Logs:He Protec

He Protec
Dramatis Personae Dallen Nahida, Quentin	2024-05-20 "-- I'm not sure those are. People." (during the Brood invasion.)
Location <NYC> Flatiron District
Alas for those people who were just dying to get to know their local officers better over burnt Starbucks -- The NYPD has, for the indefinite future, cancelled its participation in the "Coffee with a Cop" outreach series. Nevertheless on the original schedule for the spring there had been a CWAC scheduled for this Sbux right across from Madison Square Park. Now here to greet any eager bootlickers who did not bother checking the website for cancellations there is a decently-sized gathering, handing out coffees of their own together with information on all the most recent instances of police brutality by the NYPD. Nahida has been filming, here and there, snappy short clips for the M-Kids' account. She's just been in the middle of an interview with a young man whose leg is still in a cast from the day of the attack, but his (only slightly embellished) Harrowing Story is interrupted as he looks past Nahida and her camera to the sky northwards. " -- what is --" A lot of people are looking, and Nahida swings her phone around to capture the weirdness opening up above Midtown. She's only half still narrating, half talking to her school companions: "-- do you see that? Is that for real? There's some kind of -- what is? Tornado? Funnel? Quite a big stir happening down here, I don't think anyone is really sure about it." Nearby Quentin has been busy didactically giving a Police Brutality 101 lecture to a pair of tourists, neither of whom look particularly engaged in the subject matter but until they finish figuring out their next planned subway route they don't really have anywhere better to be. He's cutting off in midsentence somewhat before Nahida swivels her phone, though he is not looking toward the Weird Sky Funnel at all. He's clapped his palms to his temples, face contorting for a moment and his shoulders crumpling in. He rights himself slowly, and though his back is still turned to the Unknown Thing, his head cocks like he's listening to it. "I don't --" In contrast to his usual overconfidence, he now just sounds kind of shaken. "-- I'm not sure those are. People." Dallen is holding a small collection of Protest Safety/Jail Support palm cards and very earnestly offering them to anyone who seems receptive. He's dressed plain and practical, carrying an also plain and practical backpack. He looks up at the commotion, fishing a pair of compact binoculars from a side pocket of his pack, adjusting them with practiced ease. "They're not people," he confirms. He's trying and failing to match the flitting images with insects he knows, all the while puzzling over how he could make out insects at all from this distance with a low power scope. "They're really big bugs." "I've lost my signal. Do either of you..." Nahida is frowning at her screen as if the proper censure will reconnect her livestream. When this doesn't work she switches to regular video recording. The specks still just look like specks to her, but at Dallen's words and Quentin's unsettling reaction her thoughts are swirling around horror movie imagery, swarms of carnivorous locusts, terrible monsters bursting from chests. There's a tense urgency in her voice as she tells her video, " they say it is giant bugs. I am not pretending, here, the sky is -- oh no." She rushes quick to her friends, eyes wider as the swarm grows -- some of it heading very much this direction. "We need to go. What in the world is happening." Quentin has managed, somewhat, to stand up straighter again. He looks pretty queasy, expression scrunched hard. "They're here to kill us all." For all his clearly Not Okay demeanor his voice is oddly matter of fact. He's looking to the subway across the street -- already starting to get clogged with people attempting to cram into it -- and then to the Flatiron building beside it, also getting Kind Of Mobbed but in less in of a packed-and-likely-to-be-trampled way. "C'mon --" Does the man with a broken leg need a push in his wheelchair, he's getting one unasked, starting towards the Flatiron but stopping quick as the first bugs descend into the street in front of them with a heavy 'CRASH' of crunching cars. Quentin is casting around -- LEGO store? Tempting -- before nodding urgently and redirecting, mental annotation indicating a sporting goods store just a few doors down. Dallen doesn't panic at the prospect of giant bugs or, really, even at Quentin's revelation as to their intentions. He's too busy trying to hold himself together against the (reasonable under the circumstances) screaming and stampeding all around. He has just enough presence of mind to grab Quentin's arm with one hand and Nahida's with the other so they don't get separated in their flight. It's reflexive at first when he pulls their shadows up off the ground, but he quickly adjusts them to provide cover from behind without obscuring their path. Unfortunately, their path is also becoming more infested by the minute. One of the tourists Quentin had been lecturing is wrenched from the other's desperate grasp, shrieking as the bug sinks its teeth into him. "Ya Allah," Nahida is saying, low, as the bugs crash down. She is sticking close to the others first, darting just slightly ahead only when they're closer to the store to pull the door to the store open. "Some big bugs here," she's continuing to say, shaky and panicked though her voice is. They are -- they are definitely eating people, and -- oh no!" The oh no comes because several of the creatures are diving straight their way, tentacles lashing and teeth bared. Quentin's tension is growing, and there's something in the clench of his teeth that make them look more bared than simply grimacing. He shudders as the bugs dive nearer, and he's lifted a hand reflexively. The bugs thud hard against absolutely nothing, slamming themselves into some invisible barrier. One is sliding to the ground, hurt but still mobile; the other is still airborne, thumping repeatedly forward like a moth at a window. Quentin is breathing hard. He turns aside from the person he's been pushing, fists balled up as he rounds on the bugs like, Come at me, bro. The bugs, for their part, are definitely trying. Dallen flinches as the bugs come at them, and when he's not dead a moment later he is very briefly certain Heavenly Father had stretched forth His hand to protect them. Then he looks up and realized, with even greater wonder that it's Quentin who had stretched forth his hand to protect them. He expected that sort of thing from God, or angels, and maybe even some people (who aren't also angels -- DJ sort of muddles this categorization), but always adults, not his schoolmates. Something flutters inside him that doesn't feel like the terror that he's definitely also still feeling. Seeing the bugs up close without the immediate threat of being devoured confirms the vague sense he's had since he started puzzling over their scale through the binoculars: these are aliens. The idea slots very easily into his conception of the Universe as Worlds without Number, and having dealt with that conundrum, he sets it aside with some relief. When he looks at Quentin again his mind halos the other boy in beatific light. "Let's go inside," he says quietly, tugging at Quentin's arm. "Please." "Oh. Oh, we're not dead, Mashallah," Nahida is saying -- to her classmates and to her future audience both. She's not quite as quick, not just yet, to get inside. With the aliens held off by the invisible force she's tipping her camera up, zooming closer to get a long and steady shot of the angry creatures trying to break in and eat them. "My classmate he just saved our lives -- okay but can you do that forever?" Another particularly ferocious jawing in at the barrier is having her reconsider how long she should film, and she's going back to the door to help the broken-legged Ex-Freaktonian inside. "Come come come. Before we collect any more, yah? We're alive now and, Inshallah, we'll stay alive long enough to find a signal. Those were some amazing shots." "But I'm -- I could --" There's something wild and angry in Quentin's eyes as he stares at the bugs. It's easing away with that tug on his arm. He's still tense, for sure, but he exhales hard and nods at Dallen. He's following the others inside, now, the bugs getting frustrated at their fruitless slamming and moving on. "We'll stay alive."