15267/Crash, Thwip, Zap!

Crash, Thwip, Zap!
Date of Scene:	30 June 2023
Location:	Sanctum Sanctorum
Synopsis:	Floating!
Cast of Characters:	Stephen Strange, Felicia Hardy, Gwen Stacy

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Stephen Strange has posed:
A day like any other.

Or, is it night? From the looks of things, it should be day. There is a sort of grey pallor in the air, the result of wildfires far away that had their particulates carried across vast distances to the Big Apple. There is light, but that could very well be refractions of light from street lights as well as any other other-worldly source. The ash in the air leaves everything in dingy grey and orange. It could be a sun in the sky...or a moon...or a spotlight. It really doesn't matter. It is still all grey and orange.

There are people out and about...but again, through the curtain of hanging ash, features are dulled. They could very well be faceless for all that it mattered, the grim expressions more imagined than visible. Only the occasional coughing betrays the fact that the figures are actually alive, rather than still life mannequins.

At least, what passes for life in this dreary day.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Ash actually coordinates well when you have lustrous pearl-white hair and a penchant for wearing monochromes at work. Too many nights spent cooped up working on a project forces Felicia out for the essential task of filling her pockets. Look, a girl's got to do more than eat. What is the purpose of life if restricted to Doordash and Netflix? There's only so many times she can binge Korean soaps.

Her wide sunglasses look oh so cool but might not be useful on a day like today. Day, night, the hour is grungy November in the start of summer. "Ugh, where's Superman to blow this all away? Someone call up Captain Planet," she grumbles into her phone. Who is on the other side? Probably some poor member of her crew, forced to put up with that while she saunters through the city looking for something... well, important. Old. Valuable, shiny, she'll take all of the above. A casual heist is hardly fun since most of the time, they require preparation to be truly fun. But a girl has to live, doesn't she?

She slinks through an intersection, narrowly avoiding being creamed by a slow-moving bus and a much more impatient twerp on an electric scooter who decides to take his life into his own hands by speeding. His clunk backpack flies through the air when he meets a curb thanks to a well-placed foot and the old saw, "Watch where yer going!" from at least four people.

Felicia isn't one who shouts, but she definitely kicks.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Gwen was no stranger to weirdness. What with being from an alternate universe and being a combination of both Gwens through a spell Zatanna had done and... Urgh, why was her head hurting so much?

"Bloody hell, why am I in London?" Or at least what she idealizes as London. Smog, faceless people, gloom weather. Yep, it's checking all the marks. Hol' up, faceless people? Gwen stares at some of the faces, perhaps trying to find something there but then just moves along with a shake of her head. All until she hears the disaster happening just the next block and she runs over, taking a turn just in time to watch the commotion.

"Ookkaaayy, you are the first person I see here..." says the blonde, approaching, "What's going on?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
When focused upon, the seemingly faceless entities do indeed have faces. Unique enough to determine that, hey, that is a young woman and that one is an old man and, wait, isn't that person on TV? But, once focus is moved away, the faces all seem the same. A trick of the environment, no doubt. The grey haze has a way of just blending everything together.

London...is a possibility. Certainly, it could seem that way. Perhaps even smell that way, too...that wonderful mix of human existence, refuse, and soot. With just a touch of salty brine to give it that extra kick. However, when the quintessential phrase of 'Watch where yer goin'!' is sounded out by no less than four people, the accent used leaves no doubt in anyone's mind. No, Dorothy, this isn't Kansas...but it isn't London either.

Small comforts. Still safe within New York...however safe that really is.

The courier on the scooter, because of course it is a delivery person, grumps as he picks himself off the sidewalk, with the usual pedestrian traffic continuing as if nothing is amiss. There is no one helping him pick up his bag, either. They have better things to do than to show decent sympathy for their fellow man. Or..boy in this case. He can't be older than 18, from the appearance and cockiness.

The walkers do not even take into account the bespectacled female amongst them. Sunglasses in this weather? Okay, sure. For all they know, she's suffering from a hangover. And do they care?

