Participants:
| Scene Title | CH-BOOM! |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | says the grenade — just a normal day in New York for Danko, but Daphne and Melissa don't find it so ordinary. Huruma looms ambiguously. |
| Date | March 6, 2010 |
Abandoned Tram Station, Roosevelt Island
Towering high over the streets of Roosevelt Island, running paralell to the Queensboro Bridge, the rusted iron tower of the Roosevelt Island Tramway lies in a state of disuse and disrepair. Cable cars that once followed the bridge into midtown Manhattan lie spraypainted with graffiti, windows shattered. Surrounded by a chain-link fencing plastered with "NO TRESSPASSING" signs, the fence is falling down in places where residents have kicked down the chain-link to get access to the tram cars as shelter.
With much of the surrounding area beneath the Queensboro Bridge, noise from the traffic of the bridge deck overhead drowns out other, quieter sounds and creates an almost constant sound of mechanical noise in the area, along with the creak and groan of straining metal from the old tram station.
The snow has stopped. For now.
Unfortunately, there's still plenty of it around, the cold and white sullied grey where half melted stuff has slid off the bridge overhead in slushy clods. Dirty icicles gleam wetly overhead, silent sentinels in every grimy variation of brown and grey to the the lone lap of a trashcan fire left burning under the rumble and grind of traffic overhead. Fresh footsteps trample away through the snow in every direction, weaving and erratic amidst the glassy shatter of icicles broken off from above and bits of smoldering debris.
Further out, where the first of the tram cars creaks sullenly about its suddenly empty state, one set of tracks points inward where the rest point out.
About three minutes ago, something in or around this place went off with a flash and a bang and the homeless folks gathered opted to get the fuck out've dodge rather than wait around to see what the fuss was about. Probably not a bad instinct — and even if the cops do get called, they'll have a hell of a time picking the bullets that licked at their retreating heels out've the snow.
Now, aside from the fire, the only thing here that professes to be remotely alive is the stealthy shape of a compact man in a black, black coat and balaclava tracing a glove carefully along the underside of a rusted out bench in the shriek and grind of the abandoned tram car that had its door left open in the chaos.
Despite the hour, Melissa was out and about. A girl's gotta learn all about her neighborhood, right? Especially when she operates a safehouse in said neighborhood. The bang has caught her attention though, and her explorations are halted and investigation takes their place. She moves slowly towards the tram, a hand in her pocket, a frown marring her forehead slightly. She's certainly cautious of any bangs, but not enough to run like the homeless did.
There is a blur of gray and red and white, streaking by the structure. A moment after the flash bang, suddenly the streaks of color coalesce into the form of a petite woman, stopping a few feet away from the rickety, creaking structure. The woman frowns, glancing down at her feet in that split second rather comically, like a cartoon coyote who has just realized he is running on air. Her legs begin to buckle, but then she straightens. There is a shake of her head, and she takes a tentative step forward. Great. She looks around, eyes narrowing. "You a negator?" she demands of Melissa, the closest to her, her eyes not catching sight of the man in the coat yet, nor is she aware of the explosion that just occurred before her arrival.
Huruma's radar is by far better served than a GPS; at least for her, that is. Not that she can ping as well as one, only that when she knows what she is interested in, she can most likely find it. In this case, it is actually not what she stumbles into that she was looking for. She was actually looking for a particular shop, only to encounter noises in the distance, and the flight part of Fight or _.
It's only natural for her to approach from the blind side of the idled old tram. She keeps to herself for now, far reaching senses picking out here and there presences one at a time. The woman otherwise skulks by putting herself behind some of the taller junkyard bits and pieces, waiting.
One bug. Two bugs. They're both turned over gently in careful fingers and tucked well away into the warmth of a navy-style peacoat that could stand to be buttoned against the cold.
But if it was, he wouldn't be able to reach for his gun at the soft crunch. crunch. crunch. of something light and bipedal moving in through the snow stuck deep outside. Breath fogged thin through the material of his mask, he swings a glance wide over his shoulder back out the door, but there's no one visible out there. Yet.
