2014.12.08 - Litter War

"Hey! Pick that shit up!"

New York is a dirty city. With millions of people in close proximity, it can't really be anything else. It's normal to see empty cups blowing down the sidewalk, or to step in gum on your way back home. But littering isn't really high on anyone's list of peeves. After all, there are trash men whose jobs are only necessary if everyone does their part and litters in the street.

This might have been the justification that Reginald Wallace used when he balled up the wrapper of the sandwich he was eating, and dropped it on the ground as he continued walking. He might not have even bothered justifying it to himself, he might not have thought about it at all.

But when a rough hand grabs his shoulder and spins him around, Reginald suddenly re-thinks his stance on littering. He finds himself face to face with a rough-looking man who has a black eye and a golf bag full of hockey sticks and baseball bats.

"Did you hear what I said, lawbreaker? Pick your trash up or I'm gonna do some littering of my own. I'll leave your teeth all over the pavement." His grip on Reggie's shoulder is like a vice, and it's clear from his manner that he is in know way joking.

A few seconds later, Reggie is dropping the wrapper in a trash can, and walking off in the direction of home, muttering 'Freak!' under his breath.

Casey Jones is walking off in the opposite direction, with a grim smile on his face, muttering 'Lawbreakers!' under his breath.

Robyn doesn't like New York... for several reasons actually. One: Too many heroes. Two: Too many cameras. Three: Too many cops. Four: Too many wannabie-heroes. Maybe even change one and two, but the idea was clear. New York was not her turf really. But doing her usual business - training some idiot who thought he can deal with drugs in what she considered her turf - she had ended here, on the streets of the Big Rotten Apple.

Peering over the shoulder as someone yelled about littering not too much behind her, she tried to speed her steps without dragging too much attention; the blue dufflebag over her shoulder swinging while she made sure the hood of her green sweater was up.

"Showed that tool. Casey Jones don't play that." Nothing like bullying a random passer-by in the street to boost a guy's confidence, and Casey Jones pretty much looks like he's king of the world right now. Head held high, chest puffed out, all that.

He's walking in the same general direction as Robyn, but at the moment he's too busy checking out potential lawbreakers to check her out. He gives another Potential Litterer a very scare stare as he walks past, and the guy thinks better of spitting his gum out on the sidewalk.

At least until after Casey gets a few steps past him...

"I was like 'Pick that up! And he was all 'Yes sir, Casey Jones! Please don't hurt me!' Ha ha!" Casey's attempts at making a new themesong for himself could use a bit of work....

Robyn snorted as she noticed that the bruiser that had just mugged a guy was seemingly following her, pushing the hands into the pockets of her jacket. Damned, did he notice her? did he want to give her a beating? Well, she was kind of prepared.

As he continues walking, Casey passes two police officers drinking coffee near a hot dog cart. He raises a hand and gives one of them a high five. "Keep up the good work, officers!" and then continues walking.

But though the cop accepts his high five, as soon as Casey passes him he looks at his partner. "Did a guy carrying a golf bag full of baseball bats really just high five me?"

The other cop takes a sip of his coffee. "Looks like."

But just then, the two get something over their radio. "All units, BOLO Alert: Caucasian female, approximately five foot four, missing an eye. She'll likely be carrying a bag and wearing a hood."

Talk about bad timing...

"Help! My purse!"

About a hundred feet down the street, an elderly woman screeches at the top of her lungs as a man starts running off with her Louis Vuitton bag. Of course, as this is New York, she can't exactly find a lot of volunteers to help her with her problem. And there's never a cop around when you need one.

The purse-snatcher runs down the street, pushing people out of the way as he tries to get away as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, he's running almost right for Robyn.

Robyn lifts the head on the scream and running, making a single side step towards the buildings. But as the man comes closer and is about to pass her, she stretches out her leg and closes the hand of the same side around his arm, throwing him off balance and forcing him to the ground. The next moment her other hand springs free from the front pocket, holding a double edged dagger and pointing it at the hoodloom's face. And all of that just in sight of all the other people around. The eye is patched up, but her face speaks of anger. "Don't do that, mister." she warns him, the single eye keeping on him. She might lack an angle for the left side, but she can still control and see him quite well, in full.

Like an eager puppy, Casey was already running as soon as he heard the word 'help.' So he closes the distance between himself and Robyn just in time to see her effortlessly take down the guy that he was planning to pummel. He skids to a stop, the disappointment on his face obvious.

