1963-11-10 - Riotous City Hall
Summary: A City Hall meeting has the potential to turn violent, but some heroes counteract the efforts… mostly.
Related: The Meanest Town on Earth
Theme Song: None
kingpin sinjin liv claire llew rogue 

It's been over a week since the assault on City Hall, and the week has been challenging to say the least. Across the city it most definitely has not been business as usual. Between the assault on the protestors calling for more stringent policing of people with abilities, the attacks on mutants that make them impossible to blend, and the discovery of aliens in NYC, much unrest has befallen New York.

So while the building has been deemed unsafe to occupy, City Council has most definitely been engaging in business-as-usual, albeit in an unusual location. The bottom floor of Fisk Industries had been generously loaned to Council and the public.

Today, however, an emergency public council meeting has been called. Following the desperate of citizens across the city, Council is having an open debate on strategies to cope with the ability problem, and even as council shuffles in to take their places behind a long table, it becomes clear that the tensions are high and growing ever higher.

Citizens already line the entire gallery, and others are in line to present arguments to urge Council to create policy around the mutant problem. Some come with signs; the aren't happy messages of peace.

Mayor Robert F. Wagner Jr. stands from his spot and eyes the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you we are all gathered here for civilized debate. No chanting. No picketing. Say your piece and we will convene on the ideas you present."

A very large businessman lingers near the back of the crowd. It's a space that's all too familiar to Wilson Fisk; he commissioned this tower shortly after his spice industry took off. That said, he'd been given kudos for allowing Council to borrow his main floor. A favour, he'd said.

Fisk turns his head to the person nearest him and offers, "The odds of Wagner getting his way seem slim. Perhaps I should've suggested they use the Baxter Building. Everyone expects disaster there — "


"Tsk." Sinjin can't help snickering at that. "This could get unpleasant, though, you're right." He looks around. "Do I see extra security?" This place is a pot waiting to boil over and the quarters are too damn close for pyrotechnics.


Fisk is not the only large person lingering in the back of the crowd. Liv looks a little different than he does, though; about all they have in common is the fact that she's also wearing a suit, slacks and all. The blonde, hair done up in Asgardian-style braids, looks considerably less comfortable in the suit, too.

No matter. Hands clasped loosely behind her back, Liv leans slightly to one side to murmur to the man next to her: Llew. "This is going to be a circus. Will you need me to help you out if it becomes necessary, or will you be alright?"


Silence. Claire was here yet not undercover as she would. If she were to be the face of the Storefront Clinic in Harlem, she had to at least care about everything that happened with the city as a whole. But she remained there, in the middle, her back arching as she tries to lift herself from the seat to see. There was someone who had a poster board, blocking her vision, and if this didn't make her angry.. it would soon.

With a little hiss of breath, she slowly rises from her seat, carefully shuffling down the isle to make her way out into the open. Standing in the frock of those who had come together, but with nothing to obstruct her vision.


The blind agent standing beside Liv cants his head to the side a bit, the corner of his lips pinching together in thought — and no small degree of consternation.

The tension in the air is particularly felt by Hunter — the black Labrador seeing-eye dog at Llew's feet. The agent strokes the dog's head soothingly and takes a breath.

"Don't worry about me, my dear," he tells Liv in his light-timbred, British accent. Llew lifts a hand to rub his enormous chin and gives a slight shake of his head. "I can hear it in their voices — and you can practically taste the sweat… Apologies. A touch graphic, that turn of phrase. I'll sing if I must… and we'll see how it goes. Chin up!"

Despite the jocularity in his tone, he is worried.


Columbia produces its fair share of rabblerousers and unconventional thinkers. Some of them have streets named after them. Some have early graves. Sometimes they're the same people, often embroiled in political causes such as this. The Flower Girl: a strand of white chrysanthemums in her Asgardian-braided hair, a basket of white irises over her arm. No one is likely to question their presence, albeit the guards probably searched them all and earned a pair of white irises in their buttonholes for the efforts. The flaming redhead of Greenwich Village, last seen blessed by the Dalai Lama prior to all hell breaking loose in Times Square, is a calm presence here. Add a pretty broadbrimmed hat, a suitably lovely dress, and white gloves for the suitably perfect image of 'Young Lady Citizen At Council' caption. She moves mostly unimpeded among the protesters. By now? They ought to know her reputation when she appears. Violence might show up, but it rarely touches her.

