How to Really Get Freaky


elle_icon.gif gael2_icon.gif nora2_icon.gif raquelle_icon.gif rue_icon.gif toby_icon.gif trask2_icon.gif yana_icon.gif

Scene Title How to Really Get Freaky
Synopsis Tensions between Evolved and Non in Central Park result in an altercation, and no victor.
Date March 23, 2011

Central Park

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

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

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

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

Just a few days ago it was warm enough for Rue Lancaster to jog through this same park in a tank top; today, the little bit of diminishing sunlight that filters through thick gray clouds illuminates fluffy bits of snow. The light dusting of snow coupled by the blue-light of twilight gives the urban getaway an idyllic feel that's rare in this city, so often disrupted by violence and conflict.

It's not a quiet sort of tranquility — after all it's still New York City, and the roar of traffic can still be heard far in the distance; children squeal as they try to make snow balls and snow men of the scant powder. Boisterous shouts come from a group of teen boys playing a game of football in a bit of snow-glazed grass.

As two young women walk along, Nora's dark eyes filter to the men, ranging between her age and Rue's, playing football, and she smirks a little. "Kinda cute," she says. "I mean, if you were playing on that team, would you think so?" Her eyes dart back to her tall redhead friend's; Nora's hands are shoved in her hoodie's pocket, a knit cap pulled down over her dark hair. She didn't bring a lot of clothes on this little trip to the mainland, and she wasn't expecting snow.

But who was expecting snow, really? All Toby has is a scarf around his neck and a light jacket to ward off the cold. While it helps a little, it's not quite enough to keep him toasty. And so, in an effort to drudge up warmth by moving around, he's… helping some kids build a snowman! Which may be paradoxical, but he doesn't care. Red-nosed and sniffling, the canine telepath is busily rolling up snow into one big mound, on his way towards the walking path. Wee!

Central Park…oh how this place used to be refreshing. Raquelle sits on a bench with his oldest daughter, Billy Jean. Her light light mocha skin, and curly curly brown hair…she is dressed in her Karate Gi under her dark red coat which matched her knit cap and she has little red and pink converse sneakers on her feet. Raq, well he rocks a pair of dark blue jeans, black docs on his feet and an electric blue blazer over his black band t-shirt, black knit scarf around his neck, fingerless gloves on his hand…emo-fringe is blue as well and his leather duster is left open as he adjusts his fedora and grins at his daughter.

"So ya think it is a good idea baby?" He accepts her red gym bag as they sit on a bench sharing a bag of M&Ms. "I mean…you'd have like two daddies if you wanted to think of him like that?" He's having an important conversation with the little girl who throws a piece of candy in the air and opens her mouth to catch it, laughing softly with her father as she misses. "He's already like a daddy isn't he? I mean, I wouldn't call him daddy but Deedee likes him and well, you'd look funny in a wedding dress." Raquelle gasps and then the little scene turns into a playful Father+Daughter tickle fight. "Why am I always the one in the dress, hunh, hunh?"

Trask on the other hand is out in the snow with no ski mask at all. He looks more like a vagrant in the park truth be told with his beard and long hair and the large bag over his shoulder. He walks quietly, at least he doesn't appear to be speaking to himself, maybe he is enjoying the walk down memory lane. As he passes under one tree he pauses a moment, and then turns to look up at a branch and smile to himself, before shaking his head and continuing down the path.

On another nearby bench, more or less facing the carrot-nose-and-coal construction crew, a tall man with three o'clock shadow pulls a brown leather jacket closer around his body. It used to be proof against typical New York winters, but nowadays it's fraying around the edges. Bob Wheeler - he still has to remind himself to answer to that name, when someone actually uses it instead of just 'hey you' - tucks into a hot dog with onions, at one point checking his watch. He's due back in a little less than half an hour.

"I can still appreciate a good looking man. It's like church music. The instrumental stuff is nice to listen to, even if I'm not digging the message," Rue explains to Nora, watching the posterior of one of the boys perhaps a bit critically. She's dressed for the weather about as well as her companion is, her own hoodie a bright red thing adorned with a black spider in the centre of a web on her chest (synonymous with Spider-Man) and split down the middle by a zipper. "I bet they'd let us join them. Especially if we tell them you're totally into two-hand touch." Her blue eyes sparkle as she teases her friend. It's okay, she buys her beer.

