ArchivedLogs:Harder, Better

Harder, Better
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Ion, Rasputin, Anna	2014-04-04 part of perfectytp
Location <NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. It is very late at night -- late enough that it actually qualifies as early morning, by now, in the small pre-dawn hours. Ion was not /supposed/ to be on guard duty, tonight, but /someone/ who /was/ on Safehouse-guard-duty went and got himself de-Hived and so he's come in as pinch-hitter backup to relieve Dusk of his shift. At least, he /had/ some in as backup, but he's now been relieved in turn by an almost /too/ eager new recruit, young and excitable and armed with a heavy dose of telekinesis and an almost /starry-eyed/ fervent-belief in The Cause. And so, shift ended, Ion is -- aaalmost ready to head to /sleep/ for the night. Morning. Whichever. Almost. But at the moment he's down the block sitting on the hood of a Range Rover (not his own), lighting a cigarette with a bag of tacos beside him. In the mild weather he's casually dressed, a black denim shirt unbuttoned over white tee, jeans, boots. "{I got some, whatsitcall. Oxy. You want that?}" he's asking Dusk, as he blows a stream of smoke up towards the sky. Dusk is not looking eager. Or excitable. Or anything much at all. He's slumped face-down against the hood of the car beside Ion, wings drooped downwards kind of cloaklike around him. He's in jeans, boots hastily pulled on and unlaced, still, a sweatshirt kind-of-sort-of on in that he's tugged it on /backwards/ and unzipped to provide some small protection from the cool weather -- but all in all his bleary-eyed sluggish response and drooped posture and half-dressed state suggests that he just rolled out of /bed/ and might roll back into it very shortly. Except some things take priority over sleep and right /now/ it seems these Priority Things are bumming a cigarette off Ion. And maybe some drugs. He holds his hand out for a smoke, grumbling back in Spanish as well: "{/Fuck/ yes. Please. God. I cannot tell you how much yes.}" It's a bird! It's a pla- no it's a bird. There's a few birds scattered around, actually, about two-three, with a fourth flying right towards..TACOS! Landing next to the bag, the crow pecks at it for a second in curiosity, before swivelling over to Ion and Dusk..speaking. "Oh heyyy. Thought these were some stranger's tacos, I swear. Promise. Probably.". Rasputin laughs a bit, super cheerful /even at this time of night/, before turning over to Dusk. "Man, tired? I..me and sleep have this weird relationship." "Batman's got a headache fit to /kill/," Ion answers Rasputin. He turns a cigarette over to Dusk rises just a little bit up where he sits so that he can tug a tiny black case out of his pocket, opening it up to tip three pills from inside also into Dusk's hand. "{Don't have any water, though, man, sorry. -- no, shit, I got a Jarritos one second.}" Guava flavored, it turns out, when he extracts the bottle from the bag, opening it with a bottle opener on his keychain. "Sleep and I, we ain't really, got a relationship at all," he adds to Rasputin with a laugh. He digs a taco out of his bag, unwrapping it to set it down on the car. Carnitas. "Eat up, pajarito." "Someone ripped out my fucking brain and replaced it with jackhammers." Dusk takes both the cigarette and the pills gratefully, downing all three without question -- dry -- and only belatedly taking the soda to chase them with a swig just to remove the /bitter/ taste from his mouth. His nose twitches at the smell of delicious meats but then, immediately afterward, he looks more than a little queasy. "Nnnghah. And we were supposed to be /doing/ shit today, too. I'm gonna just -- fucking -- take all the sleep /you/ two aren't taking." At the sign of TACO, Rasputin is attacking it like a shark on a bloody surfer, still speaking anyways. "Man I have no idea if birds can even /eat/ tacos but screw it this body's disposable, I help clean the eco system.". Rasputin then laughs over at Dusk, a bobbing of the head, probably to eat tacos though. "Go ahead, I don't need it. Have some..pleasant jackhammer dreams, I guess." "Cuervo?" Ion looks over Rasputin's crow-form, shaking his head. "You'll do fine with the taco, those things are scavengers, they'll eat /anything/. They'll eat your /eyes/ if you look sicky enough." He grabs a second taco for himself, carnitas as well, unwrapping it to take a large bite. "I got more if that don't do you. You look like you /need/ the sleep, Darkwing." "I need a fucking guillotine." Dusk stretches up, a wing lifting to curl in and pull Ion closer to himself. So that he can steal the other man's lit cigarette and light his own before returning the stick to Ion. "I envy you, Ras. Sometimes just want to /shed/ this damn body for a while." He slumps back heavily against the SUV after his first long drag of smoke, wings drop back to flop downwards against his bare back. There's a quiet purr of engine coming down the street -- though here in the middle of Manhattan that's hardly uncommon, there are a /lot/ of cars going one way or another even this hour of night. This one is a large grey cargo van, turning down the street and heading in the small group's direction. Rasputin finishes hir taco rather rapidly, before turning to Dusk. "Not all that it's cracked up to be. Like, I can't pay taxes, hold a job, buy a house..actually it's pretty awesome as long as I can get food I must admit. Okay my power is lovely and you /should/ be envious.". Rasputin takes a small look at the van, before turning back to the others with a laugh. "Could go back to the safehouse. Maybe they'll let you crash if I give them the adorable bird look...you probably won't be allowed to crash at the safehouse I'm hideous." "Pff you can crash at the house, vato, you don't need to be /pretty/ to sleep there. I mean, /being/ pretty, that's just a bonus for us, eh? Makes the long guard-shifts that much quicker." Ion lowers his taco hand so that he can take a drag of smoke, only vaguely paying attention to the ebb and flow of traffic around them; the van gets a quick flick of glance and then he lies back against the