1964-03-20 - Cannibals of Wall Street
Summary: Can't we just have a nice vernal equinox in the park? Ha! This is New York City, baby!
Related: Something Wicked arc
Theme Song: None
ford amplitude wanda michael 


Ford didn't drive past Central Park often, but when the chance presented itself, he was always one to seize it. Returning to his garage from a trip to visit his mom and aunt, Ford drove past the park on his motorcycle, engine roaring as he squeezed through traffic, taking time every so often to glance at the greenery. It was such a nice sight… he never did get the chance to go in, but one of these days, he'd make the effort. Just, not when he was busy and needed to get back to work. Still, things seemed to slow down around the park. Likely due to the rest of the traffic having to be somewhere else, but wanting to take the time and admire the park as well.

*

Likewise Amp rarely makes it to the park these days. He's not really sure why. He just doesn't. So today when the urge hits him he grabs his acoustic and makes the trek across town from his apartment in the East Village. He's seems to be in his own little world, and doesn't notice the oncoming motorcycle. He steps out right in front of Ford and gives a 'deer in the headlights' look when he realizes his mistake

*

Police cordon off the access to Central Park, but that doesn't mean plucky New Yorkers don't know how to get around that. Granted, a good many pedestrians run screaming from the park or stagger away in confusion. If they're lucky, they're swept up by the EMTs — paramedics by any other names — on the lookout for an increasing number of symptoms they recognise all too well. Unlike last October's infernal situations, these poor souls aren't mauled so much as confounded. Or, they're completely mindless, mauling anything in sight. One of those shambling entities munches on an unfortunate rabbit, uncooked of course, its bloody unshaven face and milky eyes speaking to a businessman who finally made it in the cutthroat business world. If, you know, business means savaging the native wildlife. Unfortunately the police are occupied with keeping up a cordon while falling down exhausted, and the usual traffic doesn't help. The zombie doesn't appear to care about the motorcycle, more drawn to its driver or the about to be injured pedestrian. The rabbit is dead, and oblivious. The young woman circling around the trees is far more interested in the businessman getting up to go after them.

*

Ford looked back from a glance, skidding to a halt as he nearly dodged a collision with Amp. "Hey hey! Watch it, would ya!?" Ford shouted, more out of frustration at being halted than any real worry for the pedestrian. He was okay… shaking his head, Ford looked up and leaned on the handlebar. "Sorry. Got a bit careless there. Just looking at the- park…" Ford blinked, looking back and seeing what looked like a businessman shambling towards them. "…hey! Hey, buddy! You alright? Need a doctor or something?"

*

%tAmp just stands there in shocked confusion. Between almost getting hit by a motorcycle, the madness spilling out of the park in front of him, and the chatter of the police scanners his head is picking up, he doesn't really know what to think. Ya know, other than he picked a lousy day to go to the park. Comprehension is slow to set in, so in the mean time he eyes the bloody shuffling figures, unsure of what exactly he's looking at.

*

The businessman's collar is stained red, as is his chin. Don't look too close at the product of Connecticut dentistry, 1956, or they'll see giblets of flesh stuck inside. Sinews of a rabbit, the blob of fat, he looks like any of the Madison Avenue execs after a hell of a bender at a liquid lunch. He doesn't respond much to them except to nod. "Help," he agrees in a monosyllabic groan, walking towards them with a slight stiffness, but nothing that screams to old horror movies. That doesn't make the experience any less pleasant, especially given he's headed right for the pair of men.

*

Hiding in the winter bare undergrowth would be tricky on its own, but with a burgundy leather jacket cut to the mid-thigh, that may be practically impossible. Wanda avoids the obvious hazards on her path, but the shambling businessman abandoning his hare dinner and closing in forces her out from cover, much as she might not want to. No choice for a gun here, even if she had one; and too many observers for the other choice. Choices narrow by the breath and she flits out from behind a tree, holding out her fingers in a warning gesture. "Run," she says flatly, her voice accented, and sharp as a knife between the ribs. Nothing like alarming the populace.

*

Ford looked at the fellow for a moment, then to Amp. Was he… going to help? He seemed in a bit of a daze too. God, was everyone off their rocker today? And then, some curious woman was telling them to run? Seriously? From what, her in that outfit? "…grah!" Ford huffed, moving cycle to the sidewalk and putting up the kickstand. "Sheesh, I am gonna be SO late!" Ford cussed, getting off the bike. "Alright, fella! Come here! Let's find you a doctor… or at least an ambulance or stretcher…"

*

Ford shook his head and moved towards the clearly bloody man asking for help. Despite what the strange woman was advising. He really was too much of a bleeding heart.

*

At about the moment the he hears the words 'run' it all clicks. He remembers the comics he used to read as a kid. Freaking Zombies! Normally Amp is more of a lover than a fighter, and he seriously considers the advice to run but this guy with the bike is about to get a bit taken out of him. With surprising speed Amp swings his guitar from his back and strikes a chord. With a little bit of concentration the sound condenses into a near solid concussive force aimed at the wall street cannibal.

He also makes a mental note. Wall Street Cannibals would be an awesome name for his next band.

