ArchivedLogs:Neighborhood Watch
{{ Logs | cast = Dusk, Hanna, Isra, Tag, Jayna | summary = | gamedate = 2013-07-12 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village | categories = Citizens, Brotherhood of Mutants, Xavier's, Mutants, Dusk, Hanna, Isra, Tag, NPC-Jayna, Village Lofts | log = It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables.
The concrete wall that rings the roof has been decorated, painted in vivid bright shades by some artistic hand to add colourful cheer to the rooftop. The mural shifts in terrain One wall sports a beach, flecked with grass and seashells and driftwood and shore birds. Beach transitions into meadow, colourful with wildflowers and butterflies and dragonflies; meadow shifts into snow-capped mountains, subsides into piedmont and sprouts into a verdant forest on the fourth, alive with animals.
Isra's wings flare wide and wobble to keep her balance as she skids backward, dropping her stance to avoid falling. Her tail whips the air furiously, slapping into the meadow-themed wall that she has been backed against. She is wearing a black sports bra and bike shorts, and her grayish brown skin is sheened with sweat. Her mouth twists into a fangy grin beneath gleaming green eyes as she feints left, landing in a crouch so low she is almost on all fours, then kicks off of the wall to launch herself, catlike, at Dusk.
Beside the forest wall, on a beach chair, a young man lies prone and seemingly oblivious to the melee. His hair is a spiraling mess of rainbow colors, and his shirt gradient-dyed from blue hem to pink collar. His legs stick out of bright yellow cargo shorts and are propped up against the back of the chair--his face practically hanging off of the foot end.
Dusk’s large wings are flattened back against his back, his dark eyes focused up on Isra. He’s dropped back into a crouch himself, as Isra skids against the wall, fists clenched and fangs bared in an expression that seems more vicious /glee/ than snarl. He is shirtless and in lightweight black shorts, his once-emaciated form filling out with a rangy coil of wiry muscle, healthy colour replacing the deathly pallor he once wore. When Isra springs he unfurls, turning to meet it instead with a hard jut of elbow, one wing /snapping/ out to whip its lower finger-claws towards her shin.
Reaching for the press bar of the roof access door with her good hand, Hanna pauses momentarily at the sounds of scuffling on the other side, a concerned glance back towards Jayna. Hanna has a small reusable insulated bag slung over one shoulder, the other arm held tight in a brilliantly colored to keep her from moving it more than she should, and she hesitates understandably about possibly heading into another conflict. For a brief moment, the baker seems to be considering just turning around and going back to their nearby apartment.
Jayna responds with a slight shrug of her mostly bare shoulders, “It’s our rooftop, too, Hanna. Not like you to hesitate to rush headlong in, just because it sounds like a fight going down. ‘sides, may not be a fight at all. For all we know, we’ve got a neighbor practicing break dancing on the rooftop.” Her voice is slightly concerned, even as she jokes, but she pushes past Hanna’s still hesitating form on the stairs and throws the door open, making sure that it is audible to the people on the rooftop, whoever they might be.
“Jayna!” Hanna yelps, shaking her head and clearing whatever mental images she had as she rushes to get onto the rooftop before her partner, frowning slightly. “We don’t know...” her voice trails off as she takes in the apparent combat going on atop the roof, distracted enough to completely miss the sleeping form in the chair, “Well. That’s unexpected.”
Isra’s sinuous body twists mid-air, shifting her flight path to narrowly avoid the raking talons of Dusk’s wing. At the same time her wings unfold for a fraction of a second--not nearly long enough to reach their full span--before snapping shut again, propelling her up and over Dusk. She aims one taloned foot, tucked up close to her torso, squarely at his chest.
Dusk stumbles backwards with the impact of Isra’s foot, muscles tensing as talons dig in against his skin. His arms come up, though, /grabbing/ at her ankle to /shove/ back -- perhaps shoving her a little too /hard/, mid-jump, towards the edge of the roof. His wings are snapping out for balance -- though they draw back in abruptly at the sound of others emerging with a sudden turn of head, a wider-eyed glance. A sudden SPOOK of surprise.
Hanna has managed to impose her rounded figure between Jayna and the perceived danger of the scuffle on the rooftop, her normally golden brown eyes having taken on a decidedly unnatural bile green color as she further watches. Her hands have balled into fists, even the one immobilized by the sling, and anyone close enough to her would be able to feel the creeping sensation of anxiety and nervousness coming off the woman as though they themselves were experiencing it. “What. the. hell,” Hanna manages to choke out, looking between the two individuals on the roof, her stance tense and guarded.
“Hanna,” comes Jayna’s soft but cautious voice, accompanied by a steady hand on the older woman’s shoulder. Thankfully, this is enough to snap Hanna’s control back into, and the aura of anxiety abruptly stops, though her eyes still maintain the sickly green-yellow color. She does not, however, budge from her protective stance in front of Jayna.
Whether in response to Dusk’s unexpected boost or the arrival of the two women, Isra's eyes go wide as she sails toward the edge of the roof. She nearly collides with the beach wall, rotating just enough to clear it. This looks rather impressive, except that she /continues/ spinning, like a lawn dart nearing the apex of its trajectory. Just as she is about to take a nosedive, her wings snap open. She immediately viers left in a lazy, unsteady arc that brings her back toward the rooftop.
