13337/Red light, green light

Red light, green light
Date of Scene:	11 November 2022
Location:	Gotham Rooftops
Synopsis:	Cecily and Harper investigate a trail of power-drops of the city's grid that stop near the roof of a warehouse filled with many tall antenna on a foggy dark night in Gotham. Metal tendrils with a desire for electric power sources drop from above. The duo put an end to a floating abomination of combined batteries, car parts, gadgets and mechanisms. Harper taking pot shots at the tendrils and Cecily delivers a coup de grace foxfire round that touches off the construct that's so swollen with electrical power. The duo collect evidence of their involvement and seek safe harbour to tend to wounds before future investigations.
Cast of Characters:	Harper Row, Cecily Winters

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Harper Row has posed:
    It's a dark and not-stormy night. Though with it being Gotham, there's that low hanging cloud cover and dampness that seems to make mortar and brick bead moisture and make metal glisten.

    Bluebird has sent up a tweet to a certain fox-eared person. As much as Harper would like to make it purely a social call, circumstances add a bit of a dire accent to the clipped thumb-texted request. The tone is clipped rather than shy, perfunctory and precise. GPS co-ordiantes and...elevation. The rooftop of a series of industrial buildings that's quite near apartment blocks that stand side-by-side like jam-packed subway transit riders. Fences are in abundance, but nothing that can keep out an agile fox or dextrous bird. Strangely absent presence of security guards. The building to scale ~is~ tall, making a fall not a good idea if one cannot withstand more than 4-5 stories down. Handy fire escapes located at two sides of the building, one quite close to where Harper had asked for a rooftop rendezvous. The hiss of escaping steam and HVAC's are present, adding their own plumes of mist as if trying to compete with Gotham's particular climate.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily might be on official 'vacation' after her little age-altering ordeal, but she's always got time for the special ladies in her life. And the Bluebird is very, very special to her indeed. So she goes back on the clock and takes a train to Gotham, bringing her 'luggage' with her as she do. Rather, her usual messenger bag and the pistol holstered on her chest rig. Eventually, of course, she arrives--and not so much on time as early.

    She's not too loaded down and she's been eager to put her body through its paces again after being stuck small. So up and over a fence she goes, and she scales her way up one of the fire escapes remarkably quick. The vixen makes it to the roof without a heavy breath, instead sighing as she rolls her shoulders with the damp autumn air clinging to her skin. Then, quietly, she draws her pistol, checks the chambered round, and slowly makes her way to the rendezvous point. She can't be too careful, after all.

Harper Row has posed:
    The side of the building has had a rough past if the old signs of ownership are any indication. It's passed hands more than once, and the new owner, Sli-Tech, hasn't spent a bundle on outward appearances. Power ~is~ running into the building as grimey bar-covered windows are any clue. There's the familiar hum of protected electrical cables threading up from city-providing conduits. The kind of industrial hook-up that suggests manufacturing or network servers. Up top, the view of this area of the city reveals itself further. All those little wisps of steam dozily issuing up to the dark heavens, ghosts that fan into chaotic feathers before the sky defeats and disperses. The smell, to those with sensitive sniffers and heightened senses is acrid ozone. That tang that never promises a substantial meal, unless one enjoys current running through equipment. Metal poles and antenna reach for the sky and manage further distances than the exhaust exiting the building. Thick by the base, becoming more and more slender the higher they go, segmented as would an old pocket radio with an extendable antenna, with green lights winking off and on along their lengths.

    Harper is crouched behind one of them, and she's wearing what must be her Adventurous gear: Mask, coat, thin bodysuit beneath and what looks like a bullpup rifle without a round bore. A faint blue glow comes from beneath the powerpack nestled as a snug secondary grip for her off-hand. It's some manner of energy weapon. Her faux-hawk droops over her forehead as she checks a gadget in her other hand. Catching sight of Cecily mounting the fire escape, Harper's expression brightens so much that the ambient light of her weapon casts a glow upon her exposed teeth. She pantomimes up to the sky.

