Felisa Espinosa: Blurring speed, that's what it was. She looked out of the window with her chin resting on her hand as the subway rolled and roared and klickity-klacked it's way through the underground tunnels of the city. She was still debating on if it would be a decent idea to get a car or not; she didn't really need one, honestly, but when she did need one it would be awfully fucking nice to have one around.
She reached into the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out a Camel Wide, lighting it, inhaling deeply. She thought about the habit that didn't go away and chuckled to herself.

Vincenzo Jovia: *He makes his way from the streets overhead, glad on some level to be out of the rain, but unhappy to see how it has caused the passages down here to sprawl with people. Perhaps he would have been better to have walked, to own the streets.*

Felisa Espinosa: It stops, but she doesn't get out. Not that she's going anywhere in particular tonight, at least not yet. Dinner was taken care of early as it always was; get that part of the night over and done with so you wouldn't have to fuck with the usual club crawling.
She's the last of the Great Smokers, apparently. Smoke rings, inhaling through the nose. All sorts of tricks.

Marcel Rolando Romer: The sounds of a Harley rip down the street, coming to a stop above ground. The engine dies out, and a few moments later, down the steps the he comes, a well-sized black man of about 35 years of age, standing just over six feet tall and quite muscular at around 220 pounds. With his shaved head, well-trimmed goatee, and professional dress, he looks like a bodyguard, or perhaps a leg-breaker of some kind. His clothes consist of a white dress shirt and black slacks, red tie, and a black vest, with an olive-green trench coat over it all. A small silver loop is in his left ear. He walks with the confidant steps of a man who knows that anyone who tries to start shit with him will not be the one to end it.

Vincenzo Jovia: *He hears the train as it approaches the platform, but he is too far away to make it, not without pushing through the masses, forcing them to remove themselves from his wake. Yet there are cameras in such places, cameras with watching eyes behind them. For now he will have to wait, to be patient as she teaches him, not to grasp for what is his by rights.*

Felisa Espinosa: ((Description: She's Puerto Rican, and the mixture of african, indian, spanish and french bloodlines mixed together to form a olive-skinned melting pot of a woman. She's pretty but not overly beautiful, the type of woman that you would try to continue conversation with if she walked up to you and asked the time, not that she would do such, or that you would ask her once you saw the black t-shirt, cargo pants and hoodie, an overall blank thug look. She's fairly average in height and weight, perhaps a touch taller than the typical Puerto Rican, with dirty brown hair and dark eyes that hint at a savage intellegence, and she looks to be a very old seventeen or a very, very young eighteen. ((App:3))

Vincenzo Jovia: *Legends have been born of men such as him, though Luciano and Siegel would likely seem tame in comparison. His face holds a hard edge, and perhaps he was beautiful - once, but now the scars from the yoke of time lie heavily upon his face, deep furrows ploughed by experience. Jet black hair lies closely cropped to his scalp, testament to his violent nature as much as the scars that cross his face and the mishappen angle of a too often broken nose. It's his eyes that may seem the most unnerving, though, pits of blackness that cut through a soul like a jagged piece of glass* ((App: 1))

Marcel Rolando Romer: He rolls his shoulders, the trench adjusting itself in the process to settle a bit more comfortably on his large frame, and takes a look around the place, frowning slightly. Just another night on patrol for the man. He pulls a cigar out and places it between his lips, taking a heat-coil lighter and bringing it up to burn the end to life. Anti-smoking laws in the subway? Not in this world...and even if it were, Marcel doesn't seem to be the kind of guy to care. He looks around the vicinity with narrowed, discerning eyes.

Marcel Rolando Romer: d10: Per+Alert: 6,7,5,3,4,

Felisa Espinosa: Felisa watched the masses, checked the map on the wall of the subway stop, which was covered in graffiti so looking at it was a moot point. Grumbling, she figured that now was a good of a place as any to get out, check to see exactly where she was, and then hop back on for more travelling. It wasn't as if there wasn't much else to do tonight.

Vincenzo Jovia: *He is dressed in black, his T-shirt, his jeans, his hair, all merging into the next, the dampness of the rain giving them a sheen.*

Marcel Rolando Romer: His eyes pick up on Felisa just exiting the subway, as well as Vincenzio. Hard to miss out on that level of ugly. He takes a toke off the cigar and does a slow walk around the station, just watching for now.

Vincenzo Jovia: *As he moves through the crowds, a woman tries to push her way past Vincenzo, but she finds his flesh unmoving, almost as if he were rooted to the spot, he turns, and looks down at her dismissively.*

Felisa Espinosa: So she hopped out, going to the map that's covered in plastic, which is in turn covered by spray paint, and the woman tsked, looked around, and pulled out what appeared to be a swiss army knife. She then started an attempt to unhinge the covering, apparently to get a better look at the map in question.

Vincenzo Jovia: *The woman seems to be on the verge of saying something, when Vincenzo sneers at her, allowing the full force of his youthful arrogance to assail her, and giving her a glimpse of the man behind the mask.*

Autumn Beck: (open?)

