[Location: City Seat Circle]

Ray is proud of himself now. "Electrochemistry," he says again, just to 
hear himself say it. "Think Fraser knows that word? He does, doesn't 
he?"

Blake walks into the Circle, a large sketchbook tucked under one arm, 
the other busy trying to hold up the biggest cup of coffee you've ever 
seen. He finds a bench quickly and spreads the book over his lap. After 
a few life-giving gulps from the hopefully cooled coffee, he finds a 
mechanical pencil on his person somewhere and goes to work, muttering. 
Stupid drawing. Why doesn't it do what he wants it to? He'll show it.

[We decided the bench was under an awning. It's not as if they bothered 
to *tell* me it was pouring rain when I entered the scene! :^)]

Tigra shrugs. "He probably does, but I wouldn't know, honestly."

Ray wrinkles his nose briefly. "He does. He knows a *lot* of words." 
Heey, isn't that..someone who can save me from having to think of 
something else to talk about! "Sullivan! What's up, indoors was too dry 
and warm for ya?"

Oh come on, you can do better than that. Simply being called by his 
name has nil effect on Blake, who is determined that these drawings 
bend to his will.

Tigra looks over at Ray curiously. "Hmm?"

Ray tsks. That guy is dead to the world. He looks at Tigra and wishes 
he hadn't. "Um. That's Blake Sullivan over there." Brief pause. "Isn't 
it?" He *thinks* it is.

Obviously it's just this page that isn't working out. Blake turns to 
the next one and starts anew.

Tigra looks over, frowning a bit, then snaps her fingers. "Yeah, I 
remember him now. The rain's not doing much for my--uhm, I mean yeah, 
that's him." SHe was going to say her sense of smell, but no need to go 
into*that*.

Ray is pleased with himself *again*. Twice in five minutes, nice. 
"Okay. Let's go talk to him." He starts towards Blake and tries yelling 
again. "Hey SULLIVAN! Wake up!"

Blake wakes up this time, as he's not gotten as far along with this 
page yet. "Huh? What?" He looks around "Oh. What?" he says again.

Tigra just looks on, curious. She knows vaguely who the other person 
is, but not really on a personal level.

Ray ducks under the awning and shoots Blake a 'save me' sort of look. 
"Why today, Sullivan? You need to catch a cold for somethin'?"

Blake blinks at Ray. "Huh?" he frowns at him. He looks out at the 
surrounding street. Oh yeah, it's raining. "Nah, I'll be okay," he 
says, going for his coffee. "Why?" he asks as an afterthought, as in, 
"Why do you care?" I suppose.

Tigra pads along quietly behind Ray. She doesn't feel like being alone 
right now.

Ray shifts his feet uneasily. Tigra's following, which is good, and 
also bad, because if he wasn't tongue-tied enough as it was.. "Just 
makin' conversation. You're paranoid."

Blake blinks at Ray some more. "Of coursche I am, what a schtupid thing 
to schay," he remarks. He peers past Ray at Tigra. "You guysch 
uh...playing in the rain or schomething?"

Tigra grins crookedly. "I s'pose you might say that."

Ray reddens visibly. "Don't call me stupid," he says, but it's not as 
aggressive as he'd like it to sound.

Blake shrugs. "Schorry," he says noncommitally. "Excusche me." He goes 
back to his drawing.

Tigra quirks an eyebrow over at Ray. "I think we were more welcome back 
out there."

Ray is still rather disconcerted by Tigra not telling him to get lost. 
"Yeah, probably. Whatcha drawin', Sullivan?"

"Hm?" Blake draws. "Oh. Want to do a schculpture, gotta 
conscheptualische it firscht." Note that if he were paying more 
attention he probably would not have attempted 'conceptualize.'"

Tigra looks over, absently curious.

Ray blinkblinks. "Con-cep-tu-al-ize," he translates, very carefully. 
"What the hell is conceptualize?"

Blake doesn't look up. "What do you want, Kowalschki?"

