ArchivedLogs:Madmen and Monologues

Madmen and Monologues
You sly dog!
Dramatis Personae Masque, Micah, Nox & Tatters
In Absentia	13 February, 2013 '
Location Clinton, NYC
Despite its rough and tumble reputation of old, Clinton has come far from the illegal gambling and shakedowns of Prohibition, and the gang warfare of West Side Story. Clinton has now become the industrial supply center for midtown Manhattan, with hospitals and the light industrial and commercial businesses required to support so many thousands of people. The neighborhood has become quite expensive, but many actors still cram together in small apartments due to its proximity to Broadway. This is not the expensive part of Clinton, okay? This is the industrial part, full of machine shops and shipping depots and a few offices, if you're the sort who likes to buy parts in bulk. And, as it's growing later in the day, it's less busy than it was earlier. That's a /good/ thing for people of the Morlock persuasion--fewer people around means fewer people who might call the cops on a Mutanting In Progress when they catch sight of the ghostly shadow that pours up through the holes in a manhole, then solidifies into a naked woman shape to yank it up entirely for the person following her. "One of the kids said they saw him heading this way," Nox murmurs, "but he's probably long gone. Worth a look though." A stocky, hooded shape clambors up through the open hatch. It's not particularly cold today, but the hunter is bundled up with gloves and everything, though there's an odd lumpiness to them that suggests that the padded insulation has been taken out and that the wearer's hands are just rather /big./ And you know what they say about people with big hands: they're probably a monster. And so she is, as she heaves the manhole back into place an scans the empty lot with reflective eyes. "Yeah. Did they, like, give a direction or anything?" It's been a long day for Masque, who hasn't been in a particularly good mood today. Not that he ever really is, but still. The door of a pawn shop down the street from the newly arrived Morlocks opens to a small group of people making their way out, continuing down the sidewalk. Before the door manages to swing closed again, though, just one more person exits- and what luck, that person just happens to be slightly hunched over, wearing a suspiciously familiar large, ill-fitting red hooded coat as he kicks the door closed behind him, muttering something along the words of, "Scammers and thieves," as he slinks toward some of the shadier parts of the street. A slim figure in an olive green puffy coat and orange Jayne hat materializes from one of the dingy establishments on the street, arms full of Large Brown Package with an oval sticker on it that reads "JAKE'S AUTOMOTIVE". He performs that awkward pirouetting manoeuvre required to get through a door with one's hands full, the contents of the box shifting with a heavy, metallic clunking sound. Micah hoists the box up a bit higher before ambling along, his gait a little more uneven than usual for the burden. He might be singing softly to himself. Could be Styx's "Boat on the River". Nox slides into intangibility, taking up a position within Tatterhood's shadow to provide a less attention-grabbing appearance. There is plenty of room there given her host's current monster dimensions. "They did not say but that he was moving quickly," she whispers to her companion. "One can hope that perhaps...oh. Oh, Tatters, do you see?" The other young woman's shadow slips forward unnaturally, falling /towards/ the sun. She is making a dark compass of herself, pointing directly at yon red-hooded man. "Yeah, I see him." Tatters sticks her gloved hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt and alters her course to amble in that direction, keeping an eye on her target but otherwise keeping her head bowed and her shoulders hunched. It helps make the fact that she seems to be muttering to herself stand out less. "Ugh, I hate this. It feels less Knight and more...thug, you know? See, he's just doin' a thing." Left unsaid is the rest: 'but I'll back you up if you want to scold him.' It's why she's here, after all. Clearly, having arrived with the Morlocks while Masque was on his way out, she's yet to develop an appropriately abiding hatred for the man. Masque remains largely oblivious of his surroundings, through what appears to be plain, unabashed disinterest. As he moves forward, he hangs close to the walls and somewhat restlessly flexes his hands by his sides. A smatter of light is cast on his marred face as he lifts his head to, just briefly and as halfhearted as it gets, look across the street before he promptly pulling into the direction of the sidewalk across it. A little too promptly and a little too blindly, as it turns out, because the obscured vision on either side of his face means he fails to notice the green-coated individual he's probably about to crash into, and at a pretty good speed, too. "...and I won't cry out anymore," Micah continues singing, in an /utter/ lie, since "AGH!" is the next thing out of his mouth as a large, man-shaped object connects with his side. He spins in an attempt to keep his feet and not drop the enormous box on the man. Stagger, teeter...but he sticks the landing like a wobbly