capeandcowl2020 | Open Post 002

[ It's easy for a man like Rick Bradbury to disappear. Out of the uniform, when he isn't taking up his post by his boss's side, he's just another footnote in the short, ugly history of the ImPort crackdown and registration. Just another body.

He isn't dead, though he sometimes wishes he was.

After years away, Bradbury's finally come home, or as close to home as he's ever had here. He's older, skin tanned and ruddy, hair left to grow long and coarse from exposure to sun and salt-spray. He's leaner, and he walks stooped, like a man who's been beaten down (or, more likely, someone just trying to disappear in on himself). He still favors worn denim and black shirts like he did on the rare days he was off-duty, but he doesn't count on anyone remembering what he looks like now. Some days, he can barely even recognize himself in the mirror.

With his ship docked, he's looking for a convenient place to stay, or at least that's what he tells himself. Instead of taking him to a hotel, though, his feet betray him, leading him down alleyways and streets he once knew like the back of his own hand.

How can a few years away change so much? ]

[ ooc: for reference/convenience, OOC plotting post is right here. ]

[ It's been years since she saw Bradbury. But it's hard to forget certain faces, and events since then may have been horrific but the arena - she thinks that will stay in her memory forever. There are things you don't forget, and people who shared that tend to be pretty clear in your memory, especially when it's as good as hers is.

So when she sees him while she's walking to the grocery store her stride hesitates, awkward and ungainly for a moment as she processes it and double checks, makes sure that she's not imagining it. But no, it's him, and she doesn't let herself miss people it, she can't afford it, but with him here it's harder to ignore that she has missed him. She has no idea if he'll still recognize her - the pink hair is gone, a dead giveaway she couldn't afford to keep, and a decade has taken her from young and bright and idealistic to almost thirty and scarred and tired.

Regardless, she makes her decision in almost a split moment, a public image smile splitting across her face as she heads towards him with purpose. ] I didn't know you were back in town. How are you? [ A level to her voice carefully calculated to neither draw too much attention by loudness or by being too quiet and secretive. Just another pair of friends running into each other by accident on a cold winter morning. ]

[ He startles, at being addressed, and for a moment, there's a fleeting terror in his eyes, though his expression is otherwise stoic. He's never really given consideration to whether or not he might be caught and turned in as an unregistered ImPort, not because he's confident in his abilities to escape, but more because he doesn't think he's worth the trouble.

He doesn't recognize her, not immediately, but he's tried to have a good memory for faces, and even though hers has been hardened by age and hard living, he can still see traces of the young woman she used to be.

He doesn't say her name out loud, just in case -- well, he's not stupid. Not clever, but he's not an idiot. ]

It's been a while. [ His voice is rougher and harsher than she'd remember, yet oddly gentle nonetheless. He knows he hasn't actually answered her question, but the words feel stuck in his throat.

He can't remember the last time he actually spoke to anyone he knows. ]

[ She does her best to reassure him with her eyes, because the look in his eyes for that brief moment is one she recognizes perfectly well.

But he does remember. He remembers her, and if that means a great deal more to her than she thought it would she hides it successfully under her smile, still bright and fake and public. It feels foreign to her mouth. ]

It has. It's been - [ She stumbles over the exact time, chooses to pretend that it's just a natural pause. ] I can't even remember. How long have you been in the City?

[ Where have you been, do you need something she can do, do you need to be put in contact with people. She can guess why he looks so tired and worn. Don't they all, these days? Or most of them, at least. ]

I just-- I just got in today. [ Unconsciously, even if he can't actually see them from here, he glances towards the general direction of the port. ]

Might be in town a few days. [ He pauses. He's somehow diminished from how she may remember him, leaner and harder. He doesn't smile back, although he's always found it easy to before. ]

Not sure how long I'm gonna stick around. [ Just as her gaze telegraphs questions, his provides answers, a slight shake of the head, confusion. He's out of his element and out of his time, his presence here more an accident than anything else, and his hands curl into fists at his side. He wasn't expecting -- well, he'd been hoping, he can admit that much. ]

Okay. [ Nodding, still watching him carefully. He's changed, of course. They all have. But that doesn't make it less hard to see, after all this time.

It never is easy. ] If you need somewhere to stay. [ Biting her lip. ] Or if that's not safe enough, just - somewhere to sit down for a little bit. I can give you that. [ Permanent residence with her is something she wouldn't offer anyone, simply for the danger factor, but a few hours, a few days - that should be safe enough. ]

I just got back, I-- [ He runs his hand back through his hair, huffs out a sigh, and manages a strained smile. ]

I think I just wanna catch up on what's been happening. [ He hasn't been here since he tried looking for his boss, but couldn't find him. No one could tell him where to find him. ]

I think... I've missed a lot.

I don't - [ Know how much he's missed, how long since he's been here. What he needs.

She never knows what people needs anymore. ]

How long has it been?

[ He rubbed his face at that, awkwardly, like he wasn't even sure where to begin counting. Finally: ]

It's been years. [ He says, finally. He doesn't expect that she remembers the last occasion he died; truth be told, he barely remembers it himself. Die enough times, and they all seem to bleed into each other. ]

I haven't been in the City since M-- since the Mayor disappeared.

