ArchivedLogs:Melting

Melting
Dramatis Personae Eve, Flicker, Hive	2017-06-06 "You might wanna get some distance."
Location <NYC> East Harlem
With the highest violent crime rate in Manhattan and a failing educational system, it is easy to overlook the charms of El Barrio. Amidst its problems, East Harlem is a place thriving with culture. Salsa dancing has a rich history in the neighborhood, and in the open-air markets a wide assortment of goods can be bought from the West African community there. Sunny and bright, the afternoon streets are bustling. Pleasant weather finds Flicker yet again parked outside Busboys and Poets, an array of study materials in front of him that he is fairly well focused on. His crisp pomegranate lemonade is barely touched, condensation beaded up all along its sides. In attire he is bland as ever, khakis and a short sleeved green polo that does nothing to hide the vine-detailed honeysuckle-decorated tentacle prosthesis in place of his right arm. Taking up half his table, a faintly glowing 3-D holographic model of the skeleton of a tall building. The skinny shaggy-haired man across from Flicker is giving his work the same studied attention that his companion lends to his books. Outwardly, anyway. Hive's mind is still expansive, cluttered with the surface thoughts of those around him in the city. It takes a shriek, a squeal of brakes, a sudden crash, to draw his attention up from his model. On the street nearby an Uber driver has just plowed into a taxi running a just-turned-red light. The ensuing yelling is -- predictable. Hive's brows crease for only a moment before he turns back to his model. Reaches to /pluck/ at one beam, physically moving it a small distance with a frown. "Ouch." Hive's only gruff commentary. El Barrio. Also known as home, for Eve. It’s where her parents have their store. It’s where she grew up, and where she feels most comfortable. Here, she can greet the people on the street with easy familiarity and check in on some of the more challenged individuals. Specifically, she’s on the family’s high-speed delivery vehicle: the scooter. And by high speed, one means fifteen miles per hour maximum on a GOOD street. The basket at the back is full of deliveries for older folks that are no longer easily able to leave their homes, and it’s one of her favorite duties. Now this means that when someone crashes in front of her? She nearly cries from the surprise and scariness of the whole thing. Yep. Courage of a jelly donut must be her mutant superpower. So she dismounts from the scooter after parking it and her helmet alongside the sidewalk, ruffles her hair out, and tentatively approaches the intersection from the sidewalk. For the purpose of rubbernecking. The girl pulls out her cellphone and… starts filming. Because teenager. If they’re arguing, they can’t be too injured, right? << I should probably be doing something more constructive with my time, but… screw it. >> Flicker's sudden twitch-jump is a lot more overt than Hive's. Knocking a pencil off the table, bumping at his lemonade glass -- though he catches it again nearly as quick with no actual spill. Half-turned in his seat, he's staring wide-eyed toward the crash. "I hope nobody's hurt." It comes with a silent mental nudge -- << ? >> at Hive. The feeling that surfaces in Flicker's mind in response is lazy, careless, the mental equivalent of a shrug. But a (guilty? annoyed? it's all kind of comingled) moment of reconsideration later, a whole glut of information is flooding Flicker's awareness. The building ire of the Uber driver << -- don't they fucking teach you to drive in your shithole country >>, the panicked defensiveness of the taxi driver, << ... /his/ problem this is New York >>, the impatience of the taxi's customers as they now wait for a just-hailed Lyft (steadfastly ignoring the growing fracas), the woozy building nausea of the girl who had been in the Uber and is now on the phone with the cops while keeping a wary and slightly disoriented eye on her driver. There is no surprise in Hive's mind, at least, when the Uber driver throws the first punch, his anger ultimately un-diffused by the other man's protestations that he is, in fact, a Bangladeshi Sikh and not an A-rab at all. Confusing a Sikh with an ‘A-rab’. Yeah. That’ll totally defuse things. YEP. Of course, the subtleties of this issue are totally lost on young Eve. Mostly, she’s just filming an accident and ensuing fight as seems to be a common hobby for her generation. Oh, hey. That lady doesn’t look too good. She approaches the lady who looks a little disoriented (because it’s totally wise to insert oneself into these situations) and says,”You don’t look too good, why don’t you… uh… come sit down over here on the sidewalk until someone can get a good look at you.” Someone professional. She’s already considering titling this something along the lines of “Nasty Public Fight With Racist Taxi Driver” when someone throws an actual punch. This prompts the usual response from a non-involved party who has been rubbernecking,”Woah, hey! What the hell dude, leave him alone!” "Hey!" Flicker is on his feet -- just a moment before the punch is thrown, hopping over the low café patio fence to approach the intersection. "Yo. Cool