13810/A Crowd Dispersed

A Crowd Dispersed
Date of Scene:	11 January 2023
Location:	<text>
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Caleb Dykstra, Mary Bromfield

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Caleb Dykstra has posed:
It's early morning in the Narrows, and the crime scene is an odd one: multiple sets of clothes are spread across the street, funnelling all the way into a dark side street. Apart from that, the clothes are drenched in some sort of white goo with sprinkles of pink here and there, the same goo spewed all across the street. The smell that hangs in the air is nauseous, like accumulated body odor and festering pus. On one hand, it's a terrible, curious sight that makes onlookers glance; on the other hand, the odor doesn't make them stay for long, which makes the job for Gotham's finest a lot easier.

In the middle of the few that look about, is Caleb, dressed for the weather and in a hoodie that covers most of his features. Not that he stands out, but he looks at the multiple spots with, not an inquisitive look, but a assessing one.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Early winter morning finds Mary bundled up a bit to hold back the chill in the air. A tan trenchcoat wrapped around her form to retain the warmth, Mary moves along to the publicly accessible spots of the scene. She is not about to cross any police lines or anything, but she is peering from where she can get with the sort of scrutiny that comes from someone who expects, if staring at something long enough, to get some sort of insight. Her hands remain stuffed in her pockets, though, and she does not crouch to get any closer to whatever it is.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
The hooded gothamite - one who's not a member of the Bat-Family, go figure - slightly tilts his head to look at the arriving Mary. In his head, he's studying her, judging her character, her posture her expression. And the conclusion he comes to, after careful evaluation, is 'reporter'.

On the off-chance that Mary does look his way, he offers a polite nod in greeting; otherwise, he just assesses the situation quietly, memories flooding back.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Her bearing is that of reporter, but her youthful face probably indicates more college paper or lookieloo than a hard hitting journalist. But her inspect seems serious enough that from behind, maybe, she might pass as another Lois Lane or Cat Grant want to be. Even if she is wearing a few more clothes than Cat Grant. Presumably.

She does catch Caleb's glance and returns the nod, looking him over with at least a brief study. Anyone else out studying this is likely either like her, or law enforcement, or involved. And for the moment, Caleb does not appear to be either of the first two. So he earns a bit more scrutniy.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
The boy locks eyes with Mary, and finds that his guess is only backed up. He makes a gesture to her after a few moments: he points to one of the area in general, and then points to his eyes.

And waits for her acknowledgement.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
That acknowledgement comes. A nod of her head, and then she casts her gaze towards the spot where he pointed. And Mary casually drifts over in Caleb's direction.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
Instead of witing for Mary to get to his side, he starts to pace backwards and away from the 'crime scene', and headed towards a nearby coffee shop down the street. Thank heavens, the smell starts to subside halway down course. Maybe it's the reason why he's moving away from the scene, or maybe it's so they can talk quietly... Or both.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Casting a glance behind her at the crime scene, as if checking in one last time - or seeing if anyone else is eyeing them - Mary considers for a moment. But nothing is gained without taking a risk, and so she turns and follows Caleb. Clearly, he knows something about this, more than he is letting on to the conventional authorities.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
Stopping by the door to the coffee shop, Caleb waits for Mary to close the distance, then gets inside. He heads towards the most secluded spot - the corner booth - and skims the menu placed on the table. Just an ordinary customer, not someone who knows something about something, no sir.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Following Caleb into the coffee shop, Mary trails a bit behind him, but moves in a way to not call any direct attention to them. She shrugs off the trenchcoat as she goes, hanging it on the hook just to the side of the bench. Beneath she is wearing a pale cream colored silk blouse with a crimson scarf tied around her neck and a matching crimson skirt that comes down almost to her knees. She slides into she seat opposite Caleb and looks at him expectantly. It was his invitation, she will let him begin the conversation.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
It was Caleb's invitation, sure, but it's Mary's story. "Couldn't help but notice your interest in that... 'crime scene' out there, Ms...?" He makes quotation marks when he says 'crime scene'.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Mary settles her hands on the table and looks back at Caleb with an even expression on her face. "Couldn't help but notice your presence at that crime scenewhen I walked up", she counters. "You look like a man who knows more than the folks out there do. What do you have to do with that?"

