Logs:Sharing is Caring

Sharing is Caring
Dramatis Personae Dawson, Dusk, Sarah, Steve	2020-06-14 "You all -- doing a lot of -- uh. Care?"
Location <NYC> Brooklyn Museum - Prospect Heights
It's a gorgeous day for a revolution. The streets around the northeastern corner of Prospect Park have been closed all day, Eastern Avenue in particular clogged to impassibility with protesters, with more arriving all the time. The NYPD presence is heavy but hardly noticeable against the thousands upon thousands of people who have rallied in support of black trans lives. A series of speakers have taken their place at the top of the museum steps, their words amplified by a professional grade sound system for the sprawling crowd. The mutant contingent of the action has been shunted aside, half-way to Grand Army Plaza (which is budding off into its own protest, with lively music to contrast with the more somber, angry tone of the main event. Steve has been moving slowly through the crowd, towing a red wagon behind him laden with bottled water, instant cold packs, and paper bags of snacks ('vegan', 'gluten-free', 'kosher', read most of them, in some combination). He's wearing a black t-shirt that reads 'Black Lives Matter' in bold white text, nicely worn but perfectly fitted blue jeans, and scuffed black combat boots. He carries a great round shield on his back, with a silver star at the center in a blue field, ringed with concentric bands of red and silver. A bright pink armband with a red heart on it, safety-pinned to the left cuff of his shirt, marks him as one of the contingent's 'Care Bears', health and safety support volunteers. "This is amazing," he's telling his buddy. "This crowd's backed up past the subway on both sides. Hey, folks, would you like some water, or something to eat?" This last being presumably addressed to a knot of youths they're passing. Next to Steve, Sarah looks tinier than usual. Neither it or the size of the crowd seem to be outwardly bothering her however. While most of her face is hidden behind a white mask that has 'BLM' written on it in stark black capitals, her dark green eyes crinkle with a smile while she hands over the requested drinks and food. Dressed in a white croptop with a large hand drawn symbol of two crossed pink and blue lollipops, acid washed cutoff shorts that are frayed at the hems, and sunshine yellow Converse, she also sports her own heart armband and a rather full looking gray backpack. The pink of the armband is close to the pink of her hair. Once they have started moving again, she pipes up to agree with Steve, slightly muffled but excited still. "There's so many people here! I was hopeful there would be, but seeing it is something else." Blip! Flutter-blip. Crowded though the streets may be, Dawson has no issue navigating the crowds, skimming overhead and dropping lightly down beside Steve's wagon. He is in his usual -- light khakis, pale grey polo, this time with a large red cross marked on his back and a smaller red and white patch on one sleeve -- a Star of Life, the snake wrapped around the Statue of Liberty's torch where the Rod of Asclepius should be, 'New York City Action Medical' printed across the top and 'Street Medic Team' across the bottom. (The hip pack he wears has a very similar patch -- it could easily be mistaken for the same one at a glance, though closer inspection shows that this one features a large rat wrapped around a raised fist in place of the rod; where the top still says 'New York City Action Medical', the bottom ring of text reads 'Do no harm! * Take no shit!') His arm is stark white as well, plain red crosses marked down one side and MEDIC in bright red text along the other. "Sorry, did you say something to eat?" He's joining both hands together in supplication towards Sarah and Steve, or maybe just towards the wagon. "You should come with me, though, I know a bat in serious need of reviving." The look he is giving the snack cache is a little dubious, cheeks sucked briefly inward. "... well. He could use the water, at least." Steve only starts to reach for his shield at Dawson's abrupt appearance, the gesture quickly aborted without any attempt to hide it. "Hey there. We've got all kinds of snacks." He glances from the cart to Dawson, then out at the crowd. "Wait, did you say bat?" Though, even as he asks this, mildly perplexed, he's already following Dawson, waving Sarah after him. "We do have plenty of water, too." Sarah startles as well at Dawson's sudden appearance, her reaction less a defensive maneuver and more of a squeak. (She tries her best to play it off with a cool, "Hi, Dawson," but has no idea if she succeeds.) When Steve follows him, she does as well, jogging a bit to keep up. "We have food, water, first aid supplies, and I probably have some free hugs somewhere in my bag," she confirms. "What's the situation?" "Should I not have said bat? Is that insensitive? I think he's fine with it." Dawson weaves his way through the crowd with practiced ease, wending his way towards where some of the organizers had been speaking on the bed of a truck with a small sound system set up. "-- Just over there -- thanks. I gotta get back to my partners." He snags one of the bags marked