Participants:
| Scene Title | Wanna Go For Pizza |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Pickpocketing isn't always a good idea, but at least there's pizza and good company in the end. |
| Date | January 31, 2011 |
There's more of a crowd than usual at the Speakeasy this afternoon - and not all of it indoors, either. People go in to get a drink and carry it back outside: because the air is a little less stale, because there are more chances to eye up passing sets of curves, or to play cards for pocket money in lieu of the pricier games on the official schedule. It's this latter crowd that has drawn Daryl to the area; perched on a metal folding chair, he drums his fingers for a moment, then rolls his eyes and folds on the flop. He needed another inside straight like he needed another hole in his head.
Either it was an idea born from conversations over the weekend, or it was a random desire to revisit old skills and see if she can improve on them. But there's Koshka visiting Red Hook and looking every bit as though she belonged in that part of town. She keeps to the sidewalks, trailing along with no real destination in mind, and it's not really the destination that's brought her out today.
Koshka scans over those she's passing by, never getting too close, but watching with a calculative gaze. Someone will fit the mark, the unwary or overconfident. And if she can get away with lifting a wallet today, it will be a good day. So long as her guardian types don't find out.
The others at the table with Daryl are quick to get on his case. "Aw, c'mon, that's the fourth hand in a row! Live a little, why don't ya?" Putting their money where their mouth is, they wind up raising back and forth a couple of times… only for the quiet one with the bent chin to come up with a low trio, grabbing the pile of bills and stuffing them into his pocket while the others slap their foreheads in turn. "Pleasure doing business with you all," he sneers, "but I do believe there's a woman in clear heels out there waiting for me." With a screech of metal on concrete, the chair leg scrapes against the sidewalk as he stands up and turns to go.
Not him, not ..that one. Koshka passes by countless possibilities, being too cautious or deciding the risk at that time was too high. But she's drawing closer to the bar and closer to where more people mill, and that could offer more potential. As she approaches, her eyes flick toward the gambling table, a glance in passing that takes in the activities and little else. But blue eyes catch on the first man to leave the table.
Tongue wetting her lower lip, Koshka slows her pace slightly so the bent-chin fellow manages to get into the throng just ahead of her. Hands hang casually at her sides, as she falls in behind, matching him stride for stride. Then when the crowd thickens, she moves in with a classic grab and pull without ever passing the mark.
The would-be john doesn't catch on, his thoughts still running a few hours ahead of his current whereabouts as he tries to flag down a cab. Way to follow up a big win with a big loss there, pal!
Back at the table, the rest of the players have turned their attention back to fleecing one another of whatever they've got left— except for Daryl, who spots Koshka and motions her over closer. "Hey, my good luck charm! And about time, too, these guys've been bustin' my balls for… what?" "An hour," another chimes in, helpfully.
So close and yet.. Koshka is not a professional pickpocket. Good thing she'd been pulled off the streets when she had, or she might've starved or worse. The winnings are pulled free, but when Daryl's voice comes up from just down the street she just brushes against the fellow in turning. Her eyes dart up to the guy, now likely turning with a question and not yet realizing what happened, and in haste she stuffs the cash into her coat pocket before retreating. Casually retreating.
And even so, she almost gets away with it. Bent Chin instinctively glances over… but as soon as he sees he's just been accidentally bumped by a teenage girl and not, say, a stereotypical guy with greasy hair and a ripped-up denim jacket, he just shrugs it off and moves to get into the next cab that pulls up.
Until he sits down, and realizes that the familiar thick billfold is no longer jamming up into his waistline.
With deceptive speed born of anger, he pulls himself up to his feet again, slamming the door behind him. "All right, who the fuck lifted my wallet?" he bellows, looking around for someone, anyone to be the target of his wrath. "Was it you?" he adds, eyes narrowing at the sight of the seemingly innocent girl who just bumped into him a second ago.
Like a handful of others who're gathered around, Koshka turns to look in complete innocent askance. Or at least she hopes it turns out that way. Her hands are in her pockets, shoulders lifting into shrug. "Maybe you dropped it somewhere," she offers before turning away again. Maybe a little too quickly.
Or maybe the guy's just looking for the first convenient target he can find. If she doesn't cough up the wallet, then he'll move on to those jerks at the table that he just beat once already. "I am gonna fuck you up," he growls, stalking forward as his right hand curls into a squat fist. "And then maybe I'll just—"
Which is more than enough to bring Daryl up to his feet, breaking into a quick run as he moves to intercept. Two of the other players, having no personal stake in the matter, take off almost as quickly in the opposite direction, making a beeline for the nearest parking lot.
Koshka looks back to the bent-chinned man with a half smirk, confident that she can tell him again that he's got the wrong person. She is the person who lifted his wallet, but she's the wrong person. However, this guy isn't kidding. She's just enough time to flinch before being struck, knuckles finding a home just below an eye. It sends her stumbling and leaves enough room for Daryl to get between.
