Handful of unposted logs.
Sarah has not gotten very far out of the labyrinthine path that leads down to the forgotten subway station that has been her, Jason, and Toad's home recently. She is not walking with her usual gait. She is practically staggering, her emotions absolutely out of control. Her knuckles are bloodied from punching tunnel walls and there is a chip out of the bony mass at her forehead. To say she is upset is a tad of an understatement.
Jason is not far behind. He has his cello slung under his arm and this is all. His hat is missing. So is his jacket. They've been strewn somewhere behind him. He's just in turtleneck, vest, and slack and is not bothering to disguise his footsteps. If anything, he slaps them louder.
She catches the footsteps it seems, because she turns around and screams down the tunnel. Her voice is loud and harsh, the reason why she was acclaimed as a heavy metal vocalist. "Fuck you!" she bellows into the darkness.
Jason does not answer. He keeps coming, slapping his steps. Occasionally, his cello creaks.
Sarah returns to walking, but closing the gap with her will be easy enough, since she is not exactly making the best time. She is fairly intent on stopping to crush any bit of debris she can find beneath her boots.
Jason keeps on, then, closing the distance wordlessly. No need to crush here.
"Why the fuck are you following me?" Sarah bellows back at Jason as he comes closer. "What the fuck do you want? I'm /leaving./"
"You don't need to. I'm leaving," Jason says as the distance becomes more negligible. "I'm toxic."
"I'm already fucking leaving. You can't fucking leave when I'm leaving. This is your shit. It's all been your shit since you moved into /my/ apartment," Sarah says. Her tone is pure accusation.
"Which is why I need to go. Out of here. New York. For good." Jason's steps slow. "But you know what? You're better at this than I am. I had no right playing the role I was playing. And that's why the Brotherhood muzzled me."
Sarah stops and sneers at Jason. "Shut the fuck up. Don't come chasing after me playing this stupid fucking self-depricating shit." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I got the message loud and fucking clear already, asshole. You want your pretty blonde around and it ain't my place to be in the way. So I'm fucking off. You and that little cunt and Toad will be fine without me in your fucking way."
"Look. You said it. I'm a faggot." Jason states this with clipped syllables. "And I screwed up. And I keep screwing up. I didn't want you to gut her, no. But I've been treating you badly for weeks."
"No /fucking/ shit. Dragging me around on a leash?" Evidently, she does remember at least some details of that night. Sarah sneers, "We're supposed to be fucking equals, standing up against that fucking world up there that doesn't want us," she spits. "I just didn't realize you didn't want /me/ either."
"I want you." Jason tilts his head. "That's why I showed up in the first place. I still want you. It's you that doesn't need me."
"Yeah? Then why take her fucking side? Two against one, right? Push the ugly fucking freak out of the way." Sarah turns her back on Jason again and starts walking. "I don't give a fuck about you or her or anything else. I just want a fucking /shred/ of respect."
"Because I didn't know if you were going to kill her. If she'd jabbed at you with her pointy stick, I would have blasted her across the room. Share and share alike." Jason, at that, re-trails. "But, honestly? Until you started walking out, I didn't even know it was serious. I'm stupid. I'm sorry. But I didn't want you to leave."
Sarah shakes her head slowly. She has her hands clenched at her sides again. She stops walking away, but instead, she paces back and forth across the access tunnel they occupy. "Look man, it's bad enough that you tell me what I can and can't do, but when you start bringing pretty little bitches down into the hole that's supposed to be my home and they think they're going to be in charge? Fuck that. If /you/ can't respect me, your little friend sure the fuck better."
"Illyana speaks very poor English. And she's kind of completely insane," Jason adds for good measure. "But I did tell you she was coming. I didn't expect you to-- it's my fault all around. Thousand ways I could have handled it better."
"If she's completely nuts, you should keep /her/ on the fucking leash and tell her to show some fucking respect," Sarah insits. "She's your fucking pet and I ain't going to have your pet calling me names."
