The Best Night Ever


anders_icon.gif bedlam_icon.gif black_icon.gif cat_icon.gif cooper_icon.gif helena_icon.gif luke_icon.gif lola_icon.gif melissa_icon.gif

With a brief appearance by:


Other NPCing courtesy of Brooklyn and Noriko.

Scene Title The Best Night Ever
Synopsis Roosevelt residents and friends try to party like it's 1999. Unfortunately, it's 2010, and the state of New York has other ideas.
Date March 9, 2010

Roosevelt Island: Under the Queensboro Bridge

Just a little north of Summer Meadows, Queensboro Bridge makes a long and aloof shadow along the width of Roosevelt Island, cars passing blithely overhead without hope of actually accessing the little island itself, a continual and overhead drone over the sound of music and conversation. Streetlamps spill orange light onto asphalt in circular, luminous shapes, but the main source of light— and heat— seems to be funneling of fire from the smattering of robust iron trash cans dotting the open street, protected by the overhead shelter of the bridge. Groups forms around these points, the mass of Roosevelt residents and guests from outer boroughs dressed in bulky winter gear that doesn't seem to be impeding too hardcore on their enjoyment.

There's a van parked up near the gigantic concrete pillars of the bridge, sliding door opened and the sound set up inside pumping out music that could well carry up to the passing of cars overhead, making the ground vibrate underfoot when you get close enough. Courtesy of a man named Eduardo— just Eduardo— with a mess of dreadlocks creating a knotted bundle at the nape of his neck, his voice a thickly accented sussurus over the mic and barely heard.

"…would shock me, knock me right out of this delusion of apathy that there is time left in the world to change it…"

About twenty minutes ago, the ice boxes had completely depleted of glass bottles of beer that are seen still in people's groping hands, sipped by fires or accidentally smashed and scattered in liquid and glass on the asphalt, but now as a Volvo pulls in, there's a cheer from one group nearest its approach. Soon enough, a duo of girlfriend and boyfriend are unloading twinkling green bottles from the cracked open trunk, freely passed around.

Beat poetry and music alike are loud enough that it's hard to tell, after a while, that the sound of traffic above them has dimmed as the night grows later, but in some people's books, it's still young. Especially out here.

Seeing a bottle redhead at a street party like this one should hardly be a surprise - in fact, she blends rather well. Which is just what Lola wants. Drinking and dancing, smoking and thinking - these aren't her entertainments. Although it is nice to have a beer in her hands, which she sips as she leans back against the grate of a truck, dark eyes scanning the crowd. There aren't anymore beers at her own house - she got rid of them while Kain was sleeping it off. Hard to feed your own alcoholic tendencies when you're working on somebody else's.

A mark, that's what she wants. A challange, a game of cat and mouse. And even though some slightly high fellah grabs her for a dance - she spins him once, takes hit watch, and lets him go on his way, she finds herself bored. It's a cheap watch anyway, and with a wrinkled nose, it gets tossed aside.

A hardworking girl certainly deserves some time off to go to a party, right? Melissa certainly seems to think so! She wanders in, bundled in black, lips curved, her head moving slightly to the beat of the music. She veers off to one side, snagging a beer, and it gets popped open as she makes her way towards the fires. Mmmm. Warmth. But as she gets closer to the fire, and is longer in the music, she starts to sort of half-dance/half-walk more than just strolling on over.

You know what's awesome? Being an atmokinetic with a degree of ambient temperature control.

You know what's also awesome? Being the friend of an atmokinetic with a degree of ambient temperature control.

Suffice to say, it's really awesome to be Helena's friend right now.

Helena has had few genuine pleasures in the past two years, and some of those robbed of her were amongst other things, the ability to enjoy public events, and the opportunity to wear something that is just as much to be seen in as to be for comfort and protection. Despite the fact that the stress and worry of Dee's condition is weighing on her, she also knows that the redhead would smack her if she didn't take this opportunity to have some fun. And that's why it's a knit cap on her head with matching sweater, gloves, and mini skating skirt; the bright thermal tights and snow boots make tromping about fairly easy. Doesn't hurt that yes, around her, it's a few degrees warmer then it is away from her; yet another pleasure she can afford: subtle, if public utilization of her ability.

A barely touched beer in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of the jeans he's wearing, Thomas Cooper is standing kind of at the edge of things, watching the party. Pale eyes squinting in the firelight at all the folks. His dark hair, look a bit of a mess at how it sticks out of the black beanie on his head, his jaw shadowed with a days work of facial hair. The NYPD detective, isn't even dressing the part in a camo colored jacket, and jeans. The sneakers he's always wearing, even at work on his feet.

Yep… he's just standing there. In the cold. Under a bridge. At a party. Cooper's daughter would either be horrified that her father was there or proud that he's not trying to a stuff shirt detective. He was leaning towards horrified himself.

Luke got his hands on a beer, since all the cool kids are doing it. Who cares that he's not old enough? It's not like he's going to drive home or anything. He's not really partying hard like everyone else, but likely after a beer or two he'll be more amenable. Or… maybe he'll pick a fight with someone later, that's always entertaining, for him at least. And just in case the ambient temperature being a little above normal isn't enough, Luke occasionally directs his own powers at the ground. Not too much, though… no need to melt anything but snow.

Standing with a beer in hand, Anders watches Eduardo for the time being, his head bobbing up and down in time and with a wide grin of his face, looking rather pleased with himself. He turns and skims the crowd, eyes lingering here and there, especially on the dancing bodies of various "hotties" in the vicinity.

He gives a nod, the tacit 'Sup?' to Melissa when his green eyes alight upon her, but he apparently keeps his distance for now — who knows what rules the punk girl has about flirting before curfew or some other nonsense. "Duuuuude, more beer! You're a life saver, bro!" he shouts to the droppers-off of alcohol. He strides by to get a refill, giving a nod to Cooper and then claps a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "You made, it, Gus! Good to see you, dude."

Jean, a young woman who looks to perhaps be just out of her teens is standing around with her own bottle of beer, shivering slightly in the cold but keeping her fingers wrapped around her cold beer none the less. Her eyes watch the party with a smile, even as she talks to a friend of hers, hand with the beer gesturing as she tells him a tale that has him almost doubled over laughing.

