Welcome To The Revolution


alexander_icon.gif cat_icon.gif helena_icon.gif kinson_icon.gif

Scene Title Welcome To The Revolution
Synopsis Alex, Cat, and Helena pick up a new member of Phoenix by way of the Staten Island Ferry.
Date January 24, 2009

Staten Island

There's something about the fringes of Staten Island that will always inspire sentiments of unease. After the bomb, much of Staten Island has fallen into glorious disrepair, so much so that places that were already in stages of decay look more like monuments to entropy than once urban settlements in decline. While much of the island was suburban residential areas before the bomb, there were two crowning moments that drove this borough of New York into an early grave. The first was the mass exodus of survivors and panicked people fleeing Manhattan. They came by foot, bicycle and car across the bridges to Staten Island, all manner of desperate and frightened people flooding into a crowded place. While some fled through to New Jersey, others simply couldn't — or wouldn't — go further. This, like in Queens, led to an eventual chaos that would in time eclipse the pandemonium in the eastern edge of New York after the bomb.

Staten Island was in the direct path of the fallout from the explosion, and after thousands fled to the island, the entire populace was forcibly evacuated. Those few that managed to stay, clung to their homes desperately, and those few who did would suffer from radiation sickness and the ever-escalating crime rate. By the time Staten Island got the "all clear" from the government, the damage had already been done.

What was one suburban neighborhoods and parklands is now a monument to decay. Houses lie in various states of disuse and ruin, and like much of New York has seen property values nosedive. Few want to move out to a formerly irradiated zone, and even fewer want to return to a place so rife to violent crime. Now, much of Staten Island lies in various states of decay. Houses abandoned by families that fled the city, were forced into forclosure and were never resold, or simply places where entire families went missing and are now squatted in by any number of transients line the once peaceful streets. Staten Island is a home to crumbling infrastructure, spotty electricity, and people who wish to remain undiscovered by law enforcement. Few police will willingly go into this now infamous island.

Maybe the Great Lakes Liberation Front was having some hard times, or maybe Kinson just needed a change of scene. Regardless, Phoenix needed itself a media broadcast man, and after Helena sent out the word to their brother and sister organizations across the country, the call was answered from Chicago. And so, Helena, Cat, and Alexander find themselves waiting for the the last ferry of the evening to come in, upon which presumably the newest member of Phoenix is inbound.

Even without Helena's help, there's mist and fog drifting across the water. "Kinna like the Styx," Alex opines, oh so cheerfully. He's in his parka and watchcap, same as ever, gloved hands thrust into his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot against the cold.

Taller than most women, at five feet eight inches, Cat is the twenty-something brunette standing near the other two at the Ferry landing. She watches the water and the craft on it, her face seeming pensive, but nothing being said to indicate what those thoughts might be of. She has hands in the pockets of her coat and the hood up against the cold air. It occurs to her, in those unexpressed thoughts, that if it looks like the Styx, Kazimir Volken is Pluto.

Kinson is used to the cold. Actually, compared to the Lake Effect arctic hell of Chicago he was used to, this wasn't bad at all. Dressed in his winter finery - Doc Martens boots, Jeans, T-shirt-with-thermal-under-shirt, and army-navy-surplus store naval peacoat - he's eschewing gloves and a hat today because he's gear has beem confined to two backpacks. One in his hand, one slung over his shoulder, he /feels/ like he's crossing the river styx. "Christ on Snowshoes," he whispers to hismelf, "I bet they got Mel Gibson as Mad Max stowed in one of those leftover buildings."

Helena is of course, quite petite and blonde. Fairy Princess is what Alex has dubbed her, though her wings are hidden today beneath a leather jacket that others have seen her wear frequently, and likely Cat knows the origin of. She's studying the emerging crowd without trying to look too eager, not having seen this man face to face as of yet. "Do you think we'll be able to tell who he is?" she asks the pair she's with, rubbing her gloved hands together.

"Well, we stand here and look lost. He gets off the boat and looks lost. It'll be a match made in heaven," Al suggests, squinting into the dimness. He wanders off a little ways, and then back, restlessly.

She glances from Helena to the man with them, and back out toward the ferry where people disembark. "Is there a description of him for reference, Helena?" Cat asks. She eschews the usual term, with people being around to possibly get close and overhear.

Kinson is making his way off the Ferry. He takes a step away from the folks, looks around. One of the few people that might actually take a moment in weather like this to appreciate the gravity of what's happening. "Okay. Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. I took the midnight train goin' anywhere…" he pulls a slip of paper and consults it. "Ooookay. Helena Dean." he says to himself, for when he's alone and not trying to make people do stuff, he can and does talk to himself, "Just look for She-Ra's little sister." he says, reading. "Josh, you fuck." he mutters, looking up and around for someone matching that description.

Helena nods. "Brown hair, light beard and 'stache, maybe around 5 foot ten. I think next time we get a transfer in from one of the other groups I'll ask for a picture. He's done some really amazing broadcast work, from what I've heard, though." She hears her name and lifts a gloved hand about shoulder high. "Um, that's me. Are you Kinson?" Well of course if he isn't, Helena just invited him to shoot her.

Invited him to try, considering faithful old Fido is on hand. Al glances over keenly, expression far from immediately welcoming, as he ambles back up to flank Helena.

Her eyes settle on the man Helena spoke to, just as the man himself spoke her name, and studies him for a moment. Mr. Kinson's face has just joined the many others in Cat's indelible memory, but she doesn't move or speak until she sees and hears confirmation.