gymnast. "Whoa, mister, are you okay?" The kid moves to set the box on the ground and check on the...rather blurry guy that crashed into him. "He sought me out. He tried to hurt me. He would have hurt Lucien had he been able." Nox recites this almost without sound, but she trusts Tatters to hear--and more than that, to understand. The shadow manipulator's encounter with the man has her convinced that Masque is Up To Something. She intends to find out just what that something is /before/ someone has their face melted. Or maybe before they're knocked over, because when Masque and Micah collide, she surges forward, jumping into the shadow of a parked car, a truck, the curb itself to get closer. "Yeah, I know. But are we just /hassling/ him--?" Tatters lets her query trail off as she spots the collision, and picks up her pace -- not as fast as Nox, perhaps, but a brisk walk if not an all-out sprint. At least everyone seems okay? Masque comes to a stop only after his body collides with Micah's and has steadied itself again. Fortunately for him, not giving a damn about who he bumps into every day has given him lots of practise in how not to fall over after something like this, and said steadying does not take much effort. He's also not carrying any ridiculously big or heavy objects, so that's a plus. But... he doesn't usually get asked if he's okay, though, and that in particular catches his attention more than anything. He lifts his head once more, his body angling itself sluggishly to allow him to face Micah properly. He raises his head once more as he straightens as far as his hunch will allow him, and his face is visible slightly more clearly now. "... Am I /okay/?" His voice escapes his throat with effort, as if scraped from the bottom of the proverbial box. "Do I look like I'm not? Is /that/ what it is? Is it the /FACE/? Does it say /WEAKNESS/ to you?" Micah straightens back up, dusting his hands off reflexively now that they're free of the box. "No offense intended there, sir. Just concerned that the auto parts here might've caused some harm. S'pose they weren't moving as fast as auto parts tend to do when attached to the auto, though. Didn't get a good sense of what happened in all the tryin' not to fall over m'self." He looks up to face the hooded man, and meets his eye in a steady, non-threatening way. Aaand, fortunately, Micah is used to some /faces/ in his line of work. Military veterans who have seen IED's a little too personally, kids with severe genetic disorders, people who have been through some pretty creative accidents. He blinks at the sight, and no more. "As I said, no offense intended. Just walkin'." The raised voice heard makes Nox hurry all the more. Not that she /wants/ to alert Masque to their presence. God no. But from the sound of it, intervention may be necessary--and sadly this rush to get into position is nothing new. Silently and with as much stealth as her mutation allows, she slips into the shadow that falls from the building across the sidewalk, directly behind Masque. Said shadow darkens as she joins with it but it's such a subtle effect--surely he wouldn't notice, being concerned about matters of honor and such. Walk, walk, walk. Tatters keeps her head down as she continues to approach, hands in her pockets, the dim light and her hood keeping most of her face in shadow. Masque's shouting had caused her to shift a gear up into a quick jog, but she ratchets back to a brisk walk at the other collider's calm, measured reply, a smile slipping onto her features. See, look! Everything's fine, and once Masque gets over the shock of being treated with polite concern he'll be on his way, surely? After Micah explains himself, the hooded man actually... seems to calm down a little. That's not to say he doesn't still throw a scowl in the younger male's direction while scrutinising him from top to bottom, but this isn't the time for quarrels with random strangers. At least... until he looks properly around himself his time in preparation to cross the street, and finds his gaze flitting over Tatters heading in his direction. The anger in his eyes flares up once more and all too easily, and suspicion whips him around to find exactly what he expected to find. If he hadn't been looking, he wouldn't have found her, but Nox the rat is a sight he's come to know how to spot more easily than some others. Polite concern, Masque's ass. This is a trap. With surprising speed for a man who looks a deal older than he is thanks to the life he's lived, a hand shoots out to grab for purchase on Micah's arm in order to pull him closer, box precariously held or not. Micah is the picture of obliviousness, having noticed the Morlocks' arrival not at all. His eyebrows do their best to retreat under his knit hat as the other man moves to grab him, hazel eyes wide. The kid twists in a second-to-late attempt to escape, leaving Masque able to grab the rather ample sleeve of his puffy coat easily. Micah puts on his Serious Voice. "Look, mister, this doesn't need to get any more physical than the runnin'-into what already happened. Let's call it a day and both get to where we were goin', okay?" The shadow grows deeper and darker beneath their feet--at least until Masque grabs the young man. Then all sense of movement ceases. Nox can't exactly hush, being already