it, okay? I think your passenger's got injured, maybe we shouldn't be adding to it." "Oh! Oh, do you think -- but will they be. Okay -- oh! Oh no." The girl looks a little queasier at the punching, though she does take Eve's advice to sit on the curb. Restless, fidgeting, phone forgotten in her hand. Phone -- slowly kind of melting into a lump in her hands. Squeeze. The taxi driver stumbles back at the punch, fetching up against the dented body of the cab. "You -- you!" For a moment it seems like he might take a swing in return, but instead he sort of half-hides behind Flicker. "That girl, she seems ill." "This isn't your problem, cripple, get out my fucking --" The Uber driver shoves Flicker aside toward Eve, glaring still at the cab driver until all of them are interrupted by a pleasantly polite robotic voice: "Please stand down. We are authorized to use force in ases of non-compliance." There are police sirens still in the distance, but the clank of heavy robotic feet accompany the pair of NYPD Sentinels just landed nearby. Just as pleasantly neutral: "Please cease any use of mutant powers. We are authorized to use force in cases of non-compliance." On the curb, the girl looks up, wide-eyed and alarmed. The girl’s arms open reflexively as Flicker is shoved, as if to catch him, though Eve’s not exactly a sterling expression of musculature. Because holy crap, those are Sentinels and they’re kind of scary up close, even if she has nothing to worry about as far as she knows. No. Instead, she’s looking to the girl with the melting phone, looking over to the Sentinels, and then moving to cover the melty phone in the girl’s hand with her own, murmuring to her,”Here, ditch this before they see.” Because she does not really know how Sentinels work, exactly. Then she screws up her courage and calls out to the Sentinel,”She needs medical attention!” Flicker tenses. Rocks back with the shove. When he bumps up against Eve it's not quite as hard as might be expected. His jaw is set, brows furrowing -- deep and deeper at the Sentinels' landing. /He/ steps forward, claps his hand onto the Uber driver's shoulder. His insistent tug backwards away from the other driver is helped along by a veeery small hop-jump, fast enough and short enough to be hard to visually /notice/, though the driver himself at least feels it as a brief dizzying rock when he's yanked back. "I said cool it. -- You okay over there? There wasn't any altercation over there. That individual just needs medical help." Still at the table, Hive is, at least, looking away from his work now. If only to neatly and unhurriedly pack away Flicker's things. "I didn't do anything!" the girl protests anxiously, hunching down further when the robots turn their attention to her. She relinquishes her phone to Eve with some confusion, head just shaking. "I didn't -- I just -- /they/ were punching! I don't --" The mention of medical attention has her putting her hand to her head. "... don't feel good," she admits. "I just want to go home." She starts to get up, a little shaky. "You are being detained," one of the Sentinels informs her levelly, "please remain where you are for further questioning." "What?" Now she's backing slowly-unsteadily up onto the sidewalk. "But I didn't /do/ anything I just --" A newspaper box next to her is starting to shift and ooze downward, too. "You were supposed to deal with /them/, stupid robots!" The girl is relieved to NOT be bowled over by human beings. That being said, she is growing more and more worried as the girl movies to ditch the melted phone in a trashcan or something. But she’s worried. So she keeps filming because… Well, this is the sort of thing that gets people in an upcry. She’s not up to date on how the law might apply to mutants, but she remembers what her parents told her about dealing with cops. Eve murmurs to the worried young woman,”I… don’t know what’s the right deal here… Cops can’t detain you against your will, I think, without charging you? Not sure. But mom was always clear. Don’t say anything to anyone other than ‘I want a lawyer.” Eve decides to hurl invective at the robots,”You’re being racists pricks. I want to file a complaint! You’ve gotta have, like, a supervisor, or like, an operator, or something! I’m incredibly offended right now.” She points at the man who threw the punch,”We need protecting from HIM, not from HER. Do your JOB.” Inwardly, she’s screaming. << Ohgodohgodohgod. Why don’t you shut up!? Your parents are going to have to pay bail to get you out and… and everything. You won’t even be able to get into clown college. Is clown college even a thing? >> "It's -- possible we should get out of here." Flicker is looking at the melting newspaper boxes. The girl on the curb. Eve and her snapping at the Sentinels. << Hive? We looking at escalation? Should I be evacuating these kids before the pork-cops get here? >> He marches in between the robots and the young women. Points squarely to the Uber drivers. "Police? You were called because of a crime. The fight that happened was /there/." Hive is leaning against the low railing, now, that separates the cafe patio from the sidewalk. Observing the scene outside through heavy-lidded eyes that seem almost disinterested. "You