String Thievery


sf_asami_icon.gif sf_brynn_icon.gif sf_faulkner_icon.gif sf_isa_icon.gif sf_jac_icon.gif sf_justice_icon.gif sf_kaylee_icon.gif sf_nova_icon.gif

Scene Title String Thievery
Synopsis Sometimes bad things happen to good people, but luckily for Nova, other people are there to set things right.
Date November 1, 2020

Prospect Park, Brooklyn

Hardly the much lauded New York City Marathon, this Brooklyn half marathon is still a big deal to many, especially those completing the trek through Brooklyn that leads to the party at Prospect Park. For all but the slowest but dedicated runners, the race is finished and it’s time to celebrate with friends or family who’ve come to cheer them on or their fellow racers.

Beyond the finish line are the stalls making up the health fair put on by Maimonides Medical Center, the charity that the race fees raised money for, though local vendors of all sorts have been invited to sell their wares by paying a stall fee — all for a good cause. Face painters and balloon artists entertain children, hot dog and bagel carts feed the hungry. The early autumn day is still warm enough that sno-cone, ice cream and paletas carts ringing cheerful bells draw children running their way. Musicians here or there busk ostensibly for charity — though it’s possible a few might be grifters, there’s no policing of the tips they make and they do help to create a party atmosphere that’s vibrant and lively.

While not an A-list celebrity by any means, Nova is too well known to pocket the money, and has in fact Tweeted and Insta’d and Snapped about her plan for the day — to play at the park to help raise more money, specifically for Maimonides Children Hospital.

A jar sits within her case, cheerfully painted in yellow and lavender Maimonides Children’s Hospital as she plays — no Saint-Saens or Mozart today, the cellist currently is caught up in the quick pace of a cover of Mumford and Sons’ “Little Lion Man.” Along with the less-formal music, she’s dressed much more casually than she had for her last public concert, today wearing a pair of short overalls atop a tie-dyed shirt and a pair of Converse.

Asami Tetsuzan is by no means here on purpose, but she's content to have come across the event nonetheless. Any festive break is worth enjoying. Like she often is, she roams the ground of the small fair alone, dressed down in an artfully colorstained white smock worn over a black three-quarter-sleeved shirt. There's a hint of blue in the shades she wears that echoes the hue of blue on the shirt also bearing splotches of red and green, and similarly a hint of a smile she wears every time she passes a happy family.

In response to the pang it gives her to be far from her own, she slides her phone from her pocket, taking small snapshots of the facepainters, the line of stalls. Her loved ones might not be here, but she can share the experience with them nonetheless. The sound of a string instrument pulls her attention, leading her steps in Nova's direction even if she can't see her just yet.

“Thank you, Barazani,” Kaylee offers pleasantly to her bodyguard when he produces a hoodie for her to put on now that she has cooled down some. He’s even polite enough to hold it where she can put it on. While he didn’t like being at someplace this crowded, he understood how important things like this race was to her. Running had been as important to her as dancing. Something to focus on that wasn’t the emptiness in her life. “I see your family came out,” she adds, giving a wave to the man’s family, his youngest waving back enthusiastically.

“Of course, any excuse to get the kids out,” Bob says gruffly, not really looking that direction. He was on the clock and had to stay focused. “Are you sticking around or going home?”

“Mmm… I think I’d like to see what vendors there are, plus I heard Miss Leverett was here to play,” Kaylee adds with a small smirk, her head turning to the sound of music. “I thought I would offer some support.” Bob doesn’t have an opinion on that, only nods and motions her to lead the way. So she follows the sound of the music.

Although it's something she only does because it's so important to Kaylee, Brynn was present for the run too. She's still walking a bit to cool down. Often when she runs these things she makes a point of hiding in the largest crowd of runners — she doesn't like people to notice her all that much. She's always grateful for the fact that Kaylee has kept the press mostly away from the girls so they don't require bodyguards, and as she takes a long drink, she looks around to see if her sister is anywhere nearby.

