That's No Schnauzer


bolivar_icon.gif jay_icon.gif wendy_icon.gif

Scene Title That's No Schnauzer
Synopsis A relatively routine frat party bust goes off the rails when an unregistered Evolved probability manipulator and a girl carrying Refrain take a diving leap out of a window and run into a pen of enraged guard dogs. …Yep.
Date September 9, 2009

Morningside Heights

Morningside Heights was and is still known for its high density of educational institutions. Most of the neighborhood is owned by Columbia University; the rest is shared with Barnard College, the Manhattan School of Music, the Teachers College, Columbia Greenhouse nursery school, and a variety of religious seminaries.

In addition to places like the Cathedral of St. John the Divine and Morningside Park, the neighborhood boasts a variety of restaurants and clubs, excellent bookstores, and Mondel Chocolates, selling handmade chocolate candies even today.

Before the bomb, Morningside Heights was dominated by students. That is still the case today, but their majority is now far smaller — with Morningside being one of the neighborhoods least affected by the explosion, it has become a very popular place to live. Housing is extremely expensive, but people are willing to pay through the nose for a place they know is safe and sound — at least in structural terms. Population density is high; like everywhere else in the city, so is crime, although Morningside's biggest problems are theft and embezzlement. Along with the consequences of college parties and/or pranks.

It's well past ten or so, and the Gamma Theta Phi fraternity is hopping. The frat brothers throw a party every year shortly after their new pledges are confirmed, and oh what a party it is. Everyone who's anyone is invited, and everyone who isn't can still get in for a case of beer or with the right friends. The fraternity is off-campus by a few yards, so campus police don't have jurisdiction; the wealthy old place is hosted in a well-maintained but slightly battered older building with wooden siding and a deceptively pretty gabled roof. The neon lights flashing from the windows give away the true nature of the innocent-looking building, though, and tonight they're set on siezure-inducing.

Jay made it in with a six-pack of something imported; that quickly vanished, minus his own, to be ferried to the senior class. He, like the other initiates, is currently shirtless and painted with a red letter. His letter happens to be the letter A. There's bound to be some serious mockery tonight, but he doesn't look worried; he's chatting up some sorority girl with a cocky grin on his face.

Wendy is the friend of a friend with money. She's too old to be going to school herself and her brother also happens to be an old member when he went through the university on a pit stop to ivy league. But she'd been hanging out at a college bar with some artist friends who then decided to hit up the college and see what was happening. Flying on a tab of E and likely something else, she's standing with her back to jay, eyes closed and just feeling the pings the invisible lines and pulls (there's a few evolveds here) that seem to heighten in her senses.

She turns this way.


"Hey fish!" A hand comes down, to slap her on the shoulder. "How's John. Why'd he not show?" Wendy opens her eyes and raises her brows at the tall beefy guy. "He's gone to the netherlands, but he'll be back in a week. I'm sure he'd like to go troll married women with you" The alumni guy makes a gun with his finger and fires it off at wendy. making shooting sounds with his mouth. "Gotcha fishy, gotcha. Hey, got some E?"

Wendy fishes into her purse and produces a little clear bag that one might find in a jewelry store. One little lone tab of E rests in it and she priest it our with her electric blue fingernail with little fairies stickered and lacquered on. "Open your mouth! You get my laaaaaast one"

Last one? Those words impact Jay's ears like distant cannon fire; his head whips around and his attention roves right off the blonde and straight over to Wendy. "Hang on, sweetheart, think I just saw my hookup." When you're used to wandering crowds literally /looking/ for this sort of thing, keywords like those, plus the singsong, happy tone are a draw. He completely missed the part about E. What he does get is the sight of Wendy putting something in the big guy's mouth. This is absolutely worth abandoning potential tail for - if they're going to initiate him, he wants to be flying with the kites while they do. "Hey gorgeous!" he calls, to the tune of an irked look from the blonde, who corners another girl and begins chattering irately at her. "You got a moment for a poor lost frosh?" Jake swaggers up, wearing his most inoffensive grin, bright and shiny and full of sunlight. He's a good boy, really. Honest. And if you buy that there's this bridge he'll cheerfully sell you up in Brooklyn.

