Run Away


aude_icon.gif deckard3_icon.gif meredith_icon.gif

Scene Title Run Away
Synopsis While Deckard and Meredith are doing a little breaking and entering on Ferry business, Aude interrupts them. Instead of staying for questioning, the two attempt to run away.
Date November 29, 2009


Before the bomb, Chelsea was most known for being "gay-friendly," home of the stereotypical "Chelsea Boy." It was a place of culture and art, of eclectic ethnic restaurants and cutting-edge performing arts studios.

One of the last places in Manhattan to be reopened to the public, the streets of Chelsea almost give the impression of an urban ghost town. Many buildings are dark, inhabited only by the homeless, if by anyone at all. Their walls have been tagged with graffiti, the windows broken; forgotten cars line the streets, slowly rusting away. Close inspection reveals that their interiors have already been gutted of anything valuable or useful.

Housing in Chelsea is quite cheap; it therefore doesn't stay on the market long, despite the potential threat of residual radiation. The population has become a mixture of all ethnicities, desperation being their thread in common; those who have the money to live elsewhere do. Culture seems to have been washed out entirely on the neighborhood scale, survival taking vast precedence over art.

Amidst the intermittent desolation that marks Chelsea as one of the neighborhoods most intensely impacted by The Bomb's blast three years ago, two Ferrymen are lurking. One of them is wielding a set of bolt cutters that look like they could nip through a T-rex's shank if the need presented itself. The looped length of chain he's wrenching at instead poses less of a challenge.

This is the third building they've checked. It's like apartment shopping, only with caved in floors, boarded up windows, mold-eaten walls and more guns. The one strapped into a shoulder holster under Deckard's leather jacket shows occasionally while he works, half an inch bit out on his way to repositioning the cutters to try again. It's a bitch of a chain with an even thicker lock, but the concrete stepped stoop the pair of them are huddled on is more well-to-do than either of those that went before it. There's even a lion statue and a half posted on either side of the bottom stair. The second one's missing its head.

"Can you still see the car?" would be less of an important question to ask if they hadn't driven an old stolen El Camino over here.
The Ferrymen version of apartment shopping has less hostesses in green vests and 'for sale' signs as well. Their version is a lot more help themselves. Allowing Deckard to work, Meredith has lit up just two of her fingertips for him to work by. It's just about what a lighter would give them, but anything more would attract even more attention, which is exactly what they don't want. Attempting to keep the bolt clippers and Deckard out of obvious view, the blonde looks quickly behind her back toward where they left that stolen car.

"Na, it's somewhere being blocked by one of the lions. If you want me to go make sure nobody stole it from us, I can do that. But, I'd say good luck to 'em." Plus, that would leave the other man to wrestle with the chain by himself without any sort of light source. What she's more worried about is getting out of sight while the going's good. She's worried about the noise of clipping through thick chains in a mostly deserted area. The sound is bound to carry. "You almost done?"

Aude and Patricks had been derailed from their regular patrol by a call that something suspicious was happening. Suspicious being that there was some party being held in an abandoned building. Fresh from sending the party goer's off to various cells in the precinct to await phone calls to mommy's and daddy's and beg bail. Idiots for partying out in abandoned buildings past curfew.

So when there's flame flickering off a woman's hands, as Aude and Patricks come around some corner, making their way back onto their beat proper, the two officers come to a halt and look. "Evening Ladies" Not realizing that Flints not a female yet. "You realize what time it is, right?"

"I like that car," muttered without enough feeling to make checking on it seem all that worthwhile, Deckard huffs out a great foggy breath along with the force of a final heave and — clonk, clatter. The twice-bitten chain falls open. All that's left to do is to slither it out of the handles just. There's one little problem.

He freezes at the sound of a new voice at his back, hackles bristled stiff under his jacket in the time it takes him to scrape a sideways look after Meredith's reaction to whoever it is. Sounds like a cop. And when he straightens himself out enough to turn and look for himself, bolt cutters held flush to his far side, they look like cops. Smell like cops. Probably taste like —

In any case, it's pretty evident at a glance that, if he is a chick, he sure is an ugly one. 6'2" and wiry, eyes ringed pale, chilly blue and narrow jaw bristled with stubble, he looks between Aude and Patricks like a rangy wildebeast at a Vegetarian Lion Convention.

"She dropped a contact lens."