Funky weather, ranging in the colder temperatures tend to play chaotic numbers on people's immune systems, making them more prone to colds and so forth. Weather changes such as this are a playground for Yana who is normally out looking for viruses to snag. But hey, not this time really, she has had her hands full with research, and has invested most of her waking time on analyzing, and avoiding choice people for misbehavior. She also has to give off a degree of normalcy, so she decides to be out and about with normal people. She is dressed as classy as ever, though nothing too formal for her, just an above casual black dress with a split up one side, and a women's charcoal peacoat and the ever-clicking Manolo Blahniks that were recently purchased not too long ago via fashion show. New shoes.. gotta break them in.

She walks amidst the path of people, one arm clutching the strap of her purse, while watching nothing in particular.

With the borrowed ability that Elle was granted by Ezekiel, it's difficult for her to really feel the cold as much as most people do. She puts out a nice little field of heat energy, which she feels just as much as anyone else can. It acts as a marvelous barrier to the cold. Elle Bishop has returned to her natural blonde color, sick of the red hair she once had, and the glaringly obvious blonde roots that were peeking out.

The tiny blonde woman decided to take a walk. To get out of Redbird for a while, and to enjoy the weather, strange as that may seem. Elle has loved the cold weather of the winter since she had her powers swapped in December, and today is a rather pleasant change from the warmer weather that she was experiencing. Which left her wearing tank tops and daisy dukes for the sake of comfort. Sure, she looked good, but she would've been more comfortable walking around in a swimsuit.

Wearing a simple long sleeved shirt and a pair of loose-fitting jeans that are tucked into a pair of light snow boots, Elle is quietly making her way through the park, walking with the assistance of a cane. Her leg is nearly healed, but it's still difficult to put too much weight on it. Her ribs are much better, as well. Her wrists are healed up rather nicely, as well, though she will never be rid of the bracelets of scars that remain from her time in the dome. She also seems to be in her own little world, more busy staring at the trees and the snow than paying attention to where she's hobbling.

Nora smirks at her friend, watching when one of the boys misses the football and it goes flying past the bench where Raquelle sits, and near where Toby is rolling that ball of snow. Nora stops suddenly, brows knitting as she stares ahead, then ducks her head and sinks down into a crouch to tie her Converse, shoelaces sodden with melting snow. Not the best of shoes to wear in a late snow storm, but her boots are on an island fifty miles to the north.

"Maybe," she says, glancing back up again, eyes narrowing as she peers up again through a lock of hair over one eye; brows are knit before she nods forward. "Hey, we know him, right?" she asks, standing again and jutting her chin toward Toby. Well, Nora's met him.

Her eyes sweep the rest of those converging on this curve of this path in Central Park. The boy, probably a college kid, gives Rue a wink as he catches the two girls looking his way, and trots off to join his friends, who have abandoned the game with the loss of the ball, and are now gathering to point at a bench not far away where two homeless men sit, a ball of golden warmth encompassing both, keeping them dry in the snow.

"Hey! Look at the freaks!" one of the young men, freckled and crew-cut, shouts to the others. "Too fuckin' special to get snowed on like the rest of us?" He reaches down for a pile of snow and begins to pack it into a wet and sodden ball of ice and powder, hurling it at the two ragged and weary looking old men.

Tickling and laughing and some babbling in Japanese, and Raquelle's attention is caught by something. Language…and then something is being thrown and he's sitting on a bench as well. Billy Jean's the one who looks angry first, narrowing her eyes but her father places a hand on her shoulder and offers her the gym bag and drapes a cellphone phone on a cord around his neck before patting his pocket for his own. "You sit here honey, Daddy has to go check on some assholes." The girl holds out her hand and the hairdresser sighs, placing a dollar bill in it before hugging her and moving off a bit, towards where the young men are and he is busy forming a snowball of his own as he saunters towards them, wolfwhistling. "…oh my GOD, honey you must work out because them buns are platinum aye aye dios mio…you make me wanna go down south and order a two piece…" He points between two of the young men. "…and mmm, c'mere papi, let me see them biscuits." - And he, in the affected 'latino' accent…is not quiet.