She's not in a skirt, but neither is Cat's clothing suited for Antarctica. Somewhere in the middle is accurate. She's within Helena's warm zone, the snowmobile they came by left in a place where she can easily see it. The panmnesiac seems relaxed, although she partakes not of beer or other spirits due to having driven over and needing at some point to drive back.

Helena still has her Evelyn Wozniak ID, but she has yet to use it tonight. She turns instead toward Cat an announces, "I want to dance." like the brunette is her keeper, or possibly she's Cat's. Turning her way back to check out the crowd, she spots a familiar face and raises a mittened hand. "Mel! Hey, Mel!" Wavewavewave.

Melissa stops when she spots Anders, and a little smile curves her lips as she nods slightly…then hurries off in a different direction. And then she spots Helena waving, which has her brightening and starting towards the other woman. "You know…one of these days we are going to have to get together and talk when there isn't a party going on," she says to Hel, grinning at her. "How you doing?" she asks, before she turns that grin onto Cat. "How's it goin'?" is offered to her in Mel's lazy southern drawl.

Lola catches a glance of Anders and she rolls her eyes, sipping a beer. Hardly something that looks interesting. A group of girls though, such as Helena and Mel and Cat? Well chances are one girl in three has some diamonds from daddy. While not quite exciting, what thief is going to turn down an opportunity at diamonds? They're just too classic.

She pushes off the hood of the car, meandering along the edge of the party to stay somewhat close to the girls.

For lack of anyone else he knows, and the fact that maybe he shouldn't attract Melissa's attention since she's his landlady of sorts, Luke notices Anders and strolls in his direction, taking a swig of beer on his way there. Ok, now what? Instead of greeting the guy, Luke's gaze passes around the crowd, trying to scope out the hot girls Anders said were coming.

Jean smiles and nods to the party-goer whome she was talking to, as he goes off to possibley maybe find another beer to drink. Though, chances are slim. Instead, she begins to meander towards the group that is clumping around Cat and Helena. Jean, whose red-headed and somehow managed to find wintry clothes that don't make her look too much like an eskimo, or a blob of a person says to Cat, gesturing with her beer, "Can I get you something to drink?"

Jason Toomes cannot dance. But that has never stopped him before, and it sho doens't stop him now. He's getting down by himself, at least loosely in tune with the rythym and beat reverberating through the thick treads of his (by all outward appearances uncessary) combat boots. He has a chain swinging from one pocket, which his wallet may or may not be attached to, a beer in his left hand, and another chain around his neck, this one with a lock fastened to it because he has decided it looks more awesome that way.

He's near one of the burning trashcans in a scuffed up leather jacket and jeans and trying too hard, white-blonde hair bleached into stiff spines that stand up dragonball z style on his head, presumably intentionally. He's also wearing a backpack, which could mean that he is homeless or fresh off school or 'something something something' which is mostly what it sounds like when anyone asks about it before he changes the subject, llladies. Speaking of whom, they seem to be congregating kind of sort of around Helena and Cat, so Jason jives on that way. Lookin' casual. Lookin' soooo casual, all the way up until the awkward chin jerk when he gets close enough to say, "Yo, ladies. Lookin' fine."

The nod from Anders receives a thin lipped smile and a lift of Copper's chin and brows in greeting. He lifts the beer bottle for a sip, thank god, it's cold cause the beer would have warmed long ago. At this point, Cooper is more then happy where he is, feeling a bit out of place with all the young people milling about.

"Look, man, it's like a banquet of betties!" Anders tells Luke, pointing out the gaggle of girls. "Well, that one might be a bit older but if you're legal, who cares? She might like the young and grumpy type." He pushes Luke in that direction before nodding toward Jason when he sees him. "Dude!" he calls to the man, giving a broad grin, clearly pleased to see so many of his flyers were taken to heart. He pushes Luke again, to make the younger man walk toward the ladies, whether he wants to or not.

Seated upon one of the ice boxes that had emptied reasonably quickly is an older man than most of the fresh young faces under the bridge — there's lines in his skin and grey in his hair and the scraggle of scruff along his jaw, shoulders bent inwards in a slouch as he sips from a bottle that is neither green nor cylindrical — flat and curved, a dose of vodka slushing around in the bottom of it as he tips it back for a sip. Protected in a leather jacket, pragmatic against the chill in the air, he hasn't come alone — a couple of youths linger nearby, chatting to him with some familiarity.

His talk with them is distracted, dark eyed gaze crawling over the crowd in assessment, before he sniffs loudly and adjusts the sit of the woolen cap on his head, steering his attention back into the conversation.

Beyond the cover of the bridge, fine snow falls as it hasn't actually done all day. Some break off to shriek-laugh and spin beneath the ash-fall of ice.

She doesn't want to dance. She wants to hunt down and kill Russian Nazis with her bare hands. Although Cat isn't in a festive mood, she keeps such sentiments to herself as she observes Melissa's approach. The reply to her greeting is a quiet "Well enough" accompanied by a thin smile. "You?" Other people around her are scanned briefly, their images instantly committed to memory. Alertness is in place, given the possibility of assassins deciding to complicate her life further. And, perhaps to the chagrin of erstwhile thieves, she shows no evidence of having pure carbon in any form upon her person.

Upon her offer of beer, Cat asks Jean "Got Pepsi? Designated driver."

Melissa looks over Jason for a moment before she sighs and looks back to Cat. "Doin' pretty good. I mean, hey, party," she says, smiling. "Though it seems like every guy in the area is using this as a hookup spot," she says, shaking her head before she sips on her beer again, her empty hand in her pocket.

OHMYGODGUYS. Helena hasn't done any socializing in almost two…three? Years. A long time. And well, her capacity for flirtation she's not altogether sure about - man, she feels like she's been under a rock. One thing people will notice around her, though - the air is a good deal more comfortable, and that may be part of what's drawing a bit of the gaggle unconsciously. "Hey." she replies affably to Jason, her eyes flicking at the approaching young men like they're incoming missiles.

Sorry, Lola. The only thing Helena's daddy gave her recently was his brains in her hair.

Jean nods her head a little when she hears Cat's reply, and she looks over towards the drink stand, her free hand coming to tap her chin while the red head thinks for a couple of moments. "Um… there might be. I only saw beer, but… could maybe dig out a pepsi or two," she looks at the drinks, before her eyes go back to Cat, "So, one pepsi… anything else for anybody who doesn't have a drink?"