----

[Because you need this description:]
Hardnox

	Standing 6'4" tall, this man radiates an overzealous abundance of 
energy. He's thick and burly, with an impressive musculature that tends 
to command a bit of respect, although that respect has been known to 
turn to edginess when it's noted that all of his skin is a moderately 
bright green. His head is large, obviously balding with close-shaved 
greenish-black hair and a unibrow, his face is elongated, with beady 
green eyes (even the whites are tinted green), a hawkish nose and a 
weasel-like smile that's missing a few teeth.
	He's currently clad in a hooded black sweatshirt with the sleeves 
torn off rather haphazardly. Strings are hanging down his enormous pecs 
from the hood, which hangs back behind his head casually. He's also 
wearing really tight spandex shorts that leave nothing to the 
imagination, and that cut off at about mid-thigh, accentuating his 
well-developed legs and their green-ness. He's also wearing thick brown 
steel-toed boots and white tube socks with red stripes around the 
ankle. A few of his fingers are adorned with shiny gold rings, and 
around his neck is a thick gold rope-chain. Perhaps there are fools 
nearby he could pity.

----

Lots of loud crashing, flashing and splashing going on throughout the 
area... and some burly fitness nut seems to be out jogging in it. 
Turning the corner with some surprising speed for his size, the guy... 
the GREEN guy... seems to be delighted with Nature's racket... his arms 
spread wide as he jogs... "YEAH, mama! BRING IT! BRING IT ON!"

Tigra winces at the sounds, turning to look. "Oh not---No, it's not 
him. Oh god, there's more of them!"

Ray says irritably, "I want you to tell me what conceptualize means." 
He doesn't think saying 'I want you to distract me from the sexy woman' 
would really work. The large green intruder is noted and Ray sighs 
quietly. Wonderful. Just ignore him. Maybe he'll go away and become 
someone else's problem. "Tigra, just let him go by, what're you gonna 
do, purr at him?"

"It juscht meansch--" Blake looks up to frown in the green man's 
direction. "Chrischt, who'sch that?" he mutters, mostly to himself. "It 
juscht meansch--" He interrupts himself again to look at Tigra. "Why, 
who isch it?" he asks her in concern.

Hardnox jogs down the side of the street towards the awning. "Yeah, 
baby! Try an' hit me, toots!" His hand gestures urge on Mother Nature. 
"C'mon! I dare ya!" With that, he smashes his fist into the window of a 
parked car, shattering it pretty good... "C'mon! COME ON!" His grin is 
near-maniacal... and his gait is testosteroney...

Tigra curls her lip at Ray. "There's more to me than a pretty face, 
Detective." She injects a lively dose of scorn into her retort. "Don't 
forget, I've taken on the junk collector and walked away from it." She 
looks to Blake. "He looks like the Hulk, a bruiser from back home."

Ray glares at Tigra. "I know that. I just notice that every time one of 
these assholes - " He winces as Hardnox smashes the car window - "every 
time one of these guys starts causin' trouble I end up gettin' hurt. 
You think I should arrest him?" he adds, with some sarcasm.

Blake sits tensely, watching the green man rampage. If he acts now, he 
can probably get out of the Circle unnoticed without any hassle. He 
glances at Ray, who he thinks should do the same thing. Finally he 
looks back to Tigra. "You think he'sch tough?" he asks her in a small 
voice.

Hardnox figures the big nasty bitch in the sky isn't going to answer 
his challenge today, so he jogs on, before spotting the crew under the 
awning. His disturbing beady eyes fall upon them, and his partially 
toothless grin opens widely... "How about YOU kids, huh? Wanna try an' 
bring the pain ta Hardnox, huh?" Then he notices the hot furry babe. 
His eyes widen a little. "I can spare ya the humiliation if yer willin' 
ta part with yer chick, there..." Obviously not enlightened.

Tigra sighs and shakes her head in disgust. She tosses aside her hat, 
and drops off her coat. "You two better get out of here while the 
getting's good. Especially if you don't want to get hurt." She then 
graces the gentleman with a snarl. "Why don't you come and get me?"

Ray is not about to leave. Tigra is a friend - sort of - and he doesn't 
run out on friends, *ever*. He takes a half-step back and pulls his 
gun, pointing it at the floor, and digs his glasses out of his pocket. 
Maybe Blake will do the sensible thing and leave, though. As if.

Okay, the gun is out. Blake closes his sketchbook and places it on the 
bench as he stands up. He wishes Ray would quit following police 
procedure and just shoot the guy. In the leg or something. Blake 
doesn't say or do anything further for now.

