Participants:
| Scene Title | Pink Walls |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Doyle 'captures' a gang of thugs and forces them to paint a wall bright pink, and draws attention from people walking by. |
| Date | January 26, 2009 |
The Bronx is the northernmost borough of Greater New York, and even before the explosion, this area was diverse. Though known infamously throughout the world to be a low-income area, it was not without its finer points, as well as home to the Yankee Stadium. It was dense with life, for better or for worse.
For now, it is the the south-west areas of the Bronx that are unrecognisable. Clean up has not gone steadily, and buildings still lie in ruination. It is now hard to tell what this place is even for. During the day, construction teams work to clear more and more roads of South Bronx, although people seem to take liberties by driving over the burnt out rubble if they have the means. There are make-shift trailer camps and soup kitchens for those that don't have a place to go. One feature of South Bronx is the Yankee Stadium, so far untouched. There is irreparable damage done to the building itself, and no game has played there since the tragedy. Graffiti tags the areas available, and people often congregate illegally upon the wrecked grounds. The field itself is overgrown with weeds between fallen debris.
Heading away from Manhattan, the Bronx takes on more function and hope. This borough, once a place of Jewish immigrants, then Latin-Americans and African Americans, is now a diverse mix of all races, any and all New Yorkers taking up residence on the other side of the wreckage. There is even a semblance of a transport system, the electricity back on and functioning, but crime rates are higher than ever.
Yankee Stadium stands defiant to the ruination that struck New York City some years ago, its damaged glory rising in the local skyline above the graffiti-stained apartment buildings and businesses in the South Bronx. The buildings are either low-rent or literally free, occupied by squatters whose only worry is that others will roll them for their belongings… or their life. Soup kitchens and trailer camps are everywhere, and the only word to describe the area is 'poverty-stricken'.
It almost looks like a third-world country at times. The most terrifying thing about it is, this isn't the worst part of New York City.
A dented, scratched-up Ford pickup truck is parked in front of one of the heavily damaged buildings, a brick two-floor business front that might have once been a lawyer's office. The upper windows are boarded up, some of the brickwork broken and graffiti staining the walls.
The side of the building is becoming a bright, garish pink beneath hand-held paint rollers. The apparent lead of this impromptu painting crew is one Eric Doyle, a rather portly fellow dressed in denim overalls with a Yankees cap set atop his head, whistling a cheery little tune as the paint roller is his hand works over the brickwork. Lined up along the wall beside him is what looks for all the world like a street gang - all wearing matching denim jackets with rats airbrushed on the back and bandanas on their heads. In the back of the truck, a boombox is playing a local station, though it's currently a political ad for Donovan.
The situation looks fairly normal, aside from the pink, until one looks closer… and realizes that they're all painting the wall in complete unison, as if the work were literally choreographed.
Kendall was loitering in the bowling alley, since he didn't have enough money to play bowling, but just enough money to play a game or two in the arcade that is inevitably present in such an establishment. Also, he spent some time watching people play, but now that's gotten boring. Upon leaving the bowling alley, he notices the pinkness, and he raises his eyebrows. Seriously?
Ahhh, soup kitchens - they're in large part what allows Robert to maintain his drifting lifestyle without the threat of starvation hanging over his head. Instead he gets to deal with the threat of tasteless soups and equally tasteless bread, which is what most of the world thinks is an appropriate thing to feed down-on-their-luck folks every single day.
Mildly irritated with the sad cup of watery soup with little bits of floating soggy vegetation that he's received for the day, Robert starts to trundle his way along. He's sipping at it, of course. No need to waste it, even if it is vile, and having the warm styrofoam between his hands is transferring a nice bit of heat into his palms. At first the painters don't seem to be anything special, but when he's about halfway past the group the homeless man stops rather short and turns his head too just stare.
SOmeone else notices the pinkness. The day is young and Wendy's trying to avoid staying at her own place since she got the text message from peyton that everyone's favourite Humanis first asshole is out and about and free. Courtesy of the government. So it's been fancy hotels and then out and about during the day, partying at night, taxi back to the hotel. There's an easel in hand, carted under her arm, a black bag filled with a small canvas and art supplies with the intention of trying to get back in her groove. Wendy Hunter artist, instead of wendy hunter druggie and party circuit.
