16433/Day off. What's that

Day off. What's that
Date of Scene:	15 July 2024
Location:	Clinton (Hell's Kitchen), Manhattan
Synopsis:	Jacen and Gwen meet at an accident scene. Wrong thinking didn't preven them from taking care of an injured person.
Cast of Characters:	Jacen Masters, Ghost Spider

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Jacen Masters has posed:
While there is no law saying that he has to respond to an emergency, Jacen just isn't the type to ignore a crisis. Is it a hero complex? Is it an adrenaline junkie issue? Maybe it's just the guy can't ignore people in peril.

It looks strange, a cowboy in Hell's Kitchen. When the car loses control and hits the utility pole, people lose interest in the strangely dresed man and are far more interested in the way he turns on a dime and races to the car that is impaled onto a pole, the pole teetering like it might fall into the cabin of the car.

Ghost Spider has posed:
Current Mood: Sound the Alarm by Shallow Side

o/~ ...I'd like to see you naked
Strip down and show me who you really are
I want your secrets and bandaids
Never mind the tattoos covering your heart... o/~

*thwip*

The white-and-black glad Spider soaring through the night is a wraith in the darkness, visible as little more than glimpse to those in the windows she streaks past. She doesn't usually move this fast, not when she's out on patrol, but she doesn't usually have her earbuds cranked up as high as they are, either.

*thwip*

It's been _hours_ working on that freaking dissertation, and she's had it. She needed air. Peter left to give her some space, probably because she'd snapped at him, and while the thought of chasing him down had occurred to her, the fact that she knew she was RIGHT (about whatever it was) and was only going to continue to stand her ground kept her from finding him just so that she could re-assert that to him.

*thwip*

It wasn't that she was 'right.' It's that she was living through cabin fever. The whole Parker Industries thing had made her super self-conscious about how long she'd been kicking her doctorate down the road in favor of 'more important' things. Now she needed it, she didn't have it, the only thing standing in her way was that dissertation, and it was her fault.

*thwip*

Just like Peter being left mind-controlled for six months was her fault.

*thwip*

She needed air. She needed to swing and clear her head. She needed to race. She needed to race _him_ and chase him through construction sites and end up laughing and gasping for breath on top of the Empire State Building. What ever happened to those days? They felt like years ago...

She's so lost in her thoughts, so tuned into the music and the smooth rhythm of the swinging that she might not have known the car even crashed if she hadn't seen it race by and turned, mid-air, to watch. She seemed to linger if gravity was a force that didn't apply to her, floating gracefully on her path until...

*thwip*

A quick course change has her going back the other direction.

o/~ ...Why not live life on the edge, there's no one stopping us now
Makes no difference
Existing is a disease
You're either tame or it's wild
Oh, and it makes no difference... o/~

*thwip*

She sticks to the side of a building, teal ballet slippers crouching on the wall as easily as if she were on the sidewalk below. Her hood ripples as both hands come up, web-lines spinning, out, catching the utility pole and _pulling_ back towards her. She attaches that anchor to the corner of the building and then she's swinging away, landing on top of another pole and repeating the process so it's secured from two points.

Jacen Masters has posed:
Approaching the car, Jacen's gaze flickers to the pole getting secured by the webs and his eyes look at the figure for a curious instant. The figure seems to be helping, so no time to dwell there for now.

Reaching up, he touches the necklace of animal teeth that hangs down over his shirt. For those that are capable of seeing into the spirit realm would see a massive spirit bear rise before the cowboy, front legs grasping air and a roar into the silence of the ether.

The door on the car is jammed by the crunched fender. That doesn't present much of an issue as the door is wrenched off the frame of the car and tossed aside like it is made of paper.

His cell phone is removed from his pocket, set to speaker, and 911 is dialed as he starts to assess the driver while he waits for the phone to connect.

Ghost Spider has posed:
It's not until the pole is absolutely secured that Ghost-Spider reaches into her abdomen pocket to stop her music and leaps from the top of the second pole, one brief web-line helping her coast gracefully down to land on the car's roof. There's barely a sound when she settles there, only a movement from the car below, and yet she's very much "in Jacen's space."

It's a bit... protective, really. It probably feels like when one of those momma ducks runs over to see what the man with the bread is doing with her baby ducks. It's not openly hostile, but it's very close. From this distance (right in front of his face), it's easy to see the pink and teal accents inside the hood and under her arms.

"Easy, big guy," comes her voice from behind that white mask -- an easy way to mark her as 'Spider-Woman' (or at least one of them), if the ballet dancer's physique wasn't enough. The ringing phone helps steady her, though. It only took a quick glance to see the big '911' still on the screen. "Just don't go all 'Hulk Smash' on the driver, okay?"

