All The Posters And Slogans


anders_icon.gif black_icon.gif nadia_icon.gif

Scene Title All The Posters And Slogans
Synopsis Nadia wakes up after her most unusual rescue in the company of colleagues. To an extent.
Date November 9, 2010

Summer Meadows: Apartment Complex

Thunder is what wakes Nadia up, first. Thunder that soon becomes gunshots when her consciousness catches up with her and recognises the sounds for what they are. The room is dark save for orange light spilling in through a window, flickering like heat might in a hearth until she can realise, too, that this is fire. At a distance, probably, because the room is cold. And she—

She feels sore.

Fully dressed in the clothing she remembers putting on in the morning— or a morning— she'll first feel a dull ache in her forearm where needles had gone to work on what was unbroken skin above her wrist, although it's nothing that won't heal. Small burn marks where Veronica's taser had found her, muscles aching and a small headache growing, but sharper than all of these is the clamp of a handcuff around her wrist, stringing her arm above her head to attach hand to an ordinary looking wooden bed frame.

Very ordinary, actually, as is the room she is in, save for the distant sounds of a gun finishing off its business, voices yelling as a fire is brought under control. The slice of sky she sees is dark and smokey, and the door leading out is partially opened, spilling in a slice of yellow light.

A groan marks Nadia's ascension into the realm of conciousness, her eyelashes fluttering a few times as she sluggishly attempts to take in her surroundings. She glances toward her wrist, blinking owlishly a few times. Then, she glances up toward the handcuff that keeps her attached to the bed. She squirms feebly, rubbing at her face with her free hand.

"Wh—what the hell?" Once she's got a better reign on her vision, she glances up, peering toward the door. "Hello?" She calls out toward the partially opened door, a frown growing on her features. "Is anyone there?!" She squirms, shifting so it's a bit more comfortable to have her arm cuffed to the bed.

Then, a wave of vertigo hits her as she reaches out with her ability. She's up high. Way too high, and way too far from the earth. A hand claps over her mouth as she grips at the bed she's cuffed to, curling in on herself and clenching her eyes closed.

There's no answer, just yet, despite her calls for help, and Nadia is left to shiver and suppress her nausea for a couple of minutes before she'll hear the sound of footsteps, masculine heaviness and creaks on floorboards. Without being able to open her mouth unless she wants to puke over the side of the bed, at least until she can get control over this first wave of vertigo, conversation outside is allowed to continue, snagging her hearing for a few seconds.

"…sending a boat out for us if she knows what's good for her."

"She's not a hostage, dude. And where the fuck you gonna go on a boat anyway? Back to Scotland?"

"England, and no. I dunno why you're so fuckin' calm, Lazzaro was the one watchin' us, and he's gone. Or if he's smart he will be."

Nadia shudders her way through the vertigo, tears streaming down her cheeks. The dizziness won't go away until she gets closer to the ground, really, but she at least manages to suppress it enough to fight back the nausea. As the voices are heard, she blinks a few times, listening in. Wait— what? Hostage? England? Lazzaro?

Another wave of nausea hits, and it has Nadia rolling to the edge of the bed and noisily emptying whatever she might have in her stomach onto the floor, sobbing as she does so. What the hell is going on? The Face of Registration is terrified right now, clinging to the edge of the bed with one hand to stabilize herself.

At least she won't feel so nauseous, now that she's puked. Now she'll just be dizzy.

"Last I heard was that we need to hang tight. If you were planning to take off then why'd you wait 'til now?"

"I didn't have little miss here to— "

"Hey, hear that?"

The door is abruptly shouldered open, the bright light of the hallway is expanded, temporarily shadowed by Anders' frame before he moves inside, Black's lankier figure appearing in the next moment. The shine off a gun glints in the low light as he points a pistol towards where Nadia is clinging to the edge of the bed, looking decidedly undeadly. But he keeps the weapon leveled. "Miss," he says, to get her attention. It's not polite, exactly. "How ya feeling?"

"Look at her, man, she couldn't hurt a puppy right now," Anders mutters, but evidently, he isn't the one with the keys. Or the gun.

