|Location||Mutant Town - New York City|
|Participants||Moody, Jeremy, Beckah, Huruma, Rohan, Alexandra, Tiffany, Valerie, Arturo|
|NPCs||David Cotter, Antonio Banderas|
|Summary||Jeremy gets crime'd.|
East 8th Street between Tompkins Square Park and Avenue C has been cordoned off this evening. As with everything in the small mutant ghetto, the little carnival that has popped up between cross-streets is no exception. With the help of some very questionable tactics, cheap faded tents have been erected to shield from the light spring mist.
Admittance to the event is a measly $7 and includes a free drink ticket for one of the local microbrews. (You know Jim? The 'We Buy Gold' guy? Yeah, well, he attempted a microbrew. He also started a ska band so he'll be providing the live music.) The Meat Shack is out in full swing, grilling up some ...meat. Along with a ring-toss to win goldfish and a host of other poorly pieced together side-show games, an adult moon bounce has been set up in the shape of a lopsided black & white blotched cartoon cow.
All proceeds go towards much needed repairs on the mutant youth center, Open Hands.
Somewhere towards the middle of the event, Tiffany files her nails and perches cross-legged on an old pinochle table. If she looks suspiciously like Moody today, it may be because she 'borrowed' some of her roommate's clothes. Poorly decorated in old pink and white card-stock, the table that she sits on is identifiable by a glitter-gel sign that reads "Kissing" "Booth" with both words in separate quotations. Beside Tiffany is an old fish bowl filled less than part-way with one dollar bills and a fat, slobbery old bulldog. Whatever the dog's real name might be is unknown. Its heart-shaped name-tag is covered over by a slice of masking tape that reads, 'Antonio Bandares.' That's his new name and that's all anybody needs to know --erm, actually the dog may be female.
Valerie has been here long enough to make the rounds, braving the drizzle with little care for the way her blonde waves have frizzed and curled up. They're a little wild around her face, a look that goes well with the bohemian chic of her embroidered muslin blouse, neckline loose enough to hang off one shoulder, and her denim shorts cut high on her legs. She's got a nearly empty beer in one hand and is just plucking the last bit of meat off a stick when she approaches Tiffany with a grin all broad and warm. "Kissing, huh?" she asks her by way of greeting, adjusting her meat stick just enough to get one half of a set of air quotes in. "How's that play out?"
Tiffany’s sultry, heavy-lidded eyes slide up and past Valerie’s meat stick to make confident, disinterested eye-contact. “Very poorly,” she says in an appropriately dry tone as she brings a hand up to stroke the bulldog’s protruding scalp, “It’s shame. Since it’s for the children.” The dark-haired woman temporarily looks off into the distance. You know, sortof woefully.
Jeremy has wandered into the midst of the carnival from points elsewhere, a little like somebody who was not paying close enough attention to either local news or to his surroundings to realize what is going on until he's already in the midst of it -- he was busy walking through town and going through stuff on his Eyes, navigating through the sea of humanity more or less on autopilot. At least he didn't get hit by a car.
Valerie's gaze slips down to the dog and her lips quirk into a amused smile, quick and bright. "That /is/ a shame," she says. "Does that mean you don't get to keep any of this hard-earned money?"
Arturo is likewise one of those who just sort of wandered in to this madcap carnival of 'fun'. He found the beer, though he's sipping at it slowly and cautiously. We Buy Golden Ale, or so the guy said. It tastes like skunky lager - but hey, it's cheap. He's not disguised via his ability. The only thing that hides his ears is the hood, though that seems a little odd this far into spring. He eyes a ring toss game made of overturned solo cups and washers, then eyes a fish pond with brownish water. Hmmm.
"Don't worry about me. I'm being paid to walk the dog," Tiffany explains in a croak, fishing around for her strawberry cigarettes. Upon closer inspection, one might notice a few different lipstick shades on the canine's cheeks and head where it's been kissed by adoring females.
Quite a few people are actually out today. As sad as the attempted carnival might be, Mutant Town needs something good. A square-jawed stranger in his mid-thirties with dark hair and tan skin steps into Jeremy's path. The man looks over Jer quizzically for a moment before smiling. "Hey! Do you work for X-Factor?" He asks with sincere interest, gesturing vaguely with a large, lidded to-go cup.
