Owner	Pose
Cheyenne Brawley	The streets of Brooklyn have become rivers of human traffic, as swing shift workers make their way back to the daily grind. Grateful for the shade of a row of buildings pressed close together, a man in an all-black three-piece suit stands in the lee of a mailbox, baseball cap in hand, wiping sweat from his brow. He has a heavy dufflebag slung over one shoulder. There may as well be a sign that reads: 'out-of-towner' in flashing neon; he slowly spins in a circle, mostly looking up, gawking at his surroundings. He refernces a paper note in one hand which acts like the needle of a compass. "I think this is the place..." he mutters to himself, "but it don't look like no dojo to me."
Valerie Killmore	Rivers of human traffic indeed! There are people milling about, and like any good New Yorker street, there are cars parked on the side of the road, parked in the road because of all the car traffic, and people swirling about them. It's the middle of the day and disturbing the hustle and bustle is a KKkkrrrrrssszzzzzcck from up above. A shower of electricity like webs sprouting from nowhere reach out and strike a few cars, shattering windows, and then one of the cars compacts inward a trail of long blue pigtails indicating the direction the woman crashing into the car from high above came from. Dressed more like she just left yoga than any specific job or well, the sky above, is Hex. Groaning she sits up and starts looking around, a steampunkish belt buckle, attached to an equally geared and brassy belt, is spinning and sparking with electricity when it starts to wind down, fold up, and become nothing more than a compass looking device at the center of her waist. Someone starts screaming about their car, from across the street though, busting out of a local retail shop. "Ohhhh, shut it!" Grabbing her head, rubbing it, Hex is squinting, and starting to pull herself out of the wreckage, albeit slowly.
Shredder	Immortal Dragon Dojo. Apparently it's part of a chain of dojos around the city. The students have won several competitions. It seems rather legit. Of course, space being what it is in Brooklyn, it isn't large. It's clean, and appears to be an office front, squeezed between a half-price book store and a Kosher Deli. The windows are dark, though, and it doesn't look at the moment that anyone is there. The sign on the window says that classes won't start for almost two hours. So there seems to be a little time to kill.     Perhaps that's good, given Hex's arrival presenting something far more urgent to be done.
Cheyenne Brawley	"Hot damn!" says Cheyenne Brawley, the black-suited fellow, popping up like a jack-in-the-box. He lands in a wide stance, hands instinctively curled into fists. Expression sober, eyes wide and alert, he scans the wreckage of the hapless vehicle, but when Hex emerges from the twisted steel, he promptly stands and races over, offering his hands oustretched to the woman. "Good lord, ma'am," he stammers with a heavy Texas accent, looking her over before craning his neck to trace a trajectory to where she might have fallen from then back to her, "are you alright? Maybe you should sit still until the medics get here..."
Valerie Killmore	There's a hand being offered, offered for what? Oh, here you go. Hex puts a broken mirror into the hand being offered and with some of the broken cabling, she ties onto it some other broken bent metal bits, hunting through them and tossing to the side ones that aren't 'quite right'. This all happens pretty quickly before she hops up and out of the wreckage, landing clear of the vehicle, "Hold onto those a moment, rather precious, gonna need the mirror. Making a laser cow killer gun, gotta redirect the light." She smiles up to the man as the angry normal man gets most of the way across the street yelling still about how she is going to pay for the car. Turning, she reaches behind her and pulls... nothing. Nothing? "Ugh. I forgot my uzi at home." To her thigh, a gasp, "George?! George isn't here? Oh, right, I left him triggered pointed at the door, for intruders." Smiling over her shoulder to Cheyenne she offers, "He really likes it when we have intruders. Do you have a gun on you? Maybe a slingshot? You know, something that pew pews? I gotta take care of this splitting headache that's walkin' MY WAY." Turning her head she shouts, of course directing it at the innocent bystander who's car is wrecked. People are starting to get out of their vehicles as the electrical shock has disabled some of them and traffic, as well as horn honking is starting to pick up.
Cheyenne Brawley	Buster's mouth forms a small O as Hex proceeds to fill his hands with junk. Wordlessly, as he listens to each thing she says, a seed of confusion grows and flowers on his face in the form of arched brows and a thin line of a frown. "Ma'am," he says in a gentle voice, unceremoneously plopping the assembled collection of parts back into the wreckage, "you may have a head injury. Sit down over yonder, OK? Let me handle this feller." He sidesteps around Hex and approaches the angry owner of the crushed vehicle, palms upraised in a calming gesture. "Hey, come on man, the gal's injured," he gazes over his shoulder at her and cocks his head sligjtly as if to indicate that he's shocked she's still alive, and turns back to the walking, talking headache. "You have insurance, right? We'll get this all sorted out. I'll see if I caint help you get more than the car was worth."
