With a Capital "T"


deckard_icon.gif magnes_icon.gif

Scene Title With a Capital "T"
Synopsis Magnes valiantly apprehends a masked man soaked in blood to shake him down for Staten Island intel. He gets information, but it might not be exactly what he was hoping for. Yeaaahhhh we got trouble!
Date March 15, 2009

The Rookery

It's five o'clock and all is well. Or quiet, at least. And dark. Contrary to common assumption, even The Rookery must sleep at some point, and few people here have jobs that require them to be sober and awake this early in the day.

Quiet doesn't necessarily pan out to a complete absence of suspicious activity, though. Not this morning. In a narrow-mouthed alley some ways off the main drag of bars and brothels, a tall man in an overcoat and ski mask is probably (almost definitely) up to no good. He's managed to set a tin garbage can of crap ablaze, and he's tossing fresh stuff in one suspicious piece at a time.

Staten Island is new, at least for a certain Delivery Boy. Sure, Magnes has done a few deliveries here and there, but he hasn't taken much time to really make a mental map of the place. He stops at the edge of a roof, looking down at the man in the ski mask, Robin III shirt blowing in the breeze. Truly this is a heroic moment of epic proportions, a moment which will be captured in movie poster history. He jumps down, falling rather slowly, and before he even hits the ground, he attempts to wrap his arms around the man's waist from behind, then reverse gravity so they're falling upwards yet again. "What are you doing? Are you selling drugs?!"

Truly. Having accumulated a little pile of debris in need of burning for whatever reason, the masked man tosses a roll of duct tape into the fire atop everything else. Already pale eyes washed all the more colorless by the fire's orange light, he watches the silver tape just starting to curl black when…something. A flicker of movement, a change in air pressure, a slight breeze — whatever it is, he turns his head sharply aside and snatches at the knife on his belt. He doesn't have a chance to get it open before the world turns itself upside down under his feet, and he's falling. Up.

He yells. It's the thing to do. He probably pees a little as well. Fortunately his jeans are already pretty thoroughly soaked with cold blood, so it's hard to tell.

Magnes doesn't take him all the way up like before, instead gravity shifts a little to the left, then down again, and he gently lowers the Masked Man to the roof, keeping his arms firmly planted around his waist. "Don't move, if you move I'll change gravity again, then let you fall into space. Tell me what you're doing, you're wearing a mask, so are you planning to rob people?"

Deckard's not a small guy, 6'2" and rigged with wiry muscle from nose to toes, but there's something about the threat of falling forever into outer space that nullifies a 100% effort towards resistance. Tense all the same, he strains as much as he can without actually…moving overly much, fear and exasperation mingling in the hustle of panicked breath through his teeth. The knife in his hand stays closed.

He smells like whiskey, sweat and blood. The last is a distinct kind of coppery smell, especially now that the stuff has had time to dry and congeal into the wool of his coat and denim of his jeans, the wetness of which is probably making a gradual transfer through Magnes's own trouser legs. "When in Rome…"

"You smell funny." Magnes points out as he coughs and chokes for a moment. He's getting Deckard-stink on him. "I'm going to get you setup in a homeless shelter, then you can get a job and a place and not have to rob people. Don't worry, I won't take you to one of those large city places, it'll be a nice small one. Do you want to?"

"No." Deckard's voice is flat, spine ramrod straight against the space invader that is Magnes, possibly in more ways than one. His breathing is slowing down a little, bit by bit, and the rack of his heart against his ribs has decelerated enough that the static fuzz on the fringes of his vision is beginning to fade.

"Kid, you keep this up here, and the next time someone shoots you, it's not going to be in the hat."

Magnes suddenly releases him, jumping about ten feet away from him, on full alert now. "You're that guy! You were rude to Abby, and you shot at me! If I didn't need you, I'd let you fall into the sky right now." he says with an incredibly annoyed expression, though who knows where he's telling the truth and where he isn't. "You're gonna be my contact now, if you like being on the ground. If anything happens, in the criminal world or the crazy Evolved stuff that happens, you call me and tell me. And if you must mug people, don't hurt them."

A smooth sweep of Deckard's thumb drags the knife open once he's free of Magnes's arm seatbelt. The gut-hooked blade is long, wide, and all-around nasty-looking. Odds are it probably would be even if it didn't have sticky red stuff drying black all over it.

