2221/Just like old times

Just like old times
Date of Scene:	24 June 2020
Location:	Hilde's apt
Synopsis:	Hilde tells Barney about a pick-up call... is she crazy?
Cast of Characters:	Brunnhilde, Barney Barton

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Brunnhilde has posed:
It's late. Hilde stopped looking at the clock probably an hour ago because she knows if she looks, she'll just get more frustrated about not being able to fall asleep and feel worse about the whole mess. So, she's been staring anywhere but that dim LED display on the old microwave in the corner kitchenette or her cellphone, the only two clocks in the place. Her apartment is the small mess it always is, the tiny bedroom mostly untouched and bed unmade for days. The front room is living area, kitchen, and a tiny two person breakfast table covered in old newspapers and take out containers. She's got a half filled ashtray at her side on the coffee table, giving up on sleep for a cigarete on occasion, but then trying again.

The couch is often more comfortable than the bed, and there's a haphazard pillow beneath her head. It's where he used to crash before she got the courage to invite him back into the bed -- who knows what they were actually doing together -- but now it's somewhere either one of them falls asleep on occasion. She's picked it tonight for the weird ocmfort alone. It's not working. She's wearing nothing but a pair of booty shorts and a white undershirt, her hair still wet from her post work shower and paramedic's uniform messily tossed across the back of the kitchen table chair. Her most recent cigarette is still faintly smoldering in the ashtray.

Barney Barton has posed:
The elevator isn't working, but then again, when is it? So, it's a walk-up, and by the time Barney makes it to the top step of the floor, he's annoyed. He's already smoking the, 'I'm home now' cigarette, started on the lower landing, and now it's half done.. and he hasn't gotten the chance to sit down yet! He's wearing his darker clothes, his hair a messy mop at the moment, partially due to the weather partially because he simply hasn't been bothered to hit a barber. In hand, he carries a medium sized plastic case where he keeps the tools of his trade, as it were. Checking his watch as he walks the short distance of corridor to the apartment door, Barney pulls out keys in order to unlock the deadbolt. It wouldn't keep anyone from kicking in the door, but it's a great showpiece by the landlord in security measures.

Keys rattle, and the deadbolt swings open. It's only a half second later that the door opens, showing the archer in silhouette before he steps in and closes the door behind him before he sets his case down. It's one, two more steps into the messy apartment later before he notices Hilde, and brows rise. His tones are soft, almost gravelly as they break the silence of the room, "You look like who did it and ran." His accent, a soft midwestern.

Brunnhilde has posed:
The fact that she's not moaning about just having fallen asleep means she definitely wasn't asleep when he came in, though her long, lanky body is spread out on the couch like she's been trying and his old blankets are twisted enough under her that she's been tossing and turning. A lot. A little grunt escapes her throat at his commentary and she stretches a hand over, searching for the cigarette she had forgotten about in almost edging to sleep. Mostly dead. She blindly grabs for her pack instead, not bothering with a light but there aren't curtains on the big window, so the city is giving them enough light to vaguely navigate by. She stares at his familiar outline with bloodshot eyes.

"...I didn't do it... not...fuckin'... on purpose, at least. But guess it's my fault..." She grumbles, voice not quite so gravely as his but just that ragged and tired. She sounds a mix of spooked and a little self hating, which is a weird tumble of emotions for the woman generally unphased by anything. Death was a routine part of her life -- to the point she often made OTHERS uncomfortable, not herself. She drags a tired, slightly shaky free hand across her eyes.

Barney Barton has posed:
Others might say, 'Gee, thanks' with sarcastic tone, but obviously those words have been uttered before, and probably will be again. It's just this side of, 'You look like shit', which shows that he's seen her in worse light.

Crossing the cramped, messy room in a couple of strides, Barney reaches into a pocket to pull out a pack and offers her one as he sits down, not bothering to move anything out of the way. His attention is firmly on her, and he's studying her, watching to see if he can read anything on her face. "I got a light, too." Shifting his position, he pulls a lighter from his front pocket and flicks it until there's a small burst of flame.