Okay, she can be both. Doyle's portly frame comes into view, then physically into her sphere of inlfuence/sensation. he niggles at the back of her head as someone familiar. Then add another, and another as Kendall and Robert hit the radius and she turns to peer at them. "Cunningham! Fuck kid, stalking me much?" She calls out.
The Vespa was lots of fun to ride. Why it took Donna to this dirty rundown section of the city she didn't know. It was like she didn't want to have fun today. Oh well, fun was all relative. She pulled up to the second soup kitchen she spotted and climbed off. A quick stop and she'd feel better. Just a quick stop. She managed to make it short luckily enough, a wad of fresh bills dropped into a cup and she was back out in nothing flat. Still, it didn't take away the depression the area threatened to clobber her over the head with.
But there was a sight that might. A pink wall. A fucking pink wall. Not just any pink, but a pink that would make flamingos jealous. She started laughing then, walking in that direction, leaving the vespa behind. She hung onto the strap of her guitar case like it would offer her some sort of defense from the bizarre gangers and their paint rollers.
The radio moves on from the political ad, the beat of City of Glass by Else Kjelstrom starting up.
Thursday morning - wake to a city of of glass and ash, set down my feet, take up my roots…
The colours of the walls are a brilliant, garish pink now, at least around the level of the people on the ground, and Doyle pauses - as do the street gangbangers at the same moment, as he drops back a step to consider the wall thoughtfully. "I think we're going to need the ladders next, boys, don't you…?" His assistants don't look away from the wall, however, just standing there.
Kendall is about to say something, when all of the sudden Wendy hails him, and he jerks around in startlement. "I think it's more the other way around." he frowns at her. "I was here first." great, now he sounds almost like he's pouting. He is NOT a stalker! Why does everyone keep saying he is?! The pink wall is scrutinized again, but then his attention is pulled away towards the ones doing the painting. "Uh…"
It's not the pink that bothers Robert; there's never been any accounting for taste in the city, and it's not as though he has any right to expect it to start being classy now. The painters are the real concern, and watching them closely doesn't seem to be shedding any light on why they're all acting in complete unison. Or like robots. Rob takes another drink of soup and squints at Doyle, ignoring the greetings and cries of 'Stalker!' from around the area.
"OKay, fair enough, you're not stalking, I was just teasing." Wendy eases on in to come beside the sullen teenager, shoving the easel in his hands. "I WAS going to sketch the stadium, but this guy and his buddies I think they're deserving of being marked down in artistic history don't you think? Pink, fucking pink. Why he'd-" there's… another… one. "God Kenny, you thinkt here's enough evo's here?" She whispers to him. There's a nod to robert, Donna, Doyle. "What do you think they do?"
Donna digs into her purse and hauled out an iPhone. She lifts it up to take a quick video of the painters, laughing as she does so. "Here we have some urban renewal courtesy of the Pink Commandos. New York's most dangerous band of paint rolling thugs." Somewhere along in her commentary she stops laughing and her eyes narrow behind her wire rim glasses. The phone is stuffed back into her pocket. "Wierd." She takes a few steps closer, the hand on her guitar tightening and the one that had gone for her phone earlier starts rooting in her bag again. After a bit of rooting she seems to have found what she was hunting, but she doesn't pull whatever it is out. Instead she keeps her hand in her purse as she takes a few more steps closer. In her inattention to her footing she stumbles on some debris and nearly falls, catching herself in time but dropping her guitar case. "Fuck."
Too many days this went away with the rays
The one who burned
and the one who they made burn
not one in the same, but
Too many hours spent pining away over it
Oh, hey, Eric's drawn a crowd. There's a brief hesitation, a look of worry flickering across his features before he turns a bit to flash a broad smile across his rounded face. "Good evening, folks! Don't mind the pink, we're part of a project to draw attention to urban decay and, all of… tha…" Wait, was that a phone being pointed at them? His brow furrows in tight lines, lips turning down, "…you didn't take any pictures, did you, miss?"
The painters remain still, facing the wall, apparently just waiting for directions. Very still. Not even any fidgeting.
