Another car alarm went off. How many had that made this hour? The city was a mad house. Smart money had been spent on holing up in a home. Even if thresholds didn't actually exist, it kept most of the common thugs out. And the looters didn't even consider it. There was enough to keep them busy in shop windows, which were easily broken by bricks.

The Golden Bee had been closed during the riots. It was the second day. A trip to the mall had happened on the first. She'd gotten some sense in her. School had been cancelled... or at least, she assumed it had been. If it marked her record, so be it. She was sure it was a better fate than getting caught in a riot.

News coverage was a near-constant. This was big. People, fighting among themselves. Humans, mutants. It was all so stupid. And over Maxine. And whatever bad blood had been there, before. She hadn't been able to hold the broadcast against the redhead, despite her dislike of the woman. The woman had been beaten. Apparently, beaten by police. At times, Amelia felt like Maxine deserved something, because of who she was, what she was, and what she'd done. She was a coward, a flirt, a journalist, a troublemaker, and a boyfriend thief... and she hadn't even had the good grace to steal said boyfriend, and give Amelia a reason to really tear into her. But, Maxine had been beaten... and honestly, nobody deserved that. She hadn't been bitter enough to wish that upon the woman, and was glad she still felt better than that. The worst she'd wish would be acne... bad hair days, ill-fitting jeans, and cavities. See? Better.

This had to be what people meant about living in an ivory tower. If he didn't turn on the TV, Jameson could almost forget about what was going on outside...almost. There were police lights and sirens flashing in reflection off of the buildings that surrounded his apartment, and if he looked down and squinted hard enough, he could see what was happening in the streets.

His feelings about the reporter were mixed...the woman had always rubbed him the wrong way with her reports, but she'd looked so severely beaten on the TV screen it made some testosterone-driven surge of protectiveness swell inside of him. It was hard to imagine what it would be like for someone who actually liked the redhead.

Curiosity had won out at some point in the last 48 hours, and he'd phased down to see the action. For some reason he'd thought it would be exciting...and he'd been so wrong. All of his life he had thought of the police as the good guys. They were who you looked for if you were lost, someone with a badge had always meant safety and security. He was grown now...but the thought that maybe they weren't the bastion of moral compass that he'd thought they were shook him on a fundamental level. Needless to say, after that point he'd stayed where was in his ivory tower, reading superhero comics and trying to avoid his parents.

Finally, he couldn't take it any longer, he snatched his phone from its eerily silent position on his nightstand and held the button that initiated the speed dial for Ami's number.

The ringing had startled her and made her jump. She hadn't been expecting it. Her eyes had been glued to the pages of a book. She'd had enough of the news coverage to last her. Hurrying to slip a book mark in, and push the book with the trenchcoat-wearing badass aside, onto her night stand, she rushed for her cellphone, snatched it up off the bedside table and answered the call.

"WAXQ plays all the hits, all the time. What type of song do you want to request?" She smirked.

This wasn't actually a Classic Rock station, though. This was her house.

It was a good thing that Jameson had called Ami before, and knew the kind of antics she got up to when she was bored. He took the faux greeting in stride.
"Yo yo yo- I was hopin' that you could drop some sick beats. I just picked up a new iPod, stereo, TV, and speakers, and I wanted to see if it all works. There was a door buster special..."

He paused and waited for reaction, then decided maybe the joke had been a little off-color.

"Too soon?"

"Do you have a request for a song, bro? We're only taking requests," Amelia called his bluff.

His joke might've been too-soon, but hell if she was going to ruin a good bit of conversation. With the amount of swag Jameson had, she highly doubted he'd need to steal a thing.

"Fine. Lumineers, Flowers in Her Hair." Jameson said with a smirk into the phone. It was probably the exact kind of music that Ami would have queued up anyway, but it was still nice to make a suggestion. He'd had far too little human interaction the last few days. Sure, he was there with his parents, but they didn't count. They were far too grateful that they locked in safe-and-sound above ground.

Sighing into the phone slightly, Jameson decided that was enough joking. Part of him hoped that Ami would put the song on in the background though...he really wanted to hear it now. "How are things holding up over there?" he asked, more serious now.

That song was actually not on her playlist. Do You Hear the People Sing from Les Miserables, however, was. So that started playing in the background. Somehow, she did not find a song about angry men and blood to be in poor taste at that current moment in time.

