ArchivedLogs:Down in the Ditches

Down in the Ditches
Dramatis Personae Cage, Jennifer, Parley	2013-05-28 Jennifer tries to teach Cage how to be a hero without pounding shit. Parley intervenes.
Location Grover's Mill
It is early enough in the morning for the summer heat to not yet set in properly. Time means very little in Grover's Mill, however, now that a large portion of the town has sunken underground. There are rescue workers milling about, carefully going through the more accessible piles of rubble. The tragedy of Grover's Mill might have been pushed downward in the list of most read news articles, but unfortunately that does not undo the damage the town may never truly recover from. Admittedly, it is not as interesting in dealing with the aftermath of the tragedy as it is witnessing it, the shattering of the vase less exciting than cleaning up the shards. The rescue efforts seem to be trudging along slowly, the sudden and unpredictable nature of the event inspiring undue caution in their actions. It is perhaps not the best place for one known as She-Hulk and Luke Cage, yet here they are. Jennifer Walters is has forsaken her formal outfits in favour of something more casual, given the nature of the work she has planned for the pair. The fiery-haired and fiery-tempered lawyer is wearing a pair of pale jeans, white running shoes and a shirt that reminds everyone that her favourite colours are white and purple. The woman can be seen talking to one of the rescue workers, pointing to the rest of the territory while seemingly debating something. And then she can be seen walking back towards Luke. "Well, I'm told we can help out where we won't cause any damage. The site is more or less stable, barring any more unpredictable seismic activity, but they obviously will feel a lot safer if mutants with /our/ abilities aren't stomping around. So, we're on cleanup duty." A faint smile curves her lips. "Exciting, isn't it? You ready to do some good?" Luke showed up dressed in some proper work clothes. He's got on dark green cargo pants, brown work boots, and a tight, bright yellow t-shirt - in case they need to find him in the rubble. "Hey, I'm ready," he says, and then nods at the distant officials. "As long as you're sure they /want/ us to help." He chuffs a laugh and looks over the rubble. There are definitely plenty of places someone like him can help, especially where they can't get a bulldozer in. Such a place is exactly where Jennifer leads him to. A restrained smirk is offered, followed by a beckoning motion with a swiftly swung hang in the necessary direction. Her amusement is on a short leash, lest the man actually dares think he is growing on her. Jen starts walking in the direction of seemingly unsteady ground, the asphalt like a thin layer of chocolate someone chomped down. No vehicle will ride here. The fairly small house the two walk towards looks like it's been deflated from the side of the sinkhole, largely preserved from the farthest side, even if that part of it also sustained noteworthy damage. "They won't always. Sometimes, it's because we actually /can't/ help, difficult as that may be to believe." The remark is genuine, rather than sarcastic. "Other times, they just won't want mutants near. These're professionals. We're... volunteers, technically speaking, but some mutant abilities can jeopardy such efforts." The redhead twitches her nose in momentary thought, as if the words 'mutant abilities' and 'jeopardy' remind her of something. What she chooses to address next is hardly more appreciable. There is a bit of a sigh, laced subtly with mild annoyance. "I still can't believe you hired /Parley/." "Why's that?" Cage asks, laughing. "Because he's no good? Or I'm not sensible enough to hire someone like him?" Cage shrugs, still grinning. "He sounded just like you. Or at least, he knows all the same songs. I thought you'd be happy about it." Ergo: he did it to impress Jennifer. Even if it didn't work, his motivations are transparent. Cage has always been a terrible liar. It's why the hero life suits him. Interestingly, for anyone keeping tabs on Luke (which is apparently EVERYONE), he's been cutting back on the clubbing life. And when he does go out, he parties or gets spit on, or whatever happens, /but/ - he comes home alone. "Besides, I-" FWOOM! Cage's next words are cut off as he crashes through the surface they're walking over. He only goes in hip deep before he manages to catch himself on some protruding rebar. It's lucky he's /him/. Someone else would have been eviscerated. Dragging himself back up, he sighs dejectedly, looking down at his ripped pants and scuffed up boots. They were brand new! "Try to be careful, Mr. Cage." Says a mild voice from somewhere slightly above and behind Jennifer. "You're a valuable commodity, you know. Hello, Ms. Walters." Very