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=NYC= Lower East Side - Manhattan
Lower East Side's reputation as a slum has been diluted a touch by some recent respectable developments -- the off classier storefront and high rise in contrast to the older buildings and the cheaper establishments. Where this part of town used to be left to the immigrants, the down-and-out, and the subversive, safer streets and these fresh trendy developments have made it increasingly interesting to the hip artiste crowd. The ethnic and religious diversity has hardly been developed out of Lower East Side, though, nor, perhaps, has that certain radical element which led to bold social movements and statements in the past.
"So thanks for the help, mate," Pyro mutters, stomping his feet in the darkened alley, his hands tucked under his arms for warmth. "He's a pretty big bloke, and not sure I want to take him on my own. Figure we got 5, maybe 10 minutes before he should be on his way home." He peers at the lighted Y M A letters across the way, the C long darkened.
"No problem," Ewen shoots aside with a grin, pulling the large green jacket tightly across his shoulders, cuccooning himself inside as his arms are not through the sleeves. "Hah, funny to be back here," he adds wryly, looking up at the sign. "Worked here," he explains briefly. "Magneto came and found me outside once, scared the shit out of me back then."
"Did ya now?" Pyro says, turning away from the alley and leaning against the brick behind him. "Yeah, he sorta has that effect on most people." And by 'most,' it's clear he's not counting himself in that crowd. The lighter appears in hand, but he only flips it about in his palm without opening it. Light and dark alleys don't mix so well. "You don't know this Jeff guy, then, do you?"
Thought and strained memory creases Ewen's brow for a moment before he gives a shake of his head. "Can't say I do. He work here, or just hire one of the halls?" he queries, apparently not giving up on finding some form of recognition. "It's possible he just got lucky and worked normal shifts. I tended to be the lucky one who got to turn up at four for the early opening."
"One of their trainers," Pyro says, explaining the hours and employment status in one go. "Big hot shot ass. Shoulda seen the girl he'n his two buddies were tormenting. Good thing I was passing by. Cop just waved them off with a warning." He exhales slowly, his breath hanging in the air in front of him. "Bloody cold. How's your place? You guys probably don't have drafts, hmm?"
A snarl at the explanation is replaced by a chuckle that throws a stream of white mist dancing into the air from Ewen's lips. "Our place is pretty nice, yeah. Got a big TV, even!" he adds with a grin that is perhaps slightly teasing. "Too bad we can't share the location, or I'd ask you over to watch the rugby. Least you're not the one standing here in a short sleeved shirt right now, though, lucky beggar."
"Figures," Pyro rolls his eyes, before adding, "Eh, we can grab a beer and catch a game somewhere, maybe. 'Tween you'n me, though, not so much my place as the company. Sometimes I swear if I find one more bloody feather..." he trails off, peering back toward the entrance.
"Game! Beer!" Ewen repeats enthusiastically, raising an imaginary pint in a toast to an excellent idea. "...Feather?" The continued repetition arrives with a side order of tentative caution. "We haven't recruited Warren Worthington without me hearing about it, have we?"
"Psh," Pyro sighs. "If only. No, /bloody/ bloody feathers. Meal leftovers. Not too many pigeons hanging about our place anymore. But yeah, decent place over in the Village for them. Cheap drinks, big teles. Oh, hey, that's him," Pyro gives a head nod across the road, indicating a man exiting, gym bag swinging by his side.
A faint shudder shakes Ewen's broad frame at Pyro's clarification, and he is grateful for the interruption that the man's arrival provides. "Ugly bugger," he comments, looking ruefully down as he slides his jacket off his shoulders and ties it round his waist, rubbing his forearms briefly and beginning to let his charge build. "Looks faintly familiar, now I see him again. Got a plan here?"
Pyro pockets his lighter, pushing his own sleeves up his arms, making sure nothing's in the way to catch on his uniform underneath. Or catch on fire. "He always heads up and takes a right on Clinton. Once ya get past the bridge area, it's quiet enough. Don't want to kill him, but bastard's going to spend the night in a hospital. If we're extra lucky, his med insurance won't even cover it."
A dark snort of laughter pushes from Ewen's lips and he wrings his hands together, blowing on them in a somewhat over-hopeful attempt to warm them. "The sooner you get started, the better," he mutters emphatically, then his tone becomes thoughtful and he continues, "We come under terrorist activity for health insurance, or are we a whole new category?"
"Well, I voted for 'Acts of God,'" Pyro quips, smirking at the other before stepping out into the better lighted area and starting a quick paced follow. "He'll have to cross to our side, at some point, so doubt he'll be expecting anything. You good to hold it for another five minutes?"
"Five minutes?" Ewen repeats with a raised eyebrow. "Might as well put my jacket back on." He makes no move to do so, watching the figure across from them with relative stillness. "Gonna get a bit blowy around here," he warns. "Can't hold a charge for that long, it'd probably shake me apart, so I'll have to start letting it out once I get to a decent level."
"All depends on how fast he walks," Pyro shrugs, quickening his pace to keep up. "Guess should learn more 'bout your powers. Don't train quite as much together as we did back at the base now." He slows as they approach the end of the block, and predictably, their target crosses the street, passing in front of them, following his usual path home. Pyro approaches the end a moment later, turning as well. "Two more blocks down," he mutters.
"Some of this stuff I've only learnt recently myself," Ewen admits, his steps matching Pyro's though with a little more stomp to them as he rubs at his arms again, dragging his fingers through the slightly orangoutan-ish bristles on his skin that stand up in protest at the cold, quivering slightly in the only outward sign of he Brit's mutation. "Oh goodie, I just can't wait," he mumbles, jabbing a fist into the opposite palm in cheerful anticipation.
