Allies in the Alley


anna_icon.gif brian_icon.gif reuben_icon.gif toru_icon.gif veronica3_icon.gif

Scene Title Allies in the Alley
Synopsis A motley crew of riot survivors happen upon one another in an unlikely place.
Date November 8, 2010

Kingpin's Bowling Alley

The breaths come slowly.

It's a trick he learned from being in training sessions over and over. Especially against this one larger Company guy that favored a guillotine chokehold. Time kind of slows down, nothing else exists. All there is to focus on your breathing. Make that breath come in, and make it come out. Salvation will come somehow, just keep breathing.

A gargling choked noise emits from his throat.

The Bronx is a battlefield. Gunfire rings through the air occasionally, yelling, the sound of a louder more far off explosion. The National Guard and police have descended, but the territory is not totally given up. Small battles occur here and there, rapid contests for a convenience store, or a liquor store, or a KFC. Recently the sound of barking police dogs has become a more popular note in this area, perhaps the police are gaining a stronger foothold here? Perhaps not.

A molotov cocktail soars from a man's arm into a nearby storefront where riot police attempt to deal with a band of looters. Maybe a few of them will escape the fire…. Probably not. The crack of glass and the sound of fire whooshing up only compliments the noise of pseudo-war waging so near.

Just keep breathing. Another desperate gasp as his lungs feel like they have all but collapsed in on themselves.

Many have taken shelter in stores, or other vacated buildings. Many have died in those buildings, but still many are able to hide. Use the building as a temporary shelter. Things get heated in the streets, run into a nearby building. Like a bowling alley.

The door has long since been busted down, but the build of the alley has the interior of the building almost completely dark. With very little light from outside fires and the all but dissapated sunlight penetrating inside.

Don't stop breathing. Reach…

Brian Winters thought this a good place to duck away from the carnage. He chose a bad hiding spot. Three men decided they wanted his gun, and with two of the men dead the third happens to have Brian in a very compromising position. A large man is on his knees in the middle of one of the lanes, a large beefy arm wrapped securely around the neck of the smaller ex-agent, Winters. Saliva drips from the man's lips, his face entirely red from the exertion of squeezing. Winters is pressed against the bigger man's chest, his gun laying unfortunate inches away from his fingertips. Brian is moments from passing out and ultimately, death.

Just breathe.

Suddenly, the larger man's head whips back as if struck by something. His hold momentarily relinquishes, giving Brian just enough time to sprawl forward and reclaim his firearm. Twisting his back, a single bullet is let out.

The bowling alley is a safe place to hide again.

Dropping the gun, Brian lays in the middle of lane 14, panting and gasping for breath. He might just lay here for a while. Hands splayed out, he coughs and heaves to get oxygen back into his lungs.


Outside, a volley of gunfire can be heard, the bullets splintering the wood of the door. There is a closer report of a firearm as it shoots the lock, then the door opens and slams shut again. The form of a young woman can be seen darting inside, moving behind the rental counter to crouch there as she reaches in her coat to reload her weapon.

A groan from Brian's form alerts her to his presence, and Veronica Sawyer peers over the counter, her heart pounding as her gaze sweeps the interior of her hiding space. She should have stayed where it was safe — but then, that's never been her style. The agent looks like she's in as much danger as anyone else tonight — perhaps even more, if those she's been trying to help turn on her on the account of her badge. A cut on her cheek has strained her face with dried blood, which is then mixed with soot and grime. She's been trying to do what she can in the city — off duty — since noon, and it shows. She's exhausted, her body bruised and bloodied from falling and being nearly trampled hours ago. And the day's just gotten worse.

Brian and his trio of dead attackers weren't the only people to decide the bowling alley seemed like a good spot to hide out; even deeper in the recesses of the alley lurks a Japanese chap dressed in an olive drab jacket and helmet looted from a nearby surplus store, hiding in the machinery that keeps the lanes working. It's nice and dark back there, easy enough to keep from being spotted.

After all of the ruckus with Brian and aforementioned attackers goes down, he hazards a peek out into the lanes, careful to remain concealed, but doesn't actually announce his presence yet. Bro's got a GUN and Toru ain't armed for long-range combat. He's got like, a skateboard. Not cool.

