Owner	Pose
Michael	Night brings out the worst in people. Given a leave of absence from recognition, they'll get up to anything. Gotham in particular suffers rashes of crime on perfectly respectable daytime streets where no one would think to tag a shop, run off with goods, or insult Grandad and Grandma. Dusk settled in an hour ago. The smart shopkeepers rolled down their metal door and window covers, then blitzed out. The main drag of Old Gotham caters to visitors in the clubs and restaurants, but people don't bother with the back alleyways. A few couples stroll through Trillium Park. A moped buzzes down the main path where it has no business being, a rider perched on the body in a helmet. Another similar vehicle, noisy and black, skims along the main street while eyeing up the lines getting into the watering holes along the way. The speed slows and spikes. "Hey, you tryin' to impress us? Cause that jalopy ain't doing it!" jeers one of the men. Titters and laughter follow as the rider swerves to avoid pothole and turns back around to skim along the curbside again. Michael happens to be one of those unwise people walking down an alley cutting between a club of questionable style and vehicle tastes, and a taller building full of cheaply built flats for much too expensive rents. He's thoughtfully holding a bagel and cream cheese. Even men of his unusual calibre need a snack.
Michael	Night brings out the worst in people. Given a leave of absence from recognition, they'll get up to anything. Gotham in particular suffers rashes of crime on perfectly respectable daytime streets where no one would think to tag a shop, run off with goods, or insult Grandad and Grandma. Dusk settled in an hour ago. The smart shopkeepers rolled down their metal door and window covers, then blitzed out. The main drag of Old Gotham caters to visitors in the clubs and restaurants, but people don't bother with the back alleyways. A few couples stroll through Trillium Park. A moped buzzes down the main path where it has no business being, a rider perched on the body in a helmet. Another similar vehicle, noisy and black, skims along the main street while eyeing up the lines getting into the watering holes along the way. The speed slows and spikes. "Hey, you tryin' to impress us? Cause that jalopy ain't doing it!" jeers one of the men. Titters and laughter follow as the rider swerves to avoid pothole and turns back around to skim along the curbside again. Michael happens to be one of those unwise people walking down an alley cutting between a club of questionable style and vehicle tastes, and a taller building full of cheaply built flats for much too expensive rents. He's thoughtfully holding a bagel and cream cheese. Even men of his unusual calibre need a snack.
Rose Kolodny	Molly Millions is lurking in the dark, somewhere above the alleyway. Wearing a Hulk tee tonight with her black jeans and jacket. She's not really paying attention to the guys in the alleyway below, she's mostly eyeing the church across the way. A graveyard that still has lingering flutters of police tape up from a spot of trouble earlier in the night. Forearms on knees, hands left loose to dangle in the space between. She shadowed from the graveyard by virtue of someone's laundry and the roof access door, just another smudge of black in the darkness.
Wu	There's a million stories in Gotham tonigh... Ah, skip it. Monologuing just doesn't work. Not if you're trying to do the calm detachment thing you've striven for all your life. It's better to just contemplate and observe. And ignore the twinges in that shoulder you really should have in the sling the nice paramed forced upon you. The one you took off once out of sight because ... you're fine.     Alice walks across the mouth of the alleyway in her "gestalt" mode, jade pendant in hand, muttering something to herself. Her eyes widen suddenly in shock and a hint of fear as she stares down the alley, straight at Michael.     "You..." she slips out before shutting her mouth.
Michael	The rider on the moped sweeps back around. He cuts a tight turn that causes the little bike to wobble, the engine suffering with a gurgle of effort. It buzzes noisily as he - presumably, could be a thin female - straightens up and corrects his route. Leaning back to the cheap backpack behind him, the rider pulls out a metal canister. Then he flings it at the crowd. Laughter and conversation in the line of people waiting for admission to a place with as dubious a name as Eden don't really pay too much heed to someone going by, other than to curl their lip in disgust or blink when something lobbed at them catches their eye. The throw is fairly high, and smashes against the wall. The smell of acid on the air is strong. The liquid sprays out, projected by more force than it should have. That's when the screaming begins. Contemplating the wonders of bread products, Michael isn't fully lost or even stuck in his own thoughts. He puts his index finger to his mouth to blot away a few crumbs and a smear of creamcheese on his skin, just like anyone else. Nothing untoward about that gesture, or the everyday outfit he wears, or the intensely blue eyes lifted to fix Alice. The woman is a stranger, marked as such. His dark brows lift, and he might be tempted to look off to the graveyard that caught his attention in passing. Police tape will do that. Manners dictate ladies first; bodies second. "Pardon me?"
