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O'rourke's is the sort of place people go to do some serious drinking. Professional drinking, even. There aren't a lot of people there socializing or chatting— just the heaviest of drinkers a few hours ahead of dinner, eating the popcorn and friend bar foods that salt the tongue and spike the thirst.
One of these such folks sits in a corner, back to the wall, and looks like he's making a serious go of killing an entire bottle of vodka himself. Scraggly hair, worn old field jacket, scuffed combat boots. One more veteran sitting in a corner, drinking his woes away. He's not alone, but none of the men are sitting together and chatting— each of them is in his quiet little corner, trying to banish ghosts or demons with their particular choice of poison.
It certainly isn't the type of place one might expect a young starlet to go for food or drink. Her floral dress and bright blonde hair makes her stand out as soon as she enters the bar, the heels of her shoes making a clacking sound as she strides toward a table, a small purse grasped in her left hand.
As soon as she takes her seat at one of the tables scattered about the room, she waves down someone for service. "A gin and tonic, please? And um…well, do you have a menu? I'm quite peckish. Thank you!" She smiles brightly.
*
If there was anyone in the world that probably doesn't belong here, it's Amadeus Cho. The diminutive young man is wearing a black pinstripe suit and a pair of shoes that at least give a slight boost to his not-so-tall 5'6 stature. Even he suddenly looks like it was a bad idea to walk into the place. Still, the place may be worth visiting for the case he's currently working. The countless, constantly changing equations of the physical world are captured and processed in nanoseconds. With the bounty on him placed, likely indirectly, by one Pythagoras Dupree, this may just have been a worse idea than previously anticipated. Oops.
The young man still strides forward with confidence, making his way with purpose towards the bar for now. He orders a beer, but might also be overheard asking about a woman with deep red hair that goes all the way to the ground. When he's told there isn't anyone like that he's seen, Amadeus examines the man carefully to detect whether or not the subtle tick of blood rushes from his cheeks to his nose. Satisfied, he gives him a nod before taking his beer in hand and looking out over the rest of the bar.
*
"Menu? Lady, we ain't a restaurant," the bartender growls at Trish. He doesn't seem very mean— he's just a big, bearish fellow with an uneasy mien at the sight of a leggy blonde joining the bar.
The kid in a pinstripe suit gets a boggled look, and the big man puts his palms down on the bar, shoulders rolling upwards as he lifts his chin and scowls. "And lookit this, a Chink in a fancy suit looking for a girlfriend. What happened, Club 46 close?" he asks, sarcastically. He still sets about making their drinks, gin and tonic for Trish, a cold beer for Amadeus. The glasses are noticeably a bit dirty. It's a dive bar, what do you expect?
"Buck fifty," he tells Trish. "You probably don't wanna sit down nowhere in here, it'll dirty yer dress up." He eyes Cho. "Two bucks for Chinks."
*
Eyeing her seat, Trish clears her throat and stands back up, walking the very short distance to the bar from the table. "Oh well! As they say, you never know until you ask!" She tucks a little lock of hair behind her ear. She glances at Amadeus, and then around the room, as the drink is made. "You've got a…a quaint bar here. It's very nice." She smiles at the bartender, digging through her purse and pulling out two one dollar bills, sliding them across the bar, toward the bartender. "Keep the change." She tells him as she lifts up the glass, inspecting it for a moment before taking a sip.
*
The offensive comment doesn't seem to phase Cho too much. He does look down at the dirty glass he's served, though. With a smirk then, he takes out his wallet from his back pocket and digs out a dollar and two quarters. "Well, since I'm Korean and from Tuscon, the derogatory 'Chink' doesn't apply." He slaps the money down on the bar and lifts a brow at the man. "One dollar. Fifty cents. Go ahead and count it. I'll give you a few minutes." With that, he picks up the dirty glass and starts to walk towards a table with it.
*
The bartender scowls at the two smartalecks in his bar, but then the ragged looking veteran in the corner gets up and moves to the countertop. His hair, scraggling and uncombed, partially hides his face.
