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The afternoon was dull with the sloth of a typical Friday. Long lunches had turned into early trips home to the suburbs, or simply spilled into bars from whatever caf had hosted initial meeting. While the chill in the air kept pedestrian traffic limited, there were still places to be and the occasional flurries of snow couldn't dissuade a New Yorker from their regular tasks.
Skali claimed the sidewalk in her usual fashion, all heels and an elevated visage, calm authority shadowing the curvature of woolen pencil skirt and thick stockings. With the boss out of town, she had taken possession of his mastiff for the weekend, an arrangement that seemed to suit both of them fine. As she had an opportunity to duck out of work early, she took advantage of it to walk home instead of bothering with the bike or the subway. Bradigan trotted pleasantly at her side, seeming to need no leash despite his intimidating demeanor. It was their combined presence that tended to clear a sidewalk, so long as it wasn't one crowded with xenophobic, testosterone driven males trying to prove themselves.
A different woman may have turned down a side street to avoid the three men, crew cut and smelling of a few beers had too early that had embolden them. Considering that Skali was simply a wolf in woman's clothing though, her trajectory didn't adjust, landing her smack in the middle of a few men who had obviously tucked out of college classes a bit early that day to talk to "real mutants" on the street about a class project they were working on discussing public safety and the integration of "different folks" jeopardizing such.
And though Skali may have continued on her way, ignoring the discussion in its entirety, one of the men made the mistake of reaching out and grabbing her by the upper arm. The decision proved to have disastrous consequences.
*
You don't often see someone dressed like Warren in this part of town. But here he is. Having just come from a meeting with NYU leadership about a charitable donation in the name of his late father He is a bit distracted, as well. The situation, someone with obvious money not paying a great amount of attention in a less-than-stellar neighborhood, is far from idea. But as he turns a corner to see a beered-up college student very roughly approaching a woman with a large dog, his mind refocuses on the moment. One doesn't need superhuman vision to see a disaster in the making. He steps more quickly, approaching the conflict in the making.
*
East Village doesn't have a queen or king, per se; all those fancy people live on the Upper West Side. The would be regents and captains of industry avoid this corner of the city, one slightly grubbier than the well-washed buildings and smart architecture of the Financial District. Here the civic soul runs more chaotic and creative, overflowing from adjacent Greenwich Village into slightly less friendly alleys and very busy shops catering to a more working to middle class demographic. And young; the median age, looking around, is probably 22. Everyone wants to be young, full of vim and vigor, challenging the world, right? Students from the three main universities converge; Columbia and NYU in fierce rivalry, Empire State standing out with a bit. The social divides are plainly apparent, and it's the Columbia book bag that sets Scarlett apart. Aside from the flaming red hair, of course, wound into elaborate plaits of a very distinctive design, thinner ones spiraled around a fatter central braid.
She emerges from a forgettable shop carrying a small brown paper bag, handles over her wrist. The scent of aromatic flowers chases after her, cutting through her native neroli. Candles, soaps, and other homemade concoctions fill the place, and ooze into the street, probably enough to offend the dog. Not a moment later, she turns and heads up the sidewalk, moving up from behind the foolish students picking a fight with a confident woman and their dog. You'd think they would know better.
*
Nightcrawler doesn't spend all that much time in Mutant Town, despite the consideration that he probably -should-, but with the holidays approaching, he's actively trying to search out someone he knew lived there. Or used to. Today didn't have much luck but a note was left in her apartment. On the way out was when he caught sight of the three students starting a ruckus. At first, he teleports to a nearby fire escape to observe, especially when he catches sight of a familiar blonde man whom he hasn't seen in a while. A whistle is given to the woman who just exits the shop…intended to call her attention to his perch on the nearby fire escape so Scarlett can get a sharp-toothed grin and a wave.
*
Everything freezes before a dog bites. Silence echoes and teeth itch. The world narrows down to that singular point where the eyes harden and then fur and musculature explode in violence. Of course, the man didn't notice this warning. He didn't see the way Skali and the beast froze in tandem, their yellow eyes turning to survey what trap had sprung to delay them so. He didn't notice her quiet, too quick to wag his own tongue. Harmless in his ignorance and privilege, he was in mid-sentence about, "-just need to ask you how you feel surrounded by the potential incineration or imploding window pane because of your neighbor-" when the mastiff hit him like a freight train.
