Participants:
| Scene Title | What We Owe To Each Other, Part II |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Following a tip from Ricky Daselles, Lucille Ryans reaches the end of the line. |
| Date | September 30, 2018 |
Ferrymen's Bay isn't as glamorous as its name association might suggest. There's very little about the rundown coastal neighborhood that matches up with the prestigious name of the freedom fighters of old, except that this is the caliber of neighborhood they used to set up safehouses in. Most of Ferrymen's Bay consists of buildings that were left standing after the war, cleared out of squatters, and cleaned for occupancy. Many of them still show signs of conflict; pockmarks in brick from bullets, soot stains from fires, sometimes you can even find old shell casings in the alleyways. The western side of the neighborhood, where it borders with Yamagato Park, is significantly better off, but it looks like a carcass being picked over by vultures in the way tall cranes loom over rapidly disappearing and rebuilt structures.
Lucille Ryans isn't on the west side today.
The street slouches into a sinkhole nearby to what used to be the neighborhood of Lindenwood, just over the razor wire topped fence that serves at the Safe Zone's perimeter. Tall grass grows up from fissures in the asphalt, the neighboring buildings are missing their street-facing sides, and heaping piles of brick are slouched into the road. The sinkhole looks more like a watering hole today, with stagnant brown-green murk filling it halfway. Beside a burned out heap of a rusted car, Tricky Ricky Daselles paces around like a nervous dog, one arm in a sling, a padded brace around his neck, and two black eyes.
Tricky Ricky is rarely seen outside of Staten Island, so to be inside the border of the Safe Zone must mean that something's gone terribly wrong. He'd called Lucille out through their network of contacts, desperately intent to let her know it was a meeting related to the files he'd given to Berlin several months ago. He'd also asked her to come alone. Out here, on the furthest edge of the Safe Zone, far outside of cell phone range and where the military police rarely patrol, there's nothing good to be found.
But when has that ever deterred Lucille?
It never has.
The roar of a motorcycle announces her arrival but it can't be helped. She wasn't going to walk not after the night she had fighting and the bike is not as loud as others anyway. This isn't a sneak job, there’s a appointment with Ricky. Veering to the side as she nears the sinkhole the Wolfhound operative slows and pulls off to the side, pale blue eyes regarding the sinkhole with a note of interest, all of this ruin being remolded but slowly. Not fast enough. The difference between what this city use to be growing up and now is still startling to the woman. There just wasn't enough resources, people, time? Thinking of resources, a sweep of the woman’s foot to the stand so as to prop the sleek black bike leaving the path to Ricky open. Her boot crunches on the ground as she swings her leg over and begins to walk slowly towards the obviously distressed man.
Lucille’s eyes with dark circles underneath flick from ruined building to building, the roofs. If her range was wider she would scan but alas they are in the open, she’ll need to rely on her natural senses, not a problem. “You look like shit. Worst everytime I see you.” Maybe he should get into a new line of work. Her voice soft as she comes closer and stops with her weight shifted to her right hip, out of arms reach she looks him up and down.
The sweep of her black asymmetrical blazer trails behind her, the flaps receding to give a peek of the assortment of blades and weaponry she carries. Her sidearm strapped to her pant leg, auburn hair swings free to her shoulders and a gentle breeze filters through rustling strands of hair, face a mask of no emotion. Luce was throwing herself into things, work, the Crucible, people. The distraction didn't matter that much in the wider scope of things. Instead of being absorbed with what was going on with her family she was funneling all of her attention to this moment, it was easier. “What is going on?”
“I might have pissed off this scary fuck named Eugene,” Ricky blurts out, lumping over to Lucille. “I might have also had to fucking swim for my life but that ain't even why I called you out here.” Nervous, Ricky looks around the street, half expecting that Lucille was followed. He jerks his head to the side and moves closer to the adjacent, rundown building, to get a little bit out of street view.
“Okay, so, we’re friends, right?” Ricky looks to Lucille’s motorcycle, brows raised in appreciation, then looks back at her. “Because I'm gonna need t’ask you t’do a really kind of killer favor for me? I've had a bad run of shit lately and…” It doesn't sound like this has anything to do with the intel he sold Wolfhound, yet. “And I'm hard up for cash, right?” Ricky grimaces awkwardly. Is he— asking Lucille for— money?
Eyebrows raise and Lucille thinks about how she's happy she isn't running the streets being a thug in training anymore though she misses Lexi. “Well I'm happy you can swim.” It's a sincere statement, she and the others couldn't get any information out of him if he was dead. “Maybe.. lay low for a bit. Jersey.” She's not sure what he can do there but better than sitting around Staten Island. Not worried about him just skipping town, he’d leave a forwarding address. Or they’d track him down.
