2010-07-11: Gimme Shelter



Guest Starring:


Father Patrick, and 3 young punks

Date: July 11, 2010


When people come together to do God's work, there's always a devil in the corner.

"Gimme Shelter"

Hell's Kitchen Shelter

While Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest for all good Christians, today is one of a different sort. St. Mary's Catholic Church in Midtown has moved its evening mass at the urging of its priest, Father Patrick. All of the parishioners that have showed up to worship the holy father have been set to work doing exactly what Jesus himself would do in times like these, help the poor.

Father Patrick Hennessy is a recent arrival to the parish as he just transferred from a mission in Nigeria. Thus far, he's made quite the impression on many of the upper class of is members. There are mixed feelings toward his charitable nature, often times his sermons verge on the theatrical as he animates every word behind the pulpit. Today there is no pulpit.

"Thank you for coming.. God bless… Thank you, thank you again…" He greets every person coming in through the door, whether they come empty handed or with goods. He didn't specify to bring anything but some of the more charitable did anyway. Casting a smile toward one of the sisters, he directs a lady who is particularly laden with blankets in her direction. "Sister Agatha," he calls out, pausing the line for just a moment as he takes the load of blankets. "Could you perhaps show Missus Fairmont toward the kitchen? She's volunteered to ladle for us."

Mrs. Fairmont seems quite taken with the priest, she's all smiles as Agatha leads her toward the kitchen.

"Welcome," Sister Mary Freeman greets several of the volunteers as she puts them to work sorting through the donations— not far away from the priest is doing his greetings and allowing individuals inside. Her grin is large, her eyes are bright, and she exceedingly happy at the turn out. "Please." She points to the different kinds of donations at her feed. "Non-perishable food items go here. Perishable there. And clothing over there." Three separate piles— the perishable destined for the large fridge in the basement.

"Oh!" she calls to one of the nearby gentleman. "Please, please be a dear and reorganize these boxes of food!" And really the cans are getting high stacked. She shoots the gentleman a bright smile. "Isn't it incredible what he's doing here?" her tone is somewhere in between joy and awe.

"And we really should be more aware and present for the homeless, shouldn't we?"

Speaking of one of the homeless, there's one peering around a corner, her hair falling in her face as she tries to figure out what's going on and, more importantly, just what the hell is she doing here. Guess she eventually decides that she doesn't really care one way or another as she steps in fully. Ace looks conflicted as she watches the Sisters and the others doing their thing, it having been years since she last set foot in a house of worship, her steps as indecisive as is the rest of her manner. Someone is most decidedly NOT in her element.

"Who, me?" asks Stefano, who is standing nearby, but was occupied with bending down to pick up some more cans and hoist them into the box. But the others around him have decided that he's as good a choice as any. So much for just the bare minimum of keeping up appearances— now he actually has to think about what he's doing. Like capers. He knows what they taste like, but which pile do they go into? "Where the hell's Bell gone off to?" he adds, under his breath, wishing he'd paid half as much attention while she was making dinner as he did after it was done.

In the days since the eclipse, Alex has turned to something she's not been very observant of in the past years. Blame it on the Amazon. Blame it on the spirituality of those amazingly happy people there and their awed nature of everything and anything about them, their reverence and intense love of their singular spiritual leader. Whatever the case, Alex has reconnected to her Catholic roots in the last weeks courtesy of her upbringing in New Orleans.

Call it fate, but St. Mary's is the name of her home church, and her home-away-from home church here in New York. She'd been there from about the time that Father Patrick had started, and his engaging sermons kept her coming back week after week for that connection, that spiritual 'something' to fill the void left by the absence of something that's defined her for the last, oh, decade. Silver crucifix having been a constant companion since the eclipse, she appears bright and early on this donation day, with two straining bags of non-perishables. "Over here Sister?" she asks of Sister Mary, holding those bags up a little as her turn in line comes up. She isn't tall enough to see where the sister had pointed from where she was in line a moment ago.

