Logs:Tourist Trap

Tourist Trap
cn: violence
Dramatis Personae Chloe, Deanna, Kitty, Robbie and The Rider, brief Blink appearance	2022-05-16 "Girl, New York don't wan'chu."
Location <NYC> Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan
The “Free Jackson Holland” movement has resurged with a vengeance after his transfer for many reasons, adding to the general Chaos of Times Square in the midst of tourist season and college graduation season. Recent days have seen the regulars of the mutant rights protest scene joined by loud Broadway allies, eager college students and their liberal parents visiting for graduation, and the occasional tourist who just picked up a sign left by RevCom and started chanting with the best of them. Of course, those numbers are low compared to the gaggle of human on-lookers who seem to think the protest in front of SHIELD headquarters is more entertainment for their vacation. It’s this last group that Kitty is complaining about now as she and her companion leave the crowd behind them, the chants growing a little more dim as they cross Eighth Avenue into Hell’s Kitchen. “It’s part of this whole thing,” she’s saying, gesturing out with her folded umbrella, “that like, mutants only exist to be viewed and studied, and its not just like, overt bigots, right? So many liberal hashtag equality in STEM scientists want to stick me in a particle accelerator still even after the Prometheus stuff broke, which is like, read the room?” She’s in a navy blue rain jacket, zipped up but hood down in the gaps between drizzle, waterproof sneakers and black authentic leggings, phone wallet and keys safely tucked away on an inside pocket of the jacket. They’ve been followed from the protest by what appears to be a family of problems — a white woman, bleach blond with a Karen bob with her arms crossed over a tablet, a man with a receding hairline marching determinedly at the front of the group, and a small gaggle of young adults in various Touristy Shirts. “Hey, you! Stop!” This yelling seemingly ignored, the man at the front of the pack strides forward and yanks Kitty back by the shoulder, too sudden and too unseen for Kitty to simply phase her way out of it. “Hey, you, ghost freak. You broke my wife’s iPad.” Kitty’s eyes widen in surprise, confusion, glancing at the woman. “Oh, did I walk through it? I’m so sorry,” Kitty is beginning to say, eyes wide as she tries to step out of the man’s grip like a Normal Person. Receding Hairline has other ideas though, as his other hand is coming up to swing at her — then through her, momentum carrying the swing up toward Robbie’s face. Kitty herself is ducking sideways to try and speak to Karen Bob Cut -- "I really am sorry but that seems a bit uncalled for? I am happy to help pay for a repair." Robbie seems a little out-of-place, here -- the 5'7" kid with a broad, short mohawk, a thin gray hoodie, and a tattered hand-me-down denim jacket (far too exposed for this climate; it's already soaked through) is following Kitty with a slight frown, trying his best to quietly listen and nod his head at the appropriate time. He's carrying one (unopened) bottle in hand, awkwardly holding it out as if desperate for someone who needs it to just... take it from him. "...particle... accelerator. Right," Robbie mumbles, brows crumpling in thought, trying to keep up. He's still trying to figure out what 'STEM' means. But he recognizes Prometheus, at least. His brow crumples a little tighter. When the small group starts following them, Robbie tenses up... but doesn't say anything, just keeping his head down. When one of them yanks Kitty back, though -- Robbie's hands are out of his pockets, clenched into fists. He doesn't make an immediate move -- he's not feeling any tingle from the Rider, and besides, he knows Kitty can -- SMK. That moment of hesitation, ironically, leads to Robbie getting smacked. The hit sends him reeling, his face painted a bright, cherry red: "The hell--?!" He chucks the unopened plastic bottle right at the guy. Not hard enough to do any serious damage, but... it's still probably going to sting. Deanna's casual saunter is out of place in this part of the city -- not the meandering lollygagging of a tourist nor the purposeful haste of the New Yorkers trying to extricate themselves from Times Square as quickly as humanly possible. She's got a paper takeout bag looped over one wrist, her other hand tucked into the pocket of her black rain shell; it's half-zipped over a deep red tank top, comfortable straight-legged jeans, sturdy boots, her thick locs ornamented with wood-and-gold beads and tied back away from her face with a red elastic. She's