[My desc: Look, I got beat up in jail yesterday!]

Blake
	You see a man in his late twenties with persisting acne, bad 
teeth, and unkempt, dark hair, which hangs in his face. His eyelids are 
red and puffy as if he does not sleep very often, and he appears rather 
pale. It seems he's been in a fistfight recently, as there's a bruise 
under his left eye, and--if you happen to notice--the knuckles on both 
hands are also bruised.
	He wears a purple button-up shirt over a black teeshirt, brown 
pants, and clunky platform shoes. Over all this is a singularly bizarre 
multicolored, checked, fringed jacket, which seems to have been made of 
at least 20 different fabrics. There is a giant letter S appliqued on 
the back of said jacket. Strung around his neck are two thick silver 
chains, from the lower of which hangs a large glittering S-shaped 
pendant. He also wears two flashy gold rings, one on each hand. Lastly-
-and perhaps most bizarre--there is a pinetree-shaped car airfreshener 
hanging from his belt.


City Seat Circle(#162Rs)

	The focal center of the city, the two lengths of Main Street meet 
here, forming a circular drive around which a number of important 
public buildings are situated. Erected in the small park in the center 
of Circle Drive is Beacon Harbor's Lady of Progress, a twenty five foot 
tall statue of a woman clad in armor, sword upraised, pointing to the 
brave new future for the city and it's inhabitants. A small fountain is 
positioned in front of the statue, and a number of benches are 
scattered around the small park, providing lots of places to sit; for 
lunch, to relax, or for the disenfranchised. Beneath the park is a vast 
underground structure that provides parking for the many government 
buildings that line the outer rim of the circle. Circle Drive splits 
off in three directions from here, northeast toward the financial 
district, northwest towards the commercial district, and southwest 
toward the monolithic residential district.

Blake is seated in the exact same spot he was yesterday before he was 
forcibly removed, the same sketchbook by his side--although it isn't 
open. In fact, he's sitting there almost as a defiant act, as if to 
prove that he can. No other real reason--there's no purpose to his 
being there. He hasn't even been home in a few days. Although there is 
a reason for *that*.

Carol comes walking into the circle, bowling bag in hand, a set of 
headphones placed over her ears. A cord stretches off of said phones 
into the bag, where she's currently carrying her portable cd player. 
She aimlessly makes her way towards a vacent bench, not paying much 
attention to the area around her.

Ray is actually, truly, really on his day off this time. Because the 
Cap says if he doesn't take a day off, he'll tell Brutal to shoot him 
on sight. So, cataclysmically bored, he wanders into the park in the 
Circle, wandering along the edge, one hand trailing along the railings. 
He hasn't noticed Blake yet. But he probably will.

Rick Marlowe walks up the sidewalk briskly, occasionally looking around 
for someone, and then looking at his watch. "Come on..." he half-
mutters and half-snarls, all to himself as he makes his way into the 
park proper. "You'd *better* show this time, bud, or I'll...I'll..." 
Wait for him to show next time, most likely. Much as he hates to admit 
it, he *needs* this contact, and the other man knows it.

Jackalman is starving. He could just make it quick. After all, it took 
time to get the law enforcement people after him. Just a quick run. 
What's the worst that could happen? It'd been almost a day since he was 
topside. He peers out of the grate and scowls. Humans. Couldn't they 
have somewhere else to be? The jackal watches from the top of the 
ladder, peering out and about warily.

As a matter of fact, it's been a few days since Blake has slept, 
either. And he's out of cigarettes. Can you imagine? He's not in a good 
mood at present. Stupid cops. He glares at the statue, for lack of 
anything better to glare at, and true to his usual form, he blocks out 
the rest of the world.

Carol pauses as her cd player stops. She grumbles, mutters a few swear 
words, then takes her headphones off. "Stupid piece of crap..." Her 
semi-good mood now ruined she sighs, and looks around for something 
interesting. Her gaze lands on Blake and she hmms, then walks in his 
direction, deciding to strike up a conversation. "Hey..."

And the guy with the Jacket is attracting more than his fair share of 
attention today, it seems. Ray pauses on spotting Blake right back in 
that same spot again. He's actually sort of ashamed of his behaviour 
yesterday, but he'd never admit it. Still, rather than going over there 
to make trouble right away, he leans one elbow on the railings and 
watches Carol.

Rick Marlowe's eyes dart from side to side, as he sits down on a nearby 
park bench, picking up an abandoned newspaper and holding it without 
actually reading. Trying to look casual, and not at all like someone 
who's (a) waiting on someone and (b) irritated beyond belief. Not 
especially sucessful. He, of course, spots everyone else around (except 
the somewhat subterranean Jackalman), but he doesn't really recognize 
any of them. (Not even Ray. He doesn't, in fact, know the whole of the 
BHPD by sight...and doesn't really want to know any of them at all, 
apart from the one or two that seem decent folk.)

There was no way it would work, but he'd never know until he tried. 
That trenchcoat and hat were rather tight, but they covered him enough. 
If he bowed his head, he could likely head across the street without 
attracting attention. Uh, yes, right. A guy coming from a sewer in a 
trenchcoat won't get any looks. But at least it was better than some 
furry monster. He slides the grate over, hoping the noise of the city 
will drown it out. After all, he is learning how to move it a little 
more quietly. But Jackalman is no fool. He knows that he can't carry 
his pike-axe with him if he wants to be discreet. He drops that to the 
bottom of the sewer before climbing out, careful to keep the loose 
trenchcoat about him.

