Janie's Got a Gun
I never really realized just how much of my ability to remain calm, cool and collected depends on finding some physical outlet to safely release stress. Back at the school, mandatory Danger Room drills and the occasional scramble call to the jet took care of it. Here in the city... Well, throw in Warren showing up after catching Emma cheating on him with Scott, the Professor and I actually having a slight argument while watching March of the Penguins, the stress involved in keeping a peaceful march peaceful, some continued pressure to try and get my findings about who's probably in on Wide Awake looking coherent and then finding out Scott's gotten himself beaten up by Toad... it's not surprising that the next time Logan showed up in the city, I dragged him off down to Hell's Kitchen to go find some people Doing Wrong that I could vent some frustrations on.
It was good. It was a little too easy, rounding up a bunch of high and confused gang members preying on a young woman and leaving them for the police, but... it was good. And if the FoH specifically hunting me would provide a greater challenge, well, I think I can live without that challenge for a little while longer. All things considered.
X-Men MUCK - Thursday, August 25, 2005, 9:31 PM
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Clinton
Clinton, or Hell's Kitchen as it is commonly known as by the locals, is definitely one of the worse neighborhoods of New York. Although crime rates have been cleaning up in this section as opposed to what they used to be, it is still not uncommon to hear the explosion of gunfire out in the alleyways at night or the occasional prostitute leaning in wait against a graffiti'd wall. The rent here is low, and only a few brownstones don't lend it a particularly homey feel. However, if you're looking for somewhere cheap and have the guts, well...Hell's Kitchen is it.
[Exits : [L]iving [C]olor [T]attoo, [P]aradise [V]illas, [A]bandoned [W]arehouse, [P]aradise [F]ound Bar and Motel, and [Ch]elsea ]
[Players : Logan ]
Hell's Kitchen at night. This is a time when the wise innocents are indoors behind thick locks, and young men with alchohol and crack cocaine on board are out in packs. Night in Hell's Kitchen is the time of the predators, and the farther past midnight it gets, the bolder they become. Alas that not all innocents are wise... But as a young woman fearfully walks home, long past her curfew and feeling eyes on the back of her neck as one hand clutches a can of mace like a talisman, a question must be asked: Who hunts the hunter? Tonight, part of the answer takes the form of a flash of red hair escaping from beneath a hat and above a black leather trenchcoat that covers X-enhanced combat gear.
The large lurking man near the flash of red is the sort many might suspect of being one of the predators. He drifts quietly through the shadows in his own concealing trenchcoat. Down an alley, a crowd of men sit smoking several impure substances. One of them jerks his chin toward the spectacle of the nervous young woman and the crowd uncoils itself from its own set of shadows, drifting out into the road to separate around their prey.
<< Blood in the water, >> is Jean's silent murmur as the hunting men peel out and away, mentally spoken so as not to attract attention as she strolls, half in shadow, half in guttering street light. Unaware of how many, unaware of location, the young woman nonetheless picks up her pace, instincts screaming about bad ideas, and her other hand wrapping around one car key in an attempt to have at least that tiny, dull blade to hand. << So, do you want to take out this lot now, or do we wait long enough that she can press charges? >>
<< Would be good for her to learn the lesson that she's being an idiot, >> Logan replies, his thoughts just a bit contemptuous. It's okay to be vulnerable, if you take the proper steps to stay safe. It's okay to engage in risky behavior if you're tough enough to pull it off. Their choice of bait clearly fulfills neither requirement tonight, and the gang of half a dozen men suddenly materialize out of the shadows around their target, the leader grinning into her face. "Hey, little lady. Out a little late?" Logan starts to speed up. << Well, maybe we don't need to leave her too long. I don't care much about charges. >>
<< She was out late because a friend of hers just had a boyfriend get shot in a turf war, >> Jean shares impressions gleaned from the mental aether with a little shake of her head. << God knows why she didn't just stay the night... damn, these boys are impatient. >> She falls silent then, quickening her pace as well and staring intently at the leader, sizing up his mind and his weaknesses. << Big Man has a gun, all the rest just knives, or at least that's all they're thinking of. >> Shared imagery, blade to a pleading throat, violence, blood and rape, and a rush of anger from Jean accompanying.
