ArchivedLogs:Doing Good
| Doing Good | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-11-21 "{Can't say I'm not loving this view.}" (Followed by pancakes. Part of Flu Season TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> East Harlem | |
With the highest violent crime rate in Manhattan and a failing educational system, it is easy to overlook the charms of El Barrio. Amidst its problems, East Harlem is a place thriving with culture. Salsa dancing has a rich history in the neighborhood, and in the open-air markets a wide assortment of goods can be bought from the West African community there. Saturday night is quieter aruond here than it used to be. There's far less by way of night life, though a few bars have remained open -- the streets aren't nearly as busy as they might otherwise have been. No taxis to be found. Barely any pedestrians. It's not exactly /peaceful/, though -- down one stretch of street come a number of typically rattling groans. A window shatters. There are a number of figures converging on a row of townhouses, shuffling in with familiar shambling gaits. Not far down the street, Deanna is dressed in jeans, sturdy boots, a dark brown leather jacket, her long dreads held back with a multicoloured headband. There's a katana held in one of her hands -- her other is gesturing up towards a nearby rooftop, then down the block towards the biters. On the roof, Chloe is kneeling. She's in slim brown trousers tucked into high boots. Leather jacket, as well; her dark curls are pulled back into a low bun, a knit cap on her head. She's currently taking aim with a compound bow; there's a low thrum, though aside from this soft whir there is very little noise as one arrow and then another flies down the block. The two zombies /at/ the window drop before they can enter the house. Steve had been picking up the rear of the patrol group, walking sideways and keeping an eye out behind them. He's wearing in a red and black plaid flannel shirt (only slightly chewed!) under a brown leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and black combat boots. Now he jogs past Deanna toward the zombies and, taking his shield from where it had been mounted on his left forearm, hurls at the back of a trailing zombie's head. As the shield spins through the air like a very patriotic frisbee, he draws the long knife at his hip and breaks into an inhumanly fast run. From alongside Deanna, Elliott is breaking into a jog. Not remotely so fast as Steve -- /her/ gait is a little uneven, kind of lopsided; she has one boot, one kind of bouncy running blade. She is combo-breaking: no leather on /her/. A heavy black denim jacket, dark cargo pants, hair tied back in a ponytail. One long knife in either hand. Her head shakes, rather impressed as Steve starts running. "{... weren't kidding,}" she murmurs in quiet Spanish. Deanna's brows raise. The small huff of breath she lets out is -- perhaps also impressed. She doesn't answer Elliott save with a jerky uptick of her chin as she falls easily into a run beside the other woman. The pounding of footsteps and sound of voices turn the clustered pack of zombies away from the window, facing the others. One crumples mid-turn, Steve's shield lodged in its skull. Two more are moving past it, ignoring their fallen fellow as they reach hands upward for Steve. There are a trio of bodies joining the pack, tumbling out of the half-broken doorway of an adjacent storefront to stumble after Steve. It stops Deanna mid-run, katana lifting in one smooth motion to plunge upward through the chin of one of the newly-arrived zombies. "{Can't say I'm not loving this view.}" Chloe's Spanish is light and cheerful from her aerial post as she -- watches Steve run. Draws her bow back again, and neatly drops one of the pair of zombies reaching for him. "{And here I thought you signed up because you wanted to do some good.}" Elliott's tone is dryer, though a small tug of smile flits across her face. She stops at Deanna's back; her footing is unsteady as she spins towards the nearest zombie but her arm is swift and fluid, raising one of her knives to drive through its temple and twist. The last of the three is lunging closer; her other hand thuds out to the side, shoving it briefly backwards. Steve doesn't miss a beat when the arrow takes down one of the two zombies before him. He drop-kicks the other one and, rolling neatly to one knee beside it, plunges his knife deep into its eye socket. His momentum still not fully expended, he dive-rolls and snatches his shield back up from where it lies lodged in the head of the zombie it had dropped. On his feet again, he throws the shield again at the zombie Elliott just pushed back. There's a crunch of bone, a thud and a clatter; the body and the shield both fall to the ground by Elliott, still-chomping head rolling away where it has been severed. There are a last three zombies shuffling away from the house, converging on Steve with harsh rattling moans as he throws his shield. Deanna hops lightly over the fallen bodies around them, stooping as she goes to nab Steve's shield off the ground where it lies. She offers this back to him on one hand as she kicks at the knees of one of the zombies heading towards him. She drives her katana for its eye as it hitches back, jagging it sharply upwards with a small grunt. "{I signed up to do plenty of good, sister.}" Chloe is aiming again, but with the zombies whittled down, now she starts to sling her bow over her back and climb down a fire escape off the short roof. "{I just know how to have fun doing it.}" She hops lightly to the ground, leaning down as she jogs to the others to pry her spent arrows out of the heads they have buried themselves in. Elliott crouches, one boot planted on the forehead of the chomping skull. Grimacing, she stabs her knife downward. The chomping stops. Her eyes flick from Chloe to Steve. Back to Chloe. Back to Steve. The small shrug she gives implies: fair enough. "{Thank you!}" Steve gives Deanna a polite nod as she passes him the shield. He straps it to his forearm as he turns, and slams its edge into the face of one zombie with enough force to drive it to the ground, skull cracked open. Rising, he drives this knife up from under the last zombie's chin, twists it, then wrenches it loose from the body as it falls. He pivots, scanning the street for any further signs of danger. Then back to his teammates. "{I'm sorry,}" in his rough, Italian-accented Spanish, "{I'm still...learning. I don't think I caught all of that.}" He gives a sheepish little smile, strapping his shield back on. "{But you are all spectacular fighters. You could run circles around the soldiers from my day.}" "{She was saying,}" Deanna tells Steve, her expression deadpan-solemn, "{that it's great to fight alongside someone as. Skilled. As you.}" She stoops, wiping the blade of her sword on the torn shirt of one of the fallen zombies. Chloe's smile is warm and bright. "{/You/ were a soldier in your day. Seem like you could run circles around /most/ people. Anyway, I wasn't,}" She reaches behind herself briefly to pat at her bow, "{doing much running.}" She has a kerchief in the pocket of her jacket, using that to clean her arrowheads before she tucks the arrows back into their quiver. Her eyes slide past Steve now, though, shifting to the battered houses beyond them with a small frown. A small shake of her head. Elliott dips her head in a nod. "{I'm just glad for every person we have out here helping. Thank you for your assistance, Captain.}" Her eyes follow Chloe's towards the broken-in houses, nodding and gesturing the others to follow. "{Barely protect against the rain now, much less a horde. We should get any survivors to a shelter. Still have a long ways before morning.}" | |