    There's a distinct buzzing noise coming from above the low-hanging cloud cover, beyond the antennas, in the sky.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    She always did dislike Gotham. Something about it never sit right with her. Still, Cecily finds work, and friends, in the most interesting of places. Besides, she's here now at the behest of a friend, and isn't exactly paying attention to the scenery. Rather, not the wisps of smoke and steam, or the buzzing of cables, even if the electricity running through everything makes her ears hum and feel fuzzy.

    And then, there she is. She spots the figure, the glow, the smile. She recognizes the hair, for sure, and casts a faint smile over towards Harper. Then the fox pauses, glancing up, glancing towards the clouds and her ears twitch. They perk and her lips curve into a frown. The buzzing is certainly heard, the weird hum where there isn't supposed to be anything? It is rather strange.

    It doesn't do much more than slow her approach to Harper, though, but now she seems to be focusing upwards with every few steps, as if expecting the sky to fall, especially if her companion seems so intent on drawing attention to it.

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper pushes her back up against the nearest antenna base and angles the muzzle of her weapon upwards when she also starts to hear that noise intrude on the ambient noises of the the night. Her attention is drawn back to her hand-held gadget. The display adds its own glow to things, casting accents upon Bluebirds costume and illumination more of what her jacket usually covers. Her voice is low as she risks a question towards Cecily, "Are you packing?" Harper pushes off the antenna to meet Cecily halfway. The girl's eyes are wide beneath her mask, no lenses obscuring her peepers. Her gaze tries to gobble up all of Cecily, like a fan meeting their number 1. Only the situation keeps her focused. "I can't explain it, but...I was leaving work, it's making sure the power grid is all green. But something was causing blackouts, brownouts...sapping juice or interfering with the grid. Thought it was rats nibbling the wires...but I don't think it's rats...So I suited up as soon as I could and followed the little power-drops to here. Whatever it is, it doesn't get stuck in traffic."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The fox is certainly as nice looking as ever. Skirt. Vest. Shirt. Holster. She's certainly packing, it's obvious from the pistol already in her hand. She gives Harper a look when she asks, gesturing vaguely to the Glock she's angled at the roof below her feet. Then Cecily nods to her messenger bag, "...brought a few things... didn't know what the trouble was..." she answers, pursing her lips as she takes a knee, staying low. Clearly she doesn't care if her stockings get torn or wet from the roof.

    "Followed the trail of bread crumbs out here, little bird?" she asks, teasing her lover a little bit, even though her expression stays serious. She looks around the roof at all of the network towers and HVAC machines that are running then glancing upwards again. "...you think something's hiding in the clouds? Or..." she nods to the building they're perched on. "You think something in the lab is sucking juice from the grid or fouling up something?" she asks. "This is your area of expertise, love," she states, voice coming with encouragement and kindness. "I'll follow your lead. I'm just here to bring the firepower."

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper worries at her bottom lip. From the redness and abuse evident there, she's been doing it too much tonight. To the questions posed, she hunches up her shoulders and starts to nod. "Yeah, like when someone draws a bit too much power or messes with the distribution. I usually don't see that sort of thing unless, like, if everyone's tv's and hairdryers and everything all wants the juice after a power failure and draws big on the system all at once...but this is localized. A big mosquito rather than a swarm. No idea why anyone would want to try and steal electricity. Lines were mostly fine apart from some damage to the housings at certain junction and transformers. Nothing the city can't patch up in the morning..."

    The device in Harper's hand goes dead quite suddenly. "What the heck..." And bursts into sparks like a gender reveal party gone wrong. Bluebird tosses it, in a kneejerk manner, sending it looping end over end, spilling smoke and spasmotic readings before giving up the ghost for good.

    The tower nearest to Harper hums and starts to extend upwards into the cloud cover. The green lights blinking off one by one and replaced by red.