Scarlett stands in the middle of it all, brim of her hat shading her face, murmuring very softly to others in the crowd. "Pardon me," she might whisper, turn hither and yon to ease even deeper in. "Thank you. Flower?"


"Unpleasant may be the understatement of the year, Mister Allerdyce," Fisk notes casually. "But yes, extra security seemed apt. Mayor Wagner wasn't convinced, but I like my walls, well, standing." His eyebrows lift expectantly at that, in some way offering an opening for Sinjin to agree with him. "And, to be honest, it wouldn't do much for our property values if something.. untoward happened here."

Scarlet can make her way through the crowd well enough, but it's clear even as she rather gently tries to part waves to enter into the inner fold — people are getting increasingly unhappy, even before this actual conversation has begun.

The first one up to the microphone, an innocent-looking blonde waif woman clears her throat. "One of them attacked me." Pause. "In the subway! I swear it happened!" her cheeks flush. "We need someone to do something about the problem! They are unchecked, they hurt us, steal from us, and destroyed City Hall! These mutants want to destroy society as we know it!"

Fisk's head turns towards Sinjin. "And so it begins," he murmurs.

Is it getting hotter in here?


"Some people just want to watch the world burn," Sinjin says dryly. "But I'll try not to start with your building."

The murmuring of sympathy for that young woman rises and she looks heartened by it. But the next person to speak up, an older man, doesn't have quite the same inflammatory commentary.

"I know some of them are criminals but I…know…one. A young person." His shiftiness suggests that he's talking about someone in his family. "And they haven't done anything wrong. We shouldn't punish people for things they didn't do. That's what Commies do. Thought crimes and gulags, right?" The response is not heartening, though some people seem less enthusiastic than others and they quiet enough to let the man continue talking — how to separate the good from the bad, it's an age-old problem.

"He's not wrong," Sinjin says to Fisk. "I suppose I should speak."

It takes him a moment to get to the front but then the older man steps away and the mayor, looking moderately alarmed at Sinjin — that's always comforting — gestures to him to step up.

"Good evening." Sinjin's accent is very Australian, next to all the familiar New York ways of speaking. "I supposed I should make myself known, since I've been writing about this for a while. Some of you have never met — or think you've never met — a mutant. Now you can say that you have. I won't deny that there are forces out there of every imaginable type who are the enemies of order. And I agree that it's frightening sometimes. This is a problem that I believe we can solve together better than apart. So, like the Mayor and Mr. Fisk and others, I'm here to listen to you. Please understand that we are just people, too. No matter what we can do."


"Graphic, maybe, but apt. No need to apologize at all," Liv tells Llew with a very wry smile, and it carries into her tone of voice. And then, as people begin moving to have their turn to speak, she allows her eyes to scan over the crowd.

They narrow ever-so-slightly in recognition when she spies Scarlett across the way, her brow furrowing. But Liv's eyes are immediately drawn by the actual speaker at the mic.

Even though Llew can't see it, she rolls her head towards him, her cheeks puffing up as her eyebrows raise. But she brushes the expression aside quickly, giving her head a slight shake as she goes back to watching the room as various speakers take their turns. And the last one… hm.

"That's the reporter who broke the Weapon X story," Liv very quietly murmurs to Llew. "Looks like he's on the mend."


The soft asking of a flower has Claire turning briefly, her hand reaching out to lightly take the stemmed thing from Scarlett. "Thank you." Claire murmurs quietly, her smile tense, but eyes gone to the front as those begin to speak. "Excuse me.." Claire murmurs, twisting her shoulders to carefully bolster her way through the crowd, ducking as an arm swings haphazardly to draw up a sign, moving through, popping up yet again to get to the front. Clearer pictures, and all.


