New Sheriff In Town


tasha_icon.gif toby_icon.gif wyatt_icon.gif

Scene Title New Sheriff In Town
Synopsis A Ferryman operative finds his way to Gun Hill…
Date July 6, 2010

Gun Hill

Gun Hill is named after Gun Hill Road, the street that the five story tenement resides on. A bright red brick exterior separates it from the surrounding buildings, making it difficult to miss even though the complexes on either side of it are similarly coloured with fresh coats of paint in yellow and blue donated to their proprietors by an urban renewal project devoted to eliminating graffiti from the Bronx's residential zones in an attempt to raise property value and reestablish the borough as a desirable place to live.

Inside, the building shows more obvious signs of wear than the rusty fire escape affixed to its front, including old hardwood floors so scuffed that no amount of wax or polish can return them to their original luster, and faded wallpaper in neutral shades of cream with a strange mottled texture. Instead of an elevator, the tenement's upper floors can be reached by taking a stairwell with numbered flights and roof access via a heavy metal door that sticks more often than not.

Getting an apartment complex up to code is hard work, especially given that most of the people living there and working on the to-do list, which looks more like an epic poem than a list, don't really know what they're doing. The average age seems to be around 25, and that's only because, aside from the gaggle of teens and just-out-of-their-teens living there, Doyle and now Joseph bring up the mean a bit. That's not counting the several Lighthouse orphans running around the place.

The temperature is sweltering at four in the afternoon, and Tasha is sweating as she kneels on the welcome mat that leads into the building, a tool kit open beside her. Most of the tools seem to be outside of the box, and she's fighting what looks to be a losing battle with the lock, her weapons of choice a screwdriver. Despite her summer clothing of denim cut offs, a thin green tank top and a pair of flip flops, she's sweating thanks to the 100-degree temperature.

Just as she thinks she's got a good grip on the screw in question, the screwdriver slips, slicing the skin of her other hand that's holding the door knob in place.

"Fucking damn owch!" she declares with a yell.

The low rumble of a well tuned bike engine roars down the afternoon streets as Wyatt cruises down towards the apartment complex. A small plain black helmet covers his head, his longish hair streming out from behind it. Rounding the nearest corner he starts to slow down, then drawing up outside it the roar fades to a soft purr, then cuts out all together. His booted foot pushes the kickstand down as he straightens up and looks over towards the building. Pulling his helmet off just in time to catch Tasha's cursing a faint smile touches his weathered face "Looks like you need a hand there little lady" he rumbles, a faint growl underneath his drawling voice as the Hells Angle stalks closer towards the building.

In high contrast to Tasha's distress, there's a little mass of excitement coming her way. Rugby heralds Toby's inevitable arrival by shooting up the steps and sniffing around to identify these people. Tasha! Someone he knows! New-guy! Someone he doesn't! The corgi noses into her hand and licks at the sweaty, and now bloody palm, then sniffs at Wyatt's boots, all a-wiggle with excitement. Toby, for the moment, is not in sight.

Little lady? Tasha looks up from inspecting the hole in her palm just as the corgi asserts itself into the petite teen's personal bubble. "Ugh, now it's gonna get infected. Thank you very much, Rugby, darling," she says with a laugh, reaching down to wipe the blood and now dog saliva on her shorts. "Where's Toby?" she asks the dog, then glances back up at Wyatt.

"I … maybe. I'm not much with tools. Are you just stopping by because you saw a damsel in distress, or were you coming here to check in with someone? Maybe rent an apartment? I don't know if they're ready for tenants yet, but I can ask."

Wyatt looks down at the dog sniffing at his boots. One side of his mouth quirks into a faint smile as he bends to scritch behind its ears "Don't you be thinkin of markin your territory" he warns it in a low playful growl, then looks up towards Tash. His gunmetal grey eyes look over her slowly as his smile broadens a little "Folks sent me here sayin you might need a hand" he says towards Tasha as she straightens up from petting the dog, muscles rippling under his leather colors as he does "looks like they weren't wrong" he adds as he stalks closer, extending out a weathered and calloused hand "Names Wyatt, most folks call me Sheriff" he adds with a half smile.

