It was chill out tonight. The streets were dimly lit, and deserted save for the odd car or two that'd pass by every now and again. Gully had been roaming the back streets and alley's hoping to come across some sorry sap to take from, but no. 

"Vic was right..." he thought. 

It hadn't even been two weeks and he'd already blown most of his cash (mostly on clothes and cigarettes) and he still didn't have a car yet. His powers made getting around a bit easier, but he desperately needed some wheels. The whole teleporting thing had gotten old, specially when he'd found out he couldn't just poof away from anywhere. Take now for example; Gully was well away from home and it was almost three in the morning. He knew he'd marked his mattress for this EXACT occasion, when he could just poof back to his place and collapse on his bed, but he'd quickly come to realize that maybe he should've started walking back a while ago. 

"Well This is a**" he grumbled to himself as he continued to pace aimlessly about. Alley after alley, the streets and run-down buildings were beginning to look one and the same. He pulled out his phone to pull up a map.

"Dead. perfect-" he threw his phone out from the alley and onto the footpath, which bounced off the pavement before sliding a small distance across the road. Frustrated, he reached at his ear for a cigarette. Nothing. He then patted himself down frantically, checking every pocket, he had to have one on him. Nope. He kicked at the dumpster next to him before letting out a cry. Pain shot up his leg through his toes like a lightning bolt as Gully collapsed immediately to the floor clutching his bunny slipper. He'd originally came out tonight to find the thugs of the area, but now the plan was simple. The next person or electronic store he came across was giving him a new f*****g  phone... and maybe some New Ports.

The night was cold. It was a bad neighborhood. You could tell it was bad, what with how the few street lights that actually worked were spread out, few and far between, leaving pools of shadow that were only broken by the occasional car headlight slicing through the darkness. After dark, people tended to stay inside. It was a good thing Elliott wasn’t at street level. Or maybe it wasn’t.

It had taken time, a little convincing, and extra effort in order to adopt the change. Bring stabbed and nearly having bled out had been but one element in the long list of reasons Elliott had composed in order to convince him self to facilitate the change. Still, as he blocked an attack and wasn’t cut, bruised, or beaten, he wondered what the hell had taken him so long?

Body armor, underneath the leather jacket. Underneath the t-shirt. Elbow guards, shin guards, and on the forearm. It was so simple, and yet it had changed so much! And the “socks”.

They weren’t true socks. They didn’t fully cover his feet. The soles of his feet were uncovered. But the tops and sides! The padding was warm. The padding had a layer of Kevlar on top of that. They were almost, almost shoes. With slots for the little warming inserts, to help stave off the winter cold. He wore the pads, wore the leather jacket, jeans and “shoes”, fingerless gloves, and a green motorcycle helmet with a dark visor and a painted smile on a creepy alien face. And, he was fighting crime in all of that.

There were two thugs on the roof top. He blocked an attack from one of them with his forearm, then struck back with one of his own. The escrima stick snapped out and conked the first guy unconscious. Meanwhile, the second guy had rushed his back.

These two fools had tried breaking into someone’s apartment, and Elliott had caught them while he was patrolling from the roof. He’d jumped them, then ran... to lead them out and away from any innocent bystanders that might have been around.

The second guy rushed him. He heard the feet slapping against the rooftop, smelled the bad BO. He turned and threw out a quick kick that sent the guy back several feet, onto the roof. Elliott followed it up by drubbing the guy senseless.

A few minutes later, the two men were zip-tied to a pipe on the roof and there was a rectangle of paper with a giant smiley face painted across it duct taped to a chest.

Elliott, also known as Cheshire, vanished into the night. Off to another rooftop, to find trouble and stop it. Because crap happens. And he felt like it was his responsibility to do something about it... because he’d done so much terrible crap, himself.

A short time later, he was several roof tops over when he heard it. A metallic clang, and a pained cry. Without hesitation, Cheshire rushed to the source of the sound. He stopped at the rooftop’s edge, and looked down.