Jeremy lets his hands shrug into his pockets, shrugging his way through the relative drear of the drizzly evening. He smiles with ready cheer, eyebrows ticking up over his bright gaze. "Sure do," he says, rather than immediately self-identifying as the guy who started the whole affair. "What can I do for you?"
"Hardly seems like a way to keep you in drinks and cigarettes," Valerie tsks. Her gaze drags up to Tiffany again, and her grin widens before she plucks off the last bit of meat from her stick, chewing. "Okay," she asks. "What's the price for a kiss?" This time she omits the air quotes.
Well, hell, $7 is a good price just for a beer. Lexie is gulping hers as she peers around the carnival with a somewhat skeptical expression; mostly it's just for a good cause and in her backyard, so here she is. She sidles up to Tiffany's booth, eyeing the dog and its name tag. "Who's Antonio Banderas?" she wonders. One presumes she means aside from this particular dog.
Rohan makes some attempt at the gates to flirt his way out of the $7, but stops short of actually altering anyone's memories to avoid the admission. (Look, Ro. You have a _job_ now. You can pay it.) He does wink at the entry person, and wander on in, pausing to exchange his drink ticket for a plastic cup full of beer. He saunters through the drizzle. "Hey, Lex," he calls out at the first person he recognizes. It's totally Lexie and not the kissing booth or its crowd, of course.
Tiffany holds up a single finger in answer to Valerie's question with a pursed smile. One smackaroo. She waggles her eyebrows as she splits her attention between both Valerie and Lexie. "He's like, a totally hot classic old movie star," she explains in hipster-superior monotone, wetting her lips with a pop.
"Well, actually, I had a few questions for you guys!" The good-looking stranger nods to Jeremy. His hand flaps in the air enthusiastically before falling on the lid of his styrofoam soda cup. He forks his fingers over the straw. Is there anywhere in the area that even sells drinks in those? "I'm sorry, I'm so rude. My name is David Cotter. Do you have any time right now?"
"I've always got time to answer questions about X-Factor. I've seen at least one other among us around here, too, in case you get tired of what I have to say," Jeremy says, cheerfully preparing to bunt and run the bases if necessary, apparently. He scuffs backward on one besneakered foot, tipping his head and going, "So whaddaya need?"
"Really?" Lexie looks skeptical; clearly this name is so old she doesn't even recognize it, so how hot can he be. She glances over her shoulder at the sound of her name, gaze noting Jeremy somewhere over there, before she spots Rohan and offers him a quick smile. "Hey! Have you ever heard of Antonio Banderas?"
"Sold!" Valerie says, grinning as she digs in a pocket for real live actual cash. She tucks it into Tiffany's fishbowl, leaning forward in a slow tip to end with her hand pressed against the table's surface.
BLIP. "TIFFANY. DID YOU BORROW MY FAVORITE BOO--" Moody's wrath is totally derailed by the bulldog, because when she sees him (after appearing a few feet behind them) she coos, "Oh my GOSH that dog is adorable and duh, he's Zorro. And still very good looking way into his 80s."
Elusive is a good word for Huruma, at least until of late. She's whisked through X-Factor a couple times in the past week, presumably to see what trouble she can get into-- or what jobs are open, anyway. It's more like she's snuck back than anything-- and apparently that includes checking out the various local digs, even one as tame as this. Her sleeveless jumpsuit is a flutter of wide legs and red pattern, sunglasses reflective and wide as she takes a moment to survey things behind those glasses, and give up the paltry entrance fee. It's for a cause, isn't it?
"Is this one of those questions where if I say 'yes,' you're going to tell me how old and decrepit and hopeless am I?" wonders Rohan, with a flash of a grin toward Lexie. "Because--well, yes." His gaze slips around the crowd, and lingers on Valerie, "Hey, Trouble," he notes, with a gesture of his beer. "Moody," he adds.
