ArchivedLogs:On the Lam

On the Lam
Dramatis Personae Arturo, Trib	2014-05-25 '
Location <NYC> Central Park South
Central Park South is home not just to the park itself, but also to the Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. These areas tend to draw tourists like a magnet - it is, perhaps, for that very reason that places like Bethesda Terrace tend to attract more New Yorkers than not, if just to escape the press of tourism that infiltrates the whole city. It's a good night for people watching. The weather isn't exactly warm yet, but it's warm enough and bright enough to encourage people to wander outside. Arturo is standing on a small footbridge and leaning against the railing. There's a half-eaten hot dog and a can of pop beside him. He seems to have lost interest in it awhile ago. His clothing is a little worse for wear and there's an angry red scratch along his cheek. Trib is an easy person to watch, coming down the path. He's bigger than just about everyone around him, and his short running shorts and tank top do little to make him less conspicuous. He jogs easily down the path, his body a loose and limber contrast to the expression on the boxer's face. It's the sort of expression that opens a pathway for him as he approaches the bridge. He slows as he comes near where Arturo is standing, finally pulling to a stop. He stands there, breathing a bit heavily as he stares at the good doctor. His golden gaze tracks over the red line on the other man's cheek, and then to his rumpled clothing. Slowly, his eyes track back up, finding the older man's with a curious sort of quirk to them. "Nice night for it." Arturo registers Trib's approach and the fact that he slows, but it takes him a moment to register the /reality/ of it. It's as if he's half asleep, and only half aware of the world he lives in. The perplexed look doesn't quite go away as he studies the other man. His mind tries to grab hold of that fleeting flicker of recognition. "I suppose so," he says noncommitally. "I suppose that depends on the 'it,' though." His tone is wry. Trib seems either unaware of Arturo's confusion, or unbothered by it. Moving to the railing, he leans against it, stretching his legs as he looks out over the shadowy grass. "Nice night for a lot of its," he amends with a grunt, rolling a shoulder. He gives Arturo another study, out of the corner of his eye, and snorts. "What's the other guy look like?" Upon closer inspection. Arturo looks like a man who has been living on the bottom rung for a good long while. His stubble is uneven, his curly dark hair badly in need of a trim. His clothing, though clean, looks more than a little careworn. The jacket was nice - once. The seams are coming apart and the leather is a bit thin in places. It's also got a new-looking long gouge that matches up roughly with the gouge in his face. When he realizes what Trib is referring to, he smiles a little, carelessly revealing a pointed canine. "Hamburger." "Hope so," Trib grunts, standing back up and turning his attention fully on the other man. His expression still seems a bit grim, if bland, as he leans against the rail. "You look like shit." "Really? My mirror broke last week and I don't have the money to replace it." It's hard to tell if Arturo is kidding or not. His tone is as dry as the desert. "Could have fooled me," Trib rumbles, pursing his lips briefly and examing his half-hand critically. "Thought doctors brought down the big dollars." Then a light goes on, "You're the boxer. Right." Arturo wags a finger and rubs his lips. "I did mean to get back to you. But then a few things...happened." Trib shifts his weight, leaning againt the railing fully and staring at the other man for a long moment. Maybe he doesn't remember what he's referring to. At the vague explanation, the grim shadow over Trib's face flickers just once, in a millisecond of eye crinkle. "Looks like." "This," says Arturo as he points to the scratch on his face, "...was courtesy of a gentleman in a convenience store on a bad block. A gentleman buying cigarettes decided he didn't like the look of my face. Or maybe it was my teeth." Trib snorts, and hawks a wad of phlegm at his feet. "Assholes," he declares, his eyes narrowing sharply. "Gave it to him good, yeah?" He sounds vaguely approving of this, even nodding once. "Been kind of rough time for a lot of people." "I'm just hoping the camera was just for show and wasn't actually recording anything." Arturo's