ArchivedLogs:Uncivil Disobedience
| Uncivil Disobedience | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2016-04-05 "When /aren't/ they primed for ugly?" |
| Location
<NYC> United Nations Headquarters - Midtown | |
A dense, skyscraper packed neighborhood, Midtown is the busiest commercial district in the United States, and one of the busiest pieces of land in the world. Day and night, Midtown is filled with people going to and from work, enjoying the nightlife, and walking quickly through the streets. Very few live in Midtown proper - only the most wealthy and work-obsessed - but many who live in and around the City work here. In many ways, Midtown is the heart that beats in the city that never sleeps. In a stroke of luck, the weather has gotten warmer again today after the weekend's cold snap. It means that the crowd gathered to rally outside the United Nations headquarters is huge and lively -- in, at least, as good spirits as a group of angry disgruntled mutants-and-allies protesting egregious human rights abuses can be. The counter-protest is, remarkably, vastly dwarfed by the actual rally, a smaller group organized by the Friends of Humanity and though they are quite vociferous in their denunciation of Terrorism they're giving the much larger crowd a wide berth, for now. Threaded through the crowd are all the usual suspects -- Legal Observers in neon green hats, a number of medics lurking at the periphery with red duct-taped crosses on their gear, a very passionate man with a bullhorn /trying/ to lead a chant though he isn't quite getting the crowd in rhythm. A PA system set up on a flatbed truck where speakers have been holding forth -- some ex-Prometheans talking about their experiences, one city councilwoman throwing her voice of support behind the group. As the latest speaker -- Karrie, a skinny ex-Promethean teenager -- climbs down off the truck where she's been talking, though, the sound of /her/ speakers are replaced with the booming PA of the police's mobile command center. "Attention," the amplified voice is harsh and scratchy, "this is an unlawful demonstration. By the authority of the NYPD, you must clear the street. Disperse in a calm and orderly fashion." The message repeats twice more, though by the third time it's quite drowned out by the angry voices of the gathered protesters. Above the crowd, two NYPD helicopters are circling. Not one but /three/ police vans arrive at the periphery, just beyond the line of patrol cars blocking off the road; the line of newest cops that are approaching the protesters are clad dark and imposing in full riot gear. Dressed in jeans, heavy workboots, his MMMC kutte worn over a t-shirt reading 'Die Human Scum', Ion has perched himself high up atop the roof of a bus shelter to watch the Speaking, one leg hanging down over its edge and his hands splayed out behind him. It gives him a good clear /view/ of oncoming Cop when they start to mass -- though rather than alarmed a toothy bright grin spreads out over his face. "{Shiiiit} man /someone/ show up ready to fucking /party/." Scramble has been sitting beside Ion in a black cropped jacket, cut-up jeans, and red babydoll shirt that reads 'We're All Mad Here' in flowery lavender cursive. She hops to her feet now. Laces her fingers. Cracks her knuckles. "Fuck the cops, I was /born/ ready to party." She takes hold of Ion as if she's going to hold him back (or drag him down into the crowd!). "You wanna gimme a ride close enough to scramble me some bacon?" "Bets on everyone dispersing in a calm and orderly fashion?" Flicker isn't really /in/ the crowd so much as lurking. At the periphery! Red duct-tape cross on his khaki fishing vest, his hip pack -- even the segmented tentacly arm he wears is white, today, with little red crosses on each individual segment. He's scanning the cops -- briefly. Though notably the /question/ comes with a look thrown up towards the bus stop roof. A looong look. Tag is standing beside Flicker but facing the other direction. He glances over his shoulder at the line of cops and shakes his head. "Not today, I don't think." His hair is segmented into a rainbow pinwheel and tied back in a tight ponytail, the few stray tresses at his temples held back by a pair of shiny, shiny swim goggles perched up on his head. There's a rainbow bandana tied loosely around his neck. His vest and cargo pants, and backpack are all black with multi-colored trim, marked with red duct tape crosses much like Flicker's gear. Along the line of his sight, several of the advancing cops suddenly have much more festive looking