Trask smirks a little as he hears the byplay between Raquelle and the young men. He actually considers getting involved himself, till his eyes pick out the blonde. He frowns as he sees the cane, but holds him back from going over to ask. It's not like they left things on the best of terms, and as far as he knows she is still Company all the way. He moves to where he can keep an eye on his ex, while also seeing the coming snow ball fight.

Lunch concluded, lunch break still in progress, Bob takes a fresh look around. A casual wave is offered to Elle— it's been a few months since they crossed paths, he should catch up.

Before he can approach her, though, the loudmouths divert his attention. The hell? He's dealt with dangerous Evolved before, and these guys are not it… and every fight picked with the rabble is one more temptation for the dangerous ones to come out of the woodwork. Old habits dying hard, he rises slowly to his feet, walking up behind one of them but not saying anything until he closes to within a few feet. Raquelle's distraction is a welcome one.

Though she isn't interested, Rue throws a smile the boy's way when he winks at her. It's still flattering, and rolling her eyes isn't really polite. He doesn't know she's more of a softball type of girl. She watches for a moment as the cluster of young men meanders toward the bench, and the homeless men there. "Oh no," she murmurs when the jeering starts.

Most people would ignore the situation, just keep on walking. Rue Lancaster starts to jog forward, but pauses when Raquelle speaks up. She has to bite her lip to keep from barking with laughter, her eyes widening a fraction with her amusement. She exchanges a look with Nora, brows lifted. Can you believe this?

Harassing the homeless. Not really a cause that is publicly worth of Yana interference, but every farmer will put a few buckshots in your butt if you start messing with their livestock. Yana doesn't have a shotgun, and in truth, her ability isn't as quick acting as say.. an electrokinetic or pyrokinetic, but it has staying power and can cause nasty long term damage. She isn't much of a physical threat, nor does she have her 6'7" attendant around with her at the present time to mean mug these ruffians. And Magnes is on punishment, otherwise she could throw him at them like a snarling and snapping chihuahua that she keeps in her purse. So what can she do, exactly? Confronting them directly wouldn't be a wise move, these guys are probably the type to hit women. Hmm..

It comes to her quickly, as Yana moves to put herself between the path of the attackers and the victims, stepping over to the two old homeless men, and standing to block further attacks, like she didn't even see it happen, "Good evening, gentlemen. I couldn't help by notice the two of you aren't exactly prepared for the weather. You look a little on the cold side. Perhaps I could do something to help? Provide some sort of assistance? Monetary or connections wise if you are trying to get back on your feet?"

Elle quietly turns her eyes toward the young men, a frown on her face. She edges away from them a little bit, staring quite blatantly at the young man who just threw the snowball at the old men. Instincts go to war with one another, at odds. Part of her desperately wants to go over and bully those kids into stopping their bullying, as she finds that often works. The rest of her, mostly the her that still has fresh red scar bracelets, is pondering the merits of getting the hell away from here.

Instead of making any rash decisions, Elle silently turns her eyes over the crowds, briefly pausing on each face she encounters. 'Bob' is offered a small wave in response. Then, blue eyes stop on a very familiar face…and Elle's jaw promptly drops. If it could hit the floor, it probably would. Is that seriously Norton Trask?

The child left on the bench, now a dollar richer, is given a glance by Nora, who then looks at the father as he minces toward the attackers. The teen smirks a bit before breaking into a run — like Rue, she's not going to let them harass innocent people.

The boy turns to stare at Raquelle. "Oh, no you didn't!" he shouts, moving toward Raquelle even as the other four of his friends regard Yana with a range of interest. One stops and stares at her; two glance at each other, raising brows, while the third, a husky and swarthy boy in his late teens grabs another handful of snow and reaches to hurl it at the woman.

Unfortunately for him, Nora is coming up behind him, her attention for the moment diverted between Raquelle's attacker and Yana's, then decides on the latter, hand grabbing his wrist and snapping it backward until he screams, snow ball dropping from his hand with a flaccid plop into the snow.

"Get out of here!" the teen shouts to the two homeless men, before whirling to take account of the rest of the scene.

Meanwhile, Crewcut draws closer to Raquelle. "You don't wanna mess with me, pretty boy, I'll mess up your hair," he warns. "Are you a freak too? Or just a fag?"