Blake doesn't notice Carol's greeting as much as the fact that someone 
is walking towards him, and he looks around sharply. He's certainly not 
expecting Carol. "Um, hi," he says, surprised. "I, uh...I haven't 
scheen you around--I mean, how've you been?" The words are sincere, but 
the tone is strained.

Carol raises an eyebrow as she sets her bag on the ground next to her, 
then folds her arms. "I've been pretty good. Hrm. Looks like you can't 
say the same thing." Not the most subtle of people, is she? She looks 
him over once, then frowns, and says, "What happened to you? You look 
like you took on a pro wrestler...and lost."

Ray can't actually see the state of Blake from here. The only reason he 
knows it's Blake is...well, short-sighted or not, there's the Jacket. 
It's hard to miss. Bored and restless, he glances around the Circle. 
Sullivan. Woman talking to him (who'da thought?). Guy on a bench 
obviously waiting for someone. Guy in trenchcoat skulking across the 
street. "I hate this town," he mutters untruthfully, and watches Jack. 
Just in case.

Rick Marlowe sighs, as his contact utterly refuses to materialize. 
Finally, he just crumples up the newspaper and slams it down on the 
bench beside him, snarling as he does so. "Fine," he mutters. "Next 
time, I'm not setting up a meeting...I'll just have the call traced." 
He forces himself to calm down, as he glances to and fro. Hmm. 
Trenchcoat guy he hadn't noticed before. And he *stinks*...almost as 
though he'd been down in the sewer or something.

Jackalman can't see a blasted thing but the street three feet in front 
of him, and the trenchcoat is hindering how we walks, so he's really 
looking like a class act as he slightly stumbles about, trying to cross 
the street for the nearby alley. Realizing that he can't keep going 
this way without looking out at some point, he lifts the hat on his 
head up a bit and glances to his left. He knew this wouldn't work. 
Doesn't matter, how bad could it be? He'd just keep going. Staring 
people weren't screaming people, at least. ... Nyaha. Dammit, how far 
away was the curb again?

Blake raises an eyebrow at Carol in return. "You kidding? I *won*. The 
other guysch can't even *walk* right now. And only one of them was a 
wrestler, anywasch." He shrugs. "Doeschn't matter. Until the next time, 
I guessch." He rubs his sore knuckles. "Of coursche, if the copsch want 
schomeone to play with today, they schould go after *that* guy," he 
comments, nodding in Jackalman's direction.

Carol smirks and holds back a laugh. "You won..well congradulations." 
Well, she sounds like she means it. But one can never be too sure about 
her. "Cops? Huh?" She turns and glances at Jackalman, then hrms softly 
to herself, as another question comes to mind. "You seen Furious 
lately? Haven't heard from him in a bit."

Ray frowns at the trenchcoat guy. That's not right. For one thing, the 
guy is obviously drunk. For another, he's going to just a bit too much 
trouble to hide his face. Dropping the casual spectator act, Ray heads 
back for the gate by which he entered the park, keeping an eye on Mr 
Trenchcoat. "Sir!" It's probably a guy. We hope.

Rick Marlowe looks up as Ray calls out. He smiles faintly. Well 
now...this could be good for a laugh, at least. He watches to see what 
happens next. Though he's keeping half an ear on what little he can 
hear of the conversation between Blake and Carol...he can' t make all 
of it out, but he did hear the word 'cops'.

Jackalman curses silently. That sounded like it was sent in his 
direction. Go away. "I-I'm fine. I just need to cross the street." 
Hopefully that sounded enough like an old man voice, he hadn't run into 
any old humans around here. Then his boot catches a fold of trenchcoat 
and steps down on it, and he stumbles, almost losing his balance and 
the trenchcoat. "Just let me be," he snaps a bit too harshly.

Blake shrugs. "No, I haven't scheen him anywhere," he says. "And I 
wanted to apologische again. Well, if he'sch schmart he left town--
Hey," he says suddenly, jumping to his feet. "That'sch that jerkwad cop 
who locked me up yeschterday, going after that old guy." Suddenly, 
public drunkenness doesn't seem like such a bad crime anymore. "The 
baschtard. He can't get away with that." And he's off, striding 
purposefully after Ray.

Carol erks and grabs her bag, hurrying off after Blake. "Hey! Wait! 
Should't you think about this before you go running headfirst off into 
a problem that you aren't even involved in?"

Ray is unaware of the entourage he's picking up as he breaks into a jog 
to reach Mr Trenchcoat before he gets run over. "Yeah, fine, right up 
till you get hit by a truck." He *is* actually worried. He just doesn't 
show it very well. "Sir, c'mon, back up on the sidewalk, okay?"

Running headfirst off into a problem that he's not even involved in is 
practically Rick Marlowe's job description. Not to mention his favorite 
hobby. He, too, is on his feet, though he hasn't gotten around to 
wandering over in that direction. So...one of these is a cop. In 
plainclothes. Rick's got a lot of respect for the police. In theory. In 
practice, all he's got for most of them is a few suggestions as to 
where they can go.

Jackalman growls, "If I wanted to go *that* way I'd be *heading* that 
way!" He starts just sliding his feet along the ground, not wanting to 
pick them up anymore for fear of stepping on the coat again. "I'll make 
it. And if a car comes it can just go around me." Yes, Jackalman 
obviously knows *so* much about city traffic. "Go bug someone else, 
human!" Yes, uh huh, there we go. Nice choice of words. Just keep 
moving. .. How wide ARE these damn streets?

