Log:In Questa Reggia

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In Questa Reggia
Emitter	Deirdre
Players	Noah Browning
NPCs	Turandot, Mary Foo, Mr. Fei
Place	Mary Foo's, Madame Wong's
Time (IC)	July 3rd, 2012
Time (OOC)	July 3rd-4th, 2007

This area of the city is, for all intents and purposes, a ghetto. Nobody likes to call it that, lest things seem less than multiculturally stable. But people of the same minority group do tend to congregate, if at the very least due to a shared culture and often a shared language.

In this case, the people are Chinese. Mandarin Chinese in particular is what seems to be spoken here, and snippets of it soar through the air as people engage in their daily bustling conversation. The one touristy spot in this area is Mary Foo's, a fancy Chinese restaurant that is often suspected of being a front for mob interests in the area.

Noah doesn't speak a lick of Chinese, and this place looks like an unused set of Blade Runner, complete with extras. Noah's been following leads -- leads to find the one person he knows of who might be able to give him some answers: Someone with the same powers as him. Someone who decides to use them to steal and kill. He's pretty sure he's not interested in that -- but he's got to find /somebody/, right? And maybe in the process he can do something good. It'll all balance out.

His hood up, Noah presses through the doors of Mary Foo's. He's hungry, and he's heard a few whispers lead him in this direction. He keeps his hood up, and asks for a table -- for one.

Mary Foo's is exceedingly busy, ramping into dinner service. Chinese is being tossed about like wildfire, bouncing back and forth between members of the waitstaff. Mary Foo herself, a commanding woman with a grey streak in her shoulder-length black hair, is taking delivery orders at the counter.

The hostess takes Noah to one of the only tables left open, a corner seat near the window meant for two. His table is adjacent to the table of a number of Chinese men in dark suits, who are murmuring something quietly amongst themselves.

Noah, being a squirmy worm, puts an ear out to the conversation going on just next to him. One wonders, perhaps, what those guys are talking about and if it's interesting. He even leans a little over as he goes through the menu, looking as unintimidating as one perhaps can. He is a skinny round-eye, after all; probably a tourist.

The men don't seem to be saying anything in English. That's to be expected. Noah may, however, catch the word 'Turandot' being used occasionally. This is not a Chinese word, so it tends to come out awkwardly in the middle of sentences.

Noah starts to listen a little bit more intently, ordering his food quickly and sitting in relative silence. He doesn't speak a blinking link of Chinese, but he can, perhaps, listen to these guys and then follow them if they leave. That sounds like a really swell plan. Except for all of the kung fu ass kicking he receives.

They're in the middle of a meal, at least, so it takes a while for them to go anywhere. Their tone is one of vague apprehension and general displeasure, from what Noah can make of it. It's harder to tell how people are feeling when it's in another language, but their unease is pretty obvious from the way they speak and the way they look at each other.

Noah is patient. He can also have a meal, himself, waiting for the two mobsters to finish up and muster out. Once that's done, he'll leave money for his check and take off -- discreetly enough -- after them. Nothing bad can come of this, right?

After the men finish their meal, they head out of the restaurant with a polite cant of the head to Ms. Foo. Noah finds it easy enough to follow them down several city blocks and then into an alleyway... where they promptly turn and draw pistols. "Who are you and why shouldn't I kill you right here?" asks the lead guy in heavily-accented English.

Crap.

"Uh--" Noah says, in entirely accented English. He's looking at guns. Guns are terrifying. Flinching, Noah backs into the wall behind him, his shoulderblades up against it. "--Because... Murder is a crime, and besides which it's morally reprehensible," Noah argues, eyes glancing from one gun to the other. "And we're totally almost in public."

"Almost is the key word. You got one more try at this. Answer my question." The guy clearly means business, and that is a really big gun.

Noah shuts his eyes. So much practice and he still can't conjure up so much as a snowflake. Focus, you loser! Come on! Noah pops one eye. Their guns are not frozen. They are not frozen. "My... charming personality?" Gotta stall. Gotta think of /something/.

"I don't like wiseasses." BANG.

Bang! And--stop. The bullet begins to spin and spin and slow down as it is -- caught, by a block of ice that seems to congeal out of mid-air. The block of ice and the bullet drop to the ground and probably both shatter. Noah looks at the mess, and then at the mobsters. "Uh." He manages a bit of false, nervous laughter."

Wow. Uh. Funny coincidence."

Please god let them flee in terror.

A low murmur goes through the men. For a moment, it is a standoff. Men with guns. Noah. He probably can't deflect all their bullets at once, right? Another low murmur, and then the lead guy talks to his men in Chinese. They lower their weapons. "I see. You have responded to the princess's offer. Do you wish to meet with her, then?"

"... Oh," Noah says. "The Princess. Right," he adds, groping for words and a modicum of common sense. "That depends on whether or not your odds of shooting me again decrease. So probably yes?"

The men turn and indicate that he ought to follow. The head guy still has his gun, but he walks behind Noah with it pressed rather surreptitiously against the young man's back. "Walk."

