Participants:
| Scene Title | Welcome To Harbor Court |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Finally released from confinement, Koshka discovers the less welcomed side of the youth homes. |
| Date | March 22, 2011 |
In the last few days the only interaction Koshka has received is a brief opening of the door. Arrival of the essentials and a more or less quick departure.
In most cases it's been the same person. A mousy woman accompanied by a mousier looking man standing in the doorway. Food and clothing would be delivered a few exchanged words and then gone. But today when Koshka's locked door opens, something more final sings out when the morning light seeps into the dimly lit dark room. The door swings open before thumping against the wall. The light is impeded by the darkening of a large figure standing at her threshold. An overweight ginger stands with a jovial smile, curly long hair pulled into a ponytail. A visor pushed over his brow. A light red goatee dropping from his chin. The large man takes a single step into the room. A clipboard held in one hand. But other than that, his hands are empty. No food. No clothes. No adynomine.
"Bethany?" The new face emits, looking down with a gentle smile, one mammoth hand extending her way. "Mark Wahlberg. No relation to the actor! Though I get it all the time!" A light hearty chuckle fills the silence of the room before he abruptly stops. "So. Looks like it's time to spring you loose! What say we get you acquainted?"
A few days left alone, save for the occasional visit of food or clothing or other essentials, have worn thin on Koshka. The first night spent making however much noise as possible, fists used to beat uselessly against the walls and doors while typical calls of injustice were yelled at no one in particular. But by the end of the second day, the worry of being locked away without explanation and the frightening and deadened feeling of being cut off from her ability had caused her to withdraw into herself. She'd taken keeping herself pressed into a corner, not that it helped much when time came for another round of adynomine, and standing but well away from the door.
When the door opens this time is no different.
The teenager scowls faintly at the man who fills her doorway, palms pressing against the wall rather than return the handshake. Gentle smiles and genial demeanors got her into this place, and if there's another here it's not something to be trusted. "Yeah, I bet you do," Koshka states in flat, sarcastic tones. Her eyes flit to the clipboard and then to the doorway, then settle on Mark expectantly.
The large man beams brightly down at Koshka. The shirt he wears is a dull forest green. A laniard suspended around his neck which holds a few things. A whistle, a very official looking, laminated ID badge and a guitar shaped bottle opener. The whistle and the bottle opener clang against each other as they slop over his belly as the man takes a lumbering step in. The large man's features soften as he reaches up to hold the long ponytail of ginger hair at the nape of his neck. "Bethany.." He starts quietly, features softening visibly. The sound of conversation filters through the open door. Teenagers. Laughing.
"I know how you may feel right now. I was tossed around when I was a kid, too. But just do me a favor and make my job easy on me, alright? And in return I promise to do my best to make you feel at home? Okie-dokie?" His tone brightens at the end as he brings his clipboard up. "Okie-dokie, artie-chokie.." It's mostly mumbled to himself. "Okay. Your last dose of adynomine should be wearing off by now. I'm going to show you around the basics of Harbor Court and then set you free. You're allowed to tour Eltingville, but just be back at a decent hour alright? The security officers will let you know lights out times and all that." He pauses. There's a logo on his shirt that looks like it might have been sewn in by hand, possibly by Mark himself. Harbor Court. Someone loves what they do.
"You don't know shit," Koshka states flatly. Why is it adults always think they know how kids feel? Especially in this kind of situation. She glances past the man again and toward the doorway, then takes a full on look at the fellow. Lanyard with a bottle opener? Odd. A brow lifts at that, and the other joins when she makes out the logo. "Some kind of crazy sick people here," she mutters.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Koshka nods. She'll play along, for now. Maybe. If it means no more adynomine and some semblance of freedom. Maybe she can figure out where here is, and figure out how to get out of here. "Fine," she agrees, arms folding across her chest. "Let's go see this place."
"So. I don't know what Marie told you, but you're in Eltingville blocks. This is your new home, Harbor Court. Welcome!" He murmurs with a cheery smile. Even Koshka's deplorable attitude can't keep the giant red head's good mood in check. Stepping out of the door, he motions for her to follow. "So we've got a lot of kids on hand right now. I wish I could give you the number but it is literally changing every day. Like.." A finger extends as a young man walks by Koshka's door. He turns to whisper 'off-stage' to her. "I don't know him." And then he straightens out of his stoop. "And I know everybody! So yeah. Eltingville is in the reclaimed district on Staten Island. So you're in the Biiig Apple!" He cries out with a large grin as he goes to pull the door close behind her. "I know you were mostly from around here. We got a lot of kids out of state."