It looked like a boy, on the ground. Injured? Had he been attacked? Elliott took in a big breath, then jumped off the rooftop to land on a fire escape below, and from there, down and down until he landed about ten to fifteen feet from the boy, on the floor of the alley.

“Everything alright?” The mysterious weirdo in the smiling motorcycle helmet and leather jacket, asked. “Are you hurt? Who attacked you?” Did he require medical attention?

What was that? It hadn't even been two minutes since possibly breaking his foot and someone was there to try him. He'd initially heard the clang above as some unknown assailant descended from the fire escape, landing some short distance away from where Gully was slumped. He stared at the figure, the single flickering streetlight at the end of the alley did little to uncover what stood before him. But from what little he could see, this guy looked like some sort of motor cyclist. Or maybe a cop? God hopefully not.

“Everything alright?” the person asked. 

 “Are you hurt? Who attacked you?”. They sounded genuinely concerned for him. Yeah he was definitely a frickin cop. "Just my luck" Gulliver thought.

"Oh fam you wouldn't believe it" Gully hobbled to his feet leaning himself against the coinciding brick wall. 

"There was like, three -no, four of em" he winced a bit as he tried to put weight on his right foot. Ideally he would've liked to have gotten a bit closer, (point black shot was the easiest to hit in theory) but it looked like he was gonna have to get a bit more creative than that.

"Dammit man!" he took his bucket hat and tossed it as hard as he could down the opposite end of the alley, from where him and his 'friend' were standing. A small spark of light left his hand as he marked the hat, hopefully this random thought nothing of it. It didn't go very far, but it didn't need to so long as he put enough distance between him and this soon to be injured Good Samaritan. 

"Friggin kids dude. Jumped me and took my phone and wallet." He muttered in his most sincere 'im totally the victim' voice.

"But no i'm cool bruh... don't suppose you have a celly on you? I don't live too far away but i may call my ol' lady to come grab me. Don't think i'll get too far on this leg without a Sensu Bean if you know what i mean?"  
 
Gully cracked a half smile. The whole victim card thing never really played into his hands well in the past. When you have your nickname tatted on your face it's hard to look like the witless bystander. But he was already out of options. He'd been out longer than he should've and this guy was the only person he'd seen dumb enough to be out here in the open, so no matter how low and shameless his tactics were GULLY WAS GOING HOME NOW!

The guy was acting a bit strange. Concussion, maybe? Well, with three, no, four guys, he was lucky a concussion was all he had. And a foot injury. That many people ganging together on one person, they could do a lot without realizing it. And numbers made some people do stupid things. Like kill.

He watched as the bucket hat sailed across the alley. Did he see the little spark of no account? It was dark. The spark was small, but it was light. He noticed it, and thought ‘the hell was that?’

The man had sweared at him, then thrown a hat... and if that wasn’t suspicious, there had been the little fleck of light. And the shouting, about frigging kids.

Throughout the guy’s long rant, Elliott stood still, watching him.

No visible signs of injury, other than the leg. Erratic behavior. Almost as if— there was a thought there, but the comment about the cellphone temporarily replaced it.

He wanted to call someone? What was a Sensu bean?

The guy had a frohawk with red twists. He had something tattooed on the left side of his jaw. And something else, on the other side. In the dark of the alley, he couldn’t make the tattoos. He’d only really noticed them because he’d been impassively watching the guy’s face as he went on about his phone and the guys. Darker patches of skin, like shadowed cheekbones. Except they weren’t rounded enough for that. Definitely not your average appearance.

Now, Elliott had been a criminal for the better part of his whole life. Picking pockets, running illicit goods, Working for shady people. Since he’d gone good, he’d worked real hard on the paranoia, and the ability to not judge somebody by how they looked and how they held themselves. But Old habits die hard. This guy made him uneasy.

