ArchivedLogs:Mutual Aid

Mutual Aid
Dramatis Personae B, Julie, Pedro, Shane
In Absentia	2015-11-22 "{/Luxury/ apocalypse.}" (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <NYC> Chinatown
One of New York's oldest neighborhoods and the oldest Chinese enclave outside of Asia, Chinatown is a vibrant ethnic community, which draws throngs of tourists annually as well. This neighborhood is packed with Chinese-owned businesses, from restaurants to groceries to theaters to fashion. The city has been warned against the speaking of English, certainly, but nowhere is this being enforced as /strictly/ as it is in Chinatown. Much as it was two years ago, the residents here are not shying away from coming down hard on anyone who breaks the taboo against English -- as a result, it's rather peaceful within the barriers that have been erected around the neighborhood. Occasionally the dead hammer at the roadblocks, but they are quickly dispatched; /within/ the neighborhood, the disease has barely taken hold. Demonstrably, at the moment: a gunshot, a body discarded over the roadblock rather casually. Not a zombie, clearly, this person has been shot in the heart, not the head, just a random redheaded tourist failing to abide by the strict rules. Coming /in/ over the barriers right now, a pair of sleek motorcycles, matching but not identical, one blue-trimmed silver, one silver-trimmed blue; they aren't much affected by the /roadblock/, hovering above it and lighting down on the ground. Their riders are tiny, features obscured under large visored helmets. On the silver bike, a small figure in tall silver boots, blue skinny jeans, a metallic silver leather jacket with black kutte over top (MUTANT MONGRELS MC, it reads on the back, emblazoned with jolly roger insignia -- a horned sharktoothed skull and crossed fencing foils rather than crossbones). On the blue, just hiking boots, black jeans, a denim jacket. Small ragged MMMC patch on the back of /his/ jacket; the crossbones on his are fencing foils, instead. Both tinybikers have swords strapped to their backs, short wakizashi. Unnecessary, at the moment. "{-- What else do we need?}" Vietnamese, right now. "{We're never going to find all this. It might not be war in here but they're still not getting their grocery stores stocked any more than anyone else is.}" The other rider shrugs. "{You rather try fucking Clinton? I'm not going to that shithole again.}" Coming down one of the side alleys is a small-ish mutant, though the only things showing are what gives him away: a batlike face and giant batears. The rest is covered up, his clawwed hands by blue mittens, and his feet are covered by shiny new winter boots. He kind of clumps along in those boots, obviously unused to them. Pedro appears to have been modestly successful in his own shopping, a couple of plastic shopping bags containing a variety of fruits. As much as he'd have liked to grab a bunch of bananas and a large bag of oranges and other things in bulk, he's only managed to scavenge on or two of each little thing on his list. The young man pauses at an intersection to pull a small piece of paper from the large pocket of his hoody. {Hmmph. No one so far has had ground beef.}, he says in Spanish. The sound of engines gives him pause, and he peeks out at the two figures stepping off their bikes. He casually pulls his hood up over his head and ears. Then there are some who look... well... well-stocked. She's built for stealin'. And with people afraid of the zombies, looting has been good. Her own bike is a restored but roadworn 1917 Indian. No hovering here. Still, gas has been harder to come by for her. Someone is always seems to have siphoned stuff ahead of her!. So she's been spending a lot of time pushing it. She's easily noticable though, to anyone looking out at the roadblocks. She's approaching the neighborhood with that sort of twitchiness most meth addicts display. What's more... Her face and limbs seem to blur in random fits and starts. Juliette, meth-mutant extra-ordinare. She calls up to the barricade, {Anyone-in-there-got-spare-gas? I'm-willing-to-trade.