Evo is the New Black


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kaitlyn2_icon.gif lene_icon.gif monica_icon.gif odessa4_icon.gif quinn4_icon.gif

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Scene Title Evo is the New Black
Synopsis Red used to be the new black, so it stands to reason Evo must be the new black. Because they've got red on them.
Date July 28, 2011

Battery Park City: The Esplanade

The Esplanade runs the entire length of Battery Park City, along the Hudson River from Stuyvesant High School on the north end all the way south to Historic Battery Park. With its views of the Hudson River and New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and the New Jersey shoreline, the Esplanade is a pedestrian paradise. Parks and gardens line the entire route, along with numerous sculptures and public art installations.

While the park itself remains well-maintained in the aftermath of the bomb, the city's growing homeless population has made large portions of the Esplanade their home. While not quite the tent city that Prospect Park in Brooklyn has become, the presence of tired and weary homeless individuals in the Esplanade plaza or sleeping on benches along the coast during warmer months is not an uncommon sight, though the NYPD does their level best to try and mitigate this, it is still a problem.

The Esplanade in Battery Park City is always a popular place, especially in good weather, for joggers and pedestrians — even with the homeless that have made it their home. It's hard to beat the view, and those searching for a bit of respite from the asphalt and concrete of the city can always find a patch of grass to sit in as they take in the view of the water.

Today, it's gone from popular to crowded, and anyone hoping for a peaceful jog is simply out of luck. The signs for protest have been up all week, inviting the likeminded to join in the rally; the advertisements also have the opposite effect of inviting those with opposing viewpoints and the curious who stand on the middle ground.

Those leading the protest stand on handmade plywood platform stage along the rail in the center of the Esplanade, halfway between the high school to the north and the park at the southern tip of the island. The supporters crowd around the stage, carrying signs that vary from home-made on cardboard or posterboard or butcher paper to professional quality print jobs. The opposition stands in the grassy areas behind, many with their own signs. Though the protest was scheduled to oppose martial law and registration laws, the opposition's group is more than double in size, their boos loud enough to drown out the megaphone of the rally's leader, a young man with long blond hair and a t-shirt proclaiming him to be EVO AND PROUD in bold letters. The same t-shirt can be seen on many people in the crowd, and is, in fact, for sale from roaming merchants. Just $10 for a target on your back. Cash only.

The police are on hand on bike and horses; they do not wear or carry riot gear. The FRONTLNE unit — they hope — is enough to keep the "peaceful assembly" just that — peaceful — despite the slurs thrown from one group to the other.

Monica's not really here to protest. Or to protest the protest, either. She's one of those curious folks just sort of looking on as the two groups holler and howl. This is why she doesn't get involved in these things, they seem to always turn into an insult match, and that's not helping either side, really.

She's dressed like an average person, jeans and a t-shirt, her hair pulled into a ponytail. The shirt sleeves only cover part of a burn scar there at the top of her arm, but it faded enough to not be a shocking sight should anyone bother to look. She's aware she's on a certain list and that there's certain government authorities here, but she's doing her best to melt into the crowd. And she's actually pretty good at looking unsuspicious and not attracting attention to herself.

Peaceful is the goal, at least, it is as Hannah Emerson has laid it out for the team of three with her - she had been advised to bring more, but more than three and it was going to look like there were there to be a more oppressive presence than was intended. Having nothing against anyone' sright to protest - even on this, the touchiest of issues, likely to escalate at least a little bit - that wasn't something that Emerson had wanted, and since it was her "op", that was the call she was making.

"Remember," she remarks, looking back over her shoulder at JJ and Kaitlyn. "Try not to get in anybody's face unless it looks like something's going to go wrong. Good judgement's going to be the most important thing here today. We wait too long to get involved, things could get ugly. We jump on people presumptuously, it's going to look ugly in the headlines and on the street, and the last thing we need is people being more suspect of FRONTLINE." Because everyone has an opinion about the group and what they do, at least in her experience. A lot of it isn't exactly good.

With a nod, she turns to look back at the gathering crowd. Just because they want to keep things peaceful doesn't mean they aren't prepared - full amour (though, of course, Emerson isn't wearing her helmet), weapons handy and loaded with rubber bullets, and both tear and negation gas in case things get really ugly. With any luck, they won't need any of them.

With any luck.

On the back outer fringe of the crowd, one woman stands with her arms crossed and an uncharacteristic scowl on her face. Recognisable to some, Robyn Quinn is trying her best to blend in, rather than stand out. Dressed in a simple button up black shirt and matching skirt, blonde hair framing her black glasses, she sighs and waits for things to begin proper. It's been a while since she's been to anything like this, hopefully she won't regret it.

One of the curious but standing a little closer to the supporter side of things, Delia Ryans files between people to get a little closer to the stage. With the heat of the day having waned a little, the long jeans are a comfortable way to hide the unsightly cuff attached to her ankle. There's a weathered canvas backpack slung over one shoulder and a small square of color, the same shade of the targets, peeks out from the opening.

She stays far away from the police, even farther from the soldiers milling around. At first, it's simply curiosity that drew her to the place, the sight of the blond leader is what makes her stay. Lifting her chin to listen, she curls her fingers a little tighter around the strap of her pack. Her lips curl into a slight smile but she doesn't do anything to catch the familiar man's notice. She'd always been on the other side.

