ArchivedLogs:Neighborhood Watch

Neighborhood Watch
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Hanna, Isra, Tag, Jayna	2013-07-12 '
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. The concrete wall that rings the roof has been decorated, painted in vivid bright shades by some artistic hand to add colourful cheer to the rooftop. The mural shifts in terrain One wall sports a beach, flecked with grass and seashells and driftwood and shore birds. Beach transitions into meadow, colourful with wildflowers and butterflies and dragonflies; meadow shifts into snow-capped mountains, subsides into piedmont and sprouts into a verdant forest on the fourth, alive with animals. Isra's wings flare wide and wobble to keep her balance as she skids backward, dropping her stance to avoid falling. Her tail whips the air furiously, slapping into the meadow-themed wall that she has been backed against. She is wearing a black sports bra and bike shorts, and her grayish brown skin is sheened with sweat. Her mouth twists into a fangy grin beneath gleaming green eyes as she feints left, landing in a crouch so low she is almost on all fours, then kicks off of the wall to launch herself, catlike, at Dusk. Beside the forest wall, on a beach chair, a young man lies prone and seemingly oblivious to the melee. His hair is a spiraling mess of rainbow colors, and his shirt gradient-dyed from blue hem to pink collar. His legs stick out of bright yellow cargo shorts and are propped up against the back of the chair--his face practically hanging off of the foot end. Dusk’s large wings are flattened back against his back, his dark eyes focused up on Isra. He’s dropped back into a crouch himself, as Isra skids against the wall, fists clenched and fangs bared in an expression that seems more vicious /glee/ than snarl. He is shirtless and in lightweight black shorts, his once-emaciated form filling out with a rangy coil of wiry muscle, healthy colour replacing the deathly pallor he once wore. When Isra springs he unfurls, turning to meet it instead with a hard jut of elbow, one wing /snapping/ out to whip its lower finger-claws towards her shin. Reaching for the press bar of the roof access door with her good hand, Hanna pauses momentarily at the sounds of scuffling on the other side, a concerned glance back towards Jayna. Hanna has a small reusable insulated bag slung over one shoulder, the other arm held tight in a brilliantly colored to keep her from moving it more than she should, and she hesitates understandably about possibly heading into another conflict. For a brief moment, the baker seems to be considering just turning around and going back to their nearby apartment. Jayna responds with a slight shrug of her mostly bare shoulders, “It’s our rooftop, too, Hanna. Not like you to hesitate to rush headlong in, just because it sounds like a fight going down. ‘sides, may not be a fight at all. For all we know, we’ve got a neighbor practicing break dancing on the rooftop.” Her voice is slightly concerned, even as she jokes, but she pushes past Hanna’s still hesitating form on the stairs and throws the door open, making sure that it is audible to the people on the rooftop, whoever they might be. “Jayna!” Hanna yelps, shaking her head and clearing whatever mental images she had as she rushes to get onto the rooftop before her partner, frowning slightly. “We don’t know...” her voice trails off as she takes in the apparent combat going on atop the roof, distracted enough to completely miss the sleeping form in the chair, “Well. That’s unexpected.” Isra’s sinuous body twists mid-air, shifting her flight path to narrowly avoid the raking talons of Dusk’s wing. At the same time her wings unfold for a fraction of a second--not nearly long enough to reach their full span--before snapping shut again, propelling her up and over Dusk. She aims one taloned foot, tucked up close to her torso, squarely at his chest. Dusk stumbles backwards with the impact of Isra’s foot, muscles tensing as talons dig in against his skin. His arms come up, though, /grabbing/ at her ankle to /shove/ back -- perhaps shoving her a little too /hard/, mid-jump, towards the edge of the roof. His wings are snapping out for balance -- though they draw back in abruptly at the sound of others emerging with a sudden turn of head, a wider-eyed glance. A sudden SPOOK of surprise. Hanna has managed to impose her rounded figure between Jayna and the perceived danger of the scuffle on the rooftop, her normally golden brown eyes having taken on a decidedly unnatural bile green color as she further watches. Her hands have balled into fists, even the one immobilized by the sling, and anyone close enough to her would be able to feel the creeping sensation of anxiety and nervousness coming off the woman as though they themselves were experiencing it. “What. the. hell,” Hanna manages to choke out, looking between the two individuals on the roof, her stance tense and guarded. “Hanna,” comes Jayna’s soft but cautious voice, accompanied by a steady