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
Caleb Dykstra shrugs, "It depends on what the information is worth, Miss Reporter." He points at the menu, "A good old-fashioned american breakfast gets you a few syllables outta me." He pauses slightly. "But you could say I'm the ecological type, really." He smirks, "I love green, y'get me?"

Mary Bromfield has posed:
At that, Mary rolls her eyes a bit. She leans a bit over the table, peering at Caleb. "I'll cover your breakfast if you offer some information, sure. If it proves useful in my investigation, then maybe we can talk." She peers closely at him. "Or I can just head back out there and see what I can find for myself, and you pay for your own eggs and bacon. Your choice."

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
Caleb looks at Mary with a deadpan look. He gestures outside, "One, the Police didn't give a statement, and have cleared the people away, their jobs only made easier by the stench it left." He adds, "Two, the coroner was already here, the first thing he did was scratch his head. Three, lots of clothes still on the street, hours after all the shit went down. Why?" He taps a finger on the menu, marking what he wants. "Which brings me to the fourth: they're stalling for the mop-up crew, the hazmat guys." He quirks his lips upwards, "But here's the opening sentence: you're talking to one of the guys who saw it, seen it, and came out walking, Miss Reporter."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
    Most of what Caleb is outlining is what Mary had already concluded. She may not be Lois Lane or Sherlock Holmes, but she was clever long before she was touched by the Wisdom of Solomon (occassionally). She nods along with him, however, allowing him the drama of laying out what seemed obvious to her. Until he gets to the end. That is new information, and if she had a better poker face, she might play it off as not the big deal that she seems to think it is.
    "That certainly earns you breakfast," she says, her pulse already starting to race from the excitement. She does not do a good job of suppressing her visible excitement even if her words are blase. "Tell me your story, and we'll see how much of it I can use."

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
Caleb doesn't seem like he's about to lose his poker face, though. "Uhm... I think I'll order the Extra Special." His way of saying its a win. "With the freshly squeezed orange juice."

He gets serious, now, "Don't try to sucker me into giving my name, or any name for that matter. If names are found, someone'll know who to come to. And that's not good for who's at the end of the line." He pauses to let Mary understand this is super-important.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
    "Fine. I said you could order what you'd like." Mary settles back before leaning over towards her trenchcoat, bending to pull out a notepad and a pen. Apparently she is a bit old school. "I hope you don't mind if I take some notes as we go."
    She straightens up, looking at Caleb for a long moment. "I won't use your name. Clearly you are hiding something, and I don't think it is this." She clicks her pen to push out the inky point. "Maybe after we are done with this, we can talk about that. If you want." She tries to smile at him. "You never know, help might come from the most unlikely of places."

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"Okay, so", Caleb starts, the comment about getting help from the most unlikely of places being a scoffing smirk. "Me and two other guys were up and about a few blocks away, they were all about showing the ropes, tools of the trade, yadda yadda." He pauses instinctively, followed by a dismissive gesture. "So we go into this store, a seven-eleven, and we found it densely packed, which was curious - at 2:00 AM, and it looked like a grand opening. So they head to the cashier - I was to stay by the door in case trouble showed up -, and we all found it odd that he was grinning. Normally, they piss themselves when two guys built like mountains walk in straight to the counter like they own the place, y'know?"

Mary Bromfield has posed:
The pen scratches along the surface of the pad, consigning these details from Caleb to Mary's record of the events. "Got it." Her notes, if he can read upside down, are all about the facts. She leaves out her conjecture about what it was that Caleb was doing at a 7-11 at 2am with two thugs. But she certainly notes that aspect of the story, and takes a little bit of time to study Caleb, /really/ study him, after it comes out. "So, the 7-11 guy was part of the flash mob. But you guys weren't?"

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
Caleb can only shake his head, "There was never a flash mob, only a crowd. /The/ Crowd." The way he says it implies that he dubbed it so.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself", he says. "So anyways, when they approached the grinning cashier, this one looked at them and acted..." He searches for the word, "Way too rehearsed, you know?" He continues, "And then... The people from The Crowd, they all turned to the guys." His voice becomes somber, "But it's not like the occasional glance, no way. They turned /all at fricking once/!" He sighs, relaxing - this had him clearly upset. "I felt shivers down my spine. Something just wasn't right."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
"The Crowd," Mary repeats, scratching that name down on her notepad and underlining it. Twice. Then she looks up at Caleb and nods for him to continue.