Emmitt Galloway may or may not be considered technically homeless. He does have a home, and lives quite comfortably… as his alter ego, entertainment news anchor Charla Keble. Unfortunately, the ability that allows Emmitt to live as Charla has been out of commission for the last few weeks- and since it would seem rather suspicious for a completely unknown man to be coming in and out of the home of a well-known woman while she herself is nowhere to be seen, he's had to play the role of a homeless man since that time.

Emmitt isn't terribly fond of religion- it caused him a whole lot of problems in his youth. Still, without the opportunity to use the money he's earned as Charla, he'll take what he can get. He gets in line behind Ace, humming a bit to himself- probably the theme song to some movie. You hear a lot of those as an entertainment reporter.

Easing himself of the burden of the blankets by putting them in a neat pile on a side table, Father Patrick makes his way toward the kitchen. He passes near Ace on his way through and gives her a cordial smile as he points toward the kitchen. "Come come, don't be shy. There's plenty to be had by all." He extends that smile toward Emmitt and reaches out to shake the man's hand, should he accept.

"Welcome brother, please make yourself comfortable. The food was prepared especially by one of our members, I can personally guarantee that it's the best stew in these parts." One of the other homeless comes out of line with a full tray, a hearty bowl of stew with real honest to goodness pieces of vegetable and chunks of meat in it, a couple of buttered rolls, and some fresh pieces of fruit. Everyone that steps out of line has basically the same things on their tray, the only variation being the type of fruit or whether they took one or two rolls.

"Yes! You sir!" Sister Mary says brightly with a large grin. But she catches the curse and clucks her tongue, "Now, now, now, watch the language!" And while it's a reprimand, it's light and airy not mean or goading. "Please just restack them." And then she nods at Alex, "Yes dear! That is perfect!" Like Alex, the nun is incredibly short and so she understands the plight of the other short woman. "Oh my goodness! Look how little you are— well I always say God made me fun-sized for His convenience. I'm concentrated, more power in a tiny package! Come now, you two can stack them together!" she suggests to both Stefano and Alex.

"Uh…yeah, thanks Padre," Ace returns, the priest getting her to smile which really doesn't do anything to hide her discomfort over behing here. Normally the kind to shun charity, the need for food has driven her here, hand held out as the saying goes. Looking around, now, she turns and looks at Emmitt, her head lifting slightly as she does. "Yeah. Hey. You too, huh?" Abrupt manner showing itself, she is not inclined to hold any further discussion despite her having asked him the question.

A couple months ago, Stefano would have automatically started sizing Alexandra up in the back of his mind as soon as his attention was drawn to her. Today— well, he still does, but it's further back in his subconscious. He still hasn't forgotten the last time fate swatted him in the nose for that sort of thing. Nope, all business for the moment, as he slips into an easy rhythm: stacking things on top of other things, now there's something he's plenty familiar with. (Especially when said things belong to someone else, but that's another story.)

"Well, I might have been able to see were I wearing heels today, but I was expecting some hard work, so," Alex tells Sister Mary, lifting up one leg a bit to reveal the tennis shoes under the hem of the jeans. "Is it ok to put the bag in as well? They're all non-perishable so I guess…well, not." The sister's later suggestion of stacking the cans with Stefano indicates that yeah, they'll have to come out of the plastic bags. Clank clunk thunk. The cans hit the floor in front of the bins and the plastic crumples as she gets to stacking them neatly inside.

Emmitt accepts the offered handshake. "Thank you," he says simply with a brief smile to the priest. That's something you never would have seen him doing before he inherited Charla's life. It really reminded him of how much he'd turned himself around. In fact, in the time since his powers faded, he thought maybe being his old self again might not be so bad- but he felt obligated to return to being Charla as soon as possible. He'd abandoned his old life for a reason- he had no reason to abandon this one, with a family that cared about him and a good job- one that the original Charla had dreamed of since childhood.

It took him a while, thanks to these thoughts of the past, to register that someone had spoken to him in line. "What? Oh… yeah," he says to Ace. "Well, if we've got to be here, it's a good time for it," he adds.