Daryl winces in sympathy as he sees the blow strike home - that's gonna leave a mark - but his nature keeps him driving along the same path. Let someone else grab Koshka and keep her from falling; his goal is to stop the guy before he can get in a second blow. "Okay, you want the truth? I grabbed it. While you were playing with your d—" He's interrupted by a second punch, before throwing one of his own that thuds into the man's ample gut.
Those hands come more in the way of sympathetic looks. No one wants to get involved, lest they become a target too. Koshka, after taking a stumbled step backward, sinks backward with a hand coming up protectively. She comes to rest against a wall, only then someone, likely a college student comes by to check on her. She's fine, a little stunned, nothing she wont' survive.
Bent Chin is winded for a couple of seconds: good enough for Daryl's purposes. "C'mon!" he calls out to Koshka, grabbing her wrist and motioning toward the nearest blind corner. It'll involve leaving a few bucks behind at the card table, but nothing he couldn't afford to lose, otherwise he wouldn't have been betting it in the first place… if he were that addicted to the game, he'd have elbowed his way into one of the indoors games.
Koshka nearly strikes back at Daryl when he grabs her wrist, for a moment caught between fight and flight and almost choosing the former. On realizing it's him, she follows, unspeaking and without glancing back.
They've got a head start, but not quite enough of one, as the fat man straightens up again and takes off after them in turn. Daryl glances back, then ahead, not liking what he sees. Until— "I've got an idea. When he comes round the corner, throw something in his face?"
"Like what," Koshka asks. She's already scanning the ground, the walls, there might be enough dust around for that. But her control, or occasional lack of it, might also make it difficult. Casting a look toward the corner they'd just turned, she pulls out the billfold. The money is removed, put back into her pocket, but the wallet is left to throw once the angry guy has come into sight.
A smirk crosses Daryl's face. Oh, so she did yoink the guy's wallet! So much for getting out of the habit— and hey, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. But first they need to finish ditching him. "Anything!" he says to Koshka - then flickers out of sight once again, just as their pursuer lumbers back into sight.
Once that face has come around the corner, Koshka's slinging the wallet at him. Cheap leather and cards flutter and flap as they sail at the guy. Taken by surprise, the lightweight object hopefully hits its mark. Once it's left her fingers, she's already setting to motion for a back up, the dust she can feel if not see.
Bent Chin grunts as his suspicion is proved correct, pausing long enough to bend down and grab the wallet, then lumbering forward once again. This time, he only gets a couple of steps before he loses his balance and stumbles - as if tripped by an invisible foot - but he's still stumbling more or less toward Koshka, the nearby walls leaving him little choice in the matter.
Koshka backpedals, though not enough to fully avoid the man. His hands catch on her legs and they both go tumbling. It's enough to disrupt her attempts at ability useage. Kicking her legs and pushing with her hands, she begins to crab backward, or so is her intent, trying to put distance between her and the guy she's robbed.
Daryl takes a step forward himself, then another, clapping a hand on the man's shoulder. He's visible again - he's still inexperienced enough that his control over the ability slips in the heat of the fight - and so the guy is only a little surprised when he whirls around. There's another quick exchange of blows, finally ending with a punch that misses Daryl and slamps into the brickwork instead, leaving some blood around the knuckles. Not waiting for another opportunity, Daryl motions to Koshka instead, making a run back toward the street along the way they came in.
Not wanting to ask questions, Koshka runs after Daryl. She pauses only long enough to add insult to injury, kicking the wallet further away and into the street to be run over by the next passing cab. She picks up the pace after that, running full tilt to catch up to the boy.
If he isn't quite up to his usual top speed, then the fat man definitely isn't, his face a study in crimson and sweat as he clambers back up to his feet. No sign of the damn kids— and not even his credit cards to show for his trouble, until he figures out where it landed.
A block away, Daryl rounds another corner and slows his pace, turning and reaching his arms out to catch Koshka. "Hell yeah! That's my girl," he calls out, even as he struggles to get his breathing back down to a steady pace.
Managing to slow just enough so she doesn't bowl Daryl over completely, Koshka does run into him. Breathless herself, she staggers only slightly on impact, and remembers to turn a wary look over her shoulder in case of pursuit. "I swear, last time I ever do that," she pants, looking back up to Daryl. "Hi."
Daryl allows himself a brief moment of triumph. The jerkass got what he deserved, they've got some spare cash, and the girl in front of him is totally badass. And he's got his arms round her waist, if maybe only for a half a second. "Hi," he echoes, glancing around. No one chasing them. No one watching them. Now what?
Koshka, not quite sharing in the triumph, reaches up to touch her cheek. Already bruising and tender to boot, but at least they got out of there alive. And she's taken worse hits anyway. Letting out a breath, to calm nerves, she takes another look back, still staying close to Daryl. "So… You wanna go out for pizza?"
Taking a step back, Daryl looks Koshka over, making a face at the sight of that bruise - and wincing as he feels one or two of his own, coming down from the brief adrenaline rush. "Yeah, pizza sounds good, just not around here— last thing we need is Fatso showing up again in the middle of dinner. You been to Grimaldi's, up near the bridge?" They need to head that way anyway if they're going to get home at some point.
