Fire Sale At Sothebys

Summary:
April 11, 2014: Sara Pezzini and Jason Blood are caught in the middle of a heist. Gunfire and thermite ensue.

Sotheby's Auction House - Brooklyn

One of New York and the world's most premier auction houses. Full of priceless pieces of history and art.


Characters

NPCs

  • Geraldine

Mood Music:


Jason Blood does not like to leave Gotham. He does not like to leave his neighborhood. Hell, he doesn't like to leave his damned shop! But, there are occcasions when such things cannot be avoided and this is such a time. His antiques business is one of the more respected on the East Coast, and it's not uncommon for him to be called in for an authentication, an opinion, or even to assist in negotiating a sale. And, to be honest, he owes Geraldine a debt. "Gerrie." he says fondly, his accent lilting just a bit as he reaches out to gently grip the shoulders of a stooped older woman who appears as though an exceptionally aggresive butterfly landing upon her would crumple her to the ground. The old woman, while stooped, is still dressed smartly if perhaps a bit out of fashion, reaches up a liver spotted hand to brush her fingers against Jason's cheek in a familiar motion that's almost intimate to watch, "Always the same with you." she quavers, and he leans down so she can kiss him on the lips, a short simple peck that somehow carries more weight then such a thing usually does. "Come, come you devil. I have the work in the back and my eyes are not what they used to be, I need you to tell me if I have what I think I have." and, taking Jason's offered arm, she begins the slow old lady shuffle off of the street and into Sotheby's front gate, one of the premiere auction houses in the world.

Around the corner, enjoying a sit in a panel van of nondescript colors and stuffing is face with a chili dog, a fat man lifts a radio to his lips, "Yeah, some ancient broad and her trophy boyfriend just went in. I figure this early in the morning we only gots ta deal with the twoa dem and the two at the desk. You got the alarm Jimmy?" there's a pause then a squak, "Stop using my fuckin' name asshat, and yeah, just one more minute…" Asshat grins and smears chilli across his face with the back of his hand, failing in his attempt to wipe his mouth, "Good." he says to no one, trying to look calm despite the fingers drumming atop the HK MP5 resting against his leg under the dash.

Sara Pezzini has had a long day. It's hard to be sure whether the hardest part was the pile of case files being transferred from homicide into special cases, or the crime scene that involved some sort of ritual augury, to judge by the amount of guts that were not inside of bodies. Brooklyn, though, is home, and Sara is enough of a New Yorker not to have a car. Which means she's at the point in her commute where she's walking home, hands in her pockets. She looks idly toward the auction house as she walks, pausing not far from the gate when the phone in her pocket chimes. "Dammit," she sighs, pulling it out to take a look at the text.

Jason Blood leads Geraldine inside carefully and smiles at the men at the desk as they stand to help her. She waves her cane at them, imperiously telling them to sit their asses right the hell down she has her own escort today and the men do as they're told with fond smiles, "Still have that effect on the male population I see." Jason quips softly to which she scoffs, "Those virgins? As if. I would break them in half in moments and then where would I be Jason? Alone and unsatisfied all over again. Bah. Youth is overrated and experience under appreciated. What use have I for little fragile men such as those?" Jason just grins wider at this, "I remember a time when you had plenty of use for such men Gerrie." to which her cheeks color just the slightest bit and she whacks him on the shin with her cane, "Hush. They'll think you're my trophy boy with talk like that."

The van pulls up to the front of Sotheby's and the fat man gets out in a pair of delivery man's clothes and makes his way to the back of the van where two other men are pulling out dollies laden with boxes. The boxes make it to the doors before one of the two guards jogs up waving a hand, his words muffled by the glass, "Deliveries to the back!" and he offers a smile to the silly unknowing delivery men, waving a helpful hand and trying to show the men they need to drive around. The fat man holds a hand up to his ear as if unable to hear, "WHAT?!" he yells, and the guard pantomimes more. "I can't hear you! Here, lemme try something!" there's a trio of soft 'wffft' sounds and the guard's expression becomes confused, uncertain, then he slowly slides down to the marble floor with a thump. The fat man opens the door, three neat holes punched clean through the glass of the door, spider web cracks radiating from them, "Nope, that didn't work, sorry, still can't hear you." he says to the corpse before the MP5 spits another trio of rounds as the desk, two hitting the second guard that was standing up to look at what was happening, and the third smacking into a glass vase with decorative flowers in it. The sound of shattering glass is the loudest thing to happen yet. The men in front continue as if nothing off is happening, and pull the boxes inside, expecing no one will really notice the trio of bullet holes in the door, not at this time of night.