Blake catches up with Ray, fuming. "Juscht what isch your *problem*, 
Kowalschki?" he demands, stopping short just behind Ray. "Now you're 
harrassching ordinary, elderly drunksch? Get a hobby."

Carol shakes her head, muttering softly to herself about how does she 
get mixed up with strange people. "Should've just stayed at home with 
my cat..." she whispers to herself, then glances down at the bag she's 
holding. "Oh, hush! Your input is -not- needed here!"

Ray doubletakes. Human? That's not something Beacon cops get accused of 
a whole lot. "What?" he says intelligently to Mr Trenchcoat. And then 
there's Sullivan. He pivots on his heel. "I'm not *harassing* him, 
Sullivan, he's gonna get himself killed. Don't make me remember my 
hobby is harassing *you*." He goes after the trenchcoat guy, honestly 
worried. The traffic in this town..

Rick Marlowe takes a deep breath, and then wishes he hadn't. 
"Whew...you know, there's this wonderful new invention called 
'deodorant," he says to the open air in the general direction of 
Trenchcoat Guy. Yes, he is officially Butting In. His eyes narrow. Did 
that woman just talk to her bowling ball? he wonders. "Listen, folks, 
maybe we should *all* get out of the road, you know?"

Jackalman stops for a minute, just standing in the center of the 
street. By now a few cars have started to rubberneck, but they're 
normally impatient enough to just swerve around him. He turns toward 
the voice, though he can't see him. "Did you hear me when I said I 
don't *want* help? Get lost!" Enough with the slow movement. He starts 
boldly across the street again, hearing a car honk or two as he starts 
moving. He flinches at how close one is, as well as some squealing 
tires. But he keeps going, fortunately not tripping on the trenchcoat 
as of yet.

Although he couldn't explain why, Blake believes Ray's explaination. 
Maybe his brain's just too tired to argue. "Well, let'sch get the guy 
out of the road," he sighs, moving to Jackalman's side and attempting 
to take his arm. "All right now, schir, don't worry. We're juscht going 
to get you to the curb..."

Carol stands back and lets Blake do his thing, not really wanting to 
get involved in the first place, seeing as how the strange fellow 
wearing the trenchcoat is giving her an...odd feeling. She nudges the 
bag with her other, free hand before glaring at it. "I swear...I'll 
fed-ex you somewhere far away," she mutters to it.

Ray glares up at Rick, unintimidated by the easy eight inches of height 
difference. "Here's an idea, buddy, mind your own business." He's about 
to tell the trenchcoat guy that if he *really* wants to get killed 
that's his business, but then Sullivan goes being all helpful, and he 
moves to the other side of the drunken guy. "Yeah, let's get outta here 
before someone doesn't stop in time, okay?"

Rick Marlowe is about to retort with "Trouble *is* my business". But 
then he spots an oncoming car, of the Very Fast sort, and then there's 
no time for any witty banter. "Car!" he shouts, as he moves well away 
from the edge of the road.

Jackalman yanks his arms and starts to flail. "Ungh! Let me go!" He's 
rather strong, and with all likelihood causes a few to have problems 
keeping balance as he thrashes about. But the nearby car honking and 
the warning shout panic him. He hits the dirt and covers his head with 
his sleeve-covered hands. Furry hands.

Blake doesn't see the hands. He's too busy looking at something else. 
Namely the hood of the car that had just come in sharp contact with his 
right hip. Of course, he isn't able to watch it for very long as he 
yells in pain and surprise (mostly surprise) and topples over, nearly 
under the wheels of said car (which had fortunately come to a 
screeching halt just then). Other drivers slam on their brakes as well 
and lean on their horns, as if trying to be the first to say, "Look! 
Something's in the road!"

Carol gasps and is on the move as soon as Rick shouts out car, making 
her way for the safety of the sidewalk. She gasps again as Blake gets 
hit, wanting to go over and see if he's all right, but not exactly 
wanting to get hit as well. "Crap..." Her eyes widen, "No! I'm not 
gonna leave him to die! Just...shut up!"

Ray barely keeps his balance as the guy in the trenchcoat has a Moment, 
and doesn't get time to react to Rick's shout. Of course, he doesn't 
have to - the car hit Blake. And contrary to possible expectations, 
he's dismayed. "DAMN it!" He points a finger at Rick. "You! Go call an 
ambulance!" He prods the trenchcoat guy...the one with furry 
hands...with a foot. "You, get the HELL out of the road!" And that done 
he actually gets around to seeing if Blake's dead or what.

Rick Marlowe is about to say something, thinks better of it, and just 
nods sharply. He drags his cellphone out of his coat pocket...well 
whaddaya know...he managed to pay the bill this month. "Yeah, I'd like 
to report an accident...corner of Main and...and...look, we're in the 
park near the Circle, right? Now hurry the <expletive deleted> up." He 
keeps the cellphone on, so's the ambulance people can trace the 
location if they need to.

Jackalman actually feels a twinge of guilt, but not for long. "Fine. 
Serves the fool right." Compassion incarnate. By now the traffic 
directly about them has halted, and in the distance horns sound as 
impatient drivers want to know what's the problem. Jackalman 
practically just strides across the street now that he's free to, and 
in his hurry the hat flies off his head and onto the ground. He's due 
for a haircut, isn't he?

