A human caught in monochrome dreams, I scream to wake up....
Who: Heather Mason and YOU! Anyone in Violet City is free join in.
Where: The streets and buildings of Violet City-- anywhere is fair game!
When: Any time between the events of this post (Friday morning) and Sunday morning.
Summary: When the fog came rolling in, Heather stopped seeing Johto and started seeing Silent Hill. Her PokeGear? Nothing but static and squealing-- all her friends, gone-- no one but her and the monsters, and a thousand grungy nooks and crannies to die in, and this time, she doesn't even have a reason for being there! All she can do is try to stay alive long enough to find a way out of hell-town ... Or so she thinks.
In reality? She's rampaging around Violet City with a blunt object.
Wish the Jennies luck with this one.
Rating: PG-13 to R for violence and language, depending on thread.
Log: (TL;DR AHEAD WARNING!!!
There is a metric buttload of prose behind these cuts, because I am a masochist and love writing things that nobody in their right mind would bother reading.
This stuff is all here for entertainment/referential purposes-- don't feel obligated to read it before joining in if you don't want to! If big walls of text terrify you (AS THEY SHOULD), feel free to just post your character going about their crazy acid-tripping goodness! It's all good!)
"CUJO!"
Her voice, already hoarse, bounced off of the sheer, blank sides of the fog-blanketed buildings all around her as she stumbled hurriedly down the narrow, empty streets, skirting abandoned trash cans and ancient, rusted car frames that looked like they'd been there for years. The end of the IV pole she'd taken with her was clattering behind her on the asphalt, trailing from one hand. The low, pulsing throb of machinery thrummed through the ground under her feet like a great industrial heartbeat, making the very molecules in the fog shiver.
"You damn d-dog, where are you..."
It had been a downright miracle she'd busted out of the hospital without injuries more serious than the bruises and scrapes she'd received-- those Nurses had backed off pretty quickly once she'd clubbed one of them over the head with that pole as hard as she could. They had still come after her when she ran, but the pause had given her enough of a head start that she'd been able to smash her way through Maybe Silent Hill just didn't make monsters like they used to.
"CUJO-- nng!!" she tried again, voice breaking off into a sharp squeak of pain as agony rippled through her insides. She stumbled to a halt to lean against the damp brick wall of the alley with her shoulder, clutching at her middle with a free hand until it passed, whereupon she slowly straightened up again, breathing heavily.
From her vest pocket, a quiet, tinny stream of static was still trickling from the speakers of the PokeGea-- no, she'd looked. It wasn't even a PokeGear anymore. It was a radio. Just a radio.
It had occurred to her as she'd been shoving her way through that back door to get out onto the streets, spilling the garbage cans crammed in front of it in the process (their contents had gone spilling out into the gutter in a bloody pile... bundles of cloth containing things that Heather did not particularly want to investigate), to call someone. She'd been relying on that damn network so much, to stay connected with these people-- these new people who cared about her and who she actually cared about back. Now there was something she sure hadn't expected to have ever again. And how easily had she started taking it all for granted, again?
"CUJO!!"
Just like before. She hadn't changed a bit.
She'd had something good, and then this place had taken it right the hell away.
Her own damn fault, really.
She should have appreciated it more.
Now it was all gone.
Her second chance.... her father. Gone.
Why the hell had she ever wanted to find out how to get home, anyway?
Maybe this was her punishment for not fucking appreciating what she'd been given.
Hefting the IV pole, Heather continued, her footsteps echoing deafeningly in her ears. Her pack was gone-- along with all her supplies. She'd dropped it in the struggle with the Nurses and when she'd gone to snatch it up again, she'd only found a cluster of those fucking ugly little pale things with spindly legs-- ones that were that pale color that reminded her of numbness and drowned corpses-- clustered around it instead. She'd charged them with the pole, snarling, but they'd fled, dragging the pack with them, and she'd been forced to cut her losses and run, or be cornered by those goddamn nurses.
And she had no weapons-- save for the IV pole and a certain fire-breathing animal who was currently missing in action. If he was even here at all. That was the only reason she was looking for him, even if it was a stupid hope. As much as she'd hated relying on animals to do the fighting for her, he was the most surefire defense she had. Unless she found a pistol within the next few moments, that was.