gear: the clear plastic of their shields and facemasks decorated with huge cartoon smiley faces, Silver Age comic-style onomatopoeia in spikey bubbles, or, in at least one case, Justice's stony blindfolded visage. The warning from the police comes again. Some of the crowd is leaving -- or trying to, at least, though the steadily massing cops have left far too little actual exit space for a crowd this size and many of them seem reluctant to actually /approach/ where the riot police have begin to gather. More of the crowd, though, shows little inclination to disperse regardless -- a large swath of protesters forming a line of their own, facing the far more armoured police line. Far more /colourfully/ armoured police line. "Do I /ever/." Ion's grin has not faded. Not as he stands up -- kind of casually rolling his shoulders in a lazy stretch -- not as he closes his hand around Scramble's, not as he promptly vanishes down off the top of the bus shelter. It's still there when he reappears in the very next moment at the base of the shelter, still there when he vanishes again and pops right back out, together with a faint crackle of electricity and with Scramble in tow, just in front of where the protesters have started to square up with the police. The whoop he lets out at seeing the redecorated riot shields is kind of /delighted/. "There /see that's more /like/ it. Though those faces need more hate in them, you want some accuracy." "Nah, they can be happy, too," Scramble opines once she's shaken off the jolt of Ion's transportation. She grins bright and fierce, holding her ground. Her powers reach out hungrily for the cops as they surge forward, starting from the nearest. She /twists/ them inwardly, just so. Delusions, delightful and overwhelming, seep into their brains behind their freshly redecorated shields. Flicker pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking its screen briefly before tucking it back away. The riot gear decorations put a smile on his face -- though it's brief. His lips compress as Ion and Scramble vanish off the top of the bus shelter -- his eyes are shifting away in a quick scan of the crowd as his hand drops lightly to Tag's shoulder. "Spence is in there with Horus and the pups." Said kind of casual. Also kind of casual: "Hive says the cops are already primed for ugly. You ok here or you want to move?" Tag chews on his bottom lip. "They can handle themselves." It doesn't sound nearly as confident as he probably wants to, but the transformation of the riot gear continues. His head shakes once slightly, and he leans ever so slightly into Flicker's hand. "When /aren't/ they primed for ugly? I'm good here." His bright fuschia eyes track to Ion and Scramble where they've reappeared. "For now." There's a ripple of unease from the cops that starts even before Scramble begins to work her magic -- a burst of profanity as the pair just /appears/ in front of them, several of the nearest police already lifting their shields, swift and startled, at that crackle of light around Ion. The line holds relatively steady, though -- at least for a moment, though the cops nearest Ion and Scramble are growing noticeably more fidgety. The order to disperse is coming again -- but even before it finishes one tall officer with a cheerfully googly-eyed tongue-poking-out face mask is letting out a cry -- and breaking the line to lash out in a hard jab with his shield. At nothing, really, just the empty stretch of street between him and the protesters -- though he's followed soon enough by the jittery MID cop to his left (POW! reads his shield, in bright purple letters within a spiky conversation bubble): "Shit shit they're attacking --" It's all it takes, really, for the line of police to surge forwards. Batons drawn, shields as readily employed to /hit/ as they are to push. Somewhere farther down the row there is a crack of a gun -- rifle loaded with rubber bullets, only, but it elicits a round of terrified screams from further in the crowd. "{These motherfuckers got /zero/ chill.