Jason's head spins around curiously as the sound of shattering glass, "Hold on, I think one of your suitors just broke something." Geraldine makes a face, "If you turn down the young ones they get petulent, fragile egos you know." she quips hastily.

Whatever the text message is, Sara is distracted by something else first. From the bracelet on her right wrist, silver tendrils start to creep vine-like across her skin, twining around her fingers and up her forearm. And with that, comes a definite sense of urgency. Urgency that doesn't usually come from cell phones. She stills, tugging the sleeve of her jacket down over her wrist, as she starts to scan the area. Just in time to see first the guard sliding down, and then the reason for it. Quietly, she tucks the phone back into her pocket, starting to walk toward the doors and the delivery men.

The delivery men move with the sort of hurried efficency other men of that profession do, 'we got routes to make!' and that sort, and so they quickly back thier loads into the front of the auction house before letting the doors close behidn them. Jason eyes Geraldine, "Did you hire someone to compete with my eye?" he teases, hearing the doors hiss. She shakes her head, "Might be a delivery, some of the less intelligent companies send their men around the front. The boys will handle it, that is what we pay them for." Jason pats her hand, "Of course, still, let me take a look. I have a way of summoning trouble if you remember and anything odd makes my hair stand on end." she shoos him off with a wave of her hand as she pressed the elevator button, "If you're not back when it gets here I'm leaving you behind." Jason grins, "Heard that before, you didn't leave me in Stalingrad, don't think you'll leave me in the lobby." "Watch me." she rejoins without pause. Jason is still grinning when he walks around the corner back into the lobby general, "Hey boys did you gu-" he stops at the sight before him and instantly makes a diving roll to his left as bullets stitch the air where he was standing.

The Fat Man seems a little surprised at Jason's appearance, but not totally, and his gun comes up with quick effiency, stitching the air with it's silenced 'wffts' as it's target dives behind the security counter, "Come out pretty boy, trust me, you don't want me coming back there." an English accent returns, "No Elias Graham. You do not want me to come out there." The Fat Man pauses mid step, his face screwing up in confusion, then anger, "He knows our names, gig is up. Boys." his radio squacks and Jason clearly hears the racks on two more guns slide home as they give up all pretense of being delivery men. "Fuck it." Elias says, and bullets begin to chew into the security counter, punching through the cheap construction and chewing up the unseen space behind where Jason hides.

Sara Pezzini gets about one step inside before there's more gunfire, and she plasters herself against the door to punch 911 into her cell. "Robbery in progress, Sotheby's Brooklyn," she murmurs before the operator can even get her spiel out, then tosses the phone to the side. In that second, the tendrils around her fingers become full-blown armor, flashing over her arm, shoulder, and chest before continuing onward. Silver and steel, with flashes of blue or red cabochons here and there, it doesn't move like any suit of armor. It moves like something alive. Like her own skin. Although it doesn't exactly hide her features. Not at first, at least. Gun in one hand, badge in the other, she steps out. "NYPD, boys," she calls. "Weapons down."

The men don't hessitate, two of them turn as one and their automatic weapons begin to spew carefully controlled three shot bursts at Sara. And they're good. They keep their groupings tight, all center mass shots and they start to seperate as they move, one goign to her left the other to her right, splitting her attention and catching in a moving crossfire. Military. The way they move, the weapons, all of it. The fat man reloads his gun in a single well oiled motion of his arm, a new magazine fit into the weapon before the first even hits the ground, and the slide locks home, "We got NYPD in the lobby." the fat man says into his shoulder, "I want you guys loaded up and out the back double time." The trio of men never stop firing or moving, Elias keeps Jason pinned behind the security desk while the other two keep up a well controlled spewing of death at Sara. In just a pair of seconds they've controlled teh battle field, and as a unit they begin a quick walk towards teh elevators, using the constant gunfire for cover.