"CUJO!"
The fog had, if anything, grown even thicker than it had been before... and the dark, faceless buildings that rose out it on all sides like monoliths felt more like walls penning her in than any kind of potential shelter. Heather swallowed hard as she looked up at them, swiping a hand across her brow to wipe away the moisture that had condensated there.and James's words from the previous night rang through her head.
Almost as if even being in this place doesn't matter. It's almost like we can't escape that place...
The words held a sour, chilling taste-- he'd obviously been right. She'd never been meant to escape from that town. Why it had waited a whole year-- and let her get so very far away from it, she did not know. But she was back now. Probably for good.
But there was a little twinge of hope, too...
Her friends, obviously, were gone for good. She'd never see them again. No Otacon, no Liquid, no Rise or Kaito or anyone.
Except for one.
Maybe James was here.
He'd dreamed of the town too, after all...
And so, as Heather reached the mouth of the alley (which... lead to more alleys. Where was the open road??!), she paused, panting and looking around.
Maybe... maybe she should start calling his name instead of Cujo's... god knew he'd be the more likely one here. Though he wouldn't be as effective when it came to fighting, that was for sure...
But as she opened her mouth, there was a clatter behind her as a trash-can tipped over, its contents tumbling out across the wet pavement. This was shortly followed by a sharp, doglike whine.
"... Cujo?"
Heather turned around to face the way she'd come, straining her eyes to pierce the fog.
"Cooj?"
She started to step forward-- and then stopped dead in her tracks as the radio in her pocket began, once more, to squeal and sputter over the low, moaning hum of the town's mechanical heartbeat.
And over both of those, another dreaded noise came floating down the alley until it met her at the mouth, stunning her into stillness.
".... oh, hell no..."
And then they emerged, loping, through the fog, their rangy limbs carrying them surprisingly smoothly, considering the fact that their flesh was quite literally rotting off of them...
The radio screamed.
Those?
Were definitely not Cujo.
With increasingly sweaty palms, Heather gripped the IV pole once more.
The dog in the forefront paused to regard her with its empty eyesockets, bloated purple tongue dangling almost comically between the split halves of its face. Foam bubbled at the corners of its black-gummed lips and dribbled down to splatter on the pavement below in thick, slimy ropes.
Rabies. Now she remembered.
One of the reasons Alessa had been so scared of dogs was because of rabies.
The dog charged.
Heather swung.
~*~
~*~
~*~
It was chaos in the streets of Violet-- but then, according to all the phone-ins from the police stations of all the other cities, it was chaos everywhere.
People hallucinating, going into convulsions... the Officer Jennies had seen a lot in their time, but this kind of mass mental breakdown was sort of new. And not just that, but it was all the otherworlders who were the ones breaking down. As if accommodating some hundred foreign people into the country, getting them situated and trying to get them accustomed to the rules of this society wasn't hard enough... it sure wasn't easy, that was for sure!
Specifically, some of them weren't making it easy.
Although, with this particular case, it probably wasn't their fault at all...
Officer Jenny (one of the many) sprinted down the street, her K9 Growlithe loping gracefully at her side-- along with a small group of other officers. The streets were blessedly empty of normal people-- they'd all been advised to stay indoors until the crazy hallucinating whackjobs were all either taken care of or put in custody.
"What was the call this time?" panted one of the other Jennies next to her.
"Someone in that apartment complex a few blocks away from the Center reported there was a teenage girl in one of the alleys absolutely beating the crap out of a Growlithe," replied Jenny. Her own Growlithe let out a sympathetic whimper as he ran.
"Arceus', this day just keeps on getting better and better," muttered another Jenny under her breath.
Jenny lifted her radio to her mouth and pressed the receiver button, bringing it to life with a crackle. "Jenny, what's your status?"
"Who, me? I'm right behind you!" panted Jenny, perplexed.
"NO, the Jenny on duty at the Center!" snapped Jenny.
"Why don't we have codenames yet?" wondered yet another Jenny, from somewhere in the back of the group.
"Why is this ALWAYS brought up?!"
"... I'd like a codename," piped up Officer Jerry, the only man on the VCPD.
"Shut up, Jerry."
"Shut UP, Jerry."
"SHUT UP, JERRY. You're the only one who doesn't need one."
