ArchivedLogs:Rooftop Shenanigans
| Rooftop Shenanigans | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-05-07 ' |
| Location
<NYC> Sunrise Apartments - Rooftop | |
A concrete wall rising up to about midwaist high rims the edge of this apartment building roof, the tarred surface underneath leading to cut outs and drainage, with small gravel covering that. Concrete slabs lines the walkable portions of the roof, with one door leading to an enclosure around a stairwell leading back into the apartment buildings. An enterprising tenant has left a pair of lawn chairs on the roof for enjoyment of the sunshine in the city - or the sunset at night. There are perhaps a few beer bottles left over from a previous late night hang out as well. There's a Murphy up on the rooftop. Along with an Ash. The former - that'd be Murphy - is currently coatless; his usual heavy wool jacket is tossed on a ledge, left dangling - along with his tie. Leaving him with just the collared white shirt he's always wearing, with the first few buttons undone - one wonders how he can manage with all of those clothes under this unbearable heat. He doesn't look very bothered by it, though. Murphy's a big man; right now, he's got on a set of big gloves. Dark black, with heavy cushions - along with a set of cushioned knee-pads. A duffel bag sits nearby, recently opened - a pair of plastic water bottles sat out besides them. At the moment, Murphy's showing Ash how to - /punch/, apparently. Taking Ash's punches - blocking with the gloves - one after the other - occasionally commenting. Ash is (PROBABLY) wearing the same gear as Murphy, with one exception - Murphy probably insisted he wear a padded helmet, too. But Murphy's not wearing one, because helmets are for people who ain't named MURPHY. "People are predictable," Murphy's telling Ash, inbetween blocking the punches. "Always follow -- *punf* -- the same -- *punf* -- patterns. Always do -- *punf* -- the same goddamn -- *punf* -- /things/. Same stories -- *punf* -- same jokes -- *punf* -- same mistakes. That's what's got me -- *punf* -- /worried/. Ain't -- *punf* -- like Jim -- *punf* -- to pass up a chance to -- *punf* -- punch me." "Do you -- Really think -- He's in trouble?" Ash replies, exhaling as he punches, trying to keep in mind what Murphy's told him to do physically and the conversation at hand. "Do you -- think it -- has -- anything -- to do -- with the girl?" He bounces around lightly, as he is young and springy, but when his pad wrapped hands run into Murphy's he pauses to sort of make sure he's hit him. It does terrible things to his speech patterns, but he isn't puffing the same way as the older man yet. He's dressed in a gray tank top and black athletic pants, whitish sneakers on his feet, his skin starting to take on a rather muddy appearance as sweat mingles with the dust he's coated in. "Should we -- Look for him?" "Do you -- Really think -- He's in trouble?" Ash replies, exhaling as he punches, trying to keep in mind what Murphy's told him to do physically and the conversation at hand. "Do you -- think it -- has -- anything -- to do -- with the girl?" He bounces around lightly, as he is young and springy, but when his pad wrapped hands run into Murphy's he pauses to sort of make sure he's hit him. It does terrible things to his speech patterns, but he isn't puffing the same way as the older man yet. He's dressed in a gray tank top and black athletic pants, whitish sneakers on his feet, his skin starting to take on a rather muddy appearance as sweat mingles with the dust he's coated in. "Should we -- Look for him?" Rooftops are becoming a rather common daily hangout for Ducky, as the wonderfully high buildings around the city are the perfect place to meet new and interesting feathered friends. This evening is no different from the previous ones, and the young woman is shimmying up the fire escape on the side of the building, a brown paper bag spotted with grease is held in her teeth to leave both hands open to more swiftly scamper up the ladders and stairs. Her arrival on over the edge of the rooftop is preceeded by a flutter of wings and movement among the pidgeons that had been watching the sparring from the edge. Without looking, Ducky tosses herself over the edge of the roof, landing with a slight *thump* in an ungracefully seated position, leaning against the wall around the rooftop. She isn't much to look at, her short hair having been ruffled up by the dappled pidgeon sitting on her head, and although her clothes are mostly clean looking, they are obviously well worn and second hand. Ducky doesn't notice that she has managed to find yet another occupied rooftop until she has already reached her hand into her brown paper bag - she looks up and sighs at the sight of the sparring partners, pouting a bit, "Drat. Rooftops are so freaking popular in the city. What is up with this?" She doesn't seem to be addressing the two men, but rather the birds that have settled down around her.