As a criminal, you have to have a sense for when someone is lying. Playing you. And as he always maintained, he was no Hero. That was the other guy. The one who’d come before him to hold the mantle of Cheshire. The one who was dead.

Elliott would give the guy the benefit of the doubt, for the moment. But he was watching him, and his guard was not down.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a cell,” Cheshire said easily. “Or a wallet. When you’re a costumed vigilante, you really try and avoid carrying around things that can lead people back to who you are. All I’ve really got are a set of sticks. But I can still help you out.”

The helmet was still smiling. He was a nice guy! His tone was easy, amiable. He could help. But he had those sticks strapped to his side in the holster near his back, in case things went south.

“If you want, I can help you hobble off some to some place where you can make a call. Or flag down a police officer. Maybe they could help you file a report. Did you get a good look at the guys? Know em at all?” He said, mellow as mellow could be.

((OOC PS I love your art and that picture you drew of Elliott made my day. Do you mind if I save it and post it on my profile if I credit you as the one who drew it? So cool!))

This guy wasn't buying it. He couldn't see his face under that ever grinning visage, but he didn't need to to know that this guy was onto him. Gully had a pocket rocket on him, a Colt .25ACP he stole from a rival gang member back in Cali. This thing was adorable, only four and a half inches long with a seven round magazine, it's exactly what you'd imagine when you hear the words 'pea shooter'.

/I could put em down right now.../ Gully contemplated, maintaining his crooked and insincere grin. /I could 'off' him, take his stuff and disappear to my hat. I could surely hobble back to a bus stop or poof away by then./ He could feel his back pocket getting heavier with the weight of the pistol (which was funny considering it only weighed about 13 ounces.) /Ok. Imma hit em' like Gatsby and take his-/

“I’m afraid I don’t have a cell,” the mysterious figure responded, halting Gully's train of thought.

/f*** he just say?/ Gully's smile turned to a look of absolute cringe and befuddlement at that moment, but only for a split sec.

“Or a wallet. When you’re a costumed vigilante, you really try and avoid carrying around things that can lead people back to who you are. " 

Gully let out a not so enthusiastic harharhar. The laugh sounded more like a car exhaust on its last legs, chugging up a mountain. 


"All I’ve really got are a set of sticks. But I can still help you out.”

It took every fiber of Gully's soul NOT to pull out the Colt right then and there. 

“If you want, I can help you hobble off some to some place where you can make a call. Or flag down a police officer. Maybe they could help you file a report. Did you get a good look at the guys? Know em at all?”

"The fff-" Gully bit at his bottom lip stopping the word from escaping. This guy was genuinely trying to help out. Just an upstanding citizen trying to help out a hapless sod who happened to be down on his luck. Gully knew this, of course he did. But something about the way this guy spoke, the calmness with which he offered to "help him hobble off". Maybe if it wasn't for the fact Gully could feel his foot committing seppuku, he would have genuinely appreciated this guys offer. But the audacity of this dude, to ask whether or not he "knew em at all?" It felt like he was mocking him. 

Gully's nostrils flared up. He stiffened his upper lip and let out a huge exhale from his nose, like a bull in a cartoon. 

"No. I do not." Gully stared directly at the figure, he couldn't see his eyes but he wanted to make sure this person could see his. He was losing patience with this guy, nice as he may have been. 

"I've had a long day bro. One of those, 'imma clock out now fore i slam my bosses head in with a stapler' kinda days. Yknow the ones i'm talkin bout?"  he replied as calmly as he could manage. 

"Those guys ganked my last pack of cigs, would you mind letting a brother hold one?"


((OOC ayyye thanks man XD. I plan on doodling for the duration of this and any other future threads so long as it's allowed. Subpar drawing skill puts a buffer on mediocre writing ability. Feel free to use any image however you want. Also my posts are gonna be at pre random times outside the weekend cos work, so soz for late reply. cheers.))


