ArchivedLogs:Magic in Plenty

Magic in Plenty
Dramatis Personae Blink, Ion, Scramble	2016-06-11 "Damn /straight/, Witch-girl. {Our very own team of superheroes. I like that.}"
Location <NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. It's not a quiet night in the Lower East Side. Those have been fewer and farther between, these days. It doesn't seem like much is on /fire/, at least, but a large segment of Water Street is lined with glass (and a trace amount of blood) in the aftermath of a tussle there; by a rundown apartment complex near Seward Park there's a heavy amount of blood on the sidewalk outside following an earlier drive-by; in general the mutant residents of the neighborhood are not quite resting /easily/. Then again, neither, particularly, are the humans. On the block where Evolve stands currently closed and empty, a black and chrome Harley chopper is roaring up in front of a nondescript townhouse a few doors down from the erstwhile mutant hangout. Despite the humid-heavy heat still lingering this late at night, Ion is still wearing his thick leather kutte over a plain black tee -- under which he's sporting a /few/ new scrapes and bruises, a thick gash down one forearm. A bright grin on his face anyway as he pulls up to the curb. "Ffff. How far you think is the nearest twenty-four hours grocery, we gonna have /mad/ people rolling up here tonight. {Shiiit. Monster, you good?}" This is over his shoulder to -- the quietly clicking lumpy bundle strapped to his back, a bulging-eyed horn-nubbed head emerging from the thick leather wrap. Riding behind Ion and his child, Scramble hops off the bike as soon as they've come to a stop, freeing her head from the helmet. She had pushed her magificient afro back with a gauzy red scarf so it would fit inside the helmet, and now sets about fluffing it back out. Like Ion, she is plainly dressed and sporting recent injuries where her black short-sleeve crop top and black jeans do not cover them. A simple gold ankh hanging from a black cord around her neck is the only jewelry she wears tonight. "I think Amir's place got busted up again, so uh..." She fishes a smartphone out of an outer pocket of the black tactical pack slung around her side. But before she has even done anything with the phone, she snaps her fingers, "Oh, that Duane Reade three blocks down is 24 hours, and they got /some/ food. What you thinking?" Dressed in a dark green tunic dress, breezy brown wrap pants, and strappy brown sandals, Blink makes her way through the neighborhood at a very uneven pace. When she walks she walks slowly, stopping often to stare down at her phone or up at some new graffiti (mostly scrawled slurs and threats, with a bit of art mixed in). Then she'd disappear in a blaze of swirling purple light and reappear half-way down the block, or even around the next corner--right in front of the boarded-up Evolve. She lingers there less than a minute before blinking down the block again, appearing at the corner near where the motorcycle has pulled up. Her large and unnaturally green eyes are drawn first to the bike, then to the little creature in the leather wrap (the eyes get briefly /even bigger/), then to Scramble. "{Oh hey,}" she says in Spanish, waving to the other woman. Another swirl of purple and she's beside them. "{How's it going?}" "I'm /thinking/," Ion replies, fingers drumming against his handlebars, "that we gonna have a lot of shook-up roughed-up just-been-homeless people. {Some food in them, some ice cream for the kids, some fucking booze, not going to be no less traumatic but maybe make a shitty night something fucking bearable hooooly shit yo that's goddamn /fantastic/ you see that purple shit?}" There's no discernible pause between one topic and the next, a whoop of delight in Ion's voice as he bounces, slightly, in his saddle. "{/Dragon/-monster you see this fucking witch-magic happening shit shit I know you.}" He's twisting around just a little so that the pop-eyed droop-eared gargoyle on his back can get a better view of Blink's purple-swirly-misted portalling; if Egg appreciates it as much as Ion there is, at least, no answering whooping. Just huge green-eyed blinking, a further clicking, the large head briefly pressing against the back of Ion's kutte. "{Witch-lady, you know, there any good Indian open this hour night? Maybe Chinese, huh? Hmm. And ice cream, we need that.