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2046-03-07 Turbulence

From X-Factor

Turbulence
Date Posted 2016/03/07
Location Mutant Town - New York City
Participants Huruma, Irene, Raquel, Tiffany, Vega
NPCs DJ
Summary The ladies of X-Factor are contracted to cover up some questionable graffiti at a bodega. They are interrupted by the sky crashing down on them. Thankfully, they are badass champions of heroism and grace.
Plot Chop Shop
Scene GM Kade
 
The neighborhood once known as Alphabet City has spent decades slowly reclaiming its former reputation as Manhattan's most dangerous, crime-ridden area. The stretch of city between Houston and 14th is populated with trash-strewn lots, poorly-lit streets, shady back alleys, and numerous storefronts, many of which have spent more years boarded up than not. A number of burnt-out or abandoned buildings have been broken into become the home of squatters who can't afford even Mutant Town's meager rent. It's the home of the desperate and the home of the principled, the one place where standing out as a mutant might afford you more safety than not, and passing as normal is likely to end in a mugging or worse. Aircars are far less common here than in the rest of Manhattan, and few ever stop within the bounds of Mutant Town.

The buildings here are dirty and dim; most of them escaped the development that marked other, more favorable sections of Manhattan, and almost all are aging buildings that still stand under six stories. Vendors often line the streets, selling food or jewelry or other goods from carts and trucks and blankets spread on the sidewalks. Windows are decorated in equal measure with bars and boards and signs announcing that mutants are welcome.

Graffiti decorates nearly every available surface, marking out gang territory and scribbling warnings for those who know how to read them; one stretch of buildings near the south edge of the neighborhood has become known for its street-art depicting the impressive variance of mutant life. The most famous is a mural that covers the entire width of the brick building at the corner of Houston and Avenue B, greeting all tourists (and their cameras) in six stories of red and black letters: WELCOME TO MUTANT TOWN.


It is a winter evening. The weather is cold and flurrying.


The XFS work roster is often filled out by low-paying odd jobs around the neighborhood, and so it is today. The owner of Bullseye Bodega has hired out you lot to paint over a recent attack of graffiti on the wall behind the place. She's supplied the gray paint that will at least match the concrete of the wall, and the brushes and rollers, all of which are waiting on tables outside. There's also water and chips to snack on, and a promise of maybe beer when the work is done, though that's nowhere in sight now. The graffiti covers the full width and height of the wall and is mostly tags used by a local gang and some profanity in Mandarin. If you can speak Mandarin, it's asking you to do some pretty nasty things.

Tiffany adjusts her glasses. Hulking black wayfarers, the glasses take up much of her face and magnify her already naturally rather large eyes. “Huh.” She takes a slow step back from the wall and as if she were considering a piece of art in a gallery show or museum, brings her hand to her chin. She’s dressed casually in flats, paint-smeared skinny jeans, and a black hoodie that reads, ‘VILLAIN’ across the front.

"Oh, wow!" Raquel says, eyes growing wide as she looks over the graffiti. "Well, that's not at *all* family friendly." she says, with a little shake of her head. "Its really very naughty." she remarks as she grabs one of the rollers, and beginning to get some of that paint ready. "I've got your back, Chicka!" she assures the owner- who's likely about. She dips the roller onto the paint tray and gets right to work. She's wearing a baggy hoodie, with a few holes in it and a pair of equally ready to get messy sweat pants, along with some older sneakers- good clothes to get paint on.

At the table, Irene is getting paint ready, cracking a can open with the screwdriver part of her Swiss army knife. Pop! She pours some of the grey paint into a tray for the rollers and then takes it and one of the rollers over towards the...decorated wall. She's certainly dressed for painting, with jeans old enough that they are starting to jet holds in the knees and look like they've lived through some paint already. Her fleece zip-up is in better shape, but the black has faded to a dark gray, marking it as older clothing. She clicks her tongue in quiet disapproval at some the graffiti. "That's not even how that works," she mutters.

Nothing like fresh air and the smell of fresh paint, huh? Huruma was checking in for less-- small jobs-- when this one came up; few and far between is what it is, however, and she has tacked herself onto the party without much of a word in edgewise, observing of Tiffany for the 'new face' factor. Her silence could be because of the paper mask that's helpfully looped over her face to keep a raspy, light cough from getting free. Her low voice is muffled, but not terribly so. "Who would even take the time to get a ladder?" It's a terribly large job for something so simple. "What does it say?" Curiosity begs Huruma to ask this of Irene as she retrieves a fresh roller pan, her own clothes more plain than worn-- she's willing to be dirtied.