Valerie Killmore	It's Hex's turn to gape her mouth open. The 'junk' gets dropped, and she looks down at it, her eyes wide, then the 'chivalrous action' and her face goes from confused horror to a little disgust. Then she follows Buster, in one of those cartoonish, walking right behind him. And when he brings his palms up, Hex is hopping up on the nearest car so she can be seen over Cheyenne, and she's sticking out her tongue, rocking her head back and forth at the guy, giving him a good solid dopey face, like she's talking, and then hears the words, "Insurance?" She shakes her head, "Who am I going to file a claim with? The annoyed by person shouting insurance?" Looking over at the car owner she offers, "Look..." A pause and she quickly turns her head to look away, "Huh? No." And then back to the two men in the street, "I was sayin-" She cuts off again, her eyes twitching a little, "Yes, yes, he's annoying. Of course I looked for a gun, I even asked this guy... no, I didn't beat him with his own car door in an unironic sense of justice." A tension in her hands, as she grips into fists, talking to someone who is clearly not there, she shakes with how tense she's gripping her hands, "NO NO NO NONO!" Clearly getting more volatile as time goes on, at... no one in particular.
Cheyenne Brawley	Dropping his hands in resignation, Buster studies Hex. "Dang, man," he says to the car owner, just loud enough for him to hear, "not another one... I think somebody done beat this gal with the crazy stick, too." He slowly approaches the pigtailed woman, timing a question, he hopes, in a way so as to intercede in her monologue. "What's your name?"
Valerie Killmore	Looking away from her invisible annoyance, Hex looks in the direction of Cheyenne, then back to whoever is drawing her attention, then back to Cheyenne. "Hex." Stopping, a second, and then she squints at Buster, "And hit a girl when she's down. Make fun of the one with the big eyes and the rough demeanor, is that it? Just cause you don't like mirrors?" Her attention at least moving from the car owner, shaking her head a little, making those long pigtails wave back and for in small whipping motions, "Bullies are bullies everywhere you go."
Cheyenne Brawley	"Hex," he repeats, "I'm Buster." He offers a hand to help her down from the car. "There aint no bullies here." He holds his breath for a moment, sangfroid in thought, then perks up like a golden retreiver. "Hey, you hungry or something? Come on, my treat."
Shredder	From the side amongst the bystanders, a man stands watching. He's tall, Japanese, which may be an uncommon combination on its own. A scar traces over his left eyebrow. He wears a rather common attire, a dark suit, sans tie. His hair is a little more unusual, pulled up into a top knot. His features are angular and hard. He doesn't interrupt the interaction, he only watches simply from outside the dojo.
Valerie Killmore	"Buster? What kind of name is Buster? Hey Buster, you're a buster, you bust things?" Hex asks and doesn't take the hand, shaking her head, "Oh, no no no, last time you ruined my stuff." Though an offer of food pops in, and she squints, "Why, you think I'm skinny? Too skinny, the skinny punk chick with the crazy ideas?" She does hop down though, people aren't usually more calm when she's around, they get more aggravated, and her eyes are twitching a little, looking quickly left then right, then left again, then she's whispers, "Shhhhh, we can later. Yeah, just, remember... get the mirror though, stupid stupid, get the mirror." And she pauses, quickly dipping down to a crouch like walk as she passes the previously dropped mirror, scooping it up, and following Cheyenne at this point while she looks at the mirror to make sure it isn't... broken? More than it was... and she's already fiddling with it, and bending some of the metal bits with a strength not shown in her frame, "So... Mister Buster you money bags man. You some kind of serial killer or somethin'?"
