2013.06.28 - Silent Meetings

Summer in New York can make you crazy, between the heat and the smell and just the people, people everywhere. That's no excuse, especially for the boys currently terrorizing a small section of mutant town. Whether they're part of an affiliated gang or movement is hard to say, but they're certainly loud, catcalling boldly at a mutant boy of about twelve years of age. Known locally as "Phibs", the boy's froggy face, green skin and penchant for sewer dwelling make him among the most harmless of the local denizens. Today, he only even came to the surface to use a bit of cash he found from a lost wallet to buy himself a bit of fresh fruit. He likes fruit. Instead, having gone just outside of Mutant Town to get to the market, he finds himself pursued in, bottles and trash thrown at him. There are six thugs in all, three with baseball bats, one with a large knife, every one of them twice the size of the twelve year old. "Freak! Go back in your friggin' hole, ya mutie bastard!" Phibs closes his eyes as he walks, muttering to himself, as if in prayer. Maybe a futile act...but not in this case. In Mutant Town, there's someone who hears your prayers...

In the summer, Jocelyn enjoyed some freedom from the daily class grind. Of course, for the tall teenager, that meant she tended to go on longer training runs, and that was what she found herself doing today. Of course, she'd taken to making her training runs take her through some of the more dangerous sections of the city, simply because it meant she could also, perhaps, do some good in the city. She didn't hear a prayer persay, but one thing the former street rat was excellent at doing was seeing. Spotting the rather large group surrounding some kid with her energy sight, she picks the pace up as she overhears the cursing. She pulls in some kinetic energy to make herself tougher and more reactive, but she doesn't increase her strength beyond the human maximum. She didn't think it was necessary.

The girl turns the corner and the guys are greeted by the sight of the woman, dressed in a bright blue sleeveless tank and a pair of black shorts. She comes right at the group and attempts to grab a baseball bat out of the hand of one thug before spinning and attempting to slam her fist into the chest of the guy with the knife.

"Really, six on one? Why don't we tilt the odds in the boy's favor and see how tough you are," Jocelyn says as she makes her initial attacks.

Elijah had been laying atop one of the nearby buildings, a tattered paperback in his hands (Philip K. Dick, a little dystopia to pass the summer's haze). As usual, the city, the neighborhood, buzzed in the back of his head, their constant presence both irritation and comfort, but, above all, responsibility. The sudden sharpness of Phib's cry, of his need and outreach, however, cause him to sit bolt upright, the paperback dropped and immediately forgotten. He springs into action, leaping across one rooftop, two, his consciousness zeroing in on the source of the trouble until he leaps towards that source, tumbling and twisting down from the top of the roof until he lands on his feet just behind the six, cutting off their means of escape at the very moment they enter into conflict with Jocelyn

Jocelyn easily snatches the bat from one startled bigot, his hands shooting up and way with a "Hey, what the f-?" even as her fist slams into his friend with the knife, knocking the guy off balance and sending him stumbling onto his ass. One of the more cowardly of the six immediately tried to turn tail, only to walk into a rough clothesline from Elijah. The homeless vigilante pulls his blow, but, still, the force is enough to send the boy spinning, doing a spiralling flip before landing face-first on the sidewalk.

That's one weapon. Jocelyn snaps the bat in two pieces and tosses the remains well out of reach of the fight. She continues continues the flow of her movement, attempting to grab the wrist of the knife wielder. If she manages to, she attempts to squeeze the wrist hard enough to cause him to release the knife so she can grab it away from him. Even as she does so, she aims an elbow at the face of Baseball Bat Mook Number Two in an attempt to knock him out. She's not holding back much here and is really only going for knockout-level blows as opposed to anything lethal.

When Elijah shows up, Jocelyn gives the man a very brief nod while she works on fighting the mooks. There would be time enough for talk later. There were some bigots to send scurrying off first.

The knife wielder lets out a yowl of pain as Jocelyn wrenches his wrist, his fingers opening and spasming from the shock of pain. He swings a fist at Jocelyn roughly, apparently long past any hints of chivalry, trying to hit the redhead right in the nose. The second bat wielder walks right into the point of Jocelyn's elbow, his head snapping back with a wet, violent crunch, blood shooting up into the air as his eyes roll back in his head. One of the others reaches into his pocket, trying to draw a pistol, only to have his wrist broken by a quick strike from one of Elijah's escrima sticks, the two stylized weapons now in the hooded man's hands. He flicks them quickly, showing practiced skill, following up on the gunman with strikes across the neck, ribs and knees, the bigot falling to the ground in agony. Eli returns the nod silently (as if he had a choice).

