bigapplesauce | We Care for Your Safety

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We Care for Your Safety

Protecting the city from the rifties -- and the rifties from the city -- is a full time job. That's never been more true than it is today, when there are metaphorical (and sometimes physical) fires to put out all over Manhattan. It's been a rough time at ROMAC in general; most of the organization's people are unfamiliar with the specifics of the recent animal attack, but even those who don't know that a number of ~~prisoners~~ guests of ROMAC have gone missing in the last few days (or that the computer system is still compromised) know that something has thrown the organization into disarray.

Unfortunately for ROMAC and fortunately for certain other people, ROMAC's resources are spread thin by whatever's put the Rift in a tizzy. As large as the organization is, though, there's surely nothing to worry about from the handful of malcontents at large in the city.

Surely.

[OOC: And here's the thread for taking down ROMAC! There will be a couple of player characters on ROMAC's side (check to see whether their threads are open to all before tagging in, as they may have limited availability due to prior plans), and anyone in need of 'enemies' to tag against can request an NPC from the mods. Have at!]

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The doorknob jerks beneath Greta's hand - someone's coming in, and it might be Iman but it might not. She stumbles back a pace or two, her stinging hands clasped beneath her chin in subconscious supplication: please, please let it be her friend, because if Mr. Fring's terrible plan was successful, it will be more loss than she can bear...

And there she is, looking shaken and a little scuffed but alive and well and she's--she's come to the rescue, just as she'd promised. Greta has enough time to drop her hands and let out a dry sob before Iman's hauled her into her arms, and she clings back in desperate relief, turning her face into Iman's hijab and squeezing her eyes shut against a fresh onslaught of tears.

"They knew," she says brokenly. "They knew you were coming all along, and I was so--so worried."

He nods, clipped and unconcerned - fucking obviously this will remain here, buried in the pit of a structure whose foundations have been arranged to crumble and whose benefactors will lack adequate means of preventing that abrupt, inevitable disintegration. It is a simple matter of dragging the body and depositing it into the cell and closing the door behind it with a definitive clang, each movement sharp and swift and economical. The pain to his ribs is inconsequential, and the fluid heft and drag of dead weight scraping over concrete is a necessary conclusion.

Asadi appears to have successfully completed their alternate objective in recovering Greta, ideally with a minimum of injury to her person, and she seems, upon initial evaluation, wholly undamaged. Rush interjects into the reunion, catching one of Asadi's wrists until he holds her gaze unwaveringly.

"We have to go," he says, the words an urgent hiss, his eyes dark. They snap to Greta, and his head dips in a slight, meaningful nod. "They'll be regrouping at any moment."

"I know they did," she whispers, her hand moving quick to the back of Greta's head, stroking her hair gently. "It's okay. We got 'em. We're fine."

Rush's hand on her wrist is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, and she pulls back from Greta, meeting his eyes.

"Let's go then," she says, and she reaches out with her free hand to take Greta's, lacing her fingers in and holding on, this is no time for shyness. "Follow us."

Greta huffs out a breath, somewhere between another sob and an incredulous laugh. Did everyone know everything but her? That's how it's starting to seem. At least that means Iman had prepared herself properly, and Greta is absurdly grateful for that.

It also means Iman ran headlong into a trap, knowingly, willingly, just to keep her promise and get her out, and Greta doesn't even know how to begin to feel about that part. It lends a rather different flavor to the guilt and shame already swimming through her for being the focus of all this madness. As Iman strokes her hair, she's struck with a sudden impulse to nuzzle into her neck and just hide herself there, like a child, until the alarms subside and they're all safe again. But that's foolish; it wouldn't help, and she's had enough of not helping, and--what's this 'we'?

Greta lifts her head and blinks at Rush in open astonishment. Within the same breath, she realizes there's nothing to be astonished about - he is Iman's friend, and he has reason to object to anyone being kept in ROMAC's cells. But it hadn't occurred to her that he'd be part of the cavalry, and she is so grateful that he is - that Iman has not had to do this alone - that if she didn't know how prickly he was, she'd hug him, too.