“Oh my god, are these yours-?” Tiffany starts to lie but like, doesn’t even have to because of the dog, “Thanks, Antonio Bandares.” The kissing booth attendant shrugs, turning her attention back to her prospective customers. And coworkers. “So, my coworker is super busy right now distracting my roommate for me. Awkward.” Tiffany pouts as her eyes slide from Rohan to Lexie to Valerie -- who she plans to kiss -- they’ll both probably want to see this. She brings up a pretty, painted nail to her chin just below her mouth and flutters her lashes.
“Well, I was actually wondering-” The passing of Huruma through the crowd actually does give David Cotter pause. Cotter? Does that name strike a bell? After a shudder, he regains himself and begins twisting the lid off of his soda. “-why you choose to work with people who spread MUTANT-SUPERIORITY HATE FILTH--” Having freed the cup, he violently thrusts its thick, brightly colored contents forward in the direction of Jeremy’s beautiful, innocent face.
<FS3> Jeremy rolls Reaction+reaction: Good Success. (8 1 2 8 4 8)
Valerie tilts in, all smiling anticipation as she watches the tap of Tiffany's fingers. Oh, was someone speaking to her? Sorry, Valerie's a little distracted. She tucks one hand behind her, empty stick held carefully out of the way in the curl of her fingers, and her light muslin blouse slips loose off of one shoulder as she follows the direction of that tapping finger to press her lips against the other woman's. Hi.
So, there's no avoiding the impact of the contents of the environmentally unfriendly cup with his person: not at this range and with this comparative lack of warning. What he's able to do is jerk backward and take the splash of vivid-hued liquid primarily across his neck, jaw, and throat. The splatter drips and stains across the Xavier's School T-shirt he was schlubbing around town in. What it doesn't do, due to the haste of his quick reaction, is get up his nose and stop his breathing, or blind his eyes. He lashes out to snag Mr. Cotter by the wrists and starts wresting him into a grapple hold with, at least, years of experience behind him. Jeremy Wallace looks like a marshmallow but he's not actually the wisest person to randomly assault. Blame Scott. Spitting paint, his choice of dialogue at this point is just, like: "The hell?"
<FS3> Jeremy rolls Body+melee: Great Success. (3 2 6 8 7 8 7 3 4)
<FS3> Moody rolls Alertness: Failure. (3 1 4 4 3 1 6 4)
"Hey, Rohan." Moody is indeed thoroughly distracted by the dog and the need to very thoroughly scratch its beautiful head. Fight? What fight? "If you get anything on my boots, Tifferson, you're going to wake up with dicks henna'd all over your face."
Rohan is way too distracted to notice his bro being assaulted. SORRY JEREMY. He gives Moody a nod in greeting, but his gaze is still on Valerie, wandering up her body as she leans toward Tiffany, momentarily lingering on her bared shoulder before moving to watch the kiss between the two women. His hand tightens on his beer cup.
It's hard to miss Lexie's mood as it upswings; Huruma seems to naturally zero her attention in on the young woman when it happens. She lifts one hand in greeting, a jangle of circular bracelets to accompany the wave. There's something else that pulls her attention before she moves any closer-- that other watchful eye has a shiver to go with it, and Huruma is drawn. Her step pauses, and her head swivels around just in time to see the outburst begin.
Rather than immediately cross the span of carnival and step in, she sets a hand at the curve of a hip and watches as Jeremy throws his hands out to tangle with the other man. The rest of her seems to tense in silence.
Beckah has been drawn by the allure of the potential of free beer of questionable quality and free ska music of even more doubtful quality. She makes her way through the crowd, a veritable beacon of bright red dreadlocks and red makeup over an unreasonable, long leather coat. The tall woman happens to be crossing nearby when Jeremy and his new friend begin to tussle. In the rough proximity when things go splashing, she blurts, "Hey! Shit!" She has quite the tone to that. A tone! Something that speaks of a desire to clobber someone if anything got on her.
Lexie would ordinarily be rather distracted by this kiss herself, and she almost is, but /somebody/ at this booth has to notice Jeremy getting attacked. "Hey!" She drops her beer on the table and starts shoving back through the crowd to him. It's not that she doesn't trust Jeremy to be able to take care of himself, it's just that she has an overactive sense of aggression.
