Start of a Punchworthy Friendship

Characters: Vanya Grace Choi
Summary: Grace is looking for Klavdiya, and winds up encountering Vanya for the first time instead. The two kind of hit it off.
OOC Date: Sat Mar 17 10:39:01 2018
IC Date:
Where: Mutant Town - Harlem - Manhattan, NY

With its namesake population of mutants and meta-humans, Mutant Town has earned its reputation for volatility. With some denizens inhuman in small ways and others large, alongside the burgeoning meta-culture and arts comes the potential for great destruction, but also great growth. The rubble and ashes of chaos from two weeks ago have been steadily cleared away and recycled without any use of cranes or front-loaders, and alongside an increased police presence, the area's super strong have gotten a little more visible as of late.

One such creature is out in full view during the sunny warmth of the afternoon. Ostensibly human, an exceptionally muscular brawler grunts as she heaves a man-sized block of ruined cement overhead and into a sturdy dumpster. Her tanktop and pants are both caked with dust as she brushes her hands clean and wipes a light sweat from her brow despite the still cool climate. The ruined building beside her is almost completely cleared away, but a few large pieces remain.

While she's not covered in dust, between her size, girth, and tattoos, Grace Choi is a woman who stands out in a crowd. Besides, it's not too often you see a woman with slight asian heritage so prominent on her features along with bright red hair. The sizeable woman is taking a stroll down the very street that others are working on, hands in her pocket and a casual gait about herself. She is not in any hurry, clearly, but she is looking about as if searching for someone. Slowly, she starts to approach the woman in the tanktop.

Only in Mutant Town could you ask a question like, "I don't suppose you've seen a giant tiger around, have you?" Then, Grace adds, "Here, let me help with that." And, she grabs another giant slab of concrete as easily at least as Vanya did, and she hefts it over her head and drops it smoothly into the dumpster as well.

Vanya smirks widely is Grace's towering form approaches, her sharp amber eyes flitting over before the other woman speaks up. "Nice strength… I know one or two. How many legs did it have?" she tosses back with a mild gruffness that betrays English as her second language. The brawny Slav sets her hands on her hips as she surveys the nearly vacant lot and smirks a little wider.

An even stranger question to her own odd one, it causes Grace to blink a few times and give her pause before she laughs shortly, shakes her head and dusts her hands off. "The usual four. Friend of mine, just thought I'd drop by and see how she's doing." Grace then offers her hand towards Vanya in friendly demeanor. "I'm Grace. Read what happened here." She shakes her head, "Assholes gotta wreck everything, can't just fight like reasonable people."

Vanya takes the offered hand and grips it in a firm shake, looking comfortably upwards as she squeezes to what would be painful by human standards. "Then you want the boring one, not me," she replies with a smile that lets an oversized canine poke just slightly out of her mouth. In subtler pointed and bushy ways, the Russian's physique betrays its inner feral qualities. "Vanya. I'm glad I'm not the only one who missed all the fun. Everyone had a party and I was in the wrong state…"

"I was tossing a couple malcontents out of my bar who thought they could start a fight in my bar. Had to snap a few horns when they thought they could make it really rough." Grace shrugs, studying the Russian woman more closely. But, she's met Diya in both forms, so she's certain by Vanya's statement that this woman, too, is a shapeshifter of some fashion.
"I wouldn't call her boring. She helped me stop a bank robbery few months back. Asshats were messing with my personal time." Less offended by the actual robbing of the bank than the fact she was inconvienced, if her words are any indication.
"Then just the other night these crazy fucks in yellow suits tried to trash my security job on the docks. Can't let a girl earn an honest dollar in peace. Jesus. Just once, that's all I ask."

Vanya laughs as she saunters idly across the empty lot, not seeming to mind the broken bits of concrete and debris under her bare feet. "Dock security, bar security, and bank security? Nu blin, I'm surprised we haven't traded fists yet. What bar do you work at?"

Grace sizes Vanya up, briefly, shrugs, "I work at Cheney's, bouncer. Good pay. Sometimes I take side jobs. What can I say, I like money." The amazonian shrugs again, and leans against the dumpster, casually, crossing her arms and adds, "You fight a lot, then? Heard about some underground fighting, some months back. Never got around to poking into it further, had my hands full at the time."

Vanya has connected.

Vanya tosses her hair back as she looks over one shoulder, chuckling. The cool weather seems to suit the Russian werewoman as the sheen of sweat along her arms begins to dry with the help of a passing breeze. "I can get you in if you want to try it. That tournament was a lot of fun… and they don't mind if you pick fights at their bar."

The exhale from Grace is a breif laugh, and she shakes her head, "Maybe. Odds would be in my favor, though. And I don't like holding back. I can, often do. But," she gives a helpless little smile, and shrugs again. Ventures, "You should drop by Cheney's, though. Good beer. Usually good company. The regulars know to keep their shit in line, it's the other assholes, the new ones, the people that try to come in thinking they're going to view a freakshow, that I have to keep my eyes on."

"I know your pain," Vanya smirks as she turns and begins to amble a long arc around the clearing, dragging her feet heels along the ground. "Holding back is the curse of mixed weight classes. You're a head and a half over them, or they're a head and a half over you… and when you find a good one that fits you like a tight shirt, then you have to be careful not to kill them by accident."
The brawler's arms raise high over her head as she stretches out and glances back at Grace out the corner of her eye. "What kind of bar did you say you guarded, again?"

