Log:Days of Rage Revisited - Part III
| Days of Rage Revisited - Part III | |
|---|---|
| Participants | 11 August 2017 When you poke a hornets nest, angry hornets come pouring out |
| Location
The streets and alleys around the police station | |
| In the end, though, are they so different? Certainly C.B.'s comrades back in the day were trying to shake up middle-class American society. Their motivations are, in fact, parallel... But what kind of monster doesn't even look to see her toesies are okay? Well...this one, when he's absorbed in a task like this. Because he is, now, completely absorbed. He even puts his glasses on so he can pay close attention to what he's doing. Bottles, check, rags, check, small container of gasoline that, yes, he carries around with him, because you never know when you'll need to spark a revolution...check. That paranoia of his is enough for him to stare back over his shoulder at the cop watching them. Yossarian is watching this cop as well. Yossarian isn't, however, stopping C.B. Why isn't Yossarian stopping him? Not stopping, but is saying out loud, in his deep and dignified voice: "Be careful, Ben. Find cover." "Right," C.B. mutters, and nods at Cressida. "C'mon. We're too out in the open here." He starts looking around for...anything that's not so out in the goddamn open. Aww, poor little toes. C.B. /is/ a monster! But that's okay because, if we're being perfectly honest, Cressida is kind of a monster, too. I mean, who got this ball rolling? Who egged him on? Who gleefully is urging 'yes, yes, YES!' when she should be saying 'no, no, NO'? This girl right here, that's who. She watches him carefully, the growing anarchy and chaos causing her universe to expand further and further. There are more stars than there were before, more everything really: planets, moons, comets, asteroids, meteoroids. There is a thrumming sound around them, the yawn of deep space. Creation. Destruction. Time moving forward, backward, standing still. "All it takes," she says, her body trembling with barely restrained excitement. She wants to run! She wants to shout! She wants to kick! She wants to break! RAWR! "..is a /spark/." But they're too out in the open apparently. She looks like she just wants to run forward, storm the station kamikaze-style but .. but .. but ... At least someone -- Yossarian -- has some sense.
So he keeps watching the cop, watching them, once he's made sure the two of them are out of the way. Towards some trees, perhaps, or bushes, where they can watch the little piggies come and go. And it's probably against his better judgment, but C.B. has made two Molotovs -- one for each of them. He stares at Cressida and her expanding galaxy with a grimly serious expression. Yes, if he's not as much about chaos as she is, then would he be doing this at all? Perhaps chaos just has many expressions...
Wild-eyed. Delighted. She tosses her hair back over her shoulder, sending a cascade of stars falling behind her that go plink-plink-plink across the sidewalk before dimming out of existence. "This'll teach 'em," she snickers, shaking one of her fists in the air. "This'll teach 'em GOOD. No more civic lectures at the Y on the importance of community duty to one another! Who are they to tell us that we have to look out for each other, right?" She hops from one dirty foot to the other. Hop hop hop!
And then, with a light in his eyes that's almost chilling -- like he knows he should stop, but doesn't want to, or maybe /can't/ -- he asks: "Are we gonna do this or what?" She has a lighter. He has his matches. They both have molotovs now, waiting to be lit -- yes, what could possibly go wrong?
Wheeeeee! There is some mild activity by the station, a car pulling in. Two officers emerge, heading inside. Clocking in? Clocking out? Who can say? For them, it's just a regular ol' day. Little do they know... LITTLE DO THEY KNOW....
"C'MON C'MON C'MON!" He's hurtling towards the station, lighting the end of his own molotov as he throws the thing straight towards one of the windows of the station. "DIE YOU FUCKING PIGS!" Shit just got real. And C.B., who, granted, had years of practice at this sort of thing, doesn't have a bad aim at all, it turns out. Lightning sparks and flies everywhere as the fiery bottle tumbles through the air and smashes clean through the window...
Chaos. Bad Ideas. Death. Failed to bring that up, did she? He's getting a sense of it now, surely. Tonight has managed to encompass all three, finding that sweet spot in the Venn diagram that is her. He rushes forward! She rushes forward! He throws his flaming care-package! She throws hers! He shouts at the PIGS! She shouts at them, too! "YEAH! TAKE /THAT! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" She stands, feet wide apart and her fists on her hips, as her molotov finds its mark with eery precision; the chaotic Elemental throws her head back and cackles -- CACKLES -- at the heavens.