Barney has his suspicions of 'it', and a frown briefly creases his face. "What's your fault?"

Once the lighter has served its purpose, Barney tosses it onto the catch-all horizontal surface known as table (and floor) before he reaches out to take a hand that is crossing her eyes in that attempt to look at her.. to look at her eyes. "What's goin' on?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
The fact that he's not come back with some smart-ass remark means she probably looks about as shitty as she feels, which draws a slightly awkward look from her and a defensive tightening of her brow, like she could rebuild defenses in the space of a few heartbeats and act like everything is fine. Emotions were hard and she's still not really used to him seeing through her's. So, simply doesn't respond at first. That's easier. Ignore the questions and act like it's a normal night. SHe shifts her legs enough that he can get onto the couch with her and then drapes her bare thighs over his lap while he hands her a cigarette.

"...You're bein' generous. Good night?" Second tactic -- diversion. But she certainly isn't complaining about the cigarette and sits up enough that she lets him light it as well, taking a few deep breaths of his brand which smells like his kisses taste and there's times that's reassuring as anything.

It felt very human, at least. In a time she didn't necessarily feel human.

Then she's staring at his eyes again and the other questions. He's sharper than she feels tonight, sleepless and strung out on guilt. She's not going to dodge him no matter how she tries. "...I think I got two people killed and... they weren't even my patients. But I'm sure that fucker killed'em and... I think it's because of me and... what the *fuck*."

Barney Barton has posed:
Deflection. Talking about her night and why she looks so crappy is much better than talking about his night! Sitting in a perch and waiting for some suit to emerge, only to send a crossbow bolt streaming down and hit its mark isn't very exciting. It was one of his less... exhausting nights. No parkour necessary. Probably why he doesn't look like complete shit. Just 'normal', for him.

There's a ghost of a smile when she extends her legs, the bare warmth burning into his own skin, through his jeans. Automatically, naturally, his hand rests there, and the other hand has the vestiges of his own cigarette, almost burned down to the point of being unsmokable. (Filters? Who uses those?!) His own response is something of a grunt, "Rent's paid this month. And a pack of cigarettes." His box was 'new', as in, only a few taken before she takes one. "So," and his voice drops again, "Better'n yours, I'm guessing."

He cares!

Barney isn't going to let it go, and he looks to press, even if he doesn't have to say anything now to encourage. And there it is..

"You got 'em killed. As in, you stuck a knife in 'em instead of doing CPR." It's absurd, certainly, but that's how it's sounding to him. "I mean, I can see people tryin' to target you now. No one likes uniforms. Don't matter what kind. But, I'm not seein' how it's your fault. Unless it's actually your fault."

Brunnhilde has posed:
"..Shit...it weren't even that... I don't think. Not about the uniform. I can take that shit, been used to it before and gonna be used to it now. Ain't a regular night if at least someone doesn't swing on you once, yanno?" Hilde grunts, though things have been a bit harder, he's seen it on her these last few weeks and at least one night she came home with a bloody nose and some fresh bandaging up. But the tone of her voice definiely sounds like this wasn't about that. She takes a long, deep drag of his offered cigarette and shuts her eyes a few moments, trying to recall just why this all felt so strange.

Her outer thigh presses a bit closer to his hips, as if she was trying to sink into his lap and wrap herself up in his warmth and his life. Though she's warm enough to the touch to be 'living', there was always something about her that felt cold. Hands and feet like ice in the middle of summer, something cool and clammy to her skin that was just faintly reminiscent of the grave. It was *more* tonight. Even in the warm summer heat and humidity, she was cold. Some pale, half dead thing smoking a cigarette on the couch living as can be in front of him.

"No...I didn't...stab'em. But... fuck. You remember when that Loki guy took over New York? Or tried? Fucking... maniac god... man... thing? I think he was... I think he was there. In the alley. And there were two muggers the guy I was working on managed to knock out. And he just... killed them. Like that. Toyed with them and then killed them... to... Show off for me? Tease? Fuck... I dunno..." She's rambling and exhausted.