There is a rapid whirl and click of horizon armor as Kaitlyn Dooley taps her foot. Either in irritation or in her discomfort. Lots of people means that the FRONTLINE agent is being overwhelmed by her ability. Her jaw clenches and relaxed as she stares out into the crowd with a slightly unfocused look in her eyes.

"Damn suits just need to gimme back Proto… then there won't be no issues." Her voice comes out digitally through the helmet she's wearing. Even so her southern drawl sounds a bit disgruntled. "Ain't no one gonna risk nothin' with it around." Fingers tighten around her rifle, body slightly hunches with one could assume is the sensation of the people around them.

Graeme's here to keep an eye on things as well, skirting the edges of the protest and just identifying faces, always trying to end up outside of the crowd overall. Having come here from whatever teaching job, he doesn't quite look out of place, but it's definitely better dressed than he'd like to be at such an event, overall, and so much for the expectation of peace and quiet that he sometimes finds at the park, though he did know he wouldn't find it today. Hands shove into the pockets of his slacks after fiddling with the top button of his shirt, and he looks up, not realising that the subconscious desire to be away from things and such has led him towards the back of the crowd as well. "Miss Quinn," he says, quietly, paying more attention to the man on the stage and the others who seem to have been organising this. "Been a while."

Some people just aren't fortunate enough to blend in. And sometimes, that's just fine by them. A year ago, Odessa Price may have bought one of those EVO AND PROUD tee shirts the little hippies are wearing. But a year ago she still had sight in both eyes, her good looks, and was in relatively good standing with the group best suited to deal with the unique challenges that come with being Evolved in New York City.

She also used to be Evolved.

Not so anymore. In many ways, Odessa feels an outsider and one with the crowd both. Her white hair is tied on top of her head with a pale yellow ribbon that matches her sundress. To contrast (that is, not match), her shoes are a pair of bright green Converse hi-tops. If Odessa's reading this crowd right, this is not the time for spiked heels. Except perhaps to try and spike them through someone. And let's be honest, that's what the ceramic knife strapped to her thigh is for.

Surrounded by those in support of the protest, she does her best not to look contemptuous. Being at least somewhat adept at playing both sides of a conflict, it isn't terribly difficult. But if one more person asks her if she wants an arm band, or a button, or a goddamned tee shirt, Odessa may just snap. (Verbally.) She is here to see, and be seen. Appearances are everything, and hers is one that needs cultivating.

JJ listens to the directions from his CO and gives a nod to Emerson; his helmet is off as well, and he stands watching the crowd rather than the rally leaders for any signs of trouble — he misses his mother sanding in the crowd. Kaitlyn's words earn her a grimace and narrowed eyes. "That'd be like passing out roofies at a 'Take Back the Night' rally, I think," he says a bit wryly. "As it is, I'm surprised they aren't burning little FRONTLINE effigies or something as it is."

A group in front of Delia hold a sign saying "Evolution is the Way of the Future! Embrace Change!" and stick figures of the four young people with their powers illustrated (if juvenilely) — the yellow-haired girl has a lightning bolt coming out of her hand; a dark-haired boy holding up an anvil; a taller dark-haired boy with a ball of fire in his hands; and finally, a black-haired girl with a whirlwind spiraling around her. Suddenly there is the sound of a camera whirring, but no camera to be seen. Delia can feel someone brushing by her a moment later.

Graeme greeting Quinn is interrupted for a moment by a pair of hands covering Quinn's eyes. The faux-redhead in one of the EVO pride shirts winks at Graeme from her spot behind the DJ and songster. "Guess who?" croons a cheery voice but the hands drop away when the people on stage start their work.

"It's so great so see so many people out here to show their opinions — both sides! — because that is what makes a democracy great!" cries out the lanky blond man with the magaphone. "I am happy to see so many people out here, taking time from their busy lives, to give us a couple hours before we all have to rush home before curfew. I'd love for this to go as long as it takes to make a difference. Unfortunately, we only have til 9 p.m. And that's if you live here in the park. The rest of us will have to scurry away to make the last trains to wherever we're calling home. Anyone from Eltingville here? You better leave at 7 to make it home on time." The sarcasm and jokes, though not good, earn the desired chuckles of agreement from the crowd.

That camera whirring sounds next in front of Odessa, capturing a picture, it seems of Odessa and the man holding a sign saying "EVO IS THE NEW BLACK."

It's just one of those things. Monica knows what JJ's job is, she just never really expected to be around while he was actually doing it. But when she spots the so much more obvious Dawson in his armor, she can't help but chuckle a little to herself. She doesn't try to grab his attention, but rather the opposite. How awkward would it be to have to arrest your mom?

Of course, the goal is not to get arrested at all, which would be better served by just getting out of here, but she's curious. And maybe a little overconfident in her ability to kung fu her way out of trouble. But she drifts closer to the pro evolved side, trying to get close enough to hear something over the roar of the other crowd.

"I think having the Prototype here and in view would just make people think we're here to oppress them," Emerson remarks, pistons whirring as she awkwardly crosses her arms. "But I do wish we had something, out of view, we could use if we needed to. The prototype, some support.." Really, she'd like anything except those robots she saw a few months back. They are only three people, at the end of the day. She watches the crowd for a few more moments, before sighing. "I will say, though… I am all fr Evo support, and for the right to protest, but some of the things these people are saying and waving around on signs is a little silly. They might not be doing themselves any favours." Fingers tap idly on her arm, waiting, hoping. "What do you guys make of this? Seeing anything unusual?"

