Log:Died on the Fourth of July

2015/07/04 Grimm Rick 1

It's a beautiful Independence Day weekend in Colonial Bay! Most of the heat and humidity of the past week has evaporated with the setting of the sun this lovely Friday evening and with that rising level of comfort has come the party crowd. Strawberry Fields, the Bunker, Mystra, Khan Job, and the other major clubs in Downtown Colonial Bay are positively packed to the gills with (meta)humanity.

A handful of clouds drift by overhead, drowning out the few stars bright enough to pierce the veil of ambient light generated by Colonial Bay's urban sprawl. Keen observers of the sky might notice a few metahumans and Starguard patrols sweeping across the sky this way or that like lower altitude satellites. What's important right this minute is the stretch of street up the block from The Bunker our dear artist is using as a centering shot on a full page splash.

Rick Mason sits on the curb between a pair of parked cars - it's impossible to tell if they're hover models or not - with a bottle of booze wrapped up in a plain brown paper bag in one hand. His other hand holds an entire 10 pound bag of ice to his face. It's probably not his night.

Grimm has been celebrating the weekend by clubhopping this evening in style, dressed to the nines. Her long hair is styled straight with loose waves on the ends, a super short clubbing dress with glowing blue el-tape designs along in a tron-like display, black wedge heel booties, and her makeup is on fleek. It helps having a little bit of magical power to boost one's looks. But she's without anyone attached to her. It's a holiday weekend, which means the crazies are out and Malcolm is stuck on duty. Gabrielle can't help but gaze up at a passing Starguard patrol overhead and wondering if Malcolm's in one of those patrol cars, or off doing something else.

She's just exited the rather eccentric Strawberry Fields and is strolling along to find a better club with better music. The Bunker tends to be pretty solid as music selection goes, so she starts walking that way, heels clicking along the ground. As she passes Rick, her shadow sense suddenly tingles and she recognizes the guy. She stops about two paces past him and half turns towards him. "Out on another bender? You need to go to rehab, buddy."

If Malcolm were patrolling overhead, he almost certainly would have noticed Grimm by now.

And subsequently crashed his patrol car into a skyscraper.

Rick offers a grunt at Grimm's taunt. He hasn't actually turned to look at her yet - such an act would probably be useless with that sack of ice covering most of his face - and instead opts to place the brown bag down on the sidewalk. Carefully he peels the bag down the bottle of 1890 scotch, revealing it to be unopened and undamaged. Again, Rick offers a grunt at Grimm rather than an actual response.

"And still don't know how to talk?" Gabrielle's eyes drift down to the bag he's revealing and she gasps a little at the revelation of the Good Stuff(TM). "Holy shick, how'd you get ahold of that?" She guesses somehow the bruise is involved, because Rick doesn't seem like the type who could afford such a fine scotch. How does she know about scotch? Well, in a blind taste test, she couldn't tell the difference between 1890 scotch and a SaveCo brand generic scotch probably, but the label tells her it's supposed to be good.

"Tip from a client," replies Rick. He pulls the brown paper bag back up over the bottle of scotch with one hand; his other hand adjusts the sack of ice against his face, so it sounds less like he's a long lost Stallone brother. "You my cricket or something, lady? Should I be calling you Jiminy?"

"Why, do you need a conscience?" Gabrielle smirks slightly. "Because I'd probably be one of the worst people for the job the way things have been going." A little bit of despair creeps into her otherwise cocky tone.

"Didn't think you looked much like a blue fairy," remarks Rick, who still has not looked Grimmward. He instead leans forward so that he can brace his head against the sack of ice and the sack of ice can be braced against his knees. So much more refreshing that way and less taxing on the arms.

"Yeah? What'd you do? Unfairly judge that b**** Becky and, like, totes steal her favorite dress, best shoes, and boyfriend all in one fell swoop? Fer shure," intones Rick in his very best Valley Girl voice.

Grimm glowers at Rick, giving him the evil eye that relents some as one on the list is semi-accurate. "Nothing like that." She wants to deny the stealing boyfriend comment. It wasn't her fault! She was being mind controlled! And she didn't manage to steal Porter, just kiss him. So...totes doesn't count! "Not that you'd care."

"No, I don't suppose I would care," replies Rick. He shrugs his shoulders helplessly and makes a dismissive gesture with one hand that may actually be aimed at a car, rather than Grimm.

"I'm just someone outside of whatever conflict's got you down in the dumps, capable of giving you an objective view on your life. But I'm busy trying to give myself brain freeze the hard way to give a damn about your petty penny-ante teenage psycho-drama nonsense."

