Jump to content
SITE NEWS
  • EXCITING NEW PLOTS COMING SOON, LOOK FOR UPCOMING POSTS IN THE PLOTTING AREA THAT WILL HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY FOR ALL ON THE SITE TO JOIN!!
  • Pepper Spray and Cotton Candy


    Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Recommended Posts

    ((NOTE- Saxon Terrano was retired and is now inactive.  His profile was edited into a new character; Boone Fitzpatrick))

     

    Smoke watched, hooded eyes completely captivated by the twirling spin of colors against bare trees and paled grass.  It was the only one he knew of, or could find at least still running in the cold.  It was large, sheltered with a pavillion that kept the snow off and blew some sort of heat from the ceiling into the little out-of-doors winter oasis.... it reminded him of something.. gone just as quickly as it had been thought of.  The focused pupils were memorizing the movement of keys in the center of the spinning  top of horses and other mythical beasties.  Calliope was out of sync, haunting music still bringing a tick of upward turn to the right side of his lip, predicting when the broken key would cease to punch downward and give a little skip in the music.

     

    He could fix that. 

     

    Lone Were was sitting alone on a park bench, relaxed and slouched like he was on a couch, heel up to hook on the seat with his knee in the air and the other stretched in front of him into the sidewalk.  Leather clad forearm was over the raised knee, a bag of pastel cotton candy dangling from his fingers as it swayed every now and then, the captured fluff tucked between his lips to savor.

     

    *npc* Hello

     

    It’d been said several times before he actually heard it.  Now he was just ignoring.  Button down, khakis, nice coat, waiting for his kid to get off the carousel, why was this asshole even talking to him?

     

    *npc* You’ve been here a while, watching the carousel.

     

    Another shred of cotton candy was plucked out and devoured, free hand pulling a shred of jean from a hole on his knee and flicking it.

     

    *npc*  The parents and I wanted to know if you were okay?

     

    It didn’t even occur to the Were that he was making the parents nervous, lost in thought until the man had been goaded by the others to approach him.  A sacrificial lamb of the do-gooder crew.

     

    “Gorgeous.  They’re gorgeous,” muffled voice was burnt, husky with a tired haze- pointing with his little finger from a handful of cotton candy halfway in his mouth toward one particularly brilliant horse near the front.

     

    *npc*  Well… We are uncomfortable with you staring at our children.  We would like it if you would leave.

     

    The air seemed to throb as his consciousness cleared, tension twisting like strained leather. The weight of his eyes shifted to the man in a blink.  What.  The.  Fuck.  Expression slowly morphed from calm, to a disgusted and incredulous expression.

     

    “The horses.  I was talking about the horses,” he was so quiet, the distinct timbre at one time being so calming to listen to had an eerie feel.  Orange and green sky in the weird before a tornado.  The sinking feeling that something terrible was about to happen.  “I'm an artist, asshole, not a fucking pervert.”

     

    Foot came down with a clunk and he stood in one fell swoop, fingers tightening around the neck of his precious bag of cotton candy.  Yah, he should go now.  Dick would probably report him and he’d have cops on his ass for doing nothing more than deciphering paint schemes on carved horses.  Smile was cordial through tight lips before chuckling and making his way down the path.

     

    Shredded cuffs wisped over the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of worn, low slung jeans.  The bag of cotton candy was still hugged tightly in his fist that was shoved into his pocket, flopping around like a ragdoll as he walked.  People were always uncomfortable with him.  He usually did nothing, kept to himself, minded his own business.  He didn't LOOK like he was homeless, he looked like he was a biker.  Why did that make people weird out?

     

    Eyes squinted at the grey sky, a discontented snort toward it as a playful grin tickled his lips and he approached the edge of the park- “sneaking” dramatically toward a cart next to the start of a line of shops on the street.  It was like a little hotdog stand, still working hard in the middle of winter, the proprietor able to make basic coffee mixes, but nothing fancy.  Wheels, an umbrella, power from building it was parked next to, but still out-of-doors and definitely sneak-able.

     

    *npc* Nice try Sax.

     

    Laugh was light.  He liked Ginnie.  She gave him free coffee, and she had freckles.  Little ones on her nose he just wanted to touch.

     

    “You need me to take the trash back to the alley dumpster?  I can do it for a cinnamon hot chocolate.”