"Rugby!" Oh, there's Toby. The dirty-blond sports a nice silk shirt and a pair of nice khaki slacks, as well as some nice sandals. He's also got a nice pair of sunglasses, hiding his sparkling blue eyes as he trots up the steps with a big box in his arms. "Oh, my goodness, Tasha, do you need… Why hello, there, fellow!" Shuffling the box around in his arms, he extends a hand to Wyatt and a bright smile. "My name is Toby Benton-Ward, and I'm one of the supers here. New super, that is. That is a stunning belt buckle, good sir! Whereever did you get it?"

Rugby, meanwhile, enjoys the pats and squirms a bit, pleased, before trotting back to Tasha for pets. And then he finally just flops on the cool cement with a low groan. Too hot for him!

"Sheriff, huh?" Tasha says, tossing the screwdriver in her right hand down into the tool box before shaking the hand offered to her. Luckily the right is not as bloody as the left. "I'm Tasha," she says, not offering her (fake) last name or her real last names, hyphenated like Toby's. "Folks sent you? Which folks might those be?" Her head tilts curiously, before turning to smile at Toby. "Hey, Toby." It's way too hot for pants and jackets and silk shirts — she doesn't know how these men do it. She's sweltering as it is in her minimal clothing. Getting to her feet, she opens the door to the lobby, where the old and struggling air conditioning on makes it moderately cooler.

Wyatt's grip is politely firm, the palm of his hand hard and calloused however as he shakes Tasha's hand "Wyatt you know?" she rumbles then pauses at Toby's comment. His faint cold gunmetal grey eyes shift over the other man, one eyebrow arising a little "Old lady at the time bought it for me at Sturgis" he rumbles as he seems to decide that the other guy is on the level. He takes the offered hand, this time his grip is a bit more firm, although he doesn't seem to be making a deal out of it "Yuan Tien sent me over ma'am" he says as he lets go of Toby's hand and turns back to Tasha.

Toby's half of the handshake, however, is soft and manicured and not altogether firm. Upon its conclusion, he reshifts his Box of Stuff into both hands and steps inside after Tasha, gesturing with his head for Wyatt to follow. "Wyatt, excellent, please do come in."

Rugby's ears perk and his head lifts, looking after them for a beat before scrabbling up to four stubby paws and trotting after them all, leashless. He seems to be pretty well-behaved, all told.

Toby sets his box down on the ground and then briefly swipes a hand across his forehead to banish the sweat from his brow; and then he pushes his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head as he surveys them both. "Yuan Tien, you say?" he asks with interest. "Oh, wonderful. Let us find a more private place to talk, shall we? Ah — Tasha, is there an office we could all go into? I've got this to help." After tugging the flaps of the box open, it seems to be largely miscellaneous things: some clothes, some overnight things. A toothbrush. And a fan. A glorious rotating fan. He looks to her with a bright, friendly smile.

"Sure." Tasha bends and tosses all the discarded screwdrivers into the tool box and sets it just inside the door, then lets the lobby door swing shut behind her. The lock can wait. Maybe Wyatt can do it. She wriggles the fingers of her left hand to loosen it up, the nerves all affected by the small jab of the metal rod.

"This way," she says, nodding to one side of the lobby, the door declaring it to be the Manager's Office. It's unlocked, since there's no real tenants just yet. She opens the door and nods inside. She glances back up to Wyatt, a little warily, as if to decide if he's for real or not. The name Yuan Tien means he knows about the Ferry, but she's never seen someone so… well, Texan before.

"Not everyone who lives here knows Yuan Tien, just so you know. There are some civilians so to speak," she tells him.
Wyatt frowns just a little at the limp handshake he gets in return from Toby. He doesn't say much, just nods to the other man's words and then stalks in after them. He takes off his sunglasses, tucking them away to let his gaze shift all about with a kind of innate wariness "Might want to fix that up little lady…" he says with a nod to her hand "…'less you fancy lockjaw" he adds a touch drily. Nodding to her warning he leans back against a wall, folding his arms over his chest, the tattoos shifting across his weathered skin "Anyway, used to be a mechanic. So I know one end of a hammer from the other, and just where a screwdriver goes" the Hells Angel adds drily.

"Oh, yes, you really should. Ah, I have some hydrogen peroxide in this box, too. If you'd like. Or, I hear tell there's a doctor in the basement!" Fascination of fascinations! Toby leans down and unburies the Fan from the box, tugging it up and then striding after her. Does he have a bounce in his stride? Yes, he does.

