Closed RP Who's gonna drive you home (tonight)?

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B

Ban Bean

Member
Beatrice wanted to run once the shooting started. Her powers had been fuck all useless in preventing the gunfire, and the second the first round popped off, like many of those around her, she dropped to the ground and covered her ears. It was louder than she expected- she hadn't exactly grown up around firearms.

Bea waited a few moments, trying to take control of her thoughts. Any hallucination, any deer, and the situation could go from bad to worse. They needed help, but no one was getting anywhere- except maybe her. It was an unusual use of her power, but it was effective, and it would at least get to a place she could call the police. She turned herself invisible to those around her, and prayed no one would take notice of her sudden disappearance. With everyone distracted, she crouched behind the counter, until she was out of the line of fire, and ran for the door.

Once outside, Beatrice fumbled for her phone, with thankfully in her pocket, and dialed the police. It was simple enough, she simply pretending to be a bystander, who merely heard gunshots, and bad people walking into a bank. She hung up, and looked around, not entirely sure of what to do. Beatrice figured she'd wait somewhere safe until the cops showed. When she looked across the street, for a spot to wait, she saw it- the van. A greenish astro idling.

Beatrice was by no means a criminal, but she'd seen enough movies to know a getaway driver when she saw one. She thought of the people she abandoned in the bank, and felt an obligation to at least slash the tires so the theives couldn't get away. She wanted to help people, and even if she couldn't fight like the people in the bank, she could still do this.

Bea adjusted her sunglasses and turned invisible, crossing the street. One of the doors was already open. There was no weapon available to cut the tires, and she couldn't be seen- she carefully stepped inside the van, abandoning her reason in her desire to fix this- to make up for how she fucked up in the bank. She barely glanced at the driver, looking for a knife or tire iron- a gun? Anything really.
 
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Exotic instrumentation, with a particular fondness for the sitar and tabla, is common. Songs often have more disjunctive song structures, key and time signature changes, modal melodies and drones than contemporary pop music. Surreal, whimsical, esoterically or literary-inspired lyrics are often used.​

Psychedelia was used to waiting. He preferred it, actually. The van was quiet. The windows were rolled up. The slider was closed most of the way – just enough to not be suspicious, but it could be tugged open the second the rest of the Resonants came back. Their absence let him breathe for a second, close his eyes and put his head back against the seat. The vibration of the Astro’s engine ran through him, crawled up his arms and down his spine and across his legs in a steady and heavy rhythm.

Being alone in that stillness was always enough to calm him down. New places had different vibes, and they always left him way too aware of everything. The van, though? It was familiar. It was as home as they’d ever get. With all of them inside, it could be overwhelming at times – but a good kind of overwhelming. He cared about the people inside that building. Which was why he was trying to ignore the bad feeling he was getting about all of this.

It was also why he knew the person who stopped outside the van and eased the door open wasn’t one of them. He felt the hair on his arms stand on end through his heavy gray sweater. He made out the space they inhabited in his mind, seeing without his eyes. He could’ve just left them alone, but he was here to make sure everyone else had somewhere safe to fall back to.

“Hey, buddy, whatd’ya think you’re…” he started, turning around and opening his eyes.

He trailed off for a second when he realized he couldn’t see anyone back there.

He looked right at the spot where he knew there was a person. All the hallmarks were there, breathing, heartbeat, all the weird movements human insides had going on, body heat, and the way the fabric on her clothes rubbed up against itself. He could even make out the shape she was supposed to be. Heck, he could make out that the person was female. But she was invisible. Completely and totally.

There was a strange meta in the back of the van, and nobody else was here to help Psych out.

He pushed back against the anxiety that tried to claw its way up his throat. He could handle this. He had this handled. If the others could all fight vigilantes or whatever, he could handle one invisibility meta. He cleared his throat and looked right at where the person’s face should be. He thought fast, and reached for the inside of the door like there was a gun or something there. Maybe it’d make up for the lack of assertion in his soft, dull voice.

“Hey, bud – um, miss – whatever. You. Uh, what’re you doing? You’re not really supposed to… y’know… break into people’s cars?”
 
