ArchivedLogs:Uptown Funk You Up

Uptown Funk You Up
Dramatis Personae Ion, Julie, Scramble
In Absentia	2016-01-09 "{All right! We gon /party/ tonight or what?}"
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. She cleans when she has nothing else to do. There aren't roving hordes of zombies to murder to death, and things around here actually seem to stay in pretty good repair, so Julie is spending a lot of time right now zipping around the house doing small things to keep the place tidy and well maintained. Loose floorboards get hammered down (usually with a single 'whap' of a hammer), hinges get oiled, even open stitches get sewn up. All in all, Julie is basically doing her 'I AM IMPATIENT AND I MUST DO ALL THE THINGS' routine. On the upside, the house is REALLY REALLY clean. The downside? She's running low on things to fix. Apparently being terrorists doesn't mean the BoM and other suches let things just fall apart. Dressed in a new(ish) purple winter coat and black tights shot through with blue-white lightning bolts, Scramble sweeps in dancing and singing, "'Cuz Uptown Funk gon' give it to ya, 'cuz Uptown Funk gon' give it to ya. Saturday night and we in the spot, don't believe me just watch." Spinning on her heel as she shuts the door behind her, she turns to Julie with an enthusiastic flip of one hand, "Come on!" She doesn't wait for an answer to her impromptu dance invitation, but uptown funks her way through the living room, shrugging the foldable green nylon bag from her shoulder to deposit on the coffee table. It falls open to reveal two six-packs of (completely randomly mixed) beers and a big bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. The door might have shut but that doesn't stop Ion from entering not far in Scramble's wake. The young man just appears in the living room with a very faint crackle, swooping down upon the living room table to snag one of the beers out of a pack. "-- Stop. Wait a minute." He's cracking his beer bottle open on the (ridiculously large and ostentatiously glittering) belt buckle on his jeans, spinning across the floor to take Scramble's hand and twirl her. She resists the urge to respond for roughly three tenths of a second. But... well, she did say she'd try. And now they're singing and beering. She has to respond to it. So she grabs a beer bottle and twists it open with a (semi)mighty usage of arm muscles. A moment to pause visibly, and then,"Dance, jump on it. If you sexy then flaunt it. Well it's Saturday night and we in the spot. Don't believe me just watch!" This is met with tapping her feet across the floor in a jittering display of what might look like tap-competence to the slower people. It's really just enthusiasm. So this is that social stuff people talk about. Not bad. Scramble whoops, loud and wordless, bopping her afro jauntily in time to their a capella rendition of the song. She lets Ion twirl her, then, adapting a swing step, twirls him right back and comes around to his other side so she can snag a Yuengling from the bag. Her grin when Julie joins in is broad and fierce and bright. "{You got some /moves/ sister, work it!}" in rough but serviceable Spanish somehow transitions smoothly into "Uptown Funk you up, Uptown Funk you up!" Her feet move quick and light over the floor despite the heavy soles of her Doc Martens, not faltering the least as she sheds the coat and tosses it over the back of a chair. Beneath she wears a heather purple cropped top, space-dyed pink armwarmers, and a silver molecular model on a black cord around her neck. "{All right! We gon /party/ tonight or what?}" "Holy /shit/ yo --" Once twirled, Ion just keeps spinning, jumping up onto the arm of the couch and taking a swig from his beer. He gives the others a rather incredulous look, wide-eyed, startled. "{It fucking Saturday /already/? The hell we doing inside?}" He jumps down, snags Scramble's coat back up off the chair to throw it right back at her. His finger twirls rapidly in the air. "Hurry up them drinks {we got place to /be/ fuck.} Saturday why ain't nobody tell me these thing?" /He/ never took off his jacket. ALREADY READY. Gulping at his beer, he's bopping his way /back/ for the door. "Do I need to wear shoes?" Wait. Did he say hurry up? Well, Ion's the boss! Julie retrieves a STRAW for her BEER. Scandalous. The truth is, beer pours only so fast. With this? Julies glugs down the beer in short order with her trusty straw, and then is going upstairs. Because it runs through her just as quick. Then she's back down with her usual raggedy looking coat. "I don't know about any of that, but thanks. Everything looks impressive when you do it fast." She's practically vibrating all over again as she follows Ion to the door. "I guess the answer is we are partying outside." As per usual, her words just keep running together. "Now I'm thinking about that song 'Some Nights'." Scramble catches her coat and shrugs into it deftly, though doesn't button it this time. "{Hell /yeah/ it Saturday!