Not in the least.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Gwen calling out if anyone is okay earns a grumpy "Maybe" from the 18-year-old because he's too cool to admit he took a tumble in the street. His scooter is scuffed up and worse for wear, but so many of them end up in a river, harbour or dumpster that it's a wonder the business model works at all. He collects that second, bag now prominently a wobble and hopefully not full of food. It still might be. Something wet stains the bottom, leaking out in fat drops. Mostly clear; water, probably.

He gets close enough to Felicia for her to spy the details of him. Fancy shoes, smartwatch, earbuds. Nothing too indicative of being worth her time. She palms her phone away and proceeds to roll her eyes to the shrouded sky. //I'm *bored!*// That silent plea goes unheeded by the gods.

With that, she tiptoes up to the sidewalk. "Absolutely nothing. Isn't it dreadful? All this going on and not a single game of tag. I'm perplexed at how dull and unimaginative everyone is feeling."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Those are totally hangover sunglasses. No judgement out of the blonde though, she has worn them in the past. Though a faint grin in her expression is visible when she regards Felicia andshe announces how dull things feel. "Maybe too much fun last night?" see? No judgement!

Gwen does walk over to help the guy get up to his feet. And yea, it's New York alright, no one helps. Now it's starting to feel more familiar to what she knows about her favorite city. "There you go. Nothing broken that I can see but you may want to take a drop by the hospital to check your head." she advises, being the good samaritan that she is.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Talk about an anomaly. A good person in New York? What are the odds?

The 18-year old gives Gwen a mixed expression. One of surprise, curiosity, and apathy. The look alone screams 'you always in other people's business?', yet the guy doesn't say an audible word. Just a look, a shrug, then off he goes, the front wheel to his scooter wobbling slightly that could have been a result of hitting the curb. However, judging from how the kid auto-corrects for the wobble, chances are that front wheel has been doing that for a while.

Obviously, it is not the first time he has kissed the pavement.

There are a couple murmurs from the crowd, but they, too, dissipate. No one really seems to care in this weather. And, after an extremely short time, the apathy takes over and it is business as usual. Foot traffic almost painfully close...the occasional tsk'ing of the locals as the apparent tourists slow down to gawk. The thin layer of apathy holding back the bubbling annoyance, just under the surface.

Really, a normal day. About the only two that seem unique in this aspect are the two blondes.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Not very high odds. Felicia is probably banned from Monaco, Vegas and Montenegro for the very reason of luck slanting funnily to her whims. She shakes out her hair, blinking through the haze. Never wise to squint, as it leads to facial lines.

"Another day, another delight. The city that never sleeps needs a jolt." She laughs to Gwen's friendly greeting, peeking over the white rims of her glasses for just a moment. No signs of an overt hangover can be found, but that's something cosmetics and a really dewy foundation can solve for. "You look far too good for this side of town. Everyone here wants to revel in their practical non-existence. I wonder if we got high enough, would we see blue sky?" An almost wistful murmur leaves her lips, as though it's the finest thing to be found anywhere.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"That's me. Just a friendly neighborhood ..., friend." Gwen frowns a touch at ending that phrase in such a lame manner. What happened to her usual wit?! For some reason her mind feels slower today. Or is it because of this place? She rests one hand on her hip, looking around thoughtfully.

"Either a jolt or something to clean the skies." She points out, looking up wit h a shake of her head, "Though it's not always like this. We can get a clear, beautiful sky on a few skyscrapers, great view too." she saying it as if talking from experience. Maybe she's a window washer!

"I don't suppose you can fly, can you?" she asks of Felicia.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Is that a typical question to ask? Well, given the location, it is probably not the most unusual question. 'Can you fly?' New York is lousy with superhero types. It is a pretty good bet that one out of five people would be one...and out of that, maybe there is a flyer. So...not terrible odds, to say the least.

However, when the question is asked, that's when reality decides to pull a fast one. Can both blondes fly? Normally the answer would be a resounding 'No', but no sooner does the question escapes Gwen's lips does gravity seem to turn off. And...not only do Gwen and Felicia begin to float and take to the air...but every other humanoid construct starts to, as well. And...oddly enough, not a peep of surprise from anyone apart from the two.

