August 11, 2014: A few chance encounters at a makeshift skating rink in Central Park results in… hilarity and antics. (Lots of f-bombs)

Central Park - New York City

Sitting on 843 acres of public land, Central Park is one of the most famous
sight-seeing spots in New York, and is considered large enough to have its
own police precinct (the Central Park Precinct) dedicated to its protection.
The Park boasts several lakes — all of which have been created artificially
— extensive walking and bridle paths, two ice skating rinks, a variety of
outdoor theatre spaces, several playgrounds, and a considerable collection of
whimsical statuary. It is home to Belvedere Castle, the Carousel, the Central
Park Zoo, the Conservatory, and Cleopatra's Needle (one of three, 70-foot
Egyptian obelisks from the Temple of Ra in Helios, its mates residing in
London and Paris).



  • None

Mood Music:
"Young Blood" by The Naked and Famous (spotify)

It's a lovely day in the city of Manhattan. The temps are mild, little humidity and the sun is shining as fluffly white clouds pass over head. Certainly one of those days that brings the cities denizens out to enjoy it while it lasts.

Central Park, being the largest on the island, is a mecca for this type of activity. There are people enjoying the day by just lazing about on whatever patch of green is handy and those which are biking, jogging and skating through the park.

One such person is a young woman, blonde, tanned and appropitaly dressed for the warm weather. With plenty of places to skate in and around the park Courtney is doing so, on a pair of retro skates with bright pink wheels.


Compared to yesterday's rainfall and the grisly evening he'd had in Mutant Town, Kwabena Odame had decided to get out and enjoy the sunshine. He has a distinct feeling that, in coming days, he's going to need memories of bright and shiny things to get him through the mud he's about to dig up.

Its not often he goes to a place like Central Park. Especially since the cops here tend to be pricks. Granted, he may be the one asshole who's actually smoking a cigarette in spite of the clearly posted 'No Smoking' signs, but hey. That's Odame.

The Ghanaian is dressed in a pair of skinny jeans that are cuffed above black P.F. Flyers. No laces, sloppy look, something the fashionista's might appreciate. As for his torso, he's wearing a light red tank top, further revealing his midnight skin and impressively toned physique. He stops near a pair of trees, cigarette perched from the corner of his mouth as he lifts up a smartphone and snaps a pic.


Darcy has also been drawn by the skating rinks she saw when she was skating the biking trails around the park for endurance. Now, she's back, with knee and elbow pads, dropping her gym bag on a nearby bench to fish out her skates, wrist guards, and helmet. She's in shortshorts, tight fitting with subtle but high-end proctice padding on the hips and tail bone. Between kneepads and shorts, her mutliplayered tights are brightly colored and torn all the hell. She clearly doesn't care. On her torso, her Hellrazors t-shirt has been cut up and retied to fit snug against her frame, and so what if it shows off her bright red bra with tiny white polka dots underneath.

Darcy trades her flip flops for quad-wheels speed skates. The rubber outdoor wheels are eye-searing electric blue. The laces are lazor lemon. Yes, lazOr lemon. Wut?

Once laced, the former derby girl shoves her hair back off her shoulders and pulls the helmet, painted with the words Sass-Mastah-D, onto her head. A click of the chin strap, and Darcy pushes from the bench, leaving her things there (because her keys and her phone - the two most important things ever - are in the hip bag that rests like a rock pouch for a kilt, front and center on her lower abdomen).


Protective gear? What's that? Courtney wears none, but that goes for at least 1/4 of the skaters and bikers in the area, so it's not that surprising. She stays at a leisurly pace, pushing off with each foot as she sails along the concrete paths. She doesn't have the mad skating skills of someone that does it as a hobby or even all that often but she seems adept at dodging people at least so she isn't running people over.

Passing the ice skating rink she pauses, sure it is supposed to be closed for the season, but that doesn't stop people from jumping the fence and skating there during the summer, and any signage that is supposed to discourage that behaviour has long since walked.

Leaning against the fence, Courtney debates doing the same. Acrid cigarette smoke floats past her and she wrinkles her nose in distaste, she glances around for the source and spotting the dark man leaning nearby. She lifts her head in silent greeting, but doesn't say anything about his smoking, free country an all, she just moves downwind slightly.


