applesaucedream | Saving Lives a Mile High [open to all]

Current Music: September 22nd/23rd, 2013

Entry tags:

Saving Lives a Mile High [open to all]

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If nothing else, he'll try to be the best sort-of civilian possible. As Iman leaps into action, he leans down to grab his guitar case again and backs farther away from the fray. If he gets involved at this point it can only be as a hostage, and that's an escalation no one needs.

New Yorkers know not to rubberneck at this kind of fight, so there's no crowd gathered around; people are giving them a wide berth, him included. B stands alone and bounces nervously on his heels, shooting quick glances at the empty sidewalk behind him. He could run. Iman's seen him, but she doesn't know his name or where he came from; he could hop on a bus and be out of the state in hours. There's a bag packed in his apartment and a series of sealed letters that would wrap up all his unfinished business in his absence. Ever since he entered the hero game again, he's been ready for this.

But there's still things he can do to help here. If those reinforcements come anyway, a few minutes' warning could mean everything. Ocaso is pinned, so he turns to scan the road for anything hostile-sounding. The general noise of the city makes it harder, when he doesn't know specifically who might be coming - but he's always worked it out before.

Asadi kicks Ocaso in the head.

This is fairly obvious, even from Nicholas's somewhat lesser-if-nonexistent vantage point.

This is not what he would dictate as an expected outcome, but it is not unworkable in concept or in practice and the window in which Ocaso is thrown from his back is enough for Nick to brace both palms flat against asphalt, teeth gritted against the settling ache in the shape of the other man's knee where it ground into his back, and flip himself over to recover enough traction to crab back and away from the imminent catastrophe.

He contemplates the wisdom of simply disembarking and leaving Asadi to it.

Nick sighs and draws his weapon, the ophidian shape of it snapping open with the electrical hum of a building charge as he crouches beside the floored Ocaso and brings the weapon's tip to the other man's temple.

"One shot from this," he hisses, the words low and immediate, "will not kill you. It will, however, place you in a great deal of pain. Therefore," and he presses it viciously against Ocaso's skull, grinding it unremittingly into skin, "I suggest you do as she says."

Ocaso is frozen, staring up at them with wide, furious eyes, his expression taut; his lips part, whether to speak or breathe isn't clear, but Iman lifts a finger to her mouth all the same, smiling coolly. No words, asshole, or she'll crush your windpipe.

His eyes flick between them before he moves a hand slowly to his pocket, fiddling somewhat awkwardly with his phone. Iman lets him do whatever, then snatches the device from his hand, handing it up over her shoulder to Rush.

"In light of this being an embarrassingly colossal fuckup on your part," she says, "I think we should all just back off quietly and part ways. Don't you?"

Not 100% kosher, but they all know there are too many reasons they can't actually take Ocaso down, or they would have already. And she's a little more invested in checking on B and getting the fuck outta dodge. This has been too much of a mess.

Ocaso hesitates before nodding his assent. She loosens her grip just enough to allow him movement, sort of keeping her hand in position as he stands up, before she finally lifts it off and backs up, nudging Rush along with her.

Ocaso is furious, and he loathes the idea of retreating as suggested, but the nature of the plan was inherently flawed, he sees that now. Apprehending B in such an open space, losing grip on him so quickly - the lack of preparation that is necessitated by B's power left him open. It is a mistake that will not be repeated.

He says nothing; not safe to speak with Rush's finger still on a trigger. Glances once, icily, toward B, before backing away. He manages to walk with impressive steadiness considering how thoroughly he was just beaten down.

Iman sighs, stretches out, and turns to look at B.

"You all right, there?" she says. She glances at Rush. "Not like Ocaso to just start picking on random civilians. Something must be in the air today."

B meets Fring's gaze steadily, and knows that he is going to try this again. It doesn't even take listening. Why wouldn't he make another attempt on such an excellent resource? So the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile, and he gives a little shrug as if to say Them's the breaks.