Right, well, that'll take care of the face part. When gunfire comes, the armor closes in around Sara's features in a close-fitting helm, bullets sparking off of the armor. Though the Witchblade offers its own protection, Sara has too many years of training to trust just in that, seeking what cover she can and picking out one of the guards. "I am off the clock, you assholes," she mutters, aiming neat shots at the shooter's legs.

The shooter cries out as his left leg goes out from under him and he falls to a knee. The suppresing fire on Sara's possition intensifies, to the point that small bits of the marble floor around her are chewed up, "Time to step up!" Elias shouts, and one of hte shooters scoops up the other, dragging him across teh floor towards the elevators. Even shot, the man holds his gun out, grunting and groaning as he's dragged, he fires wildly in Sara's direction as well. Then there's no more bullets and the sound of many reloads… tinktink clink tinckle clink… A small metal cylander rolls to a stop right next to Sara, skitter tossed by someone. It is bright red and this close she can see the letters on it, AN-M14 TH3, in black paint. Holy. Shit.

"You have got to be shit-" That about as far as Sara makes it when she sees that can, going down to one knee and bracing her fist on the ground in front of her. There's a silent prayer for 'a little help here' a thought for what's around her, and a half-dome of a shield grows up around her from her forearm, slanted to aim whatever shrapnel may come toward the ceiling and an unoccupied wall. There is going to be so much explaining to do when the patrols show up.

The explosion that goes off blows out every window on the front of the building but that's not the worst of it. Thermite, burning inexcess of 4000 degress, hot enough to cut though half an inch of steel plate splatters in every which direction like glue from hell, and everything it sticks too bursts into flame upon it's touch. The wall and ceiling get the worst of it, but her sheild is covered in the weaponized thermite, sticking to the Witchblade just as it would to anything else, and burning like a furnace. "Burn you fuckers!" calls the shot gunman, and a moment later Sara and Jason both hear a high pitched cry of shock, then a grunt, "Unhand me!" comes a quavering voice and Jason pops up from behind the security desk, "Gerrie!!" he calls, his voice loud over the flames.

"Not okay. Really, really, incredibly, not okay," Sara rambles for a moment, engaged in a battle of wills with the Witchblade about what to do about high-tech weapons. The shield finally seems to explode in turn, the pieces of it scattering into a million thread-fine tendrils around her to shed what it can of the thermite before contracting again, though not without a few casualties. That jacket and those boots are not going to be in great shape when this is finished. But a few burns are a great cover story, right? Or something like that. "Dammit," she curses when someone else calls out, stopping in surprise to find she isn't actually alone in here when Jason pops up. "Sir, you need to get out of the building," she says, even as she starts toward the elevators. "That fire's going to move fast."

Jason Blood ignores Sara entirely and he moves to the edge of the wall and peeks around the corner, then his head snaps back as bullets ping off of the wall where his face just was. He turns to glance as her and then motions like a soldier, "They went into the elevator, gimme a radio and I'll tell you what floor they stop on, the stairs are through there." he says, then his head snaps back to her again, and his gaze eyes her up and down but in a manner that doesn't once suggest he's seeing a woman. "The Witchblade." he says, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a mixture of a grimace and a smile, "You'll do nicely." he holds his hand out, "Phone, radio, whatever you have, but you had best hurry officer. None of us wish them to hurt my friend." he sounds calm, but it's the calm of a man trying desperately to reign in his anger. And it must be a trick of the light, because as she gets closer his eyes seem to reflect the flames that are spreading in the lobby, flickering with the light of it. As for the Witchblade itself well… it does not approve of this man.

"Where in the hell do you think there's a surviving radio?" Sara starts to snap, coming up short at what he says next. At whatever the Witchblade senses, a glow starts around her, and she loses another moment in the struggle for control. The 'blade demands destruction of the threat, and the bearer demands protection for the woman whose life still hangs in the balance. It's a long moment, made all the longer by the growing flames and the creak of the damaged building, but it ends with Sara in control, the glow fading from all but her palm. "We're going together," she finally says, voice rough from the struggle.