Friends.
A quirk upwards of the corner of her lips, the lopsided smile present as she runs her hand through her hair and gives an Oh Ricky sort of look through thick eye lashes, “The word friend can mean many, many things,” Her tone even as she looks at the poor man across from her. When he seems to be just talking about being out of money there's a narrowing of her eyes, “You scratch my back. I scratch yours. Are you trying to renegotiate the terms of our friendship?” While Ricky is awkward and fidgety, Lucille is collected and still, oh there is a blink.
“Talk. Openly about what you're getting at. What favor?” A flash of white and though Lucille’s expression is one using a smile the light doesn't seep fully into her eyes.
As Ricky moves the conversation off the sidewalk and adjacent to the rundown building looming over them, he paces in front of a narrow alley mouth, then comes to rest under a boarded up ground floor window. “Okay so,” Ricky leans off of the wall, jittery, pacing away from the window and wringing his hands, “it's an easy favor, uh, in principle. Maybe harder in practice.”
Ricky flashes Lucille an apologetic smile and looks at the distance between himself and her. He's actually walked away quite a bit, wandered far enough that Lucille can't feel his presence. “I uh, I need you to not kill me, okay?” It feels intentional. “They paid me so much.”
It feels like a trap.
And that’s not a bad assessment of the situation.
Perched high above on a window sill, a shadowed figure is folded compact like a gargoyle watching over the street. Invisible against the dark maw of the window, except for the occasional muted slice of light that might shift along blackened visor - the watcher follows the progress of their target.
Silent. Watching. Waiting. So very— very patient.
Once Ricky has moved Lucille into place, the gargoyle unfolds with a stretch of legs and simply steps off the ledge into the open space in front of them.
By time the Wolfpup feels the presence of another, it’s too late to react. A black figure - armored up with a visored motorcycle helmet with an inky black visor - drops in front of her in a crouch. Impact does nothing to slow them, gloved hands press against cold hard concrete, weight shifting - they take advantage of the moment. A leg snaps out with the lithe quickness of an experienced fighter to cut across Lucille’s legs in an attempt to sweep the woman off her feet.
Eyebrows tick up as Luce takes in account the distance between she and Ricky and his words, god. fucking. damnit. Slimeball. Swearing to herself in her mind is as far as she gets before the helmet wearing figure descends and is sweeping the caught off guard woman. As Lucille begins to fall her arms snap out in reflex, muscle memory taking over as she presses her hands into the concrete below her and swings her weight with the momentum twisting her foot angled towards the assailant. Bringing her leg to impact the figure’s chest. The impact of her hands on the concrete stinging.
Eyes remain pale blue for the moment, someone like this. She respects getting the drop on her, Tricky Ricky isn't looked at but she shouts a, “I’ll deal with you later.” Lucille delivers that promise as a hand goes to try push herself upwards to face her opponent head on.
There's a vehicle coming up, the rumble of an old Diesel engine and a white panel van streaked with rust around the wheel wells. It's headlights only come on as it comes around the corner, speeding into place up on the curb beside where the ambush is taking place.
As Lucille rounds up to face her attacker head on, she notices his short height and her muted reflection in the visor of his motorcycle helmet. She doesn't notice the ping of someone coming up behind her until it's too late. “I’m sorry!” Ricky shouts as he —
— pain wracks Lucille’s body as she hears the crackle-snap of a taser in the small of her back. Ricky fucking tased her. Lucille's legs give out and she collapses onto her knees just as soon as she'd gotten to her feet. Ricky is already recoiling, hands up in surrender and eyes wide, “Sorrysorrysorrysorry!” He shouts as he scrambles back.
The impact hits. Finding her target well protected by metal hard plating — that will probably bruise, Lucille. Sorry. Not sorry? — The kick is hard enough to push him off his feet. Balance point shifted, he falls backwards.
Whoever this is - they have the training to use that momentum to flip over and find their footing again, just as the van conveniently pulls up.
There is only a moment of hesitation, when he sees Ricky moving in. Waiting, crouched like a scavenging dog waiting for it’s chance to take advantage of an easy meal. He doesn’t move until Lucille goes down on her knees, she might see the flash of silver along the palm of her attacker’s hand. There won’t be time to ponder it much, as he lunges forward; throwing his weight into her.
As they both fall to the ground, Not only does she get a close up view of her own reflection in that black and murky helmet; but, she feels the sharp sting as the needle he’s been palming when it is jabbed into her shoulder and the plunger depressed.
Almost instantly, Lucille will know what was forced into her body as she loses whatever hold she has on her ability. Shortly, thereafter she feels the bite of the taser again, this time in the gloved and shielded hand of black clad figure.
