2007-05-02: Trolling For Flying Strumpets?


Samantha_icon.gif Namir_icon.gif Erica_icon.gif

Summary: Sometimes when two people speak of a flying woman, she'll call on the phone. Speak of her more, and she may appear nearby.

Date It Happened: May 2nd, 2007

Trolling For Flying Strumpets?

Battery Park, Manhattan, NYC

Spring in New York! You can indulge in the outdoors, but you're still best off in a light jacket. It's beautiful weather though.

And that's why Sam and Namir are here. More to the point, they are here on the greenery, a large blanket spread out on the ground, a basket nudged up in one corner, and a series of deli plastic cartons with cold pasta and cheeses and fresh bread and bits of meat that is not of the pig. And lemonade, because wine is not allowed. Sam is leaning back on the heels of her hands, enjoying the red-gold sun.

A light jacket may be recommended, but even with the air coming off the water in the harbor, Namir's jacket is bundled up and cushioning his head. He's laid out on his back next to Sam, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, the other tucked behind his head lazy. /Everything/ is lazy. The excellent weather and the fading day tend to encourage such things. Namir is staring up at the sky thoughtfully, considering a few things before he finally pipes up with a question right out of the wild blue yonder: "Have you ever been skydiving?"

It's the evening on this spring day, and Captain Erica Snow, USAF, is nowhere near Battery Park. She's just wrapping up a duty day at the Recruiting Station in Times Square. Once the paperwork is done she slips on her light uniform jacket, steps out of the station, locks the door, and faces west. The sun's still up, although getting lower. She starts to get antsy, and heads home to eat, then find something to entertain herself in the stretch of hours before she can get the fix she's starting to crave.

"Skydiving? I can't say I have. I /have/ been in a helicopter, though. More than a few times, in fact." Sam says frankly. "I'm sort of torn between the prospect of the adrenaline rush and the madness of jumping out of a perfectly well functioning plane. I trust you have? I don't remember you saying you were a paratrooper."

He wasn't, and he shakes his head, smirking as he continues to stare up at the sky. "I was an MP. But I've been skydiving a few times." Namir finally glances over at Sam. "You and I should go sometime. You'd look fetching in goggles and a jumpsuit." He might just be teasing on that last bit. Honestly, nobody looks good in goggles and a jumpsuit.

Not according to Sam. "I'll have you know I'd look fetching in a potato sack." With a grin, she digs into some of the pasta and remarks, "You know…the other night I saw the most interesting thing." Well, isn't that a preamble.

"I'll have you know you look /most/ fetching in nothing at all." This is said in a low enough voice to be considered polite in public, of course, and accompanied by a conceding raise of Namir's eyebrows. The shift in topic piques his interest. "Oh? It wasn't that man on Amsterdam who walks around on his hands, was it? He's been there a while."

"Actually, it was someone who didn't have any appendages on the ground at all." Giving Namir a moment to puzzle it out, she qualifies, "It was a girl. She was flying. Like Wendy after Peter Pan shook fairy dust on her." She sighs, a little wistfully, "I didn't see any Tinkerbell, though."

Flying girls. This doesn't surprise Namir too much, considering. He takes a bite from his sandwich, mulling it over a moment before he swallows and shrugs. "Well, we live in a strange world now," he notes with a quiet grunt as he sits up to reach for the thermos of lemonade. "Considering we are who /we/ are, such a thing isn't all that shocking." Doesn't mean it's not /interesting/ though, as evinced by his next question: "So, where was this?"

"The balaclava sort of ruined the whole fairy tale image too." Sam admits. "Still," she says wistfully, "What a power to have. All I can do is destroy things. Bekah can heal, even you augment. I give people aneurisms and shatter glass." And concrete, but let's not go there.

Across town, on her way out of Times Square, Captain Snow lets her eyes wander and take in the concreted splendour that is Manhattan. She enjoys the warm air of spring, but at the same time these changing seasons increase her antsiness. The sun takes longer to set, and rises earlier, cutting into available time for flying free unnoticed and getting that adrenaline fix she needs. It's not like the desert of New Mexico or the dunes of her North Carolina home where she could fly in broad daylight unnoticed, and so this is the first time spring has really been anything less than welcome for her. At this moment it makes her seek something to focus her mind on, to ease the time of waiting a bit. Fingers reach for her phone and press digits.

Moments later, out at Battery Park, a cellphone rings. It's probably closer to Namir than Sam, and causes whatever ringtone he might have set the thing on to sound out.

"Mm, but you are still blessed. You can use your abilities to protect others and yourself. Not many people can say the same." Namir shrugs a little as he portions out more lemonade for himself and lifts the glass to his lips, letting it pause there when he adds, "And if all else fails, we can grow bitter at the monstrosities in the world and go the villainy route. I imagine as a team, we could hold the entire city hostage under fear of entire blocks collapsing." He grins, then nudges Sam lightly with one elbow. "We should experiment, sometime. I would love to see if— " He's cut off by the sound of his cellphone, and he sets down his cup to withdraw it from his jacket pocket. He peers at the callerID, frowns a little, then glances apologetically at Sam before flipping open the phone. "Dayan."