    Harper's weapon makes a cranky auditory ~blart~ like Skrillex just dropped the beat. "That's not good!" From out of the cloud cover something swoops down, serpentine, segmented and silvery metal. The end has a graspy clutchy artificial maw that belongs on the mouth of a monster and not a machine.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "You're going to want some lip balm..." Cecily fusses softly, seeing the chewing damage the poor girl was exacting upon her lower lip. She listens further, looking to the sky, and then back down to the ground. She blinks, then, as the bird speaks up. Her eyes move to the device in her hand and then they widen when it sparks. Every gender reveal party is bad, but clearly, that's not on her mind right now. She watches it get tossed, tumbled, and dying.

    "...I'm sure you can make a replacement for that but..." she pauses and goes silent, staring slowly at the extending tower. "Get down.." she hisses softly and pulls her pistol close to her chest with one hand, the other reaching for Harper's shoulders to yank her closer. She squints at the weapon that seems to die, too, before staring up at the sky. "If I had known we were dealing with some kind of dragon..." she growls softly, "..I would have brought bigger guns..." she sighs.

    For the moment after, though, she waits. She waits in silence and watches. They're both right there under it.

Harper Row has posed:
    The discarded device that Harper dropped is quested towards, blindly, but unerringly, by the mouthed grasping metal maw. Plastic is buckled from whatever internal power source decided to go kablooie, adding to the smell of ozone and burnt offerings. That cable coming down from the clouds is long.

    Harper crouches in close to Cecily, helpfully ushered closer to the Kitsune. She resists the urge to hide behind or under tails, bristling at feeling exposed on this rooftop with little cover. Side-by-side is what she'll settle for and is grateful for that. Harper's railgun starts to vibrate and draws Harper's worried gaze. "I gotta shut it down." she wrestles with the weapon, hurriedly trying to disengage the power pack. "I gotta!" she hisses.

    The terrible tendril gets within 3 meters of the damaged power reader earlier thrown to the roof...and then strikes. Quick as a viper, it hurtles and connects with a large smash and grab, the force of the impact and clutching metal jaw-parts croonch it hard and squeeze it to pieces.

    Harper's gun produces a similar, more powerful blurt of noise, and without thinking, Harper rips the powerclip completely, it already growing hotter and hotter in her gloved hand. "Oh...shit! Look out Cecily!"

    Harper tries to shoulder Cecily out of the way, like some darn hero, as the tendril's mouth drops the destroyed gadget and angles towards the two women. ~gnash gnash~

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "It's... is it... literally eating power?" Cecily asks, "...and is.. this place drawing it towards it?" She looks between the antenna and the thing going for the mangled reader. Her lips purse and she just... watches. Spellbound. It's a thing she's never seen before, and it's... interesting. But she's not one of the eggheads back at STAR Labs. This is a threat.

    "Then shut it down," she urges, level-headed, voice low but firm. "Throw it!" she hisses as that shoulder impacts her. She wraps her free arm around Harper and pulls the girl with her. "Throw it at it, maybe it'll explode," she hazards, trying to pull the girl with her, the weight of her bag pulling them down too. She's hoping the overloading power pack will simply... explode when speared and cronched on. "Or at least keep it busy while I change magazines!" she grunts.

    In the back of her mind, she's wondering what the hell is in the sky that's controlling this thing. That's making this... creature coming down from the clouds to gnaw on power and why here of all places. Not that she has much time to think when the impact with the roof is softned by her tails, even with her trying to pull Harper's weight with her.

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper is drawn with Cecily, her hand outstretched like she's holding a live grenade. Before she is helped to the ground with Cecily, she relunctantly throws the powerclip. It rebounds off one of the antenna's and angles towards a part of the roof further along. Whatever tech the thing is comprised of, it doesn't take kindly to being handled in such a way. The power pack was already plenty pumped up with an overload already, and Cecily's guesses are right on the money. The sazzle and sizzle coming off the clip is boosted by the anomaly, and further nudged towards losing containment. The mouth of the sky-tendril sweeps towards the more delicious object and closes upon it, just as the thing detonates in a blossom of released energy. The radius of it equivalent to a couple of meters apart. The severity of the electricity unleashed is a force that temporarily bats away the tendril and sends it whipping around like a live wire.