“Okay, so.” Jac extricates from a slow moving throng and deposits herself beside Brynn. She offers one of two foil-wrapped hotdogs to her older sister, while staring down a pathway that leads further into the wonderland of festivities. “I haven't seen everything yet, but there's a really good artist just that way.” Her head tips in the direction she's looking, and it's a safe bet that Brynn’s work has already been discussed at least briefly.

Taking a bite of her own hotdog, the younger Petrelli girl motions in another direction, not far off from the artist. “And, remember that musician I told you about?” She pauses to swallow the mouthful of food, then looks up at Brynn. “The one from Julliard. I heard from the face painters that she's here playing.”

If there's anyone who looks out of place here, it's the woman walking between stalls with wide blue cat eye sunglasses, a decidedly not casual pressed suit, and a blue rose pin on her lapel. In truth, she wouldn't be here at all normally, but Justice Quinn had promised to meet a coworker here today, and be their visible representation out at an event like this. Except, it seems like her coworker has opted out without telling her.

At the very least, she's thankful she didn't opt for heels or pumps today, the grey fall boots she wears a bit of a contrast to the rest of her, but well, some sacrifices have to be made. Adjusting her glasses, she stops and looks over at one stall selling food and briefly considers it, before instead turning her attention towards Nova.

Now, there was something worth coming out for. The slightest smile forms on her face as she makes her way over, lowering the purse on her arm so that she can dip into it if suitably impressed.

Isaac Faulkner had not run in the half-marathon this time — he has in the past, but alas, political aspirations necessitate sacrifice, and the principal form that sacrifice takes is time. So, instead of running in the half-marathon, he's parked in a booth with a handful of aides, interns, and bodyguards, passing out bottles of water and handshakes, speaking with constituents.

He's close enough to have a good view of Nova's busking spot, at least; a happy accident, that. Little Lion Man is a song he's not heard her play before, but he thinks she plays it well.

One of the runners slows down and stops near Nova's jar, hands on her knees but only for a second because duh cops be fit. Isabelle Khan squints her eyes at the sunlight and tilts her head back, hands on her head.

Hazel eyes survey the area and makes note of a few people she's run into over the years or knows personally. Greeting old friends could come later though, first, hydrate. Sucking on a tube running from a pack on her back, Isa tries to smile because this was all for a good cause.

John Fucking Logan being out in the world still be damned.

The song ends to a smattering of applause from those nearby and a few more dollar bills and quarters make it into the jar. The miniature faces of Ben Franklin and Alexander Hamilton and even a rare Andrew Jackson can be seen in the jar — it’s a big one, probably once holding Costco cheese balls or kettle corn before being repurposed. Perhaps a bit optimistically on Nova’s part.

She smiles at those nearby applauding, and when someone yells out the inevitable, “Play Free Bird!” the classical cellist laughs, and obliges — but only for a few chords, enough to be recognizable, before she segues into something Hozier’s “Take Me to Church.”

“Hey, it’s Kaylee Petrelli!”

The shout comes from what looks to be a 16 or 17-year-old boy with scruff hair and a Misfits shirt on — not exactly the normal follower of New York’s societal elite.

Still, people’s heads turn in Kaylee’s direction and a few cell phones come out to snap photos of her, crowding around her, some pulling out paper and pens to ask for an autograph.

Caught up in her music, her eyes closed, Nova doesn’t hear that diversion, nor see the two hooded teenagers on skateboards racing toward her. One scoops up the tip jar, but the other, realizing that’s only petty cash, grabs her instrument. Her eyes fly open and she tries to hold on to it, but finds it ripped out of her hands.

She’s too stunned to scream for too long of a moment, as the two begin to move away with their looted goods.

“Come on,” Jac urges Brynn, going so far as to even tug her sister’s arm when the first strains of music reach her above the sound of the crowds. The look that follows is a well known one between the Petrelli girls, I’ll leave you behind if you don't — not that it's ever actually happened yet.

Using her hotdog to point the way, the younger sister plows ahead a few steps, because she has to prove her point that Brynn is going to be left behind, then tips a quick look over her shoulder. She might bolt if she has to, there's a touch of mischief in that look, even though it lasts for all of a second. Her head swivels when someone calls out about their mom being in the crowd.