"Officer Dayan," she begins, "Captain Snow on this end. I hope things are going well for you now. I'm sorry to tell you, though, that I've not caught sight of the person we had interest in, although I did have a brief sort of adventure two nights ago. A woman seems to have spotted me, and managed to make it out to a roof before I took off. Was busy watching the police take away a mugger I called them about. Should've been long gone by then." The recruiter lets out a quiet groan, as if mentally kicking herself for the lapse. "Anyway, did you get anything from your contacts?"

Samantha's expression goes curious as she watches Namir take the call. She doesn't interrupt - when you're in the service industry, taking calls can be crucial. Though she did think he was suspended. Still, she'll wait. It might be his mother, and that's as important, but infinitely more terrifying.

Thankfully it is /not/ his mother — or worse, his brother. The story given him on the other end of the phone causes Namir to peer over at Sam with a puzzled frown, the gears in his head immediately evident in their turning. /Hmm/. "A woman, did you say?" Sam /had/ mentioned a balaclava, and Namir knows Erica to wear such when she's off doing her thing. "Hmm." But he doesn't elaborate further on that point. That's something to speak with the doctor about. "No, nothing. I haven't had much chance to ask just yet."

"Yes, she was a woman. It was dark, but… I think she was maybe five feet four inches tall and had… Semitic features?" Captain Snow sounds a little unsure, it was dark after all. "Hopefully he got locked away and we'll never hear from him again."

Samantha continues to remain quiet, though she's really wishing -she- had Namir's powers right now. Then she could hear both ends of the conversation! Apparently being a yenta DOES preclude genetics.

Namir's frown only deepens at the description, which he listens to as he studies Sam. Hmm. Yes. He notes her expression and, smirking, reaches out a free hand to poke at the most Semitic feature on her face: her nose. Back to you in a moment, dear. "I doubt they would have locked him away. They didn't believe me when I told them that he should be arrested." Not that he could blame them, really. His credibility was shot, just like Viola was shot. "Keep looking at any rate. I'll let you know if there's anything on this end."

"Thanks, Officer Dayan. See you around. I think I'll fly out to the Statue Of Liberty tonight. Maybe I'll take off from it, actually. Is it sufficiently dark there at night, do you think, and quiet enough to not get seen? I'm just glad that woman didn't have a camera, she could be selling me to tabloids right now. The ski mask I wear? A really great idea." And she ends the call.

Samantha's expression grows concerned, though it's mollified slightly by the tweak to her nose. Of course, had she the benefit of being in on the conversation, she could point out that generally Lady Liberty is lit up like the stage at a drag show in the Village each night. Not so great for being inconspicuous.

Fortunately, perhaps, Namir does just that: "I don't think it'd be a good place to take off, no. Take care, Captain." Or really anyplace to fly, either, considering. He chuckles a little at the idea of Sam snapping off photos to sell to the tabloids, and when the call ends, he closes his phone again and tucks it away. Turning his attention to Sam, his smile and amusement only grows. "I'm sorry. I … think that was your flying woman."

Samantha blinks. "No /way/." she says, leaning bac. "I didn't get a good look at her, but - wait, how did you meet her?" she asks, interested. Teasingly, "Are you trolling for flying strumpets behind my back?"

Namir grimaces a bit in jest at the question. "Drat, you've sniffed me out /again/. First Bekah, now this. I can't hide any of my affairs from you. I suppose I ought to tell you now, I am also sleeping with Jennifer Lopez." Pff. He wishes. He grins again before answering seriously: "I met her some weeks ago. I nearly arrested her, actually. Someone dressed in all-black ducking into a dark alley on the Upper West Side and slipping on a ski mask is bound to cause suspicion." The fact that she rose up three feet into the air sort of set off alarms too.

"Damn, if I'd known you liked that kind of booty I'd have put on a few pounds." Sam says with a grin, and then, "Seriously, though. How'd you meet Flying Girl? I don't know if she was following me or if it was just coincidence. Does she work for anyone? Does she know Dr. Surresh?"

"Oh, don't change on my behalf. You're fine the way you are." Except that she's Jewish — but /Namir/ isn't the one who has a problem with that, and he isn't about to bring up his recent conversation with Fahd. "And I would hope it was just coincidence, or I'm going to put up thicker curtains in my apartment." He even glances around at the rest of the park with exaggerated paranoia before setting aside his sandwich. "I was taking a stroll one night and caught her levitating in an alley. She … works in the Air Force, believe it or not, and I recommended the book to her." A solemn glance is cast at Sam. "You can't tell anyone, of course." He trusts her not to, but it doesn't hurt to be sure.

"Not even Bekah?" Sam asks. Then, "You know, I really am starting to think it's a…a /thing/, the way we're finding people with abilities. Maybe we should be - I don't know. Grouping together. Like in those comic books. Although you know, I never understood what Wonder Woman saw in Superman. Batman was rich, sexily broody, and had the car."

