Beware! Beware!


abby6_icon.gif daryl_icon.gif remi_icon.gif tania_icon.gif ziadie_icon.gif

Scene Title Beware! Beware!
Synopsis A homeless man in the park makes some citizens of New York uneasy.
Date January 26, 2011

Central Park

Central Park has been, and remains, a key attraction in New York City, both for tourists and local residents. Though slightly smaller, approximately 100 acres at its southern end scarred by and still recovering from the explosion, the vast northern regions of the park remain intact.

An array of paths and tracks wind their way through stands of trees and swathes of grass, frequented by joggers, bikers, dog-walkers, and horsemen alike. Flowerbeds, tended gardens, and sheltered conservatories provide a wide array of colorful plants; the sheer size of the park, along with a designated wildlife sanctuary add a wide variety of fauna to the park's visitor list. Several ponds and lakes, as well as the massive Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir, break up the expanses of green and growing things. There are roads, for those who prefer to drive through; numerous playgrounds for children dot the landscape.

Many are the people who come to the Park - painters, birdwatchers, musicians, and rock climbers. Others come for the shows; the New York Shakespeare Festival at the Delacorte Theater, the annual outdoor concert of the New York Philharmonic on the Great Lawn, the summer performances of the Metropolitan Opera, and many other smaller performing groups besides. They come to ice-skate on the rink, to ride on the Central Park Carousel, to view the many, many statues scattered about the park.

Some of the southern end of the park remains buried beneath rubble. Some of it still looks worn and torn, struggling to come back from the edge of destruction despite everything the crews of landscapers can do. The Wollman Rink has not been rebuilt; the Central Park Wildlife Center remains very much a work in progress, but is not wholly a loss. Someday, this portion of Central Park just might be restored fully to its prior state.

\\"They will come!"

A scraggly looking middle aged man, beard full and layers of less than clean clothing making one think that he probably resides in the little shanty town set up in prospect park that a majority of the homeless seem to denote as home, calls out from the park bench that he's occupied as dusk starts to fall around the fountain in Central Park. The dinner hour has passed and there's still a few more before the threat of curfew will come slamming down and leave the park a barren stretch of earth devoid of human life until morning.

"Cloven hoofed! Eyes of red! Seeking out the sinners!"

His arms are wide, woolen mittens with holes in them exposing pink flesh, dire need of a bath and as one businessman who hurries by him mutters under his breath, in need of psychiatric care. Only, in not so nice words.

He gets a few looks from people who pass, one person looking for a cup or something that the man might be using as a collection pan for whatever his habits or needs might be. But there's nothing.

"He sends them through the earth! They will bring about the end! Brimstone unfurling from their depths, unholy eyes! Beware!"

He wobbles atop the bench a moment before the man decides to put feet on more stable if snowy ground. "Repent! Sinners repent! For they come!" He follows after a mother and her child who though that skirting by the fountain as they hurry through the cold would be a treat. He digs into his pockets, holding out a piece of paper, words written on it in shaking hand, waggling it towards the pair.

"Their howls! Their calls! Satans hunt! Man! Woman! Child! They will care not! For all are equal in their eyes! Sinners!"

He peels away from the mother and child, looking for the someone else, someone who looks like they would pay attention to him.

"The end draws near! Judgement day at the hands of cloven hoofed beasts! Demons not angels!"

Tania is among the people that are actually paying attention to this shouting man. However, the young girl sits perched off a bit, giving some distance between herself and the… totally crazy over there. But she's not so much listening as she is sketching the scene itself. The man on his pseudo-soapbox, the people skirting around him or giving him odd looks as they pass. A day in the life of New York City, something the locals are probably used to and resigned to, but for her? This is a whole new experience, and she's a little wide-eyed about it.

Snow is always so pretty. Especially here in the park, the little slice of nature in the middle of a massive scar on the surface of the earth. Soleil Davignon, or Remi as she prefers to be called, is quietly walking through the park, bundled up nice and warm in rather obviously designer clothes. She likes dressing up, even if it's just to go to work at American Ballet Theater and go home. That's a lot of what she does, these days.

She wanders toward the fountain, hearing the man before she sees him. Cloven hoofed? What on earth is this fellow rambling on about? Her brows arched high on her forehead, Remi slowly draws closer to the fellow, watching him thoughtfully. She's got a tight grip on her ability right now, so no chances of being overwhelmed by the many people in range. Not yet, at least.

She pauses just in sight of the man, her head canting toward her shoulder as she watches the crazy man.

To listen, or not to listen. That is the question.


One hand swings about and points, nary a quiver in his outstretched hand, the very tip pointing towards Remi.

