2690/The Whistle and the Wren

The Whistle and the Wren
Date of Scene:	30 July 2020
Location:	Chelsea Residences
Synopsis:	A fairy tale story comes to life, and the happy ending is denied. By a mutant's coming into her own.
Cast of Characters:	Angelica Jones, Cecily Winters

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Angelica Jones has posed:
The evening has a chill in it. It's late, the sun has measured its length on the ground and gone. The apartment that Angelica and her family share seems too small; she's sitting outside, the street lights keeping her awake. She sits for a while, some of the night people watching, but this is a safe neighbourhood.

Too safe. She gets up, she walks. She barely even knows why. She just has a feeling, something in the night wants her to go. It's not even totally wrong, though not in the way that she thinks.

"I'll be back soon, Nana," she says softly to her window. Then she jogs off, her jeans and t-shirt enough. It's never so cold to her.

In her house, things are happening. But that's for later.

There's a sound in the air. A flute. She smiles, following it. Someone else who plays? Maybe a friend. New York hasn't yielded a lot of friends since they moved in. She doesn't notice the rats, also going the same direction. In the night.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    It's not the galleries that bring Cecily to the area, it's a little branch of the fox's favorite restaurant. There's a little satellite store, a taqueria with a fancy sign, a hand-painted collaboration of artists in the area. Proudly, it proclaims itself to be "EL SUPERNATURAL MEXICANO," with a variety of things on the sign like eyes, pixies, claws, and spirits peeking out from around the thick lettering. There's even one of those electric plasma balls in the window, flickering atop a velvet-covered box and a couple of big sacks of masa leaning against it. It's a sight.

    The door bell chimes as it opens, jingling merrily, and out steps a woman with a smile and ... white fox ears and fox tails. She looks over her shoulder, fingertips lingering on the door as she keeps it open for a few moments. "Thank you again, Ramon. I know it's not taco Tuesday but I was in the area and you're a sweetheart for giving me the discount," she smiles.

    She's clad in business attire built for walking. Smart shoes, leg-hugging stockings, a pencil skirt, and a vest over a short-sleeved blouse. She carries a book bag with her and there's a shoulder holster as well. If not for the color of her skin, she'd be very, very monochrome. A final breath of the shop is taken, though her belly is full, and she steps off down the sidewalk. The sound of... flute music.. meets her sharp ears and she pauses, lips pursed to try and figure out just which way it's coming from.

    Then her feet pick it up and she starts to follow.

Angelica Jones has posed:
A cat yowls in the night, allowing something normal to touch the scene. Two rats cross open space, barely pausing as the streetlight illuminates them; their eyes aren't used to it, nor their survival instinct. The redhead follows without noticing how the music matches her step. One, two. I know that tune.

Magical things are not normally out in the night, so when Angelica sees someone else walking, she smiles at that person. Then another. More people? Well, it's a comforting night for a walk. Perhaps they're friends too.

As the small stream of latenight victims walk, the music turns them into an alley, behind a warehouse. Angelica walks in without a qualm, lulled.

This..is not normal.

Inside is a warehouse interior, and rats. Some people stand about, with a gaze locked on a dark spot, and a flashing instrument. All stand mesmerized.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    It's such a nice sound. Cecily is a music lover though she can't really play herself. She might sing now and again but there's no career there, just a little hobby now and again. In the shower, in the car. That sort of thing. But she can still appreciate music.

    Step step step. Her hips give a sway, her tails dancing enticingly behind her as she seems to be joining the crowd unawares. Her mind doesn't click on it, just attributing the gathering to a street performer and everyone being wildly curious. It's a nice night out, and the music is pleasant.

    Something in the back of her mind tries to tell her to hold up, but the fox's main charge, Rave, holds concerts in warehouses all the time. What makes this different? And so inside she goes, drawn by the music, ears lifted and eyes cast towards the instrument, expectant in her own way.

Angelica Jones has posed:
"Ooh! A special one!" A voice, young enough to think itself immortal, comes from the dark space. Not as Angelica enters, but as Cecily does. The voice comes with a light, a boy appearing. He sits enthroned, the light coming from the flute which he seems to control with a finger's wave, not his lips. He touches it not at all, and yet it plays.

"I...hmm. Yes yes, the rest of you may worship me. You, however," he points to Cecily personally, "come closer. I want to see you. Rats, if she does anything, you know what to do."

The rats, the tens, hundreds, more of them, make a soft noise. Ominous. Dangerous. But they part for Cecily to approach.

Angelica however, has her orders too. Worship me. Yes. That seems right. He's so nice, isn't he nice everyone? I'll...