"I sent her home," Jason's voice turns quiet. "I'm sorry about the leash. I was drunk."
Sarah sneers and upturns her nose. "The fuck you're sorry. You do whatever the fuck you want to me. I'm used to your bullshit. But you keep /her/ in line. Unless /she's/ too pretty for you to fuck with and shove around." There is a definite challenge there.
"I'll keep her in line if she comes back," Jason says in that same subdued fashion. "I am sorry. What do you want, Sarah? You can have it. Whatever you want to do."
That, evidently, is good enough to earn another outburst. She is suddenly screaming and jabbing her finger violently through the air back toward the 'palace'. "I want to be treated like a fucking person instead of a motherfucking animal for you to leash and cage up and use!"
Jason spreads his hands. "Done. I'll wear the freaking inhibitor, all right? You want further insurance?"
"You don't fucking understand shit, do you Jason?" Sarah spits at his solution.
"Apparently not." Jason's glance at Sarah is mild. And he starts up his walk away from the secret lair again. "I don't know how to satisfy you, Sarah."
"No shit, if you knew that, you wouldn't be gay." That little barb might actually be a joke, in an attempt at leaving a bridge unburned.
"Ain't it so," Jason says, a touch lighter. "I am serious, Sarah. You want to be treated as a human being. You don't really seem to trust my word-- and do I blame you? Hardly. What do you want as insurance."
"I don't have some fucking demands, you ass." Sarah snaps. "I spent more than enough time in cages and chains," she says, her eyes narrowing. "Before Magneto saved my ass, that's all I got. I just want some fucking respect."
"Then you have it. So." Jason stops walking and leans against the wall.
"So?"
"So are you going back?"
"Not right now. I need some air," Sarah says. She is still clearly upset, but it does not seem to be so dire.
"All right. And I'll leave if you want. You're the boss." Jason hefts a weary kind of shrug against the wall.
"Just stop treating me like I'm your fucking pawn, got it?" With that, she turns to start walking again.
"Done, done," Jason says and lets her walk. No following.
Jason attempts to make things right.
Clinton
Hell's Kitchen, because oh if that is not the preferred name for Clinton outside of the law offices, almost dragged itself up by the knuckles into respectability. But that was before the poor as piss housing and Hell's Kitchen's reputation for grit and shadow drew the attention of new gangs and new criminals -- and new refugees. Mutants have tried to disappear into the sagging tenements and alleys and been found dead on the streets. A Worthington safe house for mutants once stood here, but government backing and all, it could not outlast the violence. But the mutants are not only victims -- some of the bodies found on sidewalks or apartments are humans, and not all of them are masked gang members. While the mutant issue has lit the nation into a political hotbed, it has made Clinton dangerous for everyone. Proceed carefully.
It's a night in Clinton like any other, including the fact that a guy is getting chased by a small group of around four guys carrying pipes and bats, yelling, "Get the freak!". The one they're chasing in particular is wearing a large black hoodie, with the top half covering a Darth Vader helmet. His blue jeans are dirty, and white shoes beat up. He doesn't yell, he simply runs, hands balled up into fists in large flexible metallic gauntlets.
The one they're chasing in particular is wearing a large black hoodie, with the top half covering a Darth Vader helmet. His blue jeans are dirty, and white shoes beat up. He doesn't yell, he simply runs, hands balled up into fists in large flexible metallic gauntlets.
Jason is disgused as a rail-thin Polynesian man with octupi tattoos crawled up and down his arms. He appears to be stoned, but that distant glaze in his eyes vanishes with a swift blink when there's, like, pursuit. Down his street. He cranes his bony neck, watching for the moment. It probably won't be a long moment.
Not far behind a tall, stubble-dotted man. Fingers scratch along the pale skin of his neck and blue eyes are blinking at a far more rapid pace that the man not far in front of him. He tosses his head, shaggy blonde hair pooling down into his eyes. "Hrf."
