Logs:Respect for Authority

Respect for Authority
cn: mild police violence
Dramatis Personae Ion, Jax, Mercury, Steve	2020-06-22 "I suggest you keep your community on a shorter leash." (Followed by talking with Mercury.)
Location <NYC> Hellhound Bikes - The Hole
Located not far from Jamaica Bay in a predominantly Latinx sector of East New York, this garage doesn't look like much from the outside. A low-slung squat dingy brick building with a hand-painted sign over front proclaiming it to be HELLHOUND CUSTOM CYCLES, this garage has a small office area with its own pedestrian entrance from the street at the front, containing a minifridge usually full of beer and beaten down old desk with a ledger and an antique cash register that no one ever seems to use. The rest of the space is roughly L-shaped, its walls lined with racks of tools and heavy workbenches with built-in steel drawers full of hardware and spare parts. There's a raised platform in the wider leg of the space for working on one motorcycle, and there's space in the narrower leg for parking at least three more. It's been hot, and the endless concrete doesn't make the sweltering temperatures and heavy humidity in the air feel any less oppressive; even as evening starts to approach the pavement only retains the heat, making the city slow to cool. The large bay doors and all the windows of the garage have been thrown open wide, giving an easy view of the several and varied bikes in assorted states of repair in the docks inside. Outside there is currently only one, a sleek black and silver chopper with a license plate reading WIRED. The bike's owner is, currently, just wiping his freshly-washed hands dry on a -- clean! -- blue rag. The shoulder he slings it over is decidedly less clean, his arms and white sleeveless undershirt damp with sweat and marked with plenty of grease stains. He's digging a crumpled pack of Newports out of his jeans pocket, tapping one out before he offers the pack out to Jax. Offers a hug out, too, one-armed, sweat and grease notwithstanding. "{Yoooo all those for me? We can trade.}" He waves his arm back towards the bikes. "{Who's gonna miss them?}" Ion's Spanish comes in a deep rumbling bass of a voice, his words distinctly Argentine in accent. "{Probably their owners?}" Jax's Spanish is less crisp, less fluid. It does not come with his twang, at least; what influence it does have is purely Nuyorican. He shakes his head, waves away the offer of cigarettes. "{These were for B but you can have them.}" He's offering forward a large plastic container chock-full of cupcakes, delicately covered with pale green icing and small colourful marzipan flowers. He's colourful, too; shortalls decorated heavily with brightly embroidered flower-patches, rainbow-swirled Chucks, a bright yellow tee visible where one strap of his overalls hangs loose -- it has the Little Miss Sunshine cartoon character emblazoned bright across it, enormous star-shaped sunglasses. His hair is bright, too, spiked and dyed in orange and purple and green bird-of-paradise colors. "{I mean, I think they're for anyone. They're for dinner. Will she be back?}" Steve is unusually colorful today in a short-sleeve blue, purple, and pink plaid button-down, neatly pressed but untucked(!) over perfectly fitted straight leg blue jeans and his least chewed-up pair of combat boots. He wears his iconic shield slung across his back, and his right hand is neatly bandaged in white gauze. The slight forward lean of his posture and the way his ice blue eyes flick back and forth between Ion and Jax as they speak suggest he's having difficulty following their Spanish, but his easy smile suggests he's not much troubled by this. Though he also declines the offer of cigarettes, he cheerfully fishes a gaudily bejeweled golden lighter from his pocket to light Ion's smoke. Mercury felt out of place. That wasn't uncommon, and she supposed she'd asked for it, throwing herself across the world. Nonetheless, new things made her stomach cramp with anxiety- it had been particularly bad lately, and her healing didn't seem to do a damn thing about her emotional states. She'd never been in a Latin (Latinx?) neighbourhood, understandably, most parts of Australia didn't really have the population. Not to mention that once upon a time she'd been a very white Australian in a very white household and her mother would have probably had a seizure at the mere suggestion, the tacky bitch. And although it wasn't like she was totally out of her league, mutants always stood out wherever they went, she knew she stood out like a sore thumb. But those who don't try, never succeed. And she would be fucked four ways to hell before she stood down from the challenge of buying herself a goddamn motorbike. She was the customer in this situation, as little as that likely mattered, at the very least she probably wouldn't be turned away at