"Well, not without one of those fifty gallon drums of lube, a few ropes, and some kind of power-tool." Raquel remarks over to Irene- before looking back over to Huruma, "Its *really* rude." she says over to the tall woman. Seems Irene isn't the only one who speaks a touch of Mandarin.

The owner, Kamila, is around, though she only hangs out the back door long enough to make sure people /did/ show up to do this, before getting back to her job inside. She leaves the 'supervision' of this - such as it is - to a skinny twentysomething man some might recognize as a bodega stock boy named DJ. And a local mutant with extendable arms and legs, though all his appendages are just normal-length at the moment. "Kamila said she'll pay extra if it's all gone before the end of the day. She's tired of looking at, uh, that." He gestures to a particular string of puffy Mandarin characters. "Whatever that is."

"If you wanted to write something that explicit, you might," Vega suggests, staring up at the wall with her hands on her hips. Her pink hair is tied back in a long tail which curls into the gray hood of her hoodie. It's already stained with oil, crispy at the cuffs, and in general pretty battered. This is not the first clean up it's seen. Her jeans are about the same, along with her workboots. "You could sub bungy cords for rope." Helpful technopath. If slightly blushing as Vega quips to Irene and Raquel.


Bringing up the cigarette she’d apparently been holding, Tiffany turns to look back at Huruma expressionlessly while she takes a drag. “Please be as specific as possible,” she adds to the end of Hu’s question in her usual unenthused manner, turning back to look over the graffiti to breath out a cool stream of smoke.

"Some people don't need ladders," Irene points out, although to do so to Huruma means that her tone is a little dry. "Especially around here." Stupid fliers. She shakes her head though at the tall woman. "I'm not repeating that," she says, waving off the question. Sorry, guys. "Also, their grammar is terrible." She speaks more than a /touch/ of Mandarin.

Huruma smiles to Irene, the indication there behind her flimsy mask in the amused bunch of her cheeks and the delighted crease at her eyes for the answer. "That bad, hmmm?" She clears her throat and tucks in her shirt, taking up the roller in her hand and setting to a portion of the tallest part. Tall, long arms. She gives the stock boy a somewhat skeptical look, for his presence, pale eyes gleaming. "She could have gotten you for this and skipped the middle man, Stretch." It's a faint tease.

"Yeah, the words *are* out of order, aren't they?" Raquel wonders, as she redips her roller into her paint tray and continues coating the wall at her level with lines of gray paint.. "Should be -guo there, perfective aspect." she continues- the daughter of a language professor and all. She turns though to give Huruma a wide grin, "Hey! Good to see you! How's it been? Practicing on the wheels?" Then, finally, a grin over towards Vega. "Bungie cords would cut off the circulation. No fun in that."


"You don't use the bungy cords on the people," Vega corrects Raquel, dark brows lifting just a touch. Moving to collect a roller for herself, she glances towards Huruma and then to Tiffany with a lift of her brows. "It's along the lines of, "Fuck yourself sideways and up the ass with the corkscrew dick of a duck." Rolling her eyes, the pink lingers in her ears, practically blending into her hair. "Also hi." That is to Huruma, although it also extends to Tiffany.

"She apparently doesn't have faith in my mad painting skills," DJ, aka 'Stretch' the stock boy, replies to Huruma with a laugh. He doesn't look too offended at not having this entire job thrust upon him. He sort of makes himself useful by rolling a ladder out of the bodega's back room. For whenever they need to get to the higher spots. But mostly he just listens to Vega's translation and sniggers. A lot.

"Eh," Irene replies to Huruma and shrugs nonchalantly despite refusing to translate. "I'm sure you can imagine. I'd hate to give them any more attention, though." Slanting a look over at Raquel, she adds, "Pretty sure some of this was program translated. And this," she points at one bit of spraypainted character, "Is formally correct, but they missed the slang play on words more commonly used." Well, at least everyone has Vega to translate some of it. She rolls her eyes at her ex-partner, then dips a roller into the paint, covering it, and then rolls it over some of the characters on the wall. Bye, bye.

"It's art," Tiffany purrs, sliding her heavy lidded eyes to each of the women on the job in turn before returning her attention to the graffiti. She takes one more drag before bending at the knee to daintily put her cigarette out on the curb.

