9045/Hook, Line, and Sink Her

Hook, Line, and Sink Her
Date of Scene:	02 September 2019
Location:	The East River - Queens, NY
Synopsis:	Frank meets The Harlequin, and she finally gets an answer. He gets a few answers, too. So maybe the Lady can go back to work.
Cast of Characters:	Harlequin (Dent), Frank Quaid

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Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
It's late - a sleepy night in Queens, with surprisingly relatively little disturbance, at least for a holiday. Labour Day has come, passed uneventfully, save for a possible Sentinel Attack in Midtown Manhattan earlier in the day. That's like Tuesday in New York, these days, right? But you couldn't prove it by the figure standing alone on the East River bank, untouched by street lights, darkened and still. But that isn't all. She may be alone, but there are flickering lights that seem to lift from her hands, forming beautiful designs above the river. The lights occasionally plummet into the water with a pitiful /bloop/, but the majority of them stay aloft, and are sometimes accompanied by sparks and flashes of light. It's a pretty show, if small. But it doesn't have to be large. It seems that the female figure on the riverbank is the lone audience member.

An NYPD radio call goes out to anyone available in the area who might be able to check it out. Fireworks are illegal in the area, but there's suspicion that maybe it's a mutant out flaunting her abilities. Anyone available to go confront a maybe a mutant with possible fireworks? Maybe?

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank is driving home in his work truck with the driver's window down to let in the night air. A new interpretation of Caravan by Cornelius Mattison, a promising young drummer, is playing in the truck. The signature drum solo is a phenomenal, multi-layered thing helped along by the fact Cornelius is a mutant kid with four arms.

"Dispatch, Golf-7 is nearby, I'll check it out," Frank replies to the radio call.

"10-4 Golf-7. Sending Bravo-41 routine to the call."

Frank pulls up to the curb and sees the lights a short distance away. "Dispatch put me out 10-11, long timer. I'm on cell."

The dispatcher acknowledges and tells the cover unit the command unit, Captain Quaid, is out alone with the possible mutant.

Frank climbs out of his truck and steps up over the curb. He takes a moment to stand and watch from a distance.

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
There's a small purple burst of light that lingers in the air, not far above the water. There's a shower of golden sparks from it, but after a long moment, it begins to rise, instead of sink. It gets brighter. The young woman in silhouette pulls down a pair of goggles as she urges it still higher, and brighter, before it flashes blindingly and plummets into the brink. /Bloop/

Goggles are raised again, and all of the floating lights seem to suffer from a lack of attention as she fishes on the ground for something, then puts it on her head. Then the lights straighten up. It looks like a top hat, in silhouette. What looks like a set of tails flaps with the movement behind her thighs, and there's a giggle as a green light appears amongst the purples and pinks.

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank walks toward the young woman slowly. He averts his eyes from the light when it is at its brightest. He finds it much harder to see when it goes out. His night vision is thoroughly ruined for some time.

"Hey there," Frank calls out when he is about halfway to this person in a top hat. "Everything alright here?" He stops to see how the person reacts, a good thirty feet away.

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
The girl turns curiously toward the voice. She lifts a hand out toward one of the twinkling pink lights, and it turns gold, then rises into the air. As it brightens, it illuminates a painted visage, which dims out as the light begins to move aloft toward Frank. Only so close as to shed a little light on him.

"Oh! It's you! You never answered my question!"

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank's shoulders settle back and his heart beats faster when he sees the woman's face and hears her voice. A dozen emotions are compressed into single twitch of the right side of Frank's face. He lets his arms hang loosely beside him and goes no closer to the woman.

"Yep, me. Captain Frank Quaid," the veteran cop says evenly. "I didn't answer your question yet. But you didn't introduce yourself," he points out. "Why don't we start with that and work out your question next."

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
"Me, I'm Nobody," the girl replies as the remainder of the lights begin slowly moving to fill the space between them, but overhead. The faint buzzy sounds of tiny drones accompany the lights. She begins making her way among the marshy grasses toward Frank. "And Nobody can't have a name. Can she?" The question seems somber, but sincere. "But there's some that call her Joker's Daughter. Some that call her the devil herself. God calls her Duela. And God, he's sure bound to be right. Dont'cha think, Mister Captain Frank Quaid?"