Logan grimaces, clearly not wanting to deal with a good excuse for silly, unsafe behavior. << Well, let's go kick a little ass. >> Logan's opinion is rather predictable under the circumstances. He circles to approach the group from the side, rather than directly from behind the young woman. To call the leader impatient is an understatement. He gestures with his head and two men come up behind their target to grab at her arms and prevent her from using her mace, and conveniently giving a solid basis for criminal charges.
"I think you boys want to let her go now, and head somewhere to sober up." Jean's role as initial distraction is a practised and enjoyed one as she steps forth from the shadows once Logan's headed to 'round from the other direction. Look here, look at the attractive and clearly comfortably wealthy woman talking to you like you're misbehaving children. Pay no attention to the man behind you. Lions in the tall grass, X-Men in the night, there are certain similarities. "It's a bad part of town, wouldn't want you to get hurt."
The leader blinks at Jean, surprised at her bold display of confidence. He knows a few things about swagger himself, however, and quickly converts his expression to a sneer. "Damn straight. Now back it up, bitch, and we'll show you dangerous." Two of the gang members reach for their pockets to pull out a knife as they start to close slowly on Jean. Wolverine comes up behind one of the men, the whole group looking the other way. A thick arm snakes around a thick neck and suddenly Wolverine is holding the man with one arm twisted up behind his back and another restricting the man's airflow. Wolverine drags his quarry back into a shadow in almost complete silence.
"Oh -please-." Jean disapproves of knives in the hands of mental children, and waves a hand in a sharp gesture. Pun intended, but despite that failing, the knives go flying from their owners' hands, (One with finger grips nearly costing its owner a thumb.) and land with a distant crash and clatter on the roof of a nearby abandoned grocery. "You couldn't find 'dangerous' if you had a ball of yarn and a road map. Now, let the girl go. And if you want to get the 'mutie freak' remarks out of the way, you can go right ahead now." << Smooth. >> is approved to Logan, a smirk appearing on her features as the first man is removed without a body noticing except the girl, wide-eyed and too unnerved to do more than squeak.
The group is demonstrably freaked out by Jean's display of power. The two holding the girl loosen their grip slightly and the two who were advancing on Jean seem to have their courage ripped out their hands. Unfortunately, the leader still has his, and makes a grab for his gun. "Get outta here, freak!" The gun, if it is not stopped, will wind up pointing at the girl. Logan comes forward in the shadows again, his first victim placed quietly on his back behind a solid garbage can.
Oh, the gun isn't stopped, but how are you going to fire a pistol, Mr. Anderson, if you can't move your hands. "No," Jean replies, a feral grin starting to sneak onto cultured features. A touch, a brush, a twist of the signals of the reptile brain, and suddenly the leader is as statuesque, if less salty, as Lot's Wife.
The attention of the group focuses on the dynamic drama between Jean and the leader. To them, it is unclear what is happening to him. To Wolverine, however, there is no question that Jean will take care of him. He finds a new angle and pops up behind one of the men. "Hi." Then pow, a slug to the jaw and the man drops to the ground. "Now would be a good time to fuck off."