At the very least, he can still deny the satisfaction of feeling intimidating.

As the other two turn their attention to him, he lets it drop. A civilian wouldn't act like that - and that's what he is, right? A totally random civilian. And Iman Asadi is a wonderful human being. "Yeah, yeah, I'm..." He makes a little display of checking his guitar case over, running a hand through his hair. "...I'm fine. Not sure what that was about, I've barely got twenty bucks in change in here!" He chuckles, a nervous sound that's just slightly too high-pitched. Just a hapless street musician, experiencing some crazy random happenstance!

"Um, are you two okay?" He doesn't need to feign worry as he darts a glance at Rush. It bothers him enough when people get hurt on a call he sent them on; getting hurt on his own account just shouldn't happen.

He takes the phone from her fluidly, sliding it easily into his pocket and rising in a continuous, streamlined shift upright. He runs a thumb along the ridge of his weapon's handle, conspicuously refraining from holstering it again at his side.

Nick offers a grunt of assent and noncommittal jerk of the head, tracking the other man's retreating back steadily until his gaze snaps around to the nameless civilian, eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes," he says with edgeless irony, "'random' is certainly the term I would call to mind."

"I know, right?" she says bluntly, staring at him with complete impassivity. "Fuckin' weird. I was tailing him and he just grabs this kid outta nowhere. Fuckin' amateur hour. Maybe he's having a midlife crisis."

Yeah, okay, so Rush is maybe a little too smart for this ploy (and for everything and everybody) but she's not gonna give that ground. B's cover just got blown to two and a half people and even though it's not technically her fault she still feels responsible. He's a goddamn good resource and the last thing he needs is Rush on his ass on top of everything else that's just happened.

Whether or not he falls for the lie, she has a pretty good notion he's not gonna push harder, not after that steely smile she just gave him.

"Sorry you got mixed up in that," she says, turning her attention pointedly back to B. "Maybe you'll let me get you a drink."

"Um."

B stumbles a little over his words, glancing between the two of them with a furrowed brow. Because he is totally a random civilian and has no idea what these weird undercurrents are all about! The offer to drinks, though, does catch him a little off-guard. "Yeah? That...sounds good, thanks. I think I could use one right now."

God. After all her attempts, he is actually accepting an invitation from Iman. This day has just been full of surprises.

He matches her look with hard flint in his pointed glare, the calculated upward quirk of a brow, the unpreventable twitch of the corner of his mouth in irritating nervous repetition.

"I'm sure," he says crisply, seamlessly transitioning his stare to the civilian. "Do be careful." The words cut across in a quiet, glacial hiss. "I hear the streets are terribly unsafe these days."

He shoots Asadi a curt nod and pivots into a smooth stride, away from the withdrawing Ocaso, away from the de-escalating adversity, away from that source of intrigue with which he is uninterested in engaging.

Oh ho ho. Sure, dad. She smirks and gives his back a little wave as he stalks off manfully, then turns back to B.

"Well that was fun," she says. "What other plans did you want foiled for today? Cause I could just about murder a negroni but I don't know if we're near a place that'll do those." Closest thing to them is a shitty dive. But it'll do in times of crisis. She starts walking, expecting him to follow.

Yeah, that kinda seems to be how most of his interactions with Rush go.

B does indeed turn to follow, slipping right out of his nervous civilian posture into something a little more relaxed, if not quite at ease yet. "In this neighborhood? You don't need me to tell you that."

He takes the burner phone he was using out of his pocket, stares at it for a moment, then heaves a sigh and drops it off in a trash can as they pass by. No sense hanging onto that now. "I think that's enough foiling for today. Doubt you need me to tell you that he's coming back either." B nods sharply over his shoulder in the direction Fring went. "But that's another day."

Iman glances back as if they can still see Ocaso, then looks at B, studying him with a casually curious expression. "How do you do that?" she asks. "I mean, no obligation to tell me shit, I think we can agree I know too much already, but - that's fucking creepy, I will tell you what. Not to mention impressive. What, is it a mindreading thing?"