} All her words tend to run together a little, and it's STILL frustratingly slow for her. Still, with her caloric requirements, the squirrel population of local parks has begun to suffer. The corpse tumbled over the barricade gets a look. Waiting for a response she goes to rifle the pockets. Yeah. She's that kind of person. "{No, fuck Clinton,}" says the rider in silver, "{but maybe --}" They shake their head, looking back towards the barricade at the call from outside. The other rider's visored face is turned for a longer moment towards the bat-eared mutant. There's a long hesitation before they turn away, too. Calling back in Spanish (fluid and easy, a faint Puerto Rican colour to the accent): "{Yeah? Trade what, though?}" The bat's ears perk up under the hood, his gaze going to the gate, and then to the two riders. He slowly starts to move towards the barricade, the note disappearing into his pocket once more. The young mutant stretches and wiggles, slowly working his wings out of his sleeves, and with a jump and the flutter of wings, he sails over the barricade to land upon the other side. Pedro seems surprised at the rider and her bike, and he offers a nervous grin. {Hi.}, he says, in Spanish, his accent not of the Americas. {You not sick? They'll let you in.} {I-got-some-food. Several-fresh-caught-squirrels. Canned-fruits-and-beans. Some-condensed-milk. A-little-bit-of-baby-formula. A-box-of-duct-tape, bandaids, rubbing-alcohol, some-sewing-needles. If-you're-looking-for-somethin'-specific, I-could-maybe-get-it. If-its-dangerous-I-want-a-place-to-sleep-safe-though.} Being homeless suddenly not-so-great here. Julie looks at the bat. She's a blur of motion and then suddenly she's just standing there, examining it. A moment later, after another blur, she's back at the bike, {Healthy-as-hell-brother.} She begins fiddling through her saddlebags arranging and rearranging them at high-speed, like she just can't sit still. She even zips back and forth between points at seemingly random, her own high-speed version of pacing. The rider in silver hops back on her bike at the mention of squirrels. There's a hum; a moment later the bike lifts off, flying straight back over the barrier to land beside the Indian. B tugs her helmet off, revealing a very blue face crowned in spiky black hair. "{Squirrel. Wo-o-oah.}" Hir gills flutter briefly alongside hir neck as she watches Julie's flitting. "{You okay there?}" Switching back into Vietnamese, she calls over the roadblock, "{-- This one makes /Ion/ look calm.}" "{Meat /and/ canned beans.}" Shane doesn't take his helmet off yet, still climbing back onto his bike. "{Where you /been/ sleeping?}" The bat gasps as the girl is just suddenly /there/ examining him, and he takes an involuntary step back even as the girl reappears at her bike. {Goodness! That is some speed you have there.} He pats at his chest a moment, and looks up at the barricade as the hoverbike lands next to the motorcycle. The young mutant swallows noisily when the helmet comes off, and he takes to the air again with a flutter of wings, to land upon the barricade. {Oh. It's you. Are you recovered then, from the disease?}, he says, his Spanish accent not of the Americas. He glances over at the other bike and lets out a huff of breath. {Garbage-piles. Building-ledges. Attics. When-I-sleep-at-all. I-know-ways-to-stay-up. Anywhere-high-up-with-poor-handholds-or-extremely-smelly.} This time, she's making the effort to look directly at B. If there's any reaction, it's hard to tell on the blur that is currently on her face. Apparently the effort of staying still is literally causing her to vibrate, if the light buzzing sound she's emitting is any indication. {It's-not-very-restful. Yeah-I'm-okay. Just-everything-takes-so-long.} As for the bat? {You-must-be-in-good-shape-since-you-fly.} "{What?}" B just gives Pedro a blank look. "{I'm not /sick/.}" She sounds sharp, on this, clipped and a little irritable. Her gills flutter open, then closed again. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Calmer: "{Meat /and/ canned bans. OK.}" Hir head is twitching slightly to one side, eye twitching a little bit, too. "{Sounds fucking awful.}" The second bike is humming over the barricade now, too, up into the air and back down. "{Extremely smelly. Ugh. -- No, you're not sick, he's just a nosy-fucking-asshole.}" Shane /doesn't/ sound sharp, oddly enough, gruff but somewhat amused from inside the motorcycle helmet. "{Gas, right. You got a tube. Can tank off us.