Its jaws closed around a calf, bulging at the shoulders as its neck wrenched back and forth, back and forth, in a spastically purposeful attempt to drag down the now screaming college student. If not for the horror show of violence, perhaps the woman's features, completely calm if not bemused, would have been noticeable. As it was, most were too focused on the animal savaging someone asking a simple question to notice Skali's sadistic enjoyment of the overreaction.
*
For just a moment, Warren's attention is called away by an odd sound, and he looks up towards where he heard the "Bamf". And then there's screaming. And Warren goes running towards it, trenchcoat lifting oddly behind his back as wings instinctively try to spread. He may not take not of the look in Skali's eye, but he does note her inaction., mistaking it for the freezing of someone unprepared for violence. He calls out as he closes in, "Call off the dog! Call him off!"
*
Glittering jade eyes turn upwards to trek the whistle, a look of delight transforming Scarlett's clouded expression. The sun chooses odd moments to come out, proverbially: Kurt's arrival brightens her, just as the animal takes a chomp out of the social activist. The young man with a life lesson taught to him harshly did not recognize the threat. Pity on him, not reading the situation right to know when the hackles rise and what the protective posture of the dog means, the shift when he and his mistress turn aggressive. The redhead, on the other hand, seems to. Call it the privilege of facing the mastiff. Call it the curse of experience. Her shoulders tighten even as the howling cry of pain takes shape.
Four or five steps into motion put her towards the fellow, Warren barreling in. The shout is already loosed, and the evidence she sees is simple. Gloved hands wrap around the injured man's midsection if she gets there first, and she hauls him back. Some people are worth playing tug of war with. Scarlett is not one of them.
*
With Scarlett and Warren entering the fray, Kurt is going to stay out of it…for the time being. Not that the men deserved it for picking on folks, or they didn't read the dog's signals, but it's too crowded already. Besides, he's a little more concerned at the woman who seems completely nonplussed at the dog's reaction. The fact that she seems to be relishing the attack means he wants to keep his eye on her.
*
A single hand extends, palm flat, as if she could grab the collar. Instead, it rises to ward off the oncoming interference, her gaze hard as she barks out with an air of authority that did not pretend, "HOLD."
Immediately the animal stilled, but it did not let go of its purchase. Upon Rogue's arms closing around the victim, the jaws bulged and it seemed to be considering shaking the grip once more but continued to waver obediently under the command extended from the pencil skirted woman. Skali's tone was completely bored, a loathing spared as she looked at the other two students who were swearing and yelling and working up to kicking the dog until she had shouted. Now they seemed indecisive, the entire scene turning from 'accidental mauling' to 'purposeful savaging.' As the dynamic dawned on those present, the woman dusted off her arm where the man had grabbed her and let out a sigh.
"Out, Bragadin."
And just like that, the man was free. The dog trotted pleasantly back to his mistresses side, little stub of a tail wagging and shoved his blood-stained slobber against her hip. Kneeling down to his level, she cooed affectionately as if this dog had not nearly ripped off somebody's leg, "Yes, who's mommy's good boy. That man was rude. People should learn proper manners."
And the 's' on manners practically hissed as she shot a venomous look at the still prone and sobbing student who looked to be bordering on shock, even as his two friends rushed in to help Rogue support him.
*
Well, she did, technically, call the dog off So to some degree Warren got what he asked for. But seeing the way the woman and the dog react afterwards makes him shoot her an angry look before he is kneeling beside the bitten student, getting blood all over his nice trench coat and expensive shoes. He points to one of the other two students. "You! Run. Find a phone. Call an ambulance. Now!" Then he turns to the other one, "You! Your shirt!" Which gets a blank stare, even as the first student turns and dashes off. Warren barks out, "I'd like your friend not to bleed to death here, so give me your shirt!' Which finally breaks the semi-drunk student's stupor. A moment later Warren is wrapping the shirt around the wounded leg and the remaining standing student is bare-chested and rubbing his arms for warmth."
*
Scarlett is just a young woman holding a bleeding student taller than her, likely someone going fast into shock. Familiarity for Warren, the financial Elohim landing before them, comes second to the need to staunch the bleeding. She puts the man down, folding almost perfectly in half when doing that, her long trench coat strained to match her flexibility. Nothing strange to see here. The blonde man clearly has instructions outright, and she offers nothing to that direction yet. The college student has two gloved fingers flashed in front of his face. "How many do you see? Same number of girls you claimed to sleep with last week?" she murmurs, adding a burr of humour to her lilting English-inflected voice. Her arm is still scooped under his neck, supporting his head, so his life doesn't leak out through his calf. Be grateful for the small things, at least it isn't the femoral artery. It puts her on something of a level with the mastiff, if it chooses to leap at her or Warren in protest.