Beatrice stumbled back, startled at the voice. The voice wasn’t particularly threatening, but it scared her nonetheless. Mostly because of what he said.

He can see me

That had never happened before. Even as a child, playing hide and seek with her parents, she’d hid invisible until they begged her to come out.

As she stumbled back, she hit the wall of the van and her concentration broke, revealing to the driver a pale, dark haired girl with sunglasses and colorful clothes. She didn’t move, staring back at the driver.

He’s not supposed to be able to see me.

Regardless he had, and he was reaching for the inside of the door. A weapon maybe. Beatrice froze in place, worried he would shoot if she moved to fast. She raised her hands slightly, but couldn't help the question that fell from her lips, "You...You shouldn't be able to see me."/div]
 
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Exotic instrumentation, with a particular fondness for the sitar and tabla, is common. Songs often have more disjunctive song structures, key and time signature changes, modal melodies and drones than contemporary pop music. Surreal, whimsical, esoterically or literary-inspired lyrics are often used.​

They didn’t leave. She didn’t leave, judging by the voice. And her face, as she became visible again. Big sunglasses, butterfly clips. More neon than Pop’s pastels. He really wished she was here – she’d be able to take over the situation just fine, and wouldn’t be sitting there like a dumb idiot.

“Uh– r-right. And– you shouldn’t be in my van. So we’re, uh, both doing things we shouldn’t. Be… able to.” Except anybody could break into vans. He and Laura used to do it all the time. He took a deep breath, feeling her heartbeat pushing against him. Right.

She’s more scared of you than you are of her, she’s more scared of you than you are of her… because she thinks you have a gun.

He left his hand in the doorwell, and watched her with decreasingly nervous gray eyes. Right. He was the dangerous criminal here. Even if he wasn’t that dangerous and was really just guilty of aiding and abetting. Nobody needed to know that.

His voice was steadier when he added, “What are you doing in my van?”
 
Beatrice thought quickly and put on a worried voice, which was strangely easy given the situation. She was frightened, nervous. Unsure what to do. She didn't hide that in her voice when she spoke next, "I was in the bank...there was shooting- I ran and this was the closest place I found for cover..."

Beatrice swallowed hard, keeping her eyes on his hand in case he moved suddenly, "I didn't see you in here- I'll go. I already ca-" She bit her lip, swearing at herself. You're a fucking idiot Beatrice. She took a second, and continued. "I already got out. I'm sorry for disturbing you..."
 
Exotic instrumentation, with a particular fondness for the sitar and tabla, is common. Songs often have more disjunctive song structures, key and time signature changes, modal melodies and drones than contemporary pop music. Surreal, whimsical, esoterically or literary-inspired lyrics are often used.​

Through the haze of nerves, Psych understood where the cut off sentence was supposed to end. She’d already called the police. Which was the point, they were supposed to have a fight, but he’d been hearing guns and shooting and – there it was again, two shots. Before the cops even got here.

Nobody ran inside the nearest car. Nobody hid inside the nearest car. She knew – she had to know. He’d needed to be close, but he’d parked too close, and now everybody could be in trouble because of him. He needed to – he needed to make sure she stayed put. He left his hand where it was in the door, hand in the well, as if holding onto something. He looked right at her, and under his gaiter he forced a smile that wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I-it’s ok.” He swallowed to get the shake out of his voice. “It’s fine! Really. Maybe you…” More forceful, Coby. “You should stay here until the shooting’s over. It’ll be– it’ll be best for you. To stay put, I mean.”

That.. that was enough, right? Pretending to have a gun and saying vaguely threatening things. It worked in the movies. Like, it always worked in the movies. So it had to work sometimes in real life, even if the probable statistics didn’t reassure him at all. What was she going to do when she realized he didn’t actually have a gun? What if she told the cops what he looked like? What if – what if the others came back? Min wasn’t above killing people. Not if they were in the way. Was Psych just going to get her killed?

If she didn’t want to get hurt, she wouldn’t have climbed into the getaway vehicle.

Not that that helped his mental state at all, but it let him pretend a little bit harder, for just a little bit longer.
 