Again, B chuckles hollowly. "We can agree on that."

But what's done is done. The facts of his abilities don't concern him nearly as much as his identity. Besides, she's got the idea. "Creepy? You think?" He shoots her a grin; she is not the first person to have that opinion. "Nah, not exactly. I can't hear people's thoughts, it's more like...reading their biography while it's still going on." A shade less immediate than mind-reading, though if people spend a long time dwelling on certain thoughts or emotions those can come through.

"Don't worry, I'm not doing it to you now," he rushes to assure her.

Well thaaaat's even creepier than she thought, but she limits her reaction to a subtle lifting of the brows. "I guess I'll have to take your word on that," she says. "Pretty useful stuff. Gotta say I appreciate what you do with it." She smirks as she leads them into a dim little bar. "I've been a fan of your work for some time, but you knew that."

She glances around the place. Pretty dead, what with the hour and all. "Bar or booth?" she asks.

"Booth," he responds immediately, and smiles wryly for a moment at some internal joke. "More private."

Of course, he's already confirmed to his own satisfaction that there's no one too dangerous in here. Just a couple of normal daydrinkers - not the kind of people to go out of their way to eavesdrop. All the same, he heads over to one of the more isolated booths, shoves his guitar case under the table, and collapses gratefully onto one of the benches. He's never been to this bar before in his life, but it's far quieter in here and the closeness of the walls makes him feel a little less exposed.

Ugh, he still feels gross after that. Like Fring just shoved a hand right into his head. He's never been able to hear himself, but he's passed near the man and his victims before. He knows the way people Ocaso speaks to just...fall into tune with him. It turns his stomach; it's unnerving, it's wrong.

B scrubs a hand over his eyes, trying to keep some level of composure. "I appreciate the support! Really. Still never meant to actually meet you like this, but..." He shrugs. "Thanks for coming."

She watches him sort of sink into himself for a moment and then pull back out brightly, smiles and nods, "Sure thing, buddy." A server drops by, takes their orders, and departs - she looks at him for another moment, resting her elbows on the table and sinking down a little, at once relaxed and attentive.

"You okay?" she asks gently.

"Oh, I'm - " he starts, then hesitates for a second. Does he have to lie here? He's not okay. That's probably pretty obvious; Iman isn't exactly the unobservant type. " - not. Great."

B turns to watch the server leave. "I've been better. I - god, I can't believe he got the jump on me like that." He shouldn't really complain. With his abilities, he weasels his way out of more trouble than most of the population of Manhattan. Most villains, when you come down to it, don't really respect the unspoken rule of leaving civilians out of things. Those usually stop at robbery, though, and he's, well, himself. "That's the whole reason I do this, this secrecy thing," he admits, darting a quick glance at the door though he knows no one dangerous is coming. "This isn't the first time someone's come after me like that. I'm too good a resource." The word's pronounced bitterly.

She sits up a little straighter at that, trying not to look too fascinated by this scrap of information, though she's realizing it's useless to try and hide anything from him. She hadn't wanted to ask him anything too personal, and she's pleased to have it offered freely instead.

"Doesn't surprise me," she says grimly. She hesitates to fiddle idly with her napkin, and then hesitates again as their drinks are set down. She nods to the server, then takes a slow sip. "Dooo youuu wanna talk about?"

B remains quiet as Iman fidgets, staring at his hands as he methodically folds and unfolds his napkin. He's not sure how he feels about this. Though he didn't come here intending to share so much, it isn't really surprising that he ended up doing so. The Secret is something he does out of necessity, not because he's the kind of person who just enjoys keeping up charades. Sure, it can be entertaining at times, but...it gets lonely, living so much on his own. He's got civilian friends, but he keeps so much secret from them that sometimes he feels they don't really know him any better than his contacts do.

Does he want to tell her? He wraps his hands around the glass that's set in front of him, peering down at it in mild interest; he hadn't even been paying attention when she ordered. "I've never talked about it," he admits quietly.

