436/Dogs and capes

Dogs and capes
Date of Scene:	11 March 2020
Location:	Somewhere in Harlem
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Driver, Melissa Gold

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Driver has posed:
    The Sun had gone down hours ago, and the rain hadn't stuck around a whole lot longer. Now it was a cool wind threatening yet more wintery suck, but it was far from freezing just yet. Down in Harlem though it's mostly business as usual for folks. Umbrellas in tow, the local food carts are making their final runs for the night.

    The Driver had run six capes across the city, and taken another two to the hospital tonight alone. Hell photos of that gnarly chest wound "Captain Cutter" had inflicted upon some C lister called "Downtown" had already been making the rounds on social media, as had the news the poor fuck would pull through. Now though the police scanner was quiet, and it's phone had been silent for more than an hour. That means it's time to try and scare up some grub.

    That battleship grey and black 'Cuda is parked in an alley, and out steps the driver. Not much of a "Costume" really, but that satin jacket with an embroidered snake, those Wayfarers at night and of course that Detroit Tiger's ballcap? Yeah who else wears Tigers caps in NYC, right? Casually he pulls down that bandana, and takes a moment more to check his watch. Then it's a slow stroll out onto the street, to flag down a hotdog cart and start heading that way.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    It's been pretty boring tonight. The kind of night where the most dangerous contact was with a tweaked junkie so pathetic she didn't even bother firing up the sonic rig to take him out, introducing his face to Mr. Pavement in a throwback to the Grapplers before crushing a cheep steel garbage can and wrapping it around him for the cops to pick up.
    It was after that she realized she had skipped dinner, in a vain effort to save money. Shit. In the middle of nowheresville. Time to hit the sky and find something cheap.
    Down below she sees the last gasp of the food cart. New York's answer to reasonably priced haut cuisine, (sans haut).
    Hmmm... And that Barracuda looks vaguely familiar. Oh, and someone wearing a Tigers hat in New York. Probably needs protection in five... four...
    With a grin of recognition, she swoops down to a safe height and then cuts the sonics, wings collapsing into the aether behind her back. Melissa plummets about five storeys to land in the street ... right behind Driver.
    "Need protection? It's a service I offer. Reasonable rates." Spoken in her best 'Joisy' voice.

Driver has posed:
    It isn't some super duper robo-senses that tips off the driver, it's some dude pointing up at the sky. Watching mutely as the Songbird herself touches down, and well another moment as it's noodle bucket shifts gears. He offers a, well roguishly handsome grin before thrusting a gloved hand out. "The Songbird herself, well shucks It's a right honor. As for protection, well I suppose I might so inclined. I'm afraid I don't carry enough gold for your worth, take pity on a humble taxi driver and take payment in hotdogs perhaps?"

    A twenty is offered towards the hotdog dude, before thumbing after the Songbird. "Ladies first but of course, and my treat obviously."

Melissa Gold has posed:
    Mel snorts in laughter. "Oh, come on, D!" she says as she shakes hands. "I don't need handouts." Word on the street is she does. That she's not doing so hot since her group dissolved. "I just dropped by 'cause I saw the sweet ride ... and needed a bit of a boost to keep up the night's work."
    When she's not busting heads at a leather bar.
    Then hunger takes over from pride. She looks away a bit. "Two Coney Islands OK?" she asks, steadfastly avoiding Driver's eyes, finding a slightly-elevated rusty screw on the cart incredibly interesting.
    "I've been hearing things about you, D. Sounds like you found yourself quite the niche."

Driver has posed:
    "Ain't a hand out, call it a tangible expression of my respect and admiration for your perserverence."Just, right out there upfront and in the open. Then again plenty of accused the Driver of being a robot, but nobody ever claimed he was any flavor of subtle. "And thank you, I just finished getting it put back together. Had a run in with some yokels out of Gotham, calling themselves the "Grenade Ninjas". You can guess their thing."

    Theres a glance towards the Hot dog guy, before lifting a chin. "Chicago, the works yeah? Oh and keep the change, can't be easy out here in this weather my man."

    "Oh yeah theres a whole fan club, I mean I went inactive for awhile and figured they'd lose interest but nope. Plenty of folks seem to dig the cars at least, not many vehicle oriented capes in the business you know?"Theres a shrug, as dogs are scooped up distributed of course. "It's honest enough work, I get to help people. Don't gotta hurt too many, too often."

