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]

Sorry, were you looking for a superhero?

That's very silly, because there's no superheroes here. Just a completely normal, good-natured guitarist, practically a fixture of the park and the local music scene. He's never even met any superheroes before, despite the abundance of them in town - he's just simply never around when crimes happen. He's never even been so much as mugged, and he plays in dangerous neighborhoods pretty frequently. Good luck, he tells his friends with a laugh, and maybe just good people skills.

Wherever he goes, heroes in the area tend to receive anonymous tips a few days later regarding crimes recently or about to be committed. These come in a number of ways: notes slid under doors or into mailboxes, texts from unknown numbers, very rarely a garbled message left on an answering machine. But the phones, if tracked, are always burners long-since disposed of, the notes can never quite be traced, and don't even think about setting up cameras if you want a return visit. They're also fairly likely to be left at a hero's civilian home or workplace; alarming, if you have a secret identity. But B - the tips are always signed B - has never once provided bad info, and to all appearances hasn't revealed any hero's personal information to anyone. Whoever they are, maybe it's better to just let them operate in peace.

Meanwhile, here's this random civilian, possibly busking where he ought not to be. You might want to clear him out before shit goes down. Or, if you're really curious, rumor has it that return notes or a quick text back to the mysterious B can actually garner a response from time to time.



(( Sorry I tl;dr'd a whole AU ))

[etherthief]

Now, no one would argue that B wasn't an amazing resource - the fabled 100% accuracy rate is surely nothing to sneeze at - but just the same, Iman likes to know who she's doing business with. It's not a preservation thing - her identity is her vigilante self, who needs that 'regular life' shitshow? - it's a simple matter of ideology. And possibly some trust issues.

She wipes some blood off her nose with the back of her hand as she considers her phone and the text she received a short while ago. She's about as good at tracing as anyone in town, not including Nick, but it never leads anywhere. Somehow B always knows she's coming. Even if a text has only just been answered, somehow, she always finds the phone ditched. It's impressive. She'd just like to know whose hand to shake.

Well, what the hell. Can't hurt to try.

After some brief consideration she punches in hey what's the hip-haps bro and sends it.

Yeah, a serious message might be better but she has a hunch that lying to B wouldn't get her very far.

[singthesong]

Lying to him never does get very far, and honestly it's sort of annoying. He doesn't take it as an insult - he's not that proud. If he were, he'd ditch this entire secret-keeping business and set himself up as a legitimate source of information. But seriously? It's a fast track to him striking you from his list.

Normally, trying too hard to track him is also a deal-breaker. Look, he gets it, he really does. It's a dangerous business! That's why he wants to stay out of it, at least as well as he can manage. But this thing with Iman Asadi is honestly kinda fun. She's got a real distinctive tune to her; he can hear her coming at him a mile away. So why worry too much about it? When the burner goes off in his pocket, he shifts his guitar case to his other hand, grins at the text, and types out a quick response.

Same old, same old. You?

If you're too busy to take it, I can get someone else.

[etherthief]

She grins and types one-handed, picking up speed a bit as she heads toward the coordinates B gave her. The enemy of the situation is one of her old regulars, nothing she's too concerned with - she can handle a little multitasking.

You better not! I thought I was your favorite.

[singthesong]

It's the only reason I put up with you.

Speaking of which - he pauses and glances around, listening for signs of oncoming Asadi. But it all seems clear, so he settles down onto a nearby park bench. It's too risky to busk when he might have to drop the phone and bail at anytime, so the guitar stays where it is for now.

Have fun ;)

[etherthief]

You know it, she replies, just as he swoops in proverbially on her target. Thanks to B's efforts she has the drop on him, and it's easy to stop his bullshit in its tracks. The fight is quick and dirty and not definitive - he's a regular, and like all supervillains worth their salt he knows how to make an escape. The kind of villain who really needs considerable planning before entrapment. Doesn't mean she can't knock him around first.

