Log. February 19, 2008. Manhattan: Central Park North.

The north region of Central Park is slightly less grown out than the south, but it is still green and living again. The playground is still missing, the area now covered with grass and some bushes. The trees are back, standing tall against the still blackened paths and lightpoles. Long branches and green shade creates a comfortable place in the center of the big city, the soft grass still inviting to those who might wish to sit there. The street nearby is still somewhat blackened in the brick, but for the most part it is counteracted by the thriving piece of habitable woodland astride it. The ivy on some of the old walls accents the new life of the flowerbeds in beautiful bloom when it is plausible. Even without, this is a grand and noble drop of earth in New York City. In one spot, even the grass refuses to grow, a pool of sere brown surrounded by well-watered green.

Tagari's settled on a bench, sprawled out and half asleep in the evening gloam. Just another tired hobo.

"We gotta stop meetin' like this, Poppet." Dressed as usual, a guitar case hanging from his shoulder, Oz's head tilts slightly as he peers down at the bench and it's occupant. "So... this where you live then?"

Tagari's first words out are a groggy mixture of welsh slang and english mashed together brutally. She blinks her eyes and lazily rolls to her back to peer up at Oz. "Sometimes." she finally answers.

Knowing not a bit of welsh, Oz doesn't linger on trying to figure out her first words, since he doesn't even recognize half of them. Crouching down into a kneel, guitar case gently finding it's way onto the ground as he does so, Oz's head stays tilted in curiosity. "Sometimes?"

Tagari blinks her eyes, but doesn't move. "Lassssssssst night I met this guy and he took me to his place for cocoa, and had, like, a millionty books. It was nice and Soooo much warmer than out here."

"A millionty, huh?" He parrots. "Must have a pretty damn big apartment, then. My sister doesn't have enough room to even take most of her books outta the boxes they're stored in. 'Course, I don't think she's even got a millionty of 'em." Pausing for a moment, Oz lights up a cigarette from his seemingly never empty pack of Marlboros. "And if you want a warm place to stay tonight, she'd prob'ly take ya in. She's like me... dead, but not. I'd offer, but I don't really got as nice of a couch as she does, and I sure as hell don't know how to make cocoa."

Tagari's lower lip trembles. "You don't know how to make cocoa?" she says, as if this were the most dissapointing, sad failure in the history of the world.

"When I learned how to mix drinks, I focused more on the alcoholic beverages." Oz deadpanly replies. "Warms you up about just as well, really."

Tagari points out, "You put chocolate and Kalhua together, or liquor...."

"I think the closest I get to hot chocolate is heated up chocolate milk with Bailey's Irish in it, honestly."

Tagari grimaces. "Gross!"

"Only cause you haven't tried it." Oz grins. "Pretty damn good, actually. But if you're lookin' for actual cocoa, you'll be wantin' to go back to that guy's place, or my sister's, unless ya got the money to buy it yourself." All joking aside, he really doesn't like the idea of her out here at night, even with boots and a jacket.

Tagari closes her eyes a bit. "It still /sounds/ icky," she protests.

"Well, I ain't really forcin' ya to drink it, am I?" He questions. Throwing his cigarette in the nearby grass, Oz shoulders his guitar case again before standing. "Up ya go, Poppet." He says, offering a hand down to help her up. "M' takin' you to a place warm with books and hot chocolate. Don't like the idea of you sleepin' out here."

Tagari gets to her feet with a groggy, disgruntled mutter. "What's wrong with being out here?" she protests.

"Other than the fact that it's a /bench/ in the middle of the park, and it's supposed to get ta below freezin' tonight, not a damn thing." He sarcastically replies. "Consider you a friend, girlie, and I don't like it when my friends sleep on benches, alright?"

Tagari flinches at his sarcastic reply, almost teleporting out of his grasp; there's a mild shudder to her form, a quivering to her wings. "well, ohkay," she says sullenly.

Wincing slightly at the flinch, Oz sighs, rubbing his free hand over his face. "Just seen what kinda bad things can happen to somebody out here, alright?" He answers in a softer tone. "Don't want you gettin' hurt just cause ya didn't have no where ta go."