"... It was just a suggestion," pouted Jerry.
"SHHH!" hissed the original Jenny irritably, gesturing behind her as she ran. "We're getting close to the apartments, so get your head in the game! If this goes badly, I'm writing you all up when we get back to the station!"
They shut up.
The apartment complex loomed up out of the dratted fog and the gaggle of officers came jogging to a stop. Officer Jenny held up one hand to indicate the need for silence, her brows furrowed and lips pressed into a grim line. They didn't need to wait long before a piercingly-sharp yelp rang out from between the complexes. Jenny made a 'move out' gesture and they jogged forward to see just what awaited them.
Sure enough, there was a girl-- wild-eyed and bloody-- swinging away with a stolen IV-pole-- the bag hanging from it broken and leaking everywhere-- at a battered-looking, whimpering Growlithe.
Cujo was so confused.
He had finally found Trainer, but she kept hurting him.
Her face and voice said she was scared and needed him, so why was she doing this?
She'd said mean things, pushed him away, and called him lots of names, but she had never hit him before.
Whining, he tried once more to approach, only to get a THWACK from the pole right in the face, knocking him sideways.
"GET LOST!" Heather screamed hoarsely, whipping the pole through the air again, making a whistling noise in the fog. "I'LL BASH YOUR UGLY MUMMIFIED HEAD IN, FREAK!!"
Her back turned to the mouth of the alley, she was not aware of the officers' presence.
"... Isn't that the girl who had some kind of violent breakdown in the middle of the Pokemon Center lobby??" whispered one of the Jennies in a hushed tone.
"Yeah, looks like that's the same pole she gave poor Joy a concussion with, too," muttered another. "She's dangerous. Let's take her in before she winds up hurting another person."
She stood up and stepped around the corner, pointing straight at Heather.
"POLICE! Drop that and put your hands over your head!"
Heather slowly turned around. Her eyes were wide and glossy, the irises and pupil just dark pinpricks in the middle of them. She was panting heavily.
"... Did you not hear me? I SAID, hands over your head!" commanded Jenny through gritted teeth. Beside her, her own Growlithe bristled and made sounds that proved his namesake.
Staring like a deer in the headlights-- an angry deer in the headlights, Heather backed up a bit, hefting the pole.
"Oh, no. Not you. Not bendy-straw heads. Fuck, I thought I'd seen the last of you. God DAMMIT I hate this place."
Behind Jenny, the officers blinked and looked at each other slowly.
"... yep, hallucinating," mumbled one of them. "She probably has no idea what she's saying."
Officer Jenny took a step forward again. "HANDS. OVER YOUR HEAD. Am I not speaking a language you can understand? Do it NOW!"
Heather backed away again, baring her teeth like some kind of wild raccoon caught eating trash on the porch in the middle of the night. "I WILL FUCK YOUR BENDYSTRAW ASS UP!"
Officer Jenny's glare smoldered. "Why, you little--!"
"Hey, hey, you're going about this wrong, sis," Jerry offered helpfully, stepping forward with a compassionate expression.
Jenny turned to look at him, eyes lidded. "I did NOT ask for your input, Jerry--"
"Look at her! She's obviously scared witless! You can't talk to people in this state all RAWR like that, you gotta take it easy with these guys," Jerry said. "You know, use a soothing tone of voice and--"
"All right, fine. If you're so good at handling nutcases, you do it," grumbled Jenny, stepping back.
"I will, then," Jerry said, straightening up and beaming. "Leave this to me, ladies!"
He strode forward, cautiously, towards the gangly girl, who had her back to the wall of the building and was glaring around at them with the pole clutched in her hands so tightly that her knuckles popped out like little white rocks.
"Hey there!" he said in a soft, drawn-out voice, like he was talking to a scared dog or someone's senile grandma. "I'm not gonna hurt you! This fog is pretty scary, isn't it?"
Heather blinked, clutched the pole to her chest, and squinted very hard at Jerry as though he was missing something very obvious.
"....."
The Jennies looked on, half-anxious, half-wondering what would happen next.
".... He's gonna get kicked in the crotch," one of them decided, and the others nodded in slow but sure agreement.
Jerry beamed magnanimously at Heather, slowly reaching out a hand. She backed up, tensing and baring her teeth.