Having decided, after all, not to go home but instead look for a restaurant to eat at near the statue and check the thing out with her own eyes from this side of the water, Captain Snow makes her way into Battery Park, still in uniform. Silver bars rest atop her shoulders, the ribbons for service awards and her pilot's wings hidden by the lightweight dark blue jacket. This one, with her red hair pinned up off her collar in back according to regulations, chooses to wear the panted version of the uniform today. She's focused on the statue as it comes into view, and when she reaches the pier she simply studies it. "Damn," she murmurs as the lights start to come on, "that won't work at all. It's so hard sometimes to find good spots in this city."

A moment's consideration before Namir decides, "Maybe Bekah. But she can't tell anyone." Surely Bekah wouldn't either. He considers the idea of a band of superheroes, then grins. "Well, I'm no expert on comic book heroes. Maybe she thought blue-and-red spandex was sexier. Perhaps they shared wardrobe tips." But … that's more creepy than endearing, really. "If you think about it, we would have an excellent team. The Captain could scout from the air for crime, you and I could do most of the dirty work, and Bekah could heal us in case of injury. I could teach you all Krav Maga." Another grin. "At this rate, I won't need 72 virgins when I die; I'm gathering a harem as we speak."

Samantha lifts a brow at that, and then says solemnly, "Actually, I wanted to ask you if you'd teach me anyway. They give us seminars on dealing with hostile patients, but our lives seem to be…filled with excitement."

Namir perks up a bit at that, though his smile fades a bit into a more serious expression. "Well, if you really want to be able to break a violent patient's arm or nose while you're weak from lack of sleep, then Krav Maga would be the way to go, yes. I would be happy to teach you, if you think you could stomach beating me." Well, maybe the last sentence isn't all that serious. "I'll see if I can locate some proper padding."

Samantha says frankly, "I wouldn't have minded breaking the nose of that man who grabbed me in the park." Absently she shudders. Hey, she's a New Yorker, but that doesn't mean it didn't have an effect. She stares off absently, and then peers at the statue, leaning forward and squinting.

Gone is any real semblance of humor the moment Sam mentions the incident in the park. Still a bit of a sore spot, apparently. "Mm," is all he says on the matter. He wouldn't have minded breaking a few other things on that man, really, but he wasn't there. When Sam leans forward and squints off toward the statue, his brow furrows and he peers first at her, then along her line of sight. "What?"

Tall, about the same height as that flying woman, and body shape too, in uniform to boot if Sam happens to sight her as she studies the statue across the water, not moving. And likely even more recognizable to the officer who saw her without the mask, and the red hair atop her head. Erica's just watching Lady Liberty, enjoying the view, lamenting the unsuitability for her purposes, and thinking of alternate ways to get her adremaline fix.

"What's that?" Sam very directly points at the flying woman. "Or more to the point, /who/ is that?" A pause. "I'd kill for that shade of red." she says wistfully. Nevermind the flying.

A moment's pause as Namir focuses in on the woman in question and then he smiles. "That would be the Flying Woman — but if she's going to be part of our team, she has to come up with a better superhero name." He quickly glances at Samantha, studying her hair specifically before deciding, "It wouldn't suit you." He likes darker hair anyway. Then, turning back toward the statue, he lifts his chin a little to call out: "Captain!" Maybe the shout is given a little bit of help to carry across the distance from a totally unknown source who is absolutely not Namir at all, really. Maybe he just has a good set of pipes.

If there were any doubt it's her, that likely vanishes when she seems to hear something and turns toward wherever it came from. The redhaired Air Force officer seeks out the source, and on deciding it's the pair of people on the grass, she takes a few steps in that direction, watching to see if there's any invitation to keep coming closer.

As Erica comes closer, Sam remarks conversationally, "You look better without the ski mask." She gestures. "Plenty of lemonade, pasta, savories. I imagine what you do really burns up your metabolism. Do join us." Like she's the lady of manor, albeit with a Queens accent.

"Yes, do." Namir isn't as grandiose about it, but he does scoot over a bit more to make room, taking his sandwich and lemonade with him. Plus, it puts him a bit closer to Sam, but that's never a bad thing. "When you talked about visiting the Statue of Liberty, I didn't think it would be so soon."

She stops cold in her tracks as she gets within earshot and recognizes Namir for who he is, then gets a good look at his female companion, then hears her voice. "You. No. This can't be." Captain Snow faces him to ask "Officer Dayan, who is she, and how did the two people who spotted me happen to be at the same place and same time?" Wary of both now, she moves to take a seat and look over the food. "I had time on my hands, it's not dark yet, so I wanted to scout for myself. There are places, but New York's a challenge to find them in sometimes. Caught twice, I think I need to refine my methods."

"The late Dr. Surresh might call it fate." Sam says serenely. "You should relax, the food's not poisoned. Even if I did make the pasta - shut up, Namir. So do you just…patrol the streets overhead like Batgirl?" Except Batgirl didn't fly. Well, Sam should get points for knowing the Justice League, okay?