It's probably a bit on the rated R side, what the guy does to her finger and the tab of E sitting on it. But it's over soon enough, a big dopey grin on the tall handsome guy's face and with a wink he turns away. Off to get what else he wanted. Besides information on her brother.

Enter Jay. Younger, earnest, like a little hound dog that's honed in on the dead bird his master shot down. "Heeeeeeeeeey" Wendy offers him her own brand of dopey grin as the little bag is left to flutter to the ground to be cleaned up later, like everything else in this party when it's over. Her eyes narrow a bit and the dopey grin turns chesire when one of the string that she could feel is right there in front of her. Her forefinger and middle finger from his abdomen all the way up to his chest, face brightening as she go.

"Roooock onnnnnnnn, you're a manipulator" The words are slightly exaggerated in her high. "What can I do for you handsome?"

Oh, Jake knows high when he sees it, and this is high - but he's never seen the likes of Wendy's ability, doesn't even know it exists. Thus that part of it is mistaken for the fruits of too much E and he leans blithely into the touch, arching his back away from it to present his belly and chest like an animal inviting petting. The grin doesn't even falter; if anything, it gets bigger. "Last one? Really? Are you sure?" He manages to infuse the words with a teasing, slightly plaintive wheedle which doesn't cross the line into whining; the idle shift of the hips is a bit more blatant, almost an Elvis-like hip-thrust at the woman. Poor girl, she's caught him in a good mood. All of that gets followed by playful puppy eyes and a bit of lash-batting. Yes, Jake's a slut for a good time, and he's got no compunctions at all about making offers, whether he plans to follow through or not.

"Ohhh, I'm sorry sugar, no more E! All out!" There's a sincere pout on her face as she leans against him, needing to go up on her toes just a fraction if at all to plant a kiss on his nose. "But if you ask nice, I got one does of the blue fairy you can have. Real stuff, fresh from the farm. Real deal. or if that doesn't do it for you, then I got some vicodin and I can spare you a few" She pulls away and takes his hand, pulling away a bit more and lifting her hand - and in turn his - to do a twirl around and under his arm. "Both are freeeeee. Frat special, just for youuuu."

"Aww, beautiful, I was hoping for some shrooms…" Jay murmurs, but there's interest in his eyes. "What's the fairy stuff?" This is gonna be interesting as /hell/ - there's hardly a drug he's never heard of, so if this is something new… well. "I'm not gonna turn down free…" At least, until he figures out how much it'll cost him later.

Commotion at the door, then. There's a clap of wood against the frame, and somebody drops a glass with a squeaky kind of shriek, sends alcohol jumping a miniature tidal wave sheet off the floor and dashing into Wendy's ankle. The hair-trigger signs of something coming, and they both know what, even before the first incipient whispers are hissed out, stiffening, between the artificially relaxed bodies that knock shoulder to shoulder around them.


A harsh whisper, and somebody slaps a palm across the power button, killing the music with an electronic whimper and shriek. Some idiot stops on the stairs, instantly, almost falls over himself clambering the way up again, howling something half-choked up with laughter. A chorus of toilets go up, and somebody with green fingernails and red-rimmed glasses latches onto the pale flesh of Wendy's arm, below the hem where her top ends. "Wen!" she shrieks. "Wen, fuck fuck-fuckety-fuck — where's your stuff? Where's your stuff?"

"You won't wanna touch a shroom after you had some blue fairy" She doesn't call it Refrain, it's so.. unfun. Logan had the right of it in Rapture. She opens her purse and lets him peek in, the soft glow of the disposable syringe with it's luminescent blue contents waiting to work it's magic. "Works on Evo's onl-"

And then Tanisha is latching onto her arm, and the nails cutting into her skin are a bit distracting. Cops. Cops. Fucking hell. "I got a scrip in my bag and a shot of blue fairy" She looks over to Jay, eyeing him up and down before she wrenches her hand away from teh woman. "How's it work? Your ability?" She snaps her fingers at him real quick, make sure she has his attention. "Get me out, and I'll give you all the shrooms you want."

Wait, Evos only? …He's not… oh, shit, what the hell… "What? I don't…" And he spins towards the door, already backing away and by necessity carving a bit of a path through the mob. "Fuck, god dammit… come on!" Which is ridiculous. Really, really insane. But she was just selling and she's probably gonna sell him up the creek if he fails. Time to get the /hell/ gone, by whatever means possible. The back door is almost guaranteed to be watched. What then, the roof? God, no. Basement? Fuuuuck.

