Participants:
| Scene Title | Unplanned |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Just because an encounter isn't planned doesn't mean it isn't a strange coincidence. Adam meets a curiousity in the form of a metal woman, Gillian sees a boat ride back to Manhattan. |
| Date | July 4, 2009 |
Staten Island: Coast
The coast of Staten Island is as much of a presence as its inland, with rivers that invade right into its heart as well as cutting off the circulation of transport from the rest of New York City. The coastal regions reflect a lot of this borough's rural nature, with rough shores and plantlife, broken brick, and general abandonment. The harbors are left to the devices of those that freely come and go, a conspicuous lack of official presence - a number of them notably overrun by the developing crime syndicate, but there are still quite a few, particularly on the coasts nearest to Brooklyn and Manhattan, that are accessible to the lawful public.
The hazy fog covered much of Staten Island for the evening, the rain cutting through it in places, until that cleared up. The fog took longer, wafting in the wind, but never fully dissipating. Only when the sun rises and peeks through clouds does it start to disappear, shifting, burning away, casting a hazy glow on the streets of the suburban neighborhoods.
A young woman sits on a street corner, outside a building not far from the docks, standing out in the fact that the sunlight catches on her hair and skin in a way that almost reflects. It's a dull reflection, but enough to give off the look that she's very much… gray. It's as if every inch of her is coated in metal. The hair doesn't shift in the slight breeze. She could easily be a statue. Except most statues don't wear clothes. Drab, torn clothes, but clothes.
Adam spends much less time on Staten than he used to, ever since the attacks began. But every once in a while, Adam can be found making his way through the dreary and dangerous streets with a couple men. Either scooping up a couple more soldiers or looking, instead, for a new purchase on a weapon. As it is now, he walks with one of his top henchmen through the streets with his hands in his pockets. He pauses near the corner. He glances around, giving the statue only a passing glance at first, then back towards it. It seems a tad out of place. His curiousity meanders him even closer to the corner and he makes his way closer and closer until his curiosity is sated.
Henchmen are something she doesn't have— then again right now she doesn't need a henchman. Would anyone mess with an iron woman who could send them flying through a wall with a punch? Not twice, at least. At the "sight" of movement close by, just as he starts to double take, the metal form suddenly stands up. Movements are subtle. No signs of breathing or blinking of eyes, but the skin seems liquidy, the hair even shifts. Gillian's silvery eyes settle in the direction of the two men. "I don't want any trouble," she intones in an odd way, moving her lips as if out of habit, cause no air seems to actually pass by them. The voice sounds like she's speaking through metal, even, distorted.
Well, that's not going to sate his curiosity. He pauses, half speaking over his shoulder, "Michael, wait here for a moment." he says as he continues to walk closer towards the metal woman. His eyes narrow a moment in curious study, "You're…metal." he says for lack of anything else to say. This appears to amuse him in some manner, "Metal metal." he pauses as he nears the woman, "Do you clink?"
"Do I— clink?" Gillian says in what sounds like surprise. The metal face is more or less expressionless, but there's raising of what must be eyebrows on her forehead, which causes some creases. "I— I don't know." It's a good question, really, she doesn't actually hear, or see, in this form, so knowing if she clinks would be pretty much impossible. Suddenly she finds herself tapping her cheek in mild interest. Thunk thunk thunk. Like metal hitting metal. There actually would be a clink sound to that, too. She sounds completely solid, as opposed to just armored.
Adam finds himself within arm's reach of the metal woman. He listens to the clunking and hmms to himself, "That's…quite odd." he says. He frowns to himself for a moment and says, "You don't seem like you should be able to move and yet here you are." he pauses, "The metal moves, too.." he pauses, "Some of it." and then suddenly he reaches forward and tries to wrap his knuckles on her chest.
"Yeah, it's— odd," The young woman intones, feeling solid to his rapping on her knuckle. The liquidy movement only seems to happen when she's moving herself around. "Don't like walking around like this but it's…" The voice trails off, then suddenly she takes a heavy step back. The sidewalks in this area aren't in the best repair, so there's a mild cracking sound as she does that, almost as if she might weight so much she's messing with the concrete. "This— might be a weird question, but do you have a boat?"
Adam considers this for a few moments, "I do have a boat." he says in reply, but seems to be really trying to keep up on this metal form. After knocking on the chest, he runs his hand along the arm, "This is so wierd." he says. Then another thought occurs to him, "Can you take a gun shot?" he questions as if this is an amazingly interesting question.
"I guess I could," Gillian says, looking down at her herself even if she can't really see from her eyes. A metal parking meter shattered on her even when swung by someone with super strength, leaving only a dent— but gunshots aren't something to experiment on unless… "Will you give me passage over to Manhattan?" There's always a cost, but letting someone shoot you in a test might actually be a fair payment— considering how little cash she happens to have on her. And all the clones need to get back to the original, she knows that much.
Adam frowns at the question, then his gaze returns to the chest. Now, ordinarily, Adam's a tad more suave about this, or some would say. But now he's interested. Do metal boobs bounce? He's never come across this before and he's been doing this a long time. He finally looks back up to Gillian, "Um…you know, I might ask who you are…what you are might be appropriate, but I suppose who might suffice."