The voice speaking to Quinn surprises her, the woman jumping a bit in surprise when she's spoken to. So much for not being recognised! She tilts her head towards Graeme, and once she recognises him, she smirks. "Hey! How're you doin', I haven't seen you since-"

And then she lets out a loud squeak, likely drawing the attention, as a pair of hands fold over her eyes. They can't be seen, but they're wide underneath those palms, at least until she hears the voice. "Jolene!" Quinn responds happily, turning as hands drop away, arms open for a hug. "This is about the last place I expected t' find either of you. I guess a shouldn't be surprised." She looks up towards the speaker, frowning a bit. "Both sides. I'm willin' t' bet that they don't really care about the other side. Not that I blame them for that. I like the idea of bein' here, giving a shout of support, though. I haven't been t' one of these in a while." A look over towards the soldiers, police, FRONTLINE… "Kinda nervous about it, though."

The whir of the camera has Delia reeling around to find it. Fifteen minutes of fame, even for something she shouldn't be involved in, is a little too temping. She puts on her best smile, crooked as it is, ready to face the viewing masses with her pearly whites. Reaching into her pack, she pulls out the shirt and tugs it on over her t-shirt. It may be a target but she's definitely ready for her close up.

The rally leader's question is a rhetorical one but Delia's hand goes up in the air as high as it can go, and she's a rather tall woman. "I do!" But she quiets right away and tries to hunch into the crowd when a few people around her begin to chuckle. Those bother her a little more than the stares from the other side of the camp. Rather than stay where she is, the redhead moves a little closer to the stage, close enough to touch it.

Giving a toothy grin and giving JJ's shoulder a pat, armor making it a little rougher then normal, Kaitlyn offers helpfully, "If you didn't want to be hated, you sure found the wrong job. It's one of those things that we share with the cops. Ain't nobody who likes us until they need us."

Emerson's remarks just get a snort from the medic. Her views and those of her teammates never really match up. At least when it comes to the robots. As for what she makes of it… "Only needs a match," she growls out, glancing at the crowd. "And it'll explode all over. Don't have to be no empath to feel the tension in the air." She fidgets even as she talks, like she's trying to get comfortable, which won't happen til she gets out of there.

Graeme grins, giving a nod to Jolene as well, before finally placing the face to the time he's seen her before, and the name into his memory. The first few words he says are lost under the noise, and the he repeats himself, louder. "- a while ago, yeah. Well 'nough. I like to keep kind of an eye on things, really. Keep myself informed about what's going on. Enough to keep myself and Aric safe, at least," he says. There's a bit of tension in Graeme's shoulders, though. He's nervous too, before his eyes finally settle on some of the opposition. And if his hands weren't in his pockets, it might be possible to see the tension forcing them into white-knuckled fists.

Odessa's dark blue gaze narrows when she hears the click-snap of the camera. The sound seems to ensure that the being seen portion of her objective has been successful. She darts glances about for the source of the photography, while maintaining a look of casual curiosity. As opposed to the venom she's feeling instead. Someone's walking about invisibly. Now that's a horrifying thought: Invisible paparazzi.

Much like herself, Delia Ryans isn't terribly easy to lose in a crowd. Though Odessa is quite a bit shorter, especially given that she's wearing sneakers rather than four inches of heel - sometimes with another two inches of platform - she spots the redhead and metaphorically slithers her way toward her and the soapbox. "So you can leave our lovely beachfront home," murmurs to the taller girl, with just enough volume to be heard. It suffices as a greeting.

"I wouldn't miss it!" bubbles Lene as she drapes an arm around Quinn and lifts her cell phone to snap a picture of the both of them — the angle of course gets nothing but the haters in their background, holding signs like "Evo Go Home" and "Human is First" and even less politically correct, "Eliminate the mutants!" Regardless, the photo will likely end up on the refrigerator, if Lene ever figures out how to get her digital photos printed.

Near Graeme, Lene, and Quinn, the sound of a camera can be heard again, and Quinn's toe gets stepped on by an invisible pair of feet.

JJ smirks at Kaitlyn, then shakes his head at Emerson. "So far just a lot of noise. Hopefully it stays that way." As his eyes skim the crowd, they pause on Monica. One brow ticks upward, and then he smiles and gives a nod. Awkward, yes, but the sight of his mother still brings a smile to the young officer's face.

"Come on up, E-ville!" the speaker says, moving to the end of the stage to offer a hand up to the redhead. "Hey… weren't you in my nutrition class?" he says, moving the megaphone only halfway through the sentence.

Once Delia is up, he speaks into it again. "All right! We have some volunteers to show that our abilities aren't all bad things. If you can come forward, while I speak to this lovely young lady!"

A few people near the front of the crowd move forward to climb up, each of them wearing one of the EVO pride shirts, as the speaker turns to Delia. "Tell us why you're here today, E-ville!" The megaphone is shoved into her hand, and then the young man moves to over Odessa a hand up as well — after all, she seems to be with Delia.

Meanwhile, to her right on the stage, the small group of volunteers begin to put on a little "show" — one teenager begins to juggle fireballs and an older man begins to create illusions in the air above his head: a rainbow and white doves that turn red white and blue. A bit heavyhanded on the symbolism, but subtlety often fails.

The last volunteer, a young woman with freckles and dark hair, comes up with a partner, a young man with similar features who has to be her brother. The crowd gasps as the man pulls out a pair of scissors and without any warning, lifts his hand in the air and stabs himself in the palm. Some people scream, and others swoon from the sight of crimson that spurts through the man's fingers. The girl grabs her brother's hand, enveloping it with a pale pink glow.

