2007-11-09: Preventing A Mugging


Desiree_icon.gif Tyson_icon.gif

Summary: On his way to the Johannsen Foundation, Tyson stops to handle business for the HQ while happening to help his community.

Date It Happened: November 9th, 2007

Preventing a Mugging

Midtown, NYC - Times Square

On his way to do some curious investigating, Tyson has decided to bring along some fliers to post along the way. Business was increasing every day and he had only been at this for only a week, not that it had anything to do with why he was out today, but it was always better to strike while the iron was hot. Believing that, before actually going into the Foundation, Ty wanders around Times Square looking for willing participators.

Out of the massive EvoSoft building strolls a woman in her late thirties, clad in a khaki-coloured dress styled like a neat trenchcoat — that is, rows of double buttons, wide belt, and a collar — and a long, purple jacket made of a shimmery fabric. It billows. Ehterally. That's why she bought it! There are giant sunglasses on her face, tinted dark brown, befitting of a movie star. Her hair is pulled back into a severe twist away, hiding the multitude of curls therein. A too-massive purse is slung over one angular shoulder. She looks like a woman of importance. Influence. Money. Business. Oh, appearances, how deceiving you are. It's only Desiree!

While Tyson is handing out fliers, he doesn't seem to be paying too much attention to the character of those he enlists because one of the chosen receipients spies a woman of great worth and notes the purse on her shoulder. Having been inspired to join the BHQ out of a need for money, this was a desperate man and his desparation led to him casually moving towards her in an attempt to swipe her purse as he moved past.

Now granted Tyson wasn't looking to really do anything, but having looked around and spied the same woman, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have the amount of money she had at her disposal. Sure he had money too, but it wasn't the same thing as not needing to worry about it. He sighed, pondering why the guy he had just handed a flier to was making a bee-line for her…

Desiree is in her own little world, wandering to the edge of the curb and peering around for a taxi. With those big sunglasses on, no one can see her perplexed and wide-eyed expression, keeping her unintentional image of a savvy New Yorker well intact. She's not quite as distracted as she appears, however; when that man tries to snatch her purse, she swirls around and tries to smack him with it. It jingles. It's heavy. "Excuse me!" she shouts. It's not a New Yorker accent after all, but something thick and decidedly Southern. "Keep your hands to yourself, mister! Jesus and Mary, what do you think you're doin' tryin' to steala woman's purse off her arm!"

Spying the immediate turn from victim to attacker, Tyson was a little shocked that the woman who had appeared to involved in her own world had actually managed to retain her purse in the first place before smacking the would be mugger with it. He laughs a little to himself as she then watched the would-be candidate struggle to retaining the purse and get away before anybody stopped him or called the cops… something Tyson was debating about: "Save the woman or the potential member…? Hm… one or the other it seems…" He sighs, seriously weighing each option carefully.

Desiree gives a mighty tug on her purse— but she's not so mighty herself, and the guy makes off with it. Just because she's pretty freakin' tall doesn't mean she's an Amazon. She throws her arms up in the air, stomping a high-heeled foot as she watches him run away. "Hey! HEY! Ain't someone gonna stop 'im?!" She whips off her sunglasses to reveal her hazel eyes, squinting into the crowd of Times Square. "KARMA IS GONNA BITE YOU IN YOUR COWARDLY ASS! Yeah, thass' right! I see your future an' it involves the heel of my shoe some place scary!" Huff. The easy-going Southerner can be feisty.

To say the least, the words from the annoyed and apparently southern belle, once again turn victim, crying out for help were what triggered Tyson to spring into action; apparently he was the closest one able to do anything… That being the case he drops the fliers in hand and charges at the fleeing man as he continued on past what direction he headed to nab the purse in the first place. The chase didn't take long… Tyson had him in his sights and despite the number of people on the streets they all cleared out of his way so he could go after the guy. "Where do you think you're going?" He yelled leaping for the man and catching him in the middle of his back, knocking him to the ground. "That's what I thought…" He said, pinning the guy, going on, "Oh, and, the BHQ doesn't need guys like you. Invitation revoked!"

Desiree's shoulders start to slouch as she begins to lose sight of the robber in the crowd. It's only when someone picks up chase and causes a ruckus that she catches a glimpse again and starts to wind her way through the crowd in a hurry. "'S'cuse me, pardon me," she says politely as manoeuvres past people on her way to Tyson and her purse-snatcher. Where most people would be yelling give me back my purse, Desiree rushes onto the scene with: "Is everyone okay?"

