Logs:Backyard Alley's Greatest Hits

Backyard Alley's Greatest Hits
Dramatis Personae Amber, Amo
In Absentia	2025-01-05 "Great thing with this kind of therapy, you know it’s time to go home when you start missing more than you hit."
Location <NYC> Upper East Side - Alley Behind CRUNCH Fitness
The alley behind CRUNCH Fitness is a quintessential alley, brick walls lined with dumpsters, refuse and discarded scaffolding. It’s wide enough to squeeze one and a half car through in emergencies, but that’s about it. On one side a fire-escape winds its way up along the side of a building, AC units hanging precariously from windows and a line of someone’s laundry goes from one wall to another, having clearly been out there for far too long. Amber, in thigh-high black leather platform boots and a plaid red and black skirt, wearing a black crop-top with a skull on it and an old leather jacket full of various band patches, has dragged her duffel bag full of empty wine-bottles down this particular alley this evening. Along with a thick wooden cricket bat -- old and splintered - and is ready to go. Finding her stance with her back to the red fire door that leads to the gym she grabs a bottle, tosses it into the air and swings. There’s a crash as the glass hits the wall on the other side, shattering into a thousand pieces. “Now, that’s what I call therapy.” She grins to herself, shaking off the day’s rust, and grabbing another bottle, ready to take another swing. Someone is exiting that red fire door in perfect timing with that next swing, head down to look at their phone. There’s a quick, “Oh shit!” and maybe it feels like the bat knocks slightly against something on the back half of its swing, but not enough to slow its trajectory. Amo has ducked her head and cleanly moved sideways out of the way from the spray of glass. Her curly hair is pulled up into a ponytail with a scrunchy, a black jacket currently unzipped over a red tank top and joggers, and some sneakers, the mid-crew socks for them inside out. For the extra observant, there’s…maybe a barely visible smattering of some sort of rocky texturing on the skin of her cheekbone and a faint ripple of movement on her neck, both of which are rapidly fading. She’s tall, but probably doesn’t have its full effect as she’s a little hunched, eyes wide in bewilderment, but a bright wild smile on her face, “Shit bro! That was sweet!” She huffs out a bright, disbelieving laugh, “Glad I’m not whoever got on your bad side.” Amber gives her a quick look-over, only to turn back to what she was doing once she’s sure she hasn’t actually knocked anyone’s head in by accident. “Soz, didn’t think anyone would be coming out there.” She moves over a few steps, so the door won’t be directly behind her, dragging her duffel bag with her, the sound of empty bottles clinking together accompanying it. There’s a grin as she pulls up another bottle, evaluating it in her hand before sending it flying in the same way as the others. “Some fuckers stole my bike!” There’s a growl in her words, but her face looks happy, as if she’s been waiting for this excuse for a while. Then, giving the newcomer a look she adds: “Wanna give it a go?” “S’alright, think I’m the only one who uses it.” Amo doesn’t flinch much at the crash of the next bottle, just turns her head a little. She winces in sympathy, “Sucks, I been there, trust me. I shoulda given this a go, would’ve helped that mourning process, yeah?” She re-hikes her drawstring that’s slung over her shoulder, and her brow ticks upwards in surprise at the offer, “Wait, you serious?” Even so, she’s eagerly reaching for an empty bottle. “Wouldn’t wanna steal from your stock here.” “It’s excellent therapy, “ Amber says quite self-satisfied. Grabbing another bottle -- this one not empty -- from the duffel bag’s side pocket, and pulling the cork out to take a swig, before offering her new friend the cricket bat. “Knock yourself out, I’ve got plenty where these came from.” Amber’s brown hair is tied up in a ponytail, but by now a couple of strands have made their way out and are tickling the side of her face. “Thanks-” Amo takes the cricket bat, does a little toss spin with the empty bottle by the neck of it to test its bottle-ness, and nods to herself. “You just save all these up for when you need a good therapy session or you outsource’em?” Her smile from before has mostly faded but there’s still a bright energy in her movements, in the wideness of her eyes. She tosses the bottle up, and crashes it against the opposite wall, and she lets out a laugh and a WOO! She tosses the bat up to grab it by the end of it and offer the handle of the bat back towards Amber. “Man what’re people even payin’ a therapist for when we got this right here?” Amber takes the bat, finding a new bottle for herself. “Wine moms, “ she explains, “got a friend who works as a bartender at the wine-mom’s of Manhattan’s favorite meeting place. I give him girlfriend advice, he provides me with bottles.” With practiced ease she sends her new bottle sky high, before expertly smashing it into the opposite wall. Surveying it as if she’s scouting after a particularly amazing home-run before grabbing another swig from her not-empty bottle. “You drink?” She doesn’t offer the bottle, simply raises an eyebrow at her new friend in an indication of a question. “Name’s Amber, yours?” Amo gives Amber a short cheer at the next smash, and leans her back against the wall. “Eh a little bit. I’m Amo.” She’s just now, perhaps, fully looking at Amber, and her eyes narrow a little. Her eyes jump to the bottle Amber’s drinking, to her, then back to the bottle. She’s quiet, like she’s trying very hard to figure something out. “You gonna have a way to get back home?” She asks finally, and there’s some concern that’s slipped in, something a little more professional in her tone. “Amo...” There’s a slight giggle as Amber tests the name, for a moment looking carefully at her not-empty bottle