Junkie Meet Killer


diogenes_icon.gif lola_icon.gif

With text-messages by…elisabeth_icon.gif

Scene Title Junkie Meet Killer
Synopsis Lola finally finds the murderer of the hobos she'd been seeking, but he finds her too.
Date October 1, 2009

Staten Island

Staten Island. Why have you come back, Diogenes?

Taking in the street with a pair of dull grey eyes yet a sharp gaze, he is practically standing in one spot. Only at times does he move forward, and when he does, it's only a few steps before he arrives to a repeated halt. He's dressed rather fashionably for someone on Staten, and if merely setting foot on this island is one of the bravest thing one can do in his life, then walking around dressed like that flies off the Bravery chart, highly likely seeping into Stupidity or Insanity spheres. Still, Diogenes doesn't seem to be bothered, and even as bypassers apprehensively brush against him as they walk by, hoping to incite a conflict, he seems to grant them no more than a gaze.

It wasn't exactly wise of him to walk about where he had committed a crime. Granted, this isn't the neighbourhood where he has actually killed those unfortunate homeless people, and he's actually quite far away from that particular location, but it's still arguably is a mistake to have arrived to Staten Island. A mistake that Diogenes fully acknowledges, and yet he's here, taking what would be interpreted as a leisurely stroll by most.

Lola is doing anything but being leisurely. In fact, she almost blends into the scenery. This is probably because she's hunched over, sitting with her knees up against a wall, a half-empty bottle of ginger ale between her hands as she rocks a bit. The rocking makes it hurt less. Staying still puts all the weight on her bones and her bones hurt. Who even knew bones could do that?

Just another strung-out junkie on Staten. But seeing Dio pass makes her lift a brow. He looks kind of familiar, but not quite. Still, she watches him - as no doubt do other junkies who might be willing to take the next step to get what they need. But not Lola. Hers is more of a morbid curiosity.

His hands sink into his pockets at a painfully slow pace, as if he was being watched. No, he was not aware that Lola was watching him. He was not aware that of all these delinquents roaming along this particular street, one was watching him and little else. In fact, a closer look at Diogenes could even make one think that he isn't even quite there. It's as though he was walking in a dimension that transcended reality, and only his physical shape remained in the real world.

Of course, that is an indirect invitation for the wrong sort of attention, and it's obviously only a matter of time until someone takes advantage of it. Out of nowhere— Well, out of the nearby alley, really, a fairly slim and cheaply dressed man runs towards Diogenes and, before the expensively dressed younger man can react, the thug shoryukens him hard enough to send him to the ground with a grunt. He drops to the hard and rough asphalt, holding himself up from a completely prone position with his hands. The criminal murmurs spitefully something at him, his fists twitching. Apparently, he's giving an ultimatum of some sorts.

Well okay then! That's certainly something. Lola isn't about to get involved in this, since she doesn't know which side she'd support anwyay. But she does roll to her feet, leaving her ginger ale bottle where it lays. Instead, she's following the fight, doing her best to stay close to the shadows of buildings or whatnot, trying to stya out of sight. She's just out of earshot, but crouching behind a decrepid old car, she has a perfect view.
And, while all this is going on, she pulls out a crumpled bit of paper and opens it, looking from it to the fighting men and back again.

Diogens closes his eyes and inhales more than just a handful of air, only to exhale it in a rush. His eyes shoot open, and he looks up at the stranger that towers above him. It is highly likely that it is but the lighting playing tricks, as the downed man's eyes shift from a dull shade of grey to a more aggressive tint. As his hand rises to his face to estimate the damage caused, it becomes apparent - in case it wasn't already evident from his lanky frame - that he doesn't get into fights often.

Diogenes is looked down at by his opponent, which is growing more and more anxious by the minute. He says nothing, however, and instead observes his prey, just in case he is in need of another ol' fashioned sideways punch. Strangely enough, Diogenes does not initiate his ability. He does something else entirely - he digs his hand into one of his pockets and delivers two hundred bucks in two bills to the man, who eagerly tears the notes from the victim's hand. "Not enough, man, that's not enough", he tells Diogenes nervously.

"Should've just taken them." The men swap positions - Diogenes rises to his feet, while the other guy drops down to the ground like a puppet, the strings of which were abruptly cut. The money is retrieved by the eccentric, elegantly dressed one, and stuffed back into the pocket. He hesitates to do whatever it is that's on his mind, and he's still unaware of Lola's presence. Neither of them are, it seems.