"How the hell should I know?" Kendall replies, reflexively closing his hands around the easel as it's shoved in his hands. "What're you giving this to me for? You draw them." as the fat man turns around and talks to the lady who just drove over here for some reason, he shakes his head. "You're the one who can tell, I have no idea."
The bum pipes up. "Are pictures a problem?" It's an innocent question with a couple of not-so-innocent implications, most of which are probably at the forefront of Robert's mind when he poses it. A quick glance is shot over towards the shutterbug - unimpressed, but at least a step above dismissive. He eases his weight back on one foot and absently stirs his soup with the tip of one index finger as he returns his attention to Doyle and the robot painters. "Or is this some sort of misguided attempt at achieving performance art?"
"Cause you're the one with all your fingers and not carrying anything. God, who pissed in your bowl of cornflakes Kendall. I'll pay you to sit and be my little bodyguard alright?" Wendy scowl, brows under her crochet'd toque rising at Doyle turning around and inquiring about pictures. "Well fuck me, if it isn't my friend jason!" A quiet aside to kendall "Never have been able to figure out what he does, it's really strange, I get a very… disconnected feeling. But not like with a body swapper or such you know, or anyone incorporeal"
Donna's stumbling though and Wendy's bag is dropped on purpose as she heads on over in her biker boots and jeans so that she can lend a hand to help her up. "Hey there, gotta be careful. They don't care to clean the streets down here, you might fall on a dirty needle or god knows what's lurking under the grime. i'd lie about the picture if I were you" The last uttered quietly.
Donna stands back up with Wendy's help. She wipes her wipes her hand on her coat after she gets the strap of her guitar case back onto her shoulder. "Thanks!" she says to the woman, offering a huge smile before the situation calls her attention back to Eric, though the bum's question robs her of the first thing that leapt to her tongue. She pauses then says, "Well, a pink wall is funny. Just took a picture of the wall." She straightens her hat on her head and looks behind her, mindful of the footing back the way she came. Looking back at Eric she says, "I can erase it if you're shy. Or show it to you to see if you approve. Like…I just thought it was funny. That's all."
The husky painter's brow darkens a little beneath the edge of his baseball cap's brim, his frown deepening as he looks back at Donna for a long moment. "The… wall's okay, you can take pictures of the wall. Just— none of me, okay?" He makes an effort to push that frown away, forcing the faintest of smiles to his expression before he turns, stepping over in the direction of the truck before he pauses again, blinking over at one of the women, "…Wendy?"
The painters still stare at the wall.
"Do you know everyone?" Kendall asks Wendy, not commenting on her reply towards him. At Doyle's words, he shakes his head. "Sheesh, I heard of being unphotogenic, but that's a bit ridiculous. It's not like she'd send it in to the local TV station to make a mockery of him." he regards Donna. "Er, I hope not, anyway."
That's Robert, always stealing words. He purses his lips as he watches the situation unfold, his gaze ping-ponging between the gathered people as they speak. Thankfully the world is spared from more of the bum's comments since he busies himself with his soup again, but it's not like he's going anywhere. It's just starting to get a little interesting.
"yup. Wendy. Leave the girl alone, I'm sure she won't be doing anything with it. Worst is, she got the back of your head right?" Wendy gets a cocky grin on her face, looking over to Kendall with a shrug. "Not everyone. Just what they can do" Speaking of what they can do, Donna gets a second look, her own two fingers rubbing back and forth. Technopath. God, and how many of THOSE were there in the city. As many as empath's. Wendy gives an involuntary shudder.
Fucking empaths.
"How you been? I haven't seen you since the summer and those pidgeons and the little old lady is this guy a friend of yours?" There's a gesture with her leather gloved hand to Robert. "Cause if so, man, you need to feed him better. "
Donna pulls her bag around so she can get the phone out again. She holds it up and says, "Yeah. Okay. I'll wipe that picture. I understand. It's not a good hair day." She looks over at Wendy, "Just the back of his head, but I don't want to steal anyone's soul." She flips the phone around to bring up her video and she hits a button to wipe it out. "All gone." She holds the phone out to Eric again, screen forward, "See?" While she's holding that up like a badge for Eric she looks over at Kendall, "No. I might have posted it on YouTube or PhotoBucket or my blog or something." A quick look back towards Eric, who apparently knows Wendy, who apparently knows everyone in return, "Not to make fun of you like he said. Just like…a pink wall makes a great picture."