stopped short of the confrontation, her eyes first skipping to a nearby fire escape -- then the distant sounds of protest -- then back to the group in front of her. Her voice is deep and rich when she speaks, her accent at least squarely that of a born-and-bred New Yorker. "You all having a problem here?" Bob Cut jumps back away from Kitty, fear and anger fighting for limited expressional real estate on her face. “Stay away from me,” she shrieks, the shrill demand very much at odds with this whole-stalking-Kitty-for-a-block business. “First you break my things and now you assault my husband? What’s wrong with you people?” Kitty holds her hands up placatingly. “Miss, I’m really sorry to frighten you but I promise I did not mean to hurt you, your iPad, or your husband, I just don’t like it when people try to hit me. Could you please —“ Her eyes dart to Robbie and go wide as the bottle leaves his hand. “—shit.” One of their friends has gotten her phone out, too, very much missing the part of the encounter where Kitty was confronted first and instead training it on Robbie’s bottle hitting Receding Hairline squarely in the eye. He screams in pain, pressing one hand to his swelling eye while the other swings wildly for Robbie again in retaliation. “Holy shit, these freaks are out of control,” says the woman with the camera, the rest of their group backing up. Another one looks to Deanna and points at both Robbie and Kitty. “Yeah, we’re having a problem, they’re attacking us. This is why nobody wants to come to New York!" In retrospect, Robbie realizes that immediately retaliating was, perhaps, not the best idea. When Receding Hairline starts swinging, Robbie steps back, trying to put some distance between themselves instead of making this worse. He lifts his hands up: "Shit, sorry, I just -- I'm not used to --" he's trying to say to Kitty, but his voice is probably lost amidst the sudden roar of attention. --and, with Deanna's arrival, something suddenly -- gets much worse. His eyes flick over to the woman, briefly widening. He's so distracted, in fact, that Receding Hairline manages to catch him. The hit sends Robbie reeling back again, knocking him squarely in the jaw... and as he falls back, several wisps of black smoke rise up from his head. He drops to a knee; one hand covers his face, while the other darts out to grab the back of Kitty's leg: "I -- I think maybe I shouldn't be here." There is a clear note of panic in his voice -- as if something very bad almost happened. "Girl, New York don't wan'chu." For a moment, this slight -- from a tourist no less -- has distracted Deanna, pulling the full (albeit mild) focus of her exasperation. Her cheeks suck against her teeth, her eyes flicking to and then dismissing the camera. "Starting to feel like all of you shouldn't be here. Why you don't stop harassing these tourists and --" Her words cut off as she looks down to Robbie. Catches sight of the smoke with a narrowing of eyes. "The fuck is that, boy?" Just up above the group atop one of the gift stores ubiquitous in this area, one of the apartment windows is opening out onto the fire escape Deanna had looked to before. Chloe is maybe just checking after their wayward Lunch Delivery -- at least she's calling back into the house a moment later, "-- yeah she's right downstairs." She's in brown leather pants, a midriff-baring cream tank, ankle boots, her loose coils tumbling down around bare shoulders. Her arms are crossing on the balcony railing, her brows lifting -- higher, higher -- as she actually sizes up the confrontation below. The "You good?" she tosses below doesn't sound like it's actually an inquiry but (also in very New York cadence) a challenge. “We were just leaving —shit, Robbie —“ Kitty is turning from Deanna at the second hit, ignoring Hairline’s yelling (“That’s what you get, freak-lover,” he’s screaming uncreatively, still with one hand pressed to his eye) when Robbie grabs her leg, “— I’m sorry this just — this happens sometimes what the hell is this.” The this in question is the smoke curling off Robbie’s body— her eyes have gone wide with fear now, though she is still, for the moment, solid. “Robbie, what’s happening?” The rest of the Tourist Group seems to be having a similar reaction — the New York Hater yells back at Chloe, “Does it look like we’re good? This city sucks!” while the rest of the group scrambles back away from Robbie. Except for Hairline, of course, who winds up for a third hit before his wife tries to intercede. “You guys,” Camera is saying, “I think that freak is gonna explode or something.” "I'm --" Robbie starts, cradling his right eye in his hand -- but then his head jerks up sharply to look at Chloe, as he hears her voice... and his other eye widens more. Several additional wisps of smoke drift from his head, his shoulders -- from the fingers cradling his eye. "Shit--" He releases Kitty's leg, crawling back from Hairline's wind-up, trying to get to his feet: "--that lady is -- they're both--" he starts, trying to keep his voice low enough to not be heard... but doing a poor job. He gets to his feet, still holding that eye, clearly putting distance between himself and Deanna. "You -- you need to help me get the fuck out of here right now," he hisses. Kitty’s eyes are still wide but other than that she’s remarkably calm — instead of absolutely freaking out that her friend is turning into smoke, she’s putting her very very solid self in between Robbie and Deanna, one hand reaching back for him. “Grab on and take a deep breath,” she’s saying, “and we can be gone. Just— keep it together.” "It's -- shit -- stay the fuck out of its --" Robbie starts, moving his hand from his right eye, grabbing Kitty's by the wrist. Where his eye should be, there's a pit -- something burning at the bottom of it. And then, he is nothing but smoke. An entire column of it, rushing out to swell forth and briefly swallow Kitty -- little tongues of orange licking out along the corners. The hand gripping Kitty's is suddenly much hotter, now... not hot enough to burn, but very close. The smoke clears -- and a figure rises to its feet. Its skull-like head is wreathed in flame. The Rider looms above Kitty, brushing her hand aside like it was a distraction -- its burning gaze centered squarely on Deanna. It looks like it's grinning. "What," Deanna is saying as she takes a step back, "the fuck." Her lips has curled up in a silent snarl, and she's doing a peremptory scan of the -- wide and perpetually bustling! -- 8th Avenue around them; the tourists, the businesspeople, the taxis and couriers and police. The flame-wreathed something standing before her. She's reached beneath her jacket, drawn a compact gun from somewhere inside. She doesn't hesitate in aiming it straight over Kitty's head at that burning gaze. "Oooh," Chloe is sounding more alive while Robbie undergoes his fiery transformation, bright and excited, "show happening before dinner, then?" She isn't making any move to come down off her perch, straightening where she leans against the railing to step back in through the window. When she returns -- about the time the flame-licked creature is rising -- there's a bow in her hands. The shot she fires is aimed low, toward the Rider's feet -- the head explodes upon impact, not with any incendiary substance but with a rapidly expanding glue-like polymer that hardens like cement on the things it comes in contact with. The second Robbie’s hand closes around Kitty’s wrist she’s dropping, sneakers disappearing into the pavement — and then stops suddenly with a piercing scream as the smoke covers her, as the Rider’s hand sears her wrist. The pavement her feet sunk into cracks and buckles as the concrete is displaced by her solid form. When the Rider lets go she stumbles out of the concrete and back up onto solid ground, looking from the Rider to Deanna’s gun back and forth, terrified. “What are you doing — Robbie turn it off — don’t shoot please —“ The last plea comes too late, the arrow whistling past her to the ground. Kitty’s close enough that the cement catches her feet too. Bob Cut successfully drags her husband from the center of the fight — “They have guns, Brad,” -- while Camera flips her device into landscape mode. Not everyone on 8th Ave has stopped — its New York, after all! — but a number have, and more phones have come out. Fire Skull Guy is about to be plastered all over Snapchat, TikTok, and Instagram Live. Fire-Skull-Guy doesn't move when Kitty screams. It doesn't move when Deanna points a pistol at its head. And when the arrow strikes the ground right next to it -- splattering rapidly-hardening glue in a burst of wetness that expands out in a solid, foam-like cement, sealing it to the ground from the mid-calf down... it doesn't even flinch. Its clothes are blackened, like they've been burned -- whatever Robbie was wearing before, it's unrecognizable, now. The Rider just... turns its head to stare up at Chloe. Then, with a fist clenched, it swings down... right into that polymer. KRRRHT-CRRNCH. The polymer cracks. It pulls one foot out, shakes it free of smoldering debris... then steps forward, toward Deanna. Pulling out the other, right behind it. It doesn't bother trying to help Kitty with her glued-up feet. Very rude, quite frankly. "Oh, I'm sorry, little