"We're not gonna hurt you... so why don't you hand over that pole--- no, no, don't jerk it away-- there, good-- now just--"
"She's gonna kick you in the crotch, Jerry."
"NO commentary from the peanut gallery, please," he said through a strained grin, not looking over his shoulder. "Now just-- give that-- He grunted, taking hold of the pole and engaging in a brief tug of war before he was able to pry it from Heather's hands. "--give that to me, good."
He tossed it to the side and dusted his hands off, finally beaming over to his coworkers.
"See? It's all about the soothing voice. You just need to stay calm."
He turned back to the cringing Heather triumphantly, his chest puffed out with pride at having been able to tame the wild Crazy Person.
"Now, if you'll just come with us, we've got a cozy little cell down at the station where you can wait until this aaaall blows over..."
He reached out to gently take hold of her arm.
WHAT WAS ACTUALLY HAPPENING: WHAT HEATHER SAW:
Jerry made a sound like the air slowly being let out of a balloon and crumpled into a heap of blue clothing and shame onto the ground.
"THAT'S IT!" roared Jenny, charging forward and yanking the handcuffs off of her belt. She was followed by the rest of the force. "STOP IN THE NAME OF THE LAW, YOU LITTLE CREE--"
She was cut off by Heather hurling a trash can lid at her face.
What followed was about ten or so minutes of confused punching, thrashing, trying to hold onto the fighting-like-a-demon Heather, and everyone got hit a lot by the IV pole.
Finally, one of them straightened from the chaos, hanging onto the struggling teen by her wrists.
"I'VE GOT HER! I've go-- OW! She BIT me!"
And so she had.
With that, Heather burst free from the fray and took off down the alley like the hounds of hell were on her tail.
Which... they pretty much were.
With a chorus of barking and snarling, the VCPD's K9 unit took off after her, their baying bouncing off the walls and echoing through the fog.
Officer Jenny pressed a hand to the boot-shaped bruise she now had in the middle of her left cheek, gritting her teeth.
This was going to be a long, long day.
(ooc: A feed of the confrontation (and what led up to it) between VCPD and Heather was broadcast to the network, so all may enjoy and know of the yackety-sax worthy brawl.)
Where: The streets and buildings of Violet City-- anywhere is fair game!
When: Any time between the events of this post (Friday morning) and Sunday morning.
Summary: When the fog came rolling in, Heather stopped seeing Johto and started seeing Silent Hill. Her PokeGear? Nothing but static and squealing-- all her friends, gone-- no one but her and the monsters, and a thousand grungy nooks and crannies to die in, and this time, she doesn't even have a reason for being there! All she can do is try to stay alive long enough to find a way out of hell-town ... Or so she thinks.
In reality? She's rampaging around Violet City with a blunt object.
Wish the Jennies luck with this one.
Rating: PG-13 to R for violence and language, depending on thread.
Log: (TL;DR AHEAD WARNING!!!
There is a metric buttload of prose behind these cuts, because I am a masochist and love writing things that nobody in their right mind would bother reading.
This stuff is all here for entertainment/referential purposes-- don't feel obligated to read it before joining in if you don't want to! If big walls of text terrify you (AS THEY SHOULD), feel free to just post your character going about their crazy acid-tripping goodness! It's all good!)
"CUJO!"
Her voice, already hoarse, bounced off of the sheer, blank sides of the fog-blanketed buildings all around her as she stumbled hurriedly down the narrow, empty streets, skirting abandoned trash cans and ancient, rusted car frames that looked like they'd been there for years. The end of the IV pole she'd taken with her was clattering behind her on the asphalt, trailing from one hand. The low, pulsing throb of machinery thrummed through the ground under her feet like a great industrial heartbeat, making the very molecules in the fog shiver.
"You damn d-dog, where are you..."
It had been a downright miracle she'd busted out of the hospital without injuries more serious than the bruises and scrapes she'd received-- those Nurses had backed off pretty quickly once she'd clubbed one of them over the head with that pole as hard as she could. They had still come after her when she ran, but the pause had given her enough of a head start that she'd been able to smash her way through Maybe Silent Hill just didn't make monsters like they used to.