Instinct tells her to roll her eyes and indulge in teenage annoyance. She might even be tempted to oblige, given her effort to pinpoint Kaylee’s location based on the rippling through the crowd. There's no reason that it should occur to her that it's anything other than a constituent or someone hoping to gain influence. That it's anything more than the usual hits her with the weight of a seventeen year old fleeing with an oversized jar of stolen money on a skateboard.

The collision with the thief knocks the hotdog from Jac’s hand as surely as it knocks her from her feet. Limbs flail and tangle in defiance of gravity; desperate to cling and slow the inevitable, she grabs at the boy’s shirt, shoulders, whatever she can find purchase on.

This was exactly what Kaylee didn’t want to happen, distracting from the young musician, but there it was. There would be pictures of her not looking her best, with basic makeup and sweats for the run. People will have a field day, not that she really cared. Corbin and Lou might balk though.

Putting on her best smile, Kaylee quickly finds herself surrounded by people. Signing autographs and taking selfies with others, while trying to steer the throng away from Nova enough so as not to disturb her performance.

At least Bob could earn his keep. Him and the sudden additional guard who imposes herself at Kaylee’s back. Though short and stout, the small hispanic woman holds her own against the throng of people pressing in for photos and autographs. Her main bodyguard is less than pleased with it all, leaning close enough to suggest, “Maybe staying wouldn’t be such a good idea."

Kaylee couldn’t help but agree. There is an apologetic glance towards Nova, just in time to see the theft, a gasp escaping her, but stuck as she is… Kaylee can’t even help if she could. What could she even do? It was a police matter after all.

Until one runs into Jac. That is different. With repeated apologies to everyone she’s blowing off, Kaylee hurries to make sure her daughter was okay.

Phone in hand to record, Asami catches both acts of thievery, brow popping high in untempered shock. She doesn't even know if she's caught the faces of the two properly, but she'll have to check later.

"Someone get the violin!" she shouts, loud. She knows better than appeal to any authority, and instead hopes a different sort of justice will intervene. "They took her violin!" From where she is, Asami can't do more than that. She winces when she sees one of them collide with a bystander, tensing further when she sees it's one of her students. Her authoritative voice turns into a growl as she lurches in that direction. "Hey!"

There is a roll of Brynn's eyes at Jac — the two stick together more often than not. The hot dog in her free hand, her other hand being tugged upon to get her to follow along, the petite brunette finally starts following the younger teen. "All right, all right!" she grouses good-naturedly. The music only barely penetrates the background noise for her — there's too large a crowd for her to parse out separate sounds, really.

She's grateful that Jac is sticking close now, with people milling here and there around them. Usually Brynn avoids such large crowds. She's turning her eyes in the direction that Jac's going, but the rest of what happens in the crowd is lost on her.

When the skateboarder slams into Jac, the impact rips her sister in one direction and sends Brynn stumbling away at an angle, off balance and startled. Her own hot dog lands on someone's sweatshirt as it flies out of her hands and the only reason she herself isn't flat on her ass in the park is because the person she trips into has the presence of mind to grab her and steady her. She can't hear a thing the guy is saying to her, though.

Senator Faulkner is still sitting in his booth wearing his plastic smile, waiting for the next constituent to stop by so he can exchange some inane smalltalk and give them some swag, wondering how much longer he's going to be stuck here.

That changes when the music stops.

His head turns towards Nova; the smile doesn't go away, but his gaze is suddenly sharper. He hears when someone — is that Asami? — yells something about how they've taken her violin.

There is, first, a sense of shock. Then, hot on its heels, a flame of hot red rage. He crushes it down into a sphere, into a point, into nothing. As a senator, he doesn't have the time to indulge rage, doesn't have the luxury of letting it dictate his actions — it is expected that those in high office should exhibit self-control, or at the very least discretion, which means jumping out and tackling some asshole street thief is going to be a non-starter. The price of fame.