Beatrice wasn't stupid. She knew how to recognize the acrid undercurrent of a threat in someone's voice, no matter how shaky it might be. He didn't look particularly threatening, and far too young to be associated with such criminals...then again she was too young for her job so she couldn't exactly judge on that account.

He also had a gun.

Maybe he had a gun.

Beatrice, subconsciously or not kept her hands where he could see them. He could also see her when invisible. If he had a gun, she couldn't be protected if he decided to shoot her. Was he immune to all her illusions...that would be a first for sure. It almost was enough for Bea to test it, or ask out loud. Almost.

Beatrice nodded slowly, "You're right...it's for the best. But I also...told my boyfriend I was at the bank He'll be worried if he doesnt see me."
 
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Exotic instrumentation, with a particular fondness for the sitar and tabla, is common. Songs often have more disjunctive song structures, key and time signature changes, modal melodies and drones than contemporary pop music. Surreal, whimsical, esoterically or literary-inspired lyrics are often used.​

Psych blinked when she mentioned a boyfriend, pausing for a second. She’d told her boyfriend to come pick her up from a bank that was being robbed? That… well, if he wouldn’t make it until after the robber was over, that kind of helped. But… she’d gotten into the getaway van on purpose.

Now that he could think, Psych listened to what the air against his skin was telling him. Her heart was beating fast. Her breath felt tight, constricted, but she seemed to be forcing herself to keep it steady. That was familiar. Actually, he was doing the same thing right now. He considered stopping now that he’d noticed, but let it keep happening anyway. Better than going into “overstimulation mode” with a stranger.

He didn’t really want to look at her face, not with his eyes, but he didn’t really have a choice if he wanted to stay intimidating. The idea that Min wouldn’t like her, or that Techno would hit her first and ask questions after, were still bothering him. He really did just want to let her go, but – he was supposed to be their anonymous member, a scout, a driver, somebody nobody else would recognize. He had to keep her here until somebody who was way better at making decisions under pressure showed up. Which should be any minute.

Right?

“You can, uh–” force, he had to be forceful “– sorry, but I don’t believe you. Now that you’ve gotten in, I can’t let you go anywhere until Min gets back.”

Was that too honest? That was probably too honest. He really hoped she was convinced he had a gun in that doorwell, because otherwise, he was all out of options.

Come on, guys, what’s taking so long?
 
Beatrice took note of the name, filing it away in her brain for later use. Even if nothing else, she could tip off the police. At least that was something to go off of if she made it out of here alive.

Min.

"Ok...I'm not going anywhere."

Beatrice was still in a state of thinking both incredibly quickly, all while trying to reign in her panic and thoughts so she didn't create more illusions. Bad enough this criminal already knew she could turn invisible. That part still bugged her actually. He could see through her hallucinations- the first person she had met who could. In any other situation, Beatrice might have lowered her defenses and asked how his own abilities worked. Maybe he was the answer to her own powers.

He has a gun Beatrice. Now is not the time.

Beatrice carefully adjusted herself, twisting her torso to face him better, while keeping her hands visible. As she stretchde herself into a beetter position she caught a better glimpse of his hands, and froze, and then met his eyes. He didn't have a gun.

On instinct, before he could stop her, Beatrice made for the open door and too freedom.

- Right into a large tattoos woman carrying a bloody corpse who threw her shoulder right into Beatrices torso, sending her flying back into the van.
 
Techno tracks mainly progress over manipulation of timbral characteristics of synthesizer presets and, unlike forms of EDM that tend to be produced with synthesizer keyboards, techno does not always strictly adhere to the harmonic practice of Western music and such structures are often ignored in favor of timbral manipulation alone.​

It wasn’t very often Techno could say a day had been enough for her. Sure, she’d had days when she’d had a lot more fighting than this one. Today had actually been pretty light on her. Which sucked, because it hadn’t been as nice to her husband.

Symphony was conscious, but his mouth was bloody, his eyes were closed, and purple bruises were sprouting across his face. He wasn’t made for that kind of fighting. On top of that, he was cool to the touch when Techno wiped the blood away from his mouth as she carried him to the van. No police yet – they were taking a long fucking time, maybe she’d fucked up the silent alarms too early, but she couldn’t care. Right now all she could care about was the fact that she’d been across the bank while Symph got wailed on.