Midway through that endeavor she's still texting B, offhandedly, not wanting to give him an opening to ditch the burner, not quite yet.

what are you doin after sends just as she lands a solid punch across her enemy's jaw.

I'll buy u dinner ;) as she jams her elbow into the small of his back.

[singthesong]

It is a little impolite to ditch a burner in the middle of a conversation. Iman knows he feels that way, he's sure.

Sorry, prior engagement he texts as he leaves the park and crosses the street. It's actually true; there's an open-mic night he promised to go to with a few of his busker friends. For fun, even, and not as a cover for scouting! He's midway through his next response when a shift in the flow of people makes him glance up. Hm...now, what is going on up there? It sounds contentious, to all of his senses.

something going down on W 83rd and Columbus, he fires off instead as he starts slipping through the crowd, much more vague than his typical missives. It's sort of maybe implying that he's actually there right now, but no big deal. He'll be gone long before she can get here. deets in a sec

[etherthief]

She's about to land a finishing strike when her target evades her nimbly and manages an unavoidable retreat. Teleportation has got to be the worst superpower anyone could have. Absolute bane of her existence.

She sighs and picks herself up, wincing a bit at her minor scrapes. She'll be fine, just a little dent in her pride, as usual. She looks back at her phone and lifts her eyebrows.

Ready for more, she sends. This one's scampered off to lick his wounds. She starts heading quickly for the indicated intersection. She's not too far off, as B must have known.

[singthesong]

He glances down at his phone, wielding the guitar case in his other hand to shove through the crowd. Aw, did that guy run off again? Those teleporters...so difficult to get a handle on, even for him.

Too bad, he responds, no longer really paying attention to what's in front of him. It doesn't sound violent yet, more like it's considering being so; he'll likely be able to tell before it actually escalates anyway. He'll tune into that in a second. I'll look into it

Okay, now what's going on here?

oh my goodness look who it is

[mr_fring]

"B" is a problem, and has been for a while. Little more than a low-level irritation, but Fring - or El Ocaso, as he's known outside the office - has a particular dislike for daily microaggressions. This little busybody, reporting on him, constantly dropping scrapes for Asadi or Rush to pick up, has been a thorn in his side for well past the limit of his patience. And he is a very patient man.

It has taken him some time to find a sufficiently surreptitious way of tracking the man down, but now, finally, as he watches the unassuming civilian tinker distractedly with his phone (via feed, of course - can't get too close to this one), he allows himself a satisfied smile.

Causing the diversion was simple enough, all it took was a couple bribes, some capable interlopers B won't be familiar with. And Ocaso can swoop in for the proverbial kill. It's not B's head he wants, not yet at least - it's whoever that is he's in contact with.

He arrives at the scene quickly, quietly, and approaches as unassumingly as if he were at his day job. B will sense the approach, however it is he does that, but not before Ocaso opens his mouth.

Persuasion was always a talent, and now it's a superhuman one.

"Stop walking," he says calmly, with the slightly lower register, the commanding pitch that is his signature ability. "Turn around and behave as if you know me, which you do, of course. Tell your friend it's me, and that you're in need of assistance." He smiles politely. "In your own words, of course."

The diversion should be wrapping up by now. Not too much fuss. Some smoke bombs, some disorder. This is the real danger. It always was.

oh dear

[singthesong]

The scene itself isn't much; nothing more than a quick robbery, really. It stings at him a little not to stop and investigate that weird smoke cloud, but that isn't his role. After taking mental note of the direction the guys took, he continues on his way as if he hadn't seen a thing. It'll be alright. He'll just let Iman know...

...wait. Is that...?

As predicted, he lifts his head in alarm, chest tightening at the sound of El Ocaso approaching from far too close. But before he can so much as try to run, Ocaso speaks, and the tension drains out of him as he instead stops in his tracks. Oh. This isn't so bad. Things actually seem just fine now! Why he was getting so worked up? "Okay, sounds good," he says, turning and flashing Ocaso an agreeable smile, as if they were friends meeting on the street. Then he drops his gaze to his phone again, obediently erasing the message he'd been writing and sending out another in its place:

Ocaso's here. I could use some help.