Frank Quaid has posed:
"That's what they tell me," Frank says tucking away that and not feeling any better about the situation. "Shame He doesn't explain a bit more."

"That's close enough, Duela. What was your question again? What's next?"

Frank watches Duela warily and glances up at the drones once. He drops one foot back slightly and rests his hands on his belt just over the buckle. A habit from patrol days gone by.

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
The Harlequin stops when she's told to, and stands stock still. The buzzy drones don't move, except to waft slightly with the evening breeze, flagging like a banner. Her banner. The twinkling banner ripples in lazy waves over their heads.

"You said 'Not it.' It was before the dead boy attacked. Before your friend put him out of his misery. Like a rabid dog that doesn't know why he fights. Why he bites. Why he might." She smiles faintly. "Not what?"

Frank Quaid has posed:
"Not it?" Frank says quizzically. He is quiet for a moment. Recognition plays across his face.

"Not it... It's a police thing. Deciding who was gonna talk with you and who was gonna cover," Frank explains, thoughtfully. Slowly. "Basic tactical thing, gets confusing if everyone's trying to talk. We didn't get a chance to talk though. That dead boy interrupted."

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
"It wasn't Nobody's fault, Mister Captain Frank Quaid. Nobody didn't do nothin' wrong. But that Dead Boy, he was gonna cut her. He wanted to kill her. And then your Lady Friend, she aimed and BANG! BANGBANG!" The Harlequin pantomimes with fingerless gloves and fingerguns, unified as one. "And the Dead Boy, he didn't know he was dead until he was holy. Like his soles. And then when he found out? Well, naturally he tried to fight it. Cause nobody wants to find out they're dead." She crinkles her nose and rubs it with one palm, putting a violent ripples through the buzzylights overhead. "Well, Nobody does. Sometimes. The dead boy didn't hurt the Lady, did he?"

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank listens carefully while Duela speaks. He is slow to answer.

"Nope, the Lady didn't get hurt. But everyone's kind of confused by what happened. We don't all remember it the same, so they're not letting the Lady work right now. They don't know the dead boy tried to hurt nobody. Or how he got the holes in his soles. Sure would help if nobody explained it on record. People should know what the dead boy tried to do to nobody."

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
The Harlequin stands up a little taller. "Nobody can tell them what happened. Duela remembers it all, and she can tell me, and I can tell them. And then the Lady can work again. But I don't know how he got the holes in his soles. I reckon he walked 'em there. But God says he got caught on the Hook and couldn't get free. God says he drowned long before the Lady made holes to let in enough light, so he could see he was dead."

Frank Quaid has posed:
"Huh, thank you for sharing that," Frank says. He pulls gently at his mangled nose with his offhand.

""I'm glad nobody knows what's going on. There's some other officers coming. If Nobody doesn't mind talking with them it would really help the Lady. The bosses don't get that dead boy was hooked and gonna hurt someone," Frank says.

"Does anyone know why the dead boy looked different when the Lady and I first saw him than he did at the end when he knew he was dead," Frank muses. "Felt like something changed during that whole thing."

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
"When they're on the hook, it changes them. He was still in the dark. But she let the light in and BAM! (bam bam). The dead boy learned what he didn't wanna know, so naturally he begged. He had been chasin' Duela for an hour, easy. Tryin to stab her. But she ran. And you know I ran with her. And all of the little subway things watched. And the window faces. And the ALLABOARD! They all saw the dead boy chasing us. I'll tell them policemen, that it was the Lady that saved Duela, and me too. Cause that knife broke my clothes." She looks over her shoulder, and turns a circle, trying in vain to see. "I can't see it, but God said the Dead boy broke my clothes. I never had a reason yet not to trust God." As she turns, a three-inch cut can be seen in the Harlequin's corset. A bloodstain edges the cut on all sides. Beneath the cut, as it gaps open, black stitches can be seen in the exposed flesh.