Kinson nods, "That would be me." he takes a half step back. "Blonde hair, blue eyes, build like a petite Valkyrie. Yup, that'd be you." he smiles though. He speaks between very softly and a normal tone. His posture and the way he carries himself speaks of someone who's easy going, though the last thing his appearance would peg him at is a hippie. He nods to Cat and Al, "Your amazing friends, I presume?"

Helena flushes a touch at the description, though admits ruefully to herself that she'd hardly fill out the metal bra. "Something like that." she says, because she's not retro-cool enough to get the whole Spiderman and His thing. "We've got a car, but the drive's not long. How's Josh?" she asks. She doesn't introduce Alex and Cat, rather leaving it up to them to decide if they want to make their identities known.

"Al," says the redhead, tersely. But he offers a faint grin as he does, unbending a little. "Welcome aboard."

"Cat," the other female offers. "Welcome to New York."

Kinson nods Al, "Pleasure to meet you." he says amiably. He smiles to Helena, "Josh is the same insufferabe twat that he's always been. If he stirred any more shit up in South Chicago, he'd be a licensed plumber." he rubs his hands, "The ride sounds nice, though, even if just to get out of the cold." he nods to Cat, "Nice to meet you, Cat. Thanks for the welcome." he takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose like a dragon.

Helena leads everyone off to the parking lot, and there they'll see the clunky old Accord that got appropriated somewhere along the line for just this sort of purpose. It gets a bit cozy in the back, but unless Al or Cat try to fight Helena for the keys, she's the one doing the driving. Once they pull out of the lot and get going en route, Helena says without further ado, "I'll need a list of the equipment you'll want. We'll figure out were to get you set up as well. Was there a particular aspect of broadcast you wanted to work on? Video, podcast…?"

Of course Al fights her for the keys. It has the air of an argument of longstanding, but he eventually prevails, and settles in to the driver's seat. It's warm enough in the car he tugs off his head, revealing reddish-blonde hair. He's mostly quiet, letting Helena do the talking.

Kinson holds up one of the backpacks he was carrying, "Oh, I thought Josh told you. I come full service." he says, a mellow sheen in his voice. "I have everything I need to do everything I need in this backpack here. I just need a place to crash and if you need me to work from a specific locale."

She doesn't dispute the driving task, Cat simply gets into the back and listens as Helena speaks. An eyebrow lifts a bit when Kinson is asked about equipment he needs, but she withholds verbal response.

Helena blinks a little bit. "So you're just going to do everything from a laptop or something?" she asks in surprise. "Do you want to emphasize audio or video? We've got more resources than you may expect." Then, "The Dispensary is built to be lived in, but it's also our central headquarters, so you can't exactly bring back dates. But if you need an apartment for a more public life, we have connections for that, too."

Kinson shrugs, "It's not like I'm real popular with the ladies, so I doubt I'll need a swingin' bachelor pad. Though if you've got some good resources, that'll only make what I do for you better. The stuff I did for Great Lakes was just with the rig in my bag. We were kinda grass roots out there."

In the back, Cat listens. She opts not to comment for the moment, choosing to listen while Kinson speaks and soak up knowledge he utters in response to Helena's questions. A slight smile appears when he speaks of good resources.

"In all seriousness." Helena says. "If you have a wish list, write it up. Stuff if you had the cash for, you'd like to have. We'll see what we can arrange." They come to a fence, pass through the gate, and pull up to the dispensary.

Old Dispensary

On the outside, this sprawling multi-level complex has not seen use in many years, its walls covered in greenery and stone exterior and glass windows showing evidence of disrepair. Surrounded by a chain link fence, a drive leads from the street to a large dock, and around the back one can expect to find more sprawling greenery that eventually leads to a concrete drop off into the Atlantic Ocean.

Passing through the chainlink fence and into the dispensary will reveal that the aged and crumbling outside is a facade. The loading dock is kept clear for the most part of everything save vehicles and supplies, though a section has been quartered off and transformed into an open workshop. The dispensary itself has been transformed into something akin to a makeshift dormitory, complete with common areas, a sizable kitchen and eating area, with various rooms converted into bedrooms for the residence. One room has even been set up as a makeshift clinic, amply stocked with supplies.

The back lawn and garden of the dispensary is surprisingly well tended, green and lush during the right months. Vegetables have been planted in accordance to season closer to the building, though someone has indulgently planted a plots of flowers - notably sunflowers - here and there. Further out, the ground drops a little and makes it to a concrete edge from which opens out into deeper water of the Atlantic.

Kinson follows Helena in, nodding, "I'll see what I can come up with, but really, the beauty of the way things are right now don't cry out for real high end technology. I'll see what can be beefed up through higher production values, though." he's looking around, and talking to Helena at the same time, with a couple of backpacks in tow. One being carried, one slung over a shoulder.

Coming into the HQ some time after her conversation with Debater, Cat glances over at Kinson, a question forming. "How would you alter electronic equipment so no signature is attached to it, making anything made there untraceable?"

Kinson shrugs to Cat, "Just don't add a watermark to it. The only way you can trace media if you don't watermark it is to trace it back to its point of origin if broadcast and there's plenty of ways around that."

"Good to know," Cat replies with a nod. She makes a mental note about inviting the man to her place in Manhattan sometime to talk shop in his specialty, and wanders toward the basement where she can resume training herself with firearms, and also some reading on biochemistry and viruses. "See you, Mr. Kinson, Stormy," she offers in parting.

January 24th: Guns And Bubbles
January 24th: Tyr
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