Breach pauses for about a full two seconds. His head pops up and swivels toward Grimm, an expression of abject confusion and horror etched into his features.

"Jesus. When did I get to be an old man?"

When he finally looks towards her, Gabrielle looks like he just slapped her across the face by her expression. It's that sort of surprised shock and a mixture of hurt with lips parted in a slight, slackjawed position.

It stays like that for a few seconds, and then finally she gets past the hurt and replaces it with anger, just like she's done with so many other painful things in her life. Her eyes narrow and she loses the deer-in-headlights look as her lips push together to purse tightly. "How about I give -you- an objective view of your life?" her voice trembles with hurt and thinly veiled rage as her powers bubble up.

While she seems mostly harmless, much like earth's designation in the intergalactic community, there's just something terrifying beneath. Undefineable, palpable, but unseen. And it just instills a primal sense of dread and fear. Her eyes lock with Rick's as her powers, rather unconsciously, try to freeze him in fear in reaction to her emotional state.

"Goddamn sexy space elf Flanders," is about all that gets out of Rick's mouth that is coherent when his eyes fall upon Grimm and her positively inhuman beauty. His brain spins a few times, trying to process her appearance before she shifts gears into soul-kill overdrive.

As Grimm's emotions boil over, Rick's expression wanders ever further into the territory of horrified anguish. His lips move endlessly, though nary a sound escapes his mouth while his hands ball up into fists. Ice cascades out of the plastic sack his one hand just shredded with the talon-like grasp of his fingers.

Now that Grimm has a chance to see his face in full on Rick-tus (ha ha, word play!) she cannot see any sign of injury. Man, does ice really help that much to fight off bruises and swelling?!

Sweat, of the cold and clammy variety, breaks out across Rick's body as he sits there on the curb. Face pointed at Grimm, though his eyes are locked on somewhere well beyond her, jaw working soundlessly while his body twitches time and again as though flinching through some kind of torture. He does not, overall, look at all well.

Grimm's expression falls again. "Shick. I didn't...not like...stupid powers!" she finally gives up in frustration, not that Rick seems to be paying attention. She feels bad that she put him through something terrible, but then she remembers what a jerk he was, and she doesn't feel quite so bad.

A black tendril extends from her shadow and coils itself around the brownbag scotch, reeling it back in and placing the bag in Gabrielle's hand. In for a penny and all that. And she could really use a stiff drink now. She whirls on her heel in an about face and marches to the Underground, flashing her false ID before disappearing inside and leaving Rick to his own nightmares. He'll get out eventually, she figures.

Rick falls through a space between cels, bleeding from his palms and mouth as he enters a negative space nightmare. White, blue, and purple visions of his past dance in front of him, features made of whitespace shadows and purple outlines. He raggedly drags himself across a featureless plain of glass-covered tarmac after what appear to be twenty or so guys in military gear carrying a lone woman in civilian dress.

As suddenly as the mind trap began, Rick manages to shatter its hold. Rick Mason lurches off of his ass on the curb, gasping raggedly for air. He stagger steps forward, ricochets off of a passing box truck's box, and lands on the hood of one of the cars he was seated between. Sprawled upside down and backwards, Rick stares at Grimm's butt as she disappears into the Underground.

"God damn black magic woman," rasps Rick.

Helpfully Santana starts to play in the background.

It's only 30% to torment Rick.

Santana does play in the latin club down the street, but the Underground is thumping with electronic dance music. Grimm absconds quickly with the scotch, still mad but also feeling terrible for the effect she had on Rick. She's just trying to get away, but it's not like the Underground is a safe haven of escape.

And that WAS a ridiculously good scotch. One only gets ahold of such once in a lifetime for some. It'll be wasted on some dumb college student who thinks jager is great. Rick can't let that happen. Can he?

Rick slides off of the car and scoots back over to the curb before he spits a few times, clearing his mouth of blood. Cautiously, the Undead Soldier licks his palms and rubs them against one another to clear the blood from his palms, his wounds already healed. Breathing slowly, Rick looks over at the Underground. He's going to stick out like a sore thumb, isn't he?

Moving with purpose, Rick cleans himself up as he approaches the Underground. Rick pulls a couple of bucks out of a pocket to pay the cover charge and/or the bouncer to let him in, brown eyes scanning ahead of him for signs of Grimm's passage. Surely she'll have left chaos, destruction, and broken hearts in her wake, right?