*

Move over, Wolves of Wall Street. The Fine Young Cannibals are on their way to the top! They're hungry and ambitious, though in this case, it's to make a case for getting some help by expanding their business network. Ford looks plenty compelling with his offers of assistance. The fellow's suit is off the rack standard, pretty nice, minus the signs of some kind of distress. He walks right up to Ford, and more or less uses that moment to collapse towards him. It doesn't help his office shoes are not suited for the grass and wet earth of Central Park.

*

Ford blinked as the businessman fell at him… and just as Amp pulls out his guitar and plays his magical music blast of power, it seems to click in Ford's head too! Zombie! "Oh sh-!" Whatever he's about to say is cut off as the blast of sound impacts him and the zombie. While the business muncher seems to take it okay, Ford decidedly doesn't. Not as much as he'd like, anyways. Wobbling back and regaining his grit, Ford shook himself free and jumped back on his bike. "Nope! I do not get paid to deal with this kind of aggravation! You win, lady. I'm clearing out!" And on that note, he revs his motorcycle and continues his snaking through the traffic.

*

ROLL: Wanda +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 42

*

One thing leads to another, and a man gets a hug, another plays music, and the golden-skinned Witch tightens her shoulders in clear dismay for the state of affairs. Usually, the shout of 'run' works. When that fails, she pulls a knife from a sheath in her tall boot and stalks forward, holding up the fine, slender weapon. "Free hamburgers at the cafe!" Maybe that will entice people to run as fast as they can and get out of dodge, especially given that the man pushing away the businessman roars off. What's a knife going to do against the likes of that? Potentially a fair bit given he's bloody from the chin to the chest, and she might be responsible. Wanda's gait has nothing friendly to it, her purposeful stride moving past the traffic and the one alarmed journalist flapping about in a khaki coat. Subtlety: it was supposed to happen once. On the back foot, her choice is pretty plain. An invisible bolt, normally seen and perceived only to mystics, takes shape on her fingertips and launches at the unsuspecting zombie, knocking it flat again.

*

As the motorcycle drives off Amplitude shakes just shakes his head. "Only in New York do you help a guy get away from a zombie and get a cloud of exhaust as thanks. Jerk!" He sees the zombie take a dive from some invisible force. One would think he'd be frightened at prospect of being confronted by the the shambling hordes of the walking dead. Or at least a little shocked to learn that they exist. Instead he keeps walking, and playing. His single chord forming an up beat rock melody. He makes his way toward the journalist, sending small blasts of sound toward any other zombies he comes across along the way.

*

Many people may be running away but one jogger is running towards the chaos playing out in the park. Not out of some greater sense of duty, or some pocket power that'll pose an easy solution to the problem at hand… more just, from his experience of the city so far, he's seen and heard plenty of strange siutations play out.

So wrapped up in his own personal battles playing out in his head Michael fails to see the one developing in front of him. Until some random guy falls over in a wee bit of a state. Zombie? C'mon now. He cannae have heard that right. Picking up the pace a little and moving towards the altercation he then stops, making a show of being puffed out and tired, whilst taking off his tracksuit jacket.

When something happens, you gotta work with what you got. Anyone comes near him with anything he'll wrap and throw. Hopefully. If it'll do any good. Self defence never had a supers special class for it.

*

The zombie is, in its credit, just a businessman in a suit with formal shoes, and a bit of blood running down his chin. Never mind he could be the victim of a traffic accident and now someone playing a tune to his despair, but he repeats, "Help!" in a drawling voice, though being knocked back and skidded along the tarmac isn't a good sign. It doesn't try to speak again, its eyes going grey as mist, and its body shuddering in a seizure. Now it's an injured businessman having a horrible time in the city. Its attempts to get up keep getting foiled by amplified noise, and the girl in the red coat emerging from the woods, though that's a whole lot harder to distinguish. She merely brandishes a knife and hisses under her breath, coiling to pounce.

Why on earth the Irishman chooses to introduce himself to the battlefield now is a questionable offense. Since no one is listening, the best she can do is silently twist the fates, and spin luck out on the other two.

*

This is getting ridiculous. Amp just wanted a nice quiet day at the park to write a few new tunes. This writhing undead accountant is everything that's wrong with this city. This kind thing never happens back home in Atlanta. With his frustrations rising, Amp turns back to wretched man-eating creature and plays the signature Chuck Berry riff, leading right into Johnny B Goode. With each step forward and each chord change Amp channels his frustration into the sound pummeling the poor creature with wave after wave of concussive sound. The sound of cracking bones and squishing flesh can be heard piercing the song as convulsing body is pushed a a half inch into the ground beneath it.

*

Okay. Better than. Good, great, even! Pulling his tracksuit jacket over his shoulder and giving a half salute, half wave, to his mysterious benefactors he thinks it's best to take a win where he can find it Michael covers the short distance towards the fence then throws the jacket over the railing, using it to haul itself up and over. It's not the move he meant to make but that's the city all over for you. People with powers have got the big stuff covered. The ones who need help get it without asking and the world keeps turning. With kindness like that and a lot of luck… he might just make it long enough yet.

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