"Sit down," Jean directs the leader, following that suggestion up with a telepathic command that has him folding in short order, cross-legged on the ground. "Now, take a nap." And with a little depression of certain key systems, the man is snoozing in short order. She turns to the rest of the remaining gang and wonders "Next?" before extending a hand to the frightened young woman. She declines, equally as unnerved by her rescuers as her attackers, although she has the sense to stay put and not run into fresh groups of high thugs. She glances over to Logan, and then allows that << Y'know, this would be a bit more satisfyinf if they were showing some fight. Think we should go look for FoH members next time? >>
Seeing the group whittled down considerably from their starting levels, they decide to bolt. One of the three even screams. << I don't know, I think this is pretty funny, >> comes the amused mental voice of Logan as he grabs the back of one guy's collar and spins him down onto face casually. << But it really is like fish in a barrel. FoH might at least stand up to us. >>
<< Of course, the FoH might also be -looking- for us, >> Jean allows, watching the stragglers bolt and dropping the two that Logan's yet to get around to with a pair of well-placed psi bolts that leaves them napping, eyes shifting slightly to flame patterns as she does so. Reaching inside her trench coat to remove one of the plastic wrist tie guns that police in crowd control situations often favour, she approaches the nearest of her downed thugs and starts methodically tying them up. She pauses to produce a cell phone and hand it to their highly-bemused rescuee, who skitters back a bit from anything that might be a touch. Jeas sighs a little, silent and inwardly, but suggests that "You might want to call 911 and have them sense some officers to pick these guys up. If you're feeling up to it, of course. Bad time of night."
Logan wrestles his still conscious captive into similar restraints, despite some thrashing. Finally, he grabs him by the hair and pulls back. "Listen, numbnuts, you're my bitch. Lie still before I feel the need to hit you." The man twitches once more, then crumples. Logan secures him carefully, then drags an unconscious body out of the shadows. << Yeah...and if they came after you, they might be genuinely prepared for your powers, too. >>
<< Well, let's hope we don't run across any hunting parties then, or at least not without one of our own. >> Jean's thoughts are abruptly sober, reminded anew of just how much risk she's in because of one President Lowe's tendency to attract assassins. Silently, she kneels to quick tie the last of the men, before turning again to the young woman. Who still hasn't called 911, and is in fact staring at the cell phone as if it's from an alien planet. She sighs audibly this time and heads over to see what she can do. "Here, honey," she holds out a hand to take it back. "I'll call them, then. Why don't we go sit down over on the kerb."
Logan shakes his head. << Well, it'll make a difference if you and I take off the kid gloves. >> The accompanying image is a bloody one, with claws and flashing action and indistinct faces practically labelled as bad men. Logan prods one of the captives with a toe idly. Still unconscious; no need for him to pummel further.
One of the semi-conscious men has a bit of revenge. Or at least the temporary stun from Jean seems to be wearing off, and seems to have left him nauseous enough to suddenly retch his dinner out onto the sidewalk, perilously close to Logan's shoe. Jean, meanwhile, has offered a low-key hand to the frightened young woman, who has gotten over her fright at having two apparent mutants (She's guessing for Logan.) swoop out of the night, and is now clinging like a limpet as Jean makes a quick phonecall. "Yeah, 42nd Street and 10th Ave. I think they're high on something. No, no, we're all OK." and other brief information is exchanged, with Jean mentioning nothing about quick ties, and nothing about her and Logan's role in things. She also breaks protocol by -not- staying on the line until help arrives, instead ending the call and putting her phone away again. "My name is Jean. That's Logan. Do you want us to walk you home?"
"Shit!" Logan dances back away from the vomit. Then he looks around at the woman. "Yeah, hi. Sorry, I curse over puke." Then he goes back to examining the man. No good if he chokes himself, but he does not seem to be in genuine danger of anything but being gross and arrested.
"That's... OK, man." Wide-eyed, the young woman stares at Logan, before giving a little nod, and giving an address two blocks away, inside one of the better-maintained and gated apartment complexes that coexist uneasily with the fringes of the ghetto. She hasn't let go of Jean's hand yet, even as the two of them rise. "Turn him on his side if you're worried about him aspirating," Jean suggests, before sneaking a surreptitious look at Logan's shoes. "Looks like he missed the stylin' footwear, though."