Blake might be bruised but he isn't really injured, just shaken. He 
rolls to a sitting position and blinks around, trying to orient 
himself. Indeed the cars have stopped their forward momentum, and 
nearby drivers lean out their windows. "I'm sorry! Are you okay?" asks 
the lady driving the car that hit Blake dumbly.

Carol hrms and sets the bag down on the curb, then runs towards Blake 
and kneels down next to him. "Are you all right?!" Woah. She's 
actually..concerned about someone. That must be a first. "I swear, I 
would've been over sooner but Dad was being his ignorant self." The bag 
gives a shake.

Ray makes sure Blake isn't about to die (it's a lot more paperwork that 
way, you know) and yells after Jackalman. "HEY! You stay at the scene 
of the goddamn accident, jerkoff, or I swear I'll arrest you right 
here!" He's getting kinda stressed, can you tell? He spares the driver 
of the car a glare. "BHPD, don't go anywhere."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Yell at the world and flash your badge. That'll 
make it all better," says Rick bitterly. Partly because this happens to 
be precisely what he'd have done in Ray's place. After shooting 
Jackalman an unusual glance...haven't I seen him somewhere before?...he 
too goes over to check on Blake. "Paramedics on their way, friend," he 
says. "Just stay calm."

Jackalman reaches the other side of the street and throws off the 
trenchcoat, bolting into the alley. ... ... D'oh. Oh, real smart, 
Jackassman. It wouldn't help to have that to maybe get *back* to the 
sewer, would it? Especially with the scene forming there? Stupid, 
stupid, stupid! He enters the alley and keeps on going, trying to find 
some place to duck into until everything cools down. Where's an 
abandoned luxury apartment when you need one?

Blake climbs to his feet (he's really not hurt) and casts about in 
confusion. It seems that the only thing the car really did was knock 
the piss and vinegar out of him. He looks around at Carol and Rick. 
"Yeah, I'm fine," he says. "He runs pretty fast for an old drunk," he 
remarks as Jackalman darts off. No, really, his not noticing the fur 
isn't due to brain damage from the accident. He's always like this.

Carol hmms and stands, nodding, giving Blake another look to make sure 
he's not lying. "Where -did- that guy run off to?" The bag shakes 
again, as if not liking being left alone while the poorly-dressed 
fellow gets all of the attention. "Oh..you just wait!" she comments to 
it.

Ray pauses to say to the group gathered around Blake, "Stay," then 
takes off after Jackalman, dodging a couple of already-moving-again 
cars and following the meta down the alleyway without hesitation. He's 
not shown himself to be particularly dangerous, yet. "I SAID STOP!"

Rick Marlowe looks at Blake with some concern. "You *sure* you're all 
right?" Then he shrugs. "If you say so." He talks into the cellphone 
again. "Yeah, about that accident...guy seems okay, so...huh? Well how 
should *I* know if...look, I'm just this guy, I can't make him stay if 
he doesn't...look, do you want to talk to him?" He shrugs, and holds 
the phone in Blake's direction. "They want to talk to you."

Jackalman frowns and watches the commotion from far into the alley. He 
doesn't appear to be pursued, but he knows it's likely to happen. He 
continues down the alley, prepared to go any way but back. He starts to 
climb the wall at the dead end.

Blake blinks at the celphone with some suprise. He's never used one of 
those things. But that's not the issue. "Who wantsch to talk to me?" he 
asks suspiciously. "I'm getting out of the road." Ignoring Ray's order, 
he retreats to the sidewalk, where Carmine was stashed. The lady driver 
leans out her window again. "How long do I have to stay? I need to pick 
up my son from daycare."

Carol follows after Blake, letting out an unhappy growl as the bag 
tries to hop towards him. "Daddy!" she hisses, and snatches the bag up. 
"Don't mind him," she mentions to Blake, before shaking the bag 
severely. "Next time I'm leaving you at home..."

Ray skids to a stop about halfway down the alley. It's climbing the 
wall. Oh, wonderful. He goes into his pocket for his glasses, and his 
heart sinks. Nice one, Kowalski. He draws his gun anyway, might make 
the guy think twice. "Last warning! Police! Stay where you are and keep 
your hands in sight!" Don't make me try and shoot at you.

Rick calls out to the woman, "Yeah? Well, you should have thought of 
that before you hit this...uh...person." Brightly colored person. He 
then turns to follow Blake. "Oh, just the ambulance guys. They seem to 
want you to stick around til they get here. Not like I care." And again 
she's talking to the bowling ball. Rick just shakes his head.

Jackalman stops in the middle of climbing. Gun! "Agh!" He loses his 
grip and falls into some cardboard boxes. Uh oh, some homeless guy's 
gonna sue for wrecking his home now. The jackal quickly dives behind 
another group of boxes. Bullets don't penetrate cardboard. Really. "I 
didn't do anything! You're the ones that bugged me!" the voice sounds 
from behind the boxes. Oh yes, an even better way to 'hide' from this 
guy. Argue with him.

Blake peers at Rick. "Ambulansche? Okay, I know how to get rid of them: 
tell them my name is Blake Schullivan. And tell them I'm conschiousch." 
He looks at the Mexican Jumping Bowling Bag dangling from Carol's hand. 
"Don't tell me what he schaid, I enjoy my imaginaschion."

