Participants:
| Scene Title | Fire Sign Written |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Shedda Dinu's pyrokinetic is accused for a variety of crimes, not all of which she is responsible for. |
| Date | March 21, 2009 |
Greenwich Village — Old Lucy's
The time is late, the bar is closed and Isabelle is just relaxing. The young woman leans against her kitchen counter. Her hair is down around her shoulders and she is wearing a pair of long dark cotton pants and a dark grey tank top.
Her two dogs are asleep in her bedroom. Her hands are curled around the counter as she hangs her head down. So much has been happening lately.. it's like everything is connected. Izzy sighs and walks out of the kitchen into her living room. The moon shines inside of the room through the window. No noise can be heard outside in the streets, a relatively quiet night, but it's almost morning.
In general, ladies' first. Means Baxter isn't knocking, either because he's lazy, or because he's hanging in the sky twenty feet above the apartment with his radio unit giggling static up at his ear from where it's clipped to the shoulder from his vest. Not exactly standard procedure, granted, but he's SCOUT and the Evolved former terrorist standing in her quiet domesticity is known to make excitement.
Elisabeth is better at talking part, anyway. Which isn't to say that Jordan is entirely without his charms, verbal or otherwise; merely that it would work just as well if he met them outside.
"«Are you the-ere yet?»" The question echoes up singsong from Elisabeth's own comm unit, a parody of a bored child strapped in at the backseat of a car. The analogy isn't entirely inaccurate, given the officers' relationship. Baxter is swimming facedown through the air, his arms folded behind his head and a Glock pillowed on the blond down of his hair, a chill breeze whispering over the cut of his bare arms.
There's a brief roll of her eyes as Elisabeth murmurs into the radio, "«Yes! Knocking now.»" She's wearing black, her kevlar beneath the NYPD jacket that she favors for these kinds of runs. She knocks on the door — not the ham-fisted banging that most might do, just a knock. And she projects her voice so that it carries through the door. "Isabelle Ashford…. NYPD. Open up!" She's not planning to go in, guns blazing, without a full SWAT team at her back. And this is, supposedly, not that kind of run!
NYPD? Oh hell no! While Isabelle has no reason to believe that she is in trouble.. actually the tone of Liz's voice says it all. "Well I'll be damned.." she mutters and looks through the peephole. Ahh she recognizes that woman, vaguely but she knows her.
With a shake of her head and a grin, Isabelle walks back to her apartment and her voice calls out from there. It's unknown what she is doing but she calls out, "What do you want?"
*sigh* Why is it always the hard way? "«Bax, be above or below this floor, not straight outward from the walls.»" Because yeah…. she's not kicking in the door til she's sure that Isabelle's puking on the floor. Given that Isabelle is suspected of having brainwashed The 36, something Elisabeth is intimately involved in, she's not screwing around here — hitting hard and fast is all she's going to do. She speaks now, lacing her voice with the subsonics that will cause vertigo, dizzyness, etc. "Isabelle Ashford, this is the NYPD. You have until the count of two to open this door. Don't make it harder on yourself than it has to be. One, two."
Oi! Izzy grabs her head and stumbles out of her bedroom. She leans against the wall hard and looks up at the ceiling. "Ok.." she calls out. She walks forward slowly and stands not to far from her front door. "Here I come. Damn Loud Mouth." She says and as she stops to stand in front of the front door, flames are coursing down her arms and wrapping around them. They burn with a powerful intensity and she quickly makes a fireball. "Ya know.. are you cold out there?" That's all that is said before the fire ball in launched into and through the front door at Lizzie and Izzy goes diving to the window, fire escape!
Contrary to some snide insinuations from people who are stupid anyway, Baxter can follow instructions. He'd been above the level of Isabelle's apartment before the audiokinetic's orders came out across the radio. After the audiokinetic's orders came out across the radio, fly-boy dove, down, down, snagged a sharp halt a few feet below the altitude of the ground floor's ceilings.
Fortunate, that he wasn't out in front of the bar or no doubt he'dve trod on some poor pedestrian's head. As it is, the only one who emerges to greet him happens to be a pyrokinetic making stomping clangor on the fire escape, which makes sense: she's left firelight and explosive noise behind her.
"«No naps, Harrison,»" he comms out, brightly encouraging, the instant before he segues upward, pistol angled higher, one-handed. He aims for at the generous curvature of Isabelle's torso and pulls the trigger.
It's not like Elisabeth wasn't expecting SOMETHING. Like any good officer, she's off to the side of the door, not dead smack in front of it. But the door exploding the into the hallway in a burst of fireball-ness?? No, that was NOT supposed to happen! They said the woman's power was persuasion!!! Elisabeth barely manages to dive to one side, landing hard on the floor and rolling as the fire rolls over her. "Oh, FUCK!!!" she grunts as she lands. "«She's a PYRO!!»" As if he couldn't figure that out for himself. Elisabeth scrambles upright and has to brave the burning door sill to get into the apartment and through to the fire escape, calling for backup as she goes.
"ARGH!" Is the cry that rips through Isabelle's body and she looks up and spots Baxter. "Oh a cutie.." she says and smirks as the blood flows down her chest to her stomach. Flirt later, burn now. Izzy gets down to the ground and rapidly fires out four medium sized fireballs out to Baxter. Her eyes gleam with fire. "It's.. rude to shoot someone!" she shouts and her fireballs grow in strength as they sail to Baxter quickly.
The flames on her arms have started to grow.. bigger and they don't just curl around her arms anymore, now her shoulders are covered in flames, the straps to her tank top burning fast and making her top slowly begin to fall off. Isabelle looks up to the fire escape and spots Liz, a wicked grin crosses her lips.