}" She intercepts Ion again, dances up close to him if only to use /his/ belt buckle to open her beer (she's not even /wearing/ a belt). "{You wear whatever you want, girl. Anyone wanna try and say some shit about it? We jump right up on their ass.}" She hasn't /quite/ finished her beer by the time Julie returns from her foray upstairs (to be fair, it was a /really/ short foray). "{We party /wherever/ and /whenever/.} Lets /do/ this!" "Tch {it's like forty fucking degrees out there yo} I ain't /about/ no hypothermia. {What's this Some Night?}" Not that he's waiting for an answer on this. Ion has guzzled most of his beer down, though he leaves it on a crate by the door as he -- ignores the handle and vanishes outside into the drizzly cold. He's waiting by his bike, parked just outside, strapping on his helmet, a second one resting on one of his panniers. He's twitchier, out here, fingers tapping restless against the seat of his bike, flicking at some of the water droplets gathered there. Bouncing on the toes of his boots. Fidget. Bounce. Muttering under his breath: "... make a dragon wanna retire, man." "My skin's basically shoe leather. I got some boots in my saddlebags if need be." She's off around the corner to get her own bike, the loud thing growling as she pulls it around. And yes, she has boots on. Apparently she's willing to risk it since she's not running wherever. "{Some Night. Might not be the title. It's by a band called 'Fun'. It's got a catchy beat. Sounds like Queen a little.}" Julie shrugs and pops on her appropriate World War helment, goggles, and scarf. For looks, mostly. She likes the aesthetic when riding on her Indian. "Thank god we're doing something. Dude, I was going CRAZY in there." Scramble follows Julie outside, downing the rest of her beer as she goes, discards the bottle in the overflowing 'recycle' side of a city trash can. "{You gonna have to sing it for us. Unless we end up somewhere they can play it.}" She produces a stretchy black cap to smoosh down her hair in controlled fashion before donning Ion's spare helmet with a manic gleam in her eye. Punches Ion in the arm, /hard./ "{Fuck that, we gonna go CRAZY all /over/ the city.}" "{Dude, you know that ain't a fucking prison. Door wasn't locked, you wanted out, get the fuck /out/.}" Ion climbs onto his own bike, leaning forward to grip the handlebars. No key. It's a much quieter purr as it thrums to life. "{We gonna go crazy up north, first.}" And with that he's shooting off, an easy to follow streak with the strange /glow/ of his not-currently-hovering hoverbike, rocketing through the slickwet streets smoothly. "{Still learning to think like a civ, dude. Sometimes it doesn't occur to you to NOT do chores. You need people to bust you outta your routine, hombre.}" Her own bike is, perhaps a little ironically, much less performance capable than the non-hovering hoverbike. Nonetheless, Julie has little trouble keeping up provided the biker she's following doesn't gun it too hard. For a change, she's mostly quiet. Behind Ion, Scramble hangs on perhaps a /little/ more tightly than she might have as a passenger on a more traditional bike. But she's not all /that/ nervous, either, still breaking out into 'Uptown Funk' at irregular intervals, her voice mostly stolen by the wind whipping past them. Ion doesn't say anything, really, silent as he zooms through the glistening streets. Swerves occasionally around other cars not going fast enough for his tastes. Takes several shortcuts that are probably not strictly speaking legal. Turns off the /glow/ on his bike some time after crossing from Manhattan into the Bronx. Eventually does park, though, a good long while later, much damper, kind of shivery as he dismounts, though his sturdy jacket has no doubt protected him plenty well from the light drizzle /just/ fine. He unzips his large panniers, hands Scramble a large bag from inside. Takes out a second. Leaves his helmet on. /Now/ he's singing again, quiet under his breath, half to himself. "-- Y por eso que yo canto con la familia que yo quiero." Meanwhile, even if she's slick, Julie doesn't seem to be suffering. Either she's mostly inured to the wind at these speeds, or her constant vibrating