ArchivedLogs:Looping In

Looping In
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Marrow
In Absentia	2014-04-04 Part of Perfectus TP.
Location <MOR> Below New York
Buried beneath the bustle and noise of New York's busy streets, the world underneath the city is a quieter place. Quieter, but far from deserted. Occasional ladders, often rusting, ascend to the city above and are evidence that at /one/ point these tunnels had been in use, or had been planned for it; perhaps by way of maintenance, or access to subways or sewers. These stretches have been abandoned by civic infrastructure for some time now, though, but occasional scraps of evidence -- discarded food wrappers, piles of tatty blankets or moldering old mattresses, sometimes voices carrying echoes through the dank concrete -- give evidence that /someone/ still uses these tunnels. The rumbling of subway trains sounds frequently through the walls, many of the train routes accessible through various doors and openings. Somewhere upstairs, the city is grey and dank and chill. Somewhere down /here/, it's -- /black/ and dank and chill, even the overcast-grey light not managing to filter down this far into the sewers. There are footsteps, down one of the winding tunnels that make up this underground labyrinth. Quiet footsteps, occasionally splishing into some stray puddle of who-knows-what. Jackson is visible in the darkness as a few small pinprick-points of purple light coming from the collar strapped around his neck, picking his way slow but steadily unhesitant through the dark. He is dressed in thrift-store finery, old faded jeans, a beaten up pair of hiking boots, a sweatshirt once black and now faded to grey that's had its sleeves pushed up around his elbows, a red-and-black striped cap pulled down over his shaved-bald head. He looks -- for all he can be seen in dim illumination -- rather /different/ than the last Marrow saw him, all his tattoos and piercings simply vanished as though they never were. No matter how quiet the footsteps it's rare that anyone gets close to Morlock territory without someone knowing and passing word to a Sewer Knight. The first sign Jackson has he's not alone is the faint smell of cheap tobacco cut with assorted illegal chemicals and the click of a trigger being pulled back. "Bang," Marrow says with an accompanying click of a pistol hammer. "You really don't belong down here in the dark do you?" She drops lightly from a concealed ledge up above the tunnel. "Especially not when so many people seem to want you dead. Don't suppose you brought any food along?" "Ain't quite my natural environment," Jackson agrees with a soft breath of laughter. Despite the darkness he turns, eye lighting on Marrow with just the faintest stiffening of posture at that spoken 'Bang'. His hand drops to the messenger bag at his side, shabby and olive-green. "I'm Southern, I don't visit nowhere without food. Or -- well. I don't know if cookies count proper as food." He opens the bag to extract two very large sturdy Ziploc bags full of cookies. "One bag's mocha an' one's caramel-apple. Brought news, too, but it ain't quite so tasty." Marrow has already begun tucking the pistol away within the folds of her leather jacket. "Anything counts as food when you've had to resort to sewer rats," she points out dryly. "Fuckin' vile little thing. I swear more of us died from shitty food than the zombies. "Bad news huh? You're not gonna be our new neighbor are you? Not sure we'd enjoy the extra attention." Her eyes flick down to the bag and the promise of food while her hands begin rolling a little cigarette. "Yah don't mind if I smoke do yah?" "Things've been crazy-hectic what with the --" Jackson hesitates a moment, rocking his weight back onto his heels. "-- gettin' a little bit blowed up recently but Micah an' I could start back up with the weekly -- food-deliveries. If it'd be a help. Gettin' the gardens planted again only but they won't actually be ready for /harvestin'/ nothin' for a while yet." He waves his free hand in quiet acceptance as Marrow starts rolling the cigarette. "Not hardly. An' no, you're safe enough, I ain't movin' down here. Though my son's got a mind to. -- actually just come down to keep you updated on some'a your people. We found Anole. An' Jim got himself hurt real bad in the -- blowin'-up I mentioned. They're /both/ recoverin' out at the school nowabouts. Wanted to make sure to keep you -- in the loop." "How exactly did you lose him? Or recover him for that matter?" Marrow wonders, sparking the cigarette into life with a match that gets tucked into the brickwork to burn itself out and shed a brief moment of light. Casually she blows out a little smoke and adds "And the people who took him. You find them?" It might just be the light, but some of the bones poking through her skin seem ever so slightly sharper than before. "We can manage without the food for now. Might be best if you both keep a little distance until they find who tried to blow you up. Jim's a tough old bastard, can't imagine he'll