Accidental Rescue

December 04, 2016:

Clark Kent trips and falls all over Darcy Lewis.

Streets of Metropolis


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Storm Gambit


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

* OOC Time: Sun Dec 04 15:25:10 2016 *

Ext. Midday - Metropolis

It's midday in the City of Tomorrow. Darcy Lewis stands at the corner of a crosswalk waiting to cross to the other side. The red 'STOP' shifts to a white 'WALK' and a sharp electronic chirp alerts all of the pedestrians that they can move their attention from their phones and make their way to the other side of the street.

Midway there her phone alerts and she reaches down to see to check and see what is new..and then it hits her.

An avalanche of brown suit and overcoat falls on top of her in a pile of awkward milquetoast. There is that moment of shock. The moment of confusion. Then that moment where the hair on the back of your neck might stand. Struggling against the thing that just collapsed atop you a sharp breeze can be felt as a car blows the light, horn blaring, missing them by inches. So close you can nearly smell the beers the driver had during lunch.

As the reality sets in the figure on top of her seems to be struggling to disentangle himself and of apologizing, profusely, "Sorry, oh golly. I'm so sorry." In his struggle his overcoat somehow wraps across his face and he rolls to his back pawing at his face like some sort-of six-foot-three turtle except the edge of the coat is pinned under his head making it hard to pull clear, "Help." He calls out seemingly to have momentarily forgotten how to stand.

What is Darcy Lewis doing in Metropolis? Not Top Secret, but definitely Level 5 Clearance required. DEO's a bitch. In any case, eyes on her phone she was completely catched unaware by the wall of browncoat that dropped her to the ground. Flat on her back, the whiz of car has her green eyes trying to track the vehicle, annoyance riding high until Browncoat's seen tangled up in hiw own coat. A warm chuckle escapes as her rescuer needs a rescue, and so Darcy rolls smoothly to her feet and reaches down to grab the lapel of the brown coat. She uses it to haul Browncoat up a few inches so she can get the corner out from under him, while her body's braced to then help him up to his feet.

"One rescuer to another, helps not to sit on your coat. Here. You okay, Firefly?" she's saying. Her movements are sure of themselves, hands firm and perfectly within normal human girl who does physical activity regularly but isn't a trained Marine GI Jane. Her glasses are definitely prescription, the lenses thick in her bright red hipster frames.

Without the leverage of his own skull Clark Kent manages to get the coat from off his face with some assistance. He immediately cups his face in his hands, adjusting the skew of his glasses, and seems to take a deep breath before realizing he's sitting in the center of a city-street.

"Rescuer?" He says a bit dewildered and then squints behind his thick glasses looking down the street in the direction the car departed, "Gosh! He could have hit us!" Shifting to stand when he gets his right foot up under him and puts weight upon it he nearly collapses again with a wince of pain. Trying again this time with most of his weight upon his other feet he manages to stand.

"I'm fine," he says moving forward in a sharp half-hopping limp, "I think I just need to sit down. Are /you/ okay? I think I stepped in a hole. I hope I didn't ruin your clothes. I'd be happy to have them drycleaned." His voice is a weak baritone polite but unconfident neardly every word sounds flustered and apologetic.

"Yeah. Good thing neither of us were looking at where we were going and you slammed right into me," Darcy quips, completely unphased by it. She keeps a hand on him to help him stand so when he nearly collapses again, Darcy's quick to offer try to help him regain his balance by leaning his weight into her. She's sturdy enough, or seems to think she is.

"You sure? There's a bench over there," she says, motioning with a bob of her chin. The smiles and chuckle is gone replaced with a look of concern for the man rather than herself.

"Me? Sure. Bump's gonna bruise, but that's just another Tuesday for me." A slight pause in which her grin returns. "Drycleaning? Aw, you're sweet. But no, thanks. If I can't fling it in a washing machine, it's not worth the money… Not that I could really afford anything nice enough to want to dry clean, but moot point. Are you alright? You're limping," she's saying as she leads the way to the bench. Her voice is a gentle alto, confident, focused, and unapologetic. She's polite, but her voice has the promise that it could go impolite in a heartbeat if she wanted, either inappropriately so or offensively so. She's dropped her phone into her purse with her tazer to deal with the message later. If it's work, they'll message again.

"I think I twisted my ankle," he surmises with another hop.

When she leans in Clark raises a hand as if momentarily inclined to let her get a bit closer so she'd be a better crutch but stops short of doing it realizing how socially awkward it might be. So instead she can use his forearm but he does accept her help. Tall and square-shouldered the awkward clod is heavy and so it's not an easy path to the park bench despite a few horn blasts which intended to encourage them to 'speed it up'.

When they get him settled upon the bus-bench he hunches forward with two shoulders that shrug upward in a perpetual stoop, "I'm really sorry." He says for the fourth time, there is a pregnant pause, and he seems to recall his manners, "I'm Clark Kent and I appreciate you helping me. Can I at least get you an Uber since I slowed you down?"

He reaches into the pocket of his coat to find his phone and then seems suddenly quizzical, "Why did you call me firefly?"

