Security Work


andrew_icon.gif shard_icon.gif

Scene Title Security Work
Synopsis Andrew offers to help Save Staten
Date September 4, 2009

Staten Island Boat Graveyard

Exactly where land gives way to water at this point of the island's edge is uncertain — first because of the saltgrass growing everywhere, both on dry earth and in the shallows, giving the illusion of solidarity; second for the structures visible in the distance, drawing the eye away from the deceptive ground, suggesting its reach extends beyond its grasp. Even if the structures are still recognizable as ships, and nothing that ever belonged on land.

There are a multitude of them, abandoned hulls of salt-stained wood and rust-pitted steel, dying slow and ungraceful deaths as wind and water claim their dues. Some still appear to rest upright, braced upon the debris of older, lost relics below; others list to one side, canted at an odd angle like someone who just struggled to the surface in search of a desperate breath. There are no hands to pull these hulks from the water, no ropes to save them from drowning; each has been surrendered to the sea, left to the ravages of unmerciful time.

At low tide, some of the closer ships can be reached — not without getting soaked, but such is the price of daring. Never mind that the rotting metal and splintered wood are the stuff of nightmares for any germophobe, definite hazards to the unwary. The more distant ships are distant indeed, beyond the reach of all but the most bold — and are all but submerged besides.

"Aren't you worried about them coming and arresting you?"

Another stack of t-shirts is slapped on the table next to the large black man seated behind it. Another t-shirt is signed by the swift flick of Vincent's sharpie. V "Shard" King. The shirt is pushed back to the woman who was asking for the signature. The next person brings a CD, the same swish is given. Vincent looks up to the person standing at the table asking the question.

"Not yet."

The answer is given with a little grin, glancing to his side at the 'staff' wearing the SAVE STATEN shirts. Their following has grown since the last fundraiser. It's more than just a 'come see Shard' event now. People are actually buying into the program, actually trying to help 'Save Staten'. The fundraisers are raising even more money now. The Boat Graveyard has become Shard's locale. A place so dismal, yet given hope by all the smiling faces.

"Good evening," Andrew greets Shard in his faint Northern Irish brogue as he reaches the front of the lines. "I saw your message on TV and had a few questions. I suppose the first one would be who exactly is Norman White?"

The sharpie pauses in its tracks, Vincent's dark eyes slowly trace up from the shirt he is signing to the man who approaches. The pen is slowly set down as Vincent eyes the man. Raising up his hand to the person in a 'hold up' motion, he scoots back in his chair. "Give me a minute. Jessica, could you let everyone know I'm going to take a fifteen minute break?"

Vincent stands up from the chair, going to walk around the table slow. Though he does not offer his hand, he gives a respectful nod. "Norman White is an escaped convict from Moab. He's also escaped from a mental institute, he can create earthquakes and has killed plenty of people brutally, without purpose. And even though he wants good things, he's going to go about them in bad, bad ways." Shard pauses, looking Andrew up and down. "Can I ask who's asking?"

"Certainly. Would you believe me if I said John Smith?" Andrew asks drily. "So the guy escaped what, the same place you were held? And he's a nasty man but with the best intentions. I would assume you have a plan of some description? I don't mean to be rude, but it's one thing to say you're going to stop a man like that, but it's another thing entirely to go ahead and do it."

"Oh. I have to have a plan?" Vincent asks wryly, his features going flat for a moment. "Well where were you three weeks ago, man? If only I could have known that part." He glances over at the tables before returning to look at Andrew. "I kind of like to think I know what I'm doing, or at least have a semblance of a plan." Vincent murmurs.

"So. John Smith, you got a point to coming out here and trying to make me look bad? Or do I just deserve to be taken down a peg."

Andrew nods. "That's good to know. I was actually going to offer to help, if you need it. Much as you're not after killing innocents, there are plenty of not so innocent people who may well need dealing with, and having someone with my training to call on certainly wouldn't hurt your chances."

"What kind of training is that?" Shard asks roughly. One hand comes up, pushing down on the opposite knuckles making a harsh cracking sound. Finishing those knuckles he switches the other hand. He eyes Andrew, "We avoid bloodshed." His hands drop down to his side. "At all costs. You wanna go crack heads, do it on your own time and don't associate yourself with me." Vincent takes a single step back. "If you're okay with doing things my way, I would welcome you aboard with open arms. But you gotta do things my way."

"Works for me. I'm a former Royal Marine Commando," Andrew replies just as bluntly. "I can train your people to defend themselves if needed, I'm trained in unarmed combat and with firearms and I'm not too bad at sneaking around, though I never learned to pick a lock. I also happen to be a little stronger and more durable than the average."

"You sayin' you evolved, son?" The flying rapper asks, arching a single brow. "I'm not really into hiring commandos. But if you wanna help, I ain't turnin' you away. We headquarter here on the island. Anarchy Customs. Most of my crew are attractive young women." Bringing his hand up he scrubs at his bald head a little. "I don't know how that happened." A light shrug of his shoulders.

"A shipment is coming in soon, free food and supplies for those on the island that will need it. I need to protect that shipment from Norman White. I want you there."

Andrew nods. "Yes, I'm evolved. Any less than two tons in that food shipment and I could probably carry it myself. I haven't been a commando for five years; I just reckon all that training should go to use doing something good instead of just shooting whoever some guy in a suit decides needs shooting. When and where?" he asks.

"Here. I'll let you know when. I need to get back to the public." A gesture is made over to the line of people waiting for autographs. "And remember, the shooting does not happen unless I give the okay. We'll have guns, but it will be more for show than anything. I won't allow any bullet to be fired unless it is more than necessary." Shard explains he gives another nod to the man before taking a step back, over to the table.

Andrew nods. "Understood," he replies. "This phone is pretty much always turned on; feel free to contact me when you need me," he adds, handing over a piece of paper with his phone number written down. "See you around," he finishes before heading back to the mainland.

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