silent, but she's positioned to intervene and quickly if needed. Provided things don't go sideways--but they might still work out, right? Maybe that's why she doesn't announce her presence, remaining quiet. As Masque's eyes meet Tatters,' her stomach falls and she increases her pace once again - not quite into a sprint, but it's only a few seconds before the Sewer Knight trots up to the pair, pushing her hood back and sighing wearily as she gives the disfugured mutant a look of...well, of disappointment. "Masque, let go of the kid. Bumping into you isn't worth the Indian Sunburn you want to give him." Not a second passes after Micah's suggestion before Masque's grip tightens, twisting the stranger's arm behind his back so as to force him to face Tatters, in front of him. "Ain't it?" He snaps, debating quietly to himself whether to crack a smile or yet another scowl, and settling for something in between. "You're right. I bet he's /nice/. It'd be a shame if he didn't /look/ it." His other hand reaches to clamp a hand firmly on the side of Micah's face with no warning whatsoever, added hunger in his eyes. "So whaddya want? Are you /following/ me?" Micah swallows a yelp that ends up coming across as a sickly-strangled sound as he's whipped around by the man. He's too busy seeing little sparky-pain-lights in his eyes to recognise Tattters in front of him, his shoulder wrenching in a distinctly not-good direction. Panic takes over and Micah moves to strike back, aiming his mostly metal and carbon fibre prosthetic foot to stomp on the man's far squishier instep. "We only wanted to speak with you, Masque. That requires that we find you, to do so." Nox finally makes a proper appearance. The shadow that she was flows over Masque's feet--thickening enough that the attempted blow from the hostage strikes her rather than the intended instep. It's like stepping on folded velvet and she makes a soft sound of pain, but doesn't withdraw. Anything, anything, to keep Masque from being further enraged. "Please, remain calm, young man," she says softly, and though there's a hitch in her voice--that hurt--she sounds admirably calm, herself. "/Yes,/ we're following you. Because you got all /facegrabby/ with Nox at a concert and tried to mangle some dude in a thumb war." Tatters speaks clearly and deliberately as though to a child who doesn't necessarily understand what he's done wrong, though there's still a bit of croak in her voice. She uses her hands as she talks. "And that's /not okay,/ do you understand? This," she waves at Micah's predicament, "Isn't oka--" And then Micah stomps and she /moves,/ taking the opportunity to step in and turn, gripping Masque's wrist with her hand and levering it away from Micah's face with enormous strength. Nox's attempt at /negotiation/ may have blunted the effect of the distraction, but Tatters isn't deterred, trying to hold one of Masque's hands out to the side while her other, gloved hand reaches towards HIS face, trying to drive him away from Micah at the very least. Maybe they should've coordinated this better? Trust does not come easily to Masque, and his eyes remain unwavering on Tatters' as she speaks to him, like a rabid fighting dog after having escaped from his cage, unsure of whether to run or go for the jugular. But when Micah's action starts a flurry of movement from three different people at once, Masque finds himself momentarily distracted and before he knows it, his wrist is yanked away, leaving Micah's face not untouched, but fortunately unchanged. His other hand releases the arm it was holding immediately afterwards, and he recoils when his own face is reached for, at least as much as his held wrist and Nox's form allow him to without falling over. He lets out a cry in frustration and disgust, but words apparently fail him for now. Perhaps in favour of the look of pure rage that is now directed downward. The downward force of Micah's strike is /entirely/ too much for smacking against something both closer and softer than anticipated. The prosthetic knee buckles, and the kid's weight has precious little to support it. He topples forward, caught momentarily by his arm--another cry of pain as the soft tissues stretch in ways they weren't intended--before Masque suddenly /releases/ him. He nosedives for the ground with /momentum/, managing to tuck but not quite roll, and ends up flat on his back. Nox's admonition to "stay calm" somehow filters through the mess of panic-chemicals in his brain at this point, earning a hysterical little laugh in reply. This is why Nox isn't a knight. She can corner, hurt, kill. She is, at least, capable of doing these things. But when it comes to action, Tatters is the boss. Still, coordination /would/ have been a boon. The sentry-not-a-soldier knows well enough that it is best to give her compatriot room and to try to get the young man away, before he and she both are tromped on. So that's how Micah ends up with a shadow-blanket that is doing its best to roll him /away/ from the tromping and towards the street. At least he'll be cushioned? Fully supported, in fact, better than any mattress. "...I do apologize for this," the blanket whispers, just to make things a little more disconcerting. Whoops. Tatters winces Micah takes a spill, toppling past her as she steps around to get between