Tagari's gaze shifts briefly to an expression of furtive paranoia; but the look fades. "Okay," she says, again. But she isn't enthusiastic.

"I ain't gonna make you stay there if ya don't want ta." Oz remarks after a short moment of silence. "But, really... She's been wantin' ta meet ya. Big Sis, I mean. Told her 'bout how you told me 'bout Bri, and stuff. She wants ta thank ya for that."

Tagari's lips purse. "Are you sure there's cocoa there?" she asks meekly.

"Positive." He answers, giving her a reassuring grin. "And none of that packet kind, either. The real stuff, with real chocolate."

Tagari smiles, briefly. "You're nice, Ozzy," she says, starting to warm back up to him.

"Nice ta know one more person thinks so." He laughs. "Usually people think I'm a jackass, most of the time." Shoving his hands into his duster pockets, Oz peers over at Tagari for a moment. "Ya said ya only sleep in the park sometimes. Where else ya got ta go?"

Tagari shrugs. Her attention wavers, mind wandering. She yawns, and her wings twitch.

Brow furrowing slightly at the shrug, Oz hrms, looking back to the street in front of them. "You meet a lot of people like me?" He asks after a moment. "Dead but not?"

Tagari's attention slowly shifts back to Oz. "Huh?" she asks. She wasn't listening.

Smirking slightly, Oz repeats the question. "You ever meet anyone else like me? Where they're dead and alive at the same time?"

Tagari shrugs. "Iunno. Can we go get chocolate now?" Tagari suddenly startles, flares her wings and brings them down with a sharp, loud CRACK- vanishing.

---

Log. February 20, 2008. Manhattan: Central Park North.

The north region of Central Park is slightly less grown out than the south, but it is still green and living again. The playground is still missing, the area now covered with grass and some bushes. The trees are back, standing tall against the still blackened paths and lightpoles. Long branches and green shade creates a comfortable place in the center of the big city, the soft grass still inviting to those who might wish to sit there. The street nearby is still somewhat blackened in the brick, but for the most part it is counteracted by the thriving piece of habitable woodland astride it. The ivy on some of the old walls accents the new life of the flowerbeds in beautiful bloom when it is plausible. Even without, this is a grand and noble drop of earth in New York City. In one spot, even the grass refuses to grow, a pool of sere brown surrounded by well-watered green.

The north side if Central Park usually holds no interest of Oz's, unless he has nothing better to do than come to the park with his guitar and see if he can make a buck or two, if anything. The sun is actually out for once, making it feel closer to thirty degrees than the actual twenty five, though snow is still on the ground form previous snowfall. It's probably the snow that's caused Oz to take a spot on a bench that on the grass to the side of the walkway like he usually does - Snow was never his thing, considering it never snowed in Los Angeles, and it always rained in the winter in Ireland. - guitar in his lap, open guitar case on the path below his feet, strumming and singing what most rock fans will recognize as an acoustic version of Radiohead's Creep.

There aren't a whole lot of people who wander by musicians and stop to listen to them playing. One such person, however, shows up around Oz's bench as soon as he recognizes the voice. In a host that is as run of the mill as a bag of flour (dressed for the weather, at least) Zachery cracks a grin as he steps slightly closer to Oz's side. On the lines 'I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo', the bodysnatcher finally speaks up. "Took the words /right/ out of my mouth."

Letting the most recent notes fade off, Oz opens his eyes, sliding an annoyed gaze Zachery's way. "Ya can leave, or ya get your head smashed in with a guitar. Yer choice."

"Oh?" Zachery quirks a brow, smirk not fading. "Actually, if you did that last thing, you might actually get some decent notes out of that thing." He casts a downward glance to the guitar, studying it for a second or two. Shiny. Then, contemplatively, he adds, "Or at the very least some money in that case for the entertainment."

Eyes narrowing as his fingers tighten slightly around the neck of the guitar, Oz gives a small growl. "Don't get why the beatnik likes you." He answers, off topic. "'Course, she always did have a soft spot for all the really pitiful things she came across."

Zachery can't help but chuckle. "Is /that/ why she considers your a brother? Ah, that makes sense, now." Purposefully not leaving much time for a retaliation, he nods in the direction of the guitar/bludgeoning weapon and asks, "What is that?" Judging by the tone of his voice, he's looking for something more explanatory than 'A guitar.'