"Another bottle." He sets the empty pint of vodka on the bar. Bartender starts to shake his head, but the vet throws two crumpled $20s on the wood. The bartender relents, but cocks a snide glance at Amadeus as the fellow drifts off to find the only even slightly presentably clean table in the place (if Trish wants a chair not covered in stale beer, she's going to the same spot).
"Least you got money," the bartender says. "Damn slopes don't know—"
The man in the rough field jacket grabs the bartender by the hair and smashes his face firmly down into the bar. The big man doesn't even get to protest— there's just the thump of his face hitting the bar, then him sliding to the floor. The vet picks up his vodka and starts to shuffle back to his table, his eyes downcast and seeing nothing but the floor.
*
Glancing to the side, getting a good look at the vet, Trish offers the scraggly looking man an awkward smile. She's just about to lift up her drink to take another sip again when he practically attacks the bartender. She lets out a mixture of a gasp and a shocked, high pitched squeel, producing a rather unusual sound, as she jumps slightly, startled by the event. "Oh…oh dear." She murmurs. She picks up her glass, which was on the counter, and backs away, keeping her eye on the vet.
Glancing around, her heels clacking against the floor, Trish approaches the table chosen by Amadeus. "Might…would you mind if I joined you?"
*
"Thanks, by the way," Amadeus says to Trish first, studying the woman for a brief moment. Of course he immediately recognizes her, but chooses to not make a big deal out of her celebrity for the time being. Instead, he just nods his head and gives her a knowing look. His attention is then taken by the man in the field jacket as he walks over to the bartender and smashes his face into the bar. He saw it coming, of course, but wasn't quite able to move quick enough to stop it from happening. Instead, he looks to the man in the field jacket and furrows his brows. "Hey, you can't do that," he speaks up in protest. Clicking his tongue in his mouth briefly then, he just shakes his head and stands up once more. "Yeah…just. I'll be a minute." The young man makes his way on over to the bar and the bartender to check on him. The datastreams flow, constantly feeding his mind mundanely incalulable amounts of information. Subject: Male, 45, 6'1, 200 pounds. Factor: Body type, momentum, and force of impact. Skeletal structure: Normal, one fractured nose, two broken teeth. Even the subtlest information is gathered. "Son of a…he's going to need to go to the hospital." One or two of the other patrons likely move into position to stop him, but Amadeus closes the distance and tries to offer some help to the guy.
*
"Shouldn't have called you a slope," the haggard vet says. His voice is something between a rumble and a rasp, a bit slurred— by more than drink. With two pint bottles of vodka on his table, and one on the bar, the fellow's been drinking like a fish. He's battling some of his own demons, it seems.
"Jim? Where's Jim. Jim was here." He staggers once and casts his eyes left and right, not quite looking up still. "'s okay, Jim, siddown, he didn't mean it," the vet says. He staggers and almost stumbles, catching himself on the chair and completely ignoring Amadeus rushing for the injured man. He looks up at Trish from under sullen brows. "You know Jim? Jim's good guy," the vet slurs. "Always had a good joke. Smartass," he says, grunting once in an aborted chuckle. "Jim's good guy," he repeats, his words trailing off sibilantly.
*
A simple nod is given by Trish to Amadeus. "Oh, not at all. And…thank you." Placing her drink down on the table, she retrieves a handkerchief from her purse and wipes down the chair before deciding to sit on it. Her gaze, inexorably, turns to the vet, her brows furrowed. "I knew a Jim, once. But I don't think it's the same Jim you're looking for." She offers, rather unhelpfully. "But what does your friend Jim look like? Maybe I can keep an eye out for him? If I see him, I can tell him that someone is looking for him."
*
Cho eyes the haggard vet for the moment, tending to the injured bartender…who's not doing so wonderful at the moment. "Hey, are you alright, buddy?" He starts administering some basic first aid. Checking for a concussion and the rest. "Alright, alright. I'm a doctor, it's fine." It seems plausible enough, perhaps, though the guy doesn't look a day over eighteen. "I'm going to set your nose back and…it's going to hurt. But something tells me your insurance plan isn't super."
Looking back up to Trish then, he dips his head in a nod to the woman. "Hey, no problem. I'll be…right there." After allowing the bartender a good, long swig of whiskey, he presses his thumbs gingerly to the sides of his nose and observes the datastreams carefully and respositions as necessary.
