ArchivedLogs:This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Dramatis Personae Anette, Ion
In Absentia	2015-08-16 "We should punch something."
Location Dive Bar/Sentinel Garage
This bar is literally a hole in the wall that is the Lower East Side. Grimy tables litter the small common room, nearly pushed up against the small bar in the corner. On the mirror behind the bar, a greasy menu has been taped, with a small offering of pub food to purchase. A jukebox, at least forty years old, sits in the corner, an 'out of order' sign on its cracked glass face. This is a bar to come to when you want to drink to forget, or maybe pick a fight. Certainly the crowd looks rough enough to oblige the latter, and the booze is cheap enough to indulge the former. The night is young and the bar is full of life, people laughing and cheering and shouting over billiard and dart games. While it's late enough for the bar to be full, it's still early enough that most of them are still sober, only a couple drinks into their fun. Then there's Anette who's sitting at the bar with six empty shot glasses sitting in front of her and already appears to be sufficiently inebriated. "Alright, give...gimme one of them apple pies. Those're good..." she slurs, leaning forward up against the bar in a way that is usually interpreted as 'I am trying too hard to look sober.' Judging by her clothes, she may have another reason for coming out and drinking. In lieu of her usual t-shirt and jeans, she's wearing a low cut shirt that actually attempts to create the illusion of cleavage, make-up though minimal is still applied, and...by god she's wearing a skirt. She's still wearing a coat to cover her wings but the effort is still there. "Ho/shit/ yo nobody tell me they got /pies/ here." If Ion is not-sober it's hard to tell, his usual wide-eyed BOUNCY energy is about as restless as ever. He /has/ a stool but isn't in it, one foot resting (bouncily) on its lowest rung. "Yeah-yeah-yeah, pie, hit me with that too? Please? Por favor?" His eyes have gotten big and hopeful. In contrast to Anette, he's just in jeans, tall shitkicker boots. An actual button-down shirt, though! -- though over it he's put his well-worn, weather-beaten, singed and scuffed and frayed and bleach-stained and beadazzled Mutant Mongrels kutte. "Pies with our next round. -- You want another, yeah?" He's just /assumed/ Anette wants another, though now his brows are lifting to her in questioning. The bartender gets to work as the pies are demanded, pouring out vodka and apple juice into shot glasses and sliding them to Anette and Ion. Apparently, despite superhuman hearing, this is what alerts Anette to Ion's prescence. She turns and suddenly bursts out grinning, leaning forward to hug Ion tightly. "Eye...eeen...you!" she slurs, leaning back on her stool and taking her shot. "How're ya doing buddy? Been a while man," she says excitedly, downing her drink in one gulp. "What're you up to?" Ion's tight hug comes with a small zap-jolt of static electricity, brief and harmless upon contact. "Been like two fuckin' days, yo, you losing time somewhere? Me, I'm --" He picks up his shot, lifts it in thanks to the bartender. Squints at it in /confusion/. "-- having a pie? This ain't no pie I ever seen, what-woah --" He knocks it back quickly, presses the back of his hand to his lips to stifle a laugh. "Hoshit. That /is/ fucking apple. /Damn/. How many these you /had/?" Anette laughs at Ion's confusion regarding what exactly constitutes a pie. "You...you oughta go to Wisconsin. Open up a WHOLE new world of booze. Just...stay away from PBR." As Ion asks her about the drink, she glances down at the shot glasses as if tallying them up. "Only two...but I also had a fireball. And gold schlager. And some'ing minty..." "Wisconsin? I not never gone there. Good booze? Maybe soon. Do like trying new things." Ion eyes the empty shot glasses, shaking his head and tugging his wallet out of his pocket to pay for the apple pies. "Maybe try-new-things would be good for you, huh? Or is this --" His wallet-laden hand gestures towards the empty shot glasses, "this helping? Working?" "Hells yeah! Wisconsin's got beer in their blood. Too damn cold to do anything else but drink," Anette says, waving the bartender over again. "Yeah, I'm open for trying new things. Looking forward to something new tonight." The wink she follows this with is not nearly as subtle as she thinks it is. "Helping? It's not supposed to, I'm -celebrating-! Freedom and...and independence and...like the 4th of July!" "Fuck the cold, yo." Ion shakes his head, leaning an elbow up against the bar. His fingers dance rapidly against the bartop. "Yeah?" Another small hike of eyebrows. "You feel free, then, hermana?" "Yeah! Why wouldn't I? Daken was just so...so controlling. Always on and on about what I should and shouldn't be doing and that's rich coming from...coming from HIM. You should hear half the stories he's told me and the stuff he's done. Fucking psychopath. And I...have a little fun and he flies off the fucking handle." The bartender hands her another drink but anyone who had actually payed attention would know this one's been watered down significantly. "And...he was always so concerned about finding his *hiccup* finding his father. You know, yesterday I ran into the woman who was responsible for ruining my life. Got my ass handed to me and all he fucking cared about was that she knew his father. Didn't give a shit about me." She slams the shot back, dropping it lazily onto the bar with the others. "Sound pretty shitty." The drum of Ion's fingers is getting faster. "Your life though, it still here, right? It still