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

Current Music: September 22nd/23rd, 2013

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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.]

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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.

B twitches a little at the pat, but it's just him being jumpy; he doesn't really mind. It's actually kinda nice.

The toast coaxes a chuckle out of him, and he raises his glass in turn. "It's not you I'm worried about." But they both know about Ocaso, and neither of them can do anything about it right this second. It'll be a while before anything more comes of that. Ocaso's a planner. No matter how much this loss angered him - and it did - he won't let that spur him into recklessness.

"I guess I'm glad it was you, if it had to be anybody. Most of the people who chase after me have no sense of humor about it." He grins a little. "Did Nick tell you about the last time he tried?"

"Probably not in enough detail," she says with a laugh. "He was pissed. Of course he's always pissed, but usually he gets his problems pretty well solved." Her smile becomes smaller and more fond. "That's how I met him, when he helped me build me this." She flexes her mechanical hand. "I have never met a guy so singularly cynical and fucking determined to succeed at literally everything."

Whoops, she got sidetracked there. Time for another drink. She signals the server.

He shakes his head wryly, grinning. "Yeah, that's why we don't get along." B is not the sort of problem to easily get solved.

This time around he's alert enough to order his own drink, though he just requests another of the same. Once the server's moved off, he continues. "It's completely my own fault. I don't have to keep at him. It's just always so interesting to see what he'll do - plus half the time he is the best man for the job." It's fun. The long and short of it is that it's fun, when he knows perfectly well that he'll be able to get away. He's always enjoyed poking the bear.

After today he might feel a little differently.

"We never get to actually finish our conversations - he always tries to sneak up on me halfway through. So I just started texting the burners after he found them. I go through more phones because of him..."

Iman laughs through his story, happy that he seems to have relaxed a bit. "I might be able to slip you some tricks to help throw him off," she says, "though you'd have to be careful so he wouldn't recognize my work."

Their drinks come and they continue chatting and sipping themselves into friendly oblivion, until the dream unravels and redeposits them elsewhere.

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Saving Lives a Mile High [open to all]

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