     

    The girl’s scowl was playful as she handed off a cup to a patron, watching the vagrant’s eyes follow it like a dog would a hamburger.

     

    *npc*  I can’t keep giving you free stuff.  I’m going to get fired.  Get a job, mooch.

     

    He looked hurt, then chuckled.

     

    “Clean the glass?”

     

    *npc* NO!

     

    She swatted at him, the same cup she had just handed off being handed back.

     

    *npc* This isn’t what I ordered miss.  This has hot chocolate in it. I just wanted a plain coffee.

     

    His brows perked.

     

    She smiled sweetly, taking it and setting it aside on the stainless steel side counter in front of him to make another.  He blinked at it, watching her slide the cinnamon nonchalantly over toward the returned cup.  Once the correct order was handed off and the line lulled, she hissed at him.

     

    *npc* He drank a sip from that Sax.

     

    “I don’t care,” he popped the top off and discarded it, “there, fixed.”  Sprinkling cinnamon on the top before taking a sip, he grinned a toothy boyish smile at her.

     

    *npc* Now get out of here.

     

    *npc*  Sir?

     

    Grin disappeared in a second, snapped eyes toward an officer that was approaching.

     

    *npc* Sax, leave it alone. Just relax.

     

    She reached out to touch his arm to keep him where he was.

     

    *npc* Were you just at the carousel, sir?

     

    Brows flickered downward.

     

    *npc* Saxon. Relax...

     

    He ignored her.

     

    “Mind your fucking business, pig.  You can shut up, turn around, and leave,"  there wasn't a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice.  It was a threat, a threat he would follow through on.

     

    She exhaled sharply, reaching up to rub her temple as she let go of his arm.

     

    *npc* Sir, can you please come with me.

     

    “What did I just tell you?  Why are you even still talking?” the glare unnerving.

     

    The officer spoke into a shoulder mic before he stepped forward to escort his arm, reaching behind to unclip a small canister on his belt.  Ginnie put both hands up to try and diffuse and warn the cop, the sound of a crack making her jump, hot chocolate now splattered everywhere as the cup plinked off the side counter and spun on the ground.  He felt her grapple for the back of his coat as he went after the officer that he’d just splayed out with a punch- then fire…

     

    ..pure fucking fire…

     

    Pepper spray.

     

    He couldn’t breathe, painful gasps forcing him down on his ass as Ginnie pulled him back up and shoved him toward the alley- the cop still trying to get his bearings.

     

    *npc* Get out of here!

     

    Face was on fire, eyes were on fire, he walked backward a few steps, wanting nothing more than to just beat the crap out of the cop that'd just sprayed him. He’d been in jail, couldn’t afford to again… halfway down the block when terror streaked through his chest.  Where was his cotton candy?  Panic erupted, disintegrating the fury, oblivious to the issue at hand as bleary eyes frantically searched his surroundings.  Where was his cotton candy!

    Link to comment
    Today, Abernathy Wynn wasn't at the 94th Brooklyn Precinct. She was in the heart of New York City, finishing the last of her report. A transfer was happening since she lived closer, but her heart was always going to be in Brooklyn. She couldn't help but think about Margie and the fact that Ghost was actually home instead of being her partner in crime. 

     

    Speaking of crime - "Detective Wynn, you wanna take this one?" A call had come in, alerting the nearby police stations about an event going on in Central Park. She was essentially at the NYPD, which was just around the corner of the American Museum of Natural History. Central Park was within view if you stood by the right window, and Abby, having kicked back in her chair, pen twirling in hand paused to glance up at her future boss. The police commisioner wasn't exactly sexist, but he had a tendency to test Abby with every other 'tough case,' and often she had proved him wrong. He just didn't want to admit that she was someone very capable, regardless of the world being much more different. 

     

    Detective Wynn sighed. Her schedule had just opened up, and she was still on the clock. Setting her foot down, Abby stood up and pressed her finished report to his chest. "I'll do my job as long as you're doing yours." She smiled sweetly after the softly brazen comment. 

     

    Then she was gone. 