Moving into the kitchen, the priest claps Stefano on the back on his way in. His smile turns to a boyish toothy grin as he sees Sister Mary and all of the other volunteers bustling around in order to get the food organized. "Sister Mary, when you're finished in here, there's a van in the alley with more donations to be sorted. I'll be out to help you in a few minutes as soon as I've rustled up some strong arms." That's when Stefano receives a lifted eyebrow just before the priest turns and walks toward the doorway of the kitchen.

"Are there any willing to help us unload the truck?" No less than a dozen people speak out, from the church goers all the way through to their homeless guests. There's just something about the priest that seems to bring out the better in people. It's likely is gentle yet jovial manner.

"Well, land sakes, girl, you'll be doing plenty of hard work, just give yourself some time to ease in," the Sister offers with a bright smile and then nods, "Thank you there, little one!" She brightens at the Priest. "Of course Father! We can get that done right away, can't we?" Her smile grows a little as she waves for Alex to follow her at least. "C'mon dear! Us short ladies have plenty to do and we don't even have to do the lifting— I mean look at all of these helpful young men!"

Ace simply nods, not sure what to follow up Emmitt's response to her question with, it being a socially awkward moment made all the more so due to her all-around discomfort. He is given a quick smile before she shuffles forward, hands shoved into the pockets of her well-worn cut off fatigues. "Yeah," she gets out after a moment but whether it's meant for the guy behind her or a self-directed comment….yeah. She's a bundle of mysteries.

Again, something that Stefano is all too familiar with— usually for a much more direct sort of reward, but he'll take what he can get. The other kind has been more dangerous than usual, anyhow.

"No, no," he advises the others just as they're getting started, "don't haul one box the whole way— pass it along, that way we all got less walking to do." The suggestion isn't quite as popular with the two guys who wind up at the head of the bucket brigade, whose job is only a little easier than before.

"Ah, a supervisory position. That's something I can really get behind…so long as it has a choir riser to stand on!" Alex can't help but giggle at her own little short joke, cheesy though it may be! "On a more serious note, I can definitely help with the sorting or the cooking, if the muscle here can get the stuff into the kitchen or the clothes pantry." Here, Stefano gets a pay on the shoulder, a friendly pat of Catholic solidarity.

Emmitt's just here for food and some extra clothes, not to help with the operation of things, so he doesn't respond when people are asking for assistance. He just walks along with the line of people for now. Though he does feel a bit guilty about what he's doing here. He feels like he's taking a position away from a "real" homeless person- then he smiles to himself. Really, it should be the other way around. If it hadn't been for his powers, he'd probably have landed up in a line like this by necessity, and much earlier than he had. He'd lived as Charla for so long that his true self seemed like the lie. Maybe, he thinks, once his powers returned, he'd come back here as Charla and help out.

"Right then, let's head off.." Patrick says lightly as he practically skips toward the door. He is in a good mood, nothing seems to be wavering it, not even the buns that seem to have been forgotten in the oven. "Sister Agatha," he intones lowly as he makes his way through, "Check on the oven please? I believe whoever is on buns may have stepped away for a moment."

This causes the nun to go into a bit of a tizzy as she reaches for some oven mitts and pulls a pan of deeply browned rolls from the oven. There's not too much smoke though, it's just started wisping off the sides of the sheet when she pulls it out.

"Excellent! It's decided then!" the Sister follows Father Patrick to the door, her steps just after his. And once outside, she leads the way, it's the beauty of being a nun, married to the Church, no man to order her around. Just the Church. Run by men. Hmmm.

She hops up to the van and flags Alex to help her assist the occupants with their donations…"

It never seems to be fast enough but that's the nature of lines, those who are made to wait within them driven to fits of impatience more often than not. Ace's own manifests in a side-to-side, foot-to-foot bounce which might make some think of a child suddenly caught having to pee. BADLY! "C'mooooooon," she drones only to follow it up with a hasty, "We're hungry," it said under her breath low enough so it might go unheard except by those closest to her.