"Ooh.. Been there, done that. Take it easy for a bit and then we'll see about walking it off. Tonight, you need some RICE," Darcy says, replying wordlessly to the honking horns with a flip of her middle finger. A true New York kinda girl. His socially awkward move is noted and she rolls her eyes. Men some days. It's polite the way she refrains from calling him out on it though.

"Hey. It's no big deal, really. Been bonked harder at work. It's fine," she says int the pause, planting her hands on her hips a moment as she glances about the sidewalk. It's almost as if she's daring anyone to get too close right now. The motion is semi-protective and definitely smack of utter confidence in who and what she is. Her green eyes flit back down to him, lips kicking up in a smile. She offers out her right hand.

"Darcy Lewis. It was my pleasure. And don't worry about it. I'm not running against a clock right now." Darcy moves to settle at Clark's side.

"Firefly is the name of a TV show. Had one season, but it was amamzing. The main character worn browncoats. You have a brown coat. It made more sense in my head than it does outloud," she explains before she tilts her head.

"Want me to take a look at your ankle? See how bad of a twist it is?" He's going to say no, Darcy suspects, but when talking with civilians, always a good idea to make sure they are okay if time and lack-of-explosions allow.

"Rice," he repeats in a whisper as if filing that away for later.

Kent takes her hand in a polite unremarkable shake, "Oh." He replies when she explains the TV show, "I don't think I saw that one. I think the last nature program I watched was the Crocodile Hunter."

"My ankle," he looks down at it and grabs his pants at the knee lifting the leg of his trousers up an inch, "I'll be fine. I just have weak ankles. It'll be okay by tomorrow, I'm sure." Letting go of his trouser leg then he asks her, "Are you a nurse? You said you get /bonked/ a lot."

"It's sci-fi, actually," Darcy replies, chuckling again. Gods, this guy's such a dork! It doesn't mean that the concern is any less and the expression of worry for him returns as he lifts his trouser. She leans forward and eyes his ankle, reaching out to touch lightly before straightening back up.

"Me? Oh, hell no. Played roller derby and I'm a SHIELD Field Agent. We tend to get beaten up alot. Comes with the terrority. But, yeah, I think you will be fine, although seriously; when you get home: RICE. Fifteen minutes cold, fifteen minutes warm, fifteen cold, remove compression and hit the sack. You got a lot of walking to do today, Clark?" Darcy says in what seems like a topic ramble, body language completely at ease and far from uptight.

"Cause, if you do, we can get you and ACE bandage and wrap it up. And if you want, I can give you some exercises to help strengthen your ankles. I had weak ankles when I started skating. Nearly broke one, but my wifey took me aside after practice, and insists she help built up my strength. It was love at first insult, I swear to Jesus, but honestly, those exercises worked. Happy to share it with you," Dracy's saying again, a warm smile, friendly and honest, graces her face.

Clark's blue eyes widen a bit, "A SHIELD Agent? Wow, that must be exciting."

Then with the palms of his hands he pats the right side of his chest and then reaches into his suit-coat pulling out a small 99 cent note pad with a tiny golf-pencil stuck in the wire beinding. Flipping it open he spends about a second and a half flipping through the pages past phone numbers, recipies, grocery lists, until he finds a blank page. Then he writes 'RICE = 15 wrm. 15 cld. Rmv Compress. Sleep.' He then closes the little book and puts the pencil in.

"Walking? No, not too much. I'll just take a taxi. I like to walk whenever I can," he says inhaling, "It keeps me fit but I think I'll just call today a rest day." Clark gives a weak goofy smile there, "I'd be happy to have any tips you can provide. Usually I stick my legs out," Which he does kicking his lanky limbs outward straight in front of himself, "and roll to get the blood flowing."

Darcy's laugh is bright and unrestrained. A normal human caught in a world of mutants, metas, magicians, and bullet proof aliens from other dimensions. What else can she do but laugh?

"It definitely has it's moments. I espeically like playing frisbee with speedsters. It's like having four other people on your team," Darcy quips with a cheerful roll of her shoulders. Green eyes watch Clark take notes on what RICE is, and Darcy stops him from putting away the book for the moment.

"RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. Rest it by staying off it. Then put a cold pack to minimize the swelling, while you use a compression bandage, and all of this while you have it elevated. Keeps gravitiy from yanking fluids down into your ankle. Oh, and ibuprofen. Anti-inflammatory, performance enhancing drug used by NFL and WFTDA players every where," Darcy adds, smiling warmly and letting him add the informatino or not, returning his goofy smile with a bright one of her own.

"Yeah. You never played sports much in high school, did you? That's okay. I didn't either. I started in college, but if you want my number I can send you some videos," she offers, smiling as Clark instead hands over his business card and gets up to flag a taxi while insisting that if she want her clothes cleanded that she call him. As he leaves, Darcy reads the card: Clark Kent, Reporter, Daily Planet. She smiles gain and looks up to wave goodbye to Clark as he gets into his taxi. A reporter, that's a nice contact to have, especially in light of a school for mutants about to go public. She'll have to check with Storm and Remy… she what sort of media coverage they're goign to want and see what sort of counter media they might need to keep DEO off their backs. Speaking off, back to work!

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