yours. Not-ruined. Well-uh, not-ruined yet? Under you-own control. Maybe this, now, this a time for doing a new-thing. Try a new-change. What's the point in freedom you ain't gonna enjoy it, right? I mean maybe this, this is enjoying?" He looks around the grungy bar with a crooked half-grin. "You having fun, you tell me?" "Yeah. Yeah, I'm having fun. Got two guys buying me drinks already." Anette glances towards Ion and his wallet with a grin. "Hm, three." Her mood dampens as Ion doubts the state of ruin her life is in. "Don't y-*hiccup* don't you do that, too. It may have happened in a dream but it was fucking real. She stole my baby and killed me." Her drink enhanced mood continues to slide down towards depression. "And y'know the worst of all this is? He swears he does it cuz he cares! He even told me he LOVED me. Fucking bastard. Full of shit." With this, she sulks and turns around, mumbling something about a beer to the bartender. Ion scuffs his knuckles against the side of his jaw, eyes briefly tipping up towards the ceiling. "Feel like that shithole of a future -- fucking -- war and death-bot and all that hell, that kill you. Maybe you needa kill it right back, huh?" Anette chuckles, tipping back her newly acquired beer and gulping a fair amount of it down. “Yeah, kill the future right back. That’ll teach it better!” She slams the bottle down about half empty onto the bar, turning to face Ion. “You...we should punch something. Someone. I just want to...to kill something!” "Yeah for /serious/, hermana, fuck that shit-ass world, eh? We teach it. Better." Ion untucks a few more bills to cover the remaining drinks; slings his arm around Anette's shoulders after he's tucked his wallet back away. He nods towards the door, bouncing a little on the toes of his boots, eyes lively. "Come-come-come. I know /just/ exactly what we can punch." Anette’s eyes widen. “You DO?” Forgetting her still half full beer on the bar, she grins as as Ion slings his arm about her, still a bit shaky. “What...watterwe gonna punch?” she says excitedly, walking without need of assistance for the most part. Even if it’s not a straight line. "We gonna punch that shithole of a future." Ion sounds brightly excited about this, leading Anette out the door and to his waiting STEED, shiny black and chrome motorcycle parked not far away. He offers Anette his helmet as he climbs on, gesturing behind himself to indicate that she should saddle up behind. "You come. This night, s'only getting better." Anette follows behind Ion, grinning at the sight of the motorcycle waiting for them. “You know...have I ever told you motorcycles are hot?” she says before clipping her helmet in place and climbing behind Ion, wrapping her arms about him. “The night getting better...sounds good to me!” Ion just grins in answer to this. Bright. Wide. He leans slightly forward as he starts the engine; the noises of the city are somewhat eclipsed by the motorcycle's throaty growl, pulling them swiftly away from the bar and into the nighttime streets. It's not quite a /short/ ride but it's made shorter by Ion's none-too-cautious driving, zooming through the city with an exhilaration that has only grown by the time he pulls up nearby a fire station. There are lights on in the fire house, though he's ignoring the main building, skirting them around back to a -- garage? Perhaps? Behind the actual station. "Now here," he says in a low-rough whisper to Anette, scrambling up on top of a dumpster to gesture her up as well, point inside a window, "/here/ where they starting it all, see. Future all line-up tidy, waiting." Inside the dim room, just storage -- for three rows of five gleaming white Sentinels, the medic-bots docked in their charging station and, at the moment, quiet and waiting. The less-than-safe ride doesn’t seem to phase Anette at all. All she does is grip Ion tighter and lean forward, resting her head against Ion as he rides on. At the end of the ride, she hops off the bike and stares up where Ion motions as she removes her jacket, draping it over the bike to reveal her wings. With a beat of her wings, she jumps up on the dumpster and her eyes follow Ion’s motions. “Alright...how does one destroy them? Last I heard...pretty damn tough.” "Hell if I know." This doesn't seem to phase Ion much, though. "Take one. Smash it into the other. Don't think /these/ bots they can't fly yet. Lift, drop, /crash/. You ready for this?" It is, evidently, a /rhetorical/ question. Because whether Anette is ready or not, Ion is reaching to rest a hand on her shoulder, his other hand running lightly over the building's wall. And then, abruptly, a sudden (quite /unpleasant/) jolt of energy, thankfully very /brief/ in its electric shock; the world goes briefly black, reappearing again to leave them on the inside of the garage instead, settled next to a back wall. "I fry. You smash. Sí?" In the darkness, the Sentinels do not react in any way to the intruders. Up close, they do not look so very sinister, nor even all that tough. An electronic fixture of some sort high up on a wall flashes a red LED, but no klaxons sound. It might only be a standby light, but it's hard to say. “Lift, drop, crash. I think I can manage,” Anette says, grinning mischievously. She jumps a bit as Ion zaps her, though once they’re inside the garage, she seems impressed. “Fry them good, then,” she says once Ion explains their ‘plan’. With a flutter of her wings, she takes off into the air, circling above the Sentinels as she waits for Ion to start zapping. Clearly, she has no concerns of possible surveillance or getting caught. For a moment longer, Ion keeps his hand pressed against the wall. Perhaps he /does/ care about surveillance -- he's at least left his MMMC kutte outside, here, swapping it instead for his motorcycle helmet. Whatever power /is/ being supplied to this building is quickly -- not, no longer actually making it to its destinations but instead crackle-humming its way into the electrokinetic. Ion is rapidly developing a brighter grin, a more jittery bounce; the lively brightness in his eyes is now accented by an intermittent glow from a scattering of blue-white sparks dancing against his skin. The dimly lit room is suddenly illuminated brighter; a jagged dancing arc of energy jumps the short distance between him and the nearest two robots, surging over and into them. Zap. Anette watches Ion in awe and amazement as he does his thing, sparks and bolts jumping across the room. She continues to circle above until two Sentinels are thoroughly zapped. Once deemed safe, she tucks her wings in and dive bombs them, shoulder checking one of them and channeling all her force into making sure it knocks into the other with a loud crash. Once accomplished, she stretches out her wings and resumes circling above, continuing this dance with Ion. Suddenly being deprived of their electricity appears to activate the Sentinels. The ones Ion zaps jerk and spasm only briefly before going limp and starting to smoulder. No sooner have they gone inactive than do they become projectiles, launched into their brethren by Anette. The still-active Sentinels in that row go down like a rack of bowling pins with too many joints. Two of them stay down, damaged or pinned down by the others. The last one in the row, however, has already started to pick itself up. "Oh-h-h hell yeah that, that, that, that's a fuckng spare at /least/." Ion's hand clap together in pure glee when the Sentinels topple like dominos. His joy does not seem to be mitigated any by the one beginning to rise. A short zap-hop brings him out to the other side of the room to face the Sentinels from the opposite end of the row; another bright flare of electricity hiss-snaps into the one that is starting to stand. "I'm a shitty bowler, though." Anette circles above the sentinels again, grinning happily. “Glad you liked it,” she calls back. After Ion takes care of the last one, she knocks into it for good measure, just to be sure, landing on it and pinning it down. “So...you think they’re uh, they’re down for the count? Or they’ll be back?” she asks, glancing towards the zapped out Sentinels with a look of pride. One of the pinned-down Sentinels, as if unaware of its rather awkward position, continues whir away, legs working uselessly. It also lifts an arm toward Anette, tracking her as she circles. A panel opens on the white armor of its forearm, emits a strange popping hiss. Another one has actually succeeded in flailing its way out from under its electrocuted fellows, though it has not yet found its feet. In the distance, police sirens sound, dopplering nearer by the second. "/Those/ ones, down, maybe-yeah." Ion gestures towards the three Sentinels he /actually/ zapped, fried and toppled where they lie. He is backing a few steps closer to the wall, the air humming audibly around him while he takes a few deep breaths, recharges. "The rest-of these motherfucker, I think they just getting /started/. -- Oh shit you hear that?" The sound of the sirens only seems to animate him further. "Looks like we gotta hurry-up this party." On to row two, then, where another sharp bright arc of lightning snakes its way into the nearest of the bots. Apparently, a night of drinking and poor decision making can have disastrous results. Who knew? Despite her superpowered hearing and eyesight, Anette was too distracted by their fun to notice the bot charging up its dart and aiming at her. Just as she begins to take off again, she does manage to hear the distinct click and whoosh of a dart being fired. In an instant, she dives back towards the ground but, severely impaired by her alcohol consumption, her reflexes aren’t at their best and she catches a dart in the arm. She stumbles to the ground, managing to keep to her feet for only a few seconds. “Well...fuck,” she mumbles, her words beginning to slur as she blinks her eyes, struggling to stay awake before the tranq takes over completely and she collapses to the ground, limp. Ion's electricity courses through the first Sentinel and jumps to the next one in its row which, instead of merely going limp, emits a series of muffled cracks that definitely suggest Important Things Breaking before it, too, topples over. Outside, the wail of sirens grows much louder as the cruisers turn onto the street, their lights now visible through the window giving the whole garage the quality of a surreal robot dance party gone horribly wrong. The surviving Sentinel from the first row finally stands up and swivels, first to face Anette then, when she falls, Ion. Its arm lifts, a panel unfolding to reveal its own dart gun, the warning hiss and pop following only a second later. "Oh -- ohfuck." Less eager now that Anette is toppling, Ion's manic grin grows a small crooked slant to it. The next discharge of electricity is wide, strong but scattershot, skipping from one Sentinel to the next somewhat haphazardly before it fades away. As the wail of sirens grows louder and that pop-hiss sounds, the electrokinetic is very abruptly not /there/ anymore, vanishing from where he'd been standing. Reappearing juuust long enough to reach down and wrap one hand tight around Anette's wrist. And then -- with a hiss-pop of his own -- the pair of them vanish from the warehouse, leaving the fried and toppled robots behind for the incoming cruisers to handle.