Rose Kolodny	Molly Millions was totally not paying attention to the bike rider... until that cannister let fly. And still there's that moment of dispassionate watching as it archs up where she's distantly puzzled as to what the hell it is. Someone's half-dry sheet gets grabbed and she's moving before she really even thinks about just what she's doing... or why? There's the nag for her even as she chooses to jump from the roof on the alleyway, with the clattering /thrum/ of boots on metal and then over the railing to the ground below as she sets the thought aside and hotfoots it over to find out what's with the screaming. It also means she's not particularly concerned in the process as keeping her speed down to something that passes for normal, trailing the flag of sheet in her wake like some kids idea of a cape.
Wu	Manners dictate, victims of crime first, wandering supernaturals spike waaaaaaaaaaay off the power meter second. Alice lets out a very rude profanity that nobody in this neighbourhood is likely to understand (but it has something to do with the unsavoury portions of someone's mother's anatomy). She steps away from the alley, in the direction of the line, hands already practically sprouting the guns, eyes looking for the target.     Jumpy little minx, ain't she?     She takes in the scene and takes in the moped rider now zipping away. She stops, takes careful aim, and fires into the backpack. BLAM! her first gun exclaims. "HALT!" BLAM! her other gun punctuates. "POLICE!"     She will, of course, later say she warned first, then fired.     She now starts walking down the sidewalk, one gun still out, the other hastily replaced with a radio.     "This is officer Gulliver at Central Heights. All available units on my location. Request paramedics. There may be large numbers of casualties."     Short pause."And one shooting victim," she adds.     Molly's arrival is noted with an incredulous raised eyebrow. "And it looks like Z-grade spandex is on the scene."
Michael	The person in the neighbourhood who arguably has no trouble understanding it is the one least likely to castigate Alice for saying it. He's pondering another bite of his bagel while minor amounts of hell break loose. Michael gives the slightest shake of his head and proceeds out of the alley armed with no more than a high-calorie bread circle, the poor man's discus. While Alice packs heat and there goes Molly toting a cape, he falls in line with a slower stride. The inevitable can afford to take its time showing up ahead of the immediate. The moped rider is already gunning it, veering off into traffic and cutting across the open lane. An oncoming Honda lays on the horn, but for maneuverability, a Vespa is pretty damn agile. Agile enough to escape a gunshot? Probably not so much, which is why the rider flinches at the first report and then leaps off the vehicle. Not moving so fast, it's easy to break into a roll and then run for cover. For pretty good reason. There's now corrosive gas to worry about, leaching out from the spreading puddle of acid. The other rider in Trillium Park is having /much/ better luck. There aren't pesky police officers firing things at them, so lobbing a few 'specials' out there at passing couples is cause for screams. The affected victims in the line are learning what acid to the face does.
Rose Kolodny	The gunshots somewhere behind her make Molly tuck and roll in uneasy echo of the bike rider, silver lenses a mirrored pale under her dark hood she takes a split second to assess she's /not/ the one being shot and yelled at by police. She was... sort of expecting fire, or something, but the puddle and it's nasty vapors aren't a thing she's immune to more than anyone else and she drops the sheet over the puddle in the hopes it might at least slow it down. Behind her lenses she's already accessing the internet to determine,"Water! Someone get water!" even as she tries to edge further among the crowd in the hopes of going unnoticed by the cop. A fire hydrant... surely there's a fire hydrant? It doesn't do wonders for not breathing the crap in, but she hopes that the busy little micromachines in her system might at least stop her from keeling over on the footpath.
Wu	More victims? Time for drastic actions. Two magazines fall to the ground, ejected from her handguns. Alice roots in her pockets for other ones and, after glancing over them quickly, selects two and places them into her handguns instead.     The "mystically" inclined may note a slight glow coming from the cracks and holes in the magazine. Slight like a 500W lamp.     She points both guns skyward, adopts a steady stance, closes her eyes, and ... sways. Like the limbs of a tree in the wind.     The non-mystical see a woman shooting wildly into the air. The mystical see streaks of light, fast like ... well, bullets, twisting through the air before focusing their movements on two spots: one moving slowly through the traffic, the other moving quickly through the park. Like killer bees on fire. With attached jet engines.     "Bang bang, hundan!" she says with an almost feral snarl as the bullets strike home, taking out the moving scooter and the shoulder of the running man.