him and Masque. Once the boy is out of arm's reach with her safely in the way, she releases his arm and steps back, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that -- "NOX for God's sake don't ROLL HIM AROUND, can you make sure he's okay please?" And then she turns back to Masque, sighing and rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "Okay, so now that you aren't /grabbing/ some kid," hold on actually, that kid looked familiar. Wasn't he at the...? Huh. "Can we talk? We didn't come here to /hurt/ you, and we won't. But you /need/ to stop pulling shit like this, alright? It's not okay." If not for the fact that Micah is now literally being rolled out of (more) harm's way, Masque may have continued to be on the offense. But the fact that the situation has taken a turn for the somewhat bizarre seems to distract him from his anger at least a little, and though he couldn't care less about Micah or his current state at the moment, Tatters holds his interest just fine. "I /need/ to." He finally exlaims in an echo of the Morlock's words, clearing his throat and giving his arm a quick shake as though to rid it of anything Tatters may have left on there, "And why is that?" His lips tighten, uneven teeth bared in a lopsided expression that is difficult to read and his eyes unblinking as he stares into Tatters' face. "Because it's bad? Because I ain't afraid of living topside, now? 'Cause I don't hide?" There's no rooom for an answer, before he adds in a scoff of a word, "/Typical/." From his supine and now mostly-blinded perspective, Micah is suddenly being attacked by a Miyazaki monster, and it's /not/ one of the fluffy ones. He is about to launch Operation Tooth and Nail in an attempt to escape when it /talks/. Like, /politely/. Operation Tooth and Nail is aborted in more of a scurry-and-flail attempt to get out from under this... "Are you a...person?" Micah inquires in a clearly shaken voice. Because that's the important thing to discuss at this moment. Obviously. "He's fine, dear." The assurance for Tatters comes a moment before Nox begins to shift under Micah, levering him up into a seated position. It takes a moment because of flailing but once that's done, the shadows slide away from him and collect into something vaguely woman-shaped at his side. One barely-felt hand lingers on his shoulder and her head is bowed as if she were studying his expression, though no features are visible. "I am a person, or I believe I am. Belief is the key, according to Asimov. How is your shoulder, young man? Can you stand?" she asks him, as if there weren't a very worrisome conversation going on behind them. "This is perhaps not the best place to be at the moment." Tatters just blinks. "Um no, that's /not/ it. I'm up here all the time! We don't want you to /hide./ But jeeze, man, you can't go all /bleuh,/" she raises her hands and makes illustrative disfiguring gestures, "on people's faces whenever they bug you. That's...not how it works up here. It /is/ bad. You can't keep doing it." She says all this as though it's fairly self-evident, glancing back over her shoulder to verify Nox's words before looking back to Masque and shrugging. Realtalk, yo. "You have no idea..." Masque's words now come slowly, his face warping into a bitter excuse for a smile that leaves the left half of his face fighting to retain a semblance of human expression. "You're all still so ignorant. So /young/ and you know /so little/." He shakes his head as grey, greasy strands of hair fall across his determined, narrowed eyes. His gaze slides idly toward Micah and Nox, but settles on the latter. Watching. "You both know /nothing/." The ability to reference science fiction authors apparently serves as adequate qualification of personhood in Micah's mind, because it earns a nod of his head, bobbing the pompon on the surprisingly still-donned Jayne hat. He manages to thrust himself up into standing, though a wince distorts his features when he tries to use his left arm for leverage. "I'm up...it's just..." The arm hangs against his side, adducted and internally rotated in a somewhat awkward fashion. /Posterior traction injury with forceful internal rotation of the shoulder. Acute sprain of the ligaments in the glenohumeral joint capsule./ Funny the things that still jump into your brain when it's been rattled. "Sprained. Gonna need a sling for a few days. Handy I happen to /stock/ some of those in my van... And know several good physios." A heavy sigh as he looks at the discarded Large Box full of Big Metal Parts. "I can't carry that, though." What fight? Was there a fight going on? There's only so much room left to process things in this kid's head right now. Nox helps as she can, though she's still not fully substantial and is favoring her ribs, which requires much slow movement and little in the way of actual support. Fortunately, Micah is able to do much of the work himself--and look, he's talking. The babbling would be cute in its own way if it weren't for the situation they were in. Shock, she judges. "Shh," she bids him, a fuzzy, indistinct hand passing over his brow. "Just shush now, we'll help. Take a breath. Get your balance." Her head turns, a look passing over her shoulder at Tatters--and then onto Masque. With distance comes calm. "What is it that we do not