}" Ion is abruptly no longer in front of the panicking police -- with his hand still in Scramble's, he takes the woman with him as he blinks out of existence. Back /into/ existence by the row of police cars -- though only for a moment before vanishing again. There's a crackling, a tingle of charge in the air -- by the time he and Scramble reappear (farther down the row, just /behind/ the cops this time) more than half of the line of patrol cars are no longer functional, batteries fried and electrical systems shorted. At least two of them are smoking. The cops may be freaking out, but Scramble is /laughing/. Her eyes blaze with genuine joy (in between involuntary flinches induced by electricity) as Ion takes her with him on his grand tour of the motor pool. When they appear behind the line of cops she is /still/ laughing, vibrating with as much manic energy as her companion now. She stretches out her powers again, sowing self-doubt and hallucinations into the ranks of the police as she goes. Flicker's hand tightens on Tag's shoulder. Just a little bit. "-- Well." He's watching the cops' initial attack with a deep frown and a noticeable tension tightening his frame. Briefly, his eyes close. Open again a moment later, slightly narrowed. "Lot of people could use an evac." His other arm points in the direction of the crack of the gun. "/And/ a medic. Over there." Tag sucks in a deep breath, his head swiveling to check the other direction. "They're not even /pretending/ to give people time or the space to get out." He doesn't sound all that incredulous. His shoulder tenses sharply under Flicker's hand when the shot rings out, and his eyes search the sudden swirl of faster movement in the already chaotic crowd. "I don't see any other teams over there." He tugs the ladderlocks on his backpack a little tighter. "Alright, then, let's go." There's a whole lot of noise being relayed over the police radios -- a good deal moreso after several of the cars start to smoulder. Though a number of the police are moving forward to start rounding up and arresting the crowd, a good deal of the others are -- less organized. At least three have begin to fight with each /other/; several more are trying to leave, themselves, though they don't get too far in the still-slightly-crackly car they try to get into. One man has thrown his shield into the crowd in evident horror -- though this is soon followed by a tear gas grenade. Then his helmet. Another of the officers kicks the thrown helmet away as though /it/ were live. The calls for medics are rapidly growing, between the (somewhat erratic) application of police batons and the appearance of the cloud of gas. Ion slings his arm around Scramble's shoulders, his own shoulders shaking with laughter. "{Holy /shit/ you see the look on that pig's face you would think his own damn gear it's up and joine the call for mutant rights.}" Though his laughter quicky turns into a sharp suck of breath, a shake of head. "{Damn I think some people they gonna be needing a ride /out/ don't get killed, yo.}" His arm drops from around Scramble -- a moment later he's off again, resurfacing in the crowd. "/Yooooo/." His deep voice is resonant enough to have at least a little reach even in the chaos. "Anyone want to teleport the fuck out this shit, grab on to me." "{Give me a few more minutes with him,}" Scramble offers, "{I get /him/ to join the call for mutant rights!}" Though she doesn't actually seem too inclined to go back and work on them, moving further down the line instead. "Motherfucker," she says, pretty /calmly/ for all the cackling she's been at, when she hears the shot. "{How 'bout /you/ don't get killed you got a /kid/ at home dumbass!}" She ducks out of the way of a poorly aimed baton -- its wielder probably can't see all /that/ well through the 'pun dog' face drawn on their helmet visor, and for their trouble they get a headful of tactile hallucinations. "Wasn't kidding about ugly." Flicker's grimace is soon hidden behind his own bandanna (black, with bright green paisley.) He flips his goggles down, returns his hand to Tag's shoulder. The brief blurring of the world, all things considered isn't a /good/ deal more chaotic than the world had been anyway. When he sets them down it is at the very edge of the shifting white cloud -- a young woman on the ground is bleeding rather profusely from where her head has met the wrong end of an officer's shield. Kind of dazed, not managing to find her feet again in the chaos. Tag also deploys goggles and bandana, looking like an overly cheerful extra from a Mad Max fan film...briefly, before he vanishes in a blur with his partner. The tear gas isn't concentrated enough here to have too much effect on him yet, though he's coughing already. He turns on his heel and takes a thorough look around before tapping Flicker's arm and indicating the woman on the ground. "Hello!" He drops to one knee in front of her, sounding oddly chipper given the circumstance. "Do you want some help? We can get you out of here and get you some first aid. The first canister of tear gas is soon joined by a second. There's