"I haven't been to a party in forever, man. Like — at least three months. Since the time of my last party. The last one I went to, I mean, 'cuz I don't usually throw 'em myself. Too many cats." Jason finally stops himself there long enough to hesitate, eyes rendered dark by firelight's soak of all colors not in a range of yellow to orange when they flick from chick to chick, Melissa and Cat and Helena and Jean and man he really hit the jackpot here he shouldn't be talkin' about his cats, yo. "..My name's Jason."

Luke gets shoved in the direction of the gaggle of girls, and looks them all over. Oh… he was trying to avoid Melissa. Eh well. With a shrug, he finishes the beer and sets it down on the ground, then kicks the bottle away. Maybe it'll trip someone, that'd be funny. "Hey." he nods at the group, though his gaze goes to Helena since she seems, well… more his age than the others. "Nice party, huh?" Jason is eyed next, and Luke rolls his eyes.

"Thanks." Cat's reply to the possibility of cola is that simple, spoken while she turns her attention back to the crowd around them. Her pockets might have some amount of money, and the keys to her snowmobile, but the challenge is getting close enough to this woman, who's recently had people close to her assassinated and targeted for being killed, to try picking them. Such events tend to make a person alert and wary of surroundings.

"I'm Cat," she tells Jason calmly enough. It's entirely possible she'll be recognized from recent press coverage.

"No, that'd be great, Melissa." Helena assures her with a smile, before observing all the approaching males speculatively. "She would be my favorite Cat." she notes, and then focuses on Luke. She's pretty much your average blonde college co-ed type. "Hi." she responds, with similar affable air that she'd offered to Jason. "I'm Helena."

"Melancholy! I wanted you to meet Gloomy Gus. He's a bit young for you, but I promise he won't be cheery and flirt without you before you've had your coffee," Anders says with a broad grin, his hand loosely draped in 'bro-style' over the shoulder of the teen man. "You found some friends to bring?" He glances from Helena to Cat to Jean to Lola, lurking a bit outside the group. "Niiiice. Two red heads, a blonde, a brunette - a full house and a spare." He grins raises his beer bottle. "I'm Anders. This is … Gus."

"Scuze me," Lola murmers as she slips past Helena, managing ot hear her name, but little else. Continuing to scoot past the blonde, she also passes the brunette, Cat. "Sorry," Lola murmers, lifting her drink high as though she were just trying to get by. Anders and the other boys, she really doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to - yet.

Jean nods her head a little, and turns to go get the drinks. The red-head making excuses as she moves through the crowd to get to the drinks. After all, you're supposed to get the people you're interested in drinks right? Even if they are non-alcoholic.

Melissa grins at Helena and Cat. "Okay, yeah, there's one," she says, before she sighs, then she puts a smile on her face as she looks back to Anders. "Kid, unless you want me to cheerfully smile while I make you sing soprano, I'd stop calling me Melancholy," she says brightly. Then she puts a hand on Helena's back, giving her the smallest of pushes towards Anders if she can. "Here, talk to this guy. He's chipper and likes to flirt. Have fun," she says before ducking away, trying to make her escape.

"Yeah…" says Jason to Melissa, beerless right hand lifted in a vaguely ghetto gesture as if to passively agree that there are indeed no members of the genus Felis here even if that's not what he really meant. Cuz she's hot. Not that he can keep himself from looking at her kind've funny while he tries to figure out where the miscommunication happened.

A sip of his beer later, Jason's left to size up Luke, who is rolling his eyes at him for real. "Yo, you got some kind of problem, doofus?" falls out of his mouth the way sand tends to fall out of buckets with holes in them, brows knit and shoulders all bowed like whut up you wanna fight but he's still mmmostly interested in the llladies so he tunes back into them once their return introductions penetrate the thick of his skull, and offers the same hand it looked like he might've been about to boff over the side of Luke's head. "S'good to meet you. You guys new to the neighborhood? This ain't a pick up line or nothin' like that but you look familiar, you know?" Unfortunately he says so as he is trying to look at Lola's ass while she pushes past.

Oh snap. Jason wants a fight? "Well what of it? I might have a problem with you." Luke responds belligerently. "Got anything else to say?" oh, he'd totally take you. That's the kind of entertainment he'd be willing to participate in, he hasn't beat someone's face in for a while. Or, uh… had his own beat in.

The aforementioned favorite Cat spots Lola passing by, but doesn't give her much attention beyond comparing her with a rogue's gallery in her mind and not finding the face there. The woman is committed to memory like everyone else, a simple feature of her eyes being open, however. It isn't yet she notices a pair of twenty dollar bills have exited her pocket. Yet.

Conversation around her is listened to, but not so much participated in.

Oh wait, Cooper shifts a foot forward finally, stepping out of the spot in the hard packed snow, to step into the crowd, beer still in hand and the other still tucked in his pocket. He's probably the only guy not hitting on some young woman there. He had planned too… but he's having issues with how young most of them are. A few of the ones that walked up to him, he had to refrain from asking if their mommy's and daddy's knew they were there.

When the hell did Cooper get so old?

The detective wanders through the crowd, listening here and there to the conversation. A glance goes to Luke and Jason, a brow twitching up slightly. Oh great…

Melissa glances over her shoulder towards Jason and Luke, frowning ever so slightly. Jason better not be beating on one of her charges! Or end up beating on him! But for now she continues on. There are dancers, right? So she goes to join them! Beer and all. And then she starts to dance. It's clear from the almost joyous look on her face that this is why she came. To dance. And she's good too! But she does keep an eye on Luke and Jason.

"Hi." Anders is so smooth. But a cute blonde is getting pushed at him and he just grins like he's been handed a candy cane by Santa. "Don't mind the boys here. We're not all so immature." He says it meaningfully, eyeing both guys over his shoulder, then shrugging. "Just remember, boys, the first rule of fight club is…?" The latter is shouted, hoping for the obvious response.

And there is Lola, fourty dollars richer. She thought they were slips of paper - maybe notes, maybe something interesting. But no, just money - soemthing she actually has stacks of at home, at the moment. Looking around, she spots what is becoming a more familiar occurance. With the two men fighting, she holds up the fourty in front of a drunk fellow's face. "Go hit that guy," she says, nodding toward Luke as the target. Because when is a good brawl not fun?