Michael	There is a fire hydrant. Whether anyone has the presence of mind to deal with it is another matter. Two bouncers stop carding people and swing into relative security action. They shout for everyone to get down. Hysterical party girls scream for water and one trying to smuggle a pint-sized bottle in her tiny handbag unscrews the cap, going to pour it over another blonde shrieking incoherently in pain. In less than a minute, two servers come rushing out. Water slops over the sides of the plastic pitchers they carry, the ice discarded. It's a small miracle they don't trip or slide, but the acidic cloud floating over the street carries as it spreads out. Anyone breathing a whiff of that probably takes a good scorching to the lungs. Unless lungs are optional. Helpful highly for the contained helmets. The motorcycle jacket and pants help against road rash, made from Kevlar and ceramic inserts. Not so good against killer bees, though, especially those promoted by magic to chase things down. He may be grunting in pain, but not without his resources if he's throwing acid at bystanders. Blood gives an adrenaline rush, and there's streaks of questionable green underneath the bloody tears in his coat. A coat that won't fit him so well in a few heartbeats as his body shifts, growing, thicker, denser. Similarly, the joyride in the park is going to get a whole lot uglier and greyer when that rider, too, reacts to mystic shots by expanding and growing. Molly may see the fire hydrant, though, right where it should be... about another 100 feet further down than Gotham city building code would allow. Pretty sad. She gets her chance to act, while Michael stares up at the sky with a profound look of sorrow. All it takes is someone crying out in the heart or the mind. And there are so many crying voices right now: "Oh God, make it stop," "It hurts, please make it stop hurting" and incoherent shrieks and sobs sufficient. The ozone crackles through the air. Building cracks emanate overhead at the sudden temperature increases. Superheated air shudders to the shock of electricity leaping between clouds. With the barometric pressure drop, the oversaturated atmosphere does what it always has upon hitting the dew point. It rains.
Rose Kolodny	Rain?! Rain. Molly spots the firehydrant as the first crackles come through. It's her hands that have taken the most of the damage so far, a couple of the burgundy tipped false nails left behind as synthetic skins sloughed away from the underlaying metal tips. It's where it etches in to the natural flesh that it actually hurts, but she elects to direct through shoving one of the servers, grabbing the pitcher from the second to insist,"More." She, at least, is magically deaf, dumb and blind and has no idea about the transformation going on in the distance for all that she flinches for the gunshots. Still not aimed at her. Good. Water is sluiced over someone and she reaches can't quite help the noise of gratitude as the rain starts to come.
Wu	"Good call," Alice calls over her shoulder at Michael before launching herself in the direction of the perps. Two more magazines hit the ground as she slams in a different pair on the run. Cleanup crew is going to have a field day!     Lungs? Who needs those? Or so it would seem she's thinking as she 'ineffectually' covers her face with her sleeve, running with her eyes closed, until she's out of the blast area (and the rain).     "Compassionate effin' Buddha I've had a lousy week!" she calls out to the shifting riders, seemingly not noticing their new shapes. And sizes. "Give me an excuse!"     Guns get ready to speak.
Michael	Those who are magically deaf have the advantage of ignorance. They don't have to wonder how a few clouds shuffled around make a microburst. A passing meteorology student could explain it sufficiently. A theologist pondering the manner of things may have reason to write a particularly inspired sermon or blog post. That sort of thing happens where Michael is involved. As a side effect, he's going to be soaking wet like everyone else. "Sirens?" he wonders aloud, obviously being the one to warn away traffic by waving his arms at some oblivious cars headed his way. The rain spilling down has to slow traffic, and the huddling masses in front of Eden aren't going to be hard to miss. Especially not when there are additional staff in bandages and net for clothes coming out with water, making some kind of assembly line. The people on the ground covering their faces and hands have a much longer night in front of them. They don't protest help from Molly or anyone else. Rain will make them cold and wet, but hypothermia is better than six months of skin grafts. The stinging assault leaves little dry. In the park, the grey monster tears off through the trees, uprooting a few bushes and a bench in its rage to get away. The driver of the first moped, now about eight feet tall and disturbingly mashing up someone's imagination about a troll, an orc, and the Hulk having a love triangle considers his options. First, hurling the helmet at full strength at Alice. Just in case.
Rose Kolodny	It's when Michael speaks that Molly finally looks his way,"You!" there's puzzlement there and surprise all at once. She eases back from the people on the sidewalk as the rain and servers from the club take over, stepping back to lean against the closest car and look towards where Alice has gone,"Your lizard friend here somewhere too?" she asks of him as she cradles her fingers close to her, ear cocked in the direction of sirens and torn between lingering to help and getting the hell out of dodge. Apparently, in the least, it warrants pulling out a pair of black glasses from her pocket to cover the silver lenses already on her face with a grimace for the twinges it brings through her damaged fingers.
Wu	Ordinarily that would be a "you have to be kidding me?!" thing. Helmet? Easy to dodge. Hells, easy to catch and redirect with subtle movements. Which is, indeed, what Alice goes for. Realizing at the last second she's catching it with her injured shoulder that's already jarred from recoil. Trying at the last second to convert a fancy capture and redirect motion into a "get out of the way" motion. And partially succeeding.     It's the partial part that brings the scream to her lips as her arm goes numb while the right side of her chest feels like it's caught fire. The gun in her right hand goes bouncing off along the concrete, winding up in the bushes as Alice splays on the ground, trying to keep it together, trying to keep the monster in her sight, trying to keep her other hand pointed at it.     Soon the other hand's gun will speak. But not just yet. It's time to writhe briefly.
