Evening. The sun had just finished its descent below the mountains, and the blistering summer heat was giving way to a cool evening breeze. At one of the many community pools, the smell of chlorine is accompanied by...spray paint?

It was an adequate canvas. Brick, rougher than ideal, but clean. No need to work around the work of those who lacked inspiration.

Sip.

Frustration slips away, bliss flooding in. They were of no concern. Only making this world a better place than it was yesterday. Maybe if they saw beauty instead of hate, felt ecstacy instead of terror, the problems would go away. If---The blare of a siren interrupts her thoughts.

Sip.

Cop. Walking towards her. Shouting something unimportant. She turns, resisting the urge to take another sip from her vials, and the cop freezes in place, hand going to his waist---No.

In a single, fluid motion, she slings a vial at him, and it shatters on impact, dousing him in a fuming amber fluid. The gun is drawn, but before he can aim, he stumbles, and collapses onto the sidewalk.

Slowly, she walks over, picks up the discarded gun, and flings it over the fence and into the pool. Nasty thing. Sip. But gone now. With a flourish, she leaves the man where he lay, and returns to her art.

The slow rattling of the wheels of a cart sounded across the streets, mixed with a symphony of clanging cans, bottles and other assorted objects partially muffled by layers of fabrics. The slow steady steps of Jane soon followed, her head cast down as it scanned the immediate sidewalk she walked. Most of her weight seemed to be braced across her left arm on the handles, the faint limp in her right leg breaking the usual rhythm of the stride. The darkening streets of the evening were casting their shadows, with the occasional street light that was flickering doing more to reveal the number that was broken than actually functioning. Picking up the occasional can or bottle on her way, it wasn't until the wheel of the cart met a soft resistance she actually noticed what it was, the body hidden within a pool of dim light in the middle of the street.

Quickly darting around the cart however with its good a far lower priority, she brought herself to her knees to inspect him more closely, her hand moving fluidly from his wrist to his eyes to check if he was still alive, before lowering the side of her face to his mouth, attempting to rouse the man once she confirmed there was no actual wounds or breaks. It was as she was checking his breathing that noticed it, small amounts of glass and traces of some substance across his features, she did not know exactly what to make of it but it was clear it wasn't a positive. First, though she had to confirm the vitals and if he was safe to move, anything else could come later.

Jane would find that the man was, in fact, not dead, and was breathing normally, although attempts to wake him were seemingly futile. Were it not for the broken vial and dampness on his uniform---and the fact that he was in the middle of the sidewalk by an abandoned cop car---he seemed like he was just in a very deep sleep.

Meanwhile, nearby, a young lady in a black-and-lime jumpsuit hums to herself as she paints an abstract mural on a brick wall, taking a moment's break to sip from a vial before continuing...

From the other direction a black white and red Silhouette walks closer.

As their steps carry them closer to the Mural it becomes clear that this seems to be a Mime, carrying a red Umbrella in their Hand, shielding them against the Sun. When they are close enought they look at the Mural, at the frog coloured individual painting it and at the Woman in the distance tending to a seemingly unconscious individual.

They hang the Umbrella onto their arm, where it immediately disappears into thin air, and coughs once, as if to get the attention of the black-and-lime coloured individual.

The mime does not appear hostile, more intrigued, but their Mask doesn't give much away.

After giving the man the once over she was looking around trying to think of something to do, the others were just standing there so did he do this? and then just left him? No, she couldn't think about that, she needed to make sure the man was safe. "How can you leave this guy here! He needs help!"

With a pained grunt, she moved to drag the man over towards his car, popping open the door after setting him in a recovery position next to it and reaching over for the Radio. It was at this point she realized she really didn't know how to use the thing "Erm. Breaker. Breaker? Officer Down erm, Dispatch Ambulance to....." she leaned to look at the distant street sign "Alexandra Street?...10-4 erm...Roger Roger? I really dont know what to say but please send help, I found him unconscious and think he might have been hurt by something"

"Help is on the way," a gruff female voice says over the walkie. "If you can safely move away from the scene, do so. Otherwise stay where you are. Over."

Zipdash, flying out on patrol, shifts her route towards Alexandra Street, keeping an eye out for the source of the trouble as she changes her cores around. Amber lights dot the surface of her armored suit, and a moment later force fields the same color appear around her, making her appear larger and bulkier. She angles into a dive as she sees the probable source of the disturbance.

At the mime's throat clear, the young woman stops her spray-painting, taking a brief sip from a vial before turning her attention to them.

"Oh, hello," she says, voice unsettlingly friendly. "I don't think I've seen you before. Are you---" she pauses, picking up the tail end of the panicked radio call, and takes a very hearty sip, before pulling a respirator up to hide the lower half of her face.