"Anyways. The biggest things you need to know is the community hall. Which you're standing in! And the learning hub. We have a dining hall downstairs which is basically the cafeteria - Word to the wise: Get here early. And down to the left outside there is a courtyard where we like to start up games of…" His voice continues on explaining the wonderful varieties of Harbor Court. But as he leads her on Koshka will feel the heavy stare of eyes watching her.
A group of three boys. Looking to be around seventeen. All of questionable hygiene. Blank emotionless stares are cast at Koshka as she and Mark walk by. The lead boy in front looking particularly ominous. Standing over six feet tall with his large arms tucked into his pockets as he just… openly stares.
"Oh hey Darrius. Michael." A bright smile is cast over to the boys from Mark, who is mostly ignored. But then the big man is ushering her around a corner. "So. Laundry is done this wayyyy~"
Listening to the large man babble on, Koshka nods as would be appropriate during various points of his explanation. Her eyes find the unknown young man though it's mostly in passing. As they finally move away from her door, she subtly tries for her ability, a little test to see how residual or available control over the land's dust make up is, as the negation drugs are supposed to be wearing off. Mostly just to feel out the fine layer of dust that would be found on every day surfaces.
The efforts, at least, keep the teenager from further snarking at Mark's expense. But as she's led further away from the room she'd been kept in, she becomes aware of that watched feeling. It draws up a frown, a faint furrowing in her brow and pulls her attention away from the directions of the camp counselor. It doesn't take long for Koshka to locate the three boys staring, and she returns the look. Until she's carted off around a corner.
"What's with them," the girl asks. Her movement comes to a stop as soon as they've rounded the corner. Fixing Mark with a look, one brow raised and arms still firmly folded across her chest, she nods toward the way they'd come.
Mark seems mostly oblivious to the presence of the boys other than just giving them a bright smile. "Oh that's Darrius and Mike and.. the other one." He offers amiably enough. "They're just you know. Rough guys. Marking their territory. They'll soften up after you're here a few days." He gives a bright smile back to her. "Anyways, so yeah laundry is done off this way.." The tour continues for some time. Mark leading Koshka happily through the small community of Harbor Court. Taking her by everything that would be deemed essential or basic. Eventually she is set on the loose, given time to get a quick shower before lunch. The cafeteria is crowded, the tables and their occupants mostly cliqueish and closed off. Those that do not find offense at Koshka's attempts to join them are either sedate or extremely quiet.
After lunch is over. The courtyard in Harbor Court is mostly vacant. Koshka finds herself sitting on a lonely bench, surrounded by the rooms of Harbor Court. Different kids in their teen years wandering around this way or that. A game here, flirting there, even a fight threatening to break out deep in the courtyard. At the table, an errant soccer ball collides powerfully into the leg of her bench.
The answer, for what it is, is shrugged off and treated much the same as the rest of the tour. Lunch, likewise, is passed off with a standoffish demeanor, very little attempt on Koshka's part to assert herself into any one group or another. Ironically enough it's with the other quiet and sobered teens that she finds herself. Which is fine, it gives her the opportunity to process everything, to think, and to watch the other teenagers.
Lunch time over, and the bench sought out, Koshka may have been considered brooding. In truth, she's still wondering over the whole outcome. So much for trying to own up and help anything. Probably made matters worse, deciding to Register. But she's not crying about it, she won't. Those thoughts are rattled and her attention pulled away from potential self pity when the soccer ball hits the bench.
Koshka's off the seat in a heartbeat, almost instinctively defensive to objects flying at her, or at her general direction. Taking a couple of steps toward the ball, her eyes search for those who might've sent it her way, features setting into a defiant expression. One foot raises, then lowers to step on the ball and hold it in place.
"You got my ball." It's low and ominous. Almost a growl. The voice comes from a black boy. One of the boys that had been staring at Koshka a few hours ago. The one Mark had called Darrius. The other two boys walk up beside him. All wearing raggy looking clothing. Mismatched pieces. Things picked up in the donation bins. The one at the lead takes a few heavy steps forward, dark eyes sinking to the foot that has pinned the ball then back up to Koshka. "What's your name?" He grumbles, glancing over his shoulder.
