maskormenacelogs | need some blood in the cut.

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need some blood in the cut.

WHO: Sal the Cacophony & You!
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Toward the end of January (for those who remain) and through into February (for those who return)
WHAT: Catch-all. That Oliver Queen guy said to watch over things, right? What a bad choice for a babysitter.
WARNINGS: Language, alcohol, mentions of past trauma, possible violence. Normal Sal stuff.

01. Maurtia Falls

What do they say here? The other shoe has finally dropped?

Well whatever it's called, the timing isn't great for this city. Not with crime reportedly already on the uptick. Who's going to watch over things when so many imPorts—so many genuinely good people are caught up in the consequence of something they all feared was going to happen eventually?

Like those few others who went to ask questions, the answers neither helped nor comforted.

Sal knows isolation, as a vagrant. She's used to looking after herself, so even if the wounds hurt at least she's capable of just pressing forward. Getting something done, instead of sitting quietly at home with too much she doesn't want to think about.

And that includes taking advice of that Oliver Queen guy. Well, kind of. She can only stomach so much heroic diatribe but unfortunately he's right. Someone has to look after things; though maybe fate should pick better next time.

In any case, there's a woman flying over the city more frequently these days. Watching and trying to find anyone who needs help (whatever the fuck that means). A gloomy-looking woman with a flashy red scarf flying down from the sky is sure to gain attention.

02. Jeopardy

She's been here quite a bit these past few months, for business or a stray apocalypse or, well, whatever. That abandoned building she started using a training ground has really come in handy—and Lilith's magical wards are strong, even if she's disappeared.

Another distraction. Another city missing imPorts.

She catches herself lingering here, for reasons she's avoiding giving any serious thought about. Maybe she stops by a coffee shop, or walks along the sidewalk, looking over a sea of unfamiliar faces. And just maybe, on a particularly rough day, she sits on the steps of that creepy spider church and manages to look even gloomier than normal.

Everyone is coping.

03. Porter Cities Fly-by

She's neglected these other cities in comparison, but this is as good (or bad) time as any to get more acquainted with the other porter cities. Sal only wishes she had her bird, Congeniality, to keep her company. Back home, she always knew her (even grouchier) friend would catch up with her eventually.

It made the loneliness just a bit more manageable at least.

She stops and flies down to check on various landmarks, looking around for other imPorts who seem out of sorts. A nice person could offer a comforting smile or some kind of solace, but Sal's just another angry person who doesn't know what to do either.

Maybe, if she's lucky, there will at least be a chance for a fight or some other kind of distraction.

04. Wildcard

[Everything else. Want something not listed above, jump in here! SURPRISE ME...or message me for a starter if that works better.]

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Maurtia Falls is where he is a lot these days. Anger, sorrow, and annoyance combine, and he drives himself. He looks less well than normal since he hasn't been sleeping well, and as he sees Sal, he smiles, and heads for her through the air.

He's tired enough that when a bank robbery alarm goes off, he doesn't blink or swerve. And regrets that a moment later. When the robbers gun down an innocent bystander, Kon's head snaps around, and he goes from a leisurely flight to a move so fast he blurs.

There is a sonic boom, shattering the sound of gunfire, and the robber who had been firing is hurled back against the side of the building, sliding down to a pile, knocked out by the power of the blow.

Where the robber had been, now stands Superboy, his eyes bright and angry, clothed in a costume of blue, red, and yellow, the s on his chest still vibrant and bright.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that stealing is bad for your health?" A cough swings his head around as he realizes the victim is still alive, and without another glance at the robbers, he moves to her side.

Which is when the robbers open fire with energy weapons. Ever heard a superhero scream? Now you have, as he throws himself over the victim, shielding her.

Everyone has their breaking point.

Something that they just can't overlook. These days have grown heavy and heavier yet, and as time continues to pass and none of those who disappeared return, she can feel herself sinking back into old moods. That light of hope flickers, fades.

But it's when she's following Superboy's path toward the crime on the street, when she's close enough to hear that familiar voice screaming out in pain—something inside her breaks. And when Sal gets angry, truly angry for the sake of someone she cares for, shit just has a way of happening.

It's a dangerous moment, closer to her old self than she's been in a long time, and later she might regret the slip. But flying above the crowd, wind battering against her face, the cold air making her eyes burn, she only has to think of it for a moment.

"Ocumani oth rethar," she says, pointing down.

The magic snaps down against the armed criminals with vicious speed, a powerful gale knocking them all back at once, guns flying, and fire bursts out in a brief conflagration. The explosion sends them all back, rolling, screaming—she bites back the sound threatening to come out of her throat, and in a moment the fire is gone.

They're injured, but alive. There's no time to feel disgust at herself. She goes flying down to Superboy an instant later. Too afraid to touch him, especially after that display, she crouches by him and the woman.

"Hey."