Plenty aware of the fact that things aren't likely to stay that way for long, he draws the matte black metal of his gun out past the lapel of his coat and sinks the hammer back on its hocks, mind as crocodile-deliberate as its ever been despite worn edges and stress fractures in the exterior veneer when he crosses one silent step over another on his way back towards the open car door.
Melissa glances back to Daphne, eyes narrowed. Don't interrupt her when she's stalking something interesting! "The hell you askin' me a thing like that for?" she asks in a hiss of a voice. "Now quiet so I can figure out what the hell just happened." She waits a moment, as if to see if she's going to be questioned again, then she continues forward, one hand remaining in her pocket. After all, no reason to let your hands freeze while holding a gun if you don't have to, right? She stills when she reaches the tram, peeking inside. Seeing just one man, a shadow in the tram, her brows lift and her head tilts. Anyone seeing her face wouldn't need to be a telepath to read her mind. Hmm.
Daphne frowns. Her legs feel normal again, but for a moment there was that return of the feeling of dead-weight that she associates with her past and more recently her nightmares. She isn't quite ready to speed away, though that's what she wants to do. Something tells her trying to do that just yet will just have her collapsing on snow. Her head tilts as the woman goes toward the tram. She shivers, putting her hands in her pocket. It's much to cold to be standing still, but she isn't sure she can manage more than that or perhaps a slow walk. "Stupid," Daphne mutters to herself, for being out in the cold at all.
Well. She'd know that little reptile just about anywhere- but those little lambs on the far side of the tram are completely new to Huruma. Not that she is very concerned with that- she is more concerned with the Jaws theme coming from the spot. The tall woman sidles along quietly, doing her best to avoid crunching down onto chunks of ice. Those steps take her ever closer, close enough that soon she stoops down, scoops up a handful of snow, clutches it together into a small, dense ball- and launches it towards the one end of the specific tram, ball landing onto its closed door and echoing a loud CLANG into the car.
Not just a man, but 5'7" of cagey old gay badass marine in a ninja mask. Fortunately(?) for Melissa's brain (but less fortunately for her nose or anything else that gets in the way) the WHANG of rolled snow against the far door startles Danko into a instinctive jolt for the open door rather than a trigger pull. And her "peek" is greeted with a stiff boot to the face rather than a bullet.
For those outside and not in possession of a sixth sense, the equation has suddenly changed for the more painful. And baffling. The man in black follows his kick with the rest of himself at drop and crouch, free hand braced to snow and ice to push him up again so that he skim a bewildered look between…the two vaguely art-studentesque girls he thought were after him. Lifeless eyes glittering grey in the semi-dark through the narrow band of open space in his balaclava, he sizes them up with a kind of quiet skepticism that's generally rare among brigands and vandals around these parts, breaths huffing quick through the screen of black over his mouth.
Melissa's head snaps back at the impact of the foot, and she stumbles back a few paces before she trips and lands on her butt in the snow. As her empty hand is lifted to her now bloody nose (this is becoming a habit!) she says, quite clearly and loudly, "Mother fucker!"
She scrambles up, the hand used to push her upright leaving the snow pink, and she's glaring at Danko. "What the fuck do you think you're doing jackass? You like just randomly kicking people in the face? I should kick your scrawny ass rather than trying to find out what the hell happened!" she shouts at him.
And if she has to hurt, apparently part of her mind thinks that others must hurt as well. It's not a conscious thing, and she doesn't even realize that she's doing it, but her ability flares to life. Luckily she's not absolutely livid, though, so the pain she unconsciously projects towards Danko is relatively minor. And a mirror of the pain that she's currently feeling. At least his nose isn't bleeding though…right? And she hasn't shot him yet!
At the sound of foot meeting face, Daphne finds herself on the razor's edge of a decision — run away or try to help. She doesn't carry a weapon, as generally she just speeds away before ever needing to fight, and it's hard to hit a blur. She takes a deep breath, and turns on the speed, zooming in zig zags in case Danko chooses to shoot, her power working despite her uncertainty that it would. Once at the tram's opening, she attempts two things at once… to snatch the gun out of Danko's hand and to grab Melissa and pull her out of the way.
