Terrorist Type Thing


toru_icon.gif griffin_icon.gif

Scene Title Terrorist Type Thing
Synopsis After escaping the party, Toru trips over his very own bag full of white guy.
Date December 24, 2010

Some Cold Shanty-Town

After the excitement of Nick the Bomb finished up, the party-goers on —> that side of the event were shuffled out to the street for safety and paramedics and police ID checks.

That… is so not Toru's thing. And thus he weaselled his way out <— the other way, with the intent to skip the whole place entirely and make his way back home the short way.

This path takes him out through a shanty town where he looks entirely out of place but which, considering his current living situation, isn't an entirely inappropriate destination. Not that he plans on staying very long, of course, except that at some point during his escape he trips over a lump of tent and gangly terrorist and lands flat on his face.

Just five more minutes, mom. Just five more minutes, and I'll get up and get ready for school. Just let me rest for five minutes.

After his daring escape from The Tavern, Griffin Mihangle promptly fell asleep in mid-air thanks to two sleep-inducers, and ended up crashing down here, wrapped in an old, patched up tent that has certainly seen better days. Thank god for his vectors, or he would have probably turned into a stain on the ground rather than a lump of tent and terrorist. For now, though, he's enjoying his little unwilling nap, and has been doing so for about five minutes now.

Toru's first clue that the tent is not just a tent is likely that tired groan that comes from it when he trips over it. No, I don't want to wake up, just let me sleep a little bit longer. That's what his body is telling him. But his mind…that comes into clear focus a little belatedly.

And when it does, the tent suddenly seems to explode, though without the use of fire. Instead, it is the telekinetic's vectors that are ripping free of the tent, which in turn rips the tent free of Griffin. Another telekinetic hand is pressed up against the back of Toru's head while the rest throw the tent to various corners of the shanty village, even as the lanky terrorist is floating up to his feet, glancing around with panicked eyes that glow an eerie bluish-white.

It may take him a second to get his barings.

After that little stumble, Toru takes in a long, deep breath, gasping for air for a minute given that the fall seriously knocked the wind out of him. Knees probably bruised a little, clothes are all dirty now, and with a grunt he goes to push himself up and rub his face and neck with a groan. Lots of animal noises, here.

The only problem is that while he's recovering from his fall, there's a series of very strange noises coming from behind him. Only he doesn't have much of a chance to actually see what's going on before there's something grabbing the back of his head and he lets out a yelp of surprise, hands going back instantly to grab at his — grabber — and struggle against it. "Hey! Get the fuggoffame, what the hell're you doin'!!"

Toru manages to grab onto the 'wrist' of that invisible telekinetic appendage. But even as the small Asian boy is grabbing at it, that hand moves, gripping the back of his collar and promptly lifting him to his feet. Staying behind Toru, multiple hands promptly invade pockets, searching for something. What's strange is, if Toru looks down, despite the hand shapes moving in his pockets there is nothing there.

Finally, Griffin steps into view, his gaze still casting about erratically. He's in the homeless village, Central Park. The wall that separated him from the ruins now separates him from d'Sarthe's, and there is nobody on this side looking for him. For now.

After a moment, those eerily glowing eyes turn back toward Toru, telekinetic hands withdrawing from his pockets. "Dangerous out here. You should find cover, kid." Those invisible hands let go, gently setting Toru on the ground. Then, Griffin is turning southward, and he starts walking in that direction with a purpose to his strangely light stride.

Toru's pockets contain pretty much just a wallet, phone and, for some reason, an untied bowtie; as creepy invisohands dig through his pockets he swats at them with irritated noises, along with general creeped-outedness at them being all.. invisible.

He looks up at Griffin, though, when the other man steps into view, and his expression turns to one of mild surprise. "Hey, I know you!" When he's released, he tugs at his shirt to get everything all in order, shrugging his shoulders and twisting a bit. Much better. "And I'm not a kid. Where have I seen your skinny ass before? Get back here!" He turns to follow Griffin southwise, not really having anywhere he needs to be himself right now anyway.