"CUJO-- nng!!" she tried again, voice breaking off into a sharp squeak of pain as agony rippled through her insides. She stumbled to a halt to lean against the damp brick wall of the alley with her shoulder, clutching at her middle with a free hand until it passed, whereupon she slowly straightened up again, breathing heavily.
From her vest pocket, a quiet, tinny stream of static was still trickling from the speakers of the PokeGea-- no, she'd looked. It wasn't even a PokeGear anymore. It was a radio. Just a radio.
It had occurred to her as she'd been shoving her way through that back door to get out onto the streets, spilling the garbage cans crammed in front of it in the process (their contents had gone spilling out into the gutter in a bloody pile... bundles of cloth containing things that Heather did not particularly want to investigate), to call someone. She'd been relying on that damn network so much, to stay connected with these people-- these new people who cared about her and who she actually cared about back. Now there was something she sure hadn't expected to have ever again. And how easily had she started taking it all for granted, again?
"CUJO!!"
Just like before. She hadn't changed a bit.
She'd had something good, and then this place had taken it right the hell away.
Her own damn fault, really.
She should have appreciated it more.
Now it was all gone.
Her second chance.... her father. Gone.
Why the hell had she ever wanted to find out how to get home, anyway?
Maybe this was her punishment for not fucking appreciating what she'd been given.
Hefting the IV pole, Heather continued, her footsteps echoing deafeningly in her ears. Her pack was gone-- along with all her supplies. She'd dropped it in the struggle with the Nurses and when she'd gone to snatch it up again, she'd only found a cluster of those fucking ugly little pale things with spindly legs-- ones that were that pale color that reminded her of numbness and drowned corpses-- clustered around it instead. She'd charged them with the pole, snarling, but they'd fled, dragging the pack with them, and she'd been forced to cut her losses and run, or be cornered by those goddamn nurses.
And she had no weapons-- save for the IV pole and a certain fire-breathing animal who was currently missing in action. If he was even here at all. That was the only reason she was looking for him, even if it was a stupid hope. As much as she'd hated relying on animals to do the fighting for her, he was the most surefire defense she had. Unless she found a pistol within the next few moments, that was.
"CUJO!"
The fog had, if anything, grown even thicker than it had been before... and the dark, faceless buildings that rose out it on all sides like monoliths felt more like walls penning her in than any kind of potential shelter. Heather swallowed hard as she looked up at them, swiping a hand across her brow to wipe away the moisture that had condensated there.and James's words from the previous night rang through her head.
Almost as if even being in this place doesn't matter. It's almost like we can't escape that place...
The words held a sour, chilling taste-- he'd obviously been right. She'd never been meant to escape from that town. Why it had waited a whole year-- and let her get so very far away from it, she did not know. But she was back now. Probably for good.
But there was a little twinge of hope, too...
Her friends, obviously, were gone for good. She'd never see them again. No Otacon, no Liquid, no Rise or Kaito or anyone.
Except for one.
Maybe James was here.
He'd dreamed of the town too, after all...
And so, as Heather reached the mouth of the alley (which... lead to more alleys. Where was the open road??!), she paused, panting and looking around.
Maybe... maybe she should start calling his name instead of Cujo's... god knew he'd be the more likely one here. Though he wouldn't be as effective when it came to fighting, that was for sure...
But as she opened her mouth, there was a clatter behind her as a trash-can tipped over, its contents tumbling out across the wet pavement. This was shortly followed by a sharp, doglike whine.
"... Cujo?"
Heather turned around to face the way she'd come, straining her eyes to pierce the fog.
"Cooj?"
She started to step forward-- and then stopped dead in her tracks as the radio in her pocket began, once more, to squeal and sputter over the low, moaning hum of the town's mechanical heartbeat.
And over both of those, another dreaded noise came floating down the alley until it met her at the mouth, stunning her into stillness.
".... oh, hell no..."
And then they emerged, loping, through the fog, their rangy limbs carrying them surprisingly smoothly, considering the fact that their flesh was quite literally rotting off of them...
The radio screamed.
Those?
Were definitely not Cujo.
With increasingly sweaty palms, Heather gripped the IV pole once more.
The dog in the forefront paused to regard her with its empty eyesockets, bloated purple tongue dangling almost comically between the split halves of its face. Foam bubbled at the corners of its black-gummed lips and dribbled down to splatter on the pavement below in thick, slimy ropes.