Well, there goes one wisecrack, killed before its prime. Namir closes his mouth, which opened just a bit and emitted a little joking snort at the mention of poisoned food. He grins instead at Sam as innocently as he can. What? He wasn't going to say /anything/. "Very much a big coincidence, Captain, I assure you. This is Doctor Samantha Applebaum, my girlfriend. Sam, this is Captain Erica Snow, the, ah, Flying Woman. Sam was one of the contacts I mentioned earlier."

Alert eyes take in both as she's introduced, and settle on the doctor as she extends her right hand to shake once and release. "Good to meet you, Doctor." The skin is soft and smooth, well taken care of, but not lacking firmness in her grip. "I've been looking around for evidence of the person who committed several murders at Yankee Stadium," the Captain replies quietly, "and sometimes see other things. Like the possible mugging that nearly turned real that night you saw me. Except, unlike this guy I saw once with a mask that had a greek letter on it, I'm not so much for intervening directly. Better to see what might happen ahead of time and call the police so they can arrive just in time. Except when they nearly don't, and I kick stones or something off a roof to give a warning and scare people off from getting hurt." She seems to relax a bit, as fingers reach carefully for food.

"I haven't gotten the full details on that, but I did treat some of the victims." Sam admits. "I hear you've been reading 'Activating Evolution'? How are you finding it?"

As the two talk, Namir is content to simply sit and munch on his sandwich, having nothing to add to the conversation. There's a reason Sam hasn't gotten the full details on the Yankee Stadium incident: he isn't took keen on talking about it. He isn't proud of what he did, even if it wasn't his own doing, and he is definitely not proud of lying about why he did it.

"It's an interesting read," Erica replies, adding "Amazon.com was useful in securing it." She goes quiet, about to bite into a sandwich, when something perhaps occurs to her. "You didn't lose it on seeing me above solid ground, Doctor. Is it maybe because it's not so surprising to you, from something you have or have seen, maybe both?" While more relaxed now, she seems very much intent on the whole 'you saw mine, now show me yours if you've got one so we're all even' angle.

"This isn't exactly the right forum for it, out in a public park." Samantha says frankly. "But if you're willing to trust enough to go someplace private at some point, we can do the equivalent of 'playing doctor'. Show you mine indeed.

Namir bites down a little /too/ hard on his sandwich at that, holds the mouthful determinedly, and then quietly and slowly chews. Yes. Keep his mouth full so he doesn't say something largely inappropriate — suffice to say, the thoughts sparked from Sam's last sentence were not entirely of the innocent variety.

"I'll buy that," Erica concedes with a slow nod. "My apologies, it's a bit unsettling to be at the disadvantage. I'd suspected that night, in the back of my mind, that maybe you were so calm because your eyes are simply open to possibilities. I don't mean to sound hostile, I just take pains to not be seen doing what I do. I should probably stop, there are so many people, but… I'm hooked on the adrenaline of it." The sandwich is bitten into and chewed carefully.

"There are worse addictions." Samantha conceeds, helping herself to some pasta. "But there should be good reasons you do dangerous things. And believe me, the adrenaline shouldn't be one of them." Namir knows that look - Samantha is thinking about Darfur.

Accordingly, Namir reaches out to place one of his hands over one of Sam's or, if a hand is unavailable, her arm. It's a subtle gesture, but meant to be comforting. He continues to keep his own counsel for now.

"Reasons for being up there are what they are," Erica answers simply. "That I'll fly is a given. What I do up there is different. I can't and won't ignore what happens or can happen under me on the ground. If I can, I alert police so things can be stopped before they happen, broken up. If I have to, I find some subtle way to intervene. If I get exposed, I get exposed. But I won't be reckless about it."

Samantha nods. "Seems to make sense." Sam says amiably enough. "What I do doesn't really have much practical application unless I'm in a bind." She leaves it at that.

Once again, Namir seems content to stay quiet — but it's only for a few seconds. After a brief pause, he chimes in with: "I wonder how they keep from falling over dead from exhaustion in the comic books." A bit random considering the conversation, perhaps, but it's not /entirely/ out of place. "Aside from them being fiction, of course."

Chuckling, Erica replies "It'd be good to see a Batman film where he's shown eating like a horse to have enough fuel for his activities. Or Superman being honest with Lois, telling her to forget him, if they ever mated it would kill her." She doesn't elaborate that thought, instead partaking of lemonade.

Samantha arches a brow at that - hey, she's a doctor and can puzzle it out. But she also opts not to elaborate. "We do seem to have gathered a sizable amount of people with interesting skills around us. We should consider…something."

"You don't get enough sleep as it is," interjects Namir, peering at Sam sidelong. "How are you going to manage moonlighting as a caped crusader?" A thoughtful pause before he shakes his head. "No, capes would have to be out. They get in the way." Well, there's no harm in fantasizing, is there?