white girl, you rather I wait here to get burned alive? I know your kind looove watching that." Deanna is backing up steadily, squeezing the trigger three times in quick succession as she does. "Sugar, you finna be the first person in American history to be lynched by an actual demon and not just some cracker channeling one." Should Chloe sound more concerned about this? She probably should! The sing-song of her voice has not lost its brightness, though. "Little-white-girl, you best call your monster off if you don't want an entire mess down there." She's loading up another arrow as she speaks. THWNK. THWNK. THWNK. All three bullets hit their mark, though only one is dead center. The next two are glancing shots off the top of that chrome -- but it's enough to snap the head back, like it just received three rapid hammer-blows to the temple. There are visible cracks in the skull, but nothing breaks. The Rider is staggered for just a moment... before it leans forward and -- with a chittering, wheezy sort of harsh laughter -- charges straight ahead for Deanna. “Robbie snap out of it what happened to getting out of here?” Kitty is not taking Chloe’s advice, she just happened to have a similar idea. She steps through the polymer like it’s not even there, backing up away from Deanna and her gun as well as from the Rider and his apparent bulletproofness. When the Rider starts to charge, though, her reaction is faster — Kitty throws herself at Deanna, grabbing at the woman’s arm to make them both intangible. "Robbie, stop, please!" Deanna has been backing up already, her gun lowering -- not when the bullets first bounce off the Rider and not waiting for him to charge, she's hastening out of the way when Chloe mentions an entire mess. She's already been scrambling back out of the way when Kitty grabs at her -- the annoyance that crosses her expression is fleeting, most of her attention still on the advancing Rider as she continues to back up. "Stop ain't really doing much, is --" It's about this point where she bumps up against a trash can -- or would if she didn't go straight through it to the other side. Her expression contorts, horror and confusion mingling and briefly freezing her in her tracks. Chloe waits only long enough for Deanna to get moving before letting her arrow fly square toward the Rider's back. This time, it does explode, a the grenade tip surprisingly intense for its small size. Her expression is focused; she's not making quips, anymore. Only drawing herself another arrow. "..." -- the Rider isn't laughing now, either. Something flickers across that flaming skull when Kitty lunges in the way. For a moment, the roaring fire around its head seems to flicker in and out, like a candle sputtering in the wind... and then, it's collapsing, the full force of its charge sending it rolling down into a crouch as Kitty and Deanna both lunge out of its path... ...and then, right as that flame is spluttering out -- as the blackened heat seems to be retracting -- that's the precise moment the exploding arrow connects with its back. There's a thunderous boom-- --and then there is no Rider at all. Just Robbie, flat on his chest, arms flopped out in front of him. His backpack and a section of his jacket split open, the edges of fabric smoldering with heat -- a patch of skin exposed. Several bottles of water have burst open, the sundered, charred plastic scattered around him. Kitty is small but fast and strong, her grip tightening on Deanna’s arm as she moves back with her. “He can’t touch you as long as I’ve got you. Call off Robin Hood and I’ll —“ Whatever Kitty was about to say gets cut off with the boom of Chloe’s next arrow. Kitty whips around, color draining from her face. Glances back once to quickly make sure Deanna is not about to become Quantum Entangled with the trashcan or other debris before letting go and sprinting to where Robbie lies. “Buddy hey wake up.“ The sound of police sirens wailing is getting closer — one of those phones around them was not just filming, it seems. Kitty unzips her jacket and reaches into the inside pocket, squeezing the side buttons repeatedly. "Call off, you kidding, right? So he can go find some other women to murder? Your friend there's a real winner." There's still a definite fluster in Deanna's tone -- she's reaching out, now, to poke lightly at the trashcan once, twice, three times, dropping her hand only when it remains consistently solid. She doesn't seem overly fussed at the sound of approaching sirens, though she does tuck her gun back into its inner holster. The disappearance of the Rider does not stop Chloe. Her next arrow is firing even