The hair dresser adjusts his fedora, snowball resting in his other hand and he licks his lips as he gives Crewcut a once-over and he just smiles slowly. "Then we could be matchin', but I don't usually do the matching tattoos or haircuts until the second date honey, gotta know you're worth it." He grabs his crotch lewdly before his hand drops and he narrows his eyes. "Baby I was born a freak…and I only smoke fags so c'mon honey, I really want to hear you ask me that question again. C'mon papi, let me show you how to really get freaky…so I dare you. Call me freak, fag, take your choice chico, we're going to have fun si?" He leans towards the young man, his gift edging his words with a hint of a purr and a sprinkle of discomfort, uneasiness, balls to the walls intimate intimidation. —- This is of course… Raquelle. And his daughter, reflexively covers her ears. Yep, that's her daddy.

Trask sighs softly as he sees the fight begin to break out. His eyes meet Elle's and he smiles as he sees the recognition, he puts one finger to his nose and winks at her. Then he begins moving around to flank the other boys. Ready to interfere if they get involved in the already growing altercation. Just another one of those homeless hippies living in the park trying to get a good seat and looking for some popcorn to steal from the pigeons.

That's it, Crewcut. Keep your eyes on Raquelle over there. Keep running your mouth. Don't pay attention to the old loser in the Copy Kingdom shirt— until Bob lunges forward, looping a thick arm around the kid's neck and cinching it back in a practiced motion. "You're just ticking all the boxes today, asshole. Why don't you just go lynch somebody in Harlem, go for the hat trick?"

Not to be outdone by Nora, Rue dashes forward in the teen's wake, intent on protecting her blind side. And that's not a pun on former condition, either. The girls' backs to each other, Rue flickers her gaze between the remaining boys. "Fuckin' try it. I dare you."

As it stands right now, the boys can walk away without anything from Yana's end. She could do with no altercation this evening, though that is not likely the case with types like these. She has her back to them, so she doesn't know what they will do at this point. If they call her out of her name, that could earn them a quick case of influenza, which is satisfying enough to her for them to be bed bound for a week or so. Pelting her with snowballs will step them up to rabies, like the animals they are. This has been decreed within her mind even before she stepped over to talk to the victims.

She is already popping open her purse to fish around for a bill of some sort to give. And knowing Yana it probably won't be small change. "Let's see what I have.."

Ooooh. This is starting to get a little crazy and chaotic. Elle's gaze is drawn back to the scene as it plays out, brows raising slightly. Well…she can always hang out back here and shoot the shit out of any of those boys if they start causing trouble, right? She turns, peering over at Trask with raised brows for a moment, promptly…sticking her tongue out at him, with a look that suggests that she has WORDS for him. And possibly a very big hug. Maybe even a kiss on the cheek, or something.

Just you wait, Norton Trask.

Hobbling on her cane, Elle moves to a spot where she can see the entire field of chaos and conflict before her. All the better for some sharp shooting, right? She's probably just some odd girl wearing too little clothing for this weather who wants to see more of this confrontation. The little flicker of light in her palm, which is held behind her back, would suggest otherwise if she wasn't deliberately hiding it from the racists.

The two homeless men don't have to be told twice by Nora. The one who had been holding the glowing sphere of warmth suddenly widens his fingers and palms, a flash of light and the fleeting blast of heat, much like an oven door opening, can be felt by those closest to the two vagabonds, who take that moment to run.

At the flash, Nora cries out, arm going up to cover her face and eyes instinctively. The boy she's snapped the wrist of uses his other hand to slug her in the jaw; Rue is pushed by one of the other two boys into the snowy ground, but who knows, he might have been trying to protect her from the sudden "explosion." Maybe he's seen the light… It could be either, until he says, "Fuckin' bitch," grabbing a fistful of snow to bring down painfully into her face, crushing it and mashing the bitter cold into her face.

His friend takes off running, not after the vagabonds but toward the center area of the park. "I'm getting the police! Freaks! Fucking Evos!" he cries out.

Crewcut brings his hands up to claw at Gael's hands. "Fuck you, man, I like black people okay. They ain't freaks like those hobos. You a fuckin' freak lover or a hobo lover? Or this freaky fag's lover, maybe?" Because it makes sense to insult people who can strangle you.

No one notices Elle's flicker of light, but those with sharp eyesight will see the park's police coming down the path, still several yards away.