Upon entering, he makes sure everyone's in, even Rugby, and then shuts the door, turning to set up and then plug in the fan. "Quite, what she said," he says, before pulling out the seat from behind the desk and flopping in it. In short order, there's a corgi on his lap, settling down and turning big brown eyes and a sniffing nose towards Wyatt. Still curious, it seems. "I believe we seem to be in need of a mechanic around here, yes," he adds. "Not to mention some pizzazz. But that comes after we get the locks fixed." Beam!

Pizazz. Tasha smirks a little, and she glances down at her hand, and then back to each of the men, about as opposite as they could possibly get in terms of the masculinity or machismo spectrum. "Well. If you can get the locks fixed, that would be helpful. I'm not sure why I told Eric I could manage it," she says, leaning on the corner of the desk. "He's the other superintendent, co-superintendent, I guess, as long as Lynette's… not here." She frowns a little at that euphemism. "If you get accosted by a puppet? Don't break it, it would make him sad. He's a friendly guy but has a thing about puppets, and we just sort of humor him, right?"
"Don't reckon I have much of that" Wyatt replies to Toby about pizazz, his low drawling growl a touch dry, although the faint smile on his lined face doesn't quite reach his eyes. Reaching down into his pants his pulls out a pack of cigarettes and politely offers them around to the other two "Ain't the place to be without locks, atlhough I can put the word around, should keep most trouble away" he adds, smile turning faintly wolfish for a moment.

"Not to worry, I have plenty to go around," Toby replies to Wyatt cheerfully with a dismissive wave of his hand. Boy howdy, does he ever. Although, he lifts a staying hand at the offer of cigarettes, shaking his head. "No, thank you kindly." Oh but then, Tasha's said something interesting. "Puppets? Eric has puppets? That's amazing! I should like to meet these puppets!" Ever effusive, ever enthusiastic, this one. "He seemed quite down at the party the other night. Perhaps I should get him a puppet." Oh, yes. That'll go well.

"No, I quit a couple months back," Tasha says, lifting a hand as well. She seems sincere in that despite her young age. Early to start, but earlier to quit, luckily. "We do have locks, but it was jamming a little so I was trying to re-install it, and, well, you caught how that went. I'm more of a painter than a hardware type, I guess. I can build a little — I used to make the sets for plays in high school, but I probably hit the wood more than the nail, anyway."

To Toby, she chuckles. "You could do that. He just comes off as melancholy, but he's a nice guy. Really." Her dark eyes move back up to Wyatt's face. "Eric, we call him Jason in front of the non-Ferry types. Um. Who's not Ferry — Elaine, she's a red-head, and Quinn, she's Irish. They're not Ferry, but they're friends, you know? So we kinda have to be careful around them."

Wyatt casts a wry glance over to Toby, one side of his mouth quirking into a brief smile "Reckon you might at that" he says then glances to Tasha "Yeah I quit a few months before the bomb" Wyatt growls, a faint snort flaring his nostrils. He perches the cigarette between his lips and pulls out a lighter, engraved with crossed hammers behind a big red shield with the numbers 81 on it. A practiced two flicks on his thigh ignites it and he brings it up to light his cigarette, puffing away until it is fully lit. He listens as he draws in a lungfull of smoke, lips pursing to exhale up towards the ceiling "Right" he says simple with a nod to Tasha.

Toby ruffles Rugby's fur, looking between them curiously. "Oh, Quinn, yes I've met Quinn. Sweet girl. She threw a party on the fourth of July." He watches the artful lighting of his cigarette curiously, brows lifting a bit, impressed. But then, he taps a finger thoughtfully against his cheekbone. "So, Wyatt, are you looking for a place to rent, or are you simply touching base with the local Ferry? I'm a Coyote, by the way, largely. It's a fascinating job, very fun. I love it!"

Fun? Toby gets an arch of Tasha's expressive brows. She herself was a Ferry refugee, though not Evolved, and she herself helped Paul from Boston to New York, but it's not a job she'd call fun. She glances back at Wyatt with a slight smirk, amused by the two men's differences. It really does take all kinds to run the Ferry, apparently.

