256/Once More, With Feeling

Once More, With Feeling
Date of Scene:	03 March 2020
Location:	Suicide Slum - New Troy
Synopsis:	Being rescued from danger is what O'Neils do best. Apparently.
Cast of Characters:	Terry O'Neil, Cole Cassidy

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Terry O'Neil has posed:
It's said that lightning doesn't strike the same place twice. That, as we know, is pure fictio, which goes to show you how much you should put your life in the hands of folkloric wisdom. Then again, it is said that curiosity killled the cat...

Terry O'Neil has been to Suicide Slum before. The last time he was here, it was to try to catch an illicit operation that may have involved arms or drugs, or both. He got a bullet grazing his shoulder for his troubles, and if it hadn't been for Beast Boy's timely intervention, he would have also gotten a relocation to Metropolis choicest plots, six feet under. He knows what he did wrong, that time, and so he has learned and is now ready to do it right.

Well. Maybe.

He has heard of another, minor exchange happening. Instead of bringing his car, he took a taxi. He also sent a beacon on social media's private messenger, so Beast Boy knew where he was at all times. He hadn't told him, per se, what he was doing, but he did have his phone set so that three clicks of the power button in quick succession would send a distress message with his address. He knew Gar wasn't very far at all today, but he didn't want to bother the Titan with playing nanny over him. Besides, he's got this!

Dressed all in black and crouching at a fire escape, Terry tries to focus the camera on the alleyway, where two groups of people flashing colors are slowly converging on each other.

"Yes... this time... no screw-ups," he mutters to himself.

It's a pity he is so confident. He hasn't seen the lookout standing at street level, right below the fire escape. The lookout, a burly man with the look of someone who has heard the word 'friendship' but has never found a practical application for it, hasn't heard him yet.

Cole Cassidy has posed:
You know the funny thing about criminals, they're always so damn predictable. 'Oooh lets meet up in a dark alleyway on the spooky side of town so that we can do illegal things'. No you dumb idiots, you meet up at a Walmart parking lot at noon. Nobody expects an arms deal to go down at a Walmart parking lot at noon.

But that's why Cackler is watching the alleyway, because arms are very important for someone in his line of work. That line of work, of course, being doing crimes against criminals. He doesn't trust the government or the cops, too much money and corruption and who knows what else, alien mind control maybe. He has to do it himself.

Plus if he gets a few more guns for his collection in the process, well, then that's that much better, right? He crouches down, waiting for the deal to start, and then he'll make a move, and try to play these guys against each other.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Get faces. That's always important. Fortunately, there's enough light to catch a few, thanks to the lights of an incoming vehicle that is rolling down the alleyway. The lights snap off as soon as it enters, though, bringing darkness once again.

"Come on... come out into the light a bit..." he whispers to himself.

The exchange seems about primed to go down. Tensions are clearly high, and you could cut the air with a knife. There is some low-voiced argument about something, probably last-minute negotiating, which is stalling the delivery of the 'merch.'

And that's when Terry's pen falls.

It had been precariouly hanging from his jacket pocket for quite some time. As the young man leans forward a bit to try to get a better angle, moving gingerly still because of his injury (what the hell is he doing out here still injured?), it catches on the handrail of the fire escape and is sent tumbling over the edge, end over end. Terry doesn't notice.

The lookout, on the other hand, notices it because it bean him ever so lightly on his bald, tattoo-crisscrossed head.

He looks up.

The shout that comes startles Terry, almost making him drop the camera. He is too startled to make out the words, even, but the sentiment behind them is very clear. The shot that follows misses him by a hair, by virtue of the darkness, and at this point he turns on his heels and starts running. Fast.

Pain at his shoulder, but he doesn'tt care, because the night is now full of bullets, as the men down in the alleyway are now alert that they have a witness, and one witness is one too much.

Terry keeps low, runnning up stair after stair, trying to get to the roof. It eventually becomes clear to the men that they can't clip him while the metallic structure of the fire escape provides partial shielding, and so there is now a gaggle of at least twelve men scampering to the staircase, to chase him. And kill him.