Superheroes. She's musing now, in an abstract way, perhaps. "I can't help wondering now if there isn't some kind of secret organization that knows about people like us, and is working to prepare the world. If the comics and fiction aren't aimed at making people ready to accept us, if we came forward or got exposed." Erica pauses. "For decades the Air Force has insisted UFOs aren't real, yet the explanations are often so lame they give rise to conspiracy theories. It's probably because there were secret aircraft and such, if they'd just said so, questions wouldn't persist. Instead they claimed things like marsh gases were the cause, or just flat called people crazy. Maybe the purpose is to disavow anything concrete while keeping the idea out there." She laughs at herself, adding "Maybe I sound nuts, but, hey, flying woman here."

Samantha laughs. "I think the 'Heavan and Earth, Horatio' clause definitely applies here." she says. "I don't know that I buy into aliens, though." For all that there's a flying woman and a man who controls soundwaves and a woman who heals. She grins over at Namir. "No capes." she declares in a tone that's spot on Edna Mode.

But Namir isn't exactly finding any of this amusing. Are they seriously considering this? It's fun to think about, but to /do/ it? He regards both women with an expression of puzzlement and disbelief. "Even if that were so, don't you think that same organization is trying to make sure that people like us don't blatantly expose ourselves? If not, surely something would have turned up in the news already. /If/ there is something like that out there, I wouldn't want to incur its wrath. Doing good, fighting crime, is all well and good — but not at the risk of being drugged and locked away somewhere, or worse."

Quietly, solemnly, Erica nods. "Point taken. Organization or not, there were still the witch hunts and various other times people were victimized for being different. Thus the black clothes, ski mask, and caution. I've no desire to feature in the tabloids, or YouTube. That Greek letter wearing guy is nuts." She imbibes more of the lemonade and continues with her sandwich.

Samantha blinks in startlement. "I'm not proposing anything like that." she says. "I don't think I could - did you think I was serious like some comic book? No." She shakes her head. "I just mean we should…look out for each other. Maybe find discreet ways to help. Build trust. But with discretion."

At that, Namir noticeably relaxes. Yes. Discretion. Just the way it's always been. He rubs a hand over his face, which suddenly looks a bit tiered, and releases a quiet sigh through his nostrils. "That's not a bad idea." Smirking and trying to make light of things again, he adds, "We can build a base in the sewers that is guarded by killer alligators."

"No one questions an anonymous tip to the police about something happening," Erica replies. "The police show up, do what we the people hired them for, and there's no evidence of anything a human shouldn't be able to do. We'd just have to understand we can't solve everything and not try, it's just about affecting what tiny corner of the world we see. And having it protected by killer alligators, yes."

"The only alligators I know of are the ones in the sewers that they use to make my Fendhi knock offs." Sam says wryly. "All the same, if Namir trusts you, I'll give you a show sometime in the near future." She looks to Namir, but has already guessed he seems alright with Erica.

He is, and he gives a nod to indicate such. "Captain Snow has been helping me unravel the, ah, events at Yankee Stadium. I would say she is trustworthy." Namir finishes off his sandwich and takes up his cup. "I suppose that falls under the 'tiny corner of the world we see' category."

Lemonade in hand, the Captain takes a brief drink before speaking. A grin flashes as she looks over at Sam, asking "You went down, wrestled them yourself, and took their skin for shoes? Impressive." A moment of contemplation follows, she considers neither of them are her subordinates, there's not much need to stick with formality. "Erica will do, if you like. From Kitty Hawk, North Carolina." Still holding the cup she adds "I went out to see Yankee Stadium for the first time that day. The club still admits military people in uniform free, and…" She doesn't comment on what she saw after the game except to state "I called you."

Samantha looks between the two of them. "The story I got on what happened down there isn't pretty. But I'm baffled about why someone would. I mean, what were they hoping to accomplish by it?"

"If I had the man responsible right here in front of me, I'd ask," remarks Namir coldly, clearly growing a bit uncomfortable at the current line of conversation. "Maybe he really hated Boston. Maybe he is just a sociopathic mass murderer who enjoys causing chaos." Quite frankly, he doesn't care about the 'why'.

She also doesn't seem very much in favor of the subject, replying somberly "Like most murderers, I'd say it was because he could, and he felt like it." After a pause Erica adds "These abilities, I can see the easy potential to warp the mind, to start considering most people beneath us." Seeking to lighten the mood again she turns back to Sam's Fendhi knockoffs. "Did you get injured wrestling the gators?"

"Actually, most murderers aren't like that at all." Sam says. "Most murderers have a reason, even if it's one that defies all earth logic. Even the most dangerous psychopath has methods and manner and purpose." She stretches her legs out, shaking her head. "For someone to do that sort of thing for that reason and not make a statement about it directly seems a little off to me." She then adds with a faint smile, "Well, no. Have you ever seen a tetanus shot? I get others to do the dirty work for me."

The secondary subject is taken up by Namir with a small smirk. "I wrestle the alligators for her. All I get for my efforts is a stab in the arm and a Transformers band-aid." Yes. He's so abused. And completely avoiding discussing the bit about Yankee Stadium, too.

"Shots." Erica groans. "I still haven't forgotten that whole battery I got when I arrived at Colorado Springs. They like to give them all at once. My arm hurt for four days after that." Next is a grimace, and another drink of the lemonade as eyes rest upon the pasta.