She settles for a dazed but understanding nod as she squeezes Iman's hand. "Yes, of course." Then, directed a bit more towards Rush than Iman, "Thank you."

He acknowledges her with a fractional tilt of his chin before breaking off, cutting a clear line down the cell-lined hall of the lower levels.

ROMAC's corridors are still dark save for the reddened cast of emergency lighting, and the echoing klaxons are ceaseless. Rush halts before climbing the stairs, appropriating one of the fallen guards' sidearms, sliding the loaded magazine out and snapping it in again in a fluid release-and-catch. Given the state of mind and lack of rational planning devoted to their spontaneous subversion of the building's security, it's overwhelmingly likely they are to encounter far more resistance attempting to leave than they had upon entering, particularly if ROMAC has managed to assemble its security details into something marginally more competent.

Scaling the stairs and out of the lower levels is an endeavor alarmingly lacking in any sort of obstructions whatsoever, a fact that grows increasingly and disturbingly more obvious the further they ascend.

"No virus can account for this," he says, nodding shortly to indicate the halls and stairways conspicuously devoid of any personnel. "We should have encountered someone by now."

As if on cue, there's the sound of low voices down the hall.

Two men round the corner, down near the next stairwell. The first is part of ROMAC's reinforcements, in uniform and holding a gun loosely at his side as if he's forgotten it's there. The other is in plainclothes and apparently unarmed. Despite this, the guard is the one retreating, pale-faced and backing down the hall as the other advances.

The Balladeer glances up quickly towards the group - Greta, thank god, and two strangers. They sound dangerous, but Greta doesn't look frightened. Friends of hers?

He turns back, narrowing his eyes down at this guard. The guy isn't even pointing the gun at him anymore; he's had enough. It all feels more natural when he's got a weapon leveled at him, honestly. Without, it just reminds him that he's never had this effect on people before. Back home, no one is scared or ashamed when he talks. They're angry. But this is what he needs to do to get his friend back, so he doesn't let himself consider it too closely.

"You should go home," he says quietly, dismissively. "Call her. You'll never know what could've been if you never try, you know. And for god's sake, Rick, just give me that gun and stop already. You're not cut out for this." Rick nods shakily, hands the gun over, and bolts up the stairs. With a few quick motions, the Balladeer unloads the gun, letting the bullets clatter to the floor. Sure, maybe it'd be smarter to keep a weapon while running around down here, but...really, him with a gun? People pay plenty of attention to him without one.

He checks the gun once more and tosses it aside as well, then turns with a wide grin. "Greta!" he calls, nearly bounding down the hall towards them. Only the presence of the two strangers keeps him from just diving right in for a hug. He doesn't know who they are, but he saw a few dead guards on the upper floors and knows someone must have set all those alarms off. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Whoa." Iman steps forward neatly, letting go Greta's hand and inserting herself between her and this new guy. As far as she can tell from this matter of moments, Greta's not recognizing him, and on top of that Iman's pretty sure she just heard him talking some real personal shit to that fuckin guard, which doesn't paint this tall geek into a very reliable hole, now, does it? Still, he's not armed, that's something. She puts her hand on his chest. "That's close enough, buddy. Now suppose you tell us who the fuck you are?"

Greta stills when the two men appear, her grip on Iman's hand tightening. The armed one seems to be ignoring them, but the other one doesn't - he glances up at her in what looks like recognition, though she's certain she's never seen him before. She gapes openly as she watches the odd little scene play itself out, the guard retreating, the stranger emptying the gun with practiced ease.

And then he's saying her name as if he's an old friend, and she lets out a strangled squawk of protest. Iman steps between the two of them, stopping the man with a hand to his chest, and Greta shifts awkwardly, feeling unmoored. "I, er..." is as far as she gets before trailing off, at a loss. Why on earth is this man concerning himself with her?