When he holds his hand up, the wound is gone.

Like blood in the water, it stirs the sharks in the crowd. People surge forward on both sides — healing is one of those rare gifts, and everyone knows someone who needs it.

Even the haters.

Monica smiles, too, and gives JJ a little two-fingered salute in greeting. Playful, rather than mocking. Those fingers move into a close representation of the boy scout salute next; she's not here to cause trouble. Honest! She spots Quinn, Lene and Graeme soon after, but also doesn't draw their attention her way. She'll just make her way over.

She should have been paying better attention to what was going on up near the stage, because she might have anticipated the crowd being a bad place to be at the moment. But alas, she gets caught up in the surge toward the healer and pushed thataway. In the press of the crowd, it's hard to do some vital things, like catch your footing or your breath, but the good news is, she's got a handle on that adrenaline surge. At the moment.

The display of abilities earns a bit of a grimace from Emerson as she watches the display of abilities, body and armour tensing noticeably as she stands a bit straight,as if ready to move into action. "I think I would've picked some other abilities to show off with. These are the kinds that-" Emerson is cut off as the screams and gasps ring out, and it seems like she's ready to move, something that is only belied by the healing show the woman puts on.

Even without the amplification on her helmet, it's not hard for her team to hear her gulp.

The people surge, and things go exactly as she expects. "Shit, it looks like you've got a friend, Dooley. Someone's going to need to go pull her out of that crowd before someone gets trampled. I can't believe someone was so…" She stops short of saying stupid, instead turning and pointing Kaitlyn. "I know you hate crowds, but I think she might understand if a kindred spirit, of sorts, comes to get her. Safety on, no display of force. Just bring her over here before someone gets hurt, make sure she knows she's not getting arrested. Let them carry on with the gathering, unless someone does something that stupid again."

With that, Emerson herself starts towards the stage, shouting "Hey!" as she tries to get the attention of someone with a microphone so that she can commandeer it and tell people to back the hell off,

"Ow!" Quinn doesn't quite shriek or squeal, but it certainly does sound like something very suddenly hurt. It probably doesn't help that she's wearing sandals, causing whatever crushes across her toes to hurt that much more. She hops back, almost missing the display of abilities. She looks over to Graeme, and then to Lene. "Hey, I'm not E-Ville, but I could always put on a-" show is cut off as the gasps and rushing begin, and Quinn backs away scowling. "Oh fuck. What the hell just happened?"

A blush covers Delia's face as she garners the attention of both Odessa and the speaker. She has no time to answer the question posed by the former when she's being called up by her former classmate. Turning quickly back toward the stage, she hooks the buckle of her pack on the doctor's dress and pulls her along (quite by accident) as she gets up on stage. The hem of her jeans rises and hooks on the top of the anklet in the back, out of sight of its wearer but not of the crowd.

A tentative smile is given to the masses, it's a little more fame than she was hoping for when she went searching for the camera and now that it's given she's not sure she wants it. The megaphone is taken, however, and she brings it up to her lips with a squawk of feedback that's sure to pierce eardrums before it quiets. "H-hi..

"Hi, I'm Delia, I live in El— oh!" She lowers the megaphone again when the brother and sister act cause a swell. Turning to Odessa, the redhead stares at her with widened eyes and then darts a nervous glance out over the audience. "I think we shouldn't be up here…"

Kaitlyn is looking out at the crowd with lips pressed into a fine line when the kid stabs his hand. There is a visible wince and a hiss like she's in pain. "Son of a…." It draws her attention, with a scowl pulling at her mouth in her anger. She turned in time to see the girl heal the boys hand, spotting the pale glow. Not to mention whatever feeling her ability tortures her with fades from the direction of that body. This actually gets a surprised look and then after it really clicks and realization settles in…. worry.

Maybe it's a healer thing.

"Oh god." Kaitlyn is already starting to move in a whirl and hiss of hydraulics, Emerson doesn't even have to really tell her. It's hard to tell if Kaitlyn even heard her. Except for the fact, her rifle is shrugged onto her shoulder . "That stupid little idiot of a girl!" She may be feeling the need to protect a fellow healer, but she's still angry at her for putting herself out there. "Who the hell told her…." The words are lost in the voices of the crowds… but some of the little tirade as she goes along may go as follows…

"I'm gonna smack some sense…." "You never…." "Hey! Fatty move your ass before I move it for you…" "First rule of…." "….parents are idiots…"

Once she reaches the girl, Kaitlyn stops and turns at the crowd with an icy look. Eyes narrow with a dare, before looking backing to the brother and sister. What comes out of her mouth is like out of some old action movie with that one guy that was once Governor of that one state…

"Come with me if you want to live." Yeah, she said it. "Your little display, honey, just made you a target. The sharks are gonna circle." She leans down closer, eyes on the girl, and adds blandly. "I know. I've been there."

Odessa had been about to refuse the offer to step on stage, when Delia's buckle catches her dress and necessity demands that she be dragged along, or lose a vast portion of fabric. And this dress is one of her favourites. Fortunately, averting disaster is an easy enough task once Delia's stopped moving.

At first, Odessa's jaw is set tight as she watches the volunteers from the safety of stage right. Big flipping deal, another goddamned parlour trick. But it's the last that wages war with her. She's paralysed for a moment even as the crowd has begun to surge into action. Indecision at its finest.

