2014.05.10 - Jambolia, Jambalaya, Blade Runner, Jet Boy Didn't

It's getting late, and the harbor is quiet except for one freighter being unloaded, the stevedores working busily. Watching them intently from the roof of a warehouse is a man who is not, well, *dressed* like a vigilante. Black off-the-rack suit, white T-shirt, no shoes. Looks like a bum hiding on the roof, if he wasn't so alert, dark eyes taking in the scene with a controlled intensity that speaks of training - or at least of experience.
Croyd yawns and stretches. He's dressed like a bum who has new clothes. And covered in hair. He could be invisible but hardly cares. He is in an alley going through a dumpster looking for fish. Turns out this body can eat almost anything and like it, so he's going to enjoy himself and have seventh lunch.
Hrm. Hrm. "These are not the crates you are looking for," Jack informs himself, before finally shifting his attention. A seven foot tall monster. With grey hair. That's intriguing, and he reaches out to both his own memory and the city's to see if he knows this person. Which, well, that WOULD be a once seen, never forgotten.
The city? Yeah, Croyd's pretty cool. He has a good heart but he's...kind of a human rat/pigeon, surviving. You never know Croyd based on the way he looks and its a random roll of the dice every time he wakes up what he will have power wise or look like....and to be avoided when in the final stages of his cycle and amped up on speed, but he's fine now.
The tune of Sweet Home Alabama plays from the dumpster as he eats one fish carcass after another. He smells something cooking though and eyes around the corner. Jambalaya...nice!
Quietly, he drops from the roof, bouncing off the wall opposite, springing from the dumpster to land next to the "diving" monster. "Hello," he greets. Raiding dumpsters? Jack would probably do it if he still needed to worry about such things.
"Hey, name's Croyd man. Nice ta meet ya." He waves relaxingly.
Croyd was totally gonna turn invisible and swipe that plate, but weird bouncy dude works just as well. He turns around and looks. No screaming or hitting. Cool. "Hey, name's Croyd man. Nice ta meet ya." He waves relaxedly.
Jack Hawksmoor glances around the corner. "Hunting jambalaya?" he asks, quite casual. Nope. No screaming, no hitting...why would he?
Croyd says, "er...well, yeah. I mean, things hard enough with my lifestyle, looking like this...not so much for the food if you can spend money. I mean, I don't wanna panic the folkie. Heard that story about the big cockroach that got pounded."
"You got money or not?" He doesn't sound like he judges Croyd if he doesn't. Money, after all, is hard to get when you look like that.
Croyd says, “You say, "well..." he pulls out a plastic shopping bag with a wad of hundreds, and randomly grabbed coins. "I kinda do." He doesn't like spending his money because folks might need it, but honest is better. Sure it is. He hands Jack a hundred."
"Hrm. I walk into there with this and they'll be wondering who I robbed." A wad of hundreds? He doesn't ask. The city doesn't seem to dislike this guy. It probably...fell off the back of an armored car.
It did! It totally did. He didn't even use the telekinesis to help. Though he does engage in petty thievery, but only enough to help his family and to survive. Or eat. "I appreciate it man. Loads."
Jack Hawksmoor laughs. "I'll take care of it." People have this odd tendency to trust him at times. Especially cops and the like. He vanishes around the corner.
The life of the city. Various people. A bum in an alleyway. Another man...not wearing shoes...trying to convince a nearby greasy spoon to break a hundred. He's actually doing a better job than you might expect, given the circumstances. Jack's...pretty good at this kind of thing.
Croyd says, "nah. He's just some kid who flew a jet in an old war and couldn't blow up a blimp that killed a lot of people. Nice guy. Had a statue and everything before it got blown up. Are you like....er....nice you meet you, I'm Croyd."
Jack Hawksmoor finally comes wandering back out with a to-do container full of jambalaya. With a nod to the strange woman, he hands it...and the rest of the cash...to Croyd. "Mission accomplished."
Ursa looks puzzled by Croyd's reply, not having expected to hear something like that. "So he's a failure?" Ursa asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she stares at Croyd, "I have already met myself. A long time ago in fact." Seeing Jack reported to Croyd and only handing over what seems like a container of food from a brief look through, Ursa smirks, "you delegate food acquisition?"
Croyd is used to dealing with all kinds so he kinda gets it. "Nah. See the norms they kinda freak out by seeing folks not like em, so Jack was doing me a favor by getting me some food. 'Don't freak the mundanes' is my rule. Jetboy? Yeah, he kinda was. But people like their tragedies." 
He grins at Jack, "Thanks man. I'd hang you a banner but I ain't got one. I owe you a solid though."