Outside, the convoy is running a little less smoothly than what Stefano is used to, but close enough— it's the wrong place and time to ride anyone over minor details. One of the lulls in the pace gives him enough time to poke a head back inside for a second. "Hey, what's with the burning smell?" He didn't see any parishioners smoking inside the building proper. And no one would have a good reason to commit arson here, would they?

They would, three of them anyway. The moment Stefano turns his head back around a trio of young men, just barely into adulthood, swagger into view. They're in a vee formation as they saunter down the alley toward the truck and from the looks of things, they're not as friendly as the God fearing folk inside and outside of the building.

The one in the center, the stout one, gives Stefano a wide catlike smile. His white teeth shining against the sallow palor of his face. His black curly hair coming down in a mop over his brow. His blue eyes glitter with amusement at all the people breaking their backs in manual labor.

The tall and lanky youth to his right side has straightish red hair that comes down in what could be called an emo cut over his pale, freckled face. His eyes are also blue, a darker shade that his shorter counterpart. He's dressed casually, just like the other in a pair of jeans and a gray jersey hoodie. They're both carrying bats.

"'Ey, can I ask what's goin' on in my neighborhood?" The stout one looks past Stephano now to catch Father Patrick's eye.

The wiry beanie-wearing youth to the stout ones left wipes his nose on his sleeve. With attitude, his bat is slung over his shoulder. Tufts of dark hair can be seen underneath the little cap as he glances at his comrades and over towards the Priest much like his friends. Yet, he looks distinctly younger than the others, more boy than man with lanky arms, lanky legs and broad shoulders he still hasn't quite grown into.

Blue eyes peer from one of the volunteers to the next. "Aye. This be our turf, Father," he agrees with the stout one before shrugging. "Ye bein' new 'n all tah the neighbourh'd, needed tah be informed."

Unlike his comrades, his eyes flit to the nun and short woman. "E'vry Father been through 'ere needed tah be informed— surprised Father Markus din't tell ye."

Whatever might have been in Alex's hands is no longer in them, set down on the ground to free them for…what, exactly? It's not like she can do anything at all right now, lacking powers. Mostly, she's just a short, weak little woman without much to do…beyond staring at the thugs. It's not the first time she's had a run-in with some of New York City's seedy underbelly - the first time resulted in her right arm getting shot. Today, the left arm is bandaged, and it helps bring back memories, for sure. "We…we don't want any trouble, guys. We're just volunteering and helping people."

"Ya know what? Eff this." Pissy beyond measure for having been made to wait, Ace (who at least is well behaved enough to not swear outright right now) wheels around and blows past Emmitt and everyone else is, muttering darkly under her breath as she exits the place. She is really just wanting to get away from people all together but there she is, anywhere but where she wants to be, heading towards the area where the deliveries were being off-loaded, cussing up a storm now that she thinks she's in 'private'.

"That's true," Emmit says to Ace as she complains of being hungry. "But the people in front of you might be even hungrier. Personally, I think I can afford to wait…" Then, he sees the thugs swaggering up to the site. Emmitt was familiar with these types from the old days. This time, he didn't feel tougher around them… instead, he was afraid. Involuntarily, his mind flickered back to the horrible violence he'd seen regularly before his powers gave him the means to escape. He was scared, but he knew he couldn't just let these people have their way without at least trying to talk to them. "She's right," he says. "They're helping the homeless… It's free food, so you don't have to threaten anyone over it…"

The three youths catch Father Patrick by surprise and he stares the one that looks to be the leader right in the eye. Slowly, he comes to a stand and stretches himself to his full height, much like one would when approaching a wild animal. "What can I do for you, son?" he says, a little of his own brogue matching the young man's. He's a good half a foot taller than the stout one and in his black frock, he's a little more imposing. Not that he means it to be that way. The other two receive nothing more than a cursory glance and a kindly smile, something just to show that they're not being ignored.

"You could volunteer and help people too!" Sister Mary offers brightly as she steps towards the boys and peers at each in turn. "Hey… did I teach you in the third grade?" Her eyes narrow a little at the stout boy as her jaw sets tighter, but she backs up behind the priest.