Still, that doesn't mean he's going to stand idly by. "I'm stepping out for a moment; mind the tent," he says to one of the interns, glancing to a bodyguard and jerking his head towards the outside. He steps out and begins walking towards where Nova is — or was — busking, black-suited bodyguard in tow.

Justice is in the process of pulling a rather large bill out of her purse when she first hears Kaylee's name. Like several others she turns to look, an eyebrow raised as she wonders why a Petrelli would come out to something like this. With a heavy sigh, she peels her eyes away and back to the busking musician - just in time to see the tip jar getting lifted.

Eyes widen, and Justice takes a half step forward. "Hey! Hey!!" There's an anger in her eyes, though she doesn't take off running after the thief - she wouldn't dare in these shoes. "Comment oses-tu!"

She seems momentarily desperate for some way to intervene, before regaining her composure and adjusting her collar. "What absolute nerve," she mutters, before turning her attention to Nova. Slow, she makes her way over to the musician. "Excuse me, Miss."

"Come on…" Isa sighs as the commotion starts and she witnesses the theft, already running over when they've made their mad dash. This was supposed to be her day off. Arms pumping at her sides as she passes Nova. "Stop! NYPD!"

Hopping over a bench and grunting as she goes.

Shahid always invited her on the jogs, she only took the offer half the time. After this she'd accept every time.

When Jac collides with him, the jar thief flails wildly; his skateboard shoots out from beneath him and in his own struggles to regain his balance, one hand collides with the petite girl’s face, to the loud gasp of the witnesses. The other loses hold of the large jar, sending it to the ground. Plastic as it is, it rolls before it’s plucked up by a boy who identified Kaylee. He holds it against his chest proudly and begins to walk away.

The cello thief’s a better skater, and took the road less traveled by when he saw his partner in crime get caught up in the throng of Petrelli girls and other parkgoers. He gets far enough away that the people he skates through don’t realize he’s a criminal — until Asami’s sharp voice reaches them.

Most do nothing to help, but at least they clear the way when Isa’s yell identifies herself as the NYPD.

Nova seems frozen in place, one hand still on her bow, her gaze on her fingers, their tips cut by the strings where the instrument had been ripped from her hands. Expression dazed, she looks up at Justice when the woman approaches her. Faulkner’s familiar face appears behind Justice. His presence seems to ground her and focus comes back into her eyes.

“They were working together. He knows who he is,” Nova says, her voice uncharacteristically sharp, turning to where she saw the jar thief in the accidental melee with Jac. “Is she okay?” she asks, her voice softer with worry.

When a policewoman identifies herself and takes off after the stolen goods, Asami finds some relief in that, even grudgingly. She doesn't have the time to reflect on it yet, still focused on the thief that remains. She grabs the fallen skateboarder by his collar to drag him away from Jac and also keep him from escaping.

"Do you have a particular problem with children in need," she asks him flatly, "or are you just an asshole?"

She glances away momentarily to Jac, but between her sister and her mother on approach, she's sure the teen will be fine. The would-be thief receives a glare as she looks back to him.

"I hope so," Faulkner says, but he doesn't even turn to look at the thieves; his gaze remains riveted on Nova's hand. Her fingers. The blood.

He is frozen for just a moment… then he steps forward, pulling a kerchief from his pocket. "You're bleeding," he says, his voice unusually quiet for him; moving almost delicately, he reaches for her hand, to dab away the blood and wrap the kerchief around her fingertips.

Kaylee reaches her daughter with guards in tow and the crowd she’d gather, no doubt. While the woman kneels next to her youngest and fusses, Barazani and the guard with him, keep the crowd back as best they can.

“What’s wrong with you,” she hisses at the thief, shoving him away from her daughter so she can get to Jac. It takes everything in Kaylee not to throttle the boy that hurt her daughter and disrupted the event. Such actions would have a negative effect on the family name.

Besides, Kaylee was no fighter.

That was the job of people like Isa and others of the NYPD, her focus was Jac. “You okay?” Of course, when it comes to the idea of being okay… there were varying degrees of okay.