little disturbance heralds the devil spoken, and Parley sits atop the jutting end of a warped support beam. With one foot affixing heel at the same level as his seat, the other swinging off the end, while he had not been here only moments ago his staid, absent preoccupation feels as though the world had /begun/ with him occupying this perch. Wearing only a pair of second hand thrift store jeans with a black tshirt tucked into its belt, he hides the visible tawny-spotty fur along the back of his neck with a straw hat pushed off the back of his head and secured with a cord that loops across the front of his neck. Looking down at his phone -- pray he isn't playing Angry Birds -- he adds with an offhand point of his finger, "The rubble, there. Try digging -- three feet down? Possibly - further?" He says it with no urgency, glancing halfway through his words over a shoulder towards the already backhoe-cleared parking area where trucks and equipment come and go with periodic shouts of Jersey construction workers and work relief crews gently conducting exploratory conversations regarding just what 'right of way' might mean, in their melodic native-Jersey language. Jennifer remains ruefully silent when asked why she seemingly disagrees with Luke's choice to hire Parley. The added suggestion that the man might have done so to impress the redhead is not making silence on her part any more less wrathful. The unfortunate fact that Parley might actually prove himself useful to the office is only adding insult to injury; she can't complain about it if there is nothing to truly complain about. One might wonder if these intense thoughts haven't materialised in the form of Cage's leg submerging into what's left of the wrecked road, especially considering how frustration on her pretty face is exchanged for amusement. Jennifer herself is far more cautious in navigating the rubble, shamelessly showing off her experience with such disaster sites. Like a bird fleeing from one perching spot to another, she dexterously hops from one spot before lightly resuming her steps, seemingly ignoring Luke's plight. When Parley's voice arrives, all of that amusement is drained from her. The lawyer assumes a firm stance, looking up at the uninvited guest. Her head produces a vivid scenario of her picking up a fist-sized rock and throwing it at the cat-like man, but in her head it stays. "Why are you here?" The redhead turns to Cage. "Why is /he/ here?" she asks, gesturing up and toward Parley. Not even waiting for an answer, she grunts dramatically and walk-hops off towards the rubble. Brushing himself off, Cage glances around to see who’s here. “Oh yeah, I told you about Parley. He’s our publicist. He comes from Claire, like you.” Luke reaches down and rips off the shredded lower portion of his pants, tossing the scraps aside leaving him with cargo shorts. “Hey Parley. How goes? Who all’s comin’ today, anyway?” Luke starts digging in with his bare hands, fracturing concrete out of his way, and wrapping up parcels of rebar so no one can get hurt on it. Before long he’s standing in a small crater of cleared material, maintaining the conversation, and apparently not even out of breath. "Just you, for now," Parley answers Cage with a -- semblance of smile that doesn't seem sure if it is bland or - fond? Such is the effect of Luke Cage on the /level-headed/. The smile grows a little /wider/ for Jennifer, to whom he offers the most casual of smiles with his cell-phone hand, the corners of his eyes /crinkling/ unhelpfully. "From Claire, huh?" Jennifer doesn't sound entirely convinced by that suggestion. The look the redhead throws at Parley could easily be likened to that of a wronged child, complete with pursed lips and deeply crumpled brows. The smile she is given does not win the would-be publicist any favour. Instead, the lawyer briefly turns her attention to Cage, ignoring the further mutilation of his attire, but rather pondering something, feeding Parley's ability. << Not /just/ (Norman) Claire. >> "Fair... enough." As the rubble clears away, a pocket beneath starts to become visible, where a cement slab braced against another protects a small darkened cavity slit against the unstable ground. Sunlight spears through drifty-lazy membranes of floating dust and all the activity knocks loose dirt and small nuggets of pulverized plaster, sending them carwheeling in erratic bouncing paths down a narrow incline to rush beneath the shelter below. Where they land around the shape of a woman's arm, her shoulder, her head, crumpled half-pinned beneath the slab. Dust-caked fingers twitch against the ground - pebbles and grit cascade off the side of her dark tangled hair when she moves - slightly - to look up. With so much of her body coated in dust, the contrast of her eyes (well, /eye/, with her