Quinn

Okay, Crow's got Ideas. Continuing with the plan - Crow'll direct the two of them to where he's heading underground, then Teleport down using his coat; Concealment Power active. Currently it's only normal Vision that's being blocked thanks to that dratted Coat Fatigue. ^^; Note, as a trick, he's going to use the wires from his knives to suspend himself in midair. Neat, huh? But hey, I'm sure Warden doesn't have any thermal cameras or ultrasound motion sensors, right? Also, as an note, Take 10 Skill Mastery on Stealth for 25.

Reflex save! (1d20+7=26) - Morgan sez: Woop woop woop woop!

That sight would have brought on a sigh of relief - and it very nearly did; though a hand over a mouth covered it. The calm voice sounded in both Blue Jay and Blod's heads - Crow having brought the rock up to his mouth, looking over to the small crack in the air what sounded like a rushing wind; or at the very least a tiny localised dust devil. "Package is secure. Repeat, package is secure. B, put R in contact with the rock. J, blind spot in the lower levels; go down as far as you can. Prepping for secondary insertion; maintenance tunnels running underneath the basement, I'll be going in through there. Odds our control room's in that space." Several moments of consideration - and waiting for Raven to connect into the headspace; he was doing his level best not to geek out over her presence, moreso that she'd adapted to the gas so damn quickly. That flip was awesome! Totally old-school escape sty-easy, Crow, discipline, reserve, cold calm was the name of the game. Once the legacy cowl was networked in, she felt a small ruffling in the back of her head, and an exceptionally calm voice speak directly to her. "This is Crow. Summing up situation - we've got Jay downstairs keeping the funhouse busy; and our backup elements haven't been detected yet. We have an exfil route right near you both - are you injured?" More than once he'd blamed John for his new lexicon when on the job. Wasn't entirely sure if it was a good thing or not. He also marveled a bit that he hadn't asked for her autograph right away. Yay.

Woohoo! Raven is free! Phase One of Operation Kick Bad Guys In The Butt is successful! Go us! Okay, on to Phase Two. Step one, link Raven into communications network. Given how the power works, this doesn't need much - she just needs to touch the rock and BOOM VOICES IN YOUR HEEEEEEAD Step two, locate location for third column insertion. Morgan's going to scan that blind spot underground; we've already established in-chat there are maintenance and sewer tunnels running /right/ by that blind spot, but I'm personally hoping there'll be indications of side entrances that aren't covered by whatever's blocking his half-assed true sight. If we're lucky, there'll be one - if not, then Crow'll probably have to blow a hole in the wall. Notice check with penalties (1d20-4=0) ...gee, thanks IC. Note, the portal is still open; Blod and Raven can use it at any time to get the heck out of Dodge.

Damn - he'd been hoping she'd try to push him out instead of disengaging; the chambered fist was pulled forward fast in a defensive motion, and his feet propelled him forward in a fast lunge. He went for conventional boxing on this approach - lifting the right to guard, and flickering his left in a series of sharp jabs towards her head. If he could get her guard up and keep her on the defensive, he had the advantage; the trick when fighting Mali was keeping that advantage. And not letting her get one in return - if she got an edge, he'd be seeing stars faster than you could say knife.

Morgan's reply was muffled in her hair when he kissed the top of her head; staring at a spot on the wall rather than at her when she melted into his side. The voice was quiet right now - either it was asleep (fat chance), or feeling generous. Whatever the reason, he was far more relaxed than he really should have been. "I wouldn't call your Gaelic terribad - " He noted rather dryly. "- but I wouldn't go ordering a beer in a pub unless you've got a bar brawl in mind." Sigh. A small chuckle, that vibrated from his chest, through his shoulders, and into the ear against his shoulder. It was a good chuckle. "...don't worry about the college, Vi - we both knew the occupational hazards going in. And...a big part of that's my fault, anyway." More than part, truthfully. He kept staring at that invisible spot on the wall, leaning his head sideways onto hers; creating a companionable silence. It lasted for all of two minutes before he spoke again. "...if it helps? I think I can order a drink in Russian now."

