shard_icon.gif stef_icon.gif

Scene Title Persistence
Synopsis It may not pay off right away but try, try again. Shard has a woman almost half his age following him around wanting answers he's not giving.
Date August 16, 2009

Anarchy Customs - Garage

This three story building is constructed from old, cracked concrete and cinder blocks, the naturally gray hue is long since caked with the common signs of neglect and vagrancy, filth and graffiti, common on the island. The graffiti here, however, seems notably fresh.

The entrances to the buildings are too wide, large bay garage doors. The words 'Anarchy Customs' are painted in chaotic letters on each. Just inside a large garage is home to various motorcycles and parts in different states of dismantling, repair, reconstruction, or destruction. The walls are cluttered with various tools, mobbed further with stolen street signs and more untamable, fresh graffiti. The smell of oil clings to the air as eagerly as the grease stains spattered on the concrete floor.

Across from the large, bay garage doors, a single black-iron, spiraling staircase is set beside the opposite wall, corking up to the floor overhead.

The outside edge of large bay garage doors make for a good place to rummage through pockets and pull out a few things procured in previous night's out. To say that Gillian stole them wouldn't quite be accurate, she just found someone more afraid than most people, stuck close to them until they experienced the trouble they feared. Once that happened, almost an inevitability on Staten Island, she played weak woman up to a point, and then used the person she was with's fear to overpower the attackers and take everything they'd taken from other people.

It's worked out pretty well for her the last couple of weeks. So much violence happens in the city no one notices a few wrists getting twisted, or legs broken in the deeper ends of the alleys. Usually too dark for anyone except the person who benifitted her to have made out her face. So far it hasn't come back to bite her.

The cigarrete pack and lighter she pulls out came from two different guys. Not the kind she ever would have used, but the smell reminds her of someone, and smell becomes far more important in this form than any other. Even over the smell of the smoke, she can still taste ambient fear. If it ever walks by.

Fear can be found here. Especially if anxiety can be translated into fear. He hasn't been on the streets in so long. His mind travels back, way back to his days of playing ghetto games. Far before he found his talent, far before he earned such a comfortable life. Despite himself he finds himself longing for his gigantic bed and army of pillows. His crew of bodyguards, personal assistants, and maids. Legions of adoring fans rather than legions of people crying for his blood.

A flash of The Crucible crosses his mind, his lips pull back. Guilt. He killed that kid. Norman did it directly, but it was Vicent's fault.

The rapper is dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a brown hoodie. He and Agnes went shopping earlier in the day. Finally giving him an opportunity to get out of that jumpsuit. His fingers splay in front of him again, elecrticy crackling through them. He needed to return to the arena. He had to get that boys name.

Vincent stands up, and turns to walk out of the garage, lightning still jumping off his fingers.

"You always walk around with new abilities rolling off your fingertips?" Gillian asks, with a cigarette leaking smoke between two fingers as she glances toward the man. There'd been enough fear she smelled him as he stepped out into open air, and the small crackles identify him easily enough. A quick inhale which is held in, before exhaling, and she's stepping away from the place she's been leaning, to move after him if he continues walking.

"Kinda know how that feels. Getting new abilities every couple of days, suddenly sprouting electricity from your hands whether you want to or not— or perhaps you do want to. Are you fascinated by it? I was sometimes, too. Every ability felt different, every person it came from was unique. I'm not sure how yours works… but you never said 'no, you're wrong, I always had electricity— the jackasses were morons when they threw me into the ring.'"

"Really." It's not a question. Shard watches Gillian's approach, his own stalk slowing to a stop. "That's your opinion." The electricity fizzles out and dies. For some reason he really doesn't like talking about his ability. "Who said anything about new." No one did. No one said anything, but he's in an awkward place. So, turn it around.

"You have different abilities? That's interesting. How?" Shard asks, feigning a bit of interest in order to turn the focus of conversation away from him and towards her. "How long could you do that, for?"

"Up until a month ago I absorbed the abilities of every fuckface with abilities that I met. Sometimes it was a drag, sometimes it wasn't," Gillian says, sounding somewhat invigorated as she moves in closer. She's keeping her voice down, for the most part, but there's something almost adrenalized about the way she talks, almost as if she's hyped up on something. Don't need drugs for that. Not anymore. The cigarette doesn't do much to dampen it, or heighten it. There's something else in the air that does the job.

