Jack creeps out of one of the nearby huts with his hands firmly over his ears, glaring in the direction of the bell and girl ringing it. He's still dressed in his base uniform, having laundered it at some point, his shirt unbuttoned and his black t-shirt under it.
"For cryin' out loud -- can't you go ring that thing in some other creepy deserted street?"
He lets go of one ear as he says this and makes vague dismissive gestures with his hand; it's clear he's not quite serious.
He can move quietly when he really wants, it seems, but she probably heard him anyway. A few feet away, leaning against a wall and looking...well, about the same as he always does. If a little tired.
Oh, Gin has made himself difficult to forget. Plourr knows he's there. It's visible in her sour expression, and in the way that she sets her hand on her hip, just above her blaster.
But she isn't talking to him. Not if she doesn't have to.
He offers a smiling shrug in apology. Then he settles back to wait, watching her and the crowd. Feels about like a normal get-together to him. Confusion, accusations, fights... yep...
Plourr's voice precedes her. "What the hell is that?"
The woman herself stalks out of the alley a moment later, hand on the blaster pistol holstered at her side, but it falls away as she sees what exactly is making all the racket. She crosses her arms over her chest, looking first at the woman standing on the windowsill, then at the other two guys who are here (and the older one gets a rather sharp look; she remembers him, oh yes she does).
Her original statement? Still stands. The hell's this supposed to be all about?
Only a bit hostile? Plourr must be losing her touch. She stands tall, to one side, where she'll be on the fringe of any group that may form, her arms crossed and feet set. She looks at the man a long moment, silently sizing him up, before she gives a curt nod in return.
The sizing up brings a slight smile to his face that fades almost as fast. He is used to that. Being one of the newer kids in the superhero business will inure you to a lot of things, after awhile.
He settles back, letting himself run internal inventory and nodding to himself.
Maniac was exploring through one of the alleys when the bell started ringing. After jumping sharply and quelling a pang of homesickness (Mrs. Pickwell and all the little Pickwells, only she called them by a whistle not a bell but it was still the same feeling, calling come home, come home and then there'd be spagetti for dinner and he could have an address just for a night), he's trotting out to see what all the fuss is about.
And, funny thing, but he thought the alleyway was longer then that.
He's been slowing down, lately. Taking things easier. He rests more, sleeps easier, and the nightmares are even less vivid. He doesn't try and stay on the move all the time, he isn't constantly working to find a way out, to hunt down shadows on a suspicion.
Except now somebody's making a big ruckus, and ringing some damn bell, so Marcus decides to see what all the commotion is about.
He is, however, going to hang back and keep his distance.
Everybody else can call their little meeting; he doesn't much care except to watch and listen. Not much for community spirit, Marcus.
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Jack creeps out of one of the nearby huts with his hands firmly over his ears, glaring in the direction of the bell and girl ringing it. He's still dressed in his base uniform, having laundered it at some point, his shirt unbuttoned and his black t-shirt under it.
"For cryin' out loud -- can't you go ring that thing in some other creepy deserted street?"
He lets go of one ear as he says this and makes vague dismissive gestures with his hand; it's clear he's not quite serious.
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Plourr remembers this guy.
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He can move quietly when he really wants, it seems, but she probably heard him anyway. A few feet away, leaning against a wall and looking...well, about the same as he always does. If a little tired.
"Now, now...what's this all about?"
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But she isn't talking to him. Not if she doesn't have to.
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"Yo! What's up, fearless leader?"
So there is a Ray, peering up at her with concern.
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She likes this one. He's one of the few that doesn't make it seem like it's goign to be an uphill struggle. Again.
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The woman herself stalks out of the alley a moment later, hand on the blaster pistol holstered at her side, but it falls away as she sees what exactly is making all the racket. She crosses her arms over her chest, looking first at the woman standing on the windowsill, then at the other two guys who are here (and the older one gets a rather sharp look; she remembers him, oh yes she does).
Her original statement? Still stands. The hell's this supposed to be all about?
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The woman seems a bit hostile, but maybe it is just the place and situation? Whatever it is, he offers a smile and a nod to her.
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He settles back, letting himself run internal inventory and nodding to himself.
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And, funny thing, but he thought the alleyway was longer then that.
Odd.
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Except now somebody's making a big ruckus, and ringing some damn bell, so Marcus decides to see what all the commotion is about.
He is, however, going to hang back and keep his distance.
Everybody else can call their little meeting; he doesn't much care except to watch and listen. Not much for community spirit, Marcus.
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