As he runs up, Terry starts fishing in his pocket, looking for his phone to set the beacon off-

he manages it, but a tumble causes the phone to fly off and lands... somewhere out in the night. There is no crash, there is no crack. Fortunately for Terrry, it lands on top of a trash bag, face-down, so its telltale glow can't be seen.

As for the beacon? The input was received, but because of the poor signal in the area, that thing is not going to go out for a bit, at least until it gets good enough reception. It could be a minute. It could be thirty.

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Shit." Somebody just fucked up his plans. Who is this amatuer?

The hyena jumps from the rooftop he was observing from, falls past Terry in a blur, and catches one of the railings for the fire escape, rattling the whole thing as his weight pulls on it. He pulls himself upwards, landing on the platform, face to muzzle with the guy leading the pack, "Hey boys. Sorry to interrupt, but you've got something I want."

He hauls back and headbutts the guy square in the nose, shattering it and sending him backwards, along with everyone behind him. They should make a nice pile down on the pavement as they tumble down the stairs of the fire escape.

Cackler follows them down the stairs, jumping down to ground level and drawing a big, mean looking revolver from his web gear, "Okay guys so listen up. You don't shoot bullets into the air at something you can barely see. Didn't anyone teach you any of the gun safety rules? So here's the plan. You all run, and leave all your guns and the money, and each of you will get to live to see tomorrow morning. Cool?" His yellow eyes glow faintly in the low light of the alleyway.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Was this really happening? Terry stops his flight and turns around, just in time to watch this newcomer deliver a terrifyfing performance.

His reporter's instinct is intact, though, and almost without thinking the camera comes up to snap pictures.

These are seasoned criminals. These men have seen many things, albeit they don't have the experience into the bizarre that, say, Gothamites do. Until now, they have remained obscure enough not to get the wind of 'capes.' Some of them think they might even know how to handle a 'cape'... but what they're not prepared to handle is-

"A fucking werewolf!" that's the strangled cry of one of the thugs, ,slowly getting up, and then raising his hands.
"Shut up, man-" a burly compatriot cuts in, eyes quickly shifting to take in Cackler.
"I tell you it's a goddamned-"
"Shut. Up.!" The burly man throws a punch that nearly knocks the more nervous thug off his feet, and glances at Cackler.

Presumably the man in charge, he seems to be making a quick cost-benefit analysis, and comes to the right conclusion, in that they are clearly not prepared to deal with something like this. He raises his hands slowly and says "Right. No trouble... we'll just be... " he gestures with his head. The group, those who ccan stand, at least, start moving backwards, their eyes on the 'werewolf.'

Not all of them are there,though. One of the youngest members of the gang, upon seeing someone scampering up the scape to the rooftop, decided he'd be the smart one. He knew this area like the back of his hand, and knew there was another fire escape on the other side of the building.

Which is why he is now looming above Terry, who is at the top of the fire escape. The redhead's attention is focused on the scene below, so he doesn't see the young man, a little older than him, who sneaks up behind him. Fortunately, he is too new and too young to be trusted with a gun... which is why he uses the next best thing and clubs Terry across the back. There is an interrupted cry. The camera shatters on the pavement below as Terry slowly slides down onto the fire escape floor, unconscious.

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Good call." Cackler says, keeping his gun drawn until the men make their exit from the alleyway. He doesn't want them to change their mind because he turns his back on them.

He knew there was someone up there, some witness, or looky lou or whoever it was. He'd have to go check on them when..

The thump of the club, the cry of pain and the camera shattering on the ground near him gets Cackler to look back up. He raises his revolver and with practiced precision fires a shot aimed at the club wielding thug's shoulder. Shouldn't kill him, but it should put him out of action for a while.

Once the shot's been fired, he moves rapidly back up the fire escape. The kid will probably assume he's after him, but he's going to check on Terry and find out what in the hell he's doing up here in the first place.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The shoulder wound is effective. The string of cursing is interrupted when Cackler emerges from the fire escape and onto the rooftop- replaced by a scream of panic. The young man is off like a shot, leaving a trail of blood and profanities behind as he scampers down the other fire escape and, hopefully, onto better life choices.

