Blackout [OPEN]

[formersurgeon]

Who| Joan Watson and YOU!
What| The lights are out, all hell is breaking loose, and Joan can't just stay inside
Where| The Tribute Tower, then out on the streets
When| After the city goes dark
Warnings/Notes| Nothing yet, will amend as needed



Joan hadn't been back for long, but she had already been out and about, which was a stark contrast to how she had dealt with coming back the last arena. Where before she shut herself off and watched and analyzed a ridiculous amount of television, this time she had to go out, to do things, to see people. So she was in the training center, with the closest thing she could find to a single stick, trying to remember the techniques Sherlock had taught her.

Then, that broadcast.

And the lights went out.

I want you to burn this place to the ground.

"Crap," she breathed. This. This was bad. Planning something like this, that was one thing. But just springing this on a bunch of angry tributes and citizens, and on trigger happy Peacekeepers?

Things were definitely going to burn. And people were definitely going to die.

Joan used the screen of her device to find the first aid station. She packed up as much stuff as she could, then grabbed the "single stick" and headed out. She didn't know what would happen, but like the woman said, she couldn't just stand still.

Comments

[president_evil]

It was rather short-sighted in its disorganization. The woman had no guarantees the three hours she'd gifted the city would go to any greater use than looting, but fortunately, Joan wasn't the only one to recognize the opportunity presented.

Wesker wasted no time after the Games feed in his suite winked off, the low amber lights following suit. Calmly, purposefully, he plucked a small, innocuous paper weight off his desk and slipped confidentially through the dark. Pupils expanding, the night opening up for him, he was pulling off his glasses, folding the arms with a soft click when he met Joan in the lobby.

"Good Evening, Ms. Watson," he smiled, tucking the sunglasses into the breast pocket of his sport coat. As if they were old friends, about to take a nighttime stroll.

[formersurgeon]

"Mr. Wesker," she replied. The arm that held the stick was relaxed at her side. Even with how she died in the arena, a knife in the gut from a man she was trying to help, she wasn't one for reflexive fear. And she knew Wesker wouldn't hurt her.

"Headed somewhere?"

[president_evil]

"Something suddenly came up," he replied, still walking as they talked - like a shark, gilding effortlessly through the dark. (A fate worse than death if he stopped.) "Something I'm afraid I must see to."

The strange slitted eyes turned on her.

"I won't waste either of our times by asking where you're headed so late. I will merely trust it's of equal importance?"

[formersurgeon]

"Actually, I'm not headed anywhere. I'm just going for a walk." She glanced at him. "Can I help?"

[president_evil]

"Where was that enthusiasm when we first met, Ms. Watson?"

It was framed as a question - as part of the discussion - but he clearly didn't expect a real answer. The amusement was too clear in his tone, the pause between his words was far too short.

"You're a clever woman, and an undeniably resourceful one. It's not flattery, it's fact. If you truly wish to help, I urge you to remember that."

There was a flash of color, his eyes sparking with inhumane fire.

"And to make the most of it."

[formersurgeon]

She drew away from him a little when his eyes went red like that, a reflex, and she blinked, parsing what he said. She had offered her help on whatever he was going off to do, but it was apparent that he was thinking more...long term.

"I will."

She looked toward the door, and her eyes narrowed at a slight glimmer she could see over it. A reflection off of the lens of a camera.

"Hang on."

There was a large potted plant below the camera. She climbed up onto the pot, held onto the plant for balance, and whacked at the camera with the stick, smashing it on the third try.

[president_evil]

He intended on being back, or at least otherwise alibied, long before the cameras came back, but a little insurance never went array.

And it was encouraging, her complicity.

He had meant it when he'd said she was clever.

(One of the very few, actually worth his time.)

"Three hours," he reminded her, taping the heavy silver watch on his wrist with the tip of a pale finger. He then reached for the heavy glass door, pulling it open and holding it ajar for her, the sounds of the city - already falling into chaos (distant sirens, a scream, the sound of breaking glass) spilling in. "Good luck, Ms. Watson."

[silberfuchs]

Success. Finally some kind of success. They'd gotten in and out without much fuss and even if there hasn't been time to go over most of what they found, he has hope that there's something important in the files they'd lifted from the Capitol. Maybe more than one thing.

They'd split up after leaving the scene. It's safer that way, to double back and regroup late in the tower or wherever they can find. Albert, who usually wore a great deal of black and so looked the least suspicious when he removed his scarf, took a slightly more open way back to the tower through the city. Which leads him past upscale shops with graffiti swathed across their fronts, some broken windows, and ultimately across Joan's path.

He checks for peacekeepers before approaching, just in case. "Joan?"

[formersurgeon]

She's a little wary when he starts moving toward her, body tensing, but she relaxes the moment she hears his voice.

"Albert," she responds. She looks around for Peacekeepers as well before moving to him.

"Hey. You okay?"

[silberfuchs]

"Yes, better than for once. What about you?" He smiles a bit at her, glad to see her in one piece. They haven't crossed paths since the Peacekeepers dragged tributes off to be imprisoned and tortured and he'd worried she'd been one of their number given their conversation at the Speakeasy, clandestine as it was.

[formersurgeon]

"Having a surprisingly good time smashing cameras." She lifts the stick a little and smiles. Of course, trying to keep people from dying from their wounds has been less fun, but better to focus on the positive.

"It's good to see you. So much has happened since I last saw you."

[silberfuchs]

"Maybe you can fill me in. I have some things to share as well." Maybe nothing terribly concrete just yet, he'll have to go through the files first, but Joan is trustworthy and he knows he can share what he does know with her freely.

Sorry! Got caught up in D13 stuff...