It's a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Ocaso's right - it's a good plan.

[etherthief]

Oh, shit. So much for getting a break.

This is a first, too, B actually implying they are the one who needs help. Coupled with Ocaso's particular ability, it's not too hard to stretch that anomaly into a hypothesis and a theory, that this is a trap, and B is the bait. It's all fun and games until you get caught, ain't it, B?

Iman huffs out a breath. There's no locational information given so she clicks on the little signal-tracker Rush cooked up and zeroes in on the burner. She's not too far off actually. Small world.

She breaks into a dead run. Killing B wouldn't be Ocaso's style, but he's not above just about anything else, and she'd really rather not lose that resource.

As she gets close she drops off the path and practically skitters up a tree. Dense enough here that she can move in from above, hopefully get a literal drop on them.

There's Ocaso - and there's some guy. He looks the part in that he doesn't particularly look like anyone special. The perfect spy.


Ocaso glances at B and says politely, "Perhaps you could point them out, when they've arrived."

[singthesong]

"Yeah, sure." He nods again at the glance and turns his attention to to the street, listening intently. He knows where Iman just was; it's easy enough to predict where she'll come from.

This isn't what he does. Even now, he knows this isn't how he uses his abilities, reporting right to someone like this. Iman's his friend, in a distant anonymous sort of way, right? But it's Ocaso asking, and that somehow makes it feel very important. He needs to do a good job on this one. Bending slightly, he sets his guitar case down on the pavement, then tilts his head slightly as he straightens. Ah, there she is!

"She's coming," he reports, glancing around and then right up into the treetops on the side of the path. "She just went up there. She sees us." Right now he doesn't feel any particular alarm about that, though of course being seen is another thing he never does. There must be a plan here; he trusts Ocaso.

ill-advised trip tagging aww yiss

[full_metal]

(tw: suicide)

Here is how it doesn't happen.

She doesn't stumble upon some crime in progress or hear about a murder on the six o'clock news. She doesn't consider whether she should involve herself, or whether she should just keep her head down and go about her business like a normal citizen. Or, if she does, she always lands squarely on the 'act normal' side of the debate. Because that's what she is: normal. Nobody. Just a face in the crowd. Not some obnoxious asshole in bright spandex and a cape, her image blown up on billboards and splashed on public transport.

She doesn't calmly step in front of said public transport to an aborted cacophony of squealing tires and screeching brakes. She doesn't open her eyes to find herself back in her bed at the start of that day, with the cries of any unfortunate observers still echoing in her ears. She doesn't have a new mission.

She doesn't stake out the scene of the crime. She doesn't watch it happen from afar, taking note of where people are and when, storing facts and calculating variables, memorizing the scene. She doesn't try to dissuade the criminal in some subtle way. She doesn't lose. She doesn't fuck up. She doesn't die as many times as she has to to get it right, to get it perfect.

Here is how it happens.

Someone starts to commit a crime (she has to let them start, if only so everyone else will know what she's stopping), and a lithe, deceptively small figure in a metal mask slips out of the crowd and lays them out with practiced, brutal efficiency. And then the figure is gone, ducking down an alley or deftly weaving between vehicles, before anyone can fully register the extent of what has just happened.

And Rita tucks the mask away and goes about her business.

Here is another thing that doesn't happen: someone doesn't text her the site of a crime before it happens.

She goes, because she's curious, and because she has a get-out-of-shit-free card that never seems to expire. And she watches it happen, the man running off with some distraught woman's purse. Her own face is impassive, though there's a muscle working in her jaw, and her eyes are distinctly cold. She doesn't even try to stop the crime, because it can wait. The question of who's fucking with her takes precedence, and she pulls out her phone to text back this... samaritan.

