1800/The Wrong Way Home

The Wrong Way Home
Date of Scene:	22 May 2020
Location:	Abandoned Underpass, NYC
Synopsis:	Would-be abductors find Mori and Cecily to be a harder smash-and-grab than expected. Gunfire, chunks of concrete, and a couple of injuries later leave the pair safe, if a mess. Physically and mentally so.
Cast of Characters:	Cecily Winters, Mori Merritt

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Cecily Winters has posed:
    By the time Cecily and Mori are leaving Central Park, it's practically rush hour. Interestingly enough, the fox doesn't have a car. She had let a waterlogged (and subsequently rescued by Peter Parker) Mori borrow her jacket, leaving her in her blouse and skirt. Whether or not Mori had taken the blanket with her is up to the other girl, of course. The issue at present, however, is getting a ride home.

    With pursed lips and arm raised, the fox is trying to flag down a taxi. "It would seem our timing is rather miserable, dear. But we'll get you home safe," Cecily says gently, glancing to the girl.

Mori Merritt has posed:
Mori felt too guilty about the blanket to take it with her, but the jacket was enough for her to feel adequately clothed and not look too out of place. Her blouse is carried in her lap, though she spreads it out a bit to try and allow it to dry while they sit there. "I appreciate the help. It doesn't help that I left everything at home, would have had to walk the entire way home." That would have been an ordeal.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "It's fine, dear," Cecily says gently, when a cab suddenly jerks over and stops in front of the curb. She eyes it warily, hand lowering. One of those independent contractor cabs, but it did stop after all. "I just want to be sure you make it there. I can't exactly call us a helicopter or get us a limo, but I can at least pay the cab fare and maybe we can grab something to eat near your place so you don't go hungry, mm?" the fox offers, so warm and kind.

    She opens the door for the girl, leaning in the passenger window, "Thank you for stopping. It's really a terrible hour to travel, isn't it." There's still warmth in her voice but also polite respect. Always the professional and the cab driver just jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards the back seat. "Come on, lady. Meter's runnin'. Where you two off to?" he grunts, not bringing up or acknowledging the woman's shoulder holster. As Cecily climbs in, she looks to Mori expectantly, being as it's her place she's going to after all.

Mori Merritt has posed:
"I've never been in a helicopter. Or a limo," Mori points out as she moves to slide into the car carefully. She settles down on the seat, peering over towards the driver. "Ah, it's the apartment complex by the southern end of the NYU campus." She relaxes, glancing to Cecily. "There are a few good takeout places near there, having something extra to reheat would be great."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The driver nods as the door closes, and the cab gets set to merge into the traffic around Central Park. Cecily sighs, leaning back, holding her bookbag on her lap. "I usually just take the train if I can, but this should be a more comfortable ride..." she peers out the window, frowning just a bit at how slow things are moving. "...so long as we aren't in a hurry, of course," she says at the crawl of traffic. "Bit of a trip to get down there, yes?" she offers a half-smile to Mori. The fox's tails take up a good bit of the seat she's in, too, encroaching close to the girl next to her with the soft fluff.

Mori Merritt has posed:
Mori offers a smile. "Wouldn't have money for the train either. I'm lucky I've got my shoes on." She scratches the back of her head. "It's usually not that bad. It's not even that I lose time, either, it's just... I didn't know what was going on outside of what I saw in front of me. A lot of the time I try to just hold still if I see something I don't think is real. Sometimes it doesn't help though. It's a lot to process all at once. Photographic memory is a killer."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Well, hopefully you can get into your apartment at least, yes? And don't worry about the fare or the food. I've got it covered," Cecily says gently. She does have a good, albeit dangerous, job after all. "I'm sure photographic memory can be a lovely asset... if you can parse it and control it, at the least..." she offers a sympathetic smile. She glances up when the cab lurches, though, and the driver seems to be skirting down some side streets where the traffic is less dense. "Driver?" the fox asks, hint of concern in her voice.

    "I know a shortcut, traffic's a bitch right now," he grunts. The fox's ears lay flat against her head, lips pursed. "...NYU isn't in Queens..." she mutters, knowing a good bit of the city like the back of her hand, between being a city native and a cop for almost a decade.

Mori Merritt has posed:
"Ah, it's probably just unlocked, which isn't great..." Mori says sheepishly. "Hopefully I shut the door." She'd be more concerned if this sort of thing didn't happen more often than she'd like. "Photographic memory is great for being an artist... I enjoy it for that reason but everything else just gets jumbled in my head."

