[log] Decoherence [open]

[snowblindmods]

Characters: anyone
Location: In Norfinbury, and yet not.
Date: At all times, and yet not.
Summary: What you remember isn't what happened, probably. A place to play out situations that happened in the test drives or elsewhere. Things that happened and didn't happen.
Warnings: general horror warnings; please include more specific warnings in subject lines as necessary!

Comments

[devoutish]

A precaution only. Now, the bag.

[He gestures to the table sharply, with the hand not holding the knife.]

Go on, that's it.

[thewarningafter]

O...kay....

[Still just a bumbling, confused ex-wizard over here with no idea what this is about, bro. The memory of the last time he was mugged comes to mind, of fighting back...and getting his ass handed to him. He hadn't been trained to fight back then, though, and he'd been outnumbered. Of course, he is unarmed -- despite the dangers, Stephen doesn't make a habit of carrying weapons.

He shifts forward only enough to put the bag on the table, then takes those steps back. Most of the Vicodin isn't in the bag anyway; there's enough left in the bottle to serve as decoy but the rest has been wrapped up in the plastic wrapper from a sterile syringe and tucked into one of his pockets.

As he steps back, Stephen brushes a hand over the nearest folds of the cloak on his back, a gesture meant to keep the relic calm. So far, it's doing a pretty good impression of an inanimate object on its own, though.]

You make a habit of this?

[devoutish]

I think you know that you're not a random target, mate.

[Which... doesn't really answer the question, but. He does make a habit of it, honestly, but only with certain targets.

Alfie's used to keeping a sharp eye out for signs of concealed weapons, and so he notices that move from Stephen immediately - and misinterprets it. He grunts.]

What've you got back there? Turn around. Hands on the back of your head.

[thewarningafter]

[Oh. Well, now they're doing this. Question is, does Stephen try to warn him off, or does he just let it happen? The Cloak can hold its own in a fight, frankly better than Stephen can.

He settles on both, but only in the most half-assed way. If the Cloak can keep Alfie at bay he can grab the bag and get out of here, shut himself in another room. He'll just have to figure the next part out when he gets there.]

You really don't want to do this.

[He turns, though, complying. His hands aren't still where he's put them, but it's the involuntary tremble of old injury that's clearly visible in the scars that line the backs of them. The Cloak hangs heavy on his shoulders, but still simply hangs, waiting.]

[devoutish]

[Alfie goes to move it aside carefully - aiming to check for weapons (or Vicodin), and if he sees nothing, let it drop.]

[thewarningafter]

[And that's the last straw for the Cloak. It whips up to try to wrap around his arm and yank him to the side, letting go of Stephen's shoulders in the process. There's barely a split second delay as Stephen spins off in the other direction, grabbing for the bag on the table, intending to bolt with it.]

[devoutish]

[Alfie lets out a shout of surprise, momentarily distracted. He makes a lunge for Stephen right after, of course, but Stephen will have a couple of seconds' head start.]

Strange--!

[thewarningafter]

[He's a good runner, is the thing. The Cloak, having let go of Alfie, goes whipping past him on its way to rejoin Stephen as he clears the door and --

And realizes one of the shortcomings of this plan, namely that it's nearly time for lockdown and the Vicodin isn't worth death by hypothermia. He turns the corner into the living room and darts for the stairs. Locking himself in somewhere just gets him trapped, but maybe he can lure Alfie into one of the bedrooms up there, slip back out, and shut him in for the night.]

[devoutish]

[Alfie follows, steadily but much more slowly, lumbering after him with the knife still in hand.]

[thewarningafter]

[Just pretend to panic; that's not difficult. Stephen speeds up the stairs, footsteps loud in the otherwise empty house. If he can get far enough ahead to get out of sight he'll open and then slam the first door he comes to without entering the room, then dart into a different doorway as quietly as he can and tuck himself around a corner without shutting the door.]

[devoutish]

Strange!

[Alfie tears up the stairs after him - far enough away that Stephen will likely be able to get out of sight, but close enough that it probably won't be for longer than a second or two.]

[thewarningafter]

[ He takes the gamble, thinking he's far enough ahead to get away with it. He's fast, just cracking the first door open to slam it again as he runs by, but he's not going to be quite fast enough to get into the second room unseen in that second or two before Alfie turns the corner. Stephen's got the bag clutched to his chest as he waits inside the doorway, hoping to hear Alfie go into the other room -- and ready to hit him with the backpack if he comes in after Stephen instead. ]

[devoutish]

[No such luck for Stephen. Alfie doesn't get the motive behind the slammed door - he doesn't have time to think about it, and if he did, he'd probably assume Stephen had glanced in and, for whatever reason, deemed it an unsuitable hiding place. He keeps going forward, heading straight for him.]

You do realize, right, that a good portion of what you're carrying belongs to me.

[thewarningafter]

[Well, crap. Fine. Stephen raises his voice to call back.]

We're not talking about trade goods.

[Stephen tucks himself into that corner beside the door -- the idea now is to rush Alfie when he comes into the room, try to knock him off balance long enough for Stephen to run back out the door and close it on him. He'll be more or less shoving the bag in Alfie's face as he does that without letting go of it, keeping it between himself and that knife.]

[devoutish]

That's right, yeah, we're talking about the Vicodin I stole back from House. The Vicodin you've got on you, m--

[When the bag is shoved into Alfie, he immediately grabs onto it and pulls.]

[thewarningafter]

[This plan has gone to shit at every possible stage. Stephen is holding onto the bag as tight as he can, already trying to yank it back, but his hands are weak and he isn't expecting that much resistance. He gets pulled forward, off balance, losing his grip on the bag.]

[devoutish]

[Alfie tucks the bag under and arm and aims a hard kick at Stephen for good measure, hoping to get him down and keep him there.]

[thewarningafter]

[And down he goes. Fortunately for Alfie, Stephen lands on top of his cloak, preemptively curling in on himself like he expects to be kicked again while he's down.]

[devoutish]

[Alfie aims another kick at him, in the jaw - not hard enough to seriously injure, but he's hoping to disorient him a bit more.]

Right, then; you just stay down there for a bit.

[thewarningafter]

[He'd made the mistake of moving to protect his gut, the memory of the beating he took in that alley coming to him again, and he hardly gets a hand up before Alfie's shoe connects with his face -- and, worse, the hand he'd instinctively brought up to protect himself. He lets out a cry of pain followed quickly by an expletive, but he doesn't move to get up. His breath comes hissing between his teeth, half from pain and half from frustration at his situation as he starts mentally recalculating his priorities. Suffering he can handle. A more direct fight he can maybe handle. Is it really worth getting shanked over a bottle of Vicodin, though? He's beginning to have his doubts.]

[devoutish]

[Alfie grunts, pleased, and stands over him, positioning himself down by his feet.]

Empty your pockets. You can do that without getting up.

[thewarningafter]

Ah...

[Stephen grimaces. He's going to regret this.]

No thanks.

[devoutish]

I haven't got all fucking day, Strange, you understand? You'll get until the count of five.

[thewarningafter]

I mean, you kind of do. I don't know about you, but I'm not leaving a house this close to lockdown. This is it for tonight, you and me.

[Though his words are deceptively coherent, Stephen's voice is tight with pain as he clutches the hand Alfie kicked with the one he didn't.]

The Vicodin's in my bag anyway.

[devoutish]

I've got other things to do with my time. And if you've got the Vicodin in your bag, well, that's fine; I'm sure you won't mind turning out your pockets to prove that to me.

[He gestures impatiently at Stephen.]

Go on with it, then.