Meanwhile, he also continues his conversation with the haggard vet. "You can't just go around beating the shit out of people because their opinion is different from yours. This is America." There is a glance of dark eyes up to him before he returns to the task at hand.
This task also rouses the lump in his jacket, a tiny fuzzy grey head poking up from the breast of his jaacket to take a look around with a high-pitched yip. There is then an extraordinarily adorable puppy yawn in tow.
*
"Didn't beat him up 'cause we had a difference of opinion," the man at Trish's table says. He ignores his glass and drinks from the pint bottle. "Kicked his ass for being a fucking racist." He belches softly, exhaling alcohol fumes, and then chugs down some more.
His head, almost detached from his neck, bobbles around so her can peer at Cho. "It's America. You can't just go around treating people like shit because they look different from you."
Something in his eyes flickers— almost impossible to identify— and a tic sets in near his left brow, eyes wincing shut.
He grumbles and passes his right hand over his face, then drinks more vodka down. "'s America," he repeats, muttering to himself.
He looks up at Trisha. "Aren't you that dame from the billboard?"
*
"Is the gentleman at the bar going to be okay?" Despite the bartender's racist overtones, seeing a man so easily beaten isn't something you see every single day. Trish certainly didn't like some of the things he was saying, but she didn't want to see him hurt. "I hate to be a bother once more, but do you have an animal with you?" She asks of Amadeus. That's not something you see everyday.
Once more, her attention is turned to the vet. "Ah…" She hides in her drink for a moment, almost finishing it. "Yes, well, you see…I suppose I have been on one or two billboards in my time." She smiles softly. "Trish Walker. Charmed, I'm sure." She gently places her hand out toward the drunken vet.
*
Oncce the bartender has his drink, Amadeus moves thhis thumbs in a jerking motion to set the nose back into place in such a way that any fragments will fall back into place. It's the product of trillions of calculations done in the span of seconds. The bartender howls out in pain, but…fixed nose. Squinting then, he nods once to the bartender who…doesn't look happy. Cho makes his way back over towards the table. He regards the man sitting at Trish's table quietly for a moment. "So it's a /stupid/ opinion. His loss, you know? Doesn't justify hitting him." The young man scowls at him a bit and gives him a firm look, but doesn't press the issue further. Guy's clearly got stuff going on.
He nods his head to Trish then, clearing his throat. "Okay as in…? He doesn't have a concussion and his nose will be fine, if that's what you mean. I wasn't able to do anything about his incurable stupidity, but…" A shrug is given, puppy head bouncing on the lapel of his jacket a bit. At the question about the coyote puppy in his jacket, Cho moves a hand to scritch the little guy beehind his ear. "Yeah, this is Kerberos. Kirby for short. My name's Amadeus." The greeting is as much for Bucky as for Trish as he glances in his direction as well.
*
"Trish." The man's eyes swing back to Cho, squinting, and he focuses on him. It's a struggle. "Ama— Amadeus. Wasn't that some composer guy?" he asks, a bit blearily.
He pours more vodka down his throat. "You don't get it kid," the fellow says, not seeming to notice the tic in his right hand— something psychological, most likely. "You gotta stand up against that. It isn't some opinion," he snorts. "Guy doesn't 'think' all slants are bad. He /knows/ it. Yo- you can't convince people like that. You don' argue with'im, or talk 'em down. You put 'em down. Can't change his mind, but I bet he keeps his mouth shut next time Jim walks in here."
"Where is… Jim, I thought… thought he was here," the haggard fellow says, squinting around the bar.
*
"He's lucky that he doesn't require a trip to the hospital." Trish shakes her head. She clicks her tongue and smiles at the puppy. "Kirby and Amadeus, fixing noses and hiding in jackets, hmm? All in a day's work, I suppose." She grins. "And yes, there was a classical musician named Amadeus. If I'm remembering correctly?" She looks between Amadeus and the vet inquisitively.
"You keep mentioning this 'Jim' person." She says to the vet. "Who is Jim, if I might ask?"
*
The vet hauls to his feet and staggers off, moving towards the restroom with little ceremony, and bangs inside of it to take care of …. personal business?