Every second that Father Patrick has the attention of the new arrivals is a second that Stefano doesn't. He plays along with the don't-hurt-us line as well… but not before, taking advantage of the further cover provided by the door frame, he reaches into his pocket and hits a panic button. The eclipse may have hosed his ability, but the guys from his crew are as capable as ever - and so are their concealed weapons. One of them is working the truck convoy; the other is somewhere in the middle of the flock, but quickly making his way toward the back, abandoning what little social grace he'd bothered to display up to that point.

"Wh…" Even with as pre-occupied she is the tension is not something she can not miss, it being enough to draw Ace out of her head and back into the world she's a part of. "What's going on, huh?" Frowning, she does something quite brave (or rather stupid, depending on how you see things) that being going up to where the three trouble-makers are bugging the Father and the other good-do'ers. "Hey, how about you leave 'em the hell alone, huh?" Shaking her head, she clenches her fists, looking at the one she is taking to be the leader, trying to pick a fight with him to buy the others time to get out of there. "Come on, pretty boy. Gonna teach you a lesson in what it's like to get your ass kicked by a girl."

Good lord! What's all this going on here? Alex watches helplessly as the priest stands up to, well, stand up to the thugs. Then there's Ace coming out and muscling up as well, showing no fear. Pack mentality? Communal stupidity? Who knows! Alex steps up behind them, for what it's worth. 5' hardly anything" without powers is just asking for a butt-whooping, but, well, if this group doesn't stand up to them, who's going to be next on their list of thuggery? A school? A goodwill store?

Emmitt isn't the fighting type now. He doesn't want to get involved. These guys would wipe the floor with him anyway even if he wanted to fight, and he didn't have any powers with which to defend himself. But hey- the next spot in the food line is open now that Ace has gone to confront the thugs, so he simply moves to the counter and starts filling his tray, feeling fairly pathetic.

"I think yer forgettin', Father, this is our neighborhood. An' we don't want nothin' unt'ward happenin' to the nice people here, do we now?" The stout youth is still smiling as he lightly swings his bat from side to side from one hand. His accent is muddled, sounding in some parts like he's a New York native and in other parts as though he carries a brogue much like his youngest companion or the father himself.

The redhead glances at Sister Mary and reddens for a moment as she recognizes him but swiftly puts her out of mind as the curly black haired one focuses on Father Patrick. "Yeah, our neighborhood!" he parrots, agreeing with everything the raven haired one says. "You gotta pay us for pertection!" Unlike his fellows, he's a true New Yorker, through and through. Right down to the whiny pitch of his nasally voice.

Father Patrick's sharp eyes catch the youngest one and narrow just slightly as he tries to pick out where the boy is from. He's still looking at him as he addresses the leader, "I don't see a reason why we can't work something out. Though none of this is mine, it belongs to the fine people we're trying to help off the streets," he says kindly, though firmly. He's not one to be bullied. "Perhaps if you came in and helped us, you might be persuaded to let us alone in our mission?"

Sticking with his slightly out-of-the-way vantage point, Stefano shoots the younger guy a sharp look. Not even the slightest hint of subtlety with this one, huh? Just as well he didn't bring Emilio along - he'd be rushing forward already by this point, doing his best to grab the guy's own bat and crack his ribs with it. Instead, Jimmy walks up, casually reaching for a silenced handgun - only to be waved back. Let them stick their necks out first, the capo thinks to himself.

"Back off!" the beanie-kid instructs Ace as he clutches his bat in front of him. "This 'ere's our neighbour'd! They will pay us fer protection— everyone needs to pay up eventually!" His eyes narrow as he glances from one of his comrades to the next, pulling his bat from his shoulder and bringing it to his front, ready and willing to take down the lot of them (he may be young, but he certainly looks strong).

"Don't take that from them Father Patrick!" Sister Mary quips boldly as she steps forward and begins waggling her finger at the redhead in particular. "Ian O'Leery! In the name of all that is hopeful and holy what in tarnation do you think you are doing?! Git out of here and back to where you need to be— never never never threaten the church or me or what's going on here!! What are you thinking about?! What went through your heads when you whippersnappers picked up!" She points towards heaven, "There is grace my friends! There is grace!"

