Logs:Missing In Action

Missing In Action
Dramatis Personae Ion, Scramble
In Absentia	2020-09-04 "{You want some brains, we could find some brains.}"
Location <NYC> Sunyata - Lower East Side
The construction of this waterfront condo in the Lower East Side ground to a halt after Hurricane Sandy. Since, a group of punks have taken it over and converted it to one of the more impressive squats in the city. From outside, the building is wildly colorful, covered with massive interlocking murals. The roof supports a thriving urban farm with a sizeable greenhouse and beehives, while the apartments below are homes to both long- and short-term residents, who are encouraged but not actually required to contribute supplies, income, and labor to the community. The cavernous lobby has no glass, but has become a partially indoor skate park/playground, including a rather popular free-running circuit. Dogs and cats and children wander the grounds, shamelessly soliciting food and attention from any who will give it. The door isn't locked, but Scramble hasn't left in days. The place is a wreck, clothing and books strewn everywhere, dirty dishes lying in wait here and there, thick with the smell of marijuana and stale booze. The tinny speaker of a smartphone is playing Solange's 'Mad'. Scramble herself is lying face-down in the pile of cushions clustered beneath the windows. Her hair is flattened, tangled and half-way to matted, and she wears only a black tank top and soft black shorts, sweat beading on her back in the blazing heat. There's no knock. Just heavy steps outside, a deep-rumbled "-- Yo," before Ion thumps the door open. He's in his usual, jeans, pain white tee, boots, vest, carrying a paper takeout bag in one hand, a six-pack of beer in the other. "{Shit, girl, when you last seen the sun?}" Scramble groans quietly and rolls onto her side, squinting up at Ion. "{I seen it,}" she insists, her voice oddly flat. "{Got too many damn windows up in this place.}" There are dark shadows under her eyes, which track sluggishly to the beer Ion carries. "{Anyone seen her?}" Ion wanders over, setting the bag down beside Scramble. "{Arepas there,}" he tells her, first. "{You eat.}" He drops down to sit on a cushion, one leg pulled up against his chest. "{Dusk's looking. Ain't found shit, though. Shoulda brought liquor, maybe.}" "{I ate.}" Scramble gestures at a dried, crusty bowl sitting atop a small stack of books on the floor. "{Could go for a beer.}" She sinks back into the cushion heap, her eyes settling on Ion with a singular intensity before she tears them away. "{It don't make sense. It just don't make sense.}" Ion pulls two of the bottles from the case, cracking their lids open against the buckle of his belt. "{Yeah, is lots of shit don't make sense.}" He hands one of the bottles over, leaning back against the wall and letting his other leg stretch out. "{Still tryna spring the small-shark, too. They fucking know it ain't B, but --}" A shrug. "{If someone did grab Nat I don't know why just them two. Rest of us, we haven't seen more trouble than usual.}" Scramble accepts the bottle and takes a long swig. Lets out more breath than it sounded like she had drawn. "{They keep holding him, they figure she'll turn herself in. Or they don't care which he is, long as they got someone to crucify.}" There's the only vaguest upturn in her intonation, her words otherwise flat. Flat, too is, "Motherfuckers." Another long swig, her eyes fluttering shut. "{And Nat -- it was before they even went after B. She didn't come home that night.}" "{They snatch Shane up pretty early, yeah? Who knows how fast those pigs rush in.}" Ion's brows pinch together. He rests the bottle atop his knee, hand tight around its neck. "{But it's weird that ain't nobody --}" His head shakes, his breath coming out hard. "{Sorry, shit. We're gonna keep looking, you know we will. You gotta take a fucking shower or eat some brains or some shit though, this --}" His hand waves around the room, "{We find her you're gonna be looking halfway to Halloween scare her right back to jail.}" "{Yeah. Yeah, maybe.}" Scramble says vaguely. Downs another generous gulp of beer and slowly rights herself, reaching for the bag of food after all. "{We gotta find her. If she in the system somewhere without backup -- Prometheus.}" She's half-way through unwrapping an arepa, her movements sluggish, when she pauses and looks up at Ion, gaze abruptly focused again. "{Better shower first, or no one's gonna come close enough to get their brain eaten.}" Ion's tongue clicks against his teeth, together with a sharper hiss. "{Nah, nah, nah, not them. Too fast for Prometheus, those government fucks don't talk to each other that good do they?}" But his frown isn't leaving. Not even with the (earnest?) suggestion: "{You could eat the prospects, how much can they smell after all that sewer time anyway?}" Scramble nods, the intensity fading from her eyes again by degrees. "{You right, they ain't that slick.}" Still, she bites into the arepa with more determination than enthusiasm. "{Might take more'n them, but it'd be a start. Better than if I try'n go pick a fight like this.}" She's quiet a moment, staring down at her food. "{Thanks, man. It's been -- I dunno. I keep thinking she's here.}" "{Shit though.}" Here, Ion's eyes widen quick, a sharper smile slicing across his face. "{You think a fight gonna help any, cuz damn, the Nazis swarming like lice out there. You want some brains, we could find some brains.}" There's a different glint in Scramble's dark, dark eyes when she looks up from her arepa this time. "{Shit, brother, you gonna spoil me rotten. Always find the best fights, looking with you.}" There's something almost like appetite in how she attacks her meal now, an almost vicious eagerness, washes it down with the remainder of her beer. "{Let's go fuck up some Nazis.}"