"I know that voice…" Llew murmurs, both his and Hunter's heads coming up and turning in Sinjin's direction. Llew begins humming softly. Very softly. There's no physical or visible effect to see, but the moment his astral eyes are opened, he suppresses a muted gasp.

"The speaker — your reporter — I remember him from an… altercation with certain… 'sanguine vampiris' in Hell's Kitchen." The humming agent leans in closer to Liv, keeping his voice low — more or less speaking in a singing voice.

"Fire. He wields fire."

The humming stops, and Llew's world goes dark once more. It is only after he stops singing that he notices a scent in the air — something he has encountered more than once. A perfume. He says nothing about it, but Hunter watches Scarlett move through the crowd, with keen interest.

He likes her.


However much the crowd might jostle and shift about restlessly, they do little to knock one piece of flotsam adrift in their midst. Most are still relatively polite to ladies, especially those striving to be mannered in kind. Scarlett gently wraps her fingers around the basket handle upon her forearm to stabilize its presence, allowing the speakers to hold the majority of her awareness. Majority, though not all. She steps aside to allow Claire to go nearer. Sinjin taking to the lectern after the older fellow departs warms the petite smile she already wears, a deepening show of solidarity to encourage another speaker. Though Allerdyce and the bohemian have a history, doubtful (m)any here know of it, and thus she may maintain a proper degree of unbiased anonymity. A nod follows his statement, even if the grumbling around her grows.

"Now," she whispers to the sign-wielder next to her. "Shouldn't we listen to all speakers, not merely all the same kind in a room? Not much of a discussion then." The peaceful, almost blithe smile stands at utter odds with any rising tensions, like she deliberately throws off the grim mood.

A glance back over her shoulder to check upon the many and myriad gives a chance to nod to Liv; neighbours, if not aligned by other solidarity. Others are strangers, not limited from her smile. The scent of neroli and deeper pomegranate, lush sandalwood, a drop of autumn, give something to track.


"Thank you, Mister Allerdyce," Mayor Wagner acknowledges the position. "We want this city safe for all citizens to live." He glances about the room, "You see, we want to listen and propose resolution to the issues at hand." He frowns deeply. "You may not agree with your neighbour, but you must find a way to work with them. You must find a way to peacefully coexist with them. And we are here to do so."
A fellow in the centre of the room pushes several in the crowd. "This is ludicrous!" he yells loudly. "It's not enough! It's not enough!" others seem to take up the chanting. "It's not enough!" The fellow looks towards Claire as he lifts his hand in the air. "We demand you do something! They need to be stopped!"

Fisk's gaze shifts to the security at the door, already anticipating that something is going south. He takes a few steps forward, but takes his silence for a few more moments.

Beads of sweat seem to spread across the brows of those in the space. Tempers seem to be amped up with the heat.


Sinjin isn't sure what's going on with the temperature. It cceratinly isn't him doing it. He is a little irritable, though. He's tired of the scars itching and the cane and the ridiculous way people around him behave. He steps back up to the microphone again, and his tone is neutral, at least. He does want answers.

"Who, exactly, are they?" he wants to know. "And how do you propose stopping them? We understand that you're afraid but what is going to make you feel safer?"


When Llew begins to quietly sing his comments to her, Liv barely even seems to take note of it as anything unusual. She simply leans her head down to listen in respectful silence. When Scarlett catches her eye, she offers her a quick smile and a polite nod.

And then notices the temperature.

Liv's lips draw back into a tight line and she sits up a bit straighter, casting another look around the room for anyone who is looking too calm, too much like they're concentrating on the proceedings.


The shouts of the man next to her does gain her attention, but it was pure bewilderment. Bafflement. Her hand lifts to press against her cheek, her eyes near watering. She wasn't about to cry, but she was getting angry. Angry to the point that she'd -rather- cry instead of raising a hand to harm another. And lord, help them all if she does that. Windmills for the lot of you! Windmills!