Well, the guy she elbowed should live, though he'll have a nice bit of bleeding with the hit she gave him, Jocelyn figures. When the former knife-wielder attempts to punch her in the face, she brings her free hand up and blocks it with the palm of her hand. She attempts to wrap her hand around his fist. If she manages to, she pulls with all her strength, first down and towards her to attempt to bring the guy right up close to her. She stares at the bully, briefly letting her emotions show the anger and disgust she has for them. Then she's back to the calm and assertive nature of this fight, as much as a fight can be such things. Jocelyn attempts to lift the guy up and fling him at Baseball Bat Bigot Number Three. She'll let Elijah deal with the gunman while she works on these mooks.

She does take a brief half-second to glance over at the kid who had been the target of the bullies during all of this, just to make sure nobody is taking a shot at him during this mess.

Phibs is standing there, open-mouthed and staring, his deeply stained Knicks hoodie (and, really, the less we think about those stains the better) unzipped, a half-eaten banana sticking out his hand, having gone from victim to shocked observer, his oversized, froggy feet bare on the concrete. Elijah swings precisely and cracks the gunman along the temple, knowking him out. The fleeing thug he started with has started to crawl to his feet and Elijah takes a step and casually grabs him by the scruff of the neck, showing inhuman strength as he flings the man half the length of the street by one hand, his aim good enough as the punk sprawls face-first into a dumpster.

Knife-boy is promptly flung by Jocelyn right on top of the third Bat-wielder. The two land in a heap, the rest of their friends unconscious or close to it. Knife starts to scramble up, "Mutie bitch!' he yells, but the friend he landed on grabs his shoulders, "Joey, Joey, it ain't worth it, man, it ain't worth it..." he says, trying to draw his hot-blooded pal from the fight, as Jocelyn closes in on one side and Elijah comes in from the other.

Closing in, Jocelyn crouches down and grabs the shoulder of the one she elbowed in the face, squeezing it hard as she looks at the others. She lets her boosted abilities drop and lets out a tiny bit of healing - enough to make sure there won't be any brain damage or permanent damage done to the guy. But no more than that. "You lot have a choice," she says firmly as she straightens back up. "Take your buddies and leave, or we'll actually start breaking a sweat. You've got three seconds to make up your mind".

There's a pause. "And who said I was a mutant, anyway?" she comments. "Just someone who doesn't like to see people get hurt".

Which was a partial lie, of course, but she didn't need mutants getting a bad rap - even with the thugs - over a fight. Better for them to think it was a normal who kicked their asses.

Elijah says nothing, his hood fallen forward to shadow his face, the crossed sticks at his waist doing all the talking he's going to do. He's glad to see someone else taking up the mantle of standing up here, though. Too often, people in this city just hide behind closed windows and air conditioners rather than help.

The thugs quickly realize the better part of valor, although the mouthy one is getting pulled away rather than fleeing of his own accord. "Mutie-lover, same friggin' thing, freak! This ain't the end o' this, you gonna hear from-" he's cut off as his friend literally puts a hand over his mouth, dragging him kicking. Seeing that the offenders seem to be done, Elijah bends down and takes two of the unconscious, tossing one over each shoulder and walkin them over to the dumpster where he already deposited one of their friends...

Keeping an eye on Elijah, Jocelyn heads over to Phibs. "You alright there? Did they hurt you?" Jocelyn asks as the mooks leave. Really, leaving their buddies behind like that. Talk about no honor. Jocelyn just couldn't imagine such a thing. However, most of her concentration is on Phibs as she looks the mutant over, looking for signs of obvious injury. "You going to be alright making your way home?" she asks.

Phib's voice is a croaking, gurgling thing (well, of course it is), and there's a blushing, rosy undertone to his green skin as the red haired woman talks to him. "I-I'll be fine, th-thank you. B-both of you," he says, looking over at Elijah as the hooded man begins to return, his weapons tucked once again away in his jacket. Phibs doesn't seem harmed, just a little shaken up, and so Elijah, trying to be comforting, pulls the scarf over his mouth down and his hood back, letting the froggy mutant see him smile. Breaking into a grin, Phibs gathers up the rest of his fruit and quickly heads off towards the nearest manhole cover, waving over his shoulder to his saviors.

