2045-07-17 No Glove No Love

From X-Factor

No Glove No Love
Date Posted 2016/02/26
Location Mutant Town - New York City
Participants Sierra, Irene, Vega
Summary Irene and Vega encounter Sierra on a Mutant Town street. They wish they had gloves.
It's a balmy summer night in New York, perfect for all kinds of evening activities. The sky is clear, moon bright, bathing the streets below in its soft glow. City sounds echo dully in the background, disturbed on one particular street in Mutant Town by a raucous pair stumbling down the cracked pavement. She's tall and slender, her dark hair a loose tangled mess that speaks to a good night, if you know what I mean. He's taller, broad and green-skinned, with blue hair. Both of them have pupils the size of dinner plates, if you can get a good enough look, and they're leaning on each other for support.

"It's so fucking hot," Sierra complains loudly, contorting her body uncomfortably. "So take off your clothes," laughs the green man in response, only half-joking. Suddenly, they've stopped, and her blue bandage dress is being awkwardly tugged over Sierra's head, muffling her reply: "Why didn't //I// think of that?!"

The car that rolls down the same street as the two 'lovebirds' is not obviously marked as a police car. In that, it doesn't have POLICE scrawled in huge letters on the side of it. It does have all of the bells and whistles on the inside, though. In between one call tonight already and the police station, the car slows down as it approaches Sierra and friend. "Oh, for fuck's-" Irene doesn't finish the sentence, except in an exasperated sigh. "Do you want to deal with that?" She asks, turning to look over at the passenger seat where her partner is and gestures where a bandage dress is being tugged off of a woman. She in no way looks like she wants to deal with that.

The hot night air is met with low scowl as Vega rolls down her window to get a better look at the woman stripping down in the street. "I don't think we have to deal with that until she removes her underwear," she admits, dragging a hand back through her pink hair. While distasteful, she is still somewhat in the grounds of 'dressed' at the moment. After a moment she adds, "Doesn't she own The Pony?" Before calling, "Ma'am. Please put your dress back on." From the car.

These things are not easy to get off - Sierra wriggles and squirms quite comically on the sidewalk as she struggles to get her dress over her head, resorting to a few colourful Spanish phrases. "Can't you fucking help with this," she whines at her date, who is doubling over in fits of laughter. Finally, the garment gives, leaving her lighter and cooler in a red lace thong, no bra. That's right about the time some rando is shouting at her from an unmarked car. She responds by unceremoniously lobbing her discarded dress at the vehicle, accompanied by a friendly, "Piss off!"

"I think that was a 'no'," Irene observes dryly after the dress is flung at the car. She looks over at Vega a moment, brows raised, because what the fuck is this situation, really? Sigh. "Does that count as no underwear or not? I think that's a thong..." She...does not really want to examine too closely to be sure, though.

The dress sails towards the unmarked car, gently wafting in the air, but doesn't actually come near enough for Vega to need to duck back inside. She looks at Irene with an expression of, 'Are you fucking kidding me?' "Does that count as assaulting a police officer?" She threw a dress... "I think that was a hell no."

Sierra flips the bird at the car for good measure, disappointed with the trajectory of her dress. Oh well. "Papi, kiss me," she orders her friend, who doesn't resist when she aggressively pulls him in for some PDA. He flips the car off too, behind her back while they're making out.

"Definitely a hell no," Irene agrees. Well, it's not the first or last time they'll be flipped the bird. She reaches over to the dash and flips on the police lights, the street suddenly flashing blue and red. And just in case they are too far in each others mouths to notice, she blares the siren loudly a few times for good measure. And for fun.

They could found goddamn avian sanctuary from all the birds that get flipped their way. "It's like they're trying to get arrested," Vega muses, watching the couple make out with a shake of her head. "Are we getting out?" She asks her partner with a lift of her brows

Oh. Well that's just unfair, isn't it? Sierra is stunned as Mr. Green pushes her back by the shoulders at the sound of sirens, urging her to, "Run!" Unfortunately, the force of his shove sends a drug-hazy Sie a-teeter, stumbling backward a couple of steps in her heels before crashing to the ground with arms pinwheeling. That's sure to hurt. "Fuck," she announces, trying to kick her shoes off frantically. Because sure, that seems like a priority right now: get //more// naked.

"I'm kind of hoping they'll just bail..." This Irene admits without a lot of actual hope, although the shout of 'run!' was sure promising for a moment. "Maybe we should...just for a moment." She doesn't do so immediately though, like she's watching Sierra and thinking she can't possibly be /that/ hurt if she's kicking off her shoes, but...With a sigh, she parks the car and opens the door, stepping out and leaning on that door while peering into the street. "We really need you to get dressed, Ma'am."

"Preferably /inside/ of one of the buildings..." Vega says, continuing Irene's thought as she watches the couple break off. One of them manages to RUN while the other... "Why is she taking off her shoes?" She wonders aloud, squinting at the woman. "She has to be high." Once the car is parked, she hops out with a bounce of her pink hair on her unseasonably black jacket clad shoulders.