     

    Her boots moved brusquely since she was going on feet. She was in Central Park and it didn't take long to find where all the fuss was about. She moved past the carousel, narrowly dodging kids running about. Parents held onto their toddlers, watching as a cop was helped up by another, pepper spray in one hand while the other covered one eye. Abby could put two and two together. Two other cops were standing with him, talking among themselves until Abby appeared. 

     

    "Detective Wynn," she said, showing her badge that was pinned inside her jacket. "What's the deal?" Her casual lingo and Brooklyn accent could throw anyone off, but Abby was on a job and she was going to do it well. Familiar with her, but not immune to judgement, the cops looked her over before the 'injured' one spoke. 

     

    "Ma'am, some guy was spookin' the parents by the carousel. I did what any normal cop would do - ask him to come in - nicely, but he wouldn't have it. Crazy man up and attacked me before I got the chance to cuff him."

     

    "Any witnesses?" 

     

    The spoken cop nodded to the woman standing by the cart. Abby recognized her as Ginnie. She would buy a hot cop when on her break and have a little chat here and there. Abby released a sigh when she made eye contact with the vendor. She could tell when people didn't wanna talk, but the mess by the cart was an indicator that something definitely happened here. Having Ghost with her would definitely make finding the mysterious attacker easier. 

     

    "Any idea which way he might've gone," she asked after looking away from Ginnie and the mess of chocolate on the ground. 

     

    "I think he went that way." 

     

    "All right, here's what's gonna happen - you two separate and cover ground in this general area. I'm assuming the pepper spray got 'im pretty good, so he shouldn't get too far. I'm going down that alleyway. IF, and that is IF, I need back up, I'll let you guys know. Keep the comm open, and contact me once you find him." She didn't take her gun out since it was safely nestled within her shoulder holster beneath her jacket. She had a taser clipped to her belt however, in case worse came to worst. 

     

    "Hey Ginnie," she said to the vendor with a small nod. A nod was returned, but lips were sealed as Abby made the quick trek down, past a fallen cloud of brightly colored candy. A contrast against the cement. It was almost artistic, but Abby noted the way it had fallen, like someone had dropped it unknowingly.

    Link to comment

    Panic, panic, panic.  He’d spent all his money on the damn bag, had been hoarding loose change all week to get it.  Waiting, pining, wishing he could get a damn job and he'd have it all the time….and a stupid ass paranoid father and brute cop had to screw it all up.  The heels of his hands rubbed hard at his lashes, burn of his blood shrugging off the effects of the pepper spray faster than an ordinary human, but unable to squelch the boil of anger that was itching up his spine.  A cracked mind couldn’t differentiate hostility from protectiveness, the weakness to control his Were impulses quickly losing any ground it had until he could locate the object of his obsession and punish those responsible.

     

    He couldn’t afford to go to jail again.

     

    They would keep him this time.  He knew there was a reason that wasn’t a good thing, it was just escaping him at the moment and was the only thing that halted his furious footsteps back toward Ginnie’s cart.  Well, that and the woman moving past the flash of color he spied on the ground behind her.  Hands shoved nonchalantly into his pockets.  She didn’t look like a cop, glancing around as if he was supposed to be there, doing exactly what he was doing.  Sniffle was quiet to clear any of the remaining sting from his nostrils.  His worn hoodie under the comfortably broken-in dark leather jacket snapped up around his features, hands stuffed back into his jean pockets to make a beeline for the bag that was lying oh-so-close.  He didn’t see any more cops at the end of the alley, but she was still in the way… feet stopped again.

     

    Cheek under his left eye twitched slightly, now that his senses were clearing, there was more about her than just a cute brunette taking a stroll behind a bunch of stores.  Eyes flicked to the bag of cotton candy again, then to her.  Gunpowder.  He didn’t know how he smelled it, or even what it meant to know what it smelled like. He just… smelled it- with the scent skin made against leather and metal, and something else that figuratively bristled the hair on the back of his neck like a rooster tail.  Flecked hazel flicked to her cautiously, like a starving puppy deciding whether or not to trust someone offering food, then to the bag behind her.

     

    You a cop?  footstep backward was tentative.  You don’t look like a cop.  I didn’t do anything.  Dumb dad at the carousel told me to leave.  I wasn’t doing anything.  I’m an artist, was watching the paint schemes.  He accused me of some pervert shit and said to leave.  I left.  Cops wanted to take me in for leaving.  I told them to go away. They insisted, tried to grab me… I defended myself, lost my hot chocolate and got sprayed with pepper spray.