Did she just get ignored? Did SHE just get ignored? Oh hell no, that's not going to be allowed. "Hey, dirt bag. Get the hell out of here, huh." Stepping between the one with the bat and the assembled people, Ace glares at the dark-haired youth and does the only thing she can think to do, that being throwing a punch at the guy. If it shocks the others she doesn't care, Ace too angry to give two figs or a holler about what others might think of her.

"Oh!" Alex cries out when Ace throws a punch at the first of the thugs. She winces a little and turns away from the sight of the inevitable fight between…crazy homeless chick and kung-fu priest or something. And then, idea! When she peeks through her eyes, she spots a little pile of dirt and dust, the sort of asphalt chips and concrete dust that happens when weeds manage to grow through the sidewalks in the city, catching other grime and musk washed away by the rain. She might not be able to control it with a power, but she sure can bend down and scoop up a handful to throw in their eyes!

At the first sign of trouble the, the beanie-kid begins to back up, heading back from whence they came. He's trying desperately to stay out of trouble. In a flash the young man treads up the road, not really a thug, but still desperate to follow in the footsteps of his much older brother.

And as the kid disappears, Sister Mary waggles her finger at Ian one more time before turning on her heel. "You've left me no choice Ian O'Leery! I am calling your mother! And then… the cops!" There's a pause as he hmmms. "And NOT necessarily in that order!" She treads back into the building, the former third grade Catholic school teacher ablaze with justice and the safety of their volunteers on her mind.

Emmitt finishes loading up his tray, but he can't think of where to go with it. He doesn't want to stick around here while there's a fight going on… "…What should I do?" he asks nobody in particular. He could just carry the thing somewhere and hope he doesn't spill it- he is still hungry after all- but somehow he doesn't want to just leave. "Charla wouldn't do that," he thinks. "It's people like them that killed her!" At least it seems like someone's going to call the cops, so hopefully the altercation will be over soon. Still… he's nervous about what's going to happen next as he stands at the edge of the buffet table watching.

The alley is quite the bustle of activity at this point. As soon as the stout manboy is attacked by Ace he practically balls up as he lets out a girly shriek. His battle prowess against the more formidable woman is quite comical as he begins swinging the bat in her direction, just trying to fend her off. "Get off, eh? What are yeh! Insane?" He screams as he pushes from defensive to offensive, taking stronger and stronger swings with the bat. From an outsider's standpoint, it's rather difficult to see weather the inky headed youth is actually hitting her or not.

Ian, as he is so named by the nun, is so surprised by the sudden attack on his friend that he does the first thing he can think of… take a swing with his bat. His target isn't the woman though, his is Father Patrick, the ring leader.

The Father makes a rather large and fairly easy target and he goes down easily. Father Patrick is no fighter and it shows. As the red head gets a few swings of the bat at him, he curls on the pavement. "Stop this at once!" he calls out, not exactly begging for mercy as much as ordering the boy who is pummeling him off.

"Yeah, I'm fucking insane, boy-o. Get the hell out of here and take yer buddies with you, huh?" She sees that the other kid's back and causing troubles which she uses for leverage, her hand shooting out to close around her target's throat while looking at Ian and poor Father Patrick from over her shoulder. "Leave the padre alone or I'll choke the ever living shit out of your buddy and use his corpse to beat the hell out of you." Doesn't matter if she's successful in getting her digits around the brute's neck or not. Threat is a threat, this one with a bit of weight to it due to how Ace doesn't seem to put her own well being into the equation at all, the crazy chick doing it for the others.

"Go on! You heard him! Get out of here!" Alex shrieks out at the punks who are flailing. That good handful of dirt and stuff from the ground is finally used as a weapon as she spins around and tosses it toward their faces. Like a cloud it shoots from her hand, fingers flicking open. Hopefully the grayish bunch of junk actually gets in their eyes and not in Ace's or the father's.