Kicking off your shoes is a lot harder when you're high. Sierra is having a really hard time of it, guys. She's wobbling her legs around like overcooked spaghetti and NO SHOES ARE DISLODGING WHAT WHY WHAT IS THIS SORCERY oh they have straps around the ankles nvm. Of course, then she's leaning forward to try and undo the buckles, which. Ha. At least her long curls provide a curtain of modesty?

Mr. Green is definitely bailing. Like bye, bitch.

"I assume to better run away. It's hard to run in heels." Leaning on the car door, Irene watches Sierra struggle with her shoes, her expression a little pained...probably because she's trying not to laugh. She succeeds. "She's definitely high." Well, at least there's only one of them now. Bye, Mr. Green. "Ma'am. Please leave your shoes on. You need to go home. Preferably dressed..." If she can even manage that.

"Yeah... because feet on hot concrete are always a good idea." Shaking her head, Vega shuts the door with a solid click behind her. Her features are in a flat, if vaguely exasperated, state of composure. The retreating Green Man is regarded with a roll of her eyes as she starts up the sidewalk towards Sierra. "Ma'am... Are you quire alright? You really do need to get dressed."

Sierra curses at her shoes a couple more times before giving up, and starting to struggle to her feet with a series of pained noises. There's a bright red graze on one of her asscheeks from the fall. Lovely. She blinks a few times, glancing between the two policewomen confusedly as if she doesn't quite believe what she's seeing, or understand the question - and then she turns to run.

"Depends on who you are." It's night, right? They sidewalk can't be /too/ hot... Irene winces a little, although it's impossible to tell if it's because of the red graze on Sierra's ass...or just that they're getting mooned. Then she turns to run. "Shit." She finally closes the car door, the lights still on but the siren silent. "Hey! You forgot your dress!" Also, she got confused by her shoes, so she's probably in no condition to go running off by herself.

Taking a deep breath, Vega tilts her head up towards the sky as if in question of what she's done to deserve this. Recently. At all. Shaking her head at the mark that is as red as Sierra's thong, she bolts after the taller, Latina woman. "Stop!" She demands, boots barely skimming the ground as she runs after her. "Or at least put some clothes on!"

"Like hell I'm gonna stop," Sierra answers, though mostly to herself. She flails down the street as fast as she can in her stupid shoes that wouldn't shake off. No doubt in her mind, she's sprinting aerodynamically in a straight line, but in reality it's more of a haphazard lope, somewhat zigzaggy. "I didn't like that dress anyway," she calls back for Irene's sake. "You can have it!"

If Irene thought there was anyone in the heavens that might save her from this moment, she might just look up to the sky now for deliverance. As she doesn't, she just rolls her eyes. "Apparently!" Since the dress in question is on the ground and Sierra is...well she isn't running, exactly, but she is moving away from it. Grumbling, the cop jogs to catch up to the high gazelle like woman, wobbling around the street.

Moving a little more quickly, Vega moves to cut Sierra's gazelle-like loping off with a bit of speed and a twist of position. The pink-haired police officer blazes path her before coming to a slightly skidded stop directly in her past. "Come on," she says, moving to grab and physically stall her for long enough that some return to civility can be made.

"Bah!" Thwarted, Sierra exclaims loudly her disappointment. She attempts to disappear, literally, to avoid Vega's grasp, but she's too high to concentrate properly; she flickers invisible and back like a bad tv signal for all of a second before giving up and surrendering. "Fuck you." Not without protest.

"Whoa," Irene says as Sierra flickers before them....but never manages to completely disappear. Yet. Well then. She jogs towards the pair, slows and stops when she's nearby. No one got very /far/. "Pass," she retorts offhandedly to that 'fuck you'. No thanks. "We really need you to put the dress on and go home now, Ma'am."

"No, thank you," Vega answers politely, shaking her head as she reaches to grab the woman in one of her corporeal states. "You aren't my type." Never without protest. "It's time to get dressed," she reminds, glancing back towards where it was left in the street. Maybe Sierra is too fucked up to be grossed out by dirty streets.

Wow, no love. (How unsurprising.) Dirty streets are definitely the least of Sierra's worries. She sighs, heavily, and rolls her eyes a little //too// far back in her head, which is positively swimming right now. "Okay, fine," she agrees, apparently ready to be led back to her dress. Wherever she left it. Pesky thing!

No glove, no love, Sierra. You should know better. "Erm," Irene murmurs and looks a little worried Sierra might try to follow the roll of her eyes and fall over or something. "This way, please," she says and gestures with an arm, pointing back at the car and the spot where the dress landed after it was thrown at the car.

The grip of Vega's hand become a little firmer as Sierra's eyes roll back a little too far into her head. Whoa there. "You alright, Ma'am?" She confirms, guiding and dragging and helping all at once. This way please.