Wendy doesn't sell people up the creek, or down it, or even to the shoreline. But she is following him, sticking close. She's felt his brand, his particular flavor of Evolved ability before and she's hoping against hope that it's maifested - unlikely from the sounds of his I don't that came flying from his mouth. Depends too in what particular style it's manifested, if at all.

Wendy sticks close, grabbing her brother's friend as he comes into view, dragging him with her. "Roger! Where's the best way to get out?! Need to get out!"

"Fuck that," growls Jay, "I said come /on/." It doesn't matter /which/ way he goes out. What matters is getting /out/. He reaches back and grabs, hard, for Wendy's arm. It'll be a wicked little chain of people being tugged, unless Wendy actually lets go of the other guy.

Jay has no control of this ability. It's just… there. He tries not to use it. Thus he has absolutely /no/ idea what's going to happen when he gets into the kitchen and tries the back door. …Jammed. He pauses, blinks… and steps out of the way, jerking Wendy with him.

"We should flush them!" the other woman hisses in Wendy's ear, her eyes huge behind the fashionable portals through which she typically regards the world. "Quick— the bathrooms, there's— like four, just flush it, Wendybird." Stiletto heels threaten to tangle underneath her, pitching her center of balance decidedly off-center, as she lurches up against Wendy's shoulder at the brief halt induced by Jay's command, her short skirt caught up in a swirl around her hips. Digging her fingers into the bone of Wendy's wrist, she fires a sharp glance at Jay's back. Demands, in a stage whisper, "Do you even know this guy?"

"No, but I know what he can do. Tanisha, you don't got anything on you, your fine. Your tanked, but your fine. Can you fucking let go of me you hoser, your gonna make me fucking bleed" Roger is let go of, he's fine as well. Both of them aren't the one with drugs on them and lets herself be taken along with Jay.

Her heels are kicked off as she goes, risking the possibility of stepping on glass but at least being able to run as opposed to tottering away on stiletto's. At least she's wearing leather pants and some designer t-shirt that has the silhouette of a old fashioned boy and girl kissing. "Just fucking go somewhere else Tanisha" Flush it. Right. That's the first thing the cops would go barreling too. The bathrooms.

Apparently Jay's gift - what 'gift' it is - is working. Sort of. The door was jammed? Now it's not. WHAM! It slams open and he shoves a shoulder against the nearest window with a noise of sheer shock. Strangely enough, it gives - turns out it was open, just a screen keeping out the bugs. Of course, this involves falling /right/ out the window, and Wendy's getting dragged with, unless she can somehow keep her feet or shake him off. The bushes outside are scratchy as hell but the cops are making a lot of noise busting into the kitchen; they're hardly going to notice if the fall is quick enough. If.

And if, you know. Tanisha isn't about to scream the instant her goldfish-eyed friend falls out of the door on the arm of that rude, albeit rather handsome stranger. Always the unhelpful delight, Tanisha does exactly that, snatching back from Wendy's arm, fingers laced over her mouth the instant it becomes apparent that physical danger lies within the proximity of Wendy's personal decisions. Her shriek isn't so much muffled by the grasp of her hands as it is merely wadded down and resonated through her belly, instead. The girl skitters backward, slams backward into the body of a uniformed cop.

"God fucking damn it, the Hell is wrong with you little college cun— you stepped on my dog." The cop in question is short. Shorter even than the girl who nearly trod on him, though the mainstay of his concern seems to be with the curly-eared spaniel at his side. He elbows her aside with a brusque arm, and a skitter of claws below him tracks the location of one Officer Logan Rose, sniffer pup extraordinaire. She examines the tossing forest of ankles before her through liquid dark eyes and a black button nose before, abruptly, swinging her head at the dark, clear square of the open window.

And she barks, yayayayaya, like autofire.