He's also bored, though, and one guy is easier to take on than four if he really has to. And he's even about to try to make nice except that yet another person sneaks in, and at that point he's starting to just get fed up with this situation. Taking a deep breath he moves into a position so that he can be heard better — though still not seen very well — and shouts, panic pretty obvious in his tone, "Put down your gun! Put down your fucking gun or I will fucking— fuck your shit up!! Both of you!"

Very threatening.

The loud, semi-fluidinous noise of someone squeezing off some muzzle-children permeates the ambience in the already-chaotic environment of the bowling alley as the door swings open and a man with shaggy brown hair and a shirt that reads 'Shut up, Tyler' bolts into the room dashes around, slamming it hard before attempting to lock it.

"Goddammit, come on," he mutters, the unusually-serious DJ losing his focus on the door only when he sees the Japanese fellow waving his handcannon around. The Reuben "Revolting Rooster" Spencer quickly dives under an overturned display table where man funny bowling shoes once lay for an auction. "Hey, Tiger Mask! Calm the fuck down for a second, okay? I'm pretty sure the badguys are all out there," he shouted over the table. "Look, I'd like to get away from the door if it's all the same to you, so would you mind not fucking my fucking shit the fuck up when I fucking shit myself walking around this table?!"

The toilets. The bloody toilers of some forsaken bowling alley. Perfect place to hide till the storm blew over, at least… that was Anna's idea. When she hears the sounds from nearby… and calls to put down a gun… she squeels out in surprised fear.

Which, of course, defeats the entire point of hiding in the toilets in the first place. Worse, hiding in the toilets meant she had no real safe way out.

As she realizes what she's done, she mutters a soft, "Dammit, Anna." to herself, "Why the hell did you have to go and do that." Yeah, it's not making the situation any better, but it helps in staying calm… for certain values of calm.

There's a gun over here, a screaming asian over there, a man hiding under a table… Too much for a nearly unconscious man to register. Brian's eyes roll lazily from side to side weakly. Pushing his elbows to the lane, the young man tries to push himselff down the alley somewhat. Away from the newcomers. A shaky hand comes down to gingerly grasp back on his gun. Even though he grabs his gun, it doesn't take away from his slow and steady crawl away from the voices.

Lane 14… Lane 13… Almost lane 12, Brian has to stop and rest. Face pressed into the dark wood floor, his eyes close. He's not ready to mouth off yet, but when he is, oh just you wait for it. The annoying voices in the room are ignored for the moment, because that's all he can do.

The agent rises, pulling the taser out and shoving the gun back in her holster; she holds one hand out in what she hopes is a calming non threatening action. "Everyone calm down. There's room in here for all of us. Please stay calm. I'm going to go assist the injured man over there," she murmurs, husky voice raw from inhaling smoke and soot.

Weary dark eyes dart from Reuben to Toru to Anna, assessing their demeanors. "This is a taser. I'm holding it in case he attacks me," she says quietly, calmly, "but I don't plan to use it. If I do, it will simply be to disable him. I do not want to hurt anyone."

All the while she's making slow, nonthreatening steps toward where Brian is trying to crawl away. "Sir. Are you bleeding? You might need medical attention — I can help with first aid," she says softly as she comes closer to Brian, her eyes continually sweeping the alley to take in the others' positions and reactions to her words.

It is at this point that Toru climbs out of the depths of lane 10, awkwardly hobbling on his knees and holding his skateboard in front of himself with gloved hands. "Just— y'all just fucking don't start any shit!" Once he's out in plain view, he pushes himself to his feet, keeping the board held out and looking around frantically to see just how many people there are here that he's dealing with.

"I will fuck you up I swear to God I will fuck you up if you don't just— why aren't the doors blocked!? What the fuck kind of hideout is this if people can just fucking come in?!" He's breathing heavily, panic not showing much sign of subsiding, and he seems to actually be serious about using his skateboard as a weapon if he has to. "Fucking too many people in here, this is not— don't make me do shit I don't wanna do!"

The shaggy-haired man in tinted glasses and the trendily snarky shirt slowly rises from the table, looking at the agent as she does her whole 'look at me, I'm armed but don't want to kill no suckas' thing. "Yeah, I think we're full up," he says, running his hand through his hair as he begins to test the table under which he'd been hiding for stability. "Anyone wanna help me jam the door with this thing?"