Who is this?

yaaaaaaaaaaaaas

[singthesong]

The message isn't unusual at all. Not everyone hears about him before he encounters them, and often he doesn't wait for them to find out.

Normally he is a bit gentler in his introductions, but there's something about this Rita that disturbs him. It rings too closely of past experiences, things he went through too many times already and does not want to live again. But that just means he's jumping in a little faster; he'd rather catch her on the back foot than let her find out he's here and plan.

That's paranoid. He shouldn't think that way. Not everyone with strangeness in their tunes, too-closely repetitive melodies, is...well.

It's enough that he's taken pains as to his own safety, and he's tucked away in a small bar he's never entered before, miles from the crime scene, when he gets the return message. He's quick to answer.

An informant. Call me B.

[full_metal]

Does the 'B' stand for bullshit? She almost entertains the thought of sending that along, but it wouldn't be worth it. If she has to restart the day for this 'informant,' it's not going to be because she fucked up a text conversation.

She doesn't need an informant at all. Not because she can get her information from more conventional sources, or because the time she'd save is a drop in the bucket compared to the time it takes to get things sorted, but because Rita Vrataski is not a goddamn superhero. Which means that (best case) she should not be getting prescient 911 messages, and (worst case) criminals shouldn't be taunting her by way of her personal mobile.

Her phone gets an unimpressed stare. The urge to look around for any observers niggles at her, but if she is being watched, she's not going to blow her own cover by looking as unnerved as she feels. Instead, she fires back: Wrong number, 'B'

[singthesong]

It isn't

He wonders if she even went and stopped that guy after all. It's not the end of the world if she didn't; he was only a small-time thief. Big cases go to those who've proven themselves, both as heroes and to him personally. He'd never test a new contact against something major.

(Well, it's major for whoever just got their purse snatched. But he learned a long time ago that he can't beat himself up for everything he fails to prevent. That way lies madness.)

He stares at the phone in his hand, thoughtfully running a finger around the rim of his untouched drink. She'd felt confrontational. Hell, anyone could see that - she's one of the ones who just runs in punching. From what he's seen, at least. When you start getting involved with people who may or may not have time powers, things become complicated. Either way her tone doesn't really surprise him.

Ask around if you want. I work with a lot of people in this city.

[full_metal]

'Ask around.' Referring to other superheroes, presumably.

Before today, she could have. Chatting up the top-tier attention grabbers for intel isn't on her list of things she wants to spend a day on, but she could have gritted her teeth and done it. And then she could have reset, confident that she'd be keeping her low profile intact.

But if some self-styled informant wants to add her to his clientele, her cover's already been blown. How?

She taps her thumbnail against the screen a few times in an irritated little tattoo. Well, hell if she's admitting to anything. As far as 'B' is concerned, she still has no idea what he's talking about.

Ask who?

[singthesong]

Oh now honestly. He huffs in annoyance, abandoning the pretext of drinking entirely as he types out a response. She's just playing dumb now; she knows exactly what he means. How could she not? Heck, there's a fair chance she's got actual powers, so pretending to be a civilian when they both clearly know she isn't is really just silly.

Other heroes.

And then, because there are plenty of people who don't care for the spangles of "superhero", he adds: Or masked vigilantes, if you like. It's all the same.

[full_metal]

Shit.

Now she has to actually find this person. In the back of her mind, she considers resets and triangulating signals, and wonders how simple this person would make things for her. In the fore, well. This conversation isn't over, and there's no sense wasting it. And playing dumb and in denial is getting results.

Not a vigilante. Don't need an informant. Wrong number, like I said.

[singthesong]

Sorry. Didn't realize normal people ran around in masks and punched folks now.

Should he be sassing her? She's got something going on time-wise, and the similarities to them are enough that he's hiding out here instead of going about his day. She could be dangerous.

Some kind of solo flash mob?

