Kidnap the Girl, Save the World


alexander_icon.gif brian_icon.gif munin_icon.gif teo_icon.gif

Scene Title Kidnap the Girl, Save the World
Synopsis That's the plan, anyway…
Date December 2, 2008


Before the bomb, Chelsea was most known for being "gay-friendly," home of the stereotypical "Chelsea Boy." It was a place of culture and art, of eclectic ethnic restaurants and cutting-edge performing arts studios.

One of the last places in Manhattan to be reopened to the public, the streets of Chelsea almost give the impression of an urban ghost town. Many buildings are dark, inhabited only by the homeless, if by anyone at all. Their walls have been tagged with graffiti, the windows broken; forgotten cars line the streets, slowly rusting away. Close inspection reveals that their interiors have already been gutted of anything valuable or useful.

Housing in Chelsea is quite cheap; it therefore doesn't stay on the market long, despite the potential threat of residual radiation. The population has become a mixture of all ethnicities, desperation being their thread in common; those who have the money to live elsewhere do. Culture seems to have been washed out entirely on the neighborhood scale, survival taking vast precedence over art.

He hadn't lied. Not exactly. Chelsea is a bad place to perambulate, outside of school hours, and worse past supper-time. There may be nothing in the night that there isn't in the day, but human senses are troubled by darkness, and trouble is already commonplace in this neighbourhood.

They fit right in, then. The four men in the Dodge Spirit. There's a Sicilian in the driver's seat, his hands on the wheel like a responsible driver ought to do, always one to treat the belongings of others with the utmost care. Brian is to his left, his twin in the back where Alexander sits in silence, a fair amount of chloroform and — honorable intent between them. Headlights fish graffiti out of snaggletooth buildings, startle cats down alleyways, drive the corner loiterers deeper into shadow, stretch out and spin the shadows of the few pedestrians here around their brisk-moving feet.

Hana's on speaker, insofar as she can hear everything and no one is saying anything. Before the cellphone's display idled into darkness, the last visualization across the tiny square had been Eileen's head-shot, snagged off the same traffic cameras that have tracked her progress to, from, and back to Chelsea all evening. "Don't hurt her unless there's no other way to get her in, a'right?" Some part of Teo sincerely hopes that was obvious, because that same part doesn't want to wonder why it wouldn'tve been. He doesn't look up at the rearview because his eyes are on the road. "I'll cut the lights when we round the corner."

The Brian in the front gives Teo a heated glance. "Of course not." He says sternly, with a slight frown. "I'm not an idiot." Brian argues, though there are plenty who would contest the other way of this idiot issue. "I'm getting used to all this secret agent, underground, thingie. Go easy." Raising his arms as if in defense. A gun is tucked into his pants. He's left it unloaded on purpose. Both Brian's are dressed warmly pea coats and beanies.

In the back seat, Brian looks particularly irritated. He gives another sideways glance to Alexander. And gives a huff of a sigh as if the other man said something stupid. Even though he hasn't spoken yet. Asshole. The pair return their eyes to the windshield.

Alexander is an asshole. At the moment, he's a stoic, well-armed asshole - there's his power, and the Glock tucked into the back of his pants. He nods mutely to Teo. "I c'n grab her without hurting her, knock wood," he says touching the paneling of the car as if that might count.

That might count. Teo's a different kind of superstitious anyway, and he's managed — for once — to remember to issue a prayer before they do this thing, only to have his words of sanctity knifed in the middle by the unhappy irony of what it is he's praying for. Fuck it. He tends to leave Wireless with the distinct sense that she tolerates him because they're both do-what-we-have-to-do people, and right now, what they have to do is calm the fuck down and kidnap the little girl. To save the world. Or a few of the good things in it.

"How hard could it be?" he asks sidelong, wryly, because they could all use a little more damnation. The wheel turns in his grip and he drops one hand to switch off the lights. Pavement and marked asphalt fade to the dull bronze of street lamps, and they hang the right seconds before the traffic light opens its red third eye.

"Don't touch that." Brian says quickly, as Alexander goes to 'knock wood'. Hmph. It may not be a sports car, or a beauty, but its his vehicle. And even though knocking wood will do it no harm, any offensive action that can be taken against Southern Jean Gray DickHead. Should be taken. In the front seat, out of Alexander's range of sight, Brian mimics the Alexander in a wordless display only Teo would be able to spot. Moving his mouth in an over exaggerated fashion that he imagines would emit the southern drawl.

As they turn the corner, Brian reaches into his coat to pull out the silver chain. A cross. "Father." He whispers, "Help me." With his own silent prayer spoken the cross is kissed then dropped to hang around his chest. "Let me try talking to her before we start 'thr'in 'bout the brain magik, I reckon.'"

"Man, what exactly is your malfunction?" Al wonders, turning to peer at the nearest Brian. "You don't have to like me, but you do have to behave like you're a bit older than seven, okay? OR is it too much to ask that you act like a fuckin' professional?"