Breaking through the chatter, the music, the poetry— is a woop woop that has very little to do with parties.

A flash of blue and red light, though it and sound both turn off in the next moment, replaced with a growl of an engine as a police cruiser comes to a stop some distance away, far enough that a vast majority of the party-goers don't give it a second glance — busy dancing, as Melissa astutely noticed, a circle of bumpers and grinders readily opening up for her as beats— mad ones, you— pound out from the speakers. Some do, though. Glance. And they'll notice an additional vehicle just in sight of a streetlamp, some one-hundred feet away from Queensboro Bridge, with something that kind of looks like a giant plastic plate made of all of Microsoft mounted upon it, facing its broad width towards the party.

But what actually gets noticed, through the lightly falling snow, are the horses — as many as four, making a slow and sedate trot before coming to an uneasy kind of halt at the hands of the police mounted upon them, lingering by the vehicles. Big doe eyes of the animals stare out towards the brightly lit underside of the bridge, snow flurrying off the horses' perspex masks, the reflective shin guards giving the steeds a further robotic look.

They aren't doing anything, none of them are, a broad stretch of empty street between this gathering and the party. "…fiction and fact friction and feeling and a pact to mean something to legitimise listening and so much time spent up trying to release a pent up idea of worth and…" goes the never ending litany of what could be rap, could be poetry, from the Latino MC.

Helena finds herself pushed a few stilted steps toward Anders. She looks rather doe-eyed in her startlement for a moment, and then looks at the duuuuuude in question. Tilting to the side, she looks toward the guys fighting and then back up at him. "Hi." she says, grinning broadly, but more at the humor of the situation than anything else. "I think they're having some kind of awkward bromance moment." she suggests, and looks over her shoulder at Cat in amusement. She's interacting! Like a real girl! Look, see?!

Jean returns and is offering the drink to Cat with an offered, "Here you are, hon." A smile on her lips, before the sound of the siren is caught by her ears and she turns to look at it. Eying the cops for a couple of moments, but seeing that they are standing their ground, she doesn't really care about them too much. Figuring that there are enough people here they wouldn't dream of doing something. "So… Cat was it? I'm Jean," she introduces herself.

Melissa boogies! She shakes her booty, she dips, she twirls. She does all those things that good dancers seem to do! And she smiles, pleased, when Helena speaks to a boy! The flash of lights has her glancing up with a frown, but it's the horses that have her looking confused. But it doesn't mean she's going to stop dancing either!

"Heyyy, Stu. This party's off the hook, man. I owe you one for that flyer." Somehow in all this, Anders dumb face has finally caught Jason's attention and he leans back from ladies and Luke alike to offer his free fist up in a knuckle dap type sit-u-ation. "We ain't fightin'. I don't fight retards. S'fuckin unethical." This complete with chestpuff and I-called-you-a-retard-what-are-you-gonna-do-bout-it look at Luke, Jason sips his beer as belligerently as it is possible to sip a beer, which. Isn't very.

Then WOOP WOOP it's the sound of the police, and Jason hasn't had so many that he fails to look a little uneasy. "Man, I ain't gettin' arrested again for this. They got fuckin' horses. I'm out. PEACE. Hope to see y'all around aight?" And off he goes, backing away from hot chicks and a fight all in one with both hands raised, beer and all to the light of the fire.

"Could be," the taller and more stoic brunette near Helena comments in reply with a chuckle. Eyes make another circuit of the surroundings when sounds are heard in the distance, and police on horseback are sighted. They're studied for a brief segment of time, before attention returns to potentially fighting men and Jean with the cola. One gloved hand accepts it, she looks at it for a moment and lets the aroma reach her nose, but doesn't drink just yet. "Thanks," she provides, "and yes. Cat's me."

"Huh, you'd better run, I'm not afraid of some dicks with sticks." Luke crosses his arms contemptuously as Jason moves off, but eyes the cops uneasily and moves of into a nearby crowd of people nevertheless. Man, and he was about to break that guy's jaw for calling him a retard! Damn cops.

"Dude. Horses? What are you afraid of, they're gonna trample you with them? 'Sides, we're not doing shit wrong," Anders tells Jason with a shake of his head. Well, aside from drinking in public and all that. Probably a sound ordinance or two. He grins at first Helena and then Cat. "You girls aren't afraid, are you?" Charming smile is flashed and then his scowling face turned back to Jason. "See? They aren't afraid and they're chicks." Sure, chicks that could kick his ass, but he doesn't know that.

Lola shakes her head, turning and tossing the empty beer away. She needs to get home and check on sleeping beauty anyway. Without so much as a word, she slips out the way she came.

The fall of snow is a little thicker by now, laughter following the scattering who had first run out to celebrate in the spring-snow flooding back under the bridge, faces red and shiny with drink and failing to notice the police some distance behind them. The white out of ice spiraling in the air smudges out the details all the more. It's a bit like staring through a smudged over pane of glass, giving the senses of distortion and a barricade both.

Well trained, none of the horse so much as twitch an ear when sudden noise cracks through the night, emitting from the dish-like device, clearly some sort of loud speaker — an LRAD, the more savvy among the crowd may pinpoint. The voice is almost preternaturally clear, despite the distance and the wind, or just technologically.

"This is the New York Police Department. Curfew begins in ten minutes. Please disperse in an order— "

The music from the van, party-side, suddenly belts out as loud as it can, evoking some laughter from the gathered crowd as it drowns out the police announcement, and a "yee-ah!" from Eduardo. The older man sitting on his ice box gets to his feet with a grin — or at least, his teeth show. He doesn't so much as leave as slip off to the side at a meander, boots scuffing as he goes. Over the heads of Helena and those either her looks or her ambient warmth has attracted, a mostly empty beer bottle sails. It falls far short of the police, breaks on impact, and another ripple of chuckles go through the crowd.

A little nervous, in the case of some of the Roosevelt familiars. They know riots. But this is different, as Helena notes — a party as opposed to a territorial stand off, although the thick of the crowd aren't disappearing as smoothly as some.

Jean smirks faintly before she replies to Cat, "Its nice meeting you." She smiles and runs her hand through her hair a little nervously while she stands there. Whether it is from the police, or from the fact that she is attempting to flirt is anyone's guess. "So… um.. what do you like to do for fun," the red-head asks with a smile, cheeks going even redder than the cold can account for.