It's cold enough to warrant walking without talking, and they hurry along until the requisite block is reached, not too far distant from their man. "'Ey Jeff, wait up," Pyro calls out. The man pauses, turning to squint at them through the streetlights, giving them time to approach.
"Hey man," Ewen adds with a wave as he moves into a little jog both to speed things up, and to try and alleviate the cold. "Do we ever have a surprise for you?" he asks with a jovial grin, coming up alongside Jeff and swinging a hand round as if to punch him convivially on the shoulder, curving the swing round and away from him at the last moment to avoid making contact.
"Do I know you?"
Pyro has to laugh in response. "Naw, but I saw what you did the other day. With that girl. The /mutant/ one. Made such an impression that me and my mate here had to come introduce ourselves."
Jeff is not particularly impressed, nor, it seems, is he all that bright. He offers a grin and a cheery, "Fuckin' mutie freak, had it comin'."
"Yeah, not /exactly/ what we thought," Ewen remarks, clamping a furiously buzzing hand on Jeff's shoulder and flashing him a bright grin.
"Yeah, see, me'n my mate, well, neither of us are used to this cold weather," Pyro offers. "So how's about we warm things up a bit. His left hand clamps on Jeff's other shoulder, and his right suddenly palms a fireball, the fiery globe rotating around as he lifts it up in front of Jeff's face. "I prefer things /much/ warmer.""
"Fuck it!" Jeff hisses, elbowing Ewen hard in his perfectly positioned stomach, winding him slightly, and then making his first wise choice in some time and making a run for it, shouting as he does so. "Mutants, fuckin' mutants! Run f'r it!"
"Sorry, but we'd prefer it you didn't," the big Brit replies, taking on Pyro's calm banter and shooting a thin plane of force at the man's shoulders from his forearm in an attempt to knock him flying.
Pyro kindly obliges by letting the man's shoulder go, the effect is that he ends up lying on his back a few feet away, staring up at them. "Didn't your dad ever tell you not to walk places without streetlights," Pyro asks, closing half of the gap. The fireball in hand launches from his hand, the man's gym bag going up in flame instantly.
"Lucky for him you're around really, isn't it?" Ewen remarks to Pyro as he takes a running course around the man, keeping him from righting himself and getting away in the direction he had been heading. "Or maybe not, y'know," he adds, sending a fingertip's worth of charge at the prostrate, worried man to hit his shoulder with enough force to bruise.
"You gonna kill me?"
"That all depends," Pyro takes another step towards him, flame leaping to his fingertips to replace that burning merrily away at the sweatpants and nylon bag. "Thought we'd start with twisting you up a bit, maybe some second degree burns, and see how it goes." The fire-filled palm reaches out, pressing hard against the man's chest. "Any time now..." he mumbles, glancing at an imaginary wristwatch as the smell of burning cloth and hair fills the air. A scream leaps from the man's lips, and Pyro holds the position a moment longer before letting the fire fade. "Your turn again," he says, a glance back toward Ewen.
"Thanks a bunch," Ewen says, knocking a grinning salute towards Pyro before reaching his hand out above Jeff's head and letting out a blast that smacks the fragile skull back into the sidewalk with a sickening jolt, hard enough to draw an involuntary groan from the man. Jeff stumbles to his feet, spinning head keeping balance always a fraction out of his grasp, and he attempts to stagger away from the mutants.
"Oh, I don't think so," Pyro sings out. A blast of fire erupts from his fist, slamming into the man's knees with enough force to send him back to the ground. There's a crunching sound as he lands on one wrist, and Pyro throws a few strands of fire to catch the man's coat sleeves and pant legs in small, smoldering rings of fire.
"Shit! Fuck!" Blinding fear and crippling pain reduces Jeff's vocabulary to the basics.
"Nice trick," Ewen comments, opening his hand and sending a series of compacted force bolts at the unlucky man that hit him like vicious hail, mostly on his torso, one chance shot hitting his shoulder and fracturing his unprotected collarbone messily, eliciting another shout of pain.
Pain. Fear. Chaos. It seems to be a good night. "So, Jeff," Pyro says, stopping to stand over the writhing man, a small flame dancing on each of his fingertips. He reaches down, grabbing the man by the hair, again the burning smell filling the air. "Why don't we talk about what you've lear--" A not-too-distant siren breaks him off. "Shit. Just when we were starting to have fun. Remember this, bastard," he says, letting the man's head fall back to the pavement. "Let's get outta here," he says, glancing Ewen's way.
"Yeah," agrees Ewen, letting out his remaining charge in an unfocussed blast, rolling the abused man across the sidewalk and leaving him face down and barely conscious on the grimy sidewalk. "Lead on!" he offers galantly, reaching to untie his jacket from his waist and shrug it back into place, leaving it unbuttoned just in case.
Pyro takes off down the street at a brisk pace, turning the corner sharply. "Think we make a right decent team, if I so say so myself. How about that beer?"
Ewen tips Pyro a chirpy nod and a grin that edges just slightly into the wild before he reins it in. "Beer sounds great. I reckon we deserve it after that, job well done. I'm buying," he adds, patting his back pocket demonstratively.
"Yeah, not catch me complaining," Pyro smirks, offering one glance over his shoulder. Time enough to make their gettaway. Which they do. In style.
Ewen and Pyro get to rough up a mutant hater.