 

In the dark of the alley, it was easy to miss the minutiae of the man’s changing expressions. Vocal tone, however, suffered from no such impediment.

He didn’t have fleshy ear lobes on his head, but even Elliott could sense the change in the man’s voice. When Elliott told him he lacked a cellphone, or a wallet... and the man laughed.

It had not been an amused laugh or a happy laugh. Maybe a sardonic laugh? Although why the man would be grimly mocking or cynical was beyond him. That sort of information would provoke annoyance or disappointment in this sort of situation before anything else... at least, for Elliott it would have. But this guy sounded a little disgruntled.

Of course, if he’d been mugged, and then been given a speech like he’d just delivered, maybe his gruntle would have felt a little ‘dis’sed, too.

Still, he soldiered on with his monologue. Told him about the sticks. Told him he’d still help. And the man had said the ffff-

Although nobody would be able to see it, underneath his helmet a hairless eyebrow had arched. The f, indeed.

Had he angered the man? Had the last comment been too patronizing? The sheer audacity of him, for asking basic questions the cops would have asked if they’d been present. The nerve of him for wanting to help.

The man had mastered himself, and in what Elliott felt was a very clipped tone, he’d stated that he did not know his attackers.

Fair enough.

The man’s patience was running low. Elliott was all too familiar with those types of days. The stapler to face days.

“I read ya’,” he said.

The man’s focused turned towards a creature comfort. Cigarettes. Again, Elliott would have to disappoint him.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you again, man. I don’t have any cigarettes. I don’t smoke. But—“ He glanced towards the mouth of the alley.

“If you come with me, I can help get you some at the nearest convenience store. I’ve had terrible days too. Maybe a cig will help us sort things out. At least you have your health. I’ve been beaten up by multiple guys. Been stabbed and nearly bled out. You’re lucky they only took your phone.”

Can someone give someone a significant look behind the tinted visor of a motorcycle helmet, when they can’t see your eyes? His solid posture would have to communicate it for him, Elliott supposed.

((For the record, I like your writing! Gully seems like a fun guy so far. Conflicted!))

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you again, man. I don’t have any cigarettes. I don’t smoke-"

Gully was done. Would he really kill someone for no reason other than being a minor annoyance? Maybe. Gully Put ink on his face on a whim, would it be so far beyond him to shoot someone over nothing? 

 But—“ Gully's train of thought ground to a halt. 

"But what?" Gully asked, no longer hiding the fact he was annoyed. He watched as the helmet turned for the mouth of the alley. He caught a glimpse of the weird smile, painted on. 

“If you come with me, I can help get you some at the nearest convenience store. I’ve had terrible days too. Maybe a cig will help us sort things out. At least you have your health. I’ve been beaten up by multiple guys. Been stabbed and nearly bled out. You’re lucky they only took your phone.”

Gully giggled a little. The thought of the two of them struggling down the empty street for a cigarette was hilarious considering he'd just had murder on his mind. Was everyone in this city such a frickin hero? That being said...

"You had me at cig fam." Gully smiled through gold teeth. He hobbled a few steps towards the man. The pain... it was starting to ease up? It seemed as though nothing was broken, otherwise he wouldn't be able to put weight on it. But he couldn't let his 'hero' see that. He continued to hobble a few steps before dropping to a knee.

"argh-" Gully was down to hands and one knee. He was really trying to sell it. Hopefully he could get this guy to carry him to the convenience store and FINALLY he'd be able to put some work in. He reached a hand out to the man.

"You mind fam?"


(OOC Sorry for short ass post, works got me DEEAD. More substance in future posts, Pinky swear.)

Shifty, shifty.

In the back of Elliott’s mind, he was thinking about how some mutants can use a touch to affect others with their powers. He was thinking about how odd he felt about the whole situation. About the anger and annoyance and all those things, and about how something did not quite add up.