"MONTHS AGO.." Claire raises her voice after Mr. Allerdyce had finished speaking. "..a little girl, a MUTANT girl, was murdered in front of her parents by the police. A person who is different than -you-, walks down the street and is met by a gang of people who look -just- like you, and they're terrorized, beaten beyond recognition. Broken down and terrified to even live and work and to support their families! I've -seen- what happens when -people- like you demand someone to do something. I treat their bodies. Their bloods' always on my shirt, I hold their goddamned organs in my hands you idiota!" She reaches out to try to shove the man aside, she was tired of hearing it.

"You create fear around you because you do not -UNDERSTAND-, they're not the only ones being persecuted and held back from their true potential. And god help me, I deeply resonate with them, because I fear ignorant people like you!"


"I don' care! If there're… any o' these freaks in my neighbourhood, I wanna know it!" shouts a man just to the right of the two SHIELD agents, in response to Claire's words. The man is clutching a daughter — likely no older than ten — in front of him. Odd, perhaps that'd he bring a child to a potentially dangerous meeting like this…

Perhaps there was no baby-sitter available?

"I don' want my daughter goin' to school with one o' them!" he goes on to yell, with some nods of affirmation from those around him.

Llew shakes his head.

"I cannot imagine this ending well," says he, humming once more. Invisibly, he sends his astral self over to the shouting man, to whisper in his ear — in an attempt to calm the man down without overtly using his powers.

Next, Llew's soul flies on his voice toward… Rogue. The only other powered person he recognises in the area. "There's a little girl here.." he murmurs — both aloud, for Liv to hear, and psychically to Rogue, directing her attention to the angry father and his daughter. "Please help…"

Llew tries not to hypnotise — just to communicate. It is hard. "I can only do so much." And he gives Rogue an image of himself, for better or for worse, so she can identify who is communicating with her.


Temperatures fluctuating give a technical challenge but a young woman in a minidress lacks for too much concern. Polyester suits and heavy blouses and sweaters favoured by her counterparts make a slow creep worse, that awful sweaty prickle devouring patience. On the contrary, Scarlett in her forward thinking sartorial choices defines a different shade of comfort. Mind you, she brought her own shade in the form of a hat slightly smaller in diameter than Saturn's D Ring. Breathing in the scent of a chrysanthemum pressed to her nose, the bloom imparts a satisfying fragrance while uplifting spirits, when she practices meditative breathing. Chances are fair the unhappy loudmouths fighting for airtime don't recognize this, but if they do, just a girl centering herself.

Sorry, Liv. Clearly she concentrates upon something. But then she also measures the mass of humanity as she does all along, circulating again with her flower and marching straight up to the most fixated black (clad) souls to present them with her flowers. "Have a good evening, sugar" and "May I give your daughter an iris, sir? She's been good as gold" or "Would you like a flower, ma'am?" is certain to do about as much damage as a puppy wagging its tail or a kitten giving big eyes at someone.

Who wants to try and beat a sunny, flame-haired southern (or English?) belle turning on the honeyed charm like the sun coming out of eclipse? For it's not often Scarlett tries, but in that moment, her smile holds the promise of the world and her countenance a light of hope, shared specifically with each person when she looks up to them, her hat tilted back to afford a bit of privacy. It's a moment shared between bohemian dreamer and man or woman or child, something to stamp on their lives in passing, bright when all seems rushed and harried and wasp-stung.

Cool as a cucumber, even if she might be dewy, and singling out her irritated victims for the grace offensive means anyone watching her? They've got marks, now. Clever girl…


"They hurt us for NO reason!" a loud woman yells in the back towards Sinjin. "They are unorganized and just violent! So many people like that are violent! Even the vigilantes are violent! Have you seen the kind of damage they create!"

A fellow near the front builds on this idea, "I know someone who works at Oscorp's insurance company, Sensure! The property damage even the vigilante's cause — "

"We need them to register! It's not enough that they engaged in this behaviour, they need to be regulated," the woman continues.

