Participants:
| Scene Title | Shoe Knife, Arm Gun |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The newest crew at the Patel Brothers' take stock of inventory within the Dome, as well as the people. |
| Date | February 14, 2011 |
Improvisation is everything.
The man that would normally be managing this store had his head cut off in an instantaneous dome appearing phenomenon. Or at least that's what the employees who found themselves stuck inside the dome had rumored. The employees had hung around the store for no other reason than it was the only place they knew in Queens. But eventually the desire for having a place gives way to violence. And violence breaks under threat of heavier violence. Patel Brothers isn't the largest market in Queens, though it is probably the widest selection of Indian food in the vicinity. The outside of the store reads, Celebrating Our Food… Our Culture The image of a Taj Mahal planted above the words.
But recently Patel Brothers has undergone new managment. A lot of new policy changes have been instituted. For one, the doors and windows to the front are completely blocked various random pieces of furniture. A cardboard sign hangs under the store's marquee, hastily sprayed paint declaring WE R FUCKING CRAZY WE WILL KILL U It's a touch more effective than 'Beware of Dog'. Past that there are actual traps set to prevent people from entering in the front. Including a sawed off shotgun linked to a tripwire.
But beyond all the obstacles the store has been laid out quite nicely. Mattresses laid here and there, with all the food stockpiled on one side of the room. The Indian food is still in good supply, the rations lasting nicely. Though the entirely caucasian co-habitators of Patel Brothers may be a little tired of all the curry and nan.
Obviously Ethan has taken residence in the Managers Office. And inside the office the man is currently busy at work. Wearing only a pair of slacks, the Manager is seated on top of his desk. A shoe in his lap. A shoe with a large flat attached to it. Sliced open, Ethan seems to be tinkering with the bottom of the shoe for some reason. But even though he seems to be busy, his door is kept open.
At least he's good with speaking with his 'employees'.
Somewhere in the store, a cash till is dinged open, and closed again. Someone grabbed fistfuls of money at some stage, for all that good that Gabriel imagines it did them now. Locked out somewhere, with shreds of paper, when the working currency is food, superpowers and bullets. Working a penny out from the register, it's flicked from thumbnail to spiral through the air, caught in the middle of his palm, and Gabriel cuts a diagonal line through Pastel Brothers, one that ghosts through shelving, empty and disorganised.
Meaning that Ethan doesn't need a literal 'open door' policy to keep his employees at bay.
By the time he's appearing there, Gabriel has cleaned up a little better than say, when Eileen saw him through the barrier. He doesn't stink of the flooding train tunnel, and its contaminated river draining. His clothes are pilfered from what residential homes he's managed to rifle — a rather conservative sweater over jeans, feet in boots.
A nametag pinned idly to his chest. It says MOHINDER.
Tinkering is ridiculously diffficult work. Which is why Ethan is casting an annoyed look up at his door before his brows screw up some. Eventually smoothing over, Holden gives a little stacatto nod for the other man to enter. Before returning his attention to his project. A few moments pass as Ethan works in silence beffore finally looking back up to the younger man.
"Y'wanna see this?"
Without waiting for an answer, Holden is placing down his shoes. Sliding off the desk he holds the shoe by the toe, before moving to grip it by the side. He then slaps the side of the heel against the desk. Instantaneously a blade shoots out of the toe of the shoe. A light pleased smile curling up his lips. "I'm like th'fuckin' KGB in this bitch." Placing the shoe-knife down on the desk, Ethan takes a step away.
An arched brow, he looks over at Gabriel. "Yes Mohinder, can I 'elp you?"
"Business hasn't picked up. I think I want a new job. I'd give you my two weeks notice, but— " But, who knows what two weeks will look like. Gabriel makes however-shruggyhands, elbows set against his knees, before balancing coin on his knuckles. It tips back and forth with a fidget, but no rogueish traveling of the disc over his fingers, though not for a lack of trying for the split second it takes for him to give up, flip it into the other hand.
Brown eyes travel their stare towards the knife-shoe, corner of his mouth pulling into something he doesn't quite allow to be a smile. "They have bigger weapons than that, in here. Fire, assault rifles. I'm waiting for the highest structure inside to become a bird's nest." The chair he's in creaks as he idly sets sole against the edge of the desk, rocking back.