"You couldn't have gone for a POS Toyota, you had to go for El Camino," Meredith replies, her own tone lacking an real bite. It's mostly just banter. When the chain falls open, the blonde reaches forward to grab it before it drops to the ground where it will make the most inconvenient loud noise.

Meredith and Deckard look more like they are the parents those kids will call once tossed into a cell after their partying after hours. When they're called out, she gives Deckard something of a smirk at them both being called ladies; it may be a serious situation, but she has to find the humor in it. And there's paydirt to be had when she catches his eye. Staying with one knee down, she doesn't stand up like Deckard does. Not immediately, anyway. When she does turn around, she pretends to blink a couple of times, the light on her fingertips gone. If she had a lighter, it's also gone. Hopefully put in her pocket somewhere. "Found it."

"Riiight" Comes from Aude's lips. Contact lenses fall on the ground and he didn't spend nearly enough time getting up if he'd been scrabbling around the floor. LAdies and gentlemen it seems. Eyes flicker to Meredith's hands with a raise of a singular curved brow. She's the one on the ground though, and claiming she found it. "Do you know what time it is?" God, a god damned hooker and a john, can't find some place other than the front of an abandoned building. Woman's not even that pretty in the first place. Well, if there were decent light, Aude might revise her opinion. Patricks is reaching for the radio, muttering into it about curfew breakers and to send for another car as he rattles off their location. "Ma'am, Sir. I'll need you to come off the steps of the building and come with us. It's far past curfew and I'm afraid we'll need to take you in. Contact lenses or not"

Meredith's smirk earns a rankle at Deckard's nose in return. His expression is easy enough to read for those with similarly deviant siblings: Shut up. Here they are trapped on a stoop with a couple of cops between them and the rest of New York and she is making fun of him for being mistaken for a girl. >:C

"…Around ten?" is what he guesses out loud, not hopeful enough to actually be all that hopeful in the flat drone of his voice and the lazy lilt of his brows. His grip on the bolt cutters is gradually bleaching white behind the post of his leg, and down below, Aude and Patrick are probably beginning to become aware of precisely how thuggish he looks with the added height advantage of the steps and his brow hooded low beneath the coarse grizzle of his buzz. He doesn't really look like he wants to come down, either, even if he does lever the first step down in their direction, right hand still out of sight behind his side.

That's right, she is making fun of him for being mistaken for a girl. It wouldn't be as funny if they weren't in some sort of peril. However, the rankling only serves to make Meredith more amused. She wasn't an older sister for nothing. She leaves that alone for now, though, as they're already in some sort of trouble.

"I'd say more like ten-fifteen, ten-thirty?" The blonde responds to Deckard as if they really weren't in any trouble. She'd have a lot more to say if she knew what Aude was thinking about her and what she was really doing here. Even if she does have a strong sense of self-preservation, she also has some pride. "There's no problem, is there officers?" She's attempting to be the innocent Southern Woman here, but she also is wearing a leather jacket and is in the presence of her grizzled looking friend. She takes a few reluctant steps forward as well.

"Hands where we can see them" Aude's moving to one side, Patricks to the other, and near Flint. "It's just past midnight. The problem is that you are violating the curfew that's been in effect since January" So you can't claim ignorance. "You'll need to come with us downtown where you can answer a few questions" She watches the woman closely, and the womans hands in particular. Call her paranoid but Aude's met her fair share of Pyro's.

"Sir, your other hand sir" Patricks calls out to Flint, watching him. Watching both of them.

Lower jaw clamped hollow, worked and finally set at a scruffy jut, Deckard weighs his options. He could run. He cooould put his hands up and call it a day. Or he could sling his bolt cutters at Patrick's face and quick draw. A little pathetically, he finds himself looking over at Meredith again, uncertainty marked clear into the fuzzy lines etched in long around his mouth.

In the meanwhile he doesn't move to run, put his hands up, or kill anyone. Unfortunately, even in doing nothing he's not exactly following directions, and there's half a second where it looks like he might balk further back up the steps he just started coming down.

Hands up, huh? That's going to be a problem. Because they were already in trouble with the being out after curfew. And once they find them attempting to break and enter, well, that will be even more of a problem. Meredith catches the somewhat pathetic look from Deckard and, realizing that he isn't about to take the lead on this one, does it for herself. It seems to Meredith that if his first name is Flint, she's going to have to take care of him - whether she's related to him or not. With a rapid bit of blinking she announces, "Oh darn! My contact again!" While Patrick is focused on Flint's hands, Aude is right to keep her focus on Meredith's hands.

