ArchivedLogs:Bad Reputation

Bad Reputation
Dramatis Personae Daniel, Ion
In Absentia	2015-02-02 "Consider this a warning."
Location <NYC> Brooklyn
The most populous of the boroughs, Brooklyn has nothing if not character. With a thriving music and arts scene, and a distinctive New York slant to its stereotypical gritty accents, Brooklyn ranges from the high-cultured to the very much working class. From botanical gardens to beachfronts, Manhattanites might like to think their borough is the only one that matters, but Brooklyn has a lot to offer of its own. By the middle of the night the streets have been plowed, the sidewalks shoveled and salted, but it's still a slushy icy mess all through the city. A slushy icy mess that in this one particular back alley has speckles of red mixed in with the gritty-dirty grey. There's a thud. Smack. A grunt-wheeze, a triumphant /whoop/ followed by another smackthud. "{Ey-o /motherfuckers/ you an embarassment.} I here at the fucking /turnup/ function --" (grunt, thud) "-- and you," (smack-thud) "can't even be bother -- ffff." Despite Ion's proclamations, the alley is not, in fact, a party. What it /is/ right now is two bulky and Very Angry men confronting a third -- Ion had a companion at one point, but right now what he has is a /bleeding/ companion slumped against a dumpster. All well and good, because there's /another/ body /also/ slumped face-down on the gritty-icy ground. And a knife in Ion's hands, a sharp-bright grin on his face as he steps baaaack. Away from the men who look just on the verge of jumping him, knife or no knife. It doesn't take Daniel long to find the scene in the alley, likely thanks to the sounds drifting out into the relatively quiet street. He shifts a bit, chained wrapped several times around his left arm. "The fuck's going on out here?" He calls out with a grunt, advancing towards the combatants. Ion's head turns at the sound of the call -- which gives one of the other assailants an opportunity, surging forward immediately to drive a meaty smacking /thud/ solidly into his chest. Ion stumbles back against the wall, teeth baring in a fierce grin even as the knife is jarred from his hand. The had comes up to smack against the underside of the other man's chin. "Bro, stay in your fuckin' lane, man." It's a bit wheezy, a bit wet. It's not entirely clear /why/ the man releases his grip on Ion but where one second Ion was pinned to the wall in the next he's wriggling out, thudding an elbow to the other man's back. The second of his attackers is eying Daniel and Ion /both/ with some wariness. "Me and my friends, we having us some-small-chat, huh?" "He fucking robbed us," the man still standing protests in an angry spit of words. Daniel straights up a bit. "Then I'll have to ask questions afterwards, eh?" Then his skin starts to smoke in places, before eventually sliding off the bone, revealing his skeleton and flames underneath. The transformation only takes a moment before the Rider is standing before the combatants. "/Yeah/ I fucking robbed him, bigot-ass motherfucker put /my/ hermana in the hospital last week just 'cuz her skin blue, I rob the fucking fillings out his damn /teeth/, yo." Ion is looking down at the knife on the ground like he's kiiind of contemplating reaching for it. The other man is doing the same -- though Daniel's transformation draws /both/ their attentions sharply. The other man responds perhaps as might be expected. He stoops to /drag/ at the arm of his less-mobile friend, nudging the one who can still walk to help him /yank/ their companion out of the alley and down the street, eyes wide and a stream of panicked expletive (-- fucking /freaks/ goddamn /everywhere/ --) spilling out of their mouths. Ion -- not so much. His eyes widen, yes, but he /whoops/, bright and /amused/, hands clapping together. "Ey-o, ey/o/. You see this -- oh fuck man you don't see /nothin'/." His hand has clapped against the shoulder of his perhaps-unconscious companion as he looks to Daniel. "/Shit/ man I /seen/ you. You had the /dope/ fucking Halloween costume! Still rocking it." Daniel doesn't seem interested in talking anymore, simply stalking forward after the fleeing men. His attention drifts towards the dumpster, taking it with one hand and hurling it at the men, before he lets his gaze settle on Ion, moving over the man for any distinguishing marks or patches. Ion, on the other hand, is /always/ interested