Cheyenne Brawley	"Nope," Buster says with a chirp, then swallows hard in his throat. "Are you?" Taking off his ballcap, he ruffles his hair, then replaces the cap again, now with the bill twisted around to the back. Following a moment of thought, he picks his way around the wreckage, step by step, and kneels down beside the crumpled car. He lays hold of something, grunts with effort - resulting in a loud pop - then returns to Hex's side with the driver's sideview mirror; it appears perfectly intact. "Here, you like this one better?" He gently sets it down near her and slips his hands into his pockets, strolling towards the Kosher deli. "As for the name," he calls, without looking back, "it's really Cheyenne, but I like Buster better. And for what it's worth, I can bust things up pretty good, I reckon, if there's a call for it." He peers through the window. "Oh! They've got brisket pastrami; I've always wanted to try that." Rushing to the door, he opens it and positions himself as a doorstop. "You comin', or not?"      It's then that Buster notices the dapper Japanese fellow. He makes eye contact, briefly, makes a cap-doffing motion with two fingers at his brow, then looks back to Hex with a broad grin.
Valerie Killmore	"Am I what? A buster?" Hex shakes her head, still paying a lot of attention to the busted up mirror in her hands with the dangling metal pieces and skips right over the question about whether or not she's a serial killer. There's a pop, she doesn't seem to react at all, and then there's the nice looking mirror and she grabs it looking at it like it's some kind of strange contraption. "What would I use this for?" And then she ohhhhs and nods, "I could use it for replacement parts. Though... it's got to..." With one simple motion she cracks the side mirror against the concrete, denting the side, breaking some of the mirror and lifting it up again she nods, "Better." As the door is opened and Buster just stands there, Hex looks at him, then waits, and waits, unaccustomed to this ritual of doors being held, "Well ARE YOU GOING IN?!" She shouts, her eyes wide, pointing to the inside, and then impatiently she stomps inside, "Taking up all the door space! You're lucky I'm a skinny lil' girl, like I am. Not that I like it, but it comes in handy when trying to work around big meaty fellows taking up the doorway." A pause and she shakes her head, "You smile too much NOT to be a serial killer, but that's okay. I'm not judgy like that guy in the street."
Cheyenne Brawley	"It's hard not to smile around a lovely young lady like you," Buster says, implacable grin still present as he follows her into the deli. "Pastrami on rye, lots o' mustard and whatnot; ever-thang," he says to the cashier as he produces a billfold from an inside jacket pocket, slips out a crisp Benjamin, and hands it over. "And... whatever she wants," he indicates Hex with a jerk of his thumb, chuckling. A few quick strides carry him to a table by the door and he plops down with a sign, easing into a reclining posture. "God bless air conditioning."
Valerie Killmore	There's a cough, a swallow, and a couple more coughs before Hex smiles and her mouth opens some, teeth showing as she starts to chuckle, "Oh, mister, you ARE a serial killer. I can't be charmed by you, no need to lie. Just whip out that knife and start carving, I don't have a lot of time, gotta make the anti cow laser gun." Then looking up, to the cashier, and over to Buster, and then back to the cashier. Isn't this the part where you point a gun at the person and tell them to give them whatever they were just making and then run off with it? Why is there... money being pulled out, and she grimaces, remembering that she doesn't HAVE a gun, not even a single bomb, "Gee whiz, toots." To the cashier, and she plants a hand down on the counter, leaning forward, "Just get me ... one of those, an' make it a double." Having dropped her mirrors on the counter she can turn and hop up onto it, picking them back up as she hangs out here, right here, waiting for the sandwiches to be made, talking to Buster but looking at the mirrors and bending things, breaking small pieces off. "So, what's your schtick. Get a girl fat, too slow to run away, and then eat her liver? That's pretty smart. Your not even wasting the food..."
Cheyenne Brawley	Buster swivels to face Hex, props his elbow on the table, and leans a cheek into his open hand. "No schtick, sug;" as in sugar, "blue just happens to be my favorite color. And you're sure you're not hurt?" He glances at the wreckage. "How the hell did you fall, anyway? And where from?..." His words trail off and he tsks. "That angry feller skidaddled quicker than a lizard on a hot skillet. No tellin' how he's gonna explain that to the insurance company, anyway."
Shredder	And outside, Oroku Saki quirks his mouth, considering the way that Cheyenne diffused the situation with a rather colorful character. This may warrant some more attention. For the time being, he decides he's seen what he needs to, and quietly disengages as unintrusively as he monitored the other two.