Jason Blood, knowing what she is, doesn't seem that conserned with her struggle for control, and in fact patiently waits it out, eyeing her with a sort of understanding expectation. When she is herself again, he nods, "As you wish. Keep me alive if you can, sacrifice me if you cannot, Geraldine cannot die." his expression hardens, "Do you understand me?" the elevator stops and Blood shoots it a look, "Subbasement two, storrage is there and I think it opens onto a parking structure that lets out somewhere on the other side of the block. We need to hurry." he doesn't wait for her to answer his question before he hits the stairs running, his shoulder opening the door with a bang. He hops the railing, ignoring the idea of actually climing stairs. Where his hand was there is a smear of crimson. Jason Blood is bleeding.

"Buddy, I don't understand a thing that's going on here," Sara snorts to Blood's question, but she checks her gun, counting off the remaining rounds. "But helping old ladies is in the job description. Storage, parking structure," she echoes with a crisp nod, following him into the stairwell at a dash. He jumps the rail, and she follows after, though the dents and claw marks her gauntlet leaves behind on the rails as she goes down are going to confuse some poor fire investigator later.

It's four floors down, which the pair of them take in record time. At the bottom of the stairs, Jason stops to take a look through the window in the door, hsi eyes narrowing, "I count five, but there's a delivery truck of some kind blocking the rest of my view. Looks like the one you shot is in the passenger seat, someone's tending his wound." he glances around the dimmly lit room again, "The ramp out to the parking structure is over there, should be a guard and the gate should be down but I imagine we're not that lucky." he turns to eye her, "Are you ready?" he asks nonchalantly. At her affirmation he opens the door as quietly as he can and slips into the darkness. One may note he never mentioned seeing the old woman.

The storage area is filled with crates and boxes of all types, sporting the old fashioned wood burned label on a few of them, dust covering a great deal of it. It seems organized in some manner, though how is anyone guess. Jason goes left when they enter slipping into the shadows cast by a high stack of crates and almost vanishing from view entirely, he is apparently good at this sort of thing.

Sara Pezzini nods to the question of whether or not she's ready, even if she may still have some doubts about just what's going on. Blood goes left, and she goes right. She's less stealthy than she is accustomed to finding cover, moving from stack to stack with her gun at the ready. She sticks to the shadows out of practicality; they're close to the boxes. Besides, the Witchblade isn't exactly the most subtle weapon. Especially not when her hand keeps trying to glow.

Jason Blood eyes the room for a long moment and then looks around himself for anything that might be of use in a fight, since he is unarmed. He comes up with… A rolled rug of some sort, he doesn't bother to figure out what kind, that's nearly fourteen feet tall in it's wrapped column, and he sighs. He makes another quick look around and then shrugs, might as well, time is not on their side. The thieves are packing up the truck now and will soon be gone. He bumps the rug with a hip and steps further back into the shadows as it teeters and then slowly slides to the side, taking two crates and a box of some kind down to the concrete floor with it. The cacophony of cracking woode, breaking china, and the smack of a fourteen foot tall rug hitting the floor echos loudly in the storage area, and instantly guns come up, bullets fly without question, and items of incalculable value are chewed up if they so much as dared to be in the general vacinity of the thing that made the noise. After a couple of seconds of fire, mags drops and guns are reloaded, "Check it out." Elias says, pointing to the row where Jason made the racket. "Hurry up the rest of you, we don't have time to screw around."

As the goons go to look into the noise, Sara creeps closer to the truck, one step at a time. These guys may be dangerous, but killing them is still not her first choice. Keeping them from getting out? That's a different story. She turns her attention to the truck, gauging the distance between the men. Taking a deep breath, she moves as close as she can from the cover of the crates, then takes off toward the truck at a dead run.

Now this… this is useful. Jason bends down and pulls something from the debris spilling from the now ruptured crates, his fingers wrapping around it firmly and a smile slowly spreading over his face. Oh yes. This… this is something he remembers well. The theives come near the crates, SMG's raised, and one is about to peek around the corner when Sara's mad dash for the truck can be heard and they all spin to see, "THERE!" one shouts, and the guns all spin to point her direction. "YAAAAARRRGH!!" comes a bellow and Jason charges the group of gun toating men with a large heavy wooden shield before him. He slams into the first man, knocking him aside and spins with the blow, holding the shield out as he goes, catching the next man squarely in the chest with the rim of the shield. There's a sickening CRACK and a wheeze of breath. The men sping back to him, guns leading the way, and Elias is shouting, "2 to the truck! Gogogo!!" even as Jason's other hand comes out from under the shield and buries the business end of what looks like a Viking axe deep in the knee of the third gunman. He hasn't stopped screaming since he came around the corner.