Woosh goes wendy, like the bird that every seems to tack onto the end of her name. Bare feet wriggling through the brush with Jay till they disappear. Her leaths is gonna be scratched to hell but it's worth it if she's not needing to call her dad cause she's parked in jail or the inevitable rehab that they will throw her into and the perpetual never ending babysitting that will ensue even though she's an adult. "Run!" She hisses to Jay when she gets to her feet, using her hands against the group to leverage herself up. She's an inch or so shy of Jay's height, all skinny limbs thanks to genetics. "Where to, and be quick about it!"

"Here," Jay hisses, and slings an arm around Wendy's waist, hurling himself up and off the ground and down the sidewalk at full speed. This means Wendy's going to have a helluva time keeping up, but he's hanging on, so she can either keep up or be carried. This particular neighborhood is full of other fraternities and sororities; the locals have all but given up. Nevertheless, there are a few, and it is straight for one of these that Jay goes, hurtling towards the six foot tall privacy fence. He actually lets go of Wendy as he nears it - and then he leaps blindly. Jake's done the high jump; this is no different. It's quite a leap, but not as tall as some of the guys manage. Of course, there's a loud SPLASH from the other side as he lands, having lunged over it back-first in the classic style. "Fuck!" he groans, still alive… and something growls. Nevertheless, about two seconds later the gate jerks open. "Come on!" Barking begins to broil up from that yard - there are six dogs. On chains. It's a fucking kennel, sort of - and they're /not/ small dogs. Danes, a pit bull, a doberman… all barking up a storm now at this sudden intrusion. Jake managed to land in their bathtub, a big kiddie pool full of water, miraculously just out of reach of the nearest.

What jay doens't know is that like every other moment that he's been touching her, her attention's been divided between his ability, which gives her that sensation of having something akin to multiple paths before her, and her surroundings. So when his hand leaves her waist and she's left standing on the one side of the fence, she's got all her faculties back. Her hand dips into her purse, bringing out the glowing blue vial.

Off goes the cap and the plunger depressed, emptying the blue liquid - really, it hurts her physically on some level to do that - onto the ground in the grass. She grabs it by the needle, quickly wiping the barrel of the syringe with the cloth, wipe off fingerprints and two seconds later, she's throwing it, via the needle into a different persons backyard. Can't be caught with it, with what is now an illegal controlled substance. Hooray.

This is when Jay is opening up the gate and she's scooting in, keeping her distance from the dogs. "Great. Got a way out of here that doesn't involve rabies shots?" If a cop catches up now, she's just got the vicodin in her purse and thats in a prescription bottle. Go her. Won't keep them from trying to arrest her, but, hey, gives her something for her lawyer to work with.

Such faith, Wendy.

If they even catch Jay, if they so much as drag him in, they'll run a test and that's that, and he's completely irrational where that's concerned. No way in hell is he getting caught. He grabs Wendy's arm and takes off again. The dogs? They're going nuts. Really, nastily nuts. There's another gate in the front yard - no lock, doesn't need one, who'd come in here anyway? There's an ominous creak of metal. Jake lunges for that gate and surges out of it; the one Wendy came in by slams shut. The chains start to stretch. The barking is frenzied. And… in a moment, there's rattling, as the weakest link breaks. Things are about to get more chaotic, and at this point all Jay can do is /run/. Don't-let-me-get-bit is all he's wishing now, because hey, dobermans can JUMP. That one clears the fence pretty easily, trailing about fifteen feet of chain.

The hounds are baying and the hunters take heed, turning on a dime to pursue to their quarry into the brutal, halting darkness of the wilderness.

Which is to say: Logan Rose yaps twenty times in the space of four seconds, and manages to drag her tiny half-Mexican master out of the doorway after the way that the hardest drug in the entire frathouse is being carried, while all of their cohorts continue to tangle with fervor on the floor of the interrupted party, demanding ID checks, reassuring all of those persons involved that this is entirely routine. "Rodriguez!" someone's shouting after him. "Where the Hell are you going?"

"Someone ran!" The leash latches clink and tangle like loose change. He almost trips over the excited weave of little Logan Rose's path around his ankles, but manages not to. He can see them, through the spy of his scintillating sniper eye, a blur and wink of painted figures through the diamond criss-cross of chain link, the explosive reaction of yard dogs. "Someone ran like a bat out of Hell's musty cootch, they must be carrying the fucking motherload— that's—" he lurches to a pause, a dark brow stooping and his mouth drawing into a thin line. That… happens to be a little more trouble than a routine party bust was actually, honestly intending to catch.