the door. She'd abandoned her vaguely goth ensemble for a loose band singlet and sports bra, being on a mission that didn't require being dolled up and conscious of the heat, with grey denim shorts and sandals, thick hair in a loose braid. Her hat and sunglasses hid barely anything, and although then sun could perhaps blur where her shine began, it was clear that she was a mutant. Also why she'd taken an Uber most of the way and walked only a block or two. Agoraphobia- she was aware, was a terrible thing to allow, but she didn't have the time to address that. She took a moment before spotting the garage, and the bike outside of it, and figured she had the right place, crossing the street, not speaking to any man in particular, but more in general. "Hey, I've heard you lot sell bikes to mutants." They didn't really scream 'mutant' to her but what the hell did she know, "If not I'll fuck right off but if so I'm interested." Her accent was strong, but she spoke eloquently, more of a drunk Brit than a crocodile Dundee. "{Probably right. If I give them one of your cupcakes I think they understand why I had to give the bikes away.} -- Oh shit oh shit oh 'shit'!" Ion sets the cupcakes aside on the seat of his bike, cigarette bouncing between his lips as he claps Steve excitedly on the shoulder (with a brief sharp jolt accompanying the touch). JOSTLES him eagerly. "Light me the fuck up bro!" Even as he leans in to get his cigarette lit there are sparks dancing between his fingertips with a quiet crackling. He turns his head aside, blows his first puff of smoke downwind. "Whaaaat." His brows lift high. "Who tell you what? Damn. I mean, sure. Usually we fix up some bike for freaks but you in the market, usually we can hook you up. You looking for some off the rack show room shit we not your place though." Jax lifts a hand -- his nails are also painted with tiny bird of paradise detailing -- to smother his laughter, palm pressing hard to his lips. Noticeably not even slightly smudging the neat purple lipstick here. "If I'm ever in the market for a bike, I'll let you know. No offense to you all, but my current ride do me just fine already." In English, his thick Appalachian drawl is evident. "I swear I do have another kid," he's telling Steve. "Somewhere." He takes a polite step back when an Actual Customer turns up. Kind of eyes Steve's lighter, pierced brows -- hiking. Steve does not flinch at the shock, or the jostle. "Your gift has come in very handy," he tells Ion as he flicks the lighter shut and returns it to his pocket. "You ride?" he asks Jax, startled but interested. "I was actually in the market, too, before things got busy. Developed a fondness of motorcycles during the war, but these machines today?" He blows a long stream of air, glancing at Ion's own bike. "Put what I thought of as 'state of the art' to shame." He tips a polite nod at Mercury. Tries and fails not to stare. Blushes, as he shuffles back next to Jax. "Yeah weirdly I went there and they wouldn't sell me one. Assuming it's the accent." Her words are sharp and acerbic, but the fragment of bitterness in them isn't directed at any of the men in front of her. "Plus I don't want to have anyone fucking with my property because they have an issue with me." Should Jax turn his attention to her he would notice something different then the others. That despite her comparatively demure stature at 5"6 she gave off a much larger... aura? It was difficult to explain, but it gave him the impression of molten metal. A deep glow, intangible, coming off her in waves, refracting and folding in on itself constantly. It didn't seem to give off heat, but it was bizarre nonetheless. The light stuck to her skin, her hair, her veins, and he could probably imagine it went deeper than that, and then fanned out like a halo around her, forming a near perfect, 360 degree area of effect that stretched nearly five feet in diameter, lessening in intensity as it did, with her as the point of origin. If she knew of it, or knew that he was aware of it, she gave no indication. She seemed to realise she might come off as being quite rude. "Sorry- long day, hot day. Annoying people. Didn't mean to come off as-" She spotted the glint of metal on Steve's back and paused, lips pursing, "Bitchy." "Pff, that man," Ion stabs a forefinger in Jax's direction, shaking his head at Steve, "do not fuckin' ride he too tough for the like of us. I try to get him on a bike for got-damn ever. What use he got for wheels and engine here on the ground when he all --" Ion waves a hand through the air, trailing smoke behind it, "Whoosh through the sky like Guan-Yin or some shit. Maybe one day he ready to be mortal, I got a cut with his name on." He takes another drag of his cigarette, looks Mercury over. "Accent is weird," he allows cheerfully -- his own English is heavily accented as well. "Wheresat from? You