Saving Lives a Mile High [open to all]

[applesaucemod]

Welcome to another ordinary day in Manhattan. This barely even qualifies as a dream at all, it's so like waking life. The dreamers will find that they're their own perfectly normal selves going about their perfectly normal business and thwarting perfectly normal crimes in their perfectly normal spandex outfits.




What's that? No, of course it's normal to wear spandex (or leather, for the more chic among you) and go around beating up muggers and thwarting your villainous counterparts, don't be silly. What else would you do with your afternoon, not use your superpowers to better the world? That's grossly irresponsible of you; don't you know that with great power comes great responsibility?

So get out there and make the world a better place -- and be sure not to let that disguise slip if you do make it in to work today. Wouldn't want anyone to learn your secret identity, after all.


[OOC: Characters will find themselves thrust into the role of superhero...or at least, super-powered human. Whether they'd use those powers for good or evil (or use them at all), they'll think they've always been this way (or maybe just since that time they fell in toxic waste and developed cancer telekinesis). Usual dream party rules apply: all players and characters welcome regardless of membership status. Characters will remember or forget the events of the dream at players' discretion.]

Comments

[singthesong]

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

He may be doing a good job at pretending to pay attention to his phone, but his shoulders definitely stiffen a little as he's addressed. Closing the app, he looks up at her. "What?" That look - god, that's more frightening than the bass line of her song. There's no way he can just run from this. She'll remember his face, and after that it's only a matter of time.

But he's good at keeping his composure under threats. If anything, the jolt of fear makes it easier for him to deliberately loosen his posture, raising an eyebrow in amused incredulity. "Wait, is that like bae? I'm flattered, really, but I'm taken." Married to the job, one might say.

[lottawork]

"Executing a fucking plan," he says with airy exasperation, fastening the grapple over the lip of the building's edge with the satisfying click and rattle of locking bolts shooting into place. "Hold the fuck on, will you."

Without any further warning, he readjusts his grip around the man's midriff and drops over the edge. The line takes them down the sheer drop, wind tearing through his hair and catching at his jacket, the cuffs of each sleeve. He squints against the inevitable shift in pressure, against the stabbing pain of staring into the churning buildup of wind resistance.

For a moment, there is only the vertical streaks of lights blurring into obscurity and the hum of the line paying out.

Then their trajectory catches and slows, and Nicholas swings one foot to plant it against the side of building from which they fell, sliding them to halt something like five feet above the asphalt of the road below.

"This," he says calmly, "would be your stop."

[omnomnom_feels]

Nhodd narrows his eyes at the pair, tensing for action in response to the menace of their movements. He scowls, offended by their refusal to see sense, and sends the dull-eyed man stumbling out of immediate danger with a shove to his shoulder just a second before the self-identified Asadi bursts into motion with unnatural rapidity, interrupting Nhodd's moment of opportunity to take the offensive.

He wills himself intangible too slowly, too late. He is not entirely solid when she hits him but she is fast, so fast that the magic has not taken full effect, and the fist drags into his head as if through molasses. He lets out a pained cry, but in that split second he finishes becoming incorporeal and her hand snaps the rest of the way through without further resistance, leaving him grimacing and clutching his face...and just as unable to land a return blow until he should undo it. "You will cease!" he bellows.

[powerdealer]

Oh, Jesus. Seth might not have a significant problem with heights, but swinging yourself off the edge of a building is usually enough to make anyone a bit queasy, especially when you're not the one in control.

He specifically does not look down, just grips on tight to Rush. He almost opens a tear underneath them out of pure instinct, maybe have them drop into a pool or something, but it's okay, they may be flying down the side of the building at an uncomfortable speed, but they are not actually falling to their deaths.

Once they've finally come to a stop, Seth does at last look down, to make sure the drop is a lot less deadly before he lets go. Five feet is still pretty significant for someone who's been recently semi-seriously shot, but he lets go anyway. His landing isn't all too grateful, collapsing onto his hands and feet, and reaching up to clutch at his stomach again. Jesus Christ, that hurts.