Carol smirks. "I couldn't repeat what he said anyway. The language 
would make a drunken sailor blush." The bag, still unhappy, thwaps her 
in the leg and she ows. "That's it! I -swear- I'm gonna sledgehammer 
you when I get home!" she barks, eyes narrowed. "Anyways... I'm glad to 
see you're in one piece, Blake."

Ray blinks. Well *that* went better than could have been reasonably 
expected. "Yeah, come on outta there, buddy, and keep your hands where 
I can see 'em." He's levelled the gun at the sound of Jack's voice, 
which is a lot more reliable than aiming at something he's trying to 
*look* at. "You're under arrest." He's not sure what for, yet. 
Resisting arrest, maybe.

Jackalman doesn't have his pike-axe with him, but anything's got to be 
better than fighting with his hands. He finds a glass bottle so kindly 
left in the alley. "You don't want to see my hands," the jackal says 
with a slight grin. If he hadn't shot that thing yet.... "You come on 
back and get me if you'd like."

Rick Marlowe stares back at Blake, and then shrugs. "Riiight." Into the 
phone, "He says his name's, ah, Blake Shullivan. Er, Sullivan. Yes, yes 
he's awake. Has he *what*? What kind of a question is...uh huh. Uh huh. 
What? Listen, maybe it's you who needs the ambulance, huh? Lucky for 
you you've already got one." He switches the phone off. "Well. This has 
been *such* a productive...okay, lady, I have to ask. What's up with 
the bowling ball?"

Blake looks pleased with the way Rick handled those wiseacres at 
dispatch, and now waits to see how Carol handles this.

Carol blinks and turns to face Rick. "What's up with the..? Oh! Fine, 
if you really wanna know..." She sets the bag down on the sidewalk then 
unzips it, grabbing a bowling ball out of it in one swift motion. Once 
it's out of the bag she holds it up to face Rick, the skull inside 
grinning like a maniac. "This is what's up with it."

Ray resigns himself to a certain amount of paperwork. He's not about to 
stand here and have an argument with this guy. He fires the gun twice 
into the air, levelling it again straight afterwards. "Come on out! 
Now!"

Jackalman leaps backward at the sounds of the gunshots, covering his 
head with his paws. "Ha! Lousy shot you are!" Doesn't dawn on him that 
they were warning shots. "Just go away before I put you in more pain 
than that other one on the street." Be thankful you've got the gun, 
fella. Just a human doesn't scare Jackalman. Still, he's wary enough to 
be worried. Just not petrified. He doesn't think Ray's the *type* to 
shoot him.

Rick Marlowe stares back at what would appear to be Carmine. "I...see." 
he says, well aware that he's treading on very shakey ground. "Must do 
*wonders* for your bowling scores..." He trails off after hearing the 
gunshots. "Aw nuts. Our cop friend found someone to serve and protect, 
did he?"

Blake flinches slightly at the reports. "How many t-schirts doesch 
thisch guy *need*?" he asks noone in particular, just before his 
superhero instincts (okay, his blatent noseyness) kicks in and he 
creeps cautiously into the mouth of the alley to get a view of the 
action.

Carol chuckles. "Nah. Don't bowl with him. He's too sensitive. Isn't 
that right Dad?" Her voice takes on a mocking tone to the end there, 
and the ball turns to face her. She glares at it, it glares at her, and 
they're both silent for a few moments. "Well, you are..." The ball 
turns its..back? on her, hovering there in front of Carol. She shrugs. 
"Fine then be that--" She's cut off as gunshots are heard. "Well..."

Ray is still holding the gun trained on the last place he heard 
Jackalman talking from, wishing irritably that those boxes were - well 
- somewhere else. He adopts a talking-to-a-three-year-old tone. "I will 
*shoot* you, if you do not come *out* of there right *now*."

Rick Marlowe continues to just stare at the now-floating bowling ball. 
"Oh. It's one of *those* deals..." Then he shrugs, and also makes his 
way toward the alley, drawing his own pistol as he does so. For all his 
snide remarks, he figures that Ray's on the right side, here.

Jackalman taunts, "Don't you have some guy in an 'ambulance' to take 
care of?" He looks around. "It's your fault he got hurt, you know. If 
you'd just left me alone...." Jackal with a deathwish?

Blake steps cautiously into the alleyway, having discerned where 
Jackalman (although he doesnt know it is a jackal-man) is hiding. He 
does, however, believe that he might be a Villain-type judging purely 
by the way he's talking to the cop. He sidles up behind Ray. "Hey," he 
hisses, "You need any backup?"

Carol blink as everyone heads over to the alley. "Well. I'd go but I'm 
really not into getting shot or maimed today..." She taps the ball, 
which causes it to turn and face her. "Hey Dad...mind going over there 
for me? I mean, you're alot more resistant to bullets than I am..." The 
ball stares at her. "What? No, I'm not going to apoligize!" Silence. 
"Oh..fine. I'm sorry." The ball seems to like this and hovers its way 
towards the alley.

Ray bristles. If you wanted him angry, you've got it. "Shut up. Come 
the hell out here right now." Okay, so that's the third or fourth time 
he's said it, but this time he means it. He narrows his eyes to clear 
up the focus as much as possible. He really isn't aware that he's 
drawing an audience until Blake actually speaks in his ear. Tense as he 
is, he jumps visibly and the gun goes off.