It isn't long before Kwabena notices the skating rink. His eyes perk up a bit at the number of people using it, and for a few moments he just hangs back, puffing on his cigarette and watching. A sly grin ends up forming upon his face. Hey, let's be real here. It's quite a bit of eye candy.

Boys will be boys.

From the corner of his eye, however, he recognizes Courtney's look. Apparently, while he may be a bit of a scofflaw, he's not a total jerk. Lowering it to his side, he quietly tucks his hand behind his back.Then, where nobody can see, his hand transforms into a cloud of thick, black smoke, snuffing out the cigarette before it reforms into flesh and bone again. Leaving his perch as a wallflower, he walks closer to the skating rink, deftly tossing the burnt out butt into a waste bin on his way over. Sneakers plant firmly into the ground, and with a hefty leap, he swings his legs up over the fence and lands with the grace of a b-boy, hopping once and skipping his feet forward before strolling over toward some of the skaters waiting their turn. "Guess you make it when dey break it, huh?" he asks, with a heavy accent.


Darcy beelines toward the rink. Summer time is best for these, all polished concrete bottoms. Her lips are pulled up in a mischievous smirk as she skates low and fast. Is it frightening to those unsteady on their feet? Certainly! But Darcy's got control of herself, and she nimbly weaves her way to the fencing, and giving Courtney and Kwabena a quick glance, she pulls herself up and over the fencing… in her skates. Because she's done weirder stuff in her wheels.

On the other side, just as Kwabena gets there, Darcy smiles hugely, then sprints for it. Running on her toes for a full eight steps before dropping to her wheels and zooming about.

Her green eyes alight upon Courtney standing near by and those lovely retro skates, and Darcy manuveurs herself over.

"Dude, your skates kick ass," she blurts out the moment she's close enough.


Courtney watches the skaters go round and round the rink. Some are good, some not so much. With it still being summer break there are even some teenagers on roller blades. As the smoking man approaches with his question she glances at him "Well, I suppose, but personally I'd prefer no one break anything for me to get on the rink." she shifts her feet on the skates, her feet moving rolliing front and back but she stays in one spot.

"Uhm, thanks." she tells Darcy glancing down at the skates as she shifts a foot uncomfortably "I think I may have got a rock or two in one when I fell earlier." though she shows no evidence of said fall. Your's are rockin' too." she rolls over to a bench and begins the ardously task of unlacing and extricating said rocks.


Darcy fully captures Kwabena's attention while she performs her tricks. His eyebrows even shoot up into the air, but it's hard to place whether he's impressed, entertained, or simply, you know, enjoying the view. He watches as she comes over to compliment Courtney's skates, while listening to her response with a slightly humored grin.

"You know, I was joking," he answers. "Make it when dey break it, as if dey could keep de thing iced ovah in dis kind of weathah." After he says that, a thoughtful look crosses Kwabena's face as he recalls a mutant he met not long ago; one with ice creating powers. "Well, unless dey find someone with speciah powah's to work here all summah." He casually glances back toward the rink, before taking a few steps to follow courtney. "Haven't skated in years," he remarks, attempting to make some casual conversation. His accent, is placed, is distinctly African in origin. Ghana, to the trained ear.

Of course, one unique thing about his voice is… it's extremely distinguishable, especially if one has heard it before.

When Courtney moves off to fix her skates, he leaves her be, turning instead to watch the others.


"Thanks. Just some RedWing specials. No big deal. Well, when you get the rocks out of your boots, I can see if the trucks are okay for you, if you want. Plus, i just want to put my hands on her wheels. A little bit," Darcy replies, smiling as Courtney as she rolls away to the bench with her own skate bag, to get out the rocks. That's when Darcy turns to Kwabena. Her painted lips, bright red against her pale complexion, smile unreservedly at the dark-skinned man.

"Your accent is amazing," she says to him now, lips curling up higher at one corner than at the other. And she holds out her right hand, wrist and palm of hand covered in her protective gear.



