Participants:
| Scene Title | One For the Money, Two For the Show |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Kain has amessage to deliver to Tucker, and some kids have a message to deliver to Cally. Both are successfully given. |
| Date | February 15, 2009 |
Every shelf, every flat surface in the entire shop is covered with things. VCRs, DVDs, small pieces of machinery, cheap jewellery - all the kind of stuff worth little money. It's the merchandise that's not worth protecting, even here. If someone wants to steal a VHS copy of 'The Little Mermaid,' then so be it. The primary purpose of the clutter of items is a front - to distract from the fact that the real purpose of the shop is to sell stolen, high-value goods.
The front part of the shop with its knick-nacks and assorted low-value items is separated from the high value items by a counter and a layer of bulletproof glass. There is a slot beneath the window for exchange of money or small goods. At the base of the counter is a chute for larger items. Surveillance cameras keep a vigilant watch over every square inch.
There is a small arsenal of weapons up on a pegboard above the counter. Not just guns but knives, tasers, pepper spray, handcuffs, nightsticks, brass knuckles - all sorts of things meant to cause pain. There's a rotating case at the counter that holds many expensive jewellery pieces, including a few Rolexes and a large assortment of engagement rings. There are expensive cell phones, iPods, laptops and other various small electronics, including listening devices and CB radios. Just about anything worth stealing is displayed behind the glass and up on the walls. Many items however, are by special request. You gotta know what you're looking for.
It took awhile for Cally to get here from the harbor, so it isn't until about sunset that she entered the pawnshop. She then proceeded to put out a wide array of random things. A skateboard, one of the wheel-joints seemingly sautered onto the deck, rather then bolted. A VHS tape of the Little Mermaid. A beanie baby. A couple of partially working electronics. The random assortment that a street hoarder is like to find, and then some.
"You're robbing me blind," she grumbles to the guy she was told would give her a deal, the guy she came all the way from the City to see. And all for a lowsy thirty eight bucks. But she takes the money, after counting it four times, grumbling all the while.
"'Ey, suck it up or fuck off." The grizzled man behind the counter spits out, leaning back on a creaking wooden chair as he returns his attention to a small television flickering on one corner of the countertop. "Take what I give you, now buy somethin' or leave." Gray eyes dart over to the young girl counting her money, one brow arching before coming back to focus on the screen again.
All this, and the chime of a door. The bell that rings on the front entrance gives a small jingling call to signal someone else making their way into the pawn shop. Polished shoes click on the floor on the way in, followed by a neatly pressed business suit of midnight blue. "Well hey there frito bandito," The slick drawl of a southern accent slides up from the smirking lips of the tall gentleman. While his words address the srcuffy spanish man behind the counter, his blue eyes swivel down to assess the young girl counting her money. With just a slight tilt of his head one lock of sandy blonde hair comes to shield his right eye from view. His smile just creeps up and grows a little as he assesses the girl.
"Fuck," The man behind the counter groans, "What the fuck do you want, I don't have any money for you — fuck off m'kay?" Kain's eyes are quick to track back at the comment from the pawn shop attendant.
"Gimmie a sec, darlin'. Ah' gots' t'educate a gentleman." Those words are clearly to the girl, as Kain slides quietly makes his way over to the counter, resting both his palms on the glass top as he leans in to eye the man seated behind it.
"Suck this," Cally says, grabbing her groin and shifting her hips slightly towards the grizzled man, making a face at him. And then she counts her money one more time, before shoving it into the hip pocket of her tight, worn jeans.
Her dyed-haired-head swivels as a Southern Gentleman, of all things, walks into the pawn shop. She asseses him curiously, but without much concern. And at his words, she glances between him and the man at the counter, then back again. With a shrug of her shoulders, already making for the door, she says, "Have fun with that. Give him some for me. He's a dirty cheat. And rude. He should know better then to swear to a girl." But it's perfectly acceptable for her to swear at him. Clearly.
Even as Cally is slipping out of the Pawn shop, she can hear a scuffle going on inside, the sound of choking, and then a loud hammering strike of fist hitting face, "Ah' told you to tell Tucker that he's got a week!" Repeated smacks of flesh against flesh sound out through the closed door, even as Cally hits the street. There's a clatter of things falling off of shelves, shouting and loud, loud pleading, followed by a crash of broken glass and a muffled scream.
Ah, Staten Island.
Once out under the flickering yellow glow of the street lights outside of Tucker's Pawn Shop, the young girl is confronted with the same burned-out husk of a station wagon up on cinder blocks that was there when she went inside, except for the pair of young gentlemen now seated on its heat-warped hood. One of them, a young Vietnamese man slowly slides off of the hood, boots touching the ground as Cally comes onto the sidewalk. "Hey there…" His head tilts to one side, a hand held out towards Cally, palm down and fingers spread, "How you doing, darling?" The other man, a rail-thin kid in a fur-collared winter jacket and a sideways-skewed baseball cap breaks out into laughter, giving a shake of his head.