     

    Eyes flicked to the cotton candy, then back to her.  If anything, he was honest.  In his mind, everything was entirely justified.

     

    I didn’t DO anything.  I can't go to jail.  I don't do well there.  He was silent for a long moment, the melancholy in his words hinting at something much more complicated than sitting in the bull pen with all the drunks for the night.  Toe of his boot was incredibly interesting before attention went back to his cotton candy.  Can… can I get that?  he peered at her from under his hood, seemingly completely finished with the whole situation.  Mine fair and square, and…I gotta go.  Lunch closes in about a half hour.  Shelter's not serving dinner tonight for some reason, so if I don’t eat now I got nothing.

    Link to comment
    Abby refrained from withdrawing her taser. She wasn't the type to 'shoot first and ask questions later.' She had a little more hope in people, and she hoped that whoever this was wasn't the creep that the parents at the park painted him to be. Abby kept her hands visible, a sign that she wasn't up to anything. It never did anyone good to be the spook; bad things tend to happen that way. 

     

    The cotton candy was just by her feet, the colorful cloud still protected by the plastic. Abby noted the man's glances between the cotton candy and herself. She herself tried not to get distracted as she locked on his visuals. What's with her and these handsome men? She was on a roll, and only lord knew that she wasn't getting any action. Though, such things were far in the back of her mind. Not she was abstinent, she just didn't have time to dwell on certain things like Margie. 

     

    You a cop?

     

    "Promise me you won't run if I say I am." She replied lightly, hands still visible as a show of peace. Her handcuffs were clipped to her belt out of sight, but she wasn't reaching for them, nor her taser, nor her gun that was safely stowed away in her shoulder holster. Out of sight. 

     

    As she listened to his story, Abby released a small sigh. Her shoulders sagged from their tensed state. He seemed so genuine, but Abby wasn't going to let her guard down. She nodded slowly, quiet until he was concerned with the cotton candy again. Most people said they didn't do anything, but her intuition was telling her that this man was innocent. 

     

    "Okay," she began slowly, "let's slow down a little." He was fidgety, she'd give him that. Any cop would get suspicious, but Abby was patient. "I am Detective Wynn, but you can just call me Abby. So yes, I am a cop, and unfortunately, you just assaulted a police officer. Some people don't like that, but..." She kept one hand up, still a gesture of peace as she knelt slightly to reach down for the cotton candy. She swiftly snatched it by the small white cone that held it, and straightened up. 

     

    "I will hand you this, in exchange for an apology to the cop. He was just doing his job, but I won't arrest you, deal? It won't take long and we'll be on time for lunch. I haven't eaten yet." There it was, her pragmatic attitude as a servant of justice and a sympathetic young woman all rolled into one. She just hoped that he wasn't going to make a run for it the moment she handed him the treat. Perhaps he caught the gist of what she was also saying. 

    Link to comment

    Eyes were cautious, head lowered slightly as he peered at her from under the hood… the look of a wolf that had just wandered from the woods and wondering if it should approach civilization.  Her hands were in sight, but that meant nothing in his experience at how fast they could draw a weapon. He’s been shot, tazed… hit with nightsticks, face mashed into the ground, knee on his throat or the back of his neck… or the middle of his spine. He had good reason to not be trusting of those that claimed to be law, but were so unforgiving in their judgment.  If you wore khakis and a polo, you got a free pass.  Rugged and a little worn?  Criminal with no way out. A good father being protective of his children against someone like him? He was not going to win this round.

      

    "Promise me you won't run if I say I am."

     

    He blinked at her, not liking where it was going.  She had something he wanted, he was fixated on it.  When he got fixated, all other interesting clinical terms for his mental state came into play.

     

    “I don’t run,” and therein was the problem.  He’d gone from agitated to serious in a matter of moments.  He wasn’t a runner, he was a confrontationist- it was what got him into trouble.  The Were stood up for himself when nobody else would.  Ginnie had made him run, he kept that to himself, cautious at the nod in response to his side of the story.  It was the story.  There was no other way it had gone down.

     

    "Okay, let's slow down a little."

     

    He watched her, undivided attention from a stern and incredibly lucid set of smoke colored irises.