English? Iono if I'mm'a sell to some English person, do we do that here." His thumb flicks at the filter of his cigarette. "What kind of ride you looking for?" Jax's eye is not entirely visible behind the sunglasses but his scrunched face wince is easy to catch all the same, eyebrows screwing up, cheeks pulling high. "Ion!" It's caught somewhere between pained and amused. "I'm pretty sure he do sell to, um, English mutants too but -- are you Australian? I don't think that accent's English." His palm scrubs at his cheek as if he might scrub away the blush that has risen there. Only faintly visible to the others on the still-sunny early-evening, the aura of glow that surrounds Mercury is -- shifting. Creeping closer to Jax, the light that had been clinging to her skin pulling in towards him in a steady drift. More proudly, his smile brightening, he adds: "I think B pushes the boundaries of what state of the art is all by herself. You can't get bikes like hers nowhere else." An NYPD SUV pulls up, blocking the end of the driveway, followed by a larger van, both emblazoned with the words SENTINEL UNIT. The cops inside do not disembark -- in fact, most of them seem to be be fiddling with tablets. Then the back hatches of both vehicles open to disgorge spider-like robots. Their ovoid central bodies are encased in glossy white armor imprinted with "NYPD Sentinel Unit" and various identifying numbers, their many-jointed limbs moving in eerie unison as they scurry toward Hellhound Bikes, fanning out into a semi-circle around the group chatting in the driveway. A loudspeaker mounted to the SUV comes to life and the white-shirted lieutenant in the passenger seat speaks through it, "By order of the NYPD, get on the ground and put your hands on your heads." Even through the distortion of the speaker, the man sounds almost smug. "We are going to search the premises." Four of the Sentinels take one synchronized step forward. The other two follow suit at a slight delay, perhaps somewhat ruining the sense of menace their handlers were seeking to convey. "Who's Guan..." Steve trails off as the police cars come into view. His right hand starts to clench, but with a flinch he relaxes it again. "...Yin?" He glances at Mercury briefly, at the light skewing away from her. Then returns his gaze to NYPD when the Sentinels file out. "Gosh darnit," he mutters, too quietly probably for anyone other than Jax to hear. He does put his hands up, though. "Officers, you cannot just --" There's a scrambling from within the SUV. With the speaker still on someone else in the vehicle can faintly be heard saying "He's going for his shield!" The two Sentinels that lagged behind their fellows before now spring, unfolding gun barrels from the sides of their adorable round bodies, one of them firing -- a quiet twip and not a loud bang -- at Steve and the other at Ion. "One that works, preferably." She chirped back, and smiled at Jax, revealing perfect, glowing teeth, "Didn't realise yanks could tell us apart, but it's an important distinction. We're like the English, but drunker, and much more fun." She took of her glasses, hooking them onto her singlet. "Name's-" She froze at the sound of cars pulling up behind her, turning her head slightly to see that it was, in fact, the police, turning back to her companions with a look of surprise, and perhaps of fear. "And motorbikes are very dangerous, young men!" She blurted out immediately, tense smile crossing her features as the adrenaline sunk in, "And with that I'll be... on my way?" There was no confidence in that at all, and her humour seemed to seep out of her all at once as she considering taking the needle taped to her inner thigh and throwing it as hard and fast as she could. Not hard enough, not fast enough. A bead of sweat went down her neck. She panicked. Mercury wasn't too proud to admit that. With the stranger stepping forward and the unknown sound coming from the cops she twisted immediately towards the police, slapping her hands in front of her- and Jax's vision would explode. To the other it would seem as if the light she emit suddenly coalesced around her completely, surrounding her in a translucent, bright orb. To Jax, however, he would see the light suddenly expand and concentrate, becoming intense and focused. The smack of her hands seemed to do nothing but assist her in directing it, as it began from the middle of her aura, blossoming out impossible quickly, the outer edges retracting inward. It was slightly different to her skin- it seemed to move, as if it were alive. "Oh no-" She dove to the ground, scraping her knees on the pavement- leaving trails of bright blood as she shuffled back slightly, not fast enough. "Oh, no, no, no..." Her voice was strained and tense. Mentally she began counting; three minutes is all she could spare. Run, hide or fight? Everything was moving too quickly to chose, and