The ground seems to meet Jac half way, encouraged to rush by the hand that made her face crunch painfully. Her hands abandon the futile attempt to catch herself to protectively cover and cradle everything between her eyes and nose. The asphalt catches her like a bear hug, but without any give or welcoming squeeze.

She rolls to her side after a second, hands still covering her face. Blood seeps past the heels of her palms and drips onto the ground beneath her chin.

“I'm fine.” This from a child Kaylee and Brynn have known to get all degrees squeamish over anything involving blood and discomfort. Of course the time she's spent under Asami’s instruction and the subsequent welts and aches that eventually come with learning swordplay, maybe Jac has toughened up a little bit. “I'm okay.”

Brynn is extricating herself from a tangle of limbs with the guy who reached instinctively to stop someone from falling on him. She is red in the face, mortally embarrassed. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs again and again. He seems perfectly fine, just jostled really. In seconds, they're all surrounded by her mother's bodyguards, and things go from — to her perspective — bad to worse. This is drawing all kinds of eyes. And Jac's bleeding. Oh geeeez….

"Mom, she's gonna blow chunks," Brynn warns as soon as she sees the blood dripping out of Jac's fingers. She's not sure if the younger girl got hit in the nose or what — it seems likely — but she knows how her sister reacts to blood: fainting or barfing.

She slips past Barazani, pulling the light scarf from her neck and holding it out to her mother. Maybe they can stop the expulsion of all the street food Jac has sampled before it happens.

Startled, Justice looks over at Senator Faulkner and blinks, before looking back at Nova. Her initial surprise over being ignored - something she is not at all used to - fades quickly as she realises that this young woman appears to have friends in high places.

Straightening her skirt, she reaches back into her purse and, after a moment of rummaging, produces a pair of bandaids. With a starkly impassive expression she offers them down to Nova, ostensibly for her finger. A turn of wrist and a small flourish of her fingers also reveals a small collection of bills - and even at first glance, not small ones, though she tries to keep them visible only to Nova.

"A donation for a performance well done, even before a pair of jackasses ruined it."

Isa really wanted to punch this kid in the face.

She huffs and puffs after the skater but it's hard to keep up when a guy is on wheels. That gives the detective an idea as she passes a woman walking alongside her bike. "Sorry ma'm! NYPD," flashing her badge from the pockets of her pants and taking hold of the handle bar. "I'll return this, promise."

Swinging her leg over Isa bikes after the thief, "Stop!! God damn it-"

She really wants a drink. She really wants a pill.

Nova’s eyes find Faulkner’s when he reaches for her hand, hinging on his face as she takes a deep breath. Only then does she look down at her fingertips, which breaks the little spell. She winces, fingers curling at the gentle touch of the handkerchief. “Thank you,” she murmurs, before turning when Justice hands her bandaids and then money.

“Thank you, too. You must be a mom,” she says, in regards to the bandages, though it’s just as likely the woman is someone used to wearing blister-causing shoes in New York.

When the cellist sees how much money is in the wad, she shakes her head and pushes it back toward Justice, protesting. “That’s so nice of you, but I don’t have receipts or anything for tax purposes, ma’am, and you want credit for that much of a donation, I think.”

Despite being friends with the senator, Nova still thinks $350 is a large donation.

Between Justice and Isaac, they’ve taken her mind off the theft — at least for a moment. But her blue eyes turn to the distance again, to peer over the crowd of people in search of the instrument. She can’t see past the throng of people surrounding the Petrellis. “Is she okay?” she calls out to the mob of people surrounding

Asami’s captured thief squirms to break away from the woman’s dragging grasp. He’s taller than she is, but not stronger, not in the sort of strength that really counts. “It wasn’t personal,” he protests. “Besides, I’m a child in need, too!”

That draws a laugh from some of the onlookers.

Now at the edge of the park, the teen carrying the cello is slowing a little, finding it hard to navigate with the added weight and bulk of the large instrument. He looks over his shoulder when Isa calls to him from her commandeered Schwinn, then back at the street.