It would be selfish to do what she considers doing next. It isn't the selfishness that keeps her sneakers rooted to the plywood beneath. Would she be forgiven? This could be her only chance. Even the haters know someone who needs healing.

Hurrying past Delia with a quick order to get the hell out out of here, the white-haired woman heads for the healer and her brother. "Doctor Odessa Price, Department of Evolved Affairs," she says loudly enough to be heard over the commotion, as Kaitlyn's still pushing her way through the crowd. She could have chosen agent, but in this setting, that seems ill-advised. "Card-carrying Evo." She still has the registration card that says so, so that much isn't a lie. Anything to make her seem less like the enemy than her affiliations imply.

"I'm going to do my best to ensure both of your safety." She's no FRONTLINE, but she does totally have a badge in her pocket. That's almost like a shield. Or another target. Take your pick. And FRONTLINE is quickly on the scene anyway. "Price, DoEA," she identifies herself again. "Officer, I must insist I be allowed to assist you."

"Damn," JJ mutters when the crowd surges forward. He moves toward the front of the stage to discourage the crowd's forward push. Randy, the spokesman looks a bit wide-eyed as Kaitlyn and Odessa both rush toward the volunteer, and at Emerson's wave for his megaphone, he passes it over to allow her to direct the crowd — she may represent the oppressive government, but he doesn't want to get arrested.

The tension in the air seems to ignite; one of the protesters shouts out, "They're arresting her!" and points at the stage; everything begins to happen in a blur. A large group of protesters, led by the shouter, storm forward, intent on "rescuing" the girl and her brother caught between Odessa and Kaitlyn. From the back of the crowd, where the anti-Evolved crowd presses in, come a volley of objects, apparently thrown on some hidden signal, flying through the air into the crowd of protesters — water balloons filled with red paint, glass bottles, rocks.

Quinn and Lene are splattered with red paint while Monica is hit in the head by a piece of broken glass.

"Get back!" JJ shouts, not wanting to discharge the rubber bullets at people simply trying to protect their kind — not for the first time he wishes for a more useful ability. He bodily puts himself in the way of some of the stage-chargers, but three make it up onto the stage anyway, one tripping over the lip of the stage, and falling forward.

The young healer is launched backward when the man stumbles into her — and over the railing she goes into the river.

"Tricia!" cries her brother, hurrying to the railing to peer below.

Monica looks over at the familiar voice, and she gives Graeme a grateful smile and a nod at his words. She seems to be letting him work the way through the crowd, as she sticks close to his back along the way. Her ability's useful, but not for crowd control, really.

She can't help but look over her shoulder for JJ. He'll be fine, she's pretty sure of that, but she can't convince herself not to worry all the same. But she should have been looking elsewhere, she might have seen the balloons coming. As it is, she stumbles a bit and brings a hand up to the side of her head, and stumbles a bit more as she tries to keep moving away from the thick of it all. There's a lot of blood running down the side of her face and over her hand, but that's the way it goes with head wounds.

"Hey!" Emerson shouts as soon as the microphone is in her hands. "HEY!" repeated even louder when that fails to get attention. "No one is getting arrested, unless you're caught throwing a bottle or paint balloon," is announced and repeated, a "yet" added as soon as the the bottles and paint go flying, and the FRONTLINE officer turns to to JJ, motioning him up towards the non-evolved crowd causing this part of the commotion. "This girl is simply being escorted safely of to the side of the stage, before she is rushed and someone gets hurt. She is not, I repeat, she is not being arrested. If I see one more bottle or someone trying to get ahold of her as she's being escorted to safety, though, then arrests will start." At least by them, Emerson looking nervously over towards the other soldiers and police.

"Here's the deal. We don't want to shut this down. We want everyone to get their word in, to exercise their rights. But this brand of chaos won't be tolerated by anyone, and if it continues any longer, we will do what we have to do to keep the peace. So everyone calm down, settle down, and let's see if we can get things back on track."

Quinn recoils as paint splashes up. Typically, she'd try to shield whoever is with from the paint, but given that Jolene is taller than Quinn that doesn't work quite well. The red paint stands out pretty well in her blonde hair, and covers one lens of her glasses almost entirely. "Oh, come on!" she shouts in response, offering a glare up towards the source. "Really?!" She has half a mind to throw up a blast of light, just to give people a bit of pause. She even raises her hand to do it. But, really, adding to the chaos, mad as she is seems like a bad idea. For now. "God. This is going to take forever tog et out…"

When the volley of balloons, bottles, and rocks arcs through the air into the crowd and toward the stage, Delia instinctively ducks down, covering her head. She's got no bravado, nor is she an intentional hero, but she does make an effective obstacle for some of the stage rushers. Perhaps the brightly colored shirt has something to do with it. Two people topple over her and she scrambles on her hands and knees toward the rail, away from the commotion. Slipping off the side of the stage, she crawls next to the rail, hugging it tightly for fear of falling into the water.

Her blue eyes widen to the size of saucers when she witnesses the young girl being (what looks like) tackled into the water and Delia lets out a shriek. It's counter productive to her attempt at hiding and being inconspicuous but it's an attention grabber in case no one else noticed the show stealer's dive.

The insisting of the woman grabs Kaitlyn's attention and she blinks at Odessa as if surprised to see her there…. not that they can see it…. which she suddenly realizes. There is a touch of a finger to the side of her helmet and the visor shifts until the Frontliners features can be seen. Brows furrow as she looks Odessa over, helmet dipping down as she literally looks the woman head to toe. Studying her through the various printouts on her visors screen.