Fisk's eyes squint. Finally, he uses his berth to tread even further into the room. "Please," he asserts with the authority of someone capable of exercising it in his own strangely soft-spoken way, "This is nonsensical, Miss Temple is right. There are losses on all sides. We need to fix the situation, and clearly shouting is hampering progress."

A single fellow lingering near the door squints at Scarlet hands him a flower, nearly insulted with the assertion that he should want a flower. He emits a breath, and his jaw tightens as he spins the stem over in his hands in a tight circle. His eyes begin to glow a soft red.

The temperature increases further …


"Something is going on here," Sinjin says to the mayor. He knows people. He knows crowds. And this is not normal. Not even for what's been going on recently. "This is New York, it takes more than a townhall meeting to piss people off this badly. Bagels, for example. You may want to call this on account of the riot that's about to break out."

He keeps a tight grip on the cane, even though he can get around without it most of the time, and steps back — not into the crowd but toward the wall opposite the door. He's not going to put himself in contact with civilians if he can help it. Somehow, his lighter is in his hand again.

He's been through worse. But things could get ugly in a heartbeat. And there are kids here. Some gangly young teens and some even smaller than that.


Oh, dear. Liv can't help but let her eyes follow Scarlett's movements as the young woman does, indeed, appear to be concentrating on something. The Asgardian doesn't know what abilities her neighbor has… only that she does, and that is enough for the moment.

And it is because of this suspicion towards Scarlett that Liv is able to see the man's eyes begin to glow red.

She remains where she is, but Liv does reach up to lay a light hand against Llew's nearest shoulder. "If she needs help out, she will get it," she assures him quietly. "But for now… near the door."


"And look at us! Just because we gather here en masse does not mean that we're organized! We can't even give the speaker at the microphone the respect he's due! We're unorganized and we're -getting- violent! Please people!" Claire lifts her hands, at least attempting to calm the crowd where she was. "I've seen the damage lady, I'm a goddamned Night Nurse!"

(Did she just name drop?)

It was a shame, there were children present at the rally, and Claire felt even more helpless than she had ever been in her life. "You're talking about interment camps, slavery again! Lady you're crazy!" Even as Fisk begins to speak, Claire was already moving away from the torrid crowd, her hands thrown up. She gives up.


"The door," Llew murmurs, still in that sing-song voice. "Indeed…" and his voice rises into the high range of a soaring counter-tenor. He switches from random sounds and hums to actual words — a chant, or hymn — and sends his astral-self across the crowd to the man at the door.

The singing agent cannot help but hypnotise some people — carefully selected ones, here and there, Suggesting a moment of calm, or a 'prior engagement', the need to return home…

You left the stove on…

Take your children home; It's safer, my dear lady. You want them to be safe, don't you?

Llew's soul-self stops by a man very close to Claire — a man whose lips are curling, his eyes are twitching in suppressed rage at her for her speaking out. Go to sleep, Llew impresses upon that man, rather powerfully, then he shifts his attention to the fellow by the door once more.

"I cannot keep this many people calm," he murmurs/sings to Liv. "And this particular gentleman… if I try to affect him, it could precipitate the very outcome we wish to avoid." Llew frowns, clearly distressed by the thought.


Somewhere nearby is a young girl at risk in a mob, and the voice of her conscience inquiring that she intervene. Closer is a man glaring at her for an act of kindness, and Scarlett raises her fingers to her lips rather than permit a moue of disappointment to show. His refusal wounds her, if the wound is scarce skin-deep.

He spins the stem, and the innocent white petals swirl. They hit her arm as she starts to murmur something, perhaps an apology. Most decidedly so, for anyone close. Then it happens, a synchronized fall in the comedy of errors played out on the simplest of stages. A jostling crowd, raised voices, easily knocks a girl off-balance. She reaches out to catch herself, making not a sound except the faintest inrush of breath.

A gasp, if one wants to think of it that way.