be down for long. I put an axe through his face once, he was fine a day later." "He done come out here during zombies to live with you lot again. Help with food-gettin', I suppose. Got lost while he was back down here." Jax's eye focuses in in the fire; the brief light that it calls up seems, for a moment, to stream /towards/ him, sucked in before it gutters out. "S'pretty bad with Jim, this time. Was a --" His head ducks downward, a guilty note creeping into his voice. "-- a /real/ bad explosion." With a sudden sharp exhale he lifts his head again, rubbing his free hand at the back of his head. "We found -- some stuff about them. We're still. Lookin' into finding out /more/. They -- they hurt him real bad. Cut off his whole arm. We still ain't a hundred-percent sure on why. But there's been a /lot/ of mutants disappearin', turnin' back up hacked to /pieces/. Think it might be connected." It is most definately not the light. A few more bladelike bones are beginning to poke through Marrows forearm, ruining yet another jacket. "I'll ask around," she informs. "And when you find them it would be appreciated if you would bring me along. I have a duty to keep my people safe no matter where they are and if someone has harmed a Morlock." She snarls. "They will answer to me one way or another." "There's a church. Up in the Bronx. That one'a the guys what had Anole went to on the regular." Jax's eye has turned back to Marrow, voice a little quieter as he watches the bones stabbing their way through Marrow's clothing. He pulls a phone out of his pocket, the screen glowing bright in the surrounding dark; after a moment of paging through it he reads off an address. "S'mostly the only lead we /got/ right now, they cleaned house /pretty/ well after Anole was rescued. But -- I don't know, it could be unrelated for all we know. Jus' a regular church. Jus' -- don't nothin' about this situation /seem/ regular. The people who had him -- they was mutants too. Or -- had abilities, anyway. We ain't real sure -- some of the stuff we found sounds a little like they're /takin'/ people's powers. Tryin' to /make/ themselves mutants." He shakes his head, holding out the two huge bags of cookies towards Marrow. "But right now s'all we know. An' it ain't much. I'll keep you posted. An' if you want to swing by the school an' visit with Jim or Anole you're welcome there -- well, Jim ain't real /talky/ at the moment he's kinda jus' /tree/. -- Anyway. I'll. Be in touch if we learn nothin' else." Marrow tilts her head. If she's bothered by the new bone growth it doesn't show, even when the blades are wet with fresh blood. "I could see about staking the place out at nights," she offers. "Plenty of places to sleep rough in that part of town." She pats one of her pockets and smiles wryly. "Don't think it's a good idea for me to visit your place though. I'm a bad influence. Just let the kid know the Knights will see justice is done. He should know what that means." There is a long pause, then she shrugs. "As for Jim. Tell the fucker he better not die while he owes me money." Not that Jim actually owes her a dime but hey maybe he won't remember that! This startles a quiet laugh out of Jackson. "I'll -- I'll let him know. I'll let 'em both know." He rocks back a step, absently running a hand against his arm to press his sweatshirt sleeve properly down. "Might be good to have some eyes on the place, yeah. You might run into some of our folks around, too. S'a lotta people -- lookin' into this." He starts to turn away to head back the way he came, but then turns again to add: "Jus' -- be careful out there, yeah? These ain't regular humans we're dealin' with. Don't really know /what/ kinda tricks they'll have up their sleeves." Marrow smiles. "After that fuckin' fight club thing I realised I'd let my training slip," she remarks. "Now I don't go anywhere without plenty of tricks of my own." There is a little flicking motion and a bone sprouts from her wrist that's molded around a tiny pistol wrapped up in plastic. "You got any way for me to recognise your people? Secret hand signals an' shit?" "Hand signals." Jackson blinks, perhaps at this notion or perhaps around the pistol that has sprouted from Marrow's arm. "Uh -- they'll be the ones as /ain't/ tryin' to hurt you." "I meant while we're on a stakeout," Marrow points out as the bone gripping the little gun pulls back into her arm. "Hurts like fuck keeping it there. But 's not like anyone is gonna notice a few more ugly lumps on a physical mutant." Her eyes flick to the cookies again. "Want me to take those the rest of the way? Or you got business with anyone else down here?" "No. Only business I had was lettin' y'all know what's up." Jackson steps forward to turn the cookies over to Marrow. "Enjoy." Marrow nods. "'S appreciated," she replies, taking the cookies. "Try not to get yourself blown up again. Explosions can collapse sewers and I don't wanna have to dig anyone out." And with a final parting nod she slinks off into the darkness. Quieter than the sewer rats.