"Horses are fucked up, yo. Ain't you ever watched a rodeyo on ESPN? Foam flyin' out their mouths, kickin' the shit out of clowns. Fuckin' clowns, man." And with that and a plantiff gesture for all involved parties to GTFO before they can get the shit kicked out've them clown style, Jason bravely scuffs into a dime turn and runs like a bitch.

"Shit," is Melissa's muttered response as she sees the bottle go flying. She sighs and starts to move off to the side, but her steps are slow, and she's eyeing people, the partygoers. Trouble here is not what she wants. She has to live here! "Hey, let's just leave it. You really want another riot guys? I mean, we'd have cops up our asses all the damn time if that happened," she calls out.

A sound all too familiar to Cooper, catches his attention, making the detective turn around. Suddenly glad of the credentials secured around his neck with a chain, tucked inside his shirt. It's also why he's barely touched the beer in his hand. Blend in, but don't dull the senses. The relaxed nature of everyone, amuses the man, as he travels back to the edge of the crowd. The beer bottle tossed into the bon fire in passing, the crack of glass is followed by a flash of flame, his attention is on the police beyond.

Helena's words catches his attention, his small smirk falling some. She was right, but…. as the announcement says, curfew soon. The bottle sails over his head to crash on the ground, Cooper twists around to look behind him, searching for the responsible party.

Sadly for Jean, she's perhaps a year and two months late for flirtation with Cat. No woman has compared favorably in that arena since that time, and it isn't likely one will. "For fun," she repeats with a tone of slight distraction in her voice, "I do a few things." Eyes don't come to rest on the younger female, they're instead on the ranks of police as that beer bottle goes flying until she turns toward Helena. "We can maybe make it back," she opines, "in time."

"New to Roosevelt, came from Staten," Anders says to Helena and then a wide-eyed and silent 'Oh-Shit!' followed by a laugh. He takes a swig of his own beer and shrugs. "And it's not a riot, it's a fucking party, right? They shouldn't be treating it like a riot when it's just an innocent gathering. We have the right to assemble, don't we? Aren't curfews un-fucking-constitutional?" This he says a bit louder, to the people surrounding them.

"Hah, look at that loser running away!" Luke calls out as he catches Jason running away. "Is that all you can do, retard? Run away like a coward?" vindicated, the teen smirks broadly, then turns towards the cop car, considering. Let's see, how far away is it?

Jean doesn't know that, and as the talk of curfew from the police abounds she frowns and mutters, "Can't they see we're having a party and not causing any harm." She sighs, before looking back at Cat and smiling, "Oh? What's a few things?"

Melissa sees Luke eyeing the cop car, and her eyes narrow, and she stalks towards him. When she reaches him, she drops her voice, "Remember what I said about laying low" she asks, the last two words nearly hissed. "You do anything stupid, and I can't protect you."

"This is Summer Meadows. Evo City. You think they're gonna treat us like we have rights?" Helena gives Anders a rather wry grin which might be presumed to be flirtacious. But she nods to Cat, wistfully. Wouldn't do for either of them to get arrested. She looks in the direction another one of her friends went. "Mel!" she calls out and waves in a c'mon with us fashion, when a thought occurs to her. Possibly the first I'm-a-dumb-kid-in-my-twenties thought she's had in a long time. She looks back at Anders and lifts a brow. "My friend and I are gonna get out of here. You want to come?"

It's effortless, the reply Cat speaks to Anders. "United States Constitution, first amendment: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." There, she pauses briefly and eyes the beer bottle which was thrown.

"But it's an easy thing for the police to claim it was other than peaceable, and a projectile's already been tossed toward them." As she starts to walk toward the snowmobile, a glove is removed and she reaches into a pocket for the snowmobile keys, thus discovering absence of cash Lola stole. "Helena… check your pockets," she recommends just ahead of an offhand comment sent Jean's way. "You'd not believe me if I told you."

The responsible party that Cooper looks for— could be any number of party-goers that now have their eyes turned towards the cops, and there's a ready jeer from the crowd when Anders hollers out what seems to be a common sentiment — curfew or not, they're not hurting anyone, and they lend their voices in agreement. "Girls and boys, we ain't done here 'til the fat lady sings," Eduardo expresses over his microphone, echoing over their heads. "Get a drink, re-lax, this party ends when we say it ends, word up?" And from the sound of the crowd, they agree.

There's a common sentiment that seems to mingle in with what can only be called the vibe of the crowd. Outside of party atmosphere, there's restless resentment, annoyance, and it's— infectious. Infectious in a way where even those talking common sense start to feel it nag their senses. Helena and Cat have been fighting a battle for Evos for a long time, and old hurt down that vein flares a little thicker while Roosevelt residents sneer at their place of choice getting invaded. There are theories about the way crowds operate, sharing emotion. Like the frog in the pot, the crowd begins to simmer in it.

"— disperse in an orderly fashion or action will be taken. This is the New York Police— "

The speaker suddenly cuts out, done wrestling with the sound of music from the van, it seems. Then, a siren wails out. It is not the sound of the police lights, more like a car alarm, startling loud enough that the crowd seems to jolt in paranoia, though the horses don't seem to care or even hear it. The dish mounted on the vehicle angles a little to the left, and Eduardo, singled out in his raised status upon the van, suddenly drops his mic which gives off a whine, as if some invisible force had knocked him to his knees as he staggers forward, near slipping off the metal top. There's a cry of objection from the party-goers, surprise and confusion, muffled by the wailing siren.

Jason can't have been gone for more than ten minutes before he's back.

Kind of.

If anyone recognizes him instantly it'll be Cat — for her pristine recollection, the spiny bleached blonde of his awesome kind of retarded hair is unusually impossible to forget, even if his mug is partially obscured by a wide pair of yellow-screened goggles pulled down over his eyes to offset the black and blood red kevlar and leather of his supervillain suit.

Because sure as shit he has one.

Aw yeah.

Metal braces across the forearms and shins and spine and god knows where else provide further protection, for all that bystanders can make out at a blur when he does formally reappear in the form of a, "BOOM, MUTHAFUCKA," and a fiery metal traschan propelled at high speeds ahead of his bare hands to bowl a mounted officer off the back of his horse like a bowling pin. Only he's a person. And a police officer. Who is now on fire.