head pinned partly on its side she can't turn her head more than a few degrees) when it snaps open is stark. "Hhh-!" She whimpers, dragging bloody fingernails of her one visible arm mechanically against the ground, where many, many scratch marks suggest she's been at this activity before. But now with a renewed energy. "Hhn-!" Kiiiind of hysterical-whimper. In the distance, on his perch, Parley is absently monitoring a pair of news vans pulling into the distant lot with a flick-glance through the corner of his eye. He reaches up to pull his hat forward onto his head, the wide brim pulled low over his face. A twitch courses through Jennifer's muscles. It is clear she is fighting every fibre of her being, resisting the monstrously potent temptation to aid the trapped woman. The fiery-haired lawyer clears her throat, judging Luke's next course of action. Petty rivalries are set aside for something marginally more important - /human life/. This moment is deemed crucial by her; Jen carefully steps closer to where the victim was found, ignorant of Parley and the imminent flood of reporters. Leaning back and subtly turning her face towards the rescue workers, Jennifer keeps her her green eyes on Luke Cage and the woman. "We've got a woman over here!" The exclamation is as sharp as a knife. It's loud, precise and every bit as demanding it should be. Jennifer's voice might normally be soothing and soft, but in this instance it's the exact opposite. Her attention lays back onto Cage. That is when her voice shrinks; no advice is given beyond a soft and almost pleading, "Be careful." Luke's face drops, all of the fun draining out of him, replaced by concern, and indecision. He could easily toss the slab off of her, but what if it breaks? What if he jars her? But then, what if he does nothing? "MEDIC!" Luke's voice is /loud/ when he wants it to be. His basso profondo carries across the disaster site, where some paramedics are bandaging the hands of relief workers. Their heads snap around, and jump to their feet. One of them snatches up the red bag, and both of them sprint to the site of their discovery. "Look, I can pry this up," Luke says, desperately trying to explain the situation to the paramedics as quickly as he can. "But I dunno where… Just, show me where to lift. What do you /need/?" "-oh thank god," the woman wheezes, first blankly, then again with more shaky feeling, "Oh, thank /god/. Oh, thank god." Her one visible hand collects into a fist, keening softly between each repetition of those three words. Remaining at his seat, Parley watches all of this closely, eyes shifting from Jennifer's careful footing and directional energy, to Cage's raw power, each decision marked, weighed, listening in on whatever surface environmental awareness and crisis-response planning runs through their mind - he does not flinch when the big man roars for medical help. But the /medics/ aren't the only one that hear. The news crews, WABC-TV and the Daily Bugle, also /startle/ from their lazy collections of 'loafing around with coffee while the camera guys unload', all snap their head in Cage's direction as though it had been a dramatically synchronized dance move. Suddenly coffee cups are thrust into the hands of interns, a donut is crammed into a mouth, a camera is hiked off its tripod and hoisted up onto the shoulder of a large, plump man with oddly delicate footing that falls instantly behind the group as they take off in loafers and pumps across the rubble like a pack of jackals. Parley dips down his head, camouflaging his presence below the excited yipping rush, and they stream past him without noticing. << (incoming.) >> He comments, absently, to Jennifer's mind, directing attention back down to his phone. << (see they don't)(topple to their deaths?) >> "Miss, try to lie still," one of the medics, a young man with a severe, serious face is saying with calm urgency to the woman. "We're going to get you out, but you need to be as still as possible." "Can you really lift this," another is asking Cage, looking him up and down skeptically. Among the very first thoughts that dominates Jennifer's mind is the absolute hatred of the fact that she has to divide her attention between teaching Luke Cage a valuable lesson in heroism and the incoming barrage of gluttonous journalists. The distaste actually manifests in the form of a diminutive scoff, albeit she doesn't dare to foul this crucial moment for much longer. A quick glance is thrown over her shoulder, towards the journalists. The notion of them toppling down into the sinkhole is a temporarily appealing thought; the lawyer even imagines the very details of such an unfortunate disaster happening. It would certainly save her the trouble. Her mind feeds Parley images that argue her duties in this situation - she is standing in the