Frank Quaid has posed:
"Huh. Sounds like if the dead boy wasn't dead he'd be going to jail. Glad you and the Lady saved Duela," Frank replies. His eyes narrow a little as he tries to get a good look at the wound from a distance.

"Is that infected? Do you want some paramedics to have a look at Duela's stitches?" Frank asks. Behind Frank, headlights flare as a patrol car rounds the corner onto the street down from Frank's truck. It rolls to a stop at the curb and two uniformed officers step out.

"Captain, everything 10-4?" the first asks. Her partner walks from the driver's side onto the sidewalk. They both where they are.

"Yep, I'm talking with Nobody," Frank calls over his shoulder without looking away from Duela.

"Nobody here wants to give some information. Come on over and bring your recorder," Frank says. The two women at look each other. They fan out a bit. One approaches Frank.

"Nobody. this is," Frank starts.

"Caitlin," the officer supplies.

"Caitlin. Would you mind coming over and telling her what Duela told you about what happened with dead boy?"

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
"Nah, it's okay. Dad healed it, and it doesn't hurt anymore," Duela replies. "When I talk to him, I call him Dad. They say that God's our father. And Dad sure is good. Cause when I'm with God...I'm Duela. And she's me." She tilts her her head. "Kinda funny. Isn't it, Mister Captain Frank Quaid?"

"Hi, Miss Caitlin. I'm Nobody. And I was there when The Lady who Wasn't It saved Duela from the Dead Boy.

And as she talks, her story spirals out, and circles the subject again and again. Like it has all night. And likely the way her story has for her entire life. Because Nobody can't to nothin' wrong, can she? And overhead, her banner flags vacantly as her story moves it in gestures and attention to detail. But Nobody can tell a more important story about a Dead Boy with holes in his shoes, hooked and drowned in the darkness, who died when the Lady let in the light.

Frank Quaid has posed:
Frank stands and listens to the story unfold, twist and wind its way along. He shares a couple of looks with the uniform officers and shakes his head each time to deter them from going down the road their experience would normally take them.

Instead, Frank and Caitlin listen and Bryn covers from a short distance away.

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
When the Harlequin has done what they asked of her, she simply shuts up, as she has been told so many times to do when there is not something someone needs of her. She looks between Caitlin and Bryn, and Mister Captain Frank Quaid, and she blinks vacantly. Her banner, all but forgotten, waves and ripples uncertainly above her head.

"So." Finding nothing more of use within herself, the Harlequin turns on her heel and wades back into the marshy reeds of the East River. Back toward the place where, until Mister Captain Frank Quaid had approached, she had played happily with her buzzy lights.

Frank Quaid has posed:
"What's with the drones and lights tonight?" Frank asks when Duela turns.

"Some people were worried it was something dangerous, it's why we came to check things out," Caitlyn adds.

Harlequin (Dent) has posed:
The Harlequin pauses in her trek, as the rippling banner of drones trails behind her. "I wanted to try them out. I rewired them to be controlled by a pair of gloves." She throws her hands in the air, and the drones all begin changing colours, and circle around one another in a skyward flight, like embers caught in a whirlwind, mounting up to the sky in drafty upward spirals. She looks up after them, watching. Taking in her new creations. On the ground, her painted mask is illuminated by the display. A jubilant smile is reflected by any who care to look. It's painted in cadmium red: bright, and beautiful and deadly. And she laughs like a mad, rapt child.

Frank Quaid has posed:
"Enjoy the lights and stay out of trouble," Frank says with a wary glance upward. He jerks his head to Caitlyn and backs off a few steps with her before turning around. When they reach their vehicles they turn and watch over their cover while she walks back to them.

"She's nuts," Caitlyn says to Frank. "What do I do with the audio?"

"Sane enough to wire up a fleet of drones," Frank points out, still watching the display. Stonefaced and taciturn there is none of the vibrance of those lights in his face.

"Document the hell out of what happened and what you saw and heard me do," Frank directs Caitlyn. "Tell your supervisor it's about the Staff Sergeant Bever internal."

Caitlyn sighs. "More paper," she grumbles. "Maybe skip the next call, sir."

"Yeah," Frank agrees. "Good idea."