"Kwa." He takes Darcy's hand with a handshake both strong and friendly. "Pleashah to meet you, Dahcy." To the girl's smile he grins in a manner that virtually bleeds swagger. After greeting her, Kwabena shoves a hand casually into his pocket, fingers only, thumb sticking out just so, and leans up against the fence behind him. "Thank you," he answers, before silver eyes begin to dance with mischief. "Can you pick wheah it's from?" His pearly whites stick out just so between dark lips. Clearly, he finds this part of a meeting most entertaining.


Darcy turns to lean her forearms on the top of the fence, head on a tilt.

"Nope. And I'm not gonna try to hard either. Because, honestly, it doesn't matter where you're from or what you do, so long as you're a reasonable person…" She gives a little shrug with her shoulders, rolling one more than the other, as if it really Doesn't matter.

"You skate?" that's the important thing!


Unexpected! People usually guess! Kwabena's grin is momentarily stalled, especially when she talks about reasonable people.

He's reasonable. Sometimes. Right?

"Yes," he answers. "And no. I -used- to, yeahs ago, but—" He throws his hands up in a shrug. "I don't own any skates!" Brows quirk slightly, and he leans up toward the fence so that he can speak in a quieter, conspiring voice. "So, Dahcy." He glances about with mock paranoia, then swings silver eyes back to meet hers. "What ah we gonna do about dis problem?"


Whoa! Silver eyes. Darcy's cheeks color just a bit, and one might expect a girl to shy away from the conspiracy. Darcy leans forward, eyes dancing.

"Well, as hot as I think you'd rock my corset and mini skirt in my bag, I don't think my skates would fit your feet," she replies, voice just as low though body posture completely unconcerned by evesdroppers.


A quirk of the lips, a small smirk at the coloring of cheeks. Then, a lifting of the brows when she plays along. Darcy's next remark might have had Kwabena blushing right back, if his skin weren't so dark. He briefly glances down, you know, simply to compare their body sizes. Chest, hips, legs, feet, it's so wrong. He's much bigger. That's all. Completely innocent, this one.

Except, when he looks back up, his silvers are dancing with mischief. Daringly he says, "Try me. You got an extra pair?"


As she's being oogled, Darcy very helpfully straightens up (and holds in her ''it's totally there so stop being nice and saying that my tummy looks fine when it totally doesn't''-''Darcy's had a few too many beers in her very recent past, but we don't talk about it in front of small children or sweet elderly grammas'' gut). She even wags her brows once, cackling at the innocent look.

Kwa, dude. The horns are showing.

And then, Darcy busts out laughing as Kwz wants to try on her old & busted.

"Yeah. Sure. Left toe stop's busted, and the right toe's about to wear through, but if you can gett'em on yer foot," she adds with a light drawl. Because apparently this is just how one must speak when discussing derby-crossdressing.



This is what we call 'in too deep'. Kwabena maintains an utterly serious look and stance when Darcy busts out laughing. He's fighting off a fierce grin, which results in a casually confident expression. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he answers, waving a dismissing hand. "Come on, let's see 'em." He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

He did come here to have fun, after all!


Darcy leans over the fence again, pointing at the gym bag with an iron on of a little redheaded girl holding a teddybear… ON FIRE! on the main flap.

"Black boots, pink wheels, purple laces. Can't miss 'em," Darcy sing songs. Because THIS is going to be epic!


Kwabena winks, and makes for the bag. There's a bit of rummaging, and within moments, he comes up with a miniskirt. He holds it up toward Darcy and raises his eyes, as if to ask, 'really?'


The skirt goes away, and the boots come out. The Ghanaian kicks off his unlaced shoes, and immediately begins to shove stockinged feet into the boots, one by one.

During the process, Kwabena fakes a pained look. He even lets out a few grunts along the way. His feet are clearly too big. And yet…

The skates go on, and from the ankle down, Kwabeba's feet look somehow… smaller.

"Christ, Dahcy!" He cried out. "You've got HUGE FEET!"


Darcy waits, watching, leaned on the fence while balancing on her toestops. When the miniskirt comes up, Darcy oohs and makes grabby hands. Flouncy skirt is flouncy and works perfectly with the traffic-cone orange cut up tee-shirt she's wearing. It's black. Mostly. The ruffles are pink, but Darcy does not care.