Morgan hopped over the back of the couch, landing pretty light; it helped he didn't weigh much. A sigh, and his head flopped backwards on the couch cushions; he threw a bit of a wry grin her way. "Ah, cool - I don't pick up languages fast, and my Russian kinda sounds like I'm gargling around gravel." Putting it mildly there; he'd tried to compliment her once in that language after reading a dollar-twenty-five cent dictionary, and what he'd actually said likely would have made her mother knock his block off. Or use one of those several dozen spork-murdering methods to render him into his component parts. The grin turned warmer, and he gave her a one-armed hug around her shoulders. He was...surprisingly approachable, today. "Thanks for inviting me, Vi. Thought with how I've...well, with how things..." Get onto a different topic, man, danger zone danger zone. "...so, who's this Uncle Dimitri I keep hearing about?"

Crow, for his part, actually was a bit fond of the woman - if only because she was a rare example of a more than somewhat benign fae with a penchant for good blessings. That, and a) she was married to a fine, fine fellow who knew how to make a damn good bagel, and she made a mean snickerdoodle. Not that Crow would ever say snickerdoodle out loud when he had the mask on. Or even think of the word. That would kill a cowl's dignity faster than a giant plate of steaming cookies placed in front of one's mouth with an open invitation for consumption. Damnit, now he was hungry. "Miss Summers, Bolvar's been killed." The voice under the mask was vaguely sympathetic, but still flat as a pancake. Morgan would mourn later; despite the dwarf's bad attitude, he was a good man. Crow would get the job done. The voice approved. Both sides hated that. Still, there was no call to be cruel. It was a rule that hadn't needed to be drilled into him; he followed it right off the bat - the contact's health was first concern. Information second. "The investigation's ongoing. We're checking on the others; are you and your husband safe?" Though he may still be a bit too blunt...

The chest was easy enough to dodge - Mali knew Crow's footwork was a hair slower than hers, which put him head and shoulders above a lot of humanity, and shifting his slim body out of the way was child's play. It was the low kick that was the devil's own to avoid - Mali's legs were long, strong, wicked fast, and he'd seen her put crooks on their asses with them faster than he could blink - one took those legs lightly at their peril. So, he didn't. His right leg lashed out, slamming his shin into hers - pain to both parties, but the shortened length of the kick reduced the impact considerably. No time to let her react, though - he came in as soon as the blows hit air, closing ground fast, pushing that stinging shin to work even as it reminded his brain that OY, THAT EFFING HURT! Duck the shoulders down and come in close, real close; he aimed a hard right for her midsection, chambering the left and leaving that whole side open. Hah, yeah right. Still, stinging or not, Morgan Crowe in extreme close quarters was a pain and a half on a good day.

The voice sounded in her head again - Blod, Jay under fire. Moving to assist - portal's still open. Crow stepped up to the edge of the roof, perching on the corner and staring down at that open gap she'd charged into. He could see the flashes of fire from those autoguns - damn the bastard running this fun house, and damn him for sending Blue Jay in half-cocked like that. His plan, and another of his allies was harmed from it. His fault. Again. Oh, this is precious. I think I might laugh - so what will you do, hm? Blast a hole in the building? Seek righteous vengeance? Find your foe and smite him? You have the power, boy. Five knives, matte-black, razor-sharp, and perfectly balanced, snapped into being between his fingers. Yes. I do. Blue Jay, get clear! A whistling sound, and the ringing of cold iron on steel; five blades flicked from exceptionally capable fingers, spinning down to ricochet just right off of the hole blown in the grate. Two eyes behind black iron tracked the movement of the five, each bouncing exactly where he'd planned the angles; the girl inside feeling a whisper of wind by her ears, then the peal of that cold iron striking the elevator door. Every single one landed in the area of those autoguns, impaling the ceiling or thudding into the small bars holding them on the ceiling - but it was two that really hit the mark; one, dead on in the barrel of the first autogun, and two, a savage impact into the camera of the second. All those expensive electronics, tsk tsk tsk. Oops. Hope you didn't need those. Jerk.