     

    "I am Detective Wynn, but you can just call me Abby. So yes, I am a cop, and unfortunately, you just assaulted a police officer. Some people don't like that, but..."

     

    Jaw ticked slightly at the snatch of his prize, sigh tight.

     

    "I will hand you this, in exchange for an apology to the cop. He was just doing his job, but I won't arrest you, deal? It won't take long and we'll be on time for lunch. I haven't eaten yet."

     

    He let her say her peace, leaning against the brick wall next to a loading door and sliding to sit on the cold concrete.  Skull thunked against the wall, elbows resting on bent knees.

     

    “Some people don’t like to be called perverts because they don’t appear to be model members of society,” the clear response tingled of engrained intelligence.  Saxon was a smart man, WAS a smart man… unfortunately the distance between those lucid moments seemed to be getting further and further apart.  Eyes moved to her, the gaze capable of being unnerving.  “He wasn’t doing his job, he doesn’t deserve an apology.  He wasn’t protecting all citizens…he believed someone at their word, and was going to take me in because I wasn’t a polo-wearing stay-at-home dad.  Maybe he’ll think twice next time before making assumptions based on appearances.”

     

    Coat was opened unabashedly, he didn’t care at this point if she went for a gun, or a Taser, or handcuffs.  Zip ties seemed to be the restraint of choice lately.  A thick folded piece of paper was pulled out and tossed the distance between them to land at her feet.

     

    “I wasn’t doing anything.”

     

    The papers would prove it, the sketches he’d done with a pencil sharpened with only his thumbnail were unrivaled. All horses, the details caught even though it was in constant motion, hence the unabashed attention to the ride.  It hadn’t even occurred to him that people were on it.  It was then someone had dropped him a few nickels to complete the last bit of savings to get the candy which was now in her fingers, and his rest on a park bench leading to this.  Long legs straightened out, hands with their wrists together in his lap in what seemed like a familiar position.  He was going to be arrested, lose his cotton candy, not eat in twenty four hours… because like hell he was apologizing.

     

    “I’m not going to a restaurant for lunch.  I’m not able to pay for it.  It’s the shelter four blocks over,” voice was quiet, the fight conceded.  She was a cop, he hated cops.  Didn’t trust them.  It was a shame she was a cop, she seemed nice and he sorta liked her.  He played with the stain of pencil lead on his thumbnail, the shy caution returning.  "Nice to meet you Abby."

    Link to comment
    • 2 weeks later...
    Abby watched him warily, but her small smile remained in sight, stance harmless and patient. She had dealt with most types in this new world. Being a cop was lucrative, especially when you're dealing with the slime of society. The bigger factions usually took precedence though, offering their assistance or having jurisdiction over the special cases - whatever that was. Regardless, work was still work, whether challenging or not. Abby had to take each day with grit. 

     

    Today was just another day of work, and unfortunately, this particular guy had to deal with the leftover and somewhat improvised form of justice. Abby had a feeling that a misunderstanding was involved. She knew those types - the sweater vest wearing, cardigan wrapped around their shoulders, playing tennis in the mornings and having bloody maries for breakfast types. It amazed her that they were still around after the resonance. She supposed people adapted as quickly as they could, which meant clinging to whatever monetary value they had. 

     

    You'd think the crumbling world would humble people a little more, but it made judging by sight a common occurance, one that led to many innocents sitting in jail until their bail/release. 

     

    She had to admit, his stare was a little unnerving. It was the kind of stare that saw straight through you, rather than looking at you. There was depth and clarity, and his words carried the timber of both. Some cops would flinch when someone reached in his or her pocket. They'd immediately withdraw their guns and demand the one to stand down, or they'll shoot. Abby wasn't that kind of cop. She followed her instincts, because lord knew how many innocent people died and the world demanded justice for it. 

     

    Kneeling down slightly, Abby gently sorted through the art with the cotton candy still in hand. They were amazing works; an artist's rendering of catching a moment in time. He was able to capture what still existed; a semblance of normalcy that still carried on nearly a decade after the resonance. With one hand she smoothed the papers together and lifted them, standing up, so that she could close the distance between them. He was ready to get arrested, and Abby knelt down in front of him, one knee down so that she maintained her modesty because of her choice outfit. 