Or someone about to plunge ten feet underwater. A stumble, knees softened, drops her onto the red-eyed man. Already Scarlett's head turns, mortification and apology blooming, her hand catching for balance on a shoulder, a shirt collar. It only takes an instant, it only takes a brush of skin on skin. Or two or three, to get her balance. "Pardon— forgive, I am so sorry."

The black symphony of the void awakens in a microsecond, slipping the bonds of self-control. Velvet rapture leaps through her fingerpads, and bites hard as any cobra that kissed Cleopatra's breast. Her venom works a whole lot faster, too.


"Mister Allerdyce, you are comple — " but the Mayor can't seem to finish his thought. Oddly, he finds a headache, dizzying and heavy, wash over him. He lifts his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.

Llew's suggestions have some sauntering off, or, at least, starting to before their muscles begin to feel heavy with some other thought or suggestion. In fact, a few that made it to the door rather wearily seem to tired out, dragging as they near the entrance once more, but never making it out of the room. The compulsion is strong and combats hard against the will to do other things. Which could be why three souls near the entrance seem so bewildered with something akin to surprise writ across their faces.

As Rogue touches the young man, the temperature at least seems to let up. In fact, rather quickly, the man can feel a weakening of himself as he drains into her. Similarly, she can feel herself gaining, but not, perhaps, in the way she would expect.

Fisk's eyes flit towards the security, and he issues them a small nod, but much like the others in the room, they struggle to move against the feelings of heaviness that seems to fill the room. And then, without much ability to do much more than contribute to the conversation, Wilson asserts, "We need to build unity, not more distrust."


ROLL: Rogue +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 25


"Transparency," Sinjin says flatly, though that's directed at Fisk more than anyone else — not an accusation, maybe almost a request. "We require more transparency. People like myself should be able to be of use as much as we're seen as a threat. We can't do that without trust and we can't have trust without transparency. Threats won't make that happen. Familiarity will."

Someone is fucking with them, to be crude about it. And Sinjin isn't happy about that. He's not sure the people around him realize it, or are identifying it, but if they find out…heads will roll. He needs to keep moving as though nothing is going on to smooth that out if he can.

"I'm sure Mr. Fisk has suggestions as to how to make that happen. To expose people to those of us with abilities while assuring them that their interests are being protected."


"Just do what you can," Liv murmurs to Llew, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat before she finally moves. She doesn't go far — she just wants to put herself in a better position to assist the gentleman and child that are closest to them, should things grow any worse. There's just something about the mood of the room that has her reluctant to do more, and a part of her is vaguely perplexed by this.

Liv's brow furrows slightly when she sees Scarlett end up jostled into the man at the door, but without any idea as to the woman's abilities, all she really does is crane her neck to try and see more clearly and ensure that it doesn't lead to an actual fistfight…

…and then Fisk not only speaks up, but has Sinjin backing him up. Liv slowly turns to peer towards the pair of them with attentively-narrowed eyes. Something smells off here, and it isn't just the artificial heaviness of the room.


Claire was preparing to leave, but the man glaring at her promptly stopped her passage out. Though, as he seemingly.. faints? Claire tries.. for the life of her to move forward with the quickness to catch him, but one stepped seemed too heavy. Her arm, felt as if it took too long to rise. She didn't yawn, but she felt a certain lethargy that had her crumbling to the floor. Her hands were pressed upon the surface as she tries to draw herself back upright. But.. it felt like she was swimming in molasses or stuck in a sand trap. And it was just a little bit too hot for her liking. "I.. I want to go home…" She quietly murmurs. But she was sure that fell on deaf ears.


Llew nods.

By now, his singing has drawn attention from those nearest to him — not surprising, it's a beautiful, hypnotic sound. He does, however, try to keep his voice as quiet as possible. All throughout the crowd, his astral-self goes from person to person, hypnotising them in moments — even if only for a matter of seconds, or minutes. The message, this time, is the same for each and everyone one of them:

It's time to leave. Go home. Be with your loved ones. You want to be safe? Home is safe…

The agent's voice divides into two — one to keep singing, and the other to address Liv at the same time. "Something is working against me," he whispers to her. "These people… they're under something or someone's influence. Dash it all, but I can't seem to discern how — unless it's that chap by the d — . Oh."

