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Post by Kup on Jan 25, 2012 20:57:53 GMT -5
OOC: M6W4D3. Night time. Semi-private.
Sergeant Kate Mason can't contain a smile. "About time," she mutters as the report comes in. This isn't her normal shift... hell, this isn't even her normal beat. Cutbacks, some foreign memory explains. Normally, her job's dealing with the freaks during the day. At night she... normally still deals with them, but more off the clock-like. Thus spending her night in the passenger seat for a more traditional seat is not only duller than dead paint ("duller than dishwater" part of her mind corrects, and she ignores it), not to mention the fact that it keeps her from dealing with... other matters.
This "disturbance" should provide at least a few moments' entertainment, at least.
The cruiser screeches to a stop, and Kate is out in an instant, leaving the door open to provide partial cover as she draws her club. Hopefully, that's all she'll need for this.
"Police!" she proclaims. "All right, break it up!"
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Post by Swerve on Jan 26, 2012 2:08:44 GMT -5
The flashing lights spook several of the dozens of spectators crammed into this little alleyway nook, a sort of grimy quadrangle wedged in between run-down buildings. Those hanging on the fire escapes take off first, some simply climbing for the rooftops, others making it look like a circus acrobatic act. Those on the ground are slower to act, and some remain solidly oblivious to the raid staring them down.
Willard Swanson, a regular at the nearest precinct and one of the undercard fighters tonight, doesn't freeze, but the lights and the shouting distract him, drawing his attention. The other fighter's fist doesn't hold off; he takes a left hook to the jaw that sends him staggering into the wall of bodies surrounding the "ring". They push him back and he lunges low, driving his elbow into his opponent's middle and following through with an uppercut. He hears and feels a satisfying snap as the other guy's nose compacts itself under his knuckles. The police are forgotten. He's back in the thrill and release of the fight.
A few of the similarly angry and disenfranchised men who gather for these illegal matches are similarly caught up in the moment. The trouble is, they turn their energy on the cops. Sergeant Mason and her club will see some action tonight after all.
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Post by Kup on Jan 26, 2012 16:00:02 GMT -5
Well, on the up side, no one has pulled a gun. On the upper side, this lets Kate wade in, and she really did need something to break up the night's monotony. The only tricky part will be not making it really obvious to the other cops just how strong she really is.
While her reflexes are no better than before, she's rather skilled in hand to hand (or even club-to-head), and by keeping her head and watching her timing, she's able to minimize the injuries to herself as she begins to methodically bust heads. She's already become aware that she just isn't... well, isn't as hard to hurt as before, even if she seems to recover quickly. "You punks were warned," she observes, vaugely irritated as an elbow goes into the gut of one of the angry men.
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Post by Swerve on Jan 26, 2012 16:24:51 GMT -5
Willard is honestly more upset that the fight breaks up than because they're being raided. He's felt all day like he's about to boil over, only in this small, soft body, he can't. He can't even go out and drive it off; he tried. He sat behind the wheel of a hotwired car for five minutes solid, staring at gauges and instruments that he should still have like any other body part until he realised numbly that he somehow couldn't read them. Reading them was wrong. He should have felt them the way he always did. He couldn't.
That frustration bubbles up fresh as his opponent, clutching a blood-gushing nose, starts to run from the cops breaking through the crowd.
"Get back here!" Willard bellows, reaching for a double-barrelled cannon that isn't there any more. He curses and rounds on the cops, then, for taking away what seems like the only thing he has to break up the stifling madness of being in a body he didn't make with his own hands, that doesn't run on oil and energon, that isn't made of metal and glass and plastics. A uniform comes too close; Willard hooks an arm around the cop's neck and wrenches him off his feet, throwing him to the pavement and kicking him hard in the side. Uniforms everywhere, a sea of black fabric and badges sparkling in the darkness behind shields and clubs. They blend together in his ill-focused human vision.
"Warn this!" he answers the only different voice in the tumult, grabbing the nearest cop he can find and dragging the guy's face into his raised knee.
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Post by Kup on Jan 26, 2012 21:54:25 GMT -5
The punks are pretty easy to get through, but one of them has just put one cop on the ground and looks to be working through a second.
Kate rushes him. If she can, she'll slam him against the alley wall, hard. "That's enough, scrap heap!" she roars. If the other cops were paying attention, she'd have some explaining to do.
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Post by Swerve on Jan 27, 2012 0:10:49 GMT -5
A plainclothes cop bears down on him and Willard throws aside the uniform he just kneed in the face to welcome the attack.
"I'll slagging show you a scrap heap!" he bellows at her as he drops low and sidesteps, raising his arms like he still has his pipes. There are bruises all along his forearms, big and ugly, old and new, making a long suture scar on his right arm stand out starkly pale against the mottled contusions. He starts to swing his left arm like he's trying to bash her ribs with a weapon he isn't holding, remembering halfway into it that he only has his fists. He snaps his arm out, trying to turn it into a hard jab.