If he’d wanted to be an ass, he might have walked over and found a bit of pipe or wood or something in the trash. A makeshift cane. Then, he wouldn’t have to touch the guy. Elliott didn’t want to be an ass.

He was better than he’d once been. The guy needed help. He’d stumbled and fallen to one knee. He would help. And damn the consequences.

“Sure,” Cheshire said, with a painted on smile.

Elliott reached out to help the guy.

If nothing went South, he would help him stumble to the convenience store down the block. Otherwise...

((OOC no worries. Sometimes, posts are shorter. Sometimes that’s what you need.))

And there you have it. Just like in the movies, these 'good guy' types followed the same script, unable to turn away a boy in need. Gully reached for the... hand? He retracted for a moment, noticing some seemingly missing appendages.  He stared for an uncomfortable yet short amount of time before panning his head up to meet the visor of the persons helmet. The painted smile didn't give off the kind of 'save the day' vibes Gully had associated with this character. He smiled a crooked and nervous grin before finally taking the strangers three fingered hand and plopping an arm over his shoulder. He leaned some weight on him to give off the impression his leg was still busted.

"So Mr? You said somethin about a store nearby?" Gully chirped as the two stood at the end of the alley. Gully was unfamiliar with the area so he was more than happy to tag along with This 'freak' until he could get to the store. At that point a quick bullet to the chest of the store keeper and 'Helmet Guy' would at least secure him the cash register and a pack of cigs. Jeez a cigarette sounded great right about now.



(OOC somehow even less words buy hey, we boutta drop the hottest mixtape of 2020)

The guy reached for his hand, and then pulled away as if shocked by seeing his fingers.

Stupid of him. He should have kept up the distance. It wasn’t likely there were many green-skinned, three-fingered men in New York. The fingerless gloves helped mask some of his hand from view, but they weren’t perfect. He’d had to shop around online to find fingerless three-fingered gloves, too. A hacker type might be able to somehow reverse engineer his internet search history or something...

For a time, he had been worried he would have to buy five-fingered gloves, then cut off a few digits. That would leave the sockets glaringly open, and it just might inconvenience him at some point when such things mattered. Like in a fight. A loss of dexterity, any loss, directly affected his ability to snap sticks around like a mad mofo. He would have to fall back to his kicks... which he tried to hold off on. His kicks tended to be stronger than your average bear. Shame it covered his hand mouths. Prevented him from using his tongues. But then, you had to make some sacrifices to have warm hands.

The hesitation the guy showed annoyed Elliott a little, made him feel impatient. He’d stuffed his paranoia away. Couldn’t people do the same? Even if they were being helped by some strange “masked” man.

“It won’t bite,” he commented blandly.

Finally, the guy smiled at his awkwardly and moved to take the hand. Rested some weight on him, Elliott bore it graciously.

The guy asked him about the store, and Elliott grunted. “Mm. Yeah. About a block or two.”

Together, they stumbled couple of minutes without talking.

They could see a small convenience store ahead now, across the intersection, and about 100 feet down the street from that. It was a little hole in the wall with gas pumps out front and a red roof. The glass front windows looked like they were advertising brand beers, cheap. And cigarettes, cheaper. The ones that used to have a cartoon mascot.

There was a husky guy in a grungy black trench coat smoking out front with his friend. The first man was stout with dark facial hair and a backwards-facing black ball cap. The second one had long blonde hair pushed under a ratty stocking cap. He was clean-shaven, with a thin face. Smoke trailed from the cig held affectedly in his hand. He said something emphatically, and gestured for his friend. The other guy said nothing. He was silent.

Elliott and the man crossed to intersection. Traffic was nonexistent.

On a whim, Elliott said “So what’s your name? I’m Cheshire. Usually like to know who I’m buying cigs for. Been referring to you as Guy in my head, and gee but that seems impersonal.”

They were within 100 feet of the store.