But I digress. God or no god, the two Changelings have just thrown two flaming bottles into the police station. Glass cracks and breaks. The sound of shouting and running around within, and probably sprinkler systems going off. C.B. admires their work for a moment, the spell it has over him not quite broken as the flames start to climb...
P-I-S-S-E-D. Cressida sees this, cackles one last time and gathers all her light to her in a rapid FWOOP. All her stars and all her comets come rushing in and stick to her, while the darkness that hovers close seems to fold over and swallow her whole. In an instant, there is nothing left of her but a smudge of living night sky -- immaterial but somehow vaguely in her shape. A hollow laugh echoes in the emptiness she's become and she races away, this wild, chaotic thing leaving the havoc she's wrought behind. And C.B., too. She's left him behind as well. What a dick she is. The officers pour out, fan out, looking for the person -- or person/s/ -- who did this terrible thing. They are armed and moving out in pairs -- cautiously but with purpose.
C.B.'s head goes jerking up at the sky as the so-called Goddess disappears on him in a volley of darkness. And even though he should probably be freaking out, the song he's been listening to constantly comes into his head again: "Darkness, darkness, be my pillow..." She leaves him alone, but for Yossarian. Alone with his fear and his anger and his paranoia. He's too shocked at Cressida's disappearance to even curse as she departs -- just acting on pure instinct, now. "Ben," Yossarian calls to him. "Time to leave. Let us go. Now." C.B. tries to move his legs, start running -- finally remembers how to work. Yes, Ben, how could you forget? You've done so very much of it in your life...
It's fairly late so there aren't a lot of people out but when you're making a break for it -- and you have a tendency toward paranoia -- there seems to be eyes everywhere. Did someone pull back that curtain to watch C.B. run past? Did someone look down from that window? Is that car driving too slow? Why is it driving so slow? Everything feels too exposed. Nothing feels safe. The pigs are /everywhere/.
But what he does have is panic. Panic makes him run. Wait, why is he panicking? Didn't he want this? He almost stops, prepared to face a whole force head-on, but the paranoia is too great for him to do that. Sweat is running down his brow. There is no way to turn. No way out. No comrades. Not even one fucked up Changeling for a friend. For that matter, where is Yossarian, even? C.B. can't even see him anywhere. All alone.
"Life's beautiful, man. Stop and appreciate the wonder of it all." Alright, he's probably a bit -- a LOT -- stoned. Somewhere in the near distance, police sirens wail. Not one, not two, but a lot. It catches the kid's bleary attention and he turns, looking back in the direction of the station. "Wonder what's going on.." Indeed.
This kid must have some balls if he can look into the wild-eyed face of Ben and not back down in fear. Or on some really good weed. Ben's about two seconds away from screaming and punching this guy right in the fucking face, until the sirens start up. Then he's just pointing, practically spitting at the kid as he screams at him, "You shut up! Peace never gets you anywhere! Never will! We're bringing the war home!" He starts to run away, still yelling, "Maybe there's no one left but me, well -- just me! I'm bringing it home, do you hear me?! I'M BRINGING IT HOME!" He tears off down the alleyway as fast as his feet will take him.
Racing down the alley, the echo of Ben's footfalls makes it sound like there are people right on his heels. Maybe there are?! Oh god. Faster, go faster!! Blood pounds in his ears, his heartbeat like a teakettle whistle of rising panic. "ON THE GROUND!" someone yells. Ooooooooh shit. Time slows down and stretches, everything turning to mollasses. What to do, what to do?! I mean, defy, of course. But how? Continue to run? Stand and fight? Before a decision can be made though, another voice: "Are we being nuked?" "I SAID, ON THE GROUND!!" There is a dull, meaty thud -- like a bat striking a slab of meat -- followed by a distinct cry. "What the fuck, man?!"
What to do? The moral thing is to step in, to stop the pigs from arresting an innocent. Even if he's a dim-witted innocent. The immoral thing would be to run, to save his skin, to hide, to get away. He vacilates for a little while between the two, even pacing back and forth. He is armed. He could walk in there with his gun drawn and get them to chase after him, but it could quickly turn deadly...there must be another way. Eventually, though, he does turn and run back, picking up a rock along the way. As soon as the cops and the hippie come into view, he throws the rock at them. "HEY, ASSHOLES! THAT'S NOT THE GUY WHO DID IT!" And at that, he just takes off again. Draw some of their fire away, at least. He can fix the rest of this mess later.