Then Kaitlyn just looks annoyed, probably from how wrong this woman feels to her ability. "Fine… but don't go getting your ass hurt. I ain't gonna heal it and I ain't wantin' to feel it." Yes she's a card carrying healer. Her attention goes back to the girl. "Honey, we gotta be…" About that time hell is breaking loose and before she knows it, the little girl is over the side of the bridge.

With the volley of objects, Graeme looks decidedly annoyed, and the direction he's making for shifts, rather than being closer to those throwing things, more back towards the outskirts. Especially with the head wound. It's making him frown, although the usually quiet man is still well, quiet. One hand comes out of his pocket to take Monica's wrist lightly to make sure she stays with him, and then he's decidedly pushing through the crowd, using his other hand to move people out of his way. Carefully, and not so carefully, as long as they get out of the throng of people.

"Fuck!" Odessa goes hurrying to the railing as Tricia goes over. With the look from Kaitlyn, she starts emptying the contents of her pockets, wallet, cell and badge tucked inside the shoes she's just slipped off. "Good thing I took those swimming lessons." You know, after the mission where she was out on the ocean and had to admit that she didn't actually know how to swim.

And while she has the issue of sink-or-swim under control, the issue of oh my God that's a long drop still makes her stomach do flip-flops. For a minute, she almost clings to the railing, or asks Kaitlyn to shove her over since she doesn't think she has the stones to do it herself, but…

But God damn it! She needs this healer, and she needs her alive! Someone off the books that won't file paperwork like Miss Congeniality over there in her helmet might.

Odessa counts to five, and throws herself over the railing. The shout in the way down is terrified, and likely doesn't inspire much confidence about her role as rescuer, but nobody's perfect.

Emerson's words do their job to halt most of the crowd's forward rush, though a few stream around to the sides to look over the railing, away from the FRONTLINER's guns. The girl's brother is crouched down with his hand down for Tricia to reach for, as she sputters and bobs in the cold water.

"I don't wanna work for the DoEA!" Tricia cries out over the noise, the water slapping her in the face as she tries to move toward the railing from where she's drifted in the few seconds' of flailing. "Get away from me!" One foot kicks water at Odessa, but that causes her head to dunk back under the water.

JJ's watchful gaze crosses over the crowd, keeping an eye out for anyone making to throw more objects — it is then that he sees the blood on his mother's face, and his brows knit with concern — the distraction is short lived; in his periphery one of the anti-evos lifts a hand to throw something. "Drop it," JJ growls, his weapon of rubber bullets pointing in that direction.

The police are finally moving into the crowd; one man with a bucket full of the paint balloons is being pulled to the side; on the other side of the spectrum, a hydrokinetic hurling ice chunks at the anti-evos has a similar fate.

Lene glances at Quinn with wide eyes. "You should go home," she says — though she seems unlikely to follow her own advice as she hurries toward the water's edge, leaning between two of the metal bars as far as she can, before pulling her lean frame out and darting on to the stage. "She can only heal fresh flesh injuries, so tell them to back off," she tells the FRONTLINE officer with the megaphone.

When he takes her wrist, Graeme can tell that Monica is shaking a bit. Not like she's scared, but like… she's had too much coffee. Jittery. Buzzing. She keeps one hand over the wound, keeping the blood from getting everywhere and keeping anything else… like paint… from getting in the wound.

"Thanks," she says once she can be heard over the various noises going on, "I'm okay." Self diagnoses is a bad habit, but then, she's a fair judge of wound levels by now. Never mind the blood.

"Hey!" Emerson shouts again, this time pointing at the hydrokinetic that the officer steps towards. "The same holds true for anyone who decides to use an ability in an aggressive manner will also be taken in, same as the bottle throwers." In case anyone was ready to accuse Emerson, or FRONTLINE as a whole, of being Evo sympathisers. Never mind that Emerson is, but she has a job to do.

She's about to say something more when Lene's voice distracts her from the megaphone, looking down at the young paint covered woman and blinking. "You're sure?" she asks, but she doesn't wait for a response. She's only now realising what's happened while her back was to the back of the stage, and she frowns. "Shit. Okay, If everyone not immediately involved in pulling this young woman from the water could please back away and give us space to work. I've been informed, for those of you thinking of mobbing her later, that she is only capable of healing fresh wounds, and that I would recommend you leave this girl in peace rather than hounding her for her help." That said as she looks back at the crowd, eyes narrowed.

At the back of the crowd, Quinn doesn't seem to be leaving, or having any intention of doing so, instead she's looking around with that scowl, moving just a little bit closer to the stage, seeing if there's anyone injured by a projectile that she can help at least get back up on their feet.

The EVO AND PROUD shirt is pulled from her long form and tucked back into her backpack before Delia slinks away from the rail and side of the stage. She casts a worried glance behind her shoulder toward the water but enough people seem to have gone after the young woman who fell over. "Bye Randy, sorry about all this…" she murmurs as she weaves through the crowd and toward the edge of the crowd.

Spotting the paint covered Quinn, she raises her eyebrows and gives a quick glance around. She veers in direction and begins walking straight toward the other woman, a small smile on her face. "Hi Quinn, how are you doing?"