Adrenaline. Keeps Baxter in the air, and Isabelle on her feet. Shooting fireballs, while on her feet. Either the sudden onset of fire or the flirtation yanks a crooked smile across Peter Pan's face, before it's gone with a twist in the air, his lean frame rocketing skyward. She doesn't miss entirely, to his misfortune. Four shots pursue the arc of his flight and his maneuverability is limited by the constriction of the alleyway. He catches concussive, incendiary heat across the torso, grunts with pain.
"«No shit,»" he replies. He doesn't sound surprised because he's busy remembering how to breathe and striking flames off with his arms. Fuckety fuck-fuck ow— "«I got a shot off!»"
Although she's good and probably sunburned by the heat of the flames that passed overhead too, Liz clambers out the window onto the escape. And she shouts, "Baxter, get on the far side of her!" and uses the shout as a concussion wave — it should, in theory, be enough to knock Isabelle arse over teakettle for a few feet. Unless she's got phenomenal balance.
The pyro does indeed fall over onto her ass, and her anger picks up. The flames grow stronger because of it. The bullet wound is taking a little bit more of a toll but the adrenaline is pumping and boy is she pissed. "LOUD MOUTH." She screams and two fireballs are hurled at Liz.
Now Isabelle is getting creative with it. She takes two of the garbage can lids quickly begins to heat them up. Instant burn if your skin touches them. With a grunt and yell. She spins the garbage lids in Baxter's direction, if she could even get as high as he is. Her eyes travel around the alley and she monkey climbs on a fire escape opposite of Liz's.
One garbage can lid rings off Baxter's foot like a cymbal smashed by an especially talented rock musician and the second clips his calf. It is more than a little jarring, but the gifts of Peter Pan include some measure of physical resilience against blunt trauma. You need it, when you hit air at the velocity that he does. He's more concerned about that whole 'lit on fire' thing.
Flap, flap. Okay, better now.
Baxter reappears abruptly, singed, worse also for temper. He reroutes back into the apartment in an eyeblink, his scorched and grime-smeared arms open, out, to ensnare Elisabeth's torso with a shout of warning: Heads up. She's swept off her feet, physically rather than metaphorically and carried back out into the cold night air, flames or not.
Two fireballs engulfing the fire escape where she is — the best part? Is that Elisabeth has nowhere to go in that moment because she's climbing down the ladder. She jumps down to the next landing, covering her head with her arms. There's definitely some fire starting on her clothes there, but in the next moment, Baxter has swooped in and grabbed her — his hold smothers the fire on her back, so although she's going to have some blisters and she's going to need a haircut, for the most part, Liz is all right. But that was damn close. "I need ten seconds. At most." Her own words serve as the source, and the sounds around us are used as well. She hits Isabelle with the most intense vertigo hit she can create, hoping to lay the other woman low in less time.
When Izzy is hit with that blast of sound.. the fires in the apartment.. the fires everywhere in the area.. just go.. out. Isabelle falls to her knees and places her hands on the ground. There goes dinner.. don't forget lunch. The woman stands and grins up at the sky.. she looks different. Her hair is whipping around her and her arms and now legs are surrounded by flames. Her clothes are now ash and she is nude but covered in flames. "Looks like.. I'll be.."
Flames course up and down her body, they burn bright and powerful. The roar of the flames drown out anything else the woman is saying. Her eyes reflect the flames and with a cry of rage.. everything is fire. She must have drawn all the fire in the area to her. Because the blast flies up far into the sky.
The flames curl around the wall of the alleyway and things are very hot in there. Izzy can not be seen as the flames erupt all around.
There aren't a lot of things that can move faster than Baxter when Baxter's moving fast, but acceleration takes time and time is one thing that Isabelle's explosive conflagration leaves little of. Space is inevitably the next thing that he runs out of. He's yelling something in Elisabeth's ear, his baby blues flying wide, short, straw-colored hair suddenly reamed with a sanguine color filter and turned lustrous as blood gold.
Hold on.
His grip loosens fractionally. He puts a lean arm over her head, twists in the air, a short, corkscrew spike of velocity that fails to take them out of range of the fire-storm. What it does do, instead, is bring the man to provide a buffer against blunt trauma and the worst of the concussive blast, and yank a brief coil of mobile air in around them to waylay the worst of the heat.
Red light bleeding through their eyelids, white heat; the acrid reek of burning flesh—
And then they're falling, the sensation of vertigo like an ironic joke at Elisabeth's expense.
He hits the ground first and she hits him, jarring, bounces off the remarkably sturdy stuff of Jordan's frame as if he were a particularly brittle and crispy body pillow, except he also betrays a squeak like a child's toy with a button-press belly. Blood and blackened skin cells comes off on Elisabeth's hands, slickening the scrabble of her fingers when she goes to radio for for medical assistance. The alleyway cools.
In the middle of the alley, nude with smoke curling around her body is Isabelle, she sways from side to side and a sigh she falls to the ground with a thud. Her hair covers her face and she blinks a few times as her eyes close.. nothing but darkness can be seen.. "Going down with a .. bang." Izzy says softly before she passes out.
When the explosion happens, Elisabeth is absolutely floored. Baxter's quick actions shield her from the worst of the blast, but when she lands on him, she has to fight to get to her feet. Screaming into the radio, "Officer down, officer down! Where is that backup??" she watches Isabelle collapse… Oh Christ Almighty. She sits with Baxter and demands into the radio, "Dispatch, get me Will Harvard on the scene at St. Luke's, have him meet us there, too." Because there are going to be Words. To. Be. Had. Isabelle is clearly NOT the person whoever sent us out here thought she was — persuasion Elisabeth's lily white ass!
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