Nadia finishes vomiting, sobbing quietly and wiping her mouth against the sheets. Anders is quite correct in his assessment of the woman, who is quite helpless right now, so high up from the ground. As Black enters, Nadia turns, at first focusing on his face, then on Anders. "Too high." Finally, her eyes find the gun that is leveled in her direction.

Then, she scrambles back, sitting up on the bed. She wavers a little, the room spinning, and grips the bed, eyes wide as she tries to focus on faces. "Please don't hurt me! I'll give you money if you want it, just please don't hurt me!" Tears stream down her cheeks, and finally, she ends up falling over, curled in the ball, with her arm at an uncomfortable angle, strapped to the bed as she is.

Anders glances at Black to see if the older man is moved by her sentiment, but a twitch of a grimace doesn't exactly imply pity. He does, however, tip his pistol in a getsure before opening bomber jacket to slip the weapon into holster, hand up to scratch against dark stubble at his jaw, peppered with silver. Though he doesn't feel much in the way of remorse for her predicament, discomfort defines his posture. "Christ. We're not going to hurt you."

"Or rob you. We, uh. You were going a little nutso." Anders holds out a hand until silvery key is placed there by a grudging Black. Younger man approaches the bed, making a face at the puke. "So promise you're not going to scratch my eyes out and you shall be set free." But he isn't waiting for that to happen, poking key into lock and releasing the cuff with a metallic click.

The woman relaxes slightly as the gun is put away; at least that's not staring her in the face any more. She doesn't like Black so much. He seems a bit too cold for her likings. That, and he was holding a gun on her when she obviously can't even sit up. So Black has been established in the not so nice guy rung.

Anders, on the other hand, isn't nearly as frightening. In fact, he's almost likable. As he draws near, she tenses up a little, but otherwise doesn't fight. The moment her hand is free, she's hugging it to herself, rubbing at her wrist in awkward silence. No attempt is made to raise herself off of the bed; that would only result in the room spinning again.

When she breaks her silence, it's with a much more defined, "We're up too high. Too far from the ground." Strange that she even knows they're not on the ground floor, but such is the way her ability works. "What— what happened?"

"Too high up? You need to be closer to the ground?" Lots of people will say Anders is kind of an idiot. But he is capable of putting two and two together, and there aren't a lot of people in New York who don't have the basic grasp that Nadia is a terrakinetic. "Okeyday, hold on." His arms then forklift beneath her body, lifting her clear off the bed and backing up from the puddle of vomit on the ground, wrinkling his nose a little because— through no fault of her own— the Face of Registration smells a little.

But she's also hot, so.

Black visibly tenses as Anders goes to princess-carry the girl out of the room and likely for the straircase. "You think puttin' her near the ground is a good idea? You didn't see what she did to the uniforms."

"If it makes her sick to not, yeah, I think putting her near the ground is a good idea. You can pretend she's a hostage on ground floor too." And out into the hallway, Black following sullenly. "Look, shit went down," Anders is telling Nadia. "Riots and everything that was supposed to happen, happened. Roosevelt is on lock down and they're probably gonna wait 'til— hell. I dunno. Do you know what martial law is? Because you're gonna get familiar with it.

"Staircase time. Please do not throw up on me," Anders adds, as he moves for the stairs.

Nadia makes a soft sound as Anders lifts her, one arm snaking around his shoulders. She certainly wouldn't stink if she could help it, really. She makes a note to herself to clean up, the next time she sees him. Maybe even spritz a little bit of perfume or something. A brief glance is cast toward Black, the girl frowning slightly.

"I'm not going to try anything…" This is mumbled toward the other man, before Nadia's attention is on this nice knight in shining armor figure. "So it— it wasn't a dream? That I just kind of…lost control over my body?" She frowns, leaning her head against Anders' chest for a brief moment. Then, dark eyes turn up toward him, brows raising.

"Who are you?" She braces for the stairs. It'll get better when she gets closer to the ground.