    Harper's breath is hot as she watches, wincing at the bright flash of white hot light that makes her mask's lenses fall in place to try and protect her vision. "I've shielded those! I swear! What touched it off?! Oh frig..." The droning noise above builds.

    There is absolutely time to change magazines as five more tendrils wriggle down from above and the cloud cover starts to dissipate from the force of the earlier detonation. More of the antenna's thrum and raise up even as the cables drip down. Lights turning from healthy green to warning red. Harper wrestles inside the pockets lining her coat for her stun rod and truncheon. The cables from above dance and twist around the remnants of the clip before whipping around in a frenzy, smashing and smacking against the antennas surrouding the two women before pointing directly towards them. "I think we're next."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "It's interfering with electronics!" Cecily hisses, "Anything with a power source..." She fumbles in her bag, finding her burner phone she uses for outings like this, just in case, and hurls it to the side, to give them some breathing room. "Thankfully.." she grunts, "...everything else I have... is analog..." The fox huffs and grabs Harper's hands. She pushes the .45 into them, helping the girl curl her fingers around the grip.

    "This. Use this," she breathes in her ear. "I need. I need a moment. Use everything I taught you," she says firmly, her lips brushing over the girl's ear, though not on purpose. The kiss, however, placed onher cheek is very, very much deliberate. Then she's dumping out the contents of her bag, a large padded roll tumbling out that she snatches and unbinds. It's a rifle, but a rifle in several pieces. Still, the fox is fast, and she's already in the process of slapping it together as quickly as she can. A faint glow of blue-purple rises from the case of ammunition that's with it. "Fire, noise, anything, try to keep it at bay while I..." she grunts, "...put this together..."

    She turns her head for a moment, trying to meet her violet eyes with Harper's beautiful blues, and speaks firmly. "I believe in you."

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper is quick on the up-take and as the heavy weapon is put in her hands, she's almost transported back to the earlier practice on the gun range. "Okay!" The weight is still alarming, but so are metal strands of alien sky spaghetti. Her eyes meet Cecily's and she makes a heartfelt promise. "Count on me!"
    The stun rod is tossed much like Cecily's burner phone, heaved to pinwheel further along the roof to clatter and scrape. All the better so Harper and get both hands to wield the .45 more effectively. With a heartbeat, she does a little spin to cast off her trenchcoat and uses the momentum to send it a shorter distance, but at least it's off her slender body. She curses, hoping the grab-back of little gadgets and whatsits are minor enough to fall beneath the notice of the hangry fog.

    Harper braces her legs and takes aim at the nearest tendril and pops off a shot. The report is loud, making Bluebird bare her teeth and sends off a series of single shots after the first connects. Each round whallops a metal mouth like it just got punted by someone with a baseball bat. Flecks of metal and sparks with each accurate hit. The movements whip the lengths and dissipate more of the fog, revealing a silhouette of something tear-drop shaped above the fog. Innumerable green lights stiple and dot the silhouette, iris' narrowing and widening like so many lenses. ~Groooooooooonk BRrrrrrrrrrr~

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily usually packs ammunition for softer targets. Hollow-point rounds. Defensive loads. Nothing armor piercing, unfortunately, but thhankfully they seem to be doing the trick with the tendrils. Even better, the weapon can hold thirteen rounds. The fox's ears lay flat with the loud reports, there's no getting around that until she can shove her earplugs in between assembling the rifle. She has the occasional moment to glance back, unable to keep from smiling with pride as snaps off successful shots with controlled precision. "Good girl," she praises, then louder, "good girl!" Click. Clack. CLUNK.