"He was going to shoot me," she calls out, voice muffled slightly. "So I made him sleep. He's not hurt." A dismissive sniff. "You on the other hand..."

The mime looks between the officer, who seems to have been dragged towards their car by now, and the Artist in front of them.

He doesn't want to talk here, not with that many unknown pieces on the board so he just shrugs and takes out a little notebook and pen from a little pouch on his Belt. He flips a few Pages until he finds what he is looking for, showing it to the Artist. "Marceau" With his offhand he points to himself. Then he tilts his head, looks through the notebook again and produces another page, while now pointing at the "Art" behind the woman in front of them. The notebook just says "Not very Good"

Jane was not unaware of what was going on around her, though physically she was more focused on heaving the officer into a better position, she didn't want them swallowing their tongue or anything, She also carefully brushed off the glass from his face as well, that could cause an issue should they wake and rub their face as well.

She was midway through this when the muffled threat was heard causing their head to snap up as the artist confirmed themselves as the one responsible. "He,,,doesnt have his weapon out its...still in the holster?" her gaze went to the area and noticed the lack of fire arm, combined with the painter's admission did give upsetting revelation as a possibility. "H...He was just trying to do his job" She stands up and moves over to cover them, a little unsure of what the masked individual was about to do, though at the same time she was trying to see if there was any telltale sign of a concealed weapon like the one missing.

The tall orange figure lands in the middle of the intersection and starts striding towards the villain. "Hey, Artist," Zipdash says as she looks around the scene. She takes in the sleeping cop, the mime cape (Who is that? Need to keep an eye on them), the girl hiding near the cop car, and finally the mural on the wall.

"Not bad," she says as she stops a fair distance from Starving Artist. "I don't think I understand the statement, but I like the colors. Did you assault a police officer?"

The alleged artist did not appear to have a gun on her, merely a dizzying array of vials, a big stick with a paint roller on the end, and a couple pails filled to the brim with glassware, bottles, and even a little portable burner.

She waits patiently as Marceau goes through his notebook, giving her name ("you can call me Starving Artist") in response to his, and a little sigh at his criticism before she takes another sip from one of her vials.

"No, you're right. I don't know why I'm bothering, the inspiration flew away on the breeze the moment that—" she stops to take a sip, brief fury on her face replaced with serene calm, just in time for Zipdash to arrive.

Without saying anything to the captain, she flings jar of liquid at the would-be mural, and the air is filled with the acrid stench of acid eating away at the paint and brick below.

"There is no statement other than abject mediocrity and the fickle nature of the Muses," she says sadly. "He pulled a gun on me." Sip. "Being shot is a bigger crime than making someone sleep. That means I did negative crime, I'm basically a hero. You should give me a job."

Marceau visibly recoils as the New Cape in Orange lands, even jumping away a bit. The note pad stays in their hand, and they look around between all involved.

As SA makes their point Marceau ponders the words. Another Page of NotePad now shows "They are not completely wrong... at least on the point of weapons pointed at Capes."

Marceau's Eyes wander over to the Woman hiding in the background, somewhat unsure of how to handle their presence.

Jane keeps standing over the officer in her protective stance right as another person enters the scene, though it was not fully expected to have someone fly down. "Ern...Please be careful....She might have a gun, I cant see it but the officer is missing...Miss?" turning to Zipdash but really unsure how to address them.

"Alright." Zipdash crosses her arms as she watches the paint start to dissolve. "Was the gun drawn before or after you threw a vial at him? His bodycam footage isn't gonna show that, so I'd like to hear your side of things before they interview him." She nods to Jane. "I'm Zipdash, local Protectorate Captain. Thank you for keeping an eye on the situation, miss."

She glances at Marceau. "Keeping in mind, a cape is normally presumed to be armed, since their power is at hand, I agree that the officer probably didn't do his very best to de-escalate the situation. An investigation will be had, and probably retraining on how to handle potentially dangerous capes in a less aggressive manner." A slot opens on her hip, and she pulls out a small canister, which she chucks at the wall. It bursts, releasing an alkaline mix that she uses to counteract her own acid when necessary.

"He was yelling something unimportant, and when I looked at him he went for his gun." Sip. "I put it in the pool, the concentration of chlorine is low but it should corrode away in a few years."

Then she pauses, thinking, a look Zipdash at least would find very familiar. "I could make it corrode faster, that way the pool can reopen." She reaches down to her paint buckets, and excitedly starts pouring concoctions together...

Marceau facepalms. He then takes a few steps back, expecting some sort of altercation to break out soon.