Bracing both hands against the edge of the table she sits on, Tiffany leans forward to share a soft, slow-motion kiss with Valerie. Her chest heaves in a gentle sigh, straining against the fabric of Moody's shirt which she also borrowed. She's a super considerate roommate. "Mhm." And employee, apparently. Since she doesn't do shit about what's happening to Jeremy. "Mmhm," she agrees with whatever Moody says. That's great, Moody.
Antonio Bandares let's out a disgruntled, "Grrrff!" Before bending to lap up Lexie's beer. Antonio Bandares, everyone! He'll be here all night!
David Cotter continues to sqwauk about mutant supremacists and how mutation is a cancer on our society. Real quality stuff. Red paint spatters on those closeby as his grip on the 24 oz cup is lost. The human hate-monger struggles against Jeremy, and boy are they both slippery now, but he's no match for the doughy former X-Men's prowess. Still, someone should probably play the Benny Hill Themesong.
"Mmm," Valerie agrees, rocking back with a slow smile as she touches the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth. She smirks just slightly as her gaze flicks toward Rohan - maybe she /did/ hear him - but the expression fades when she takes in the general chaos beyond. "Oh," she says, "shit."
<FS3> Jeremy rolls Body+melee: Success. (4 8 6 2 5 6 2 3 2)
Beckah renews her yelling when a decent smear of red is slung across the front of her coat. "Hey! Dick!" At least it matches her aesthetic. Her response is probably not the most mature or reasonable one, but the awkwardly built woman raises up a black boot and does her best at kicking the hate-spewing man in the ass while he grapples with the original canvas of his Bob Ross imitation. The coat is sacred and this is a terrible transgression. It is hardly carrying the most martial prowess imaginable, more just a lazy swing of the boot.
There is the faintest catch in Rohan's breaths, dark gaze going to Valerie's lips, and he whistles to her, a wolf-whistle, low and--he suddenly blinks at the chaos. "Huh?" he says. "What?" EARTH TO ROHAN. "Jeremy?" He tosses Valerie a smirk in return, drops his beer, and sallies forth into the fray.
"Uh, yeah, that'd be good?" Jeremy has managed to get a pretty expert hold on the thrashing Cotter, but his leverage is thwarted somewhat by their mutual slickness. He tries to put him to the ground with a knee in his stomach but it doesn't quite work and he has to wrench and twist both of Cotter's arms behind his back instead, staggering. "Better yet, anybody got a gag? It's not really my kink of choice here but noisy is really getting me down--"
"Fuck, why did I put my beer down, what am I going to throw in this asshole's face." Lexie kind of hovers over Jeremy and his assailant, not quite in the best position to help given everyone's current position. It's a little awkward. "Hey asshole! Stop wiggling before I electrocute you!" The spill of chaos should really not be something she should be sitting back and enjoying, is it?
Huruma watches the first few moments of Jeremy grappling and a stranger even giving the other guy a boot before she moves in with the rest of the X-Factor wave-- that itself is a mental note best saved for later. On her way over she slips the belt from of her waist, and the dangling end of it appears out of the sky in front of Jeremy's head. Gag, right? Huruma's silhouette in the sun is unmistakable, at least.
"Ugh. Such a drama queen," Tiffany notes of Jeremy, touching up her hair as she brings her fruity flavored cigarette back to her lips. She watches as the show, taking a slow drag. Oh right and she should probably make sure that she has a good hold of Antonio's leash. Okay, she does. Ugh, fine, she'll look for wet-naps!
"Agh!" Cotter grunts. He back suddenly arches with firm kick to the ass and then he drops to his knees as he receives a boot from the other direction. The human tries to throw out a pointed finger at Lexie as he's finally wrangled into submission, but Jeremy is successful in holding back his arms. He can only jut his chin out aggressively at her. "She threatened me with her powers! That freak-!" He's still squirmy but he's lost.
The same old woman who records everything on her Eyes in this neighborhood has evidently begun recording this as the group of mutants converge on the flailing man. This certainly won't be bad P.R. for ANYONE.
"Yeah, this is way not my scene," Valerie murmurs. You know, the part where people are paying attention to something other than her. She gives the chaos another look, then slips away, retreating before /she/ can appear on anyone's Eyes. Bye guys.