is keeping her warm. Whatever the case, even if she's wet, she doesn't seem to be that uncomfortable as she dismounts. Then again, being homeless for a good while probably inures you to the elements. She leaves her helmets and cockles on, though, her shoulders and hips bouncing and wirthing to some internal music. Apparently that's the way of things right now. If the illegal speeding and swerving bother her, then that bother went to the same place her concerns about the weather did. "Why is it that riding is still more fun than running?" If Scramble is more troubled by the rain and cold than her companions, it's only by relative comparison. But as soon as she's dismounted and shaken her long limbs loose, she seems no worse for wear again, accepting the bag from Ion without question. Following the two riders' examples, she leaves her helmet. There's dance in her steps, not /quite/ as jouncy as Julie, just a rhythm to her walking. "{For anyone else I'd say it's /faster,/}" she offers, spinning around and walking backward to face Julie briefly. "{For you, it's a mystery of the ages.}" "{Because riding's the best thing there is. Let the whole fucking world melt away. Hang on to this, yeah?}" Ion is offering the second bag to Julie, grabbing another from the pannier on his bike's other side. Then clamping a hand on both the women's shoulders. "Now we party, huh?" It's a bit /more/ jarring than usual when he vanishes with them, leaning back against a lightpost and -- abruptly the world blacks out into nothing but a sharp jolt-kick, a shock of electricity, shuddering-coursing through them in painful slam that continues even a few moments after Ion dumps them out in a quiet empty hallway. Nondescript. The hallway vanishes into another blinding jolt of pain. Rematerializes into an office. Nope. Room full of filing cabinets -- nope, janitor closet -- nope, parking lot -- nope! This time it is all machinery of some sort, gleaming and steel and full of tubes and huge centrifuges and glassware and vats. Dark, at the moment, though not quiet, some of the machinery still humming softly. "-- /hah/. {This, this -- this one?}" Ion's fingers snap together. "This one, shit, yeah." She takes hold of the back and then? "FU-" She could probably hold the calm in through one. Maybe two. But the shocks and jolts? It gets her screwed up heart thundering in her ears a bit when it happens several times, and HARD. It's thundering in her ears by the time they land. Thankfully, it's only been a few seconds. Even so, the slight hum her vibrating sometimes generates has begun to increase ever so softly in volume as sheswears,"{Fuckfuckfuck. OUCH. Okay, that's useful, but that's crazy painful. You know that right? Also, not to put too fine a point on it, but the clock is ticking. I got about... a minute or so before I'm not going to be able to understand a word you say.}" Even so, her grin is wide. She feels good. For the moment. "Light?" When Ion's hand settles on her shoulder, Scramble turns to Julie and opens her mouth -- and then they're off in a literal flash. She weathers the shuttersnap series of jumps with gritted teeth and takes long, deep breaths when they finally settle at their destination. "{Oops, wanted to warn you but, too slow.}" She pivots slowly, looking around. "{Some kind of laboratory,}" she murmurs, casting for some more specific hint as to their whereabout, then peers into the bag in her hand instead. She looks up, startled, at Julie. Takes a step closer. "{Wait, what's happening to you in a minute? You having some kinda attack?}" "{Guess we got a fucking minute then. Best hurry. Shouldn't be a problem for you, huh?}" Ion snaps his fingers again, helmeted head bobbing. He points towards the nearest of the large centrifuges. "Light? {Find what looks important. Light it the fuck /up/.}" The bags, as it turns /out/, contain plastic explosive and detonators. Ion is blipping away to the other side of the laboratory. Singing to himself again as he works. Oh hey! Look! Something she got to play with in the military. "Well, that's simple enough. You care about stealing anything?" Then again, the prospect of getting to blow something up? That's exciting. "{No. I'm gonna be moving so fast that in reference to my point of view, your voices will sound like slow-motion nonsense.