The man in the Darth Vader mask suddenly stops, one might assume he's staring at the other guys, and the ones with pipes end up with pipes smashing into their faces, and Darth begins running again, from the two who are carrying wooden bats. "Help!" yells Darth, in a voice that actually sounds like Vader due to the helmet's voice changer.
"I think we may have ourselves a new friend," Jason notes to the shaggy man and /twists/ perception. The bat-men find an invisible clothesline of sorts catching them about the ankles. Balance lost, ankles wrenched, dealt with.
Toad can't help him. White teeth spark between full lips with a delighted laughter at the other. His hand rests over his stomach for a moment and he steps to the side of the shorter man. "Flippin' brilliant."
Darth looks around, confused at why the men suddenly fell and says, "What?" in his Darthy voice. He starts to run away again, seemingly not wanting to stick around and find out what's going on. As soon as he starts running though, he just as quickly slips and falls on his stomach, letting out a yell as the breath is pushed from his lungs.
Oh so fortunately, the men's wrenched ankles are just far too painful to allow for mobility. They are kind of rolling around. Oh heck with it. Jason tosses a slow-lidded wink at Toad and sets the metal bat men screeching and flailing, too. "Now," comes whispered to the Toad, "what do we do with Anakin?"
"We talkin'," Toad begins quietly, motioning his wide hand in slow circles with an err of thought. "Neck snappin' or do yer want to bag 'im? I 'ear the Hudson feels bloody nice this time a'year." His low giggles are nothing short of thick croaks, attention snapping towards the caterwauling.
Darth stands, the helmet tilts to the side with his head. "What do you want?" he asks vaguely to the two mutant men, warily backing away as pipes begin to rise from the passed out thugs. "Are you going to hurt me?"
"Come, come. Don't blame the victim," Jason rather croons as he walks forward. His hands open gently open and he hums distractedly once before speaking, "Why would we save you if we were going to hurt you?"
Toad sighs, swinging his arms heavily. "No fun. Never no blinkin' fun. Miss the screams, yer know," he mutters to himself. He shuffles a bit, trying out his best smile. Which, on this particular shell, doesn't look half bad. "'E's got a point, mate. Bit o'a rough night?"
"You saved me?" Darth asks in confusion, not quite making the connection. "Every night is a rough night, people are always trying to hurt me. I cannot speak easily without this helmet, I am burned and the helmet amplifies my voice without straining." he explains as his reason for wearing the helmet, pipes dropping, he walks closer to the two, lowering his guard. "Thank you..."
"I'm glad we averted such a tragedy as this could have turned out to be." Idly, ridiculously idly, Jason sends the attackers sliding down the sidewalk. Bump bump. To all appearances, anyway. "Hello. My name is Martin. This is Cole." He gestures back.
Toad jerks a quick wave and stays fresh on the friendly smile. "Allo," he pipes up pleasantly. Hastily he pushes hair from his eyes, slowing his pace just behind Jason.
"They call me Darth, I do not remember if I have a real name." Darth answers as simply as he can, standing there for a few awkward moments. "I am on my way to find a place to sleep, it is getting harder lately with people recognizing me."
"I did know you for the dark lord of the Sith the moment I saw you," Jason remarks as he draws his hand across the lower half of his face. Aherm. "Maybe my compatriot and I can be of help."
Toad snorts, dipping his shoulders down as he stops. He only at the last minute ceases to fall into his habitual crouch. "Yer didn't pick the best o'em, yer know. Real fear? Paint yer face up wit' liddle fuckin' horns. That's bitchin', it is."
"I did not pick this, I found it, it worked for my voice and hiding my horrible face." Darth looks over at a metal trash can, then suddenly it lifts and twists like someone is squeezing the water from a towel, promptly dropping the crumpled mess. "Your lack of faith disturbs me." he jokes, finally loosening up around the two men.
"Darth Maul. Yeaaaah." Jason is apparently in full agreement. "Anyway, whatever." Jason-Martin's hand touches against his ear and ends up pulling a fleck of hair from behind it. "You're screwed up, you need a place to sleep. We can get you one."