another few cracks of the rubber bullet guns -- a lot of yelling as the cloud of white is joined by sprays of bright orange pepper spray from one knot of police. Though many of the (oddly skittish!) (strangely retreating) police shy away faster at Ion's sudden reappearance, a lot of the /protesters/ are only too glad for an escape -- he's mobbed rather quickly with a large group of (coughing, hacking) people clamouring for a lift out. Tag and Flicker have their own small crowd, soon, the appearance of the red crosses met with both relief and a barrage of panicked inquiry: "Oh my god did they /shoot/ someone?" "How do we get out?" "Please my friend is having an asthma attack --" "Oh my GOD I can't SEE." "They say the cops have an LRAD are we going to die?" "I heard that thing liquifies your /organs/." "Hey this guy is bleeding." "You can get us out of here? Please --" The cops who still /have/ their senses about them are largely herding those people they've already cuffed away from the gas and towards the large vans. Ion's eyes are opening a whole lot wider, abruptly. He doesn't really stop for much more explanation -- just vanishes with the people who have pushed closest to him, dumping them kind of unceremoniously on the other side of the street past the cops' line. He is quick to vanish again -- when he reappears (by the police vans -- which are rapidly dying smokey deaths, as well) it is with a bassinet in hand, one very disgruntled birdboy squawking angrily at him from on top of it. Horus's chattering only grows more upset when Ion whisks them off again, reappering by Scramble. Egg, inside it, is clicking quiet and rapid, limbs batting twitchily at their blankets. "See," Ion is explaining -- to Egg? To Horus? To Scramble? "This is how you gotta do -- well, when you're big enough to /hold/ a bottle I show you how to light the cars on fire the slow way, yeah?" "Oh shit how did I forget you brought 'em along?" But Scramble doesn't seem really all that /alarmed/ by the fact that Ion is carting his infant around in a veritable /war zone/. "But hey, you got the best eggsitter this side of...eternity." She's laughing again, claping Ion on the back /hard./ "{They gotta learn to fly so they can firebomb some pigs from /up/, yeah?}" Snapping her fingers at Horus, "You show Quiche how its done, right?" But there's more tear gas is billowing out into the crowd now and the rising panic seems to register somewhere in Scramble's brain, high as she is. "Maybe you grab some those people, bring 'em out where there's more medics than just Tie-Dye and Tetsuo, yeah?" Ion just thrusts the bassinet at Scramble. "What the fuck is a /quiche/?" he's wondering in confusion -- not that he waits around long enough to hear the /answer/ before zipping off to help finish the evacuation. Flicker has lifted a hand, sleeve covering his mouth over the bandanna. As Tag talks to the woman on the ground he is shepherding people away from crowding them too much, head shaking at all the questions. Ignoring some in favor of others: "I teleport. I can take you all out of here quick. We're going to get the most injured people out first, though, okay? Who's having an asthma attack?" His other arm coils outward. Stretching over to Tag and their patient, the clawed end of his arm settling on his partner's shoulder before anyone else gets situated. "Just take my arms. It'll be safer to take care of all this somewhere quieter." He waits only long enough for people to take hold before starting to whisk them -- kind of blurrily -- away. Tag has by this point pressed a wad of dressing to stem the bleeding from the injured woman's head, and seems not the least bit alarmed by Sudden Mecha Tentacle Claw grasping his shoulder, though that's more than can be said for some others in the immediate area. The ride out is somewhat queasy-making, which unfortunately turns sick-making for those already leaning that way from the tear gas. The triage area is overflowing, almost as chaotic as the area they just evacuated from even /before/ Ion brings them more. Tag hands his patient off, shucks his gloves and puts on a new pair, and finds his way back to Flicker's side. Scramble doesn't bother answering any more than Ion bothers sticking around. She just rocks the six-limbed goblin baby entrusted to her and makes her way toward the the knots of escaped protesters, searching their numbers for familiar faces. Any cop unfortunate enough to wander too near her path at this point is probably just going to end up on the pavement, but unless harassed she does not pursue them anymore. | |