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Post by Kup on Jan 27, 2012 18:54:57 GMT -5
The need to adjust Willard's attack mid-strike gives Kate enough time to roll with the jab. That hurts, but she's found that even in this body, she can take a lot of punishment. Not nearly as much as before, of course, but a respectable amount for a human.
She manages to adjust her charge to keep from slamming herself into the wall - she's actually able to use Willard's hit to break her momentum. Then she twists and attempts to leg-swipe her opponent before something registers.
"'Slagging'?!" she repeats. Okay, yes, some humans use that "slag" as a bad word, of sorts, but not in the United States, and the punk's context is all wrong for the human slang.
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Post by Swerve on Jan 27, 2012 22:56:15 GMT -5
The leg sweep connects, but Willard spins with it, dropping to his hands and coming back around with a sort of sweeping mule kick.
"Your receivers clogged?" he demands, not even thinking about the words.
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Post by Kup on Jan 28, 2012 18:26:00 GMT -5
Okay, so this is either a 'Con or a particularly belligerent 'Bot. Given that Kate knows a few of the latter (and has occasionally been accused of one herself), she supposes she shouldn't just assume 'Con.
"Your wires shorted?" She grabs the foot - this seems vaguely familiar - and yanks Willard towards herself, her strength making it easy. In the same move, she attempts to come down on top of him in order to restrain him, but whether she manages or not, this puts her near enough to ask quietly, so as to not be overheard, "'Bot or 'Con?" Not that she can rely on a 'Con telling the truth, but she can ask other questions to confirm identity if the punk can just calm down enough to be asked, and this question might shock him enough to do just that.
OOC: Grabbing and yanking of Willard done with permission.
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Post by Swerve on Jan 28, 2012 18:34:59 GMT -5
Hitting the pavement doesn't quite knock the wind from him, but Willard still takes a moment to get his wits back. His ears stop ringing just in time to hear that low question, and when the words filter through, he is shocked, for a very brief moment. Shocked that somebody would ask him that.
Shocked that someone would ask if he was a Decepticon. His eyes seem to flash in the darkness like embers and he scowls.
"Who the smelt are you?" he growls, "Callin' me a sludge-sucking 'Con?!" He tries to hitch up his free leg to shove her off.
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Post by Kup on Jan 28, 2012 23:50:50 GMT -5
Kate struggles to keep from being dislodged. Her strength works to her favor, but she's not that heavy, so it's still difficult to avoid getting knocked off. She manages it for just a little while longer, however.
The words, the language choice, the response, that cinches it. She leans down to try and speak quietly into Willard's ear, but there's nothing soft or soothing about her irritated rasp.
"I didn't, you damned hot head! I asked which you were! As for who I am, I'm Kup! Now cut this scrap out, or it's gonna take a lot more than bail money to get out outta the slammer!"
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Post by Swerve on Jan 30, 2012 0:15:50 GMT -5
Willard's about to try another kick when Kate drops her bomb. He freezes, but not because she told him to knock off the fighting. He blinks at her, slowly. Then a wide-eyed expression crosses his face that can't be described as anything so much as relief. It's very nearly a smile.
"Kup?" he echoes hoarsely. Then he remembers himself and scowls again, cursing under his breath at that lapse. "Prove it, slagger, or I'll send you and as many more as I can to the junkheap."
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Post by Kup on Jan 30, 2012 14:32:37 GMT -5
Kate's glance darts to either side. The other cops seem to be gaining control, but they're still busy with sorting things out. She mutters softly, still near Willard's ear, still holding him down - just in case. "Crashed on east continent. We were outta radio contact of the rest and hadda make do by ourselves for a couple of days. Swapped some stories. I told you why I was off Cybertron for the 'Golden Age,' you let me know why you weren't in the legal races. Had a few bad run-ins with a few overly affectionate plants before Springer finally tracked us down."
This should leave no doubt in Willard's mind, since the only person who could possibly have the details of that little adventure is Kup himself.
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Post by Swerve on Jan 30, 2012 21:44:01 GMT -5
As Kate speaks, Willard's scowl ratchets back, a little bit at a time, and the fighting tension slowly ebbs from his frame. That relief – that joy – comes back in full and he makes a grab for her shoulders, not to throw her off, but to hold her so he can really look at her. As if he hasn't seen another soul in ages. He ignores whatever odd looks he might garner from whatever uniforms happen to notice his mood shift.
"Smelt," he almost laughs, "it really is you!" Who else would know? He never told anyone.
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Post by Kup on Jan 31, 2012 20:56:23 GMT -5
Kate's eyes widen in surprise as her shoulders are grabbed, but in the face of Willard's obvious joy she can't help but grin for a moment. But then she remembers herself.
"Yeah, it's me, lad," she answers, using the term out of reflex and in defiance of the fact that currently, Willard actually looks older than she does.
One of the other cops gives her a questioning look and starts to approach, but she waves him away. "I got this!" she snaps. Then she attempts to remove Willard's hands from her shoulders. "Swerve," she says quietly, since she's not yet aware of his human name. "Do you trust me?"
At this point, if he trusts anyone, it should be her, but... trust is one thing Swerve has always found difficult.
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