The injured man in the truck sees Sara coming and fumbles at his leg until he comes up with a massive 'someone is compensating' pistol and takes shots at her with it through the windshield, the BOOMing of the dessert eagle deafening in close range. The man who was tending the injured guy's leg fumbles for his own weapon and seem uncertain of what to do. Assaulted from two sides, the dicipline is starting to break down.

Sara trusts the blade to protect her, and it does it well, closing into a helm once more. Not that she doesn't duck her head all the same. That's just good instincts. Rather than directly attack the men in the truck, though, she goes into a slide when she reaches it, holding her forearms over her body. Why is only clear to her and anyone who might be looking closely enough to see the blades that shoot out along her forearms, sticking up to slice into the undercarriage of the truck, severing machinery left and right. Conveniently, she slides out from under the truck on the passenger side, grabbing the door to stop her slide with a creaking of metal as it bends beneath her hand. "Enough," she growls at the man with the gun, reaching out with her other hand. More metal sprouts around her, pinning both to their seats.

The men in the truck shout confusing orders to one anouther as Sara disappears from sight, and then merely shout as spikes of… whatever that is, pin them to their seats. Elias turns to watch his get away thwarted and he growls, dropping his current mag and pulling out a new one from the bag at his hip, this one has red tape on it. He racks it into place and lifts it to his shoulder to being fireing at Sara. Whatever's in the mag is not what was there before. These rounds punch through the door and metal of the truck like it was butter. She may as well have taken cover behind a rosebush. golfball sized hunks of concrete are kicked up as the armor peircing rounds punch in around her.

One of the gunmen gets his weapon up and fires off one of the three shot bursts at Jason, and the shield he holds before him does little to stop the bullets. He slams into the thief anyway, baring him down to the ground where Jason slams the shield down into the man's face, bouncing his head between the hard wood and the concrete floor. The man goes limp after the second blow, and there's blood by the fourth. Jason rolls over onto the ground, panting, as the first thief he hit when rounding the corner finally rights him self and heads at an almost leisurely pace over to Jason, eyeing the blood spreading across the front of Jason's white button up shirt, "Hero got himself shot." the thief snears, "'s watcha get." he takes aim and Jason grins up at him, "Not a hero." he informs the gunman before viciously kicking him right in the twig and berriers. In the back of the truck, only audible to Sara because she's hiding behind it, comes the sound of a scuffle and a womans indignant shriek.

Sara would prefer to stick around and interrogate the men in the truck, but someone is shooting at her with very big ammunition. Big enough, in fact, that when a round hits her square in the shoulder, there's actually a spray of blood. Were it just about her, she might continue to risk it. But there's a woman in the back of the truck. Which is about to become the line of fire. She pauses just long enough to punch the nearest man, then steps back and away from the truck, hoping to draw the fire away from it. "You're done," she growls, ducking her head and sprinting toward Elias and his gun.

Jason drags the thief down to the ground where he lays as the other man doubles over from the sudden nauseating pain of a swift kick to the junk, and the pair begin to tussle. Jason shot, and the other man… wounded. IT's not the most skilled of displays. Elias sees Sara coming and grins, "Nope." he informs her as he tries to swing the muzzle of the weapon around to get a better shot at her. He sprays the bullets along the way, hoping to force her to back away, but over corrects and the line of rounds zips through the air of Sara's head, close enough she can feel them tug at her trailing hair.

Sara is not getting scared off at this point. Dropping her shoulder, she simply barrels into Elias, throwing her weight and that of the Witchblade in full armor into his chest. Shining silver lashes shoot out around her, reaching out to tangle around the gun and the hand that holds it as she tries to get a grip on him with her free hand. "Really. Done," she repeats herself, sparing a glance for the others.