Hardnox cocks an eyebrow at the chick. "Oh, yer THAT kinda chippie, 
huh?" he says, leaning back into a 'come'n'get it' semi-crouch, putting 
up his dukes. "Cute costume, babe... good ta see ya dressin' the part 
of a pus-" He stops as Ray draws his gun. "Aw, c'mon, hotshot... you 
wanna play with me, too?"

Tigra chuckles darkly at Hardnox. "Go ahead and see if you can get me 
out of it. I'm waiting for you."

Ray is, in fact, extremely scared. But he hides it perfectly, and the 
gun remains pointed at the ground. "Yeah. Scrabble. You in?" Why is 
Blake still here? He glances at Blake through the raindrops already 
spattering his glasses. "Get outta here," he murmurs.

Blake is almost hurt. He'd helped Ray out before, hadn't he? "Fine, 
you're the cop," he murmers, backing up to retrieve his sketchbook and 
coffee. "Good luck defending the world from evil." He turns and 
retreats, but admittedly, not /quite/ all the way.

Hardnox takes the opportunity given from Ray's attention turning to 
Blake to suddenly jut out a foot to kick him in the midsection... 
hoping he'll drop his gun. He has taken a gunshot before in this new 
form... and he knows it isn't as invulnerable as he hoped it would 
be... "I like KICKball myself!"

Tigra leaps forward herself, once Hardnox throws the first blow. Taking 
a cue from the brute, she springs forward, and comes up, trying to slam 
her knee in his groin.

Ray falls, but he doesn't drop his gun, he's been kicked often enough. 
He fires (and, on some level, moodily adds up the paperwork), aiming 
past Tigra at the guy's arm. And he's a good shot, too. At the moment. 
Looks like Blake had the right idea after all.

Blake didn't want this today. So he huddles in the rain, hoping that 
the combination of feline power and bullets will be enough to take this 
guy out. And if they are, he can continue his retreat and maybe the 
others won't know he'd been there the whole time.

Hardnox takes the shot to the groin - the augmentation didn't make his 
wits any quicker... and he tumbles over and down for a moment, sucking 
in his breath and avoiding the path of the bullet... but like any 
mental midget getting hit, he immediately strikes back with a punch at 
Tigra's lower gut - a strong one... but he can't call her any names yet 
because he's still lacking in breath... groin shots'll hurt anybody...

Tigra doubles over with the impact, her breath knocked out from her, 
not to mention major pain. She staggers away a few steps, fighting to 
hol dback the blackness, but ultimately fails....and falls, out cold.

[She had to leave then, but it really didn't matter now, did it? ;^)

Ray fires again once Tigra is out of the way, this time aiming at the 
guy's chest. Nobody's gonna fuss about deadly force when it's a meta 
and in the middle of a fight. "Sullivan?!" he yells. He better be gone.

Blake is actually in the process of finding a hopefully dry place to 
ditch his sketchbook. He saw Tigra go down and he just can't convince 
himself that Ray will be Safe. Hanging onto his coffee (because he's 
learned that such things make excellent diversions) he edges around to 
the left, and should still be out of view behind the parked cars.

Hardnox takes the shot in the shoulder, and a splotch of green blood 
explodes out of it as it tears through his thick skin, and he lets out 
an angry bellow of pain. His face curls into a psychotically angry 
sneer, and his left fist juts out to try and punch Ray's gun hand as 
hard as he can... disarming him and, if he's lucky, breaking something 
painful...

Ray gives a snarl that's really just a bitten-back howl of pain as the 
meta hits him and the gun clatters to the floor. And while his wrist 
isn't broken - that would be nasty indeed - there are a couple of 
fingers that aren't going to be the same shape for a while.

Blake chucks the still-almost-full styrofoam cup (the coffee isn't hot 
anymore, however) right at Hardnox's head. Distraction time. He stands 
in full view behind the big thug, ready for Evasive Manuevers. "Picking 
on copsch isch overrated," he shouts through the rain.

Hardnox clutches his shoulder and winces at the touch... and he does 
his best to hide a slight whimper of pain. He goes a little pale at the 
sight of his own blood, and he picks himself up, recovering from the 
groin shot... then the cup hits him in the head... and he turns, 
looking at the weird guy. He blinks a bit, then turns to Ray. "You're a 
cop?"

Ow. Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow damn ow it hurts...the guy is talking to you. 
"Yeah," says Ray, and makes a mental note to kill Sullivan later. He 
eyes his gun and ponders making a grab for it left-handed.