[lottawork]

His mouth cracks sharply upward into a dry smirk. Brusque and wryly heroic, as is Asadi's proclivity. He unfurls into motion at the same moment she does, drawing the sinuous weapon at his side with the smooth pull of one hand and hurling a small, cylindrical object at the winged man with the other. He shoots Asadi a cool look of warning as she staggers, and the cylinder clatters over concrete before bursting into a stinging flare of light.

"Don't look," he says belatedly, arching a brow.

[lottawork]

He unclips the line and lets himself drop, gloved hands catching smoothly against the rain-slick wall with the rasp of leather over concrete. His legs nearly buckle beneath the impact as it stings his ankles but he's fully and entirely capable of righting himself and moving swiftly to the other man's side in a relatively expeditious manner.

Nick stoops to hook one hand under Seth's arm and tug him upright.

"I'm assuming they'll attempt to follow," he says crisply. "I recommend we no longer be here when they do."

[full_metal]

Rita's expression doesn't soften, doesn't betray any shred of doubt or uncertainty. She saw the subtle tightening of his shoulders when she first addressed him, and she's going to handle this as if she's finally found her guy. What's the worst case scenario if she's wrong: she confuses some tourist? Who gives a shit. She'll just do it differently next time, and spare this guy the brunt of her irritation.

But that's for next time. "Not as much fun when it happens to you, is it?" she asks, her tone dry as dust. One corner of her mouth ticks up like the curve of a blade, and she lifts her phone again. Different app this time. "Smile," she intones as she casually snaps a picture.

[powerdealer]

"Good idea," he answers, letting himself be pulled up, his legs thankfully holding him once he's on them again. His breathing is hot and heavy underneath the mask, and he reaches up to pull it off again, his face damp.

"Hold on, just..."

He leans a little on the shorter man, concentrating hard. A moment later another tear opens up in front of them, showing the inside of a mostly empty warehouse.

[lottawork]

"Have you no insight as to your own limits," he hisses, managing to sound breathlessly annoyed and not the slightest bit concerned for the apparently flagging strength of his unwanted, unneeded, inept companion. With a low dragging sound of annoyance he yanks one arm over the uneven set of his shoulders and heaves the other man through the split in the quantum fabric of their spatial existence, into the relative safety of a conveniently deserted warehouse.

"If you suffer some sort of fucking vasovagal episode," growls Nick, dark and weighted with unconcealed warning, "I will be extremely annoyed."

[powerdealer]

"I do, I just choose to ignore them," he answers lightly, though he knows he would be every bit as annoyed if it was Rush who got himself hurt for Seth's sake.

The rip closes immediately behind them with the sucking sound of fluid disappearing down the drain. Seth groans a little and untangles himself from Rush, leaning against a wall instead, dropping the mask onto the ground and letting himself sink to a sitting position.

"I have no idea what that means," he admits, wishing people would stop using big words at the clueless drop-out, and unzipping his leather jacket.

He pulls up the bottom of his hoodie to inspect the wound - it's weirdly patchy and only somewhat burned, only vaguely resembling anything that blast should've made. Thankfully his power significantly lessens the damage when he redirects it onto himself. The area is stained dark with blood, but it's no longer bleeding - his healing power is doing a good job too.

[singthesong]

He doesn't smile.

It takes effort not to snap back, but it's important now that he doesn't. She can't possibly know for sure; she'd have just walked right into the bar if she did, right? Maybe he can play this off - he has to play this off, or he's screwed.

"Okay...?" He shoves his phone back into his pocket and glances up and down the path in a display of confusion. "I'll just be going, then?" Is she going to let him leave? He's gotten as much as he can from her; frankly, he wouldn't have come anyway if he knew this was going to happen. He's going to try it, at least, and he turns to walk off, quicker now as if he might know where he's going after all.

[etherthief]

"Fu-!" she yelps abortively, narrowly avoiding falling flat on her face. She recovers her balance with only a little stumbling, whipping around just in time to see Rush's doohickey hitting the ground, and she throws an arm defensively over her face.

