Alleyway Allies

October 14, 2018:

A sleeping Logan is accosted by thugs. A stranger comes to his rescue. (OOC Language warning)

New York City alleyway on the edge of Mutant Town

Characters

NPCs: Thugs

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

The streets of New York City are always filled with variety. Some areas are quiet, with the residents moving to and fro or sitting on their stoops socializing with someone in the first story window nearby. Some are bustling with activity, filled with tourists determined to see all the sites. Others are often filled with people rushing to work or back home, catching the closest form of transit instead of trying to drive in the insanity. Then there are the dark places, where the bad people of the world prey on others who they see as weaker than themselves.
Often the homeless are those victims so many try to find safety in numbers, all occupying the same alley way so they present less of an appealing target.
There is a newcomer to this alley though. She hasn't been full accepted by the others yet but they don't turn anyone away that might need a place. She has found herself a spot near a fire escape where she hunkers down, a large cardboard box her home of sorts. Inside there are a handful of old blankets which she can use for a bed. She wears the typical old clothes that one would expect on a person who doesn't have a home. A shirt with a flannel over the top. Jeans that have seen better days. She doesn't have a jacket yet, something she will need to find before winter comes. She has on a hat and gloves and she tends to keep some material, in white, wrapped around her face so her features are hidden. She keeps to herself and doesn't tread on anyone else's space.
Tonight, the predators are out though as they seek to take from others, even those who have less than them.

Moving within that crowd, sometimes a voice will rise in protest as people step past. There's occasionally a jangle of tin cans clattering, maybe an older woman scowling and high-pitched snarling as somebody trods on her collection of soda bottles. It's a place that doesn't showcase the better parts of humanity, a place where two people can be considered a gang, where loyalties turn quick for a choice piece of scavenged leftovers out of the restaurant dumpster.
Yet when one has lived there long enough they get a feeling for the vibe of the place. To anyone else the haranguing and hollering is chaotic and frightful, but for people who have been there for a time they know it's just Hildey upset at not finding where she left her old tin lunch box. Something she does every few hours. Tonight, though, something is up, and it has to do with the youthful toughs who are stalking through that alley and its adjoining vacant lot. Some of them are laughing at times, some of them are snarling angrily when one of the homeless don't get out of their way quick enough… but all of them are there to laugh and point and feel better about themselves. However that's done.
The man most of those homeless people know as Logan, however, is lying on the old park bench that used to be a place for visitors to rest and reflect in that now vacant lot. He's got his cowboy hat pulled down, the stench of liquor thick and rich upon him. So much so that even as they wander up the tough’s comment, "Jesus Christ, this fucker smells like a brewery."

The huddled figured in her box stirs as she hears the voices falling quiet in the alleyway as the toughs enter. Most of the homeless are doing their best to disappear, to fade into the darkness they use so that they won't be noticed. It's what they are good at. Being invisible to most people.
These ruffians aren't most people. They are there on purpose to try and harass the residents of the alley. Most of the people here are used to it and they can ignore the comments and crassness displayed. When the young men snarl and show their anger, the people rush to get out of the way even faster. Thus far, they haven't laid a hand on any of the homeless.
It is that reason alone that the figure in the dark watches from her box, tightening the wraps around her face and tying them in the back so that, should she need to move, they will remain in place covering her distinct features.
As they reach the lot with the bench where the man Logan rests, she frowns behind the material and slips out of the box, moving silently down the alley to get closer while keeping to the shadows.

She'd likely seen him around at times, usually after a long night for some reason. Instead of making the long hike in the early morning. It takes some doing for a man of his talents to get intoxicated let alone drunk, but sometimes the best part of tying one on is the blissful oblivion of sleeping it off. Never really a 'part' of the people around though he'd talked with a few. He always seemed to be… his own creature. His scent was off from the crowd. His manner. It classified him as something else when observed from afar.
Only now, with the quartet of youths standing around him, does he seem all the more on his own. Especially when one of those teen from Spanish Harlem /kicks/ the iron support that holds the benchseat up.
"Hey man, yer loiterin'! Some actual citizens want to sit down. Get lost."
"Fuck him, man."
"Seriously, what is he King Bum, only one that gets to sit on the fucking trash throne?"
"Fucker."
Another kick causes the metal to /thrum/ with the impact and it's enough to get him to roll to the side slightly. His features aren't discernible with the hat over them, but his voice carries the scowl that's assuredly hidden beneath. "M'gonna do you kids a favor and give you a chance to go the hell away."
"Fuck you, man!"