"Apparently tha murder weapon." Oz snarls, standing and towering over Zach with a rather angry expression. "Which is a pity, cause I like this guitar."

Taking a step back out of sheer surprise (forgetting tall people are tall really only works when you're standing and they're sitting, doesn't it?), Zachery narrows his eyes. "You know I'll be back. You've beaten me up before, haven't you?" He sounds unimpressed, and despite his initial backing away he smirks.

Oz gives a grin that is not at all reassuring. "Well, yeah. But it's fun beatin' ya up, ain't it?" He asks in a low voice, setting the guitar down on the bench, before tackling Zach to the concrete.

"Nngh!" Another thing Zachery wasn't expecting. After all, he never really was the hands-on aggressive type. Though he'd probably do good to remember that Oz IS. Once he hits the ground and is able to figure out what just happened, he pipes up, "You're bloody mad! I was just--!" Standing there? Okay, not exactly. There WAS the taunting.

Pinning Zach's arms down with his knees, Oz grins again, looking slightly more... sociopathic this time. Slightly. "Yah." He agrees, before raising a fist back... "Ya know the kid who pulled legs offa spiders?"...bringing it down to barely miss Zach's head, embedding itself slightly in the concrete beside the body snatcher's ear. "That was me."

Zachery winces, but doesn't take his borrowed eyes off of Oz's face. Sneering, he answers, "Good to see you haven't changed since you were little. Though you'll probably regret not having grown any brains since then."

"I'm tempted to see if ya got any brains in this body." He mutters darkly, before an evil smirk flits over his face. Bringing a hand up to Zach's face, knuckles scraped and bloody, small pieces of concrete sticking to them, Oz places his thumb barely in the air above Zachery's left eye. "Wonder if I could reach 'em if they were there..."

Zachery twitches, turning his face away slightly. The look of disdain is still there on his face but his voice has certainly gained an anxious sort of quality. "You really, REALLY don't want to be doing that in public, Oz." He squares his shoulders back a little, attempting to free his arms. Gimme.

It's very obvious from the expression on Oz's face that he wants to continue with the plan, thumb trembling ever so slightly above Zachery's face... but the urge to stay out of jail eventually wins out. Lucky for a certain jello man. Pulling his thumb back with a dark look, it's a moment before Oz instead knees Zach firmly in the groin with a sadistic smile, standing. "You're right. I'll wait 'til we meet somewhere that's /not/ a park ta do that."

The sigh of relief Zachery lets out is shortened with a stopping of breath all together. A slew of insults and profanities come to mind, but the only things he manages to utter are "Ohholybloodygonadsworldofpain..." as he rolls onto his side and writhes uncomfortably. And that's an understatement of the year.

Smirking, Oz gathers up his guitar, placing it in back in it's case, before closing it, standing. Without a word to Zachery, he steps over him, starting to walk off.

Mustering the strength still left in him - and staying right where he is, curled up on the ground - Zachery smirks. "Do you..." A sadistic look to rival Oz's now finds its way onto /his/ face, though his speech is obviously still pain-riddled, "do you even know what she said behind your back?" He arduously places one hand next to him in a start of getting back up. "Eugenie. She was so bloody right it hurts." Or, you know, it might be the kick in the nuts. Either way.

Pausing, Oz turns around, taking a few steps back to Zacheery and crouching down. "Do you really think I give a shite about what the bloody mentaller sketch said 'bout me?" He quietly asks, smirking ever so slightly. "Couldn't care less 'bout what happened to her honestly, for what she did to me. Hope the little bitch is burnin' in hell."

The fact that Zachery would want Oz to do nothing other than burn in hell right now is very, VERY clear just by the look on his face. "Mentaller she might've been, but she was..." He trails off, the look on his face changing to one of sheer exasperation instead. Still on the ground (mostly in fear of getting bowled over if he got up again), he changes the subject. "You are going to die a horrible, horrible death, some day. And I'll be happy to have a hand in it."

"I imagine so." It's hard to tell what exactly Oz is replying to with that, but he doesn't elaborate instead standing again. Turning, it's only sheer luck that the guitar case, thrown over a shoulder, doesn't whack the body snatcher in the head, but it comes close. And Oz is again walking away.