What to make of these two? On the one hand, they suck at beating up anyone who actually thinks to fight back. On the other, they beat up Father Patrick just fine— and most of the people here are probably more like him. Most, but not all. And on the other other hand, being showed up by a couple of women is the sort of thing that can lead to nasty grudges.

Time to even the odds. Nodding to one another, Stefano and Jimmy walk forward calmly but quickly, jamming guns where the loudmouths will feel them but no one else is likely to see them. "You heard the chick," Jimmy quips, "playtime's over. Go home to mama."

It seems to Emmitt that the others around have things well in hand… he just hopes that this trouble doesn't have a tragic outcome. If he tried to get them off, judging from how they looked, he'd probably come out fine, but he was thankful not to have to fight. Still, he wants to contribute in some way… "Is there anything I can do?" he calls out. "I know the police are already coming but…"

As Ace's fingers find their way around the stout man's throat he lets out a small urk of surprise. She's definitely stronger than she looks. The wail of the police sirens has his eyes bugging out more than his own impending death either by her or the gun jammed into his side. It seems he's a little outmatched by the priest's people.

The bat stops swinging as soon as Ian feels the metal barrel shoved into the small of his back. A little too quickly, he straightens up and grips the bat a little tighter. "Fine, fine, we'll go…" his voice cracks in answer to their demands. They'll go for now…

There's a coughing fit from the ground and Father Patrick spits up a mouthful of blood. He seems much older than his fifty some years. The boyish smile has faded and the flare from his blue eyes practically screams with the wrath of God. Placing a hand to the ground, he shakes his head and the dust and dirt thrown by Alexandra falls from his hair and shoulders. "Let them go," he rasps, still glaring at both the boys, "You remember this day, you remember that I showed you mercy an' you temper that the next time you decide to come around."

The sound of the sirens startles her which is a bad thing as gasping in such has Ace sucking in a good lungful of dirt that had been tossed by Alex. Good thing she has already started to let go at the Father's request as she's having to cough, that loosening her grip on the husky man. "Daymn…" she gets out between bouts of hacking, glaring a bit at Alex as she does. "Dude! Give a gal some warning before you do that, huh?"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Alexandra is exceedingly apologetic about the dirt hurling gone awry. Seems like she got more on the father and Ace than she did on the hoods. To apologize for that, she helps the priest to his feet, dusting off some of the stuff from the sleeves and back of his shirt and collar. "I wasn't aiming for you, I promise. I was trying to get them in the eyes and keep them from swinging." She might have been more accurate, had she been able to use even a bit of her ability.

Once the obvious thugs are on the retreat, the less obvious ones step back again, lest they be seen as bullies themselves. Might have to talk to the boss about giving these guys a standing free ride— good for publicity, and keeps a chunk out of the Irishmen's pocket. Meanwhile, Jimmy is openly sizing up Ace, coughing fit and all. A kindred spirit, maybe?

The two youths dart off down the alley and duck into a darker corner of the neighborhood to lick their wounds and regroup. Neither of them responded to the priest's request when they were let go, there was no promise made in preparation for their return.

A kindly smile is imparted to Alexandra as she reaches up to brush off his frock and collar. he shakes his head and raises his hands in protest, trying to ward her off his person. "Thank you, thank you for all of your help. I know you were trying to help," he responds to her apologies. "Thank you all for your help." His eyes drift over to Ace and he then shifts and begins his slow stagger inside. "Come inside, we can lock the truck up to have it unloaded at a later time… I believe we have the police to attend to, if nothing but to save them from Sister Mary."

Cops and Ace go together like…well, nothing. Cuz they don't which is why Ace looks over at the priest, her face a hair more pale than normal. "Nah. I got to go, Padre but hey! Thanks for all you and yours do, huh? Great job…" Raising her left hand up in a fist, she thrusts it up and forward, kind of like one of those 'go team' gestures. "I'll be back, though, alright?" Hopefully Father Patrick will be nice enough to leave her part of this out but it might seem odd if they catch up with the punks only to find one with finger marks bruising his throat and neck. Whooops.

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