courtroom, the echo of a hammer hitting wood resoundingly. Parley is standing in front of journalists, the cacophony of asked questions an incomprehensible blur. Her attention shifts to the Luke and the trapped victim once again. Her own course of actions stream through her mind like a train that lost control, starting with a myriad of questions and forms of encouragement << Where does it hurt? Can you breathe? Can you move? Don't move. Everything's all right. >> to actual action. Instead, however, she lingers for a moment longer to observe her ward. Hnh. Fine. Jennifer reluctantly spins on her heels and hops off to wall off the journalists, spreading her arms as if she could swoop them all up. Come to think of it, She-Hulk probably could. "Woah, woah, /woah/. Easy there, this is a /disaster/ site, and before you flash your pretty 'I am a journalist' cards, I'd suggest you watch where your steps instead, 'less Mister Cage here has to work /overtime/." Having lost track of Parley, she actually looks around herself to find the little devil. << /Deal/ with this! >> "Yes," Luke says, in his special voice. It's quieter, this voice, but its the one that usually lets him /avoid/ a bar fight rather than actually have to punch someone. It's the voice of command and utter confidence, that cannot be mistaken for false bravado. "I can lift it." The slab even looks mostly intact at this point. Luke has tuned out the news crews entirely, and focuses on the woman. "Hey," he says in the gentlest voice anyone has probably ever heard from him. "We're gonna get you out of there, ok? I promise…" The medics scurry about, checking the woman's pulse, and her neck, to the best of their ability, and finally they think they have an accurate read on the situation. "Ok big guy," the pudgier medic says. "On three, pull the slab up /that/ way, and we'll slide her out." The serious-faced medic looks like he isn't totally sure about having Luke help them, but the alternatives are worse. What Luke has to lift is an enormous chunk of concrete that was probably a wall, once upon a time. But he has to lift it without grinding it against the woman, or having it fracture in his hands. But when he looks where the pudgy medic pointed, he sees the wall is reinforced with rebar, and is pretty likely to hold. He slides his hands underneath and feels around for a firm grip. "One," The medics set up on either side of the woman, and put their hands under her shoulders, ready to pull. "Two," Luke braces himself. "THREE!" With a grunt, Luke finds himself lifting something which is actually somewhat heavy for him. If not for the woman underneath, he certainly would have been breaking this bit and hauling it off in pieces. But he gets his hands under it and cries out with the strain, muscles and veins bulging. When it's high enough, he squats and transfers it to his shoulder, and finally slides his back under the slab, shoving it back by trying to stand up. Gritting his teeth, and letting out a low growl, Cage nods as the medics carefully and meticulously slide the woman onto a stretcher and carry her out of the small crater he had dug. Cage heaves a sigh of relief when the woman is clear, and then the ground under his feet gives way and Luke drops under the weight of the slab. He disappears in a cloud of dust and crumbled concrete. The medics are preoccupied with their charge at the moment, but Cage's disappearance under the rubble is probably worth that gasp from the media crew. Up to this point, Parley has apparently decided the most helpful way of 'dealing with this' for Jennifer is to stay with ankles crossed, serenely out of the way of the professionals, and take pictures from his cell phone - of Cage's face twisted in concentration as the slab clatters with shifting debris, of Cage's body straining to perform his task, of the media held at bay by Jennifer's wide-swept arms, her fiery hair flashing like pennies in the sunlight, cameras flashing in a vicious, bloodless photoshoot of smart phones and professional digital cameras and that one well-timed rolling camera from the WABC-TV man, standing stolid and husky with /steady/ hands and a grim approving nod. Pulled from, the woman is saying repeatedly through tears of relief, "Thank you, thank you. Hhhh. Thank you, so much..." Miraculously, though covered in small scratches from the abrasive rock and her attempts to pull herself free, she seems to have escaped any broken bones, and when laid out on the stretcher, her strength leaves her fully, folding her hands over her abdomen and closing her eyes against the bright sunny sky as she's whisked away. All of these heroic efforts, Parley uploads to the Heroes for Hire twitter feed. Did Cage know he /had/ a twitter feed? Hm hmm... Parley probably passed a few papers across his desk, if he'd wanted to look. /Janice/ likely knows. Janice likely knows everything. Along with it, he tweets 'We'll all be crossing our fingers tonight at HFH, hoping she gets the privacy and care she needs to recover.' He's just preparing a second one (something about not advising others to try this at home, maybe acknowledge the chances of paying the ticket possibly coming for this public display of mutation) when - the mediavultures are gasping, cameras rolling, Mr. Cage now gone with a clatter of the cement slab falling down to fill the void... Well. Shit. Instantly, Parley's slipping down off his perch, pushing back his hat to cover his spots as best he can and all but /materializes/ alongside Jennifer, his own hands out now as well, "You all /need/ to stand back." His voice - is not built for yelling. A diffused aura, while fantastic for subtlety, does not a /commanding/ presence make, and he's doing what he can to pick out from their own minds that subtle animal fear of unstable ground, funneling it through his own channels and projecting it back /thick and crystal clear/ in his words, "The ground here is /giving way/, you all need to move further back and clear the area." << (tss.) >> Quiet mental /hiss/ not aimed... /at/ Jennifer, but certainly to her. << (if you can)(help) him you (should.)(i'll take it from here.) >> Jennifer is woefully underprepared for the arrival of the media. Her profession might bestow upon her knowledge of what /not/ to say, rather than what to say, and so any question that is singled out is answered very curtly and with negative wording. Isn't this dangerous? Not if the medics' instructions are followed carefully. Who is this woman? Not known at this time. Are they allowed ability usage here? Fortunately, the questions spread thin when Luke Cage lifts up the massive slab of concrete. The attention now rests on the hero for hire. Even Jennifer looks over her shoulder to regard his efforts, momentarily breaking away from the tide of journalism. Equal measure of concern for Luke Cage and the lightly injured woman runs in parallel with scattered efforts to ready answers for questions, but slowly her concern for the pair eclipses her ability to weave effective answers. In silence, she watches the medics hurry to whisk the woman away from danger. The moment she sees Cage step in beneath the heavy concrete, a sharp word pierces her conscious: << /Amateur/. >> The tone of the thought is not mocking or condemning, but rather it is discipline borne of concern. Having learned a similar lesson herself, what comes next comes as no surprise to the redhead. Although it finally silences the journalists - at least for a while - Jennifer coolly looks on to where Luke Cage stood. One might think her startling lack of a response is a well-constructed facade, but Parley will know it is more than that. It's sheer, unadulterated concentration. Jennifer's mind when she transforms is not a happy place to be. To the outside world, it is instant. Inside, it starts with an implosion of darkness. Journalists sink into the epicentre; the sinkhole, Parley, concern for ruining another good pair of jeans, all of it falls into the opaque shadow of the primary target - Luke Cage. There is feedback. This darkness is infectious, pulling at anything that dares look inside it. What comes next is an explosion, the pitch black infested with anger - the consequence of every slight, every mistake and every observed wrongdoing. It eschews thought, memories and emotion. For a moment equivalent to the blink of an eye, what possesses that mind is inhumanly monochrome. But as that toxic emotion spreads, it hits a limit; strings begin to pull it back instantaneously, reining it in into a handful. All of it collapses into the image of an aged warm-eyed man in a police uniform. One second, thirty seven milliseconds. One second and thirty seven milliseconds is all it takes for She-Hulk to be summoned. Those clothes to tear against the expanding flesh, conveniently not exposing anything scandalous. The green-skinned Amazon turns away from the journalists, leaving them up to Parley. "Stop pretending and get /out/ of there," the tall superheroine yells at the quiet debris, as if this were a game of hide and seek. But Luke is only given as much time to pop out of there on his own as it takes for She-Hulk to arrive there herself. Hands grip the concrete culprit, deceptively dainty digits curling around and crushing it as though it were made from styrofoam. It is rendered impotent as it is thoroughly disarmed and dismantled in a matter of seconds, pieces broken off like dark chocolate and chucked aside shortly after, their weight no longer harmful. Or, at least, they are no longer as harmful as they could have been. The intensity with which she effortlessly clears the debris almost implies she's getting at the man to /slap/ him. Breaking up the giant slab reveals why Cage fell through. It looks like this portion of the street is actually covering a long tunnel which follows the street it used to be under. Its not man-made though. About two meters in diameter, it definitely looks like some kind of worm or insect tunnel. Cage broke through a weak point in the roof of that tunnel, and is sprawled out on the curved floor. He's slightly dazed, but he's coming around. When Jennifer breaks through the big piece, he sneezes mightily, blowing dust everywhere. Dusting off his shiny, bald head, Luke looks up at the shaft of light piercing down into his dungeon, and the vibrant green hair framed in that beam. His clothes are in tatters, being far less sturdy that his own skin, and apparently using concrete and rebar as a slip-and-slide is a little harsh on cotton. Fortunately, he's got most of his shorts left, and those heavy boots, but his shirt is just shreds. "Well hey, Beautiful. Nice of you to stop by. Sorry for the mess. It's the maid's day off…" He hauls himself to his feet, and glances left and right down the length of the tunnel. "Huh. Well, you wanna come down?" He offers a hand up, grinning, ever the optimist, though any local empaths will note his full preparedness for being slapped. It wouldn't be the first time, and probably not the last. But over all, his crush is pretty hard to miss. Though the pack of media hounds is edging backwards reluctantly, issuing rapid fire questions with such shrill urgency it might slightly be setting the ridge of Parley's hackles on edge, the group acquiescence may, in fact, be due to the fact that Parley is traveling /with/ them, his arms held out /lethargically/, mollifying their frothing /hunger/ for news through a series of dry monotone responses. "-will this set back Heroes for Hire, if charges are pressed for public displays of mutant-." "- Heroes for Hire has no intention of fighting tickets issued." Parley answers unemotionally, "We understand the city ordinance are in place for the sake of human safety, an issue that is our /utmost/ priority in all of our work. We /will/ however accept donations to help cover costs of tickets as well as to go back to any families or businesses damaged in the course of our work-" "-is it true Mr. Cage was engaged in a shoot out over a bank robbery in-" "- I am not currently at liberty to discuss open cases. All information available to the public can be accessed from our website." And yes, if Cage has not formed a HfH website, you can /damn/ well bet Parley has, and updated it punctually on his Monday and Wednesday work hours. << (you may as well)(go on.) >> Parley utters to Jennifer's mind, in the usual amalgamated lump of mental concepts and suggestions patchwork-quilted together to form his inelegant communication. With cameras going off, recording devices whirring, even one old school asshole writing on a small /tablet/ his every word, he sighs. This is /one/ young man destined to be on TV tonight. Never preferable to a fellow that prefers keeping their head down. SIGH. Once the rubble is out of the way and both Luke and the odd tunnel are unveiled, Shulkie lifts both hands quizzically, her facial expression contorted halfway with surprise and disbelief. "What--" << ... are you doing there? >> The raised hands slowly crumple into fists. Uh-oh. "Luke /Cage/," she hisses in what is encroaching upon a whisper, "we came here to scour the debris for survivors, not play pretend we're Alice in Wonderland!" Still, the green-skinned, green-haired Amazon tosses a quick glance over her shoulder, back to where Parley stands, where the sizeable crowd of journalists is ever hungry to have their pesky questions answered as if it was their God-given right. No way. The woman's next step is entirely unexplained, perhaps as a sort of act of vengeance upon Parley to have him devise his own explanation, once the reporters no doubt roar with a greater number of questions still. A single light and agile hop is all that requires for She-Hulk to descend into the very same hole Luke Cage has gone off to. Shulkie lands with grace that matches her takeoff, aiding it with a hand to soften her arrival. "On /second/ thought," she starts, rising to full height. Whereas usually she is dwarfed by the man, this time they are actually of the same height. "I have no intention of dealing with those reporters. I guess Parley ultimately had good intentions in mind-- Hopefully this will help with your reputation a bit." She draws dangerously near to Luke, then, lifting up an index finger to point at him accusingly. "Next time you're pulling a stunt like that, I'm going to /add/ slabs of concrete on top, not remove them." Still, she lays off shortly afterwards. Her green eyes shine brighter still, unnaturally so. With a sigh, she questions him