standing at the rear of the car now, courtesy of a teleport. The right sleeve of his coat and shirt are torn off at the elbow, the rest of it flat and empty. He's definitely favoring his right leg, but he's standing. His eyes are narrowed to slits, his lips curled back in a snarl that mirrors Nine's own.
No. 9	The thing turns, turns to look. Seeing that favored leg, that empty sleeve, a thin reedy whine leaking from his throat, eyes wide and glowing a dim and burnt orange. ...Only to turn back, alive with rage and hatred, blazing blood and saliva drizzling across the man's arm. The thing shudders, looking back to the other, before turning to the first man, voice a deadly snarl, "...What do you think. Message to the sender? Or-" A twist and bones crack and grind, and his hand continues closing, moving the bones against each other like lovers greeting each other after a long time apart. "/Message/ to the senderr..."
Taro	Taro's answer is a growl. No, that's not an answer. It's a response, and it's not even to Nine. He's not listening. His right leg wheezes slightly with every step, pale violet seeping through his trousers even as the storm soaks his clothes. He doesn't seem to notice. It's a limping run, but it's enough to close the distance between him and their third attacker just as the man switches the pistol to his other hand. The shot isn't aimed, fired in panic, grazing Taro's face but doing no great harm. The android is too furious to think straight, and rather than do something practical and draw another knife, he lashes out to grab the man's gun and then pistol-whip him with it. Meanwhile, the man that Nine has captured can only answer with pained not-quite-shrieking sounds. Not as loudly as the screams, and while he's struggling vainly to pull his hand out of vice grip, it's all futile.
No. 9	A fierce feral expression, halfway between a snarl and a smile and the Golem simply shifts his grip, holding the man high for a moment and SMASHES his foot down against the knee- there's a smash, and it's not a clean break. He won't be playing football on what's left of that knee. Dropping him, confident that it'd take a master of willpower to crawl away with both a broken knee and a broken wrist, he snaps a hand out, grabbing the other man by the jacket, holding him up in his daze for Taro to do whatever he would be inclined to in his current state; which is to say, likely not good. "You. HURT. My /friend/. You HIT US with a CEMENT TRUCK. If you're lucky, my friend will come to and ask to kill you QUICKLY. If not... ... well. I don't have the Fun Box so I'll have to improvise..."
Taro	The man shrieks again, as his knee is badly broken, then falls to the pavement as Nine releases him. He curls up on himself, shaking from a combination of shock, cold, and sheer terror. Taro brings the pisol up with every intent to bring it smashing down again. There are still bullets in the clip, but all that seems to register is that it is a nice solid weight in his remaining hand. But then Nine rescues his target, or at least gives the man a temporary reprieve by hoisting him up. "My Master is no harlot," he seethes, cold rationality lost in too real emotion, and that English he's been so diligently learning lost to a more Greek-like language. "I will -kill- anyone who dares threaten her!" Suddenly, the truck's engine shifts from that low idling thrum to a roar, followed by a squeal of wet tires on wet pavement. The first of their attackers has managed to regaine nough of his senes to get back in the cab. whether he's deliberately aiming for them or simply trying to get away isn't clear and really doesn't matter. He's driving straight forward!
No. 9	Well the SUV has had it. Good job Nine, great for crowd control. Real top notch job there. There's no saving the car, but he can save what really matters, and that's Taro, followed only distantly by his own considerably more worthless hide. Head snapping up, eyes flaring, he hisses, grabbing Taro and LEAPING, using those muscular legs to kick himself to the side, throwing the two of them out of the way of the truck. "MOTHER PUSS BUCKET!"
Taro	Taro has no chance to object before he's grabbed, and if he smacks Nine in the back with the pistol, it's entirely by accident. The truck barrels past, down the road and off into the rainy night, abandoning the other three attackers. Those left behind are in various stages of pain and unconsciousness. As for the SUV, the interior lights and one headlight is still working, providing some light to see by. The android's artifical muscles - the ones still working, anyway - are still taught, and his eyes are still flinty, but he's no longer snarling so much as grimacing. Now that he has no one on which to vent his rage, it's beginning to lose its grip on him. He even manages a curt "Thank you" after a moment. Off in the distance, sirens. Even though there was no one to directly withness, the noise of the crash and the gunshots must have gotten the attention of someone at the other checkpoint. That's the most likely explanation, anyway.
No. 9	Against Nine's back armor it's not clear if it'd even register. The Golem is a heaving, snarling mess, his body quivering in rage and adrenal shock and the need to hurt, and pain and fear for his friend. He looks to Taro, his eyes searching. "Sounds like the fuzz is on the way. You think you're up to talkin to Mistress Sir Hellsing's folks? Or you wanna get outta here?"
Taro	Taro closes his eyes for a moment, in part to assess just how badly he's been damaged now that the danger has passed, and in part to better recompose himself. A quiet grunt. "Disappearing will only mean they'll look for us," he points out. He opens his eys again, and for once he looks directly into Nine's. Searching, assessing. "If you need to calm down, then go, and I'll stay."
No. 9	A swallow, a little shiver, and a shake of the head. "I think I'm- I think I'm calming down. Shit Taro, you lost your /arm/ I aint leavin you alone for one moment man, not for a single fuckin second."
Taro	The wailing sirens echo and flashing lights dazzle in the still pouring rain, and two police cars and a military APC come to a halt in the intersection that the cement truck vacated just minutes ago. The cyborg and the android are no doubt a frightening sight, but Taro's still recognizable uniform and the Hellsing patches on Nine's armor save them from becoming accidental targets of their own allies. Together, the two are helped...no, the policemen and soldiers merely stand back to allow Nine to help Taro into the back of the APC. Questions will be asked later, and the poor man who goes to shut off the SUV's engine is going to have a fright, but during the trip back to Hellsing Tower the two are simply left be...