*
"Amadeus Mozart, yeah. My parents were fans of classical names like that." Cho quietly considers him still, squinting his eyes at the man. "Well, he wasn't about to attack me," he starts to protest before the vet gets up to go to the bathroom. Drawing in a breath and then exhaling it as a sight, he does settle his eyes back on Trish once more. This draws a small smile from him and he once again give Kirby a scratch. "Something like that," he murmurs back to her. "We have been through a lot together. I'll do my best to spare you the 'Patsy' stuff. I'm sure you get it all the time. Will 'nice meeting you' suffice?"
*
"It's certainly not a bad name, though. I rather like it." Trish shrugs and tilts her head. She keeps her eyes on the vet for a moment, making sure he doesn't fall over, before turning back to Amadeus. She lets out a little laugh. "Yes, a 'nice meeting you' suits me just wonderfully, thank you. However, I can't stop you from talking about the show, if you'd really care to."
*
"There'd be no reason beyond nostalgia," Amadeus sayss, looking up from Kirby to glance at her again. "I'm more interested in what you've been getting up to more recently anyways. I've been…a little off the grid for a couple of years." The puppy gets another stroke of his head, seeming rather content with this for now. "Well, it's Amadeus Cho. My sister was Madame Curie Cho." He pauses a moment and smiles, rather bittersweetly. "Like I said, they had a thing for the classics. Anyways…" The young man sits down at the table then. "What are you doing in a dive bar like this? I mean - don't get me wrong. You can go where you want. I just wouldn't think you'd be into places like this."
*
"Yes…nostalgia. 'It's Patsy' was a wonderful show. And I loved it ever so much. I'm happy to know that it entertained the country night after night." Trish speaks in a soft tone, there doesn't seem to be any annoyance at remembering the show. "Hmm. I've done some movies. I figured I'd move from the small screen to the big. It's rather quite different, but I like it." She blinks at the Madame Curie reference, science, along with major achievements in it, was never her strong suit. "Nothing wrong with the classics." She notes, however. "They're what brought us to where we are today, afterall!" She chirps cheerfully.
She chuckles softly, looking around the bar, taking it in. "Ah, yes. I was in the neighbourhood. I was feeling a little hungry, to be honest, and had been hoping to get food. But a drink does its job for the time being. I just wasn't expecting so much excitement!" She grins widely.
*
Amadeus returns the grin in full, trying to keep Kirby occupied with petting so he doesn't want to jump out of his jacket to run around. "It's good to hear that you're still at it. You're doing movies now? I'll have to try to catch a showing sometime." With a nod then, he slides his beer away a little and wrinkles his nose up. He's not really a big drinker anyways and the glass is more than a bit too dirty for him to continue drinking out of. "So long as you're happy with what you're doing, I guess. Right now, I'm sort of a private investigator. I think."
He considers for a moment and then lifts his shoulders in another shrug. "But really, I'm a freelance troubleshooter. Trick now is to start getting paid for it. Never got around to college and I doubt I'd actually learn anything anyways." Clearing his throat, Cho settles back into his chair and ruffles Kirby a bit. The puppy yips and then tries to lick him in the face again.
*
The haggard fellow returns a few minutes later from the restroom, looking much changed— he's more alert, eyes flickering with awareness of the people in the bar. The bartender gives him an ugly look, but propped up in a corner and holding his nose in place, he's no real threat to anyone for the moment.
He focuses again on Trish and Amadeus, but this time with a laserlike focus instead of his previous apathy towards anything not his vodka-soaked memories. "You've got a dog in your pocket?" the man observes, cocking a brow at the pup. He extends his right finger towards the pup, giving it an ample chance to get his scent. "I like dogs. Dogs are honest. If they like you, they like you. If they don't, you know it."
*
"Oh! A private investigator! I always thought that it would be interesting to do work like that." Trish brightens and smiles. "Oh, how interesting it must be! Though I've not got much of a mind for investigation. I don't know if I'd know where to start!" She giggles softly and shakes her head. "You know, I'm afraid I don't have much use for a private investigator at the moment, but if you've got a card, or some way to contact you, I'd love to have it. You know, just in case! And if I don't need someone to investigate something, there are usually times that I need someone to troubleshoot something for me!"
