Logs:A Worn Out Warehouse Welcome

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A Worn Out Warehouse Welcome


Characters: (Molly and Stasya with Hailey as ST)
Date: 2020-05-20
Summary: Molly and Stasya were just shopping but somehow Bedlam ensues!
Disclaimers:

Costco.jpeg

Everybody just LOVES to shop at their local big box store's warehouse club, right? Especially when there's lines out the door and plenty of crying children and... is the beloved slurpee machine broken? It is, it really is and so many people seem to be having their very own horrible, very bad, no good type of days. Stasya doesn't exactly look thrilled as she roams among the aisles under the fluorescent lighting, pushing a cart that seems to be filled with a whole pallet worth of sugar, but the Wizened is here and seems FASCINATED by a pair of middle-aged women that seem like they're about to come to blows over the last of those free samples... enough so that Stasya just parks her cart in the middle of the pathway as she stares, earning her a bit of scorn for the sudden halting from the cart behind her that ends up turning around with a huff when she doesn't budge.

Molly is also out shopping. With a little basket full of rice and beans and things like that, and also a rather warm looking biker jacket, inner pockets full of expensive little chocolates and so on. Heavily discounted. If she gets them through the registers, anyway. Under the biker jacket, a tank that affirms 'French Girls Do It Better' and short black denim shorts, red Converse on her feet. She struts along through the place, claws scratching at the side of her head, when she comes upon the Wizened and the angry people pile-up. Her nose quivers, and she begins to look around like she's about to shoplift some more.

The store is a bustle with activity, as it seems to be concentrated in this one isle. Suddenly as if on cue, the loud BEEP BEEP of a forklift is moving from one end of the isle, leaving just the end with the Lost on it open. The free sample Kiosk blinking. 'PLEASE COME BACK LATER' seems to be instigating the immediate use of the kiosks little door. A store employee with a rope walks down in front of the forklift as people start streaming past Stasya, bumping into her basket and then her. A few bump into Molly as well as the Fight of the Lemon Scent Dishsoap Kiosk is reaching to new heights. This maelstrom of action is added by announcement of a discount event happening near the center of the store.

One woman has turned around, putting herself between the Dishsoap and the other woman as is becomes Smack Down. The employee in front of the forklift watches, unsure what to do as he speaks into his radio. .

If she had wanted really good chocolate, all Molly would have had to do is ask as certain cotton-candy looking pastry chef, but Stasya doesn't see any of the pickpocketing that might be going on, although she does give a brief nod of greeting to her fellow militia member even as the forklift beep beeps it's way to block one end of the path and the crowd surges around them. "Well... things are starting to get very interesting!" The Wizened takes a deep breath of something that smells to her much stronger than that lemon scented floor cleaner, but whatever it is, just seems to slip right through her fingers as the smallish woman gets jostled by a few of the folks pushing through.


Maybe Molly isn't a charity case! Maybe Molly wanted to take someone else's chocolate, because she's bad to the bone and sticking it to the Man. Or the store's assistant manager. Or someone. Either way, she's got little chocolates and surprisingly expensive condiments. People bump into her, and she falls back a step, with a little more emphasis and stumbling than strictly necessary, perhaps, arms flailing, groceries nearly spilling off her little basket. "What the fuck, man? What the shit!? Are you goddang fucking kidding me? I was just standing here - he's the asshole who fucking pushed you!" She gestures at some other random, entirely random hapless shopper, then at herself, eyebrows up high, eyes big, voice shrill. "Or are you trying to start something, is that it? Is that it?"


The argument has come to fisticuffs. A grey haired elderly has pulled out her cane and starts beating on the woman in front of the Free Kiosk. Molly's intimidation, scares a rather large man who had simply been caught in the wrong aisle with his gallon of raisins, making him blink and back up and bump into the machine. It starts to rock dangerously front to back. The forklift driver, trying to avoid the teatering machine turns and rocks forward, accidently flooring the the blocky vehicle into the 3 story high shelving. WHAM! People start to scramble as the anger twist into a delicious fear that flows like a wave from that impact. A loud creaking noise as several shelves come unhooked and start bouncing down on cerial boxes and cat litter, like a rain of gloss blue painted bars. To make it worse there is a secondary slam at the top hits the top of the next aisle. The fear is palpitable.

Stasya had so wanted the massive amount of sugar that she had in her cart but well... things are getting a lot more interesting that stockpiling smithing resources as she notices the shelves starting to teeter and carefully takes a step back as she watches them fall thankfully in the other direction. She glances over her shoulder to look at Molly and the poor unfortunate soul who got on the wrong side of the Ogre. "He was definitely trying to start something.... but I think they're trying to start something more." She points through the tumbled shelving to a couple enterprising young men who decided to not run away, but run into the wreckage, but uh oh.... looks like they both want the same instant pot. "Shall we?" She doesn't even wait for confirmation before daintily stepping up and over the fallen shelf. She's a woman on a mission!

Molly's mission involves basic grocery shopping, and she's got her rice and beans with her steel, basket hanging off her arm as she blinks at the scene devolving into chaos in front of her, head tilting with sharp little birdlike movements to keep up with everything going on. After watching Stasya climb over the fallen shelving, she rolls her shoulders back and steps through with a little hop, careful not to send anything else tumbling down behind her. "You'd think this was a biker bar or something," she comments with a shake of her head.