"The restaurant is closed. My brother's still working, but not so much at the court house. Protesters. Lots of people still need lawyers, though. I'm fine. I'm just sitting here, reading a book about Harry Potter fused with Philip Marlowe. You?"

She leaned back on her bed, stretching, hand going up to rub the base of her neck, underneath her ponytail. Sitting around all day was kind of tiring when one was used to getting outside for walks.

Harry Potter and Christopher Marlowe? It sounded interesting, but Jameson couldn't bring himself to ask for more details. Ennui driven lethargy was too intense at the moment.

Ami mentioned that her brother was still working, and Jameson's eyebrows rose. "Man, I don't envy your brother. Trying to get in and out of public buildings right now has to be a nightmare. I'm on strict orders not to leave the house."

It was tough being a teenager.

"I'm about to lose my mind from boredom though, and both my parents have been home for the last two days. I mean, they're really good at making sure they're around most days...but two entire days together from morning to night...you've met my mother. It's starting to make me a little crazy."

Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, and Jameson glanced towards his window.

"How long do you think this is going to go on?"

She fully understood him. Being locked away with parents. It was a pain. Nothing to do, reading all your books. Catching up on homework only got one so far. And none of her video games appealed to her.

"I hear ya," she chimed in where appropriate. "Sucks." "I'm getting stir-crazy, too."

"I hope not too long... do you think the National Guard will get called in? When this sort of thing happened elsewhere, didn't they ultimately have to do something like that? ... Man. I sort of wish I could get out there and help... but that would be asking for trouble. And what am I? An X-man?"

She very nearly had been an X-man, but Jameson didn't know that. At that moment, she was quite glad to not be one. They had their hands full. She didn't begrudge them that.

National Guard? Getting out and helping? Jameson didn't think that either of those things sounded like a good idea, but the police definitely weren't going to be able to do everything. How could you mediate a situation when you were the cause of the problem?

"I don't know...I honestly hadn't thought about it that much, but I really hope they don't start running tanks down Broadway." The thought was honestly terrifying, but they weren't to that point yet, were they? Surely not, if people like Ami's brother were still working.

"I really hope they don't extend the school year because of this...I want my diploma."

"Yeah," Amelia agreed. "I've worked too hard to--" A sound of pots and pans crashing downstairs cut her off. She blinked, then glanced towards the door to her room. "Hold on a second, Jameson."

Rising, she moved from her bed to the door, and opened it a crack. She glanced down the hall. Then, opened the door some more and walked through it.

"Heard something downstairs. Maybe someone's home, and dropped some pans. But I thought they were out at the moment... braving everything for groceries."

For some reason, Jameson frowned when Ami pointed out that she was hearing noises from the kitchen. Her house wasn't nearly as secure as his was, and even if something was going wrong, there wasn't much he was going to be able to do from his current position.

"Maybe you should wait until they call to you Ami...I don't know if you should go walking down there..."

The sudden thought occurred to the teen that maybe he should have invited Ami and her family over to wait the riots out. They had plenty of room in their apartment after all...he would do that, he just had to figure out how to broach the subject without being incredibly awkward.

"Ami? Is it your parents?"

Down the steps she went, to the lower part of the building. The stair well terminated by the kitchen. She paused, peering around the corner, took a step back up the steps, another step, brought the phone to her ear. In the background, pots and pans clattered again like thunder.

"Jameson, I'll call you back."

The call cut. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Oh…she’d call him back.

The pots and pans had definitely still been banging in the background when Ami hung up the phone, and the damn girl hadn’t given him any relevant information.

Seriously!? How hard would it have been for her to go, “Oh hey…yeah, it’s my parents…let me call you back after I help them put things away.” Or even, “Oh no! It’s looters in my house! I have to fight them off!” Anything would have been more helpful than what he had…which was absolutely nothing.

Fine. Jameson hopped up out of bed and slipped his feet into his deck shoes. He’d have to take matters into his own hands. People were going to work, people were going to buy groceries…he could make the trip from his place to Ami’s…

He just had to get past his parents. Who were in the livingroom. Right in front of the TV…which was right in front of the door.

“Dammit.” The teen muttered, filter off as he slumped down on his bed to think for a moment. He glanced at the clock on his cell phone. Ami had 10 minutes to call back…then he’d take drastic measures.

Time passed. More time passed. They passed the ten minute mark with no call.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick.

It was enough to tick someone off.