"Anders." The road gets rocky as they head downstairs, but Anders is at least taking some care. He's moving at a slow pace, angling her so neither feet nor head his corners or walls or corners of walls. Black stops at the mouth of the stairwell and remains up there, and the last Nadia sees of him is a lanky silhouette burning into her retina before they've cleared the bend, the earth slowly becoming nearer and nearer. "And no, that wasn't a dream — even if this whole city is a nightmare."

He sounds a little jovial about it, in a kind of bitter, good natured humour. "I work for the Department too, kind of. Just info-get shit, not like you. Black— he has some deal with one of their agents. I did too, actually. Lazzaro, you'll know that name. He's gone, now, and Black was gonna see if he couldn't use you somehow to get a better deal, but it's a stupid idea. Don't worry about him, anyway.

"You should rest in a way that isn't drug-addled, and I'll get Gerald to come pick you up tomorrow. Mayes will probably want you outta here…" And he trails off, as if unsure of that.

Dark eyes watch Black as he disappears from sight, frowning. "I— I couldn't stop myself. I could only watch. Like…um, a prisoner in my own mind, or something." She tilts her head up toward Anders, peering at him thoughtfully.

As he explains who he is, she relaxes even more, and each step they take closer to the ground brings more and more relief. "I— I don't think it would work very well to use me…I'm only important because my face has been plastered all over the country." She leans her face against Anders' chest, closing her eyes.

"Thanks for being nice to me." She smiles faintly. She can only hope, really, that Mayes will want to get her out of here. Maybe a nice stay away from New York is a good idea. Assuming she can even get out. "I hope she will."

"I got angry-drunk once. That kind of sounds similar," Anders notes as they continue their steady descent, the sheer weight of the earth's gravity soothing Nadia's vertigo with each step. "And yeah, I figure Black's grasping at straws, tee-bee-aich. But we live in the age of celebrities, I guess, just— he'll probably work out fast that the Department tends to just stomp people rather than negotiate. All those posters and slogans and shit? They aren't for people like him."

Or people like Nadia, if he means Evos, but maybe he just means the criminal element. His tone is casual, anyway, as he comes to stand on the ground floor, letting her on her feet. "Ding," he says, helpfully.

The Vertigo leaves her rather quickly, once they get to the second floor, and the queasiness goes away once they reach the ground floor. When he sets her on her feet, she holds onto him for a moment, to be certain that she's not going to inexplicably get dizzy again. Once she's certain she's not going to, she pulls away from him, testing her own feet as she rubs at her forehead with her hand.

"Thanks…it's much better to be on the ground." She still sounds a little disoriented, but that's likely from the Refrain they pumped into her. That could also explain the craving for…something. Not that she knows that. "What did he do to me while I was passed out?" She purposely leaves Anders out of the question, as he doesn't seem to even be the type to do anything to her.

"And what do you mean by that?" Her brows raise a bit. Now that she has a bit more brainpower to work with, sans the nauseating effects of being up on the fifth floor, she's got a few questions about the man they left behind.

Anders is moving even as she speaks more, heading for a couple of doors in the gloomy hallway and testing their handles. When one gives, he pokes his head in, before yawning the door wider and then scratching fingers through his dirty blonde hair. Uhh. "He, um. He dosed you with— something. To keep you happy, basically. Then I got him some morphine to keep you down until we were sure everything would wear off. His— " And Anders stops himself, then just gives an uneasy shrug.

"Like you were saying, about going nutso. He just kept you locked down and didn't tell anyine 'til I did. Look— everyone's running a little scared right now, but things will chill and be back to normal. They'll start letting us off the island soon. What do I mean by what?"

He jerks a thumb towards the open door. "This room's free if you wanna call dibs."

"What do you mean, by the posters and slogans not being for people like him?" She frowns quietly, following him at a slow shuffle, still struggling with that headache as she makes her way over. "And what was I dosed with? I feel…funny. Not entirely myself." She pauses near him, frowning into the open room.