The suited bouncer takes the cover charge and checks Rick's ID. A brow quirks when he reads the age 72 on the card. With a laborous sigh, he hands the card back to Rick. "Next time, pick a more convincing birthday, 'McLovin'." He jerks a thumb behind him to motion Rick to go inside.

A man steps out of the club for a smoke, and the music volume outside increases. There aren't any screams of terror or wails of despair. Yet. But she's probably only been in there for less than a minute.

To be fair, Rick's ID scans as real. He moves past the bouncer and into the Underground through the door left open by Smokey. Rick frowns slightly at the lack of obvious signs of Grimm. She's going to make him earn his liquid paycheck... For the second time.

Letting out a long suffering sigh, Rick starts the process of searching for Grimm. He vaguely wishes he'd woken up with superhuman senses to go with everything else; it would surely make his workday (and Grimm Hunting) so much better.

It's dark in the club, even with some of the lights flashing from the DJ stand. Finding a dark girl in a dark place is a little difficult at first as his eyes adjust to club. He finally spies Gabrielle as some of the crowd parts. Well, her back, anyway.

She's just standing rigidly still on the outskirts of the dance floor, in that natural barrier formed between dance floor and bar. There's some people dancing around her, and she's facing an attractive young man a little older than her. He's dressed in an expensive black suit with a matching black shirt and silk black tie to match. His eyes are lit with recognition and a pleased, yet flirtatiously aggressive smile.

Gabrielle has the scotch gripped by the neck of the bottle in the paper bag, and it dangles at her side from her right hand as she's distracted by the man.

It takes Rick a few moments to adapt to the semi-darkness of the club's interior. He shifts his attention this way and that until the crowd simply parts around Grimm. What good fortune! Rick's hackles immediately rise as he stoops into a posture better suited for using the crowd itself as cover.

Moving quickly, Rick weaves into the crowd on the right. He moves through the crowd in a slouched, casual posture as he makes his way toward his quarry. Emerging from the crowds just enough that he can reach, Rick reaches out for the paper bag-ensconced bottle in Grimm's hand. Rick's brown eyes flicker toward the guy smiling at Grimm, just to see if he's being observed as well.

Just in case.

The guy seems to only have eyes for Grimm. "You're looking especially lovely tonight," he speaks in a smooth voice, with familiarity with her. He must know her. He speaks to her like they've gone out before.

Grimm's shoulders hunch up slightly, her body language still tense, even though her arms themselves are slack. As Rick looks down towards his target of the bagged scotch bottle, he notices the there's a small wet puddle on the floor at Grimm's feet. Not unusual as sloppy dancers spill their drinks often on the dance floor.

As a brief strobe light affect from the club offers some illumination, he can recognize the crimsom colored liquid for what it is.

Gabrielle's grip on the scotch bottle slackens, and she seems just about to drop the precious bottle.

Reassured by Blackie's lack of attention, Rick reaches for the concealed bottle of scotch. Brown eyes rotate down to focus on the bottle first, then the pool of liquid below it. Light dances across the pool in a way that Rick recognizes all too well. Time dialates for him again, his brown gaze dancing up Gabrielle's club-clad form for a moment, assessing her posture, her position, and her musculature.

One hand lashes out to wrap around the bottle of scotch, wrenching it free of Grimm's loosening grip. Rick steps past Grimm and pivots on one heel as he brings his left arm out to one side. In a flash of motion, Rick attempts to sweep Grimm clean off of her feet before she can finish what he presumes to be a dead faint.

"Afraid I need to cut in, bro," intones Rick, "And caveman yo' woman."

Oh good. Now Rick's The Situation.

Recognizing the posture, Rick accurate predicts Grimm is on the verge of collapse. The bottle comes away with no resistance, and she pretty much falls into his arms as she loses consciousness. The look on her face was one of horror and dread before her eyes rolled up and her expression slackened from passing out. There's a matching dark stain that's spreading along the front of her dress, and a two, maybe three inch tear at its epicenter.

The man's devilishly charming smile turns off immediately as Rick interferes, eyes narrowing as his nose crinkles at his displeasure. "Caveman...?" he looks Rick's clothing over. "Clearly." His voice carries a smooth disdain. "You may find you'll regret interrupting my conversation with my girlfriend."

"You may find," intones Rick as he moves his body very precisely to somehow heave Gabrielle across both of his shoulders in a rough fireman's carry, "That you're a $#!**y boyfriend."

What Rick wouldn't give to have his IMPACT Gear on at the moment. He'll make due, however, by taking a juking sprint/leap past Blackie and out onto the dance floor. Rick immediately wishes he had Super Dance Powers - where's Dazzler when you need her anyway?!