Lola's going through a horrible withdrawal right now. But she can't just let that man - mugger though he appears to be - die! Especially at the hands of - well, she's sure of it! So, one hand goes for the gun in the back of her pants, while the other goes for her cell phone. She lifts herself off the ground, craning - it feels like - over the mirror of the decrepid vehicle as she tries to…yep…click! There we go. Snap a picture of the man.

The former assailant is practically choking on his own spit, and not due to the Diogenes's ability, but due to a nearing panic attack. Worrisome groans escape him, and his wide eyes are centred on the man who holds the fragile chord of his life. Diogenes crouches down in front of the limp body that has crumpled to the ground lifelessly, and keenly eyes the mugger, as if attempting to read him like a book, as if that seemingly insignificant and pathetic criminal holds the key to all unsolvable mysteries.

Then he hears the distinctive click that cell phone cameras tend to emit. It prompts Diogenes to rise and forget about the man he has now at a disadvantage; he looks around warily, hastily trying to spot anyone with a phone, or anyone who could potentially have a phone yet tucked it into one of their pockets.

Lola drops like a sack of potatoes. She's against the car, behind the wheel in a moment, curled up like any other number of junkies. She clings to the phone a moment, glancing down at the picture she just took as she begins to text. "Mass Hobo Murderer. What I do?" It takes a few moments, but at least the buttons do not beep. Send. There. Phone tucked safely in her pocket, gun hidden in the same, she waits, hoping to be overlooked.

Even if the sound of her heart is in her ears. Being among fifty cops with a plan is one thing. This is something else. And she feels like shit.

Lola sends Elisabeth a picture of Dio standing over a man on Staten with the text, "Mass Hobo Murderer. What I do?"

Elisabeth Txt back: Whatever you want. NYPD has no jurisdiction on Staten.

"P-please… Please let me go", pleads the man sprawled across the ground, barely able to restrain his sobs and delay the arrival of a panic attack. Diogenes glances down at him, gently leading his fingertips to glide along the sorely red spot on his cheekbone. To gently rub it would simply hurt far too much. "That's what I planned", he speaks up again, sounding bemused and distracted, "But you're going to have to thank a certain papparazi for screwing things up."

Diogenes takes a couple of steps back before lowering himself close enough to the immobilised body of the crook to grab his foot and start dragging him off towards the alley from which he has run out of. "Or I'll thank him for you, since you'll be a little bit too dead to do that", he quips without even the slightest hint of playfulness in his tone, his eyes on the street to look for anyone that might pop out of, should they take the bait.

It's unfortunate that Lola is close enough to hear. Becuase now she's starting to panic in her own way. She has a gun. She could take out this killer before he's even seen her. That's what she should do, right? I mean, that's what she idd last time, and it worked out okay. The man was a killer. This man sounds like he's about to kill another one right now. She quickly texts again, glancing around the car as she holds the gun pressed tight against her belly. She needs…help.

Lola texts back, "Wtf he's gona kill ths guy!!"

Elisabeth TXT: And I'm supposed to do what from here? It will take me 40 minutes to get to Staten. It'll be over long before then. Film it and report it if you want, but I am under direct orders that Staten is off limits to NYPD action. I'm sorry.

It's madness to kill someone in plain sight out in broad daylight. In Staten, however, it's merely impolite.

Which is why Diogenes is dragging the limp body towards the alley - to finish him off. Or is he? With a single glance to the unfortunate mugger, Diogenes grants him back control over his body. Whoever took the picture did not take the bait. Perhaps someone was not taking a picture of him, but of someone or something else? Perhaps it's just his paranoia setting in, once again?

The darkly dressed Evolved departs from the alley, returning to the street. The mugger, who can be seen running down the alley as fats as he can, is forgotten. Taking slow steps, Diogenes walks towards the street, ignoring the danger of being hit by a car. In theory, if he now looks in Lola's direction, he will see her, but he is yet to do that.
Over the sound of the pounding in her ears, she hears him. Just barely, but it's enough for her to see him. And the mugger. And now the killer coming her way. Keeping her hand on the gun, the young woman tucks and rolls - right under the car. She keeps her head low, hood up, peering out at the feet as they continue to walk. Please don't see her. Please don't. She doesn't want to die, and she doens't want to kill. Not without someoen saying 'this man needs to die'. After all…who is she to make that decision?

"If you're going to photoshop my face on a scantily clad hunk in the Playgirl magazine, at least ask for my permission, first."