"You can't leave." Ethan commands crisply. "I can't lose you and keep the hours I'm keeping. Mina and little Anush need t'see their father. And if you walk out on me, I'll 'ave to take twelve more shifts. Don't be so god damn selfish, Mohinder." Holden growls, twirling his shoe knife. Slapping the side of the heel on the other side the knife does not slide back into the toe. He frowns dfeeply. "Doesn't.. really matter if it doesn't go back in, right? I'll be kickin' people in the throat…"
Placing the shoe knife on the managers desk, he takes a few steps behind it where his mattress lays on the ground as well as a pile of gatherings he has laid up. Looking to the door where MANAGER is inlaid, Ethan smirks a bit. "Y'seen th'other two?" Reaching down, he pulls up a intricate device that he lays down on the desk. "We need more weapons. Well you don't.." He gives a shrug. "But y'might. Got that negator fool runnin' around tryin' to get us out of this mess. We should roll one of these other operations through the week. The Patel Brothers Industry must grow." Holden looks down at his device. "Y'see this fuckin' thing? I wear it on me arm. And I put a gun on it.. and it slides out from my sleeve. Like in the movies." He pauses. "Saw it on youtube. I do need a smaller gun…" He frowns lightly. Going to sit on the desk again.
It's semi obvious Ethan has been very bored.
"Awesome. At this rate we'll be the last ones left standing." Sarcastic joviality is thick in Gabriel's tone, eyes rolling beneath heavy brow and fingers scritching restlessly through hair that by rights should be greasy by now, and probably is, although he manages to be somewhat cleaner than the vast majority of refugees caught between the Dome. Cheating via humidity control, plastic sheets and a lot of time on his hands, more concerned with clean drinking water than—
Guns that spring into your hands like cuckoo clock birds. "We should probably consider what the hell we're supposed to do before that. There's inevitably a hunt for whoever did this, and rumour says Humanis First is leading the charge, or something. Thing is that if they kill whoever did this…"
Gabriel shrugs. "We might be here a while. This thing is freestanding."
"You're takin' a piss." Ethan accuses, sending Gabriel a doubletake. His lips thin out as he looks down to his desk. After contemplating for a moment, it seems that Gabriel is most definitely not taking a piss. One hand comes up to his chin, scrubbing at his stubble. "If we're in 'ere for a long 'aul. W'need t'be doin more." His head smooths up over his shaved head. Dropping down he slips off the desk, taking a few steps towards the doorway. Folding his arms over his chest he goes to lean against the doorway. "I have a few things to say on this point… One. I am upset you didn't compliment me on my arm-gun and shoe-knife."
He takes a deep breath. It obviously threw him off.
"Two. We need to roll another grocery store for sure. We're going to run out of pookoo berries soon, or whotever they're fuckin' called."
Gabriel's eyebrows draw together. Didn't he? Compliment the arm-gun and shoe-knife? Probably not. Mind elsewhere, still roaming the barrier walls like he's been doing for the past two weeks and change, and the way it seems to just stop once you see deeper, and everything else sort of—
"I can start bringing things back here. No doubt others will be thinking the same thing, have done the same thing, and quietly stealing is probably better and easier while everything else is on fire and everyone's on edge. Guns, too. A small one," is slightly teasing, 'Mohinder' rocking his weight forward enough to stand up and pitching the penny aside to free his hands, the tiny copper disc rolling on out of sight, worth little before, worth nothing now.
"And I haven't seen them. The others."
A blur rushes through the store from the back and pauses in the middle, between 'Mohinder' and the manager of Patel's. 'Gurdeep', dressed in some really off the wall orange and brown polyester polo shirt from the storage room and a pair of matching polyester pants, brandishes his (her) kukri in each hand. Dark blue eyes flit toward the way (s)he came and seconds later the trap goes off.
"Well, i' works, eh? Jus' real slow s'all." The knifes get flipped in both hands and caught by the handle, disappearing quickly. "So… care teh explain teh me why yer friend's tryin' teh blow me teh pieces? I took you in, man." The speedster's tone is somewhat accusitory and directed right at Ethan.