}" "Well, ice cream and booze we can grab from Duane Reade, but an actual proper meal..." Scramble see-saws one open hand in the air and bites one corner of her lower lip. "Not unless you feeling like working that kitchen magic of yours on a whole lotta canned shit. Yo." This last word with a nod and a grin at Blink just before the teleporter closes the distance to them. "Oh, you two met? {We good, just done beat down some shitstains who were out to 'reclaim the neighorhood' and 'keep New York human'. You know. Your basic Saturday night partying. How 'bout you?}" Blink blushes at Ion's excited exclamations, dipping her head low as if in a bow. "{I'm okay, just out doing a little gaming...and lending a hand if need be. Though I haven't run into anyone that aggressive tonight.}" Her eyes keep darting over to the small gargoyle on Ion's back, but now she looks at Ion himself more closely. "{Oh hey, right, I've seen you at the rallies. I don't think we've been introduced, though. My name is Blink.}" She tilts her head, ears twitching faintly as she considers. "Not sure about Indian at this hour, but there's three or four great Chinese places over on Mott and Mulberry that are open all night, or pretty near. {You hungry?}" "{I got magic in plenty but we fresh out of fucking --}" Ion's cheek clicks against his teeth. "Onion, spices, shit, only so much magic I can /do/ with some goddamn -- /salt/ and one jar of oregano that's gonna be some fucking gringo cooking right there." His head shakes sadly. "Mott and Mulberry, eh? {We gonna have some mouth to feed. Soon soon soon -- yeah yeah we meet, met, I seen her down in some of the rallies yeah? I'm Ion. This,}" He jerks a thumb over his back at the sleepy-eyed gargoyle blinking blearily over his shoulder, "{this is my dragon-monster. /Lord/ of Dragons.} What's your gaming?" "Well, spices and shit we can scrounge up, but grabbing Chinese /would/ be a lot faster." Scramble snaps her fingers. "Oh right, that little basement restaurant next to A-OK never fucking closes. Good /and/ cheap, too." She cocks her head at Blink. "{Lending a hand, huh? Good, we need more of that, specially how things been lately. Some folks been talking about getting together our own volunteer fire squads.} "{Nice to meet you, Ion.}" Blink bobs her head again, then peers at the Lord of Dragons over his shoulder. "{Dragon? Is he a...a baby?}" She sounds extremely uncertain about this. "Oh, fire squads! I don't live here, but I go everywhere in the city, I'd be game for helping out. {The game I was playing is 'Ingress.'}" She turns the screen of her phone back on and shows Ion the darkish map overlaid with green geometric shapes. "It's like a really complicated game of Capture The Flag, except played with phones and GPS." "{Hell yeah more help is always fucking -- oh SHIT are you trying to eat brains or --}" Ion snaps his fingers together, craning his head over to look towards Blink's screen. "{Or steal all the brains away from the brains-eaters? My small-shark-friends, they play like mad this game. Dusk too.}" He sits up straighter abruptly, returning his hands to his handlebars. "Ohshit right food food food. Who's coming we gotta do. Food run. Hopefully not no fire fighting this night. {Though me and my Mongrels, we getting /real/ fucking good at this rescue business.}" "{Half the fucking Commons plays,}" Scramble agrees, "{once I get a better phone I might join, too. Resistance, probably. Don't need no aliens telling us how to fuck up our world, we doing it just fine without them.}" She pulls her helmet back on and straddles the back seat of the bike again. "{Saving people from burning buildings is great, but there's more ways to lend a hand. I'll throw some cash your way if you wanna portal us some Chinese food. What do you say?}" "{Eat brains?!}" Blink echoes, the color draining from her face. But then she looks at the game and laughs with abrupt relief. The (green) username at the top of her game screen reads 'BlinkingWithPortals' "Oh! That -- I'm on the green team. I guess that means I...eat brains." She chuckles nervously and puts the phone away. "{Sure, that's easy. Just let me know around many people you're looking to feed.}" A very faint purple glow begins to envelope her, starting from her hands, though she doesn't vanish just yet. "{Mongrels -- are you like a superhero team?}" The motorcycle purrs back to life. Ion grins, bright. "Damn /straight/, Witch-girl. {Our very own team of superheroes. I like that.}"