Toad wrinkles his nose at the trashcan. "What the..." he grunts, edging close enough to Jason to brush up against the other man. "Er, yeah. Wot 'e said. Friends, see? We're friends."
"Thank you." Darth offers, staring (possibly) at Jason. "Where do we go? You have a home?" he wonders, his Darthy tone showing scary-deep voiced curiousity. "It has been many many days since I found a good refrigerator box."
What? Trashcan? At Toad's what-the, Jason nudges him so gently and notes, "The Force is strong with this one." It is perhaps whispered. And perhaps one of the poor guys held against the sidewalk stirs unhappily again, only to be immobilized by an idle thought. There's little pleasure in it, though. Bother. Every time you go all out, something nips you in the ankles. But not yet. "We've got a chill little bus stop. It's covered. Roof and everything."
"Strong," Toad murmurs in a weak echo. He takes a step back with a shudder of realized contact between him and Jason. "With water! An', uh. Food. Right."
"I can try." Darth says with a bit of uneasiness in his tone. "I am just afraid of being in the open, I like to hide so people cannot chase me."
Movement. The mean old streets of Clinton are a perfectly reasonable place to do nasty stuff to nasties in so far as people finding it unusual, but where there are chasers, there are allies, and flinging powers around is always risky-risky. Jason hrummph clears his throat and jerks his head toward an alley. "We gotta go. Get moving." And he darts.
Toad doesn't waste any time. He gives the tiniest little hop after Jason, scrambling after him.
Darth obeys and begins running as well, helmet quite secure on his head. "Is it far?" is all he asks.
"A few blocks. Don't announce it!" Jason hisses as he picks up his feet and moves in /earnest/.
Toad glances over his shoulder, flanking out to the side of Jason. He hunches down, trotting quickly after. "Yappers shut, mate!"
"Sorry." Darth quietly apologizes and runs faster, it seems he's used to running as he keeps up, but he tries to stay quiet until they get to their destination.
It is a few blocks of frantic scramble and extra-- a duck down into a concrete stairwell and a bang-bang-bang through the metal corridor of an old high school's old basement, the walls and pipes corroded and creaking with rust. Up again into the late fall streets and there's a whistling of cars. Three, four. Closer to the more openly populated bits of the darkness. A black hutch is up ahead, dim-lit on the top with street lamps.
"This is very public." Darth notes warily, looking around as they close in on the hutch. "How will I keep people from chasing me?"
"No one bothers us," Jason promises, quite. And on closer look, the hutch is more than an open bus stop, but more of a submerged thing. There /is/ a bunker air to us. "Take it or leave it. We're going in."
"I will go, since I am not alone." Darth finally agrees, then follows them in. "What do you do for food?"
"Nothing today," Jason says as he drops down into the concrete. "Tomorrow, we'll see."
"Okay." Darth says, looking to find a seat and curling up tightly. "I am trusting you." he says before going still, possibly sleeping, who knows under the helmet.
Trust. We'll see. It's long hours before anything changes. But when it does, when it finally does, the concrete shivers away. Not concrete, not a bunker, just an abandoned shell of an abandoned apartment in an abandoned building. But hey. Left a note.
Just a phone number and "Hey Darth! If you get mugged again, give us a call." Friendly, so friendly.
Jason and Toad meet Leonardo. They are such do-gooders.
It's only luck that puts Doug and Illyana stumbling out behind piles of
boxes behind a couple of stalls. Illyana's hand is white-knuckled
around that of her boyfriend, and she looks slightly near tears. "{I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to get us lost--}" She hiccups a breath. "{I felt
Jason near--if we can get him to tell us where we are--}" She straightens,
coming out into the stream of traffic and looking hard for a familiar
head.
Jason is not disguised, even. He is holding a limp fish between finger
and finger and sniffing it. His fro is stuck out his scalp, which makes
that head of his all the bigger. "You know," he informs the vendor. "I
think this is dead."
