ArchivedLogs:Teamwork

Teamwork
Dramatis Personae Blink, Flicker
In Absentia	2017-02-21 "Sometimes you have to fight." (CN: Some zombies, in various states of disrepair.)
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side
This courtyard is the lush central hub of the surrounding Harbor Commons, bound in on three sides by rows of duplexes and triplexes, cutting upward at the sky with the sharp thrift of a minimalist's style, neat lines and bountiful windows, boldened with accents in wood towards the upper stories, stone towards the base, the whole of the compound sealed in by a low stoneworked wall that opens entrance gates to the streets beyond at its two far corners, smaller gates at building back doors. The fourth side of the courtyard is open to the East River, the ground forming a slight decline, controlled on one side by micro-retaining walls to form wide steps where picnic tables sit beneath the nominative shelter of a trio of dogwood trees, accessible by ramp. The other side is allowed to slope at its natural angle, a wide open yard space, until its cut off at the river's edge, where a massive pair of oak trees stand, a staircase leading away up one of their thick trunks. The yard itself is carpeted in an organic flow of emerald grass swirled through with wending channels of smooth-paved cement walkways, flowing naturally away from the building's front entrances, where some are arced by trellis, some flanked by hosta plants, fern and lilies, a few laid in gentle switch-backing ramps for wheelchair access, before forking off at matching angles to sites of small garden installments. Bird feeders and baths suspended from the necks of small lamp posts, a rock-lined koi pond, a sleek gazebo tucked to one side in simplistic varnished wood, its southern side overgrown with a mass of thriving grapevine and a caged-in barbecue pit under its sheltering roof. A play area and proper garden are within sight off another branch, until finally all paths spiral in like wheel spokes to a shared common house at the center of all traffic flow. The evening commute is in full swing on the bridges, but in the Commons' corner of the the Lower East Side things are fairly quiet. The weather is mild and balmy, and the breeze coming off the East River smells just a touch more decayed than usual. There's some splashing down by the riverbank, followed a few minutes later by heavy, wet splats, the shifting of stones, and an odd gurgling noise. The first lumbering corpse to crest the bank is mostly in-tact, if heavily bloated and partially eaten. Its gait is even more ungainly than that of land-bound zombies, but it perseveres, heading toward the brightly lit Commonhaus with mindless focus. Water burbles from its nose and mouth as it attempts to vocalize, and though the sound that comes out little resembles the iconic rattle, its comrades follow all the same: five more in total, the last barely mobile once it leaves the water, but still gamely shambling on. A swirling violet portal opens up on the lawn and Blink hops out. She's wearing a lavender tunic with dark purple trim, a matching sash belt, and black wide-leg pants. She's still twisting her fishtail braid up into a sloppy knot at the back of her head, and chews her lip as she watches the slowly advancing zombies. "{Hello,}" she says in mandarin. And then in English she says, "If any of you understand me, please give some indication that you are not coming here intending to eat us." Chronically overbooked, these days, Flicker is running -- not quite late to his own party. Late by his standards, in that he's not /early/ enough to help much with Game Night prep as he flits his way back onto the grounds. He's dressed in dark cargo pants, athletic tee, X-Jacket over a shoulder, his heavily laden messenger bag slung across his chest. He's checking his phone even as he makes a rapid detour, touching down beside Blink to eye the incoming group with faintly pressed-together lips. "You suppose they're here to play?" Brows lifted. It's hard to really call the faint uptick of his tone /hopeful/ as he looks as the bloated rotting group, though. Though the undead seem very interested in Blink indeed--shifting their ponderous gaits toward her and gurgling with renewed enthusiasm--none of them give the least sign of comprehending her words. They note Flicker's arrival in tandem, and only strain toward them all the more eagerly. Blink tilts her head slightly and studies the zombies. She waves at Flicker when he drop in. "Maybe they want to try their hands at Last Night on Earth," she says, and gives a small shrug. Her hands flex and glow faintly purple. "I can handle them, if you want some time to go get ready for gaming." She glances at Flicker's messenger bag. "But if you'd like to give me a hand, we should call targets. I've got Speedy