4488/A tale of two Drakes.

A tale of two Drakes.
Date of Scene:	21 May 2018
Location:	Manhattan
Synopsis:	Two Drake's meet. One runs away.  :(
Cast of Characters:	Volt, Slipstream

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Volt has posed:
Drake Riley is making his way through Manhattan and has found himself in the area that tours don't generally go through. Harlem isn't the most accepting of outsiders, and though he certainly might look like a proper homeless person at the moment, he's not one of /New York's/ homeless. But wandering into gang territory has historically been a failing of his, to much providence. He's only searching for somewhere to bunker down for the evening. But he realizes he's picked up a tail or two. It seems looking rumpled and out of sorts isn't enough to convince some people that you aren't carrying money.

As much as Drake - Riley, that is - would love to stay out in the open for safety's sake, he knows he's not going to find somewhere secure for the night that way. Those spots tend to be alleyways. But rather than round a corner and give himself less space to work with, as well as fewer eyes to dissuade attacks, he turns on heel to face his followers. "You people seriously think I'm carrying money? Seriously?"

They don't seem to care. With sneers, they continue on approach. One even pulls a switchblade.

Slipstream has posed:
What does an Overwatch League champion metahuman do on his days off? Why, he annoys his fellow Avenger associates for the afternoon, followed by a night of patrol. For the most part, he hardly finds much in the way of action, at least the type that he gets involved in. Mostly he stalls for time and calls 911 for the proper authorities to come collect their badguys. As he leaps from roof to roof in a burst of speed that causes him to blink in and out of existence, he lands on the roof near by the trio, pausing to catch his breath and to check the diagnostics on his wrist band. He tilts his head over the roof, watching the homeless person being advanced upon by the two would be thugs.

"Hey guys!" Drake Winters calls down as he leans forward to plant his hands on the side of the roof. "Yeah, you two! Don't you got something more productive to do? Like fly a drone, or build a puzzle, or I dunno ... make it rain at a local club or something?"

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley's attention is drawn to the rooftops, perplexed. There's a person up there. He can't really see any details or identifying traits, but he's happy for the interruption. The other guys, not so much! They sneer, and one even pulls back a side of his jacket to show the butt of a pistol tucked into his pants. Only doofuses need holsters, apparently.

"Mind your own business!," one shouts.

Slipstream has posed:
"Ooooh. Snap. Check you out! You got a gun." Drake Winters calls down with an amused lift in your voice. "That's some scary shit you got there. What is that, a twenty five? Thirty eight?" Leaping up to the rooftop, he hops off the edge, then blinks out of sight before reappearing again next to the other Drake. He's wearing a pair of jeans with torn holes in the knees and a black shirt with an Overwatch logo that says: Heroes Never Die across the chest.

"Hey dude. These guys bugging you?" Drake Winters asks curiously. "I'm an Avenger in training. I totally got this." He side whispers with a raise of his brows. ".. Are you bullet proof by chance?"

Volt has posed:
"H'what," asks the Riley of the Drakes as the other seems to suddenly appear beside him! Eyes are bulged a bit, and the question gets an emphatic shake of his head. "That's the sort of thing you'd do better /not/ finding out!," he protests.

The two gangers look puzzled at first before the one packing heat moves forward. "It's a forty-five. You wanna meet it?," he asks, starting to pull the pistol.

Slipstream has posed:
"A forty five? Sweet. Is that like a .. Smith and Wesson?" Drake asks as he gives a nudge to Riley's shoulder, then steps forward as he blinks out of sight, followed by reappearing to the side of the man as he grabs the wrist holding the gun and throws a quick knee into the man's stomach before he looks to blink forward again through the second man to try and trip him with a sweep of the feet. He balls his fists up again, looking between the two as he prepares to rush again.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley is nudged, but doesn't react beyond just staring wide-eyed at the other individual. This crazy person wants to get in a fight with thugs, with at least one carrying a gun? And perhaps most importantly, thinks /he/ might get shot? No, as soon as the dude blinks away, Drake of the Riley persuasion takes off to the side to duck behind a rusty dumpster at the edge of an alley. Sure, his view is now obstructed. But the odds of him getting hit with a bullet are considerably less now!

As far as the action goes, all things seem to be turning up aces for Mr. Winters. The knife-wielding ganger has been swept off his feet, the other doubled over. But he's retained his grip on the pistol and holds it out, firing a series of shots in the direction he believes his attacker to be in.

Slipstream has posed:
The movements of Slipstream is practiced as he blinks about swiftly in a series of pulses. The bullets ricochet off the ground and off the sides of cars. He throws a quick, speedboosted punch into the side of the jaw of the man with the gun while he whips around with a foot to slam it into the knife wielding man kneeling on the ground. He may not be super strong, but with the aid of speed of sound and well timed strikes, he makes himself effective.

Volt has posed:
It doesn't take much for a couple street-toughs to get trashed, especially when boosted by special powers. The fact that no one got shot is a huge bonus. And by the end of this onslaught, both gangers seem to be down and out.