She listens, collecting the details in her mind. "So something was connecting all of them, coordinating. Some other entity, or..." She considers for a moment, as if searching in her mind for something. "And then what happened?"

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"Then, the crowd got to them and... It grabbed them, pulled them into their midst", he resumes. "I heard some screaming, and then after a few seconds, they showed up again from inside, bearing the same creepy grin as the others", is his explanation. "I'll admit, the scene was mesmerizing as it was terrifying. When I came to, I wasn't even inside the seven-eleven."

He looks outside, paying attention to a group of people, high-school students, narrowing his eyes for any signs of... No, that's stupid, the creature is dead, right?

"And that's what saved me, because it came for me next."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Taking notes of both what Caleb is saying and what he ISN'T saying, Mary keeps nodding along. A waitress comes over to take his order, but Mary does not ask for anything for herself. Just keeps writing down what he is saying, flipping over to the next page of the pad. "And what happened when it came from you? Why do you think you got away when none of the others did?"

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"I was told to wait by the door", the gothamite teen replies. "Between the door and the counter, there were some good seven meters distance. And it was focused on the two new members it was adding. Ever seen six-feet-lots with pHDs on hurting people? Those guys smart, I tell you!" His voice goes somber once again. "But still... One of the crowd got a fist square to the face..." A headshake, "Nothing. Its' face was all mushed up, and it just reset itself like when you reinflate a balloon! And it just kept grabbing him, pushing him into their midst."

He takes a dep breath, "But anyways, I got away because I got light on my feet, and closed the door behind me."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
More nodding. "That sounds disconcerting, to say the least." More notes from Mary.

"So. You got out, got the door behind you closed, made your way away, and then...." She points out behind her, towards where the scene was on the street. "Lingered around to watch it get ... whatever happened to it?"

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"I ran like hell, that's what", Caleb replies. "It had a fixation for me, then. I was the next likely target, and it was deadset on having me. I tried to lose the Crowd through side streets and alleys, and it just kept coming, like it knew my tactics." His voice returns to somber mode. "And... It knew my name."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Frowning at this revelation, Mary nods. "How did you know? Did you just sense it, or did it go like..." She looks at him, gesturing for him to go on.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"It knew my evasion tactics", Caleb explains, "because the two that had just been taken were my /teachers/." He announces it like a big revelation. "And it knew my name then because The Crowd took them." His breath intensifies, "Don't you see? When it took them, they took what made them /them/! Their memories, their identities... The whole shebang!"

Mary Bromfield has posed:
"Interesting." More notes. "So it gained the experiences, skills, and knowledges of the hosts." Mary leans back and sighs, dropping her pen onto her pad for a moment. "That's pretty intense. So it knew your real name, or just your nickname, or...?"

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"It knew my name", he states it as a fact. "My real name, not whatever nickname I go by, nothing of the like." He point it out. "The Crowd, a collective of people, knew my name and was calling me out in unison." He shakes his head at the thought, "Scariest shit I've ever seen, and lemme tell you, I saw people die when this city was a no-man's land, and when alien forces invaded." He takes a moment to have that being digested. "This is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
There is a saying that to be a good journalist, you need to have a certain level of detachment. Mary is not a good journalist, and may never be. As Caleb takes about everything else he went through, and how these sights will haunt him, Mary reaches across the table in an effort to take his hand, as if to try to give him some measure of comfort while she listens to him continue.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
Caleb's not opposed to have a hand held out to him. In spite of it all, he is a nice person shoved into terrible situations - and maybe the pure-hearted Shazam! family can sense it in him. He doesn't reject Mary's hand, no; he smiles a little, even if it's a sad smile.

"But back to the story", Caleb says. "This tactic was using perhaps to try to wear me down. The voices kept saying it wanted me and that I wouldn't be denied, whatever that meant..." He shakes his head. "I sounded like bullshit."

"Ah, and before I forget... It wasn't shy of using dirty tricks, either", Caleb replies. "Like, when the other two people came along that would be my saviors, it used the puppet of a little girl to pretend that I had hurt her and her dad, all to lure them into the dark street it was hiding in." He winces, "...It partially worked, because one of the two was a psycho that hit me in the head at the implication that I had layed my hands on her."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Once Mary is able to take Caleb's hand, she gives it a squeeze. Her hand is warm enough, despite the weather, and there seems to be a certain genuineness to her outreach. The sort of authencity in the moment that comes from actual care, not tainted by the scene of manipulation.

