Playtime In Central Park


isis_icon.gif ash_icon.gif

Scene Title Playtime in Central Park
Synopsis Isis still hasn't learned that a nightly stroll is not in her best interest. Ash still has much to learn about coping with the oddities of Isis's ability.
Date June 9th, 2009

Central Park

Isis’s phone goes off.

Isis's broad boots beat down a steady pace upon the sidewalk when her phone begins to chime a goofy little tune - 'Bartender' by Rehab. She grunts as she plucks the little red cell from her back pocket and flips it open. "Hello?"

Ash sounds a bit tired, but mostly curious as he speaks. "Hey Isis… how are you?"

"Ash?" Isis fails to mask the happy surprise in her voice as she halts, the sounds of the street a dull drone in the background of their conversation. "I've been better. It's good to hear your voice. How're you holding up?"

"Yeah, it's me…" He listens to Isis, waiting as she speaks. "I've been better. Ran out of money and am kind of.. well, living off of the streets. I inquired at the bar about employment."

Silence reigns over the phone for a long moment. "You know you'd always have a place to stay with me… if you wanted." Isis clears her throat as the dull murmurings of a few passersby echo in the background. "What'd they say down at the bar?" She offers the question as an escape from her facing her other comment, should the man on the other end so wish it.

"Yeah, I know Isis. But you also know where we're standing right now." He pauses a moment, a soft huff of air breathed out. "Haven't heard back from them yet, so not sure honestly. How about you? You get the job?" He doesn't voice the question or anything along those lines, just keeping to idle chatter at the moment.

"Yeah, you don't need to remind me," she replies, the weight of the words heavy with the time she's had to sit and contemplate over the predicament hanging between them. "God, it's good to hear your voice," she repeats, this time with a softer chuckle. "I haven't heard anything definitive, but I've got a good feeling about it. They're probably just all hung up on the renovations over there - give it some time." She scuffs her boot against the ground.
"Got any change?" The gruff male voice comes through the muffling cushion as Isis tries to cover the reciever with her hand. "Uh… no, sorry…" There's an uncomfortable tickle beneath her usually smooth tones as the sounds of her boots picks up again. "Don't think I'll ever get used to this city," she offers more clearly into the phone.

Ash sighs softly on his end of the phone, not having meant to make the conversation go heavy, but also not wanting to let things go sometimes. He blinks once and perks up. "You okay Isis?" His voice holding a very urgent sense of concern at the fast pace of her boots and the sound in her voice.

"Don't worry, Superman," Isis replies, her tone light and airy despite the subtle huff in her voice and the hurried beat of her footfalls. "Just some homeless guy asking for…" There's a quick shuffle. "Hey! I said I didn't have any money on me. Go bury yourself back into whatever hole you crawled out of!" Her shout down is muffled again by her hand, only to give way to the clearer tones she directs into the little cell. "Weirdo doesn't understand English." She tries to chuckle off her growing anxiety. "Remind me next time I want to take a nightly stroll in Central Park that it isn't the best idea, yeah? Anyway, where were we…" A unique, little clicking sound works in the background now.

Ash hears that clicking noise and you can hear a note of alarm in his voice. "Is that a gun Isis?" His voice concerned and curious, and you can hear him starting to walk, his shoes scuffing on the concrete as he moves. "Be careful, please. I can't give you a chance if you're in the hospital and stuff. I can't visit the hospital." A note of humor to his voice.

"A gun? What? Oh! No. I don't have a permit for that shit. It's a butterfly knife," Isis explains quickly. Then the clicking stops. "Ash?" Her voice is softer, barely audible over the sudden grip of anxiety claiming a hold of her vocals. The sound of her boots stops.

Ash sighs heavily in relief when you tell him it's not a gun. He pauses for a few moments, not answering right away, but then he does so. "Yeah Isis?" His voice soft, barely audible over the phone.

“He’s following –“ Her reply is cut short with the loud crack as the phone hits the ground, the hiss of grass and gravel along the speaker grating against the sound of Isis’s yelp. The twisted sounds of a scuffle are unmistakable and mockingly distant in the phone. “Get off of me, you fucking –“ A crack and another sharp cry.

Ash swears loudly into the phone. "I'm about two blocks away Is…" Then the phone is dropped with that crack. Ash swears again, keeping the phone to his ear as he hauls ass, and man can he haul ass. He takes off running, his feet carrying him as fast as your average olympic runner. He eats the distance up in a matter of moments rather than minutes. His loud breathing can be heard on the phone as he hurries to come to her aid.

The tell-tale thuds of fists against flesh mingle with indistinguishable grunts and a few muffled cries before there is suddenly a horrible crunch of cracking plastic and the phone goes dead.

Ash swears again and shoves his phone in his pocket, running full out now. The man's legs thud into the ground, feet tearing into the grass on the ground as he flies through Central Park to where he thinks Isis is. When he comes upon the scene he scrambles towards it, not waiting to see what's going on, he'll do that when he covers the rest of the distance.

The blanket of darkness delivers over the unfolding scene to the quickly approaching man. Isis is stretched out on the grass, dark gaze flicking from side to side beneath the whispery fans of her fluttering, dark lashes. The attacker kneels on the ground beside her, the hilt of a little blade sticking out of his thigh. The long haired, shaggy beggar has one hand clamped around her throat, the other arm cranked back with a ready fist when his gaze turns sharply toward the sound of Ash’s approach.