vegan, lifting it with a nod of thanks. "Stay safe." And then he's blipping off, again. Slumped on the tailgate of the trunk, is one tired heap of bat. Dusk is kind of a sweaty mess, dressed in jean shorts and a plain black tee. His dark wings have crumpled in a loose fold of soft skin around him, elbows resting on his knees and his head tucked down between his shoulders. He does have a water bottle in his hands -- badly crumpled and empty. Alas. "Ohhh..." Steve's realization come only when his eyes land on Dusk. "Right -- you, too!" he calls after Dawson right about as he vanishes again. "Hey, Dusk." He pulls the wagon to a stop near the exhausted bat, offering a water bottle -- full of actual water! "How are you doing there, buddy?" "Oh!" Eyes widening in concern, Sarah swings her backpack off in a hurry and sets it at her feet. She quickly locates a clean bandana in one pocket, wrapping it around one of the ice packs from the wagon. "Here," she says, holding it out to Dusk. "Put this on the inside of your elbow. Are you okay?" Dusk's head snaps up at the others' approach, wings folding in behind him. He blinks, hands lifting automatically to start signing -- 'Right, you too! Hey --' before he blinks, shakes his head, drops his elbows back to his knees. "Shit. Hi." He takes the ice pack gratefully, tucking it in against his side. Takes the water, too. "I think my brain's fucking melted out my goddamn ears but I'm -- alive. Thanks. Damn. Long day. You all -- doing a lot of -- uh. Care?" Steve's eyes track Dusk's hands kind of automatically when he starts signing. Blinks in confusion. "We're ah...doing our best. It's not as hot as it's been, but some folks have gone much too long without shade or rest or water." He pauses, lips pressed together flat. "Including you. Have you been doing that since the start?" Confusion slowly dawns into a comprehension that is parts impressed and horrified. Sarah's eyebrows raise high on her forehead, her eyes going wide-wide. "It started hours ago!" she exclaims, rather obviously. She kneels down again, a bit of frenzy in her body language as she searches the pack and comes up with some electrolyte packets to offer Dusk as well. "Here, these should help. Do you want any food? We have different meals, or some fruit." "Um --" Dusk tips his head back, sunlight glinting off his dark glasses as he uncaps the water. Takes a looooong swig, slow, pressing the bottle against the side of his neck after he drinks. "Yeah, I mean. There are -- not that many terps in the city that want to work with the freaks. And -- fewer that want to work with the freaks when the cops keep tear gassing everyone every other day. It's a little -- niche." He takes one of the electrolyte packs, tearing it open to tip it into the water. Around his scruff of beard his face is extremely pale; it makes the hint of blush that creeps into his face more noticeable as he looks down to the wagon. "Uh." He busies himself momentarily recapping the bottle. Shaking it. "I think this'll help a lot. And I have -- some downtime before anyone's gonna speak again." His quick smile is genuine, if tired. "Thanks." "I'm glad folks that need it have you, but sorry that you have to go it alone so often." Steve claps Dusk on the shoulder -- probably needlessly careful with this strength. "It's got to be exhausting to body and mind." His blush comes just a moment after Dusk's, his eyes also straying to the wagon. Opens his mouth. Closes it again without speaking. Removes his hand a beat later, on the slightly clumsy pretext of re-settling the straps of the harness holding his shield. Another false start, his brows wrinkling slightly. Then, finally, blushing deeper, "Maybe Sarah can stay with you while I go fetch some -- coffee, or tea, or something else to perk you up?" Sarah nods in agreement with Steve. "It seems like a lot." Going by the concern resting in her eyes and pulling her eyebrows together, it's not difficult to tell that she wants to press Dusk on eating something. She decides to drop it though, just in time to watch… whatever is happening with Steve. "...Yeah, I don't mind staying with you!" She does her best to sound cheerful and determined, but some confusion lies underneath. Did she say something wrong? One of Dusk's wings shifts outward, brushing lightly against Steve's arm as Steve squeezes his shoulder. It drops back again soon enough; he digs fingers up under his glasses, rubbing at one eye. Shoulders slumping. "What." It's a little flat; a little tired. He takes another gulp of water, shakes his head. "Uh - sure, I... coffee would be. Good." His brows have pinched, the tired drag of his tone lacking in enthusiasm. A belated, polite: "Thank you." He shifts to one side on the tailgate, making more room for Sarah. "Imagine you could use a breather, too. Lotta walking. Anyone try to punch Steve yet today?" Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again without speaking. Turns to go, then back just to add, "I won't be long." He cuts the shortest path through the crowd and, even with his stature and distinctive shield, is soon out of sight. It's quite a few minutes before he returns with a large recycled paper coffee cup. His right hand is somewhat messily re-bandaged, the ever-present rolled gauze wrapped higher than usual so that it covers his wrist. He looks -- oddly pleased with himself, considering all he has apparently done is pick up some lukewarm coffee from the Food Not Bombs table. "Here ya go, fella," he says, flashing a shy yet triumphant smile as hands over the cup and leans up against the truck beside Dusk. "It's very fresh." The offered seat seems to beckon Sarah with a choir of angels. Relief overtakes any lingering confusion or awkwardness, pushing it from Sarah's mind entirely. "Oh, thank you," she sighs, before getting her own bottle of water and scrambling up to sit on the tailgate. Her feet swing beneath her once she settles. "I bought some insoles to help, but like you said. Lots of walking." She's happy to entertain Dusk with tales of various people's reaction to Steve until the supersoldier himself returns. "Welcome back! Want some water?" Dusk spreads one wing out, mantling it wide overhead to offer Sarah some shade when she sits. His exhaustion doesn't leave, but he is content to listen with amusement, sipping at his water and enjoying Sarah's stories. He glances up when Steve returns, eyebrows hiking. "Eh?" He tucks the mostly-empty water bottle between his knees, taking the coffee instead. "Thanks. Gonna be a while longer, I definitely could use the boost." He's lifted the cup to his mouth for a swallow but almost as soon as he takes a sip, he's doubling forward, hand flying to his mouth as he splutter-coughs -- a thick red mouthful of blood spattered across his knuckles and staining his teeth. One wing has pulled in tight against his back, the other fallen from where it was providing makeshift-parasol to drape instead against Sarah's shoulders. "Ohshit --" sounds more startled than upset, really, though he's coughing again. Wiping at his mouth, his cheeks flushed furiously red. "I hope it's enough," Steve says earnestly, tucking his right hand against his side. "I can always bring back more --" Here he breaks off, straightening with more alarm than even Dusk himself when he chokes. But it passes in a moment and leaves him blushing instead. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry." He's stooping to root around in the wagon. "Are you alright?" Sarah's content enjoyment of the shade cracks and shatters as Dusk coughs. Her horrified shriek, already muffled by her mask, is cut off when Dusk's wing falls across her shoulders. For a moment, she leans over with the weight of it, frozen. Steve's absolute lack of concern is enough to snap her out of it--or perhaps just break the dam on her panic, who knows!!--because she is squirming out from under Dusk's wing to jump up and stand on the tailgate. It takes a second too long to rip her mask off, before she shouts. It is shockingly loud above the crowd for someone so small. "DAWSON!" It is probably not surprising that Sarah's cry is answered in very short order. There's a ripple through the crowd; Dawson drops down beside the truck, eyes flicking from one person to the next. Stopping on Sarah. "What's going on? Are you okay? Did you --" He hesitates, uncertain, his hand dropping to his pack. "-- need a medic?" "Steve's got it handled." Dusk's coughing fit is waning, though his blush is not. He dips his head apologetically, pulling his wings back in neatly. His mumbled, "sorry," runs up into an equally mumbled, "thank you." He scrubs at his face. Takes a longer swallow. Steadily, this time. "Like I said, my brain kind of -- fff." His head shakes. "Fresh. Goddamn." Steve winces when Sarah cries out. "No, that's not his --" He pauses as Dawson arrives on scene. "Hey -- sorry," comes in time with Dusk's apology, his face flushing even redder. "Glad it helps, but still -- sorry to have startled all of you." He passes Dusk a handful of wet wipes and straighten up, reaching re-emptively to steady Sarah. "I should have been more clear." Sarah's hands have risen to clutch at the chest of her shirt, face pale and eyes wide-wide again. There is a lot of white showing around the green. "What--" she croaks, her breathing fast as she looks as Dusk. "You're okay?" she asks, confusion and heavy relief and the possible onset of tears all warring for control over her now hoarse voice. Her legs shake as she lowers herself back to the bed of the truck with Steve's help. "I'm sorry," is directed at all of them, before she looks at Steve. "I thought you—I don't know what I thought." "Oh!" Some tension flees Dawson's expression as he looks from Sarah to the blood on Dusk's fingers and back. There's the beginning twitch of a smile -- just slightly. Then gone. His brows crease, concern soon overtaking the almost-smile as he looks back to Sarah. "Dusk is -- good, right? Are you going to be okay? Do you need a drink? Snack? Hug?" Dusk wipes the blood off his hands, balling one of the wet naps into his fist. He takes another gulp, slow and long, some -- oooonly some -- of the redness lightening from his cheeks. "I'm sorry I scared you." This is quieter, thumbclaws giving another small twitch. "I --" He glances down at the cup in his hands. Looks over to Steve's bandaged wrist. Takes another swallow -- takes another breath. "Should explain."