"So it had psionic abilities even outside of the hosts, as well." she murmurs softly, watching Caleb carefully. "The sort of thing that would prey upon our very humanity. Something dark indeed." She sighs quietly, and nods her head. "I am sorry that you were hit. I'm sure it was a confusing situation for everyone. Some people respond to confusiong situations differently than others."

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
Caleb can't help but be confused at the word used, "Psi...? Like, the mind thingee?" He shakes his head, "I dunno about that, but it had volume. They moved their mouths to speak. More like when you're in a choir, not like you're hearing it inside your head."

He smirks, "Yes, but anyone who stops for two seconds to think would realize it's a little girl that would come fleeing some guy that's like six times her body mass, for cryin' out loud!"

"That confusing situation almost had me killed because there were dozens of people coming out of the dark street I had just come out of, all to drag me into their swarm. If I hadn't woken up when I did, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Mary makes a small 'oh' sound and nods. "For some reason, I thought you heard them in your head. They were literally speaking your name. Got it." She shivers a bit. "Yeah, that is creepy."

She shrugs at his example. "Who knows? Panic can do a lot of strange things." She nods again, and gives another squeeze. "But you are, and so, that is a good thing." She sighs softly. "So, what else?"

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"I came back to my senses, and pulled a gun out and shot one of them, square in the head", he states, "But you can guess what happened... Nada." He looks at Mary, "Do me the favor and don't judge. I live in the worst slum of the most crime-ridden city of the United States, and I have to work for..."

He catches himself before finishing the sentence. Why was he saying that? Could it be because Mary's kindness is getting to him? He needs to be careful.

"So, one of the two random strangers went giant, and hoisted me out of the ground", Caleb resumes his mind trip. "But that wasn't over for me, since I saw one of the a-grade assholes I was with jump and grab me. And that's when I noticed the tubular appendage, like an umbillical cord, coming out of him." He shrugs, "In my desperation, I hit it there with a knife. And it went..." He winces, recalling the result. "...very messily." A grimace, "You know that gunk that's out there on the ground? Imagine me covered in it..."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
It is sort of infectious. Mary's kindness. She watches him trail off and leans forward a bit, looking at him with her big brown eyes. "Work for whom?" she urges. Her free hand reaches out and pulls the pad off the table, as if symbolically indicating that they are off the record. "I can tell it's not something you want to be doing."

She nods a bit as he continues to narrate the attack. She does not turn back to look outside, but she remembers what the gunk looked like, to be sure.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"Miss Reporter that I never got to know the name", Caleb adverts, "you keep pressing on with questions beyond what was agreed, and the conversation will be cut short."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
"Mary." The name comes quickly, as if she realizes that she has to give something to get something. "And I am not pressing with anything. I'm just curious." She shrugs slightly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She tilts her head, looking at him intently. "It just kind of seemed like you wanted to just now." Is she trying the doe eyes? Yes, yes she is.

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
HAH! Sorry Mary, but fool him once, shame on him! Fool him twice... Well, shame on him as well! And that's why he's talking more guardedly.

"Lil' piece of advice, 'Mary'...?", Caleb makes a dramatic pause, "Curiosity gets you a pine coat in your line of work. And because I'm such a nice guy, I'll spare you the details of that previous question."

A deep breath, and he continues, "Now, where were we? Ah yes... It also turns out that the psycho that kicked me in the head also had the ability to pass through objects unharmed, so it was the perfect scout to see what was ahead. And, when spotted, the giant jumped in and slammed the thing to a pulp. Squish, more goo spewing out of everyone who had been a part of the Crowd."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
There is a look of disappointment on Mary's face as her charms fail to work, and she sits up straight. She pulls her hand back and digs out the notepad again, and resumes taking notes. She makes no comment about his claims about curiosity, and dives back into the story.

"Squish, just like that?"

Caleb Dykstra has posed:
"No, more like squish after having dropped enough force that a bomb had blasted through the street", he points outside, "Seriously. You can't miss the crater."

"It turns out - but this is my guess, what do I really know about it - that thing had a spongey core", he shrugs. "Hit the core - or the brain, if you will -, and pop!, it's all over. Too bad. So sad... /Not/!"