Wyatt blinks a moment, a faint touch of surprise crossing his hard face as he looks over Toby slowly "You work as a Coyote?" he asks, both eyebrows arising "Interestin. Deal with a few hard folks that way" he adds dryly "Should know, do much the same myself. When not gettin cars and bikes back on the road anyway" he adds as his cigarette comes back up for another long drag "Just came here to lend a hand. Not sure when I will be back on the road"

"Oh, yes, I'm an actor. And I love to meet new people. And you travel, and there's danger, sure, but… I have to say, it's one of my favorite jobs." Toby clasps his hands together, bright smile on his face. Why yes, there are the most unlikely things about this man. "Well! Shall we take down your information? We can pass it around the network, make sure the locals know you're around." Already he's rifling through drawers, hunting for paper and a pencil. "Tasha, my dear, do you know where this stuff is kept?"

"I would assume in the center drawer, but since we're not actually making contracts yet, I donno," Tasha says, not very helpfully as she pushes off the desk. "I'm going to go get this cleaned up, actually. Don't want… what was it, lockjaw?" She has no idea that's the same thing as tetanus, and that her boosters are up to date. Her parents were busy working sorts but Joanna at least kept up to date on Tasha's medical needs. "It was a pleasure to meet ya, Wyatt."

She smirks at Toby. "Yep, let the network know there's a new sheriff in town," she quips. "Maybe after you fix the lock on that door, you can fix the fire escape on the third floor. The suspension ladder thingy doesn't suspend right." The teen may not know how to fix things, but she knows what needs fixed, apparently.
"You writing stuff down son?" Wyatt asks in faint surprise. He tilts his head a little as he looks from Tasha to Toby with raised eyebrows. Leaning up off the wall he looks around for an ashtray as smoke drifts lazily up from the cigarette in his hand "Ain't that a little risky son?" he asks Toby then looks over towards Tasha with a brief nods "Anything else you reckon needs fixin?" he asks as he decides to flick the ash into the palm of his left hand.

"Ah, middle drawer, of course," Toby replies to Tasha, hitting the one drawer he hasn't opened yet. Out comes a pad and pen. "Well, to be fair, I'm taking down the name and number of a talented local handyman who can help us fix the place up. Sheriff, you said?" He scribbles 'Sheriff' down in eloquent scrawl, followed by 'handyman,' and then looks up at him. "I could refrain, if you'd prefer? We do have a lot of things that need fixing. And I suppose I could turn your phone number into a song, so I could remember it. Your choice, fellow." As Tasha starts towards the door, she gets a smile and a wave. "Take care of that. Clean it out! And get some lemonade or something; it's sweltering around here."

"Pretty much everything still needs fixing. There's a whole list of toilets that need to be fixed a bit or squeaky doors or whatever. I think Eric has it. We girls and him have been trying to get to everything, but it's a big list and there's a lot of apartments." She glances at Toby. "Probably better to have our own do it then hire someone, really, then we don't have to worry bout what strangers see, right?" she suggests with a shrug, before opening the door. "See ya!" She slips out and closes the door softly behind her.

Wyatt lifts a hand in a wave towards Tasha as she heads on out a faint wry smile doing a little to soften his scarred face "Well all my best tools now glow in the dark…" he rumbles, low growling voice not reflecting the humour in his smile. Lips pursing he blows smoke up towards the ceiling then looks back down "…but will see what I can do. Anyway last secure phone I had got fried. Fixin to get hooked up with another soon, but if I can crash here for a few days I can be reached" he rumbles with an easy shrug, expression turning thoughtful "Was going to hook up with an ex old lady of mine, this might be more peaceful. And less work" he adds, chuckling softly.

"Precisely," Toby says to Tasha with a wink. Then he rubs his jaw thoughtfully to Wyatt. "Aha, well, we have space on the upper floors, if you'd like to crash. The lower floors are — will — be open for non-Ferry tenants, so be careful on that front." He just underlines 'handyman' a few times in lieu of a phone number, and Rugby hops off his lap before he stands. "Let me show you up to an apartment, and you can take a pick for tonight, hmm? And then later we can locate Eric and his list of repairs."

"Might not want me here long term though" Wyatt advises as he leans up off the wall again and dusts his palms off of ash into the bin. Looking up towards Toby he offers a faint smile "Reckon by now my police file is pretty long and twice as thick." His wolfish smile returns as he nods over to the Hells Angel rockers on the back of his leather vest "Don't reckon they have the manpower to keep a watch on me, but I might just stand out a little" he adds as a low chuckle escapes him "Anyway sounds like a plan"

"Gotcha. Well, you're welcome to stay here until you get situated, Sheriff." Toby leads the way out the door and with a flourishing gesture, heads up the stairs to find him a room.

There is indeed a new Sheriff in town.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License