before Kitty's unhanded her wife. There's no exploding payload on this one -- just dosed full of anti-mutant suppression serum, administered through its regrettably sharp tip where it's aimed for Robbie's arm. "...nhh." Robbie shifts, slightly, stirring on the ground. "...th'hell did..." He's starting to get up, though it's slow; it's clear he's not all quite there, at the moment. And then -- THWK. An arrow slams into his arm -- protruding out the side of his bicep. There's just a moment of silence, as Robbie... stares at it. As if trying to grasp how it got there. He manages to push himself up to his knees, grabbing hold of the arrow. He doesn't pull it out -- just holds it, grimacing. A streak of blood runs down the left side of his face, forcing one eye shut. As Kitty runs toward him, he tries pushing himself up to his feet, but can't quite manage it: "--did someone just. Did someone just shoot an arrow at me?!" He sounds more offended than scared. "Someone just shot an arrow at you," Kitty confirms with very fake calm in her voice, kneeling down at Robbie's side and shooting a glare up in Chloe's direction, "multiple times. I am sure --" she glances up and out at the Sea of Phones, "-- I can show you a video later." The cops pull up, sirens blasting. The original Camera-Person from before points her phone excited at them, only to get screamed down by one officer to put it away. The rest approach Robbie and Kitty, guns drawn. "Hands behind your heads!" The lead cops seem a little confused as to where the hell the arrows came from, and why there is no Flaming Skull Mutant -- one cop is wielding, very specifically, a fire extinguisher. "Several arrows," Deanna answers Robbie, and her tone's too severe to really be smug but there's a satisfaction in her expression all the same when the cops roll up. "Expect there'll be a lot of video later, you want some entertainment in jail." "You tried to murder my wife, you're lucky I don't put this next through your eye." Chloe's bow is still nocked, still aimed down at Robbie; this hardly seems an idle threat. With the police rolling in, though, she doesn't loose it. "Took your sweet time, boys, that pair saw themselves a negro and jumped straight to murder." With the immediate threat to her wife currently neutralized, her tone is back to light and amused. "Frankly don't know how any of us are meant to feel safe around here." Robbie finally notices the sirens. He grimaces. "...you -- you gotta bail. He... fuck." The cars are rushing in. A lone, solitary wisp of smoke rises up from where the arrow protrudes from him -- and Robbie's head jerks up toward Chloe, his eyes suddenly meeting hers. And for a moment, there's anger -- rage there -- as he speaks in Spanish: "{He knows what you are. He knows what you did. And he's gonna eat your fucking soul, you crazy bitch.}" He raises his hands, still on the ground, as the cops swarm in. To Kitty: "You... gotta get away from me. He loves cops." There is... an increasing amount of smoke rising from Robbie. He's not looking at the police; he's staring right up at Chloe, right at that arrow. Almost like a dare. The first spark and swirl of purple light is some distance directly overhead, and a split second later there's a glowing portal between the police and Kitty. In it the cops see what looks like an empty rooftop, while Robbie and Kitty see the same rooftop with Blink, who dips through just far enough to drag them to her side. The portal swirls shut behind them, leaving only wisps of the Rider's smoke. At the swirl of light, Kitty is moving, helping Blink get Robbie through to the other side. "Do not turn into fucking fire again. I swear to God." The cop with the fire extinguisher, seeing something happening, unloads the spray into the portal. The other cops are yelling -- stop moving and turn your powers off frequent refrains among them -- to no avail. The portal gone and the smoke evaporating, the closest ones just stare at the shattered concrete, the solid foam, the bullet casings, the arrows. "Fuck," says the one closest to Deanna, sounding truly dejected. "I really wanted to book a freak today." Deanna's jaw tightens hard, one eye twitching when the portal opens and Kitty and Robbie disappear through it. Her arms cross over her chest indignantly, her chin lifting just slightly as she eyes the smoke that lingers. "There'll be more," her words come with a heavy sigh, "there's always more." Chloe is also staring at the place on the sidewalk Robbie just was. She looks greatly disappointed as she lowers her bow. The smile on her wide lips is a little rueful. "See? That's what we get for coming to Times Square."