know, Masque?" Tatters frowns, her lips pressing together into a thin line, her arms crossing over her chest. That's a pretty ominous response from someone in his situation. "Yeah, I'd be interested in hearing that as well, I think." Masque's shoulders - seemingly entirely separately from the rest of him - spasm into Micah and Nox's direction before the rest of his body swings to make the switch before he steps forward. "But! Little spy, you're the observer. You should know better than to thinkyou're just gonna learn all'a that by /stealin'/ it from a /wiser man/." He spreads his arms out wide, fingers splayed and, halfway toward the downed pair, just turns on his axis to look down one end of the street. When he speaks again, the higher volume strains his vocal cords and he seems to address the world at large rather than, you know, the people actually listening. "You learn through PAIN, little spy! You learn through rotten hopes and expectations turned sour! Through wishes ripped from your very arms," His arms lower again as he swings around to face Tatters, his hood falling as he lifts a clawed hand in front of him only to rip it downward and through an imaginary object, "just as you learn to accept 'em as possible outcomes of your petty, strange, imagined little lives." Again, his attention turns to Nox and Micah, but this time his madness is focused on the more solid of the two. "... It's only just begun." Micah turns when Masque starts /screaming/ again. His right hand reaches out to take Nox's, squeezing it...very, very gently, since it turns out to be rather ethereal. He has drawn himself close to her...protectively?..comfortingly?...for his own protection? It's likely he doesn't even know at this point. His lips are set in a thin line, but his eyes are betraying a definite sense of /I don't understand the words that are coming out of your mouth/ in Masque's direction. Grab and ye shall be given--Nox's hand becomes more grippable when Micah moves to do that. She turns as well but in a way that keeps at least part of her body in front of Micah's. She's shorter than him...but then she's not, drawing in lengthening shadows to feed an increase in height, though not in bulk. "Your story is not so very different from ours, Masque. The difference is in how we act on the pages that brought us here," she observes quietly. "If you take this path, it will go poorly for you." Tatters' response is marginally less literary. "Masque, go home. You're drunk." Drunk on crazy, maybe; Tatters briefely entertains the thought of explaining that it's an Internet Thing to the man, but defers. Then that hint of a smile vanishes and she steps forwards, continuing. "But maybe I should clarify, if I wasn't clear before, or something. When I say you 'need' to do things that was, like, a strategic concept. You /need/ to stop hurting people, because if you don't we will track you down and end you. It's a simple logical fork, and you do /not/ have the resources to resist us." The last sentence spoken by Tatters disrupts Masque's prattling-on-mood in such a way that he is actually momentarily taken aback by it. A slightly nervous twitch of a meaningly smile is quickly replaced with a look of concern as he pulls his hood back up and over his head, his shoulders giving a shrug after his eyes are once again shrouded under the fabric and aimed, as per usual, down at the ground. "Again," He starts walking again, this time a meandering path /away/ from the three. "You're gonna observe, and you're gonna learn. Give it time." Once he's pulled away sufficiently enough to feel comfortable with huddling close to the shadows the buildings provide, he adds, barely audibly, "But don't come cryin' to me before then if you fail to understand." Micah decides that laughing now would be bad and has the presence of mind to substitute biting down on his lower lip after Tatters' incredibly unexpected meme-ing. He watches Masque walk away until he is out of earshot. "Uh... So he just took his ball and went home. Whoever he was. What just /happened/?" "Too much drink." Unlike /some/, Nox is ignorant of memes and decides that Tatters' retort also serves as an excellent excuse. She sinks down, folding into herself and seeming to sag now that Masque has opted to leave. The rough sketch that is her arm curls against her side. "Tatters? Shall we get his box to his truck and then leave? I do apologize for the inconvenience, sir. I doubt you'll be bothered by that man again." "I'm not entirely sure." Tatters frowns after the departing mutant, blinking, then turns back to the other two with a sigh. "Has he gotten /crazier/ than he used to be? I can't tell. And, yeah, sorry about this whole thing." She steps over and hefts the box, helpfully resting it on her shoulder and nodding down at the others. "Nox, I sorta feel like you should follow him, but there's no way he's going straight back home. I don't /think./ So lets just get you to your truck." "No need for the two of you to apologize." Micah's goofy, lopsided grin has apparently recovered already. Because it's back. "Tatters and Nox, is it?" He looks to each in turn. "Micah. Nice to meet and be rescued by you both. And oh, /thanks/ for that, too." The relief is obvious in his features as a method of getting that damnable box to his van is provided. Priorities.