"Ahh…thank you sweetie, that's so nice of you! Hold him still." Raquelle coos to Gael before his attention goes back to Crewcut, he flinches a bit at the flash of light and Billy Jean is hugging her gym bag rather tightly over yonder, watching with wide eyes even as her father is wiggling his fingers and adjusting a ring ever so slightly as he hears the words again. "Oooh, papi, you are cute but you have such a dirty mouth…" He tsks. Then…one moment he's examining his nails, the next he's swinging his fist towards the poor kids face. Rings, gloves and all. "SAY, it AGAIN, I dare you…oh my god, you think with this body I'd be with Mr Clean's gorgeous yet hairier brother here, oh my GOD, I was hitting on your tight little ass cuz I thought you had taste. Say it again papi, I so dare you…I want to see how far I have to shove my Doc Martin before it earns another PHD and you learn to deep throat doggie style, please just make my day sweetie."

Trask watches the kid push down the pretty young girl, and well, sometimes you got to pick your battles, and sometimes you just have to be awesome. He steps up and taps the young man on the shoulder just as he is reaching back to stuff more snow in Rue's face. "Excuse me, moo-cha-cha." His accent though holding a strong touch of Latin America stresses the one Spanish word a little out of joint, "But I do believe you're not being very respectful of the lady." A lot of evolved go for the flash and bang, but not Trask, he likes the simple ways best. Five fingers ball into a fist and punch the kid square in the nose.

For the first time in— oh, entirely too long, a malicious grin begins to seep its way into Bob's grizzled features. Nodding to Raquelle, and further spurred on by the unconcealed attitude behind the 'lover' comment, he straightens up enough that Crewcut is in danger of losing his footing entirely, just before the first punch is thrown.

Who's lamer than a couple of freaks? A guy who gets his ass kicked by a couple of freaks, that's who.

"Nora!" Distracted by her friend getting hit, and semi-dazed by the sudden flash of light, Rue doesn't see the shove coming until it's too late. She hits the ground with a quiet grunt, the air knocked out of her lungs. She takes the face full of snow, squeezing her eyes shut just in time to avoid that complication.

When she's rescued by Trask, Rue's quick to offer a short thanks as she climbs to her feet. Rather than go for the punk that just messed with her, she rounds on the one that popped her friend. When she retaliates, it looks like she's levelling a girly slap at the man.

But this son of a bitch has messed with Nora.

The heel of Rue's hand connects with the boy's ear with a vicious ferocity. Then she recoils to throw her palm forward in a second strike aimed at his nose while he's still reeling. Over and over again, she lashes out. "Who's!" Smack! "The!" Smack! "Bitch!" Smack! "Now?!" //Smack!

Ok, so sometimes her acts are thankless, and sometimes they have a dramatic result to them. More ofren than not they have a dramatic result, actually, like now. See? This, right here is why you don't be nice to people. Even if you were faking it just a little at the time. Whatever that little explosion is that just happened, Yana does not like it. She almost drops her purse as her hand flies up to protect her face, "Bozhe moi!" she cries, expecting to be flash fried or some such. It is just a burst of heat, leaving her for the most part unscathed.

By the time she recovers, they are off and running, and her ire changes course, away from the original attackers and the daggers are stared at the fleeing homeless Evos. They're just looking for their own safety, sure, but in Yana's mind, that doesn't matter. They offended, and now she's mad at them. But they're out of her range for now. No touchy, infecty for them. *sigh* She has got to learn how to make her range airborne.

She turn to check on the second half of the altercation, seeing quite a few individuals attacking the assailants. Oh now this she isn't getting into. Instead, she decides to be that person and whip out the iPhone camera.

The men who are attacking poor Rue and Nora become immediate targets for Elle's wrath. She really hates Evo-haters. They're the reasons why she has bright red mesh-like scars on her wrists from the skin grafts. They're the reason she's even hesitating to attack these assholes. But really, seeing those two assholes beating up on two girls…that pisses her off.

"Why don't you fuckers pick on someone who can handle your abuse, huh? You do realize that if you would just leave us alone, we wouldn't bother you, right?" She pulls her hand from behind her back. The little flicker of light suddenly turns into a full-on ball of light, crackling with electromagnetic energy.

Elle has officially had enough of Humanis First and others like them.