Logan grabs the man and hauls him onto his side. "Better to be safe." Though Logan doesn't actually care that much, good form is important. << If I stepped in that, I'd be smelling it for a month. >> Logan is hardly squeemish, but a month of sour vomit stench is enough to make him unhappy. "All right, these guys aren't movin'." He straightens and moving over to join Jean and random victim #4214.
<< Eeeew. >> is Jean's obligingly disgusted reply at the thought of that, patting her anonymous arm-clinger reassuringly on the shoulder before steering her down the street. There is not a lot of conversation. Jean does, however, glance over her shoulder and wonder, casually, << Fancy a drink back at my place when we get this lost lamb home again? Those boys should talk enough to do our job for us of dissuading a few of their friends. >>
Logan keeps just a little distance between himself and the victim, figuring that his presence is a bit more overtly intimidatin than Jean's. << Heh. Should be entertaining. Too bad I can't see what would happen to them without drawing more official attention than I want. Drink sounds good. >> Homer Simpson appears in Logan's brain: Mmmmm, beer.
<< Probably easy enough to go hole up in one of the dive bars here and get some bravo with wounded pride to start talking, >> Jean suggests, eyeing her silent, clinging young woman with a touch of concern as she remains tight-lipped about everything, eyes wide and shiny in the poor light. << Despite managing to blend in with you when we were up in Alkali Lake in '03, you can fit the part better than I can. >> "Ah, here we go. You all right here, hon, letting yourself through the gate?" The Cling doesn't stop, although the young woman frees one hand to punch in a security code. "Right, then." Jean nods. "I'll, uh, see you to your door then."
Logan looks around for security cameras as the come to the gate, having no desire to be captured on film. "Looks like a pretty secure place," he comments idly. Which isn't really that true, but he hopes it's vaguely reassuring. << Ah, that's true, >> he replies. An image of Jean in a ball gown and tiara, surrounded by dirty, plebian masses that include Logan flashes through his mind. There is a definite sense of teasing amusement in his thoughts. << It's a little more...innate for me. >>
<< Hey! >> Jean replies, out of sight inside the lobby and up some stairs, but clearly not out of mind. << The tiara's a bit much there, buddy. >> She alters the image to swap in full-length opera gloves instead with a mental smirk. And then pops Logan into period costume and the attendant tights, with approval for his backside. But then she fades off the link for a few minutes, engaged in handing off the young woman to a worried and relieved mother, and blurring the memory of her features into that of some unremarkable-looking angel of mercy instead of Dr. Jean Grey. A couple minutes after that, she's back on the cracked sidewalk beside Logan, one arm lifting to hook casually through his. "I think I needed that."
Logan's countering image is considerably dirtier, getting them both out of their ridiculous costumes. At least partway. "Not a bad evening's work for a random prowling. And it's always fun to win." He sets out to give them some distance from their recent antics. "Not as much training time out here, huh? Good to get some real action."
"Hell yeah," Jean agrees. "Not to mention, there are a lot more frustrations out here than at the school. The last 48 hours... well, suffice it to say better to go knock out some gangbangers than to knock out the frustrations in question." Unbidden, an image of Scott floats up, and is then firmly banished. She quickens her pace in time with Logan's, and admits that "I'd not mind something a little more hands-on next time. My powers always work at a remove, and I've never actually taken time to develop any close-quarters use for 'em."
Logan smiles wryly. "Yeah, well, in a real life and death situation, there's no reason not to keep it at as much of a distance as possible." He leaves a short pause while a grin appears. "Then again, there's nothing like /hitting/ someone." Image of hitting Scott, brief but happy. "I wonder how different I'd be if my powers worked at a remove."
"More with the stalking, less with the pounce?" Jean muses, eyeing a pair of eyes in the shadows eyeing her purse and leaving a passing suggestion that they want to go home and sleep for the night before she and Logan are past that particular alleyway. "But while I don't want to get cocky, I don't think we were really looking at life or death just now. Next time, I'll have to see if any of that unarmed conbat training actually works. Much as I think just sparring for the sake of sparring is fine and dandy." Cue a significant sidelong look at Logan, and a mental ripple.