Fuck, ow and shit. Thre words coming out of Wendy's mouth as Jay continues with the dragging her along. That healed up gouge along her foot that was barely going to scar thanks to a plastic surgeon - seriously, her parents were paranoid. Who cares about a scar on the bottom of the foot - is getting scratched up again. "Find Patterson Hall. Parked there" She's capable of driving in this state, surely Jay can drive too, and it's an option.

Logan rose's barks are heard their pitch and frequency different than the one of the doberman who's hell bent on getting revenge for the bastards who fell into his drinking water.

Really, who keeps that many dogs chained up in their backyard in the city? It's not like it was a junk yard. Maybe the cops will stop and issue the guy a citation for exceeding the limit of canines legal in the city instead of chasing them? liiiikely not. So WEndy, attention divided yet again, runs with all that her little (okay big) bare feet can handle in keeping up with Jay.

"Bad dog, bad dog!" Jake gasps. He's shirtless, with a great big letter A on his chest, his jeans soaked in dog water and his sneakers leaving wet tracks… time to take to the street. That'll hide the worst of it, right? Then an alley, which is going to be a problem because of the doberman. They're now one street over from the frat house and rapidly working on making it two. Of course, the dobie's got their number, and the animal races along after, chain rattling gleefully after like bells. "Shitshitshitshit!" breathes Jake, and… alley. Up. A dumpster presents itself and he lets go of Wendy, hurls himself up the side of it, and goes scrambling for the fire escape. This requires a leap - which brings down the ladder. He yells in shock. The dobie, convinced that it's caught up with its meal, comes flying down the alleyway. "Up!" Jay gasps, and stays down to let Wendy get up. It won't bite /him/, after all. He has no idea /how/ it won't bite him, though, and so he's already wincing in anticipation of the coming pain.

From afar, Jay has in mind making yon dobie a problem for the spaniel - dogs get irrational about that sort of thing. Another species that isn't shaped like those I know! ALIEN! Killit! Which oughtta make for at least a distraction for a few moments.

Bizarrely, it isn't ultimately the temptation of bringing in said 'motherload' that drags Bolivar out into the street, but the likelihood that there are a bunch of idiot, overprivileged kids on coke who are about to get themselves summarily ripped apart by a bunch of dogs. He rolls his eyes. "I'm in pursuit," he calls through the door at his comrades, before motioning with a small finger, —> thataway. In another few seconds, both he and the frilly drug pooch at his side are in flight, racing up to the rusted face of chain link.

"Hey!" he shouts through the link. "Do you kids have a fucking deathwish or something? Jesus fucking Christ—" A flashlight swings up, splits the darkness like a white knife, glares briefly off Jay's bare ribs and then the disjointed, glittering fragility of Wendy's silver anklet.

Dog voices flare and circle in the air in sharp, piercing syllables and an avalanche's hoarse tumble and gruff. Distraction seizes the yard dogs for a handful of seconds, scattering two hounds at the fence, where they slam into metal, driving Logan Rose back a few yipping, nervy steps. The doberman isn't fooled, though, some combination of breeding and conditioning closing white teeth on the round bone of Wendy's ankle, ripping down at the slender line of jewelry.

No officer, no deathwish, just a desire to not get slapped with God knows how many fines, community service and really who knows what else.

They tried to make me go to rehab but I said no, no, no.

Wendy reaches up to grab at Jay's hand and et hoisted up when the searing pain that is a dog canine goes ripping at her heel and taking the little delicate chain that was hugging her ankle with it. There's a screech from the brunette, and her purse falls down, contents spilling. "Go!" She yells at Jay, getting a hand on a rung and heaving herself up. "Just go, go!"

"Fuck!" Jay yells, and, "God dammit, that's not a schnauzer!" But he goes, hurtling up the fire escape almost mechanically fast. Third floor up? There's a window, and if he moves fast and keeps quiet maybe the cop chasing won't see him go through it. That dobie's gonna get somebody, but by sheer instinct it probably won't be him. He vanishes through the dark edifice, trusting the gift to make a path for him through the building and out. Nevermind what condition he escapes in.