Had he not been pushing himself, and on this world where his power was lessened, then he would have been fine, but here, and with days of not taking care of himself impacting him, his back, from his neck to his waist, is now bare, and showing signs of burns from first to third across it. He will heal, sure, but it will take a long day and night under his sunlamps to do so. Kon is in pain, even as he offers a shaky smile to Sal. "Thanks."

In pain or no, if slower than normal, he rises, straightening to show the woman unharmed and nods to her. "G-go to the paramedics to get checked out."

The woman thanks them both before heading toward the arriving emergency services, and Kon, waiting until she is gone, winces and turns fully to Sal, smiling weakly.

"You did good." His smile, even pained, is brilliant, and approving, and proud, all aimed at Sal.

Sal looks over the extent of Superboy's wounds while he's talking to the victim, her expression strangely distant now. That he takes time to care for the safety of the person who's suffered rather than just mete out punishment to the criminals is something that...Well, she doesn't have good words for it, but it resonates deeply with her just the same. Still, it's been a difficult time for the both of them. Any warm feelings are buried under all the sleepless nights and the pain of loss.

She should feel more relieved than this. When he tries to reassure here, she holds back the urge to flinch from it. A good person would feel brave, self-assured; all Sal could feel in the moment was fear and anger.

"You look like shit," she says, frowning. While she knows how powerful Superboy is and how quick he is to recover, it's difficult to convince her nerves of it. "Maybe it's time to hang back, now that the law enforcement crew is moving in."

Sal shoves her hands inside her jacket pockets. These past few weeks have been rough; if she were a better person, someone less broken maybe, she could find some way to be more open or reach out to him. Lean on someone else for a change.

"Up?" She nods toward the sky, asking if he's okay to talk and fly.

"I know. Sorry. And you're right. I need about three days of solid sleep."

He chuckles a little tiredly, and nods to her as she speaks about up. "Yeah. Let's go." With a careful wave to the others, he leaps upward, albeit slower than normal, letting the air take him up and into the sky, sighing in relaxation as some of his tension eases. Sal being here and being away from people, really was helping.

He glances sideways at her. "Hey. Its good to see you." He's been trying not to overdo it, but some days, he has not been so good at holding back. As he slides upward with her, he wonders if he is going to need to start setting a schedule.

Being up in the sky has always helped Sal. The freedom, the cold wind in your hair, watching as all the world and its problems shrink so far from view. Being around someone else while doing it, well. This is the first place she's experienced that, but there's merit in it too.

Sal seems more cautious and careful about showing what she's thinking or feeling, but she doesn't stray too far from him. Now that so many are gone, and who knows if the situation is as permanent as it sometimes feels, having this bond feels all the more vital.

She gives Superboy a small, strained grin in reply. "It's been a fucking hell of time for everyone lately, hasn't it?" Sal glances around the city, gesturing below. "Kind of a real shit time for it, honestly, with the state this city is in. Even when I'm out here, trying to find some way to help out, it's hard to feel like any of this is going to make a change."

Superboy reaches out to her, a gentle tap with his telekinesis. He is using it, even more, these days, flexing it, pushing it, maybe, but his whole world feels upended and with her one of the few still here, that connection seems more vital than ever.

"It really fucking has." He doesn't swear a lot, but he says this with utter sincerity and feeling. "I feel like it's been a gods-damned year in the last month or two alone."

And he shakes his head, then, though, eyes alight, even tired. "Never give up, never surrender. I believe. People will change for the better. It just takes time."

That kind of unrelenting hope is almost painful, but Sal can't help but cling to those words. People can change. Never give up. The weariness has seeped down into her bones, ever since those people just—up and fucking vanished from them.

It seems too tempting sometimes, giving up.

But she still has something to motivate her forward. Even if it's just Superboy and the hope he offers her, it's enough to keep her fighting. She feels that small tap, not seeing it but knowing it's him, and she reaches out to tap him back on the shoulder too. Yeah, alright, you win.

"Maybe they will," she says softly, trying to agree. Trying to see what he can see.

"And what about the rest of this shit we're dealing with? The days keep dragging on, but...none of them have come back yet." Sal fights back a sudden shiver, and she pulls her scarf more tightly around her shoulders. "I don't think I'm ready to just...let go of them."

"I believe in people." Four simple words, yet spoken heartfelt and sincerely. And he nods as he glances at her.

There is hope and determination alongside the sadness and tiredness in his eyes and his smile is warm as he gives it all to her.

"I don't know. I want to hope they will come back, but... I'm to the point now where I just... I have to operate on the chance they won't. That maybe they are gone. And that means that... whether we like it or not, we have to live with that. " He lapses into silence for a moment as they fly, staring off, his face a mask of worry and unhappiness, but then he shakes his head and goes on.

"I won't let go. I will dedicate what I do to them. Every moment I will hope they come back. Maybe that makes me silly, but I will do my damnedest so that if they do come back, or somehow can see this place, what they will see is me doing my best to make this am world worth what they gave me. Hope, love, kindness, and acceptance." His determination grows as he speaks.