When the skirt is gone away from Kwa and to Darcy, she pushes from the wall to step into the skirt and pull it up over her shorts. Smiling the whole time. Skirted Darcy is skirted and happy!And then she looks over at Kwa struggling with her skates and she's about to make a joke about shoe-size when..>

"Holy super nova," Darcy breathes, mixing her expletive with a certain scientist's over used vocabulary, because it makes her inner Darcy-devil cackle.


It might not be someone's first thought, but Kwabena is a mutant, and that -was- a trick. His feet now smaller (and more dense), he's got much better balance that he had before, and when he comes to his feet, he gives a couple of kicks to test it out.

A couple of spins and a skidding halt, and he's right there next to Darcy, grinning innocently. "How'd you know… pink is mah fahvorite?"


Darcy watching, bright red pinks parted, eyes a bit wide, expression comically WTF'd. And then the look shatters when Darcy smiles hugely up at Kwa, nodding.

"I know these things. Come on, Tinkerballah, let's go tear up the cement," she says, pushing away from the fence. This is her life, after all. Gods and wormholes in space and babysitters/trainers that are really super ninjas but not turtles (which is a damn shame, because if there was one things Darcy wanted in life was to have her very own teenaged mutant ninja turtle co-worker).

..okay, maybe not the teenaged part.


Kwa pushes off in pursuit, grinning as he goes. He comes close to flipping Darcy the bird at that Tinkerballah remark, but for once, he exercises better judgement.

One down in the bowl, the Ghanaian takes to the edges, kicking hard and picking up speed. "Don't expect me to pull no prahncing shit!" he calls out.

Well. At least he didn't flip her the bird.

You have not paged anyone.

"Hell, no! You're a brick wall. Prancing shit's for the jammer," Darcy shoots back over her shoulder, head turning to smirk at Kwa as she goes. With the rink clear ahead of her, she hop-spins to skate backwards.

"You're not half bad," she comments easily, slowing down to let Kwa catch up to her.


Laughing out loud, Kwabena calls back to Darcy, "You haven't seen a thing yet!" He pushes the skates into the cement, working to catch up and leaving some, well, some shrapnel behind in his wake. Those skates likely aren't to last long, especially considering how they're falling apart beneath him.

"Hey, I had some few yeahs of practice," he answers, catching up. "You know, got to get my skate on—" He cuts himself off when, upon toeing the cement to slow down, he find that the toe guard has just snapped off. Now, he's scraping toe against cement, which in the denser state of his feet, isn't really a problem. Except, he's not slowing up.

"—whoa!" Moments before striking Darcy, he leans and spins to the side, avoiding a front-on collision. His arms spray out, one of them catching her by the waist, entirely without grace. "Gah!" Back around he comes, holding on for dear life in an attempt to keep her from going down. With how heavy his feet are, he sure won't be going down any time soon, but he doesn't want to cause collateral damage today!


Ohmygodeffingnewb, Darcy's mind has just enough time to tumble into the fore as Kwa grabs her about the waist. She bends her knees to the spin, reaching around to grab at Kwa's wrists as best as she can past her wrist guards (which is actually much better than the average person given the practice she'd had grabbing things while wearing them). And then it occurs to Darcy that he's not slowing down, and instead of prying him loose and leaving him to his own devices, she straightens her knees and widens her legs like a side-split. Her wheels never leave the cement as she pigeon-toes, to force them out of the spin and then to snowplow them to a stop. She grunts with the effort, brows pulling tight, as she leans back to put more pressure into her wheels against the concrete.

"Fuck. You're a ton of bricks, Beyonslay," she grumbles as she struggles to get things under control. And thank you's go to the coach that forced them to practice this. Because when in a public rink, and working with Fresh Meat, they need help to stop themselves without killing anyone.


With a grunt, Kwabena heels back and digs the heels of those skates into the cement. "Yeah, well," he half-grunts, "Gotta… work hahd… to maintain dis physique!"

Then, the unthinkable happens.

The skates come apart beneath him, pink wheels and black leather and laces and metal straps going everywhere. "Uagh!" he blurts out, and goes skidding across the cement in his stockinged feet! Which, of course, very soon become shredded in their own right. Something about that sound though… it's almost the sound of rock scraping against rock, which is odd.