got more incoming." This -- maybe referring to the now closer wail of sirens, the cop cars that pull up alongside the crash. The pair of officers that emerge seem at first nearly as disinterested as Hive, casual in their inspection of the scene when no immediate bloodshed looks present: "Anyone hurt here? Sir, we're going to need you to --" Though the taller of the pair stops short when he sees the melting scenery around the teenagers. "Woah." His hand is already falling to his gun, though he doesn't draw it, staring between Flicker and Eve and the seated girl with a wary look. "Whichever of you is doing that you need to stop now or you're coming with us." The effect, meanwhile, is spreading outward now -- claiming Flicker's arm in a droopy puddle of goop that puddles on the sidewalk by him. The girl seems to relax at first when the cops… the meat-cops arrive. Eve doesn’t particularly TRUST cops, of course, and why would she? Especially with this performance,”Hey, this girl over here is hurt, she needs medical attention!” She points at the injured girl who is currently making many of the things melt. Eve does not, however, pass off blame for the melting onto other people. No. After all, it shouldn’t matter who is doing it, right? She points down at the girl again,”She needs MEDICAL ATTENTION. None of this stuff matters. It’s not dangerous!” She thinks. She’s making that claim now. She looks at Flicker, interposing himself, and mentions to him,”Your arm is melting dude… You might wanna get some distance.” Flicker's teeth clench hard when his prosthesis starts melting away. He shifts uncomfortably, reaching up into his sleeve in Kind Of A Hurry to unfasten his limb from its connections and drop -- what is left of it into its melting puddle. His eyes have shifted to the cops' gun -- the hand resting on it. "Apologies," he murmurs, very quietly. "You might want to brace yourselves, okay?" What happens next is a bit of a blur. Somewhat literally -- he reaches for Eve's hand, drops to his knees to hook his shoulder under the other girl's arm -- and then the world shifts. Displaces around them in a rapid flutter of motion. The police. Sentinels. Crashed cars. Angry drivers. Gawking onlookers. All merging into choppy background fuzz. And then just so much static -- a dizzying sensation of vertigo, a rush of air -- until just a few seconds after it started they're down again. Several blocks away on a quieter side street. Flicker is visualizing it Very Loudly. "-- still need to get you to a doctor." Spoken quietly under his breath to the melty-mutant-girl and also thought pointedly /at/ his silent brain-passenger. To the others with him, apologetic: "Lo siento. I just. Cops have a tendency to make people dead before the ambulances show up. Kind of wanted to avoid that. Apologies for -- that." Flicker's awareness of the world around him is growing, subtle but definite in the back of his mind, a swiftly spreading expansion that is following them up-up-up from the cafe. Tracing the teleporter's rapid erratic path until it's come to quite firmly surround them. Somewhere in the newly acquired mental presence is the knowledge that medical help is on its way. The gentle press up against Eve's mind is almost too light to even notice, save as a brief flutter -- a small mental push -- and then Eve has this same knowledge, casual and familiar as if it was hers all along. Mutant-friendly paramedic, shortly incoming. << Maybe a little more warning, next time. We left the scooter. >> The thought that rises in all their minds is a gentle tease, lacking any real accusation even as it comes with a clear visual image of Eve's parked scooter, back at the scene of the crash. The thought comes, much like the previous knowledge, absent and familiar, surfacing as easily as if they had thought it themselves. Oh hey, look, everything’s kind of fuzzy and mov- “HURRRK.” Eve has now evacuated the contents of her stomach on arrival. Perhaps a little sensitive to vertigo? Who knows. At least she didn’t have a big meal… right? She recovers quickly enough. “No it’s okay, it was probably for the best. Your arm, though… are you okay…? Oh god, that was a ride and a half.” And then? Eve remembers. “My scooter! Oh crap. If someone takes the groceries… Or steals the scoot... Oh god, what if it gets towed- Wait, how the hell do I know that?” Already, her brain is gently trying to ‘disentangle’ the little bits of other-mind from itself, albeit slowly and with a sort of ponderous effort. As if her brain were slightly slippery. She looks around, too, as the voice communicates in her brain, confusion clear on her head,”Uuuuuuh…” << Is this what it’s like going crazy? I’m hearing voices now. >> “I’m hearing voices. Um… Right. More important things. How… did I call a paramedic? No… I don’t think I did that…” "Felt worse when I lost it the first time." Despite his crooked smile, Flicker is more than a little pale. Kind of queasy looking himself. "You aren't going crazy. And my friend called the paramedic. I apologize for -- all of this. He'll make sure nobody takes your ride, alright? I just --" He's kneeling down beside the other girl, teeth chewing at the inside of his cheek. "You okay? Is there someone we should call? Does