No one is answering Bolivar's questions, which may be why he pulls out a gun and shoots the wall. Probably not, though. The discharge of the weapon seizes through the air like lightning, rupturing the cacophony of canine rage as if it were as insubstantial as silence. He blows a hole into the wall, a few inches from the Doberman's head. Ends up crumpling the dog like a ragdoll, a squeal evacuating from the creature's lungs, legs folding like paper and tail flagging surrender. "Hey!" he yells. "Skinny bitch. The one without the fur— senora, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Getting away from a dog and people firing guns" Though the weapon does the job of making her stop as she clings to the ladder of teh fire escape above the dumpster, injured ankle held aloft with her belongings on the ground below her. Jay is now a faint memory, disappeared through a window like she told him.

She also now has an unhealthy fascination and fear of that gun in his hand. Corrugated metal, dank and dark surroundings, man with a gun. An unhealthy dose of PTSD rises in her chest. "I'm not going anywhere, you can put the gun away"

If Bolivar wasn't trained a little better than that, he would have rolled his eyes. He knows better than to remove his eyes from any of the targets at hand, however. "I'm not shooting at you," he points out, his voice raucous in the dark. Underneath the level of his announcement, there's the fitful pitch and racket of curtained lights coming on, alarm raised inside the apartment, people bolting out of bed and talking about calling the cops. "I'm shutting the fucking dog up.

"NYPD!" his head turns on its axis, eyes squinting acuity at the first silhouette that pops out of a flustered swirl of curtains. "NYPD. Remain calm and inside your homes, people!" He has to repeat this three or four times before people seem to get it. The dog's owner is conspicuously absent from the scene, for the time-being.

Which does nothing for the gross or net totals of Bolivar Rodriguez-Smith's annoyance, honestly. It's been a bitch of a week. "Are you fucking stuck?"

Physically, no. Mentally? maybe.

"If I am?" Is thrown back. But even as she's saying that, she's starting to pick her way bacl down, leather pants swishing as she does till her feet meet the dumpster and then from there, they meet the floor of the alleyway they ducked into. The left held up, blood dripping drop by drop onto the dirt covered ground. The doberman is eye'd carefully as Wendy towers, even without the heels that send her easily over 6 feet. Logan Rose is eye'd as well. Least she doesn't have the Refrain on her. Thank god for small miracles.

She's what you would call an odd beauty. A nose a little too big, a chin just a little too out there, forehead a smidgen too high and wide eyes, Wendy seems to pull it all together with that odd beauty through the use of makeup, good skin, an expensive hair stylist and a certain air of charm. Perhaps a bit too much on the lean side, her body is coltish even as she approaches 30. Long curled hair that has a bad tendency to frizz, brown eyes and Cupid lips, this is wendy. Though sometimes, it's wendy + flecks of paint/clay/plaster powder, you name it.

Face-to-face, it becomes immediately and perhaps— almost, not quite comically evident, that Bolivar's face doesn't come up anywhere near the level of Wendy's. He's a wee thing, hideously scarred up the left side of his face and the slight hand that he accepts her card with, and she a gangly, almost coltish figure even without heels to push her model-slender figure up further toward the sky and levels rendered fashionable by society.

Logan Rose takes an unmistakable lack of interest in the purse, after a brief, almost perfunctory shove of her snout at the bottle of Vicodin— prescription readily visible on the label. The tiny spaniel moves instead to poke her button muzzle against the point of Wendy's knee, conciliatory, wary to touch the leak of blood. "You're going to need stitches," Bolivar observes, after a moment.

"And they'll need to test the dog for rabies. Really, seriously. Six fucking dogs? Surely, that's illegal, Last I knew it was like only 4 unless you're breeding them" Wendy snaps back, a glance down to the dog in question, and then to Logan Rose who's sniffing and gives her a frown.

Not that the frown is any indication of how she might act towards Bolivars beloved companion. Wendy just stays put, looking down at dog and officer. The high from her E and vicodin and the refrain she took much earlier had gone the way of Jay. Fled. Faster than the bluebird of happiness at a convention for emo/goth wanna be's. "So Officer. Where do I go from here?" Her arms stay at her sides, no crossing them, no reach made for her purse. Lets not agitate the cranky seeming cop. That would not bode well.