Rather doubtfully.

As for Terry, he is out like a light on the floor of the fire escape, crumpled up but still breathing.

A search of his pockets will reveal nothing, unfortunately- his ID happened to be stored in the phone case, but he does have some cash on him, and a debit card.

The signal is still working at it, and there's plenty of battery. Eventually, there's a chance Beast Boy will get to the phone before it becomes daylight and somebody finds it.

Cole Cassidy has posed:
Cackler gives the kid a pat down, standard procedure. He's not dressed like a biker or a gang banger, so he's probably unrelated to the two groups he just scared off. He half considers leaving the kid here, but figures that's probably not the best bet. He wouldn't want to leave him in case those guys come back. He sighs, and rubs his muzzle, "Damnit."

He hefts Terry up over a shoulder and takes him back downstairs to ground level, and puts him in the passenger seat of the van with the weapons crate in it. Then he tosses the duffel bag of money in the back, grabs the shattered remains of the camera, and then hops in the van to drive it somewhere safe.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
############# LATER ##############

The world is one of pain and throbbing. The back of his head feels like it wants to leave him for a better man.

The young man groans, but doesn't open his eyes. Recollection is hazy, and the last thing he remember is standing on top of a fire escape, looking down...

The nature of such injurie means that people never remember the moment of impact, or the instant preceding it. It's medically impossible- unless, of course, you are a mutant or other type for whom such things don't apply.

"Nrrghgr...." he winces. And the pain in his left shoulder flares up as well. There was that, too. He had certainly had a lot of activity there that wasn't recommended.

How was he still alive?

He slowly opens his eyes to try to make sense of things. Everything is blurry, at first, but slowly the world begins to coalesce into shapes that make sense.

Cole Cassidy has posed:
Oh boy Cackler has been waiting for a moment like this for a while now. He leans down into Terry's line of sight, "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Then of course he laughs, and it's hard not to recognize it as the laugh of a hyena. That's one part of his transformation he's never been able to shake.

"Nah I'm just fucking with you. You're lucky to be alive though that kid clobbered you good. I don't think you have a concussion though. But I ain't a doctor. Not even a medic or anything, just some basic CLS training. Anyway." He gets up and wanders back to where he's taking inventory of his newly won guns and cash.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
At first, Terry's eyes go wide- where the hell did he end up? The laughter, though...

Was his life getting book-ended by Hyenas? He slowly begins to set up, rubbing the back of his head and neck, wincing. "Ow... yeah. They got me good..." he frowns a little and then slowly gets to his feet. He wasn't unsteady. That was a good sign, right?

This is when he finally gets a better look at his savior. Nope, he hadn't hallucinated it, he was an upright man-hyena, alright. You'd think that would give him pause , except that he hada recently become acquainted with a boy who was the entire animal kingdom in a green package. He was born to strange sights.

'So... I owe you my life," he says tentatively. He sounds rather tired, but that can be ascribed to the injuries, "I seem to be doing a lot of that lately." He looks at Cackler from head to toe. Yep. Definitely a Hyena, though he's never seen a fur coloring like that on one. "So... what should I call you?"

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"I wouldn't go that far." The heyna replies, pulling a shotgun out of the crate, "Oh nice. Where the hell did they get one of these?" He racks it a couple of times to make sure it works, and then places it off to the side, "Everybody's taken to calling me Cackler. Well almost everybody. Harley still likes to come up with random shit to call me." He shrugs, "You ain't a cop, are you?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Intern at the Daily Planet, so that's a big 'no' right there." He smirks, "Why am I not surprised Harley Quinn knows you? She doe come up with random names to call people...."

"So... what's your thing? Busting ass, making crime pay, taking their toys and do the shining knight rescue thing? I hear there's a lot of competition there."

Terry raises an eyebrow and looks at the weapons. "That's a lot of boom stick right there."