Coming to a trotting stop, Kwabena hisses a bit, and turns around to look at the mess of Darcy's old skates behind him. At least, it would appear that his feet are back to their normal size. Or did they ever change size at all?

"Uh." Kwabena scratches his head, wincing and glancing at Darcy with a sideward look. "Sorry…?"


As the skates fall apart, Darcy yelps, this high pitched little shriek, and she yanks Kwa's arms out from around her waist and hops the shrapnel and then pushes off to get away one step before she drops to her knees and elbows and tumbles wheels over helmet to a stop… in a crouch, all superhero cool, but on wheels.

"What-the-actual-fuck, Destructo-foot! Seriously! Those were my first skates," she grouses, eyes on the wreck that were her skates and not the fact that Kwa skidded a few feet on his bare feet. Because this is her life. Whatev's.


As soon as the rocks were free of her skates Courtney's phone went off so she has been well away from the noise of the roller skaters and the rink talking to whomever was on the other end of the line. It was a rather long winded discussion so it was either important or someone she has talked to in awhile. Which ever it was the young woman is rolling her way back to the rink, pausing at its edge before merging into the roller traffic, careful not to get in the way of any one else.


Sure. Go to the park! Learn something new today! Live an exciting life!

Sometimes having a Buddha Bird on Board can be the most frustrating thing for a body, especially when said body is tired and exhausted from pulling a full shift at work. It's made even worse when the normal recourse of intoxication is pretty much marked 'off-limits' by same said Buddha Bird. Jim would much rather be home in his crummy apartment sleeping, to be honest. But every time he'd start to drift off to blessed, sweet slumber the bird inside his head would start poking and generally acting like a child. It's not like the thing can't take charge while he's sleeping and do stuff, right? Oh, it wants *HIM* to be more active. WTF, Buddha Bird? Can't a fella just sleep?

Newb at the park about to try roller skating for the first time? Check. Heavy-set and full of lovely mass for extreme momentum? Check.

Then someone shrieks and all thoughts of getting skates and the like on sort of evaporate as a chunk of hot pink plastic cylinder flies right at him! Jim manages to duck a little bit but the recreational shrapnel still creases the right side of his skull.


Head wounds can bleed like nobody's business, and this one is just getting started. Oh, he just got his bell 'rung', he's fine, he's standing up… he's not fine.


"Shhhh—!" comes the curse when Darcy goes tumbling. Now, if he hadn't blushed earlier, now he is, that black skin of his going even a shade darker. He looks from crouching, super-mega-roller-Darcy, to the wreckage that once were her skates, frowning.

We can't have that, then.

"Hold dat thought, Betty Paige." Kwabena darts out into traffic, snatching up the various pieces one by one. Even in his bare feet, he moves with a kind of dexterity that is far more graceful than what he'd exhibited with super-densified-and-shrunken-crammed- feet into her skates.

"Pahdon!" "Watch it, Andy Serkis!" "Skate removal heah!" "Look out, for fucksake!" These are some of the things he shouts to people who come in his way.

Fortunately, he's out there in traffic when Jim gets beaned. "Whoa!" he calls out, and runs over to Jim as the guy stands up, bleeding everywhere. "Aw, hell. You got pegged by Dahcy's boots." He offers an arm. "Come on, man, get your ass off de cement."


"It's Sass-Mastah-D, actually," Darcy corrects, getting to her feet in one smooth motion and dodging traffic. She scoops a piece as she goes over to Jim. She wiggles herself to a stop and offers a hand to Jim.

"Take it slow though. Concussions suck. Here, take my hand. Up up," she's saying, ready to help haul Jim off the ground.


"Th' f…" The portly fellow sort of wobbles a bit and grabs at Kwabena's arm with a bloody (No, that's sweat. Really. Right?) hand. A little bit of the reddish fluid has managed to trickle down into his right eye, even as he blinks a bit to try and get the 'sweat' out of it. The clean left hand Darcy gets, whether by accident, design, or karma.

"Con… cussion? Th' f…. What the fuck is going on?" Seriously, guy, you eat with that mouth? Though admittedly he does have a good reason for it. This time. "I'ma okay. I'm faaahhhnnn." He is NOT fine. Well, maybe a little bit. He is standing up now if a bit wobbly and supported by the two Good Samaritans who may or may not be the ones responsible for his condition in some way, shape or form. See? Karma.