She pulls back, trying half-heartedly to look like she meant to do all of that. "Neat trick," she says to Nhodd, taking a few steps back to re-assess, trying to determine if Rush's flashbang did its job.

[lottawork]

Spatial tears are evidently fully capable of hydrogelizing, which is both expedient and appropriate given the situation Seth has unwittingly placed them both in. Nick backs away from the man as he recovers, hands clenching and unclenching with an arrhythmic, frenetic energy he seems unable to dissociate himself from.

"If you fucking pass out," he clarifies, shooting the man a glare from beneath lowered brows, "that will go significant lengths to make the current situation unworkable from a biomedical standpoint."

He crosses the gap between them in a brusque step, eyes raking the dark ridges of the burn and the - the points where the skin appears to have melted or singed beyond recognition unless he is, he is very much -

Nick swallows, closes his eyes, and breathes through his nose.

In retrospect, this is not one of his more well-reasoned ideas. The smell of burned skin is, as he is well aware, beyond fucking unbearable.

He opens his eyes. It's not so terrible.

"I'm not that sort of doctor," he says, utterly composed.

[full_metal]

Oh, no you don't. Rita gets to her feet with the menacing grace of a tiger shark and sets off after him, pocketing her phone as she goes. Some distant part of her feels a bit sorry for him if he really is just some hapless tourist, but if he's not, hell if she's letting him just walk away. If he is, well, none of this will have ever really happened. No permanent harm done.

"Hang on," she says with an almost passable impression of amiability as she falls into step beside him. "Big city. You might get lost."

[bloodsprice]

He wasn't actually a villain. It was just what people who tended to find him in the wrong time and place assumed upon seeing some of the things he did.

If you didn't understand the reasons behind his actions, didn't know why he was doing what he did. Perhaps then, yes, he might appear to be something of a villain. Sometimes it was easier to get something done in embracing that title even. Usually however, he was more...an anti-hero one could say. He ended wars, he helped people out, but those were either for his own motives or done for a price.

Course now he needs help himself, so he's come to someone he thinks might be capable of finding the one he needs found. The trick is to get the man to agree to listen to him and then to grant him what he desires.

He steps out of the shadows as Nicholas heads for the door that would lead inside and down. "Headed home?"

[singthesong]

"Dream?" That gets him to pause a little, glancing over his shoulder. What's that supposed to mean?

More than that, though, is the fact that no one ever wants him to read them like that. Does this man even know what it is he's asking? "I can't - I don't know anything." He shakes his head fiercely. "I don't want to know anything. Listen, if you want my advice, you really shouldn't go back to wherever you came from." Maybe if he lives in a normal place for a while and stays out of trouble, that problem of his will clear up!

...it could happen!

[lottawork]

Grip like iron over the door's knob, Nick freezes, the line of his shoulders growing taut at the unexpected nature of the voice, the subtle roll of the vowels and the too-immediate, too-familiar snap of the consonants. It's an accent he can immediately put a name to and one whose presence would be regarded, here, to be somewhat inexplicable, setting aside the mild hypocrisy of the thought.

What Nicholas finds when he turns can only be blamed upon the oddities of quantum iteration, the intricacies of a universe whose machinations are entirely beyond his control.

"Hello," he says, jaw too tight and eyes too narrow in the face of his own mirror.

[singthesong]

"I think I'll be fine." He turns to flash a smile at her, which turns out quite a bit sharper than he intended. "Thanks anyway." Maybe she really does know, and she's just toying with him. That'd fit in with all the other time-travelers he's ever known.

His attempt at being tricky in his approach means they're heading back towards where he ditched the phone, and towards the bar where all of this started in the first place. At least they don't know him by name there. None of that really matters anyway now that she's got his photo, but it's something. Maybe. He picks up his pace as they reach a crosswalk, taking long quick strides. If he bolts now, he breaks his (possibly already broken) cover for sure. If she keeps tailing him for too long, the same result. How can he shake her?