His eyes roll over the others in the room, settling on the Japanese fellow whom he had imagined was armed and apparently was not, lest he be challenging the almighty Tony Hawk at a skateboard fighting match. "Hey, guy," he called over, motioning with his arms to the Japanese man. "Wanna help me barricade the door, or are you too busy guarding the bowling pins?" The tension is audible in his voice, despite his blatant attempt at levity

Too many people. The high school girl looks to the door, to the woman with the taser, the guy with the gun. "Fuck." She whispers to herself as she looks around. She's quivering in fear. Too many people. There's just no way she's gonna be comfortable right now.

Carefully, the girl comes closer. That woman with the taser… she seems okay. Sort of, anyway. And that's enough for Anna to decide to show some degree of trust by heading over. "Hey…" she says softly, her voice trembling with fear. "What's going on?" She asks as she gets somewhat closer.

The girl's clothes are a mess, as is apparent by now. She's got a nasty scratch on one arm, and a bruise on her cheek. They're minor injuries, sure, but without them, Anna would probably look a lot more attractive.


The hoarse reply is sent to Veronica. "You suck at first aid." The words turn into a string off coughs, head jerking up as he is racked by the coughing. Finally the coughs calm down and Brian gives a bleary gaze up at the woman standing over him. Another cough is given out. "You following me?" The other people in the room are ignored for now. He doesn't have much energy to divert to them at the moment. Though he is quickly recovering.

Trying to prop himself on his elbows, the newest voice penetrates the haze. "Is there a child in here?" He wheezes, deciding that propping himself up is too hard he collapses back down.

The sound of a nearby explosion practically rocks the bowling alley.

"Maybe we should all be friends." He offers weakly.

When Brian speaks, Veronica crouches, letting out a soft huff of a laugh and reaching to brush a lock of his hair from his face. "What's hurt?" she whispers, ignoring his jab at her first aid — she was only going to be a neurosurgeon before the Company changed her path, after all. "Are you bleeding, or did they just kick the shit out of your ego?" she teases.

Anna's words get her attention and she peers back over her shoulder at the teenager. "Shit. Hey, kid. Riots. The stuff they saw back in June about this day came true, more or less. The city's out of control. You alone here?" Her voice is soft, compassionate; her brows knit worriedly as she tilts her head to watch Reuben and Toru. "Everyone okay? Anyone else here with you guys?"

The fact that nobody has started shooting at him at least has Toru calming down a little bit. The board is still held up defensively, but.. well, it doesn't seem like he needs it. He's had enough time to himself to get himself all freaked out over nothing, it's hard to convince himself that he can calm down now. But he does anyway!!, and gradually lowers the board to his side. Not that it would have helped much anyway.

He looks around at the scattered people, pointing his board at Anna when he sees her and barking, "Don't fucking sneak out like that!" He looks her over a moment before finally turning his attention to Reuben, nodding slowly. "Right. Friggin' bigass place like this, weird nobody else is holed up in here but I guess it ain't like there's shit to steal." Wandering over thattaway, the skateboard is set up against a wall as he goes in to help barricade the door.

"Yeah, okay, guy," Reuben says as the table is moved into place in front of the door and tipped over, the now-upward edge of the table wedged under the handles to help keep the doors shut. "Let's just hope that nobody else needs in, otherwise, they're S.O.L.," he says, edging away from the Japanese fellow before he walks around to the dishy brunette and her floor-bound ward.

"I'm not here with anyone else. I was leaving house in the area and decided to go for a walk, then all this horrible shit jumps off. It's like that episode of Boondocks where Riley throws a chair during a protest and a brawl jumps off between picketers and people that saw the chair flying." He pauses for a beat and without waiting for a comment to his strange little story, looks around. "Hey, this is a bowling alley. They've gotta have booze and smokes here," he says, making his way to one of the unoccupied counters. "Shit, no. Maybe not."

Anna would normally contest being called a child. Normally. Right now, she's way too scared out of her mind to worry about things like that. "Yeah.. I'm alone." She answers Veronica's question. The girl brings herself to a seat, "That stuff came true.."

A clearly visible shudder carries itself over Anna's body. "Fuck.." She whispers to herself, then… a little more strongly, but still scared, she speaks up again. "Who are you guys anyway?" She's scared, but if she's gonna hang out here until the storm blows over…

And, then her upbringing comes in and she remembers some decency through the fear anyway. "I'm Anna…" She's not telling them her last name, apparently.