there." She lifts one hand to point at the lead zombie. Half a second later, the light shoots from her hand, moving too fast for most eyes to follow, and expands out into a small, horizontal portal at 'Speedy's neck. A matching portal opens up at the same zombie’s feet. The portal bisects the foremost zombie's neck, and its head drops out of view in somewhat uncanny fashion, looking for all the world as though it has vanished down into its waterlogged body, though in fact it simply falls out of the other portal, hitting the ground with a wet thud. The headless corpse manages another step before faltering and collapsing forward to show off the clean cross-section of its neck. The remaining five zombies, undeterred, continue their slow and malodorous progress toward Blink and Flicker. Flicker's brows furrow. Cheeks puff out, breath pushed out quick, sharp. "Guess we're starting with that game tonight." He shucks his bag, leaving it on a nearby bench. "The preacher and the pretty one." One finger and his pointing claw-hand are indicating two of the lurching group. Though the first has mostly only tatters of clothing, a clerical collar can be seen half-embedded in the engorged flesh of their bloated neck. The second just beside it has been long since shed of identifying clothing -- together with much other identifying flesh, large chunks of their swollen form missing including the majority of their entire face. Flicker is reaching behind himself with his bio-hand as he starts to move. By the time he's landed by the Preacher-zombie there's a long knife in it, unsheathed from his hip. He barely seems to stop much time at all between the pair -- but the knife finds its way into the first zombie's temple. Slides deep, twists one way then another before pulling out. In another blink he's on the other side of the faceless one -- this time his bionic arm lifts. The repulsor bolt that fires from the center of the claw is small, but piercing all the same. One and then another and nearly as quick as he came, back to land beside his bag. The preacher zombie's bloated form judders as Flicker's knife slides in their brain, and they lift one hand to paw at the air that he vacates before finally sinking to the ground. The zombie with no face goes down more rapidly, falling backwards almost as soon as the bolt has torn into their skull. The effect is that both hit the ground at about the same time, a split second /after/ Flicker has already returned the place he started. It practically looks choreographed. The three remaining zombies do not look very put out by this rapid succession of precision violence. Of them, the most in-tact one probably /would/ have taken the lead of the group if they were not weighed down by many layers of tattered and waterlogged winter clothing. The next one behind them is tall and quite unbothered by the two arrows protruding from their chest. The last and most decayed one lags far behind, dragging one foot at an unpleasant-looking angle. While Flicker is taking down the two zombies, Blink has opened another larger portal beneath the one she beheaded, dropping both corpse and head into the nondescript shed by the riverside. "I got the one with three coats on," she says, flicking her hand in the direction of the very overdressed zombie, the motion more exaggerated than necessary by her usual standards. Another portal slices through scarf, collars, and neck alike, and after that a bigger one drops the whole mess out of sight. "Lucky for us, you're not the ZM this time." "That's Hive if it's anyone. Not sure he always plays to win. Thankfully for -- some of us." Like so many of his motions, Flicker's grimace is fleeting. "I'll get the pincushion if you get Slowbro." Once more he's moving already. Flutter, land. Not far from the pre-perforated walker, knife driving up deep through the side of its skull before he jumps several feet back. "Maybe," he muses, "tonight I'm feeling more like something in the vein of. Dixit. Once Upon A Time." The overdressed zombie goes down with as little fuss as had the others, burbling filthy water from their neatly sliced trachea as they fall, headless, into the portal forming beneath them. The zombie with the arrows looks for a moment as though they might just defy Flicker's attack, too. They stagger in place, begins to turn toward Flicker as if to retaliate (though more likely just re-orienting toward the nearest food source), and then finally drops to their knees and goes still. "Wait, do you think Hive might actually be..." Blink's eyes widen so far that the whites are visible, even with her usually large and unnaturally green irises. "...connected to them?" She does not flinch as she watches Flicker take down 'pincushion', but she frowns just a little. Her eyes return to the last remaining zombie, the slowest one limping along at