10599/Pre-Last-Minute Shopping

Pre-Last-Minute Shopping
Date of Scene:	31 December 2019
Location:	Westfield World Trade Center, Lower Manhattan
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Volt, Artemis Crock

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Volt has posed:
Drake Riley wanted to be back at the tower by now. He's gotten pretty good with the filament cables, how to quickly deploy them, to trigger their flash, and not accidentally blind himself. And running urban environments, laying down distractions, cover- it's so much! Most would probably believe he's bitten off more than he could chew, but the legitimization of his dual identity has been more energizing than anything. Yes, he'd been engaging in activities for a long time that most would probably consider vigilante, and some would consider superheroic. But being a part of a group and having more to work with makes it somehow more... well, legit.

And yet here he is, the sun already dipping below the horizon, staring at a frosting-covered cinnamon roll. Half of his brain is warning him of the calories, the sugar. The other half of his brain is telling him to quit being so lame. It's resulted in a temporary stalemate, frozen here beneath the World Trade Center, plastic bag already in his left hand and near-hypnotically-swirly green gaze transfixed on the fluffy pastry. There's a good chance this is a battle of wills he won't be winning.

Artemis Crock has posed:
It's winter break, but that doesn't mean that it's going to be winter break forever. Artemis will start her final semester of undergrad soon, which means it's time for the biannual hunt for books. Gotham University's bookstore has them, sure, but they're...Well, they're university bookstore prices. And that's not really in Artemis' budget.

There is, however, a used book store in the mall that happened to have a slew of the books she needed, so it was worth the commute into New York to pick them up. Plus it meant she'd have them early and could start getting her reading in. Juggling multiple jobs with a full course load means taking full advantage of every minute.

With a bag full of books in hand, she's starting to walk past the food court when she pauses, looking over the array of neon and brightly lit signs. Apparently she's having a similar battle of wills with herself.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley's brow slowly knits. The smell has registered - the aroma itself is somehow fluffy, warm, enticing. And outside, he just knows it's going to be colder than when he came in. And though his parka will do for warding back the elements, it's poor succor for a man bereft of cinnamon roll.

Suddenly, he realizes someone has joined near his side, seemingly also drawn in siren song of cinnamon and frosting. Misery might love company, but guilty pleasures love an accomplice.

"I know, right?," he asides to her conspiratorially. "You're like 'Do I really need it?,' and, 'It can't be /that/ good.' But deep down, you know." He exhales a slow, dramatically vexed sigh. "You know it's so worth it." After having given voice to his own shoulder devil, Drake submits, "I think I just talked myself into it."

Artemis Crock has posed:
"Oh, it's definitely the 'we have food at home' talk," Artemis agrees. "With a side of 'what kind of math do they use to justify charging eight dollars for one of those things.'" She looks over, a faint smirk crossing her features as she nods to the food already in his hand. "But hey, you already spent the money. Be a waste not to actually eat it after that."

Shifting the bag of books into her other hand, she reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone and check the time, grimacing faintly. "Long commute home, though," she muses. "Probably ought to eat something rather than try to tough it home."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley glances down to his bag. Fruits, mostly. Healthy snacks. That was a heck of a change-up, but thankfully he's had time to adjust, and it's paid off in noticeable ways. He was never a fitness junkie really - not until New York.

Emerald eyes slowly raise to the girl's face again, the corner of his lips quirking into a smirk of his own. He knows justification when he hears it. "We can't have you getting weak and perishing. Like on the Oregon Trail. How're you gonna ford the next river without a cinnamon bun?" Roll, technically. "No, in good conscience, I think you have to have one," he nods. "And in solidarity, I'll get one, too." The line moves. He shuffles forward with as much affected somberness as he can manage despite the mirth.

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis shakes her head, tucking the phone back into her pocket. "Yeah, I can justify food to myself, but probably not a cinnamon bun." She peers across the food court, chin tipping upward, until she catches sight of a Chinese option. "That looks a little more my speed. And I won't be hungry again when I get home."

She gives the line for the cinnamon buns a look, then another of those small smirks for Drake. "But hey, if I find you in a sugar coma after, I promise to call the paramedics." With that challenge, she's off to another line, checking the cash in her pocket as she waits there.