Barney Barton has posed:
It's a cool comfort that Barney is used to. In winter, sure.. cold hands and feet are sometimes enough to drive him from the blankets, but this.. he's back to his 'normal'. This woman that shares his couch, that he lives with.. and effectively shares his life and lifestyle. No judgement. His hand idly strokes the flesh, and his expression is.. quizzical. He's working it out in his head, it's plainly obvious, and coming out on the other side with 'Loki.. the crazy god.. thing.'

"Damn," Barney drawls slowly and softly, "Quite a jump. So.." the cigarette is put into his mouth between lips, and he talks around it, using his free hand in gesture, "You're helpin' a guy that just took out two muggers. Got it.. An' then the crazy god killed the two muggers." She is exhausted.. and he reaches up to take the cigarette out of his mouth and carefully extinguishes it in the ashtray, setting it aside for later. "Did he try an' pin it on you? Like.. tell you that it's your fault he had t'kill them?" Barney cants his head, ducking it slightly so he can get a good look at her face, at those eyes. That now free hand reaches to set some of her hair strands away, looping it around an ear.

"What about your patient?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
Those ice blue eye, routinely unnervingly pale for many people but ones he's used to by now, are pressed tightly shut. Like she could remember some detail she's forgotten in the dozen times she'd been over it in her head already. She exhales a long drag of his cigaretter through her nose, it being a touch stone to keep her in this moment and not back at that strange moment in the alleyway and all those odd, familiar feelings.

"He...he took off. I said I'd handle the cops and that Loki... person... was going to help. His help was... making them *disappear*, but they died. I know they did. I know I sound insane every damn time I say it but I... felt it. I know they did. And he did it *staring* at me. Like...teaching me something. Or reminding me? Or... teasing? Fuck. I dunno, Barn... I dunno. I swear I've never seen the guy before in my life, I'd remember...but he was so damn...familiar. *Fuck*!" She growls out that last sound, from deep in her chest, half scared and half angry.

Barney Barton has posed:
Barney has seen Hilde through some rough calls, and they both have had their melt-downs, their moments of when sanity was at a premium, but this? This is something else, and right now, all he can think about doing is letting her ride it out. Talk it out.

"I know you don't wanna think about it, Hilds.. but c'mon. From the beginning." He's watching her carefully, looking for anything that might help. "You get a call about a guy.. did it come over the radio, or did you find him?" Kind of important for him, if even his wildest imagination is correct. "Someone might be tryin' to set you up. I mean, with god damned aliens sucking up a city block, this isn't sounding too strange.. that is, someone playing."

He pauses, and even the hand stroking her leg stops for a long moment. "If it's personal," and his entire manner and mien changes. It's shifting dangerously, and perhaps she's more than familiar with the soft growl that underscores his words. "Where'd this happen? I'll go see what I can find out." Now, he's got a plan forming in his head, and the chances are better than even he won't be talked out of it. Suddenly, he's not as tired as he thought he was.

Brunnhilde has posed:
He wanted her to talk it out. Most of Hilde didn't, but that tone in his voice wasn't a tone she liked to argue with. And he was helping. He was *caring*. It was easy when he acted like he didn't give a shit and they could snap at each other and ignore it. But this was almost... Gentle? She had no clue how to press back against that. She gives another ragged sigh and finally sits up, moving to shift away, remove her legs from his lap and, if he lets her up, stalk half naked around the apartment. It was easier to keep control when she wasn't being touched like she mattered.

"I...I was off shift already. Wasn't on the radio. I just got that...feeling... ended up turning down an alley and there was some mutant kid who was trying to play superhero, got himself stabbed in the leg taking out two muggers. Stupid kid. So, I start patching him up...then there is this... stray cat gettin' real curious, and someone's voice.. And I swear it was the cat, but then that GUY was there. The one that sounded like that Loki on TV... I couldn't even remember why he sounded so familiar at first and the stupid kid kept calling him Dr. Strange, but it wasn't that... and then I remembered the old news. I swear it was him..." But she knew his name before she remembered the voice. At least, in this retelling. Which is as stream of consciousness as it gets. "And he was...playing with the unconscious guys. Like he was still a cat with mice. And he... I dunno. He acted...*familiar*. Fuck, it was weird. Then the kid took off, and Loki made them disappear, and they were dead. And he disappeared. And it was a... lesson. Maybe. A power move?"