"Lo! But they will come for you. They will come through your door, through the windows, all hours of the day. They will roam the lands and tear the flesh from your body. Your bones will be ground beneath their feet and your lungs will fill with their horrendous stench! SINNER!"

Someone else is watching, making her way through the city, heading back for the speakeasy and Abigail watches the homeless man with look that speaks more of sympathy than of the enmity that others give him. Her hands in her pockets, layers of sweater and shirts beneath jacket, scarf, hat, winter boots and messenger bag.

He turns away from Remi but still points. "Sinner! They will come for her! In the dead of the night they will come for her. Repentence will not save you!"

Nocturne Ziadie shakes his head, slowing his pace to skirt around. Today's version of taking a walk does not involve people crazier than the old man himself might at times be. That is, until he notices that the man is pointing to Remi, at which point he pauses, eyes glancing from one to the other. He keeps his distance for the moment, though, a silver flask tipped to his lips and a cigarette brought out and lit while he pauses.

When the man starts to point toward Remi, Tania abruptly flips a page, to start sketching again, this time taking in Remi and her reacts to this man, more focused.

The girl peeks up from her book, dressed for the weather… but far less so than most people. Neither she's used to it, or she just doesn't have a lot of layers to pile on, it's anyone's guess. But she doesn't really draw attention to herself until she decides to move. Not moving /away/ from the man, but rather, around to a better vantage point.

Wait…what? Remi pauses for a moment, her brows raised slightly as she lifts a hand pointing it toward her chest with a baffled expression on her face. Me? Really? As he rants, Remi looks a mixture between confused, embarassed, and angry. However, she's also curious by nature, and when someone is telling her that she is a sinner for some reason, she has to wonder.

And so, she quietly opens her mind toward the man, focusing on hearing his thoughts while she does her best to look anywhere but at him. Why on earth is she a sinner? She just teaches ballet…

While the men with suits and briefcases and tight schedules only have time for a sound bite as they pass by, Daryl has been killing some time spectating. Hell, dinner (today's special is a hot dog and a can of beer) is going to occupy him for a while anyway, might as well get in some entertainment while he's at it.

Finally, he straightens up a little, gesturing with his free hand to get the prophet's attention. "So what's the point? If we're all screwed anyway, we might as well have fun while it lasts, right?"

Remi's attempts to slip into his mind, hear what he's hearing are successful, but what she wanted to hear? Likely nothing close to what she does here. Several lines of thought, his mind going off on tangents, leaping from one thing to the next. The business man wasn't far off when he muttered rudely about the man's mental state. Ever changing, muddled and confusing, traveling faster than one can comprehend. AS soon as she hears something, it's gone, no chance to pin it down.

"Heatens!"He's spread his arms wide, moving up to the edge of the fountain, sweeping his arms wife. "Heathens all of you! It nears! It comes! They will slices into you! They will set their sights and you shall no more" He voice swells with his belief, shaking his fist to the air.

Daryl's attempt to grab his attention only ends up with a flicker of a glance his way before he too gets a finger pointed.

"Hear me! Heed me! All joy shall be taken, the plunge of a point into your flesh! The end! The start! Death" His voice deepens and gains volume. "Death comes for you sir!"

Tania's movement gains attention from Abby, about to look at the man again before she double takes, recognizing the Russian. Someone she was afraid had been lost in the exodus from the Ferry.

Ziadie doesn't seem phased by the death comes for people speech. The older man shrugs briefly, and makes his way to where he can be heard more clearly, if he can get a word in edgewise. And then he thinks better of it, shutting his mouth nearly as soon as he opened it, and instead turning the cigarette over in his hand a few times, taking another drag before dropping it on the ground and putting it out with the heel of his shoe.

Tania's attention shoots up when someone addresses the crazy man. Because it's suddenly like a reality TV show without the commercial interruptions and the girl is mighty curious to see what happens there. She hasn't spotted Abby just yet, but only because she's observing the show, so to speak. She only lacks the popcorn.

Remi frowns at the rather muddled thoughts she hears, closing off her mind and shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat, frowning at him. Daryl is offered a brief glance, and a slow nod of agreement. That's— fairly correct, at least. She frowns up at the old man, snuggling into her coat and staring at him. She doesn't like him. Not in the slightest.

Finaly, she turns, noticing Ziadie. Her brows raise, and she offers a faint smile, lifting a hand in a wave as she makes her way over to him, while doing her very best to not pay attention to the crazy man. He weirds her out. Usually, people have normal, intelligible thought, if sometimes a little fast or all over the place. His mind is just plain strange!