It's a bit awkward, helping Jim with a whole arm-full of pieces that once were Darcy's first skates. He does his part though, splitting an eyeballing of Jim's head wound with an apologetic look for Darcy. "It's alright, bruddah," says the Ghanaian, and nods his head to Darcy. He offers her the collection of skate parts, then reaches out and collects the significant weight of Jim's body.

A sound somewhat like crackling can be heard, and the visible parts of Kwabena's upper body undergoes a change. To hell with it. His usually black skin seems to grow crusty, almost adopting a look that is like rock, but it makes him impossibly stronger. "Off to de edge, big guy," he says, practically carrying Jim until they can get him over to the side of the ice rink.

Once he's helped Jim to his arse, Kwabena's skin begins going back to normal. He casts a glance Darcy's way, silver eyes perhaps making a bit more sense now. "Hey," he asides to her, gesturing toward the skates. "I kindah dahstroyed dem, only makes sense I fix dem." His brow perks up, but before too long, he's removing his shirt and wrapping it up to create a makeshift bandage for Jim's head.

This, of course, reveals a few pock marks upon his frame, where he seems to have recently sustained some injuries. Fresh scars. "Wrap dis up and try not to move," advises Kwabena.


Darcy offers her fluffy mini skirt into which Kwa can deposit skate parts. She was no slouch, and was firm and steady in helping Jim to his feet, but when Kwa gets stoned and takes the load off, the SHIELD recruit just lets him. Because in a world of giant killer robots, Men in Black, and the various pantheons of Earth deities in human bodies, some guy with awesome silver eyes turning into literal stone is just another day at the skate park.

Not that this in anyway explains the foot shrinking thing, but whatever.

"Or helped me buy a new pair. These current boots are a few years old," Darcy accepts, skating easily at Kwa's side, skirt held up to her chest. It'd be highly inappropriate, if she seemed the least bit sexual about it or was not wearing short-shorts underneath. As it is, it's likely a touch suggestive, and Darcy doesn't care.

"And you totally have to make sure Johnny Bystander, here, get medical treatment, because I was just the arms-dealer," she adds.


The chubby man would have started to flail a bit as he was being carried… not too many people can move him around like that without straining. Any transformation on the part of Kwabena's part is mostly missed due to the 'sweat' that is now causing his eye to stay shut. It wasn't damaged, it's just the natural reaction to keep further irritants from entering the eye. He nods a bit as he takes the shirt and shoves it into the hurting area as best he can, the head motion making him wobble a bit more. "Thanks, man. I… got it. Fucking city full of weird-ass shit and I get hit by what? A candle? An aluminum can? I mean, seriously, what the fuck? Couldn't get something cool like, I dunno, bullets aren't cool jesus what the heck…"

His skin starts to go a little bit paler as he prattles on. Probably not blood loss or some sort of transformation but the first level of shock.


With Darcy skating at his side as he helps Jim over, Kwabena cants his eyes her way. Lips curl, and without missing a beat he says, "555-702-6610. We'll go shopping."

He has enough time to spare a wink at the roller girl, before Jim starts to wobble. "Whoa!" he snaps. "Hey hey, Big John. Cut dat out right now. Listen, Sass." She has his phone number, now she has his phone. The Ghanaian rips it from his jeans pocket and tosses it her way. "Go call an ambulance, service is shit in Centrahl Pahk." Then, he's got his silver eyes lain upon an innocent bystander. "You! Go get two bottah of watah. Don't be slow about it, for fuck sake!"

Now he's back to fixing the bandage around Jim's head, wrapping it up nicely, as if he'd had some kind of field medicine training. Perhaps he has.

"Hey man. Just chill out and take some few deep breaths, ahkay?"


Ooh! Phone and number. SCORE! Darcy smiles, nods, and empties her skirt into her gym bag on a nearby bench before taking his phone and her phone, and sprinting hard for the edge of the park where there's clear reception. She'll take a knee as she dials the right number on HIS PHONE, and yanks off her helmet so she can put the phone to her ear.