The homeless woman stops at the end of the alley, hunkering down into a squatting position with her arms resting atop her thighs. Her eyes are on the group around the bench, reading them, gauging. Punks. No true skills. Their prey are usually easy marks as they don't fight back and try to stay out of the way, doing what they can to continue their lives without problems.
The one on the bench isn't like the rest of them. She isn't sure what it is. His scent is different. He is not afraid, like most of the people here. Even when he has gotten drunk and passed out on this bench, there is still something about him that warns the others to give him space.
These boys are going to be in for a bad time if they don't heed the warning. Something in her mind though is pointing out that it is four against one. Those odds aren't fair. In her training, honor was taught right along with fighting. She finds herself calling out, although she isn't one to like conversation.
A sound a bit like a growl comes from her before her words come out, low, almost a snarl though she didn't intend it that way. "Listen." She suggests. Then she adds, "Trouble if you stay."

She might catch a glimmer of the man's eyes just beneath the brim of that hat that covers his features. He sits up slightly, one elbow sliding back to brace him as he only then pushes the hat back into place on his head and he focuses on the teens…
The teens who are now turned to glower at the woman who snarls at them. "Fuck you, bitch. Get back in your box."
That triggers some laughing even as one of them pulls out his cellphone and holds it up to film the assuredly ill homeless woman what with the bandages and the like. A small light flips on as he shines it towards her, "Fuck her up, T-Rev, just like that bitch from the subway."
"Yeah, fuck her up, man."
The one known as T-Rev laughs and points at her, "Get outta here, bag lady. You know what's good for you."

She tilts her head to the side, like an animal listening to a strange noise. They hurt someone. A woman from the subway. Things were fine when it was only words but now something is unfurling in side her as she watches them giving courage to one another with their verbal assault. Yet, they would be easy prey. She could take them all done in moments, she's certain.
"Children playing grown up." Her voice is low, a growl adding to the sound. As the light is shone her direction, she has to narrow her eyes against the beam. Yet she doesn't move away, she doesn't stand down. It is as though she is daring them to try to 'fuck her up'. "This home. You leave."
The man on the bench may pick up the slight alteration of her gloved hands. They had been simple gloves on normal, slim fingers. Now those fingers have slightly elongated, sharp nails tearing through the tips of the material but not in an obvious way the thugs might notice.

Behind them, the man on the bench had twisted around and set his booted feet on the ground with a gravelly crunch as he scowled and pulled the hat off his head. His hair was thick and pushed back like the ears of a wolf and his hat he held in one calloused hand, shoving a fist into it to nudge some of bumps out of it even as he then lifts it to set it back on his head. Narrowed eyes and a twist of his lip are given towards each of the teenagers who then shoot looks back at him.
"Subway's a lot safer sometimes. Compared ta certain places in this city. You know where you are, kid?" Logan's voice is a steady rumble and there's an edge to it, but she can tell there's more displeasure in his tone, reluctance at having to deal with this. "On the south edge a Mutant Town."
One of the gangster kids looks back towards Logan, then back at her. "Tell him to shut the fuck up."
"Shut the fuck up, man." Says the one other kid who is filming.
But Logan, he just keeps talking. "Yer messin' with folks who can shoot laser beams outta their eyes, or control the weather, or steal your very soul outta your face. And you think this is a place you wanna come ta stir up trouble?"

"Too much talk." She's done. She has had enough of their threats and attitude. One moment she is standing where she was, the next she is leaping the distance from her to the thugs. A good fifteen feet, cleared in an instant. Her leg comes up in a side kick. Her foot slaps the phone to the side, where it lands on the ground. Then she does a single strike to the side of his neck before spinning on the next one.
As he tries to bring up his hands to defend himself, she easily pushes his blocks aside and punches him square in the face. He falls backwards, landing hard on his butt on the grass.
She turns, bringing up her hands and looking at the other two. Only to find they are already running the opposite direction. Seems they didn't any part of one that fought back.

As the kick lands Logan winces, leaning back a little as he says, "See, I told you so." But he doesn't seem too terribly worried for them, figuring they brought this on themselves and chances are if he had to end up getting up off of this bench then things would have gone worse for them. So he sits there and watches, hearing the thumps and the cracks and the crackles. He winces a little at the punch to the face and then lets his eyes follow after the retreating duo that are already beating feet.
To the one that's still there, dazed and suddenly spouting blood from his broken nose, Logan says sidelong to him. "Figure you should go and catch up with yer friends. You don't wanna be left here alone at night."
And even before he's finished talking, the youth takes Logan's advice and is hurriedly beating feet.

As they youths make themselves scarce, she walks over to the fallen phone which she picks up and looks at curiously. It's still recording so it gets a nice close up of her covered face. She tightens her hand around it and squeezes, tapping in her strength. A moment later, it breaks. She makes sure it is in several pieces before she looks to Logan sidelong.
"Safe now. Sleep." As though she kept him safe from whatever the ruffians were going to do. Apparently, that is how she sees it with her mind. He was being accosted and she made sure he wasn't hurt. Never mind that he would've been able to take care of them on his own. That's information she doesn't have.
She turns to walk back toward her alley, content that that things will be fine for the rest of the night.

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