Well, that went nowhere fast, didn't it? Even without telepathy, Daryl is pretty convinced that the suits had it right after all. "Whatever, man," he mutters, not really bothering to project his voice this time, and gets up to wander over to a different vantage point— who knows, maybe someone else will figure out how to knock him off script.

Daryl doesn't get let off easy, the homeless man hops off the fountain, shuffling through the snow and following Daryl, still pointing accusingly at him. "And they will appear from the darkness and you will know them! You will know them and they will know you! None will be safe! None will know sanctuary from them!" The smell of cheap alcohol on his breath as he nears the teenager.

"For lo, you will suffer under their hands until the darkness takes you"

Abigail moves forward then, digging in her pocket for a bill of some denomination, reaching out to try and distract him from Daryl. "Sir? Do you need anything? Any help?" He rounds away from Daryl to the Brunette with brown eyes. "SINNER! The lot of you! Sinners!" Sweeping his arms, almost hitting Abigail and knocking off her hat to the ground.

Ziadie ducks a nod to Remi, moving a little closer to the bit of a …scene that seems to be starting. He has the same idea as Abigail, it would seem. "Sir?" he queries, before looking over and actually noticing and recognising Abby. He bends to pick up the woman's hat, offering it to her with a mainly polite nod of greeting before addressing the homeless man once more. "Sir?"

Tania frowns as the man nearly hits Abby, and she stands up from her place, perhaps finally recognizing the woman as she rushes over to put a hand around Abby's arm to try to guide her backwards. "It is not safe," speaks the soft, Russian accent, "My mother always said to stay away from… ah, bezumnyi, yes?" There is a glance over to Ziadie, too, like she's not quite sure… if he's someone to fear yet or not.

Remi frowns as she nears Ziadie, edging a little closer to him. "Hey, Ziadie." Then, the scene escalates when the man knocks off Abby's hat, and Remi's brows arch. She frowns at the man, once again focusing her mind on his. But this time, she's focusing on putting her thoughts into the crazy man's mind, with as much will as she can muster. The end goal is to mentally nudge him in the direction she's hoping he'll go.

Calm down. As simple as the act of mentally telling him to calm himself may seem, it leaves her dizzy, and she immediately seate herself on the edge of the fountain, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning arond at the people. One hand lifts to her forehead, rubbing at it. Damn, that messes with her brains— now she can feel a headache coming on.

What's even worse, is that in doing what she's done, she's also knocked out the defenses that keep her from hearing people think. The woman places her hands on her temples, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Oh god— that was a mistake.

Now, see, Daryl would've been perfectly happy to just eat and drink and let the guy continue to flap his gums. But no, he just had to go after him. And for what? Just because he asked a question?

All at once, he's back up on his feet, standing up on the edge of his own bench. "The man is right," he calls out to the crowd, "repentance will not save you. But money will!" His parents used to watch this stuff on TV on Sunday mornings; let's see how much of the style he can remember. "I want you to reach into your hearts and your wallets, and send your donations to PO Box 574, Brooklyn…"

Abby's a little surprised at the advance of the crazy homeless man, reaching over almost by rote to take her hat from Ziadie who earns an equally startled look. Startled looks all around as there's Tania, trying to guide her away which really, the EMT will not begrude nor resist as she pulls her hat back on with a soft thank you to Ziadie and stepping back with Tania. «Crazy. I worried he should need help. He does but not what I can give» Fledging accented flawed russian. Tania's used to it.

Not only is there a crazy guy spouting off about the end of the world and Satan's beasts running around, now there's a teenager joining into the fray and soliciting money. Which about tne seconds after he starts yelling, finds that…


He's getting a snowball in the face from some other teenagers his age. "Fuck off dweeb! Take your grandpa and leave!"


Another snowball, only this one errantly hits Remi.

Remi, sitting on the edge of the fountain seems to have succeeded because the older man has gone from yelling out his ramblings to muttering it, starting to shuffle off, dig his hands in his pocket and search for greener pastures. Leaving just the scattered folks, and snow buried in the back of Remi's hair.

"Least I could do," Ziadie says, in response to Abby. Alright, all I wanted was a walk in the gods be damned park. He's managed to slip a card with a phone number and a message scratched in plain print onto the back of it into her hat, though, between when he picked it up and when he hands it back to her. It reads: theres more re: robots. call, leave a message. place, date, time, nothing else.

The he crosses back over to Remi, looking down at the woman. "Miss Davignon?" The query is soft, and concerned. I'd ask if you're okay but judging by how you're sitting the answer is probably no.

"«You are a kind person,»" Tania says to Abby, her tone admiring a bit, and she adds, "Miss Ebby, I have worried over you. It is good to see you, although better when there is no one trying to hit you, da?"