}" Why doesn't she ask why they're blowing this place up? Mostly because Julie left 'legal' behind a long time ago and this plays appears to be closed right now. What's the worst that could happen, after all? Samples and expensive machinery are targeted first. A few ounces of plastic explosives go a long way, after all, and she's got a sackful. She'd probably be a downright blur, moving as she does, picking out expensive looking machinery to wire. All the while, that thundering in her ears grows heavier and heavier,"Wu-Tang Clan ain't nothin' to fuck with..." This will be even more fun when her voice starts doing the helium-thing. Scramble squees with delight at the contents of the bags. "{That happen when you get zapped too much?}" Casually, as she makes her rounds, planting explosives on the most expensive pieces of equipment she can identify. Humming softly to herself, she sings, "A sea of marble, wood disintegrating shards falling..." Between quiet snatches of song, she asks "{What they do here, anyway?}" Then, back to, "We were misunderstood, we gods of wire and wood; once shackled to the stone which crumbled down the avenues..." "{Stealing, shit, ain't nothing here I fucking want. Had /my/ godddamn /fill/.}" Ion spits this out a little more sharply than his usual, in between lines of quiet bass-deep rapping. "{Here, sister, here they kill our goddamn music. /This/, this, this one of Toure labs. This one they cook up some drugs for their robots, their MID boys, this stuff --}" His arms have spread wide, practically embracing a vat that he's just wired up, "{-- steal even your crazy.}" "{Moments like this, makes me wish I left calling cards. They want my juice and here I am. Right in their belly.}" By now, Julie's voice is having an 'Alvin and the Chipmunks' sort of effect. "{You got any message you wanna send besides 'boom'? Not that getting this stuff out of circulation-}" It's right about there that her voice begins to grow truly difficult to understand,"{-isn't good enough.}" The Wu-Tang Clan no longer sounds very good coming from her. At any rate, her bag is empty and now she's just wandering around the place checking and re-checking the placement of everything. "The pillars crumbled into dust and we are playing still, the chords to call the angels from their thrones..." Scramble's singing trails off into silence at the explanation, but her TERRORISM does not. "{I think we leaving a pretty nice calling card right now. Fuck 'em. The only way they're taking my crazy is when I /give/ it to them.}" Then, without really missing a beat, she's dancing again as she plants her last explosive, "'cuz Uptown Funk gon' give it to ya, 'cuz Uptown Funk gon' give it to ya. Saturday night and we in the spot, don't believe me just watch. C'mon!" Ion is blipping out of sight in between his stops -- reappear, disappear -- reappear -- right beside Scramble. Checking /her/ last placement before he returns to his to fiddle with its fuse, blip back over to Scramble. And then Julie. With another reeeally none-too-pleasant jolting (he probably should /warn/ a sister --) at least this time it's only the once before they're back out in the rain and he's -- holding up the detonator in his hand. Wiggling it almost in /offering/ to the other two. "If you freaky then own it." Julie's arm blurs forward towards the detonator, a high-pitched squealing echoing from where her voice should be coming from. If this newest electric trip phases her, it's over before signs show on her face. Well. She may be getting faster. But she's not getting easier to understand. She looks repeatedly between Ion and Scramble as if seeing if one of them wants to blow the thing. Maybe one of them hasn't blown things up before? She throws back her head, though. It looks like she's laughing. It SOUNDS more like a rusty door squealing open. Scramble rises up onto the balls of her feet and bounces up and down a few times, though even in her frenzied delight she looks sedate next to Julie. "{I have no idea what you're saying, sister, so guessing she don't understand us anymore, either.}" But when the other woman doesn't trip the switch and looks between her and Ion instead, the offer is as good as spoken. Scramble takes the detonator from her with a bow and a flourish, grinning hugely. "Don't brag about it, come show me!" And hits the button. The blank faceplate of Ion's helmet -- stays blank. But only for a few moments more, before it lights up, one section of the factory in front of them shuddering and billowing outward in a brilliant flash of flame and smoke. "Hot /damn." Very likely, Ion is grinning too -- when isn't he. His hands clap down on either woman's shoulder, jostling them FIRMLY. "{I /think/,}" for juuust a moment longer he's watching the flames -- but then he's already turning aside with a jittery rock-BOUNCE on his stompy boots, "{it's time for a fucking /drink/, sisters.}"