Out of the Cold

December 29, 2017:

Syn and Nate meet for the first time, in the middle of a traffic accident.



NPCs: None.

Mentions: Thor


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

It's inevitable, when there's a storm, someone's going to overestimate their driving ability, usually to the detriment of their fender and pride. Sometimes, though, bad luck has a cascade effect. As it's had this afternoon. It starts with the guy who didn't scrape his windows properly before he left his house, a sudden stop dumped ice into his field of view, and the guy behind him couldn't stop fast enough to avoid the collision and wound up shunting him into the cross traffic, and that was before the garbage truck came up behind them.

It doesn't take spider sense to see the impending doom unfolding, the sonorous tone of the horn lent on trying to warn those in front that the heavy truck doesn't have the room to stop on the icy road, the already confused and startled people in the cars in his path. Syn had already been paused, although diminished, Death sight is one of the few traits left to her, and the glow of death hanging over the corner had caused her to stop and stare at the corner in search of its cause.

Thus when things begin to unfold the Asgardian is already in motion, wading out in front of the truck without particular concern for its bulk and bracing herself for the careening vehicles arrival at her spot.

Damn, it is cold. No shit. Nate usually pays little attention to the weather. What others call 'damn cold' it is just 'grab the jacket' weather for him. But today he has to admit it is damn cold and the old leather jacket he wears over his outfit is not quite enough, even using telekinesis to keep the wind and snow away.

Still, his destination is just around the corner, so nothing to worry, he thinks. Famous last words. "For fucks sake," he grumbles at hearing the crashing sounds, looking back at the -other- corner. He has never really seen a traffic accident in five years, and one has to happen just the day he is freezing his ass. A Summers life sucks, said Rachel.

So yes, he runs the wrong way. Or maybe the right way if someone is about to get run over.

It might certainly look like it, and the cars that started the chain reaction are still slipping on the road. With Syn's attention on the truck, she's got no way of realizing that the two cars have strayed far enough that a girl not paying attention to much more than the fact she has a green crosses into the intersection, on a course to T-bone the first car, which will certainly make it hop the curb into the smattering of stunned onlookers.

For Syn it's about… redirection. The truck seems like the most dangerous potential object, but just stopping it with her hands isn't… well, it wont end well for the truck at least, even if 'on paper' there's probably at least one person concerned about the blond lady standing in the middle of the road. This isn't a battlefield, and these people, not warriors, for Syn, that means that they should be permitted to live long enough that they might earn a place in Valhalla, but it still comes down to waiting for that truck to kiss the palms of her hands before enveloping it in a barrier to maintain structural integrity as she digs in to try and stop it from adding to the unfurling disaster at least.

And the truck just never hits. Because instead it moved up a couple yards when it was barely a few feet from Syn's hands. The driver might have a few sprained muscles from the sudden acceleration, but it looks better than having a splattered blonde on the windshield, right?

The two crashing cars are the next two vehicles to float up. Too late to prevent the impact, but at least Nate can make sure they don't skid into the sidewalks or other vehicles. Fortunately there are not many people in the streets, because not even New Yorkers are insane enough to go out with this blizzard without a damn good reason.

Nate is not, technically, a New Yorker. And he had a damn good reason!

Syn's not often one for puzzlement, but puzzlement is the right term, when suddenly that which she was prepared to deal with is snatched away… upward, no less. Indeed, first she looks to her hand, nope, she didn't suddenly develop extra abilities, at least the grunt she gives suggests that's the assessment in the shrug of her shoulders. The truck itself is given a suspicious eye before she turns to take a look at the two cars behind her and tilts her head to one side. Well then.

A slow blink of her eyes is offered as she reaches out to give the closest of the vehicles a push simply to witness its reaction before stepping off towards the curb again unhurriedly. There's nothing fashionable about the cloak she wears or the seemingly thin leather underneath it, but truthfully the human idea of bitterly cold is little more than brisk for her.

The answer to that inquiring glance comes stomping on the snow from the other side of the street. Nate is a large young man with long auburn and white hair and odd scars in the left side of his face. His left eye is also glowing gold brightly, and one of his hands is raised, as if holding the vehicles. Definitely not wearing the right clothes for the blizzard, at least not for a human.

With a grunt he lowers his hand, letting the truck and one of the cars float down at a side of the street. The other car, a side crushed, he pulls closer to see if the people inside is injured. Panicking minds are too hard to read for useful information.

He does glance at Syn, noticing the weird attire. So maybe some Viking-themed hero? And so possibly standing in front of the truck was not as suicidal as it looked on first sight. "You alright," he asks, nevertheless.

Syn settles her weight onto one hip, amusement curling her lips as the source of the floating vehicles becomes apparent. The worst of the passengers certainly is worse for wear. The safety features did their job, but it still wasn't quite… designed to be able to avoid injury altogether on the side that was crushed. Still, alive, and probably only suffering a broken leg and some mostly superficial cuts, could have been worse. Was going to be worse, according to Syn's sight at least.

"Another magi?" is what she has to ask, it's understandable enough, even if it's not actually English. Most ears probably don't pick up on the tonal difference of All-Speak, but well, for Syn at least why bother learning other languages? The dip of her head in acknowledgment is brief and indifferent, for all that she notes,"It appears that death has been averted here, for now at least."