The little ripple produces a minor quake in response. Mostly, it is amusment, but there are serious undertones as well. "Yeah...Just so long as we keep the guns under control, I don't imagine there was any real danger," he agrees. "Either one of us could have handled all six of them without breaking a sweat."
It was good. It was a little too easy, rounding up a bunch of high and confused gang members preying on a young woman and leaving them for the police, but... it was good. And if the FoH specifically hunting me would provide a greater challenge, well, I think I can live without that challenge for a little while longer. All things considered.
X-Men MUCK - Thursday, August 25, 2005, 9:31 PM
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Clinton
Clinton, or Hell's Kitchen as it is commonly known as by the locals, is definitely one of the worse neighborhoods of New York. Although crime rates have been cleaning up in this section as opposed to what they used to be, it is still not uncommon to hear the explosion of gunfire out in the alleyways at night or the occasional prostitute leaning in wait against a graffiti'd wall. The rent here is low, and only a few brownstones don't lend it a particularly homey feel. However, if you're looking for somewhere cheap and have the guts, well...Hell's Kitchen is it.
[Exits : [L]iving [C]olor [T]attoo, [P]aradise [V]illas, [A]bandoned [W]arehouse, [P]aradise [F]ound Bar and Motel, and [Ch]elsea ]
[Players : Logan ]
Hell's Kitchen at night. This is a time when the wise innocents are indoors behind thick locks, and young men with alchohol and crack cocaine on board are out in packs. Night in Hell's Kitchen is the time of the predators, and the farther past midnight it gets, the bolder they become. Alas that not all innocents are wise... But as a young woman fearfully walks home, long past her curfew and feeling eyes on the back of her neck as one hand clutches a can of mace like a talisman, a question must be asked: Who hunts the hunter? Tonight, part of the answer takes the form of a flash of red hair escaping from beneath a hat and above a black leather trenchcoat that covers X-enhanced combat gear.
The large lurking man near the flash of red is the sort many might suspect of being one of the predators. He drifts quietly through the shadows in his own concealing trenchcoat. Down an alley, a crowd of men sit smoking several impure substances. One of them jerks his chin toward the spectacle of the nervous young woman and the crowd uncoils itself from its own set of shadows, drifting out into the road to separate around their prey.
<< Blood in the water, >> is Jean's silent murmur as the hunting men peel out and away, mentally spoken so as not to attract attention as she strolls, half in shadow, half in guttering street light. Unaware of how many, unaware of location, the young woman nonetheless picks up her pace, instincts screaming about bad ideas, and her other hand wrapping around one car key in an attempt to have at least that tiny, dull blade to hand. << So, do you want to take out this lot now, or do we wait long enough that she can press charges? >>
<< Would be good for her to learn the lesson that she's being an idiot, >> Logan replies, his thoughts just a bit contemptuous. It's okay to be vulnerable, if you take the proper steps to stay safe. It's okay to engage in risky behavior if you're tough enough to pull it off. Their choice of bait clearly fulfills neither requirement tonight, and the gang of half a dozen men suddenly materialize out of the shadows around their target, the leader grinning into her face. "Hey, little lady. Out a little late?" Logan starts to speed up. << Well, maybe we don't need to leave her too long. I don't care much about charges. >>
<< She was out late because a friend of hers just had a boyfriend get shot in a turf war, >> Jean shares impressions gleaned from the mental aether with a little shake of her head. << God knows why she didn't just stay the night... damn, these boys are impatient. >> She falls silent then, quickening her pace as well and staring intently at the leader, sizing up his mind and his weaknesses. << Big Man has a gun, all the rest just knives, or at least that's all they're thinking of. >> Shared imagery, blade to a pleading throat, violence, blood and rape, and a rush of anger from Jean accompanying.