"Hello. Thank you for the translation?" Hah. "Is it to anyone in particular?" Huruma looks down to Vega as she rolls over a swath of letter, eyes relaxed despite the lingering gravel in her voice. She turns a look to Raquel, late but not forgotten. "When I can. I fear I may need a partner to, ah-- practice falling onto."

"It's... something." Shaking her head, Vega strides over to a portion that is yet unpainted and joins in the effort. "Probably a questionable obsession with knowing /that/ much about ducks."

"Well, it's certainly themed like the last art I saw," Irene remarks very dryly. She either doesn't agree that this is art or just doesn't much care for art, it's hard to say. Everyone's a critic. "Maybe they are a duck," she suggests in a deadpan to Vega, looking over her shoulder at the other woman.

"I've got your back, Hu!" Raquel offers, with a beaming smile. "We can go skating anytime you want." she says, with a nod as she continues the work of painting the wall. She looks back over to Irene, "Yeah, probably. I'd have switched the word order up a bit, and just used the word niao.." Niao meaning 'bird' versus duck.. a word that sounds the same as penis in Mandarin. "They probably meant that, but well, its niao hua{Bird Words/Bullshit}!" she seems rather proud of her own little word play, grinning wide. "And this isn't art- this is just.. angry. And sad."

Finally deigning to step over the the supplies, Tiffany only just begins procuring herself a face-mask and brush. It’s the smallest hand-held brush available. The way in which she approaches the wall probably makes it clear that she isn’t accustomed to well… painting, at least. “I stand corrected,” Tiffany mumbles sarcastically, tilting her head as if considering her first stroke.

"Doesn't everyone know about duck anatomy?" Huruma's voice carries a similar cadence-- or lack thereof-- as Irene's words to Vega. Birds, flock? She rolls paint until the roller is empty before dipping it again. "Hopefully the next tagger has more taste."

DJ grabs a roller - he apparently /has/ been instructed to help - but he's not a particularly enthusiastic worker. His main contribution as they get started is getting a bag of chips and trying to bum a cigarette off Tiffany. His boss probably really /didn't/ have any faith in his ability to do this himself.

Around them, it's as cold as you'd expect in March in New York, but not as bitterly as it was a couple months ago, and work of this nature keeps one warm. The streets of Mutant Town can accurately be described as bustling. Crowded with traffic on the ground - and in the air, with the occasional passage of air cars overhead - and pedestrians on the sidewalks. The food trucks and carts that sell random wares around the city are out in force. Someone is playing pop music - loudly - on a portable radio outside the pawn shop across the street. It leans heavily on electronica riffs.

"Not so intimately," Vega replies with a mild lift of her brows towards Huruma and Irene. It lasts only a moment before the edge of her smile curves at Huruma joining in on the fun. "We are looking for a large, duck. Probably male. Between 5/6 feet. Sour disposition?" It almost sounds like a police report at the clip she says it. She groans at the sound of pop music.

"Probably won't." Irene doesn't have faith in the taste of taggers. She doesn't spent time considering her painting as if it were a work of art. She paints over a section of the wall with clean efficiency, familiar enough with this sort of work without being obviously a professional at it. It is only painting over some graffiti, after all. "Hopefully a sweet and sour disposition," she asides to Vega with a quick smile.

"Oh, hey, some work music!" Raquel offers, perhaps not so turned off by modern song. She hums along, hips swaying as she refreshes her roller to continue applying paint to the wall, covering up at least her little square with some modicum of enthusiasm. "All I know about duck's, Hu, is that they're rapists and taste delicious when stir-fried with sprouts and egg-noodles. Oh, and that whole flying, quacking business."

Flourishing the paintbrush in hand, Tiff holds it out to /Stretch/. Y'know, as if she needs him to hold it while she looks for her cigarettes. She makes a noncommittal sound from behind her mask, sort of patting half-heartedly at her pockets but not really.

Huruma snorts at Irene's fix to Vega's playful BOLO, and continues with a shake of her head towards Raquel. Good enough. She glances past the Brazilian girl to watch as Tiffany leads poor DJ on a search for cigarettes she has a feeling he'll never get.

DJ holds the brush for Tiffany, smiling in a way he seems to think is charming as he waits for a cigarette. He points at Tiffany's shirt, and chuckles. "So, you're a Villain, huh? That's funny. Do you have an evil scheme or something?"