A double-decker tourist bus approaches from the east. He turns to look at Isa once more, before hopping the curb to cross in front of it, barely clearing it.

When the bus finally finishes passing, there’s no sign of the boy on the other side.

Justice recoils a bit, apparently somewhat aghast at the idea of her being a mom. Her brow furrows and she sucks a deep breath. There's no need to tell the stranger that she's just clumsy and band aids seem like a smart thing to have around at all times.

"No need for a receipt," she remarks somewhat flatly. "Don't consider it a donation, then. Consider it an investment. I enjoy investing in good music." Donations can be saved for the MET and Broadway and whoever else decides that the arts and music are in danger in a few weeks when the holidays roll around. "Would you rather it be in another container, so you can't see how much it is?" The comment is earnest, if unintentionally snide. But the point is made - she might have left this much anyway, for all Nova knows.

Still, she smiles. "I won't force it on you, but do consider." The money slips back into her palm but isn't put away, Justice turning to watch the scene continue to unfold for just a moment. "Shit," she mumbles as the boy gets away with her cello. Again she reaches into her purse, and produces a business card. "Besides. It seems you might need a replacement," she intones gravely, offering the card and, once more, the money.

At that moment, Kaylee wasn’t the Petrelli heiress, she was simply a mom worried about her youngest child. “Thank you, baby,” Kaylee says as she snags the scarf from Brynn’s hands. “We’ll replace it first thing.” It was easy enough. Rolling it up she starts to press it to Jac’s nose and stops herself, instead pulling one of the girl’s hands away so that she can press it into the teen’s hand and get a look at her nose.

“That nose needs to get looked at,” Kaylee says with a hiss of sympathy. Turning to where the imposing figure of Bob stands. “Mr. Barazani. We’re going to need the car, please.” Kaylee says loud enough for the guard to hear.

“Of course,” He says gruffly and pulls a phone out of his pocket to do so.

Faulkner gives a hint of a wry grin at Nova's thanks, and a slight nod… but when Nova breaks eye contact and turns her attention to the woman, Faulkner takes a step back, his attention going to the woman with the bandaids…

…a woman who looks familiar, now that he's looking at her. For a moment he frowns, trying to figure out where he knows her from… then it hits him. Quinn. The prosecutor.

How interesting.

But now that he's sure Nova's alright, there are other matters to attend to. He remembers hearing someone mention Kaylee Petrelli earlier, and a quick look around reveals the familiar form of her bodyguard… amidst a throng of people.

He glances back to Nova and inclines his head to her with a faintly rueful smile — duty calls, then slips off to check on the Petrellis. He weaves his way through the crowd until he's close enough to see Kaylee — hovering over one of her kids, who looks like she's taken a solid straight to the nose. Oof. "Kaylee!" he calls, slipping closer, paying Kaylee's bodyguard no heed — the man knows who he is. "I've got a tent set up over there," he says, gesturing with his head towards his campaign tent. "We've got chairs and water."

His gaze comes back to Jac, and he grimaces in sympathy. "Also some ice," he adds. "Might help keep the swelling down. You look like you got hit pretty hard.

The petite brunette in running gear steps back after Kaylee takes the scarf, and she looks around at the gathered people a little anxiously. It was just an accident — well, it was an accident that happened because of a crime. But she's not involved in any of that and stays a step off to the side near the Petrelli bodyguards. Clearly she's going to simply wait for her mother and sister.

Asami levels a scathing look down at the boy who can't escape her, tightening her grasp on his shirt so it won't clear his chin should he try to wrangle out of its noose. Then she leans to the side, patting his pockets for a wallet. If he does escape, she wants to at least know who he is.

"Call back your friend with the jar of money and maybe the police don't need to get involved." Aside from the one that took off after the cello.

She glances up for a moment to note the Senator nearby, then just as quickly moves on from that and focuses on what's in front of her. He seemed well-enough occupied with other aspects of this moment anyway, which suits her just fine.