Vincenzo Jovia: d10: Manip & Intimidation: 6,9,5,6,4,4,6,9,

Autumn Beck: (Ack, I take the question back... Have been co-opted)

Marcel Rolando Romer: He smirks a little bit as Vincenzio scares the bejesus out of the poor woman, and shakes his head dismissively. He seems a bit more interested in Felisa anyway, and he keeps his eyes on her as he takes a lean against the wall near the entrance.

Vincenzo Jovia: *The woman gasps, her face blanching as she tries to pull away from Vincenzo, but he holds her hand for a moment, easily resisting her, and then he releases her, watching with joy as she staggers backwards, falling to the ground.*

Marcel Rolando Romer: "Some motherfuckers," he mutters to himself as the woman falls to the ground. Not really sympathetic to the woman, just...hardly impressed by the whole display.

Felisa Espinosa: There's a fairly loud clatter of noise as the plastic fell to the ground, exposing the map. Felisa looked at it, considered a notion: Hey, that's art. I could actually take that home with me if I wanted to.
So screw the You Are Here. Felisa knew that she was here, wherever here was. Smiling, she picked up the plastic and went to wait on the next subway.
There were various reactions from the people at large over this.

Vincenzo Jovia: d10: Per & Alert: 5,5,

Vincenzo Jovia: *He glances around, looking to see if anyone has paid him any attention for the incident with the woman, but fails to spot anything, and so keeps on heading in the direction of the platform.*

Felisa Espinosa: d10: per+alert: 3,3,9,6,8,

Marcel Rolando Romer: He pushes off from the wall and makes his way over to Felisa, the smoke from his stogie trailing behind him. He comes to a stop next to her, waiting for the train. "S'up?" he grunts, watching the subway tracks.

Felisa Espinosa: The Puerto Rican chica started to do what everybody does when they're waiting for a subway to come barreling down the tracks, which was look around at her enviroment to kill the time. There were a few people looking at her in turn, some of them whispering. She paid them no mind.
The bald one seemed to be checking her out, but he didn't look like the typical policeman, or even the typical undercover policeman, so it didn't bother her so much.
Then she saw the ugly one and raised an eyebrow.

Felisa Espinosa: "Eh? Nuffin really, riding the subway randomly, lack of anything else to do. Originally I was gonna look at the map to figure out where I was, but I couldn't see it because of the plastic covering," she said, lifting the graffiti covered plastic for him to look at. "So that bothered me. I got off the subway and took the plastic off, and then I thought, fuck, this is good artwork. I think I'll keep it. So I did."
She looked him up and down. "Oh. Might as well ask you then. Where are we? Aside from underground in a subway station."

Vincenzo Jovia: *Forces his way through the lines of people so that he might be able to board the train when it arrives.*

Marcel Rolando Romer: "F Line Stop," he says with a shrug. "Up top's 118th and Park. Spanish Harlem." He looks over the grafitti and nods. "S'not bad. Ain't no master-taggin', but I kinda like it."

Felisa Espinosa: "Master's work you don't see just dicking around the subway stations," she said, "because it never lasts too long. Somebody else would paint over it, or some other ass would put ten, twenty lame ass stickers over it. If I wanted to see the good shit I'd hop down the tracks and go exploring in the tunnels."
She looked up at the ceiling. "Huh. El Barrio. I should go up and crawl around with the thugs, but... meh."

Marcel Rolando Romer: He glances over at Vincenzio, keeping an eye on the man as he approaches the edge of the platform, then looks back to Felisa. "You ride the subway randomly all the time? Or you got somethin' else you do?"

Felisa Espinosa: "Everybody does a little something dude, but as for me... well, I'm young, I dunno what I want as a carrer choice, if that's what you're asking."
She adjusted her doo rag and looked up at the man. "I don't have a car, myself, and sometimes you wanna sit and travel, yeah? It's relaxing, except on certain routes when the freaks come out. Then you have adventure, and there's nothing wrong with a little adventure."

Marcel Rolando Romer: He nods a little bit, giving a low, deep chuckle. "Fair enough. Gotta be careful 'bout that adventure, though. Sometimes, you becomes someone else's adventure, y'know?"

Felisa Espinosa: "The key is to pick your battles and not have them picked for you," she said, grinning a little. "Of course you can never be sure of what you're getting into sometimes, there's always a bigger fish, yeah? Still, if you don't get any practice you'll never get anywhere and nothing will happen; things wouldn't change."
She looked down the tracks. "And life without change... you might as well be in Hell."

Marcel Rolando Romer: "Y'know," he says with a slight smirk. "Right about now, I'd agree with you. Change'd be mighty nice."

Felisa Espinosa: "Then you should change things, whatever they are."
She looked up at him again. "Dunno what YOUR situation is, mind. Might be the job, might be the relationship, might be the relationship with the job. Could be that you hate the smell of wet cat food, fuck if I know. But if you're not satisfied with the way things are going then why do you put up with it?"