Zachery flinches away at the near hit, before getting to his feet. Painfully slow and ignoring any looks he might be getting from anyone around, he stumbles over to the bench Oz was sitting on and sinks down onto it. Once he feels like he can properly walk again, it's back to the Tunnels for a few days. Why does he even come up here in the first place?

---

Log. February 24, 2008. Hell's Kitchen.

Hell's Kitchen, officially called Clinton, has a reputation for being the most dangerous place in America. This was true up until the past couple of decades, but it's still a neighborhood that's best avoided if possible. It still has its share of gangs and organized crime, and then some; however, Hell's Kitchen is also home to a number of actors, attracted by its relatively cheap housing and proximity to Broadway. Ninth Avenue in particular is lined by a vast variety of ethnic restaurants, and is where the International Food Festival is held every May.

Warren headed out of the building that housed Murdock's law offices, then glanced around and decided to go for a walk. Marginally risky, in this area, but he was right near a law office and he could, after all, fly ... so he ought to be able to get out of the way if trouble presented itself.

And trouble does present itself, in the form of a quickly moving Trouble Magnet running full on, hair pulled back so that the tip of the pony tail graces the jacket she wears, riding boots hitting and rising from the pavement as she darts across the rather traffic-less street and down the sidewalk. Gloved hand wrapped around something silver, an impish smile is very much on her face as she starts to run by the wealthy man. "Hey Warren!" With that she continues running.

Darting out of an alley way after Bridget, Oz glances around, growling slightly under his breath once he catches sight of his girlfriend, and her hostage. Scowl. Running after her, Warren gets no second glance or even a hello, the Irishman faaaar too focused on his task at the moment. Save the flask.

"Hello!" Warren calls after her, looking a bit bemused. Then Oz comes tearing around the corner and bemusement turns to outright confusion. "What in the world?" He wonders, and starts after the pair, not quite sure what's going on or who needs help.

Tucking the flask into her jacket pocket, Bridget spins around a corner into an alley housing a dead end, closed dumpster and fire escapes aplenty. Ah yay for fire codes. Giving a quick leap onto the closed dumpster, Bridget follows up by jumping onto the nearest level on one of the fire escapes. The sounds of a giggle of laughter escaping from her mouth as she proceeds to climb the ladder quickly.

Growling again, Oz mutters something about 'brainy wench' and 'never trusting her around my pockets again' as he jumps up onto the dumpster after her, following up the ladder. "Love, if you go roof jumpin' again, you might as well just /keep/ the damn thing." He's nearly fallen to a painful landing way too many times when she's done this before.

Warren, following the pair, hears Oz's grumping, and one eyebrow goes up. "Bridget's your girlfriend?" He calls, then glances up at the roof, where Bridget seems intent on heading. "I suppose us guys ought to stick together. Want a hand?"

"Well thank you Oz, I think I will keep it!" Bridget replies, teasingly as she slows down a bit to look to Oz, giving a teasing laugh, "Fill it up with stale beer and the like." The smile fades however upon Angel's offer to the boyfriend. "...crap." She forgoes the ladder, leaping up to grab the rails of another nearby fire escape. Yay for Narrow alleys.

"Please." He dryly replies, looking up at the former paramedic blankly. However, the expression quickly turns to one of a mixture of panic and horror. "Bridget-" And he's serious, because he's using her actual name. "You put stale beer in that flask, and you'll be gettin' nothin' but cold shoulder for a /long/ while."

Warren chuckles. "Right. Hold your arms out ... and I hope you have a strong stomach." Because Warren is /so/ not going to tackle Bridget himself. When Oz complies, Warren grabs him around the chest and lifts off, turned so they're facing one set of fire escape ladders, rather than the end of the alley, since the space is a bit narrower than Warren likes.

Jumpity. Jumpity. Jumpity. JUMP! Not really looking down as Bridget is doing her leaps, she focuses mainly on clearing the roof area first. Upon the feet hitting rooftop, Bridget glances back to see the unhappy pair up. Well, guess roof jumping is back in the equation. She starts hightailing it across the rooftop.

