Participants:
| Scene Title | Serves Him Right |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Central Park isn't so much safe for the terrorists anymore as Griffin finds out, and a few others do too. |
| Date | September 19, 2011 |
Central Park has been, and remains, a key attraction in New York City, both for tourists and local residents. Though slightly smaller, approximately 100 acres at its southern end scarred by and still recovering from the explosion, the vast northern regions of the park remain intact.
An array of paths and tracks wind their way through stands of trees and swathes of grass, frequented by joggers, bikers, dog-walkers, and horsemen alike. Flowerbeds, tended gardens, and sheltered conservatories provide a wide array of colorful plants; the sheer size of the park, along with a designated wildlife sanctuary add a wide variety of fauna to the park's visitor list. Several ponds and lakes, as well as the massive Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir, break up the expanses of green and growing things. There are roads, for those who prefer to drive through; numerous playgrounds for children dot the landscape.
Many are the people who come to the Park - painters, birdwatchers, musicians, and rock climbers. Others come for the shows; the New York Shakespeare Festival at the Delacorte Theater, the annual outdoor concert of the New York Philharmonic on the Great Lawn, the summer performances of the Metropolitan Opera, and many other smaller performing groups besides. They come to ice-skate on the rink, to ride on the Central Park Carousel, to view the many, many statues scattered about the park.
Some of the southern end of the park remains buried beneath rubble. Some of it still looks worn and torn, struggling to come back from the edge of destruction despite everything the crews of landscapers can do. The Wollman Rink has not been rebuilt; the Central Park Wildlife Center remains very much a work in progress, but is not wholly a loss. Someday, this portion of Central Park just might be restored fully to its prior state.
Central Park
On a monday, late in the afternoon, people stopping by on the way home from work, taking children out after school for some fresh air before they are ushered back into their apartments and recycled air. Some people boat in the remain of a pool, some walk towards the zoo, wanting to spend their afternoon looking at the animals and perhaps not realizing how close to reality the animals situations are to theirs.
With so much space, even in the wake of midtown taking a very large part of the greenery, it's still a nice place to visit, sit under the tree's that are starting to change from the green to the various hues of red, yellow and orange and threatening to drop from the branches that the cling to so diligently.
Bob (Gael? who's that?) is acutely aware of the bars around his cage, invisible as they might be to the general public. Going from 'I have maybe $400,000 left' to living alone in a trailer will do that to a man. Perhaps someday he'll find an opportunity to strike back at those who struck him down… until then, it's enough for him just to survive under their noses. Just another face in the crowd, occupying a bench for long enough to enjoy a sandwich and a cup of coffee before he trudges back to the day job.
Michelle is usually one of those people coming to the surviving portions of the park with a bushel of children, but today that isn't the case. Out of a need to get out, to get some (relatively) fresh air, she started her feet on a walk. That they brought her here is just a matter of habit rather than choice.
She's dressed in black; black shoes, black skirt, black top, black coat, which might seems normal and business-like at first glance, but in truth, she's still very much in a mourning period for her oldest child. The shopping bags in hand are just another grieving technique, but it says something that there are far less than in her usual shopping trips. Ah, well.
It's not often that Griffin gets to go out. He's rather paranoid these days, and it doesn't help that he's wanted. It makes his ventures out and about few and far between, and filled with plenty of paranoia. If only he could get a nose job, he would be set. Today was a good day to come out. The weather is wonderful, and the leaves are starting to change. What better day to venture into public?
The man is dressed in loose clothing, sporting the nobody look; a pair of blue jeans, a sports hoodie, a baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses. He's still got the neatly trimmed facial hair, hopefully all of it enough of a disguise to keep him from being recognized too easily.
Griffin is settled beneath a tree, quietly strumming a guitar in a soft melody, with the case spread open before him. A few coins and bills are within, the results of a good hour or so of work.
Benches.
Places for people to sit, take in the view. Eat, play music, become the focus for soldiers who have come into view up a set of stairs near the benches where Griffin and Gael make their current positions of lounging. Fatigues, vest, boots laced tight, guns so very visible, they weren't in view till they came up the steps in a pack of three.