Rabies. Now she remembered.
One of the reasons Alessa had been so scared of dogs was because of rabies.
The dog charged.
Heather swung.
~*~
~*~
~*~
It was chaos in the streets of Violet-- but then, according to all the phone-ins from the police stations of all the other cities, it was chaos everywhere.
People hallucinating, going into convulsions... the Officer Jennies had seen a lot in their time, but this kind of mass mental breakdown was sort of new. And not just that, but it was all the otherworlders who were the ones breaking down. As if accommodating some hundred foreign people into the country, getting them situated and trying to get them accustomed to the rules of this society wasn't hard enough... it sure wasn't easy, that was for sure!
Specifically, some of them weren't making it easy.
Although, with this particular case, it probably wasn't their fault at all...
Officer Jenny (one of the many) sprinted down the street, her K9 Growlithe loping gracefully at her side-- along with a small group of other officers. The streets were blessedly empty of normal people-- they'd all been advised to stay indoors until the crazy hallucinating whackjobs were all either taken care of or put in custody.
"What was the call this time?" panted one of the other Jennies next to her.
"Someone in that apartment complex a few blocks away from the Center reported there was a teenage girl in one of the alleys absolutely beating the crap out of a Growlithe," replied Jenny. Her own Growlithe let out a sympathetic whimper as he ran.
"Arceus', this day just keeps on getting better and better," muttered another Jenny under her breath.
Jenny lifted her radio to her mouth and pressed the receiver button, bringing it to life with a crackle. "Jenny, what's your status?"
"Who, me? I'm right behind you!" panted Jenny, perplexed.
"NO, the Jenny on duty at the Center!" snapped Jenny.
"Why don't we have codenames yet?" wondered yet another Jenny, from somewhere in the back of the group.
"Why is this ALWAYS brought up?!"
"... I'd like a codename," piped up Officer Jerry, the only man on the VCPD.
"Shut up, Jerry."
"Shut UP, Jerry."
"SHUT UP, JERRY. You're the only one who doesn't need one."
"... It was just a suggestion," pouted Jerry.
"SHHH!" hissed the original Jenny irritably, gesturing behind her as she ran. "We're getting close to the apartments, so get your head in the game! If this goes badly, I'm writing you all up when we get back to the station!"
They shut up.
The apartment complex loomed up out of the dratted fog and the gaggle of officers came jogging to a stop. Officer Jenny held up one hand to indicate the need for silence, her brows furrowed and lips pressed into a grim line. They didn't need to wait long before a piercingly-sharp yelp rang out from between the complexes. Jenny made a 'move out' gesture and they jogged forward to see just what awaited them.
Sure enough, there was a girl-- wild-eyed and bloody-- swinging away with a stolen IV-pole-- the bag hanging from it broken and leaking everywhere-- at a battered-looking, whimpering Growlithe.
Cujo was so confused.
He had finally found Trainer, but she kept hurting him.
Her face and voice said she was scared and needed him, so why was she doing this?
She'd said mean things, pushed him away, and called him lots of names, but she had never hit him before.
Whining, he tried once more to approach, only to get a THWACK from the pole right in the face, knocking him sideways.
"GET LOST!" Heather screamed hoarsely, whipping the pole through the air again, making a whistling noise in the fog. "I'LL BASH YOUR UGLY MUMMIFIED HEAD IN, FREAK!!"
Her back turned to the mouth of the alley, she was not aware of the officers' presence.
"... Isn't that the girl who had some kind of violent breakdown in the middle of the Pokemon Center lobby??" whispered one of the Jennies in a hushed tone.
"Yeah, looks like that's the same pole she gave poor Joy a concussion with, too," muttered another. "She's dangerous. Let's take her in before she winds up hurting another person."
She stood up and stepped around the corner, pointing straight at Heather.
"POLICE! Drop that and put your hands over your head!"
Heather slowly turned around. Her eyes were wide and glossy, the irises and pupil just dark pinpricks in the middle of them. She was panting heavily.
"... Did you not hear me? I SAID, hands over your head!" commanded Jenny through gritted teeth. Beside her, her own Growlithe bristled and made sounds that proved his namesake.