With both her hands put onto the steps in front of them, it looks like she's just searching for her contact until she tosses up a quick flash of bright, hot flames. It looks almost like a thin wall of fire that separates her and Deckard from Aude and Patrick. "Go." Meredith launches herself off the side of the steps, jumping down onto the dried grass and intends to keep running.

Fucking shit she was a Pryo! The flames are up, licking at her but not touching. "Patricks! Pyro!" He's already digging out his weapon and pointing though luckily for now, there are no bullets soaring through air. Not yet at least. Aude throws her arm up to ward off the quick burst of heat before she realizes that it's gone and Meredith is running. "Goddamned fucking pyro's!" and she's grabbing for her gun too to try and catch up with Meredith.

Holy — staggered back half a step in hesitation borne of the same bolt of flame that staves off Tweedledee and Tweedledumb, Deckard's about a beat behind in slinging his bolt cutters around full force into Patrick and Patrick's gun. Then he's running too, long legs hitched over the stairs and bootheels chewing through dead grass at a dry, springy crunch.

The viper strike of his right hand under his left lapel after his semi-automatic is all reflex, as is the hook of his thumb back over the hammer once it's out. A wild-eyed glance over his shoulders does little to confirm whether or not the pork's well done or only lightly seared. He's more preoccupied with running than he is for ogling for once in his fool life. At least for as long as it takes him to focus on Meredith running ahead of him. Then maybe he can ogle. A little.

"'Oh darn?'"

There's a discharge of gun, nowhere near FLint or Meredith and a yell as Patricks is going to need to go to the emergency room likely to get his rose re-aligned due to the bolt cutters. Stitches too. Likely. The sow though, only lightly crisped if at all, and keeping pace is not too far behind then. God damned fucking Evo's.

"Two suspects, in pursuit, Pyro and unknown male" The cross streets are rattled off before she pulls her free hand from her radio. "Stop, or I will shoot" She yells ahead to the two of them. It's Aude, she won't hesitate to shoot, and the warning was only because the damn stupid laws that govern cops requires her too. It's the difference really between murder and getting away with it behind the shield.

Meredith would take much more joy in the cries of surprise and anger if she weren't running. Looks like she's not the first Pyro that these two cops have run into. And it's all the worse for them. She would have given Deckard a warning, but that would have given their adversaries one, too. That would have defeated the purpose. But, she doesn't offer any sort of apology to her partner in crime at the moment. Instead, she's more focused in keeping ahead of any police and/or bullets that may start coming their way.

Risking a glance over her shoulder when to see where both Deckard and the cops are, she tosses a bit of fire backward. She's not aiming at anyone. All she wants to do is miss Deckard and get it to light up the grass. It'll be harder for them to pursue them if the ground is on fire. It's also harder to shoot through smoke. Now isn't the time for any quick remarks and instead, she puts on a burst of speed to make for the corner to turn down a different street.

Deckard — doesn't have all that much experience with pyrokinetics. Kind of obvious in the way he keeps glancing back to see what the hell is going on while he runs, which pans out into more tripping and stumbling than it does smooth sailing over brittle grass and cracked concrete. But he has a hell of a stride, he's in better shape than he's been in months and this isn't the first time he's had cops on his heels.

He keeps right on running even when a second burst of flame ripples past him to light across grass in a wave that rushes like spilled gasoline, breaths ragged against the cold and footfalls scuffing loud in launching him after the same corner. One day he'll get possessed by someone with a power that can set people on fire or electrocute them or turn them to ice. In the meanwhile he probably has more running away to do.
Meredith's skill is doing what she wants it to as the dry grass starts to sizzle then catch up causing the petite cop to pull up short or be inundated with the leavings of the ferrywoman. Aude levels her weapon, trying to sight through the smoke and the flames, squeeze off a shot at the retreating figures aimed more towards Meredith. "I said STOP"

Meredith doesn't even know what Deckard can do - if he evan has ability or not - so she attempts to mix things up to keep the focus off her companion. "Stop looking back," she hisses at Deckard, noticing that it's slowing him down and causing him to trip over the cracks in the sidewalk. With the grass crackling and burning behind them, there's not much else she can do to cover their tracks. The smoke should do enough to let them get away, but not before Aude squeezes off a shot.

