Right Then


abby6_icon.gif graeme_icon.gif

Scene Title Right Then
Synopsis Running from the scene of a crime Graeme gets a little first aide before Abby parts ways with him.
Date February 26, 2011

Upper West Side

After having rescued his skateboard from the chain, with visible relief, Graeme is silent for the greater part of a block, regarding Abby only so much as to hurry her if she doesn't quite keep up with the pace he has been setting. There's no particular direction that he's trying for, just away, at a rather quick walk no less. With a bit of a look back, he turns to his companion.

"You alright?" He glances down at the shallow cut across his hand, pausing mid-step. "Shiiiit." And then he continues walking, a grimace on his face. "I think I lost m' knife. Dropped it or something."

"Better than if I was caught back there" She's not breathless, Abby's a fit woman as such is demanded when you're in the living situation like she is. She keeps pace with him, and then when he looks to pause, shakes her head. "Keep moving, you don't want to stop and if you do, you still need to keep moving" The shadoow cut regarded, then dismissed. "I have stuff to take care of that, when we find some place safe to stop. Please tell me you have some place safe to go to?" Because if not… well that's a bridge to be crossed later. "Thank you, for getting me uncuffed. That guy is a perfect jerk. Insane"

"I'm just glad it worked," Graeme says, picking up the pace again. There's not even any effort of strain at the speed he's walking, no hint that he might slow down. He doesn't answer her question about whether or not he has somewhere to go yet, just nods. "Not really so glad I lost the knife. I'll deal." His gaze darts about the street, overall alert, grip tightening around the skateboard until nearly white-knuckled. "You know that guy?"

"Which guy?" She might offer up her own knife, and maybe if things weren't like they are now, on the run, she might have. But she has limited funds and that knife might save her life. So her own pocket knife remains where it is, in her bag.

"Either of them, both of them. The insane one?" Graeme's words drawl softly, audible above the hum of the city in the background, which perhaps makes them seem softer than they really are. As he walks, there's a glance at the skateboard, and at the ground, but he doesn't switch from walking. Easier to maneuver if he's just walking, really.

"The one who chased us is the son of a friend. Druggie, sex on the brain. The insane one… I met him once before. I don't know what his deal is" Not a surprise that he knew she was on the run, but it was that he handcuffed her. She keeps looking over her shoulder, expecting someone in a frontline suit to come crashing around a corner, or a cop with dogs. The fear on her face is not a normal one, even for being out beyond curfew this late.

Graeme nods, and purses his lips. "You alright?" he asks, again, turning them down a smaller side street that he recognises. "And … right then." The skateboard is lifted up a bit higher, so that it's definitely clearing the ground, and he takes a step away from Abby before taking a step towards her, as if trying to figure out the temperature.

Temperature changes right near her, no longer steaming like she was before beside the vehicle, but it's there. Hotter than a fever, but no chance of lighting ablaze. Eye's not longer that warning flare of orange before. It takes her a moment when he stops, the two step dancing done further then closer away before she clue's in what she's doing. "Right, uhh, sorry, sorry, I'll turn it off" Turn what off?

Turn something off because a few moments after eyelids close, concentrate, a deep breath that's inhaled then exhaled, the brunette isn't exuding so much heat anymore. "Least I didn't implode all over you" Or bleed all over him as she looks down to the wrist that was cuffeed, grimacing at the smeary red that wells. They're far enough away, they can stop long enough for cursory first aid. Which she does, dropping her pack, producing a red nylon kit and zippering it open. "gimme your hand." After she just said she implodes.

The look that Graeme then gives to Abby is interesting, or perhaps more towards interested. One eyebrow raises, and after a moment, he obediently yields his hand, palm up. The cut is shallow, not bleeding any longer, and doesn't seem to be bothering the man, either. In fact, for it being well after curfew, Graeme seems wide awake, alert, no hint of tiredness in his manner.

"Implode?" That's a new one, or something. "I am … glad you didn't implode."


A tube of polysporin produced, squeezed across the cut, followed soon by a no stick pad and then gauze wrapped around and around. Good for a temporary cleaning on the run. "Like, boom in a big ol ball of fire now" She looks up, blue eyes - no contacts this trip - then back down, so she can release his hand, take care of her own wrist. "You might want to take off, if you can get home, get home. It's not smart to be caught near me if cops or the military come. But thank you, for uncuffing me"

Graeme nods, with a tentative bending and unbending of his hand, before gesturing for Abby to give the supplies over to him, and pointing at her wrist. "Let me get that, at least?" Rather than let her deal with it one handed. He glances at his surroundings. "Yeah, I …" the tone of his voice suggests he has utterly no desire to go home, at the moment. Promises or not. "Eventually." After curfew or not.
She holds onto her stuff, little longer than is probably polite, looking over her shoulder once again before they're surrendered over and then her sleeve pushe dup, jacket, sweater and all, to produce the half circle where her tugging bit the iron through her skin enough. "Quickly? I'm not kidding, you don't want to be caught with a supposed terrorist. So if you could just do what I did to your hand, to my wrist, I'll be outta your way and you can report me if you like"

Skateboard leaned against his leg for the moment, Graeme is quick about it, but gentle, or as gentle as he can manage to be, finishing wrapping the gauze and tucking one edge under to keep it in place. "There you go." He nods. "Suspected terrorist?" He shakes his head. "I'm not going to report you." He looks down the street, the direction he's thinking of going, which is still away.

Then he pauses, biting his lip a bit. "Do you have somewhere safe to be?" He doesn't really sound too worried about himself. "And getting there?"

"Ohh far from suspected. But then, opinions differ really about what is a terrorist and what's not. But then, I guess at some point, I crossed a line and now, now I have a really big bed to sleep in" Metaphorically. She inspects the bandaging, wrinkling her nose at it, sure that she could have done better single handedly, the EMT in her cringing.

"There's never a safe place to be in this city when you're a terrorist. Not when you're me, and god gave me two feet to walk with and that's how it is" When you can't use your ID's because they're invalid when swiped. "Thank you, for your help" The first aid kit shoved into her bag, she's taking off, Heading away from the scene, and at a jog's pace with back pack on her back. She too it seems, is not willing to stick around.

"Right then," Graeme says. His skateboard is set down, and he sets off, at a quicker clip than he could manage walking, with one last glance spared for Abby. "Right then."

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