windshield to look up at the sky. "Don't think hideos, though, crows they are handsome birds. Ugly voices. Not a problem for you though." Dusk just groans, low and unhappy. His wing shifts to cover his head as the van pulls near, draping over his ears to block out the noise. He has to shift his wing again /just/ slightly so that he can take another drag of smoke, though. "I'm envious of everydamnbody whose head isn't getting /drilled/ into right now. Fuck. Tell your drugs to work /faster/." It's rather quick, what takes place next. The van is slowing but hasn't even /stopped/ when its side door slides open. There are people inside -- a lean wiry woman, redheaded, a hawkish face, who is aiming a gun straight at Dusk. The other person visible in the back of the van is a woman as well, darker-skinned, darker-haired, plumper; writhing all around her arms are ropey -- tentacles? At least that's what it might look like at first; a bare moment later, though, she's shooting them outwards (from the large water jugs that it turns out they originate in) to coil with a drippy-wet smack of water-on-skin around Ion. /Probably/ his cigarette is not going to stay lit. "Yeah, I guess I /am/ pretty gor- holy FUCK.". Rasputin's outburst comes as a chick pulls a /gun/ on Dusk, but the voice is..hard to locate, as the little crow just stares at what is going on. "ShitshitshitshitshitshitshitATTACK.". Rasputin's freaking out, as one of the nearby birds /flies/ right at the woman with the gun, attempting to..tackle the gun out of her hand. The bird itself looks to just be a particularly brave bird, no sound coming from it or movement, the sound all originating elsewhere. "What to do what to do uh uh I'LL GET HELP.". Everything, even the sounds, stop for a minute..before the crow begins cawing loudly at the kidnappers, the other bird having stopped it's attack after the outcome of said attack. "Right, yes, ese, I'll order. Straight-away. Drugs, work -- {/what/ in the fuck who what --}" Ion /drops/ taco; the sudden sparks of blue-white lightning that start to skitter and dance around him are automatic, a reflexive gathering of power at the sudden attack. Unfortunately, they're -- sudden sparks of blue-white /lightning/, which doesn't exactly /mesh/ well with his current sodden state or the tendrils of water wrapped around him. The charges don't /go/ anywhere as they presumably were supposed to, instead just continuing their bright flickering dance /around/ the electrokinetic. Who is, it becomes abundantly clear in an instant, very much /not/ immune to his own powers. There's a sudden contortion of his face as he crumples, muscles spasm-twitching, to the ground, teeth clenched hard and biting /off/ the end of his cigarette in a shower of soaked-wet tobacco. Around him there are still dancing flashes of sparks, his breath coming in short unhappy gasps. "-- Oh JesusChrist --" Dusk's wing flares out wide -- smacking into and then /through/ the water-ropes reaching from the car to Ion. Briefly /he/ twitch-tenses, too, shuddering unhappily as his wing cuts between the very /conductive/ water and the malfunctioning electrokinetic. His other wing smacks forward, flaring a clawed tip in towards the water-wielding woman in the van. A little bit /uncoordinated/, admittedly, between the crippling headache and the drugs he's just taken. There's a rather /quieter/ noise of gunshot than might otherwise be expected -- or, perhaps, might be expected given the suppressor on its barrel. It /was/ aimed for Dusk but the sudden crow-attack makes the shot go higher, the bird's claws raking into the woman's hand as she shoots at /it/ instead. She doesn't lose her grip on the gun, just /slams/ the handle of it down towards the bird before taking a second shot, this time towards Dusk's knees. Clearly aiming to /cripple/ and not kill. The crow on the SUV is flying off at the gunshots, far far away from the entire incident. Meanwhile, another nearby bird is also flying, towards the safehouse down the block, at what could probably be the fastest speed the bird could go, a rapid flapping of wings towards the safehouse. Sounds are appearing near the van, however, crackles of sound exploding around them, especially at the second gunshot, which ends up making a cartoonish BANG! noise as it fires, with the noise fading once the bird is out of sight. The lightning fades as Ion's quiet gasping-choking does, the young man's twitching ceasing to end in just stillness on the ground. The broken cigarette falls from his lips to splat down into the puddle beneath him. "Fff --" Dusk's other wing is curling in around Ion once the electrokinetic goes still, scooping in and around to start lifting him up. This is cut short with a sudden deep growl as one of his legs buckles beneath him. His wing /smacks/ forward again, towards the women in the car with a sharp rake of clawed tip. "-- in the fuck," he manages through his teeth, "you're -- fucking. /Mutants/." Which sounds -- almost /betrayed/. The water-tentacles are dragging-pulling back, now. Fighting the grip of Dusk's wing as they wrestle for /control/ of Ion. And then go limp, with the sudden rake of claw agaist the face of the woman wielding them. The second woman just shoots again. Towards the gut, this time. The clawing doesn't seem to hurt her -- it passes intangibly right /through/ her face. The first woman manages a bloody-toothed chuckle at Dusk's betrayal. "We," she answers Dusk, "are /better/." Dusk's grip on Ion slackens with this second shot; he crumples a little /confused/ to the ground, wing curled in around him and his slightly unfocused (drugged) (pained) gaze tipping up towards the van. His eyes track uncertainly in the direction Rasputin had left, and he attempts for a moment to struggle back to his feet before his bloody-broken knee just gives out beneath him. One of the water-ropes is snaking back upward. Wrapping firm and /tight/ around Dusk's throat, water flowing up into nose and mouth. The redhaired woman is getting out of the van, dragging Ion's inert form into it. "-- Ugh," is all she says, surveying all this as she gestures for her companion to bring Dusk in as well. "What a fucking mess."