Diogenes looks in Lola's direction, or, rather in the direction where she once was. He steps towards that particular car beneath which she's currently hiding, his expensive polished leather shoes indeed coming into view. By now, Diogenes firmly believes he's talking to himself, although he's fond enough of this activity to pursue it further.

"Who are you? What do you want? I'm on Staten Island. People shoot guns here, not photos."

What do do, what to do? She has a gun. Just to prove him right, she could shoot him. But for Lola, it's a head shot or no shot at all. Taking her phone, she tucks it up underneath the car, hidden behind some parts. And then? She rolls out from the other side. "Hey, whatta ya think yer doin…" she says, her voice scratchy as she stands slowly, hood still up but a few strands of hair clinging to her face in a dirty, mangy sort of way. "This is my turf. This is my bed. Ya kin stay here if ya got some money or…" Shit, what's a drug? Drugs…drugs…"Powder," sure, sounds about right. Scratching herself, hunched over, she waddles toward Dio. "YA got any powder, fancy-boy?"

"You're probably a journalist", he continues his monologue while Lola's hiding the phone and rolling out from under the car afterwards. "The curious kind. Got a whiff of the murders, found some leads, then me." Hamlet would have continued if not for Lola's appearance. He looks over to her with a dismissive gaze, seemingly unsure of what words to pick in order to form a reply. Still, despite his disapproval of her interrupting his thoughts, he slowly turns to face her.

"Didn't your pimp tell you that you shouldn't take drugs while on the job?", he inquires with a sneer.

Lola walks slowly toward the man, coughing a bit. She actually does feel lke a strung out druggie, so playing one isn't hard. "Meh, ain' nobody got no powder…." She grumbles, crawling back under the car like a homeless person, about to sleep. But secretly? She's hoping he'll continue. She's hoping he'll keep talking. "Turn the lights off!" She calls to no one in particular, just to add to the flavor of 'crazy'.

It hits her like a hammer. His gaze. His eyes send out invisible hands that are capable of brutally tearing a soul open. His desaturated orbs practically have become whirlpools of all things negative. Conviction, suspicion, spite, frustration, mistrust - the list is too lengthy to be shared, really. Diogenes had no way of knowing that it is truly this junkie that has taken a picture of him. However, nothing would be lost if he assumed such and acted appropriately.

Just as Lola lowers herself to roll beneath the car again, control and sense of touch would rapidly drain from her body. In but a second or two, she would be completely incapable of movement, and only her face and her breathing would remain unaffected. She wouldn't fall tot he ground, though - a vulturous hand would grip her neck and bring her back up and against the car, holding her by the throat.

This is even better than withdrawal! "Leggo!" She squeals, a limp thing under his hold. "Leggo, I didn' do nothin! Leave me alone!" She coughs, trying to catch her breath, wheezing through his grasp as she desires one thing - air. And freedom. Or the ability to move and run away would be nice. But she's got nothing. Her eyes, wild with fear, stare up at this man's, this killer's.

As good as Diogenes is at deception, there are certain facial expressions he simply is unable to fake. And the one that's painted across his visage is one he cannot draw from his deck of grimaces at will. The look of a killer. Stoic, cold and remorseless, and yet at the same time dismissive, assertive and condemning. Ignorant of all who happen to walk past and slow their steps to revel in the spectacle rapidly unravelling before their eyes, Diogenes has his focus on Lola.

His hand roams over Lola's body, not forgetting to check the pockets; he's unabashedly checking even areas that perhaps aren't appropriate to touch under most circumstances outside the bedroom. His touch does not linger and it could hardly be assumed that he's being lecherous, but he certainly is aware of the strategy of hiding guns where others don't tend to look. Failing to find anything that would resemble the shape of a cell phone, he looks back up at her, his free hand once again at his side.

"Stay away from me. I ruin lives. My own included. Yours is already fucked up enough not to follow me around." He frees a light sigh before adding: "The effects will last five minutes." Then, Lola is gently lowered to the ground, propping her back against the car's wheel. After which Diogenes straightens out and starts to wander off in a seemingly random direction.

Lola can only wimper as she's lowered to the ground, crumpling in a small pile as she watches him go. Her breathing is qucik and labored - clearly she's nervous, but that's beside the point. The point is that she's alive. Her eyes turn toward the car, and she tries to lift her hand to reach the phone there, but she can't. So, she sits and waits, terrified but breathing.

And watching.

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