hand on the older woman’s shoulder. Thankfully, this is enough to snap Hanna’s control back into, and the aura of anxiety abruptly stops, though her eyes still maintain the sickly green-yellow color. She does not, however, budge from her protective stance in front of Jayna. Whether in response to Dusk’s unexpected boost or the arrival of the two women, Isra's eyes go wide as she sails toward the edge of the roof. She nearly collides with the beach wall, rotating just enough to clear it. This looks rather impressive, except that she /continues/ spinning, like a lawn dart nearing the apex of its trajectory. Just as she is about to take a nosedive, her wings snap open. She immediately viers left in a lazy, unsteady arc that brings her back toward the rooftop. Though ungainly, Isra /seems/ to be doing well until the very tip of her slightly dipping left wing clips the top of the wall and sends her tumbling end over end. Still, she manages to come to a stop on her feet, crouched low and only a few steps from Dusk. Frozen in place for a moment, wings mantled, she looks like a gargoyle displaced from the edge of some cathedral roof by an enterprising prankster. Vivid green eyes lock onto the two women. "Good day," she says in a clear and not-at-all stony alto. "I hope we did not disturb you." “Woah you --” ‘ok?’ probably finishes this thought, given that Dusk is already starting to turn sharply towards the roof wall. Except Isra catches /herself/, and the brief flicker of concern shifts into something more akin to pride. Dusk’s huge wings fold themselves in against his shoulder, one palm rubbing with a wince against his undoubtedly bruised chest. He rolls one wrist in a stiff stretch. “Nobody’s going to throw /you/ off the roof,” is his very /wry/ assurance to the nervous pair standing by. Hanna watches the melee with a look of horror as Isra goes hurtling towards the edge of the roof, cringing visibly. Wings or no wings, a trip off the rooftop in the middle of the city is not likely to be pleasant. Her eyes track Isra’s flight, and she raises an eyebrow at the slightly rough landing. She smirks at Isra’s comment, resting her good hand on her hip, and regarding the pair. “Uh huh. No worries, rooftop fights between people with wings are totally par for the course by now I suppose,” Hanna says wryly, “But you may want to consider putting a sign up in warning - keep people from interrupting at the very least. Or panicking at the worst.” Jayna is leaning with her back against the open door, having managed to step beside Hanna while the other woman was speaking, arms crossed over her chest as she looks both participants over with leaf-green eyes. She snorts at Dusk’s “assurance,” glancing sidelong at Hanna before answering, “Yeah, that wouldn’t end well.” The leafy haired woman doesn’t exactly state who it wouldn’t end well for, but just leaves it at that. Straightening to what looks like a comfortable height for her--standing on the long, taloned toes of her inhuman feet--Isra bows her head slightly. "My apologies. This was /somewhat/ impromptu, and I am making a poor guest of myself." She picks up a towel hanging over the back of a lawn chair and tosses it at Dusk and takes another to dry off her hairless skull. The towel only gets caught once on the tip of her horn, eliciting a faintly exasperated sigh from her. "Call me Isra," she says, almost as an afterthought. “Don’t really mind interruptions,” Dusk answers, with a very faint curl of his lips upwards, a sliver of fangs bared in his quick smile, “and most New Yorkers don’t startle that easy. I’m up here a lot. Some of us,” his head lowers expression obscured as he mops sweat from his face, from his slick-damp hair, “don’t have the luxury of gyms to practice in.” Shaking her head, Hanna offers a slightly tired smile toward Isra, “Hello Isra. I’m Hanna, and this is Jayna,” she glances back over her shoulder at the other woman, half to indicate her presence, half to double check that she was still there. “Lovely to meet you. Sorry if I was a bit gruff, or startled.” She raises her good hand to rub her forehead, sighing slightly, the sunlight catching on a myriad of fresh pink scars running along her bare arm, “I’ve been overly jumpy for the last week. I should not have yelled.” A sideways glance to Dusk, appraisingly, “I’m not from around here, originally, anyway. My little island heart startles, oh so easily, in this big city.” There might be just a hint of sarcasm in her voice, although she offers a relatively warm smile to them both. "Pleasure to meet you both." Isra sits down sidewise in a lawn chair, managing to look moderately dignified even though the furniture is in no way shaped to accommodate massive wings, digitigrade legs, and a tail. "A lot of people have been jumpy lately," she agrees, and there is a weariness in her voice, "and not without cause." Dusk doesn’t answer any of this, neither the smile nor the sarcasm. He mops at his face still, then drapes the towel across his neck, heading to the table to pick up a bottle