"Dude! You totally Bogarted my bad guy! I was gonna feed him so many Knuckle Sandwiches that his kids would be born constipated."

Robyn does not yet look up, holding the blade in front the face of the guy as she releases his arm to grab the purse to hand it back to its owner once she arrived. But then that braggart came in and scolded her. A moment she stared at the hoodloom, her knee pressing against the small of the back of him, then she repositioned the blade to the back of his neck. "No movement, or you're done." she hissed at him, then she finally looked up, the purse in her hand "What a hero you are speaking like that..." obvious cynic, as she peered at him, waiting for the owner of the handbag. "You can have him once the owner has had his chance with him."

"Man... that's messed up. But I guess it's fair. You did catch him and everything. Those were boss moves, by the way."

Casey leans over the bad guy, admiring the handiwork with which he was subdued. He certainly doesn't have moves like that... more of a 'smack it with a bat until it stops fighting back' kind of guy.

As he leans forward, the clubs, bats, and hockey sticks in his bag look as if they're in danger of sliding forward and falling out. This doesn't happen though, thank god for small miracles.

"Hey, you know what? You should totally be my sidekick. I'm like, a superhero, pretty much."

Robyn peered at the guy, waiting for granny rich to come to reclaim her possessions, which she eventually did. Giving the purse back, Robyn returned her dagger to sheet it again, so the elder woman could kick her assaulter without fear of killing him accidently. Seconds passed, then she stood up and kept the guy under her foot, while the elder woman seemed to try to decide if she should take the offer to repay or not. Robyn though pressed her hand against the left temple, as if to press against a headache, while her thumb pressed upon a bud in her ear. "So, who the hell are you that you want me as a sidekick? The Golfer? Wait, no, that are baseball bats and hockeysticks..."

"What? What!?" Casey looks pretty much incredulous. "You don't know who I am? I'm Casey Jones, yo. The masked vigilante that everybody's talking about. I've got a twitter and everything."

Casey Jones does NOT have 'a twitter.' Nor is he completely sure what 'a twitter' is.

He stands up, and all of his clubs and bats clang together noisily as they settle back in the golf bag on his back. "Just don't tell nobody you saw my real face or nothing though. Us superheroes got to protect our secret identity so nobody tries to put sticks of dynamite in our mailbox or whatever."

Robyn eventually removed the foot from the guy's lower back as granny decided she would not poke him to death with her cane, but snorted at the guy. "Superhero? look at yourself. You give me your real name and have baseball bats and call me a vigilante for stopping a thief in action? That's joust civil courage." she tells back, raising a fist to the people around "See that mugger with the bats? He claims to be a hero, but what did he do? He threatens people for littering and tries to force people into his branch for they do the right thing. You want people like those to be your heroes? You want Neandertalers like him to represent us, guard us and shield us? We can do without heroes such as him! We normals must stand together against muggers like him!"

"Wait a minute... are you some kind of crazy person?" The thought that someone might just not like him is clearly something that Casey has diffficulty grasping. However, she's starting to draw a crowd, and people are clearly responding in a way that isn't in Casey's best interests.

"Man, screw this. I don't need any bullshit right now, I've got to go on patrol. Maybe I'll go find a sidekick that's got both of her eyes." He starts backing away from the scene of the crime, putting some distance between himself and the crazy lady who wants to get him beaten up. "I'll get a hot sidekick. Like... a redhead with huge cans. Or maybe I can just get Michelle Rodriguez to beat up my bad guys for me. Yeah, I don't need you."

He continues to back up, and then when he's put enough distance he turns around and begins walking down the street. As he walks away, he calls back over his shoulder.

"But look me up on the twitter if you ever get your prescription refilled."

Robyn on the contrast snorted and tried her best to vanish in the crowd she had just gathered to 'arms' against the clearly delusional guy, as he called out for her, seemingly trying to taunt her. "Dear Casey Jones, I wrote to explain, I am not a fan. Stop beating civies, go for real villains! I heard the Swarm was in town." Well, she kind of knew he was in LA, but that might get the ass of the idiot saved. Because he might go on the ghost chase instead of getting culled by a militia which formed because of her talk against muggers such as Casey. And an ad hoc lyric change on the ballad of Chasey Lain might show him how low he was.