Remi can tell, through this girl's thoughts, she's relieved to see the EMT, but there's a string of almost hyper-paranoia about the authorities showing up. Her thoughts are, of course, in Russian, but that's only a hindrance for a telepath that doesn't know the language.

As snowballs get tossed, first Tania jumps a bit, before she realizes what's actually going on, and let's herself chuckle a bit. And being sixteen, and recognizing an opportunity to engage in something she's actually never done before, she bends down to pack herself a snowball before she lobs it back at the other teenagers. Because surely, these are not the military in disguise! She hopes.

Man, nobody's got a sense of humor any more! Maybe Daryl needs to work on his delivery. Oh well, to hell with 'em - he drops the act as quickly as it was picked up, instead hopping back down to the ground and reaching down to give them some of their own back. If there happens to be a little dirt and rock packed into the core of his first salvo? Then it's their own fault for starting it.

Ffffff— that did not help Remi's budding headache in the slighest. A shrill scream comes from the telepath, who reaches up to frantically brush the snow out of her hair. She whirls around, fixing a death glare on the snowball-flinging teenagers. That, plus the combined thoughts of those around her, plus the cold in her hair, and she's not doing so well. She's not doing well in the slightest, really, the fledgeling headache quickly turning into a splitting one. Her hands clutch at her temples.

As Ziadie approaches, she reaches up, taking a firm hold of his hand rather abruptly. And just as abruptly, perhaps, Ziadie is no longer alone in his head. Sure, this takes a fair deal of concentration— but it's less, collectively, than actually getting back into the mindset she has to be in to keep her held back. A diversion tactic, really, to block out the mental voices of all of those gathered. No. I overdid myself. I…might need you to walk me to the dance studio. This is sent only to Ziadie, thanks to that skin-to-skin contact.

No need to out herself as being so much more than what her registration card says she is.

"I've worried about you too" Abigail confesses quietly - she'll find the note later when she takes off her slouchy hat. She watches the snowballs go flinging across the park, then in a bit of horror as Tania starts to participate. No, the teenagers aren't authority in disguise, but they are running as Daryl's snowball wings one, pointing and scoffing at the teenager. There's none flying towards Tania even though hers sails as well, through the air, barely hitting the heel of one.

There is some surprise evident on Ziadie's face when Remi takes his hand, but he nods in short order. I thought something as much. He spares a brief glance for Abby as he helps Remi to her feet. I hope she gets it. Felix said I could use the number for messages… A pause, and he speaks aloud. "Let's get you out of here."

Remi is quite happy to raise to her feet, her hand clasped around Ziadie's while her other rests on her forehead. Thanks, Ziadie…I appreciate it. I owe you one. Glancing back over her shoulder, she frowns at those gathered, before she and Ziadie are making their way west, towards the American Ballet Theater that Remi all but calls home.

She might see if Ziadie wants to have a sleepover at the dance studio with her. There's a few beds there for the dancers who let time get away from them and forget to leave before curfew, anyhow. It happens more often than one would think.

Slumber parties are awesome.

Tania gives a little clap when she actually hits someone, because she really wasn't expecting to. But one glance over at Abby's expression and the girl seems to wilt a little, like a kid caught playing in the mud in her Sunday clothes. "Is… game? I thought…" She just looks so sheepish about it all, cheeks red from more than just the cold in the air.

Hecklers successfully chased away, Daryl brushes off his hands and takes a look around, his attention settling on Tania next. "Hey, good going there," he says, "those guys had it coming. Call me a dweeb," he mutters under his breath, as an afterthought.

"It's a game Tania just, I don't know if it was meant in the same spirit that you meant it" Tania's purpose had been fun, the teenagers it has been to hurt and insult. She'd have to explain it later to russian teenager. For now, Tania seems to have an admirer and abby nudges her tilting her head in Daryl's direction. Go commune, speak teenagerese with him.

Yes, many more reasons than the cold. Tania stares for a moment, long enough that Abby's nudge is needed for her to remember to respond. Conversation! She knows how to do it! "Oh, ah… thank you. My pleasure," she says, gloveless fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Of course, there are gloves tucked into her pockets, but she's forgotten to put them back on so far. "They did not understand ah, humor, da?"

There is a glance to Abby, as if needing the assurance that she's doing it right.

Normally, Daryl's followup move would be to try chatting up the pretty girl, but the language barrier and mixed company offer a daunting challenge on that front. "Something like that," he agrees, glancing off into the distance to make sure they're not coming back with more muscle. It's what he might have done in their place. "So what was up with the old guy, huh? Guess he's got nothing better to do till the end of the world than run his mouth about it."