Rohan is far too late to be of any real use, but he manages to swagger up and stand menacingly by Cotter. Totally here to help. "I can sit on him," he offers. Helpfully.
"Buddy, you just assaulted someone with half a dozen witnesses." Moody says to Cotter helpfully, then blips back up to her apartment and back again with handcuffs and a gag. She tosses both near Jeremy, adding, "I do /not/ need those back after."
"Yeah, I'm sure that the police will listen to this whole group of mutant witnesses," Lexie snorts. She glares at Cotter as he yells at her. "What? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You assaulted me without provocation in the middle of a public gathering and I'm pretty sure I heard some incitement to riot or some shit," Jeremy says. "So, consider this a citizen's arrest. Hey, how about that! Thanks, Huruma." He spits some more paint as he takes hold of the belt one-handed and secures Cotter's mouth more effectively with it. He takes Moody's cuffs and secures Cotter's hands behind his back. Once that's done, he stands up straight, lifts his hands above his head and folds the cross of his arms across his paint-spattered long hair. He peers up at Beckah. "He got you too, huh?" he says companionably. Then he fills his lungs and goes, "Hey can I buy a shirt off somebody?"
Sliding off of her perch, Tiffany lets the bulldog wheeze after her as she tip-toes around the spilled paint with a box of wet-naps in hand. You know. For cleaning kisses off of the dog. Or for this, which she had no way of predicting. "Here," she takes one and reaches out at Jeremy's face with it, "That was so brave." She could not fucking care less. Pricking up her eyebrows, Tiffany waves the wet-naps box out for Beckah as well.
"You're all going to burn in eternal hellfire! You're against the Lord's plan! You're a product of pollutants! You disg---mmmmhhmm!" Bless his heart, Cotter still tries, "MMMHmmmhmmfffmm!"
"Ugh. Radicals." Moody rolls her eyes. "They're almost as bad as salesmen."
Huruma smiles with her lips at the thank you, an expression that serves as a 'you're welcome'. She steps well back to let Jeremy handle his attacker from there, arms crossing in front of her ribcage and eyes curious behind her glasses as Cotter shouts more and is then muffled. "Ah. Yes. The hellfire. I haven't heard 'pollutants' before." You would think he could at least make up his mind between unholy and unscientific. Mm. "I don't really understand whenever they start talking about going against God's plan," Lexie complains. "Like, isn't the whole idea that everything's part of it? Who else do they think is messing with genetics here? Either we're part of the plan, or God's -- oh my! -- not actually all-powerful." She glares at Cotter. "You don't get /both/."
Rohan looks just a little ashamed of himself, but he still stands, helpful. "Little known fact," he says dryly. "Apparently God stepped out a couple of centuries ago and thus everything since is not part of the plan. Fanatics have to roll back the clock."
Moody looks to Lexie and agrees, shrugging her hands into her oversized skirt pockets without a care for how it makes her vintage Metallica t-shirt slide off a shoulder, "Newcomb's paradox of free will and determinism." Yeeeeah.
Jeremy swears somewhat unimaginatively: "Aw, shit." He resists his immediate urge to bat away Tiffany's wet nap and instead claims it to smear it over his face. Which-- basically means he's half cleaning himself, half smearing the paint around. "I run a gig for mutants hard up for work looking for ways to be useful and apparently that's worth getting whatever this shit is up my nose for the cause. Whatever, kiddos -- don't argue with the gagged guy. Somebody? Sell me a shirt? Five bucks? Ten bucks? I'm gonna ask Fyodorov to report this to the cops for us since he's not a mutie so they might pay attention for longer than three seconds."
Beckah is quick to procure a wetnap with a nod of her head and a quick, "Thank you." She immediately starts desperately scrubbing at her coat to try to get the blobs of paint off. At Jeremy's explanation of what he does, she raises a red pencilled brow. "Hard up looking for work, huh?" In perhaps the most awkwardly timed attempt at scoring employment ever, standing above a bound up bigot, and with her target smeared in paint, she asks, "Got a business card?"
