2014.02.04 - Getting Under Your Skin

Midtown - Central Business District

The tallest building of the Gotham skyline is the Wayne Enterprises tower, with its silver "W" emblem, which overlooks this neighborhood, rising from the central hub of the city's monorail. The Gotham Clocktower is located nearby, smaller and far older. The area is also home to most of Gotham's most popular clubs, lounges, hotels, and restaurants, sharing space with other commercial-zoned high rises. There are a variety of options for private residences here as well, from penthouses and lofts to multi-unit apartment buildings.

It's another late night in Gotham. A few minutes past one in the morning, late enough that the streets are relatively empty, but well before the bar crowd stumbles out between two and three. The Third City Federal National Bank building is empty, save for a small number of night watchmen, one of whom lies unconscious in a room on the forty-second floor.

Perched on a small outcropping around the corner is Shift, clad in his gunmetal gray uniform. He's concealed beneath a gargoyle-like sculpture, with a sniper rifle hidden in the crook of the statue's arm. Through the scopes, he has the weapon trained upon a building far below: 'Frank's Fish and Chicken', the very same spot Phantasma had circled on a map.

With a heart.

He's been there for some time, perched patiently as he watches the restaurant through his scope. A banana peel is lying in the gravel nearby, and as he reaches into one of his pouches to produce a beat up, metal flask, he murmurs quietly to himself.

"I've got all night, ghostie."

Its long since past when the restaraunt closed. Hours, and there hadn't been any sign of her. Well, that... that isn't entirely true. There were a few times you THOUGHT you'd seen her in the croud, but a second look never caught her yet. All in all, ghost hunting was quite tricky it seems. No wonder the pro's all rely on rediculous gadgets for ectothermal preocessing.. or.. you know.. whatever.

Its one thirty in the morning that finally you catch sight of something odd. The lights in the back of the fast food place go on... but the manager had left an hour and a half ago. The parking lot was empty... but there was clearly some activity inside.

"There we are."

Shift gently adjusts his aim, and with a squeeze of the trigger, a bullet passes through the silencer.

Below, in the restaurant, a side window shatters, sending glass spilling out into the street and a couple of the booths inside.

Meanwhile, Shift has discarded the weapon, and quite literally leapt off the forty-second floor of the building. He falls silently, and just before striking ground, tosses that flask up into the air. He bursts into a cloud of smoke upon impact, reforms a second later, and reaches up to snatch the flask before it can strike the alley's pavement beneath him.

Reaching down, he snatches a satchel free from where he stowed it earlier. He quickly tugs his legs into a pair of jeans, a simple shirt over his head, and throws a leather jacket on. Lastly, he steps into a pair of boots, then goes running across the deserted street toward the window he'd just busted out moments ago.

The closer you get to the smashed window, the stronger the smell of fast food starst to get. Inside, behind the counter, the deep fryer is steadily warming up, and there's a half drunk cup of iced tea on the front counter. Unfortunately, dispite signs of recent activity, there isn't sign nor chill feeling of the girl once you finally get close enough to peer inside. Someone had been busy, it seems moment before!

Halfway across the street, Shift is diving into his jacket pocket. He produces a small earpiece, which feeds GCPD bands into his left ear the moment it's fixed in place. No sign of activity. Guess the restaurant owner can't afford an alarm system, which is all the better.

A gloved hand presses against shattered glass, helping to vault the African up and over the threshold. He lands upon the booth, and while some of those glass shards slice into his jeans, the uniform beneath is strong enough to deflect them. He quickly makes for the kitchen, shutting everything off and turning off the light, not satisfied until all is silent.

Then, he perches himself upon the counter, a shadowy figure next to a tall dispenser of fountain drinks, and merely... waits.

Thankfully, you don't have very long to wait at all. Accessory to theft earlier, now breaking and entering... yet insisted he didn't want any loot. Phantasma was having a heard time figuring THIS one out... but this was also getting a little rediculous.

"You know...", comes her voice, rather aimlessly. It was its usual whispy soft and loaded with attitude, but it also was very hard to tell where it was coming from, "... you're about two hours late if its a date you want." She sounded dissapointed... mopey... borderline insulted in fact.