"Do you know what I think?" he turns, long fingers readjusted around the grip while he points the aforementioned knife vaguely in Magnes's direction, "I think you have to be touching me to make that happen. I also think that — if you come over here and try to hug me again — I'm going to stick this knife in you. Considering where it's already been, if I were you I'd stay over there."

"I control gravity and we're standing on a crappy roof, all you have is a knife, if you had a gun you woulda pulled it out by now, you always do." Magnes says as he skates in slow circles, always keeping that ten foot distance between the two. "This is the second time I've snuck up on you, I'll do it again too. I'm gonna make peace in this city, and you can help me, or you can continue your life of crime and end up in some starving country for the rest of your life. I wouldn't feel bad about putting away a criminal, where he'll live alone and away from anyone he could hurt."

Deckard mutters to himself when Magnes starts to circle, left hand lifted to drag the mask off his head for the second time this morning. The face beneath is the one Magnes likely expected to see, all gaunt hollows and angles beneath grizzled beard growth and static-buzzed hat hair. As if he didn't already look mentally unbalanced enough, the black hollows where his eyes should be spark to life, glowing blue to track Varlane's progress in higher definition. The knife stays open. "If you're planning on purifying New York City one person at a time, there are nastier people you could be bothering."

"You don't get it, I'm not looking to put you away." Magnes raises an eyebrow at Deckard's eyes, but he doesn't question it yet, there are far more pressing matters. "Only if you don't help me. I want help to figure out everything that's going on. Abby's never gonna tell me anything, and I think she's more tied up with things related to Evolved, I'm not sure yet. But I wanna learn everything you know, hear everything you hear. That's not a bad trade to avoid getting put in some rural country, is it?"

"No you don't get it, Boy Wonder. Do I look like I don't have enough shit to deal with already without…sending you off to get killed flinging crime lords into outer space?" If Deckard looks like anything, it's that he's had a really, really bad month and could use a shower and a shave. A few smudges of unsullied metal glint blue along the knife blade when he adjusts the angle, still pretty intent on keeping it out and pointed at present company. "Abigail isn't…" something. He breaks off, unrelated frustration furrowing his brow and firming his grip on the knife. "What do you want? Names?"

Magnes stops in Deckard's line of sight at the mention of Abby's name. "Yeah, I want names, but what were you about to say, about Abby?" he asks, fingers in his pockets with his thumbs hooked so his hands don't go in completely. "And what do you know about a girl named Elvis, in some kind of gang?"

"Felix Ivanov is a crooked fed operating out of Manhattan. He comes here sometimes to browse the brothels, get paid off, and drown puppies. Kain Zarek…" What does Kain Zarek do? "…is a problem in general. Minea Dahl is another two-faced harpy." That's three. Head turned to zero in on Magnes's full stop, Deckard narrows his eyes, trying to take what he can from various muscular systems not easily observable by the average knife-wielding piece of crap. "Elvis isn't in a gang. She just likes guns. And I wasn't going to say anything about Abby."

Magnes quickly pulls out a note pad and a pen, things every successful Delivery Boy should have, then starts writing down every bit of information Deckard spills. "I'll see what I can google up on those names. Now, I have one more question. Do you know if either Abby or Elvis have any sisters?"

"…No." No he doesn't know, or no they don't have any sisters, Deckard doesn't clarify. Possibly because he's busy looking at Magnes as if he suddenly suspects he's not the weirdest person on the roof right now, even in his current state. Blood-sodden clothing and all.

"Alright, that's all I wanna know today." Magnes points across the roof, to an emergency ladder. "There's a ladder over there, I'm going to work. And don't forget, I'm watching you."

Bioluminecent eyes unnaturally bright beneath the hood of his brow, Deckard looks away from Magnes just long enough to cast a twitchy glance after the ladder in question. It's there. "Watch me all you want. Maybe you'll learn something. But touch me again and you're going to have a harder time counting to ten. …Unless you cheat and use your toes." Minor flaw in the logic of the threat. Still. He'd never get to twenty.

"You're helping the world, just remember that. And stay away from Abby." Magnes leaves him with that, leaping into the air for dramatic effect. Flint Deckard is on Magnes J. Varlane's radar, and the city is one step closer to peace!

Flint Deckard: Helping to save the world one more time. Forgive him if he's too busy looking distantly unsettled to be overly enthusiastic about it. The still-present threat of his knife sinks a little when he looks back over at the ladder, unease folding queasily over itself at its rickety state. Maybe he'll just stay up here for a little while.

March 15th: Fear and Loathing
March 15th: The New Girl In Town
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