}" Pedro raises an eyebrow at B, and looks to the second biker. {Hmm. It is you then, isn't it? And no, I'm not nosy, I was actually hoping you were okay. And I wasn't trying to intrude, but hearing comments about eating your classmates made me curious.} The young mutant gestures to his ears, pulling his hood down. {I can't help but hear stuff. If you're helping her, then I won't butt in. Take care, hope you all survive this thing.} Pedro pauses a moment and looks to Julie. {I'm doing okay, yeah. But flying has always been easy.} With that, he leaps into the air and flaps his wings, coming to land upon a roof overlooking the street. With short leaps and flaps of wings, he starts to move down the street using the rooftops of buildings. The woman zips over to one of her bags and begins setting out a few cans of beans. A brace of squirrels' whose necks have been recently snapped. {I've-done-worse-under-less-ideal-circumstances.} She also, if one glances at her stuff, seems to have a stash of 'power bars'. Probably robbed from a gym or some such. The sort of high-calorie things people eat when they're trying to bulk up. She has rather conspicuously not mentioned them. Still, she finds her siphoning tube and holds it up, then eyes the hoverbikes dubiously. {Homeless-shelters-would-have-good-stuff-but-} Well, who wants to brave a horde of former residents. Julie shakes her head and waves to Pedro,{Nice-to-meet-you.} "{What the fuck do you care if I'm okay you don't fucking know me.}" Now Shane /does/ sound irritated, sharp and snappish as he tugs his helmet off. His webbed hand flings out towards Pedro as the bat flits off, a low growl in his throat. "{See? Nosy fucker.}" B just lifts hir brows, lifts a shoulder, noncommital. "{Easy. hon. This isn't you.}" In quiet Vietnamese, here. She holds out a hand for the siphoning tube. "{You have a can or we tanking direct?}" Shane, meanwhile, is taking a deep breath. Then collecting the cans and squirrels that Julie sets out. Quickly. "{Shelters are horrible. There's safer houses --}" "{-- for whatever value of /safe/ anyone can have these days,}" B finishes for hir twin. Pedro offers a wave to the fast one, before jumping over a rather tall rooftop and disappearing from view. {Dude-is-nosy-as-fuck. We're-tanking-direct. No-room-for-extra tank. Need-this-up-and-running-for-when-I'm-tired.} The woman meanwhile, has begun fishing in her pockets for... well, something. Whatever it is, her blurring hands don't find it and she seems... agitated by that fact. {Not-about-the-safety. S'-about-the-bounty. I-need-a-lot-of-food. Spend-most-days-finding-it. Big-score, I-can-hunker-down. Rest. Wait-for-things-to-get-better. Small-numbers, no-threat. Hordes-harder. Usually-end-up-passing-out. Gyms-are-good-sources-of-protein. Usually-empty. Juice-bars, too.} Still, B's commentary on safe gets a lot of nodding. "{Feel you on the lots of food. We --}" Shane is grimacing as he packs the cans and squirrels away into his saddlebag. "{... need a lot. Maybe not quite so much as, uh --}" B shrugs, waving the end of the hose towards Julie. Hir bike lights back up when hir hand touches the handlebar; it seems to glide rather effortlessly as she pushes it alongside the Indian. She crouches to pop hir fuel tank and slide the end of the hose inside. "{-- yeeeah we're not actually /vibrating/. That's gotta be exhausting.}" Shane zips the saddlebag back up, leaning against his bike as he watches his twin. Thenglances towards the protein bars. Briefly. "{Is that gonna be your dinner tonight?}" B looks up towards hir brother with a very small frown. A long hesitation, drawn out further as ze sucks at the end of the tube, grimacing and tucking it into Julie's tank when the gas starts to flow. Hir hand wipes against hir mouth. "{... s'a nice bike.}" {I-got-it-with-my-bonus-when-I-was-discharged.} She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and concentrates on staying still. She's still moving quite fast. But she lifts up a sleeve, showing a tattoo: USMC. She lets it fall, and then goes to crouch next to her bike. Her hands blur again as she checks various bits to see if they need maintaining. {Vibrating. Stay-away-from-meth. No-good-for-mutants. Anyway-thanks. She's-my-baby. Saved-my-life-several-times-now. Though-I-think-you-go-me-beat-Miss.