Murphy's going for one of the water-bottles when he sees Ducky. Narrow-eyes proceed to /regard/ her with the suspicion one would expect to be given to men with crowbars and ski-masks moving around in the middle of the night. As he hefts the bottle back - sparing only a brief glance back to Ash - Murphy grunts to the girl: "Th'fuck are -- are those /your/ shitbirds." This seems to baffle him. Murphy knows that New York pigeons are brazen mother-fucking animals, but these ones seem so comfortable around Ducky that they might as well regard her as one of their own. Ash perks at the sound of 'Knee!' and fumble through the block sequence that Murphy taught him and manages to keep most of it from driving the contents of his stomach into his lungs. He raises his guard immediately following, but looks a little relieved when Murphy calls water break. "Okay, so if it doesn't have to do with the girl," she has a name and Ash knows it, but there is a certain something to be said for not announcing her name on the roof tops, "do we know what he was looking into this week? Do you guys exchange notes or something?" Ash's attention is also drawn toward the sight of the girl with the birds when Murphy cusses them out. "Oh, hey. She does have a lot of birds. I wonder if she raised them since they were eggs! Maybe they're carrier pigeons! Do people still use carrier pigeons? Because that's kind of cool." Ducky looks terrified as Murphy starts cursing at her and her pigeons, so much so that she quickly pulls her hand back out of the paper bag with a yelp, crinkling the bag back up so that it is closed and protecting the contents. Most of her pigeon flock takes wing and resettles on a neighboring building to watch. Only the dappled gray pigeon remains peched on her head, ruffling its feathers and settling down further onto her head. "I'm really sorry," Ducky stammers, starting to try to climb back over the wall, ending up sort of perching on the edge near the fire escapes, "I didn't expect the roof to be occupied. I should have sent someone up to check first. I knew I should have checked first. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll go find another rooftop. Sorry." She pauses, and crouches on the ledge, pondering for a moment, ready to head back down the fire escape if necessary, "I swear, I never would have thought rooftops were so popular of a hangout in New York City. I mean, really? I haven't found an empty one yet. First the jumpy hyper active boy, then the sponge girl, and now this. Really?" It seems she is more addressing the pigeon on her head than the fighters, apparently halfway in her own world at the moment. "Yeah," Murphy responds to Ash, even as Ducky goes on with the apology - firing a shot of water into his face, before proceeding to just - gulp it the fuck down. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. He wipes his face with the back of his fist, then: "Was looking for a missing kid. Know who. Will probably pick up where he left off, see if he got into some trouble. I know a guy," Murphy adds. "Will help." Then, on to Ducky: "Relax, kid," Murphy tells Ducky, before adding: "S'fine. You ain't interruptin'. We're taking a break. Stop." Up until he says 'STOP', Murphy's talking casually; but when he says that last word, it's spoken with /force/ - like Murphy suddenly means it. Rising up to his full height - though making no attempt to go /after/ Ducky. "Hyperactive jumpy boy. On rooftops. He /jumpin'/ on rooftops? Wear a stupid-as-fuck mask?" "Murphy, she's scared. Do you want me to talk to her?" Ash picks up the bottle that is left for him and squeezes a good amount into his mouth without letting his lips touch the spout. He takes a long, deep breath then drinks down a little more before starting to cross the distance between himself and Ducky at a somewhat casual pace, as if /assuming/ will allow him to question him. "Don't let the loud guy bother you, okay? M'name's Ash. We don't mind sharing the roof, but it would be /reallly/ helpful if you could help us out a bit." He gives her a small smile and a hopeful look. Ducky is now sitting on the ledge, although she looks more than just a little bit flighty as the older men talk to her. She lets one leg dangle over the edge of the roof, reaching towards the fire escape, just in case. She cringes away from Murphy as he yells at her to Stop, but she does stop, although with a still rather terrified look on her face. "Y... yeah. It was, um, a week or so ago now. He... he saved me from these thugs that followed this other guy onto a rooftop. And he got stabbed in the leg. Well, he caught the first one, but then he got stabbed with the next one the dude threw. And, well, I kinda ran away after that. I never got a chance to say thank you to him." She babbles, and frowns a bit, "He didn't say what his name was or anything. But