"Plus, you're ruining my dinner. You know how long those things take to warm up?"

As though in a stubborn defiance of your actions, the lights and friers turn back on, as racks are pulled out of the sizzling oil. Back in the kitchen, ingredients seem almost to dance in the air as a pair of chicken burger combo's assemble themselves, and slide onto a rack. Two orders of fries, two drinks and two chicken burgers then float past you on a platter, as Phantasma slowly fades back into view.

She had her hood pulled up high this time, well hiding the port on her neck, and the look she gives you as she walks past has all the signs of a woman scorned.

Kwabena has a fairly impressive poker face. His eyes only glance about when the voice comes, otherwise he shows no reaction. At least, not at first.

"Sorry. I nevah worked fast food."

When the lights and friers come back on, however, that poker face starts to fade in favor of a slowly developing smirk. He looks about as things float around, casually reaching into his jacket to withdraw that metal flask from earlier. The top comes off with a pop, and he takes a good, long pull from its contents. He's screwing the cap back in place when she floats past, and meets that scorned look with a shrug.

Hopping off the counter, he moves with actual footfalls to follow. "You know, kid," he remarks, "by my estimation, you're about... four or five years too young for me." Granted, he wasn't one who showed his age easily. The bald head might suggest him to be older than he looks, but he's got a pretty much flawless face, which could lead to deceptive youth. "Nice tricks, 'dough."

Continuing past you, she makes her way to a table, walking through it, to turn around and sit down. The first real sound you've heard from her yet outside her voice comes as she heavily drops her heels down own the table top, crosses her legs, and takes out YOUR pack of smokes to light up.

"Doesn't mean you're too old to treat a girl who'se down on her luck. Or up as the case may be. Does it grandpa?"

Done with the pack of smokes, she tosses both it, and your wallet back to you, though the latter comes back about a hundred dollars short. Then, picking up the first of two burgers, she starts to munch away almost ravenously, taking no particular care towards grace of manners. Still, she keeps her eyes on you appraisingly. The compliment on her style at least earns a small twitch at the corners of her mouth.

Following along, Kwabena smirks ruefully at that remark. "Old enough to tell you how to 'fuck off' in twelve different languages," he quips, while eyeing his pack of smokes warily.

When he takes his seat across from you, it's with a somewhat lazy draping of one arm over the back of the booth. Considering that your legs are occupying the table, he sticks his out and plops them, mud and all, onto the seat right next to where you're seated. His hand comes up to snatch the wallet and smokes out of the air, his thumb running over the contour of the wallet. ID's in there. Some of the cash is missing.

"Looks like I'm treating you to some few things, aftah all," he remarks, before lifting the pack to pull a cigarette out with his teeth. The zippo flashes, the cigarette is lit, and he takes a very deep drag before settling in to study you.

"So." He reaches into his jacket, withdrawing the flask again, only this time he pours some of its amber contents into his soda. Then, he chucks it across the table at you. "What's your name, kid?"

Finishing the burger and after a long drink on the soda, she declairs rather non-chalantly "An hour at the arcade, a top hat rental and a late night movie.", before picking up the order of fries. Gently, she pushes the shockingly clean bottom of her sneaker to the tray with the single burger and fry, and deftly nudges it closer to you. She watches you pour out a drink into your soda, and then smirks softly. Rather than reach out to catch the flask, she places her hand behind her head, catching it in her open hand just after it passes through her face.

A quick sniff at the mouth, and you see her face twist into someone not yet used to stronger alcohol. The smile on her face suggests she isn't complaining though, touching with one finger the plastic cap of her soda and pouring the amber liquid through it.

Finished, she pushes the flask back to you, and pauses a moment to study you. Look you up and down tilt her head back and forth, and take a rather large swig from her drink. That's when her eyes widen...

She almost does a spit take, swallowing quickly and starting to cough into her hand. Through her little coughing fit, she does her best to force out a stuttery reply of

"Pha~Phant~Phantasma.... aaaaugh W-what is this stuff?" She demands... taking another drink but this one slower and perhaps a little more cautious.