"I'm a person— I can tell you that much," Gillian does answer with an expression almost indignant. Not quite pissed off, but definitely making some strange looks at him. The what she is could be insulting! "Just— made of metal right now." There's a shrugging motion, before she adds on, "My name's Gillian." Last name is left off, cause— really, she's not even sure what to call herself anymore.
Adam hmms a bit, "Gillian." he says. "Gillian, you don't seem used to this. And someone who can do this usually is. So…" he pauses, "How did you become a metal person?" he questions. He pauses, "Do you discrete bodily fluids?" there's a moment where he waits for an answer, then realizes that that might be taken in a different way than he intended, "Can you cry?"
"Not completely used to it— but, no. I don't cry and don't breathe and I can't feel anything— I don't sleep and I don't need to eat or drink for days…" Gillian had experience being like that for a few days and she doesn't really think before explaining it. Lack of feeling and breathing and everything else makes for better emotional control. It helps her look relatively stoic, unless she forces herself to show an emotion. And she went into this form, specifically, to keep from crying more than once. Metal fingers reach up and touch at her hair, the fine threads shifting as her fingers come in contact, moveable, but still solid. "And I wasn't always like this— I can change back too. I don't want to break your boat."
Adam seems almost disappointed at that. "You can?" then frowns, "Well, yeah. I dunno how much you weigh like this…I mean, could be it could take you, I traveled light today, but.." he pauses, "I'd prefer not to risk it. Why are you trying to get to Manhattan? Because if you don't belong here, what are you doing here? You realize you're quite the enigma Gillian."
"Had an easier time getting here than I will getting back," Gillian admits in a stoic way— she's not seeming to be bothered by the possibility of him denying her, but she does know she's quite the enigma. One of those metal fingers scratches at the dull silver of her forehead, sending another clink clink sound through the air. No itch, it's just a gesture more than anything. "I can buy passage, I just figured I'd ask. You don't seem like someone who lives here— I mean I can't exactly see you, but I think you're dressed better than the majority."
Adam tilts his head thoughtfully, "You can't see me, but you think I'm dressed well? That's kind of…odd." he pauses a moment and says, "Well. On the one hand, I could always ask what I get out of it." he shrugs, "But, I was going back anyway, so we'll call it a favor, Gillian. So long as you don't sink my boat."
Hands go up, metal as they may be, and after a long moment the metal seems to melt away. Size doesn't change, but gray turns to pale flesh, hair turns black, eyes blink naturally as they become hazel again. A deep breath takes in air and there she is— human. And in a way, trusting him. No make up, she looks tired as it melts away, sluggish moveing. Almost as if she's depressed. "Looks like I was right. Or right enough. Got a name?" Her voice is much more normal, but extremely raspy, like someone with a cold might talk, or a smoker.
Adam hmms a moment. And once she goes flesh like, he actually seems to regain his decorum. Now this, he's seen before. In a general sense at least. He nods, "My name's Adam." he nods over towards the man who's been shuffling about keeping himself occupied, "That's Michael." he pauses, "Does it sound cheesy to say you look like you need a friend?" whether Adam feels emotions like other people is certainly a complicated matter, but he does at least recognize them.
"What normal names," Gillian comments, only faintly recalling the name Adam in a recent conversation. There's a bazillion Adams in the world anyway. "I'll be fine— just have some things to take care of before everything's better, though." Someone she cared about taken, killed, innocent children displaced— there's quite a lot of bad things going on. Not to mention she's died once to her knowledge. Luckily for this clone, she didn't have to feel the death of her sister who never made it off the island. Different replication styles, different brainwaves. Sees through no eyes but her own for now… "Don't sound like you're from around here," she adds, moving a few steps to get closer to him, looking up.
Adam looks down, because he has to, she's short. "No…you might say I'm from all over." which…would be an interesting way of putting it. With that, they begin to walk down towards the docks, "You realize most of your clothes are torn." he comments, "You should…do something about that."
"Oh," Gillian says, glancing down at the torn sweat pants and hoodie. Hands test the seams to make sure they won't do anything stupid like fall off, and a few adjustments and the holes aren't making anything terribly embarassing visible. A few tattoos peek through the rips. "Thanks for the ride over, Adam." She owes him one— sort of, but she doesn't seem to be bringing herself to admit it. She can turn to metal if he tries anything.
"Don't mention it, for now." because Adam's not one to let favors go unanswered. They continue on closer towards the docks until a row of boats is visible. "So…what do you Gillian?" he questions, "Besides turn to metal and solicit rides from strangers on Staten Island."
"Former Librarian," Gillian responds truthfully, following beside him for the moment as she looks at the 'friend', Michael, and then the boats. Everything's so much clearer now that she's got eyes. "Currently unemployed, between jobs." She could pipe up with the offer of money, but— now isn't the time. Rides aren't worth that much, after all.
Rides are only not worth that much when they're easy to come by. Eventually they come to a small powerboat. Nothing fancy, could hold about five and some cargo. Adam jumps in and Michael begins to unmoor it. Adam offers a hand to Gillian and says, "There seems to be a lot of that going around. Any plans…or are you one of those 'I don't plan, things just fall in my lap sorts'."
"No plans yet," Gillian says as she takes his hand, stepping onto the boat, and then settling down to find a place to sit and readjust her clothes. "Waiting to see if I survive the fucking week. Then maybe I can start to plan again— " It could be a joke, if she wasn't looking so serious as she glances back at Staten Island. "But I guess you could say I'm taking things as they show up."