I'll play along. She bends down, opening her flute case, unnoticed. And starts assembling her instrument, intent on playing. He wants this. It is right.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    For all of Cecily's physical prowess, she's helpless against a mentalist. Being armed and dangerous makes her more dangerous when she's under someone else's thrall. Her ears stay lifted, her eyes a little dull, and her tails idly swaying.

    So many rats, but it's New York City, after all. A concert in a warehouse, a bunch of rats. Seems normal. As she's beckoned to, the fox-tailed woman steps forward. It looks like she's well and truly under the boy's power, no motions to pull her weapon or do anything. Her steps are slow but long legs carry her towards the musician, into the light. She's unnaturally pretty, the expression on her face more blank than anything for the moment.

     "More music..?" she asks, hopeful, warmth in her voice but it's spoken absently.

Angelica Jones has posed:
"Just the flute," the boy says. "I want to see you, woman. You ARE pretty, I wonder how you'd do without the top on," he says. Wow. That's some serious supervillain there. He starts to motion to Cecily to do..exactly that, when...

Angelica hears that he wants more flute music! "Ok," she says, and places her fingers on her own flute, her lips to her blowhole, and takes a breath. Her words draw the boy's attention, finally, and he turns to look.

"No. NO!"

She's already blowing, and the first note that comes out is clean and pure. Her heart will offer no less, not for someone that she likes. And she likes him, for another....few seconds. The sound cuts across his own, almost cracking it. A single note, a proud and strong one given with a true heart as a gift.

The boy looks to his instrument, then says, "Play! Stop her!" The rats hesitate, the order unclear. But the bipeds in the room are cracked. Wobbling. Open, and alive.

As Cecily's mind begins to clear, the boy yells, "Kill the girl!" and points, not at Cecily, but at the redhead with the countering song.

Angelica, still in her tune, continues to play. Two notes, ten, a song.

And the rats start to turn, growling at her. Cecily...is clear.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    It might be a little chilly out but the warehouse is warm. So warm. And it's a nice request. The vixen isn't ashamed of her body, not at all. Her hands lift, the suggestion about to get planted in her mmind...

    ..and then more music. Different music. Pure. Beautiful. She blinks, the blank, glazed cloud clearing up. Her head turns slowly, towards the redhead that the boy gestures to. And then. The rats. So many rats.

    The order is clear. Kill the girl. She lifts her hands, not to her vest, but towards Angelica. Palms upturn, fingers uncurl, and she takes a breath. Spirals of blue-white spectral flame coil around her arms and coalesce into spheres with dancing tongues lifted skywards, cradled in her palms. Then she spreads her arms wide before sweeping them together, hurling the fire towards Angelica.

    They blaze a white (and white-hot) trail towards the girl and... hit the floor. An inferno rises before her, the heat not close enough to burn her or her instrument, but instead creating a searing barrier between the new musician and the rats. The vixen's hands are smoking and her tails spread out, tips flicking in an agitated manner, ears tilted forward aggressively.

    "...not in my city."

Angelica Jones has posed:
Some rats die. Some do not, as they pull back in time from the inferno sent at the redhead. To protect, not to serve. The room is lit to show how shabby it is, with stolen items laying about. Those hypnotized are clearly used to steal; a simple enough plan, though Cecily's...attributes, apparently were enough to distract.

Angelica plays on, unaware of the events happening. She sways, her body happy and warm, and the room around her...warmer. It's surprising but the inferno that Cecily created seems to be growing, and growing outward.

The boy, the Piper, hisses and backs away. "Get HER then, you idiots!" The humans don't. They run, they all run except Angelica, who plays. The rats....the rats leap at Cecily to the attack. Many, many rats, eyes in the dark. Not so dark. A glance at the redhead would show, the fire around her is...rising? Into the air? It's becoming an aura about her, independent of Cecily's work.

And the room is getting...uncomfortable. Hot, actually.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    That's odd. Normally the fire should be out. She releases control on it, her energy no longer fueling it. But something else has taken hold of the spirit flame. It's enough to distract her, to make her blink.

    A distraction is enough for rats to take hold where they jump and nip. Her legs are protected only by her stockings. Her arms are bare. Teeth and claw sink in and the vixen emits a sound that's a mix of pain and a canine growl of anger.

    She doesn't care if the flesh of her arms is torn further, she starts to pull at the rodents digging in, swinging her arm wide to dislodge the creatures. Her pale skin is a mess of small wounds and streaks of red, and then more fire. From the shoulders down she's momentarily wreathed in flame, a small burst of heat around her sending rats scurrying but it does nothing for her wounds.