Logan grimaces, clearly not wanting to deal with a good excuse for silly, unsafe behavior. << Well, let's go kick a little ass. >> Logan's opinion is rather predictable under the circumstances. He circles to approach the group from the side, rather than directly from behind the young woman. To call the leader impatient is an understatement. He gestures with his head and two men come up behind their target to grab at her arms and prevent her from using her mace, and conveniently giving a solid basis for criminal charges.
"I think you boys want to let her go now, and head somewhere to sober up." Jean's role as initial distraction is a practised and enjoyed one as she steps forth from the shadows once Logan's headed to 'round from the other direction. Look here, look at the attractive and clearly comfortably wealthy woman talking to you like you're misbehaving children. Pay no attention to the man behind you. Lions in the tall grass, X-Men in the night, there are certain similarities. "It's a bad part of town, wouldn't want you to get hurt."
The leader blinks at Jean, surprised at her bold display of confidence. He knows a few things about swagger himself, however, and quickly converts his expression to a sneer. "Damn straight. Now back it up, bitch, and we'll show you dangerous." Two of the gang members reach for their pockets to pull out a knife as they start to close slowly on Jean. Wolverine comes up behind one of the men, the whole group looking the other way. A thick arm snakes around a thick neck and suddenly Wolverine is holding the man with one arm twisted up behind his back and another restricting the man's airflow. Wolverine drags his quarry back into a shadow in almost complete silence.
"Oh -please-." Jean disapproves of knives in the hands of mental children, and waves a hand in a sharp gesture. Pun intended, but despite that failing, the knives go flying from their owners' hands, (One with finger grips nearly costing its owner a thumb.) and land with a distant crash and clatter on the roof of a nearby abandoned grocery. "You couldn't find 'dangerous' if you had a ball of yarn and a road map. Now, let the girl go. And if you want to get the 'mutie freak' remarks out of the way, you can go right ahead now." << Smooth. >> is approved to Logan, a smirk appearing on her features as the first man is removed without a body noticing except the girl, wide-eyed and too unnerved to do more than squeak.
The group is demonstrably freaked out by Jean's display of power. The two holding the girl loosen their grip slightly and the two who were advancing on Jean seem to have their courage ripped out their hands. Unfortunately, the leader still has his, and makes a grab for his gun. "Get outta here, freak!" The gun, if it is not stopped, will wind up pointing at the girl. Logan comes forward in the shadows again, his first victim placed quietly on his back behind a solid garbage can.
Oh, the gun isn't stopped, but how are you going to fire a pistol, Mr. Anderson, if you can't move your hands. "No," Jean replies, a feral grin starting to sneak onto cultured features. A touch, a brush, a twist of the signals of the reptile brain, and suddenly the leader is as statuesque, if less salty, as Lot's Wife.
The attention of the group focuses on the dynamic drama between Jean and the leader. To them, it is unclear what is happening to him. To Wolverine, however, there is no question that Jean will take care of him. He finds a new angle and pops up behind one of the men. "Hi." Then pow, a slug to the jaw and the man drops to the ground. "Now would be a good time to fuck off."
"Sit down," Jean directs the leader, following that suggestion up with a telepathic command that has him folding in short order, cross-legged on the ground. "Now, take a nap." And with a little depression of certain key systems, the man is snoozing in short order. She turns to the rest of the remaining gang and wonders "Next?" before extending a hand to the frightened young woman. She declines, equally as unnerved by her rescuers as her attackers, although she has the sense to stay put and not run into fresh groups of high thugs. She glances over to Logan, and then allows that << Y'know, this would be a bit more satisfyinf if they were showing some fight. Think we should go look for FoH members next time? >>
Seeing the group whittled down considerably from their starting levels, they decide to bolt. One of the three even screams. << I don't know, I think this is pretty funny, >> comes the amused mental voice of Logan as he grabs the back of one guy's collar and spins him down onto face casually. << But it really is like fish in a barrel. FoH might at least stand up to us. >>
<< Of course, the FoH might also be -looking- for us, >> Jean allows, watching the stragglers bolt and dropping the two that Logan's yet to get around to with a pair of well-placed psi bolts that leaves them napping, eyes shifting slightly to flame patterns as she does so. Reaching inside her trench coat to remove one of the plastic wrist tie guns that police in crowd control situations often favour, she approaches the nearest of her downed thugs and starts methodically tying them up. She pauses to produce a cell phone and hand it to their highly-bemused rescuee, who skitters back a bit from anything that might be a touch. Jeas sighs a little, silent and inwardly, but suggests that "You might want to call 911 and have them sense some officers to pick these guys up. If you're feeling up to it, of course. Bad time of night."