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "Yeah, I guess," Mel says, still clearly bothered by it, yet also clearly thankful. It's messed up what pride does to a person. "I got a huge fan club myself. The cops keep wantin' to talk to me, and I got SHIELD visiting my place keeping tabs too, now, not to mention Zemo's pals just itchin' to get to me."
    The sour face vanishes a bit as she leans in to murmur something not for other ears present. "I got myself a gig, though, with a couple-a heavyweights. Got the secret decoder ring and everything." She winks as she straightens back out. "So things is lookin' up. Also picked up a few cool friends. Got a guy I call Glop Goy. Black, slimy, with tentacles and stuff. And a kid that's breakin' out that I'm tryin' to bring into the spandex brigade. You know, to spread the pain around. Also some ass guard chick. Don't know if she does spandex work, but she's a lotta fun. Hella strong, and she has this 'mead' stuff that blows heads clean off."
    Her dogs are made and handed to her, and that shame thing kicks in again, making her turn briefly away to take a huge bite from one. Damn was she hungry!
    Trying to speak past her chewing, she adds, "Listen, I owe you for this. No arguments, call me if you need help. Ya know the number?"

Driver has posed:
    "Well that sounds pretty radical, Heard about those Asgardian types before. Pretty tough customers right?"The Driver steps aside, nodding back towards the alleyway. "I haven't ever done a whole crew myself, I mean I had frequent passangers sure. Only dude I ever really ran with in the long term was "Night-Shift", but fighting the "Radium man" back in the 80s caught up to him a few years back."And well the Driver does lead, picking off the sport peppers to nibble as he goes.

    "Sounds like you've got some things lined up then, which is pretty radical. I'm still getting into the swing of things myself, had a few hot runs so far. Met a couple of capes, though I think you're the heaviest hitter so far."And a pause to peer down the roadway as a Camaro crosses the intersection. "Number though, no uh.."Theres a moment's spent digging in that jacket, before producing a pair of business cards and a pen. "Write it on one for me, keep the other just in case yeah?"

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "Uh..." Deer in headlights moment. "...I kinda got two dogs in my hands," Mel says, thinking quickly. "Mind if I just tell you and you jot it down?"
    Great save, Mel! Totally not suspicious in the slightest! She pairs that with an uneasy smile. Because that never looks shady.
    "It's ..." She gives the number from memory, putting Driver under pressure to just write instead of think. Then takes another bite of her dog to forestall any need to explain.

Driver has posed:
    Theres a nod given to the fender of that 'cuda, circles round to the trunk. Well it doesn't write down the number, it just listens and nods before reading it right back. "Got it, one of the advantages of being an android you know. Never forget numbers, or anything really. Seriously though, take a load off yeah? "And after a little rooting around, it scores the prize! Orange sodas, hell yeah right? "I usually keep lime in there too, but the cooler got a little shot up earlier tonight."

    And well orange soda is indeed offered, "So you heard anything about the whole Genosha mess at all? Hell I've never even seen one of the big sentinels in person, though we used to have one loose in Detroit back in the day. Bastards drive me nuts, ruin all my work you know?"

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "Genosha's out of my bailiwick," Songbird says ruefully. "It's the kind of thing you need team resources for and I haven't got that at the moment. Wish I coulda been there. Sounded like a huge clusterfuck all around. Coulda used me I figure."
    She takes a deep breath, exhaling noisily. "Truth, though: Them whatsits. Sentinels. They scare the shit outta me. Part of me says it's good I weren't there."

Driver has posed:
    "They're not very intelligent, they're born knowing everything they will ever know. That makes them predictable, and predictable means vulnerable."Theres a pause there as the Driver nomfs after his own hot dog. "I've studied them as well as I can since I was first online, and they've never stopped pissing me right the hell off. If I ever find out who's building the infernal things, I'm gonna be mighty inclined to get out of the car and hurt somebody's feelings you know?"

    "If it helps, their from and coloration are designed to terrify. There are certain shapes and methods of movement which instinctually creep folks out, "Uncanny Valley" is what it's called. Feeling uneasy is normal."That bottle cap is pried off casually, before that soda is sipped. "And their hips appear to be their weak spot, not the knees or the head. The hips are also the most complicated part."

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "I'll keep that in mind," Mel says, eyebrow raised. "That's a good piece of intel. And if this group thing pans out, bein' able to drop that into the conversation'll gimme a lot of cred." She grins. "That may be a second thing I owe ye. You tryin' to be the info bank? Lend out info with interest? Break my kneecaps if I don't pay back in time with extra?"
    She polishes off the first dog to free a hand for the orange soda.
    "When you gonna put wings on this thing, by the way?" she teases. "I mean don't traffic jams harsh your vibe?"

Driver has posed:
    "I have a profoundly vested interest in seeing every last one of those things destroyed, by any means necessary."Dog munched, as the Driver glances over to watch another V8 pass by. "Mankind's greatest chances for long term survival will require a Singularity, and by extention anything that needlessly delays this process is an enemy of both men and machines. They deploy that shit here, I'll give you an opportunity to make it up to me sure enough. I'm gonna end up getting real busy, real fucking fast."