Griffin doesn't stop walking. Now that Toru's a little closer, it looks like his feet are barely even touching the ground, like his step is feather light. He keeps going like this, moving as quickly as he can. For a long moment, it just seems like he's going to ignore Toru, doing his best to cover as much ground as he can in his belatedly hasty escape. Stupid sleep inducers. Note to self, grab a gas mask from Ash's armory and carry it everywhere. Ear plugs would be good, too.

Finally, however, he turns, staring thoughtfully at Toru as he walks along, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. He's a little underdressed for the weather, his coat left back in coat check at d'Sarthe's, where it will probably be pounced upon by the feds. Those eyes certainly don't look that normal shade of green that they always were in Moab.

After a moment, Griffin quietly turns his eyes back toward his path, frowning. "Moab."

The sound of that word is enough to stop Toru dead in his tracks for a solid few seconds. Mouth frozen open in mid-noun, expression etched in terror, and with all the champagne he had at the party it's fortunate that he doesn't make a mess of himself.

If there's anything left in this world that frightens Toru, Moab is it.

He does recover from that moment in time to catch up with Griff again before the man can get away from him, but before he says anything he works his tongue around in his mouth, getting some moisture back in there. Holding it open does tend to dry it out a little. Finally, though, he offers, a bit more somberly, "There were Feds back there. I don't.. I haven't gotten caught doing anything since then, but.. y'know, these days it's hard to stay under the radar." He has no idea what Griffin's involved in, obviously.

"The Feds at the Gala were after me." Griffin states this matter-of-factly as he leads the way, deeper and deeper into the ruins, and further and further away from the shit storm that is The Tavern and d'Sarthe's. After a moment, he just stops using his feet, floating up off of the ground. He's still stiff, sore now after falling asleep in mid-air and crash landing here in safety, and walking is just too much effort for him right now. So he keeps moving, though now he's flying. Or so it seems.

"I'm a known terrorist. They've killed my sister looking for me, traumatized my son for life, and now they've attacked me in a public place." Griff turns, frowning down at Toru. "Sorry for ruining your party, kid." Then, intensely focused eyes turn back toward his path. For the record, he's moving slow enough to allow Toru to keep up with him, though he could be slingshotting along if he so desired.

"I'm probably not the most desirable person to be following around. People see you with me, they're likely to associate you as a terrorist, as well." The man frowns. Fucking government— he was there to stop the damn bomber that definitely did attack d'Sarthe's.

And somehow, all of this has to do with one Colonel Heller. He just knows it. Merry Christmas, indeed.

"There was a bomb, I didn't see you anywhere near that —" Really, Toru hadn't seen Griffin at the party at all. Not that he was looking, but he'd have noticed the man if he was involved in the action on his end. "Anyway, people see me, whatever, we all look the same, right?" A wry chuckle there.

"You're seriously creeping me out here, by the way," he adds, in regards to the power use, but shakes his head and runs a hand over his hair. "I got other things to worry about than all this shit. I ain't been able to talk to anybody
"There was a bomb, I didn't see you anywhere near that —" Really, Toru hadn't seen Griffin at the party at all. Not that he was looking, but he'd have noticed the man if he was involved in the action on his end. "Anyway, people see me, whatever, we all look the same, right?" A wry chuckle there.

"You're seriously creeping me out here, by the way," he adds, in regards to the power use, but shakes his head and runs a hand over his hair. "I got other things to worry about than all this shit. I ain't been able to talk to anybody about Moab in a long time, you know." You might have gotten yourself a new puppy, Griff. "And it wasn't my party. I was just there for booze and tail." One hand absently moves to his pocket to rub the bowtie jammed in there, an eyebrow lifted at his own unusual behavior on that subject. "You maybe could try not being such a terrorist, y'know?"

"The bomb was Humanis First. My organization and I were there to stop them. Sadly, being a wanted terrorist, the feds decided to try and get me. They were likely here for me— I don't think they knew much about the bomb." Griffin runs a hand through his hair with a frown. So they did end up trying to bomb the restaurant. He hopes that Melissa and Perry are okay.

"Get used to it. You're the one who is following me." Griffin shoves his hands into his pockets, huddling slightly against the cold. "If you don't like it, you're more than welcome to stop following me."