Volt has posed:
"Wh- are you kidding!? That's a /Chinese/ place!," laughs Drake. Of course she'll be hungry again when she gets home!

But he relents, letting her escape. Pah. Let her have her more healthy (probably) alternative! Now it's a matter of stubbornness.

In short order, Drake has an overpriced cinnamon roll. But he's happy with it. It's fluffy, it's sweet, it's terrible in all the best ways. He starts to continue on his way, only to pause, glancing towards the Chinese joint the girl had chosen instead. He's not sure if she breezed on through or not, but he figured he'd linger to check. She has a pretty face. He's a guy. Don't judge.

Artemis Crock has posed:
"Hey, the carbs are the problem!" Artemis calls back with a laugh. By the time Drake has his cinnamon roll, she has a bowl of beef and broccoli in hand, a bottled water tucked under her arm. Catching sight of him, she shakes her head in mock disappointment.

"Already surrendered, huh?" she teases, heading for a table. "Can't lie, it does look good though," she admits as she takes a seat. There's no invitation to join her, but she isn't chasing him away either.

Volt has posed:
"It's gonna keep you up at night," Drake notes sagely. "Thinking about how good it is, thinking it's probably worth it just this once..." His shoulders lift into an affectedly careless shrug. He then bites onto the bun. A contented, "Mmn," slips out, eyes briefly shutting.

Alas, Drake is not the sort to presume invitations! He comes from places that aren't exactly known for their hospitality! "Well, you enjoy your...," he bobs the bun indicatively, "...that.. thing. I'm sure it's /totally/ just as good." Another luxurious bite. Another contented murr. Yes, it's on purpose. A teasingly boyish grin later, and he starts to make his way out.

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis chuckles, shaking her head as she digs in on her meal. Eating out is enough of a treat for her without adding tons of icing. At least these days. Though once she's reasonably sure he's moved on, she does look up to see which way he's gone. All work and no play...

She shakes her head to herself again, cutting off the thought. She doesn't have time for play if she's going to move forward with her life.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley had all but inhaled the cinnamon bun after leaving the blonde behind. He'd been holding back, enough to not look like an animal. Sure, in the back of his mind he was pretty sure a random encounter with a girl wasn't going to lead anywhere, but you never know. She seemed like a nice enough sort. Just before dipping out of eyesight, he casts a last glance over his shoulder to her at the table.

Ahwell.

Looking ahead, he braves the cold! ...ugh. The cinnamon bun was a fine distraction, but in the face of the bitter December night air, it just wasn't sufficient. He tugs his parka a little more securely around himself and moves ahead towards the bus stop.

There, he's stuck waiting. Distantly, he's amused by this; him, a superhero, taking public transport. Could there be anything more inglorious? Electrical dynamo, deadly, dynamic, but a symbol of hope - waiting for a New York bus.

He exhales a visible sigh, grinning again.

Commotion off to the side catches his attention. It's only him here, so there should be no harm in deviating from normal-guy routine and taking a look, right? As he approaches the alley, flickering shadows become more distinct. Three hoods have ganged up on a homeless person, and currently engaged in stomping on him. "Hey. Hey!," he shouts into the alley. "Screw off!"

The pummeling takes a pause, and the trio stalk to the end of the alley, each sneering. One is eyeing Drake's bag, soon to be disappointed by its profoundly pedestrian contents. The lead goon plucks a switchblade from his pocket, and seems unable to resist flashing the blade about in an overly-fancy and completely unnecessary flourish.

Artemis Crock has posed:
Not all superheroes are secretly billionaires. More than you would think though. Helps with the free time.

Despite having studied with one of said billionaire superheroes, Artemis isn't one herself, which is why she's also headed to the bus stop, just in time to see Drake moving toward the alley. Her brows furrow slightly, the sensible part of her telling her to leave it alone. But the sensible part of her has really had too many victories lately.

She tucks the bag of books under the bench at the bus stop, hands in her pockets as she makes her way to the mouth of the alley. "Hey!" she calls over, hearing the familiar sound of blades. "Knock it off, goons."