FINALLY. After what felt like forever Gully could finally see a glimmer of hope. The duo had trekked in awkward silence since all the way back at the alley, but seeing that red roof in the middle of the dimly lit street gave him a second wind. Gully and the mystery man continued to hobble along until they were just across the road from the store. He took quick notice of a duo stood out front of the store. /This could be bad/ he thought to himself. Anyone stood out front of a store at this time was either homeless, or looking for trouble. Gully was all too used to setup, wait outside a store or an alley and wait for someone vulnerable to come by. At which point all you had to do was stalk them on the way out and nine times out of ten, you'd score yourself a small fortune courtesy  of the idiot who thought 3 am was the perfect time to hit up a run down servo. He eyed the duo as they crossed the street, Gully let up on the limping a bit as not to alert the two strangers. If they were 'bad guys' a faux leg injury would do more harm than good at this point. Helmet Guy broke the tension for a moment as they approached.

“So what’s your name? I’m Cheshire. Usually like to know who I’m buying cigs for. Been referring to you as Guy in my head, and gee that seems impersonal.”


"Gully." He replied flatly not taking his eyes off the men. The two strangers looked up as Cheshire and Gully approached, it seemed like the short one was talking about them, but Gully wasn't sure. As funny as the two may have looked, what with Gully's purple bunny slippers and Cheshire's whole 'fit, the men standing opposite looked equally as suspicious. Your classic comedy duo, 'The Muscle' with the backwards baseball cap and dark facial hair, and The Rat' with the slim build and scruffy blonde 'do. Gully pressed a hand on Cheshire's chest, signalling for him to stop as he eyed out the other guys. The skinny one was the first to talk.

"y'all alright?" He asked, cigarette between his fingers.

"We look alright?" Gully asked, an arm still draped over Cheshire's shoulder. The big guy made eyes towards Gully and Cheshire, before tapping lightly on the glass door which was closed behind him. It was at this point Gully realized what was happening. The blonde spoke again, taking up as assuring a tone as he could muster up.

"Shop's closed man. Should be another one a few blocks from here though."

Gully stared hard at the man, adrenaline beginning to rise.

"few blocks huh?" he replied sounding sarcastic, almost bored.

"yup" the blonde responded in a similar tone. 

Gully was Gully’s name. Good. He had not lied. Elliott had seen the tattoo on the side of the guys face. Matched the name given well enough. If he’d lied, he’d have been caught in it.

Gully pressed on his chest to nab his attention, and he slowed to a stop. His eyes fell on the two men.

The skinny guy caught them staring, and asked if they were alright. Elliott wasn’t sure why Gully was wary. Maybe being nervous about late night loiterers was fine. Especially after having been mugged. Or maybe they were just nervous about the weirdo in the happy helmet?

Silent guy never said anything, just knocked on the window in the glass door. His compatriot interpreted for him. The shop was closed, huh? Then why wasn’t the metal grill rolled down?

A memory of a movie he had watched once with his girlfriend popped into his head. Something in black and white, but not a golden oldie. Something about a couple of convenience store clerks and a broken door. A cardboard sign painted in shoe polish or something. ‘I assure you, we are open.’

They were blocking the way. In this day and age, most convenience stores were open 24 hours, for your convenience. Something screwy was going on here.

“Something screwy is going on here.” Elliott said to Gully. Quietly, so only the two of them would hear. “I’m going to lean you against the wall. One sec,” he said. Then, moved them over to a brick wall and matched his action to his words.

He stripped off his fingerless gloves, and flexed green fingers. The helmet smiled innocently at the blonde guy.

“Say. One of you wouldn’t happen to have a cell phone would you?” He asked cheerfully.

The silent guy said nothing. Typical. The blonde guy shrugged.

“My friend over there is injured. I just want to call him a cab so he can get home safe and sound. Help me out?”

Blonde sneered. “We don’t got any cellpho—“

The quiet guy held up a flip phone. Elliott glanced to Gully. “Want a cab?”