Elias grunts as the blow hits him, and he tries to brace. He's a big guy, soft, but big, and is surprised when the girl is much heavier then she appears. He goes down under her and tries to get the gun in possition to fire, "The fuck!?" he asks no one, staring at his hand which is now wrapped tightly in the metal tendrils. He wrestles with her for a moment, trying to get free, but her strength, so much greater then his when armored, forces his arm back down and pins him in place. From where Jason and the other man tussle, there's a crack sound, a cry of pain, and then Jason is pushing the man aside as he cradles his broken arm to his chest. An elbow to the nose, breaking the bone, silences the man's cries of pain over the arm and he goes limp on the floor. Jason is breathing heavily, and he pushes himself up, crawling over the unconscious and bleeding men until he can find a crate to prop himself up against. He's covered in blood, it's all over his face, matting his clothing, and while at first it looks like it belongs to the men he attacks, it's quickly clear that's not entirely the case as his suit coat, falls open and reveals the two holes high up on the right side of his chest, "Someone unlock this door at once!" comes a muffled shout and a bang as if someone had struck the side of the truck with something. "This instant!"

"The fuck," Sara agrees with Elias, cracking one elbow down at his temple to put him down for the count. Once that's done, she takes the gun, pops out the clip, then kicks it aside before standing up. With the worst of the threats neutralized, the helm fades away down her neck, and she takes a moment to look at the wound in her shoulder. It's down to a moderate scratch, thanks to the Witchblade. Enough to explain away as shrapnel. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Or that it's alone, she'll find when she tries to take a step. There's a matching one in her thigh. "We're on our way, ma'am," she calls toward the truck, arching a brow at Jason. "You should have a sit down. EMTs'll be here soon."

Jason Blood takes the advice and slides down slowly to the floor, leaving a bloody trail as he goes until he's sitting on his butt on the floor. "Heh." he says, the motion of it making him blanch slightly, "No worries, at least not for me. Bullets can't really…" he stops talking and waves a hand at her, shoo'ing her off towards the truck.

Sara watches him as she limps toward the back of the truck, armor fading away. "If you say so," she says, then steps up to the back of the truck to open up the door. By the time she does, there's no sign of blade or armor. Just one battered, scraped, and very tired NYPD detective slipping her gun back into place. "Ma'am? Are you all right?" she asks as she opens the door.

Geraldine is there, leaning on her cane and giving Sara a look as if she were to blame for all of this, "Of course I am fine, not get me out of here." because it's not like she can hop down out of the back of the truck after all, "What do I look like to you? A witch with a broom stick, I'm not flying out of here little girl."

"Yes, ma'am," Sara agrees, not quite hiding a faint smile as she steps forward to offer a hand and a shoulder to help the woman down. "We'll have someone here to check you out shortly. Were you waiting for someone here? Anyone else we might need to make sure made it out in time?"

She shuffles over and takes the arm and shoulder and uses Sara as a ladder to get down to the floor, "Yes. Jason was here, tall man, good looking in a middle aged kind of way, red hair, white streak, all dark and mysterious in all the ways to make a young woman inappropriately curious?" she eyes Sara, "You can't have him." she decides firmly, "I'm not done with him yet." she starts to walk out from behind the truck, "He may have done something foolish like attempt to sto-" she stops when she sees the downed thieves, "them." she finishes, eyeing Elias's form.

"I believe Jason is all right," Sara assures Gerrie, glancing toward where he sits for a moment to make sure he isn't going to give the old woman a heart attack with his current state. "And I wouldn't dare put a move on your man," she adds with a flicker of amusement. She looks up, listening for the sounds of further damage up above. "Jason," she calls, using the woman's name, "Do you think you can make it out of here? After what they threw, I don't trust this place not to come down on our heads."

Geraldine walks towards Jason and raises her cane for a moment to thwack Elias firmly across the face, bloodying his lips, "Jackass!" she informs him before tottering her way over to Jason and staring down at him for a long moment, "This isn't good." she informs Sara, and her tone softens considerably, "He's bleeding badly and one of those came close to a lung. Get down there, press your ear to his chest, listen for wet breathing sounds." the old lady demands, pointing at Sara to squat down by the bleeding shot Jason and do as she's told. Jason for his part seems to stare with unfocused eyes up at Gerrie, "Hey you." he says softly, "I told you I'd make it, just had to… to do a thing. The Krauts'll be here in just a bit… need to fire up the engines…"

Sara eyes the old woman for a minute, rubbing one hand at the bracelet on her wrist - which still doesn't like the idea of getting too close. In fact, there's a rather insistent voice in the back of her head demanding that she not just let him die, but help him along. "I'm a detective, ma'am, not an EMT," she says evenly, though she shrugs out of her jacket to press it to the wounds, watching him carefully.