As the phone's showed off, Eric actually smiles, if weakly — managing to look a little sheepish, one hand lifting up to rub against the nape of his neck a little. "Thanks. Like I said, you can— you can take a picture of the wall, I mean, the point is to draw attention to it. Get the word out. Get people to realize how much of the city's crumbling around us. Just— not me. Thanks."
He lumbers along over to the truck, reaching in to lay his hands on one of the ladders in the back and hauling it out, the metal foot rasping over the pavement. "…never met him. You, uh, you guys want to help out? We can use a few more hands around here!"
Kendall eyes the wall again, and shakes his head. "No thanks, my hands are kinda full." he shows the easel shoved into his hands as proof. Yeah… pink's not his thing.
Wendy gets a long, long look from the bum, whose already sour expression has just managed to sour significantly further. There's even a bit of sneering, though it's relatively mild and doesn't really last more than a couple of seconds. "If you're concerned about my diet, how about you donate a couple of bucks to my health?" Hm? Hm? To illustrate - and probably to amuse himself - Robert dumps the pathetic remains of his soup onto a bit of shattered sidewalk and then gives his styrofoam cup a couple of suggestive shakes in Wendy's direction. Then, for good measure, he shakes it towards Kendall and Donna, too.
God, the homeless whiners. Great. "Sure jason, I can help. Beats sketching a broken stadium. Lemme see to the guy here first though" Wendy digs into a purse, wallet opened up inside the bag so that Robert can't just casually glance in. Mace at the ready too, just in case. Out comes a handful of twenties and their offered outstretched to Robert. "Next time, you can add a please to that, or you can show up at Hunter COmmunications and tell them wendy sent you. They'll find you a job if you need or even want one" Hunter communications, you know, that large communications firm down in the financial district. One of the fortune 500's that this tall, gangly, googly eye'd woman doesn't look like she'd belong to in a million years. "Kendall, put the easel down and let help Jason and his… friends…" Wait a minute… what are the gang members doing?
Donna sighs with something akin to relief that she isn't going to get this gang leader guy chasing her to get his picture off the phone. She looks over at Robert and instantly digs into her purse to root around again, but Wendy beats her too the cash. She frowns and steps in Robert's direction, apparently not enticed by the offer to climb ladders and splatter pink paint on big big walls. "I know a pretty good shelter that takes single guys. You got to listen to them blah blah about religion though."
The gangbangers are staring at the wall, paint rollers in hand. A dollop of pink paint is slowly rolling down one of their hands, apparently unnoticed.
'Jason' pulls the ladder over to the wall, setting it up against the brick, then walks along over to unload another one of them, allowing with a grin over towards Wendy, "Grab a roller, a can, and a ladder and let's get to working, then. There's still a whole 'nother story to turn into Pepto!"
Kendall sets the easel down somewhere safe, then pulls out his pockets in the classic gesture of being without money for Robert's benefits. He just used the last of his dollars playing arcade games, after all. "Do I /have/ to?" he whines.
It looks like it's payday, though Robert seems somewhat irritated by Wendy's insistence of keeping herself Mace-ready and pickpocket-protected. But he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so the man edges his cup forward and tips it the horse lady's way so that the woman's apparently delicate sensibilities won't be offended by his dirt smeared hands or his admittedly rather questionable odor.
The bum shrugs at the offer of a job but actually manages a small smile and a word of "Thanks. For what it's worth." Kendall gets a brief flash of grin at the turning out of his pockets. As far as the paint job goes, he'll probably stick around and watch Doyle and his crew of zombie robots. For funsies. "I try to avoid shelters," he mentions to Donna after a moment of thoughtful staring. "Especially religious ones."
"Hey uhh, jason…" Wendy tries to get a brush of her fingers against Roberts, not so much deterred by the dirt or the smell. Just a great desire to find out what the hell he's harboring genetically. Whether she does or not, the purse is zipped up and a lowering of brows, roll of brown yes to robert. Beggars can't be choosers and if he wants to live outside in the winter, a brutal winter of later, far be it from her to point out that one CAN wear earplugs. She reserves another roll of eyes for Kendall. Fuckings. "You can put the easel down and run away Kendall if you really don't want to, but, as I was saying, Jason… the fuck is up with your friends and the synchronized painting olympics here. Going for gold?"