With a nod, Jocelyn waves to the boy as he makes his way back home. "Not bad work with the sticks. Been doing escrima long?" Jocelyn asks Elijah once the boy leaves. She strolls over towards her unexpected partner in crime-fighting. "Name's Jocelyn," she adds easily to him. She looks over the knife that she had taken from the guy and offers it over to him. "You want this? I don't exactly have anywhere to carry it that's not blatantly obvious," she points out. "Not a great knife, but I doubt we want to leave it laying about".

Elijah seems a bit unsure of himself suddenly, as the woman approaches him. In the context of the work, of protecting, he can be utterly assured, more than confident, because he's fulfilling his mission, his purpose. Usually, he saves someone, they say thanks, and everyone moves on. He's not used to having someone trying to talk to him afterwards, an especial difficulty since he can't really do it. He takes the proferred knife, tuckin it into his jacket for disposal later. Then he taps his sticks with his hands and holds up seven fingers for the number of years he studied, then, using sign language, makes what he hopes is the universal sign for mute, pointing to his throat and putting a hand over his mouth.

Not actually knowing sign language, Jocelyn is still able to figure it out fairly quickly. "Can't talk? I'm sorry," Jocelyn comments softly. She wasn't sure if her healing powers could heal that. She could heal quite a bit, but if it was too old or severe, she probably couldn't. Still, she doesn't seem that put off. "You do vigilante work around here?" she asks. She isn't that worried about the whole mute thing. "Can you write for more complex thoughts than yes or no? I'm afraid I don't know sign language," she tells him. It was something she really should learn one of these days.

Elijah smiles and nods, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a notepad and pen. His handwriting is surprisingly florid, an artistic hand, with looping constants and a distinctive slant. "I consider myself a protector of this place. My name is Elijah. Since people like to use special names, I sometimes am called Communion. When those in need here call for me, I hear them and I come. It is my mission." he writes. "I am pleased to meet you, Jocelyn. You are quite a powerful fighter." He hands the pad over to be read, clasping his hands politely behind his back as he lets the redhead read his thoughts.

The teenager reads the pad and gives the man a smile. "Thank you, and it is good to meet you as well. I've been training for around a decade myself. I know a little escrima, but I've focused on more of a blended style rather than a specific one," Jocelyn tells Elijah. "I help out where I can. I am a mutant myself, actually, but thought it best those guys think they got beaten by normals. Besides, I didn't actually really use my powers against them. I am surprised you do not keep your codename and real name secret. Many do," she offers to him.

Elijah listens with a simple smile on his face, his face simple and handsome and calm. He takes the pad back and takes a long moment writing, as if considering his words, "Escrima was a discipline of my father and many others where I grew up," he writes, perhaps a bit obscurely, but he isn't yet -that- open about his past. It's not a pleasant topic. "I do not think I am very well known. My first name will not get people very far, nor is my codename very well known. The only people who know it reside here or are allies of the mutants of this place. If I do not trust them, I cannot trust anyone. Trust is difficult, yes, and we all have reason to be afraid, but, if we cannot begin to trust each other, we cannot begin to build a community, to heal." He considers for a moment, and then scribbles a little more, "For not using any powers, that was very impressive."

The past was not a great topic for many people. Jocelyn waits for Elijah to finish writing before she takes the pad and reads over what he's written. "This is true. Trust is important. Myself, I tend to stick out quite a bit, so I only use abilities when I have to. Six and a half feet, red hair, makes me kind of memorable". Though her costume helps with that a little bit. "And thank you. Your skill was impressive as well, abilities or not. Do you have abilities as well?" she questions out of curiousity. "While most who reside or visit here do, I try not to make assumptions about it". Because that was dangerous.