Apparently, she had not missed the way he ripped off the door and threw it.

Jacen Masters has posed:
Jacen reaches to a pouch on his side. It looks like a fanny pack, until you see the emergency services patch on the front of it. He pauses when suddenly there is a woman between him and the accident. His right brow raises and before he can say anything the phone connects.

He watches her as he replies to the operator,"This's off duty paramedic Jacen Masters. License number 58907312. I need 'mergency response to a single car accident. A sedan, single passenger, collision witha pow'r pole. Please send fire, rescue'n police as I am bein' prevented fr'm treatin' th' victim by some sorta costume type."

There isn't really venom in his voice, but she can tell he isn't happy with her as he produces a light from the bag,"I'm gonna need cervical collar as soon's possible b'cause I ain' packin' one o' them on m' person."

Ghost Spider has posed:
Those big, mask-eyes blink once. Twice.

"Wait... _you_ are a paramedic?"

It's not like she needed any more proof. The emergency services patch, the easy way he handled 911. Even the light he produced.

Without waiting any longer, she stood from the roof of the car and placed a hand on the edge as she gracefully somersaulted over the edge to get out of his way and stand on the ground.

"Excuse me for assuming the one that ripped the freakin' door off of its hinges is probably the same one that drove them into pole," she mutters once she's out of the way, her hands held aloft in surrender. She's not talking _to_ him, but he can certainly hear it well enough.

Jacen Masters has posed:
For a time he ignores her and starts to do an assessment of the patient. Light on the eyes to study for concussion, he asks a few soft questions to determine the patient's mental condition. From the bag he produces a few bandages,"Y'r excused. I don' want no trouble with ya sister. Jus' wanna keep th's guy'n one piece 'til EMS c'n get here. Check th' trunk'r th' glove box f'r 'mergency flares."

His tone is pretty neutral. He isn't barking orders really, but neither is he asking. Very clincal and sober toned even if understanding his speech patterns can be complicated.

In the distance sirens can be heard, but there will be a few minutes before they arrive,"That w's some slick operatin' keepin' th' post fr'm fallin' on us. Thank you f'r that."

Ghost Spider has posed:
Emergency flares?

"Um, I don't really..."

Do first-responder stuff? That's not technically true. More likely, it was 'do stuff that requires her to stick around and get hassled by the police.'

But there was traffic, still. She couldn't just leave him here alone or web up all of the traffic on the block.

"...Yeah, okay," she seems to reconsider.

She's at the back of the car in the next moment, finding a release that does nothing. So, instead, she slips her fingers under a seam and pulls, popping the mechanism apart and lifting the trunk.

"Huh? Oh. That. That's just the easy stuff, you know? You guys have the hard job..."

There's a pause as her head disappears into the drunk. "Big nope on the flares, but if your guy in the driver's seat is looking his giant bag of weed when he wakes up, I found _that_. What is that.. like a pound? Dude."

Jacen Masters has posed:
He doesn't argue and doesn't press her. If she looks she looks. If not he will deal. A nod when she starts hunting for them. The driver starts to move and he puts both hands on the sides of his neck,"Y'all need ta sit still. Dunno where y'r neck's at'n ain' no 'mounta weed worth a wheelchair. Use y'r head."

He glances at her and there is even a hint of a smirk,"Didn' figger. Folks up'n these parts don' seem ta have no sense 'bout that kinda thing. M' truck's 'bout three blocks northa here, but I reckon they'll get here b'fore either o' us could go'n get'm."

He considers the woman again and says,"Jacen Masters. Thank ya f'r th' help. Reckon ya gotta do what ya gotta do. See things's ya see'm."

Around the block the police, fire, and rescue start appearing,"Get on outa here. I got this. See ya 'round."

Ghost Spider has posed:
'These parts?'

His accent is _adorable_.

"Yeah... I don't think I've ever talked to _anyone_ that carries flares around with them."

*Thwip*

With a well-placed wad of webbing, she secures the bag of weed to the floor of the trunk. It wouldn't keep it from being pulled out, but it will make it difficult for someone (not just Jacen.. anyone) to casually grab and run away with. Not unless they wanted a sticky mess clinging to them.

"Ghost-Spider," the costumed and hooded woman returns the introduction when she leans back out of the trunk and closes it. "Be sure they check in there, yeah?"

As the cars start to arrive, she glances over her shoulder and nods.

"Hey you!" one of the officers yells in her direction, making her sigh.

"I'm glad you were here," Ghost-Spider says, her eyes softening. "See ya, Tex."

Then, with a soft laugh, she's leaping and *thwipping* out another line, swinging off into the night.

"COME BACK HERE," that same officer yells.

Yeah. She's definitely going to get accused of planing evidence.