the rear. "There's a lot I don't understand," she sounds almost like she is talking to herself. The hesitation does not last very long. She beheads that one, too, and drops it into the shed, followed one by one by the others that Flicker took down. "I vote Dixit," she says finally, after a moment of quiet. Flicker's head bows as the last zombie goes down. In a flash he returns to his bag. Takes a seat on the bench beside it, leans down to wipe his knife on the grass. Doesn't resheath it. "He's connected to everything." This sounds almost like he's talking to himself, now. When he looks up again, his voice is more level: "You're way handy with those." Blink tilts her head at Flicker. "That sounds very spiritual, but I guess you mean it literally." She looks over her shoulder at the now-empty courtyard, then goes and sits down on the other side of the bench from Flicker, hands folded in her lap. "Thanks. At this range it's pretty easy. Now, at least. I've had a lot of practice. Even went to a special school, once upon a time." She bites her lip distractedly. "Usually I try pretty hard to /avoid/ slicing into anything, but sometimes running away just doesn't cut it." Half a beat later, she winces. "Not intentional. Anyway, I don't need to tell /you/ that." Nodding at the knife still bare in Flicker's hand. "Sometimes you have to fight." "I --" Flicker hesitates. Shakes his head. "He's complicated." He starts to lift his knuckles towards his eyes, but lowers his hand with a faintly disgusted wrinkle of his nose as the still-streaked knife draws closer to his face. "Special school?" Brows lift curiously. His eyes track -- not toward the shed where the corpses have been dumped. Instead toward the still-closed front gates of the Commons. "Sometimes you have to fight." A quick smile flits across his face. "Helps to have backup, when you do. Have you ever thought about -- I mean, I have a -- I mean, I was wondering if you wanted --" He breaks off, a blush spreading up his neck into his cheeks. "I've kinda gotten that impression," Blink says. "But I try not to assume anyone is uncomplicated." She pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Chinese government school for mutant kids. Kind of like Xavier's, from what I've heard of that, except more fascist." She follows the line of Flicker's sight and pulls in a deep breath. "Backup," she says. "That would be nice, though my fighting is pretty sporadic and spontaneous. Most of the time it's still better to get out, or help other people get out." She turns back to study Flicker, confusion written in her brows. "You want to like...train with me?" "Sounds -- charming." Flicker says this with kind of a scowl. His blush hasn't faded. "I -- yeah. I mean, no. I mean, yeah. I wanted -- to see if you. Wanted to join my -- team. Not /my/ team, just -- my team. We can always use more -- people. And we seem to be kind of making a habit of this anyway," he adds with a small crooked smile. "But there's a few of us. We train out at Xavier's. And -- help people. Or try to." Kind of heavier, here, again. "Well, they taught us how to use our powers, anyway." Blink shrugs, though her mouth is pressed tight and thin. "You mean your Prometheus team? I'd wondered whether you'd be going on to right other wrongs, now that Prometheus is done for good. Hopefully." She tilts her head. "But if you are recruiting, and you think I've got what it takes?" Her hands glow purple and she pours the light from one hand to the other before dissipating it. "I'd love to be able to help people more." She pauses a beat. "Or try to." "Oh!" The blush is darkening in Flicker's cheeks. "No. A different team. Though lots of us are involved." His brows furrow. "It's just -- a group of mutants. Trying to --" For a moment he stops, considers. "I don't actually have a pithy recruitment pitch," he admits. "I don't do this often. We do a lot. Search and rescue, zombie patrols, protecting people who've been experiencing violence. Everything from being out on election day a lot trying to keep the polls safe to helping folks in disaster zones. Sometimes it's because the regular services won't help mutant families -- sometimes it's just because we're better equipped to help out in some situations." Shrug. "I won't pretend /everyone/ is always glad to see a team of freaks showing up to help in a pinch but. Still saved a lot of lives anyway." This is followed by a quick smile. "And yeah. I think you've more than got what it takes." Blink tilts her head, raises her eyebrows at Flicker. "You're on not one but /two/ superhero squads. While going through med school," she says, quietly impressed. "That all sounds like important and worthwhile work, though I expect I have a lot to learn, amateur that I am." She blushes a little and tilts her head forward. "But...yeah. Count me in."