Donna shrugs, "I don't blame you. They are kind of super depressing and stuff. And you look like you are in good health despite like, being totally skinny." She eyes the payday he just earned then looks at Wendy, studying her from this new vantage point. "You got a way with people. Wendy was it?" She digs into her purse and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, German imports. She lights one with a wind resistant lighter then takes a puff before offering it in Robert's direction, the butt smeared with lipstick. "Smoke?"
"Oh, them?" A bit of tightness finds Doyle's smile as he glances up from where he's leaning the ladder against the wall to Wendy, a low chuckle stirring in his gut as he turns back away to head for the truck, hauling out the last of the ladders and lifting it up to clang against the brick wall once more, "They're just… making up for some indiscretions they committed. Doing society some good for a change, isn't that right, Rico?"
He grins, again, clapping a hand on a hispanic teenager's shoulder. There's no response from the young man.
Kendall eyes Rico and the others. "Y'know, something's just not right about this. Are they…. on drugs or something?" he asks. Kendall's never actually met anyone who was on drugs, so he's kinda curious.
Robert's hand is pretty easily touched, mostly because he has no reason to be shying away from human contact. He's not weird, though he does find his surprise benefactor's treatment of Kendall rather strange. His attention is once again drawn to Donna as she speaks to him and he lets out a bit of a chuckle when his weight is remarked upon, tipping his head down to get a good look at himself while brushing his coat aside. "Most men my age would be pleased to have such a trim figure. And thanks, but I don't smoke." Kendall's comment regarding the Zombie Squad is a rather intriguing one, and he shoots a glance over at the boy - "No drug readily available to the public should really do that."
A thought enters her head, face canted to the side as she reaches out to lay a hand on Doyle's shoulder, get a refresher on his ability so to speal. She was wrong, disconnection wasn't quite it. It was like strings pulled. Something that she'd never been able to figure out. "Doyle, you naughty man you" Lowly spoken to between her and him and a glance to the guys. "Fucking A, good job" She lets go, giving a wink before easing away from him to grab a roller. "Dunno, maybe there is some drugs out there. I mean, there's refrain and that's some pretty good stuff and does stuff that others don't do, maybe there's something new as well that can do that, or maybe the're like some Drill team for painting?"
Donna shrugs and says, "Yeah. You are pretty hot under all that dirt. Don't sound too crazy either. And you don't smoke." She digs into her coat and pulls out a flask. She takes a swig then offers that over, "Drink?" Even while she's offering the drink the whole discussion of the gangland painting crew has her paying more attention to them. "She sure is touchy feely friendly one sec then bitchy the next. Guess that's like…from being in charge or something. Or crazy. She could be crazy."
At that comment, Eric Doyle gives her a brief, startled look- and then a wry smile curls to his lips, like a small boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar only to have the action approved of. As the radio turns to another song, he steps back up to the wall, one hand lifting to turn to one side. Fingers move as if they were walking, then raise-
— and the gangbangers move, in unison, stepping to the ladders and beginning to climb. Their faces visible as they move, expressions of terror drawn taut, eyes pleading but mouths tightly shut.
Kendall shrugs. "I wouldn't know, I've never done drugs or anything. Kendall's a law-abiding citizen! Not to mention underage for, well, anything. As Doyle pantomimes moving, and the thugs actually do, however, he gives the man a second, deeper scrutiny. "You're doing that, aren't you?" he asks suddenly, looking uneasy.
Being told he's attractive is just about the last thing Robert expected to happen, but he's not ungrateful. "Don't drink either, and I'm definitely not crazy. Moneybags over there, though-" That's definitely up for debate. The same goes for Doyle and his crew. No doubt they're all crazy; there's a reason the bum is watching the zombie squad with faint horror, and Kendall has just voiced it.
