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smoothlanding in wetheinvincible


[Whenever you have a convert, just discovering their abilities-Their first trial of their abilities is usually highly explosive, very dangerous, and called an "Eruption" for the sake of giving a name to something that scares the shit outta people. This is one of those instances.]

There is a certain street in New York City.

This street's usually very crowded. It's a shopping mall to be precise.

Add a slightly enebriated female and an older man to the mix-and bad things are going to happen. But there's nothing wrong with that right? an old man who's had a little too much to drink, grabbing in the wrong places-

Alison Smart smacked her escort across the face, "You don't touch me there. Get me?"

She swooned, catching herself on a nearby car.

It's dusk, early evening, so the streets are probably more jam-packed then usual-

Too Jam-packed to see the man getting far more grabbyassed then he has any right to be.

It takes precisely three seconds for the escort to get far more physical then he should.

Two seconds for the woman to start screaming.

And one second for the man to get blown back against the wall with gale force winds.

It takes another second for the entire street to freeze and stare at the middle of the road, where a man stands-half out of a taxi-eyes milky white and hand raised in the direction of the offending individual.

The time that it takes for the pandemonium to ensue can't be measured in seconds. It happens far too quickly.

Escort flees and the Taxi takes off, pushing the woman's savior out of the door and rolling him across the street.


"Oh for fuck's sake..." he mutters as he shakes his hand off from the coffee that'd blown onto it. Luckily, the same wind that'd gotten it on him had cooled it so it didn't burn.

The coffee is tossed.

Nick, not giving a shit because at this point, what does he have to fear that's more terrifying than the depths of the human soul... starts walking towards the new member of the "We're Scientifically Fucked" club.

So it's a human being in a now muddy uniform trying to get to his feet. Fuck.

Joshua Steward blinks, "....I just-"

Man sitting in the mud staring dumbly at the people hurling curses and insults in his direction.
Oh... do not get the stage performer angry. He doesn't need a bullhorn.


It only takes a minute, since he's pretty experienced at this whole 'dealing with crowds' thing to find the 'leader', the one people seem to be going along with. Probably the first person who started.

Then he looks him in the eye.

The man screams and starts running, which seriously disheartens a good chunk of the 'pack'. Which, despite the fact that he's shaking like he just ran a marathon, is what Nick wanted.

Then he turns to Joshua, still shaking a little, and keeps his eyes away from the other man.

"Anyone ever tell you you have shit timing, blowhard?"
Josh blinks. One minute he sees a damsel in distress who looks far too much like Karen to be healthy getting menaced by a goon, the next he's being yelled at by some guy who looks horribly familiar.

"...Excuse me?"

Dazed. Confused. It all works.

For it's part, the wind rises, turning the street into a blustery day worthy of Winnie the Pooh.
He gives Josh a quick and painless thwack to the side of the head.

"Hey, Sarah Rainmaker," he snaps, his patience just a little frayed at the loss of his coffee. He didn't drink it often, but he had a thing for the Starbucks Pumpkin Spice and now it was gone and the aggravation of losing it meant he would be able to get another one today. Dammit. "Stop, okay? Not helping."
Yeah see. Josh can't help it. Not stopping is not an option Mr. Mulder.


Somewhere there's a diver who's tank has just emptied, and currently scrambling for the surface.

Meanwhile. Nick might start to feel lightheaded...

"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?"
He growls and he's damn tempted to pull him up for a Look. Patience. Frayed. Judgement. Impared. He's a man who runs on his passions, not to the exception of his mind, but certainly not powered by it.

"The one who just got the mob to lay the hell off you before they decided that hanging your ass off a fucking lampost was a good idea! So put the Category Four back in your pants and get it the fuck away from Madison Square Garden!"
The lightheadedness might just be increasing as Josh's eyes film over before returning to normal, "...What? What Catergory Four? What the hell are you talking about?"
There's a few things a traveling journalist has always. A notepad is the most important of these items. Martin likes to carry with him a tape recorder (he's old school) and a camera as well.

Which of these three items does he have out now? The flash might answer that, but the camera's soon gone, and a seemingly young man stands next to a building, furiously writing down notes.
Okay see. Josh can't see that flash.

"...Fucking Freak!"

A milkshake comes sailing out of nowhere to narrowly miss the poor man lying on the road.

The pilot (for that should be very obvious) is trying to climb to his feet now however.
Compassion trumps journalism. Sometimes. Martin finishes his sentence, dashes to the pilot and offers a hand.

"Need help?"
The wind swirls.

It'd be defensive if Josh could manage to gain an ounce of control over it. Instead it makes the milkshake cup roll away under a car, spotting the concrete with chocolate.

Josh frowns, "...What happened?"

"Nothing that I'm at liberty to discuss here. Suffice it to say there'll be people paying close attention to you if they ever catch wind about what happened--no pun intended."

He waves his hand a little. The guy's still on the ground, obviously he still needs help standing up.
Josh-grabs for his hand.

"...I blacked out didn't I?"

Oh Jesus.

And surprisingly, Josh is not worried about the fact that he can apparently generate gale-force winds.

"..Oh god-No-You're right-" He's trying to scramble to his feet, "...-Shit-No-Who saw? Anyone? What happened??"
"I think..." Martin rolls his eyes to the left. Then to the right. "...everyone saw it, yes."
Josh frowns, "...Where'd my taxi go?"
"Welcome to New York City, kid. It took off!"
Josh frowns.

"...Venta Mocha Frappachino with no whipped creme and Peppermint syrup."

He fishes a twenty out of his wallet-

Just as it hits him that the cab's left with his luggage.

Chances are, if there are any children present, they're gonna haveta cover their ears.

Martin shrugs.

"Make that one grande cappuccino and one venti peppermint mocha frappucino, no whip." He pulls out a ten and hands it to the confused cashier.
Josh waves the Twenty at Martin-shooting death looks to the Cashier and the Barrista. They need to move faster.
A sigh. "Look, it's not going to help if you take it out on them."
Josh's eyes narrow, "...It'd make me feel alot better."
"So you like the taste of spit in your frappucino?"

A hand stretches out behind the espresso machine and places one venti peppermint mocha frap (no whip) and one grande cappuccino on the bar.
Oh joy.

Josh is in enough of a mood right now to not care, but-

He accepts the drink and gives the mysterious stranger a look, ".....Thanks for the drink."
"I'm not finished with you yet." He points to a table at the far end of the store. "There's still the little matter of what just happened out there on the street."
Los Angeles: The Beach

December 2006

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