Though they're already turning the corner, the shot makes it through the smoke and the fire and the Pyro manages to turn right into it - the bullet hitting Meredith high in the arm. The impact doesn't hit her until she's rounded the corner and she staggers forward and then sideways against the wall. She clamps a good hand against her wound with a wince and she pushes herself forward, with the intent to run again. Standing here isn't going to help anyone and she has enough adrenaline pumping through her system to get her at least far enough away from here that she'll be able to nurse it - hopefully - not behind bars.

"You're setting everything on fire." It's hard not to look, OKAY? The few seconds Meredith takes to regroup after gaining a few grams in lead weight are enough for Deckard to catch up with her. That there's blood all over the place when he does drains some of the exhilaration out of his long face; adrenaline-driven euphoria grinds down into exasperated anger in the time it takes him to assess the damage.

She keeps running. He adopts the post she just abandoned, checks his magazine, and leans out to squeeze off four rounds rapid-fire all around Aude's pursuit, more deterrent than outright attempt to shut her down. "«WE ARE RUNNING AWAY, YOU CRAZY BITCH,»" is shouted after the last shot. Unhelpfully, it's in French, but the message is probably pretty clear all the same.

Whiz, thunk, swish, thunk. Deckard is rewarded with the sound of bullet hitting something and presumably it's the police officer as she lets out a yell and through the haze of smoke she goes down. Her pursuit of the other two are halted, as her vest is hit and she goes down in surprise and a hand to her vest, checking to make sure that she's not gotten hit anywhere but her vest, upper arm's got a nice bleeding line across it that gives evidence of where the last bullet hit. Whatever Deckard is yelling isn't understood as she's limited to english, spanish and some Mandarin.

"Yeah, I noticed." Meredith shoots back in an irritated manner, after all she was the one that started all those fires. She's in pain and the adrenaline is slowly wearing off. Hearing the shots behind her, she wheels around to see that he's not following after her. That causes her to slow to a stop and collapse to a lean against the wall. Blood dribbles off her fingertips some more as he takes his turn at shooting at the pair of cops. Gripping onto her arm tighter, she winces. "Shooting 'em's only gonna make 'em angrier! Come on, let's get out of here while the smoke's still coverin' us."

As she doesn't have any energy to yank or pull at him, all she uses to attempt to convince him is her voice. "The grass isn't gonna burn forever." She doesn't speak any French, but she gets the general tone of his voice. "Help me outta here, would ya?"

Reluctant, especially when the bare edge of a jerky glance around the corner yields a glimpse of Aude stopped cold to check herself over, Flint's forced to look back along his own wall's length when Meredith's voice bores its way through the haze fogging up his thought process. He blinks hard, cold eyes stinging against the smoke that's scoring his senses in addition to the popo's, then relents in a gawky rush. No cop killing on the menu today.

The gun is holstered again as he runs — a calculated risk meant to free up both of his hands enough to help. As much as he can while they're booking it, anyway. Left glove tugged off with his teeth, he palms his bare (and cool) hand around the side of her face when he reaches her again, face pale and eyes devoid of expression. He's concentrating or no longer present. Either way, healing heat forges across physical contact without asking permission first, winding down into her bleeding arm with an intensity that's borderline uncomfortable.

"Patch job," echoes distant through his ears in his own voice, explanatory without real explanation while worked over muscle gives an involuntary twitch and the worst of the bleeding stems itself. "I'll fix the rest when we're home free."

Then he's moving again, hand fallen away so that his boots can turn themselves towards Midtown.

When Deckard finally holsters his gun, Meredith breathes a sigh of relief. She shouldn't have stopped, she should have kept running the moment she realized that Deckard was going to be a fool and stop to exchange fire. When he runs up to her, she starts to pull herself up with some difficulty, only to stop short when he pulls off his glove. "H-hey. What the hell d'ya th—" She's not sure what he's doing, but she's pretty strict about who she allows to touch her face without permission and last time she checked, he wasn't on that list.

The pyro is normally quite accustomed to heat and fire, but this is something wholly unlike the warmth that comes from her flames. It feels different, and for the first time she feels as if she's burning up, like there's a fire that just may hurt her out there. Her eyes widen and she lets out a gasp of surprise when his hand falls away and just as suddenly he's moving away. It takes her a few moments longer to get a hold of herself and to realize what just happened here.

Pulling herself up finally, an exploratory hand goes to the wound where Aude hit her to find that it's barely bleeding any more. Surprised, it's her turn to play catch up behind Deckard. Not heeding her own advice, she spares a glance backward at the burning lawns and smoke rising above the area before following after Flint toward Midtown and some place to regroup.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License