They've been working the park - unknown to our interpid cast here - and checking ID's all afternoon and now two of them focus in on Griffin. Dressed as he may be in an attempt to not draw attention to himself, but virtue of sitting there, playing guitar with his case open for change, he is precisely that. One elbows the other and the pair advance on the telekinetic while a third carefully maneuvers himself to intercept Michelle on her path.
'Ma'am, could I please see your registration?" Not a care that she's got bags in hand, they have a job to do. The same is request of Griffin when the two plant themselves amicably in front of Griffin, one looking from behind his raybans while the other looks the guitarist up and down. "You're registration please sir"
WHich leaves Gael with a choice.
From afar, Griffin tries to recall if Griffin got fake registration at one point. Thinks one of her characters did, either Griff or Elle. Elle had less reason to.
It's been months since Gael last saw the wandering minstrel. He didn't recognize him at first, but after watching him for a while, there were enough things still the same - nose, voice, stance - for him to see past the ones that weren't. And after their run-ins late last year, he made a point of finding and reviewing the man's file.
It's still broad daylight; if he acts directly, he'll be badly outnumbered, outmuscled, outgunned. Instead, while the soldiers still have their backs turned, he pulls out a snub revolver, holding it up where Griffin can see it… then tosses it into a nearby patch of weeds.
How's your aim these days, Griffin?
Michelle pauses when she's addressed, but not out of fear or shock or anything of that nature. She just wasn't paying attention. And she's not little to worry over, given that she is registered and her husband works for the DOEA and all sorts of fun names to drop.
"Oh yes…" she starts in her French accent as she slowly shifts the bags to one hand so she can pull her wallet out of her jacket to show her current and accurate registration card. Granted, things like Tier Two and Atmokinesis aren't totally comforting, but she's kosher, as it were.
Well, fuck.
And this…is exactly why Griffin doesn't like to go out. Still strumming, the man peers up at the soldiers with raised brows, tightly controlling his breathing so as to seem nonchalant and relaxed. Thankfully, the baseball cap and the sunglasses help to conceal that his green eyes suddenly have no color, just that eerie white.
And thankfully, they can't see the fact that those telekinetic arms of his are unfurling. This might not be a happy fall scene much longer. He notices, behind those shades, that familiar fellow tossing the gun into the patch of weeds. And he's reaching out with one of those vectors.
But they don't know that. All they see is Griffin smile faintly as he stops strumming, carefully setting his guitar in the case. All they can see is the man patting in his sweatshirt, searching for it.
"Shit…aw, shit, you gotta be kiddin' me!" He grumbles this as he searches his pockets, panic suddenly forming on his features. "Don't tell me I — I forgot it at home." He grumbles this out, slowly standing and raises his hands. "My memory ain't what it used t'be, man. I left it by th'door at m'place."
While they have their eyes on the nonchalant guy who is still searching his pockets, as if there's some space he may have forgotten to check, that gun is floating out of the bush. White eyes flicker toward the gun, though Griffin doesn't so much as turn his head. Instead, he does his best to aim for one of the guards, no easy feat when you're not staring down the barrel.
Then, at the last moment, he turns the gun upward, stretching his telekinetic arm as far away from himself as he can…and fires a bullet into the air. Hopefully, that will distract them without killing anyone. And he acts the part, too, suddenly throwing himself to the ground with a shout of fear, while his vector clicks the safety onto the gun and flings it away into the bushes.
Dear god, let this work.
Things happen fast. Cops are equipped to handle certain things before it's bumped up to the special teams and so on and so forth. Within New York, Martial Law still so very much in effect, things are handled very differently.
Civil rights, personal rights, were suspended nearly a year ago and were never re-instated. These days you are more apt to be tossed into E-Ville than anything else, but there still is the very strong possibility that if you don't comply, of getting a piece of lead in your body. Depending on the soldiers.
when Michelle hands over her ID, it's glanced at with one hand while the soldier reaches for a radio at his shoulder, starting the process of calling it in, swift fingers on the other end typing in the number and confirming that indeed, this individual is Dr. Michelle Brennan, a Tier 2 atmokinetic and in good standing with the government.