Sass-Mastah-D is sometimes an intern to a scientist who forgets to eat breakfast, or to call her parents back, is now sometimes a SHIELD recruit who has to run the most asinine errands.

This task? Covers everything. But isn't completely asinine. I mean, head injures suck. Not as much as tasers, and not as amusing to watch, but still up there on the scale of goddamm-this-sucks.


Some part of his brain registers the numbers. Oooh. Numbers. That's a phone number. Why is this guy giving his phone number? Is this a New York thing he's not used to yet? Some ancient New York tradition "Get help from Good Samaritan and go shopping after?" Though, of course, it could also explain why folks are so laid-back, if they had to pay for a shopping trip every time they helped someone out they'd go bankrupt in no time flat. This whole thought chain meanders for a bit before the order to focus and not wobble kinda kicks in.

"Jim. M' name's Jim. An' don' fuckin' swear at fuckin' folks that are fuckin' trying to fuckin' help." Okay, it's a bit of nonsense but at least he's stopped wobbling as much. "Oh, hey, fucking cool… you know what the fuck you're fucking doing. Awesome. You fucking rock, man." Apparently injuries to Jim's skull turn off his profanity filter?

He does as he's told, taking a couple of deep breaths… the first one a bit rattle-y, the second one a bit deeper and more resonant. "Fuck. An' here I told my boss that I'd be all okay on Medical and all."


And there goes Darcy with his cell phone. If Kwabena knew that she was a SHIELD intern, he'd probably be leaving Jim in the dirt and chasing her down. C'est la vie. Once she makes that call, on his phone, it's bound to set off all kind of red flags, which is really going to serve well in his efforts to, you know, take her out on a date later and replace her skates with new ones.

Again. C'est la vie.

"Hey man, look at de bright side," he offers to Jim. "You just pulled de most epic cock block evah. I mean, seriously, eidah you just screwed mah weekend and owe me a full, forty eight houah's of wingman action, or maybe she's crazy and you just saved me a horrahble year or two. Cheers." He snatches a bottle of water from aforementioned bystander, lifting it in a mock toast.

"Now, sit still." He uncaps the bottle, lifts the edge of Jim's makeshift bandage, and pours water in to clean his face. This has the effect of clearing out his eye as well, not to mention making a mess of his shirt. Field medicine rules.


Wait. Other person, where you going… oh, to get help. Okay. Good. Getting help is good. Right. Why do they need help… oh, right. Him. He got hurt. He's not slow, he's just trying to think when he should be 'chill'.

"Fuck. Shit. Sorry man, didn't fucking mean to fucking block your action. Hell, I mean, shit, I didn't want to get clocked like that but — GAH!" Cold water is COLD! And not like the shirt needed much ruining. In fact, if anything the tropical shirt is looking a bit better for the muting of the colors from the blood. "I'm good… I'm good…. water fucking cold fuck." His eye blinks a few times then re-opens and he glances up at his would-be saviour.

"Oh, hey. Yeah, if your weekend got hosed I'm sorry but like you said, y'know, if you got saved a year or two in a crazy-person marriage you came out ahead, right?"

He's definitely sitting still.


"It's ok!" answers Kwabena, laughing heartily. "It's -my- fault you got clocked like dat! Karma's a real bitch."

Once Jim's eye is cleared out, Kwabena can be seen sitting there, grinning from ear to ear. He clearly finds this very entertaining, especially the complete lack of filter. "You got dat right," he answers, then casts a glance toward where Darcy went. "Still. Man, I dunno, I'm — " fingers come to about a quarter inch apart, " — dis close to saying, who de fuck cares?"

He puts the bottle of water down, fixes the bandage, and continues to apply pressure. The second bottle of water comes about and he says, "Jim, drink dis up. It'll make you feel bettah. You know, I got dis lawyah friend. Good guy. Likes to tell me dat dere's only one piece of advice he'd give every man, woman, and child in de U.S., and it stahts and ends with 'pre-nup.'."

Man, it's good Darcy isn't around to hear this!


"It's your fucking fault? How the fuck is it your fault? And truth be told, you're being a stand-up an' honest fucking guy for it? I mean, most folks they do that fucking shit they run like hell cause they don't want to catch the bullshit?" This is more fascinating than actually getting out and going skating!