"{You couldn't know, Illyana. It's okay}," Doug says, a little rattled
but better than he could have been. Illyana's world is not without
it's own dangers. The sword that he carried with him did not have to be
used, or even drawn from it's hiding place inside the nylon tripod
case. A lame disguise to be sure but it might stop someone from realizing
what it is, right? "{So who is this Jason?}" Doug asks, not exactly
sure who she means.
"{At least we could get back,}" Illyana says, taking a deep breath to
calm a little bit of shaking. She leans against Doug for a moment, and
then catches sight of Jason, and drags him along by the hand. "{A
friend.} Jason?" she calls ahead.
"No. Look at how dead it is. It's not fresh if it's dead. I demand a--
Illyana!" Jason, without turning around, raises his free hand to
twiddle a backward wave. "Cheerio."
The young man doesn't release Illyana's hand, following closely behind
her as he tries to follow her gaze. Until Jason replies, he has no
idea which one Jason is. Might have been the vendor being complained to
about a fish. "Hello," is offered as a greeting when they get closer,
to the 'nonyelling' range
Illyana slows her steps so she stops short of Jason at the 'I am
waiting until your attention is no longer engaged' polite distance. "{He has
been to my place before, so I can travel to him,}" she explains
somewhat mendaciously in a low voice to Doug, though the language makes that
somewhat unnecessary.
"Forget it. I will take my business /elsewhere/." Jason slaps the fish
down. The merchant looks /deeply/ sad to see him go as he turns toward
Illyana and-- guest! "Hello. I haven't the faintest who you are.
Illyana, Greetings."
"{that part I get}," Doug replies with a slight smirk. Even Doug isn't
that dense, just mostly. "I'm Doug," is offered to Jason. "Nice to
meet you," okay, so perhaps not completely a true statement given the
circumstances but all-in-all things could be much worse.
"I live with him," Illyana clarifies, nodding to Jason to recall their
previous conversation, and flushing a little at the bluntness her
language skills force her into. "I was lost. I had to find you to find here
again." She shivers noticably suddenly, one of those saved up shivers
that have little to do with cold.
"Oh, this is the boy. Greetings," Jason segues briskly, briskly,
holding his hand up again, a bit stiffly. "I'm Jason, Illyana's token gay
friend and landmark. Welcome to the Fish Market."
How does one respond to such a comment. Doug feels like some kind of
smart ass reply, but instead just pauses a moment before saying, "As I
said, nice to meet you." Not exactly original, considering he said it
once, but better to not say something you're regret at the moment than
just something that doesn't sound all that intelligent, right?
Illyana frowns, catching that she's missing something in the slang of
Jason's self-description, and turns that frown on Doug. Translate, pls?
"Sorry to bother. How are you?" Her own awkwardness shows in her stock
phrase.
"Bothered? Hardly. You have lit up my sad evening. The both of you.
So." Jason slides his hands in his pockets, where they will be safe.
"Where are you trying to go?"
Doug translates quietly for Illyana. He knows that frown. It's the
'you're not doing your job, snap to' frown. The dread of every
boyfriend. "I don't really know," is Doug's reply, glancing at Illyana. He was
following her, with no real end destination in mind that he knew of.
Illyana looks grateful for the translation, and bites her lip worriedly
at Doug's manner of responding an order. "I wanted to show park, in
the city. But I only been there once." She frowns at the ground. "I am
/better/ at not be lost now!" She's definitely defensive.
"You're about, oh, eight miles south of the park," Jason calculates
quickly. "A good sprint will get you there. Does that help at all?" His
eyes are rather locking curiously on Doug, mind.
Doug nods, "A sprint? an 8 mile sprint? You're joking, right?" Doug
asks, loosening up a little. "So, what do you do, Jason?" Doug asks
awkwardly, looking from Illyana to Jason and back. Awkward much?
"He is sorcerer," Illyana supplies. Helpfully. "Like you, but not of
language." She seems aware of the awkward, but puts her other hand over
their joined hands, and pretends like she isn't.
"Yes. Subway is better. Buses are even preferable. Only a madman would
run it." Jason is so agreeable! He tilts his narrow chin up a fraction.