"A damn good one," recites Grace, casually. "Mostly, for mutants, metas. It's in Metropolis. Good place. You ever around, and I'm on duty, I'll buy you a beer to say hi," she invites. Afterall, keeping up business keeps her employeed. And, she can always use a strong friend or ally. "So, you live around here too? Or, just visiting?" Afterall, Mutant Town doesn't see a whole lot of visitor traffic.

Vanya shrugs in a large way as her arms fan out to her sides like a bird spreading its wings. "I live anywhere I feel like sleeping. Full of mutants but no fighting… that's almost no fun," she chuckles thoughtfully. "But if it's free beer I'll try to keep my manners." The brawler smirks as her walk takes her around to Grace's back, taking the opportunity to examine the towering woman from all angles. "Nice of you not to say 'vodka'," Vanya jokes.

Grace is a woman who is solid, on all fronts - or in this case, all backs. She doesn't turn towards Vanya, at least not her whole body, just twists her head a little bit. "I don't like you enough just yet to offer to buy you some vodka," Grace jokes back, the smallest measure of a grin causing her mouth to be vaugely lopsided.

"Hahaha!" Vanya's gait sinks slightly as she continues to walk, crouching into a less looping and more controlled posture as she stalks wide of the tall red-head's shoulder. A playful glint hangs in the werewoman's eye as she sweep's Grace's side.
"Vodka without beer is money wasted," she dismisses while idly flexing her fingers. Long, sturdy nails tip each one, though not quite long enough to be called true claws. "Maybe we should fix that, Ms. Guard."

"Choi. But, call me Grace," the tall amazonian insists, good naturedly. She glances around herself, "But, regardless, pretty sure the people around here are appreciative of your assistance to their cleanup effort. Heaven knows they're not going to get any from the city, for the most part." It's no secret what a dumping ground Mutant Town is. And how anyone who can ignore it's existence, usually does.
"So, how do you get around? From personal experience, not a lot of people willing to pick up girls like us out of charity."

"It's something heavy to move. If I just sit all day I would be a twig like all these Yankees," Vanya dismisses before stopping and cocking her bushy brow in confusion. "Get around? Like anything else with two legs." Lifting up one dusty foot, the feral brawler slaps her bare sole with the palm of her hand.
"And sometimes I take a bus," she adds indifferently.

"You should take that fight night winning you have," Grace having judged, perhaps correctly, that Vanya can hold her own well enough in such a scenario, like afterall recognizing like, "And get yourself a bike. Damn good times, and you can pretty much go anywhere you want."

"A bike?" Vanya echoes, again puzzled by the tall woman. "What the is a bike?"

Grace looks puzzled back at Vanya, "Motorcycle? Harley? Indian? Or, any number of other pieces of crap," she jokes, dryly. "Two wheels, goes fast?" She grins then, some. "You have those in Russia, don't you?"

"Oh! Motorcycle," Vanya affirms as realization dawns. "Yes we have those, but in what pizdec does 'motorcycle' become 'bike'?"

Grace chuckles, "Motorcycle, Motorbike, bike," she says reasonably as if it makes perfect sense. She looks at the other woman, sidelong, "You'd look good on one, though. Maybe a Harley Fatboy? Possibly a Knucklehead."

Vanya shakes her head, not even trying to follow that English lesson. As she reaches the same place she started, the werewoman's brow furrows at Grace and she glares lightly. "What did you just call me?"

"I didn't call you anything," Grace says, with a measure of humor. "I said you'd look good on a motorcycle. You've heard of Harley Davidson's, yes? They have multiple models, one model is called a Fatboy. Another, a Knucklehead. Usually named by the type of motor they have in them, as well as the framework."
She shoves her hands in her pocket, non-chalantly. "You should check them out. I think you'd enjoy them."

Vanya gives a slow, measured nod as she backs off and gives the idea a moment of true consideration. "Maybe… but then I would need to store it and stop at lights and get it fuel. That sounds troublesome."

Letting out a chuff of a laugh, Grace nods, "Yeah. There's that. But it gets you places faster, and more fun than on foot. Just a thought," Grace shrugs, not pushing the idea any further. "Love mine. I've got a Knucklehead. Damn fine piece of American machinery." She shrugs, and lifts her hand up. "I should get going. Need to see if I can't find my tiger. But, open offer still stands, should you ever wander towards Metropolis. Good bar, and a free beer."

Vanya hums in thought as she cocks her head to the side, scrutinizing at once Grace's idea and the towering woman herself. "Can your "bike" hold us both? I can find your tiger friend faster than you can," the wild Russian suggests with a smirk, patting her bicep. "But I am a little heavier than I look."

"Sure. It'll sit low, but it'll ride fine. It's back this way," suggests Grace, willingly enough, and maybe even glad for the company. She escorts Vanya back to where her bike is parked, a crisp restoration of '46 Knucklehead. She climbs on, secures her own helmet and waits for Vanya to do the same, and then it's a slow patrol of streets down Mutant Town, letting Vanya adjust to the feel of the bike.

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