"I don't do that anymore, though," she explains, before she looks him over a few times. Tall, dark, fairly handsome. And older. "I meant the electricity being new. Unless you picked that up before the ring."

"Interesting." Shard assures her, his hands tuck into the pockets of his hoodie. He watches the cigarette for a moment. "Those will kill ya, you know." The rapper informs her, not that he has never touched drugs. He's just been refraining for a very long stint. Stepping forward, he eyes the exit to the garage behind her before looking back.

His eyes follow her gaze, and one particular yet slightly obscure skill of his comes into play. As a superstar, he could always tell when the ladies were eyeing him. Deciding whether or not to.. He takes a step forward, slightly to the side, towards the exit. "So what is it you do now?"

As he starts to exit, Gillian moves to follow, keeping close, but not quite clinging onto his heels. "I don't think a death in a bed coughing up my lungs is going to be my fate," she says, even smiling a bit as she goes, taking in another long drag from the cigarette, before exhaling the smoke again. It's the smell she likes more than the taste, but she doesn't cough, so it seems her lungs are used to it.

"Right now— let's just say with all the scared people in that building, if the ceiling had fallen on us, I probably could've held it up for a bit. Though I wasn't honestly willing to test it. Holding something up and fucking catching it are two different things. You don't answer a lot of questions, do you, big boy?"

"Impressive." Shard indicates. If every one on this island were unique wildflowers, Shard would be the one plain and simple rose. He has little to no interest in powers. Possibly why he refuses to talk about them. If not directly. He's just a man who wants his old life back, with his old wife, and his kids. But somehow.. He knows that's never going to happen.

At her last question, he tips his head down at her. "You like to ask a lot." He notes, before continuing on towards the exit. "People getting scared makes you stronger that's.." He tilts his head again. He slows up for a minute slowly comprehending what she just told him. Turning he looks down at her. "Y'don't look strong."

"And yet with enough people shitting in their pants, I can punch thru metal and not even bruise my hand," Gillian says with a wide smile, before she takes in another drag and then tosses the cigarette down so she can stomp on it as they walk along. The final exhale is long, before she takes a breath in through her nose, to smell it, to smell for fear in the street. "Don't really feel like demonstrating now, but I could if you insist…"

She looks up at him again. "I'd rather you at least tell me if I'm on the right track or not. How many abilities you got? Do you understand how to control them when you get them or is it something you have to learn?"

"I don't insist." Shard insists, rather quickly. "I believe you." Though he's a little afraid she might demonstrate anyway. Walking out the door of the garage he glances down at her. "I'd like to see the constitution you have in your persistance to figure this all out." For the first time, he gives a little smile.
"I'm going back to the arena. You can follow if you'd like." He says in a friendly manner, before starting off in the direction. It may be a long walk, but Vincent doesn't seem to mind. Walks help him think. And he needs to do a lot of that.

"I'm surprisingly persistant," Gillian says, continuing to move after him as she makes sure everything is firmly in her pockets. It's a long walk, and not the proper hour for it either, but that's not about to stop her from following close. She isn't afraid of walking around Staten Island at night. "Why do you want to go back there? Did you leave some of your bling behind?" It's said with a teasing quality, as she gets close enough she could reach out and touch him easily if she wanted, but she keeps her hands in her pockets and looks straight ahead.

"You were genuinely afraid in the ring. I could smell it, even over the fear of gamblers in the crowd afraid to lose their money. You really didn't want to kill him. You weren't just stalling to buy time or distract your opponent."

"I need to find out the name of that kid." The Crucible. "His real name. I figure I can ask nicely or.." He glances down at her. "Maybe you could do your work and find out his name for me." He looks back ahead, of course not really wanting her to hurt anyone. Maybe just scare them a little bit. That will make her happy. "I wasn't scared of him." He says a bit defensively. Maybe he was.

He purses his lips. "Of course I didn't want to kill him. He was just a messed up kid, made some bad decisions, got into a bad place. I've been there. He could have turned himself around, he had hope." He sighs softly, sounding pained. "Not anymore."