A glance passes for the general direction of Kurt, but of anyone, he can probably count as taking care of himself the best. Her voice stays in that mild, mannered strain even as she murmurs, "Ma'am, proper manners do generally entail not permitting one's trusted companion to attack an unarmed man, even if he committed the error of touching you. That level of familiarity may be a terrible breach. Not enough to justify this, however." The tone and volume command a softness to them, nothing that would remotely be called obsequious or, by other turns, loud.
*
There's the sound of one 'Bamf' up by the fire-escape and another near Warren and the wounded man even as Kurt appears amid a cloud of Brimstone smoke. "I can take him faster to the hospital." A glance is given to the woman and the dog before he reaches to take the injured student. "You…" is said to the other drunk friend, "Come here." Not that he expects the man to come much closer if they're really trying to be obnoxious to students.
*
Skali considers the process of stabilizing the student with a detached interest, a vague willingness to be polite that was draining steadily from her attempted humanity. It had been a long day. She was waiting on remorse to dawn that never came, and instead she found herself inconvenienced and annoyed. It showed in a twist of her lips and a shake of her head, dark curls bouncing around that oddly amber visage.
"The dog was gentler than I would have been."
As if this excused the entire situation, Skali turned to depart if not otherwise impeded by the heroes. Police reports weren't something that readily occurred to an Asgardian deity, no matter how long they had lived on earth.
As her back turned, the unfamiliar 'pops' of space and time imploding to make way for one blue, tailed, teethed little demon-thing brought her to pause and she glanced over her shoulder with a curious tilt of her head at the emerging scene. Even as the shocked and intoxicated friend stammered something about 'mutant'. Perhaps it was terror overwhelming fear, but he stepped obediently forward to Kurt's beckoning.
*
Warren secures the bandage as best he can, and nods to Kurt. "I'll leave him to you then." The fact that he seems startled by neither Kurt's sudden arrival nor his physical appearance may be notable, particularly to anyone who recognizes the young businessman. He wipes his bloody hands on the sounded man's already ruined pants, then pulls back to get out of his way, turning instead to watch Skadi and see how she reacts to Rogue's calm scolding.
*
"Really."
The very tone adopted by Scarlett speaks to implicit boredom, the utter blasé tone of a girl who has seen just about everything in existence and come out the other side. It practically adds on, tacitly, 'My grandmother has done that.'
Space distorting and tearing to allow Kurt through does not produce a markedly different reaction visually. The lithe young woman stands up straight once he has the patient, at any rate. "If you would, mein Freund." A little German touches her lips, a test of camaraderie and social acceptance. Twenty years ago, no one would have dared it. Left to her devices, however, she is gently rooted to the sidewalks, doing not a thing but leveling the faintest social censure in a look. "Whom are you, ma'am?"
*
First, Kurt lifts up the injured man — he may be somewhat slight, but he's not without strength. Then, whether or not the friend likes it, Kurt is clasping a hand on his harm and teleporting the three of them away in a cloud of that dark, smelly Brimstone.
The injured man will be brought directly to the nearest Emergency Room and the friend will be left there with him. Kurt, however, won't be staying…he doesn't want to get blamed for the man's condition. It's only a few moments before Kurt returns, with barely time for the original waft of smoke to disperse. "That was not very kind of you or your dog, Fraulein. A simple 'No' and 'Go Away' would have worked, ja?"
*
Skali responds in a curt and effortless lie to the inquiry for a name, "Trish." Offered up easily.
While rarely a woman who favored subterfuge, she could tell that this narrative wasn't angling towards the 'poor defenseless woman defending herself' script. If she was to play the villain, it best be without an identifying civilian nature. It seemed the only thing holding her attention right now was the blue being popping in and out of existence with various passengers, her eyes widening and a smile spreading with each successive appearance. Finally, she remarked in his final appearance with something akin to glee edging her tone,
"You are fascinatingly wonderful."