Neither of them seem phased by the sound of a man being beaten within an inch of his life inside of the Pawn Shop.
Shifting the strap of her large, patched denim satchel (which is considerably lighter then when she went inside, though still containing a fair ammount of items) Cally eyes the pair over, giving a brief snort for some reason.
"I'm fine," she replies, perfectly polite, with an equally polite smile and tone. "And no thanks, I don't know where that's been," she says, her tone and expression not changing, as she adds, "And please, I don't want to know, either." Her eyes flash, now, bemusement shining in them as she delivers her barb.
"Hey, that ain't no fun." The kid with the sideways hat says with a sneer, coming to slide off of the other side of the hood to circle around Cally. "We ain't gonna' hurt you, darlin', but it's just — " He nods his head to his friend, "Me and my 'bro here, you see, we ain't got a lot of cash, an all'a them pretty girls, you know — the ones over at Logan's place? They ain't gonna' sit 'round and do pretty dances for some kids without lots a'cash."
"And you know, we seen you countin' your money inside'a Tuck's place, right?" The vietnamese kid tucks his hands into the front pouch of his hoodie, "So, you know, I'm thinkin' that maybe you could lend us some?" His dark brows raise, looking to his friend to follow up with the next obvious suggestion.
"Or maybe you's could keep your money, an' we could go slip back inn'a that alley?" His lips creep up into a smile, "We'll treat you right, darlin', you ain't gotta worry 'bout that…"
"Right," Cally says, nodding her head slowly, as if it all makes perfect sense. "So I'm going to give you money I worked hard for, or what? Give you a blowjob?" Cally pokes the guy with the baseball cap hard in the chest, forcing him backwards. She may be young, and female, and blonde. But she's also 5'10", and full of fiery zest.
"Let's get this straight," she says, with an oh so sweet smile. "The fact that I don't work at a whore house? Means I have more standards then them girls, not less. I wouldn't touch your dick if it were dipped in molten gold. Now stop dogging me, or I'll bury your bone. In your friend," Cally says, her head ticking to indicate the Vietnamese guy.
There was just a slight tingle that came to Cally's finger when she touched the young man's chest, and it begins to become obvious as to why once he's been pushed back and refused. "Oh man I like 'em rough." Holding out both hands, there is a sudden and loud electrical snap as bolts of lightning course down the young man's arms and ground out on the street, a few sparking backwards, drawn towards the metal of the scrapped car. "You wanna' play fuckin' push baby?" He snaps his fingers, creating electrical sparks in the air, "Oh baby-doll I can play push!"
The Vietnamese kid takes a step back when his friend turns into a living taser, "Shit man, fucking watch it with that!" He ducks away, hands over his head, eyes flicking back to the girl until he manages to reach back into the pouch of his hoodie, producing a switchblade that he flicks open, reflecting the blue glow of the electricity in the other man's hands. "At least lemmie give baby some beauty-marks, right?"
Cally's large eyes get larger as she takes in the sudden lighting that Electric Boy brings to the area. Needless to say, she's surprised, and her tongue flicks out, licking her lips, her face looking pale in the bluish light. Her eyes glance to the Vietnamese kid, then back. And then her teeth clamp down on her tongue, her expression changing, quicksilver fast, to one of concentration.
"Fine," she says, her hand dipping into her satchel. "I'll push." And she pulls out a… water bottle. Off comes the cap, as she moves in a bit, and she squeezes, expelling water onto the boy covered in electricty. "I may have dropped out of highschool, but I'm not a fucking moron." Though of course, she's going to have to find more clean water, after. Rainwater is just plain gross.
Slinging the water across the young man, he lets out a yelp as it crackles and sparks over his arms, causing loud popping and hissing wherever the electricity grounds out back into him from the contact of the water. "Son of a bitch!" He shouts, dropping down to one knee as a few more bolts shoot off to strike the side of the burned out station wagon. "Fucking get that bitch!" He hollars to his friend, jaws clenched.
"Sorry babe," with a flicker of his knife, he steps in towards the girl, stepping from side to side as he marshalls his way up onto the sidewalk, broad shoulders squared and one hand flicking in front of her, trying to drive her back towards the alley more so than hit her. She's no good if she bleeds out before he gets to have his fun after all, right?
From inside of the Pawn Shop, things have gotten quiet. No more screams, no more crashing. Just silent. All of the action, it would seem, is out here now.