The boy at his right shoulder takes a deep breath in as if sniffing. Exhaling, he pushes his hands in his pockets. "You hate this place?" He jerks with his chin over his shoulder. "We got a hole out if you want to visit the party."
"My ball now," Koshka decides as she picks it up. Tucking it under an arm, she eyes the trio as though she had an army behind her, rather than three times outnumbered. Or so is her intent, there's still a subtle wariness around her. One corner of her lip curls up slightly as the boy to the right (or her left) speaks, but her focus is on Darrius. "Name's… Bethany." Oh how show's loathe to use that name. But it'll work for now.
Another round of eying the trio of young men follows. Koshka's nose wrinkles briefly at the idea someone could actually like being here. She shakes her head after giving the answer consideration. "Hate's too nice a word. What kind of party?"
"Party. Where we're not under the eye of big brother." The second less black boy indicates. He's probably closer to Koshka's age. While the lead is more like eighteen years old. Peering down at her plainly.
The lead looks down at the ball secured by Koshka. Lips curling up some with his teeth bared in something that might pass as a smile. He glances off to the side. "You just got here. Come on. You've yet to see the town." Darrius indicates, throwing his hand over his shoulder as he takes a few steps out of the yard type area.
"Big Brother, right." Koshka echoes as she gives a small kick of one of her legs, indicating without saying there's the presence of some kind of device around her ankle. "No eyes down there," she goes on to ask, curious though cautious, "where is it?" The ball, though she keeps a firm grip on it, remains in her possession, eyes lifting to meet the gaze of who's obviously standing in as leader.
"What's the town like?" The question comes as Koshka glances in the same direction as Darrius, following his gaze. Stifling the uneasy feeling, she falls in with the older boys. It makes her nervous, maybe she's just paranoid, but with caution and vigilance she can hopefully learn a little bit more.
"It's out in the town. Lemme show you girl." Darrius mumbles, flipping his chin in the direction of one of the buildings. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he takes a few leading steps. "Just make sure you're here for school. Or you get your ass chewed out. Like this mother fucker. Brick." Darrius motions to the kid who has yet to be spoken of over his shoulder. Leading the way, Darrius heads the charge outside of Harbor Court.
"Fuckin' suburb." Darrius mumbles. "But guards don't do shit inside Eltingville. Unless you in Harbor Court." A little shrug is given. "They got a store out here and a community hall. They say there's a guy who can get you shit. Drugs and beer and shit, but I ain't met him yet." A flip of his chin is given to the Security Guard who watches from above. Standing in the second story of Harbor Court.
"Come on."
A last look is cast toward the buildings that make up Harbor Court, blue eyes taking in the myriad of people, kids and adults and the ever present security. She gives the smallest shake of her head then turns away seeking out the Darrius and the other two boys. The soccer ball, still clung to, is moved almost defensively in front of her.
"Why's the guards here different than the ones out there?" Questions keep coming as Koshka moves along with the older boys. The more she knows, the better. Her shoulders give a small lift over the news of a guy dealing in contraband. He could be useful, though for different reasons than drugs and alcohol. The girl's brow creases slightly in worry as another look is passed over her shoulder. She keeps up with Darrius and his friends though.
"Kids." He gives a shrug. Darrius is much more busy looking over at Mike. Who gives a little nod back at him. Harbor Court is becoming more distant now as they move away. Darrius looks back at her. "No one gives a shit what we do in here. As long as you're quiet enough. You can do what the fuck you want. Speaking of fuck want." Darrius stops short before looking over his shoulder to Mike.
Mike gives a tentative but wild smile. "She's scared." He leaks out, taking in a deep breath. "I can smell it.." It sounds gratifying, a satiated sigh flowing out of his nostrils.
Darrius glances at his two compatriots before giving a little nod. "Grab the bitch." And the two other boys lunge forward.
Confusion tickles very briefly at the explanation, leaving Koshka to take another half step forward when Darrius stops. Realization quickly follows with Mike's announcement, her gaze flicking toward him then back to the leader as he speaks again. Scared might be about the understatement of the year at that point, the emotion quickly turns toward panic. Worse so as the boys lunge in.
The soccer ball is thrown hard at Mike's face, force enough she hopes to break his nose. It leaves her open to tangle with the other boy, but she won't go down without a fight. Soon as the ball leaves her hands it's all knees and elbows and squirming to make grabbing difficult, squirrelly tactics from someone undertrained in any sort of combat.