The unsettling proficiency with which the first man apparently disables the second could have any number of connotations, none of which Rush is particularly interested in examining - the man appears quite intent on disarming ROMAC personnel, which serves their purposes adequately.

Neither Asadi nor her charge recognize him, however, and with the recent disposal of Mr. Fring and his incompetent security detail, Rush has little patience for the colocalization of himself and pointless obstacles. He narrows his eyes at the intruder, raises the borrowed sidearm into clear visibility, and forces a round into its chamber with a pointed click.

The Balladeer draws up short at the hand on his chest, then raises his hands in a vaguely annoyed manner as he hears the familiar sound of a bullet clicking into position. It's a little more than he can do to suppress an eyeroll. Oh, you're going to shoot him. How original.

"I'm the Balladeer...?" he answers slowly, his eyes on Greta. Why isn't she telling them? She's acting like she doesn't - oh. "Wait, do I look different to you, too?" Seriously, he checked again in a real mirror when he got back to his apartment. He doesn't think he looks any different than normal, so he'd just decided the problem was with Sunshine. And of course once he realized what had happened to Greta, the whole matter slipped his mind a bit. This was much more important.

"Balladeer?" she repeats, bewildered. He doesn't look like the Balladeer - but it sounds as if he's... expecting that?

Aside from his face, she has to admit he's doing a rather good impression of the man. He holds himself the same way, and the mild exasperation he displays in response to having a gun drawn on him is rather telling. And she has noticed a few subtle changes in his appearance before, now that she thinks about it - things she'd attributed to misrememberings or a failure to pay proper attention on her part. Things like his eyes seeming to be blue one day and hazel the next, or his hair being not quite the same shade of brown from week to week. Nothing so extreme as this, of course, but... well.

He doesn't look entirely unlike the Balladeer, either.

"Don't shoot him," she says quickly, skirting around Iman and laying a quelling hand on her arm. "I--you do look different, but I think... I think it's him." She frowns up at him, only a little less bewildered. "But what are you doing down here?"

Edited 2015-04-30 04:15 (UTC)

"Looking for you!" The Balladeer lowers his hands with a wary look at Rush. "I stopped by your apartment on my way down when the alarms went off. Your door was open."

He'd been concerned the fire alarm would frighten her. Had anyone thought to explain what those were? Even if they had, the building was in chaos; it would be better to leave together. But at his knock, the door swung open. Everything inside looked as if she'd just stepped out for a second - half-prepared baking on the counter, her phone left behind again. No sign of any struggle, and it could just have easily have been her evacuating like they were supposed to. But after what little she'd told him of possible trouble, and what Daine had let slip of cages...

Well, it didn't take him much effort to get more information.

"The guards up top knew you were somewhere down here. Just not exactly where." He gives a slightly sheepish shrug. "So I've been asking around." And yes, he absolutely does mean to say he's been listening in on people's lives, in the most pointed manner he's done since coming here. Johnny didn't count; that was too weird and he's trying hard to forget it happened. None of the guards here were exactly good people, but after he'd finished with them, a surprising number were willing to just go home and rethink their lives.

As for the ones who weren't, he might technically be a blackmailer now.

"Uh," Iman manages to get in edgewise while Greta and 'The Balladeer', apparently, have their little back and forth. She exchanges a glance with Rush and then recovers Greta's hand and gives her a gentle tug. "Well congrats buddy, you found her. We need to go now. You coming?" She doesn't wait for anyone to respond before moving onward with Greta in tow. Even if this guy did manage to get down here remarkably unmolested, she's not really willing to take anymore goddamn chances today.

Pausing only to regard the unfamiliar man with a vaguely suspicious look, Rush breathes out an impatient hiss between his teeth before quite simply moving on. They don't have a great deal of time to allow bewildered exchanges for which he has very little context and equally little interest in obtaining said context.

"Yes, well," he snaps at the other man, brushing roughly past. "ROMAC, if you may have noticed, is extremely unhappy with us at the moment, and it would benefit us all collectively and tremendously if we got out as quickly as fucking possible. Immediately, if you don't mind."