Grimm dangles limply from Rick's shoulders. The young man doesn't seem all that amused or pleased at Rick's response. "You must not know Gabby very well," he retorts just before Rick sprints past him. He turns slowly to track Rick, looking more irritated as he runs off with his prize.

"Come back here!" his voice just barely rises over the music for Rick to hear the demand. Most people avert their gaze at the scene, thinking it's just some lovers quarrel. But as Rick gets away, a black field of shadow energy, hard to see in the dark club, spreads around the man.

"You'd be surprised," comments Rick as he sprints across the dance floor. He feels the hackles rising on the back of his neck again as that shadow field starts to spread around Blackie McLoverboy. Rick, fortunately, doesn't have eyes in the back of his head. Fear can't paralyze him if he's not aware of what's setting his whole body on edge.

Right?

Right.

And so Brave Sir Rick Mason bravely ran the hell away. Run, Brave Sir Rick Mason, run!

The crowd around Jonathon Price start to panic as shadowy tentacles spread out from his field, much like Grimm's own. Not that Rick dares to look behind to see it. The jostling of people keeps Price from pursuing in the resulting chaos that Rick manages to keep ahead of. Price's distant howl of frustration can be heard as Rick bravely runs the hell away.

Brave, brave, brave Sir Mason.

Rick Mason has to remind himself that he has a person slung across his shoulders as he nears the fire exit on the opposite end of the dance floor. The Undead Soldier slows up just enough to plant one foot and heave the other foot up and out to *BOOT* the fire exit open. As soon as the door swings outward, Rick drops his foot and starts with the running again.

Fortune smiles upon the Undead Soldier as the panic of the crowd covers his escape route and Price heads towards the wrong exit. The fearful club goers stream out of the club's various exits, further making it difficult to spot Rick in the confusion, even with a bleeding Gabrielle slung across his shoulders.

Rick keeps running. Hopefully there's an ambulance or a critical care clinic somewhere around here. Grimm would probably appreciate not bleeding to death (again).

There's a feeling a warm dampness along Rick's shoulders that's too warm to be just sweat. As luck would have it, there's an ambulance driving along in his direction, coming from the hospital in the nearby Student Quarter.

Rick frowns as he feels the damp warmth spreading across his shoulders. He spies the ambulance coming up the block as he runs along, shifting his weight to start sprinting out into the street. Arms up, Rick flails in an attempt to flag down the ambulance.

And, you know, not drop Grimm on the pavement.

The ambulance turns on its lights and pulls over near Rick. The EMTs jump out to assess the situation. "What's going on?" asks the EMT that just came out from the driver's side. He sees the bloodied condition of Grimm and Rick and yells to his partner, "Get the stretcher!"

"Found her outside of a club. There was some guy screaming and shouting, I think, after her from inside of the club, I was hoping to find a safe place to call you guys," replies Rick. He waits until the stretcher arrives to unsling Grimm from his shoulders and set her down on the stretcher. Stepping back, Rick considers shedding his hoodie as he looks from one EMT to the other.

Once she's set on the stretcher, the EMTs work quickly to examine her and stabilize her. They check her pulse, shine a light in her eyes, and apply pressure to the wound. "So you don't know her or what happened to her?" they ask as they work. The other comments to his partner with urgency, "We need to get her to the hospital, NOW."

Gabrielle has become much paler than usual and hasn't regained consciousness. She doesn't show any signs of waking anytime soon without medical attention. Due to the wound to her chest, just by her heart, the EMTs don't bother to press Rick about the details of his involvement and begin to load Gabrielle into the back of the ambulance.

"No idea," replies Rick, "I was just heading for the MagLev from that liquor store over by Strawberry Fields. I saw her come stumbling out a back door to one of the clubs, heard some guy yelling over the music, and then I saw all the blood."

Rick helpfully gestures as if this will improve his storytelling ability.

The EMTs nod. It'll go in their official report later. For now, one EMT goes in the back with Gabrielle and starts putting an oxygen mask on her and grabs something from the shelving within before the driver shuts the doors. "Thank you for getting her to us," the EMT gives Rick The Good Samaritan his thanks before he hops into the car. The sirens go off again, and the ambulance makes a hard U-turn, heading back to the hospital at speed.

Watching the ambulance speed away, Rick offers a salute with his bottle of scotch. He lets out a long, hard sigh and hangs his head as he starts shuffling out of the road. "This is going to be a whole thing, isn't it?" inquires Rick of no one in particular. Or, perhaps, he's questioning the universe. Why wouldn't he question the universe?