ArchivedLogs:Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood

Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood
Dramatis Personae Eric, Hive, Horus, Paige, Steve	2017-02-12 "Always a pleasure, Captain."
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. Over the last few days, a crowd has maintained a presence outside the Harbor Commons almost twenty-four hours a day. It grows and shrinks, fluctuating with the hour of the day, the weather, and the vagaries of press coverage elsewhere in the city --- but it never quite drops off. To be sure, that most favored of weather conditions drives the current population down; "wintry mix" is always a crowd pleaser. Still, a small crowd remains, dripping with slush and rain. The majority of the remaining crowd are reporters, doing slow rotations through the warmer (and dryer) satellite vans parked in the surrounding blocks. A few die-hard protesters remain, and with them a presence of New York's finest: a lone police officer, bundled in a rain coat, leaning against the wall, and busy with his phone. He is accompanied by two Sentinels which are patrolling slowly along the sidewalk and occasionally politely warning one of the protesters to stay out of the street. The small size of the current crowd is perhaps the reason why Paige has decided to chance leaving the Commons' grounds with her gray sweatshirt hood pulled awkwardly over her ushanka hat. A few of the reporters stir as they catch sight of her and, while she seems distracted by their questions, the goat girl only gives unsatisfactory answers. In fact, she seems much more concerned with how the weather conditions are affecting the sidewalk - eyes glance often downwards, watching her hooves as she walks. The police officer is not difficult to spot when she's through the dwindling throng and she blinks at him, ears flicking up beneath her hood. "Sergeant Sutton?" Swooping down to perch on a tall stone pillar of the Commons' front gate is a large speckled bird, currently mostly a (veeery faintly silvery) grey and white with (veeeery faintly) iridescent black tips to his huge wings. His head tips sideways, first one direction then another, large reddish-ringed pupils peering out at the reporters milling through the crowd. Some of the reporters (prooobably the ones who've been there longer) are wise enough to back away when they take note of his presence. Behind the gates, a leaner far more humanoid figure is meandering closer. Hive is dressed in a thin black rain jacket, jeans, heavy workboots, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He doesn't look at Horus -- doesn't look at the reporters -- doesn't look at Paige. He leans up against the closed gates, heavy-lidded half-closed eyes lazily tracking the slow patrol of the taller robots. Bony fingers hook through the metal of the closed iron gate, weight settling against it along one forearm as he leans forward. On his way back from some outing or another, Steve is wearing a long navy blue overcoat and a neat gray trilby. He might be hard to recognize with the hat brim pulled low but the shield across his back gives him away. He approaches the knot of press and protesters calmly, eyes darting to the cop and his Sentinels periodically, but not slowing his pace. The first reporter to recognize him tries to play it cool, approaching quietly to ask for an interview that he declines with a smile and a shake of his head. He does hesitate when he sees Paige. Lifts a hand and waves, but then continues on his way, though more warily now, his senses keyed up for more potential danger. << She's fine, >> he's telling himself. << No need to go off into White Knight mode. Yet. >> WHOOSH. There's a tensing in the crowd -- mostly from the reporters -- as Horus very abruptly takes off. SWOOSHdash -- nab. The reporters quickly check themselves for cameras -- and let out a collective sigh of relief that they are all still in possession of their expensive equipment. Steve, however, is down one shield. The birdkid returns to his post, now sitting tucked kind of nestlike on the saucerlike shield. NOW who is that mysterious Trilby-wearing man in the crowd? We may never know. Captain America is clearly up on the gate. Preening himself. Very smug. Eric glances up when he's addressed, and a warm smile brightens on his face. << Who the fuck--- oh, yeah. Murder-chick's friend. >> Eric lifts a hand in a wave, smiling at Paige. "Hi--- Paige, wasn't it?" The police officer asks, stepping off of the wall and taking a step towards her and extending his hand. "Officer Kelly just mentioned you the other day. How have you been?" he asks, seemingly with genuine curiosity. When there is a flash of a swooping figure out of the corner of his eye, Eric quickly closes the gap between Paige and himself. His raincoat flys out like a cape as he quickly wraps an arm protectively around Paige's shoulders, bearing her down into a crouching position. << Oh fucking shit! >> There is a several second pause as Eric's eyes flash over the scene in more detail -- cringing reporters clutching their pearls--- cameras; a shieldless S.H.I.E.L.D agent. << Oh. >> "Uh, sorry about that," Eric says, offering out his other hand for support as he relaxes his arm from Paige's shoulder. Though Paige continues to look a little bewildered at running into Eric for a brief moment, a smile begins to play on her lips as well. << Nice to see someone familiar >> comes a thought even as she notices Steve walking by. "Did he?" the horned mutant inquires, ears twitching beneath the fabric of her