Logan wrestles his still conscious captive into similar restraints, despite some thrashing. Finally, he grabs him by the hair and pulls back. "Listen, numbnuts, you're my bitch. Lie still before I feel the need to hit you." The man twitches once more, then crumples. Logan secures him carefully, then drags an unconscious body out of the shadows. << Yeah...and if they came after you, they might be genuinely prepared for your powers, too. >>
<< Well, let's hope we don't run across any hunting parties then, or at least not without one of our own. >> Jean's thoughts are abruptly sober, reminded anew of just how much risk she's in because of one President Lowe's tendency to attract assassins. Silently, she kneels to quick tie the last of the men, before turning again to the young woman. Who still hasn't called 911, and is in fact staring at the cell phone as if it's from an alien planet. She sighs audibly this time and heads over to see what she can do. "Here, honey," she holds out a hand to take it back. "I'll call them, then. Why don't we go sit down over on the kerb."
Logan shakes his head. << Well, it'll make a difference if you and I take off the kid gloves. >> The accompanying image is a bloody one, with claws and flashing action and indistinct faces practically labelled as bad men. Logan prods one of the captives with a toe idly. Still unconscious; no need for him to pummel further.
One of the semi-conscious men has a bit of revenge. Or at least the temporary stun from Jean seems to be wearing off, and seems to have left him nauseous enough to suddenly retch his dinner out onto the sidewalk, perilously close to Logan's shoe. Jean, meanwhile, has offered a low-key hand to the frightened young woman, who has gotten over her fright at having two apparent mutants (She's guessing for Logan.) swoop out of the night, and is now clinging like a limpet as Jean makes a quick phonecall. "Yeah, 42nd Street and 10th Ave. I think they're high on something. No, no, we're all OK." and other brief information is exchanged, with Jean mentioning nothing about quick ties, and nothing about her and Logan's role in things. She also breaks protocol by -not- staying on the line until help arrives, instead ending the call and putting her phone away again. "My name is Jean. That's Logan. Do you want us to walk you home?"
"Shit!" Logan dances back away from the vomit. Then he looks around at the woman. "Yeah, hi. Sorry, I curse over puke." Then he goes back to examining the man. No good if he chokes himself, but he does not seem to be in genuine danger of anything but being gross and arrested.
"That's... OK, man." Wide-eyed, the young woman stares at Logan, before giving a little nod, and giving an address two blocks away, inside one of the better-maintained and gated apartment complexes that coexist uneasily with the fringes of the ghetto. She hasn't let go of Jean's hand yet, even as the two of them rise. "Turn him on his side if you're worried about him aspirating," Jean suggests, before sneaking a surreptitious look at Logan's shoes. "Looks like he missed the stylin' footwear, though."
Logan grabs the man and hauls him onto his side. "Better to be safe." Though Logan doesn't actually care that much, good form is important. << If I stepped in that, I'd be smelling it for a month. >> Logan is hardly squeemish, but a month of sour vomit stench is enough to make him unhappy. "All right, these guys aren't movin'." He straightens and moving over to join Jean and random victim #4214.