Volt has posed:
It was bad enough that the local thuggery didn't seem at all bothered by the local upstart calling them out. But add to that a girl calling them goons, and the trio is just not taking them seriously. Chuckles, derisive snickers, and mocking laughter is their first response.

Drake is less amused. He would've hated to break out the special FX on these guys, given he has nothing on to hide his identity, but now it'd be with a spectator. His head turns briefly to mark the new arrival - and he blinks. Seriously?

"I don't know which one's less intimidatin'," says the leftmost thug. "The prissy princess tryin' to talk tough - or the blonde chick!" This gets another round of laughter.

Drake's expression flattens, not appreciating the dig.

"Yeah, they both look like classy ladies!," chimes the rightmost thug. The laughter stops, and the lead thug briefly presses his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "Jerry, just- just go stand over there." The oafish Jerry excuses himself back a few steps. Then the lead points his knife forward. "/Whatever/ they are," he begins, regaining his momentum, "they're both gonna bleed the same. Unless they drop their purses, wallets- all of it!"

Artemis Crock has posed:
"Yeah, I'm from Gotham, so...no?" Artemis doesn't look terribly impressed by New York City's resident muggers. "You guys don't even have a weird theme. Don't you have any unions here or anything? Standards?"

As she talks, she keeps moving toward the muggers, letting the trash talk do the distracting. With her hands in her pockets, it doesn't look like there's anything for them to be concerned about...right up until she's within arm's reach.

Once she closes the distance, she reaches out to deal with the switchblade first, a swift, controlled strike to the man's wrist meant to numb his grip, even as her other hand comes up to confiscate the weapon. Her knee comes up at the same time, aiming for his groin, and her foot comes right back down toward his instep.

Volt has posed:
"Ooh, Gotham!," repeats the knife-thug. "Yeah, I heard about your /clown/ problem!" The laughter turns into guffaws. To be fair, clowns would seem a ridiculous thing to consider elite to most criminals. That's part of what makes the Joker and his posse dangerous though, isn't it? And while she approaches, he doesn't seem worried about her, either. After all, he's bigger than her. He has a knife. He also has very little compunction in using it.

Meanwhile, Jerry climbs a dumpster. He gives no explanation for this. It just happens.

Drake, however, /does/ look concerned at her approach. He starts to move forward, reaching a hand towards her shoulder to halt her. He doesn't care where she's from or if she's brimming with entirely too much brass and confidence, he doesn't want to see her push her luck too hard and get hurt. He doesn't reach her in time to make contact, nor stop what happens next.

The hand is struck, the knife taken, nards smashed, instep flattened; lead knife guy is down in seconds with his rear in the air, unable to budge.

The leftmost thug with the jokes is stunned, standing there slackjawed. To be fair, that's the same expression on Drake's face. But the thug is overwhelmed with outrage and snaps to attack an instant later, swinging a wide left hook aimed for her cheek!

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis is armed now, which is //really// not in the thug's favor. This could definitely end up going poorly for him. He lashes out, and she sidesteps neatly, pushing his arm away with her own, then wrapping hers around his elbow and twisting the arm back. At the same time, she flips her grip on the knife in her other hand, the blade between her fingertips, as she looks to the third man at the dumpster.

Every motion is clean and economical, with the smoothness that comes from long practice. Even her features are calm and even. This...is definitely not her first time knocking someone around.

Volt has posed:
"Huaagh!," bellows Thug #2, arm now twisted. He flails the other limb, attempting to unwind from his predicament so as to simply overpower the girl with a mixture of fists and frustration. As she seems to line up a thrown-knife on Jerry, the Brainless Wonder is unfazed! Or is he? It might actually be hard to tell. His knees are bent, his arms held out to either side, eyes wide, and mouth a small 'o'. The Hell is he doing up there?

Drake, on the other hand, has immediately zeroed in on the knife. He moves forward, careful and cautious, showing the girl his open palms. "Easy, easy, easy - let's drop the knife, okay?," he soothes. "Whatever that fancy thing you were doing meant, it ain't worth it. Okay?" A keen mind might catch that he's no longer really worried about her safety so much as worried she might go too far on /them/.