Little Surprise.
"I'm sorry sir, you'll need to come with us then to our check point so that we can comfirm whether you are registered or not" This is not the first person ot either really have forgotten their ID or to have not registered. It's a more common thing than people realize and has landed more than one person this week in dicey water.
From that point on however, things become a little more dicey. They travel in a trio so that two can check ID's and one can cover backs. Dicey because as Gael tosses the gun in an effort to aid an acquaintence, that same soldier, the firs tone, catches it out of the corner of his eye, tenses up and even as he's thrusting the ID at Michelle to take, he is forcibly moving the frenchwoman behind him to protect her. "Gun!" He barks, getitng his own automatic weapon out and up, pointed at Gael.
The second one, turns towards his companion and seeing the floating gun, turning up in the air and firing a shot has him reaching for something on his vest. "Evo!" Pulls a pin and tossing it to the ground at their feet. Sticky, sickly smelling yelllow gas starts to forcibly eject on release, clinging to clothing of those near and promising to spread out even more. Too bad tha Griffin dives down just as it hits the ground, a face full of the stuff that effectivly cuts off his ability.
And gets him the nose of their weapons pressed to the back of his neck and a boot to his back.
Oh, hell. As recently as a couple years ago, he might have been quick enough to pull that off without drawing the third soldier's attention. He hasn't gotten that old, has he? Promptly switching gears, Gael holds his hands up in the air - see, empty - and does his best to sound more annoyed than anything else. "Hey, I was getting rid of it! How the hell'm I suppose to exercise the Second Amendment with you guys all trigger-happy?" And he pointedly doesn't say anything about what happened to the gun after he ditched it, nope, nuh-uh, that was a complete surprise to him, you betcha.
Michelle jumps at the sound of the shot fired and she scrambles a bit to take her ID back and tuck herself in behind the soldier when he maneuvers in front of her. She appreciates it. Getting shot would be icing a on very bitter cake at this point. Making her her hands stay visible, she peers beyond the soldier as that gas starts to spew out. There's a frown, since she dislikes being negated as much as the next Evolved (just ask her husband), but there's no move to run away from it, either.
That didn't work. Well…shit.
Griffin is effectively neutralized, his hands coming up to rest on the back of his head. He won't fight. Before everything happened, he might have fought them even at such a disadvantage. But now, he wants to live more than anything else. He wants to see his wife. He wants to be around when his baby is born. Maybe that will never happen now, but there's always a chance.
So he doesn't fight. He just clenches his eyes shut, and cooperates, and waits for whatever might come next. All the while, he mutters the same four-letter expletive under his breath, inaudible under the sounds of the chaos.
"Keep your hands up sir" THis to Gael as the one shuffles away from MIchelle with a caution for the woman to stay put in the general direction. He seems the more level headed of the trio as he approaches the former COmpany agent. "Down on the ground, knee's apart, now sir" He doens't seem to care that the guy was tossing the gun, only that he had a gun and felt the need to toss it. His gun is aimed at Gael, the other hand calling in for back up in the park even as people are turning to watch and negation gas continues to unfurl, obscure visions on the ground and up further as the wind carries it a little towards Michelle.
Which means that in griffins adjacent area, the epicenter of the negation gas, the foot grinding into his back and the muzzle of the weapon, one guy is leaning down to start attempting to frisk the evo, declaring the various parts clear - if they are - as he goes and searching for ID of some sort. "What you saying?" The standing soldier barks out at the downed telekine, lifting his foot to give him a kick to the ribs, even as he's shot some sort of look - hard to see with the gas that clings - by his companion. "SHut the fuck up!" Another good kick to Griffins ribs.
Gael rolls his eyes. "Fine," he mutters, assuming the position. "My ID's in my pants pocket, help yourself." It'll be inconvenient for him and the soldiers both, but it's a damn sight better than being gunned down for 'going for a backup weapon'. At least he doesn't have anything to lose to the gas, other than it interfering with his vision a little bit. He winces as the one goon's foot thuds into Griffin's side— but, again, better boots than bullets.