    The rifle is assembled and she rolls onto her back, bracing the butt of the rifle against the rooftop. She's going to need a bath after this, but she slams the magazine home and sights in. "What in the Seven Hells is that thing?" she asks aloud despite herself. So many green dots. So many green lights. She didn't pack enough ammunition for this. But it's the only thing to aim at. So she works the bolt, chambers the first round, and centers one of the lights in her scope. "I'd rather not become a meal tonight, thank you," she hisses through her teeth before pulling the trigger.

    It's loud. The .308 round is sizable, heavy, and *these* ones are at least built for piercing armor. "Come on, open up something juicier..." she growls.

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper gives a crazed little laugh, the fear of the moment combined with praise from her tutor in so many things, is a heady cocktail. She tries to make each shot count. One definitely only grazed a wildly swinging length of metal, careening off with an almost comedic whine like some old gangster movie. She wishes she looked as cool doing it, but each time the powerful pistol goes off, she has to blink as the muzzle flair and ejection of a casing happens. The thunder traveling up her arms makes her feel like she's got super powers, the weapon bucking needing such control. She's buying some time, but there's only so many rounds for those hungry questing maws. Thankfully Cecily is here.

    The .45 is spent and Harper flips it around to snatch at it like a club to start to wade into an unwise melee when Cecily's weapon goes off. Harper swears she can feel it through her body, either the noise or the passage of the round close by, the roof giving a tremble as the thing above them is fired upon. Harper stares open-mouthed upwards in time to see the effect.

    The more powerful shot punches into the teardrop shape with a satisfying smack and rewards the two women with a shower of sparks and the floating object veering a few meters while the LEDs closest to the impact blink spasmotically. Debris rains down from the sky from the wound: A leaking car battery, portable generator (with a smoking hot hole), a cluster of cell phones and flashlights. And one of the tendrils connected to a roughshod armature that looks better suited inside a production line helping to assemble things. The hovering object is revealed by more of the fog, for appearances some manner of car chassis (like the shell a crab would use as a temporary home) that's been hollowed out and ~smushed~ together with a motorized wheelchair and parts of an assembly line. The LEDs threaded amongst the different objects like it had chickenpocks or a rash.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Even at the edges of her plugged ears, she can hear Harper losing it. "Keep it together, Bluebird!" she calls out, though her eyes widening as she stares up at the... thing revealed. The artificial monstrosity. The science project gone wrong. She has no means of detecting signs of life, but to her, it certainly doesn't look 'alive' in the organic sense. Still, it's trying to hurt her, hurt them, and she's already cycling the bolt. Except she doesn't finish the motion, she instead ejects the spent cartridge and pulls a fresh magazine for the pistol from her chest rig.

    "Catch!" she calls out, trusting Harper to snapo out of her momentary madness and catch the tossed reload. "Pistol whip as a last resort!" she warns, not wanting Harper to get close to those tendrils lest they find a taste for blood and start hunting down bioelectrics instead of things like generators and batteries. Her tossing arm still free, though, she fumbles with the ammunition case, grabbing one of the two glowing cartridges and chambering it manually before slamming the bolt forward.

    "Maybe this... will do it.." she hisses through her teeth, trying to find a juicier target indeed. The generator would've been perfect, but she's now more concerned about it falling on them, or what else just might. A fuel tank. A car battery. *Something* she can put an incendiary through to set off a chain reaction. Then the trigger is pulled, and she fires a second time.

    This time the report is... louder, somehow. The recoil is heavier, her body is pressed back against the rooftop and she grunts, ears flattening hard against her head. The light from the barrel is blindingly bright, purple-blue that lingers in smoky spirals wrapped around the muzzle. The projectile itself streaks into the sky, lighting up the night like a flare, a swirling lance of bright fire that sounds more like a roaring inferno than a rifle shot going off.

