Participants:
| Scene Title | Sorry To Burst Your Bubble |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In which a Starbucks floods, Zavia meets a cautionary tale, and Cong practices his Mojo-Jojo impression. |
| Date | December 16, 2010 |
Northern Brooklyn - Starbucks
Northern Brooklyn bordering the Red Hook neighborhood is close enough to it to be considered less than posh, but far away enough from the more central locations of criminal activity to be conisdered safer. Many people that still work in the Red Hook area often trek to Brooklyn for midday breaks or breakfast. The most steady business is a small coffee shop, with that familiar green logo plastered on the window facing outside. It's a corner shop, with its breakfast rush having waned considerably; now, the only patrons of the place are those inside of it, and a short line of people still wandering in to buy a coffee or two to go.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Quite regular, really. Nothing happens in this part of town, people go about their day in peace. The weather is cold, though no snow falls, and the wind is thankfully only a crisp city breeze.
Nothing out of the ordinary is pretty much what Zavia is looking for right now. She heads her way into the starbucks, dressed in a militarty-style outfit without it technically being a uniform. Just something that resembles a real uniform, while being a civilian outfit, and recognisable as such to those who know their uniforms. She has her glock on her hip - not because she expects trouble, though. As she steps into line, the FRONTLINE officer off-duty glances around the place.
The front of the line is boring, if anything- some accountant with a bald spot and glasses waiting for his latte, picking out pennies from a fistful of pocket change. The barista behind the counter looks impatient with him, her jaw grinding just a little as he starts to count it all out a second time. She all but rolls her eyes, the tap of her shoe audible even from here. Between this and the easy chatter going on with the people sitting inside, there isn't much room to miss the sound that comes next-
The abrupt, bone-jarring screeching of metal peeling asunder, the crackle and thud of mortar and tile, a shrill scream from the ladies room- everything is suddenly loud, the floor coming from the back of the shop buckling as if pushed by a small quake. The ground shudders, the sounds of giant metal pipes rattling and pounding on their own. Next- water- everywhere, bursting like a small dam from the back and the restrooms, sloshing out over the coffee shop floor and fritzing into the wall sockets. Everyone that had ducked down to the floor to hide themselves from the haze of dust and cold air are now faced with either climbing onto the tables or facing some mild hypo-thermic reactions from getting soaking wet.
Oh, damn. That's not good. Immediately, Zavia calls 911, "O'Reilly, FRONTLINE. Currently off-duty, there's a little situation in a starbucks here." She proceeds to give the address, "Please send medical teams, we might have some potential hypothermia cases. I am investigating."
That said, Zavia actually draws her firearm and heads for the restrooms, trying to take a look in there, hoping to find out what the frack happened in there. She carefully looks around, and makes sure to stay moving.
The water pressure is quite formidable, threatening to take the best rooted feet from ground. A water main, most likely, popped like a bug. The trail to the bathrooms is a messy one, the floor uprooted in several places. Inside of the ladies restroom, it is an interesting sight. The wall of a few sinks has completely been blown apart from underneath, the mirror shattered into spiderwebs and water bubbling and gurgling out from the floor, which seems to have fallen down in on itself. Zavia won't have much time to gauge the actual damages before something else takes her attention.
The water coming from the ground, both blessedly and not, begins to quickly freeze through. The next gurgles of water come up only to flash frozen in mid-stream. There is a pause- an awkward moment, really, of water spray in the air, and a somewhat terrifying chill coming out of the hole in the floor. It is suddenly, and very clearly, arctic back here.
A resounding *CRACK* comes from below the frozen spout, and it splits in half, water funneling out again with that same ice freezing it as it rolls across the floor. The water gathers up into itself, the central point being the spout; it freezes and becomes thick, heavy ice, molding itself into something tall, broad, and jagged, scraping across the ceiling.
Oh how she wished she had her Horizon armor there. She turns around then, and shouts out, "Don't panic, calmly but expediently evacuate the establishment. I repeat, evacuate." Her Glock is still out, but the primary objective here is making sure people are safe. Catching the responsible person is another objective, but it's secondary to the people.
Responsible person can be a little bit of a stretch. There is a voice, echoing and rumbling out of the back when Zavia doubles around to direct people out-
"Curses! Curses…"
-but there can be a debate over whether it is human. Several people go as soon as they are told, even more have already panicked and run out the door, letting the water out into the street, clutching laptops and chattering teeth. Nobody wanted to do this, this morning. Who ever does? Back inside, the thing scraping up against the ceiling like some sort of dungeon blob has buckled towards the back, a landscaped hill of stalagmites pointed towards the entrance of the restroom. It's no longer connected entirely to the icy spout, now frozen over. For one, it seems to have trunk-like legs, and a spiny tail, half stuck to the floor. Not his best morning either.
Zavia turns around to face the ice monster, and heads its way. Taking a judgment call, she points her Glock at him while her eyes become white, and a milky white liquid starts to stream down from them, which slowly starts to dissipate and fill the air with sleep gas. Most of the people should already be outside her range, and if there's any chance this'll affect the ice being, she'll have to take it. She owes that much to the job. If it doesn't, well… there's still the Glock. "You there." She says, her gaze indicating the walking thing of ice, "Surrender yourself."