Over the sound of pop music, one might hear an increase in the honking of horns overhead, in the aerial traffic lanes. New Yorkers aren't exactly known for quiet driving, though, so it's not /too/ unusual.

Chuckling at Irene's aside, Vega shakes her head and points at the wall with her roller. "Considering where /this/ duck has been, I think I'll stick to my tofu," she says.

“What?” Tiffany blinks, taking a moment to look down at the words scrawled across her chest, “Oh. Yeah.” She gestures lazily to the wall with a finger, “I’m trying to trick you into painting this wall for me by flirting with you.” She just stares and maybe blinks one more time, “Is it working?”

"Normally I'd say you're missing out," Irene says to Vega, rolling paint over some graffiti. "But in this case, I think you're right. " She glances up at the sound of honking, but, well. It's New York. It hardly merits more than that.

Huruma is the one that finally gets the stepstool for herself-- and she has no trouble getting the entire way up the wall with the paint, the grafitti ending at roughly her shoulders. Only if the honking gets any louder will she look up. The noise here is not something foreign to her. India's metropolises are probably worse, comparatively speaking.

"Ummm..." DJ does not really know how to respond to that from Tiffany. "...I kind of really wanted a cigarette. But I'll paint for you if I can get your number, Evil Genius." Nevermind that he's probably expected to paint anyway.

The honking continues in earnest, and it's soon accompanied by something more notable overhead. One of the air cars - a blue sedan - has flown out of the overhead lanes and is headed downward. In a jerky, not terribly controlled way, though it at least seems to be trying to decelerate. It's honking does get louder as it approaches the ground. Hard to tell exactly where it will touch down, though it's headed for Mutant Town.

"Is there a traffic jam?" Vega wonders for all the noise, turning to look up at the sky with a smear of paint across her arm. Her eyes grow wide as one of the air cars swerves out of the overhead lanes and heads downward. "That doesn't look good," she opines, setting down her roller to track the vehicle's movement with a smooth glide across the ground.

Irene squints up at the sky, but Vega's question seems to answer itself in a few moments. "Shit," she says articulately as a blue sedan heads downwards towards the street in a way that doesn't say 'controlled and intentional landing'.

Huruma has stopped to cough into her elbow when the car begins its shaky descent; she turns to look after Vega when the younger woman stops painting, her eyes upwards and following the course of the car. There's not much they can do besides stare, and Huruma's hand is still clasped around the roller handle.

“Oh, no,” Tiffany shifts her eyes, “A distraction from this.” She pivots slowly away from Stretch to look up towards the rogue flying vehicle. Bringing a small hand up to shield the glare on her glasses, she lets her knees buckle inward and touch as if bracing for impact.

Well, mostly they can just stare. Mostly. Vega takes off in flight as if she could possibly reach the vehicle before it impacted the ground. If nothing else she might be able to see if the drive needs help?

The car /is// headed toward Mutant Town - and might seem too close to the bodega for comfort for a moment, though Tiffany doesn't have to brace all that hard for impact. As it gets nearer to the ground, it's weaving itself down across the street from them. Toward the pawn shop. The driver must still be in marginal control of the thing, because the car is /kind of/ slowing down in spurts. And there seems to be some attempt to steer away from pedestrians. Who are helping in that effort by scattering and screaming away from it.

The driver - a man of about forty - doesn't immediately notice Vega flying up beside him. As he's trying desperately to find a way to survive crashing, since he seems to have decided crashing is inevitable. He doesn't look injured, or much of anything at all besides panicked.

When Vega lifts into the air, Irene immediately startles despite the fact that she /knows/ what Vega can do. "Zhang--" She begins in something like a rebuke, then cuts herself off. Right. With a sigh, one that would be described as long suffering if it were more pronounced, she drops her roller into the tray and jogs off after Vega and the descending car. At least so far the pedestrians are getting out of the way.

Huruma sighs through her nose, in a more silent sort of rebuke-- and maybe a little disdain for the fact that Vega is so ready to leap in front of a careening car or something-- Where is Max when you need him?

Huruma drops her paint roller aside into the pan before hopping from the stool and moves off after Irene.

Bending her knees further, Tiffany carefully sits down on the sidewalk. With awkward, inching movement, she lays herself down on the ground and closes her eyes.

A moment later, her likeness appears standing over her body. The psionic avatar turns to regard DJ with as much apathy as Tiffany showed him in her waking life. "Watch my stuff," she warns, narrowing her eyes at the bodega employee before whirring off to keep pace with Huruma.