Furious was right. Having some techno-doodads right now would have been 
useful, to clock the guy while he's looking the other way. Oh well. 
Blake takes a step forward. "Yeah, he'sch a cop," he presses. "Schneaky 
how they can walk around looking like normal guysch, ischn't it?" So 
he's forcing Ray to be the distraction now, what of it? It all ends up 
the same.

Hardnox cusses inwardly. Great, he's screwin' with a cop. Maestro gave 
very specific instructions not to mess with cops, if it could be 
helped. Ah, well.. no reason to assume this joker can't be bought. 
Still... ain't always wise to press the issue. "You shoulda fuckin' 
told me, dude..." he says, in a calmer voice, still drenched in pain... 
and wondering if maybe Maestro could juice up the gamma dosage to make 
the bullets bounce off 'im...

Ray is very much inclined to hit this guy with the hand that still 
works. "Fuck you! Get outta here or I'll have Sullivan put you down, 
asshole!" Yes, he's noticed Blake is there.

Blake nods. "Oh, yeah. I'm very schcary. Come get me," he says, in 
imitation of Tigra earlier.

Hardnox grumbles. Cop or not, this guy needs a beatdown... a serious 
one. But his shoulder HURTs like a bitch. He glances back to Blake, 
though. "This freak?" he asks, pointing back to Spleen. Then a dim bell 
goes off in his head. Sullivan. The freak that took down Superman. 
Whoa. "Fine..." he says, finally, not able to think of a good put-
down... but he smirks very slightly as he runs and scoops up Tigra, 
slinging her unconscious body over his shoulder and breaking into a 
surprisingly fast run... "Smell ya later!"

Ray snatches up his gun, left-handed, and sights after the bastard - 
but he's kidding himself, glasses or not. A moving target, with a 
built-in human shield, in the half-light and at this distance? He 
wishes. "Fuck! Sullivan, get him!" Although the guy is probably moving 
too fast for that, too.

Blake walks up to Ray. "Hardly," he grunts. He looks after the 
retreating green figure. "What doesch polische polischy schay to do in 
thisch schituation?"

Ray gestures helplessly with the hand now holding the gun. "I...do not 
have a clue. Paperwork. Will you come make a statement? 
Or...somethin'...ow." He regards his injured hand moodily. "The 
Department mightn't fuss too much," he says. "She's a meta. He's a 
meta. Not our problem."

Blake brightens a little. "Go to the schtation?" he asks. "You know, I 
haven't been over that way in a while. How did that contescht turn out? 
Who won, Funk?"

Ray snorts, amused. "Yeah, only by about a million miles. He's not 
allowed to wear that thing at work, you'll be pleased to hear."

Blake nods. "Funk could find more excuschesch to haul me in than anyone 
elsche in that plasche. You're going to have to improve." He gravitates 
back under the awning. "I need a new cup of coffee," he complains to 
himself.

Ray reholsters his gun, with some difficulty, and trails after Blake to 
get out of the rain. "Bastard. Isn't there anyone in this town who'll 
stop when you shoot em?" He prods at the broken fingers with his good 
hand, assessing the damage. "You know anythin' about first aid, 
Sullivan?"

Blake looks at Ray. "Hell, I'd schtop if I wasch schot," he says. 
"Being schot might be exteremely Bad for me, Contents Under Presschure 
and all. Hope to never find out. But I doubt I'll be that lucky, not in 
this town." He frowns. "Firscht aid? I mended a broken goosche wing 
onsche, scho...I guessch a little. He hurt you bad?"

Ray blinks. That had never occurred to him. "I won't shoot you, then," 
he decides. To Blake's question, he shrugs, turning his hand over. 
"Broken, I think. Guess I'll go to the hospital after I go call this 
in...whaddaya think?"

Blake looks at the hand. "Go to the hoschpital anyway," he says. 
"They've juscht got in a fresch batch of nurschesch. Yeah, it could be 
broken. Okay, let'sch get thisch over with." He ducks back out into the 
rain and rescues his sketchbook from where he had shoved it up under 
the carriage of a car that didn't look like it leaked oil.

Ray glares at the rain, which he liked up until the appearance of the 
green nutcase. "Yeah, let's go. But try not to look arrested, okay?"