"Well now, you certainly seem a bit more perky than before, Mister!" Trish notes about the returned vet. "Feeling better, then?" She can only imagine how he got that way. But she won't ask for details.
*
Cho's eyes slowly lift when the haggard man comes walking back to the table. There's a little bit of wariness in regarding him, but he keeps himself cordial anyways. "In my jacket," he replies with a half-smile. "And Kerberos is a coyote. He lost his mom recently, so I'm taking care of him." There's a firm look accompanying that, perhaps daring anyone to try to separate him and his friend. "He's a good friend, though. So what's your name, guy?" He tilts his head to one side, studying him closely for a moment before his attention is drawn back to Trish. In the meanwhile, Kirby does sniff the man's fingers before licking at them excitedly. Attention!
Amadeus regards Trish with the same half-smile, dipping his head in a nod to her. "It's different. I wrap up most cases in an hour or so, depending." He scritches behind Kirby's ear again as he's busying himself with giving the haggard vet puppy kisses. "I don't have a phone. Honestly, I've only been in the city a day and a half and already…sort of in business. I don't just investigate, though. I can solve a lot of different problems."
*
"Had to get water," the man says. He tickles at the puppy's nose, and a smile flits across his features reflexively. Who doesn't love puppies, right? Monsters, that's who.
He picks up a little kernel of overcooked ground beef from a snack bowl and offers it to the pup on his fingertip.
"He's good. He'll be big— look at his ears. Big paws."
*
"Water…yes. Water does wonders." Though Trish is certainly wary. She finds it a little suspicious. But who is she to say? "A coyote?" Her attention is back on Amadeus and the Kerberus. "Don't coyotes grow up to be, well, dangerous creatures? Just look how that Wile E. Coyote tries to harm that poor Road Runner in all those cartoons. I mean, really." She chuckles softly and shakes her head in amusement, thinking of all the antics Wile E. Coyote has gotten himself into. "That's a shame. I very much would've liked to have such a quick thinker to hire at some point or another. I never know when I might need the services of someone such as yourself."
Looking to the vet once more, she tilts her head. "Might I enquire to your name, sir? It's just, I'd like to know the name of the man who valiantly stands for the rights of others, regardless of the colour of their skin."
*
Amadeus nods approvingly to Bucky as the man seems rather enamored with the puppy. It's true, though. Only monsters don't like puppies. When the piece of beef is offered up, Kirby devours it with astonishing speed before giving the man a happy yip. "You ought to get yourself a dog, mister…?" He never did catch the man's name, but it's likely because he never threw it.
He leaves the matter of introductions alone for now while he settles his attention back on Trish again. He can't help but smirk at her a little and he shakes his head. "So bad," he says, laughing as well. "Not…really. I mean, coyotes are usually more scared of us than we are of them. Besides - what was I supposed to do?" Although he gives her a briefly helpless look, he looks back down to Kirby. "We both lost our families, so we stick together. I was actually maybe looking to get hired on at an agency or something. I'll try to let you know if I get hired on somewhere?"
*
The scraggly fellow keeps playing with the puppy for a long moment, then scritches it behind the ears. "Dogs need room to run. No room in the city." He reaches for his vodka, but caps it instead of taking a slug, and tucks it inside his jacket. Trish, if she's quick, might get a glance of a revolver's butt concealed in the waistband of his ragged dungarees.
Notably, he doesn't give either of them his name.
*
"That would be absolutely marvellous! You can always leave your info at the studio. They can usually pass along info to me." Trish notes, adjusting her purse on her lap. "Aww, poor puppy coyote. And poor you! I mean, not 'poor'…I mean. You seem to be doing well for yourself. It's not easy losing family, I'm sure. I'm sorry to hear about that." She murmurs.
She glances toward the scruffy man as he works on putting the cap on the vodka. Catching a quick glance at the revolver does have her catch her breath quickly. "So!" She says more loudly than she'd intended. She clears her throat and, when she talks, she does so at a normal tone. "How does one take care of a wolf puppy, exactly?"