He disappears again and returns with a box and then returns again with a portable generator. "Yer friend Feng sends 'is regards."
"Oh 'ello Gurdeep. I 'ope inventory is taken care of." Holden mumbles before a loud bang goes off. The tripwire attatched to the shotgun. His features flatten out, granting Edgar a level stare. "Whot th'fuuuck?" The tone is definitely agitated. "Y'know 'ow long that took me?" A 'what the hell' hand flings out before limply falling at his side as Ethan's chin ducks into his chest, hanging his head in utter depression. Slowly looking up, Holden goes to grab his shoe, waving the knife part of the shoe menacingly at Edgar before dropping it back on his desk.
And then Edgar is being all accusatory. Accusing Ethan of having friends. As soon as the f word is uttered, Ethan gives a slightly confused face. That can't be right. Glancing over at Gabriel, he arches a brow. "I don't 'ave any friends." The Wolf delivers dully, glancing to Gabriel so the other man can most definitely confirm the story. It's true.
And then Edgar is gone and back again and gone and… Feng. Features darkening, Holden glowers down at the items brought in. Taking a few steps away from them, leaning against the wall. A single glance to Gabriel. "'e's in 'ere."
"He doesn't have friends," Gabriel tells the blurred space that Edgar occupies (and doesn't occupy), and by the time the dust has settled and Gurdeep has reported to their manager, his eyes kind of go flat and sharkish in thought at the name Feng — a distant sort of enemy, known to Gabriel mainly as he who hunts his friends and shoots from afar. His visage shimmers, briefly — his grey-speckled black hair goes shinier, darker, skin and bones change to reflect for a moment the image of Feng Daiyu, standing in the office in ninja blacks.
Gone again in the blink of an eye, back to the Midtown Man looking tired and himself. "Maybe we should invite him round."
A passing glance is spared to the door when Ethan begins his short tirade about the trap. When he starts waving the shoe, a blur of an arm reaches into the box to grab two items inside. When the movement stops, Edgar is holding a can of cream corn and a can of water chestnuts. "Pu' down the shoe, I go' chess'nuts n' corn…" Not very threatening if you think too hard about it but cans can hurt.
Gabriel's shift has the carnie pivoting, trying to cover both men with a can each. His eyes flicker between the two, seeming to consider action before 'Mohinder' changes back, allowing the speedster to relax a little. "'E ain't goin'teh come 'round me no more.. Leas'wise no' in a friendleh fashion." There's a slight shrug from the carnie, as if he didn't care. Tossing the water chestnuts to Ethan, he gives the other to Gabriel and then dips a hand in for some corn of his own. "I dunked 'is bombs in the drink… I 'spect it'll take a bit've fishin' teh get'em out."
When the can comes up, Ethan holds up his shoe again in deffence from the water chestnuts. Because, gross. Frowning darkly at the threat of being canned, Ethan glances over to Gabriel and then back at the other man. The one with the can. The shoe slowly lowers as the stand-off dissipates. Placing his shoe back down on the desk, Holden glowers at the sight of Feng.
His hand snags the can out of the air with excessive force, bringing it down to slam against the top of the desk. "'e doesn't 'ave any friends either." Holden growls, giving an appreciative nod as Edgar claims to have drown some bombs. "Fuckin' Feng." Holden hisses, going to sit on top of the desk once again. Picking up the can of water chestnuts he gives it a speculative look before tossing it back to Edgar. "'old it up." He pushes back on his perch somewhat, before retaking his shoe. Waving the shoe-knife around, "Feng doesn't give up. If y'piss 'im off 'e won't forget it. But y'don't 'ave to worry bout 'im. 'e's too busy trying to earn my love to care about you." He waves the shoe-kniffe again. "Hold up th'can."
Glance from cream corn to Edgar back to cream corn before taking the can for wont of much better to do. This time Gabriel doesn't offer words, ever the weird, quiet one on any team he manages to wriggle his way into and this one is no different. Fingernails working around the edge of the can in absent fidget, remembering real food and trying not to allow that it build of that constantly anxiety produced by being trapped by any kind of glass pane. Whether it's one set flat into a wall or curves in a sphere all around.