"I can bend some bars as long as there's someone around who's a little scared— maybe you can show off one of your tricks and encourage them," Gillian says with a grin, one that's rather dark and wide, dimpled, but not in a cute way. Yeah, she likes the idea of shaking some men up and getting them to spill the beans. Permenant damage, though… "You were afraid of what you might have to do to him."

He doesn't need to cover for himself, even if maybe he WAS afraid of mohawk kid. "I get it. I've seen people die, I've helped kill people, but I honestly don't think you're too right about that kid's hope. He was a returning champion. In that shithole. And he wasn't just a one-timer, he was a favorite… I saw him fight a few times in nights before. Do you think you were the first guy he ever threatened to kill? How many he probably electricuted to death? What about their fucking hopes?"

"I couldn't help those other guys. I could have helped him. I was around him." Shard explains gi ving an agitated sigh. "Counseling, therapy, all that great stuff, can do wonders for a guy. Even if he's someone like the Crucible. I'll tell you one thing Gillian. If you think one is lost, then you're too close to thinking they're all lost."

"You don't have to agree with me but.." He brings up his hands. "I've seen a lot over my years. That's how I like to look at it."

"You do have a few years on me," Gillian admits, looking up at him again, trying to determine his exact age and failing. Older than her. She could look it up on the computer if she had any desire to do that again anytime soon. "I don't think everyone is lost, though. I didn't know him, I didn't think you did beyond that one meeting, so if you did and you think he had a shot of being better than he was, I'll take your word for it."

Lots of years on her. "I wasn't the one in Moab, I'm just one of the reasons you got busted out," she looks over with a rather prideful smile, a grin even. In the past she would never take credit for it like this, but the woman standing next to him isn't QUITE the same woman she was a month ago.

"I suppose a thanks is in order." He supposes. He's still not sure if he should even be out here. He knows Norman shouldn't be out here. So was the breakout even that great of an event? Should it have ever really happened? It would probably be better if they were all down in some dark hole still. Then at least innocent people wouldn't be crushed by giant mounds of brick.

"Forty." He answers the unanswered question. "Forty one all too soon. I guess I'm a young man, relatively. I don't feel young." Looking down at her, he shakes his head a little bit. "How old are you? Twentysomething?"

"Well, the breakout wasn't supposed to go how it did. There was kind of a fuck up. A big oops that— I guess it threw more than a handful through space and time," Gillian says, very nearly adding on a 'my bad'. It almost sounds like she does at the end there. But instead she switches back to topics of age. Her own.

"I'm either twenty-two or twenty-three. I'm not entirely sure when my birthday is, but I'm pretty sure the year is the right one." There's a pause, a tilt of her head. She supposed she could also be considered a month old, but that sounds a little odd. "Believe me, though, I've lived a couple lifetimes worth of shit, even died a few times. You ever get a power to heal from death? I did."

"Big oops." Shard shakes his head a little bit. That's it. Norman White is a big oops. Walking along side her, he takes an appropriate turn, or at least the way he thinks it is. He hasn't been to New York much less Staten Island that much at all. "It's done now." He says begrudgingly, as if not wanting to admit that it's done. He certainly doesn't want things to be the way they are.

"Knew some boys in africa, had no idea how old they were. Happens a lot over there. You would fit right in." He smirks a little bit at her couple lifetimes of shit. "Well good. Life experience is great to have." As to her last question? Guess what?! He doesn't answer. "Ask me some other time why they call me Shard."

"Yeah, can't really take it back without time travel, and that would fuck everything else up," Gillian says, as if she has some experience with time travel. She doesn't, really, but she know it can fuck things up. How much someone could call that experience… Her moods are rather odd to follow, though, but without actual fear to feed off of maybe she'll mellow a bit.

"Will you answer when I do ask later?" she asks, even chuckling a bit in her raspy voice, before she gestures with an arm, "It'd be easier if we go that way. I've lived here a lot longer than you, old man."

He gives a little sigh. Time travel can't fix it. What can fix it? Does it have to be him? Is he really the one that's supposed to stop White? He's been telling himself that but..

"Sure." Vincent answers with a grin. Before nodding and going to follow her. "I'll tell you anything you want and answer any question."

"Unless it's something I don't want to answer."

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