Ursa nods at Croyd's explanation, and then turns to look over at Jack, "so you choose to fetch him a meal, as an act of servitude?"
Jack Hawksmoor shakes his head. "Hell no. An act of kindness. I occasionally feel the urge." He leans against the wall, regarding the woman with curiosity. There's something a wee bit off about her.
Ricardo comes by walking down along the harborline. The hotdog in his hands makes a rather strange contrast with his charcoal grey the Armani suit, patent leather shoes, and, of all things, a fedora.
Ursa's attention turns to Ricardo as he approaches, another person who is eating food on the go, although he looks different. Without a word, she leaves Croyd and Jack and walks right up to Ricardo, moving surprisingly fast, as instead of a greeting she reaches to take his fedora hat right from over his head. If he doesn't respond in time and she manages to take it, she'll take a moment to examine this head wear.
Jack Hawksmoor glances at Croyd. "Be careful." He got one impression from the City and only one. Volatile. This woman is unpredictable and dangerous and...likely to be about to beat a guy up for his hat. Jack's stance shifts. He's not doing anything...yet...but he's definitely ready.
Ricardo twitches a bit as he suddenly has a woman in front of him but doesn't actually try to stop her from taking his hat. Instead he just looks her over, ending up at her face and gives her a charming smile, "Well, hello to you too. If you really like it there's this charming little shop in SoHo that sells these and a lot more." After his little greeting he takes another bite from his hot dog and slowly chews it, all the while gazing curiously at Ursa.
Ursa continues to study the hat while Ricardo speaks to her, and eventually she mimics the way he was wearing it by putting it on her head, turning to look at him for the first time. At least as actually paying attention to him goes, "is this what you do with that thing? I feel nothing. Does it have a purpose?"
Jack Hawksmoor relaxes slightly as Ricardo handles it, but does stride over towards the two, slowly, a casual approach clearly designed to make him not appear to be a threat.
Ricardo frowns slightly then reaches his free hand up and, if allowed, move the hat so that its now at a jaunty little angle on Ursa's head, "That's better. And yes, that's how you use it. Its a hat, after all. It has two purposes really, keeping the rain and sun out of your eyes and make some of us look damn good." He takes a step back, chewing on the last bite of his hotdog, then says, "And you can pull it off, my dear. But the rest of the outfit really doesn't go with it. Too... Bladerunner."
Ursa lets Ricardo reach for the hat, and as he merely fixes the angle, her eyes avert upwards as if it would somehow give her a better impression. Eventually she takes Ricardo's word for it, "in that case, you may keep it," she takes the hat and puts it back on Ricardo's head. Seems like she's not about to change her outfit just to look good with the hat, which still feels mostly weird to her, but she had to try it. "Is it common to wear hats around here?" It's only with a slight delay that she finally asks, "what does too Bladerunner mean? Is it an insult?"
"It's a movie," Jack Hawksmoor supplies as he sort of forms a triangle. Still a little tense. This is definitely a woman to be very, very careful with. But he's not doing anything that might be mistaken for a threat.
Ricardo laughs easily and shakes his head before adjusting the hat back to its proper angle, "Insult? I guess it depends on wether you like the 'haute couture' in Bladerunner. Was it meant as an insult? No, just a statement of fact." Seeing a trash can about 20 feet away he tossed the leftover paper tray from the hotdog, hitting the shot only slightly off perfect then adds as an afterthought, "And no, not a lot of people around here wear hats of this style. Caps, yes, but I don't count those." Then he turns to Jack and gives him a slight nod. "And a nice day to you too. The name's Ricardo. Nice to meet you both.
Croyd says, "it's a most excellent movie..." he says, looking up from having wolfed down the plate of Jambalaya. "You should totally see it. It's like about these androids who think they're human, but aren't and get hunted down because humans find them creepy. Shows the norms as norms man."
"My likeness has been displayed in a movie?" Ursa seems amused, if somewhat surprised by that fact, as Jack provides an explanation. "I did not know I was also famous on the Earth," nevermind that she's a fair bit more infamous than famous on Krypton, or at least was while it still existed.
It looks as if she's about to say something more when Ricardo and Croyd add their own input, but all of a sudden she tenses, and then mutters, "you shall tell me more of this Bladerunner another time, farewell," and just like that she zooms into the sky as if she was never there.
"Watch out for her," Jack says as soon as Ursa's out of range. "She's volatile and unpredictable." He definitely visibly relaxes once she's, well, GONE.
Ricardo watches Ursa fly off then turns around so that he's leaning with his back against the railing that keeps people from randomly walking off the sidewalk and into the ocean, "Well, there's definitely something about her." Then he smiles at Croyd, "Nice to meet a fellow fan of classic science fiction cinema. So, what was she up to when she decided that my fedora was so interesting?"