Marcel Rolando Romer: He snorts a little bit, looking over to Felisa and taking a hit off the cigar. "You said it yourself, girl. Always a bigger fish. Just so happens in this case, I got the smaller fish to fry 'fore I can set the fuckin' sturgeon on the skillet."

Felisa Espinosa: "Bigger doesn't always mean better. Or smarter. A virus is a tiny, teeny little thing, can't even see it. But it can kill thousands once it gets rolling."
She sat down on the floor and crossed her legs. "Smaller fishes? Somebody owe you money or something?"

Marcel Rolando Romer: That brings another deep chuckle to his lips, and he grins, the flourescent glow of the platform lighting shining off his dark-skinned scalp. "Naah. More like some folks who just gotta go. Overstayed their welcome, y'know?"

Felisa Espinosa: "Really? Sounds like you've been a patient man. If you don't mind a curious girl asking a question or two... what's the deal with that? Personal? Business? Turf shit?"
Her eyes were dark and strange, her face the usual blank slate as she talked.

Marcel Rolando Romer: "All of the above."

Felisa Espinosa: "Hah. Sounds like you've got a full plate. Hope it works out for you man; I sense a rumble down deep, like you've been waiting a good while for shit to be just so."
She reached in her hoodie, feeling around for cigarettes.

Marcel Rolando Romer: "Oh, it'll work out," he says with a nod. The stub of the cigar is tossed down onto the subway tracks. "Things go my way. 'cause if they don't...people get unhappy. Just the way it works out." He looks back to her. "What about you? You got yourself any headaches, problems, pains in your ass?"

Felisa Espinosa: She thought about that one for a second or two. "Well there was the one... but that got taken care of really. Some people ask dumb questions y'know, so you hafta tell 'em to stop asking stupid questions."
She leaned back a little. "My peers seem to be insane or sneaky. One of them is downright dangerous. Come to think of it, all the people I know have strange ills."

Marcel Rolando Romer: "Hmmmm." He looks down at Felisa, nodding a little bit. "Sounds like you got yourself a problem there, girl. Maybe you oughta start thinkin' about findin' some new people."

Felisa Espinosa: "Ah, you see that's the thing. EVERYBODY is like this in varying degrees. Oh sure, you can take a hot stemaing bowel movement, put it in a sturdy box, paint the box and tie a ribbon around it and set it under the Christmas tree, and when Christmas comes somebody's gonna unwrap this beautiful looking box with the beautiful looking bow, and they'll wanna smack the piss outta somebody because the underlying truth is that it's still shit."
She put her ciggie out and flicked it over the side. "Most people don't understand that, or they don't want to understand it. They feel safe where they are and they like their sacred cow, and they don't want to see that cow slaughtered for Hamburger Helper."

Marcel Rolando Romer: He considers Felisa's words, a bit of a smile coming to his face as he thinks about it. "You ain't talkin' out your ass there. Okay. So you think you got at least the most solid pile-a shit you can find to unwrap? Or you got some kinda nasty-ass fuckin' worm-ridden turd?"

Felisa Espinosa: "This poses the problem of not only touching the pile of shit, but digging into it and checking to see what quality of turd it really is," she answered, bemused by the thought. "The horrifying thing being that it has to be done. Wait, rewind that and delete that last bit, I'll start over. You find yourself with the choice of blissful ignorance or hard spikey dildo knowledge. I choose getting fucked bloody with gnosis. That said, I'm still digging through the shit. Call it an incomplete grade. What about you? Happy with your lot?"

Marcel Rolando Romer: He nods. "Yeah, I'm pretty pleased with my loaf. A couple pieces-a corn ta get picked out an' flicked away, but all in all, it's good shit."

Felisa Espinosa: She shrugged. "Personally I'd rather not hold handfuls of shit. But that's the way the world works these days. Maybe I'll get lucky and find a shovel."
She stood up and brushed her ass off.

Marcel Rolando Romer: "Stay away from the shovels," he says suddenly, with a frown. "Trust me. Ain't in your best interests." He turns away from the platform, and starts heading toward the entrance. "See you around, Felisa." Did she tell him her name...?

Felisa Espinosa: She turned when he added the last bit.
"Hold on a minute fella," she said, tugging at his coat. "You wanna give the lowdown on how you know me, or do I have to dig for answers? I'll find out, one way or the other. I'm good at that."
She offered him a shark's grin. "Don't worry about the shovels. Figure of speech."

Marcel Rolando Romer: He smirks a little bit, continuing his walk as he speaks over his shoulder. "Name's Marcel. I tend to know what's up around town. Leave it to you to figure out the rest. I hear you're good at that...an' it'll give you somethin' to do 'sides ridin' subways."

Felisa Espinosa: "I do believe I already know half of it. Fine then. Do yourself a favor Marcel, be careful in Harlem, Be careful in Hell's Kitchen, and look out for two guys in a 1980's boat. They ain't friendly."
Mary just might have to get her ass kicked.

Marcel Rolando Romer: "I'll keep an eye out. An' I know what's up. See you later." Up the stairs he goes, back to the city streets. The bike is heard roaring away soon after.