in the moment, she froze. Ion just huffs out a heavy stream of smoke when the police show up. "Again? Don't you motherfuckers got actual jobs to do?" He is getting down on his knees, kind of tired, taking a last drag of his cigarette and starting to tamp it carefully against the ground as he puts his other hand on the back of his head. "I'd offer you a cupcake but I'ono if you full up on donut already -- fucking hell." He only actually sounds exasperated when things start to shift into motion, expression twisting in irritation when Mercury shifts towards the police. "{Why everyone around us got fucking shit for brains, Ja--}" His words cut off just after that thwip as he vanishes from sight, reappearing just a half-instant later on the other side of his motorcycle. Still kneeling. Hands behind his head. Jax's cheeks puff out as the cops appear. He says nothing at all; just puts his hands behind his bright shock of hair, fingers lacing at the back of his head as he gets down to his knees. The small flutters of light that coalesce like little glimmering soap-bubbles in the air are ephemeral, easy to miss. Just little flickers of iridescence that look almost substanceless but are -- well more than hard enough to halt the trajectory of the tranq darts that were shot by the Sentinels. The darts clatter to the ground, the shields already vanished before the even hit pavement. Jax is just quiet. Gritting his teeth hard as Mercury's bright orb blossoms into place. He's not watching her, though, his attention fixed solidly on the police as if expecting -- something. The other four Sentinels are moving now, as well. Two of them zero in on Mercury when she throws her hands forward and creates an orb, deploying their dart guns, as well and firing simultaneously. The tranquilizer in the darts is strong but designed to be safe, more likely to make the average human extremely woozy than pass out at once. One of the last two peels off toward Ion, moving with remarkable speed for such an oddly shaped machine. A panel opens in its armor and fires a two taser barbs at the electrokinetic while the one who had just tried to tranq him circles around to flank him. The last of them turns toward Jax, also unfolding its dart gun but not firing. Its body language looks uncertain, somehow, hesitant. The one that had shot at Steve also hesitates for a fraction of a second, as if attempting to figure out why its dart has failed to find its mark despite Steve remaining still. Then it seems to decide that Steve must be resisting arrest -- or resisting whatever its handlers want him to resist -- and it charges him bodily, seeking to restrain with its long, segmented limbs. All of the Sentinels speak simultaneously -- not the cop's voice from the SUV, their own pleasant computer-simulated voice. "Please comply with NYPD instructions immediately and stand down." Steve wasn't going for his shield -- his hands actually make it all the way to his head before the darts start flying -- and he isn't going for it even now, meeting the Sentinel's tackle calmly and empty-handed even as he drops down to one knee. Ducks beneath the first reach of its forward-most limbs and braces his bandaged right hand beneath armored carapace, lifting the whole thing up by its own momentum and directing it up, over, and past him. Borrowing some of that momentum he executes a lateral roll and comes back up onto one knee behind Jax, back to back though a few steps apart. "We are complying," he says -- not shouting, though his voice carries clearly. "Please order your robots to stand down at once." Mercury, realising that they weren't firing bullets, seemed to calm slightly, but still kept her shield strong, the two darts bouncing harmlessly off. It would take quite a bit more than that- but time was her enemy, as was the fact that she needed to get rid of the syringe immediately. Unfortunately, considering it was the only thing that could help her push through the migraine she'd cop if she pushed herself beyond a minute. She turned from them, not sure if they could see, shoving a hand up past the cusp of her shorts, tearing the capped needle off of her thigh, tape prickling uncomfortably against her skin. Quickly she leant over herself, shaking hands, trying to crush it in her hands but failing, dropping it to the floor and stomping hard enough to break the plastic, the translucent liquid quickly seeping into the pavement. Jax's flash of light temporarily confused her, unsure if it was own, glancing at him with brows furrowed, but the threat of the robots proved a greater concern. She knew she couldn't throw it- it would bounce of her shields, but it seemed awfully rude to shove it under the stranger's bike. She saw Ion then, and seemed frozen in uncertainty, foot lifting slightly to show the mangled instrument, lifting her hands above her head. "I'm complying!" She said, voice tense, shooting Ion a fierce look, debating on what to do. Ion doesn't move even in the face of the skittering robot. A crooked smile spreads across his face, his hands still fixed steady to the back of his head. "Who the hell ain't complying? We complying. She new here, just chill. My hands on my damn head, yo. --- Tch!" This last comes as the taser barbs hit him; he makes no move at all to dodge this. Just clamps his teeth, grins harder, brighter. The jittery crackle of electricity down the wires does not drop him. At first it is difficult to tell when it starts to surge back up the lines, flooding into the bot it has come from. "{Down, boy.