Almost every other X-Man out there would have been shocked that he's offering booze to someone so underage. The thing is, this is why Kwabena was brought on board. He knows this type, knows their language, and knows how to speak it. He seems... well... somewhere between entertained and nonplussed at the way she nudges his food closer and handles the flask. He sits there, still, begloved fingers drawing little patterns upon the plushy plastic booth seat, seemingly waiting for something.

And there it is. A good, long drink from your spiked soda.

"It's good, expensive stuff," he advises her. "Not de kind of cheap swill you pull from some cornah store." Leaning forward, he takes the flask back, stuffing it into his pocket while smirking wryly. "Some peopah call it whiskey. Blanton's, to be precise. I call it fiah watah."

So, she's already using a nickname. That's something. "I'm Shift," he answers. "Dat guy you saw at New Horizons?" He shakes his head. "Dat's also me, but he goes by a different name. Isaac. And he's a dangerous son of a bitch, too."

He fails to explain just how there are two of him. Instead, he starts munching on that burger between drags of his menthol, taking the thing down in a handful of big, toothy bites.

There it is. That place... that name... This time she actually does spit take, fortunately looking away from you at the time. For a few moments, her face hardens and tenses into a glare, not aimed at you but focused on some... unfixed point on the ground. Again, her hand drifts up to that... thing.. on her neck. It doesn't reach her hood this time though before she glances self conciously at you, and lowers her hand.

"So... it wasn't YOU you that was there then."

This seems to be the point she gets a little more on her guard. Doing her best to regain her composure, but things perhaps a little colder than before, she says "You... know alot about that..." she pauses, seeming to chew on her words. The best she can seem to come up with is to spit on the ground, and then continue in a passably smooth voice "... place...?"

The African sitting across from you doesn't show it on his face, but he's certainly feeling empathy for you. He knows exactly what it feels like to be tested upon, like a guinea pig, to be given something you didn't want.

"Me? No." He dusts the crumbs off his gloved fingers, then reaches for his spoked soda again. "Dat wasn't me. A reflection of me, perhaps. From anodah time, anodah place."

Slurrrrrp!

Shift sets the cup down and leans back into his seat. Another deep drag is taken, before he flicks the spent cigarette to the otherwise clean floor with a carefree gesture. "Yeah, I know a lot about it. I know every name of every pahson who was taken dere, except for yours." He studies you carefully for a long few moments. "It was my team who broke you out of dat hellhole. Sorry I couldn't be dere in pahson. I was off at some Congressman's house, breaking and entering, trying to expose de government conspiracy that was funding dat whole circus."

Suddenly, it seems that his hard-edged demeanor is fading. There, in his mismatched eyes of brown and silver, is a look of genuine concern. "How're you handling it? Being free?"

A soft hmph, she crosses her arm, but finally she gets started on her fries again. She waits for you to finish peaking, plainly finish speaking, and watching you closely the whole way through. Sometimes her head tilts one way, or the other, and there was something... intense... in her stare. Its not until the end you realise she didn't blink once... in fact... you aren't really sure of the last time she DID blink now that you think of it.

But mentioning being free, and finally her face starts to spread into a smirk. "After soiling the pants of some old war freaky evil guys and joyriding in a tank... I made a small fortune selling junk I nicked off them. In the last week or so I've ripped the funds of two drug deals and successfully scared off anyone thinking of squatting in a gorgeously creepy theater a dozen blocks from here. Oh, and got a cute guys help knocking off an electronics store. I've never been better in my life."

It was more than just recounting her time here, she was openly bragging of her exploits.

"You have no idea how easy it is to scare people around here. Well.. maybe YOU do.. but... apparently there's even some freak running around dressed like a bat! I've never felt more at home."

"Oh, by the way... your 'team' has one hell of an awesome ride... and... uhm..." She awkwardly brushes a hang aside. Now she was having a little trouble making proper eye contact. She kept looking over your shoulder, or at the ground... and she was even blushing a little. "T-thanks.. then.. I guess... for getting.. me.. out.." Its like all confidence suddenly dropped out of her. There was something almost annoyed or resentful in her voice, but its hard to imagine it being directed at you in this case...