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Oh a reporter. That makes sense." He replies, as he stops messing with the box for a second, turning around to face Terry, "My thing? I'm just your average victim of the Joker who didn't die from it." He smirks faintly, "To be fair I'm doing the same thing now I was doing before I pissed off 'ol clown face. Just now I know a bit better than to fuck with his stuff. I'll leave that to the Batman. Besides that, just your pretty standard anti-capitalist activist."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Geez. The Joker sure knows how to make friends and influence people. His own ex sounds homicidal when talking about him."

Terry finds a place to sit, a side table, that faces the crate. "I don't know, Cackler. There sure isn't anything standard about you." He reaches over and unbuttons his black shirt, lowering it enough so he can see the left shoulder and the bandages. He winces, looking at the spot of red that is seeping through them. "Looks like I'm going to have to take it extra easy..." Yep. Looks like people have been shooting at him before now.

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Sheesh. Looks like you've been having a rough time of it." The hyena says, as he grins again, "Look if you need to lay low for a couple of days, uh." He pauses, "You didn't have a wallet or phone on you so I have no idea who you are, I admit. Other than 'An intern for the Daily Planet." He pauses, thinking for a sec, "Oh wait you're that guy who interviewd that one not actually dead superhero chick, uh. Taylor? Terry, right. Terry something."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry blinks. He's never been recognized before. It's... unexpectedly pleasant. "Um, yeah, actually. I interviewed Captain Marvel." It still sounds pretty darned surreal when he says it. And then he frowns, "Wait... my phone..." he reaches into his pocket. And then remembers that it fell off the fire escape. Crap. "Damnit..." he doesn't know if the beacon activated or not. "My camera..." he realizes that it's missing, and a frantic look around allows him to see what's left of it. "... crap.... crap," he sighs. "And I got such good pictures." He thinks.

He looks back at the Hyena and says, "I can't stay a couple of days, there'll be people who will get worried... but I do need to rest a bit before heading back." He leans back on the table and sighs, closing his eyes. Then he opens them again.

"Well, you did save my life. I'd like to show my appreciation." He dig into his pockets, and finds the debit cards, "I can order us food or something!" He looks around, and huhs.. "This looks like a secret hideout, so you probably don't have pizza delivered here...

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"The SD card looks like it survived. You'll need a new camera though." Cackler replies, as he considers, "Hell dude, could just order some uber eats or something, as long as you pick it up outside and don't let some random guy and his Toyota Corolla into one of my super secret hideouts." Which is definitely not in the back of an old Radio Shack or something.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Good idea!" Terry grins and stops for a second. "Er... you got a phone? I seem to have lost mine." He looks sheepish. How do you summon delivery without a smartphone these days? What, actually /call/ the place? What do you take him for? Someone who knows how to operate a rotary phone or something?

"I was thinking Giorgio's. They have the best pizza..." he pauses and looks at the Hyena "Meat lovers special, right?" he says with a grin.

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Well they don't make carion pizza." Cackler replies, as he grins, before grabbing a phone off of the counter and tossing it over to Terry, after unlocking it, "Go ahead and order it, put the address as down the street. Don't want to lead them direct to the door, after all."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Will do." Terry takes care of the order, making sure that extra meat is selected... and his card, of course, is added. Once the payment goes through, he puts the phone down with the map open, so he can track their progress. Tonight's a busy night, and delivery is about an hour away, or so. "I'm going to take you up on the resting part, at least or tonight. I'm tired but I really shouldn't sleep. I've heard you shouldn't, when you have a head injury, at least until you're sure it's not that bad, so..." He crosses his legs under him on the table and rests his arms on his knees, and his chin on his hands, "Lucky you, you get to make sure I don't fall asleep." He chuckles.