Barney Barton has posed:
Barney does let her up, and in the process, leans over to get his cigarettes to pull another from the pack. He's listening, really. Just not watching.. giving her a chance to get her thoughts together without being stalked, as it were. Once the cigarette is free, the lighter is regained, and the small burst of flame lights the tip as he draws from the other end, bringing that familiar dull red smoulder. The lighter is set back down, and he leans back on the couch once more, now ready to watch, and listen.

"So, no radio." It sounds important to him, this little detail. It brings it into another possible category. "Some mutant kid.. right." Not a strange target, truth be told. Nothing has changed there.

"Dr Strange?" Not a name Barney is completely familiar with, truth be told, and he skips over that part. Instead, he pulls again on the cigarette and holds it before the air is released through his nose in a slow run. "You think those 2 muggers were real? I mean, could they have been some sort of.. I dunno. Illusion? It's a fucked up set-up, but I can't think of any other way they'd just disappear, unless they were some.. I dunno.." Barney looks up and his eyes refocus after that moment of consideration.

"Sounds stupid, but someone was playin' with your head? Makin' you think something was there an' it wasn't?"

Still, Barney's not happy, and he's going to act on what he'd said only moments before. Rising from his spot, he's crossing the short distance towards his plastic case, not really paying too much attention to the half-naked, well.. virtual goddess (she's gorgeous in that pale, boney, messy sort of way!) to get ready to get back to work.

He only turns his head back to look over his shoulder to ask, his cigarette hanging from his lips, "Where was it?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
It's like a shark hunting through water, the way she stalks through her own apartment. They've vaguely wrecked the place -- was it ever really clean?? -- tools of his trade and of her's in various pockets, discarded clothing, old take out containers, forgotten VHS cassettes from who knows where but she still has an old VCR stuck somewhere too so maybe she'd have watched them sometime. But, even if the too-dim light from the fire escape, she knows their labryinth. She's weaving through it without seeing an inch of it, never tripping on a thing.

"No. They were there and...alive. I could feel... tell... I saw them breathing." She doesn't talk about those feelings a lot. Two or three times before, she's said she knew someone was dead before ever approaching. She could feel it behind closed doors. Or knew they would die. But it always sounds crazy to her so she tries not to use that language. Tonight, it's there. She has no better explanation. "And I'm pretty sure the kid was real. I know I stitched his leg up..." Or she thought so.

She scrambles over to her go bag then, ripping open and through it, his questions making her doubt her whole own mind. "No. I did. I'm down a single use sterile needle pack, a few sets of gloves, wound flush... I definitely helped that kid. And the muggers were *there*. These... supers...they all got weird powers and shit. He just disappeared." Then she blinks, something else hitting her. "....He said I sounded familiar too. Like... Deja vu. Maybe he was just fucking with me. Planting that in my head..."

That's when she realizes he's going for his own tools and he's moving. He's got something in mind. It's after 4 am. She blinks, "...What... where do you think you're going? It was like...half a mile away. Edge of the Bronx. But they're all long gone..."

Barney Barton has posed:
Barney can hear her moving even if he doesn't watch her. He can get her position in the room by movement, by sound, and he knows how she smells.. like her own brand of cigarettes, and.. it's indescribable. Once he checks his bag, and sets his keys in his pocket once more, Barney is walking purposefully across the room towards Hilde as she digs through her bag.

Holding out his hand, he reaches for hers, and his tones are soft but determined, holding that hard undertone. "I don't care if it's 4 am. I'm gonna go look and see what's in that alley. I can actually read a scene, and if there's anything disturbed, I can figure it out. There's gonna be blood, there's gonna be overturned cans..." And more.