"Stubborn little shit ain't she…" Kaitlyn grumbles under her breath, before calling out to the thrashing kid. "Tricia…. Honey. I got no plans to make you work for them. I just wanna get you safe. Get you home or somethin'." She shifts along the railing, doing a sideways shuffle, pushing people out of her way if she needs too, following the progress of the girl. Looking for a spot she can eventually, snag the girl and get her out of the water. To bundle her off. Away from everyone, even Odessa.

Emerson's announcement over the bullhorn, gets a glance. There is some relief in that news, but still. The girl is in danger, in the older healer's mind.

"Not asking you to work for the DoEA!" Odessa shouts back to Tricia, keeping enough distance when she's kicked at. "At all! Calm down and listen to me. All I want to do is keep you from getting torn apart by that crowd!" Her voice drops in volume then, a determined whisper, "There are people fighting the government. They're suffering, and if that's more your crowd, I can get you in touch with them."

She doesn't yet realise that referring the healer to the Ferry won't give Eileen a chance to regain her sight.

The girl's kicking brings her close enough to the cement underside of the Esplanade to hold on to the edge. Her brother straddles the railing, then brings his other leg over, one hand holding the railing carefully while he moves slowly to his knees on the thin ridge of concrete on the other side. Stretching, he is able to get his sister's hand, and pull her up to the police officer who has hurried to try to keep the boy from going over, too.

That camera's whirrs can be heard, and there on the cement are a couple of red footprints with no one leading up to them — they look to be about a size 11 men's Converse.

Tricia's brother holds his hand out to Odessa next as Tricia makes it over the railing. Randy the organizer hurries over to her, giving Delia a wave as the redhead moves away from the stage to greet Quinn.

"Check on Monica," JJ mouths to Lene, who moves off toward the injured woman, grabbing her by the hand with a toothy smile and tipping her head toward the railing.

"Come stand by the water and things will feel better," she says brightly. Evo rallies are rather like a buffet — if that's not putting it in too Sylar of terms.

Monica looks up as she's taken by a whole other hand, and since it's Lene and not a cop, she gets a bit of a relieved smile. There's a look toward the railing, or more precisely toward the cops around there, but she follows along without actually voicing any hesitation.

"I'm really okay. Got worse scrapes climbing trees as a kid." It's a lie, since there's a nice gash crossing her temple, but what can you do. She's a bit stubborn.

When she hears Delia, Quinn's in the middle of helping someone hit in the temple to their feet, her already red splattered shirt behind used to wipe away blood from the resulting gash - they're lucky not to ahve broken glass in their eyes or ear. The Irishwoman blinks. reaching with one hand to wipe red paint off her cheek and flinging it to the ground. "Delia! I thought that was you I saw on stage. What in the hell ar eyou doin' here?" Asked, of course, with an amused smile - or at least as much of one as she can manage - rather than sounding shocked or accusatory. "Man, so much for not bein' noticed out here. You okay?"

Emerson watches as they try to help the young healer for a moment more, before turning back to the crowd. "Here's what's going to happen! Assuming the local law enforcement has no problems with it - and they may," a look given down to the cop in charge, as if looking for and answer, "once things are calmed and the young woman in safe again, we're going to pick up where we left off. But one thing looks like it's going to go wrong, and we're shutting this down. There's no reason for this to get any worse, people. Get it in check." With that, she moves to the side of teh stage, asking someone to get ehr a chair - she's not leaving the stage, should this continue, in an effort to remind people to do just that.

Graeme looks at Monica, having fallen rather silent now that they were out of the throng. "Our friends will be thrilled to hear about this," he murmurs, for her ears only, as he follows. At this point, he's not about to let Monica out of his sight, and there's a bit of protectiveness to his stance, overall, including deflecting some of the throng from both Lene and Monica as they go. The red paint that's ended up on his shirt gets more of an annoyed look out of him than the jostling does, along with a grumble about having to go to the drycleaners at some point, but there's also a bit of a nod as he hears Emerson's words.

"Here? Oh.. uhm.. uhh.." Delia stammers as a blush creeps to her features. "I was uhm.. I was just looking around, I saw a flier for the rally and I thought— " A bad thing for the young woman to think without consulting others since she just tends to act. Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, she bends to help the singer with the person she's helping up. Tilting her head to look at the gash, she frowns slightly and tugs the souvenir shirt from her backpack again.

"Here, press this against your head," she advises, offering the tee with one hand. "You should get a buddy and find a hospital, or one of the policemen shuld be able to help you to an ambulance." By the redhead's estimate the emergency vehicles should be sounding off soon. "I should be going though, home's a far way off… like they said, I should hurry before curfew."

The sound of a camera has Kaitlyn, glancing to the side of her, even as the girl is rescued by her brother. Eyes narrow as she sees nothing… but then notices the foot prints. With a tap to the side of her visor, it blacks out, leaving only a cold slick mirrored surface.

Inside, her view of the world shifts revealing someone who wasn't there before. There is a flare of anger from the FRONTLINE agent. "Fucking Paparazzi," she growls out, as she reaches out to snag the camera from the persons hands, giving it a might twist to break the grip, with one hand. The other armored arm just seems to grab something in the empty air to everyone else. "God I get tired of you types… ID Card." She snaps at the figure, in her own way hoping the person doesn't have anything. She's pissy enough she wants to drag someone in.

Sopping from head to toe, Odessa drags herself out of the water with the help of Tricia's brother, looking around to try and reassess the situation when she hears the camera going off again. She looks for any sign of the source, but Kaitlyn is quicker than she is. It's a little queer, watching her reach for something invisible, and coming from it with a camera.