Michael	The rider-turned-monster has a strong idea of what's going down. He uses the brief respite he gains to rampage out of the way, running pell-mell for the seedier side of Gotham. In his wake is a trail of blood that won't go far. He lopes unevenly between the buildings, doing his finest to get the hell away. Unfortunately for him, it'll be right into the oncoming path of a police cruiser, in about three blocks. Man-monster versus car, who wins? Michael is shaken out of his initial assessment and traffic diversion when someone shouts his name. He looks back and trudges through the rain towards the razor girl. "My friend? No, not this." He shakes his head at the grim sight, attracted by the scream. "She needs to get out of the street before she hurts herself. All of them do. Ma'am, get back!" That may be futile, but he's already headed for the clumps of fallen souls to minister what he can. Some he can help. Some he can't.
Rose Kolodny	"Either way... it's helping." Molly grunts, her double-covered eyes going towards Alice again at the scream before tilting her head at Michael in a non-verbal 'you have /got/ to be kidding me'. One second, three,"FINE." she huffs, grabbing a wet cloth from one of servers with her damaged fingers and struggling to tie it about her face as she mutters to herself about the general stupidity of going to check on the cop. It's a lazy jog, mostly, she's in no hurry to go check on Alice for whatever reason, but does go to check at least. Enough time to fire a gun, certainly the woman in black isn't about to interfere in her taking a shot at the running monster before she offers some shredded metal fingers to help her up.
Wu	Alice comes to her feet with a feral scream, like a John Woo hero coming out of a coma, eyes narrowed, gun in her working arm swinging around, seeking a target. She spots Molly; the gun hovers for an instant, then keeps moving as she seeks her real target. For a few seconds she stands there, ready to kill, no outlet to do it. Then the adrenaline comes crashing down.     Calming with eerie suddenness she slips the gun back into her shoulder holster, then looks around for the other, picking it up and holstering it as well. Clumsily she roots around in her right pocket with her left hand, stifling a whimper as she accidentally jars her elbow, finally pulling out ... what looks like a silk handkerchief. Which she carefully dips into some of the monster's blood left on the sidewalk, then carefully folds and slips away in her back pocket.     She slowly turns toward the half-melted woman.     "You the one in the cape?" she asks, finally speaking, voice clipped with suppressed pain. "What kind of casualties are we looking at here?"     Beat.     "Where's your cape?"
Michael	Casualties, probably eight people hit by acid in varying forms, someone in the street possibly up for inhalation as their air conditioning sucked it in. Lots of damaged clothes and water abounds, plus it's raining steadily to create puddles and slipping hazards. Someone in those ridiculous tottering heels is sure to wipe out. Michael moves along where he can, pushing away scalded hands from harmed skin where the water has a chance of reaching it. He murmurs quietly, crouched down. Nothing fancy to see there. Nothing the bouncers can complain about while the strobing sirens get louder. The police should just have a permanent detachment here every three blocks and be done with it. He'll wait to respond to the two women with a gung-ho attitude about things.
Rose Kolodny	Molly Millions's hands go up, tattered flesh and metal, in the universal sign of 'whoa don't shoot' as the gun swings over her,"...Cape?" she rasps at Alice in blank puzzlement,"Uh.." she steps back towards the far sidewalk,"Two at impact zone didn't have a chance, third one hasn't got enough lung left to make it... the rest might. Rain. If there's any on you... it helps." helpful,"T'tall guy there is helping them out... some of those others could probably use a hand." and she's totally not volunteering, nope. Certainly she looks like she might skulk away the second Alice takes her eyes off of her, especially with the closer the sirens get.
Wu	Alice sighs wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.     "Never mind," she mutters. "I obviously made a mistake." She walks slowly back to the scene, eyeing Molly. "Coming?" she asks. "We're going to need a statement; as far as I can tell there were three witnesses who actually saw what went down. You're one of them."
Michael	Beeps and honks make for a good idea of where /someone/ got. Another, well, that's more troubling. The news will have the story of a troll trying to take down Gotham's second finest. Third, if Superman gets to be in the running for Finest of the Year. Michael mostly stops people from tearing their tiny skirts to make bandages and tries to comfort the one who doesn't stand a chance short of reconstructive magic, and that is not coming. He holds an acid-eaten hand for the woman who doesn't have the means to ask questions other than why, her breath a rasping ruin. Her passing is, mercifully, short. He can offer her that, even if he cannot forestall what is appointed here. Patience remains a lifeblood on the street, generating silence from the dark-haired man. Then he gently shuts the woman's eyes and rises, slowly, turning to cop and wounded woman with her... nanothings.
Rose Kolodny	"Nope." maybe Molly at least gets points for honesty, because apparently behind her white wet-dishrag 'mask' and the black glasses worn oddly over her silver lenses she's reached the limit of her civic mindedness... or... something. Because as soon as Alice turns to start walking she turns and lights out in the opposite direction.