"Uhuh," Tiffany responds the to the thanks. "They got Orianne, too," she comments. She takes out another nap for when Jeremy has exhausted his current one. Or Beckah, really. Whichever one of them is first. Meanwhile, like literally one droplet of red paint falls onto the toe of the boots she wears and she shoots up an intense /look/ at Moody with her already naturally large eyes. They quickly shift away to watch Rohan take off his shirt. "Do it." Did she say that out loud?
Lucky for Tiffany, Moody is watching Rohan with the potential of shirt peeling. There's not a lot that could drag her attention away from that, so. For the moment, the astral planewalker is safe. FOR THE MOMENT. "Yeah, you could do that. That'd be very neighborly of you. He might catch cold."
"Uh," Lexie says. She looks at Moody and Tiffany a bit oddly, like what the hell. "I might have a spare shirt of Maxim's at my place. He's probably a bit -- bigger than you."
Huruma slips her hands onto her hips, devoid of anything resembling a spare t-shirt. Sorry, buddy. Her head tips Tiffany's way at mention of Orianne, subtle but clearly interested in what she says. At least until she's prompting Rohan to strip, apparently. Been there, seen that. Her head turns back to watch the man under their arrest, the reflection of her sunglasses giving her one more dose of intensity as she watches him.
Let it never be said that Jeremy shies away from ANY opportunity to network no matter how much he is covered in paint or there's a nearby angry person thrashing around and trying to queer his pitch. "I do, but it's probably covered in paint. Wait! I have digital business cards." Jeremy glances aside at Rohan and gives him a laugh. "Well, the bystanders will be a lot happier about you without a shirt than me," he says with easy frankness, and turns back to Beckah as he reaches up to gesture by his Eyes so that he can skip the digital information across the aether to her. Technology is great. Paint is terrible.
Rohan doesn't hear any immediate objections, and peels his shirt right off, casually. He's all lean muscle underneath. Lean muscles and a rather shocking array of scars. "Here," he says, handing it right over. "It'll be a bit snug, but it'll work until you get back home." Luckily it's one of Rohan's looser shirts. Rain beads on his bare shoulders.
Technology is awesome! Beck nods her head with a flash of a smile on those tremendously red lips of hers. It didn't even take any paint for her to manage them. With another wetnap in hand, she scrubs furiously at the front of her coat, trying to chase off every bit of the splat of paint. She looks around at the rest of the group clouded around the squirming Cotter and she elects to help things along with a low wolf-whistle at Rohan when the shirt comes off. Mostly to Jeremy, she comments, "I guess throwing paint isn't that bad compared to some alternatives, right?"
"Ew," Lexie tells Rohan, because someone has to keep his ego in check. (Yes, clearly ego is Rohan's problem.) "I mean, I guess it's better than a bomb," she says with a rolling shrug to Beckah. "Also, hi."
Jeremy peels out of his paint-ruined T-shirt. It is old enough that there are actually spots of paint that appear on his pale, hair-prickled torso. He manages the shirt change with a fairly absurd haste, dramatically minimizing the amount of time that any amount of his pudge might be visible to the eye. Rohan's shirt is definitely snug on him and not on the way it would be flatteringly snug laid against the lean strength of a rangier frame. However, it is also comparatively dry and not covered in paint, so. there's that. "Thanks, man," Jeremy says. He says: "Sure, yeah, could have been worse. Definitely could have been worse."
Ordinarily, Tiffany loves to stare down Huruma in a knowing, otherworldly fashion. Too bad Huruma isn't taking off /her/ shirt. The empath's interest in her Orianne intel goes unnoticed. After the striptease, the psionic gives Beck a look of acceptance after she objectifies Rohan. Sortof a 'You're alright.' Very casually, she bends to wet-nap the droplet from the pair of Moody's boots that she wears. All the while, she throws her invisible will forward towards her teleporting roommate, 'Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.' It should be noted that Tiffany does not have that power and this is for naught.
Moody glances at Tiffany as the shirt comes off, ready for a moment of sisterly appreciation, but instead catches her scrubbing at her boots. THUNDER ROLLS. Well, only because it's raining. She isn't Rosalie. Her voice goes hushed. "Tiffany. Those boots cost three hundred dollars."