much more gently, "Tell me, what did you feel while you were saving that woman?" "Sweet Christmas…" Luke dares a cheeky smile, not backing away from the accusing pointer. "I think you were /worried/ about me." Then he's looking Jennifer up and down, with an appreciative appraisal of her form and outfit. "Damn, now /I'm/ worried about me too…" Luke's eyes are just plain old brown, but the look in them makes it seem like he's not worried about 'bodily harm' exactly, so he must mean something else. Curious. He also seems too distracted to answer her other question. Far be it from Jennifer to outright admit she is worried, at least to one such as Luke. Unfortunately for her, her emotions are easy enough to read, especially in this green form of hers. Judging eyes and a chiding tone are but the tip of the iceberg of concern she fosters. That is perhaps why she doesn't even bother to confirm it, or perhaps she is deluded enough to think she does a good enough job of hiding it. Whatever it might be, the strongly built She-Hulk steps away from Cage, looking past his shoulder to measure the length of the tunnel. "Well? What? What is it?" Then, she also makes a point to look behind her and note the extent of its length in the opposite direction, too, trying to find what it is the man is both curious about and distracted by. If it is indeed her, she is clearly too oblivious to comprehend that. Luke studies the She-Hulk another moment and only adds, "That's a good look for you." Then he's walking backwards, still facing Jennifer. "Let your eyes adjust to the light, I think you'll see it," he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to point at something behind him. And sure enough, deep in the gloom past the retreating Luke Cage is the dim flickering of some kind of emergency lighting. A hole is crashed in the side of the tunnel leading to the that light, but in the tunnel proper there looks to be trail of paper money, scattered loose, and even a couple of wrapped stacks of 20's. On closer inspection, the hole goes from being a gap in the tunnel, to a gap in the side of a sunken bank, to being a hole in the side of the bank's vault, which has been pretty well cleared out. That is a good look for her, he says. These are the words that finally try She-Hulk's patience beyond its limit. Knowing full well of the safety the man's ability bestows upon him, she instead decides to test the sturdiness of the tunnel. After he thumbs towards the point of interest, Shulkie gently lays a hand on Luke's shoulder and then applies an amount of force that is rather uncharacteristic for that ladylike green hand. Rather than shoving him towards the side of the sinkhole's epicentre, she attempts to push the man towards what she assumes to be the sturdier wall of the tunnel. The force applied is, well, not unlike that of a sudden impact of a fiercely speeding bike. Whether she is successful or not, she would quickly turn away and march towards the gap that leads into the bank vault. Luke... is not used to getting pushed around. He's deceptively heavy, his apparent 240 or so actually weighing in over 400 lbs. But he's also not particularly graceful. Caught off guard by the apparently gentle gesture, Luke /sprawls/ against the wall and slides down the curved surface until he's sitting on the floor, looking a little dazed. He's probably going to have to come to terms with her being stronger than he is. That's always tough for the old-fashioned types. "Damn, woman!" He's actually /grinning/. He shakes his head to clear it, and then brushes the dirt off his head and shoulders. He shook the wall pretty good, but it must be solid earth on the other side. The wall only shows cracks in the surface material. He hauls himself to his feet, and follows her to the gap. "So uh, we can't keep none a' that dough, huh?" The dim emergency lighting is enough to show the scene. The vault has been cleared out, but in the messiest ways possible. The bags and carts look chewed open rather than picked or blown, and stray cash is all over the place. No sign of recent human activity either. A cursory glance is tossed in the direction of the man as he recovers from the shove. But what grabs She-Hulk's attention the most is without a doubt the breached bank vault. As she crosses her arms, she sighs irksomely, adding shortly, "I am not even going to /answer/ that question." Her eyes survey the extent of the damage, as well as the point and manner of entry. "Whoever did this was an amateur. They didn't even try to conceal their tracks, which means they did not have their heart in this-- Maybe they felt guilty while doing it? Either that or the exact opposite - they /wanted/ to create as much havoc as possible." The woman smacks her lips. "Might even explain the sinkhole itself, or maybe it was an opportunity they