Greta lets out another short squawk, as if someone had given her a poke. He was on his way to rescue her, too?! Not that she'd expect him to just shrug and go about his day if he knew she was in danger, but the whole point of warning him that there might be trouble was so he could keep himself out of it. What if he'd wandered right into whatever trap they'd set for Iman before Iman and Rush had arrived?

But he didn't, and despite her growing mortification over what a mess this is, she's grateful that he was willing and able to come this far. It probably shows for the brief moment between his explanation sinking in and Iman tugging her onward, and then she throws him an apologetic look over her shoulder.

Well, this is all completely mad. She might as well attempt introductions as they hustle along. "That's, er, that's Rush," she tells the Balladeer, as if his name alone will excuse his behavior. "And this is Iman."

Wow, rude. Luckily the Balladeer is pretty accustomed to that kind of treatment, and wheels about to follow without comment.

"Oh, Iman! Good to meet you." She's the one who was looking so fiercely for Greta before; he might have expected she'd be here too. He spares her a smile before dropping into a more businesslike tone. "There's no more reinforcements coming. They're spread too thin dealing with all this Rift activity going on. No guards up that stairwell - most of them went lower down when the cells started giving out."

He nods in the direction he just came from. If any of those abandoned posts have been taken back up, he'll know it; he's got a great ear for aggressive people with guns in their hands and violence on their minds. But he doubts that will happen. Everyone he's spoken to was scared, both by the unprecedented level of Rift activity and by the release of whoever they'd been keeping locked up down below, and the Balladeer's never gotten the impression that ROMAC employees are easily shaken. They've got a lot more to deal with right now than the four of them.

Iman shoots a look at him when he seems to recognize her name - either Greta's mentioned her or he got her texts, probably the latter, possibly both. Great, so he probably knows about her horrendously professed feelings. This is awesome.

Although, his eagerness to come rescue Greta without any kind of apparent wherewithal does put him more or less in her good books, and it sort of reminds her-

It clicks. "Wait," she says, not stopping their movement even as she looks back over her shoulder. "Are you Beth?"

The Balladeer lets out a surprised half-laugh. Oh god, she recognizes him from that? How? They'd only texted! "Yeah! Yeah, that was me." That day was frustrating and upsetting in the extreme, but in retrospect he does have to agree that the Beth thing at least was pretty funny.

And now that he's finally met her under the right name, of course, there's something else getting in the way. "Nice meeting you in person. I apparently don't usually look like this, but I'm sure I'll get right eventually." He'll have to remember to identify himself next time he sees her - assuming, of course, that this whole thing wears off in a few days.

"'Beth'?" Greta repeats, baffled. It's a trivial thing to even think about, but given the track her mind has been on since Mr. Fring took her - since before that, even, since the evening after her most recent curse was lifted - she's perhaps a little too eager to fixate on it. Better than wondering if they'll manage to escape the building unscathed. Better than wondering what happens after that. Better than thinking about the scarf neatly folded in a drawer in her apartment, which might as well be in another universe, now.

'Beth,' honestly.

"Uh, yeah," says Iman with a slightly strained smile. "Yeah, just, uh. You know that day when you were stuck in the woods and he couldn't tell the truth?" That ought to be enough of an explanation, surely. If Greta assumes she actually met the man, her failure to recognize him will be conveniently covered by how he apparently has a totally different face right now.

"We're almost there," she huffs under her breath, drawing them up another stairwell. "Up and out." Where is Greta going to go? She hasn't considered this. No exit plan again, not her strong suit apparently. "Do you - I mean, you'll need a place to stay," she says, darting a look back at her. "Not safe here, obviously. You could come to mine, if you like."

It's only the adrenaline, the heat of the moment, that allows her to offer the option so nonchalantly.