Even as she spoke, her nose flared like a dog taking in a scent, a hand still busied with scratching behind one of her hound's cropped ears. All that flooded her nose were lotions and fragrance though, emanating from the little paper bag long abandoned in the chaos of conflict. Skali sneezed with eyes watering before realizing the suggestion of inaction had been posed to her. Her head tilted, as if truly working over the possibility before she patiently responded to the blue-tinged being. Whatever arrogance she had pretended at earlier seemed to have evaporated with her fascination.
"Perhaps, but it invites conversation. It allows for them to explain themselves, to further the harassment. The issue isn't what they did. It's that they feel entitled to do it. Men like that could stand a good dose of humility."
*
Warren waves a hand in front of his face, fanning away the sulphur smell from Kurt's teleportations. Getting to his feet, he addresses Skali, "And humility can be learned without crippling injury. You could have coast that man his leg. Or worse." He glances towards where the student he sent to call an ambulance ran off to. Then he turns his head towards Scarlett and says quietly, "Should the police arrive, I think we can just tell them a passerby offered to take him to the hospital more quickly. I don't think the means used needs mention?"
*
"Of course." Scarlett gives little indication the decision sits poorly with her, if it does at all. Attention in these days might just come with registration somewhere nasty or the wrong people showing up in a heaving, snarling brood of pitchforks and torches. Her arms crossed over her chest, she offers a fairly precise nod. "It is enough to say 'no,' ma'am. Most men and women will listen when you say it. Or 'I am not interested.'" Her tone remains that neatly even register, even if she is watchful, poised to flight if the situation calls for it. In her case, potentially literally.
*
Nightcrawler wasn't expecting that compliment. At all. "Ahhh…danke…but that does not change that you hurt someone!" Most people run screaming from him or accuse him of being a demon. 'Fascinatingly wonderful' isn't something he hears often. He gives a little shake of his head before nodding at Warren's words, obviously agreeing with him. "Also, your dog will get in trouble if they find out." A glance is given to Warren, "Are you all right, mein Freund? It is good to see you again, but I am sorry it was with this." He also looks over to Rogue, "You could have even pushed him away. It is daylight and there are people around. He would be very stupid to push more." Now, he might have, but they will never know, will they?
*
Skali laughs openly at the discussion, the sound rich and warm despite its cruelty. It belonged on an open field of battle, as blood-spattered as the beast happily panting at her side. The mastiff seemed to laugh with her, looking up at her revelry and widening his own grin just a tad.
"He can live without a leg. Perhaps then he will know what it is like to be something besides what he is accustomed to being. Legs."
A 'tsk' noise was made as if they were all being entirely too dramatic before she continued,
"Tell the police what you want. The story doesn't change. He was attacked by a woman and her dog. A cadre of Good Samaritans, including one very obvious mutant, saved his life. It makes for a lovely story, considering he was a discriminating prick."
A batting of those yellow eyes was entirely unsettling, but she feigned innocence anyways with a shrug,
"I keep a dog so I don't have to get my hands dirty. Thank you for playing the heroes." And as she turned to depart once more, still laughing quietly, she lifted her hands to give them a few notes of applause, vapidly sarcastic.
*
Warren nods to Kurt, "Likewise. I'd shake your hand, but…" He holds his bloodstained hands as point of demonstration." Then he looks down at himself and sighs, realizing how much blood is on his clothes. He mutters, "So much for the subway." With the woman and her dog departing, he shakes his head, looking to Kurt and Scarlett, "Seems little point in sticking around now." A pause, then he looks to Kurt and an idea strikes him. Throwing off his trench at ground level, where any passerby can see, isn't really an option, but there are other ways. Leaning in towards the blue mutant he asks quietly, "Would you mind dropping me on top of that building?" He nods to one across the street that is higher than the surrounding structures. Assuming the German mutant accommodates, an astute observer might soon see a white winged figure of a man winging it's way rapidly away."
*
The bitter taste of irony in the young woman's mouth is not something to be lost. A faint, slim smile touches her lips. "Til we meet again." That she offers such words in a calm, almost dreamy tone detached from the violence incipient in a blood-smeared dog and a fallen man might be disconcerting, but Scarlett is bohemian enough to drift with the tide. She withdraws to recollect the bag formerly on her wrist, the contents barely given a second glance. A candle can be melted back into two pieces easily, and soap is dense enough to resist being torn apart. Humans aren't so fortunate; no one has really mastered rendering them down and building them back up, regardless of what Apocalypse says to his deluded followers. She casts a glance back, and starts for Stuyvesant.