The crime-ridden streets of Maurtia Falls might not be the best place to hang out at night, unless one's a criminal or a vampire (for the record, Constantine is neither, even if he has been known to flaunt the law on occasion). But if one's a demon hunter, it's a great place, as those entities tend to prefer seedy dark places—not that he's actually hunting any demons at the moment, as he hasn't found them to be all that prevalent in this world (and the ones he has encountered have been a bit tame).

No, currently he's just sitting on a park bench enjoying some air, taking the occasional swallow from a bottle of gin in his hand, when he finds himself gazing at the woman flying down from the sky.

"Nice scarf," he says, his expression and tone entirely deadpan. "The red cape's a bit overdone, innit?"

Some good people insist on following rigid codes of behavior. In her experience, they usually expect others to as well; don't drink, don't swear, don't be out late at night looking suspicious. Everything should appear on the up and up, neatly organized and categorized into quaint labels. Heroes and villains, sinners and saints.

Sal isn't a good person, however, and she sure as hell didn't arrive in this world from a very nice place—so a single man sitting and drinking alone doesn't exactly register to her as "questionable" or "suspicious". If nobody is screaming and nothing is blatantly on fire, she can't immediately see it as a real emergency. So when she drops down from the sky nearby, she simply turns to give him her usual grumpy-looking expression.

"Capes are for flashy assholes," she says, seeming to agree. "Besides, this thing is a hell of a lot lighter than wearing armor." Reaching up to pull at the comfy, red fabric, it's easier to see now that she's grounded that this scarf is lined with odd, otherworldly runes. Magic.

"Kind of boring to drink alone, isn't it?" Not that she doesn't do exactly that, and might even plans have a go at it later on.

"Yeah, I'm not getting the impression you're a card-carrying member of the cape and blue ballerina tights club," he says, talking while he stuffs a cigarette into his mouth. Which will get her an approving look from John, who's not much of a superhero fan.

He does indeed notice the runes as she moves to adjust the scarf, having an eye for that sort of thing, although he doesn't quiz her on it just yet, focusing on the question instead.

"Better to drink alone than not drink at all," he quips, the corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. "But I won't say no to company, if yeh feel like a snort." He holds the bottle out in invitation.

Sal's capable of a great many terrible deeds. But refusing a drink? Not fucking happening; and honestly, with the way everything seems to want to go to shit these days, she'll gladly consider this a boon.

Taking a seat on the bench beside him, she decides that a small break from all of this flying around and searching for a fight is well-deserved. She accepts the bottle, taking a long pull before handing it back over. "Gin, huh? Could've been whiskey, but I'll allow it." She gives him a small grin and a wave of mock-permission. At ease, good citizen.

"No, it seems like enough of those dramatic do-gooder types have better things to do somewhere else. Don't know where the fuck that leaves the rest of us, really."

As if on cosmic cue, the faint klaxon of car alarm starts to ring out distantly behind them.

John in turn looks mock-affronted by the criticism of his choice of booze for the evening. "Well, pardon me. Gracious of yeh, I'm sure." The smirk that follows is a more telling indication of his amusement at the notion of having her permission (facetious though it may be), to drink whatever he wants.

Leaning back against the bench and crossing his ankles, he takes another swallow himself before setting the bottle down between them in something of a 'help yourself' manner, concentrating on smoking his cigarette for the moment.

"Taking matters into our own 'ands it would seem," he replies, apparently referring to whatever it is she's doing, swooping around out here. 'Our' being entirely a generalization and not specifically referring to himself, as he's clearly doing nothing.

"What a fucking mistake that was," Sal says tiredly, and she's not going to be shy with that bottle. Taking another drink, she slouches down in a similar manner.

Whoever lets themselves be guilt-tripped by some stranger in a green cloak anyway? Just because the ranks of imPorts were so thinned out, just because Superboy had to go and say something annoyingly heroic about having hope in their return. There wasn't any good excuse for what she was doing, and it sure as hell didn't feel very rewarding either.

Apparently it's more exciting when you're the cause of the disasters.

"That's the last time I take advice from that Oliver Queen bastard," Sal admits. She reaches up to scratch at the scar on her cheek, remembering the few people that gathered together in Jeopardy. "Who dresses like that anyway, huh?" She glances over to her drinking mate. "Too much fucking green."

"Something tells me you're not 'aving a great time," he remarks dryly, master of observation as he is. "Oh, you know Oliver, do yeh? Well, that would explain it," he adds, taking a pull from the bottle before going on.

"We're from the same world, Oliver and me." Mostly. "I can't say I know 'im all that well, but 'e's an old acquaintance of mine." John shrugs. "An alright bloke, but 'e can be a bit much at times, that's for certain."

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need some blood in the cut.

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