    Then the bloodied kitsune turns to the piper and lunges at him. She has a clear level of superhuman speed and agility, springing towards the boy. One hand yanks her sidearm from its shoulder holster, the other goes for his upper arm. She slams the little thief into the hard floor and presses the barrel to his head.

    "I can take a bullet, but can you? Call off your pets..." she hisses, vulpine fangs visible as she grits her teeth. Is she bluffing? She's bleeding. At the least, maybe the piper gets something of what he wants, with the way she's pressed tight against him, knees of her stockings torn through and red from scraping on the floor.

    Her adrenaline is running too high for the moment to realize just how hot the place is getting, but at least she's got the presence of mind to note that the rest of the civilians are fleeing.

Angelica Jones has posed:
Rats die by the scores, as the heat rises and they're unable to flee. Magic holds them, and fire scorches deeply. Angelica begins to open her eyes...and the instant that she does, the music falters. The fire slows, fades. Stops.

The boy...is a boy. He's crying now, held down with a gun to his head instead of the other parts of the lady he was hoping for. He's a bit of a pig, likely deserves to be in juvie and without his magical instrument. "Stop! Stop all of it, stop everything! Everyone stoooooop!" He cries out the last syllable, sobbing, and ...ends up not being too threatening, though his instrument still floats in the air, on its own.

Angelica, in the background, sinks to her knees. "How did I get here? What ...who?" She can remember, but it's all kind of...impossible?

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Hells..." Cecily growls, sitting up now. She's got the boy pinned, straddling him. Despite his sobbing, she's still more the mess. She holsters her gun, though that might've been harsh treatment, she knows metas aren't all what they seem. She is one herself, after all. The blood on her arms is drying, sticky, but only the deepest tooth-and-claw wounds remain now.

    "Just... stay still..." she says, voice taking a more gentle tone now. "I'll get you the help you need," she reaches for her bookbag, a set of handcuffs within, among other things. She rolls the kid onto his front and binds his wrists before rolling him onto his back again. No sense in making him stay with his face to the dirt. She's not a monster.

    The flute is snatched out of the air and stuffed into her bag, for later processing, and her phone is up to her ear. A new model StarkPhone and she appears to be caling in to the NYPD. "Winters here. Yeah... got a minor that needs a pickup... loads of stolen property... animal control as well... Huh? Rats. Fuckton of rats. No, I'm fine. I just need to soak in a tub of sanitizer... yeah... address is..." she cross-references the GPS, hangs up, and then goes to check on Angelica.

    "Hey.. hey... you okay, dear?" she asks, as frightful of a sight as she is, standing over the redhead.

Angelica Jones has posed:
The instrument in the girl's hands slips from them, the metallic tones clanging on the floor. It doesn't do to drop a flute though, and the girl picks it up quickly and clutches her flute to her chest. She looks up, at the wounded woman. Suddenly she's on her feet. Gah, automatic energy when she saw someone hurt!

"You're...you're the one who's hurt! Come on, let's.." She pauses, rubbing her eyes a moment. "No. Can't. Let's...come on. I don't live far away." She really doesn't, but the light is out now, the room darkens. The boy squirms in his cuffs. She looks at him and frowns. Then at the wounded woman, and she stiffens her resolve. Priorities!

"Come on. I'm Angelica. You're hurt." She offers a hand, to Cecily, her mind racing over what might have happened.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily blinks, straightening up again. "Mmm? I'll be fine...." the fox laughs softly, then exhales a long sigh. "...I've had worse... you're not hurt then? That's good..." she smiles, tails waving slowly. There's very little fresh blood now, the deeper wounds still needing time to fill in, but at least she's not dripping everywhere. Her DNA is on file anyway when the crews come to sweep the warehouse.

    "Cecily, dear. Let's just wait a few minutes, the police are on the way. They don't always come quick when I call but if a minor is involved it should--" Her voice is cut off as a siren can be hear nearby.

    "...put the priority up the chain... must've been a patrol nearby. They'll get here and we can go, yes? You live near here? I... really could use a quick wash..." she laughs again, sounding like she's been through this kind of thing before. A hundred bite and claw wounds is probably better than a plasma lance. Maybe.

Angelica Jones has posed:
"I didn't want to just leave him there," Angelica admits. "No, I'm not...I mean, I'm not hurt. It's not about me. Are you sure?" She looks Cecily over quickly, as well as she can in the light, and sighs. "I suppose you're right. I mean, this is a crime scene." She looks confused, a normie caught in too deep. And runs her fingers through her hair.

