2012-10-31 Free In Time For Halloween

It's late, it's cold - it's a WEEKEND, so despite that people are out and about. And, since it's New York in a world where people have super-powers, THERE'S WEIRDNESS!
Bright lights in the big city - a loud, sizzling crackle of energy and a sound like tearing that can, to those who have heard it before, ONLY signify the opening of an extradimensional portal. It stands open for several moments before someone practically stumbles out of it as though shoved - followed by someone who is... pointing her finger at him as through it were a gun. Who is looking around VERY WARILY.
"This had BETTER be the right place this time, bucko," Alison Blaire, totally ill-dressed against the weather in what equates to a white and silver bikini-top with long sleeves, a micro mini skirt, and matching knee-high boots. Her hair is blown out like woah, and she's... wearing a tiny white veil. "YOU don't get to go home until /I/ get home, thank you VERY MUCH."
The man on the sidewalk in /front/ of the portal escapees, he's just sort of standing there with this extraordinarily put out look. "Not this bloody shit again," he mutters irritably, then pointedly finishes lighting his cigarette. "BLAIRE, you need a coat? It being colder than the proverbial witch's tit, and la." He's dressed better than before. A suit that actually cares about being a suit. A dark red tie, a waistcoat. And the nice big black greatcoat he's presumably referring to. "And who's the asshole?"
That... that is PROMISING. But Pete Wisdom offering her the use of a coat, while polite and awesome and, "I absolutely need a coat, I look fucking RIDICULOUS," AND he's dressed nicely? Red flags kinda go up right away. "Do I have a record contract with Stark Entertainment in this Universe? Is Colossus on the Justice League? Is Disco still calling itself something else so that it can pretend to still be dead?"
THESE ARE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS!
 
"Disco is Lady Gaga and shit lately, I think," Wisdom says around his cigarette, while shrugging out of his coat. His coat which has been being worn by the man who is a personal space heater. He points his own finger-gun at the douchebag, tip extended into a brilliantly glowing little point of heat. "I've got him covered, put that on, I can see your nipples. Yes, you've a record contract with Stark, yes, Colossus is on the Justice League, and yes, I'm a fucking Agent of fucking SHIELD. You been Crosstime?"
She doesn't even FLINCH at the mention of nipples. Putting the coat on RIGHT QUICK and /belting/ it, she breathes a sigh of relief. "Some interdimensional WAG nabbed me at deathray point and proposed like he thought THAT was going to go well," she says by way of explanation while she busily steps away from the portal. Gives a dismissive little wave at the guy she shoved out first, too. "He can go." Though she DOES point threateningly at him, "NEXT TIME: /ROMANCE./ GUNS ARE NOT OKAY!"
 
"I'd suggest next time run the other way, were I you, mate," Wisdom says cheerfully, 'holstering' his fingergun, glow disappearing. "Fuck off out that portal before I set fire to you. Kidnapping doesn't sit well with me." Then he tilts his head away from Alison, indicating 'let us be away from this place', cigarette back in mouth. He doesn't, of course, look any colder without the coat. "That where you've been? Who writes your lyrics?"
"/I/ do," Alison says with cranktastic aplomb, arms folded over her chest - eyeballing Pete through the tiny ridiculous veil that's really more like a fascinator than a proper hat. "The album's going through end-stage production, I'm supposed to go over and give it final approva... SHIT, what /day/ is it?" She gropes at the pockets for the coat for a moment before she remembers that it isn't HERS, and all her actual stuff is still at her Penthouse. Microminis don't HAVE pockets.
 
Pete takes out his phone -- god, his smartphone, so he can text Amanda Palmer or whatever -- and push-da-button, then squints. "It's beer o'clock on Day Off," he surmises. "Also, it's Halloween." A pause. "2012. Do you have an *editor*? For your lyrics. Because you're only reaching one market. You know, most people just go to France and run a marathon when they want to disappear from the pressures of celebrity life."
"I didn't ASK to be proposed to by a space maniac with a portable death-ray," Alison says sharply with a frown. "Fuck's sake, I certainly didn't intend to be gone for /three weeks./" Halloween, though... Halloween is promising. "God, no one's going to believe where I was. /AGAIN./" Mutter mutter mutter... considering look over her shoulder at Pete. NOT angry; intrigued. "You got something you want me to look at?"
 