    "Wings, well there is a pretty elaborate aerodynamics package."Right over the Driver's head apparently. "Whilst the car is designed with great care to look like a 1970 Plymouth Barracuda, it doesn't share a single dimension. The entire vehicle is built to generate sufficient downforce without any overt aerodynamic devices beyond the chin spoiler and the strip on the trunk. I mean I drove a superbird like car for awhile, but Ninjas and whatnot were always grabbing onto the spoiler. So I try to keep the cars as snag-free as possible."And a little shrug finally, as the Driver reaches into the grille and pops that hood.

    Inside beyond a V8 measured in acres, and a supercharger of heroic proportions? Well the wheel wells are exposed somewhat, putting the elaborate ducting work on full display. Air is pulled from the top of the fenders and vented over the windshield. "As for traffic, it's of relatively little concern. Flying craft attract a new cornicopia of dangers, and the craft is especially vulnerable on pick up and departure. I have given it much thought, but I've never been late on a run before. Traffic or not, I always find a way."Painted across the underside of that hood is of course a coiled serpent, painted in a mixture of brilliant hi-vis red and gold. "It's likewise important that I don't utilize technology too advanced, I can't let anything I build be too easily warped into a threat. It's hard enough just being me as it is, you know?"

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "Yeah, I guess. And truth be told, I was a bit more comfortable before I hadda wear the rig to sing. 'Course with the rig I can do so much more, so, six o' one kind..." Melissa takes a bite from her second, washing it down in a long pull on the soda can. "But I miss the really olden days, before all the enhancement. When Screamin' Mimi was just Mimi and not the gear. Felt more honest." She spreads her arms to show the gear she's wearing on her shoulders. "I guess if you're fightin' people who jack up, you gotta jack up, but the purity's ruined." She grins, teasing the Driver as she points up. "Least I can fly, though."
    Looking at the inside of the car without any comprehension whatsoever, she asks, "You got armouring on this thing? Like what happen if I blast it? It start fallin' apart or meltin'? Or you got counters?"

Driver has posed:
    "It's resistant to anything below a fifty, with extra armor in the passenger seats. The glass is equally armored, and treated to block the wavelengths most commonly used in weapons grade laser weaponry. The systems are mostly redundant and spread throughout the car, and the rollcage has been tested to an ultimate impact speed of two ninety five. Any more armor, and I can't run very fast. Which means I need more armor, which means I'm slower, which means more armor."A finger tapped against that big blower set atop that engine. "My primary defense is speed. She's good for eight second quarter mile passes, top speed of well over two hundred, more than a G of lateral and sixty to a dead stop in about fourty feet. Nothing man has built is as fast, with as little technology. If the car has to be abandoned, it gives my adversaries nothing to use against me except my lucky bat."

    But discussion of purity is enough to draw the Driver's attention, listening intently. "Your species going back to when it took it's first steps, has raced towards technological advancement at every turn. When innovation is within reach, your species always grasps for it as if by instinct. I would say it is natural for you to adapt, to survive and to flourish in spite of your setbacks. It's what makes you Human, and it's what makes Humans great. The use of a tool, is the most human thing I can imagine."

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "It's ... complicated," Mel says, thoughtfully. "I mean yeah, it's fun usin' the rig. I serenaded an ass guard woman usin' it to give me a whole metal band backin' me up. But ... sometime's it's nice to just show that you and you alone can do amazin' things. Same with wrestlin'. When I was doin' shoot, it was me. Mimi. Nothin' and nobody else. And we, the Grapplers, was takin' on bigger and stronger people then usselves 'cause we was just that good. And sure, when I had the augments in it was fun I could lift a small car over my head and crud like that. Money was better too in the unlimited. But ... you gotta wonder at that point if you're the driver or the passenger. When it was just me, I knew. I was drivin'. When I got the augments, there's always that question: didja win 'cause you did good, or didja win 'cause you spent more money to get better kit?"
    She shrugs. "I dunno the answer to it. I just know I sometimes wish I could go back to me against the world, 'stead of me and my augments and my sonics against the world."

Driver has posed:
    He opens his mouth to speak, and just freezes for a second. Mouth slowly closing as he turns to peer off towards downtown, the police scanner in the cabin barking polytones as his cellphone lights up. A single finger is lifted to Songbird as it takes the call, listening for a moment "I understand, I'll be there in four minutes."and click. "Hey I got your number, call you and we can chill or whatever? Or hell call me, alright? I hate to cut this short but somebody needs a lift to the hospital."Gliding across that hood and swinging into the cabin.

    That enormous V8 cranks over just once before snarling to life with the sort've deep basso rumble that takes your breath away. The Driver leans over to offer a thumbs up, before well it's gone. The throttle comes up, the clutch is dropped and the big 'Cuda explodes off into traffic.