Rick Marlowe just shakes his head, not entirely clear on how or why 
he's let himself get dragged into this. After Ray's gunshot, he calls 
out..."Listen, pal, just come out, would you? You're vastly 
outnumbered, two of us have guns, there's this...bowling ball skull 
thing...and for all I know, this guy...the guy, I might add, that *you* 
managed to almost get killed...can blind you with that coat of his. So 
just end this peacefully, all right?"

Jackalman frowns as his sensitive ears pick up the second voice. Not a 
second one! He can't quite make out who it is, though. "Nyahaha, I 
don't think so. Go help some old lady cross the street." He glances 
back at the wall, much more nervous now, though his voice isn't showing 
it. How fast could he scale that wall if he tried?

Blake jumps too. "Chrischt!" he yells. "Watch it with that thing." He 
takes a step around Ray to face the cardboard boxes. "You heard the 
men, get out here and fasche the muschic!" Rick's right, this person 
*did* almost get him killed. And he's starting to get ticked again. 
"Don't make me come in after you!" Naturally, he'd do it too, 
especially since he hasn't *seen* Jackalman yet.

Carol sits down on the curb, awaiting the return of Carmine. Speaking 
of which... Carmine settles down in a content hover next to Blake, 
turning to glance at him with those socketless eyes of his, then 
swivels to face where Jackalman is hiding.

Ray is more thoroughly startled than anybody, and choruses with Blake. 
"Jesus Christ!" He doesn't actually fire the gun very often, and he 
almost drops it. He's grateful for Rick's backup, frankly, but Sullivan 
is just going to get himself killed. "Will you get outta here?! And 
what the hell is *that*?" He means Carmine.

Rick Marlowe replies to Ray, "It's a bowling ball, apparently. A 
floating bowling ball. I wish I could say that's the strangest thing 
I've ever seen, y'know?" He then calls back to Jackalman. "So, are you 
coming out, or do we have to...ask you to come out again?"

Jackalman cowers back there. He didn't like the way Ray had said that. 
He takes a second to peer above the pile of boxes, as it's only about 
four feet tall, and he immediately yelps and ducks down upon seeing 
this floating... well, he didn't get a good look at it, but there was 
magic involved. "Damn it, just go away, and leave me alone, all of you! 
I didn't do a thing to you!" His voice tone has changed to a pleading 
one. He knows darn well he's trapped, now, and he's just debating 
making a break for it over the fence or staying put. "Come out? Not 
with that thing around!"

Blake ignores Ray. Again. He glances over to Carmine, and immediately 
feels better about the whole situation. The cool skull ball is here to 
help him! Keen! But then Jackalman starts begging. Rats. Blake can't 
bear begging. "All right, juscht come out now before thingsch get 
worsche," he advises the boxes, rather than siccing Carmine on them 
like he had wanted to a second ago. "The copsch--or schomething--" (he 
glances at Rick) "--are here, and take it from me, you don't want to 
causche a big schene."

Carmine seems to turn and stare at Ray as Carol finally decides to join 
the others. "That -thing-," she says, "is my father. Guys, meet 
Carmine. Dad, these are...um...some cops." The ball moves towards 
Carol, and nods, then moves towards the cowering Jackalman. "I suggest 
you come out of there before he comes in after you!" Carol remarks.

Ray is deeply unnerved by Carmine. That's her dad. Uh-huh. Right. Crazy 
people. Good. "Will everyone except this guy," indicating Rick, "just 
get the HELL out of this alley? Someone's gonna get hurt!" So he's gone 
from possibly shooting at someone to crowd control. That's life.

Rick Marlowe had thought he was dealing with the bowling ball thing. 
But..."Your *what*? Never mind...I just don't want to know." As Ray 
speaks, he nods. "Good plan. Oh," to Carol again. "And I'm not a cop."

Jackalman reluctantly steps out, not having much choice, he thinks, 
now. Better taken whereever they take him than dead by magic or gun. 
"What did I do to you, anyway?" he asks in a quivery voice. The bottle 
is still in his hand, he didn't drop it.

Blake, who had reluctantly turned to leave the alley . o O (Stupid 
cops--or whatever--wouldn't know a superhero's assistance if it--forget 
it.), glances back as Jackalman emerges. . o O (Christ. Again.) He 
pauses, then shrugs and leaves the alley anyways. They can play 
zookeeper if they want to. He's tired and going home.

Carol moves back out of the alley as ordered, not wanting to get 
herself arrested. It happened to her once, and she didn't like it -at 
all-. Carmine hovers there for a few moments afterwards then follows 
her, still watching Jackalman. "Hey Blake..." she calls out, walking 
towards him, "Hope you, ah, get all healed up and whatnot. I'd hate to 
see the guy you beat up." A slight smile crosses her face. "Maybe you 
and Furious need to team up, leave this 'weak' girl behind."

Ray instantly has the gun trained on Jackalman again. Though the very 
observant might notice he's still squinting. *And* his aim is off-
centre. "Drop it!" he barks. "You're under arrest, put your hands 
behind your head."

"You know, that *is* a good question...what exactly did he..." Rick's 
voice trails off as he finally gets a good look at Jackalman. "Wait a 
minute...I *know* I've seen you before." Something to do with a cat-
lady, he thinks. Unfortunately, Rick's memory's not on his side at the 
moment. "Anyway, he's all yours, officer." says Rick, not lowering his 
gun until he sees how Jackalman's going to respond.

Jackalman drops the bottle, which shatters at his feet. Nice move. 
"Arrest? On what charge?" The jackal starts to fold his arms before the 
two levelled guns remind him of what's going on.