She glances out the window a bit, not sure where they're going now. She frowns, just slightly, then looks back to Cecily. "I think you're right. I don't know New York terribly well, though." She's not explored as much of the city as she'd like. At least, that she's aware of.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    There's a nod to Mori's words, but Cecily's attention is out the window now, even if one of her ears is directed at the other passenger. The cab is driving them towards Long Island, and further from Manhattan. The frown on the fox's face seems to grow deeper and deeper as they cross over the East River and travel further from their intended destination. The driver was right about one thing, though, the traffic is thinner. It's going in the opposite direction mainly, too. "Driver..." she says sternly, a tone in her voice that Mori might not have expected from the previously warm taco loving vixen.

Mori Merritt has posed:
There's a sense that something's wrong, and Mori's hands go to grip at the blouse she's holding. She glances from the drive, back to Cecily, idly wondering if this is one of those creepy Uber kidnapping stories where the ladies have to jump out of the moving car. She's hoping it's not, but by her companion's reaction she's thinking otherwise. "Uh..." She's at a loss for words.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Thankfully it doesn't seem to be one of those creepy Uber kidnapping stories. Unfortunately it's a lot more sinister. The cab rolls around an off ramp near a train yard, and the hair on the back of Cecily's neck bristles. "Driver," she says with a very definite growl. "Calm yer tits, lady, you're gonna get wrinkles," the driver barks back, car slowing at a red light. The fall of dusk and the shadow of the highway above casts grey shadows all over, and the fox is having none of it. There's a rustle of newspaper in the front seat and Cecily's ears perk up fully.

    "Now let me do my JOB!" the driver grunts, arm flying up, sweeping it over his shoulder--and the back of the front seat, some kind of stun baton in his grasp. The fox's hand comes up, faster, though the weapon is stopped too close to her head for comfort, her gloved fingers gripping the man's sleeve. "Mori... get down...!" she grunts, blue-white flame wreathing her arm in spirals of tangible heat before they engulf the one she's gripping. As cloth and flesh burn, the driver howls in pain, reflexively hitting the gas and making the cab speed forward eratically.

Mori Merritt has posed:
Well, this escalated quickly. Mori does as instructed--scuffles like this aren't what she's used to. She's eying the door, but she's aware that they're now driving forward way too fast to just jump out easily. "Oh, I really don't like this." She looks towards the driver, scrunching down lower in her seat. Thankfully, she's still all present and aware of what's going on. Although she's not certain she should be thankful of that.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "I don't... either...!" Cecily growls in response to her new friend's vocalized worries. The driver's arm remains ablaze with that ghostly flame, and he tries his best to control his feet but the overload of sudden pain doesn't make it easy. The fox manages to yank her sidearm free of its holster with her free hand and clock the cabbie on the side of the head with it, the loss of vehicle control sending it careening through newspaper stands and slamming into a nearby chain link fence. The impact isn't as harsh as a solid object, but the cab isn't going anywhere wrapped in what equates to a metal net.

    The fire goes out, the baton dropped on the seat, and the driver is out cold. "Mori?" Cecily's eyes dart over, controlling her breathing as she pulls back to reach for the door handle. "I apologize. This is not how I planned your ride home to be..." her ears lift, one swivelling to the side, her head turning, "...at all."

    A black van speeds past the crashed cab before screeching to a halt several yards away.

Mori Merritt has posed:
Mori seems to be in good condition, all things considered. She looks a little panicked, but alright. The sound of the van's screeching, however, has her on edge once again. "Okay, I don't like this either," she says. One of her hands comes up, and the discarded baton flies from the seat right to her hand, leaving her armed. She doesn't try and explain it. "Did we accidently stumble into some kind of drug deal gone wrong?"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily's eyes clench shut for a moment and she sighs, "...that would be a logical explanation, wouldn't it... aren't we unlucky, dear..." she muses, then nods to the opposite door. "Out the side, maybe we can sneak away.." she murmurs, though her words hitch for a moment, seeing the baton suddenly snap right into Mori's grasp. Of course, the telekinetic girl had seen Cecily wreath the driver's arms in supernatural flame, so maybe the pair of them have further surprises for each other.

    She keeps her head down but glances back towards the van. The back doors swing open and two figures don't so much step out as they do burst out. Two armored, genderless figures in what looks like some kind of tactical gear and visored helmets unload what look to be suppressed rifles on the cab. The impacts don't leave holes, however, but arcs of electricity. The impacts are hard enough to shatter the glass and dent the metal, however, and even a glancing blow on the unconscious driver through one of the side windows makes him spasm.

    "Shit, out, out out...!" the fox hisses, using her body to shield Mori as she coaxes her towards the far door.