     

    "It looks like I have no choice, but..." She laid the artwork on his lap and then held the cotton candy to him, "give you these back. Like you said, it's yours fair and square." She shrugged then, "as for the cop, I'll just pass on the message that you meant no harm. I'd like to think that my word still mean something." She was a woman of her word after all. Honor and all that. Her smile was slight still, but a genuine light was in her eyes. "I think I know exactly what shelter you're talking about. My sister and I volunteer from time to time, especially for the youth shelter." She canted her head, "It's nice to meet you too, and I didn't get your name." 

    Link to comment

    He was tired, mentally.  Physically his muscles itched for action.  To hit something, pummel something, take his aggression out on the world for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  He’d been misunderstood.  He was always being misunderstood.  The Were wasn’t particularly social, but people attracted him, he didn’t want to be alone.  Then the trouble started, the unease with his lack of interaction.  Of course he had to be up to something, and hence the frustration and anger at being misjudged.

     

    Eyes fell on the paper he’d thrown, admitting defeat and not one to run.  He would take his lumps.  Cops were all the same, there was no getting out of this.  Lip was being chewed lightly, waiting for the shoe to drop, not expecting her to approach.  People didn’t approach him unless they were warning him or telling him to leave. Or punching him.. pepper spray- a pretty good laundry list of cruel things that were common.

     

    "It looks like I have no choice, but..."

     

    Lashes fluttered slightly, the flinch evident as she set his art on his lap.

     

    "give you these back. Like you said, it's yours fair and square."

     

    Eyes were suspicious.  At first, the cops were interested in making nice, then they were interested in making nice when they got something out of it or using it to kick his ass.  They didn’t bother being nice anymore most of the time.  He was baffled, hesitating a moment before reaching to take his precious sugar.

     

    "as for the cop, I'll just pass on the message that you meant no harm. I'd like to think that my word still mean something."

     

    Lashes lowered, then looked back to her… still apprehensive.

     

    "I think I know exactly what shelter you're talking about. My sister and I volunteer from time to time, especially for the youth shelter.  It's nice to meet you too, and I didn't get your name." 

     

    Papers were picked up, smoothed and folded to disappear back into his pocket.  The brightly colored cotton candy crinkled in his fingers as he gripped it tighter, finally realizing it was truly his again.  She was being really nice, he didn’t trust nice.  Was she going to show up at his shelter and arrest him there because he wouldn’t be expecting it?  Warn them and tell them not to serve him anymore?

     

    “Saxon,” he found himself saying before he could rein in his words.  He had a last name, but it didn’t register at the moment.  Eyes glanced back up to her, the former lucidity slipping a bit the harder he thought.  He reached up with his free hand and rubbed his temple, fingers falling into his inner pocket again and producing a very worn, barely legible ID card.  Plastic had cracked and started to come apart, the magnetic strip on the back no longer there.  It was his card, or so he supposed.  It was his name on it, or maybe it was something that he’d found and become.  No… no, it was his picture- a bright and sparkled intelligence in the worn likeness that was there in little whispers now.  Saxon Terrano, Construction- City of New York.  He looked at it a long moment before handing it to her.

     

    “Trying to get some work.  Just, can’t keep a job.  Forget.. things.  Where it is, what day I’m supposed to be there.”  Sigh was calm as he stood up and brushed himself off.  Food.  “You volunteer at the shelter?” lips pursed.  “You’re not going to be nice to me and then try to arrest me later are you?  ‘Cause if not, you want to go eat?”

    Link to comment

    Archived

    This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.

    • CURRENT RESONANCE DATE

    • RESONANCE - 18+ 3/3/3

      • A modern/fantasy, intermediate+ collaborative writer's rp. Caters to an experienced player base (25+) with a slower, more relaxed pace.
    • HELP GETTING STARTED? TRY A CANON!

      • 41f3d9eb35f930d5dc44ad8ade983b8e.jpg   6d8f5289ec09a7848237ad4fd3a06e3f.jpg   007fff0d107209cabc4ba334e56e593d.png
        8bcb54940bfd412123dc5bf8b88660b8.gif   0524927e32365acf2423cae0ea7b74f1.png  360d172315c70289fec9fc00324ae36c.gif
    ×
    ×
    • Create New...