"Well, people get a littah scared when dey shoot you -- repeatedly -- and nothing happens." He grabs a handful of fries, chowing them for a moment. Shift is taking notes, to be sure. When your countenance changes, he doesn't bat an eye. Nothing else seems to bother him. He's seen plenty of 'freaks' in his time, after all. Himself included.

A silence lingers, one eventually broken by the final slurping of his whiskeysoda. "So, big shot. Whatchu gonna do about dat piece of hardware in your neck? I'd shoot it off for you, but if it's fixed to your carotid artery..." He shrugs, but never turns his eyes from seeking your wayward ones.

Mention of the hardware gets a reflexive twitch, and her eyes snap up rather... warily.. when you mention shooting it. Seeming to push off from the table without making a sound, she glides throught he chair, then the ground, her eyes that suspicious glare the whole time. Its half a minute later you hear some work going on in the back, the hot sizzle of chicken and fries hitting the oil. A rather clumsy attempt to buy some time to settle herself honestly.

Walking through the soda machine, then the front counter, and doing her best attempt to look non-chalant again, she sighs in resignation "I... I don't know... alright? I'm not exactly about to trust anybody to take it out... and its surprisingly hard to ghost out of something thats attatched to you.. For now I just try an' keep it hidden."

Feigning boredom, Kwabena reaches for another cigarette. He's smoked half of it before you return, at which point he turns about in his seat to look your way.

"Am I getting undah your skin?" he abruptly says. "Sorry about dat." He doesn't sound serious at all with that apology, and there was a very intentional decision to use the words, 'under your skin'.

"Listen, kid." He hesitates for a moment, before standing up and turning about. "I get it, going it alone. Hell, half the time I want it myself. Don't know who to trust, especially aftah what you've been through." He ashes the cigarette on the ground, letting it's smoke drift out from his nostrils.

"Word of advice, dough? Find out who you can, quickly. Dere's plenty of us out dere, and plenty more who hate us."

He flicks the cigarette to the ground, then pulls his jacket close and turns heel, headed at a leisurely pace toward the shattered window through which he came.

Phantasma blinks a little, and you see a little heat rise in her cheeks again at the jab, but she keeps it to childish glaring for now. The next bit manages to touch something a little more emotional then. She pauses, looking down, then turns around and dashes through the soda machine again. It was just as you went to step out of the broken window that she slowly rose up from the concrete sidewalk outside, holding a take out bag with another chicken burger and fries. This time coming out of the ground though, she does it rather gracefully, spinning around with her arms limp and sort of wheeling out.

Stopping in front of you, she smirks lightly and offers up the doggie bag. "I've met a few freaks I get along with, and with how wild this place is looking... I can't imagine I won't meet more."

A soft sigh comes through Shift's nose, before he puts his hand on that broken windowsill and leaps outside.

He draws up when you appear, and watches your trick with a genuinely entertained grin.

Reaching out, he takes the bag. And for some reason, he tests it's weight. Not light enough to carry up forty two floors in smoke form, so he'll have to stow it in that alley. Better be quick too. Gotham has rats.

"When you want dat thing out bad enough? Find me." The pack of cigarettes are tossed your way. Bit of a parting gift it seems. "See you round, 'Taz."

A few moments later, just before Kwabena crosses the empty street, another plume of white cigarette smoke goes billowing up from his face.

It was a little to heavy for a burger and fries... maybe a third burger? Hard to tell right away. She catches the cigarette pack, and smiles with a little blush, giving you a wave as she drifts rather weightlessly. Gone are the intricate steps rom before, now she moves like she's dancing in the air. "See ya Shift..." she says a little more softly, since you were already a mist on the wind.

Its only now, after that she stomps her foot noiselessly in the air, "Damnit Gabe! I need that cell phone!"

Whenever you happen back to the bag, you discover the extra treat Phantasma had slipped in for you. A wallet! Not just any wallet, but in fact the wallet of your friend at the electronics store, stuffed with an extra hundred dollars and holding a dirty, worn and desperately faded looking ticket stub from the old abandoned Monarch Theater in Old Gotham.