*
Kirby seems perfectly content with playing. It starts innocent enough of course, but he is soon making growl-squeak sounds and trying to get his teeth on the man's finger. It /is/ playtime, after all, clearly. "Hey. Caaalm," he says at first in an authoratative tone and then a more nurturing one. The puppy looks up at him before going right back to it. He rolls his eyes and then nods to the nameless man. "I know. I really need to find a place outside the city before he gets too big."
With a look to Trish then, Amadeus lifts a brow at the woman and lets a smile cross his lips. It's not necessarily a happy one. "We get by," he says, being a little elusive now himself. "Coyote puppy. Well, I just handle him a lot, make sure he doesn't get into trouble, and feed him a pretty balanced diet of meat and fruit. I had him on formula at first, but he's been eating solid food for about a week."
*
"Dogs are meat eaters," the vet says, shifting back in his chair. "They won't eat vegetables in the wild unless they're starving." He glances out the window and checks a watch on his wrist— an ancient thing, the sort that was once commonly issued to military personnel.
"Cute pup." He scritches the dog once more and gets to his feet, then without so much as a farewell he walks out of the bar, light spilling around him before it slams shut in his wake.
*
"Getting by is important. It is." Trish speaks gently, shaking her head. "And it seems you're doing well enough, huh?" She's distracted momentarily by the scruffy vet, once more, as he merely stands up and starts to walk away, without a word. "Huh. Strange fellow." She murmurs quietly.
"Look." She says, turning back to Amadeus as she pulls a pen and a piece of paper out of her purse. "If you end up having a hard time finding a job, which I'm sure you won't, or if you just need help, leave a message for me here, and they'll pass it along to me." She says, scribbling down a phone number on the paper, passing it over to the young man. "Don't be afraid to get in touch. You seem like a good guy. And we all need a push in the right direction every now and then." She says with a soft, kind smile.
*
"Coyotes eat fruit too," Cho replies to him. Kirby is happy to receive scritches under his chin, of course, but gives a high-pitched whine after the man as he leaves. He gives the pup another sscritch behind his ear and then a stroke of his hand. "Take it easy," he calls after the guy, watching him as the door slams behind him. Once more, he turns his attention to Trish and lifts a brow.
"Guy's got some troubles," Cho says, heaving a sigh and shaking his head. Her words do ellicit a smile, though. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it a bunch. Just a sort of…boost. I could totally pay you back, you know. I can perform hundreds of trillions of complex quantum calculations in my head in seconds if you can find a use for that more immediately." He looks at her, giving no indication whatsoever that he may be kidding. He seems serious enough.
*
Outside, there's a squeal of tires. Shouts. Then an unmistakeable sound— *pop pop* of gunfire. More screams. A crunch of metal on metal as two vehicles collide, and then impact of traffic rearending itself. More screams. More gunshots.
A loud, rending sound, metal screaming protest. "Grey is down! Call for backup!" someone shouts. More gunshots echo, and then it's nothing but cries of anger and pain and distress.
A man crases through the door, holding a service pistol in one hand and blood streaking his forehead— he's wearing a suit, though one that's quite badly stained with blood, dirt, and torn by impact.
"I need a phone!" he shouts, panting. "Some mutant just shot up our limo and kidnapped the Deputy Chief of Police!"
*
"I hope he finds some rest from those troubles of his." Trish shakes her head sadly. "Hey. If I'm hiring you for a job, which I'm more than happy to do, even if it's a 'secretary' job," she grins, "I'd be paying you for the work. No intention of being paid back."
When shots are heard from outside, she grasps the edge of the table. "Oh no…do you think…" She looks toward the door with wide eyes.
*
The sounds from outside have Amadeus immediately sitting upright in his chair and then quickly standing. The man that crashes through the door has his full attention for the moment. "Phone's there," he says to the man, pointing direcctly at the location of the phone. It's in the place that it's most likely to be, of course, given the information gathered by him from the cconstant streams of data that flux through his brain. "That's going to have to wait a minute, Trish," he says without looking at the woman. "I don't know what to think yet. Need to get a look at things before the cops screw up the site." Or 'crime scene', really. Eyes are squinted with no small amount of determination then. "Want to see how it's done?" The question is asked with just a little bit of cockiness, but then Amadeus is heading for the door and waving for Trish to follow.