Well, that I know. [ In reference to the years bit, and she glances around a little bit, angles her body to make sure neither of them is in clear view of anyone around them. ] We should start walking.

That is a long time. What are you back for?

Since John informed him that Bradbury was back in town, and with a new hole torn into him, Sherlock had been on the lookout for their old friend. Well, John's friend, mostly, and a good one. It was enough to make Sherlock actually concerned. Dying needlessly for hopeless causes was Bradbury's penchant, but letting the Porter bring you back was a fate worse than death now. Sherlock was confident in John's medical prowess, but there was only so much to be done for a bullet wound in one apartment. He wanted to make sure Bradbury wasn't crumpled in a gutter somewhere, slowly bleeding out. That, and he was curious how he managed to get shot so quickly after resurfacing.

It was almost by accident that Sherlock found him, when he was monitoring the police presence around John's apartment complex. Within the shadows, he'd been following the patrols to make sure they stayed far away from his friend. The group he tailed one afternoon was looking into complaints of vagrants, and the description Sherlock heard over the the squad car radio was too familiar not to pursue: Large, blonde and tattooed middle aged man seen lingering around the other night.

With his speed and sight becoming stronger in the darkness of scaffolding shades and rooftop shadows, it wasn't hard for Sherlock to find Bradbury before the police did, a few blocks away in an alley. He didn't emerge immediately-- he wanted confirmation before he revealed himself. His deep voice echoed in the alley, though no one seemed to be around to claim it.

"You're being followed by the police. Do you trust me?"

Situationally, of course. Hardly anyone trusted him these days.

Being on the run hadn't been kind to Rick Bradbury, not the least because he'd lit out of Nelson's apartment like he'd been set on fire, once he'd realized who Adrian Maskin was. Truthfully, he couldn't say why he'd reacted that way: one would think seeing a best friend he'd thought was dead would be an occasion for celebration, not dismay. But seeing how much Mitch has changed, how thoroughly he's cut himself off from the ImPort community while at the same time professing to do what's best for them--

Well, it rubbed Bradbury the wrong way, to say the least.

In any case, he'd left Nelson's house rather abruptly. While he didn't think Mitch was there anymore, he'd never gotten around to getting back for a number of reasons. Caring for a fresh wound out on the street wasn't the smartest of ideas, and who knew how he'd managed to avoid getting it infected so far.

Clearly, whatever luck he'd had in that department had run out in others, because the voice out of the shadows had him automatically reaching for the gun he normally kept on his person -- with his injured arm, still immobilized by an improvised sling, and he swore, spinning around to try and look for the source instead.

"The fuck am I supposed to trust someone I can't see?" He hissed, but kept his voice low anyway. Just in case someone was listening, or in case he was going crazy.

Sherlock flitted between the alleyway and the shadows on the sidewalk. It was a blink of movement inside the shadows, so he watched the police getting closer as if they were in a flip book. When Bradbury replied, Sherlock just scoffed. He wasn't going to make this easy, but at least now he knew it was him. He heard the familiar jangling of of handcuffs against sets of keys growing closer.

"Fair enough. Actions before words, then."

Though Bradbury certainly looked worse for wear, Sherlock could tell he was still more of a physical threat than he was. Fortunately, he had the element of surprise on his side, and in his shadows, the physical world tended to change. Arms emerged noiselessly from the wall behind Bradbury, one clamping a hand down on his mouth and the other pulling him back into the darkness.

"Don't panic and don't make a sound," he hissed into Bradbury's ear, watching as the police turned into the alley. It was a more trying request than it seemed; Sherlock knew how the shadows felt to the uninitiated. However, as long as he kept a hold on Rick, things would be fine. Hopefully.

Don't panic was easy enough to say to someone who wasn't getting dragged into -- whatever the fuck this was. Having a hand clamped over his mouth didn't fucking help, either, but exhaustion meant that whatever instinctive struggle he'd made against Sherlock's grip was short-lived.

The kick of his heart was furious, making the wound in his shoulder throb while the police swept into the alley. The roar of blood in his ears was like white noise, drowning out all other sound. Any minute now, he thought, he was going to get called out. Any minute now, he was screwed.

His breath was shallow and quick against Sherlock's fingers, waiting for a fight that never came. They swept through, and though his shoulders didn't relax, there was a huff that might have been like a sigh of relief.

Now that they weren't in danger of imminent discovery, though, he had time to worry about other things, like how familiar that voice was.

Sherlock could feel Bradbury's heartbeat like a hammer against the arm he wrapped around his torso. It was the first time he had ever seen the man actually afraid. How many close calls did he have to chip away at the complete disregard of self-preservation that Sherlock remembered?

Once the police passed through the alleyway, bickering over losing their man as they went, Sherlock shifted slowly in the opposite direction. Bradbury's weight was no problem in the shadows, and it felt like a gentle glide to a nearby vacant lot. Under the protection of some scaffolding, they rose up back onto the ground. He let go of Rick quickly and practically pounced out of his reach as a precaution.

"You alright, then?" he asked a bit breathlessly. His brow furrowed and he sniffed the air. "Besides living on a freighter, I mean."

Open Post 002

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