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper does manage to snag the spare clip, having to spin the weapon around and roughly eject the spent one. "Yes Ma'am!" It's missing the flair of more notable gunslingers, thankfully her natural aptitude is on point tonight. Dire times calling on a bit of lady luck as well as the new clip is slammed home with the palm of her other gloved hand. "It's a friggen nightmare!" she shouts and starts popping off at the tendrils closest to herself and Cecily, backing up towards the Kitsune with slow backward steps as she starts blasting. Some of the tendrils are ~wounded~ though it would be more accurate to state them as ~damaged~. Some hits are more telling than others, because some cause auditory distortions that are akin to malfunctions of efficiency than pain.

    Harper does a quick side-step and slides along the roof as parts rain down sporadically. It's not invulnerable, and whatever is holding it together isn't having a grand time when met with opposition. A tendril does whip around to slap and slash at the women on the rooftop. One sweeps Harper's legs right out from underneath her, so she's almost echoing Cecily's posture when she continues to fire upwards at what she can. What she doesn't notice is the way it coils around her lower leg. The tendril begins to p-

    Cecily's shot, beautiful and deadly, strikes the conch-shell-like car chassis and parts well and true. The projectile burrows into batteries and cables, bandsaws and catalytic converters, carving through volatile half-empty containers and batteries swollen from overcharging on the city's grid. A dull crump preludes the swelling of the conjoined junk. A grotesque bulge of parts and sparks before it touches off so much of the rest. The green LEDs swelling to the size of streetlights before bursting and being consumed by an orange explosion speared through by foxfire. The concussive force sends parts cascading in an arcing umbrella of smoke and metal. All the antenna atop the warehouse bend like trees in a hurricane, shorting out. The wind whips Harper's hair and discarded coat like it was an empty plastic bag in an alley. The roof of the building shudders, lights flickering and then winking out.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The lance of light hangs in the air. It lingers. It sticks. Like a glowing scar pointing towards the heavens. It remains, and will remain for minutes. But right now, it's not the focal point. Cecily is scrambling to her feet, seeing Harper hit the floor. She isn't paying attention to the sudden cascade of explosions thumping and growing louder above, nor the lights flickering. She leaves the rifle on the rooftop and hurries over to the girl, the back of her clothes soaked through from the wet rooftop. Her shoes skid as she hurries to join Harper.

    "Come on.. let's go... quick... quick!" she urges, then the sudden shockwave sends her down. It puts her on top of Harper, but she seems intent to shield the girl with her body if all else fails and she can't pull herself to her feet in time. She can take whatever comes from the sky, she's sure of it. So much wind. So much darkness. But that lance of blue-purple light remains there, lighting up the night like a spire of spectral flame.

Harper Row has posed:
Harper feels Cecily fall atop her, just in time to shield her from a withering rain of shrapnel. Some are spinning so hard they embed themselves into the wet roof like arrows loosed from dozens of crossbows. ~Thunk TWOK TWIP Thwap~. Parts of microwaves, antenna, and all manner of mechanisms from the exploded abomination. Thankfully, the epicenter of the explosion has sent so much upwards and outwards that the two women are safe apart from bruising and impact damage rather than penetrative. The sound of the explosion reaches taller buildings and districts before they too echo off more of Gotham's archecture. A toy animatronic's head lands next to the two survivors, smoking and singed. The lower jaw missing, but most of the terrible furby-looking thing's upper half still in the process of leaking the last of its stored power. A nightmare whale-song of elongated speech squealing and squawlling forth from the electronic voice box. One cute eye still remains to roll around on a crazed lateral spin in its housing. It slows...and slows...and stops. The teeth of the thing are made of simm chips, the tongue braided phone cords.

    Harper hugs tightly against Cecily, shuddering and turning her head slowly to look upon the toy's head. "What...the...Fuck."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The vixen is unarmored, of course, and she feels the rain of things pelting her. But her focus is keeping Harper from the brunt of it. Regardless of how banged up, bloody, or bruised Cecily gets, she's staying right here on top of Bluebird until the hail of metal and devices ends. And the way it ends is pretty clear, with that... head landing next to them both. She stares at it, feeling her body stiffen both from the pain of the wounds and also from the sensation of that.. thing.