"..." He thinks about it for a split second. "Right. Whatever you say, boss," he adds, being polite to the man with the gun. Can he do that if they shoot him again? That said, Noah does start walking. His legs feel rather like jelly, but he walks.

It doesn't take long to get wherever it is they're going, though for Noah it probably seems a lot longer. It's a little massage parlor in the same area of town, called Madame Wong's. Noah is directed up the stairs and through a hallway to a large door... and then the men tilt their head to him before turning and walking away. The door stands ominously before him.

"Nice meeting you guys. Good luck with that ugly mole. Why don't you ask the Princess to lance it for you? She could probably--right. Going," Noah says. All of this is ominous and scary. He knocks on the door, before just going ahead and pushing it open. "Hello?"

The room is rather elaborately decorated, for being housed in such a scuzzy dive. It looks kind of like an opera set, actually, which is rather apropos in a way. A gold throne room of sorts, but everything is of course rather faux. Not quite faux, however, is the throne, a beautiful piece that appears to be made entirely from diamonds. It is crafted to look like a block of jagged ice.

Turandot herself sits on this throne, wearing a beautiful gown of crimson and gold silk that contrasts strikingly with her bone-white skin. A diamond crown of 'icicles' rests on her brow, holding back jet black hair. "It is you," she says. Her English is very good, though there is a hint of an accent. "I hoped you would come."

"Well," Noah says, taking a few cautionary steps forward. "I'm here. Maybe you really do always get what you want, 'Princess'." He tries to look confident and rather fails. This woman can teleport and who the hell god knows what. "I guess all of the drama means you figured out that I was at the jewelry store--" Again, an attempt at sauveness. Noah flailed until ice things happened with his hands.

"You're like me. Or I'm like you. Does that mean anything?" He's looking for answers to a strange phenomenon. Maybe people with the same power are connected. Maybe Turandot has an answer for him.

"I do not know," Turandot admits. She beckons him closer with a hand, the nails of which are exceedingly long and look a bit sharp. "The whims of the Ring of Destiny, they are difficult to discern with clarity." Her ice blue eyes are focused on him, studying him thoroughly. "You have great power, however. And regardless of its... mm. Its basic nature? I can help you learn to control it. To bend it to your will. I have mastered mine."

Noah's eyes flick towards Turandot's nails. "There's just--one problem, Akivasha," the young blond says, keeping his distance. "You use your power to kill people. At least two that I know of. And also? You live in an opera house and sit on a throne of ice." She's probably going to kill him now. Why does he keep pressing? "I'm not so much into that stuff."

"And why should I not? I have been chosen to wield the power. The lives of those who have not been chosen... are of little consequence. Those who are wise honor me as I deserve." Turandot smiles. It is not a kind smile. "And what of you? Is there no one you have hurt due to your lack of control? No one you have killed?"

Noah doesn't need to take a second to think about that. "Not on purpose. Not that I wanted to--" he says. "And I've been working 24/7 to make sure something like that never happens again." To the point where he can't use his powers /even/ by accident. Thank god he didn't get shot dead. Scratch one metahuman. "I don't want to use this to take what I want. Hell, I don't even want to use it to save people. I'm not a god or an angel."

"Oh, but you are." Turandot beckons him closer again. "You are, my dear boy. Come closer, I wish to feel your power. It emanates from you, like a wave."

"Anyone ever tell you that you sound like a Disney villainess? Just a heads-up," Noah says, clenching and unclenching his fists. He can't feel anything powerful. Why not? "Somebody told me I'd have to make a choice between doing nothing, doing what you do, and doing the right thing. I think superheroes are stupid, but I don't think we can be friends if you're gonna keep killing peple."

"There was only one person I needed dead. The other two, they got in my way. I did not intend their deaths, but... it is of little consequence. They were not chosen, as you and I have been." Turandot fans her sharp fingers into a fist. Snowflakes begin to swirl about it. "And who has told you this? Was it someone with your power? With our power?"

"Power, sure. I don't know what to make of him--them. Or you," Noah says. He backs up reflexively at her fist. Way to hero up, loser. "See, I don't know what to make of anybody who decides that they're better because they can shoot snowballs from their eyes. It's this problem I have, not having a messiah complex and all."

"You call it a... complex? I call it a birthright." Turandot relaxes her fist and lays the hand back on the throne. An unearthly chill passes through the room. Noah presumably notices it, even if he can't feel it. "There is a reason that some received power while others did not. Those among us who were worthy... we have been given the strength."

"You know why I've got powers?" Noah can watch the temperature drop in the room. He can't /not/ see it. "Because I had the rotten luck of being on-call the night the comet hit, and my stupid O2 mask broke. Big lungfuls of that dust. Could've been anybody. Blame the medical supply company," Noah says. "Not destiny."

"Make whatever excuses to yourself that you wish. You can pretend for ever that this power was not meaning to be yours." Turandot's English is a little stilted, but she clearly knows what she's trying to say. The diamonds in her icicle crown glint a bit in the light. "It chose you. The powers that be set this in motion so that you might have them. So that I might have them. It is how we were fated."