FRONTLINE picks its people well, if she is going to face down a hunched, broad-backed creature in a Starbucks restroom. Certainly one of the more odd incidents since Bao-Wei Cong began trolling underground. When it turns around- it does seem like she was addressing its back- one swiveling golden eye zeroes in on her first, a brilliant spot of color inside of an empty, dark socket, its twin empty and black. Both are square in that face of craggy features and jutting square jaw, rough with its own jagged lines. The humanoid features largely stop there under a pair of long, curled horns, and at its four limbs, two pendulous arms hovering ponderously in the air. The closer she comes, the colder it gets- far below freezing, far below zero, like a snowball down a steep hill. And not for wont of ice metaphors.
"Pah." Suppose that is a No, isn't it? The eye watches her closely, features impassive. Nothing happens to him. Nothing whatsoever. "I don't have time for this…"
Well, it that's a no. Zavia will have to make herself clear through more violent means. Martial Laws means that technically offering a chance at surrender was a courtesy anyway, so that Glock is aimed at one of those ice-like legs. And then it's fired. Only at the leg though, she's not aiming to kill… not yet, at least.
Normally, someone would fall over clutching at one leg, bemoaning the presence of an apparent cop. Cong simply watches the course of the bullet, a bit slowly, as only he can manage; the eye turns south to peer past a bristly mane of ice to where the bullet may have gone. He cannot tell, as he cannot see his feet, and there are no nerves, no bones, no organs- the bullet lodges itself in the ice, emasculated as can be. He looks back up with a sigh, a plume of cold white coming out of flattened nostrils and toothy maw.
"As much as I can… appreciate the sentiment…" His head turns downward, peering behind his other leg to the plugged hole. Slowly but surely, the water begins to trickle again, the ice cap webbing up with cracks. "I was being quite serious."
"Surrender yourself." Zavia repeats. "Or I will kill you." That threat isn't entirely hollow, as indicated by the movement of the gun from being aimed at the leg to the head. "I am O'Reilly, FRONTLINE. And the state of New York is currently under martial law. I am being quite generous by allowing you to surrender. You have three seconds to surrender yourself before I will fire with lethal intent."
Bao-Wei's chest seems to expand, air entering some hollow cavity somewhere- funneling- and leaving in a throaty laugh. A dry, derisive noise. "Or I will kill you." His mocking voice is slightly higher, his head seeming to cant at some invisible person there near him. "**I know where I am, I know what you people are doing. Be as merciful as you wish, O'Reilly." His hollow rumble mocks her twice in virtually the same breath. One arm, heavy with forearm and long, curled talons, lifts up to wag one 'finger' at her.
With the thought to better make good on her threat, Zavia pulls the trigged with the gun still aimed at the thing's head. Meanwhile, hopefully at least someone has taken the effort to provide the government with more details. Hopefullyt a pyrokinetic or something of the sort is on the way.
With his arm lifted already, a swift twitch brings the broadside of his paw level with her aim. He is faster than he looks. The bullet digs into the back of the limb. A snort comes from behind, and Bao-Wei tilts his head to glance at her before rounding his back on her again. This time, the tail dislodges from the floor and hovers upwards when his shoulders move down. The seesaw is all that he needs, to dig his hands into the ice of the cap and wrench it apart. With his back to her again, the golem speaks with a somewhat hurried pace.
"Do not waste your bullets on me. The water main burst. It was an accident, it was an old pipe that did not respond well to my temperature. I wasn't intending this. Now if you please…" He has to go, regardless of what she wants to do.
"Then show me your registration card." Zavia insists, "Or if you do not have any, come with me so we can get you registered properly." Her voice is firm, even if she is lowering her weapon. Her free hand moves back to her phone, pressing a few buttons to call up the commonwealth institute. "O'Reilly, FRONTLINE. Evolved on the loose, something with ice powers. Impervious to gunfire and my ability. Trying to talk, might need backup." She whispers into her phone, softly.
He laughs again, this time, the sound reverberates all through the room. The horned head turns to look at her, his eye alight with amusement. "Oh, they know me already… watch who you trust, woman. I used to work for big brother too, and look at me now! Look at what happened." The laughing buries itself deep in his words, and he goes right back to prying loose the cap of ice. It falls away after a tug, water bubbling up and over to the floor, freezing around his clawed feet.
"I will patch this again." Not the most interesting last words. Cong's form collapses in on itself like a bag being squeezed of air. The scrape of ice on ice on metal is the only sound for a few moments, as he streams himself down through the hole in the floor. True to his word, as he disappears back into the pipe- it freezes over again, the water blocked from escape again. The ice will melt, in time, but at least not until someone gets here to fix it.
"Nevermind. He's gone." Zavia whispers into the phone, "Thanks for listening, anyway." The FRONTLINE officer sighs, "Let's get started on the paperwork, then.." And with a sigh, she makes her way out of the starbucks, leaving the cleaning up to those more suited to actually do such. Back to the textile factory that serves as a HQ for FRONTLINE, so she can write up a report of what happened here.