Michelle winces, too, looking away at the display of force. She disapproves, to a degree, although she does understand on a logical level. In a perfect world, these things would be solved in some way that involved wine instead of violence. Alas.
As the gas billows in her direction, there's a subconscious cough, like inhaling nearby cigarette smoke, and her nose screws up. But, she does try to keep an eye on what's going on; she knows these things sometimes get out of hand. On both sides.
There's nothing on Griffin's person today. All he had was the guitar today, none of his usual weapons. At least, not on his person. The first kick prompts a pained groan from Griffin, followed by a gasp for breath tainted by the heavy gas that tingles at his nose. His mind whirling at 100 miles an hour, Griffin goes quiet, choosing to utter his expletives in the back of his head.
And Griffin is suddenly very terrified that he might not go to E-Ville. That there's much worse in store for the likes of him. He doesn't want to see a place like Moab again. Why would he think that they would be so kind as to just toss him into a place like that? No, they have special places for people as highly wanted as him.
He sees the kick coming, and something just…snaps in him. The combat training from his years as a Company Agent, though he is unaware of as much, kicks in. He takes the kick with a hard 'oof' and a groan of pain…but his arm suddenly locks around the soldier's ankle, and the man rolls, his other elbow coming down hard against the man's knee with all of his strength and momentum, with intention to break the man's knee, to leave him crippled.
Griffin Mihangle will not go down without a fight. Not to the likes of these scumbags.
In a perfect world, Michelle wouldn't almost have been nailed by a bullet that she can feel pass far too close to her when Griffin is attacking the one soldier. A shot goes off, reflex almost despite being trained to not, and she can thank god later that she wasn't an inch more to the left. The soldier on Gael will however be kicking himself that he didn't remain there to ensure that law abiding citizens weren't almost harmed.
'Get down!" This to Michelle even as he's stepping away from Gael and her to enter into the fray of gas th at's finished dispersing and now just lingers. There's a scream from the soldier as something in his knee gives way to Griffin's elbow - that will hurt later too - while his companion is swinging the butt of his rifle down across the back of the telekine's head. Usher the wanted man into a state of unconsciousness as opposed to just out and out shooting him in the head. "Everybody stay down, we will shoot" Warned to people who are near, and might be inclined to help or aid. A chance for Gael to get away, negation gas providing some cover and all three mostly focused on Griffin.
That was noble of you, Griffin. Stupid! But noble. As the soldiers turn their attention elsewhere once again, and a cloud of largely opaque vapor drifts by… suddenly Gael is up to his feet again, making a beeline for the nearest group of people off in the distance to lose himself in. He crouches down to snatch up his gun again as he passes it by, and stays as low to the ground as he can without giving up too much speed, ready to drop prone at a moment's notice and claim simple panic in case the uniforms wise up too quickly.
The doctor's eyes widen as the bullet flies right past her. But it's only a split second before she ducks down, belatedly remembering a time in her life when bullets were less surprising than they are now, in her much cushier lifestyle. But the soldier barking orders gets her to stay low, hunkering down near the sidewalk. Her gaze follows Gael as he takes off, but she doesn't shout to give him away. At least there's a doctor around, if the soldiers do start shooting.
Serves him right, attacking Griffin when he's down. As the butt of the gun hits Griffin, he goes limp, his lanky form unconcious. At least he's drifting into unconsciousness with the satisfaction that the fellow who kicked him while he was down will likely be a cripple after that injury. At least he ended a fellow's career while he still could…
Cripple, maybe, maybe not. Only a doctor will know and it won't be the one that's down in the ground with her grocery bags around her like a good citizen. Or the man hightailing it and taking advantage of Griffin's distraction to save his own hide. But he's being handled roughly regardless, the injured soldier down, one asking for MIchelle's help - He saw her ID - to check out the soldier, another is looking for Gael but not putting up too much of a fuss to. They've got one in the bag and by all counts, that's a pretty good catch. One more for E-Ville, when all will be said and done.