The ball bounces with a pop against Mike's face. "Fuck!" He squeals as blood spurts from his nose. Hands leaping to cover his face. Stumbling forward, Mike trips over his own feet going down to the pavement hard.
The one known as Brick takes an elbow to the chin, letting out his own loud grunt of pain. Stumbling to the side he presses forward, throwing one arm at Koshka's side.
Darrius stands back and watches for a moment. "Oh come on. It ain't gonna hurt. Just a little hazing alright. You'll like it. Relax." And with that Koshka falls over. Backwards. It's not her fault. Not even Brick's fault. It's the fault of the very earth under her. Shifting and jostling as if to purposefully throw her down.
Koshka flinches and folds at her side, just a little where the arm from Brick touches her side, entirely to keep away being grabbed. Her thoughts tell her to run, Harbor Court or Eltingville, either one would be better and provide somewhere to hide at least for a moment. But this is the last thought that goes through her head before she's knocked flat onto her back.
The impact forces an exhale from the girl, which is followed by a quick inhale to bring the wind back into her lungs. Koshka's hands grab at the ground and pull her onto her hands and knees, giving her head a shake. "Fuck you," she growls back, fingers curling into the earth. Her mind stretches for the dirt and dust that's around her, pulling at it though the jarring from the fall has made things feel a little hazy.
"My fucking nose!" It's more like a squeal, hissed betweent the closed hands that are covered in blood around Mike's nose. Pressing his hands against his face he remains stationary on his knees, rocking back and forth as if to ward off the pain. "Fff-uck!"
Darrius seems to take a little pleasure in Mike's pain, a light smirk sliding up his lips. His eyes turning to Brick. The larger boy takes a few heavy steps forward. Brick reaches down to grab rapidly at Koshka's leg. Fingers going out to snake around the ankle and pull harshly back dtowards Darrius. Koshka slides easily towards him mostly because the earth under her does as well. Grinning down at Koshka, he holds his hands out. "Come on. Relax."
Dirt and dust gathers easily, patches of dirt beginning to culminate from nearby plants and littered across the street.
With a frustrated and frightened yell, Koshka slams her freed foot backward. Hopefully she'll hit Brick, and there's little care for what she hits so long as the guy lets go. It disrupts her feel for the dirt a little, what's come up settling though briefly. She turns on the three boys, each included in a single, scowling look. At the same time as she turns, a hand whips around with her motion.
In that motion is when the dust truly comes up. From all angles and focusing on encompassing the three boys, a whirlwind of the dirt and sand that's readily found around her. Slowly working until she's standing, Koshka keeps her hand stretched out toward the cyclone, the dirt devil not controlled of a wind but by her own mind, more than enough to distract as she usually manages. Little particles whirl and spin with force enough to also damage skin and eyes.
Brick takes a kick. Koshka's foot finds purchase with his knee that sends the older boy stumbling back. Darrius is letting out a feral grin as he steps forward, before the dust starts to fly up. Arms coming up to cover his eyes the three boys are soon immersed in a world of dust and yelling. Untill the dirt devil starts to get into their mouths. Which is frustrating. But Koshka then finds herself thrown to the side. It feels as if the Earth basically tosses her itself.
A moment later Darrius is emerging from the Dirt Devil. Scowling, head lowered into his hands desperately trying to rid himself of the tiny fibers. A sharp cry is let out. "Bitch, it was just a fucking joke!" He shrieks, fist clenching as he approaches her rapidly with a few stumbling steps to the side. "Now I'm going to fucking beat the fuck out of you." The other two boys are left in the dust quite literally. Reaching down, Darrius grabs Koshka by the shoulder quite forcefully. Jerking up, she's flung forward some. Into the side of a suburban house. And down an alley with nice little homes on either side. If anyone lives in them and is witnessing the exchange.
They don't care.
While stumbling back, Koshka is rocked back once again, tripping over the ground itself. Darrius stomping over the distance between them. A fist raised high as he towers over her downed body and.
CRACK
It's not the sound of flesh against flesh. It's the sound of an electric pop, a sudden discharge of voltage. And after a brief burst of eerie silence, Darrius flops on the ground without a word, dazed.
A pregnant silence passes as a shoe crunches against dry grass, a hand lowering into Koshka's view. Open and extended to her. The hand is conspicuously missing its middle finger.
"Koshka?"