Judging from the ruckus on the other side of the tram, whatever Huruma did, it did not spook Danko enough to make him start shooting things. He always has a gun, but thankfully he is not always trigger happy. Huruma presses herself against the side of the tram, edging around curiously towards the end. It is there that she listens in on Melissa's loud yelling, and wrinkles her nose at the feeling tingling itchy at her face. Hm. What is that? Her glove reaches up to rub there, nostrils flaring at phantom blood in them.
It is only this that makes her actually peer around the corner of the tram. Danko's back is to her, so both girls will be able to spot her shadows. When Daphne moves through her field, Huruma is able to feel a buzz as the speedster moves. The feeling from the girl is like a hummingbird's wings.
Danko's amusement all sticky and black as blood at Melissa's expense (Who the fuck does he think he is?) is as cocky as it is short-lived. That is to say, it terminates immediately when the echo of his own felled blow rocks back through his skull at an uneven ripple and he flinches back, eyes shut hard and teeth bared behind the same mask that hides his identity from all but Huruma.
Goddamn it never makes it so far as actual dialogue. He's quick to recover as he is to recoil, and with brows knit in cold-burning fury rather than mirth, he jerks his gun up in line with a straight shot to — okay now the fucking gun is gone. Nose rankled after the fashion of a wiry old lion having bits of its ass hide nipped out by hyenas, the little son of a bitch pops another grenade out from around the region of his belt again. And waits.
Melissa yelps as she's pulled back, and after a moment to recover from her surprise — surprise which melts through the anger and has the pain projection fading until the only one still hurting is her, with her busted nose. "What the fuck! Okay, I don't know what the hell is going on, or who the fuck you and your friend are, but this is bullshit! You want the damn tram all to your-fucking-self, then you can have it. Blow it to kingdom come for all I care."
The new proximity between Daphne and Melissa has the speedster cringing with pain, and she shoves the other woman a little away from her when she realizes it's Melissa who's causing the pain in her face — just as Melissa clamps down on the power. "My friend? I just saved you. Show some gratitude!" she says angrily, one foot stomping in the snow. Her hat's blown off so her platinum hair is visible, making her look like a bundled-up, human-sized Tinker Bell throwing a tantrum. She frowns at the gun in her hand, but aims it at the man holding the grenade. "Shit. Now what…" Daphne mutters. "Call the police or something? It's not my neighborhood — I don't care if he wants to live in the tram. You might." Since Melissa said it was her neighborhood and all.
"Oh, now, you put that away." The reprimand- an obvious one- melts out of the dark at the end of the tram. Huruma's laugh sounds like a purring noise at its low volume. But, to Danko, it is unfreakingmistakable. Maybe he'll get one of those 'I should have known' feelings. "You just got freed up, don'tell me you've already screwed that up…?"
Huruma steps out along the tram with a crunch of snow under her boot, white eyes glittering there in the dim light.
Danko's thumb hooks up through the grenade pin the instant Melissa and Daphne reappear at a rate of motion that he can actually register, only to hesitate when that same register carries with it the fact that his own gun is being pointed back at him. A shiver rattles up his spine and out through his narrow shoulders, either from the rasping cold or from sheer, unmitigated anger at how quickly his position's been compromised, here. But he doesn't put the grenade down, and he doesn't back off either, eyes like lead and silver unwavering in their liquid fix on the two girls…until Huruma's voice enters the mix.
There the masked man turns his head as if his attention's been physically pulled aside, colorless eyes pitched into shadow while he rakes through the dark over his shoulder after some sign of the source. And finds it there, in the usual fine form. There's a beat of stiff silence, then:
"…Since you asked so nicely," his brows tip up, and pop goes the grenade pin, then the flung grenade itself — not for the tram car, but for Melissa and Daphne. And his gun. Wisely, ~Emile~ breaks into a bolt for cover in the opposite direction.
Melissa looks at Daphne, baffled and irritated. But the woman also has a gun, so Mel backs up slowly, trying to keep her eyes on D&D both. It's then that she notices the grenade, and the other woman, and her eyes narrow, her hands moving back into her pockets. Well this just got…interesting.
Then the grenade is being thrown. Even as her hands leave her pockets and she starts running, not back, but towards the side, she yells out, "Fucking bastard!" They will not be going out for coffee anytime soon.
ORDER: It is now your pose.