More than likely. Portal stays open, but Blue Jay needs some cover fire. Ricochet 3 Talon Barrage on both guns coming in, hon! (-6 according to Thev due to tracking across that many squares - easy enough to deal with). All Out Attack (+5 Attack, -5 Defense) Talon Barrage! (1d20+14=34) All Out Attack (+5 Attack, -5 Defense) Talon Barrage Second Target! (1d20+14=23) Well. Dang. Thev says first one goes boom right off the bat (whee!), second one has to make a DC 21 Toughness save. ^^; Posting IC.

Speaking of dirty cheaters - before she even had the "R-" of "Ready?" out he was launching himself forward. By the time she was at the "-ea-", he was moving into her guard with a right hook like a gunshot. And by the time she hit "-dy?" he was dancing past; eyes fixed on her, and hands up in a guard stance - feet shuffling in his usual smooth footwork. Damn - he'd been an ace too slow on the takeoff - should have been moving before she opened her mouth, not on the 'R'. Still, if that had hit her either way, he'd have lost, like, all respect for her. As-is, he just grinned in her general direction. "Yep."

"Preach it, sister." Morgan replied rather dryly; hefting a pair of fists now wearing light gloves. Another pair were tossed her way; and where she threw shadow punches, he did a bit of slip-and-shuffle footwork. "And I'd give him a break on that score, honestly - the guy may have his stuff, like, Matrix-style, but he works damn hard to keep it up; sparring-wise." And during that hard work, bruised Morgan's ribs, shoulders, legs, arms, skull, assorted other body parts, in places one mentions openly and not. And every bruise was a lesson he took to heart (and something he generally returned with interest!). Hard work did not hardly work in this town - that's for damn sure. "So, first to five hits, any fallen body parts are fair trophies, and safeword is uncle?" Grin.

Crow's mouth pursed slightly under his mask; he hated explaining things when he was clipped like this - every word threatened to shake slightly or reveal more of himself than he wanted. Still, he kept it hidden well, and the reply to the lady in question was coolly patient; almost disturbingly so. Then again, most things these days when Morgan put on that mask were somewhat disturbing. He wanted it that way. "...DCPD exceptionally competent. Circumstances essentially forced them to be so. Also, concealing evidence from police...bad policy. Very bad policy. Avoid it whenever possible. Still, being anonymous is also good policy. Don't name names; just state body and location. They ask for more, hang up." Her question as to his contacts actually made him pause slightly - he didn't have many, not really; most came to him more often than not, and he hadn't cultivated quite as many as one would think. To be truthful, the idea hit him akin to a sledgehammer - that was something that really should be rectified. Especially if some thought they could coldly murder people who came to him for help. Yes. An example would have to be made. And a message made exceptionally clear. "They shouldn't. My presence...slightly unnerving." A beat. "...yours...perhaps reassuring." Another beat. "...hm." He made for the stairs.

A bit of a chuckle, and he actually gave her a thumbs-up. "Reh, their loss - don't tell Vicks I said this, Mal, but you're damn near poetry in motion. You know the only way I keep up is by cheating." He shook his head; the grin changing to just a warm smile - an increasing rarity these days. He let his own bag drop, and took out his own gloves - the usual thin-padded ones, strapped around the wrist. Safety equipment wasn't something Morgan focused on a lot of the time - though he'd been harangued by Archer repeatedly as to the point, and even said point-blank he wasn't setting a good example, Morgan stubbornly cleaved to his belief that if it didn't bloody hurt, it didn't bloody work. And given how tough his body was at this point, it was sort of working. Thank you cheating magic runes! Still got creaky now and again, though; he'd have to look into that. "Still, you gotta admit - John'd kick both of our asses. At once. With his arms tied behind his back. Like...all over the place."

Translation of the Irish Gaelic: "Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord. And may perpetual light shine upon them. May his soul and the souls of the faithfully departed through the mercy of God rest in peace." Due to the dead. *takes off hat*