he was nice, and helpful, and strong. And, well," she pauses and frowns, the pigeon on her head cooing in her silence, "Why?" It is clear Murphy does not /like/ being told to back off by Ash, but it is also clear that Murphy isn't oblivious to the fact that he is often firmly set in the Scary Guy aisle. He steps back, /glowering/ as Ash steps forward to speak, letting the younger man handle it. THWUMPING off his other glove, just - /rubbing/ at the scaly, still healing skin on his throat (it looks like he recently recovered from serious throat-burns). "...week or so ago. Okay," Murphy says, repeating the words somewhere behind Ash. /Thinking/. Cogs in his brain turning. "Sounds like this kid. Jim got a job, t'find this kid. Apparently he's gone MIA. Been missing since Friday. Last thing Jim mentioned to me." He glares at the back of Ash's head, then. And soon adds: "If Jim's in trouble, might have something to do with this. Mmmn. Might have to put in a call to the rodent." "Well, unfortunately, he's gone missing and we're worried about him. See, my roommate is a private detective and he -" Ash pauses to look at Murphy then turns back to Ducky. "Well, let's just say that it's important that we find this kid as he's not supposed to be missing." He looks the girl over again and tilts his head. "So, if you remember anything else that might be helpful, that'd be wonderful." His smile brightens a little as he starts removing his boxing gloves. His expression is serious as he turns to look back at Murphy. "Wrong time frame? Do you really know a rodent, or is that one of those street slang terms I'm not used to yet?" Ducky pauses for a moment and thinks, sitting cross legged on the ledge, "Um. I haven't seen him since, really. I know there were some other kids that were mentioned as missing around that time. The bird man and his mean friend said so." Ducky nods and runs a hand through her hair, the pigeon on her head simply steps over her hand and settles back down again. "I'd heard that they'd gotten back to their awesome private school or whatever it is," she sounds a little bit bitter about that. "Um, I can ask around and see if anyone has seen anything?" She tilts her head to the side, the pigeon ruffles its feathers and coos. It is rather unclear if she is suggesting she can talk to birds, or if she is just crazy. "Yeah, timing's wrong. Still. And yeah, I know a rodent," Murphy says, and then he clarifies: "I know /of/ a rodent. Heard he's around. He can smell Jim out for me. Might be tricky t'get him to help, though. Luckily, I know just how to ask." Whatever /that/ means. Murphy nods toward the birds around Ducky, then. "Bird man and his mean friend. Private school. The birds," and now Murphy's looking pointedly at them - as if their presence somehow /disturbs/ him. Nose wrinkling. "You a freak, or just lonely?" The way he phrases this, the two aren't mutually exclusive. Ash has a moment. He stands there stock still, eyes wide, breathing stuck in his lungs. It's definitely the look of someone shell shocked, traumatized, but whatever triggered it passes quickly as Ducky continues talking, taking a deep shuddering breath before swallowing hard and nodding. "You can tell?" He turns on Murphy, his smile widening, defenses kicking back in quickly. "I'm a freak and I'm lonely. Damn. Here I thought you were kind of insensitive. But you care! Thank you!" There isn't a shred of sarcasm in Ash's peppy reply, his face actually breaking into a more relaxed expression. "Isn't he great?" this, he asks Ducky. Tilting her head to the side, Ducky regards Ash curiously, "You ok, sir?" She sounds genuinely concerned about the guy, frowning slightly. She takes her pigeon friend off her head and sets him carefully in her lap, before looking around at the others who had congregated back along the wall beside her. Quietly, she shakes her head at them, and mumbles something under her breath with closed eyes. For some reason, the birds, save for her dappled one, take wing and settle on another building nearby. "I'm sorry if my friends were bothering you, sir. But you're kinda an ass," she addresses Murphy, "And freaks can't be lonely. Tell that to my parents. Thanks." "Nght." This is the sound Murphy makes. It is not - a happy sound. It is the sound of a man briefly short-circuiting; not because of trauma, but because of not knowing how to respond to someone /else's/ trauma. Apologies are not. A Murphy thing. Nevertheless, he /jams/ his fist into his eye - as if in an act of sudden, vicious attrition - and /digs/. Dig, dig. Like he's looking for gold. "...fuckin' -- /fuck/." The curses are spoken like tired, flat things; like they've been slit open and drained of all their strength. And then: "...sorry." He finally manages to spit this at Ash, like the flavor of the word deeply displeased him. But, then - right back to /brutishness/: "I /can't/ tell, s'why I asked. And yes, I /am/ an ass. Just, takin' a guess. Birds are hangin' around her like she's got food. Talkin' to bird men - and." And now, as she plucks one of the birds up, Murphy's eyes narrow... before he adds: "Y'know, kid. You probably shouldn't let people know. That you can do that. Tell 'em you, fuck, I don't know, /train/ 'em or something," and now he waves at the birds. "But, yeah. If you find something. About that kid." Murphy fishes into his coat pocket, drawing out - a slim little business card. 