"Well, it's fucking goddamn important to care, 'cause… 'cause… fuck. Hold on it'll fuckin' come to me."

He takes a sip of the water and blinks a few times, then power-sips the rest of the container in a few seconds. It vanishes too fast to even be considered 'chugging' it. He coughs a little bit then smirks. "Can't say as I've been lucky with that sort of situation, only person I was serious with was hell, fucking twenty years ago ish? And she wasn't… well. Let's fucking say it wasn't gonna work? Kinda left me cold on that kinda thing, if you know what I fucking mean?" Oh, hey, the profanity is easing. Might be the water, might be the getting through the shock, who knows?

"So, who the fuck are you, man? Not lookin' a fuckin' gift horse in the mouth, but I kinda like to know who helps me out an' stuff?"


More honest laughter comes out, and Kwabena shakes his head. "Man, peopah ah assholes, you know dat. Honest to God accident here, and I figure, if someone wants to have a problem with me ovah it, let 'em." He smirks good naturedly and adds, "'Sides, de shape you in? It'd have been funny to watch you take a swing."

Now that Jim is starting to come around a bit more, Kwabena feels he can back off a bit. "I know what yah mean," answers the Ghanaian. "Haven't had de best luck with relationships, mahself. Woman, now, dat's one thing, but -relationships-…" He sucks on his teeth and shakes his head. "Name's Kwa." And he just leaves it at that… Kwa. "But thank Dahcy. She's de one calling you an ambulance. Ought to stick around for it, too. I know it's a pain in de ass, payin' up like dat, but if you have a concussion, you really ought to go to de emahgahncy room."


"Fuck if I'd take a swing at someone like that. Even without th' sweat in the eye I'd totally want to at least know what was going on first? Somethin' I've learned is you don't go pickin' fights, but you damn sure make it to the finish line, and if you can't avoid the fight, you walk away from it as soon as you can."

Okay, that's a bit enigmatic.

"Alrighty, Kwa. And, ah, tell her to cancel the ambulance. Don't need the boss t'know, not in the first week of the gig, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? If something bad comes of this I'll go to the emergency room but right now it really ain't in the budget, y'know? And… if'n I have a concussion, then fuck, well, won't be worse than gettin' my bell rung in football in school, right? Kids these days gettin' coddled an' all."

Okay, he's trying to bluster a bit, but the definite concern of not having an ambulance seems prevalent.

" 'sides, you get a wagon and then suddenly there's attorneys and police an' god knows what else, right?"


All of a sudden, Jim is speaking Kwabena's language. How many horrible situations and terrible fights has he walked away from -without- calling an ambulance? Might explain some of those scars on his chest and back. "Fuck lawyers, and fuck cops," he quips. "I mean, honestly. Dey show up like lightning if someone smells weed in your apahtment building, or if dey want to ticket you, but de minute some dumb son-bitch shoots off a piece in your neighbahhood, it's like… fifteen minute hold for fucking 9-1-1."

Yeah, Kwa gets it. Or he's secretly a law-breaking mercenary in another life.

Rising to his feet, Kwabena claps Jim on the shoulder in a friendly way. z"Well, finish dat watah, and keep de shirt. Hell if I want it back aftah you bled all ovah it." He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go find Hot Wheels and tell hah to call it off."


Perhaps speaking the same language, but with a different dialect. The last thing Jim needs is to go under some sort of MRI or CT scan or who knows what and suddenly, boom, there's Buddha Bird napping on the picture. That probably wouldn't happen, but he doesn't want to run the risk for the time being. Less entanglement, the better, right?

"I'll agree with you on the lawyer thing and well, cops…. they're a give an' take kinda thing. They were cool where I grew up but then you get assholes like in Chicago and whatnot that totally fuck any idea of fair fuckin' play, right? An' I've lived in those kinda neighborhoods, maybe the nicer ones, but yeah, totally get that."

"Keep it as a memento, even. Of how to FUCKING DUCK next time, right?"

He seems pretty up-beat for the situation and nods. "And hey, man, good luck. She seems pretty smart and fast on her feet." Oh, lord, the puns.

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