lip tics up a bit in worry at that. His shoulders hunch. "I'm a little worried I did my job too well. I don't really want to end up in jail. And I don't know if they'll buy self defense from...well, from someone like me." His guard is down. Maybe it's because they're in a public place. Or maybe he's just tired of hiding. "Ain't that lucky," Trib says helpfully, rolling his eyes. "Fuckin' cameras everywhere." He indicates the lamp posts, some of which have black boxes that are most likely cameras. "Work for you, and against you." He blinks once, slowly, and looks back at Arturo. "Should probably find a good lawyer." Arturo makes a soft sound that tries to be a chuckle, but is too bitter to fully form. He laces his hands together and stares out across the park. "I am...blessed with an ability that will make it easy for me to run away if it comes to that. I'm not quite sure what I'm hanging on to, to be honest. And I don't quite know why I'm confessing this to you." Trib rolls a shoulder. "I got one of them faces." He looks around the immediate vicinity, perhaps looking for nosy cops, and then wrinkles his nose. "Can't run forever. You kill the guy?" "Nope," says Arturo. "I'm a doctor. I know how to avoid hitting anything major. He's in pain, though. Probably will be for awhile. It /was/ self defense. I just...I probably should have stayed on the scene. But you can understand perhaps, why I would be a bit unwilling to do that." Trib pushes to his feet, and spits again. "Cops are all dirty fuckers," he decrees. "Can't trust any of 'em." Which sounds like he might be the /most/ understanding person in the park right now. At least to this particular dilemma. "Better to run, an' chance it." He inhales through his nose, and frowns as something occurs to him. "This happen tonight?" he asks, giving Arturo's state /another/ good going-over. "You ain't on the lam /now/, are you?" "This afternoon," says Arturo. "It happened far from here. And I get the feeling my dear friend might have a record. I'm mostly betting on the camera being a dummy. Pretty sure the clerk didn't get a good look at me." "Ain't in your neighborhood, an' no camera, you're more'n likely good," Trib agrees, bobbing his head. "Might get a few funny looks goin' into your buildin', though." His eyes crinkle again, and he snorts. "Dependin' on where you live, I guess." "Oh don't you worry. I can hide this," Arturo points to the scratch. As he points at his face with a black nail, the nail...shifts into a completely ordinary hand. The scratch on his face disappears, as do all the little outward signs of mutation. Trib looks vaguely disapproving of the shift to a less-shabby version of Arturo, and he inhales deeply through his nose before exhaling a long-suffering sigh. "Guess that's a handy trick," he says in a dry voice, pushing his lower lip out a bit. "When you need it." "Yeah well, the problem is that it's not particularly reliable. I can't control it. It just goes off what people expect me to be. Most of the time, people just expect me to be a normal human. But say...I walked into my building and someone nearby was expecting to see their friend...welll." Arturo motions vaguely. The illusion drops away, leaving him his feral, beaten-down self again. Trib snorts. "You should always be yourself," he rumbles as he begins to move down the path. "Fuck the fucks who can't take it." He lifts a hand -- sort of -- and jerks his chin at the older man. "Keep your chin up, Doc. All this horseshit -- there's gonna be a fuckin' pony, at some point." "Yeah, well. Who I am gets me randomly attacked in convenience stores." Arturo says this with a bitter kind of amusement. He pokes at the cold hot dog and looks Trib's way. "Hey, if you still need someone to patch you up in the ring, I could use the cash." "You got my number," Trib says, huffing a noise close to a laugh. Maybe. "Call me, an' we'll work it out." He pauses, and narrows his eyes at the other man. "You ain't fuckin' /homeless/, are you?" "Ah, no, not homeless. Thankfully. I don't have a great home, but I have one. I'm still getting an odd bit of clinic work, but this is New York." Arturo stands up straight and grabs his garbage to be a good citizen and toss it out. "I really should get a roommate though." Trib nods. "Long as you got a place," he says. Then he jerks his chin once more. "You got my number," he says, and apparently that will serve as goodbye, since he lopes off without looking back.