Valerie Killmore	With Buster being much closer, and saying nice things about Blue, Hex is just sort of leaning forward. Her eyes glance in his direction, and she's leaning over looking at the mirrors rather closely, her legs aren't being squeezed together or crossed to take up 'less space' she's practically sitting like a 12 year old boy who just realized they could take up extra space and no one will say anything. With her pink eyes on Buster though, she smirks, "Sure sure sure. And I don't make bombs." She gives a quick wink, before adding, "Fall? No no no, that's not... no, wait, that's exactly what happened. It's a funny story..." And she starts to chuckle, hard enough that it shakes her small frame, "You see. I wanted to teleport into this bank, I heard they had some good angled mounts for those security boxes, and I need some strong joints for what I'm building. Instead, I popped in a few miles away..." Her laughter invades the space of her words until she gets to the end, "And that's how I 'fell'. Why were you there? Stalkin' prey? I mean, following someone who needed help?"
Cheyenne Brawley	Buster grins, unable to resist chortling a little when Hex laughs, and shakes his head a bit. "No," he says in response, "I was goin' next door for m' first lesson from some master martial artist a feller told me about. I didn't know that the place doesn't open until later." The cashier comes around with two sandwiches on a tray, sets them both down on the table Buster has claimed, and starts counting out change; he stops her with a motion, and says quietly, "Keep the change."      The waitress, a little shocked, bounces on her toes ever so slightly. "What would yous twos like to drink?"      "Oh, uh, just a reg'lar coke for me, and... whatever she wants." He snatches half of a pastrami sandwich, examines it closely like a jeweler with a loup in his eye, then selects a very large, very deliberate bite. He chews, eyes narrowed in thought, then shrugs. "It's alright, but y'all ain't got nothin' on good ol' Texas barbeque."
Valerie Killmore	"They sell... coke here? That's" A pause, "Criminal." Hex mentions as she sees then the soda, "Ohhhhhhhhhhh..." She tips her head back and rolls her eyes a bit, getting in on the joke, "That... right, yeah, that Coke. A bit of a shame really." And with that she kicks off from the counter and grabs up her mirrors, people are just 'bringing stuff places' for her and this guy with money. Is this her first time eating in a place where she paid for it, and you know, acted human? What in the world is going on right now... she's uncertain as she moves. To the table, and she looks to the side to another group, "My table, right there, I need another chair." And she just yanks one of the chairs away, not that the people were doing anything with it, and she positions it opposite her chair, turning them sideways. When she sits, she can then bring her knees up, like she's a kid leaning against a wall, and her feet are on the other nearby chair, making it so she's rather scrunched up but this allows her to hold the mirror in between her knees and turn her head to eat. Which she does, one hand on the food, just chomping a big bite, and she furrows her brows, "This isn't bad, it's missing something, oil? Trash? Huh, you know, everything from a dumpster tastes like pizza, except the pizza I order from time to time, that tastes like dumpster." She shrugs, "The universe, am I right? One big circle." And she gulps down some of the coke, and is then getting back to work fiddling. "So - you're from Texas? You eat food from a restaurant, and you tip people. You HAVE to be a serial killer. If you aren't already, I can help you figure it all out. Really. It may be a good career choice for you."
Cheyenne Brawley	"I'm more interested," Buster says between bites, "in saving people from seriel killers," he swallows, "know what I mean, jelly bean?" Just like that, his sandwich is gone, along with the pickle and other sides. It's chased by a mouthful of soda, ice and all, which he happily crunches in his teeth. "Dumpster-flavored pizza? I thought pie was the one thing New York City knew how to do, besides Pace picante sauce..." He points the mirrors, "what'cha makin'?"
Valerie Killmore	The quick bite she had is long forgotten, and she's just leaving it now on the plate/tray it came with, completely ignoring food over tinkering with stuff. Pulling on one of the cables she starts wrapping the ends of one of the junk metal pieces she tied to it earlier, and she huhs, looking up, "What? Oh, oh oh, I said. I'm making an anti-cow laser gun." She rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, "For some kind of saving person you sure don't listen do you? No sirry, not a bit, not one bit, nada. Zero." It's at that moment she turns to look to her right, which is where some other people are (well, not too far off) but she's clearly looking at them, "No, of course he won't let the cows in on..." Pausing she turns back, squinty eyed, she leans forward, as much as her hunched over sitting position allows as she scrutinizes, "You said you were from Texas. AND you aren't a serial killer AND Texas has cows. You show up, randomly, OUT OF THE BLUE, as I'm gathering KEY COMPONENTS?! Hmmm. Take off that person disguise, Cow. I knew the name Buster was suspicious!" Accusations fly, she's got squinty beady eyes looking right at you, the pink barely getting past the eyeliner.