Then, suddenly, her eyes widen. "Wait…how long have I been out? What apartment building are we in?" Suddenly, she turns toward where hse presumes the exit is. "My dog, Holmes…he's still at home. I need to get to him…" The offer for a room is completely ignored. "I need to go find him…he must be really scared right now." She puts a hand over her mouth, concern creasing her features.

Sure, she feels like shit, but her dog is important to her, and she would just die if anything happened to him.

"Goddamn," is sighed out, not really to her, more at the situation. "Outside we got people throwing stuff through windows, still, and the police ready to take a night stick to anyone who looks at them weird. And they're on horses. It's curfew right now and if you wanna see your dog, then sneaking around on a tiny island at this hour is a crappy idea. Just wait until morning. It'll be cool — I left my mom's poodle in a shack for like three days and he was cool by the end of it."

That's not the most reassuring thing to say, Anders, but maybe he's banking on the fact she has no choice. "Refrain. He gave you Refrain." And Anders doesn't try to defend Black, regarding that, just fans his hands in a gesture of not being involved.

They drop down to his sides. "I guess I just mean that… the Department is more interested in using people like Black than helping them. I mean, you should know — they use who you happen to be, the fact that you're smoking, and can string a sentence together. The cuddly part of the Department is kind of more tailored for— everyone else, you know? I didn't mean anything by it, really. Today was just a shitty day. And if you wanna run out there to get your puppy, I won't stop you, but I'm gonna stay here.

"You're in Summer Meadows. Safest place in the city." He may be being ironic.

"But that's…what if…what if someone breaks my windows? Oh, I hope he's okay…" She whimpers, pausing as she stares sadly at the door. "I'm— I'm going to go tomorrow, as soon as it's not curfew." She sounds like she wants to cry. Poor Holmes, he's probably terrified and upset and going to the bathroom all over the place. She bites her fingernails, staring at the door with a concerned look.

She doesn't turn back toward Anders until he admits that it was Refrain that was pumped into her. "I-I, he—" She frowns. "He drugged me with Refrain?!" She suddenly has a furious look on her face as she turns to glare at the stairs. "Wh-why would he do that? That stuff…" She suddenly stomps her foot on the ground, scowling at the stairs. "Ooooh, I want to hurt him right now!" She says this as if it's not a common occurance.

Instead, she marches into the empty room, scowling. "I want to talk to Mayes, as soon as possible." There's that celebrity attitude coming out, though it's definitely not directed to Anders. This much is obvious when she pauses in the empty room, turning to frown at the fellow. "And— will you stay here with me for a while? I don't really feel safe being alone with him." She jerks a thumb upwards to indicate Black.

Aaaa. Anders is shrinking back towards the wall of the hallway when lady gets mad, putting up his hands and thinking about what Black said about what she did to the uniforms. What did she do to the uniforms. "He did save your life. Some bitch was tazing you," he points out, weakly, but chills out easily, scratching his belly through his shirt as he watches her stomp back towards the offered room. "But um. Yeah she's sending her office bitch here in the morning and he'll put you in touch, probably."

At her request, he twists a glance over his shoulder — but there's nothing to see but gloom and nothing to hear but the sounds of trauma going on outside. What does he have better to do, than to sit until she falls asleep? "Fair enough. Aight. I'll wake you up when it's like 5 or something and you can go get your dog."

"He— still, he drugged me. That…I could be addicted for life now!" She probably won't, because she likely will never touch the stuff, but still! It's the principal of the matter! She promptly stalks toward the cupboard, to see if there's any food. Nonperishables are best, because who knows with all that's going on right now if the refridgerator is reliable.

After a moment, she sighs. "I'm sorry if I scared you," her voice is much more gentle as she apologizes. "This is just— a lot to take in, you know?" She pulls out a box of crackers and a bottle of water, turning to peer thoughtfully at Anders. "I'll be sure to put in a good word for you when I speak to Mayes, okay?" Black won't get as much. Save her or not, he still put Refrain in her.

She moves toward the bedroom, then, carrying her meal with her. Pausing at the bedroom door, she smiles faintly toward the man. "Thanks again."

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