Luke shrugs at Melissa. "C'mon, it's nothing. It's not like I'm gonna blow up the car or anything." he moves away from her and into the crowd after speaking those not-very-reassuring-words. And then when Jason shows up, or at least some kind of freak dressed up like a cheesy second-rate supervillian, Luke sidles over towards the police car, hopefully without being noticed. After all, all the attention will be on that guy over there playing bowling with mounted police.

As a trash can goes, flying, Cooper ducks. "What.. the… fuck?" He turns around to find one of the mounted cops on the ground."That's crazy…" He glances back into the crowd and starts through it, looking for the source of the projectile. Seriously, who would be that crazy to mess with the cops like that. He moves with ease, pushing through the crowd where he needs to, not shoving, just easing through.

"See! Unfuckingconstitutional!" Anders says, nodding vehemently to Cat's words. But then there's the list of ambiguities. "Well, that sucks." But his eyebrows shoot up at Helena's invitation. "Hell, yeah, I wanna go!" A big grin on his face at the invitation but unfortunately that's when the supervillain comes in and blows a mounty off its mount.

"Shiiiiiiit. That cop's on fire…" Anders says. Captain Obvious, looking for promotion. He does shoot a glance at the exchange between Luke and Mel. "Blow up the cop car?" he echoes. Someone near by picks it up like a chant: "Blow up the cop car! Blow up the cop car!"

Jean starts like a deer in headlights as sounds start to go off around her, and explosions, and cop on fire! Her eyes going wide while she stands there, before she asks, kinda dumbly, "Is this really happening?" She half-turns almost like she wants to flee, or at least do something. However, anxiety is starting to peek as she tries to figure out what to do, her brain stewing in fear.

There's a lot of moisture in the air; hence the snow and such, the trick is to lower the temperature in a concentrated place enough for it to stay wet rather than freeze. Helena spends a moment staring at the cop on fire; a low level formation of cloud growing fat before beginning to wringe out icy cold water drops over him. It's the best she can do, and probably not enough, before she reaches for Anders' hand, like suddenly he's her new best friend. "Cat," she says, "Let's book. I don't want them to have an excuse to put me in jail again." Oh, yeah, guess what Anders: the bird who's got you in hand? Is totally a former jailbird. (Which arguably might make her seem hotter. Guys are funny that way.)

"Shit," Melissa repeats, then again, with more feeling, when people start chanting 'blow up the cop car'. She hates the cops as much as anyone else, but…her charge and friend are in the crowd, and she can't them get locked up! Again! So she climbs up on the nearest car, her back to the cops, and starts to yell. "Let's just get the fuck out of here! Who wants to party with cops anyway, right?" So it's not her first option, but pain makes people more irritable, and that would baaaaaaad. And after she gets done yelling, she hops down and moves right towards Luke, fully intending to grab him and drag him away if she can.

She's already on the move, that missing cash not forgotten. It's just disregarded for the present time. She'll easily remember all the faces around her nearest the time it vanished, and that there was only one person who behaved like a pickpocket. Passing nearby and being gone soon after. Of greater import for Cat right now is getting to someplace that's else. Snowmobile keys are drawn out, the vehicle is approached.

Anger rises, felt in tandem with what's already present due to the simple fact Dreyfus and Skoll aren't dead yet, to the point where Cat's having to force it down with effort.

The panicky energy of the crowd is traded like alcohol through a bloodstream, and the older gentleman that had wandered away before stands out of sight of the cop cars as he casually observes the restless group. His dark eyes pick out Jean, and all at once, her scattered mind, simmering fear and confusion, is infused with something else, something pure and focused — the crowd's growing discord. There's another sound of splintering glass, another bottle flung, and another.

Some people are spared. Melissa's single-minded determination gives her something to cling in a growing tide of shared anger, and Eduardo is too shocked and in pain to do much else than climb down onto the ground and stagger into his van. The former's thin voice does what it can, snagging the attention of a few people deeply unsure that they want to be involved, but for the most part—

The policeman who is down and on fire and now wet is joined by another, a woman uttering into her radio that we need the ambulance down here now, yes, already, goddamnit! Neat as you like, the three remaining horses suddenly start forward towards the crowd, helmets and masks gleaming yellow and gold off streetlamps and the fires in front of them, and a horse shakes its head with skittish worry when a beer bottle lands a few feet from its trotting, rubber-clad hooves.

The mounted LRAD does not shut up, turning its face at a slow pace. Just next to Cat, someone suddenly claps their hands to their ears, before she and those around her get a sudden dose of it — ear-blasting noise that seems to rattle skulls and pierce needles into their ears. Its as effective as handcuffs, people covering up their ears as what could be called a spotlight of noise sweeps across the former party in an effort to disperse.

But the shared feeling remains: they don't want to.

Behind the lick of still another spilled fire, in but an instant, a black shape coalesces out of the shadows and into the form of a sturdy-looking (if rather short) balding man in a suit the color of soot. He's gone again in a static flicker, intangible to most as a hallucination — visible to few others as an italianish mix of strong features and jaw set into bleak seriousness in the beat it takes him to fade from view.

More dynamically, Jason launches off the ground in a smudge of red, black and blonde that nearly defies perception. Loose papers and bits of glass rustle and rattle in his wake. Seconds later, an ice chest from on high plummets into the roof of the nearest police vehicle, smashing out the red and blue whorl of lights across its roof and spidering out thick cracks through the windshield glass.

Luke dodges away from Melissa's snatch and continues on his path towards the car with the LRAD. That thing is just pissing him off, how dare it interrupt the party? Although actually, he's taking more of a meandering route, running off to the side. Maybe he can double around back behind it. Odds are, they'd be looking forward, not back, right?

The man he's obviously looking for launches into the air making Cooper stop short in his travel through the crowd. The detective can only watch in awe, before the sound hits him, from the cops. Hands lift to covers his ears against it till it passes, head ducking down. It is really pissing him off that the people are defying so much, though he doesn't understand why.

The detective is not one that's quick to anger he gives a shove past some one else, to try and get to the 'super villian', the flicker of the sooty form is missed by Cooper.

"Jail? Cooool." But then the ear-splitting sound has Anders clapping his hands over his ears like the rest of the crowd, his eyes narrowing as he looks for the cause of it. He also notes the fact the cute blonde pulling him toward the snow mobile concentrating on saving the burning cop. "You're something else!" he shouts, as if to be heard above the sound or clapped ears but the mouthed words may be caught. "Go go go." He tells the girls, pushing Helena in front of him. "No new cage for the jailbird."