Blake peers at Carol. "You kidding? Furiousch is cool but you're--" He 
makes himself rethink that comment. "You're cool too," he finally tells 
her. A pause. "And scho'sch your dad," he adds, feeling he should, 
glancing over at Carmine (admiringly--he really does think the skull 
ball's about the keenest thing this city's got going for it).

Carol laughs, actually smiling genuinely for once, noddning at Blake. 
"Well...you're not so bad." She nudges him as the ball hovers there, 
keeping an eye on the alley. It does, however, glance back at Carol for 
a quick second. "Dad says you're tolerable. That's as close to a 
compliment as you'll ever get out of him," she mutters.

Ray has to pause and think about that for a moment. What charge, what 
charge..."Leaving the scene of an accident, resisting arrest, 
threatening a police officer, failure to control your fleas." He 
glances to Rick. "Cover me while I cuff the guy?" It's a request, not 
an order. This guy is obviously not a cop.

Rick Marlowe nods curtly to Ray. Much as he's not a fan of the BHPD, 
he's certainly got no desire to see Ray hurt, either. "Just take it 
easy...er...you." he says to Jackalman. "Hell, the way this town works, 
you'll be back on the streets in a day, and you'll have had a roof over 
your head in the meantime." He sniffs yet again. "And presumably a 
bath, we can but hope."

Robert wanders into view, smoking a cigarette as if it was the last one 
on the planet. Dusting off his trench coat as he leaves the convenience 
store, he peers out into the darkness of the city, illuminated only by 
a few streetlamps, aand he eyes the situation boredly. Loverly. Well, 
it could be worse, he supposes. With that, he watches the hijinks, not 
looking at all excited about joining in.

Jackalman growls just slightly. "It's a crime to leave the scene of an 
accident? And you threatened me more, pal. You going to be locked up 
too? And how can I resist arrest if I have nothing to be arrested for?" 
He was taking shots in the dark for all of that. He had no idea what 
the human justice system was like. Looking at the other one, he 
mutters, "Right, they wouldn't want to lock me down or anything for 
study." Still, he doesn't have much choice, does he? He doesn't move.

Blake looks pleased to hear that, but his mood quickly fades. "Well," 
he says sombrely, glancing at the ground, "I gotta go. Bye." He turns, 
and starts walking off, towards the docks.

Carol starts to say something, but just shakes her head and waves at 
Blake. "Keep in touch, man..." she mutters, grabbing her bag from the 
sidewalk. Carmine floats into it and she zips it up, turning to watch 
the officer-type people.

Ray holsters his gun and digs his cuffs out of his inside pocket (hey, 
days off are technicalities only when you have zero home life) as he 
advances towards Jackalman, careful to leave Rick a clear line of sight 
to the furry guy. "Don't get excited, buddy, turn around and put your 
hands behind your back. We can debate law later. You have the right to 
remain silent you have the right to an attorney if you cannot afford an 
attorney one will be provided for you by the state do you understand 
these rights as I have stated them to you?"

Rick Marlowe keeps his own pistol trained on Jackalman, while Ray reads 
him his rights. It vaguely occurs to him that his not being an officer 
could lead to lawsuit city if anything went awry...fortunately, 
Jackalman doesn't seem smart enough to realize this.

Robert flicks ash from his cigarette idly, and walks so that he can see 
the activity in the alleyway with more clarity, with the sort of look 
on his face that shows that he's interested, but probably in that half-
assed sort of interest a bored person would watch some toddler build a 
sandcastle in a sandbox. Squinting slightly, he observes athe odd 
situation. But he makes no attempt to get any closer. None of his 
business, after all.

Jackalman is still not that wild about being led away, but he does have 
a gun pointed at him. "I'd better be set free. I know my rights." He 
actually doesn't, but why let them know that?

Carol sits down on the curb, not having anything else better to do with 
her spare time since her cat is the only person at home now. "Hrm..."

Ray steps around behind Jackalman and is none-too-gentle about cuffing 
the dog guy's hands together. "You have the right to make very close 
friends with a big scary guy called Bubba. You have the right to fall 
down the precinct stairs. You have the right to a uniform with little 
arrows all over it." He looks to Rick. "Thanks...I'm Kowalski. You?" 
And where'd Sullivan go? Want to talk to *him*...

Blake is in the convenience store, having an argument with the 
counterguy. "Look, I don't *have* any schmaller billsch," he growls, 
gripping a fifty. "Fine, juscht give me ten packsch, I don't care." . o 
O (I need those stupid Camels, moron.)

Carol stands and decides to leave the scene, before the cops want to 
question her. So, with bag in hand, the femme exits the area and heads 
home for a night of poker with her pet cat. Yay.

Rick Marlowe finally holsters his gun. "I'm Marlowe. Private. Got a 
license for it and everything. Here's my card." He fishes a business 
card out of his coat pocket. "A pleasure, Officer Kowalski." He 
actually sounds halfway sincere. It almost certainly won't last. "If 
you need a statement from me, I think I've got a secretary this week, 
so you'll probably get an answer if you call my office. And if you need 
a character reference, Ohls with the DA's office'll vouch for me." 
Pretty much the only person in anything resembling law enforcement that 
will. "But I'm beat, and I've got a long day ahead of me, so, less you 
need more from me this instant..." He frowns and ponders. "Didn't see 
where Sullivan got to, unfortunately, though he can't have gotten far. 
Just follow the time-and-space-warping colors."