hood, while she turns to offer Captain America a wave in return. "I've been -- " The girl's words are cut off as a shadow suddenly passes overhead - a figure diving towards Steve - and as she finds herself shoved towards the ground, the latter causing her to let out a surprised cry. Her footing is lost easily and she's soon on her knees, hands held out to hit the pavement. < <What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck >> Wide eyes stare at the police officer and she accepts the outstretched hand. "What the fuck was that for?" she asks with a slightly accusatory tone. Horus just continues preening, chest feathers puffed out floofier where he nestles comfortably into the shield. Hive, for his part, allows himself a very small twitch of smile. His head tips down -- he extracts a cheap plastic lighter from his pocket, flicking it a couple times before finally managing a light. Head tipping down, he pulls in a slow drag of his cigarette. A faint mental touch flutters up against Paige's mind -- quietly solicitous, it /feels/ a lot like checking in though it comes without any words. Oddly, it comes before her spill -- moreso after Eric wraps his arm around her. Steve doesn't look all that surprised at Horus's swoop, nor particularly fussed at finding himself de-shielded. In fact, he flashes the bird boy a smile -- in perfect time with Hive's. He /does/ look just about ready to jump Eric for bearing Paige down to the ground, though. "Are you alright?" he asks Paige, veering toward them. He only makes brief eye contact with Eric, his gaze lingering longer on the cop's hand on Paige's shoulder, then scans the crowd again. The reporters are recovering from their fright and beginning to converge on him. Eric helps pull Paige back to her feet, hand strong and steadying. << Oh great. Hi Steve; removed the holier-than-thou stick from your ass yet? Shit can't be comfortable. >> "Reflex, sorry. Thought somethin' was comin' for /us/, not the reporters." The officer removes his arm from around Paige's shoulder once she's steady on her feet once more. "Evenin', Captain." Eric says, nodding once and chewing briefly on the inside of his cheek. "Good ta' see you again." The officer briefly gestures to one of the Sentinels, making a circling motion around towards Steve. It obediently plods over behind Steve, blocking the three of them off from the crowd of reporters with a pre-recorded message.Blah blah blah, please keep back, blah blah blah, your safety, blah blah, thank you for your compliance. "Th-thank you," Paige stammers as she's helped to her hooves, quite grateful for the assistance. A flash of surprise registers on her face once she hears Steve's voice. "Uh, yeah. I'm, uh, fine. Sergeant Sutton was just being, uh, helpful and protective." << I guess >> Even so, her thoughts seem to support her claim - it would appear that she does, in fact, view Eric as more helpful than not. "I was just -- " The goat girl pauses briefly, ears flicking at the Sentinel's message. "I was just -- Heather, my roommate, asked me to get some things. How are the two of you?" Hive's fingers tighten around the metal of the fence. His other lifts slowly, pulling the cigarette from his lips; he exhales a slow stream of smoke from his nose. "Who wouldn't be alright, with this fine upstanding. Officer of the law. Here to help and protect." His voice is dry. His eyes slide back to the Sentinels. "Officer/s/ of the law, my bad." "Buenas tardes," says Steve, tipping his hat. He keeps his wariness firmly pinned down, even when Eric waves the Sentinels into action. Inwardly he does ease a little when Eric removes his hand from Paige. "I'm fine, gracias. Though perhaps we should do organized supply runs. Again." He looks back at the eager rubbernecking reporters. << And I should remove myself, I'm just stirring things up. I do /not/ need to offer to go with her, she's fine. >> "Have a safe trip, then. I'll see you at supper?" Eric turns as another voice pipes up, and he smiles -- and, admittedly, blushes slightly. << Oops. >> "Oh, hi, Hive. How's tricks?" The police officer glances suspiciously at Steve, eyes flicking back and forth between Paige and Steve. "Doin' all right. A bit wet, but..." Eric shrugs and spreads his hands. "Can't complain, too much." << Though I wish these fucking reporters would piss off so I can stop standing in the fucking rain. >> "You're livin' here, now? That's good. There's good people, here." << And also, Hive. I know you can hear me, you old dog. >> As her ears give a hard flick, Paige cringes before lowering her hood to reveal her ushanka hat. << Stupid fucking hoods. >> "Organized supply runs?" she asks with a curious look at Steve. "I'm just -- Heather just eats more than, you know, most people and she doesn't think the kitchens will understand that even though I've told her that it's okay. But, uh, yeah, you'll see us at supper. Have a good one?" << Leaving so soon? >> When Hive speaks up, the goat girl's ears twitch and she turns to face him, giving him a rather bemused look. << Why does he sound so sarcastic? Sergeant Sutton has never been anything but nice. >> Her expression, however, turns friendly after a moment. "Uh, hi, Hive. How's it going with you?" Then, to Eric, "That's good to hear. That you're doing alright, that is." Horus's head dips, his feathers ruffling out further in time with a short sharp burst of twittering. "When we were under siege before we had to organize some," Hive explains, more mildly. Then a clarification: "Under siege from zombies." His eyes slide between some of