As Jean looks around, unsure of what to do, but suddenly she finds a focus. White, hot anger suddenly shoots through her, and she spins around to look at the various cops on their horses, and she lets out a sound that is nothing put rage, as she brings back one of her hands and pushes it forward, the bonfire suddenly exploding as the pyrokinetic manipulates it and pushes towards the mounted police officers.

Did someone order extra crispy?

Helena stumbles forward, but doesn't seem to mind so much since away has been an idea that she's been promoting for a few minutes now. She recovers her pace and starts jogging, her hands still clamped to her ears as she runs, neither toward the cops nor back into the crowd, but aiming for one of the alleys, perhaps a building unless Cat or Anders redirects her otherwise.

Melissa looks like she's starting to lose her cool, even with her focus. "Dammit. What are you, stupid? Let's get the fuck out of here before they have a reason to just toss everyone here in jail!" she mutters as she continues to chase after Luke, odd route or not. She does wince, at first, at the painful noise, but what's the point of being able to suppress pain if you can't suppress your own?! Then, yelling as loud as she can towards Luke, "GET YOUR MEDIOCRE ASS BACK HERE!"

Then the bonfire is exploding, and there are ice chests dropping on cars, and a microwave man about to go after a cop or his car. "Oh fuck this," she mumbles, before she stops, and deals with the pain for a minute. More, she seems to savor it, to absorb it. Feeling pain makes it easier, and this is a lot of people! She closes her eyes, breathing in slow and deep, then releases her control of her ability, doing her best to send chest pain through everyone in 10 yards of her. Some of them have certainly felt greater pain, sure, but this is intense, prolonged pain, and if nothing else, surely it will distract some of the trouble makers, or send some home to try to feel better. After all, chest pain is a worrying pain, right? Who wants to riot when they think their heart might explode! Hopefully Helena is out of range!

Hands clasp quickly over her ears and a pained cry is loosed, Cat's pace being turned to stumbling for a few moments. She keeps going, reaching the snowmobile after the wave has passed, with her ears still ringing. Keys are made use of, the vehicle starts up, and a glance backward is shot at Helena and Anders. She's ready to go, hoping they make it to her quickly, so she can get underway and depart this place in as orderly a fashion as she can manage.

The police radio lines are going insane. A call for further back up, for medics, for fucking FRONTLINE if they aren't so damn busy in one of their stupid tanks and— the officer manning the LRAD winces and stares upwards when the car is taken out, suddenly paranoid about what will be coming out of the sky next. Which means he is not looking at any sneaky microwave boys, though he grits his teeth and continues to try and will the crowd away with the power of the sound weapon, completely ignorant of the fact that Melissa is very much assisting him.

Tide of anger and fear skitters apart when the man off to the side isn't spared Melissa's power use. He clutches at his chest and staggers back, startled and skittish, deciding that enough is enough and makes with disappearing into the night. Any anger and panic the crowd might feel is their own, from here on in, assaulted with pain from both a Ferrygirl and the sweep of the LRAD.

But all of this is less spectacular and visually stunning as fire flaring like thick battering rams of heat and light, searing towards the police. The crowd feels it too, some screaming and scuttling aside with seared hair and clothes, but it's a horse that catches the brunt of it, fire slamming into its chest and licking up around its neck it flag against the mounted cop. The creature screams as melted plastic clings to its long face and flesh burns, both mount and man going down as the two others cry out, and move to avoid the flames even as they barrel into the crowd to disperse them further, intimidating beasts doing much to send people scattering. A canister is sent towards Jean, belching tear gas into the night air, giving the pyro and everyone around her a face full of it.

Sirens are sounding out, both ambulances and more cop cars barreling in from the north, and the crowd, finally, is starting to break apart, Eduardo's pimp van almost running people over in an effort to get away, knocking over a burning trashcan as it goes.

It is not necessarily true that things that launch with massive velocity land the same way, but in this case: it is. Bedlam hits Cooper from behind like a battering ram, driving him down, down, down into the asphalt and snow. And sound. …And pain.

Jason rolls away in a chest-clutching heap, right hand finally wrenched away enough to pulse him up off the ground like a car barrel-rolling off a ramp before the other three points of thrust join in and he fires off once more, only narrowly avoiding a billboard for a nail salon in the process.

Luke claps his hands to his ears, slowing his pace. And now he's feeling pain? Well that's it, gotta be that damn machine. About twenty feet away from the LRAD, he ducks behind something, aims his hand at the dish, and starts concentrating. Let's see… is he close enough to make it stop working? He'll try, anyway. He's just so pissed off, and the pain is making him even more irrational than normal. "I'm not going to hurt anyone!" he hisses, in case Melissa is still following. Or maybe he's talking to himself? Sounds almost like a promise.

The bondfires explosion Cooper, is caught by surprise turning towards it in time to get hit by chest pain. Oh dear god, what is going on!?! Any idea of going after anyone is thrown aside as cops are burning, horses screaming in pain. The next thought in his head, is 'Oh shit! Gotta go help the guys.'

However…. best laid plans….. As Cooper turns to go back, he gets hit from behind with something that HAS to be a semi-truck. Or that is how it feels when the detective eats snow… and he can only pray it isn't yellow.

Face down in the snow, Cooper can only lay there for a long moment, before he rolls on his back with a groan, a cut across his forehead from a shard of glass in the snow, hand going to his head to shove the beanie off his head, smearing red across it. Taste of blood in his mouth he runs his tongue over teeth to make sure they are there, seems at least he only bit his lip. Fire in his chest and now his ribs, he doesn't feel good about that. Eyes opening in time to watch the battering ram take off. "Son of a bitch… Man down… hit and run." He lets his head fall back into the snow while he tries to get his barings.

"What the fuck…" Anders says, watching everyone near Melissa go down writhing in pain. He and Helena are in fact out of range. "Shiiit, she's scary, man, you know her?" he turns to look at Helena with some awe on his face, cocky attitude no longer written all over it in Sharpie. But Helena and Cat ran in different directions, so the two girls are a bit separated by the battle zone as it were. "Which way, Goldilocks? This party is officially over, dude." Somehow he's still holding a beer in his hand.