"How the hell are you affording $300 boots?" is Lexie's question.
"If you don't like it, you don't have to look," Rohan tells Lexie with an easy smile. Yeah, ego is definitely his problem. He leans down and snags his leather jacket, slinging it back on. Now he's jacketed but bare chested. He tips a wink at Beckah at her whistle.
"Well, they didn't cost /me/ three hundred," Moody answers, shooting Lexie a quick look and then another at Jeremy like, let's not talk about that in front of The Boss. "But the point is that they are very expensive to replace and so I can't."
There is a little shine of a playful smirk in return to Tiffany after that look. The smile almost turns apologetic at Rohan, but it doesn't quite make it all the way. She looks down at the man cuffed on the ground between the group of mutants. "So uh?" she asks, coming to the conclusion that she really has no idea what to do with the situation at hand.
"It was hate crime," Tiffany defends herself in a quiet whine, "I was hate crimed."
Huruma's expression seems to settle on something vaguely pleased as she listens to the young woman banter nearby, and she makes zero comment on the source of expensive boots. "You're calling Fyodorov? What about this one in the meantime?" She gestures down to Cotter, still bound and gagged below Jeremy's shadow. "We could always put him in the dunk tank--" Huruma flashes a smile and jerks a thumb at said tank down the carnival row.
"Yeah. Uh, yeah, let me do that." Jeremy's expression goes abstracted for a moment, and then he starts wandering off, talking rapidly in Spanish to somebody on the other end. Isn't Fyodorov Russian? What's happening here. Just ignore him for a round or two.
"Oh my God, did you steal those shoes," Lexie asks Moody, going wide-eyed and a little impressed.
Moody winces and checks Jeremy again, and, seeing him on the phone, relaxes just a little as she defends herself, "Not /really/. I mean. It's not stealing if it's from yourself, right?"
While looking toward Huruma, there's a little chuckle out of Beckah. "I'm not really sure that sticking him a dunk tank would do all that good if the cops show," she points out, trying to be sensible. Even if the idea is clearly very tempting, from her expression. "She stole my hoodie once," contributes Rohan to the Moody-the-thief conversation. Granted, maybe she just prefers him shirtless.
Cotter eyeballs the group furiously from his prone position. He would do more than dunk tank them if he could.
"You can't even tell," Tiffany adds, finally standing up to stare down at the boots. She raises both eyebrows.
"I did?" Moody blinks at Rohan, puzzled, then squints down at the boots that Tiffany was working on, "Oh, fine, they look okay. Retribution canceled." She looks at Cotter and says to the others, "Did you know the average police response time for Manhattan, if you exclude Mutant Town, is less than 2 minutes? But here it's like, forever." -- yeah she sounds like a thief.
Huruma lifts her hands out in a shrug, a gentle motion despite her idea. "No, but it would probably make everyone feel better, hm?" Her smile to the other tall woman is a purse of lips in an amused smirk. "And he clearly needs to cool off." She tips down the front of her sunglasses to look down at him over the top rim, white eyes predatory before she slides the glasses back on her nose. "
Beckah shares that smirking with Huruma, nodding her head in agreement. There's some kind of weird look of immediate comfort Beck gives her, a kinship of tall lady-ness, perhaps. She looks down at Cotter, rubbing at the side of her head with one hand. "Man, what did mutants do to you?" the false red-head asks, knowing full well he can't reply. "Did dude refuse you a job or something?"
"Future you," says Rohan to Moody. "But you know what they say. The Future-Moody is the child of the Present-Moody. Or something." He shrugs, his jacket falling open with the motion.
Moody's eyes drop to Rohan's chest as the jacket flaps, but bounces up again like a champion of willpower. "I'm sorry. I'll replace it if I can." She says this to roughly his eyebrow. NOT OGLING.
It does take approximately forty minutes before anyone from the police department arrives to investigate the complaint. David Cotter proves to be a relative of the boy who was stabbed not long ago while vandalizing the 'Welcome to Mutant Town' mural. If anyone follows up, they'll likely find out that he isn't even detained overnight.The incident only fuels the carnival party, which continues well into the night in spite of the paint-wielding bigot.