Scarf and hands are both pressed to Jac's face, after a brief interlude in which she twists like a cat trying to avoid the bath it's already in. Only for her it's in an effort to keep blood from traveling anywhere nearer to her person. “I'm fine,” she insists, muffled behind the folds of her elder sister’s scarf. It's joined with a quick look in Brynn’s direction. She heard that comment — even if she does look a little green, that doesn't mean she's going to throw up.

Dragging her legs around, with hands gingerly and one at a time touching the pavement, the youngest Petrelli girl gets herself to sitting upright. “Someone ran into me,” she explains around the scarf, unaware of the full reason for the collision. “It's fine. Just neither of us watching where we're going.”

This just got a whole lot worse.

"N-No wait!" Fearing that the boy would be run over by the bus she pedals harder but doesn't make it. He clears it and isn't seen again. Isa swears to herself as she breathes heavily, chest rising and falling like a hammer to a nail.

Shaking her head, she waits for a moment but the boy is gone and so is the cello.

It takes her some time after she finds the civilian whose bike she took and then she jogs back towards where everyone else is. Slowing herself down, she raises a hand and waves it in Nova's direction. "Sorry ma'm, kid got away but I have a pretty good description of him if you wanted to make a report."

Isa takes a look over the others and goes for her phone, the young Petrelli girl might need medical attention. Asami's dealing with the other young culprit has Isa narrowing her eyes at the boy and shrugging her shoulders.

"Too late. We're already here."

Nova’s brows draw together at the look of annoyance and she nods, handkerchief-wrapped fingers accepting the money. “Thank you. It’s very nice of you,” she says softly. “I’ll make sure the charity gets it.”

Never mind she might need a new cello.

Her dazed blue eyes flit from person to person — Asami and the boy, Faulkner and the Petrellis, and Isa as she returns the bike, no cello or boy in tow.

Tears well up in her eyes and she merely nods once to Isa.

The boy pulls to get away from Asami, and he shakes his head. “I don’t know either of them! We just skate here sometimes, and don’t, you know, know each other. It was, what’s it called. Not premeditated. That means it’s not as bad, right?”

Nova shoots him an angry look. “That only matters in murder, I think,” she says sharply. “And your friend just stole a $20,000 cello.” It’s hardly petty theft when the instrument costs more than some cars.

The boy’s eyes widen. “For that?” If looks could kill, the boy would be dead a few times over by now.

The moment it becomes clear the cop has returned, Asami lets go of the boy's scruff, a blank look pokering her face. She's abruptly found herself with the need to be doing nothing that could be considered assault, should anyone glance at the situation the wrong way— should the boy get wise and decide to press countercharges, and worse— should they actually go through.

No. She's done what she could do keep him here and she'll do no more.

"I was able to get footage of the skateboarder," Asami offers up in a demure, but clear calm to Isa. "If that would be of any use, I'd be happy to email it to you."

“I would feel better if you got it looked at,” Kaylee says, not really budging on the matter. “I could hear the sound all the way over where I was.” Her hands fidget, wanting to fuss even move over her poor daughter's nose. She was hurt. “If it's broken, it’ll need to be set quickly.”

Issac’s arrival gets a smile from Kaylee. “Issac you are a godsend, as always,” she says sounding relieved, “I think ice would really help here, thank you so much.” Straightening, she offers her hand down to her youngest, though while she does she asks him slyly, “How is Miss Leverett doing? She must be devastated.”

‘You should go be her knight Issac!’ is what isn’t said by the Petrelli woman.

There is a hint of a tip of her head in the girl’s direction as Kaylee adds, “We can manage from here, I’m sure your people can handle it.”

All the fussing would usually result in a huffed breath, maybe a look of annoyance, and a lot of sullen suffering. As Jac finds her feet again the sullenness is there, mostly in a look likely seeking rescue that goes to Brynn first then soon after finds Asami. When it circled around to Faulkner, it's mixed with confusion. There was more to the disturbance that she had missed. “What happened to Miss Leverett?”