Hearing the familiar drawl of the purse snatchee, Tyson releases the purse strap from the hand of the downed man, and spins around to his feet where he faces the mountain of a woman only after looking up. "Um… I think this belongs to you…" He asked, really uncertain why a woman like that wasn't able to keep better hold of her things. Looking back at the man, he thought that he hadn't appeared to be that much of a threat, just cannon fodder for the club. Remember that he was holding a purse, Tyson shifts his glnace back at the woman curious at her question, "You know, though? You really should worry more about your own well-being more. Then things like this won't happen to you, I'd think…" He suggests, not certain why he was talking to her like this.

As you can bet, the attempted thief, having just been dropped by the kid who hadn't him a flier for the fight club, was embarrassed and ashamed for having been caught so easily. There was nothing else for him here, and he picked himself off the ground and fled, still probably going to go the Brawler's Headquarters, but only when the kid wasn't there…

Desiree watches the purse-snatcher flee, pursing her lips into a thoughtful frown. "Hunh." She holds out her hand, complete with long, brightly-painted fingernails, expecting to retrieve her purse. "Thanks, sugar." Tyson's next words cause her to quirk a dark eyebrow, however, along with a funny look. "Come again?"

"It's just…" Tyson began, trying not to sound mean, "… you kind of looked like a victim from the getgo." Shrugging his comment off he went on, "Not that your looks are a bad thing, but while you're worrying about things like looks, you put off a vibe that more or less asks people to mug you. Not that I would, but as you've witnessed…" He said, motioning in the direction of the fleeing attacker. "I just think you should, if nothing else, carry bricks…"

Desiree slowly places her sunglasses on the top of her head, tucking them behind her ears, as she stares at Tyson wide-eyed and ever-so-slightly incredulous. "I 'ppreciate your concern, young man," she ventures hesitantly, polite, but skeptical. "I-I ain't sure carryin' bricks is the best fix to anyone's problem. I got picked 'cause I happened to be there comin' outta that big ol' fancy EvoSoft buildin' when some poor soul felt the need to steal. And…" The woman shifts from foot to foot a touch, brow furrowing. "…wha's that about my looks?"

Tyson sighs and hangs his head at hearing the woman's account of what happened, "You're looks are fine, ma'am. I just find it interesting that out of the many mundane looking women out right now with more or less you were chosen?" He scoffed a little, "No, but you're right. I mean, you would know…" He was being more than a little saracastic, but didn't insist on his point. Instead he simply handed the purse over. "I bet you don't get mugged a lot. You look like you'd be able to take care of yourself…" He examines, doing his best not to look like he was checking her out…

"If I got mugged a lot I'd say I had a considerable problem," Desiree says, taking the purse and hitching it over her shoulder. It's certainly heavy enough to be carrying bricks. Once more, the Southern import arches an eyebrow. "Uh, anyway, thanks for, uh…" She holds onto the strap of her purse, in gesture, and shines a warm (if unsure) smile on Tyson. "You oughta be careful yourself, chasin' down muggers like that. He coulda had a weapon."

Tyson can't help but shake his head at the woman's advice in turn, "I think I'll be fine, but I appreciate your giving it. That guy especially, I was only going to recruit him for the Brawler's Headquarters because I thought he'd go down easy enough with enough spunk that people wouldn't start fighting over waisting their money…" He shrugs, having been more or less wrong about the spunk. "At any rate, I've fought tougher guys than him… not that any of them /had/ weapons but still…" That thought made him rethink helping people, but it wasn't even like he had much choice in that regard. Words of his father replayed in his head about being a good person. "Besides, if something needs to be done, isn't it better it got done as opposed to worrying about the consequences of doing?"

"Depends on the consequences," Dezi replies with a gentle smile and flash of teeth. She steps aside for a moment to get out of the way of foot traffic and finds herself squinting at Tyson. "You're fightin', kid your age?"

Tyson seems to take offense at that, "Hey, don't be surprised. I've been fighting for a year now and I'm good. Didn't you see the way I took that guy down?" He chuckles, possibly overestimating his own skill in the ring. "If you ever want to check me out in a fight you should come on down to the Brawler's Headquarters, I'm usually always there, Junior Brawl Commissioner… Tyson." He adds feeling like it was appropriate to introduce himself at this point.

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