As the road stretching ahead of the car plunges into darkness, only the faint yellow glow of the streetlamps is left to illuminate the curb that runs parallel to it. Munin — dressed in a black pea coat, wool stockings and a pair of leather boots — would be difficult to pick out amongst the shadows if it weren't for the moonlight reflecting off her pale skin and raven-coloured hair, causing her faint outline to gleam like fine chords of gossamer. The rumble of the car's engine must not register as a threat on the young woman's radar, because she keeps walking without so much as a haphazard glance over her shoulder, gloved hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, boots kicking up slush and snow as she continues slogging her way toward the nearest bus stop.

Somehow, Teo manages not to laugh, groan, or volunteer some other reaction that is equally inappropriate under the circumstances. The vehicle rolls forward, smooth with treaded slush and its history of loving care. "My friends, I'd prefer it if you didn't waste you breath on any kind of words. Fighting each other, or talking to Eileen. Get her hands, stuff the chemistry up her nose, pull her in here, and we're out while Wireless covers us. Don't stop to negotiate. We can do that when we get to the Ferrymen's. If you understand, nod. If you don't, I can try another fucking language or, my hand to God, I'll drop everybody off at the Hooters and try again with Hel and Conrad in an hour.

"No fucking joke. Nod your heads. Please," the Sicilian asks, though the politeness is as ever rote with sincerity rather than a concession. Finally, his eyes do shift to the rearview, and show there like frost crystals constricting on the pane. He'll need to see two before he chooses which pedal to put his foot down on.

Backseat Brian frowns at Alexander, and looks like he's about to answer, but Teo interrupts. Hm. He had an awesome comeback too. Maybe he can save it and use it for later. Picking the chloroform, he oh so carefully pours a little bit out onto the cloth, setting it back down he rescrews the cap. Oh shit. Doing it already may have been a bad idea. His arm quickly pumps at the window so he can get a little to breathe.

Front Brian nods. Though this call to silence can't be fully obliged! "Stop cussing in my car." The man mutters quietly, like a little boy trying to get in the last word with his father. But then it's suddenly Munin. The brake is hit and the doors fly open. "Eileen?" Brian calls out as innocently as he can. Just to make sure she answers, it would be a shame if they grabbed and gagged a woman only to find out it was the wrong one. Waiting till she responds, or just long enough, the first Brian takes off after her. Chloroform Brian right behind. Go twins go.

Alexander just nods, tightly. He's in dark gray hoodie, black watchcap to hide the bright hair, fatigue pants. He's on the other side, keeping pace with the second Brian. His hands are at his sides, and he's got that gangster's swagger on display, like this is all totally casual.

Calling out, even to confirm the silhouette's identity, might not have been the wisest decision. While it serves its purpose, it also gives Munin an extra split-second of warning on top of the screeching tires and bursting doors. She takes off at a sprint, plowing into and knocking over an empty garbage can as she veers into the mouth of the closest alley. The resulting clatter booms through the open air, so loud that it launches a flock of pigeons from their concrete perch above a gutted tenement and sends them into a panicked spiral — dozens upon dozens of wings beating furiously against one another, rising skyward, a surging tide of feathers, claws and beady black eyes wide with fright.

Luckily for the two Brians and Alexander, the alley doesn't lead straight through to another street — a chainlink fence separates one dark end from the other, though little "Eileen" is already halfway up it by the time they catch up with her.

Wow. Birds. The Brians are sprinting hard. Both side by side as they run. It's not surprising that they can both run at the same speed. Oh hey. Fences. Brian loves fences! Fortunately for Munin, Brian was not raised in the ghetto. Unfortunately for Munin, he can jump a fence like he was raised in the ghetto. The Brian without the chloroform takes a strong leap, using his arms to quickly bring him the rest of the way up. Even though Munin got a head start, Brian will most likely land on the ground before or at the same time as Munin. Because he's not very graceful with the dismount. He simply drops down. Chloroform Brian starts to climb, though he barely puts effort into it, hoping his copy and Alexander will be able to take care of that part.

No need! Alex the redneck Sith apprentice is right on hand to do the deed. So much for no brutality. He flings up a hand, having pounded right into the alley after Munin, and makes a grasping motion, like he's trying to pluck an invisible fruit. Munin is wrenched right off the fence, and held in mid air a few feet off the ground - just enough that the soles of her feet can't get traction, though within reach of Brian, when he gets back over that fence. "Get her," he says to Brian, through gritted teeth. Keeping a moving, fighting human in place is a hell of a strain.

That invisible, incorporeal force is one Munin has an intimate familiarity with. She knows what's happening to her even before her fingers lose their grip on the metal, and she lets out a snarling cry of aggravation when it happens. First Sylar, then Peter — not Alexander. Telekinesis is rapidly rising to the top of her Least Favourite Abilities list. Legs thrash, boot-clad feet lashing out at anyone who tries to get too close, heels aimed for Brian's face should he decide to take Alexander's advice.