Jackalman grumbles as his arms are wrenched behind his back and cuffed. 
He actually chuckles. "Being arrested when I actually *didn't* do 
something." He looks over his shoulder. "Do you think they're *tight* 
enough?" He asks a bit snottily.

Ray is gradually realising that Rick's presence here is totally 
unofficial and quite possibly not quite legal. "Marlowe, right." He 
takes the card. "Uh, no, you go ahead. I appreciate the assistance." 
And it's now, a lifetime too late, that reinforcements finally arrive 
outside the alley. Ray grins at Jackalman. "I could make em tighter if 
you like. First arrest in this town and all." He waits patiently for 
the uniform guys to come collect Jack, then heads out of the alley 
looking for Sullivan.

Rick Marlowe grins at Ray. "No problem. 'Night, officer." With a 
halfway friendly wave, he turns and wanders off. 

Blake emerges from the store looking surly. He's trying to light a 
cigarette dangling from his mouth with a Zippo while balancing a 
rolled-up brown paper sack under one arm.

Jackalman grudgingly starts out of the alley, muttering more to himself 
than anyone else. "You can't hold me like this, and I know it. I'll be 
out." He laughs a bit as he's led away.

Robert only watches. Barely interested. Only because this situation is 
slightly more entertaining than someone throwing Gary Coleman across 
the room is he still around. Tossing out the cigarette to the ground, 
he puts it out with a twist of the toe of his brown leather show. Hands 
are shoved into their trench pockets, and an annoying sort of smirk 
corsses his otherwise deadpan, half eyelidded countenance.

Ray spots Blake easily and jogs across the street. "Hey, Sullivan, hold 
on a second." He spares Robert a very brief glance. IRS or FBI. It's 
practically tattooed on his forehead.

Blake pauses, and jerks the unlit cig from his mouth. With a supreme 
act of willpower, he banishes all expletives from his sentance, which 
leaves only: "What?"

Ray isn't really sure how to go about this. "Look, Sullivan...are you 
okay?" This is preamble to what he *actually* wants to say.

Robert is just watching for now, yes. In fact, it doesn't look like 
he's about to move any time soon. In fact, it doesn't look like he's 
the sort of person that moves very much at all. He just watches the 
little corner of chaos from his own position by a streetlamp.

Blake ponders Ray for a moment, his eyes narrowed. Or maybe they're 
just puffy. That bruise is a weird color too. Geez, he looks terrible. 
"Am I...Am I *what*?" he repeats incredulously. "You want to rethink 
that queschtion?"

Ray has to concede that one. He takes a step back, raising both hands. 
"Okayokayokay. I'm sorry. Look, you should...get to a hospital, 
or...somethin. Um, if that dog guy goes to trial you'll need to be a 
witness. Don't go anywhere."

Robert eventual mobilizes to view the situation. Eventually, he leans 
on the squad car, and looks inside. When a cop approaches him, he 
merely shows him a wallet without looking up. "Halloween already?" He 
says, peering at jackalman. "They keep getting uglier and uglier." 
Lighing a cigarette again, he stands up straight, looking altogether 
unimpressed with the activity around him.

Jackalman sneers at the rubbernecker, but there's little else he can 
do. He slumps down in the seat, miserable.

Uh oh, that was the wrong thing to say. Blake *fumes*. "Don't *go* 
anywhere? Don't GO anywhere? Look, Kowalschki, I am going *home*. NOW. 
I haven't even *been* there in daysch--and gee, I wonder WHY. Now get 
the hell out of my way."

Ray blinks, and for a wonder, does actually step aside. Because it's 
either that or get in a fight, and he's tired. And feeling vaguely 
guilty about something he can't quite put his finger on. "Jeez, have an 
aneurysm," he mutters.

Robert knocks on the top of the squad car, and says laconically, "Isn't 
this an animal control thing? I thought being spayed and neutered had 
to deal with vets and the like." Looking around, he calls, "Who's in 
charge here? Hello? Bueller?" He exhales a cloud of smoke, perhaps 
deliberately into the open squad car window at Jackalman.

Blake is indeed surprised that Ray seems to be letting him go. A 
fraction of his visible tenseness goes away, and, with a suspicious 
sideways glance at Ray, Blake starts forward again. But, inevitably, he 
pauses. He takes a breath. "Okay," he says, "schpare me a schecond. 
Why? When I messch up, fine, I can take my medischine. But when I 
*behave*--I don't *get* you guysch. I'm *trying*, dammit. But why can't 
I get a break? You tell me."

Ray blinks at Blake for a moment, then shrugs, hands outspread. "I 
don't know, Sullivan," he says honestly. "Uh...if it, uh, if it means 
anything, I'm sorry I arrested you before, you didn't deserve it. And 
that's *extremely* off the record."

For a second, Blake doesn't look like he believes Ray, then it looks 
like he does, then doesn't again. "Well, I guessch I might feel 
unwanted if you guysch didn't do it, anywaysch," he grunts, and starts 
off again. "Hope you didn't get rabies, Kowalschki." He walks off.

Robert merely looks around, waiting to be addressed, still looking at 
Jackalman with no expression on his face whatsoever. He speaks in a 
dull, drawn out voice, as if it was too much effort to really speak. 
"Hey. Captain Barky. What did they arrest you for? Defecation on public 
property? What?" He knocks on the window that is only open a crack.