Loud clangs of shelving beams falling echo through the box store, like new age construction, littering the area with metal tinkertoys. Pallets of paper towel bounce , though as the shelf touches the next, whole cubes of soda start to pull. The man by the kiosk whom Molly accused , "Look what you did! The driver did that cause you!" the forkift is stuck under a shelf now, accelerator stuck as the entire aisle starts twisting around. People flee as if the world was falling. A growing anger seems to be swelling from the original fight, blame to be had.

"The bikers don't try to hide how they feel... at least not with anger," Staysa gives a little shrug as she continues with her own climb through wreckage. "It's the ones that pretend to be civilized that keep it all in until they just don't know what to do any more..." She looks left and then looks right as if that's plenty of evidence around her to prove her point as the boomers scramble and somewhere the Karens are probably gearing up their screeches of war. As good as she might be at crawling over the fallen debris, all the staring is probably a bit too intense for comfort of some of the crowd.

As a full pallet of Pepsi(tm) slams into the floor on the next aisle, the crunch of fizzy drinks starts random sugary aerosol, bringing cries of annoyance as no one yet has been thwacked by the second set of shelves, though they do clang into the very next, starting a chain reaction that is speeding up a tsunami of consumerism to the front of the store. Clean up on aisle 3!

As emotions well up within Stasya, Bedlam springs fourth, visible to the Lost as it ripples out over the crowd that is clambering around goods like soldiers wading through a DMZ. The emotion sours as the wave seeps into the croud, all into their 'Feeings'. Eyes turn to the Lost as if a record scratch. "She's the one that started this, she did something to the driver, yes...yes her there." Like a zombie mob, these people are out for brains, turning direction as they all begin clamaring to reach Stasya. "Don't let her get away!"

As the pair start pushing through chairs and coolers and various other sale items, they go scattering while a rhythmic thud continues, now a fifth aisle collapsing towards the front. Armed with brooms, mops, aluminum pans and 128 count K-Cup boxes, the mob starts to close in around the pair. Snap! One of them breaks the slide off a jungle gym display, wielding it like a massive club. Pathways are closing as the freezer section in the back is blocked off now. Several green vested saviors are approching on another forklift, speaking inot their walkies. What now? Easiest egress is through the front or, possibly the roof.

Stasya did not mean to do that. She may have thought about it... but she really didn't mean it and her eyes widen in horror as the flood of emotion flows out all uncontrolled and stuff. There might not be actual pitchforks yet, but Stasya might as well sense them and she turns to blindly bolt away from the mass of people and into the wreckage of the shelves, and coolers even as the mob is gatheirng their implements and closing the gap and she looks at the front and the roof and the front and the roof. "Molly... can you actually fly?"

Molly scrambles through the improvised obstacle course left behind in Stasya's wake as shelves and displays go fly out of the way. The crowd is something else, though. The basket of groceries gets tossed away behind her, onto the floor in front of an approaching cluster of irate customers. At least her jacket's still full of stuff. "This is why I fucking hate retail. Imagine working in a place like this! Swear I almost killed someone, one time. The asshole would've deserved it, too. I got fired anyway, so I might as well!" She has time to rail and rant as she goes, knocking over another display as people approach on all sides, hands low at her side, claws tucked well away into her fists as she pivots and shoots wary looks around. "Uh. Why?"

The crowd is surging closer, like an old Boris Karloff Frankenstein movie as the villagers become the mob, ready to pull them appart. With little space to go, the sweatshirt tables by the coffee pots becomes a last standing ground as they come in for blood! Finding their resolve to not be taken alive in a Big Box Store, Molly manages to pull energy together to bring flight to her form while glamour infuses from Stasya's hands and tears a rent in the sky, light streaming in on the complete colapse of the central skylight, pieces of glass tingling around them giving Molly clear path out.

"Because we need to get out and the only way out looks up," Stasya means that quite literally as she points to the skylight above them and that pointing soon leads to a shower of glass after she mutters a few choice phrases in Russian under her breath along with a bit of glamour tossed in. As she eyes the crowd approaching, her hand might itch for a sword, but she just takes a gulp. "I can disappear..." She thinks she can anyways.

"Plenty of ways out," Molly replies flatly. And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, Molly eyes the crowd closing in and her long bony fingers twitch at her sides, right to the tips of her black claws, and she seems to contemplate the most direct path to the nearest exit. A straight line through the crowd. She blinks. Then she glances back to Stasya, who asked her about flying, and her nose sharpens, nostrils flared and drawn up into a sharper semblance of a beak, almost. "I can do a lot of shit," she replies with a grunt, then starts clambering up some half fallen shelving. She rolls her shoulders, spreads out her arms, and brings them down in a beat, letting loose a sharp, grating, caw-like sound. Then she reaches out, offering one hand to Stasya, gesturing her to draw nearer and hold on before she takes a leap. A leap that's no longer a leap, but ascent, soaring briefly up, right through the broken skylight and into the open air outside.

Escape Music:' I Believe I Can Fly