There is little in the way of reluctance, now that they've pissed her off and brought back memories that she'd rather not remember to the front of her mind. This is bloodlust at its finest. A shot is aimed to make a glancing blow across the shoulder of the man mashing snow into Rue's face right as Trask is aiming a punch to the kid's face. Have a nice burn scar and a little bit of radiation for your troubles, kid!

Sorry, Yana. iPhones are bad for incriminating things like taking the law into your own hands. Another one of those shots, smaller, is aimed for that iPhone of hers. Elle's not about to take any chances.

Luckily for the ragtag ensemble of "freaks" and heroes, the footage won't make it to YouTube, when Elle's blast of electricity sends Yana's phone out of her grasp and into the snow. The man groans as it hits his shoulder, the smell of burnt flesh and wool in the air.

"Fist or edge, Rue," Nora snaps, to remind her friend not to slap but punch or or chop. The teen's cheeks flush with anger as she recovers from her duck — she's still trembling just a touch, and those who know the story of how and why she was blind for a few months might be able to figure it out. But rather than wait for Rue to figure out how to finish the man off, she suddenly shoots a hand upward into the young man's forehead and bridge of his nose. He drops to his knees, the snow in front of him turning red swiftly as his nose begins to leak, leaving Rue slapping at the air where his head was.

"She'sh fuck'n ev-no," is a nasal whine coming from the man as he holds his face in his hand, assuming that there's no way the 5'5" brunette could break his wrist and his nose without some ability.

The ability, however, is not working, and Nora shakes her head. "Someone's negating… I can't… feedback…" is hopefully vague enough of a whisper to Rue that her friend will understand. "Cops are close," she hisses, and grabs Rue. "Gotta run!" She moves hurriedly away, watching the cops turn the path that will lead them to them in about three minutes. Her eyes dart to Raquelle's little girl, still hugging the bag to her chest, and then to Raquelle. "Come on, he's not worth getting arrested for…" the teen demands, nodding to all of them.

The man relents his grip on Gael's arms as Raquelle punches him, eyes rolling back in his head as he takes the beating, grunting with the force of the hit. He slumps down, ready to fall if Gael allows him to.

"…" Raquelle glances back over towards Billy Jean before turning back to the man, nodding to Bob. "Let 'em go honey, we've gotta split before the men in uniform handcuff us for all the not fun reasons." Then he whistles sharply. "Little Sugar Ray! Time to go!" He yells out towards his daughter who hops off the bench, shouldering her bag and jogging over. He nods to the female who had warned him before leaning or kneeling, which ever appropriate, next to Crewcut and sighs softly, slipping an eyeliner pencil out of his pocket to carefully write on his forehead:

'I Love Freaks'

Neatly framed by a rainbow on one side of the word and a crude/rough yet distinct drawing of a certain type of male genitalia. Seeing as the hairdresser is in a hurry, it isn't pretty but the message gets across as he straightens up.

"Daddy, what's that?" It is the question asked by BJ as she reaches for her father's hand. "…a sea slug. C'mon, we'll pick up some Pho on the way home. Diana and Bolibaby will like that." Raquelle turns to blow kisses to those gathered before raising his voice and singing, "Let's get physical, physical, I wanna get physical, let's get into physical!" He sings with a little pep in his step, making his daughter laugh as they turn to head off. "C'mon people, I can't hear you… 'Let me hear your body talk, Your body talk, let me hear your body talk!" With a parting 'WOO!' He's off. Fortunately, he can still sing. Unfortunately, his daughter is asking him, "Why did the slug have ear lobes?"

Trask hears the word cops, and well for once no one is talking about him. He remembers, oh yeah he so is supposed to be keeping a low profile here. He drops the kid he was jack hammering in the face to fall back into the snow and looks around. His eyes fall on Elle who has that gleam in her eyes that make you think of a kid at Christmas, the one she always gets when she is about to go on a full out murdering spree. "Frak me," He says softly, and then seeing the police closing in he does what any sensible man would do. He runs right at the pint sized blonde physcopath. Dropping a shoulder he takes her by surprise near the midsection and sweeps her right up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He then lets out a low whistle and waves at the cops before taking off in a direction opposite of everyone else. The cops see some homeless looking guy kidnapping a pretty white girl. Maybe they will lose a little interest in the other fleeing suspects long enough for them to get away. Trask himself is sure he still knows this park well enough to shake off a few flat foots as long as Elle doesn't struggle too much.