This is fucked.
Lucille’s pale blue eyes widen in shock at the extra betrayal from Ricky, the gall, the balls. She doesn't get much time to stew in that before she is being tackled and a needle of negation enters her body and spreads cutting her off from one of her most useful resources. One, the others aren't as easily called upon as she is tased again, her wide eyes reflected back at her as the taser wrecks her body with pain, twitches and spittle flying from her mouth onto the visor’s surface. She's wishes the saliva was on purpose because it's how she feels right now.
Desperately trying to wrench control of her body back in her hands, breathing labored and quick. Her mind scrambled by the electric charges flooding her body. Lucille brings her knee up to try to and leverage the ground and herself against the armored man but it shakes and gives out and her eyes nostrils flare, blazer laid out flat on the ground around her.
Twitching fingers slide to her side as eyes roll, back arches and a silent cry only evident by the gape of her mouth. Lucille goes for the knife in her boot, attempting to slip it out discreetly with her twitchy hand as her body lands back on the pavement with the added weight of the short man. “You..” teeth clenching at the pain, “Don't.. want this.” Shaking her head from side to side, she jabs the knife forward angling for his gut, all these years of fighting in a war, chasing down war criminals, the woman dives into her training as she exerts a yell pushing at him with her body as she stabs upwards, hoping for a point of vulnerability somewhere.
An arm rests tight against her shoulder blades, while the other still holds that taser against her. So this wiley cat isn’t going anywhere and he has no plans from moving from his position half straddled over her. Clearly, he’s shielded against whatever he’s feeding into her.
When Lucille manages to speak — very impressive btw — the helmet twitches a bit to one side, much like a dog hearing something interesting. Intent on the words and the shapes her mouth makes as she speaks, he doesn’t notice the knife. At least until her little surprise strike. Unfortunately, while normally such a strike would be true, the tip of it catches on the armor and twists in her hand, resulting in only a glancing blow. Hitting nothing.
Lucille can almost imagine the disappointment in her attacker’s face. If she could see it.
Really?
— or is that her own face making that look?
Oh well. Another bout of electricity zaps through Lucille, with the crackling of the taser. A reward for her efforts.
The back doors of the van fling wide open and a tall, broad-shouldered figure in black BDUs and a balaclava comes stomping over with a pack of zip ties in one hand and a black cloth sack in the other. His stride is uneven and stiff, clearly tense. Lucille only catches fleeting glimpses of him as she struggles with her attacker. Together, they manage to restrain Lucille with strong, gloves hands.
The new figure forces Lucille down on her back and kneels on her shoulders, then with thick fingers begins binding her wrists with zip ties. There's a grunt of effort as the tall man struggles with Lucille, then pushes the helmeted attacker off of her and flips Lucille onto her stomach and hands out zip ties for her legs.
At the same time Ricky is backing away as fast as he can, while watching wide-eyed at the kidnapping happening before his eyes.
“Hnngh…” Lucille’s vision and world rolls at the continued use of the taser. Feet kicking out and legs spawning, her face twists into visages painted in pain and fury. As the van stops and the next man comes out to tie her up, she struggles to no avail. Hoping in her mind that Ricky has a change of heart but against two guys no way.
Lucille doesn't have to play much like she's out of it as they work to bind her limbs. Eyelids fluttering as her body goes limp. It allows her to regain some semblance of order to what's going on around her, to what's being done to her. Her breathing is easy and shallow, as if she was sleeping. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Praying. Mom, please help me.
Once joined by the bigger man, Lucille’s attacker shifts allowing the other to help. He settles into a kneel across her lower legs to make sure she doesn’t suddenly pull some sort of ninja shit. There is no conversation between the two, the helmeted head tipped down watching the other work to secure wrists.
Then he is pushed off easily and helps turn the unconscious woman over; only to resume kneeling on her legs again.
They are not taking any chances.
Offered zip ties are taken with a silent nod and quick work is made of securing her legs. Lucille won’t find any play in those bonds. The other man gets a thumbs up - Ready to go! - and the black clad figure rises to their feet ready to help toss their captive into the back of the van.
Lucille Ryans survived the worst the government had to offer leading up to the civil war. She survived the horrors of Mount Natazhat. She survived the civil war through sheer force of Will and a luck that only the Ryans clan could possibly possess. She's survived countless conflicts, but as she discovered with her father, the Ryans family may be long-lived, but they aren't invincible.
She learned that with her mother, too. And as a black bag is thrown over Lucille’s head and zip-tied on, as she’s hauled kicking and screaming into the back of a van and thrown down onto her back, she realizes how futile her prayer is.
Mary Ryans is dead.
And as the doors slam shut, Lucille imagines…
…so is she.