Jean's eyes are narrows in anger as she turns one horse and officer into so much pile of burned flesh. Her eyes looking around, she's just outside of the radius for Melissa's power. As the canister is lobbed, Jean's eyes fall it as it bounces before popping, the thick white smoke starting to pillow in and around people. The pyrokinetic almost goes on pure instinct, as the bonfire is used once more ot lob fire, this time at the canister. There's a a sound like gasoline getting lit, and suddenly there is a lot of fire. Everywhere.

Helena can't help but put her hands up to ward off debris from the explosion, but when they drop, she discovers that yes, she is out of Melissa's range. She too, is a little in awe. "I was in Moab with her." Moab, which is practically an urban legend by now, the alleged prison-slash-concentration camp for Evolved set up by the government. She's uncertain of how readily she can get to Cat on the snowmobile, and reaching into her pocket, pulls out her phone. "You live here on RI, right?" she asks him, thumb moving quickly to begin a text message. "Can we get to your place safely?"

When some people start to leave, Melissa takes off after Luke again, at a slower pace though, so she can focus on keeping the pain going. Of course, people might notice a slight trickle of blood from her nose, but she doesn't, and it's not stopping her from trying to grab Luke's arm with both hands. "Now. Or you find someplace else," she snaps, tugging with all the strength her slender body can manage. Of course, grabbing him ensures that he's within her range, but that can't be helped without letting all the chaotic people be free to cause more chaos! Or maybe the sight of her bloody nose will help. WHO KNOWS!

Helena isn't right behind her. Damn. Cat scans for her, trying to pin down a location, and is stuck waiting for the atmokinetic and man to catch up. Her ears still ring, she sees the carnage happening around the location, and really wants to be elsewhere. It's a struggle to hold down the emotions working at her control, but she manages. What helps most in that regard is the overriding desire to not leave Helena behind unless she's in immediate danger of being dragged away.

Plastic begins to bubble, a stinking kind of smoke emitting from the LRAD as Luke's burning power extends towards it. Even as the technician reels away from it, the awful sound cuts out — even if Melissa's pain does not. The sound of footsteps beating against asphalt will get their attention, the pursuit of two police officers moving towards them, although the radius of Melissa's pain is giving them time as some stumbles and staggers to their feet.

Through the chaos of burning, the sound of fleeing, and the screech and wail of cops cars arriving on the scene—

There's a gunshot. It's a definite kind of sound, and very final. People pause in midflight, whipping their heads around to see where the hell that landed, while others simply scramble. The fire that was everywhere abruptly goes out, Jean sent staggering, torso bloodied by the new hole that's been torn through it.

The death toll ticks up one more, and by now, the once merry assemblage beneath the bridge has all but scattered. From where he's sprawled, Cooper watches as a young man with a cameraphone who had surged forward screeches in indignation when a policeman grips his arm and drags him around and down, making an arrest with a click-clack of handcuffs before his view is obscured by the tree trunks of legs a uniformed someone moving on by and pausing to check that the man fallen in a heap on the snow is not dead.

One man in literal flight turns over himself to stare after the sound of that single shot, hands powerd down as bracers until Bedlam can zero in on the source. And the end result. From there, at least for him, the jig seems to be up. Damage done, brows knit and lower jaw a-jut, he swishes off into the night to cause trouble elsewhere. …Or to go to sleep so he can be up early for work. The world will never know.

Luke does stop using his power when Melissa says so, and then he grabs for her hand. "C'mon, let's get out of here." damage is already done, so now's the time to hightail it out of here! And just to make things more difficult for any pursuits, Luke tries melting a path behind him, just enough so that it'd freeze again as a thin sheet of ice. In theory, that is. And he'll run away with or without Melissa, especially since there is the sound of gunshots in the crowd. This is too hot for him, man.

"Uh… yeah, let's go. Your friend's okay? She can follow. I think she's over there on the snow mobile, or she can head out and to civilization," Anders tells Helena, grabbing her hand and starting to move with the chaotic crowd toward Summer Meadows and his apartment. "Sorry about this — it wasn't supposed to be like this. Fucking cops. You were in Moab?" his voice is colored with respect for the innocent-looking blonde as he glances over his shoulder, the snowy and fiery landscape reflected in his eyes. "That's some crazy shit, man."

Jean blinks while looking down at the neat little hole that just seemed to magically appear in her chest. The red head looking up a little confused as the anger that was fueling her spree is suddenly… no longer there. "I… I," the young woman tries to speak while she crumples too her knees, before she falls forward and lays still.

Helena writes a quick text to Cat: FOLLOW US and seconds it with a gesture, wincing at the sight of all that destruction. "Goddammit." she hisses in dismay at the destruction, but nods to Anders. "Yeah, let's go. If you don't mind us sitting tight with you, we can get out of your hair once things have calmed down." With that, she gives him a smile and offers, "Tell you all about it once we get to your place, if you like." She makes a face. "Let's hurry. I can keep the tear gas from coming our way, but I'd rather move fast."

Melissa certainly isn't going to stop Luke from making a quick getaway. That's what she wanted all along! So she lets him drag her along while she glares at the back of his head and slowly lets the painful feeling in people's chest ease, then finally dissapate altogether. "That's what I've been trying to get you to do," she points out as she runs. Of course though, she won't go straight to the Den, but ensure that Luke takes a roundabout way!

Fingers pull out the device when the message comes through, and with a slight sense of relief Cat puts the vehicle in motion. To wherever Helena and the man are going she goes also, hoping nothing blocks her path. It also, she reasons, saves them needing to worry about curfew. Hole up there for the night, head back to Manhattan when the sun returns.

To say the party scatters like roaches when a light is flicked on would be a very simplistic version of what went down. Shouts echo off the tall underside of the building as those few not lucky enough to make their getaway are arrested and hauled off, the fallen— including Cooper— tended to and carted off with a little more dignity, and the dead surrounded by grim faced uniforms.

Fifteen minutes past curfew, and Summer Meadows is rocked to sleep with the sound of sirens from police cars switched off, and those on ambulances wailing off to the main islands.

Luke does not go straight back to the Den. "Don't worry, no one even knows my name here at this party but you. The only person I gave a name to thinks my name is Larry, so… what can he say?" Luke mutters to Melissa as he leads her a meandering path through a good chunk of the area.

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