Barney takes the cigarette, and holds it in his free hand and away before he leans in to give cool lips a kiss, something quick but very real. "Only a few blocks away," he breathes, his voice low and a touch gravelly. "I'll be back soon. I'll bring the coffee."

Brunnhilde has posed:
Hilde is giving him a *look*. It's half a pout, half a glare, clearly not wanting him to head out there but also not having any real reason to stop him. They'd all be up and gone by now. So she stares back into his eyes, taunt frame even more tense with uncertainty, and finally sighs, "You ain't gonna find anything and it's... I dunno. Probably not worth it. But if you really wanna go get all sweaty again out there...it's the alley across from the Duane Reade. The one by the funeral home, you know? It's not far..."

She then leans in to steal that kiss from him before he goes. He was so warm and *very* alive, especially when his senses were keyed up and he was ready to work. It practically crackled off of him with pulse thrumming beneath skin and that touch of adrenaline going. Her nose turns, pressing into his throat for just a moment. It was like his life could wash away that taste of death that lingered in the back of her throat. But it never did. She could still try.

"...bring me back donuts if you're going. Or pancakes. Some... sweet breakfast. Ain't sleepin' tonight." She asks in a whisper against his neck.

Barney Barton has posed:
He knows that look. He's received it many times, both when he was taking nominal 'charge' and when he was in danger of bleeding out and wanted to do something damned stupid. Of course they're gone. Barney just wants to see what evidence there is that they were actually //there// to begin with. Once he determines that, he can continue on his quest as to why someone would want to play with her mind.

Why..

"It's worth it." It's a statement of fact for him, and it's whispered into cool skin. He lingers there for a moment before he takes that step back and away, a tight smile creases his face. "You're askin' for a lot, darlin'. I just said I could pay rent." He's teasing her, certainly, trying to get a smile before he grabs his case and navigates through the mess that is the apartment to the door. "Donuts, I can do. If I find something out, it'll be pancakes."

With that, Barney opens the door and steps through, the light of the corridor beyond dim, and as the door closes, the apartment is darkly lit by the city once more.

Brunnhilde has posed:
Hilde lets him go. She doesn't look like she likes it and he gets a roll of her eyes about the rent, "Mm...big spender, are ya?" She teases him softly, but gives him one last kiss then lets him go. She doesn't even bother locking the door behind him.

The alleyway isn't too hard to find. This was their neighborhood. She knew it like breathing and she knew the landmarks to find. The blood that mixed with the muck at the bottom of the alley's ground is definitely still there but would look like more mess to any random passer by. If you aren't looking for it, it'd be really hard to realize that anything happened in the alley. But, it definitely did.

There's a fairly large pool of blood left from where someone was slumped on the floor of the alley, and two cleaner spots almost directly across from it, where bodies were leaning for a while before just disappearing. No drag marks, no boot prints. Just two heavy things that vaguely made it look cleaner than it was, and the signs of a fight leading up to that, but nothing going away from it. Hilde's boot prints are in the blood from her patient, but no where near where the bodies had been. There's a few paw prints in some mud and a take out container than could be a cat, but there were stray cats everywhere in this neighborhood. There's a bit of blood on the brick wall behind where those bodies had been, one probably had a cracked head, but it's not as much as the patient's blood.

Barney Barton has posed:
Barney certainly knows what to look for; and when he gets closer, keen blue eyes are searching the area before the alley, and into it. A light is shined from his standing position before he crouches, and reshines the light. There are the footprints, the paw prints.. and he shuffles forward, being very careful not to disturb anything as it lies. //Looks like blood.. and there are the boot prints in..//

Standing fully once more, Barney is hugging the opposite side of the alley to make his way towards the 'clean' spots. He looks directly up; nothing there that could explain it. The 'windows' of the old buildings that make up the alleyway are bricked up and have been for almost a hundred years. He exhales in a rapid, annoyed chuff before he leaves the alley once more. All in all? He's spent about a half hour, looking, measuring, pacing.. and coming up with nothing.

Time to get the donuts, now as the sun begins to touch the night's sky.