She knew he’d have a better plan, next time. As long as there was –

She refused to think about that. She held him tight in her arms, draped bridal style, as Pop flipped ahead to get to the other side of the van. When the right-side slider was pulled open, Techno was already moving to put herself and Symphony inside.

Something hit her hard in her forward shoulder. Instinctively, she turned into it, shoving whoever-it-was back. If it was Psychedelia, well, the kid should fuckin’ know better, shouldn’t he?

“Hey don’t–!”

She glared in his direction, and then realized that he was… still in the driver’s seat. She slid into the middle row of the Astro, and only when she actually looked at the person she’d it did she realize it… wasn’t someone she knew. Black hair, gray eyes, fuckin’ butterfly clips. As Pop slipped in and slammed the slider shut behind her, Techno held Symph just a little closer, purple eyes narrowing, her Jersey accent thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Who the fuck’s this, Psych?”
 
Beatrice landed hard against the far window with a thud and a dull ache in her get where the woman had got her. She gathered her bearings, only to find the woman and corpse- scratch that, man. He was still breathing although he looked in terrible shape. She remembered the audacious clothing, hair and tattoos of the woman, and the ordinary looking man from inside the bank, as well as the blonde girl getting in the backseat. They were all criminals, and if the gunshots had been any indicator- murderers.

Bea shrunk in her seat as the woman sat next to her, blocking her exit to the right, flinching in fear as the woman snapped at the driver in a horrible Jersey accent. Of course her presence wouldn't be welcome here.

Of course they're from Jersey.

She had to get out of the van quickly, especially before they started driving. While the woman was arguing with the driver, and the man in no shape to stop her, Beatrice turned herself invisible and moved for the next best option- the passenger door.
 
For many Japanese, min’yō evokes, or is said to evoke, a nostalgia for real or imagined home towns and family.​

Min sailed cleanly over the van, having gotten a solid head start straight from the doors. She didn’t want their enemies – new and old – to get the wrong idea from her fleeing the scene with that much urgency; but her people were waiting on her, and she couldn’t keep them until the police arrived for her own pride.

As her feet met the concrete, however, the door swung open from the inside. Her black eyes narrowed at the empty space, very well aware of the shifting air currents. In a moment, she’d pinpointed where each exhalation was coming from. Without so much as a second thought she flicked her wrist. The air around her moved all at once to shove the girl back inside – and some of it would go through her mouth into her lungs, and stay put there, held against her will.

“You stay,” she snapped, pulling herself into the van and sliding her staff at an angle under the back seats. Techno instinctively put her foot over it as she got Symphony settled beside her, now between Techno and the stranger.

More calmly, Min spoke to her driver, without looking at him. “Psychedelia. Take us home.”
 
Beatrice lunged invisible for the passenger door, moving in the space between the two front seats and the driver with long hair. For the second time that day she was so close to freedom and safety. She opened the door, cautiously hopeful despite her panic.

She came face to face with a small Asian woman, who without hesitation, flicked her wrist. The air itself seemed to envelope Beatrice, forcefully slamming her back into the seat. It was undignifying anf humiliated being manhandled twice in such a way. She probably looked a mess- her hair coming undone. But that was the least of Beatrice's worries.

She couldn't breathe.

The invisibility dropped, revealing her once more to the group of thieves as she collapsed into the seat between the window and the horribly injured man, gasping for air. She was capable of holding her breath for a few seconds, but the inability to draw in breath or move her lungs, paralyzed her in a primal panic. It felt as though they had been replaced by balloons. Instinctively Bea grabbed for her throat, bug-eyed with desperate pleading. Whatever this was, it was a metas doing and they had no reason to release her. She had seen their faces.

Beatrice coughed horribly and regained control of her breathing once the Asian woman, the likely aggressor, released her and let her breathe again. Her sharp warning was fresh in Bea's mind.

She obeyed the order to sit still, pressing herself closely against the van window, rubbing her throat and silently wishing they would let her leave.

Psychedelia, the woman had called him, began to drive away.
 
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