Croyd says, "she was mainly asking if getting me food cause I'd freak out the mundanes was some kinda initiation into like...a warrior caste or something. Jack explained it was just him bein' cool." Croyd's already getting hungry again. His stomach growls but these dudes are cool so he hangs a bit more. "Fedoras rock man. I've worn a few. Hell, I was like...a fedora once. It was totally weird. There was this blue bonnet that like...loved me or something. I still don't know if that one was a dream man. Name's Croyd dude."
Sounds more like an acid trip, Jack thinks but doesn't say. "Jack Hawksmoor," he introduces, glancing between the two. And hey, he knew what Bladerunner *was* at least, which is more than most people these days.
Ricardo offers both men another small nod before focusing on Jack, "Doesn't sound like she was being all that threatening... Why do you think she's one to watch?"
Croyd says, "She seems nice enough for someone two fruitloops short of a cereal bowl. I mean, she was like an alien and not dumb, just not tuned in to the vibe of earth. I can understand that, I feel myself drifting away from it all sometimes too...and I'm most definitely not all there."
"Just...some of the things she's done haven't made sense. Not just by human logic, but by any kind of sane "this species has a technological civilization" logic. So, I think she IS two fruitloops short." Not just an alien. Nothing wrong with aliens.
Ricardo looks from Jack to Croyd and back a few times then chuckles. "Well, Mr. Croyd, someone walking in on this conversation a few second ago might think the same thing about us. What with talk about being a fedora and blue bonnets being in love, etc. But she might indeed have a bit of a mental issue. At the very least some impulse control problem. So you know something of her history, Mr. Hawksmoor?"
Croyd nods and high fives (if returned) Mr. Hawksmoor and says, "Hey Captain Jambalaya, I don't forget faves. I owe you a solid and I mean that. You ever hear someone say, 'Poppinfresh Poppinjay' you know its me. I get around, and I kinda get you can follow stuff or something. 's All cool. And good point slick," he smiles at the young pick pocket, "Nice meeting you too..." 
His stomach growls louder, "I gotta go. Later guys." And like that he's invisible. Probably still visible to the city but certainly not to the naked eye. He begins whistling with musical accompaniment, "No Water at the Water Fountain..." and fades into the night.
"I know...glimpses," the man admits. "And that doesn't sound like mental illness to me." He shrugs at Croyd. "Sounds like a bit too much acid." He's not one to judge adults who choose to use drugs; but sell them to kids in Jack's presence and he'll probably drop a wall on you.
Ricardo waves slightly at Croyd as he walks off and turns his attention back to Jack, "You know, sometimes I feel like everyone in this city is special in some way. Glimpses, huh? I hope the question isn't too forward but; are you a telepath?" He keeps his voice pitched low enough that the only way of hearing him would be to be standing right next to them, keeping random walker-bys from overhearing the conversation.
Jack Hawksmoor shakes his head. "Nope. Your innermost thoughts are perfectly safe." He's not going to deny being a meta, of course. "And nah. We just, you know, stand out so it seems there's more of us." He spreads a hand to indicate the area. "Sore thumbs. All the ordinary people, whispering to each other, carrying on with their lives, trying to be oblivious to the crap."
Ricardo laughs a bit at this and nods, "I guess that is true. Although there are some that are sorer that others. You seemed ready to protect me there when Ms. Strange took my hat. Should I guess by that that you're one of the 'good guys'?"
"I try." He shrugs, leaning against the wall. "Wasn't sure whether she was going to steal your hat, beat you up, or just say hi." Little from column A, bit from column C, there.
Ricardo shrugs, "a hat is not a reason to get into a fight. But I do thank you for the sentiment, especially since getting beat up would have been a good reason for getting into a fight. So what do you do, Mr. Hawksmoor? Myself, I'm a procurer of rare items."
"Well, if she'd just flown off with the hat, I probably wouldn't have been able to stop her." He considers that. "Find lost things."
 
Ricardo thinks about this for a moment then grins. "So a detective then. Every read the Nightside book by Simon Green? That's how his main character introduces himself."
Jack Hawksmoor laughs. "Detective sometimes, vigilante other times, general pain in the butt much of the time. But no, haven't read it."
Ricardo smiles as he stuffs his hands in his suit jacket's pockets, "You should read them. You really do sound like John Taylor, P.I., could have been modeled after you."
"I'll remember that...but I have to go." He flickers a grin...then turns and runs up the wall. Kind of like how Spider-Man does it, but with slightly different body language. Jack, it seems, cheats big time.
Category:Log