After a period of silence, Drake Riley peeks out a little further. And then he trots into the open. "Are they dead?," he calls bluntly.

Slipstream has posed:
Kicking the gun away and into one of the sewers so not to be picked up by someone else, Drake takes in a deep breath, giving his fists a rub as he taps away at his phone to dial 911. "No, they aren't dead. Just knocked out. I'm really fast and able to hit a bit harder because of the speed." He gives a grin over to him, followed by a salute. "Sorry for all the chaos there. I'm new at this."

Volt has posed:
"Um!" Beat. "Okay!" Drake - the Riley Edition - is still reeling a little from this. It isn't the first he's seen someone with powers out here in New York, but certainly the first used in a violent context. It's an astounding thing to witness from the outside. "It's fine! I'm the one drawing aggro, anyway! Being all.. uh.. whatever it is. On their turf or something? And what'd you say earlier? Avengers or something?"

Slipstream has posed:
"Nah, sorta. I'm kinda training with them but I'm not like an official Avenger." Drake says as he furrows his brows. "And it's not your fault. This is America. We can fucking walk on whatever street we want. They don't got 'turf'. Sides, you hardly look like a threat." He says as he offers him his hand. "I'm Drake. I go by Slipstream. Nice to meetcha dude."

Volt has posed:
Certainly no threat. Drake Riley nips onto his bottom lip at that mention. He may not be a threat /intentionally/, but that hasn't stopped problems before. Or more relevantly, things would've gone much worse here had there not been an intervention. And given what he knows he's capable of in case of an emergency... well, the gangers may have gotten the gentler treatment here.

He doesn't dwell on it.

"Psh, no. /I'm/ Drake," he contests, jutting a thumb towards his chest. "And what is this, an interview? Put that away." He swats at the offered hand, then extends a fist out for dappage. "And that's a cool name. Uh, codename? Nickname?"

Slipstream has posed:
Giving him a fist bump in return, Drake Winters grins at him. "You're name is Drake too? Huh. Best name ever, huh? It sounds mysterious, sexy and kinda common at the same time." He gives a few plucks at his Overwatch shirt to loosen it up. "Yeah, it's my code name. Kinda made it up outta boredom. What's yours?" He teases.

Volt has posed:
"I wanna make Double Dragon jokes," posits Drake the Riley.

"I didn't pick a codename, but it seems to be either 'Hey You', 'Put That Back', or 'Dammit'." He flashes an impish smile before glancing to the Overwatch shirt. He wants to comment on it, but there are some other pressing things that need to be straightened out first. Eyes widen as he looks back to the other male's face. "Who'd you call a second ago?"

Slipstream has posed:
"I love that game. I got a classic NES and I played all of them. I think I got pretty much every gaming system." Drake Winters says as he gives another grin. "Oh, I called the cops. You know, the regular police so they can pick these guys up. With the street cameras about, it will show that they were pulling a gun and it was self-defense." His lips twitch a bit. "You got a warrant out for you or something? I'll look the other way, or I dunno, snag dinner with you if you want."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley's widened eyes only expand further, overtaking the great majority of his facial real-estate. "Shhh-oot!," he says, engaging in a moment of self-censorship despite the other's lack of any such decorum. He tugs the bill of his cap downwards a little more and tucks his chin, presenting as little of his face to the surrounding buildings as possible. "Nope! No warrants!" Yet. "Cops'n me, we don't mix, that's all!"

He's already stepping backwards, tense. The realization that he's talking to someone who's probably supposed to be an agent of the law is dawning on him. This is the wrong setting. He can't let himself be snagged here. Not now. Not like this. There's a level of defensive panic setting in.

Slipstream has posed:
"Dude, calm down. I can pull the Avengers card or something. How 'bout you just duck into that building over there, let me talk to them and we'll snag something to eat?" Slipstream says as he offers him a warm smile. "Sides, if you don't got warrants, then they have no reason to arrest you or even give you the stink eye." He sways a bit on his feet for a moment, giving a glance up at the siren in the distance. "How 'bout it?"

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley doesn't like this, and it's written on his expression. His attention is furtive, his gaze flicking hither and yon at every little sound, every hint of motion. The sirens aren't helping. Staying would be a tremendous risk, and he'd be stuck simply relying on a guy he just met. More to the point, he'd be trapped trusting a guy he just met who claims to be associated with the straight-and-narrow. He glances back to the building, lips pressed into a thin line. Without vocal confirmation, he dashes inside.

It doesn't shake down exactly the way ol' Slipstream was hoping, however. After ducking into the building to assuage his concerns, Mr. Riley immediately moved through the halls into a back room, shoved open a window, and vaulted out to flee down the opposite road.

At the end of the day, he's traveled across the country to fix his life. Gambling it all here and now is a chance he can't take. He can hope the other Drake understands, but he's not holding his breath on that.