He almost steps out of the trajectory of the Protectorate cape that just arrived, towards the poloce officer, in hopes to not be majorly involved in the ensuing shenanigans

Keeping guard of the Officer until the Paramedics arrive, the girl once again seems to be checking his vitals though at the same time does not take her eye off the confrontation. She really didn't know how to handle this situation but a the same time she needed to do something as much as her legs were shaking.

Swallowing hard as the artist started mixing she really wasn't sure that was entirely normal paint, or even what he was drinking given the weird substance on the officer. What she could tell was that they were making a joke of all this, like throwing a gun in the pool for a kid to maybe find was just asking for more chaos. Maybe this was all the person wanted, but motivations would need to wait until this was less of a potential powder keg.

"H,,,How can you not be taking any of this seriously? Also....mixing those on the street are they even normal paints?"

"That's not necessary," Zipdash says, stepping towards Starving Artist. "We'll just take the gun out of that pool. I'm gonna also need you to come down to HQ with me, if you don't mind. You assaulted a police officer, but if your story checks out then you'll be alright to go after a brief investigation."

She hates having to say it; it's the quickest way to escalate the situation if a cape isn't willing to cooperate. "I know you probably didn't mean any harm, right? We'll get this all sorted out if you just come with me."

There were definitely not normal paints, if the fumes and rancid smell and everything else was any indication.

"I do mind," Starving says petulantly, pausing to take a sip from a vial, thinking, and then dribbling some of the same vial into the horrid cancer soup she was whipping up. "He pulled a gun on me, he should be the one under investigation. And I'm trying to help dissolve the gun." Sip.

Marceau, now far enough out of the line of fire, relaces visibly and wanders over to the Cop car, suddenly twirling a litte stick of a foot length with white tips on each side. A wand? He gets behind the car keeping an eye on the seemingly homeless woman and watches the show.

Jane could see the danger escalating as the paints began to be mixed, whatever was in those cans she could smell from here and they did not seem to be anything good. With the cop out of the way in case there was some splash, she takes an unsteady step closer as much as she hated to. Her hands were shaking but she didnt take her eye off the mixing cans as she edged closer, so with a deep breath to try and gain some composure she decided to speak again.

"Please...stop mixing those, its....its only going to make things worse, you....your not going to get anything out of it...your not going to be in serious trouble yet but...but..escalating this will....it wont have any positive outcome, right?" she gives a short glance to the costumed cape and then back to the Artists concoctions.

"Like I said, there'll be an investigation done. Officers have to justify drawing their weapons. I'm going to ask you once, if you won't come along, to stop mixing those chemicals and go along your way. Nobody wants a fight here, Starving Artist. Move on, and we'll get the gun out of the pool and get the officer somewhere he can sleep off whatever you threw at him."

She moves a bit, placing herself between SA and the girl standing guard over the cop. "Don't make this into something we'll all regret."

Starving lets off an angry sound, something between a cat with its tail stepped on and an exasperated huff, and there's a crunch as she squeezes the vial she's holding and it shatters.

"I can fix it," she hisses under her breath, looking down at her bleeding hand before disregarding it and drawing a new vial to sip from. "But fine. I'll do your stupid little thing, but you get to do something for me too." A sip, and the anger is gone, like it never happened. "I've created another masterpiece, but it only works on... us. Us? Powers. The enlightened. Everyone else just pisses a bunch." Sip. "I don't have anyone to share it with."

With a flourish, she pulls out yet another vial, one filled with cotton-candy blue fluid that seemed to glimmer in the evening light. She extends it to Zipdash, but as she does her eyes go to the injured youth, and that dazed look is filled with... concern?

"Hurt. I can make the pain go away, help your canvas rebuild itself anew. It's okay to say no, I understand." Sip.

Marceau hangs back behind the car, making him as hard to see as possible.

Looking between each person Jane nervously takes the vial, looking with concern at the injured hand of the person offering before looking to the contents of what she was given. Drinking weird things from strangers certainly was ill-advised, but at the same time it would allow her to get this resolved and the officer to get help without conflict. Standing there in silence for a short while there was another thought that came to her, how did the artist even know she had powers? she hadn't shown anything so did they have some weird ability to sense them? or was it something else?.

Putting the thought to the side she gave a deep breath and murmured a few words to herself attempting to build herself up for what needed to be done "K...Keep your promise ok and....and ill drink it, I dont think it....it will work but...I....I will be ok" the artist did seem a little concerned but was that due to her condition or on what this strange concoction would do. With a final breath, she closed her eye and downed it. Her body likely though would get to work on the foreign substance pretty quickly so it might not do what the artist anticipated, but if it helped others a bit she had to do it.