This is exactly how he got himself in trouble last time. He sighs and takes a sip of his drink after all; maybe he's got some kind of problem.

[full_metal]

She can be dangerous, and often is, and if he keeps sassing her she's going to be dangerous right in his goddamn face. If his intentions are the least bit good, he's going to have to do a hell of a lot better than this.

Your mistake.

He knows more than she wants him to, and she's taken feigned ignorance as far as he's willing to let it go. Time to change tactics. A reset is starting to seem inevitable, anyway.

If I was a masked vigilante, I'd say I had things covered. No informant needed.

[singthesong]

That so?

And, well, that seems like it should be it! Some people, like Iman, enjoy this cryptic game as much as he does; lots more don't, and have asked him to back off. Generally he does. He has plenty of good working relationships, so why make a bad name for himself by harassing people? As long as the jobs get done, one or two contacts don't mean a whole lot.

...god, though. This is going to bother him. He may have to start keeping tabs on her regardless, just to assure himself that she won't leap out of the bushes and trap him in a spiral of Groundhog Days.

Have a nice day, then

There. He flips the phone shut and puts it in his pocket. Okay. Finally talked to the time lady, got rebuffed, but then again there's no sign that she's on her way either. Maybe he can just call it a draw!

All the same, he gets up and starts to leave. If she's going to come, he needs more escape routes than this room really provides.

[full_metal]

Seriously? 'Have a nice day'? That settles it.

Here is how it doesn't happen.

She doesn't reset the day. There are no iterations of their text conversation used to pinpoint the location of B's phone. She doesn't waste time staking out the bar only to find that he doesn't even text her if she stays there, let alone show up. There is no maddening series of near misses when she tries to find him, or stubborn silences and discarded burners when she takes the initiative and texts him, first. She doesn't reset over and over in pursuit of the right combination of moves that will get her to him.

She doesn't make progress.

Here is how it happens.

She knows the bar (knows the whole goddamn neighborhood better than she'd like to, by now), and she keeps her distance, because that's the only thing that works. There's a little park a few blocks away, and she sends her last text from there, muscle memory making it quick and perfunctory. God, she's so sick of this conversation.

Then she settles back against a bench to wait. B's not going to sit in a bar forever, and there are only so many routes out of the neighborhood he might take. This is one of the more pleasant ones, so maybe she'll get lucky. She opens an app on her phone, freshly installed this morning and far too familiar, and watches to see where B's phone decides to go this time.

[singthesong]

The phone leaves the bar mere minutes after the conversation is over. He goes through so many, and if she were tracking him she'd be closer by now, so it doesn't occur to him to get rid of it. It's good for one or two more tips.

It does indeed come towards the park. He likes parks!

About one block away, it stops and doesn't move again.

But that's not the end of it, because there is no reason for her to be here. If she were any closer to him, he'd have heard her and ran - oh god. She knows! Why else would she be here, waiting, just outside his range? She doesn't know who he is or he's sure she'd have confronted him directly, but she's already proving herself to be everything he feared. How long does he have before she comes right for him?

He can't take this. He doesn't want to spend the next week, or month, or however long constantly looking over his shoulder for her. Whatever her deal is, he needs to know it now, and for that he's gonna need to get in closer and listen properly.

It does occur to him that he could let a few of his closer contacts know that he might be in danger. Who to go find if he doesn't get back to them in a few hours. But that could endanger them too, and maybe blow his entire cover either way. So he doesn't, and not for the first time the whole secret makes him feel rather lonely.

A while after the phone stops, an unassuming, rather lanky fellow approaches, not from the direction B was coming from last. He doesn't make a beeline for Rita, but rather wanders around a little, stares up at the trees and around at the buildings and down at his phone. Eventually he glances up and makes his way over.

"Hi, excuse me? Could you tell me which way to 31st Street?" He's never really stopped looking like he walked here out of the Midwest; amiable tourist is an easy pretense.