She softens, looking at him with a small, sad smile. "Well, you can if you want," she says. "Or not. Either way." She leans back in the booth, taking her drink with her to keep nursing it. "I can't imagine it's something you enjoy thinking about."

B shrugs slightly, finally lifting the glass to his lips. It doesn't really matter if he likes thinking about it or not, he does. It happened. There's not really any going back.

God, he's a real downer today. Probably not at all what she was expecting - their exchanges have always been pretty light-hearted, like a game between them. Now here he is spilling his tragic backstory. Give him a mask and some judo lessons and he'd be a right brooding vigilante type, wouldn't he? Ugh.

"I used to be more hands-on," he says, leaning forward on the table and keeping his voice low. "I'm not like you, but when you know the things I know, you can make a lot of difference just by saying the right thing at the right time. Just little things. The Midwest doesn't really attract megalomaniacs like Manhattan does, you know?" He smiles tightly, but it's true; dramatic hero fights are a dime a dozen in this town. "I never even knew anyone else with powers until I found my first supervillain."

Excuse him as he puts air quotes around the phrase. Bunch of puffed-up jerks.

"There weren't really any heroes around, just me and a bunch of cops. So I thought I'd try and figure out what the guy wanted. But he - " B pauses and takes a long sip of his drink. "Well. He had time powers. There's only so much you can do when a guy just rewinds and does things over when he gets it wrong."

"Nnh, yeah," she says with a knowing nod. "That is not a fun first-time challenge. Ambitious shit." She shrugs and settles in. There's probably a lot more to this story, but she's not in a hurry, and she prefers things to be equal.

"I fucked up my first job bigtime," she says. She gestures to her arm. "S'how I lost this. You probably know that story." She gives him a faintly encouraging smile. "It's okay to have those fuckups. We all do."

He shrugs wryly, an admission that he does indeed know that story. It's common enough knowledge that he didn't even need to do anything special. Iman's not one of the secretive ones. "Well, you've bounced back." And so has he, he supposes.

"I don't...this is where it gets weird, for me. Time things, y'know; I don't remember it all too clearly." He'd gotten close enough now and again to get ideas of other timelines, perhaps, resets where other things had happened. Maybe they were true memories; maybe only musical echoes. "I got caught up in the loops, with him and his friends. I didn't even know they existed until it was too late. They wanted me to help them get it right - they'd been at it a while." They probably hadn't been quite sane for a long time before he entered the picture. People weren't really meant to go through time like that, he thinks.

Ooohh. She sees where this is going. She lifts her eyebrows and nods slowly, eyeing him with greater seriousness and sympathy.

"Shit," she says. "What... what were they trying to do? Or do you not want to talk about that part?"

Does he even remember? This is fucked up. No wonder he's such a careful recluse.

"They were - "

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and then answers in a tight voice, "It doesn't matter now." It's over. It's done. B likes to think that he wouldn't have just run off and left them there to continue their work - but that doesn't matter, because he never could have escaped if they were still active. They weren't going to let him go.

There's a moment of silence, and then he shifts, deliberately relaxing his posture as he meets her gaze again. He doesn't want to dwell on things now. "I took off after it was all said and done. I couldn't...be there anymore, it'd been too long. Didn't come straight here, but it's not so hard to end up in New York."

Iman frowns a little sadly at him, seeing his obvious distress, how difficult this is to talk and think about. She reaches out to gives him a little pat on the hand.

"It's okay," she says. "I mean, relatively speaking. On a long enough timeline everything approaches neutrality. Anyway it's over now, and you don't have to talk about it. Let's fucking drink." She lifts her glass in a half-assed toast. "I'll keep your secret, you don't have to worry about me. Sorry I had to find out this way."

This clarified, she downs the rest of the glass.

Saving Lives a Mile High [open to all]

oops

no subject

and he would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling kids and your GUN

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)