of water and squeeze some into his mouth. His wing unfurls, one wingtip brushing absent-light against the (sleeping? unconscious?) Tag in passing, before he moves to perch on the edge of the roof. It looks kind of a /precarious/ perch, both feet on the wall, crouched down with his arm curled around his shins. “I’ll be sure,” he answers at length, “to post adequate notice if I’m using the roof. We are,” he acknowledges with a slight flare of wings and a glance towards his horned companion, “pretty horrifying.” Hanna grimaces and gestures slightly with her broken arm, a glance back to Jayna with a concerned look, her voice solemn, “The city has been spiraling into insanity for the past month.” She sighs leaning against the door beside Jayna, turning a concerned look towards Dusk, rubbing at her temple with her good arm. “You are not horrifying, neither of you are,” Hanna says, “The startled reaction wasn’t in regards to appearance. I thought someone was being attacked on the rooftop. I’m a bit hesitant to consider anywhere free from danger right now, and I was concerned it had followed me home.” She smacks the back of her head against the door she leans on, looking at Jayna, “They attacked us. At the bakery,” a clench of her immobilized first, sighing heavily. Fixing her now largely black-brown eyes on Dusk, Hanna frowns, although her attention is drawn to Tag’s presence for the first time, “Oh. Shit. Tag?” Immediately, any tension that may have been building vanishes from her face, replaced with concern for the unconscious young man as she heads over his way, checking for a pulse and breathing. “D’you know how long he’s been up here?” she asks Isra and Dusk, glancing back towards Jayna at the doorway, who turns and heads back down the stairs to their apartment, worried look on her dark features. Isra fishes her own water from the canvas bag at her feet and drinks from it. The Nalgene bottle looks oddly small framed by her long, taloned fingers. A frown creases the hairless ridge of her brow at Dusk’s assessment of their appearance, a flash of emotion that fades back into calm so quickly that it is not easy to identify. "A bakery?" she echoes almost meditatively. "Happy Cakes?" Then, glancing at Tag. "He was sleeping on their couch, but followed us up here. He seemed fine before..." Tag does not quite wake up when Dusk’s wing brushes past him. He stirs, groans, and mutters something that might be "yellow face" before moving one arm just enough to bury his eyes in the crook of his elbow. At Hanna's more insistent shaking, though, he comes back to life, propping himself up on his elbows and squinting in the light. "What happened?" he asks groggily."I was gonna...do something up here." Something compresses in Dusk’s expression when Hanna moves to check Tag’s pulse, a slight press of lips, a slight tightening of jaw, and his lips twitch up. A little too humourless to make a good smile, thin and tight as his eyes lower to the roof in front of him. He takes a slow long sip of water, nostrils flaring on a slow inhale. “I heard,” he says quietly, of the bakery. “Sorry.” When Tag actually stirs, Hanna seems considerably relieved, if a bit sheepish, her face flushing red in embarrassment at her overreaction, “Sorry, Tag. You were out of it the other day... was worried. Sorry I woke you.” It seems, for a moment, like she is going to say more, but she closes her mouth and keeps whatever else to herself. She takes a deep breath, sinking into a seated position and leaning against the wall, somewhat close to Dusk, her attention turning back to Isra, “Yeah. Happy Cakes.” A vague gesture in the direction of the bakery, far in the distance, “Back open as of Sunday, after having to replace the glass in the cases. Stubborn or stupid, your pick as to what descriptor I get for not folding.” "Courageous, I should say." Isra turns in the chair so she can face everyone in the conversation. She gives Hanna a thin, faint smile, not showing any teeth. "I hope you mend soon." Her wings bump against the table, and she gives up on sitting in the chair. She moves to the wall instead, although, unlike Dusk, she sits on it more or less in human fashion, tail hanging down the outside and wings folded down over her shoulders. The perpetrators..." She pauses, frowns again. "I do not suppose they have been apprehended?" The absence of a 'yet' from her question does not sound accidental. Tag slides back down until his chin rests on the vinyl mesh of the chair. "S'okay, Hanna, I'm just paying back some sleep debt." He yawns and rubs his head, making a slightly unhappy noise in his throat. “Yeah, I’d go with brave.” Dusk sips at his water again, and then stretches forward; it’s a precarious perch, on the wall, but he braces himself with one wing curled down against the concrete as he offers the water to Tag. “Apprehended,” he echoes this with a ghosting twitch of almost-smile. It fades down into a tight-drawn expression. “Yeah. I bet the cops in that neighborhood care a lot.” Hanna looks dubious at the reactions, but