*
Following Amadeus, Trish is quickly on her feet, purse clutched tightly in her hand, as she rushes toward the door to see what's happening. She just hopes it's safe to be out there right now.
*
The scene outside is bedlam. One vehicle stopped in the middle of the street, looking as if it rearended something. The hood's virtually destroyed, and the panel glass on the front— ballistic— has is ten feet away. A few bulletholes are in the car's panels, and there's at least one body on the ground, being ignored in favor of the man heaving in groaning pain. Two more cars are crashed behind the lead vehicle (a stately towncar) into vehicles parked on the side of the street, and people are milling around in shock and confusion.
To Amadeus' critical eye, though, the scene plays out like he watched it happen. The car was stopped /before/ the engine block was dismembered— ripped out, not merely 'smashed' by impact. And stopped hard despite the 30 mph speed limit. No shell casings— everyone must have been using revolvers. The passenger rear door is on the ground, and it looks like it was ripped clear off the hinges by some exceptional force. Blood on the ground, leading to tire marks that belong to a car peeling off into a side alley.
*
On his way out with Trish, Amadeus takes the lead and holds up a finger. "Let me do an assessment," he says. "Stay behind me." Lifting hiss left forearm then, he fiddles with a watch that seems to be wired to the ssuit itself. A blue field crackles to life around him, surrounding the young man like an aura. As soon as he's /positive/ there's no immediate threat, he drops the shield. For now, he lets the energy crackle aroung him for however long that he spends observing. The datastreams are a barrage of physics, replaying the entire event in mathematical equations in his head.
Cho doesn't seem terribly worried about anyone thinking he's a mutant. Instead, his mind is on the situation at hand. Limo: Stopped, non-functioning. Engine block destroyed before the car was stopped. The rest of the information is taken in and memorized. The car turning down the side alley.
Quickly, his mind works to anticipate the next turn the car will make. Turning the shield back off finally, he gives a nod to Trish. "This way," he tells her before he starts running in the direction the car is headed. Fortunately, this is New York traffic and it really does takee very little to throw a monkeywrench into the works. If he can make it to the intersection in time…
*
The clacking of Trish's heels come to an immediate stop behind Amadeus when he indicates for her to stop. "Ooo." She lets out in aww as the blue…whatever it is surrounds him. That's interesting! Her eyes have only a brief moment to take in the scene before Amadeus is off running, indicating for her to follow. "Where are we going?" Will it be safe? Hopefully it will be safer than here. She starts off running after him, which is quite the feat, considering she's wearing heels.
*
It's a near thing, but Amadeus makes it down the alley, around the corner, and hops a low fence just in time to see it— a commandeered city cab, puttering off towards the island offramps. But Amadeus Cho gets a glance at three things— the cab's rusty tail number, a spot of blood on the back window of the cab, and the back of the driver's head— hair ragged and uncombed, tangled as if from too long without washing.
*
Nothing is ever 'safe' following the seventh smartest being in the world. Trouble just seems to follow the young man despite his rather remarkable lack of actual 'super powers'. As Trish…sort of keeps up with her clacking heels behind him, he's eventually forced to stop as the perp gets away. There were a number of things he could have done to stop the care, sure. Not a one of them didn't involve civillian casualty, though. The commandeered cab is eyed closely, every last detail he can gather being filtered through his hypermind. "Dammit," he utters quietly just as Trish catches up.
Not only does he look at the back of the driver's head, but also as much off his face as he can in the rearview. With a sigh, he finally turns his attention back to Trish and he raises his brows up at her. "Oh. Heels. I'm sorry. Didn't look like the guy we were just talking with, but…" Frustration, really. This city is too big with too many variable and far, far too many people. "End of the line for now."
*
Despite it all, Trish seems to have done a decent job, relatively, running in heels. As if she's had practice. Hopping over the small fence, however, comes with a bit more ease, though she is careful not to snag her dress. "Don't worry. Gymnastics." She explains, though there probably weren't going to be any questions. She takes a deep breath in. "Was that…was that the vehicle with…oh no." She frowns. "Well, at least we can tell the police what they're looking for!"
*