"Illyana has the right of it."
"So um.. what is it you can do?" Doug asks, watching the other man
unsurely. Not exactly a polite question but he's curious. He doesn't
really know what else to say
Illyana watches Jason too, curiousity peeking through her expression.
Jason sighs. He shuffles a couple of steps forward and removes his
hands from his pockets, cupping them over each other. Within this cup-house
of hands emerges a-- mouse. With tiny pronghorn antlers. "Sorcery."
"Wow," Doug says, watching the man's hands and the illusion there. "I'm
going to let you two talk and just look around a little," Doug says,
not sure what else to say. Still awkward.
"Okay--" Illyana says a little reluctantly. Her face has remained blank
the whole time, of course, Jason's hands remaining simply empty for
her. She lets go of Doug's hand at the far extent of their arms, and then
looks at Jason. There's a 'well?' in her expression.
"You can't see it," Jason says as the mouse disappates from between his
fingers. "But he can."
Illyana nods, then scuffs at something dubious on the sidewalk with her
toe. "He is very nice," she offers, should Jason have already formed a
bad impression.
"Sweet. Quiet. A little out of his depth." It is not a /bad/
impression, but Jason is the faintest bit dismissive. "I can see why you're
scared of hurting him."
"Yes." Illyana agrees. That thing on the sidewalk is even more dubious
in how it squishes. "Emma says I not worry, all men only want sex.
Can't be hurt."
Jason sniggers. It is a startled kind of snigger. "If /only/."
"I think this too." Illyana is silent for a moment. "Emma--" Her cheeks
pratically radiate heat into the air around them.
Jason raises his eyebrows. High. That'll serve as a question.
Illyana presses her hands to her cheeks, like she can hide the color
that way.
Jason's eyebrows climb /higher/.
"She sent bed for Doug and me," Illyana says, voice a bit high and
strangled as she aims for a cheerful change of subject.
"Uh." Jason's eyebrows compress down and he massages one of them. "...
She really wants to see you laid, huh?"
Illyana gives a kind of choked, whimpering laugh. "She is helpful," is
what she manages to get out.
"What does /Doug/ think about a free bed?"
Illyana swipes a hand through her hair, relaxing a little as the leave
the dangerous subject. "Too big for his bedroom, yes? He says he looks
for new apartment, but I try to--" She frowns, for the word. "Change
mind. For if I leave."
"Do you intend to? You might bring down Emma's /wrath/." Jason waggles
his fingers.
Illyana frowns, not following. "If I leave him, Emma is angry. I not
think so." She chews on her lip. "I not know if she thinks I should stay
with him or not stay, yes?"
"What do you want to do?" Jason points those magic fingers in Emma's
direction.
"I stay. Until I know I hurt him." Illyana dips her chin, sure of that
at least.
"You haven't yet?"
Illyana frowns after the direction Doug wandered, shifting her stance
to take advantage of holes in the crowd to try to see him. "I not think
so."
"Then perhaps you won't. Not everyone /has/ to hurt their beaus. In
theory," Jason does add. He's not entirely sure here.
"Mm," Illyana says, lacing her fingers together. "Emma says I show him
my place, he maybe sees the beauty even in the bad there."
"It is beautiful," Jason accedes and lowers his eyelids eye-dimmed.
"And beauty says a lot, I think, about you."
"It is?" Illyana says, perhaps a little surprised to hear that, given
her own conflicted feelings. "My friend Kitty says to see my place is
like seeing me." She looks up at Jason, head still angled towards the
sidewalk.
"May be." Jason's hand slips into his fro and he scratches his scalp
lightly. "It's a nice view, regardless."
Illyana flicks a glance over her shoulder. "I should find Doug," she
says at length. "Thanks for--" she hesitates and then laughs. "Let me
find you."
"Any time, dearest darling. Best of luck with the mister." Jason starts
back-stepping, at that.
"Thanks." Illyana ducks her head, and heads away.
Very handy, that.