    Slowly, she pulls herself up, taking Harper with her so the two can stand. Once she's upright, though, her first order of business is to free a hand from the girl's embrace to conjure a mote of foxfire into her palm. The energy coalesces around her limb and forms in her palm before she projects it at the terrifying visage, to consume it with fire and leave naught but dust and melted plastic. Thankfully her earplugs saved her from having to hear the full volume of the thing's wails, but she slowly pulls them out and sighs. "...I... do not know. I have no conjecture. Someone's leftover Halloween prank?" she offers, sucking air through her teeth.

    "...are you okay?" she finally asks, bringing her hand in close to press her palm, wet as it is from blood and rooftop moisture to Harper's cheek. "...we should clean up and go. Unless you want to.. investigate this thing further..." she says with a frown. She is, after all, intent on letting Harper show her expertise in electronic things. Then, she smiles, concern bleeding away from her face for a moment, "Good shooting."

Harper Row has posed:
    Once on her feet, Harper blinks rapidly and takes in the aftermath. The cremation of the leftovers is something Harper doesn't object to. Watching the foxfire re-enact the ending of Raiders of the Lost Ark on that particular piece has her grimacing. The hand placed to her cheek brings her focus on Cecily. A more welcome sight by far. "I'm...okay. Thanks to your lessons." She heaves a sigh and squeezes the grip of the spent .45 in her palm.

    Harper's expression is partially obscured by her Bird's of Prey costume, but it's easy to tell she's rattled and confused and curious. "I think we should clean up and go. Grab our things and scamper. I'd like to find out where this thing came from, and why it was coming ~here~...like...was it just another stop on its way to somewhere else? But...yeah, so many questions. That toy...bugs me, reminds me of something I saw in a gallery once. But! I don't want to be caught with my pants down again. Now that I've seen more, and..." Harper frowns and comes in closer to look Cecily over. "You protected me from the worst...more than once. You're bleeding! We should get that taken care of at my place? God damnit I dragged you into some sort of shitstorm!"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Slowly, Cecily takes the girl's hand. She helps unclamp her fingers from around the grip of the gun and then replaces the grasp with her own fingers. She holsters her old reliable and shakes her head. "...you have a cool head under fire..." she says with a quiet smile. It turns to a frown though as she looks at all of the debris and things around them. "...wouldn't be Toyman... even with the... Furby head..." she says softly. "I don't know... I don't know either..." she exhales a long, soft sigh. Then slowly, reluctantly, she releases her hold to start picking her way around the rooftop.

    "Shitstorm or no, would you have been okay if you hadn't called me?" she asks. "This is what I do. I'm just glad I could protect you. And. Give you a little more confidence." The worst of it is on Cecily's back. Her clothes are damaged, blood soaks through the white of her blouse where it can be seen under the vest. She moves, slowly, but she's not stopping. Brass. She's collecting brass. The spent magazine. She's counting. Cleanup for her is often seeing that she leaves less of a trace, if none at all. Of course with the rain of debris all around, finding twnenty-six brass casings for a handgun might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack. Regardless, she's going to try.

    "Do you have any tools left?" she asks, looking around the rooftop. "See if there's any other power fluctuations nearby? On the roof here?" she offers. Slowly, the spear of light from her shot begins to fade, which only serves to bathe the rooftop in darkness.

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper looks with some worry at Cecily's back, showing her teeth as she gauges the loss of blood and the cleaning tailoring bill. She grunts at the small list of suspects and peers out to the night's sky where the fog is lifting over so much. The dissipating spear of Cecily's expended foxfire is so beautiful, and she's sorry to see it go. Like something from a storybook where a monster is defeated by a spear by a brave warror. She blinks rapidly and sets to work retrieving what she can of her things, particularly her jacket and pockets of gizmos. Her railgun is slung under her arm and she brings forth a diagnostic meter. "Time enough for a quick peek, and then we ~will~ get you patched up and cleaned up."