}" Jax takes a deep breath. Lets it back out. Simultaneously, a small grove of iridescent bubbles blooms in front of them, all the Sentinels save for Ion's abruptly trapped beneath shimmering domes of faintly rainbow-sheened light. "I'm sorry," he says, clear and oddly calm, "did you want to search the garage or did you just want to pick a fight? Ain't nobody resisting your search. Ain't none of us lookin' to end up in the hospital, neither." The domes don't remain; he drops all of them a moment later, save for the bubble over the spider-bot that had just attacked Steve. The two Sentinels circle Mercury's shields, then just try to walk directly into them. Or were about to try this, when Jax's shields trap them in place. Their clawed feet scrabble over the concrete in an attempt to continue the expected direction of their movment. The one not trying to electrcute Ion is shooting at him again, but the dart only bounces harmlessly off of the inside of its bubble. The one facing down Jax does not, perhaps, even notice the faint shimmer of the dome trapping it. The only free Sentinel, joined to Ion by two wires, suddenly judders and collapses in a heap, unmoving. There's some movement inside the SUV as New York's finest discuss next steps. Then the loudspeaker clicks back on. "All of you drop your shields and move over to the right side of the driveway and remain on the ground." A moment later he adds, "My right." The Sentinels all stop moving then, though they remain where they are. Steve side-eyes the SUV when the new instructions are given. He rises smoothly without hesitation, though he keeps his eyes trained on the trapped Sentinel before him as he strides to what is for him the left side of the driveway. His bandaged hand is half-curled, and once or twice he begins to reach for it with his left before checking the motion. He kneels again in the newly indicated place, watching the Sentinels keenly all the while -- if looks could kill the Sentinels would be dead despite never having been alive at all. Only then does he brace his right hand on his knees, the corner of one eye crinkling with pain briefly before smoothing out. Mercury considers her options, and comes up with a plan. She scoops up the broken syringe, still out of sight, holding it in a closed fist as she stands, walking in the ordered direction, shield bumping slightly into Jax, seemingly alerting her. Her head turns and she shoots an apologetic look as the glowing barrier fades- he can see that the light doesn't disappear but merely scatter, ready to reform again if needed. "Okay, all good." She says, eying the Sentinels with suspicion and taking her place next to Steve, bringing her knees to her chest leaning closer to him very slightly- just enough for their shoulders to brush, allowing her to hold her arm behind her and flick her contraband, hoping it goes far enough to cause enough doubt as to who it belongs to. She leans away then, holding her hands above her head, heart racing but satisfied she'd done all she could. At this proximity it would be clear to Jax and Steve that she didn't produce any heat, but there was a strange tingle as she came within five feet of them. It faded quickly enough but Jax would know that it was the light that followed her. Additionally, the trail of glowing blood from her knees faded as she moved, leaving a dark red stain on the pavement as she left it's immediate perimeter, shine fading entirely. Ion's mouth twitches. He looks at the fallen robot in front of him, then at the wires that still connect him to the bot, barbs embedded in his stomach amid two red splotches on his grungy white shirt. "Fucking kidding me with this shit, right?" His grumble is low, under his breath. He drops a hand from the back of his head, grabbing the no-longer-live wires and tugging them, sharp, with a soft hiss. The bloodied barbs drop the ground with a soft clatter as he gets up to join Steve at the side of the driveway. Jax twitches when the shield bumps into him, stiffening abruptly, his hands starting to curl into fists but halting and pressing, instead, back into his hair. He doesn't have far to move. Just scoots a little to the side, the last of the shields fading from around the robots. "There's