If given the chance, Zipdash would have told the girl not to drink that. Too late, now. She crosses her arms. "In the future, I'd advise not taking anything offered to you by a strange Cape. Artist, what did you just give her?"

Starving Artist blinks exactly twice as the young lady takes the vial she had been extending to Zipdash. For a moment, Denver's most popular methhead seems genuinely stunned, staring at Jane with a strange expression. It isn't until her bleeding hand begins trembling hard enough to spatter blood on those nearby that she shakes herself out of it, and takes a glug from one of her vials.

"As I said," her attention returning to Zipdash. "Everyone not like us who's taken it just pisses a bunch." Sip. "That's why I---" She pauses again, and sniffs the air. "ah."

Jane would very quickly find herself overcome by a burning nausea tearing at her stomach as the drug takes hold. But it's only for a moment, and then she is floating away as a cacophony of senses assault her. She can every detail of the grass, the smell of the chemicals in Starving's paintcans is overwhelming, but still barely there she can sense the chlorine of the pool clear as day and behind that the smell of exhaust baked into the pavement. The quietest sounds are amplified, screaming in her ear, but not painfully so. She is hyper-aware of her surroundings and herself, but there's a detachment there, as if she were a passenger in her own head experiencing this. Her mind is a tiny being that has just found the world unfurl open around it, a bacteria enlightened and uplifted to sentience. She sees in colors that don't exist, experiences emotions far beyond mortal reckoning, feels the fabric of reality shifting around her and imbuing her with knowledge. She is a thousand minds, all as one, a writhing mass of ego and cognition swirling around a black hole before being pulled in, feeling every molecule of her soul being ripped apart and reforged into something else. She is fury, peace, ecstacy, agony, love, apathy, joy, grief, all of it at once, and she is nothing, an empty void floating in space as something forgotten swirls around her head.

Meanwhile, in reality, Starving Artist shoves past Zipdash, to (assuming she isnt stopped) grab the injured young lady and lower her gently to the ground so she doesnt bump her head while likely spending the next 20 minutes talking to God.

"Unexpected but not unwelcome," she says, a giddy tone belying her calm demeanor. "Please do not ruin her experience with your recruitment propaganda."

Marceau watches the Scene, securely hid behind a car. As the Girl that helped the police officer beforehand goes towards the Lady in Green he shakes head in disbelief. He was not lookinv for a fight, and this had the smell of one coming up, so he stood up, dtill hiding in a crouch behind the Car, and fucked off to brighter Pastures, writing down Intel onto his noteblock.

Jane's leg buckled as the liquid hit her stomach; she dropped to one knee as it overwhelmed her mind with sensations. This certainly was not one of her better ideas certainly, though it was the one that would end this without conflict should the artist keep their word. Her hand goes to her stomach as it churns. The colours and sounds flashed before her for a few more moments before a tearing pain brought her back to her senses on the ground.

She could feel it deep inside, something shifting, twisting, tearing apart as it moved around, her stomach seeming to become tighter. She could feel it inside, a new organ seeming to form connected to her stomach, taking its place as a dual system to better filter incoming toxins. This naturally only left her body one thing to do, and that was expelling the foreign substance that was causing mayhem. The girl began to rapidly shiver where she lay before quickly rolling to her side, to eject her stomach contents, the blue of the drug mixed with....a crimson red, several large clumps of what looked like paper and bile. The entire mess formed a large pool next to her as she shakily gets to her feet, her visible skin also seeming highly flushed with sweat dripping down her exposed features to soak the bandages, though unlike normal sweat this seemed to have the slightest blue tinge to it. Getting to her feet finally, Jane would wipe her mouth and give a cough before finally speaking "I...I took it so....you...you will keep your word right?"

Zipdash steps towards the pair, hands going to her hips. "Well... That's not what I expected. Are you alright, miss?"

"Oh, that's not right," Starving says, taking a sip as she intently watches the response to her Art. "Hmm. No, not at all. What an interesting canvas to paint upon." She pauses, thinking, before flinging the half-made mess in one of her paintcans into the street (wow thats a loud sizzle), and sitting down cross-legged to start anew on...something?

"I have some things to try. Shouldnt have caused vomiting. Made it inhibit that, actually." Sip. "But you overcame that. And it was supposed to last far longer." Sip. "Some sort of..." she stares up at Zipdash. "What do you call the strong ones?"