"Hold my arms - Oi!" The question soon turning into a half snarled cry of surprise, Oz tensing. Well... Isn't /this/ awkward? "Yanno... When I took yer help, didn't mean I wanted /this/ kinda help." He mutters, trying to ignore the fact that there is a guy holding him.

"Hey. Your girlfriend, not mine. I'm not about to chase her down for you, but I can help you get TO her." Warren notes. "And keep you from breaking your damnfool neck in the process." Once they're out of the alley, Warren starts pouring on the speed to get to Bridget before she gets too far. He can tell Oz isn't too fond of the flying thing.

Picky Picky, you're getting a short cut while Bridget's having to rely on her own two feet... and personalized mini mecha gear. Running running and look, end of the building. Joy. Jumpity. Sailing into the air she goes with no where to go but down, not reaching the ledge of the building but the fire escape attached, giving a loud bang as the thankfully structurally sound apparatus is landed upon. Shaking it off, she jumps over the railing, falling feet first along the outside of the fire escape, grabbing the bars of each railing flight as she lowers herself gradually.

Eyes narrowing slightly as Bridget starts going down again, Oz twists around as much as he can considering his current predicament. "Drop me when we get over the alley." he tells Warren. "And don't argue with me 'bout it."

"Ooooooh kay. Your funeral, Oz." Warren says, compensating for the squirming. Once they're over the alley, he does as asked, and lets go of Oz, shaking his head as he continues to circle, thinking to maybe cut Bridget off if she heads one way or the other.

Upon feet hitting the ground, the former medic sprints once more, the suit providing her with a lengthy stride as she darts out of the alley way, side stepping a pair of pedestrians as she manuevers diagonally across the street, adjusting her speed to compensate for a passing car as she continues her running. "Stale beer!" She teases back, much to the confusion of the NPCs.

Considering how many times Angelika has purposely fallen from tall heights in the years past, Oz has learned well enough how to grab onto a passing fire escape so he doesn't smash into the concrete. Even if he wouldn't get injured in the same way as a normal person, he isn't wanting to try it. Letting out a grunt of pain as he feels the muscles in his shoulder and upper arm stretch a bit too far beyond their limits, Oz lets out a curse as he finishes the drop to the ground, landing in a crouch. He's only down for a moment, however, again quickly running after Bridget. "Wench..."

Once Bridget picks a direction, Warren's quick to follow. He swoops down and grabs Bridget. Since she's not got her arms out, he ends up wrapping his arms around those too. "Don't struggle!" He says as he heads for the sky, trying to readjust his grip to the more secure under-the-arm grip.

Bridget pouts as her feet leave the ground and the distance increases between her and her intended destination, "Awww...So mean."

Okay, damn it. He goes up, she goes down. He gets down, she goes up. From now on, Oz stays put. Looking up at the blonde duo, Oz's eyes narrow slightly as he unconsciously rolls his hurt shoulder, trying to tell how bad it is. Hm... To get tweaked about another man touching his woman or no? On one hand, he did take Warren's help. On another, he never said he could touch Bridget.

Warren laughs. "Yeah, I'm a real terror, aren't I?" He circles around back to where Oz is standing and drops down. "I believe you lost this?" He asks, grinning at Oz as he lets go of Bridget.

"The worst," the former medic quips as her feet set on the ground. Still frowning, Bridget folds her arms, looking to her boyfriend, "Oz, you cheater."

Walking over to the two, Oz's only response is to jerk the flask out of Bridget's jacket pocket. "/Mine./"

Warren cocks an eyebrow. "I do believe my work here is done. I shall leave the two of you to it." And he starts to leave.

"/Fine/" Bridget hmmphs, "Take it back. Not like I like stale beer to begin with." Tilting her head to look to the departing Warren the smile turns, "By the way, Mr. Worthington, how are your eyes?"

"You're the one who started the game, pet." Oz remarks, giving his usual smartass grin. "Ain't no use in being a sore loser just cause I won for once." Glancing at Warren, Oz rolls his eyes slightly. "Even if I did have some help."

Warren glanced back at Bridget. "They're fine. Spent the night rinsing them with water and suchlike so it wasn't too terribly bad." He's still walking away. Lovers quarrels ... are not something he wants to get into the middle of.