[formersurgeon]

"Oh. Not too many secrets. Mostly things you already know." She tilted her head. "Did you get arrested when the torturer was murdered?"

hope this is okay?

[biomechatronic]

Dennett was still checking out his chest, looking for scars, infection, anything that gave testimony of getting stabbed to death by a plastic Christmas decoration. Really, insult to injury.

It's bad enough that he's shirtless, twisting around to check out his pale, middle-aged body in the bathroom mirror when the lights go out, with an almost falling sound.

He blinked for a long moment, half-hoping they'd come back on, unmoving until it became obvious, even to him, that it wasn't going to happen. He hastily buttoned up his shirt--probably askew, grabbing his trenchcoat and belting it before heading out.

He had the same idea. He didn't have much in the way of tools, but he was a doctor, after all. And this wasn't an arena. He could do some good here.

He's halfway to the aid station, when he hears someone else approaching. "Hello? I"m a doctor." That's code for 'please don't kill me'.

Absolutely!

[formersurgeon]

Joan had her device out, the screen on, using the light to make her way toward the station. At the voice she turned, eyes widening, raising the rod she was using as a single stick in case the hail was prelude to an ambush.

"So am I," she said, without lowering either the device or the stick. "The last person I met that I didn't know buried a knife in my gut. How do I know you won't do the same thing?"

She honestly didn't know.

[biomechatronic]

He doesn't blame her caution, but still, it is disconcerting to be considered a threat. And it's a damn good question, one that he would ask himself of a stranger, so it's harder to answer than it should be.

"Because I'm a doctor? Because this isn't an arena?" He's not sure which would be convincing. "Because I haven't killed anyone since I got here." N-not that he had a habit of killing people back in Detroit......

[formersurgeon]

She approaches, head tilted slightly...and lowers the stick. She can't be jumping at shadows. Or every tribute she hasn't met yet. She told the man who murdered her that most people didn't want to hurt anyone. She still believes that.

"I'm Joan," she says. "What's your name?"

[biomechatronic]

Dennett definitely doesn't want to murder anyone. He didn't even like weapons, and it had taken some serious berating--for his own good--for him to agree to carry a weapon in the Arena.

"Dennett. Dennett Norton. I'm from Detroit. A neurosurgeon." If he sounds nervous, he is. It's dark here and being still makes him feel like a target.

[formersurgeon]

"I was a surgeon, too. I specialized in trauma. Which has been way too useful."

She gestures toward the first aid station.

"I was going to see if I could try to...help people."

It sounds really stupid all of a sudden.

Sorry this is late!

[aboveangrybees]

Steve knew what he had to do, he had a Shield and Hammer to reacquire, he just had every intention of doing it and getting back to help people as fast as he could. A lot of people were going to get hurt, Tributes and Natives. And not all the capitolites were bad, many were just ignorant and blind due to the normality of their everyday life, but not everyone would see - or would want to see - that.

As he moved out of the center and into the street, he catches sight of - well, judging by the fancy hair - a local on the ground. His mission takes the backseat as he rushes over, kneeling to check for a pulse. Alive but unconscious, from the blood in her hair probably an head wound.

He looks around, seeing if there's a peacekeeper or someone who can help, but the peacekeepers seem to have vanished. Doesn't matter, he catches sight of someone far better than a peacekeeper.

"Joan!" He holds up his hand, hoping to catch her attention.

No worries! I'm so behind, too!

[formersurgeon]

She recognizes the voice and turns, peering into the dark and the chaos, before seeing Steve holding up his hand. "Steve!" She makes her way to him, keeping an eye on the people scuttling by as she approached, making sure none of them intended to hurt her or Steve. As she nears she sees the woman on the ground, and quickens her step.

"Did you see what happened?" she asks, kneeling next to the woman and feeling for her pulse.

[aboveangrybees]

He's relieved when she makes it over. Yeah, he knows basic first aid, but that's not going to do much for a head injury.

"No, found her like this," Steve moves his girth to shield both of them from anyone he can't see coming from behind him, keeping an eye on the chaos around them. "Is it safe to move her? This place is becoming a zoo, it's not safe to just be laying here in the open."

Subconsciously, he keeps his right cheek turned away from her, the darkness making it easier to mask the marred and disfigured brand of the Capitol insignia on his cheek. He wouldn't ever call himself vain, but it still always on his mind, an ugly reminder, the pain it throbs with still real.

[formersurgeon]

Joan takes a quick look up at their surroundings, and bites her lip. He's right, they shouldn't stay out here. She scans the nearby buildings, then nods toward an open doorway that seems to lead into a lobby of some sort.

"We can take her there."

She cradles the woman's neck in her hands, feeling the spine. She can't tell if it's been injured, and sighs in frustration. She doesn't want to move her, but it's probably the best thing they can do.

"Okay. You pick her up, and I'll do what I can to stabilize her neck."

[aboveangrybees]

Steve gives a nod, moving to roll her gently up ever so slightly so he can get his arms under her without moving her spine too much, making sure to do it slowly so Joan can keep a good grip on the neck. He moves to get his forearm along her spine, something to stabilize it more, even if it gives him a iffy grip.

"Alright, up we go," Steve lifts when. Joan looks ready, moving at a steady but slow pace so as to not jar the woman too much or unsettle Joan's grip. And though he kicks the door open, it's with such grace that it doesn't jar the woman he's holding at all.

"Yeah, lot safer in here. Were would you like her?"

[formersurgeon]

She notes the grace with which he kicks in the door, and blinks, impressed. Then she snaps back to the matter at hand. In the cavernous dark of the lobby she can see a long counter on one side.

"There...I think it's a receptionist's desk. Let's get her behind it."

She'll be safer, and so will they while they work on her.