Samantha does have a little bit of Jewish Mama imprinted in her genes. "You want some?" Sam begins serving up some of the cold pasta onto a paper plate, and snags a plastic fork out of the basket. She really loads it up! "At least you don't have to do them more then once. I had to give Namir a series and he behaved very well. That's why he got that Transformer band-aid. I reward good behavior. Next time he balances a ball on his nose, I'll give him a sardine."

This is a much better line of conversation! No, really. Namir arches one eyebrow at Sam, bemused. "If I roll over, will you scratch my belly too?" Her Jewish Mama tendencies are noted, and he shoots an almost apologetic glance at Erica. Sorry, it's just what these people do.

Carrrrrbs. Good fuel for the flying. Erica takes the plate and fork. "Thanks, Doctor." She places the food in front of her, holding back a laugh. "Are you sure he doesn't rate a whole trout, or salmon?" Somehow, given the plate she was handed, the planeless pilot has a bit of trouble picturing Sam limiting it to a sardine.
Samantha opens her mouth, shuts it, and then just grins. "Lox and cream cheese and bagels are for the morning after." she decides on finally as her retort.

The mouthful of lemonade Namir had is promptly swallowed a bit harder than is needed, but he doesn't choke on it. He reaches out with his free hand to prod Sam in the side. "That reminds me: we need to pick up some lox on the way home." Because now he's going to want some in the morning. Looking to Erica, he adds, "She gives me fish, I give her pork."

Her eyes go from one to the other during this exchange, she's possibly wondering at the double entendre value of it. Erica's lips quirk slightly, and to cover she takes up fork against this sea of minefield, and by a bite of pasta opposes walking into it while looking out at the unfortunately well-lit statue.
"What's got you so entranced about the statue?" Sam asks Erica curiously. "Thinking you might want to try a fly by? It's very well lit. You'd have better luck above the sky line."

Down goes the last of Namir's lemonade and then he sits up, picks up his wadded-up light jacket, and pulls it on against the chillier night air. He says nothing for the moment, instead glancing between the two women — three if one includes Lady Liberty.

"It's so tall, makes a good spot to start from," Erica replies with a rueful chuckle once her mouth is empty. "Something I once dreamt of doing. Girls of sixteen in the Carolina dunes don't often think of things like staying out of the lights, or even that they'd be a problem. I wanted to walk out on the crown and soar. Still do. Maybe someday it'll be safe." She pauses to imbibe more of the lemonade and emits a light laugh. "What's more liberating, symbolic, than taking to the skies from it?"

"I suppose that's true. It'd be very Superman - no, Supergirl, of you." Sam says. "Seems to me like it's a wonderful gift to have, flight. Thus far, most of the abilities I've been witness to have been unique."

"Mm. Stage an epic battle up there, like in that movie — X-Men, was it?" Namir squints up at the statue as though it will help him remember, then nods. Yes, that's the one. "Though I suppose that would go over a little less smoothly than just flying off the crown."

While the others speak, she eats the pasta, seeming not to have concerns about carb intake. "There are," Erica considers, "islands to swing a bridge over to as part of the battle. Ellis Island, maybe, it's a famous landmark like Alcatraz. But," she grins, "none of them flew as a primary ability that I can remember." More lemonade drinking. "It could really be like that, there could be as many different abilities as the imagination can call up." There's awe in her voice, this woman who flew jets and wasn't daunted being one of so few women in a field of territorial men, and who really doesn't need a plane anyway, when speaking of possibility. Like maybe big pieces of that sixteen year old girl in the Carolina dunes is still in her.

"There was mist in that movie." Samantha recalls. "Possibly brought on by Halle Berry's horrible acting. How fast can you go?" she asks of Erica. "Have you ever timed yourself?"

Accelerating to a supersonic speed and maintaining it. The difficulty is good. While moving at these speeds she is immune to the effects of atmospheric friction and g-forces. This immunity extends to clothing and objects on her person but not to other people. An additional strength roll is needed to successfully carry individual people or objects weighing over 150 pounds in total difficulty of good.

"Halle Berry doesn't really have to act," Namir states matter-of-factly, but he doesn't elaborate on that point. It probably has something to do with the same reason that Jennifer Lopez doesn't have to act either, though. He shifts his weight a little so that he can sit cross-legged, the considers the remaining sandwiches.

It's an answer, delivered with a grin. "Do you remember the concorde? I might be a little faster than that, at full speed. I flew by night from New Mexico to here once in two hours, then back in the same time, roughly." Erica has perhaps, given that she spoke of dreaming about flight from statues at age sixteen and is in her late twenties, had quite a long time to experiment and discover her potential.

Samantha snorts at Namir. "Which is why I don't always trust your taste at all." She looks back to Erica. "How long ago did you discover your abilities?"

Namir frowns a little, though it's more of a playful expression than one of serious affront. "But I thought you were proof enough that I have good taste in women," he retorts as he reaches for another sandwich, deciding that he really /is/ a bit hungry still. His attention goes to Erica, expectantly awaiting her answer to Sam's question.