"What?" Does that sound like? Odd. Nate is a telepath, when he can't understand speech he tries to hook up to the speaker language centers. Understanding without understanding is an odd experience. It has been a while since he last heard an Asgardian speak.

"I ain't no wizard," replies the young man. "At most a magician and that is usually only when I need some bucks." He concentrates, dissembling the damaged vehicle with his telekinesis to pull out the injured driver, reaching for her mind to calm her down. "I'm a mutant, and you… you don't sound as being from the neighborhood."

Syn sets her hands on her hips and watches with amusement, cold, potential for other vehicles to come through, she's not overly concerned,"I'm not, magician-mutant. But Death had touched this place, without the collision, it appears to be fading." there's a vague nod in the direction of the floating woman before she adds,"It appears that you have this matter in hand." and from the way she turns, perhaps she considers that her reason or opportunity to leave, certainly it looks that way from the way she heads towards a motorcycle parked up on the snowy footpath.

Nate gives the blonde woman a quizzical glance. Brief, he crouches to examine the injured woman, to try to figure if she is in danger. Looks like a broken leg, but not shattered. Usual shock, which he can lessen with telepathy.

Glance back to Syn. "Death did, uh? Hey wait," he asks. "Can you call an ambulance? I seem to have misplaced my cell." Probably left it in Genosha. Too many things in his head lately. Do not judge!

Wait, he requests, and Syn does eventually slow and turn towards him again with a bark of amusement,"I cannot." because she doesn't own one, truthfully, but it does mean that when a twenty-something babbling into his phone as he holds it out to record passes by her she reaches out to snag them by the back of the jacket and insist,"An ambulance is needed. You will call one, yes?" with too broad a smile on her face for the boys startlement. Waiting patiently for the puzzled kind of nod before he reluctantly stops filming in order to actually make a call.

"There." is Syn's offering with a nod of satisfaction as she let's go, unpreturbed it seems about leaving the others in their vehicles or Nate to deal with the situation at large, perhaps in her mind with death no longer a concern and the accident scene being dealt with she's no longer needed.

The commotion caused has drawn a good deal of attention, so maybe someone had already called the police or paramedics. But Nate wanted to be sure. Some folks just so not pay attention. And he is not sticking around this time, it is too damn cold. "Okay, good!" He decides, making sure the injured woman is reasonably comfortable and standing up.

"I am Nate Grey, by the way," he tells Syn. Just in the case she is remotely interested. He forgot to introduce himself due to, well, having to lift a truck with telekinesis.

"Stynfridr Valkyrior." is the response Syn has for him, offered with casual indifference. She casts her attention over the situation as people move in to start helping the injured and wait for the ambulance, swinging her leg over the motorcycle and standing it upright before looking over at him,"You did good work today, magician-mutant Nate Grey." as if he needed her assurance of such a thing,"A useful talent to possess, of a certainty." no helmet for her, for all that the bike has an honest-to-goodness sword in a scabbard and a shield attached to it. The whole just a little too well worn, too… lived in, even if one doesn't recognize the Asgardian runes to likely allow her to pass as a cosplayer to the observant.

Nate shrugs at the praise. What he did was relatively easy for him, so not really something he feels proud, or is truly praise-worthy. "This was nothing, and… you are from Asgard, aren't you? You talk like one them." But rides a motorcycle; that is a new one. The sword, that is the normal thing.

Not that Nate remembers much of Thor, Sif and Loki (that jerk). It has been years and worlds apart.

There's a laugh from Syn, no polite titter nor noise conscious of the solemnity of the accident they are nearby,"Yes, I am Asgardian." there's the slightest flicker in her expression, the hooding of those blue eyes and the twist of her lips in brief bitterness,"Though it has been many years since I have been to this particular pebble. You are familiar with my people?" that at least merits him a modicrum of attention, the glacial blue watching him unblinking despite the casual way she sits astride the bike.
Though no doubt there may be those choosing to document the accident, she at least doesn't notice, or, well, more likely care as to whether or not she's caught on film.

"Meet a few of them, years ago," replies the young man. "Thor was one of them…" how to explain the impression Thor left in teenage Nate? It still influences his behavior and his mindset. Not really important now. "Eh, nevermind. Nice wheels. But too damn cold to chat here. I need more coffee, or something with alcohol. See ya around, lady." He steps back, offering Syn a brief smile.

"Odinson." there's something in the way that Syn repeats it, though rather than elaborate she instead offers,"I had heard that he visits this place sometimes. Though it has been a few years since we've spoken." there's that quirk of her lips before she reaches in to one of the saddlebags to offer what's left of a bottle of whiskey his way. Human, at least, if potentially slushy from sitting in the chill of the air for a while,"Syn, Nate Grey of Earth… and no doubt, we shall meet again."

Nate nods. Visits sometimes? Maybe. He has not seen Thor or heard of him since he crossed over. "Thanks," he mutters, grabbing the bottle and trying a long draught. Ugh, half frozen whiskey. He grunts, giving back the bottle and enjoying the fake sensation of heat. "You think? Till then, Stynfridr." He manages to pronounce her name correctly. Mostly.

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