"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Pete says mildly, reaching up, taking the cigarette out, tapping ash. "I'm just talking. I do that. Most of it doesn't mean anything. Especially if you obviously just came into cold-ass October wearing that and were threatening a miniature douchenozzle with your finger-raygun, I'm just fucking around." He takes another drag, then holds the smoke in his fingers, pluming blue into the air behind him in a big exhalation. "Mm? Not so much want you to look at as want you to consider as a possibility. I can never be a professional. But I might be able to help one. Once you're settled-- do you need me to call you a cab?-- once you're settled, ring me and I'll hand off what I've got. Meantime, tell the truth and dress the part and call it a halloween promo. Must be hundreds of parties you can drop in on and diva through."
"Sorry. Being kidnapped makes me cranky. I'm sure you understand." In theory, at least, if not in practice. "I appreciate the hand, all things considered. And I may go to a party and try and play it off, but I may also just go home and sleep off the most irritating 'adventure' I've put up with in a few years." Alison grins, then. "Cab sounds great. Do you have a card or something in this coat I can use to call you once I'm settled - I'm sure you'll want this sexy beast of a warming article back asap. And I /do/ want to see what you've worked on."
Fishing, fishing in suit jacket pocket, /like a boss/. Because good god Pete Wisdom is dressed like a boss, it /is/ a little unnerving, all things said and done. No wonder it made Ali dubious. And then there: he takes out two somewhat rough-cornered business cards out of his pocket, handing them over to Alison. PETE WISDOM, it says. MOBILE NUMBER, it has. PO BOX, it lists. The other one? It's his SHIELD business card and has more general contacty info through SHIELD, including an email address he undoubtedly never checks ever. "I live in Chelsea but the address is on -nothing-; I wouldn't want enemies to know where I sleep, and I wouldn't want friends to see it." Toothy grin.
"God, I had a boyfriend like you once," Alison playfully grouses upon receiving the cards and delightedly absorbing the associated story regarding the address. "Didn't clean up half as well, mind." Tapping the cards against her palm for a moment before slipping them into the coat pocket with a shake of her head, "You should call me that cab before I make a rash decision."
 
"--it'd be rash indeed. I don't want you to think I'm *actually* the scum in my sink," Wisdom says mildly, flicking the cigarette butt into the gutter, half-smirking. And then he's tapping a speed dial thinger he's set up for just this sort of circumstance. "Hullo. Yes. Cab at--" He pauses to squint at the cross street, repeats it. "Lady in a great-coat. Twenty tip on top of the fare because I haven't any idea where she's going. -- right, thanks." Phone pocketed, wallet taken out. He reaches to stuff a couple of bills in his coat pocket-- the coat Ali's in-- and gives her a sympathetic look. "I fucking hate it when I accidentally get weird in my breakfast fry-up, myself. You all right waiting here yourself? Back against the wall?"
"I don't walk around un-armed," Alison grins again, raising her finger. "I'll be all right, Pete. Thanks." The way she's dressed, she DOESN'T lean forward to kiss him even friendly like, especially when he puts money in the coat. People might get /really/ wrong ideas, instead of just sort of wrong-ish ones. "'Ppreciate it."
 
"Right, then. Be seeing you," laughs the Englishman, turning on his heel and waving sort of halfassedly in the process; he heads down the street and around the next block.
Nothing exploded and he didn't get kicked out of anything. This must be some form of experimental new form of interation for Mr. Wisdom-- OR! OH! NO! For Halloween! He's being 'polite'!
Maybe Dazzler didn't come home to the right dimension after all...
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
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