"He had me in a rear naked…" Only Veronica would know about Brian's semi-recent obsession with the UFC and their terminology. "But I'm not the one dead. So maybe.. Maybe you should say his ego is bruised." Giving a dazed point over at the culmination of dead guys back on lane 14. Slowly turning to push his hands off the wood floor, Brian stands weakly. "Alright." He lets out loudly, clearing his throat. "Looks like we might be holed up in here together for a while. So I have a few questions."

"One. What are all your names? Jobs. And… favorite beatles song. Two. Who the fuck watches the Boondocks? Three. One of you should scan the back there, to see if we have anymore friends." He pauses. "That one isn't really a question. More like a strong suggestion." But Anna is already doing what he said before she even said it. She's the best.

"My name's Brian. Freelance badass."His eyes slowly swerve over to Veronica.

"You do know that Van Morrison wasn't the fifth Beatle, right?" Veronica quips, glancing at the others. "Vee," she says tersely, before jerking her head toward the rest of the bowling alley. "I'll do a sweep."

She's apparently not trying to make new friends as she doesn't wait for the names of the others, instead moving first to the dead men in aisle 14 to be sure they are in fact dead. Once that's done, she moves toward the back of the alley where the bar and kitchen and other such facilities lie.

With that table in place, Toru nevertheless decides to upturn another one and shove that over as well. They aren't very heavy, the tables. Which makes it easy enough to move them, but also makes them somewhat dubious when it comes to.. home security. Maybe throw a couple chairs over there.

Brian's directives are mildly ignored for a moment as Toru makes his way over towards the snack bar, helping himself to a paper cup and a blast of fountain cherry Pepsi. Lid and straw applied — there may be rioting but we don't have to be uncivilized — he pulls up a chair, sitting backwards in it in a daring style unseen since teenage self-indulgent films of the early 90s, he sips and stares at Brian for a long minute.

Well. Whatever.

"Trevor, unemployed, Beatles are for fags. There's probably a back door somewhere, lady!" He adds, louder and directed to Vee, though he doesn't take his eyes off Brian. "I don't think those guys dyin' put you in charge, bro.”

"You are aware that MMA is for little fairy boys, right?" Reuben quips at Brian as he peels the clear wrapping off of a box of Virginia Slim Menthols because they were the only ones he could find. As he plucks a dainty white cigarette from the box and lights it with a small pink lighter(again, the only one he could find that wasn't hunting- or MMA-themed). "Just sayin'," he says.

"Uh, I'd rather not give my name out. In fact, if anybody here listens to 106.7FM from 5am to 9am, just don't say anything. But for the record, the Beatles aren't for Fun, Athletic GuyS, Mr. Roboto — That's what MMA's for," he says before levelling a gaze at Brian, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer for the win, yo," He begins walking back around the door where the angry little Japanese fellow with a vulgar vocabulary helped him use a table as a makeshift barricade. He put his ear to the door and listened. "Jesus, it sounds like Bush's daydreams of Iraq out there."

Okay, so.. more questions are asked. Anna forces herself to smile, and it's obvious the smile is fake. The high schooler, considers the questions, and answers the ones she feels like answering. "Don't have a job." Is her first answer, "And I don't know any Beatles songs, sorry."

As the cigarettes are pulled out, the girl reaches for her own pack, as well as a simple purple lighter. A few moments until, yes, she is smoking as well. "We're gonna be alright… aren't we?" Anna asks nobody in particular, seemingly needing confirmation of that. Still, fear permeates through her body, and she looks the part.

Not to mention that that scratch on her arm is dirty, someone should probably at least go clean that wound up. She herself doesn't even seem to have notices that wound.

Brian looks up and around at the building that surrounds them as if confused at what this place is. "How the fuck did we trap all the assholes in here?" Quips and very stupid jokes ignored pointedly, Brian moves his attention to the not mean one in the group. Anna. Walking up to her slowly, he eyes her a bit. "You might want to clean yourself up, Anna." Eyeing the other two men, Brian glances over at Vee. "Let's go into the back… We'll be finding shelter in the cool part of the bowling alley… assholes." Pushing his gun into the back of his jeans, he makes his way for the back.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License