As one, the flock swings around, zipping past the car within inches of the windshield and Teo's face, and converges on Alexander like a swarm of locust on a singular stalk of wheat. Beaks and claws rip and tear, slash and shred, grabbing whatever they can get ahold of in their tiny feet and mouths — skin, hair, clothes, it doesn't matter.

Pigeons don't do that at night. Pigeons don't do anything at night, and pigeons don't do that— ever. Teo's head jerks up on its axis, watching the flock travel; his eyes go wide as they close on Alexander with such ravening interest. His hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles going white with shock. Jesus fucking Christ. He can only hope that whatever this bit talent is, it doesn't operate when the user is unconscious or Brian's precious ride is going to have a lot worse to worry about than a tap on the paneling. He mutters a curse, glancing through the vehicle, the dark street outside.

A groan is given as the other Brian lands on the other side of the fence only to realize that Munin is not following him over. So Brian starts to climb back up. Annoying.

Fine. Asshole. Calm down. Brian goes forward and then. Boom. Blood flies out of his mouth as he stumbles back into the alley, his back thumping against the wall hard. A grunt is let out as his hand flies to his mouth. The correct response after getting kicked/punched/whatever'd in the face. Straightening slowly, the young man glares at Munin. "Calm down. We're not going to hurt—" Then it's suddenly an old black and white movie, and Brian wishes he would've watched the thing to see how they solved the problem. Chloroform Brian rises to his feet, but other Brian is swifter. His gun if pointed through the chainlink fence. "Call em off!" He demands powerfully at her.

If she doesn't, she'll have Chloroform Brian doing his best football tackle, with that little cloth aimed for her mouth.

Al makes a terrible keening noise as the flock descends on him, and he does release his hold on Eileen. However…'s not merely dropping her. It's flinging her into the alley wall, hard, like a toddler discarding an unwanted toy. There's a few heartbeats where he hunkers down, hands over face and head…..and then there's a soundless explosion, a spherical shockwave out of the telekinetic at the center. Not grenade force, by any means, but like a storm wind.

Munin's body hits the wall with enough force that she's out cold before she slumps, face-down, onto the ground — no need for chloroform, or anything else. As suddenly as the onslaught began, it ends, and the flock begins to dissipate into the night, some birds with shreds of clothing trapped between their beaks while others are missing patches of feathers where the pigeons turned on each other in the frenzy. The telekinetic shockwave blows them up and away, shrieking into the safety of nearby awnings up, up, up overhead. On the other side of the fence, a big black raven sits on the lip of a dumpster, its black plumage ruffled in obvious irritation, beak parted, watching the scene as it continues to unfold.

Jesus fucking Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. "Jesus fucking Christ," Teo mutters, craning his head out the window to see. Eileen has the raven to stare, hiss and fret; Brian and Alexander have the boy from Sicily.

Chloroform Brian grimaces as Munin goes flying against the wall. So much for not hurting her. Maybe he should have let Alexander knock on the panel. But the birds seem to be leaving, so Brian starts to move forward towards Munin. She's priority right? But then, pooof. Shockwave. The chloroformed towel falls to the ground as Brian crashes into the fence and then onto the ground.

Two shoes land harshly on the concrete, other Brian has finally climbed back over. His first task consists of hauling the other Brian to his feet. And then to the bodies. A Brian for each. One goes to pick up Munin, as gently as he can. The other goes to secure Alexander in his arms and carry/drag the redhead back to the car. His features are a little.. well they could most accurately be described in the phrase 'MOTHERFUCKINGOHMYGAWDWHATTHEHELL' but he won't say any of that right now. He's got people to take care of.

Al has a hand to one eye - his arms and face are torn and bleeding like he ran facefirst through a whole forest of briars. And it's safe to say that one eye is out of commission, barring a miracle from Abby. The former cop is making tiny pained sounds, but he waves away Brian. "Ah c'n walk. You git her, if she's still breathin'," By his tone, well, he'd not mind if she weren't, but that isn't the goal.

"Yeah, she's alive. I think. You didn't succeed in killing her. GREAT WORK!" The Brian who is waved off of Alexander gets a roll of his eyes. Still a dick, even when he's scratched to bits by birdies. The two Brian's carry Munin hastily towards the car. One on the legs, one on the torso they flip the woman so her face is up. She's not particularly heavy, so two fingers go to check her pulse… And then Brian remembers that he doesn't really know how to check a pulse. So in a totally non-creepy way the man places his hand on the young woman's chest, to feel for BO— to feel for the rise and fall of the chest, her breathing. Once that's done with the pair pop the trunk and slide her in. A very impolite gesture, but nobody wants more Hitchcock if she wakes up.

"Get going!" Brian yells, one runs to Alexander, to make sure he gets into the seat okay. One grimacing at the bloodstains on the seats that are inevitable. The two young men slide in the car. "She's still breathing. He might've broke her back or something. We should get Abby. Whatever we do, let's get outta here!"

December 2nd: Inconvenient Introductions
December 3rd: Prisoner of War
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License