"Do I need to stay?" she asks, a moment of weakness letting it slip out. "I don't want to have to wake my family. They're asleep. I worry abou them." She says, standing in dead rats and magic.

As the police begin to arrive, lights starting to show the scene for what it is. Bit of a mess, really.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "No, we're not going to leave him there," Cecily says gently. "He's been through enough," she says quietly, sighing. She listens to the girl's concerns, nodding. "Stay a minute. You'll be fine, ok? I'll get you home," she rests a hand--one that's not caked in blood--on Angelica's shoulder and gives it a squeeze before stepping forward into the light.

    "Winters. Private security...." she greets, showing her ID and her permit to the two patrolmen. She gives a brief explanation to them, glancing back at Angelica a couple of times and nodding to the boy as well. "Yes, I'll have the written report faxed over in two to five business days for your records, don't worry," she says. "No, she's just a civilian. Worried about my injuries. I'll append her written account with my report, but right now it's late. She needs to get home and I need a bath..." she laughs with the officers and then offers that clean hand to Angelica.

    She gives a sideways smile to the redhead, "...come on, dear."

Angelica Jones has posed:
And that's how they walked out of the scene, the boy in custody, the ladies quite safe. The walk toward Angelica's home is uneventful. Not even the night people are out now, having been frightened by a strangeness.

Angelica has no words, though she does look at Cecily from time to time. Then when they're getting close, she says, "You threw fire. Did I see that?" She seems on the cusp. Almost there. In the dark, as she nears home. Appropriate in a way.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Safe, relatively. If anyone was out, they'd probably cross the street away from Cecily, seeing how marked she is. But otherwise, not too worse for the wear? She blinks when her foxfire is brought up, and smiles at the girl.

    Her three tails floof out a little and wag a bit more, "...yes, yes you did see that. The ears and tails are quite real," she states. She holds her palm out, a much smaller mote of blue-white flame sparking into existence, dancing merrily independent of the night breeze.

Angelica Jones has posed:
"Did I..." She starts to say it, uncertainty and terror of the answer on her tongue, slowing things. Delaying them long enough, to turn the corner. To see the flashing red lights of the ambulance, at her apartment steps. "No. Oh no. Nononono.." Her voice goes pale, her skin more so. And she drops Cecily's hand and runs.

A man stops her, as Cecily watches. Stops her from going to the ambulance, and then she bursts into tears, grabbing him. Her father? It seems likely. Whoever was in the ambulance seems to have been important.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" he asks her, and she pulls it out.

And Cecily gets to watch the first event. Second really. The girl's phone literally melts in her hands, sparking, and the ground beneath her...bubbles. Concrete. Bubbles. And her father backs away, fear in his eyes.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Mm? Did you what, dear?" Cecily asks, snuffing the little flame and turning the corner with the girl. Her ears are sharp, but the sirens she'd hard before were the police showing up at the warehouse. The ambulance... had already come. She frowns, seeing the reaction, seeing the medics, and reaches for Angelica as the redhead bolts off. She steps forward, but slowly, not wanting to get in the way of the girl reuniting with what looks like family--nor get in the way of news of a potential tragedy.

    She almost considers turning back around the corner. She's in no presentable state to be delivering the news that a girl survived a weird attack, especially when things are unfolding like this. But she can't abandon the girl either, and the man had seen her there anyway. So she walks, moving towards the scene, catching his words with those ears. She hadn't heard a phone ring in the warehouse. Then she sees it. The way the world starts to melt slightly around Angelica.

    "Oh... oh shit..." she hisses through her teeth and picks up her pace. Not that she needs to go far, but she remembers... something. Deja vu. She'd been under fire, with a group of fellow NYPD officers when Loki's forces had attacked the city, the group of them trying to herd civilians to safe places. She didn't have her powers then. She didn't have her ears or her tails then. But the explosion. The terror. The aliens bearing down on them. And then ... terror and confusion and white fire. An awakening?

     "Angelica!" she calls out, getting as close as she dares, risking reaching for the girl's shoulder, to gently tug her back from the man lest either of them get hurt. "..stay calm, dear... try to stay calm..." she speaks in gentle tones.

Angelica Jones has posed:
    he fire stops, as quickly as it began. The incident ends the same, with Angelica's father stepping in. He says, "Get, your hands off of my daughter, you freak!"

He's scared, and not just of any one person. This whole thing, his mother dying, his daughter being gone when it happened, he was worried, he's ANGRY. Scared, angry...and Angelica looks so confused. She turns, looks at Cecily, then runs into her apartment.

And the door slams, leaving him and her alone, as the ambulance drives away. No happy ending, not tonight.