Note to self: look up Raquelle later and buy him a drink. Bob does not, in fact, swing that way— but the mouthy fuck gets ten out of ten for style.

Note to self, priority: duly constituted authority incoming, execute Special Maneuver #42. Off he goes, checking his watch again, and gritting his teeth. His snot-nose of a supervisor will probably yell at him for being five minutes late… and oh boy, will he be in for a surprise then.

Rue stumbles when one of her swings simply cuts through air, rather than connect with anything. Her chest is heaving and it takes her moment for the rage to subside and Nora's words to actually register with her. She staggers back, cheeks puffed out with a heavy exhale.

The tall, freckled girl reaches out to capture Nora's hand. "C'mon. My aunt will have my ass if I get arrested." Rue's nose wrinkles at the very idea. "And if you get arrested, I'm pretty sure Benji will have my ass. And I think he could probably fuck me up if he really wanted to. So let's avoid that." She tugs the dark-haired girl along with her as she takes off down the path. Away from the police.

There is a list in Yana's possession that has been growing as of late. A list that she sent Magnes on a mission to fill, recipients of her lovely H5N10 virus(that she has named Cillian), once she starts her experiments. And one good way to get put on this list is to attack her with an Evo ability. Yana might have been vexed if it had just been her phone, but she feels the intense pain of searing heat rush through her while hand. Yana shrieks as she drops what remains of her phone, and her well manicured fingers curl into a tense claw from the burn as her jaw tightens. She has to close her eyes for a second until the sensation passes, and take in a deep breath through her nose. But once she opens them, they are focused on Elle.

The look that she gives Elle is purely sinister, with a anger and malice behind her eyes. She has been tossed about, embarrassed and held over a balcony in these types of events, but never really hurt until now. There is even a slight upturn of one corner of her mouth as her eyes narrow darkly, a green glow about her eyes as the detection aspect of her ability activates. A normal thing for her really, but in couple with her expression, it only adds to the malevolence in her look. Dr. Blite is not happy.

She'll be remembering her. In fact, she has half a mind step over there and infect her right now. But no.. the police are on their way. She'll start with a proper police report. So that means she has to play up her injuries a bit worse than they are. And so, she starts playing it up. The woman looks like she is either going to cry, or faint as she holds her hand, looking at it.

Elle's early warning that Trask is coming is the feel of the cold air gushing over her skin. She doesn't have nearly enough of a chance to react to the incoming Trask, suddenly draped over Trask's shoulder. She blinks a few times, quite surprised by this development. The guy who took her on her first real date mysteriously shows up in Central Park, and then tackles her and kidnaps her!

Aside from her yelp of surprise, Elle doesn't fight against Trask. In fact, she looks a bit on the more relieved side of things. A lot of good she would do, hobbling away from the cops on a cane. This way is much better. And less painful, too.

Trask smiles a little as he takes off toward Belvedere castle, the ex-Company agent over his shoulder, he speaks softly, pitching the voice for her ears. "Good morning Miss Bishop, fancy meeting you here…I hope you don't mind if I remember old times and take you somewhere to keep you quiet till I figure out what is going on?"

Crewcut lies on his back, blinking up dazily as Raquelle writes on his forehead, one hand coming up to swipe at the other man — a foot or so to Raquelle's left. Apparently the frat boy is seeing double. Nearby, his friend is clutching his nose with one hand and holding his other to his chest, still whimpering about the little "ev-no nbitch" who took hurt him, his face still bearing a few of Rue's handprints. The third has moved to huddle under the bench away from the electrical attacks and punches.

"Should we go?" he hisses, but Crewcut shakes his head once Raquelle has left. "We didn't start it. Those hobos did and these freaks just jumped us," he mutters.

Sadly, their words will be taken for granted — after all, the policemen saw the flicker of electricity, and how could a few girls and the flamboyant man they saw striding away take down such strapping young men?

Nora's fingers entwine with Rue's, her other hand rubbing her reddened jaw that will no doubt darken into the blue and purple of a bruise later on. "Benji's not the boss of me," she says, Converse slapping the path as she lets the other girl pull her away, one glance back over her shoulder for the other allies of the battle, making sure each of them have gotten away safely.

Today they have. One small battle won in a long and hard war against prejudice does not a victory make.

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