Staring like a deer in the headlights-- an angry deer in the headlights, Heather backed up a bit, hefting the pole.
"Oh, no. Not you. Not bendy-straw heads. Fuck, I thought I'd seen the last of you. God DAMMIT I hate this place."
Behind Jenny, the officers blinked and looked at each other slowly.
"... yep, hallucinating," mumbled one of them. "She probably has no idea what she's saying."
Officer Jenny took a step forward again. "HANDS. OVER YOUR HEAD. Am I not speaking a language you can understand? Do it NOW!"
Heather backed away again, baring her teeth like some kind of wild raccoon caught eating trash on the porch in the middle of the night. "I WILL FUCK YOUR BENDYSTRAW ASS UP!"
Officer Jenny's glare smoldered. "Why, you little--!"
"Hey, hey, you're going about this wrong, sis," Jerry offered helpfully, stepping forward with a compassionate expression.
Jenny turned to look at him, eyes lidded. "I did NOT ask for your input, Jerry--"
"Look at her! She's obviously scared witless! You can't talk to people in this state all RAWR like that, you gotta take it easy with these guys," Jerry said. "You know, use a soothing tone of voice and--"
"All right, fine. If you're so good at handling nutcases, you do it," grumbled Jenny, stepping back.
"I will, then," Jerry said, straightening up and beaming. "Leave this to me, ladies!"
He strode forward, cautiously, towards the gangly girl, who had her back to the wall of the building and was glaring around at them with the pole clutched in her hands so tightly that her knuckles popped out like little white rocks.
"Hey there!" he said in a soft, drawn-out voice, like he was talking to a scared dog or someone's senile grandma. "I'm not gonna hurt you! This fog is pretty scary, isn't it?"
Heather blinked, clutched the pole to her chest, and squinted very hard at Jerry as though he was missing something very obvious.
"....."
The Jennies looked on, half-anxious, half-wondering what would happen next.
".... He's gonna get kicked in the crotch," one of them decided, and the others nodded in slow but sure agreement.
Jerry beamed magnanimously at Heather, slowly reaching out a hand. She backed up, tensing and baring her teeth.
"We're not gonna hurt you... so why don't you hand over that pole--- no, no, don't jerk it away-- there, good-- now just--"
"She's gonna kick you in the crotch, Jerry."
"NO commentary from the peanut gallery, please," he said through a strained grin, not looking over his shoulder. "Now just-- give that-- He grunted, taking hold of the pole and engaging in a brief tug of war before he was able to pry it from Heather's hands. "--give that to me, good."
He tossed it to the side and dusted his hands off, finally beaming over to his coworkers.
"See? It's all about the soothing voice. You just need to stay calm."
He turned back to the cringing Heather triumphantly, his chest puffed out with pride at having been able to tame the wild Crazy Person.
"Now, if you'll just come with us, we've got a cozy little cell down at the station where you can wait until this aaaall blows over..."
He reached out to gently take hold of her arm.
WHAT WAS ACTUALLY HAPPENING: WHAT HEATHER SAW:
Jerry made a sound like the air slowly being let out of a balloon and crumpled into a heap of blue clothing and shame onto the ground.
"THAT'S IT!" roared Jenny, charging forward and yanking the handcuffs off of her belt. She was followed by the rest of the force. "STOP IN THE NAME OF THE LAW, YOU LITTLE CREE--"
She was cut off by Heather hurling a trash can lid at her face.
What followed was about ten or so minutes of confused punching, thrashing, trying to hold onto the fighting-like-a-demon Heather, and everyone got hit a lot by the IV pole.
Finally, one of them straightened from the chaos, hanging onto the struggling teen by her wrists.
"I'VE GOT HER! I've go-- OW! She BIT me!"
And so she had.
With that, Heather burst free from the fray and took off down the alley like the hounds of hell were on her tail.
Which... they pretty much were.
With a chorus of barking and snarling, the VCPD's K9 unit took off after her, their baying bouncing off the walls and echoing through the fog.
Officer Jenny pressed a hand to the boot-shaped bruise she now had in the middle of her left cheek, gritting her teeth.
This was going to be a long, long day.
(ooc: A feed of the confrontation (and what led up to it) between VCPD and Heather was broadcast to the network, so all may enjoy and know of the yackety-sax worthy brawl.)