With the crowd calming, and realising her impromptu scheming is for nothing, Odessa dejectedly retrieves her affects. Slides into her shoes and starts wringing out her soaked skirt, planning her exit. There's gotta be a better way to waste a day.

"Thank you," Tricia manages to say to Odessa — she may have thought the woman was trying to abduct her, but she did just jump into the river on her behalf. JJ watches as Emerson calms the crowd, then moves toward Tricia and her brother, nodding to the policeman. "If you could just escort them to safety, that'd be great," he tells the cop, who nods, leading the dripping-wet girl and her brother away from the crowd. JJ stands with his weapon ready, to make sure no one follows for some time.

The owner of the red footprints grunts when suddenly the camera is jerked from his hands, and a moment later an ID and a DoEA badge are produced. "Dude. I'm just doing my job," grumbles a young man's voice. "I'd like my camera back. And it's public property. You don't have the right to take that from me."

Close enough to Tricia to borrow her power, Lene glances at Graeme. "Stand here, block me a little? So people can't see," she whispers — lest she get trampled like the rest of them. "And don't argue, Miss Dawson," she tells Monica.

With Graeme blocking them as well as his masculine frame is able, Lene reaches up as if to touch Monica's gash, and the same pink glow that had dazzled the crowd moments ago seems to flow out of her hand; it is a warm, tingling sensation on Monica's temple before the skin seals itself up, as if it had never been broken.

At the stage, Randy and the rest of the leaders look uncertain about the re-starting the rally — but finally one of Randy's friends retrieves the megaphone, and starts to rally the protestors once more, with questions that can only be responded to with single-word answers.

"Are we going to let them oppress us?"


"Are we guaranteed equal rights by the Constitution?"


The opposition begins to lose interest. "No more freak show, let's go home," says one man, turning to wander away. The die-hards on both sides will stay on until the last moment, of course.

"You kids are pushy," Monica says, her hands moving to her hips. And yes, kids, even if they're all in the same age range. But at least she doesn't argue. She just closes her eyes until she feels that gash close up. Then she gives Lene a smile and takes her hand (with her non-bloody one) for an affectionate squeeze. "Thanks. Sweet of you," she says, opting not to pull her in for a hug, seeing as there's all this blood. "Are you staying? I think I'd better make a quiet get away and clean up," she says, this to both Lene and Graeme, although the latter is for the girl, "But if you're staying, let him know I'm okay? And I owe you a meal." It is the proper Dawson thank you.

Well. The girl is seemingly safe, even if there seems to be something odd going on with Kaitlyn and a camera, to which Emerson quirks an eye, watching for a moment while she waits for the chair to delivered. Once it is, she takes it, setting to the edge of the stage, and with a whir of gears and pistons, she sits. Which is a bit awkward, in a small chair in armour like she's wearing, but she'll manage. Things seem to have largely calmed down, admittedly much to Emerson surprise, and all without a bottle being hurled at her by one of the evo supporters among the crowd. That's a win, in her book. Shame about everything else. Hopefully, the rest of the night will go smoothly.

"Be safe, Delia," Quinn remarks with a half smile, taking the tee shirt and offering it to the man. "I'll make sure you get a clean one a' these back!" she calls after Delia as she takes off, offering a half hearted wave. The shirt is pressed against the man's head, and when he moves to keep it in hand himself, Quinn points him off in the direction of teh cops. She lets out a weary sigh, looking back towards the stage. She'll hang around long enough to make sure Jolene's alright, see if she or anyone else she happens to know here wants to catch dinner later, and then she's getting the hell home and washing the paint off of her before it dries too much.

Graeme makes a decent enough viewblock, when he tries to, and doesn't even do a double-take at Lene's display of someone else's power. That, or he's just used to things being weird, by now. It earns a nod of thanks from him as well. "Not staying," he says to Monica. "I've got paint all over my shirt, and I actually liked this one." There's a faintly flamboyant tone to the complaint, and a grin.

"C'mon. I've got the car, there are towels in it so we won't get blood in it or something, and we'll go back to the apartment. We can both clean up there. It's closer than home," he says, with home being an obvious reference, "driving is faster, and I'm sure there's something in clothing I hadn't taken back home yet that'll fit you, too." And when Graeme's got his mind set to something, he can be pretty damn stubborn.

The helmet tilts down a little as the ID is produced. Kaitlyn takes her time studying it, before she makes a sound of disgust and lets him go. "Fuckin' figures." She was hoping he was an unregistered freak. "Warn us next time y'all are gonna go sneak around like that. I about dumped your sorry ass in the river." The camera is thrust into his arms roughly. "Idiot."

With that he's disregarded in favor for the young girl. Kaitlyn still needs to have a little chat with her, hopefully her and her brother. A little later. Away from the crowds and the cameras. Give her some advice about being cursed in this world. Some might consider healing a miracle, but not Kaitlyn.

"I'll let him know," Lene says, stepping away with a smile from Monica — when she does, it gives Monica a view of JJ looking in their direction anyway. "And a meal would be great. You always were a great cook."

No, that's not weird at all.

She refrains from hugging Monica, given the red paint she's covered in, looking like she stumbled off the set of a horror movie. A friendly wiggle of fingers is given to Graeme and then she's moving through the crowd toward Quinn, linking arms with the other red-splattered woman.

The rally continues, despite half of the crowd dispersed; the dissident voices cry out, but the opposition's voices are louder, if no more persistent.

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