    Harper takes some readings. "We've got a few minutes before east side sends someone to check on the noise and tremor of the explosion. Maybe they'll think it a gas main until they get permission to come on the grounds. Hrmmmm..." Harper walks around debris, turning this way and that, vectoring the path of the destroyed thing and trying to gauge intended direction. She turns and peers off in the direction the thing might have gone had it not encountered the pair. "...I think I know where it was going..." She sights the warehouse district along the skyline, a place of storage buildings, but also a budding space reserved for certain lofts and art museums. "...I know where I saw something like this before. There's a kinetic and mechanical art show scheduled to open next weekend. Stuf that's weird and wild and just like what we saw...minus the tentacles."

    Harper hurries over to try and help retrieve some brass casings as well. "Hon, let me help peck. I'm the one that made the mess, right?"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The tailoring bill is no concern. She can just replace the clothes. It's cheaper that way. The blood, well. She'll heal. But she won't decline the help. In any aspect. She's picking up bits and pieces, making sure she can get as many as she can, especially before the GCPD arrives. Wouldn't do to find a bunch of debris at a private lab and over two dozen shell casings from firearm discharges. That gets messy. "That should be enough time to get gone. I didn't bring a car, though," she admits.

    At Harper's assessment, she frowns, "What could this thing want with mechanical arts show?" she asks. "Did we just blow up someone's art project?" she asks with a grumble. "...regardless, it's a threat to public safety and public works... unless it was going to be used to break into the exhibit and... augment itself further..." she doesn't like the sound of that, really, considering the hideous amalgamation it already /was/.

    When Harper hurries over to help, though, she dumps her handful of brass into a bag. "Ten more," she states, handing it to the girl. Business time. "I'll pack my things up, if you're finished... you've got a place to stay?" she asks, giving her friend and now partner in crimefighting a gentle smile. The corners of her mouth occasional pull in a direction in a wince depending on how she moves, though. Durability and healing factor doesn't mean she has dulled pain receptors, unfortunately.

Harper Row has posed:
    Harper nods and lays a hand upon Cecily's upper arm. "My place won't take long to get to. I'm parked a few blocks from here. Brought along my crotch rocke-...my bike." Harper smiles. "Room for two." She straps down those things that need to be secured, and pats her pockets. Removing personal evidence seems like the right thing to do in this circumstance. While she checks herself she muses. "Oh...that's an interesting line of thought. Maybe it didn't come from there, but it sure as heck as going there. I don't know how that thing was even flying. I guess the fog hid it mostly from sight. Lucky for it. But yeah, regardless, going to have to investigate that art space and see if it's been tampered with, or protect the curator. I'll see if I can put my ear to the ground and see if there's any reports of mischief and tampering with people's property as the crow flies along this route."

    "Come on, lean on me if you need."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    She takes her time, breaking down her rifle and securing everything in her bookbag. There's more magazines inisde, and another firearm. A PDW. She came packing, as promised, after all. "You might want me to put on your jacket, then," she explains. "...it might be suspicious if I'm clinging to your back on your bike looking all bloody like this..." she sighs. "The fewer questions from anyone the better, right?" she offers a small, lopsided smile. And then she listens, listens to Harpers thoughts on the matter and nods.

    "That sounds reasonable. Once we've recovered, or at least gotten a bath and the curator is reachable, we should check on them. There may be more of these... things. And more convergent points. This much effort into one strange... assembly... doesn't preclude there being more, as a backup..." she grunts softly and then does indeed lean on Harper.

    "I'm with you," she says with a sigh. "Let's get the rest of the brass and get going..." she slings her bag over her shoulder, tensing up when it pulls taut against some of the lacerations that haven't closed yet. Her tails slide around Harper, though they're less warm and fluffy, and more just... soft and damp. Still, a promise of warmth later, once they're safe and dry.