'MURPHY LAW'. Private Investigator. Phone number and fax. "He's probably in trouble. And a fella who's looking for him might have found a piece of that trouble himself." "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Ash wipes some sweat from his forehead on the back of his arm and gives a sad little smile to Ducky. "Do you have people, kid? People that care about what you do? I mean, good people?" He looks her over and gnaws on his lip before glancing back at Murphy. "If you don't, and you feel like you're in trouble, you can call him for that too, okay? Kids disappearing off the streets is kind of a scary thing." At Murphy's reaction to her handling of the bird, and the birds reactions to her, Ducky tilts her head to the side and retrieves her brown grease stained bag from where it had been abandoned beside her in all this. She reaches into the crumpled up bag, and pulls out a few french fries. She offers one to the docile pigeon in her lap, and sets the others around for the other birds, who return at the offering of food. "Sir. No one believes me anyway, even if I can prove it. Everyone I've met, almost to a person, has automatically assumed I'm just broken and crazy. 'Cause no one pays mind to the homeless crazy girl feeding the birds. Half the people in the city don't even notice the birds anymore. But the birds watch. And this one was a carrier pigeon. He was someone's pet, but he's lost and can't find his way home, so now he's with me." She pauses and offers a little smirk and a tilt of her head as she takes the card from Murphy, "At least that's what the voice in my head says. But again, I might just be a crazy girl who the birds trust, right?" At Ash's response, she looks a little uncomfortable, "I, um, sort of? The people at the shelters kinda know me by now, so they keep an eye out for me and stuff." Ducky runs a hand through her hair again, apparently a nervous tick, "You can call me Ducky. But, um, thank you for the concern, I suppose." The girl falls quiet for a moment, poceting the business card and petting the pigeon for a moment, "I'll keep an eye out for your friend. I'll let you know if I hear anything or get any information." "/I/ believe you. Which means somebody else might. One day, might be the wrong somebody," Murphy counters, although it's a counter with no bite; it sounds more exhausted than cutting. "...he ain't my friend. Just somebody who might be in trouble. ...but thanks." GROWLGRUNT. Begrudging. "Just, be careful, alright? These days, it ain't just /amateur/ chucklefucks you gotta keep an eye out for. Some of these people, they're makin' mutant-huntin' into a profession. Refinin' it to a goddamn /science/. Be slow to trust anybody who ain't a--" Teeth grind. Half-glance at Ash. "--who ain't /mutant/." "Nice to meet you, Ducky. Please... just stay safe." Ash swallows hard again and nods to the homeless girl before stepping away and taking a long drink of water, not caring so much about the spout anymore. Then he's rinsing his face off and returning the gloves to Murphy's bag. "Look, Murphy, I gotta check on the girl. She's not really a lot of trouble, but she keeps cleaning and that's just weird. If you need my help with the Jim search, you know where to find me." Ducky nods, "I know. It's getting kinda dangerous out there, as I'm starting to see. But, well, there's only so much I can do. And I kinda can't not talk to the birds. Sometimes they're the only ones who will talk to me." She shrugs and closes up her dinner bag, it having now gone cold, "Thank you for your concern. It was nice to meet you, Ash. Sorry I called you an ass, Murphy." She then sets her pigeon friend back atop her head, and stands up on the ledge, starting to back towards the fire escape again. "Have a good evening," she says as she puts her dinner bag back in her mouth, and starts descending the fire escapes back to street level. "Yeah, I know," Murphy tells Ash, and. "I /am/ an ass." Indignant, toward Ducky. But it's soon followed: "That don't mean you can't be sorry, though." He's gathering up his things, shoving them in that duffel bag. Knee-pads off with a *SCRRTCH*. And: "I'll drop by when I know what's goin' on, Ash. If you don't see me by tomorrow..." His voice lowers, then - dark and gravelly: "Call the President." | |