And, not wanting to bleed, Cally does leap back, not realizing at first where she is being driven. But she isn't done, either. The blonde runaway unslings her Bag O' Tricks, and hurls it directly at the Vietnamese kid's midsection. And, a moment later, she tumbles to the ground, then pivots her body, letting her momentem carry herself in a spin towards his feet in an attempt to take him down.
With one arm the kid grabs the satchel, "Ha! What the fuck did you think was— " But Cally's already tumbling at his legs, and when shoulder connects to knee, the Vietnamese boy is thrown clear from her, falling face first onto the pavement of the sidewalk with a muffled shout of pain. His body crumples ontop of hers, legs slinging over her shoulder until he rolls up on his side, clutching the side of his face where the pavement had ground the skin away, screaming all the while. Impressed with herself, Cally rises to one knee and —
The young girl's world is redefined by moments of blinding pain and hot, numb ache as a bolt of electricity strikes her square in the back, causing her muscles to tighten and breath to catch in the back of her throat. The pain is almost blinding, searing hot and numbing as it arcs into her flesh and down into the street. When the crackling jolt ends, smoke issues up from the burned patch of flesh between her shoulderblades, her head throbs and pounds with a sudden migraine, and her muscles ache like they are on fire.
"Teach you to mess with— " Cally begins, before collapsing to the ground, letting out a brief, curtailed scream. Her teeth clamp down on her tongue, but the pain is less compared to the rest that rolls down her body. Unaware of anything but the blinding pain at first, she doesn't notice the blood that begins to leak out her mouth from her injured tongue. Her hand reaches out, trying to grab something, anything, as her body shakes and writhes in the aftermath of the attack. Her hand continues to reach and grab, reaching in the direction of her attacker's leg.
"Fuck, fuck," The vietnamese kid hisses, still holding the side of his face, "The bitch fucking — Yaaaaaaaaggghh!" The scream comes the moment Cally's hand touches the man she was struggling with, which is the same moment when a second jolt of electricity comes from the young man with the crooked hat. He stops, the moment he realizes that he's just electrocuted not only the mouthy girl, but also the man that was going to help him wrestle her into the alley.
"Fuck" he spits out the words, electricity fading from his hands, but leaving Cally twitching and writhing on the ground from the second jolt. But at the very least she's still alive, though the pain is terrifying, so intense, so hot, so sharp — like a dozen knives sliding between muscle and bone, twisting at every right moment.
It is indeed a terrifying, intense thing. Cally's hand continues to grip the Vietnamese kid, her fingernails digging in reflexively as she shakes and writhes and moans. Her skin has gone completely white from fear and pain. Soon, the pain is so intense that all it leaves her with is an extreme sense of cold.
And suddenly, the cold is not only on the inside. The temperature around them drops rapidly. But the worst part is what is happening to the Vietnamese kid. The cells of his body, starting from where Cally's hand grasps his ankle, and spreading to the rest of him, begin to slow down. The particles of his very molecular structure slow. In essense, he begins to freeze, as if he were in a super industrial freezer, or in the heart of the arctic circle. The cold spreads through his body, seeping internally to his organs, and the blood in his veins.
And shortly after, Cally's eyes roll up inside her head, and she passes out, her grip finally falling away from what was a human being, and now is a human popcicle.
The front door to the Pawn Shop swings open, followed by the sandy-blonde cajun in the fine suit. Wiping off both of his hands with a bloodied rag, Kain's dark brows rise as he looks at the frozen kid on the ground, and then up to the one leaning against the car, sparking and sputtering with electricity. "Jesus christ," he drawls out, waving on ehand at the unconscious girl, spots of blood still on his knuckles. "Ah' said give her a scare, not play Ben Franklin with her!" Throwing the rag down to thee ground, Kain walks over and kids the vietnamese kid with the toe of his wingtip shoe, a solid thunk from his solidly frozen body. "Well damn."
"She — She started it!" The kid with the crooked hat sputters out, climbing up with a crackle of electricity across his wet shirt, "She threw water on me!" Kain's eyes snap over to the kid, head canting forward as his mouth hangs open and brows lower.
"What're you the wicked witch of the west?" Narrowing his eyes, Kain reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, plucking out a cell phone before rolling through his contacts list. Head tilted to one side, Kain's tongue rolls across the inside of his cheek.
"Yeah, Logan, it's me." He walks over to the unconscious girl, the dread concern showing on his face when his back is turned on the thug. "I — " His words hitch in the back of his throat, he knows if he tells Logan he's picked her up, where she'll end up, but if he doesn't, she's as good as dead. "Yeah Ah' found you a little sparkplug to stick in your socket." Colorful euphamisms all around, "But she's gonna' need t'see Doc Filatov."
"Soon."
 February 15th: A Mark |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 February 15th: Can't Find No Heaven |