THWUMP! THWUMP! They're hitting him over and over again -- you see, angry hornets are /angry/. They think they have their guy. They think this is the asshole who threw a fucking /molotov/ into /their/ house/, who set Stan's /lap/ on fire when he was one week away from retirement. Stan was a good fucking guy. On the force for thirty-five years. Pillar of the community. Volunteers at the soup kitchen during his off-hours. Has a soft spot for kids and domestic abuse victims -- goes out of his way to help those women get back on their feet and make sure the assholes who hurt them get locked up. And now? He got packed up into the back of an ambulance with burns below the waist; who knows how bad it is! So fuck this guy. /Fuck/ this guy. They're going to town on the hippy, making sure that he's 'down' with the help of their nightsticks and more than the occasional kick to the ribs. He's stopped asking 'what the fuck' and is just tucked up defensively. "What the-.." One of the cops look up, a rock beaning off his noggin and catching his attention. He whistles sharply and they all stop, all look at the alley. They all look at C.B. Pause. Ben takes off. They take off after him. "GET HIM!"
So fuck you, Stan, and fuck the rest of the force. A brilliant smile, those missing teeth near the back of his head showing, comes to his face as his plan works, and he's drawing their fire. Running as fast as he can, which is not easy when you smoke as much as he does. His breath will eventually just run out on him, probably...
'Die you fucking pigs.' ..which strongly indicates a preference towards bodily harm. Unless Ben was talking about /actual/ pigs but that seems highly unlikely. So Stan getting his lap set on fire is all a part of the plan .. if any of this can really be called a plan. It's more of loosely thrown together mischief whipped up with a large helping of mayhem. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes. The alley. "Suspect is fleeing into an alley off.." Directions are spoken into a radio, reinforcements being informed of the location. There are two cops chasing Ben -- he can outrun two cops, can't he? One of them is older, a bit heavyset. The other, though. Fit. Fit and /fast/. It is alarming how quickly he is closing the distance. And how little his is panting. "STOP AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR."
And now, he wonders, if that means he'll finally get shot. Taken down and martyred by the pigs, at long last.
However. The wrinkle in all this is that Ben is a daunting force at the moment. Like .. really, really, REALLY daunting to the point where he gives the two officers /pause/. The guy is sweaty and wild-eyed, pointing a gun in their faces. They /should/ just take him down -- and not like they took down the hippy. They should just shoot C.B. They would be justified. Totally justified. But.. but.. bbbbut... The older of the two policemen barks back: "DROP YOUR WEAPON!" They're gripping their guns. He is gripping his. It's tense! There are a few windows looking down into the alley from above and several people watch from those apartments, a couple of them filming with their cellphones. Hey! It's shaping up to be a police shooting and that'll get a lot of views on Youtube. "DROP YOUR WEAPON!" the officer repeats but he takes a half-step back, a few beads of sweat rolling down off his brow. Nervous. Scared, even! His partner doesn't look much better. How is this going to end? Maybe .. maybe Ben could just slowly back away and take off running again? A dark flash of movement from the corner of his eye and a rapid descent toward his arm triggers a reflexive reaction; Ben starts to jerk out of the way just as a nightstick comes down swiftly. The backup has arrived. They snuck up quietly and moved to disarm him -- but did they move quickly enough?
And he doesn't do too well with feeling trapped. And so they disarm him, the Colt M1911 pistol dropping from his hand as they get him down on the ground, in cuffs, whatever it is they're doing. He's even still yelling, just raving now, unaware of what he's saying. Because they're coming to take him away -- ha ha, ho ho, hee hee, hey hey, and if they're going to lock him up? Then things are not going to go very well for Ben. Too bad he's not just a crazy Death Star god who can zoom away to the heavens...
Blind in their fury and in a rush to have their hunger for vengeance sated, each officer assumed the other had been the one to read Ben his rights. In the end? No one did. Not a single one. No one told him that he had the right to remain silent. No one told him that anything he says may be used against him in a court of law. No one told him that he has the right to consult with an attorney before speaking. No one told him that or any of the rest of it. They were too busy using him as a human(ish) punching bag. Instead they laughed and drove him to the station. They taunted him as they took his fingerprints and booking photo. They teased him as they tossed him into a cell in the unburned part of the station. But the laughter died pretty quickly when they realized their error. Oh fuuuuuuck... | |