before offering. “Tsk tsk Amo, don’t do that, I’m not a helpless little girl who can’t hold her booze, “ she’s still smiling, but there’s something sharp in the way she does it, her tongue flicking at the piercings in her lip. “I’ll make my way home all fine when I’m good and ready. Great thing with this kind of therapy, you know it’s time to go home when you start missing more than you hit.” Amo’s eyebrow ticks up, “Never said you were helpless,” she doesn’t specify on the ‘little girl’ part, however, “You are carrying a bat on you.” She jerks her chin towards the bat, then shifts a little straighter in her lean against the wall. “‘Bout how long it take for you to start missing then? Seems you got one hellava aim.” “Oh, I dunno...” Amber stares at her not-empty bottle, evaluating the contents, “I can usually take one or two of these before it starts getting precarious.” She puts it down, and finds another empty one, giving it a discerning test toss before loading it up for another smash. “Gots lots of practice, always been a fan of breaking shit.” She grins, tosses the bottle and swings. This time too she hits it perfectly, however as the bottle hits the opposing wall it doesn’t break, instead bouncing and flying back straight at them. Amo hums, tracking Amber and she shifts up off of her lean in prep for the swing, “Oh yeah? How long have you been doin this kinda therapy-” Her hand snaps out to Amber, catching her nearest arm at the end of her swing and pulling as the bottle is rocketing back. She’s not nearly quick enough, though, and when it slams into Amber’s opposite shoulder, the bottle shatters against it as if it had just hit the brick wall, and strangely there’s no sudden pain. Even the spray of glass that bursts from the collision seems to bounce off harmlessly. There’s a strange sudden heaviness to the shoulder that was hit that’s already rapidly fading, and Amo is removing her hand just as quickly, bringing it up to help stabilize from the sudden pull if need be, “Shit-You okay? Didn’t get your eyes did it?” Meanwhile Amber has put her hands up instinctively in a practiced boxing guard, only to look utterly confused as there’s no pain. She stares first at her hands, then at her pads herself to check for injuries before breaking out into an ecstatic grin. “Wha? I'm fine! What was that!? That was so cool! What did you do!? It was coming RIGHT at me!” She laughs, touching her shoulder to check what the hell the sudden heaviness is. Amber would feel an undeniable solidness beneath the leather of the jacket, and the skin of her shoulder would slowly begin to feel the pressure from her hand again as the heaviness continues to fade. Amo’s eyes are sweeping Amber over quick, concern pinching her brow. There’s a rippling trail of rocky texturing that travels on Amo’s skin up past the collar of her jacket, and back down, “Sorry, thought I’d be faster than the bottle.” She says in non-answer to her questions once she determines Amber is unharmed. “You’re tough as nails, took that no problem. Quick on that guard there too.” She says with an impressed sort nod. She opens up her palm to show Amber, and a rocky textured armor blooms up on her skin, “Just gave you some of that, it’ll go away real quick, promise.” She explains in a practiced sort of way, then shrugs a shoulder, “Woulda asked but, was a little short for time, yeah?” Amber’s eyes go wide as she studies the rocky armor in Amo’s hand. “Oh man, that is so cool! What is it? Wait, is it like skin? Does it hurt you? How much of it can you make?” She touches the fading patch on her own neck gingerly, before grabbing Amo’s hand with both of hers, eyes sparkling with interest as she looks her in the eyes, completely ignoring Amo’s apologies. “Can you give me armor and punch me? Would it hurt? Can we try it!?” Amo doesn’t seem surprised by the grabbing, maybe almost expecting it as she doesn’t make any move to pull it away. Her gaze shifts somewhere slightly away from her eyes, only sliding back occasionally, “Doesn’t hurt, a little uncomfortable in large quantities, and I can make alot.” She explains easily, “…I could do that, wouldn’t hurt, but maybe another day, yeah?” She smiles a little, amusement leaking in. “You’ve already been attacked by a rogue bottle, let’s not add somethin’ else to the mix.” "Aww..." Amber seems a bit disappointed at the prospect of not-getting-punched but relents and let's Amo's hand go. Demonstrating, she switches her entire body into a boxing pose. "Been training since I was five, my ma said if I was gonna get in fights I should know how to win." She laughs, picking up her bat from the ground where she dropped it as the rogue bottle attacked, pulling her last three empty bottles out of her duffel and with a discerning frown evaluating them for potential bounciness. "I'll take you up on that, " there's mischief clearly painted on her face as she looks back to Amo, "nothing I love more than a good tussle." “So you’ve been training for…five, six years? Long time.” Amo jokes, a humorous pitch to her voice. “I teach some defense classes, if you ever want to join. Not much like boxing, but it’s free.” She shifts and stands a little more prepared for these next three bottles, her pose still somehow casual but a certain sort of readiness to it, “You might be getting your tussle if any of these bottles got anything to say about it.” "Thirteen years, " Amber corrects, "just quit, my gym got new people in charge and we didn't get along. Too..." She hesitates, "they were assholes," she states factually, then offers the bat to Amo, "you want this one?" Amo glances at her, “Long time.” She says as an agreement with the correction, and shrugs a shoulder. “Hope you find another, or maybe you can open your own someday.” She looks at the offered bat, and jerks her chin, “Nah, all you. To the assholes, yeah?” "Yeah," Amber turns away and tosses another bottle into the air, swinging hard, "to the assholes!"