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis arches a brow at Drake as he approaches, giving thug #2's arm an extra twist to make sure he doesn't think he's going anywhere. "Relax," she drawls. "A knife of this size? Barring a few //very// precise strikes, it would take a lot of hits to actually endanger someone with it. People don't realize how many stab wounds you can survive, and surprisingly easily."

She looks back to the thug whose arm she has tightly twisted behind his back, giving his shoulder a light tap with the hilt of the knife. "Besides, I think these gentlemen are done causing trouble for the night, right? No need to get into any more."

Volt has posed:
"Okay, it's weird that you know that, but still. Call me paranoid," Drake says, still in the 'I am not a threat' posture - only now with an uneasy smile. "We don't wanna put aaany holes in people, right?" He offers one hand forward and wiggles his fingers, hoping she'll meet him halfway and pass the knife over.

Thug #2 is having a rotten day at this point. And the additional twists get an involuntary howl. "YES! FINE! Turn loose, you psycho!"

Artemis Crock has posed:
"Yeah," Artemis sighs. "Let's chalk that knowledge up to an abnormal childhood, shall we?" She doesn't drop the knife, but she does release the thug, giving him a little shove in the direction of the one on the dumpster. "Beat it. And try getting a real job of your own, yeah? You never know when you might try to rob the wrong people."

She's not handing over the knife or even putting it down yet. It's not that she //wants// to put holes in anyone. It's more that she knows better than to trust this particular level of humanity not to try to get another hit in and she doesn't want to be unprepared for it.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley isn't thrilled that she isn't turning over the knife. But he isn't up in arms about it, seeing that she's clearly letting Thug #2 go. And outraged as Thug the 2nd is, he's taking off towards the far end of the alley. "Jump off, Jerry, we gotta go!," he shouts back.

"ROCK'N ROLL!," announces Jerry as he launches himself from the dumpster. Arms still spread in full-blown airplane mode and equipped with zero backup plan, the girthy ne'er-do-well aims to simply splash himself onto Artemis. Or, perhaps more likely, make a crater in the asphalt with his face.

To his credit, Drake attempts to seize Artemis by the nearest arm and yank her in, out of the landing zone.

Artemis Crock has posed:
"Oh, for fuck's-" If Drake had any concern that Artemis was going to get stab-happy, the fact that her reaction to even this is to move out of the way should do something to reassure him. She's already stepping in his direction when he reaches out to pull him, letting the momentum push them both a little further out of the path of the belly-flop.

"Go home, Jerry," she says with another sigh. "Find some better friends. Get a job. Stop...this. Whatever the hell //this// was."

Volt has posed:
There is a significant chance Jerry has done this before. There is a chance this is why Jerry is the way Jerry is. Either way, he's contently faceplanted into the ground.

"Welcome to New York," Drake muses to the girl, now much closer. "Probably a pointless question, but are you okay?" He tilts a little to inspect her person, searching for any cuts. In the end, he gently reaches for her wrists to check her hands. She was being fancy with a knife. People sometimes get cut doing that business. "And where'd you learn to do all that?"

Artemis Crock has posed:
"Yeah, I'm fine." Artemis flips the knife closed with a single, efficient motion, no unnecessary flourishes involved. A faint smirk tugs at one corner of her lips at his concern. There's no damage to her, not even bruised or scraped knuckles. "Seriously, no big."

As to where she learned it... "You grow up in Gotham, you learn a thing or two about protecting yourself from muggers," she replies, amused. "What about you? Not too shaken up?"

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley lifts his gaze to her face again, satisfied she's not hurt, but also momentarily stunned by the question. Oh, right. He's the 'victim' here. The eyes shift sidelong for a second, followed by a nod. "I'm good..." The greens return to her greys, and a wry smile edges the corners of his lips. "Did you just rescue me? I think you did. I mean, the next one's on me," he jokes, "but this go-around was all you."

He perks an eyebrow at her. "And I don't even know my heroine's name."

Artemis Crock has posed:
"I mean, as rescues go, I'd say it was pretty anti-climactic," Artemis chuckles, slipping the knife into her back pocket and taking one last look around the alley to make sure the threat is truly gone. "We can say you owe me, like, half of one."