She'll be fine once the high wears off, for sure. But for now, it's all good times and bad decisions for Sierra, who has one more party trick in her bag. It's a weird one. She starts to struggle against Vega's grip, pulling backward, and taking a deep breath.

Later, it will be /bad/ times and bad decisions. Sierra is likely in for one hell of a hangover. Of sorts. "Hey now," Irene says, like she's trying to soothe a nervous animal and not a human being--which is a little condescending, but Sierra is letting is all hang out at the moment, so she doesn't really care. "We're just trying to get you to your dress." Please don't make this worse.

A horse would be possibly even more confusing dressed in nothing but a thong and a pair of wedge heels in the middle of the city. Possibly. The whole scene is a bit odd though. Vega's grip firms as Sierra pulls against it, although not hard enough to bruise. "Your clothes are this way," she reminds. "Come on. Then you can get on home or we can take you to the hospital."

As Vega's grip firms, Sierra's body seems to... soften. She gives one last tug to try and wrestle herself away from the officer, and the whole mass of her starts to blur and expand, moving back the way she was struggling, uninhibited. This couldn't possibly make anything worse, right?

"What the fuck." This isn't event a question, it's a statement. Irene had been moving along with the pair, guarding the other side if not actively with her hands on Sierra, but now she leans away a little. Are they all on drugs now? "Fuck." No, it's just mutations.

Sierra's mass starts to blur and expand through Vega's grip, the sensation of her phasing through her skin chilling at best. At one point it leaves the officer with her hand still curled around an invisible wrist and her eyes wide for a moment. It is only a moment, however. There is a crackle, like a circuit blow and Vega hits the ground as her legs fall out from under with a uttered, "Fuck."

The blurry cloud of Sierra particles continues to swarm along merrily for a moment, before consolidating back into a person that's gasping for breath and trying to keep her balance as momentum keeps carrying her a few paces away. A still mostly naked person, mind you. She stumbles to a stop, needing a quick moment to take stock of the situation.

"Vega!" No longer leaning away, Irene is suddenly there by her partner's side while Sierra drifts away from both cops. "Are you alright?" She asks Vega, dropping to a knee for a moment. Her attention shifts as Sierra...recoalesces. Her expression changes too, going from worried, to set-jaw anger. "Hey!"

It's not a very impressive position, nearly face down in the street as Vega pulls herself up on her elbows. A flush that is only partially anger colors her face as he dark eyes slide from Irene to Sierra, experimentally trying to kick a foot. No response. "I'm /fine/. Get her." For a token amount of fine. In that her legs aren't working.

Having had her deer-in-the-headlights moment to recover, the drunk gazelle is off again! Sierra is not going down without a fight. She is, however, //coming// down rapidly, a sense of dread starting to replace the euphoric high, along with a headache from all her shenanigans.

Irene looks very much like she wants to argue with Vega--you are not fine--but that may just be her face at the moment. "Stop!" Kneeling may not be way most people start running outside of track blocks, but she goes from kneeling beside Vega to sprinting after Sierra without stumbling inbetween. And since she's not high and/or drunk, she moves fast and in a straight line (mostly, she is chasing a zig-zagger). "Come back here!" It's a pointless thing to say, she's obviously not coming back and the detective is barreling towards her anyway, so why bother? She reaches to grab Sierra by the arm again--or arms, preferably, pulled behind her back--which is a bit of wishful thinking that she'll stay tangible this time.

Jaw set and eyes pitch dark with irritation, Vega lifts her chin towards Sierra again in reminder. Go. Do your job. Her heavy metal legs are dragged with a solid rasp against the concrete beneath her clothes as she tries to army crawl into a position where she can do something about them, preferably closer to the car, swearing to herself in Mandarin all the while. Irene's pursuit is regarded with the utmost interest.

Maybe she knows when she's beat. Maybe she's just too tired to resist Irene? Whatever the reason, Sierra is restrained (finally) and gives up on her fight, both arms locked behind her as she's led back to the unmarked car and her discarded dress. "Sorry," she mumbles to Vega on the way past, abashedly. "This wasn't how the night was meant to end up."

It's been a long night. Sierra is tucked into the back of the car and given her dress before the door is closed on her and she's locked in (for what good it would do). "Just keep your dress on until you get inside next time," Irene suggests before she goes to help get Vega in the car next. It's probably a little undignified, sorry, but she tries to get her partner settled with minimal fuss and awkwardness. (She can fuss later, when Sierra is out of the car and in the drunk tank).

It's a little undignified but against the indignity of this entire encounter it's tea with queen. Vega has managed to get herself next to the car, arms scraped from crawling across the pavements and legs arranged at angles that are enough to make most people wince. It would be casual if not so inhuman looking. Her brows lift at Sierra's apology, brief as it is, and no protest is spoken when Irene tucks her into the car. Thanks... TO THE POLICE STATION WITH ALL.

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