Skating across the sky in rapid strokes of her feet, Vega calls back over her shoulder, "Something is malfunctioning, I don't think he's going to be able to right it! Get people clear." On her part, she aims for the driver's door, trying to reach the man in time to pull him free.

Fleeing, frightened pedestrians aren't the most orderly of people, even if they're running away, so the ladies of XFS will need to do some directing (and possibly bodily hauling) to get everyone clear of the pawn shop. At least nobody's dumb enough to run /toward/ the car, so if they hustle they can probably keep anyone from doing themselves a grievous injury.

DJ makes an awkward attempt to comfort Tiffany with a nervous, "Uh, it's going to be OK..." And then she's whirring off, via a psionic avatar, and he's just gaping open-mouted. Watching it go. Then gaping at the car again. Then the direction Tiffany went. He's not good at painting or emergencies, but he's an A+ Gaper.

The driver finally notices Vega. Stunned. But not so stunned he's going to resist being pulled out of a plummeting car. He flings the door open and lets himself be taken away from it by Vega.

Who is hopefully moving very quickly! Because, moments after they're free, the blue air car collides with the pawn shop wall with a very loud, brick-shattering, *CRASH*. It ends up planting its front half entirely in the building, via a hole it created, while its back half still hangs outside.

Taking off into a run, Irene does not slow or wait for anyone else who may follow. "Fuck!" That's a confirmation that she's heard Vega, though only she'll be able to translate that cursing into 'I'm on it!'. She has no problems yelling directions at people, gesturing and pointing people as best she can out of what she believes will the path of destruction. She does end up bodily hauling some man away from the Pawn shop, flinging the poor guy (who is already probably a bit down on his luck) over her shoulder without so much as a 'how do you do'. But she gets them away from the building before a car crashes into it, so maybe it's worth it. Even if she forgets about him for a second while she stares at the wreckage. "Shit. Zhang?"

Hello. Extending her arms out to the driver, Vega swiftly drags him out of the car as the vehicle nears impact. Already pulled down by the additional weight, she pivots into a dive towards the ground in the opposite direction of the pawn shop. It's not the most graceful landing. She takes the brunt of it on her feet, boot-clad metal hitting the concrete as the car explodes into bricks, before rolling with the contact. As they tumble she tries to shield the dude as much as she can, ending up with some scraped arms. Urgh. "Yeah?" She calls back after a minute. "You okay, sir?" She wonders.

Huruma takes well to herding people out of the way; people often tend to listen when she starts barking orders. Hard not to. By the time the car is plummeting nosefirst into the pawn shop, everyone on the street is away and there is at least a radius of empty street to boot.

She can hear Irene calling her friend over the noise, and for now the tall, dark woman is there to keep rubbernecking passerby at bay, the wreck a gleaming, smoky mess that is definitely not safe to approach. "Are you both good, Vega?"

Those fleeing on foot pass right through Tiffany without so much as a ripple. In contrast to Huruma, she's easily the type of person who would be trampled in a crowd. "I'll check to see if anyone is hurt, inside," she states without inflection, passing a concerned look towards the other X-Factor women before blinking out of existence.

The driver ducks and rolls hard as he hits the ground with Vega, only raising his head after a beat, to stare at the destruction his car has wrought. "Fuck..." he mutters, breathlessly. "Fuck. Oh God. This is all my fault. I never should have let those bastards..." But whatever else he was going to say just trails off as the air fills with the sound of sirens. Both ambulances and police. The man's face falls. He doesn't seem injured, or drunk or stoned in any way that's apparent. Though he's probably far from all right, given his expression. Which is a mix of horror and anger.

Inside, without too much ghosting around, Tiffany will find the pawn shop owner and a customer he was dealing with the back room. They aren't hurt, but they /are/ trapped, as the car's impact brought down part of the ceiling in front of the door, barricading them in the owner's tiny office. The first responders should be able to clear the rubble and get them out, once they're informed they're inside.

DJ, meanwhile, hangs out with Tiffany's stuff by the bodega, just gawking at it all. He does some rifling through it, in search of her smokes. Because he /did/ really want a cigarette.


"Not yet," Vega replies to Irene, if not quite chipperly, focused as she is on helping the man from the (now flaming wreck of a) car sit up. "Bit banged up," she answers Huruma. Her expression darkens thoughtfully as she regards the man she saved. "Hey. You're alright," she soothes, making pointed eye contact with him to get him to focus. "What do you mean? Who did this to your car?"