"'Old up the can? Wha' so you can throw your stiletto 'eel at et?" Ha ha. "Yeh think you could really 'it such a small target?" Doing one better, Edgar grabs the can, stands with his back against the wall, and balances the can on the top of his head, a la William Tell. He either has a lot of faith in the other Brit, or a lot of faith in his own ability. Perhaps a combination of both or just the latter.
"I don' really care if 'e gives up'r no'. Nex' time I see 'im, I'm pluggin' a knife through 'is gob before 'e has a chance teh see me." Something about being left in a lockable cooler (power or not) in the middle of a bunch of explosives doesn't sit right with the carnie. "What's yer plan then? We goin'teh go find 'im? Or'r we jus' waitin' 'ere 'til this damn bubble pops? 'Cause I tell yeh brother, it's no' comin' down on et's own."
"Yeah I'm gonna throw my stiletto 'eel at it." Holden barks back. Glancing to Gabriel, Ethan's lips thin out for a moment. "Y'gonna read about vegetables or y'gonna cook shit?" Starting to look back at Edgar, he pauses. Looking back to Gabriel fully, "I didn't mean actually cook shit. Don't cook shit. I will not eat any actual feces you prepare. I meant cook something that we can eat while bein' crass at th'same time." He gives a solid nod. His secret ability of mind reading told him Gabriel was going to be a literal asshole.
Looking back at Edgar, Ethan flings the shoe at the can. Shoe-knife throwing is a little different from knife throwing. But fortunately for Edgar's head, Ethan is still an expert. Knife catching the can in the middle, shoe and vegetables soar to the ground together.
"Where was 'e? I would love to go find and kill 'im Edgar." I not we. "But 'e 'as a 'abit of crawling into various ass'oles and 'iding from knives."
What.
What is this.
His father figure is playing with knives with some other jerk and Gabriel is being told to cook.
I don't even.
Gabriel's lip curls a little to show a sliver of canine in nose-wrinkled annoyance, mostly because scraping food together is pragmatic enough that he will do it. In Eileen's stead, seeing as she isn't here to cook them anchovy pies and licorice pudding or whatever it is British people do. As if to show off, Gabriel even exeunts with Edgar's ability, becoming a stretching blur of movement that not only disappears in a blink of an eye for the direction of the staff room and its kitchenette, but also through the wall.
The clatter and scrape of cutlery and canned goods echoes back to them within moments.
There's a blur (just before the knife hits the can), that would be Edgar racing out from underneath it and then zipping a hand under it to keep it from falling. "I's by the station, tha's where 'e said 'e'd meet me." When the can hits the floor, the speedster gives a very slow clap of his hands only three times. Then they're smoothing down the sides of his pants to find… damn no pockets. It also looks like he's feeling himself down but it's okay, Ethan's an Englishman too.
"Righ' then… I can show yeh after we eat're somethen… maybe if you 'ave fancy trackin' skills like some kinda trackin' type person… What're they called again?" He pauses to think and then gives a weak shrug of his shoulders. "I dunno, mebbe you'll find 'im. 'E said 'e been leavin' you messages. They wouldn' 'appen teh be messages tha' involve people goin' kaboom, would they?"
Cocking his head to the side as Gurdeep feels himself over, Ethan pushes himself up from the desk. "I made a wrist-gun, too." Holden points out, yanking his thumb over his shoulder. His son figure may not appreciate his mechanical expertise, but maybe his new son figure will. Someone needs to start appreciating all this weird shit he's making or he's going to get very put out.
Crossing the managers office to the doorway, he gives a light nod. Before staring openly at Edgar, "A tracker." Ethan murmurs before moving out of his office. In the direction Gabriel blur'd to. Pausing he glances over his shoulder. "More stab wounds. Headshots. Not really a 'ole lot of bombs before now. Oh and blood on th'wall. That was fun." Taking a step forward he shakes his head. "I can track but I'm not really a tracker."
"More of a hunter."