And wendy's just now noticing the look on their faces. The terror. "Hey Jason… were they, you know.. harassing you and you're getting back at them or… what? cause they look pretty scared, and pretty fucking cold, why don't you let them go huh?" Wendy holds onto the clean roller, glancing over to the obese man. "Please? I'll stick around and help with the wall and between you and me, we can do this, what do you say?"
Donna takes another shot from her flask before stashing it back into the coat. Like the coat, the flask was vintage. The hootch…not so much. She coughs after her shot of brandy and recuperates by puffing on her cigarette, "You're not crazy. You don't smoke. You don't drink. You're in good shape under all your dirt. So you're an undercover cop or something?" Her mouth works while her eyes take in the amazing sight of synchronized gang climbing. "Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck." She slaps the cigarette back between her lips to free up her hand to get out the brandy again. Another shot, another few puffs, "Holy fuck! They're fucking puppets! Fuck!" She does a few backwards steps while she waxes poetic on the subject.
She may never realize just how apt that startled statement is, but Doyle does, his lips curving in a wider grin as he directs the gangbangers up the ladder with a back-and-forth tilt of his hand as if he were making a marionette walk. "Yeah," he murmurs to himself, "Yeah, they are. And now up…" His hand raises, and the pink rollers sweep up in their hands to begin work, "…and down, and up, and down…"
A half-turn of his head to Wendy, a brow lifting as he chuckles out, "They're a bunch of punks that've been harassing anyone who walks through this neighborhood. I'm showing them how to give something back to the neighborhood."
"That's…" Kendall looks upset, also edging away. "I don't care what they do, doing something like that is…" he looks over at Donna and seems slightly shocked by her colorful language, but after a moment nods in agreement with her. "That's why people think the Evolved need to be locked up…" of course, HE doesn't think that.
'Yeah but, come on Jason. You know and I know that the only thing they're gonna learn from this is to steer the fuck away from you. They'll jsut end up taking it out on someone else, or somebody'll go to the cops and say what you did and then you're up shit creek" Wendy looks at the little punks. "Come on Jason, walk em away from here far as you can, and you and I can do this okay? I'm pretty sure none of the others here will tattle on you" Wendy looks towards them. "Since I can bet that the two of you I don't know, aren't registered for their abilities" A pointed look to Donna and Robert. "So they're not gonna tattle on you, lest It attle on them"
Donna is picking up speed in her backpedaling when what Doyle's saying catches up to her. That stops her for the moment, and gives her time to turn to look over at Kendall, "Yeah…I guess. But…" Her dark eyes swing back in Doy'es direction and after another puff on her harsh German cigarette she croaks, "But fuck…wow. It's pretty fucking cool too! I mean. Fuck! That is like, a real like super power." Wendy's threat makes her mouth drop open and she calls out, "I am too registered!" Still, the threat seems to make her knees wobble a bit as she looks between Kendall and Robert, trying to figure out who else was being threatened.
At the insistence that he let the gangbangers go, Eric's lips twist into a grimace; pausing in his direction of his puppets, turning his head towards Wendy. "I'll let them go when they're done," he says flatly, leaning in with a half-smile towards Wendy as he notes, "They're lucky I don't have them doing something worse." Drawing back, he exhales a faint, mirthless chuckle, "Yeah. A real super power…"
Up goes his hand, up go the rollers. Down. Cotton-candy pink flashes over brick.
"I don't even have an ability." Kendall replies quickly with a glare at Wendy. Hmmph! …apparently, even though he's aknowledged it, he's still in outward denial that he can do much of anything.
Wendy wasn't meaning Kendall. She's not about to rat out on the kid. Technopath is registered? But it seems moot as Doyle is intent on making them finish. 'Then i'm sorry jason, I can't stay and help." She digs around in her bag, producing a simple business card with her name and number, a hunter business card. "Call me when you plan on doing this without you know, unwilling help. I should get the kid out of here before he blows a gasket"
Donna looks over at Kendall and frowns at his response, mulling it over before she looks back at Eric, his puppets and Wendy. The card passing gets her interest as well. "You give everyone jobs you meet?" she calls out. "Strict hiring policies over there at Hunter?"
The card thrust in the portly puppeteer's direction is regarded in silence, one hand lifting to take the card; frowning down at it, he tucks it into his overalls, looking back up to the unwilling thralls painting the wall with an almost dejected expression, like someone whose favorite treat had just turned sour in their mouths.