The Balladeer, whoever this person is and whatever his unique talents, has done an unobjectionable job of clearing their way out of any additional personnel, an effort for which Rush can harbor a distant if begrudging appreciation. Who the man is and what his reasons may be for assisting them are of little import - the the building interior is already chaos, and it would be in their collective best interest to be as far away as possible should said chaos build to a point of systemic, physical, or ideological collapse.

"Fascinating as I'm sure all this is," he interrupts testily with little regard as to what, exactly, it is that he is interrupting, "getting out is rather fucking salient at the moment, so do you mind terribly having this discussion once we are outside?"

Really, it's like this Rush has never heard of the concept of walking and talking. At the same time! It's possible!

"I introduced myself a lot of ways that day," the Balladeer adds over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time on his way up. He shouldn't stay in this building anymore either, not after what he just went and did. That's alright; he can find another place for a few nights. Maybe not with any of his non-Riftie friends, though, until the face thing goes back to normal.

That invitation does make him wonder if Iman ever told Greta what she told everyone else that day. But that's not really his business, is it?

"I can grab you a few things from your apartment if you want." he offers, because he's not the one they imprisoned in the first place. ROMAC won't be happy, sure, but they won't know exactly what he did until they track down the guards he chased away, and it won't take him that long to pick up the essentials. He's not going to risk leaving his guitar behind forever! The instruments he's gotten since the Rift can be replaced, but he's always had that one.

Iman's offer startles her, not that it should. Of course she can't stay here; once they're through the doors, it wouldn't probably be safest if she never came back again. And to stay with Iman - that would be far better than constantly fretting about where she might be or what trouble she might be getting into. "Yes," she says, giving Iman's hand a squeeze. "I'd--I'd like that."

But this has been her home since she first arrived, and it's hard to imagine turning her back on it forever. There are things in her apartment she doesn't want to lose, despite their relative unimportance. As if reading her mind, the Balladeer makes his offer in turn, and she shoots him a grateful look. "Could you? There's my phone, and, er--a scarf, in the top drawer of my clothes cupboard. It's... from home," she adds, to excuse or explain its importance. It's not as if it's scarf weather.

Iman represses a sigh at Rush's ongoing cutthroat urgency - yeah, all right, they do really need to get out, but he also needs to calm down a little, the attitude isn't helping anything. She leaves him alone, though, figuring he's earned some leniency with what he's done today.

"If you're sure," she says to the Balladeer. "Contact me when you've got her things and I'll let you know where to meet me." She expects he'll understand that she doesn't want Greta going anywhere, nor does she want to broadcast her decently well-obfuscated whereabouts to even a trusted ally.

"Come on, we're almost out." She pulls Greta through another door into the last stairwell up to the lobby. "Best thing to do might be to scatter as soon as we're out," she says. "Don't know what it's like out there, even if their resources are stretched - Rush gets back to where he's staying, I'll take Greta, and you somewhere to lie low for a while." It's sort of intoned like a question, like she wants everyone's input on this, but she's also pretty much giving orders right now. As far as she can see it this is the best plan. She doesn't like the idea of parting ways with Rush but she won't leave Greta either, and Greta needs her more right now.

"Fucking excellent," Rush says crisply, passing a hand through his hair. Gabriel is unlikely to be deeply pleased with (a) his role in aggravating several of the fellow building residents, (b) his role in ROMAC's imminent and, ideally, permanent dissolution, or (c) the unfortunate matter of the dead person on the floor above whose death did not actually leave behind a verifiable body.

He is certain the archangel will not forcibly evict him.

He is reasonably certain the archangel will not forcibly evict him.

That would not be tremendously ideal, given the circumstances.

Rush halts once they are outside the building and briefly considers his appropriated sidearm, but does not discard it. He will not be traveling back to Hell's Kitchen while utterly defenseless. That would be absurd.

"Yes, well." He shoots each of them a short nod, his stare lingering on Asadi a shade longer than necessary to communicate something he is not altogether willing to define. "I imagine they'll have - rather significant trouble regrouping."

That is, perhaps, not the standard statement to communicate assurance and farewell, but he's confident Asadi will understand.

We Care for Your Safety

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