"Maybe. And if that's the case, who's to say I'm not supposed to stop you?" Noah says, trying to soudn confrontational. It isn't easy; Turandot is terrifying, and he is having trouble not fleeing. She could freeze him with a thought. "Destiny usually does that, y'know. Good and evil, that kind of thing--"

"That's if your big on deciding you're an angel or a demon, anyways. You know that people out there are already designing their own costumes? Like they were in a cartoon. Present company excluded, I mean." That's right. Make a joke. Maybe you'll look less terrified.

"It is possible," Turandot says, with a little half-smile. "I am not yet sure of your destiny. Or of mine. But I do believe that we have a purpose, and that it is a higher purpose than that of those who were not chosen." She extends a hand, and a little doll made of ice appears in her palm. She has pointedly ignored the bit about costuming. "I do not know if you are to be my enemy or my ally. Perhaps, with your power, you are meant to be my king. Perhaps, with your power, you are meant to destroy me as a nemesis. I do not know." She raises her other hand to slice off the ice-doll's head with a sharpened fingernail. It falls to the ground before melting away, as the doll body dissolves into snowflakes. "What I do now is that right now, I am far more powerful than you. Perhaps not in raw strength, but in finesse."

Well, on the bright side, it doesn't sound like she's going to kill him. Also, she just made a doll. Out of ice. An ice-doll. What the hell? "That's a funny way of looking at things. Maybe I came here to beat you," which isn't true. He's not even certain why he came here. Deep confusion, maybe.

"You are welcome to try." Turandot spreads her arms, welcoming his best shot.

Noah's brow furrows a little bit. He finally raises a fist. Punching is maybe the best he can do. Great. So much for that. "... Uh..." he starts. "This has never happened before, honest." See? Funny ha-ha.

Turandot laughs. It is a bell-like tone, a series of clear coloratura notes. And then she rises from her icy throne and moves toward him. "My dear boy," she says, extending one of those hands to touch his shoulder, "this is why you need me. I can teach you. I can make sure that it never happens again."

"Yeah? And then what? I'm the minion of the evil ice-queen? You're a murderer," Noah says. "Anything you teach me, I'll just use to stop you."

"Will you?" Turandot cups his cheek, those talon-like nails dangerously close to his face. "Perhaps that is what I want. I see potential in you, child. Potential to rule by my side... or potential to become a worthy opponent. I tire of battle with humans."

"'Battle?'" Noah asks, recoiling from her hand with a healthy dose of concern. The room gets colder. A lot colder, Noah's power finally kicking in by a sheer defensive reflex. Not that she cares. "You mean murder and robbery."

"The shopkeeper refused to give me her diamonds. The police officer attempted to stop my return visit to said shop. They chose their fates... they were not opponents for battle." Turandot raises her hands, and snowflakes swirl about them, coalescing into ornate swords. She extends the hilt of one to Noah. "I prefer worthy opponents, who are aware of the fight. I do not seek to murder. I seek to compete."

"Fine. Then you'll have one," Noah says, raising his hand to the sword hilt. "But if that's what you're after, there's a condition. I could just go and tell them where you are. Where your hideout is--" he says. "--but I don't think anybody else can help me." The things he's done. Turandot is the only person in the world who has the same powers. He can't repeat what's happened before. "So I'll do your Darth Vader routine--but you stop killing people. You won't have a worthy opponent until I'm ripe, right? Otherwise, I'm gone."

"Done." Turandot points her sword at the ground, and it dissolves into snowflakes. Noah's will last until he gets out into the sun. "There can be only one person with the most power. I believe destiny has chosen me. But you, you have the same power. It may be you, instead. Together we shall find out."

"Fine. I beat you--or you beat me. In the meantime, nobody dies. And if I find out you killed somebody--or even hurt somebody--we're done, and I don't know if you can breathe in space or not." Because that's where somebody will toss her. Noah grits his teeth. It's all ice, but he's playing with fire. He needs to learn how not to kill the planet. He's not like some people. If he just lets his thoughts wander--suddenly a whole neighborhood is frozen. He's got to do this. There's the lesser of two evils and a frozen wasteland.

"And I don't need your sword. I'll make my own."

"I will be waiting." Turandot gestures to the room around them. "This place... it will not remain for long. I do not like this neighborhood. When you wish to reach me, all you must do is call my man Fei. He is the one who led you here, and he will provide you with his phone number before you leave here."

"Great. Fine. I'll go to class every day, Miss Turandot," Noah says. He needs to get this one thing from this one very bad person and then he's in the clear and so is the Eastern Seaboard. It's this or suicide, and he's not depressed enough for the other one.

"Then I'm going. You can--I don't know, make ice sculptures of yourself, of whatever you do in your spare time."

Another trilling, bell-like laugh. And then she is gone, vanished in a whirl of snow and frost.

"I gotta learn how to do that," Noah mutters. And then throws up on the floor.