cupcakes," he adds, still in the same even tone. "You know, this seems like hungry work." Only when the four are up against the side of the driveway as requested do the cops disembark from their vehicles -- six of them, fumbling and awkward in their summer uniforms and body armor. The lieutenant who had been speaking to them is flanked by two officers carrying tablets in heavy shock-proof caes emblazoned with the logo of the Sentinel Program. His badge identifies him as 'Wagner', and though he's solidly middle-aged he's not a familiar face to even those present with long-standing relationships to the NYPD. He walks along the line of detained persons, pauses and narrows his eyes pale blue eyes critically at Mercury, but finally comes to a stop in front of Jax. "So, Mister Holland," he says, with a faint Georgia twang himself. "I understand you're something of a leader in your community. I recommend you lay off the sarcasm. Let us do our work." He nods to his underlings, four of whom peel off to ransack the garage. There's no finesse in there searching, upturning boxes of tools, pulling entire drawers from tables and workbenches. Lieutenant Wagner does not take his eyes from Jax. "I suggest you keep your community on a shorter leash." His eyes dart to Ion, then Mercury again. "Some of your folk need to learn respect for authority." Steve doesn't seem much put off by Mercury leaning near. His sidelong glance at her seems more of concerned than anything else, though his eyes return quickly to the Sentinels, and then the police when the finally come out of their cars. His right hand tightens against his knee, then relaxes. He does not speak to the police lieutenant, does not meet his eyes, but seems to stare right through his head, expression caught somewhere between bored and defiant. She's not as cool-headed as Steve, giving what could only be taken as a disgusted, disappointed look towards the lieutenant, lip curling slightly and eyes narrowing, watching him intently. She considers speaking up but stops, mimicking her companion's silence. Eerily the wound on her knee seemed to brighter slightly, the blood around it fading until it disappeared completely, healed over. She felt her pulse through her teeth and knew she'd regret it later, but it felt good in the now. Ion's eyes widen as the blood glows -- fades -- disappears around Mercury's now-healed knee. "Fucking kidding me with this shit!" Softer than before, but sharper. The short huff he pushes between his teeth is quick and disgusted, his eyes flicking away and up to Jax instead. His hands stay on the back of his head. "What, you think he like the CEO of mutants round here? What you even read 'bout this boy? You think he gonna call an an-tee-fa meeting and hand out marching orders to the troops? Tell all us freaks fall in line? He don't even believe in no leaders all he got to steer us with is --" His eyes flick towards the seat of his bike, the plastic container still on it. "Cupcake and hugs. You all maybe some day try that, huh?" Jax's lips compress, too, at the healing. Just very briefly, easy to miss given his expression is back to a quiet calm just a moment later. His fingers dig again into his hair as the cops start overturning the garage, evidently more tense over this than Ion is, but he offers a small smile up to the officer a moment later. "Kind of you to say, sir. I don't consider myself a leader. Community organizer, at best. I can't say I quite get your meaning, though, I -- have leashes for my dogs, not no people." His brows lift just a touch. "Whatever works for you and yours, though." One of officers on Sentinel handler duty hooks his tablet to his belt and goes to retrieve the cupcake container. "Hate to say it, lieutenant, but that freak bakes really good cupcakes." The other handler is clarly struggling to stop himself laughing now. His eyes go wide-wide at the glow on Mercury's knee, but when nothing more comes of it than healing he relaxes again. "You better watch your language, Higgins," Wagner says calmly, not accepting an offered cupcake. If he noticed the brighter glow of Mercury's knee, he certainly doesn't seem much bothered by it. His eyes are still fixed on Jax. "I suppose I see the problem now. Your people are looking to your leadership, but you're not man enough to lead." This last pointedly, looking over Jax's attire and body art. "You don't want to see them laid low, you had best do something about that." By now the cops tasked to search the garage have returned empty-handed, save for one clutching the ledger book from the office. Wagner narrows his eyes at them, but says nothing more. "Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen," he says to the men. Then, as a sort of afterthought, "And you, miss. Let's get out of their hair, boys." And with that he turns on his heels to go. Two of the Sentinels carry their fallen comrade