this happen a lot?" The girl leans up against Flicker's side, more exhausted slump than intentional. "{Oh no I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean to --}" It's mumbled Yiddish, though oddly perfectly intelligible to the others. "Oh my parents are going to kill me I should. Just. Go home." Mumbled English this time, as she buries her head in her hands. Nearby, a No Parking sign has half oozed downward but then stopped its melting in a Dali-esque slump. "Sometimes. I don't know. When I'm scared." As Eve's mind tries to disentangle itself, there's a growing and uncomfortable feeling of dissociation through both her and Flicker. A vague kind of detachment, like watching this whole scene from above, bodies a little too far away and responding a little too slowly. For Eve it grows briefly more pronounced as Hive's mind responds reflexively by curling in tighter, wrapping its hold more firmly against this slippery surface in an effort to maintain its grip. For a moment her movements seem to be quite beyond her control -- stepping away from the puddle of vomit, leaning against the oddly drooping but now quite solid sign. << Not voices. Not crazy. I don't -- >> feel good, this thought finishes itself more in an innate knowledge than a precisely spoken sentence, jumbled somewhere in both Eve and Flicker's minds with the similarly present knowledge of Hive, back at the cafe table, slumped into his seat with his head buried in his hands much like the girl on the sidewalk (whose name is Ary, they are both somehow aware. For Eve the fragments of understanding that come through with this are disjointed -- a telepathic link connecting them -- though somehow precarious and shaky. (Somewhere in the back of their minds, it comes with a very strong desire to have a cigarette.) The girl looks up at Flicker after taking out a compact and checking her face for a mess. Her olive skin is as pale as it ever is, but Eve is smiling… And not sure why. Her slippery mind is almost like a toddler who keeps prying fingers free of a parent’s hand. There’s no question that one can hold onto them. It’s just relentlessly uncooperative in a rather irritating way. Still, leaning against the wall, sucking down air? She finds herself patting herself down as she searches for a pack of cigarettes, and where did she put that lighter.. Wait. “I don’t smoke.” A pause, and she finally has the presence of mind to inform Flicker,”Esta bien. I think maybe there are larger concerns than my scooter… I think I’m sic- He’s… Your friend is sic… Nnng. This is…” She wraps her arms about herself, as if hugging herself. This dissociation is… a lonely feeling. She’s not sure how she felt about this whole connection, but it certainly didn’t make her feel… lonely. Eve reaches out to place a hand on Ary’s shoulder. “I get it. I pepper sprayed some… well, they were basically nazis the other day, and my parents grounded me for like days. I bet they’re like mine, though… They’ll just be happy you’re safe.” This follows the wandering thought, though: << Then again, I’m not a mutant, so how COULD I really know? That was insensitive of me. >> She doesn’t know, of course, that she IS in fact X-active. Complications. “Anybody willing to let me bum a cig?” She licks her lips and reaches up to massage her temples. These disjointed feelings, knowledge, and more… It’s having a jittery sort of effect on her brain. It’s like having some very severe telepathic ADD. Making her thoughts judder around and dart from subject to subject. “I… Is we… he… okay? This is...” A pause as she thinks about the other telepath she knows, Taylor. “Is this what Taylor experiences all the time? You guys must be geniuses to sort all this out…” A moment of clarity then, as she tries to mindfully focus and sort her thoughts. It’s amateurish, but she TRIES at least. "A smoke? Yeah, sure, I could really --" Flicker pats at his pocket a moment before catching himself. "... no, wait, Hive's got those." His eyes screw up tight. "It's a jumble to sort but he'll be okay. Will you all be? This has been kind of a shake up." << Hive. >> There's a quiet but firm undertone of censure to the name. Somewhere around when understanding settles in about the shared cigarette craving, the expanded mind-feel, Eve asking after Hive. << (We/You) can't just -- >> A mental image of Pac-Man nomming up the teenagers beside him. "{Sorry,}" he mutters aloud, in quiet Thai. "Do you have somewhere to be? I can -- get your. Scooter." He's gone in a heartbeat, a ghostlike blur that vanishes into the distance -- though it doesn't take him long to return, somewhat paler, the scooter returning with him and set down in a rather haphazard parking job by the curb. "Pepper spraying nazis is always a good thing though." Warm but brief, shaky, Ary smiles. It fades as her eyes squeeze shut. She leans for a moment into Eve's squeezing hand, then unsteadily gets to her feet. Sits right back down again until Flicker returns. "... medic, right." Mumbled half to herself. "But then I gotta. Gotta get --" Kind of drowsily, she leans against the half-melted sign. << We'll be fine. I didn't mean to -- you should get home. >> With a vague mental suggestion of apology, the presence in the others withdraws.