The girl continued to sweat out more of what was left of the drug that hadn't been deposited down on the pavement, her eye somewhat shakey but looking towards the artist. Janes stomach was still in knots from the change as she tries to compose herself, resting a hand across her stomach, she never could control how her body changed when bad stuff happened, heck she couldn't even control what would count as "bad" it seemed a random outcome designed to torture her and remind her of what she was, what she deserved. Suffice it to say that suddenly developing a second stomach and then a burning temperature mid-psychedelic trip wasn't a pleasant experience.

The fact the artist seemed to have gone straight back to mixing wasn't really something that improved the situation either "H...Hey you....you said you would go if i took that stuff...." she lets out another cough as more red stained her bandaged hand, sparing it a glance. She really hoped when that stomach went way it wasn't going to be as....unpleasant as the other times.

Looking over to Zipdash for a moment she really wasn't sure what to do, she also seemed to show some confusion at whatever the Artist was referring to and perhaps hoped the professional cape could shed some light.

"Brutes. You need to leave, Artist. Now." As she says it, her cores switch around, and the amber light disappears, replaced with glowing blue electricity. "I don't want to fight you, but you're starting to leave me no choice. Last chance to pack it up and go home, or else come with me down to the station. Either way you can't stay here."

"Yes, brutes." Sip. "Horrid term, but language is fickle like that. Hmm." Another sip, as she ponders the creation she was working on. "I said I'd go with you if you tried my art. She tried it, which made me very frustrated but her canvas is so interesting. Not brutish at all. Beautiful. What isnt beautiful---" Sip. "Are the mixed messages. Now you want me to leave? Or do you want me to do your stupid thing? I'm..." She pauses to take another sip, hands trembling. "Very confused as to what you want."

Her head lowers slightly as she mumbles slightly to herself "I...I'm not a brute" The girl seemed to misunderstand the entire term and pulled back no longer making eye contact, though her eye did widen slightly at the beautiful comment. Her mind really didn't know how to process what she just heard, so she must have misheard it or it was likely another misunderstanding, she was obviously talking about the other cape. Her expression went from confusion to uncertainty, giving the artist a quick glance before looking away again. The single comment had thrown her for a loop and she was now completely lost on how to handle the situation if she even had any idea before, and especially didn't trust herself to say anything.

"If you're willing to come with me, that's fine. The problem is you continuing to mix your chemicals here. Pack them up and let's go. Ma'am, if you want to come along, I can explain to you about the power classifications, but I'd really rather not get into it right here on the street." Zipdash doesn't deactivate the lightning core. If SA decides to be a pain in the ass, it would be great to be able to quickly zap her and have done with it.

Starving Artist sighs, dipping a bloody finger into her can and licking it, before shaking her head and taking a sip from a vial.

"You're right, that's all this is. Chemicals. A waste. I would sooner jump in a volcano than share this travesty with anyone." Once again the paintcan's contents contribute to the growing Superfund-level groundwater pollution around her, and she tidies up her things with the energy of a cat who just got spray bottled for scratching on the sofa.

"Is the weird one coming with us? I would love to craft something up for her in your delightful little lair." Starving Artist does a little spin, twirling her giant paint roller on a stick. "A shame that with all the wealth of your ivory tower, your muse torments you with such pedestrian..." She looks over Zipdash. "Accoutrements." Sip.

Still a little out of it, Jane couldn't only share a questioning glance with Zipdash. While the artists earlier comment caught her off guard, the more she talked the more uneasy it made her, like she had caught the attention of a predator or something that would not end well.

"My armor is fine, thanks." Zipdash looks to the young woman and shrugs. "You don't have to come with us,, but I wouldn't say no to meeting a new cape. Once we're off the scene, some PRT field agents will retrieve the officer and his gun, so don't feel like you have to stay for that."

"It is fine, but it could be better," Starving says excitedly, a smile evident in her voice. "Maybe some artistic flair, to help you catch the criminals?"

"And you should definitely come with us." Sip. "I hear they'll roll out the red carpet for you to try and indoctrinate you. Milk it a little even if you have more important things to worry about."

Staying back still, the artist seeming to have been finally willing to leave though not without a few more words. What did they mean about indoctrination? no it was probably more nonsense, the way they talked didn't make sense to her but the interest in her still unnerved her. "P...Please just....just leave. This isn't....the days done, I mean night but...still" It felt she should say some more but that was all she could get out.

"Right. Come on, then, if you're coming." Zipdash gestures to a van pulling up nearby. "No pressure to come along, ma'am, but I wouldn't mind learning about a new cape in my jurisdiction."

"Suit yourself," she replies, taking a hearty sip, before strolling vaguely in the direction of the van. "Can I get her red carpet treatment instead? I'm very interested in your...recruitment tactics..." She smirks at Zippo, uwu