Wu	"..." Alice starts to say something, then gives up and shrugs. This distracts her with pain; another suppressed whimper as her useless arm dangles. She shakes her head and trudges back.     "Spandex never sticks around for the paperwork," she mutters to herself.     Spotting Michael, and being in somewhat of a foul mood, she just glares at him suspiciously before taking in the scene with the dead, the dying, and the wounded.     "What's your story?" she wonders aloud, hair plastered down against her face from the rain and the sweat. She's not looking at Michael but it's pretty clear who she's addressing. "Why did you show up like one of those things on the bikes?"
Michael	"I lost my bagel, ma'am," Michael points this fact out as though it is the normallest thing in the world. "These people lost their dignity." And faces, but he's too polite to really say that. His hand pushes back a palmful of black hair that gleams where raindrops dot the strands. His face is as wet as everyone else, the t-shirt soaked through. Spots of cotton have probably burned through. Some people go through burner phones like nothing. The Demiurgos unfortunately ruins shirts. "Do you mean to stay angry to distract from the pain? I won't stop you from that. But I will ask, please, that you keep in mind they suffer. We don't need to add to that." His tone is so incredibly reasonable and quiet while emergency services converge and the first of the paramedics get through at a rush. They manage to push through cars and run up the street, stretcher brigade on the way.
Rose Kolodny	Molly Millions's at least sure-footed for all that it's dark and rainy. Hot-footing it for a fence and vaulting over it like an Olympic high-jump champion in advance of the sirens. At least she's no longer wearing the damned cape.
Wu	"I mean to stay angry to focus on the vengeance that will be forthcoming," Alice says quietly, still not directly addressing Michael; still clear who she's talking to. She looks across at the suffering people, then looks away, face impassive, the leaking tear hard to distinguish against the rain-plastered face, streaked with dirt. "It's what I do when I fail. To defend is my job. My pact. But when life is scorned, damage done, to avenge. That is my pact."     She seems unaware that she's paraphrasing.     "I can't afford to be distracted by sympathy at the moment. Two creatures must be sent screaming to the Hells."     She bows her head, clutching the amulet of Guanyin at her neck.     "What are you?" she asks, finally looking at Michael directly. "You're not with them, I hope. Because I doubt I could do much to you without preparation."
Michael	"Then go be angry where you will not upset them." Michael doesn't use force to his voice. His expression remains surprisingly calm, attention broken only to check when the paramedics and EMTs descend in a flock of white geese and the rain probably starts tapering off. Alice may not realize she's threatening the safety of creation itself. Hopefully her powers that bless do. He shoulders that as Atlas took on the world, and gives the mildest sigh. "I don't mean you any harm, ma'am. Mostly I need to check in on an injured friend. Please see to having a proper check up." He nods to her and turns away, walking down the sidewalk unless she thinks to shoot him in the back.
Wu	Alice stares after Michael, doing nothing but watching as he departs.     "I can't go elsewhere. I'm the officer on the scene," she mutters when she thinks he's out of earshot. A paramed notices her dangling arm and makes helping noises to which she responds with a curt, "I'm fine. Help someone who needs it."     She then moves out of the way, squatting near the curb, waiting for the inevitable crowd of press, brass, and other annoying ticks. "Namo Emituofo," she intones to herself quietly, repeatedly.     Praying to the Buddha in the presence of the Archangel Michael himself. That's ... special.
Michael	Fate sometimes smiles. Sometimes it chuckles behind its hand, eyes bright with mirth. Michael shakes his head slightly, and looks over his shoulder. "Your faith is touching, ma'am." It doesn't sound the least bit cynical, simply a statement of truth. With a gesture, he's on his way and the lasting hints of his grace lie all around. Identifying them might be tricky, but things just go smoother than they should in a chaotic situation. He's headed on his way out of sight, turning this way and that, slipping under cover of relative anonymity. His stride isn't rushed in the search for Molly Millions, most unbeliever.
Rose Kolodny	Several blocks away is where Molly finally finds a spot that she feels stopping, ripping off the wet dishrag 'mask' in order to wipe at her fingers with a grimace. At least the burning in her lungs has stopped and the real flesh of her fingers has dulled down to an itchy distraction, but the synthetic flesh of her fingertips isn't exactly something that the 'borrowed' nanites were intended to fix. The result isn't exactly pretty right now. What's left of one of the false nails is removed and shoved into her pocket as she carefully works on cleaning the wounds, muttering under her breath,"This is why you don't get involved. You idiot. People of people trying to kill each other in stupid ways and you don't have to go and be one of them."
Michael	He takes his time. It's not as though Michael has a built in people radar unless he utterly tries and the woman isn't cursing his name, making things harder. He puts his hands in his pockets and laments the bagels, the loss of life. All things in the grand design have their place and time, including having damp boots and a vague pang for loss for cream cheese. If they had it in heaven, it wasn't nearly so good as here. A splash in a puddle, soft but there, is entirely a warning to alert ears someone is coming. Molly probably has a chance to dash away before Michael ever finds her warren, and maybe not.