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Well then I suppose I should avoid putting on public radio for the next few hours." He replies, as he sits down across from Terry, "So tell me a bit about yourself. How'd you wind up working for the Planet? They're one of the few news places that seems to actually give a damn about reporting honestly."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry nods, "Well, I am from New York, but I came to Metropolis following a lead about my dad. Whom I've never met. My cousin April's all about journalism, and we were pretty close growing up. Mom's a PI, so I guess the nosey bug runs in the family. I got some references and I applied all over the place... even the Bugle, though I swear I would have combusted if I had gotten hired there. As luck would have it, Lois Lane's intern had left, something about a nervous breakdown or some other, so I managed to get the job." He beams. "I mean, getting to work for the woman who was best friends with Superman? Who's won goodnes knows how many prizes, exposed corruption? How could I say no?"

He leans back on the table, supportinng himself with his right arm.

"You know... you'd be such a good story. Vigilante sticking it to the man, refusing to be defined by the clown who nearly killed him."

He reaches out with his left hand to tap Cackler's shoulder, "But I imagine you probably want to do the whole 'I Am The Night' secrecy thing, not wanting to be exposed and all."

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"What? Nah, man. I was at Lex Luthor's big presidental announcement the other day. I was booing him. They probably cut it out of the TV broadcast." He mutters, "I'll teach him to be super rich." He mutters under his breath, "I mean, yeah. I've pretty much come to terms with the fact that I'm a bad guy now, despite the you know, not generally targeting innocent people thing."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, how dare you, rescuing someone from being murderized on a rooftop." He smirks and leans on Cackler, one arm over his shoulder, "Such a dastardly thing to do. They should string you up by your bootlaces and force you to watch The Notebbook on repeat.."

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Hey now I'm pretty sure that's banned by the Geneva Conventions." Cackler replies, as he laughs again, "As far as GCPD is concerned I'm a criminal and they probably got a cell with my name on it at Arkham or Blackgate or Belle Reve. I mean sure if you have a bazillion dollars and a black cape you get a fancy light on top of police HQ but you go around shooting bikers and you're a bad guy."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Well... " Terry is quiet for a second, "Maybe shooting to injure and not to kill might be better? I mean, I don't know if you do or not. Also, GCPD is pretty much corrupt through and through. Metropolis is better... but I've only heard very few cops spoken of well when it comes to Gotham."

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Hey I only injured that kid that was hovering over you." He pauses, "Although you weren't awake for that part so naturally you wouldn't remember it." He says, rubbing his muzzle, "But you're right. I'll try to keep my body count down. Don't want people to think I'm the Punisher after all." He says, laughing, "Although I do think my face pattern would look good on a t-shirt, don't you?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry chuckles and reaches out to touch the face pattern with a finger, "It's pretty cool. It's like you have your mask with you at all times." He scoots closer, holding the phone up. "Ungh, delays. An hour and a half. Hope you can hold your hunger 'til then."

He grows pensive for a few minutes, and says "You know, even if they see you as a bad guy... evenntually the truth comes out. And it's not like second chances aren't a thing. Harley Quinn is trying to right the wrongs she's made... if she can do that with an actual past, you with nothing nowhere near tht major can do it too."

And then he breaks into a grin, "I mean, you could go the whole nine yards and wear a costume and sing a catchy motto. I'll design your outfit," he says, joking. "I can see it now. Blue and gold."

Cole Cassidy has posed:
"Really? I kinda like the black tactical gear look." He says, a faint grin as the finger runs across the pattern on his face, "Yeah I'll admit I haven't really done anything as bad as her and..Well, she's at least trying to make a difference now. I don't know how well it's going, but it's something." As far as the food delay goes, he hrms, "Guess we better find something to do until the food gets here. Any ideas?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I sure do!" Terry swivels to face Cackler and rests his hands on his chin.

Across innumerable road trips with and without April, multiple school trips, and one misguided but long trip to try to catch a significant meteor shower without first making sure the weather would allow for visibilty, the O'Neil clan has relied on an old, old tradition for entertainment. It's been handed down from clan to clan, from generation to generation, from upholstered couch to ultra-sleek office chairs. It has spared sanity, staved off nervous breakdowns, and - allegedly - even provided spiritual illumination in one unverified account.

And it all begins with one ancestral chant:

"I spy with my little eye..."