in talking. A bright chattery stream of talking that isn't letting up /even/ after the dumpster is thrown: "Shit-yo been taking your steroids? Fff. S'aright they out of here oh /shit/ though my boy back home, I got -- mi hermano, he would fucking /flip/ this flame-bone thing you doing." At the moment with the bitter cold weather most of Ion is covered -- there's not much to /see/ by way of particularly distinguishing marks, given his hands are in gloves and a hat is pulled down over his head, a scarf wrapped around his neck. His jacket is a black leather one, well worn, much abused; /this/ at least has a small Mutant Mongrels MC patch on one shoulder, its logo a twisted inhuman skull-and-crossbones, the skull fanged and horned, the crossbones actually a jagged crossed pair of lightning bolts. Ion is dipping down to scoop the knife back up off the ground, but only so that he can tuck it into his jacket. Then stoop to frown at his semi-conscious friend with some concern. "You should come back, huh. Meet him he'd get such a fucking /kick/. Fireman." Daniel tilts his head slightly and raises a finger to point at the patch on Ion's jacket. "The mongrels.. Not the nicest bunch." he hisses, hand lowering afterwards. "Murder. Arson. Shootouts with police. Not the best reputation." There's a moment before his gaze shifts down to the semi-unconscious man. "Your friend wouldn't happen to be the pyrokinetic mutant from Harlem, would he?" "Oh/shit/ oh shit." This sounds /delighted/, not alarmed, a happy-sharp /yip/ of glee. "Oh /shit/ son you /know/ us? {Fuck yeah} we goddamn famous. -- You peeped the fucking NYPD lately, shooting those motherfuckers do the world a goddamn /favor/. But me I don't /shoot/ no-damn-body. Fff." Ion is yanking off his hat, pulling a bandana off his head underneath it. Replacing the hat. He pulls his friend's jacket open, pulls the shirt up, to fold up the bandana and use it as a bandage against a long -- certainly not life-threatening, the semi-consciousness must be something else -- gash in the man's side. He unwinds his scarf to use it to hold the bandanna in place. "No. But you clearly have no qualms about stabbing them. Or using your mutation, whatever that may be." Daniel gives his head a slight shake. "Consider this a warning. This will be the only one. Should I discover you're harming innocents.. I'll pay you a visit. And I can promise, you won't enjoy it nearly as much as you are now." And that seems to be all the Rider has to say, because the visible flames start to grow out and his skin starts to grow back, and it isn't exactly a pretty sight. Soon enough he's back in one piece, and doubles over with his hands on his knees retching in an attempt to empty the nonexistent food from his system. The scene lasts a moment before he straights up with a gruff "Fuck.", then he's fishing into his jacket for a pair of captive bead rings, which he slides into the holes in his ears. "You two alright?" "Motherfuckers stabbed my boy I'll cut a dude right the fuck back." Ion shakes his head, slinging his friend's arm over his shoulder -- though as he starts to stand he settles back down again just as soon, resting his companion as gently as he can back down. "You threatening me, dog? You can step to me right the fuck here, we can do this. I /always/ have fun." His teeth are bared again, fierce and grinning; the smile doesn't fade as Daniel shifts back, though his brows do raise, eyes slightly wider. "And ese, where the fuck you find any innocents? This city? Sure as hell not around here. I been /lotsa/ damn places, I ain't met a one. So unless you see me punting a fucking /baby/, I pretty-damn-sure /every/ motherfucker breathing has skeletons in his closet huh?" "The fuck you talking about?" Daniel asks with a raised brow, before giving his head another shake. "Guess the Rider pissed you off. Picked a fine fuckin' time to have me come back out if he did." There's another swear, softer this time as he reaches into his jacket, hand resting on something. "Or you can get your friend to a doctor. Probably better than us having to do this right now." "Shit what's that some fucking flameboy-amnesia? Shitty power, yo." Ion crouches again, curling his arm around his friend once more. "I not pissed. Like I said. I always having fun." With that -- and another brief grin to Daniel -- he simply /vanishes/, leaning back against the wall and disappearing from sight.