the reporters -- some of the protesters. "Not sure which is preferable, honestly." He pulls himself just a hair straighter, lifting his hand again for another long drag of cigarette. "Nice. Right. Dude's a fucking cop, Paige." "There are a lot of people here with special dietary needs -- volume included, and I should know -- as long as she lets the people who are preparing common dinner know, it's no problem. I'll be cooking tonight." Steve tips his head at Hive's explanation. "If we consolidate some of our shopping trips, it means fewer people have to run this gauntlet. Especially if we enlist the teleporters. But that's something to discuss on the listserv, and I should get inside." He spares a glance at Eric. "All cops are --" His lips press together. "-- /not/ your friend. I recommend keeping away from that one in particular, if you can. Adios." With another tip of his hat, he maneuvers through the press of bodies to the gate. Eric winks at Hive. "You could legally assault the zombies, so, I'd vote for them." This earns him a glare from one of the reporters who he flashes a winning smile. << Not, considering the reporter's reactions, I'm guessing this has particularly stopped all of you. >> "As much as I'd like to say the..." << hypocritical asshole >> "dear Captain is wrong, in this case, I've gotta agree with him. For people who're like us, not all cops are your friends." The police officer shrugs his shoulders. "S' the world we live in, whether we like it or not." Paige is momentarily distracted by Horus' chirping as she looks up at the familiar mutant who appears to be sitting on a shiny object. When her attention returns to the others, her ears wilt. "Oh," she states simply, both in regards to the elaboration on 'supply runs' and the three men's similar stance, although phrased differently by each, on the friendliness and trust-worthiness of police officers. "I never said he was my -friend-," she counters meekly with a furrowing of her brows. Her eyes dart between Hive and Eric, Steve already having made off. "But I thought -- " << thought I could trust him >> "I'm just trying to go the, uh, store?" The raised inflection at the end of her statement further indicates her state of confusion. << What am I supposed to say? >> "I just, uh, grew up with cops being my 'friends' -- I'm still new to being a mutant and all. I'm..." << Sorry? Why would I apologize? Where did this talk of friendship even come from? And why this one 'in particular'?>> "We haven't /assaulted/ anyone. We're a friendly bunch, here. So far I've tallied three actual counts of battery on the part of the reporters, though, and four by the gorram protesters. Good thing we got this protective detail. I feel much safer." Hive takes a half-step back as Steve approaches, pulling his keys from his pocket and tapping his keyfob to unlock the gate -- it clicks open near silently, letting him push it open to admit the other man. "You're saying it wrong, /Sergeant/. /All/ cops are bastards, is how it usually goes. Stay safe at the store, Paige. -- Happy hunting, Cap." He's aiming this not to Steve, but up at the gate. Horus is just nestling back down into the shield. Cooing quietly. << Apologies for confusing you. >> Steve's thought comes out naturally in reply to Paige's, as though they were still conversing face-to-face, though he is already half-way through the gate. << We have a history with Eric Sutton, which you could not have known, but the warning stands -- both generally and specifically. Stay safe at the store. >> The last bit not only overlaps with Hive's spoken words, but is basically indistinguishable from them. He smiles up at Horus. "I could use a break from that, anyway." Then heads off toward Commonhaus. Hive's insult doesn't seem to bother Eric at all. Eric faces Paige as he shrugs his shoulders. "It'll take some time. You'll get used ta' it, eventually. If it makes ya feel any better, they hate me probably twice as much as they hate you." << Doesn't stop them from doin' what I tell them to, though. Still wear the badge. >> "Always a pleasure, Captain." << Dick. >> "Hive." Shock, confusion, and a hint of panic mingle freely in Paige's thoughts when Steve's voice rings in her mind. << how >> The goat girl manages not to say anything aloud, though her facial expression mirrors her feelings. << All cops are not bastards. My -brother- is a cop. >> comes a thought and she opens her mouth as if to vocalize this before thinking better of it. << My brother is a -bastard-. A real -fucking- bastard. >> Instead she asks, "'Take some time'? I'm not sure I really... " << understand >> "But that doesn't really make me feel better at all, to be honest. And, uh, thank you for, um, earlier?" The furred mutants thoughts are are tumbling over each other. << Why did you thank the cop? Cops are supposed to be bastards. Stop being nice. >> "Thanks?" This last part is said a bit more loudly to whoever might still be listening to spoken words, apparently in response to the well-wishes. << Can never promise to stay safe, though. >> << We have many talents. >> Hive's voice -- voices, echoing soft -- murmur in Paige's mind in answer to the unspoken confusion. << ... or just the one, really. >> "It's not the individual," he says aloud, "it's the system." Though, as an afterthought, he glances to Eric, adding: "Except in this case. In this case, it's both." His head jerks upward, chin lifting. "See ya." Cigarette still bobbing between his lips, he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to follow Steve back toward the Commonhaus.