seized. Either way, I'm a lawyer, not a cop." Finally, she turns to Luke Cage. As she does, however, she begins to walk /away/ from the robbed bank. "Come on, we have to alert the authorities first. Maybe they already know about this, but we better make sure." Cage follows Jennifer back out into the tunnel, with just one more glance back at the wreckage. Oh well. Luke jogs to catch up. “Hey,” he starts. He was about to put a hand on her shoulder, but instead jams both hands in his pockets. “Look, I app- can you just hold on a sec? The cops can wait 10 minutes.” Assuming Jennifer stops walking, Luke smiles, but its a lot more sincere, and maybe even a little hesitant. “I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me. And for Heroes. But, did I piss you off or something? I mean, ok, cards-on-the-table - I think you’re great, and I wanna date you. No surprise, right? If you want me to lay off, no problem. Just say so. But I meant what I said, like it or not, and I stand by it. You look great, and your heart is pure fuckin’ gold. Why /wouldn’t/ I ask you out?” The green-haired mutantess gradually slows to a halt as Luke chases after her and asks her to hold. The little prelude of a speech that he gives She-Hulk actually softens her facial features, enough for surprise to shine through. Both brows raised, she eyes Cage with both curiosity and scepticism. "Luke," she starts softly before pausing immediately, so as to consider what the best course of words is. Shulkie actually takes a few steps closer to her partner in would-be crime, albeit not to shove him at a wall this time, admittedly. "Cards on the table? If you pissed me off, I think the sinkhole would be the least of everyone's worry right now." A gentle little sigh is offered, green hands rising to rest on the tattered jeans. "It's not you. It's Parley. He's-- There's something about him, you know? Do you by any chance remember the Oscorp thing? When the main building's lobby was completely trashed and the news blamed mutants?" Those arms rise higher still to cross beneath her bust. "That would have been me. I tazed Norman Osborn. We've kissed and made up--" Pause. Sneer. "/Figuratively/ speaking." That sneer deepens a little further as she tries hard to bat away the mental image. "But we promised not to tell anyone. He told Parley, either because they're friends or... something more. But Parley works for Claire Basil, too. And now he's with /you/, and he has access to /all/ your files. My lawyer sense is tingling-- Maybe it's a false alarm, and maybe it isn't. He did right by you to call the media, so you don't have to fire him-- But you have to be on your guard, do you understand?" Luke chuckles a little at the mental image of She-Hulk pissed, and just throwing him through the rubble. “Yeah, ok I get it.” Her further explanation gives him pause though, and then he nods. Something seems to click behind his eyes. “Oh, ok, /now/ I get it. Yeah, Parley’s on the payroll, true, but that doesn’t mean I trust him. You can never fully trust a ‘hider’. People who can and do pass for human, without being open about it, make it worse for the rest of it. Not mention the weirdos flyin’ around in /masks/ for chrissake.” Luke glances down at his ruined clothes and sighs. Speaking of not being able to hide... “But its like this: I don’t have any secrets. That’s one of the things I like about /you/, too. People like you and me, we don’t /get/ to hide. And if I ever get a /sensitive/ P.I. gig, its not gonna be in my files until its resolved, and the client is safe. Maybe not at all.” Luke takes a step closer, glancing up and down the tunnel, pretending like he’s got some juicy gossip to spill. Speaking softly, he says, “And that’s my big secret. People like Parley can’t get at me, because all my shit’s in the open. Everyone knows what I done. So having him around to do the grunt work on my PR actually helps.” Luke hesitates a moment, close as they are to each other, down here in the dark, and then starts walking slowly toward where they came in. He says over his shoulder, “C’mon, you gotta get ready for dinner tonight. I don’t want our first kiss to be down here in this stanky tunnel.” Shulkie inhales deeply as she listens to Luke, before her rapidly expanding chest suddenly falls. As she thoughtfully twitches her nose, her emerald gaze is maintained on the man throughout the explanation. "Good point," she finally relents. "But having nothing to hide is not something always worth beating your chest over, Luke. Transparency is a double-edged sword. Just--" The words ever so reluctantly stumble past her dark green lips, "Be careful." The reminder about the date and the dinner lighten her mood somewhat. Shortly after Cage starts walking, so does She-Hulk follow suit. "Anyone ever tell you you're too much of an optimist?"