Who knows what's right? Abby doesn't. She's married, her dating the man was unorthodox as it stands. "Likely a combination of mental illness and poor living conditions. Some people can't help it, they don't have access to the necessary medications that would keep them from doing that" And then she realizes how adult she's being and Abigail clamps her mouth shut.
Ziadie has left.

"And fear. I feel… very sad for such a person," Tania adds to Abby's very adult layer of discussion. But she looks over at the boy again, and she smiles a little, soft smile that barely seems to be there at all, "Or maybe, this is, ah, performance art. I heard much before coming here about New York City and how this happens. Sometimes…"

"Could be," replies Daryl, glossing over his own impromptu act. More of a simple joke than anything as fancy as a performance, really. Performances are where you have to dress up and sit and watch for hours. "But yeah, probably just needs some meds." A sidelong glance toward the older woman as he offers a hand to the Russian, silently fishing for a name. If anyone mentioned it earlier, then he missed it.

Abigail's watching that hand, watching the two teenagers. She's in truth, not that much older than them but she's still older. There's another nudge of Abby's elbow to Tania's, dip of her head to Daryl. Shake his hand, say hi, give him your name.

Tania does reach out to take his hand, the gesture a little timid on her side, her hand fragile and thin. Much like the girl herself, under her winter coat. "Ah, Katya," she says, tripping a little over her own name. It probably just means he's cute, is all. Really! "It is nice to meet you," she says, with the air of someone who learned American greetings from a text book.

"Daryl," the guy introduces himself in turn. "You too." He still hasn't figured out where Abby figures into things. Friend? Translator on demand? Have to test it in a minute. "Before coming here. So you're what, Polish?" All those Iron Curtain accents sound the same to him.

"Polish?" Tania asks with a bit of an odd look, stuck somewhere between amusement and confusion. "No no, I am Russian. I came… for school, but ah… things got a little… complicated." That is one way of putting it anyway. "Polish," she repeats, and this time there is a chuckle.

That counted as a punchline? Daryl shrugs off the honest mistake, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he begins walking: heading nowhere in particular, just seeing if she's of a mind to follow along. "Knew it was something like that. Complicated— how long you been here?" At least her English, wherever she learned it, is a lot better than his nonexistent Russian.

When he starts to walk off, Tania looks after him, puzzled. But then he's still talking to her, as well, and that just leaves her well and truly baffled. She looks at Abby, "Chto mne delat?" She asks, what do I do because her teenagese is not as good as her English. But she does look after him again, answering with a quick, "Nearly six months!" But leaving her friend's side, that she is unwilling to do apparently.

Abigail shrugs. Sure, for people she knows she'll follow but random stranger who was picking on an old man. "It's cold, it'll be curfew soon, I should get you to wherever it is that you're staying" Why is Tania out alone in the first place. "Have a good day" She calls out to Daryl on her own, an offered goodbye to him.

Damn, that's right— he hasn't got that much time left. Too bad, he wouldn't have minded hearing about Katya's idea of 'complicated', but it'll have to wait for another occasion. "You too— both of you. I'll see you around, right?" he calls back, before continuing toward the nearest street.

"Ah, yes. Of course. Good night," Tania says after him before she lets out a sigh and turns back to Abby. She rambles a little too herself in too-fast Russian before she shakes her head a bit. "It is alright, I can get back safely. But Miss Ebby… I can see you again, yes? Sooner than these months it has been? I was hoping you were okay after what happened, but I had no way to find anyone and I had to find my brother and it— it was a bad time." An understatement, for November Eighth.

"I can try" She watches Daryl walk away, waiting till he's a good fair chunk of distance away before she thinks to look at Tania and nod. "I didn't know where you'd gone, didn't know how to contact you. I have to confess that you were a worry in my mind but I had bigger things to worry about. You can't call me Abby though. Martha. At least in public" She's digging through her bag, lifting the slap of her messenger so she can bring out a small notepad and a pen, scribbling the number for the cellphone. "Here"

"No, I understand. Everything has been very… I understand." Tania nods to the note about her name, apparently she understand that, too. "Martha. Yes, I will remember." Her fingers take that phone number, clutching it like it might blow away if she doesn't. "Thank you. I will call, soon. When there is more time before curfew, da?" She smiles a little there, before she reaches out with her free hand to give Abby's forearm a squeeze. "I will have more to explain next time. Less public then, too."

"Just get back to wherever it is that your staying, before curfew hits Katya, and I'll e happy and satisfied enough" She returns the affection, her hand gently squeezing Tania's forearm before she too is hurrying off like daryl, off to the speakeasy.

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