Mori Merritt has posed:
No one is ever as simple as they look, and Mori's a great example of that. "Ohgodohgodohgod," she says, scrambling out the far side of the car, doing her best to find some kind of cover once her feet are on the ground. Her eyes are rapidly searching the area for things she can chuck in that direction. "I don't suppose you think they'll negotiate?!"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    What's around them? The smashed remnants of a couple of low-grade newspaper stands, some chunky looking pieces of broken concrete from where the car had jumped the curb and the back bumper had smashed into it some. A manhole cover nearby, one of the cab's hubcaps, and of course the baton in Mori's hands. "Were it so easy," Cecily mutters, dumping the magazine out of her handgun and ejecting the round. There's blue tape on that magazine. She reaches into her bookbag, having yanked it out of the car, and slams one with red tape home on it instead.

    She sounds a lot less warm and huggable right now, the warmth and kindness giving way to a focused, and downright cold demeanor. She pops a couple of plugs into her ears and posts up by the trunk of the car, popping her head up and opening fire on the armored pair. SPACK! SPACK! SPACK! Unmuffled, the gunshots are loud, and unlike the people firing stun rounds at them, it's clear she's using live--and heavy--ammunition from the way the van's new holes look. "Just try to get to safety, Mori," she growls.

Mori Merritt has posed:
Mori certainly doesn't expect the friendly attitude now, but it's a little surprising to see the difference. She does her best to find some cover, but she's not just fleeing the scene. That feels like a cowardly thing to abandon her friend to fight in this incident of wrong-place-wrong-time. She turns a bit, one hand coming out as she lifts up a hefty chunk of concrete. She doesn't /need/ to hold her hand out in the direction of what she's lifting... but she does. She doesn't know how to do it otherwise. It's still painfully new.

Promptly, the concrete chunk is sent sailing towards the car. It's not aimed at anything in particular, it's more of a warning, as well as a way to distract or perhaps scatter. She's no heavy guns, but she can certainly do something.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily is focused on taking shots and maybe drawing the fire of the two soldiers so Mori can escape. She doesn't expect the hunk of concrete to go flying past, though. It smashes into the side of the van, leaving a dent and giving one of the troopers pause. He lets off the trigger and looks over his shoulder, giving the fox the opening she needs to empty several rounds at him and into him. Their gear is for mobility, not heavy protection or breaching, and several of the shots slam into his chest and head, causing him to slump back against the side of van in a bloody heap. Blood that in the growing twilight looks more bluish than red, but it's hard to tell from the darkness.

    When his comrade drops, though, the other soldier doesn't retreat, he jumps. There's a weird sound, vaguely mechanical, a grunt, and the trooper -leaps- up and forward. He lands on the hood of the cab, smashing it through into the engine, towering over Cecily and even moreso if the shorter Mori is nearby. Startled, the fox falls backwards onto the concrete, mid-reload and staring up at what just happened. "What the hell is going on here...?!"

Mori Merritt has posed:
Mori's slightly regretting not running off because she's afraid, but she doesn't run off because her fear's overcome by her desire not to abandon someone. She looks away from the bodies, teeth biting down on her lower lip as she moves backwards a bit, looking up towards the trooper. "Okay, so, I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything to piss anyone off, do you have some kind of vindictive ex or are you supposed to be a witness in a trial for a major crime boss or something?"

She looks around her again, finding another chunk of concrete, and she flings it towards the guy's head.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Could be anything!" comes Cecily's answer. After all, Mori knows at the least that the vixen is a 'security consultant', whatever that means. "Maybe they just don't like foxes or cute college students?" she snaps, still on her back, pulling a fresh magazine for her sidearm from her bag, which is now lying next to her.

    To Mori's credit, the soldier gets smacked solidly on that faceless, visored helmet, causing him to focus on her for a moment. He raises his rifle, as if intent on dealing with her first. There's a flicker of blue as a burst of shock rounds are sent her way before the gun explodes in his hands. Cecily's pistol is up and she's firing for his armaments, "Leave her be!" she growls. Between the damage to the helmet from the concrete and the gun breaking so dramatically, the man's face can be seen through cracked ballistic plastic. Scars, stitching, and a glow of dark blue in the visible eye.

    Without a noise or a word, he lunges at the fox on the ground. A swipe of one hand bats her pistol away, the other sporting some kind of wrist-mounted blade. She's only quick enough to not have it slam through her sternum, but it punctures through her shoulder and between that and his weight, pins her to the concrete. Her tails flail beneath her and she scrambles to dig something out of her bag, one of her knees up and pressed to the soldier's chest to keep him from crushing her. He seems... far heavier than he should be.