"It's more like /he/ won it for you." Bridget points out to Oz, patting the dark haired male on the head like a puppy. She looks back over to Warren, "Glad to hear they're doing better."

Eyes rolling again Oz gives no reply save for an indiscernible mumble here and there as he lights up a cigarette from his handy dandy never empty pack of Marlboros. Pfft. Won it for him. Please.

After watching Warren walk of, Bridget glances over to the smoker. Evil grin forming she reaches up to snag the pack of cancer sticks, feet moving in the opposited direction of Warren's departure. Madness, take two.

---

Log. February 27, 2008. Manhattan: Hell's Kitchen.

Hell's Kitchen, officially called Clinton, has a reputation for being the most dangerous place in America. This was true up until the past couple of decades, but it's still a neighborhood that's best avoided if possible. It still has its share of gangs and organized crime, and then some; however, Hell's Kitchen is also home to a number of actors, attracted by its relatively cheap housing and proximity to Broadway. Ninth Avenue in particular is lined by a vast variety of ethnic restaurants, and is where the International Food Festival is held every May.

Tagari walks down the street quietly, wings twitching faintly at her back. The few catcalls that go out to the birdpunk are ignored, if she perceives them at all as she walks down the street.

The next guy that sends out any sort of remark finds himself out cold on the pavement, via a well place punched to the back of the skull, thanks to a certain genetically altered clone. "Ya sure got a funny way of stayin' outta trouble, Poppet." Oz remarks, stepping out of an alley neat Tagari. The ember of the cigarette clamped between his lips glows for a moment, the Irishman peering down at the limp body at his feet. "Ignorin' it don't help much. Trust me."

Tagari goes still, turning to peer at Oz. "Huh?" she asks blankly, utterly oblivious to the guy KO'd on the ground.

"Got a listenin' problem, too." He mutters under his breath, smirking. However, Oz is not one to talk in that department. Kneeling down and rummaging through the pockets of his most recent victim, Oz ignores everything but the wallet, standing again as he goes through it. "Ya alright, Poppet? Seems all ya do lately is pulling that disappearin' trick on me."

Tagari shrugs. "I had places to go, people to be," she says softly. "I was reading." She frowns, then gives Oz a puzzled look. "Did you miss me?"

Glancing up from counting the money inside the billfold, Oz looks back down to the wallet in his hand, taking a moment in answering. "Don't think I know ya enough to miss ya when ya poof off like that. Wondered what spooked ya enough to make ya leave, and wondered where ya went to, though."

Tagari's eyes glaze a moment, and she blinks. "Sometimes I go away. I'm dead," she says dully, then yawns. "Can't show you. Too tired."

"I know what's it like ta be dead. Don't fancy seein' it again, Poppet. Trust me." Oz quietly answers, tucking the money into his pocket before throwing the wallet onto it's unconcious owner's back.

Tagari shivers, and closes her eyes. "If you move too fast the world stops and you spin, Ozzy," she says again in a lazy tone.

"A lot can cause that, Poppet. Not just movin' too fast." Oz solemnly replies, flicking the overlong ash on his Marlboro to the ground.

Tagari's eyes flick open and she peers at Oz. "I get mixed up a lot. I was clubbing last night. Twas fun." She shrugs yet again, gaze roving. "Julian was there and I had to take him home. Poor broken thing."

Eyebrow quirking at the name Julien, Oz's head tilts curiously. "Broken?"

Tagari shrugs. "I don't know," she says, dismissing Oz's words. "Sometimes things get murky."

That doesn't do much to dispel Oz's curiosity, but he drops the subject anyway. Or changes it, at least. "Ya ever got that cocoa?"

Tagari's attention snaps to Oz, sharpens, pupils flashing before they settle. "Yes." she says, then frowns like a kicked puppy. "But no cocoa today."

Jerking his head towards his apartment building, Oz gives a lopsided grin. "Big Sis taught me how to make some, if ya want any."

Tagari stares at Oz, then seemingly through him, frowns. "I gotta go, Ozzy," she says softly, forlornly. "Jimmy says its not safe." And with that, she half-turns, and with a snap, vanishes.