Rose Kolodny	The sound does make Molly look up, over the rim of those black glasses with the flutter-sharp tension of being prepared to run, and then, she grunts sourly. Somehow unsurprised and with the absence of sirens or visible police accompaniment apparently content to wrap the cloth about one of her hands with a sigh. "I'm guessing this isn't coincidence." she offers drily, apparently not taking the archangel as a threat in the way only the completely magically ignorant could possibly manage.
Michael	"You were hurt." It's entirely plain for Michael why he is there, and he tends to be a somewhat bluff individual when the situation calls for it. Probably laughably simple for someone like her, the complexities buried, like an iceberg, under the surface. Light traces his silhouette as the shadows between the buildings can't quite stick to him, but they certainly try. He's not glowing. Nothing to suggest being unnatural, really. His clothing will need a trip through the dryer, and all is patently right with his world. He approaches then halts. "May I ask if you're doing all right? She tried to detain you. No one looked you over."
Rose Kolodny	Molly Millions extends the unwrapped hand with it's tattered flesh and metal phalanges, grimacing at the slight treacherous tremor it gives before she folds it back towards herself,"I'll be fine." she grunts, reaching up to push the black lenses up onto her head,"I'll be blunt... I remember what you looked like... in that building. There's nothing they could do for me back there. And she wanted me to answer questions I don't feel like answering." Still she huffs a breath out of her nose,"I'm... glad you were there to help them though." she offers in a quiet tone.
Michael	Michael barely glances to the ruins of her hand, though he can piece together the damage, the source of the articulated movements, and what isn't working at a very general level in that glance. Staring too long is likely to demean, and he focuses upon Molly's mirrored eyes instead. Seeing himself, or rather a vessel of himself, is somewhat surprising every time. One never really grows used to being entirely in the flesh when spending so long not. "She did have a rather brusque way about her, didn't she?" Things to learn, how to approach others with tact. He's taking mental notes, to be sure. "I was where I need to be," he continues, "as were you. Last time too." He gestures a bit. "Any questions so far? I'm not going to hurt you."
Rose Kolodny	Molly Millions gives a brittle little ghost of a laugh,"Did she?" she enquires,"Didn't notice." there's the wry quirk of her lips as she settles her back against the wall of the alley and draws her legs up to her, leaving her hands as loose as possible to give them air in the hopes that the nanites will work it out,"You run into burning buildings and help people who got hit with acid." pause,"And you glow. I already figured out the not likely here to fight me part. But still, you're here. So okay, what flavor of strange are you?"
Michael	"Strange." Who is he kidding? Michael laughs, the sound as warm as sunshine on a spring morning that melts away ice and snow in shadowy hollows. "I suppose, yes, I am. Hard trying to blend in, but I'm preaching to the choir on that one." He rubs the back of his head, dislodging his dark hair. "I'm the helpful sort, which means around here, always working. You can call me Michael." His hand swings away and he reaches around to his back pocket. "This may be completely rude. I hope you'll not take it that way. I might be able to help this, though." He nods at her forearm. "Do you have it under control or you'd like me to look at it?"
Rose Kolodny	"Whatever you want to call it. I'm sort of at the point where I've given up wondering if I'm having sensory bleed because this whole place is insane." Molly grunts quietly, for all that q smile quirks her lips at his laugh,"Michael." she repeats. "Molly." she offers in return, her own laugh that brittle kind of sound,"Unlikely. The genuine parts are already... repairing themselves... unfortunately the rest of it is... after manufacture additions." she doesn't offer out the hand again, perhaps a little self-conscious about it from the grimace that crosses her face. She noticed that he didn't actually answer her, but doesn't seem inclined to mention it verbally in favor of regarding him with those lenses,"You seem to have come out of it okay, though."
Michael	"You've met a flying dragon and a woman who shot things with her eyes half-closed. You're so surprised I know a bit about chemistry and programming? It'd be a whole lot easier putting you under a mass spectral infuser, but I can make do with a few tools. End of the day, the parts repairing themselves can be convinced the off market stuff is part of the legit stuff." He inclines his head slightly and looks at her. "But I'm pretty sure we can manage it here. Not the cleanest corner but it's not going to be too problematic. Supposing that isn't a problem." Molly. A name to store in thoughts, to roll around in his skull in a pleasing way. "There's a lot odd here. It surprises me, too. Sometimes I wonder about anyone normal left."
Rose Kolodny	There's that laugh again from Molly, a little more on the giddy and genuinely amused side at least,"That's barely even the surface on the pyramid of weird around here." she draws out the unwrapped hand reluctantly. The exposed metal tips presented. She watches him as she deliberately extrudes the blades from them,"Had to have it abraided and replaced so it didn't foul the rest of it up." she offers in a dry tone. "As to the rest of it... depends on what you want to consider normal. I'm normal, where I come from. Here? Who knows." there's the tilt of her head as she listens to footsteps passing on the footpath, but they keep moving and the tension fades from her again at least to some degree.