-Jetson. Flying-bikes. Futuristic. Badass. Yeah. 10000-calories-a-night. I'm-mostly-surviving-on-bars-and-whey-protein.} She zips her back of bars closed. {It's-awful-but-it-keeps-you-alive. Soylent-isn't-bad-but-hard-to-find.} {Gonna-head-to-the-recycle-center-later. Strangle-some-rats later. You-guys-need-anything? Can-always-use-some-favors-and-good-will-right-now.} "{She built them herself.}" /Shane/ sounds proud of this as he jerks a thumb towards B. B just blushes, tipping hir head downward. "{Copper wire, if you can find any.}" Hir eyes fix on the tube, watching the gas flow through it. "{We have food. At home. Not --}" "{-- the /most/. But we're not starving.}" "{Yet.}" B's smile is a little thin. "{And we have some really good cooks.}" This makes Shane twitch, shoulders tightening. He swallows. Takes a moment before he continues: "{Better than shitty-ass protein bars, anyway. You come for dinner --}" "{-- maybe actualy /savor/ a meal for once.}" B is sidling closer to her brother at that tightening of shoulders, quietly sliding an arm around Shane for a small squeeze. {You're-some-kind-of-wizard. Your-sister-is-a-wizard-dude. Minus-the-creepy-beard-so-better. The woman practically freezes, vibrating in place. {I-can-get-you-copper-wire. Easy. I-used-to-steal-it-for-spare-cash-around-Fallujah-and-when-I-got-back-to-the-states. If-you-don't-ask-where-I-get-it-I-can-promise-noone-will-miss-it-until-this-blows-over.} She's only frozen for a small handful of seconds, though to her it seems a very long time she is staring at the two. {I-accept.} The woman shifts, suddenly back into her usual zippy-pacing. {I-ran-out-of-MREs-last-week.} A pause. {You-got-people-need-protecting?} It's a wistful question. She used to do that, once. Protect people. "{Got kids there,}" B agrees. "{And a lot of injured,}" Shane adds, jaw tightening slightly. "{But a lot of sick, too. Not the /safest/ of safe.}" B shrugs. "{/Mad/ fucking secure against zombies. But that only goes so far when --}" Shane's face is a little drawn. His claws flick towards himself. B starts to draw the hose back out of hir gas tank, letting it finish draining into Julie's before handing hir one end of the tube. "{There's a lot of things we don't ask about, lately. Where you heading, now? We can --}" "{-- show you the way to our place. It's not /that/ far. But if you're going on land,}" Shane gestures to Julie's bike, "{we'd rather show you --}" "{-- the ways less likely to lead zombies back to our door. Had kind of enough of those lately.}" "{If-it's-not-too-far, I'll-put-the-bike-in-neutral-and-jog-it-there. Four-or-five-miles?}" A humming pause occurs. Oh-so-brief. And then she asks,"{Military-presence?}" A moment follows, and she says,"{You-got-a-doctor? I'm-not-a-medic-but-I've-got-basic-field-training-and-experience.}" Because honestly, even an hour or two away from having to watch her back sounds... too good to be true. The girl stows the tube and the rest of the stuff in her saddlebags and kicks up her kick stand. "{I'll-definitely-follow-your-direction. I-was-going-to-head-to-the-recycling-center, but- An-offer-of-a-cooked-meal. I-don't-eat-well-at-the-best-of-times.}" B shakes hir head. "{Not even. Mile and a half, maybe.}" Hir brow furrows. "{No military. Our healer is in the hospital and our doctor is --}" Shane frowns. "{Working 'round the clock. Hasn't been great times. Still better than it was two years back.}" B's smile is quick, if thin. "{Nobody starving yet.}" She caps hir fuel tank again, hopping back up into hir bike and tugging hir helmet back on. "{If we're really lucky,}" Shane pulls his helmet back, too, "{Pa'll make pie.}" "{/Luxury/ apocalypse.}" B's voice is a little dry. The woman holds her bike up, ready to give it a bit of a push as she watches them. At the mention of no military, she relaxes as much as someone like her ever does in any situation. "{Pie. I-haven't-had-pie-in-who-knows-how-long. I'll-get-you-your-copper-wire. Tomorrow-early-enough-for-that? How-much-you-need? Forgive-me. This-can-wait-i-suppose-until-we-get-there.}" Suddenly, she's barking out laughter. "{Luxury-is-being-indoors-with-a-wall-between-you-and-them.}" At least she's keeping good humor during the apocalypse. "{At-least-you-can-find-parking-during-the-apocalypse.}"