Sara eyes the old woman for a minute, rubbing one hand at the bracelet on her wrist - which still doesn't like the idea of getting too close. In fact, there's a rather insistent voice in the back of her head demanding that she not just let him die, but help him along. "I'm a detective, ma'am, not an EMT," she says evenly, though she shrugs out of her jacket to press it to the wounds, watching him carefully.

The old woman adopts a haughty manner, "Lucky for you I was a nurse in the war, now do as you told or you get the cane." she fearlessly informs the police woman. She leans over Jason and holds out an old gnarled hand, "I'll be okay my sweet, just you hold on for a bit." the old woman eyes Sara, "If he dies we have problems you can't begin to comprehend. He needs something to stabalize him, now. If he slips into a coma, if he drops his guard…" she shakes her head slowly and sighs, "Heaven help us." Jason's hand comes up and his fingertips brush Geraldine's cheek, "Why do you look so old Gerrie?" he asks curiously, and Geraldine stiffens, then grins, "Because I lived a long life you old fool." and she pokes him in the forehead lightly with a fingertip and considers, "The Germans Jason, they're coming and the engines won't start. I'm hurt, I think I took something in the leg, can't move very fast… You have to help me. Get up, we need to get outside. Our boys are coming but they're running behind, we need to get to where they can see us, y ou understand me?" she asks, nudging his forehead again, "You have to get me outside before the Germans get here." Jason's expression pales, then stiffens and he nods, "Of course." he says, his tone taking on a firmer more willful edge. He then eyes Sara, "You, help me up. We have to get ger," he nods at Geraldine, "out for the pick up." which is making all kinds of no sense.

It doesn't make sense to Sara. The Witchblade? It remembers a thing or two about the Germans. About fighting them. Another life, another bearer, and for a moment, the memories press in the back of Sara's mind, clamoring for attention. "Not now," she murmurs, unaware that she speaks the words out loud. She ducks down to drape Jason's arm over her shoulder, glancing back to Geraldine. "If he fought with you in a war, I've got a feeling this shouldn't be enough to be the end of him, ma'am," she points out quietly. "All right, we're moving. Through the parking structure," she nods in the other direction. "No sense in going up flights of stairs to where there was thermite a few minutes ago."

Jason Blood moves along, leaning on Sara and trying to at the same time, help Gerrie along, who merely takes his arm and allows him to escort her, as if it was her due to be escorted everywhere she went, "Almost there Jason." he say softly, patting his hand lightly, "Almost there." he groans with every step as they go and eyes Sara curiously, "Who're you with? OSS? You're not in uniform." he says as if explaining why he thinks she's be whatever OSS is.

Sara Pezzini quirks a brow at Geraldine, but now is no time to ask those questions. "Plainclothes," she answers after a moment, keeping the group moving toward clear air and safety. "You know. Clearing out the wounded. Who're you with?" she asks in turn. Though she doesn't look at Geraldine when she does it. She wants the information, but she's not quite ready to look the old woman in the eye while she tries to get it out of a wounded man.

Geraldine shoots the cop a look of pure undisguised promise of payment, "Who do I bloody well sound like I'm with?" he asks pointedly, eyeing her as if she were mad. "We're the ones that taught you children at OSS how to play the game." he gruns as his foot drags, but only once, and he seems to be running low on breath. He looks around, a bit panicy for a moment before his eyes settle on Geraldine again and he calms. "Just a bit further." he assuers her. The old woman just smiles and nods, "Just a bit." she agrees.

"Oh, if only there was a manual," Sara laughs under her breath, adjusting her grip on the man to keep him steady. "Easy, now," she says more clearly, glancing toward him to check for anything that suggests he's getting worse. "Just a little bit further, we'll get you seen to. What's your blood type?" she asks as she goes, reaching for something to keep his mind off of the actual timeline. And besides, it'll be useful.

Jason Blood snorts as if something Sara said was funny, "Universal recipent." he says, simplifying the problem considerably, "Not much use in a war except to myself." he seems annoyed by that. They reach the gate that Jason said should be down, and sure enough, it's not, and it leads onto a clear street at the corner of the block. Flashing lights and sirens are all on the other corner where the auction house is, NYFD is trying to put out the flames caused by the grenade and meeting with a good deal of success.