Cheyenne Brawley	"I'm no cow, ma'am," Buster says with an 'oh please' expression, "I eat them. Cook them, even." He points at the crumbs of beef flesh littering his plate. "But what do you have against bovine kind?"
Valerie Killmore	The squinty eyed blue haired woman keeps an eye on Buster for the immediate timeframe and then she offers, "Against them? They're the ones trying to interfere with MY life. They are indoctrinating us, making us communicate things for them. Ever notice... MOOOOOOOve, starts with cow language." Hex tilts her head a bit, like see that, perfect evidence. And then she looks back to her mirrors, "I figure, a creature that intelligent is sacrificing its weaker members to build an army of the strong. Fattening us up, making us weak, pretending to be domesticated. Someday soon, though, BAM, they're gonna chew us to little bits. Or worse, I'm not sure yet, but I won't be caught... unarmed." With that she holds up one of the busted up mirrors and shakes it a little, menacingly, "Anti-cow laser gun. It's in the works."
Cheyenne Brawley	Pursing his lips, Buster nods along with each beat of Hex's stream of consciousness. "Compelling theory," he says, with a sage nod. Meanwhile, she may observe that the man is leaning forward slightly, hands under the table. A very subtle current of air - scarcely noticable against the draft of the AC - flows, seemingly from all parts of the room, in his direction. "But it seems much more likely to me that, if any cattle are out to get us, it's a resistance movement working against the CAFO industry. I bet the vegans are helping them."
Valerie Killmore	If only Hex were that aware of her surroundings she might not get into as many troubles, her eyes though get bigger, and wider, and bigger still. Her mouth slowly opens, and her jaw drops, "Holy cow palokey. Mister, you ... I think you've solved the missing link. I was wondering where their hatred for human kind came from, but who DOESN'T hate a vegan?!" Her head slowly shakes, "Maybe I'll have to build an anti-vegan bomb, you know, it explodes them into chunks of meat that force themselves into other vegans nearby. Two birds, one bomb." She nods her head just a few times, and then sets down the mirrors, leaning over on an elbow, hand perching under her chin, as she smiles, "I knew there was something about you I liked. And I had hoped it was some serial killing, but you've got some kind of observational skills. Were you sent to help? No, that's impossible, George isn't allowed on email anymore..."
Cheyenne Brawley	"Maybe fate sent me," Buster says with a wink, then reveals his hands, along with an object, which he offers to Hex on his left palm. It is a magnificently crafted lens, perfect round about the size of a saucer and, at its thickest, about as thick as a deck of cards; it's made of something extraordinarily clear and hard, but also brittle, and sparkles sligthly in the light as it moves. "I just happened to have this handy;" the Texan says, "thought you might like it. Besides, my daddy always told me a gentleman oughta bring a gift to a first date."
Valerie Killmore	There's a pause, Fate? Fate brought him? Did she know someone named fate, and then there's a look over the table at Cheyenne. She squints her eyes, and then lets them get more open again. She's smiling, "Sure sure, Buster, fate sent you. Whoever the hell that is, though I think I remember reading..." Pausing she looks at the lens, and grabs it, looking at it, having snatched it quickly and is now looking through the light and the lens. She's looking up, then over, then back and she's hrming at it. Then she licks it, yep, licks it, and sees how the light reflects. "Uh huh, yeah, daddy, date." She says, not paying much attention, grabbing a fork from the table next to her, since she doesn't have one, she starts scratching things into the lens, mostly on the edges, avoiding the middle, but she's scratching into that perfectly clear lens. After a few little scratches, she holds it up again. The lens glints, flickers almost in the light, with something else. Something beyond what it was, some electricity? Maybe, some flash of pinkish light, she nods, "I'll have to work on this. So... wait, no." She looks back to Buster, "Date? Uh. Um. No? Maybe, I, mean, George is pretty lewd already, and if anyone, I should really think about... but, you? I dunno. I mean, you really helped me mister. Maybe I should think about it? Maybe not, I really wish George was here..."
Cheyenne Brawley	Buster stands with a shrug, palms in a 'you win some, you lose some' gesture. He beams at Hex nonetheless, "I reckon it's about time for my martial arts lesson, anyway." He bends to pick up his dufflebag, slings it over a shoulder, and reaches to gently clasp a hand around one of the blue-haired gal's braids, hoping to let it slide through an O made up of thumb and index finger as he passes by. "Maybe fate will bring us together again, someday." The bell on the door chimes as he swings it open and steps through, back into the baking heat of the concrete jungle.