Michael	"I'm sort of bog standard normal, but where I'm from, things aren't quite like here. Not full of... strange, like you said." Michael produces a round case that wasn't there a moment ago, not until he patted his back pocket. Now it is. He snaps it open and the tools inside might be vaguely familiar. They look a bit like lockpicks crossed with some of the more futuristic devices used by people making nanocarbon chips and tech on a scale that might impress Mr. Stark. Maybe. "The light's not the best here. I'll have to turn something on, okay?" Not glowing. He probably means the actual little diode like thing he can stick to the wall, emitting a clear LED glow to allow him to see what he's about. Fingers are difficult work, just ask any artist. Now imagine inventing them. "What stranger things have you seen?" he asks easily, taking her hand in his. Balancing the tools is going to come down to the nearest flat object he can set them on, pulling two thin stylus-like rods free. A flick of one is going to be a tad more sonic screwdriver in effect, the terminal end starting to glow a faint blue-white.
Rose Kolodny	"Yeh?" Molly enquires, brows furrowing over her lenses with some puzzlement as to where that case from. The tech inside, even in the dark, reassures her though,"Sure." she agrees with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, she likes the darkness, granted, it is as bright as day for her. Her other hand is extended to hold the case for the moment as she shakes her head,"Not my secrets to share. But considering I was born in twenty-one ninety, I'm sure to someone, somewhere... I count as strange, too." she is watching her fingers carefully without objection to his work,"What of you? How did you end up in this place?"
Michael	"Came like everyone does. City has opportunities and I wanted a change." Michael isn't entirely the talkative sort. He would rather let Molly fill the space, which may not be easily done for either of them. He smiles faintly after a time. "You're fairly displaced. Is it better or worse for you?" Questions to guide a conversation point, all said and done. The first device emanates a faint glow and the hum to match, more a satisfying indication of its function as he starts to trace it along the metal. The second serves to provide the faintest electrical charge, a stream so thin it barely reflects on metal. The two of them probably seem to be effectively odd to a practiced eye. But he rotates a built-in dial along a smoothly sliding ring on the first, focused intently on his work. It's all a show. A bit of hoodoo to ease the mind. Such things have been learned in his time here. Essential, considering Michael has to do but one thing to repair the damage: tell it to repair itself. The thought is conjured and implanted by a conscious act of will and a directed push of the Demiurgos. Okay, it's totally cheating. But mangled illicit synth-skin or alligator scales or self-repairing nano bots? All the same. He just has to get it in the right key after identifying the substance and composition, which takes the most time. The rest does itself: stretching, mending, blending, repairing. Not instantaneous, that's a little too close to miracle territory, but visibly crawling into place.
Rose Kolodny	"'s not why I came. At least... pretty sure that isn't it." Molly opts for, chuckles quietly,"That's like comparing night and day. These people... they don't understand the... opulence... of their lives. They look up, and they can see the stars. Every night. From any street, just walk outside. They complain about how little space they have, when I still can't work out why they need so much... stuff. Their food comes from actual, live, animals and soil... and they choose to eat stuff that wouldn't even be approved for manufacture where I come from." Apparently, as long as it's about the general, she will fill the air at least,"There's so... few of them, and I hear about how they value life so much more... but it's like an noh mask. Nothing is what it seems and most things cannot be trusted." there's the twitch of her fingers at the charge, that same grimace from her. Being unfamiliar with what technology he might possess helps no doubt, in this case, she's got no reason to believe that he can't do what he is trying to do, so it doesn't take much of a nudge to get the synthetic skin to start repairing itself, the hiss of relief repressed by her behind pursed lips,"What they have here... in some ways would be considered... vulgar in it's opulance... and yet... people starve. They struggle for things that are basic to me. So it is both, and neither at once. What of you? How does it compare?"
Michael	"It's like viewing something from a book or a picture, and seeing it yourself. The details stand out." Michael nudges a little more energy into the right places, to feed and charge matrices building out of the ether. For his own energy pool, it's not an unbearable effort, and the side effect of his saturation is that it probably balances a little of Lucifer's staining effect out. Not many can say they carry the balance of the equation between them. "The sense of entitlement shocked me. Even prepared for it. You hear people complain about a busy restaurant or a late train. They have no need to toil for food. War doesn't disrupt their lives. A card takes them a hundred miles in safe, comfortable cars." He shakes his head at the wonder of it, for all he very gently nudges one of the blades extended. Impersonal, this, rather than threatening Molly with an unwanted intrusion worse than he already manages. "These aren't giving you any trouble right now, are they? Moving comfortably?" Nope, not going to poke at them without her consent. He puts the second of the devices back, the first acting mostly to keep things in place. The advantage of being the force of creativity and organisation plays out even here, her nanotech behaving especially smoothly. He's also the reason buses sometimes rumble by on schedule.