She tips her head toward the street, starting in that direction. No sense in getting caught by whatever is left there. Awkward conversations. Besides, someone might try to steal her books. "It's Artemis," she introduces herself belatedly. "How about you?"

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley scrunches his nose at her. "Okay, if I see you in trouble, I'll kick a guy and tell'em you did it," he chides playfully.

As they start to move, he casts a glance down the alley. The homeless person seems well enough now, giving a wave. Resilient bugger.

"Artemis? Was that Greek or Roman?," he asks. "Hunter goddess, right? It's a pretty name." He tilts aside, angling to lightly bump his shoulder towards hers. "And after all that, it suits ya. I'm Drake."

Artemis Crock has posed:
"Greek. My parents were...unique." Artemis looks over with another of those small smirks at the bump to her shoulder, hands going back into her pockets. "Nice to meet you, Drake. And save you," she adds with a wink. "I can see you're a delicate flower in need of guardianship." There's a pause, and then she breaks into a real grin. "I mean, maybe if you'd passed on the cinnamon bun, you might've been a little quicker."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley's eyebrows raise as his head turns fully to her, scandalized! "Oh, /that's/ how it is!," he demands, mock-outraged. "You are /so/ jealous that I had that cinnamon bun. S'all you've been thinking about. Got ya all that angst'n rage you had to release on those thugs. I mean, you picked Chinese. You were hangry in less than an hour." He's back to grinning at her.

"But really, why do I have to worry about any of that when there's a strong, athletic, attractive huntress keepin' an eye on me?"

Artemis Crock has posed:
"I think the word you're looking for is //nourished//," Artemis counters, leaning down to retrieve her books from beneath the bus bench. Thankfully, they're still there. It's almost as though no one really wants to steal second-hand history and comparative literature books. "Because there were actual nutrients in my Chinese food."

She leans against the bus shelter, shaking her head in amusement. "Relax, tiger. I've already got two part-time jobs and a full-time course load. I don't have time to take up bodyguarding just for the sake of a cinnamon bun-based diet."

Volt has posed:
"Nutrients," Drake scoffs as he moves opposite her. He never actually left his bag - it's still hanging from his left grip. But he leans back on the bus stop as well, facing her. "Hey, suit yourself," he replies airily. The tangent isn't really funny enough to pursue past that point anyhow.

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis chuckles softly, then holds out her hand, smile crooked. "Give me your phone." Is this a stick up? She does still have the knife in her back pocket. Weird way to stick someone up though...

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley isn't even remotely suspicious that she's trying to hold him up. But he /is/ very curious about why she'd want his phone!

He leans off the frame and makes his way over to her again. The bag of fruits'n'such is set on the bench, and he fishes out his cellphone to offer her. Until very recently, he didn't have one of those. Very convenient timing!

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis taps on the phone for a few moments, then passes it back over with a faint smile. "There. Now you've got my number in case you need rescued again. Just, you know. Make sure you schedule it a couple hours in advance, because it's a hell of a commute into the city here from Gotham. Transit schedules are a bitch, and the buses stop running after eleven in Gotham because, you know, crime. So you've gotta plan these things out."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley takes the phone back, looking down at it curiously. With a wry smile, the phone is slipped back into his pocket. "An offer like that might make even a smart guy walk down a risky alley on purpose." That was most definitely a flirt. He moves back again, hands slipping into the pockets of his parka. "I'm pretty sure I might be in need of rescuing again soon. Any particular days you think might be better for, say, a guy like me to happen to need a girl like you to make a sudden and inexplicable appearance?"

Artemis Crock has posed:
"Sunday nights are usually pretty slow. Tuesdays." The bus starts to rumble up to the stop and Artemis gathers her things. "I tend bar," she explains. "So, you know. Whenever everyone else in the world is drinking, that's usually a bad time for me. But when no one in their right mind is drinking..." she trails off, gesturing demonstratively. "Free time."

As the bus pulls up to the stop, she starts to climb aboard, smile flashing. "But hey. You can always find out if you call."