"Something to be said for not having to worry about giving someone the wrong blood, though," Sara points out helpfully. "I'll bet that saves time when you can reach out and grab the nearest bag of blood, right Geraldine?" she asks the other woman, letting out a breath of relief when she reaches the light outside. "See? Almost to help. You think you can make it a few more steps, or should I let you rest here and step on ahead to get some help?"

Jason Blood grunts, "Gerrie?" he asks, letting her make the call. She sighs and eyes the men at the end of the block and then nods her head towards the wall, "Prop him up here then run along and fetch one of your ambulances." she says to Sara, "We can't let him pass out or die." her eyes harden and she reaches out to grip Sara's arm with a surprisingly firm grip, "We /can't/. Do you understand?" there's fear there in her now, fear that wasn't there when she was being hurded about by heavily armed theives.

Sara stills at the old woman's words, aware that something is going on, but still not quite sure what it is. "I understand, ma'am," she says with a slow nod, carefully lowering Jason to the ground by the wall. "You keep him awake, I'll go get the paramedics. I'll be right back," she promises, then jogs off toward the trucks.

The old woman watches her go then turns back to Jason, stroking his cheek lightly, "It'll be okay my sweet, you'll keep me safe." she says. Jason just smiles, "Always." he promises.

At the emergency vehicles Sara has to go through the regular check, flashing her badge and yelling to get people to do what she wants instead of them asking all their silly questions. Eventually she peels a pair of EMT's away from the ambulance and has them chasing after her.
The words 'gunshot wounds' do manage to make some impact eventually, and Sara hurries back to where she left Jason and Gerrie, still limping slightly on her own wounded leg. "At least two to the chest area, possibly some damage to the lungs," she's saying as she approaches where she left them. "There're also some of the assailants inside the parking structure, but I don't think they're going anywhere any time soon. Or in nearly as much trouble."

The EMT's show up and start cutting away Jason's shirt while he yammers a bit at Geraldine, and the chaos fo the moment gives Sara a second to survey the scene. The front of Sotheby's, one of the most renown auction houses in the world is billowing smoke, there is a bloody shot stranger sitting on the pavement who apparenlty knows about the Witchblade, an old woman who's tough and kinds scary far as old ladies go, just under a dozen heavily armed theives in the basement with broken bones, stab wounds, and one wiht his leg nearly chopped off by an axe… It's been a hectic night. "Detective? The bullet missed his lung but he's lost a lot of blood. We're going to transport him now unless you need him for something?"

Sara Pezzini has now had a very, very long day. It takes her a moment to respond to the EMT, blinking a few times. "Oh. Yeah, no. Take him. Put a note, though, I want a call when he's awake again. He's not a suspect," she adds. "Just a witness. Thanks, guys," she manages a faint smile, only then actually taking a catalogue of her own injuries. "Could've been worse," she muses to herself.

The old woman reaches out and snags the EMT's hand as he grins a needle close to Jason's IV and she eyes him shaking her head, "No pain killers, no sedatives." her voice is iron hard, "And I was a nurse, you try to slip something past me and they'll have to dig that needle out of your chest cavity because I'm going to put it onto the end of my cane and using my creative mind find a way to put both of them so far up your backside boy you'll have to guy pants with a third leg. Got me?" the EMT blinks and stares at the old lady… "Um." he shoots a look at Sara then back at the woman, "He nee-" "He don't need nothing I don't say he needs. So you just shut the hell up and do as you're told. I will spank you in front of all your little friends." the other EMT is grinning like and idiot and when looked for to help, he just holds his hands up like 'not me bro' and the needle goes back in the bag. "Fine fine. Come on, lets go." they start to roll the strecher down towards the ambulance. Jason for his part is just grinning at the poor EMT, "Good decision. I once saw her take a high heeled show an-" Geraldine's hand comes down over Jasons mouth, "No need to scare the boy further." she mutters, though her cheeks color just a wee bit at the memory.

"Put it in as an anesthesia allergy," Sara suggests as the EMTs start to wheel him away, pushing a hand through her hair and wincing when it tugs on her shoulder. "Right. Those," she murmurs, watching after Jason and Geraldine for a long moment. So many questions. So few answers. Once they're on their way to the hospital, it's time to go and have a chat with the arriving officers. And more EMTs. And the fire department.


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