ArchivedLogs:Stay Safe

Stay Safe
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Isra	2017-06-08 "Jesus, that's like some Terminator shit right there."
Location <NYC> Harlem
Harlem's gritty reputation has become less and less earned over the past decade or so as gentrification has set in. Its reputation as a hub of jazz and culture, however, is still very much earned -- throughout the years Harlem has been renowned for its contributions to music, from its swing dancing and jazz culture back when speakeasies were prevalent to the many hip-hop artists with Harlem roots in modern day. The stop-and-frisk itself is perfectly routine, and the pair of shiny new Sentinels, their white ceramic armor emblazoned with the seal of the NYPD, only stand sentry behind the human officers. The luckless person currently receiving the attentions of the law is dark-skinned and slender, on the tall side even without her silver platform heels. She keeps her hands planted firmly on the wall of the building in front of her, determinedly staring forward while the cop runs his hands down her sides. The cop doing the frisking is about her height, but much broader and more muscular, with dark brown skin and a shaved head. He hands the woman's purse to his partner, a wisp of a small white blonde. "Needles," the white cop says, deadpan. "Alright, where's the junk?" says the black cop. Both cops snigger. "It's for my medication!" the woman insists, her head turning just far enough to allow an anxious glance at the cop holding her purse. The Sentinels, which have been standing perfectly still and silent until now, suddenly come to life. "You are being detained. Follow the officer's instructions." "Nu-uh, you keep those RoboCops away from me!" the woman shrieks, shying away without actually moving her feet. "Sentinel units, stand /down,/" says the black cop, sounding annoyed. "Look, just hold still and let me finish..." But the Sentinels, perhaps interpreting the woman's shrinking as resistance, are moving toward her. She looses her nerve and makes a break for it, the Sentinels launching after her in hot pursuit. Above the glare of the streetlights, Isra is a darker shadow against the overcast sky. She's wearing her warm-weather tactical outfit, slate gray like the natural color of her skin so that it's hard to tell where it ends and her skin begins. Its facemask only offers so much anonymity, given her unusual conformation, but it does serve to look her look even more monstrous and gargoyle-like. She banks sharply toward the scene, describing a tight circle above it before stooping to execute a fly-by tackle of a pursuing Sentinel. Whether the bot goes down or not, she's clawing for altitude again immediately after. Blindsided, Isra's target Sentinel falls face-down on the sidewalk. The other one swivels, arm lifting up to track her, dart gun folding out and firing. The woman they had been pursuing screams even louder at the shadow of the huge horned gargoyle. Down below, Dusk is less overtly conspicuous, at least at the moment. His dark wings are tightly wrapped behind him, and he's dressed plainly in jeans and dark blue sleeveless hoodie, hood currently pulled up over his face. He's squarely on the ground, stepping out of an alley in the woman's path. "{Hey, over here --}" His Spanish is quiet, but clear. "C'mon, they're shit for tracking." Possibly even moreso just at this exact moment; a moment earlier he's quietly redirected these particular bots' attentions from his phone, the (now fallen) one staying focused on Isra while its companion gets new priorities to Politely Detain the police it is working with. "I can get you out of here." The panicking woman does not look exceptionally eager to listen to Dusk, but after a split second's hesitation seems to decide he is the least of the many evils laid out before her. She ducks into the alley, wide-eyed and hyperventilating. "Jesus, that's like some Terminator shit right there," she whispers, huddling close to Dusk, "I ain't even a mutant, what they coming after /me/ for?" The dart catches Isra in one wing, tearing a small hole in the membrane but falling out directly after, not finding enough tissue to hold it in place. She wheels neatly in the air and dives at the same Sentinel yet again, this time landing squarely on its back as it tries to push itself up, bearing it down to the ground. She sinks her talons into the gap between the Sentinel's head and neck, then wrenches it sharply as she takes off again. The twice-downed Sentinel isn't having much luck today, and though its head does not actually /come off/ in Isra's hands, it does make a distinct cracking sound that a mechanically inclined person would recognize as something vital breaking. The one still upright, meanwhile, is firing on the police officers, who are fleeing for the safety of their vehicle, just a ways up the block. Dusk just shakes his head at this question. "/Been/ happening. These new bots are out of hand. Not sure they know their heads from their fucking asses." His wings are shifting -- not unfurling, only relaxing their tight press against his back to hang slightly more at ease. "-- Was going to offer you a ride away from here but damn. They even got their handlers running for it. You gonna be aright?" "Gracias. I thought I was gonna..." The woman shakes her head, but calms as the Sentinel's voice fades, subsequently joined by the alarmed cries of the cops. She makes a noise of disgust. "Guess it's not surprising. The /regular/ cops are a shitshow, why would their robot pets be any better?" Her eyes track to Dusk's wings as they shift, and she blinks hugely. "Yeah. They got my purse but ain't nothing in there I can't replace." She looks up, searching the sky for Isra. "That dragon looking thing one of your friends?" Isra alights on the edge of the roof and looks down into the alley, ears turning toward the voice of the young woman beside Dusk. The spiraling curve of her horns are easily visible against the glowing gray sky. She peers out at the Sentinels to make sure that the one is staying down and the other is still seeing to the police. "Flesh or metal, they're all pretty goddamn awful." Dusk's lips press together at the question, head briefly bowing; his expression is calm when he looks back up, though. "/Person/," his emphasis is soft but insistent, "and yeah, she's my family." He glances out from the mouth of the alley, scruffy cheeks puffing out on a brief sharp exhale. "Think they'll have their hands full with that last bot for a /minute/ but probably best you clear out sooner than later. You need a lift somewhere, I can swing it --" There's just the slightest widening furl of his wings -- "but otherwise stay safe, yeah? {I'm really sorry} about your purse." "Oh! Perdon." The woman's blush might not be visible to anyone else in the dark but Dusk. "I just...didn't get a good look at--her." She watches Dusk's wings spread with wide eyes. "Gracias, but I think I got it from here. Know my way around. On foot." She starts down the alley toward the other end of the block, but stops after a few steps and looks back. "You stay safe out there." Raising her eyes, she spots Isra's silhouette against the sky. "Her, too." And then she's hurrying away, at a rather impressive clip considering her footwear and the darkness.