Crow's mask looked at her for a moment slightly too long to not be eerie; his head cocked sideways just a bit - before turning back to look at the body. Another moment of silence; then he simply shrugged. "...message FCPD. Anonymous call. Ask for magic division. Mention shadow magic." Guh, shadow magic. It had it's uses; he had runes that tapped the power of the black, but in different capacities. He used it as the warm blanket that concealed and safeguarded, the friendly black that hid you from what pursued and covered your movements from danger. But taking it and twisting it into that cold black that frightened and froze...if he wanted to cause terror, he relied on his own skill for that; and to steal a man's life away was an abuse of magic that would require severe...chastisement. And mixing that with fae? As his friend in Detroit would say - bad juju, brother. He slid his hands into his pockets. Murmured something, deep under his breath; and, oddly enough, rubbed a small spot on his left hand. A tiny bulge under his glove. "Suaimhneas síoraí tabhair dó - di, a Thiarna, agus go lonraí solas suthain air, uirthi. Go bhfaighe a anam agus anamnacha na bhfíreán trócaire ó Dhia agus cónaí faoi shuaimhneas." Crow turned, nodding to Blodeuwedd. "...safety in numbers. Roust fae contacts first?"

Morgan didn't mind the fact that gazes usually slid from him to her; he had gravitas, certainly, and even abused it now and again - but he appreciated subtlety and background more often than not over front-lining. At least, when he wasn't having one of his 'arrogant moments'. He missed the others when that happened; they tended to be good for bringing him down to earth. Bah. Weak fools, all of th-stop. Now. ...yes, sir. Gah. The teen proceeded apace a few steps behind her, looking about the gym - a bit more downscale than the one on the boardwalk, but he didn't mind that at all either; training in back alleys and warehouses with crude punching bags meant he was used to fighting rough. And classic movies loved that kind of scene! Therefore it was awesome and he was awesome by doing it. Heeheehee. Okay, he didn't heeheehee out loud, but he did do it inwardly. His was a wicked mental giggle, yessss... "They built a statue in your honor yet, or just name a punching bag after you?" Smirk.

Notice check! (1d20+10=26) For you!

Goes straight through to the room where Raven is - or a back corner of it, at least. And when Blod goes through, she'll be invisible to all Visual Senses. ...*crosses fingers that Warden's microphones in that room aren't super-sensitive*

Crow has Skill Mastery on Notice, so Take 10 for 20; and Knowledge (Arcane Lore) is... Arcane Lore check! (1d20+10=21) - not bad at all!

"Yeah, I grok." He murmured; following her in. The portraits on the walls looked familiar - and he smirked slightly to see a photograph of her in a small position of prominence; probably a sign of respect. Knowing Mali, she'd probably put boot to ass the day she arrived. He approved. Morgan's eyes raked over the room for a few seconds as the pair walked in, appraising the equipment, the few locals currently beating up the bags, the (slightly beaten up) machines, and the two rings in the centre of the room - one square, one hexagon. The hexagon was new - probably in deference recently to new styles showing up at the gym; either that or she'd put on enough of a clinic that they wanted her to do more Muay Thai shenanigans. Hah. Though, oddly enough, he wasn't actually looking at Mali. Probably deliberate, that. "Those the goons you folded up in record time? I heard in the paper it was some wiseacre with stupid huge hair who got decked in one punch."

"Just talk to the rock." He murmured, watching Blue Jay enter. The girl herself heard that voice in her head again as he brought his own stone up to his mouth, murmuring. "Booby traps throughout the building. Watch for power sources. Look like you're going for Raven. Raise hell. Blod goes for Raven while he/she isn't looking; full stealth. Blod, portal entrance in five seconds. I track back to puppet master. Open new portal. We jump him. Hard. This plan okay?" Now, it was those last three words that might have brought the two up short, at least for a second - because when he said 'this plan okay', he didn't sound like Crow. Blod would have known that voice better - he sounded more like Morgan than his alter ego there; a split second of uncertainty masked by darkened bravado. Oh, this shall be a grand show. Shut up. He panned his mask over the building once again, following the indicators of those heat sources; the power sources, the small generators. They had to be connected to somewhere; either wired or wireless. But regardless, the distance couldn't be far...well, okay, it could, he sure as hell would have his control room several blocks if not districts away from his trap-filled funhouse, but thinking that right now wasn't productive. Assume the enemy is present at all times unless shown directly otherwise. Blodeuwedd felt the slight breeze start to kick up beside Morgan again, the shimmering heat from that invisible crack in air and space coalescing. There was a slight smoking coming from his gloves now, and the scent of burning leather; though only slight. There was a subtle bit of motion as he patted the backplates.

Initiative! (1d20+8=12) - bleah.