"What is he on about?" Huruma is approaching Vega once she is reasonably sure that people are going to stay back; though she isn't afraid to go back and shoo anyone, of course. "Where did that girl go?" A lot of questions, this last in place for Tiffany and her disappearing act.

Appearing suddenly in the vicinity of the pawn shop owner and his customer, Tiffany doesn’t wait for their reaction to her. In fact, she holds out a hand flatly at both of them as if to stop them from reacting all shocked and surprised, entirely. Yeah, yeah. She’s a ghost! “Help is on the way. Remain calm and whatever. And like, stay back from the wreckage. ...obviously.” And then, she’s gone!

"I..." But the driver apparently said something he regrets, and clams up at Vega's question. "I should..." He runs a hand over his thinning hair, like he's considering fleeing. But, finally, gestures to the uniformed cops that are now encircling his car. "...I should go talk to the authorities. Thanks for...thanks for pulling me out. I..." But he just kind of trails off as he goes to speak with the police. Who, once they figure out that it's /his/ car, look very displeased.

The pawn shop owner and the poor customer he was dealing with greet Ghost Tiffany with a lot of screaming. "What the fuck!?" "Is she dead!?" "Did that damn car kill somebody who's going to haunt me now!?" They will have time to reflect on these questions before they're extracted from that office.

He wouldn't get far. Vega raises her brows pointedly as he clams up, waiting to see if he tries to flee. "You should." The police are an acceptable option, although her mouth thins as she turns towards Huruma. Her jaw remains tight as she looks at the other woman. "Not sure... Something was done to that car, though." She nods towards the wreckage, hands twitching at her sides. Looking around, she shrugs her shoulders on the status of Tiffany. "I don't know?"

"It is not our problem, then. Only his." Huruma sets her hands on her hips, clearing her throat when she jerks her chin at the driver. She swiftly turns away from things when the cops take firm hold of the scene.

When the authorities actually show up, Irene keeps her micromanaging to a minimum. She only orders people around a /little/, most of it in the guise of informing them what happened. Disentangling, she strides over to Vega. "Can you tell what went wrong?" She murmurs quietly towards her ex-partner.

Did someone say Tiffany? She reappears. This time, her likeness materializes vaguely between the other three women. Wiping both of her palms in an accomplished fashion, "There are two people inside, but they're not hurt." She nods sagely, "They're pretty freaked out though." Now, anyway.

"Yeah. Probably." Vega watches as Huruma turns and then doesn't /quite/ jump at at the appearance of Tiffany. "Whoa." Hi. "Man. That seems useful," she says with a slight laugh, brushing her messy hair back from her face. Looking at Irene, she shakes her head shortly. "No. And that bothers that hell out of me."

Irene flinches when Tiffany suddenly reappears again, but she did see her vanish, so it wasn't that much of a surprise. "They seem like they are in immediate danger?" She asks of Tiffany. Then she slides a look over to Vega. "Me too," she says simply.

"They will be fine, I'm sure." Tiffany's reentrance gets a sharp look from Huruma, her mouth tight under the paper mask and eyes narrowed. She doesn't say anything on the magic act/use of the girl's ability, but she does let her gaze linger on Tiffany as she slinks back to where they'd left their job hanging.

Tiffany meets Huruma's gaze and holds it for a moment. Her expression reveals very little. Behind the detached facade, she actually is just as concerned for these people's well being as everyone else. You'd just y'know never know it. Unless you were some kind of Empath. Eventually, the young woman is drawn to look over towards Irene. "No, they were like, blowing each other in the back room or something," she explains dryly. "I'm going back to my body, now." Blink. Gone.

"I can't tell if she was serious or not there. That'd be a mood breaker though," Vega quips, dusting off her hands on her jeans. A glance is sketched over her shoulder at where Tiffany's body is slumped against the wall. Her shoulders slant a little with a sigh. "I suppose we still have a wall to paint."

Irene sighs in a mild amount of frustration for Tiffany's answer, unnecessarily dry. And not terrifically helpful. "I'm going to go let them know about that," she jerks a thumb over at the ambulance and police. "Then we should get back to finishing the job we started." She gives Vega a critical once-over. "And you should have someone take a look at you." Scrapes and whatnot. She doesn't wait around for a response, but turns and inserts herself into rescue business again. She'll return to help paint the wall, though. Eventually.

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