Elijah purses his lips. His powers are complex and even he doesn't fully understand how they work, in every way. Taking the pad (and taking the preious sheets off, folding them and tucking them neatly in a pocket of his jacket, his precision at odds with the ragged nature of his clothing). "You are indeed memorable, but in the very best ways. Some, like our friend Phibs (he draws a small picture of a frog next to the name) are not so lucky. You should be grateful that your powers have given you beauty." He takes a moment and continues, "I am empowered by the people around me. The more people, the stronger I am. I can heal myself and others. I hear the wishes and prayers of those in need that I am close enough to help, and can sense when they are in trouble. And, if I touch someone, I can be as one with them in our minds." Again, perhaps too much divulging, but he rarely gets a chance to talk, even in writing.

There's a light smile from Jocelyn at the man's statement about her looks. "My powers revolve around energy. I can see and manipulate energy, heal, and enhance my physical abilities when needed". It was a high level overview of her powers, but it gave the basics. "I have known others with similar abilities to yours, though not wrapped up in one individual," Jocelyn offers to him. "I've known a few who have obvious mutations. It can be much harder for them, I agree," she says. "Though almost all powers have their limitations and problems to them, if not handled properly," she says. She could, for example, overload and become a walking bomb. That wasn't great.

Elijah closes his eyes and nods in agreement with this. Images flash through his mind, not only images, but smells, the smell of burning flesh most especially, the sound of their screams in his ears. HE visibly shakes his head, forcing away the memories of just what his powers, at their very worst, can do. He writes, "I try, every day, to be grateful for the gifts I have been given, to use them to the purpose for which they were given, as best I understand it, and to live in service to others whenever possible. I admit, I do not know many other mutants - while I live here, it can be difficult to be social when one cannot speak, and my bonding power, while allowing communication, is very intimate and not good to have with strangers."

"Many people are not sure how to deal with someone who cannot speak, mutant or not," Jocelyn says. It was simple truth, unfortunately. "And yeah, a melding of minds seems like it would be a quick way to get very close to someone very fast, and a lot of people wouldn't be comfortable with that so quickly". Jocelyn isn't quite sure how that would work with her energy absorption, and wasn't exactly sure she'd want to find out. Maybe it'd be less intense? She's unsure.

She leans up against the wall. "So, I imagine that since I'm running through here a few times during the day, I'll probably see you a bit," she comments easily. If he could sense minds, he'd probably pick up on her's fairly quickly. There was a bit of a 'bubble' around her that absorbed psychic energy, which made it a bit harder to identify her. But that could also make her notable, too. "Don't suppose you'd mind either a training partner or student? Wouldn't mind learning Escrima properly, and I might be able to at least give you someone to work with when there aren't bigots shooting their mouths or guns off".

Elijah can notice a slight gap around her, but not very much. HIs power mostly only senses psychic presences, and only gives thoughts if they're projected outwards, in the forms of wishes or prayers or in any way directed, but most interior content remains opaque to him, unless he soul bonds. Elijah smiles and nods in agreement, writing, "I often stay on rooftops, as I like the weather and seeing the stars at night. It makes me feel at peace. But I will keep an eye out for you. And yes, I would be happy to show you how I use the sticks and to learn from you in return. It can be difficult to stay in practice without a sensei."

Well, with her energy sensing abilities, Jocelyn might just sense his energy absorption too, so it wouldn't be too hard for them to find each other. "I'd give you a time of day, but honestly I keep it fairly random, though I can generally aim to come by within a window for practicing purposes," the teenager says. It kept people offguard and prevented them from pinning a pattern on her. Jocelyn found taht rather useful. "And yeah, it takes a bit more effort without a sensei or coach or anything of that nature," the woman agrees. It was doable, but took more focus.

Elijah chuckles and nods, writing, "I am almost always here. I am not prone to much in the way of travelling. I don't even have a subway pass," he smiles. Or a credit card. Or a wallet. Or more than two changes of clothes. But, still, no subway pass either. "As I said, anytime is fine. I don't sleep very much and, unless I am protecting someone, I am usually just reading or..." and then the or is scribbled out. He was going to write praying but, while he isn't ashamed of his faith, he doesn't want to make anyone else uncomfortable with it either. He's seen enough of that already in his life.

The girl reads that over and nods. "Sounds good to me," Jocelyn says, apparently not all that bothered by him scratching that last bit out. Whatever he didn't want to reveal, that was fine by her. Such things took time.

"However, I need to get moving. I've got a few things to do today. It was good to meet you, Elijah". And once she exchanges good-byes, she's off and running somewhere.