Rose Kolodny	For some reason, mention of war actually brings a brief flicker of a smile to Molly's face, for all that she dips her head in acknowledgment of his words. On a magical level, she's clueless, but she's not about to complain at all about the fact that her systems and her nerves are both dulling by the moment,"There is that. In absent of danger they find... ridiculous things to complain about... never understanding that there are places where people would literally kill for a taste of what they have." There's no feeling in those blades, double-edged and scalpel sharp, but apparently the connection between nerve and hardware is sufficient that they slide back again with a surprised noise,"Monofiliment lacing. Because they're housed in the phalanges the damage didn't... affect them." for all that there's the oddity of being completely without fingerprints or nails when the healing is complete,"Thank you." let it not be said she doesn't know how to be gracious,"I owe you... for this. Blending in is hard enough without having to explain the hands."
Michael	"No, you don't. You tried to help people. Thought of others before yourself," Michael says gravely. His chin lifts and he gives her a long, almost unblinking look that slides into the point of maybe mildly uncomfortable. The tools are put back into their case, and slid into his back pocket without needing to look down much. "Sometimes doing the right thing is its own reward. I'd be in a worse spot without your help. Those children, for one." He's doesn't need to belabour the point, so doesn't, giving Molly space as he squeezes out some of the remaining water on the hem of his shirt. Not much help there. It'll be uncomfortably damp for a while yet.
Rose Kolodny	"I'm no hero, Michael." Molly responds, those silver lenses reflecting his gaze back at him. It's not often that people look long enough to make her feel uncomfortable, still, she does finally look down so she can flex her hands carefully,"In my experience, getting involved in other people's crap always ends badly. Can't save the world from itself, all you can do is get yourself killed trying. At some point, adults have to own their own shit and deal with it... but kids? 's a different story." She shifts and shoves herself to her feet with a slight nod of her head,"Can I buy you some food at least? Coffee?"
Michael	Michael raises his shoulder. "No one's all one thing. There's always goodness in another person. There can be flaw and vice, too." Like he said, team good guy and helping out. It's bound to screw him over in the end so many different ways, but he'll have to learn that the hard way. Once more, now she seems intact, he nods to Molly. "Your choice. Still, I'm thankful you helped." Her offer for coffee and food is met with a nod. "Supposing it wouldn't put you out."
Rose Kolodny	"People will use you. Twice so around here. It's mostly about working out whose price you can afford. And trying to work it out before you make a mistake." Molly pushes a hand through her wet hand and then pauses to look at it again with a small smile,"Just... be careful, yeh? Call it some advice." there's that nod again,"My car's not far from here, actually. And if you haven't already talked to that cop lady... could you leave me out of it? I've not no interest in talking to them." especially about a certain graveyard, not that she chooses to state that outloud.
Michael	"I'll take that in kind. The police officer is doing her job. I have no desire to interfere with that," Michael says. He shakes his head. "Too difficult to explain when I am not exactly local. They ask questions. They get confused." They don't know why he has no birth certificate or any record of his existence except about seventy major churches, numerous statues, artwork going back millennia. "It sounds close. Let's go."
Rose Kolodny	"I've got nothing against her... but, yes. Exactly. There's just no way that questions can go good. I mean... I have three ID's on me... but none of them are good here." and doesn't that just amuse the hell out of her,"I'm not as familiar with Gotham. Mostly I've stuck to New York. But there's... always somewhere to eat. What kind of food do you like?" she asks, raising her hood again before she prowls out of the alleyway without haste. She'll worry about replacing her nails later, their absence a detail most people wont even realize is missing, she hopes. Her vehicle is a battered sedan, grey and black, that looks like it's earnt its scars through the inexperience of a driver, even if not it's current one. Whether or not the presence of the carbine under the front seat or the shotgun in the trunk can be felt is another story. Both made with a precision impossible for even partially human constructs. Not that she shows any sign of even remembering they're there right now.
Michael	What kind of food /does/ he like? Michael has to stop and think about that one. The only answer to spring to mind has a ring of honesty. "I'm not sure. Choice is something of a luxury and I have yet to explore much." Truth in fact, though the permutations of nearly every meal are sure to please his senses on some level. Being a picky eater is optional when food isn't a necessity so much as just a convenience and a pleasurable pastime. He drags his hand over his damp hair, reminded once more. "You'll have to forgive me, but I don't want to make your vehicle wet. Hm." He taps his shirt and then sighs, shoulders sinking slightly. No reminder of the wings being there meets the eye, even to the magic dunce or magic dense. His willingness to squeeze out the last bit of moisture from his shirt at least means to avoid the whole problem of a puddle or slipping off the seat. He approaches the car and nods. "I'll be happy with your choice, I am sure. That woman was a bit too gung-ho to look into matters. Let her focus her attention on the important thing, the hurt people."