Ash sees the scene in a quick glance, and he comes tearing out of the trees. His first action is a brutal kick to the man's ribs, using the momentum of his running speed to try and lift the man up and away from Isis with that kick. It's also laid out with his calf rather than his foot to get the most area out of it, for pain, not killing. A harsh snarl rips from Ash's throat as he makes contact with the beggar, then the next few fractions of a second all he can do is see what happens.

Bull’s-eye – not that there was any doubt that the underfed vagabond could compete with Ash’s strength and reflexes. There’s a sick thud blanketing over the hollow crack as the inertia of Ash’s build connects with the beggar’s ribs and sends him tumbling away with a muffled, husky cry. Isis shakes her head as if she cannot focus on the scene around her, blinking again and again. “What the…?”
There’s a soft rustle as the stabbed, beaten man slumped in the grass rolls over onto his side, wheezing in an effort to reclaim the air knocked from his lungs. “Ash,” he mumbles, grabbing a fistful of earth and trying to pull himself closer.

Ash advances towards the man at a quick pace, his eyes blazing with anger. This is the man that has killed five people, this is the man that tried to escape from Moab, and this is the man that looks like he might very well kill this man on the ground with the knife in his leg. He advances on the beggar, his hand reaching out and taking the knife, yanking it out and tossing it onto the ground behind him before he lifts the beggar into the air by his shirt, an almost effortless motion from all appearances. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" He growls into the mans face, giving him a harsh shake.

The drifter’s eyes grow wide when faced with the unbridled ferocity of the approaching figure, unleashing a curdling yelp when the butterfly knife is yanked from his thigh. The man’s feet give a meager shuffle as they search for the comfort of the ground, only to lift his filthy hands and grasp desperately at the girth of Ash’s wrist, clawing slightly in his fumbling. “No, no,” he wheezes. “Ash, no.” He coughs against the strain of speaking and looks, with a sick expression of longing, towards the little redhead laying not far off.
Isis sits up slowly, pressing a hand to the back of her head, only to pull it away with a dark smear of crimson. Her dark gaze shifts towards the scuffle nearby – the sight of which sets her eyes wide with unmistakable horror. “Hell,” she murmurs.

Ash shakes the hobo again, his eyes holding a fierce and deep seated anger. He turns and pushes the man up against a tree nearby, his hands sliding the man further up from the ground. "You have, three seconds to begin to talk and convince me I shouldn't beat you to a fucking pulp. One…" He turns his head, his eyes going wide, and a fresh anger filling his gaze as he turns his eyes back on the man in his hands. "Two…."

“Isis! Isis! Swap!” He croaks with a distinctive urgency and fear for his life. His hands slip more wild and desperate as they try to find an anchor around Ash’s wrist before pointing one hand towards the little Irish woman watching the brawling men. “Devil work!” she suddenly shouts.

Ash blinks, and he looks horrified for a moment at you as you tell him you're Isis. He sets you down on the ground gently, his eyes going dark as he nods his head and turns. He moves over towards the girl, towards your body and moves over to grab a hold of the guy by the neck, careful not to hurt your body as he turns to haul the hobo over towards you. "You're going to reach out and touch her, and I'm not going to kill you, that's the deal here. And if I ever, find out that you've assaulted another person… i will be there, and you won't see me before blackness claims your life. Do you understand me?" This spoken to the scruffy man in your body.

The ragamuffin, battered body gives a soft sigh of relief as he is set down. He waits, slumped back against the support of the tree, as Ash’s attentions swivel to the little woman. Isis, or the man within her body at least, whimpers like a beaten dog when taken a hold of and dragged nearer to his rightful body. He nods overzealously and reaches out a small, gloved hand. The hobo sighs and extends his own touch, reaching past the pointlessness of that gloved touch and pressing his dirty fingertips to Isis’s cheek. Watching the swap from the outside was less captivating than experiencing it, in truth – the two bodies give a quick jolt of a shudder before the man, suddenly faced headlong with the pains of his battered body, slumps unconscious. Isis hisses as she’s forced to recognize the pain throbbing at the back of her busted head. She grunts and leans into Ash’s side. “Hey stranger,” she mumbles.

Ash looks down at the man as he slumps to the ground. An arm goes around Isis’s waist slowly, holding her close as he eyes the battered and beaten man. "Sorry.. I didn't realize…" He closes his eyes for a moment, a heavy sigh coming from him. "Though I should of since I saw the skin contact…" He turns his eyes to look down at the woman. "That had to hurt." He looks back at the man then with a sigh and reaches into his left pocket. He pulls out a piece of paper and writes down a name and an address on it, with a note that he can find food and shelter there for a few days, but that his promise still stands true if he attacks someone again. He then turns back to Isis and moves, one arm scooping her up as the other settles behind her back, cradling her body as he begins to walk out of the park.

Isis shakes her head slightly before tipping it against Ash’s shoulder. “Don’t apologize,” she offers in a tired, though soothing, tone. She chuckles, her alto voice a little hoarse, at her companion’s comment. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” she mumbles just in time to be swept off her feet, her small form seeming to mold gently into the cradle of Ash’s stronger arms. “Lucky for you I’m a bit of a masochist,” she teases in a whisper even as her eyes droop shut, trusting him to carry her away from the messy scene. “Thank you,” she mumbles as they reach the gate of the park.

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