Scene Title Halfway
Synopsis One guy, one awfully convenient bridge.
Date January 17, 2008

Verrazano-Narrows Bridge

The Verrazano-Narrows Bridge is a double-decked suspension bridge that connects the boroughs of Staten Island and Brooklyn in New York City at the Narrows, the reach connecting the relatively protected upper bay with the larger lower bay. Before the bomb, this vehicle-only suspension bridge spanned the divide between two boroughs as one of the major through-ways, but shortly after the bomb, this bridge, like many others were blockaded by Homeland Security and used as a Government-Personnel direct access route into the city. Only authorized emergency vehicles and government agencies were allowed passage across from Staten Island, as a measure of keeping emergency traffic flow free.

In the months following, the blockade remained despite the lack of necessity in the matter. By the beginning of 2007 it was deemed that the bridge would remain restricted to government vehicles indefinately until the majority of repair to Manhattan was completed. Currently both levels of the bridge are blocked on all but one lane by concrete dividers that, without the assistance of heavy lifting equipment, cannot be bypassed by vehicles. The bridge remains reserved for emergency use only, though in the beginning of 200, pedestrian traffic was authorized on the upper deck of the bridge between Staten Island and Brooklyn. Tresspassers on the lower deck could be detained by Homeland Security indefinately.

Still maintained and kept in solid working order for emergency use, the bridge is now one of the best ways in and out of Staten Island since the Staten Island Railway ceased operations shortly after the Bomb.

Deckard belches, oily smoke held warm on the back of his tongue for a few seconds too long before it's finally kicked out onto the wind past the blunt of his cigar. Whiskey, more whiskey and…something spicy. Whatever he had for dinner a few hours ago. He can't actually remember. Maybe he didn't eat dinner.

Around him, the Verrazano-Narrows is a stretch of stark whites and flat greys stretching into black nothing at both of its far ends. The thick cables far to his right and farther to his left are brightest, with a gradual gradation of lessening intensity. Probably all the way to shore if he could see that far.

The safety barrier his arms are folded over feels sturdy. Sturdy enough to support a lean out over it, with his knuckles bone white against the rail.

More bridge structure down there, then nothing. Presumably water at some point.

He could probably jump without bouncing off of anything on the way down if he got enough distance from the initial push.

"That would be melodramatic."

His voice is stifled against the damp butt of his stogie, hollow in his ears, and after a minute or so, he leans back again. The wool of his coat rustles soft against the movement until the winter chill howls through to whip his collar up into the side of his face.

His balls hurt.

A lot.

Long fingers fumbled stickily over the blood still drying into his stubble collection, he tugs his sunglasses off and squints down at his own narrow face reflected back at him in the lenses. He looks old. And blurry. But mostly old, all greying hair, stark lines, eye bags and black blood.

When he lifts his eyes, the moon is half empty, but so is everything else, its reflection dulled by a haze that's settled in thick over the scummy water. Another long drag on the cigar contributes to it at closer proximity when he exhales, smoke twisting away in an unpleasant, sickly tangle of off-white.

"Buffalo wings."

That's what he had to eat, earlier.

With his left hand occupied by his glasses, it's up to the right to locate one of many random small objects stored on his person. Past a condom, and past Teo's cell phone, this time it's a….45. No. Definitely a .40 caliber cartridge to follow the gallant penny and paper clip that went before it. A careless flick of his fingers sends the round sailing off at the wind's mercy. Even in full color, it's impossible to see where it landed. If it landed.

A shiver previously contained to the brace of his shoulders finally threatens to twitch its way down the ridge of Flint's spine, and with one last resentful look down at the dark water way too far below, he pushes himself upright. Smoke turns after him, clinging, cloying. More inclined to stick around. See what happens.

"Nope." Maybe later. Some other time.

Right now he has stuff to do.

And he still has half a bridge to go until Brooklyn.

Scene takes place after a currently unposted one on the Staten side of the bridge. Deckard was annoying and Minea hit him in the face and kneed him in the nads. Also I apologize for this in general and may regret posting it in the morning but it is here for now.

January 17th: Rumble On The Bridge
January 17th: The Least Likely Thing To Say
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