Mori Merritt has posed:
Mori is courageous, but she's no costumed superhero. It's only been a couple months since she's been able to even use any of the abilities she's been gifted with. So, as is normal in a scary situation, she squeaks and cowers down as much as possible. She's trying not to look, but at the same time, she can't /not/ look. She's panicking, which means she's picking up more rocks, flinging them with force at the soldier to try and at least knock him off balance enough for Cecily to get some leverage.

"Hey! Don't be a jerk!"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    He really is a jerk. He's not talking. He's not backing down. He and his friends made such a mess, too! As he's peppered with telekinetically accelerated stones, he looks up again, focusing that glowing eye on Mori. Her rain of rocks chips and dents his helmet more, and some sharper stones rip into the unarmored parts of his attire, streaks of bluish blood oozing out. The arm not impaling Cecily's shoulder jerks back and grabs the cab door, fingers crunching into metal and yanking. The steel begins to shear, but it's a slow process and his position being pelted with rocks and pinning a fox to the ground is suboptimal. He looks like he's trying to rip the door off and either use it as a shield or huck it at Mori...!

    ...were he given the chance. Cecily's fumblings bear fruit and she pulls her other weapon out of her bag, dragging the compact SMG over and thanking the designers under her breath for the short barrel and folding stock. The tip is shoved into the soldier's chest and she pulls the trigger. Twenty armor-piercing rounds at point blank tear through the man's chest and leave a fountain of foul, chemical-smelling blue bursting from his back. The unfortunate side effect is that it gets everywhere, and Cecily's white blouse is now splattered both blue and red with his and hers mixed blood.

Mori Merritt has posed:
Okay, now she's doing her best to get down and cover her head. Mori unfortunately is faced with the permanent image of splattered blood, the strong smell of chemicals, and the ringing of her ears from the sound of the gunfire. "Ohgodohgodohgod..." She mutters, but this time it's not because she's watching the violence. It's because she doesn't /see/ the violence anymore. Everything's starting to look different. She's not sure if she's just seeing colors or if any of it is real anymore.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    It isn't as if Cecily is insensitive to the poor girl's situation and panic, it's more that she's desperate in her own way, to see this threat halted, and her companion secure. She promised, not just Mori, but Peter, too, that she'd get the girl home safe. And hell will follow should that promise be broken. Everything.... goes silent. The traffic up above seems so far away. Down here, there's the clank of brass as the last few casings roll past Cecily's good shoulder.

    Finally, teeth gritted from the impaling, the fox lets out a cry of pain and breathes, panting hard. She grabs, shoves, and the soldier lurches as she manages to roll him off of her. "God... damn it..." she continues to pant, rolling with him, the blade still lodged in her shoulder until she yanks herself away with another stunted cry. At last she takes stock of her surroundings. The blood, the wreck, and not just her own situation, but Mori's.

    "Mori...?" she murmurs, the warm turning back on ever so slowly. A hand reaches out, then retracts. She looks around and cleans up her half of the mess, quick and efficient, collecting her spent magazines and fallen brass. The cab driver is given a disgusted look, and one final gunshot rings out on the scene as she cleans up the last loose end. Another explosion of synthetic blue glop splattered all over the inside of the cab. "Mori," she says louder this time, bag hanging over her good shoulder, good hand pressed against her wound to halt the bleeding that's already slowing due to her healing factor.

    "Come on, I still have to get you home," she tries to say as soothingly as possible, cold, detached tone thawing a little more. She looks like hell.

Mori Merritt has posed:
If Mori's aware that she's being addressed, she doesn't show it. She blinks a few times, perhaps aware for a moment, but there's no recognition there right away. She's present, but not /present/. Unlike her usual episodes, she doesn't seem to be doing so well. She clutches at her head, her eyes squeezing shut, and the color drains from her. Unfortunately for that idea of going home, it's going to get a lot more complicated as she sinks into a crumpled heap, this time unresponsive because she's unconcious.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily's expression turns to concern, and she kneels down, checking Mori's vital signs. At the least, there's a heartbeat. She exhales a sigh of relief and looks around. Three bodies. Two trashed vehicles. Another sigh and she affixes an earpiece into one of her fluffy ears, the white fur splattered blue. With a wince, she kneels again, taking Mori into her arms and cradling her close to her body. "I apologize for the mess, Mori..." she states, eyes closing for a moment before making a call.

    "I need a clean-up crew and a ride home," comes her side of the conversation. "...it's a mess. Three dead..." her eyes peer over her glasses, dried specks of blue making it hard to see, and she squints. "...somethings. Follow my GPS marker, I'm in Queen's. And I have..." she glances down at the girl in her arms, a look of pain on her face from her own wound.

    "...a plus one."