As soon as the pin comes out, Daphne shoots. Too bad she has never used a gun before and it's about a yard off. "Fucking A!" she adds to Melissa's eloquent remarks, turning and grabbing the other girl as she begins to speed, happily faster than the lobbed grenade, stopping to grab Huruma's arm as well. The blur of three women, unless either Melissa or Huruma break free, streaks across white snow following Danko, though not to stop him — at least that's not Daphne's priority! She wants to get away from him!
Once past their assailant, Daphne's happy to keep going — until suddenly her legs short out on her once more, and she stumbles to normal speed, some 100 yards away from Danko. Letting go of both women's arms, she falls to her knees. "God. Damn. It." The words are slow, spat out, angry at herself, Danko, the world, the snow, and most of all, the virus she can't keep denying she has.
Whoops! She did ask very nicely. Huruma raises her brows, watching Danko lob the grenade into the twilight as if she were watching a game of badminton. Up- up- oh, right- get away from it. Danko moves out of her vision, and she moves to follow-
- Only to find that her arm is nearly yanked out of the socket as Daphne grabs on. A startled feline-like yowl comes from the large woman as the speedster darts away from the grenade, zipping past Danko. She is trying to yank her sleeve free- and with a tiny girl on it it surely will not be too hard. Huruma jolts herself out of Daphne's grip two-thirds through the trip away, though well past the grumpy little masked man; she is all dark clothed limbs and wool coat as she tumbles, and virtually somersaults over the layer of snow. Huruma lands on one bent knee and pantleg, dragging clawing hands through the white fluff.
The little terrorist that could is quick on his feet. Always has been, even with the cold stinging dry at his eyes and prickling through the snug fit of the balaclava. It's worse in his hands — he'd've worn thicker gloves if he knew this was gonna turn into an ordeal — but it's too late now. He's running, they're running. Everybody's running, until he stops first and shortest to slither-slide and roll into a sit on the far side of a snowed in bulldozer that's probably been here since the beginning of time.
It's to his benefit that muscle memory lifts his hands to muffle over his hidden ears.
CH-BOOOM, says the grenade. The ground quakes underfoot, and there's more smoke than fire — a black and grey heap of it that belches up in a mess of meltwater and muddy snow, but no bodyparts. A wary glance out around the side of his temporary shelter is enough to confirm that much. Breathing hard, now, he could probably figure this all out if he cared to spend another second or two dwelling on it, but fact of the matter is…he doesn't. Even with the others clear on in his sights, down one firearm and unclear on exactly what kind of teleportation he's looking at here, he fastens his double-breasted coat up rigid across his chest and sets himself into a slinking retreat.
"Shiiiiit!" is Melissa's reply to being dragged around at high speeds. There might even be some nausea involved, like with a rollercoaster but less fun. However, since it's getting her AWAY from the grenade man, she's content to deal with the potential nausea and just go with the flow. Until they stop and there's a BOOM behind her, one that has her hunching down and covering her head with her arms. "Who the hell is that guy?" she yells to whoever might answer.
Daphne glances over her shoulder to see the smoke explosion, dark eyes squinting as her ears ring. "No idea… fucking nuts… don't know what the hell is going on, but if I can walk, I'm getting out of here," she mutters, panting a little — normally moving at her high speeds doesn't exert her in the least, but with this illness, she's out of breath and feeling a bit dizzy after the sprint across the snow. She moves her weight from one knee to her foot and begins to try to push herself up, but to no avail. "God Dammit." This is not her day.
Huruma's movements match Danko's; hands on ears, form hunching to cover itself as there is no real cover for her. Even here she can feel the mucky rain dropping down onto her coat. When she feels that, the tall woman sways to her feet proper before feeling her brain around; she chooses to follow after the direction Danko went- the girls might notice, might not. But she does know that she cannot be caught here either- and when the forest is on fire, everyone is bound to scatter in one non-fiery direction.
With one wary eye turned to Melissa and Daphne's efforts some hundred yards off or so even as he strikes off through snow deep enough here to swallow him up to the knees if he's not careful, it doesn't take Danko long to pick up on the stink of something injured or infirm in the way the older blonde is failing to find her feet. Click-click-tick go the little clockwork gears in his brain, steel over brass, and without having made it more than a few slogging steps, he slows himself into a bus turn angled more in their direction.