<< Eeeew. >> is Jean's obligingly disgusted reply at the thought of that, patting her anonymous arm-clinger reassuringly on the shoulder before steering her down the street. There is not a lot of conversation. Jean does, however, glance over her shoulder and wonder, casually, << Fancy a drink back at my place when we get this lost lamb home again? Those boys should talk enough to do our job for us of dissuading a few of their friends. >>
Logan keeps just a little distance between himself and the victim, figuring that his presence is a bit more overtly intimidatin than Jean's. << Heh. Should be entertaining. Too bad I can't see what would happen to them without drawing more official attention than I want. Drink sounds good. >> Homer Simpson appears in Logan's brain: Mmmmm, beer.
<< Probably easy enough to go hole up in one of the dive bars here and get some bravo with wounded pride to start talking, >> Jean suggests, eyeing her silent, clinging young woman with a touch of concern as she remains tight-lipped about everything, eyes wide and shiny in the poor light. << Despite managing to blend in with you when we were up in Alkali Lake in '03, you can fit the part better than I can. >> "Ah, here we go. You all right here, hon, letting yourself through the gate?" The Cling doesn't stop, although the young woman frees one hand to punch in a security code. "Right, then." Jean nods. "I'll, uh, see you to your door then."
Logan looks around for security cameras as the come to the gate, having no desire to be captured on film. "Looks like a pretty secure place," he comments idly. Which isn't really that true, but he hopes it's vaguely reassuring. << Ah, that's true, >> he replies. An image of Jean in a ball gown and tiara, surrounded by dirty, plebian masses that include Logan flashes through his mind. There is a definite sense of teasing amusement in his thoughts. << It's a little more...innate for me. >>
<< Hey! >> Jean replies, out of sight inside the lobby and up some stairs, but clearly not out of mind. << The tiara's a bit much there, buddy. >> She alters the image to swap in full-length opera gloves instead with a mental smirk. And then pops Logan into period costume and the attendant tights, with approval for his backside. But then she fades off the link for a few minutes, engaged in handing off the young woman to a worried and relieved mother, and blurring the memory of her features into that of some unremarkable-looking angel of mercy instead of Dr. Jean Grey. A couple minutes after that, she's back on the cracked sidewalk beside Logan, one arm lifting to hook casually through his. "I think I needed that."
Logan's countering image is considerably dirtier, getting them both out of their ridiculous costumes. At least partway. "Not a bad evening's work for a random prowling. And it's always fun to win." He sets out to give them some distance from their recent antics. "Not as much training time out here, huh? Good to get some real action."
"Hell yeah," Jean agrees. "Not to mention, there are a lot more frustrations out here than at the school. The last 48 hours... well, suffice it to say better to go knock out some gangbangers than to knock out the frustrations in question." Unbidden, an image of Scott floats up, and is then firmly banished. She quickens her pace in time with Logan's, and admits that "I'd not mind something a little more hands-on next time. My powers always work at a remove, and I've never actually taken time to develop any close-quarters use for 'em."
Logan smiles wryly. "Yeah, well, in a real life and death situation, there's no reason not to keep it at as much of a distance as possible." He leaves a short pause while a grin appears. "Then again, there's nothing like /hitting/ someone." Image of hitting Scott, brief but happy. "I wonder how different I'd be if my powers worked at a remove."
"More with the stalking, less with the pounce?" Jean muses, eyeing a pair of eyes in the shadows eyeing her purse and leaving a passing suggestion that they want to go home and sleep for the night before she and Logan are past that particular alleyway. "But while I don't want to get cocky, I don't think we were really looking at life or death just now. Next time, I'll have to see if any of that unarmed conbat training actually works. Much as I think just sparring for the sake of sparring is fine and dandy." Cue a significant sidelong look at Logan, and a mental ripple.
The little ripple produces a minor quake in response. Mostly, it is amusment, but there are serious undertones as well. "Yeah...Just so long as we keep the guns under control, I don't imagine there was any real danger," he agrees. "Either one of us could have handled all six of them without breaking a sweat."