Curiouser and curiouser. Even the 18-year old, his form disappearing into the void of grey, takes to the sky, that front wheel still wobbling despite nothing for it to seek purchase on.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Felicia coughs a laugh to cover up for the pause. "I've heard that before somewhere. Mm, gotta work on that. I think you're probably cooler than that. And oh, I fly terribly!" The spread of her hands encompasses a diamond aimed at the sky where Manhattan would normally be. And now it's getting closer, irritatingly enough, that domed sweep of grey barely differentiated from the buildings, the sea, or the atmosphere inside a crystal ball. Her heeled shoes are off the ground, at a serious risk of falling right off, short of some epic toe-scrunching. "Turbulence is the worst! At least this is smooth but -- wait, where is he going? Bro forgot his scooter!"

Her smile is still too brightly coloured to be utterly concerned about her predicament. Not flailing yet, but that's mostly dependent on how close the nearest building is and if she can 'swim' to the side or a pole. Advantages to having razor-sharp claws embedded under her nails, she can 'pop' them in a way far more elegant than Wolverines do to secure herself. Herself first. Then probably Gwen or, say, someone's diamond necklace.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Oh..., woah!" It's not like Gwen isn't used to being airborne but usually she is there by choice, or pulling herself up by her webs. Not by external influence! So those big blue eyes are wide as they start .., going up? It all feels very surreal and she instinctively reaches for her wrists as if to shoot her webs to stabilize herself..

Only to realize she is dressed as Gwen, not Ghost Spider.

"I am sorry for judging your hangover sunglasses.." She says as they continue to flow up, ".. but it's clear I am under the influence of something too.."

"I mean, if he can fly why would he want a scooter right?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
Swimming through the air really doesn't seem to work. With nothing to push off of, Felicia just sorta hovers in place, though if any of the apathetic masses were to be watching, they might have found it comical to watch her try to swim. There isn't seemingly any air currents or wind or anything of that nature to facilitate swimming through. It is as though it is the vacuum of space, only there is no concern in breathing and no temperature loss. The only movement that seems controlled comes from an older individual. Calmly, within the grey space above what was once ground, the person tosses a half-eaten hot dog into a trash can. And...the hot dog falls as if there is gravity into a nearby trash receptacle, while the airborne individual floats in the opposite direction of the toss.

Apparently, even in a chaotic environment, physics exists.

As far as under the influence? Most certainly not, from all appearances. Both blondes are in full possession of their senses. They are...just floating.

And, apparently, there isn't blue sky, yet. Though the grey is certainly lightening.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Just as Gwen isn't a certain Spider, neither is Felicia the Black Cat. Popping claws is one bit better than, say, firing a wrist-mounted wire to get out of here. But that would be telling. She is too cool for school to show off who she is.

So she stops swimming to preserve her dignity, whatever exists, and reclines like she meant to do that. Because she did. Mr. Hot Dog will never prove otherwise. Her reclining in space is the best a girl can do under the circumstances and with heeled sandals that could fly off and hurt someone, or something.

"Are you okay? This isn't where you tell me you have Uber Black on speed dial?" she calls Gwenward. "I'm not sure the helicopter would get through. The idea is really nice though!"

She shrugs. Why have a scooter at all? "This nature's way of telling us to hang out?"

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Wait, they have helicopters in Uber?" Gwen looks a bit distrusting on that, then shaking her head, "I don't have Uber.." because she just swings from building to building with her webs most of the time! But she isn't about to explain that to Felicia. She likes her secrets after all.

Though back to the problem at hand she shifts around in the air some, pondering on how to solve it. "I am not sure if it's nature because this feels pretty unnatural to me." she points out, "But hey, if it works... I am Gwen. Gwen Stacy." she offers, bright smile on her expression even. Nevermind that they are flying aimlessly now.

"If we toss our shoes we can probably gain momentum to move somewhere." where though?