Though ungainly, Isra /seems/ to be doing well until the very tip of her slightly dipping left wing clips the top of the wall and sends her tumbling end over end. Still, she manages to come to a stop on her feet, crouched low and only a few steps from Dusk. Frozen in place for a moment, wings mantled, she looks like a gargoyle displaced from the edge of some cathedral roof by an enterprising prankster. Vivid green eyes lock onto the two women. "Good day," she says in a clear and not-at-all stony alto. "I hope we did not disturb you."
“Woah you --” ‘ok?’ probably finishes this thought, given that Dusk is already starting to turn sharply towards the roof wall. Except Isra catches /herself/, and the brief flicker of concern shifts into something more akin to pride. Dusk’s huge wings fold themselves in against his shoulder, one palm rubbing with a wince against his undoubtedly bruised chest. He rolls one wrist in a stiff stretch. “Nobody’s going to throw /you/ off the roof,” is his very /wry/ assurance to the nervous pair standing by.
Hanna watches the melee with a look of horror as Isra goes hurtling towards the edge of the roof, cringing visibly. Wings or no wings, a trip off the rooftop in the middle of the city is not likely to be pleasant. Her eyes track Isra’s flight, and she raises an eyebrow at the slightly rough landing. She smirks at Isra’s comment, resting her good hand on her hip, and regarding the pair. “Uh huh. No worries, rooftop fights between people with wings are totally par for the course by now I suppose,” Hanna says wryly, “But you may want to consider putting a sign up in warning - keep people from interrupting at the very least. Or panicking at the worst.”
Jayna is leaning with her back against the open door, having managed to step beside Hanna while the other woman was speaking, arms crossed over her chest as she looks both participants over with leaf-green eyes. She snorts at Dusk’s “assurance,” glancing sidelong at Hanna before answering, “Yeah, that wouldn’t end well.” The leafy haired woman doesn’t exactly state who it wouldn’t end well for, but just leaves it at that.
Straightening to what looks like a comfortable height for her--standing on the long, taloned toes of her inhuman feet--Isra bows her head slightly. "My apologies. This was /somewhat/ impromptu, and I am making a poor guest of myself." She picks up a towel hanging over the back of a lawn chair and tosses it at Dusk and takes another to dry off her hairless skull. The towel only gets caught once on the tip of her horn, eliciting a faintly exasperated sigh from her. "Call me Isra," she says, almost as an afterthought.
“Don’t really mind interruptions,” Dusk answers, with a very faint curl of his lips upwards, a sliver of fangs bared in his quick smile, “and most New Yorkers don’t startle that easy. I’m up here a lot. Some of us,” his head lowers expression obscured as he mops sweat from his face, from his slick-damp hair, “don’t have the luxury of gyms to practice in.”
Shaking her head, Hanna offers a slightly tired smile toward Isra, “Hello Isra. I’m Hanna, and this is Jayna,” she glances back over her shoulder at the other woman, half to indicate her presence, half to double check that she was still there. “Lovely to meet you. Sorry if I was a bit gruff, or startled.” She raises her good hand to rub her forehead, sighing slightly, the sunlight catching on a myriad of fresh pink scars running along her bare arm, “I’ve been overly jumpy for the last week. I should not have yelled.” A sideways glance to Dusk, appraisingly, “I’m not from around here, originally, anyway. My little island heart startles, oh so easily, in this big city.” There might be just a hint of sarcasm in her voice, although she offers a relatively warm smile to them both.
"Pleasure to meet you both." Isra sits down sidewise in a lawn chair, managing to look moderately dignified even though the furniture is in no way shaped to accommodate massive wings, digitigrade legs, and a tail. "A lot of people have been jumpy lately," she agrees, and there is a weariness in her voice, "and not without cause."
Dusk doesn’t answer any of this, neither the smile nor the sarcasm. He mops at his face still, then drapes the towel across his neck, heading to the table to pick up a bottle of water and squeeze some into his mouth. His wing unfurls, one wingtip brushing absent-light against the (sleeping? unconscious?) Tag in passing, before he moves to perch on the edge of the roof. It looks kind of a /precarious/ perch, both feet on the wall, crouched down with his arm curled around his shins. “I’ll be sure,” he answers at length, “to post adequate notice if I’m using the roof. We are,” he acknowledges with a slight flare of wings and a glance towards his horned companion, “pretty horrifying.”
Hanna grimaces and gestures slightly with her broken arm, a glance back to Jayna with a concerned look, her voice solemn, “The city has been spiraling into insanity for the past month.” She sighs leaning against the door beside Jayna, turning a concerned look towards Dusk, rubbing at her temple with her good arm. “You are not horrifying, neither of you are,” Hanna says, “The startled reaction wasn’t in regards to appearance. I thought someone was being attacked on the rooftop. I’m a bit hesitant to consider anywhere free from danger right now, and I was concerned it had followed me home.” She smacks the back of her head against the door she leans on, looking at Jayna, “They attacked us. At the bakery,” a clench of her immobilized first, sighing heavily.
Fixing her now largely black-brown eyes on Dusk, Hanna frowns, although her attention is drawn to Tag’s presence for the first time, “Oh. Shit. Tag?” Immediately, any tension that may have been building vanishes from her face, replaced with concern for the unconscious young man as she heads over