between them, and the NYPD strike team is gone as quickly as they came. Steve's eyes actually focus on Wagner for just a moment as he's busy dispensing Leadership Advice, but nothing else in his expression or carriage changes. Then, as the cops leave he breathes a long, slow breath. Rises, offering Jax a hand up. "Thanks for the save there. Everyone alright?" He looks first to Mercury's knee -- blinks, startled, to find the wounds gone -- then to the direction in which she'd flicked her contraband, though he doesn't comment on it, just stretches out a hand to pull her up, as well. His eyes skip over to Ion, still bleeding where the taser barbs bit into him. "They were just spoiling for a fight," he mutters, extending the same offer to Ion. "God knows I --" Another deep breath. "-- I'm glad they didn't get one." As they drove out she pushed her head against her knees, hands coming to cradle her head. "It really... really kills when I use my powers." She manages to choke out. "... and that was my fucking pain meds." The light was far too bright, weakly she fumbled with her sunglasses, shoving them inelegantly back on. "Give me a minute. If I get up now I'll fall over... or vomit. Didn't even check... utter fuckwits." Angrily, she tore the remaining tape off her inner thigh, scrunching it up and smacking it against the pavement. She then slowly, carefully lowered herself onto the ground, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to push through the initial wave of pain. Ion hisses once the cops have gone, clasping Steve's arm and pulling himself to his feet, one hand clutched against his still-bleeding stomach. "Fuck." His fist slams down against the seat of his bike, eyes snapping to the trashed garage. "Goddamn fucking pigs. -- You good over there? Healed quick, anyway." He leans against the bike seat, turning his hand over to look at the blood on his palm with more annoyance than alarm. "Got food, if you need it. Shit. {Sorry about your cupcakes. Those look damn good.}" His head shakes, slow. "They out for blood, some of them. {Fuck what those pigs say}, you three times the man any them ever be. Else this might of been a fucking shootout. Over some goddamn cupcake and what? Record of what parts we buy this year. Shit." "It's -- not always the best idea to use them, around the cops. It's illegal, for one. Plenty of 'em might kill you, for two." Jax grabs Steve's hand, hops to his feet, dusts off his knees with a grimace. "I'm sorry. I'd offer you some sugar but --" A small shrug. "'least that usually helps me when I'm spent. I'm sure Ion'll fix y'up. We should probably fix up the garage. Y'need a hand? There's seats inside, if you want to rest a bet before you -- go." His cheeks have flushed, slightly, again. "Weren't over that. It ain't never over that." Steve frowns. "Sorry you're having such a hard time of it, Miss," he says gently as he watches Mercury curl up on the pavement. "We can help get you out of the sun, at least." He's rubbing his bandaged right hand, slow and meditative, as he looks over the trashed garage. "I certainly don't think pigs have any call commenting on anyone's manliness, but like Jax says -- I don't think it was about that, either." His head shakes, short and quick. " Seems like that Wagner fella was new in town and trying to swing his --" He hesitates, with another quick glance at Mercury, "-- stick around, put you in your 'place.' Probably meant it for Ion, really, and Jax just an unexpected bonus. It's despicable." He bows his head slightly. "I'll be glad to help you set this mess aright, at least." "Mercury." She got out through clenched teeth, reaching for her purse and pulling out Panadol and Nurofen- leftovers from Australia, taking two of each with a small bottle of mineral water she kept for such occasions. After a long moment she seemed to feel very slightly better. "'S fine. I overreacted. Never seen... things like that before. Freaky-looking. Freakier than me." She undid her braid, eyes still closed, relieving some pressure on her over-sensitive head. "I know my limits and I pushed them, don't worry about it." It was horribly hot in the sun, something that didn't help her impending migraine. "I will take up your offer though, if it's not too much fuss." She raised a hand, needing some assistance to get off the ground. "Just for a bit. No food though, thanks. I'm about to have a bad time of it, it'd be waste." "Shit, yeah, those fucking robot pigs is ugly as fuck." Ion shakes his head, cheeks puffing out. "Almost as ugly as their handlers." Blood or no blood, his grin is still returning, even as he loops one arm back around his bleeding midsection. Lets Steve help Mercury up, waves the others on into the garage. "Ain't no trouble. Not gonna be the last time you run into them things. All over the damn place now. Welcome to America, huh? Maybe next time we keep the cupcakes."