He senses Scarlett's efforts at that man, and lets out a breath. "We have help." Llew goes back to focusing on those who need to get to safety the most: people with children. Parents, seemingly moving in their sleep, return to heading out. A hand rests on the door-handle, slowly turning it.

Llew pushes harder.


ROLL: Llew +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 10


ROLL: Kingpin +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 87


ROLL: Claire +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 16


ROLL: Llew +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 74


ROLL: Kingpin +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 57


The incidental fall, the taste of power, the wordless retreat in apology back among the crowd. Scarlett's sensitive nature casts her out towards the outer fringes, her palm over her mouth in muted embarrassment. Assuredly that. Footsteps in time, she is the silent witness to the complaints flung hither and fro. Best to abide out of sight, out of the way.

The doors may be shut, and the security not exactly helpful, but the flower girl has a plan starting and ending with 'go to blonde with braids like hers.' Inevitable pathways open and shut, and if she ends up shoved about, it's to Liv in particular she goes. That also means Llew. That also means safely near a door. No words are spoken as yet, and they might be grateful for that.


The efforts Llew makes to move people along work… albeit not as effectively if someone weren't actively trying to stop the people from leaving the location. The people with children seem to tread away, finally taking their leave and finding some movement in their limbs again as they do so.

Fisk nods at Sinjin's thought. "Exactly. Transparency. Reliance on vigilantes has created tension that it seems has created a boiling point." He glances towards a fellow wearing a Church of Humanity shirt, "And I do mean vigilantes on both sides." His gaze turns back to the Mayor, "Bob," evidently the pair are on a first name basis, "I know this has been kiboshed before, but the necessity is showing. We require a joint police task force to create that bridge." His eyebrows lift. "We need a taskforce that partners people with abilities with those without in order to build rapport, trust, and inspire confidence in the system."

The mayor directs his attention back towards Fisk, "We've been through this, and we simply do not have the resources to do this right now. Central Park alone is costing us a ridiculous amount of money in infrastructure to rebuild."


Things are calming so Sinjin takes the chance to skirt around the other side of the mayor, headed for Fisk — and the door side of things. The guy with the Church of Humanity T-shirt glares at him, plants himself. And Sinjin just gives him a very neutral look. No sense being threatening. But he's not going to cringe, either.


Liv is able to focus more fully on Fisk once the child she'd been concerned with keeping an eye on departs with her father — just in time for him to make his pitch for the task force. Ahhh. There it is. When Sinjin moves to Fisk's side, her expression can best be described as unsurprised. One corner of her mouth twitches in a quiet 'tch' and she loosely folds her arms, watching.

If she was not so focused on her own suspicions of the two men, Liv might notice poor Claire's plight.

"You're doing very well," Liv murmurs back towards Llew, her tone distracted. 'We have help' brings her some comfort, but: "Is it still an issue, or does it feel handled?"


C'mon Claire. You're not down for the count. You just have to ge-.. oh! While she felt a little bit lighter, standing was such an odd endeavor, it was like she was roused from a sleep that even had her entire leg tingling by way of pins and needles. It was strange, but Claire wasn't dumb. She wasn't suddenly wracked with impending narcolepsy. But it does shut her up and keeps her quiet, and out of the way of any infighting and arguing..


"Stay tuned…" Llew replies to Liv, still pouring his concentration into person after person after person. If there were telepaths in the room, they'd see an almost angelic version of the agent flitting to different people, whispering in their ear and then moving on.

There's an element of urgency in Llew's voice, his stance, and that of his seeing-eye dog. His soul-self finds Claire and whispers:

Don't fall asleep. We need voices like yours. Get up. Speak up. You are not down for the count. Get up.