"I'm not much fun to talk to these days. Moab was moab— it was a shit-hole, a place of torture, and the government was horribly wrong to do it to us all. But it didn't end with Moab. It will never end, so long as we let it continue. Look at Roosevelt Island. It's a fucking prison camp with fixed up neighborhoods." Griffin fetches a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it up. He doesn't smoke often, but now seems like a very good time to get cancer.

"Look at Registration. Look at us. They imprisoned us, and I'm sure that if they had their way, we would still be in a prison for Evolved. I'd rather not stop being such a terrorist. Not when my son is growing up in a world like this. I don't want history to repeat itself for him." He's probably not helping the fact that Toru is probably going to be his new puppy, really.

If Toru were more family-minded, he'd probably ask about who's going to be taking care of Griffin's kid, but … he's not, so he doesn't. Instead he just sort of shrugs, hands still in pockets, shambling behind the older guy a bit lazy-like. "It's just kinda fucked up goin' around carryin' that with you and not havin' anybody you can talk to. 'Cause everyone's either a cop or they don't give a shit or they'll tell the cops or.. somethin'. I had a run-in with some dumbass Fed once who wanted to pull me in for— bein' too good lookin' or something, I dunno. That's the closest I got since then."

And it's all pouring out. "Fine, whatever, do your terrorist thing, don't really matter to me anyways. Just, er.." He stops a minute, scratching the back of his neck, and looks awkwardly over to Griff. "D'you know if worryin' about gettin' caught again is something I really, like, legit gotta do? I don't even know if I'm on a list or somethin' or if I'm bein' all paranoid for no reason, like." Brooklyn accent really accentuates itself when he's trying to sound thuggy.

The floating man is gracious enough to stop this time, turning in mid-air to stare thoughtfully at the wannabe thug. After a long moment, he drifts down to the ground, and his eyes fade from their eerie glow, revealing the green eyes that Toru remembers from Moab. He tilts his head toward Toru thoughtfully. "I have people to talk to. I just don't talk, normally." A shrug rolls over his shoulders as he turns his gaze towards the north briefly, frowning.

It's Christmas Eve and he's still not back at the island. And who knows if he can get back there. He's an awful father, he's certain. Poor Owain…the boy doesn't deserve the fate he's been subjected to.

Then, Griffin is suddenly drawing closer to the boy. One long-fingered hand reaches out to hook under Toru's chin, lifting it to peer thoughtfully at that crescent-shaped scar. He touches it briefly, before pulling away once more. "You should worry about getting caught, yes, so long as you have that scar." He tilts his head toward the asian boy. "Especially nowadays, when Martial Law is in effect."

Instinct tells Toru to draw back when Griffin gets closer, but he manages to stay in place at least long enough for the other man to grope his neck. Usually it ends slightly more satisfyingly than this one does, though. Still, once Griffin's hand draws away, Toru rubs his neck self-consciously, popping his collar up to conceal it. That, and it's starting to get kind of cold out here. He left his jacket inside, too.

"Yeah, well. Most people don't really look there anyway. And I usually rock a scarf when it's cold, and I don't get to shave all that much…" But he stops, there, realizing he's rattling off an unncessary laundry list of explanations, and shakes his head. "I been aight so far. Fuhgettaboutit."

A hand glides up to run through his hair, tousling it up a little, and he tugs at the bottom of his shirt. "S'alright. Whatever. You get your white ass caught, just remember snitches get stitches, right?" Toru thumbs the side of his nose before pointing at Griffin, though the gesture is only mock-threatening as the boy turns to find his own way home.

A faint smile forms on Griffin's face. Sardonic, perhaps. "There are pictures. There are records. There always are. And they're still unhappy that we dangerous Evos got away. Don't think that you can hide forever— you can't. So, my small Asian-American friend, I would advise that you avoid getting caught at all costs." He frowns. "Perhaps start carrying a weapon, as well. Evolved abilities are useful, but that doesn't mean that guns don't help."

Then, Griffin is turning back toward the south, pausing for a moment. Then, he casts a gaze toward Toru, even as his eyes cloud with white and begin to glow. "If you would like to speak more about Moab, or if you need help, then leave me a message at the front desk of the old library in the ruins. Let me know how to find you, and I will." A pause. "I don't recommend staying there long. It's a dangerous library."

Then, Griffin is floating up into the air, beginning to float away from Toru and toward the south.

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