Huruma's not off his radar, either. His next look is to her, measuring as it is warning, in a way. He's seen something he wants. No empathy necessary to know that he fully intends to get his hands on it.
"Damn," Melissa says, before she tugs out a card with her number on it, nothing more, shoves it at Daphne, then rises. "You find out, call me." Then she takes off, not wanting to get caught around here in case anyone shows up to investigate. Then she pauses, sighs, and glances back at Daphne. "Need some help? But we gotta go."
"I can't… I can't walk." How does that make sense? She was walking. She was speeding around like the Roadrunner a moment ago. Daphne's hand goes to the gun she shoved in her pocket and pulls it out with shaking hands, both wrapped around cold steel. "Don't come any closer!" she shouts to the man. "I think… I think I'll get my legs back in a moment. Go… you can't drag me and get us both out of here. Just go." This is all said softly to Melissa. With one foot planted and one knee planted in the snow, she tests the weight of the former, giving another frustrated shake of her head. "Call the police. You got a cell phone?"
A warning look isn't really enough to deter Huruma from curiosity. She pulls along the back of some rusty construct when he meets her with that gaze, and her eyes peer back in interest. One glove is palmfirst against metal, pausing as it seems to coil her arm and shoulder, seemingly ready to tiptoe after him like a jackal in the grass waiting for something else to do the deed.
"How sure are you that the magazine isn't running on empty?"
Danko's voice roughs over the snow at volume enough to carry, worn sinister at the fringes, like snake scales scuffing tell-tale over a bed of dry leaves. No doubt knows enough about people and guns to know what it looks like when someone doesn't know about people. Or guns. He does come closer, one snow-turning step at a time, shoulders straight and eyes fixed cold ahead. "You don't look so good, sweet pea."
"Feeling a little under the weather?"
"Shit," Melissa says softly, but with feeling. She glances up, looking for Danko. "Yeah, I'll call. But not just leaving you. I mean…grenades," she reminds the other woman, though she clearly doesn't have to. When Danko speaks she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her own pistol, aiming it at the man. Unlike Daphne, she has used a gun before, it seems. "This one isn't empty," she calls to him in a flat, serious tone. She doesn't look down to Daphne, but clearly speaks to the other woman.
"Check the magazine, then get your ass up and get moving. Don't care if you hobble the whole way. But do it now."
The gun wavers and Daphne glances at it — sure, it looks easy in the movies and cop shows to check the magazine, but at a moment's notice, with shaking fingers, she has no clue how to do it. "I feel just fine," she calls back, though her voice is a touch raspy and she looks a bit feverish, despite the cold air. She pushes on that booted foot in the snow, managing this time — yes — to get to her feet. "Just fine." Now, anyway. "I need to … get home… before I lose it again," she whispers apologetically to Melissa. She offers the other woman her gloved hand, to offer the quick getaway. "Keep your gun out, in case I lose it again, though."
Ah. A spare. Huruma smiles thinly to herself, eyes wandering over Danko's back before turning away. The rest of her follows suit, and the woman steps briskly into the direction that they had originally been heading. Goodnight, sweet peas.
Whups.
Not exactly having accounted for the presence of a second firearm, Danko does stop in his tracks there. And as much as he may want what Daphne's packing, the odds are suddenly no longer in his favor.
He stands where he is for a moment, breath fogging at an even furl and drag: a short, lean figure all in black against the snow piled high at his back. Smoke still drifts in uneven starts from the source of the grenade blast.
But the immediate danger is over for now. Head tipped in allowance for his own disadvantage, he keeps his eyes on the pair of them as he starts back into a retreat, and not long after, he's vanished along with Huruma into the Roosevelt Island night.
Keep her gun out? Oh yes, that is one thing that doesn't seem to be debatable. "Let's go," Melissa says, taking Daphne's hand with her empty one, but keeping her gaze - and her aim - firmly on Danko. And to him, she murmurs, though not loud enough for him to hear, "Don't worry. I'll see you again, asshole." The words barely get out of her mouth before Daphne's doing her supergirl thing, and taking them awaaaaaay from Danko and that stupid tram!