"Just under eleven years," she answers. "I was shooting hoops, went for a jump shot, and landed on the roof." Erica laughs. "It surprised me more than just about anything before or since. Nice view from the roof, though, of the ocean and the dunes where Orville and Wilbur did their successful work. Can't help wondering if that wasn't somehow part of it all, living where I did and being a dreamer."

"Your taste in women is divine. It's your taste in movies that needs work." Sam chides Namir, and then says to Erica, "There's only one researcher I know of who's trying to source the origin of these abilities. And unfortunately he's rather unavailable."

Pff! "I'll have you know that my taste in movies has served me well for at least twenty years." Namir even points at Sam with a corner of the sandwich to emphasize his point. Action movies are totally a respectable genre. There will be no mention of the occasional romantic comedy stashed somewhere in the shelves at his apartment. Then to the rest of the conversation, "I wonder if abilities manifest based on need or desire." Just judging from Sam and Erica's stories and his own experiences, it would almost seem the case.

"Who's that?" Her question is curiously asked. "Part of me always wants to know, but doesn't at the same time. At least not in any official way. I'm not much interested in being a planeless weapons delivery system, or having myself poked, prodded, and tested by anyone out to make superpilots." Erica continues with the pasta, getting close to finishing it off when not speaking. More lemonade is reached for.

Oh, Namir. You think Sam didn't find that copy of Bridget Jones' Diary stashed in the back of the video cabinet? And the sequel. It's more heinous then porn. "The son of the man who wrote Activating Evolution. Dr. Mohinder Surresh. He's not readily available these days."

Those movies were gifts. Gifts! Namir did not buy them, honest! That is his stance on the matter, at any rate. He has nothing else to really add to the other conversation and simply munches his sandwich in silence.

Her reply to the mention of Suresh and the book begins with a simple nod. "He must be on leave somewhere," Erica decides. Yes, she said leave, not vacation. It's a military thing. More eating occurs, she gets close to finishing the plate of concorde fuel.

"You could say that." Sam says. Then, quietly, "Do you read the papers?" This to Erica.

With the fact that he's not doing much talking himself, Namir is already almost halfway through his sandwich, which is prime time to pour himself some more lemonade. This he does without hesitation, keeping an ear open to the conversation.

"Usually I do, yes," Erica answers simply. "Did I miss something?" Her brows furrow, trying to think back about any mention of Suresh in them. "Maybe I did, if it was before mid-April. Didn't have much time for reading them when I was settling in."

Samantha considers. "Are you keeping track of the serial killer called Sylar?" she inquires. "He's made the papers a few times. But what they don't say is that his victims are all people with abilities. He'd been stalking Dr. Surresh and his foster daughter, so they've decided to step out of the public eye for their own protection, at least for now."

That definitely got Namir's attention. He peers at Sam questioningly a moment. "You never told me this," he notes. "Where did you hear it?" The Sylar case is fairly well-known in his circle, but only marginally more than any other prominent case. Namir isn't an investigator and thus has no reason to be in on any open cases.

That makes her eyes widen. Erica's first reply is one word, not at all polite. Such things aren't common for her to utter, but at the moment in her shock it's all that immediately comes to mind. "Shit!" Silence settles in for a few moments longer, until she can find other words and voice them. "Are you sure of this? Good thing I wear black and don't call attention on myself." But then it hits her she might've been spotted anyway, Namir and Sam certainly did, and this prompts critiquing her methods.

"Sylar's made the paper. And I wanted to know what his connection to Molly was." Sam says frankly. "So I confronted Dr. Surresh. He and his co-parent conceded the point that if Sylar intends to target people with abilities, they deserve to know they're being targeted." Her gaze to Namir is apologetic. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. If I realized you hadn't, I would have told you." She nods to Erica, "Please be careful. I don't know specifics, except to say he's very dangerous."

Namir shakes his head. "I only knew they were running from someone dangerous. I didn't pry." He isn't terribly upset that this tidbit of information is only coming out /now/, especially after Sam's explanation as to why she didn't tell him. His thoughts do go to others that he knows about, however: Sean and Alyssa and Claudine. They'll need to be warned.

With her hands shaking a bit, and trying to calm them, Erica asks Sam "How did you spot me, that night? I remember seeing you come out of the subway, you were on the phone. I went higher in the air to avoid hearing anything of the conversation, and started scanning ahead for trouble. That's when I spotted the possible mugger and the man coming his way, called the police, high enough over the street to hopefully not be heard."

With her hands shaking a bit, and trying to calm them, Erica asks Sam "How did you spot me, that night? I remember seeing you come out of the subway, you were on the phone. I went higher in the air to avoid hearing anything of the conversation, and started scanning ahead for trouble. That's when I spotted the possible mugger and the man coming his way, called the police, high enough over the street to hopefully not be heard."

"I think I caught a shadow." Sam confesses. "I really don't remember. Or maybe something glinted off the streetlamps. But I definitely saw something, and I figured if I tried to run for a building top, whatever it was would zoom off. But then you started mucking with that mugger."