Kendall notices Donna's look and frowns back at her, now thoroughly miffed. "I'm fine." he snaps at Wendy, proving he isn't really, and starts walking off. Oy, moody teenagers.
"When you're the owners daughter and one of the chairmembers, yeah, it's an edge. Don't let the ripped jeans and easel fool you. Why you want a card too?" She trudges away from Doyle, picking up her own bag, easing her way to Donna to study her. "Sure could use a technopath i'm sure in the company." Kendall is given a glance to as he stomps off and then to her easel. She can catch up with him easily.
Donna blinks, "A what? Jesus fuckin fuck. Who are you?" She puffs at her cigarette, making more smoke than really smoking deeply. Then a shot of brandy before she puts her flask away. "I mean…seriously! How do you know this stuff?" She tosses the cigarette to the ground and grinds it out under the toe of her boot. A look towards the zombie master and then towards Kendall and she adds, "Your uh…friend is leaving you."
Doyle's broad shoulders droop just a bit as he looks back up to the painting gangbangers, exhaling a sigh as he tosses his roller back over into the tray next to his can of paint. "Just trying to make the streets safer," he mutters under his breath, reaching down to grab the can and tray and stalk back towards the truck, "Nobody ever appreciates me."
Kendall notices Wendy following after him, and he reluctantly comes to a halt. "What?" he asks her, crossing his arms. "I don't want to draw anything. That's what you want me for, right?" he challenges.
"You know my name. It's on the card and well, it's my deal. I better catch up with him before he gets too far. Kids you know" Says the woman in the top end of her 20's. "Call that number. I'm pretty sure, i'm VERY sure, they'd hire you in a heartbeat there. Who wouldn't want to hire a techno you know" She leans over, scooping up the easel and hies off after Kendall. "Hey kid, wait up. Lets go get some coffee or something huh? I won't make you draw"
Donna watches Wendy run off and shakes her head. "Wierd." Then she turns to look at Doyle, "Uh…good job. But seriously…like, uh…maybe you could move rubble or umm, have them donate clothes or something?"
"That'd be 'wrong' too," Eric replies in disgust as he scowls up at the thugs on the ladders, "Because it's alright for them to go around mugging and— stealing, and raping, and whatever these scumbags do, but it's not alright to put them to work. No wonder the world's so fucked up, I just…" A mirthless bark of laughter, and he makes a sharp gesture with his hand, "…whatever. Just—whatever."
Just like that, the rollers suddenly drop down to the sidewalk, and the gangbangers slump against the ladders, scrambling up after a moment, chilled fingers agonized after so long in one position, some of them trying to stumble down the ladder. "Oh god, oh god…" "Fuck. Fuck, he's still right there, guys, he's— " "Get the fuck out of there, just get out before that freak— "
"I don't think that sort of thing would make them stop committing crimes. It might encourage them to commit crimes against him in retaliation." Kendall looks back over towards Doyle and shakes his head. "Coffee?" coffee actually sounds good.
She might have been freaked out by the bald guy, but freaked out gangers are definitely not an improvement. Donna backs up quickly, scrambling out of their general vicinity, pulling out her pepper spray in the process. "Okay…enough fun."
The gangbangers are not, fortunately, interested in carrying Donna off and making free with her personage - mostly because they're getting down from ladders (falling, in one case - ouch!) and trying to get feeling into their appendages again, and looking over at Doyle in near pants-wetting horror.
More than near, in one case. Apparently the puppeteer doesn't give bathroom breaks.
Eric steps away from the truck and towards them, glaring sullently at the group and raising one hand, "If I ever hear any of you ever so much as whistle wrong at someone walking through this neighborhood— and oh, trust me," he grins unpleasantly, "I will know— I will come back and teach you some games we can play. Now get the hell out of here."
As he turns back, scowling, to stomp to collect the ladders, the gang is out of there at almost Warner-Brothers-worthy speeds.
Donna stops in mid escape as she watches the gangers run. She grins and calls out after them, "Take that! Bitches!" This makes her laugh and in her laughter she looks over at Doyle, "That was fucking cool. Scary as fuck and kind of psycho…but fucking cool!"