There is a little bit of a reputation hovering around Bolivar's department— and Bolivar himself, within that department— about misdirected rage, it's true. There's something about the way that the girl holds herself, though, carefully contained and politely restrained. "You go to the hospital," he answers, finally. The insurance card is flipped up between forefinger and thumb, quizzically, and he studies her (looks up at her) for another twenty seconds, before lines inch in around the point of his nose, an incipient scowl or a sneer. "Fun fun drug panel.

"I can't believe you people make us waste our fucking time with this bullshit."

Maybe her lawyer will get her out of the drug panel. She's sure he can, he will. Not like she was caught driving, or with a load of illegal drugs on her person. Thank you whomever's back yard is gonna find an empty syringe. She's not gonna argue with him. You don't do that with cops. Not cops with guns and dogs. Maybe if they were off duty. Besides, she has jay as the scapegoat. He was evolved, he was grabbing her arm. She's sure her lawyer can play that up too.

"Well. lets go then. Sooner I get this done, sooner I can go home"

She starts to limp forward, scooping up what of her purse he hasn't confiscated, having the audacity to pop the cap off her lip balm and swoosh it over her lips.

"Nice bitch on the leash there"

Maybe the lawyer will. The dog signalled, she and her companion had behaved perfectly outrageously with three cops to witness, but the dog's master is a little distracted and he hadn't been lying when he said that this was a waste of time. Medium brown eyes flare dark as he studies the impudent absurdity of her cosmetics application. He puts his radio to his mouth, fires off a rusty click and susurration of static, reading off the address from what he can see of the wall and the street sign. Bring the car around. It's only two blocks.

The electronic clips back onto his belt with a brusque swat of his hand. Bolivar glances at the Doberman, briefly, to check at its rate of recovery. The animal is crouched in the back of its pen, by now, tail swinging low over the concrete, its ultrasonic hearing recovered but not yet its pride. His mouth grows thin and pale. "You're not wearing a leash," he points out, dryly, motioning her out to the curb, and then jerking at humb back, over his shoulder, at the window through which Jay had absconded. "Who was your friend?"

"Dunno. He was trying to ask me over to the keg when you all came busting through. Didn't get a chance to get his name. He grabbed me and the next thing I know, we're running like hell and he's telling me to get rid of my shoes and run. You know how it is when you are a evo who can detect other evo's through touch and one is touching you" No, he doesn't know.

"Just wipes my mind, i'm just totally spacey and focused on what they can do instead of stuff around me" Wendy's got people who can attest to that state of being. She shakes her head, looking down at her heel and wrinkling her nose. He's right. She will. "I was meaning your dog. That's gonna scar. I'll have to get a tattoo to cover it."

No, Bolivar doesn't know. His lips pull back, briefly, almost like a smile except it is more of a rictus, ugly, almost fanged snaggletooth pale in the dark. He would know a little about scars. "I know you were meaning my dog," he responds, acidly, his tone turned so thin and cold it practically rimes the air on its way to the woman's ears. "It's almost like I was meaning to call you a bitch. Do us both a favor: don't talk to me anymore. Your lawyer can find someone else's cock to block once we reach St. Luke's.

"I'm sure you'll want to talk to him about sueing the Dobie's owner for damage, too. And maybe the landlord for doing as hit job maintaining his fire stars in case of twenty-year-old retards making cornea-detaching escape art. You should probably also go after God for switching in AmEx and cervical experts instead of any kind of fucking common sense." Logan Rose tinkles to a halt at his side, focusing mournful eyes on Wendy's larger ones, a moment, before turning her head to watch the squadcar pull up.

There's a roll of Wendy's eyes at the tirade that comes from Bolivar's lips, the black and white vehicle coming to a stop. Before the people inside - one surely female - can get out, wendy looks over her shoulder at Bolivar. "Whatever you say Chuck."

A snarky smile on her face, she turns it onto the exiting police officers, balancing on one foot, the other held up and behind her at a 90 degree angle. "Evening. I'm apparently going to St. Lukes. Dog bite. Wouldn't you know it. Sorry he dragged you out here" Pleasant as pie all legs and arms, leather pants, black t-shirt and her goldfish like eyes. The night, it seems, will not be short.

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