There's more silence on Namir's end, as he's more than content to keep his own counsel right now. Silence being golden and all that. And lemonade's golden, too. Ironically, he's drinking some now.

It's like she's conducting an after-action review in her head according to Air Force criteria, calling on military leadership training to identify a fault and determine corrective actions, by the way she seems to be thinking over the encounter. "It seems I should've been higher above the street the entire time to lessen the chances of someone looking up. The human eye, I read, reacts to motion. Maybe a darker phone is needed too. No shiny parts." Erica glances at Sam while speaking, stops, only to add seconds later "Not that meeting you is unpleasant at all, Doctor. I'd just really rather not have been spotted. I've gotten lucky twice with both of you. That luck won't hold."

Samantha conceeds, "That's true. You might want to consider something along the lines of a blu-tooth. You'll just need to make sure it is secure on your ear."

"Oh I don't know," pipes up Namir with a smirk. "Blu-tooth from Heaven might be hailed as a miracle by some and would make a poor homeless person very happy." He stretches and yawns luxuriously, the vertebra in his back crackling audibly when he rolls his shoulders. Oogh. He ought to give a thought to visiting a chiropractor in the near future.

"It'd probably be better still to not be over streets with people at all," Erica considers. "Pick one single tall building without lights in an area and stay put, using good binoculars to eyeball for things. And if on the move, stay at least a few hundred feet above ground." She finishes her pasta off and partakes again of her lemonade vessel.

Samantha frowns a little bit at Namir. "That doesn't sound good." she chides him. "I know a good chiro if you're interested." She looks back to Erica. "I think I can get ahold of a picture so you know who to look out for."

Well, now that Sam's /offered/ a chiropractor, Namir will naturally reject the idea. Pride dictates such. "Mm, no, I will be all right," he utters, shaking his head. "I must have slept wrong." He glances over at Erica. "That might be best."

Professional, calm, practical, that's the Captain in self-critique. "Thanks for being the sounding board with this. A photo, that'd be excellent. My email is lim.fa.cyn|wonStpaC#lim.fa.cyn|wonStpaC and nyc.airforce.com. If I spot him, what's the recommended procedure?"

Samantha looks a little miffed. "Please yourself." She blinks at Erica. "How about you write that down?" She digs into her purse, pulling out, of all things, a scrip pad and passes with with pen over to Erica. Then seriously, "Run the hell away."

Namir frowns a little at Samantha's short response, but it's not something to be talked about here. Rolling his shoulders again (with a repeat of the crackling noise from earlier), he shakes his head once more. "Call the police and give them information on where he is. Then get out of there. If he really is after people with abilities, you are safest as far away from him as you can get."

She nods briskly in reply. "Run? Not so much. If I can get away unnoticed, I will. But if speed is essential, I'm airborne and supersonic." Erica's fingers take the pad and pen, she writes on it Erica D. Snow, Captain, USAF, lim.fa.cyn|wonStpaC#lim.fa.cyn|wonStpaC, moc.ecrofria.cyn|wonStpaC#moc.ecrofria.cyn|wonStpaC, her office landline number at the Times Square recruiting station, residence address Apt 2701 at the Prestige Midtown building, and her cell number. That's 283-8723. Then she hands both back to the physician.

"Speed is essential. Run first. I'm not entirely sure the police can handle him." Samantha says frankly, and tucks the scrip pad away. Useful thing, that.

"That's what the ESU is for, my dear," Namir intones blandly before taking a healthy gulp from his lemonade. Yes, civilians and even Erica should flee from Sylar, but not him. Nope. He is obviously better equipped to handle the serial murderer.

"Someone has to," Erica answers simply. And it's back to drinking lemonade.

Samantha opens her mouth, shuts it. "You know, it's getting late." she says. "And I've got a shift in the morning."

A quick glance at his watch and Namir finds himself having to agree, though he frowns a little. He hadn't realized it was that late. "Best pack it in, then," he sighs as he begins to do just that, snapping lids on tupperware and starting to put them away.

Beginning to help them pack up, since they were kind enough to feed her, Erica offers "Thank you so much for sharing your meal and evening with me, Doctor, Officer… Is there something else you'd prefer to be addressed by? Being so formal feels like being at the station, and neither of you are subordinates."

"Sam is fine." Samantha says amiably. "If you're feeling formal and in my hospital, Dr. Applebaum will do." She defers Erica with a shoo-ing motion. "You don't have to do that, I've got him."

Likewise, Namir waves off Erica's attempts to help. Not needed, really. "Namir," he states and, tilting his head toward Sam to indicate his agreement with what she said, "and likewise." He smiles a little before standing and hefting the basket off the patch of cloth so that he might pick up the blanket and start to fold it. "It was good to see you again, Erica. We'll have to talk again sometime."

Her assistance declined, Erica stands slowly. "I'll have you as guests soon at my home and feed you. Fair's fair," she replies. "I'll be in touch to set things up." A few beats go by before she adds "Have fun sharing the story with anyone you trust to keep secrets. She punctuates that with a friendly laugh. "Good night." And she's headed out of the park.

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