[bloodsprice]

It is rather surprising when one finds someone who is so alike that they could very well be a twin. He himself had already overcome his shock over it when he'd first looked into the man before him.

Whether Nicolas was aware of it or not, he'd been observing him for the past week before he'd made his decision to finally approach.

"If you're willing to give me a bit of your time, I have a proposition for you."

[lottawork]

Whether this be the product of some flaw of physics or the shifting array of temporal duplicates scattered into diverging trajectories and redirected into an absurd, unprecedented meeting that should by all accounts shatter the very reality construct in which they exist - there is something appealing in his double's utter composure. The hard edge. The unshakable core.

Whatever differences may divide them, at their core they might not be so unalike in resolve in addition to facial similarity. He is not unappreciative of the possible existence of the same qualities that exist within himself.

He releases the knob, pivoting neatly to face his duplicate.

"What might that be, then," he says, closing the question with the tilt of his head.

[bloodsprice]

He appreciated the lack of bluster from the other man, the pointless declarations that they would never consider any propositions put forth by a villain. Of course it could be that he didn't actually know of him, if such was the case, he'd rather Nicolas remained in the dark about that, though it was possible he might actually be someone who would understand the reasons behind his actions. Hopefully he hadn't misjudged when he decided to come to him for this. He didn't think he had though. He folded his hands over the cane he held before him, the thing was a mere prop really, but it had its uses. "I want you to find someone for me." Perhaps Nicolas would manage to succeed where he was currently failing. Especially given that the man lacked some of his own weaknesses that held him back in inconvenient ways.

[lottawork]

"Well," he says, his voice low and interested and dangerous, "that is one of my specialties."

He folds his arms over his chest, taking in the other man's posture, the idle set of his hands over the fine finish of his cane.

That particular detail is minimally more than minimally arresting. One would assume the separations of fate and subsequent directing of oneself across many potential quantum orbits would yield a dissimilar output, including variants of himself he has not formerly considered.

As such, he has no conception of why this version of himself would require a cane.

He opens a hand. "Elaborate."

[bloodsprice]

"I have a son. We've been ...separated for quite some time. I've been attempting to find him myself and I've managed to get this close. I know he's here in this city. I don't know where in the city and certain things are interfering with my ability to properly search him out further here. Thus I would like to hire your services in locating him for me." That should hopefully be enough elaboration for the other man about this task. He didn't want to get into too much depth of detail. Not here where he couldn't be certain they wouldn't be overheard by someone or something. Going into just what was interfering with his ability to continue his search himself might possibly threaten his continued existence. Not something he cared to court when he was this close to finding his son again. Which would be why he still held onto the cane and had even modified it to hold a fitting weapon to use against those who would do him harm, here in this city where his magic sometimes chose to desert him. Though sometimes he wondered if his continued efforts toward finding his son were wise. What would his boy, no doubt now a man, think of what his father was now? He banished such thoughts shortly after they arose though, he swore he'd find him and he would eventually. It didn't matter what his boy thought of him so long as he got the chance to tender his apology and the declaration that he did love him even still to this day.

[lottawork]

The arching set of parallels Nicholas has since parsed between them abruptly halts and shatters, spinning into a sick lurch of grief nestled in the pit of his chest. He swallows. Family is all in all a concept he must consider entirely abstract, let alone the notion of offspring, and he - and Gloria wouldn't -

He dislodges the thought with a fractional shake of his head. It is inconsequential. Very little depends on whatever personal ephemera may be disturbed by the general progression of events. As he's come to conclude.

"Naturally," he says, mostly failing in an attempt to keep his voice dry and devoid of inflection. "I would be amenable to that, assuming you have a physical description or a lead of some kind."

[bloodsprice]

He noticed the affect his words had and it is only his own morals about using his newer abilities without justified cause that keeps him from seeking to satisfy his curiosity about the cause of the pain and grief he so briefly glimpsed. "I have a lead and I can give a reasonable enough description, I believe. Shall we discuss your price here or elsewhere?"