"Appreciate it, we could use that footage," Going for a card in her wallet, Isa extends it towards the other woman before she gives Nova a sad smile and rounds back on the kid. "20k… that could get you locked up my friend." One hand on her hip and leaning down to stare the kid in the eyes.

"Or you could give up your friends, help me get that cello back and I'm sure the young lady here wouldn't be trying to press charges." Isa leans back and stands straight and tall.

"Think about it, real carefully."

Brynn asides to Jac, "Asshole stole her cello." Her arms are crossed across her chest and she's glaring in the direction of the kid they have on the ground. She's not going over there to get involved, but she does murmur, "I hope she had it insured." At least it will be replaced that way.

Kaylee's actually fairly subtle prod isn't missed; under other circumstances, Faulkner might be inclined to give her a smirk. But not now; there's a time for all things.

"She seemed to be doing alright for the moment," Faulkner says, the statement serving double duty to answer both Kaylee and Jac. Faulkner hesitates for a moment to return to Nova… but Kaylee's right. Faulkner nods. "I'll let you get to it, then," he says, offering a tight smile. Kaylee's good with people, and the personnel manning the campaign tent were specifically selected as least likely to embarrass themselves or their employer in public; none of them are idiotic enough to think that turning away a bloodied and injured girl is good optics. And if they are… well. He can deal with that. Removing anyone that stupid before they can pollute the gene pool would practically be a public service.

So the Petrellis are taken care of for the moment; back to Nova, then, who is looking like the shock is starting to wear off and she might be in need of some support. He starts back towards her, along the way making eye contact with —

— oh, look. It was Asami.

Hm. A coincidence. Not a thing Isaac Faulkner is particularly enamored of… but it's a free world, isn't it? And it's certainly a good thing she'd been here, as she seems to have collared one of the nasty little rodents who'd jumped Nova. Good on her.

His gaze moves on before he can overthink this — paranoia's not something he can afford to indulge, and besides, there are more important matters at hand at the moment. His gaze settles on Nova, who is now looking somewhere between tearful and furious. Time to get in there. And as for the paparazzi…

fuck the paparazzi. He'll deal with the gossip later. Right now, Nova needs support, and he intends to do his best to provide it.

"It's not—" Justice lets out a frustrated sigh as Nova moves to approach one of the two thieves. "It's for you," she grumbles as she turns and starts away from the scene, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Either way, she's unwilling to press the issue more, particularly in the face of what's going on. No good deed, so on and so forth. She's done what she can at this clown show, and she'd rather leave before she gets caught up in it further.

A glance is given over to Kaylee, and then to the immensely out of place senator. Any other day, she would want to see what an interesting crowd had to say.

For now, she's done with this, it's time to move on and home. Adjusting the collar of her suit, finger bushing over the blue rose lapel pin, she looks around in hopes of spying the whole reason she came out to this in the first place. This only serves as a reminder why it wasn't her idea.

The boy glares at Isa sullenly — until Asami speaks up, saying she has footage. “All right, fine,” he says, pulling out his cell phone. “I want a plea bargain or something. That’s how it works, right? I get less time or whatever if I turn in my friends? Just don’t tell them I did it.”

Nova looks apologetically after Justice as the other woman stalks off, but she stoops down to sort her belongings - the unpartnered bow gets set in its place in the case, the case closed and latched — as light as it is without its resident cello, she can sling it over her shoulder easily. When she sees Faulkner moving her way, she manages to smile, brushing the back of her hand across each eye.

With cameras present, she fights against the instinct to run into his arms for comfort, but seeing him there seems to ground her a little, and she raises her chin and squares her shoulders. “Glad you’re here,” Nova tells him. “I could use your legal advice, Senator,” she adds, smile just a little cheeky, as if that might be a euphemism.

She turns then to Asami, reaching out a hand to touch the other woman’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help. And poor Jac, I guess she helped too, if a little on accident. I’ll have to send her a thank you note,” the cellist says, looking for Isa where the officer is dealing with the crook.

“So I guess I need to file a police report.” It’ll be a long afternoon, but thanks to the work of a few friends and strangers, eventually Nova's cello will be back in her hands.

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