chuckles slightly, leaning her head against the wall with an amused smirk, her eyes following Dusk’s careful balancing act appreciatively. “Thanks. Still got a few weeks to go.” She snorts at the question, her voice bitter, “Apprehended? Ah. No. Pretty sure the charming officers who “investigated” the attack were actually drawing dancing cocks on the note pads as they tried not to yawn while I gave my account.” There’s a pained grimace as she shakes her head, glancing at the pink scars on her arm with a frown, “Sorry. They conveniently forgot to call an ambulance before they left. As I said. Charming individuals.” Hanna watches Tag for a moment, concern creasing her features, “I’m sorry I woke you up, in that case. Just was worried you had forgotten to eat or drink anything.” The ‘again’ is implied, but not voiced. Jayna arrives at that moment, carrying a small box (containing a brightly colored cupcake) and a bottle of water, setting them down beside Tag’s chair but not actually saying anything, just leaving them there for him if he needs them. She moves towards Hanna and squeezes the other woman’s shoulder, sinking into a seated position beside the baker after a few moments. “I’d go with brave. Stubborn as a mule, too, but,” the dryad shrugs, closing her eyes for a minute to take in the sunlight on the rooftop, “That’s you.” "I see." Isra sighs. "In that case..." She does not finish this thought. "Perhaps it would be helpful to form a kind of neighborhood watch group." Her eyes betray no particular vehemence, but her pointed ears have pressed back and downward. "Do you have CCTV footage of the incident, by any chance?" Tag accepts the water bottle gratefully and is still drinking from it when Jayna return--with more water. He hands Dusk’s bottle back to him. "Thanks! Wow...um, I just fell asleep, is all, but it /is/ kind of warm out here." He sinks back down, resting his cheek on a sweaty forearm. "Nice, too, though." His eyelids start drifting shut again. Dusk takes his water bottle back, rocking back on his heels quickly enough that for a moment it seems like /he/ might topple backwards over the edge of the roof. His wings flare, briefly, and he rights himself soon enough, though. The talk of the policement at the bakery makes his wings rustle restlessly, even once he is settled; his teeth worry at the mouth to his water bottle. “There’s already,” he says, very mildly, “sorts of neighborhood watches happening. Maybe not SoHo. Though --” ‘Though’ gets bitten back into silence. He sips at his water. “I guess your block has seen more than its share of violence lately,” is very quiet. “I do. I’ve been talking to a friend - she’s got PI connections. Still mulling that one over, though,” Hanna says, sighing slightly, “But the problem is, I escalated it, and the video shows it - they were going to destroy the cases. I tackled one of them.” She snorts, “For all the good it did. He was built like a linebacker, and a pretty mean backhand.” Hanna rubs her cheek at the memory, offering a smile at the idea of the neighborhood watch, “To hear them talk, they /were/ the neighborhood watch. Protecting the neighborhood from mutants and muffins in their spare time.” Hanna frowns at Tag slightly, the look one of concern rather than displeasure, though she sighs and stays quiet as she sees him starting to fall back asleep. “There are people, oddly enough a decent number of them, who are apparently willing to back me up if it comes to that,” she chuckles lightly, a lopsided grin on her lips, “Some not the most savory of individuals, per se, but decent people.” She frowns at Dusk’s comment about violence, lowering her head, “Yeah. I suppose it has at that.” Hanna lowers her voice, dark eyes narrowing momentarily, “Heard about the cop at the bar. Can’t say I was particularly broken up about /that/ incident in the neighborhood.” "I think it might be helpful to network these neighborhood watches in a systematic fashion," Isra says evenly. "If they have some organized means of exchanging data--such as identifying information on known violent elements--they would be in a better position to mediate...or interdict, if necessary." She shrugs, wings flaring out a little and upsetting her balance before she pulls them back in. "Just a thought. Perhaps someone is working on that already, too." Tag blinks his eyes open again. "I'm good at watching! Wait, not really, and I don't even..." He puts his heads back down and settles for adding a rainbow to the mountain wall before falling asleep again. Dusk falls very quiet, eyes fixed downward and his expression slightly paler. His fingers curl against his water bottle, and he takes a slow sip. "He got what was coming to him," he eventually says, a distinctly uncomfortable tension in his wiry muscles, in the restless shift of his wings. He stands to hop down off the wall: "I'll be downstairs," is murmured in passing to Isra, with a light brush of wingtip to wingtip. And then he disappears through the door, letting it swing closed heavily behind him.