Llew, the man, wipes sweat from his brow and rests more of his weight upon his cane. To those nearby, it would only appear that a singing blind man is suddenly taken with dizziness.

Finally, Llew's astral presence goes back to the man by the door, and he shifts his hypnotic abilities upon that fellow instead. It's time to rest. Surrender. You are… so very, very tired.

"Oh, bloody hell…" Llew says aloud, trying not to pass out.


Scarlett, having done her part, wisely stays silent and her gaze nailed to the floor. With the hat on, the wide brim tipped downwards also conceals her face and in large part causes no troubles whatsoever for concealing the entirely focused, oddly detached nature she has. Best to sort through those flowers in her basket strung over her arm, no doubt. She says nothing there, otherwise, carefully tucked away near the people who seem the wiser for getting out while the going is good. At least they aren't all pinned down.


Fisk grants John a nod. Evidently he and the reporter have become chummy as of late, at least around things currently transpiring. His lips purse lightly as his gaze shifts towards Sinjin for a few beats and then he nods at Wagner, "Then allow me to pay for it." He lifts his hand, knowing full well that paying for the police would seem untoward, and so, instead, he suggests, "Central Park infrastructure, I mean." He actually smirks as he sees fit to add, "I won't even make you rename it Fisk Park." His arms cross over his chest.

A girl in the centre of the room stares at what most would see as nothing. Llew's astral self flits and her eyes follow him as he floats about. Oddly, strangely, she collapses into a sack on the floor. Her eyes turn upwards and her body begins to twitch uncontrollably as her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her breathing becomes erratic. The people around her form a hole in the crowd, leaving her space as she twitches and flails.

Meanwhile, Llew's influence grows immensely. People take to the calm and hypnotic movement in a way they hadn't…

A single teen runs up to the girl on the floor, and yells over the crowd, "Is there a doctor in the room?!"


"I don't think you want to memorialize your name anywhere that's used as a toilet by dogs and the homeless," Sinjin is saying when the young woman collapses. "Ms. Temple?" he calls, looking around for her. Doctor, he's not sure. But there's a very competent nurse right here. "Where's Ms. Temple?"


Liv looks like she's about to say something in response to Fisk's words when two things happen at once: Llew swears, and the girl collapses. Well, hell.

Since she is not a doctor and Sinjin seems to know of someone who is, Liv instead takes a quick step back to check on Llew, her brow furrowed as she reaches out to carefully get an arm around his shoulders and keep him upright. "Steady on. I've got you. Are you alright?"


There was an angel in her ear. Keeping her awake. Wanting her to speak up. Maybe.. just maybe that was her own doing. Whatever suspicions she had fell apart, for now she felt a new vigor building within her bones. "We don't require a joint task force, Mr. Fisk. That'll only promote predators and more accidents towards Mutants than what the police have already caused!" Surely, he was Wesley's boss. And she may just suffer a 'tsks' from her companion, but she felt strongly about this. A task force was wrong.

And yet, her further words were silenced by a call of a doctor. Claire waited for at least a call or for someone to step up, before wordlessly she pushes through the circling crowd to kneel down with a skid towards the girl. "I have her Mr. Allerdyce!" Claire calls out, positioning her in such a way that she faces the girl whom was soon turned upon her side, using what strength she could to keep her arms still and from flailing. Thankfully, there was nothing else around that could hurt her, but for now, Claire was determined to let the girl ride the seizure out unscathed.

"Someone, call an ambulance!"


"Make the call," Llew says to Liv moments before fatigue overcomes him and he is forced to sit down. Fortunately, with help, he does not hit the ground hard, or hurt himself.

He just sits there, next to his dog, concentrating on staying conscious. All efforts to hypnotise and influence people — from the singing SHIELD agent — fade away, as does the man's sight, leaving his world full of sound and scent.

But no light.

"Someone… had — or still has — a rather dastardly plan to turn this meeting into a riot…" he murmurs while massaging his brow with one hand. "And that fellow needs to be taken in for questioning. I… on the other hand… could use a cup of tea."

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